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"Passionfruit"
Rating: NC-17 Part One Tuesday, Andromeda Shortline Station 1515 hours "It's similar to plants in the Solanaceae family on earth--probably this planet's variety of Lycopersicon. Obviously edible." Sub Commander T'Pol sniffed the proffered fruit. She tossed it to Captain Archer, who snagged it midair with the ease of a natural fielder. "Shall we put it in the cart, Mom?" he teased. Chief Engineer Trip Tucker laughed, but T'Pol gave both of them a weary glare. Around them, the open market stalls teemed with business as vendors of every sort of food or goods vied for their attention. The fruit merchant smiled the impatient smirk of a man eager to do business and blow town. His greasy hair was tied back with a leather band and he wore a colorful vest covered with pins and badges. "I can let you have the whole crop, cheap, miss. Do the crew good to have some fresh foodstuffs instead of that reconstituted and hydroponic fare," he wheedled. "Put some color in your cheeks." "My facial complexion does not need color," T'Pol replied dryly. Trip grinned, and muttered to Archer, "He mighta meant the other set--" Archer turned his grin into a cough and shot a warning glance at Trip, who put on his best innocent face. T'Pol picked up another one of the fruits and looked at Archer. "Captain?" "Sure. Malcolm can beam it up while we finish up down here," he shrugged. "Meet up with us at the other end of the market." Archer and Trip ambled off, tossing the fruit back and forth to each other. T'Pol watched them and permitted herself a tiny annoyed sigh before turning back to her transaction and handing over a Starfleet cred link. The merchant grinned again, a painfully cheerful smile with all the personal warmth of a mushroom. His eyes darted around constantly. "You've gotten the best of me on this deal, lady--" he assured her. T'Pol did not look impressed by this piece of information. She pulled out a communicator and called, "T'Pol to Enterprise." "Reed here." "Captain Archer has authorized purchase of fresh fruit for the galley. Please triangulate to these coordinates. T'Pol out." As the crates began to dematerialize, she broke her own Vulcan training and absently took a bite from the fragrant globe in her hand. *** *** *** Tuesday, Enterprise Transporter Room, 1532 hours "Here's the last of them," Lieutenant Commander Reed announced to the lieutenant behind the transporter console. " You'd think the Captain was laying in stock for a year. What *are* they, anyway?" "They look like tomatoes." "To-mahtoes?" Reed drawled in his British accent. The girl tried again. "To-maytoes." "That's what I said, to-mahtoes." Reed snapped without malice. He picked one up and ran a thumb over the fleshy carmine surface. He sniffed it suspiciously while the lieutenant came over to him. "Well," "It smells ripe." He offered it to her; she plucked it from his hands and studied it carefully while Reed looked at her. Lieutenant Pretoria Gordon-Ross was a tiny curvy doll of a woman with curly red hair and eyes the color of rich claret. She was his immediate junior, and plainly in awe of him; Reed still couldn't relax when she turned that half-frightened gaze on him, waiting for his next order. Consequently, he found himself far too brusque with her every time they spoke, and spent too much time chiding himself for it later. She fondled the fruit in a way Reed found unexpectedly arousing; he shifted his gaze to the stacks of crates in the transporter room. "Better get these carted to the galley then." "Y-yes sir." She gently rolled the globe back on top of the nearest crate. *** *** *** Wednesday, Enterprise Mess 1305 hours "I see you're widening your choice of nutritional selections," Doctor Phlox mused as T'Pol set her tray down. She glanced at it, where the crowning centerpiece was a neatly quartered sunburst of fruit and gave a small nod. "It is logical to take advantage of fresh food," she acknowledged. Phlox gave a hum of agreement and they ate in silence for a moment. T'Pol finally looked up and asked, "Doctor, how many sets of cheeks do humans have?" "Only the two--one on either side of the nose. I believe however, that the term is often used in a slang sense for the buttocks." T'Pol didn't blush, but her brows drew together in a slightly menacing manner. Phlox continued on, oblivious of her reaction. "Humans have one of the most extensive body slang vocabularies-- pieholes, gobs, meathooks, beer guts, racks--" "Racks?" "Certainly. You yourself have often been described as having a bodacious rack," Phlox cheerily told her. A look of wary suspicion crossed the Vulcan's face; she set her fork down. "I would venture that this--idiomatic and rude assessment came from Chief Engineer Tucker?" Phlox gave a thoughtful shrug that didn't quite match the twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "Rude seems the wrong term, indeed, he seemed both impressed and slightly possessive on the issue--" "Possessive?" A hint of bewilderment crept into T'Pol's voice and her fingers found the fork again. "Yes, I believe he claimed to have dibs . . ." The fruit was suddenly stabbed with excessive force. *** *** *** Wednesday, Enterprise Bridge, 1422 hours At a rear workstation on the bridge, Ensign Hoshi Sato impatiently finished the glass of pulpy juice and turned back to the clipboard as Lieutenant Travis Mayweather loomed over her. "Checking off the upgrade to the universal Translator?" "Yep." "Need a break?" Something in his tone made her look up; he was holding out a tiny silver and black globe with green lettering on it. Hoshi sucked in a breath. "Molto Torrido's newest release! How did you score that?" She moved for the globe, but Travis held it out of reach, which wasn't all that high in Hoshi's case. "One of the shops on Short Line--have to know who to ask." "Travis!" Hoshi was trying to grab the globe, but the navigator merely laughed and continued to dangle it over her. "Fifteen new songs and a guest segment with the Tuxanal Echo Drums-- heaven for the ears, I've been told." "Name your price," she demanded eagerly, renewing her efforts to snatch it out of Travis's hand. He pretended to think it over. "Your two Wenazzo albums, and a shiatsu massage." "Not BOTH of them--" "Did I mention this copy's recorded in QuatroDolby?" Hoshi's eyes went wide and she licked her lips. "Done, now gimmee!" She practically climbed up the front of Travis's uniform in her single- minded pursuit. The ferocity of her assault startled the navigator, who ended up slamming back against the data terminal bank. Hoshi snatched the globe out of his hand, planted a quick kiss on the end of his nose and muttered, "Thanks, here--" A clipboard prodded his stomach as she darted away, leaving Travis bruised, amused and something more. He sniffed the juice glass suspiciously. *** *** *** Thursday, Enterprise Main Engineering, 1900 hours Archer strode the corridor, deep in thought. The gravity seemed normal, the lighting was steady the air neither too cool nor too hot--what was off-kilter? He stopped at the turbolift and cocked his head, listening to the low hum of the engines. He heard another hum, this one organic and growing louder. The turbolift light went on, the doors opened and two of the crew tumbled out at his feet--Hayden and Bennett. Most of Hayden's lipstick was on Bennett's face. Both had the grace to look embarrassed but Archer merely shook his head. "If you're going on-duty, I'm ordering you to knock it off. If you're going off-duty, have fun," he grumbled, stepping between them to enter the lift. Once the doors slid shut, he grinned widely before punching the button. Engineering was noisy and humming with activity. Archer strolled through, looking for Tucker. The Chief wasn't down on the main floor, so Archer moved up a level. On the catwalk, a crewmember passed by, brushing up firmly against the captain, her perfume drifting in the air. "Pardon me--" she whispered. Archer leaned forward as another engineer slid past behind him. He started, unsure if he'd just been goosed or not, but even as he spun around, someone else pushed past across his chest. She winked. Archer managed a smile, and fished an arm out for the rail, pulling himself to it. "Cap'n," Trip called up to him. "Down here." When Archer reached him, Trip grinned. He motioned to a glowing panel with pride, announcing, "I told you it was the influx housing. Good thing we picked up that sealing foam--this baby is purring now." "Good. Speaking of purring . . . are you noticing anything--odd?" Archer bent to examine the edges of the influx panel. Trip rubbed his chin and glanced around. "Nothing too weird. A few power surges in the Sickbay circuitry." "Not with the ship, with the crew." Archer corrected, dropping his hands on his hips. "I just got groped by three different women on the catwalk, Trip." "And you're complaining? His engineer asked pointedly, his attention coming back to the panel before him. Archer rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I didn't say I was complaining, just observing. I like to know what I'm up against." "In this case, I'd say the hips and thighs of my nacelle team." "Har de har har. Seriously--" Archer locked gazes with his chief engineer. "Something doesn't feel right. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, okay?" Trip nodded. *** *** *** Thursday, Enterprise Armory 2100 hours Reed looked at the security log notation and suppressed a long- suffering sigh. He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Gordon-Ross?" he rumbled, She practically ran up to him eyes locked on his face. "Sir?" "Lieutenant, here in Security, when we make entries in the running log, we do not dot the letter i with fat circles. I mean, how would it look of some future Starfleet board of inquiry were to review the comment 'Archer ordered the self-destruct sequence to start at twenty-one hundred hours' and see a cluster of puffy cursive clouds hovering over it like steam from a passing train?" "S-sir?" she ventured timidly, "Actually, It would be impossible, since there are no letter i's in that statement." Reed paused a moment, color coming to his high cheekbones. Gordon- Ross bit her lip as he glowered at her, the last of his patience gone. "When you have finished your witty observations, Lieutenant, perhaps you would have time for a grade three inspection review? Your promotion inquiry isn't until next month, but surely such a facile individual yourself could pass my standards." Gordon-Ross paled. "Grade th-three, sir?" she managed to squeak out. "Grade three. Starting with hand to hand at twenty-two hundred this evening, so suit up, Lieutenant." He announced with a frosty smile. Thursday, Enterprise, Captain's table, 2150 hours Archer gave a brief nod as Trip scooted in late and sat down. T'Pol barely glanced up before returning her gaze to the captain. "I have run every internal scan and systems check available to us, Captain, and except from statistically acceptable fluctuations there is nothing anomalous occurring on the Enterprise," she told him flatly. Across from her, Trip helped himself to the chow mein and fruit salad on the table. "Something's going on," Archer insisted slowly. "Doctor?" At the other end of the table, Phlox shrugged. "In terms of general health, the crew seems to be doing well . . ." he hesitated long enough for Archer to narrow his eyes. "Seems?" "Their sleeping and eating patterns are consistent with the norm. The only unusual factor is that in the last twenty four hours, quite a number of them are requesting reproductive nullification injections." Trip suddenly twitched, but Archer's attention was on the doctor. "Birth control isn't unusual," the captain mused thoughtfully. He set his chopsticks down and reached for his glass. "How many constitute 'quite a number'. Doctor?" "One hundred percent of the female crewmembers." Phlox replied as Archer choked on a mouthful of wine. Trip fumbled with his chopsticks. T'Pol daintily blotted her full lips with her napkin, ignoring the wondering, disbelieving glances that flickered her way. "O-kay, that's definitely unusual--" Archer managed to admit after clearing his throat. "Any . . . opinions or commentary?" "I suggest that we wait and observe," T'Pol offered. "Currently the Enterprise is functioning at well above efficiency both at the mechanical and organic levels and we have no indication that either will deteriorate." Phlox nodded. "While the heightened interest in birth control and by extension, recreational sex is unique, it isn't necessarily indicative of a problem. I will monitor the crew as best I can and inform you if anything develops." "Good," Archer nodded. "Trip, you have anything to add?" Trip looked up from his food, a bewildered expression on his normally cheerful face. He mumbled, "No Cap'n," With a forced smile, he set his napkin aside and weakly announced, "I think I'll jest have another look at the environmental stabilizers." "The data may prove useful for analysis." T'Pol rose gracefully. Silently the two officers left the dining room and headed for the turbolift. Once inside, Trip stood next to the science officer, both of them staring straight ahead. He cleared his throat and blurted out, "Oh Gawd, that was your bare foot in my lap, wasn't it?" T'Pol said nothing, but tightened her hand around the control cone of the turbolift. It crumpled in her grip like a wad of paper. The lift shuddered to a stop. "Oh shit." *** *** *** Enterprise, Cabin 107 G deck 2157 hours "Just relax, Travis." "I don't know, Hoshi--Maybe we ought to just call it even for the two albums." Travis cast an uneasy glance at the petite ensign poised over his bare shoulders, straddling his hips. She pressed the back of his head, lightly forcing his face down into the pillow. "A deal is a deal. Besides, I brought it so we can both listen while I de-stress you," she grinned, rolling up her sleeves. Travis tried to raise himself up again, but Hoshi ran two fingers up the back of his neck and pushed a pressure point. He gave a surprised sigh, dropping back on the mattress. Hoshi used her free hand to set the music globe spinning, and then slid her palm across Travis's shoulders. "Too much tension is bad for your muscles," she announced. "Throws off your balance, muddies the chi." "Oh." Travis let Hoshi walk her fingers down the hard blade of his spine. He relaxed, feeling his muscles loosen. Around them, the soft thrum of music filled the cabin. Hoshi smiled, and began to use both hands, kneading softly at junction of his neck and shoulders. She leaned her weight behind the push of her palms. "You've got some serious knots here," she purred. "Carrying some stress?" "Not anymore . . ." Travis sighed happily. "Not anymore." "Good." For a long time, she massaged his shoulders and upper back, letting her fingers stroke the tension from his upper body. Gradually, Travis felt her hands move down to the back of his ribs. Her touch grew lighter, and more . . . teasing. Travis shifted uneasily once more. Hoshi seemed to find it funny; she laughed. "Got a sensitive spot?" "I'm not telling," he muttered. She leaned down, and her long hair brushed his back, making him shiver. "I could find out--" "Hoshi, I swear, if you try, I'm going to--" he stopped, wondering what he *would* do. "You'd--?" she prompted, leaning down to speak in his ear. Travis froze as he felt the silky warmth of her bare breasts press against his back. "Tickle, tickle," Hoshi murmured before licking his ear. Enterprise, Recreation Area, 2200 hours Reed tightened his obi sash and entered the double doors of the rec room, carried on a tiny wave of righteous annoyance. He'd been looking forward to a quiet evening going over schematics for torpedo cannons. A little brandy, a little sleep--all of it gone because Gordon-Ross still hadn't learned that discretion was indeed the better, safer part of working in Security. He looked around, wondering why only half the lights were on. The room was large, but hardly imposing, filled as it was with various bits of exercise and diversionary equipment. A pinball machine rubbed against a Nautilus workstation. Sets of weights were neatly stacked and locked down near a lifting bench. Thick mats covered the floors in the back half of the room. Reed sighed. Hand to hand was not his particular forte. He was undoubtedly the best on the ship, with respectable levels in judo, karate and kickboxing, but Reed knew that most of it was defensive, designed to turn the enemy's strength back against them. Real fighting came from having the upper hand from the first minute, and that was always and everywhere best achieved by a weapon. He knew he could best Gordon-Ross this evening, but it would merely be a lesson, not a challenge. "Gordon-Ross?" A giggle. The hairs on the back of his neck went up. Swiftly, he scanned the room once more, alert and wary. In his experience, Gordon-Ross did not giggle. She stammered, saluted, and carried out orders, but she had never relaxed enough to smile, let alone laugh. He cautiously stepped deeper into the room and felt a shot of adrenaline surge through him when another giggle floated in the air. "Lieuten--ggggg . . ." silently, swiftly, a nylon rope dropped from the ceiling, looping neatly over his head and around his throat. Reed clawed at it, but it tightened instantly. His feet where kicked out from under him, and swiftly, he found himself being dragged to the weight bench. The soft scent of Shalimar tickled his nose. "Hands go up--" came Gordon-Ross's whisper as she snapped handcuffs on each of his wrists and attached them to the corners of the overhead spotter rack. Reed gasped, continuing to fight the noose until she reached up and worked a finger under the nylon, pulling it loose. He sucked in a breath, and glanced down, realizing he was straddling the bench. "Just what the bloody hell are you doing, Lieutenant?" he croaked, his voice rough from the rope. She met his angry gaze with a serene smile that he found definitely unnerving. "Taking the initative, sir. I anticipated a serious ass-kicking, so I thought it prudent to strike first. A g-grade three inspection allows credit for initative and creative thinking," she rattled off happily. "I wish you could see your face right now, sir." "Yes, well, I have to admit, I certainly wasn't expecting to be ambushed . . ." Reed faltered as Gordon-Ross stepped closer, She lifted the noose from his neck, and tossed it aside. "Oh, your neck, sir! I didn't mean to hurt you . . ." "It's nothing, just . . . ahhhhhh . . ." Reed suddenly lost track of his thinking as Gordon-Ross loosened his karate jacket and planted a trail of soft wet kisses from his Adam's apple to just under his ear. The sensation sent hot tingles to the powder keg in the pit of his stomach, and Reed bit his chiseled lips trying to gather his thoughts. ". a slight . . . burn . . .ohhhh--" She took the lobe of his ear in her teeth, nibbling it gently. Reed tried not to pant. "Kisses always make it better, " she breathed. A dim part of his mind agreed, since he certainly wasn't feeling any pain at the moment. What he could feel was the lieutenant pressing up against him in a very noncombative fashion. "Anyway, I figure that in light of this m-maneuver, you'll have to pass me on the hand-to-hand portion. I believe the next section of the review is survival tactics. Sort of ship wide hide and seek, but with weapons. Do you have any weapons, sir?" Her hands slid sensuously down his hips. Reed drew a sharp breath and snapped, "Stop that! You've had your laugh at my expense, and I'm forced to agree that yes, your initiative merits passing the hand to hand. But this sort of treatment is uncalled for and--" All the breath left his body as Gordon-Ross cupped her hand around the long bulge straining through the cotton pants "D-definitely packing," she sighed. "A larger caliber than the standard, too." "Gordon-Rossssss!" Reed hissed out between clenched teeth. She reluctantly pulled her fingers away and sighed. Reaching up, she pressed something small and cold into his left hand. The cuff key. "S-someone's bound to come in pretty soon and release you, sir. I'm going to ground now, and you have my review release that states that I am not permitted to interfere in any of the critical sections of the ship like the bridge or engineering." "As if I would believe you at this point!" he spat out in icy frustration. Gordon-Ross gave a dangerous little smile. "You've got to since there is an hour t-time limit on this part of the review. Wish me luck, sir." She bowed to him and strode out of the room. |
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