Fit For A Goddess [Star Trek: TOS, Uhura/Sulu/Chekov, R]
Title: Fit For A Goddess
Author/Artist: Werelemur
Rating: R
Warnings: offscreen het, poly, kink
Word count: 427
Summary: Uhura goes shopping.
Prompt: February 8th -- Star Trek (TOS), Uhura/Sulu/Chekov: Mistress Uhura has a harem - boots.
Disclaimer: Paramount's. Not mine. I'm just paying tribute.
She's shopping, killing
time before she meets up with Sulu and Chekov (because of course it wouldn't do to be seen entering the hotel together, even if what they're going there to do had been on Starfleet's list of approved recreational activities) when she sees them. Most of the handicrafts on the world where they've stopped for Shore Leave look like they traditional products of an agrarian society, but they also have a large trade in the skins of large grazing animals, and someone has had the brilliant idea to make boots.
She stops, and steps into the stall. One of the natives -- humanoid, except for the narrow ridge of bone that runs from the bridge of his nose to this hairline -- approaches her. He's dressed in traditional garb; the better to fleece the tourists. "Good day. Could I perhaps show you the native palla cloak?"
Her lips quirk up as she imagines what Sulu and Chekov would say if she walked in dressed in full native garb. No, that isn't at all the impression she wants to make. "I'd like to see those boots, please."
His eyes flicker to her feet, and a puzzled expression crosses his face. She supposes that to his uneducated gaze, they boots she wears and the ones she wants would look much the same. But even thought her uniform boots are replicated to her exact measurements, they have always seemed ... dead.
They never warm to her the way she wants. And she can barely even feel it when Sulu and Chekov lick them, kiss them ...
The salesman hands her the boots, and she feels a tingle shoot through her. They're butter-soft, and they warm under her fingertips. "I'd like to try them on."
"Of course, of course."
She sits, and slips on one first, then the other. Her fingers are trembling as she does up the tiny silver buttons. The leather curves into her, hugging her calves. She stretches her legs out, imagining how they'll look crossed casually on Chekov's back as he kneels before her. Gets to her feet, and imagines standing over Sulu, pulling his face into her.
"Yes," she whispers.
The price is high, but she doesn't even bother to haggle.
"Would you like me to have them sent up to the ship?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to take them with me." She can't help smiling as she thinks of her boys dropping to their knees before her.
After all, what's the point of being a goddess, if there's no one to worship you?
Author/Artist: Werelemur
Rating: R
Warnings: offscreen het, poly, kink
Word count: 427
Summary: Uhura goes shopping.
Prompt: February 8th -- Star Trek (TOS), Uhura/Sulu/Chekov: Mistress Uhura has a harem - boots.
Disclaimer: Paramount's. Not mine. I'm just paying tribute.
She's shopping, killing
time before she meets up with Sulu and Chekov (because of course it wouldn't do to be seen entering the hotel together, even if what they're going there to do had been on Starfleet's list of approved recreational activities) when she sees them. Most of the handicrafts on the world where they've stopped for Shore Leave look like they traditional products of an agrarian society, but they also have a large trade in the skins of large grazing animals, and someone has had the brilliant idea to make boots.
She stops, and steps into the stall. One of the natives -- humanoid, except for the narrow ridge of bone that runs from the bridge of his nose to this hairline -- approaches her. He's dressed in traditional garb; the better to fleece the tourists. "Good day. Could I perhaps show you the native palla cloak?"
Her lips quirk up as she imagines what Sulu and Chekov would say if she walked in dressed in full native garb. No, that isn't at all the impression she wants to make. "I'd like to see those boots, please."
His eyes flicker to her feet, and a puzzled expression crosses his face. She supposes that to his uneducated gaze, they boots she wears and the ones she wants would look much the same. But even thought her uniform boots are replicated to her exact measurements, they have always seemed ... dead.
They never warm to her the way she wants. And she can barely even feel it when Sulu and Chekov lick them, kiss them ...
The salesman hands her the boots, and she feels a tingle shoot through her. They're butter-soft, and they warm under her fingertips. "I'd like to try them on."
"Of course, of course."
She sits, and slips on one first, then the other. Her fingers are trembling as she does up the tiny silver buttons. The leather curves into her, hugging her calves. She stretches her legs out, imagining how they'll look crossed casually on Chekov's back as he kneels before her. Gets to her feet, and imagines standing over Sulu, pulling his face into her.
"Yes," she whispers.
The price is high, but she doesn't even bother to haggle.
"Would you like me to have them sent up to the ship?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to take them with me." She can't help smiling as she thinks of her boys dropping to their knees before her.
After all, what's the point of being a goddess, if there's no one to worship you?