Ship Olympics: Triathlon: Team Gaila
Title: Born This Way
Creator(s): in reverse alphabetical order: zeixx , ladymac111 , katmarajade , joyeuses , and everythingshiny
Universe: AOS with a sprinkling of TOS thrown in
Our Song: Born This Way by Lady Gaga
Word Count: Collection of 11 drabbles with a total of ~5000 words, 2 vids, fanart, manip, and handcrafted cross-stitching.
Rating: R
Summary: My mama told me when I was young, we are all born superstars ... Features: /Chapel, /Romulan Commander, /Rand, /Uhura, /Kirk, /Scotty, /Cupcake, /Sulu, /Spock/Uhura, /T'Pring, and Gaila's mother.
Warnings: mentions of slavery, various delightful sexual exploits
Notes: Additional beta contributions by anodyna and havlockvetinari
Disclaimer: These characters, images from the films/tv show, and the entire Star Trek universe belong to none of us at Team Gaila, only their creators. The song belongs to Lady Gaga. Manip image from Mamma Mia.
My mama told me when I was young, we are all born Superstars/ She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on in the glass of her boudoir/ There's nothing wrong with loving who you are, she said/ 'Cause He made you perfect, babe/ So hold your head up, girl, and you'll go far/ Listen to me when I say ...
Click here to see the full-sized version of this art in all its glorious, detailed splendor
ack in Sickbay for the second time in as many days, Gaila was grouchy. Everything had gone fine in her physical, the doctor had said. So why had she been called back? She hated spending her off-duty hours being ordered around.
Her irritation eased when she was greeted not by Dr. McCoy, but by Christine Chapel, whose blue eyes and bright smile always seemed to bring back the wavelengths of the spectrum that were missing from the shipboard light.
"Gaila! I'm glad you got here."
"What's this about?"
"Nothing really important. I just have a couple of questions for you." The nurse escorted her into an office, and offered her a chair. "This is more personal curiosity than actual medical necessity, but I am going to put it in your chart."
Gaila shifted in her chair. It's because I'm alien. Everybody has questions for the green girl. "Because there are so few Orions in Starfleet, so you're collecting data."
Chapel blushed. "Well, yeah."
Gaila pursed her lips and sighed. "Get on with it, then."
"It's about your pheromones ..."
"I just got my booster yesterday," Gaila cut in. "And it wasn't late. They're below threshold."
Chapel's eyes went wide. "Oh, no, nothing like that! This isn't about regulations, just curiosity."
"Okay ..."
Christine blushed again, and kept her eyes on the PADD in her hands. "I was just wondering … I know your pheromones are effective on men of most species, but I was curious if they work on women, too."
Gaila lifted an eyebrow and leaned back. In the immortal words of the ship's first officer, this could get fascinating. "Well, all the time I've been around humans I've had them suppressed, so I've never investigated."
"Oh." Christine seemed disappointed. "But … do you think it's possible?"
Gaila shrugged. "Sure. I mean, they don't work on other Orion women, but between species, who knows what can happen."
Blue eyes met across the small room, and as Christine re-crossed her legs, Gaila caught a whiff of something unmistakable. She realized what this was about. "You think that you've been influenced. Even though I'm only capable of producing an undetectable amount of them." She leaned forward with a grin. "I hate to break it to you this way, but there's no blame-shifting here. What you've got is old-fashioned lust."
Christine's eyes were dilated as she watched Gaila stand and cross the small space to stand before her. "You want me?"
Unable to speak, the nurse nodded.
"Anyone else here right now?"
No -- they were alone.
Gaila's grin broadened. "I'm game. You?"
Her answer was a sudden rush of pale limbs, blond hair, and rosy lips that assaulted hers with the kind of passion she knew only came when restraint was tossed away.
n the Romulan ship, it was night time. The Commander was sleeping lightly, and Gaila very, very quietly slipped out of bed.
"Gaila."
Apparently, she wasn't quiet enough. She paused in the door to the bathroom. "You're awake."
"You're accustomed to humans. We Romulans require less sleep than they do."
"So I see." Gaila turned and tried to adjust her eyes to the dark. She could barely make out the shape of her lover on the bed.
After a long pause, the Commander spoke. "What are you doing out of bed? It's late."
"I guess I'm not used to your time yet. My circadian rhythms are off."
The Commander rose gracefully from the bed and moved to the doorway, and Gaila was amazed again at how lovely her features were, elegant like a Vulcan, but expressive, which added an amazing depth of beauty to her face. "Are you sure you're not sneaking off to report military secrets to your captain?"
"You're clever." Gaila pulled away reluctantly. "I was just going to the bathroom, really."
The Commander gave her a skeptical look, but her eyes lingered on Gaila's naked body. "Come back quickly. I know why you are here, but that doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying it. And I'm glad it's true what they say about Orion women."
With a smile, Gaila turned away towards the bathroom and the Commander went back to bed. Gaila was genuinely sorry that she had to slip out and return to her ship -- her mission was complete -- but she hoped the memory of their time together would be less fleeting than the dalliance itself.
ight at the first corridor, then down to the second door on the left -- Gaila pushed the door open and took in the group in the lounge. There were eight cadets, some still in uniform, most human, and all with yarn in their hands.
The one closest to her -- a curvaceous blond woman with blue-gray eyes -- set down her knitting and stood up with a hand extended. "Hi! I'm Janice. You're here for the Stitch-N-Bitch?"
Gaila smiled, and any nervousness she might have felt vanished. "Yeah. I'm Gaila."
The rest of the group "hello"ed, and Janice patted the couch next to where she had been sitting. "Have a seat and we'll do introductions. You'll go first -- what did you bring to work on?"
Gaila reached into her bag and pulled out her ball of cotton thread and steel crochet hook. "I make doilies."
*****
Gaila soon learned that the Stitch-N-Bitch not only met in Lounge D, but frequently at the bars near campus. She also soon learned that Janice liked to drink cheap beer until she was completely incapable of correctly making a knit stitch.
With a sigh, Gaila stuffed her doily into her bag and took the hat from Janice.
"Hey! I was worrrrrkin on that."
"No, you were making negative progress. Come on, I'm taking you home."
Janice wobbled to her feet. "I don't wanna go back to my room."
Gaila shrugged with a slightly wicked smile as they turned their backs on the rest of the group. "How do you feel about mine?"
"Only if --" Janice poked her in the sternum -- "Only if you have sex with me."
Gaila laughed. "Am I that good, or are you that easy?"
Janice leaned on her and licked her jaw. "Maybe both."
yota would never admit that she loved Gaila. Well, of course, she had said it, but it was always, "I love my roomie, she's so great!" She never admitted that it wasn't platonic love. Gaila was sexy. And the sex they had was ... mind-blowing. Nyota had never had a girlfriend, so she had nothing to compare it to, really, but Gaila was special. Really special.
But somehow, even though she was a linguist, and words were her thing, she had never uttered the one that she felt, the one that was on the tip of her tongue as warm green hands caressed her trembling flesh. Words could take on a life of their own, could ruin good things. And she wasn't going to take that chance.
They had been friends with benefits for almost three months before Nyota got the courage to push Gaila onto her back and take charge. Vibrator in hand, she elicited moans of pleasure from her friend that made her blood race, and her own genitals ached as she ground them against a green thigh. As her face lay on Gaila's verdant shoulder, she couldn't stop herself.
"I love you, Gaila, oh, I love you."
The other woman pushed her head back into the pillows and arched her back. "Nyota, you don't -- ah!" She gasped. "You don't know -- how long I've waited to -- ohhhh -- to hear you say that."
he first time that Gaila saw Jim Kirk, he was getting pummeled in a bar fight. Judging by his lack of concern over his predicament, she figured that he was no stranger to that sort of altercation.
She stepped in, flashing his attackers a beguiling smile. Unused to the powers of Orion persuasion, they lumbered off looking dazed. He looked up at her from where he was sprawled out on the floor, and she knew that she'd never forget those blue eyes, full of defiance and confidence, but with traces of hardness there. Like her, he'd been through hell and fought his way out. She recognized it immediately and knew that she'd found a kindred spirit.
The second time, he had fallen asleep in the computer lab. She poked him when he began snoring, jolting him awake. He shrugged, unconcerned that he had no idea who she was, and suggested that they take a walk. They wandered to the edge of Academy grounds, where they sprawled out on the damp grass and stared up at the stars.
"It's strange, isn't it? Being around all these cadets, most of whom have never seen anything truly horrible in their lives," she mused.
"Is that why you're here with me? You heard about my various childhood traumas?" he snorted derisively.
"I didn't know who you were-just saw the same thing in your eyes that I see in mine."
He stared, appraising her motives, but must have judged her sincere, because he continued. "I don't talk about my past much. Not much left to say. I don't need people's pity and I don't want their help."
"I know," she sighed, closing her eyes and feeling the moonlight playing over her skin. "You don't need to tell me either. It's just … we're not like the others. Most of them have never seen their loved ones murdered, never seen genocide or slavery, never experienced starvation or torture. It's not their fault that they don't understand. I hope that they never do, actually. But people like me and you? We know all too well. Your actions don't come from the same stupid bravado that so many boys have; it's self-confidence borne from survival. They think that we're just cocky; but we've survived the worst that life could throw at us-how can people like them hurt us? We're survivors, Jim. We've been dragged to the edge and fought our way back. That sort of thing leaves a mark."
They talked for hours in hushed tones, stories of slavery on Orion and genocide on Tarsus IV interspersed with silly anecdotes about pranks on professors and various wild shenanigans. Gaila glowed with the heady rush of actually connecting with another person who understood, really understood. Understood about facing the horrors of the universe head on, living with them haunting the corners of your mind, and still loving this messed-up world with all your heart and refusing to live for anything else but yourself. It felt a lot like falling in love.
igh-pitched clanging faded as the red alert klaxon disengaged and engineering fell silent. They'd escaped (barely) with only minimal damages. Scotty glanced over at Gaila, both of them breathing heavily, pupils dilated from adrenaline. Around them various red-shirted crew members milled around, not quite sure if the danger was really over.
"All clear!" Scotty announced after a brief conversation with the Bridge. "Get out of here, you lot-take a break and catch your breath. Job well done. Dismissed."
The officers filed out slowly, still coming down from the rush of their daring escape from a deadly trio of Klingon Birds of Prey.
When the footsteps faded, Gaila turned to Scotty, eyes wide and blazing, and yanked him out of his chair. Dragging him to the closest Jeffries tube, she pushed him down and straddled him, her ridiculously short dress already bunched around her hips. He managed a surprised squeak and the beginnings of a smile before she claimed his mouth, pulling at his belt and trying to kick off his boots with one dexterous leg without breaking the kiss.
His hands ran up and down her sides before coming down to help her free him from the confines of his uniform trousers. Their coupling was short and frantic, both of them buzzed on a heady combination of lust and adrenaline.
Afterward, Gaila pulled him on top of her and kissed a trail across his neck and face. He looked down at her, still a little wobbly, and grinned widely.
"This here is damn good incentive to survive, you know."
Gaila's face turned oddly seriously for a moment. "I always survive. I refuse to accept that there's an alternative." Her bright smile flashed back into existence and she began tickling him, making him squirm. "I expect the same from you, Lieutenant Commander Scott." She wriggled beneath him, and he groaned when she gazed up at him with sultry, half-lidded eyes.
"Kiss me, Commander," she ordered. Scotty was quick to oblige.
nside his private quarters the Lieutenant Commander known as "Cupcake" was an entirely different person. He had another name, of course, a real one, but Gaila loved the way Cupcake sounded in her mouth. With a patient, bemused smirk, he sat still and allowed her to sing-song his name over and over as she explored every inch of him. Tall, broad, and muscular, she thought he might be the largest human she'd ever been with, and she squealed in delight when he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and lifted her above his head, twisting them around, and holding her up against the wall with seemingly no exertion.
Taking his time, he nibbled his way up her legs, from her red-glossed toes up the curve of her calves, teasing over her sensitive knees and languidly licking lazy, curving trails up her thighs until he reached his ultimate goal and began pleasuring her in earnest.
Gaila had never been with anyone who had not loved having sex with her-how could they not? But there was something different about Cupcake, how awestruck and worshipful of her body he was. At first she'd chalked it up to her usually well-controlled pheromone levels spiking post-orgasm, but after a few times she realized that that had nothing to do with it.
Afterward, once they'd caught their breath and appreciated the delectable post-coital glow for a while, she knew what he would want. Cupcake always asked for the same thing. At first she'd been surprised-it didn't seem to fit with the persona he cultivated around the ship, but she'd long since learned that people are entirely different in the bedroom, behind closed doors, guard lowered.
With slow, gentle strokes, he brushed her hair, carefully working through the tangles and smoothing the wild, frizzy fly-aways. She closed her eyes, humming softly, and enjoying the soft sensations on her scalp. Her mother used to do this for her, back when she was a little girl on Orion, always whispering secret words in her ears, words that build her up, strengthened her soul, and offered her the fortitude needed to run away, escape when the opportunity arose, and never look back.
Cupcake said nothing as he slid the brush through her hair; he never did. Sometimes, in these quiet moments, Gaila got the impression that he was thinking of someone else, someone from long ago, and it made her heart ache for him when she saw his reflection in the spartan, Starfleet-issued mirror across from them.
She sighed and leaned contentedly into his ministrations, letting them both take comfort in the quiet. For now, it was more than enough.
an Francisco was glorious. She'd been in awe of the colors and smells and just the feel of it since stepping off the transport ship. This was the Earth that she'd heard stories about, and she wanted desperately to explore, but two over-starched Starfleet officers whisked her off to the Academy immediately to a sea of red-bedecked cadets, regulations, and academia.
She sat next to Hikaru in Xenobiology two days later and smirked when he couldn't stop staring at her, especially when his ears turned bright red whenever she caught him looking. After class, it took him more than a minute of stumbling over words to ask what her name was, which she found oddly endearing. They chatted amiably as they walked to lunch, and his eyes lit up and he stopped in his tracks when she mentioned her desire to see the city.
"I was born here! I know this city better than anyone. I could show you … um, if you wanted, that is." She laughed at his red face and agreed enthusiastically.
On Saturday he took her downtown and, true to his word, showed her the city as only a local could. They visited the Wharf, ate steaming sourdough bread, and chatted with the fishermen, who mended their nets with nimble, gnarled fingers and shouted bawdy tales over the sound of the waves; ran barefoot on the beach, leaping over driftwood logs and letting the freezing ocean water nip at their feet; sampled pho, curry, dim sum, tacos, crepes, ice cream, and hot dogs from street carts with large, colorful umbrellas and handmade signs; ducked through alleys where the old women still hung out their laundry between the buildings, gossiping with each other on their tiny balconies as they pinned up their sheets; and rode on rickety cable cars that were still connected to cables for show, even though they had been long-since equipped with hover technology.
As they sat along a stone wall and watched the ships docking in the harbor as the sun began its final decline, Gaila leaned over and kissed him.
"Thanks," he managed, face flushing and voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you," she said. "I knew that Earth had to be amazing, from all the stories I'd heard. But I've been on ships and outlying colonies for years trying to get clearance to come here. This was my first time exploring a Terran city!"
"Well, you chose a good one-San Francisco is the best. Though, I might be a little bit biased," Sulu allowed, his grin lighting up his face in the dimming twilight.
"We're going to be fantastic friends, Hikaru," she declared and took another deep whiff of the air, which smelled of salt and fish and something sweet from a nearby café. He smiled and together they stared out at the waves playing over the shore.
ell, she thinks distantly, this is grief.
She digs her toes into the soft sod, savoring the squelch of mud between her toes. The doctors were wary of letting her out in the sun so soon, but the healing trance Spock had induced after her rescue had cut her recuperation time nearly in half, and she needs a good dose of sunlight to stimulate her chlorophyll. The weather's beautiful, sunny and balmy with a bite of that San Francisco chill, and normally the air would be full of the chatter of just-graduated cadets moving out of their dorms and into the spacious quarters of their new lives. Not today, not this year. Gaila is one of four survivors off the Farragut; there were two from the Potemkin, and they're still finding cadets drifting in orbit, half-crazed from being stuck for weeks in escape pods floating just outside the gravitational pull of the singularity where Vulcan once was. Ninety-five percent of her graduating class, dead, ninety-five percent of her friends, all dead, and still the sun shines. How many lifetimes has it seen pass by?
Gaila flops onto her back, skin against earth, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of mineral-rich dirt, feeling the shift of the soil under her fingers; she can sense the little sprigs of grass stretching to the sky, tiny and frail but valiant, determined to survive. The raw new skin on her body tingles as it absorbs the sun, darkening from the palest green of new shoots to a deeper emerald. She concentrates on the sensation, uses it as a distraction. Someone sits down next to her on the grass, a graceful and quiet motion, and a cool shadow falls over her torso. She's just not in the mood to deal with the questions now, always the damn questions - so she says, a bit sharply, "Sorry, but can you move? You're blocking the sun."
"My apologies," says Spock, and the shadow moves away, and Gaila opens her eyes to see him standing above her, observing her, and Nyota by her side, tangling her fingers in the grass, looking at her with dark eyes full of love and sadness, touching Gaila's hand softly with two fingers before saying, "Hi, leaflet."
Gaila makes a noise that's both a laugh and a sob and engulfs Nyota in a hug, kissing her wet and sloppy and open-mouthed, probably totally inappropriate by human standards but she doesn't care right now, and Nyota kisses her back, and wraps her arms around Gaila's back, and holds her.
"I'm so glad you're not dead," Gaila tells her, and Nyota chuckles against her neck, a sad sound. Gaila looks up at Spock. His posture is stiff, his hands clamped tightly behind his back. He contains himself well - no flicker of a facial expression, no waver to his voice - but grief radiates out of his every pore, if you know how to look, and Gaila does. She extends her hand, inviting him to sit, brushing her fingers lightly against his, a Vulcan kiss.
"The gods weep a thousand thousand tears for you," she tells him, falling into the lush cadence of the sibilant Orion tongue, since that's the only sound that really encapsulates the sorrow and sincerity she feels. Spock inclines his head and says, "I thank you," and joins them on the ground.
With an arch of an eyebrow, he asks for permission, and she leans close to him; his hand touches her face, and allows her to feel the weight of his emotions - and by the gods, she doesn't know how Vulcans deal with this, how they keep themselves from exploding, the intensity of his grief alone is enough to make her want to take him inside her and comfort him in the only way she knows how - and Nyota pulls her tightly and protectively close again. After some time spent in silence, they stand as one and make their meandering way to the hospital. Nyota's arm is firmly wrapped around her waist, Spock at her other side, occasionally brushing her forearm with his fingertips.
The grass where they sat is crushed in the shape of their bodies, but the little shoots keep growing; they're far from fragile.
lways and never touching and touched," T'Pring murmurs. She ghosts her fingers along Gaila's spine, a whispered caress that leaves Gaila arching for more. "We may be parting, Gaila, but what you have given me will stay with me always."
"Mmm," Gaila agrees, and stretches with the all langor of a sehlat after a kill. "It's nice to be at peace with yourself, isn't it?"
"Nice," T'Pring repeats, and Gaila's lips curve at her disdain for the adjective. "Nice is - imprecise, but I suppose it is accurate."
"I'd say you'd never pick up girls with that attitude, but trust me, add the Starfleet uniform and you totally will," Gaila says. "Everyone goes crazy for science blues."
Her eyes are closed, luxuriating in her post-orgasmic haze and the heat radiating from the rock below them. This is the second time they've made love here; the first was months ago, Gaila gentle and coaxing, T'Pring prickly and irritable and terrified of herself. Gaila smiles at the memory, and touches T'Pring's hand, resting possessively on her hip.
"I," T'Pring is saying haughtily, "have no intention of 'picking up girls', as you say. I am still Vulcan - "
Gaila doesn't pay much attention; they've had this talk before. Instead, she's thinking of T'Pring, and T'Pring's body. Her olive skin (the way love bites bruise it aubergine-green); her thick hair, so satisfying to gather in her hands, to brush and to stroke and sometimes to pull in the heat of passion; her strong heart, quick and steady, low in her side, a tune to lull Gaila to sleep; her eyes, how wide they were when Gaila gave her her first orgasm, how dark and liquid and full of awe at the power of her body. It's the same epiphany Gaila has every time she takes someone inside her, against her: the realization of the divine grace of her physical being. And to share that with someone! There's nothing Gaila likes better than that.
"I'm glad I know you," she says with a pleased sigh, and nuzzles against T'Pring's arm. T'Pring is quiet for a long moment, letting Gaila drift until she's barely awake. Then a touch, T'Pring's hand on her brow, her lips at Gaila's ear.
"And I, you," she whispers. "K'diwa."
ears ago, on a space station orbiting the planet Orion, a woman brushed her young daughter's long, red curls and wondered, not for the first time, how something so beautiful, so precious could have been created by her. Wide, curious eyes met hers in the vanity mirror and a surge of love flowed through her, so strong that she almost had to sit down.
"You are so amazing, do you know that, Gaila?" she murmured, voice always hushed in case they were listening.
"Yes, Mama. I am beautiful and special and exactly who I am supposed to be," she recited, her voice still childish, but her eyes clear and comprehending.
"You never let anyone tell you differently. People will always, always try to make you feel like you are worth less than what you are-you must never ever believe them, baby. You hold your head high and remember that you can do anything. You are so special and so dear and I love you so much. You're going places someday."
"Going places? Away from here?"
"Yes, baby. Away from here," she let her voice drop even more and spoke urgently. "Someday you'll get a chance to leave, Gaila. You must take it, no matter what. You deserve more than this. You go-go far, far away, and don't look back, all right, baby?"
"Away from you?" Gaila asked, face falling.
"Baby, you listen to me. You were born to survive. You're going to get out of here, and you are going to be the amazing, beautiful, incredible woman that you are meant to be, away from here. Remember, they can hurt your body, but they can't ever break your soul-and why is that, Gaila?"
"They can't break me, because I am special and loved and worthwhile, no matter what they say, no matter what happens," Gaila recited dutifully, the words drilled into her.
"And why are you special, Gaila?" she prompted, her voice still a whisper as she ran her fingers through the glossy curls.
"God made me special!" Gaila grinned.
"Why are you special?" she repeated.
"Because you think I'm special-and you're always right!" Gaila added.
"Why are you special, baby?" she asked one last time, completing their ritual, tears shining in her eyes as she watched her beautiful daughter in the mirror.
"I was born this way," the little girl said fervently.
Creator(s): in reverse alphabetical order: zeixx , ladymac111 , katmarajade , joyeuses , and everythingshiny
Universe: AOS with a sprinkling of TOS thrown in
Our Song: Born This Way by Lady Gaga
Word Count: Collection of 11 drabbles with a total of ~5000 words, 2 vids, fanart, manip, and handcrafted cross-stitching.
Rating: R
Summary: My mama told me when I was young, we are all born superstars ... Features: /Chapel, /Romulan Commander, /Rand, /Uhura, /Kirk, /Scotty, /Cupcake, /Sulu, /Spock/Uhura, /T'Pring, and Gaila's mother.
Warnings: mentions of slavery, various delightful sexual exploits
Notes: Additional beta contributions by anodyna and havlockvetinari
Disclaimer: These characters, images from the films/tv show, and the entire Star Trek universe belong to none of us at Team Gaila, only their creators. The song belongs to Lady Gaga. Manip image from Mamma Mia.
My mama told me when I was young, we are all born Superstars/ She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on in the glass of her boudoir/ There's nothing wrong with loving who you are, she said/ 'Cause He made you perfect, babe/ So hold your head up, girl, and you'll go far/ Listen to me when I say ...
Click to viewClick here to see the full-sized version of this art in all its glorious, detailed splendor
ack in Sickbay for the second time in as many days, Gaila was grouchy. Everything had gone fine in her physical, the doctor had said. So why had she been called back? She hated spending her off-duty hours being ordered around.
Her irritation eased when she was greeted not by Dr. McCoy, but by Christine Chapel, whose blue eyes and bright smile always seemed to bring back the wavelengths of the spectrum that were missing from the shipboard light.
"Gaila! I'm glad you got here."
"What's this about?"
"Nothing really important. I just have a couple of questions for you." The nurse escorted her into an office, and offered her a chair. "This is more personal curiosity than actual medical necessity, but I am going to put it in your chart."
Gaila shifted in her chair. It's because I'm alien. Everybody has questions for the green girl. "Because there are so few Orions in Starfleet, so you're collecting data."
Chapel blushed. "Well, yeah."
Gaila pursed her lips and sighed. "Get on with it, then."
"It's about your pheromones ..."
"I just got my booster yesterday," Gaila cut in. "And it wasn't late. They're below threshold."
Chapel's eyes went wide. "Oh, no, nothing like that! This isn't about regulations, just curiosity."
"Okay ..."
Christine blushed again, and kept her eyes on the PADD in her hands. "I was just wondering … I know your pheromones are effective on men of most species, but I was curious if they work on women, too."
Gaila lifted an eyebrow and leaned back. In the immortal words of the ship's first officer, this could get fascinating. "Well, all the time I've been around humans I've had them suppressed, so I've never investigated."
"Oh." Christine seemed disappointed. "But … do you think it's possible?"
Gaila shrugged. "Sure. I mean, they don't work on other Orion women, but between species, who knows what can happen."
Blue eyes met across the small room, and as Christine re-crossed her legs, Gaila caught a whiff of something unmistakable. She realized what this was about. "You think that you've been influenced. Even though I'm only capable of producing an undetectable amount of them." She leaned forward with a grin. "I hate to break it to you this way, but there's no blame-shifting here. What you've got is old-fashioned lust."
Christine's eyes were dilated as she watched Gaila stand and cross the small space to stand before her. "You want me?"
Unable to speak, the nurse nodded.
"Anyone else here right now?"
No -- they were alone.
Gaila's grin broadened. "I'm game. You?"
Her answer was a sudden rush of pale limbs, blond hair, and rosy lips that assaulted hers with the kind of passion she knew only came when restraint was tossed away.
n the Romulan ship, it was night time. The Commander was sleeping lightly, and Gaila very, very quietly slipped out of bed.
"Gaila."
Apparently, she wasn't quiet enough. She paused in the door to the bathroom. "You're awake."
"You're accustomed to humans. We Romulans require less sleep than they do."
"So I see." Gaila turned and tried to adjust her eyes to the dark. She could barely make out the shape of her lover on the bed.
After a long pause, the Commander spoke. "What are you doing out of bed? It's late."
"I guess I'm not used to your time yet. My circadian rhythms are off."
The Commander rose gracefully from the bed and moved to the doorway, and Gaila was amazed again at how lovely her features were, elegant like a Vulcan, but expressive, which added an amazing depth of beauty to her face. "Are you sure you're not sneaking off to report military secrets to your captain?"
"You're clever." Gaila pulled away reluctantly. "I was just going to the bathroom, really."
The Commander gave her a skeptical look, but her eyes lingered on Gaila's naked body. "Come back quickly. I know why you are here, but that doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying it. And I'm glad it's true what they say about Orion women."
With a smile, Gaila turned away towards the bathroom and the Commander went back to bed. Gaila was genuinely sorry that she had to slip out and return to her ship -- her mission was complete -- but she hoped the memory of their time together would be less fleeting than the dalliance itself.
ight at the first corridor, then down to the second door on the left -- Gaila pushed the door open and took in the group in the lounge. There were eight cadets, some still in uniform, most human, and all with yarn in their hands.
The one closest to her -- a curvaceous blond woman with blue-gray eyes -- set down her knitting and stood up with a hand extended. "Hi! I'm Janice. You're here for the Stitch-N-Bitch?"
Gaila smiled, and any nervousness she might have felt vanished. "Yeah. I'm Gaila."
The rest of the group "hello"ed, and Janice patted the couch next to where she had been sitting. "Have a seat and we'll do introductions. You'll go first -- what did you bring to work on?"
Gaila reached into her bag and pulled out her ball of cotton thread and steel crochet hook. "I make doilies."
*****
Gaila soon learned that the Stitch-N-Bitch not only met in Lounge D, but frequently at the bars near campus. She also soon learned that Janice liked to drink cheap beer until she was completely incapable of correctly making a knit stitch.
With a sigh, Gaila stuffed her doily into her bag and took the hat from Janice.
"Hey! I was worrrrrkin on that."
"No, you were making negative progress. Come on, I'm taking you home."
Janice wobbled to her feet. "I don't wanna go back to my room."
Gaila shrugged with a slightly wicked smile as they turned their backs on the rest of the group. "How do you feel about mine?"
"Only if --" Janice poked her in the sternum -- "Only if you have sex with me."
Gaila laughed. "Am I that good, or are you that easy?"
Janice leaned on her and licked her jaw. "Maybe both."
yota would never admit that she loved Gaila. Well, of course, she had said it, but it was always, "I love my roomie, she's so great!" She never admitted that it wasn't platonic love. Gaila was sexy. And the sex they had was ... mind-blowing. Nyota had never had a girlfriend, so she had nothing to compare it to, really, but Gaila was special. Really special.
But somehow, even though she was a linguist, and words were her thing, she had never uttered the one that she felt, the one that was on the tip of her tongue as warm green hands caressed her trembling flesh. Words could take on a life of their own, could ruin good things. And she wasn't going to take that chance.
They had been friends with benefits for almost three months before Nyota got the courage to push Gaila onto her back and take charge. Vibrator in hand, she elicited moans of pleasure from her friend that made her blood race, and her own genitals ached as she ground them against a green thigh. As her face lay on Gaila's verdant shoulder, she couldn't stop herself.
"I love you, Gaila, oh, I love you."
The other woman pushed her head back into the pillows and arched her back. "Nyota, you don't -- ah!" She gasped. "You don't know -- how long I've waited to -- ohhhh -- to hear you say that."
he first time that Gaila saw Jim Kirk, he was getting pummeled in a bar fight. Judging by his lack of concern over his predicament, she figured that he was no stranger to that sort of altercation.
She stepped in, flashing his attackers a beguiling smile. Unused to the powers of Orion persuasion, they lumbered off looking dazed. He looked up at her from where he was sprawled out on the floor, and she knew that she'd never forget those blue eyes, full of defiance and confidence, but with traces of hardness there. Like her, he'd been through hell and fought his way out. She recognized it immediately and knew that she'd found a kindred spirit.
The second time, he had fallen asleep in the computer lab. She poked him when he began snoring, jolting him awake. He shrugged, unconcerned that he had no idea who she was, and suggested that they take a walk. They wandered to the edge of Academy grounds, where they sprawled out on the damp grass and stared up at the stars.
"It's strange, isn't it? Being around all these cadets, most of whom have never seen anything truly horrible in their lives," she mused.
"Is that why you're here with me? You heard about my various childhood traumas?" he snorted derisively.
"I didn't know who you were-just saw the same thing in your eyes that I see in mine."
He stared, appraising her motives, but must have judged her sincere, because he continued. "I don't talk about my past much. Not much left to say. I don't need people's pity and I don't want their help."
"I know," she sighed, closing her eyes and feeling the moonlight playing over her skin. "You don't need to tell me either. It's just … we're not like the others. Most of them have never seen their loved ones murdered, never seen genocide or slavery, never experienced starvation or torture. It's not their fault that they don't understand. I hope that they never do, actually. But people like me and you? We know all too well. Your actions don't come from the same stupid bravado that so many boys have; it's self-confidence borne from survival. They think that we're just cocky; but we've survived the worst that life could throw at us-how can people like them hurt us? We're survivors, Jim. We've been dragged to the edge and fought our way back. That sort of thing leaves a mark."
They talked for hours in hushed tones, stories of slavery on Orion and genocide on Tarsus IV interspersed with silly anecdotes about pranks on professors and various wild shenanigans. Gaila glowed with the heady rush of actually connecting with another person who understood, really understood. Understood about facing the horrors of the universe head on, living with them haunting the corners of your mind, and still loving this messed-up world with all your heart and refusing to live for anything else but yourself. It felt a lot like falling in love.
igh-pitched clanging faded as the red alert klaxon disengaged and engineering fell silent. They'd escaped (barely) with only minimal damages. Scotty glanced over at Gaila, both of them breathing heavily, pupils dilated from adrenaline. Around them various red-shirted crew members milled around, not quite sure if the danger was really over.
"All clear!" Scotty announced after a brief conversation with the Bridge. "Get out of here, you lot-take a break and catch your breath. Job well done. Dismissed."
The officers filed out slowly, still coming down from the rush of their daring escape from a deadly trio of Klingon Birds of Prey.
When the footsteps faded, Gaila turned to Scotty, eyes wide and blazing, and yanked him out of his chair. Dragging him to the closest Jeffries tube, she pushed him down and straddled him, her ridiculously short dress already bunched around her hips. He managed a surprised squeak and the beginnings of a smile before she claimed his mouth, pulling at his belt and trying to kick off his boots with one dexterous leg without breaking the kiss.
His hands ran up and down her sides before coming down to help her free him from the confines of his uniform trousers. Their coupling was short and frantic, both of them buzzed on a heady combination of lust and adrenaline.
Afterward, Gaila pulled him on top of her and kissed a trail across his neck and face. He looked down at her, still a little wobbly, and grinned widely.
"This here is damn good incentive to survive, you know."
Gaila's face turned oddly seriously for a moment. "I always survive. I refuse to accept that there's an alternative." Her bright smile flashed back into existence and she began tickling him, making him squirm. "I expect the same from you, Lieutenant Commander Scott." She wriggled beneath him, and he groaned when she gazed up at him with sultry, half-lidded eyes.
"Kiss me, Commander," she ordered. Scotty was quick to oblige.
nside his private quarters the Lieutenant Commander known as "Cupcake" was an entirely different person. He had another name, of course, a real one, but Gaila loved the way Cupcake sounded in her mouth. With a patient, bemused smirk, he sat still and allowed her to sing-song his name over and over as she explored every inch of him. Tall, broad, and muscular, she thought he might be the largest human she'd ever been with, and she squealed in delight when he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and lifted her above his head, twisting them around, and holding her up against the wall with seemingly no exertion.
Taking his time, he nibbled his way up her legs, from her red-glossed toes up the curve of her calves, teasing over her sensitive knees and languidly licking lazy, curving trails up her thighs until he reached his ultimate goal and began pleasuring her in earnest.
Gaila had never been with anyone who had not loved having sex with her-how could they not? But there was something different about Cupcake, how awestruck and worshipful of her body he was. At first she'd chalked it up to her usually well-controlled pheromone levels spiking post-orgasm, but after a few times she realized that that had nothing to do with it.
Afterward, once they'd caught their breath and appreciated the delectable post-coital glow for a while, she knew what he would want. Cupcake always asked for the same thing. At first she'd been surprised-it didn't seem to fit with the persona he cultivated around the ship, but she'd long since learned that people are entirely different in the bedroom, behind closed doors, guard lowered.
With slow, gentle strokes, he brushed her hair, carefully working through the tangles and smoothing the wild, frizzy fly-aways. She closed her eyes, humming softly, and enjoying the soft sensations on her scalp. Her mother used to do this for her, back when she was a little girl on Orion, always whispering secret words in her ears, words that build her up, strengthened her soul, and offered her the fortitude needed to run away, escape when the opportunity arose, and never look back.
Cupcake said nothing as he slid the brush through her hair; he never did. Sometimes, in these quiet moments, Gaila got the impression that he was thinking of someone else, someone from long ago, and it made her heart ache for him when she saw his reflection in the spartan, Starfleet-issued mirror across from them.
She sighed and leaned contentedly into his ministrations, letting them both take comfort in the quiet. For now, it was more than enough.
an Francisco was glorious. She'd been in awe of the colors and smells and just the feel of it since stepping off the transport ship. This was the Earth that she'd heard stories about, and she wanted desperately to explore, but two over-starched Starfleet officers whisked her off to the Academy immediately to a sea of red-bedecked cadets, regulations, and academia.
She sat next to Hikaru in Xenobiology two days later and smirked when he couldn't stop staring at her, especially when his ears turned bright red whenever she caught him looking. After class, it took him more than a minute of stumbling over words to ask what her name was, which she found oddly endearing. They chatted amiably as they walked to lunch, and his eyes lit up and he stopped in his tracks when she mentioned her desire to see the city.
"I was born here! I know this city better than anyone. I could show you … um, if you wanted, that is." She laughed at his red face and agreed enthusiastically.
On Saturday he took her downtown and, true to his word, showed her the city as only a local could. They visited the Wharf, ate steaming sourdough bread, and chatted with the fishermen, who mended their nets with nimble, gnarled fingers and shouted bawdy tales over the sound of the waves; ran barefoot on the beach, leaping over driftwood logs and letting the freezing ocean water nip at their feet; sampled pho, curry, dim sum, tacos, crepes, ice cream, and hot dogs from street carts with large, colorful umbrellas and handmade signs; ducked through alleys where the old women still hung out their laundry between the buildings, gossiping with each other on their tiny balconies as they pinned up their sheets; and rode on rickety cable cars that were still connected to cables for show, even though they had been long-since equipped with hover technology.
As they sat along a stone wall and watched the ships docking in the harbor as the sun began its final decline, Gaila leaned over and kissed him.
"Thanks," he managed, face flushing and voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you," she said. "I knew that Earth had to be amazing, from all the stories I'd heard. But I've been on ships and outlying colonies for years trying to get clearance to come here. This was my first time exploring a Terran city!"
"Well, you chose a good one-San Francisco is the best. Though, I might be a little bit biased," Sulu allowed, his grin lighting up his face in the dimming twilight.
"We're going to be fantastic friends, Hikaru," she declared and took another deep whiff of the air, which smelled of salt and fish and something sweet from a nearby café. He smiled and together they stared out at the waves playing over the shore.
ell, she thinks distantly, this is grief.
She digs her toes into the soft sod, savoring the squelch of mud between her toes. The doctors were wary of letting her out in the sun so soon, but the healing trance Spock had induced after her rescue had cut her recuperation time nearly in half, and she needs a good dose of sunlight to stimulate her chlorophyll. The weather's beautiful, sunny and balmy with a bite of that San Francisco chill, and normally the air would be full of the chatter of just-graduated cadets moving out of their dorms and into the spacious quarters of their new lives. Not today, not this year. Gaila is one of four survivors off the Farragut; there were two from the Potemkin, and they're still finding cadets drifting in orbit, half-crazed from being stuck for weeks in escape pods floating just outside the gravitational pull of the singularity where Vulcan once was. Ninety-five percent of her graduating class, dead, ninety-five percent of her friends, all dead, and still the sun shines. How many lifetimes has it seen pass by?
Gaila flops onto her back, skin against earth, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of mineral-rich dirt, feeling the shift of the soil under her fingers; she can sense the little sprigs of grass stretching to the sky, tiny and frail but valiant, determined to survive. The raw new skin on her body tingles as it absorbs the sun, darkening from the palest green of new shoots to a deeper emerald. She concentrates on the sensation, uses it as a distraction. Someone sits down next to her on the grass, a graceful and quiet motion, and a cool shadow falls over her torso. She's just not in the mood to deal with the questions now, always the damn questions - so she says, a bit sharply, "Sorry, but can you move? You're blocking the sun."
"My apologies," says Spock, and the shadow moves away, and Gaila opens her eyes to see him standing above her, observing her, and Nyota by her side, tangling her fingers in the grass, looking at her with dark eyes full of love and sadness, touching Gaila's hand softly with two fingers before saying, "Hi, leaflet."
Gaila makes a noise that's both a laugh and a sob and engulfs Nyota in a hug, kissing her wet and sloppy and open-mouthed, probably totally inappropriate by human standards but she doesn't care right now, and Nyota kisses her back, and wraps her arms around Gaila's back, and holds her.
"I'm so glad you're not dead," Gaila tells her, and Nyota chuckles against her neck, a sad sound. Gaila looks up at Spock. His posture is stiff, his hands clamped tightly behind his back. He contains himself well - no flicker of a facial expression, no waver to his voice - but grief radiates out of his every pore, if you know how to look, and Gaila does. She extends her hand, inviting him to sit, brushing her fingers lightly against his, a Vulcan kiss.
"The gods weep a thousand thousand tears for you," she tells him, falling into the lush cadence of the sibilant Orion tongue, since that's the only sound that really encapsulates the sorrow and sincerity she feels. Spock inclines his head and says, "I thank you," and joins them on the ground.
With an arch of an eyebrow, he asks for permission, and she leans close to him; his hand touches her face, and allows her to feel the weight of his emotions - and by the gods, she doesn't know how Vulcans deal with this, how they keep themselves from exploding, the intensity of his grief alone is enough to make her want to take him inside her and comfort him in the only way she knows how - and Nyota pulls her tightly and protectively close again. After some time spent in silence, they stand as one and make their meandering way to the hospital. Nyota's arm is firmly wrapped around her waist, Spock at her other side, occasionally brushing her forearm with his fingertips.
The grass where they sat is crushed in the shape of their bodies, but the little shoots keep growing; they're far from fragile.
lways and never touching and touched," T'Pring murmurs. She ghosts her fingers along Gaila's spine, a whispered caress that leaves Gaila arching for more. "We may be parting, Gaila, but what you have given me will stay with me always."
"Mmm," Gaila agrees, and stretches with the all langor of a sehlat after a kill. "It's nice to be at peace with yourself, isn't it?"
"Nice," T'Pring repeats, and Gaila's lips curve at her disdain for the adjective. "Nice is - imprecise, but I suppose it is accurate."
"I'd say you'd never pick up girls with that attitude, but trust me, add the Starfleet uniform and you totally will," Gaila says. "Everyone goes crazy for science blues."
Her eyes are closed, luxuriating in her post-orgasmic haze and the heat radiating from the rock below them. This is the second time they've made love here; the first was months ago, Gaila gentle and coaxing, T'Pring prickly and irritable and terrified of herself. Gaila smiles at the memory, and touches T'Pring's hand, resting possessively on her hip.
"I," T'Pring is saying haughtily, "have no intention of 'picking up girls', as you say. I am still Vulcan - "
Gaila doesn't pay much attention; they've had this talk before. Instead, she's thinking of T'Pring, and T'Pring's body. Her olive skin (the way love bites bruise it aubergine-green); her thick hair, so satisfying to gather in her hands, to brush and to stroke and sometimes to pull in the heat of passion; her strong heart, quick and steady, low in her side, a tune to lull Gaila to sleep; her eyes, how wide they were when Gaila gave her her first orgasm, how dark and liquid and full of awe at the power of her body. It's the same epiphany Gaila has every time she takes someone inside her, against her: the realization of the divine grace of her physical being. And to share that with someone! There's nothing Gaila likes better than that.
"I'm glad I know you," she says with a pleased sigh, and nuzzles against T'Pring's arm. T'Pring is quiet for a long moment, letting Gaila drift until she's barely awake. Then a touch, T'Pring's hand on her brow, her lips at Gaila's ear.
"And I, you," she whispers. "K'diwa."
ears ago, on a space station orbiting the planet Orion, a woman brushed her young daughter's long, red curls and wondered, not for the first time, how something so beautiful, so precious could have been created by her. Wide, curious eyes met hers in the vanity mirror and a surge of love flowed through her, so strong that she almost had to sit down.
"You are so amazing, do you know that, Gaila?" she murmured, voice always hushed in case they were listening.
"Yes, Mama. I am beautiful and special and exactly who I am supposed to be," she recited, her voice still childish, but her eyes clear and comprehending.
"You never let anyone tell you differently. People will always, always try to make you feel like you are worth less than what you are-you must never ever believe them, baby. You hold your head high and remember that you can do anything. You are so special and so dear and I love you so much. You're going places someday."
"Going places? Away from here?"
"Yes, baby. Away from here," she let her voice drop even more and spoke urgently. "Someday you'll get a chance to leave, Gaila. You must take it, no matter what. You deserve more than this. You go-go far, far away, and don't look back, all right, baby?"
"Away from you?" Gaila asked, face falling.
"Baby, you listen to me. You were born to survive. You're going to get out of here, and you are going to be the amazing, beautiful, incredible woman that you are meant to be, away from here. Remember, they can hurt your body, but they can't ever break your soul-and why is that, Gaila?"
"They can't break me, because I am special and loved and worthwhile, no matter what they say, no matter what happens," Gaila recited dutifully, the words drilled into her.
"And why are you special, Gaila?" she prompted, her voice still a whisper as she ran her fingers through the glossy curls.
"God made me special!" Gaila grinned.
"Why are you special?" she repeated.
"Because you think I'm special-and you're always right!" Gaila added.
"Why are you special, baby?" she asked one last time, completing their ritual, tears shining in her eyes as she watched her beautiful daughter in the mirror.
"I was born this way," the little girl said fervently.
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