fic: Warm Below the Storm (ST: Reboot)
Warm Below the Storm
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Rating: teen (barely)
Characters: Sulu (a little Sulu/Gaila, if you like)
Summary: His rescuers are sentient cephalopods. Sulu's seen too much porn not to experience some consternation.
A/N: For hc-bingo. (Prompt: tentacles, obviously.) 977 words.
His shuttle was hurtling toward the sea and the cabin was on fire, so he’d ejected. His parachute deployed. But then … something happened to it. He couldn’t remember, or else he didn’t see what it was, but one moment he was gliding with the briny wind rushing past his shoulders, and the next he was plummeting toward the cold, gray waves.
It hurt when he hit the water. He tried to keep his body perfectly straight, with his arms crossed over his chest, but it was like crashing through glass. Pain lanced up and down his body, and that was really the last thing he remembered.
*
The first thing Sulu remembered upon waking was his co-pilot.
Did Resnik make it out of the cockpit?
He pushed sluggishly through his fragmented memories, but all that came back to him was a voice, high with fear, saying, “Lieutenant, she’s not responding, I can’t pull up!”
Don’t be dead, he thought as a wave of nausea hit him, and he turned his head weakly so he could vomit.
As his stomach heaved, something thick and cold settled over his left wrist. Confused, but too tired for fear, he tried to turn his head again, to see what it was. But that small movement sent black spots dancing before his eyes, and he passed out again.
*
When he next awoke, his head was almost painfully clear. Every sensation stood out like a star against the blackness of space. Cold air brushed his face, but the rest of his body was warm. Something covered him, from the soles of his feet to his collarbone; it shifted when he did, sort of … wobbled. It was like … some kind of gelatinous cocoon. That didn’t make any sense, but he accepted it, since there was nothing else he could do at the moment. He just didn’t have the strength.
The cocoon smelled pleasant. Kind of briny and … some other scent that he couldn’t identify, something crisp and decidedly alien.
He tried to be frightened. He really did, especially when he felt that cold, thick thing again. This time it laid itself across his brow, and he knew it was a tentacle: a big one, at least as thick as his ankle. He’d seen enough porn; a friend in high school had had a print of that old Japanese woodcut, “Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife,” or whatever it was called, stuck to the inside of his closet door.
He was on an alien planet, wounded, and immobilized by a gelatinous cocoon. And there were tentacles.
But for some reason, he couldn’t feel fear. The tentacle sort of caressed his brow, and he felt soothed.
“Uh,” he said.
Another tentacle laid itself alongside his neck.
“Um,” said Sulu.
After that, the thing didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but Sulu was suddenly aware of a growing contentment. It started as a warm glow in his extremities and traveled inward, until his heart felt haloed in softness and light.
“Hmm,” he said.
*
They were the Kivi. That was Sulu’s best approximation of the sound they used to identify themselves, anyway. They communicated both empathically and using a wide range of whistles and chortles. They resembled the octopuses of Earth, except that they had ten legs, and longer, more versatile beaks.
At first, Sulu thought they were drab, putty-colored. As he met more of them, however, he became aware of the subtle differences in their hues. They ranged from a soft seashell pink to a pale tawny-gold. Underwater, they appeared even more vibrant.
They liked to decorate, and when he was feeling better, they showed Sulu what they had done with a few nearby grottos and half-submerged caves.
They found his sunken shuttle, with Lieutenant Resnik’s body curled over the console. They shared his grief, patting his hands and his knees with their tentacles.
They were not exactly offended by the porn he at first could not stop thinking about, but they made it clear that, while they found him cute, they were not interested in him that way.
They brought him succulent tubers, which they cultivated in their underwater gardens. They brought him more plants, both edible and inedible, once they found out that botany interested him.
At night, they wrapped him in his gelatinous cocoon-blanket, patted him on the head, and slipped into the sea.
They were the perfect hosts.
*
They weren’t there when Kirk and the others found him. They liked Sulu, and would probably have kept him had that been an option, but they decided - collectively, it seemed to him - that they wanted to be left alone at present.
So he couldn’t say anything about his being rescued from drowning, the care he’d received, the friendship…
Friendship?
Yeah, he supposed it had been something like that.
McCoy looked at him suspiciously after scanning him with a tricorder and finding no sign of recent injury, but all Sulu could do was shrug and say, “Just got lucky, I guess.”
Gaila was the one who spotted the suction mark on the back of his shoulder, when they were warming up before a workout. He didn’t know how he’d missed it himself. Her blue eyes lit up and she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said, rolling his eyes.
She dropped her hand, cocked her head at him, and said challengingly, “Oh, yeah? What am I thinking?”
“Uh, just don’t, okay?” He started to walk away from her, in the direction of the free weights. After a few paces, he stopped and glanced back at her.
Her lips were curved in a curious smile.
“Please?” he said. But then he flashed her a quick grin. Let her believe what she wanted. He didn’t exactly mind being the subject of her fantasies.
6/11/10
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Rating: teen (barely)
Characters: Sulu (a little Sulu/Gaila, if you like)
Summary: His rescuers are sentient cephalopods. Sulu's seen too much porn not to experience some consternation.
A/N: For hc-bingo. (Prompt: tentacles, obviously.) 977 words.
His shuttle was hurtling toward the sea and the cabin was on fire, so he’d ejected. His parachute deployed. But then … something happened to it. He couldn’t remember, or else he didn’t see what it was, but one moment he was gliding with the briny wind rushing past his shoulders, and the next he was plummeting toward the cold, gray waves.
It hurt when he hit the water. He tried to keep his body perfectly straight, with his arms crossed over his chest, but it was like crashing through glass. Pain lanced up and down his body, and that was really the last thing he remembered.
*
The first thing Sulu remembered upon waking was his co-pilot.
Did Resnik make it out of the cockpit?
He pushed sluggishly through his fragmented memories, but all that came back to him was a voice, high with fear, saying, “Lieutenant, she’s not responding, I can’t pull up!”
Don’t be dead, he thought as a wave of nausea hit him, and he turned his head weakly so he could vomit.
As his stomach heaved, something thick and cold settled over his left wrist. Confused, but too tired for fear, he tried to turn his head again, to see what it was. But that small movement sent black spots dancing before his eyes, and he passed out again.
*
When he next awoke, his head was almost painfully clear. Every sensation stood out like a star against the blackness of space. Cold air brushed his face, but the rest of his body was warm. Something covered him, from the soles of his feet to his collarbone; it shifted when he did, sort of … wobbled. It was like … some kind of gelatinous cocoon. That didn’t make any sense, but he accepted it, since there was nothing else he could do at the moment. He just didn’t have the strength.
The cocoon smelled pleasant. Kind of briny and … some other scent that he couldn’t identify, something crisp and decidedly alien.
He tried to be frightened. He really did, especially when he felt that cold, thick thing again. This time it laid itself across his brow, and he knew it was a tentacle: a big one, at least as thick as his ankle. He’d seen enough porn; a friend in high school had had a print of that old Japanese woodcut, “Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife,” or whatever it was called, stuck to the inside of his closet door.
He was on an alien planet, wounded, and immobilized by a gelatinous cocoon. And there were tentacles.
But for some reason, he couldn’t feel fear. The tentacle sort of caressed his brow, and he felt soothed.
“Uh,” he said.
Another tentacle laid itself alongside his neck.
“Um,” said Sulu.
After that, the thing didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but Sulu was suddenly aware of a growing contentment. It started as a warm glow in his extremities and traveled inward, until his heart felt haloed in softness and light.
“Hmm,” he said.
*
They were the Kivi. That was Sulu’s best approximation of the sound they used to identify themselves, anyway. They communicated both empathically and using a wide range of whistles and chortles. They resembled the octopuses of Earth, except that they had ten legs, and longer, more versatile beaks.
At first, Sulu thought they were drab, putty-colored. As he met more of them, however, he became aware of the subtle differences in their hues. They ranged from a soft seashell pink to a pale tawny-gold. Underwater, they appeared even more vibrant.
They liked to decorate, and when he was feeling better, they showed Sulu what they had done with a few nearby grottos and half-submerged caves.
They found his sunken shuttle, with Lieutenant Resnik’s body curled over the console. They shared his grief, patting his hands and his knees with their tentacles.
They were not exactly offended by the porn he at first could not stop thinking about, but they made it clear that, while they found him cute, they were not interested in him that way.
They brought him succulent tubers, which they cultivated in their underwater gardens. They brought him more plants, both edible and inedible, once they found out that botany interested him.
At night, they wrapped him in his gelatinous cocoon-blanket, patted him on the head, and slipped into the sea.
They were the perfect hosts.
*
They weren’t there when Kirk and the others found him. They liked Sulu, and would probably have kept him had that been an option, but they decided - collectively, it seemed to him - that they wanted to be left alone at present.
So he couldn’t say anything about his being rescued from drowning, the care he’d received, the friendship…
Friendship?
Yeah, he supposed it had been something like that.
McCoy looked at him suspiciously after scanning him with a tricorder and finding no sign of recent injury, but all Sulu could do was shrug and say, “Just got lucky, I guess.”
Gaila was the one who spotted the suction mark on the back of his shoulder, when they were warming up before a workout. He didn’t know how he’d missed it himself. Her blue eyes lit up and she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said, rolling his eyes.
She dropped her hand, cocked her head at him, and said challengingly, “Oh, yeah? What am I thinking?”
“Uh, just don’t, okay?” He started to walk away from her, in the direction of the free weights. After a few paces, he stopped and glanced back at her.
Her lips were curved in a curious smile.
“Please?” he said. But then he flashed her a quick grin. Let her believe what she wanted. He didn’t exactly mind being the subject of her fantasies.
6/11/10