Ship Olympics: Event 2: Team Gaila
Title: Gaila: A History in Seven First Acts
Creator(s): anodyna , havlockvetinari,joyeuses , ladymac111
Universe: AOS
Word Count: 5733
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Nobody's ever said Gaila lacks initiative. A portrait of a girl who knows how to start something. (Gaila/herself; Gaila/Pike; Gaila/Uhura; Gaila/Scotty; Gaila/Spock; Gaila/T'Pring; Gaila/Sarek/Spock Prime)
Disclaimer: Star Trek, Gaila, and all her paramours belong to their creators. We just like to play with them.
i.
It was her own little rebellion, the only thing she could truly call her own. Not that she was fooled into thinking that it couldn't be taken away; with sufficient brutality everything could be taken from you.
They could take away petty little things, shave your gorgeous hair because you stole scraps to feed your sick bunk-mate. They could take away those private little moments when Ellie braided your hair, large fingers graceful and soothing as they washed away the day's little hurts.
They could turn off your heat in the dead of winter for learning Standard, something that made their lives harder. They had to pay more attention to what you heard, had to treat you like a threat instead of dumb cattle. Ellie tells you it is dangerous, making them think like that, but you know better. You know the exact line you would have to cross to stop being worth the trouble to them. For now you will skirt it carefully, flirting with its dangerous eyes and frighteningly sharp teeth.
They could take away every choice you had, what to wear, when to eat, who to touch, who to make love to. If they worked hard enough, if they were clever and you crossed the line they could even take away your smile, but they aren't clever and you are furious and determined.
You will greet every day with a bright smile, because you are alive. You will hug Ellie, because he is large and kind and terrified and deserves to be loved. You will try and love each of your clients, because they are sad and broken beings who have lost their way. You will be kind to the service droids because nothing deserves to be seen as only a tool.
You will lie back in your bunk and dream of the stars while you plot your escape. You will slide your hands down sensitive sides, gasp at the pleasure of nails scratched just so up your thighs and arch into clever, practiced fingers. You will love yourself, because you refuse to be broken, because one day you will be free and you want to love whomever you choose, because you cannot look with love into the heart of another being until you take joy in yourself.
ii.
Chris is lying back in the steaming water, contemplating the ceiling of the Risan bathhouse, when a voice addresses him.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?"
His lifts his head to find the Orion sitting a few feet away on the rim of the pool, looking at him expectantly.
"Be my guest," he says, trying not to show his surprise. He's been seeing her around the resort for three or four days now--usually stretched out on a lounge reading her PADD, sometimes just watching the crowd, and once, memorably, lying nude in the sun on an isolated terrace where Chris had gone expecting solitude--but this is the first time he's heard her speak to someone who's not an attendant.
If she notices his reaction, she doesn't show it. "Thanks," she says. She drops her towel and slips gracefully into the water, going under for a few seconds before surfacing, pushing her wet red curls back from her face. After a moment she opens her eyes and smiles at him--another surprise.
"I know you," she says.
Chris raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"I mean, I've seen you. Around, different places. You interrupted my sunbath the other day."
He blushes slightly, to his annoyance. "Sorry about that. I tried to leave without disturbing you."
She shrugs. "I didn't mind. I'm Gaila."
"Nice to meet you, Gaila. I'm Chris," he says. "How do you like Risa so far?"
It's a standard question, but she gives it some thought. "I haven't decided yet. It's different than I expected."
"How so? Not enough reading material?"
That makes her laugh. "Yes, actually. I want to learn stellar cartography, but the library keeps trying to serve me erotica. It's some kind of glitch, I think."
"It must be," he says, though that actually sounds a lot like how a Risan library would operate.
He wants to ask her why stellar cartography, but he's interrupted by a ripple of murmurs and splashing as the lights suddenly dim to half-power. It's artificial twilight; also known as the signal on Risa that those who want to keep their inhibitions intact have 15 minutes to leave the baths.
Normally, that's Chris's cue to go. Night in the Risan bathhouse isn't his scene--at least, it hasn't been. He spends his evenings in the bar instead. There's still plenty of alcohol there, but less risk of seeing an Andorian getting it on with a tentacle-creature in the next pool.
Yeah, he should definitely leave.
Only--now there's Gaila, looking around her curiously like everything's new and fascinating. For a second he thinks maybe she doesn't know, maybe she missed that part in the tourist manual. But then she looks at him, and lifts one eyebrow in wordless question, like a challenge: Are you staying?
"Oh, hell," he mutters to himself. There's a heat pooling in his belly that has nothing to do with the steaming water, and to distract himself from it he signals the attendant for more drinks. A silent waitress appears at his elbow with a tray; he hands one glass to Gaila and keeps the other.
"Cheers," he says, and takes a long swallow. When he lowers the glass, Gaila's staring at his right hand.
"Starfleet."
Chris can hear One's voice now, making fun of him for the way he leaves that ring on. "You say you want to be anonymous," she'd said, rolling her eyes, "but you can't let go of Starfleet, even on vacation. You might as well get a tattoo."
"Starfleet, yes," he says. "That's what I do."
Gaila nods, as if that explains something--which, if it does, Chris wishes she'd explain it to him. "That's what you're escaping from."
Chris blinks. "What makes you think I'm--"
"I can tell. Discontent is a tangible emotion to an Orion. We feel it kind of--" She lifts her hand from the water and wiggles her fingers, "--here. When I feel someone's discontent, it makes me want to grasp things."
"I wasn't aware Orions had that capability."
"But you agree you're discontented."
Chris looks down. Denials suggest themselves, but it doesn't seem fair to answer an honest question with a bunch of diplomatic tap-dancing. He does enough dancing for his superiors. "My work isn't what it used to be," he says. "Starfleet's changed, or I've changed. I came here because I thought with some time alone I could figure out how to fix it."
"How's that going so far?"
"Apparently I'm radiating discontent, so I'd say not too well."
Gaila blushes, a rose tint through the green. "Sorry. It's not a very fair advantage I have."
He shakes his head. "Word of advice, Gaila: Don't apologize for your gifts. You never know when one's going to be the thing that saves you."
She'd moved closer to see his ring, and now she's closer still. He realizes it abruptly, how very near her wide blue eyes are to his, just a second before she kisses him.
"What was that for?" he asks carefully, when she draws back for a breath, her lips still parted. The heat in his belly has turned into a clamor, but he ignores it--at least he tries.
"An experiment," she says.
"I see. May I ask what kind?"
"I'm going have to decide a lot of things for myself soon. I need to practice exercising free will."
"You came to Risa for that?"
She smiles. "Can you think of a more appropriate place?"
If he can, he doesn't get to say, because then she's kissing him again, and whatever scruples he's been clinging to give way like a house of cards. He steadies her hips as she climbs into his lap, her knees on the bench on either side of him, and she's already deftly untying his loincloth when he breaks the kiss, gasping, and presses his forehead to hers.
"What do you want, Gaila?" It comes out in a rasp; god damn it, he's not young anymore.
"My freedom," she says softly.
"I think you have it."
She shakes her head. "It doesn't feel like it yet."
It would take more will than Chris has, maybe more than he's ever had, to stop her, and anyway he doesn't try. She has him free of the loincloth before he can do more than thread his fingers in her hair, and at the first brush of her body against him he lets out a groan even he doesn't recognize. She's half a second from doing what he hopes to god she's planning to do, when abruptly she goes still.
His eyes flicker open and she's right there, blue eyes with dark pupils, wide open like the depths of space.
"I need your consent," she says.
He almost laughs--not because she's laughable but from the sheer impossibility of this, because he feels broken and something just came loose. But he doesn't laugh. Her eyes don't let him.
"You have it," he says, like the damn fool he is; and she smiles against his mouth as the lights go out.
iii.
When she enrolled in Starfleet Academy, Nyota Uhura made a deal with herself. She was going to live fearlessly, to try things she never would have before, to be open-minded and make new friends in the process.
All the same, it was a bit of a shock to find that her assigned roommate was Orion. Nyota had heard things about Orions, of course. Everyone had. They were supposed to be these sex fiends, who can use their pheromones to seduce men (and, presumably, women) against their will. This contradicted the other rumors, that Orion women can't help being so sexy, and are exploited as slaves or worse.
Gaila herself came as a bit of a surprise, not only in that she spoke technically perfect Federation Standard with only a hint of an accent and an incomplete grasp of common figures of speech. From what Nyota had gathered from her other friends, her roommate was much like theirs in most ways. One thing Nyota really appreciated about Gaila was her openness on the topic of sex, something that a lot of human roommates were apparently reluctant to talk about -- yes, there would be boys in the room, and she would be naked with them, on a regular basis. So after one unfortunate incident in the first week, they set up a system so that Nyota would never unknowingly walk in to a stranger's butt in the air, and decided which hours were roommates-only time. The only thing Gaila seemed surprised about was Nyota's final rule: Don't have sex in my bed.
"What if it's with you?"
Nyota couldn't tell if her roommate was joking, or if there was an undercurrent of seriousness. "We'll cross that bridge if we get to it," was her mumbled reply.
The first few months of the year went as smoothly as you could expect. Classes were hard, there were boys in the room, PT was hell on earth, and Gaila and Nyota started becoming close. Some nights they would stay up late chatting about anything and everything, laughing and crying and complaining and commiserating.
As the first semester drew to a close, Nyota's nerves were getting frazzled. She was busy every moment, it seemed, and only barely holding on to her grade in Celestial Mechanics. And to make matters worse, she hadn't gotten laid -- or even gone on a date! -- since she left Kenya. She found her vibrator left her increasingly unfulfilled, and more and more she would wake from a dream about that tall, dark Phonology TA and want to scream in frustration.
A light is on when she gasps and opens her eyes. Gaila is sitting on her bed with a big stack of PADDs, her blue eyes curious. "What is it? Have a bad dream?"
Nyota wriggles out of her tangle of sheets and flops on her back. "Sort of."
"A frustrating dream, then? I can tell, you know." She taps her nose. "You haven't been having sex with anybody."
"Ugh!" Nyota pulls a pillow over her face. "Can we not have this conversation right now?"
"Nyota, I want to help you. You're all stressed out and this isn't helping you." The mattress shifts as Gaila sits down at the foot of the bed.
Nyota peeks out. "So what do you suggest? Just pick up some guy? I don't do that."
Gaila raises her eyebrows and flips her russet hair over her shoulder. "I wasn't going to suggest a guy."
"I ..." Nyota's mouth goes dry. "I'm not a -- a lesbian, you know."
Gaila rolls her eyes. "I know you're into men, but that doesn't mean you can't be at least a little bit bisexual. Come on, it's me. What do you have to lose?"
"And what about you? I've never seen you with a girl."
"Honey, there are a lot of people you've never seen me with." She scoots closer as Nyota sits up and pulls her knees to her chest. "You're my friend and I love you, Nyota. I probably can't be what you're pining for, but I can help, if you'll let me."
Nyota watches with hesitation, but doesn't pull away, as Gaila leans in and presses a gentle kiss on her lips. She sighs and lets her eyes close, moving into the warmth and sweet feminine scent of her roommate’s embrace.
iv.
Scotty opens his eyes.
At least, he thinks they're his eyes. His eyes don't usually show him a beautiful green girl in a purple brassiere and his own dress kilt, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, adjusting the hang of his sporran.
"Oh good," she says, "you're conscious."
"That's debatable."
Gaila, that's her name. She's a student in the warp core seminar--and bloody hell, he can't remember the regulations about graduate assistants fraternizing with cadets. The time to ask was before one was half-naked in his room, he supposes.
"I made you some coffee." She gestures at the cup on the bedside table. Numbly, Scotty lifts it and takes a sip.
"Augh, what--?" he gasps, choking. At least he knows he's awake, now.
"Oh no, did I do it wrong? The replicator was being difficult so I just entered the chemical composition."
"It's fine, really. I just--don't much care for coffee."
Gaila brings him a glass of water and presses a white pill into his palm. "Here, try this instead," she says, and settles on the bed as he swallows it, unconcerned with her state of semi-nudity. As he supposes she wouldn't be, given what must have--
"What's a dunnydore?"
Scotty blinks, confused. "A--what? What makes you ask that?"
"Lieutenant McClure compared me to one last night. He said, 'She bangs like a dunnydore in the wind!' He yelled it, actually."
"A dunny door? Oh lass, I don't want to say, it's rude."
"Well, obviously. That's why you tackled him."
"I did what?"
"You tackled him. He was standing on the bar, shouting about dunnydores, and you told him to stop, and that you'd teach him to speak lightly of a lass who's your personal friend--thank you for that, by the way--and he didn't stop, so you climbed up and tackled him."
"Good lord, was anyone hurt?"
"Well, you, a little."
He pats his face--yeah, there's a lump above one eyebrow and a distinct soreness in the jaw area.
"And the bar had some damage," she continues, "but as we left Captain Pike was settling it with the owner."
"Captain Pike was there?!"
"Captain Pike is also my personal friend. Whenever someone calls security, I call Captain Pike."
Scotty flops back and stares at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything he's heard since he woke up. Dunny doors, tackling, Captain Pike? And worst of all there's a beautiful girl in his room, half naked in his kilt and sitting on his bed like she belongs there, and he can't remember a blessed thing about it.
He puts his hand over his eyes. "I must confess something to you, Gaila. Whatever happened last night, how we came to be--here, as it were, I'd be lying if I said I remember." Och, it sounds even worse said aloud.
"Is that what's bothering you? I thought you just had a hangover."
"Um, yes, yes I do. But aren't you offended?"
"Mmm, no, I don't think so. Shall I tell you what we did last night?"
It should be impossible for a man in his condition, but the thought of her retelling it sends a bolt straight to his groin. Great, less blood for his brain. "That's--not necessary. Maybe later."
She shifts to a reclining position beside him, her head propped up on her hand. When Scotty dares to peek at her, she smiles. From this distance her eyes are as blue as the seas of Terra seen from space. A man that could forget those eyes--he's a cad, pure and simple.
"We came back here," she says, "because you were worried what my roommate would think, having me brought home by a drunk man who'd been in a fight. You thought she'd blame you for the trouble."
"Aye, that's logical," he mutters sarcastically at the ceiling.
"Anyway, we came here, and I helped you undress, and since you didn't have a concussion I gave you some anti-nausea meds and put you in bed. You snore, by the way. It's cute."
He lifts his hand from his face and looks at her. "So, we didn't--"
"Have sex? Hmm, it depends. Humans have such variable definitions for sex. Does kissing count? Because we did a lot of that."
"Let's say it doesn't. At least, it's not what I was worried about."
"And you gave me an orgasm while we were hiding from Commander Park in the stairwell. Is that the kind of thing that worries you?"
His face flames. "I--did that, did I?"
"Don't worry, Commander Park didn't catch us. You kept your voice down when you were telling me what you wanted to do to me. And I'm good at being quiet. Luckily," she adds, eyeing the wall above the headboard skeptically, "because this dorm looks like it's built out of cardboard."
Memories are starting to come back--yes, the stairwell. Scotty lifts his arm and sees the mark; he remembers that now, her nails digging in as she stifled a cry against his shoulder. The curve of her belly under his palm and his fingers slipping just so--and how they tottered and almost fell, laughing.
He clears his throat. "Those things I said I wanted to do to you, Gaila--did we, uh, do them?"
Gaila laughs. "Not yet." She slips one leg over his body and rises to her knees, looking down at him like a red-haired goddess in a purple brassiere and a kilt slung low around her hips. "But I have high hopes for this morning, if your headache is better."
"If it's not, I may have to kill myself."
She smiles, a sly smile that's beginning to seem very familiar, and leans down to kiss him. "Sex with an Orion is very healing," she says--
--and by gods, it turns out she's right.
v.
I have to admit, this is a good product, Gaila thinks in approval as she washes the soap off her new dildo. Orion-designed and Ferengi-made, it's neurostimulator-enhanced, compatible with any harness on the market, and capable of altering both shape and color to suit its users' needs - just the thing for helping the commander sate his - what did he say? His "interest in humanoid sexual practices that deviate from the socially-acceptable norm", yeah. Well, something like that, at any rate.
"What size and color do you want it?" she calls cheerfully, not bothering to look over her shoulder at the man on his knees in the center of her bedroom; she very much doubts he'll move from the position she placed him in. Even if his eyes are boring into her back, and the restrained sigh at her question is more than a little annoyed.
"I have no preference," he says, and yeah, he sounds bored. Gaila pauses in the middle of drying the dildo, and stands very still, waiting. A moment passes, and she prompts, "You have no preference, what?"
"I have no preference, cadet."
"Don't you?" Her lips curl in a smirk, and she loads her voice with as much sarcasm as she can muster. "Then how about Orion? Ever tasted an Orion cock, Spock?" Oh, that rhymes, she thinks, pleased. Cock, Spock. "Think you could handle one shoved down your throat until you gag?"
Again, the waiting; Gaila holds her breath and flares her nostrils, catching his scent on the air and tasting it for pheromones. Nada, just the usual Vulcan aroma, his lust and emotion so faint she can barely sense it.
Then, after a moment, that quiet sigh again, this time less annoyed and more regretful, and the sound of a man standing up as gracefully as possible with his hands bound behind his back.
"I appreciate your assistance, Gaila, but I do not believe this experiment has been successful."
"Hold on a minute!" she says, and pops her head out of the bathroom; Spock looks at her over his shoulder.
"Yes?" he asks politely.
She puts her hands on her hips and hooks her fingers into the straps of the harness clinging to her hips, still clutching the dildo. "Are you leaving because you don't like this or because you're embarrassed? And turn around so we can actually talk, okay, I'll take off those cuffs."
Once she's freed his hands, he turns and looks at her with a neutral expression. She has no idea how he can stay so formal and controlled with an erection that nice - it must be a Vulcan thing. She arches an eyebrow in imitation of his own, and asks, "Well?"
His gaze goes from her face to a point over her left shoulder, as clear a sign as any that he has zero intention of answering her truthfully. "Despite my words earlier, I do not believe I find degradation...arousing."
"You're avoiding the question."
Still he's silent, so she takes a risk and steps into his personal space. She hadn't wanted to touch him more than necessary, fearing she'd cause a telepathic overload while his shields were down, but desperate times, and so on and so forth. The tip of his cock brushes her belly, right above the arc of the harness strap, and he inhales a little too harshly.
"Oh," she says, and smiles. He keeps his eyes forward until she traces the line of hair leading from his stomach downward, pressing oh-so-lightly with her nails, his skin flushing olive in their wake. Now he's dropped his gaze, his lips are parted (oh, she wants to bite them, Goddess, but no - too soon; she bites hers instead, shivers at the sensation), there is a bronze flush on his cheekbones and yes, now he's hot for her; she can smell it. She slides her hand around his side, digs her nails into his shoulder blades, rubs the tip of the dildo lightly over his nipple - no response; she drops it on the floor and strokes his ear instead, dancing over the pointed pinna - and that gets her a reaction.
"Good," she croons as Spock gasps and crushes her against him, immediately releasing her as if frightened by his strength. She nips his earlobe, and he says her name, "Gaila," unsteadily, his cock twitching. They're pressed together breast-belly-thigh, and it only takes a twist of her hips to start him grinding against her, seeking friction. He's buried his face against her shoulder, and she whispers into his ear, "Do you have any idea how many people would pay to see you come? To see me fuck your mouth, to see you fall apart - "
A slight groan, then he pulls his head back and looks her straight in the eye; the heat in his expression is enough to make her clit spark like a plasma relay. She moans, lets the sound spill out, and grips his ass with both her hands; she's mind-blind and can't feel the way her lust builds upon his, a cacophony inside his head, but the scent is intoxicating; she thrusts her fingers into his mouth, wanting to fill it with something. He's willing and able to take them, closes his lips on them and sucks, fucks her hand with his mouth.
"So no pegging tonight, then?" she asks, in between sighs and whimpers; his leg is in between hers, his thigh pressed right where sensation is sweetest, his cock caught between their bodies, both of them moving roughly and in rhythm, seeking release. Gaila drags his fingers out of his mouth so he can reply, smearing saliva down his cheek.
"Perhaps," he says, and clears his throat. "Tomorrow night?"
She wiggles a bit for better leverage, her hands mussing his perfect coiffure, then grinds against him and pulls his hair hard. The noise he makes is almost a whine, and she cannot wait to have him at her mercy.
"It's a date," she breathes.
After that, there's no use for talking.
vi.
Gaila picks her way across the desert of New Vulcan carefully; she's learned to be wary of the treacherous sands. Normally, what with the Enterprise in orbit, she'd be visiting her friends, catching up on old times, but not today, not with what's happened between the Commander, Jim, and T'Pring. Nyota hasn't told her much, just a slight elaboration on what Gaila had already gleaned from her own Spock. In the telling, he'd been seemingly torn between confusion and mild amusement, making her wonder just what had changed from his version of events to this one to make his eyebrow tilt just so.
The planet's star burns above her, casting a yellow-orange glow over the rocky surface, not the spectrum she grew up with but one she's become accustomed to. She thinks she has about three hours before nightfall, giving her just enough time to soak up the rays she needs to feel fully rejuvenated; the light is better here than in Spock's garden, she decides. Maybe she can sunbathe on one of the many flat-topped boulders scattered about, provided she can climb one. Eyeing a likely perch, she makes for it, but something shifts just behind it - an animal? No, no dangerous creatures out here during the day. Nonetheless, Gaila slips her phaser from its holster, thanking the habit that leads her to constantly carry it.
"Who goes?" an imperious voice demands, and Gaila's arm flops down, tension leaking from her body at the words. Sadly, T'Pring wouldn't be listed as a dangerous animal in the guidebook, or Gaila would have avoided this area entirely.
"Hello, T'Pring," she says with a sigh. They haven't encountered each other often, but each time they met Gaila was struck by her narrow beauty and her incredible arrogance - not to mention torn between wanting to insult her as viciously as possible and wondering what she'd taste like under Gaila's tongue.
A pause, and T'Pring comes out from the shadowed side of the boulder. Gaila does her best not to stare, but it's difficult; the woman's a wreck, hair tousled, clothes mussed, skin tinted slightly green from sunburn.
"Do you have something to say to me?" the Vulcan asks - nearly snaps - pulling her arrogance around her like a cloak, but Gaila recognizes it for the defensive move it is. How screwed up must she be if I can tell? If she's allowing me to see it?
"Are you all right?" Gaila asks, and winces, fairly certain she's going to get a lecture on the imprecision of the Terran colloquialism, as a certain Vulcan of her acquaintance would do just to tease her.
Nothing of the sort happens. T'Pring glances to the side, and Gaila can see her nictitating membranes drawing across her eyes. The Vulcan alternative to tear ducts, she remembers from xenobio.
"I have behaved dishonorably," T'Pring says thickly, and marches back to the shadows. Gaila follows, like she'd do anything else.
"Because of the - whatever?" she asks, making a gesture with her hand to encompass the entirety of the marriage ceremony (or lack thereof). "I don't remember the Vulcan term, sorry."
"I declared the kal-if-fee," T'Pring continues, as if Gaila hasn't said a thing; she nearly shudders before catching herself. "The memory of my family - I have disgraced them - "
"You should see how my family feels about me," Gaila says with a twisted grin, then realizes that might be the kind of macabre joke that doesn't go over well with most people. T'Pring glances up, her brow furrowed slightly, and Gaila shrugs. "Orion humor, sorry." She sits on the sand, cool in the shade, and watches T'Pring. The Vulcan woman doesn't pace, doesn't fidget, doesn't give any sign of her troubled mind at all. Gaila lets the moments pass, then finally asks, "Why did you do it?"
T'Pring is still and tense. Then, quietly, "I did not wish to become a consort of a legend." A long pause, where Gaila tries not to breathe lest she interrupt. "Or - a consort of a man." To her credit, her voice doesn't even shake. "There was one, once, whom I thought I could tolerate, who was - like me - but he was lost in the destruction of Vulcan, along with his family."
Well. Gaila absorbs this, and casts her mind back; has she ever seen a same-gender Vulcan couple? No, but there's always a chance she misinterpreted. She'll ask Spock later. Choosing her words carefully, she keeps her eyes on T'Pring's tense back as she speaks.
"So if you don't want to be the consort of a man...then what do you want?"
T'Pring, nearly inaudibly: "I do not know."
Gaila listens to the sound of her heartbeat, and flares her nostrils, trying to read T'Pring's scent - and yes, there it is, that subtle scent of desire that can only be Vulcan pheromones, unique in each individual but recognizable nonetheless.
"I can help you find out," Gaila offers hesitantly, unsure how T'Pring will react. Normally she'd go full-throttle, but that won't work this time. "No strings attached. Ah - " She rushes to clarify, at T'Pring's arched eyebrow, " - without any commitment expected, I mean. Unless you want commitment, but I'm not very into monogamy, so this would probably be better."
T'Pring doesn't react for a long time. Gaila is ready to move from the shade to the sun, giving up their conversation as a failure, when she speaks.
"I would be amenable to that." She turns to face Gaila, who is a little shocked that T'Pring is taking her up on her offer. Shocked, and pleased, and totally turned on. T'Pring extends two fingers to Gaila, her eyes sparking with the universal pleasure of taking risks. Defiance. It's sexy on her. "Shall we?"
Gaila grins, and crosses T'Pring's fingers with her own. T'Pring actually blushes at the contact, which is just charming, but she boldly refuses to pull away.
"Yes,” Gaila says. “We shall."
vii.
In the moonlight, Sarek looks paler than ever.
He keeps his distance when Gaila opens the door, moving almost to the edge of the step. The light that pours out of the open doorway throws a warm glow on the silk of his robes, but his eyes remain in shadow.
"I must not stay," he says. "I only desire a word with Spock."
"Come in, Sarek," Gaila replies, stepping aside to let him enter. "Spock is reading, I'll get him."
"No--no, I will wait here. Please--"
He falters, clenching his hands at his sides. He stands rigid as a pillar against the velvety darkness, every inch the proper Vulcan; but his control just broke a little, and even Sarek can't pretend it's insignificant.
Gaila knows, now. Even before she touches him she knows. But she grabs Sarek's hand anyway, and there is it: the burning wave engulfing him, like an avalanche of sex. Oh, Sarek, she thinks, her own nerves tingling in sympathy.
He pulls his hand back, green flaring on his cheeks. "No, you must not--I wish only to speak with--" He wants to say my son, but the words don't fit; he falters again, and in the tiny pause that follows it occurs to her how very, very far gone Sarek is.
Gaila can see Spock in her mind, lying where she left him, reading his book on her bed. Her room overlooks the garden, and the windows are open, bringing in the smell of night-blooming flowers. As she reaches for him, she feels him perceive it, and lower his book to attend. What troubles you, wife? he asks. And she shows him: Sarek, his blood turning to fire, hovering on their doorstep like a moth--unwilling to stay, unable to go.
Sarek feels Spock's presence, too. Gaila sees his dark eyes shift, looking over her shoulder as if he too hears something, as if the sudden calm that falls over her is tangible in the air around them. He blinks, and swallows, and when his eyes refocus on Gaila there's something new that wasn't there before. Now, she thinks. Now is the time that I save you.
"Sarek, please come in," she says softly, extending her hand.
This time, for the first time, he takes it.
Creator(s): anodyna , havlockvetinari,joyeuses , ladymac111
Universe: AOS
Word Count: 5733
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Nobody's ever said Gaila lacks initiative. A portrait of a girl who knows how to start something. (Gaila/herself; Gaila/Pike; Gaila/Uhura; Gaila/Scotty; Gaila/Spock; Gaila/T'Pring; Gaila/Sarek/Spock Prime)
Disclaimer: Star Trek, Gaila, and all her paramours belong to their creators. We just like to play with them.
i.
It was her own little rebellion, the only thing she could truly call her own. Not that she was fooled into thinking that it couldn't be taken away; with sufficient brutality everything could be taken from you.
They could take away petty little things, shave your gorgeous hair because you stole scraps to feed your sick bunk-mate. They could take away those private little moments when Ellie braided your hair, large fingers graceful and soothing as they washed away the day's little hurts.
They could turn off your heat in the dead of winter for learning Standard, something that made their lives harder. They had to pay more attention to what you heard, had to treat you like a threat instead of dumb cattle. Ellie tells you it is dangerous, making them think like that, but you know better. You know the exact line you would have to cross to stop being worth the trouble to them. For now you will skirt it carefully, flirting with its dangerous eyes and frighteningly sharp teeth.
They could take away every choice you had, what to wear, when to eat, who to touch, who to make love to. If they worked hard enough, if they were clever and you crossed the line they could even take away your smile, but they aren't clever and you are furious and determined.
You will greet every day with a bright smile, because you are alive. You will hug Ellie, because he is large and kind and terrified and deserves to be loved. You will try and love each of your clients, because they are sad and broken beings who have lost their way. You will be kind to the service droids because nothing deserves to be seen as only a tool.
You will lie back in your bunk and dream of the stars while you plot your escape. You will slide your hands down sensitive sides, gasp at the pleasure of nails scratched just so up your thighs and arch into clever, practiced fingers. You will love yourself, because you refuse to be broken, because one day you will be free and you want to love whomever you choose, because you cannot look with love into the heart of another being until you take joy in yourself.
ii.
Chris is lying back in the steaming water, contemplating the ceiling of the Risan bathhouse, when a voice addresses him.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?"
His lifts his head to find the Orion sitting a few feet away on the rim of the pool, looking at him expectantly.
"Be my guest," he says, trying not to show his surprise. He's been seeing her around the resort for three or four days now--usually stretched out on a lounge reading her PADD, sometimes just watching the crowd, and once, memorably, lying nude in the sun on an isolated terrace where Chris had gone expecting solitude--but this is the first time he's heard her speak to someone who's not an attendant.
If she notices his reaction, she doesn't show it. "Thanks," she says. She drops her towel and slips gracefully into the water, going under for a few seconds before surfacing, pushing her wet red curls back from her face. After a moment she opens her eyes and smiles at him--another surprise.
"I know you," she says.
Chris raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"I mean, I've seen you. Around, different places. You interrupted my sunbath the other day."
He blushes slightly, to his annoyance. "Sorry about that. I tried to leave without disturbing you."
She shrugs. "I didn't mind. I'm Gaila."
"Nice to meet you, Gaila. I'm Chris," he says. "How do you like Risa so far?"
It's a standard question, but she gives it some thought. "I haven't decided yet. It's different than I expected."
"How so? Not enough reading material?"
That makes her laugh. "Yes, actually. I want to learn stellar cartography, but the library keeps trying to serve me erotica. It's some kind of glitch, I think."
"It must be," he says, though that actually sounds a lot like how a Risan library would operate.
He wants to ask her why stellar cartography, but he's interrupted by a ripple of murmurs and splashing as the lights suddenly dim to half-power. It's artificial twilight; also known as the signal on Risa that those who want to keep their inhibitions intact have 15 minutes to leave the baths.
Normally, that's Chris's cue to go. Night in the Risan bathhouse isn't his scene--at least, it hasn't been. He spends his evenings in the bar instead. There's still plenty of alcohol there, but less risk of seeing an Andorian getting it on with a tentacle-creature in the next pool.
Yeah, he should definitely leave.
Only--now there's Gaila, looking around her curiously like everything's new and fascinating. For a second he thinks maybe she doesn't know, maybe she missed that part in the tourist manual. But then she looks at him, and lifts one eyebrow in wordless question, like a challenge: Are you staying?
"Oh, hell," he mutters to himself. There's a heat pooling in his belly that has nothing to do with the steaming water, and to distract himself from it he signals the attendant for more drinks. A silent waitress appears at his elbow with a tray; he hands one glass to Gaila and keeps the other.
"Cheers," he says, and takes a long swallow. When he lowers the glass, Gaila's staring at his right hand.
"Starfleet."
Chris can hear One's voice now, making fun of him for the way he leaves that ring on. "You say you want to be anonymous," she'd said, rolling her eyes, "but you can't let go of Starfleet, even on vacation. You might as well get a tattoo."
"Starfleet, yes," he says. "That's what I do."
Gaila nods, as if that explains something--which, if it does, Chris wishes she'd explain it to him. "That's what you're escaping from."
Chris blinks. "What makes you think I'm--"
"I can tell. Discontent is a tangible emotion to an Orion. We feel it kind of--" She lifts her hand from the water and wiggles her fingers, "--here. When I feel someone's discontent, it makes me want to grasp things."
"I wasn't aware Orions had that capability."
"But you agree you're discontented."
Chris looks down. Denials suggest themselves, but it doesn't seem fair to answer an honest question with a bunch of diplomatic tap-dancing. He does enough dancing for his superiors. "My work isn't what it used to be," he says. "Starfleet's changed, or I've changed. I came here because I thought with some time alone I could figure out how to fix it."
"How's that going so far?"
"Apparently I'm radiating discontent, so I'd say not too well."
Gaila blushes, a rose tint through the green. "Sorry. It's not a very fair advantage I have."
He shakes his head. "Word of advice, Gaila: Don't apologize for your gifts. You never know when one's going to be the thing that saves you."
She'd moved closer to see his ring, and now she's closer still. He realizes it abruptly, how very near her wide blue eyes are to his, just a second before she kisses him.
"What was that for?" he asks carefully, when she draws back for a breath, her lips still parted. The heat in his belly has turned into a clamor, but he ignores it--at least he tries.
"An experiment," she says.
"I see. May I ask what kind?"
"I'm going have to decide a lot of things for myself soon. I need to practice exercising free will."
"You came to Risa for that?"
She smiles. "Can you think of a more appropriate place?"
If he can, he doesn't get to say, because then she's kissing him again, and whatever scruples he's been clinging to give way like a house of cards. He steadies her hips as she climbs into his lap, her knees on the bench on either side of him, and she's already deftly untying his loincloth when he breaks the kiss, gasping, and presses his forehead to hers.
"What do you want, Gaila?" It comes out in a rasp; god damn it, he's not young anymore.
"My freedom," she says softly.
"I think you have it."
She shakes her head. "It doesn't feel like it yet."
It would take more will than Chris has, maybe more than he's ever had, to stop her, and anyway he doesn't try. She has him free of the loincloth before he can do more than thread his fingers in her hair, and at the first brush of her body against him he lets out a groan even he doesn't recognize. She's half a second from doing what he hopes to god she's planning to do, when abruptly she goes still.
His eyes flicker open and she's right there, blue eyes with dark pupils, wide open like the depths of space.
"I need your consent," she says.
He almost laughs--not because she's laughable but from the sheer impossibility of this, because he feels broken and something just came loose. But he doesn't laugh. Her eyes don't let him.
"You have it," he says, like the damn fool he is; and she smiles against his mouth as the lights go out.
iii.
When she enrolled in Starfleet Academy, Nyota Uhura made a deal with herself. She was going to live fearlessly, to try things she never would have before, to be open-minded and make new friends in the process.
All the same, it was a bit of a shock to find that her assigned roommate was Orion. Nyota had heard things about Orions, of course. Everyone had. They were supposed to be these sex fiends, who can use their pheromones to seduce men (and, presumably, women) against their will. This contradicted the other rumors, that Orion women can't help being so sexy, and are exploited as slaves or worse.
Gaila herself came as a bit of a surprise, not only in that she spoke technically perfect Federation Standard with only a hint of an accent and an incomplete grasp of common figures of speech. From what Nyota had gathered from her other friends, her roommate was much like theirs in most ways. One thing Nyota really appreciated about Gaila was her openness on the topic of sex, something that a lot of human roommates were apparently reluctant to talk about -- yes, there would be boys in the room, and she would be naked with them, on a regular basis. So after one unfortunate incident in the first week, they set up a system so that Nyota would never unknowingly walk in to a stranger's butt in the air, and decided which hours were roommates-only time. The only thing Gaila seemed surprised about was Nyota's final rule: Don't have sex in my bed.
"What if it's with you?"
Nyota couldn't tell if her roommate was joking, or if there was an undercurrent of seriousness. "We'll cross that bridge if we get to it," was her mumbled reply.
The first few months of the year went as smoothly as you could expect. Classes were hard, there were boys in the room, PT was hell on earth, and Gaila and Nyota started becoming close. Some nights they would stay up late chatting about anything and everything, laughing and crying and complaining and commiserating.
As the first semester drew to a close, Nyota's nerves were getting frazzled. She was busy every moment, it seemed, and only barely holding on to her grade in Celestial Mechanics. And to make matters worse, she hadn't gotten laid -- or even gone on a date! -- since she left Kenya. She found her vibrator left her increasingly unfulfilled, and more and more she would wake from a dream about that tall, dark Phonology TA and want to scream in frustration.
A light is on when she gasps and opens her eyes. Gaila is sitting on her bed with a big stack of PADDs, her blue eyes curious. "What is it? Have a bad dream?"
Nyota wriggles out of her tangle of sheets and flops on her back. "Sort of."
"A frustrating dream, then? I can tell, you know." She taps her nose. "You haven't been having sex with anybody."
"Ugh!" Nyota pulls a pillow over her face. "Can we not have this conversation right now?"
"Nyota, I want to help you. You're all stressed out and this isn't helping you." The mattress shifts as Gaila sits down at the foot of the bed.
Nyota peeks out. "So what do you suggest? Just pick up some guy? I don't do that."
Gaila raises her eyebrows and flips her russet hair over her shoulder. "I wasn't going to suggest a guy."
"I ..." Nyota's mouth goes dry. "I'm not a -- a lesbian, you know."
Gaila rolls her eyes. "I know you're into men, but that doesn't mean you can't be at least a little bit bisexual. Come on, it's me. What do you have to lose?"
"And what about you? I've never seen you with a girl."
"Honey, there are a lot of people you've never seen me with." She scoots closer as Nyota sits up and pulls her knees to her chest. "You're my friend and I love you, Nyota. I probably can't be what you're pining for, but I can help, if you'll let me."
Nyota watches with hesitation, but doesn't pull away, as Gaila leans in and presses a gentle kiss on her lips. She sighs and lets her eyes close, moving into the warmth and sweet feminine scent of her roommate’s embrace.
iv.
Scotty opens his eyes.
At least, he thinks they're his eyes. His eyes don't usually show him a beautiful green girl in a purple brassiere and his own dress kilt, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, adjusting the hang of his sporran.
"Oh good," she says, "you're conscious."
"That's debatable."
Gaila, that's her name. She's a student in the warp core seminar--and bloody hell, he can't remember the regulations about graduate assistants fraternizing with cadets. The time to ask was before one was half-naked in his room, he supposes.
"I made you some coffee." She gestures at the cup on the bedside table. Numbly, Scotty lifts it and takes a sip.
"Augh, what--?" he gasps, choking. At least he knows he's awake, now.
"Oh no, did I do it wrong? The replicator was being difficult so I just entered the chemical composition."
"It's fine, really. I just--don't much care for coffee."
Gaila brings him a glass of water and presses a white pill into his palm. "Here, try this instead," she says, and settles on the bed as he swallows it, unconcerned with her state of semi-nudity. As he supposes she wouldn't be, given what must have--
"What's a dunnydore?"
Scotty blinks, confused. "A--what? What makes you ask that?"
"Lieutenant McClure compared me to one last night. He said, 'She bangs like a dunnydore in the wind!' He yelled it, actually."
"A dunny door? Oh lass, I don't want to say, it's rude."
"Well, obviously. That's why you tackled him."
"I did what?"
"You tackled him. He was standing on the bar, shouting about dunnydores, and you told him to stop, and that you'd teach him to speak lightly of a lass who's your personal friend--thank you for that, by the way--and he didn't stop, so you climbed up and tackled him."
"Good lord, was anyone hurt?"
"Well, you, a little."
He pats his face--yeah, there's a lump above one eyebrow and a distinct soreness in the jaw area.
"And the bar had some damage," she continues, "but as we left Captain Pike was settling it with the owner."
"Captain Pike was there?!"
"Captain Pike is also my personal friend. Whenever someone calls security, I call Captain Pike."
Scotty flops back and stares at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything he's heard since he woke up. Dunny doors, tackling, Captain Pike? And worst of all there's a beautiful girl in his room, half naked in his kilt and sitting on his bed like she belongs there, and he can't remember a blessed thing about it.
He puts his hand over his eyes. "I must confess something to you, Gaila. Whatever happened last night, how we came to be--here, as it were, I'd be lying if I said I remember." Och, it sounds even worse said aloud.
"Is that what's bothering you? I thought you just had a hangover."
"Um, yes, yes I do. But aren't you offended?"
"Mmm, no, I don't think so. Shall I tell you what we did last night?"
It should be impossible for a man in his condition, but the thought of her retelling it sends a bolt straight to his groin. Great, less blood for his brain. "That's--not necessary. Maybe later."
She shifts to a reclining position beside him, her head propped up on her hand. When Scotty dares to peek at her, she smiles. From this distance her eyes are as blue as the seas of Terra seen from space. A man that could forget those eyes--he's a cad, pure and simple.
"We came back here," she says, "because you were worried what my roommate would think, having me brought home by a drunk man who'd been in a fight. You thought she'd blame you for the trouble."
"Aye, that's logical," he mutters sarcastically at the ceiling.
"Anyway, we came here, and I helped you undress, and since you didn't have a concussion I gave you some anti-nausea meds and put you in bed. You snore, by the way. It's cute."
He lifts his hand from his face and looks at her. "So, we didn't--"
"Have sex? Hmm, it depends. Humans have such variable definitions for sex. Does kissing count? Because we did a lot of that."
"Let's say it doesn't. At least, it's not what I was worried about."
"And you gave me an orgasm while we were hiding from Commander Park in the stairwell. Is that the kind of thing that worries you?"
His face flames. "I--did that, did I?"
"Don't worry, Commander Park didn't catch us. You kept your voice down when you were telling me what you wanted to do to me. And I'm good at being quiet. Luckily," she adds, eyeing the wall above the headboard skeptically, "because this dorm looks like it's built out of cardboard."
Memories are starting to come back--yes, the stairwell. Scotty lifts his arm and sees the mark; he remembers that now, her nails digging in as she stifled a cry against his shoulder. The curve of her belly under his palm and his fingers slipping just so--and how they tottered and almost fell, laughing.
He clears his throat. "Those things I said I wanted to do to you, Gaila--did we, uh, do them?"
Gaila laughs. "Not yet." She slips one leg over his body and rises to her knees, looking down at him like a red-haired goddess in a purple brassiere and a kilt slung low around her hips. "But I have high hopes for this morning, if your headache is better."
"If it's not, I may have to kill myself."
She smiles, a sly smile that's beginning to seem very familiar, and leans down to kiss him. "Sex with an Orion is very healing," she says--
--and by gods, it turns out she's right.
v.
I have to admit, this is a good product, Gaila thinks in approval as she washes the soap off her new dildo. Orion-designed and Ferengi-made, it's neurostimulator-enhanced, compatible with any harness on the market, and capable of altering both shape and color to suit its users' needs - just the thing for helping the commander sate his - what did he say? His "interest in humanoid sexual practices that deviate from the socially-acceptable norm", yeah. Well, something like that, at any rate.
"What size and color do you want it?" she calls cheerfully, not bothering to look over her shoulder at the man on his knees in the center of her bedroom; she very much doubts he'll move from the position she placed him in. Even if his eyes are boring into her back, and the restrained sigh at her question is more than a little annoyed.
"I have no preference," he says, and yeah, he sounds bored. Gaila pauses in the middle of drying the dildo, and stands very still, waiting. A moment passes, and she prompts, "You have no preference, what?"
"I have no preference, cadet."
"Don't you?" Her lips curl in a smirk, and she loads her voice with as much sarcasm as she can muster. "Then how about Orion? Ever tasted an Orion cock, Spock?" Oh, that rhymes, she thinks, pleased. Cock, Spock. "Think you could handle one shoved down your throat until you gag?"
Again, the waiting; Gaila holds her breath and flares her nostrils, catching his scent on the air and tasting it for pheromones. Nada, just the usual Vulcan aroma, his lust and emotion so faint she can barely sense it.
Then, after a moment, that quiet sigh again, this time less annoyed and more regretful, and the sound of a man standing up as gracefully as possible with his hands bound behind his back.
"I appreciate your assistance, Gaila, but I do not believe this experiment has been successful."
"Hold on a minute!" she says, and pops her head out of the bathroom; Spock looks at her over his shoulder.
"Yes?" he asks politely.
She puts her hands on her hips and hooks her fingers into the straps of the harness clinging to her hips, still clutching the dildo. "Are you leaving because you don't like this or because you're embarrassed? And turn around so we can actually talk, okay, I'll take off those cuffs."
Once she's freed his hands, he turns and looks at her with a neutral expression. She has no idea how he can stay so formal and controlled with an erection that nice - it must be a Vulcan thing. She arches an eyebrow in imitation of his own, and asks, "Well?"
His gaze goes from her face to a point over her left shoulder, as clear a sign as any that he has zero intention of answering her truthfully. "Despite my words earlier, I do not believe I find degradation...arousing."
"You're avoiding the question."
Still he's silent, so she takes a risk and steps into his personal space. She hadn't wanted to touch him more than necessary, fearing she'd cause a telepathic overload while his shields were down, but desperate times, and so on and so forth. The tip of his cock brushes her belly, right above the arc of the harness strap, and he inhales a little too harshly.
"Oh," she says, and smiles. He keeps his eyes forward until she traces the line of hair leading from his stomach downward, pressing oh-so-lightly with her nails, his skin flushing olive in their wake. Now he's dropped his gaze, his lips are parted (oh, she wants to bite them, Goddess, but no - too soon; she bites hers instead, shivers at the sensation), there is a bronze flush on his cheekbones and yes, now he's hot for her; she can smell it. She slides her hand around his side, digs her nails into his shoulder blades, rubs the tip of the dildo lightly over his nipple - no response; she drops it on the floor and strokes his ear instead, dancing over the pointed pinna - and that gets her a reaction.
"Good," she croons as Spock gasps and crushes her against him, immediately releasing her as if frightened by his strength. She nips his earlobe, and he says her name, "Gaila," unsteadily, his cock twitching. They're pressed together breast-belly-thigh, and it only takes a twist of her hips to start him grinding against her, seeking friction. He's buried his face against her shoulder, and she whispers into his ear, "Do you have any idea how many people would pay to see you come? To see me fuck your mouth, to see you fall apart - "
A slight groan, then he pulls his head back and looks her straight in the eye; the heat in his expression is enough to make her clit spark like a plasma relay. She moans, lets the sound spill out, and grips his ass with both her hands; she's mind-blind and can't feel the way her lust builds upon his, a cacophony inside his head, but the scent is intoxicating; she thrusts her fingers into his mouth, wanting to fill it with something. He's willing and able to take them, closes his lips on them and sucks, fucks her hand with his mouth.
"So no pegging tonight, then?" she asks, in between sighs and whimpers; his leg is in between hers, his thigh pressed right where sensation is sweetest, his cock caught between their bodies, both of them moving roughly and in rhythm, seeking release. Gaila drags his fingers out of his mouth so he can reply, smearing saliva down his cheek.
"Perhaps," he says, and clears his throat. "Tomorrow night?"
She wiggles a bit for better leverage, her hands mussing his perfect coiffure, then grinds against him and pulls his hair hard. The noise he makes is almost a whine, and she cannot wait to have him at her mercy.
"It's a date," she breathes.
After that, there's no use for talking.
vi.
Gaila picks her way across the desert of New Vulcan carefully; she's learned to be wary of the treacherous sands. Normally, what with the Enterprise in orbit, she'd be visiting her friends, catching up on old times, but not today, not with what's happened between the Commander, Jim, and T'Pring. Nyota hasn't told her much, just a slight elaboration on what Gaila had already gleaned from her own Spock. In the telling, he'd been seemingly torn between confusion and mild amusement, making her wonder just what had changed from his version of events to this one to make his eyebrow tilt just so.
The planet's star burns above her, casting a yellow-orange glow over the rocky surface, not the spectrum she grew up with but one she's become accustomed to. She thinks she has about three hours before nightfall, giving her just enough time to soak up the rays she needs to feel fully rejuvenated; the light is better here than in Spock's garden, she decides. Maybe she can sunbathe on one of the many flat-topped boulders scattered about, provided she can climb one. Eyeing a likely perch, she makes for it, but something shifts just behind it - an animal? No, no dangerous creatures out here during the day. Nonetheless, Gaila slips her phaser from its holster, thanking the habit that leads her to constantly carry it.
"Who goes?" an imperious voice demands, and Gaila's arm flops down, tension leaking from her body at the words. Sadly, T'Pring wouldn't be listed as a dangerous animal in the guidebook, or Gaila would have avoided this area entirely.
"Hello, T'Pring," she says with a sigh. They haven't encountered each other often, but each time they met Gaila was struck by her narrow beauty and her incredible arrogance - not to mention torn between wanting to insult her as viciously as possible and wondering what she'd taste like under Gaila's tongue.
A pause, and T'Pring comes out from the shadowed side of the boulder. Gaila does her best not to stare, but it's difficult; the woman's a wreck, hair tousled, clothes mussed, skin tinted slightly green from sunburn.
"Do you have something to say to me?" the Vulcan asks - nearly snaps - pulling her arrogance around her like a cloak, but Gaila recognizes it for the defensive move it is. How screwed up must she be if I can tell? If she's allowing me to see it?
"Are you all right?" Gaila asks, and winces, fairly certain she's going to get a lecture on the imprecision of the Terran colloquialism, as a certain Vulcan of her acquaintance would do just to tease her.
Nothing of the sort happens. T'Pring glances to the side, and Gaila can see her nictitating membranes drawing across her eyes. The Vulcan alternative to tear ducts, she remembers from xenobio.
"I have behaved dishonorably," T'Pring says thickly, and marches back to the shadows. Gaila follows, like she'd do anything else.
"Because of the - whatever?" she asks, making a gesture with her hand to encompass the entirety of the marriage ceremony (or lack thereof). "I don't remember the Vulcan term, sorry."
"I declared the kal-if-fee," T'Pring continues, as if Gaila hasn't said a thing; she nearly shudders before catching herself. "The memory of my family - I have disgraced them - "
"You should see how my family feels about me," Gaila says with a twisted grin, then realizes that might be the kind of macabre joke that doesn't go over well with most people. T'Pring glances up, her brow furrowed slightly, and Gaila shrugs. "Orion humor, sorry." She sits on the sand, cool in the shade, and watches T'Pring. The Vulcan woman doesn't pace, doesn't fidget, doesn't give any sign of her troubled mind at all. Gaila lets the moments pass, then finally asks, "Why did you do it?"
T'Pring is still and tense. Then, quietly, "I did not wish to become a consort of a legend." A long pause, where Gaila tries not to breathe lest she interrupt. "Or - a consort of a man." To her credit, her voice doesn't even shake. "There was one, once, whom I thought I could tolerate, who was - like me - but he was lost in the destruction of Vulcan, along with his family."
Well. Gaila absorbs this, and casts her mind back; has she ever seen a same-gender Vulcan couple? No, but there's always a chance she misinterpreted. She'll ask Spock later. Choosing her words carefully, she keeps her eyes on T'Pring's tense back as she speaks.
"So if you don't want to be the consort of a man...then what do you want?"
T'Pring, nearly inaudibly: "I do not know."
Gaila listens to the sound of her heartbeat, and flares her nostrils, trying to read T'Pring's scent - and yes, there it is, that subtle scent of desire that can only be Vulcan pheromones, unique in each individual but recognizable nonetheless.
"I can help you find out," Gaila offers hesitantly, unsure how T'Pring will react. Normally she'd go full-throttle, but that won't work this time. "No strings attached. Ah - " She rushes to clarify, at T'Pring's arched eyebrow, " - without any commitment expected, I mean. Unless you want commitment, but I'm not very into monogamy, so this would probably be better."
T'Pring doesn't react for a long time. Gaila is ready to move from the shade to the sun, giving up their conversation as a failure, when she speaks.
"I would be amenable to that." She turns to face Gaila, who is a little shocked that T'Pring is taking her up on her offer. Shocked, and pleased, and totally turned on. T'Pring extends two fingers to Gaila, her eyes sparking with the universal pleasure of taking risks. Defiance. It's sexy on her. "Shall we?"
Gaila grins, and crosses T'Pring's fingers with her own. T'Pring actually blushes at the contact, which is just charming, but she boldly refuses to pull away.
"Yes,” Gaila says. “We shall."
vii.
In the moonlight, Sarek looks paler than ever.
He keeps his distance when Gaila opens the door, moving almost to the edge of the step. The light that pours out of the open doorway throws a warm glow on the silk of his robes, but his eyes remain in shadow.
"I must not stay," he says. "I only desire a word with Spock."
"Come in, Sarek," Gaila replies, stepping aside to let him enter. "Spock is reading, I'll get him."
"No--no, I will wait here. Please--"
He falters, clenching his hands at his sides. He stands rigid as a pillar against the velvety darkness, every inch the proper Vulcan; but his control just broke a little, and even Sarek can't pretend it's insignificant.
Gaila knows, now. Even before she touches him she knows. But she grabs Sarek's hand anyway, and there is it: the burning wave engulfing him, like an avalanche of sex. Oh, Sarek, she thinks, her own nerves tingling in sympathy.
He pulls his hand back, green flaring on his cheeks. "No, you must not--I wish only to speak with--" He wants to say my son, but the words don't fit; he falters again, and in the tiny pause that follows it occurs to her how very, very far gone Sarek is.
Gaila can see Spock in her mind, lying where she left him, reading his book on her bed. Her room overlooks the garden, and the windows are open, bringing in the smell of night-blooming flowers. As she reaches for him, she feels him perceive it, and lower his book to attend. What troubles you, wife? he asks. And she shows him: Sarek, his blood turning to fire, hovering on their doorstep like a moth--unwilling to stay, unable to go.
Sarek feels Spock's presence, too. Gaila sees his dark eyes shift, looking over her shoulder as if he too hears something, as if the sudden calm that falls over her is tangible in the air around them. He blinks, and swallows, and when his eyes refocus on Gaila there's something new that wasn't there before. Now, she thinks. Now is the time that I save you.
"Sarek, please come in," she says softly, extending her hand.
This time, for the first time, he takes it.