Star Trek: Theurgy

[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Marina | Saqwa’ City | Qo’noS ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

April 27, 2381
15:30 hrs
Stardate: 57677.36

As odd as it was the the Vulcan, Hathev experienced a sense of relief as she stepped off the hopper and made her way to the Saqwa’ City Marina.  Coordinating this trip had not been a simple task due in no small part that the Vulcan could not use any of her Starfleet credentials to book the charter.  With proper credentials as a Starfleet officer, she could have arranged the entire excursion with one call.  However, given that Theurgy was the sole starship of Federation origin in orbit of Qo’noS, she could not go through any official channels.

Instead she had to resort to the civilian channels, and a much slower, much less direct methodology.  She had found a human civilian who brokered vacations and travel experiences and, posing as a civilian herself, booked a ‘meditation retreat’ for alias names she had designated for herself and Cross.  Concerned that even the use of the Theurgy transporter system could expose them, Hathev had arranged for her and Cross to take a hopper from the First City to Saqwa’ and then take an ocean skimmer to their private villa.

Hathev had…not…given Cross the details of their trip, other than to tell him he needed to plan to spend 24 hours off the ship, to meet her at Saqwa’, how to get there, that he pack only civilian clothing while bringing nothing that could be traced back to Starfleet other than his commbage which was to remain concealed unless in an emergency.

Truthfully the plan seemed more cloak and dagger than it needed to be…almost Romulan in it’s duplicity.  Yet given circumstances, and the fact that she was supposed to be considered dead by the Federation, it was logical that she take certain precautions to maintain the ruse.

At least she thought it was logical.

As she went over it in her mind, she wondered if she had indulged an emotional need to be mysterious.  Triss had often expressed an appreciation for ‘surprises’ and Hathev surmised Cross might experience a similar reaction.

She chided herself as she was, again, comparing her relationship with her ex-wife, to her burgeoning relationship with Cross.  To a certain extent that seemed appropriate given the genesis of their physical intimacy, even though their relationship had started after her disastrous attempt at theraputic mind melding with Cross.  However, to consistently paint Cross into the shadow of her deceased wife, was both illogical and unfair to Cross, and something she would need to make an effort to curtail in the future.

Even so, Hathev desired to be in the here and now, to…yes… enjoy the coming 24 hours of isolation she and Cross were about to experience and, for once in her life, try not to analyze every moment.

The hopper hatch closed behind her as the vehicle lifted, and headed off to pick up it’s next load.  She ran her hand down the front of her black lace pant suit smoothing the wrinkles., slung her duffel over her shoulder and strode towards the marina, to see if Cross had checked in yet.

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Hathev's Wardrobe
[Show/Hide]

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Marina | Saqwa City | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Relief unwrapped the tense coils he’d been holding in his shoulders over the past few days as he inhaled deeply the scent of the sea air. Unlike the scents of the First City, Saqwa City was far more pleasant, and not just for its proximity to the sea. The population density was thinner here and those who populated the city preferred food found in the ocean to that from the ground, and while these smells still had their moments of affront, as a whole they were less pungent.

Dressed casually (https://i.pinimg.com/236x/fd/5a/27/fd5a2787d677441541be9041dee7e1a3--mark-strong-mens-style.jpg)in a light brown jacket to protect against the ocean-rough winds over a grey t-shirt, Cross balanced on an old surf breaker at the marina's edge. His back was to the marina itself, his eyes scanning over the watery horizon, trying his best to spy out the location and intent of Hathev’s scheming. She’d looked more than a little pleased with herself when she’d given him instructions to plan for an overnight trip and where to meet her. Apparently, her old channels had born fruit, and here he stood, a small duffle slung over his shoulder.

Cross didn’t mind the mystery, though he also didn’t particularly feel a need for it. He knew he certainly got a sense of enjoyment out of surprising her. So if it made her happy, or the Vulcan equivalent to happy, to plan out surprises, then he’d just as happily sit back and let her plan such things. They were still figuring themselves out, and this overnighter off the ship and away from potentially inquisitive eyes would prove beneficial. The corridors still echoed with the ghost of Blue’s voice, and sometimes he caught glimpses of her shadow. He no longer bore the guilt that he’d been buried under in those first days after her death, but that didn’t make it any less odd to deal with. This trip would be their first outing together as a couple, without the shadow of Blue or anyone else hovering over it.

It was almost like a tickle in his mind, but something cued him to Hathev’s presence. Shifting carefully on his feet, Cross looked over the flat area between the marina and the landing pad and quickly caught sight of her. Her outfit was as alluring as it was tasteful. Cross smiled. Even without a long history together, he recognized that Hathev liked her body, liked showing it off, and Cross was more than a little happy about that fact. In fact, Cross swallowed, he got the feeling before their trip was over, he’d see far more of her body and be able to show her just how much he liked it.

Jumping down from the breaker, Cross closed the distance between them. He’d decided before leaving the ship that he would greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Nothing too passionate, but something that clearly signaled a connection between them. But now that she stood here looking downright edible, Cross found himself second-guessing his plan. So much so that by the time he was within arm’s length of her, all Cross could manage by way of greeting was a semi-choked, “You look good.”

Tipping his eyes to the sky, calling upon the Klingon gods to help him not make a fool of himself, Cross cleared his throat and tried again, “I don’t suppose you plan on telling me much more about our little adventure now that we’re here.” Cross took her bag and coupled it with his own without waiting for her signal.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Marina | Saqwa City | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍

Hathev sensed his presence as he approached and offered no surprise as he spoke to her.  Hathev leaned into him, offering him a kiss on the side of his neck.  The greeting was very Un-Vulcan, but Hathev cared very little in this particular moment. 

“It is agree…” she paused mid sentence, understanding just how flat that statement would land.  “I’m pleased to see that you made it, Otersu.”

She offered no objection when he pulled her bag off her shoulder.  Truth be told, she had not packed much and she suspected that her companion might have some suspicions based on just the low mass of her bag.

“This way,” she offered as she motioned to the ocean skimmer she knew to be waiting for them. 

“Officially,” she said as they walked, “we are about to board a skimmer for a one hour ride to a private villa for a ‘mediative retreat’.  Unofficially,” she turned to him with her best effort at a wry smile.  “We are indeed heading to a private island villa where we are to be dropped off and, for all intents and purposes, abandoned for twenty four hours.”

They crossed the Marina, heading towards the slip where the skimmer was tied up. 

“I found it logical to place physical distance from our busy lives for a day, and spend time focused solely on ourselves.”

It was as close as they could come, given the circumstances.  But Hathev found the prospect an important one.  The Vulcan had even considered the ethical dilemma of having both her and Cross taken off duty in order to get this time away.  Fortunately, Commander Stark had understood and with a light and playful ‘have fun’ had readily approved the 24 hour furlough for the both of them.  Hathev still did not understand why the Commander winked at her.  Perhaps her eye had been irritated.

She fell silent, directing her focus forward to present the boarding documents for herself and Cross to the skimmer’s steward.

“I assume you remain interested in joining me?”

---

OOC - Also a shoutout to @Brutus‍ for the quick permission and consultation on the use of Stark.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Marina | Saqwa City | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross shook Hathev’s bag, a single eyebrow rising as he gaged its weight, or, rather the lack of it. Had she packed anything? Or was she planning on shopping planetside and purchasing attire as they spent their hours together? As he listened to her precise explanation, Cross’s curiosity only increased because it certainly did not sound like they were going to a place where anything could be purchased.

“Definitely interested,” Cross easily smiled in the face of Hathev’s question before jostling the bag to garner her attention, “and definitely curious about what’s in the bag. Did you pack air?” He refrained from opening the bag, as much as his fingers itched to satiate his curiosity, and instead fell into pace with Hathev as they moved to their waiting skimmer.

He quickly offered his hand to steady her as they boarded the vessel and was equally attentive in ensuring she was comfortably settled once they were aboard. There was minimal staff on the skimmer, but at least enough for someone to offer drinks and a tray of snacks for them to pick at during their hour-long voyage. Cross refrained from eating for the time being but did snag a drink and sipped at it as his eyes traveled over the distant horizon. It had been quite some time since he’d been on a boat in the open ocean. He’d never been prone to seasickness, but there was always a first time, and he certainly didn’t want it to be with Hathev.

“What sort of accommodations are awaiting us on the island?” It wouldn’t surprise Cross if they were to stay on pillows in a cave for aesthetic purposes, very fitting for Qo’Nos, but it equally wouldn’t surprise him if the Klingons had made SOME effort to create an abode fitting for non-Klingon comfort as well.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev| Marina | Saqwa City | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hathev allowed the corners of her mouth the rise at the commentary about just how light her bag was and she was content to allow Cross to help her aboard the skimmer and she helped herself to a drink and snack as the the deck crew cast off the lines, actual rope lines, as the boat pulled back from the it's docking slip.

“I booked a private over ocean bungalow for us.  Two bedrooms, two bathrooms with all the associated amenities including a swim up entrance.  It is built to simulate the cabana experience and therefore most of the structure is open to the outside air with curtains for privacy.” 

She closed her eyes as she let her head rest. 

“I have been assured this will be a much less Klingon experience and a far more luxurious experience.  Given that the broker who booked this on our behalf was a Betazoid, I have little reason to doubt her sincerity.”

The Counselor rested her eyes in relative silence, choosing to speak as necessary to answer anything Cross might have to say, but it wasn’t until they were almost through their journey that she spoke up again of her own volition.

“I should tell you,” she started.  “In addition to spending time with you, I am hoping to use this time to explore the new spectrum of emotions I am experiencing a bit deeper than I am presently able to while on duty.”

She turned to meet Cross’s eye.

“It is my hope that you would be willing to assist me in this endeavor."

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Saqwa City | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

He was not much different from any boy when it came time for the boat to cast off. Not as familiar with water travel as some due to his background, Cross listened to Hathev as she spoke behind him but kept his eyes, and a good portion of his attention, on the crew hands and dock workers as they freed the vessel for its journey. He moved along the railing of the ship, again humming his attentiveness—though it was partially a lie—fully fascinated with the comings and goings of the crew once the vessel was underway. It was only once they had settled into a steady rhythm and the crew likewise settled into an attentive yet relaxed stance at various locations that Cross returned his full attention to the beautiful Vulcan woman. She’d helped herself to a drink and snack already, either before or after she’d explained their destination, Cross wasn’t sure. But he was happy to have a drink now that they were steadily making their way, skimming gently through the waves.

“Considering what happened to me at the art museum,” Cross remembered Hathev’s eyebrow raise of incredulity when he’d told her of fighting half-naked, drunken Klingon women amidst historical art pieces, Pierce and Vance at his side. “I am happy to hear that it is not likely that we’ll meet up with more crazed geriatrics.”

He considered where to sit down for a moment before settling on sitting across from Hathev on a similar style bench seat. They were far enough apart for a crewmate to pass between them if necessary, but still close enough to hear one another over the sound of lapping waves. Cross had debated sitting next to her but found he really liked the view of her with the ocean vista as a background.

Her confession had Cross pausing mid-sip and raising his eyebrow in surprise. The extent of her injuries had prevented them from repeating the intense intimacy they’d briefly experienced the night before all hell had broken loose with the Klingon boarding party. Although she was still not completely healed, Cross assumed that if she was here with him, it was because she’d been deemed fit for travel. And that led his prepubescent-esque mind to wonder if that also meant…

Clearing his throat, Cross distracted his mind with a question, “How can I assist?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Open Water | En route to Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

A fair and logical question, indeed.  Yet, for some reason Hathev had not expected that question to come from Cross.  It was not an issue of apathy on his part but rather one of a lack of preparedness on hers and she did not have an answer for him that she found satisfactory.  Even so, she could only be true to herself and her nature, evolving though it was.

“I can not say for certain.  I suspect that we will find ways to explore the depth of emotion, much as we did that night in your quarters, but I also expect I will need to seek your counsel as I continue to process and integrate what I am…feeling… into my thought process.”

She still hesitated around that word.  It had barely been a week since her emotional control had broken and one could not expect to integrate within a week something she had disciplined herself against for over a century.

“I believe in the short term, the most beneficial way you can assist is to continue being patient with me.  I still find it difficult at times to acknowledge that I am experiencing emotions that I am not able to suppress.  It is a most peculiar mindset to be in both as a Vulcan and as a mental health practitioner.”

She sat forward and took Cross’s hand in hers.  Their private island grew larger in the distance and Hathev estimated that at current course and speed they would be disembarking within ten minutes.

“That is part of the reason I arranged for our seclusion.  Getting away from our daily lives does permit us much needed rejuvenation but also allows me seclusion in which I can be…less than Vulcan with someone I trust.”

She realized just how prideful and vain she sounded as she said the words, and in that moment a new understanding of the perception of Vulcan arrogance awoke within her.

“Despite everything, I am still Vulcan,” she conceded.  “I am not…ready to explore this in public yet until I have a better sense of the experience and how to keep them properly balanced.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Open Water | En route to Private villa | Qo’Nos ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross moved his gaze away from their joined hands to watch the rapid approach of the island. He couldn’t help but feel—irony, of course—that this would be the blind leading the blind. Where, yes, he’d had a lifetime till now dealing with emotions and figuring out a way to balance them, his own sense of balance and certainty had been fucked sideways thanks to the Savi and their “correction.” He had yet to admit to Hathev or anyone else that he’d actually started doing the damned Vulcan meditation techniques, or at least his own bastardized version of them, to help him sort through the gamut of FEELS he went through each day. He couldn’t sleep without both physical exertion and some sort of meditative routine.

To have her ask for his counsel on things emotional was laughable at best, but, at the same time, Cross hadn’t gotten on this boat just for another chance to squeeze her boobs—though that would be nice. Regardless of if things worked out in the long run between them, Cross was committed to the relationship as being one of support and loyalty. It would be grand if for once something didn’t fuck up for him and this actually turned out to be a solid romantic relationship, but he’d been through enough shit before and recently to not hold his breath. And he didn’t want Hathev to hold hers either. Plan for the best but expect the worst; that was the only way to get through the coming days with some semblance of sanity left over.

Squeezing her hand as he returned his attention to her features, Cross offered a half smile, “I can probably help with terms for when you’re feeling something so long as you tell me the ‘symptoms’ of the emotions. But, I gotta say, Hathev, I’m not the greatest at emotional intelligence either. The Savi really fucked me over with their fucking ‘correction,’” he let go of her hand when he felt a surge of anger towards the fuckers sift through him, “so I’ve been dealing with stronger emotions as well. I mean, we don’t have to sit here and dwell long to remember it wasn’t too long ago we had a mind meld that went south.” Cross shook his head. He hated what he’d nearly done. “But if you’re wanting counsel on how to be ‘less Vulcan’ even though you are one, well, I guess you scored with me.”

He slid off the couch as the boat began to slow down, the dock in full view. Holding his hand out for Hathev, Cross smiled warmly, “You’ve got my undivided attention, Hathev, and every drop of patience I can give. Now let’s go explore the island.”

Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Private Villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev took Cross’s hand and disembarked with him at her side.  They were barely off the boat with their bags before the launch shoved off the dock again and began motoring away.  The Vulcans found themselves deposited, and abandoned, on one in a series of islands that reminded Hathev of the Coral Rock Islands on Earth’s Palau region.  For such a violent planet that was Qo’nos an uncharacteristic calm serenity ruled here.

The ‘dock’ turned out to be little more than a boardwalk that, as they walked it, led them across a beach and towards their bungalow.  While one side of the structure had been set on the beach, the footprint took it out over the water as well and although she could not see it, Hathev suspected the deck would provide direct access to the ocean.

As she had explained to Cross, neither doors nor windows had been installed.  Instead thin white curtains waved freely in the ocean breeze and, for a moment, Hathev’s Vulcan modesty made her hesitate and wonder if she had, in fact, under packed.  But, as they approached, the Counselor surreptitiously surveyed the immediate area and saw no other villas.  They were truly alone.

So much the better, she concluded.

Hathev stopped just before ascending the pair of wooden stairs that led to the main entrance, and took a moment to remove her shoes, deciding to continue in her bare feet.  If this was to be her home for the next day or so, she would respect it as such. 
 
She looked to Cross. 
 
“Ready to see inside?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Hathev’s hand was warm, fragile almost, held within his own. Cross couldn’t help but stare at their entwined fingers as she led them from the dock toward the villa. It was still shocking to him that this beautiful, competent, and far more experience woman was even remotely interested in anything he had to offer. True, it could be a physical thing, yet Cross didn’t think it was. Even if it had started that way, from Hathev’s confession, it seemed to be more than just two broken people finding physical comfort with one another. He was no expert, far from it in fact, but Cross got the feeling that whatever storyline they were walking together, it was something that had the makings of “forever” if walked well.

Cross drew to a stop alongside Hathev and watched her remove her shoes. Considering the sand around the villa and the lack of windows and doors, he highly doubted such a gesture would do much to keep the villa clean. Perhaps she was acting on a Vulcan tradition, one his mentor had not taken the time to teach him. Cross gave her a half smile as he more clumsily kicked off his shoes.

The villa was on stilts, and as soon as they stepped through the entryway with its billowing white curtain for a door, Cross understood more of why that was. More than half the villa was over the turquoise water of the sea and in between the rough-hewn wooden floor panels were pockets of glass, cut into the shapes of flowers or fish, where one could peer down into the waters that undulated below the villa. There were no walls to be found aside from the exterior ones. While the furniture, mostly wicker and wood with cushions and blankets draped across them for comfort, helped to denote which “room” was separate from the other, there was no part of the villa you could stand in that you wouldn’t see your partner. There was a kitchen, no replicator, and a fully stocked open-air pantry. It was very cleverly hidden if there was a refrigerating unit somewhere near the kitchen. Same, too, with the bathroom. There were large overhead fans that were powered by solar batteries but aside from that and a few other amenities, it seemed as if the villa was devoid of all electricity or power.

“This is truly impressive, Hathev.” Cross dropped their bags on the bench at the foot of the spacious bed that faced toward the largest open wall.

Based on the current sunlight, Cross realized they’d be able to watch the sunset from the bed or the small, demarcated pool of sea water just a few steps away from the bed. A patio wrapped around the pool, and on the patio, he saw an area where they could grill and barbeque if the mood struck them, along with an array of cushions and lounge chairs. Hathev had said she wanted the time and space to figure out her emotions. Cross smirked and shook his head. This was a paradise of a location for figuring all that fuckery out.

Turning back to face his paramour, Cross nodded his head toward the water, “Swimming first? Or would you like to do something else?” He purposefully kept his eyes averted from the bed, not wanting her to feel pressured into jumping that far into the outing so fast.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Truth be told, Hathev was a little miffed at the lack of privacy between rooms within the villa.  But as she walked with Cross through the smaller space, she realized that was her Vulcan modesty talking.  If she wanted privacy from her travel companions she should have booked a trip to the monastery.  At least there was some privacy in the bathroom.  It made what she was about to do a little easier.

“As the Humans might say, ‘hold that thought’.  I think I should change out of these ‘travel clothes’,” she said indicating the lace pant suit that were clearly not travel clothes, “and slip into something more comfortable.”

She stepped away from Cross, intentionally throwing a little extra swing in her hips.  The sensation was not exactly the most natural for the Vulcan, but that did not stop her from trying. 

Grabbing her bag from where it had been set down, she pulled the privacy curtain closed as she stripped down and changed.  The choice of wardrobe was a bit more provocative than she might have preferred but Hathev felt a certain…obligation to give it a fair shake.

In what turned out to be their final conversation, Hathev had told Kate Foster about her intention to take a day off ship with Cross.  Of course, she had responded to the idea with her usual zeal for innuendo and had immediately suggested the wardrobe she needed to bring wit her.  Each suggestion was, of course more salacious than the last. When the conversation finally came to a close, the young Ms. Foster had gone so far as to send Hathev a series of replicator patterns for her consideration. 

Hathev had not planned to give them serious consideration.

But then the news had come.  There’d been an incident and Kate Foster had been killed along with Andrew Fisher.  Hathev felt those losses on a personal level.  She hadn’t known Fisher all that well, but they’d certainly crossed baths at staff meetings.  Kate Foster on the other hand had hurt. 

In her own way, Hathev was still processing and coming to terms with that loss and when it had come time to pack the bag, she’d decided to honor the colleague…the friend…who had saved her life…who had, in her own way, worked to pull Hathev out of a shell she was destined to shed anyways… by taking at least one of her recommendations for the trip.

The purple swim/body suit fit her well and she found it more than a little ascetically pleasing.  The garment had more sheer panels than she might have preferred.  However, given that there was literally no part of her body that Cross had not already seen and that there was no one else around, she deemed her any emotional discomfort as illogical and carried on with her adjusting and positioning.  Much to her surprise it was comfortable and even if they didn’t swim, she suspected she could wear it for the duration of their stay if she so desired.

Finished changing, Hathev stepped out, and padded over to present herself to Cross, her hands clasped behind her back as she moved.

[Show/Hide]

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

While Hathev changed behind the privacy curtain, Cross unpacked his duffle. It was an old habit and likely one some would find amusing considering the amount of time they were slated to be on the island, but everyone had their own eccentricities. Cross did not like living out of a bag, so to speak, and so regardless of the length of time spent at a destination, he always unpacked, hung up clothing if they needed to be hung up, or tucked items into specific drawers as they required. It took a whole minute to unpack and tuck away the duffle bag out of sight, but Cross already felt more in control of the situation once the task was completed.

He also took advantage of the momentary solitude to do his own “wardrobe” change. This, of course, was likely simpler than what Hathev was undergoing. He slid off his jacket and hung it up, shucked off his pants, folding them before setting them in their proper place, and stood clad in form-fitting swim shorts and his grey t-shirt by the time he heard the curtain pull and turned to watch Hathev’s approach. Her chosen swimwear was tasteful but provocative at the same time. Cross smiled. How like Hathev to act the controlled temptress.

Holding out his hand, Cross willed the warmth of his affection for the woman to reach his eyes as he drank in the sight of her, “You look beautiful, Hathev.” He gestured to the patio, having earlier spied a stone pathway leading further into the small island under the palm trees. “Care to explore a bit before we settle into the waters?”

In truth, Cross was nervous. Not so much that he was tripping over his words and felt like bursting out of his skin, but this was the most alone they’d been since their first intimate encounter. Yes, he’d been to her quarters since then, checking on her in her healing process, but even then, the injury itself had been a “presence” in the room with them, preventing them from acting on any notions of intimacy beyond hand holding and light touches. Now, however, there was nothing in the air between them. No one to disturb them—at least not unless there was a ship emergency. And that heavy reality of no barriers coiled like a snake in Cross’ belly. He wasn’t skilled enough in these circumstances to know how to guide things in a particular direction—not that he thought Hathev particularly wanted things to go in one direction or another. And Cross certainly wasn’t experienced enough in interpreting female desires, especially Vulcan female desires, to note what it was Hathev truly wanted right now. Did she want to explore—he certainly did—did she want to soak in the waters—he equally wanted this—or did she want to fall upon the bed and descend into pleasurable lovemaking once more—Cross found he was just as keen on this as well.

And so, hand extended, Cross awaited any obvious cues from Hathev to know how best to move forward.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev was pleased that her choice of her attire met with Cross’s approval. She had deliberated over the choice and it seemed that her decision to trust Kate Foster’s suggestion had, in fact been appropriate.

“Thank you,” she said as she took his hand and took in his choice of beachwear. “I must also say I approve your choice of wardrobe as well. You look quite…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was unsure as to what word to say. What word was the most appropriate? How could she define the emotional reaction she was experiencing? Over a century of counseling others and as if someone had flipped a switch she could barely counsel herself.

“Fetching…”

For as accurate as the description was, she knew it fell flat the moment she said it.

“Yes,” she said by way of changing the subject. “I think some exploration would be most agreeable.”

She took Cross’s hand and led him out and down the path. Open beach spanned a few dozen meters between their villa and the tree line and, to a certain extent, the warmth of the sands reminded Hathev of Vulcan and while it had been decades since she had stepped foot on her ancestral home world, she found herself longing to return, even though she knew she likely never would.

Too many conflicting thoughts and emotions contributing to too much uncertainty contributing to and a lack of focus and clarity. She needed to start making headway on this.

“I apologize,” she said as they padded across the sand. Hathev had intentionally not put her footwear back on, though she was unsure of what Cross had decided. “I am not convinced that my earlier comment abut your ‘fetching’ look sufficiently or correctly conveyed my meaning. I have found it difficult to find the appropriate descriptors for the more subtle emotional states.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross smiled at her compliment and thought nothing of it as he accepted her hand and let her lead them from the villa. The weather was pleasant. Warm, almost too warm, but with the sea breeze that carried the scent of local blossoms, it made the heat bearable. Having less layers also made the heat bearable. He was enjoying the feel of the soft sand between his toes when Hathev spoke next. Her apology was confusing and not just because Cross didn’t know what she was apologizing for. Listening to her almost trip over her own words had Cross’ eyebrows rise. She truly hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she needed guidance on managing emotions.

“You know, Hathev,” Cross moved to stand in front of her, pausing their exploration just as they made it to a copse of palm trees, “even those of us who have had full use of our emotional range all our lives don’t have a description for everything we feel or every reaction we have. Sometimes a look,” he stepped close and cupped her cheek, his other hand settling lightly on her hip, “or a touch can be enough to convey all the emotion you need to convey.”

Cross bent his head and placed a light kiss on her brow. He didn’t trust himself to kiss her much more intimately than that. Not yet at least. She hadn’t brought him here just to fuck his brains out. This was a calculated retreat for them both; he would take his cues from her as to when, or if, they would resume that level of intimacy. Moving back from the semi-embrace, Cross took her hand again and resumed the walk, this time bringing her hand up to the crook his elbow and tucking it into place.

“How about a game? I say a word, and you tell me the first emotion that you associate with that word?” Of course, his infantile mind immediately wanted him to say ‘penis,’ but instead, Cross began with, “Ocean?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

The wind blew across their path, blowing Hathev’s hair to the right as they talked. Cross’s words provided some comfort of all things and the Counselor noted the irony that she should be counseled on the emotional experience while having had made a career on helping others navigate their own.  And yet, as with all things, speaking objectively on a subject and experiencing the subject first hand were two distinct things.

She felt Cross’s kiss and sensed the corners of her mouth curl upward ever so slightly. 

“I see your point.”

They took few more steps, Hathev following Cross’s lead this time as he tucked her hand on the crook of his elbow.  For some reason, the urge the lean on his arm took her and she indulged.

Then Cross suggested an emotional association exercise.  Hathev knew of the technique, of course, having used it with patients before and she was unsure of it’s effectiveness on her.  But as she had always asked her patients to keep an open mind, it seemed only logical that she do the same.

“Ocean”

It took her a moment to consider the idea and she remained silent for a bit longer than Cross might have expected.  She detached herself from Cross, and turned for the shoreline, the wind in her face.  She stopped just short of the water line and observed the ocean in front of her,  she closed her eyes to listen and absorb the sound of the tide washing up on the sand beneath her feet, and she took in the scent of the salty sea air.  Then after another moment, she had her answer.

“Calming.” 

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross felt a protective thrill shiver through his body as Hathev leaned her weight against him. This desire to protect and defend had always been a part of his drive towards excellence in his work, but there was a new element to the drive now. Hathev was bringing out a side to him, or certain nuances of him that had always been there lingering in the shadows. If they were in an emergency on the ship, Cross knew he would instinctively still put his duties first. For as much as he felt an affinity for this woman leaning against him, Cross also knew that the blood that flowed through his veins was Starfleet and duty. He also knew without asking that Hathev would want him to put others first, citing the Vulcan saying of “the good of the many.” But once the dust settled and he was relieved of duties, Cross was also cognizantly aware that his every thought would be on her and he would break through walls to get to her to see that she was safe.

When Hathev let go and moved closer to the water, Cross brought his mind back to the moment and listened intently for her response. Her answer brought a smile to his face, and he nodded. Struck with a sudden idea, Cross broke off a smaller twig from a nearby fallen branch and walked along the beach, writing out words for Hathev to work her way through at her own pace. He figured she was familiar with the exercise of the counselor saying a word and the patient responding. But how often did one read the word written in the sand on the beach of a beautiful island while listening to the calming ocean?

Hathev, as she walked in his footsteps would find the following words drawn in his curt script:
•   Dance
•   Knowledge
•   Fruit
•   Discipline
•   Nature
•   Comfort
•   Family
•   Fear
•   Beauty
•   Future

Cross kept a hold of the stick as he stood next to the last word, “future,” and waited for Hathev to answer, moving closer as she did so. He could develop more words if needed, but ten was a good start. If anything, it was too much.

“In your own time,” Cross offered her an encouraging smile. He dug his toes into the cool sand as he waited, content to let her process and respond at her own pace.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

She turned at the sound of his drawing in the sand, a silent activity for most humanoids, made audible by the sensitivity in the Vulcan ear.  She, of course, knew where Cross was going with, but she accepted the exercise as she had before and set to work as she considered each word in turn.

‘Dance’

Hathev considered the word.  While she had never partaken, she was familiar with the art in its various styles, the rhythmic precision it demanded and the artistic interpretation often making any given performance of any given dance unique.  Hathev held the practice with appreciation and respect, but the concept of ‘dance’ did not invoke an immediate emotional construct.  So, with that, she reverted to the first word that had come to mind and etched her response in the sand.

‘Art’

A step to the side put her in front of the second word.

‘Knowledge’

The root of modern Vulcan society was knowledge.  Intellect and logic had taken her people from the brink of collapse to a growing thriving star faring culture that evoked both envy and ire from those around them.  Her thought process stopped there and she etched her response into the sand.

‘Envy’

She moved to the third word Cross had provided

‘Fruit’

This was the first in the list that made Hathev wonder why he’d chosen the word in question.  She was, of course, aware of some of the colloquial uses of the word ‘fruit’ and she wondered for a moment if he was trying to make some attempt at a joke.  Chosing, instead, to give him the benefit of the doubt, she focused her thoughts on that which fruit invoked in her.  She recalled a trip she had taken to an area of the North American continent on Earth called Georgia.  While there she had toured a peach farm.  She had been invited to harvest a peach from the trees and consume it for herself which, despite it’s seemingly illogical nature, she indulged.  Never before had she tasted such a sweet and delicious fruit and even though the juice had run down her chin in a most undignified manner, it was an experience she did not regret.

‘Delicious’

‘Dicipline’

Of all the words Cross had offered this was one that spoke to her the quickest and she was able to return the first word that came to her mind

‘Logical’

Ironically Hathev’s choice or responses was probably the most illogical to provide given the attempt of the exercise.  She was supposed to be giving him the first emotion that came to mind or, at the very least, words that could invoke an emotion.  The word ‘logical’ did not suffice for any.  Still.  She moved on.

‘Nature’

Another word that did not immediately invoke an emotional response in her, or so she thought.  Yet there was a certain…beauty…to the natural world.  While modern Science was able to explain most of the universe’s naturally occurring events, to a high degree of accuracy, it struck Hathev that the odds of all things happening naturally in such a sequential process  so as to form the universe as they saw it were so infinitesimal, so minuscule, that some might refer to it as a miracle.  Hathev did not ascribe to a theology or to the concept of miracles and that made the natural world all the more beautiful.

‘Beautiful’

The Counselor paused at the next word.

‘Comfort’

Ever since she had started in her carrer, and especially sicne she had come aboard Theurgy, Hathev had either provided to, or received from those around her comfort in countless forms.  Whether physical or psychological, that comfort and the willingness to give always seemed to come from one central place.

‘Compassion’

‘Family’

Of all the words provided, none struck an immediate emotional response such as the one now before her.  Images of her family forever burned into her memory rushed to the forefront of her consciousness.  Images of Selv, a fellow Vulcan who had served with her aboard the Demascus, one who had volunteered to be her mate when the Pon Farr took her and she could not return home, one who had died during the Dominion War.  Images Kiriel, her son by Selv raised by her and by her chosen mate back on earth.  Hathev had not conjured his name into her mind since he had left home to join the Maquis, a choice that had devastated the Vulcan, though she had never given voice to it.  One who had been killed when the Cardassians and Dominion had hunted the Maquis to extinction.  Images of Saren, a junior counselor aboard Theurgy when she had come aboard, her subordinate and the son of Selv by another mate, the only link she had to the biological father of her late son, now in stasis, near death, with very little hope of survival.  Of Triss, her beloved wife, a word she had never used to describe her until now.  Endlessly patient to a fault, unable to understand Hathev’s inability to express herself, one who mourned for Kiriel with enough emotion to suffice for the both of them.  One whom she had abandoned when she returned to space, serving aboard Starbase 84, which led her to the Ballerophon and then to the Theurgy.  One who had died in Paris.

Death.  That was the word that came to her when she saw ‘Family’ etched in the sand.  Her mate, her son, her mate’s son, her wife…all dead.  The entirety of her family dead.  Never mourned,  never grieved.  Merely acknowledged as deceased, the logical ending of any life, and on to the next topic.  Their lives extinguished by war, and acts of terror, innocents caught up in conflicts far larger than themselves, just as she now found herself.  Gone…forever.  So many things left unsaid, small gestures left not reciprocated, expressions of affection unrequited…conflicts left irrevocably unresolved.  It was all too much to take in.

The stick fell out of Hathev’s hand and plopped unceremoniously in the sand as the Vulcan collapsed to her knees and, for the first time in her life, wept.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross watched, intrigued, as Hathev picked up a stick and walked along the words, taking her time to write out her responses. Cross shuffled across the sand to stand behind her, not too close to make her feel crowded or pressured, but close enough to see her drawn responses. Art was a logical response to dance and brought a quick snort from Cross before they moved to the next word. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the use of envy in response to knowledge, but firmly kept his mouth shut, not wanting to interrupt the process. Her responses to fruit and discipline were also of no surprise. The fact that she used beauty for nature further testified to the surfacing emotions broiling under her surface. While it would appear to be a simple word to anyone unofficiated in Vulcan logic, Cross had sat through enough lessons on it to know that it had been quite the feat for her to choose that word in particular.

Everything changed, however, when Hathev came to family. Cross had written it with little thought, trying to provide a variety of prompts, and not all of them directly connected to one another. Her absolute stillness, to the point that Cross had to step closer to ensure that she was still breathing, cued him into her inner turmoil. Cross recalled the details of their conversation in his quarters in swift succession. In the days since, he’d been so preoccupied with the sensual details of what they’d done AFTER that conversation and the missions and her recovery that he’d neatly overlooked the pain that had driven her to his quarters in the first place.

Cross scrubbed a hand over his face, leaving his fingers against his chin as he continued to observe Hathev, curious how she would respond. On the one hand, he felt like a royal ass writing something like that so casually. On the other, he reminded himself, she HAD come here, this isolated island, to begin the process of learning how to FELL without being overwhelmed. And she had asked for his help. But still, he could’ve exhibited greater foresight and chosen something a little less…

Eyes widening, his hand dropped to his side and clenched into a fist as Hathev dropped the stick and crumpled to the sand. It took a full second for Cross to process what was happening, but once it registered the Vulcan woman was weeping, he sprung into action. Though he knew that not everyone likes to be touched while crying, at the same time, considering the intimacy they’d shared in his quarters, he felt he had some clearance to act on his instinct with Hathev. Sitting on the sand next to her, Cross hoisted Hathev’s lithe form into his lap. His arms came around her, using one hand to gently press against the crown of her head, and tucked her against his chest so he could hold her comfortably and completely.

He’d never been around much weeping in his days. Cursing and some tears of anger, yes, but mournful weeping, not so much. Bab hadn’t done much crying in the lab, and neither had he. Even when she’d been killed, her body falling over the Cardassian guard’s, Cross hadn’t cried like this. He’d been shocked and enraged and only later noted the bereft sense of loss. Aside from offering her physical comfort, Cross was at a loss of what to say. Or if he should say anything at all. So he kept quiet and held her, his body instinctually beginning a methodically rocking motion, the movement slight but constant. He hoped she would tell him what she needed now, what she wanted because he certainly didn’t know what the hell to do with a crying woman, be they Vulcan or anything else.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

The catharsis shot through Hathev easing off almost as quickly as it had come on.  She had known the purpose of the exercise had been to explore emotional association and had thusly allowed her emotional control to relax which had left her vulnerable and the concept of ‘family’ had hit her far harder than she might have otherwise anticipated.

She found herself again, bringing her breathing under control and she scrubbed her eyes before allowing Cross to pull her into his lap, her legs cast to one side as she re-asserted control over herself.  She didn’t need a mind meld to know he felt a sense of responsibility for her current state, a responsibility she did not wish for him to carry.

“I apologize,” she said.  Her voice weaker than usual, but still somewhat consistent.  “I was not prepared for the intensity of the emotions associated with my family.”    She sidled closer, allowing Cross to pull her in tighter if she so chose.

“The truth of the matter is that everyone I once considered family is dead or in stasis.  As I have attempted to mourn them in the Vulcan way there has been no emotional catharsis over their loss.  I did not anticipate it would all come at once.”

She sat with him, in silence, as she looked back on the fonder memories of her departed family and as she did, a sense of inner calm set in.  Unlike the Vulcan practice of emotional suppression and purge, this was a sense of genuine calm and peace and Hathev found it appealing.

“Thank you, Otersu.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross grunted more as a response to her apology than to her tucking herself more firmly against his body. Holding her always felt good, and the increased skin-to-skin contact reminded him of the bed back at the bungalow and the “other activities” his subconscious had been hoping for while they were on the island. But Cross blinked away the mental images of her writhing beneath him as he thrust into her and instead used the rhythmic sound of the waves laving attention to the shore as a way to refocus his thoughts.

He was a bit surprised by her term of endearment—a word he knew but had never used. So much so that it was only after another grunt and a quick body squirm to get more comfortable now that she was fully in his lap that he found his words to reply.

“From where I’m sitting, I don’t see a reason for you to apologize. I may be fully Vulcan by blood now but we both know I fail miserably as a Vulcan when it comes to emotional expression. Save the apologies for emotional outbursts for some of the uptight priestesses back planetside.” Cross hoped she’d interpret his comment as playful, as that was how he intended it, but she was only now staring on her journey for feeling, so he was quick to press a kiss against the top of her head as he added, “I’m in jest, Hathev. Not that you SHOULD apologize, but the snide comment about the priestesses.”

His hands splayed across bare flesh, Cross could feel her heartbeat. The steady rhythm of heartbeat and waves further lulled Cross into a sense of contented peace. Laying his cheek on the top of her head, Cross’ gaze took on a far-off look as he recalled his childhood.

“Another specimen shared the lab with me in my early years. I mean, we had many ‘siblings,’ some who died and some who ‘graduated’ to other labs, but BaB and I stayed together.” He sighed. “At least until her death.” The snort he gave then was without humor. “She died trying to protect me from the Bajorans prisoners who had broken into the lab during the liberation. They’d already killed the Cardassian guard who’d been the closest thing to father to either of us; from our perspective, they were going to kill us too. I was too stunned at the time to feel much of anything and in the days after, while I was going through the re-education, I felt more rage than sadness. Then guilt, of course, came. I don’t recall ever crying.” He sighed, placing another kiss to the skin at her temple. “In many ways, I wish I had. It might’ve helped me work through the worst of those early days.”

He hesitated a moment before launching forward with the prompt he’d been mulling over, “Would talking about the good times help you process the loss? I’m shit at knowing what to do with this type of thing, Hathev. I either talked about stuff with my mentors, or I just thought my way through the crap bothering me. Sometimes I worked out or developed new skills and pursued hobbies.” He jostled her body with his shrug. “I’m not quite sure what to DO right now if there’s something MORE I need to be doing than what I am right now.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn:  @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev took in a breath, continuing to calm herself as Cross held her close. She did not particularly wish to discuss her biological family. Logic dictated that while unfortunate and premature, death was the natural end of all life that ought not be mourned beyond the funeral rituals.

“If I were counseling one of my patients,” she said in response to Cross’s memories of her BaB, “I would advise that there is no correct or incorrect way to mourn.  Mourning is merely a term for the way in which we process and accept death.  Like all things, each individual is unique in the way they they go about that process.  It is one of the most difficult concepts to understand especially given how inconsistent the process is.  The way in which you mourned BaB is different than the way you would mourn for a colleague, which is different than the way you would mourn for someone else.”

She pulled him closer, realizing how much she desired him, but how she currently held no intent to satiate that desire.  As found her Vulcan calm once again, the exercise Cross had put before her returned to her consideration.  There were still three words she had yet to respond to.  Quietly, she sat with him for a few moments before responding.

“Motivating, Subjective, and Uncertain,” she finally said.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross gave Hathev another squeeze of affection before shifting beneath her, “I think we’ve done enough word association. What do you say about eating a light meal and resting from the journey?”

He gently pushed her from his lap just enough to stand and reach for her hand. A misty rain was tickling across the roof of their villa by the time they made it back. For this region of the planet, Cross knew short afternoon rain showers were part of the way everything remained lush. The journey back to the villa seemed shorter than the venture from it, but Cross knew that was more to do with the psychological association of place and distance than in reality. While Hathev had arranged for this outing, he’d still done his research. Cross had wanted to know what kind of creatures they’d encounter, the weather, of course, and whether or not they were likely to come across other people during their time isolated. All this influenced his packing and preparation.

“Do you want to help me make the food or just rest? I actually enjoy cooking, and I’m not half bad at it.” Cross winked at Hathev as he dropped her hand and made for the makeshift kitchen the villa offered. “I’m thinking a fruit platter, a salad, and maybe a few slices of bread with cheese?” He was already working his way through the cupboards to find the desired items as he spoke. “What are your thoughts on a drink? They’re stocked with all sorts of wines, ales, teas, and sparkling juices.” Cross remembered they’d both been under the influence of high amounts of sugar when they’d finally come together in his quarters and while he hoped they’d have a repeat performance at some point in time during their venture here, he hoped they wouldn’t have to rely on inebriation to do so. Pausing in his movements, Cross smiled back at Hathev, “Sound good?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn:  @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev was content to let Cross guide her back to the villa and by in large she remained quiet, though present, as she continued to reflect on the emotional experience.  It seemed as though she was most prone to emotional outburst while in Cross’s presence and while logic might have dictated an obvious resolution, her instinct…the instinct Cir’Cie had suggested she start trusting, told her that he was not at fault and that perhaps there was no fault to be had, that she was the unstable element and her inability to control her emotions stemmed from her own lack of experience.

She parted from Cross as he made his way into the kitchen and she took a seat on one of the stools that lined the small island, the warm skin of her butt and hips coming into contact with the cool wood of the stool.  She’d considered slipping a pair of pants on over her swim suit, but rejected it just as quickly on the grounds that she did not wish to deprive Cross of the view or herself the sensuality she experienced by wearing it.

Cross began going through his plan for their food, and although Hathev did not directly answer his question about whether she wanted to help or wanted to rest, she was content to remain seated as she watched him work.

“It does sound good, Cross,”  she replied.  “As to the details of drinks and the like, surprise me.  But please keep it light.  I’m hoping for a swim and some,” her voice trailed off before she picked up, “physical exertion before the day is out,” she said, trying to put a playful tone in her voice.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross gulped at the last of Hathev’s comment. While he’d hoped to resume their physical intimacy, he hadn't quite expected her to speak of it so openly. Granted, she hadn’t exactly been open. That had been a coy comment by Vulcan standards and her efforts to be coy made Cross’ lips pull back into a boyish grin.

“Very well,” he gave a playful salute before getting back to work. First, he poured a glass of water and placed it within reach of Hathev’s slender fingers, then he immediately set about whipping together the meal he’d described moments before.

As there was no computer to request music from, Cross fell into an old habit and hummed a few of his favorite songs as he worked. They were mostly drinking songs learned from his friends at his first postings, but there were a few ballads he’d learned from MacDonald mixed in as well. Occasionally, he swung by Hathev’s perch to offer her a bit of food from his fingers, happy to keep her satiated until he had everything together. The rain picked up outside, leaving a poolside or beachside picnic out of the question. So, by the time Cross had everything arranged on a platter, he jerked his head toward the covered patio, hoping she would follow.

“I diluted the sparkling raspberry juice with a black tea infusion. So it should quench thirst, perhaps give a little buzz, but nothing overwhelming.” Cross commented as they got situated. He’d already prepped the plates with single servings of everything, with the extras on a large plate in the middle of the tray in case she wanted more. “Since it is unwise to swim right after eating, or to be too physically active,” Cross surprised himself with the playful wink he shot Hathev over their food, “shall we talk? Perhaps play a verbal game?” Washing down his bite of apple with the juice, Cross leaned forward in his chair, “There’s a human game called ‘never have I ever.’ If I say something you have done, you have to drink, and then you go next, but if I say something you haven’t done, then I have to keep making statements until I find something you have, and then we switch. So, for example, I could say, never have I ever been to Risa. If you have been to Risa, you’d drink, if you haven’t, then I have to keep going. Would you like to play this game? Or would you rather do something else while we eat?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev was more than willing to indulge Cross as he prepared their meal and, if she were being honest with herself, she enjoyed taking the offerings Cross provided into her mouth directly off his fingers.  Unsanitary and illogical though it was, Hathev found she enjoyed the sensation almost as much as she enjoyed Cross’s reaction whenever her lips and tongue enveloped his fingers.

She followed him into the covered patio but as Cross began to set out their food, Hathev noticed the hammock (https://secure.img1-cg.wfcdn.com/im/39583977/resize-h800-w800%5Ecompr-r85/6172/61728428/Double+Chair+Hammock+with+Stand.jpg) hanging from the ceiling and overlooking the beach.  Furnished with mattress pad and pillows and large enough to hold two, it piqued Hathev’s interest.  Despite the rain, the winds remained mostly calm as though giving them leave to use it without getting pelted by precipitation.

“Cross,” she motioned to the hammock. 
 “Never have I ever sat on one of those with my lover at my side.”
With another playful, or at least she hoped it was playful, lilt in her voice Hathev strolled over and climbed on.  Rolling to her side she assumed the proverbial position and looked over to him and the look on his face.

“Well, are you going to join me over here and take a drink?  Or do I get to go again?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross eyed the contraption with likely less enthusiasm for it than Hathev. While he’d never been in this particular type of hammock, he’d experienced a few hammocks in his time and none of them seemed to agree with him. Or rather his abrupt halt in a heap on the ground next to the hammocks he’d tried didn’t seem to agree with him. But Hathev seemed keen to try and Cross wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. Perhaps this one, sturdier than the others he’d encountered by far, would prove less damaging to his pride and his spine.

Cross was already sipping at his drink as he moved to join her, “I’m not certain if it counts but in one of the mystery holonovels I’ve played through there is a scene where the femme fatale and the detective, share a few moments on something not too dissimilar to this before attacked by her spurned mafia boss ex-lover.” He didn’t hide his wariness as he crawled up into the contraption beside her, heaving a sign once he was settled against the pillows and nothing had spilled out, be it food, pillows, or themselves. “Go again,” Cross instructed Hathev with a smile, happy that she seemed to be relaxing into the moment and the game with more ease than the word association failure on the beach.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn:  @Ellen Fitz‍ 

It seemed juvenile to play this ‘game’.  To her eye, Hathev saw ‘never have I ever’ as less of a competition and more of an excuse for it’s participants to to consume intoxicating beverages  In her experience adults, and even some juveniles, of their respective species did not need to make excuses for the consumption other than to make themselves feel better and, to a certain extent, Hathev did not believe she needed any excuse to do such a thing other than her personal desire. 

Still, there was very little precedent that she knew of for a Vulcan in her mid-life to begin to lose emotional control outside of a medical diagnosis and while intellectually and physically she might be an adult, but from a standpoint of experiencing, processing and integrating her emotions into her conscious thought process, she was still very much a child.  And so she indulged.

Hathev sifted her position, giving space for Cross to climb on.  The hammock tilted a bit, threatening to drop Hathev to the floor, but Cross’s weight provided a quick counter balance that restored the suspended bed to equilibrium.  As she moved, her bare skin rubbed against the fur lined padding, a sensation that while not completely unknown to  Hathev, was one she did not experience often given the typical Vulcan wardrobe and Starfleet uniforms she often wore.  Even during her marriage to Triss, she did not often allow the exposure of excess skin.  At least now, she could at least begin to understand the frustration her late wife must have experienced.

The sense of grief pushed into her once again, but this time she was prepared and pushed that feeling aside, suppressing it, like a good Vulcan should, if only to allow her to be a bad Vulcan and focus on the emotions that uplifted her spirits.  Oh how she wanted to be a bad Vulcan,

Once Cross had settled himself in the hammock, Hathev took her next turn.

“For the record, Mr. Cross,” she said, “experiences on the holodeck or other virtual reality environments do not count for the purposes of this game.”  She paused before she took her next turn.

“Never have I ever operated the weapon systems of a starship.”

It was a ‘low blow’, she knew but she also knew that if the point of this exercise was, at least in part, to become intoxicated, she could not continue providing prompts to Cross.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

“Duly noted Ms. Hathev,” Cross lifted his glass in her direction and gave her a salute before sipping at the drink. She’d played dirty with her comment but he could do that as well. “I just remembered that you’re only allowed to go two times in a row before the round automatically switches to another person.” His eyes gleamed with mischief at his obvious fib but that didn’t stop him from continuing, “Never have I ever been to Vulcan.”

And it was true. While his mentors had invited Cross to track down the genetic donors of his Bajoran and Vulcan DNA, Cross had refused. He was neither Bajoran nor Vulcan. He was himself. While there were aspects of both cultures he appreciated, and other aspects he loathed, Cross felt less kinship for the planets and their people than he did for a starship and Starfleet. He was curious what Hathev’s thoughts would be on the matter, how she would respond to the reality that for Cross, his future life would forever been entangled with the Fleet, but now was not the time for such discussions. The sweetness of their drinks, even diluted, was enough to ease away any earlier residual anxiety leftover from the breakdown on the beach. A pleasant thrum was pulsing in his veins, far from inebriation, but a distinct relaxation was born on the sweet edges of the juice.

He appreciated Hathev’s body as she displayed it for him, reclining on the hammock. Not for the first time, Cross was struck mute, only barely paying attention to Hathev’s response, when memories of their coupling returned. How in the hell had he managed to get her attention? And not only that, but what the fuck did he do right to get her in his arms? Cross blinked. It took him a few breaths, and close observation of Hathev’s expression, to realize he’d spoken his thoughts aloud instead of keeping quiet for the game.

Snorting at his own abrupt nature, Cross sighed, saluting Hathev once more with his glass before taking a longer sip. “I am curious, what is it about me that intrigues you so much you’d even want to experience this with me?”

He wasn’t exactly speaking from an inferiority complex. Cross knew he was a capable officer and a damned good friend. His experiences with women led him to believe that more than a few found him attractive, and it was his own nature that kept things from progressing further than verbal flirtation—though most of the details of such things went far over his head and he only realized the reality much later and much too late. But Cross was truly curious about Hathev’s interest. If someone had told him months ago that this woman would be lying beside him like this, Cross would have laughed over another glass of gin. They were from entirely different worlds, literally and figuratively, so it wasn’t so strange for Cross to draw back from the playfulness of the situation to seriously contemplate the how and the why of it all.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev nodded, ingratiating Cross’s toast and acknowledging his change of the rules.  She suspected he was ‘winging it’ and making up these so called rules as he went, but she decided not to challenge him on it.  She took a sip of her drink in response to his statement for their game and sat back, waiting for his next prompt. 

But it did not come in the form of a statement, but rather a question; one about them and the why of their relationship.  Not only did it surprise her, but it surprised her that it surprised her.  How illogically redundant, she concluded.

The answer to his query was, somewhat complex of course.  He had been her patient once  when she’d first come aboard, and in an attempt to render therapeutic aid she’d attempted a mind meld with Cross.  She had been unprepared for the intensity of his feelings and in both cases the emotional back lash had caused intense blow back, first on him, then on her.  She hadn’t been ‘right’ since then  Something about that meld seemed to have broken her ability to fully suppress her emotional self.  That had left her susceptible.

As a rule Mindmelds were inherently intimate.  While not sexual in nature the practice permitted each participant to touch the inner most thoughts of the other, a sharing that could run so deep and personal that no other exchange could even begin to replicate.  In a relatively brief period of time, willing participants could learn and understand years of experience, thoughts, and, yes, emotions.  That sharing combined with her damaged suppression, had left a permanent impression on her, that she could not ignore.

“Despite their unintended consequences,” she began, “the Mind melds you and I shared allowed me to see you in a new way.  My affection for you has long since transcended that of mere respect of a fellow officer and into something more, I’ve come to realize that I care for you very deeply, and that I enjoy,” she paused for emphasis, “truly enjoy, the time I am able to spend with you.  Despite your faults, I find you to be a very caring person.  Attentive to those around you, stalwart in your duties, and someone who makes others, myself included, feel safer and well,” she paused again, “loved when they are in your presence.’

She stopped there, unsure of where all that had come from, but certain that she meant every word she had just uttered.  Still she sensed an awkwardness In the room, one she wanted to go away,

“Never have I ever said that to anyone else.”

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to or not, but she finished her drink all the same.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

“Well,” Cross took in a deep breath, held it, then spoke on a sigh, “fuck me.”

He remembered the disastrous mind meld and was still floored that this beautiful woman was even interested in giving him a glance, let alone snuggling her flesh next to him on a deserted island. He thought he’d cocked it up worse than anyone could ever cock anything up, making him the cocking up cock winner of the year. Yet, here she spoke of who, despite the cockery, something good had come from that. If being an emotionally compromised Vulcan was considered a good thing. Cross frowned, his thoughts turning darker despite the reassurances she offered as she commended his character.

“Do you think the screw-up in that mind meld may have implanted false feelings or thoughts inside you? Made you predisposed to be attracted to me? Or,” he glanced up at her from his previous glare at the glass clutched between his fingers, “whether that and the rest of the shock of losing loved ones and the attack combined pushed you into intimacy with me that, under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have otherwise pursued?”

Hathev knocked back her drink after alluding to the half-forgotten game, an attempt at light-hearted playfulness in the face of serious undertones. Cross squeezed his eyes shut and followed suit, letting the sweet liquid course over his tongue and swirl in his mouth a moment before swallowing the gulp. He thought over his questions and sighed. Fuck. None of this was coming out right. Fuckety fuck.

“Nevermind, Hathev. That wasn’t a fair set of questions. Under ‘normal’ circumstances, neither of us would be here now, would we? You’d still have your wife and son, and I’d still be…whatever the fuck I was or am. Blue would still be around, but then so would her husband, and yeah,” Cross shook his head firmly as if he could shake the thoughts from his mind, “going down that rabbit hole won’t do any good.”

He carefully shifted on the suspended furniture so he could face Hathev more fully, studying the angles of her face, and curves of her body.

“Though you didn’t ask, I’ll tell you that you’re more than just my first fuck.” Cross frowned, dropped his head, cursed himself for his lack of poetry, and then continued with a steadier voice. “I’ve always liked your forthright nature, attention to detail, and professional demeanor through a crisis. Unflappable and thorough are two character traits I find very noteworthy and worthy of respect. That those traits are packaged like this,” he kept his gaze locked with hers but gestured to her body, “pleased me immensely. And I like the challenge and mystery being with you holds. I don’t quite know what comes next, but instead of being intimidated by that, I am intrigued.”

Taking her empty glass, as well as his own, and setting them aside, Cross returned to his semi-reclined position. He reached out and lightly traced fingers over the back of her hand.

“Did I screw up again?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

For as much as she had not wanted to consider the circumstances of how they came together, Cross’s question presented as a very fair and, yes, logical question.  It was also a question for which she had no answer.  Yes, things between them might be different had the mind melds not gone as poorly as they had and the incident had certainly created a spark of intimacy between the two of them.  But then she recalled what she often advised her own patients.

“Intimacy between two sentient individuals does not tend to last if there is nothing to fuel it,” she responded. “Can I say for sure what would have happened had that mind meld not occurred, no.  But had there been no desire on either of our parts it would have… as the humans say… ‘fizzled out’.  I tend to believe that, if anything, the meld accelerated our inevitable joining by handing us a firm ground upon which to build our relationship as opposed to our having to find and build it ourselves.”

She shifted, rolling towards Cross slightly and pulling him in to her so his head rested on her breast.  His weight on top of her warmed her like a quilt on a cold winter’s night back on Earth and though her bathing suit prevented direct skin to skin contact, she could almost sense his thoughts.

“Ultimately,” she continued softly.  “If you were my patient I would advise that you not endeavor to over think the situation, but rather enjoy what is in front of you and see where it leads.”

She tried to make her tone sound more kind and helpful than patronizing.  If he was worried that he had screwed up, the comment about not dwelling, might be misinterpreted.  She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his back, and allowing her free leg to hook around both of his.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

It occurred to Cross that while he had longer experience with emotions, Hathev’s vocation had been for controlling them—and in her personal case, suppressing them. This led to another thought, that of bemusement, at the semi-patronizing manner in which she pulled his head to her chest and all but hushed him away from the serious discussion he’d inadvertently broached. Of course, she likely hadn’t meant to come across as patronizing or chastising—she was an “infant” with emotional expression after all—yet, the adult man side of Cross bristled at the implication and wanted to prove his manliness to her. In contrast, the child-man side wanted to sulk against her chest while she stroked her fingers over his skin.

Before he raised his head from her chest in what seemed futile to find resolution beyond mere physicality—a strange development for Cross—a flash memory had him frozen in place. During one of his holonovel excursions with Kai, the pair of them playing private investigators looking for the murderer of a rich crime boss, he remembered with more than a little arousal how one of the female characters—a femme fatal—had offered to give him information only if he submitted to her whims. The only reason the woman hadn’t gone all the way in “having her way” with Cross, tied up and vulnerable to her every move as he was on her bed, was because Kai had discovered evidence that she was the murderer and prevented the woman’s “murder” of Cross by putting a bullet between her eyes just before she could sink a holographic knife into Cross’ chest.

Aside from the concept of restraints being used to assist in getting more satisfactory answers or responses, there was no correlation between that memory and the present situation. Perhaps even support his desire to prove himself to Hathev in a fashion…exert his manliness over her femininity. Or rather, more accurately, his emotional expression over her continued sense of emotional control despite her stated desire to learn how to express her emotions. What better way to bring her to bring of emotional expression than to follow in the footsteps—relatively—of the femme fatal who’d taught him the benefit of restraint usage in the bedroom.

Cross used his superior strength to pull away from Hathev. However, he did so with gentleness and gave her a playful smile once he caught her gaze, “I have an idea for how to move forward with your emotional expression training and that may also help me find more clarity in what’s going on between us. And, I know from personal experience the process can be quite enjoyable, pleasurable, and enlightening. If you trust my judgment on this, follow me, and lose the suit.”

Trying to escape the hanging death trap without looking like an idiot was impossible. But out he crawled and, with one last lingering look over Hathev’s enticing form, Cross went inside the bungalow to find the closest equivalents to four restraints he could secure to the headboard and footboard of the bed along with something that could be used for a blindfold. He’d improvise for the other items, remembering how the woman had used feathers, cloths, and even the sting of a belt on his body to drive him wild. As he gathered the materials and strategically placed them just in case, Cross wondered if Hathev would follow his lead or suggest something more known and tame for her “lessons.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hathev arched an eyebrow as Cross offered up his next idea.  She had not expected him to pull away from her, gently though he had.  For her place she would have been content to lay with him in her embrace and see where things went from there.  She watched quietly as he padded out, heading to the bedroom uncertain of what to make of him.  His use of the phrase ‘help me find more clarity’ implied that her answer to him had not been to his satisfaction.  That, she decided, was troubling.

The female vulcan also knew that she was not preared to ‘lose the suit’ even in the figurative sense.  The garment was comfortable on her and she welcomed the way in which it presented her figure.  But she did trust Cross’s judgement and did not wish to indicate anything to the contrary.  So, she climbed out of the hammock, making a mental note to revisit it before the end of their stay.  The counselor followed after cross, her graceful movement keeping her stride smooth and steady.

She found him in the bedroom, rummaging around, pulling sashes off of robes and cataloging them.  Hathev hadn’t even realized that robes of various styles, fabrics and sizes had been provided.  But as he looked through them, pulling the sashes out of their loops, examining them, he seemed to settle on four longer thinner sashes, before pulling a fifth, this one wider than the others.

Hathev was not naive and having counseled many patients over the years, and hearing about their various sexual fettishes, she suspected she knew what was on Cross’s mind.  It was less clear, however, what was on her own mind and for a brief moment she debated which was more important; her sense of uncertainty when it came to this practice, or her desire to trust in her partner.  For her to do this, she would have to give something up; something that mattered most to her as it did to her people as a whole -

Self Control.

Such a fundamental requirement of all Vulcans.  She’d lived her life, as all Vulcans did under a sense of self control.  It sat at the foundation of dicipline, of logic, of everything.  Had her people not learned to control their emotions…

For as illogical as it seemed, Hathev could see and appreciate Cross’s logic.  If she was ever going to learn how to express her emtions properly, she first needed to learn how to let go of some of that control.

She took in a ragged breath, one she had not known she was holding in.  Reaching down, she released the snaps on the crotch and pulled the suit up, off her breasts, and into her hand before uncermoniously dropping it to the floor.  She let herself lean on the door frame, one arm upstretched on the frame itself while the other sat on her hip.

“As it would seem I am about to become your captive, Sir,” she said with what she hoped was a ‘playful’ tone in her voice, “there are two things you need to know.  First, my safeword is ‘starfire’.  Second,” she paused for affeect as she willed her voice to come off a bit more serious though still somewhat playful.  “Under no circumstances are we to mind meld while I am bound.  I am not willing to risk either of us having a violent outburst." 

It was a prudent demand, she decided.  Logical and, given their history, safe.  If something happened and he lashed out, despite his best intentions, she would literally be helpless to defend herself.  Similarly, if she turned violent, the restraints would potentially exacerbate the situation.  Either way she stood to come out of either scenario badly injured or worse.  Without question, an unacceptable outcome.

"Beyond that, you may do with, and to, me whatever you wish for as long as you wish it.”

She honestly was unsure of how Cross would respond to her submissive self making such a statement, but also trusted him to respect her requirements given how little she was asking in exchange for how much she was offering.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

The proper paraphernalia selected, Cross looked up toward Hathev’s voice, half expecting her to be dressed and ready to call the boat back. But then he felt his stomach drop out of his body at the sight of her glorious nude body leaning against the doorframe in a similar pose Cross had seen Orion temptresses take when luring in their next victim. Her teasing tone of voice furthered his imagination and desire, reminding him of the ludicrous romantic drivel he’d read to her during her recovery and inspiring him for what they could do during their “therapy” session.

Cross nodded at mentioning the safe word, letting the serious reminder cool down the fire in his blood, allowing him to release the tension of his grip on the blindfold in his hands. He also agreed with her request, no demand, that they refrain from melding. In truth, Cross would be perfectly happy never to meld again in his lifetime if he could help it. After their last encounter and the fuckery that’d happened as a result, Cross couldn’t help but think his brokenness and failure as a Vulcan rendered him the worst meld partner for any right-minded Vulcan, especially Hathev. Cross knew enough about Vulcan mating practices to realize it was a go-to for Vulcan to meld during the fever. However, he’d managed to get through his fevers without melding before—granted, that was before the fucktard Savi had “corrected” him and now there was fuck-all to know about how he’d handle a pon far now.

“I agree to your terms.” Cross gestured to the bed with his cybernetic hand. “Lay down, your arms and legs close to the bedposts. I will first restrain your wrists and ankles and allow you to accustom yourself to the restraints before blindfolding you.”

He stepped back as Hathev walked past. Cross desperately wanted to cup her breasts, weigh them in her hands, as he ran his tongue along the rip of her nipple, sucking the tip between his teeth while his fingers dove into the velvety wetness between her legs. But that was not what they needed right now. Cross swallowed the lump in his throat and took great pains to be gentle in securing her ankles first—gaze darting up the length of her legs to the folds of her sex—before moving likewise to restrain her wrists—this time letting his gaze move from her slender fingers down to rise and fall of her chest. Blindfold still in hand, Cross pulled his hands back to his sides to resist the temptation to touch her more than he intended at this juncture of their “therapy” and took a steadying breath.

“Are you ready for the blindfold?” He could hear the heavy lust in his own voice and knew Hathev could easily smell his desire and hear it. The openness of his yearning for her, and knowing she was accepting of it without ridicule, gave Cross a jolt of confidence as he waited for her permission to go to the next stage.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev complied with the implied instruction to lay down on the bed and, as she sat down, she slipped the elastic band around her hair and pulled it into a high tail, one that would sit more towards the top of her head and look almost gauche but for the circumstances. As she would be laying down, the higher tail would allow her head to rest comfortably while keeping her hair in some semblance of control and and make it easier for him to blindfold her as he had stated was his intent. Also, should he chose to utilize it in such a way, the tail would also provide ample leverage for Cross as well. Of course, he could remove the elastic easily enough, not that she would be able to do anything about it while under his care.

She pushed the pillow out of the way and gently laid back, spreading her arms and legs out a bit. Her positioning was not to his liking as he had her move her ankles and wrists closer to the respective bed posts before he began work on her left leg.

Between the moment the fabric of the tie downs first touched her left ankle to the moment he had finished fully restraining all four of her limbs, Hathev came to realize three things. First, that he had said he would start with her wrists but had, in fact started with her ankles. She considered that perhaps he had said ‘wrists and ankles’ more casually than she had expected.

Second she realized that even though the restraints were not so tight as to prevent any movement whatsoever, insufficient slack existed for her to do anything but shift her position by a few centimeters. With her limbs stretched, her elbows and knees fully extended, she could not touch her own body, to say nothing about freeing herself and the materials made of the strips he had chosen were strong enough that they would likely not break if she attempted to utilize her strength. In short, she was locked in the spread eagle position into which Cross had bound her, until he deemed otherwise. Which gave rise to the third realization.

Anxiety.

She found the sensation curious at first. They were only minutes into this exercise, and as Hathev realized she was well and truly helpless now, the sense of anxiety rose in her faster than a warp core breach. She was trapped. Helpless. She had no control over anything that Cross did not chose to provide. She was fully dependent on him and despite her logical self telling her she was safe with him, despite the trust she had for him, the sense of anxiety would not abate.

Yet mixed in with the anxiety was another sensation, one that coursed through her from her womanhood up to and through her chest.  She felt the skin around her breasts tighten, her exposed nipples harden.  What was this?  Was this…sexual anticipation?

She fought with herself, tugging gently on the restraints as anxiety and anticipation flowed, mixed, became one.  She did not know if this was normal, if this was expected.  All she knew was that she wanted…she desired…to see this through further.

Hathev took in a ragged breath as she calmed her inner self so that she would not appear anxious in front of Cross and then, after a moment, she finally spoke.

“I am ready.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross remained still, observing with a poised awareness to spring into action if Hathev showed any signs of distress. Though he could read a flicker of alarm in the corner of her eyes, she otherwise showed no outward signs of worry. In fact, her words, when spoken, were uttered in a determined tone that had Cross gulping. He gave into the desire to brush his lips against her forehead and offer her a reassuring smile before he blindfolded her.

Reminding himself of her safe word—starfire—Cross glanced at his assortment of items. He settled a downy-tipped twig, something he’d pulled from one of the decorative vases scattered throughout the bungalow. It wasn’t exactly a feather, but the soft texture at the end of the twig would likely have a similar effect. Turning back to face his paramour secured to the bed, Cross paused momentarily to memorize the sight. The sight of the hardened tips of her nipples made his mouth water. His gaze moved down her naked torso to the folds of her sex, and he felt the weight of his balls, his cock twitching with anticipation.

After a steadying breath—more so to keep from pouncing on Hathev—Cross began the “therapy” he’d promised her. His movements were slow, methodical, and without meaning to, he fell into an almost predictable pattern. Starting with the sensitive skin on the interior of her left wrist, Cross zigzagged the downy tip over her forearm, swished it back and forth in the juncture of her elbow, then continued the journey on to her shoulder, where he repeated the swishing gesture in and out of her armpit. He divided his attention between watching how her skin responded to the touch, listening to her breathing, and staying alert for any indication of discomfort.

Finished with the one arm, Cross silently shifted down to the foot of the bed, pushing the downy tip between each toe on Hathev’s right foot. He flipped the twig and used the hardened edge of the opposite end to draw small circles on the bottom of her foot, pausing every so often to glance up the statuesque length of her body to study her face. Only after being assured of no anxiety did he skip over her ankle area and instead swished the downy end of the twig over her kneecap and dipped inward to her inner thigh. He trailed it up her leg, stopping just shy of her sex.

Watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing proved too much for Cross at this point. Leaning down, he pulled her right nipple between his lips and licked the tip of his tongue around the edge of her nipple. Though distracted by the taste of her skin and the feeling of satisfaction at finally having her breast in his mouth, Cross was careful to move the twig away, now lightly dragging the hardened edge across the sensitive flesh of her lower abdomen. It took a goodly amount of willpower to pull back from her breast and look back up to her face, his warm breath fanning out on the skin still damp from his attention.

“Describe your experiences now, Hathev.” Cross leaned down and pressed one last kiss to her breast before resuming his twig-centric attention to her body, tracing the tip around her belly button and moving it up through the valley between her breasts.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev took in a breath as she willed her body to relax.  While she had some slack to shift, there was not much to work with.  The added complication of the blindfold built up the sense of anticipation as she heard Cross move within the room. 

Then she felt it, soft gently drawing up her arm, then her foot, toes, a firmer press on her the bottom of her foot.  For the briefest of moments she felt, and suppressed a quiver in her body as he drew up her inner thigh, the softness returning and a sense of anticipation rose in her…anticipation that was not satisfied in the way she anticipated.  His breath on her breast tipped his hand and this time when her body shuddered and quivered as his lips found her breast, not only did she not suppress it, but she did not even make the attempt.  Wetness touched her hardened nipple and her hand moved by instinct to cover herself only to come to an abrupt halt as the leash around her wrist pulled tight.  The instrument…implement he was using scratched ever so gently down towards her abdomen.

“Describe your experiences now, Hathev.”

His words, not a demand, not a request, something different.  She felt him drink of her breast again, and the light scratching returned making its’ way back up her belly towards her chest.  Again, she shuddered, as the muscles in her back tightened and arched, the weight of her breasts shifting just enough to plump.

“Fascinating…”

It was the only word she could muster.  For as disciplined a mind as she had cultivated over the years, she found herself at a loss for adequate descriptors.  But then as she focused on the instruction, the answers started to come back to her.

She sensed the warmth growing within her, growing in a way that she had never truly experienced before as her body ached with a wanting that she could satiate but for the restraints.  Damn him for preventing her from having what she wanted…what she desired.  But even so… there was not anger.

“Erotic,” she said as the words came to her.  “A desire for more.  A sense of anticipation for what you will do next.  A wanting for that which you have denied me.  Frustration that I can not act on these desires.”

She paused, licking her lips and closing her mouth to re-moisten what had dried out due to her heavier breathing. 

“Pleasure, anticipation, and…” her voice trailed off as she struggled to name the emotion.  “Yearning.  All of it truly…”

Her voice cut out as another quiver took her and she arched.  This time her body seemed to lock as the contraction pulled limbs into a tug of war between her muscles and the restraints.  She did not, could not breathe, could not speak, could only just be.  Her disciplined mind ticked of nearly thirty seconds before her back finally released and she flopped back to the bed like a restrained heap.  The only word in her comprehension, that which she had already stated, came out in a gasp as her lungs took in a breath.

“…fascinating.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross was just as fascinated in watching Hathev respond to the circumstances as she was in analyzing them. Her beautifully formed body laid out as a feast for his eyes and, later, his hands and mouth. For now, Cross abandoned the feather in favor of something a bit more visceral. As Hathev recovered from the momentary seizure of…something – Cross had almost released her bonds, uncertain if the tension in her body had been a signal to stop until she’d spoken again – Cross picked up the still-warm damp cloth from the bedside stand. As she hadn't said her safe word yet, Cross was determined to continue. Not only was he enjoying this unrestricted access to her body, but he had to believe it was helping her in some fashion as well. Before he moved to the opposite side of the bed, thinking to press the rag first to the softened skin of her palm, Cross waved one of the tropical blooms below Hathev’s nostrils. The heady scent had nearly intoxicated Cross when he’d first smelled them in their decorative vase nearest the washroom. Since her sense of smell was stronger than his, Cross presumed it would likely have a stronger impact on her senses.

“What do you yearn for?” Cross asked as he pulled the bloom apart, dropping the soft petals across Hathev’s chest and trailing them down her belly to her mons, making sure at least one petal perched on each nipple. Stepping back to admire the sight a moment, Cross smirked to himself as he took up the rag again and moved to his position near her opposite wrist.

Giving her the time to process his question, as well as the new sensations, Cross occupied himself with tapping the warm cloth against each finger of her left hand, drawing a circle with it in the center of her palm, before silently shifting to repeat a similar process on her left foot. When he next drew the rag up her thigh and over her hip bone, Cross bent down and kissed the inside of her elbow. Cross was intentionally foregoing a pattern this round, trying to mix up the touches and locations to see if that would cause another building of tension and release with the Vulcan woman or if it would trigger something else.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Although she had not said the safeword nor had she yet considered doing so, Hathev was grateful for the momentary respite from Cross’s teasings as it allowed her a moment to calm herself and regain her senses.  Not that she expected to be able to hold onto them for long when Cross started again, of course.  But the moment to ‘breathe’ as a Human might put it was welcome.

The respite ended almost as suddenly as it had started as the fragrant scent hit her, almost overwhelming her immediately.  It was not unwelcome.  To the contrary, the Vulcan found the scent quite pleasant and almost intoxicating, but given her naturally strong sense of smell combined with the added acuity as a result of being denied her sight.  She took in, her deep breaths drinking in the scent, filling her lungs, and forcing her chest to rise.  Cross could not see them, but she felt her eyes roll up as her head lolled back, as though she were inebriated.  A contented moan escaped her lips.

“What do you yearn for?”

Cross’ voice fell silent. 

The answer to his query should have been simple should have been a response driven by logic, but Hathev found it difficult to think, to understand her own thoughts much less process them into a coherent response.

The lightest of sensations touched the flesh of her chest and then in sequence flashed down her stomach, on top of her nipples, and over her pubic region.  Too light to be held, slightly moist, and that fragrance… growing stronger, continuing to cloud her mind. 

Illogical.  Desirable.  Unacceptable.  Necessary.  It must stop.  Do not stop.  Take control.  Control was conceded.  Suppress the emotional response.  Let come what may.  Invoke the safe word.  Let the experience play out.  Rationalize the experience….  No.  Enjoy the experience…

It is illogical.

But it is desirable.


Warmth on her left hand.  She pulled way, but the restraint bound her to his whim and she felt the frustration at her inability to interact with him as the warmth moved from finger to finger, circling in her palm before disappearing…

Could she end the encounter.  Yes.  Would doing so be the safest course?  Probably.  Should she?  Likely.  Would she?

No

What do you yearn for?

What indeed? 

The warmth returned to return to her left foot and disappear again before it returned to her left thigh and her hip.  The muscles of her left leg tensed and stretched involuntarily and she felt her toes splay open briefly before relaxing.

Then the warmth of his breath and then lips on her inner elbow.  She reached for him, flexing the elbow instinctively knowing where his head had to be but the restraint on her wrist pulled tight and stopped her before she could get her arm perpendicular to the bed to which she was tied.

Again she pulled against the restraints, an involuntary seizure of the muscles in her limbs as they tried to encircle Cross and hold him to her, but they held her in place and she ceased her struggle.  Oh how she wished to be freed so that she could engage with him, but this treatment from Cross, she did not wish for it to end.

What do you yearn for?

The words escaped her lips in ragged breaths.

“Balance…”

“More…”

“You…”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Though she hadn’t meant in quite the fashion he chose to respond with, Cross repeated the same type of touches on the opposite side of her body as she requested balance. As for “more,” Cross smiled to himself as he darted from the room for the few seconds it took to grab something from the kitchen area. Dribbling a circle around her navel, Cross eagerly licked away the local version of honey, eyes traveling up the undulating expanse of her ribs, over the crest of her bosom, to watch Hathev’s face as she responded to the new touch. Smearing a small dollop on his index finger, Cross pushed away from Hathev’s body to lightly dab the sweet amber liquid against her lips before he gleefully dropped a few drops on each breast, with a thin trail connecting her breasts to her clavicle.

“Do you see colors?” Cross’ voice was lower in pitch as he whispered his words against her skin, tongue tickling across her skin, starting at the juncture between neck and shoulder and laving open, lightly sucking kisses onward to the start of the honey trail. “Images?” Cross paused in his honey trail journey to study her, still marveling that this beautiful woman was his to behold and touch. “Share with me, Hathev.”

Cross drew a honey-glazed nipple into his mouth and couldn’t help but groan in pleasure as the pebbled peak fit perfectly between his lips, his tongue tracing over the nub as it licked away the honey. As he turned his attention to the trail connecting her breasts, Cross lightly traced his fingers against the curve of her cheek with his left hand while his right softly kneaded her thigh muscle. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this…session. Cross believed it benefited them both, yet his cock was thick with blood and his balls heavy, ready to be emptied.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Truth be told, Hathev was quietly grateful for the brief respite.  Cross’s ministrations were causing a flood of sensation and emotions for which she was not fully prepared.  To a certain extent, it was made worse by her inability to stop whatever it was he had in mind.

No.  That, she realized, was incorrect.  It was not her inability to stop this encounter; it was her unwillingness to stop it.

The session resumed as she felt something around her naval, then his tongue again.  She took in a gasping breath, sharp but calm as the sensations coursed around her, and was more than ready to take in the offering he had placed on her lips.  She could not place the sticky sweetness, but it only added to her intoxication and she welcomed it.

He teased her more before questioning her.

It was not until he had brought the idea of seeing colors or images until Cross had mentioned it, but almost as soon as he did, she realized she was.

“It is difficult to describe.  It is as though I am able to see something.  Colors would not be the correct description but it,” her voice trailed off and she shifted in place as she tried in vain to find a slightly more comfortable position.  She was not in pain per se, but she would not have objected to even a minor change in body position.  Still she had willingly conceded her freedom to Cross for as long as he wished, and unless or until there was an emergency, she would not terminate the experience.

“I would best describe it as a psychedelic experience, but it plays out against a dark background.”

She considered for another moment, as she tried to shift again, her bare ass sliding against the bedsheets.

“Is this a side affect of intoxication?”

She had no real frame of reference to know for certain. But she knew enough that it seemed less and less important to her that she remained the quiet and conservative Vulcan that had become a hallmark of her species.  She had no explicit desire to act out, but she also realized that she did not necessarily care, if she said or did something out of character.

“This,” she said, “is proving to be a fascinating experience.  I find myself uncertain, and to a certain extent apprehensive about what you are doing and have yet to do to and with me.  I know I can chose to end this at any time, but at the same time, I have no desire to do so.”

Hathev lifted her head, towards where logic dictated Cross was in relation to her.

“I know you well enough to know that in this moment and given what I’m saying that you might chose to end this out of concern for me..  Please,” she implored, “do not end this prematurely on my account.  I would not object to more variety in what you do to me and the way in which you have me bound. But ultimately I have offered myself to your will for as long as you desire, and I have no desire to withdraw from that agreement.”

She sighed and fell silent as her head lowered back, and she awaited his response.  In those silent moments, she came to the realization that her intoxication, such that it was, had induced what other species might call ‘word vomit’ and such an incident might have ruined the moment.

Apparently she wasn’t intoxicated enough to truly not care.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Hathev’s question had Cross raising his eyebrows, thinking back over what they’d had to drink earlier. The drinks had been sweet but far from the sucrose-laden beverages that had shed their inhibitions and led to them fucking. While it was possible Hathev was feeling tipsy unless she had a much lower tolerance than he’d earlier suspected, he doubted she was truly intoxicated. Maybe…Cross angled his head to study the Vulcan woman as she pulled against the restraints. Maybe it was easier to claim intoxication to shield herself from the reality of feeling these things in her mostly rational mind?

Her ensuing confession, or rather, instructions for how she wished them to continue, was spoken in such a circling manner. It showed Cross that she was certainly feeling their drinks more readily than he but was not yet fully intoxicated. Even though she couldn’t see him, Cross still nodded at her request.

“Very well, Hathev,” he pressed the tips of his fingers against the flesh of her thigh, pulling them down the length of her leg as he stepped closer to her ankles. “I won’t stop.”

He didn’t warn her that he would change things up, though. He deftly undid her right ankle, and then her left, but instead of letting her legs remain free, he angled her knees outward and slid her feet together. Cross put a hand towel against her thin flesh before wrapping the restraint around her ankles. Now she lay with the pads of her feet pressed together, knees draped open. Because of this angle, and the weight of her knees pulling on her hips, Cross could see more of her sex, even the beginnings of the slit of her ass. He smiled, appreciating the view. It was still a vulnerable position, but he supposed it created a different type of vulnerability. He’d merely wanted to upset the norm before doing anything else.

Next, coming up to her wrists, again dragging his fingers along her supple flesh as he moved parallel to her position, Cross undid her left wrist from the bedpost. He had to lean for and wrap an arm around her torso to assist her in sitting up more against the bed's headboard before he re-secured her wrist to the headboard above her head. Again, Cross wasn't so clinical in his efforts that he didn't indulge their proximity. Before moving away to repeat the same process with her other hand, Cross dipped his head down and kissed her. His tongue traced over the soft flesh of her lips, barely tasting her, and pulling away before she could work to deepen the connection.

After another pause, this time to cup one of her breasts, weighing it in his hand while his thumb passed over the pebbled nipple, Cross quickly moved around to the other side to repeat the process, sans kiss and fondling. Her body had been cocked at an odd angle, but nothing stretched so far as to be painful. Now that both arms were above her head, not hyper-extended to prevent discomfort, and her back arched and supported by the pillows stuffed between her body and the headboard, Cross figured the position was different enough so he could start over in a sense.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Hathev?” Cross decided on a different approach, engaging Hathev’s desires more directly instead of merely indulging himself.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev shuddered as Cross touched her and began moving her into a different position.  She took the opportunity to flex her limbs and stretch the muscles as he released them, but she did not fight him as he repositioned her, taking in a contented sigh at the new position.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about having to hold her arms up, but thy felt as though there was enough slack in the line that she could be comfortable.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Hathev?”

The Vulcan considered her answer before responding.  Her head swam with the intoxication from the fragrances and a part of her wanted to ask for more, but at the same time, she decided to ride the sensation and let it play out as it would.  It was, perhaps, a bit more fatalistic than typical for a Vulcan, but given the circumstances it seemed both logical and appropriate.

Instead, she considered the question.  He had been all over her body as far as she could sense, but there were a few places where she wanted him, one of which she figured would happen sooner or later.  But there was another place that, for now at least, ranked higher.

“Kiss me.”

[ Captain Ruz Bollix | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Qo’Nos ] ATNN: @P.C. Haring

The terror of the BIQ'a'bIng Ocean -- or at least, that's how he'd described his ship and crew to that delectable strumpet back at that nameless village they'd last supplied at -- bobbed in the crystal clear waters just a few yards from shore. His intel officer, Ubosha G'gansun, had marked this private island for high-value targets over the next few days, and they had come calling to make good on the tip. These ridiculous private villas, catering to off-world fops, were the perfect hit for Captain Ruz and his crew. Off worlder's were unlikely to be accidentally related to you -- that had been an awkward long-time coming family reunion -- and they were less likely to have been a former lover -- that had also been more than a little inconvenient. They'd already managed to collect on the ransom for a Benzite couple some months' past and the time before that they'd swooped in while the Ferengi couple was out on an excursion and made off with all their left-behind loot -- they'd had a devil of a time cracking into those damned Ferengi safes though and had to haul the whole contraptions onto the ship to get away in time. While the qu'DuHSum was invisible to all planet-side sensors, it could still be spotted with the naked eye, and so far in his pirating career, Captain Ruz Bollix hadn't had to kill a fellow Klingon to keep his ship and his crew a secret. Yet another reason why he preferred these private islands that were teeming with off worlder's, made it easier on his conscience -- what he had left of one -- when someone got hurted bad enough to be killed.

"L'soss," Captain Ruz called for his first mate's attention, "alert Weapons Officer Orc that we will need two long boats worth of weapons for this island. According to G'gansun's report, the occupants on this island may put up a bit of a fight."

"Aye sir," L'soss left to do the captain's bidding, leaving the near toothless Klingon pirate to sneer at the targeted island, almost hoping the off worlder's there would indeed put up a fight just so he could try out some of the new gadgets he'd bought off the black market from those Orions.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos ]

Cross didn't bother trying to put up a resistance to Hathev's request for a kiss. In one swift motion, he had his lips pressed against hers, fairly drinking the woman down with his passionate fervor. So wrapped up in her scent, her taste, the feel of her naked flesh beneath his fingers that he almost didn't hear the distant, very much uninvited voices. However, there was enough of his tactical mind still unmushed with lust that Cross pulled away from Hathev's kiss and wordlessly padded to the closest window. His gaze quickly traveled over the incoming forms of scraggly dressed Klingons, each armed with a number of nasty-looking, very much illegal weapons, as they beached their almost archaic-looking longboats and began to wade ashore, fanning out to breach the villa on three sides...if Cross let them.

"Change of plan," likely Hathev had heard the growling Klingon voices by now as well as the new firm tone in Cross' voice as he returned to the bed and made quick work of the ropes around her feet, "we need to get out of here, and fast. Two dozen Klingons are headed our way, and they do not look like friendlies." Her ankles were free, as was her left hand, but the knots of the right hand tightened instead of loosened. Without pausing to warn her, Cross ripped that portion of the headboard away from the wall and broke off enough of the section of it that she could hold it in hand as they fled, allowing them time to get it off later if they survived. "They're coming in from the north, east, and west sides presently. Head out the south end and go into the jungle. Go straight through to the other side and wait on the beach for me. Don't stop to look back. I'll be right behind you."

With a not-so-subtle physical push for her to do as he indicated, Cross turned his back on her to make ready as much of a welcome for their uninvited guests as he had time for. Granted, they'd only brought their combadges, which they'd use once they were out of immediate danger, but were otherwise unarmed. Draping whatever clothing of his and Hathev's he could quickly grab, Cross next moved to the kitchen and set the timer on every appliance he could find to go off at different intervals. Next he turned on the fire for the stove, and grabbed a couple of knives. The voices were getting more distinct now. After turning on the shower, Cross slipped out the south side to the deck where they'd been resting before. Dipping the towels into the water lapping just below the deck, he dropped them across the entrance and left a few near the deck itself, dropping the clothing items near the steps that led into the water. The first of the voices sounded as if they were on the northern deck now, signaling to Cross that he'd better get the hell out of there before they caught him.

Careful to keep his feet off the sandy bottom, Cross dropped into the water and paddled his way to shore, angling his body to roll up the small beach area so as not to leave any prints. The foliage was thick here, but not so thick that he wouldn't be spotted if he didn't move his ass. After doing his best to re-fluff the foliage he'd just rambled through, Cross darted into the thicker confines of the tiny jungle they had in the middle of their island, hoping to find Hathev before the Klingons did. Maybe she'd already used her badge to call for help or an evac. But, knowing his luck, the fuckery was just getting started in a gigantic cosmic cockblock.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Private villa | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev had, indeed heard the rustling outside and the growl of the Klingons and in that moment virtually all sense of sensuality had disappeared as she realized there were uninvited guests and she was tied naked to a bed.  Before she knew it he had cut her free and, when the knots on her left wrist would not come undone, he tore the bed post away from the headboard,.  She was still tied at the wrist, but she was free and he’d been so kind as to give her a makeshift flail.

She listened to his instructions to run and escape, but he gave her no time to discuss the matter before he ran out of the room, her clothes in his arms, leaving her there naked and, save for the piece of bedpost still leashed to her wrist, unarmed.

Anger swelled within her, first at Cross but then quickly re-directed at the Klingons.  Why was it that every time something happened they were at the heart of it?  The first time she’d had to take a proper shore leave in months and now two dozen Klingons stood between her and the downtime she had intended.

The Vulcan grabbed the commbadges that had been left behind and quickly attached them to the fabric of the biding by the knots at her wrist.  This would allow her to close her hand around them easily and keep them protected.  She considered grabbing at least a pair of underwear from her bag, but without any certainty of just how close the Klingons were she concluded the logical course of action was to escape now and worry about her modesty, or lack thereof, later.

It was a good choice on her part, she soon realized.  Two Klingons approached the south side of the cabana, cutting off her exit path.  But instead of entering, they stopped and turned as if waiting for something, their backs to the building.  Instinct told her it was too easy, but she could not squander the opportunity granted to her.

Quietly as she could, she approached from behind.

Her element of surprise lasted long enough to clamp her free hand on the nerve cluster at the base of the first Klingon’s neck and drop him.  Hearing the commotion, his companion turned but hesitated.  It was logical to assume he had not expected to see a naked Vulcan standing in front of him.  Using the moment, Hathev reached for his neck, but it was batted away.  The action threw the Vulcan off balance and as she fell down the stairs to the ground, she felt a tug on the strap as the bedpost hit the Klingon in the side of his head.

She scrambled back to her feet as the Klingon regained himself.  Despite the disruptors on his belt, he pulled his blade, clearly preferring the close quarters over the range.  That, she concluded, was a most illogical decision as she could not defend herself at range as well as she could in close quarters.  Evading as he swiped at her, Hathev pushed the pain of her bouncing breasts down and channeled that into her focus as she waited for him to overextend himself.

The moment came and she grabbed his attacking wrist, the flailing bedpost threatening to throw off her balance.  Her slender fingers found his pressure point and clamped down, forcing his hand to open and allowing the knife to fall uselessly to the ground.  The minor victory was short lived. Before she realized what had happened she was staggering back as pain poured over her face.  Only when the Klingon’s and came away smeared with her blood, did she realize what he had done.  She didn’t think he’d broken her nose, oddly.  But she was not about to question the facts.

He seemed to relish in his re-taking control of the moment and paused long enough to lean forward to pick up his fallen dagger.

It was as if the calculations and the numbers appeared over her field of vision and at once she knew what she had to do.  Stepping forward, she thrust her foot out, kicking sand and dirt into his eyes.  As expected he rose to his full height.  Thrusting her left arm first out to her side and then forward, the bedpost acted as a weight as it flew forward, only to be pulled to the side were the fabric was stopped by the Klingon’s neck, pulling the bedpost into an ever shringing orbit as it wrapped and constricted the airway.  Between the sand in his eyes and the sudden collar around him, the Klingon did not know where to reach first.  Hathev pulled with all her strength drawing herself in to him before driving a knee into his groin.

He doubled over on top of her but she slipped out from under him, continuing to cut to the right, and then around and behind him, the fabric from her side continuing to wrap.  Then she dropped and pulled with all her body weight and strength.  Her bare ass acting as a fulcrum, the Klingon lifted off the ground, and pulled backwards over her.

She heard a distinctive crack as his neck followed by the rest of his weight came down on the bedpost that her counter side wrap had pinned into place.
Retrieving the knife from the ground, she slipped it between the wrap and her wrist cutting herself free before relieving both Klingon's of their belts from which each hung a pair of disruptors, and a knife.  One belt also had something that reminded Hathev of a photon grenade, while the other had something that looked a bit flatter and seemed to have an emitter on one side that had been marked as the ‘up’ side.  Grabbing the comm badges from the sash, she slapped them on the belts.
Shouts from her right drew her attention and she saw four more Klingons running for her.  Not liking the odds, Hathev took off for the jungle, weapon belts in hand.  As they closed distance on her, she pulled the grenade, activated it, and threw it at the approaching group.  Klingon weapon designs were effective for certain but also very rudimentary.  Had it been a Federation grenade, the Vulcan probably would not have known how to activate the munition.  She turned at the sound of the explosion and where there had been four Klingons chasing her, now stood a crater, a cloud of smoke dirt, sand, and body parts flying in all directions.

She continued running for about a half minute before she laterally ran into Cross, falling on top of him as they both tumbled. 

Picking herself back up she perched so she sat on her knees over his legs, she regarded him,

"Greetings," she said.  “We have weapons,” she held up the two belts.  "And the Klingons have lost five, maybe six of their number.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

A Klingon subsequently blocked his journey into the jungle unnoticed hoping to meet an unharmed Hathev. While he had a disruptor attached to his hip, the Klingon gripped a bat’leth in his hand, and on his ankle was a knife holster with another blade. The only factors working in Cross’ favor were that the Klingon hadn’t seen him yet and appeared alone. Picking up a rock, the ground here strewn with a variety to choose from, Cross tossed it into the thicker foliage adjacent to the Klingon. He watched as the Klingon, a good ten kilos heavier than Cross, adjusted his attention to the area Cross had led him to study. On silent, bare feet, Cross circled the Klingon, pausing to toss another rock into another area before resuming his silent stalking. He figured he had one chance to get the drop on the man, and, with that in mind, Cross surged forward, another rock gripped almost painfully in his prosthetic.

He'd already known the knock across the head would not be enough to incapacitate the oaf, but it was enough of a painful distraction that the Klingon’s grip on his bat’leth wavered, and his body curled forward in response. Cross reached around the reeling opponent and took hold of the disruptor. The Klingon surged backward unexpectedly, catching Cross in the face. The disruptor fell from his grip, and Cross dropped to the ground like a sack of stones. As the Klingon turned to make a killing sweep at Cross’ body, the Vulcan reached out and unsheathed the knife from the Klingon’s ankle holster. At the last moment, Cross rolled out from under the killing swing, hand once more finding the disruptor in his retreat.

Bringing it up to fire, Cross barked out a curse when the Klingon quickly readjusted his swing to knock the weapon from Cross’ prosthetic, shredding a line across the exterior mechanics of his hand. Cross conducted another roll before coming into a crouch, flesh hand still holding the Klingon’s knife. The Klingon charged, growling in his language. Despite the stereotype of Klingons being oafish grunts, this one stays balanced in the charge, drawing his bat’leth over his head and snapping it down toward Cross. Cross raised the knife above and to the left of his face, rotating it sideways so the handle was up high, providing a deflecting roof above his head. The momentum of the Klingon’s swing jars the bones of his body, but the blow itself slides off the knife, allowing Cross to sidestep and stand, bringing the knife down toward the vulnerable joint area of the Klingon’s shoulder armor. But the Klingon reacts swiftly, and Cross’ timing is off, his blade too short, and the Klingon’s deflection had Cross’ efforts end in a cut behind and to the side of the Klingon, their bodies quickly pivoting to face each other.

Elsewhere on the island, they heard explosions and the yells of the Klingon’s comrades. Still, instead of touching his communicator to signal reinforcements, the Klingon seemed content with their present dual. He made another attack, this time without a growling insult. It was a quick shuffling approach and then a slicing cut toward Cross’ ribcage. Cross surprised the Klingon when he used his prosthetic to grab the bat’leth blade while he surged forward into the Klingon’s space, twisting his torso and adjusting his feet for a more potent attack after this parry. The Klingon’s eyes were still wide with surprise when Cross buried the man’s one knife into his throat, twisting the handle to slice up as he pulled it out again, sending a purple spray of blood in an arc between them.

The Klingon abandoned the bat’leth in favor of covering his throat, where his vocal cords were severed along with his windpipe and arteries. He collapsed in a writhing, wide-eyed heap at Cross’ feet, allowing Cross to unstrap the ankle holster from the man’s jerking leg. Strapping it to his ankle, Cross next took the discarded bat’leth, sparring nary a glance at the dying Klingon as he moved to stand and resume his trek across the island.

His mouth filled with blood when, as he turned away from the bloody mess at his feet, an armored fist connected with his jaw. Staggering, Cross cursed his own inattention and arrogance when the sudden attack from the unexpected second Klingon sent the bat’leth clattering back to the ground. He barely had a chance to spit the blood from his mouth and shake his senses back into place when another fist lashed out toward his face. Cross took the fist in his damaged prosthetic, allowing the attack's energy to propel himself and the Klingon forward, twisting his body to send him hurling into the ground. The smaller Klingon, about the same weight class as Cross, rolled over like a predatory cat, nearly knocking Cross to the ground alongside him. 

Cross tried to dance out of range but moved too late, the Klingon back on his feet and driving his shoulder into Cross’ belly in seconds. Cross brought his hands down from their useless block stance to grip the Klingon’s armored shoulders as the man drove them back across the small clearing until Cross’ back hit a tree. He adjusted his grip, pulling his elbow back until his thumbs could drive into the Klingon’s eye sockets and pressing until the man howled in pain and reeled back. Cross sent a driving punch with his prosthetic against the Klingon’s ear, ripping off a portion of it and sending a trickle of purple down the man’s neck. He sent one quick side jab to the other side of the Klingon’s head at the man’s temple, following with a harder side jab back against the injured ear. The Klingon started to swing in a blind fury, both hands thrusting with every bit of energy he could muster.

But then, the Klingon shifted his attack. He missed a right from Cross and followed it with total body weight, sliding an arm around Cross’ neck and grabbing the wrist of his other hand. He jerked his feet up and went to land hard to break Cross’ neck. But Cross expected this and hurled himself forward to the right as the Klingon raised his feet, intentionally falling. It broke the hold, and they rolled free of each other. The Klingon sprung to his feet, and Cross lashed out with a kick to dislodge his renewed stance. The Klingon shuffled away but hurled himself at Cross’ prone body a moment later. Cross accepted the attack, his breath wheezing, but rolled them until it was he who straddled the Klingon. He punched down with left and right, shattering the Klingon’s cheekbone with his prosthetic and cutting through his own skin with his flesh hand. The Klingon thrust his hips up and over, dislodging Cross long enough to whip up an uppercut into Cross’ belly.

Cross rolled off the Klingon, curling inward to gasp in a much-needed breath, allowing the other man to hoist himself into a kneeling position adjacent to Cross, readying for a renewed attack. Cross gripped the knife at his ankle and twisted, once more burying the blade into Klingon's flesh within seconds. This Klingon looked just as surprised as the first had, his hands coming down to grip Cross’ wrist as Cross pulled the blade from the man’s throat. Reaching around the man’s head, Cross twisted the man’s hair into his fingers, jerking his head back so that he could finish the killing cut, the air filling with the slick wheezing sounds of a man taking his last, painful breath.

Cross let go of the man’s hair, letting the corpse keel forward facefirst into the ground beside him. Once more sheathing the knife, Cross scrambled forward to take the bat’leth before pulling his bloodied and bruised body back to its feet. The first few steps back on his original course sent needle-like pinpricks of pain through his body. But hearing renewed shouts from back at the villa and with a picture of Hathev, vulnerably nude in her escape, Cross managed to grit through the pain until it became a part of his reality.

He could spot the edge of the jungle, the beach he’d hoped Hathev would retreat to, lying on the other side, when he heard violent thrashing in the undergrowth. Turning to face the attacker, Cross had only seconds to pull back the bat’leth and allow Hathev’s naked body to crash into his unharmed. They fell to the ground as one, with Hathev adjusting herself to straddle his waist soon after the fall. Her “greetings,” spoken so matter-of-factly, were enough to elicit a grin from Cross. Her weapons were a far cry better than his, but for the moment, his attention was on her breasts and lips.

Cross pushed his torso up off the ground with his prosthetic hand, wrapping his flesh hand around the back of her neck and pulling her forward until he felt the comforting press of her breasts against his chest and the warm softness of her lips against his. The kiss tasted bloody, thanks to his blood and the Klingon’s that had sprayed over his flesh, but Cross didn’t much care at the moment. He allowed them the taste and reassurance of one another for a few seconds before Cross pulled back and again smiled.

“You may have picked the wrong department, Hathev since you got five or six to my two.”

There were more shouts from back in the jungle, the responding calls letting the pair know the Klingons were following their trail and circling closer.

“Did you get our badges? As much as I believe in your ability to take out an army, a transporter retreat may be far more effective in keeping our heads attached to our bodies.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev shook her head, the action allowing her to suppress a smile that she felt coming on.

“You give me too much credit, Mr. Cross,” she said.  “Do not mistake the use of physics and anti-personnel explosives as ‘skill’.  To use a human phrase, I got lucky.”

She surveyed the area around them as well as the weapons and one piece of equipment she had recovered and found it curious that Cross was so eager to leave.  Of course, she understood the danger and agreed that retreat was the most logical course of action.  Yet, at the same time, she was not prepared to return to the ship.  More specifically, she realized as she laid eyes on the beach, she was not prepared to return to Theurgy.

“I have our badges, but might I propose that instead of cutting our vacation short, we simply change the venue?”

She motioned to the sea ship the Klingons had landed on the beach.

Picking up the other piece of equipment she had commandeered, she read the Klingon that had been stenciled into the side - ‘stasis web’

“Perhaps this could assist us?”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

The more rational part of his brain, probably the eternally irritated last semblances of being Vulcan, told Cross that they should abandon this adventure altogether and return immediately to the ship. It was the logical thing to do. And, the fact that the “good” Vulcan Hathev was suggesting they stay, a Vulcan woman recently inclined towards exploring her emotions and relying on his fucking numbskull to guide her…well, that should be another clue to former-hybrid that returning to the ship was smarter and healthier.


Outside of his official capacity in his duties aboard the ship, Cross was rather an idiot. And if a naked woman with luscious boobs swaying over his head requested he do something stupid as fuck…then he was going to do something stupid as fuck.

“Let’s do this.” The rustling and voices were getting louder. “Quickly. Don’t look back when you run. Here,” he gently pushed her off his torso and moved to kneel beside her. “Let’s get this affixed.” He worked quickly, securing one belt around her petite waist, allowing her the freedom to return the favor with the other belt. “We can set up the stasis web over there,” he pointed to a funnel point the Klingons would run through once they saw them running toward the ship.

It was challenging but not impossible to set up the Klingon device. Thankfully, it was fairly intuitive, even if the directions were in Klingon. Cross backtracked a bit to bury one disruptor, signaling Hathev when he set it to overload. He didn’t know precisely how long it’d take to overload, but they’d have about a minute or two to get away if it was like their phasers. He moved around the funnel point to the beach's edge and held out his hand for Hathev to take.

“Shall we?” He asked as the first Klingons emerged from the jungle foliage and spotted them, immediately sending off a series of warning shots in their direction as they bellowed for them to surrender. Pulling out the other disruptor, Cross fired a few wild shots over his shoulder, offering Hathev a cocky smile. “Let’s see you use those lovely legs now.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Looking back on the situation as her Vulcan mind was want to do, Hathev could not comprehend the thought process that had led her to this inescapably illogical conclusion that commandeering the Klingon Marauder's sea vessel was the correct course of action for the two of them.  By all objective measures they were out manned, out gunned, and in a tactically inferior position to defend themselves.  Logic dictated that Cross was, indeed, correct to suggest a beam out back to the ship. Despite that, one other inescapable fact remained.

Hathev did not wish do leave.  She did not desire for their trip to be cut short.

So, when Cross affixed one of the belts to her waist and gave her the opportunist to return the favor, the Vulcan was more than accommodating.  She let him take the lead on setting the stasis web trap, assisting him where needed and in particular in the translation of the Klingon language in places where he encountered difficulties and she offered a confident nod when he asked “Shall we” after returning from burying the disruptor that had been holstered in her belt.

The Vulcan was not ignorant of the entendre by Cross’s comment about her ‘lovely’ legs, and while she had not particularly given much though to her legs up until now, she took a certain satisfaction that Cross had offered a complimentary statement as to their appearance.

She refrained from reminding him of the obvious, that as a Vulcan her strength and stamina potentially exceeded his as he had been, up until recently, a hybrid Vulcan.  As they ran, Cross firing blindly behind him, she considered that in the wake of his so called ‘correction’ that Cross’s endurance might now more closely resemble that of a Vulcan, and that such a boast about her own physical superiority would not only be needlessly hurtful to him, but also factually inaccurate.
Logically, of course, none of these thoughts mattered as the lovers feet pounded the sand as they ran for the shore where the ship had been moored.  She matched Cross stride for stride, taking care to stay in step with him and not get too far ahead or behind.

The explosion, however, had other ideas.  Hathev had not tracked the time on the disruptor’s overload status and when it went off, the blast wave threw her off balance and she tumbled to the ground.  Looking behind her, as she regained herself, she saw Klingon bodies strewn about and a blast crater that had been left behind.  She rose to her feet, accepting any offer of help that Cross might have given, but she did not delay and she took off again, for the ship.

Hathev reached the gangplank to the ship just a few strides ahead of Cross and almost lost her head as the Bat’leth swung at her neck.  The act of pulling away from the swing threw the naked Vulcan off balance once again and she scrambled to get away from the next slash of the guards weapon.  For a Klingon, the mercenary was fast.  Not as fast of a Vulcan, but fast enough to keep Hathev scrambling on arms and legs, trying to evade the attacks long enough for Cross to arrive and assist.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Where Hathev seemed to have fallen like an angelic feather, Cross face-planted like a drunken troll and only managed to get up faster than Hathev because he converted the momentum of the fall into a roll and leap back to his feet. A few of the Klingons had survived the blast and the net and were now laying in pursuit, firing as wild shots at them as Cross did over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He yelled when Hathev backed up nearly into him, dodging a bat’leth. Hauling Hathev against his chest and twisting so she was partially behind him, Cross aimed and fired, the beam catching the Klingon squarely in the chest mid-rise of the bat’leth for the next strike.

“Keep them occupied,” Cross said, pointing to the much larger deck gun next to the gangplank. I’m going to get this bucket started so we can get the hell out of here.”

He started to move away when inspiration seized him. Taking Hathev firmly by the shoulders, he dipped her over his arm, sealing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. They hadn’t the time for this, in all honesty. Still, she’d looked so damn fuckable standing nude on the deck, gun in hand with a weapon’s belt the only thing she wore on her delectable body, now with a determined look about her shoulders as she readied to deal out death with all the efficiency as a Vulcan female could.

“We survive this,” Cross whispered against her lips before his flesh hand came up to lightly grip her hair, tilting her head back further to kiss the pulse in her neck, “and I’m going to fuck you.”

He kissed her again before letting go, pushing both their bodies just below the rail line of the deck as the Klingons continued their furtive firing. Shooting his lover a wink, Cross scurried away to find the engines while he left Hathev to eradicate their foes in the most logical manner available: a very, very big gun.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev found herself in the rare position of being caught off guard when Cross took her and kissed her.  She felt the sense of being dipped and the even more welcome sensation of his strong arms supporting her.  Despite the danger she almost…purred…under his touch before he fell on top of her, when the Klingons opened fire over the rail.

“We survive this,” he whispered at her, “and I’m going to fuck you.”

He pulled away from her but she grabbed him and pulled him back on top of her.  “We survive this, and I’m going to hold you to that.”

As he scrambled away, they fired at him.  Their shots had no chance of finding their target given the angle, but it did provide Hathev the opportunity to make crawl to the deck gun and pull herself into position.

The weapon was as old as the rest of the ship, but it’s age also made it a bit easier to figure out.  Throwing the switch, Hathev heard the weapon hum to life.  The hand controls were somewhat intuitive, a logical design choice given the intended usage.  Even so, they took a little finessing before the turret responded as she desired.

One of the Klingons on shore took notice of the movement on the deck and turned, his disruptor raised.  Hathev squeezed the trigger, opening fire the first round missed, exploding on the beach, but Hathev kept the trigger depressed while she adjusted the aim and before the fifth round fired, the first Klingon exploded.

She continued firing, strafing the beach line as her targets either fell under her fire, or retreated back inland.  Vengeance, she knew was illogical but she also had no desire to allow them to regroup so she continued her assault, using the deck gun to chase her would be attackers back.  Only then did she cease her attack, all the while keeping the weapon trained on the path they had used.  Occasionally she fired another volley to discourage anyone from trying to charge again.  She had them well pinned, but even so she continued to watch the entire shoreline to make sure they did not try to circle back around and hit her from a different angle.

All she needed to do now was make sure no one else tried to advance and wait for Cross to get the engines on line so they could get the hell out.