Morning Routine

Posted on Sat Sep 8th, 2018 @ 9:47pm by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: USS Hera, Deck 8, Lieutenant Commander Paris' Quarters
Timeline: 2395

The duty roster had been cleared, and the first officer of the USS Hera was not scheduled to be anywhere until midshift, according to the report. While the great starship was still in drydock, most of the crew were still on shore leave. So there were very few duties that needed to be tended to, and it seemed that Captain Telvan had declared her hardworking executive officer to be banished from the bridge and self-appointed responsibility until at least the afternoon shift.

It brought a smile to her face as she cuddled her lover, returned to her through vastly improbable machinations. At one point she had been so terrified of the captain and her situation onboard the Hera that the time-tossed temptress had planned to steal a ship, to escape what she saw as genuine peril. Yet all along, the pirate princess turned Starfleet captain had been trying to hide the truth from her, so that events would unfold the way that they had to, in order to reunite her with the man who had crossed time, space and dimension to find her once more.

Now, lying in the bed that no longer seemed to be quite so oversized, in the luxuriant quarters that were no longer lonely, Rita Paris enjoyed one of her favorite positions. While she had spent hours last night revisiting a great number of her favorite positions, as the dawn sunlight streamed in through the viewports set into the ceiling, right now she relaxed in her personal favorite. Her shoulder was wedged into Sonak’s armpit, her head resting on his shoulder, as her arm draped across his somewhat furry chest, her leg wrapped around his lower body, ankle hooked possessively about his thighs.

The warm skin of the alien comforted her, acting as a balm for her soul as she curled up on him. She had often likened it to a lizard sunning itself on a hot rock, as she disliked the cold, and with his three beats per minute heartbeat, which slowed to two beats as hers sped up to approach it, considerable warmth was generated. Of course, it was not merely physical comfort she derived from his presence, but emotional fulfillment. Lost and adrift for weeks now, what she had craved more than anything else was the comfort that his presence provided for her… which was now here, in this place beyond her imagining, in a future she now faced with her old confidence.

Idly tracing a finger along his collarbone, she knew he was awake. The Vulcan master of logic required far less sleep than she, and he was keenly aware of her changes in mood, position and wakefulness throughout the night. After their exertions the night before, he had expected for her to sleep longer, thus he stoically remained on his back, arms about her as he offered the comfort and support that she craved from him. Which he, in turn, found fulfillment in providing.

Levering herself up onto her elbow, she placed her palms flat upon his chest so that she could support her chin as she looked at his noble and familiar face. Some would find his expression stern, while others might believe him to be expressionless, save for the occasional raised eyebrow or slight frown of consternation. But years of shared adventures and intimacy had granted her an understanding of the subtleties of his expressions, and what some might see as no change from his neutral expression, to her spoke volumes. Her upraised foot wagged behind her slightly, as she studied him with adoration in her eyes.

My perfect man, she mused as she studied him, contentment and joy still filling her heart.

He could not read her thoughts at a distance anymore; well, not as effortlessly as he had been able to all his life. Born the most powerful telepath on the planet, he would have gone insane without the harsh discipline of kolinahr to purge him of all emotions, to learn to control his power by shutting off his mind to others. Having mastered this for decades, it took him some time once in this new universe to realize that here, he was sharply reduced to the conventional touch telepathy of the typical Vulcan.

Now that he was so near his T'hy'la however, the change was almost painfully glaring to him. But he didn't mind. If anything, he was grateful for the change. Regarding everyone else, he could now relax with no risk of suddenly blasting thoughts to others. As for Rita, it was a novel wonderment to now have to truly watch her and listen to her, and feel her to merely even hearing what she was thinking and feeling. It required more concentration, more attention, more care than ever before. Of course, he could always establish a conventional mind meld to reinstate their former mental link; something they had done at one point during the course of their intimate exertions during the night. But he found it so much more challenging, and thus worthwhile and fulfilling, to learn to truly know and feel her- to discover what she wanted, what she liked, what she needed, what she wished for.

Even among his people, Sonak had never been in an intimate relationship. What he was living, thanks to Rita, was unique and precious; something only she could bring to this universe, through him. Through her, he understood that all living beings, all sentient beings, all humans, all women, were each one and unique and thus precious. There was only one Rita Paris; and she was her T’hy'la. A friend, a lover, a partner... all of this and much more.

He looked up at her lying on top of him and there was the tiniest glint in his eyes.

"I think I am in trouble."

There was the briefest flash through her mind that he might be needed on duty- but as he had not fully checked into the command as yet, he had no duty obligations to discharge. The Captain would wish to speak with him, of course, but given how much Rita had gone on and on about her Sonak, she suspected the captain would find it a relief to not hear her heartbroken helmsman go on and on about him any longer. Which meant that Sonak was making a joke, which brought a smile to her face, as it always did.

No longer could she feel him or hear him inside her head at a distance, as she once could. But as she herself was not psychic, it mattered much less to her. He was here, present, with her. She could feel him in her heart, and his presence filled her senses. His faint scent of sandalwood, the coarse hair of his chest against her firm breasts, those beautiful grey eyes that she loved to lose herself in. Smiling at him with contented bliss, she considered the appropriate reply.

“Think you can’t keep up anymore, spaceman?” she teased gently, her finger idly tracing circles on his chest as she lost herself in his eyes. “You sure did okay last night, particularly for a 193 year old man…”

He lifted an eyebrow and almost let out a sigh.

"It is always amazing to see how often and easily you Humans bring everything back to... biology. Even Andorians, whose entire society and psychology is based on their peculiar four gender paradigm at least ignore the subject for the first two decades of their lives... and even after that, bother with it for a mere five years before going sterile. But it's like you barely concede to tribbles."

He then looked at her, the strange glint back in his eye.

"I had to be careful; I was after all involved with a 162 year old human woman."

“What can I say? I’m a very old lady who really, really missed her old Vulcan,” Rita smiled, then moved to get close enough to kiss him tenderly, deeply and thoroughly. When she pulled away, the expression on her face was one of joy and tenderness, of vulnerability and longing. It seemed she was preparing to initiate mating with him once more, illustrating his point, when her stomach gurgled rather loudly.

It did not take a psychic link for him to see the battle waging behind her brows- food, or sex... food or sex.... As her stomach growled again, her body clearly cast its vote.

“Okay, tribble duty postponed for now. How about I make you some breakfast? It feels like I haven’t cooked for you in forever. And I have a kitchen now! A real kitchen!” It had always been a component of their relationship- emotional bonding through food sharing. Rita loved to cook for him and care for him, and she found it extremely emotionally fulfilling. It enabled her to share her culture with him, to expand his horizons even as it fed their biological needs.

"A logical choice. Intercourse does not help for sustenance, but sustenance does help for intercourse. While you give yourself the approvisioning assignment, I will work on damage control in these quarters."

He looked around as he spoke. Rita might have been human, but she was quite athletic for her species and rather vigorous and passionate. Such energy could affect space and matter quite significantly. He started with their clothing, sending it into the replicator to get new fresh ones specifically tailored for each of them. Then he would see to the surrounding area itself.

Watching him move, always so sure and deliberate, was something she had missed. His tall, lanky yet athletic build was not what she had previously been attracted to, yet she could not imagine him any other way. All she had to do was put forth an idea, and he promptly expanded on it as he formulated a plan, turning thought into action to do what needed to be done. Rolling off the bed, she bounced over to the one dresser drawer where she stored the sleep shirts she would need far less often now.

Grabbing a pair of pink satin bikini-cut panties, she stepped into them, then shimmied them up her long smooth tanned legs until she could wrest them over her generous rounded hips. Peeking over her shoulder, she checked to see if Sonak was watching. To tempt a Vulcan was an accomplishment, and it was one in which the hourglass heroine had considerable skill... and took great delight.

And yes, Sonak had noticed. As a human, her figure had an absolutely perfect symmetry and balance, despite being quite oversized in what defined the already definite sexual dimorphism in humans. It was as if she had been fabricated like a doll or an android. But if one entity in this universe, any universe, knew how alive and natural she was, it was Sonak. And Sonak was, like all Vulcans, a devoted aesthete.

Fishing through the drawer, she fetched out the loose-fitting oversized off-white t-shirt that bore the slogan, "Have your tribbles spayed and neutered". Holding it up so that he could read it, the buxom brassy blonde bombshell grinned, then rolled the garment up, held it over her head then dropped it to slide it over her form. The neck had been cut out of it, so it hung off one shoulder and at its longest was halfway to her knees. It was coverage with no support- simple modesty, plus protection from hot kitchen elements. Trotting out to the living room, she snatched up her boots from where she had pulled them off the night before to toss them at the bedroom.

He took a step, snatched them in mid-air and brought them along with the rest of their used clothes into the replicator to get fresh new ones. The whole motion had come almost unconsciously, born out of long time shared together that were now coming alive again between them once more. Anyone watching them now would had thought them an old couple; but anyone who would have watched them last night would have thought them first time lovers.

This was the only real magic the stoic, rational Vulcan had ever known.

Dancing into the kitchen, Rita grasped the edge of the island and used the leverage to propel herself to the pantry. Pulling up short, the happy homemaker helmsman opened the door and fetched the instant mix. "Computer? Hello. Would you warm up the medium burner to 170 degrees please, and replicate me one farm fresh egg and 500 milliliters of distilled water? Thank you."

The computer chirruped, then responded, "Complete. You're welcome."

"You are going to cook 'old fashioned' style again," remarked the Vulcan with an arched eyebrow. "I will remind you that I am not at all insistent on old traditions as many of my brethren are. And contrary to irrational human belief, there is virtually no difference even down to the subatomic level between hand made and replicator food."

"I enjoy the ritual, the act of creation," she reminded him. "The uncertainty of how it will turn out, the learning experience with each piece." Fetching a mixing bowl and a cup out of the cabinets that magnetically locked, she snapped her fingers. "Computer, could you trade out the first rack of burners for the griddle please?"

As the cold burners slid back, the flat surface rotated into place. "Computer, heat the griddle to 170 degrees please. Back medium burner to 190. Thank you." Pouring the measured flour mixture into the bowl with the water, she reached over to fetch the egg out of the replicator. Cracking it into the bowl, she began whisking the mixture.

"So I'm making pancakes, but the mixture is flexible, so I could make waffles instead? Or both, I have enough," she offered as she tucked the mixing bowl under one arm and worked it with the whisk in her hand. "Is that a sweat stain on the couch or just a body imprint?"

"Both," he answered from the keeness of his senses. "I know humans are fond of old furniture with a history... but the computer can transport it out for disassembling into basic matter and replicate a new one if you like."

"Make it so, please and thank you. Not the sort of sentiment we need to invest in," she voted. Setting the mixing bowl on the counter, she fetched the aerosol butter from the refrigerator. Spraying the griddle, she plopped a few spoonfuls of batter onto it. Grabbing the waffle iron out of another cabinet, she flipped it open, sprayed the interior, dropped a wad of batter into it, closed it and turned it on as she set it on the counter next to the stove. Looking around she debated making grits, which seemed an odd choice to go with pancakes.

"I should get Thex to run me some plumbing in here... she's the chief engineer, little Andorian gal. She's my best friend- she really helped me acclimate to the future and got me over being, well, alone." Rita snapped her fingers. "I forgot to put her in for the bronze star from when she saved my life. A very brave and selfless woman, and a heck of an engineer... quite the heroine, really. You'll like her."

"Interesting; Andorian females are usually taller than the males of the species, just as strong and much more aggressive. If this one is undersized, she must be exceptionally courageous and certainly intelligent to compensate. Andorians are also usually quite aloof with other species. But once you earn their friendship, they will indeed sacrifice themselves for you without hesitation. I read about the historical relationship between Captain Archer and Commander Shran; if she is your best friend, you must have impressed her as much as you did me... which, knowing you is not at all surprising."

He started to make the bed as he mused.

"Fortunately, the old feud between Vulcan and Andoria has been over for centuries now; I will certainly look forward to meeting her."

Flipping the flapjacks, Rita grabbed some colorful earthenware plates. "Thex is actually very sweet and kind-hearted, not aloof at all. I think maybe she doesn't really get how to talk to other people, though."

Cracking open the waffle iron just as it dinged, she disgorged the waffle onto a plate, folding the iron back onto the counter and setting the waffle plate on the island. Scooping up the flapjacks, she piled them up on the other plate, then turned the burners off. Grabbing up the waffle on the way by, she delivered both to the rectangular dining room table. Prancing back into the kitchen, she grabbed the spray butter and the syrup, as well as two forks and a cloth napkin. Running those to the table she then slipped back to the refrigerator, grabbing orange juice and a pair of glasses before she arrived back at the table, running her fingers through her thick shock of short hair.

"Okay, I give up. Computer, please make me a cup of coffee, sweet and black, 400 milliliter cup and an 800 milliliter tumbler of water," Rita folded to practicality in the end- while the ritual was fun, it was also a lot of work. Fetching the beverages from the replicator, Rita added, "Thank you."

Gesturing to the spread, she announced, "Breakfast is served, Mister Sonak. I present flapjacks and waffles, two vegetarian friendly carbohydrate delights of my homeworld."