Star Trek Game Fic
Jun. 3rd, 2024 10:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydamorehouseI think there might be a few people here interested in reading my latest Star Trek: Adventures RPG fic. I'm going to post the Safe for Work version here, but the NSFW option can be found here (along with all the other Sular fics) over at Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48810082/chapters/123129571 (<-- the full series, including the Vulcan smut. The direct link to the smut is embedded above.)
As usual, the fic appears under the cut.
Sular decided to take his own advice.
For the past few days, he’d been encouraging the crew of the USS Alan Turing that were eligible to take some time for themselves. The ship had not been to port in too long--centuries, if you count all that time travel--and everyone needed a mental health break.
Including himself.
Sular had considered the merits of locking his doors and hiding in his own quarters for the duration of shore leave. There were all those novels sitting on the floor next to his bed in his 'to be read' pile, after all. But, recently, he’d struck up a tentative friendship with someone who worked on Narendra Station.
Now that they were docked here, he’d taken a risk and reached out.
Today, Sular had what amounted to “a date.” He supposed he should just think of it as a date without any qualifiers, but the truth was he’d made this connection on a hook-up site. Most likely, any time spent together at the agreed upon meeting place would be brief, nothing more than a quick matter of determining compatibility. If everything was deemed satisfactory, there would be sex and that would be the end of it--all very logical and needs based.
If it wasn’t obvious, his new friend was also a Vulcan.
As he shuffled through the clothing choices in his closet a second time, Sular sighed. If Aimnu were anything other than Vulcan, Sular would know what to wear. He’d wear what looked good on him--his traditional silks. But showing up at the station’s only Vulcan tea house wearing his family’s crest to an erotic rendezvous with another Vulcan could potentially cause enough of a stir that news of it might actually travel all the way to the homeworld.
The last thing Sular needed was a frantic subspace communique from his parents praying for a wedding gong. Because they would assume, like Sular first had, that T’Aimnu was a woman’s name, which would just make things extra awkward.
Sular slid the closet door shut firmly, decisively.
Uniform, it was then.
#
Sular hoped to arrive at Narendra Station’s Vulcan Tea House, Mossy House, ahead of the date in order to scope things out, but it seemed that Aimnu had the exact same plan. Sular instantly recognized Aimnu from his Explore Me profile picture, a picture Sular had assumed was from his youth. Aimnu’s profile said he was forty, but the person approaching the maitre’d station looked half that. It didn’t help that Aimnu’s frame was slight and lanky and his hair, while cut in the traditional military style of most Vulcans, seemed to naturally want to sweep to one side--a very jaunty, casual look.
Sular bowed slightly in greeting. “Aimnu, I presume?”
Aimnu paused his approach in a way that made Sular assume that he was just as startled to find his date early, as well. “Ah, Sular? It seems we were both… overly punctual.”
Sular knew that his response should be an eyebrow quirk and ‘it seems so,’ but if this little booty call was going to work, he needed to be his authentic self. At least a little. “No, I arrived exactly as planned. I was hoping to check you out ahead of time to see if your profile was a lie. I mistakenly assumed that there was no way you were this hot at forty, but I would have stayed, regardless, if you were sexy enough.”
Aimnu’s eyebrows shot up in amusement.
Of course, the maitre’d chose that very moment to appear. Clearly having overhead, he sputtered a cough. The maitre’d was a stern, traditional looking Vulcan. His robes marked him as the tea master. He wore a formal gray-green gi, neatly tied. His overcoat--akin to a Japanese haori--was a mossy green. Down one hem of the coat was an ornately beaded Vulcan phrase, Theris-masu tor buhfik svi' wuh herbosh tuhlek or “Tea is best in an empty container.”
Ugh. How Zen.
Sular already hated him.
“I am Grelek, the proprietor of this meditative tea house.”
Sular noted the emphasis on meditative.
So, they’d both already been categorized in Grelek’s mind as troublesome. Vulcans: so judgy. And, yet, one was supposed to let the insults slide off, and so Sular did. He didn’t even acknowledge it, but instead, held out an arm to Aimnu. Aimnu seemed a bit surprised at this public show of affection, but, after only a brief hesitation, slipped a hand into the crook of Sular’s arm.
It should be clear enough now that they were together and that they would not be shamed.
Sular, remembering that Aimnu was sensitive about his name, said, “I am Counselor Sular of the USS Turing. The Ensign and I have reserved a private table for two.”
There was a disapproving pause. Or perhaps it was awkward as Grelek coughed again and his eyes darted briefly to Aimnu. “Oh, so this is… Ensign T’Aimnu?”
In their brief online discussion, Sular knew that Aimnu had an involuntary blush response when people used the formal version of his name. Sular stepped forward a bit and shifted his shoulder so that Aimnu’s face was hidden from Gerek's scrutiny. “Is there some problem with our reservation?”
“I must apologize. The name, you see. It deceived me, The table I booked you is our most romantic. I will change--”
“You will not.” Sular cut Grelek off sharply. “That is more than acceptable. In fact, it is preferred,”
“But….”
Sular just inclined his head. “If you would be so kind as to show us to our seats, theris-masu trensu.”
The tea master stiffened with a bit of pride at the formal High Vulcan version of his title. His attitude shifted immediately. “Ah! It is rare to hear such refined language from one so young.” Grelek gave Sular a long, penetrating stare. Then, clearly having decided something, he said, “Is it possible? I had heard that the heir to the K'vek Clan was aboard the Turing. Could it be that you are that Sular?”
The little gasp of surprise from Aimnu made Sular inwardly cringe. With effort, Sular managed to keep his irritation off his face. “Theris-masu trensu, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. My clan is only a distant relation to the great K’vek line. We are but the humble--”
“Shi’masu,” Grelek interrupted this time.
It was Sular’s turn to be startled. He was unaware that anyone knew the formal name of his clan outside of the smallest circles on Vulcan.
Noticing Sular’s reaction, there was a hint of a sly smile on Grelek’s face. With a gesture, he directed that they follow him to their seating. “You have been away from Vulcan for some time, nu'ri S'haile.”
Young lord?
There was no way Sular deserved that title from anyone! Also, his clan were heretics, V'tosh ka'tur, Vulcans without Logic. How could they have possibly become elevated among the clans? Cautiously, he said, “It appears I have.”
With nothing more to say, they followed the tea master inside. Aminu still lightly clutched Sular’s arm, though seemed to be inspecting his muscles. Sular kept his amusement off his face. He really wanted to lean into Aminu and whisper, ‘I hope I pass muster,’ but decided it was better to distract himself by looking around.
The interior of the Mossy House was warm--a comforting temperature compared to how cold most Federation spaces kept their common areas. Moss grew in artful patches on the walls, a strange affectation, given the blasted barrenness of much of Vulcan. It reminded Sular of the oases that his family traveled between on their trade route. When he spotted an orchid-like tubular flower, and smelled its cinnamon scent, he understood. “Ah, perhaps, theris-masu trensu or his ancestral family is from the Western Oasis, known as the beating heart of Vulcan, yar-kur khaf-spol?”
Grelek inclined his head, clearly pleased.
Whispered over his shoulder came Aimnu’s curious, “How could you tell?”
“Honestly? The smell,” Sular admitted, but he pointed to the bright flower hanging off the wall, “Plus, the flora. Like islands in a sea of sand, each oasis has its own distinct biome.”
Aimnu nodded, but still seemed a little uncertain. “My Vulcan is rusty. Your clan’s name means oasis?”
Even though it was the last thing he wanted to talk about, he nodded. “Correct. Our ancestral trade route circumnavigates Vulcan from one shore of the Sea to the other via a chain of oases.”
Aimnu’s voice was soft. “I thought the Great Artery was a myth.”
So did most. Greatest philosophers of the universe, Vulcans, but not one of them ever wondered how Vulcans could continue to be vegetarians on a planet made barren by a solar flare. “Many are well hidden, a few are underground or in caves, but I can assure you, they exist.”
Stopping in front of a low table, one partly hidden from the rest of the teahouse by a privacy screen, Grelek entoned: “Yar-kur os-khaf-mev, yar-kur khaf”
Green vein, green blood. It was Sular’s family’s motto, a testimony not only to their dependence on the oasis chain, but also Vulcan’s. “How?” Sular had to take a breath to center himself and say, “Pardon me, theris-masu trensu, but how is it that you know that phrase?”
That too knowing smirk quirked at Grelek’s lips again. “Perhaps this is something the young lord should ask his matriarch.”
Apparently, Sular would have to call his mother after all.
With a little nod of acknowledgment as the tea master moved away, Sular started to kneel. He stopped, because he realized that if he did, the spot left was the one partly obscured by the privacy screen--the spot normally reserved for the man, the typically more passive partner during formal courting. Straightening back up, Sular gave Aimnu a little grimace, and stepped back to make both options available to both of them. “Is this the awkward moment when we decide who tops?”
Eyebrows shot up again, but Aimnu delicately folded himself into the space partially shielded by the screen. Bottom, apparently.
“You are very refreshing, Sular of the K’vek Shi’masu.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Sular said. “I left Vulcan several thousands light years behind, in order to leave Vulcan several thousand light years behind.”
The privacy screen was painted with the small, brightly colored birds found in the Beating Heart Oasis. Male, of course, their mating plumage on display--deep purples speckled with dots of phosphorescent blue. As would be proper, if they were courting, Aimnu’s face was partly in shadow. Sular could only see a quarter of his face--part of one eye and his lips.
Was this the view women usually had of men? It was… scandalously sensual.
“Come now, Sular. Allow me this entertainment. It isn’t everyday, after all, that a person can fantasize about being out on the town with an actual prince.” Aimnu’s teasing purr was somehow made more coy and flirtatious by the shadow of the screen. “After all, your honor and traditional manners have already rescued me at least twice. Your pedigree even softened the ogre at the door. And how gallant you are! You even offered me your arm.”
“Indeed, as you wish. I can be your prince for the day,” Sular said, though he felt a bit foolish. This was never a fantasy of his own, and, having met actual Vulcan royalty, he doubted it ever would be. “Even so, I would much rather hear about you… or talk about My Space Love?”
Despite being a hook-up site, Explore Me was an off-shoot of the fan feeds for the incredibly popular holo-vid soap opera, My Space Love.
Suddenly, Aimnu reached across the table and put a hand over Sular’s. “Can you believe what’s happening to Tavaroc!?”
Sular was suddenly grateful that he’d rewatched every single My Space Love episode in which this season’s new Vulcan character, Tavaroc, had appeared. He’d even watched Tavaroc’s debut, “Explore Me” twice.
“Well, it was inevitable,” Sular said with some confidence, having hijacked the last twenty minutes of this morning’s session with Balenski, the resident My Space Love expert on the Turing, to grill them about their thoughts about Tavaroc, specifically, his sudden, apparent death during the finale. “Given the uproar over the actor.”
Aimnu clucked his tongue. “All the hate against the actor is quite illogical.”
Especially given that much of it came from Vulcans.
For obvious reasons, acting was not considered a respectable profession on Vulcan. In fact, most of the time, even now, when a production called for a Vulcan character, they were often played by an actor of another species, usually a human, with prosthetics. A shamefully racist practice, really, but finding a Vulcan willing to emote was difficult… usually impossible, in fact.
“Can you believe he was pressured to prove he was Vulcan?” Sular asked. That whole turn of events had terrified him, especially given that even a show of bleeding had not silenced some critics. So much of the universe clearly felt any Vulcan who was willing to show emotion, even as pretend play-acting, had to be a fake. What did that say about himself and his family?
“Awful business,” Aimnu agreed. “You know, I agreed to see you because you look so much like him.”
The actor who played Tavaroc, Kartok, was classically handsome, but, to Sular, Kartok seemed like he’d come out of a catalog under the heading ‘Generic Vulcan.’ Was this a compliment or an insult? “Oh?”
“Your profile picture looked so happy. It reminded me of Tavarac’s debut episode.”
“Ah.”Okay, that made more sense. When Tavaroc was first introduced, the character had been possessed by an Arretan, which meant he smiled and laughed. The comparison was a compliment, then. There were entire fan feeds devoted to Kartok’s smiles.
“I assumed you did it on purpose, smiling. Because of the title.”
The hook-up site and Tavaroc’s first episode had the same name, “Explore Me.” The dating site chose that title in part because the Arretan in possession of Tavaroc’s body in that first episode was very horny, and so he ended up in bed with the entire cast of characters in one way or another. Another reason for the High Council to retire to their fainting couches. They were already tying themselves into knots over Kartok’s existence, but then that on top of it all? Vulcans were only supposed to want sex during Pon Farr, even though that had clearly never been the case.
“Actually,” Sular said, deciding this was as good a time as any for the big moment of truth. “I just think I look good when I smile.”
Sular counted heartbeats in the silence that followed. His heart ticked three times before Aimnu said, “I think I would like to see you smile.”
Aimnu’s expression was difficult to parse in the shadow of the courting screen, but his gaze was steady, serious.
Sular leaned closer across the small table and quietly said, “Unfortunately, I’m not an actor like Kartok. I have to feel it.”
So, feelings were on the table. Would Aimnu understand what Sular was subtly implying? Would he balk?
Sular held his breath for six double beats. Then Aimnu’s grasp tightened on Sular’s hand. He leaned in and clearly said, “My desire remains the same. In fact, if you’re suggesting what I think you are, I’m even more keen. It has long been a secret wish of mine to make a Vulcan scream my name and beg for release.”
Sular sputtered.
And, of course, that was exactly when Grelek returned with tea.
Wickedly, Aimnu ignored the presence of the tea master, except to release Sular’s hand and say from behind the screen, “My mothers have taught me arts that can make a Klingon weep. Let us go, my prince, and allow me to demonstrate.”
Sular, who had been working himself up to top, simply said, “At your command.”
Neither of them even spared Grelek a glance as they swept out of the teahouse.
#
[sex, up to your imagination (or not!)]
#
Much later, as Sular left this enchanting man’s chambers, he turned to say, “I would send your mother a gift, if it didn’t seem gauche.”
“A gift from a prince would be very welcome,” Aimnu said, from where he lounged, still naked, on the bed they’d nearly broken.
So, this rendezvous came with an expected payment? That was very unusual. “It would?”
“The V'tosh ka'tur aren’t the only Vulcans interested in preserving an artform from a time before logic. My clan, too, strives to keep a hidden flame alive.”
“Indeed? I think my matriarch would like your mothers.”
The laugh was languid, teasing. “Is that a proposal, heir of the Shi’masu?”
Absolutely not. And if his family actually sent a gift, it would certainly be seen as one. Did this erotic master think there was gold to be had by marrying in? Prestige? But, no need to be cruel and say such things aloud, particularly since Narendra Station was a port to which they often called, “Would you like it to be?”
“Unfortunately, even if I did, I couldn’t accept,” he sighed. “It is not the way of Wuh Yut T'wuh Svai.”
The Way of the Flower.
Fascinating. “Alas,” Sular said, lifting his hand to indicate throwing a kiss. “Can we meet again?”
“Any time. I find myself very…. Fascinated by the sounds and expressions you make.”
Like this blush, Sular thought as he ducked out the door. “Until then, t'hy'la.”
As the door swished shut, Sular just barely made out Aimnu’s parting words: “Yes, ashaya. Make it soon.”
As he hurried back to the Turing, Sular only felt a little guilty that he’d only called Aimnu ‘lover,’ when Aimnu called him ‘love.’
As usual, the fic appears under the cut.
Sular decided to take his own advice.
For the past few days, he’d been encouraging the crew of the USS Alan Turing that were eligible to take some time for themselves. The ship had not been to port in too long--centuries, if you count all that time travel--and everyone needed a mental health break.
Including himself.
Sular had considered the merits of locking his doors and hiding in his own quarters for the duration of shore leave. There were all those novels sitting on the floor next to his bed in his 'to be read' pile, after all. But, recently, he’d struck up a tentative friendship with someone who worked on Narendra Station.
Now that they were docked here, he’d taken a risk and reached out.
Today, Sular had what amounted to “a date.” He supposed he should just think of it as a date without any qualifiers, but the truth was he’d made this connection on a hook-up site. Most likely, any time spent together at the agreed upon meeting place would be brief, nothing more than a quick matter of determining compatibility. If everything was deemed satisfactory, there would be sex and that would be the end of it--all very logical and needs based.
If it wasn’t obvious, his new friend was also a Vulcan.
As he shuffled through the clothing choices in his closet a second time, Sular sighed. If Aimnu were anything other than Vulcan, Sular would know what to wear. He’d wear what looked good on him--his traditional silks. But showing up at the station’s only Vulcan tea house wearing his family’s crest to an erotic rendezvous with another Vulcan could potentially cause enough of a stir that news of it might actually travel all the way to the homeworld.
The last thing Sular needed was a frantic subspace communique from his parents praying for a wedding gong. Because they would assume, like Sular first had, that T’Aimnu was a woman’s name, which would just make things extra awkward.
Sular slid the closet door shut firmly, decisively.
Uniform, it was then.
#
Sular hoped to arrive at Narendra Station’s Vulcan Tea House, Mossy House, ahead of the date in order to scope things out, but it seemed that Aimnu had the exact same plan. Sular instantly recognized Aimnu from his Explore Me profile picture, a picture Sular had assumed was from his youth. Aimnu’s profile said he was forty, but the person approaching the maitre’d station looked half that. It didn’t help that Aimnu’s frame was slight and lanky and his hair, while cut in the traditional military style of most Vulcans, seemed to naturally want to sweep to one side--a very jaunty, casual look.
Sular bowed slightly in greeting. “Aimnu, I presume?”
Aimnu paused his approach in a way that made Sular assume that he was just as startled to find his date early, as well. “Ah, Sular? It seems we were both… overly punctual.”
Sular knew that his response should be an eyebrow quirk and ‘it seems so,’ but if this little booty call was going to work, he needed to be his authentic self. At least a little. “No, I arrived exactly as planned. I was hoping to check you out ahead of time to see if your profile was a lie. I mistakenly assumed that there was no way you were this hot at forty, but I would have stayed, regardless, if you were sexy enough.”
Aimnu’s eyebrows shot up in amusement.
Of course, the maitre’d chose that very moment to appear. Clearly having overhead, he sputtered a cough. The maitre’d was a stern, traditional looking Vulcan. His robes marked him as the tea master. He wore a formal gray-green gi, neatly tied. His overcoat--akin to a Japanese haori--was a mossy green. Down one hem of the coat was an ornately beaded Vulcan phrase, Theris-masu tor buhfik svi' wuh herbosh tuhlek or “Tea is best in an empty container.”
Ugh. How Zen.
Sular already hated him.
“I am Grelek, the proprietor of this meditative tea house.”
Sular noted the emphasis on meditative.
So, they’d both already been categorized in Grelek’s mind as troublesome. Vulcans: so judgy. And, yet, one was supposed to let the insults slide off, and so Sular did. He didn’t even acknowledge it, but instead, held out an arm to Aimnu. Aimnu seemed a bit surprised at this public show of affection, but, after only a brief hesitation, slipped a hand into the crook of Sular’s arm.
It should be clear enough now that they were together and that they would not be shamed.
Sular, remembering that Aimnu was sensitive about his name, said, “I am Counselor Sular of the USS Turing. The Ensign and I have reserved a private table for two.”
There was a disapproving pause. Or perhaps it was awkward as Grelek coughed again and his eyes darted briefly to Aimnu. “Oh, so this is… Ensign T’Aimnu?”
In their brief online discussion, Sular knew that Aimnu had an involuntary blush response when people used the formal version of his name. Sular stepped forward a bit and shifted his shoulder so that Aimnu’s face was hidden from Gerek's scrutiny. “Is there some problem with our reservation?”
“I must apologize. The name, you see. It deceived me, The table I booked you is our most romantic. I will change--”
“You will not.” Sular cut Grelek off sharply. “That is more than acceptable. In fact, it is preferred,”
“But….”
Sular just inclined his head. “If you would be so kind as to show us to our seats, theris-masu trensu.”
The tea master stiffened with a bit of pride at the formal High Vulcan version of his title. His attitude shifted immediately. “Ah! It is rare to hear such refined language from one so young.” Grelek gave Sular a long, penetrating stare. Then, clearly having decided something, he said, “Is it possible? I had heard that the heir to the K'vek Clan was aboard the Turing. Could it be that you are that Sular?”
The little gasp of surprise from Aimnu made Sular inwardly cringe. With effort, Sular managed to keep his irritation off his face. “Theris-masu trensu, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. My clan is only a distant relation to the great K’vek line. We are but the humble--”
“Shi’masu,” Grelek interrupted this time.
It was Sular’s turn to be startled. He was unaware that anyone knew the formal name of his clan outside of the smallest circles on Vulcan.
Noticing Sular’s reaction, there was a hint of a sly smile on Grelek’s face. With a gesture, he directed that they follow him to their seating. “You have been away from Vulcan for some time, nu'ri S'haile.”
Young lord?
There was no way Sular deserved that title from anyone! Also, his clan were heretics, V'tosh ka'tur, Vulcans without Logic. How could they have possibly become elevated among the clans? Cautiously, he said, “It appears I have.”
With nothing more to say, they followed the tea master inside. Aminu still lightly clutched Sular’s arm, though seemed to be inspecting his muscles. Sular kept his amusement off his face. He really wanted to lean into Aminu and whisper, ‘I hope I pass muster,’ but decided it was better to distract himself by looking around.
The interior of the Mossy House was warm--a comforting temperature compared to how cold most Federation spaces kept their common areas. Moss grew in artful patches on the walls, a strange affectation, given the blasted barrenness of much of Vulcan. It reminded Sular of the oases that his family traveled between on their trade route. When he spotted an orchid-like tubular flower, and smelled its cinnamon scent, he understood. “Ah, perhaps, theris-masu trensu or his ancestral family is from the Western Oasis, known as the beating heart of Vulcan, yar-kur khaf-spol?”
Grelek inclined his head, clearly pleased.
Whispered over his shoulder came Aimnu’s curious, “How could you tell?”
“Honestly? The smell,” Sular admitted, but he pointed to the bright flower hanging off the wall, “Plus, the flora. Like islands in a sea of sand, each oasis has its own distinct biome.”
Aimnu nodded, but still seemed a little uncertain. “My Vulcan is rusty. Your clan’s name means oasis?”
Even though it was the last thing he wanted to talk about, he nodded. “Correct. Our ancestral trade route circumnavigates Vulcan from one shore of the Sea to the other via a chain of oases.”
Aimnu’s voice was soft. “I thought the Great Artery was a myth.”
So did most. Greatest philosophers of the universe, Vulcans, but not one of them ever wondered how Vulcans could continue to be vegetarians on a planet made barren by a solar flare. “Many are well hidden, a few are underground or in caves, but I can assure you, they exist.”
Stopping in front of a low table, one partly hidden from the rest of the teahouse by a privacy screen, Grelek entoned: “Yar-kur os-khaf-mev, yar-kur khaf”
Green vein, green blood. It was Sular’s family’s motto, a testimony not only to their dependence on the oasis chain, but also Vulcan’s. “How?” Sular had to take a breath to center himself and say, “Pardon me, theris-masu trensu, but how is it that you know that phrase?”
That too knowing smirk quirked at Grelek’s lips again. “Perhaps this is something the young lord should ask his matriarch.”
Apparently, Sular would have to call his mother after all.
With a little nod of acknowledgment as the tea master moved away, Sular started to kneel. He stopped, because he realized that if he did, the spot left was the one partly obscured by the privacy screen--the spot normally reserved for the man, the typically more passive partner during formal courting. Straightening back up, Sular gave Aimnu a little grimace, and stepped back to make both options available to both of them. “Is this the awkward moment when we decide who tops?”
Eyebrows shot up again, but Aimnu delicately folded himself into the space partially shielded by the screen. Bottom, apparently.
“You are very refreshing, Sular of the K’vek Shi’masu.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Sular said. “I left Vulcan several thousands light years behind, in order to leave Vulcan several thousand light years behind.”
The privacy screen was painted with the small, brightly colored birds found in the Beating Heart Oasis. Male, of course, their mating plumage on display--deep purples speckled with dots of phosphorescent blue. As would be proper, if they were courting, Aimnu’s face was partly in shadow. Sular could only see a quarter of his face--part of one eye and his lips.
Was this the view women usually had of men? It was… scandalously sensual.
“Come now, Sular. Allow me this entertainment. It isn’t everyday, after all, that a person can fantasize about being out on the town with an actual prince.” Aimnu’s teasing purr was somehow made more coy and flirtatious by the shadow of the screen. “After all, your honor and traditional manners have already rescued me at least twice. Your pedigree even softened the ogre at the door. And how gallant you are! You even offered me your arm.”
“Indeed, as you wish. I can be your prince for the day,” Sular said, though he felt a bit foolish. This was never a fantasy of his own, and, having met actual Vulcan royalty, he doubted it ever would be. “Even so, I would much rather hear about you… or talk about My Space Love?”
Despite being a hook-up site, Explore Me was an off-shoot of the fan feeds for the incredibly popular holo-vid soap opera, My Space Love.
Suddenly, Aimnu reached across the table and put a hand over Sular’s. “Can you believe what’s happening to Tavaroc!?”
Sular was suddenly grateful that he’d rewatched every single My Space Love episode in which this season’s new Vulcan character, Tavaroc, had appeared. He’d even watched Tavaroc’s debut, “Explore Me” twice.
“Well, it was inevitable,” Sular said with some confidence, having hijacked the last twenty minutes of this morning’s session with Balenski, the resident My Space Love expert on the Turing, to grill them about their thoughts about Tavaroc, specifically, his sudden, apparent death during the finale. “Given the uproar over the actor.”
Aimnu clucked his tongue. “All the hate against the actor is quite illogical.”
Especially given that much of it came from Vulcans.
For obvious reasons, acting was not considered a respectable profession on Vulcan. In fact, most of the time, even now, when a production called for a Vulcan character, they were often played by an actor of another species, usually a human, with prosthetics. A shamefully racist practice, really, but finding a Vulcan willing to emote was difficult… usually impossible, in fact.
“Can you believe he was pressured to prove he was Vulcan?” Sular asked. That whole turn of events had terrified him, especially given that even a show of bleeding had not silenced some critics. So much of the universe clearly felt any Vulcan who was willing to show emotion, even as pretend play-acting, had to be a fake. What did that say about himself and his family?
“Awful business,” Aimnu agreed. “You know, I agreed to see you because you look so much like him.”
The actor who played Tavaroc, Kartok, was classically handsome, but, to Sular, Kartok seemed like he’d come out of a catalog under the heading ‘Generic Vulcan.’ Was this a compliment or an insult? “Oh?”
“Your profile picture looked so happy. It reminded me of Tavarac’s debut episode.”
“Ah.”Okay, that made more sense. When Tavaroc was first introduced, the character had been possessed by an Arretan, which meant he smiled and laughed. The comparison was a compliment, then. There were entire fan feeds devoted to Kartok’s smiles.
“I assumed you did it on purpose, smiling. Because of the title.”
The hook-up site and Tavaroc’s first episode had the same name, “Explore Me.” The dating site chose that title in part because the Arretan in possession of Tavaroc’s body in that first episode was very horny, and so he ended up in bed with the entire cast of characters in one way or another. Another reason for the High Council to retire to their fainting couches. They were already tying themselves into knots over Kartok’s existence, but then that on top of it all? Vulcans were only supposed to want sex during Pon Farr, even though that had clearly never been the case.
“Actually,” Sular said, deciding this was as good a time as any for the big moment of truth. “I just think I look good when I smile.”
Sular counted heartbeats in the silence that followed. His heart ticked three times before Aimnu said, “I think I would like to see you smile.”
Aimnu’s expression was difficult to parse in the shadow of the courting screen, but his gaze was steady, serious.
Sular leaned closer across the small table and quietly said, “Unfortunately, I’m not an actor like Kartok. I have to feel it.”
So, feelings were on the table. Would Aimnu understand what Sular was subtly implying? Would he balk?
Sular held his breath for six double beats. Then Aimnu’s grasp tightened on Sular’s hand. He leaned in and clearly said, “My desire remains the same. In fact, if you’re suggesting what I think you are, I’m even more keen. It has long been a secret wish of mine to make a Vulcan scream my name and beg for release.”
Sular sputtered.
And, of course, that was exactly when Grelek returned with tea.
Wickedly, Aimnu ignored the presence of the tea master, except to release Sular’s hand and say from behind the screen, “My mothers have taught me arts that can make a Klingon weep. Let us go, my prince, and allow me to demonstrate.”
Sular, who had been working himself up to top, simply said, “At your command.”
Neither of them even spared Grelek a glance as they swept out of the teahouse.
#
[sex, up to your imagination (or not!)]
#
Much later, as Sular left this enchanting man’s chambers, he turned to say, “I would send your mother a gift, if it didn’t seem gauche.”
“A gift from a prince would be very welcome,” Aimnu said, from where he lounged, still naked, on the bed they’d nearly broken.
So, this rendezvous came with an expected payment? That was very unusual. “It would?”
“The V'tosh ka'tur aren’t the only Vulcans interested in preserving an artform from a time before logic. My clan, too, strives to keep a hidden flame alive.”
“Indeed? I think my matriarch would like your mothers.”
The laugh was languid, teasing. “Is that a proposal, heir of the Shi’masu?”
Absolutely not. And if his family actually sent a gift, it would certainly be seen as one. Did this erotic master think there was gold to be had by marrying in? Prestige? But, no need to be cruel and say such things aloud, particularly since Narendra Station was a port to which they often called, “Would you like it to be?”
“Unfortunately, even if I did, I couldn’t accept,” he sighed. “It is not the way of Wuh Yut T'wuh Svai.”
The Way of the Flower.
Fascinating. “Alas,” Sular said, lifting his hand to indicate throwing a kiss. “Can we meet again?”
“Any time. I find myself very…. Fascinated by the sounds and expressions you make.”
Like this blush, Sular thought as he ducked out the door. “Until then, t'hy'la.”
As the door swished shut, Sular just barely made out Aimnu’s parting words: “Yes, ashaya. Make it soon.”
As he hurried back to the Turing, Sular only felt a little guilty that he’d only called Aimnu ‘lover,’ when Aimnu called him ‘love.’
no subject
Date: 2024-06-03 10:30 pm (UTC)