20 Nov 2020
His hands on her, the way he looked at her. The light of the stars that seemed to shimmer as it glided in through the windows, bathing them in the incandescent light. It was all so… serene. Quiet. Just the two of them.
‘Now. If not now, when?’
And then, seemingly all at once, the entirety of engineering went to shit.
AKA: It's very inconvenient to be fwb's on a starship that's prone to hijinks. Especially when you Run that starship. And Even More Especially if you're in love with the person you're running said starship with.
If you had asked Al when he ‘woke up’ at sunset today: “How do you think your day is gonna go?” or even “How do you think you’ll die a second time?”, he doesn’t know what he would have said. Especially if he knew those two things would be the same answer. But hell, “death via Amelia Earheart while having sex behind a crate in the storage basement” is still probably not whatever he could have come up with.
God, and he thought the talk with Larry and the boy Pharaoh about how the damn tablet worked was the weirdest it got.
Taken from the end of the second movie. The Smithsonian and New York arrange a deal to share the tablet, the Pharaoh, and the night guard. Amelia has the braincell, everyone is bi, and Al is so, so screwed.
Kinktober is here! I'll be posting (hopefully) 31 days of kinks focused on Discovery (but also possibly other Star Trek characters. Tags will update
How would it feel? To drop to her knees like her boys do for her? To bend to their combined wills and trust that they won’t break her? To know the blissful quiet her boys seek from her ministrations first hand? Does shame tastes as sweet on the skin as the sting of-
She was named Number One of her birth year on Illryia for a reason, and that reason wasn’t because she was a fucking coward.
Wherein Una gets to have a taste of what it's like to be her partners, her partners thoroughly enjoy every second of it, and the Ready room is once again used for purposes it was Not Originally Meant For.
Her mournful seething is interrupted when some local approaches, asks her a question she barely registers about her ship and how it runs. Any other day she would have been fucking delighted to word vomit all about their ship and her lovely crew, but today-
Today she couldn’t care less to be honest, because the air is warm and smells pleasantly of spice, the sunset’s poking through dark oncoming clouds and coating everything in a golden halo, and yet she still couldn’t feel more cold.
Aka: Three grown adults can't figure out how to words, miscommunications are easy, and sex pollen only makes it worse (or better).