JL | CDR Valeese, LCDR Stacker | "Night and a Book in the Star Lounge, Pt. 3"

Posted on Wed Oct 18th, 2017 @ 6:39pm by Commander James Stacker

Mission: The Round Table
Location: The Star Lounge | Deck 530 | Cold Station Theta
Timeline: 2000hrs. station time, SD 241710.16

There was a deep and indistinct rumble from deep down in his chest, and his eyes momentarily closed as her fingers traced his eyebrows. Whether the sound was agreement, disagreement, or simple pleasure at tactile contact was unclear. The meaning behind her words, though ... he had grown up on a planet that was forever in the shadow of the Romulan Star Empire. His family had never known when the peace between the Federation and RSE might break down. When those warbirds might've potentially come screaming out of the sky. The frontier, then as was the case now, was a delicate affair. There was little room for error and missteps, lest it lead to disaster for all. But how was she aware of that? How did she know about colors between the lines? Was it -

Unconsciously, one hand went to her ear, a finger tracing along the outer edge as he thought.

And that was when words began to fail for her. It was a toss up on who was more sensitive along their ears; the Ferengi or the Vorta... Or maybe it was just hers. Experimenting with the thought had never been her idea of a good time, nor had she ever had the need. In many ways she'd grown up as a loner, interacting more with members of species other than her own - and that had left ears as an almost forgotten side note.

Not so much any longer.

For the second time in as many meetings, the ghost had found his way to things that he had no business mucking around with. At first it was happenstance due to how they'd been oriented near one another. This? This wasn't a mistake. His fingers ran the contour of her fan-like ears from the elf-like tip down to where it tapered and blended with the line of her jaw. Valeese's eyes closed and her head tilted away in a subconscious desire to open up to his exploration while the greater, more intelligent side of her worked to regain a sense of control over the situation. "Do they offend you?' She asked, her voice a bit more husky than she'd have liked, and the eyes reopened to watch for whatever expression he'd offer - whatever tell would light in his eyes.

Was he offended? He weighed what he thought, and found the response most telling. No, he was not offended. There were those out there no doubt who would be offended at features that at-a-glance informed someone of her species' association with one of the Federation's most longstanding and bitter enemies. Two wars fought ... millions dead ... Yet even as he sat here now, thinking this, eyes locked on hers he was consciously aware that he was not a slave to that past. He was from a world that had not been affected by the wars, other than sending its sons and daughters to distant frontlines. There had never been Dominion ships in their skies, or Jem'Hadar boots trampling their crops. And time, as they say, healed wounds.

So when his lips moved, it was as clear and honest an answer as he could give. "No. I'm not offended." His finger returned again, stroking her ear one more time, thumb brushing the side of her neck quite by accident.

"Then why do they seem to fascinate you so?" The query took a moment to formulate, or rather... It was there, sitting at the tip of her tongue, but it took chance seconds to connect brain to mouth instead of brain to the sensation of fingers against the extremely vascular region filled with excessive amounts of nerve endings. In humans it would likely have brought pain at the slightest touch, equated more to fibromyalgia that anything pleasurable - but for her... Bliss. Bliss nearly to the point of inebriation. Like flipping sharks over onto their backs completely placated and mesmerized them. She couldn't remember the first time she'd realized as much - but she knew now that there would always be a need to wear her hair down and cover her neck with the delicate perfection of scarves so long as he was around. She could have moved, should have moved, but didn't.

"Maybe for the same reason you seem to like it so much," he said with humor in his voice. Her reaction hadn't escaped his attention - the delayed words, the slight turn in her neck that opened her up to further exploration, the change in tenor in her voice. This was one area where both sides to his personality were united, in observing her. It was pleasant, and nice, and both soothing and relaxing seeing this side of her. It was almost as if she was turning to putty in his hands.

The ear twitched slightly, just barely, honing in on the new key of his voice and all the while her eyes, hardly keen, registered the softness slowly, but certainly, engulfing him, "That I doubt very much," She managed to reply, her lips drawing into a strange little smile, one that defied any clear definition or depiction, but existed none the less. It was difficult to focus, but Valeese knew she needed to try. The fact he openly admitted to knowing he played her like fiddle did little to comfort or persuade her in any other direction. The question still demanded answer - why had it been that he was drawn to stroking her ear, why drawn in to touch one of the most provocative and sensual parts of a body at all? Ears, regardless of species, weren't something that warranted careless or platonic touch unless they were being pierced or protected during a hair cut. He was a mystery, as was his intent, and she no closer to figuring it out than before. "Try again." She purred.

For once, he was grateful for the low illumination and equally-low number of individuals in the lounge. He was not comfortable with leaning in closer to her, but shrouded as they were in near-darkness it helped him relax even as an involuntary tightness clamped down on his gut. The momentary streak of nervousness was insufficient to deter him; and so it was that he found himself leaning in, whispering to her. Words that he would not have otherwise crossed his lips. The part he would wonder at later was what prompted them. Was there some deep-seated desire on his part for the Vorta? Some level of undeniable attraction, like a moth to a flame? Or was it his professional half talking, trying to manipulate her? Where did one end and the other begin? "Because when I'm with you, I find myself changed... I don't always have to lock myself away. And I like that."

He neared closer, whispered soft, sweet nothings in her ear and she couldn't help but feel torn. On the one hand, it was a magnificent change from the feeling of isolation that sometimes was remedied by disappearing into one novel or another. No one had said anything even remotely similar to that, toyed with her in such a way - and here this was now easily considered twice... And in quick succession. Her eyes closed, blocking out the sight of him and she processed what it was he said and measured it against the gray collar around his neck. Intel. Silver tongued bastards always looking for something in the shadows - and nearly always finding it. There was a chance, a high one, that he didn't trust her further than she could throw him... And she wasn't especially strong, physically that was. The question now was whether or not he'd figured her out and compromised her integrity, or was he being honest with both himself and her with the honey he dribbled.

Swallowing hard, it took a lot, willpower she didn't know she had, to reach up and slide slender fingers along his wrist until she captured his hand and carefully drew him away from her ear. "Ask yourself this..." Valeese breathed, tangling her fingers with his, pressing palm to palm, "Would you willingly go for a mid-day stroll down the promenade hand in hand?" An eyebrow quirked, her nerve returning as the beautiful feeling of his touch began to fade to memory and her eyes reopened to assess his face. It was one thing to joust with seductive touch and pillow talk in the dark, secret crevices of the arboretum and smoke filled lounges, and another thing entirely to announce attraction and desire to the known world.

The look in his eyes was best described as 'confusion.' The internal battle between his professional and personal halves was fully out in the open; for quite possibly the first time since putting on the grey collar, he felt himself faltering. This was not to say that he was for once bad at his job: instinctively he knew what his duty demanded he say, and yet he could not bring himself to say the words. Despite an attempt to do so, which ended in nothing more than a halting "I -." There was something, which defied explanation, about this captivating alien woman that demanded that he be honest to her. And so against his better professional judgment, he felt himself saying quite the opposite of what duty arrogantly stipulated that he had he say.

"I don't know."

"I didn't think so." She replied, releasing his hand and gathering herself to stand on what were most definitely weakened knees. Her lips had quirked into an interesting little smile - bemused, perhaps sardonic, but interesting none the less as she bent to press her lips to his temple, "Enjoy your book. Commander Stacker." Valeese whispered against the warm skin before straightening up, tugging her sweater hem down where it had begun to ride up, and set out to pick her way over his legs and feet. The last thing she needed was to trip or accidentally trod on him. Had she been expecting anything more or less? In many ways. His answer had rung clarion with honesty - a trait she easily picked up on simply by the way each note of his voice clung to the air in repose with the beat of his heart. The man was conflicted, torn between those two worlds and she, for now, was safe to come and go as she pleased though the threat of losing herself in the process was a rapidly approaching possibility. Control was a hard thing to keep when the curiosity of 'what if?' continued to nag and gnaw.

He let her go, watching as she disappeared back into the murk and gloom of the Star Lounge. Somehow, it seemed a little darker in here. The corners of his mouth flattened into a barely-perceptible frown as he turned back to the windows, picking up his glass and eyeing the book on the table, wondering all the while what the hell his life was coming to.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Commander Valdeese
Chief Medical Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170

Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170