Return of a Champion (Chapter 7)
Jun. 27th, 2010 06:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akainagiReturn of a Champion (Chapter 7)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akainagi (conceptual credit to chrismata1976)
Rating: NC-17 for serious pron-age
Genre: Star Trek: The Next Generation/Alice in Wonderland crossover
Pairings: Tarrant/T’Lara, Data/Tasha
Summary: Centuries later, the direct descendent of Alice Kingsley, now serving on the USS Enterprise, is called on to aid Underland. Unfortunately, a few other people get sucked along for the ride.
Data lay in bed, at present eschewing sleep for introspection. What made him ask Tasha those questions? He was not a being given to impulsiveness in word or deed. Usually his thoughts traveled well-worn neural pathways, were processed and reprocessed before they were given form in speech.
Perhaps being called a demon and a living doll bothered him more than he had led himself to believe, that he would search for such reassurances from the one closest to him. He had thought himself beyond the point where he needed such reassurances.
But this was a first for him, after-all. A long-term sexual and domestic partnership was something he had never before embarked on, not before Tasha. He knew it was a first for her as well. She had told him her romantic history had consisted of relationships that had lasted months at most. Two beings with such a track record forging a two year relationship was against the odds to say the least.
And was it wishful thinking (something else he was not given to) that he had detected the telltale signs of falsehood in her answer to the last question. Elevated pulse, lack of eye contact, the slight change in pitch of her voice. And what had he hoped to hear, that she had stayed in Underland for him, rather than her duty?
A soft knock on the door disturbed his ruminations. It was just as well, as they were getting him nowhere. He was halfway to the door when Tasha entered of her own volition. Thanks to Underland’s unfortunate curse of permanent daylight he could see clearly her disheveled state. The white cotton nightdress she wore clung to her breast from perspiration, her pupils were dilated, her respirations and pulse were elevated well above the norm. And she was looking at Data like she was contemplating having him for a midnight snack.
Data did not bother with formalities. “The dreams again?” he asked.
Tasha didn’t bother to answer. “Data, you know our policy of not having sex on away missions?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s trash it,” she said breathlessly.
“Tasha, “Data began, “I do not believe –“
He barely got out half the thought before he found himself kissed passionately and enthusiastically. It took nanoseconds for his mind to process that it was inadvisable to allow this to continue. It took several more nanoseconds for him to decide that he was going to proceed anyway.
He returned the kiss, meeting Tasha’s enthusiasm with his own. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pressing her warm, willing, hyperaroused body against his own. His other hand came up to the back of her neck, bracing her as he increased the pressure of his lips against hers. His actions were clearly appreciated, for Tasha moaned her pleasure into his mouth.
Tasha broke the kiss abruptly. “If you’re going to make me stop, do it now. ‘Cause –“
By way of an answer Data took his lips and latched on to the sensitive peak of one breast through the thin, sweat-soaked nightdress.
Tasha let out a string of tender obscenities. She could be quite foul-mouthed during sex; one of the little idiosyncrasies Data had discovered about his lover over the years. He kept such knowledge close, finding pleasure in knowing a thousand little things about this woman that no one else knew.
Tasha began grappling at his clothing, annoyed by the fact that he was still fully dressed. “You, me, bed,” she ordered.
They made their way to the thankfully spacious bed, kissing, caressing and shedding clothing as they went. The last thing to go was Tasha’s nightdress. She unashamedly pulled it up and off, tossing it to the ground. Data took a moment to admire his lover in her natural state. Her pale skin, scarred in places, bespoke of her occupation and the violent manner in which she had spent her formative years. Data knew each scar, each line by heart.
Tasha gave him a gentle push and he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. She was on him immediately. Kissing him and running her hands over his pale, cool skin. Data let his hands roam also, kneading her firm buttocks, cupping her breasts. He rolled sensitive nipples between his fingers, and was rewarded with a sigh of pleasure. Finally he moved his finger to the center of her desire, finding her folds swollen and wet and ready. He slipped a digit inside, and watched her face contort in pleasure.
There were few things Data enjoyed more than watching Tasha’s reactions while they made love. To know that he could bring her such pleasure, to know that he and no one else was permitted to see this raw, vulnerable side of her, he could only liken the feeling he felt to exhilaration.
His lover was becoming impatient, and with a sigh of contentment and gratification, she took the initiative and lowered herself onto his waiting erection. Data watched a myriad of expressions cross her features as she undulated her hips, causing a delicious friction between them. She moved quickly, not interested in a slow, lazy lovemaking, but rather grappling frantically for the release she craved. Data reached between them and lightly manipulated the sensitive bud that lay between the folds of her sex.
Tasha let out a keening cry of pleasure, her pace quickening, and Data knew it wouldn’t be long before her climax overtook her. Not satisfied with his passive role, Data began thrusting his hips upward, meeting her stroke for stroke.
“Fuck!” Tasha exclaimed, feeling her climax beginning to build, gathering like a time bomb of pleasure in her lower abdomen.
“I believe,” Data said wryly, “That is what we are doing.”
Even through her passion and the sex-induced haze, Tasha let out a short burst of laughter. Her hands roamed up Data’s smooth chest to his neck, and then her fingertips came up to caress his face. Impulsively (he was doing that a lot lately), Data leaned his face into her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. The act was such a tender one, Tasha felt her heart would burst with affection for the man beneath her. Her eyes locked with his as their lower bodies continued their rhythmic dance. The gaze increased the intimacy of the act tenfold.
Tasha’s rhythm began to falter as her climax approached. Data quickened the pace of his thrusts. He ground into her with a precisely calculated force, trying to reach as far into her depths as possible without hurting her. Finally, she let out a sharp cry as the tension inside her exploded outwards, sending her soaring with pleasure. She trembled with her release, but still she held his gaze. Data watched in amazement the expressions that crossed her face; the emotion that traveled to him through the window of her eyes.
She was beautiful.
As the last of her tremors subsided, she collapsed atop him, breathing heavy and with an expression of pure contentment. She sighed as he withdrew from her, allowing his erection to subside now that his lover was sated. There was the rustling of sheets and the rearranging of arms and legs and she was nestled beside him, enveloped in his arms.
They shared a few long, lingering kisses. “Gods, did I need that.” Tasha said and she nestled closer to him
Data smiled, he enjoyed the aftermath of their lovemaking almost as much as he enjoyed the act itself. To see Tasha’s contentment and fulfillment and to know that he had brought it about. That he relished.
But for Tasha’s part, it was bittersweet, for she wished for nothing more than for Data to be able to take pleasure in their lovemaking also.
“Does it ever bother you?” Tasha asked suddenly. “Does it ever bother you that you can’t feel the sensations that I feel.”
“You mean when we engage in sexual congress?”
Tasha chuckled. “That’s the most unromantic way I think I’ve ever heard it put, but yes, that’s what I mean.”
Data paused for a moment. “I should like to be able to experience it, yes. But it gives me pleasure to bring you pleasure. I find it most … fulfilling.”
And then he followed it up with something so sweet it could cause cavities. Data never ceased to amaze her.
~*~*~*~*~
T’Lara felt like she was on fire. Her hypersensitive awareness had given her a front-row seat to the acts going on in the adjoining room. The emotions and sensations of the act of mating had been telegraphed to her via her heightened telepathic senses.
She was beyond help, beyond control now. Meditating was out of the question. The blood-fire was upon her, and nothing would satisfy it but to mate. To Bind.
She left her room, and found herself wandering the halls mindlessly. Every fiber of her being thrummed with awareness. He was here, somewhere. Her mate. The one who would release her from this torment. Her mindless wandering became not so mindless. She found herself at a set of stairs. She didn’t question her instincts. She merely followed where they led. Up the stairs. To the left. Not that door. Nor the next.
Finally she found herself in front of the right door. She could smell him on the other side of the heavy wooden barrier. She could smell his maleness. She did not bother to knock, for in her current state she was beyond such things. She merely opened the door. It swung open easily.
The Hatter looked up from his work table. When he saw T’Lara he stood up so fast his chair fell over.
“Lady T’Lara!” he exclaimed at her disheveled appearance. She was covered in sweat and her damp nightgown was nearly transparent. Her eyes held the look of madness in them. “Lady T’Lara, you are unwell!”
T’Lara smiled a smile that was more frightening than friendly. “I am quite unwell, Mister Hatter,” she admitted, advancing on the alarmed man. “But you can cure me.”
“I can?” Tarrant swallowed loudly. “How can I help you?”
“Give yourself to me.”
“Give … myself?” She couldn’t mean what Tarrant thought she meant.
T’Lara’s eyes gleamed in the harsh light streaming through the windows. “Mate with me,” she ordered. She was close to him now. His scent filled her senses, intoxicating her further. “I will make it pleasurable for you.”
Tarrant stood, shell-shocked, trying to find a response to such a demand. He did not think fast enough, however, for she was upon him, crushing his lips with her own. The kiss was all passion and violence. Tarrant instantly was assaulted by a blazing fire of desire, not from himself, but from T’Lara. The madness of the blood-fire, so similar to the madness that lay coiled in Tarrant’s own mind, sent him reeling.
T’Lara held him immobile with one hand while the other sought out the points of the mind meld that would bind them together. She was so close. Her body screamed at her to do it, complete the meld. Bind. Mate. Take. Have.
Something in Tarrant snapped and he shoved her away roughly. It was true that he desired her. He couldn’t deny that. But this was wrong. His own madness exploded over him.
“Are ‘ye mad woman?” he roared, sweeping his arm across his worktable and sending everything flying. ‘Ye must be for wantin’ one such as me. D’ye not see I’m mad me’self. Y’say y’want me?” Tarrant cackled. “’Ye don’ even know me!”
T’Lara backed away, the spell of her desire momentarily broken by her shock at the Hatter’s unexpected behavior.
“An’ I know nuthin’ a ye’! ‘Ye are nae even human! ‘Ye think just ‘cause ‘ye look like me Alice I’ll give meself to ye?” Tarrant let out another short bark of laughter. He advanced on T’Lara, who now wanted nothing more than to flee. He grabbed her by the front of her nightdress, hauling her up until her face was scant inches from his own. “’Ye are nae me Alice. Now get ‘ye out o’ me sight, ‘afore I be forgettin' meself.” Tarrant shoved her hard. She landed on the stone floor with a bone jarring thud. She stared up at Tarrant in horror.
Tarrant saw the raw fear in T’Lara’s eyes. As suddenly as it had come on, his madness dissipated. What had he done? Visiting violence on and terrifying this mere slip of a woman.
“I …” Tarrant tried to find the words. “I’m sorry Lady T’Lara. But, you see, I am quite mad. So I suggest you look elsewhere for what you need. There are plenty of men in this court who would be glad to have you and who are not half-mad. I am.”
T’Lara rose to her feet, attempting to collect herself. She trembled with the exertion of keeping her urges under control. A random thought appeared in her head at the Hatter’s words. Before she could stop herself the words left her lips.
“All the best people are.”
Tarrant’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Half-mad,” T’Lara replied. “All the best people are half-mad.”
A lump rose to Tarrant’s throat. “What makes you say that?”
“I … I do not know,” T’Lara answered. “Ever since I’ve come to Underland I have had these random thoughts and urges. Like I have been here before. Met you before. Met everyone before. Lived through this before. It is most … disturbing.”
Tarrant stared at her so intently she felt like he could see right through her.
“I apologize for my actions, Mister Hightopp. I was … not myself. It shall not happen again,” T’Lara turned to leave.
“Tarrant.”
T’Lara paused at the door.
“Call me Tarrant.”
For some reason, her heart ached at his words. “Goodnight, Tarrant.”
And then she was gone.
Author:
akainagi (conceptual credit to chrismata1976)Rating: NC-17 for serious pron-age
Genre: Star Trek: The Next Generation/Alice in Wonderland crossover
Pairings: Tarrant/T’Lara, Data/Tasha
Summary: Centuries later, the direct descendent of Alice Kingsley, now serving on the USS Enterprise, is called on to aid Underland. Unfortunately, a few other people get sucked along for the ride.
Data lay in bed, at present eschewing sleep for introspection. What made him ask Tasha those questions? He was not a being given to impulsiveness in word or deed. Usually his thoughts traveled well-worn neural pathways, were processed and reprocessed before they were given form in speech.
Perhaps being called a demon and a living doll bothered him more than he had led himself to believe, that he would search for such reassurances from the one closest to him. He had thought himself beyond the point where he needed such reassurances.
But this was a first for him, after-all. A long-term sexual and domestic partnership was something he had never before embarked on, not before Tasha. He knew it was a first for her as well. She had told him her romantic history had consisted of relationships that had lasted months at most. Two beings with such a track record forging a two year relationship was against the odds to say the least.
And was it wishful thinking (something else he was not given to) that he had detected the telltale signs of falsehood in her answer to the last question. Elevated pulse, lack of eye contact, the slight change in pitch of her voice. And what had he hoped to hear, that she had stayed in Underland for him, rather than her duty?
A soft knock on the door disturbed his ruminations. It was just as well, as they were getting him nowhere. He was halfway to the door when Tasha entered of her own volition. Thanks to Underland’s unfortunate curse of permanent daylight he could see clearly her disheveled state. The white cotton nightdress she wore clung to her breast from perspiration, her pupils were dilated, her respirations and pulse were elevated well above the norm. And she was looking at Data like she was contemplating having him for a midnight snack.
Data did not bother with formalities. “The dreams again?” he asked.
Tasha didn’t bother to answer. “Data, you know our policy of not having sex on away missions?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s trash it,” she said breathlessly.
“Tasha, “Data began, “I do not believe –“
He barely got out half the thought before he found himself kissed passionately and enthusiastically. It took nanoseconds for his mind to process that it was inadvisable to allow this to continue. It took several more nanoseconds for him to decide that he was going to proceed anyway.
He returned the kiss, meeting Tasha’s enthusiasm with his own. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pressing her warm, willing, hyperaroused body against his own. His other hand came up to the back of her neck, bracing her as he increased the pressure of his lips against hers. His actions were clearly appreciated, for Tasha moaned her pleasure into his mouth.
Tasha broke the kiss abruptly. “If you’re going to make me stop, do it now. ‘Cause –“
By way of an answer Data took his lips and latched on to the sensitive peak of one breast through the thin, sweat-soaked nightdress.
Tasha let out a string of tender obscenities. She could be quite foul-mouthed during sex; one of the little idiosyncrasies Data had discovered about his lover over the years. He kept such knowledge close, finding pleasure in knowing a thousand little things about this woman that no one else knew.
Tasha began grappling at his clothing, annoyed by the fact that he was still fully dressed. “You, me, bed,” she ordered.
They made their way to the thankfully spacious bed, kissing, caressing and shedding clothing as they went. The last thing to go was Tasha’s nightdress. She unashamedly pulled it up and off, tossing it to the ground. Data took a moment to admire his lover in her natural state. Her pale skin, scarred in places, bespoke of her occupation and the violent manner in which she had spent her formative years. Data knew each scar, each line by heart.
Tasha gave him a gentle push and he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. She was on him immediately. Kissing him and running her hands over his pale, cool skin. Data let his hands roam also, kneading her firm buttocks, cupping her breasts. He rolled sensitive nipples between his fingers, and was rewarded with a sigh of pleasure. Finally he moved his finger to the center of her desire, finding her folds swollen and wet and ready. He slipped a digit inside, and watched her face contort in pleasure.
There were few things Data enjoyed more than watching Tasha’s reactions while they made love. To know that he could bring her such pleasure, to know that he and no one else was permitted to see this raw, vulnerable side of her, he could only liken the feeling he felt to exhilaration.
His lover was becoming impatient, and with a sigh of contentment and gratification, she took the initiative and lowered herself onto his waiting erection. Data watched a myriad of expressions cross her features as she undulated her hips, causing a delicious friction between them. She moved quickly, not interested in a slow, lazy lovemaking, but rather grappling frantically for the release she craved. Data reached between them and lightly manipulated the sensitive bud that lay between the folds of her sex.
Tasha let out a keening cry of pleasure, her pace quickening, and Data knew it wouldn’t be long before her climax overtook her. Not satisfied with his passive role, Data began thrusting his hips upward, meeting her stroke for stroke.
“Fuck!” Tasha exclaimed, feeling her climax beginning to build, gathering like a time bomb of pleasure in her lower abdomen.
“I believe,” Data said wryly, “That is what we are doing.”
Even through her passion and the sex-induced haze, Tasha let out a short burst of laughter. Her hands roamed up Data’s smooth chest to his neck, and then her fingertips came up to caress his face. Impulsively (he was doing that a lot lately), Data leaned his face into her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. The act was such a tender one, Tasha felt her heart would burst with affection for the man beneath her. Her eyes locked with his as their lower bodies continued their rhythmic dance. The gaze increased the intimacy of the act tenfold.
Tasha’s rhythm began to falter as her climax approached. Data quickened the pace of his thrusts. He ground into her with a precisely calculated force, trying to reach as far into her depths as possible without hurting her. Finally, she let out a sharp cry as the tension inside her exploded outwards, sending her soaring with pleasure. She trembled with her release, but still she held his gaze. Data watched in amazement the expressions that crossed her face; the emotion that traveled to him through the window of her eyes.
She was beautiful.
As the last of her tremors subsided, she collapsed atop him, breathing heavy and with an expression of pure contentment. She sighed as he withdrew from her, allowing his erection to subside now that his lover was sated. There was the rustling of sheets and the rearranging of arms and legs and she was nestled beside him, enveloped in his arms.
They shared a few long, lingering kisses. “Gods, did I need that.” Tasha said and she nestled closer to him
Data smiled, he enjoyed the aftermath of their lovemaking almost as much as he enjoyed the act itself. To see Tasha’s contentment and fulfillment and to know that he had brought it about. That he relished.
But for Tasha’s part, it was bittersweet, for she wished for nothing more than for Data to be able to take pleasure in their lovemaking also.
“Does it ever bother you?” Tasha asked suddenly. “Does it ever bother you that you can’t feel the sensations that I feel.”
“You mean when we engage in sexual congress?”
Tasha chuckled. “That’s the most unromantic way I think I’ve ever heard it put, but yes, that’s what I mean.”
Data paused for a moment. “I should like to be able to experience it, yes. But it gives me pleasure to bring you pleasure. I find it most … fulfilling.”
And then he followed it up with something so sweet it could cause cavities. Data never ceased to amaze her.
~*~*~*~*~
T’Lara felt like she was on fire. Her hypersensitive awareness had given her a front-row seat to the acts going on in the adjoining room. The emotions and sensations of the act of mating had been telegraphed to her via her heightened telepathic senses.
She was beyond help, beyond control now. Meditating was out of the question. The blood-fire was upon her, and nothing would satisfy it but to mate. To Bind.
She left her room, and found herself wandering the halls mindlessly. Every fiber of her being thrummed with awareness. He was here, somewhere. Her mate. The one who would release her from this torment. Her mindless wandering became not so mindless. She found herself at a set of stairs. She didn’t question her instincts. She merely followed where they led. Up the stairs. To the left. Not that door. Nor the next.
Finally she found herself in front of the right door. She could smell him on the other side of the heavy wooden barrier. She could smell his maleness. She did not bother to knock, for in her current state she was beyond such things. She merely opened the door. It swung open easily.
The Hatter looked up from his work table. When he saw T’Lara he stood up so fast his chair fell over.
“Lady T’Lara!” he exclaimed at her disheveled appearance. She was covered in sweat and her damp nightgown was nearly transparent. Her eyes held the look of madness in them. “Lady T’Lara, you are unwell!”
T’Lara smiled a smile that was more frightening than friendly. “I am quite unwell, Mister Hatter,” she admitted, advancing on the alarmed man. “But you can cure me.”
“I can?” Tarrant swallowed loudly. “How can I help you?”
“Give yourself to me.”
“Give … myself?” She couldn’t mean what Tarrant thought she meant.
T’Lara’s eyes gleamed in the harsh light streaming through the windows. “Mate with me,” she ordered. She was close to him now. His scent filled her senses, intoxicating her further. “I will make it pleasurable for you.”
Tarrant stood, shell-shocked, trying to find a response to such a demand. He did not think fast enough, however, for she was upon him, crushing his lips with her own. The kiss was all passion and violence. Tarrant instantly was assaulted by a blazing fire of desire, not from himself, but from T’Lara. The madness of the blood-fire, so similar to the madness that lay coiled in Tarrant’s own mind, sent him reeling.
T’Lara held him immobile with one hand while the other sought out the points of the mind meld that would bind them together. She was so close. Her body screamed at her to do it, complete the meld. Bind. Mate. Take. Have.
Something in Tarrant snapped and he shoved her away roughly. It was true that he desired her. He couldn’t deny that. But this was wrong. His own madness exploded over him.
“Are ‘ye mad woman?” he roared, sweeping his arm across his worktable and sending everything flying. ‘Ye must be for wantin’ one such as me. D’ye not see I’m mad me’self. Y’say y’want me?” Tarrant cackled. “’Ye don’ even know me!”
T’Lara backed away, the spell of her desire momentarily broken by her shock at the Hatter’s unexpected behavior.
“An’ I know nuthin’ a ye’! ‘Ye are nae even human! ‘Ye think just ‘cause ‘ye look like me Alice I’ll give meself to ye?” Tarrant let out another short bark of laughter. He advanced on T’Lara, who now wanted nothing more than to flee. He grabbed her by the front of her nightdress, hauling her up until her face was scant inches from his own. “’Ye are nae me Alice. Now get ‘ye out o’ me sight, ‘afore I be forgettin' meself.” Tarrant shoved her hard. She landed on the stone floor with a bone jarring thud. She stared up at Tarrant in horror.
Tarrant saw the raw fear in T’Lara’s eyes. As suddenly as it had come on, his madness dissipated. What had he done? Visiting violence on and terrifying this mere slip of a woman.
“I …” Tarrant tried to find the words. “I’m sorry Lady T’Lara. But, you see, I am quite mad. So I suggest you look elsewhere for what you need. There are plenty of men in this court who would be glad to have you and who are not half-mad. I am.”
T’Lara rose to her feet, attempting to collect herself. She trembled with the exertion of keeping her urges under control. A random thought appeared in her head at the Hatter’s words. Before she could stop herself the words left her lips.
“All the best people are.”
Tarrant’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Half-mad,” T’Lara replied. “All the best people are half-mad.”
A lump rose to Tarrant’s throat. “What makes you say that?”
“I … I do not know,” T’Lara answered. “Ever since I’ve come to Underland I have had these random thoughts and urges. Like I have been here before. Met you before. Met everyone before. Lived through this before. It is most … disturbing.”
Tarrant stared at her so intently she felt like he could see right through her.
“I apologize for my actions, Mister Hightopp. I was … not myself. It shall not happen again,” T’Lara turned to leave.
“Tarrant.”
T’Lara paused at the door.
“Call me Tarrant.”
For some reason, her heart ached at his words. “Goodnight, Tarrant.”
And then she was gone.
