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Posted on Sun Sep 3rd, 2017 @ 4:12am by Lieutenant JG Vecon Fick

Mission: Into The Wild
Location: Crew Quarters
Timeline: Present

Fick rolled out of bed and went straight to the replicator. At least the position he currently held on the ship afforded him better quarters than he’d ever had before. “Raktajino, steamed, cream,” he demanded. “Computer, dim lights 40 percent and play the collection of Tol Jolan.” The computer made a little acknowledgement chirp and the lights dimmed and soft Bajoran music filled the air. Fick removed his cup of Raktajino from the replicator and took it to the living space. He sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, sipping on the hot beverage. He was wearing a loose fitting pair of soft pants and little else.

K’Laus the Klingon Talarian was on his mind. He still didn’t know what to think of their exchange, even several days after. He had to admit that the Klingon was definitely delicious. Even his adversarial attitude was sexy. Fick knew that sometimes that attitude was flirting when it came to Klingons, but considering this one said he had been raised by Talarians, it might not be the case. Fick had never dated a Klingon, nor slept with one for that matter. He also knew that they could be extremely stuffy in regards to sex so he didn’t expect to ever get K’Laus where he wanted him, but it was fun to think about.

Once the Raktajino was gone he stood and pushed the low table in the middle of the living space back away from the center to give himself more room. He stretched slowly, his feet stayed planted firmly in place but his body moved gracefully in slow, languid stretches. Once he felt relaxed, he pulled one foot up placing the sole of it on the inside of the knee of his other leg, leaving him standing on one foot. He folded his hands in front of himself, like prayer, and took several deep breaths.

The object was to clear his mind. He had done the exercise so often that it should have been second nature for his stress to just melt away, but it wasn’t working this morning. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel K’Laus’ arms around him, holding him. It had been awhile since a man had lifted him off the ground. He had to admit that he wouldn’t mind it happening again. Of course he also didn’t think that going down to the cargo bay and randomly jumping into the Klingon’s arms would go over so well either.

Damnit! What is wrong with me? He lowered his stance and sighed. How was it that one Klingon could derail him like this? He shook his head, trying to clear it and changed his stance. Once he found his center of gravity he slowly arched backward. When his hands touched the ground he lifted one leg straight up until he was making a sort of upside down “Y” with his body. This position was also designed to clear his mind. The Romulans prided it in their martial arts as such because of the difficulty to hold the position for any length of time. It required concentration, thus clearing the mind of other thoughts.

Fick had to admit that for a Risian he wasn’t really the man whore that people expected him to be. Yes, he had had a lot of partners over the years, but many of those had been close friends. He had spent very little time running around with strangers. Not to say he hadn’t, but that was far from his usual experiences. He started thinking about what it might be like to be involved with a Klingon. It might be interesting. Klingons were known for their aggressiveness not their neediness and drama. He was thinking that perhaps aggressiveness might be a good alternative for what he had experienced so far in his life. He was tired of all that other stuff. It was possible that that was exactly what made the Klingon so attractive, aside from the physical attraction aspect.

I’m crushing like a schoolgirl. He lowered his body and sat cross-legged on the floor, sighing loudly. You’re stupid, he chided himself. He wondered how his father would react if he brought home a Klingon for the Lohlunat Festival. Ugh Fick! Stop it! He knew his mother didn’t care. He could bring home a Horta and she would find a way. He shook off his feelings again and gave up on his morning routine. He was running out of time between when he rose and when he was supposed to report for duty.

Food was next on the agenda. He stood and went back to the replicator. “Makapa bread, scrambled eggs with cheese and Targ milk.” He stood there while the replicator worked out his order. It only took a few seconds and he lifted a plate and glass and carried them both to the small dining table. He sat down, picked up a PaDD and a fork and started to eat and go over what he needed to do for the day. He wondered what K’Laus ate for breakfast or if the Klingon even ate breakfast. Surely he did. Fick could only imagine that it probably took a lot of food to keep that giant frame going.

Oh holy gods and goddesses! Will you just STOP! Fick threw his hands into the air and put his head on the table in surrender. “So we’re just going to keep hitting on the Klingon?” he asked aloud to his empty quarters. “I suppose so…” He had to admit that it had been fun to make K’Lars angry. He would just have to remember to not let the Klingon get to him. He chuckled, “It seems like he’s already got me…” Fick was amazed at himself, when there was so much to look at on this ship, his brain was stuck on one Klingon. He reminded himself not to get too attached to the idea, finished his breakfast, took a shower, changed clothing into his uniform and made his way to his duty station on the bridge for his shift.



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