"From Wild Geese to Unicorns" Part 2/2

OFF: This is my challenge post… Lort give me the strength needed to endure and the forgiveness of others as I assimilate their toons into this motley story line. Pun intended.
NOTE: The log was too long for the system, it has a character limit of 20,000 and this was 21,382 without the OOC or signature, 21,890 with them. Please see part 1 for context.

Time: Shortly after the ending of the Romulan threat… For now. (might still need to be posted in order for there to be context, but we all know what I'm referring to)
Characters: Vaanaras, Eight of Eleven, Wendi Nablesse, Avakhon Khinsharri


“I’m sorry to intrude, Vaanaras, but Captain Nablesse said you’d be taking the rest of the day for yourself,” He smiled a wide, toothy, smile. “I needed to be sure you were alright.” For a Klingon, there was no doubt that this was a greeting as fine as they came - complete with regard for her more sensitive proclivities. Vaanaras wasn’t rough around the edges, if anything she was petite and downright dainty, perhaps even fragile. It was her mind that had captivated him. Analytical and fierce, she had taken a stand against the devil himself and remained stalwart and strong, unyielding. Her heart had been screaming, galloping at warp speed against the cage of her chest, but she’d refused to back down. That alone was commendable. That alone had told the savage warrior everything he’d ever need to know about her and he wanted more.

She nodded slowly, punching in her door code. At first she’d dreaded communication with another being after her latest encounter with the Borg, but Avakhon was anything but overbearing. Instead of force, he had come bearing gifts of concern and understanding - sweet salvation perhaps better than silence and darkness. “I’m alright, Avakhon.” Vaanaras smiled, “You’re welcome to come in for awhile, if you’d like.” Her hand swept towards the interior of her living space in a gesture of invitation. One she found herself hoping he’d choose to accept against the greater integrity of her usual desires… Perhaps even against her greater sense of self preservation.

Avakhon was a dangerous being, one built specifically to kill and his massive hands had snuffed out the lives of countless enemies throughout his nearly millennium long life-span… But oh how he intrigued her - or rather continued to intrigue her. From the moment she’d first spied him, there had been something that left her riveted, drawn like a moth to a flame regardless of the warnings and red flags that exploded within her head.

And now… Now he’d taken her invitation with a smile and a ‘That’s very kind.’ and settled into her space as if he’d lived there all along.

He had the grace of a jungle cat as he moved about her living room, examining the art she’d hung on the walls. It was a reminder of the prowess and power he kept so well contained just beneath the surface of his rich mocha skin. “I thought Vorta didn’t have an eye for finery or art.”

“A myth,” she responded easily, sipping the tea she’d made for them. Her hip rested against the back of her couch, maintaining distance between them but remaining close enough that she was able to observe, appreciate, and reciprocate the conversation he offered.

Avakhon nodded, pausing before one particular painting. An oil, something that may well have been painted by one of the old Italian masters and preserved for all time. Likely, he reminded himself, it was a replication. On it, in vibrant detail, was a knight of old paused to receive love from his woman sat astride his steed. “One drummed up by the Founders to disguise your intelligence, no doubt.”

She nodded, meeting his eyes as he turned towards her, “Among many, yes.”

“I know better.”

Her eyes widened slightly, watching as he left the paintings to afford her his full attention, “I recognize your intelligence, Vaanaras, I recognize the warrior in you and I recognize the bravery and selflessness that comes with it.”

“Or so you think.” She responded with a shake of her head and a wry smile, “I was terrified today.”

The Klingon roared in laughter and pointed to her, “Do you not know what courage is, little one?” He asked, his eyes glittering with mirth and something she couldn’t quite place, “It’s not the absence of fear, it’s being so afraid you think you’ll die of fright but pushing forward and doing it anyway! That is courage and you showed it to me today. To everyone. You are brave, little Vorta, so brave.”

He was there in two steps or less, right in front of her - towering over her - and she felt her heart lurch as it began to race once more in a heady mixture of fear and something so foreign she couldn’t place nor recognize it right away. “I don’t feel brave,” Vaanaras whispered in confession, so soft the had to strain to hear her.

“But you are,” He hummed in response, carefully reaching to pull a fine silver pin from her hair. Free from its tether, her raven mane fell in undulating gentle waves and curls against her shoulders and down her back. The way it framed her precious face accentuated her large, startlingly violet eyes that blinked back at him with no small measure of confusion.

“Avakhon…” She began to protest when one of the man’s index fingers stroked along her cheek and followed the line of her jaw to her chin, using it to guide her face upwards.

“Stop. I’m an expert on bravery and you are certainly brave and smart…”

The first touch of his mouth against hers was feather soft, barely there. A testing of reciprocity that yielded to something far stronger when he felt the full, silken petals of her lips press to his in answer to his query for permission. Losing all sense of sense of time and place, they stood, the behemoth of a Klingon bent at the waist and his Vorta counterpart standing pressed on tip toe with the thick veil of her lashes closed over her eyes.

The moment he felt her tiny hand place itself upon its chest was the moment that all doubt was lost. His own hand found itself pressed against the small of her back, fanning its fingers out to claim as much territory as possible as he guided her tighter against him, allowing him to sense and feel the pounding of her heart. His nose was completely overtaken by the scent of her; warm and musky with rich tones of fine vanilla and bergamot - utterly intoxicating.

That was the final straw.

Avakhon’s lips crushed against hers, threatening to devour her like a starving man's first meal. Any hope of a sentence became stolen by the soft confines of his mouth and with one hand wrapped posessively around her hips, the other entangled itself within the thick onyx of her hair and she was lost.

Completely and utterly lost.

Each breath was him, each kiss was him, and everything in her senses became completely and utterly enraptured by him.

Vaanaras weighed as much as dandelion fluff in his hands when he lifted her from the deck. Her legs wrapping instinctively about his hips as he shuffled forward, pushing her against the bulkhead a little rougher than she should have. He could feel her wince as she hit it with a thud, the impact rattling the paintings mounted at either side of her, but her thighs tightened against him, urging him onwards while her fingers moved to claw at the fabric of his tunic at his shoulders and back. The heat of his massive body molded against hers was only intensified by the cold of the wall against her back and the way one of his hands followed the delectable feminine curves of her contour, sneaking beneath the hemline of her uniform to sample the smooth skin along her hip.

Vaanaras gasped at the sensation of his rough hand against her bare skin as it began its exploration. She paused only long enough in their heated kisses to gather a breath before savoring the flavor of his mouth once again. With her hopelessly pinned between him and the wall, Avakhon could feel each breath she took, the way her ribs expanded beneath his hand as it traveled steadily northbound and he finally tore his mouth from hers to taste the column of her throat. His reward would be the feel of her pulse throbbing against his lips fast and hard, promising him that he had the same damnable effect on her that she had on him.

It was only when she opened her eyes to try and navigate the removal of his shirt did she notice the scarlet on her fingers. “Avakhon…” She tried to catch his attention, his name more of a panted whine of passion when his teeth found her neck just beneath her jaw. At some point in her frenzy to obtain more of him, she’d managed to catch a hangnail on the fabric of his uniform, tearing it back further and causing her to bleed. The very sight of blood, given the act they were committing, chilled her, causing her eyes to widen.

“Avakhon!” she tried again. This time his mouth came away from her heated flesh, but began to descend upon her own. It met the palm of her hand as she released him only to block the kiss.

The Klingon’s eyes opened to meet her saucer-like own from over the tips of her fingers in an exchange that could only be defined as awkward. “Vaana?” He mumbled against her palm, in question.

“We have a problem.” She explained, pulling her hand away to expose the bloodied finger tip in question.

“BaQa…” He hissed in surprise, holding her in place with his hips while he grabbed the finger to examine it, “Hu'tegh…” He added as he carefully manipulated the digit.

Vaanaras didn’t need a translator to pick up the meaning of either expletive.


Lieutenant Vaanaras
APB October

Captain Wendi Nablesse
APB October

Lt. Commander Avakhon Khinsharri
APB October

Lieutenant Eight of Eleven
APB October

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