AUTHOR: Lori ([email protected])
CODES: TNG, C, (P/C ish)
RATING: R
ARCHIVE:  Sure, ASC and the IT page.
FEEDBACK:  Always
DISCLAIMER: It's Bevster's fault, but that's cool cause it's so much fun.
Less directly, it's Paramount's fault for not learning how to write P/C,
thus forcing all of us to try it ourselves.
 

Personal Log, Stardate XXXXX.xx

I can't believe it's only been three weeks since all this started. It's hard
to believe it ever started at all. It seems like only yesterday that he
asked that fateful question, "what is it?" -- and I still can't believe I
agreed to show him what it was for. Thank you, whatever it was that
possessed me!

The whole ship knows by now, too. People keep looking at me in the corridors
with that amused, pleased little smile that seems to say "it's about time!"
Except the ones who have to pick up the pieces when Jean-Luc's found another
part of the ship to christen. They're laughing.

The various broken items showed up inexplicably in a holodeck simulation,
one evening last week when Jean-Luc had reserved holodeck two for dinner in
Paris. When we showed up, we walked in to find a 'Memorial to Passion'
complete with most of the implements we've used and/or broken since this
started. Jean-Luc was livid -- he even cursed Will for a few minutes, right
before he started to laugh. It had to be Will's idea. The exhibit had it
all -- the broken chairs, the torn lab coat I'd left in engineering, the
cracked faceplate of the console on the bridge, the dented panels from the
turbolift, right down to the little toy that started it in the first place.
Will must've had to bribe Deanna with chocolate to get it back. She's been
entirely too happy in staff meetings lately. I wondered why she hums so much
until I sat next to her and heard what it was she was trying to mask with
poorly-rendered versions of Data's latest concerto.

Maybe I'll try that next time Jean-Luc gets verbose -- computer, delete that
last sentence. Maybe I'll try that the next time Data gets verbose and goes
off on one of his tangents.

This is really all Jean-Luc's fault. The crew wouldn't know anything if he'd
settle for staying on the holodeck or in our quarters.

Although, I can't blame him entirely. Sickbay was really my idea.

Okay, so was the ready room.

Okay -- so I've been a little more voracious than I've been in the past, and
a little more forthcoming about expressing it.

Voracious. That doesn't begin to describe it. I love the way his hands feel
on my body. The way they seem to worship the softness of my skin. I love the
way he uses his tongue, on whatever he uses it on. I love the way he fits
inside me like he belongs there. I love the heat of his skin, the look on
his face when he's lost in passion. . . I never would have thought of him
that way. I love how he feels safe showing me that side of him. I love how
he still wants to watch me, sometimes, and how he suggested modifying that
phaser when we found out certain people had confiscated my little toy. He
could've replicated another toy easily enough.

I love the enthusiasm. The battle bridge, the shower -- anywhere we are, in
a second he can be ready and more than willing. Oh, it's going to end,
sooner or later, I suppose -- considering his age, I'd think sooner, but he
seems to be running on warp drive with no signs of stopping.

God, I hope not. I can carry this regenerator around forever if I have to.

Oh God. Just the thought of it's starting to turn me on again. Computer says
he's in astrometrics, with Data. Good. Data won't ask questions if we tell
him to leave.

Probably the best thing about all this is that I won't have to worry about
explaining all this to the captain.

End log.