BY: THE BEVSTER
CODES: STNG, P/Cish but indirectly, 1/1
RATING: PG
ARCHIVE:  Sure, if you like, but keep my name attached.
FEEDBACK:  [email protected]

Author's Note:  Okay, I can't seem to stop now.  This silliness just
doesn't seem to end.  For my Bubbie :*

Summary:  More POVs from the others in P & C's lives.

THE LINGERIE

The pain.  The injury is repairable, yes, but it does not assuage the
hurt.

In his lust and vulgar haste, he ripped my strap and tore my lace.  I
have been relegated to her grandmother's sewing basket in an inelegant
heap.  The shame of such an end.  I can only be grateful that she did
not discard me completely.  I know she has a special affinity for me;
that was my only saving grace.  I have seen some of the others tossed
carelessly into the recycler without further thought and I wept for
their fate.

I had pride of place in the camellia-scented drawer.  Top of the pile,
first to be viewed on opening.  A sachet underneath me.  It was the
sweetest feeling of contentment.

I recall the infrequent times she used to wear me under her uniform, to
feel the caress of my silk against her ivory skin all day.  It was
sensual, alluring, sexy.  Even if no one else knew.  It was not often, I
admit, but it was her sanctuary.

Now….now I fear my place in the drawer has been taken by trashy leopard
print and tacky red mesh.  HE gave her those.  She would NEVER have
chosen them for herself.  Her taste is exquisite.  Black lace, black
satin and silk.  The forest green teddy that was my companion for so
long.

I did not mind being used more frequently of late.  It was, at first,
rather lovely to be removed from the drawer every night.  But then the
sequence of being put on, being practically ripped off, thrown
unceremoniously to the floor, laundered repeatedly, left to dry in the
bathroom, has become tedious and wearing.  But now, to be injured,
almost beyond repair is the final humiliation.  I weep inside.

I am not sure what she sees in the old bald guy.  He is attractive, yes,
and one would think someone who loved Shakespeare as he does would be a
bit less aggressive, have more taste and be more considerate of her
garments.  She is a delicate creature, as am I, and should be treated as
such.

Oh for the days of quiet contemplation and repose in the
camellia-scented drawer with my companions of satin and lace.  <sigh>

*********************************
THE PIP

HELLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  Yo! Down here!  Hey!  Whoa, hey….geez,
don't STEP on me!  Damn!

You know, you'd think people of their rank would have a bit more respect
for the physical signs authority!  But, no, I just get ripped off and
thrown across the room.  She's always doing things like that.  I mean,
seriously, I understand being in the throes of passion, but just put me
on the table!  There's no need for this kind of violent hurling of
insignia!

Before he took up with the insatiable red head, he was very considerate
of us.  We would be reverently placed in the dish on his dresser, put on
again last thing in the morning and checked once before he would head to
the bridge.  We are, after all, CAPTAIN'S pips.

I know, I know, I could just as easily be gracing the collar of some
lowly lieutenant, but I am not.  At the moment I'm having enough trouble
trying to be FOUND.  I can hear him looking.  I can hear the frustration
in his voice. At least THIS time I'm not stuck in the friggin' sofa!
Squashed between cushions!  It took two DAYS to find me that time!

PLEASE, PLEASE!  Don't replicate another pip and leave me here!  My head
is STILL ringing from hitting the table leg last night.  Does she have
NO sense of propriety?

Yeah, sure, she's a hot babe, and the Gods know he deserves some
"recreation," but not at the expense of a properly dressed uniform!  My
place is on his collar, not under her coffee table!

Ah, here he comes now.  I think he has finally spotted me!

Just take the shirt off and leave me on it!  No need to tear me from my
quarters!  I won't scratch, I promise!

Ahhhhhhhhh, home at last!

The End