Girl Talk

By THECURSOR

Rating: R

Genres: humour romance

Keywords:

This story has been read by 931 people.
This story has been read 1322 times.


Disclaimer: I own nothing

Note: Writing this fic merited perusing the Fredricks of Hollywood and Victoria’s Secret Websites…for research purposes. Such a sacrifice.


Hoshi blinked. Then blinked again. It couldn’t be. No, it was impossible, this was some sort of hallucination or dream or…

“Please leave, Ensign.” T’Pol’s voice was what convinced her that this was really happening. Because instead of the Vulcan’s steady monotone, Hoshi could hear heady desire combined with an edge of fear. Hoshi didn’t respond at all, she just kept staring at them.

“Hoshi!” Trip was desperately trying to maintain his authority while rushing to pull up his pants, “Scram!” That snapped her out of it and a mousy squeak erupted from Hoshi’s lips before she rushed to close the cargo bay doors.

Unable to face them when the finally exited, the linguistics officer ran full speed down the hallway and into the turbo lift. Even after hearing and seeing it, Hoshi still couldn’t believe it: She just saw T’Pol, naked and bent over a cargo container; with Commander Tucker…Then the sheer depth of what she witnessed hit her. She had seen T’POL, the Vulcan, the least likely member of the crew to ever do something romantic or passionate, with Charles Tucker, the most polite Southern gentleman she’d ever known, together. She just watched the first Human/Vulcan romantic relationship in full pornographic color. The whole thing boggled her mind

“Nobody would ever believe me!” She said out loud to an empty turbo lift.


Twenty minutes later, she got the visit she’d been dreading when the door to her quarters let out a soft beep. “Um, w-who is it?"

“You are well aware of my identity, Ensign Sato” The tinny sound of T’Pol’s voice through the speaker made Hoshi’s blood run ice cold, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

When the doors slid open, Hoshi found herself face to face with the steely glare of an angry Vulcan. “Sub-Commander…p-please come in.” She tried to make the invitation sound genuine but she still could not shake her irrational fear that T’Pol might snap her like a twig with one hand.

“That will not be necessary; I do not intend to stay long.”

A heavy lump settled in Hoshi’s throat and she couldn’t swallow anymore. T’Pol’s eyes seemed to peer through her skin as she spoke. “While I admit that your professional behavior is above average, you have a reputation for being less then discrete concerning the personal matters of your fellow crew members.” Hoshi could swear that the Vulcan’s voice was taking on a threatening tone. “I do not need to remind you that such discretion can be very valuable aboard a starship.”

She sputtered and stammered in response, unable to maintain eye contact for very long. If she had been in full control of herself, Hoshi might’ve questioned T’Pol’s own ‘discretion’ but the remark died on her tongue. She was just too terrified. Finally she managed a weak head nod and a limp ‘yes’.

“That is satisfactory.” T’Pol said before she tapped a button on the keypad, closing the door.


Three weeks went by for Ensign Sato without incident. T’Pol’s veiled threats had been more then enough to scare her away turning the whole thing into a gossip mill scoop and after a while, the matter quietly settled itself.

Of course, once she was aware it was going on; Hoshi couldn’t ignore the small signs. The hushed whispers in the hallway, the suspiciously convenient excuses to sneak away, even the ‘generous’ offer to spend four days in a shuttle pod together cataloguing gas giants.

Hoshi seemed to be the only one that noticed Trip’s uniform zipper was broken when they got back.

By week number four, the whole thing just sort of faded into the background for Hoshi. They went about their business and she pretended not to know what that business was.


The beep at her door wasn’t unexpected; Travis was supposed to stop by with the crew’s subspace mail requests, but when the doors finally did open Hoshi found herself face to face with Sub-Commander T’Pol, clutching a datapad across her chest.

I haven’t said a thing, was the first thought that jumped into her brain but for some reason, Hoshi’s synapses and neurons translated the phrase into: “Hey…you.” It wasn’t the most awkward greeting she’d ever given but it certainly placed top five.

The intense discomfort of the situation seemed amplified by T’Pol’s body language. She wasn’t her usually straight as a board self and Hoshi saw the Vulcan’s shoulders roll as if in pain when T’Pol belted out a curt single word response. “Ensign.”

They stood like that for nearly a minute, neither of them all that willing to go inside and actually bring up their shared dirty secret.

“May I enter?”

 

“Yes! Yes, of course.”

But walking inside didn’t seem to help the situation any and Hoshi found herself limply trying to strike up some sort of polite conversation. It failed and once again the room was plunged into an awkward silence.

T’Pol must’ve been just as uncomfortable as her host because she was the first one to break the long pause, “I require your assistance.”

Hoshi immediately pictured the long list of qualified people and their multiple post graduate degrees T’Pol could ask for help. Which meant this was either a translation question or…

“Commander….Charles…is having his birthday next week and I must find him a gift.” That didn’t make sense to Hoshi, if T’Pol really wanted to know what to get him she could just ask Malcolm or The Captain or- “I am unfamiliar with human mating rituals but I believe that it is customary for a ‘girl-friend’ to wear traditional piece of clothing for-“

T’Pol cut herself off, letting her Vulcan modesty clamp down hard on the idea of actually discussing the situation with the shocked young woman sitting across from her. Instead she simply handed the data padd to Ensign Sato.

“Lingerie?”


“What about this? It is quite…small.” Small was an understatement, T’Pol was pointing to a backless, open sided one piece with a spaghetti thong. The pink material was so see through and the fabric was so sparse, the model wearing it was practically naked already.

Hoshi cringed, “Do you like that one?”

“Not particularly.” T’Pol said as she used her stylus to exile the picture from her data padd, “I am more interested in a full ensemble, this particular piece of clothing does not seem to include a bottom covering”

“No see, that’s the bottom right there,” Hoshi pointed to her own data padd and traced the line of the thong with her finger, “It’s called a g-string.”

The Vulcan was mortified and the communication’s officer watched as she pushed the data padd as far away from her as possible. “Human women wear them?”

“Well, I’ve never classified the women that wear them as human but yes.”

“You are an…interesting species.”


Hoshi hadn’t thought it would be possible but lingerie shopping with a Vulcan was turning into a lot of fun.

With her figure and face, T’Pol would’ve looked drop dead gorgeous in just about anything. But her alien upbringing and strictly logical lifestyle turned the entire catalogue into one big taboo for her. Every outfit settled somewhere between disgusting or humiliating, evoking a visible reaction on her normally stony features. Public sex in cargo bays T’Pol was okay with. Fishnet stockings seemed to be her limit.

The whole thing was hilarious and by page six, Hoshi found herself deliberately finding the most garish, skanky, and downright hideous pieces of stripper gear to present for T’Pol’s inspection.

“It’s classy, see?” The powder blue corset and matching garter belt was a lot of things, classy was not one of them. A series of tightly drawn strings kept the item snugly in place as it travel up the buxom dark haired model’s body to her chest, where two push up cups worked a small miracle on her breasts.

T’Pol wrinkled her nose at the powder blue monstrosity and rejected it out of hand, “It would restrict my breathing.”

“Actually, most of this stuff isn’t very comfortable.” A memory popped into Hoshi’s brain as she said that and she found herself giving the same fashion advice her mother delivered to her years before: “The rule of thumb is that if you hate wearing it, he’ll love seeing it.”

“Do they wear similar clothing to please you?”

“Come to think of it,” Hoshi said, becoming slightly angry as she thought about it, “No. They don’t!”


“This ensemble appears acceptable,” T’Pol said as she handed the data padd to Hoshi, “In fact, it may be a suitable for day to day wear.”

That sent the communications officer into a fit of giggles, “Oh yes! PLEASE wear that on the bridge. The Captain would have a heart attack!”

Somehow, T’Pol had managed to find the one pvc bondage catsuit in the entire catalogue.


“I do not possess the suitable medical experience to wear such a garment.”

Hoshi rubbed her forehead, this was the fourth time she’d explained this to the culturally inept Vulcan, “It isn’t an ACTUAL uniform, T’Pol, it’s just a costume.”

“Then why is it called a nurse’s uniform?”

“Because,” She growled, “You’re ‘playing doctor’ when you wear it!”

“But it is called a Nurse’s uniform; I believe the simulation you are referring too would be more accurate if I purchased a Doctor’s uniform.”

Hoshi just groaned.


“I am not of Frankish descent, nor do I intend to help Charles clean his-“

“STOP! Just turn the page.”


It was nearly midnight and Hoshi could tell her new found friend was getting frustrated. Catalogue after catalogue was rejected as T’Pol sank deeper and deeper into the Vulcan version of a cross cultural depression. “This exercise is rapidly becoming pointless.”

“You’ll find something, don’t worry.” Hoshi reached for the tea pot and refilled her cup before offering it to T’Pol, “Doesn’t your species have some kind of lingerie? Maybe you could wear that?”

“On Vulcan, women are not forced to wear humiliating clothing in order to initiate a mating, our presence is enough.”

Hoshi rolled her eyes. Any species that produced women shaped like T’Pol wouldn’t require lacy underwear, she thought with a sting of jealousy. “Look, I get it. You think this is a weird tradition, most humans think that too. Malcolm and I-” That seemed to catch T’Pol by surprise and the Vulcan raised an eyebrow in response. ”We’ve been trying to keep it quiet.”

“I was not aware that you had--”

“The point I’m trying to make is that if he really cares about you, he won’t care what you’re wearing. As long as you’re the one inside it.”

T’Pol said nothing and Hoshi found herself relishing the idea of Ms. Perfect The Science Officer getting rendered speechless by good old fashion human sentiment. Neither of them talked for a while after that and the silence continued until T’Pol opened the final page of the last catalogue. “I believe I have been successful.”

Hoshi smiled as she examined the hands down winner, “With your figure? Absolutely.”


The other gifts at the party had been nice, and the cake was very tasty. But when the bathrobe fell to the floor in the privacy of Trip’s quarters, he had the best birthday ever.

It was a purple baby doll style night gown that extended just barely to T’Pol’s thighs and featured both a high slit for the legs as well as a plunging neck line. The material was sheer enough to be scandalous but opaque enough to be called modest and when she walked, Trip could just catch a glimpse of the matching panties beneath.

There was just a hint of pride in her voice and slight bounce in her step. Tucker could tell she was enjoying herself a little bit. “I take it you approve.”

He wanted to say, “Hell yes!” but it came out as a series of low sighs and scoffs. He didn’t seem to snap out of his stupor until he felt her long fingers gripping the neck of his uniform. “God, T-T’Pol.”

“I was unsure of your favorite color, I settled on purple.”

He laughed and ran his hand along the gown’s silky fabric, “Purple is my favorite color.”

“Is it?”

“Well, now it is.”


Trip’s birthday party was winding down and only a few of the really committed party goers were still drinking spiked punch. A few sparse conversations sprang up about this and that, only reasonably fascinating to the people having them. Malcolm Reed’s conversation was more fascinating because of the soft wet peck that collided with his cheek just before. “What happened to ‘Keep it quiet’?” He mused before taking a sip of punch.

“Ta’ heck with it, I’ve got a question to ask you.” Hoshi said with a mischievous grin, “Have you ever played doctor?”

THE END (Anyone who wants to write a Nurse Hoshi fic, feel free.)


Comments:

Scarlet

This is so fun :p I never portrayed T'Pol in such a situation until now.

But the end is my favourite part :p

Buurman
I ... laughed my arse off to be honest. Though I didn't get the 'Frankish descent' one ... but that may be a cultural translation issue.
Misplaced/startraveller776
Ha! Loved it!
Blacknblue
Oboy...
Lady Rainbow
"Purple is my favorite color." "Is it?" "Well, now it is." :p T'Pol and Hoshi looking through lingerie catalogues! Hee! (Nurse Hoshi fic? Hmm).
Asso
Absolutely pleasant. I adore your style and your ideas. Your stories are funny, yes, but also sweet and serene.:D
THECURSOR
I don't remember that but I do know that Vulcans can be very scary.:D
dialee
That was fun however I don\'t believe Hoshi would have been that cowered by T\'Pol in the first part. Not the Hoshi that T\'Pol to shut up in the very first episode, IIRC. They were on the bridge?
Alelou
Hee!:p This was lots of fun.

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