#st:ld

The Perfect Place for Mariner

T’Lyn laid back on her bed. She was off-center and looking at the open space to her left. She felt the space could be perfectly filled by a Beckett Mariner.

T’Lyn vigorously shook her head. This was nigh-imperceptible, but vigorous by Vulcan standards. She reminded herself that pining for a fellow officer’s perpetual company was illogical. However true it was that she had done a satisfactory job that day, there was no point in imagining Beckett wrapping an arm around her shoulder and letting her know she’d done a satisfactory job. She knew that already. It was fruitless to imagine her praise, her body pressed against hers, her brazenly petting her head, or caressing her cheek, or—

T’Lyn rolled to the center of the bed, face down, arms and legs splayed out. She noted that the position was tactically illogical, but it felt right in the moment. Perhaps that was logic enough. She made a concession to her lungs demanding oxygen by turning her head slightly towards the entrance to her room.

T’Lyn imagined the doors sliding open and Mariner wearing a nightgown on the other side. She would enter the room, door closing behind her as she walked towards the bed. Without saying a word—possibly because T’Lyn often couldn’t imagine what Mariner would say next—fantasy Mariner crawled into the bed and gently repositioned T’Lyn back to one side of it. T’Lyn kept her own movement minimal, instead allowing Mariner to handle her as much as was necessary or desired, the occasional illogical caress not gone unnoticed.

Once T’Lyn was settled, Mariner perfectly filled the space meant for her. After adjusting the covers, she placed a hand on T’Lyn’s cheek as they looked into each other’s eyes.