by Judy
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Disclaimer: The Ensign and Ensign belong to Paramount (sigh).

Warning: The plant gets nasty. Number six in the Holiday Series. These are generally dark stories!

Archive/send: ASC/EM; R'Rain's; BLTS; Allslash; PacKage; PKSP Comments welcome.
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Sandrine had good-naturedly consented to turning her French bar into a Celtic pub for St. Patrick's Day. She served pitchers of green beer, tolerated endless drunken renditions of Danny Boy and When Irish Eyes are Smiling, and nodded benevolently at the dart throwers. As the evening wore on, the dart throwers began to lose accuracy and darts began to sail off to destinations unknown. Fortunately, for unknowing crew in their path, the safeties were on and harmlessly deflected wayward darts.

Harry leaned forward, forearms on the damp table. His dark eyes missed nothing about Tom's increasing consumption of the green beer. Had it not been snythale, Harry would have predicted a massive hangover for his lover tomorrow, along with the obligatory regrets and vows of never doing that again. As it was, Tom was fast moving from friendly, happy drunk to maudlin, sentimental drunk. Not a good sign, Harry thought.

"Harry," Tom declared, somewhat loudly given their location in a back corner, "You are the best, the very best."

"Thank you, Tom. I feel the same way."

Tom's face lit up with a drunken, sloppy grin, "You do? You do. That's great. You're the best."

"Right," Harry agreed. "What do you say we call it a night?"

Large eyes regarded the half-full pitcher of green beer. "Can't," Tom burped. "Beer's not gone."

"We don't have to finish it," Harry reminded him patiently.

"'Course we do," Tom replied indignantly. His wavering hand managed to find the handle of the pitcher and jerkily lift it up and over. "Want some?"

When Harry indicated his full mug, Tom shrugged elaborately. Only some of the beer spilled on the table top as Tom poured the brew into his own large mug. However, in his determination to finish the pitcher, a goodly portion foamed up and over the top of his mug and ran down onto the table. "Oops."

Shaking his head, Harry muttered, "I'll get it." He used several napkins to mop up the worst of it.

Tom slumped back in his chair, long legs stretched out to the side of the table, a foot grazing against Harry's boot. He brought the mug to his chest, regarded it as if it contained the answers to all his questions, and then poured a third of it down his throat. An answering burp from his stomach almost upset his good mood.

"Ready to go now, Tom?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Gotta finish it," Tom insisted stubbornly.

But two hands on the mug were not quite enough as it tipped precariously, surprising Tom with a spill that he watched owlishly as it went from the mug to the floor. Very carefully, he straightened up the mug. "There," he smiled at Harry.

Harry's eyes rolled in his head. It occurred to Harry that he'd better get his lover out of here and to one of their cabins before Tom made a complete fool of himself. Given all the tribulations Tom had been through in recent months, Harry was inclined to indulge Tom a bit in the letting off steam area, but getting sloppy drunk was pushing it a bit far.

Standing up, Harry reached around and took the mug from Tom's hands and placed it on the table. Trying to hide his irritation, Harry told him, "I think you've had enough, Tommy. Let's go."

"Hey," Tom protested.

"Now," Harry told him in his best no-nonsense tone. "Or I'm sending you to sickbay to sober up under the doc's care."

"No-o. Don't want that," Tom affirmed, "Uh-uh. No pissy doctor."

Tom giggled at his own wit but didn't give Harry any further objections. He did let Harry help him to his feet where he stood swaying for a moment before the room righted itself. "Room's spinning."

"I think that's your head. Ready?"

"Yep."

"This way," Harry corrected when Tom lurched off toward the bar instead of the exit.

With gentle prods, Harry managed to keep Tom headed in the right direction. Suddenly, his lover stopped in the corridor, looked around, and began to open his pants.

Harry grabbed Tom's hand before he could complete the action and demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Gotta pee."

"Not here."

Tom looked around bewildered. "Why not?"

"This isn't a toilet. It's a corridor."

"But I gotta go."

Harry looked around. They could retrace their steps to the bathrooms in Sandrine's, or they could keep going. Unfortunately, their rooms weren't very close and Tom was crossing this legs and looking agonized. Then Harry realized the hydroponics bay was only two doors away. He grabbed Tom's arm and pulled him along with him.

"What?"

The doors to the hydroponics bay opened and Harry pushed Tom inside. "Find a nice plant, Tom, and let's get out of here as soon as possible."

"A plant?"

Harry sighed. "Pretend you're in the wilderness."

Enlightenment dawned. "You're brilliant, Harry. Brilliant."

As Harry turned away to give him privacy, Tom undid his pants and took aim at a bushy plant nearest the doors. The plant had long, shiny, broad green leaves, and many tendrils curling around its base. With what little accuracy he could manage as he swayed above the plant, Tom tried to hit the dirt in which the plant grew.

As he sprayed, the plant seemed to recoil from the hot liquid. Its leaves and tendrils drew back. Before Tom finished his stream, a long tendril shot out and wrapped itself swiftly about the offending organ. Tom yelped in surprise and Harry turned to look. Harry saw a green tendril the size of a child's finger wrapped about Tom's soft penis and fingers. If it weren't potentially serious, Harry would have laughed. As it was, he suggested, "Stop peeing, Tom. I don't think it likes it."

"I can't," Tom wailed then cried out, "Ow!"

He'd stopped peeing all right, the plant had him tightly wrapped and was doing a good job of going after his balls next. "Harry!"

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let me get security." "No! Just . . . just take it off."

As Harry stepped forward to help his lover, the plant's broad leaves formed cones and spit a dark liquid at him. Harry jumped back in surprise just in time. The liquid fell to the floor in big droplets that etched patterns in the carpet. "Whoa. Uh-huh. Tommy, it doesn't seem to want me to come any closer."

"This is a plant," Tom wailed, "It's not sentient!"

Harry shrugged, warily keeping an eye on the still threatening cones. "Maybe this one is."

"Oh, gods," Tom moaned.

"What? What's it doing?" Tom's face was flushed a deep red, not from beer but from embarrassment. "It's . . . it's crawling back . . . up . . . Harry, you've got to stop it. It's gonna rape me or something."

"Okay, Tom. It's all right. It won't do that. I'm sure it won't. Um, let's see. How about, tell the plant you're sorry? I'll go get some water, maybe it just needs to be cleaned off, or something."

"What? Tell a plant I'm sorry?" Tom regretted those words when the plant's tendrils formed fingers that opened the waistband of his pants and began tugging them and his shorts down off his hips. If he struggled, the plant simply tightened its grip on his family jewels. He decided to try Harry's remedy. "Uh, plant. Nice plant. Listen, I didn't mean to hurt you or anything. I'm sorry, okay?" The plant paused in its exploration of his bare hips and ass. Apparently the apology wasn't enough for it swung tough tendrils around his waist and pulled him closer. "Harry!" Tom looked around frantically for his lover, this plant was getting far too intimate. It had a thin tendril exploring the slit at the tip of his penis. In horrified fascination, Tom watched as it slowly, unerringly slid inside much as a catheter might. "No! Plant, please no. This'll just make things worse. You know?" To himself, Tom muttered, "Of course, you don't know. You're a plant." Apparently the plant heard that and took offense. One of its broad leaves flattened out into a paddle that seemed as hard as wood. When the tendrils around his waist pulled him over, the paddle whacked his ass. Tom yelped but that seemed to inspire the plant to put more effort into its corrective actions.

When Harry returned with a bucket of water, he found Tom bent over the planter, throughly trussed by green tendrils that had him by his waist, thighs, cock and balls. A thick tendril had laid open his ass cheeks and another crept toward his anus. The paddle was landing on those unprotected ass cheeks with loud whacks in a regular, rhythmic pattern. Harry winced. He'd never hit Tom that hard and the cries from Tom momentarily unnerved him.

Although Harry couldn't see the tendril that had gone up to Tom's bladder, its effects were readily apparent as green piss hissed onto the floor. At this point, Harry wasn't sure if a bucket of water would be enough to satisfy the angry plant.

Spying Harry, Tom wailed, "Harry, please, please stop it! Please! Do something!"

Tears were streaming from Tom's bloodshot eyes. No longer drunk, but not quite sober, all Tom knew was that he was being unmercifully hit by some psychotic plant on a rampage that had him tied up every which way it could. It was with relief that he felt the catheterizing tendril withdraw, its job done. But his tenderized butt was on fire from the still falling blows. The more he struggled, the more the plant tightened its grip on his manhood, the more a tendril closed in on his asshole. And the harder the paddle smacked against already smarting cheeks.

"Let's see if this works," Harry prayed. He dashed some of the cool water onto the plant, then paused to note the effects. The plant at first recoiled, as if expecting a repeat of Tom's acid bath. Then it stretched out its leaves and tendrils, seemingly relaxing. Harry hurridly poured more water on the plant. When the plant seemed to loosen its grip on Tom, Harry hurried off to get more water.

Much to his relief, Tom was able to free his cock and balls from the green tendrils. He wasn't sure he wanted to look at the damage, and, to his regret, the plant was still pounding his ass with its paddle-leaf, its grip on his waist unrelenting even as the tendril on his ass snaked away. Tom moaned, the mixture of relief and pain overloading him. His cries of misery reached Harry who redoubled his efforts to bring the plant a bucketful of cool water.

Reaching Tom and the plant, Harry paused. He could see that the plant was only inflicting pain on Tom's fiery red ass. Now that Tom's genitals were safe, Harry smiled a bit at the sight of his lover being punished by a plant.

Catching Harry's smile, Tom screamed, "Harry! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"Okay, okay," Harry obliged by tossing the bucketful of water on the plant.

The paddle-leaf reverted to only a broad, green leaf, the tendrils pulled off of Tom's body. Tom quickly scrambled well away from the plant, struggling at the same time to pull up his shorts and pants.

"Well. That's that," Harry said smugly, brushing his hands together as if applauding his own efforts.

As they exited the hydroponics bay, Tom backing out and Harry behind him, Tom's eyes never left the plant. He complained, "This was all your idea."

"Hey. You were going to embarrass yourself by peeing in the corridor."

"You never should have told me to pee on that plant."

To Tom's complete satisfaction, a long leaf stretched out from the plant, shaped itself into a paddle and landed a hard swat to Harry's backside.

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"Not me," Tom told him with total innocence as he rubbed his own sore butt.

The plant wasn't saying a word.

The doors to the hydroponics bay swished shut and the plant settled, its leaves and tendrils lifting up and folding down as if rather satisfied with itself.

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End