The BLTS archive - Ombre (Shade/Shadow) Third in the Blackbird series by Cavalaxis (cavalaxis@hotmail.com) --- c 10/20/99 Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. All of it. I claim no profit. I do claim the story. Archive: BLTS, yes. All else, please ask. Sidebar: Ivre (Drunk) is part one, Deux et Deux (Two and Two) is part two, Ombre (Shade/Shadow) is part three Thanks to Mariel and Telynor for post-beta reading. You guys are getting it raw. But you like it raw, right? Advice: Blues, baby. Got some Stevie Ray? Pop it on and read away. --- Standing in front of the club, watching the swarm go by, I still can't believe I'm here. I have taken the shore leave I have long been overdue. I don't have to justify my every move to Will or to Beverly for that matter. I pull my leather coat closer around my shoulders as the October night seeks to steal the warmth from me. The transport to New York via Paris was just to avoid having to answer any... inconvenient questions. And taking the yacht was a touch that let them know I truly desired to be left alone. That and leaving the comm link at the chateau in France. Now I stand here, feeling foolish. "When you want me to, I'll find you." Well, black bird. Here I am. Standing in the shadows just outside the lights that flow out of the bar with the music and the people. Wondering if I fell and hit my head while I was drunk, to imagine such a thing as this woman. This electric night. This possible conspiracy. I go over the questions again in my head: Would you like to dance? Have we met before? How did you know I smoked Dunhill's? Do you work for Nechayev's office? No, that approach would never work. The curiosity eats away at me, though somehow I maintain my cool exterior. A street walker starts to approach me and veers off. Don't know what to make of that. I begin to wonder if just one glass of...no, the faint pounding in my skull reminds me. No, that would definitely not be a good idea. I lower myself to sit on my heels, my back to the brick facade of the club. Just who's the prey now, I wonder. My eyes pan over the people. All colors and shapes. Beautiful, ugly, indistinguishable from the city's night. Looking for that shadow of woman, that shadow of my imagination. Just precisely what do you hope to find by waiting here? A one night stand? Salvation in danger? Enlightenment in a tin can? Fodder for more allegations of disloyalty against the Federation? The last thought furrows my brow deeply. The physical scars have long since disappeared, but those wounds would never truly heal. That box slams shut before it opens. Not here, not now. No, tonight there is the black bird, watching me. I can feel her eyes. That, or the weight of my years. Too old to be making a clandestine rendezvous with a woman whose name I don't even know. I just hope I can figure out what she wants from me. More precisely, what I want from her. A thought occurs to me. There's always the direct approach. I could ask her name. A bit traditional, but a man has to begin at the beginning. The memory of her perfume is so strong I can smell it even now. I'm jolted out of my reverie. I am looking at a pair of black boots. They seem to belong to the person wearing black jeans standing beside me. I look up into the dark face of my black bird. So sweet those lips. I stand quickly. She is smiling and taking my hand. "Would you like to stroll with me, Jean-Luc?" Again, the sound of her voice sounds foreign to me. Her hand is warm and strong in my own. I feel like a cadet again, like I've just run the marathon all over. I can't find my breath. Absentmindedly, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and I see the tiny marks my teeth left on her flesh. She smiles that secretive smile and tugs me down the boulevard. We walk for a block or two. The silence vibrates between us. Her boots make no noise on the pavement. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure she can hear it as well as she can hear the taxis flying past us. No words come. She looks at me expectantly. "Sorry I had to let you wait so long like that. I wasn't sure you were alone tonight." "No. I am alone." I have a thousand other questions but the reality of her presence steals the power of speech. So we walk in silence. We're moving farther away from the blues bars into a more dilapidated part of the neighborhood. Passing alleys and garbage cans, even a stray dog. The quiet is beginning to put me on edge. But the undercurrent of trust, blind trust, engendered by what: Curiosity? Desire? I don't know, but its dark tide pulls me deeper into this unknown territory. She glances behind us and with a smooth gesture, pulls me into a doorway. Where is your bravado now, I challenge myself? Sanity's voice is louder than ever. Sobriety is the amplifier, and yet I still ignore it. She is soft in my embrace. She is pulling me down again, down to the sweetness of her dark lips, the shadow of my own lust. Her mouth is full and her hands move under my coat, against the thin fabric of my own shirt. My hands pull her closer, my tongue battles passionately with hers. I cup her breast and savor the gasp of pleasure as I firmly pinch the hard nipple between my fingers. I am drunk all over again, pressing her into the wall, pressing my knee between hers, grinding my thigh into her crotch. Soft moans escape her. Hands move across my back, only infuriating fabric separating flesh from flesh. Sanity is shrieking again, she's not who she appears... And I manage, reluctantly, to pull away from her. I look down into her face, not to disappointment, but to that disturbing mischievous grin. Her hands rest against my chest, press against my heart to feeling the pounding there. I cup them gently while taking a step backward, putting a bit more distance between me and this inferno. "We have to talk, you and I." I can hear my voice and it is all wrong. There is no command, only questioning, only desire. "Yes, there is much to be said." She reaches up and touches my face, running a finger across my lips. I can't resist the blatant ploy and suck it between my lips. Secure between my teeth, I fondle it like I imagine I will when I finally get to that Eden. The look of controlled rapture fractures for a moment in her eyes, but is quickly brought under rein as she inquires of me, "Would you come with me, or would you prefer if I came with you?" This thought brings pause. Where would I take her? The house in Normandy? The yacht? "I have a room near here, but it is small and not as secure as your chateau, or your craft." I try to control my dismay. An eyebrow betrays me. "No, I'm not a telepath. I've been observing your movements." I freeze in place. This more serious than I'd feared. My grip on her tightens perceptibly as my options spell themselves out. But the briefest look of hurt on her face and the wordless expression of betrayed trust and I gently release her. She pauses, calming the fight-or-flight response I know so well. "I will explain everything." What about her engenders my trust? Why should she not want to kill me like a thousand others? Only questions, no answers. A softness returns, and she brushes the back of her hand across my lips. Then she is kissing me again, and I am kissing her. Where is that legendary control now? The diplomat, the officer, the scholar have no place here. I am kissing her hard, pulling her hips against mine, letting her feeling the aching heat of my cock. She responds just as fiercely, her mouth burning against my lips, my cheek, the hollow of my throat. Her hand presses between us and I let out a small cry as she touches me. Oh blackbird, how I want you. And again we are apart, flushed, breathing heavily, wrestling not with each other, but with the delicate balance of control. Both of us. I hold her at arms length, looking at her. Memorizing every detail. "At least tell me your name." She smiles and nods, delicately wiping my kisses from her mouth. "Khephera." "Ke-FAIR-ah," I repeat. Egyptian then. Perhaps. For a brief moment, I realize how out of place I am. This is not the bridge, not the negotiating table, not the safety of my ready room. This is the darkness I left behind as a youth. This is the darkness of the sublevels on Mars Station, the gambling houses, the nighttime footraces, the night sky above the hills in the deserts of Vega. These are the back alleys of my youth, long forgotten, overwhelming my memory now. This dark creature before me was the lust I never gave into. The journeys I let doubt direct me away from. The unspoken words I've spent my life regretting. Her gaze seeks mine, and then she turns her head slightly, as she presses a finger to the hollow of her ear, listening to an implanted comm link. A sharp nod and something whispered. "We must leave now. Sweepers." She takes my hand and we are back in the street, two lovers strolling hand-in-hand. The picture of indiscreet innocence. She checks behind us as we head back towards the club and the square in front of the transporter station. I have decided I will take her to the chateau. One lone street performer juggles flaming clubs. I bend and whisper in her ear. "You are the flame." She looks up at me, puzzled. "You are the flame." I continue. "And I am consumed." Her eyes reflect the flickering light and a deeper understanding. A sensuous, extraordinary wisp of a smile overshadows her face. I grip her hand tightly in mine. I've been captured. My whole being aches for her and the control I rely on, the control that so many people rely on, refuses to grant me any comfort. The lamb led to slaughter, I go willingly. I have been consigned to the shadows. --- ~File Terminate~