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Chapter Text

Data exited the turbolift into the hall of identical doorways. Each life inside was either in jeopardy, or inhabited by the strange intoxicating viron sweeping the Enterprise. 

Picard’s face had been tight when he ordered Data to retrieve the lieutenant of security. After some months by his side, Data had begun to recognize when Picard’s expressions barely masked emotions most captains would hide from a good crew.

He had been afraid. Is afraid. 

In sum, the Enterprise was running out of both options and time.

The crew were “dropping like flies”, as the old Earth adage went - Geordi included. He had been one of the first. 

Unprompted, a surplus of pressurized air had rested in his circuits. Too much steam. Data sighed, releasing it from his system. His mind was working overtime beneath his regular duties to calculate the amount of infected, the possible rate of the spread, how long Dr. Crusher had left to complete the antidote…all while trying to ignore the calculation of how long his best friend had left to live.

He walked down the hall in search of Lieutenant Yar’s quarters. A pair of blue shirts burst out of a room up ahead to his left, exchanging blows and unsavory words. Data paused, scanning the nearby quarters for heat signatures other than the fighting pair. 

Tracing over the room to the far right, his lenses read:

> LIFE-FORMS: THREE. . .
>> BLOOD TEMPERATURE: 91-93 F . . . 
>> PERSPIRATION: REGULAR . . .
> ANOMALIES: 0 . . .

That was likely the Vulcan family who had been assigned to the vessel more recently. Dr. Selon was one of the rising minds in medicinal research, hailing from Vulcan’s Science Academy. He had specially requested his partner and child come with him. Their blood was still identifying as its expected temperature, which meant the virus had not yet touched or heated their blood. 

He scanned the rooms to the left one by one as the fighting medical officers stumbled into the turbolift at the opposite end of the hallway. 

> LIFE-FORMS: NONE . . . 

> LIFE-FORMS: NONE . . . 

> LIFE-FORMS: NONE . . . 

> LIFE-FORMS: ONE . . . 

>> BLOOD TEMPERATURE: 102 F  . . .

>> PERSPIRATION: HIGH . . .

> ANOMALIES: 1  . . .

‘Bingo.’ 

…is that how the ancient Terrans expressed it?

He approached the room containing the anomalous life-form, mostly certain he could call that anomaly “Lieutenant Yar”. He squinted studying her heat signature; A blazing yellow-orange dashed with bleeding crimson. 

Depending on how long her blood temperature had been raised, she could be in danger of critical condition. A twinge of some feeling he thought better to ignore tugged at his chest. Phaser on stun, he made his way to the door.

He pressed the button to her quarters, fully expecting to hardwire the lock. However, the chrome doors parted with a freshly-oiled ease. He hesitantly stepped into the room, warm-colored wood meeting his shoes with a satisfying tap. An abstract sculpture seemed to glower at him as he entered. A dominant figure with two long arms, stretching for the ceiling.

Affinity for the arts. Interesting indeed. 

Wall sconces emitted a low, pulsing light. A warm orange, like a Terran sunrise. Apart from the sculpture, the Lieutenant seemed to prefer minimalism. The common decorations that furnished each officer’s quarters were omitted for simple, geometric storage spaces under the guise of chairs, cabinets, and other encoutrement. Data, only truly needing a corner for a charging station himself, nodded approvingly.

He had initially found it superfluous that Starfleet insist he receive an entire room for his own personal decoration and leisure. He hadn’t been built for such things and it would be far better allocated to a being who needed the space. However, Captain Picard and the others had made a point that Data received the same accommodations as any Starfleet officer, regardless of whether he felt deserving or not.

Geordi, good-naturedly, had introduced him to “hobbies” - things such as painting and chess and playing cards - to help him take up the empty space. For a while, they distracted him from the lingering heaviness he often felt when among his human peers. Regardless of who gave him advice or helped him along, Data somehow found himself in the gaping maw of his quarters, crammed in the corner, in his charging station. Alone.

“Lieutenant Yar?” He called tentatively, walking inside.

He was met with laughter that probably sounded like “wind-chimes”, calming instruments used by the ancient Terrans. They would oftentimes place them on their porches, allowing them to sway in the breeze and make their resonant sounds. He hadn’t the pleasure of hearing a documented sound file from the ship’s computer, but was nearly certain it would sound like her if he were given the opportunity to listen.

“Here, Data,” Tasha crooned. 

He puzzled at her voice. This was not her usual vocal imprint he had stored in his memory. It sounded deeper and more melodious than it had on the bridge. Less commanding. His lens offered analysis against his will:

> INPUT: SPEECH . . . 

>> PITCH: MEDIUM . . .

>> TONE: DEEP. MUSICAL. . .

> ANALYSIS: CASUAL. WELCOME. SENSUAL? . . . 

A rush hit his circuits; Pure, blunt need, which he quickly blinked away. He would not be so naïve as to get his hopes up about Lieutenant Yar. Especially not in a compromised state. What was he thinking?

When he had first been assigned to the Enterprise, he remembered being struck by the way the fluorescents of the bridge affected her eyes. Irises as bright as bluebells in the fields he’d lay in on the holodeck, trying to play at being human. Against his will, he found himself enamored by those eyes, just as he had with the flowers. Were they beautiful for beauty’s sake, as the philosophers pressed on about? Yes, surely that must be the reason he took extra milliseconds to gaze at those wide eyes; To ponder her cropped flaxen hair. Merely beauty for beauty’s sake. Aesthetic interest. Nothing more. Surely.

He felt more heated now, thinking about it. Trying to reason with it. There was some layer of him that knew the truth about this fascination of his. That it bordered on infatuation. It took him far away from what his task was. His duty. The prime directive. How could he have gotten so distracted? How had those milliseconds added up to hours? 

It was then that heated, faint breath tickled his neck.

An equally heated body snaked its arms around him from behind. If he could perspire, his uniform would surely have been forsaken.

She was here.

“You wanted me?”

Chapter Text

Breathing sharply, he turned to face the woman giving off the heat of a minor sun. Complication unknown, he seemed to lose perfunctory control over his jaw.

She was wearing a wrapped top only covering her shoulders and breasts, dark as the night and sparkling with gemstone stars. It revealed the blush-pale skin of her stomach and waist. His eyes plunged dangerously downward only to catch just in time on the same flowing fabric of her pants.

Her eyes, usually so kind and bright, were dark and simmering like boiling seawater, trained only on him.

“See something you like, handsome?”

He swallowed.

She is intoxicated. It is not real.

“Captain Picard ordered me to escort you to Sick Bay, Lieutenant,” Data explained. His sensors detected an odd lack of salivating fluid. 

“Did he say when?” 

She grabbed his chin and pulled his gaze down to meet hers. He would have assumed she’d asked genuinely if it weren’t for that devious smirk.

His retinal scanner acted up again:

> INPUT: VISUAL . . . 

>> STIMULI: COLOR. TEXTURE. SOUND. EXPRESSION. . .

>> TONE: SUGGESTIVE. ADULT. . .

> ANALYSIS: TEASING. PLAYING. TESTING. . . 

The crew is in danger. Geordi is in danger. Yar is in danger. Put your thoughts aside.

Data shook his head, banishing the fever’s touch.

“I am sure he meant now. I will give you time to get into uniform,” he said with more force than he ought. 

Lieutenant Yar simply gazed at him, feigning innocence, lightly stroking his arm. Her body still stuck to his, the heat claiming his body. The turpentine ran through his synthetic veins at warp speed. 

Why was his mouth still so dry?

“But I got out of uniform for you, Data,” She pouted; A widened, pleading look in her eyes. 

A feverish hand snaked up his shoulder blade. 

Data felt a strange need to intake oxygen, and when he did, it came unevenly. The air was thick with cinnamon and bay leaves and the heat the heat the heat. 

“Lieutenant, I must protest. You are intoxicated and therefore your judgment is severely imp-” 

His lips were stopped by a soft finger pressed against them. 

Tasha giggled, carefree.

“Now, Data. I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t trust you entirely. I’m the lieutenant of security, I-”

Her eyes became hard for a moment.

“I don’t make the mistake of trusting easily. But watching you…I’ve never been so amazed by somebody before. Somebody so genuine, honest.”

Watching me? 

He shook his head in disbelief. No, she didn’t really mean that.

Reassess.

If Lieutenant Yar was confessing this to him, she could remember her past and the time they had spent together on the bridge. That may be enough to get her to Sick Bay. Data just needed a little time, a distraction.

‘A foot in the door…’

That’s what they say.

“Well, that is…probably due to my android nature,” he improvised. 

Tasha seemed taken off guard, looking in confusion. She removed her hand from his shoulder, Data sucking in a ‘breath’ as he noticed how cold it was without her added presence. 

Could the fever’s hold be breaking? Emboldened, he continued. 

“I am not programmed to lie or tell any degree of untruth. I was created to be a capsule of knowledge, an advanced intelligence companion, a-”

“A…fully functional companion?” Tasha queried darkly, any suggestion of clarity gone from her expression. 

Her fingers found their way on him again, searing his chest. Each trace was a brand to his cybernetic skin, re-soldering his wires, marking him as hers - entirely hers. The smell of bluebells in the meadow, intoxicating in simplicity. Inexplicably drawing him here, now - the heat, her heat . 

‘Don’t you want to touch every inch of her body?’

An oddness swept over him as he heard the voice that was his not-his . No, ‘oddness’ wasn’t quite the word for it. Something darker than that. Something deeper than that.

He wanted. He wanted badly.

And why not? They were both here, now. And the air smelled sweet and strong and full of pheromones, and- since when could he detect pheromones? -her hands fit so nicely over his and the heat was strong, their bodies a desert now. Hungry sand; Swallowing one another in some dark, secret place of stolen glances and passing hellos and bluebell holograms and-

Stop. 

He caught himself before his mouth met hers. Her eyes, the bedroom, his own mind. Hazy, bright, hot. Not now. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. 

He pushed himself from her, backing towards the chrome doors that had led him to this wayward space. 

“O-of course, but-” he stumbled over a chair leg, falling onto the wall behind him with a sturdy thud.

“How fully?” 

Tasha stalked towards him and was suddenly inches away, pinning one of his wrists firmly above his head.

It was then Data learned his first lesson from Natasha Yar.

Never reject the Lieutenant of Security. 

“In every way, of course,” he fumbled, trying to frame his answer satisfactorily. 

Her eyes inspected him now, a full-body scan. He wondered whether he should have given into her security examinations sooner.

“I am programmed in multiple techniques, a broad variety of-” he let out an abnormal sound as the Lieutenant placed her knee against just the right spot, applying pressure. 

Stars danced in front of his vision. He had never felt the want, nor had the need to touch himself. Why, when there were so many tasks that needed managing on the Enterprise? 

But now, her knee rocking gently against him, now all he wanted to do was drink it in, to slip into a sweet oblivion at her hands. Was this how being drunk felt?

“-pleasuring,” he finished, his gaze soft and hazy. Eyes trained on her painted lips.

She gave a wide smile, practically spinning Data to the orange-washed sofa. 

“Exactly what I’d hoped.”

“Lieutenan-” 

His futile attempt was cut off with lips and tongue and teeth. 

As Tasha begged entrance to his mouth, he felt an irregular spark growing in his chest. Was he in danger of catching fire?

He was answered by slender fingers weaving through his hair, sending his system into a frenzy, some new kind of malfunction. He was done for.

He opened his mouth eagerly, taking her in. A seldom-touched piece of programming came to life, encouraging him to bite, tug, caress. 

Tasha let out a soft whine that sent a jolt of arousal to Data’s cock. The same heat from her mouth was inside him now, flowing through his veins and traveling slowly down. Fascinating, what symptoms occurred when she was involved.

If Natasha Yar were software that could cause an indefinite system compromise, Data would upload it in a heartbeat. 

Which was ironic, of course, considering he didn’t quite have a heart. 

With a quick parting from Tasha, Data found himself breathless for the first time since his reboot by Starfleet. His chest heaved, dick half-hard, against his greater attempts to reign in control over his own functioning. 

“Now, that was just a taste of what we could do together.” Tasha smiled, circling her finger lightly on his chest.

“If you’d like to continue is up to you.”

Data raised his eyebrows in a searching query. He scanned her facial features for any nuance, any hint of facetiousness or deceit, and found none. 

Her eyes were trained on him, oddly gentle, closely cautious; As if she were giving him a minute to scan it all and analyze the input. 

The orange light hit her sclera so that her eyes gleamed like newly broken sunlight. The dark satin sleeve tumbled off her right shoulder, driving his gears into a tailspin.

“...Nobody has ever asked my preference before. I am an android. I do what is asked of me.” 

He breathed in, the particles smelling of sea salt and sandalwood.

“Well, android, I’m asking you now,” she teased, smoothing her hands over his. His fingers nearly singed at the contact as she cradled them against her chest.

>> BODY TEMP. 103 F. . .

Tasha inched up to his ear as his retinal scanner rose in his vision.

“Do you want to fuck me, Data?”

She backed away slightly after asking, not completely removing her touch, but enough. As if her moving a few inches could stop his gears from whirring as fast as they were. As if it could clear his head enough for executive function. 

She’d have to pay the mechanic for all the damage she’d done; For the damage she will inevitably do, too. Data knew this woman, even intoxicated, would be the cause of his destruction. 

Better start the tab now, then.

“Yes.”