Like the Sun on Orion
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Uhura/Gaila, if you want to read it that way
Series: Belief in Angels? Maybe?
Summary: In which everyone should be able to be comfortable with something about themselves, and Gaila proves it.
Every weekend Gaila gets her nails done, and Uhura is at a loss. It isn't that they don't look good-they always do, Gaila has amazing hands. But by the time Friday rolls around they're torn to pieces. Gaila's an engineer. It kind of comes with the territory, the way her hands are. But she doesn't seem to care, just goes back the next week.
When asked, Gaila will say she likes how it makes her feel, how the pretty Betazoid woman who always does her nails smiles at her and talks like she cares. Gaila's got soft hands, for someone who works with engines.
Uhura, though, keeps her nails short, painted plain, solid colors, if she bothers to paint them at all.
Gaila can't help thinking that's a little sad. Everyone should be able to feel like that, like they can relax, be comfortable with themselves.
Uhura has had an awful day. Like, ten hours in the long-range sensor lab, all night spent finishing a paper kind of awful. Finally crashing after twelve cups of coffee kind of awful. So, by the time she gets back to the dorm, she's pretty much dead on her feet.
Gaila is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against her bed and feet against Uhura's, scrolling down a page on her datapad. She looks up when she hears the door swoosh closed behind a dead-looking Uhura. Gaila grins up at her sympathetically.
"Long day?" she asks, putting her pad aside.
"What gave me away?" Uhura says, collapsing in a heap next to Gaila, resting her head on the Orion's lap.
Gaila snorts, running thin, impossibly soft hands through Uhura's hair, working it out of its ponytail. "Honey, you need a manicure. Bad."
Uhura laughs, eyes flicking up to Gaila's, unwilling to move. "What?"
"You heard me. Manicure. You. Now. It helps, promise."
Uhura raises an eyebrow skeptically, but she doesn't say no. Gaila reaches into her end table drawer, sifting through it while trying not to dislodge Uhura's head from its position on her legs. It feels… Nice.
The bottle of nail polish Gaila settles on is orange. Not neon, not garish, it's burnished, like the Orion sun, which emits a light less yellow than Earth's. She displays it for Uhura's approval, who gives it by twisting, sitting up, and offering Gaila her smooth, xenolinguistics-major hands.
Gaila paints slowly, careful not to touch Uhura's wet nails, not to let any polish spill over onto her skin. Uhura's hands are impossibly soft, like satin under Gaila's fingers.
When she's done, she paints a clear glaze over each one, preserving the color, beautiful against Uhura's warm chocolate skin. She massages the tension out of Uhura's hands, slowly, gently, until Uhura has her back melted into Gaila's chest. Her hair smells like jasmine and vanilla, delicate against Gaila's cheek.
"Thank you," Uhura murmurs. She feels more relaxed than she has all semester. No wonder Gaila's a top engineer (and she is smart; she's a sim technician, and barely into her post-grad work). Her hands are magic.
"My pleasure," Gaila says lightly, pressing a soft kiss to Uhura's hair.
Pairing: Uhura/Gaila, if you want to read it that way
Series: Belief in Angels? Maybe?
Summary: In which everyone should be able to be comfortable with something about themselves, and Gaila proves it.
Every weekend Gaila gets her nails done, and Uhura is at a loss. It isn't that they don't look good-they always do, Gaila has amazing hands. But by the time Friday rolls around they're torn to pieces. Gaila's an engineer. It kind of comes with the territory, the way her hands are. But she doesn't seem to care, just goes back the next week.
When asked, Gaila will say she likes how it makes her feel, how the pretty Betazoid woman who always does her nails smiles at her and talks like she cares. Gaila's got soft hands, for someone who works with engines.
Uhura, though, keeps her nails short, painted plain, solid colors, if she bothers to paint them at all.
Gaila can't help thinking that's a little sad. Everyone should be able to feel like that, like they can relax, be comfortable with themselves.
Uhura has had an awful day. Like, ten hours in the long-range sensor lab, all night spent finishing a paper kind of awful. Finally crashing after twelve cups of coffee kind of awful. So, by the time she gets back to the dorm, she's pretty much dead on her feet.
Gaila is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against her bed and feet against Uhura's, scrolling down a page on her datapad. She looks up when she hears the door swoosh closed behind a dead-looking Uhura. Gaila grins up at her sympathetically.
"Long day?" she asks, putting her pad aside.
"What gave me away?" Uhura says, collapsing in a heap next to Gaila, resting her head on the Orion's lap.
Gaila snorts, running thin, impossibly soft hands through Uhura's hair, working it out of its ponytail. "Honey, you need a manicure. Bad."
Uhura laughs, eyes flicking up to Gaila's, unwilling to move. "What?"
"You heard me. Manicure. You. Now. It helps, promise."
Uhura raises an eyebrow skeptically, but she doesn't say no. Gaila reaches into her end table drawer, sifting through it while trying not to dislodge Uhura's head from its position on her legs. It feels… Nice.
The bottle of nail polish Gaila settles on is orange. Not neon, not garish, it's burnished, like the Orion sun, which emits a light less yellow than Earth's. She displays it for Uhura's approval, who gives it by twisting, sitting up, and offering Gaila her smooth, xenolinguistics-major hands.
Gaila paints slowly, careful not to touch Uhura's wet nails, not to let any polish spill over onto her skin. Uhura's hands are impossibly soft, like satin under Gaila's fingers.
When she's done, she paints a clear glaze over each one, preserving the color, beautiful against Uhura's warm chocolate skin. She massages the tension out of Uhura's hands, slowly, gently, until Uhura has her back melted into Gaila's chest. Her hair smells like jasmine and vanilla, delicate against Gaila's cheek.
"Thank you," Uhura murmurs. She feels more relaxed than she has all semester. No wonder Gaila's a top engineer (and she is smart; she's a sim technician, and barely into her post-grad work). Her hands are magic.
"My pleasure," Gaila says lightly, pressing a soft kiss to Uhura's hair.