Scotty was on his hands and knees. More specifically, he was on his hands and knees trying to figure out which plants were the ones that were supposed to be in the flower bed, and which ones he was supposed to be pulling out. The task would be much easier if they didn't all look more or less exactly the same, and he had to wonder - not for the first time since they'd arrived on this planet - who had thought it would be a good idea to make him a gardener. Furthermore, he wanted to know whose idea it was to dress him in nothing but a pair of boots and extremely short, tight shorts.
At least it was warm out. And at least if he thought he was in any danger of getting sunburned, he could go back inside and find McCoy and get him to make some excuse to their hosts about why the gardener needed to stop gardening.
The warm feeling on Scotty's back wasn't due to the light from the planet's sun as much as the stares from the crowd gathered at the edge of the festival garden to observe him. There were half a dozen pairs of eyes on him, each and every one of them adding a layer of warmth and light prickling, tingling sensation wherever their gaze moved.
Now that he was leaning forward, straining against the shorts, they nearly all zeroed in on his ass and the shift of muscle in his thighs as he moved. It was so exotic and beautiful. They hoped the Terrans would be staying long enough for them to get to know each of them in their own time.
Was just him, or was it getting warmer? He was pretty sure it was getting warmer. Hot, almost. And the weird part about it was that it all seemed concentrated in one spot. He leaned forward a little more, trying to ignore it and get on with whatever it was he supposed to doing, when realization struck. It wasn't just hot. It prickled, too. Exactly the same sensation he'd felt when their hosts had looked at him when the away team had landed. Oh God. He turned just a tiny bit, under the guise of looking at another plant, and risked a glance behind him. Oh God. He was being watched. Rather intently, by the looks of it. A whole crowd of those alien beings, all of them completely and utterly transfixed by his ass.
There was giggling behind him, musical and resonant, like small silver bells heard through water. One alien peeled off from the group and approached him slowly. They had not been arguing over who had to go, but over who would get to go. If allowed, they would have all been swarming over him, touching and looking and exploring to find what pleased him. So strange, these Terran bodies. So without sensation. It was sad. No one should be denied the pleasure of the fullness.
But they were not allowed. The close scrutiny seemed to make them act strangely. They turned odd colours, and temporarily lost the power of verbal communication. The Royal Three had ordered that members of court keep a proper distance until what was wrong could be corrected.
They were, however, permitted to approach one at a time. More, if requested, but one at a time if not.
Pooneh stopped behind the gardener and, with a gentle tap on his shoulder, waited for him to look up at her.
He had gone back to at least attempting to pretend he knew what he was doing with that blasted garden, trying - and really, failing - to ignore the stares of the beings behind him. And the giggling. Dear God, the giggling. He could feel his face growing hot, and that, he knew, was not the direct result of being stared at. A result, yes, but not because they were staring at his face. He was pretty sure he could handle them staring at his face. Really, them staring anywhere but at his ass would be a definite improvement. Well. Almost anywhere but his ass, he amended, trying to remember how to breathe as he shifted again. It was the damn shorts. They were way too tight, and unfortunately, getting tighter by the minute, and God help him but they did absolutely nothing to conceal anythingDeep breaths. Deep breaths, he told himself. It didn't seem to be helping. Either way, he wasn't going anywhere until he was certain he could stand again without treating the whole damn world to a view of the growing bulge in his shorts
( ... )
Pooneh sank to her knees in front of him, to be eye level, and also to examine him more closely, her warm gaze flitting all across his exposed skin like a hummingbird. She was not so good with languages, but the entire court had been gobbling up knowledge of the Terrans voraciously, and even she had picked up a little. One slender hand came forward and brushed against his nipple. "What is the purpose, please?"
Comments 13
At least it was warm out. And at least if he thought he was in any danger of getting sunburned, he could go back inside and find McCoy and get him to make some excuse to their hosts about why the gardener needed to stop gardening.
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Now that he was leaning forward, straining against the shorts, they nearly all zeroed in on his ass and the shift of muscle in his thighs as he moved. It was so exotic and beautiful. They hoped the Terrans would be staying long enough for them to get to know each of them in their own time.
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It was going to be a long day.
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But they were not allowed. The close scrutiny seemed to make them act strangely. They turned odd colours, and temporarily lost the power of verbal communication. The Royal Three had ordered that members of court keep a proper distance until what was wrong could be corrected.
They were, however, permitted to approach one at a time. More, if requested, but one at a time if not.
Pooneh stopped behind the gardener and, with a gentle tap on his shoulder, waited for him to look up at her.
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