I’m a mess, Joron commented lazily as Tarvak moved off of his body. He rolled slightly to his side, allowing his Bonded to gather him into his arms.

As am I, Tarvak returned with a chuckle, Joron glanced down at the clear stain on the older Romulan’s hip wrap.

I didn’t know we could achieve this without the physical. The younger man’s mind was filled with an almost child-like wonder, colored with the thought that while a non-gift’s mind could be so directed, he had assumed a true Romulan’s mental shielding would prevent such a thing.

Our union is powerful indeed, my Dei’lrn, Tarvak told him, his long fingers caressing the curve of his husband’s ear.

Joron shivered. How can you still enflame me after…

We have been too long denied, beloved. One release will not be enough to sate us – as I believed I mentioned before.

The Human will be glad he will be able to compete his own liaison with Ve’el’s host, Joron laughed.

He will indeed.

Joron’s own hand came up to the back of Tarvak’s neck, stroking along the artery there. I can feel the heat within your blood, Kah-lir.

Mmmm, his Bonded murmured. It will provide a distraction from the tedious but necessary interactions of this evening.

Joron smiled indulgently. Tarvak had never had much patience for the machinations of the upper echelons of society. His own vast wealth had insulated him from the usual political games and intrigues. And will tweak the Human so…

Joron, leave that be. You were able to work together at the games, it would be foolish to waste such camaraderie now. He paused. Particularly when we can, if you resist the urge to antagonize him, use it to much better advantage. He claimed the sensual mouth in a deep, warm kiss.

You are so very wise, my Bonded, Joron agreed with a sigh of devotion.

Come then, my love, let us wash and choose our clothing for the evening.

“Lahs!”

At the sound of his Mistress’ voice, the slave’s eyes snapped open. As if a cold bucket of water had been thrown on him, he quickly disentangled himself from Wen’s arms and scrambled to his feet. “Mistress…”

She stood with her hands on her hips, looking lovely and annoyed in her green and black evening gown. “What ever do you think you’re doing?”

“I… I…” The non-gift’s breath was still coming in gasps. He looked back at Wen who was now curled, moaning in his master’s arms. Perhaps the Centurion would explain? But the Romulan only gave him a sardonic smile. “I was attempting to entertain Master Deron,” he finished weakly.

Lady Ve’el gave a sigh that was equal parts exasperated and disbelieving. “You must forgive him, Centurion,” she said, coming forward and taking Lahs by the upper arm. She turned him towards the sideboard and sent him forward with the sort of hard smack to the backside that promised more to come. “These boys get the strangest ideas sometimes.”

“Yes.” Deron unapologetically pushed his slave off his knees so that the creature ended up kneeling on the floor facing away from him. “They certainly do.”

“I hope he at least offered you some iced wine?”

“If he did, I seem to have lost it.”

Lahs quickly supplied both Romulans with chilled glasses.

Lady Ve’el frowned as she sniffed at him. “You’re filthy, Lahs,” she said, wrinkling her perfectly shaped nose. “And my other guests are surely on their way now.”

“Forgive me, Mistress,” Lahs said to the floor.

“Go clean yourself and change immediately.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The non-gift turned to replace the tray he’d used to serve them.

“Perhaps…” Ve’el looked down at Wen, who was making very, very quiet whimpering noises. “Your boy can help him get dressed, Deron?”

The Centurion leaned back in his seat. He smiled as he prompted his slave to rise with a light kick. “I’m sure he would be overjoyed.”

Lahs drew in several slow cleansing breaths as he walked towards his enclosure inside his Mistress’ bedchamber and tried to regain control of himself. He felt horribly ashamed… and upon thinking of it, knew that he should be. How undisciplined to let himself be overcome with passion. It wasn’t as though he’d never been asked to entertain a master in this way before. At the training stable where he grew up, he’d coupled with other trainees many times to improve his technique or simply as a diversion for his handlers. It was nerve-wracking, of course. One never knew in advance what positions would be required or even if one was going to be assigned the role of the bottom or the top. One had to be prepared to stop when ordered or climax on cue. Performing with a partner for one’s owner wasn’t always very pleasant, but it did teach control and proper detachment… Both of which he seemed to have entirely lost.

Lahs stopped at the foot of his cot, once more overcome with a crushing sense of humiliation. It was all the worse that Wen was involved. He genuinely liked the boy and somehow felt responsible for him. He felt as though he’d somehow taken unforgivable advantage of the friendly, young non-gift. Lahs turned with an apology on his lips.

Wen was right behind him, his dark eyes on fire. With a growl, boy knocked Lahs flat onto the bed.

“Wen!” the non-gift protested, raising back up onto elbows. “I…I…”

The young slave’s face was dark with passion as he put one knee on either side of Lahs’ hips.

“Wen…” the slave repeated, trying to quell the responsive surge of desire this aggression excited within him.

The boy unsmilingly pushed Lahs so the other slave was lying flat on his back.

As Wen’s hand ran up his arms and towards his throat, the non-gift had the fleeting impression that the bedslave intended to choke him.

“I am sorry that…” he began, trying to ignore the feel of the young slave’s loins against his.

Giving another warning growl, the bedslave lowered his mouth to Lahs’ and silenced him with hungry kisses.

Lady Ve’el knew that there was nothing precisely taboo about pleasuring oneself with a bedslave – either physically or mentally. That’s what they were for, of course. There was a line, though, on the other side of which the sensible attending to natural urges became obsession. And it was obsession that offended the sensibilities.

To become pre-occupied with playing with a slave’s body or mind smelled of desperation and lack of self-control. Fetishizing a bedslave pointed to deeper problems that somehow made it impossible for the infatuated owner to find a suitable Romulan as a bed partner.

Ve’el looked at Deron over the top of her wineglass.

The Centurion’s eyes were glazed and distant as he pretended to admire the polished lythyrs attractively displayed on the other side of the room. Whatever his personal demons were, Deron obviously did not have bed partner potential for Ve’el. His mind was as drawn to his slave as hers was to the creature she owned.

“Mischievous things, aren’t they?” she asked, settling comfortably into a chair opposite him.

The Centurion had to blink his eyes a few times before he could bring his attention back to her. “The non-gifts?” he asked lazily. “Yes, they are impulsive, passionate beasts.”

Very discretely he let an echo of Lahs’ memories of being “disciplined” leak from his thoughts.

Oh, so you know about that, do you? Ve’el thought, keeping herself shielded from his mind. Already been entertaining yourself with my little animal’s thoughts?

They smiled at each other non-judgmentally.

Ve’el reflected that even though it was déclassé to so much as mention pleasuring oneself with a slave’s emotions -- much less indulging in such delights in front of another -- the two of them had the perfect excuse. The Warrior Bond’s passion echoed from the other room. She wondered distractedly if the Human would have the stamina to be able to also service Pelori later on…

“Very impetuous, yes,” she agreed aloud.

“One must watch them constantly,” he said, a very polite request tacit in his words.

“Yes.” Ve’el’s smile was generous. “Constantly.”

“This is… wrong, Wen,” Lahs protested, dragging his mouth away from the bedslave’s with difficulty.

“Shhh…” the young slave unfastened the closure in the neck of Lahs’ costume. “It is what we must do.”

The non-gift wasn’t sure. Lady Ve’el had seemed displeased, but… It was hard to interpret. Beyond that, being with Wen seemed wrong… It was almost as if he was thinking of seducing an un-bedded boy… That didn’t make any sense at all, though. Wen was far from inexperienced…

Lahs bit his lip as the Centurion’s bedslave continued to undress him. “Please, Wen…”

“Yes?” the beautiful boy looked up, his black hair falling into his eyes.

The non-gift’s protest stuck in his throat.

The bedslave smiled wickedly. He pulled Lahs’ tunic aside, baring one nipple. Wen kept his glittering eyes locked onto his fellow slave’s as he slowly traced a circle around the hardened peak with his tongue. “Say please again, Lahs,” he whispered.

The non-gift shuddered with arousal. “Please…” he rasped. “Please…”

“That’s what I thought,” the bedslave murmured with satisfaction as he reached down to unfasten his partner’s pants. “Lie back and let me relax you, my Beloved.”

Lahs’ eyes snapped open at Wen’s use of a masculine term of endearment reserved for Bonded Warriors. “No,” he said, firmly pushing the other slave off him as he rose. “This isn’t right.”

Deron’s eyebrow lifted. “Your boy almost has a temper, my Lady,” he said, rousing enough to take another sip of his wine.

Ve’el shifted herself into a more comfortable position in her chair. “He’s becoming a little spoiled,” she replied, drowsily rubbing the cool wine glass against her hot cheek.

“Perhaps he’s unsettled by the addition of such a strong Warrior Bond in your household,” the Centurion suggested, his body warmed by the reflected passion of her husbands.

“One must be very firm with the little beast,” Ve’el said, letting her eyes drop half-closed again.

“I certainly would be, my dear Lady.” Deron smiled as he did the same. “Very firm.”

Lahs’ head pounded as stepped inside the cleaning stall in his mistress’ bathing chamber. None of this was right, he decided, pulling the chain that released a deluge of cool water onto his overheated body. Even though Wen’s master was a true Romulan and could not be doubted or criticized, it simply could not be right for him to let his bedslave say words not meant for slaves or feel feelings not meant for slaves. That was unfair. That was leading Wen to dangerous disobedience. Surely the Mistress would not approve – would not want him to be a part of such things…. despite the way the term had resonated within him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong!

Lahs turned his face up and pulled the chain again. His chest heaved and his heart raced. The bracing splash of water cooled his body but not his fevered mind. Where is your control? he asked himself furiously as felt the water make wet trails down past the unmistakable sign of his arousal.

“Lahs?” Wen stood in the doorway of the bath chamber. His long shining hair had come undone and his tunic had fallen half open.

Lady Ve’el’s non-gift pulled the chain, drenching himself in another deluge of cold water. “Go back to your master,” he ordered the other slave, desire making his voice rough. “I can bathe and dress myself.”

Lahs took cleansing oils from the shelf and made himself not turn around to watch as he heard the sound of Wen moving. Just as well, he thought, still trembling with lust. Just as well.

He washed his body quickly, forcing his brain to concentrate on the tasks that still had to be accomplished before Lady Holsa and the Legate arrived. He turned and let his head fall back in order to rinse the oils from his hair. The shock of the cold water braced him. He opened his eyes.

Wen stood in the doorway removing his sandal. The bedslave’s other foot was already bare… as naked as the rest of his body.

“No…” Lahs groaned, the sight immediately undoing all that the cold water’s quieting influence.

The younger slave smiled and pushed silky black hair from his face as he crossed the room. “I’m ordered to help you. I’ll scrub your back.”

“Wen, this is… not right,” he protested as the Centurion’s bedslave stepped over the edge of the floor basin and into the cleaning stall with him.

“Shhh.” Wen took the cleaning oils from the shelf. “It is what my master wishes.”

“But my Mistress…” Lahs protested as the younger slave turned him around.

“…Ordered me to help you wash and dress.” The bedslave firmly placed the other’s hands against the stall’s tiled walls, leaning him a little forward. “You’re still all sweaty,” he complained, putting his face close enough that the tip of his nose and chin rubbed against Lahs’ shoulder blades. “I can smell you.”

If it’s just this… Lahs told himself feverishly as Wen began to rub the cleansing oils into his back If it’s just this, then perhaps…

He took a sharp breath in as the bedslave ran a hand down his backside.

“Have you served a man before, Lahs?” the younger slave asked, gently exploring him with his fingers.

“Of course,” the non-gift answered, but the words came out almost too choked to be understandable. Despite the many times he’d been bent to a bed by a man, Lahs felt almost as scared and uneasy as he had before his first use.

“Sweet spirits, you’re so tight,” Wen said, sounding amazed but not displeased.

“It’s been… some time.” Lahs’ heart was pounding. He felt simultaneously aroused and almost sickened with dread. This was wrong. No matter how much he wanted it, this was wrong. This was not the time. This was not the place. And this very, very, very young man was not the person with whom he should be doing such things…

“Your boy is very emotional.” There was a tone of complaint to Deron’s comment. Ve’el too was irritated. Damn these unpredictable Humans anyway. Here they were too close to climaxing to quit and the man inside Lahs was about to ruin everything. How could he be such an absolute slut for a woman’s touch and still have his virginity intact when it came to use by men? It made absolutely no sense.

The lady narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Well, if the slave’s virginity was a fact, she’d just have to deal with it. Even if they did managed to push him through his deflowering successfully, she would still undoubtedly have to put up with another of Pelori’s tantrums afterwards…

No penetration, she decided, making a quick judgment call she felt might let them all continue.

“No penetration,” Lahs abruptly turned and informed the other slave, feeling suddenly certain that his indiscretion did indeed have his Mistress’ blessing.

“That’s fine,” Wen soothed, stroking his wet face and giving him a gentle kiss. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

The Centurion’s slave took both of Lahs’ hands in his. Careful not to move as quickly as his passion dictated, he guided his fellow slave into position so that each of them had one hand wrapped around his own erection and one hand wrapped around his fellow’s.

“It’s easier to come together like this,” he said, smiling and using his interlocked grip to set them both to stroking.

Lady Ve’el’s slave’s eyes closed as he moaned from the exquisite sensation of simultaneously touching and being touched.

“Say please for me again, Lahs,” Wen ordered, claiming his fellow slave’s mouth with a rapacious kiss as their rhythm increased.

“Please,” Lahs mumbled into his hungry lips. “Please!”

Ve’el soared on top of their desire, observing it with a practiced eye until the time was right. She then plunged inside it, letting it take her, buffet her, enflame her, pound her, stoke the glowing embers of passion higher and higher within her. The Centurion’s slave was indeed skilled. Despite the drug in his veins – despite the illusions of being part of a Warrior Bond that his master was feeding him – he was able to remain mindful of his partner’s pleasure, taking him masterfully to the very edge…carefully, tenderly, then forcefully… and finally, finally, finally over… together in harmony as beautiful as a chord struck on a perfectly tuned lythyr in the hands of a virtuoso….

She was caught in mid-air on the reflection of the slaves’ ecstasy. It resounded within her with deep bass echoes of the Bonded lovers’ satisfaction. She was encased in warm, golden delight as real as if her slave was inside her. It made her feel so supremely… alive.

Ve’el released a long breath as she finally opened her eyes. The Centurion had excused himself to enjoy the final moments in private as soon as it had become apparent that blessed time was drawing near.

The lady took a long sip of the chilled wine, and wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead. Thank Kali'an this apartment has three bathrooms, she thought practically as she rose to prepare for the arrival of her other guests.

Tarvak and Joron had just finished dressing – after another intense mental union in their second bath – when they heard the sound of the outer door chime.

Our timing is perfect, the older man said.

And if it had not been, our Lady’s guests would have simply had to go on without us, Joron replied flippantly, though his voice still husky with pleasure.

My Bonded, Tarvak scolded with mock sternness, do not tempt me.

Can I be other than tempting to you, Kah-lir? Joron teased in return.

That is true, Tarvak acknowledged, as though it were simple logic. It made his beloved laugh out loud. And since we speak of logic…

Joron sighed. Í know. But as Lady Ve’el’s host suggested, we do need to keep in the ascendancy.

Agreed.

They shared a final kiss, then together opened the shielding that had kept their hosts ignorant of their actions.

“Hurry, we must hurry!” Lahs said as Wen helped him into a fresh set of clothing.

The boy was silently efficient, adjusting Lahs tunic, then slipped on his own complicated network of red and black straps and mesh. He bent to lace his sandals as Lahs hurriedly found a pair of his own. The long, dark hair was brushed back, the wide binding pulling it into a tail that, while not neat, was artfully alluring. Lahs ran a quick comb through his own hair and was heading out the door when Wen grasped his arm.

“You were wonderful,” the boy said, and leaned forward almost shyly, kissing the older non-gift softly on the lips.

“Hurry,” was Lahs’ only response.

They entered the common room to find Lady Ve’el reclining on the couch, Centurion Deron just returning from the main bath.

“Iced wine, Wen,” Deron said as he crossed the room to sit beside Ve’el.

“Make certain enough is being chilled,” Ve’el said to Lahs.

The slaves parted, each seeing to his assigned task When Wen brought the tray with its tall glass to his master, Deron grabbed the bound hair, pulling the non-gift into a harsh kiss. “Good boy,” he said hoarsely.

“Thank you, Master,” Wen replied, his head bent in blushing pleasure.

“Mistress, there are six bottles chilled, and four more in reserve,” Lahs said as he returned from the pantry where food was kept before being served. “With your guests, and First and Second Master, that is one chilled bottle for each and…”

“Numbers, Lahs,” was Ve’el’s only comment.

The non-gift flushed, nearly as shamed by this seemingly inescapable flaw as he was by the sight of Wen once again straddling Deron’s thighs – though this time the slave was facing his master – with the Centurion’s hands all over the boy’s backside. Still, he knew he had to continue.

“Is that a sufficient amount, Mistress?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed to him and he quickly dropped his gaze, lest she think he would dare to challenge her.

“Chill the other four,” she told him.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He had just arranged the bottles in the icing unit – six and four are ten – when the outer door chime sounded.

Lahs greeted the Legate Ramok and the Lady Holsa much as he had the Centurion. “Venerated Mistress, most honored Master, my Mistress Lady Ve’el bids you welcome. Her home is yours.” He took a step into the room so as not to turn his back to them and announced, “The Lady Holsa and Legate Ramok, my Mistress.”

“What an enchanting little apartment,” Holsa exclaimed as she swept into the room. Behind Ramok, Krel was kneeling, already unfastening the clasps of his master’s boots.

“My Mistress and Master require refreshment,” the slave said, almost insolently, just as Lahs opened his mouth to make the offer.

Ramok frowned and kicked his wife’s non-gift in the side. Holsa gave a light laugh.

“I’m certain Ve’el’s creature is well-trained, Krel,” she scolded, but there was little sense of displeasure behind her words.

“Thank you, Master,” Krel murmured, kissing Ramok’s foot, then continuing his task. Ramok leaned his hand on Krel’s back as the slave removed his footwear, then strode away from it as though he were disgusted simply to be near the beast.

As he hurried to the pantry to get the iced wine, Lahs noted that, as if by magic, Wen was now kneeling properly at Deron’s feet. The Centurion stood, greeting his superior with a respectful salute.

“Legate,” Deron said, giving a short bow, no more than a nod of his head.

“Deron,” the Legate acknowledged, returning the salute but not the bow.

“My dear brother!” Holsa exclaimed as she crossed the room to him. Deron smiled, bowing and kissing her offered hands.

“My beautiful Lady sister,” he said.

Ve’el, too had risen from the couch. “Legate, Lady Holsa, my humble dwelling is honored to have such worthy visitors.” She smiled graciously as Ramok stepped up to her, kissing her hands as Deron had Holsa’s.

“It is we who were honored by your invitation, my Lady,” he said, and his eyes were gleaming at her in true pleasure. “After your Second Husband’s performance at the games, it is more than a privilege.”

Quietly, Lahs approached with the tray of glasses.

“And where is your handsome pair?” Holsa asked, glancing around the room.

“Krel, serve your Mistress!” Ramok snapped.

“Yes, Master,” Krel replied. His tone was so ingratiating it made Lahs’ teeth hurt. Wen had also risen, taking the serving tray he had laid next to Deron’s feet, moving toward Lahs, a warm smile on his lips. When the two other non-gifts reached for the glasses, Krel taking the smaller side-plate Lahs had stacked below his own serving tray, Holsa’s slave murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear, “I haven’t forgotten last evening, shor’vath.”

Wen snorted, and winked as he placed Deron’s glass on his tray, then turned to serve his master.

“Do not disgrace yourself,” Lahs whispered in return. “My Mistress Lady Ve’el is quite strict about harmony in her home.”

Krel’s light eyes hardened, his already thin lips drawing into a line, but he said nothing more.

DelMonde stepped quickly away from Spock, frowning. The Vulcan met his glare unperturbed.

Has Joron instructed you in the required attitudes for this evening’s dinner? the commander asked.

Yeah, he tol’ me what, who’s, an’ when to kiss, the engineer replied.

Spock nodded, then added, I regret we must endure some physical contact. A Warrior Bond would be expected to…

Joined at the fingers, I know, Del returned sourly. Then, with a show of teeth that was not quite a grimace, he held up his hand, first and middle fingers extended. My Bonded.

Spock gave a short nod and pressed the tips of his fingers, similarly extended, to DelMonde’s. He refused to let himself be angered by the fact that, once in contact, the lieutenant commander curled his index finger back toward his palm.

“Ah, here are my Warriors,” Ve’el said as the two emerged from their bedroom. Deron turned, giving them both a broad smile. “Tarvak, Joron,” he said, then continued to the younger man, “congratulations again on your victory at the games, my boy.”

Joron smiled and bowed respectfully. “I’m honored to welcome you to our home, Centurion.”

“And we are most pleased you could join us, Lady Holsa, Legate,” Tarvak added, turning with a bow of his own to the couple.

“The games were most entertaining, today, due in large part to your Bonded’s glorious exhibition,” Holsa enthused. She, too, turned to Joron. “You were so exciting, Joron, several of the women in the stands nearly fainted!” She chuckled. “Of course, that could’ve been as much from your marvelous figure as the magnificence of your style.”

“You flatter me, Lady,” Joron replied, taking her hand and kissing her fingers.

“Where did you learn those techniques?” Ramok put in. “They were strikingly effective.”

“And would you be willing to teach them to the cohorti?” Deron rejoined.

“I would, indeed,” Joron replied. “Anything for the glory of our legions.”

“Spoken like a true Warrior,” Deron commented to Ramok.

“Lahs,” Ve’el put in, without looking at the non-gift. “Wine for Tarvak and Joron.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Lahs replied.

For the first time since entering the room, DelMonde became aware that there were two other non-gifts there. As he glanced at them with discreet curiosity – no true Romulan would notice them, Joron reminded him silently – his empathy began tingling with hidden emotions. Bitter anger roiled in the thin-faced, light-haired slave, his feelings toward his Mistress those of smug assurance. Toward his Master he felt only fear and hatred. The other was a very young, very pretty boy with long, dark hair and decadent clothing – and DelMonde had to suppress a shock of illogical recognition.

He look like Sulu!

Who? Joron asked, startled by the force of the emotion.

Jus’ a friend, Del answered evasively.

The non-gift looks like a Human? The Romulan mused. That’s funny.

He not.

Not Human?

Not a non-gift.

Del let Joron ponder that fact and opened his empathic shields a little more. What the engineer perceived was overwhelming and jarringly familiar. A beautiful young teenager, his mind clouded by drugs, reeking of recent, coerced sexuality with a devotion to an older, powerful lech of a master that was almost cloying in its intensity.

But recent, coerced sexuality with who?

The answer to that came when Lahs knelt before him, offering a glass of wine. The Romulan slave that inhabited Pavel Chekov’s body was riddled with shame and self-reproach and dread – and his mind full of enough detailed pictures to make Del shudder in both remembered apprehension and guilty anger.

Pelori! Pel! Pelori! Dammit, Li’l Mac, where th’ hell are you?

Del? What’s wrong?

MacEntyre heard the engineer give a great sigh of relief. Where you been at, girl? he demanded.

Pelori’s essence was both a little shocked at his forceful manner, and a little embarrassed. Ve’el insisted that I would disrupt the Bond… Her mental voice paused. It would never do to tell him – that was one of those doors that had to remain closed – but she could read Joron’s memories as clearly as she would have been able to read his. What’s the matter? Are you all right?

I fine, he returned. Very, very, very clean, but fine.

So they didn’t…? She flushed.

I got no idea, Del said tightly. An’ am perfectly content to believe it took three fuckin’ hours t’ take a bath ‘cause there were an in-fuckin’-credible amount o’ dirt under my fingernails. Our problem be wit’ the family dog.

She glanced down. The slave kneeling at her side did seem to be troubled. What’s the matter with him?

You not know? The engineer’s tone was frankly skeptical.

Ve’el blocked me so I wouldn’t… Did she hit him again?

DelMonde seemed to be studying her, or considering something. Finally he said, You really not know, don’t ya?

Pelori scanned Lahs’ emotions. He seems sort of... overstimulated…

I t’ink he jerk off in the shower wit’ the li’l boy in the spider-hooker costume, Del stated.

Oh, my…

And he not do stuff like that. It don’ matter how cute this li’l piece o’ teenage slave ass is. No guy stuff is rule number four on his all time top ten list o’ shit he not do.

Your friend might not, Pelori returned as carefully as she could, but Lahs is a trained courtesan. Although he prefers women, he would have sex with another man if he was…

…ordered to.

The Indiian froze, then swallowed. Oh, my...

Did she? Del asked.

I don’t know. She won’t say. I can’t access that part of her memories… Real distress was beginning to fray her control.

Why the hell she make him do somet’ing like that? the engineer demanded. Jus’ to impress this old lech? His mental being indicated Centurion Deron, who was standing next to Tarvak with one hand curling lazily in his slave’s hair. The way his fingers brushed tantalizing over the non-gift’s well-shaped ears made Pelori tingle.

I don’t know… she managed. Nice Romulans don’t do that sort of thing with guests. That would be…

Weird? Del suggested dryly. Perverted?

She frowned. Kind of, yeah. Sort of like…

… jerkin’ off in the shower wit’ someone you jus’ met? There was a fearful understanding in Del’s tia and while she longed to explore it, Pelori made herself focus on the situation at hand.

…if you add a big dose of sadism to that... The emotions Del was so obviously reacting to – the non-gifts’, Deron’s, Ve’el’s – began to filter through her shielding. She saw and comprehended what they told her, even without any accompanying memories. That those memories would almost certainly explain her own heightened physical responses wasn’t something she wanted to think about. I don’t understand this. She’s not supposed to be that kind of person…

I t’inkin’ we not know her like you t’ink we do, was DelMonde’s dark response.

I’m thinking that too, Pelori murmured. And I’m not happy with the way she’s able to block me… She shouldn’t be able to shut me out this completely unless I want to be shut out. Quickly she went over variables in her mind. If Ve’el had been indulging herself, there was nothing she could do to change that now. The dictates of Romulan social interaction would preclude anything like that happening again as long as the Legate and Lady Holsa were in attendance. And unless she took this relatively safe time to investigate how if not what Ve’el had done, she was certain the Romulan would do it again. Listen, Del, I need to repair my shields and find out how she’s able to barricade me. And I need to do it right now before the next weird thing happens. That’s going to require my becoming completely inward-directed for some time. I’m sure she can get through this evening without a hitch, but the two of you need to keep an eye on her. Okay?

I be keepin’ both eyes on her, the engineer promised. You bet your sweet bottom on that, cher.

I am. See you soon.

His mental image smiled at her. Take care o’ yourself, Li’l Mac.

She smiled back, then couldn’t resist adding impishly, Try to keep your fingernails clean, Mr. DelMonde.