Happy Hour, Part VII
Posted on Mon Nov 3rd, 2025 @ 1:38pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Mon Nov 17th, 2025 @ 5:12am
1,299 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Cold Cases
Location: Residential Sector, Starbase 315
Timeline: 2386
The wound had sealed. An unbroken stretch of skin where moments ago there had been blood and pain and a dagger buried to the hilt. Ezra watched as she switched off the regenerator, but before she could set it aside, his hand came up and caught hers.
His palm was warm, unsteady. The regenerator still glowed faintly between them, the blue reflection trembling across her fingers. He didn’t say anything at first; simply looked at her as if trying to memorize her face in that moment.
“Layal,” he said, her name issuing softly from his throat. He swallowed, searching for something that landed far truer than gratitude. “I...”
She looked down at his hand, the one that had gently wrapped around hers, connecting them. She had been about to back away from him, from this night, but his warm hand against her cool fingers had stopped her. She remained frozen, perched on her knees, sitting there still on the floor beside him.
She loosened her grip on the regenerator, letting it drop to the floor as she turned her palm toward his, pressing their hands against each other for a moment, briefly, feeling the warmth not just from his touch, but from his being coursing from her fingertips, through her arm, and into her spine. She spread her fingers wide, slowly, and tilted her head as she watched their hands as she began to interlock her fingers with his, and he responded in kind.
In one forbidden movement she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, softly, letting out a gentle breath, relaxed. She didn’t move, staying there, breathing in his scent, sweet and slightly musky, intoxicating.
Layal’s kiss lingered, soft and trembling at first, then steadier as Ezra’s hand rose to her face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, brushing away the faint trail of tears or sweat–it didn’t matter which–and his breath came uneven, caught between pain and the shock of being alive.
Her mouth was warm against his. For a moment, the whole world shrank to the press of her lips, the taste of red wine and its tartness seemed achingly human. The blood-stained dagger lying on the floor next to them may as well have been lightyears away.
He broke the kiss only to draw in a ragged breath, his forehead leaning against hers. Their noses brushed. The light from the desk lamp made her skin glow faintly gold. “You shouldn’t…” he started, but his voice gave out, softer than a whisper, the words dying in the liminal space between them.
She shouldn’t. She pulled away, just enough so that their foreheads were no longer touching, her eyes meeting his as her left hand came up, caressing the sharp lines of his jaw underneath his soft beard.
“There isn’t anything there,” she whispered. “He’s gone.”
Her eyes remained locked with his, wide with desire as her hand dropped from his face. She took his hand into his as she stood up, guiding him toward her. Her right hand reached out toward his chest, his skin smooth and warm under her fingertips. She felt her way up to his shoulder. There was was something softer in her face now, pleading, as her body gave away her hunger for him.
He rose slowly and a little unsteadily–probably from the events of the evening and something far deeper. When he reached her, they were close enough that their breaths could mingle. Her eyes found his, and for a long moment neither of them moved, as if what passed between them might shatter on its own.
Ezra’s hand came to rest at her waist, tentative at first, fingers brushing the hem of her tank–testing whether it were all some dream. She didn’t flinch–stood rooted. When his thumb drew a small, absent circle just above her hip, she leaned into him, closing that space their words had failed to fill.
The kiss that followed was slower, deeper. It was the sort that could turn a person inside out. The regenerator’s faint blue glow pulsed on the floor, light climbing the walls in an unnatural tone. Ezra’s hands slid up her back, feeling the tremor of her breath beneath his palms. Her skin was warm, alive, trembling–but not from fear. It was simply the electricity that is produced when two people come to the realization that they are, for once, utterly unguarded.
When they broke apart again, she was still holding him–her fingers resting against the long and snaking scar that ran across the ridge of his shoulder. She traced the scar with her fingers, then tilted her head to the side, looking up at him first as she brought her lips first to the smooth skin of his shoulder area just above his bicep, then gently continued her way, kissing his collar bone, and his neck, before looking up again. Her eyes spoke gentle words of trust as she made a gentle suggestion that he turn around, to let her see the remnants of his old wounds.
When Ezra shifted slightly, Layal’s hand shifted from the spot on his shoulder, gliding softly along his back, her other hand finding gentle purchase around his waist. She traced each scar, first with her fingertips, then with her lips, offering tenderness where cruelty had once laid its ugly hands, until the heat between them became almost too much to bear.
Ezra lowered his eyes, embarrassed at the scarring that covered much of his back and shoulders–yet her touch was gentle and reassuring. Every inhale she drew seemed to pull him closer, her warmth pressing against his chest like a tether he couldn’t–and wouldn’t–resist. He found Layal’s lips again, tentative at first, then forcefully insistent. He pulled back for a moment–testing her thirst–and watched as she tried to lean in.
“I want you,” he whispered, pulling her closer with wanton passion.
She nodded slowly, bringing her hands to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it off over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a plain and modest black bra underneath, regulation. Her hair was now hopelessly a mess, the low chignon barely held together as large strands fell out of place and framed her face. She brushed them away, tucking them behind her ear, a grin on her face now as she noticed the way Ezra was looking at her. She let him take her in with his eyes, as she reached out for him.
Ezra’s hands found her sides first, gliding along the curve of her waist beneath the thin fabric of her uniform pants. She shivered slightly, and he pressed closer, letting the heat of his chest meet hers, allowing the warmth between them become something more uncontainable.
His lips found Layal’s neck–a gentle worship, a mapping, a promise, and her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Every brush, every press of their bodies, every tremor in their breath felt like it was the only reality that existed–the only truth either of them needed in this one moment.
A Joint Post By
Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal
Judge Advocate General, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
RSS Feed