Three Stardates

Stardate 2242.311: Starfleet Headquarters, London

"Attention! Attention!"

The drunken cry rose above the crowd and the beat. The darkened atmosphere of the bar was located on the edge of the base and offered primarily for officers on shore leave. The shout announced the presence of one Lieutenant Carl Finnlay, who was currently struggling to find his footing on a tall table near the center of the bar.

As the crowd quieted, albeit only slightly, the lieutenant continued his disruption. "Two months ago, halfway across the galaxy, Commander Pike successfully negotiated the release of Captain Johnson from a hostile race of Angreians. Now, raise a glass, to the new Captain of the USS Truman."

Christopher Pike rolled his eyes at his friend's and soon to be First Officer's antics, but the bar erupted with cheers and 'here, here's. The room drank. After finishing his shot, Christopher raised a hand in thanks to his fellow officers before aiding his friends in safely removing Finnlay from the table.

"So," a purred whisper and a hand dragged that lightly across Pike's shoulders. "Captain, is it?"

A warm body leaned close enough to his right arm that he could feel the elevated heat of the other host. He turned to see a Caitian officer, fresh out of the Academy. He gave a hum of agreement, "And Lieutenant M'Ress, if I'm not mistaken?"

Her tail wrapped provocatively around his arm. "You're not," she purred, the tip of her tail grazing his ear. "You have a reputation, Captain."

Chris smirked, "And what does this reputation say?" He looked her up and down, admiring the curves mixed with an intoxicating feline aura. Already, his body was feeling the beginnings of anticipation.

She moved her lips inches away from his own, "It implies that you could handle me . . . sir."

"Well, if that's the—"

His communicator interrupted him. Giving in apologetic glance to M'Ress, he answered. "Captain Pike."

"Hello, uh, Captain?"

Pike, expecting, as it was a private comm, the call to be from one of his superior officers, was shocked to hear the stuttered greeting from the other side. "Who is this?" he demanded, irked by the casual use of what was supposed to be a reserved line.

"Um, Sir, my name is George--"

While Pike momentarily pondered the lack of a specified rank, he felt the real heat of the Caitian next him remove itself.

"Hold on a second," Pike said, directing it at both his comm and M'Ress.

He caught her arm, the soft skin having almost a velvety feel due to the miniscule layer of fur covering her tan body, and removed the comm from his ear.

"M'Ress," he began but was stopped with a long, sharp-nailed finger to his lips.

"It's alright, Captain," she smiled ferally, and damn if that wasn't the sexiest thing he'd seen in a while. "I did my research. I know all about this part of your reputation as well."

"This part?" he asked, confused.

M'Ress smirked. "That you live for your ship, and now I suppose it will be for the chair." She glanced down at his comm, still lit in a dim blue signaling that it was live. "If you finish with that before the night ends, you are more that welcome to find me again. I'll be on the floor. Have a good evening, Captain."

His rank had never sounded so . . . full of implications. The captain promised himself he would take her up on that offer, if not tonight, then definitely before their next mission assignment. Pike frowned down at his comm, remembering the enigma that awaited his slightly buzzed brain.