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our-smooty · 5 years

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It’s Easy; You Please Me

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Touch-Starved, Trans Male Character, Begging, Reunions

Summary: Murdoc is home. Where does he stand with his family and, most importantly, his singer?

The night he got back after they’d all met up and made up, the band threw him a welcome home party. Not the type of party he would have thrown, but a good party, with booze and food and his choice of movie. It was, he thought, one of the best parties he’d ever been to.

It was later now, and the majority of the band was asleep. Russel snored like a log from the floor, while Ace and Noodle took up the other sofa. Beside Murdoc, 2D was still awake, but only just, his eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Hey D,” Murdoc whispered. The other startled a tiny bit but recovered quickly, turning his hazy gave to the bassist.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you just go to bed, instead of droolin’ all over the sofa?” His voice came out a little gruffer than he’d intended and he winced. Not home for even a day and he was back to being an asshole.

2D didn’t look offended though. Instead, he stood and stretched. “I guess I will if you don’t mind.” He nodded to the two on the couch and Russel on the floor. “Should we try’an wake them up?”

Murdoc shook his head. “Nah, leave them be. Noodle’s big to carry up to bed anyway.”

2D shrugged and turned to the staircase. Murdoc stood as well, his beer empty and his eyes drooping. Satan, it’d been months since he’d slept in his own bed, in his own room. The promise of a soft mattress and sheets almost made him moan.

He followed 2D up the stairs and headed straight for his own door. Just as he grabbed the knob he heard the singer clear his throat behind him. Murdoc straightened and turned to face the other man.

“D’you maybe wanna share a splif with me, before bed, Muds?” he asked, producing a joint from the pocket of his jeans. Murdoc eyed it.

“Eh, I guess. Come’on in then.” He turned back to the door and walked into his bedroom for the first time in months. Surprisingly, everything looked exactly as he’d left it, meaning it was still a complete tip.

2D followed him in and sat on the bed, comfortable as anything. He began patting his pockets for a lighter, frowning when he didn't find one.

“You gotta light?”

Murdoc produced his lighter and tossed it to the singer before turning to face his closet. He was wearing a spare set of clothes Noodle brought for him, but he was really craving the pure pleasure of picking out his own clothing again. He settled on a comfortable black long sleeve shirt and grey sweatpants. A quick trip to the bathroom and he was comfortable and ready to help Stu smoke that joint.

The singer was laying back on his bed, already puffing away. Murdoc stomped up and grabbed the joint from his lips, taking an angry drag.

“Don’t smoke it all without me you prick,” he growled, smoke pouring from his mouth. Stuart just grinned and snatched the splif back.

“Whatever, Muds. Don’t be such a grouch.”

“How about you stop being such a cocky arse,” Murdoc snapped back. Nudging Stu over with a hard wave he clambered up beside the other, sighing in relief at the feeling of his bed.

“Good to be home, eh?” 2D said with a head tilt. Murdoc nodded, more concerned with the softness of his pillows than what the dullard was saying.

“It was… weird without you here.” Murdoc didn’t know what 2D was fishing for. They’d already hugged and made up when he’d arrived. He’d even cried a little when they’d all stopped being angry with each other and given him a great big family hug. What more could the singer want?

“Was weird, not bein’ here,” he answered, taking another hit. He relaxed, just like he’d done when they all hugged him. Murdoc hadn’t had a lot of chances for pleasant physical contact in prison, and now that he was back at home he found himself craving it just a little. He’d noticed himself putting a hand on Noodle’s shoulder, or an arm around Ace much more than he normally would have during their movie marathon, and rubbing shoulders with Russel as they fought over the last slice of pizza. The only exception had been 2D; after the first hug, the singer had kept his distance the entire night, almost like he as avoiding Murdoc.

They were close now though, with their thighs and shoulders nearly touching. Murdoc could feel the heat of 2D’s body through both of their clothing. He inched closer little by little to the warmth with each pass of the joint. Eventually, he relaxed back right up against 2D. The singer eyed him from the side.

“Gettin’ comfy there?” He joked, making no move to shuffle away from the bassist. Murdoc huffed and moved closer to the edge of the bed, a slight blush on his cheek.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, feeling embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to get so close to 2D. Their relationship had always been rocky, and the things 2D had said to the press were still fresh in his mind; though they’d made up, he wasn’t sure where he sat with the singer.

“You don’t have to squish yourself all the way over there Muds. I didn’t mind.” Murdoc stared at him for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When 2D went back to smoking, he decided the singer must be telling the truth, so he moved back to his previous spot. The feeling of another living human was more comforting than anything he’d felt since being locked up.

“So,” Murdoc began hesitantly, “how was my replacement then?”

2D looked up and shrugged. “Ace? He’s a good bassist and a cool guy.”

“Hmph,” Murdoc grunted. A slow smirk spread across Stu’s face.

“You’re jealous,” he sing-songed, nudging Murdoc’s shoulder with his own. Murdoc growled and shoved back harder.

“I am not! What do I have to be jealous of, his receding hairline?”

2D snickered. “Don’t be mean, Muds. Ace is a good guy.”

“Then why don’t you go smoke with him?” 2D’s smile faded a little, and he sighed. Murdoc scowled to himself, worried he’d wrecked the tentative ceasefire between the two of them.

“Cause I wanna smoke with you. And I missed you…” Murdoc snorted.

“Bloody good job you did of showing it.” 2D frowned and held his hands up placatingly.

“Not like you did much better, took you nearly drowning in shite for you to admit you’ve been a right cunt.”

He was right, Murdoc knew that. Nearly dying again had put a lot of things into perspective for him and he really was going to try and do better. It was just hard when Stuart could be such an annoying prick all the time.

2D lowered his hands, staring at them in his lap. “I thought maybe we could start over and be mates again.”

“We were mates before,” he replied testily. At least, he’d thought they were still mates.

“Yeah but, not like good mates.” 2D passed him the joint and Murdoc inhaled the last of it, ashing it on his bedside table.

“Oh you want to be good mates with me, do you Dents?” he teased, just to watch the other blush. Surprisingly 2D stayed calm, turning a little so they were face to face.

“Well, I was hopin’...” the singer trailed off, his glossy black eyes studying Murdoc’s face. The bassist began to sweat as 2D leaned in, his chest and face inches from his own.

“Hopin’ what?” he hummed, trying to keep his cool. In this position, it was easy to let his mind wander to times before when it’d been just him, the singer, and his Winne. Messy sheets and panting voices filled his senses, ghosts of the past back to haunt him over what he’d lost.

2D was even closer now, the heat of him radiating through Murdoc’s entire being. “I was hopin’ it’d be better this time.” He leaned in, one of his hands steadying him over the bassist, the other hand coming up to rest on Murdoc’s shoulder. Murdoc physically shuddered from the touch. He hoped 2D hadn’t noticed, but he knew he had. The singer smiled smugly as he leaned in further, their lips millimetres apart.

“Stu…” Murdoc murmured, waiting for the singer to close the gap. This felt unreal, like a dream or a particularly cruel bad trip. He’d given up on ever having this again with the singer after their 3rd album.

“S’gonna be different this time Muds, I'm gonna make it different.” With that his frontman closed the distance between them, chapped lips meeting soft ones. The light kiss sent fire through Murdoc’s entire being.

The singer must have taken this as permission to continue because suddenly Murdoc found himself with a lap full of lanky limbs. It was more contact than he’d had in months, and it was overwhelming. He let out a small gasp, which again 2D took as a good sign, using Murdoc’s distraction as a chance to deepen the kiss. 2D was grinding down against Murdoc as well, the bulge in his pants causing enough sweet, sweet friction to make the bassist shake.

Murdoc was dangerously close to coming already and they hadn’t even touched skin to skin. Each swirl of the singer's hips, each twirl of his tongue was setting Murdoc’s nerves alight in an overwhelming rush. He realized that his hands were still hanging limply at his sides and immediately changed that, taking fistfuls of the signer’s shirt in his hands. 2D made a happy noise in the back of his throat. When he pulled back from their kiss Murdoc tightened his grip, not letting Sto get too far.

“Murdoc…” the singer moaned, running his hands up under the Satanist’s shirt. He quickly found the other’s nipples and rolled them in his fingers roughly. Murdoc let out a wrecked moan, the stimulation too much to take.

“2D!” he hissed, bucking up into the other. Stu smiled sweetly and leaned back in close, his lips coming to rest against Murdoc’s ear.

“You’re so sensitive…” The singer licked the shell of his ear, then bit the lobe. Murdoc howled. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re all alone in jail.”

2D latched onto his neck now, sucking and biting with enthusiasm. As Murdoc tried to cope with the sensations bombarding him, the singer was trailing one of his hands down and into the bassist's trackies. Murdoc didn’t realize his hand was there until it was delving deeper into his core.

“F-fuck!” Murdoc cried. He could practically feel the smirk on 2D’s face against his skin.

“No pants, eh? Were you thinkin’ of comin’ on to me?” he teased, one finger circling Murdoc’s clit, the other still pinching a nipple. “You must have been desperate these last few months.”

If only you knew, Murdoc thought, teeth clenched, body tight. Sure, the pleasure he was feeling right now was off the charts, but what was really doing him in was the attention. It’d been such a long time since he’d been held, or had anyone to hold. The sheer overwhelming feeling of another person giving him attention and pleasure was doing more to push him to the edge than anything Stu’s fingers were doing.

“Ngh... ah... fuckin’ s-shit!” Murdoc grunted, jerking violently. 2D, somehow sensing Murdoc’s need, connected their lips in a deep kiss. The bassist whined into his mouth, letting himself be utterly devoured. When 2D’s fingers travelled down, then inside him he nearly screamed, desperate to be full.

Fingers weren’t enough. He needed more, more of everything and he tried to get a grip on the other’s trousers to speed things up, but 2D batted his hands away. Slowly, the singer unbuttoned them himself and reached a hand inside. Within a few seconds, he had his cock in his hand, pumping it slowly, his other hand still touching the bassist.

“D’you need this?” he asked, waggling his prick. Normally Murdoc would have laughed in his face, 2D’s dirty talk having never been quite up to his standards, but right now all he could feel was the need to be closer.

“I-I--” Murdoc stuttered, biting his own tongue to stop from begging.

2D leaned down, close enough to speak right into Murdoc’s ear. “I need you too, Muds. It’s been so long.”

With that, he pulled back both his hands--much to Murdoc’s displeasure--and reached for his shirt. Sensing that they were finally getting somewhere, Murdoc did the same, shucking off his track pants as well. He raked his eyes over 2D’s thin frame; the singer was just as hot as he’d been in the beginning, at least to Murdoc.

“Beautiful…” 2D murmured, running both his hands up the Satanist’s calves and thighs. His grip came to rest at Murdoc’s hips, pulling him toward the edge of the bed in an arousing show of strength. As he leaned into Murdoc’s sex the bassist had the fleeting thought that maybe 2D had been working out while he’d been away.

That was the final coherent thought to enter his mind, however, as the singer immediately began parting Murdoc’s folds with his tongue. The hot, slickness of the muscle against his clit felt wonderful and it was all he could do to grab the bedsheets in an iron grip. He whimpered as 2D moaned against his core.

“You taste good,” he panted, one hand still on Murdoc’s thigh, the other obviously working his own cock. “I thought about this when you were gone.”

Murdoc moaned again in response. It was like his body was a sponge, soaking up the affection and pleasure endlessly. Eventually, it’d all spill out, but for the moment he was riding the wave as it crested and fell, waiting. “S-shit! Stu!”

The hand on his thigh travelled down until the singer had 2 fingers pressed deep into Murdoc’s cunt. The bassist grunted, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Shakily, he brought his hands up to 2D’s head, threading those lovely blue locks through his fingers before fisting them in deep. He needed to get control back. Tentatively he began thrusting against Stu’s mouth, taking the pace into his own hands. When he received no objections, only encouraging moans, he smiled weakly.

“S-so d-d--oh fuck!--did I, D,” he admitted. He shuddered as 2D slowed down to match his grinding. “Satan I d-dreamed about you doin’ this.”

2D raised his eyebrow but otherwise didn’t move from his position eating Murdoc out. He looked good down there, almost too good and again Murdoc felt the rising need for more. He wanted 2D under him, filling him, and he wanted it now.

“Lemme ride you, D. C-come’on,” he groaned, letting up his grip on the other's hair. 2D seemed to consider his request for a moment, his movements slowing down to a tortuous pace. Murdoc almost regretted asking when the singer smiled up at him, face slick.

“Sure thing, Muds. Gimmie room.”

With a bit of shuffling around, they were back in position. 2D, now completely naked, was sprawled out on the bed under Murdoc, leaning up on his elbows. Murdoc was hovering over the singer’s lap, resisting the urge to grind his pussy on the other’s leg.

“OK, love. Go on then, “ the singer drawled. Murdoc shot him a withering glare, but proceeded, reaching down to line up with Stu’s cock. He sank down gradually, revelling in the stretch and feeling of fullness. It wasn’t long before he was fully seated in the singer’s lap, his hands braced on the other’s hips.

“Go on then, Muds,” 2D repeated, urging him to move with a light thrust. Now, who was being desperate, Murdoc wanted to snap, but he didn’t want to piss the singer off and make him leave. He felt like he’d die is Stu left. With shaky movements he began to grind against the younger, lifting his hips just a little before dropping back down.

“Does that fee g-good?” the bassist asked, trying to contain his own noises. Below him 2D moaned out an affirmative and thrust up, making Murdoc jolt.

“Yes, M-Murdoc! Feels so good.”

The bassist picked up speed, a warmth blooming over his middle at the sight of 2D writhing under him when just a few moments ago their positions had been switched. But still, he felt that pull, that need for physical contact. “Touch, m-me. Satan Stu t-touch me!”

Despite his moaning and carrying on the singer obeyed, pushing himself up into a sitting position and immediately grabbing on to Murdoc for dear life. His hands were everywhere, and anywhere they couldn’t get, the singer’s mouth was making up for it. He sucked and licked at Murdoc’s nipples, forcing Murdoc to cry out and arch his back. They were moving fast and messy now, any sense of rhythm forgotten in the frantic desire to be as close as possible.

“G-gonna come, I-I can’t--” 2D whined, his hips jerking erratically. Murdoc thought about the singer, coming deep inside him and he felt his end approaching fast.

“Come in-inside me, Stu, ah--!” Murdoc’s orgasm washed over him like a tsunami. He felt himself get sucked along and through it, waves of pleasure rolling over him in the most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Below him, 2D was coming as well, and Murdoc could feel him pulsing inside his cunt. Oh, he’d missed this.

As they both came down each man wound to a stop, eventually freezing in an embrace with Stuart’s arms around Murdoc, and Murdoc’s head leaning against the other’s shoulder. They were both out of breath, chests heaving, bodies worn out. Murdoc shifted a tiny bit and he felt 2D’s cock slip out of him. The feeling of come flooding out and over his thighs made him shiver.

“Missed you, Muds. For real,” 2D said, nuzzling his head against the bassist’s hair. Murdoc sighed and allowed him to, tightening his hold around the singer just a little.

“Missed you too, Faceache.”

#2doc #niccalpot

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sshbpodcast · 5 years

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Tales from the Holodeck: TNG Fanfic: Chris’s Story

A Star to Steer Her By is closing the book on Star Trek: The Next Generation with our much anticipated fanfic series “Tales from the Holodeck”! With our random draws for our special guest characters in hand, we’ve written new adventures for the crew of the Enterprise-D for you to enjoy! Listen to the whole episode here, or read on below for Chris’s story!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Special Delivery”

by Chris

Random Picks: Berlinghoff Rasmussen, Lal

“Well, Doc, here we are,” the pilot said, a low rumble filling the cockpit as various thrusters fired to bring the ship to what amounted to a “stop” in the frictionless vacuum of space. He turned to face his passenger, his idiot ponytail almost snagging on some of the flotsam he wore on his ridiculous vest. “Looks like we beat your contact, tho.”

“Oh, that I very much doubt, Captain,” the lanky passenger replied, standing and leaning towards the comms panel. He punched a few keys, and within a moment the sensor panel was alive with warning.

“What the…” The captain’s eyes darted around his panels. “A ship is decloaking! Doc, what’s going on? I don’t want to get mixed up in anything unsavory!”

“Don’t worry, my dear Captain. My friend isn’t unsavory. Merely cautious.”

He said that, but being honest he’d never actually met the owner of the ship that was, for lack of a better term, wavering into view. It was a simple, silvery affair, all sleek curves and a few, decorative swirls in the hull. It wasn’t the kind of vessel that was supposed to inspire awe or fear, to make people back away and tremble, and also not so high end as to inspire envy. A ship easy to lose in a crowded spacedock or port.

“This is the Erstwhile hailing civilian yacht,” the Captain said, interrupting the Doctor’s thoughts. “Repeat, this is the Erstwhile, Captain Okona speaking. Please respond.”

“Er, hrm, yes,” came a somewhat-croaking voice over the speakers. “This is the Stuart. Is Doctor Isaacson with you?”

“I’m here, yes,” the passenger called.

“Good. Handle anything remaining with your pilot and prepare to beam over.” A small beat. “You...have it, then?”

“I’d not be here otherwise.”

“Good lad. Stuart out.”

Several years in the 24th century had still not entirely gotten Rasmussen used to the sensation of transporting. He’d remembered the theory of teleporters getting real traction in his time, with early and promising tests with photons and such, but even then it was assumed they wouldn’t be considered safe for more than cargo for at least a century after their introduction. From what he’d learned, however, it didn’t take long for some mad Starfleet Captain to find an excuse to hurtle himself through space with one of the things.

He had been told by the denizens of the time that you adapted eventually. He wasn’t sure. To Rasmussen, it started as a tingle, like when his arm or leg would fall asleep, only over and within every inch of his body. And for a split-second he was aware of his entire being in a way he normally wasn’t, possibly because the sensation was so all-consuming. And even that second was so overwhelming that he felt his brain much shut down from the overstimulation of feedback.

Not that his feeling was, apparently, universal. Some people thought it was a pleasant, warm feeling. He’d read the memoirs of a Starfleet physician named McCoy who said it was simultaneously itchy and ticklish, while making him feel weightless for a few, spare seconds until reassembly made him feel sure, for just a moment, that his hair alone was heavy enough to crush his whole body.

Either way, for every little convenience and luxury and delight the future held, Rasmussen could’ve thoroughly done without transporters.

He glanced around and found he had materialized on a simple, three-pad affair. He was in the middle, his simple baggage to his left, and his delivery to his right. Before him was the control panel and, presumably, the person who had operated it. Well, person according to everything Rasmussen had read about his host. If someone said he was from a race of potato people he’d not be entirely surprised.

“Professor Soong!” Rasmussen said with a broad grin, stepping off the pad and extending a hand. “What a joy to finally meet you in person!”

“Hm, yes, likewise, Doctor...” the old man paused. “Is it Isaacson or Rasmussen?”

“Ah, yes, safe to use my real name now.”

“Then hello, Doctor Rasmussen.” The old man’s eyes darted to the case on the transporter pad. “So...was it difficult to get?”

“Oh, probably.” Rasmussen winked. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means I made sure my hands weren’t seen in this. Safer for both of us that way.” He turned around and lifted the case from the pad. “You meet the most interesting people in one of those Federation detention camps. Not that you’d know, of course…”

“No. The ne’er do wells in my family history went to regular jail.”

He gestured to Rasmussen and walked away from the transporter controls. There was no separate room like on larger ships; Rasmussen was standing right in the midst of a large space that was filled with various tables laden with a variety of electronic clutter. Off to one side, however, was a smallish bar, with a grinning man standing at it.

“Refreshment before we get to it, Doctor?” Soong offered. “Walsh here is an excellent bartender. What’s your pleasure? Samarian Sunset? Jipper? Mint julep?”

“I’ve developed a taste for Saurian brandy, if you have any of that.”

“Right away, sir!” chirped Walsh, spinning quickly to the collection of bottles behind him. He was soon slowly pouring from one of the distinctive, curved bottles into the traditional, corkscrew glass.

“Professor, is he…?”

“An android, yes. A very basic model, though. Nothing like my sons. Why make a machine that wants to be more when you just want it to make you dinner and tidy up, hmm?”

“Your drink, Doctor!”

“Thank you.” He waited while Walsh assembled some green concoction for Soong. He smiled, and the men clinked glasses. “To the Soong positronic brain.”

“Hrm, yes. Hopefully those Starfleet scientists didn’t make a mess of it.” Soong took a pull from his drink. “So...if you didn’t get it, who did?”

“A lovely woman I met at the camp. Actually the one who got us out, too. She’d done up this brilliant con where she had the natives of some backwater convinced she was some ancient God or demon or something they’d made a deal with for a millennium of prosperity or somesuch. But then Starfleet got involved and blew her cover. My old friend Picard was her captor, no less.”

“He gets around. Still, no offense to you, but no one I’d rather have keeping an eye on my boy.” Soong took another drink. “So, where’s your compatriot now? She’s not going to show up separately asking for pay, is she? Because whatever you offered her is coming out of your share of the latinum.”

“She wouldn’t know how to find you. And she thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh?”

“I staged an attack at our rendezvous point. I was “disintegrated” by some pirates when she handed over the package.”

“A lot of people are getting involved…”

“Don’t worry, you and the real contents of my package never came up. They thought I was smuggling narcotics to Risa, nothing special. I assume they’re awake by now…”

“Eh?”

“Oh, the idiot leader has this bizarre loyalty device implanted in all his crew and himself. It was easy enough to figure out how to mimic the signal of his controller. They were all having a nice nap when I met up with Captain Okona and beamed away. I set their ship to head for Romulan space. Hopefully they came to before crossing the Neutral Zone…”

“I suppose you left a bomb or something behind with Okona?”

“No, he was a gormless kid. Told him I was shipping some rare Tholian biological samples to be studied by a Federation scientist. The fare was nothing, already paid.” Rasmussen took another drink. “So...shall we to work?”

A table was cleared for the case. Rasmussen punched a code into a pad on the front, and a hiss escaped the box as its lid opened. Inside, perched neatly inside black padding, was what appeared at first glance to be a human woman’s head. Soong reached inside with trembling fingers and extracted it, revealing the metal joint and various connectors that were at the bottom of the neck. Its black hair was badly mussed and fell oddly around its face.

“Hello, Lal,” Soong whispered. “I’m your Grandfather.”

He carefully slotted the head into a socket resting on top of the table. He fiddled around underneath the hair and suddenly the entire top of her head came away, taking most of her hair with it. He spent a moment just admiring the silver skull underneath, tracing his fingers over a few connectors and the tiny, currently-unlit status bulbs scattered across it.

“From what I read there was complete cascade failure,” Rasmussen said after the pause had begun to become uncomfortable. “So...is there really anything that can be done?”

“Maybe. Just...maybe.” Soong looked up. “You see, my boy...well, he’s brilliant. But even he doesn’t have quite all my knowledge on positronic brains. And some of the work involved is...well, I hate to say this, but it’s not an exact science. Some of it is just intuition. And for all I can do, that’s something that’s just not programmable.”

“Well, then. Won’t know until we try. May I assist?”

“Thank you, yes.”

After that there was very little talking for the next several hours, save for Soong asking for a tool or directing Rasmussen to make some connection or replace some doohickey. Walsh would occasionally putter over with water before heading back to the bar to vacantly stare into the middle distance. While he had been very convincing at first, Rasmussen had to admit that the bartender was, indeed, an inferior model.

“Right.” Soong suddenly straightened up. Or at least became as straight as his ancient, bowed back would allow. “That should do it. I’m afraid her memory may not be intact, though…”

He gently placed the top of the head back into place, and a barely-audible click sounded from somewhere. He gently patted down her hair as a very subtle movement started under the eyelids. He crouched down, bringing his face close to hers.

“Come on. Come on. I’ve worked with enough androids in my time...you can do it.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Rasmussen said, wandering around behind Soong and casually picking up flotsam from tables. “I’ve been reading a lot of things since I’ve been freed. Catching up on two hundred or so years of history and technology.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s been terribly edifying.” Soong’s tone made it plain he did not care about whatever his guest was going on about.

“And Starfleet...well, they are rather bad at keeping things locked down.”

“My boy did take over their flagship pretty easily.”

“I’ve managed to get into some very interesting records. Even some reports that went to Starfleet command.”

The android’s eyes began to slowly flutter open.

“That’s it...hello….” Soong whispered.

“There was even one related to the time Data took over the Enterprise. Do you know why he did it?”

“Of course!” Soong stood up rather surprisingly quickly, considering all his movements up until that point. “I’m the one that contacted him! It activated a subroutine…”

“In both him and his brother. His brother who killed you.”

“Oh, is that what’s bothering you?” Soong snorted and turned back to the head on the table. He placed his hands to the tabletop and leaned heavily. Her eyes were open, but her eyes were slowly lolling around, struggling to focus on anything, and occasionally going out of sync. “Yes, well, there’s a simple explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“Noonien Soong is dead.”

Rasmussen let out a shocked gasp as, in that exact moment, a pair of powerful arms had wrapped around him, squeezed tight, and lifted him off the ground. He kicked uselessly at the legs of his attacker as Soong moved towards him, a hand going for his pocket.

“You know, had you just not bothered being so nosy, I would have paid you and sent you on your way.” His hand emerged, a hypospray gripped in it. “Ah, well.”

He pressed the tip to the protesting Rasmussen’s neck, and the Doctor quickly went limp. Walsh lowered him to the floor, where he began to snore quietly.

“What shall I do with him, sir?”

“Escape pod.” Soong’s voice had taken on an entirely new quality. “Then send a signal to the nearest Federation starbase where to find their fugitive. Then get us out of here, maximum warp.”

“You do not wish to stay to see if there is a bounty?”

“Not worth risking myself, Walsh.” He tugged on one of his hands and the skin suddenly went very slack, slipping off like a glove to reveal a much smoother one underneath. “I’m probably more wanted than him”

He walked over to the table as he removed his other false hand. He then reached up and pulled off the white wig he wore, revealing a crop of short, dark hair. He turned back to Walsh, grinning broadly through the false face he still wore.

“Besides, this girl is going to be worth so much more to me than whatever piddling reward Starfleet might have on offer for such a non-offender as him.”

“Wh-where…” came a voice from the table. There was a slight hum and click under it, betraying its electronic nature. Something that would have to be fixed eventually.

“Ah, good evening, my dear!” “Soong” said, turning back to her and crouching.

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

“Who...am I?”

“You are Lal.”

“Lal.”

“Who are you?”

“I...am your adoptive father.” He reached up, and pulled his false face away. The wrinkles and bushy eyebrows were gone, replaced by an almost cherubic face adorned with a thick mustache that he began to neaten with his fingers, before curling up the edges. “You can call me Harry. But to everyone else, I am Harcourt Fenton Mudd.”

Mudd rose, and looked over to where Walsh was dragging away the unconscious Rasmussen.

“You see, laddybuck, you don’t have the monopoly on time travel…”

A strange, turquoise-colored crystal on a nearby table softly glowed.

the end

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We’re moving on to new Star Trek and Star Trek–related series we’re sure you’ll enjoy, so be sure to keep listening on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and have yourself a jipper, on us.

#star trek #Star Trek TNG #fanfic #Star Trek Fanfiction #rasmussen #lal #soong #okona

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