Title: DUmB

Author: J.Juls

Series: TOS/TNG

Codes:D/U/m/B, character codes challenge

Rating: [NC-17]

Disclaimer: Paramount is boss. Please ignore the dude behind the curtain.

Summary: Data zaps himself into dreamland the second time in hopes of communing with his father. But one can never trust one's subconscious. (I'm responding to my own challenge to make character codes that describe the story.)

Feedback: J.Juls

Beta: Big smoochies to Datalaur for beta!!

Note: Thanks to everyone from the "like vs. as" discussion on ascem! Also to Saklani and DFF list for Bashir help, and everybody from the "hips" thread on ascem. Part of the Doctor Fuh-q Fest.

DUmB

"Power levels are rising."

"Should be any second now."

My gaze is fixed on the end of the machine, where the plasma arcs as if alive. Soon I will have resolution to my dream. Soon I will speak to my father. I must know what he needed to say to me. Will he tell me the purpose of my existence? I long for his embrace. My body quivers; is it anticipation?

I have only milliseconds before the arc will strike me. Suddenly, I cannot bear to look at it; I focus elsewhere.

Doctor Bashir looks concerned but intrigued. Industrious Geordi monitors my vital functions. He has often reminded me that I am not indestructible, but I see no need for him to worry. Ensign Smeep stands nonchalantly on the balcony above the dilithium chamber. He has always been cavalier. Nanoseconds left -- the light from the arc draws my attention again as it prepares to strike ...

* * *

As I walk along a starship corridor, the temperature increases. Water vapor becomes more prevalent in the air. I proceed. The hot steam is thick; vapor condenses on my face and drips from my chin. "It is like pea soup," Geordi would say. My internal temperature rises precipitously.Odd -- my body's cooling systems may not be functioning adequately, although my diagnostics are not warning of any malfunction. The best course of action would be to remove my clothing. I do so and proceed further.

I can hear a clang, metal pounding against metal. I find this sound to be familiar. I shall walk toward it.

Thick clouds of steam abruptly clear; in the clearing, there stands a man with his back to me. He is of medium height, with dark hair. He wears a brown lab wrap and wields a blacksmith's hammer. He is shaping something with the hammer -- a bird's wing. The feathers are formed in intricate detail. I could spend hours examining the ornature of each feather: the calamus, the rachis, the vanes ... minutiae so similar to what Father created when he made me. I cannot find my voice. I must find my voice ...

"Father?"

About to begin a downstroke, he hesitates. He lays the hammer gently on the anvil. He turns. He is ... (!)

"Doctor Bashir!"

"You presume." His handsome face quirks -- humor perhaps. I do not understand. I find it difficult to understand anything at this moment.

"Doctor Bashir, I had thought to find ... "

"Call me 'Julian,' Data. 'Julian,' please."

Strange that I had not previously noticed exactly how attractive Julian Bashir is. His uniform hugs the shape of his toned body; his hazel eyes and sensuous, full lips draw my attention and cause feelings of lust in my positronic net. I feel suddenly weak; I sway and almost fall.

"Birds, Data. Air. Feathers. Weightless." His words seem to deactivate the artificial gravity.

His words have also lulled my body; I watch my arms rise until my curled hands float at shoulder level. My knees buckle.

Someone is behind me, strong, supporting me with arms about my waist, large, warm hands caressing my lower costal supports. "I've got you, Data; don't worry." Julian's voice, Julian's hands. His breath is hot on the dorsal surface of my neck, hot in my outer ear. I feel his warm skin behind me, naked except for a light covering of hair. His skin is soft, soft over hard muscle, soft over hard ... I feel him, pressing me from behind. I want it. I want him inside me. I am weak and dizzy; I need to gain strength from him.

There is a shock at first and then a fullness. I sigh as he rocks gently behind me.

"Look, Data. You're growing, aren't you? And they said machines couldn't grow!" Indeed, I am growing. The lack of bodily reflex control is exhilarating. I moan with delight as his penis stimulates my internal pleasure sensors.

He has now stopped. Why has he stopped? "Why have you stopped?"

"Shhhh, Data. Look." He strokes my chin, guiding my eyes to the anvil and the bird's wing upon it. I see the wing shimmer. Is it a trick of the light, refracting through the steamy air? It shimmers again and changes into a large, black bird -- a raven or a crow; most of my information on avian species seems to be inaccessible.

The bird flaps its wings and shimmers again, growing larger, larger ... it is now a humanoid woman, naked and dark and beautiful, crouching upon the anvil, her skin wet with steam. The lack of gravity enhances her figure; her already-ample breasts float straight ahead, their anterior surfaces convex. Her face seems oddly familiar to me and the gleeful smile seems its natural state. I scan my Federation database, but facts and personnel are jumbled.

"Julian!"

"Hello, Nyota. Would you like to join us?"

"I'd be delighted." Her voice is low, pleasant, musical -- more like a dove's song than that of a crow or raven. She leaps from the anvil and flies to our location, arms outstretched. Grabbing my shoulders, she perches, clinging to my body. Her nipples touch my chest, growing hard, stimulating my epidermal sensors. I feel her hot flesh burning into me at every contact point -- she is newly forged and radiating infrared energy. "Julian," she addresses me. "I need you now." Without further ado, she wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips and Julian's, pushing him more tightly inside me and impaling herself on my erection. The heat inside her body, even more intense than outside, sends shivers through me. Shivering from heat -- intriguing! I then finally process her words and try to explain that I am not Julian, but I cannot express myself coherently.

Again and again she slides her vagina down over my penis. I believe that this sudden action may be painful for her, but she smiles as she looks through me. More and more of my pleasure sensors are being stimulated. Julian rocks gently behind me. Nyota lavishes steamy kisses upon my cheek, my ear; leans behind me. I can hear the wet, smacking sound as she and Julian devour each other's lips.

"Oh, Julian, I never knew it could be this way! Trust you to find a machine that can grow!" She laughs, a satisfied chortle deep in her chest. I run my hands over the hot, smooth skin of her back, exulting in the burning, silken surface.

For several minutes, I see nothing, hear nothing. All is touch -- the heat of the steam, the rubbing of skin against skin, the pressure on my pleasure sensors, the voltage building inside my brain, ready to discharge.

I hear something. A rustling sound, softness sliding against softness. I see someone floating here now. But can I resolve whom?

Ensign Smeep is tumbling before me, cartwheeling, dancing in his long dress of slate-blue taffeta. He grabs the anvil to shift his axis of rotation, whirls until the skirt extends straight out, revealing mounds of white, lacy petticoats, hairy ankles, bare feet. The dress itself has three tiers of fabric in the skirt, each with a large lace ruffle. The bodice has lace also, lining its sweetheart neckline; revealed by the neckline is too-pale skin and a few dark hairs. His prominent larynx bobs up and down with a nervous swallow.

Smeep perches upon the anvil with improbably-long toes, birds' toes, stopping his rotation.

He brings his hands up to his nipples, squeezing them through the dress, tracing circles suggestively with his fingers. His lips pout, his tongue peeking out to bathe them with sensuous moisture. "Come in my mouth, Data, like I came in yours."

"No, come in *my* mouth, Julian," Nyota says breathily.

"Come in *my* mouth, Nyota," begs Julian. He bites my ear.

Smeep pushes off, sailing above us and tossing rose petals that become

purple snakes that become jingle bells that bounce from the walls and

floor, filling my head with music. "Come in my mouth, like I came in

yours. Come, come, come, Data. I want you to come in my mouth."

Error. "Ensign, not only was your first sentence grammatically

incorrect, but also ... also ... " The voltage in my positronic matrix has increased to peak level without my knowledge! I climax with intense, wracking bursts of current.

* * *

I am in Engineering, sitting on my chair. My head rights itself

automatically. My eyes open. It has all been a dream, but my orgasm

is real; it continues. I look down and spare a nanosecond to feel

relief that I keep my semen reservoir empty.

Geordi and Dr. Bashir are staring at me, concern and curiosity evident on their faces.

"Data? Data, are you all right?" Dr. Bashir asks.

I do not know what to say, instead twisting my head sideways to reset brain functions. Ah, here is an opportunity for information-gathering!

"Inquiry!" I look from one to the other. "Have either of you ever experienced a ... very ... 'dumb' dream?"

END