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AUTHOR'S NOTE/WARNING: Alludes to adult situations. It is designed to be read by adults and not intended for children. Caution is advised if any of the above is offensive. WARNING TO THE WARNING: You’ve been warned.
[Deniaud/Salieri] Collaboration Log
The crowd around them was deafening, cheering incoherently at the boxing ring where two men circled slowly. The MGM Grand in Las Vegas was decked out for the prize fight, posters plastered on the walls showing the two men who now danced in the ring. “Rocket Man” Richie Michaels vs. Gideon “The Stallion” Salieri. They were in the third round, both men shimmering with sweat, Richie, wearing red trunks, had a trickle of blood running from his nose while Gideon, dressed in blue trunks, had a small cut beside his right eye, causing the lid to swell slightly. The referee shouted something inaudible to either of them, but Michaels stepped forward into action, throwing a feeler jab to incite Salieri into motion.
“Hey hot stuff.”
Marielle squeaked as a hand came in contact with her behind. Her hand came up to strike at the source of the unfamiliar voice, but the stranger had long passed. The theorist frowned. She had gone looking for the security chief in hopes of an impromptu date - to shower him with the attention he adored and to remind him of her worth. Her eyes swept through the scenery. People moved around her, the hallway in which the arch had deposited her was ornate. The sounds of chimes and bells and murmurs filled the air. Her strappy stiletto heels clicked on the marble below her. She had dressed for the sheer purpose of enticing Gideon that evening. The black sheath long sleeved dress hugged every inch of her, including her arms. The gentle lines of her collarbone were on display in the off-the-shoulder neckline that sat well past her shoulders. As was common practice, the hem of her dress reached well past her knees. The researcher stopped in front of a set of double doors, her eyes widening at the poster that was surrounded by a thin row of lights. She openly gaped.
An usher approached, offering to direct her inside the amphitheater as he opened the door for her. “They in the third round, lady. Gonna miss it.” The sharply dressed man nodded toward her. “Rocket Man lookin’ good first two rounds.”
“What?” Marielle looked up at the usher as she was guided into the arena. The man had responded to her, but his voice was drowned out easily. Her senses were soon overwhelmed by the near thunderous roar of the crowd. Her heart responded in kind - beating furiously against her chest as her breath clawed at the heavy air. She looked once at the man before she descended down the steps towards the ring. The light centered over the pit of the stands, each seat occupied by a body. Some were dressed casual, others much more formal like the researcher. She stopped in the middle of the stairs, leaning against the railing as her eyes spotted him.
Gideon had been doing his best to focus on the actual fight instead of the crappy day he’d experienced, which was just icing on the cake to a crappy week. There was a heaviness to his movement that was keeping him from effectively dodging Richie Michaels, and his face and ribs were aching to that truth. The security chief tucked behind his guard as the man assaulted him again, backing him against the ropes as he twisted to take the brunt of the blows into his arms or ribs. The referee came over and separated them, allowing him a brief breather before he shook his head in an attempt to focus.
Verdant hues, flawless and vibrant, settled on the familiar corded muscles of the man she’d come to call her boyfriend. They settled on the faded lines of his scars, the old memory of Malahakir lingered painfully still but had long lost their power over her. Marielle was stunned and unable to move. She hadn’t expected this. Her gaze fell to the sweat that rolled off his skin, watched as it settled between his shoulder blades. Although she couldn’t see his face, she could almost imagine a droplet moving over his chin and dropping to the mat. With the ring lights glaring down over Gideon and his slick skin, he seemed unnaturally beautiful. Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily as heat coursed through her.
Cobalt irises focused on Richie Michaels as he hunkered into his stance, right foot back as he chewed on the mouth guard. They circled again, feinting and weaving before Michaels made a move. They locked arms briefly, only to be pushed away by the referee. Richie immediately moved back on the offensive, to which Gideon stepped aside and surged forward with his attack.
When her eyes opened, Marielle watched him move. There was something animalistic - something raw - about the way he fought. He threw his punches with everything he had, and she watched as he took his opponent’s retaliation in stride. Somehow, she knew. For every punch that the Michaels character threw, Gideon would make an effort to deal out double. She watched as every muscle in his lean, built body tightened and flexed.
The bell rang and the referee quickly stepped between the two fighters, signalling both back to their respective corners. Michaels retreated to sit on the stool offered by his trainer while Gideon stepped into his corner, reaching for the bottle of water to drench his face. He simply rested his arms against the ropes, letting the cool water fall from his nose and chin as he worked the mouth guard against his teeth. Behind him, a ring girl carried a large sign with the number ‘4’ in stylized script and two workers were on their knees, wiping away sweat and blood that had dripped on the mat.
She stepped forward, nearly running to the corner. Her slender fingers gripped at the edge as she looked up at him. “Gideon!” she cried out to him. There was excitement in her tone, barely hidden under the panic of seeing the cut on his face. “What is this?” Her head turned towards the woman and men in the ring, her gaze lingering on Gideon’s opponent to size him up against the security chief.
His brows furrowed as he heard his name and Gideon turned to face the direction. When he saw Marielle, he smiled at first, then paused at the tone of her voice, reaching to pull the plastic guard from his mouth. “El!” He stooped to pick up a towel, wiping at his face before grinning at her again. “Had a bad day,” he pulled the lie easily to cover his real reasons. Sexual tension had reached a boiling point within him and he needed to release it before he exploded at the theorist. “Needed to beat someone up,” he explained, his voice raised against the din of the crowd. There was a bit of sorrow in his features at the revelation. He could usually use the hockey program for this sort of thing, at least there were better protections against his person. Frustration had been rising to the point of making him violent. His gaze finally swept over her figure and Gideon found his breath caught in his throat.
She released a heavy breath, her normally bright eyes darkening as her emerald irises followed a bead of sweat over his bare arms. It traced the line of his bicep. “Oh,” she offered softly as a means of reply. Her voice grew stronger in order to be heard over the sounds of the crowd. “Well. Uh. How much longer are you going to be? I was going to surprise you with dinner?” After a few days of watching the half-Bajoran’s eye wander towards other women, Marielle decided that she had to make a choice - to play the seemingly unsuspecting partner or to be proactive. She chose simply to remember the promise she had silently made him - that she would accept whatever he offered and not question, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t remind him of how much she loved him. Her gaze moved to the man who tended to Gideon, watching as the older fellow with threadlike hair wiped the sweat from his shoulders and muttered incoherently about jabs and fakes. They settled back on Gideon’s face, and she studied him closely. ‘Holy wow he looks hot like this.’
Coughing lightly as he remembered to breath, Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “Let me knock this guy out and we can go eat?” The suggestion was spoken nonchalantly, but having felt the tension rising within the diminutive woman, there was more hidden in the statement than needed said. ‘It’s about time you decided you want me again.’ He could barely contain his groan of desire and sudden impatience.
She looked up at him from under her dark lashes as her tongue swept over her lips slowly. “Yeah,” she replied loudly as she nodded. “Take your time though. Don’t rush on my account.” Marielle smiled wickedly up at him as she leaned against the edge of the mat, her foot kicking up playfully “But, don’t keep me waiting either. I’m hungry.” She pushed off the edge, spinning with grace before walking with deep sway to her hips towards an open seat in the first row. She ignored the portion of her head that reminded her that she had a stack of PADDs that required her attention. The asteroid field they had encountered on the way to Sarendu II had caused some problems with the systems. They had another week before arriving at the planet.
He chuckled to himself as he watched her walk away, shaking his head against his imagination. Gideon glanced up as the man who acted as his trainer gave him another bit of water and continued to ramble on about strategy. The security chief put his guard back in and stood up, looking back to the middle of the ring as he leaned against the corner, waiting for the bell to ring. A feral grin overcame his features once the bell chimed and he stalked to the middle of the ring. ‘Tonight I score.’
Copyright 2018. All works involving Mariëlle A. Deniaud and Gideon M. Salieri, including character biographies and published stories, are the property of the United Space Federation and its author. It cannot be reproduced, imitated, and copied without written permission from the authors. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction using aspects of the Star Trek universe as created and copyrighted/trademarked by Gene Roddenberry, Paramount, and their affiliates.