So, while John Luc was stiffening his resolve…
The soft ache began to grow the moment Seven had disappeared behind the elevator doors. Beverley fought to restrain now herself just as she knew she would that night except, later, resisting restraints wouldn’t be permitted. Her darling Seven would see to that.
By lunchtime, the Klingons had re-cloaked (much to everyone’s relief – crew talk was of growers rather than showers) and Dr Crusher allowed the nurses 43 parts of one time frame in the forward Ready Room.
Alone, and unable to resist her carnal needs, Beverley slipped away to the little known, tucked-away-behind-the-scenery Ladies Room to attend to her own medical emergency. She’d studied Exploratory Internal Examinations in her first year at Starfleet Academy but not like this. Nor with a diagnostic, bi-molecular, cavity haemorrhage probe. Although self-maintenance had been expressly forbidden by Seven, surely her beloved would understand human frailty, the need for small comfort, the succour gained from a fleeting indulgence…
She didn’t hear the subject of her indulgence stride with her customary confidence into the Infirmary. Seven, complying with the Common Courtesy Protocol she had identified as prevalent amongst humanoids, had come to address Dr Crusher in person about a variation in this evening’s allotted enjoyment period. Quickly, Seven was able to locate the Doctors precise whereabouts by swift manipulation of the ships internal crew tracking systems.
Beverley sat astride the human waste repository unit, lost in self-gratification as her love burst in. Despite the subdued, recessed lighting programme, Seven instantly noted Beverley’s partially hidden face framed in concentration, the lower limb displacement, her mouth wide, tongue playing quickly: the almost fully absorbed probe just visible amid her closely cropped, heart-shaped, folic-based reproductive temperature-management system :
“This activity is not permitted. Cease immediately or I will be forced to take remedial action”
The stern words came too late, acting only to drive Beverley on, and on. Her body began to convulse, forehead lined in almost, almost, unimaginable equilibrium enhancement. Nearly, nearly…
“Whisper it too me, darling. Whisper it, whisper it and I’m yours. Anything, anything you want, pleeease…”
Seven paused, assimilating the information into her sub-erotica/humanoid/female/HubbaHubbaDoctor circuitry. Then, leaning forward, she took Beverley’s hand gently from the barely visible probe and began working it expertly, ever, ever deeper, around, lower, before finally, finally in those out-of-control seconds before release, Seven teasingly bit Beverley’s ear and breathed the words Beverley so longed to hear:
"Resistance…
is…
futile"