In Space No one Can hear You Scream

[slash_cave]

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Title: In Space No one Can hear You Scream
Authors: gattodoro & silvan_lady
Crew: Sean/Orlando, Karl/Eric, Jack/Scotty,
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Crack!fic, Shameless borrowing from Star Trek, Torchwood, Hitchhikers etc etc
Authors' Note: Part of the Real Slash Clichés series *g* Next cliché - Whorlando!


In Space No one Can hear You Scream

Or, second star to the right, and straight on till morning


Opening Credits

Cue impressive orchestral music
Disembodied voice gravely intones the well loved words - “Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Slash Ship Enterprise”
Music ceases abruptly accompanied by the sound of needle scratching a record (a later 20th Century audio artefact)
Pause for reflection that something isn’t quite right here...

Cue jaunty/sleazy theme

And welcome to the Slash Planet.
Not content with the well-located and tastefully decorated Slash-Cave, our intrepid authors, Silv and Gatty, have eschewed mere World domination and gone straight for Universal Supremacy – at least where Slash and Smut is concerned anyway.

The Cast

Sean Bean - as the gruff space freighter captain who hides a heart of gold – and a cock of iron – in his tight fitting uniform. His is a “large part” by popular demand.

Orlando Bloom – as anything you like, as he’s a very flexible and decorative space twink. Not allowed to drive/navigate. Ship's counsellor who prescribes sex for everything - preferably including him - the sacrifices he makes for his calling... Also claims close affiliation with Troi/Troy

Viggo Mortensen – as an off-world colonist driven mad by lack of sex; prone to florid poetry and nudity.

Eric Bana – as ... well, actually we don’t know, but we aren’t going to argue with him and he does offer certain comic/erotic possibilities. May, or, may not be related to Orlando depending on your views on incest (see "Troy", above). Not allowed near anything sharp/flammable. Update! Apparently he's the Security Officer and is allergic red shirts.

Karl Urban – as Chief Medical Officer (yes, typecasting we know) and Eric’s partner in crime. Excellent at the eyebrow raising thing; irascible but sexy as hell.

Capt Jack Harkness – may not appear at all, but if he does, the planet’s favourite omnisexual will be limited to boy sex – our planet, our rules!

A Tribble – for the nostalgic Trekkers amongst us, sex unknown, except that they like lots of it - not unlike a certain ship's counsellor...

Serena - The ship's computer; voice chip and sexual preferences closely modelled on 21st Century gay icon and original galactic gang banger, Sir Ian McKellen.

Billy Boyd - because it's compulsory to have a character named "Scotty".

The Story so far...

Does anybody care?

The Plot (What Plot?)!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Sean Bean of the Aldebaran Space Ship Insatiable was brooding at the controls of his sleek and powerful vessel. He did it extremely well and he did it often, largely because he knew that many people found his brooding intensely fascinating and sexy, but also since it was his favourite expression (narrowly beating out eye-rolling), and it went with his Northern Bastard ™ persona. Sometimes he even did it because he had something to brood about, as was the case today.

The question that was most vexing the gruff, yet handsome Captain was why could nobody onboard remember where the ship was supposed to be going? Admittedly he had a dim recollection of enjoying a spectacularly debauched shore leave with the crew at the last planetoid they’d come across, but in Sean’s previous experience - which was extensive - even the most literally paralysing of hangovers wore off after four, or at most, five solar days and an excess of alcohol wouldn’t explain why even the shipboard computer – known affectionately as “Serena” - was humming a medley of show tunes and was refusing to tell them where the autopilot was taking them until it had finished a game of spider solitaire, which had so far been in play for 347 Earth hours and showed no sign of reaching a conclusion.

Then there was the issue of what they were carrying in the hold, which had been security sealed, which was unusual. Nobody had been able to decipher much of the manifest since Viggo, an accidentally acquired hitchhiker, had scrawled over it in purple glitter pen in one of his attempts to compose a tone poem in praise of the ship’s beverage dispenser. All that they could make out was the letter ‘T’ followed by what could be an ‘r’ and what looked remarkably like a ‘nil by mouth’ symbol, but that made no sense at all.

Worse yet, there was this nagging feeling that a ship of this size really ought to have a larger crew, which brought a manly tear to Sean’s eye. Poor Daisy, but they had told him not to wear the red shirt… Sean was drawn out of his reverie by the typical stumble and clatter that announced the arrival of Ensign Orlando Bloom. Sean cleared his throat - simply because he had a piece of ship’s biscuit lodged in his larynx you understand, not from any unseemly girly emotion – and tugged firmly at the hem of his snug-fitting jacket so that it emphasised his toned pectoral muscles. It must be said that Ensign Bloom appreciated the gesture, remembering just in time that wolf-whistling at your Captain was against Star Fleet regulations though, to be honest, he could remember very little else.

“Good day Captain, I take it that there is no news from Serena?” This was a rhetorical question since the computer was currently working through Judy Garland’s back catalogue in COBOL, while trying to place the Queen of Hearts on top of the Jack. The Jack was protesting volubly, insisting he always topped and hiding behind the two of spades.

Sean grunted in a sexy yet non-committal way.

“Oh dear, and you are brooding again, aren’t you? Well I know just the cure for that!” Orlando said brightly.

Sean rolled his eyes, but more from habit than exasperation. For some inexplicable reason, Orlando seemed to fancy himself as the crew’s unofficial counsellor and was always quick to offer unsought for advice. This could have been unbearable, but since Orlando’s cure for all ills was sex, sex and more sex his counsel found widespread acceptance. Nonetheless, Sean was the Captain, so it behoved him to make a show of arguing against the proposal, but a show was all it was because Orlando had acquired a device that could make all of the molecules in his uniform translucent and Sean was damned sure that there had to be a Star Fleet regulation that made nailing an ass like that compulsory. There was only one word for it, a command actually - “Engage!”

The designers of the ASS Insatiable may have been a drunken bunch of bums with no artistic talent and distressing right-wing tendencies, but they had somehow managed to come up will some practical features. So it was that all of the consoles on the bridge were padded for comfort, had wipe-clean surfaces and hidden compartments kept stocked with lube. Orlando’s uniform also came with another useful feature – Velcro seams – though this was a modification insisted upon by Eric who pointed out that they were running through their stock of spare trousers at an unsustainable rate. As a result, Sean only had to think ‘make it so’ and Orlando was bent naked over the deflector shield control panel (which they weren’t sure how to work) with the Captain’s cock firmly docked in his ‘space port’. They made quite a fetching picture and certainly Sean’s energetic pistoning was quite enough to draw Serena’s attention away from Solitaire (this happened a lot, which could explain why the game had been in progress for so long) and he/she/it abandoned 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' and began to yodel “Je t’aime” in FORTRAN, Orlando’s lusty moans providing a delightful counterpoint.

Low cunning and writhing that would embarrass an erotic dancer enabled Orlando to wriggle sideways just enough that he could grind against a handy joystick, which appendage combined with Sean’s mammoth member proved quite sufficient to have him launch his payload into the cargo bay security access interface. This would not be without consequence, as we shall see, but for the time-being, all Sean was concerned about was straightening the kink in his back and going for round two. Not for nothing was Sean very protective of the VR feature on his Captain’s chair, and one firm prod had him flat on his back enjoying the “Vibrate and Recline” mode, though it was likely the original manufacturers hadn’t considered the possibilities of retro-fitting an anal plug. Sean had, because he was kinky like that, though not as kinky as Orlando who had straddled Sean as soon as he was recumbent and was – improbably - licking his own nipples while bobbing up and down on Sean’s staff as majestically as a prancing horse on an old-fashioned merry-go-round.

As Serena started to croon Donna Summer’s ‘Love to Love You Baby’ in LINUX. Karl, the ship’s Medical Officer entered, sighed in exasperation, arched his eyebrow irascibly (though he was anything but surprised or shocked by the scene) and left again in search of Eric and relief for his suddenly acquired groinal swelling. On the way he passed Viggo, who was stark naked, as usual, and was playing discordant love songs to the beverage dispenser on what looked suspiciously like the distress beacon from the escape shuttle. Karl arched his eyebrow again, sighed again and decided that Eric could put his Security Uniform on and deal with it, but not until he’d thoroughly “chastised” Karl first...

Eric was in sickbay attending to himself. Sean's humping of Orlando against the navigation panel had resulted in four unexpected course changes, and one cup of Earl Grey - hot - being beamed onto a passing meteorite which would cause much consternation amongst anthropologists when it finally hit an occupied planet five centuries later. The first course change had also made Eric stumble just as he was getting up from a snooze on the med-tech bench and he'd caught his head on a cupboard door. Serena had immediately overridden the diversion; in fact, it would never have been allowed to happen if he hadn't been momentarily distracted by how well Sean's thrusting rhythm matched the beat in Follow the Yellow Brick Road. He'd always had a soft spot for the scarecrow and the tinman - especially together.

Karl's arrival in sickbay coincided with Eric's attempts to repair the gash on his forehead with Karl's immedi-knit tool, and resulted in a suspiciously Harry Potter-like scar instead of an almost invisible and rapidly fading line. Fortunately for all concerned, but especially Serena, they had never heard of Harry Potter and Karl wasn't the slightest bit interested in Eric's scar. He was however, extremely interested in Eric's rear, and more specifically, how soon he could get his hands on it.

The medical centre was equipped with absolutely everything, which, strangely considering the present crew manifest, included a reclining birthing seat with handy-multi-position stirrups and the ability to accommodate both humans and aliens provided they had at least two legs and a lower exit. On the other hand, Serena had seen the crew manifest before their departure so perhaps it wasn't such a surprise after all. It was certainly no accident that there were three close circuit cameras in sickbay and they could all be swivelled through 360 degrees.

"Today is a good day to shag," announced Eric portentously when he saw the Medical Officer standing in the doorway. (That always annoyed Serena since he couldn't make the door swish shut, but then Karl liked to annoy Serena because he insisted on playing muzak even when there were no patients.)

Karl raised a sardonic eyebrow, and then winced as he caught sight of the newly healed scar. "Who says so?" he grumped. "And what are you doing with my tool?"

"Haven't the foggiest who coined the phrase, but I had a lecturer at the Academy who said it all the time." Eric pretended not to notice Karl's lack of appreciation of his handiwork. "At least, I think that's what he said and he was a security officer so he must've been right. I didn't speak Klingon that well in those days, but basically all you had to learn was never wear the red shirt and everything would be okay."

There was a brief moment of customary silence as they both looked appropriately doleful. Poor Daisy, they'd told him not to wear etc. etc.

"And as for your tool, I'm not doing anything with it yet, more's the pity!"

Karl’s sardonic eyebrow wavered as he tried to work out whether Eric’s tense confusion was a consequence of concussion, but he was distracted from his deliberation by an assertive hand groping his arse. The diagnosis presented itself immediately and eyebrow equilibrium was restored. “Ah,” he said caustically, “I suppose that was supposed to be innuendo?”

Eric stuck out his tongue – he was a sophisticated guy. “Karl mate, I don’t care whose end it is just as long as I get laid – my counsellor said it was essential to my mental well-being, are you going to deny me treatment? I thought that was against your Zippocratic Oath!”

It was telling, Karl thought, that Eric had Spoonerishly brought a 20th Century brand of lighter into the conversation. “Have you been setting fire to Sean’s antique football shirts again?” he asked accusingly, and when Karl made an accusation it was very hard to ignore.

“Certainly not!” Eric was the picture of wounded innocence. “It's not my fault that I'm allergic to red and white stripes, but I wouldn’t dream of such a thing now.” This was true, to an extent. Nowadays, Sean kept his shirts under high security conditions, they were still in a box under his bed, but the box was fitted with laser armed anti-personnel mines. And after the last incident Sean had threatened to maroon Eric on a planet populated only by sex-crazed women, which was obviously completely out of proportion to the crime, yet Sean had seemed quite serious at the time...

Karl was not persuaded. “You must have done something to merit a session with Orlando.”

“I was only toasting marshmallows,” said Eric defensively.

“Setting aside the question of where you obtained marshmallows – though that is definitely something meriting further consideration – might I ask how you were toasting them? Viggo will be most upset if you’ve used his poetry scrolls to build a camp fire and if he makes us all participate in another one of his ‘purifying’ sweat lodge rituals I won’t be held responsible for the consequences!”

“Oh no, no campfires this time,” declared Eric, looking shifty.

“What then?”

“Well, I had just stripped down the ion cannon and I wanted to do some test firing.” Eric made it sound perfectly reasonable.

“Oh for the love of Spock!” Karl smacked his forehead, momentarily scaring his eyebrows flat. “Please tell me that you at least did this somewhere out of the way?”

“Not exactly, there were quite a lot of cartons to carry, so I just stacked them up at the end of corridor four. I only fired one pulse, I didn’t realise that they’d expand so much...”

“Kirk and out!” Karl generally tried not to use such strong language, but there were times... “That explains the pervasive smell of burnt sugar and the ten feet tall pink amorphous blob blocking the door to Sean’s micro-brewery. We thought it was just a mutant strain of brewer's yeast. He’ll be furious, marshmallow goo is the devil to clean up!”

Eric considered his response, thus activating parts of his neural cortex that hadn’t been used for years. As a result, he was a bit rusty and what he was trying to pitch at contrition, landed at childlike glee. “I know! That’s why Orlando recommended sex.”

“Orlando suggests sex for everything,” pointed out Karl, “but usually involving him.”

“True, but he thought that if he could distract Sean with sex, Serena might be able to catch a cloud of sugar eating microbes in the tractor beam – problem solved.”

“How noble and indeed optimistic of him,” Karl replied sarcastically, though frankly sarcasm tended to bounce off Eric’s muscular torso and dent the walls. “Unfortunately I think he’s failed to think that one through properly.” Which was fair comment. They didn’t keep Orlando around for his towering intellect (though he had certain towering attributes) though Serena might well have found a solution by now were it not that he was a voyeur of the first order with a suspiciously deep knowledge of musical theatre – the current choice of muzak did sound rather like a Techno version of “Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead”.

“So I’m Kirked?”

“Let’s just say your chances of avoiding being ravished by a horde of rabid women rest on Orlando’s sexual prowess. So admittedly the odds are stacked in your favour.”

“Ace! And let’s be honest, something will turn up, it always does on this ship.” Eric beamed at Karl. “So, as I was saying, today is a good day to shag!”

“It would seem that way Eric,” agreed Karl, who was already casting off his uniform, though obviously pausing to fold each item as it was removed. One had to have standards even if this might be his last opportunity to apply his patented penile patient care to Eric. Though only after Eric had locked Karl into the birthing chair and whipped him with the rainbow coloured strap on his phaser, obviously. (Use of the phaser came later, why else would they come with a “stun” setting? Also settings marked “whimper”, “moan”, “Uhura” (ear plugs recommended), “Vulcan Grip” (if you want to come so hard you pass out) as well as the usual death, dismemberment and disintegration options, which are only available if the safe sex setting is switched off.)

Meanwhile: -

Viggo was still playing discordant love songs to the beverage dispenser, which was beginning to feel suicidal and wondering whether it was too late for a career change. Waste disposal, perhaps?

Sean had Orlando splayed across the docking computer and was preparing for re-entry. Orlando was prepared for anything if sex was involved...

Down in the Engine Room, the Engineering Officer Billy – or Scotty as he was known to his colleagues who were shameless in their attachment to national stereotypes – was welcoming another accidental hitchhiker in traditional fashion. Since the hitchhiker was one Captain Jack Harkness, this meant that Scotty was bent double over his warp drive with a marvellously proportioned cock up his arse giving him the pounding of his life. This also was - coincidentally - the real reason Scotty was still well known for announcing "I canna take much more of this" at regular intervals just like his namesake. Harkness always turned up when least anticipated, and usually when Sean demanded more from the engines than any sane starship captain had a right to expect*. As Captain Jack always carried spare dilithium crystals (you don't want to know where, but they kept his 'engine' running nicely) and Scotty liked the credit for doing the impossible, he carried on with the traditional protest and last minute rescue scenario, while being thoroughly ravished. At least that explained why he was always out of breath and panting although he never left the engine room.

*There is, of course, no such thing as a sane starship captain and certainly no chance of stumbling across an undersexed starship crew.


The door to the cargo hold had swung open when Orlando’s super space sperm interfaced rather too potently with the security access interface. The pair of small, round, fluffy creatures held captive therein were very hungry so were soon lured out by the odour of burnt sugar. Eric’s marshmallow mess was consumed in no time (which was pretty much what was happening in the Med Bay, as it happens!). So one problem was solved, but was about to be replaced by another, which would , shall we say, multiply...

Note: Capt Jack and Scotty are, of course, only on board because (a) they deserve to get laid and (b) somebody needs to deal with the creature in corridor four so Sean can get to his beer, and (c) who else could deliver the pay off line with the right accent?


All together now - “it’ll be nae tribble at all!”



Live long and fornicate!
(Is, of course, the motto of the ASS Insatiable)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors' Note II: No one is entirely sure when the colloquial use of the verb 'to fuck' was been replaced by 'to Kirk' as a catch all phrase for fornication, surprise, dismay, balls-out bravado coupled with sheer dumb luck and the inability to think of anything better - however, the Pan-galactic Wiktionary records its rise in popularity during the latter half of the 23rd Century when James T Kirk and Spock did indeed 'boldly go' and discovered, named and populated the Slash Planet in an extraordinary short space of time, or space in time depending on your point of view. This was entirely due to an unforeseen side effect of Spock's mind meld with the egg-nurturing Horta on Janus VI, who apparently thought that passing on its ability to reproduce prolifically was a nice way to say thank you for not being blasted with a type II phaser. The more sordid details of the rapid population explosion, thankfully, never made the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or it would simply have said PANIC on the front. It has to be noted though, that Sean had on occasion, looked at Orlando and wondered if he was in fact a direct descendant of Kirk/Spock as the Slash Planet definitely seemed like his natural home.

Comments

[doylebaby.livejournal.com]

*splutters tea all over keyboard and then starts cackling* ASS Insatiable?

Orlando suggests sex for everything
I'd say he displays more then enough intellect there. *nods and grins*

I think we need a lot more of this ladies! :))

[slash-cave.livejournal.com]

Orlando's contribution the ASS Insatiable tends to be underrated - but not under appreciated!

He's appreciated under almost everybody!

Who knows when our intrepid travellers may beam down again!