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Geordi was not an angry person.
In fact, he had always hated confrontation. As a child, he would let kids steal his toys or leave him out of conversations, just so that he wouldn’t have to get into arguments. When his mother had figured out what was happening, she had sternly told him that in life, you have to choose your battles and figure out when it’s time to stick up for yourself.
It had taken a long time for Geordi to learn how to, and in some ways he still struggles to do it. On several occasions, Data had to put a disrespectful diplomat in their place when they interacted with Geordi.
Once, Riker had threatened to punch a man at the bar who drunkenly tried to take off Geordi’s Visor to “make sure he was blind.” He had never seen a rage so blinding in Riker’s eyes.
But now, stranded on this planet with a seemingly immortal storm, a cold chill sinking into the marrow of his bones, and a defensive Romulan pointing a weapon at his head, Geordi feels an anger like molten lava churning in his stomach. He hates sand in his boots.
“Stop fidgeting so much,” Centurion Bochra growls at Geordi, his teeth bared in frustration. He is shivering slightly and Geordi’s Visor tells him how cold the man feels, but Bochra seems to keep himself in check.
“Well, excuse me for trying to warm myself up,” Geordi retorts, annoyed. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking freezing.”
Geordi wasn’t one to curse, but he also wasn’t one to be stranded on planets, so it wasn’t saying much. If he were going to die from exposure, he thinks he would be forgiven for a blasphemy or two.
“I have indeed noticed…” Bochra trails off, shifting to look around the cave that they had crept into. The rocks led deeper into an abyss that Geordi wasn’t much inclined to go check out, but Bochra seemed to disagree. “It may be warmer deeper in the cave, away from the harsh wind of the storm.”
“Yeah or it may be even colder, but we might as well try.”
They both got to their feet unsteadily, tilting from the brutal wind and walking delicately. To an outsider, they would resemble baby horses learning to walk for the first time, bodies twisting up clumsily as they make their way deeper into the cave.
“Say, are those uniforms of yours insulated? They seem more resistant to weather than Starfleet’s.”
Bochra scoffed.
“Romulan uniforms prioritize fashion and tradition more than practicality,” Bochra stops walking to deliberately look at Geordi up and down, taking in the uniform. “I suppose Starfleet uniforms prioritize neither.” He smirks, proud of the cutting remark.
“Hey!” Geordi exclaims, but can’t help but chuckle, “Are you saying I don’t look good in uniform?”
He straightens up and smooths the fabric down his chest, before spinning around like he was at the end of a fashion show. His eyebrow quirks when he sees Bochra’s heartrate slightly elevate, and his breath hitch. But before he could comment, they were back to normal.
“The color is dreadful, even when soiled in mud. Yellow. What a…ghastly color,” Bochra seems genuinely disgusted at the color choices for Starfleet uniforms. They keep walking slowly, and Geordi feels the harsh battering of the storm die down some.
“I’ll let Starfleet know you disapprove,” Geordi says. “But yellow, in human history, has been used to symbolize happiness.”
Bochra hums, saying nothing.
“Do Romulans have a color that signifies happiness?”
“What do you think?” Bochra narrows his eyes at Geordi for a long moment. Then, he sets himself down on the hard ground, back to the wall. “It feels less ‘fucking freezing’ here, does it not?”
Geordi’s jaw dropped open in shock at hearing the word come out of Bochra’s mouth, which the Romulan immediately noticed.
“What?” Bochra asked, smiling slightly. Geordi realizes suddenly that he hadn’t had a weapon pointed at him for a while now. “I am well versed in human curses. Although, none of them cut quite as deeply as those in Romulan.”
“Right,” Geordi breathed out. He felt, suddenly, exhausted. As if the life and energy present an hour ago had been completely drained. His head was in agony, the overwhelming readings from the planet flooding his brain with currents. He unclipped his Visor against his better judgement and started massaging his temples, hoping to ease the pain. He groaned at the touch, pain blooming behind his eyes.
“Your technology…to see…hurts you,” Bochra spoke silently, understanding the situation without having to be told. He was observant, Geordi mused.
“Yeah, when I wear it for too long or have too many readings coming in at once,” Geordi replied. He heard Bochra shuffle toward him until he felt their shoulders touch; he tried not to jump from the contact.
It was silent for a few minutes. Geordi could feel Bochra’s minute shivers against his own, and his teeth had begun to chatter.
“Do you think your people will find us?”
“Will yours?”
Silence, again.
“Bochra, why is there no specific color for happiness for Romulans?”
Bochra sighs harshly: “we have no need for such arbitrary connections between emotions and colors.”
“But…you do feel happiness, don’t you?” Geordi decided not to replace his Visor, instead letting Bochra enjoy the level of privacy such an act provided.
“When my little sister was born, I was happy,” he says. “She was very small, and born too early. They were not sure if she would survive. But she was strong, and made it.”
Geordi smiles and lets his head tilt back onto the cave wall.
“How old is she now?”
“She has just reached her 12th birthday.”
“What?!” Geordi whips his head around to Bochra, even though he cannot see him. “You’re telling me the last time you felt happiness was 12 years ago?”
“No,” Bochra replied, but it sounded like he was not completely sure of what he was saying. “It was simply an example. When did you last feel happiness?”
Geordi knew when someone was changing the subject, but the idea that Bochra’s life was so devoid of happiness bummed him out, so he indulged his line of questioning.
“Yesterday, actually. Data and I practiced painting after dinner and they said that they finally managed to blend the exact color they had been wanting for days…”
It had made Geordi’s chest—and cheeks—warm when Data had cheered, letting Geordi know they had done it. It made Geordi wish, more than anything, for the ability to see which color had brought such joy to Data’s voice. But Data trying to describe the color to him had been arguably better.
“Data is your…lover?” Bochra’s voice tore him out of his memory.
“Oh, no!” Geordi scrambled. “No, they’re…t-they’re just a friend. A best friend.”
Geordi could practically hear the smirk on Bochra’s face.
“Ah, I see—”
“No, you do not,” Geordi clenched his teeth.
“—a best friend that you wish was a lover.”
Geordi sighed and placed the Visor back on his face, taking longer than usual so as to have an excuse to ignore the Romulan beside him. With the Visor on, he could see that the temperature had dropped 5 degrees since they started speaking, and immediately after that, he realized just how badly Bochra was shivering. His fingers trembled.
“We have to get warm or we’ll both be dead before the storm ends.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?” Bochra quirks an eyebrow as if he wants to add, you idiot?
If Geordi wasn’t so cold, he would surely be blushing at the idea that creeps into his mind. Time to see if all those romance novels have any merit.
“Body heat—”
“No.”
“—is our only option. We have nothing to make a fire. We are slowly freezing in a cave made of solely rock. No leaves or anything.”
“No.”
“Bochra—”
“I said no—”
“Listen!” Geordi exploded, channeling all his anger into his words, hoping it would make the Romulan understand. “If you were alone, you could freeze to your own death all you wanted! But you’re not, and I’m not dying because you find humans so disgusting you wouldn’t want to be close to one even if it meant you lived to see your sister!”
Silence. But an ominous silence, and Bochra’s eyes held so much fury that it rivaled Riker’s at that bar.
“Do you find me that repulsive?”
“I find your using my sister as leverage against me to be unbecoming of a human of the Federation.”
“We can play dirty when it’s necessary.”
“…Fine.”
Geordi took a deep breath. This was not going to be fun. The pouring rain from the storm had soaked their clothes, and Geordi knew from his Starfleet Academy studies that this fact would speed up the effects of hypothermia. The temperature would only continue to drop, and it was already nearing truly freezing temperatures.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Our clothes are wet. We have to…take them off—”
“I know the procedures for situations such as these,” Bochra snarls at him, hating the idea of being patronized. “Why do you think I protested so diligently? I would not have had such an issue if I had to…be so close to a clothed individual.”
Geordi sighs in sick relief and gets to his knees. He pushes the embarrassment to the back of his mind, deep, deep in his mind to worry about after they survive the night. For now, just the idea of getting any heat source sounded like a paradise, so he rushed to take his uniform shirt off. He was shivering wildly now, which he knew was a good sign. If one of them stopped shivering in these temperatures, it would be a very, very bad sign.
He takes off his pants and kicks them to the side, taking off his boots as well. Thankfully, his socks are not too wet, and anyways Geordi despises the feeling of being barefoot.
“Take off your Visor,” Bochra says, before adding: “Please.”
Geordi whispers alright and takes the Visor off, feeling around to set it aside. He feels his heart hammering in his chest, beating like a drum against his ribs.
“Just t-t-tell me. When you’re d-done,” he croaks, and startles when a surprisingly soft hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back to lie on the cave floor. He shuffles a bit to try and get comfortable, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re laying on solid rock.
“What is the position which most effectively transfers body heat?” Bochra asks, and his voice is colder than it had been since their first meeting, as though he were trying to detract himself from the situation they were in. Geordi found that he couldn’t blame him.
“I’m n-not sure. Maybe on our sides?”
“Understood.”
Geordi feels Bochra twist around to face away from him, lying on his side. Geordi moves forward to slot himself behind him, chest to the man’s back. His eyebrows lift when he feels fabric pulled taught across Bochra’s back and chest. He hears Bochra’s breath stop.
“Bochra…”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Bochra lies back onto the floor, and looks up at Geordi as he sits up.
“I am a man.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Then let us get this over with so we do not die from exposure.”
Geordi shakes his head, and scrambles to put his Visor back on and look back at the man below him. Wet fabric is tightened around Bochra’s chest, and green bruises line the seams. Bochra closes his eyes, and Geordi immediately understands. Bochra feels humiliated. This is what he would rather have died than allow an enemy soldier to see, to have that kind of information to hold over him.
“Geordi,” Bochra snaps, and he realizes it’s the first time his name had been said by the man’s voice. He didn’t mind it. “Stop. Staring.”
“Bochra…you must take the binder off.”
“Absolutely not,” Bochra scoffs again, and Geordi is getting tired of this arguing. If they don’t get enough heat soon, their teeth would stop chattering and then they were well and truly screwed.
“How long have you h-had it on?” Geordi asked.
“…28.51 hours.”
Geordi gasped in horror, and coughed immediately after when frigid air flooded his lungs.
“Y-you! You’re only s-s-supposed to wear it for 10 hours. Maximum!”
“Romulan binders are not human productions. They can sustain—”
“Liar,” Geordi said. “Take it off. I can see the bruises forming on your ribs. You’re simply d-damaging yourself more.”
“…”
“I won’t touch you, if that’s your worry.”
Bochra sighs, and sits up. He crosses his arms to grab the bottom of the binder, then pauses to glare up at Geordi.
“Technology. Off.”
“Yes sir,” Geordi says, and takes it off immediately.
He hears Bochra struggle for a minute as he tugs off the binder and places it on the ground far from any possibility to be damaged.
“I have finished.”
Bochra’s voice sounds soft, tired. Geordi moves close to him, keeping his hands between his own chest and Bochra’s back. He feels a few criss-crossed scars between his shoulder blades, but decides not to ask about them. Bochra has shared enough, given enough.
“Thank you for taking it off.”
Bochra hums noncommittally, already drifting to sleep with the warm heat radiating against his back.
As Geordi followed him into unconsciousness, his exhausted body makes him lean forward and press his lips to the back of Bochra’s neck. He felt the man shudder slightly, in a different way than when his body reacted to the cold atmosphere.
Before his brain catches up with what exactly his body had just done, Geordi falls asleep.
Geordi could no longer hear the roar of rain from the mouth of the cave. He wondered what time it was.
When he tries to move a bit, he finally realizes there is a weight on him. His spine digs into the tone beneath him, but the warm man above him has his arms curled around Geordi’s torso, one leg between his own. He can feel Bochra’s ribcage expand and contract with every breath, and the puffs of air against his neck.
And then, Geordi’s brain shortcircuits.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. What do I do. What is there to do? If I wake him up, will he kill me to subtract from his embarrassment? But maybe I would deserve it because of the thoughts that my brain thinks of him. Dear god maybe this is worse than death. Or maybe I am dead and this is hell. Or heaven.
He carefully puts his hands on Bochra’s waist and shifts them slowly, until they are both on their side and facing each other. Bochra must have been excruciatingly tired, because he seems undeterred from the movement.
Geordi reaches over to grab his Visor and slip it on.
A soft light streams in from the mouth of the cave, and Geordi glances at Bochra. The glow seems to surround him, and he looks ethereal through the Visor.
Then his eyes open.
Geordi’s cheeks flush and he jerks his look away, toward the other wall of the cave.
Bochra reaches toward the man curled up beside him. He is diligently looking at the rocks in front of him, as though they were the most beautiful piece of art in the galaxy. His dark skin glows in the morning light. It is warm, the planet’s usual desert temperatures beginning to rise from the frigid night.
Bochra traces his fingers up Geordi’s spine, and feels his breath stutter beneath them.
He could not remember a time when another being made him feel this way. Bochra had only had one partner, and he was always much more interested in his political career than anything else. But Geordi, even if it would only be for an hour or a day, seemed worth it.
He is the enemy, his mind hissed at him. For once, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Geordi…” Bochra began.
“Bochra,” Geordi interrupted, turning to face him. His body was lean but strong, and Bochra had to suppress a laugh at the fact that he was only wearing his undergarments and long, knee high socks. “I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”
“You did not,” Bochra narrowed his eyes at Geordi before looking up at the roof of the cave. “If I were a…real man, you would not think twice about looking at my chest.”
“You are a real man,” Geordi said without hesitation, without doubt, staring directly at him. “And trust me, I’m too flustered to look at anyone’s chest, no matter the gender.”
“Ah, like the mysterious Data,” Bochra teased. Geordi shook his head and looked down.
“They’re different and…complicated.”
Bochra mustered up all the bravery he had stored in his body.
“I am not.”
“Oh, on the contrary,” Geordi grinned. “You’re one of the most complicated people I have ever met.”
Bochra let out a frustrated huff.
Fine. He thought. I suppose I shall do it myself. And here I thought humans understood such mating rituals.
Bochra surged forward onto his knees and pressed his lips to Geordi’s mouth. The human’s mouth was soft and warm, and moved against his own. He felt one of Geordi’s hands cup his face, thumb dragging over Bochra’s cheekbone. The other landed on his hip, thumb moving against the sensitive skin there.
Geordi broke the kiss to plant hot, wet kisses down Bochra’s neck. Bochra was finding it more difficult to maintain control of his breathing, especially when Geordi bit down on the point where Bochra’s shoulder and neck connected. The hand on his hip slid up to his thin waist, and pulled him over his lap.
“I really,” kiss “really,” kiss “hope they don’t reach us,” kiss “for a little while.” Geordi mutters as he kisses Bochra’s collarbones. He smiles, presumably seeing the green blood rush to the bite on his neck.
“Do all humans kiss so much during intercourse?”
“No, but I do,” Geordi replies.
“Even with enemies?”
“Bochra,” Geordi sighs. “You need to learn when to shut up.”
“A class which you would not be equipped to teach,” Bochra retorts, before pushing Geordi back and climbing over him, ready to return the bites he had dug into his neck.
Bochra felt himself shimmering out and back into existence. In a few seconds, they were both on the bridge of a ship; from the hideous uniforms alone, he instantly knew that it was a Starfleet ship. He stood and turned, coming face to face with his commanding officer. He gave the Romulan salute, bowing his head and trying not to let his mind drift to the way Geordi was touching him only hours ago.
He could still feel the man’s warm fingers on his hips, and he knew that beneath his uniform there were at least five bruising bite marks. He hoped that any green flush on his face would be attributed to embarrassment of being on a Federation ship.
“I have given them no information, Commander, but I have not been mistreated. In fact, this human saved my life,” he looked over at Geordi, seeing the small, giddy smile spread over his face. He couldn’t help but smile back. Their commanding officers bickered with each other some more, before lowering their shields and coming to a mutual agreement.
“Good to have you back, Commander,” Geordi’s captain spoke. He was a respectable looking man, but Bochra’s eyes scanned around the bridge. He wanted to see one person in particular.
“Good to be back, sir. Actually, I have Centurion Bochra to thank for it,” Geordi put a hand on Bochra’s arm, caressing it a bit. Bochra smiled awkwardly back.
“Indeed. Commander La Forge and Lieutenant Worf, escort our guest to transporter room one.”
“Yes, sir. Come on,” Geordi led him to the turbolift, the tall Klingon following them in before the doors closed in front of them.
It was silent for a millisecond before Bochra broke it.
“Sooo… which one is Data?”
Geordi sputtered for a second, cheeks flushing. Worf raised an eyebrow in question, but also seemed to be suppressing a laugh. Geordi crossed his arms and pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Commander Data is the android—”
“Worf, don’t humor him!”
“—who Geordi refuses to confess his feelings to. But, I suppose, he is able to confess it to a Romulan…how intriguing.” Worf looks between the two of them. His observant eyes zero in on a green, blotchy mark beneath Bochra’s ear and smirks conspiratorially.
The doors open and they walk toward transporter room one. Bochra tries to figure out exactly what to say before he steps on the transporter pad, running all the memories through his mind and wondering what on earth could be said to give closure to their experience.
They walk into the room and Bochra turns to Geordi.
“It had been 12 years since I felt happiness. You were right,” he took a deep breath and continued. “But, that is no longer the truth. And for that, I thank you, Geordi la Forge.”
He nods at him before turning to walk toward the transporter pad.
“Until we meet again,” Geordi says, and his voice shakes slightly with emotion.
“Until we meet again,” he replies. “But in the meantime, do me a favor?”
Geordi knows what he’s going to say before he says it, just from the lilt in his voice.
“Yes, Bochra?”
“Tell them that you love them,” Bochra says seriously. “You never know when a battle or war will rip away your ability to do so.”
He turns his eyes to the Klingon manning the transporter and nods, feeling himself dissolve before reforming on his familiar ship.
Tomalak stands before him.
“I expect a full report on your mission by your next shift,” he speaks. “We are all gratified to have you back.”
“Yes sir,” he replies, and makes his way to his quarters. The entire way, Geordi’s laughter echoes in loops in his mind. He wonders if one day, they truly could meet again.
Bochra immediately smothers the thought.
This is how empires fall, he thinks. One too many people pondering a future with the enemy.
In his best dreams, he is in a dark, cold cave.