Discipline & Desire

Posted on Wed Oct 15th, 2025 @ 8:16am by Lieutenant Evelyn Stewart & Lieutenant JG Koaruh Avestro

3,449 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore - Holodeck 1
Timeline: MD 001 — 0745 hours

Evelyn let out a controlled breath as she turned out with one leg and spun into a soft pirouette before dipping low with her body at her waist, fingertips grazing the floor as she tightened her core and found her balance. She let her body feel the movements without breaking her concentration. As she moved gracefully across the hardwood floor of the simulated dance studio her lines were clear, precise - disciplined. They were exactly what one would expect of someone who had danced all their life. Her breathing was labored but measured. A fine sheen of sweat spread along her flushed neck and chest, evidence of the long practice.

With the ship in dry dock for resupply, most of the crew was on the station. It meant there was no rush or demand for the holodecks. She had plenty of time to focus her dancing.

Slowly, Stewart dragged her barefoot along the floor in a long, slow deliberate circle while she let her hips slowly shift and in the rhythm of the beat. Grounding herself in the gesture, she let herself go up into a relevé before continuing the motion of the circles with her other foot - then again, alternating her feet as she moved across the space in slow rhythmic movements to the beat. She didn't know the language being sung, but it didn't matter. The counterplay between the piano and voice told her all she needed to know. What her body needed to know.

Evelyn grit her teeth when she felt a twinge of pain run down her shoulder to the inside of her elbow and grunted from the experience. It had been nearly six weeks since her bond was severed but she still felt the pain, physically and emotionally. The raw pain in her nerves had ebbed into a dull, but constant, ache, now with only the occasional flare-up that jolted through her system. Few things helped with the pain outright. Even less helped with the emotional tow the loss took on her.

With a determined flaring of her nostrils, Evelyn pushed herself more, leaning into every movement. To a casual observer, her movements would seem wild, crafted with utter abandon as she spun and bowed relentlessly - loose and vibrate. The discipline of ballet giving way to a more contemporary style. Her arms arched wildly around her, reaching in desperation, only to be pulled back in intensely. She felt an jolt move further down the back of her arm in response, racing down her hand and into her fingers which she reflexively stretched as she cried out, stopping in her movements for a moment to recover. Shaking the feeling back into her hand, she focused harder - a determination setting into her shoulders and movements. Finding her rhythm again, she let the arm that still stung carve through the air ahead of body as she spun and twirled with a ferocious determination. Finally letting herself get lost in the music, she pushed her body to its limits - feeding frantic pace of her movements to the music as she moved from gliding across the floor to her kneels to eventually slide and roll herself along it expressively. To those aware, the skill was undeniable, the discipline - the control. It was there throughout every lyrical move and precise step. Her body saying what she couldn't through any amount of words.

The dynamic of her soft energy with her fast movements finally peaked when, as if her body was screaming for a release from what she felt, she leap across the floor effortlessly before effortlessly spiraling for several moments. The power and athleticism clear in her small frame as she pushed her body in time with the wailing voice. Feeling the end of the song drawing to a slow end, Stewart let her spirit come back to her body as she moved slowly with the beat of the song, curling into a small sitting position, breathing hard and letting herself feel the blood and adrenaline pump through her body - that she was alive.

It was only after several moments, when she felt less light headed, that she finally stood and turned to walk towards the barre to catch her breath before starting again.

The doors whispered open on the last notes. Koaruh paused on the threshold, eyes tracking the final spiral into stillness, and for a heartbeat he forgot how to breathe.

He crossed to the barre without intruding, setting down a folded towel and a takeout caddy that smelled faintly of Chloe’s best—warm croissants, cut fruit, two lidded coffees. “For the record,” he said, wry and admiring in equal measure, “that routine violates at least three safety regs. I’m pretty sure ‘inciting cardiac arrests in onlookers’ is in the manual.”

His gaze flicked over her—sweat-sheened, chest lifting, the electric hush of effort still humming off her—and the grin turned shameless. “Also, if the holodeck logs record an attempted uniform-removal, that’s on you.”

He offered the towel with a little bow, then a softer beat. “You were… incredible, Ev. Clean lines, brutal control, and then you just—” he traced a tiny arc in the air “—let it go. I’m simultaneously aroused and intimidated. It’s very confusing. Please advise.”

He popped the coffee tops. “Fuel before round two: one real coffee, one not-the-worst decaf. Croissants are a peace offering and/or bribe to sit with me for ten minutes while I pretend I don’t want to drag you back to the mat.”

A tilt of his head, playful challenge in his eyes. “Breakfast here on the floor like heathens, or do we make it respectable and walk out like two people who definitely didn’t just commit ballet-related crimes?”

Evelyn looked up in surprise when she heard Koaruh's voice as he approached. She relaxed, somewhat, when she heard his compliments though. A hint of a small smile on her face as she panted, the quiet pride of someone who was a skilled dancer and knew it. Still, her shoulders were still not fully relaxed as she took the towel from the counselor to dry her face and chest, her dark tank top clinging to her like a second skin. She was still semi-self conscious and felt exposed. She hadn't intended for anyone to walk in.

Her smile slowly creeped into a playful, but silent, smirk at his sexually charged flirt, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of the dance. "I'm sure you'll manage." She commented deadpan, leaning up to kiss his cheek in greeting before watching him in confusion as he sat and opened the caddy. "Wh...shit, breakfast. What time is it?" She asked as it dawned on her she completely missed their breakfast date. Her embarrassment growing into full blown annoyance at herself for losing track of the time.

Koaruh checked the wall chrono, then held up a hand before she could spiral. “We were meant to meet an hour ago,” he admitted, soft grin taking the sting out. “It’s fine. I watched the last fifteen and decided breakfast should come to you.”

He nudged the caddy open between them—steam, butter, fruit. “Croissants survived the journey. Coffee’s still hot. We can eat here while you cool down, or I can sit on the floor and worship your quads in silence... I'm happy with either.”

He bumped her shoulder with his. “You didn’t stand me up, Ev. I got to see you dance. Best front-row seats I've ever had.”

Stewart's lips compressed into a thin line as she glanced across the space, disappointment in herself. A moment later she later she gave a short, dry humorless laugh as she shook her head at the futility of her being disappointed in the face of his humor before slipping her soft flats back on, watching Koaruh all the while.

She slumped down to the floor next to him heavily, drawing her legs crossed in front of her as she felt her cheeks burn and she avoided looking directly at him as she reached for the coffee and what she suspected was uttaberries. His last comment making her uncomfortable.

Taking her time in chewing and a sip of the fresh coffee, Evelyn stalled for time to process Koaruh's words. Stealing a quick sideways glance at him, she reached over for the other croissant. "You weren't supposed to see that." She replied matter of fact, eyes on the space between them but ripping off a piece of the bread with more force than was actually necessary before popping it in her mouth to chew methodically, self conscious all over again.

Koaruh blinked, the easy grin slipping into something more careful. “Wasn’t supposed to…?” He let it hang a second, studying her profile rather than pinning her with a stare.

He set the croissant down, palms open on his knees. “On Betazed, if someone moved like that, half the room would cheer and the other half would ask you to teach them.” A beat, softer. “What I saw was control and honesty. Not something to hide.”

He glanced at the floor between them. “I’m getting… ‘too seen,’ yeah? Like I walked in on something private.” He kept it light, not prying. “If that’s it, I can shut up and just be the guy who brought breakfast. Or—if you want the truth from me: it was beautiful, and I was proud of what I saw.”

He nudged the fruit tub a little closer to her knee. “We can eat and talk about literally anything else—Greco’s rope-a-dope, Keishara's permanent frown, Chloe’s croissant supremacy. Or we can just eat in silence and enjoy the food.”

Stewart knew that Koaruh not only meant well, but he was right. It didn't make it any easier to hear though. Evelyn felt her jaw tighten for just a moment as she resisted his calm, relaxed openness, before letting go with a deep sigh.

Picking up a strawberry, she considered how to explain. "On Vulcan, children are put into dance at a young age. It's to teach them discipline and control of one's body, to help them identify and disconnect themselves from their bodies. Most drop the practice as they age, finding it illogical. A few maintain the practice but more from an....appreciation of structure, of logic and discipline in motion." She added, not able to quite keep the contempt out of her voice.

Finishing the strawberry, she glanced at Koaruh to quickly see how he was reacting before focusing her attention on the space between again, feeling safer in doing so as she shook her head. "Not for me though. I realized I was allowed to express my emotions through dance. I couldn't be scolded or my emotions held against me because they were vital to dance correctly, the way the dance intended."

Stewart stopped and grimaced, making a small noise of discomfort as she shifted and adjusted her legs to gently massage the sudden jolt of nerve pain in her thigh. Letting out a breath that had more to do with annoyance at the continual pain than anything else, she looked at Koaruh. "Dance became my release and escape. It's how I was able to survive living there for so long...and I just kept it up ever since."

Koaruh listened without cutting in, the corners of his eyes softening as it landed.

Koaruh’s expression softened in a way that wasn’t performative—it landed. “Thank you for telling me that,” he said, quiet. “They taught you to strip feeling out of movement and you turned the same training into a way to feel and survive. That’s not just discipline—that’s you refusing to disappear. That's pretty cool.”

His gaze dipped to her thigh when she shifted. “Your thigh?” He let his hand rest, palm up, between them—offer made, nothing pushed. “I know some good therapeutic massage techniques if you like.”

A breath, then he let a warmer note in. “What you said about structure carrying emotion made me think of Copernicus. Ever been? The low-g studios start all technique, then they ease the gravity and it turns into pure feeling—very un-Vulcan, very you. There’s a café on the promenade that overlooks the ship—awful coffee, dangerous pastries. And, full disclosure, a couple of back-alley casinos where I ‘supported the local economy’ with inheritance I should’ve kept. So if we go, you handle the dancing and I’ll keep my hands off the dabo wheel.”

Stewart laughed outright at Koaruh’s teasing. She looked at him with genuine warmth before she leaned into him. Her forehead resting against his jaw and let herself breathe deeply, just being present with him for a long moment.

Once she felt her body relax completely and that she was calm again, she looked at him. “Come on.” She said before kissing his jaw affectionately and moving back onto the floor, looking at him expectedly. “I’m going to teach you to dance, properly” she insisted.

Koaruh stepped back, lifted a hand for silence like a maestro, and announced with scandalous confidence, “Observe: the Avestro Method.”

He planted his feet, rolled his shoulders, and… launched into something that might have been a shimmy if it hadn’t started half a beat late and drifted a full beat later. He threw in a heel-pop, then a hip-sway that overshot by a country mile, recovered with a finger-point he clearly regretted mid-air, and committed anyway because pride is a hell of a drug.

A dramatic spin followed—two turns, then an accidental third when his socks betrayed him—ending in a lopsided slide that stopped only because the mat had mercy. He clapped on the off-beat (twice), attempted a high-kick that barely cleared respectable, and finished with a chest-puff, arms wide, and a bow so deep it looked like he was apologising to the holodeck itself.

He straightened, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and unrepentant. “As you can clearly see,” he said, breathless, “I am a natural.”

A beat; the grin broke. “Please fix me.”

Stewart watched Koaruh do…whatever he was doing with incredulous amusement. “Gladly” was all she offered wry before she brushed her hands on her loose pants before she approached, stepping into his space. “It’s a good thing you can read my mind to know the steps.” She teased with a smirk as she adjusted their bodies.

Standing in each other’s space, she turned towards the open studio. “Computer, play Spanish Romance, unknown composer. Guitar arrangement.”

When the song started, instead of taking a traditional partner frame, she moved his hand to the small of her back at her waist. Her hands moving up his back and resting on his shoulder blades. Their hips pressed against the each other’s. “Follow my lead.” She said in a husky whisper.

Waiting for the rhythm of the music before all she did was simply sway her hips slowly in time with the music, guiding his hips to follow with hers. Her attention was on their hips but she didn’t need to watch their movements to guide him, she could feel it in his hips. She instead focused on how his hips followed, if he was trusting the music - trusting her.

Koaruh’s laugh was low against her temple. “Betazoid ethics, remember? No peeking.” His mouth tilted, warm and wicked. “Besides—I don’t need to. Your hips are extremely persuasive.”

He let his shoulders drop, breath finding hers as the guitar settled them. One hand stayed at the small of her back where she’d placed it; the other slid up between her shoulder blades, light and steady. He followed the slow sway, weight transferring when she asked for it without words—heel to toe, toe to heel—letting her lead write the sentence and his body finish it.

She shifted a fraction to test him; he matched it, a half-beat late at first, then right on time. The joke was gone from his face now, replaced by that open, soaking-you-in look he almost never wore outside a session.

“Okay,” he breathed, almost a whisper. “I feel it.”

Another subtle change; he tracked her easily, hips answering, hands keeping the frame soft. After a few bars he dipped his head, cheek brushing hers.

“Lesson learned,” he murmured, cheeky glint sneaking back.

Stewart only softly shushed him, her one hand moving back behind his neck to gently stroke the hair at the nape of his neck while the other relaxed at her side. All the structure and discipline of earlier gone with every step. She pulled back from his cheek just long enough for their lips to hover, eyes on his black pools.

“Just focus on the music.” She simply said with such a soft whisper it was barely audible before giving him control of the steps they took and where they moved. Decades of experience meant her hips were naturally attuned to the subtle shifts of Koaruh’s hips and she kept up with his steps effortlessly as she stared into his eyes with a softness she rarely allowed herself, much less showed.

Koaruh let the hint of a smile settle and did as told—felt the guitar first, then her. He eased his hand firmer at her waist and took the lead in small, confident steps: a slow draw left, a half-turn, a pause he let breathe before guiding them back across the floor. When she stayed with him, he risked a gentle pivot and a sway that let their hips stay close, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Right,” he murmured, barely there. “Music. You.”

He found the beat again and added a simple underarm turn—careful, unhurried—bringing her back into his chest with a quiet, pleased exhale. The cheek returned in the curve of his mouth, not in words. Another step, cleaner now, and he led them through a lazy figure-eight, body relaxed, completely present.

“Turns out,” he said at last, warm and a little breathless, “I’m trainable.”

Evelyn moved with him without issue, letting Koaruh guide them around the floor without resistance. She smiled and simply nodded in encouragement for the longest time.

One hand moved to smooth over the front of his chest, the other still playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his before gave a soft laugh at his comment. “Trainable, but you still lack discipline, Counselor.” She teased playfully about his inability to keep from talking. “Something to work on I suppose.” She whispered against his lips before edging up to have hers meet his.

Instead of pulling away though, she deepened the kiss. All her thoughts and feelings about their time together in the holodeck cementing in the kiss that was neither soft nor crushing but was tender in its firmness.

Stewart pulled him closer by his neck, hips pushing into his with clear intent when the chirp of the comm system interrupted.

=/\= Senior officers, report to the bridge.=/\= came the ship wide announcement from Commander Greco.

With a frustrated sigh, Evelyn tensed against Koaruh’s body. “Damn... Greco’s timing couldn’t be any worse.” She said with clear agitation and annoyance. Regardless, she still didn’t pull away outright, giving them just enough space to breathe but still be intimately close. She rested her forehead against his as she tried to control her temper, as if Koaruh’s touch could ground her.

Koaruh groaned softly against her mouth, forehead still resting to hers as the call cut in.

“Of course it’s Greco,” he murmured, amused despite the heat. “Man has a sixth sense for ruining perfect endings.”

He brushed his thumb along her jaw, let the moment steady. “Rain check. Same song, no interruptions.”

A quick kiss to her lower lip—promise, not goodbye—then he eased back just enough to help. He smoothed a stray lock behind her ear, handed off the towel, and snagged her water. “We’ve got two minutes. Breathe. You’re fine.”

He stepped back with a wicked little grin and a mock-formal nod. “Counsellor Avestro remains—tragically—undisciplined. But very, very motivated to finish this on the bridge…” He winked, scooped up the caddy, and offered his hand to pull her up. “Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s go make Greco regret that timing.”

Evelyn reluctantly nodded in agreement before smirking and looking over Koaruh. “If I’ve learned anything about you, Counselor, it’s that two minutes is never enough.” She teased before following him out of the holodeck.

 

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