Chapter Text
It was an unusual way of sleeping, but Troi had seen worse. Across the room, Riker caught her eye with one of his crooked smiles, the one he always got when he was trying not to laugh, and through their connection, Troi felt his wide-eyed delight — as ever. Bright and sparkling, so much more enthusiastic than other humans when they were amused.
“I don’t like it,” said Picard flatly.
“It’s diplomacy, sir,” said Riker, wiping his smile away for an innocent look. “I think the Urtonok might be offended if we say no.”
“Easy for you to say, Number One,” Picard snapped. “Shared sleeping quarters is your dream.”
“And co-ed, too,” said Data helpfully.
Picard grumbled to himself and picked his way around the large, comfortable-looking nest. A rounded mattress covered most of the floor, the cushions rising at the edges of the circle to form a wall that pushed the inhabitants together. A veritable mound of blankets — silky or fluffy, heavy and light — filled the nest. And pillows of all shapes and sizes, and luxurious eyemasks to block out the light.
“The Urtonok are communal sleepers,” Data informed the group.
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander, I had guessed as much,” said Picard waspishly. He picked a spot far away from everyone else and lay down, legs tight together and arms crossed over his chest. He looked for all the world like he was waiting for a mortician to sling him into a coffin. Behind Troi, Riker lost his battle for self-control and laughed aloud.
“Dibs on the body pillow,” he said, shrugging out of his uniform tunic.
“I do not think undressing is necessary, Number One,” said Picard, looking hostile.
“Sir, I’m not gonna sleep in my pants. These things pinch enough during the day.”
“Pinch?” asked Data, head cocked.
“Figure of speech,” Geordi told him, tossing his own uniform jacket over the back of a nearby chair. He deactivated his VISOR and shook his head, like he could drum the headache away. “It means Commander Riker is too big for his britches.”
“Too big for his—?”
“Goodnight,” said Picard loudly, his eyes squeezed shut. “I expect everyone to behave themselves with unquestionable Starfleet comportment! There will be no pillow talk, no late-night giggling, and absolutely no—”
Riker lowered himself into the nest, lost his balance, and clutched at Troi’s arm. She toppled over on top of him, both of them gasping and laughing, leaning into each other.
“Commander Riker!” said Picard, scandalized.
“Sorry,” Troi laughed, rolling off Riker’s chest. “Sorry, Captain. That was my fault.”
He gave her a beady-eyed look. Slowly, the nest filled up, with Data and Geordi lying next to each other on one end of the circle, Picard on the other, various ensigns and lieutenants awkwardly filling in. Riker curled up happily in the middle, clutching the body pillow against his stomach, and Troi studied him for a moment before she laid down at his side. She slung an arm over his waist, letting him be the little spoon, and resisted the sudden, backwards urge to kiss his neck, where he was ticklish.
He chuckled and flinched, one shoulder raised to ward her off, like he could feel it anyway. Imzadi, Troi thought, full of fondness. I didn’t even touch you. And then she imagined kissing the back of his neck longer, gentler, just a ghost of her breath against his skin, and even though it was only imaginary, Riker gasped and squirmed away from her with another breathless laugh.
“For God’s sake,” said Picard in a grumble, “is it too much to ask for no giggling?”