Anniversary Waltz - Chapter Three - Rating R
Title: Anniversary Waltz (3/?)
Rating: R (mature)
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.
Summary: One year prior, the Enterprise had shipped out for its first mission under the official command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition
Please note the change in rating on this chapter.
Chapter Three
Jim rose to consciousness the moment she slipped from the bed. He watched through the veil of his lashes as she moved about the room - a wraith drifting quietly through the darkness. When she disappeared into the bathroom, he let out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. He debated whether to let her slip from his quarters believing him still asleep or to at least force her to acknowledge him before she darted back to her own room. He was unsurprised to see her emerge from the bath dressed again in her own clothing.
In the end, he let her slip away without forcing a confrontation as he imagined she preferred they simply pretend that last night had not happened. He did not need to look at the time to know that it was very early. Undoubtedly she wanted to be safely in her own quarters before the busiest shift crowded the corridors as they began their day.
“Stupid.” He chastised himself for having harbored even the smallest fantasy that they would have spent their off-duty time together.
“Damn it.” Despite the early hour and the free day looming ahead of him, he knew that sleep was lost to him now. Ordering the bedside light on low, he pushed himself up against the pillows. Grabbing a PADD from the nightstand, he began to read through the first of many reports queued in his virtual inbox. He pretended the work was distracting him from thoughts of her when in truth, brooding over her was interfering with his work.
“Face it,” he muttered aloud. “The lady’s not interested.”
He punched up a favored playlist of songs and with the music streaming over the room’s speakers, forced his attention on the report glowing on the device in his hand.
“That’s quite an eclectic playlist you have there.”
His head snapped up at the sound of her voice as the wailing guitar of late twenty-first century rock faded and gave way to the quiet lilt of a Vulcan lute.
“Yeah, well…” he said slowly. “I’m a complex guy.”
His surprise at finding her leaning against the wall was evident in the wary expression in his eyes and the biting snap of his words.
“You thought I was gone.” She pushed away from the wall.
His shoulders twitched in an irritable shrug.
“You were gone,” he pointed out in what he thought was an admirably reasonable and steady tone.
“But I came back bearing gifts.” She lifted hands burdened with two cups from which steam curled and a small carton.
She crossed the room to stand on the other side of the bed. “I hoped to be back before you woke.” She held out one of the cups. “Coffee. Careful, it’s hot. I went to the mess,” she explained. “It’s bad enough that I have to drink the replicator’s swill while on duty, but there is no way I’m going to start my day off without the good stuff.”
She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the mattress, folding her legs comfortably and crossing them at the ankles. Popping the lid off her coffee, she drew the fragrant steam deeply into her lungs. Studying him over the top of her cup, she noted the befuddled look on his face and the work scattered across his bed.
“You didn’t think I was coming back.”
He flushed as his insecurity was revealed and concentrated on removing the lid from his own cup. “I wasn’t sure what to think.” His eyes widened and flashed up to meet hers as he took the first sip and found the coffee flavored perfectly to his taste.
“You’re not the only one who’s been paying attention,” she murmured in response to his surprised expression. “I know that you take your coffee spiced rather than sweetened. I know a lot of things.”
He took another sip, hiding the pleased grin that trembled on his lips with the knowledge that his heightened awareness of her was, in some respect, reciprocated.
She shifted on the bed and toppled a haphazardly piled stack of PADDs.
“Why so many?” She picked one up.
“High priority items,” he said, touching one. “Eyes-only communications.” He tapped a finger against the one in her hand. “Supply and maintenance requests. Personnel files. This one is for my captain’s log. This one is miscellany.” He pointed to each device in turn. “My personal log, private communications, music files and other personal entertainment are on this one.” He tapped a stylus against the last one on the mattress.
“And this one’s filled with the week’s departmental reports.” He waved the device in his hands and shrugged. “It’s not all hot-dogging my way through the galaxy.”
“How do you keep it all straight?”
He gave her a blank look as if he had never given it any consideration in the past. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess, despite evidence to the contrary, I can think logically when necessary. And don’t forget. I have a secret weapon.”
“What’s that?”
“Yeoman Rand.”
Uhura laughed as he had intended, then gave him a sympathetic look as her gaze swept over the mountain of work scattered across the mattress.
“No wonder you head up so many away missions.”
“Anything to take a break from all this paperwork,” he agreed fervently, though of course they both knew that it was more than avoidance of dreaded office work which drove him.
Uhura began to stack the PADDs into a pile and moved them to the nightstand.
“No work on our day off,” she decreed as she plucked the final device from his hands and set it down with the others.
He liked the sound of the possessive pronoun falling from her lips as she laid claim to their mutual free time.
“Aye-aye, ma’am.” He readily complied with her demand and settled comfortably against the pillow propped behind his back. He took another sip from his cup and let his gaze rake idly over her. She had obviously stopped by her own quarters at some point. Her hair was caught up in its familiar jaunty tail. The dress she had worn last evening had been replaced by tailored jeans in a dark wash and a floral-sprigged blouse unfastened in the front just low enough to be interesting.
His gaze fell on the carton tucked inconspicuously against her hip. “What’s in the box?” he asked curiously.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased.
“Uh. Yeah, I would.” He lunged forward to snatch the object in question but she had anticipated his move and clapped an open palm against his bare chest.
“Uh-uh. Just sit back.” She pressed him back against the pillows. Her hand lingered on the satin warmth of his skin and he subsided willingly. She scooted closer until her crossed legs were pressed companionably against his side and lifted the box.
“Close your eyes,” she demanded suddenly.
“What?”
“You heard me. Close them!”
“Fiinnne.” His huffed sigh was meant to convey exasperated indulgence, but his quick compliance betrayed an eager curiosity.
She threw a fake punch towards his face and when he didn’t flinch in reaction, was satisfied that he wasn’t peeking. She carefully pried the lid open and lifted the carton in her hands.
“Okay,” she said. “You can look.”
He opened his eyes to find a huge slice of cake balanced in the carton in her hands, its golden layers sandwiched and covered in a thick coat of chocolate frosting.
“Ta-da,” she sang and pushed a single candle into the top of the cake.
“It’s not my birthday,” he pointed out gruffly.
“So I won’t sing,” she deadpanned. “Everyone should get the chance to make a wish on a candle at least once,” she told him as she touched a flame to the wick.
He studied her face over the tiny flickering light, looking for any sign of much-hated pity. And in searching, he found only an open look of eager expectation. Ridiculously touched, he swallowed hard against the lump which had formed in his throat. Dredging up a smile for her, he drew in an exaggerated breath and pursed his lips.
“Wait!”
He gave her a startled look.
“You have to make a wish first.”
He hesitated, hard-pressed to think of anything he could wish for beyond this moment, but dutifully closed his eyes. After a moment’s thought, his lashes parted and he extinguished the flame with a puff of air.
“Yayyyy,” she sing-songed and plucked the smoking candle from the top of the cake.
“Oh.” She clapped her free hand against her forehead. “I forgot forks.” She began to unfold her legs to climb from the bed.
Kirk’s hand shot out to wrap around her bare ankle.
“We don’t need forks.” He halted her flight from the bed and tugged her close again. Reaching out, he broke off a small piece of cake and offered it to her. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest in response. She hesitated, then leaned forward and carefully nipped the morsel into her mouth. Her tongue reflexively darted out to delicately lap a smear of frosting from his thumb and he shuddered in response.
She tasted chocolate - and him - and as desire flared to life, she broke off another piece of cake, holding it out to him. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he closed his mouth over the cake, drawing her forefinger deeply into his mouth. His tongue swirled around her finger, sucking strongly until she felt every ridge on the roof of his mouth and the strong curl of his tongue beneath and she felt an answering zing arrow through her to pulse between her legs.
He slowly released her and her finger slid from his lips, wet and glistening. Curling it protectively beneath her thumb, she pressed her fist against the nerves flitting in her belly.
His gaze fell to her mouth and he reached out to remove the carton from her hands. He fumbled blindly and tossed it onto the bedside table.
“I want you.” His voice was a throaty growl filled with need. “Please.” He hooked one finger into the waistband of her jeans and impatiently tugged her toward him.
She resisted for a moment - out of habit. But her craving for him - unleashed for the first time the prior evening - was every bit as powerful as his for her. She shifted, twining her arms around his neck and settled onto his thighs. And she kissed him. A brush of her lips against his forehead, another on the tip of his nose. She scattered kisses across his cheeks - first one, then the other - and lightly caught the tip of his earlobe between her lips, scraping her teeth over the tender flesh.
His hands clenched on her thighs and his head fell back against the headboard with an audible thud.
“You’re killing me,” he groaned. He cupped her hips in his wide hands and urged her closer.
Her breath was already coming in unsteady pants - in perfect concert with his - as evidence of his desire for her surged to life beneath the soft fabric of his clothing. She pressed her forehead to his, trying to steady herself. A quiet warning sighed in her head. She had resisted his flirtatious advances for years; some part of her having always known that being with him would not be simple.
Uhura liked simple. She craved orderly things. She was a careful, organized soul. And the men she had been with in the past were similarly reserved and tempered.
And she had never, ever, admitted to the dark attraction she had felt for Jim Kirk. She had resented it. Ignored it. Despised it.
He was reckless. Impetuous. Cocky. Cheeky.
And - as she had come to learn - complicated.
But now, here, in this room, alone with him, need pumped through her veins, and she was tired, so very tired of resisting.
It would never be simple with him. Maybe nothing would be simple again.
She was both frightened and exhilarated by the not-knowing. And accepting her fate, she melted into his embrace.
Slowly, his gaze steady on hers, he unfastened each tiny closure that ran down the front of her blouse and pushed the fabric off her shoulders, leaning forward to press hot lips to the fragrant flesh he’d bared.
A shuddering sigh escaped her lips as his mouth traveled from the ball of her shoulder, his tongue leaving a heated trail across her clavicle before he buried his lips against the hollow at the base of her throat where he could feel each frantic flutter of her pulse.
Her hands traveled restlessly over his bare torso, pressing, testing and caressing each clearly defined group of muscles and she was struck again - as she had been the previous evening - by the beauty of his form.
He wanted to tear the clothes from her body, roll her beneath him and bury himself deeply within her. A shudder rolled through his body as he fought against his baser instincts.
He knew now that this was going to happen and he wanted more than just a frantic coupling.
He felt his stomach leap with nerves because always, always in the past fast and furious sex had been enough. But at this moment, with this woman, he wanted more. The idea frightened him, but he could not move beyond it. He would not rush this.
Counseling patience, he ran his knuckles over the curves of her breasts where they swelled over the cups of her bra. His fingers played with the tiny clasp between her breasts as their mouths met in an endless series of deep, wet kisses.
She pulled back, breathing heavily and slowly lifted her hands, unhooking the clasp of her bra and drawing the delicate straps from her shoulders. His gaze drugged with desire, he used the tips of his fingers to brush the soft fabric away from her breasts.
Her hands were braced on his shoulders and he turned his head, brushing his lips over the inside of one wrist.
“Your pulse is pounding,” he whispered against her skin.
She leaned forward and laved her tongue along the corded tendon that stood out along his neck.
“So is yours.”
His arms wound around her waist and he lowered his mouth to her breast, his tongue curling warm and wet around a nipple. Her fingers clenched in the thick strands of his hair even as she arched, flowing gracefully over his supportive embrace.
Then his fingers were pulling at the snap of her jeans and hers were tearing at the drawstring of his cotton pants. He shoved his hands inside her jeans, pushing her underwear down her legs along with the heavy denim as she cursed the knotted drawstring. A little cry of triumph escaped her as the knot came loose and they peeled the last remaining barrier away together.
They rolled over and he tore at the elastic which bound her hair. He combed his fingers through the ebony silk, spreading it over her shoulders and across the rumpled sheets.
She was a woman who knew her own body, who knew what she liked and didn’t. But, oh! How could she have ever known that it could be like this? That she could want so much?
He was a man who knew women - knew how to give them pleasure - but wanted little more from them. How could he have not known that with this woman the physical would not be enough? That he could want so much more?
Her arms and legs curled around him in a four-limbed embrace as his body curved over hers, protective and dominant all at once. She arched, accepting the long, slow slide of invasion and she exhaled - a breathy sigh of satisfaction as he filled her. She saw his eyes, beautiful and blue and felt his hands smooth sweat-dampened hair away from her cheeks.
He moved - and she arched to meet him. His palms met hers, stretching their arms over her head. Their bodies - young and strong - moved together, their gazes locked. She felt a moment’s fear, and saw it answered in his eyes. And then they were climbing. Reaching. Falling. And everything else was lost to the glory of the moment.
Her head was spinning and she was unable to move or draw a deep breath. She should have listened to her instincts to avoid him for he had surely killed her, she thought.
He moaned and her next thought was that it was okay for perhaps she had killed him too.
It seemed a fair exchange to her way of thinking.
She dragged open her eyes and realized immediately the cause for her dizziness as her head was dangling off the edge of the bed, her hair streaming down in a dark waterfall to kiss the floor. Kirk was sprawled over her, his weight pinning her to the mattress, his heart still thundering against hers.
He raised his head enough to see the way hers was flopped over the side of the mattress and with a Herculean effort, sat up and dragged her onto the bed, settling her head comfortably on a pillow.
Missing him immediately, she murmured a protest and reached for him. He eagerly complied, covering her again with his body. They drifted contentedly. His head nestled between her breasts he listened to the steady thrum of her heart beneath his ear and toyed with the silken ends of her hair. She reveled in the warm weight of his body pressing hers into the tousled sheets and her hands skated up and down the length of his spine, enjoying the shiver she drew from him each time her fingers brushed over the small of his back.
The peaceful interlude was interrupted by the rumbling of her stomach. She giggled - a girlish sound that drew him onto his elbows to grin into her face.
“I should feed you.” He craned his neck to see the time. “Are they still serving breakfast?”
“Um… hello?” She rapped her knuckles against his skull. “I brought breakfast, remember?”
“Hell, no!” He exclaimed. “We’re not eating that cake. I’m having it bronzed. Lacquered. Preserved for eternity under glass.”
“Oh yeah?” she laughed. “Why’s that?”
“That cake must be magic,” he said. “I made a wish on it and minutes later it came true.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. The cake isn’t magic.” She raised her head from the pillow and brushed her lips against his ear. “It was the frosting,” she whispered. “Chocolate makes me crazy.”
“In that case, I’ll buy you pounds of it,” he told her. “I’ll see to it that your monthly pay comes in the form of chocolate bars rather than credits.” He reared up and pulled her alongside him. Stretching across her, he snatched the carton from the nightstand.
“You can have it all. As a matter-of-fact, I insist. You should have it all.” He pushed the cake toward her.
She laughed and slipped comfortably beneath the sheets. “I think there’s enough to share.” She dipped a finger into the frosting and sucked it into her mouth. “But I want a fork this time.” The sheet fell and pooled around her hips and he could not resist brushing gentle fingers over the satiny skin, stirring a soft nipple back to life.
“God.” Her forehead fell against his and she wrapped a hand around his wrist. “A fork,” she whispered. “Go.” She shoved a weak hand against his shoulder.
He pressed a quick kiss against the swell of her breast before bounding out of bed to stride unselfconsciously nude through the partition that separated the two rooms. She heard him rattling through a drawer and then he reappeared, a fork clutched in each hand. He slid under the covers and curled one arm over her shoulder. She shifted and rested her head comfortably against his chest and they made quick work of the cake, devouring every last crumb.
“What was your real wish?” she asked as she consumed the last bite of cake.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you,” he murmured into her hair. “Even I know not to reveal a wish made on a candle.”
She craned her head back and pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw. Sated in every way, she slid down on the mattress and stretched her limbs languidly. He propped himself up on one elbow and idly traced circles around her navel through the sheet.
“We still have most of the day ahead of us,” he noted. “What do you want to do?”
She rolled her head toward him, blinking sleepily. “I thought we were already doing it.”
“Yeah?” he smiled. “You just want to spend the day here?”
She pushed him onto his back and curled up against him. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she laid one hand against the center of his chest, a distant part of her brain noting the pleasing contrast of the darkness of her skin against the golden flesh of his torso.
Wrapping her arms around him, she rubbed her cheek against his chest and nodded. And endless cycle of sleeping and making love loomed ahead. In this place, at this moment, she was happy.
“Yes,” she sighed contentedly. “Let’s just stay here.”
TBC