Fic: The Wakandan Encounter| Kirk/OFC, Spock/Uhura| NC 17
Fic: The Wakandan Encounter
Author: ficsoreal
Pairing: Kirk/OFC, Spock/Uhura
Rating: NC 17
Words: ~7300
Summary: When the Enterprise rescues a pair of stranded civilians, Kirk indulges a fantasy and dodges the real issue.
Notes/Warnings: Shape-shifting.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
During the alpha shift, the artificial lights on the bridge are almost blinding in their intensity. The newly repaired Enterprise gleams under the powerful rays, preening. The various beeps and clicks of machine and crew doing their jobs have become as familiar as the stale, recycled air flowing through the ship.
James T. Kirk shifts in his chair, black booted feet planted firmly on the floor, and taps his fingers on the arm rest. Ensign Mathison walks across his field of view and he blinks. He glances over at Spock, but the back of Spock’s head appears exactly the same, delicately pointed ears, shiny, black hair in a perfectly straight line against his neck. Kirk’s fingers curl into fists.
No one told him while they were patting his back and giving him medals that ninety five percent of the time, he would be bored enough to consider breaking things just for the chance to put them back together again.
He doesn’t sigh because sighing is unprofessional. Plus, he doesn’t want Chekov to turn around and give him the big eyes of concern. He shifts in his chair again. McCoy is probably busy in the sickbay, taking care of the day to day minutia involved in maintaining the health of such a large, diverse crew. Kirk gives serious thought to paying the good doctor a visit; then shakes his head. McCoy would probably just throw him out for being in the way.
No one else seems to be experiencing the boredom plaguing him. The rest of the crew appears perfectly content, absorbed with their individual tasks and side projects.
Kirk frowns. There is no way he’s the only person that’s bored as hell right now. The ship is just cruising along on autopilot, nothing to see but the blackness of night and the twinkle of distant stars. Humanitarian and peacekeeping organization his ass. He would do anything for some action right about now.
His gaze skitters back over to Spock. Spock is staring intently at the screen in front of him. Most likely filling out a crossword puzzle, Jim thinks. There’s only so much obscure research Spock can immerse himself in.
The line of Spock’s back underneath his blue shirt is straight, posture unfailingly correct. Even at the end of consecutive shifts, Spock never gives the impression of being tired. It irks him, Spock’s perfectly ordered appearance, and makes Kirk want to tear down his walls.
He doesn’t know how Uhura stands it. He certainly couldn’t, couldn’t go home to someone so exacting and cold. Kirk’s man enough to admit he likes cuddling; he wants to be able to reach out and touch when he wants to, careless touches and easy smiles. Spock doesn’t make him feel like cuddling; Spock makes him want to bite. The other Spock isn’t so uptight. He’s worn around the edges, tempered in a way Kirk’s Spock isn’t. He shakes his head. It’s dangerous for him to be thinking of Spock in terms of ownership. He shouldn’t even be pondering Spock and Uhura’s relationship at all. They work together. Okay, good. Whatever.
“Captain.” Uhura’s voice startles him from his thoughts and he jerks around to face her. She frowns at him over her shoulder, brown eyes narrowed, concentration only faintly laced with irritation. Her mouth tips down at one corner before she says, “We’re being hailed; it sounds like a distress signal.”
Everything snaps into sharp focus, the soft haze of boredom gone in an instant. Finally, something. The adrenalin rush is quick and heady; making his body hum and his cock tighten in anticipation. McCoy might be on to something with his incessant babbling about crossed wires and thrill seeking behaviors. There’s definitely something wrong with him and he loves it. He spins back around in his chair and all eyes are on him. Spock has even deigned to turn away from his station, watching for his captain’s next move, hands crossed and still in front of him. “Ensign Chekov, is someone out there?”
“Sir,” Chekov pushes a couple of buttons, mouth pursed in concentration, “there appears to be a personal shuttlecraft drifting at the edge of our sigma quadrant. The ship is alone.”
Sulu turns to look at him. “The craft appears quite sophisticated for a civilian ship, Captain.”
The day is suddenly looking up. “Plot a course. Lieutenant Sulu, take us closer.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel; let’s see what they have to say for themselves.”
“Channel open, Sir.” The focus turns to the front as the viewing panel flickers briefly before the signal strengthens.
A young humanoid male becomes visible on the screen and someone behind Kirk’s shoulder murmurs, “Well,” softly and he can’t blame them. He studies the man’s image, taking in strong features, framed with thick brown hair, standing with bearing more military than Kirk’s has ever been.
He stands up from his chair. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. What is the nature of your distress?”
“Captain,” and damn, even the guy’s voice is sexy, “my name is Emile. We were returning to our planet when we were set upon by what I assume to be outlaws. Although, we managed to successfully evade capture, in doing so, we have found ourselves far off course and without the energy needed to return home.” A loud clank and a burst of sparks erupted behind his shoulder. Emile’s mouth twists a bit and he adds, “We also have sustained quite a bit of damage.”
He glances at Spock out of the corner of his eye and Spock looks back impassively. No encouragement, but no warning either. “You say ‘we’. How many are in your crew?”
Emile turns to look off screen and holds out a hand. “Just my sister, Ryliin.”
Kirk absolutely does not swallow his tongue when Emile’s sister steps into the frame; he admits to biting it. Ryliin smiles, pushing blond curls out of her lovely face, and Kirk swears he hears half the people on the bridge sigh longingly. She barely reaches her brother’s shoulder and her outfit is certainly…well tailored. He smiles helplessly in return and says, “We would be delighted to help. Prepare for transport.” Emile nods and the picture fades out. He turns to Spock with the same smile. “Mr. Spock, you’ll keep my seat warm for me while I go greet our guests, right? Ensign Chekov, bring the ship up to speed.”
Spock doesn’t dignify his question with an answer, simply stands and moves to the captain’s chair. He waits until Kirk is about to leave the bridge to say, “Perhaps, some extra security would be prudent.”
Kirk pauses and takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.” He jerks his head at the two guards standing at the door. He receives several curious looks as he walks down to the transporter room to the tune of Chekov’s accent, a spring in his step and silent guards at his side. McCoy joins their little entourage before they reach their destination, step brisk and face disgruntled. “I hear we’re beaming aboard some stranded travelers. Any injuries?”
“Not that we know of, but it wouldn’t hurt to have you check them over.”
McCoy grunts and they make the last turn to the transporter in silence. Scotty beams at them. “Captain. We’re just about to beam them aboard, frequencies locked.”
“At your discretion, Lieutenant.”
McCoy mutters under his breath at the familiar shimmer of the transporters and Kirk smirks. McCoy’s distrust of technology is becoming as legendary as his bedside manner. The grumbling cuts out abruptly as Emile and Ryliin materialize on the transporter pads. McCoy says, “Sweet Georgia Peach,” and it sounds like a prayer.
Kirk understands the sentiment. He steps forward and both Emile and Ryliin focus on him. The view screen failed to prepare him for the sheer force of their perfection. He says, “Welcome aboard the Starship Enterprise,” and only years of practice keeps his voice from wavering like a boy’s.
Ryliin says, “A beautiful ship.” Her long purple skirt drags along the floor as she steps down and into Kirk’s personal space, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “We are so grateful for your help.”
“Not…a problem,” Kirk says, mouth suddenly dry. He licks his lips and Ryliin’s gaze drops to his mouth briefly. Yeah, boredom, what boredom? McCoy clears his throat pointedly behind him and he takes a step back, reestablishing boundaries, because he’s a professional. He barely catches Emile’s aside to his sister which sounds suspiciously like, “Behave yourself.”
McCoy steps up beside him and he says, “This is our Chief Medical Officer, Dr McCoy. If there is anything that needs attending…” He lets the sentence trail off.
Emile smiles; there’s a smudge of oil along his cheek. “Nothing that a shower and some rest will not fix.”
Kirk stares at him a moment too long and McCoy elbows him subtly in the side. He glares at McCoy before saying, “Of course. I’d just like to discuss a few things before you head off to your rooms. If you’ll come with me.”
As a ship designed for independent living for five years, the Enterprise is a fully stacked lady. Kirk leads them to a small conference room. “Take a seat.” Ryliin and Emile settle into chairs facing him and McCoy and the red shirted guards cross their arms in front of their chests at the door. “We just need to make a record of this incident in the ship’s log.” Kirk leans across the table and flips on the recorder. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, also present Dr. Leonard McCoy, Ensigns Basarte and Johnson. The Enterprise has rescued two unregistered civilians in the sigma quadrant. Unregistered civilians, please, state your full names for the record.”
“Emile tol Selwyn elder son of Selwyn from Wakanda.”
“Ryliin tal Selwyn.”
“Explain how you came to be stranded in the sigma quadrant.” He keeps his body language open and nonthreatening.
Ryliin looks toward Emile and he starts to talk. “We were returning from visiting our father’s father, when a ship appeared out of nowhere and opened fire. Luckily, their weapons were fairly weak and our parents’ believe in only the best for their little princess.” He cuts his eyes at Ryliin and she slaps his shoulder lightly. “Our shields held long enough for us to escape pursuit, but after the relief wore off, we realized that our shuttle was trashed and we were out of fuel.”
“Truly, you arrived just as our spirits were beginning to fail,” Ryliin says and she daps at the corner of her eyes. McCoy reaches over and grabs a tissue, pushes it at her. Her fingers overlap McCoy’s briefly as she accepts the tissue and she gives him a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
Emile wraps an arm around her shoulders protectively and she leans against his side. “We are in your debt, Captain.”
McCoy is giving Ryliin a moon eyed look and Kirk would be laughing at him if he didn’t feel like going out and slaying a dragon or two just to make her smile. It’s an unsettling feeling. He clears his throat. “A good thing we were in the area. We have the best people possible at the helm and I’m sure we’ll be able to get you home in good time.” He flips the recorder off.
**
For all his complaining, being away from the bridge for an extended amount of time during one of his assigned shifts makes him itch. After he makes sure Ryliin and Emile are settled into adjoining rooms and leaves them in the capable hands of security, Kirk heads back to the bridge. It’s become a habit to pause and survey the bridge when he returns; everything is still in perfect order. Spock stands up as he walks toward the captain’s chair. “Everything in order, Captain?”
“They’re settled into their rooms. I’m going to have engineering take a look at their ship. See if it can be saved before we lay in our course. Anything to report?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“Very well, Mr. Spock.
Kirk settles into his chair and Spock has indeed kept it warm for him. The lingering heat makes him think about curling around the Vulcan in the cold of night or how sinking into Spock would be the hottest, tightest thing ever. Okay, the attraction is there, the little zing of awareness in Spock’s presence, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s attracted to upwards of twelve people a day and most of the time nothing ever comes of it. Besides, he’s too smart to sow unrest on his ship. The vague warnings and admonishments McCoy, Pine and every other ranking officer at the Academy had seen fit to give him flutter through his mind. A starship is a small place, a captain has to set the example, be a paragon of virtue, you are in a position of authority, Jim. All designed to remind him not to stir the pot; he gets it, thanks.
Looking is not forbidden, though, and Spock watching has fast become one of his favorite pastimes, right up there with making McCoy snarl and watching Uhura walk. He would bet anything that no one took it upon themselves to give Spock the same speech and Spock’s the one having sex with another crew member. They probably all believe Spock is above petty jealousies and if anything ever went wrong between him and Uhura they would handle it in a logical, adult manner. Bullshit.
**
The ship has several rooms dedicated to dining: the main dining room, the one for senior officers and the formal dining room for visiting dignitaries. Kirk nearly always eats in the main hall, because he likes to be in the thick of things. Members of the crew he’s only vaguely familiar with hum around the crowded room, carrying trays loaded with everything from hamburgers to something that looks like dirty rocks to Kirk’s undiscerning eye.
Some day when he’s less hungry than he is at the moment, Kirk plans on taking the time to scroll through the replicator menu and actually try some of the more interesting options. This evening, he just wants pizza.
He’s well into his second slice of pepperoni goodness when he spots Ryliin weaving her way through the dining hall with a plate piled high with fruit. He swallows his mouthful hastily and stands as she approaches the table. She’s no longer wearing the purple outfit, dressed simply in pale blue.
“May I join you?” The smile on her face suggests she already knows the answer and Kirk hates to disappoint.
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”
He watches as she delicately picks apart a bunch of grapes and pops them one by one into her mouth. No one can convince him that the deliberation, the overt sensuality she manages to infuse the act of eating is coincidental. He’s about to offer her a more private tour of the ship ending with his bedroom, when the swing of a familiar ponytail catches his eye over her shoulder.
Uhura is walking beside Spock, their plates are way too green for Kirk’s taste. It’s a surprise to see them in the main hall; Spock prefers the quieter atmosphere of the senior hall. Spock doesn’t pull Uhura’s chair out for her, but it doesn’t seem as if she expects him to.
“Is she yours?” Ryliin asks.
What? “What?” Kirk jerks his attention back to Ryliin and her eyebrows are just beginning to furrow. He glances back at the couple across the room, action unbidden.
Ryliin says, “The woman you’re staring at. Is she yours?” She gives Uhura and Spock a considering look, head tilted to the side. “Is she with him?”
Kirk laughs uncomfortably. He hates to think he’s so transparent. “Lieutenant Uhura is one of the most important members of my crew. We have a strictly professional relationship and I doubt she would approve of this conversation.” He changes the subject. “Are your quarters sufficient? You seem to be well rested.”
Ryliin refocuses on him after one last look across the room, says, “They are very comfortable, thank you.” She bites into a plump strawberry and she is easily one of the most stunning women he’s ever seen. They sit in silence as she nibbles her fruit and watch people finish their dinner.
He’s so lost in his contemplation of her features that he nearly jumps out of his skin when she reaches across the table and places her hand carefully on top of his. “It must be difficult for you having to work with them every day, to see their happiness in each other.”
Kirk blinks and it takes him a moment to realize that Ryliin’s talking about Spock and Uhura. The abrupt return to their previous conversation makes him frown and he pulls his hand away.
“I can see that you are not ready to confront your feelings.” Ryliin looks at him with sympathetic eyes. “It pains me to see you suffer, Captain.”
Kirk pushes his plate away, no longer hungry. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“No,” Ryliin says, “the mistakes here are not my own.” She draws her hand back across the table and stands up. “Thank you for sharing your table.” Her curls sway against her back as she walks away.
Spock and Uhura are still seated at their table engaged in an intense conversation. Kirk grabs his tray and Ryliin’s, disposes of them. Uhura glances his way briefly before turning back to Spock. Spock doesn’t give any indication that he’s noticed him at all.
The quietness of the bridge leaves him with too much time to think.
At the close of the day, Kirk’s tossing and turning the previous night is catching up with him and he crawls into the cool sheets on his bed with an appreciative moan. There’s approximately three days until they reach Wakanda and he needs to catch up on his beauty rest. If the rest of the inhabitant’s of Wakanda look anything like Ryliin and Emile, he needs to be at the top of his game, not black eyed with exhaustion. Fortunately, sleep comes easily.
His bed dips underneath the weight of another body and Kirk jerks awake, disoriented. He scrambles upright instinctively, blinking his eyes rapidly in the darkness and even as his vision clears he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Uhura?”
“Captain.” She grins at him, teeth flashing white in the dimness of his room and she’s still wearing her uniform, red skirt crawling even higher up her sleek thighs as she perches on the edge of his bed. She puts a hand in the middle of his chest and shoves him back down, knocks the breath right out of him. Fuck.
He gasps, hands coming up automatically to rest on her hips as she straddles his thighs. He’s caught between pushing her off and running like hell and pulling her down against his dick which is rapidly becoming interested in the proceedings. He swallows raggedly and asks, “What the hell are you doing in my room?” Sleep is still clinging to the edges of his mind, clouding his thoughts.
“This is what you wanted, right, Captain?” and it still amazes him how much Captain sounds like asshole coming out of her mouth. She grabs his wrists and pushes his hands up by his head, settling into his lap and he can’t help but press upward, nothing separating them but his boxers and the thin material of her panties.
“Okay, okay,” he says, trying to buy time, clear his mind, fucking breathe. It doesn’t help. He wasn’t expecting this, wishing for, dreaming about, but not expecting. Uhura has obviously come down with some sort of space sickness, gotten hold of some strange substance that’s altering her mental status. He says as much. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Does Spock know you’re here? Where is he?” Oh God, he’s going to die. Spock is going to kill him slowly, pull out his fingernails one by one and stuff his own dick up his ass. “Is this part of some secret plan to get me killed? He knows Uhura barely tolerates him but a plot to get him murdered is taking dislike a bit far.
“What’s crazy about wanting to give you what you desire?” She smiles down at him, unconcerned, and lets him go to pull her tunic over her head. He touches; this is not the way life long friendships are built. This is how they’re destroyed. He sends out a quick mental apology to the old Spock, his Spock and McCoy for the extra work he’s going to have to do to put Kirk back together again after Spock tries to tear him limb for limb.
He remembers everything about the time before at Academy when he watched from beneath Gaila’s bed as Uhura stripped down to her matching white bra and panties. She’s not wearing white tonight, small breasts encased in pale pink lace, matching boy cut briefs hugging her hips. She asks, “Do you like what you see?” and she leans back, lengthening her torso and pushing her hips forward.
“Yes,” he says, drinking it all in, but an oddly shaped mark low on her abdomen catches his eye and he starts to frown. He doesn’t remember that being there, although before he can even begin to try to form a question, Uhura’s leaning down to kiss him, mouth soft and welcoming on his.
She tastes delicious, exactly as he’s imagined and he rocks up against her. Every fantasy he’s ever had about her comes rushing to the forefront of his mind. He wants to do everything to her, spread her open and lick her up until his chin is wet with her. Her hair tickles his neck and he breaks the kiss, mouthing along her jaw line until he can suck her earlobe into his mouth. She moans softly and he wonders if this is how Spock touches her, if he’s as methodical in bed as he is in life. Spock probably has every sensitive spot on her body mapped out and memorized. He probably knows the exact combination of touches to bring her off in the least amount of time.
“Pay attention to me,” Uhura suddenly demands, her hands going around to undo her own bra and Kirk snaps back to the situation at hand, pushing thoughts of Spock into a dark corner of his mind.
Her nipples are hard and he wants to taste them. He encourages her to crawl up his body and she does so eagerly. The curves of her breast are slight, the skin between them just beginning to get damp and Kirk licks the gathering moisture there before drawing a hard tip into his mouth.
Uhura clenches her hands in his hair holding him to her and he can feel her rubbing herself against his stomach. She’s hot against his skin and he sneaks a finger beneath the edge of her panties and growls when he can’t touch her the way he likes. Her fingers tighten in his hair, trying to keep him where she wants him, but he shakes her off to say, “I’ll get you some new ones,” before taking a firm grip on the fragile material of her underwear and tugging.
The lace puts up little resistance in the face of his aggression and Uhura’s eyes go wide and then liquid with heat. Fuck, she’s wet. He thumbs her clit and she rolls her hips upward, giving him room to sink two fingers into her. She gasps and he pushes deep, loving the feel of her.
“James,” she says and it throws him enough that he pauses, mouth pressed to her collarbone, hand between her spread legs.
“Jim,” he says and tips his head back to look up at her.
“Jim,” she repeats, “Jim, fuck me,” and she reaches down to palm his dick.
Kirk flips her over onto her back, squirming out of his boxers. Her legs spread easily and he pulls one knee up to get more room to work. He fists his cock, rubbing the head against her, getting it slick before lining up and pushing in.
Fuck, he’s an asshole and he’s going to deserve every broken bone Spock gives him, but it’s absolutely worth it. Maybe they’re just not meant to be best friends in this reality. He tries to keep his strokes even, working on making it as good for her as it is for him. She locks her ankles around his waist and digs her nails into his back, whispering encouragement into his ear.
Kirk wants to make it last, wants to draw it out until the sheets are ringing wet, but Uhura’s gripping him so sweetly and the rhythm is just right. He worms a hand between them to rub at her clit and she clenches tight around him for a long moment before these hungry little contractions start, pulling the pleasure from him.
He wraps a hand around her shoulder, several strands of her hair getting caught around his fingers; the feel of the tiny strands breaking as he pulls her down on his cock one more time at the periphery of his attention.
She runs a comforting hand over the back of his head and lets him rest against her while he catches his breath. It is several moments before he can gather up enough strength to move back and collapse at her side.
“Was it every thing you were hoping for, Captain?” Uhura’s voice is teasing.
“Fuck, yes.” He sounds drugged even to his own ears and he hopes she doesn’t expect him to hold a conversation because sleep is already dragging his eyes shut.
“Good,” he hears faintly and she runs her fingers through his hair one more time before darkness claims him.
Kirk wakes up alone and freaked the fuck out. What the hell was he thinking? That’s right; he wasn’t thinking. Okay, this is totally not his fault. He was in his own room, sleeping the sleep of the innocent when Uhura attacked him with her supple, tight body. How was he supposed to resist that? He brings his hands up to cover his face. Yeah, he’s going to die.
Something catches in his eyelashes and he moves his hands away from his face. Several strands of long blond hair are curling around his fingers. He frowns and shakes the hairs free impatiently. The sheets are tangled around his legs and he shoves them away, nearly falling out of the bed he’s so intent of getting clean, dressed and tracking Uhura down to get some fucking answers. The scrap of pink lace Uhura was wearing last night catches his eye as he rights himself. He picks it up and places it on the bedside table on his way to the shower.
In the bathroom, he assesses the damage. There are scratches down his back, low on his ass, a bite mark at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His mouth is swollen and he can feel the ache in his thighs. He reaches out to turn the water on and steps into the shower away from the mirror.
**
Kirk doesn’t know what he expects when he steps onto the bridge. That’s a lie; he expects a repeat performance of Spock choking him over the navigation console while the rest of the crew watches on in confusion. That doesn’t happen. He steps onto the bridge and Spock says, “Captain,” and moves to take his assigned place at his own console and Uhura doesn’t even look up from whatever she’s scrolling through on the screen in front of her.
Okay, so Spock doesn’t know or he doesn’t care. Kirk pauses, taken aback by the lack of fireworks. Regardless, he knows he can’t just march up to Uhura in front of everyone and demand answers. If Spock doesn’t know, he sure as hell doesn’t want to be the one to tip him off. So, he sits in his chair and stews, wallowing in all the ways this situation is not his fault and conveniently downplaying the reasons why it is. The way things are going he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole ship mutinied and left him marooned (again) on some dangerous planet. No one, not even McCoy, is going to take his side this time.
Waiting goes against his nature and even though he’s been working on developing patience, he hasn’t quite got it down yet. This is going to be another instance when the will to wait is overpowered by the need to act. He stands abruptly, drawing quite a few eyes, and says, “Lieutenant Uhura, please, come with me. Mr. Spock, assume the position.” Sulu snorts and Spock’s eyebrows go up slightly before furrowing. Uhura looks slightly baffled, but stands to follow him after pressing a few keys. He really has to hand it to her, because she has innocent down to a science.
“Is there something wrong, Captain?” Uhura asks as they walk down the hall. Kirk doesn’t have any particular destination in mind, just somewhere away from prying eyes.
He stops in one of the natural bends of a little used hallway and spins around to face Uhura. “We need to talk about last night.”
She frowns at him. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on!” Kirk throws his hands up in the air. “You can drop the act, okay? I was there.”
Uhura puts her hand on her hips and the confusion is giving way to irritation. “What act? Where?”
He points a finger at her and he might be shaking, but who can really say. “Last night in my room, when you climbed into my bed and we, you know.”
Her mouth is hanging open now and she closes and opens it a few times before gathering herself enough to ask, “Is this some kind of joke, because I assure you that I was nowhere near your room last night.” Uhura’s hands are clenched into fists at her side.
“Then how do you explain these?” Kirk pulls the mangled remains of the lacy pink underwear from his back pocket and waves them at her.
Uhura jumps back like they might attack her and asks, “Are you insane?” Her nose is wrinkled and her mouth is scrunched up in distaste. “I don’t know where those came from, but they are not mine and this conversation is over, Captain. She spins on her heel and marches off down the hall back toward the bridge.
He watches her go, thoughts swirling, and things that seemed inconsequential at the time, start adding up to an alarming conclusion. Making a snap decision, Kirk retraces his steps to a transporter and punches the button that will take him to the floor that houses the guest quarters. His knock at Ryliin’s door is quickly answered; Ryliin gives him a brilliant smile and waves him inside, but he’s taken aback to discover Emile sitting in one of the extra chairs in her room. Emile gives him a nod, mouth curving upward at the corners.
He waits until the door is closed behind him and turns to Ryliin. “I was hoping to speak with you alone,” he says.
Emile stands and Kirk is reminded of how solid the other man is. “Is there a problem, Captain? Is my sister in some kind of trouble?” He shoots Ryliin a look as if her already knows the answer.
Kirk takes a moment to consider, remembering Emile’s admonishment to his sister in the transporter room. Maybe Ryliin makes a habit of this sort of thing. He gives Emile a reassuring smile. “No problem.” He waits until Emile exits the room with one last censuring look at his sister and says, “Last night, a woman who appeared very much like Lieutenant Uhura entered my private quarters,” he watches Ryliin to check her reaction, “but this morning when I asked the Lieutenant about the events that took place, she denied any participation.”
Ryliin crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one hip; a smile is hovering at the edges of her lips. “I do not understand what the problem is here, Captain. A beautiful lady that you desired greatly visited your quarters for a little fun and no harm was done.”
“No harm was done? The only reason I’m not having you arrested for mind control is the fact that I know Lieutenant Uhura doesn’t have a birth mark on her stomach and the blond hairs you left in my bed.” He stalks across the floor to grab Ryliin’s upper arms. “Explain yourself.”
Ryliin looks up at him, mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated. “I wanted to thank you for your help. It seemed liked the best way. ”
“By making me believe that I was fucking my Lieutenant?” Kirk frowns down at her.
“You wanted her and I gave her to you.” Ryliin appears to flicker in front of him and her eyes change first, vibrant blue darkening to chocolate brown. Kirk gasps and releases his hold on her as blond curls smooth out and gather into a long black ponytail, pale white skin becoming a rich brown. The detail is amazing; if Kirk hadn’t witnessed the transformation with his own eyes, he would swear that Uhura was standing in front of him.
“See,” Ryliin tells him in Uhura’s voice, “simple.” She twirls in front of him and even the simple pink sheath she was wearing has changed into a replica of Uhura’s favorite version of the Starfleet uniform. Ryliin looks up at him and despite knowing better, Kirk still wants to reach out and touch, trace Uhura’s features.
“How is this even possible?” he murmurs, eyes flickering over Ryliin’s face.
“It’s a gift of our people,” Ryliin answers, “all of us are capable of altering our physical appearance to some degree. My brother has always been particularly talented at the art, but he frowns on using the ability for fun. He can be quite rigid.”” She places her hands on Kirk’s chest, peering up at him. “Not like you, Captain. A man like you knows how to have fun.”
The jut of Uhura’s chin has always called out to him and he traces a finger down Ryliin’s jaw line to the delicate point. Ryliin smiles and whispers, “We’re not hurting anybody; this can be our little secret. You can have me, her, anyway you want.”
Heat flares low in Kirk’s stomach at the thought. He wants to take her up on her offer and Ryliin knows it. “What’s your pleasure, Captain? Have you dreamed about having Uhura on her knees for you or perhaps, the other way around? You proving your worth between her thighs?”
She slides a hand down to cup him through his pants and he startles. Kirk grabs her wrist, thumb stroking down over her palm gently. “I have to get back to the bridge.”
Ryliin says, “Of course,” and watches him leave with satisfied eyes.
He reclaims his chair without explanation of his absence from the bridge and no one questions him despite several curious looks. Uhura gives him a mild look before turning back to her station, ponytail swaying slightly.
Kirk looks over at Spock; he’s settled back at his station, scrolling through pages with text too small for Kirk to read over the distance that separates them. “Mr. Spock.” Spock turns to face him. “How common is the ability to read minds?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “There are currently fifty four species that possess some degree of telepathy according to Starfleet registries, thirty eight of them humanoid. Is there any particular reason for your inquiry, Captain?”
“Curiosity, only, Mr. Spock.” He smiles. “Ensign Chekov, how many days until our destination at current speed?”
Chekov says, “Approximately two and a half days.”
Two and a half days. He can stay out of trouble for two days.
**
Kirk turns over in his bed and the bare walls of his quarters loom over him. The sound of his breathing is loud in the darkness; he keeps watching the door, expecting Ryliin to burst through at any moment.
Memories of the night before have him reaching into his boxer briefs. He squeezes his dick and it throbs petulantly. This is ridiculous; he pulls his hand out of his underwear and rolls out of bed. He grabs the sweatpants he keeps handy for off hours and tucks them on. He brushes a hand over his hair and takes a deep breath.
The door to his room slides closed behind him with a whoosh and his flip flops sound abnormally loud in the deserted hallway. The Enterprise never sleeps, but a captain has his secrets and Kirk doesn’t meet anyone on his way to Ryliin’s room.
She doesn’t look surprised to see him. “Captain.” She stands up when he enters and her bed is still made up, undisturbed.
He hesitates half way across the room. Is there a polite way to tell a beautiful woman you want to pretend she’s someone else? Ryliin must notice his hesitation, because she smiles, almost benevolent, and asks, “What is your pleasure?”
“Please,” he says.
Ryliin reaches out to cover his hand with her own. “Such a simple thing; it need not cause you distress.” Kirk closes his eyes and when he opens them at her soft touch to his face, Uhura is standing in front of him in a sheer slip, nipples pointed behind the thin material.
He skims the material off, fingertips trailing the fabric lightly over her skin and drops to his knees. Kirk presses his face into her stomach, kisses the oddly shaped birthmark before biting at the jut of her hipbone.
She pets his hair, ruffling the dark blond strands and he looks up at her. “Talk to me.”
“You’re lovely on your knees.” She tilts her hips and lifts her leg easily when Kirk urges her to, hooks it over his shoulder. “I want your mouth.”
Kirk wants that too. He spreads her open and this is something he’s done a hundred times, more. He starts off slowly, intent on figuring out what works and what doesn’t. He can feel the jerk of her hips against him. Loves getting her to the place past self consciousness, to the place where the only thing that matters is what feels good.
The words dripping from her mouth are the same ones he’s heard time and again. He frowns, sliding a finger into her. “Jim,” she says on a weak exhale. Her hands are clenched in his hair, holding him against her. “So good.”
None of it is what he wants to hear. Kirk pulls back and his chin is slick with her, tip of his nose wet. He says, “Tell me Spock fucks you better,” and Ryliin’s eyes widen before narrowing into knowing slits. The expression fits Uhura’s features well.
Ryliin pulls at his hair, yanking his head. “Spock can keep me on the edge for hours; he’s dedicated.” Kirk bites his lip and she smiles before dragging his head back to her. “He knows exactly how to touch me.”
Kirk thrusts a hand into his pants, slick with her and wraps it around his cock. He tucks, quick and brutal while Ryliin details Spock’s superiority, painting vivid pictures of Spock fucking Uhura sore and breathless in his mind using Uhura’s voice. She stutters, trips over her words, spasming around his fingers when she comes and that along with a twist of his wrist is enough to have him spilling in his pants.
He is so fucked.
Even though Kirk realizes he’s fucked up, the depth of his fucked-up-titude does not hit home until McCoy stumbles upon Ryliin sucking his dick half in/half out of the transporter designated for senior officers only.
Shock blanks McCoy’s face, stops him in his tracks and has Kirk tugging frantically at the long dark hair Ryliin is currently sporting, trying to pull her off his cock.
Then a look of disappointment so profound that it steals Kirk’s breath away settles on McCoy’s face making him look ashen and older than his years. McCoy spins on his heel and stalks off back down the hallway.
“Fuck, fuck.” Kirk pushes Ryliin back on her heels and she looks up at him confused, mouth still wet.
He doesn’t have time to explain, just stuffs his cock, the root of all evil, back into his pants and takes off down the hall after McCoy.
McCoy shakes off his restraining hand angrily and points a finger in his face, impressive brows drawn over his eyes. “I can’t fucking believe you, Jim. You spend all your free time talking my ear off about Spock and mooning over his Vulcan ass and the first chance you get, you’re sticking your dick down his girlfriend’s throat.”
Kirk swallows the hurt because it isn’t like he really has a leg to stand on; he tries anyway. “It isn’t what it looks like.”
McCoy crosses his arms over his chest and settles his weight back on one leg. He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “It isn’t? Somehow Uhura tripped and fell on your dick.”
Kirk throws up his arms. “It wasn’t Uhura! That was a little bit of innocent fun with a shape-shifter.” He watches as that processes and McCoy’s eyes widen briefly before narrowing again.
“Ryliin?”
He nods and waits for the second part of McCoy’s tirade; he isn’t disappointed.
“What the fuck, Jim? Do you ever think these things through? Spock is a touch telepath! One wrong move, one accidental brush on his part or yours and you’re flooding his mind with images of his girlfriend on her knees for you.” McCoy waves a hand at him. “Do you think he’s going to stop and ask questions first or skip straight to stomping a hole in your skinny ass?”
Kirk flinches. He actually hadn’t considered that.
McCoy pounces on the opening. “Didn’t even think of that, did you? Not to mention the beat down Uhura’s going to be handing out.”
Okay. He’s stupid; he gets it. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep it under wraps. We have less than a day before we get to Wakanda and we’ll drop our guests off safe and sound and head on our merry way.”
“I worry about you.” McCoy reaches out and puts his hand on Kirk’s shoulder before he can wave away his concern or make a joke. “I just don’t want you messing up something you can’t fix. When it comes to Spock, you have to start thinking long term instead of short.” He pats Kirk, hand too heavy to convey total forgiveness and walks off.
Kirk watches him walk off down the hall, turning his words over and over in his mind. They don’t make sense no matter how much he pokes at them.
His pants are still hanging open and he does them up absently on the way back to his room before he runs into anyone. Ryliin is nowhere to be seen.
They make it to Wakanda with no more incidents, probably because Kirk spends the remaining time with his ass firmly glued to the captain’s chair and in full view of his crew.
Ryliin appears on the bridge to pout at him briefly. Obviously hoping for a little good bye sex, but only shrugs her shoulders when it becomes clear that he’s not budging.
Emile, bless his heart, is the one that convinces their parents that the crew of the Enterprise doesn’t have time to stay and visit, but have to be off doing important business.
Spock gives Kirk a raised eyebrow when Kirk hastily agrees and they beam back up to the ship.
“I do believe that is the first time I have seen you turn down an invitation to a party, particularly one in your honor, Captain.”
Kirk smiles at Spock. “We all have to grow up sometime, Mr. Spock.”
Spock makes a noncommittal sound and heads off in the direction of the bridge.
Kirk watches Spock walk for a moment, back impossibly straight, slim hips encased in black slacks, before turning to follow.
Author: ficsoreal
Pairing: Kirk/OFC, Spock/Uhura
Rating: NC 17
Words: ~7300
Summary: When the Enterprise rescues a pair of stranded civilians, Kirk indulges a fantasy and dodges the real issue.
Notes/Warnings: Shape-shifting.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
During the alpha shift, the artificial lights on the bridge are almost blinding in their intensity. The newly repaired Enterprise gleams under the powerful rays, preening. The various beeps and clicks of machine and crew doing their jobs have become as familiar as the stale, recycled air flowing through the ship.
James T. Kirk shifts in his chair, black booted feet planted firmly on the floor, and taps his fingers on the arm rest. Ensign Mathison walks across his field of view and he blinks. He glances over at Spock, but the back of Spock’s head appears exactly the same, delicately pointed ears, shiny, black hair in a perfectly straight line against his neck. Kirk’s fingers curl into fists.
No one told him while they were patting his back and giving him medals that ninety five percent of the time, he would be bored enough to consider breaking things just for the chance to put them back together again.
He doesn’t sigh because sighing is unprofessional. Plus, he doesn’t want Chekov to turn around and give him the big eyes of concern. He shifts in his chair again. McCoy is probably busy in the sickbay, taking care of the day to day minutia involved in maintaining the health of such a large, diverse crew. Kirk gives serious thought to paying the good doctor a visit; then shakes his head. McCoy would probably just throw him out for being in the way.
No one else seems to be experiencing the boredom plaguing him. The rest of the crew appears perfectly content, absorbed with their individual tasks and side projects.
Kirk frowns. There is no way he’s the only person that’s bored as hell right now. The ship is just cruising along on autopilot, nothing to see but the blackness of night and the twinkle of distant stars. Humanitarian and peacekeeping organization his ass. He would do anything for some action right about now.
His gaze skitters back over to Spock. Spock is staring intently at the screen in front of him. Most likely filling out a crossword puzzle, Jim thinks. There’s only so much obscure research Spock can immerse himself in.
The line of Spock’s back underneath his blue shirt is straight, posture unfailingly correct. Even at the end of consecutive shifts, Spock never gives the impression of being tired. It irks him, Spock’s perfectly ordered appearance, and makes Kirk want to tear down his walls.
He doesn’t know how Uhura stands it. He certainly couldn’t, couldn’t go home to someone so exacting and cold. Kirk’s man enough to admit he likes cuddling; he wants to be able to reach out and touch when he wants to, careless touches and easy smiles. Spock doesn’t make him feel like cuddling; Spock makes him want to bite. The other Spock isn’t so uptight. He’s worn around the edges, tempered in a way Kirk’s Spock isn’t. He shakes his head. It’s dangerous for him to be thinking of Spock in terms of ownership. He shouldn’t even be pondering Spock and Uhura’s relationship at all. They work together. Okay, good. Whatever.
“Captain.” Uhura’s voice startles him from his thoughts and he jerks around to face her. She frowns at him over her shoulder, brown eyes narrowed, concentration only faintly laced with irritation. Her mouth tips down at one corner before she says, “We’re being hailed; it sounds like a distress signal.”
Everything snaps into sharp focus, the soft haze of boredom gone in an instant. Finally, something. The adrenalin rush is quick and heady; making his body hum and his cock tighten in anticipation. McCoy might be on to something with his incessant babbling about crossed wires and thrill seeking behaviors. There’s definitely something wrong with him and he loves it. He spins back around in his chair and all eyes are on him. Spock has even deigned to turn away from his station, watching for his captain’s next move, hands crossed and still in front of him. “Ensign Chekov, is someone out there?”
“Sir,” Chekov pushes a couple of buttons, mouth pursed in concentration, “there appears to be a personal shuttlecraft drifting at the edge of our sigma quadrant. The ship is alone.”
Sulu turns to look at him. “The craft appears quite sophisticated for a civilian ship, Captain.”
The day is suddenly looking up. “Plot a course. Lieutenant Sulu, take us closer.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel; let’s see what they have to say for themselves.”
“Channel open, Sir.” The focus turns to the front as the viewing panel flickers briefly before the signal strengthens.
A young humanoid male becomes visible on the screen and someone behind Kirk’s shoulder murmurs, “Well,” softly and he can’t blame them. He studies the man’s image, taking in strong features, framed with thick brown hair, standing with bearing more military than Kirk’s has ever been.
He stands up from his chair. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. What is the nature of your distress?”
“Captain,” and damn, even the guy’s voice is sexy, “my name is Emile. We were returning to our planet when we were set upon by what I assume to be outlaws. Although, we managed to successfully evade capture, in doing so, we have found ourselves far off course and without the energy needed to return home.” A loud clank and a burst of sparks erupted behind his shoulder. Emile’s mouth twists a bit and he adds, “We also have sustained quite a bit of damage.”
He glances at Spock out of the corner of his eye and Spock looks back impassively. No encouragement, but no warning either. “You say ‘we’. How many are in your crew?”
Emile turns to look off screen and holds out a hand. “Just my sister, Ryliin.”
Kirk absolutely does not swallow his tongue when Emile’s sister steps into the frame; he admits to biting it. Ryliin smiles, pushing blond curls out of her lovely face, and Kirk swears he hears half the people on the bridge sigh longingly. She barely reaches her brother’s shoulder and her outfit is certainly…well tailored. He smiles helplessly in return and says, “We would be delighted to help. Prepare for transport.” Emile nods and the picture fades out. He turns to Spock with the same smile. “Mr. Spock, you’ll keep my seat warm for me while I go greet our guests, right? Ensign Chekov, bring the ship up to speed.”
Spock doesn’t dignify his question with an answer, simply stands and moves to the captain’s chair. He waits until Kirk is about to leave the bridge to say, “Perhaps, some extra security would be prudent.”
Kirk pauses and takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.” He jerks his head at the two guards standing at the door. He receives several curious looks as he walks down to the transporter room to the tune of Chekov’s accent, a spring in his step and silent guards at his side. McCoy joins their little entourage before they reach their destination, step brisk and face disgruntled. “I hear we’re beaming aboard some stranded travelers. Any injuries?”
“Not that we know of, but it wouldn’t hurt to have you check them over.”
McCoy grunts and they make the last turn to the transporter in silence. Scotty beams at them. “Captain. We’re just about to beam them aboard, frequencies locked.”
“At your discretion, Lieutenant.”
McCoy mutters under his breath at the familiar shimmer of the transporters and Kirk smirks. McCoy’s distrust of technology is becoming as legendary as his bedside manner. The grumbling cuts out abruptly as Emile and Ryliin materialize on the transporter pads. McCoy says, “Sweet Georgia Peach,” and it sounds like a prayer.
Kirk understands the sentiment. He steps forward and both Emile and Ryliin focus on him. The view screen failed to prepare him for the sheer force of their perfection. He says, “Welcome aboard the Starship Enterprise,” and only years of practice keeps his voice from wavering like a boy’s.
Ryliin says, “A beautiful ship.” Her long purple skirt drags along the floor as she steps down and into Kirk’s personal space, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “We are so grateful for your help.”
“Not…a problem,” Kirk says, mouth suddenly dry. He licks his lips and Ryliin’s gaze drops to his mouth briefly. Yeah, boredom, what boredom? McCoy clears his throat pointedly behind him and he takes a step back, reestablishing boundaries, because he’s a professional. He barely catches Emile’s aside to his sister which sounds suspiciously like, “Behave yourself.”
McCoy steps up beside him and he says, “This is our Chief Medical Officer, Dr McCoy. If there is anything that needs attending…” He lets the sentence trail off.
Emile smiles; there’s a smudge of oil along his cheek. “Nothing that a shower and some rest will not fix.”
Kirk stares at him a moment too long and McCoy elbows him subtly in the side. He glares at McCoy before saying, “Of course. I’d just like to discuss a few things before you head off to your rooms. If you’ll come with me.”
As a ship designed for independent living for five years, the Enterprise is a fully stacked lady. Kirk leads them to a small conference room. “Take a seat.” Ryliin and Emile settle into chairs facing him and McCoy and the red shirted guards cross their arms in front of their chests at the door. “We just need to make a record of this incident in the ship’s log.” Kirk leans across the table and flips on the recorder. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, also present Dr. Leonard McCoy, Ensigns Basarte and Johnson. The Enterprise has rescued two unregistered civilians in the sigma quadrant. Unregistered civilians, please, state your full names for the record.”
“Emile tol Selwyn elder son of Selwyn from Wakanda.”
“Ryliin tal Selwyn.”
“Explain how you came to be stranded in the sigma quadrant.” He keeps his body language open and nonthreatening.
Ryliin looks toward Emile and he starts to talk. “We were returning from visiting our father’s father, when a ship appeared out of nowhere and opened fire. Luckily, their weapons were fairly weak and our parents’ believe in only the best for their little princess.” He cuts his eyes at Ryliin and she slaps his shoulder lightly. “Our shields held long enough for us to escape pursuit, but after the relief wore off, we realized that our shuttle was trashed and we were out of fuel.”
“Truly, you arrived just as our spirits were beginning to fail,” Ryliin says and she daps at the corner of her eyes. McCoy reaches over and grabs a tissue, pushes it at her. Her fingers overlap McCoy’s briefly as she accepts the tissue and she gives him a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
Emile wraps an arm around her shoulders protectively and she leans against his side. “We are in your debt, Captain.”
McCoy is giving Ryliin a moon eyed look and Kirk would be laughing at him if he didn’t feel like going out and slaying a dragon or two just to make her smile. It’s an unsettling feeling. He clears his throat. “A good thing we were in the area. We have the best people possible at the helm and I’m sure we’ll be able to get you home in good time.” He flips the recorder off.
**
For all his complaining, being away from the bridge for an extended amount of time during one of his assigned shifts makes him itch. After he makes sure Ryliin and Emile are settled into adjoining rooms and leaves them in the capable hands of security, Kirk heads back to the bridge. It’s become a habit to pause and survey the bridge when he returns; everything is still in perfect order. Spock stands up as he walks toward the captain’s chair. “Everything in order, Captain?”
“They’re settled into their rooms. I’m going to have engineering take a look at their ship. See if it can be saved before we lay in our course. Anything to report?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“Very well, Mr. Spock.
Kirk settles into his chair and Spock has indeed kept it warm for him. The lingering heat makes him think about curling around the Vulcan in the cold of night or how sinking into Spock would be the hottest, tightest thing ever. Okay, the attraction is there, the little zing of awareness in Spock’s presence, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s attracted to upwards of twelve people a day and most of the time nothing ever comes of it. Besides, he’s too smart to sow unrest on his ship. The vague warnings and admonishments McCoy, Pine and every other ranking officer at the Academy had seen fit to give him flutter through his mind. A starship is a small place, a captain has to set the example, be a paragon of virtue, you are in a position of authority, Jim. All designed to remind him not to stir the pot; he gets it, thanks.
Looking is not forbidden, though, and Spock watching has fast become one of his favorite pastimes, right up there with making McCoy snarl and watching Uhura walk. He would bet anything that no one took it upon themselves to give Spock the same speech and Spock’s the one having sex with another crew member. They probably all believe Spock is above petty jealousies and if anything ever went wrong between him and Uhura they would handle it in a logical, adult manner. Bullshit.
**
The ship has several rooms dedicated to dining: the main dining room, the one for senior officers and the formal dining room for visiting dignitaries. Kirk nearly always eats in the main hall, because he likes to be in the thick of things. Members of the crew he’s only vaguely familiar with hum around the crowded room, carrying trays loaded with everything from hamburgers to something that looks like dirty rocks to Kirk’s undiscerning eye.
Some day when he’s less hungry than he is at the moment, Kirk plans on taking the time to scroll through the replicator menu and actually try some of the more interesting options. This evening, he just wants pizza.
He’s well into his second slice of pepperoni goodness when he spots Ryliin weaving her way through the dining hall with a plate piled high with fruit. He swallows his mouthful hastily and stands as she approaches the table. She’s no longer wearing the purple outfit, dressed simply in pale blue.
“May I join you?” The smile on her face suggests she already knows the answer and Kirk hates to disappoint.
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”
He watches as she delicately picks apart a bunch of grapes and pops them one by one into her mouth. No one can convince him that the deliberation, the overt sensuality she manages to infuse the act of eating is coincidental. He’s about to offer her a more private tour of the ship ending with his bedroom, when the swing of a familiar ponytail catches his eye over her shoulder.
Uhura is walking beside Spock, their plates are way too green for Kirk’s taste. It’s a surprise to see them in the main hall; Spock prefers the quieter atmosphere of the senior hall. Spock doesn’t pull Uhura’s chair out for her, but it doesn’t seem as if she expects him to.
“Is she yours?” Ryliin asks.
What? “What?” Kirk jerks his attention back to Ryliin and her eyebrows are just beginning to furrow. He glances back at the couple across the room, action unbidden.
Ryliin says, “The woman you’re staring at. Is she yours?” She gives Uhura and Spock a considering look, head tilted to the side. “Is she with him?”
Kirk laughs uncomfortably. He hates to think he’s so transparent. “Lieutenant Uhura is one of the most important members of my crew. We have a strictly professional relationship and I doubt she would approve of this conversation.” He changes the subject. “Are your quarters sufficient? You seem to be well rested.”
Ryliin refocuses on him after one last look across the room, says, “They are very comfortable, thank you.” She bites into a plump strawberry and she is easily one of the most stunning women he’s ever seen. They sit in silence as she nibbles her fruit and watch people finish their dinner.
He’s so lost in his contemplation of her features that he nearly jumps out of his skin when she reaches across the table and places her hand carefully on top of his. “It must be difficult for you having to work with them every day, to see their happiness in each other.”
Kirk blinks and it takes him a moment to realize that Ryliin’s talking about Spock and Uhura. The abrupt return to their previous conversation makes him frown and he pulls his hand away.
“I can see that you are not ready to confront your feelings.” Ryliin looks at him with sympathetic eyes. “It pains me to see you suffer, Captain.”
Kirk pushes his plate away, no longer hungry. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“No,” Ryliin says, “the mistakes here are not my own.” She draws her hand back across the table and stands up. “Thank you for sharing your table.” Her curls sway against her back as she walks away.
Spock and Uhura are still seated at their table engaged in an intense conversation. Kirk grabs his tray and Ryliin’s, disposes of them. Uhura glances his way briefly before turning back to Spock. Spock doesn’t give any indication that he’s noticed him at all.
The quietness of the bridge leaves him with too much time to think.
At the close of the day, Kirk’s tossing and turning the previous night is catching up with him and he crawls into the cool sheets on his bed with an appreciative moan. There’s approximately three days until they reach Wakanda and he needs to catch up on his beauty rest. If the rest of the inhabitant’s of Wakanda look anything like Ryliin and Emile, he needs to be at the top of his game, not black eyed with exhaustion. Fortunately, sleep comes easily.
His bed dips underneath the weight of another body and Kirk jerks awake, disoriented. He scrambles upright instinctively, blinking his eyes rapidly in the darkness and even as his vision clears he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Uhura?”
“Captain.” She grins at him, teeth flashing white in the dimness of his room and she’s still wearing her uniform, red skirt crawling even higher up her sleek thighs as she perches on the edge of his bed. She puts a hand in the middle of his chest and shoves him back down, knocks the breath right out of him. Fuck.
He gasps, hands coming up automatically to rest on her hips as she straddles his thighs. He’s caught between pushing her off and running like hell and pulling her down against his dick which is rapidly becoming interested in the proceedings. He swallows raggedly and asks, “What the hell are you doing in my room?” Sleep is still clinging to the edges of his mind, clouding his thoughts.
“This is what you wanted, right, Captain?” and it still amazes him how much Captain sounds like asshole coming out of her mouth. She grabs his wrists and pushes his hands up by his head, settling into his lap and he can’t help but press upward, nothing separating them but his boxers and the thin material of her panties.
“Okay, okay,” he says, trying to buy time, clear his mind, fucking breathe. It doesn’t help. He wasn’t expecting this, wishing for, dreaming about, but not expecting. Uhura has obviously come down with some sort of space sickness, gotten hold of some strange substance that’s altering her mental status. He says as much. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Does Spock know you’re here? Where is he?” Oh God, he’s going to die. Spock is going to kill him slowly, pull out his fingernails one by one and stuff his own dick up his ass. “Is this part of some secret plan to get me killed? He knows Uhura barely tolerates him but a plot to get him murdered is taking dislike a bit far.
“What’s crazy about wanting to give you what you desire?” She smiles down at him, unconcerned, and lets him go to pull her tunic over her head. He touches; this is not the way life long friendships are built. This is how they’re destroyed. He sends out a quick mental apology to the old Spock, his Spock and McCoy for the extra work he’s going to have to do to put Kirk back together again after Spock tries to tear him limb for limb.
He remembers everything about the time before at Academy when he watched from beneath Gaila’s bed as Uhura stripped down to her matching white bra and panties. She’s not wearing white tonight, small breasts encased in pale pink lace, matching boy cut briefs hugging her hips. She asks, “Do you like what you see?” and she leans back, lengthening her torso and pushing her hips forward.
“Yes,” he says, drinking it all in, but an oddly shaped mark low on her abdomen catches his eye and he starts to frown. He doesn’t remember that being there, although before he can even begin to try to form a question, Uhura’s leaning down to kiss him, mouth soft and welcoming on his.
She tastes delicious, exactly as he’s imagined and he rocks up against her. Every fantasy he’s ever had about her comes rushing to the forefront of his mind. He wants to do everything to her, spread her open and lick her up until his chin is wet with her. Her hair tickles his neck and he breaks the kiss, mouthing along her jaw line until he can suck her earlobe into his mouth. She moans softly and he wonders if this is how Spock touches her, if he’s as methodical in bed as he is in life. Spock probably has every sensitive spot on her body mapped out and memorized. He probably knows the exact combination of touches to bring her off in the least amount of time.
“Pay attention to me,” Uhura suddenly demands, her hands going around to undo her own bra and Kirk snaps back to the situation at hand, pushing thoughts of Spock into a dark corner of his mind.
Her nipples are hard and he wants to taste them. He encourages her to crawl up his body and she does so eagerly. The curves of her breast are slight, the skin between them just beginning to get damp and Kirk licks the gathering moisture there before drawing a hard tip into his mouth.
Uhura clenches her hands in his hair holding him to her and he can feel her rubbing herself against his stomach. She’s hot against his skin and he sneaks a finger beneath the edge of her panties and growls when he can’t touch her the way he likes. Her fingers tighten in his hair, trying to keep him where she wants him, but he shakes her off to say, “I’ll get you some new ones,” before taking a firm grip on the fragile material of her underwear and tugging.
The lace puts up little resistance in the face of his aggression and Uhura’s eyes go wide and then liquid with heat. Fuck, she’s wet. He thumbs her clit and she rolls her hips upward, giving him room to sink two fingers into her. She gasps and he pushes deep, loving the feel of her.
“James,” she says and it throws him enough that he pauses, mouth pressed to her collarbone, hand between her spread legs.
“Jim,” he says and tips his head back to look up at her.
“Jim,” she repeats, “Jim, fuck me,” and she reaches down to palm his dick.
Kirk flips her over onto her back, squirming out of his boxers. Her legs spread easily and he pulls one knee up to get more room to work. He fists his cock, rubbing the head against her, getting it slick before lining up and pushing in.
Fuck, he’s an asshole and he’s going to deserve every broken bone Spock gives him, but it’s absolutely worth it. Maybe they’re just not meant to be best friends in this reality. He tries to keep his strokes even, working on making it as good for her as it is for him. She locks her ankles around his waist and digs her nails into his back, whispering encouragement into his ear.
Kirk wants to make it last, wants to draw it out until the sheets are ringing wet, but Uhura’s gripping him so sweetly and the rhythm is just right. He worms a hand between them to rub at her clit and she clenches tight around him for a long moment before these hungry little contractions start, pulling the pleasure from him.
He wraps a hand around her shoulder, several strands of her hair getting caught around his fingers; the feel of the tiny strands breaking as he pulls her down on his cock one more time at the periphery of his attention.
She runs a comforting hand over the back of his head and lets him rest against her while he catches his breath. It is several moments before he can gather up enough strength to move back and collapse at her side.
“Was it every thing you were hoping for, Captain?” Uhura’s voice is teasing.
“Fuck, yes.” He sounds drugged even to his own ears and he hopes she doesn’t expect him to hold a conversation because sleep is already dragging his eyes shut.
“Good,” he hears faintly and she runs her fingers through his hair one more time before darkness claims him.
Kirk wakes up alone and freaked the fuck out. What the hell was he thinking? That’s right; he wasn’t thinking. Okay, this is totally not his fault. He was in his own room, sleeping the sleep of the innocent when Uhura attacked him with her supple, tight body. How was he supposed to resist that? He brings his hands up to cover his face. Yeah, he’s going to die.
Something catches in his eyelashes and he moves his hands away from his face. Several strands of long blond hair are curling around his fingers. He frowns and shakes the hairs free impatiently. The sheets are tangled around his legs and he shoves them away, nearly falling out of the bed he’s so intent of getting clean, dressed and tracking Uhura down to get some fucking answers. The scrap of pink lace Uhura was wearing last night catches his eye as he rights himself. He picks it up and places it on the bedside table on his way to the shower.
In the bathroom, he assesses the damage. There are scratches down his back, low on his ass, a bite mark at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His mouth is swollen and he can feel the ache in his thighs. He reaches out to turn the water on and steps into the shower away from the mirror.
**
Kirk doesn’t know what he expects when he steps onto the bridge. That’s a lie; he expects a repeat performance of Spock choking him over the navigation console while the rest of the crew watches on in confusion. That doesn’t happen. He steps onto the bridge and Spock says, “Captain,” and moves to take his assigned place at his own console and Uhura doesn’t even look up from whatever she’s scrolling through on the screen in front of her.
Okay, so Spock doesn’t know or he doesn’t care. Kirk pauses, taken aback by the lack of fireworks. Regardless, he knows he can’t just march up to Uhura in front of everyone and demand answers. If Spock doesn’t know, he sure as hell doesn’t want to be the one to tip him off. So, he sits in his chair and stews, wallowing in all the ways this situation is not his fault and conveniently downplaying the reasons why it is. The way things are going he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole ship mutinied and left him marooned (again) on some dangerous planet. No one, not even McCoy, is going to take his side this time.
Waiting goes against his nature and even though he’s been working on developing patience, he hasn’t quite got it down yet. This is going to be another instance when the will to wait is overpowered by the need to act. He stands abruptly, drawing quite a few eyes, and says, “Lieutenant Uhura, please, come with me. Mr. Spock, assume the position.” Sulu snorts and Spock’s eyebrows go up slightly before furrowing. Uhura looks slightly baffled, but stands to follow him after pressing a few keys. He really has to hand it to her, because she has innocent down to a science.
“Is there something wrong, Captain?” Uhura asks as they walk down the hall. Kirk doesn’t have any particular destination in mind, just somewhere away from prying eyes.
He stops in one of the natural bends of a little used hallway and spins around to face Uhura. “We need to talk about last night.”
She frowns at him. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on!” Kirk throws his hands up in the air. “You can drop the act, okay? I was there.”
Uhura puts her hand on her hips and the confusion is giving way to irritation. “What act? Where?”
He points a finger at her and he might be shaking, but who can really say. “Last night in my room, when you climbed into my bed and we, you know.”
Her mouth is hanging open now and she closes and opens it a few times before gathering herself enough to ask, “Is this some kind of joke, because I assure you that I was nowhere near your room last night.” Uhura’s hands are clenched into fists at her side.
“Then how do you explain these?” Kirk pulls the mangled remains of the lacy pink underwear from his back pocket and waves them at her.
Uhura jumps back like they might attack her and asks, “Are you insane?” Her nose is wrinkled and her mouth is scrunched up in distaste. “I don’t know where those came from, but they are not mine and this conversation is over, Captain. She spins on her heel and marches off down the hall back toward the bridge.
He watches her go, thoughts swirling, and things that seemed inconsequential at the time, start adding up to an alarming conclusion. Making a snap decision, Kirk retraces his steps to a transporter and punches the button that will take him to the floor that houses the guest quarters. His knock at Ryliin’s door is quickly answered; Ryliin gives him a brilliant smile and waves him inside, but he’s taken aback to discover Emile sitting in one of the extra chairs in her room. Emile gives him a nod, mouth curving upward at the corners.
He waits until the door is closed behind him and turns to Ryliin. “I was hoping to speak with you alone,” he says.
Emile stands and Kirk is reminded of how solid the other man is. “Is there a problem, Captain? Is my sister in some kind of trouble?” He shoots Ryliin a look as if her already knows the answer.
Kirk takes a moment to consider, remembering Emile’s admonishment to his sister in the transporter room. Maybe Ryliin makes a habit of this sort of thing. He gives Emile a reassuring smile. “No problem.” He waits until Emile exits the room with one last censuring look at his sister and says, “Last night, a woman who appeared very much like Lieutenant Uhura entered my private quarters,” he watches Ryliin to check her reaction, “but this morning when I asked the Lieutenant about the events that took place, she denied any participation.”
Ryliin crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one hip; a smile is hovering at the edges of her lips. “I do not understand what the problem is here, Captain. A beautiful lady that you desired greatly visited your quarters for a little fun and no harm was done.”
“No harm was done? The only reason I’m not having you arrested for mind control is the fact that I know Lieutenant Uhura doesn’t have a birth mark on her stomach and the blond hairs you left in my bed.” He stalks across the floor to grab Ryliin’s upper arms. “Explain yourself.”
Ryliin looks up at him, mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated. “I wanted to thank you for your help. It seemed liked the best way. ”
“By making me believe that I was fucking my Lieutenant?” Kirk frowns down at her.
“You wanted her and I gave her to you.” Ryliin appears to flicker in front of him and her eyes change first, vibrant blue darkening to chocolate brown. Kirk gasps and releases his hold on her as blond curls smooth out and gather into a long black ponytail, pale white skin becoming a rich brown. The detail is amazing; if Kirk hadn’t witnessed the transformation with his own eyes, he would swear that Uhura was standing in front of him.
“See,” Ryliin tells him in Uhura’s voice, “simple.” She twirls in front of him and even the simple pink sheath she was wearing has changed into a replica of Uhura’s favorite version of the Starfleet uniform. Ryliin looks up at him and despite knowing better, Kirk still wants to reach out and touch, trace Uhura’s features.
“How is this even possible?” he murmurs, eyes flickering over Ryliin’s face.
“It’s a gift of our people,” Ryliin answers, “all of us are capable of altering our physical appearance to some degree. My brother has always been particularly talented at the art, but he frowns on using the ability for fun. He can be quite rigid.”” She places her hands on Kirk’s chest, peering up at him. “Not like you, Captain. A man like you knows how to have fun.”
The jut of Uhura’s chin has always called out to him and he traces a finger down Ryliin’s jaw line to the delicate point. Ryliin smiles and whispers, “We’re not hurting anybody; this can be our little secret. You can have me, her, anyway you want.”
Heat flares low in Kirk’s stomach at the thought. He wants to take her up on her offer and Ryliin knows it. “What’s your pleasure, Captain? Have you dreamed about having Uhura on her knees for you or perhaps, the other way around? You proving your worth between her thighs?”
She slides a hand down to cup him through his pants and he startles. Kirk grabs her wrist, thumb stroking down over her palm gently. “I have to get back to the bridge.”
Ryliin says, “Of course,” and watches him leave with satisfied eyes.
He reclaims his chair without explanation of his absence from the bridge and no one questions him despite several curious looks. Uhura gives him a mild look before turning back to her station, ponytail swaying slightly.
Kirk looks over at Spock; he’s settled back at his station, scrolling through pages with text too small for Kirk to read over the distance that separates them. “Mr. Spock.” Spock turns to face him. “How common is the ability to read minds?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “There are currently fifty four species that possess some degree of telepathy according to Starfleet registries, thirty eight of them humanoid. Is there any particular reason for your inquiry, Captain?”
“Curiosity, only, Mr. Spock.” He smiles. “Ensign Chekov, how many days until our destination at current speed?”
Chekov says, “Approximately two and a half days.”
Two and a half days. He can stay out of trouble for two days.
**
Kirk turns over in his bed and the bare walls of his quarters loom over him. The sound of his breathing is loud in the darkness; he keeps watching the door, expecting Ryliin to burst through at any moment.
Memories of the night before have him reaching into his boxer briefs. He squeezes his dick and it throbs petulantly. This is ridiculous; he pulls his hand out of his underwear and rolls out of bed. He grabs the sweatpants he keeps handy for off hours and tucks them on. He brushes a hand over his hair and takes a deep breath.
The door to his room slides closed behind him with a whoosh and his flip flops sound abnormally loud in the deserted hallway. The Enterprise never sleeps, but a captain has his secrets and Kirk doesn’t meet anyone on his way to Ryliin’s room.
She doesn’t look surprised to see him. “Captain.” She stands up when he enters and her bed is still made up, undisturbed.
He hesitates half way across the room. Is there a polite way to tell a beautiful woman you want to pretend she’s someone else? Ryliin must notice his hesitation, because she smiles, almost benevolent, and asks, “What is your pleasure?”
“Please,” he says.
Ryliin reaches out to cover his hand with her own. “Such a simple thing; it need not cause you distress.” Kirk closes his eyes and when he opens them at her soft touch to his face, Uhura is standing in front of him in a sheer slip, nipples pointed behind the thin material.
He skims the material off, fingertips trailing the fabric lightly over her skin and drops to his knees. Kirk presses his face into her stomach, kisses the oddly shaped birthmark before biting at the jut of her hipbone.
She pets his hair, ruffling the dark blond strands and he looks up at her. “Talk to me.”
“You’re lovely on your knees.” She tilts her hips and lifts her leg easily when Kirk urges her to, hooks it over his shoulder. “I want your mouth.”
Kirk wants that too. He spreads her open and this is something he’s done a hundred times, more. He starts off slowly, intent on figuring out what works and what doesn’t. He can feel the jerk of her hips against him. Loves getting her to the place past self consciousness, to the place where the only thing that matters is what feels good.
The words dripping from her mouth are the same ones he’s heard time and again. He frowns, sliding a finger into her. “Jim,” she says on a weak exhale. Her hands are clenched in his hair, holding him against her. “So good.”
None of it is what he wants to hear. Kirk pulls back and his chin is slick with her, tip of his nose wet. He says, “Tell me Spock fucks you better,” and Ryliin’s eyes widen before narrowing into knowing slits. The expression fits Uhura’s features well.
Ryliin pulls at his hair, yanking his head. “Spock can keep me on the edge for hours; he’s dedicated.” Kirk bites his lip and she smiles before dragging his head back to her. “He knows exactly how to touch me.”
Kirk thrusts a hand into his pants, slick with her and wraps it around his cock. He tucks, quick and brutal while Ryliin details Spock’s superiority, painting vivid pictures of Spock fucking Uhura sore and breathless in his mind using Uhura’s voice. She stutters, trips over her words, spasming around his fingers when she comes and that along with a twist of his wrist is enough to have him spilling in his pants.
He is so fucked.
Even though Kirk realizes he’s fucked up, the depth of his fucked-up-titude does not hit home until McCoy stumbles upon Ryliin sucking his dick half in/half out of the transporter designated for senior officers only.
Shock blanks McCoy’s face, stops him in his tracks and has Kirk tugging frantically at the long dark hair Ryliin is currently sporting, trying to pull her off his cock.
Then a look of disappointment so profound that it steals Kirk’s breath away settles on McCoy’s face making him look ashen and older than his years. McCoy spins on his heel and stalks off back down the hallway.
“Fuck, fuck.” Kirk pushes Ryliin back on her heels and she looks up at him confused, mouth still wet.
He doesn’t have time to explain, just stuffs his cock, the root of all evil, back into his pants and takes off down the hall after McCoy.
McCoy shakes off his restraining hand angrily and points a finger in his face, impressive brows drawn over his eyes. “I can’t fucking believe you, Jim. You spend all your free time talking my ear off about Spock and mooning over his Vulcan ass and the first chance you get, you’re sticking your dick down his girlfriend’s throat.”
Kirk swallows the hurt because it isn’t like he really has a leg to stand on; he tries anyway. “It isn’t what it looks like.”
McCoy crosses his arms over his chest and settles his weight back on one leg. He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “It isn’t? Somehow Uhura tripped and fell on your dick.”
Kirk throws up his arms. “It wasn’t Uhura! That was a little bit of innocent fun with a shape-shifter.” He watches as that processes and McCoy’s eyes widen briefly before narrowing again.
“Ryliin?”
He nods and waits for the second part of McCoy’s tirade; he isn’t disappointed.
“What the fuck, Jim? Do you ever think these things through? Spock is a touch telepath! One wrong move, one accidental brush on his part or yours and you’re flooding his mind with images of his girlfriend on her knees for you.” McCoy waves a hand at him. “Do you think he’s going to stop and ask questions first or skip straight to stomping a hole in your skinny ass?”
Kirk flinches. He actually hadn’t considered that.
McCoy pounces on the opening. “Didn’t even think of that, did you? Not to mention the beat down Uhura’s going to be handing out.”
Okay. He’s stupid; he gets it. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep it under wraps. We have less than a day before we get to Wakanda and we’ll drop our guests off safe and sound and head on our merry way.”
“I worry about you.” McCoy reaches out and puts his hand on Kirk’s shoulder before he can wave away his concern or make a joke. “I just don’t want you messing up something you can’t fix. When it comes to Spock, you have to start thinking long term instead of short.” He pats Kirk, hand too heavy to convey total forgiveness and walks off.
Kirk watches him walk off down the hall, turning his words over and over in his mind. They don’t make sense no matter how much he pokes at them.
His pants are still hanging open and he does them up absently on the way back to his room before he runs into anyone. Ryliin is nowhere to be seen.
They make it to Wakanda with no more incidents, probably because Kirk spends the remaining time with his ass firmly glued to the captain’s chair and in full view of his crew.
Ryliin appears on the bridge to pout at him briefly. Obviously hoping for a little good bye sex, but only shrugs her shoulders when it becomes clear that he’s not budging.
Emile, bless his heart, is the one that convinces their parents that the crew of the Enterprise doesn’t have time to stay and visit, but have to be off doing important business.
Spock gives Kirk a raised eyebrow when Kirk hastily agrees and they beam back up to the ship.
“I do believe that is the first time I have seen you turn down an invitation to a party, particularly one in your honor, Captain.”
Kirk smiles at Spock. “We all have to grow up sometime, Mr. Spock.”
Spock makes a noncommittal sound and heads off in the direction of the bridge.
Kirk watches Spock walk for a moment, back impossibly straight, slim hips encased in black slacks, before turning to follow.