Fanfiction: Sugar and Spice (Star Trek reboot)
Title: Sugar and Spice
Fandom: Star Trek reboot
Pairing: girl!Kirk/Kirk
Rating: R
Summary: There are alternate universes, and alternate universes. What’s one more or less X chromosome, for a J.T. Kirk?
Warnings: Selfcest. Yes, again!
Word count: approximately 2,000
Author’s Note: My second Star Trek fic. Um… are we sensing a pattern here? Written for this prompt of the excellent Star Trek XI Kink Meme (st_xi_kink) and totally un-betad.
Can certainly be read as a companion to Narcissus, Doubled, though it takes place before.
Shore leave, for the youngest ever captain of a Starship, was mandatory, as dictated generally by Starfleet regulations and personally by the ship’s doctor. And as much as Kirk loved the Enterprise, there were certain needs that Rigel II was better equipped to handle. So it was with a familiar tingle of anticipation, the thrill of the chase (remarkably akin to the feeling of seeing the stars fly by in warp speed), that Jamie Tallulah Kirk beamed down to the surface and headed instinctively to the nearest bar.
She chose her target quickly, taking in the bar’s patrons with the practiced eye she’d developed long before Starfleet had honed her observational acuity: a sultry brunette, who’d looked her way encouragingly as she’d entered and whom Jamie had sized up instantly. There had been one other prime candidate, a graceful Caitian boy with an endearingly wispy mane, but a sandy-haired guy in Starfleet command gold was there before her, his back to her as the pretty Caitian’s eyes glazed over at something the man had said.
As it happened, there was just space between the brunette and the officer for her to slide up to the bar, order Saurian brandy, and ask smoothly for another of whatever the lady was having. She angled herself just slightly towards the woman, who looked amused but hadn't, she noted, refused the drink.
“So what's your name, then?” Jamie asked, one corner of her mouth lifting up in a smile that somehow really did look friendly rather than predatory, despite her single-minded purpose.
“Marlena,” she said in a husky alto. “But you can call me Lieutenant Moreau, Captain.”
The woman's dark eyes sparkled with quiet humor, and Jamie's expression moved with impressive speed from chagrin to a higher-wattage version of her charming opening salvo. “Jamie's fine,” she assured Marlena. “You know, I didn't recognize you with pants on.”
“Well, I certainly recognized you... Jamie,” Marlena said.
Jamie smiled. “What d'you say we... get out of here?” There was a weird echo, pitched lower, off to her right but she had no chance to check it out before a shout from the doorway changed the course of the entire evening. As it often did, she reflected later.
“KIRK!”
The voice was deep, menacing, and sort of painfully serious, and Jamie turned slowly, hair falling enticingly over one baby blue eye, to regard her foe. She recognized this bar, now. And the shape that filled the doorway. What she also noticed was that the other Starfleet guy had turned at the same time and they were facing the intruder side by side. She spared a glance over-and almost lost her concentration then and there.
Damn. Why hadn't she seen him first? Pretty and cocky, judging by the curve of those full lips and the glint in his clear blue eyes. Looked like he was taking her in, too, if she was any judge. And she was.
“Hey, I'm talking to you! Kirk!” the man at the door said again, stepping fully into the bar. All other chatter had ceased, all eyes trained on the coming conflict. Jamie felt a rush of adrenaline and grinned. The brute raised an accusatory finger. “Thought I told you what I'd do if I ever caught you on Rigel II again.”
It was then that things got weird. “Wish you'd just do it, big boy,” she said. That wasn't the weird part. What was weird was to hear the same exact words, again, issuing from a space just left of her. Specifically, the prettyboy's aforementioned lips. They stared at each other a moment, their faces mirrored surprise and anticipation, as they added, in perfect rueful unison, “Promises, promises.”
They turned to the man again, Jamie not knowing exactly what was going on but not about to question it at the moment. She knew well enough what was going to happen next, and what was going to happen after that, and both prospects were agreeable. She was aware that it wasn't altogether seemly for a Starship captain to be involved in bar brawls, but then, she couldn't remember if there was a word for “seemly” in Rigellian.
“I came here for Captain Kirk,” the man growled, mere feet away, now.
“You've got him/her,” came the stereo reply.
And before his face could register a complaint about suddenly being faced with two of them, he was overwhelmed by blurs of gold as they leapt into action.
//
“I can't believe you slept with his wife, too.” They were a dark corner of the bar now, Duke or Butch or whatever his name was-she couldn't remember-passed out and hauled away and both of them now nursing beers. The boy was sporting the start of a nice black eye; she still had a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.
The current plan, formed somewhere between the realization of their “relationship” and the location of two ice packs, was to get very, very drunk.
“God, no,” she said. “I slept with him.”
Jim-they'd discovered just how clever alternate universes could be-winced at that. “Seriously?” he said, then shook his head, as if he didn't want to hear any more. And she didn't really want to elaborate. Wasn't exactly her proudest moment.
“So what about you and catboy?” she asked. “Did I fuck things up?”
He waved a hand. “Naw, I saw him go off with your little minx. Can't believe you've never hooked up with Marlena. You should seriously get on that.”
Jamie frowned at him. “'That'?”
“You're accusing me of being sexist? You were chatting up your own lieutenant in a bar. Besides, 'that' didn't refer to 'her.' And at least I didn't call anyone 'catboy.'” He looked at her with lowered brows, all mock-seriousness. It was a look she knew well. She used it on Spock all the time. She hadn't realized how hot it was. “Oh oh oh!” Jim was saying, bouncing in his seat like a little kid. “What about Leslie?”
“Check,” she said. “Gomez?”
“Yup. Jindal?”
“Hell yes. Twice,” she said. “Bones?”
“Check. But just the one time. At school. We were really wasted.”
“Me too!” she said, and they gave each other a high five. “Spock?”
At Jim's look, which she could only describe as thunderstruck, she leaned forward in anticipation. The fact that she swayed in doing so told her she was a little drunk. The fact that she didn't care about that told her she was more drunk than that. Awesome.
She waited.
“Spock?” he said finally. “Are we talking about the same guy? Vulcan, pointy ears, total stick up his ass, Spock? Don't get me wrong, Spock's... you know, Spock. But him and Uhura...”
Jamie licked her lips and nodded significantly. “Exactly. You're missing out, man. You would not believe the kinky shit they're into.”
Jim was looking a little stunned, not that it wasn't adorable on him. Come to think of it, the visual images she'd just put into her own mind, substituting him for her, and Spock and Uhura and...
“Unh,” she said, and Jim snapped to attention. Swaying, bleary-eyed attention.
“You okay?”
Jamie rested her chin on her hand and stared at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Yeah,” she said, with all the confidence of her rank and experience.
“You... wanna get out of here?” Jim asked, his voice dropping to a register she recognized as the sexy one.
“Yeah.”
They could have gone back to the ship, but that would have meant explaining Jim's presence and possibly sharing him, and Jamie was too drunk and too turned on for either. Luckily, Jim's first impulse upon finding himself in an alternate universe's Rigel II (before, naturally, heading to the bar) was to find a place to drag some lucky boy or girl back to.
She felt herself sobering up a little on the short walk, during which she and Jim were alternately trading innuendo and playful punches. It didn't alter her plans.
“You know,” Jim said, pressing her up against the door as he fumbled for the fingerprint entry pad, “we're really hot.”
Their kiss broke as the door opened and Jamie tumbled inside. “I know, right?” she said, and then she had him pressed up against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and her hips angling up to meet his. “It's nice we can finally say that without sounding like dicks,” she said.
“Yeah.” His hands felt nice on her ass, pulling her even closer. “I don't know why everyone thinks that's about ego. It's just true.” He leaned back-as far as he could, anyway-and looked at her for a moment. “Wait,” he said. “I'm a little drunk. Is this incest, or masturbation?”
Jamie thought. “Which one's illegal, again? Yeah, it's the other one.” Jamie'd never been accused of being masculine-a tomboy, sure, but she cleaned up good-and Jim was clearly a guy, but there was a marked resemblance. Not only in their coloring and build, but how they moved, how they spoke. Each little tell sent a shiver up her spine, the cock of his head, the pressure of his hand, the wink he threw her at her answer. It was exciting and the idea that it should seem wrong made it seem really, really right. She wondered if she'd have known, if nothing had happened to point it out. Might they have met anyway, gotten drunk anyway, exchanging only first names and maybe even laughing about them, and ended up here, all unknowing?
What fun would that have been?
Jim was pulling her tunic off now, and she obliged with his, and she could almost read his face when he looked at her because she was pretty sure that expression was “Nice. Boobs.” She knew this, because a moment later when she reached a hand down his pants she almost giggled with the thought “this might have been mine.”
Still, lack of individual familiarity didn't seem to cause either of them any problems, and Jamie was both surprised and not at his sure treatment of her body; he knew just when to push and when to step back, when she wanted gentleness and when she needed a little more. Just like in the fight, when they'd moved like a collective unit, as if they'd been doing this for years. By her accounting he wasn't too disappointed either, and she was especially impressed that the male version of herself was not squeamish at all about oral reciprocation-in fact, he started it. She was gratified, too, to note that that thing she had about the back of her knee was just as effective on him.
“I always have to ask for that,” he said. He repeated himself later when, on top of him, she rotated her hips just so and left both of them groaning and near collapse. There seemed to be a friendly, unspoken challenge between them to see who could last the longest, but it almost seemed inevitable that they'd both win, laughing and breathless.
“I have to say,” Jim said, flopping back on the bed with boneless contentment, “I am the best lay I've ever had.” He didn't look like he was waiting for her agreement, but she had to disappoint him anyway.
“So you haven't met the other one yet,” she said. It wasn't a question. Jim looked blank. “Older, sexy, golden eyes?” Jim had the grace to look intrigued as well as confused. “Just wait,” she said. “You have no idea.”
“You give me a minute,” Jim said, tracing a line of promise from her hip up her side, “and then you tell me all about it.”
Fandom: Star Trek reboot
Pairing: girl!Kirk/Kirk
Rating: R
Summary: There are alternate universes, and alternate universes. What’s one more or less X chromosome, for a J.T. Kirk?
Warnings: Selfcest. Yes, again!
Word count: approximately 2,000
Author’s Note: My second Star Trek fic. Um… are we sensing a pattern here? Written for this prompt of the excellent Star Trek XI Kink Meme (st_xi_kink) and totally un-betad.
Can certainly be read as a companion to Narcissus, Doubled, though it takes place before.
Shore leave, for the youngest ever captain of a Starship, was mandatory, as dictated generally by Starfleet regulations and personally by the ship’s doctor. And as much as Kirk loved the Enterprise, there were certain needs that Rigel II was better equipped to handle. So it was with a familiar tingle of anticipation, the thrill of the chase (remarkably akin to the feeling of seeing the stars fly by in warp speed), that Jamie Tallulah Kirk beamed down to the surface and headed instinctively to the nearest bar.
She chose her target quickly, taking in the bar’s patrons with the practiced eye she’d developed long before Starfleet had honed her observational acuity: a sultry brunette, who’d looked her way encouragingly as she’d entered and whom Jamie had sized up instantly. There had been one other prime candidate, a graceful Caitian boy with an endearingly wispy mane, but a sandy-haired guy in Starfleet command gold was there before her, his back to her as the pretty Caitian’s eyes glazed over at something the man had said.
As it happened, there was just space between the brunette and the officer for her to slide up to the bar, order Saurian brandy, and ask smoothly for another of whatever the lady was having. She angled herself just slightly towards the woman, who looked amused but hadn't, she noted, refused the drink.
“So what's your name, then?” Jamie asked, one corner of her mouth lifting up in a smile that somehow really did look friendly rather than predatory, despite her single-minded purpose.
“Marlena,” she said in a husky alto. “But you can call me Lieutenant Moreau, Captain.”
The woman's dark eyes sparkled with quiet humor, and Jamie's expression moved with impressive speed from chagrin to a higher-wattage version of her charming opening salvo. “Jamie's fine,” she assured Marlena. “You know, I didn't recognize you with pants on.”
“Well, I certainly recognized you... Jamie,” Marlena said.
Jamie smiled. “What d'you say we... get out of here?” There was a weird echo, pitched lower, off to her right but she had no chance to check it out before a shout from the doorway changed the course of the entire evening. As it often did, she reflected later.
“KIRK!”
The voice was deep, menacing, and sort of painfully serious, and Jamie turned slowly, hair falling enticingly over one baby blue eye, to regard her foe. She recognized this bar, now. And the shape that filled the doorway. What she also noticed was that the other Starfleet guy had turned at the same time and they were facing the intruder side by side. She spared a glance over-and almost lost her concentration then and there.
Damn. Why hadn't she seen him first? Pretty and cocky, judging by the curve of those full lips and the glint in his clear blue eyes. Looked like he was taking her in, too, if she was any judge. And she was.
“Hey, I'm talking to you! Kirk!” the man at the door said again, stepping fully into the bar. All other chatter had ceased, all eyes trained on the coming conflict. Jamie felt a rush of adrenaline and grinned. The brute raised an accusatory finger. “Thought I told you what I'd do if I ever caught you on Rigel II again.”
It was then that things got weird. “Wish you'd just do it, big boy,” she said. That wasn't the weird part. What was weird was to hear the same exact words, again, issuing from a space just left of her. Specifically, the prettyboy's aforementioned lips. They stared at each other a moment, their faces mirrored surprise and anticipation, as they added, in perfect rueful unison, “Promises, promises.”
They turned to the man again, Jamie not knowing exactly what was going on but not about to question it at the moment. She knew well enough what was going to happen next, and what was going to happen after that, and both prospects were agreeable. She was aware that it wasn't altogether seemly for a Starship captain to be involved in bar brawls, but then, she couldn't remember if there was a word for “seemly” in Rigellian.
“I came here for Captain Kirk,” the man growled, mere feet away, now.
“You've got him/her,” came the stereo reply.
And before his face could register a complaint about suddenly being faced with two of them, he was overwhelmed by blurs of gold as they leapt into action.
//
“I can't believe you slept with his wife, too.” They were a dark corner of the bar now, Duke or Butch or whatever his name was-she couldn't remember-passed out and hauled away and both of them now nursing beers. The boy was sporting the start of a nice black eye; she still had a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.
The current plan, formed somewhere between the realization of their “relationship” and the location of two ice packs, was to get very, very drunk.
“God, no,” she said. “I slept with him.”
Jim-they'd discovered just how clever alternate universes could be-winced at that. “Seriously?” he said, then shook his head, as if he didn't want to hear any more. And she didn't really want to elaborate. Wasn't exactly her proudest moment.
“So what about you and catboy?” she asked. “Did I fuck things up?”
He waved a hand. “Naw, I saw him go off with your little minx. Can't believe you've never hooked up with Marlena. You should seriously get on that.”
Jamie frowned at him. “'That'?”
“You're accusing me of being sexist? You were chatting up your own lieutenant in a bar. Besides, 'that' didn't refer to 'her.' And at least I didn't call anyone 'catboy.'” He looked at her with lowered brows, all mock-seriousness. It was a look she knew well. She used it on Spock all the time. She hadn't realized how hot it was. “Oh oh oh!” Jim was saying, bouncing in his seat like a little kid. “What about Leslie?”
“Check,” she said. “Gomez?”
“Yup. Jindal?”
“Hell yes. Twice,” she said. “Bones?”
“Check. But just the one time. At school. We were really wasted.”
“Me too!” she said, and they gave each other a high five. “Spock?”
At Jim's look, which she could only describe as thunderstruck, she leaned forward in anticipation. The fact that she swayed in doing so told her she was a little drunk. The fact that she didn't care about that told her she was more drunk than that. Awesome.
She waited.
“Spock?” he said finally. “Are we talking about the same guy? Vulcan, pointy ears, total stick up his ass, Spock? Don't get me wrong, Spock's... you know, Spock. But him and Uhura...”
Jamie licked her lips and nodded significantly. “Exactly. You're missing out, man. You would not believe the kinky shit they're into.”
Jim was looking a little stunned, not that it wasn't adorable on him. Come to think of it, the visual images she'd just put into her own mind, substituting him for her, and Spock and Uhura and...
“Unh,” she said, and Jim snapped to attention. Swaying, bleary-eyed attention.
“You okay?”
Jamie rested her chin on her hand and stared at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Yeah,” she said, with all the confidence of her rank and experience.
“You... wanna get out of here?” Jim asked, his voice dropping to a register she recognized as the sexy one.
“Yeah.”
They could have gone back to the ship, but that would have meant explaining Jim's presence and possibly sharing him, and Jamie was too drunk and too turned on for either. Luckily, Jim's first impulse upon finding himself in an alternate universe's Rigel II (before, naturally, heading to the bar) was to find a place to drag some lucky boy or girl back to.
She felt herself sobering up a little on the short walk, during which she and Jim were alternately trading innuendo and playful punches. It didn't alter her plans.
“You know,” Jim said, pressing her up against the door as he fumbled for the fingerprint entry pad, “we're really hot.”
Their kiss broke as the door opened and Jamie tumbled inside. “I know, right?” she said, and then she had him pressed up against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and her hips angling up to meet his. “It's nice we can finally say that without sounding like dicks,” she said.
“Yeah.” His hands felt nice on her ass, pulling her even closer. “I don't know why everyone thinks that's about ego. It's just true.” He leaned back-as far as he could, anyway-and looked at her for a moment. “Wait,” he said. “I'm a little drunk. Is this incest, or masturbation?”
Jamie thought. “Which one's illegal, again? Yeah, it's the other one.” Jamie'd never been accused of being masculine-a tomboy, sure, but she cleaned up good-and Jim was clearly a guy, but there was a marked resemblance. Not only in their coloring and build, but how they moved, how they spoke. Each little tell sent a shiver up her spine, the cock of his head, the pressure of his hand, the wink he threw her at her answer. It was exciting and the idea that it should seem wrong made it seem really, really right. She wondered if she'd have known, if nothing had happened to point it out. Might they have met anyway, gotten drunk anyway, exchanging only first names and maybe even laughing about them, and ended up here, all unknowing?
What fun would that have been?
Jim was pulling her tunic off now, and she obliged with his, and she could almost read his face when he looked at her because she was pretty sure that expression was “Nice. Boobs.” She knew this, because a moment later when she reached a hand down his pants she almost giggled with the thought “this might have been mine.”
Still, lack of individual familiarity didn't seem to cause either of them any problems, and Jamie was both surprised and not at his sure treatment of her body; he knew just when to push and when to step back, when she wanted gentleness and when she needed a little more. Just like in the fight, when they'd moved like a collective unit, as if they'd been doing this for years. By her accounting he wasn't too disappointed either, and she was especially impressed that the male version of herself was not squeamish at all about oral reciprocation-in fact, he started it. She was gratified, too, to note that that thing she had about the back of her knee was just as effective on him.
“I always have to ask for that,” he said. He repeated himself later when, on top of him, she rotated her hips just so and left both of them groaning and near collapse. There seemed to be a friendly, unspoken challenge between them to see who could last the longest, but it almost seemed inevitable that they'd both win, laughing and breathless.
“I have to say,” Jim said, flopping back on the bed with boneless contentment, “I am the best lay I've ever had.” He didn't look like he was waiting for her agreement, but she had to disappoint him anyway.
“So you haven't met the other one yet,” she said. It wasn't a question. Jim looked blank. “Older, sexy, golden eyes?” Jim had the grace to look intrigued as well as confused. “Just wait,” she said. “You have no idea.”
“You give me a minute,” Jim said, tracing a line of promise from her hip up her side, “and then you tell me all about it.”