Amanda/Sarek Ficfest
So I've been writing an INORDINATE amount of Amanda/Sarek (don't ask why, just let it be) and I realize I haven't gathered it all into one place yet. So...yeah.
I obviously hate myself and I posted 90% of the fluff on fanfiction.net
But the PRONS rot away on my computer even now. So inernets, I shall post them here for those who wish to google them, and the few of you on my Flist who actually care about these sorts of shenanigans. Here's two of them and a spare one that, god help me, doesn't fit anywhere else.
Is that some consentual heterosexual sex in the missionary position? Why, Laura, you sick fuck.
Title: Fever
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Sarek/Amanda
Spoilers/Warnings: IS THAT SOME PON FARR?
Word Count: 3640
His eyes were closed. He was at the table and his eyes were closed. Amanda Grayson had never experienced Sarek listening without watching. True, it didn't mean that it was an indication of anything, but it was an abnormality. It was a very concerning abnormality.
“If you will excuse me,” Sarek spoke-his voice was startlingly even, his tones controlled within an inch of their lives-and the members of the Federation council regarded him briefly before their politically worded squabbling continued.
Amanda watched him stand, watched the way he moved with cold, calculated, grace-each muscle group was carefully isolated, each step measured and counted. Unconsciously, Amanda's hands rested on the glass divider of the gallery. Someone beside her gave her a hard look, as though she were a tourist who didn't know better than to wipe her hands on the glass, and she ignored them.
The sounds of the conference hall below piped through the speakers in the walls. The ambassadors from Zeve and Appayado were having an intense conversation regarding trade tariffs, and the table had split into sides as though they'd been playing a sport. Sarek had avoided the conversation entirely and excused himself less than an hour into the meeting. His absolute silence had been out of character and his early departure cemented her concern.
As Sarek left the hall, Amanda pulled away from the window and walked toward the stairs. By the time she'd moved down to ground level, Sarek was no where to be found. She left the lobby and winced as she stepped out into the cool late October drizzle. Amanda squinted into the water but the front steps were unoccupied and the street below was filled with people in heavy coats, trudging along quickly. If he'd left on foot, which was unlikely, she'd never be able to weed him out.
He knew she was in attendance, didn't he? Her mind raced as she stared at the street. They had agreed to share an evening meal together-Sarek had never forgotten an engagement. Had something happened? Amanda's stomach dropped into her knees and, without thought, she hailed a cab. The transport pulled up and she was in it before she could formulate another solid thought.
“Pacific Heights, Alta Building,” Amanda demanded in lieu of a greeting. The operator ignored her as she slumped back against the seat and he pulled out into the binary flow of traffic. She watched the buildings of San Francisco slip by and the pattering drizzle became an honest storm. When the transport pulled up alongside the Atla Building, Amanda hesitated to get out. She palmed her credits into the PADD on the door and, with a twisting sensation in her gut, stepped out into the rain.
She stared up at the smooth, bioplastic exterior of the Atla Building and worried at her lip. The cab pulled away and the sudden noise pulled her back to reality. Suddenly, she was very aware of the rain tumbling down on her and moved quickly into the building's lobby. Before she knew it, she was standing before the door to Sarek's domicile. She held her hand out to palm the pad and hesitation gripped her-was she welcome? Would he want her to be there? Surely she was just being silly, but what if she wasn't?-she paused for several seconds, or maybe several minutes, and stood watching the door. She was on the verge of turning around, of leaving, when she heard a crash through the doorway.
These doors were soundproof, supposedly. How loud had that been?
The sudden resurgence of panic overrode her nerves and she palmed the entry pad. It pulled up the security input and she pulled up the intercom. With more neutrality in her voice than she'd thought possible, Amanda leaned in and spoke though the intercom. “Amanda Grayson.” The machine beeped and several minutes passed. Concerned, she repeated her actions. When the door slid open halfway through the process of entering her code into the pad, she jumped.
Sarek stood in the threshold; his lithe frame seemed to dominate the space. His eyes were dark, his lids fell just a little further than she was accustomed to, and his hair was just slightly askew. He regarded her evenly and with an air of frustration-suddenly she felt very unwelcome.
“Are you in need of something?” he prompted and Amanda flinched at the subtle strain in his voice. Yes? I needed to see if you were alright? I needed to know if you can listen with your eyes closed? Amanda had no response for several seconds, and his eyebrows drew together with mock impatience.
“I,” she started and fidgeted her hands unconsciously, “We had a dinner engagement.”
The phrase settled between them like a lead weight, and Amanda berated herself-why was that the first thing out of her mouth? Nothing about concern, no questions, no cheerful greeting, just reminding him that he'd forgotten something. If he truly was as tetchy as he appeared, he would be completely justified in slamming the proverbial door in her face. The silence stretched on longer than she would have liked before he let out an audible breath and his eyebrows evened out.
“I will be unable to attend,” he stated flatly and Amanda frowned.
“Did something happen?” Amanda interrupted before he could elaborate and he stared blankly at her.
“You will need to be more specific if you expect an answer,” Sarek responded and Amanda felt her stomach twist.
“Are you alright?” She attempted to keep the worry off her face.
“I am...” Sarek paused and Amanda's heart jumped painfully, “I am unwell.”
“What?” She wasn't entirely certain where her shock came from-she'd predicted something was wrong-but the sudden affirmation of her worries hit her with some force. “Is it serious? Should I call a doctor?”
“It is of moderate concern,” Sarek admitted, his voice rapidly becoming less even, “but medical personnel will be unnecessary.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Amanda supplied and Sarek's expression went hard. She could hear his breathing, tight and heavy, as it passed through his nose. He straightened up and she saw a muscle clench in his jaw as he stared her down.
“I wish you to leave,” Sarek admitted, his voice throatier than she'd ever heard.
“Please, if I can help,” Amanda began and made to slide past him, into the apartment, but was stopped as his hand darted across her path and braced against the threshold. Shocked by the sudden action and obvious refusal, her eyes darted from his stoic face to the hand against the door frame--his hand was shaking. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted the fine tremor that radiated through his elegant fingers. It disturbed Amanda more than anything she'd ever seen.
“Oh Sarek,” she exhaled and wrapped her hands around his without thought. As her fingers closed over his, she could feel his heat-sharper, hotter than normal-and the fine tremor grew with intensity.
“I sincerely wish,” Sarek repeated, his voice low and soft, “for you to leave.”
“I will do no such thing,” Amanda all but snapped back and pulled his hand toward herself. He refused to move the limb, at first, but gave in to the insistent tug. She cradled the appendage against her collarbone and stared up at him. “Let me help you.”
Sarek stared down at her for a long time. She could see his logic flitting through his eyes, the argument and counterpoints volleyed back and forth with the nearly imperceptible motions of his iris. Eventually he reached some silent conclusion and withdrew his hand from her grip. He stepped to the side and Amanda's heart lifted as he allowed her to pass.
She had been inside his apartment before. It was comprised of large, airy, minimalist rooms and had just enough decoration to imply that someone currently resided within it. Today, the sparse furniture was askew. One of the wooden chairs was smashed and the largest of the tables was overturned. The lights were low, and the room smelled heavily of meditative incense-she could see the dim, smoldering glow of them in the south corner.
“Sarek,” Amanda started and the door slid shut behind her. She turned and nearly ran into him, he was standing so close to her. “What's wrong?”
“It is not discussed,” he snapped and Amanda's eyes widened at the vehemence in his response. With a frown, she lifted her hands and placed them on either side of his face-he recoiled from her touch, and her heart twisted in her chest. She let her hands fall on either side of his neck and tried not to think about the way the muscles jumped.
“Please?” she prompted softly and his jaw clenched. With as soft a touch as she could manage, she traced where his throat met with his jaw. The muscles there slackened and her heart leaped and he released a short, guttural sound. Her world spun as his hands clamped down on her shoulders and her back collided with the wall. Her breath rushed out and her hands fell away from his neck as his grip tensed. His breathing was harsh and he stared down at her through wide eyes.
“Sarek?” Her voice registered across his face and, as though he'd come back to himself, he released her shoulders. He stood, hunched over her, his hands resting atop her shoulders, and his expression pulled into one she'd never seen before.
He looked lost.
Without thinking, Amanda cupped the sides of his face and gently guided him down to her face. Her lips pressed against his and the heat of him tingled against her rain-chilled face. He went stock still and Amanda faltered-had she done the wrong thing? She pulled back from him but barely managed to take a breath before his hands were burning into the sides of her head and his lips were crushed against hers.
Sarek's resolve broke and he pinned her against the wall like a butterfly in a display. Amanda's back ground against the chair rail molding-her hands were trapped between his torso and her shoulders. His fingers wound into her damp hair and he pulled her head toward him as he bore down. His breath was searing as he broke the kiss and ground his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes to find his staring down at her, wide and dark, and her heart jumped into her throat.
“It is,” his voice was soft and uneven, “not my intention to harm you.” There was a pause as his fingers reluctantly released her hair. “You should leave.”
“No,” Amanda answered and gripped the front of his robes. She could feel the heat pouring off of him and it tingled across her skin. He was immovable as she pulled his robes, attempting to draw him closer, and his expression was pained as he examined her face.
“You do not comprehend the situation,” he snapped quietly and Amanda ignored him. She used what little leverage she had and pulled herself away from the wall, pressing up against him. Whether it was conscious or not Amanda wasn't certain, but Sarek's hands moved around her shoulders and exerted slight pressure against her back, holding her against him.
“I trust you,” she supplied and whatever restraint Sarek had left fled from him.
Sarek's hands twisted the fabric of her blouse and it gave as he enveloped her in his arms. His lips found the juncture of her jaw and her throat and he trailed hard, open-mouthed kisses across the soft flesh. She bit back a whimper as his teeth grazed her jugular and slid her hands up along his collar, seeking out exposed flesh. Her fingers found the edge of his collar and, as they dipped beneath it to press against the hot, hard muscles of his neck, he growled.
Amanda gasped as he pulled his arms around-the soft fabric of her blouse parted like paper and slipped away from her skin. She had no time to adjust to this change as Sarek's hands gripped either side of her ribcage and his lips were against hers again. His hands were hot and his fingers pressed hard against her skin-the pressure was half painful and she couldn't calm down her thundering heartbeat or keep control over her irregular, sharp breathing. A quiet whimper escaped her lips as his strong fingers gripped the lace of her bra and tore it in half.
“Sarek,” she whispered but the word was lost to a strangled cry as his steely grip pressed against her breasts and his hot fingers twisted against her nipples. A surge of heat pooled in her stomach and she felt very cold. She clawed at his collar, unable to recall how the clothing parted, and he let out a low sound before pressing her back against the wall and pulling away.
His expression was impatient, and his hands swift as he divested himself of his robe. The heavy fabric had barely hit the floor when he all but tore his shirt up over his head. Amanda watched him with rapt attention-she'd never seen this much of his skin. In fact, before this, they'd only shared a handful of chaste kisses. The muscles in his torso were lean and far more angular than their human counterparts-she could feel the tension in them, feel the extreme heat of him, as he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him.
Her breathing hitched as he ground her hips against his, and her hands ran across the solid, smooth skin she'd been given access to. She let out a keening moan as he slid his long fingers between her skin and her pants. His fingers twisted and he let out a guttural sound as she pressed her lips against his throat. His fingers shift and wrap around her waistband-she doesn't realize what he'd intended to do until he pulls the material sharply. The waistband holds and her hips jerk sharply with the strength of the pull-she lets out a startled, pained sound as the fabric cuts into her hip. If he hears her, through his arousal, he doesn't acknowledge her.
The pain has barely faded when he lifts her by her hips and props her up on the short table nearest the doorway. He undoes her pants hastily and Amanda winces as his fingers inadvertently press against the abused flesh where her waistband had ridden. He divests her of her pants and undergarments in the same sweep and his hands clutch at the soft flesh of her thighs as he descends on her neck. His mouth is harsher, his teeth grazing against skin an a hurried, nearly frantic pace-she gasped, the pain at her hips forgotten in the rush of sensation that accompanied his ministrations. When his fingers pressed against the apex of her thighs, she let out a throaty moan and scraped her fingers through his short hair.
In the haze of feeling Amanda wasn't certain when he managed to remove his pants, but she knew he had when she felt his length press against her thigh and his lips sealed across hers. Her teeth cut into her top lip as he pulled her closer and his grip tightened on her hip as his hips surged forward and he slid into her in one powerful thrust. She hadn't seen him, but the combination of his size and the searing heat jarred Amanda's brain. For several seconds it was all she could do to breathe-fortunately, it appeared that Sarek was having the same issue.
When she finally managed to open her eyes, she found him staring at her with an unreadable look on his face. His left hand gripped her waist and his right slipped free from her hair and cupped the side of her face. His fingers pressed against her temple, her cheek, and her chin, and Amanda opened her mouth to encourage him to continue. His lips pressed against hers softly and she was utterly confused until she felt something twisting against the base of her skull. With a sensation too akin to puncturing, heat consumed her conscious thoughts and she gasped against his lips. The sensation sorted itself out as he shifted his hips and thrust into her-she could feel the blistering heat of his skin and the distinct, soothing coolness of her own. There was a moment of feedback, like pressing a microphone too close to a speaker, as she was able to feel her own thoughts through his fingers.
He muttered something in Vulcan and she understood him, somehow. Her hands ran along his sides, of their own accord, and he shuddered as the sensation soothed the burning beneath his skin. He groaned, aloud and in her mind, as she wrapped her legs around his hips and forced him to thrust deeper. His angle shifted and his fingers bruised her flesh as his pace increased. Her hips thrust forward to meet his and she hissed-more, more, more-she couldn't tell who was thinking it, but it didn't really matter. She whined, high and breathlessly, against him as her muscles tensed and her thrusts grew less measured. His pace was frantic, shallow, and too hard, but the combined feeling of it all had her at the edge. His hand released her waist and his thumb ground down against her clitoris. She cried out and her muscles tensed around him-she could feel her climax rip through him, as it ripped through her, and his own as he followed her. Black clouded her vision and the sensation chased her into unconsciousness.
Amanda awoke sluggishly, as one does from a deep and convincing dream, and her consciousness was preceded by the numerous, deep aches that littered her body. She let out a wordless groan of malcontent and tried to roll onto her side, to fall back into her comfortable sleep and the warmth of the bed beneath her, but a light pressure on her shoulder prevented the movement. She palmed her shoulder blindly, in an attempt to knock the oppressive factor aside, and shock jolted through her as her hand came into contact with another. Her eyes flew open and she surged forward, breaking the light grip. The muscles in her abdomen screamed painfully and her head swam as she rose too quickly. Her vision twisted and cleared as strong hands steadied her and set her back against the pillows.
“Strenuous motions would be ill advised.” The voice was even and familiar and Amanda blinked as her eyes searched the dim space before her for its owner. Her eyes found Sarek after a beat and she blinked at him-what was he doing in her bedroom? Was he naked? Her cheeks burned briefly, but her embarrassment faded as she remembered where she was. Her eyes darted across the unfamiliar walls-this was his bedroom. She was in his apartment. She'd come to check on him and then they'd-well they'd had rather intense sex. When her eyes drifted back to him, his attention was focused around her stomach-panic flashed through her, she was still naked. Her embarrassment flooded back and she had the sudden urge to cover herself-she'd come over and all but thrown herself at him.
“Sarek, I-,” her voice caught and his eyes drifted to her face as she slowly moved to sit.
“I apologize,” he interrupted and she stared at him. “I was not full control of my mental faculties. It was not my intention to injure you.”
“What?” Amanda's mind skipped and she looked down at herself. Her eyebrows shot up as she spotted the colorful, extensive array of bruises that littered her torso-spots of various size and darkness littered her breasts, her ribs, her waist, and there was a brilliant swath of purple and blue that stretched across her stomach. The aches in her back and legs told her there were more than she could see at the moment. As her eyes traced the purple line across her stomach, she vaguely registered Sarek speaking. Apparently, he had checked her for any serious injuries and found none. She stared at the bruise and looked up at him. “Is that from my pants?”
“Yes,” his answer was serious and very reserved. He looked confused when she snorted and then released a light chuckle-the pain in her abdominal muscles stamped out her laughter quickly, but it didn't keep the smile off her face. “You find your injuries humorous?”
“I should invest in a few more pairs of those pants,” Amanda commented offhand. “Very durable.”
“Indeed,” he responded and arched an eyebrow.
“I don't suppose any of my other clothes survived?” Amanda asked and Sarek wordlessly indicated a 'no'. Silence stretched between them and Amanda shifted nervously-as she did, he looked down, at the floor beside the bed. “Are you alright?”
“My biological imperatives had been sufficiently satisfied,” Sarek responded without looking back up. “Yes, I am...I will be alright.”
“Good,” Amanda said with a note of certainty and pulled her legs around. She slid up beside him-she could feel the heat radiating off of him, though it was less intense than it had been-and he didn't acknowledge her. “You know,” she started conversationally, “in the future, if you want to have sex you don't have to wait until you're half crazy with fever.” He didn't say anything, but she had the distinct impression that her answer amused him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and his fingers caressed the back of her hand.
Title: Tactile Response
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Sarek/Amanda
Spoilers/Warnings: FFFF, Plot, where's that?
Word Count: 2199
Notes: Prompt: Vulcan's hands are their erogenous zone, right? So a human wedding ring would like a cock ring to them.
While Sarek had yet to identify a method by which to quantify whimsy in an objective manner, he was convinced that, statistically, he indulged in Amanda's whimsical preferences with greater frequency than most human males acquiesced to their own partners. Within the confines of the last month, he'd dressed in an uncomfortably fitted suit, silently attended a religious function with members of her nuclear family, tolerated extended exposure to both her brother and her father, and had even made a public-if not redundant-plea for her hand in marriage. This was a moot point, as she had already agreed, and did little to impress any of her immediate relations. His current situation, however, was far more taxing than the culminated experiences of the last twenty-seven days.
He could feel the off beat of his pulse in his left hand-the sensation was distracting, at best. His fingers tensed against the fabric of his robe and the muscles in his third and fifth digits jumped as they came into contact with the smooth surface wrapped around his left ring-finger. The band was fitted snugly-a concept he found most distasteful-and was just over a centimeter in breadth. He'd suppressed the twisting surge of heat when Amanda had slid the ring onto his finger-cold and metallic, it had conquered his full focus for the first hour after its introduction to his person. At current, it had warmed to approximately four degrees below his core temperature and was less overtly uncomfortable-it still pressed against the webbing of his ring finger and pinned the tendons there with a constant constrictive pressure.
His expression tightened minutely as Amanda came alongside him and wove her arm through his. His fingers unconsciously clenched into a loose fist as the gentle, fluttering satin of her evening gown slipped across his left hand. The foreign pressure of the ring elicited a sharp tug in his pelvis and his eyes closed very briefly as he suppressed the reaction-it was requiring a very significant portion of his conscious mental faculties to maintain his stoicism. He brought his arm up to properly support hers and glanced down to find her still engaged in conversation with her Brother's wife. His mind attempted to recall the woman's name and came up wanting as Amanda took a short step closer to him, allowing a waiter to slip between herself and the Brother's wife. Her fingers splayed against the edge of his sleeve, as they were often wont, and his fist tightened as the very edges of her nails grazed the exposed flesh of his left wrist.
“This was a lovely event, Janette,” Amanda professed as the waiter slipped past and plucked their empty champagne flutes from their hands. “I can't believe you managed to get tickets.”
“You know Jeff,” the woman commented with a wave of her hand and stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Amanda. Sarek watched as she gripped Amanda's right wrist gleefully and the two women comfortably carded their fingers together. Amanda's fingers shifted on his wrist as she was tugged forward, sliding the pads across the base of his carpal bones, and Sarek took in a sharp, silent breath. His hand was throbbing, the pressure of his grip forcing the blood to pool on either side of the constrictive band across the base of his ring finger.
“Still,” Amanda insisted and the other woman grinned brightly.
“We had to get you away from the parents,” she announced cheerfully and gave Amanda's hand an obvious squeeze-Sarek's jaw tightened reflexively-before releasing her and glancing around the crowded hall for Amanda's Brother. “Now where did he go off to?”
“Oh, I saw him over by the hors d'oeuvres,” Amanda chimed and moved to step away from Sarek's side. As she did so, the wife waved her hands dismissively for the second time in three minutes and cast both of them a banal smile.
“Oh, you two enjoy yourselves, I'll find him myself.” She turned from them and cast one final glance over her shoulder before plunging into the crowd of suit-clad men and overly painted women. Amanda watched her as she vanished into the sea of patrons and sighed contentedly as she stepped back, twenty three centimeters from his side, before turning to Sarek. Her smile reached her dark eyes and he regarded her with as even an expression as he could manage.
“You know,” she prefaced as her eyes turned slowly from him to take in the room behind him, “this was really lovely.” Absently, she swept back a lock of her hair and Sarek watched as her fingers lingered on the semi-precious studs that pierced the cartilage of her right ear. He swallowed and the motion went entirely unnoticed. “But I never thought,” she admitted in a significantly lower voice as her hand dropped down from her ear onto his arm, “that I'd ever get you to agree to any of this.” She eyed him expectantly and her right thumb ran back and forth in a short arch atop the soft fabric of his sleeve. He attempted to force the tightness from his throat, but his body denied him the satisfaction as her idle rubbing made it more and more difficult to concentrate.
“It was,” he paused, his voice a small increment more tense than he'd anticipated, “not entirely disagreeable,” he finished with a light incline of his head and she cocked hers to the side ever so slightly. Her expression was marred as her eyebrows furrowed and her smile transformed into a small frown.
“Are you alright?” she prompted, her thumb stilling-Sarek's chest tightened as he recognized the beginnings of her next motions. When she was concerned, she had a statistically proven tendency to initial tactile contact. Before he could formulate a course of action, her hands slid, together, from his wrist to encase his left fist in a snug embrace. This time, when he took in a sharp breath, it was not inaudible. His eyes closed briefly and, when they reopened, he found her staring at him with a moderately surprised expression. Her frown deepened and her eyebrows shot up as she regarded him. “Are you unwell? Should we leave?”
“That course of action would be...preferable,” Sarek affirmed and very nearly hissed as Amanda tightened her grip on his hand in a manner that was, likely, supposed to be reassuring. In an effort to alleviate some of the pressure on his ring finger, Sarek broke her contact with his hand and extended his fingers. His actions were instantly misinterpreted and she carded her cool, slim fingers through his. His eyes fluttered briefly as the slow thrum of her cold pulse sapped heat from the palm of his hand. She ran her thumb down the length of his, unto his wrist, and Sarek let out a low, guttural noise before he started walking, fairly quickly, from the hall. Amanda released small sound of surprise and tightened her grip as she clipped along swiftly in her heels.
The doors parted before him swiftly as he stepped into sensor range and snapped closed just as efficiently as Amanda cleared the threshold. His eyes surveyed the entry hall with cold, quick calculations-the only living beings present were currently occupying the extensive salt-water fish tank that occupied the north wall. The patrons and staff would be well occupied with the dinner and dancing behind him for at least another thirty-seven minutes. His eyes darted across the expansive frosted aluminum doors that framed the entryway of the vast recreational center and he frowned openly. The locks appeared to be engaged-he turned and faced the doors to the main hall and his eyes narrowed as they drifted across the figure of his wife to be.
“What is it? Should we call Soran?” Amanda stepped up to his side and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He pulled her along at his side as he stepped out of the threshold of the door. “What are you doing?” Amanda prompted as the lighting in the doorway faded in intensity. Abruptly, he took her by the right shoulder and all but slammed her back against the wall. The air rushed out of her, more due to surprise than impact, and she drew a shaky gasp as his grip tightened around her fingers and pinned her hand beside her head. He dipped his head low as he stepped forward, his body flush against hers-the physical symptoms of his arousal had exceeded his mental controls fifteen minutes prior and she swallowed as she felt it press against her hip.
“This evening has been most stimulating,” Sarek admitted evenly in a deep, quiet voice and Amanda whimpered lightly. “Though symbolic, I must protest the jewelry which you have given me.” Amanda's wide eyes flicked to his hand where it pinned hers against the wall. The gold band on his ring finger shone in the dimmed fluorescent lighting and, as she looked, she could see the Kelley green tinge his hand had taken on. He felt her pulse pick up pace as she looked back at him.
“Must you?” Amanda asked, a hint of a whine in her throat, and her fingers twisted in his grip until she'd managed to get her index and thumb on either side of the band. Sarek watched her maneuvering with heavy-lidded eyes and rapt interest. When she twisted the cool metal ring, his hips jerked and his breath hitched obviously. He opened his mouth to take a long, even breath and she craned her head forward, slanting her painted lips against his own. The soft coolness of her lips against his and the drag of the ring against the base of his finger consumed his conscious thought-when he felt her hand press against his confined erection, he exhaled against her lips. How she managed to unfasten his pants with one hand, he wasn't entirely certain and didn't particularly care to examine. His erection sprung free as her lips pulled away from his and she placed cool, quick kisses along the underside of his jaw.
“Amanda,” he began, his voice rougher than he'd believed it would be-he simultaneously lamented his loss of control and appreciated the experience for future contemplation. She interrupted him with a firm kiss as her fingers wrapped around his shaft and her thumb pressed against the engorged head of his member. His eyes fluttered shut and she smeared the slick pre-ejaculate across his erection with her palm. Satisfied with the consistency of coverage, she gripped him at his base, tightened her fingers, and pulled him, long and slow. His head lolled forward until his forehead was pressing against the crown of her head-her perfume filled his senses and his hips jerked as she repeated her motions and ran her thumb across the back of his left hand. His control was tenuous, at best-she slid her closed hand back across the ridges of his penis and tightened her grip on his over-sensitized hand-and it only took a few long strokes before he came undone and climaxed over her fingers.
His breath was hot across her cheek as he permitted his muscles to slacken and leaned against her. Silence passed for several seconds before Amanda withdrew her hand from his loosening grip. He braced against the cold wall as her hand slipped from his and he shuddered with the residual sensation as her fingers closed around his wedding band and slid it up, over his knuckles, and free from his finger. He stood up reluctantly, pulling his head from its resting place atop hers, and looked down as she tucked his ring into his trouser pocket, She withdrew his hanker-chief from his same pocket, wiped her hand, and his abdomen clean before tucking him back into his pants and smiling up at him. Her expression was inordinately pleased and he stiffened as she examined him patiently. His shattered control pulled together fairly quickly, all things considered, and he drew himself back to his preferred posture. He stepped away, releasing her from her confinement against the wall, and arched an eyebrow as a self-satisfied smile turned her lips.
“Amanda,” he began, his voice the very model of even control, and was promptly interrupted as his wife to be stepped forward and stretched her arms above her head dramatically. Her lithe form extended, the gentle satin of her dress draping gently over her hips and curling elegantly against the curve of her bust, and Sarek watched her feign a yawn.
“I'm just so tired,” she commented blithely and folded her arms beneath her bust. The obvious canting of her rib-cage and tilt of her hips were meant to be alluring-he couldn't fault her attempt, her methods were very effective and she did look enticing when she posed so. His eyebrow climbed higher up his forehead as she stepped to his side and wound her arm through his. She batted her eyes at him slowly and her tongue darted across her lips. “I think it's time to go to bed.”
“I concur.”
BONUS
Title: Sewenteen will get you Twenty
Rating: PG ~ R
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Girl!Cupcake/Chekov (NOREALLY)
Spoilers/Warnings: FFFF uh, no.
Word Count: 2577~
Notes: So this is the prompt:
So, somewhere floating around this kink meme (I can't find the original prompt, gah!), someone asked for girl!Cupcake: shaven-headed, awesome and not necessarily a lesbian, just protective of her girlfriends when random dudes hit on them in bars. Which is great. Not my thing, but great. Then I started thinking about it.
What I want? Girl!Cupcake, as described above - but everyone thinks she's a lesbian. Except she's not. She is, in fact, Chekov's (totally domineering, and he loves it) girlfriend. Everyone (especially Kirk) is really surprised by this when they find out.
I am so glad that this thing is anon right now. *SHAME*
Yeah, I wrote it.
“So, Cupcake,” Kirk prefaced and slapped Pauline's shoulder as though she were one of his old rough and tumble chums. Pauline's eyes narrowed as his thin hand glanced off her arm and silently wondered just what the consequences would be if she accidentally cracked him across the head with the butt of her phaser. “Gonna find yourself some sweet little skirt this shore-leave?”
Pauline snorted and eyed him-Kirk didn't appear to have noticed as he ran his hands through his hair. Before she could manage to answer and inform him that she was, in fact, painfully straight, he wheedled his elbow against her solar plexus and motioned at a pair of passing alien women. The orange one winked two of her three eyes at Kirk and the blue one flushed purple as Kirk indicated Pauline. At that, Pauline did manage to groan and turned away from Kirk.
“He's insufferable, Paulie,” Nyota commented wryly and Pauline shrugged, “Let's grab something to drink and hit the shops.”
“Shopping?” Pauline's fairly straight, unarched eyebrows rose up her forehead. “Here?”
“Why not?” Nyota countered and glared as Kirk pawed at Pauline's back in an attempt to catch her attention and point out two more colorfully slutty alien women.
“Well, for one,” Pauline motioned to the window nearest them and Nyota turned. The display held no less than ten mannequins crammed into tight quarter and each of them were clad in increasingly metallic and skimpy renditions of bikinis with thigh high boots. Nyota cocked her head to the side and smiled.
“I think they look fun,” Nyota admitted and eyed a glittery purple contraption for just too long.
“Pfft, if you want that kind of attention,” Pauline warned and ran her hand through the short, blonde fuzz on her head. At the moment, she was quite certain that her regulation shirt and slacks were the least revealing outfit on the planet-even Kirk and his avocado colored...wrap?--sarong?--shirt? Was more revealing.
“On come on, Paulie,” Nyota leaned in and whispered, well out of the distracted Kirk's hearing range. “It might help you get a girl, you know.”
Pauline stared at Nyota blankly for several seconds and Nyota shrugged in a sympathetic and almost apologetic fashion. Pauline took a short breath and frowned at the shorter, mocha-colored woman before shaking her head. “No, it won't.”
“Oh,” Nyota interrupted and set a hand on Pauline's upper arm, “Don't be like that. You're a great catch!” Nyota assured her with a squeeze, “If I were...you know...into girls-oh you'd be choice, Paulie!”
“Right, well,” Pauline cut her off and stepped out of her grip, “I'm going to go...secure the perimeter, or something.”
As Pauline walked away from the transport site, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Sure, she was the only woman in Security-and also their Lieutenant-and she liked to work out, and she was occasionally very crass, and she knew her fair share of lewd jokes, and she always wore the male uniform-I mean, really, try fighting alien hoards in miniskirts and heels-but that didn't mean she was a lesbian. And if she happened to like the feel of flannel-what most of her wardrobe consisted of-and if she enjoyed a cold beer and a game of poker after her shift, that was her business. Ensign Ricky and Symansky were both flaming homosexuals and no one ever called them out on it-why would they have to go and assume about her?
Also: what the hell was it about Kirk that made him want to pick up chicks with her?
Pauline stalked down the cheerful boulevard-she forgot the name of the planet...not that it mattered, it was all happiness and tourism anyway-and stared at the candy-colored storefronts and matching women. Occasionally they would whisper as she strolled past-if she caught them looking they'd either look away or wink at her. She wasn't certain which she preferred. Just as her tolerance for colorful women and skimpy outfits was wearing thin, she happened upon a most curious scene. Pauline was well aware that she was on the sixteenth transport down, but she hadn't assumed that any of the crew would have managed to get into trouble-unfortunately, she was wrong.
“I am not fifteen!” The voice that poured through the circular yellow doorway was familiar-the lithe, gold uniform clad, Russian body that came stumbling out of the establishment was much more so. Ensign Pavel Chekov stumbled back through the doorway as a very large, very formidable teal bouncer shoved him back. Pauline sized the fellow up before she checked on the Ensign-he had a good foot on her, and probably about a hundred pounds of bulk, but he was saggy in the midsection and the way his throat was swelling as he breathed meant that he was probably all air. She could totally take him.
“There a problem here, Ensign?” Pauline asked and held out a hand to the brunette. Chekov took it and she hoisted him back up onto his feet-her eyes darted back to the bouncer so quickly that she hardly noticed him flush red.
“No underage,” the bouncer supplied gruffly and Pauline glanced up at the sign-she couldn't read the squiggles, but the depiction of a stumbling drunk-man was more than clear.
“I told you!” Chekov seethed, “I am eighteen!”
“Really?” Pauline asked and Chekov glared at her. Ah. “Oh right,” Pauline said quickly and clapped him on the back-he stumbled forward slightly, “it was your birthday, wasn't it!” Pauline sniffed and shot a dry-I'm completely willing to physically fight you on this-grin at the bouncer. “My friend here just had his birthday-I think we need a celebratory round, don't you, Periwinkle?”
The bouncer glared at them both-if that was a glare, it was hard to tell when he had six eyes-and took a long time sizing up Pauline. His eyes traveled quickly across her starkly cut uniform and caught at the phaser on her hip before he nodded tightly and released a large huff of air. He decreased in size by about twenty percent and it was all Pauline could do not to laugh. With her arm around the Ensign's shoulders, Pauline led the way into the establishment and the two quickly settled at the bar. Pauline ordered whatever equivalent this planet had to beer and Chekov demanded a synthesized concoction with a Russian name. Pauline couldn't pronounce it, but she understood his accent a bit better as the syllables tumbled from his mouth.
“Chekov, right?” Pauline prompted as the bartender slid her a frosty serpentine glass filled with bubbling, grey liquid. She took a drink and Chekov watched her with wide eyes as she did so. “You do the announcements, don't you?”
“Da,” Chekov nodded and his eyes flitted back to the glass. “Uh...Engineer?”
“Lieutenant,” Pauline supplied and held out a hand. Chekov took it and shied back a bit as she squeezed down with requisite manliness. “Pauline Brosef.”
“Pavel,” he responded and attempted to squeeze her had in a similarly uncomfortable fashion-Pauline ignored the little sound of relief he made when she released him.
“You're not eighteen, are you?” Pauline prompted lowly and Chekov-Pavel blinked at her before flushing lightly.
“Da-uh, that is, no,” he admitted and threw back his drink in a fashion to rival any in Engineering. Pauline frowned appreciatively and finished her beer.
“Eh, sokay,” Pauline shrugged as she palmed the accurate number of credits into the pad on the bar and stood up. “But now ya' got to spend the day with me.”
“Vat?” Pavel asked-Pauline might have been offended save for that fact that he seemed more honestly confused than anything else. The brunette watched here with wide, innocent eyes and she couldn't keep back the smile that pulled across her face.
“What? You don't want to?” Pauline prompted dryly and Pavel scrambled to his feet.
“Vat? No! No! Yes!” Pavel stumbled over his words and the flush across his cheeks was so endearing that Pauline had to fight back a chuckle. “You vant to spend the day vith me?”
“Why not?” Pauline asked and wrapped her arm back around his shoulders. He was about half a foot shorter than her and a hundred or so pounds lighter-all knees and elbows, but it was cute. Cute enough to distract from the very significant number of irritating females in the immediate proximity.
Pavel didn't say much as they left the bar and spoke in a broken stutter for the first two hours wandering around the tourist-trap this planet had proven to be. Eventually, she said something that spiked his attention and he proceeded to tell her everything he could manage to remember about Mother Russia. It beat the hell out of listening to Kirk talk about hot alien tail and Nyota going on about how she was going to make some woman very happy, so Pauline didn't stop him as he rambled. After his enthusiasm tapered slightly, he was pretty good company-quick, witty, distractingly smart, and cute like a basket full of puppies. When Pavel's communicator went off and alerted him to the end of his bout of R&R, she threw her arm around his shoulders and the two walked back to the transport site in companionable silence.
“Ay' Chekov!” The voice of Montgomery Scott resounded across the small alleyway and Pavel started as they came around the corner-he was a jumpy one, wasn't he? Chief Engineer Scott was chatting amiably with one of her security officers and Helmsman Sulu. All three had turned when they walked up. “Ah! Lad, did you manage to score any fine lassies?”
“Looks like you had a good mentor, at least,” Sulu commented and flashed a cheerful grin at Pauline. Pauline narrowed her eyes marginally and sighed-she felt Pavel tense and pulled her arm back from around his shoulders.
“Probably best that ye' avoided the Captain in these matters,” Scott agreed and ribbed the Russian brunette with his elbow. “So, answer tha' question, lad.”
“Vat?” Chekov asked and Sulu eyed him.
“Did you meet any pretty girls,” Sulu elaborated slowly and Chekov flushed. Pauline turned to continue wandering-she had to find Nyota and talk her out of that metallic purple thing-and she caught Chekov's stutter as she walked off.
“Da,” Chekov answered in a small voice, “a wery, wery pretty one.”
Pauline was smiling as she met up with Nyota and ignored the suggestion that she'd found a nice girl. When they went back up to the Enterprise, she ran checks in Security, did the weapon's locker inventory, and retired to her quarter by the beginning of Beta shift. She'd only been in the room for about ten minutes before her door chimed. When she opened it, she found a very red, very nervous Pavel Chekov standing before the threshold with a large bouquet of alien flowers. Behind him, unaware of her presence, the Captain was chatting up Engineer Scott.
“Vould you,” Pavel started and cleared his throat, “like to be my girlfriend?”
At this point, the boisterous conversation in the hall had tapered off to silence. Pauline didn't need to look up to know that Kirk and Scott were staring at the scene before them in absolute mortified horror. Pavel stared up at her with wide, uncertain eyes, and she smiled. When Kirk started to say something, she made her move.
“Pavel-Paulie isn't in to-.”
Pauline interrupted Kirk as she reached out with both arms and grabbed at either side of the brunette's head. His curls were soft and the fuzz on either side of his mop of hair was enthralling to the touch. He opened his mouth and sputtered before she pulled him up and pressed a hard kiss across his full pink lips. He was soft and warm and adorable-he had to stand on the balls of his feet to be even enough to kiss her. She'd intended to release him after shocking Kirk and Scott, but the tiny whimper he made when she pulled away was too delicious. She broke apart from him and cast a glance at the Captain and Chief Engineer.
“You like men?” Kirk asked, aghast, as though this was a huge oversight. Pauline didn't answer him, but pulled the young Ensign across the threshold to her quarters and out of sight. The door snapped shut and both the Captain and Scott were left staring for a very long time.
BONUS PORN, I'M IN UR HET FUCKING UP UR GENDERROLES:
Pavel let an even sigh slip through his lips as Pauline ran her calloused fingers down the back of his head and fanned them out across the juncture of his neck and shoulders. Her knee was between his legs, half propping him up against the wall and half grinding against his straining erection. Her lips pressed against his, her teeth worrying his lower lip with fervor before her hot tongue laved away the abuse. He managed to slide his hands up her shirt and dug his fingers into the tight sport-support that she wore. She cooed against his lips as his fingers found her hard nipples even through the thick fabric.
“Ride's almost over,” she interrupted huskily against his ear and Pavel frowned against her cheek. The turbolift chimed deck four and Pauline pressed against him in response. Her thigh ground against him, pressing his back flush against the bulkhead of the turbolift, and her fingers tightened against his neck, scraping lines as she drew away from him. He was panting and suddenly very aware of how overheated he felt as the stepped back and adjusted her uniform. Her eyes sparkled as she looked him over and he whined lowly as her eyes lingered on his fly.
“Ve could press halt?” Pavel suggested and Pauline grinned at him.
“Or we could just sneak a quickie in my office,” Pauline suggested and Pavel's eyes were so wide that she feared they might fall out of their head.
“I can do zat,” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm down with a sudden jerk, very nearly throwing her off balance as he pressed a quick, hard kiss against her lips. She smiled as she righted herself and could hardly resist the urge to chuckle at his flush. When the doors opened, Pavel all but dragged her out of the turbolift. It took him a whole five feet before he realized just how eager he seemed and trammeled down his enthusiasm. He released her wrist and offered her his elbow-she slung her arm around his shoulders, instead, and maneuvered him to her office.
I obviously hate myself and I posted 90% of the fluff on fanfiction.net
But the PRONS rot away on my computer even now. So inernets, I shall post them here for those who wish to google them, and the few of you on my Flist who actually care about these sorts of shenanigans. Here's two of them and a spare one that, god help me, doesn't fit anywhere else.
Is that some consentual heterosexual sex in the missionary position? Why, Laura, you sick fuck.
Title: Fever
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Sarek/Amanda
Spoilers/Warnings: IS THAT SOME PON FARR?
Word Count: 3640
His eyes were closed. He was at the table and his eyes were closed. Amanda Grayson had never experienced Sarek listening without watching. True, it didn't mean that it was an indication of anything, but it was an abnormality. It was a very concerning abnormality.
“If you will excuse me,” Sarek spoke-his voice was startlingly even, his tones controlled within an inch of their lives-and the members of the Federation council regarded him briefly before their politically worded squabbling continued.
Amanda watched him stand, watched the way he moved with cold, calculated, grace-each muscle group was carefully isolated, each step measured and counted. Unconsciously, Amanda's hands rested on the glass divider of the gallery. Someone beside her gave her a hard look, as though she were a tourist who didn't know better than to wipe her hands on the glass, and she ignored them.
The sounds of the conference hall below piped through the speakers in the walls. The ambassadors from Zeve and Appayado were having an intense conversation regarding trade tariffs, and the table had split into sides as though they'd been playing a sport. Sarek had avoided the conversation entirely and excused himself less than an hour into the meeting. His absolute silence had been out of character and his early departure cemented her concern.
As Sarek left the hall, Amanda pulled away from the window and walked toward the stairs. By the time she'd moved down to ground level, Sarek was no where to be found. She left the lobby and winced as she stepped out into the cool late October drizzle. Amanda squinted into the water but the front steps were unoccupied and the street below was filled with people in heavy coats, trudging along quickly. If he'd left on foot, which was unlikely, she'd never be able to weed him out.
He knew she was in attendance, didn't he? Her mind raced as she stared at the street. They had agreed to share an evening meal together-Sarek had never forgotten an engagement. Had something happened? Amanda's stomach dropped into her knees and, without thought, she hailed a cab. The transport pulled up and she was in it before she could formulate another solid thought.
“Pacific Heights, Alta Building,” Amanda demanded in lieu of a greeting. The operator ignored her as she slumped back against the seat and he pulled out into the binary flow of traffic. She watched the buildings of San Francisco slip by and the pattering drizzle became an honest storm. When the transport pulled up alongside the Atla Building, Amanda hesitated to get out. She palmed her credits into the PADD on the door and, with a twisting sensation in her gut, stepped out into the rain.
She stared up at the smooth, bioplastic exterior of the Atla Building and worried at her lip. The cab pulled away and the sudden noise pulled her back to reality. Suddenly, she was very aware of the rain tumbling down on her and moved quickly into the building's lobby. Before she knew it, she was standing before the door to Sarek's domicile. She held her hand out to palm the pad and hesitation gripped her-was she welcome? Would he want her to be there? Surely she was just being silly, but what if she wasn't?-she paused for several seconds, or maybe several minutes, and stood watching the door. She was on the verge of turning around, of leaving, when she heard a crash through the doorway.
These doors were soundproof, supposedly. How loud had that been?
The sudden resurgence of panic overrode her nerves and she palmed the entry pad. It pulled up the security input and she pulled up the intercom. With more neutrality in her voice than she'd thought possible, Amanda leaned in and spoke though the intercom. “Amanda Grayson.” The machine beeped and several minutes passed. Concerned, she repeated her actions. When the door slid open halfway through the process of entering her code into the pad, she jumped.
Sarek stood in the threshold; his lithe frame seemed to dominate the space. His eyes were dark, his lids fell just a little further than she was accustomed to, and his hair was just slightly askew. He regarded her evenly and with an air of frustration-suddenly she felt very unwelcome.
“Are you in need of something?” he prompted and Amanda flinched at the subtle strain in his voice. Yes? I needed to see if you were alright? I needed to know if you can listen with your eyes closed? Amanda had no response for several seconds, and his eyebrows drew together with mock impatience.
“I,” she started and fidgeted her hands unconsciously, “We had a dinner engagement.”
The phrase settled between them like a lead weight, and Amanda berated herself-why was that the first thing out of her mouth? Nothing about concern, no questions, no cheerful greeting, just reminding him that he'd forgotten something. If he truly was as tetchy as he appeared, he would be completely justified in slamming the proverbial door in her face. The silence stretched on longer than she would have liked before he let out an audible breath and his eyebrows evened out.
“I will be unable to attend,” he stated flatly and Amanda frowned.
“Did something happen?” Amanda interrupted before he could elaborate and he stared blankly at her.
“You will need to be more specific if you expect an answer,” Sarek responded and Amanda felt her stomach twist.
“Are you alright?” She attempted to keep the worry off her face.
“I am...” Sarek paused and Amanda's heart jumped painfully, “I am unwell.”
“What?” She wasn't entirely certain where her shock came from-she'd predicted something was wrong-but the sudden affirmation of her worries hit her with some force. “Is it serious? Should I call a doctor?”
“It is of moderate concern,” Sarek admitted, his voice rapidly becoming less even, “but medical personnel will be unnecessary.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Amanda supplied and Sarek's expression went hard. She could hear his breathing, tight and heavy, as it passed through his nose. He straightened up and she saw a muscle clench in his jaw as he stared her down.
“I wish you to leave,” Sarek admitted, his voice throatier than she'd ever heard.
“Please, if I can help,” Amanda began and made to slide past him, into the apartment, but was stopped as his hand darted across her path and braced against the threshold. Shocked by the sudden action and obvious refusal, her eyes darted from his stoic face to the hand against the door frame--his hand was shaking. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted the fine tremor that radiated through his elegant fingers. It disturbed Amanda more than anything she'd ever seen.
“Oh Sarek,” she exhaled and wrapped her hands around his without thought. As her fingers closed over his, she could feel his heat-sharper, hotter than normal-and the fine tremor grew with intensity.
“I sincerely wish,” Sarek repeated, his voice low and soft, “for you to leave.”
“I will do no such thing,” Amanda all but snapped back and pulled his hand toward herself. He refused to move the limb, at first, but gave in to the insistent tug. She cradled the appendage against her collarbone and stared up at him. “Let me help you.”
Sarek stared down at her for a long time. She could see his logic flitting through his eyes, the argument and counterpoints volleyed back and forth with the nearly imperceptible motions of his iris. Eventually he reached some silent conclusion and withdrew his hand from her grip. He stepped to the side and Amanda's heart lifted as he allowed her to pass.
She had been inside his apartment before. It was comprised of large, airy, minimalist rooms and had just enough decoration to imply that someone currently resided within it. Today, the sparse furniture was askew. One of the wooden chairs was smashed and the largest of the tables was overturned. The lights were low, and the room smelled heavily of meditative incense-she could see the dim, smoldering glow of them in the south corner.
“Sarek,” Amanda started and the door slid shut behind her. She turned and nearly ran into him, he was standing so close to her. “What's wrong?”
“It is not discussed,” he snapped and Amanda's eyes widened at the vehemence in his response. With a frown, she lifted her hands and placed them on either side of his face-he recoiled from her touch, and her heart twisted in her chest. She let her hands fall on either side of his neck and tried not to think about the way the muscles jumped.
“Please?” she prompted softly and his jaw clenched. With as soft a touch as she could manage, she traced where his throat met with his jaw. The muscles there slackened and her heart leaped and he released a short, guttural sound. Her world spun as his hands clamped down on her shoulders and her back collided with the wall. Her breath rushed out and her hands fell away from his neck as his grip tensed. His breathing was harsh and he stared down at her through wide eyes.
“Sarek?” Her voice registered across his face and, as though he'd come back to himself, he released her shoulders. He stood, hunched over her, his hands resting atop her shoulders, and his expression pulled into one she'd never seen before.
He looked lost.
Without thinking, Amanda cupped the sides of his face and gently guided him down to her face. Her lips pressed against his and the heat of him tingled against her rain-chilled face. He went stock still and Amanda faltered-had she done the wrong thing? She pulled back from him but barely managed to take a breath before his hands were burning into the sides of her head and his lips were crushed against hers.
Sarek's resolve broke and he pinned her against the wall like a butterfly in a display. Amanda's back ground against the chair rail molding-her hands were trapped between his torso and her shoulders. His fingers wound into her damp hair and he pulled her head toward him as he bore down. His breath was searing as he broke the kiss and ground his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes to find his staring down at her, wide and dark, and her heart jumped into her throat.
“It is,” his voice was soft and uneven, “not my intention to harm you.” There was a pause as his fingers reluctantly released her hair. “You should leave.”
“No,” Amanda answered and gripped the front of his robes. She could feel the heat pouring off of him and it tingled across her skin. He was immovable as she pulled his robes, attempting to draw him closer, and his expression was pained as he examined her face.
“You do not comprehend the situation,” he snapped quietly and Amanda ignored him. She used what little leverage she had and pulled herself away from the wall, pressing up against him. Whether it was conscious or not Amanda wasn't certain, but Sarek's hands moved around her shoulders and exerted slight pressure against her back, holding her against him.
“I trust you,” she supplied and whatever restraint Sarek had left fled from him.
Sarek's hands twisted the fabric of her blouse and it gave as he enveloped her in his arms. His lips found the juncture of her jaw and her throat and he trailed hard, open-mouthed kisses across the soft flesh. She bit back a whimper as his teeth grazed her jugular and slid her hands up along his collar, seeking out exposed flesh. Her fingers found the edge of his collar and, as they dipped beneath it to press against the hot, hard muscles of his neck, he growled.
Amanda gasped as he pulled his arms around-the soft fabric of her blouse parted like paper and slipped away from her skin. She had no time to adjust to this change as Sarek's hands gripped either side of her ribcage and his lips were against hers again. His hands were hot and his fingers pressed hard against her skin-the pressure was half painful and she couldn't calm down her thundering heartbeat or keep control over her irregular, sharp breathing. A quiet whimper escaped her lips as his strong fingers gripped the lace of her bra and tore it in half.
“Sarek,” she whispered but the word was lost to a strangled cry as his steely grip pressed against her breasts and his hot fingers twisted against her nipples. A surge of heat pooled in her stomach and she felt very cold. She clawed at his collar, unable to recall how the clothing parted, and he let out a low sound before pressing her back against the wall and pulling away.
His expression was impatient, and his hands swift as he divested himself of his robe. The heavy fabric had barely hit the floor when he all but tore his shirt up over his head. Amanda watched him with rapt attention-she'd never seen this much of his skin. In fact, before this, they'd only shared a handful of chaste kisses. The muscles in his torso were lean and far more angular than their human counterparts-she could feel the tension in them, feel the extreme heat of him, as he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him.
Her breathing hitched as he ground her hips against his, and her hands ran across the solid, smooth skin she'd been given access to. She let out a keening moan as he slid his long fingers between her skin and her pants. His fingers twisted and he let out a guttural sound as she pressed her lips against his throat. His fingers shift and wrap around her waistband-she doesn't realize what he'd intended to do until he pulls the material sharply. The waistband holds and her hips jerk sharply with the strength of the pull-she lets out a startled, pained sound as the fabric cuts into her hip. If he hears her, through his arousal, he doesn't acknowledge her.
The pain has barely faded when he lifts her by her hips and props her up on the short table nearest the doorway. He undoes her pants hastily and Amanda winces as his fingers inadvertently press against the abused flesh where her waistband had ridden. He divests her of her pants and undergarments in the same sweep and his hands clutch at the soft flesh of her thighs as he descends on her neck. His mouth is harsher, his teeth grazing against skin an a hurried, nearly frantic pace-she gasped, the pain at her hips forgotten in the rush of sensation that accompanied his ministrations. When his fingers pressed against the apex of her thighs, she let out a throaty moan and scraped her fingers through his short hair.
In the haze of feeling Amanda wasn't certain when he managed to remove his pants, but she knew he had when she felt his length press against her thigh and his lips sealed across hers. Her teeth cut into her top lip as he pulled her closer and his grip tightened on her hip as his hips surged forward and he slid into her in one powerful thrust. She hadn't seen him, but the combination of his size and the searing heat jarred Amanda's brain. For several seconds it was all she could do to breathe-fortunately, it appeared that Sarek was having the same issue.
When she finally managed to open her eyes, she found him staring at her with an unreadable look on his face. His left hand gripped her waist and his right slipped free from her hair and cupped the side of her face. His fingers pressed against her temple, her cheek, and her chin, and Amanda opened her mouth to encourage him to continue. His lips pressed against hers softly and she was utterly confused until she felt something twisting against the base of her skull. With a sensation too akin to puncturing, heat consumed her conscious thoughts and she gasped against his lips. The sensation sorted itself out as he shifted his hips and thrust into her-she could feel the blistering heat of his skin and the distinct, soothing coolness of her own. There was a moment of feedback, like pressing a microphone too close to a speaker, as she was able to feel her own thoughts through his fingers.
He muttered something in Vulcan and she understood him, somehow. Her hands ran along his sides, of their own accord, and he shuddered as the sensation soothed the burning beneath his skin. He groaned, aloud and in her mind, as she wrapped her legs around his hips and forced him to thrust deeper. His angle shifted and his fingers bruised her flesh as his pace increased. Her hips thrust forward to meet his and she hissed-more, more, more-she couldn't tell who was thinking it, but it didn't really matter. She whined, high and breathlessly, against him as her muscles tensed and her thrusts grew less measured. His pace was frantic, shallow, and too hard, but the combined feeling of it all had her at the edge. His hand released her waist and his thumb ground down against her clitoris. She cried out and her muscles tensed around him-she could feel her climax rip through him, as it ripped through her, and his own as he followed her. Black clouded her vision and the sensation chased her into unconsciousness.
Amanda awoke sluggishly, as one does from a deep and convincing dream, and her consciousness was preceded by the numerous, deep aches that littered her body. She let out a wordless groan of malcontent and tried to roll onto her side, to fall back into her comfortable sleep and the warmth of the bed beneath her, but a light pressure on her shoulder prevented the movement. She palmed her shoulder blindly, in an attempt to knock the oppressive factor aside, and shock jolted through her as her hand came into contact with another. Her eyes flew open and she surged forward, breaking the light grip. The muscles in her abdomen screamed painfully and her head swam as she rose too quickly. Her vision twisted and cleared as strong hands steadied her and set her back against the pillows.
“Strenuous motions would be ill advised.” The voice was even and familiar and Amanda blinked as her eyes searched the dim space before her for its owner. Her eyes found Sarek after a beat and she blinked at him-what was he doing in her bedroom? Was he naked? Her cheeks burned briefly, but her embarrassment faded as she remembered where she was. Her eyes darted across the unfamiliar walls-this was his bedroom. She was in his apartment. She'd come to check on him and then they'd-well they'd had rather intense sex. When her eyes drifted back to him, his attention was focused around her stomach-panic flashed through her, she was still naked. Her embarrassment flooded back and she had the sudden urge to cover herself-she'd come over and all but thrown herself at him.
“Sarek, I-,” her voice caught and his eyes drifted to her face as she slowly moved to sit.
“I apologize,” he interrupted and she stared at him. “I was not full control of my mental faculties. It was not my intention to injure you.”
“What?” Amanda's mind skipped and she looked down at herself. Her eyebrows shot up as she spotted the colorful, extensive array of bruises that littered her torso-spots of various size and darkness littered her breasts, her ribs, her waist, and there was a brilliant swath of purple and blue that stretched across her stomach. The aches in her back and legs told her there were more than she could see at the moment. As her eyes traced the purple line across her stomach, she vaguely registered Sarek speaking. Apparently, he had checked her for any serious injuries and found none. She stared at the bruise and looked up at him. “Is that from my pants?”
“Yes,” his answer was serious and very reserved. He looked confused when she snorted and then released a light chuckle-the pain in her abdominal muscles stamped out her laughter quickly, but it didn't keep the smile off her face. “You find your injuries humorous?”
“I should invest in a few more pairs of those pants,” Amanda commented offhand. “Very durable.”
“Indeed,” he responded and arched an eyebrow.
“I don't suppose any of my other clothes survived?” Amanda asked and Sarek wordlessly indicated a 'no'. Silence stretched between them and Amanda shifted nervously-as she did, he looked down, at the floor beside the bed. “Are you alright?”
“My biological imperatives had been sufficiently satisfied,” Sarek responded without looking back up. “Yes, I am...I will be alright.”
“Good,” Amanda said with a note of certainty and pulled her legs around. She slid up beside him-she could feel the heat radiating off of him, though it was less intense than it had been-and he didn't acknowledge her. “You know,” she started conversationally, “in the future, if you want to have sex you don't have to wait until you're half crazy with fever.” He didn't say anything, but she had the distinct impression that her answer amused him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and his fingers caressed the back of her hand.
Title: Tactile Response
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Sarek/Amanda
Spoilers/Warnings: FFFF, Plot, where's that?
Word Count: 2199
Notes: Prompt: Vulcan's hands are their erogenous zone, right? So a human wedding ring would like a cock ring to them.
While Sarek had yet to identify a method by which to quantify whimsy in an objective manner, he was convinced that, statistically, he indulged in Amanda's whimsical preferences with greater frequency than most human males acquiesced to their own partners. Within the confines of the last month, he'd dressed in an uncomfortably fitted suit, silently attended a religious function with members of her nuclear family, tolerated extended exposure to both her brother and her father, and had even made a public-if not redundant-plea for her hand in marriage. This was a moot point, as she had already agreed, and did little to impress any of her immediate relations. His current situation, however, was far more taxing than the culminated experiences of the last twenty-seven days.
He could feel the off beat of his pulse in his left hand-the sensation was distracting, at best. His fingers tensed against the fabric of his robe and the muscles in his third and fifth digits jumped as they came into contact with the smooth surface wrapped around his left ring-finger. The band was fitted snugly-a concept he found most distasteful-and was just over a centimeter in breadth. He'd suppressed the twisting surge of heat when Amanda had slid the ring onto his finger-cold and metallic, it had conquered his full focus for the first hour after its introduction to his person. At current, it had warmed to approximately four degrees below his core temperature and was less overtly uncomfortable-it still pressed against the webbing of his ring finger and pinned the tendons there with a constant constrictive pressure.
His expression tightened minutely as Amanda came alongside him and wove her arm through his. His fingers unconsciously clenched into a loose fist as the gentle, fluttering satin of her evening gown slipped across his left hand. The foreign pressure of the ring elicited a sharp tug in his pelvis and his eyes closed very briefly as he suppressed the reaction-it was requiring a very significant portion of his conscious mental faculties to maintain his stoicism. He brought his arm up to properly support hers and glanced down to find her still engaged in conversation with her Brother's wife. His mind attempted to recall the woman's name and came up wanting as Amanda took a short step closer to him, allowing a waiter to slip between herself and the Brother's wife. Her fingers splayed against the edge of his sleeve, as they were often wont, and his fist tightened as the very edges of her nails grazed the exposed flesh of his left wrist.
“This was a lovely event, Janette,” Amanda professed as the waiter slipped past and plucked their empty champagne flutes from their hands. “I can't believe you managed to get tickets.”
“You know Jeff,” the woman commented with a wave of her hand and stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Amanda. Sarek watched as she gripped Amanda's right wrist gleefully and the two women comfortably carded their fingers together. Amanda's fingers shifted on his wrist as she was tugged forward, sliding the pads across the base of his carpal bones, and Sarek took in a sharp, silent breath. His hand was throbbing, the pressure of his grip forcing the blood to pool on either side of the constrictive band across the base of his ring finger.
“Still,” Amanda insisted and the other woman grinned brightly.
“We had to get you away from the parents,” she announced cheerfully and gave Amanda's hand an obvious squeeze-Sarek's jaw tightened reflexively-before releasing her and glancing around the crowded hall for Amanda's Brother. “Now where did he go off to?”
“Oh, I saw him over by the hors d'oeuvres,” Amanda chimed and moved to step away from Sarek's side. As she did so, the wife waved her hands dismissively for the second time in three minutes and cast both of them a banal smile.
“Oh, you two enjoy yourselves, I'll find him myself.” She turned from them and cast one final glance over her shoulder before plunging into the crowd of suit-clad men and overly painted women. Amanda watched her as she vanished into the sea of patrons and sighed contentedly as she stepped back, twenty three centimeters from his side, before turning to Sarek. Her smile reached her dark eyes and he regarded her with as even an expression as he could manage.
“You know,” she prefaced as her eyes turned slowly from him to take in the room behind him, “this was really lovely.” Absently, she swept back a lock of her hair and Sarek watched as her fingers lingered on the semi-precious studs that pierced the cartilage of her right ear. He swallowed and the motion went entirely unnoticed. “But I never thought,” she admitted in a significantly lower voice as her hand dropped down from her ear onto his arm, “that I'd ever get you to agree to any of this.” She eyed him expectantly and her right thumb ran back and forth in a short arch atop the soft fabric of his sleeve. He attempted to force the tightness from his throat, but his body denied him the satisfaction as her idle rubbing made it more and more difficult to concentrate.
“It was,” he paused, his voice a small increment more tense than he'd anticipated, “not entirely disagreeable,” he finished with a light incline of his head and she cocked hers to the side ever so slightly. Her expression was marred as her eyebrows furrowed and her smile transformed into a small frown.
“Are you alright?” she prompted, her thumb stilling-Sarek's chest tightened as he recognized the beginnings of her next motions. When she was concerned, she had a statistically proven tendency to initial tactile contact. Before he could formulate a course of action, her hands slid, together, from his wrist to encase his left fist in a snug embrace. This time, when he took in a sharp breath, it was not inaudible. His eyes closed briefly and, when they reopened, he found her staring at him with a moderately surprised expression. Her frown deepened and her eyebrows shot up as she regarded him. “Are you unwell? Should we leave?”
“That course of action would be...preferable,” Sarek affirmed and very nearly hissed as Amanda tightened her grip on his hand in a manner that was, likely, supposed to be reassuring. In an effort to alleviate some of the pressure on his ring finger, Sarek broke her contact with his hand and extended his fingers. His actions were instantly misinterpreted and she carded her cool, slim fingers through his. His eyes fluttered briefly as the slow thrum of her cold pulse sapped heat from the palm of his hand. She ran her thumb down the length of his, unto his wrist, and Sarek let out a low, guttural noise before he started walking, fairly quickly, from the hall. Amanda released small sound of surprise and tightened her grip as she clipped along swiftly in her heels.
The doors parted before him swiftly as he stepped into sensor range and snapped closed just as efficiently as Amanda cleared the threshold. His eyes surveyed the entry hall with cold, quick calculations-the only living beings present were currently occupying the extensive salt-water fish tank that occupied the north wall. The patrons and staff would be well occupied with the dinner and dancing behind him for at least another thirty-seven minutes. His eyes darted across the expansive frosted aluminum doors that framed the entryway of the vast recreational center and he frowned openly. The locks appeared to be engaged-he turned and faced the doors to the main hall and his eyes narrowed as they drifted across the figure of his wife to be.
“What is it? Should we call Soran?” Amanda stepped up to his side and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He pulled her along at his side as he stepped out of the threshold of the door. “What are you doing?” Amanda prompted as the lighting in the doorway faded in intensity. Abruptly, he took her by the right shoulder and all but slammed her back against the wall. The air rushed out of her, more due to surprise than impact, and she drew a shaky gasp as his grip tightened around her fingers and pinned her hand beside her head. He dipped his head low as he stepped forward, his body flush against hers-the physical symptoms of his arousal had exceeded his mental controls fifteen minutes prior and she swallowed as she felt it press against her hip.
“This evening has been most stimulating,” Sarek admitted evenly in a deep, quiet voice and Amanda whimpered lightly. “Though symbolic, I must protest the jewelry which you have given me.” Amanda's wide eyes flicked to his hand where it pinned hers against the wall. The gold band on his ring finger shone in the dimmed fluorescent lighting and, as she looked, she could see the Kelley green tinge his hand had taken on. He felt her pulse pick up pace as she looked back at him.
“Must you?” Amanda asked, a hint of a whine in her throat, and her fingers twisted in his grip until she'd managed to get her index and thumb on either side of the band. Sarek watched her maneuvering with heavy-lidded eyes and rapt interest. When she twisted the cool metal ring, his hips jerked and his breath hitched obviously. He opened his mouth to take a long, even breath and she craned her head forward, slanting her painted lips against his own. The soft coolness of her lips against his and the drag of the ring against the base of his finger consumed his conscious thought-when he felt her hand press against his confined erection, he exhaled against her lips. How she managed to unfasten his pants with one hand, he wasn't entirely certain and didn't particularly care to examine. His erection sprung free as her lips pulled away from his and she placed cool, quick kisses along the underside of his jaw.
“Amanda,” he began, his voice rougher than he'd believed it would be-he simultaneously lamented his loss of control and appreciated the experience for future contemplation. She interrupted him with a firm kiss as her fingers wrapped around his shaft and her thumb pressed against the engorged head of his member. His eyes fluttered shut and she smeared the slick pre-ejaculate across his erection with her palm. Satisfied with the consistency of coverage, she gripped him at his base, tightened her fingers, and pulled him, long and slow. His head lolled forward until his forehead was pressing against the crown of her head-her perfume filled his senses and his hips jerked as she repeated her motions and ran her thumb across the back of his left hand. His control was tenuous, at best-she slid her closed hand back across the ridges of his penis and tightened her grip on his over-sensitized hand-and it only took a few long strokes before he came undone and climaxed over her fingers.
His breath was hot across her cheek as he permitted his muscles to slacken and leaned against her. Silence passed for several seconds before Amanda withdrew her hand from his loosening grip. He braced against the cold wall as her hand slipped from his and he shuddered with the residual sensation as her fingers closed around his wedding band and slid it up, over his knuckles, and free from his finger. He stood up reluctantly, pulling his head from its resting place atop hers, and looked down as she tucked his ring into his trouser pocket, She withdrew his hanker-chief from his same pocket, wiped her hand, and his abdomen clean before tucking him back into his pants and smiling up at him. Her expression was inordinately pleased and he stiffened as she examined him patiently. His shattered control pulled together fairly quickly, all things considered, and he drew himself back to his preferred posture. He stepped away, releasing her from her confinement against the wall, and arched an eyebrow as a self-satisfied smile turned her lips.
“Amanda,” he began, his voice the very model of even control, and was promptly interrupted as his wife to be stepped forward and stretched her arms above her head dramatically. Her lithe form extended, the gentle satin of her dress draping gently over her hips and curling elegantly against the curve of her bust, and Sarek watched her feign a yawn.
“I'm just so tired,” she commented blithely and folded her arms beneath her bust. The obvious canting of her rib-cage and tilt of her hips were meant to be alluring-he couldn't fault her attempt, her methods were very effective and she did look enticing when she posed so. His eyebrow climbed higher up his forehead as she stepped to his side and wound her arm through his. She batted her eyes at him slowly and her tongue darted across her lips. “I think it's time to go to bed.”
“I concur.”
BONUS
Title: Sewenteen will get you Twenty
Rating: PG ~ R
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, someone would have told me by now.
Characters/Pairings: Girl!Cupcake/Chekov (NOREALLY)
Spoilers/Warnings: FFFF uh, no.
Word Count: 2577~
Notes: So this is the prompt:
So, somewhere floating around this kink meme (I can't find the original prompt, gah!), someone asked for girl!Cupcake: shaven-headed, awesome and not necessarily a lesbian, just protective of her girlfriends when random dudes hit on them in bars. Which is great. Not my thing, but great. Then I started thinking about it.
What I want? Girl!Cupcake, as described above - but everyone thinks she's a lesbian. Except she's not. She is, in fact, Chekov's (totally domineering, and he loves it) girlfriend. Everyone (especially Kirk) is really surprised by this when they find out.
I am so glad that this thing is anon right now. *SHAME*
Yeah, I wrote it.
“So, Cupcake,” Kirk prefaced and slapped Pauline's shoulder as though she were one of his old rough and tumble chums. Pauline's eyes narrowed as his thin hand glanced off her arm and silently wondered just what the consequences would be if she accidentally cracked him across the head with the butt of her phaser. “Gonna find yourself some sweet little skirt this shore-leave?”
Pauline snorted and eyed him-Kirk didn't appear to have noticed as he ran his hands through his hair. Before she could manage to answer and inform him that she was, in fact, painfully straight, he wheedled his elbow against her solar plexus and motioned at a pair of passing alien women. The orange one winked two of her three eyes at Kirk and the blue one flushed purple as Kirk indicated Pauline. At that, Pauline did manage to groan and turned away from Kirk.
“He's insufferable, Paulie,” Nyota commented wryly and Pauline shrugged, “Let's grab something to drink and hit the shops.”
“Shopping?” Pauline's fairly straight, unarched eyebrows rose up her forehead. “Here?”
“Why not?” Nyota countered and glared as Kirk pawed at Pauline's back in an attempt to catch her attention and point out two more colorfully slutty alien women.
“Well, for one,” Pauline motioned to the window nearest them and Nyota turned. The display held no less than ten mannequins crammed into tight quarter and each of them were clad in increasingly metallic and skimpy renditions of bikinis with thigh high boots. Nyota cocked her head to the side and smiled.
“I think they look fun,” Nyota admitted and eyed a glittery purple contraption for just too long.
“Pfft, if you want that kind of attention,” Pauline warned and ran her hand through the short, blonde fuzz on her head. At the moment, she was quite certain that her regulation shirt and slacks were the least revealing outfit on the planet-even Kirk and his avocado colored...wrap?--sarong?--shirt? Was more revealing.
“On come on, Paulie,” Nyota leaned in and whispered, well out of the distracted Kirk's hearing range. “It might help you get a girl, you know.”
Pauline stared at Nyota blankly for several seconds and Nyota shrugged in a sympathetic and almost apologetic fashion. Pauline took a short breath and frowned at the shorter, mocha-colored woman before shaking her head. “No, it won't.”
“Oh,” Nyota interrupted and set a hand on Pauline's upper arm, “Don't be like that. You're a great catch!” Nyota assured her with a squeeze, “If I were...you know...into girls-oh you'd be choice, Paulie!”
“Right, well,” Pauline cut her off and stepped out of her grip, “I'm going to go...secure the perimeter, or something.”
As Pauline walked away from the transport site, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Sure, she was the only woman in Security-and also their Lieutenant-and she liked to work out, and she was occasionally very crass, and she knew her fair share of lewd jokes, and she always wore the male uniform-I mean, really, try fighting alien hoards in miniskirts and heels-but that didn't mean she was a lesbian. And if she happened to like the feel of flannel-what most of her wardrobe consisted of-and if she enjoyed a cold beer and a game of poker after her shift, that was her business. Ensign Ricky and Symansky were both flaming homosexuals and no one ever called them out on it-why would they have to go and assume about her?
Also: what the hell was it about Kirk that made him want to pick up chicks with her?
Pauline stalked down the cheerful boulevard-she forgot the name of the planet...not that it mattered, it was all happiness and tourism anyway-and stared at the candy-colored storefronts and matching women. Occasionally they would whisper as she strolled past-if she caught them looking they'd either look away or wink at her. She wasn't certain which she preferred. Just as her tolerance for colorful women and skimpy outfits was wearing thin, she happened upon a most curious scene. Pauline was well aware that she was on the sixteenth transport down, but she hadn't assumed that any of the crew would have managed to get into trouble-unfortunately, she was wrong.
“I am not fifteen!” The voice that poured through the circular yellow doorway was familiar-the lithe, gold uniform clad, Russian body that came stumbling out of the establishment was much more so. Ensign Pavel Chekov stumbled back through the doorway as a very large, very formidable teal bouncer shoved him back. Pauline sized the fellow up before she checked on the Ensign-he had a good foot on her, and probably about a hundred pounds of bulk, but he was saggy in the midsection and the way his throat was swelling as he breathed meant that he was probably all air. She could totally take him.
“There a problem here, Ensign?” Pauline asked and held out a hand to the brunette. Chekov took it and she hoisted him back up onto his feet-her eyes darted back to the bouncer so quickly that she hardly noticed him flush red.
“No underage,” the bouncer supplied gruffly and Pauline glanced up at the sign-she couldn't read the squiggles, but the depiction of a stumbling drunk-man was more than clear.
“I told you!” Chekov seethed, “I am eighteen!”
“Really?” Pauline asked and Chekov glared at her. Ah. “Oh right,” Pauline said quickly and clapped him on the back-he stumbled forward slightly, “it was your birthday, wasn't it!” Pauline sniffed and shot a dry-I'm completely willing to physically fight you on this-grin at the bouncer. “My friend here just had his birthday-I think we need a celebratory round, don't you, Periwinkle?”
The bouncer glared at them both-if that was a glare, it was hard to tell when he had six eyes-and took a long time sizing up Pauline. His eyes traveled quickly across her starkly cut uniform and caught at the phaser on her hip before he nodded tightly and released a large huff of air. He decreased in size by about twenty percent and it was all Pauline could do not to laugh. With her arm around the Ensign's shoulders, Pauline led the way into the establishment and the two quickly settled at the bar. Pauline ordered whatever equivalent this planet had to beer and Chekov demanded a synthesized concoction with a Russian name. Pauline couldn't pronounce it, but she understood his accent a bit better as the syllables tumbled from his mouth.
“Chekov, right?” Pauline prompted as the bartender slid her a frosty serpentine glass filled with bubbling, grey liquid. She took a drink and Chekov watched her with wide eyes as she did so. “You do the announcements, don't you?”
“Da,” Chekov nodded and his eyes flitted back to the glass. “Uh...Engineer?”
“Lieutenant,” Pauline supplied and held out a hand. Chekov took it and shied back a bit as she squeezed down with requisite manliness. “Pauline Brosef.”
“Pavel,” he responded and attempted to squeeze her had in a similarly uncomfortable fashion-Pauline ignored the little sound of relief he made when she released him.
“You're not eighteen, are you?” Pauline prompted lowly and Chekov-Pavel blinked at her before flushing lightly.
“Da-uh, that is, no,” he admitted and threw back his drink in a fashion to rival any in Engineering. Pauline frowned appreciatively and finished her beer.
“Eh, sokay,” Pauline shrugged as she palmed the accurate number of credits into the pad on the bar and stood up. “But now ya' got to spend the day with me.”
“Vat?” Pavel asked-Pauline might have been offended save for that fact that he seemed more honestly confused than anything else. The brunette watched here with wide, innocent eyes and she couldn't keep back the smile that pulled across her face.
“What? You don't want to?” Pauline prompted dryly and Pavel scrambled to his feet.
“Vat? No! No! Yes!” Pavel stumbled over his words and the flush across his cheeks was so endearing that Pauline had to fight back a chuckle. “You vant to spend the day vith me?”
“Why not?” Pauline asked and wrapped her arm back around his shoulders. He was about half a foot shorter than her and a hundred or so pounds lighter-all knees and elbows, but it was cute. Cute enough to distract from the very significant number of irritating females in the immediate proximity.
Pavel didn't say much as they left the bar and spoke in a broken stutter for the first two hours wandering around the tourist-trap this planet had proven to be. Eventually, she said something that spiked his attention and he proceeded to tell her everything he could manage to remember about Mother Russia. It beat the hell out of listening to Kirk talk about hot alien tail and Nyota going on about how she was going to make some woman very happy, so Pauline didn't stop him as he rambled. After his enthusiasm tapered slightly, he was pretty good company-quick, witty, distractingly smart, and cute like a basket full of puppies. When Pavel's communicator went off and alerted him to the end of his bout of R&R, she threw her arm around his shoulders and the two walked back to the transport site in companionable silence.
“Ay' Chekov!” The voice of Montgomery Scott resounded across the small alleyway and Pavel started as they came around the corner-he was a jumpy one, wasn't he? Chief Engineer Scott was chatting amiably with one of her security officers and Helmsman Sulu. All three had turned when they walked up. “Ah! Lad, did you manage to score any fine lassies?”
“Looks like you had a good mentor, at least,” Sulu commented and flashed a cheerful grin at Pauline. Pauline narrowed her eyes marginally and sighed-she felt Pavel tense and pulled her arm back from around his shoulders.
“Probably best that ye' avoided the Captain in these matters,” Scott agreed and ribbed the Russian brunette with his elbow. “So, answer tha' question, lad.”
“Vat?” Chekov asked and Sulu eyed him.
“Did you meet any pretty girls,” Sulu elaborated slowly and Chekov flushed. Pauline turned to continue wandering-she had to find Nyota and talk her out of that metallic purple thing-and she caught Chekov's stutter as she walked off.
“Da,” Chekov answered in a small voice, “a wery, wery pretty one.”
Pauline was smiling as she met up with Nyota and ignored the suggestion that she'd found a nice girl. When they went back up to the Enterprise, she ran checks in Security, did the weapon's locker inventory, and retired to her quarter by the beginning of Beta shift. She'd only been in the room for about ten minutes before her door chimed. When she opened it, she found a very red, very nervous Pavel Chekov standing before the threshold with a large bouquet of alien flowers. Behind him, unaware of her presence, the Captain was chatting up Engineer Scott.
“Vould you,” Pavel started and cleared his throat, “like to be my girlfriend?”
At this point, the boisterous conversation in the hall had tapered off to silence. Pauline didn't need to look up to know that Kirk and Scott were staring at the scene before them in absolute mortified horror. Pavel stared up at her with wide, uncertain eyes, and she smiled. When Kirk started to say something, she made her move.
“Pavel-Paulie isn't in to-.”
Pauline interrupted Kirk as she reached out with both arms and grabbed at either side of the brunette's head. His curls were soft and the fuzz on either side of his mop of hair was enthralling to the touch. He opened his mouth and sputtered before she pulled him up and pressed a hard kiss across his full pink lips. He was soft and warm and adorable-he had to stand on the balls of his feet to be even enough to kiss her. She'd intended to release him after shocking Kirk and Scott, but the tiny whimper he made when she pulled away was too delicious. She broke apart from him and cast a glance at the Captain and Chief Engineer.
“You like men?” Kirk asked, aghast, as though this was a huge oversight. Pauline didn't answer him, but pulled the young Ensign across the threshold to her quarters and out of sight. The door snapped shut and both the Captain and Scott were left staring for a very long time.
BONUS PORN, I'M IN UR HET FUCKING UP UR GENDERROLES:
Pavel let an even sigh slip through his lips as Pauline ran her calloused fingers down the back of his head and fanned them out across the juncture of his neck and shoulders. Her knee was between his legs, half propping him up against the wall and half grinding against his straining erection. Her lips pressed against his, her teeth worrying his lower lip with fervor before her hot tongue laved away the abuse. He managed to slide his hands up her shirt and dug his fingers into the tight sport-support that she wore. She cooed against his lips as his fingers found her hard nipples even through the thick fabric.
“Ride's almost over,” she interrupted huskily against his ear and Pavel frowned against her cheek. The turbolift chimed deck four and Pauline pressed against him in response. Her thigh ground against him, pressing his back flush against the bulkhead of the turbolift, and her fingers tightened against his neck, scraping lines as she drew away from him. He was panting and suddenly very aware of how overheated he felt as the stepped back and adjusted her uniform. Her eyes sparkled as she looked him over and he whined lowly as her eyes lingered on his fly.
“Ve could press halt?” Pavel suggested and Pauline grinned at him.
“Or we could just sneak a quickie in my office,” Pauline suggested and Pavel's eyes were so wide that she feared they might fall out of their head.
“I can do zat,” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm down with a sudden jerk, very nearly throwing her off balance as he pressed a quick, hard kiss against her lips. She smiled as she righted herself and could hardly resist the urge to chuckle at his flush. When the doors opened, Pavel all but dragged her out of the turbolift. It took him a whole five feet before he realized just how eager he seemed and trammeled down his enthusiasm. He released her wrist and offered her his elbow-she slung her arm around his shoulders, instead, and maneuvered him to her office.