Fic: [Insert Joke About Uhura's Skilled Tongue Here]
Eh. I'm only posting this here for completion's sake. I'm really not that keen on it and I'm not actually sure why I wrote it. I don't do femslash, and this is literally and completely without plot.
Pairing: Nichelle Nichols/Majel Barrett
Rating: NC-17 like whoah
Notes: written in response to this prompt on the kinkmeme: Gene and Majel have an understanding and Majel seduces Nichelle by wearing something unexpected (author's choice - dildo, lacy panties, guy's underwear, or even nothing are some options but if you have other thoughts, go for it) under the Starfleet mini-dress.
Disclaimer: *harsh laugh* Er. If I'd been clever, I'd have winched something in here about how these ladies didn't even get along very well, let alone do this. Although I guess that, in the world of slash, not getting along means 'they had hatecrush sex', right?
Afterwards, Nichelle could never say exactly how she'd known. A certain smoothness, perhaps, to the pull of the blue velour across the curve of Majel's thigh; the sharp point of definition her hipbone made in the fabric. A difference in the sound she made as she walked; a subtly altered swing to her stride as the dress clung to her, caressed her. It was all of these things, really; but then - then, when Majel sat down on the step beside her; laid her fingers cool on the inside of Nichelle's wrist - then, it was something else entirely.
She smelled of sex. Pale thighs, a little open; Nichelle's pulse raced under her fingertips, and her eyes drifted against her will to the line of those bare knees, the pull of muscles drawing her gaze upwards, upwards. Majel's eyes were steady on Nichelle's face, warm and a little defiant: questioning.
"Majel," she breathed, without quite knowing that she'd done it until the word was out there, between them. Majel's knee was nudging hers, and the cavern of indistinct darkness widened a little between her legs, demarcated by the hem of the dress stretched taut. Majel's smile was slow and soft and secretive, and her fingers braceleted Nichelle's wrist; trailed a path of goosepimples into her palm.
When the tug came, she was unprepared; a brief, sharp jerk to her arm that resulted in a gasp and a sideslip, and Nichelle's brown hand on Majel's white thigh, clutching. Majel's head tipped back, just a little, teeth glistening white in the little space between parted lips. Her legs parted, too, the skirt riding up with the gentle cant of her hips, almost to the line where her panties should have been.
As it happened, there were no panties appearing in this production.
Nichelle's breath caught in her throat, a rough rasp of snatched air that tingled aftershocks down her spine. Majel laughed a little, husky and low, and breathed, "Well? Was I right?"
Nichelle swallowed, the taste of saliva raw and strange and human under her tongue. Her mouth felt odd, suddenly; as if bits of it were too big for themselves, too many teeth, too large a tongue. She wanted to stretch her jaw, lick her lips. Instead, she let her eyes meet Majel's, head inclining infinitesimally in acknowledgement, and inched her fingers upwards.
The shudder of muscle beneath her palm surprised her. Majel's hips lifted, slowly, her eyes growing heavy-lidded and dark. Carefully, Nichelle allowed herself to wet her lips. Her pulse thundered beneath her ear, beneath the tendons of her throat. The world smelled earthy, now; cthonic and feminine and rich, and she felt herself growing wet with the unexpected power of it.
"Yes," she said, with an effort, and held Majel's eyes. "Yes, you were." And she slid her fingers up the long, pale thigh, under the final inch of Starfleet dress, between the parted lips and into heat.
The arch of Majel's body was rewarding, her back snapping to sudden tightness, her pelvis pressing up to meet Nichelle's hand. "Oh." Her head tipped backward, backward; her hair fell away from her forehead. "Oh, Nichelle."
And there she was, Majel; the core of her liquid and hot and slipping, making slick filthy sounds under Nichelle's fingers. Her own breathing came faster, now; she felt herself melting down to a point of heat and dampness between her own legs as she pressed her hand between Majel's, the heel of her palm pressed to the pubic mound, two fingers circling her clit.
"Oh, Majel," she breathed, nonsensically, pointlessly, as the pelvis rocked against her hand, Majel's long body torquing under her onslaught. "Majel, Majel, Majel."
Majel, it seemed, was beyond speech. With an effort, she slid her hands down to her hips, to the hem of her dress; tugged it up firmly above her waist; took firm hold of Nichelle's shoulder. Nichelle went willingly, sinking to her knees in the space between Majel's spread legs, lifting one knee rather pointedly to make room. Majel made a soft sound of surrender, of desperation, and twisted so her knee curved over Nichelle's shoulder, the heel of her Starfleet boot coming to rest gently in the middle of her back. Nichelle watched her, watched her; her fingers circling and dipping and thrusting, sinking deeper into wetness, not knowing if the rising rasp of breath was Majel's or her own. She ached, feeling herself clenching uselessly on nothing. "God, Majel," she said again, and the word was almost a sob. "Majel."
And, then, she descended.
Majel was close already at the first brush of her tongue, her thighs trembling against Nichelle's face, muscles jumping. The taste of her was sweet, musky and hot and addictive, and this, Nichelle thought, would be too fast, too soon. She rubbed her face in the wiry hair and lapped at the slickness in tiny, incremental licks. Majel's head was thrown back, now, her forearm pressed to her mouth, pulling the whole of her dress out of alignment, thrusting her hips against Nichelle's face. Nichelle smiled.
Majel's hand in her hair was sudden and fierce, clenching; Nichelle assumed, from the unbroken twist of her body, that the other was still clenched to her face, holding back whimpers. She laved her slowly from the centre outwards, nipping and licking and kissing her until her face was slick and smeared with Majel, and Majel's hand was kneading the back of her head, tangling in her hair. When she found the clit again, flicking her tongue against it, Majel tensed from head to foot. When she sucked it into her mouth, there was no mistaking the scream inadequately caught in Nurse Chapel's dress-sleeve.
"Oh," Nichelle heard, through the rush of blood in her ears: "Oh, oh. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh God - "
Her hand was between her own legs before she could think, fumbling panties aside, fingers sinking into searing heat. She was wet, so wet; and Majel was arching against her mouth as she sucked and nibbled and licked, and the angle was awkward but God she was near, and Majel was whimpering and her hips were pistoning and Nichelle couldn't bring herself to care. She worked herself fiercely, rough and fast and perfect, and the deep shudder of Majel's thighs as she came struck right to her core.
She twisted her face to the side, pillowing her cheek on Majel's sweat-slick thigh, and then Majel's hands were threading through her hair as she bucked against her own wet fingers, licking and biting the skin under her mouth as she whimpered and cried out, and came.
"Oh," she breathed again, when she could think, when the stars had stopped rushing. "Oh." It was the word of the hour. Uhura would, doubtless, have been able to do better, possibly in several different extraterrestrial languages, but oh, as Majel's fingers gentled her, was quite enough for Nichelle.
"Mm," agreed Majel, her voice drowsed and thick with contentment. After a moment, she twisted her body enough to lean forward and tip Nichelle's face; kissed the taste of herself from Nichelle's breathless mouth.
"Mmm," Nichelle returned. And that was quite sufficient, too.
Weeeelll, that was a departure. Needs more cock Shatnoy.
Pairing: Nichelle Nichols/Majel Barrett
Rating: NC-17 like whoah
Notes: written in response to this prompt on the kinkmeme: Gene and Majel have an understanding and Majel seduces Nichelle by wearing something unexpected (author's choice - dildo, lacy panties, guy's underwear, or even nothing are some options but if you have other thoughts, go for it) under the Starfleet mini-dress.
Disclaimer: *harsh laugh* Er. If I'd been clever, I'd have winched something in here about how these ladies didn't even get along very well, let alone do this. Although I guess that, in the world of slash, not getting along means 'they had hatecrush sex', right?
Afterwards, Nichelle could never say exactly how she'd known. A certain smoothness, perhaps, to the pull of the blue velour across the curve of Majel's thigh; the sharp point of definition her hipbone made in the fabric. A difference in the sound she made as she walked; a subtly altered swing to her stride as the dress clung to her, caressed her. It was all of these things, really; but then - then, when Majel sat down on the step beside her; laid her fingers cool on the inside of Nichelle's wrist - then, it was something else entirely.
She smelled of sex. Pale thighs, a little open; Nichelle's pulse raced under her fingertips, and her eyes drifted against her will to the line of those bare knees, the pull of muscles drawing her gaze upwards, upwards. Majel's eyes were steady on Nichelle's face, warm and a little defiant: questioning.
"Majel," she breathed, without quite knowing that she'd done it until the word was out there, between them. Majel's knee was nudging hers, and the cavern of indistinct darkness widened a little between her legs, demarcated by the hem of the dress stretched taut. Majel's smile was slow and soft and secretive, and her fingers braceleted Nichelle's wrist; trailed a path of goosepimples into her palm.
When the tug came, she was unprepared; a brief, sharp jerk to her arm that resulted in a gasp and a sideslip, and Nichelle's brown hand on Majel's white thigh, clutching. Majel's head tipped back, just a little, teeth glistening white in the little space between parted lips. Her legs parted, too, the skirt riding up with the gentle cant of her hips, almost to the line where her panties should have been.
As it happened, there were no panties appearing in this production.
Nichelle's breath caught in her throat, a rough rasp of snatched air that tingled aftershocks down her spine. Majel laughed a little, husky and low, and breathed, "Well? Was I right?"
Nichelle swallowed, the taste of saliva raw and strange and human under her tongue. Her mouth felt odd, suddenly; as if bits of it were too big for themselves, too many teeth, too large a tongue. She wanted to stretch her jaw, lick her lips. Instead, she let her eyes meet Majel's, head inclining infinitesimally in acknowledgement, and inched her fingers upwards.
The shudder of muscle beneath her palm surprised her. Majel's hips lifted, slowly, her eyes growing heavy-lidded and dark. Carefully, Nichelle allowed herself to wet her lips. Her pulse thundered beneath her ear, beneath the tendons of her throat. The world smelled earthy, now; cthonic and feminine and rich, and she felt herself growing wet with the unexpected power of it.
"Yes," she said, with an effort, and held Majel's eyes. "Yes, you were." And she slid her fingers up the long, pale thigh, under the final inch of Starfleet dress, between the parted lips and into heat.
The arch of Majel's body was rewarding, her back snapping to sudden tightness, her pelvis pressing up to meet Nichelle's hand. "Oh." Her head tipped backward, backward; her hair fell away from her forehead. "Oh, Nichelle."
And there she was, Majel; the core of her liquid and hot and slipping, making slick filthy sounds under Nichelle's fingers. Her own breathing came faster, now; she felt herself melting down to a point of heat and dampness between her own legs as she pressed her hand between Majel's, the heel of her palm pressed to the pubic mound, two fingers circling her clit.
"Oh, Majel," she breathed, nonsensically, pointlessly, as the pelvis rocked against her hand, Majel's long body torquing under her onslaught. "Majel, Majel, Majel."
Majel, it seemed, was beyond speech. With an effort, she slid her hands down to her hips, to the hem of her dress; tugged it up firmly above her waist; took firm hold of Nichelle's shoulder. Nichelle went willingly, sinking to her knees in the space between Majel's spread legs, lifting one knee rather pointedly to make room. Majel made a soft sound of surrender, of desperation, and twisted so her knee curved over Nichelle's shoulder, the heel of her Starfleet boot coming to rest gently in the middle of her back. Nichelle watched her, watched her; her fingers circling and dipping and thrusting, sinking deeper into wetness, not knowing if the rising rasp of breath was Majel's or her own. She ached, feeling herself clenching uselessly on nothing. "God, Majel," she said again, and the word was almost a sob. "Majel."
And, then, she descended.
Majel was close already at the first brush of her tongue, her thighs trembling against Nichelle's face, muscles jumping. The taste of her was sweet, musky and hot and addictive, and this, Nichelle thought, would be too fast, too soon. She rubbed her face in the wiry hair and lapped at the slickness in tiny, incremental licks. Majel's head was thrown back, now, her forearm pressed to her mouth, pulling the whole of her dress out of alignment, thrusting her hips against Nichelle's face. Nichelle smiled.
Majel's hand in her hair was sudden and fierce, clenching; Nichelle assumed, from the unbroken twist of her body, that the other was still clenched to her face, holding back whimpers. She laved her slowly from the centre outwards, nipping and licking and kissing her until her face was slick and smeared with Majel, and Majel's hand was kneading the back of her head, tangling in her hair. When she found the clit again, flicking her tongue against it, Majel tensed from head to foot. When she sucked it into her mouth, there was no mistaking the scream inadequately caught in Nurse Chapel's dress-sleeve.
"Oh," Nichelle heard, through the rush of blood in her ears: "Oh, oh. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh God - "
Her hand was between her own legs before she could think, fumbling panties aside, fingers sinking into searing heat. She was wet, so wet; and Majel was arching against her mouth as she sucked and nibbled and licked, and the angle was awkward but God she was near, and Majel was whimpering and her hips were pistoning and Nichelle couldn't bring herself to care. She worked herself fiercely, rough and fast and perfect, and the deep shudder of Majel's thighs as she came struck right to her core.
She twisted her face to the side, pillowing her cheek on Majel's sweat-slick thigh, and then Majel's hands were threading through her hair as she bucked against her own wet fingers, licking and biting the skin under her mouth as she whimpered and cried out, and came.
"Oh," she breathed again, when she could think, when the stars had stopped rushing. "Oh." It was the word of the hour. Uhura would, doubtless, have been able to do better, possibly in several different extraterrestrial languages, but oh, as Majel's fingers gentled her, was quite enough for Nichelle.
"Mm," agreed Majel, her voice drowsed and thick with contentment. After a moment, she twisted her body enough to lean forward and tip Nichelle's face; kissed the taste of herself from Nichelle's breathless mouth.
"Mmm," Nichelle returned. And that was quite sufficient, too.
Weeeelll, that was a departure. Needs more cock Shatnoy.