bridge2sickbay drabbles of 2010-01-25 :)
I was drabbling and this time, it's all Pike :) Dammit, he takes over my life! So here have five drabbles:
Pike/Gaila - Shoes
Gaila hates high heels. In her mind, it's like the summation of everything that objectifies women, tied to everything she wanted to get away from. Her dislike never completely vanished over the years at the Academy, no matter how fashionable her fellow cadets dressed up.
But at times, it is worth overcoming her prejudice for the look in her captain's eyes when she walks out of the bedroom in some fancy silk and those tiny, silver high heels that make her ass swing left and right. The way he turns his head away from the screen and stares at her with his mouth falling open, adoration and growing lust in his gaze.
She could get anything from him when she wears these shoes, and sometimes it's fun to wrap a man around her fingers like this.
As long as said man remembers that her outfit is a gift from a free woman to her chosen lover, and nothing else.
***
Pike/Number One - Shower Curtain
"You tore it off," Number One says accusingly, pointing one finger at the fallen curtain.
"I - maybe," Pike flounders, holding his hurting head.
"What happened last night?" she asks.
"I only had a drink or two with Boyce and some other officers in the Butterfly Bar. You know, meeting old friends and all." Uh, just talking makes his headache worse.
"And all," she echoes critically. "Isn't that a table dance bar? And it looks more like a dozen drinks. At least he could've given you something to sober up, but I guess he'd been too drunk himself, right?"
"Possibly." And some nausea to boot. Just great. He swears to himself never to attend another of these nights. Well, for a month maybe.
"I'll be off-shift in eight hours and when I come back, I trust the curtain will be repaired and your health will be restored."
"Of course," he says, biting down the sir because she would see that as uncalled-for irony.
Pike is very, very glad when she's out of the door. He'd make it up to her tonight - but first, he has to call his CMO and some repair technician, in that sequence.
***
Pike, Winona - Scissors
He's watching her sewing - sewing, what the hell? There she is, a full-fledged officer of the fleet, sitting in the run-down kitchen of a run-down farm with a run-down marriage and sewing clothes.
From the way she cuts the fabric with the wrong scissors and works the machine with unsteady hands, he can tell she's not even good at it. He remembers his mother's perfect technique, and Winona just doesn't know shit about sewing.
She doesn't have to.
"The Callimero wants you for the science department," he says and puts the PADD with the offer on the table, right on top of the pants-or-whatever she's working on. She shakes her head.
"You know I can't. I've got to take care of the kids."
"You've got parents, George had parents, and you've got a husband. From what I've seen, this farm could use some extra money. Why don't you go back at a job you really care for?"
She looks away, eyes skittering over the walls of the depressing room. "It's not that easy."
"It is." He gestures at the PADD. "Sign it and you'll be back in space in four weeks. On a ship with a good crew and an interesting job. You could make lieutenant commander in a year."
She brushes through her hair with a sigh. It's ash-blond and badly needs a good cut.
"How long do I have to think about it?"
"The length of a coffee."
"Having some kind of challenge going?" she asks, half amused, half annoyed.
"Only with myself," he replies. "I'll make the coffee, and you give it a thought."
He watches her read the document, the sewing all forgotten when she signs at last.
***
Pike, Kirk - Leather Bound book (Pike/George Kirk implied)
"You never told me." Kirk's slightly accusing voice resounds behind Pike, and he looks around at the young man who stands in front of the book shelf. It takes Pike a moment to recognize the book in his hands, an old, leather-bound volume of classic English poetry.
"In love - George, it says here." Kirk's blue eyes corner Pike, rendering moot any ideas of denying the connection. Kirk might not like the truth, but it wouldn't kill him anymore - he's too grown up for that now, after the Narada.
"You didn't just write a dissertation on him, did you?"
"Do you simply want to get angry on me?" Pike asks back, a little amused by Kirk's flashing eyes. "If you want to punch me, you've got to wait until I'm out of this wheelchair, you know. It's an honor thing. But if you take a seat and have a drink with me, I could tell you the story behind the book."
He watches Kirk's inner battle for a moment; then the young man heavily sits down. "I'd like to hear it. Sir."
"If we're going to talk about this, you're going to call me Chris," Pike states. He pours two whiskeys, giving one over to Kirk.
The young man cocks his head. "I think I'd like to hear the story first, before deciding about the first name thing."
"As you wish," Pike says, and takes a deep breath before telling Jim Kirk all about the other, hidden aspect of his father's life - the one that never made it into the history books.
***
Pike/McCoy - Apron (kinky)
"It's silly," McCoy groans as he sees the apron in Pike's hands. It's white and frilly and 19th century style, and he's so whipped.
He slings it around his hip, but Pike shakes his head. "Not like this."
With a growing flush in his face, McCoy gets out of boots, shirt and pants.
"Everything," Pike adds, and McCoy complies, then quickly ties the apron around his waistline.
"Turn around. Yes. Very nice," Pike states with an appreciating gaze up and down McCoy's almost nude figure.
McCoy gnaws on his bottom lip.
"I trust you brought everything you need to prepare dinner?"
"Down to the spices." McCoy nods.
"Good. Get to work."
McCoy trails off towards the kitchen, extremely aware of Pike's eyes on his ass. He fucking hates these games.
An hour later, when Pike bends him over the kitchen counter and does unspeakably hot things to him, McCoy remembers why he's willing to suffer through the first humiliating minutes of such evenings again and again.
***
Pike/Gaila - Shoes
Gaila hates high heels. In her mind, it's like the summation of everything that objectifies women, tied to everything she wanted to get away from. Her dislike never completely vanished over the years at the Academy, no matter how fashionable her fellow cadets dressed up.
But at times, it is worth overcoming her prejudice for the look in her captain's eyes when she walks out of the bedroom in some fancy silk and those tiny, silver high heels that make her ass swing left and right. The way he turns his head away from the screen and stares at her with his mouth falling open, adoration and growing lust in his gaze.
She could get anything from him when she wears these shoes, and sometimes it's fun to wrap a man around her fingers like this.
As long as said man remembers that her outfit is a gift from a free woman to her chosen lover, and nothing else.
***
Pike/Number One - Shower Curtain
"You tore it off," Number One says accusingly, pointing one finger at the fallen curtain.
"I - maybe," Pike flounders, holding his hurting head.
"What happened last night?" she asks.
"I only had a drink or two with Boyce and some other officers in the Butterfly Bar. You know, meeting old friends and all." Uh, just talking makes his headache worse.
"And all," she echoes critically. "Isn't that a table dance bar? And it looks more like a dozen drinks. At least he could've given you something to sober up, but I guess he'd been too drunk himself, right?"
"Possibly." And some nausea to boot. Just great. He swears to himself never to attend another of these nights. Well, for a month maybe.
"I'll be off-shift in eight hours and when I come back, I trust the curtain will be repaired and your health will be restored."
"Of course," he says, biting down the sir because she would see that as uncalled-for irony.
Pike is very, very glad when she's out of the door. He'd make it up to her tonight - but first, he has to call his CMO and some repair technician, in that sequence.
***
Pike, Winona - Scissors
He's watching her sewing - sewing, what the hell? There she is, a full-fledged officer of the fleet, sitting in the run-down kitchen of a run-down farm with a run-down marriage and sewing clothes.
From the way she cuts the fabric with the wrong scissors and works the machine with unsteady hands, he can tell she's not even good at it. He remembers his mother's perfect technique, and Winona just doesn't know shit about sewing.
She doesn't have to.
"The Callimero wants you for the science department," he says and puts the PADD with the offer on the table, right on top of the pants-or-whatever she's working on. She shakes her head.
"You know I can't. I've got to take care of the kids."
"You've got parents, George had parents, and you've got a husband. From what I've seen, this farm could use some extra money. Why don't you go back at a job you really care for?"
She looks away, eyes skittering over the walls of the depressing room. "It's not that easy."
"It is." He gestures at the PADD. "Sign it and you'll be back in space in four weeks. On a ship with a good crew and an interesting job. You could make lieutenant commander in a year."
She brushes through her hair with a sigh. It's ash-blond and badly needs a good cut.
"How long do I have to think about it?"
"The length of a coffee."
"Having some kind of challenge going?" she asks, half amused, half annoyed.
"Only with myself," he replies. "I'll make the coffee, and you give it a thought."
He watches her read the document, the sewing all forgotten when she signs at last.
***
Pike, Kirk - Leather Bound book (Pike/George Kirk implied)
"You never told me." Kirk's slightly accusing voice resounds behind Pike, and he looks around at the young man who stands in front of the book shelf. It takes Pike a moment to recognize the book in his hands, an old, leather-bound volume of classic English poetry.
"In love - George, it says here." Kirk's blue eyes corner Pike, rendering moot any ideas of denying the connection. Kirk might not like the truth, but it wouldn't kill him anymore - he's too grown up for that now, after the Narada.
"You didn't just write a dissertation on him, did you?"
"Do you simply want to get angry on me?" Pike asks back, a little amused by Kirk's flashing eyes. "If you want to punch me, you've got to wait until I'm out of this wheelchair, you know. It's an honor thing. But if you take a seat and have a drink with me, I could tell you the story behind the book."
He watches Kirk's inner battle for a moment; then the young man heavily sits down. "I'd like to hear it. Sir."
"If we're going to talk about this, you're going to call me Chris," Pike states. He pours two whiskeys, giving one over to Kirk.
The young man cocks his head. "I think I'd like to hear the story first, before deciding about the first name thing."
"As you wish," Pike says, and takes a deep breath before telling Jim Kirk all about the other, hidden aspect of his father's life - the one that never made it into the history books.
***
Pike/McCoy - Apron (kinky)
"It's silly," McCoy groans as he sees the apron in Pike's hands. It's white and frilly and 19th century style, and he's so whipped.
He slings it around his hip, but Pike shakes his head. "Not like this."
With a growing flush in his face, McCoy gets out of boots, shirt and pants.
"Everything," Pike adds, and McCoy complies, then quickly ties the apron around his waistline.
"Turn around. Yes. Very nice," Pike states with an appreciating gaze up and down McCoy's almost nude figure.
McCoy gnaws on his bottom lip.
"I trust you brought everything you need to prepare dinner?"
"Down to the spices." McCoy nods.
"Good. Get to work."
McCoy trails off towards the kitchen, extremely aware of Pike's eyes on his ass. He fucking hates these games.
An hour later, when Pike bends him over the kitchen counter and does unspeakably hot things to him, McCoy remembers why he's willing to suffer through the first humiliating minutes of such evenings again and again.
***