FIC: Worth the Wait
Title: "Worth the Wait"
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17 like whoa
Pairing: Kirk/Uhura, references to Spock/Bones
Length: 6100 words
Summary/Notes: From this prompt at st_xi_kink_meme. I went for the romance-novel-y version. Also, I've footnoted all the foreign words/phrases because I am That Person.
Disclaimer: If I owned this, I wouldn't be an anonymouse.
“Shields up, red alert,” Captain Kirk said, sitting straight up in his chair. “Uhura, open a channel.”
“Channel open, sir,” Uhura reported.
“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise,” Kirk said. “Hold your fire. We come on a peaceful mission.”
“There’s a response, sir.”
“On screen.”
“We do not believe you,” the scaly green creature hissed.
“We are carrying medical supplies for New Vulcan. They must be delivered within ninety-six hours. I repeat: we are on a peaceful mission.”
“Prove it,” zie said.
“One of our officers is Vulcan. If you have ever dealt with Vulcans, you know that they do not lie. He will vouch for us.”
“Put him on screen,” the alien said.
Spock stepped forward. “The captain speaks the truth: we are bound for New Vulcan.”
The lizard-like alien blinked, and then ended the transmission. The three small ships turned, and jumped to warp speed.
“Well, that was fun,” Kirk said. “Sulu, put us back on course.” He turned to Spock. “Thanks for not mentioning the rest of our cargo.”
Spock inclined his head. “I did not lie.”
“Oh, I know. And I’m absolutely willing to trade on your species’ reputation to get us out of incidents with hostiles who can probably taste the truth.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “What made you suspect that they had that ability?”
“Oh, the usual-flickering tongue, dents by the nose, lack of believing me just by my words. Thank goodness we were only over vidscreen.”
“Yes,” Spock said, and returned to his station. “Fascinating,” Uhura heard him murmur. Fascinating, indeed.
* * *
Later that evening, in the rec room, Spock and Kirk played chess while Dr. McCoy watched and grumbled and Nyota curled up in a chair with a xenolinguistics review. She tapped the screen with a stylus and highlighted a series of conjugations to copy and study later. Klingon wasn’t her favorite language, but she’d needed it before and would probably need it again in the not-too-distant future. “Kak, ahk, akh,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hey now, this is polite company,” Kirk called.
“Not that polite,” she responded in Andorian.
“Y tu mamá también [1],” Kirk said. McCoy laughed, and Nyota cracked a smile. Spock did neither, but calmly took one of Kirk’s pawns. “Hey!”
“Does all Klingon sound like you’re clearing your throat?” McCoy asked her.
“Well, there are varieties of throat clearing,” she said, smiling. She’d pretty much forgiven Leonard not only for being Kirk’s best friend, but for landing Spock after she and the first officer had ended their relationship, mostly because neither had been the doctor’s fault. Kirk was a force of nature and Spock, well, he’d definitely made the first move on McCoy. The doctor had resisted him for something like four months before giving in. “But yes, there are a lot of fricatives.”
“I’m sure I’ve got a hypospray for that,” McCoy said. She laughed.
“Checkmate!” Kirk announced triumphantly.
Spock scanned the board, and nodded. “Well played, Jim.”
“And I believe, Mister Spock, that puts me ahead by one game.” Kirk punched the air. “One hundred sixty-seven to one hundred sixty-six.”
“Impressive,” McCoy said. He might have even meant it.
“One more, Spock?” Kirk asked. “Give you a chance to even it up?”
Spock stood. “I think we shall postpone that honor for another night, Captain. It is getting late.” It was barely 2000, but no one in the room was a fool.
McCoy stood up as well. “Yeah. Alpha shift tomorrow.” All of them had to work alpha shift tomorrow, but Nyota wasn’t going to call their bluff. She thought Kirk might say something, though, being that he always had something to say.
She turned to look at him, but he was resetting the chess pieces calmly. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Command crew meeting at 0715.”
“Yep,” McCoy said, and headed for the door. “Night, Jim. Night, Miss Uhura.”
“Night, Leonard, Spock.” She smiled as Spock nodded and trailed McCoy out the door, a careful two feet between the men. Now she was alone in the rec room with Kirk. Great.
“Chess, Uhura?” Kirk asked, and she turned to him. He was smiling pleasantly, as if he hadn’t an ulterior motive in the world.
“I don’t play,” she said, regretting it briefly and strangely. What?
“Scrabble, then. In whatever language you like. Please?” His smile widened to a grin. “Or even two languages, as long as they use the same alphabet.”
Nyota closed her eyes, briefly. She’d only played against Kirk in a three-way game with Spock, but it had been extremely competitive, and she hadn’t had a competitive game of Scrabble in months. “Fine,” she said, going to sit across from him. “Romulan.”
“Which dialect?” Kirk asked, and she looked at him, confused. She’d thought he only knew one.
“I’ve been studying,” he said, shrugging. He stood, pushed the chess set aside, got down the bag holding the Romulan Scrabble tiles, and set the game up on the table between them.
Sometime in the middle of the match, which got cutthroat very quickly, Christine Chapel came in and looked around. “Hey, Chapel,” Kirk said, looking up with a smile. “Looking for me? I’m over here.”
“Captain,” Chapel said, smiling back. “Dr. McCoy isn’t in here, is he?”
“Nope,” Kirk answered. “He retired for the evening. I don’t think he wanted to be disturbed.” Nyota checked, but Kirk looked blankly agreeable. Odd.
“Hm,” Chapel said. “I guess I’ll leave him a message. It isn’t that important. Thanks, Captain.”
“You’re welcome, Nurse Chapel, and thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, however briefly.” Kirk grinned at her and raised his eyebrows.
Chapel laughed and shook her head. “Good evening, Captain, Lieutenant.” She left.
When the doors closed behind her, Nyota looked at him levelly. “Well done,” she said.
“Well, my Romulan’s no match for yours,” he said, “but it’s not that bad, I guess.” He looked up from the board and met her eyes, then set down four tiles. “Uhlan [2]. I believe that’s twenty-two points, and a triple-word score.”
She looked at the board, and he was right. “Que diabos? [3],” she breathed, and returned her full concentration to the game.
* * *
“Uhura!” Kirk said, coming up to her in the mess at dinner. “Scrabble again tonight? I’ll let you beat me this time.” She’d lost by two points last time, because Kirk had known a secondary term for the male anatomy and she’d lost the challenge.
“Okay,” she said, only half reluctantly. “You can pick the language this time.” It was only fair.
“Great!” he said. “1930 okay?”
“Sure.”
They played in Russian this time, with Chekov helpfully informing them about differences between dialects until Sulu got him to play ping-pong. “Russians invented ping-pong, you know.”
Nyota won by fifteen points, thanks to a timely triple word score.
“Good game,” Kirk said, and offered her his hand. She took it carefully, expecting something fishy, but he shook it firmly and let go, to clean up the tiles. “Again in a couple of days? I’m supposed to fence with Sulu tomorrow evening.”
“Sure,” Nyota said, surprising herself.
* * *
After three weeks of fairly regular Scrabble games, sometimes after Kirk’s chess match with Spock and sometimes instead of it, Nyota was forced to admit two things to herself: first, that Kirk was remarkably good company and a top-notch Scrabble player, and second, that he was capable of being a perfect gentleman. He’d completely stopped hitting on her, which led to her third admission: she missed it. Every time he made a pass at Christine, which she’d eventually realized neither of them took even remotely seriously, her stomach clenched.
This was stupid. Nyota shook her head, rolled over, and ordered herself to go to sleep.
* * *
“Uhura!” Kirk called. “Over here!” They were on shore leave on Starbase XI, and most of the command crew had gathered in the bar that McCoy said had the best bourbon. Nyota approved; the music had a beat, and she was definitely in the mood to dance. She saw the captain waving at her, and went over to join him. Them. She went over to join them.
“Here,” Kirk said, and set a Cardassian Sunrise in front of her. “Drink up! The night is young, and so are we.”
“Some of us,” McCoy grumbled. He and Spock were at the back of the booth, separated by about two inches. Sulu, Chekov, and Christine rounded out the rest of the bunch; Chekov was drinking what she hoped was soda, and Chapel and Sulu both had some sort of bluish layered drink. Spock was drinking what looked like a screwdriver but was actually just orange juice, Nyota knew, and McCoy and Kirk both had bourbon.
Kirk clapped McCoy on the shoulder and laughed. “You’ll feel younger after a couple of drinks, Bones.”
“Doubt it,” he said, but without much heat.
Nyota took a gulp of the Sunrise and gasped. It was pretty strong. “Whew,” she said, shaking her head. “Bartender’s got a heavy hand.”
“Well, yeah,” Kirk said. “Why do you think we’re here?” He grinned at her.
Nyota smiled back, and surveyed the group. Spock did not dance; McCoy wouldn’t, either, although she suspected he probably could lead a mean waltz. Chekov was too young, and Sulu, for all his grace fencing, really wasn’t much for shaking his butt on the dance floor. That left Christine, who was yawning, and Kirk. She debated for a moment, took another sip of her drink, and said, “Hey, Kirk, wanna dance?”
Jim Kirk actually looked surprised for a split second, and then the cocky-asshole grin reappeared. “Why, Uhura, I didn’t think you’d had enough to drink yet.”
“Eh. Better you than them,” she said, jerking her head at the rest of the people at the table. She heard a faint protest from Chekov, but ignored it.
“You’re right. I’m a much better dancer than the rest of them,” Kirk said, and she laughed. He held his arm out, and she took it and let him lead her to the dance floor. “You can call me Jim, you know, when we’re out drinking together.”
“Nyota,” she said, surprising herself yet again. “My first name is Nyota.”
Jim hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Nyota? I had no idea!”
“Oh, shut it, you,” she said, and punched him in the shoulder.
* * *
Nyota woke up and threw herself into a sitting position, sucking in air and shivering like she’d had a nightmare. But she hadn’t. She closed her eyes and groaned. Well, maybe dreaming about her CO qualified as a nightmare, but . . . She pressed her thighs together and shivered again. É foda viu?! [4] She was not-not!-attracted to Jim Kirk. He was insufferable, immature, annoying-
Except, of course, he wasn’t any of those things and hadn’t been for quite a while, if he ever really had been. He was a perfectly decent person and a great captain, actually. He was . . . nice. Honest. Also loyal to the entire crew, and disturbingly brilliant. He took risks, sure, but they usually turned out spectacularly, and if they didn’t, she was sure he’d be willing to take the blame, and she hadn’t been sure of that a few months ago. Maybe because she hadn’t looked.
So, all right, he was cute as anything-she’d have to be dead to have missed that, even back in the bar in Riverside-and he’d grown up in the five years since then. When they’d danced last week, his hands didn’t wander so much as one millimeter past where she’d indicated they should go, and they’d moved well together. It didn’t change the fact that he was the captain and she was the communications officer and she had no business having amazing dreams about his mouth on her-She groaned, but this time it came out more like a moan. Ugh. Her underwear was pretty much soaked through, too. Lovely. She looked at the clock-0545-and decided it was late enough to get up and do something useful.
* * *
Porra. [5] She was absolutely, totally, ridiculously attracted to James T. Kirk. This would not do. She busied herself with the communications console, scanning and rescanning at double the standard rate, hoping for something to distract her. All Jim had done so far that shift was smile at her, and she’d felt herself flushing. Every time he gave an order, her hands trembled. Damnit, Jim, she thought, echoing McCoy’s favorite phrase. She would have banged her head against the console if it wouldn’t have disturbed the rest of the bridge.
* * *
“Nyota.” A hand touched her on the shoulder briefly, and she looked up to see Spock standing over her. “May I join you?” he asked. The mess was nearly deserted, and she nodded.
He settled down and ate a few bites before saying, “Something appears to be troubling you. Perhaps you would like to discuss it?”
She studied his face for a moment or two. When they’d ended their relationship, it had been fairly civil. She’d even been his confidante during the four long months when he’d been courting McCoy. She liked to think that they were still fairly close friends, even if a thread of-something-kept them a slight distance apart. Did she want to discuss her situation with him? - Well, who else could she discuss it with? “Are you busy this evening?” she asked.
Spock blinked. “I have some free time after dinner,” he said. “Would you prefer to meet in your quarters or mine?”
“Yours,” she said. He had more space and better furniture. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I’d prefer it were just the two of us.”
“Of course,” he said.
* * *
Seven hours later, she stared into a cup of herbal tea and wondered exactly where to begin. Spock didn’t say anything-the silence probably didn’t feel nearly as oppressive to him as it did to her, but he wasn’t expected to start a discussion, either. “I don’t know where to start,” she admitted, finally.
“Perhaps you would like to discuss your attraction to Jim?”
Nyota would have spit out her tea, if she’d been drinking any. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“Perhaps to one who knows you well. And Jim,” he added.
“It’ll go away,” she said. Hopefully, she almost added but didn’t.
“Will it?” Spock asked. Nyota shrugged. “He seems to-I believe the phrase is ‘push all your buttons.’”
She almost did a spit-take for a second time. “What?” she asked.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Surely you did not think I could be romantically involved with you for more than a year and not know what you find attractive in a partner, Nyota.”
Well, when he put it that way . . . “But it’s Jim Kirk,” she said, gesturing ineffectually.
“He has had three sexual partners in the last two years,” Spock said.
“How do you know that?” she asked. Spock raised one eyebrow. “Never mind,” she said. Probably Dr. McCoy. But only three?
“He has been studying Romulan and rare dialects of Vulcan, as well as requesting help from Lieutenant Sulu in Spanish and Ensign Chekov in Russian.”
They’d played Scrabble in Spanish and French simultaneously last week, as well as more than one match in Russian. “Yes,” she said.
“He dances well.”
“So does Nurse Cathcart,” Nyota said.
“Nurse Cathcart is committed to Lieutenant Jarvis.”
“Captain Kirk is committed to the ship.” She buried her face in her hands. “I think my only good excuse is that he’s the captain and I’m one of his officers.”
“There are no regulations against involvement between the captain and a bridge officer.”
She looked up. “There have to be.”
“There are regulations that circumscribe the relationships and regulations that seek to protect the officer and the captain, but nowhere is it explicitly prohibited. Then-Captain Pike and his first officer were and still are romantically involved.”
She blinked at that one. “They are?”
Spock’s lips quirked. “It is, as you would say, an open secret. I am also sure it has not escaped your notice that the Chief Medical Officer and the first officer on this ship are romantically involved.”
“You don’t say,” she said, grinning.
“I believe, Nyota, that it would be eminently logical for you to act on your attraction to the captain.”
Nyota groaned. “You’re supposed to talk me out of it, not into it.”
“I do not believe that I would be a good friend if I talked you out of it.”
“I can’t believe this.” She paused. “So what do I do now?”
“I cannot help you there, Nyota. You are human; you have a better idea of how to woo the captain than I would.”
“Right,” she said, and stood. “Thanks, Spock. I’ll-I’ll think about it.”
“I only wish your happiness, Nyota.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. She touched the back of his hand lightly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good evening, Nyota.”
* * *
Three days later, her stomach still fluttered like a teenager’s whenever she saw Jim, and she had almost, but not quite, decided that she wanted to do something about it. Not that she had any clue what exactly to do, other than perhaps strip naked and show up in his bed. Probably effective, but not, she had to admit, what she wanted out of a relationship with Jim Kirk. She briefly wished either that Gaila was still alive, or that she felt comfortable talking to Chapel or Rand or Jarvis or one of the other women on the ship.
She sighed, and dug a fork into her pad thai.
“Everything okay, Uhura?” Jim asked, setting his tray across from hers and sitting.
“I’m fine, Jim,” she said, lying through her teeth and tucking her feet under her chair. She smiled brightly at him. “What are you eating?”
“Man food,” he said, displaying a salad with grilled chicken. “Bones is after me again to eat vegetables.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” she said.
“I know,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m from Iowa. We’re raised on corn, potatoes, cow, and more corn.”
“Expand your palate,” she suggested, gesturing to her own food.
Jim grinned. “I love pad thai,” he said. “When I was about seven or eight, though, my mom was on one of her rare visits home and tried to get me to eat some. She made the mistake of telling me that my father loved pad thai, and I didn’t touch the stuff again until the academy.” He paused for a moment. “Did you ever eat at the little Thai place about two blocks from campus?
“The Sawatdee?” she asked. “I love that place!” They reminisced about the food available in San Francisco for a few minutes. Nyota was glad for the topic change; she hadn’t known what to say.
“Well, I have to go,” Jim said regretfully, once he was done eating. “Duty calls, you know. Scrabble again tomorrow? I’ve got a new language for you.”
“Oh?” she said. “What language?”
“You’ll see,” he said, with another grin.
“I’m already worried,” Nyota called after him as he walked to the food slot.
* * *
“And, in case you wanted to know, your birth control implant is functioning perfectly. Hormonal levels are well within the expected range.”
Nyota raised both eyebrows at Dr. McCoy. She’d come in for a required vaccination, not a gynecological exam.
“If you break his heart, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident,” Leonard said.
“Does everyone on this ship know?” she asked acidly. She was going to kill Spock later. “Wait, what?”
McCoy raised one eyebrow. He and Spock were certainly a pair, with the damned eyebrow raising. “You heard me. Your hearing is well above average, and we know there’s no problem with your comprehension, either.” He gave her a level look. “Don’t screw it up, Lieutenant Uhura.”
“I won’t if he doesn’t,” she muttered. “I’ll do my best not to,” she said at full volume. She got out of there as soon as possible after that, and tried her damnedest not to spend the rest of the day thinking about what the doctor had said.
* * *
That evening, she spent more time fussing with her ponytail than usual, and it ended up looking exactly as it did every other day. She sighed, and headed for the rec room.
A few ensigns were talking in one corner, but Jim was waiting for her at their usual table. “So what’s the language?” she asked.
Jim grinned, looking more pleased with himself than usual. “Guess,” he said.
“Andorian?” He shook his head. “Bolian?” He shook his head again. “Urdu?”
“You’re getting warmer,” he said. “Think . . . closer to home.”
She tipped her head to one side, blinked a couple times, and felt a slow smile spread across her face. “Swahili.”
Jim nodded and looked awfully pleased with himself. No one on the ship other than Nyota herself spoke Swahili; he must have learned it off of recordings in the computer.
“Lead the way,” she said, in the language of her childhood, and they played.
Of course, now that she knew that Jim was interested-more than interested-she could hardly miss the signs. He smiled, rather than grinned; he watched her eyes, her hands, and her mouth, but not her breasts-well, only once in a while her breasts. He’d learned frickin’ Swahili just for her. He’d blown off games of chess with Spock and evenings drinking with McCoy to spend time with her, and at the beginning, she’d been barely more than civil. He’d even voluntarily mentioned his parents.
Hell, even if his actions hadn’t spoken so loudly, the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at her and his body language were screaming as well. Some communications officer she was.
Partway through, one of the ensigns asked if they could put on music, and she and Jim both nodded and waved them away. The game was surprisingly competitive; his vocabulary was more extensive than she’d expected, and neither pulled any punches. The ensigns left before they’d finished, but left the music playing. Nyota ignored it and concentrated on her tiles.
Jim triumphantly set the last of his tiles down and said, “Mkunga. [6] That’s eleven points which means . . . you still beat me by twenty-six points. Well played, Nyota.”
“Well played yourself, Jim.” She smiled at him and sat back in her chair. Only then did she register the music, which had shuffled to something slow and soft and . . . romantic.
“Ensigns should know to clean up their toys by now,” Jim said, gesturing vaguely into the air. He looked at her, and her breath caught at the expression in his eyes. He was brilliant, he was gorgeous, he liked her-what on earth was she doing on this side of the table?
“Mmm,” she said, and threw herself into the moment. “Hey, Jim, wanna dance?” She stood, holding out her hand.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, in Swahili, and pulled her into his arms.
This time his hands wandered a bit; but then again, so did hers, across the breadth of his shoulders, into his hair, and down to cup his tight, perfect rear end. Her mouth wandered as well, across his lips, along his jaw, and down the side of his neck. The song ended, and Nyota broke the kiss long enough to say, “Computer, music off.” She didn’t want anything to change the moment.
Turning her lips back to Jim’s, she saw that he’d pulled back just enough to look at her. “Nyota, I . . . may I walk you to your quarters?”
“I could walk you to yours,” she suggested.
“I didn’t mean-” Jim said, then stopped.
“I did,” she said. “I mean, if you want to.”
“If I want to.” He huffed a laugh. “I’ve wanted to for five years.” He winced. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “So I’m hot.”
He laughed again. “Definitely hot.” He leaned in for another kiss. “Can I ask what changed your mind about me?” His voice was warm, low, and a bit hesitant, and it sent heat straight between her thighs.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she admitted. “It took me a while to notice.”
“I probably was who you thought I was,” he said. “But I’m a bit older now. Maybe less stupid.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Maybe not. Would Jim at twenty-two have asked questions rather than take a willing Nyota to his quarters?”
“God, no,” he said, and kissed her witless.
They did not run to his quarters. They walked quite calmly, not touching, speaking in Standard, talking about the last mission, shore leave, Sulu’s upcoming birthday. Nyota’s heart was racing, even so, and Jim’s eyes were burning bright blue every time he looked at her. She could feel the heat coming off his body like a line of fire only a couple inches away, and by the time they got inside, she was burning as well.
He turned to her. “Nyota, you can of course say ‘stop’ at any time, but this is the last time I’m going to ask-are we doing this?”
“Jim.” She stood directly in front of him, without touching. “Yes. My mind is made up. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to see me naked.”
“Oh, how horrible,” he said, and smiled.
“Also,” she said, “I’m perfectly healthy and my birth control is up-to-date.”
“Ditto,” Jim said, and wrinkled his nose at her. “Thanks for making me think of Bones.”
She laughed, and leaned in to kiss him. His arms locked around her hips, and she found herself in the air briefly before landing on his bed, kneeling astride a prone Jim. “Now what was that about seeing you naked?” he said.
His hands crept under the hem of her skirt, sliding up her thighs and raising the one-piece garment slightly. She crossed her arms, grabbed the hem herself, and pulled it over her head in one motion, leaving herself in the regulation boy-shorts and sleeveless undershirt. “Let’s try this again,” she said, and stripped off the undershirt, revealing the regulation black bra.
“Let me do this one,” he said, and she leaned over to allow him access. He mistakenly reached around her back before realizing it was a front-hook, and laughed, kissing her nose. “Sorry,” he said. “Out of practice.” He expertly stripped it off after that, and threw it on the floor.
“Just fine with me,” she said. She scooted back a couple of inches and grabbed the hems of Jim’s tunic and undershirt; he sat up partway and allowed her to remove them and pitch them on top of her clothing. “I’ll get you back into practice.”
“Good,” he said. He settled back down on the mattress and rested his hands on her waist. “This was absolutely worth the wait.”
“I’m not even completely naked,” she said, chuckling. She leaned down, kissed him, and pulled her leg over to stand next to the bed. She unzipped one boot and then the other, and Jim propped himself up to watch. Stepping out of her shoes, she hooked her thumbs in the boy-shorts and pushed them down slowly, keeping her eyes on his face the whole time. He followed the progress of the shorts until they hit mid-thigh, at which time he got distracted by her breasts. She laughed again, dropped her underwear, and stepped out of it. Pulling the hair tie out of her hair, she shook her head, and Jim sucked in a breath.
She went to the foot of the bed and stripped off Jim’s boots and socks while he watched. “Can I have some help here?” she said.
He scrambled to unbutton his pants and shove them down his hips, along with his boxer-briefs. She pulled the legs of his pants until they came off, dragging the underwear with them, and pitched them on top of the pile. Now that he was finally naked, as well, she put her hands on her hips and looked her fill, from dirty blond hair and blue eyes down to defined chest and stomach-maybe even a bit more defined than the last time she’d seen him shirtless-to his erection, large and taut against his abdomen. “Mmm,” she said.
“Mmm, yourself,” he said, sounding a bit strangled. “Now get over here so I can touch you.”
Nyota grinned and crawled up the length of the bed, over Jim, and lowered herself slowly down on top of him. “Yes, Captain.”
“Oh, God,” he said with a shudder. “We’ll do that sometime, definitely, but this time it’s just Jim and Nyota, okay?” He slid one thigh between hers, shaped her shoulders, back, and rear with his hands before his thumbs found her nipples and she gasped. She ground herself against his thigh and closed her eyes.
Jim’s hand found the back of her head, and pulled her in for another one of his thought-erasing kisses. She met him at every turn, and finally rolled off to one side, facing him. He looked at her, pupils wide, and she smiled and kissed him again, one hand reaching down to wrap around his cock. Shuddering, he didn’t break the kiss, but let her explore; let her run one thumb over the head, stroke down his length, cup his balls. When she squeezed, gently, he gasped, and in one smooth movement, rolled Nyota to her back and himself on top.
She blinked at him, and he smiled. “My turn.” Ducking his head, he licked her collarbone, and sank down to take the tip of one breast in his mouth. He sucked, and looked up at her. She closed her eyes-too much. Too much heat, too much blue, too much feeling. Pulling his head up, she kissed him, desperately trying to dial back a few notches. He ended the kiss and looked at her for a moment, then rolled to his side, pulling her to him so they were spooning. She pulled her hair out of the way and Jim buried his face in the back of her neck.
His hand on her side never stopped moving, but it felt more soothing at the moment than arousing. She could still feel his erection pressing against her backside, and she reached a hand back to caress his hip. Eventually she realized he was kissing the nape of her neck, and he gradually spread the pattern of his kisses until it was halfway down her back and across both shoulders. She shivered, lightly, and his hand slid over to her abdomen, thumb lightly tracing the bottom curve of her breast. “Better?” he breathed in her ear, and she nodded.
He continued the slow, gentle caresses, gradually increasing the pressure, until she was writhing in his arms, desperate for more contact. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding the wetness there and spreading it with two fingertips. She cried out his name as he found her clit, and she felt him smile against her skin. “I like the sound of that,” he said, rubbing in small circles. When she jerked in pleasure, not coming quite yet, he removed his hand, rose above her, and licked his fingers. “Mmm,” he said, imitating her earlier.
Nyota laughed and said, “Get down here.”
“With pleasure,” Jim said, and settled himself between her legs. He kissed her thoroughly, trailed his lips down her neck, explored the hollow of her throat for a moment or two, sucked gently on each of her nipples, dipped his tongue into her navel, mouthed along one hip, and finally, giving her time to realize where he was going, kissed the inside of each thigh before setting his lips where his fingers had been earlier. She gasped and arched into his mouth, and he held her hips briefly before sliding two fingers inside.
The combination of his hot, expert mouth and pressure against exactly the right spot inside sent her over the moon before she’d thought it would happen, and she came, hard and wet and swearing in multiple languages. Jim kept touching her, gently, until she drifted back down to the ship, and then came up for a kiss.
She paused long enough to say, “No, Jim, I think you’re the one with the talented tongue,” which made him laugh. Despite the lazy swirl of their tongues, she could feel the hum of energy coursing through his body, and after only a few minutes his fingers found her clit again. A few strokes, and she was humming as well. “Now?” she asked, not quite begging.
“Now,” he agreed, resettling himself until the head of his cock pressed against her. He leaned to take her lips, and with a hitch of his hips, slid inside.
He was-big. Or maybe it had just been a while. Whatever the cause, she felt-stretched-but as Jim kept up the slow slide, eventually she was moaning, grasping his hips, and begging him to go faster, harder, more. “God, Jim, please,” she said, sounding more desperate than she’d thought possible.
She wrapped her legs around his hips. He changed the angle slightly, and--there. Ohhh, there. “Oh, God, yes, Jim, yes!” she cried out, tensed around him, and hit the peak for the second time.
She felt him follow her over mere moments later, groaning. “Oh, Nyota.”
Long moments later, when her brain had unscrambled and Jim had settled on his back with her curled around his side, she ran an appreciative hand down his chest. “That was wonderful.”
“Yes, it was. You were.” He tightened his hold on her briefly. “Stay the night?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“Good,” he said, and she couldn’t read his voice. His tone changed completely, though, when he added, “‘Cause round two is totally in the works, you know.” She laughed, as she was intended to, and yawned, settling her head more firmly in the hollow of his shoulder. “Computer, lights at ten percent,” he said. The room dimmed, and he clasped her hand where it lay on his chest.
A few minutes later, when she was just drifting into the hazy borderlands between sleeping and waking, Jim said, “So . . .” and trailed off.
“So?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. She didn’t believe him in the least, but was too sleepy to protest.
* * *
She woke again sometime after midnight, to Jim kissing her neck. Once he knew she was awake, he said, “Round two?”
“Mmm, yes please,” she replied, and he began all over again.
* * *
Round three was at around 0530, before they had to get up for alpha shift. Nyota rode him, slowly, as his hands cupped her hips and ass. He finished first, her name on his lips, and flipped her on her back to bring her to completion with his mouth. She kissed him afterward, their tastes mingling on her tongue.
Later, in the shower-if she’d known that the captain got a water shower, she might have seduced him years ago-he asked, while soaping her back, “May I see you again?”
She turned to him. “Yes, of course. Jim, I didn’t-” She stopped. “I don’t-” She paused again, pressed her lips together, tried a third time. “Jim, if all I wanted was one night, no offense, but I’m sure I could have had that a while ago.”
“Yes,” he said with a lopsided smile, but didn’t continue.
“I don’t want just one night,” she said, simply.
His arms went around her, pulling her to him and tucking her head into his shoulder. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’ve got plans for at least a year’s worth. Maybe more.”
She grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”
[1] "And your mother, too." Yes, Kirk is making a your-mom joke.
[2] Uhlan is a Romulan military rank.
[3] Portuguese for, roughly, “What the hell?”, although I think it’s more literally “What the devil?”
[4] Portuguese for something like “what the fuck?” - and no, I really have no reason as to why Uhura keeps swearing in Portuguese. I don't speak Portuguese.
[5] More Portuguese; this one is apparently used as an expletive somewhere between “Damn!” and “Fuck!” in Brazil, although the literal meaning is something about ejaculate.
[6] “Mkunga” = eel, as in “My hovercraft is full of eels.”
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17 like whoa
Pairing: Kirk/Uhura, references to Spock/Bones
Length: 6100 words
Summary/Notes: From this prompt at st_xi_kink_meme. I went for the romance-novel-y version. Also, I've footnoted all the foreign words/phrases because I am That Person.
Disclaimer: If I owned this, I wouldn't be an anonymouse.
“Shields up, red alert,” Captain Kirk said, sitting straight up in his chair. “Uhura, open a channel.”
“Channel open, sir,” Uhura reported.
“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise,” Kirk said. “Hold your fire. We come on a peaceful mission.”
“There’s a response, sir.”
“On screen.”
“We do not believe you,” the scaly green creature hissed.
“We are carrying medical supplies for New Vulcan. They must be delivered within ninety-six hours. I repeat: we are on a peaceful mission.”
“Prove it,” zie said.
“One of our officers is Vulcan. If you have ever dealt with Vulcans, you know that they do not lie. He will vouch for us.”
“Put him on screen,” the alien said.
Spock stepped forward. “The captain speaks the truth: we are bound for New Vulcan.”
The lizard-like alien blinked, and then ended the transmission. The three small ships turned, and jumped to warp speed.
“Well, that was fun,” Kirk said. “Sulu, put us back on course.” He turned to Spock. “Thanks for not mentioning the rest of our cargo.”
Spock inclined his head. “I did not lie.”
“Oh, I know. And I’m absolutely willing to trade on your species’ reputation to get us out of incidents with hostiles who can probably taste the truth.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “What made you suspect that they had that ability?”
“Oh, the usual-flickering tongue, dents by the nose, lack of believing me just by my words. Thank goodness we were only over vidscreen.”
“Yes,” Spock said, and returned to his station. “Fascinating,” Uhura heard him murmur. Fascinating, indeed.
* * *
Later that evening, in the rec room, Spock and Kirk played chess while Dr. McCoy watched and grumbled and Nyota curled up in a chair with a xenolinguistics review. She tapped the screen with a stylus and highlighted a series of conjugations to copy and study later. Klingon wasn’t her favorite language, but she’d needed it before and would probably need it again in the not-too-distant future. “Kak, ahk, akh,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hey now, this is polite company,” Kirk called.
“Not that polite,” she responded in Andorian.
“Y tu mamá también [1],” Kirk said. McCoy laughed, and Nyota cracked a smile. Spock did neither, but calmly took one of Kirk’s pawns. “Hey!”
“Does all Klingon sound like you’re clearing your throat?” McCoy asked her.
“Well, there are varieties of throat clearing,” she said, smiling. She’d pretty much forgiven Leonard not only for being Kirk’s best friend, but for landing Spock after she and the first officer had ended their relationship, mostly because neither had been the doctor’s fault. Kirk was a force of nature and Spock, well, he’d definitely made the first move on McCoy. The doctor had resisted him for something like four months before giving in. “But yes, there are a lot of fricatives.”
“I’m sure I’ve got a hypospray for that,” McCoy said. She laughed.
“Checkmate!” Kirk announced triumphantly.
Spock scanned the board, and nodded. “Well played, Jim.”
“And I believe, Mister Spock, that puts me ahead by one game.” Kirk punched the air. “One hundred sixty-seven to one hundred sixty-six.”
“Impressive,” McCoy said. He might have even meant it.
“One more, Spock?” Kirk asked. “Give you a chance to even it up?”
Spock stood. “I think we shall postpone that honor for another night, Captain. It is getting late.” It was barely 2000, but no one in the room was a fool.
McCoy stood up as well. “Yeah. Alpha shift tomorrow.” All of them had to work alpha shift tomorrow, but Nyota wasn’t going to call their bluff. She thought Kirk might say something, though, being that he always had something to say.
She turned to look at him, but he was resetting the chess pieces calmly. “Okay. See you tomorrow. Command crew meeting at 0715.”
“Yep,” McCoy said, and headed for the door. “Night, Jim. Night, Miss Uhura.”
“Night, Leonard, Spock.” She smiled as Spock nodded and trailed McCoy out the door, a careful two feet between the men. Now she was alone in the rec room with Kirk. Great.
“Chess, Uhura?” Kirk asked, and she turned to him. He was smiling pleasantly, as if he hadn’t an ulterior motive in the world.
“I don’t play,” she said, regretting it briefly and strangely. What?
“Scrabble, then. In whatever language you like. Please?” His smile widened to a grin. “Or even two languages, as long as they use the same alphabet.”
Nyota closed her eyes, briefly. She’d only played against Kirk in a three-way game with Spock, but it had been extremely competitive, and she hadn’t had a competitive game of Scrabble in months. “Fine,” she said, going to sit across from him. “Romulan.”
“Which dialect?” Kirk asked, and she looked at him, confused. She’d thought he only knew one.
“I’ve been studying,” he said, shrugging. He stood, pushed the chess set aside, got down the bag holding the Romulan Scrabble tiles, and set the game up on the table between them.
Sometime in the middle of the match, which got cutthroat very quickly, Christine Chapel came in and looked around. “Hey, Chapel,” Kirk said, looking up with a smile. “Looking for me? I’m over here.”
“Captain,” Chapel said, smiling back. “Dr. McCoy isn’t in here, is he?”
“Nope,” Kirk answered. “He retired for the evening. I don’t think he wanted to be disturbed.” Nyota checked, but Kirk looked blankly agreeable. Odd.
“Hm,” Chapel said. “I guess I’ll leave him a message. It isn’t that important. Thanks, Captain.”
“You’re welcome, Nurse Chapel, and thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, however briefly.” Kirk grinned at her and raised his eyebrows.
Chapel laughed and shook her head. “Good evening, Captain, Lieutenant.” She left.
When the doors closed behind her, Nyota looked at him levelly. “Well done,” she said.
“Well, my Romulan’s no match for yours,” he said, “but it’s not that bad, I guess.” He looked up from the board and met her eyes, then set down four tiles. “Uhlan [2]. I believe that’s twenty-two points, and a triple-word score.”
She looked at the board, and he was right. “Que diabos? [3],” she breathed, and returned her full concentration to the game.
* * *
“Uhura!” Kirk said, coming up to her in the mess at dinner. “Scrabble again tonight? I’ll let you beat me this time.” She’d lost by two points last time, because Kirk had known a secondary term for the male anatomy and she’d lost the challenge.
“Okay,” she said, only half reluctantly. “You can pick the language this time.” It was only fair.
“Great!” he said. “1930 okay?”
“Sure.”
They played in Russian this time, with Chekov helpfully informing them about differences between dialects until Sulu got him to play ping-pong. “Russians invented ping-pong, you know.”
Nyota won by fifteen points, thanks to a timely triple word score.
“Good game,” Kirk said, and offered her his hand. She took it carefully, expecting something fishy, but he shook it firmly and let go, to clean up the tiles. “Again in a couple of days? I’m supposed to fence with Sulu tomorrow evening.”
“Sure,” Nyota said, surprising herself.
* * *
After three weeks of fairly regular Scrabble games, sometimes after Kirk’s chess match with Spock and sometimes instead of it, Nyota was forced to admit two things to herself: first, that Kirk was remarkably good company and a top-notch Scrabble player, and second, that he was capable of being a perfect gentleman. He’d completely stopped hitting on her, which led to her third admission: she missed it. Every time he made a pass at Christine, which she’d eventually realized neither of them took even remotely seriously, her stomach clenched.
This was stupid. Nyota shook her head, rolled over, and ordered herself to go to sleep.
* * *
“Uhura!” Kirk called. “Over here!” They were on shore leave on Starbase XI, and most of the command crew had gathered in the bar that McCoy said had the best bourbon. Nyota approved; the music had a beat, and she was definitely in the mood to dance. She saw the captain waving at her, and went over to join him. Them. She went over to join them.
“Here,” Kirk said, and set a Cardassian Sunrise in front of her. “Drink up! The night is young, and so are we.”
“Some of us,” McCoy grumbled. He and Spock were at the back of the booth, separated by about two inches. Sulu, Chekov, and Christine rounded out the rest of the bunch; Chekov was drinking what she hoped was soda, and Chapel and Sulu both had some sort of bluish layered drink. Spock was drinking what looked like a screwdriver but was actually just orange juice, Nyota knew, and McCoy and Kirk both had bourbon.
Kirk clapped McCoy on the shoulder and laughed. “You’ll feel younger after a couple of drinks, Bones.”
“Doubt it,” he said, but without much heat.
Nyota took a gulp of the Sunrise and gasped. It was pretty strong. “Whew,” she said, shaking her head. “Bartender’s got a heavy hand.”
“Well, yeah,” Kirk said. “Why do you think we’re here?” He grinned at her.
Nyota smiled back, and surveyed the group. Spock did not dance; McCoy wouldn’t, either, although she suspected he probably could lead a mean waltz. Chekov was too young, and Sulu, for all his grace fencing, really wasn’t much for shaking his butt on the dance floor. That left Christine, who was yawning, and Kirk. She debated for a moment, took another sip of her drink, and said, “Hey, Kirk, wanna dance?”
Jim Kirk actually looked surprised for a split second, and then the cocky-asshole grin reappeared. “Why, Uhura, I didn’t think you’d had enough to drink yet.”
“Eh. Better you than them,” she said, jerking her head at the rest of the people at the table. She heard a faint protest from Chekov, but ignored it.
“You’re right. I’m a much better dancer than the rest of them,” Kirk said, and she laughed. He held his arm out, and she took it and let him lead her to the dance floor. “You can call me Jim, you know, when we’re out drinking together.”
“Nyota,” she said, surprising herself yet again. “My first name is Nyota.”
Jim hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Nyota? I had no idea!”
“Oh, shut it, you,” she said, and punched him in the shoulder.
* * *
Nyota woke up and threw herself into a sitting position, sucking in air and shivering like she’d had a nightmare. But she hadn’t. She closed her eyes and groaned. Well, maybe dreaming about her CO qualified as a nightmare, but . . . She pressed her thighs together and shivered again. É foda viu?! [4] She was not-not!-attracted to Jim Kirk. He was insufferable, immature, annoying-
Except, of course, he wasn’t any of those things and hadn’t been for quite a while, if he ever really had been. He was a perfectly decent person and a great captain, actually. He was . . . nice. Honest. Also loyal to the entire crew, and disturbingly brilliant. He took risks, sure, but they usually turned out spectacularly, and if they didn’t, she was sure he’d be willing to take the blame, and she hadn’t been sure of that a few months ago. Maybe because she hadn’t looked.
So, all right, he was cute as anything-she’d have to be dead to have missed that, even back in the bar in Riverside-and he’d grown up in the five years since then. When they’d danced last week, his hands didn’t wander so much as one millimeter past where she’d indicated they should go, and they’d moved well together. It didn’t change the fact that he was the captain and she was the communications officer and she had no business having amazing dreams about his mouth on her-She groaned, but this time it came out more like a moan. Ugh. Her underwear was pretty much soaked through, too. Lovely. She looked at the clock-0545-and decided it was late enough to get up and do something useful.
* * *
Porra. [5] She was absolutely, totally, ridiculously attracted to James T. Kirk. This would not do. She busied herself with the communications console, scanning and rescanning at double the standard rate, hoping for something to distract her. All Jim had done so far that shift was smile at her, and she’d felt herself flushing. Every time he gave an order, her hands trembled. Damnit, Jim, she thought, echoing McCoy’s favorite phrase. She would have banged her head against the console if it wouldn’t have disturbed the rest of the bridge.
* * *
“Nyota.” A hand touched her on the shoulder briefly, and she looked up to see Spock standing over her. “May I join you?” he asked. The mess was nearly deserted, and she nodded.
He settled down and ate a few bites before saying, “Something appears to be troubling you. Perhaps you would like to discuss it?”
She studied his face for a moment or two. When they’d ended their relationship, it had been fairly civil. She’d even been his confidante during the four long months when he’d been courting McCoy. She liked to think that they were still fairly close friends, even if a thread of-something-kept them a slight distance apart. Did she want to discuss her situation with him? - Well, who else could she discuss it with? “Are you busy this evening?” she asked.
Spock blinked. “I have some free time after dinner,” he said. “Would you prefer to meet in your quarters or mine?”
“Yours,” she said. He had more space and better furniture. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I’d prefer it were just the two of us.”
“Of course,” he said.
* * *
Seven hours later, she stared into a cup of herbal tea and wondered exactly where to begin. Spock didn’t say anything-the silence probably didn’t feel nearly as oppressive to him as it did to her, but he wasn’t expected to start a discussion, either. “I don’t know where to start,” she admitted, finally.
“Perhaps you would like to discuss your attraction to Jim?”
Nyota would have spit out her tea, if she’d been drinking any. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“Perhaps to one who knows you well. And Jim,” he added.
“It’ll go away,” she said. Hopefully, she almost added but didn’t.
“Will it?” Spock asked. Nyota shrugged. “He seems to-I believe the phrase is ‘push all your buttons.’”
She almost did a spit-take for a second time. “What?” she asked.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Surely you did not think I could be romantically involved with you for more than a year and not know what you find attractive in a partner, Nyota.”
Well, when he put it that way . . . “But it’s Jim Kirk,” she said, gesturing ineffectually.
“He has had three sexual partners in the last two years,” Spock said.
“How do you know that?” she asked. Spock raised one eyebrow. “Never mind,” she said. Probably Dr. McCoy. But only three?
“He has been studying Romulan and rare dialects of Vulcan, as well as requesting help from Lieutenant Sulu in Spanish and Ensign Chekov in Russian.”
They’d played Scrabble in Spanish and French simultaneously last week, as well as more than one match in Russian. “Yes,” she said.
“He dances well.”
“So does Nurse Cathcart,” Nyota said.
“Nurse Cathcart is committed to Lieutenant Jarvis.”
“Captain Kirk is committed to the ship.” She buried her face in her hands. “I think my only good excuse is that he’s the captain and I’m one of his officers.”
“There are no regulations against involvement between the captain and a bridge officer.”
She looked up. “There have to be.”
“There are regulations that circumscribe the relationships and regulations that seek to protect the officer and the captain, but nowhere is it explicitly prohibited. Then-Captain Pike and his first officer were and still are romantically involved.”
She blinked at that one. “They are?”
Spock’s lips quirked. “It is, as you would say, an open secret. I am also sure it has not escaped your notice that the Chief Medical Officer and the first officer on this ship are romantically involved.”
“You don’t say,” she said, grinning.
“I believe, Nyota, that it would be eminently logical for you to act on your attraction to the captain.”
Nyota groaned. “You’re supposed to talk me out of it, not into it.”
“I do not believe that I would be a good friend if I talked you out of it.”
“I can’t believe this.” She paused. “So what do I do now?”
“I cannot help you there, Nyota. You are human; you have a better idea of how to woo the captain than I would.”
“Right,” she said, and stood. “Thanks, Spock. I’ll-I’ll think about it.”
“I only wish your happiness, Nyota.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. She touched the back of his hand lightly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good evening, Nyota.”
* * *
Three days later, her stomach still fluttered like a teenager’s whenever she saw Jim, and she had almost, but not quite, decided that she wanted to do something about it. Not that she had any clue what exactly to do, other than perhaps strip naked and show up in his bed. Probably effective, but not, she had to admit, what she wanted out of a relationship with Jim Kirk. She briefly wished either that Gaila was still alive, or that she felt comfortable talking to Chapel or Rand or Jarvis or one of the other women on the ship.
She sighed, and dug a fork into her pad thai.
“Everything okay, Uhura?” Jim asked, setting his tray across from hers and sitting.
“I’m fine, Jim,” she said, lying through her teeth and tucking her feet under her chair. She smiled brightly at him. “What are you eating?”
“Man food,” he said, displaying a salad with grilled chicken. “Bones is after me again to eat vegetables.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” she said.
“I know,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m from Iowa. We’re raised on corn, potatoes, cow, and more corn.”
“Expand your palate,” she suggested, gesturing to her own food.
Jim grinned. “I love pad thai,” he said. “When I was about seven or eight, though, my mom was on one of her rare visits home and tried to get me to eat some. She made the mistake of telling me that my father loved pad thai, and I didn’t touch the stuff again until the academy.” He paused for a moment. “Did you ever eat at the little Thai place about two blocks from campus?
“The Sawatdee?” she asked. “I love that place!” They reminisced about the food available in San Francisco for a few minutes. Nyota was glad for the topic change; she hadn’t known what to say.
“Well, I have to go,” Jim said regretfully, once he was done eating. “Duty calls, you know. Scrabble again tomorrow? I’ve got a new language for you.”
“Oh?” she said. “What language?”
“You’ll see,” he said, with another grin.
“I’m already worried,” Nyota called after him as he walked to the food slot.
* * *
“And, in case you wanted to know, your birth control implant is functioning perfectly. Hormonal levels are well within the expected range.”
Nyota raised both eyebrows at Dr. McCoy. She’d come in for a required vaccination, not a gynecological exam.
“If you break his heart, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident,” Leonard said.
“Does everyone on this ship know?” she asked acidly. She was going to kill Spock later. “Wait, what?”
McCoy raised one eyebrow. He and Spock were certainly a pair, with the damned eyebrow raising. “You heard me. Your hearing is well above average, and we know there’s no problem with your comprehension, either.” He gave her a level look. “Don’t screw it up, Lieutenant Uhura.”
“I won’t if he doesn’t,” she muttered. “I’ll do my best not to,” she said at full volume. She got out of there as soon as possible after that, and tried her damnedest not to spend the rest of the day thinking about what the doctor had said.
* * *
That evening, she spent more time fussing with her ponytail than usual, and it ended up looking exactly as it did every other day. She sighed, and headed for the rec room.
A few ensigns were talking in one corner, but Jim was waiting for her at their usual table. “So what’s the language?” she asked.
Jim grinned, looking more pleased with himself than usual. “Guess,” he said.
“Andorian?” He shook his head. “Bolian?” He shook his head again. “Urdu?”
“You’re getting warmer,” he said. “Think . . . closer to home.”
She tipped her head to one side, blinked a couple times, and felt a slow smile spread across her face. “Swahili.”
Jim nodded and looked awfully pleased with himself. No one on the ship other than Nyota herself spoke Swahili; he must have learned it off of recordings in the computer.
“Lead the way,” she said, in the language of her childhood, and they played.
Of course, now that she knew that Jim was interested-more than interested-she could hardly miss the signs. He smiled, rather than grinned; he watched her eyes, her hands, and her mouth, but not her breasts-well, only once in a while her breasts. He’d learned frickin’ Swahili just for her. He’d blown off games of chess with Spock and evenings drinking with McCoy to spend time with her, and at the beginning, she’d been barely more than civil. He’d even voluntarily mentioned his parents.
Hell, even if his actions hadn’t spoken so loudly, the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at her and his body language were screaming as well. Some communications officer she was.
Partway through, one of the ensigns asked if they could put on music, and she and Jim both nodded and waved them away. The game was surprisingly competitive; his vocabulary was more extensive than she’d expected, and neither pulled any punches. The ensigns left before they’d finished, but left the music playing. Nyota ignored it and concentrated on her tiles.
Jim triumphantly set the last of his tiles down and said, “Mkunga. [6] That’s eleven points which means . . . you still beat me by twenty-six points. Well played, Nyota.”
“Well played yourself, Jim.” She smiled at him and sat back in her chair. Only then did she register the music, which had shuffled to something slow and soft and . . . romantic.
“Ensigns should know to clean up their toys by now,” Jim said, gesturing vaguely into the air. He looked at her, and her breath caught at the expression in his eyes. He was brilliant, he was gorgeous, he liked her-what on earth was she doing on this side of the table?
“Mmm,” she said, and threw herself into the moment. “Hey, Jim, wanna dance?” She stood, holding out her hand.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, in Swahili, and pulled her into his arms.
This time his hands wandered a bit; but then again, so did hers, across the breadth of his shoulders, into his hair, and down to cup his tight, perfect rear end. Her mouth wandered as well, across his lips, along his jaw, and down the side of his neck. The song ended, and Nyota broke the kiss long enough to say, “Computer, music off.” She didn’t want anything to change the moment.
Turning her lips back to Jim’s, she saw that he’d pulled back just enough to look at her. “Nyota, I . . . may I walk you to your quarters?”
“I could walk you to yours,” she suggested.
“I didn’t mean-” Jim said, then stopped.
“I did,” she said. “I mean, if you want to.”
“If I want to.” He huffed a laugh. “I’ve wanted to for five years.” He winced. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “So I’m hot.”
He laughed again. “Definitely hot.” He leaned in for another kiss. “Can I ask what changed your mind about me?” His voice was warm, low, and a bit hesitant, and it sent heat straight between her thighs.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she admitted. “It took me a while to notice.”
“I probably was who you thought I was,” he said. “But I’m a bit older now. Maybe less stupid.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Maybe not. Would Jim at twenty-two have asked questions rather than take a willing Nyota to his quarters?”
“God, no,” he said, and kissed her witless.
They did not run to his quarters. They walked quite calmly, not touching, speaking in Standard, talking about the last mission, shore leave, Sulu’s upcoming birthday. Nyota’s heart was racing, even so, and Jim’s eyes were burning bright blue every time he looked at her. She could feel the heat coming off his body like a line of fire only a couple inches away, and by the time they got inside, she was burning as well.
He turned to her. “Nyota, you can of course say ‘stop’ at any time, but this is the last time I’m going to ask-are we doing this?”
“Jim.” She stood directly in front of him, without touching. “Yes. My mind is made up. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to see me naked.”
“Oh, how horrible,” he said, and smiled.
“Also,” she said, “I’m perfectly healthy and my birth control is up-to-date.”
“Ditto,” Jim said, and wrinkled his nose at her. “Thanks for making me think of Bones.”
She laughed, and leaned in to kiss him. His arms locked around her hips, and she found herself in the air briefly before landing on his bed, kneeling astride a prone Jim. “Now what was that about seeing you naked?” he said.
His hands crept under the hem of her skirt, sliding up her thighs and raising the one-piece garment slightly. She crossed her arms, grabbed the hem herself, and pulled it over her head in one motion, leaving herself in the regulation boy-shorts and sleeveless undershirt. “Let’s try this again,” she said, and stripped off the undershirt, revealing the regulation black bra.
“Let me do this one,” he said, and she leaned over to allow him access. He mistakenly reached around her back before realizing it was a front-hook, and laughed, kissing her nose. “Sorry,” he said. “Out of practice.” He expertly stripped it off after that, and threw it on the floor.
“Just fine with me,” she said. She scooted back a couple of inches and grabbed the hems of Jim’s tunic and undershirt; he sat up partway and allowed her to remove them and pitch them on top of her clothing. “I’ll get you back into practice.”
“Good,” he said. He settled back down on the mattress and rested his hands on her waist. “This was absolutely worth the wait.”
“I’m not even completely naked,” she said, chuckling. She leaned down, kissed him, and pulled her leg over to stand next to the bed. She unzipped one boot and then the other, and Jim propped himself up to watch. Stepping out of her shoes, she hooked her thumbs in the boy-shorts and pushed them down slowly, keeping her eyes on his face the whole time. He followed the progress of the shorts until they hit mid-thigh, at which time he got distracted by her breasts. She laughed again, dropped her underwear, and stepped out of it. Pulling the hair tie out of her hair, she shook her head, and Jim sucked in a breath.
She went to the foot of the bed and stripped off Jim’s boots and socks while he watched. “Can I have some help here?” she said.
He scrambled to unbutton his pants and shove them down his hips, along with his boxer-briefs. She pulled the legs of his pants until they came off, dragging the underwear with them, and pitched them on top of the pile. Now that he was finally naked, as well, she put her hands on her hips and looked her fill, from dirty blond hair and blue eyes down to defined chest and stomach-maybe even a bit more defined than the last time she’d seen him shirtless-to his erection, large and taut against his abdomen. “Mmm,” she said.
“Mmm, yourself,” he said, sounding a bit strangled. “Now get over here so I can touch you.”
Nyota grinned and crawled up the length of the bed, over Jim, and lowered herself slowly down on top of him. “Yes, Captain.”
“Oh, God,” he said with a shudder. “We’ll do that sometime, definitely, but this time it’s just Jim and Nyota, okay?” He slid one thigh between hers, shaped her shoulders, back, and rear with his hands before his thumbs found her nipples and she gasped. She ground herself against his thigh and closed her eyes.
Jim’s hand found the back of her head, and pulled her in for another one of his thought-erasing kisses. She met him at every turn, and finally rolled off to one side, facing him. He looked at her, pupils wide, and she smiled and kissed him again, one hand reaching down to wrap around his cock. Shuddering, he didn’t break the kiss, but let her explore; let her run one thumb over the head, stroke down his length, cup his balls. When she squeezed, gently, he gasped, and in one smooth movement, rolled Nyota to her back and himself on top.
She blinked at him, and he smiled. “My turn.” Ducking his head, he licked her collarbone, and sank down to take the tip of one breast in his mouth. He sucked, and looked up at her. She closed her eyes-too much. Too much heat, too much blue, too much feeling. Pulling his head up, she kissed him, desperately trying to dial back a few notches. He ended the kiss and looked at her for a moment, then rolled to his side, pulling her to him so they were spooning. She pulled her hair out of the way and Jim buried his face in the back of her neck.
His hand on her side never stopped moving, but it felt more soothing at the moment than arousing. She could still feel his erection pressing against her backside, and she reached a hand back to caress his hip. Eventually she realized he was kissing the nape of her neck, and he gradually spread the pattern of his kisses until it was halfway down her back and across both shoulders. She shivered, lightly, and his hand slid over to her abdomen, thumb lightly tracing the bottom curve of her breast. “Better?” he breathed in her ear, and she nodded.
He continued the slow, gentle caresses, gradually increasing the pressure, until she was writhing in his arms, desperate for more contact. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding the wetness there and spreading it with two fingertips. She cried out his name as he found her clit, and she felt him smile against her skin. “I like the sound of that,” he said, rubbing in small circles. When she jerked in pleasure, not coming quite yet, he removed his hand, rose above her, and licked his fingers. “Mmm,” he said, imitating her earlier.
Nyota laughed and said, “Get down here.”
“With pleasure,” Jim said, and settled himself between her legs. He kissed her thoroughly, trailed his lips down her neck, explored the hollow of her throat for a moment or two, sucked gently on each of her nipples, dipped his tongue into her navel, mouthed along one hip, and finally, giving her time to realize where he was going, kissed the inside of each thigh before setting his lips where his fingers had been earlier. She gasped and arched into his mouth, and he held her hips briefly before sliding two fingers inside.
The combination of his hot, expert mouth and pressure against exactly the right spot inside sent her over the moon before she’d thought it would happen, and she came, hard and wet and swearing in multiple languages. Jim kept touching her, gently, until she drifted back down to the ship, and then came up for a kiss.
She paused long enough to say, “No, Jim, I think you’re the one with the talented tongue,” which made him laugh. Despite the lazy swirl of their tongues, she could feel the hum of energy coursing through his body, and after only a few minutes his fingers found her clit again. A few strokes, and she was humming as well. “Now?” she asked, not quite begging.
“Now,” he agreed, resettling himself until the head of his cock pressed against her. He leaned to take her lips, and with a hitch of his hips, slid inside.
He was-big. Or maybe it had just been a while. Whatever the cause, she felt-stretched-but as Jim kept up the slow slide, eventually she was moaning, grasping his hips, and begging him to go faster, harder, more. “God, Jim, please,” she said, sounding more desperate than she’d thought possible.
She wrapped her legs around his hips. He changed the angle slightly, and--there. Ohhh, there. “Oh, God, yes, Jim, yes!” she cried out, tensed around him, and hit the peak for the second time.
She felt him follow her over mere moments later, groaning. “Oh, Nyota.”
Long moments later, when her brain had unscrambled and Jim had settled on his back with her curled around his side, she ran an appreciative hand down his chest. “That was wonderful.”
“Yes, it was. You were.” He tightened his hold on her briefly. “Stay the night?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“Good,” he said, and she couldn’t read his voice. His tone changed completely, though, when he added, “‘Cause round two is totally in the works, you know.” She laughed, as she was intended to, and yawned, settling her head more firmly in the hollow of his shoulder. “Computer, lights at ten percent,” he said. The room dimmed, and he clasped her hand where it lay on his chest.
A few minutes later, when she was just drifting into the hazy borderlands between sleeping and waking, Jim said, “So . . .” and trailed off.
“So?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. She didn’t believe him in the least, but was too sleepy to protest.
* * *
She woke again sometime after midnight, to Jim kissing her neck. Once he knew she was awake, he said, “Round two?”
“Mmm, yes please,” she replied, and he began all over again.
* * *
Round three was at around 0530, before they had to get up for alpha shift. Nyota rode him, slowly, as his hands cupped her hips and ass. He finished first, her name on his lips, and flipped her on her back to bring her to completion with his mouth. She kissed him afterward, their tastes mingling on her tongue.
Later, in the shower-if she’d known that the captain got a water shower, she might have seduced him years ago-he asked, while soaping her back, “May I see you again?”
She turned to him. “Yes, of course. Jim, I didn’t-” She stopped. “I don’t-” She paused again, pressed her lips together, tried a third time. “Jim, if all I wanted was one night, no offense, but I’m sure I could have had that a while ago.”
“Yes,” he said with a lopsided smile, but didn’t continue.
“I don’t want just one night,” she said, simply.
His arms went around her, pulling her to him and tucking her head into his shoulder. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’ve got plans for at least a year’s worth. Maybe more.”
She grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”
[1] "And your mother, too." Yes, Kirk is making a your-mom joke.
[2] Uhlan is a Romulan military rank.
[3] Portuguese for, roughly, “What the hell?”, although I think it’s more literally “What the devil?”
[4] Portuguese for something like “what the fuck?” - and no, I really have no reason as to why Uhura keeps swearing in Portuguese. I don't speak Portuguese.
[5] More Portuguese; this one is apparently used as an expletive somewhere between “Damn!” and “Fuck!” in Brazil, although the literal meaning is something about ejaculate.
[6] “Mkunga” = eel, as in “My hovercraft is full of eels.”