(c) 1999 Jungle Kitty

Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.

Captain Kirk examined the postmark on the package that had been haunting his thoughts all day. Because of the expense and inconvenience, it was rare to receive an actual letter aboard a starship, and a package was almost unheard of. This one had apparently been following him around the galaxy for nearly five weeks. It was no larger than his fist, and, no matter how hard he shook it, it stubbornly refused to give a hint about its contents. Deciding to save it as a reward for completing the most tedious of all command duties, he had worked diligently all evening on reports.

Now, relaxing comfortably in his quarters and clad in loose, non-regulation clothing, he reread the cryptic note from the sender.

His curiosity piqued--as the note had so obviously intended it to be--he went to his desk and contacted the beta shift communications officer, who quickly put through his captain's request.

After a moment, Suzanne's face appeared on his monitor.

"Luke and I are on Kyros until May 31, Terran standard date. If you don't have the comm code there, there's probably a good reason for it."

The scene went blank, and Kirk chuckled as he contacted the communications officer again, this time with the comm code of Suzanne's sanctum sanctorum.

After a few moments, the screen flickered, but no picture appeared.

"Who is it?" he heard Suzanne shout.

"It's me. Jim."

"Jim! Hold on!"

The screen wavered again, and Suzanne appeared, and, much to his delight, she was wet and naked as the day she was born.

"Is this the standard greeting on Kyros--the wet, naked howdy?" he asked. "I must say it's got 'hello' beat hands down."

"I was bathing the dog," she explained as she tugged a short, flannel garment on over her head.

"Naked? Damn, Luke has it good."

"I didn't want to get my clothes wet." She looked down and said in a firm voice, "Luke, go to the garden. Find yourself a sunny spot." She turned back to Kirk. "So what's up?"

"I got your package today."

"Ahhh..." she sighed through a smug grin as she crossed her arms. "Did you open it?"

"No. Not yet."

"Good." The smug grin grew until it achieved shit-eating proportions. "What time is it there?"

"Nearly midnight ship's time. What time is it there?"

"Mid-afternoon. Are we on a secure channel?"


"And do you have some free time?"

He eyed her carefully. She was rocking back and forth, obviously so pleased with herself that she was unable to contain her satisfaction.

"Maybe," he said.

"What does that mean?"

"It means--what is this?"

She shrugged and replied in a saucy sing-song. "Just a little something to relieve the boredom."

Thinking back on the first contact earlier that week that had turned very ugly before reaching a mutual understanding, he said, "Things haven't exactly been boring here lately."

"Oh. Well, if you'd rather not--"

"Suzanne. Quit dancing around, and tell me what this is."

"You don't know?" She chuckled slyly and dropped her voice to a throaty whisper. "It's comm sex."


"No!" he groaned in disbelief. Everyone joked about it, but no one really--


"Comm sex."


"You're going to have sex with me."


"Over subspace radio."

"Well, we could try using two cups, but I don't have a string that long."

He thought for a moment. Past experience told him he had every reason to be suspicious.

"Where does the package come into it?"

"We'll get to that later. So are you up for it?"

He glanced down and grinned. "Getting there. Will you start, or shall I?"

"Let me." She cleared her throat and again lowered her voice to a sexy purr, but this time, it sounded like she meant it. "Lock your door--"

"Wait a minute. I am not having sex--comm or otherwise--with a woman in a flannel nightgown."

She pursed her lips and said patiently, "It's not a nightgown, it's a shirt. As a matter of fact, it's your shirt." She hugged herself. "I find it remarkably cozy."

"But it *is* flannel," he said sternly.

Her eyes sparkled as she unbuttoned the top button. "All right. Lock your door..." The second button. "...pour yourself some wine from that bottle I left the last time I was there..." The third. "...and the next time you see me..." The fourth. "...I won't be wearing flannel."

The visual blinked out.


Three minutes later, he saw that she was true to her word. She stood in the middle of her living room, clad in a midnight-blue silk kimono that was a particular favorite of his. It barely reached the tops of her thighs, and he could see the loose folds of the matching boxer shorts peeking out below the hem. Her hands rested on top of her head, and she smiled enigmatically.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes." He nodded in approval as he sipped the last of the Cygnian cabernet. "Much better."

"Good. Watch me, Jim. Don't do anything. Just watch."

Slowly, she moved her fingers through her hair as she rolled her head lazily. As her hands slid down to her shoulders, she craned her neck and sighed quietly. Then the downward movement slowed to an excruciating crawl until her hands cupped her breasts through the silk.

"Do you know what I'm doing?" she breathed.

"You're touching yourself." He carefully set the wineglass down on the desk.

She chuckled throatily. "Not quite. I'm touching myself, and thinking about you. Thinking about the way you touch me. Especially the way you touch me when I wear this robe."

His throat went dry as he watched her hands moving lower and lower until they rested on the bare flesh of her thigh. Thinking of the smoothness of her skin and the hard muscles underneath, he couldn't help resting his hand on his own thigh and mimicking her movements.

"Jim, watch. Just watch for now."

She slid her hands over her inner thighs, up and across her stomach, and around her hips and out of his view. She leaned forward, and as the robe drooped forward, he saw the curve of her breast. Straining to see more, he failed to notice the shorts sliding down her legs. But he heard the gentle slap of her hand against her ass and the small sound of satisfaction that followed it.

He smiled wickedly. "I spank harder than that, Brat."

"Not at first, you don't. You start out easy. Like this."


He could see her hand every time she raised it, but the actual contact was hidden from him. So he watched the color rise in her face and imagined it rising elsewhere.

"And then--" Her voice was little breathless now, and he realized that he wasn't breathing very steadily either. "Then, just as it's starting to sting a little, you rest your hand on my ass and rub it very gently." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving her hips in a circular motion. "Ahhhh. And then..."


"Now you're getting serious about it." Her words tumbled out in an exhilarated rush. "Sometimes you pinch me. Oo! Yesss. And sometimes--" She looked at him very directly as she brought her hands back into view. Then drawing a long breath, she spoke slowly and deliberately. "Sometimes you don't do anything. You just hold me over your knee, and make me wait for it. Because you. Are. A tease."

*Me?* he thought. *What do you call what *you're* doing?*

"A big tease," she continued. "Because just when I'm ready to spread my legs and do any whorish thing you want, you do this."

She reached down and pulled up her shorts.

Blushing, he explained amicably. "I like it to last."

"You like to watch me squirm."

"Yes, that, too."

"So this is your big chance. Watch. Just watch."

She slid one hand into the robe and began caressing her breast.

"I think--mmm--I know why you like this, Jim," she said softly. "You like the feel of my breast--ah!--on the one side of your hand, and the touch of silk on the other. Yes?"

After swallowing hard, he murmured, "Yes."

"Yes," she sighed.

Her hand moved up and pushed the robe off one shoulder. He leaned forward and almost reached for the screen.

"I wish you were here, Jim. I can't kiss my own shoulder. But that's what you would do. Right here. And here."

She touched herself and shivered as though she had been kissed there. And there.

At the familiar sight of Suzanne slowly being possessed by desire, he suddenly became aware that the pants he was wearing were no longer quite so loose. He reached down to adjust himself and--

"Ah ah ah!" she scolded quietly. "This isn't a game for two, JT. Not yet."

He rested his palms on the desk and waited.

Now her hand was in her hair, tipping her head back as if to be kissed. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. He felt his lips doing the same.

Suzanne, he mouthed silently.

He watched her other hand tug at the tie around her waist. As the slender sash fell to the floor, the robe slipped open, and her hands moved more quickly, back and forth over her breasts. Then she slid her right hand into her shorts, gasped sharply, and slowly sank to her knees.

She leaned back on one hand and lifted her hips high so that he could see the steady motion as her hand strained under the dark fabric. Fascinated, he watched the increasingly frenzied action as his cock ached to be released from confinement.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at him.

"Get undressed," she panted. "Hurry."

Never breaking eye contact with her, he furiously tore off his clothes. When he stood before the monitor naked, he saw her lick her lips. He reached for his cock.

"No," she said. "Open the package first."

The package. He'd forgotten all about it. He picked it up and fumbled with the release until the top popped off, and a small, cut-glass jar fell into his hand. Etched into the metal cap were the initials "S.B." Setting the box aside, he held up the jar and said, "What is this?"

"Lotion. Open it." Her voice was calmer now, but he could hear the eager passion being held in check. "Put a little on your hands."

Frowning, he opened the jar and saw a smooth white cream. He dipped a finger into it, set down the jar, and began smoothing the lotion between his hands. It was cool and soothing, but no more so than any other lotion. Why had she gone to so much trouble to--

"Now close your eyes, and bring your hands to your face."

Obeying, he was suddenly swept away by an unexpected rush of memory. Awestruck, he tumbled back into the chair as the smell of *her*--the scent that was uniquely Suzanne--invaded his nostrils.

"It's you," he whispered.

"I hope so." She smiled wryly. "I couldn't ask anyone if the chemist got it right."

"It's you," he repeated as he began laughing joyfully. It was all there. The warm scent of her skin, the smell of her hair when freshly shampooed, even the sweetness of her breath. "It's you!"

"Yes, it's me. As much of me as I can send you. Now touch yourself, Jim. Touch yourself the way I touch you."

He closed his eyes and put his fingers to his cheekbones. Then he traced the planes of his face, the curve of his ears, the length of his throat. And though he knew he was being touched by his own hands, his olfactory sense--that most evocative of the senses--overrode his intellect and insisted, 'It's her.'

He ran his fingers back through his hair. 'It's her.'

He traced his mouth with his index finger. 'It's her.'

He put his hands to his chest and squeezed. Not quite hard enough. 'Definitely her.'

"Harder," she whispered, which is exactly what he always said to her.

He dug his fingers in and moaned, "Yesss."

"Imagine my lips against yours," she whispered. "My tongue tickling yours. My fingers--yes, that's it."

Flicking his fingertip against his nipple, he was barely aware that it was *his* fingertip, until she said, "What do I usually do?"

*Oh yes.* Memory nudged him. *I know exactly what you do, you wicked little--*

"Jim?" she prompted.

"You tug on my chest hair," he said accusingly.

"Mm hm. So do it."

"And every time you do--Ow!--I consider shaving it again."

"You wouldn't do that to me, would you, Jim?" she pleaded softly but not quite jokingly. "Not when I love it so much. Not when I like to scratch it and pull on it and bury my face in it. I love the feel of it, I love the smell of it. You wouldn't take that away from me, would you?"

Her voice, pitched very low and sultry, was a seduction all in itself, and listening to it, he knew that the pleasure she took in him was a gift to both of them.

"No," he said. "I'll keep it."

"Good. Now...run your hands over your stomach. And now your legs. Ahhhh. Your body is so strong, so hard. I could touch it forever. Close your eyes, Jim. Just relax, and let me touch you."

And then his hands were no longer his own. Much as he longed to caress his balls and wrap a solid fist around his cock, he couldn't. Not when she was murmuring about nibbling on his collarbone, sucking his fingers, and pinching his ass. Not when the heady scent was insisting that she was here and soon would be his.

And so the touching went on, stroking, brushing, tickling, and all to the sweet accompaniment of her words of desire, whispered so low that he could barely hear them over the pounding of his heart. Until...

"Open your eyes."

He looked at the screen and saw that she had removed her shorts. The robe had slid down onto her arms, but still, she was not quite naked. She was sitting on the floor with her legs spread casually. Although he couldn't clearly see the juncture at the top of her legs, the flush of her skin and the trembling hand resting at the base of her throat told him all he needed to know. If he could touch her now, if he were to slide his hand up her thigh and explore the darkness there, she would be very wet.

"Watch me, Jim. I want you to look at me. I want to see it all in your eyes. Now...hold your balls ... Stroke them like I do ... Show yourself how much I love you ... Go up slowly, all the way to the head of your cock ... Ah! See how it jumps against your hand? I love that. Do it again ... And again. First one hand, and then the other ... Keep going."

Following her directions, he made love to himself as she would have. And as his hands stroked his cock, over and over, his breath quickened until he was sucking in short bursts of air that seemed to have no oxygen in it. As he moved closer to the brink of orgasm, the scent of his precum wafted upward, and suddenly he smelled both of them, he and Suzanne, mingled together. He threw back his head and groaned.

"Jim, look at me."

Shuddering, he forced himself to focus on the screen and saw that she now held a very large dildo.

"This is you," she said, and, snakelike, she flicked her tongue against the head.

No air. There was simply no air. He gasped and clutched his cock more firmly and slid his hand over the shaft.

"No no no no," she chided gently. "Hold your fist above your cock, but not touching it. Like this."

She spread her legs even wider and positioned the dildo at the opening to her body. Now he could see everything, the quivering thighs, the pulsing wetness.

"Now slowly ... slowly. I want you inside me. I want you--"

She gasped as she pushed the dildo into herself, and, hypnotized, he lowered his hand and thrust his cock up into his fist, slowly, slowly, pacing his movements to hers. And when his hand was pressed against the base of his cock and the dildo was fully inside her, she moaned loudly.

"Ohhh." She spread her legs wider and rocked her hips from side to side, a movement he reproduced with his hand motions.

"Oh yes. Yes." She began sliding the dildo out, and he drew his hand upward. And when he could see the length of the dildo again, now wet with her juices, she gasped and said, "Fuck--fuck me. Fuck me now!"

She slid the dildo back into herself, he pushed his hand down hard on his cock, and soon they were locked in a pounding rhythm. Fucking themselves, fucking each other, fucking together, they watched the sweat appear on each other's brow, heard each other's harsh panting, imagined the press of each other's bodies, but only one could revel in the smell of the other. And just as Kirk was regretting that he was alone in that, she twisted and retrieved his flannel shirt from the floor behind her. Then, pressing it to her face, she inhaled deeply, and cried out his name.

He pumped his hand even harder and joined her in a wrenching climax.


Slumped limply in his chair, listening to the slowing thud of his heartbeat, Jim lifted his head and saw Suzanne lying in the center of her living room rug, hugging his shirt to her body as her other hand rested on the moist, glistening dildo.

"Brat?" he said hoarsely.


"Are you awake?"

"Oh, yes," she opened her eyes and sighed happily. "But I don't think I'll ever move again. Could you have someone ship me back to Starfleet next week?"

He smiled warmly, wishing her head was nestled against his shoulder for this playful pillow talk. "I'll package you up personally."

"I wish you would," she said earnestly. "I wish you were here to hold me. I wish... I wish I didn't miss you so much."

"I don't. If missing you is all I can have of you for now, I'd rather have that than nothing."

After a long pause, she said, "I hate when you get romantic."

Laughing, he wagged his finger as he reproached her, "You started it."

"No, I didn't. I was trying to have a filthy transgalactic sexual experience. Something truly nasty to put in my personal log. But *now*--"


She sighed in resignation. "I love you, Jim. I don't know if anything I do with you will ever feel truly nasty."

"I'll work on it."

"Will you?"

"If it means so much to you, I'll make you--how did you put it?--'do every whorish thing I want.'"

"Now *that's* what I call sweet talk."

She rolled onto her back and hugged herself. He shook his head affectionately.

"Brat, it may not be 'truly nasty,' but this is the strangest romance I've ever had."

"Why, thank you, JT. Coming from you, that's quite a statement."

She sat up and stretched. When he caught himself doing the same, he looked to see if she had noticed. Their eyes met, and they both burst out laughing.


Stepping out of the shower, Kirk felt even looser and happier than when he stepped into it. But as he toweled himself off, he felt a shiver of vague discontent.

He moved to the outer room and gave the voice command to lower the lights. He turned toward the sleeping alcove and hesitated.

*What's the matter with me?* he thought. *I just got laid in a very big way--or at least it feels like it. I'm caught up on all my reports. It looks like I'll get six hours of uninterrupted sleep and...*

He smiled and brought the lights up to half. He picked up the little jar and ran his fingertip over the initials on the cap. Then he opened it, scooped up a small drop of lotion, and rubbed it between his hands. After dimming the lights, he went to his bunk and fell asleep, wrapped in the scent of the woman he loved.

And on Kyros, Suzanne tucked the tails of a well-loved flannel shirt into her jeans and went out to the garden to see if Luke had found a sunny spot.

[The End]

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