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.
Kirk quietly let himself into the apartment. The darkness was relieved by the moonlight streaming in through the french doors, and a small lamp burning a soft welcome. Upon Kirk's entrance, the dog dragged himself out of his bed in the corner and ambled over, wagging his tail lazily. After an affectionate greeting, he yawned in the admiral's face.
He glanced at the antique clock on the mantle. After two. It felt much later.
Why does every minute spent working on budgets seem like an hour?
He stretched, cracked his back, and contemplated the immediately available comforts. Food. A hot shower. A nice, warm bed. And the nice, warm woman in that bed.
The only response was soft, even breathing.
Oh, well. I doubt that I'd be much good tonight. Not when I'm this tired, and not with all those numbers still running in my head.
He yawned, scrunched his pillow, and felt himself drifting into sweet oblivion.
"You're very late," she mumbled.
"Sorry. How was the party?" he asked.
He was awakened by fingers scratching softly at his stomach.
"Ash Yuen was there. She said..."
Suzanne yawned as she teased his navel.
"...the Academy ballteam looks..."
The fingers dropped away from his stomach.
Kirk closed his hand over hers and squeezed it softly, murmuring, "Tell me tomorrow."
She drowsily nuzzled his chest.
Her head fell heavily against him.
No, you're dreaming about seducing me.
His penis was squeezed gently by playful, almost innocent fingers.
Kirk felt himself responding and was about to kiss her fully awake, when, as suddenly as the teasing had begun, it ended.
This is getting ridiculous. If she can't even stay awake for foreplay...
Then the seduction was on again.
"Goodnight, Suzanne," he said firmly.
"Ash says they might..." Yawn. "...a chance...division title and...mmm..."
Her hand dropped onto his thigh
He turned over, putting his back between her and his genitals, and thinking how he would tease her in the morning. The Brat too tired for sex? Yes, it had happened once or twice before. But too sleepy for a discussion about the Academy ballteam? Never.
Fingers crept over his ribs and woke him by gently pinching his nipple.
He turned to her and shook her gently.
He kissed her and tweaked her nipples.
"Oh, yes," she sighed happily.
He kissed her again, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth.
Her arms came up around his neck as he rolled her onto her back.
She opened her legs and he slid into her.
She rolled her hips from side to side, drawing him in deeper.
All right, he thought. Let's do this sweetly and softly and quickly. And then we can both get some sleep.
He thrust gently, touching her breasts and thighs, running his fingers through her hair, gingerly pressing his lips to hers.
She felt very pliant and cozy under him, and the feelings that aroused tapped into something quite different from their usual fiery passion. There was a simple, almost charming quality to being inside her as she moved peacefully to his rhythm. He felt her legs relax against the back of his calves as her hands came up to his face. He ran his tongue over her fingertips, and she responded with a muted sound of pleasure.
Desire was sublimated to simple togetherness, and their hushed sighs described satisfaction more sweetly than the loudest cries of passion.
Sensation and fancy swirled in the ever-changing hues and shapes of a watercolor painting. An unfocused portrait of love as warmth and comfort, a vision of sunshine on a field of wildflowers, and finally the dark and glorious colors of a moonlit sea, on which they were gently rocked by the eb and flow of quiet delight.
As they moved to the unhurried rhythm, he began to wonder if either of them was awake. Perhaps they were only inhabiting the same dream. But which was the dreamer and which the dreamed?
Her murmured words lured him back from those enticing thoughts.
Instead of rising in pitch and intensity, her voice trailed off, and he heard a smile in it. Her hands rested carelessly against his shoulders, occasionally tracing an irregular pattern over his skin. He realized that, rather than accelerating to a wanton frenzy, she was happy to stay where she was, enveloped in the tender ease of their joining.
And then her responses changed, becoming even softer and more incoherent. Purring and sighing, almost like a sleepy kitten. He'd heard similar sounds from her before. But afterwards. Not during.
"Suzanne?" he grunted, gently asserting himself and concentrating on building quickly.
"Stay with me, all right, sweetheart?"
"Try to stay awake for this part."
"What are you talk--ohh...aahhh..."
She squeezed almost imperceptibly, and he felt a familiar wetness against his balls.
"Yes," he groaned, as he came in a release so serene that the action went nearly unrecognized until it was over.
"Do you know what we just did?"
He kissed her cheek and heard a tranquil sigh. Smiling, he settled into his pillow and was soon adrift on a different moonlit sea.
"Did you get our season tickets?"
"I'll take care of it in the morning," he muttered.
A hand snuck between his thighs.
"I'll take care of that in the morning, too."
He pushed away the tickling invader and buried his face deeper in the pillows.
Well! This is a first. Jim too tired for sex.
Suzanne chuckled and rolled over.
"Jim? *Jim*? Why is there a wet spot on my side of the bed?"
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