(c) 1998 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.
Strange the things you discover about a person--and about yourself--from sharing an apartment. Since his five-year mission had ended, there had been a number of surprises for him and Suzanne. Most of them pleasant, but not all.
An innocent request, although possibly not worded as politely as it could have been.
"Hey, pick up my dress uniform from the cleaners, will you?"
He still felt the sting of her voice when she tartly reminded him, "I am not your yeoman."
And the toiletries incident. After he accidentally brushed his teeth with Aldebaran facial mud--which brought on a pitched battle over whose "useless stuff" took up too much space--they'd realized that they were incapable of sharing a bathroom. Well, actually, that turned out rather nicely. They took the day off and found a larger apartment. One with two bathrooms.
And then there were the tri-vees. Once she'd paid her three credits, Suzanne insisted on staying until the bitter end. Even if it was unwatchable. And now that they'd finished the popcorn, there was nothing to do but watch. And this one was dreadful. Trite dialog, wooden acting, and a predictable plot. And he knew he didn't stand a chance in hell of getting her out of there.
Oh, a few times in the past, he'd coaxed her out of a theatre before it became unbearable. But not tonight. Not when March Balera was the star of the picture.
Kirk glanced over at Suzanne. She was leaning forward with her mouth slightly open, completely entranced by the image on the screen. He shook his head and looked around. The theatre wasn't at all crowded--it never was at a midweek show--but most of the audience consisted of single women. Only a few couples. He was pretty sure that the male pairs were here for the same reason Suzanne was. And the men in the mixed couples were here for the same reason he was. *She* wanted to go.
Yeah, guys, we're all getting it tonight. But none of it's for us.
After seeing the last March Balera feature, Suzanne had been a wildcat. Absolutely insatiable. And Kirk admitted that he enjoyed it. But he was fairly sure he knew what was going on in her head and it bothered him.
On the screen, the leading man was kissing the defense attorney, as portrayed by the flavor-of-the-week actress.
Kirk leaned over and whispered, "Wouldn't you rather do this than watch it?"
The bony lawyer--her assets had obviously been added during editing--slipped out of her clothes. She wasn't wearing any underwear, even though she'd just been arguing a case in court.
"Oh, come on!"
"Be quiet!" Brandt elbowed him in the ribs.
The image on the screen spun dizzily as a homogenized voice moaned an innocuous song about "It's never been like this before."
"Brat, *please* let's go."
Suzanne squeezed his hand and whispered tersely, "Don't ruin this for me."
"But it's *awful*."
"Is that any way to address a superior officer?"
"Shut. Up. *Admiral*."
He could leave. He could say "I'll meet you at home" and go. He'd done it before. But then she'd want to tell him about the picture. No, it was easier to suffer through it now than listen to the breathless replay later.
Suzanne settled back in her seat. Kirk looked up at the screen. The beautiful what's-her-name was talking to her boss. Handsome, studly March Balera was nowhere in sight. No wonder Brandt had temporarily lost interest.
Maybe if he presented it to her just right...
Kirk put his arm around her, kissed her ear and murmured, "Let's get out of here."
"Suzanne." He drew her name out lasciviously. "If we leave now, we can get a cab and take the long way home. And we can kiss the entire time. And I'll hold you very close and run my hands down your back."
"Then I'll brush my fingertips against your nipples and they'll be hard. I'll feel them right through your sweater. Then I'll turn you--"
He turned her face towards his so that she couldn't see the screen.
"--so I can squeeze your ass. Maybe I'll stop kissing you then so you can make those funny little noises. Then I'll reach under your skirt and--oh my--your panties will be damp. You'll say, 'Jim, not here,'--you're such a prude sometimes--and I'll say, 'Yes, here,' and you'll give in. Yes, you will. You always do. You'll open your legs and I'll stroke you through the silk. Then I'll slide my hand into your panties and--"
"I want to watch the--"
"I'll touch your clit--"
"--and you'll gasp. Then I'll flick it very gently and you'll say no, but you'll spread your legs wider and I'll know you don't want me to stop. So I'll put one--no, make that two fingers inside you."
"Someone will hear--"
"About this time, the cab will pull up to the building and we'll go inside. We'll both be trembling and breathing a little hard and I'll kiss you while we're waiting for the lift. You'll press up against me because by then you won't care that we're in a public hallway and I'll run my hands through your hair and tug on it. When the lift arrives, we'll get in and slam up against the wall, groping each other."
"Well, yes, we'll both be almost crazy so I'll stop the lift between floors. I'll kneel down. I'll push up your skirt. I'll pull off your panties."
Brandt stood up and dragged him into the aisle. As they left the auditorium, Kirk continued to whisper very low.
"And eat you."
"Have I ever told you how good you taste?"
"Stop it. We're going home, all right?"
They stumbled out into the brightly-lit lobby and he saw that her eyes were wide and shining and there was a pulse beating quickly at her throat.
"Yes, we're going home," he said as he led her out onto the street and backed her up against a large poster of March Balera. "But not until I'm finished."
He smiled and looked into her eyes, knowing the direct gaze would quell her rebellion and spark her desire.
"Now, where was I? Oh yes, the lift. Well, you'll come once or twice--after all, we're just getting started. And then I'll start the lift again and when we get to our floor, we'll leave your panties behind. A little surprise for the neighbors.
"Once we're in the apartment, I'll tear your clothes off so you'll know how much I want you. I might let you undress me, I'm not sure. Then I'll lay you down on the dining table--"
"--spread your legs and fuck you. I'll be standing up and you'll be wide open. I like that. It gives me such a nice view of...everything. You'll sit up a little and watch my cock go in and out and I'll press my thumb against your clit until the cum pours out of you--"
"Taxi!" she screamed as she pulled him toward the curb.
She slid into the cab and dragged him in with her. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered, "And there's just one thing you have to do."
"What's that?" she asked breathlessly.
"Say my name."
"Say it *a lot*. Over and over. So I know...that *you* know...that it's me. Deal?"
"Oh, yes, deal."
He punched in the coordinates and the taxi moved into traffic.
"Jimmmm," she moaned just before he pressed his mouth to hers.
And if she didn't know it before, Suzanne learned that night that Jim Kirk is a man of his word.
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