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.
"To me, fitness means running around and getting really sweaty and feeling like shit afterwards and having hot sex afterwards too."
Taking a hefty swig from his water bottle, Kirk slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. After wiping the sweat from his brow, he closed his eyes, leaned back, and listened to the pounding of his heart.
I hate working out, I hate working out, I hate working out...
But he loved the results and--he craned his neck tentatively--that stiffness in his left shoulder was gone. It would be back by tomorrow, of that he was sure. No matter how many times Suzanne assured him she would stay on her own side, the simple truth was his bunk was meant for single occupancy and therefore had only one side. So after a highly unorthodox but most satisfying "welcome aboard" the night before, they'd wedged themselves together in the small space, knowing that the next morning one would point out to the other that being a good bed partner didn't end with a post-coital kiss. But a shoulder cramp was a small price to pay for a good--
"FUCK!" Brandt gasped as she lifted the weight above her head.
"Keep going, Captain," Buckley encouraged her. "Just three more. You're looking good."
Kirk opened his eyes and had to admit that the self-appointed fitness coach was right. She did look good, laying on the bench, her skin shining with perspiration, her muscles taut, her breasts rising and falling with each harsh breath as she hoisted the weight. Of course he had to ignore the expression on her face, but...come to think of it, he'd seen that same intense expression before, accompanied by similarly indelicate noises. Why, just that morning, during a not-by-the-book wakeup call--
Damn, he wished they were alone. He looked around and counted nine other people in the weight room. On the other side of the wall, he could hear the shouts and pounding feet from the basketball court, while Lieutenant Garvey's shouts of encouragement wafted through the open doors to the exercise room.
A heavy clank drew his attention back to Brandt, who had finished her set and replaced the weight in its slot. With a loud groan, she sat up and turned to Buckley.
"Anytime, Captain," he replied. "Do you need me for anything else?"
"No, I can finish up on my own."
"Have a good evening, Captain," he said. Then, tossing a towel over his shoulder, he turned to Kirk.
"Captain, how about if I drag out the mats and we go a couple of rounds?"
"No, thanks. I'm through for tonight."
Buckley looked at him dubiously.
"Really, Sam, I'm halfway through my cool-down," he lied as he extended his legs and reached for his toes.
"Keep your back straight, sir."
"Sorry, Captain, I didn't mean to sound--Hey, Kyle! Put those weights back when you're done with them!"
Kirk continued stretching until he was certain that Buckley had forgotten all about him, and then turned his attention once again to Brandt, who had picked up a pair of hand weights and was facing the mirror. Smiling broadly, he settled comfortably as she began lifting first one weight, then the other. Bicep curls. And he was in the perfect position to watch the action.
Her black singlet clung to her body and the sweat-soaked patch down her back led his eye to the olive-green shorts. As if on cue, she squeezed her buttocks and unlocked her knees--support for the lower back, he knew, but sexy nonetheless. At one time, the shorts had been a full-length pair of cargo pants, but she'd cut them off when one of the pockets gave out and now they barely covered her ass. Wear and tear had unraveled the bottom edges and he imagined slipping his hand past the soft fringe, edging his fingertips under the tight band of the singlet's leg holes, sliding his palm along the curve of her hip...
Damn he wished they were alone .
If they were alone, if through some miracle no one else was in the gymnasium, if there were suddenly no repercussions to inappropriate behavior--
If they were two completely different people--yet still themselves--two people who didn't have to think about their every action having consequences, who could worry about getting caught but not enough to stop because dammit, they were human and horny and that was forgivable--
If the moment was his to command--
He watched her movements, controlled, purposeful, and disciplined, and let himself slide into an imagined freedom from all that constrained them.
If they were alone, he'd wait until she'd finished her workout and then he'd follow her into the women's locker room. It was one of the few parts of his ship that he'd never seen but he imagined it was much like the men's. Although probably cleaner. And perhaps smelling better.
'Jim!' She'd turn around, shooting him a sharp look of disapproval. 'You can't come in here!'
'I'm the captain. I can go anywhere I want on this ship.'
Her frown would morph into a expression of sly consent. She'd cock her head and rest her hands on her hips.
'Well?' she'd say, her tone a smoldering purr.
Noticing how enticingly the shorts rode her hips, he wouldn't answer immediately. He'd take a moment to enjoy the picture she presented, a portrait of possibilities--no, scratch that, a portrait of a sure thing. Finally, he'd meet her eyes.
'Go ahead with...whatever you were going to do,' he'd say.
After a moment's consideration, she'd sit down on a bench near the lockers and remove her shoes. And her socks. And--
She'd look up, her eyes bright with curiosity, locks of damp hair dangling around her face.
'Really?' she'd say as she leaned forward, her legs straddling the bench with her hands resting between them.
Chuckling, he'd move to her and draw her to her feet.
'Yes, really. You need a shower.'
She'd stand very close to him, rubbing her body lightly against his. He'd put his arms around her, hold her close, feel her tilt her head to the side as he slid his hands down along her arms. He'd press his mouth to her ear and murmur, 'Good workout?'
'Oh, yes.' Dark and husky, the words would come easily regardless of the question.
He'd gently close his lips around her earlobe, craving the soft almost-whimper that would invoke. And when he heard it, he'd give her earlobe a lingering suck and then kiss her neck, licking at the salty dampness.
Then he'd turned her, give her a gentle push in the direction of the showers, and follow her, dropping his clothes along the way. Her hips would be swaying gently with each step, just a bit of a come-on, and he'd enjoy that motion, glad to once again see the side of Suzanne that was a tease, that knew how to push every button he wanted her to push and then some.
She'd stop at the end of the line of lockers, hook her thumbs under her waistband, push her shorts down an inch or two, and toss him a flirtatious glance as she disappeared round the corner. He'd move quickly then, wanting to catch her before she undressed, before she entered the showers, before she turned her face up into the spray and the water began cascading down her body--
He'd find her at the entrance, leaning against a table piled high with towels, still fully clothed and obviously waiting for him.
A come-on, a tease, and then some. Just as he'd hoped.
He'd draw her into a kiss, several kisses, brief, frequent, and playful, just-getting-started-let's-see-where-this-goes sort of kisses, the kind that made her put her hands at the back of his neck and press urgently into him, because she knew where it was going and she wanted to get there fast. He wouldn't go there, of course. Not yet. And they'd laugh softly into each other's mouths, still kissing, still flicking tongues, still nibbling lips. She'd reach for his cock and he'd make a muffled not-yet sound as he pushed her hand away.
'Yo,' she'd whisper in a sensual mockery of roll call.
And then he'd have to hug her--how could he not?--hug her hard, lift her off her feet, and press his mouth to hers as he set her back down. He'd feel her lips buzzing with a stifled moan as he nuzzled her mouth and moved his hands over her back, tracing the planes and curves of the muscles he'd observed earlier. Then somehow their mutual sexual aggression pact would be invoked and they'd be moving like two dance partners who couldn't agree on whose turn it was to lead, which wouldn't be all that far from the mark. Then she'd be on tiptoe, trying for some sort of leverage that he wasn't going to allow. He'd put his hands on her hips and push her away, putting the most minimal distance between them. And they would still be kissing, heads tilting this way and that, with noises like 'mmph' and 'uhng' echoing throughout the tiled niche.
He'd curl his fingers around one of her shoulder straps and pull it out of the way, and the newly exposed flesh would be irresistible. A small bit of fresh nakedness, just that much, only a shoulder...it shouldn't be that sensitive, but her quickening shivers when he kissed it, sucked it, bit it--oh, yes, it was that sensitive.
He'd slide his hands down her ribcage and as his fingers worked at the fastening of her pants, she'd reciprocate with a little mouthplay of her own, her tongue tracing the curve of his ear, then tickling at the inner contours, then drawing the lobe into her mouth for a suck/tease/bite. At the touch of her teeth, he'd be momentarily lost, his fingers missing their grip on the clasp as the connection between his earlobe and his groin came blazingly to life.
Somehow he would focus, somehow his fingers would do as he directed, and the sound of her zipper coming down, metal rasping against metal, that would echo, too. And that sound would be some sort of catalyst, the starting gun for the upcoming sport. He'd feel a tingling in his ears, buzzing and then thundering like a warp engine roaring to life. Unable to resist that call, he would grasp her waistband and pull, no, tug, no, jerk her pants down past her hips.
And the next sound--halfway between a gasp and a hiccup--and the sound after that--the muffled rustle of her shorts hitting the floor--would be good-to-go and lift-off.
Into the showers, trying to move without losing contact with each other, a hurried desperate journey until they were under a shower head. He wouldn't quite know how they got there or how he managed to turn on the water or why that first blast of needle-sharp cold water didn't act on them the way it did on dogs.
A gasp, a yell, and then cold be damned, they'd hold fast to each other in an I-can-take-it-if-you-can embrace. He'd take her shoulder strap again, pull it further down her arm until one breast popped free. He'd follow the stream of water down the smooth curve, her skin sweet and alive under his lips. Then he'd put his mouth to her nipple and suck on its puckered hardness. He'd look up and see her bending over him, the water pushing her hair forward so that it hung around her face, heavy and dark. He'd feel one of her hands in his hair, her fingers digging in. He'd reach up and pull down the other strap and then he'd move his mouth from breast to breast, and his swift, hungry kisses would bring a sharp-cut 'oh!' each time he switched.
He'd drop to one knee, intending to strip the singlet from her body but when she curled down around him sheltering them both, he'd realize that yes that water was too damn cold and if he didn't do something about it soon, he'd be shriveled beyond the point of usefulness. So he'd reach behind her, find the control and turn it, gradually increasing the temperature until she would straighten and tip her head back, letting the warmth bathe her face. He'd feel it then, too, and that first touch of heat would shake his body as the cold hadn't. Shuddering with cold that would feel more acute as it left his body, he'd stand and turn under the spray, aware of Suzanne turning beside him. Her breasts would brush his back, his fingers would trail across her ass, accidentally at first but soon the touches would linger beyond the point of random chance. They'd begin again, picking up their cues easily. The cold had driven them this far, hastening them on the journey, but now the heat would encourage them to linger, savor each sensation, and let the rising mist cloud all reality except this.
He'd take her loose hanging shoulder straps and slowly peel the singlet from her body as he slid to his knees, tonguing each new sight as it was revealed. Her belly button--oh, what a shiver that would elicit--the gentle curve of her stomach--ticklish there--the triangle of hair just below. He'd take his time there, giving the musky patch a fervent nuzzle, relishing the voluptuous movement of her instinctive face-dance as he dragged the singlet down her legs. She'd almost lose her balance as she stepped out of it, but he'd clasp one of her flailing hands and the don't-let-go tightness of her grip would reassure him as much as it did her. He'd toss the last of her clothing away, not caring where it landed and only vaguely aware of the wet smack when it did.
Then he'd spread her, hear her moan, and put his lips to the soft flesh and kiss it over and over. And the sounds she would make then would be completely uncontrolled, coming from the part of her that knew nothing beyond her need for pleasure. He'd feel his cock throbbing and know that his own need was cresting so he'd stand and turn her. Then he'd step into place behind her, wrap his arms around her waist, reach up to cup her breast, bend his knees and nestle his cock between her legs. She'd put one hand against the wall to steady herself and put the other over his, encouraging him to caress her breast more firmly. She'd bend over, not very far, but god, what an obscene dance it would be as their hips ground and rolled and pushed, wanting it soon yes but not yet not yet not just yet--
She'd turn suddenly, grab his shoulders and throw one leg around his hip, almost trying to catapult herself onto him. He'd grasp the back of her thighs and hoist her higher until she crossed her ankles at the small of his back. He'd stagger out of the spray but he wouldn't slip, he knew what he was doing, and when her back was against the wall, it would take only a couple of moves to get into position. He'd push up, she'd press down, and then he'd feel her welcoming his cock. His first stroke would be slow and deliberate and at the top of it, she'd jump a little, shaken by a mini-orgasm. Then she'd settle onto him, somehow opening to him and squeezing at the same time. He'd plunge into her, knowing her grip would hold until broken by another climax. But she'd surprise him, bearing down, trying to push him out, and he'd realize that she wanted that first stroke again. But he wouldn't, no, he couldn't pull back now, so he would keep going in short, sharp thrusts.
'Jim--Jim--' she'd pant in time to his rhythm.
She'd be enjoying it then, swept up in a pleasure she didn't control and her voice would rise in an almost panicky way.
He looked up and saw her staring at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
"You were a million miles away."
"Not quite that far," he said as he stood. "Are you through?"
"Yes. What say we hit the showers and then pillage the mess?"
He looked her up and down, saw the perspiration glistening on the skin he'd just ravished in his fantasy, the sharply defined muscles in the arms that he'd imagined clutching him only moments earlier, the eyes bright with exhilaration when he'd pictured them clouded with desire...
He wanted that fantasy. Or as much of it as he could reasonably have.
"I can't walk around the ship like this."
"Believe me, Brat, this ship has hosted much more scantily clad women than you."
"Well, you can't walk around like--" She glanced down at his crotch. "Like that."
Looking down, he saw that she had a point. His loose-fitting workout pants provided even less, ah, camouflage than his uniform did. But dammit, changing clothes would ruin everything. It was going to be a little disappointing anyway to play out that scenario in his own shower, especially when he was already close to the end of his water ration and he really hated seeing his name at the top of that list--
"Jim, I'm very flattered but let's not make a spectacle of ourselves, all right?"
She turned and as he reached for her, something on the wall caught his eye.
"No. I'll carry this." He pulled a bulky sweatshirt down from a nearby hook and draped it over his arm so that it hung in front of him. "All right?"
"You look like the maitre'd in a theme restaurant. And I don't even want to think about what that theme might be."
"Yes, you do. And you can do just that on the way to my quarters."
As they left the gym, she said, "Does this restaurant have good service?"
"No liquor. It's a fitness restaurant."
Her nose wrinkled distastefully. "What's a fitness restaurant?"
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