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.
This story came about because many people had kindly written to say how much they enjoyed Captain Suzanne Brandt in "Just Friends," and Captain Brandt herself was leaning on my desk, demanding that I write more for her. "And none of that triple-asterisk business at the good parts." Kirk smiled and said, "Motion seconded." Well, as a great man once said, who am I to argue with the captain of the Enterprise? Full speed ahead.
Captain's Log. Stardate 5517.2. The Enterprise is approaching Earth and will be in space dock for approximately 18 hours, while a new warp drive is installed. On a personal note, Captain Suzanne Brandt, who is currently stationed at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, has arranged her schedule so that we can spend this time together.
As the Enterprise was towed into space dock, Kirk relaxed in his command chair, allowing himself the luxury of day-dreaming. He remembered when his Academy classmate, Captain Suzanne Brandt, had spent three days aboard the Enterprise over a year ago. On her last night aboard, their friendship of over fifteen years had taken a sudden turn and they'd ended up in bed together. It had been delightful, each relishing lovemaking without any pretense of romance or question of commitment on either side. And her wicked sense of fun had led to--he flushed with pleasure at the memory of that sweet revenge on his competitive friend. And, thankfully, their correspondence since then was as raucous and stimulating as ever.
Since that visit, he had seen her only once and briefly at that. Kirk had diverted the Enterprise to rendezvous with the Wozniak after receiving a message from Admiral Nogura. Brandt had requested a transfer to Special Ops, and the old man was furious.
"She's the best scoutship commander I have and I don't want to lose her to those spooks. The two of you have been close since you were cadets. Talk to her, will you, Kirk? As a friend."
Kirk had met with her in her quarters for only half an hour. He told her about Nogura's message and asked why she wanted to give up her command.
"Because--I've had enough. Don't get me wrong, Jim. The Woz is a great ship and I've enjoyed being her captain. But I don't like feeling that I'm always on duty, even when I'm off duty. I don't like knowing that I can never really relax. And I don't like feeling--rootless."
Kirk knew what she meant. He, too, had felt those things, but, for him, the sweetness of commanding the Enterprise was more than enough compensation.
"In Special Ops," she continued, "I'll have the best of both worlds. It's not a desk assignment--I'll travel all over the galaxy as a trouble-shooter. But I'll be attached to HQ which means I'll get to go home every now and then--hell, I'll actually have a home to go to."
Kirk studied at her for a long moment. He knew how stubborn she could be and was a little surprised to realize how much her happiness meant to him.
"All right," he said decisively. "Consider yourself talked to. I did my best."
"No, you didn't. And I appreciate it."
There had been no time for further conversation or anything else, for that matter. He was determined to make up for that now. In her last message, she'd suggested he meet her at HQ and then have dinner in her apartment. She had also advised him to get a shot of Vitamin E before beaming down.
He approached the reception desk and heard music coming from down the hallway. He recognized the song and smiled inwardly, remembering Suzanne's devotion to late 20th Century culture.
"Captain Kirk to see Captain Brandt."
"Yes, sir. She's expecting you. If you'll follow me--"
"That won't be necessary, Ensign. I'll just follow the music."
He stood outside her office, surprised that she could get away with playing the music so loud.
/I guess even HQ has learned how useless it is to try to curb any of Suzanne's enthusiasms./
He could hear her singing along--something about building a city on rock and roll. He winced. She still couldn't carry a tune. He pressed the door signal. The music cut off and he heard her say, "Come."
The door slid open, and Captain Brandt rose and came around from behind her desk. Her sandy hair was shorter than when he'd last seen her, but the grin on her face told him that nothing else had changed. They moved toward each other slowly, playfully taking each other's measure. He heard the door slide shut behind him and swept her into a passionate embrace.
When they finally broke, she looked up at him, slightly out of breath. "Are you sure you have the right office, Captain?"
He looked around. "Seems all right to me." He moved quickly, backing her up until she was pressed against the desk. He leaned in and kissed her as he cleared the desk with one swift motion.
"Why not? Turn up the music." He whispered wickedly, "I dare you."
They stared at each other for a long, smoldering moment. Then she let out a knowing groan as she collapsed against the desk.
Kirk sank into a nearby chair and laughed with relief. "Thank God you caught on. If we'd been caught--"
Brandt pantomimed tearing the captain's stripes off her sleeves.
As they approached the door of her apartment, Suzanne said, "You are about to encounter one of the best things about *not* being stationed aboard a starship." After a brief recognition scan, the door slid open, and a tan and white dog bounded towards them, tail wagging furiously. Suzanne stepped in and bent over until she was nose to nose with the dog. She scratched him behind the ears as she murmured, "Hello, baby. Yes, you're my good doggy. Yes, you are." Kirk stood behind her, enjoying the view.
"Brandt, are you aware that every time the dog wags his tail, you wag yours?"
She straightened with careful dignity. "Jim, this is Luke."
Kirk knelt down to greet the dog. Luke joyously jumped at him, knocking him over just as Suzanne said, "Sit." She laughed with delight, and he realized that both he and the dog had their asses on the floor.
"Oh, I like that," she said appreciatively. "I hope you're planning on being this obedient all evening."
Kirk lazily threw a ball across the room for Luke as he took in his surroundings. Brandt's apartment was a strange mix of old-fashioned architectural features and contemporary but comfortable furnishings. Not unlike Suzanne herself, he mused. She could handle a crisis calmly and be tough as titanium when necessary. She could match him for stubbornness and imagination, and had a quick wit. She also outranked him by two and a half weeks, something she pointed out more often than he thought necessary. On the other hand, she was vivacious, generous, and a total sap when it came to dogs. He remembered walking with her in a public park and being unable to carry on a coherent conversation because she stopped to greet every canine that passed. Not feminine in any traditional sense of the word, she was nonetheless a fascinating woman.
He heard a clatter in the kitchen followed by a curse.
"Is everything all right in there?" he called.
"Fine. Ow! Come in and talk to me while I cook." The dog followed as Kirk entered the small kitchen. He leaned against the counter and watched Suzanne--wearing an apron over her uniform, no less--pouring oil into a wok. "Hand me that bowl of vegetables, will you, JT?"
He chuckled. "I was wondering when you were going to start calling me that again."
"I always liked that nickname. No one used it but me and Gary."
"Here you go," he said, handing her the bowl. "Brat." He waited for a reaction that didn't come. "I thought you hated when we called you that."
"No, actually I thought it was kind of cute. But I was one of the toughest cadets in our class--I couldn't go around with a cute nickname." She tossed the vegetables into the wok and began stirring vigorously. "I love cooking with a wok. It makes me feel like I'm really doing something."
"Speaking of really doing something, how do you like Special Ops?"
"Jim, it's the best. Every assignment is a new challenge. And when they want someone to represent Special Ops at an official function, they usually send me."
"I wouldn't consider that a perk."
"Oh, but it is. They always have great food and there's usually dancing."
Kirk chuckled. "You and dancing. Remember--"
"--our astrophysics project," she finished.
As third-year cadets, they had fallen behind on a critical assignment and had to skip an Academy dance to complete it. For two hours, their efforts were punctuated by Brandt's grousing. Finally, in total exasperation, he said, "Oh, go to the dance. But you have to be back by midnight to finish this." She had practically flown out the door. And they'd finished the assignment ten minutes before it was due.
"JT...there's this thing tomorrow..." she started coyly.
"A 'thing'?" His tone registered suspicion.
"A ceremony I have to go to. Will you go with me? It won't take long."
"Well...I'm getting a medal." She tried to sound nonchalant.
She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with pride. "The Sun and Stars."
Kirk started. Brandt was only the second member of their class to receive that particular honor. He had been the first.
He'd heard about her work in the Brahmili hostage crisis. Against all odds, she brought every hostage and member of her team out safely.
"Suzanne, that's great! Congratulations!"
He moved to her and put his arms around her waist as he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.
"Stop," she said firmly. "We'll get to all that later."
"Pasta Primavera," she announced, setting two plates on the table. "My specialty."
And it did. A creamy sauce, dotted with brightly colored chunks of vegetables, velveted the pasta. He dipped his fork in, twirled it, and took a bite. He stopped and looked over at Suzanne, who was spinning pasta around her own fork. He chewed slowly and finally forced himself to swallow. He reached for his wine glass and saw that Suzanne was also reaching for hers. They drank quickly as their eyes met.
"Is it just me," she asked slowly, "or does this have no flavor whatsoever?"
"Well, it...it *is* the worst thing I've ever tasted." He tried unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter.
She stabbed her fork into the mound of pasta.
"That pretty well covers it," he chuckled.
"I've made this a hundred times. And it's always wonderful."
"I'm sure it is." He was laughing harder now.
"It's not *that* funny," she said, as she stood and reached for his plate.
"Yes, it is. You did all that work--and even wore an *apron*, for god's sake--to produce *this*!"
She put down the plate, picked up a piece of bread and threw it at him, laughing in spite of herself. He ducked and pulled her onto his lap.
"I'm sorry," he said, still chuckling but sincere.
"That's all right," she said half-heartedly.
"Sulking does not become you."
He kissed the tip of her nose and she put her arms around his neck. Her cheek brushed his, and he sighed contentedly. It felt good holding her like this.
He slid a hand under her shirt and cupped her breast. She made a small, surprised sound. He pushed his chair back and turned her so that her back was against the table's edge. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her shirt up and off. He bowed his head, licked a hardening nipple, and dragged his mouth across her, pausing to kiss the sensitive hollow between her breasts. Her soft intake of air kindled a low flame in his belly.
She pulled away and looked at him. Suddenly, she assaulted his mouth, her tongue moving past his teeth, touching his tongue, and withdrawing. She ran her lips along his jaw, then pressed her mouth against his as her tongue again flicked his enticingly. He rubbed his thumbs against her nipples and she bit his lower lip.
/Oh, no/ he thought. /I'm not playing your game just yet/.
Her persistent tongue moved in again and twirled around his but this time he caught it and sucked hard. She tried to pull away but he put his hand behind her head and pulled her close. Her hands were pressed to his chest, massaging him through his shirt.
She squirmed on his lap, and he felt himself responding to that sweet pressure. As they sucked hungrily on each other, he reached down and pulled off her boots. As the second one clattered to the floor, he found he had no more patience for teasing. He tugged urgently at the waistband of her pants, and she pulled herself up to allow him to remove them. As he dragged them down her thighs, she fell back into his lap, trembling. The pants cleared her knees and she broke their kiss as she stretched tautly, almost prone across him. He pressed his mouth to her naked belly as he pulled the pants over her ankles and tossed them aside. He quickly slipped her socks off, sat up and drew her to him. One hand cradled her buttocks as the other crawled slowly up her spine. She twisted voluptuously.
"Now," Kirk commanded as he folded her into his arms and stood.
She shivered at the sensation of his strong arms around her naked body as he carried her through the living room. As he entered the bedroom, he became aware of Luke following him. He turned and glared at the dog, who sat down just outside the doorway. Kirk kicked the door shut and moved to the bed.
Suzanne lay on the bed, her heart pounding as she watched him strip quickly and methodically. The subdued light outlined his strong masculine frame, the muscles in his buttocks as he bent to remove his pants, the demanding erection. As he moved toward her, she got up on her knees, pulled him close and felt his hardness against her belly as he stood at the edge of the bed. She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled deeply. The warm scent of his skin filled her with dizzying intoxication. She felt moisture gathering between her legs. She pressed her thighs together and knew she didn't want to wait.
He tilted her head up and kissed her deeply. She slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around his cock. She felt the pre-ejaculate on the tip, and a jolt of anticipation shot through her. She lay back, spreading her legs, inviting him.
Now he was above her, his cock brushing her thighs, moving, exploring. He groaned softly as her heat rose up to meet him and he knew she was more than ready. He rubbed against her slickness and was rewarded with a sharp gasp of pleasure as the head of his cock stroked her clitoris.
He almost slid right into her but he stopped, pressing against the entrance to her body.
"You want me," he said hoarsely. It was not a question.
"Yes," she gasped, raising her hips toward his.
"*Yes.*" He heard the pleading in her voice.
"Please." It was almost a sob.
"Now!" she cried out. "Fuck me! Do it now--"
And then he was inside her, and she gasped as she came on that first penetrating stroke.
He wanted to go slow, to savor this, but /God, she's so wet/ she moved with him, driving his rhythm. He pushed her thighs further apart, and she cried out with pleasure as he went deeper inside her. Thrusting in a determined cadence, he felt dampness against his balls and then she was coming again. He withdrew, and she shot up, gasping.
He lay down beside her and turned her so they were face to face. She threw one leg over him and eagerly pulled his hips towards hers. He put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her fiercely. She reached down and caressed his cock, thrilled to feel it hot and wet.
/Mine/ she thought as she rubbed herself with his hardness. He grunted and pulled her hand away.
He rolled her onto her stomach, and she whimpered at the loss of contact. He began kissing her back and shoulders, then dragged his tongue down the sensitive skin along her ribs. She writhed against the sheets and he put a hand on her ass and squeezed.
She felt his hand between her legs, pushing them apart. Brushing feather-light against the inside of her thighs, tugging gently on short hair, never touching where she needed it most. She arched as he planted fiery kisses across her ass.
"Jim, please," she begged. "Pl--"
The words ended incoherently as a fingertip brushed her clitoris just once, quickly, lightly. Then hands were kneading her buttocks as teeth nibbled her neck and shoulders. The hands moved up and under her to caress her breasts. She groaned loudly, almost angrily, "I--want--!"
Then she felt a hand moving down her belly and /At last!/ a finger slid into the cleft between her legs. Light, quick touches alternated with firm pressure at deliberately unpredictable intervals. She tried to lock his hand in place but he wouldn't allow it. Then more fingers, busy, probing. At some point, she became aware that both his hands were exploring her and that he was coating his fingers with her fluid.
Finally, he spread her wide and slipped two fingers inside her. He began slowly finger-fucking her as his other hand massaged her ass, coating her with her own come. His wet fingers teased at the opening between her cheeks, and she sobbed in need. Then slowly, he slid a finger up her ass. "Yes!" she cried harshly and he felt his finger being crushed by hot, strong muscles. She had pushed up onto her elbows, impaling herself on his hands. She was pumping so powerfully that he no longer had to do anything. Well, maybe just one thing. He pressed into her as he moved his index finger, the one that was holding her open, and rubbed her clitoris.
She fought down a scream. There wasn't a nerve in her body that wasn't on fire. Her legs clamped shut on his hands, and she came over and over, lost and tumbling ecstatically into hot darkness. She was no longer aware of individual sensations, just one long, molten orgasm. Wave after wave crashed down on her, no time even to breathe, each climax driving her onto the next with no release. Suddenly, over-stimulated to the point of madness, she knew she had to have him inside her, not his fingers, himself. She pulled away from those determined hands and gasped, "Stop!"
He rolled her onto her back. Afterwards, he was never quite sure how it happened, but she suddenly turned the move against him. To his utter astonishment, she was on top of him, straddling his hips, engulfing his cock.
Her nipples, rock-hard, brushed against his own as she bent lower, taking her weight on her elbows. She kissed him roughly, bruising his lips. Then she moved her hips only slightly, carefully adjusting her position. She was very still for a long moment. He felt fiery pressure building in his groin and he tried to move but she held him fast.
/How can I be this close to coming when she's not doing anything?/
Then she *was* doing something and Kirk moaned with each slow, delicious, internal squeeze. He thought he would go mad if he didn't come soon. Suddenly, Suzanne shuddered, and he felt hot slick fluid running onto his balls. Then she sat up and he was drawn deeper inside her. She began rocking her hips and he clutched her thighs, thrusting upwards. Her head was thrown back as she rode him faster, sending him soaring. Then he heard his own voice demanding, "Yes, fuck me! Harder! *Harder!*"
Now they were fighting desperately for release, choking on passionate cries. His ferocious thrusting was lifting her off the bed, she was pumping furiously, and both were sobbing because it wasn't enough.
With a shuddering cry, Kirk threw Suzanne onto her back. She had barely hit the bed when he was inside her, plunging deeper, again and again.
She was coming repeatedly now, an unending fall into liquid pleasure. He was almost crushing her in his arms, putting his full strength behind each shattering stroke. Desperate, guttural sounds were forced out of her with each impact. She heard him suck in air through his teeth, and the knowledge that he was about to come sent her crashing through some internal barrier to a new peak. Then he groaned, and she felt him release hotly inside of her and that brought on the most intense orgasm of all.
Slowly, Kirk became aware that the sheet beneath him was very cold and very wet. He contemplated moving but realized that there probably wasn't a dry spot in the entire bed. Then he remembered Suzanne's definition of great sex--afterwards, it's absolutely imperative that you change the sheets. He hoped she had a large supply of linens.
He looked at her, curled up on her side. Her head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and even.
"Are you capable of any communication beyond purring?"
He hugged her and couldn't help but notice how soft and pliable she felt, compared to the taut, fiery Amazon he'd held only minutes earlier. He lifted her hand to his mouth and softly kissed her fingertips.
"Mmmm, so good," she murmured and, to his utter amazement, she pressed against him, shivered, and groaned happily.
"God, Suzanne," he said in awe, "how many times can you come?"
He considered briefly. "If I could do that, I'd never get out of bed."
She chuckled lazily. "Thank you, God, for not making me a man." She sighed with deep satisfaction. "All that work, and for what? One orgasm."
He opened his mouth to reply to this casual dismissal of male sexuality and realized, to his chagrin, that he had no idea what to say.
She sat up, stretched, and shook herself back to life. "Shower and dinner?"
"It's always food with you, isn't it?"
"Have to keep my strength up. I know a great place for Italian food."
"Do they have Pasta Primavera?"
He scrambled off the bed as she flew at him. He managed to evade her, finally taking refuge in the bathroom and locking the door. He leaned against it laughing as she hammered on the other side.
"JT, this isn't a very strong door. I can probably break it down."
"Go ahead. I'm sure there are plenty of things in here I can use as a weapon."
There was a momentary silence and he began to wonder what she would use as a battering ram. Then he heard her laugh.
"It's almost worth doing just to see what you'd come up with." She rapped on the door with finality. "Take your shower."
He unlocked the door, opened it slightly, and put his hand out. "Join me?"
When he felt her hand in his, he opened the door fully and pulled her into the room. After declaring a truce, Suzanne turned on the shower and they stepped in.
As she soaped his chest, she said thoughtfully, "I think, for the rest of my life, I will treasure the mental picture of James T. Kirk, going bravely into battle, stark naked and armed with only shampoo and tampons."
Her laughter turned to a high-pitched gasp as he held her under the spray and turned the temperature all the way to cold.
"There are three things that need to be done here," Brandt said when they returned to her apartment. "Take Luke out, clean up the kitchen, and change the sheets. What's your preference?"
Kirk shrugged. "Rock-paper-scissors?"
"All right. One, two, three. Ha! I win! I'll take Luke out." She began untangling the leash that hung hear the doorway. "I don't know why we even bother with that. You have *always* chosen rock, you *will* always choose rock. It's probably in your psych profile."
"I don't think rock-paper-scissors is one of the tests," he observed dryly.
"Jim, Jim, Jim." She shook her head as she attached the leash to Luke's collar. "How can you be so naive? *Everything* is one of the tests."
Upon her return, Suzanne unleashed Luke, who bounded into the kitchen. She glanced into the bedroom and noted the neatly-made bed. Following sounds into the kitchen, she saw Jim disposing of the last of the disastrous dinner. /I am one lucky girl. At least for tonight./
He turned and saw her. "Wine?" he offered.
"No, thanks, I had enough at the restaurant. How about if I put on some music?"
"Fine." She headed back into the living room as he called after her, "Something from this century would be nice."
Kirk finished up and moved to the doorway. He stood there, enjoying watching her rifle through disks in a drawer near the sound center. It was hard to believe that the firm, disciplined body that wore a uniform so well could look so natural and inviting in a softer fabric. He noted with pleasure the way her dress draped casually off one shoulder, how the skirt flared around her knees. He followed the line of her legs /It's criminal to hide those in pants/ down to the delicate sandals on her feet. She stood on tiptoe to retrieve a disk from a high shelf, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to cradle her in his arms. She inserted the disk into a slot, and he recognized a ballad from about three years back.
He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders. She turned and stepped into his arms. He held her for what seemed like forever, overwhelmed by a longing he didn't really dare think about. Finally, he whispered the only words he had, words that said nothing and everything. "Oh, Suzanne."
She pulled back and looked up at him. The sweet mockery he was used to seeing in her eyes was gone, replaced by something much softer, much more vulnerable.
He could not have said why he did it, but the desire to please her was overpowering. He took her right hand, surprised at how small it felt in his own. He pressed it to his chest, put his other arm around her waist, and began gently moving to the music. She felt soft and light in his arms, moving smoothly with him as they swayed and turned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd danced with anyone, certainly it had been years since he'd danced with her. And it had never been like this. Not ever.
When the music stopped, they moved silently to the sofa. She sat down and held out her arms. He slid into them and pressed his mouth to hers softly, savoring her sweetness. Then he knelt on the floor, slipped off her sandals, and kissed her toes. A low moan escaped her lips. He stopped and looked up at her.
He awoke to feel a dead weight against his legs. He opened his eyes and saw that Luke had joined them while they slept.
"Luke," he whispered, prodding the dog. "Go away."
"He always sleeps with me." Suzanne's voice was soft and husky.
"Luke, off," she commanded sleepily. The dog jumped off the bed and padded into the living room.
Jim bent over her and kissed her cheek.
"You'll have to do better than that if you want to wake this sleeping beauty," she murmured.
He kissed her repeatedly until she put her arms around him and pulled him close. Touching, caressing, pressed tightly together, they were acutely aware of each other's growing arousal.
He ran his tongue along her ear and whispered, "What time is it?"
She looked at the chron and groaned. "Almost 0700."
Their eyes met as they considered their options.
"Oh, hell," he said finally. "Let's go get you a medal."
Chief Petty Officer Velasquez raced into the shuttle bay. He'd stayed too long talking to a friend after the medal ceremony and didn't want to be late for this assignment--/Piloting Captain James Kirk back to the Enterprise!/
As he boarded the T'Mer, he saw that Captain Kirk was already there, standing just inside the door /Oh my god!/ in a tender embrace with Captain Brandt. He froze in the doorway, but they'd heard him and they stepped apart.
"Good morning, Mister--?" Kirk said.
"Velasquez, sir. I'm your pilot."
"Very good, Mr. Velasquez. Carry on."
They stepped aside so he could pass. Blushing, he slipped into the pilot's seat, fit the comm link into his ear, and started a systems check. Behind him, he heard low voices.
/*Risa?*/ Involuntarily, Velasquez turned his head.
"Eyes front, mister," Captain Brandt said calmly.
"Y-yes, sir," he turned front and suddenly realized that he could see their reflection in the plexiglass. Captain Brandt was turning toward Captain Kirk. He saw her arms go up around Kirk's neck and draw his head down into a kiss. He watched Kirk's hands move down her back and even lower and--
Velasquez quickly busied himself with the flight log. A brief silence, and then he heard the shuttle door close.
Captain Kirk was sliding into the seat beside him. He heard Ground Ops speaking to him in the comm link.
He cleared his throat. "We're cleared for takeoff, sir."
Kirk strapped himself in and said, "Then let's go."
Velasquez looked out and saw Captain Brandt standing off to one side. As the shuttle powered up, she put one hand on her hip--well, not exactly her hip--and raised the other hand, pointing at Kirk in a menacing way that Velasquez interpreted to mean, "Just you wait."
He glanced sidelong at Captain Kirk, who was smiling slyly as he returned the gesture.
As the shuttle lifted off, Velasquez rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Officers."
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