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 was written in response to c challenge: a captain, an officer, a tricorder, and under 1000 words.
I was so determined not to be like all the others. The fate of junior officers on the Enterprise has become a fleet joke. Fall in love with the captain within three months, transfer off within six. Captain Kirk's pragmatic handling of this all-too-common situation was almost as famous as his affairs with women who were not under his command. I'd heard about the gentle lecture. "I'm sorry, yeoman/ensign/lieutenant, but I have to ask you to stop mooning around, or transfer off my ship." Most chose to transfer, fantasies intact.
It was not going to happen to me. I was serious about my career, I had plans for a command of my own someday. I had dreamed of a starship assignment, and I wasn't about to botch it. And, to my great relief, I wasn't even tempted. Captain Kirk was the best CO I'd ever encountered, but apparently I was immune to his other charms.
Until the exploration of Minerva IV.
I was assigned to catalog plant life, and the abundance and variety was astonishing. As I entered the woodland, I knew I was well out of my assigned sector, but the readings were irresistible.
Then I heard it. A soft, low growl like an injured animal. I set my phaser on stun and approached carefully. I peered through the dense bushes and almost dropped my tricorder.
In the small clearing, Captain Kirk was lying on the ground, his pants around his knees, masturbating. His organ was fully erect, pointing skyward, and he stroked it tenderly.
I should have run--I wanted to run--but I was afraid of making noise. And what he was doing was mesmerizing. Captain James T. Kirk making love. To himself.
He let go of his cock and ran his hands under his shirt. I saw them moving across his chest, stopping to pinch and twist his nipples. He gasped and I wondered how he managed to surprise himself. One hand moved down and pawed his stomach and thighs while he brought the other to his mouth. He sucked hungrily at his fingers, even nibbled the tips. Then the roving hand groped his balls and his cock jerked in response. He groaned, "Yes," and I wanted to cry out, Who? Who are you thinking of?
Then he rested both hands on the ground at his sides and lay very still. Why had he stopped? His face took on a pained expression and his body slowly tensed as his hips arched upwards.
"Please," he muttered. "I want it."
Was it teasing? Torture? And who was his imagined partner? A dream or a memory?
He was almost sobbing. I had never seen a man in such need. Why did he deny himself? To whom were his pleas directed?
I was so spellbound by the tightly shut eyes and the lips being bitten almost to the point of bleeding, that at first, I didn't hear the sounds of flesh against flesh. He slapped his cock, gently at first, then harder. He grunted "No" with each cruel contact, and his writhing hips raised small clouds of dust. Finally he grasped his cock and began pumping.
Who? I wanted to scream. Give me a name!
He gasped and moaned as he built towards his climax. At the final moment, when his entire body was drawn tight almost to the breaking point, he threw back his head and opened his mouth. I was sure he would call out a name, and I found myself straining to hear. I saw his milky semen fly into the air, I saw his eyes open wide and unseeing. And yes, he made a sound, a choked cry of despair. But if it was a word, it was unrecognizable.
His hand released his limp organ and he groaned unhappily. Whatever he had been seeking, he hadn't found it.
He rolled onto his side and curled into himself, facing away from me. I knew that soon he would pull his pants up, dust himself off, and become the captain again. But at that moment, there was something so vulnerable, so alone about him, that he broke my heart even as he stole it. I thought of the burdens he carried and all that he must have given up for the privilege of command. How many times had he turned away from love? The stars have inspired romance since the dawn of time--why did they call to him with a different voice? For the first time, I saw him not as my commander, or a hero, or an icon. He was a human being, deeply lonely and unable to take comfort in another.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes and forced myself to move away. Treading as silently as possible, I returned to my sector and washed my face in a stream before proceeding to the beamdown point. It was only then that I realized my tricorder was still on.
Tomorrow is my last day on the Enterprise. I've applied for transfer and he's approved it. I must leave, before I make a fool of myself and he's forced to deal with another heartsick officer.
And tonight is the last time I will play this recording. I swear it. I can hardly bear to think of how often I've done this in the past weeks.
At first, I just listened. But soon I began participating, sharing his need, his passion, his loneliness. Then I distorted the sound, trying to superimpose my name onto his lips.
But now...now I no longer participate and I've restored the original sound. Now I simply pray for it to end differently. With a name. Any name.
I'd love to hear from you! Please use my Guestbook to leave story feedback. Your guestbook entry can be public or private. You can also sign up to receive new stories by email.
If you navigated to this story from anywhere on my website, that window is probably still open right behind this one. If you navigated to this story from anywhere else, please visit Invisible Planets for more of my stories.