Fandom: Star Trek reboot.
Rating: R, for language and some smut.
A/N: Fourth in the series, follows falling is like this, you get what you ask for and you'll just do it all again
Jim watches her every move as she fills up the glasses, and it’s both disconcerting and kind of nice. Bringing him to her quarters was a bad idea if she wanted to stop this where it was with that kiss (or the two that followed), but she did promise him whiskey, and besides, insane or not, she wanted this.
“I’m not one to say no to free booze,” he says, proving that he still has a great gift for stating the obvious, “but since we’re in your room, I know better ways to improve my mood.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Well, maybe I need the mood improvement,” she mutters. Or liquid courage, more like, but she’s not saying that. “Besides, you could use a drink, you look like shit.”
“Nice, Bones. I can see why everyone is so impressed by your bedside manner.”
“Fuck bedside manner,” she says promptly, saluting him with her glass and downing it in one go, the liquid warming her throat and stomach quickly.
“Don’t you have classes on that in the medical program?” he asks curiously, taking a longer moment in drinking his. “Role-play and shit?”
She nods, stepping closer once again, before she remembers how much of a fucking idiocy this is. Not even the sleeping with her captain part, but sleeping with Jim Kirk specifically. Of course, in making that particular mistake, she’s definitely not alone.
“Yeah, we even had an exam. Funny story, I’ve been paired with Jackson,” she says, pushing her blue uniform shirt up and over her head, shaking her head to let her hair fall back.
“Jackson?” Kirk tilts his head, either trying to recall whom she’s talking about, or just staring at the cleavage of her undershirt. Possibly both, he can multitask. “Scrawny kid, talked a lot?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Took forever trying to tell me that my leg had to be amputated,” she slowly rolls her top up. “So, when it was my turn, I told him that if he takes the news of his death sentence stoically, I’ll show him my tits,” she says, letting her voice fall into a low drawl.
Jim inhales sharply and reaches out, fingertips running up her sides. “Bones, when I’m on my deathbed, I want you to do that for me,” he’s smirking, and she glares briefly, and catches his hands by the wrists.
“You are not dying, asshole,” she tells him firmly. She probably can’t make it an actual order, but she sure can try.
“Like, ever? Not that I would doubt your medical skills, but that could prove problematic.”
“Yeah, well, I can try,” she says through the clenched teeth. Everyone needs a hobby and keeping Jim Kirk alive and preferably in one piece is as good as any. “And you shouldn’t be standing on that leg,” she adds, and pushes him towards the bed. It serves a double purpose, and that’s fine with her.
She pulls the shirt over her head and discards it somewhere on the floor carelessly, concentrating more carefully on undoing Kirk’s pants and easing them off as to not mess up the bandages. When she looks back up, Jim’s smiling in that infuriating way that always makes her want to either kiss him or punch him. “What?”
“Do I still get to see your tits if I’m not dying just now?” he asks cheerfully and she rolls her eyes, and pushes him onto the bed, straddling his thighs, but supporting most of her own weight.
“I have a thought,” she says in a wondering tone, as if something brilliant had just occurred to her. “Gags. A splendid idea.”
“But then I couldn’t do that,” he says and makes a very good point by kissing her, teasing her lower lip with his teeth until she’s breathless again.
“Can’t argue with that logic,” she nods, and he laughs.
“Throw a few additional syllables there, and you’ll sound like Spock.”
She swats his shoulder for that. “No talking of the goblin as we’re about to fuck.” She helps him take off his shirt, and looks at him quizzically as his messy head reappears. “What’s with you and him, though? You go from hating his guts to puppy love, one starts to wonder.”
Jim shrugs. “It’s the Old Spock’s memories. Some good stuff there,” he draws the ‘good’ as if it had at least three syllables, and she makes a clear point of not asking.
“Old Spock might be even stranger than our Spock,” she muses, sitting back for a moment, tilting her head. “That time he was on the ship, took one look at me after we’ve been introduced, did that eyebrow thing, and said ‘Oh’ as if something really surprised him. Weird.”
“That he is,” he agrees, eyes shining with amusement. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I would prefer it if we stopped this line of conversation and returned to the task at hand,” he says, guiding her hand to the bulge in his briefs.
“Who sounds like Spock now?” she shoots back and bites her lip as she moves closer, hand slowly stroking his cock through the material.
“Just distract me with your tits, finally,” he says and doesn’t wait for her to do so, but reaches to unhook her bra clasp. The fact that he can do it singlehandedly is certainly impressive, but not at all surprising. “Damn, Lena,” he says in a tone of wonder, and she’s tempted to roll her eyes, but doesn’t quite manage.
Besides, the way he says her name was always her undoing, probably even before she went and fell in love with him.
He’s trying to undo her pants and swears, and she laughs.
“I have never supported the skirts uniforms more,” he grumbles.
“They are…” she stops and tries to find the most important of the entire list of reasons why those uniforms are idiotic, “fucking impractical,” she finishes.
“Not right now they’re not,” he points out, and fuck, is he actually pouting? Unbelievable.
“Tell you what, I’ll wear one if you wear one,” she dares him, and by the look in his eye, she can tell the challenge was accepted. This is going to be actually fun.
“Sure. I have great legs to show off,” he says smugly, and she moves in his lap, rising to lower her pants, and then shifting to ease them off completely and throw them over her shoulder. “Obviously, not the best in the room,” Kirk amends quickly, running his hand up her thigh, his palm warm against her skin.
She knows it’s technically impossible to roll your eyes so hard that they fall off, but damn, if it was, she would be close.
“Jim,” she says seriously and waits until his gaze focuses on her. “Shut the fuck up, or find something constructive to say,” she offers sweetly and pushes herself closer, the resulting friction eliciting groans from both of them.
“That was constructive,” Jim admits and his hands travel to her hips, fingers digging into her skin. His fingernails are short, but they’re probably going to leave marks anyway, and she doesn’t mind. In fact, having something to remember this seems like a splendid idea.
She leans down and traces the line of Jim’s jaw with her mouth and tongue, placing biting kisses down his neck.
“Fuck, Bones,” he growls as her teeth find just the right spot, his hips thrusting up to meet her.
There is something incredibly heady and intoxicating about this; the sight of Jim Kirk losing control because of her. She slides off him, getting a low murmur of protest, his hands reaching out as she steps away.
“Patience, Kirk,” she tells him, and tugs at his briefs, and he helps her eagerly. She swats his hands away when he tries to return the favor. She wants to watch him as she does this, thumbs hooked around the lace, lowering her panties slowly. This is probably one of the very few times she’s able to render Kirk speechless, and she savors every second of it.
“Bones, just,” he starts and doesn’t finish, because she’s straddling him again, lowering herself onto his cock, and all the words disappear when he’s kissing her again, licking the moans off her lips.
It’s been over three years of foreplay, she thinks, whether they knew it at the time or not, and none of them is going to last long. She doesn’t mind, that much. Even if this is a one-off thing she suspects it to be, it’s enough.
“Lena,” he says, and it pushes her over, the complete amazement in his voice, the gentleness of it. He’s back to kissing her, probably to keep any other words from spilling out, but the ringing in her head is loud enough to drown them out anyway.
By the time Kirk stirs again, she’s half asleep, draped over him.
“Hey, Bones,” he says, touching her nose with his fingertip, and she wrinkles it.
“At least I know from your last check-up that you’re clean and I don’t have to run tests on myself in the morning,” she mutters.
“Love you too, Bones,” he shoots back, but it’s not nearly flippant enough, and she opens one eye, looking at him for a long moment.
“Yeah,” she says, not moving. She’s not going to move for hours, to be honest. “I suppose you can stay,” she adds softly.