Author's Note: I know it's been forever, more at the bottom. I'll just let you proceed to the chapter.

. ..:ﾟ•･* .:･ﾟ✧•N•✧ﾟ･:. *･•ﾟ:.. .

Nyota stood in her typical nightly attire – an extra-large, lavender t-shirt worn thin and soft, and a pair of comfy, cotton boyshorts. She had gone straight to her quarters to clean up in the small attached fresher and change out of her work clothes. It was where she had a small moment of contemplation over whether she should wear something sexy, or just forgo changing at all and hang out in her underwear, or bother wearing anything at all.

She nixed the sexy idea; she wasn't trying to impress Kirk— Jim. And he probably didn't care that much about something like that. Full nude would probably get a hilarious reaction, but she suspected it might cause the situation to escalate too fast for her to truly enjoy getting to know Jim. Underwear could be so obnoxious and uncomfortable, so that was no as well. Even though bras had undergone several ergonomic adjustments to their designs over the centuries, they still felt confining at the end of the day. Much like her uniform did, even though she loved wearing it.

So pajamas it was. Comfy, soft, amazing pajamas. Easy pajamas, though. Just her typical wear, nothing special or fancy. She suspected the relaxed nature of her choice would put her captain at ease enough to stop having reservations about having sex with her. (But then again, the fact that he wanted to be absolutely sure was sweet and spoke of his truly understanding and compassionate character.)

When her door beeped quietly in the ambient silence of the ship she realized just how much time had passed. She had been staring at her vidscreen for at least ten minutes, originally meaning to choose some music for background noise. Growing up surrounded by family and then sharing a dorm room with Gaila made it impossible for her to get used to the borderline sub-bass humming of the ship around her. She needed the extra noise.

"Enter," she commanded, and the door slid open as she made a choice of old orchestral. It was often slow enough she could drift off to it if she was getting ready to sleep, and without words it wouldn't be distracting.

She turned to find Kirk examining her quarters, slowly spinning in a circle to take it all in, and wearing his regulation blacks. He had ditched the command gold like she'd ordered. (Why did that make her want to shiver?) He looked… a bit rugged. And good enough to climb like a tree. Black was definitely his color. The only thing he would probably look better in was something blue, slightly darker to offset his pale gold skin and dark gold hair, while making his delightful baby blues brighter.

"So," he said with a small, charming smirk as he faced her finally. "What now?"

He loosely held out his arms, palms forward, open body language with an implied shrug to accompany his words.

"Well," Nyota said, very obviously dropping her gaze down to appreciate all his angles and curves (because, mmm, her captain had those too). She swept her eyes back up to meet his. "I think you should ditch the shirt. I'm feeling a little underdressed compared to you. And I'd like to ogle you properly. I never really got the chance to when I was kicking your mostly nude ass out of places you shouldn't have been around the Academy."

Jim stripped off his shirt while she was speaking, and he stood there holding his shirt in one fist, placing his bare hand over his heart in mock offense.

"You just want me for my body, don't you Miss Nyota," he objected breathily, barely holding onto the act before a twitchy grin split his face.

Gods above, it should be illegal for someone's pearly whites – lined up so neatly, so sharply – to look so delightfully flirty and cocky.

"It's a nice body," she told him with a careful measure of flippancy, drinking in the contours of his chest, the muscular definition around his waist, down the vee of his hips. He was built slimmer, without the body of a greek god – all broad shoulders and thin waists – but he was nowhere near what most would consider lithe. And except for his arms, he wasn't bulky. His body was athletic and one might use the the phrase 'built like a brick shithouse' if they were in the mood for archaic prose. All in all, it was some real, solid meat she could truly dig her fingers into. Or teeth. He'd look so good with bruises in the neat 'O' of a mouth all over.

He was also virtually hairless, a huge contrast to what she'd been used to for the last couple of years. Even as she beckoned him closer – hopping up to sit on the desk off-center of her living space, she saw that there was only the lightest dusting of golden hair in a line from the bottom of his sternum to the gentle arch of developed abdominals between his hipbones. It gradually became darker the farther south it went – peach-fuzzy just above his navel before skipping delicately over it to continue.

She reached for that trail, curling her fingers and dragging her nails upward through it. His muscles tightened as he gasped softly and, when her index fingernail caught the top edge of his bellybutton, they trembled with his exhale. Nyota glanced up at him and found his darkening baby blues watching her.

There was a tense moment between them, charged and sparking.

"Fuck, Nyota, can I kiss you?" he asked and his raspy voice made warmth pool low in her hips.

"If you didn't, I might be offended," she said with a flirty little smile.

He dove for her mouth, plush, pouty lips brushing hers once, teasingly. Then he was lipping and kitten-licking over her mouth, entreating entry, and she willingly parted. Their tongues met first, slid together and twisted, heads tilting for better angles, jaws working as they devoured each other. Nyota throbbed as she imagined what it would be like for Jim to kiss a different set of lips.

Damn, could he kiss.

And gods, his hair was downy soft. Loving it, she combed her fingers repeatedly through, nails scratching over his scalp.

Jim broke away from her mouth with a gasp, eyes fluttering open to reveal blown pupils. His hips jerked and oh! Nyota hooked her heel around his thigh, nudging just under his butt for him to move closer. Sensitive scalp, evidenced by the way he was already chubbing up under his blacks. His cock brushed her inner thigh as she scooted closer to the edge of the desk, pressing him against the heat between her legs. He exhaled loudly, tipping his head backward into her nails and twitching his hips forward against her as she gently scritched her fingers through his hair. Broad palms found her waist and gripped, grounding.

"Oh, fuck, Nyota," Jim breathed, voice brittle. A soft tongue wet his bottom lip before the lip was pulled between his teeth, held there, and released slowly bright red and swollen.

"Jeez, Jim, your lips," she heard herself saying, dragging her nails down to his nape, cupping his smooth jaw, reeling him back into a kiss. He let her indulge and chased after her tongue with his own when she pulled back. "The things I want to do to your mouth… It should be illegal for you to be this—" She kissed him, chaste. "—good, taste this good." She dove back in again, longer, wetter, slower. "God, fuck, your mouth." She couldn't leave those plush lips alone. They were like the sweetest, ripest fruit. "I'd ride your face until your jaw locked and you couldn't speak for a week—" A punched out grunt escaped him and his cock twitched against her, trapped in his probably uncomfortable pants. "-and, fuck, by the time I was done with you, your face would be dripping."

Jim groaned low, pressing his face into her neck and nuzzling.

"Fuck," he uttered, strained. A chuckle followed, but it was strung tight, weak. "Yes, please?"

She gave an airy giggle. Dirty talk had never really done anything for Spock and sometimes she indulged anyway to rile herself up, but she had forgotten how nice it was when her words affected more than just her.

They both remained like that, breathing deeply, as if in consensus without words about needing to take a moment. After their bodies had cooled a bit, Jim lifted his head from where he'd been hiding and pressed his forehead to hers instead.

"I knew it would be like this with you," he whispered, smiling and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Like what?" she wondered, petting her hands down his chest just to feel the glide of his supple skin, the contour of muscle, one thumb dragging over his trail of hair. Nyota left one hand resting over his heart, fluttering like a bird beneath his ribs. It was almost concerning.

"Fantastic." He smirked and she swatted at his bicep. He just grinned, sharp and playful. "You've never put up with my shit. And you know what you want. I could tell that as soon as you started ordering drinks in that tiny bar in butt-fuck Iowa, way back then. It's why my drunk ass decided to go for you."

"I hadn't noticed," she said sarcastically, squeezing the bicep under her palm to let him know she didn't hold it against him. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry about that, by the way," he said, straightening up and meeting her eyes, a serious sincerity there that was out of place with the low simmer of arousal between them. "I don't think I ever apologized for being obnoxious and ruining your night."

"Hey, it's fine, because we're here now," she soothed, petting her hands down his ribs and resting them on his hips, thumbs rubbing circles over the little bit of jut from his hipbones. "Besides, I was actually having a lot of fun until Cupcake interceded. So really, we should blame him."

Jim laughed, loud and full, shaking his head lightly.

"Or thank him," Nyota continued, sliding her hands around and down to grip his ass (what a fine ass it was) and press their groins close. He hummed in pleasure, biting his lips shut while he watched her with heated anticipation. "Since you were exactly the type of bad boy I told myself I was going to quit when I started at the academy."

"Oh, I was ? Am I not anymore?" Jim teased, grinding up against her with a different kind of tease. She was so wet now it was soaking through her shorts and she shivered at the thought of leaving a damp spot on the front of his blacks. She squeezed his absolutely grabbable ass and nodded.

"Now I just know you too well," she admitted. "You're not bad per se , but I've always had a bit of an addiction to that devil-may-care attitude you have in spades."

"Yeah, that attitude was what got me into trouble that night," he said, with a self-deprecating tucking of his chin toward a collarbone, shoulders dropping forward just slightly. "I was way too sloppy to be trying anything that night."

"You were drunk; I told you, I'm not holding any of it against you," she assured him, a little breathless at his show of vulnerability. A vulnerability she felt herself wanting to see more of, wanting to eat up with slow licks.

He cut an assessing look angled sideways and up, coy. Bit the corner of his mouth. And he really needed to quit that.

"I meant 'sloppy' in more than one way, there, Nyota," he stated gently, as though trying to guide her to a conclusion without outright saying it and without being condescending.

She didn't quite understand until—

"Oh!"

She jerked back and stared at him.

"Oh," she said quieter. "I never would have thought you the type."

It almost sounded insulting, even from her side.

"You've just never given any indication. More of an old-school fuckboy vibe than anything else," she amended and he laughed at her.

"I'm not ashamed of it, Nyota. It was a job, well a side-job at the time. The stigma only exists because of puritanical-policing. And I was cleaned up before I even left the club I rented stage at. But at the bar, that was just supposed to be a kind of celebratory drink with myself, that turned into four or five. I wasn't cruising for a pickup. I had made bank that night and was treating myself before going home. It was supposed to be just that . I didn't even remember that it was Cadet Night until I was already pretty far gone and the place was flooding with red, otherwise I wouldn't have even picked that bar.

"And then you walked in," he breathed. "Like you owned the place. There were bruises and scratches under my clothes, I was all sloppy – fucked out and fucked up." Here his voice dipped into a deeper register, and if Nyota hadn't already been hanging onto his words since he mentioned her entrance, she would be. "I had a rule. Don't come with clients. That's how you wore out. I thought I had let it go. Jerked off quick in the room after and felt satisfied. Then you walked up and I was buzzing. Fuck, Nyota, I wanted to be crushed by you. Wanted you to call me a whore when you saw me naked, wanted to lick your boots, lick you out. I don't even like humiliation. There was just something about you, in particular, at that exact moment. Talking with you just made it worse."

Jim chuckled breathlessly, with that sharp edge of self-deprecation that always skinned Nyota on the edge of a razor. "If Cupcake hadn't intervened, I might have actually annoyed you enough for you to do it. To take me apart."

But his confession had her dripping and tingling, pressure building between her thighs as she found them clenching around him, legs locking so he couldn't get away, not without a struggle. The thought had barely occurred to her and she was leaning forward, fastening her mouth around one pink nipple, sinking her teeth in deep. Jim gasped and flinched back, unable to escape. She didn't release him until he was shuddering. A small whimper fell from his lips as he restlessly rocked his erection against her.

"Want to mark you up like that again," she confessed, admiring the saliva-slick indents of her teeth in a lopsided oval around his pert little nub. He mewled and sought out her mouth, begging with his lips for a proper kiss, and she felt wire-tight strung-out, heart tapping out an excited tattoo against her ribs. She opened her mouth to his ministrations, letting him please her with his definite skill, walking her fingers up his spine.

When they parted, she brushed her sticky lips over his jaw while considering the way he mentioned how selling his body was a side gig . There was only one profession she knew of that exclsively operated like that.

"You said prostitution was a side job and that you rented stage," she said, contemplatively. "Does that mean you danced? James Kirk , were you a stripper!?"

"Yeah. ...I was—" He cut himself off with a self-deprecating snort. "I was using the money to pay for college. Such an old stereotype."

Nyota couldn't contain her shocked glee and snorted obscenely on an aborted laugh. He raised an eyebrow at her and opened his mouth to continue, but she spoke first.

"Why would need money for that? Isn't secondary education paid for? Besides, I figured you of all people would have easily gotten in on excellence programs if you went the private route, or your mom would help if you needed it."

"The government only pays for your first degree. And for some I could get in on scholarships, but this program wasn't one. It was for dancing. I. . .wasn't terrible at it, but I wasn't good . I only got through my first month stripping because some of the girls working at the club when I started gave me a few basic lessons. That, annnnd... The owner let me barter for stage rent, even though I was blowing nearly everything I did earn on. . .' recreational' habits.

"Anyway, my natural desire to know things kicked in while I was watching the more experienced dancers and I decided to enroll in a few classes. I spent the next year getting better until I was considered a main act at the club, and then, since I was halfway through the degree, just decided to finish it with another year. And it wasn't like it was a hardship or anything. I worked with fun people, the owner only took twenty percent of nightly earnings for stage rent, and it was full-nude so there was no intoxication on the premises. The owner also notarized temporary prostitution licenses for anyone who wanted them – we just had to give thaem a copy of a recent physical, and thae rented rooms in the back by the hour. It wasn't like most strip joints, with the commercialization and all. Thaer only employees were security and cleaning staff. Acts were independent contracts. It was nice. Fun. Complete freedom. Complete control.

"I liked it enough to stay with it until I enlisted. Probably the best thing I was doing at the time, since after I paid off school I started siphoning money back into illegal substances, and then my bike. I was a bit of a transient once I was good enough to be choosy about my hours, chasing my next high into nearby cities and towns on that bike, only going back to perform for a few hours a few nights a week. That night that I had ended up at the bar, I had been the main entertainment for a bachelorette party for about four straight hours and had made enough to get my hands on uncut Orion Tigaassiss, with enough credits to spare. Honestly, between the driftering, the drugs, the fights, and the stunts I pulled chasing an adrenaline high, I'm surprised there was even enough of me left to scrape off that bar floor.

"I was exactly what you thought I was, Nyota."

"But you're not that anymore," she breathed with more inquiry than she meant, a little in awe at the sheer levels of self-destruction her loyal, brave, stubborn, stupid, kind, intelligent captain had gone to. He was glossing over things (huge things, she could tell), but even just mentioning Orion Tigaassiss revealed how truly in a hole he'd been. It was highly addictive for humans (illegal to be in possession of without a Class A Substance Distributor's License) and the effects lasted nearly a whole 26 earth hours, making it extremely dangerous as users would forget to eat or drink for days at a time, essentially starving themselves to death while being blissed out of their minds.

"Bones, when he found out, cut me off. Cold. From literally everything. Even sex. Withdrawals were. . . . .hell. He planned it all around a long weekend I had intended to spend off campus. . .and instead I found myself locked up in my dorm bathroom with my roommate, hallucinating and in agony until the tuesday of the next week. He didn't even let me have sex for six fucking months. And now, except for alcohol as far as substances are concerned, I've been sober for years now. I don't keep track. It's easier that way."

Mood almost dead between them, Nyota considered this window into who Jim was and gently pressed her lips to his sternum, silently thanking him for his trust in her, in his crew, for choosing to live that morning after the bar. She had hated him a bit when she saw him on the shuttle – this hungover, cocky, townie hick. But now, after everything with Vulcan, Earth, Nibiru, Nero, Khan, Marcus, and the littler crises in between, she was grateful their universe had spared him.

"I—" Kirk started but his voice caught. So he cleared it quietly and tried again. "Part of my agreement with Bones is that he won't ever report any of it – even if I relapse – as long as I tell the people I trust about it. So far, I've told three people, including you. Scotty knows. And Pike did, but he's dead now. I forced myself to tell him after one year sober. I had thought for sure I was going to be kicked out of Starfleet when I did."

"But you didn't, and now you're here," Nyota said against his chest, circling his waist with her arms. He enveloped her in a warm, spicy-scented hug.

"I didn't and I'm here. Against all odds," he said and took a deep cleansing breath with his nose pressed into her loose locks. "Well, now that I've successfully killed my own boner, I'd completely understand if you want to call this off."

"Please," she scoffed and smacked one round buttock. "And miss out on all of this. I'm just as ambitious as you, pretty boy. I'm still d-t-f if you are."

"I thought we already established that for you, I'm always dee tee eff, " he said with an amused huff.

"Good, because I think you could potentially bring the mood back up to about. . . .mmm, oh, maybe a seven, on a scale to ten, if you possibly decided to show me what had you earning enough credits for Black Market Class Earth-Sched-One contraband."

"Only a seven? Psh, my moves deserve at least an eleven based on pussy-wetting alone," he scoffed mockingly.

"Prove it, pretty boy," she dared and took note of how his eyes sparkled in response.

He pressed his full, pink lips to hers and mumbled, "move to your couch, let me get ready."

Then he let go of her and stepped away to her vidscreen, to find appropriate music she assumed.

. ..:ﾟ•･* .:･ﾟ✧•N•✧ﾟ･:. *･•ﾟ:.. .

AN:I've upped the chapter amount to 3. (Was only supposed to be 2 parts.) Mostly because there were too many words. It was just toofucking long. So I decided, fuck it, I'm the creator, I say when it's the end! And I edited about three pages, transferred them to the "completed" file, and thought, "That's actually a pretty good break right there." So I'm breaking it. Sorry that's it's been two years.

Thank you to everyone who has held out hope on this, reviewing even as the time between the publish date and the current one grew and grew an d gr e re w... ANYWAY, here's something! Please keep me motivated! ALSO FUCK ME WITH SOMETHING SANDPAPERY FOR DECIDING TO COMMIT TO THAT STUPID SPARKLY BREAK

Whatever! Love ya babes!