[TWBI] Merry Christmas!
Title: Merry Christmas!
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,345 (lol)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Old Man
Jim folds the blue scarf in half then flicks it over my head, pulling the ends into the loop and pulling to secure it around my neck. He next zips up the first red fleece jacket, capturing the ends of the scarf underneath. He zips up the second jacket, which was light blue and made of a form of plastic-like fabric. Next, he buttons the thick black wool jacket over the rest. He grabs a light purple headband and puts it around my head, covering the tops of my ears and the top of my forehead. He picks up the brown furry hat with earflaps and puts it snuggly on my head, making sure to not pull down the headband, which is now hidden.
He steps back and beams at his handiwork.
I glance down. It felt like a strange ritual, having these clothing placed on me, but humans in this age do not usually act out rituals such as this. It is probably more a standard practice. These layers of clothing feel very cumbersome, but I know I will be thankful for it once Jim drags me outside.
"Where is it we are going?"
He picks up his own jacket and puts it on. "We're going to go chop down a tree."
I raise an eyebrow, but resist the urge to ask the purpose of a Christmas tree. I have made a conscious effort to not continuously question all of the strange winter holiday customs of Terrans. This is not my first Christmas with Jim, but those other years had been aboard the Enterprise. He loves the holiday, but never wanted to do many of the associated customs. He said his family never truly celebrated Christmas; they rarely even got a tree. He said he was fine with not participating on all those past Dec. 25ths.
This year, he seems to be determined to have a 'traditional Christmas'. I believe he always greatly coveted this as a child. That he envied other families for their celebration of this day. And now that he has someone he cares for and who cares for him just as much in return, he wants to do everything he did not get to as a child.
Therefore, I have refrained from refusing any task he asks of me. These tasks, after all, are some of the more pleasant things he has asked me to do. Any questions I ask are merely for clarification or for more information. I do not question the purpose of many of these actions; he most likely would not have an answer and would only become flustered.
I already know the answer.
I realized it our second night at the old Iowan family farmhouse he inherited on this mother's death. I was wrapped around him in an attempt to gain some body warmth from the colder room. Most of the activities associated with Christmas were meant to include the entire family. They all are meant to bring families together. Whether he realizes it or not, the fact that his family was not willing to do these things meant they were not really a family.
I was not going to deprive Jim of it this year.
By the time we arrive at the tree farm, the sun has risen. But it is still bitterly cold. Jim hurries up the porch and knocks on the door of the house next to the planted fir forest. The man was large and friendly. Jim pays him and the man mimes out directions to what I assume is the shed behind the house.
We walk around the domicile and approach the small shed. As Jim rummages around inside, I look out to the snow covered trees. There are many of them, planted in a grid pattern with roughly 7 feet between each tree. I soon hear him come back out. I look to see him walking with an old manual axe resting on his shoulder.
I raise an eyebrow. "There must be other equipment to bring down a tree."
He grins. "Yeah, but I want to chop down a tree."
I frown slightly. "There are easier means to chopping down trees than with that."
"Yeah, but I want to literally chop down a tree. I've never done it before." He takes one of the long sleds propped up against the shed and lays it on the ground. He hands me its rope. He starts walking through the trees.
I follow with the sled, surveying the nearby conifers. "What kind of trees are these?"
"Uh," he says, as he looks one up and down. "Douglas-fir, I guess. I don't really know my trees."
"Your trees?"
He rolls his eyes and smirks. "You know what I mean."
"You did not study plants in school?"
"Not really," He says, as he looks closer at one short, wide tree. "Just the basics."
I look at the tree as well, though I do not know what he is looking for. "Vulcan children must study and memorize all of the plants on their planet." Which is now Vulcan II.
"There are way too many plants on Earth to learn them all." Jim says, moving on down the row of trees. "Not even trained botanists know them all."
I give a small nod before shivering violently. The clothing is helping, but my face is not protected in any way. I look around at the trees individually, attempting to concentrate on the plants. "What is it you are looking for?" I ask.
He glances back to me. "What do you mean?"
"What attributes make an acceptable Christmas tree?"
He looks thoughtful. "Well, the most important thing is that it has to fit in the house, can't be too tall or fat."
"Where do you wish to put it?"
"In the living room. I was thinking we'd move that red sofa chair near the fire place."
"It would be a fire hazard."
He shakes his head. "Not if we push it all the way into the corner."
I nod and calculate the maximum height and width that would allow a tree to sit in the place he indicated. "Is there anything else?"
He shrugs. "An ideal Christmas tree should be cone shaped, but as long as it isn't really out of control, any should be fine."
We walk through the tree farm for another hour. Few trees meet the dimensional requirements and the ones that did were unruly or patched. I mostly stay behind him to hide the fact that I have started to shiver frequently. He ultimately notices me shiver as we approach the 237th tree.
And Jim does what he normally does when we are alone and he sees me shiver: he molests me.
I suddenly find myself backed into the branches of the tree. He leans into me and huffs a moist, hot breath against my face before kissing my cheek. He pulls back slightly, eye wide. "Damn, you're freezing!" He takes off his gloves and places them on my face, his thumbs rubbing along my cheekbones. They are very warm compared to the winter air and lean into his touch, closing my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were so cold?" he asks, his warm breath still blossoming on my face.
I raise an eyebrow, but do not open my eyes. "You did not know?"
He pauses, stopping his thumbs. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be this cold." He continues his ministrations. "You should have told me if you were this uncomfortable. I guess I forgot about your face not being protected," he murmurs, sounding guilty. He lowers his hands and begins to grace my face with soft, warm kisses that buzz on my skin and caress my mind with warm emotions. My cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, my jaw, my nose all get this treatment. He finally lands on my lips, lingering there a long moment before pulling back.
I open my eyes to see him grinning at me. "Better?"
I did feel warmer, although there is no logical reason I should. I nod.
He looks away from my face and to the top of the tree I am leaned against. "How about this one?"
We both step away and I look at it. It is thin and of a suitable height. It is roughly cone shaped with stray branches but can easily be sheared. I nod again.
Jim manages to only take 45.6 minutes to cut the tree down, which is a much shorter time than I thought it would take him. I shake it to dislodge any snow still on the branches and place it on the sled. We trudge back to the rental hovercar. We secure the tree to the top of the roof and head back to the farmhouse at a speed much slower than Jim would normally drive, but he does not want the tree to become damaged.
After we warm up in the heated house, we secure the tree to a base with a screw mechanism and place it in the corner Jim suggested. It does not take long to decorate the tree, as we just bought all of the ornaments because Jim could not find the box of decorations in the attic. It was not surprising as few of the cardboard boxes were labeled and it was completely disorganized. I helped for a few minutes, but the attic is very poorly insulated so he would not allow me to stay long. Since half of the tree faces walls, two strings of multicolored lights and 17 ornaments (all space themed) fill up the tree sufficiently well. Four wrapped presents sit beneath the tree, two to and from each of us.
After we finished, we sat down on the rug near the fireplace. Jim lies along the rug and I am sitting in between the hearth and tree.
I pick up a cookie from the coffee table. We baked gingerbread in the shape of men yesterday afternoon without burning down the kitchen remarkably. When we were making the dough I asked why they were in the shape of men, and Jim said he thought there was an old story about an elderly couple who wanted a son, so they made a cookie in the shape of a man; he was as confused as I was as to why they would do that.
It is easy to recognize which of us decorated which cookies. He brought out multicolored sprinkles and white, green and red icing in dispensers. I used the pictures he showed me of how a gingerbread man is normally decorated as the blueprint to my designs, altered slightly to fit our ingredients. He seemed annoyed that my cookies were coming out as professionally done as in the pictures; I am a perfectionist.
Jim decided, in what seemed to be retaliation, to mutilate his cookies. Using a flower cookie cutter, he created fake bite marks, taking off an arm, leg or head. He then proceeded to use the red icing to mimic the appearance of blood dripping from its 'wounds'. If it still had a head, he would draw a frowning face.
I look at the decapitated gingerbread man I just picked up. Upon closer inspection, it also appears to have a large stab wound on its side. And a white phaser on its hip. I raise an eyebrow.
I glance over to Jim, who seems extremely amused that I picked up one of his cookies. "I am considering recommending that Dr. McCoy administer you with another psychological evaluation."
He looks at me in pseudo-horror. "That's so cruel!" He exclaims, turning his gaze to the fire. "He would do it, too. Just to piss me off."
I bite the cookie and study Jim. He lies sprawled on the rug. A blue sweater is wrapped snug around his form. His blond hair and tan skin glow golden in the firelight, making him look ethereal. He appears to be the thing radiating heat instead of the fire. Arousal begins to smolder in my abdomen.
His face takes on a relaxed contemplative look.
"What is it you are thinking?" I ask.
He smirks. "Of your face when I leaned you against that tree today."
I give him a quizzical look.
He looks up at me. "I don't know what it was, you just looked really beautiful."
I am slightly taken aback. I ponder it and tilt my head. "Sometimes things can have amplified beauty when placed into a complementary setting."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
I raise an eyebrow before crawling above him. I hover my hand close over his face, looking at him expectantly.
He smirks as if to say I did not need to ask.
I place my fingertips on the psi points, his skin warmed by the fire, and easily delve into his mind. I do not fully immerse myself into his mind, even if I want to do so greatly. Wading in his mind, I send him the image of him lying wanton on the rug next to the fireplace just moments before, including my affectionate emotions attached to it. I feel his surprise bubble around me.
In exchange, he sends me the sight he had been alluding to. I see my face framed by the brown hat and rich green, needled branches with caps of white snow. My face is flushed green from the cold. My expression is open, content. It appears to be after he gave me the many kisses. The emotions attached are wonder and awe.
I ease out of his mind. Our connection still buzzes. Jim puts a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me into a long, lazy kiss. His tongue and mouth taste of gingerbread. I use the hand that had been employed during the mind meld to caress his stubble covered chin.
I pull back and look down at his smiling face. "Merry Christmas, Jim," I say.
His grin grows. He pulls me back down and murmurs against my lips, "yes, it is."
Next: Sex Kitten
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,345 (lol)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Old Man
Jim folds the blue scarf in half then flicks it over my head, pulling the ends into the loop and pulling to secure it around my neck. He next zips up the first red fleece jacket, capturing the ends of the scarf underneath. He zips up the second jacket, which was light blue and made of a form of plastic-like fabric. Next, he buttons the thick black wool jacket over the rest. He grabs a light purple headband and puts it around my head, covering the tops of my ears and the top of my forehead. He picks up the brown furry hat with earflaps and puts it snuggly on my head, making sure to not pull down the headband, which is now hidden.
He steps back and beams at his handiwork.
I glance down. It felt like a strange ritual, having these clothing placed on me, but humans in this age do not usually act out rituals such as this. It is probably more a standard practice. These layers of clothing feel very cumbersome, but I know I will be thankful for it once Jim drags me outside.
"Where is it we are going?"
He picks up his own jacket and puts it on. "We're going to go chop down a tree."
I raise an eyebrow, but resist the urge to ask the purpose of a Christmas tree. I have made a conscious effort to not continuously question all of the strange winter holiday customs of Terrans. This is not my first Christmas with Jim, but those other years had been aboard the Enterprise. He loves the holiday, but never wanted to do many of the associated customs. He said his family never truly celebrated Christmas; they rarely even got a tree. He said he was fine with not participating on all those past Dec. 25ths.
This year, he seems to be determined to have a 'traditional Christmas'. I believe he always greatly coveted this as a child. That he envied other families for their celebration of this day. And now that he has someone he cares for and who cares for him just as much in return, he wants to do everything he did not get to as a child.
Therefore, I have refrained from refusing any task he asks of me. These tasks, after all, are some of the more pleasant things he has asked me to do. Any questions I ask are merely for clarification or for more information. I do not question the purpose of many of these actions; he most likely would not have an answer and would only become flustered.
I already know the answer.
I realized it our second night at the old Iowan family farmhouse he inherited on this mother's death. I was wrapped around him in an attempt to gain some body warmth from the colder room. Most of the activities associated with Christmas were meant to include the entire family. They all are meant to bring families together. Whether he realizes it or not, the fact that his family was not willing to do these things meant they were not really a family.
I was not going to deprive Jim of it this year.
By the time we arrive at the tree farm, the sun has risen. But it is still bitterly cold. Jim hurries up the porch and knocks on the door of the house next to the planted fir forest. The man was large and friendly. Jim pays him and the man mimes out directions to what I assume is the shed behind the house.
We walk around the domicile and approach the small shed. As Jim rummages around inside, I look out to the snow covered trees. There are many of them, planted in a grid pattern with roughly 7 feet between each tree. I soon hear him come back out. I look to see him walking with an old manual axe resting on his shoulder.
I raise an eyebrow. "There must be other equipment to bring down a tree."
He grins. "Yeah, but I want to chop down a tree."
I frown slightly. "There are easier means to chopping down trees than with that."
"Yeah, but I want to literally chop down a tree. I've never done it before." He takes one of the long sleds propped up against the shed and lays it on the ground. He hands me its rope. He starts walking through the trees.
I follow with the sled, surveying the nearby conifers. "What kind of trees are these?"
"Uh," he says, as he looks one up and down. "Douglas-fir, I guess. I don't really know my trees."
"Your trees?"
He rolls his eyes and smirks. "You know what I mean."
"You did not study plants in school?"
"Not really," He says, as he looks closer at one short, wide tree. "Just the basics."
I look at the tree as well, though I do not know what he is looking for. "Vulcan children must study and memorize all of the plants on their planet." Which is now Vulcan II.
"There are way too many plants on Earth to learn them all." Jim says, moving on down the row of trees. "Not even trained botanists know them all."
I give a small nod before shivering violently. The clothing is helping, but my face is not protected in any way. I look around at the trees individually, attempting to concentrate on the plants. "What is it you are looking for?" I ask.
He glances back to me. "What do you mean?"
"What attributes make an acceptable Christmas tree?"
He looks thoughtful. "Well, the most important thing is that it has to fit in the house, can't be too tall or fat."
"Where do you wish to put it?"
"In the living room. I was thinking we'd move that red sofa chair near the fire place."
"It would be a fire hazard."
He shakes his head. "Not if we push it all the way into the corner."
I nod and calculate the maximum height and width that would allow a tree to sit in the place he indicated. "Is there anything else?"
He shrugs. "An ideal Christmas tree should be cone shaped, but as long as it isn't really out of control, any should be fine."
We walk through the tree farm for another hour. Few trees meet the dimensional requirements and the ones that did were unruly or patched. I mostly stay behind him to hide the fact that I have started to shiver frequently. He ultimately notices me shiver as we approach the 237th tree.
And Jim does what he normally does when we are alone and he sees me shiver: he molests me.
I suddenly find myself backed into the branches of the tree. He leans into me and huffs a moist, hot breath against my face before kissing my cheek. He pulls back slightly, eye wide. "Damn, you're freezing!" He takes off his gloves and places them on my face, his thumbs rubbing along my cheekbones. They are very warm compared to the winter air and lean into his touch, closing my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were so cold?" he asks, his warm breath still blossoming on my face.
I raise an eyebrow, but do not open my eyes. "You did not know?"
He pauses, stopping his thumbs. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be this cold." He continues his ministrations. "You should have told me if you were this uncomfortable. I guess I forgot about your face not being protected," he murmurs, sounding guilty. He lowers his hands and begins to grace my face with soft, warm kisses that buzz on my skin and caress my mind with warm emotions. My cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, my jaw, my nose all get this treatment. He finally lands on my lips, lingering there a long moment before pulling back.
I open my eyes to see him grinning at me. "Better?"
I did feel warmer, although there is no logical reason I should. I nod.
He looks away from my face and to the top of the tree I am leaned against. "How about this one?"
We both step away and I look at it. It is thin and of a suitable height. It is roughly cone shaped with stray branches but can easily be sheared. I nod again.
Jim manages to only take 45.6 minutes to cut the tree down, which is a much shorter time than I thought it would take him. I shake it to dislodge any snow still on the branches and place it on the sled. We trudge back to the rental hovercar. We secure the tree to the top of the roof and head back to the farmhouse at a speed much slower than Jim would normally drive, but he does not want the tree to become damaged.
After we warm up in the heated house, we secure the tree to a base with a screw mechanism and place it in the corner Jim suggested. It does not take long to decorate the tree, as we just bought all of the ornaments because Jim could not find the box of decorations in the attic. It was not surprising as few of the cardboard boxes were labeled and it was completely disorganized. I helped for a few minutes, but the attic is very poorly insulated so he would not allow me to stay long. Since half of the tree faces walls, two strings of multicolored lights and 17 ornaments (all space themed) fill up the tree sufficiently well. Four wrapped presents sit beneath the tree, two to and from each of us.
After we finished, we sat down on the rug near the fireplace. Jim lies along the rug and I am sitting in between the hearth and tree.
I pick up a cookie from the coffee table. We baked gingerbread in the shape of men yesterday afternoon without burning down the kitchen remarkably. When we were making the dough I asked why they were in the shape of men, and Jim said he thought there was an old story about an elderly couple who wanted a son, so they made a cookie in the shape of a man; he was as confused as I was as to why they would do that.
It is easy to recognize which of us decorated which cookies. He brought out multicolored sprinkles and white, green and red icing in dispensers. I used the pictures he showed me of how a gingerbread man is normally decorated as the blueprint to my designs, altered slightly to fit our ingredients. He seemed annoyed that my cookies were coming out as professionally done as in the pictures; I am a perfectionist.
Jim decided, in what seemed to be retaliation, to mutilate his cookies. Using a flower cookie cutter, he created fake bite marks, taking off an arm, leg or head. He then proceeded to use the red icing to mimic the appearance of blood dripping from its 'wounds'. If it still had a head, he would draw a frowning face.
I look at the decapitated gingerbread man I just picked up. Upon closer inspection, it also appears to have a large stab wound on its side. And a white phaser on its hip. I raise an eyebrow.
I glance over to Jim, who seems extremely amused that I picked up one of his cookies. "I am considering recommending that Dr. McCoy administer you with another psychological evaluation."
He looks at me in pseudo-horror. "That's so cruel!" He exclaims, turning his gaze to the fire. "He would do it, too. Just to piss me off."
I bite the cookie and study Jim. He lies sprawled on the rug. A blue sweater is wrapped snug around his form. His blond hair and tan skin glow golden in the firelight, making him look ethereal. He appears to be the thing radiating heat instead of the fire. Arousal begins to smolder in my abdomen.
His face takes on a relaxed contemplative look.
"What is it you are thinking?" I ask.
He smirks. "Of your face when I leaned you against that tree today."
I give him a quizzical look.
He looks up at me. "I don't know what it was, you just looked really beautiful."
I am slightly taken aback. I ponder it and tilt my head. "Sometimes things can have amplified beauty when placed into a complementary setting."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
I raise an eyebrow before crawling above him. I hover my hand close over his face, looking at him expectantly.
He smirks as if to say I did not need to ask.
I place my fingertips on the psi points, his skin warmed by the fire, and easily delve into his mind. I do not fully immerse myself into his mind, even if I want to do so greatly. Wading in his mind, I send him the image of him lying wanton on the rug next to the fireplace just moments before, including my affectionate emotions attached to it. I feel his surprise bubble around me.
In exchange, he sends me the sight he had been alluding to. I see my face framed by the brown hat and rich green, needled branches with caps of white snow. My face is flushed green from the cold. My expression is open, content. It appears to be after he gave me the many kisses. The emotions attached are wonder and awe.
I ease out of his mind. Our connection still buzzes. Jim puts a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me into a long, lazy kiss. His tongue and mouth taste of gingerbread. I use the hand that had been employed during the mind meld to caress his stubble covered chin.
I pull back and look down at his smiling face. "Merry Christmas, Jim," I say.
His grin grows. He pulls me back down and murmurs against my lips, "yes, it is."
Next: Sex Kitten