Fic: Laphroaig (Star Trek XI)
Title: Laphroaig
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Scotty/Winona Kirk
Warnings: Sex, and uh...het?
Disclaimer: I own nothing worth suing me for
Summary: In which Scotty and Winona both fail to make some important connections, but that's okay, because sex occurs anyway
Notes: Laphroaig is a well-known brand of whiskey. And the snippets of engineering tall tales you hear are events that really happened to me or people I know (I like to think being a Scottish engineer gives me an edge when writing Scotty XD) Also, I've never written het sex before, so...it's my first time - be gentle.
~*~
It's a rare thing, but middle age flatters Winona Kirk. The white shot through her hair turns it a paler shade of blonde and she wears the lines around her eyes well. A demanding and often very physical job has kept her lean and fit. Overall, she is beautiful: not the shallow over-perfect beauty society seems to prefer, but something mellowed and matured like a fine Isla malt.
Plus she can argue six-dimensional vector calculus. Which is really very sexy. University ruined him for any normal woman: of three hundred in his year maybe fifty were female, and each and every one of them was unconditionally accepted as 'one of the lads'. He's a little bit bewildered by the appeal most men see in makeup and miniskirts. Give him overalls and smears of engine oil any day.
Which brings him back to Winona Kirk, Chief Engineer of the USS Faraday. There's a pen jammed through the knot of hair tied back in a careless ponytail, hands flying and eyes flashing as she explains in impassioned detail why Starfleet's standard coolant systems are a complete disgrace. She's preaching to the choir. One of the first things he did after being put in charge of the Enterprise's engineering division was reroute primary and secondary cooling from top to bottom.
The Enterprise and the Faraday are currently docked at the spaceport on Halan Minor, the crew enjoying a little shore leave. He takes a moment to muse on his good fortune that she didn't laugh in his face when he decided to try his luck and offer to buy her a drink. He's also pleased she turned out to be an engineer. In his ideal woman, the ability to coax a recalcitrant warp core into cooperating ranks far and away above mere good looks.
She finishes off her point with a flourish and he takes the opportunity to wax lyrical about the modifications he's made to the Enterprise since taking over Engineering there. Winona cocks her head, a calculating gleam in her eye. "You know," she says casually, "I think I'd like to have a look at this ship of yours."
That's the engineering equivalent of 'can I come up to your place for coffee'. He grins at her. "Sounds like a plan."
They discuss the theory of transspatial resonance as they navigate the narrow streets of the town that has sprung up around the spaceport, a little unsteady on their feet as the alcohol hits them anew in the cool evening air. He can't remember the last time he had this much fun, and they aren't even naked yet.
When they reach the 'port she gazes up at the Enterprise with an analytical eye tempered by a mix of awe and furtive lust that he remembers well from the first time he saw the ship in all her glory.
"I think I might be in love," Winona says, a little starry-eyed. He grins at her and thinks that maybe he might be too.
As soon as the door to his quarters slides shut she wastes no time in pushing him up against it and kissing him thoroughly, hot and hard and insistent. He loves a woman who knows what she wants, and he's more than willing to give it to her: he slides his hands up under her top and she raises her arms to let him pull it off over her head. After that her hands are busy attacking the buttons on his shirt, and his are pleasantly full of warm, yielding female flesh.
By degrees they make it to the bed, trailing discarded clothing behind them. She pulls him down on top of her. He's nibbling at the hollow of her throat, one hand cupping her left breast and toying with the nipple, the other stroking rhythmically between her legs. It's difficult to tell which - if not the combination of all three - is causing those wonderful little moaning noises she's making. Whatever it is, he needs to hear those noises a lot more.
He kisses a path down her body - pausing briefly to nip and lick because, mmm, breasts - and pauses just short of his goal to savour the musky-sweet smell of her, hands resting on her thighs. Then he leans in and gets down to business and she's moaning and cursing, arching up into him, fingers tightening in his short hair.
She gives an almost startled gasp and then falls completely still and silent as she comes, head thrown back and eyes closed, lost in the moment. He's good with equations, not poetry, but even if he was he suspects he still wouldn't have the words to describe how she looks, open and joyful and so very alive.
"Wow," she says after a moment, panting, and grins at him: a sly, devilish expression that does things to his insides. Then she grabs him shoulders and twists and all of a sudden he's flat on his back with her straddling him and looking at him like he's lunch, which has his brain misfiring in interesting ways.
He reaches blindly for the bedside cabinet and manages to find it on the second attempt. A moment of fumbling produces a little foil package which she takes with an approving smile and unwraps. It's startlingly cool against his overheated flesh. And then she places her palms flat on his chest and slides onto him, and his head thumps against the pillow as his hips buck up involuntarily.
She moves slow and leisurely as though they have all the time in the world, and he's happy to lie back and let her set the pace: he settles his hands on her hips, thumb stroking gently over the curve of hipbone, and gives a heartfelt moan as an aftershock spasms lazily through her internal muscles. It's been so fucking long, since before Delta Vega, and the reality of the beautiful woman riding him is so much better than the fantasies spawned from nights alone with his right hand that it's in a whole different galaxy. She smiles almost as though she knows just what he's thinking. And then she twists her hips just right and rakes her nails down his chest and he's coming with a strangled cry, taken by surprise.
She rolls off of him and relaxes onto the bed, stretching like a cat, and turns in towards him, curling a little. He wraps an arm around her and is sleepily pleased when she snuggles into him.
"I really did want a look at the engineering decks, you know," she says, still a little breathless.
He laughs; "We could go now."
"My next shift starts soon," she says regretfully. "Maybe another time."
Maybe there will be another time. He'd like to believe that.
The Faraday's ship time must be out of step with theirs: gamma shift is just coming off duty here, footsteps and voices in the corridor outside as they dress amidst jokes and cheerful teasing. They leave his quarters together, laughing and exchanging ridiculous tall tales about their adventures as the more hands-on type of engineer.
"...so he lifts the mask up and he's only gone and set his bloody overalls on fire. And he turns to Grant - calm as you please - and says 'and that's why you don't mess with the gas feed'!"
Winona laughs and waves a dismissive hand. "That's nothing. There was this one time we had to move a dyno rig through to our new workshop, but the stairs were too narrow to take it, so we had to lower it down off the goddamn balcony...but of course we didn't have a crane..." Her eyes are sparkling, a smile on her lips, and god he could listen to her talk all day.
"...we had to unbolt the flange to swing the boom round, so of course the whole damn thing overbalanced. It took eight of us to weigh the base down, and that just left me to operate the winch because I was the smallest-" Winona stops mid-sentence, eyes widening, and he follows her gaze to see the captain staring at them, looking absolutely stunned. Scotty glances at Winona, thinks about his own probable appearance...and yes there's a certain air of flushed-rumpled-fresh-from-the-bedroom about them, but he knows the captain isn't the sort to be bothered by that...
"Mom?" Kirk blurts, incredulous, and Scotty feels his mouth drop open. What in the bloody buggering hell did he do to deserve this?
"Hello, Jimmy," Winona says. She clears her throat awkwardly.
Kirk turns to Scotty, looking appalled. "You didn't."
"Well I didnae ken she wis yer ma, did I?" he says defensively, accent thickening into incomprehensibility as it always does when he gets nervous. A bright idea strikes him. "I'll get out of yer hair then, let you two catch up." He flees the scene to the sounds of a familial argument building up behind him.
Half an hour later he's buried to the waist in a maintenance hatch when he hears footsteps behind him. He slides out and finds Winona Kirk studying him.
"Never even crossed my mind," he says conversationally, wiping oil-smeared fingers on his overalls. "After all, Kirk's a common enough name."
She smiles wryly; "I really should have made the connection between this Enterprise and that Enterprise."
"Let's just call it an honest mistake then."
"Not the word I'd use," she says. She draws the pen out of her hair and takes his hand, scrawling a series of numbers across it. "Personal comm. Use it, or I'll tell every 'fleet engineer I meet that you route the primary fuel line past the afterburners."
"No call to go making threats like that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.
She grins, leans in to press a swift kiss against his cheek. "I'm on shift in half an hour," she says apologetically. "So...goodbye, I guess. I wasn't kidding. Comm me."
"Yes ma'am," he replies, tossing off a salute. She laughs and hurries off, keen to get back to her own ship.
He'll definitely be comming her. And if it makes his captain incredibly uncomfortable in the process...well, that'll be entertaining as well.
~*fin*~
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Scotty/Winona Kirk
Warnings: Sex, and uh...het?
Disclaimer: I own nothing worth suing me for
Summary: In which Scotty and Winona both fail to make some important connections, but that's okay, because sex occurs anyway
Notes: Laphroaig is a well-known brand of whiskey. And the snippets of engineering tall tales you hear are events that really happened to me or people I know (I like to think being a Scottish engineer gives me an edge when writing Scotty XD) Also, I've never written het sex before, so...it's my first time - be gentle.
~*~
It's a rare thing, but middle age flatters Winona Kirk. The white shot through her hair turns it a paler shade of blonde and she wears the lines around her eyes well. A demanding and often very physical job has kept her lean and fit. Overall, she is beautiful: not the shallow over-perfect beauty society seems to prefer, but something mellowed and matured like a fine Isla malt.
Plus she can argue six-dimensional vector calculus. Which is really very sexy. University ruined him for any normal woman: of three hundred in his year maybe fifty were female, and each and every one of them was unconditionally accepted as 'one of the lads'. He's a little bit bewildered by the appeal most men see in makeup and miniskirts. Give him overalls and smears of engine oil any day.
Which brings him back to Winona Kirk, Chief Engineer of the USS Faraday. There's a pen jammed through the knot of hair tied back in a careless ponytail, hands flying and eyes flashing as she explains in impassioned detail why Starfleet's standard coolant systems are a complete disgrace. She's preaching to the choir. One of the first things he did after being put in charge of the Enterprise's engineering division was reroute primary and secondary cooling from top to bottom.
The Enterprise and the Faraday are currently docked at the spaceport on Halan Minor, the crew enjoying a little shore leave. He takes a moment to muse on his good fortune that she didn't laugh in his face when he decided to try his luck and offer to buy her a drink. He's also pleased she turned out to be an engineer. In his ideal woman, the ability to coax a recalcitrant warp core into cooperating ranks far and away above mere good looks.
She finishes off her point with a flourish and he takes the opportunity to wax lyrical about the modifications he's made to the Enterprise since taking over Engineering there. Winona cocks her head, a calculating gleam in her eye. "You know," she says casually, "I think I'd like to have a look at this ship of yours."
That's the engineering equivalent of 'can I come up to your place for coffee'. He grins at her. "Sounds like a plan."
They discuss the theory of transspatial resonance as they navigate the narrow streets of the town that has sprung up around the spaceport, a little unsteady on their feet as the alcohol hits them anew in the cool evening air. He can't remember the last time he had this much fun, and they aren't even naked yet.
When they reach the 'port she gazes up at the Enterprise with an analytical eye tempered by a mix of awe and furtive lust that he remembers well from the first time he saw the ship in all her glory.
"I think I might be in love," Winona says, a little starry-eyed. He grins at her and thinks that maybe he might be too.
As soon as the door to his quarters slides shut she wastes no time in pushing him up against it and kissing him thoroughly, hot and hard and insistent. He loves a woman who knows what she wants, and he's more than willing to give it to her: he slides his hands up under her top and she raises her arms to let him pull it off over her head. After that her hands are busy attacking the buttons on his shirt, and his are pleasantly full of warm, yielding female flesh.
By degrees they make it to the bed, trailing discarded clothing behind them. She pulls him down on top of her. He's nibbling at the hollow of her throat, one hand cupping her left breast and toying with the nipple, the other stroking rhythmically between her legs. It's difficult to tell which - if not the combination of all three - is causing those wonderful little moaning noises she's making. Whatever it is, he needs to hear those noises a lot more.
He kisses a path down her body - pausing briefly to nip and lick because, mmm, breasts - and pauses just short of his goal to savour the musky-sweet smell of her, hands resting on her thighs. Then he leans in and gets down to business and she's moaning and cursing, arching up into him, fingers tightening in his short hair.
She gives an almost startled gasp and then falls completely still and silent as she comes, head thrown back and eyes closed, lost in the moment. He's good with equations, not poetry, but even if he was he suspects he still wouldn't have the words to describe how she looks, open and joyful and so very alive.
"Wow," she says after a moment, panting, and grins at him: a sly, devilish expression that does things to his insides. Then she grabs him shoulders and twists and all of a sudden he's flat on his back with her straddling him and looking at him like he's lunch, which has his brain misfiring in interesting ways.
He reaches blindly for the bedside cabinet and manages to find it on the second attempt. A moment of fumbling produces a little foil package which she takes with an approving smile and unwraps. It's startlingly cool against his overheated flesh. And then she places her palms flat on his chest and slides onto him, and his head thumps against the pillow as his hips buck up involuntarily.
She moves slow and leisurely as though they have all the time in the world, and he's happy to lie back and let her set the pace: he settles his hands on her hips, thumb stroking gently over the curve of hipbone, and gives a heartfelt moan as an aftershock spasms lazily through her internal muscles. It's been so fucking long, since before Delta Vega, and the reality of the beautiful woman riding him is so much better than the fantasies spawned from nights alone with his right hand that it's in a whole different galaxy. She smiles almost as though she knows just what he's thinking. And then she twists her hips just right and rakes her nails down his chest and he's coming with a strangled cry, taken by surprise.
She rolls off of him and relaxes onto the bed, stretching like a cat, and turns in towards him, curling a little. He wraps an arm around her and is sleepily pleased when she snuggles into him.
"I really did want a look at the engineering decks, you know," she says, still a little breathless.
He laughs; "We could go now."
"My next shift starts soon," she says regretfully. "Maybe another time."
Maybe there will be another time. He'd like to believe that.
The Faraday's ship time must be out of step with theirs: gamma shift is just coming off duty here, footsteps and voices in the corridor outside as they dress amidst jokes and cheerful teasing. They leave his quarters together, laughing and exchanging ridiculous tall tales about their adventures as the more hands-on type of engineer.
"...so he lifts the mask up and he's only gone and set his bloody overalls on fire. And he turns to Grant - calm as you please - and says 'and that's why you don't mess with the gas feed'!"
Winona laughs and waves a dismissive hand. "That's nothing. There was this one time we had to move a dyno rig through to our new workshop, but the stairs were too narrow to take it, so we had to lower it down off the goddamn balcony...but of course we didn't have a crane..." Her eyes are sparkling, a smile on her lips, and god he could listen to her talk all day.
"...we had to unbolt the flange to swing the boom round, so of course the whole damn thing overbalanced. It took eight of us to weigh the base down, and that just left me to operate the winch because I was the smallest-" Winona stops mid-sentence, eyes widening, and he follows her gaze to see the captain staring at them, looking absolutely stunned. Scotty glances at Winona, thinks about his own probable appearance...and yes there's a certain air of flushed-rumpled-fresh-from-the-bedroom about them, but he knows the captain isn't the sort to be bothered by that...
"Mom?" Kirk blurts, incredulous, and Scotty feels his mouth drop open. What in the bloody buggering hell did he do to deserve this?
"Hello, Jimmy," Winona says. She clears her throat awkwardly.
Kirk turns to Scotty, looking appalled. "You didn't."
"Well I didnae ken she wis yer ma, did I?" he says defensively, accent thickening into incomprehensibility as it always does when he gets nervous. A bright idea strikes him. "I'll get out of yer hair then, let you two catch up." He flees the scene to the sounds of a familial argument building up behind him.
Half an hour later he's buried to the waist in a maintenance hatch when he hears footsteps behind him. He slides out and finds Winona Kirk studying him.
"Never even crossed my mind," he says conversationally, wiping oil-smeared fingers on his overalls. "After all, Kirk's a common enough name."
She smiles wryly; "I really should have made the connection between this Enterprise and that Enterprise."
"Let's just call it an honest mistake then."
"Not the word I'd use," she says. She draws the pen out of her hair and takes his hand, scrawling a series of numbers across it. "Personal comm. Use it, or I'll tell every 'fleet engineer I meet that you route the primary fuel line past the afterburners."
"No call to go making threats like that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.
She grins, leans in to press a swift kiss against his cheek. "I'm on shift in half an hour," she says apologetically. "So...goodbye, I guess. I wasn't kidding. Comm me."
"Yes ma'am," he replies, tossing off a salute. She laughs and hurries off, keen to get back to her own ship.
He'll definitely be comming her. And if it makes his captain incredibly uncomfortable in the process...well, that'll be entertaining as well.
~*fin*~