fic, star trek
Jenny's got her thumbs in her jean pockets and a big old teeth baring grin that she shows to anyone that wants it. She acts real smooth, perfect princess posture, like her mother always told her was the way to go. Like she walks into embassy parties in ragged jeans, boots that leak and a t-shirt that strains over her tits every damn day.
Like the room hasn't gotten noticeably quieter when she and her 'date' stumbled in, unannounced. All the perfectly well-bred higher ups from Vulcan and the Federation with their perfectly well plucked eyebrows. Fuck 'em. She just sticks her chin in the air and shows them all her shiny, perfect teeth.
The guy whose arm's wrapped around her waist smirks at her. "That's the spirit," he says. "Wait until mother sees you." His name is Willy or Billy or Bobby. Something like that. His breath stinks of old booze and his eyes are veiny, but at least he's dressed for the occasion. Everything he's wearing is high end (rumpled like he's spent the night in a sewer drain, but high end), except her. Jenny doesn't roll her eyes, but that's only because she's got a month's living expenses worth of credits on her chip and the promise of as much over again before the night's over.
"Sure, baby," she coos in a half-hearted way. "Show me which one she is and I'll introduce myself." The conversations in the room are buzzing up again, but Jenny can feel the eyes on her, sticky-sharp. The guy laughs. He points to a woman in a Star Fleet tunic, command gold, not the blue Jenny's mother used to wear. A woman who's looking right at them with a death glare in her eyes that's motherly enough for three women.
And that's it, it's on. Jenny grins and without another word, grabs him by the hand and tugs him in her wake.
"Wait--" he says. "One second, first let's--"
"C'mon, Bobby," she says, when he stumbles, like suddenly he's getting nervous. "You wanna freak mama-bear out or not? Isn't that why you picked up a corner girl and paid a mint for me to come here in my working gear?"
He mumbles something, but Jenny's not into it. She's got her eyes on the man's mother. Up close, the woman's Captain's stripes are visible, and so is her narrowed eyed cold rage. She's heading for them as fast as Jenny's headed for her.
"Robert," the woman says, cool as anything. "You're drunk or drugged and humiliating yourself in front of the entire Vulcan embassy and half the Federation. Not to mention that you stink." Uh, huh, her name was probably Captain Obvious for real. Jenny snickers which gets those sharp eyes staring at her. Jenny just stiffens her neck in response. "And as for your friend here--" Mama Bear starts in.
"Bobby-boy hasn't really thought the idea of embarrassing himself through too terribly well," Jenny cuts in, all smiles, before Mama Bear has a chance to talk. "I'm pretty sure this is all about humiliating you, Captain. He tried really hard, even dug up a real live whore in the Castro and paid up with money that's probably yours, so I gotta ask, is it working?"
She expects a lot of things in response. Red rage or cold disdain. A call for security. A punch in the face, maybe. What she gets is a blink of near confusion followed by the woman's tightly drawn face softening into a bark of laughter when she gives Jenny a longer look. That sets Jenny back a step in the way that a punch never would have and her mouth hangs open for a second. That just seems to make the woman laugh harder.
Jenny stuffs her hands in her jeans and fumbles around for a zinger, but before it comes to her they're interrupted by tall, dark and Vulcan with deathbrows of irritation. They look kind of ridiculous on someone who can't be much older than she is, but he's not a bad figure of a guy otherwise.
"Captain Milanski," the Vulcan kid of doom says. "Are these individuals disrupting you? I shall have them removed immediately."
Now, that's the response she was looking for. Jenny grins at him and hooks her arm back around Bobby the flustered's waist. "Aw, baby, but we're just here to have a little fun. You look like you could use some yourself. How about you and me and one of the guest rooms you must have around here?" She licks her lips playfully. She figures she and Bobby will be 'escorted' out, mission accomplished, she can blow him in a back alley and collect the other half of her money while he's too fucked out to remember she made fun of him.
"Incomprehensible behavior--" the Vulcan begins, but the Captain-- Milanski, talks over him.
Crazy bitch is smiling and that makes Jenny want to back up a step before she crushes the show of weakness down. "Thank you, Spock. Why don't you show Robert out and see if security can find him somewhere safe to sober up?" She looks right at Jenny and winks. "His friend can stay and have a drink with us."
Jenny stares, because that's not how this game goes. No way. But, today is apparently the day that quantum mechanics will out-- everything happens in some universe at least once. The Vulcan kid and two very nice looking cadets in red, a tall, dark skinned human woman and a smiling Andorian with a phaser in his belt nod politely at Jenny and lead a stammering Robert away.
Jenny stuffs her hands into her jeans and blinks after them. Huh. Then she turns her stare on Milanski. "Is this going to be one of those like mother, like son things? Because I charge by the hour and the clock's ticking."
She's not as surprised when Milanski just throws back her head and laughs again. "I bet you do. Where did my kid find you?" she asks.
"The corner of--" Jenny begins with gritted teeth and her whole store of blitheness, when the Vulcan kid comes stomping back.
"Captain," he says, with a tightness that has Jenny squirming. "This individual is not--"
"Thank you, Spock. I'm sure she has a name." She smiles at Jenny. "Mine is Sabrina Milanski. And this is Lieutenant Spock, son of Sarek." She offers Jenny a hand. It has a drink in it, something yellow and fizzy that doesn't smell quite like champagne.
Jenny hesitates a second and takes it. "Jennifer Ki—Kirkovsky" she says, smooth as she can. This is the fleet, she doesn't need to be throwing last names around. "Call me Jenny. You haven't answered my question, Sabrina. You don't mind if I call you that, right?"
The woman doesn't bat an eye. "My son's an idiot, but even stopped clocks work out twice a day. Where'd you get your t-shirt, Jenny?" she says, which throws Jenny all over again. She blinks down at herself. It's nothing, a ragged black mess. She'd scribbled Zeno's four paradoxes across the front in blood red ink one late, boring night.
"I made it," Jenny says and then knocks the drink back. For something that comes in a delicate looking glass, the thing has a hell of a kick, burning all the way down and hitting in the stomach. Jenny suppresses the wince because she has practice.
"Of course you did," Milanski says. Then she nods at the Vulcan, who has one eyebrow raised way up like he's trying to pick up ceiling tiles with it. It makes him look younger and funnier for some reason. "Spock here wrote a paper for a seminar I just completed at the Academy. Something on the illogic of Zeno's thinking and how it reflects on an equal lack of logic in the foundation of human mathematics. You're going to critique it for us."
Jenny slips out a laugh that burns with the aftertaste of whatever she drank. "I am not," she says.
"I'll pay your usual rates. By the hour." Milanski looks so fucking happy she's lucky Jenny isn't punching her in the face.
"Why are you asking me this? Why are you even talking to me?"
"I must protest your logic," Spock cuts in, interrupting Jenny's tirade before she gets a chance to get going. "What qualifications does this individual have to undertake a critique?"
Jenny frowns, hands fisting up, even the one still wrapped around her drink stem. "Are you saying I can't do it?" she says, like she hadn't been building up to something just like that.
Milanski smiles, like she just got the cream. "Let me say to both of you, why don't we find out?"
"Illogical," Spock says. It's too smooth to be a sputter, but Jenny can tell it wants to be. She rolls her eyes.
"Humor me," says Milanski.
Somehow Jenny finds herself following them out and down the hall and to a quiet room with a computer terminal anyway. Why the hell not, they're Star Fleet, the odds they're going to kill her and dump her body are pretty low, especially since they left a very public embassy party with her.
She expects a punchline somewhere along the way, but what she gets is a screen with a ten thousand word paper displayed on it, not counting the footnotes. She stares at them. Milanski's still grinning and Spock still looks like he's going to lose the eyebrow if it gets up any higher. She licks her lips, shrugs, and starts reading.
At first she doesn't say anything, mouth just working over the words. There's more math than she expected from what Milanski said, and that's good, even if some of it is on the edge of maybe being beyond her grasp, not that she'd admit that. Whoever did this has an imagination, even if they're trying their hardest to kill it dead, poor bastard. Jenny likes that. She finds herself knees up, arms wrapped around them, reading and smiling, tossing an occasional comment over her shoulder that seems to make them pause.
By the end of it Milanski's doing something on her PADD but Spock is still looking at Jenny, blinking like she's the weirdest thing he has ever seen.
"I do not understand," he says, when she finishes telling him what she thinks about his paper. "Your thoughts, while not corresponding to the rules of logic, are... fascinating."
Jenny stretches her legs out in front of her and sighs happily when the joints crack. Maybe even a little more happily, when the toe of her boot brushes the edge of Spock's knee and he flinches back. "What's to understand? If you wrote this, you're a bright guy, for someone with a stick up his ass."
"A stick? Indeed my posterior region is free of any such impediments, Ms. Kirkovsky." There's a green cast to Spock's cheeks, like a flush. She's never seen a Vulcan blush before, if that's what this is.
She claps her hands and laughs at that, she really can't help it. "Call me Jenny," she says. "And since Milanski is picking up the tab, whyn't you let me check out that posterior region for you. I've got skills, I can remove sticks at twenty feet."
"I fail to understand," he repeats, shaking his head, watching her. So, maybe Vulcans do feel something other than irritation, even if it's just bafflement. "You are-- you have indicated that you are a prostitute. Why?"
Jenny stops laughing. "You've indicated you're an asshole. Why?" she mumbles.
He shakes his head. "Your comprehension is at a rate not commonly shown by students entering Star Fleet Academy. Yet they are regarded as among the best that Federation as a whole has to offer."
She sighs and flops back in her chair. It spins a little on its axis. She likes that, and spins it some more, deliberately. "You've got to be kidding me. I'll give you a blow job right here and now, gratis, if this isn't going to be a lecture on the potential of my mind."
That's when Milanski looks up from her PADD and smiles, like she knows a secret. "I'm sure Jenny enjoys being the only genius level streetwalker on the west coast."
"Maaaybe." Jenny blinks at her and then smiles back, loose and easy, like she's paying attention to everything but that PADD with its blinking screen. Like your typical dumb but pretty gum chewing cheerleader, the kind she'd pretended to be back in Iowa before the whole thing just got too shitty to take anymore. The kind no one even thinks about taking seriously, not until they move.
She moves. Fast, because her Mom might not have taught her much, but she taught her how to fight, and this is almost that. Before even Spock has a chance to get to his feet, Jenny's grabbed the PADD out of Milanski's loose grip and is hightailing it for the door. She barely pauses to look at it, but it's nothing she's surprised at-- the juvenile record of one Jennifer Titania Kirk, and fuck if she knows how the bitch figured it out. Maybe she knows Jenny's mom or knew her dad, that would be the luck.
Jenny's half way out the door, when something as hot and unyielding as sunbaked iron has her by the wrist, grabbing her back. She hisses at the wrenching grip and tries to kick back at it, everything mom ever taught her refined and dirtied up by a year in juvie and the months on the streets of San Fran. It's futile anyway, like trying to fight a brick wall, he never even wavers.
"I do not wish to harm you. Cease your struggles," he says, and fuck if his voice doesn't waver even if she's almost too pissed off and freaked out by being grabbed like that to catch it. "Ms. Kirk," he repeats, louder. "Cease."
She can't, especially when he calls her that. The longer he keeps her there, the more the panic's rising up over the anger and she needs out, out, out. Someone's still talking at her, maybe Milanski now, but she can't make out words over the rising buzz of angry bees in her ears. She shakes her head and pulls her arm, lashes out with her elbow, no more finesse in it.
Jennifer, someone says, a male voice, and that she can hear clearly, even over the buzzing. What is Zeno's first paradox? Tell me.
She shudders, still fighting, but she gasps it out anyway, "Dichotomy. Movement is impossible if distance is recurrently divided into smaller pieces. It's theoretically resolvable by calculus, but still philosophically interesting, if you like that sort of thing."
Indeed. Impossible. If we took it as true, however, logically, you should cease to attempt it. You are... your safety will not be compromised. Be at peace. Jenny has no idea why she's supposed to listen to some guy's voice in her head, but he sounds so damned sure. She breathes in. Out again. In.
She blinks. Spock still has her by the wrist, though his grip is gentler now. Warm, though, alien warm. His eyes are dark and strange and something she's afraid to call soft. His voice, she realizes suddenly. He was talking in her head just now.
"Are you in my head?" she demands. "Are you fucking talking in my head?" She means to demand, but her voice wavers and cracks. He drops her wrist abruptly, and she winces, rubbing it with her fingers. It's red, the blotchy fingermarks obvious, just waiting to resolve into bruises.
"Forgive the intrusion," Spock murmurs. "Your fear was... quite deleterious in its effect."
She takes another breath. The PADD has fallen out of her hand somewhere along the way and it's laying on it's side on the floor, a visible crack in the screen. She blinks. There's a line of green on one of Spock's cheeks, like he got hit with an object of just the right size. She bites her lip, but doesn't apologize, just looks back into the room instead.
Milanski's still watching her, a small smile on her face, like this is all some really funny gag. Jenny straightens up. "So," she says. "You figured out who I am. Awesome. Now what do you want from me?"
"Me? I'm just wondering what someone like you wants for herself. A life on streetcorners, crashing embassy parties? Or something else. Your father was a great man. Your mother is one of our finest people."
Jenny's immune to that line by now though. "My father was a good looking corpse, right up until the decompression took care of the good looking part. My mother doesn't pay attention to anything that's not a warp drive for longer than fifteen minutes at a time. What do you want from me?"
Milanski raises an eyebrow, in an almost Spock like manner. "Nothing, my dear. If you'd like to go now, I can give you your credits and Spock will see you out."
Jenny's mouth hangs open and she steps back. Shakes her head. Turns around without another word. She almost doesn't hear Milanski call after her. "Or, you could come to the Academy recruiting station tomorrow and enlist in the Star Fleet." That's a laugh.
Jenny doesn't look back and if someone tall, dark and green blooded follows her out the door, she doesn't acknowledge him and eventually he goes away.
She thinks that's the end of it and silently makes a rule for herself. No more drunken Academy brats, no matter how damn much money they're flashing. Too dangerous.
She doesn't expect to have to make a rule about crazy Vulcans, not until two nights later, when she's sitting on a curb taking a drag off an illegal, untaxed cigarette from the Caribbean and looks up to see Spock looming over her like a storm crow. She sighs, tilts back on her elbows, and blows smoke at him.
"Such chemicals have extremely deleterious effects on human lung tissue," he says, like he came all this way just to tell her that. She laughs out loud and forgets to be upset he's there.
"Really? News to me. And you can tell old Sabrina and whoever's behind her to buzz off," she says anyway, just so he doesn't think she's got a soft spot about him or anything.
He raises that single, slim eyebrow at her and clasps his hands behind his back. "In fact, I am not in communication with Captain Milanski," he says with uninflected calm. "However, if you would like to tell her yourself, I can provide contact information."
She rolls her eyes, but smiles at him anyway, spreading her knees in a lazy way that most guys would take as an invitation to step closer. He doesn't, of course. "Thanks," she says. "But no thanks. Why are you here then, Spock son of Sarek?"
Spock stiffens perceptibly. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was taking a girding breath. "I understand that," he says and then stops. Starts again. "Your time is... negotiable?"
That shakes a laugh out of her, crazy as it is. "Um. Seriously? My time? Yeah. Also my mouth and my cunt, but the ass is at a premium, because that shit hurts." She watches him keenly, waiting for that spread of green under the lamp light. Hell yeah, that's a blush.
"I do not wish to hire sexual congress," he says and now he sounds earnest. Wow, he's killing her here. "However, I would like to discuss certain mathematical concepts you alluded to in our earlier conversation. Your position is... unique."
"You're joking, space case," she says, but he obviously isn't.
"Space case?" he repeats blankly. She just shakes her head and then sighs, putting out the cigarette with her toe and then propelling herself to her feet. He doesn't offer a hand up, the way a human guy probably would and she wonders briefly if that has anything to do with the talking in her brain stuff the other day, but doesn't ask.
Instead she says, "Fifty credits an hour and you're buying the beer and pizza."
He nods firmly, serious like he's shaking on it. "Indeed. I agree to your terms, Ms. Kirk."
She shakes her head. "Jenny, please." He shrugs like he isn't going to pay any attention to that, and she vaguely wonders if he'd call her Ms. Kirk in bed too. The thought makes her smile to herself. "Credits for one hour up front," she demanded anyway, holding up her chip for a credit transfer.
He complies wordlessly and follows her to a basement level bar a few streets down. It's kind of a dive, but clean and the beer isn't watered or anything. There's this chick from Georgia with an awesome butterfly face tattoo behind the bar who blows Jenny a kiss and then winks at Spock.
"Hey, gorgeous," she calls, probably to both of them. "Don't forget to show each other a good time!"
"Don't forget to bring the beer," Jenny calls back. "Spock's paying. He'll set up a tab."
She doesn't really expect this to be all about math, and it's not. It's also history, philosophy and human psychology with a wide digression into Federation social policy. It's weird and kind of embarrassing, like she's showing off the canyon-wide holes in her education for him or something, but he doesn't seem to think she's saying anything that sounds like 'chick who dropped out in the tenth grade'. To be fair, she blew the curve back then, and hell, maybe all the time in the library computers has paid off.
An hour later, when Jenny's flush with beer and arguing and Spock's sickeningly sober, but maybe at least a little ruffled, he stands up abruptly. "Our hour is completed," he says.
She blinks, but then nods, because, okay, yeah. He nods back and pays the tab and then walks out while she watches, like there's nothing weird about any of it.
She's not even surprised when he's back the next day, same story. Then the day after that, except he's come with a battered chess set in a wooden box. "It is quite old, in fact it was my mother's before she gave it to me," he explains calmly, like Jenny had asked.
They play chess in a graffitied old park, with the sounds of teenagers playing midnight basketball in the background. Spock wins handily, twice and then Jenny gets him with a piece of choice illogic and makes him work for it.
The next day they play chess again and she wins one. The next week she wins another one, their games going longer and longer. She almost doesn't notice when an hour slips by and he makes no move to leave.
When it gets to be three and he's still sitting there across from her, concentration all on the chessboard, faint little wrinkle between his eyes, she can't help herself. "You know, I do more than play some mean chess," she says and then leans over to kiss him. His mouth is hot and dry, lips firmer than a human's. Unyielding.
She pushes her kiss anyway, like she's going to be so happy being unstoppable force to his immovable object, like that's what she actually wants. And then, just like that, his hands are easy on the back of her neck and his lips part. He tastes strange, almost metallic, like copper, and so dry everywhere. He's so still where she touches, but so warm. She gasps and keeps kissing, like that's the only thing that'll protect her from thinking this through.
She's also the one that stops, breaks it off. He lets her do that too, watching her with those wide dark eyes, lips still parted and visibly damp from her tongue. She can taste the coppery dryness of him, like she's been sucking him off. She licks her lips.
"Let's fuck," she says, clear and earnest, meeting his eyes head on. Everyone said she had amazing eyes, electric blue, hot stuff. Teasing the boys with those eyes and those tits and that mouth. Fucking always asking for it, whether she knew it or not. Now she knew it. "You don't have to take me anywhere, I know a safe place just down the block. I'll give you a truly righteous discount."
He recoils visibly. She doesn't try to stop him when he gets up, just watches him go, a sharp, cynical curve to her mouth. He moves stiffly, like that stick in his ass is just surgically attached.
He doesn't come back the next day or the next. She figures the good old Kirk charm has made her another unfriend for life when it's a full week and no Spock, but then, just like that, she's slipping out of an alley, wiping come from her cheek and brushing dirt off her knees and he's there, looming like always.
"Did you give that individual a 'truly righteous discount'?" he asks with a ferocity that sets her back a step.
"Are you jealous?" she asks, more laughing than serious. "But, no, if it makes you feel better. It was a full price job all the way. All the discounts are for you, Spock."
She's there for the rest of it, but she's not really sure how it happens. It's kind of a blur, but he says something, sharp and stiff, and then she's backpedaling and god, she's wet, she's never really wet when she's working, that's what lube's for. And she says, "Yeah. Yes. Please, let's."
It ends somehow back in the alley, with her jeans around her ankles and him on his knees eating her out with a kind of studied precision that normally only happens in engineering textbooks. The exciting kind.
His mouth is too hot and supple, longer than anything human she's ever felt, and she's so wet she aches. The bare brick is rough against her ass. Her knees shake and lock and then shake loose again. She wonders if he can read her mind, if he's a telepath here too, tracing the thoughts and the fire on her skin, knowing exactly where to touch and how much is just short of enough. His hands are branding iron hot on her thighs, but he's not ungentle and she's hissing something at him, something like,
"Come on, you fucker. Come on, come on, like that." And he just licks harder and then he's sucking on her clit, and his tongue's rough and strange and she can swears she smells him, the copper of his blood, the pungency of his arousal.
It's the mindfuck that makes her come as much as any of it, she swears. It's so insane, but there it is.
She feels like she's going to fall, but he steadies her with his hands and presses one of his soft, dry kisses to each of her thighs. Then he tugs up her panties and jeans and zips her up with slow, deliberate care, like he's wrapping a present. "You are very pleasing," he says, looking at her with that bizarre earnestness, especially for a guy who hasn't even gotten off his knees. He can't have come, can he? He's gotta be still hard.
She laughs and shakes her head. "I haven't begun to please," she says. "Gimme a second, okay?"
But he frowns and slides up to his feet, slim and graceful and looking down at her. "That is not necessary at this time," he says. He puts one hand on her hair, twisting a dirty blonde between his fingers in such a tender gesture that she flinches. That makes him pause and take a step back.
His mouth is glistening with her, from eating her, but he doesn't wipe it off. She doesn't-- "I don't understand," she says, and she sounds like a kid to herself and she hates that. Querulous and confused.
"Yes, I find that I empathize. I too do not understand you, Jennifer," he says in return, and even if it's calm, it's said with all the seriousness of confession.
That makes her choke back a laugh, because, really, she's not that much of a puzzle, she's not... she doesn't know what he thinks she is. "What's to understand? My dad's dead, my mom got tired of the sight of me and the guys in my hometown thought I was awesome to fuck, so I took off because at least out here I get paid for it."
She's the one that leaves this time and he's the one that doesn't try to stop her.
Two nights later, she's hacking the cheap gate security at Star Fleet Academy. It's cake, and before she knows it, she's inside with a map printed out leading straight to Lieutenant Spock's quarters. His personal security is tougher, it's nearly morning and the sky is going gray and lighter before she gets the door to crack open, but she manages it.
Inside, his quarters are desert dry and hot enough to make her blink sweat within moments. She hesitates at the doorway and then takes a breath, stepping further inside. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes closed, like he's mediating.
They slide open slowly. "If I had anticipated your presence I would have adjusted the climate for your convenience," he says.
She shrugs. Hair falls into her eyes and she pushes it back. "Just telepathy, then. No precognition," she mutters.
"Indeed." He doesn't smile, but maybe his lips twitch a little. "I cannot know the future, though I may have a preference for certain outcomes."
"That doesn't sound very logical." She finds her hands are sliding onto her hips and she stops herself just in time. "Anyway, you don't know that it'll be a good idea in the long run. Zeno said--"
"Zeno's thoughts," Spock responds, "Are illogical on their face. Shall I tell Captain Milanski you will be enlisting in Star Fleet?"
That stops her. "You think I'd do that for you?" she says, mouth wide and not quite laughing. "I've known you what, a month? If that."
He looks at her. "It is my thought that you will do so for the challenge, illogical as it is. Because the belief that you may not be capable rankles you, even as you entertain it."
She frowns. "And here I thought you didn't understand me," she spits.
His eyebrow goes up. "Indeed not. However, I have seen your mind and have derived a hypothesis as to what your next course of action may be." He takes a step toward her, bringing him up close and hot.
"Fuck you," she says, but she doesn't step away from the encroachment.
"You lack the requisite physicality for that act," he says. "However, there are mechanical aids that may replicate such an experience if that is your wish."
She puts her hands over her face. "Holy shit, fuck me," she says, but okay, that's funny. She peers at him through her fingers. He looks dead serious, the fucker.
"As you wish," he says. He steps up to her that last little bit until he's just there, hot and alive. She wraps her arms around his waist. It's narrow but hard, solid as the ground under her feet. She wonders if he even knows how to falter.
"I wish," she whispers. He half lifts and half guides her to his bed. They don't take their clothes off, not really, just unzipping and pushing things aside. She straddles him. His cock is surprisingly human looking when she pulls it out, more than she expected, just flush green and drier than a human would be. Hot, hot as his mouth had been.
Too dry, almost, the friction makes her grit her teeth when she tries to slide down on it and she doesn't ask how Vulcan women do this, doesn't actually care. He stops her, iron grip on her hips and pulls out lube, she doesn't know from where. She spreads it on him, carefully, watching his face while she palms his dick. That-- he's not indifferent. If she ever thought so, she knows now. It's the look on his face.
She doesn't understand, but fuck that. She rides him, hard and fast, eyes wide open, heels digging into the bed on either side of him. He gets in deep and she feels slick and crazy-full. Better when his fingers slide up to glide along her clit as she moves over him. When his mouth is hot and hard on her nipples, on the delicate skin of her breasts. It feels like minutes, like years, like it's always been this.
Her eyes roll back in her head. "Jennifer," he says, and his voice is strained, almost human. His hips stutter into her, harder now, again and again, and he's so damn strong, he can move her like this.
After, she rests against him until he's uncomfortably warm to the touch and she has to pull away. She could zip up and walk out, but instead she shrugs out of her clothes and scatters them over the immaculate neatness of his floor. He doesn't say a word, but his mouth twitches in that almost smile and he moves aside to make room for her to lay next to him.
She leaves in the morning, while he's still asleep. Just takes the time to neaten up in his bathroom, wash her face and brush her teeth and then she's gone. Head up straight and walking down the Academy lawn like she belongs there, until she finds the Captain she's looking for.
"Your parents were some of the best. I dare you to do better," Milanski says and hands her the enlistment papers. Real paper, rare and crisp, expensive under her fingertips.
Jenny smiles, baring her teeth. "Watch me," she says.