- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:

This fic was inspired by the episode "Tomorrow is Yesterday" and a discussion about John Christopher (the american pilot who Kirk gave a nice once-over when he beamed aboard)

I hope you'll like it !


Kirk had never thought being gifted with touch empathic powers for a day could have made him so depressed.

It had been both wonderful and unbearably overwhelming to feel so many emotions at a time. He had rarely felt so close to the members of his crew, to his friends. But it also emphasized how difficult it was for him not to touch people. He understood much better now how Spock must feel everyday, how hard it must be for him to suppress the desire to not sneak away from all those humans impulses of his shipmates to touch him.

It had also shown Kirk how welcoming his touch was for Spock. But also how dangerous it was.

McCoy, as always, found a way to take away the powers that inhabited inside Jim, Lieutenant Uhura and Scotty. The three of them were concealed in their quarters for a few days of rest, as the Starfleet ambassadors were on their way to do their work with the newly found species.

So Kirk lay on his bed, skin tingling as he reacquainted himself with feeling only his own emotions again. And right now, he felt incredibly lonely.

Kirk was a tactile person. He noticed that the more he encountered immaterial beings (and they were meeting a lot of them), the more he enjoyed the feel of solid and fleshy bodies. He had always loved to feel bodies against his, the trust and warm intimacy of sharing someone else’s personal space, even if he’d had his own invaded countless times and he’d had to push some of his boundaries to get his crew out of danger other times. His enjoyment of sharing this warmth and closeness did not diminish despite of this.

But his opportunities to fulfill this desire of reciprocity and intimacy were few and spare. Any member of his crew was out of the question, carefully forced out of his sight by himself until it would not cross his mind ever again to let his eyes gaze too long on any of them. McCoy’s hands were always professional and his spare hugs were cherished treasures in Jim’s skin’s memory.

He realized that Spock was probably the person he touched the most. Mostly to pull each other out of danger, but still. After this empathic experience, and having deeply felt that his touch had never hurt his first officer, but also knowing now how much strength and restraint such a power demanded of Spock, Kirk was not sure if he should give the Vulcan a bit more space.

The thought wrenched his already tired and deprived body. It had been so long.

Jim threw an arm across his face, shielding his eyes, his other hand resting on his chest. He tried to imagine another hand as his. At first a cloudy figure, nothing really clear yet, as he moved the hand on his torso over his uniform. Slowly, he let himself feel the hands over himself, his belly, his shoulder, the fingernails scratching lazily over his nipples, letting them harden then pressing his palm on them. In his mind, the shape was taking a human male form and before it could take a distinct form on its own, Kirk forced his mind to shape it into an old and safe memory.

An orange and large suit on a well muscled body, piercing blue eyes, sharp face lines, leaning above him. John Christopher was leaning above him and he could almost feel his lips against his , kissing light pecks on it, warm and soft. He imagined that the hands running along his body were a bit rougher, caressing his chest, his arms, his legs, avoiding his crotch, running along his thighs and on their backs, going up and squeezing his butt, while warm lips were still kissing him with an exquisite tenderness, imagining the weight of the pilot enveloping his body, and he gasped when he surprised himself when fingers brushed against his cock. The hand grabbed him through his pants, massaged him before opening his fly and diving inside. A moan escaped his panting mouth and Christopher's hard voice was a stream of senseless words in his ear, filling Jim’s cock with blood and his body with delicious chills.

He writhed on his bed, eyes closed, head thrown back against the mattress, the strength of his fantasy, the warmth of the non-existent body of the pilot against his, a hand (not his, not his) working wonderfully on him, a ghost mouth sloppily kissing his neck, his ear, his mouth, and his body tensed and a wave of pleasure washed over him. Stinky warmth drooling on him.

He panted, brows knitted together, and he swallowed twice before calming down. As soon as he withdrew his hand from his pants, his fantasy started to fade away. The comforting presence had disappeared and now all that remained was weakened limbs and the cold loneliness. As well as the promise of a troubled sleep.

Jim opened his eyes and fixed his clothes. He then shook himself and got up, opening the bathroom door to take a shower. Once clean and fully awake again, he left his quarters and headed toward the mess. He was not surprised to find Uhura playing on Spock’s Vulcan lyre, and Scotty drinking a cup of coffee. Like him, they could not stay alone after such an intense experience, and the loneliness that followed. They nodded and smiled as he passed next to them and he was happy to find Spock in front of the chessboard.

His first officer raised his eyes at him as well as an eyebrow and Jim felt the chilling emptiness of his body fading away as he sat in front of him. Spock removed the pieces and started a new game for him. And Jim tucked back the image of John Christopher on a heavy chest in his mind. Even if his body still craved for physical contact, the presence of his crew, of his friends, of his ship, was still enough to fill his heart with love.

You must login (register) to review.