Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm glad we finally did this," Lavalle said, taking a bite of the apple pie he'd gotten them for dessert. It was an old Earth recipe, he assured her. Some kind of tradition.

Michael took a sip of her tea, clocking how the officers' lounge had emptied so late into the night. "Oh?" she asked, neutral. His statement implied he'd thought about having dinner together—a date, she knew—but Michael couldn't say the same. In truth, she never thought about him at all. Michael only seemed to have room for one romantic focus...and that was reserved entirely for Pike, as futile as she knew that was. But it didn't seem to matter, her body taking notice of him wherever he went. And even in his absence, she had to admit.

So while she was familiar with Lavalle—with the way he joined their group when she was out with Tilly, Chapel, and Ortegas, always genial and friendly—she was entirely indifferent to his dinner invitation. She'd only agreed because maybe it would be a means to shift her focus away from Pike. Maybe if she got to know others, she could find a spark with them, too.

It hadn't happened. Even if Lavalle was attractive and clever and nice enough, he didn't make her heart race. One look from him didn't make her feel alive. Even if it was doomed to lead nowhere.

Michael tried not to be frustrated by that. She tried.

Lavalle nodded, his curly, dark blond hair seeming to glow from the table's round center light panel. "Yeah. I've been meaning to get you alone for a while, see if we vibed like I always thought."

Michael...had no idea what that meant. Not for the first time, she cursed human relationship slang. "'Vibed?'"

"I mean, it can get kinda awkward wanting to jump someone while you're with your friends. One-on-one is way better."

Michael blinked as she finally understood: they were talking about sex.

Then she reeled. People talked about sex on the first date?

"I don't want that," she said, flat.

Lavalle paused, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he frowned, brown eyes confused. "You don't want what?"

"To jump you."

Now he blinked, confusion replaced by something else. Regret, maybe? "...oh," he said, voice small as he set his spoon on the plate with the half-eaten pie. He seemed disappointed.

Had he expected her to want to jump him?

"I don't really know you," she explained, hoping it would clarify. "So it's not like I'd want to hop into bed."

Lavalle took a breath...and smiled, a lopsided, wry thing. "Totally get it. You're not feeling it. It's all good."

Michael nodded, smiling slightly in return, glad he understood.

It was always good to have clarity.

***

Tilly found her in the mess at breakfast, curls bouncing as she dropped into a seat like she had something to say. "Did you tell Lavalle you're not attracted to people?" she asked, no preamble.

Michael stilled, aborting the bite of her omelet, confusion swamping her. "What?"

Tilly leaned forward. "Last night, dinner date with Lavalle—which you did not mention, and we're gonna talk about that, friend—did you say to him that you don't want to hop into bed with anyone?"

Michael set her fork down, embarrassment sweeping through her. "That's not what I—where did you hear that?"

Tilly looked at her like she should know this. "Lavalle told a friend who told a friend who told everyone, so now they all think you don't experience physical attraction," she said, like that was somehow normal and not Michael's literal nightmare.

Behind her, a voice called out, "Yo, Burnham, do you really not lust? 'Cause, like, I'm gonna need deets on that." Michael blinked in horror as Wells and Larani appeared, casually taking seats like Michael didn't generally avoid them and their complete lack of boundaries.

And Wells was still talking: "Also, hear me out, have you ever tried girls? Because maybe this isn't a 'don't want to jump Lavalle thing' and is instead more of your tragic Vulcan upbringing. I mean, I don't know how Vulcans explore their sexuality, but I've talked to Spock for five minutes, the answer seems to be not well."

Tilly shot her a quelling look. "Keels."

Which did not deter her at all. "Love you, Syl, you know I do, but how is this just coming out now? You should've taken care of this back on Disco."

"Some of us don't bulldoze our way through other people's lives."

"That's what I call a you problem. But, listen, it's fine, helping people figure their shit is what I do."

Michael stared at her. "Is that what you think you do?"

It actually threw Wells, which made Larani grin. "Oh, you're fun," Larani said, blue eyes glinting, like she was just delighted.

Wells even smiled a little, despite herself. But then she sobered, looking pointedly at Michael, her dark hair framing her heart-shaped face. "To answer your question, duh, it's not my fault the galaxy can't see my genius." She clapped her hands. "Now, back to the point: girls. Gone there? Want to?"

Larani huffed out a laugh and said, "Now I see," just as Tilly grumbled, "Not the point, Keels."

Wells shot them both an impatient look. "Shh. Busy. Burnham?"

And then Michael had three gazes on her, plus whoever was probably eavesdropping on this in the very busy mess hall, and why was this her life?

Then an even worse thought occurred to her.

"Is this a request for information or an offer?" she asked, slow.

Larani clicked her tongue and pointed at Michael as Wells grinned and said, "I mean, I could help you test it out." The words were light, but her green eyes were dead serious.

Sudden embarrassment seized Michael. Wells was just up and...hitting on Michael? Now? At breakfast, for all to see? When technically, Michael was her boss?

But then, Wells was no stranger to that.

Michael shook her head, embarrassment pulsing through her. "Is this what the captain feels like all the time?"

Wells made an annoyed noise. "I wouldn't know because the captain insists on sharing nothing with the class."

"Rude," Larani agreed, toying with the end of her long dark ponytail.

Tilly shot Wells an unimpressed look. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm helping Burnham out. It's a public service," Wells said, widening her big green eyes, playing innocent. "And if I should benefit, that's just gravy."

Michael swallowed. She was going to have to say something or else this would be the official story and the talk of the ship for months. Michael knew how these things worked.

"To clarify," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I didn't tell Lavalle that I don't feel attraction."

All three of them startled, like they hadn't expected that. "By all means, the floor is yours," Larani said, dry, making a little go-ahead gesture.

"What I said was I don't immediately feel the need to jump into bed with someone. He may have misunderstood."

Tilly hmmed. "Yeah, Lavalle definitely thinks you don't want to bang him, we're all clear on that."

Larani tipped her head. "Maybe if he'd listened, half the ship wouldn't be debating his fuckability."

"Men," Tilly said, rolling her eyes.

Wells was frowning in confusion, a little furrow in her brow. "Hang on, I still have questions. So, what, you don't see someone hot and immediately want to get under their clothes?"

Michael blinked, surprise cutting through her horror at this entire conversation. "You do?"

Larani made an amazed noise as Wells looked at Michael seriously: "Hand to god, every time I walk by the captain I think, 'Mmm, I wonder what he'd look like pushed up against that flat surface.' Any flat surface. The bulkhead starts looking good to me. That's lust, my dude."

Michael shifted, uncomfortable. "It's not like that for me. I don't—I'm drawn to people I know." And these days, only to Pike, whose simple presence drove her to distraction with wanting. Not that she was about to volunteer the information. But clearly, this was outside the normal experience.

Uncertain, she looked a question to Tilly.

Who thankfully read her perfectly. "Yeah, I get that, but I know what Keels is saying, too. Everybody has a different gauge for this stuff and that's cool," she reassured.

Now that Wells was over her surprise, she twirled a lock of her dark hair, seeming considering. "You probably get a lot more done," she mused. "Like, I definitely spend a lot of time thinking about the captain's dick."

Michael swallowed against the embarrassed heat pulsing through her. She also spent significant time thinking such thoughts, much as she tried to avoid them.

Larani made a sexy kind of indulgent noise and looked to Wells. "Counterpoint: less sex."

Wells instantly nodded. "Good call. Less sex would be genuinely tragic. Sorry for your lack of partnered orgasms, Burnham, that sucks."

"I'm doing fine," Michael said, noncommittal, because she really wasn't about to discuss orgasms with these two. Partnered or otherwise.

Larani snorted. "Vulcans are wild."

"Wait, you didn't answer the girls thing," Wells said, seeming to perk up at that thought. She leaned her body toward Michael, the move somehow amplifying her curves, like she was putting herself on display.

Michael flushed at the reminder of Wells' offer. "Ah. That's not my area of interest." No matter how long she'd known any women, she'd never found herself wanting in their direction, so she supposed that was a sign.

Wells straightened and leaned back, display over. She shrugged. "Oh, well, had to try." She genuinely didn't seem upset about the rejection...which was bizarre. People extended offers and got rejected and didn't tie themselves into knots in the process? How?

Granted, not that Michael had ever hit on anyone in her life. She'd thought about something like it with Pike, but the idea of talking about her feelings—and having him look at her, eyes kind as he told her he didn't get entangled with his crew members—that was too much. It was incredible to think people put themselves out there and it wasn't emotional torment for them.

These were the things she lamented never learning in her youth. Her entire upbringing had been about proving she could be Vulcan. It was logical; she had expected to live her entire life among Vulcans. Starfleet was a late consolation prize, and a poor one, in her younger mind. But even now, after years living among humans, she still didn't know how to handle emotional vulnerability like everyone else seemed to. It was an area where she consistently failed.

Michael hated failing. She much preferred avoiding the whole mess.

Larani tapped her nails on the table thoughtfully. "We should go tell people they're being drama queens."

Wells brightened again. "Getting to mock the emo dudes? I will totally take that consolation prize."

Tilly shot her a dry look. "Try not to console them into bed. You're always disappointed."

Wells shrugged. "I'm an optimist."

But Michael was back with whatever Larani had planned. "Drama queens?" she asked her.

Larani looked at her obviously. "Yeah, tell them to calm down, you're not totally hands-off, you're just a long haul. I mean, unless you want no one to ever look your way again?"

Tilly nodded before Michael could respond. "Yeah, please go justify why I put up with you," she said, dry.

"Psha, you'd be lost without us," Wells said, all haughty arrogance, still somehow charming with it. "Love ya. Later," she sing-songed, standing and walking over to a nearby table of yeomen, who were stealing unsubtle glances at them. Larani quickly followed.

Tilly studied Michael, eyes knowing. "Oh, look, nearly an hour to shift. So much time for a chat."

***

"You know, this is actually semi-healthy and I'm kind of proud of you for it, the whole not-telling me thing aside," Tilly declared, sitting back on Michael's red couch, nodding a little.

Michael had told her the whole story, Pike crush included, and now Tilly was being way too easygoing about it. "I thought you'd say I should tell Pike," Michael said, suspicious, from where she leaned against her desk.

"Yeah, that's the 'semi' thing. But if you insist on avoiding your crush on captain sexypants, then moving on via dates with other dudes is good. And you were straight-up with Lavalle about where you were."

"Which led to the entire ship gossiping about me for being weird."

Tilly waved a dismissive hand. "Everybody is. People have quirks."

Michael shot her a knowing look. "I appreciate that attempt, but it's not true. You saw the reaction to the idea that I don't want to hop into bed immediately. You had it yourself." She shook her head, going over it again. "I've seen how people behave at parties. Sometimes they don't even speak and suddenly they go off together. It eludes me."

"And that's fine," Tilly insisted. "Everyone is allowed to sleep with whoever at whatever speed they want, provided everything's all nice and consensual."

"My speed is atypical," Michael said, matter-of-fact. "I knew that. I just...didn't need it spread all over the ship," she added, darker.

"I get that," Tilly said, soothing. "But you're hot, too, you know. People have been wondering."

Michael groaned at that terrible thought. "Why can't people mind their business?"

Tilly shrugged. "Humanity?"

Like that was any sort of explanation. "Sometimes I feel like I will never understand."

"If it helps, everybody feels like that sometimes."

"It doesn't."

"Fair." She tilted her head. "You gonna tell me why you didn't tell me?"

Michael blew out a breath. She didn't feel guilty, exactly, she just knew the weight of it. "I didn't want to focus on it. I wanted it to go away. Not talk about it more."

"Something you could have said, to me," Tilly pointed out, reasonable.

Which was true and Michael had considered. "I just...I'm not good at these things. You know this. And even though you're wonderful, I didn't want to have to dwell on how I'm different. Again. Like always." She shook her head. "I don't understand why discretion is so impossible for people."

"Sharing is caring," Tilly said, cheerful, like she really believed that. "But it's okay; you don't have to share everything. I just hope you know you can."

Michael shot her a grateful look. "I do know that. And appreciate it, Tilly."

Tilly nodded. "Good."

Michael sighed, admitting: "It didn't work. Going out with Lavalle."

Tilly grinned. "I mean, we do call Pike captain sexypants, golden boy, pride of Starfleet for a reason. Plus, your martyr complexes are like a matched set. You save each other from your martyr complexes while never actually fixing your own. I'm ashamed I didn't call this. Clearly I'm losing my edge."

Michael made a dismissive gesture. "It's a fantasy."

Tilly shot her a saucy look. "Hopefully the fun kind, with lots of nakedness and inventive sexual positions. But also, you should turn it into reality."

"Tilly."

"Oh, come on, you can't just ignore it. You'd be great together. You already know him, so lust ain't a problem. Well, not that kind of problem, anyway. Plus, he respects you, he listens to you, even when you suggest totally bananas things, and you two have a vibe."

'Vibes' again. Michael still had no idea what that meant.

"You're pretty sure about something you didn't even know about before today."

"Yeah, but now I'm all caught up on the reading and ready to get an A in Michael Relationship Dynamics 201," she said, completely unrepentant.

"There are no dynamics," Michael muttered, flushing at the thought. She checked the time on her desk display. "Shift starts soon. I should get to the bridge."

Tilly nodded, accepting her evasion. "Ignore all the looks; I'll have the record set straight by dinner."

Michael shot her a grateful look. "I'm lucky to have you and I know it."

Tilly smiled, kind. "You deserve good things, Michael. Remember that."

***

Michael walked onto the bridge—Una in the chair, Pike likely in his ready room, Spock, Ortegas, and La'an at their stations—everything quiet as they executed their nebular survey. Still, as she headed to her station, she couldn't help but notice the ensign manning comms look at her, then exchange a look with the ensign manning nav, then look away.

Dammit.

Thankfully, Spock was above it all, turning to her from his station and nodding in greeting. "The computer has analyzed the nebular readings and noted an intriguing pattern in the movements of the exotic matter. But we have still been unable to get adequate sensor readings beyond it."

Tremendously grateful for her brother, and thrilled to dive into something that actually mattered, Michael tilted her head. "Fascinating. Show me."

As Spock sent the data to her station, she heard the ready room door open. She couldn't help but look over—

To find Pike joining them, smiling slightly in greeting. "Morning, everyone," he said, striding toward the chair. As he moved, his eyes swept the room—

And landed on Michael. He dipped his chin, a soft kind of greeting just for her, and a frisson of desire raced through her, pulse speeding, body suddenly fully present in this moment.

Dammit.

Michael hoped her long training covered her reaction, nodding in return and turning back to her station as Pike took his seat. The whole interaction was maybe three seconds, but it careened through her, scattering her focus. She supposed this was what people meant when they talked about being distracted by their want. Pike was...very distracting.

"How we doing on the nebula?" Pike asked from behind her.

Michael turned to face him. Spock did the same from his station. Since he was more up to date on the survey, he fielded the question: "We're making progress, Captain, but we have yet to capture adequate readings beyond the exotic matter."

"Suggestion," Michael offered, having thought on this. "Since the exotic matter seems to be reacting to our engines, we should cut them and use our momentum to do a brief passing sensor sweep."

Spock tilted his head in that way that meant he was analyzing.

Pike took her in, also considering. "Like driftwood following the current," he murmured.

Michael smiled slightly, charmed. "Not the simile I expected, but I'll allow it."

Pike's focus snapped to her. "Don't judge. I'm still working on the one I owe you."

"Expectations raised," she said, unable to help the little challenge in it.

"And I will exceed them," he said, all confident and cocky and enticing.

"Why, sir, when don't you," she shot back, unable to help herself, warm at having all his focus on her.

La'an spoke up then: "Well, I'm lost." It shook Michael out of the moment—that very public moment, on the bridge in front of everyone, what was she doing—looking over to La'an, Una nearby, expression knowing. Seeing it, Michael flushed.

"Captain," Spock interrupted, thankfully drawing attention, "Michael's suggestion is sound. The engines would only need to be off for thirteen point two seconds to collect the relevant data."

"Yeah, but that's thirteen point two seconds I won't be able to skedaddle if something decides to run into us," Ortegas said from helm.

Now La'an focused on her: "'Skedaddle?'"

Spock tilted his head. "Is this a word one is supposed to know?"

Una made an amused noise. "You've been hanging around the captain too much, Ortegas."

"Don't listen to them," Pike drawled, delight in his voice.

Ortegas huffed a laugh. "I know where my bread is buttered."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "Might it be possible to communicate using fewer idiomatic expressions."

"Now that's where I draw the line," Pike said instantly, turning to look at Spock, eyes dancing. "See what I did there?"

"You replied using an idiom, yes, it was highly unexpected."

Michael smiled at Spock's irritation, Pike catching it and shooting her a fond look. More of that warmth rushed through her—

And then he turned back to the viewscreen. "All right, Erica, let's play dead in the water."

At his station, Spock huffed.

Michael couldn't help her grin.

***

"I have noted a significant increase in questions about Vulcan sexual behavior today," Spock said, even, his version of a goad.

After successfully getting their sensor data, and digging into it all morning, they were now having lunch in the mess, Michael taking refuge in the comforting presence of her brother, the one person who would not ask about her sex life.

Or so she thought.

Unwilling to let him rattle her, she raised a cool eyebrow and threw it back at him: "Is there a standard number of questions about Vulcan sexual behavior?"

"Yes. Zero. Thus, the increase," he shot back, tart in that way she loved. When he wasn't talking about her sex life, anyway.

"Fascinating." She took a bite of her veggie wrap, like nothing was amiss.

So he tried again: "Might there be a reason for the sudden interest?"

Michael shot him a warning glance. "I'm sure there might be many reasons," she shot back, a reminder that he shouldn't ask such open-ended questions.

His gaze assessed her, then softened. "I have often found myself outside the social life of the ship. It has been...difficult."

Faced with such an admission, Michael couldn't help but relent. "I'm also outside the social life of the ship, though perhaps in a slightly different way," she admitted.

"Over the years, I have found that the Enterprise crew is very welcoming, even for those on the outside. The crew may not understand, but they try. I believe the captain has much to do with this. Regardless, just know, Michael, wherever you find yourself, it is acceptable to be."

Michael swallowed against her suddenly-tight throat, the emotion of that registering, even delivered in Spock's usual dispassionate way. "Thank you, brother," she said, putting her appreciation into her look.

Spock tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"Awww, it's my fav Vulcans," a voice called. Michael turned—

And found Wells approaching their table, hips swaying, Larani for once nowhere to be seen.

"Oh. It's you," Spock said.

Wells laughed as she dropped into a seat. "There's that Vulcan condescension. Do they teach that? They must. You both have it."

Spock's eyebrows twitched. "It is hardly condescension. We simply prefer to avoid your complete lack of discretion."

She made a dismissive noise. "Gets in the way of sexytimes. Super overrated."

"An unsurprising position."

Wells lit up. "Can we talk about surprising ones?" she asked, leaning toward him, voice lowering in blatant offer.

Spock didn't react at all. "My answer to your overtures remains the same."

Wells tsked. "No fun." Then her green eyes swept over to Michael, teasing. "Either of you. But I'm gonna wear you down, you'll see."

"That is highly unlikely," he said, flat. "Is there a reason for this conversation?"

Wells made a face at him, then turned to Michael. "I took care of your little comms problem. Give it a few hours to fully absorb and you're good to go."

Michael blinked as she translated that. "...oh. Just like that?" Surprise swept through her. Tilly had said she'd get the message out...but was it that simple?

Wells looked to her obviously, then to Spock, then back to her. "Like I said. That Vulcan discretion? Gets in the way. Humans need it spelled out. The crew's all about it, they just need intel on what's what. You're welcome," she added, then stood and turned to go.

"Specialist," Michael said, stopping her. Wells turned, expression curious. "Thank you," Michael said, genuine. Though she was generally uncomfortable with Wells' brashness, this was...helpful.

Wells flashed a grin, then snapped and pointed at her, backing away. "Piece of cake. Later."

Michael turned to Spock, who flicked a glance to Wells' retreating form, then turned to Michael. "Would a formal request help with the idioms?"

She laughed.

***

As the evening briefing broke up, everyone getting up from their seats at the table, Pike shot her the glance that meant stay if you want, so Michael lingered in her seat as the others left. Once the door had closed behind Spock, sealing them in, he smiled at her, small, kindness lurking in the crinkles around his eyes. "How ya doing?" he asked, rueful.

And in that it was clear: he'd heard. She swallowed the instinct that railed against that; she didn't want people talking to him about her sex life. The sex life she wanted to have with him.

But she wasn't thinking about that.

"I'm reminded of the ways I don't fit here," she said honestly. It was endless, the ways she was different. That she could mostly integrate just made it harder, made her think that she was done getting bowled over by her differences...until the next time she was blindsided. It was exhausting.

His expression slipped into sympathy. "I hear that, but I think you fit just fine."

"Tell that to everyone gossiping about my personal life," she muttered.

He inclined his head, granting her that. "It's tough being everyone's focus," he agreed, like he well knew. He surely did. "I take it you didn't think Lavalle would go talking to anyone else?"

Michael considered. She could shut the conversation down, and he would respect that, but he often had a novel, helpful perspective. One of the many reasons he was so compelling. So she gave in and asked a thing that had been nagging at her: "I thought—when you're on a date with someone, isn't it—I thought it was private?"

Pike nodded, like he felt that. "That's a constant tension," he agreed. "Everyone has a different view on it and unless you discuss it explicitly, there can be misunderstandings."

"But I don't understand how it's even a question. How can you build a relationship if anything you say can be shared with others? Doesn't that automatically make people cautious? And isn't that antithetical to forming a good relationship?"

Pike spread his hands and Michael had to force herself not to get distracted. "The other side of that is, feelings are contradictory and confusing and sometimes people want to discuss them with friends. Don't they deserve to call on their support systems?"

He was right, of course. She did so herself. "I suppose it's important to have a support system that understands discretion," she offered, slow. A support system like she had in Tilly, to whom she could say anything, secure that it would never get out.

Pike went rueful. "If only we all had perfect trust and perfect understanding in our confidences. Unfortunately, humanity is a messy, misunderstood bunch."

"I've noticed," she muttered. Then she refocused on him, curious now. Given they were already talking about it..."What have you heard?"

He waved a hand, like they didn't need to. "You clearly view it as an intrusion—"

"I'd like to know what people are saying about me. Please."

Pike sighed, giving in. He leaned back in his red chair, thoughtful. "The first wave was just scandalized gossip, people saying that you shot Lavalle down hard because you don't feel sexual attraction. Or maybe that you don't like men. With a little bit of blaming Vulcans for the way they raised you. All of which I knew were bullshit on their face. And frankly, everyone else should, too, given Tyler."

Michael stilled, surprised he would so casually reference Tyler. Surprised he assumed everyone else knew about them, too. But then again, she supposed she shouldn't be. With Wells and Larani aboard, everyone surely knew the whole sordid tale.

But also, that was even worse than what she thought they'd been saying. "Blaming Vulcans?" she asked, voice trembling.

He shot her a commiserating look. "I know. I think people got ahead of themselves and didn't realize the implications of what they were saying. And even beyond that, asexuality exists; this is not news. But I think some people's hopes got dashed, so they got emotional and were venting."

She nodded, urging him on. "You said the first wave."

"The clarification wave offered that no, you're not attracted to women, you just don't feel attracted to anyone until you get to know them well. Totally normal."

"People don't think that's normal," she muttered, thinking of Wells' reaction. The surprise.

Pike shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe it's not the majority human experience, so there's some novelty in it, but sexuality is a spectrum. Wherever people are at is where they're at; it shouldn't be a judgment, just a fact."

With it, Michael realized what he was saying. That it was okay, that she was okay, that everyone who thought otherwise was wrong. It mattered, that acceptance. Not that she had expected anything different from him—there was a reason she held him in such high regard—but it was a relief nonetheless. She felt the sting of it at the backs of her eyes, but forced her emotions under control.

Slowly, she nodded. "Thank you."

He inclined his head, light in his blue eyes. "I'm always here for you, Michael. I'm just sorry things with Lavalle ended poorly."

Michael sighed. "I think he got the wrong impression."

Pike's attention seemed to focus, interested. "How so?"

"I think he thought I was saying that because I didn't want to hop in bed with him immediately I never would."

"Ah. And that led to a bruised ego and venting to friends and all this," he said, gesturing expansively, encompassing the whole of the ship and all the gossip therein.

She nodded. "I just don't see why everyone has to talk about it. It's none of their concern."

Pike took that in, contemplative. "I understand that perspective. Would you like another?" he asked, open and genuine, like he would keep his own counsel if she refused. She knew he would.

She didn't want him to.

"Please."

He steepled his hands, musing. "Imagine an EPS conduit blows, a minor thing, but sparking all over the place. What does the crew do?"

Michael recited protocols from memory: "Shut down the surrounding conduits and controls, isolate the array if possible, analyze the cause to determine what else has been affected, initiate a downstream systems check as the repair crew fixes the problem."

"Right. And how does all that happen?" Without waiting for her, he answered his own question: "A shipwide alert goes out, letting everyone know we've got a blown EPS conduit."

"But that's protocol," she argued. "It's the most efficient way to fix the problem."

"Yes, but it's also transparency. That way, people know that the repair crew isn't fixing the fourth replicator in the mess because the EPS conduit takes priority. Everyone is on the same page. Now, think about when I make cookies and leave them in the officers' lounge. What happens?"

Michael blinked at the wild change in subject, but she also knew the answer to this one: "Every single person I pass tells me there are cookies in the lounge," she said promptly, still struck by that. It never failed. It was like a compulsion.

Pike smiled a little. "Probably with details and a review, right? 'Too crispy.' 'Too chewy.' 'He added brown butter again.' 'Oatmeal raisin, why?' Not to mention the grand nuts or no-nuts debate."

Michael looked at him seriously. "People are inordinately concerned about the presence and number of walnuts in chocolate chip cookies."

Pike laughed once, shaking his head. "A guy puts pretzels in them one time and you'd swear I told everyone to resign their commissions. Bunch of chocolate chip cookie purists in this crew, I despair." His amusement faded, turning into something meditative. "My point, in both cases, is it's about informing the community of relevant information so that we all share a common understanding."

"Relevant information. The nature of my relationships is irrelevant."

"Seems pretty relevant to Lavalle," Pike said, dryly suggestive. "And the others who've got their eye on you."

Michael stiffened. "Others?"

That seemed to interest Pike. "You don't think Lavalle has been the only one testing the waters, do you?" he asked, still dry.

Michael reeled. Because what? "He—Lavalle asked me to dinner two nights ago," she said, sure on that at least.

"After flirting with you for a solid month," Pike said, like this should be obvious.

"What flirting?" she asked, faint, no idea what he was talking about.

Pike's lips quirked. "Dropping by the bridge for something small, taking the opportunity to ask what you're working on?"

"But—that's work."

He shot her a look that said bullshit. "You don't think a lieutenant knows how to send a yeoman to the bridge for whatever he needs?" he asked, a knowing note to it. "And then he kept running into you in the lounge every time Tilly would make you go out. Ended up with your group of friends, regaling everyone with stories. Got you refills when you were done with your drink. Sound familiar?"

Michael stared at him. That was a lot of very specific information. "How do you know this?"

Pike shrugged. "I have eyes?"

"How do I not know this?" Because he was right; that was exactly what Lavalle had been doing for more than a month. She'd just thought he was being friendly.

Pike's eyes dipped. "You were focused on other things."

"And you think other people are doing the same?" She tried to think about who, but nothing stuck out, just the usual cadence of ship life. How was one supposed to tell the difference between friendliness and flirting?

Pike regarded her again, considering. "You seem surprised."

A wild understatement. She shifted, uncomfortable with the notion. "I had no idea anyone was...interested in me."

"Michael," he said, like he was at a loss, "you're a fascinating, brilliant, beautiful woman. Why wouldn't they be?"

Heat rushed under her skin, the reality of Pike calling her all those things making her brain stutter in shock. Because what. He thought she was fascinating? He thought she was beautiful? "I just—I don't think that way," she said, trying to capture it. She knew she was brilliant—that was simply objective fact—but the other things...she didn't think of herself as an object of desire for people. She generally didn't think about such things at all.

Present company excepted.

He seemed to understand, nodding. "Well, other people do. Which is why information about your personal life is relevant. Now anyone who was eyeing you for a casual fling knows that you're not interested, so they can focus their attention elsewhere. It's actually very efficient, if intrusive."

"Beyond intrusive," she corrected.

He half-smiled and continued: "And in case it wasn't made clear, it's also fine that you're not attracted to anyone on the Enterprise. You've only been here a little while."

Michael's mind was still caught on the beautiful thing. "I didn't say that," she muttered. And then she stilled.

Dammit.

Pike's gaze sharpened. "You didn't say what?" he asked, voice mild.

Frustration swept her, a sick feeling starting in her gut. Of course he would choose a highly-specific question instead of something more general. Because that was the worst possible thing for her and it was that kind of day. Cursing the fact that lying was illogical, she said: "I didn't say I wasn't attracted to anyone on the Enterprise."

He went assessing. "You don't feel attraction until you get to know someone well," he said, reasoning it out. "The only people you know well here came over from the Discovery: three women and your brother."

Michael resigned herself to the inevitable revelation, his mind far too sharp not to figure it out. She might as well give in. Hell, maybe it would help her move on. She could get out of the endless loop of wondering, accept the rejection, and set it aside. So she lifted her chin, ignored the roiling in her gut, and said, "They're not the only ones here who served on the Discovery." Because he was. He was forgetting about himself.

Michael saw the moment it clicked. He blinked, startled, though he instantly hid it.

She'd watched him face down superior adversaries without ever flinching. And this gave him pause. Something inside her shriveled at the idea.

"...oh," he finally said, "I see." He looked off to the far wall, full of his art pieces—

But then immediately back to her, questioning. "But—you went out with Lavalle," he said, almost helpless, like he couldn't make the dots connect.

"I thought it might be worth trying to get to know...others," she said, trying to stick to the facts without elaboration.

Pike's expression went knowing. "So you could get over it," he surmised, slow, like a guess he was making as he spoke.

Michael swallowed. "It didn't seem...productive." No, her fixation was decidedly unproductive, a wildly inconvenient waste of her time. Wells had been right about that; Michael would get far more done if her mind didn't wander into fantasies and what-ifs every time she saw him. It was unseemly.

Not that she was about to offer that up.

Pike shook his head, like he was lost again. "Why?"

"It's—you keep things professional. With your crew." Warm? Yes. Close? Yes. Romantic? No. Analysis of his level of personal involvement with the crew had consumed her, always leading to the same bitter conclusion. But she couldn't focus on that now. "And I understand. I took the same stance when I was XO. It's difficult when one is in a position of power," she continued, hearing herself going formal, unable to help it.

"Difficult," he agreed, his voice gentle. "But not impossible."

Confusion swept through Michael. Were they still talking about her?

She decided to avoid the topic and forge ahead. "Since it didn't seem realistic I decided to try to move past it," she concluded, putting a note of finality into it. Really, there didn't need to be more said.

Apparently Pike didn't agree. His look was warm, but firm. "Did you consider checking your conclusions with, I dunno, me?"

Michael frowned. "No," she said, flat. "Your position is clear."

Pike sighed, a tiny hint of frustration leaking in. "My position with other people, Michael."

She frowned. "A policy on personal relationships applies to everyone. That's what makes it a policy."

"It's not a rule. Or a regulation for that matter. Yes, agreed, power dynamics can be tricky, and I'm keenly aware of that, but there are work-arounds." He paused, seeming to search for words, "You're not other people, Michael," he finished, soft.

What the hell did that mean?

"Are you saying my attraction is returned?" she asked, blunt, done with the careful couching of language because she just needed to know.

He looked at her like this should be obvious. "Yes," he said, faintly exasperated. "I had no idea you felt this way and I wish you'd told me whenever it started because we could've gotten here sooner."

Something inside her brain froze even as her heart pounded, adrenaline pumping. Just...what? She didn't understand. "You like me?" she asked, still trying to clarify, because what.

His gaze went soft. "Very much."

What?

Amazed, unable to keep track of her tumbling emotions, she shook her head. "Was there some way I was supposed to know this?"

He swallowed, like this was something he'd wrestled with. "I seek out your counsel more than I probably should. I'm a little too free with the dinner invitations, with these chats. I've tried to keep it...separate," he said, tension around his eyes. "But I also like you. It comes through."

Michael took that in, considering. Maybe this was what Tilly meant when she said they had a vibe? But that was not even close to the point, Michael still reeling. "Comes through to who? Not me."

He tipped his head. "Una and I have had words."

So Una knew, but Michael hadn't. Even Tilly hadn't and she was both wildly intuitive and ruthlessly informed about all gossip. Una's look on the bridge suddenly made more sense.

"I didn't know," Michael finally said, heart going, not sure what to do now.

He inclined his head. "As I intended."

She frowned at that idea. "Did you not want me to know?"

Pike took a careful breath. "I didn't want you to feel pressured."

"I don't," she said instantly, because that was certainly true. "I've been distracted by you for months, which was all me. And futile, I thought."

"Months," he echoed, something regretful in it. But then he shook his head, like moving past that. "We must have needed the time," he decided.

The sick feeling in her gut changing, going fluttery, she asked: "What do we do now?"

Some kind of vulnerability flashed over his expression, for the briefest moment. Then it was gone and he regarded her, careful. "Can I—can I make you dinner?"

***

Michael followed him into his quarters, the lights dimmed for night, the setting so familiar, but also seeming so different, given this context.

He liked her. He was attracted to her. He thought she was fascinating, brilliant, beautiful.

It was hard to wrap her mind around.

But even though the attraction was out in the open, she wasn't quite sure what to do. What did one do now? She had never been the one to initiate such things. Should she just...walk up and kiss him? Should she say something?

What did one say?

"Tea?" he asked, sending a rush of relief through Michael. She often drank tea here, with him. That was, at least, a familiar thing to do. She nodded to him, grateful.

He was brisk as he put the kettle on, getting out the tea, then bustling around the kitchen, pulling out a pan, a couple knives, other things. The dim lights flowed over him as he moved, accentuating his profile, the line of his jaw. He was so assured in this space, his shoulders broad under his uniform. He seemed broader now, since coming back to the Enterprise, like he had been working out. Maybe he had. Maybe she'd get to ask him about it, at some point. If that wasn't too personal.

She had no idea where the line was anymore. So she set it aside, letting herself look her fill, admiring him as he moved.

Then he was setting a cup of tea before her, his smile gentle.

"Thank you," she said, picking it up, taking in the familiar scent of Vulcan spice tea. It was difficult to get so far from Vulcan, yet he always had a supply for her and Spock. Then again, maybe it was less difficult when you were Captain Pike.

"I think of you as 'Pike' in my head," she said without thinking.

He looked over from the island, one corner of his mouth curving up. "I told you to call me Chris."

He had, months ago, during one of their late-night review sessions in the ready room, his feet kicked up on the desk, his body a long line she wanted to drink in. She hadn't taken him up on it, battling her attraction.

"I've been trying to keep some distance."

He nodded, blue eyes solemn as he looked at her. "You don't have to. If you don't want."

It shivered through her, an offer in that. More than just to call him by his first name.

Michael wanted to take him up on it. That fluttery feeling in her gut hadn't gone away, her body reacting to all of this.

"Distance is the one thing I don't want," she confessed on a breath.

His eyes went impossibly warm. "That is very welcome news. I was never sure where you were at," he offered, with a little head shake. "After everything with the suit..." He trailed off, not in regret, just awareness maybe. Then he waved a hand, like it was in the past. He turned to the replicator and ordered, "One complement for 'late-night comfort dinner 3.'" The replicator dinged, a host of ingredients materializing.

Pike—Chris, she corrected—took the tray and set it on the island, what looked like food for sandwiches. But more important were his words, what he was saying.

The suit. Her plan to fling herself to the future, the Discovery tethered to her, so that Control could never get its data. Chris had discovered the suit's autopilot function and promptly forbade her from going. From sacrificing her whole life here, as he put it.

She hadn't reacted well.

"I don't hold it against you," she said as he heated a pan, slicing things.

Chris paused in his cooking, meeting her eyes. He took a breath. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Michael swallowed, remembering the fire of their disagreement, the one time they had truly disagreed. "I was lost in my feelings," she admitted, realizing she'd never told him that. "I didn't see it at the time. With everything that happened, learning about my parents, my mom being alive...I was just reacting. You saw that when I couldn't."

Chris set what looked like a sandwich in the pan, the sizzle filling the air. When he spoke, his voice was careful: "You wanted to regain what you had lost. And you were willing to sacrifice everything to do it."

She nodded. "I would have."

"I know." He pressed his lips together, like that thought hurt him, turning back to flip the sandwiches in the pan.

Michael stayed quiet as he cooked, thinking about it. After the battle with Control, it had taken time for her to work through it all. Taking refuge with Amanda for an extended leave had helped. Only now was she realizing...she hadn't talked to Chris about it. Not beyond a very general reunion when she had reported here for duty. A moment during which she had been thoroughly distracted by this new desire for him, springing up out of nowhere, after months apart. It had sent her reeling.

And had continued to do so, all these months. Until now.

Michael studied him as he deposited the sandwiches from the pan to a platter, the lights picking up the silver in his hair, so distinguished. At peace here. Even that called to her. He sprinkled something on top of the sandwiches, then used a very large knife to quickly slice them.

He grabbed the plates and napkins he had set out and brought it all over, placing the platter before her. The sandwiches were toasted on each side, what looked like melted cheese oozing from them.

"Grilled cheese," he explained with a flash of a grin, his dimples appearing.

"Late-night comfort dinner?" she asked, a gentle tease.

"Hey, everyone's gotta have a stable of them. Besides, it's quick, easy, and delicious." He set out the napkins, then served up a sandwich for her, sliced into quarters. He took his own and relaxed into the seat catty-corner to hers, body looser now. His presence so close set her nerves tingling. Catching her gaze, he gestured to her plate. "Please. It's best when hot."

He took his own advice, separating a quarter from his sandwich, strings of melted cheese stretching, the whole thing gooey and golden.

Charmed, Michael followed his lead, biting into the crunchy bread, the cheese sharp and bright, buttery and glorious. She made a helpless noise as the cheese stretched, and Chris laughed, sucking a bit of cheese off his thumb. "It's messy," he said, commiserating. "Worth it, though," he added, softer.

Michael swallowed her bite, feeling that. "It is delicious."

Chris warmed at the compliment, then went back to his own sandwich, a thoughtful air descending on him.

As she ate, she thought back to what he'd said, the admission of his uncertainty. "You thought I'd hold it against you and you still let them assign me to the ship?"

"No, I asked for you," he admitted, voice low. "After some due diligence."

Michael shook her head as she chewed, not following.

He seemed to read that, a corner of his mouth quirking up. "You didn't think it was weird that you got a visit from Number One before your orders came through?"

She blinked. She hadn't. "The Enterprise has a reputation for its extreme recruitment practices. A chat with Una was nothing." Though it had been quite the chat.

He flashed a grin, those dimples appearing again. "We're colorful."

A wild understatement. "You pretended to be a traitor and forced Sidhu to draw on you," she said, still aghast at that story.

Chris nodded, like this was an everyday thing. "She held up well." He took an unrepentant bite of his grilled cheese.

"You made Lavalle depressurize the cargo bay he was standing in to put out a plasma fire."

Chris swallowed and grinned again. "Yeah, that was a little aggressive."

Michael smiled and shook her head, fond, wiping her hands. "No, I didn't think an interview was weird. It's the flagship."

Chris waved a hand, almost forestalling. "It wasn't actually an interview. You had the job. I just wanted Una to check to see if you...well, if you would agree to it."

She frowned. "You thought I wouldn't?"

He shrugged and looked down at the remains of his sandwich, mostly gone. He straightened, wiping his hands on his napkin. "Like I said, I wasn't sure where you were at."

Michael leaned forward, the movement getting his attention. "I'm glad I'm here."

He held her gaze. "In this time, on this ship, or in my quarters?" he asked, low.

"All of the above." Some kind of tension stretched between them, that fluttering feeling in her belly flaring again. Sharpening.

After a moment, he broke it, looking off to the kitchen, a line appearing in between his eyes as he frowned. "I'm concerned that you didn't want to tell me how you felt."

Michael stiffened slightly, but then she chastised herself; she supposed it was a reasonable concern. "It's well-known that you don't date among your crew."

"Sure, but if you were going out with Lavalle to get over it, clearly it weighed on you. You didn't think we could talk about it?" he asked, like that was the sticking point. Like he expected they could talk about anything.

Michael tried to put the feeling into words. "For Vulcans, emotions are things to be controlled. Mastered. And I couldn't do that with my feelings for you." She had utterly failed to do that, over months and months, railing against her own instincts, the frustration paralyzing. And yet, nothing had worked.

Chris stared at her for a long moment, eyes unseeing. Finally, he shook himself. "Sorry, that was—sorry." He looked away.

Michael studied him, clocking the rising flush in his cheeks. "That was what?"

He looked back to her, something helpless about it. "It's just—one of the most controlled women I have ever met tells me she can't control her emotions for me. It was a lot. I got lost in it for a second."

Michael felt that flush through her—an admission of his own want, something she hadn't really felt. Until now. He was impressively good at hiding it. She appreciated that control. "That is very welcome news," she said, echoing his own words.

Chris' eyes flickered, something weighty there that she hadn't seen before. Slowly, he held out a hand to her, index and middle fingers pressed together.

Michael's breath caught, instinctively mirroring him as he pressed his fingers to hers, the touch light. It was a traditional Vulcan gesture, deeply meaningful for touch-telepaths, a brief sharing of emotion between intimates. Michael was shocked he even knew about it. More shocking was the fire that raced through her at the simple touch. Without any telepathic abilities, it wouldn't have the same impact for them, yet it rocked her nonetheless, sending want spiraling through her.

No one had ever touched her this way.

Without thought, Michael leaned forward, into his space, nothing but welcome in Chris as she tilted her face up and kissed him. That touch, too, was electric, sensation flaring under her skin, moving from her mouth, down her body, warming her everywhere. She made a tiny noise and swayed into Chris, his arms cradling her, the firmness of his chest another kind of distraction, even as he kissed her back, slanting his mouth over hers, that fluttering in her belly turning into molten heat.

Michael pulled back to breathe, his scent of dry spice surrounding her, her body tingling. Chris brought one hand up to trace her cheek, blue eyes glowing, and now that he'd loosened that control, she could see it: he wanted her.

She lunged for his mouth.

Chris pulled her close, mouth opening against hers, the kiss lush and hot, a tangle of tongues that made her want to be naked, pressed against him everywhere. She crowded close, her body against his, all strength and heat. Desire swamped her, so rarely felt this way, heady and consuming.

He broke the kiss, but Michael followed his mouth and kissed him again, reveling in the way her body lit up, in the easy way he held her, one hand stroking up her back, unbelievably arousing for such a simple thing.

How were they not naked yet?

Michael wrapped an arm around him, urging him in the direction of the bedroom—

Chris didn't move.

She tried again, but Chris just held her close, still unmoving. So she made a curious noise into the kiss, then pulled back. "What?" she asked, her voice breathless.

Chris swallowed, clearly affected, but trying to pull himself together. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, all of it just made her want to crawl on top of him more. But something had given him pause. After a moment, he took a breath. "You, Michael Burnham, are a woman of action. Something I deeply admire, by the way. But maybe we should take some time to think about what we want."

"I want to have sex with you," she said immediately, very clear on that. She'd been very clear on that for months now.

Was it possible he didn't know that she was clear on that?

Chris huffed out a laugh, the one that said he was charmed. He dipped his head and brushed a kiss over her mouth, but kept it light. "I gathered," he said, tone indulgent. "Still, it seems like today was nine kinds of emotional upheaval. Maybe we should sit with it for a minute?"

In it she read a genuine question, not necessarily a dictate. He was being careful with this, she realized. He wanted to be thoughtful about it.

Affection rushed through her, as sharp as the want. "We can do that," she offered, slow. "But just know that I don't need to. I've been consumed by this since I came aboard. It's plagued my thoughts, even when I tried to move on. Thinking about it is not what I want to do."

Chris stared at her for a moment, utterly still.

Then his mouth crashed onto hers and it was all the fire and all the yearning and all the intensity she ever imagined, only better. She made a helpless noise into his mouth, Chris' hands on her body gripping tight.

That betrayed something, she thought. He was as lost as she.

This time, when she urged him toward the bedroom, he went with her, the two of them stumbling their way over, trading increasingly hungry kisses. Michael's whole body felt hot, the fluttering in her belly insistent, warmth pooling between her legs.

She bumped into the bed and made a satisfied noise. Gripping him tight, she sank back, something zinging through her at the easy way he followed, still kissing her, somehow landing by her side so he didn't crush her. It was that control again, movement effortless; she was suddenly desperate to have him against her, skin to skin.

Michael pulled his uniform shirts up, Chris moving back enough to let her strip them off, hair messy as he leaned back down for her mouth. She traced fingers over his chest and shoulders, mapping out the solid muscle definition there. She paused long enough for him to pull her shirts off, but didn't get distracted, scratching her short nails over the swell of his biceps, transfixed at the faint pink lines that appeared on his pale skin. He was all golden muscle, trembling against her, and she couldn't help leaning down to press her mouth to his skin, kissing along his shoulder to his collarbone, liking the sharp taste of him.

Chris unhooked her bra as she explored. She let him strip it off, moving close to press her naked chest to his as she found his mouth again, the kiss slower now, like they were doing this, no need to rush.

It was an unexpected relief to be able to sink into that feeling, to know that she could revel in this pleasure, that it was hers to enjoy. After so long fighting it, and so rarely feeling it, she did not take that for granted.

Michael shifted her body against his, liking the feel of her nipples pressed to his chest, feeling his heart beating under her hands as she ran one hand over his back, the other up into his hair, gripping there. She arched against him, her hips pressing to his, feeling his hard cock through two pairs of uniform pants.

Chris groaned into her mouth, breaking the kiss to pant against her. "Can we get rid of these?" he asked, scratching a hand down her pants.

"I will if you will," she said, getting a smile and light kiss.

"Deal," he said, already rolling away, the play of muscles in his chest utterly transfixing.

Michael forced her eyes away, kicking out of her shoes and then losing the rest of her clothes. When she looked back, Chris was crawling over to rejoin her, skin entirely bare, his eyes dark. He was as muscled as he seemed, cock hard and wanting. Michael made a wordless noise and kissed him, arm looping around his shoulders and pulling him on top of her as she rolled back, feeling him everywhere.

She sighed at the heavy press of him over her, his hands exploring her body as they kissed—along her thigh to her hip, up over her stomach to cover her breast, toying with a nipple in a way that made her gasp.

It broke the kiss, Chris mouthing his way down her chin, down her neck, pausing to lave a collarbone, before moving lower, sucking a nipple into his mouth hotly. Michael gripped the back of his neck as sparks slid through her, everywhere he touched lit up with good feeling, slickness between her thighs insistent as he mouthed over to her other breast. His fingers traced down her back, around her hip, then slipped between her thighs. He made a dark noise against her skin as he found her wetness, pressing his fingers there. Michael gripped his shoulder and tilted her hips toward him, gasping, heart racing as clever fingers played over her.

Chris pulled his mouth from her skin to lean up for her mouth again, the kiss open and hot, his body firm against hers. He broke that to kiss along her jaw, down to her ear, where he sucked an earlobe into his mouth, the wet heat consuming.

Then he pulled back to look at her, his pupils blown, skin flushed, mouth puffy with their kisses. "Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me," he rumbled, two fingers tracing over her slick folds, a maddening tease.

Michael flushed, the heat of it streaking through her. She shouldn't be embarrassed—he knew she wanted him, this was only logical—but she couldn't help the sense of...shyness that swamped her. She didn't admit such things to others.

Maybe with him she could?

Holding his gaze, she slid her hand down to join his, urging his fingers against her how she liked, soft little circles around her clit, fluttering over it every so often. He made some kind of sexy, low sound, then brushed her hand aside and took over, replicating her movements perfectly.

"Like that?" he murmured, watching her.

"Yeah," she gasped, her body starting to clench in pleasure as he worked her.

Chris made some kind of satisfied noise and took her mouth, his kisses deep and searching, Michael's hips moving against him instinctively. She lost focus as her body spiraled higher, and higher, until she was just panting and moaning against his mouth as his fingers touched her, delicate, but relentless.

She made a helpless little mewl as she came, the rush of pleasure brightening everything, sending her flying, Chris making some kind of indulgent noise against her jaw as she shuddered in his arms. It shouldn't have been anything notable, she touched herself this way whenever she liked, yet it was undeniably different to have him drawing such pleasure from her. Better. More.

Michael panted as she came down, finding Chris watching her, expression enthralled. "You are transcendent," he murmured, moving close and taking her mouth, his kiss claiming.

Michael fell into it, feeling the echoes of pleasure spreading through her. Chris gentled her through it, slowing his fingers by degrees as they kissed, until he withdrew them entirely, wrapping her in his arms and holding tight as she trembled.

"You doing okay?" he asked, stroking a hand up and down her back. Michael made an affirmative noise, pressing into the lazy rhythm, her body calming. It started as soothing...only to turn teasing as his touch lightened, the barest fingertip touch against her skin sparking more shivery pleasure there.

She nuzzled into his chest, marveling at how he knew just how to stoke it, the want building again. She kissed his chest, sliding her hand down his body, tracing the muscled cut of his hip for a moment, liking the low noise he made when she did. She smiled into his skin, then moved her hand down, carding through his pubic hair and ghosting over his cock, still hard for her.

"Michael," he rumbled, voice rough and turned on, as she firmed her grip, liking the silky hardness of him when she stroked.

She looked up into his eyes, her desire sharpening at the tone in his voice. "Chris," she replied, teasing the wetness at the tip of his cock.

He made a noise at the back of his throat, sharply cut off, then visibly focused, eyes taking her in. "How do you want it?"

Michael's hand stilled as her mind scattered. "Is there always this much talking in sex?" she asked, breathless, confused.

Chris' brow furrowed. "Yes? The key to good sex is communication."

...huh. Maybe that would have optimized her previous encounters. She decided to think about that later and focus on the extraordinary man watching her like he would grant her anything she asked. She pulled her hand from his cock, considering.

"I don't...know," she hazarded, unsure what to say. Men had always been very insistent with her. They didn't ask her these things.

His expression gentled. He leaned down to press his mouth to hers, soft. When he pulled back, that gentleness was joined by something warm. "Well, how much work you wanna do?" he asked, voice light.

"Oh, you definitely should do all the work," she shot back, marveling that she could, at the joy that bubbled up, even pressed together like this. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

Chris huffed a laugh, delighted. "Yes, sir," he quipped, leaning over her more fully, his body a solid weight pressing her back. He took her mouth, sharper now, Michael's hands flying to his shoulders and gripping.

She let herself drown in the kiss, holding on as he slid his body against hers, nudging her legs open so he could roll between them, the heat of his skin against the insides of her thighs spinning arousal straight through her.

She bit his lip and groaned, shifting against him, feeling his cock pressed to her thigh. Yearning careened through her, Michael panting against his mouth. She reached for him, palming his cock again, wet and leaking, feeling the huff of Chris' breath against her mouth.

She stroked over his cock again, liking the shiver it elicited, how responsive he was to her touch. She could feel Chris's muscles tensing against her thighs, keeping himself still above her even when he clearly wanted to move. The control in that sent a little sizzle through her.

After a moment, Chris pulled away enough to meet her gaze. He was flushed, eyes glassy, glowing in the low lights. He gestured to their position—him between her legs. "Like this okay?" he asked, voice all rumbly, sending more heat rushing through her.

It took her a moment to pull herself out of the lust—he was asking her a question, because apparently good sex had lots of talking—and she quickly nodded. "Yeah. Yes." She stopped stroking her hand, looking between their bodies. "Should I—"

But he was already moving, her hand dropping away as he shifted between her legs so he could press his cock against her entrance, murmuring, "you're good," against her mouth as he took a breath there and sank inside her.

Michael's breath caught, the slow slide as he pressed in just electric, her whole body lighting up as he filled her. He seated himself, braced above her on one arm and holding still, shaking a little. Michael wrapped her legs around his hips, then a hand around his bicep as her body adjusted, feeling the strain of him holding himself in place, his strength an unending marvel.

After a moment, she came back to herself, Chris breathing against her jaw, a little ragged. She turned toward his mouth, nudging him with her nose. "I'm okay," she panted, knowing it was why he waited. "You can—"

Chris didn't belabor it. He pulled out a little, then sank back in, finding her mouth again, an endlessly slow kiss. Michael moaned into it, clawing at his back as he found a rhythm, slow and thorough, an inexorable tide, filling her up before moving away again, heating her blood.

Her body clenched around him, flutters of pleasure building, Michael wanting more. She pulled him close, squeezing her legs around him, forceful, but he kept his pace, the hand not bracing him on the bed tracing over her skin as he thrust into her.

Communication, she reminded herself, pulling out of the kiss. "Harder," she panted, meeting his glassy gaze, tugging at his shoulders.

Chris instantly complied, watching her as he increased the force of his thrusts. The pleasure burned along her spine, tantalizing, but still not quite there.

She made some kind of noise that caught his attention, Chris bottoming out and pausing. "Tell me, Michael," he breathed, voice sex-drenched and distracting.

"Can I—I want to be on top," she decided, realizing it as she spoke.

Chris' gaze went a little hazy. "Yeah," he breathed, gripping her hips—

And then rolling them. Michael cried out at the feeling—her legs loosening, Chris slipping out of her a little, only to slide in deeper when she settled over him—pleasure rippling underneath her skin. She dug her knees into the mattress, then rose up and sank back down onto him, shifting the angle as she did. She did it again and again, speeding up, finding just the right spot, hands braced on Chris' slick chest, his eyes glittering as he watched her. His hands were light on her hips, just present, letting her take charge.

When the perfect angle met the perfect pace, she couldn't help the choked off noise she made, fire rushing through her.

Underneath her, Chris moaned. Michael's eyes snapped to his, even as she kept moving, that delicious tension ratcheting up every time she sank down.

Chris stared at her, rapturous, mouth open and shiny, hair a tousled mess. "You look incredible riding me," he breathed, like a confession, his eyes drifting down her body and then up again.

The words and that look went straight through her, making her body clench around him, muscles shaking. She pressed a hand between her legs—

But his was already there, more of those perfect touches against her clit as he held her eyes. "I want to feel you come around me, Michael," he insisted, voice thick with desire.

He flicked a light fingertip over her clit and that was it, the orgasm rocked through her, body rhythmically gripping him, wave after wave of white-hot heat stealing her breath.

Dimly, she heard him call out, "Fuck, just like that," his voice shot, hand going tight on her hip as he bucked underneath her, body shuddering as he came in long pulses, moaning his pleasure.

She felt it echo inside her, her body fluttering around his cock, little bursts of yes running up her spine, slowing as she came down. After long, delirious moments she resurfaced, still astride him, both of them sweating and panting, Chris' hands gone light, on her thighs now. He looked mussed and blissed-out and wondrous, more undone than she'd ever seen him.

She wanted to see that look on him forever.

After a moment, she swallowed against her dry throat, needing to move. She covered his hands with hers, then pushed herself up on her knees, feeling both the strain in her thighs and the loss of him withdrawing from her. She promptly dropped to his side, stretching out her body, cataloguing all the good feeling still rushing through her.

That was easily the best sex she'd ever had. Some kind of vindication came along with that thought, like that justified her relentless focus for so long.

Chris rolled close, throwing an arm over her and making a satisfied noise into her shoulder, where he pressed meditative kisses, slowly moving over her body. He detoured to take a nipple into his mouth again, rolling it slowly, Michael making a soft noise at the spark of pleasure. Then Chris leaned up for her mouth, the kiss indulgent, deep and slow.

Eventually, he pulled back, settled against her, skin to skin, an air of contentment to him. He brushed her hair from her face and smiled a little. "That scratch the itch?" he drawled, lightly teasing.

Michael mmmed. "For the moment."

Chris' smile deepened. "I'll take that."

***

In the morning, Michael awoke to Chris kissing his way down her body, eyes bright and mischievous.

He was as good with his mouth as with everything else.

After, he made breakfast—the fluffiest omelet she'd ever had, eaten off a shared plate, Chris stealing kisses all the while. Michael marveled at the affection, at the easiness of it all, at how good he made her feel. She didn't quite believe it was possible.

She voiced that as he sent her off to go change before shift, Chris looking at her, affection plain to see. "Then I'll just have to keep showing you it is," he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

Michael let herself get swept into it, deciding to heed Tilly's words and embrace this good thing.

She pulled back, running her hands over his chest, already wearing his gold uniform, handsome and authoritative. Still distracting, but less desperately so. Because she could have this now. "I'll see you on the bridge."

"Looking forward to it," he said with a kiss to the tip of her nose.

It sent her off with a smile, Michael walking down the hall in a kind of half-daze, mind on the last twenty-four hours. That was quite the day.

"Michael," a voice called from down the intersecting hall. She looked over—

To find Lavalle approaching, something almost...shamefaced in his bearing. She hadn't seen him since their disastrous date; presumably he'd been hiding out somewhere as the entire ship gossiped about them.

She nodded in greeting, glad for the empty hall. "Lieutenant."

He winced and ran a hand through sandy curls. "Shit, are we back there? Look, I'm sorry about the comms screw-up. Brendan's a douche and spoke out of turn. I didn't mean to spread your business all over the ship."

Michael had no idea who Brendan was, though she suspected Lavalle was right. "It's not ideal," she allowed.

"Yeah, I get it. I got all up in my feelings and reacted badly. I didn't really hear what you were saying. So I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Again?

"I appreciate that," she said slowly, and she genuinely did. It was a misunderstanding, she saw that now, and clearing the air was always helpful.

"So I talked to Keels and it seems like we got some wires crossed. If you want, we could, you know, hang out? See what happens? I'm down to get to know each other better."

Michael blinked. "...oh," she said, not expecting that. She was reminded of Spock's words, about how the crew tried, even when they may not understand. Something inside her softened.

Lavalle was watching her, expression morphing from openness to a kind of understanding. "...but you've gotten to know someone else," he realized, like that answered a question for him.

Communication, she reminded herself. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes."

He smiled a little, a generosity there. "You know what? That's awesome. I'm happy for you."

"You're not...upset?"

He shrugged. "I kinda already mourned it, you know? I mean, you're amazing, so it's a bummer, but if you found someone you vibe with, then you should grab that with both hands."

'Vibes' again. Michael would have to have Spock add it to his list of expressions.

She smiled at Lavalle, appreciative. "You know what? I think I will."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.