Work Text:
Aalin paused in the doorframe of the kitchen her expression soft with fondness as she watched the storied Captain of Enterprise, dressed in sweatpants and a worn, faded Starfleet Academy tee shirt, flipping pancakes and humming as he worked. The table in front of the large window overlooking the ocean was already set including a vase bunched with lilies of the valley, one of her favorite flowers. I don’t recall mentioning I liked those, she thought. Chris doesn’t often offer overt romance, yet he remembers small details, even unrelated ones from casual conversations. She smiled. That’s so much better than a grand gesture.
Her eyes appreciatively ran over his form, noting how the shirt stretched tightly across his muscular upper arms and chest. She spent a few moments indulging in an image of Chris pulling it off as he gazed at her with that lustful look in his eyes. Oh, yes. The shirt is coming back to the ship with us.
After months of ignoring what those around them already knew – that the pair were head over heels in love, after healing the wounds inflicted by his experience on Talos, after three years, eleven months, 8 days and thirteen hours of marriage, she and Chris had their first night together off the ship, their first night together without an ongoing mission, their first night together not waiting far from Federation space for the Klingon war to end, their first night together not surrounded by a hardworking and well-meaning crew. “Good morning,” she said.
Chris turned in her direction and smiled. “Good morning.” He held out a hand in silent invitation. When she joined him, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. And as she always did when he greeted her in this way, Aalin blushed slightly. Chris reached up and ran his thumb across her pink cheek. “I like that my touch still coaxes this reaction, even after all the time.”
“It always will." What other facts will I discover about my husband on this overdue honeymoon? Last night she learned Starfleet’s well-respected, reserved officer had a talent … no not at all an accurate description, she thought with amusement and a slight cringe … love for bad puns, some of which were highly suggestive. "You made breakfast.”
He preceded Aalin to the table and pulled out a chair. “My father taught me a gentleman always makes breakfast the morning after.”
“I think I’m going to like your father,” she remarked as Chris settled her in the chair.
“My mother said it sealed the deal. Was I completely off-key?
“Ummm, no … not really … not that it matters.”
“The humming is a habit I’m afraid. It must be grating to one with perfect pitch,” Chris apologized.
She caught his hand in hers, “No. I like hearing it, hearing you. Don’t interpret this as a criticism because it isn’t. I’ve never seen you this relaxed, this completely disengaged from work, without responsibilities and with captain mode totally turned off. It’s good. More than good.”
“Hmmm. After last night … well it’s not possible any tension is left in my body.”
She blushed again, deeper, redder this time.
He brought dishes to the table, Aalin pursued their contents as each was dropped off and another fetched. Omelet, a simple dressed salad, sautéed mushrooms, toast, juice, strawberries, the pancakes. Not his typical ‘I’ll grab an energy bar on the way to the bridge’. Chris deposited the last dish on the table and leaned down for a proper kiss.
The kiss was affectionate and lingering. He never fails to turn the most ordinary of acts into something special. “Perfect …” she said while tugging at the side of the robe that had slipped off her shoulder.
“The kiss or the food?”
“Both.”
His smile in response was brilliant and dimpled. He brushed her bare shoulder with a kiss and caressed the back of her neck, idly playing with the tendrils of hair at its nape. “I could put a stasis field around the food …”
“Later,” was her quick reply. “I’m famished.”
Chris continued nuzzling her neck as his arm encircled her waist and he caressed her side and back.
Aalin’s breath hitched, and she half-heartedly pushed at Chris’ chest to put some distance between them. She protested, “You know I can’t resist when you do that.”
“And when I do this?” His hand dropped and he stroked her inner thigh.
Her legs parted slightly, and she buried her head on his shoulder with a sigh.
“You’re completely under my spell,” Chris whispered in her ear, his pleasure at that echoed in his expression.
“Yes … always …”