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The setting for the Sheila & K'avir stories is the Star Trek Mirrorverse. Anything Star Trek-related are the intellectual property of Gene Roddenberry. All other characters, planets, star systems and content not within said scope are my own.


Discipline (3/?)


A/N:  It helps if you  listen to the songs in order as you read.  Shit, it helps me at any rate.

“Oops, Oh My!”  Tweet
“Trippin’” Total
“I Like”  Kut Klose
“Funny How Time Flies” Janet Jackson
“Any Time, Any Place” Janet Jackson


I entered my apartment, exhausted.  After my unusual morning meeting, my day got
busy fast, in keeping with my normal schedule.  By day’s end, it would have felt like that surreal moment in time hadn’t taken place if I didn’t see him at the same restaurant where I normally ate lunch.  I was there first, waiting for a friend, when I saw him enter and taken to an available table.  He looked right at me and I met his gaze head on; what I am not is a punk.  Then I lowered my eyes to my salad and kept eating without sparing him so much as a glance.  Three minutes later, my friend showed up and then I didn’t spare him even a thought.

I was going to have to keep my eye on ____________.

I clicked on the stereo. Tweet’s “Oops, Oh My!” started playing and I smiled as I rubbed my neck.  I have very little patience with the music of now; I left my harmonic heart back in the 20th century and my many playlists and mashups were evidence.  I had a bottle of wine that I cracked open and poured a huge glass to sip on after I changed clothes.  My evenings typically were spent in melodious solitude, unless we happened to see each other, and then it wasn’t solitude.

I opened my closets and started taking off my clothes.  It was about seven in the evening and I was looking forward to relaxing.  In minutes, I was sporting a loose halter and a pair of old worn jeans.  I went back into my kitchen to get my wine and leaned up against the fridge as I took a long swallow.  ________ was in my mind; that wicked, sexy British accent did things to my spirit.  I forced myself to think of things other than his sleek good looks, his brashness, or the touch of his lips on the back of my hand.  I closed my eyes and took another gulp, trying to get it together.  He would not be a problem; this was not going to be a problem.  I don’t have men problems.

I heard a muffled thump! and looked over to the side.  A small smile broke over my lips as I cupped my wineglass and walked out of my apartment.  Ten steps later, I was opening his door and walking across his floor in my bare feet.  I heard him in the kitchen and I thought I’d wait for him to come out.  I took another sip of my excellent wine and ran my fingers through my hair.  I wore it down and completely free; my hair appointment was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.  If it got fucked up tonight because of our shared, secret chicanery, it would be absolutely no problem.

He also had his music on.  Total’s “Trippin’.”  I couldn’t help it; I started swaying my hips to the beat.  I mean, how do you not?

I hope you, that you been checkin’ me, I know what you talkin’ bout, you got me trippin’ on my own feet

I remember when this song came out in ’98, and I still jam to it this very day.  I closed my eyes and danced slowly, sipping my wine as Kima, Keisha & Pam sang about being open.  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when the song ended and Kut Klose’s “I Like” came on afterwards.  Some time ago, he asked me to make him a set of mixtapes of the music I loved, because he loved it too.  He also had a lot of music that I liked, but it was especially cute that he was listening to one of my mashups.

I like the way you tease me…I like the way you squeeze me…I like the way you touch me…I like the way you sex me

He came out of the kitchen in a wife beater and jeans.  His arm tats stood in stark relief against his much lighter skin. He was wearing his silver crucifix today.  In his hand was a bowl of enormous black grapes, and he was eating one with a toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth.  He looked at me, down and up, up and down, and a little smile curled his lips.  He came over to me, plucking a grape from the bowl.  It was shiny, round and plump…probably the fattest grape I’ve ever seen.  He held it to my lips and I took a bite of it.  The fruit burst in my mouth; juicier than grapes should be allowed to be and some of it ran over my lips.  He ran his thumb over them, wiping the juice away.  His index finger brushed across my bottom lip and I opened my mouth.  In another minute, I was sucking the juice off his fingers, unable to help myself.

Baby don’t hold back on me…give me everything you’ve got…I wanna give you all my lovin’…it will be good to the last drop...

“Don’t stop moving,” he said.

So I kept swaying my hips in time to the beat while he fed me another grape.  I slipped my finger in the loop of his jeans to bring him closer to me.  His finger traced my lips as I took my time savoring the fruit.  It slid tenderly over the heart of my upper lip and boldly over the fullness of my bottom one.  His eyes tracked the progress of his finger and there was a longing in them, a need, a risk.  I wondered if he was wondering what I’d wondered about his lips last night. 

We don’t kiss, you see.  We never have.  It’s like, a rule.

He set the bowl down on the table and took my wineglass from me.  He finished the last of it and set the glass next the bowl.  He allowed me to pull him closer so that our bodies touched, put his hands on my hips and began to move with me.  I put my arms around his neck and met his eyes.  He stared at me, lips parted as he rolled that toothpick from side to side.  His breath smelled of strawberries, of grapes, of sweet fruity goodness and his lips were damp from the liquid sugar.  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard as his hands gripped my ass.  We danced in time, in space, in sync, not missing a beat as Kut Klose gave way to Janet’s “Funny How Time Flies.”

Oh yes ma’am, he could dance.  Any and all bullshit surrounding those myths rolls downhill where he’s concerned.

Funny how time flies when you're having fun...

I caressed his face and then let my hands glide across that magnificent chest, over those sinful muscles, and down those washboard abs.  You just have to take time to give praise and worship when you are before masculine splendor.  I looked into his eyes as I unfastened his belt and pulled it out of the loops before carelessly tossing it behind us.  He gave that sexy little half-smile and rolled the toothpick as I unzipped his jeans.  He knew I couldn’t make my hands behave; that I couldn’t keep my fingers off him.  He grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms up and crossed them over my head. I gasped at the rough way he did it, but I wasn’t upset about it, not at all. He leaned his face close to mine and scraped that sexy-as-hell three-day growth against my cheek and everything in me seemed to liquefy.  Then he rubbed his nose against mine and gently slid that stubbly goodness across my lips and over my other cheek.

Don’t you ever leave…don’t you ever go…say you love me so…

If he didn’t stop, shit was going to get real. 

“Any Time, Any Place” came on.  If my girl Janet didn't put out a string of baby-makers, especially that one, then I don't know what the hell happened.

He released my wrists and stared at me.  His silver chain shone in the light.  His voice was low.  “Turn around.  Put that ass on me.”

I seductively side-eyed him and started dancing again.  I took two steps back, bumping into the table.  Not even missing a beat, he took two steps forward, put his hands on my waist and picked me up.  My breath caught between my teeth and I exhaled roughly when he sat me on the table.  I spread my knees so that he could get close to me.  He put his face by mine and used his beard to tease my cheeks, my nose, my lips, my forehead…and I couldn’t do a damn thing but let him.  His hands went under my top and began playing with my nipples.  I bit my lower lip and threw my arms around his neck.  Caught in the music emanating from both the speakers and our bodies, I was lost, but not so lost that I missed his barely-whispered question.  I pretended not to hear it and instead let my fingers drift over his shoulders, his arms, and to his unfastened jeans. 

Once again he grabbed my hands and this time pushed me down so that I lay on his dining room table.  Then all my poor fingers could manage after that was to entwine in his hair.  He rubbed his facial hair over my belly, my chest, and my breasts.  This man was literally seducing me with his beard and I, boss chick that I am, was rendered completely useless.  My skin is sensitive and it felt marvelous when he used it on me.  He unfastened my jeans and unzipped them, and I tensed the tiniest bit.  Not that I was worried about him seeing the ol’girl; he saw her regularly.  But we weren’t in his bathroom, and there were rules to our dynamic.

“Relax,” he said.

I turned into a quivering mass of nerve endings when he brushed his face over my navel just before sticking his tongue in it. He slid his hands back under my utterly useless halter and began pinching my nipples with a sinful sweet pain, in time to the laving of my navel.  What was he doing to me?  And why here?  Our thing was a bathroom thing…and what...the...hell...

“Relax,” he commanded.  He slipped his fingers in the waistband of my jeans and in two hot seconds, my jeans went flying across the room.  Before I could respond, he ordered me to relax once more and when I felt…that…beard…on the insides of my thighs…

Jeeee…sus,” I said, my breath tumbling out of me in wheezy little spurts.

He stood up, my legs in his hands.  Casually, he tossed one over his shoulder and began to administer the same care to it, moving over my thigh and knee, down my calf and over the top of my foot.  His fingers massaged gently as he kissed each of my toes.  I banged my head against the table, eyes closed as my body left my control and went promptly to his.  He gave my other leg equal loving attention and by the time he was done, I secretly wanted to break all of our unspoken rules. I could not let it show; couldn’t let him see even a hint of need or wanting on my part.  Just couldn’t do it.

I don’t want to stop just because…you feel so good inside my love…I’m not gonna stop, no no no…

He sat me up and we touched foreheads.  I was quietly trembling and once again, he played with my mouth.  But this time, he went about it differently.  He put the tip of his finger in his mouth and sucked on it before tracing my lips with it.  I put my hands around the back of his neck and closed my eyes, not wanting to betray myself.  I was a disciplined woman; every aspect of my life was controlled by me and me alone.  There was a tremor in the foundation of our connection and I couldn’t let it turn into a full-blown earthquake.  He wet his finger again and circled my lips and it was at that point that I knew I had to leave.

"Where are you going?"


  1. Wait, wait, wait.... Is the guy next door also British?

  2. *chuckles* Perhaps, but he was raised a certain way.

  3. “Turn around. Put that ass on me.”

    Me: Umm..Okay big daddy.

    Nothing like a deep voice in your ear talking dirty, always gives me goosebumps. LOL Not knowing the names yet doesn't bother me, it adds that mysterious edge to the men.

    Amaya we need to talk about doing a master playlist of music, got me in my feels.

    1. GIrl, who you tellin? I imagined Mr. Hardy saying those exact words in his "Warrior" voice and had to take a moment to get right with God.

      I'll embed the playlist in the next post. It's not complete, tho.

    2. Really? I heard that line in his regular voice.

      Damn it, Amaya....

  4. It works either way, methinks.

    There's a bit of a grate to his voice that comes out no matter what kind of accent he's using. I have both versions in my head as I write his dialogue and I can hear it either way. But certain things he says are best read as Warrior!Hardy!

    Lord, twins!!!


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