2005 Golden Orgasm Award: Third Place Best Other Fest Story


Intermezzo Kiss


Acidqueen  <a.q at gmx.de>


Series: TOS
Rating: NC-17; warning: I tried to write poetically.
Codes: K/Mc
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my brain. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Archive: KMF, My own website at
http://www.syredronning.de , ASCEM, all others ask, please.
Author's Note: Part of my K/Mc series. See wave 1 and 2
Acknowledgement: Many thanks to K'Chaps for the beta! All remaining errors are mine.
Summary: See title.



Normally, they didn't kiss a lot. There wasn't a specific reason for it, and it never seemed important enough to muse or even talk about it; but it was just that they both liked to kiss women and rather did something else when they were together. But this night, it was different. Maybe because their arousal built over the long evening, spent with some buddies and a bottle of whiskey. They sat side by side, but after a while, they had to changed places because it felt too good and stimulating. It didn't prevent the eye contact, the unvoiced question - "your place or mine?"- the half-serious grins when the round began telling dirty jokes. Finally they left, not drunk but with just the right level of alcohol to feel elated and relaxed, carefree and very much alive.

And so they kissed tonight like they rarely kissed, mouths open, their tongues sparring, tasting each other to the fullest. Body pressed on body and together pressed back on the wall next to the closed door; lips pressed on lips as if wanting to drink each other.

A surgeon's hands delved under a shirt, fingertips danced over naked skin, tracing the ribs and muscles. Finally finding nipples, raking over them, pulling them softly. Teasing and arousing them until they turned hard, erect and hungry for more. Another pair of hands found a similar goal, doing likewise. Mirrored movements, mirrored lust. In two bodies, burning flows of energy pooling in groins, hard bulges pressing against each other.

But lips barely parted from lips, tongues still met, got caught and escaped; tried to hunt each other in the depths and saw daylight when they struggled to lick over lips. Moans mixed, moans traveled back and forth with every hard breath, every intake of air. Teeth etched over softness, leaving traces.

Fingers retracted, leaving stimulated, blood-filled nipples to the mercy of rough fabric. Wandered down and opened zippers, shoved all wrappings away without regard for material loss. Two pair of hands split up to divide and conquer, circling around erections and gripping muscular butts, trying to leave imprints.

But mouths still kissed, abraded by now, swollen; wetness above upper lips, sweat to be licked away, tasty saltiness. Tongues once again attempted copulation like tired dancers, unwilling to stop halfway through, craving a last pas de deux.

Two bodies moved to the bed in unsteady circles and parted, rearranging; tongue met erection, mouth closed over hardness, watery wetness exchanged for slicker grounds. Lips worked over rough surfaces, moans damped by fullness; hips rocked in subdued rhythm, finally unable to hold back. Mouths drank from the source, swallowing each other's essence. Bodies slacked and rearranged again, chest to chest and mouth to mouth, allowing swollen lips to hug each other once more, sweet hurt in the taste, before their owners fell asleep.

Tomorrow, maybe they would kiss again.