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"Captain! Come play with us," Tilly called, catching Pike's attention from where he stood in conversation at the bar. The party was past full swing, edging into drunken-poor-decision territory, most crewmembers already gone to their beds.
If only Michael were one of them.
But no, Tilly had insisted she come, insisted she wear this uselessly revealing dress, insisted she stay and be sociable. Like a real human person, she'd said, eyelashes batting. Guilted, really.
And now Pike would be witness to it all. Just great.
Pike took in their little group, striking in the civilian clothes he'd chosen for the party—a steel grey sweater and dark pants, the most casual Michael had ever seen him. He smiled a little and headed for them, a glass of something amber in hand.
As he arrived his eyes swept the group—Michael, Tilly, Detmer, Owo, Nhan, Bryce, and Rhys—all in various states of obvious inebriation, and smiled deeper as he sat on one of the couches. "Here's a group of troublemakers."
"More like intoxicated children playing games that are beneath the dignity of Starfleet. You should pull rank and retreat," Michael informed him seriously.
"That's a party foul. Drink," Tilly ordered, snapping her fingers at Michael imperiously.
Michael sighed and took a sip of the third drink Tilly had foisted upon her. It was mostly gone by now.
Pike raised an eyebrow. "Party foul?"
"Every time Michael insults the fun, she has to take a drink. I'm waiting to hit the inflection point where she stops hating on the fun, but clearly we have miles to go."
"That doesn't even make sense," Michael shot back.
"Ah ah. Drink!" Tilly pointed.
Michael sighed and did, Pike laughing low, like this delighted him. "What are you playing, anyway?"
"Truth or Dare!" Tilly cried, like this was the best news. "And you're joining us. Right guys?" She played to the others, looking at them pointedly, everyone catching on after a beat, nodding and voicing agreement.
"Run while you can," Michael deadpanned, getting a quick grin from Pike. She took a drink before Tilly could snap her fingers again.
Pike considered them all, thinking it over. After a beat, he looked to them seriously: "Nothing classified."
The group grinned, Tilly actually flicking her hand dismissively at him. "As if we care about the classified shit." Then she turned to Michael. "Since you're so enthused, truth or dare, Michael?"
The gleam in her eyes meant nothing good. "Dare," Michael decided, knowing Tilly wouldn't try to humiliate her too badly.
Her gaze flicked to Pike, then back again, mischievous. "I dare you to go snuggle up with the captain for the rest of the game."
Michael startled, her eyes flying over to Pike, who just laughed like it was no big deal. She looked to Tilly again. "You're joking."
"Super not," Tilly chirped, taking a sip of her neon pink drink. "Go on."
Michael looked to Pike again, who was still smiling slightly. "Come on, Burnham. There's room." He patted the couch next to him once, nothing but welcome in him.
"I fail to see the point of this," she muttered as she stood, gathering the long maroon dress around her.
"Drink!" Tilly said. "And fun, Michael. The point is fun," Tilly called after her as she carefully perched next to Pike. She jumped a little when he shifted closer, wrapping a strong arm around her suddenly too-bare shoulders and pulling her in until her cheek rested against his sweater.
It was surprisingly soft.
Michael held herself still, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen to happen...but nothing did. The others snickered at her, but quickly moved on, looking to Owo as she challenged Detmer to down an entire bottle of the Tellarite whisky she so hated.
Michael couldn't focus on their antics, her senses hyper-aware of all the places she and Pike touched—how she could feel the solid strength of him against her, hear his reassuringly steady heartbeat, feel his chest moving as he breathed in, slow and easy. His hand rested against her side, fingertips pressing into the maroon stitching of the dress.
After another moment, Pike moved his hand from her side to the bare expanse of her back—she was sincerely regretting letting Tilly talk her into a backless dress because at least it didn't show cleavage—and slowly stroked up and then down. His touch on bare skin sent bursts of heat screaming through her, even as he rested his chin against her head, saying low: "It's okay, Michael. Breathe."
She did, letting out a shaky breath she hadn't known she was holding, sinking further against him as her muscles untensed. Pike made a rumbling, pleased noise against her, something just between the two of them, and the sheer intimacy of it shot straight through her, Michael flushing as heat followed in its wake.
This was what Tilly had wanted, always gently teasing Michael about how she watched Pike. Of course she'd take the opportunity to...push. And now here she was, wrapped around the captain like that was at all appropriate.
Though, oddly, no one else seemed to treat it as anything weird. Her immediate group basically ignored them in favor of Detmer's chugging and the other scattered crewmembers in the lounge were involved in their own late-night dramas.
Michael shifted against Pike, something uncomfortable slipping through her at the idea that it wasn't a big deal. In response, Pike made a low, curious noise. She stilled and looked up, meeting his eyes. "Why are you putting up with this?" she asked, unable to help herself.
"You kidding? This is shaping up to be one of my favorite nights here," he murmured back, eyes holding hers, some deeper meaning there she didn't understand.
"Oh, look, it's the captain's turn," Tilly said brightly, like everything was coming up roses in her world right now.
Pike looked over at Tilly, breaking the moment, and Michael returned her head to his chest, shaken without quite knowing why. She couldn't see him like this, but she could still hear the smile in his voice as he said, "And I believe Rhys is doing the asking."
Rhys' eyes flew from Pike to Tilly and back again. "I relinquish my turn to Tilly."
Tilly grinned. "Oh, you are getting a reward for that later," she said, the sensual note to it making Michael flush. Or maybe it was from Pike's solid warmth against her, his hand still stroking her back. Either way, she couldn't help the heat working its way through her body. It was distracting.
"Traitor," Pike groused, but his voice was still amused.
Rhys looked to him, eyes a little apologetic. "I know who butters my bread, sir."
Pike's chest hitched as he laughed, once. "Fair enough. Ensign," he said to Tilly in invitation.
She steepled her fingers and studied him intently. "Truth or dare, sir?"
"Truth."
Tilly cocked her head, red hair falling over her cheek artfully. "Did you and Cornwell used to bang?"
They all took a collective breath and stared at Tilly, shocked at her gall. Michael couldn't believe she'd gone there—asking about his sex life—and with the Admiral?
A frisson of arousal shot through her, the image coming unbidden—Cornwell shoving Pike back against his desk, face stern, but eyes playful. Somehow Michael was sure Cornwell would have been the aggressor.
But no. She shouldn't be thinking about that.
As the others stared, Pike just laughed again, deeper this time, like he was charmed. His hand didn't even pause in its circuit of her back. "You could ask anything and that's what you want to know?"
"No one talks back to Cornwell like you. I'm just wondering what I have to do to get the same leeway."
"By all means, seduce the Admiralty," Pike drawled
"Is that dodging the question I hear?"
Pike made an affronted noise, which vibrated through Michael's cheek, hitting her somewhere low. "Kat and I had a brief dalliance when we served together on the Antares," he said, easy as anything, like relaying one's sexual history wasn't a total invasion of privacy.
"I knew it!" Tilly crowed. "I bet you two were so hot together."
"Tilly," Michael chastised, wanting to move away from this topic. From thinking about who Pike was with. And who he wasn't.
"What? I'm objectively correct here," Tilly protested, oh-so-innocent, but Michael knew all about Tilly's ulterior motives. She wasn't being subtle here—throwing Michael into Pike's arms, asking about his sex life. Why did she always have to push?
Detmer kind of swayed and then nodded. "Girl's got a point."
Owo looked to the rest of them. "Is it wrong to be considering the sex lives of the Admiralty?"
"No," Nhan answered just as Rhys said, "Yeah, please, can we not?"
Pike huffed a laugh. "I'm with Rhys. Next?" Michael felt Pike turn to look at Bryce on the nearby loveseat.
Bryce's eyes widened. "Uhh, no offense, sir, but Tilly's on a roll here, so I'm giving my turn up to her."
"This is my favorite game," Tilly said seriously. Even Michael laughed at that.
Pike waved a lazy hand in the air, like he knew what was coming. "Your floor, Ensign."
"Truth or dare, Captain?" she shot back, a little glee in her now.
"Why ruin a good thing? Truth," he said, hand still stroking up and down Michael's back.
Tilly practically vibrated with energy. "What's your favorite sexual position?"
"Tilly!" Michael protested instantly, irritation flaring. This was enough.
"Cunnilingus," Pike replied without missing a beat. Heat swept Michael as that image flared—Pike sliding off the couch, down to his knees, blue eyes on hers as he parted her legs and pushed her dress up, making room for himself.
Tilly ignored Michael and scoffed at him. "Bullshit. You are so—besides, that's a sexual act, not a position."
"This is completely unprofessional," Michael said, trying to tamp down on her own response, trying to shake the image of Pike looking up at her, lips red and wet.
"Well, it's not Truth or Dare until you get into the invasive sex shit," Detmer said, slurring a little from the whisky. The others nodded, like it was generally agreed-upon wisdom.
Not Tilly. She was still focused on Pike, whose hand hadn't stopped running up and down Michael's back, making her maddeningly aware of her body. Of the heat pulsing within her. "You think I'm lying, Ensign?" he asked, mild.
Tilly narrowed her eyes and turned to Nhan. "Is he for real right now?"
The corners of Nhan's lips curved slightly. "I've heard rumors."
"And now I know what my question is gonna be," Pike shot back, warmth in his tone.
"Oh, I'd tell you without the game," she parried back. Then she looked at Tilly. "The captain has a reputation for being both generous and oddly celibate."
"That's not contradictory at all," Tilly muttered.
"And odd given that the vast majority of his crew would roll over in a heartbeat. All he'd have to do is point."
Pike's hand stilled as he shifted underneath Michael, the first indication that he was at all uncomfortable. "That's a bit of an overstatement."
Nhan pinned him with a solemn look. "I have literally heard straight men say they would go gay for you."
"Hot," Detmer offered.
Michael could see the moment Tilly went with it, nodding at Pike. "I've decided I'm going to believe it purely because I want it to be true. Captain Pike, King of Cunnilingus. I hope you realize this is your new nickname."
Pike started moving his hand along Michael's back again, voice meditative. "There are worse things to be known for." Despite the earlier hitch, he was back to being unbothered, something Michael couldn't imagine after all that.
"Oh, hey, my turn!" Detmer said brightly. She looked to Tilly. "No, you don't get mine." Then she turned to Owo. "Someone deserves some payback."
Their antics faded to the background as Michael self-assessed, her irritation with Tilly draining away against her will, the heat still spiking under her skin. She knew Tilly meant well, trying to shove them into each other. She knew that. It was just so...destabilizing.
Michael wondered what Pike must think. He was not an oblivious man; he had to know something was behind this little display. But he gave nothing away, his body loose and relaxed against her. His hand ran up and down her back, slowly, inexorably, something soothing about it even though Michael knew she shouldn't fall into it. He was her captain after all. She should keep her guard up.
The problem was...she didn't want to.
So she gave in, eyes getting heavier by degrees, mind drifting, voices and laughter rising and falling in the background. At one point she heard a muffled, "Michael," but then more sound rumbled in her ear. "Looks like you found your inflection point, Ensign."
Michael couldn't parse it, too far under. It was like she was weightless, floating in some other world, half-remembered but wholly safe. Eventually she landed, coming back to something soft underneath her—a bed?—that warmth fading away.
Michael reached for it, wanting it back, never to go, hands curling in clouds, the warmth intensifying again. "Michael," she heard again, this time a pleading note to it.
But she just held on, refusing to relinquish her grasp of this thing she couldn't name, but that she wanted to live in.
A rush of breath and the warmth settled around her again, solidifying, but no less comforting for it. Michael relaxed into it, hearing the content noise she made, getting an indulgent rumble in response. "Sleep, Michael."
Then she knew no more.
***
Michael's eyes fluttered open slowly, her vision blurry, confusion swamping her. Memories of the night came in flashes—drinking, Tilly holding court, laughter. She breathed in, trying to focus—
And she stilled, hit with a sense memory so strong it nearly stole her breath. She knew that scent. That was Pike, familiar after breathing him in all night. Sensory information slammed into her—the softness against her cheek wasn't a pillow; it was his chest, rhythmically moving up and down. The warmth around her wasn't the blankets; it was him, lying underneath her, Michael somehow still wrapped around him even though she could now see they were in her quarters.
"Back with us?" he said, soft, the words vibrating through her.
Michael stiffened and looked up, meeting his eyes, blue and awake and here.
"How—how did we get here?" she asked, the disorientation swirling through her.
"You fell asleep during the game. I carried you back, but you were disinclined to let me leave."
"You carried me—" Michael broke off as she pictured it, Pike cradling her as he carried her through the halls. Everyone would have seen. Everyone would know that he'd taken her to her quarters.
Abruptly she looked down, clocking that they were both clothed and above the covers. Relief crashed down on her. The tiny thread of disappointment that came with it? Well, that—
That was beneath both of them. Pike would never—and she wouldn't want anything to happen like that anyway. Even if she did have to admit she wanted something to happen.
She just didn't know what he wanted.
"Dammit, Tilly," she muttered, her head pounding, too many thoughts after too much alcohol, the last vestige of her denial slipping away. It had been easier to just ignore this. Him.
Pike huffed a laugh, sympathetic. "That about sums it up." His hand rubbed down her back, just like he'd done all night. Michael couldn't help but shiver and relax down into him, resting her cheek against the soft material of his sweater, marveling at the contentment such a simple thing inspired.
"I'm sorry about her," Michael said into his chest, somehow easier that way.
"No need for you to apologize," he said, amusement in his voice again. "Tilly marches to the beat of her own drum."
Michael nodded a little. But still. "She was playing notes on a certain theme, I think."
Pike hmmed. "I noticed that. Needling you, I presume."
"She means well."
"I never doubt it," he said, certainty in his voice. Michael waited for the inevitable question—
Instead, silence settled around them, Pike sighing contentedly, rubbing her back like they had all the time in the universe. And then it hit her: unlike Tilly, Pike wasn't pushing. He had every reason to press, to ask why Tilly had thrown Michael at him, had zeroed in on his sex life...but he didn't. He just breathed and rubbed her back and stayed.
Michael wished she knew what that meant.
"You didn't have to stay," she finally said, wondering if he could hear the reluctance in her voice.
"You seemed like you needed the sleep."
"I think you're beyond the call of duty here."
"No, this isn't a duty," he agreed, maddeningly neutral. Then he shifted, sliding down so that he could face her. His arm stayed in place, holding her warm and close. "Truth or dare, Michael," he rumbled, something inscrutable in his expression.
She met his eyes, not understanding the look there, what any of this meant. "Truth," she said, lost.
"Has anyone ever held you like this?" he asked, his arm tightening around her slightly, a reminder of their position—overwhelmingly intimate but not sexual. At least, not in a way Michael had ever experienced.
"No," she breathed.
Pike nodded and stroked his hand up her back, to her neck, fingers moving over to cup her cheek. The touch was simple, feather-light, and yet it still caught her breath. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, sleepy and so blue, but trained on her like she was all he wanted to see. "Their loss," he finally said, stroking his thumb over her cheek, just once.
Then the corners of his lips curved up and he pulled away, shifting back and getting to his feet. His clothes were creased and rumpled, hair askew. He looked muzzy and soft, but even still he never seemed to lose the air of command. "I'll let you get ready for shift."
With one last smile, he was gone. And Michael was alone. Reeling.
***
Fin. Feedback is adored.