A/N: anyway the great animal cracker debate of the twenty-third century is my favorite part of this
You stared at the door and waited the polite amount of time.
Well, the polite amount of time for you— which was just the thirty seconds after you’d finished knocking.
You entered the code you’d memorized months ago against the control pad you used to struggle with when your friendship with Jim was new, and the door slid open easily. With a sigh and a clearing of your throat, you entered the dim quarters and replicated a cup of coffee for yourself— after all, his replicator was the best one on board.
Piping pastel yellow mug in hand, you took long steps to his bed. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine! Lights at fifty-percent,” you added, laughing when Jim groaned loudly and pulled his plain white comforter over his head as the lighting increased.
You pulled gently on the few strands of blonde hair that managed to peek out from above the edge of the comforter. You then tugged on the covers a bit, exposing everything above his nose. Your fingers moved from his hair to his high cheekbone, sweeping your thumb across his skin only to move a little lower to pinch the fleshier part of his cheek with force.
He hissed loudly and slapped your hand away, sitting up immediately. He placed his hand against the flushed skin and grimaced at you. “What the hell? It’s a day off!”
You hummed, holding out the cup of coffee to him. “Your voice is sexy when you’ve just woken up. All that rasp, that depth.”
“My voice is always sexy,” he mumbled, taking the cup and smirking as he brought the mug to his lips. Once he swallowed and gave the coffee back, he sighed to lean back against his headboard. “You better have a good reason for waking me up on a day I planned to sleep through.”
You bit down on your bottom lip and pushed up the sleeves of the black t-shirt you wore. “I do. So Chekov and I spent the whole night researching this television series from, like, the early twenty-first century. It’s about these residents at this one hospital, and they all tend to sleep with one another more than work on patients, and it’s so absurd,” you laughed, rolling your eyes to yourself. “Pash and I spent the whole night watching episode, after episode, after episode and it’s strangely addictive and I’m weirdly invested—”
“Is that my shirt?”
You hummed questioningly, looking down at yourself. “Oh. Yeah, it is. Anyway, the doctors—”
“Do you not own any clothes of your own?” His eyebrows were together, his head tilted, his lips fallen into a frown. His volume had increased by the time he stated with a scoff of frustration, “You don’t even ask anymore.”
Your own eyebrows came together. “Jim, —”
“It’s not like we’re having sex, or dating, or something,” he continued, shaking his head. “You should ask.”
“Okay,” you said, your eyebrows now raised. “I’ll ask from now on. I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I won’t do it anymore.”
He sighed loudly. “No, I want you to wear my shirts,” he told you, his volume still just as high.
“Is your goal to confuse me?”
He sighed again. “I want you to wear them after you sleep here, after you spend the night with me. I want you to wake me up as annoyingly as you do and I want it every single morning. I want all of that. Do you—” he sighed heavily. “Starlight, do you not see it?”
“Well, don’t yell at me about it,” you replied softly. You waited a few seconds before setting the coffee down onto the floor and kneeling on the bed.
You shifted so you were knelt before him, moving your knees to be on either side of him so you could straddle his lap. You pressed your lips to his briefly tasting coffee on him and sighing at the feeling of finally in your veins.
As you broke the kiss and he leaned forward to follow your lips, you offered him a small smile and placed a hand on his chest, drumming your fingers against the thin t-shirt he wore. “Ask me out nicely, don’t fight with me about it, and I might say yes.”