Character: Hikaru Sulu
Fandom: Star Trek: 2009-2013
OC: Clara Baker, Starfleet medic, long legs, wears glasses
Inspiration: Clara notices that Hikaru is hurt and takes matters into her own hands~
Clara found herself admiring Hikaru Sulu on more than one occasion. Not everyone could pilot a ship as large as the Enterprise and have so many other fine qualities to boot. (Fighting skills, an easy personality, and gorgeous physical attributes to name only three.) And yet he had one major flaw as well: Hikaru Sulu would not admit he was hurt even if his arm was half severed from the rest of his body. It drove Clara crazy.
"That needs stitches, you know," she said dryly, having encountered him in the halls near the medic bay. (Probably hurrying off to the bridge before anyone could intercede.) She noticed how his eyes closed briefly, like he was trying to calm down at having gotten caught, and rolled her eyes. "It'll scar if you don't get it treated," she tried again, hoping he would see sense and turn around on his own accord. He didn't. She couldn’t say that she was surprised.
"Oh for God's sake," she muttered, tossing her clipboard onto a nearby metal table and then reached for his arm. She clutched it tightly and sent him a withering stare when he tried to immediately pull away. "I have to get back to the bridge," he argued, looking helplessly toward the lift on the other side of the hallway. "I can get it fixed up later - I really have to go - " But his words had zero effect on Clara. She only dragged him along and then shuffled through her pocket before pulling out her ID card and waving it in front of what must have been her personal room. Hikaru opened his mouth in surprise but then he was being forced inside and the door was closing.
"Sit down," Clara nodded at the chair by her desk. He sullenly drifted over to it, peering around the room like it was a prison and he its captor. He sat down and watched the normally shy and quiet young woman pull out a medic box from her closet. He hardly had time to wonder at her before Clara was stepping towards him and pulling herself up onto the desk. It was such an unexpected move that Hikaru stared wide eyed and she chuckled a little.
"What?" she asked lightly, opening the box and looking through it. She seemed to give no mind at all to the rather precarious position they were in, and certainly not to the reactions that Hikaru was struggling with as a result. Clara glanced up at him and then leaned forward. She reached out for his face, and her fingers were so gentle that Hikaru had to remind himself that she was acting as his doctor right now, not his lover. Never his lover. She murmured a soft, "Six or seven stitches, I think," that wavered right over his mouth and made it dry. And then she pulled back and the torture began.
It didn't last long, though. Clara was as gentle in administering treatment as she was in conversation and everything else she did. She worked with quick, fast fingers and was finished before Hikaru even knew it was over. And yet even though stitches were slightly painful, he didn't want it to stop. Didn't want those lover's fingers to stop tilting his chin back, rubbing soothing circles beneath his eye and along the crease of his hairline.
Clara nodded at her work and smiled softly, "That wasn't so terrible, was it?" He watched with dark eyes as she began putting her equipment away. She closed the box, turned back to him, and seemed to suddenly notice the way she was hovering over him, with one foot pressed against his outer thigh to hold up her weight. That he was enjoyed to see the slight blush of her cheeks was an understatement if ever there was one.
