#3. To Reach This Season
Star Trek fan fiction predates the invention of the Internet, and erotic Star Trek fan fiction predates the invention of shame. In To Reach This Season, Kirk, Spock, and Dr. McCoy learn the value of religious tolerance, and also Spock and McCoy are totally doing it. Don't worry, you don't have to be tolerant of that part.
Spock was stepping out of his sonic shower when he realized that Dr. McCoy had let himself into the room. Not only that, but the doctor was lounging on Spock's bunk, raising his eyebrows appreciatively at the sight that greeted him.
"You didn't have to put that robe on for my sake," the doctor informed him, his blue eyes dancing with delight.
"But we really should stop these Nazi-themed orgies."
McCoy is upset that Spock won't celebrate Hanukkah (Spock is half-human) and go to the Enterprise's holiday party, because it seems even futuristic spaceships can't escape tedious staff functions. When his initial protest of sulking like a teenager doesn't get results, the lovers and their captain discuss the merits of religious tolerance and the difficulty of growing up with a mixed heritage, just like you always talk about with your boss. There's plenty of TLC mixed in for good measure.
"Come'ere you overgrown elf."
Spock complied by taking a seat on the bunk and leaning against the wall as he wrapped his arms around his mate. He allowed his robe to fall open somewhat, so that the human could rest his head against Spock's bare shoulder and snuggle against his skin.
"I want you to do that Vulcan hand thing ON MY BUTT."
It's not unusual for a Star Trek fanfic to feature McCoy and Spock as tender lovers, despite that being about as in-character as Fred Flintstone becoming a serial arsonist. The fact that Scotty doesn't burst into the room to "activate their warp drives" actually makes this pretty tame. No, what's strange is that the romance is there at all. In the grand tradition of Star Trek's ham-handedness, the story tries to teach us A Very Important Lesson ...
"Hey Jim," Bones called out from his seat, "what's that famous Jewish prayer? The one that's thankful that we all made it to this moment alive?"
Spock cocked his head at him. "I believe that is the gist of the Shehecheyanu."
... but it's worried that we won't pay attention if it doesn't hint at some interspecies ramrodding.
I'll say amen to that," Bones said.
"As will I," Spock added, looking fondly at his lover despite his Vulcan austerity.
To be fair, I did learn a couple of things. It's just that I'll never be able to think about Hanukkah again without picturing McCoy teaching Spock the real reason his nickname is Bones.
"It's because it's what I do. I bones. I bones my boner into you." -Bones
Let's move on to Star Trek: Voyager. Voyager was often written like bad fan fiction, so how much worse could an actual fanfic get? In Reclamation, Captain Janeway is now Admiral Janeway, and her lover, Seven of Nine, is sciencing shit up.
Her invention of the Hansen Processor and her highly buffered interface protocols for CPU/deflector arrays had made the development of a working quantum slipstream drive possible for the first time. Thanks to the foresight of the director of MIT-Daystrom and Gretchen's financial advisers, Seven was now one of the wealthiest beings in the galaxy.
That's some impressive technobabble, but the author is forgetting that money no longer exists in Star Trek. How can I expect them to write a decent lesbian romance if they can't even get that basic fact right? Excuse me while I snort in derision and push my glasses up my nose.
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If there are two things I'm an expert on, it's Star Trek and having sex with girls.
Janeway's obsession with her work is destroying their relationship, but the ghost of Janeway's dad arrives to save her. He tells her that three "non-corporal beings" are going to visit her. Spoooooooky.
"D-Daddy?" How ... what the hell? "I ... I ... Daddy, what's going on here?"
"I can't tell you that, Kathryn. Let's just say I begged for a really big favor, and it was granted in the spirit of Christmas. Any more than that is classified far above your pay grade, I'm afraid."
The Non-Corporal Being of Christmas Past takes Janeway back to her childhood, where her dad leaves on Christmas morning to go help prevent intergalactic wars. That makes his family sad, because I'm sure they'd be much happier if he took the day off and they all died in a nuclear apocalypse a month later. The ghost also takes Janeway back to when she and Seven fucked under Janeway's mom's Christmas tree, because hey, ghosts get horny.
Admiral Janeway's heart did a flip-flop. How can she make a tritanium alloy implant so damn sexy?
Is that a disturbing reminder of your horrific cybernetic enslavement on your face, or are you just happy to see me?
Christmas Future shows Seven at a party celebrating her latest professional accomplishment, where she meets and then sleeps with a new beau in scene after scene that filthy Japanese pornography would consider excessive. Wait, so Janeway gets shit for working hard, but when Seven does it, she's rewarded with tantric lesbian lovemaking?
"So if I were to do this, you would respond?" Seven leaned down and took the head of the device in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip as she did so.
To be fair, Tiny Tim has the same scene in the original Dickens. Anyway, Janeway sees the error of having a career, resigns as admiral, and rushes home to propose to Seven. She apologizes for being an idiot, because only a total bitch of a woman would want to advance in her profession and prevent war from erupting throughout the civilized universe. And thus Janeway's dad is finally able to depart, after noting that the couple "had been making love all night." Apparently the only thing that kept his spirit tied to the mortal coil was his daughter's sex life.
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"Happy raging, incestuous ghost boner. Happy raging, incestuous ghost boner, everyone."
#1. Christmas in Albuquerque
Sony Pictures Television
If there's one objection I had to the Breaking Bad finale, it's that Walt and Jesse never acted on their obvious sexual tension. Thankfully, a fanfic writer corrected Vince Gilligan's oversight.
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"What if the secret ingredient in their meth recipe was ... love?"
Our story begins with Jesse celebrating Christmas the same way I do: eating potato chips, getting drunk, passing out, and dreaming about all the bad decisions that led to this point.
God, why are you doing this to yourself?
Because he deserved it. If nothing else proved it, the fact that he was alone on Christmas did. Who else besides assholes spent fucking Christmas by themselves drinking in their living rooms? And if that wasn't bad enough he was pitying himself at the same time. Feeling sorry for the sack of shit he had allowed himself to become instead of making any real effort to do anything about it.
So far it looks like this is only going to be erotic to people who got off to Requiem for a Dream. But then Walter White comes over, and the scene gets ... better? No, wait, it's worse. Much, much worse.
He could still feel the blood and he could still smell the vomit, but all he could see was Walt. "What are you doing here?" he asked, completely ignoring the obvious shock and worry on the deep lines of Walt's face, and the way his eyes widened behind his glasses. "Is that a present?"
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"That's right. Come get it, big guy."
Walt helps Jesse recover from his bender, they have a petty argument, and then Jesse moves in for a kiss, because nothing gets a 20-something borderline methhead's engine running like a splitting headache, a spat with an out-of-shape middle-aged man who dresses like he's practicing for the retirement home, and existential despair. And, well, you know how things tend to go from there.
He could hear Walt unscrewing the lid to something that was probably Vaseline and then the man was between his legs, on top of him, and he smothered him with another harsh kiss before he pushed in and that was good for when Jesse screamed against his lips because holy sweet jesus fucking christ it was in.
Sony Pictures Television
So really, Walt should have been behind Jesse in all those promo images.
Jesse is still wasted, by the way, so add rape to all the things wrong with this. Walt stays the night to cuddle, and in the morning we switch to his point of view as he analyzes his actions with more depth than he gave to anything he did in the show. His conclusion is that they should have sex again, and so the pair begin a flirt-fight-fuck cycle that's as unyielding as the circle of life.
"Shut the fuck up, Mr. White."
Aside from all the boning, the author does a surprisingly good job of keeping Walt and Jesse in character, but that just makes it even more uncomfortable. They know the scenario is awkward and absurd and yet they plow ahead anyway, because dammit, nothing is going to stop Jesse Pinkman from getting some sloppy bear action.
As 2013 draws to a close, be sure to check out Cracked's year in review because, well, we know you don't remember it half as well as you think.