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Trouble with Jim

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Title: Trouble With Jim
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sulu/Kirk, Reboot
Disclaimer: STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. I do not own Star Trek in any way and I’m making no money at all from this piece of writing.
Summary: After a mission gone bad, Sulu picks up the pieces.
Warnings (if any): Spanking
Author's/artist's notes (if any): Originally written for the for . Another new pairing for me, but it was super fun writing it!


The problem with Jim Kirk was that he didn't know the meaning of failure. He may have matured over the past three years, and damn if he wasn't the finest Captain in the Fleet, but deep down he was still the same confident son of a bitch who hacked into the Academy's computers and beat the Kobayashi Maru. Sure, it came in handy to know that when the crew of the Enterprise was facing certain death, their captain would save the day with nothing but a smile, a ball of twine and a razor blade, but for the most part, the Captain's inability to accept failure as an option was more trouble than it was worth.

Hikaru really wished he'd made up the thing with the twine, but oh no. That particular mishap had happened three months into their five year mission. His body hair hadn't grown back for a month, and had itched like hell until then. He didn't even want to think about the toupee situation. And he still didn't know why they'd needed the twine. True story.

It was supposed to be a simple mission: beam down planet-side, shake some hands, kiss some babies, and come back with a rare flower grown only on this particular planet that Doctor McCoy needed for some new flu vaccine that was crippling the crew. However, after three (long) years as the Enterprise's pilot, resident botanist, and Kirk's go-to guy when there were swords (or sex) in the equation, Hikaru should have been prepared for any eventuality.

For this particular mission, neither swords nor sex had been needed. Hikaru wasn't even supposed to have been on the away team (and when they got back, he was sure Spock would have Lecture Number 118,273 on the reasons lovers shouldn't go on away missions together), but at the last minute Chekov and Uhura had come down with the flu that had more than half the crew and Spock on bed rest, and the other half working double time. With Sulu being the only qualified botanist unaffected by the virus, Kirk being Kirk, and Spock needed to assist McCoy in the preparation for the vaccine; the two of them had beamed down for what should have been a simple diplomatic exchange of resources.

It happened like this: One minute Hikaru was playing Hand Gestures with the tribe Healer, and the next he was running for his life. He'd been explaining which flower it was they needed and orchestrating the exchange, not all that simple when there was no common language between them and the natives. The Healer was all smiles and big teeth, nodding enthusiastically and her assistants were shoving flowers in hand woven baskets into his arms. He'd just about been ready to pat himself on the back for a mission well done, when everything went to hell.

He wondered what it said about him that he could still be surprised when everything got fucked. And not in the good 'let's try something new tonight Sulu, I have handcuffs and flavored lube' sort of way.


"Mr. Scott, beam us up," Kirk shouted, phaser blasting at the ground by the hostile's feet. They didn't want to hurt the natives, though they weren't getting the same courtesy in return.

"Jim, what the hell did you say to the Mayor's wife?"

"I think I complimented her breasts. In my defense, there were three of them, and they were all spectacular," Jim shouted back. He dived as an arrow shot over his head, rolling in the dirt to get back to his feet quickly. "Scotty, where the hell are you? They're gaining on us. And they've got poisoned spears!"

And was that glee he heard in his Captain's voice when he mentioned the poisoned spears? He wouldn't be surprised if it was; Jim Kirk made an art out of enjoying life and death situations. Well, more accurately he enjoyed it when it was his life and death on the line. He wasn't quite so excited when it was the rest of his crew. Poisoned spears though. That was new, so maybe the excitement wasn't all that out of place.

"Captain, I can't get a lock on your position. Can you just stay still for three seconds?" Scotty's voice was tinny through the communicators, stressed and on edge.

"Sure, we'll just stand here and let them skewer us." Hikaru couldn't help the large amount of sarcasm in his voice, but figured that if Scotty wasn't used to it by now, he never would be. "Did you forget the part where the spears are poisoned?"

Hikaru turned as he ran, and then doubled his pace, because fuck, these natives were fast. Later he'd have time to be slightly embarrassed at the hysterical edge in his voice, but not until after he wasn't impaled and sacrificed. (Okay, probably not sacrificed. The Federation hadn't come across any societies that sacrificed sentient beings in at least twenty years. Though, it would be just Hikaru's luck to find the last tribe that did when on a mission with Captain James T. Kirk.)

"Sulu, ten o'clock." The captain's voice rang out, loud and clear, over the war cries of the natives.

He turned in the direction the Captain indicated, and found himself being pulled under a bush. He landed nearly on top of Kirk, the flowers they'd been able to save squashed between their bodies. A fragrant scent wafted up, and he groaned as he realized the petals were crushed. There had better be usable samples, or McCoy would finish the job the natives had started, and skewer them both with his hyposprays.

"Two to beam up," Kirk said into his communicator, his voice so close to Hikaru's ear, sending a shiver up his spine. He always had this reaction when Kirk was too close, but he'd always been good at hiding it when they were on mission.

Scotty beamed them up without any further conversation, and they reappeared in the transporter room in a heap. Hikaru took a deep breath, and made his muscles react from the fight or flight condition they'd been in for the past half hour. It was a good thing he'd had a lot of practice.

"Well, that was fun!" Kirk popped up from the floor, a cheerful grin on his face, cheeks flushed. It made Sulu think of sex, but there was nothing new about that. He'd long since learned to push back the need until after the reports were filed, people were healed and he and Jim were alone in their quarters.

"Lieutenant, bring the samples to McCoy in sickbay and then return to the bridge. I need to contact Starfleet and let them know about this latest interplanetary incident. They'll probably send Spock to sort it out. Always do." Kirk shot a charming grin at Sulu, and sauntered out of the transportation room, whistling.

"Feckin' crazy wanker," Scotty muttered fondly, grinning as he fiddled with the controls. He looked at Hikaru and shooed him out. "Need some private time with my girl, Sulu." He patted, no stroked, the console lovingly, and started murmuring something Hikaru couldn't hear, and had no desire to.

"Right. Sickbay," he reminded himself, and left the room, ignoring the lingering traces of the feel of Jim's body against his own, and the thoughts of just how he was going to let his lover know what he thought about what had happened on the ground. Now was not the time and place, and his uniform really wasn't adequate to hide an erection, so for now he would focus on getting the flowers to McCoy, write up a report to send to Jim, and take a long, thorough shower. He and Jim would be having words later, though.

Hikaru would make sure of it.


Later--much, much later, after reports had been filed, Jim had been treated for an allergic reaction to the flowers they'd brought back, McCoy had jabbed them both with hyposprays while muttering and glaring, and Spock had made a trip down to the surface with Gaila to make peace--Hikaru stepped out of the steam shower and dried off with one of the fluffy white towels Jim favored. Jim was still in sickbay, likely chained to a bed by McCoy. McCoy took doctoring seriously, especially when the patient was Jim Allergic to Everything Kirk. However, McCoy rarely managed to coral Jim for longer than three hours, which meant that Jim should be waltzing into their rooms at any minute now.

And right on scheduled, the door slid open to reveal a worn-out Jim Kirk. The furrow between his brows meant that the debriefing with Starfleet HQ hadn't gone as well as expected. Or, more accurately, it had probably gone just as expected, which was to say not well at all. He looked stretched tight in his own skin, temper boiling just beneath the surface. Hikaru has had almost as much experience with this Jim Kirk as the charming, adrenaline junkie Jim Kirk of earlier. And just as he had planet-side, he knew exactly what he had to do.

The first time Jim had come back from a meeting with Starfleet looking so destroyed, they'd only been fucking for three months. They'd been friends with benefits and their relationship was nothing close to approaching monogamy. Jim hadn't want to talk, and Hikaru hadn't been about to push. So they'd fucked, but Jim had kept pushing and teasing until Hikaru had been so fed up, he'd just grabbed Jim and held him down as he pounded into him, driving them both to the fastest, fiercest orgasm they'd ever had.

Afterwards, Jim had spoken haltingly of the meeting, how he didn't think he could do this, be the Captain the Enterprise needed. It was the first time Hikaru had ever seen Jim in anything less than perfect control of himself, and he'd made it his responsibility to let the Captain get to that point when he needed to. It had been rocky through the years, but they'd eventually found something that worked for them, that allowed Jim to surrender control without surrendering a part of himself.

Without a word, he crossed the room and let the towel fall to the floor. He pushed Jim against the door and stretched up the scant inches to slam their mouths together. He took control of the kiss, biting down on Jim's lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. Jim made a helpless, breathless noise, hands gripping Hikaru's hips hard enough to leave bruises. They battled for control, but Hikaru didn't let up, pressing Jim back against the door and pinning him there with his body.

He changed the angle of his attack, going deeper, taking more, taking everything Jim had to give. He wanted Jim wrecked and pleading beneath him tonight; Jim needed a break from his brain, and Hikaru was going to give him one. It happened this way once in awhile, Jim offering up control to let Hikaru break him down and piece him back together. Not often, because the Captain liked to be in control, even when he was being fucked, but sometimes, when he was strung this tightly he needed to let that control go.

Hikaru drew back, studied Jim's face, appreciating the flush to his cheeks, the fullness of his lips, and most of all the way his entire body was arched towards Hikaru, need written in the long line of his body. He was so close to the edge, but not quite there yet. Hikaru wasn't worried; he knew exactly where and how hard to push.

"Get undressed and on the bed."

It was a testament of Jim's mental condition that he didn't even make a show of protest. The meeting must have been bad then; Jim only ever got this way when his leadership abilities were called into play. Which was ridiculous, and if anyone had bothered to ask Hikaru, he would have told them so. Loudly, and with visual charts for added persuasion for those in the higher ups that had no practical leadership experience. Jim Kirk might be a magnet for trouble, but he was a good leader and a damn fine Captain.

But they would talk about that later. This time was for Jim, and Hikaru wasn't about to let work intrude. Not tonight.

Jim dropped his clothes by the bed, an untidy pile that was so Jim Hikaru had to suppress a smile. He couldn't break out of the scene now, if he did it would be over, and Jim wouldn't get what he needed. And tonight was all about Jim. It had to be.

He'd never tell Jim this, not quite so obviously, but he was the most gorgeous thing Hikaru had ever seen—all long lines and golden skin stretched tight over lean muscles; a long, thick cock leaking precum onto a perfectly flat stomach as he lay against the pillows, knees raised slightly. But it was the scars that got to Hikaru the most. Faint little lines that bespoke of years of living to the edge. He knew each scar's story now, from the tiny nick on the inside of one thigh that Jim got climbing a tree in Iowa, to the long, smooth ridges across his back from being whipped on one particularly hostile planet. He'd been present for some, absent for others, but he knew them all, and each one added another layer, and made Jim the man he was. Brave, and stupid, but so damn smart and good, even if he didn't show that to the outside world often.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to fuck me?"

Jims's voice was demanding, but Hikaru could sense the desperation and need, which made him remember his purpose. Without answering, Hikaru crawled onto the bed and on top of Jim, pressing his Captain into the mattress. Jim's legs came up around Hikaru's hips, and their cocks rubbed together, and Jim made a needy noise in the back of his throat, cheeks flushing at the helpless display of emotion. Hikaru allowed himself a brief moment of selfish pleasure, grinding down against Jim's body, gasping as the head of his cock slipped into the crease between Jim's leg and hip.

Finally, he managed to tear himself away, kneeling on the bed between Jim's thighs. He ran a hand down the center of Jim's chest, stopping just before he reached his cock. He'd debated with himself whether to draw this out, or make it go quickly, at least for the first time. He wanted Jim relaxed, but not passive, and there were many ways to get him to that point. Decision made, Hikaru slid his hand lower, grasping Jim's cock and stroking firmly from base to tip. He ran a thumb over the cockhead, collecting the moisture there and using it to ease his way.

Jim loved handjobs. Long drawn out handjobs, or fast, fierce ones, they all had the same effect and left him boneless but desperate for something deeper. Something more. Tonight, Hikaru went for the fast, fierce sort, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in a way that had Jim gasping and gripping the sheets as his hips rose off the bed. Jim's cock was hot in his hand; he could feel the blood pulsing under the skin. Jim was making deliciously urgent noises, and then his body arched, stomach muscles clenching, his release spilling over Hikaru's fingers. At last, Jim's legs relaxed, his entire body melting into the sheets, and he gave Hikaru a beautiful, stunning smile.

It was impossible not to lean forward for a kiss, so he gave in, taking Jim's lips in a long, deep kiss as he wiped his hand on the sheet. They needed to be changed, and anyway there was more to come. He drew back finally, needing to breathe, and studied Jim's face. The tenseness that had been there before was gone, but the need wasn't. Jim's eyes were more his own, warmer and deeper than they'd been when he first walked in the door. He knew this was working, but there was a ways to go yet.

"Roll over, Jim," Hikaru breathed, lips brushing the underside of Jim's jaw, biting down, but not hard enough to leave a mark.

Jim smiled at him again, and did as asked, pillowing his head on his arms and closing his eyes. Hikaru took a moment to get some oil, and then climbed back on the bed, straddling the back of Jim's thighs. "Keep your eyes closed," he instructed, uncapping the oil and pouring a liberal amount into his palm. He rubbed his hands together to warm the oil, before beginning the massage.

He used deep, long strokes, kneading the muscles that still held a hint of stress, letting the pleased sighs and groans let him know when more or less pressure was needed. He worked his way over Jim's shoulders, down the planes of back to the swell of his ass. Jim pressed back against him, but Hikaru kept going, down his legs to his feet, up to the soft skin of his inner thighs, knuckles just barely grazing across his balls, teasing just a bit, before taking his hands away.

Before Jim could protest, Hikaru brought his hand down with a resounding smack across Jim's buttox. Jim bucked back, a startled, breathless moan escaping him. Hikaru didn't give him time to adjust, but brought his hand down again, the pale skin bursting with color. Jim moaned again, shifting his hips against the sheets. He'd raised himself up enough to look over his shoulder at Hikaru, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Each time Hikaru brought his hand down on a different spot, randomly hitting Jim's ass, sometimes overlapping where the last smack had landed, his mouth would drop open and a little breath would escape, until Jim was panting and rocking back to meet each blow.

His arm was starting to hurt, but he wasn't done yet. Jim wasn't done yet. He leaned down and kissed Jim's shoulder, silently praising him and offering support. Jim whimpered, and squirmed on the bed, pressing back against Hikaru. It wasn't time for that though, not yet. Jim needed to be pushed just a bit further yet, just to the edge of breaking and back. He moved back on the bed, settling on his knees between Jim's thighs, and studied his handiwork.

Jim's ass was a rosy red color, hot to the touch and sensitive. Jim whined when Hikaru ran his hands over the tender flesh, fingers just barely dipping into the crease. Then he brought his arm back and smacked Jim's ass again, harder than before, the blows coming faster until Jim was pleading for him to stop, tears leaking from his eyes. He never once used the safe word they'd agreed on back at the beginning of their relationship, which meant he didn't really want it to stop.

Hikaru stopped, stroking his hands over Jim's sweat-soaked back, taking a moment to get his breath, before starting over, wanting Jim begging and shaking and just about broken. It had to be that way, before he could be put back together. Finally, when Jim screamed, bucked against the bed, trying to get away from the blows, Hikaru knew it was time. They were both flying high on adrenaline, just as they had been escaping from the natives.

"Hikaru, please." Jim's voice was , wrecked and he was almost slurring his words, but there could be no mistake about what he wanted. Not when he rolled onto his back and pulled Hikaru down into a kiss, wrapping his legs around Hikaru's waist and thrusting up, cock still hard even after his second orgasm.

"Yeah, Jim." His own voice was hoarse, and his dick stood straight up against his stomach, leaking a copious amount of precum. He reached blindly for the lube, snapping the cap off and pouring it messily into his palm. He spread it around his fingers and reached between Jim's thighs, fingers finding and pressing, stretching. First one, then two and three, it was quick and messy, but the sounds Jim was making were making it hard not to just forget about the preparation. Finally Jim bit down on Hikaru's shoulder, and growled Now as he worked his teeth over the skin, blood vessels bursting beneath the assault. There would be a bruise there tomorrow, but Hikaru was so far from caring about that right now.

He used the last traces of lube to slick his cock, and pressed inside, hot, wet heat gripping his cock like a glove. He went slow, watching Jim for any sign of discomfort, but all Jim did was use his legs to pull Hikaru closer, silently demanding that he go faster, harder, deeper. Hikaru had never been able to deny Jim anything, not from Day One, and their fucking was almost violent. Gasps and cries of pleasure filled the air, urging Hikaru to go faster. His hips snapped forward, and he angled so he would brush across Jim's prostate with every stroke. He wasn't going to last much longer, and reached between them to stroke Jim's dick in time with his thrusts. He came with Jim's name on his lips, stilling his thrusts as his orgasm washed over him. Jim's thighs were trembling with effort, hips moving restlessly, eyes begging, and Hikaru gave his dick one last stroke and Jim followed him over the edge.

They lay panting after, but eventually Hikaru managed to get to his feet to fetch a cloth to clean them. Jim had settled onto the only clean part of the sheet left, but Hikaru was too tired to protest. Instead he lay on his side, one leg thrown over Jim's, head up on his elbow. Jim looked tired, but the good sort of tired instead of the bone-achingly exhausted Jim of earlier.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No." There was a pause, and Jim brought Hikaru's palm to his lips, pressed a lingering kiss there. "Thank you."

Hikaru smiled and leaned in for a kiss, keeping it slow and gentle and sleepy. "All right." He kissed Jim again, tongue stroking over his lower lip. "You're welcome."

Jim smiled again, and his eyes drifted shut. He was like that, able to fall asleep immediately, where ever he was, or whatever he'd been doing moments prior. It took Hikaru longer to fall asleep, his brain still working through the mission, Jim's reaction to the meeting he still didn't know anything about. But eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up with him, and he fell asleep, Jim's hair tickling his cheek, their scent all around him. It was enough. Anything else could wait until the morning.