HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIIVI

[hollycomb]

So weird to post in this journal again, so weird to post Star Trek fic again, but I feel like some ST fic is fitting for the birthday of my beloved viivi (which was Monday, so this is a belated gift)!

Veev: YEARS AGO me and you were talking about this idea where Sulu was trying to drive on an icy road while Kirk (EXPERIENCED ICY ROAD DRIVER) was his passenger, and when Sulu couldn't get the hang of it Kirk took over and sex happened. I was trying to think of something cool to do for your birthday and remembered that I actually had a couple of pages of this draft, and I was not surprised to reread them and remember that I mixed Troubling love triangle/threesome content in, too, so it seemed kind of a perfect tribute to our good times in this fandom ;____;

I hope you will like this! Happy birthday my dear <3 <3 <3!!!

Title: Driving Conditions
Pairing: Kirk/Sulu (background Sulu/Chekov)
Rating: Explicit (nothing less would honor the Trek Years)
Summary: On shore leave, Sulu is having trouble driving an old-fashioned car (which Kirk insisted upon) on a rural Russian road. Kirk gives him a hand.





Back at the bar, Kirk made the mistake of saying he shouldn't drink much, since he'd have to drive. Sulu gave him a look like Kirk had just peed on his shoes.

“I'll drive,” he said. “Drink whatever you want.”

“The roads are icy,” Kirk said. “I'm gonna go ahead and assume you didn't do a lot of non-hover driving on ice back in Frisco.”

“I think I can handle it,” Sulu said. “It'll only be slightly less involved than piloting a starship through a multi-layered Halko Inconsistency while being fired on.”

“Hey, you're the boss,” Kirk said. He smirked and ordered another beer, could feel Sulu's body temperature rise with the silent rage that always makes Kirk want to bend him over and watch the tension slowly drain between his sweat-slick shoulder blades.

Kirk isn't sure what's going on between them. He never would have tried coming on to Sulu if he'd thought it would actually work. Sulu is in love with Chekov, forever and ever, and Kirk didn't think sharing was an option, so he didn't really know what to do when Sulu started showing up to Kirk's room late at night, pretending he wasn't there for sex, doing this shy, frustrated dance around Kirk that pretty much drove him out of his mind. Finally, Kirk had to be the bad guy, the selfish one, sex-crazed enemy of true love. He grabbed Sulu, pinned him to a wall and kissed him like he was the one calling the shots. He knew he'd either get decked or have the most satisfying sex of his life, and it was a risk worth taking. Still, Sulu wouldn't stay in his arms for long, and Kirk was on fire with rage of his own when Sulu slipped out in the middle of the night, leaving Kirk to imagine that he was returning to Chekov.

Sulu and Chekov are still together. Apparently they've discussed it. Certainly there were tears, and vows to be 'modern' and 'work through this.' Kirk is something Sulu needs to work through. It's still more than he hoped for.

At the beginning, there were more attempts to involve Chekov in the sex, so that nobody would feel left out. The results were mixed; if Sulu cultivated a pollen for the occasion, the three of them fucked like gangbusters. If they tried to do it sober, there were too many elbows and pink cheeks and the dirty talk felt forced. Lately they've gone back to sharing, trading nights with Sulu, but that was up in space where societal relations are always a little skewed. Now they're between missions, three months of free time that none of them knows what to do with. Kirk has given Sulu a project, which he knows Sulu is grateful for: he's demanded to be taught how to surf. They're working on it. It's been pretty much the greatest time of Kirk's life, waking up at dawn, the first ones on the beach, feeling like the ocean will swallow him whole and then bumping against Sulu in the blue-green water, holding onto his shoulders, alive again. Hawaii has been their home base, but now they're in the freezing wasteland that Chekov calls home, where he's been doing research. A workaholic. Kirk was one, once, before he stole Sulu away.

Sometimes that doesn't feel like what he's trying to do, not really. Kirk likes Chekov, and seeing Sulu with him hurts like coals burning in his chest, but the flip side involves seeing Sulu happy in a way that Kirk can't make him, watching him get all cuddly and protective, watching him feel like a big strong man. Kirk wants to give him that, too, and has tried, and watching Sulu outperform him in the waves should do it, but Sulu has always wanted to impress Kirk in a completely different way. Sulu reminds Kirk of himself as a kid, trying to impress his older brother. When he's with Chekov, he's more like Sam was with Kirk, smirking and calm, prone to hair-ruffling, content to be admired.

Kirk is tipsy when they leave the bar, but he pretends to be more drunk than he actually is, giving Sulu obnoxious, wet kisses on his cheeks while Sulu unlocks Kirk's car. It's very old-fashioned; Kirk has had a penchant for wheels ever since he drove an antique car over a cliff as a kid. Nothing beats the dangerous power of these old machines, the way they need to cling to the earth. The speed feels more earned, less automatic.

It's pretty obvious from the start, how uncomfortable Sulu is on these winding, icy roads. They're somewhere in rural Russia; who the fuck knows where. They transported in two hours ago, and Sulu said he needed a drink after they picked up the car - Kirk insisted on the car, just to see if Sulu would agree - so they stopped at that bar, where the bartender laughed to himself when they ordered beer. Kirk would have preferred their finest vodka, but he's been promised some of that when he arrives at Chekov's cottage, along with a home-cooked meal and a roaring fire. Chekov: he tries too hard. Kirk does, too, but in another way entirely.

“Shit,” Sulu says when the tires skid on a patch of ice and the car nearly goes off the road. Kirk pretends not to notice, still fucking with the radio. Sulu manages to get back on the road, but when Kirk sneaks a look at him his jaw is tight, both hands on the wheel.

“Too much Russian beer?” Kirk says, not wanting to needle him for his inexperience. Kirk thinks of the roads in Iowa that he grew up driving on, all the advice he could give, but he knows Sulu would only grit his teeth and dig himself into a deeper hole if he thought Kirk was trying to dig him out.

“I'm fine,” Sulu says. “It's just - black ice - whatever. I can deal with it.”

Kirk holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He knows what Sulu wants. He wants to get ordered around: you're giving me surfing lessons, Lieutenant. He wants everything to be Kirk's decision, Kirk's selfishness, just a factor of Kirk's rank. He wants the thing that Chekov can't give him, the one thing. Chekov gives Sulu sweet acceptance, the kind of admiration that heals wounds inflicted during adolescence, warmth in the middle of the night, home-cooked meals. Kirk just gives him orders.

“Whoa,” Kirk says when the car skids again. He pretends to be talking about something on the radio, changing the station and laughing when he comes across a song he likes on a classic rock station. Sulu is cursing again, but he's ignoring Kirk, assuming that he's wasted. Kirk can feel the temperature inside the car rise along with Sulu's frustration. Sulu's hand is shaking when he reaches up to push it through his hair. He's scared. It's pitch dark out here, no street lights, just the headlights and the ice, nobody else daring the road.

“Need me to -” Kirk starts to ask, and Sulu shoots him a look that shuts him up.

“I said I'm fine,” Sulu says, but by the time he looks back at the windshield he's lost control, the back of the car fishtailing while Sulu curses and pumps the brake. They're headed for the steep edge of the highway, and Kirk has to reach over and jerk the wheel in the other direction so that they go sliding across the road, bumping up against the stony side of the mountain instead of tumbling down into the dark. Kirk's heart is slamming when the car finally comes to a stop. Sulu's eyes are wide and unseeing, his breath coming out in shudders.

“Hey,” Kirk says. “It's alright.”

“We almost -” Sulu says, his hands still clenched around the wheel. “We could have -”

Kirk shouldn't be turned on right now, but adrenaline has always done this to him, particularly when Sulu is involved.

“It's okay,” Kirk says. “It's alright. Hikaru. Look at me. Hey.”

Sulu turns to him, his mouth hanging open. He's wound so tight right now that Kirk isn't sure if he's going to burst into tears or start throwing punches. It's not just the car, the ice, the almost wreck. It's everything that's waiting for them when they get where they're going. Kirk strokes his fingers down along Sulu's jaw, nodding when Sulu takes one deep breath, then another.

“It's okay,” Kirk says, keeping his voice soft. “Let me take over. Alright? I'm gonna drive. I'm not really drunk, I'm just naturally obnoxious.”

Sulu pinches his eyes shut, his jaw trembling under Kirk's fingertips. He's embarrassed, but also close to giving in. It's Kirk's favorite combination, Sulu-wise, and it makes his dick hard, mixing with the lingering adrenaline buzz and giving him ideas.

"I'm sorry," Sulu says, his hands uncurling from the steering wheel. "That was. I could have gotten us killed."

"Nah, it's just the ice, it's tricky. Here, trade places with me."

Squirming over each other is awkward, as if they haven't done all other kinds of squirming together already. Kirk wants to pause over the gear shift and hold Sulu, kiss his shaking lips, but Sulu is quick to get himself into the passenger seat, his eyes going to the window.

"There will be damage to the car," Sulu says, muttering.

"Eh, maybe some cosmetic scrapes, but we didn't hit that hard. Let's see what kind of shape we're in here." Kirk buckles himself in, still hard. He wonders if Sulu noticed when they fumbled to trade seats. Though he's sympathetic to Sulu's embarrassment over what happened, he's really fucking thrilled to be in the driver's seat now, taking care of things, guiding them back onto the road. "There we go," Kirk says, and he reaches over to put his hand on Sulu's thigh. "See? No damage done."

"Right."

"Aw, Hikaru. Don't sulk." Kirk moves his hand up, squeezing the inside of Sulu's thigh until he bucks Kirk off.

"Don't patronize me," Sulu says, still not looking at him. "Just drive."

"You're the boss," Kirk says.

As they head further up the mountain, moving swiftly now, Kirk's erection persists. It's juvenile, maybe, but he keeps thinking I'm the boss and knowing that Sulu feels it, too. Kirk is in control here. He's going to get Sulu where he's going, to Chekov, who has probably never driven an old-fashioned car like this, because why would he? It's not practical. Chekov is efficient. Kirk can be, too, but he likes to luxuriate in frivolity when he has the time. He likes to take the scenic route.

They ride in silence, approaching Chekov's cottage and not passing any other vehicles. Even the airspace above is free of them. Kirk can feel the slick danger under the wheels as he guides the car over them. He can feel Sulu tensing up, then relaxing when Kirk navigates another sharp curve.

"What are you doing?" Sulu asks when Kirk pulls off the main road, the GPS voice on the dash gently directing him to turn around.

"Detour," Kirk says.

"Are you insane? You're driving into the woods. We're almost there, look." He points to the GPS screen, which shows their destination up ahead, a mile or so down the road.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I drove a car over a cliff?"

"Uh." Sulu boggles at him. "Is that a threat?"

"Is it a -- Hikaru, what? No! I was a kid and I stole a car. Things got out of hand. But I'm grown now, look. We're safe here." He comes to the end of the dirt road and puts the car in park. Sulu frowns at the windshield and lets out a choppy breath. "Look at you," Kirk says, reaching over to touch Sulu's ear. He traces the rim, chews his lip when Sulu shivers. "You're all wound up."

"I shouldn't have tried to drive."

"Mhm, well. Yeah."

"I shouldn't, I -- why did we go to that bar?"

"It was your idea, man."

"I know," Sulu says, staring down at his knees. He inhales sharply and lets out another choppy breath. "Fuck."

"C'mere," Kirk says. He puts his hand on the back of Sulu's neck and kneads him there, trying to rub the tension out. "Come over here," he says, more firmly, and he reaches down to tug on the lever below the seat, pushing the seat back to make more space between his body and the wheel. Sulu glances over at him warily.

"What for?" he mumbles, though Kirk can tell by the frightened interest in his eyes that he knows.

"You need it," Kirk says, spreading his legs. "Come on."

Kirk ignores Sulu's coy fidgeting and reaches into the backseat, unzipping his bag. While he gropes for his travel size lube, Sulu unbuckles his seat belt and starts taking off his pants. Kirk's cock throbs, and he thinks about the last two or three times they've fucked: tender and tired, returning to bed after a surfing lesson, tropical rain pattering the roof. It's been nice, and it will be weird to see Chekov after so much niceness, hence the ill-advised hours at the bar and Sulu nearly killing them both with bad driving. This will be different. They both need this bad.

Sulu pushes his pants and underwear down, giving Kirk a questioning look when he doesn't follow suit. Kirk keeps his expression neutral and doesn't reach for his own fly. He turns the heat down a little, beginning to sweat.

"Dammit," Sulu mutters, petulant, because he's got to take his boots off to get his pants over his ankles. He peels his socks off, too, and tugs his coat around himself when he's naked from the waist down. Kirk pops open the lube.

"Get over here," he says. "In my lap."

For the first few weeks, Sulu would only let Kirk fuck him on all fours, so they didn't have to look each other in the eye. It was a little bit like Sulu was punishing himself on Kirk's dick, always slamming back hard, his lip sometimes bleeding when they were done because he'd bitten it to keep his noises in. They've gotten past that, but Sulu still avoids Kirk's eyes as he obeys his command, squatting over his lap and then sinking into it. When Sulu's thighs spread around Kirk's waist he can no longer hide the fact that he's very hard, too, wet at the tip.

"Mhmm," Kirk says, putting his fingers there. Sulu sucks in his breath, his hands resting lightly on Kirk's shoulders. "You look ready. Are you ready?"

"Fuck -- yes, god."

"Are you sure?" Kirk reaches around to palm Sulu's bare ass, fingers skimming along the crack. "You seem tense. Tight. Like you need to be worked open, probably."

"Guh -- yeah, I. Jim."

That last word, Kirk's name, is so desperate and small: Kirk can't resist. He surges forward and kisses Sulu on the mouth, slipping his tongue into the heat there as his fingers dig in between Sulu's cheeks, teasing his hole with dry fingertips. Sulu grunts and then sort of whines, wriggling only a little.

"Maybe you should prep yourself," Kirk says, offering the lube with his free hand. Sulu just stares at it, blinking slowly. "Hmm? Do you want to do it yourself? Or should I do it for you?"

"Ah--" Sulu gives Kirk a knowing look, almost defiant, and then he melts. Kirk is rubbing him in circles; he loves being teased. "You do it," Sulu says, slumping against Kirk's chest. He presses his ass back, arching. "You, please."

"Well, alright." Kirk thumbs open the lube, resisting the urge to fuck himself up against the heat of Sulu's erection, which is pressed against Kirk's, warm even through the denim. "You just relax, right?" He slicks his fingers and snugs them between Sulu's cheeks again, his other hand going to the back of Sulu's neck. "Just let me do the work. Relax, that's good. I got you."

Sulu huffs against Kirk's throat, twitching. I saved you Kirk sometimes thinks, crazed with triumphant lust. Did it really just happen again? Maybe, but nothing will touch that first real memory they made together. The mid-air impact, the clinging plummet, the way they crashed to the deck together back on the Enterprise. Of course, that part was Chekov. Kirk slides a finger into Sulu and licks Sulu's cheek when he exhales slowly, savoring it.

"I've got you," Kirk says again, soft but dark, his hand tightening on the back of Sulu's neck. "You're gonna get what you need. I'm gonna give it to you so good, always, whenever you need it."

"Mmph," Sulu says, or doesn't say, and he lifts his head to give Kirk a sleepy look, everything in him surrendered now. It's trust, Kirk thinks, his dick leaking into his boxers, wanting out. It's the most precious trust anyone has ever laid in his hands. Sulu nuzzles at Kirk's cheek, fucking himself back onto one finger, then two. He's drooling a little, the corner of his lips leaving wet spots on Kirk's skin.

"Wouldn't have made it through the night without this," Kirk says, curling his fingers. "Would you?"

He rubs Sulu's prostate just as Sulu gives him that how dare you look of his, and it's blasted right off by the pressure of Kirk's fingers inside him. Sulu hisses and lets his head fall back, his hips moving greedily now.

"That's right," Kirk says, still rubbing. "Drink it in. We should have skipped the bar and just parked here. That's better than beer, isn't it? God, I can feel it going right up your spine. You're so tight, and you open up so good."

"Fuck," Sulu says, laughing a little. He peeks at Kirk. "Quit gloating and take your dick out, okay?"

"I'll get to that. Unless you want to beg. You need it right now, is that it? Right away, can't wait another minute to get filled up?"

"Chekov's waiting," Sulu says, firing back. Kirk so bullet-riddled by that he loses his breath for a second, and Sulu must see it, because he sighs and kisses Kirk slow while he pulls his fingers out, slower.

"Well, since he's waiting," Kirk says, "Maybe I should drive you over there right now, like this. You can put your pants back on and head in there all loosened up and empty, let him take care of you. You think he could? Hmm? Sound like a good plan?"

"Jim."

"I mean, we wouldn't want to keep him waiting, so--"

"I need it," Sulu says, letting his voice hit that desperate note, letting Kirk hear it. He meets Kirk's eyes and holds his gaze, shy and apologetic. "Please, I do. You know I do."

"Say that again?"

"You know. What I need." Sulu puts his hand over Kirk's trapped erection, rubbing him there tentatively, as if he's not sure he's allowed. "This, you. In me, please."

"Why do you need that?" Kirk would really like to know, actually.

"I don't fucking know. Because it feels amazing, because you make my blood boil without even trying, because your dick is so perfect it makes me angry, because I think about it all the time, you, all the time--"

Kirk kisses him before he can continue, because he wants to save him, always. Sulu doesn't have to dangle himself so dangerously within Kirk's reach, and the fact that he does it anyway is why Kirk is in life-ruining love with him.

"For the record," Kirk says, kissing Sulu's blush while he opens his jeans, "I am actually trying to make your blood boil, all the time."

"I should have known," Sulu says, murmuring this against Kirk's mouth. Kirk slicks himself with a conservative amount of lube -- Sulu told him early on he uses too much, which is part of Kirk's protective thing, probably -- and he opens his mouth to absorb Sulu's gasp when he pushes in. Sulu's eyes fall shut and he breathes through his nose. Kirk doesn't really need to hold him open now, but he leaves his fingers there, feeling every inch of himself disappear into Sulu.

"There you go," Kirk says when Sulu is fully seated, slumped into Kirk's circling arms. "Just be still for a minute, just feel it. You're safe now, nice and full, everything's good."

"God," Sulu mumbles, clenching around him. "God, it is, just. So good."

"Mhm. You just enjoy that for a minute, yeah. Gonna fuck you hard, but not yet."

"Fuhh, Jim--"

"Not even if you beg."

Because Kirk doesn't want this to end. The night outside is so dark, so cold. That cottage will be warm, but this is a different kind of warmth: the glow of their car, which is tiny beneath the towering pines, and the way they hold onto each other like they're still in free fall, like the force of nothing less than gravity is tearing at them even now, trying to rip them apart.

Kirk just twitches up into Sulu at first, driving him crazy with the promise of real friction until he whines and begs, clawing at the back of Kirk's jacket. When Kirk can't take it anymore he tilts Sulu back onto the steering wheel, finds a good angle and fucks up into him while Sulu struggles to find his footing well enough to slam down and meet every thrust, the car rocking on its axles while Sulu shouts Kirk's name and asks for more. Kirk starts to worry that he's going to hurt Sulu's back, but then Sulu comes with a broken cry and Kirk can't think about anything but pummeling him in the aftermath, fucking up into the spasming aftershocks of his orgasm. Kirk yanks Sulu onto him when he comes, making embarrassing 'ah, ah' noises. He's drooling now, too, rubbing his face in Sulu's hair. Sulu smells so fucking good here and on his neck, especially after he comes, this unnameable scent that makes Kirk want to snarl like an animal and claim eternal ownership.

But it doesn't work that way, so they kiss for a while and clean up as best they can. Kirk is feeling drowsy, less confident about getting them to the cottage without skidding across black ice. It's starting to snow again, just a dusting at first, then fat flakes that make the darkness of the woods look very sinister in the beams of the car's headlights.

"Wait a sec," Sulu says when Kirk reaches for the gear shaft. Sulu puts his hand over Kirk's to stop him from taking it out of park. He's back in his own seat, still breathless and ruffled. "Fuck, I'm tired," he says.

"Well, there's a warm bed waiting for you, and we're almost there."

Sulu gives Kirk a look that rips him in half. There's pleading in it, for something Kirk can't give him, at least not tonight, but what hurts more is the apology. Kirk smiles, shrugs.

"He's waiting, so."

Kirk tightens his grip on the gear shaft. Sulu's fingers close in around his.

"We'll go back to Hawaii soon," Sulu says, speaking quietly. "You're still a shitty surfer."

"I know -- Hikaru." Kirk forces a laugh. "It's okay, really. I'm starving, and it'll be good to see the little guy. Everything's fine."

Sulu nods and takes his hand away. Kirk changes gears, drives.

They go slow over the road ahead, the snow thickening. Kirk can still hear Sulu breathing, even over the blasting heater and the icy crunch of the tires. He believes that it's true: they will go back into the ocean soon, Sulu's hands will find his hips under warm Pacific water, they'll exhaust themselves on the waves and fall into that double bed together, those unwashed sheets. But it won't be like it was here, with Chekov so close by. Something about knowing he's just around the corner makes their private closeness almost unbearably real, and it's like that on the Enterprise, too.

Chekov jogs out to meet them in a baggy sweater, flannel pants and rubber boots. He throws his arms around Sulu and kisses Kirk on both cheeks, Euro-style. The cottage is glowing and Kirk can smell the smoke from the chimney. He's going to drink a lot of vodka, eat a lot of beef stew, sleep alone.

"I was so worried, the weather is so bad -- what is this car?" Chekov gestures to it hatefully, as if it's an enemy that just tried to devour them.

"It was fine," Sulu says. "Kirk drove."

Kirk smiles to himself as they walk inside, giddy for the way Sulu said that. He sounded proud, dismissive of Chekov's concern because Kirk was in charge the whole time, so there was never anything to fear. Kirk might go to bed alone tonight - no, he will, definitely - but he'll take that with him, and it will keep him so warm.