Fic: Not So Lonely... or Cranky | Star Trek XI | Chekov/Kirk/Sulu | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Not So Lonely... or Cranky
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu, Chekov/Kirk/Sulu
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,520
Prompt: For the Porn Battle - Chekov/Kirk/Sulu, additional
Summary: Jim Kirk has turned into a cantankerous ass. Sulu and Chekov devise a plan to change that.
Disclaimer: Paramount and CBS owns it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: I almost passed the word count limit on this one. Damn plot. :p
Not So Lonely... or Cranky
After a rough shift and an thorough fuck to deal with the exhausting stress of it, the two of them lie in Pavel's bed, limbs still entwined, the younger man tracing patterns on Hikaru's arm in what the pilot knows are numbers and equations, both finally coming down from the insanity of the day and able to talk about it. They're both worried that the Captain hasn't been acting like himself lately, snapping at every little thing, unfocused, generally making the crew's lives miserable, when for the last year and a half, he's been a buoying influence, keeping morale up on the ship, buffering bad moods and ill-will to make their long mission more bearable. In short, he's become a complete ass, and the source of the unknown tension driving him to the brink is yet unknown.
Hikaru tries to remember if he's seen Kirk act like this before. Having known him from a few classes at the Academy, he was more than familiar with his boisterous nature, the confident grins and intense gazes he'd use at the drop of a hat if he thought they could get him what he wanted or give someone else what they needed. He'd never really seemed so out of his element, so stressed, and this was a man who was fully possessed of himself, so seeing him act so thoughtlessly has been a shock.
No.
He realizes then that he has seen Kirk like this before. But it wasn't Captain Kirk or Cadet Kirk, it was Jim, his acquaintance from their Warp Physics class way back in Hikaru's second year at the Academy. Jim Kirk, whom he'd run into one Friday at a local bar in San Fransisco, angry, stressed, and about two steps away from starting a brawl.
Suddenly, it all makes sense, and he wants to smack himself for not seeing it sooner, not remembering.
“Hikaru?” Pavel says, snapping the older man out of his reverie, and Sulu realizes his lover has stopped tracing numbers and symbols on his arm, one long index finger stilled against his bicep.
A little knot of anxiety settles down into Hikaru's stomach as he realizes he's got a confession to make. He and Pavel have been together a while now, exclusive for all intents and purposes, and they're damn close, but there are still plenty of things they don't know about each other, things Hikaru hasn't shared, at least.
“I think I know what's going on,” he starts quietly.
Pavel perks up at the revelation. “Da?”
He almost doesn't want to ruin the open, lit up expression on his Pasha's face, but forges ahead. “You know I knew Kirk back at the Academy, right?”
“Of course.” Blinking hazel eyes and long lashes. Hikaru starts to hate himself.
“Well, he and I weren't really friends, ran in different circles, and all that, but―”
Pavel nods.
“I slept with him once,” he admits.
Eyes widen. “Really?”
Hikaru wants to gut himself. “Um, yeah. It was sort of a...” he tries to think of a way to describe the drunken hook-up that he'd initiated just to keep Jim from picking a local to punch in the face for the heck of it, settling on, “one-time thing. He was kind of a mess, like he's been acting lately, and I figured he could use an alternate activity to burn it all off. Turned out he hadn't been laid in something like six months, said something about trying to go cold turkey. We didn't really talk much after that, but he seemed fine again. And I more or less forgot about it, anyway.” Finishing with a shrug, he gives Pavel an embarrassed smile.
The younger man nods more seriously then, a little crease in his brow as he takes it all in. “Then, the Captain is... sexually frustrated,” he decides, drawing the logical conclusion. “We have been in space for seventeen months, and he has most likely gone 'cold turkey', as you said.”
“Yeah, that's what I figure,” Hikaru nods back, feeling the knot of anxiety ease away as it doesn't look like Pavel's jealous or anything like that. “Probably has some kind of self-imposted 'hands-off' policy to keep himself honest.” He realizes the younger man has started tracing numbers and symbols on his arm again, a new pattern this time, more like a chemical equation, balancing both sides.
“He must be very lonely,” Pavel says, brow furrowed with more intense concentration.
“I imagine so.” Curling his hand around his lover's bare hip and squeezing gently, Sulu leans his forehead against Pavel's. “The prospect of five years of celibacy can't be fun. No wonder he's been acting so crazy.”
Hazel eyes flick up to his as the finger on his arm stills again, and the glint of a radical idea in them is clear as day.
“We should help him be not so lonely, Hikaru. He deserves to be not so lonely.”
The pit of his stomach flips in a way he hasn't felt since that free-fall over Vulcan, and he feels the finger moving against his arm again, tracing out what feels like '+1'.
* * * * *
It only takes a little discussion for them to realize they're on the same page about what to do about the Captain, even less to formulate a plan and put it into action, but what they don't count on is it taking four separate invitations just to get him to come play poker with them one evening in Hikaru's quarters. Kirk has become as cantankerous as the doctor, and he snaps and snarls and grumbles every time one of them corners him in the mess hall or the turbolift.
Finally, Sulu snaps back at him on their way down from the bridge at the end of alpha shift, tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to loosen his grip a little, unwind and just chill out before he drives the rest of the crew up a wall, and he's rewarded with a wide-eyed, gob-smacked expression, the same as that night back at the Academy. Secretly, Hikaru can't help a bit of smug satisfaction that he was able to slap some sense into the Captain, figuratively, if not literally. There'll be time for that later, at any rate.
With a resigned look, Kirk relents, scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, and agrees to the invitation. Sulu smiles and nods back, relieved that they can move onto the next phase of the plan.
* * * * *
That evening when Jim shows up at Sulu's quarters, the pilot is satisfied at the curious look on the Captain's face as he takes in his environment. The room is partially dimmed, save a spotlight over the table they've set up for poker and the light over the bed, there's a tall bottle of vodka already out and open, with three shot glasses waiting to be filled, music with a slow, driving base line is playing on low volume, and both younger officers are wearing Academy-issue sweats and matching t-shirts. No place for rank here, after all, and it strikes Hikaru that Kirk probably feels suddenly overdressed in his uniform. Oh well, they'll take care of that soon enough.
After an awkward first few hands of five-card draw, keeping things low-key, and three rounds of shots to get things moving, they finally all settle into a much easier camaraderie, shooting the shit about this week's alien encounter, yesterday's disastrous lunch menu in the mess hall, the rumors about Mister Scott and Lieutenant Gaila christening another Jeffries tube, in their weird threesome with the Enterprise, herself.
It's this opening that Hikaru and Pavel have been waiting for, but before they can pounce on the opportunity, Jim shakes his head sadly, rolling his full shot glass between thumb and forefinger, and groans, “Man, they're so lucky, they don't even know. I mean, look at 'em, fucking like bunnies, and happy as hell.”
“They know how to handle deep space, that's for sure,” Sulu replies while Jim downs his shot quickly and sucks in a deep breath through his teeth after.
“They are smart, yes,” Chekov adds.
“And you guys, too,” Kirk says, slamming down his glass and dropping his cards on the table, fixing them with a pointed look, blue eyes glinting in the light from above. “I mean, it's not like the whole ship doesn't know you guys are an item. You got it all figured out. Hell, half the ship's fucking like bunnies, not a care in the world, don't have to worry about the command structure or saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, or fraternization bullshit rules or harassment or anything, and I'm up there―” Shaking his head again, he cuts himself off, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair, and he groans, looking embarrassed as hell.
Hikaru's out of his chair quick at that, unable to sit by any longer, his heart pounding in his chest as he leans down to pull Jim into a hard, unforgiving kiss, Pavel on his other side in an instant, helping to bring the Captain out of his chair, too. They're rewarded with a shiver and a look of shock, wet lips open and working for a moment as Sulu draws back to give him some air.
“Fuck the rules,” the pilot says, hands landing on Jim's hips as the older man's grip his shoulders tight. “We're in deep space, for God's sake; this is the last place you should be trying to go cold turkey.”
Jim shudders then, realization dawning, and his eyes flutter closed as he presses back against Chekov, the Ensign nuzzling his neck and murmuring in affirmation of Sulu's statement. “Shit,” he mutters, “you guys are fucking serious? I mean―”
“As heart attack,” Pavel says, lips brushing his ear.
Kirk is putty in their hands at the statement, suddenly unable to argue with their extended invitation, blinking and letting them drag him over to the bed, moaning when the two younger men pull his uniform top and undershirt off over his head, two sets of hands on his hips, chest, back, shoulders, arms.
Sulu smirks, kissing him again as he undoes Jim's pants and pushes them and his briefs down over his hips and erection. Considering the way the last time went, it isn't surprising how easily they're getting him into bed, less so when Jim turns the tables on them, need and desperation fueling his fire as he pulls Pavel around to kiss him hard, one hand running through his soft curls, the other pushing the younger man's t-shirt up over a lean, toned chest. “Jesus,” he breathes, gripping his hips and pulling them flush together. “So beautiful. Fuck.”
After that it's only a matter of moments before they're all three divested of every last shred of clothing, t-shirts, sweats, and uniform pants all discarded eagerly, and Jim pushes Pavel down on the bed, practically devouring his mouth, lean legs wrapping around his waist while Hikaru presses close, settling behind Kirk. “Can I fuck you?” the older man breathes against kiss-swollen lips, and Hikaru and Pavel both chuckle.
“Bozhemoi, yes. Da, that is the idea,” Chekov smirks, bucking up against Jim.
Sulu waits patiently, kneading small circles into broad shoulders while Jim reaches a hand between him and Pavel, and he's gratified by the gasp of surprise that passes Kirk's lips when he finds the surprise waiting for him.
“Shit,” Jim practically squeaks, eyes wide.
“That's right,” Hikaru murmurs, close to his ear. “Stretched and slick, just for you.”
“You. You conspiring bastards!” Kirk grins then, really figuring it out at last, before shifting quick to line up and start to push into the eager young man beneath him. His whole body seems to shudder with the pleasure of it, and Sulu groans at the sight before him, his beautiful Pasha, pale skin flushed, lean body writhing on Jim's cock.
While Jim sets up a rhythm, Hikaru grabs the lube from the nightstand, slicks his fingers and his own cock, more than ready himself, and slides a fingertip down the line of Kirk's ass. Finding his entrance, he circles it slowly before pushing the digit in, and is rewarded with a hitched breath and another full-body shiver. “Easy,” he soothes, a firm hand on a tense shoulder. “Know you need this, too.”
A litany of soft curses comes back at him, Jim's head thrown back as he works himself back onto Sulu's finger, then forward to thrust into Pavel again. Settling into another rhythm, Jim fucks Chekov more slowly as Hikaru stretches him fully, and after what feels like forever, Sulu positions himself and thrusts in hard.
The hoarse scream and whimpers that rip from Jim's throat are all the further encouragement Hikaru needs, and he sets his own pace, fast and brutal, Kirk writhing now, hips stuttering their thrusts into Pavel. Lips meet and suck, hands twine together, chest to chest and chest to back, sweat and keening moans, the three men working together, an additional set of everything to feel, grasp, lick, taste, scratch, and stroke, and it doesn't take nearly long enough for orgasm to overwhelm all of them, within moments of each other. Their names fall from each other's lips, cries and whimpers and gasps of pleasure filling the room over that low, throbbing baseline of the music, hearts thundering in chests and breaths panting as they come down from their high.
It's sticky and sweaty between the three of them when Jim and Hikaru finally disengage and collapse on either side of Pavel, pressing close on the narrow bed, all exchanging languorous kisses and softer caresses in that dizzy afterglow. Sulu's skin is hypersensitive and numb all at once, and he nuzzles into Pavel's neck, settling with a hand in Jim's short hair.
“You freaking planned this,” Kirk says after a while, a satisfied chuckle in his voice. “Damn.”
“We did,” Chekov smiles, wriggling a little between them. “Was my idea.”
Jim's eyebrows shoot up at that. “Really, now?”
Hikaru smirks, “Pavel was the mastermind. I can only take credit for providing the background research.”
Appearing to think that over for a moment, Kirk then nods, “Back at the Academy.”
“I'm almost surprised you remember,” Sulu says, shoving down his mild shock. Jim had been drunk off his ass that night.
“Like I could forget,” he replies. Then, more quietly, he says, “You fucking saved me from ruining things for myself. I never did thank you.”
Sulu smiles softly. “I think you just did.”
Another grateful look settles over Jim's face, and after a while he ventures, “So. In the future? I mean, things aren't gonna be weird, or anything, are they?”
Pavel speaks up before Hikaru has the chance, “In uniform, you are the Captain, as always. Not weird. Out of uniform, anything you need, we give you. That way, you won't be so lonely, frustrated, and cranky.”
Jim groans, burying his face in Chekov's loose curls. “Was I that obvious?”
Hikaru practically snorts. “You made Doctor McCoy look positively sunny. But that's done with for now, right?”
Another groan, and Kirk nods quickly. “Oh yes,” he assures them, settling down again.
Sulu and Pavel exchange a slow smile, and the pilot catches his younger lover tracing symbols and numbers on Jim's arm this time. He doesn't have to look to know how the equation adds up.
* * * * *
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu, Chekov/Kirk/Sulu
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,520
Prompt: For the Porn Battle - Chekov/Kirk/Sulu, additional
Summary: Jim Kirk has turned into a cantankerous ass. Sulu and Chekov devise a plan to change that.
Disclaimer: Paramount and CBS owns it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: I almost passed the word count limit on this one. Damn plot. :p
Not So Lonely... or Cranky
After a rough shift and an thorough fuck to deal with the exhausting stress of it, the two of them lie in Pavel's bed, limbs still entwined, the younger man tracing patterns on Hikaru's arm in what the pilot knows are numbers and equations, both finally coming down from the insanity of the day and able to talk about it. They're both worried that the Captain hasn't been acting like himself lately, snapping at every little thing, unfocused, generally making the crew's lives miserable, when for the last year and a half, he's been a buoying influence, keeping morale up on the ship, buffering bad moods and ill-will to make their long mission more bearable. In short, he's become a complete ass, and the source of the unknown tension driving him to the brink is yet unknown.
Hikaru tries to remember if he's seen Kirk act like this before. Having known him from a few classes at the Academy, he was more than familiar with his boisterous nature, the confident grins and intense gazes he'd use at the drop of a hat if he thought they could get him what he wanted or give someone else what they needed. He'd never really seemed so out of his element, so stressed, and this was a man who was fully possessed of himself, so seeing him act so thoughtlessly has been a shock.
No.
He realizes then that he has seen Kirk like this before. But it wasn't Captain Kirk or Cadet Kirk, it was Jim, his acquaintance from their Warp Physics class way back in Hikaru's second year at the Academy. Jim Kirk, whom he'd run into one Friday at a local bar in San Fransisco, angry, stressed, and about two steps away from starting a brawl.
Suddenly, it all makes sense, and he wants to smack himself for not seeing it sooner, not remembering.
“Hikaru?” Pavel says, snapping the older man out of his reverie, and Sulu realizes his lover has stopped tracing numbers and symbols on his arm, one long index finger stilled against his bicep.
A little knot of anxiety settles down into Hikaru's stomach as he realizes he's got a confession to make. He and Pavel have been together a while now, exclusive for all intents and purposes, and they're damn close, but there are still plenty of things they don't know about each other, things Hikaru hasn't shared, at least.
“I think I know what's going on,” he starts quietly.
Pavel perks up at the revelation. “Da?”
He almost doesn't want to ruin the open, lit up expression on his Pasha's face, but forges ahead. “You know I knew Kirk back at the Academy, right?”
“Of course.” Blinking hazel eyes and long lashes. Hikaru starts to hate himself.
“Well, he and I weren't really friends, ran in different circles, and all that, but―”
Pavel nods.
“I slept with him once,” he admits.
Eyes widen. “Really?”
Hikaru wants to gut himself. “Um, yeah. It was sort of a...” he tries to think of a way to describe the drunken hook-up that he'd initiated just to keep Jim from picking a local to punch in the face for the heck of it, settling on, “one-time thing. He was kind of a mess, like he's been acting lately, and I figured he could use an alternate activity to burn it all off. Turned out he hadn't been laid in something like six months, said something about trying to go cold turkey. We didn't really talk much after that, but he seemed fine again. And I more or less forgot about it, anyway.” Finishing with a shrug, he gives Pavel an embarrassed smile.
The younger man nods more seriously then, a little crease in his brow as he takes it all in. “Then, the Captain is... sexually frustrated,” he decides, drawing the logical conclusion. “We have been in space for seventeen months, and he has most likely gone 'cold turkey', as you said.”
“Yeah, that's what I figure,” Hikaru nods back, feeling the knot of anxiety ease away as it doesn't look like Pavel's jealous or anything like that. “Probably has some kind of self-imposted 'hands-off' policy to keep himself honest.” He realizes the younger man has started tracing numbers and symbols on his arm again, a new pattern this time, more like a chemical equation, balancing both sides.
“He must be very lonely,” Pavel says, brow furrowed with more intense concentration.
“I imagine so.” Curling his hand around his lover's bare hip and squeezing gently, Sulu leans his forehead against Pavel's. “The prospect of five years of celibacy can't be fun. No wonder he's been acting so crazy.”
Hazel eyes flick up to his as the finger on his arm stills again, and the glint of a radical idea in them is clear as day.
“We should help him be not so lonely, Hikaru. He deserves to be not so lonely.”
The pit of his stomach flips in a way he hasn't felt since that free-fall over Vulcan, and he feels the finger moving against his arm again, tracing out what feels like '+1'.
* * * * *
It only takes a little discussion for them to realize they're on the same page about what to do about the Captain, even less to formulate a plan and put it into action, but what they don't count on is it taking four separate invitations just to get him to come play poker with them one evening in Hikaru's quarters. Kirk has become as cantankerous as the doctor, and he snaps and snarls and grumbles every time one of them corners him in the mess hall or the turbolift.
Finally, Sulu snaps back at him on their way down from the bridge at the end of alpha shift, tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to loosen his grip a little, unwind and just chill out before he drives the rest of the crew up a wall, and he's rewarded with a wide-eyed, gob-smacked expression, the same as that night back at the Academy. Secretly, Hikaru can't help a bit of smug satisfaction that he was able to slap some sense into the Captain, figuratively, if not literally. There'll be time for that later, at any rate.
With a resigned look, Kirk relents, scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, and agrees to the invitation. Sulu smiles and nods back, relieved that they can move onto the next phase of the plan.
* * * * *
That evening when Jim shows up at Sulu's quarters, the pilot is satisfied at the curious look on the Captain's face as he takes in his environment. The room is partially dimmed, save a spotlight over the table they've set up for poker and the light over the bed, there's a tall bottle of vodka already out and open, with three shot glasses waiting to be filled, music with a slow, driving base line is playing on low volume, and both younger officers are wearing Academy-issue sweats and matching t-shirts. No place for rank here, after all, and it strikes Hikaru that Kirk probably feels suddenly overdressed in his uniform. Oh well, they'll take care of that soon enough.
After an awkward first few hands of five-card draw, keeping things low-key, and three rounds of shots to get things moving, they finally all settle into a much easier camaraderie, shooting the shit about this week's alien encounter, yesterday's disastrous lunch menu in the mess hall, the rumors about Mister Scott and Lieutenant Gaila christening another Jeffries tube, in their weird threesome with the Enterprise, herself.
It's this opening that Hikaru and Pavel have been waiting for, but before they can pounce on the opportunity, Jim shakes his head sadly, rolling his full shot glass between thumb and forefinger, and groans, “Man, they're so lucky, they don't even know. I mean, look at 'em, fucking like bunnies, and happy as hell.”
“They know how to handle deep space, that's for sure,” Sulu replies while Jim downs his shot quickly and sucks in a deep breath through his teeth after.
“They are smart, yes,” Chekov adds.
“And you guys, too,” Kirk says, slamming down his glass and dropping his cards on the table, fixing them with a pointed look, blue eyes glinting in the light from above. “I mean, it's not like the whole ship doesn't know you guys are an item. You got it all figured out. Hell, half the ship's fucking like bunnies, not a care in the world, don't have to worry about the command structure or saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, or fraternization bullshit rules or harassment or anything, and I'm up there―” Shaking his head again, he cuts himself off, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair, and he groans, looking embarrassed as hell.
Hikaru's out of his chair quick at that, unable to sit by any longer, his heart pounding in his chest as he leans down to pull Jim into a hard, unforgiving kiss, Pavel on his other side in an instant, helping to bring the Captain out of his chair, too. They're rewarded with a shiver and a look of shock, wet lips open and working for a moment as Sulu draws back to give him some air.
“Fuck the rules,” the pilot says, hands landing on Jim's hips as the older man's grip his shoulders tight. “We're in deep space, for God's sake; this is the last place you should be trying to go cold turkey.”
Jim shudders then, realization dawning, and his eyes flutter closed as he presses back against Chekov, the Ensign nuzzling his neck and murmuring in affirmation of Sulu's statement. “Shit,” he mutters, “you guys are fucking serious? I mean―”
“As heart attack,” Pavel says, lips brushing his ear.
Kirk is putty in their hands at the statement, suddenly unable to argue with their extended invitation, blinking and letting them drag him over to the bed, moaning when the two younger men pull his uniform top and undershirt off over his head, two sets of hands on his hips, chest, back, shoulders, arms.
Sulu smirks, kissing him again as he undoes Jim's pants and pushes them and his briefs down over his hips and erection. Considering the way the last time went, it isn't surprising how easily they're getting him into bed, less so when Jim turns the tables on them, need and desperation fueling his fire as he pulls Pavel around to kiss him hard, one hand running through his soft curls, the other pushing the younger man's t-shirt up over a lean, toned chest. “Jesus,” he breathes, gripping his hips and pulling them flush together. “So beautiful. Fuck.”
After that it's only a matter of moments before they're all three divested of every last shred of clothing, t-shirts, sweats, and uniform pants all discarded eagerly, and Jim pushes Pavel down on the bed, practically devouring his mouth, lean legs wrapping around his waist while Hikaru presses close, settling behind Kirk. “Can I fuck you?” the older man breathes against kiss-swollen lips, and Hikaru and Pavel both chuckle.
“Bozhemoi, yes. Da, that is the idea,” Chekov smirks, bucking up against Jim.
Sulu waits patiently, kneading small circles into broad shoulders while Jim reaches a hand between him and Pavel, and he's gratified by the gasp of surprise that passes Kirk's lips when he finds the surprise waiting for him.
“Shit,” Jim practically squeaks, eyes wide.
“That's right,” Hikaru murmurs, close to his ear. “Stretched and slick, just for you.”
“You. You conspiring bastards!” Kirk grins then, really figuring it out at last, before shifting quick to line up and start to push into the eager young man beneath him. His whole body seems to shudder with the pleasure of it, and Sulu groans at the sight before him, his beautiful Pasha, pale skin flushed, lean body writhing on Jim's cock.
While Jim sets up a rhythm, Hikaru grabs the lube from the nightstand, slicks his fingers and his own cock, more than ready himself, and slides a fingertip down the line of Kirk's ass. Finding his entrance, he circles it slowly before pushing the digit in, and is rewarded with a hitched breath and another full-body shiver. “Easy,” he soothes, a firm hand on a tense shoulder. “Know you need this, too.”
A litany of soft curses comes back at him, Jim's head thrown back as he works himself back onto Sulu's finger, then forward to thrust into Pavel again. Settling into another rhythm, Jim fucks Chekov more slowly as Hikaru stretches him fully, and after what feels like forever, Sulu positions himself and thrusts in hard.
The hoarse scream and whimpers that rip from Jim's throat are all the further encouragement Hikaru needs, and he sets his own pace, fast and brutal, Kirk writhing now, hips stuttering their thrusts into Pavel. Lips meet and suck, hands twine together, chest to chest and chest to back, sweat and keening moans, the three men working together, an additional set of everything to feel, grasp, lick, taste, scratch, and stroke, and it doesn't take nearly long enough for orgasm to overwhelm all of them, within moments of each other. Their names fall from each other's lips, cries and whimpers and gasps of pleasure filling the room over that low, throbbing baseline of the music, hearts thundering in chests and breaths panting as they come down from their high.
It's sticky and sweaty between the three of them when Jim and Hikaru finally disengage and collapse on either side of Pavel, pressing close on the narrow bed, all exchanging languorous kisses and softer caresses in that dizzy afterglow. Sulu's skin is hypersensitive and numb all at once, and he nuzzles into Pavel's neck, settling with a hand in Jim's short hair.
“You freaking planned this,” Kirk says after a while, a satisfied chuckle in his voice. “Damn.”
“We did,” Chekov smiles, wriggling a little between them. “Was my idea.”
Jim's eyebrows shoot up at that. “Really, now?”
Hikaru smirks, “Pavel was the mastermind. I can only take credit for providing the background research.”
Appearing to think that over for a moment, Kirk then nods, “Back at the Academy.”
“I'm almost surprised you remember,” Sulu says, shoving down his mild shock. Jim had been drunk off his ass that night.
“Like I could forget,” he replies. Then, more quietly, he says, “You fucking saved me from ruining things for myself. I never did thank you.”
Sulu smiles softly. “I think you just did.”
Another grateful look settles over Jim's face, and after a while he ventures, “So. In the future? I mean, things aren't gonna be weird, or anything, are they?”
Pavel speaks up before Hikaru has the chance, “In uniform, you are the Captain, as always. Not weird. Out of uniform, anything you need, we give you. That way, you won't be so lonely, frustrated, and cranky.”
Jim groans, burying his face in Chekov's loose curls. “Was I that obvious?”
Hikaru practically snorts. “You made Doctor McCoy look positively sunny. But that's done with for now, right?”
Another groan, and Kirk nods quickly. “Oh yes,” he assures them, settling down again.
Sulu and Pavel exchange a slow smile, and the pilot catches his younger lover tracing symbols and numbers on Jim's arm this time. He doesn't have to look to know how the equation adds up.
* * * * *