Fic: Good Man
So I managed to write two fics before sullying my new fandom with incest. Ah well! Also, does this mean I now need a George Kirk icon? I couldn't find any...
Title: Good Man
Pairing: George Kirk/Jim Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Please see the pairing. That is all.
Author's note: Written for the st_xi_kink meme. Now with a lovely remix: Good Man (The Bad Day Remix) by florahart.
Summary: Jim takes a minute to appreciate how fucking wrong this is. How black holes and time travel and universe-ending paradoxes always make things too damn complicated, because picking up his own father when he's an academy cadet and the same age as Jim should not even be an option. But it is. Had been. And Jim was never one to leave an inviting road unexplored.
As George Kirk moves inside him, Jim takes a minute to appreciate how fucking wrong this is. How black holes and time travel and universe-ending paradoxes always make things too damn complicated, because picking up his own father at a bar when he's an academy cadet and the same age as Jim should not even be an option. But it is. Had been. And Jim was never one to leave an inviting road unexplored.
--
At first he doesn't mean for this to happen. He just wants to see, to talk to the man. "Hey, how 'bout Commander Robau?" and "Have you seen that new cadet? Winona what's-her-name? Yeah, she's something."
But that passes quickly, and Jim is drawn in by how much he genuinely likes George Kirk. Everything everyone had said about him was true. He is a good man, a goddamn hero (or at least he will be soon), and he has a genuine charisma that makes Jim feel like a phony.
George is drinking whiskey, straight, and Jim matches him drink for drink. Jim asks about home, and gets a description of the family farm. Jim had never known--never thought to ask, actually--but George's father, fucking Tiberious Kirk had been a farmer for years until he'd joined Star Fleet. So they talk about home, and Jim says something vague about growing up here in San Francisco, and that's when Jim gets the distinct impression that Pike was right about his inherited tendency to leap without looking, because George is definitely leaning closer to him, his words getting softer so Jim has to strain to hear.
When George finally says, "I have better whiskey at my place," Jim thinks he should really have the presence of mind to refuse this invitation, but he's not willing to let this go. Not yet.
--
George Kirk's dorm room has a very nice floor, and when he pins Jim to it, kissing him stupid, Jim tries not to imagine whether George has brought Winona here, or will someday. He tries not to think about that, as he tries not to think about Freud, or what McCoy would say about self-destructive tendencies and self-esteem issues. He lets George lick his way inside his mouth and rut against his hip, and he thinks for a split second about trying to explain to George why this is probably not a good idea.
But no, hell no, if there was ever an opportunity to lose the respect of the father he never met, this would be it, and as much as Jim hated to admit it, he desperately, desperately wants George to like him, to be pleased with him...by him.
So when George says, "This okay?" Jim just pants "Yeah," and spreads his legs.
He lets George undress him, and he keeps his eyes closed at first, because he's not sure he wants this image seared into his brain, but he can't help himself. When slick fingers prod at his entrance, he has to open his eyes.
George is straddling his legs, working his fingers inside Jim, and looking up at him with mischievous eyes that Jim's seen in the mirror more than once. "Christ," Jim breathes, and lets his head fall back. George works him open, skilled and confident, and lets his other hand drift to Jim's cock. Now Jim squeezes his eyes closed, because it feels damn good, and he's starting to think maybe he does have a genetic predisposition to promiscuity, because George has definitely done this before.
"Hey," George whispers, and Jim has to look at him. He's closer now, leaning forward to get a better look at Jim's reactions. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He chuckles and drops a kiss on Jim's lips. "I mean, really gorgeous."
Jim shudders in pleasure, and he tries to tell himself it's from George's hands on him, because simple words like that shouldn't suffuse him with such warmth. But George likes him, approves of him, and he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted that.
"Can I?" George asks, and he draws his fingers out, crouches between Jim's legs.
"Yeah," Jim says hoarsely. He couldn't possibly say no. He doesn't want to say no.
George slides in easily, and Jim shudders. His hands fly up to grip George's arms, and George shushes him gently. "You're okay," he says. "I've got ya."
Jim's never felt so safe, so loved. George moves inside him, slow and smooth, peppering Jim's chest and neck with kisses. No bar pick-up has ever treated Jim like this, like he God-damn cared about him, and he wonders if George treats everyone this way, or if there's something special about Jim.
“God, you feel so good,” George whispers against his ear.
Jim moans at that, and his legs sort of wrap themselves around George’s back, pulling him deeper.
George grunts in surprise, and there it is again, that same friendly chuckle. “Yeah.”
Jim doesn’t want this to end and he wants it to be over right now and he’s not sure what he wants. His hand moves of its own volition down to his cock, but George’s hand was already moving, and they meet at Jim’s erection--George’s slick hand and Jim’s trembling one--and start stroking together.
George speeds up, both the thrusts of his hips and his hand on Jim’s cock, and now his panting next to Jim’s ear becomes ragged and broken. “Christ,” he says. “You’re so good.” He stutters to a stop, and his forehead presses against Jim’s. Warmth explodes inside Jim, slick and welcome. Jim’s legs clench around George, and he feels strangely tingly, slightly nervous, but definitely, definitely good.
George stays where he is for the space of a few breaths, and then his hand resumes stroking Jim. He’s close, and the rocking of George’s cock still lodged inside of him has him teetering close to the edge. George is working him faster, kissing one corner of his mouth over and over. “Come on. Come on,” he says encouragingly, not rushing Jim, just cheering him on.
When Jim comes, he arches up with a loud, throaty cry wrenched up from the deepest part of him.
George gathers him in his arms, holding him tight, almost protectively. “I’ve got you. Good, yeah, that’s good. You’re amazing. God, you’re…” His laugh, again. “You’re the best I’ve had in... Well, in a long time.” He pulls up, then, as if he’s suddenly thought of something. “God, I’m sorry. I never… What’s your name?”
“Jim,” he says. He doesn’t know if a universe-ending paradox will ensue, but he’s finding it difficult to care right now, wrecked and wrung-out as he is. He wants his father to know his name.
“Jim,” George says thoughtfully. “Good name.” He bends down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good man.”
Title: Good Man
Pairing: George Kirk/Jim Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Please see the pairing. That is all.
Author's note: Written for the st_xi_kink meme. Now with a lovely remix: Good Man (The Bad Day Remix) by florahart.
Summary: Jim takes a minute to appreciate how fucking wrong this is. How black holes and time travel and universe-ending paradoxes always make things too damn complicated, because picking up his own father when he's an academy cadet and the same age as Jim should not even be an option. But it is. Had been. And Jim was never one to leave an inviting road unexplored.
As George Kirk moves inside him, Jim takes a minute to appreciate how fucking wrong this is. How black holes and time travel and universe-ending paradoxes always make things too damn complicated, because picking up his own father at a bar when he's an academy cadet and the same age as Jim should not even be an option. But it is. Had been. And Jim was never one to leave an inviting road unexplored.
--
At first he doesn't mean for this to happen. He just wants to see, to talk to the man. "Hey, how 'bout Commander Robau?" and "Have you seen that new cadet? Winona what's-her-name? Yeah, she's something."
But that passes quickly, and Jim is drawn in by how much he genuinely likes George Kirk. Everything everyone had said about him was true. He is a good man, a goddamn hero (or at least he will be soon), and he has a genuine charisma that makes Jim feel like a phony.
George is drinking whiskey, straight, and Jim matches him drink for drink. Jim asks about home, and gets a description of the family farm. Jim had never known--never thought to ask, actually--but George's father, fucking Tiberious Kirk had been a farmer for years until he'd joined Star Fleet. So they talk about home, and Jim says something vague about growing up here in San Francisco, and that's when Jim gets the distinct impression that Pike was right about his inherited tendency to leap without looking, because George is definitely leaning closer to him, his words getting softer so Jim has to strain to hear.
When George finally says, "I have better whiskey at my place," Jim thinks he should really have the presence of mind to refuse this invitation, but he's not willing to let this go. Not yet.
--
George Kirk's dorm room has a very nice floor, and when he pins Jim to it, kissing him stupid, Jim tries not to imagine whether George has brought Winona here, or will someday. He tries not to think about that, as he tries not to think about Freud, or what McCoy would say about self-destructive tendencies and self-esteem issues. He lets George lick his way inside his mouth and rut against his hip, and he thinks for a split second about trying to explain to George why this is probably not a good idea.
But no, hell no, if there was ever an opportunity to lose the respect of the father he never met, this would be it, and as much as Jim hated to admit it, he desperately, desperately wants George to like him, to be pleased with him...by him.
So when George says, "This okay?" Jim just pants "Yeah," and spreads his legs.
He lets George undress him, and he keeps his eyes closed at first, because he's not sure he wants this image seared into his brain, but he can't help himself. When slick fingers prod at his entrance, he has to open his eyes.
George is straddling his legs, working his fingers inside Jim, and looking up at him with mischievous eyes that Jim's seen in the mirror more than once. "Christ," Jim breathes, and lets his head fall back. George works him open, skilled and confident, and lets his other hand drift to Jim's cock. Now Jim squeezes his eyes closed, because it feels damn good, and he's starting to think maybe he does have a genetic predisposition to promiscuity, because George has definitely done this before.
"Hey," George whispers, and Jim has to look at him. He's closer now, leaning forward to get a better look at Jim's reactions. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He chuckles and drops a kiss on Jim's lips. "I mean, really gorgeous."
Jim shudders in pleasure, and he tries to tell himself it's from George's hands on him, because simple words like that shouldn't suffuse him with such warmth. But George likes him, approves of him, and he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted that.
"Can I?" George asks, and he draws his fingers out, crouches between Jim's legs.
"Yeah," Jim says hoarsely. He couldn't possibly say no. He doesn't want to say no.
George slides in easily, and Jim shudders. His hands fly up to grip George's arms, and George shushes him gently. "You're okay," he says. "I've got ya."
Jim's never felt so safe, so loved. George moves inside him, slow and smooth, peppering Jim's chest and neck with kisses. No bar pick-up has ever treated Jim like this, like he God-damn cared about him, and he wonders if George treats everyone this way, or if there's something special about Jim.
“God, you feel so good,” George whispers against his ear.
Jim moans at that, and his legs sort of wrap themselves around George’s back, pulling him deeper.
George grunts in surprise, and there it is again, that same friendly chuckle. “Yeah.”
Jim doesn’t want this to end and he wants it to be over right now and he’s not sure what he wants. His hand moves of its own volition down to his cock, but George’s hand was already moving, and they meet at Jim’s erection--George’s slick hand and Jim’s trembling one--and start stroking together.
George speeds up, both the thrusts of his hips and his hand on Jim’s cock, and now his panting next to Jim’s ear becomes ragged and broken. “Christ,” he says. “You’re so good.” He stutters to a stop, and his forehead presses against Jim’s. Warmth explodes inside Jim, slick and welcome. Jim’s legs clench around George, and he feels strangely tingly, slightly nervous, but definitely, definitely good.
George stays where he is for the space of a few breaths, and then his hand resumes stroking Jim. He’s close, and the rocking of George’s cock still lodged inside of him has him teetering close to the edge. George is working him faster, kissing one corner of his mouth over and over. “Come on. Come on,” he says encouragingly, not rushing Jim, just cheering him on.
When Jim comes, he arches up with a loud, throaty cry wrenched up from the deepest part of him.
George gathers him in his arms, holding him tight, almost protectively. “I’ve got you. Good, yeah, that’s good. You’re amazing. God, you’re…” His laugh, again. “You’re the best I’ve had in... Well, in a long time.” He pulls up, then, as if he’s suddenly thought of something. “God, I’m sorry. I never… What’s your name?”
“Jim,” he says. He doesn’t know if a universe-ending paradox will ensue, but he’s finding it difficult to care right now, wrecked and wrung-out as he is. He wants his father to know his name.
“Jim,” George says thoughtfully. “Good name.” He bends down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good man.”