I Formulate Infinity - Stored Deep Inside of Me
Title: Engineering 101 - Giving It All He's Got
Series: Reboot
Pairing: Scotty/Kirk/Enterprise
Rating: NC-1701
Word Count: ~5300
Summary: THIS~!
Notes/Warnings: latenightarting takes most of the blame, but I'm not dismissing jou 's part in this either! Warnings for swearing, sex, my horrible attempts at Scottish slang (HA HA HA - dropped scone! Thank you, Wikipedia XD) and misappropriation of shop supplies.
It was the quiet that lured him down to the engine core, the constant thrum of the Enterprise around him did not count as noise. It was soothing, like a melody, a conversation between him and this great lady that let him know that all systems were running optimally, and she approved of his efforts on her behalf.
A silly thing, a man his age, anthropomorphizing a ship, but this ship could never be just a mass of wires and crystals over slick titanium ribbing to him. So much more than the sum of her parts, though that was indeed an impressive list, she was freedom of space and the welcome of home. She directed his often unfocused energy into mad flights of genius that made him feel the laws of physics really were just guidelines.
She was his window into the impossible.
At thirty seven years young, Montgomery Scott had finally fallen in love and it was everything Robbie Burns had promised him. Never would he confess that he had called her a jewel in his crown before, not even the deepest draught of the finest single malt would win that confession out of him. But some nights, like tonight, when it seemed like it was just the two of them, he could come down here to her very heart and toast her every fitting and thermocouple.
Flask in hand, he rounded the grated path to where the cooling tanks would magnify the glow from the warp core and he could bask himself in surreal blue light. He figured Spock had his meditations, Doctor McCoy had his brandy-and-bitching sessions with the Captain and he had these interludes. It all served the same purpose, a way for them to ground and refocus, each seeking their own brand of peace. He mused a moment on the Captain, for it was hard thing that: imagining Jim Kirk ever unwinding - a force of personality and fearsome energy and, thinking on it, Scotty couldn't actually remember him ever being still - barring that one time with the Saurian brandy on Omnicron Delphi. Did passed out drunk count as relaxed? Probably not.
It was a pity, and a mite concerning. His grandma, God rest her, had had an adage about the stars flaring brightest before they blinked out and he worried those words fit his Captain a little too closely. Maybe he'd invite the lad down to his sanctuary some night. Jim loved his lady too, maybe she could soothe some of that fire before the Captain got himself burned. There were, of course, other ways to relax a man, but Scotty didn't quite think his courage was up to the task of trying to seduce a man near a dozen years his junior, no matter how fine. His imagination, unfortunately, was vivid enough to spell out all manner of humiliations should he attempt it.
With a small sigh of remorse, he put the thought aside and settled himself against the comfortable bulk of the back up control panel. Gentle vibrations seeped into him and his mind went for a wander outside the constraints of everyday life. The trans warp beaming formula the other, older Spock (and what a trip that! This truly was the grandest of ships. Where else could he have witnessed Alternate Universe Theory in action?) had shown him could still be tweaked now that he had the concept of space in motion to play with. How far out could he reach before the fluctuations became too unstable to compensate for? Could he apply the principles to advance the warp capabilities of the Enterprise without just crudely adding more power and spoiling her lines? There was something there, some piece of critical knowledge hovering just out of grasp, that would be the building block for an elegant solution. One that could pave the way to another Universal Law.
Scott's Law. It could be taught alongside Thermodynamics in grade schools and all of the great minds of his generation would wonder how they'd missed something so brilliant, so obvious.
Admiral Archer would finally stop bitching about that damned dog.
He lost himself in those happy musings, crafting elaborate acceptance speeches and mentally retrofitting the warp core to fly faster, farther - to the edges of the known Universe and beyond. Together, he and his lady would fair dance around Birds of Prey and Praetor Warbirds, laughing all the while.
A mellow hour passed with Scotty lost in his own head, sipping absently at the finest scotch the replicators could offer. He had a plan for that too, never think otherwise, he just needed a few hours alone with the central processor when Spock wasn't being too terribly vigilant. He had an agreement with Doctor McCoy to let him know the very instant the Vulcan First Officer accepted one of Uhura's requests to join her on shore leave. Now that was as strange a pairing as Scotty could reckon. Nyota had fire underneath her rigid control, and as far as he could tell, Spock just had more control, excepting certain instances of planetary destruction and a crazy Jim Kirk, oozing insubordination and poking at raw wounds. And that wasn't exactly a set of circumstances you could count on every time you needed a little fire, nor would you want to. Still, they seemed happy enough, he supposed, and Spock would relent eventually and then Scotty'd have his chance.
A good Engineer knows the value of careful planning, and Montgomery Scott was among the finest.
He was preparing to pack it in and head back to his quarters to sleep off his buzz when a muffled oath and the soft clink of a metal on metal caught his attention. Discovering intimately what instant, blinding rage felt like, he moved briskly towards the primary control panel and the interloper. There was no scheduled maintenance in this sector tonight, and anybody attempting to tamper with the Enterprise without Scotty's express permission would soon learn the true meaning of a Scot's temper.
Righteous fury drained abruptly into bemusement when he banked left at the cooling stacks to find his Captain crouched at the panel, reaching blindly for his pliers with his left hand while pinching a loose connection with his right. A pink tip of tongue poked out from between his lips and the sight, coupled with the look of intense concentration, might have been charming had Scotty not looked past the Captain and seen the carnage he had wrought. An entire section of the main console was dismantled, wiring pulled free of the terminal and splayed open like a gutted carcass around Kirk's hand. There were tools spread all across the immediate area: a sonic solderer rested, fully armed, next to the hyperdrive actuator control; a portable diagnostic unit, the expensive type he'd had to barter with the requisitions officer at HQ for weeks to acquire, was propped precariously against the main display; his wee set of precision screwdrivers laid carelessly opened, the soft leather case showing not one, but two of the tiny instruments to be missing from their nest.
Scotty couldn't help it. He whimpered.
Jim whirled to face him, losing his balance in the process and cracking his head against the metal casing. As he went down, one booted foot flew out, sending Scotty's precious precision screwdrivers skittering across the grating. The smallest of the set, so useful in adjusting the twitchy Nav/Sat's in the older shuttles, wiggled free and was saved from disappearing through the grating by dint of Scotty's well timed and rather painful face dive. Meanwhile, the loose wires Jim had been pinching slipped out from his grip and, sparking against one of Scotty's prized wrenches in a friendly white arc, blanked out the entire display.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the hell are you doing down here, Scotty?” Scooping up the pliers, the Captain returned to the gutted control panel and tried to resurrect the monitors to no avail.
Flabbergasted at the accusation in Jim's tone and considering the very implication that he, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, Pioneer of Transwarp Beaming and the oldest freaking member on this entire crew of madmen - excepting the ancient chief of Sanitation, was not supposed to be in his engine room, Scotty's reaction was completely understandable. Nay, it was justified, and the bampots at Command could either see it as such or get chibbed.
Picking himself up of the floor, he charged forward and grabbed Jim by his shoulders, spinning him round to scream in his face. “Are ye fookin' daft, man!? What are ye doin' to me ship?!”
Jim rolled his shoulders and shoved hard enough that the crimping pliers surely left an indent on Scotty's chest. He oofed as he stumbled back into a cooling tank. For such a skinny lad, the Captain had some considerable strength.
Blazing blue eyes glared at him from across the walkway, and Scotty stopped from rushing Jim again when Kirk took a threatening step forward. The lad, nay, the Captain, looked fair sinister in the low light, his pretty face sharpened by the hard shadows and anger gleaming bright through narrowed eyes.
Scotty took a deep breath a relaxed his clenched fists, mourning now the wreckage of the primary control panel, her desolate display panels opaque and dreary amid the tangle of exposed wires.
“Are you done?” Jim's tone was icy, and were he not so affected by the flagrant sabotage before him, Scotty might have begun to fear for his berth on his lady.
“Are ye? What've ye done, lad?” He yelled some more, his brogue thickening as it always did when his ire was up. It felt much like he was spitting out words past a mouth full of soggy bread.
“I was trying to adjust the feedback loop from the dilithium sensors to correct the readout lag.”
“Lag,” Scotty scoffed. “There's no lag in me systems!”
Jim sighed , the anger rushing out of him with the air, and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “There's always lag, Scotty. Always. I just happened to notice some extra slop in the core diagnostics when Sulu was running manoeuvres this morning. I was just about done too when I dropped the damned crimpers.” He looked back over his shoulder and winced. “What a fucking mess.”
“Slop?! There wasna any slop! Sulu hisself thanked me this afternoon for keeping her so primed!” Career be damned, if the lad kept up the insults, he was going to get socked. Slop on the Enterprise, indeed.
Jim bristled again and spoke with pained clarity: “The engines are fine. The readout was sloppy. You had a loose connection in the primary bus and an overloaded resistor in the secondary.” He gestured towards the soldering gun, miraculously undisturbed from their brief scuffle. “I already fixed that.”
“Oh did ye now? And what trainin' do ye have that lets ye believe ye can jest throw open some panels and slap some solder in without doin' harm?” He edged past the Captain, ignoring the blooming smirk, to peer at the supposed repair, trying to figure out exactly how much of his precious system he would have to rip out to put things right. “A starship ain't yer daddy's fookin' transport. She needs proper care! Bunglin' ham-handed pretty boy probably reversed...” his diatribe petered off as he took in the neat secondary resistor installation and rerouted connections, textbook tidy, in direct opposition to the mess of tools about the workstation. Every wire was perfectly placed, wound clear of possible interference, expertly spliced in complementary series to reduce the load on the main unit.
It was poetry in circuitry. The longer he stared the more Scotty realized he couldn't have done a better job himself. Furthermore, Jim was right, the resistor was not rated to handle the power influx, even with the cutting edge nodule boosters and, had it continued unchecked, readout lag would have been the least of their concerns. Course, now that the whole board was blown out, it was a beautiful bit of wasted effort.
He was ashamed and he’d been raised right enough to admit he was wrong. Turning towards the Captain, he noted the defensive posture belying the cocky smirk. People weren't so easy as machines to understand, but even a blind fool could see the lad was bracing for another go. “Ye did a foine job, Jim. I'm sorry for losin' me temper before checkin' yer work.”
Trumpeting laughter hadn't been quite what he was going for, though he didn't mind too much. Jim's laugh was clear and almost as pretty as his face. It sucked the tension out him as sure as a good nip of brandy on a cold night. He listened patiently until it ran out and cocked his head in silent enquiry.
Jim flashed him a grin. “And if I'd botched it, how sorry would you be?”
Scotty shrugged. “If ye'd botched it, ye'd've deserved it. Ye didna, so ye don't.”
Jim clapped him on the shoulder, hard. Stronger than he looked? Aye, definitely. It gave a man ideas he should not be having about his Captain. “You're a treasure Scotty. Do it again and I stop screening Archer's comms.”
He shivered at the well aimed threat, old Archer's tirades were legendary and, since the Beagle Incident, Scotty had been on the receiving end of more than any man still living. “Aye, Cap'n. Now, what say ye we get this fixed afore we have t'explain what happened?”
Jim's grin mellowed into a softer smile. “I'd like that.”
And so it began.
Working together, they were able to replace the fried circuit board in short order. Along the way Scotty discovered the Captain shared his tendency to croon encouragement to the ship as he laboured, coaxing her to accept his work and praising her grandly when she did. He understood she was more than a series of interdependent systems and machinery, that she would reveal everything if you only knew how to ask. And Jim surely knew, his hands were gentle but sure as they ran over her exposed servos and they lingered like a lover on her curved skin. He was rapt as he worked, contentment glowing from his face, and Scotty found himself enthralled as Jim pressed the last access panel into place, testing the fit by ghosting a teasing finger along the seams. He imagined his face held a similar expression of wonder when he was in synch with the Enterprise, but he'd never actually seen it. His wee crush was growing exponentially every second post crisis.
He tried to busy himself gathering up the scattered tools, but Jim had managed to make an impressive mess with relatively little equipment and it did not take him nearly long enough. It was warm in the engine room, always was, but somehow Scotty didn't believe that was why he was flushing. He swallowed thickly as he watched Kirk's fingers worship the reactivated display and tried to disguise his growing interest with a swig from his flask.
“It's running perfectly now,” Jim's reverent whisper thrilled through him and he knew he was staring but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Halfway through their repairs, Jim had half slipped out of his coveralls and now stood in a grimy Starfleet undershirt molded tightly to his abs and stretched thin across his chest. Only the knotted arms about his waist kept the yellow coveralls from sliding to the floor when he moved, and Scotty was having ample difficulty not following that thought to its ultimate conclusion.
“Um...” He stalled when Jim stretched and the ribbed fabric creeped up to expose a patch of golden skin. He coughed and took another pull from his flask. “Aye,” his voice was only slightly suffocated this time, which was a marked improvement. Scotty coughed again and tried a smile, cursing his ancenstry and hoping the blue light was working to disguise the flush on his fair skin. “Ye've a good hand fer this work.”
Jim smiled back, a slow spreading kind of smile that started in his eyes and worked its way down. “We work well together.” He nodded at the flask. “Can I have some of that?”
“There's but a swallow left, but ye're welcome to it,” he offered with an apologetic shrug.
Scotty twitched and almost lost his grip on the flask when their fingers brushed, shocking him like he'd touched a live wire, only he didn't quite want to pull away. He did, just, and Jim shot him a speculative glance before tossing back the last of the scotch. Scotty fiddled with the clasp on his pocket rather than watch Jim's pink tongue dart out to catch a stray drop.
Aye, give him mechanical wonders any day of the week. The Enterprise could warm him, but she never made him fumble.
“You okay? You've been quiet since we finished up.”
“Oh, uh, aye. Just a wee bit tired is all. It's a task keepin' up with ye youngins,” he teased, easing back to familiar territory.
Jim scoffed dramatically, playing along. “Oh come off it, Scotty. You can outwork, outdrink and outlast your junior Ensigns, usually on the same day.”
Scotty grinned at that, for real this time. “All in the interest of provin' the benefits of experience, Jim. Can't have them thinkin' they can slip shoddy work past this auld man.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “You're worse than Bones with the old man bit. Since when is fifty old, anyway?”
“Fifty! Fifty?! I'll have ye know I'm but thirty-seven! Still in me prime!”
“Exactly.” Scotty had a bare instant to react to the shift in Jim's tone before his coveralls were bunched in a fist and he was hauled bodily forward to collide with the very lips he'd been so diligently not staring at a moment ago.
He absolutely did not squeal in shock, and shame on any who would claim otherwise. As first kisses went, it was a bit too toothy and wet to be perfect, but Engineering is a discipline based on refining out imperfections to reach an idealized end. So, with a few gentle nudges and the insertion of his hands in Jim's hair, Scotty was able to correct the deficiencies in their initial technique. Jim grunted his approval into the kiss and yanked Scotty closer, walking them backward until his hips rested on the console they'd just finished repairing and Scotty was pressed between his legs.
Curiosity and the inability to leave well enough alone was both a hallmark of his trade and his fatal flaw. After a few groan inducing minutes pressed tight against the Captain, his tongue down Jim's throat, playing out every fantasy he'd entertained in the last six months regarding this very scenario, they kicked in, and he was drawing away even as his own swelling dick begged him not to. He gulped air for a moment like a landed fish before pressing his forehead against Jim's and meeting those vivid blue eyes straight on. He took it as a compliment that the lad looked a bit dazed underneath all the smug.
“Not that I'm complainin', Jim,” he murmured. “But what are ye about?”
Jim's lashes feathered down and Scotty imagined they were close enough now that he should feel the wind of their passage. Jim's clever hands were fiddling with the zipper of Scotty's coveralls, the absent brushes of fingers over his collarbone made focusing on the answer taxing. “I'd have thought that would be obvious.” A mischievous grin played about Jim's mouth and when his eyes flicked up again they were smouldering. He tilted his head and nipped at Scotty's lower lip playfully. “I can spell it out for you, if you want. Or...” He trailed off to trace his tongue over the seam of Scotty's lips.
“Or?”
Jim pulled back to level the full weight of his most devastating smile at his hapless Chief Engineer. “Or I could show you.” He tugged suggestively on the zipper at Scotty's throat and lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “What do you say, Scotty? Do you want the lecture or the practical demonstration?”
Scotty hissed sharply as Jim pulled down on the shiny tab, so slowly that he could feel the separation of each individual tooth. “I always did better with the hands-on stuff at the Academy,” he confessed, head buzzing with lust and just enough scotch to smooth the edges off his nerves.
Jim flashed another quick grin and gave the zipper a final tug, deliberately brushing his knuckles over Scotty's straining erection before snaking his hands under the gaping red fabric and running them up Scotty's chest. “I'm counting on it.”
And now he had something to prove, didn't he? Emboldened by the challenge, Scotty brought his own hands into play, sliding them down the sides of Jim's neck, eliciting a full body shiver as his calloused fingertips teased their way along the smooth arch of muscle. He lingered a moment at the knobby point of Jim's shoulder, squeezing and rubbing before hauling the Captain in for another kiss.
Kissing Jim Kirk was a little like fighting him: you went in assured of your own strength and experience and found yourself flattened out of nowhere. Not that Scotty was complaining, he was no fool, if being flattened felt so good he'd be the world's happiest dropped scone.
Jim's mouth was both soft and demanding as he teased Scotty's tongue out and trapped it between his teeth, sucking and sucking and sucking until Scotty’s moans rumbled between them.
Their hands never stopped moving, each article of clothing was an obstacle in the war for satisfaction and dispatched summarily. Scotty wasn't clear on how exactly he'd managed to lose his coveralls before he'd wrestled Jim out of the grimy undershirt - he had a vague notion of kicking sometime in the distant past that wasn't him bent almost double over Jim at the console, breathing in spicy cologne and the metallic burn of silver solder, trying to devour his Captain whole. The tactical advantage was his with the boots as his feet were still firmly planted on the grating. He held Jim flat against the console and tried to tackle the clasps blind, unwilling to give up that mouth for anything less than a red alert. Jim was gracious, or at least willing to lose a few skirmishes in the interest of the greater goal, and provided assistance by wrapping his long legs tight around Scotty's waist.
A bit of squirming, and enjoying the resulting friction, and the issue was solved. Scotty threw the first boot carelessly over his shoulder and rewarded Jim with a fierce bite to his neck, his left hand twining in the short golden hair gone curly with sweat and yanking his head back to give him better access. Jim moaned breathlessly and hitched his legs higher, grinding hard against Scotty's dick and holding his head in place. He kicked off his other boot himself and wiggled, delightfully, until his coveralls bunched about their thighs.
“Fuck, Scotty. Yes.” The panted encouragement had a profound effect on the fit of Scotty's briefs. They went from light-but-supportive to tight-and-restrictive in less time than it would take a stark amateur to bungle a compression coil if left unattended. He tore himself away from Jim's throat, appreciating the rising bruises from his teeth and the implications of the marks. He'd marked him. For tonight, for now, Jim was his. Jim was in accord, splayed out under the diffused blue light like a buffet of temptation; his legs spread wide, chest heaving, inviting Scotty to sample all of him. It was not an invitation he felt inclined to refuse, and he was hungry indeed.
He whisked off the coveralls, letting them pool in an untidy heap by his feet. He thumbed the elastic of the boxers, careful to do no more than tease the skin around it, thoroughly enjoying seeing his Captain writhe for more contact. He was shameless, wanton, and every other purple adjective he'd garnered from his mum's impressive collection of bodice rippers when he was but a lad.
Impatient, Jim hooked him in with his leg, pushing himself off the console and sliding his mostly naked body down Scotty's. It was a neat trick, by the time Jim reached his knees Scotty stood in his undershirt and his boots, underwear tangled at his feet. Jim was completely nude, and he hadn't felt a thing but the heat of Jim's skin. He shuddered at the bright desire reflected on Jim's face and brought his hands to rest on smooth shoulders.
“Ach, yer a fair sight Jim. A man could spend his days just lookin' and never get tired.” He spoke nothing but truth, though his plans extended far beyond just watching.
“I bet you say that to all the guys about to give you the best head of your life,” he teased, glowing eyes communicating his intent to deliver on that promise. His hands were tracing up Scotty's legs, tickling through the hairs and making the Engineer shiver. “You're not so bad yourself, Scotty. But I'm gonna do so much more than just look.”
“Yeah.” Eloquence couldn't be expected when your dick was suddenly engulfed in the hottest, wettest mouth it had ever encountered. He forgave himself the lack of poetry and tightened his hands spasmodically over Jim's shoulders, fighting the burning need to thrust deep and hard into that heat. Jim locked one arm tight under his arse, keeping Scotty close while his lips and tongue traced electric patterns over his dick. He sucked hard, teasing the sensitive head and making Scotty swear a blue streak of Gaelic when fluttered his tongue into the leaking slit. Jim sucked cock like it was his life's purpose, an art honed and perfected over time until he could make a dick weep just by breathing on it. Working the shaft with his fist, Jim timed every squeeze to heighten Scotty's pleasure. Every stroke echoed at the base of his spine and he was coiling to come like a teenager on prom night when Jim finally pulled away with a loud slurp.
Shaken and quivering, he probably would have folded if Jim hadn't kept his hold of him for those first few seconds. He was riveted by the swollen lips curling into a pleased smirk. Jim rocked back until he was resting on his heels, and Scotty was amused to note that even Jim's dick could look smug as it thrust in the air proudly, certain of its appeal. Hungry again, he sank down and tasted himself on Jim's tongue, doing his level best to swallow each strangled sigh. He indulged himself by exploring every inch of smooth skin within reach. He pinched and petted his way down Jim's chest, discovering weaknesses and exploiting them mercilessly until he felt Jim sag, boneless, beneath him. He kept at it, endless teasing caresses sharpened with nips of his teeth and swirling licks of his tongue, until he was pumping Jim's cock and staking a new claim over his heart, using every tool at his disposal to make Jim beg.
“Scotty, if you don't fuck me now I'm going to explode.”
That would do.
“Aye, aye Captain.”
He spotted his toolbox, mysteriously upended, and lurched for the small jar of Vaseline he kept on hand for sealing the piston gaskets. He nudged Jim over to the thick mat covering the hard steel grating and twisted him onto his belly. Jim went willingly and boosted himself onto his elbows, lifting his perfect round ass into the air and sending a scorching look over his shoulder.
Scooping a generous amount from the jar, he coated his fingers liberally and gripped Jim's waist. He circled a finger slowly around the puckered entrance and revelled in the low moan. The first finger slid in, passage made easier by the warming gel. So tight. So hot. He worked his way in gently, massaging as he went. He leaned forward and whispered, “Relax love, I'd not hurt ye.” Jim sighed raggedly and rested more of his weight on Scotty's arm, tilting his ass up higher and spreading wider for him.
Indulging himself, Scotty brushed his lips over the nape of Jim's neck, tasting the sweat and man beneath. Jim was a treat for all of his senses, he was near overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the man opening for his second finger eagerly and keening in counterpoint to his scissoring strokes. He set a rhythm and lost himself for a time to the wealth of flavours along Jim's spine and the vibrations of the ship around them. Truly, he was the luckiest man alive in this moment, basking in the tumultuous buzz of whiskey, ship and Jim.
When Jim was panting harshly, punctuating his gasps with low curses and bucking wildly against Scotty's fingers, he pulled away to prepare himself.
He could feel the hot blue eyes following his hands as Scotty made a show of slicking his cock, gripping it slowly and letting the ointment ooze through his fingers when he squeezed. He rubbed them together deliberately, twirling over the head and was rewarded with a low groan from Jim.
“Are ye ready then, sir?” he teased, scooting back to run newly lubed fingers over the twitching hole and delve in for one last stroke.
“Just do it or I'm gonna connect Archer to your personal comm next time he hails.”
“Yer a cruel lad, Jim Kirk.” Scotty chuckled and positioned himself behind Jim, hitching his hips high and guiding his cock in. “But it's a pleasure to serve ye.” He sank in hard, and was met full throttle when Jim thrust back to take him all. They howled their approval loud enough to echo throughout the engine room.
Fucking Jim Kirk was like riding lightning: you couldn't finesse a force of nature, you could only hang on and give it everything you had. So he scrabbled for leverage against the frantic pace that Jim set and gripped handfuls of flesh to ground himself. Shocks of ecstasy shot up through his cock and threatened to blow out his nervous system. The slap of skin on skin cracked like thunder as he rocked in and out mindlessly, trapped in the eye of Hurricane Jim.
Breathless and urgent, he surged forward, changing angles mid-thrust. Jim wailed like a banshee and clamped down hard on Scotty's dick when it brushed his prostate. Banding his arm around Jim's waist, Scotty locked him in place and pounded it over and over, each frenzied cry driving him in harder, faster. Jim was sobbing now, hands tearing at the hard rubber mat beneath him, head pressed hard to the floor between them.
“Please Scotty,” he moaned, desperate and needy. “Oh sweet ever loving fuck, please.”
Scotty grunted. It may have even been a real word, he couldn't tell. He reached around to grasp Jim's weeping cock and thrust jerkily with each stroke. He wasn't sure who yelped when Jim went taut and exploded over his fist, but he knew it couldn't have been him that screamed. You needed air to scream and he couldn't seem take any in when he collapsed over Jim, spent and shaking.
He made a couple of attempts before he was finally able to slip out, shivering with the aftershocks as his dick slid free. He rolled to his side and pulled his boneless Captain into his arms, tucking Jim's head under his chin. They laid, tangled up in each other under pulsing blue light, and listened to each other breathe in time to the hum of the engines.
Jim fell asleep first, he was certain of it, though he admitted he hadn’t been too far behind. When he woke from his doze, Jim was stirring weakly, trying to disentangle their limbs.
“M'gunna need another minute,” Jim mumbled, aborting his feeble efforts and simply tilting his face up to Scotty's. His eyes were hooded with sleepy contentment and the small smile on his lips made Scotty ache. He couldn't help but lean down to steal a lazy kiss.
“S'nice.”
“Aye,” Scotty whispered, pulling away enough so he could fully appreciate the sight of a limp and satiated Jim Kirk. “S'verrah nice. Sticky too.”
“Mmmm.”
“So, I dunna suppose ye brought a towel?”
“No,” Jim chuckled throatily as he shifted against Scotty. “’Fraid not.” He reached under his shoulder and produced a small switch they'd somehow sheared off in their tryst. “But I think I know what we're doing tomorrow night.”
Series: Reboot
Pairing: Scotty/Kirk/Enterprise
Rating: NC-1701
Word Count: ~5300
Summary: THIS~!
Notes/Warnings: latenightarting takes most of the blame, but I'm not dismissing jou 's part in this either! Warnings for swearing, sex, my horrible attempts at Scottish slang (HA HA HA - dropped scone! Thank you, Wikipedia XD) and misappropriation of shop supplies.
It was the quiet that lured him down to the engine core, the constant thrum of the Enterprise around him did not count as noise. It was soothing, like a melody, a conversation between him and this great lady that let him know that all systems were running optimally, and she approved of his efforts on her behalf.
A silly thing, a man his age, anthropomorphizing a ship, but this ship could never be just a mass of wires and crystals over slick titanium ribbing to him. So much more than the sum of her parts, though that was indeed an impressive list, she was freedom of space and the welcome of home. She directed his often unfocused energy into mad flights of genius that made him feel the laws of physics really were just guidelines.
She was his window into the impossible.
At thirty seven years young, Montgomery Scott had finally fallen in love and it was everything Robbie Burns had promised him. Never would he confess that he had called her a jewel in his crown before, not even the deepest draught of the finest single malt would win that confession out of him. But some nights, like tonight, when it seemed like it was just the two of them, he could come down here to her very heart and toast her every fitting and thermocouple.
Flask in hand, he rounded the grated path to where the cooling tanks would magnify the glow from the warp core and he could bask himself in surreal blue light. He figured Spock had his meditations, Doctor McCoy had his brandy-and-bitching sessions with the Captain and he had these interludes. It all served the same purpose, a way for them to ground and refocus, each seeking their own brand of peace. He mused a moment on the Captain, for it was hard thing that: imagining Jim Kirk ever unwinding - a force of personality and fearsome energy and, thinking on it, Scotty couldn't actually remember him ever being still - barring that one time with the Saurian brandy on Omnicron Delphi. Did passed out drunk count as relaxed? Probably not.
It was a pity, and a mite concerning. His grandma, God rest her, had had an adage about the stars flaring brightest before they blinked out and he worried those words fit his Captain a little too closely. Maybe he'd invite the lad down to his sanctuary some night. Jim loved his lady too, maybe she could soothe some of that fire before the Captain got himself burned. There were, of course, other ways to relax a man, but Scotty didn't quite think his courage was up to the task of trying to seduce a man near a dozen years his junior, no matter how fine. His imagination, unfortunately, was vivid enough to spell out all manner of humiliations should he attempt it.
With a small sigh of remorse, he put the thought aside and settled himself against the comfortable bulk of the back up control panel. Gentle vibrations seeped into him and his mind went for a wander outside the constraints of everyday life. The trans warp beaming formula the other, older Spock (and what a trip that! This truly was the grandest of ships. Where else could he have witnessed Alternate Universe Theory in action?) had shown him could still be tweaked now that he had the concept of space in motion to play with. How far out could he reach before the fluctuations became too unstable to compensate for? Could he apply the principles to advance the warp capabilities of the Enterprise without just crudely adding more power and spoiling her lines? There was something there, some piece of critical knowledge hovering just out of grasp, that would be the building block for an elegant solution. One that could pave the way to another Universal Law.
Scott's Law. It could be taught alongside Thermodynamics in grade schools and all of the great minds of his generation would wonder how they'd missed something so brilliant, so obvious.
Admiral Archer would finally stop bitching about that damned dog.
He lost himself in those happy musings, crafting elaborate acceptance speeches and mentally retrofitting the warp core to fly faster, farther - to the edges of the known Universe and beyond. Together, he and his lady would fair dance around Birds of Prey and Praetor Warbirds, laughing all the while.
A mellow hour passed with Scotty lost in his own head, sipping absently at the finest scotch the replicators could offer. He had a plan for that too, never think otherwise, he just needed a few hours alone with the central processor when Spock wasn't being too terribly vigilant. He had an agreement with Doctor McCoy to let him know the very instant the Vulcan First Officer accepted one of Uhura's requests to join her on shore leave. Now that was as strange a pairing as Scotty could reckon. Nyota had fire underneath her rigid control, and as far as he could tell, Spock just had more control, excepting certain instances of planetary destruction and a crazy Jim Kirk, oozing insubordination and poking at raw wounds. And that wasn't exactly a set of circumstances you could count on every time you needed a little fire, nor would you want to. Still, they seemed happy enough, he supposed, and Spock would relent eventually and then Scotty'd have his chance.
A good Engineer knows the value of careful planning, and Montgomery Scott was among the finest.
He was preparing to pack it in and head back to his quarters to sleep off his buzz when a muffled oath and the soft clink of a metal on metal caught his attention. Discovering intimately what instant, blinding rage felt like, he moved briskly towards the primary control panel and the interloper. There was no scheduled maintenance in this sector tonight, and anybody attempting to tamper with the Enterprise without Scotty's express permission would soon learn the true meaning of a Scot's temper.
Righteous fury drained abruptly into bemusement when he banked left at the cooling stacks to find his Captain crouched at the panel, reaching blindly for his pliers with his left hand while pinching a loose connection with his right. A pink tip of tongue poked out from between his lips and the sight, coupled with the look of intense concentration, might have been charming had Scotty not looked past the Captain and seen the carnage he had wrought. An entire section of the main console was dismantled, wiring pulled free of the terminal and splayed open like a gutted carcass around Kirk's hand. There were tools spread all across the immediate area: a sonic solderer rested, fully armed, next to the hyperdrive actuator control; a portable diagnostic unit, the expensive type he'd had to barter with the requisitions officer at HQ for weeks to acquire, was propped precariously against the main display; his wee set of precision screwdrivers laid carelessly opened, the soft leather case showing not one, but two of the tiny instruments to be missing from their nest.
Scotty couldn't help it. He whimpered.
Jim whirled to face him, losing his balance in the process and cracking his head against the metal casing. As he went down, one booted foot flew out, sending Scotty's precious precision screwdrivers skittering across the grating. The smallest of the set, so useful in adjusting the twitchy Nav/Sat's in the older shuttles, wiggled free and was saved from disappearing through the grating by dint of Scotty's well timed and rather painful face dive. Meanwhile, the loose wires Jim had been pinching slipped out from his grip and, sparking against one of Scotty's prized wrenches in a friendly white arc, blanked out the entire display.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the hell are you doing down here, Scotty?” Scooping up the pliers, the Captain returned to the gutted control panel and tried to resurrect the monitors to no avail.
Flabbergasted at the accusation in Jim's tone and considering the very implication that he, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, Pioneer of Transwarp Beaming and the oldest freaking member on this entire crew of madmen - excepting the ancient chief of Sanitation, was not supposed to be in his engine room, Scotty's reaction was completely understandable. Nay, it was justified, and the bampots at Command could either see it as such or get chibbed.
Picking himself up of the floor, he charged forward and grabbed Jim by his shoulders, spinning him round to scream in his face. “Are ye fookin' daft, man!? What are ye doin' to me ship?!”
Jim rolled his shoulders and shoved hard enough that the crimping pliers surely left an indent on Scotty's chest. He oofed as he stumbled back into a cooling tank. For such a skinny lad, the Captain had some considerable strength.
Blazing blue eyes glared at him from across the walkway, and Scotty stopped from rushing Jim again when Kirk took a threatening step forward. The lad, nay, the Captain, looked fair sinister in the low light, his pretty face sharpened by the hard shadows and anger gleaming bright through narrowed eyes.
Scotty took a deep breath a relaxed his clenched fists, mourning now the wreckage of the primary control panel, her desolate display panels opaque and dreary amid the tangle of exposed wires.
“Are you done?” Jim's tone was icy, and were he not so affected by the flagrant sabotage before him, Scotty might have begun to fear for his berth on his lady.
“Are ye? What've ye done, lad?” He yelled some more, his brogue thickening as it always did when his ire was up. It felt much like he was spitting out words past a mouth full of soggy bread.
“I was trying to adjust the feedback loop from the dilithium sensors to correct the readout lag.”
“Lag,” Scotty scoffed. “There's no lag in me systems!”
Jim sighed , the anger rushing out of him with the air, and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “There's always lag, Scotty. Always. I just happened to notice some extra slop in the core diagnostics when Sulu was running manoeuvres this morning. I was just about done too when I dropped the damned crimpers.” He looked back over his shoulder and winced. “What a fucking mess.”
“Slop?! There wasna any slop! Sulu hisself thanked me this afternoon for keeping her so primed!” Career be damned, if the lad kept up the insults, he was going to get socked. Slop on the Enterprise, indeed.
Jim bristled again and spoke with pained clarity: “The engines are fine. The readout was sloppy. You had a loose connection in the primary bus and an overloaded resistor in the secondary.” He gestured towards the soldering gun, miraculously undisturbed from their brief scuffle. “I already fixed that.”
“Oh did ye now? And what trainin' do ye have that lets ye believe ye can jest throw open some panels and slap some solder in without doin' harm?” He edged past the Captain, ignoring the blooming smirk, to peer at the supposed repair, trying to figure out exactly how much of his precious system he would have to rip out to put things right. “A starship ain't yer daddy's fookin' transport. She needs proper care! Bunglin' ham-handed pretty boy probably reversed...” his diatribe petered off as he took in the neat secondary resistor installation and rerouted connections, textbook tidy, in direct opposition to the mess of tools about the workstation. Every wire was perfectly placed, wound clear of possible interference, expertly spliced in complementary series to reduce the load on the main unit.
It was poetry in circuitry. The longer he stared the more Scotty realized he couldn't have done a better job himself. Furthermore, Jim was right, the resistor was not rated to handle the power influx, even with the cutting edge nodule boosters and, had it continued unchecked, readout lag would have been the least of their concerns. Course, now that the whole board was blown out, it was a beautiful bit of wasted effort.
He was ashamed and he’d been raised right enough to admit he was wrong. Turning towards the Captain, he noted the defensive posture belying the cocky smirk. People weren't so easy as machines to understand, but even a blind fool could see the lad was bracing for another go. “Ye did a foine job, Jim. I'm sorry for losin' me temper before checkin' yer work.”
Trumpeting laughter hadn't been quite what he was going for, though he didn't mind too much. Jim's laugh was clear and almost as pretty as his face. It sucked the tension out him as sure as a good nip of brandy on a cold night. He listened patiently until it ran out and cocked his head in silent enquiry.
Jim flashed him a grin. “And if I'd botched it, how sorry would you be?”
Scotty shrugged. “If ye'd botched it, ye'd've deserved it. Ye didna, so ye don't.”
Jim clapped him on the shoulder, hard. Stronger than he looked? Aye, definitely. It gave a man ideas he should not be having about his Captain. “You're a treasure Scotty. Do it again and I stop screening Archer's comms.”
He shivered at the well aimed threat, old Archer's tirades were legendary and, since the Beagle Incident, Scotty had been on the receiving end of more than any man still living. “Aye, Cap'n. Now, what say ye we get this fixed afore we have t'explain what happened?”
Jim's grin mellowed into a softer smile. “I'd like that.”
And so it began.
Working together, they were able to replace the fried circuit board in short order. Along the way Scotty discovered the Captain shared his tendency to croon encouragement to the ship as he laboured, coaxing her to accept his work and praising her grandly when she did. He understood she was more than a series of interdependent systems and machinery, that she would reveal everything if you only knew how to ask. And Jim surely knew, his hands were gentle but sure as they ran over her exposed servos and they lingered like a lover on her curved skin. He was rapt as he worked, contentment glowing from his face, and Scotty found himself enthralled as Jim pressed the last access panel into place, testing the fit by ghosting a teasing finger along the seams. He imagined his face held a similar expression of wonder when he was in synch with the Enterprise, but he'd never actually seen it. His wee crush was growing exponentially every second post crisis.
He tried to busy himself gathering up the scattered tools, but Jim had managed to make an impressive mess with relatively little equipment and it did not take him nearly long enough. It was warm in the engine room, always was, but somehow Scotty didn't believe that was why he was flushing. He swallowed thickly as he watched Kirk's fingers worship the reactivated display and tried to disguise his growing interest with a swig from his flask.
“It's running perfectly now,” Jim's reverent whisper thrilled through him and he knew he was staring but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Halfway through their repairs, Jim had half slipped out of his coveralls and now stood in a grimy Starfleet undershirt molded tightly to his abs and stretched thin across his chest. Only the knotted arms about his waist kept the yellow coveralls from sliding to the floor when he moved, and Scotty was having ample difficulty not following that thought to its ultimate conclusion.
“Um...” He stalled when Jim stretched and the ribbed fabric creeped up to expose a patch of golden skin. He coughed and took another pull from his flask. “Aye,” his voice was only slightly suffocated this time, which was a marked improvement. Scotty coughed again and tried a smile, cursing his ancenstry and hoping the blue light was working to disguise the flush on his fair skin. “Ye've a good hand fer this work.”
Jim smiled back, a slow spreading kind of smile that started in his eyes and worked its way down. “We work well together.” He nodded at the flask. “Can I have some of that?”
“There's but a swallow left, but ye're welcome to it,” he offered with an apologetic shrug.
Scotty twitched and almost lost his grip on the flask when their fingers brushed, shocking him like he'd touched a live wire, only he didn't quite want to pull away. He did, just, and Jim shot him a speculative glance before tossing back the last of the scotch. Scotty fiddled with the clasp on his pocket rather than watch Jim's pink tongue dart out to catch a stray drop.
Aye, give him mechanical wonders any day of the week. The Enterprise could warm him, but she never made him fumble.
“You okay? You've been quiet since we finished up.”
“Oh, uh, aye. Just a wee bit tired is all. It's a task keepin' up with ye youngins,” he teased, easing back to familiar territory.
Jim scoffed dramatically, playing along. “Oh come off it, Scotty. You can outwork, outdrink and outlast your junior Ensigns, usually on the same day.”
Scotty grinned at that, for real this time. “All in the interest of provin' the benefits of experience, Jim. Can't have them thinkin' they can slip shoddy work past this auld man.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “You're worse than Bones with the old man bit. Since when is fifty old, anyway?”
“Fifty! Fifty?! I'll have ye know I'm but thirty-seven! Still in me prime!”
“Exactly.” Scotty had a bare instant to react to the shift in Jim's tone before his coveralls were bunched in a fist and he was hauled bodily forward to collide with the very lips he'd been so diligently not staring at a moment ago.
He absolutely did not squeal in shock, and shame on any who would claim otherwise. As first kisses went, it was a bit too toothy and wet to be perfect, but Engineering is a discipline based on refining out imperfections to reach an idealized end. So, with a few gentle nudges and the insertion of his hands in Jim's hair, Scotty was able to correct the deficiencies in their initial technique. Jim grunted his approval into the kiss and yanked Scotty closer, walking them backward until his hips rested on the console they'd just finished repairing and Scotty was pressed between his legs.
Curiosity and the inability to leave well enough alone was both a hallmark of his trade and his fatal flaw. After a few groan inducing minutes pressed tight against the Captain, his tongue down Jim's throat, playing out every fantasy he'd entertained in the last six months regarding this very scenario, they kicked in, and he was drawing away even as his own swelling dick begged him not to. He gulped air for a moment like a landed fish before pressing his forehead against Jim's and meeting those vivid blue eyes straight on. He took it as a compliment that the lad looked a bit dazed underneath all the smug.
“Not that I'm complainin', Jim,” he murmured. “But what are ye about?”
Jim's lashes feathered down and Scotty imagined they were close enough now that he should feel the wind of their passage. Jim's clever hands were fiddling with the zipper of Scotty's coveralls, the absent brushes of fingers over his collarbone made focusing on the answer taxing. “I'd have thought that would be obvious.” A mischievous grin played about Jim's mouth and when his eyes flicked up again they were smouldering. He tilted his head and nipped at Scotty's lower lip playfully. “I can spell it out for you, if you want. Or...” He trailed off to trace his tongue over the seam of Scotty's lips.
“Or?”
Jim pulled back to level the full weight of his most devastating smile at his hapless Chief Engineer. “Or I could show you.” He tugged suggestively on the zipper at Scotty's throat and lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “What do you say, Scotty? Do you want the lecture or the practical demonstration?”
Scotty hissed sharply as Jim pulled down on the shiny tab, so slowly that he could feel the separation of each individual tooth. “I always did better with the hands-on stuff at the Academy,” he confessed, head buzzing with lust and just enough scotch to smooth the edges off his nerves.
Jim flashed another quick grin and gave the zipper a final tug, deliberately brushing his knuckles over Scotty's straining erection before snaking his hands under the gaping red fabric and running them up Scotty's chest. “I'm counting on it.”
And now he had something to prove, didn't he? Emboldened by the challenge, Scotty brought his own hands into play, sliding them down the sides of Jim's neck, eliciting a full body shiver as his calloused fingertips teased their way along the smooth arch of muscle. He lingered a moment at the knobby point of Jim's shoulder, squeezing and rubbing before hauling the Captain in for another kiss.
Kissing Jim Kirk was a little like fighting him: you went in assured of your own strength and experience and found yourself flattened out of nowhere. Not that Scotty was complaining, he was no fool, if being flattened felt so good he'd be the world's happiest dropped scone.
Jim's mouth was both soft and demanding as he teased Scotty's tongue out and trapped it between his teeth, sucking and sucking and sucking until Scotty’s moans rumbled between them.
Their hands never stopped moving, each article of clothing was an obstacle in the war for satisfaction and dispatched summarily. Scotty wasn't clear on how exactly he'd managed to lose his coveralls before he'd wrestled Jim out of the grimy undershirt - he had a vague notion of kicking sometime in the distant past that wasn't him bent almost double over Jim at the console, breathing in spicy cologne and the metallic burn of silver solder, trying to devour his Captain whole. The tactical advantage was his with the boots as his feet were still firmly planted on the grating. He held Jim flat against the console and tried to tackle the clasps blind, unwilling to give up that mouth for anything less than a red alert. Jim was gracious, or at least willing to lose a few skirmishes in the interest of the greater goal, and provided assistance by wrapping his long legs tight around Scotty's waist.
A bit of squirming, and enjoying the resulting friction, and the issue was solved. Scotty threw the first boot carelessly over his shoulder and rewarded Jim with a fierce bite to his neck, his left hand twining in the short golden hair gone curly with sweat and yanking his head back to give him better access. Jim moaned breathlessly and hitched his legs higher, grinding hard against Scotty's dick and holding his head in place. He kicked off his other boot himself and wiggled, delightfully, until his coveralls bunched about their thighs.
“Fuck, Scotty. Yes.” The panted encouragement had a profound effect on the fit of Scotty's briefs. They went from light-but-supportive to tight-and-restrictive in less time than it would take a stark amateur to bungle a compression coil if left unattended. He tore himself away from Jim's throat, appreciating the rising bruises from his teeth and the implications of the marks. He'd marked him. For tonight, for now, Jim was his. Jim was in accord, splayed out under the diffused blue light like a buffet of temptation; his legs spread wide, chest heaving, inviting Scotty to sample all of him. It was not an invitation he felt inclined to refuse, and he was hungry indeed.
He whisked off the coveralls, letting them pool in an untidy heap by his feet. He thumbed the elastic of the boxers, careful to do no more than tease the skin around it, thoroughly enjoying seeing his Captain writhe for more contact. He was shameless, wanton, and every other purple adjective he'd garnered from his mum's impressive collection of bodice rippers when he was but a lad.
Impatient, Jim hooked him in with his leg, pushing himself off the console and sliding his mostly naked body down Scotty's. It was a neat trick, by the time Jim reached his knees Scotty stood in his undershirt and his boots, underwear tangled at his feet. Jim was completely nude, and he hadn't felt a thing but the heat of Jim's skin. He shuddered at the bright desire reflected on Jim's face and brought his hands to rest on smooth shoulders.
“Ach, yer a fair sight Jim. A man could spend his days just lookin' and never get tired.” He spoke nothing but truth, though his plans extended far beyond just watching.
“I bet you say that to all the guys about to give you the best head of your life,” he teased, glowing eyes communicating his intent to deliver on that promise. His hands were tracing up Scotty's legs, tickling through the hairs and making the Engineer shiver. “You're not so bad yourself, Scotty. But I'm gonna do so much more than just look.”
“Yeah.” Eloquence couldn't be expected when your dick was suddenly engulfed in the hottest, wettest mouth it had ever encountered. He forgave himself the lack of poetry and tightened his hands spasmodically over Jim's shoulders, fighting the burning need to thrust deep and hard into that heat. Jim locked one arm tight under his arse, keeping Scotty close while his lips and tongue traced electric patterns over his dick. He sucked hard, teasing the sensitive head and making Scotty swear a blue streak of Gaelic when fluttered his tongue into the leaking slit. Jim sucked cock like it was his life's purpose, an art honed and perfected over time until he could make a dick weep just by breathing on it. Working the shaft with his fist, Jim timed every squeeze to heighten Scotty's pleasure. Every stroke echoed at the base of his spine and he was coiling to come like a teenager on prom night when Jim finally pulled away with a loud slurp.
Shaken and quivering, he probably would have folded if Jim hadn't kept his hold of him for those first few seconds. He was riveted by the swollen lips curling into a pleased smirk. Jim rocked back until he was resting on his heels, and Scotty was amused to note that even Jim's dick could look smug as it thrust in the air proudly, certain of its appeal. Hungry again, he sank down and tasted himself on Jim's tongue, doing his level best to swallow each strangled sigh. He indulged himself by exploring every inch of smooth skin within reach. He pinched and petted his way down Jim's chest, discovering weaknesses and exploiting them mercilessly until he felt Jim sag, boneless, beneath him. He kept at it, endless teasing caresses sharpened with nips of his teeth and swirling licks of his tongue, until he was pumping Jim's cock and staking a new claim over his heart, using every tool at his disposal to make Jim beg.
“Scotty, if you don't fuck me now I'm going to explode.”
That would do.
“Aye, aye Captain.”
He spotted his toolbox, mysteriously upended, and lurched for the small jar of Vaseline he kept on hand for sealing the piston gaskets. He nudged Jim over to the thick mat covering the hard steel grating and twisted him onto his belly. Jim went willingly and boosted himself onto his elbows, lifting his perfect round ass into the air and sending a scorching look over his shoulder.
Scooping a generous amount from the jar, he coated his fingers liberally and gripped Jim's waist. He circled a finger slowly around the puckered entrance and revelled in the low moan. The first finger slid in, passage made easier by the warming gel. So tight. So hot. He worked his way in gently, massaging as he went. He leaned forward and whispered, “Relax love, I'd not hurt ye.” Jim sighed raggedly and rested more of his weight on Scotty's arm, tilting his ass up higher and spreading wider for him.
Indulging himself, Scotty brushed his lips over the nape of Jim's neck, tasting the sweat and man beneath. Jim was a treat for all of his senses, he was near overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the man opening for his second finger eagerly and keening in counterpoint to his scissoring strokes. He set a rhythm and lost himself for a time to the wealth of flavours along Jim's spine and the vibrations of the ship around them. Truly, he was the luckiest man alive in this moment, basking in the tumultuous buzz of whiskey, ship and Jim.
When Jim was panting harshly, punctuating his gasps with low curses and bucking wildly against Scotty's fingers, he pulled away to prepare himself.
He could feel the hot blue eyes following his hands as Scotty made a show of slicking his cock, gripping it slowly and letting the ointment ooze through his fingers when he squeezed. He rubbed them together deliberately, twirling over the head and was rewarded with a low groan from Jim.
“Are ye ready then, sir?” he teased, scooting back to run newly lubed fingers over the twitching hole and delve in for one last stroke.
“Just do it or I'm gonna connect Archer to your personal comm next time he hails.”
“Yer a cruel lad, Jim Kirk.” Scotty chuckled and positioned himself behind Jim, hitching his hips high and guiding his cock in. “But it's a pleasure to serve ye.” He sank in hard, and was met full throttle when Jim thrust back to take him all. They howled their approval loud enough to echo throughout the engine room.
Fucking Jim Kirk was like riding lightning: you couldn't finesse a force of nature, you could only hang on and give it everything you had. So he scrabbled for leverage against the frantic pace that Jim set and gripped handfuls of flesh to ground himself. Shocks of ecstasy shot up through his cock and threatened to blow out his nervous system. The slap of skin on skin cracked like thunder as he rocked in and out mindlessly, trapped in the eye of Hurricane Jim.
Breathless and urgent, he surged forward, changing angles mid-thrust. Jim wailed like a banshee and clamped down hard on Scotty's dick when it brushed his prostate. Banding his arm around Jim's waist, Scotty locked him in place and pounded it over and over, each frenzied cry driving him in harder, faster. Jim was sobbing now, hands tearing at the hard rubber mat beneath him, head pressed hard to the floor between them.
“Please Scotty,” he moaned, desperate and needy. “Oh sweet ever loving fuck, please.”
Scotty grunted. It may have even been a real word, he couldn't tell. He reached around to grasp Jim's weeping cock and thrust jerkily with each stroke. He wasn't sure who yelped when Jim went taut and exploded over his fist, but he knew it couldn't have been him that screamed. You needed air to scream and he couldn't seem take any in when he collapsed over Jim, spent and shaking.
He made a couple of attempts before he was finally able to slip out, shivering with the aftershocks as his dick slid free. He rolled to his side and pulled his boneless Captain into his arms, tucking Jim's head under his chin. They laid, tangled up in each other under pulsing blue light, and listened to each other breathe in time to the hum of the engines.
Jim fell asleep first, he was certain of it, though he admitted he hadn’t been too far behind. When he woke from his doze, Jim was stirring weakly, trying to disentangle their limbs.
“M'gunna need another minute,” Jim mumbled, aborting his feeble efforts and simply tilting his face up to Scotty's. His eyes were hooded with sleepy contentment and the small smile on his lips made Scotty ache. He couldn't help but lean down to steal a lazy kiss.
“S'nice.”
“Aye,” Scotty whispered, pulling away enough so he could fully appreciate the sight of a limp and satiated Jim Kirk. “S'verrah nice. Sticky too.”
“Mmmm.”
“So, I dunna suppose ye brought a towel?”
“No,” Jim chuckled throatily as he shifted against Scotty. “’Fraid not.” He reached under his shoulder and produced a small switch they'd somehow sheared off in their tryst. “But I think I know what we're doing tomorrow night.”