Kirk is naked. Captain's orders: any time you are here, you will not wear anything that I do not put on you. It's paranoia as much as control, because clothing can conceal weapons.
Paranoia indeed. Kirk wants to laugh. When he's Captain, he won't be stupid enough to trust his subordinates. Even when they're naked.
His lips feel dry. He doesn't lick them. His body thrums with nervous energy, but he does nothing. His job is to wait, and he does that exceedingly well.
And then the doors open, and Pike is there, looking at him critically, the way he always does. Kirk's cock twitches in anticipation, but the rest of him remains still. Pike half-smiles and gives a slight nod of approval. He comes over and places a hand on Kirk's head, petting gently. It feels like a gesture one might give a dog: good boy. Kirk imagines Pike telling him to sit, stay, roll over.
He'd do all of those things, of course. If Pike told him to.
He'd to anything Pike said.
But Pike isn't in a talkative mood. He walks in a slow circle around Kirk and then crosses the room to the single chair, over-large, and sits, slouching a bit, legs sprawled wide. And all he says to Kirk is, "Boots."
It's not much in the way of instruction, but that's okay. Kirk's used to him, knows what he wants. He starts to move, and Pike adds, "No hands."
All right, then. He doesn't get to his feet, because that's one of the rules, no standing unless Pike says so, but if he's not using his hands he can't do the normal crawl, so he shuffles over on his knees, clasping his hands behind his back so he doesn't forget and use them. It makes his knees and shins burn, but it isn't bad.
Once he gets there, he settles down and gets to work on Pike's boots. Left first, and he starts by just nuzzling it, rubbing his cheek like a cat marking his territory (laughable, that, when Pike's the one that owns him), inhaling the scent of leather. Then he starts to lick, tiny flicks of tongue and long broad stripes; occasionally he closes his mouth over it and sucks, as if leather were markable in the same way skin is.
(It's not, and Pike doesn't want him leaving that sort of mark anyway.)
He shifts to the right boot and closes his eyes and loses himself in just the taste and feel of lips and tongue against worn leather. It comes almost as a shock when Pike pulls his foot back, and he swallows and takes a moment before kneeling back up into a ready position and looking at Pike for his next orders.
"You're good with your mouth," Pike says after a long pause. "Can you put it to better use?"
"Sir," Kirk says, and leans forward. Same treatment, nuzzling and breathing and licking and sucking, only this time to Pike's groin, to the hardness waiting there for him. The fabric dampens beneath his lips, and he's not sure how much is his spit and how much is coming from Pike, but it doesn't matter.
All that matters is this.
He's still got his hands clasped behind his back, but he wants to use them, to free Pike's erection from behind the barrier of the uniform. He clasps them together harder, and Pike, seeming to notice, gives a low chuckle and uses his own hands. He doesn't undress, but he opens and tugs just enough that his cock bobs free, and Kirk dives for it.
This is the best part; this is his reward. Getting to taste Pike -- the real Pike, not the trappings that make him Captain. Getting to apply lips and tongue to warm flesh that responds so sweetly, twitching and pulsing. Poking the tip of his tongue into the slit at the head of Pike's cock, closing his lips around the head, dipping his head down and sucking in until he's as full as he can manage, then back out and breathe and down again, and he knows that he's hard himself, just from this, just from tasting. If it were a relationship of equals he might use one of his own hands to jack himself off, in rhythm with the sucking, but then again, they aren't equals.
Pike is silent through most of this, like always, but his breathing is fast and hard, and he gives a little grunt that means he's close. Kirk can't smile -- his mouth is too full -- but he feels some sense of triumph as he sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and takes Pike deep, and curls his tongue just a little, and -- there; Pike groans and comes hard, flooding Kirk's mouth. Kirk swallows, chokes, swallows more past the choking, breathes, swallows the last few spurts, and licks Pike clean.
And then he sits back again to wait for orders.
Pike reaches for him, thumb brushing against Kirk's lower lip, and he shivers. "You like that, boy," Pike says, "don't you," and Kirk doesn't need to answer because it's not really a question. "Go on, then," he allows, a rare courtesy, and Kirk unclasps his hands and brings one around to grasp at his own erection. His touch isn't gentle and it isn't slow, and it doesn't take very long before he is coming as well, still with the taste of Pike in his mouth; he has a flash-fantasy that he is just a vessel, taking Pike's semen in one end and out the other.
"Thank you, sir," he says, voice hoarse, when he can manage words; and Pike just smiles and rubs his thumb across Kirk's lip again.