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Have In Mind

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Title: Have In Mind
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jim Kirk/Pike, other relationships mentioned.
Summary: "A report on our successful mission?"
Content Advisory: Slash, phone sex, het mentioned, shared Enterprisophilia.
All Thanks To: [info]leftarrow, because this drawing is the genesis of this story. Also, [info]6street, who will know why when she sees it. And [info]lomedet, always.
Written for: [info]rounds_of_kink. Such a fun place.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
Title from "Father Figure" by George Michael, with thanks to [info]lomedet for the thematic suggestion. *wink*

When Jim finally makes it back to his quarters, his console is beeping insistently. He mutters "Fuck off," at it as he drags off his boots and falls facedown onto his bed, but like most things today it refuses to obey the orders of the Captain of the USS Enterprise. For a moment he savors the idea of throwing his boots at it, not that they'd even dent the sleek contours since Scotty reinforced the damn thing and disabled the remote shutoff. Instead he groans into the mattress, shoves himself up using the top of his head as well as his hands, and limps over to answer it.

Admiral Christopher Pike is on the line. Jim can't be pissed off anymore, anticipation and glee wriggling through his annoyance. He props himself in his chair, his slouch a compromise between insouciance and aching ribs, and keys through the call. "Admiral Pike! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Pike looks tired, the gray expanded a bit from his temples. "Kirk." Chin in hand, he regards Jim with familiar, warming exasperation. "What am I looking at?"

Jim thinks of several replies, of course. Starfleet's youngest and handsomest captain? Pike's fair-haired boy and fixer-upper project made good? The son of a man who's written into Federation history and obviously much more than a dissertation subject to Pike? (He's never said, but Jim's not actually stupid. Pike wouldn't have any use for him if he were.) Jim mulls these replies as he widens his eyes, and finally answers, "A report on our successful mission?"

"A report with more holes than a slice of baguette," Pike growls. Little hairs prickle upright on the back of Jim's neck, to say nothing of the twitch in his dick. "Stand up, Jim."

"Sir?" Jim asks, though he does it, of course.

"Take two steps back so I can see you." That puts Jim up against the wall, where he slumps artfully, taking the weight off his right foot without showing it.

Pike is still leaning on one hand, typing with the other, regarding Jim speculatively. Jim's liked that expression on him even before he learned to associate it with some really awesome sex. "Strip."

That could be fun in other circumstances, but Jim's pretty sure this is a business call. "Excuse me? Admiral."

Pike sighs. "The line's secured, Jim, and I've paused the recording." His voice hardens when he adds, "Don't make me repeat myself," and Jim can almost feel one firm finger drawn down his spine. Wishing simultaneously that he were in Pike's office and that he'd snagged a dermal regenerator on his way out of Sickbay, Jim grins and pulls his shirts over his head, then shoves down his pants. His ribs hurt too much to make a striptease of it, not to mention his leg, but when he's done Jim folds his arms and watches Pike's gaze just rake over his body. He looks almost as cool as always, but Jim can see his eyes widen a little, sees his pupils dilate more, and knows he's fucking salivating.

"Turn around," Pike tells him, "slowly, one full revolution," and hums as Jim obeys. "There's a bootprint on your back, your breathing indicates bruised ribs, and that leg you're favoring? Holes in your report."

Finished with the shuffle, Jim leans against the wall again, a little less prettily and a little more wearily. "I can have McCoy send you a copy of his report, you know."

"What makes you think I haven't read it?" Pike absently types a few more keystrokes, not looking away from Jim, who considers whether letting himself harden under that cool blue stare would warm it, would make Pike's laugh lines crinkle more. "All right, sit down. Without your clothes."

"Yessir!" Jim swings his legs up on the desk so the left's nearer the viewscreen. The right settles down to a dull throb. "What else can I do for you?"

"Let McCoy take better care of you," Pike says, with a sigh that's uncomfortably close to paternal. "Since God knows you won't do it yourself. His report made special mention that you took advantage of his distraction to leave Sickbay prematurely."

"Did he mention that the distraction was Ensign Gupta bleeding out?" Jim shrugs. "That meant I was done."

"Jim." Pike lifts his head off his hand, narrowing his eyes sharply. "You can do better, and you will. You're going to Sickbay to have those injuries looked at." Jim opens his mouth, and Pike raises his hand. "After eight hours of sleep, which I'm personally going to make sure you get."

Jim leans his head against his chair, mostly to pose, only a little because it's heavy. "By reading me a bedtime story?"

"Something like that." Pike's mouth curls up in the kind of smirk that would mean a hard kiss if they were in the same system. "Lick your right hand. Heel to fingertips."

Oh. Jim sticks out his tongue and obeys, slowly and lasciviously, watching Pike's eyes gleam, enjoying the swell of arousal. He sucks his longest two fingers for good measure, slurping noisily, wiggling his tongue along them as he pulls them from his mouth. "Good and wet, Sir."

"You know what to do." Pike's voice slides low, with that little pleased rumble that gets under Jim's skin, that feels better than a commendation, "and you know how fast not to take it."

"Yes, Sir." Jim slides his hand over the head of his dick, down along its length; Pike's eyes follow the slow thorough stroke, flicking up when Jim breathes noisily under the sensation. "Just the way you like it, Sir." Jim always calls Pike 'Sir' during sex. It just ... fits, though every so often he considers switching to 'Daddy,' just to see what look that'd put on Pike's face.

"What I'd like," Pike says, clipped as can be despite the warm burr in his voice, "would be to see that hide of yours a bit less marked up."

"Aww," Jim slurs in response, half a sigh of pleasure under the lengthy strokes he's using at Pike's direction, "you're not about to lecture me while I'm jerking off for you, are you?"

"Why not?" Pike asks with just a little malice and a sharklike smile. "Whenever I had to scold you at the Academy you were hard at least half the time." Jim shrugs, rolling his shoulders, feeling Pike's avid gaze almost as heavy as strong hands. Almost. "Sprawled carelessly across from me, foot propped up on my desk..."

"Come on, I wasn't careless!" Hitting bottom on a stroke, Jim shudders, his eyelids flickering involuntarily as his nerves crackle with impatience. This long slow pace is deliciously frustrating, which is of course the point. "I was very precise about that sprawl. Every time."

Pike tilts his head a little more as his smile unfurls. "I would expect no less strategy from you." He gestures with his pinky. "Speed up."

Jim has to take a moment to breathe, hard, because faster is what all his nerves are screaming for. "Yeah, ah, you have to admit it was successful."

"Occasionally," is what Pike says, but that particular tremor in his voice always emerged just before he pushed Jim onto or bent him over the desk. Jim wishes Pike's smirk were pressed against his ear, that the fingers twitching against Pike's chin were curled around his dick instead of his own.

Maybe instead he can make Pike put them to good use. Jim tips his head back and arches a little into his fist. "Permission to play with my nipples, sir?"

Pike's lips thin, pressing together hard, but Jim hears that muffled groan anyway, and it makes him grin wider. "Granted," Pike growls, and Jim lets this shudder travel through him from head to toes as he thumbs one, rolling it firmly. "Harder," Pike adds, and when Jim obeys the sparking sensation makes him hiss.

"You'd do it harder." Jim's voice is shaky already, but it's been a long day and it's getting hard to tell what hurts from what feels good. Pretty soon he'll be at the point where pain and pleasure start adding together, multiplying into sheer sensory overload, but he'd get there faster under Pike's hands.

"I would, now?" Pike's eyes absolutely glitter, and Jim squirms in his seat, tightening his speeding grip, switching to the other nipple and pinching until it burns.

"Yeah, you would," Jim says, his flickering lashes intermittently blurring his view of Pike's view of him. "You'd be biting me by now, you'd have me spread out on your desk over printouts and knocking padds everywhere, in the middle of all that Admiralty business, and you'd have your teeth on this nipple and your hand on my dick."

"I think you're right, boy." And Pike only calls Jim 'boy' when they're having sex, when he's immersed so deeply in it he's not thinking about anything else. "Tell me more. Where's my other hand?"

"In my hair," Jim pants, arching his neck until he can barely see the viewscreen. His dick heats with friction under his barely-damp strokes, but he's not stopping now for lube or anything, not when the fire's catching in his blood and Pike's breathing has roughened enough to hear. "You'd tip my head back and bite my neck and pull even harder when I gasped."

"Gasp, boy? You'd moan, loudly and shamelessly. Just like you are now." Just for that, Jim lets loose with a long theatrical groan, listening to Pike's quiet chuckle through his own noisiness. "Open and trembling, too damn gorgeous. Go on, close your eyes."

Jim kind of wants to keep watching Pike watch him, but he really wants to come, he's burning all over with crackling need, so he shuts his eyes and bucks into his hand, moans as pornographically as he can and starts to spasm with Pike's impressed rumble echoing in his ears. He shouts as he comes in long spattering ribbons all over his belly, listening to Pike mutter low appreciative curses; as soon as he can Jim drags in a deep breath and laughs for sheer exhilaration, drags his stroking hand through the mess and sucks his longest fingers again. Because it's hot, and because when he opens his eyes Pike's are actually kind of wide.

His hands haven't moved, though, even though one's now a fist on the keyboard, the other still beneath his chin. "What about you?" Jim asks.

Pike shrugs, smile quirking up at the corners. "I can wait. I'll take this pleasant sight to bed and dream well," he says; then his expression hardens a little, back to business. "When you've caught your breath, go put your shirts back on and come back here."

"It's caught," Jim lies, holding his breathing steady even though his ribs ache in protest. "And, as you can see, everything's in full working order." He doesn't wobble when he swings his legs down and stands, despite the fine exhausted tremor running up his thighs. He gets his shirts back on, smacks his hair from 'freshly fucked' down to 'disheveled', and sits in his chair like someone approximately grown up.

Pike gives him the once-over, then snorts. "I need to start this recording again. Could you try to look a little less like sex on legs?"

Jim presses his hand over his heart. "Admiral, I fear today I must finally fail at a task you set me."

Pike's laugh is brief and obliging, but his lingering smile feels almost too good to endure. "Now," he says as he hits three precise keystrokes, and his, "Despite your patchy report, you did a good, thorough job here, Captain Kirk," is as smooth as quality whiskey.

"Thank you, sir, I'll pass your commendation on to my crew." Jim tries to look innocuous and blandly pleased, which isn't easy when absolutely nothing about Pike tends to the bland.

Pike's lip twitches towards a suppressed laugh. "Hold your position in orbit until the Yangtze and the Shi'Kahr arrive; their current ETA is fifty standard hours. By then you should have your next orders." He inhales, his eyes glittering intently. "I'll let you go in a minute, but before I do, tell me, how's my girl?"

Jim grins, giving up on the blandness as he talks about their shared love. "The Enterprise is doing great. Scotty's made some interesting modifications to boost engine efficiency --"

Pike nods impatiently, but he's still smiling. "I've read his report, too. How is she, Jim?"

Oh, okay. After a moment of thought, eyes half-closed as he feels the Enterprise thrum beneath his feet, Jim slowly says, "Happy. She's happy, I can feel it in the way she flies." He glances up, self-conscious about this like he'd never be about sex, and Pike nods, in encouragement, in agreement. "I think we all are. Everyone really enjoyed Kyle and Riley's wedding, especially the ice cream. We've had three new species named after members of the crew, including Lieutenant Sulu. And, we haven't lost anyone in three months and nine days. Even Spock smiles, when he thinks no one's looking."

Pike's smile expands for a moment into something actually bright. On his normally reserved face, it's just a little stunning, and Jim probably lets that show, because Pike's laugh lines crinkle sardonically at him. "All right, Kirk, get some sleep. When you report to Sickbay in the morning, give Dr. McCoy my regards."

Jim nods, and waggles his eyebrows, because. "Kiss Number One for me."

Pike attempts to look unimpressed, but his eyes sparkle. "That's beyond your clearance," he says dryly. "Take care of yourself, Jim. And the ship."

"I will, Sir," Jim replies sincerely, and manfully suppresses the yawn threatening to disarrange Pike's parting sight of him. "Kirk out."