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Trek.

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Trek.

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maybe....
Trek Fic. for the prompt, on the spectacular st_xi_kink
* Kirk/Chekov or Kirk/Pike - Young hustler!Kirk, pre-movie or academy days. Combines his thrill/danger seeing tendencies with his sluttiness/self-destructive tendencies by occasionally dabbling in playing the role of rough trade. Bonus points for involving Capt. Pike (either as a participant or in catching Kirk in the act) or terrifically underage Chekov (with protective!Kirk insisting "does your mother know you're here?" on escorting him home. Which ends up being the academy)


It's anon on the meme, but I like it, so I'm posting it here.




It's not that he's, you know, suicidal. He learned a long time ago (red Corvette when he was eleven) that he doesn't really want to die. But if you aren't close to death, if you aren't flirting with it, if you aren't inviting it in and fucking it and letting it go, you aren't alive.

At least, that's what Jim Kirk would tell you.

So he's gotten pretty good at finding the most possible danger from any given situation, making it part of himself and then pushing it away. It reminds him he's alive, and it's fantastic and it's brilliant and he's not like his father (didn't mother tell him that enough?) because he's alive, he's alive, he's alive.

The first time he gets hired as a prostitute, it's a complete accident. This beautiful Malon woman (yeah, he was surprised, too, but hey-- she made that shade of skin work for her) had picked him up in a bar he wasn’t old enough to be in, and had taken him back to her hotel near the spacedocks, and had tied him to the headboard. She proceeded to drag three painful orgasms out of him, got herself off (he knew he was just a sex toy by this point, see?) twice that again. When she finally untied him five hours after they got back to her room, she asked what his usual rates were, and he balked and stumbled and muttered, and she laughed and said it was worth it. She threw five hundred credits on the bed, walked into the shower, and told him to be gone by the time she got out. He was.

After that, well…

It wasn't any less dangerous than jumping off cliffs, or getting into fights he knows he can't win, so he figures that it wasn't all that bad of a plan.

Well, it was a pretty bad plan because getting arrested for prostitution in Iowa is just fucking pathetic, and so he blows the arresting officer (thank god he was human and not one of those robo-cop things) and gets off with a warning. He doesn't want it to get back to the neighbors, not so they'll talk behind mother's back (again). So he only sells himself out-of-state, preferably far out of state.

Which is how he's come to be here, leaning on this low wall in San Francisco, waiting for the Cadets to get out of classes. Ah, there it is-- he knew this new set couldn't be complete prudes, because there's a gaunt, beautiful boy looking at him, and Jim only takes a moment to look back before flicking his wrist to follow and leading the cadet back towards his building. Jim slows just enough that he could catch up if he wanted to, and he does, so Jim steps a half pace quicker. He gets back to his dark room, swirls them into it, kicks shut the door and kisses this-- kid.

Huh, well that's weird. But, fuck, as far as first times go, you know Jim Kirk's pretty damn spectacular. And fuck, he might give him a discount (not that he ever really cares how much money he makes) because of the way the kid's breath catches in his throat and slips out in space between a sob and a moan. The kid (who Jim mentally dubs Breathy) hesitantly reaches up and clutches at Jims ripped, barely there shirt and Jim finds him self more turned on that he really ought to be. But fuck it, it's not like this is legal, if Breahy's a bit underage, no one will tell.

He certainly won't.

Breathy swallows hard enough Jim can hear it as well as feel it in the kiss, and reaches for the hem of Kirk's shirt. Jim, grinning, helps it off, and steps backward in the near-dark towards the bed.

"How do you want me," he says, but he's careful to not make it to threatening. He doesn’t want to freak the kid, but shit, if he fucks as sweetly as he kisses-- hesitant passion, innocent lust-- Jim's more than willing to do whatever necessary.

Breathy's breath catches, and it does that fantastic sob-moan again, and Jim thinks he might die he's so turned on.

"On you're back," comes the response, and there's a hint of an accent, and shit, that just makes it better, "I'm going to ride you."

Jim grins. That, he can do well, so he stretches back onto his bed and he knows the moonlight is slanting through the windows and turning his skin to silver. Jim palms his cock before slanting his hips in a way that incites another sob-moan and sliding his tight jeans down his legs. He languidly starts fisting his dick, playing with his foreskin in the moonlight, judging his next move by the gasps sighs and moans coming from the darker shadow.

"Do you have lubricant?" asks Breathy. Indicating it's prominent location next to the door, Jim watches shadows ripple as Breathy strips in an awkward, endearing fashion and starts to roughly prep himself. It doesn't look remotely pleasurable, and Breathy's erection wilts because of it: Jim can't stand it, and slips out of the bed to take Breathy's hands in his own.

He kisses his way up the inside of Breathy's thigh, and nuzzles at the dick resting in lightly musty hair as he quickly lubes his fingers and slowly, beautifully begins stretching the kid. Breathy clearly didn't know how this was supposed to work, because even the reasonably quick pace Jim was stretching him at didn't correlate with how fucking turned on Breathy is getting, and Jim grins, because at least Breathy knew he was a born bottom (not that Jim understands that-- he never understood how you could prefer one sort of sex over another. There were so many possibilities, and that's even with just humans!).

Breathy gasps as Jim tilts his fingers to hit his prostate, and now he's shoving Kirk backwards, dragging him up onto the bed, and Jim never would have guessed that Breathy would be this pushy but he goes with it because the sounds that Breathy was making when it was just Jim's fingers up his ass were brilliant enough, how much the better when it's his dick? Shit, he's ready for the kid: that sentence didn't make sense.

The kid, it appears, is ready for him too, and he pushes him flat on his back and straddles his waist and grabs Jim's cock and sinks back on it like so much tight heat. This time it's Jim's turn to let out a sobbing, choking moan as he watches the play of muscles in his stomach and thighs under thin skin. Even with his face in concealing shadow, Breathy's beautiful enough to get a priest to jerk off, and Jim Kirk is no priest so he reaches up to play with Breathy's nipples and drag blunt nails down Breathy's back and edge his hips ever so slightly so that his cock brushes Breathy's prostate on every push.

The stimulus is too much for Breathy because he's tilting back his head and leaning back and his entire pale, delectable throat is exposed in silvering moonlight and he's coming and Jim swears that the semen spattering across the thin chest in front of him is liquid platinum.

It nearly takes an act of God to get Jim to not flip the kid onto his back and pound into him until he's drawn more platinum, but in the last moment he remembers what he's doing here, and in a show of will-power he knows he's never lacked (ask any of his step-fathers, hell, ask his mother), he stills and watches Breathy pant over him.

Breathy moans and rolls to his side. Jim's dick slips free of Breathy's tight ass and Jim nearly sobs for the loss. His reaction, apparently, is not lost on the cadet, because he hears a faint "oh" and then feels wet heat enveloping his cock. Shit, the kid's actually taking him down his throat, and if that sob-moan sounded good, shit, it feels fucking brilliant. Mindful of Breathy's virginal (not so much any more!, Kirk thinks with a mental smirk) he doesn’t thrust into the hot mouth, but lets Breathy swirl his tongue around the head and then drag burning lips down the underside to lap at Kirk's balls. This is what does it, and Jim barely has time to choke out a warning before he's coming.

Breathy flops forward onto the bed next to Jim, facing the wall. He's out practically before Jim can roll over. Sweet kid, he thinks, but not to street-smart-- If I were an actual hustler I'd be off with his money by now.

Jim levers himself up and heads for the shower.

---

James Tiberius Kirk always knows the exact second the sun comes up, because his windows have an Eastern exposure. On this particular day, the moment the sun comes up is also the moment James Tiberius Kirk has one of the more sickening realizations of his life. Because the sun coming up has put full light on his bed, and the cadet lying in it. Cadet is a rather strong word. Kid. No, no-- child.

Sitting straight upright from the chair he'd been dozing in, Jim wrenches on his clothes.

"Wait just a fucking minute." Jim says, and this kid must be the worlds' lightest sleeper, because he sits straight up and looks around frantically.

"What!" Breathy (he should really figure out his name) squeaks.

"Oh, fuck. How old are you?"

"I am n-nineteen," he stutters, and despite how much Jim wants to believe him, he really can't. Damnit-- his will power was supposed to be better than this!

"Fuck. You're like, twelve."

"I'm fifteen!" he says, and then turns a really attractive (damnit! Jailbait! Really, really, really jailbait--) shade of pink. "Umv, I mean, nineteen."

"Does your mother know you're here?" Jim asks, and he suddenly feels every one of his own nineteen years. This kid-- he's so young. There really isn't an excuse for this, not even in Jim's book. And he has a lot of excuses.

Breathy straightens up and suddenly Kirk could believe he was nineteen, because the universe shouldn't be so horrid as to put that look of loss on the face of someone so young. "My mother… my family -- they are all dead." He noticeably fakes a smile. "I am Starfleet Cadet, now!"

Jim knocks his head back against the door behind him. God, god, god, this kid-- beautiful, and he's just deflowered a fucking virgin, and that's kind of okay, but this kid--

"Here. Let-- I'll buy you breakfast, and I'll take you back to Starfleet."

"Oh, no, you don'--"

"Listen, kid. Just-- do this, okay?"

A look passes between them, and Breathy nods and straightens and says aye.

Jim leads him out the door, kicking it shut behind him. He's done with the room-- he'll head back home for a while before doing something else stupid-- but fucked if he cares about checking out. There's a pile of credits worth the value of the building in the dresser, but he doesn't care. Getting back to Iowa with only his face and his fists will be like fighting a Romulan, so he figures it's a decent enough plan.

"So, kid. What's your name?"

"I am Chekov. Pavel Andreievich Chekov."

"Well, Pavel Andreievich Chekov, I'm James Tiberius Kirk…"
  • off to read now but first: your icon, I love it (maybe)(definitley)(except every time I look at it, it moves)
  • "until he's drawn more platinum" gonna remember that for a long time
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