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Shore leave can be infinitely boring, sometimes.
Even though the Enterprise has been docked safely on some vaguely earth‐like planet, and the day had been filled with lavish feasts at fancy restaurants and bawdy singing in expensive taverns (he does love using Starfleet's money), Jim finds himself bored and somewhat lonely in the middle of the first night.
The hotel they've rented is nice enough, with cushy armchairs and soft bedding, but the thin walls of his bedroom shake with the rumble of thunder, and the windows shiver as they're pelted with rain. Lightning crackles, and Jim's lamp flickers. And sure, it's frightening, but not enough for Jim's mind to be occupied with it.
There's a quick knock at his door.
"Come in," He calls out, brows raised as the door clicks open.
Standing in the entryway is ensign Pavel Chekov, shaking like a leaf and looking terribly close to tears.
Jim is immediately worried, and also, strangely enough, immediately horny. Pavel just looks so sweet with his watery eyes and trembling lips. A little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Bones is screaming that now is not the time for dacryphilia! He's crying, for fuck's sake, not sucking your co—
"Mr. Chekov, why aren't you asleep?" He cuts his own traitorous thoughts off, palms heavy in his lap. Pavel meets his eyes with wide and frantic ones. Jim frowns.
"M‐My room is cold, sir," Pavel says meekly, not daring to take another step into the room, lest he seem impolite.
"Is that all there is to it?" Jim forces himself to think of not‐horny things before he stands up. McCoy in a dress, weird alien slime monsters, Spock's feet. That one does the trick, so Jim crosses the room to be closer to the trembling ensign in the doorway.
"N‐No, sir," Pavel stammers, and Jim watches him furiously try to blink away the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "I‐I am sorry, I will go back to my room."
Just as Pavel turns to leave, Jim grabs him by the arm with a gentle hold. Pavel turns, blinks, flushes pink.
"Mr. Chekov, I assure you, there is nothing you can't talk to me about." Jim spares one of his signature smiles for Pavel, who smiles weakly back, and walks into the room on shaking legs. Not now, horny brain!
Jim steps aside to let him in, and while he's busy assuming that he'll actually face him while he speaks, Pavel has other ideas. His back is firmly towards Jim when he opens his mouth, his voice croaky and jittery.
"I‐I'm afraid this might sound silly, Captain." Pavel clears his throat, wipes his eyes. "But ever since I was little, I have been— um, I have been scared of storms. Like- Like this one." He gestures to the window just as another roll of thunder booms overhead. He jolts, Jim swears he hears a whimper.
"I do not wish to b‐bother you," Pavel finally turns to meet his eyes, his voice a little bit shakier than before. "B‐But I cannot sleep, and—"
"It's okay, Mr. Chekov." Jim cuts him off, "We're all afraid of something. I can't stand spiders."
Pavel huffs a laugh at that.
"I cannot imagine you being scared of anything," He says with a chuckle, but it's humourless and empty. "I wish I were more like you, Captain. Instead of like me, who is afraid of noise from the sky."
Jim pauses, weighs the words in his mind, takes another step towards Pavel.
"You are not unworthy because of your fears," Jim says thoughtfully. "You are no less valuable or important to Starfleet, or to me."
Pavel looses a quiet breath, smiles until the corners of his eyes crinkle with it.
"Thank you, Captain." He says. Then a pause, before: "Is it— I mean, if it is fine with you—"
"You can sleep in here, Chekov." Jim says, amusement creeping into the edges of his voice. Pavel seems to sag with relief.
Thunder booms outside. Jim crowds in close to Pavel when he flinches, starts shaking anew.
"It's alright," He smooths a hand down Pavel's hair, cradles the back of his head. "Would it help if we shared the bed? Or would you prefer if I slept on the floor?"
Pavel swallows, stares up at his captain. Would it not be a breach of privacy to share the same bed? To sleep beside Jim? But– but Jim had only said for himself to sleep on the floor, and Pavel suppresses the urge to snap that he would be fine on the floor if it meant that Jim would also sleep soundly.
But he wouldn't, and Pavel knows it, and the Captain knows it.
"If‐ if it is fine, then," Pavel swallows thickly. "Then I would prefer... if you are not uncomfortable with it—"
"I wouldn't offer if I was uncomfortable."
"R‐Right, yes, then." Pavel looks anywhere but at Jim. "May I... sleep in your bed?"
The captain only smiles softly at him, only makes his heart ache with want, only single‐handedly destroys all the walls he's ever built around himself, as another crack of thunder splits the air. He can't stop himself from yelping, scrambling backwards to find somewhere to hide.
"Chekov," Jim says worriedly, pulls him in for an embrace with a firm hand on his back. Pavel trembles in his hold, barely stopping himself from whimpering like some injured dog. "Let's get you into bed, yeah? Can you walk?"
"I- I can walk," Pavel manages to say, breaking from Kirk's grip to stumble over to the bed, immediately swaddling himself in the sheets as lightning crackles and thunder slams through the sky.
Jim gets in after him, stifling a chuckle, and Pavel wants to curl up against his side and die there. Instead, he lies stiff as a board, unable to speak or even breathe properly, apparently.
"Chekov," Jim says quietly, turning to slide an arm over Pavel's waist. Pavel snaps his eyes to him ‐ to his captain ‐ who pulls him further in, towards the soft heat of his body. "You can touch me, don't worry."
Pavel immediately thinks of all the places he would be absolutely honoured to touch on Captain Kirk, and then promptly slaps his hands over his face to cover his reddening cheeks.
"Are you alright, Mr. Chekov?" Jim seems to be bearing down on a laugh. Pavel coughs awkwardly.
"I am fine," He squeaks. "And please also call me Pavel."
"Then, are you alright, Pavel?" Jim asks once more.
"No," He admits, peeking out from between his fingers. Jim raises a brow, urging him to go on. Pavel sighs in defeat, removing his hands from his face. "It is just- you said- you said that I can touch you, and- and do you not know how that sounds?"
Thunder claps outside. The windows rattle, Pavel buries himself in the safest instinctual place, which happens to be in Captain Kirk's shirt. Jim holds him there, humming quietly.
"Maybe it would be a good distraction."
Pavel chokes on his own spit.
"Pardon?" He sputters, chancing a look up at Jim. He's grinning, obviously.
"You're scared, aren't you?" He starts, "And you either face your fear, which means yelling at the sky until it yells back, or something of that sort, or distracting yourself."
Jim's eyes twinkle with something that Pavel does not recognise, but also doesn't care to argue with. Jim is offering to distract him.
"H‐How will you distract me?"
The answer is blatantly, glaringly obvious, but Pavel has to know. What if Jim had been offering some sort of massage, instead? (Although Pavel has read fanfiction before, he knows that a massage will definitely not end in the way that he wants).
"Can I touch you, Pavel?" Jim asks instead of actually answering the question, and it's incredibly telling of Pavel's general brain capacity when he nods almost immediately.
Jim climbs on top of him, knees astride his thighs, one thick arm bent at the elbow to cut into the mattress by Pavel's ear. Jim's face is inches from his own, so close Pavel can smell his toothpaste, taste his cologne.
A hand comes to rest on his cheek. The palm is soft, obviously moisturised, but Pavel can feel the rough calluses at his fingertips, the junction of each of his fingers. He sucks in a shallow breath, musters up all the confidence he can manage.
Pavel wraps a hand around Jim's wrist, pulls down until his palm is flat over the expanse of his neck. He wants to ask him to curl his fingers, to coax him into breathing again. But the words get lodged in his throat, so heavy Pavel thinks he could swallow them and call it lunch.
"C-Captain," He bites out, breathless and wiry even to his own ears, "Captain."
"It's okay, Chekhov," Jim murmurs, his face hovering just inches above Pavel's own, "I've got you. When this is all over, you won't be able to remember your own name."
"Please, please," Pavel finds himself whining, begging as another bout of thunder assaults his ears, sets his heart racing, "I can't- I- I can't, Captain—"
Jim fills the gap between them, leans down to press his lips against Pavel's. And Pavel had expected the kiss, but he hadn't thought it would be so warm, so soft, so pleasant to kiss another man. To kiss anyone.
The captain is gentle, exploratory. Just steadily prying Pavel's lips apart, slipping a delicate tongue into his mouth, lapping at Pavel's own. And it’s so foreign, but it’s so good, and Pavel is lost in the flow of it, melting into the pull of the captain's orbit.
Jim breaks away first, but Pavel is quick to cut off whatever he's about to say.
"Please," He breathes, tugs himself closer as Kirk retreats. Jim's open palm once again curves around Pavel's cheek, his fingers dancing over the blush that alights his face. Pavel swallows.
"I've got you," He repeats, leans down only to brush their noses together. Pavel can't help but lean up to chase after his lips. Jim evades him.
"Captain," He begs, again grips his wrist, moves it to his throat. This time, Jim squeezes it lightly, fingers tightening around heated skin. He meets Pavel's eyes, brows flicking upwards in question.
"Fuck me," Pavel hears himself say. "Fuck me, Jim."
"Shit, Pavel," Jim groans, his head falling to rest in the crook of Pavel's shoulder. A warm tongue laps at his skin, then lips follow to suckle a mark onto the prone, vulnerable area. Pavel can only whine, buck his hips up, tangle his hands in Jim's hair.
"Can I take your shirt off?" Jim asks, fingers flexing around Pavel's throat. Pavel can't find the words to say that he would literally strip naked for him whenever he wants, and so he just nods (albeit a little hastily).
The shirt comes off easily, Jim's fingertips brushing against his skin too many times to be accidental as he undoes his buttons, slides it down Pavel's arms. But he isn't moving fast enough, isn't giving Pavel what he wants, isn't distracting him how he needs when the storm rages outside, sets his heartbeat jackrabbiting in his ribcage.
(Okay, fine, maybe the heart thing is because of Jim, but his point is still valid.)
"Do you want me to beg?" Pavel speaks without thinking. The words ring true, either way. "Because I will. I'll beg for you Captain, just, please, Jim. Please fuck me, I—"
"Stop talking." Jim says into his ear, voice low and full of gravel. Pavel shivers, gulps, presses his lips together obediently. If he wasn't hard before, he's fucking aching now.
"You want me to fuck you, Pavel?" Jim whispers, so close to Pavel's ear he can feel how hot his breath is, how fast and deep it comes and goes. Pavel gives a shaky nod, and the grin he gets in return has his breath morphing into something so thick he has to swallow around it lest it cut his breathing off.
(Later, he'll remember how Jim's fingers had worked around the bob of his throat, and will blush so furiously McCoy will think him sick. Somehow, Jim will know, and whisk him off to his quarters to pound him into the mattress.)
"I'll fuck you," Jim concedes, brushing Pavel's hair from his face with his hand— with the hand that's not currently wrapped around his throat (because there is a hand wrapped around his throat, and Pavel can't stop thinking about it). "I'll fuck you so good, Pavel. You want that? Want me to take my time? I'll take you apart, is that what you want?"
"Please," Pavel blurts, frantically rolls his hips upwards only to be met by a steadfast grip on his waist. He mourns the loss of touch on his neck more than the loss of pressure on his cock.
"Steady, sweetheart." Jim's mouth ticks up in a smile that Pavel knows he's forcing not to turn into a grin. "All in due time."
"Can the due time come faster?" Pavel's voice comes out breathy no matter how hard he tries to make the words snap, and Jim only laughs darkly from above him.
Despite the back‐talk, the laugh is the only reprimand Pavel gets.
He feels a hand on the curve of his hip, feels fingertips slip under the waistband of his pyjamas, can't stop himself from moaning when Jim tugs them down. His boxers remain in place, which some small, embarrassed part of Pavel is immensely grateful for, but then Jim is touching him, and his palm is hot and heavy on his erection, but it doesn't move.
"C‐Captain," Pavel stammers, his hips still pinned to the mattress as he tries to buck against Jim's palm, "Captain, please, please. Need it, need it so bad, Captain— Jim, pl—"
Jim silences him with a kiss. Pavel doesn't complain, only falls limp in his hold and moans against his lips as Jim licks hotly into his mouth.
"Please touch me," He says between searing kisses, uneven and throaty as if all the air has been punched from his lungs.
Jim slides his hand into Pavel's boxers, enveloping him in a broad palm. Pavel nearly comes on the spot, moaning high, back arching off the mattress.
It takes two more strokes and then Pavel really is coming, thighs twitching and shaking as he splinters and climaxes.
"There we go," Jim murmurs in his ear, his hand working slow and steady up his length, down again. "Just like that, baby, fuck. You're so good."
The hand on his cock quickly turns his pleasure into something a little too harsh, a little too sharp. Overstimulation tingles at his nerves. And it's not that Pavel really minds, but the whimper he makes has Jim withdrawing his hand, anyway.
"Captain," Pavel mumbles slowly as Jim cradles his face once more. Jim's huff of laughter fans out over the bridge of his nose.
"Still with me, baby?" He noses at Pavel's cheek. Fuck.
"I did not leave," Pavel points out, then grins at Jim's answering smile. He cranes his neck upwards to kiss him, to try and articulate the way he's feeling in the gentle press of his lips. He hopes it works, but any worries about the effectiveness of his communication fizzle from his brain when Kirk kisses him back, slow and languid.
"I didn't-" Pavel starts, glances away from Jim's furrowed brows when he breaks the kiss, "I didn't mean to- to come so soon."
The admission hangs heavy in the air for a minute. Silence stretches between them, Pavel chances a look at Jim's face, and the smile he finds there makes him frown. And then Jim's cackling with laughter, dropping his forehead forwards to rest on Pavel's collarbone.
"Stop laughing at me!" Pavel demands, thumping his fist against Jim's back. Jim wheezes.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He pushes himself up again, eyes gleaming with mirth, "baby, I just—" Jim pauses, his smirk becomes something serpentine, something poisonous, "you think I can't make you come twice? Three times? Four, if that's what you want?"
Pavel gapes. The mirth in Jim's eyes turns sharp, quicksilver.
"I‐ I didn't—"
Pavel is immediately cut off by his own surprised gasp when Jim slides a hand down his chest, his stomach, his cock. His knuckles fly upwards to be stuffed into his mouth, stifling the pathetic, bitten‐off moan that punches from his throat. Jim's laugh is sardonic.
"Poor thing," He says softly, teasingly, moves his hand round to squeeze at Pavel's ass. "I'll make you feel good again, baby. Want me to fuck you properly, this time? Wanna see if you can handle taking my cock?"
Pavel's only response is a pathetic, broken whimper. Jim's answering chuckle is deep, warm against Pavel's chest.
"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart." He says lowly.
Pavel can only stare up at him, mouth just slightly agape. He tries, he really does, to force himself to get over his crippling nerves and open his legs for his captain, for Jim, but no such miracle befalls him. It feels like too much of him will be left bare, even with his boxers still on, because Jim will see all that he wants, and there'll be no stopping him when he kicks Pavel out of his room when he finds something he doesn't like.
Jim taps the inside of Pavel's thigh expectantly. Pavel croaks dryly as he fights to find the words to say that he can't.
"Pavel, baby?" Jim says after a too‐long moment, runs his thumb over Pavel's cheekbone. "What's going on?"
"J‐Jim, I—" He tries, blinks back the sudden tears that threaten to spill from his eyes, tightens his grip on Jim's shirt.
"Hey," Jim hushes him, "It's okay, sweetheart. It's just so much, isn't it? I'm sorry, baby, I should've asked if you were okay. It's a lot, huh?"
Pavel squeezes his eyes shut and nods, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.
"Do you want me to do it?" Jim eases out the crease between his brows, touches gentle fingers to his eyelids to coax them open. Pavel only looks confused for a moment, before Jim settles his hands on his inner thighs and gives an experimental push.
"Captain," Pavel breathes, hands flying to Jim's shoulders, fingernails digging into his back, eyes frantic as he meets Jim's.
"It's okay, Pavel," Jim says sweetly, "Just tell me if you need me to stop. Let me take care of you, yeah?"
Pavel nods, just once, and then Jim slides his legs apart in one fluid movement. He hooks his hands under Pavel's knees, pushes them upwards so his feet plant neatly on the bed, and Pavel suppresses the urge to cover himself.
"I've got you," Jim tells him, "I've got you, baby."
"I‐ I can't," Pavel whimpers, "I need— Captain, please, please h‐hurry."
Jim flashes him a soft, kind smile, and when he leans back and his eyes rake over the full, near‐nakedness of Pavel's body, Pavel feels himself shrink into himself a little bit. His gaze is too heavy, too much.
"Can I take these off?" Jim taps the waistband of his boxers, unaware of his hammering heart, and Pavel nods frantically despite the inevitable mortification of being totally exposed in front of Jim fucking Kirk.
Jim slides them up and over his thighs, fingertips trailing behind as they fall easily down his calves, as they slip off his feet, as they come off completely until they’re discarded on the floor. Pavel's already hard, aching against his stomach, and the only thing stopping him from closing his legs and hiding forever are Jim's hands holding him wide open, vulnerable.
"P‐Please," Pavel whispers, stuttering for breath. He already wants Jim's hand around his throat again, if not because it's fucking hot, then for the comfort of it; the familiarity.
Thunder roars outside, but Jim is speaking over it, and that's far more important.
"Fuck, sweetheart," Jim groans, the pad of his finger tracing Pavel's entrance. Pavel's hips jolt against the touch, the back of his hand shoved over his mouth to quieten the noise that leaves him. "You look so pretty like this, so needy, all spread out for me. Only for me, yeah?"
"J‐Just you," Pavel confirms, gulping down as much air as he can manage before his lungs stop working completely. "Only ever you."
"Wait, Pavel, baby." Jim glances up at him. "Are you- are you fucking wet, sweetheart?"
Pavel whimpers, throws his forearm over his eyes as realisation dawns on him, turns his face a bright shade of pink. He nods uselessly.
"I‐I'm sorry," He mumbles. "I‐I don't know why it happens, it just- it just does. I'm sorry."
Jim's hand is warm over the expanse of his arm, pulling it away from his eyes. Pavel reluctantly lets him, forces himself not to cry when he sees the soft look on his face.
"Don't apologise, baby," He whispers, kisses the tip of Pavel's nose. "It's alright. I didn't know- I had no idea that was even possible, but it's fucking hot, Pavel."
"I‐It's weird, Captain, you don't have to—"
Jim shushes him, a sideways smile tugging at his lips. "'S not weird, baby. Just surprising. At least now we don't need lube, hm?"
Pavel whimpers through a nod, toes curling as Jim runs his fingers over the slick between his thighs, circles it between his fingertips.
Jim leans down to kiss him, hot and sloppy and open-mouthed, and it makes Pavel feel dirty, dirtier than the finger that dips teasingly past his rim with every lap of Jim's tongue against his own. Pavel breaks away with a gasp.
"Fuck me, Jim," He pleads, hips canting backwards to urge his finger inside, inside. Jim takes a deep, steadying breath.
"Relax a bit," Jim says softly. Pavel forces his body to obey the command, and then Jim's finger sinks in till the first knuckle. It's not much, but it's so much, and Pavel has to bite the skin of his hand to keep from yelling. It does nothing to muffle the yelp of a moan that slips past his lips.
"Captain," Pavel whimpers, and Jim slips the finger just that much further in. "Captain."
"That's it, baby," Jim murmurs, slides his finger all the way, swallows Pavel's moan with a messy kiss.
Pavel had known Jim's fingers were thick, bigger than his own, but the slight stretch makes him shudder with want all the same. It's barely anything, but it's more than Pavel's ever allowed himself to have, and it has him writhing, legs shaking already as he instinctively tries to close them. Jim holds him open.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Jim moans, a second finger already pushing at his rim. "So fucking hot, Pavel."
Pavel attempts to muffle his whimper in Jim's pillow. It doesn't work.
"Jesus," Jim curses. "You like it when I talk all sweet to you, baby? When I tell you how pretty you are— how fucking good you feel on my fingers?"
"Jim—"
"I know you do," He interrupts, slipping the tip of a second finger into Pavel's body. Pavel moans, loud and broken. "I can feel it when you tighten around my fingers. I know what makes you feel good, sweetheart."
"Jim—"
"No need to be embarrassed about it, though," Jim continues, nosing upwards at the crook of Pavel's neck until his lips rest by his ear, "Just figuring out what makes you tick."
"More," Pavel chokes out, "More— please, Captain."
"Of course, baby." Jim sinks the second finger all the way in, and Pavel delights in the faint burn of it. But Jim remains still, probably assuming that he needs time to adjust, but Pavel is desperate, he needs this like he needs the sun, damnit.
"J‐Jim," He croaks out, "Jim, please. I can- I can take it, please move- m‐move your fingers, I can—"
Pavel again finds himself being interrupted by a kiss. He moans into it, hands scrambling for purchase against Jim's back as he crooks his knuckles, pumps his fingers in and out once, twice, three times.
"Tell me where it feels good, baby," Jim tells him, his face staying so close that they're breathing the same air.
"I‐It feels good e‐everywhere." Pavel's voice pitches up with every word, strained with pleasure and broken by the little 'ah ah ah's that he can't seem to stop making. Jim chuckles from above him, working his fingers deeper, slower. He runs them in gentle circles, and it almost seems like he's searching for something, and then Pavel remembers something from his... previous research, something about a—
"Fuck!" Pavel yells, twisting in Jim's hold. Jim grips him fast, his hand bruising Pavel's hip.
"Right there, sweetheart?" Jim says, and Pavel knows he's teasing him, is ready to retort with something incredibly witty, but the complaint melts from his lips when Jim brushes the spot again, firmer this time. Pavel gasps, writhes, moans as he rubs the pad of his finger over it.
"Jim- Jim, fuck, Captain— i‐it's good, so good, Captain, please." He begs, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. Jim grins down at him, running his fingers over that damn spot, and it borders on too much, but Pavel is greedy.
Pavel is greedy, and he wants more than he can fit in his damn mouth.
"C‐Captain- I—" A cry of pleasure splits his sentence in two as Jim teases him with the tip of a third finger.
"What was that, baby?" Jim seems awfully composed, but Pavel pays it no mind.
"Please. I w‐want it, Captain—" Pavel rushes out, "Jim, please, please give me another‐ another finger. Please, m‐make me forget my name, just— fuck— just like you said you would."
"You want another?" Jim's voice is rough, laced with arousal. Pavel nods in quick succession.
"I- I do, please—"
"Are you sure you can take it, baby?" It's a tease. Pavel knows he's teasing, but the challenge sparks something in him that flares into fire quicker than he realises.
"I can— fuck, I can take w‐whatever- whatever you give me," Pavel gasps, moans far too loudly when Jim adds a third finger. The stretch isn't painful, but it leaves a pleasant burn within him, all three fingers crooked and spearing for the place that makes him see stars.
"Oh fuck," Pavel hisses, writhes against Jim's grip as he abuses his insides, moaning and blabbering and running his mouth with filthier language than he's ever used in his life.
It's simultaneously too much and not enough, and Pavel doesn't know if he should beg for mercy, or beg for more. But then Jim's leaning back, leaning down until Pavel feels his breath against his ass.
"Whatever I give you, Pavel?" Jim repeats the words back to him, clearly transfixed by the action in front of his eyes. Pavel shudders and moans in answer.
He doesn't know what he was expecting, but Jim's tongue was not it.
Pavel squeals, rocking himself back and forth, trying to get away from the onslaught of feeling, and somehow craving more of it all the same. Jim stills him with a steady hand on his hip.
His tongue dips between his fingers, flicking around the edge of his— his—
"I can't! Captain, I‐ I can't—" Pavel sobs, trembling. "P‐Please, I can't— it's too‐ too much."
Jim pulls back, stills his fingers.
"I've got you, sweetheart," He says softly, after a moment. "Just let go. I'll catch you."
Pavel can barely nod his head, can barely even think straight when Jim moves his fingers again. He shivers uncontrollably, surrendering himself to sensation and babbling out moans and pleas and cries until Jim wraps a hand around his cock, pumps once, twice, and then he's coming, coming undone all over again.
Jim kisses him through it, but Pavel can only let his mouth hang open for him to lavish.
"Baby." Jim shakes his shoulder. Pavel opens his eyes (when had he closed them?). "Fuck, Pavel. You're so good, you know that? So fucking good for me."
Pavel moans quietly in answer, leaning up to bury his face in Jim's shoulder.
"Fuck, still got my fingers in you, sweetheart," Jim says through a groan, as if he doesn't already know that. "Sweet talk does it for you, huh? You like knowing how good you are, baby?"
"Jim," Pavel whines, but it's not really a protest.
"Shit, baby, think you can go one more time?"
"Use me, Captain," He murmurs into Jim's neck by way of answering.
"Oh my god, fuck," Jim hisses. "You can't just say that, baby. I can't‐ you don't—"
"I mean it." Pavel interrupts and meets Jim's eyes, takes his hand and presses it to the column of his throat once more. Jim curls his fingers around it. "Use me."
Jim moans this time, gives an affirmative squeeze to Pavel's neck (Pavel does not whimper), and leans back to take his own boxers off. Pavel had barely noticed they were still on, in all fairness.
He takes a long, appreciative moment to watch Jim as he divests himself of his underwear. The muscles of his arms flex as he drags them down his legs, off his feet. And Pavel forces himself to look away once he sees how... well-endowed his captain is.
"You mean it, Pavel? I can—"
"Yes, Jim," Pavel says, exasperated. But he looks just about as excited as Jim does, so he doesn't chide him on it. Only flashes him a cheeky little smile.
Jim is once again faced with the utter beauty of Pavel Chekhov.
His eyes sweep from his face ‐ flushed, red, beautiful ‐ down to the jut of his hipbones and further onwards than that, to the slight hardness of his cock. And then further still, to the little pink pucker of his hole. Jim watches the way Pavel's entire body shudders under his attention.
He moves quickly at first, taking his cock in his hand and lining himself up. His hand remains around Pavel's neck, light but firm, and the other comes to slowly guide his cock into Pavel's body.
And, fuck, it's tight. And not only that, Pavel is so fucking warm around him, silky and soft and deliciously malleable beneath his palms. His moans don't cease, and neither does his incessant pleading for 'more, Jim', but Jim is otherwise occupied with trying not to blow his load in the first five seconds of being inside his partner.
He doesn't even try to stifle the groan that rips out of him, head bowing forwards as he pushes inch after inch into the pliant body beneath him. It's a marvel to watch his cock disappear into that awaiting heat.
"You okay?" He has the good sense to ask Pavel, who only whimpers and jerks his chin as an answer. He's trying to go slow (he really is!) but the way Pavel's hips cant forwards, grinding on his cock until he's fully seated, is making that incredibly difficult.
"Captain," Pavel grumbles, though it's definitely too much on this side of breathy for it to hold any bite, "I said you can– you can use me. I can take it, so please, please make me take it."
Jim pulls out and then thrusts back in, hard.
"I told you," He says over Pavel's helpless moan, and then thrusts again until he's deeper than before. "You can't just say shit like that."
"Want it," Pavel gasps, fists tangled in the bedsheets, "want you to fu–uck me until I can't feel my legs, want you to give me all you have, Captain—"
"Be quiet." Jim snaps his hips, and that effectively reduces Pavel's rambling to nothing but a string of moans and curses.
Now he's sure that Pavel wants this (he wants this!), wants everything, apparently, Jim builds up the pace into something brutal, hips quick and rough as he slams into him. He slings one of Pavel's legs over his shoulder, the other hand moving upwards to curl around his throat again, hips bucking wild and hard and fast as he chases his end.
He can't help the way he's moaning now, loud and unabashed as pleasure skitters up his spine, through his legs, spears into his belly. Pavel is whimpering beneath him, and Jim can feel his cute little cock rubbing against his stomach on every thrust.
"Fuck," He curses, pounds deeper, harder into Pavel's warm body, draping himself over him to kiss sloppily at his jaw. His hand tightens over Pavel's throat, and Pavel coughs around his next moan. Jim resolves to fist his hand in the sheets instead, lest he fracture the poor boy's trachea.
"P‐Pavel, baby."
Jim hears himself whimper, knows that he'll deny making such a noise later. He's so close, so close, and he wants to pull out, to come over Pavel's stomach, but he can't stop the frantic bucking of his hips, or the way he holds so tight to Pavel's body.
"B‐Baby," He repeats, "I‐ I can't— Pavel, I can't stop m‐moving, sweetheart, I can't—"
"Come in me," Pavel rasps, hooks his ankles together over Jim's back, urging his hips deeper. "Come in me, Captain."
"Fuck, fuck. I‐I can't- Pavel- I can't stop, you feel so good." He stifles his pathetic voice in Pavel's shoulder, acts like he can't feel the dampness of his eyes.
"It's okay," Pavel hisses out, keening as Jim hits particularly deep, "It's fine, J‐Jim, k— fuck, keep going."
"Fu-uck, baby," Jim gasps. His hips stutter, and then stop completely as he buries himself deep and comes. Blinding pleasure makes his eyes fuzzy and his head numb and his mind swim as he shatters over and over, Pavel putting him back together with the steadiness of his slowly‐evening breaths and the gentle, shaking path of his hand down his back.
When he blinks himself back to reality, Pavel is smiling softly at him, his hair a mess and eyes watery.
"Pavel," Jim breathes, slumping against him. Pavel wheezes, then laughs, then wheezes again and rolls them over with surprising strength. Jim pretends not to hear the tiny little noise Pavel makes as his cock shifts with the movement; pretends not to hear his own, too.
"Jim," Pavel says happily, carding trembling fingers through his sweat-damp hair. It's probably gross to touch, but Jim leans into it nonetheless.
"You- fuck, that was so good." Jim kisses at the point of Pavel's jaw, sucks a gentle mark there. "You came, didn't you? After I...."
Pavel sputters, blushes, nods, and then buries his face in Jim's chest.
This is something he can very easily get used to.