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They’re not sluts, or slaves, or anything of the sort. The Attendant branch is very particular on that distinction, and really, so is Starfleet itself.
Still, there’s always those who do not understand, especially the kinds of assholes who sign up for Starfleet and then spend their first semester harassing Attendant cadets until the brass hears about it. They’re dropped faster than they can retrieve their grabby little hands.
Just because you’re wearing a green shirt doesn’t mean you’re fair game.
Jim never thought he’d sign up for Starfleet. It wasn’t that he had never considered it, growing up in the shadow of the newly commissioned Enterprise, but with a juvenile delinquent record like his, with psych evals like his, Starfleet just didn’t seem like a viable option.
That is, until Pike showed up in one of Jim’s frequently visited bars and told him that he could be part of something. A tight-knit crew. A family.
Jim doesn’t know how Pike knew what to say to convince him. Bringing George Kirk into the equation and daring him to do as well as his father wouldn’t have done the deed, he’s sure. Other have tried that line before. His father was born for Command track, bright and golden and likable. That much, Jim has gathered from the books, and the photos, and the holovids. Just like his mother was born for the sciences, smart and focused and capable, an officer to be reckoned with. Before the Kelvin disaster, that is.
Jim’s not like that. Jim’s broken and impulsive, useless really. Well, not entirely useless. At least Pike said so.
He doesn’t pretend that he didn’t look down on Attendants at some point in his life. It’s just the way it sounds to non-Starfleet personnel that makes it look like they’re a bunch of overpaid whores. A branch of military whose members are, next to basic operational, engineering or navigational training, taught exclusively how to take care of the people on their ship -- it does sound kind of suggestive.
It’s probably the fact that sex is most definitely involved that makes people so uncomfortable. Prostitution is perfectly legal on Earth these days if it happens of the person’s own free will, a freely chosen occupation, but for some reason, people still get weird about someone being paid for sex. Especially when it involves serving an entire ship. Which is, of course, utter nonsense.
Jim snorts at people who make assumptions that one Attendant could serve a whole starship. There’s dozens of people on smaller ships already, and a flagship like the Enterprise -- well, not even Jim has that kind of stamina.
Pike told him he could be Chief Attendant in three years, if he set his mind to it. Meaning he would serve the captain alone, along with chosen senior personnel, usually the chief medical officer, the chief engineer and the first officer.
The Enterprise handles it a bit differently, but then Pike knows Jim well and gives him free reign on whom he’d like to serve additionally, as long as he fulfills his regular duties diligently.
It’s not like Attendants have to serve anyone. Jim can give and deny consent like any other person and is free to report people for sexual assault if they ignore his refusal. But it’s weird to single people out on principal, especially if you’re serving senior staff. That’s why Starfleet makes sure Attendant cadets are comfortable serving a wide range of beings, no matter which races, species, genders or kinks are involved.
Maybe it’s not something to be proud of in particular, but Jim’s been given a nearly full clearance and is, next to Gaila, one of the few Attendants capable and willing to serve pretty much anyone that ends up on his ship.
It’s a shame, really, that the Enterprise’s core crew is mostly made up of humans. Human genitals just get so boring sometimes, and Jim’s actually surprised he’s actively seeking out alternatives on shore leave despite his very healthy sex life.
“... and you’re not listening, are you?”
Jim blinks at the warm hand curling around his shoulder. Startled out of his musings, it takes Jim a moment to realize where he is: the bridge, kneeling by Captain Pike’s chair. It’s not a mandatory position for the CA to be in, but the point of being in the Attendant branch is accommodating the crew’s kinks and wishes, so Jim’s not complaining.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jim says, smiling sheepishly up at Pike. “I got distracted.”
“Well, lucky for you I sent the brief to your PADD, so you can read up on what I’ve been explaining to you for the past ten minutes.”
Jim nods, sending an apologetic glance at the captain before checking his PADD. He reads up on the mission parameters as fast as he can get away with it, then nods to himself.
“You want me naked for this?” he asks casually.
Festive functions on Klö’nq II are actually one of Jim’s favorites. The natives usually form relationships by uniting four people of three genders: two that can roughly be equaled to the Human male and female, and two subservients. The translation is ill-chosen, as subservients are fully cherished and equal partners in spite of their sex, but the point is that Klö’nq II has what crudely boils down to an Attendant gender, and that makes Jim happy.
“I’ve been given to understand it’s a requirement." There’s that pleasantly lewd quality to Pike's smile that Jim adores completely. “There’ll be temporary tattoos, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Sounds fun,” Jim says. “I’ll make sure to clean up nicely for you.”
“Actually,” Pike replies. “I won’t be going. Spock’s taking you.”
Jim knows Pike well enough to know he’s not insulted when Jim throws a wide, excited grin into the FO’s direction. Jim’s equal opportunity when it comes to the crew, except that the captain’s a priority, of course. But Spock -- he’s Spock. Jim’s pretty sure in some other universe, they’re this weird power couple destined to be together, defying all odds for their eternal love. They have a connection.
Well, Jim also has a connection with Bones, and with Scotty, and Uhura, and Sulu, and Chekov, and definitely with Pike, but Spock -- yeah. Maybe it’s the Vulcan mind meld thing, but Jim never feels as cherished as when he’s with him.
Spock has clearly picked up on their conversation with his superior hearing, as he swivels in his chair and nods towards Jim. Jim gives him a thumbs-up, which Spock undoubtedly files away as illogical and childish behavior before returning his focus to the science station.
“I haven’t been out with Spock for ages,” Jim complains good-naturedly. “All he ever does is planet surveys, where I’m useless.”
“Hardly useless,” Pike says. “Mainly superfluous.”
Jim can get away with pinching Pike’s calf when he’s being cheeky, so he does, and is rewarded with a chuckle and a pat on the hand. The casual touch turns into an extended petting session, warm hands carding soothingly through Jim’s hair as he reads up on the upcoming function on Klö’nq II and the customs involved. He leans back until he rests comfortably against Pike’s legs scrolling through the file.
He’ll have to brush up on some of the native dance styles, but he should be fine. Uhura usually helps him smooth out any ambiguous body language. It wouldn’t do to offend any foreign diplomats with a careless flick of the hand that looked like a death threat to them.
When he’s done with his reading, he pulls up his duty roster for gamma shift. Attendants always take two shifts, which is why they get an entire day off every Standard week. Jim’s on alpha shift for regular duty, which means he’s either helping Scotty in Engineering or spending time on the bridge like he’s doing now. He’s off for beta, where he usually naps, eats or annoys Bones in sickbay. On gamma, he’s doing personal visits and sleeps only when he’s done.
His roster is accessible to the crew he has approved for serving. His list is extensive for a CA, but it’s more than feasible. Pike’s not too demanding, and Jim has a high sex drive and loves to be social. He checks today’s schedule and smiles when he see’s that Sulu’s grabbed the entire gamma slot. Clearly he has plans and, if Jim’s not mistaken, Chekov will be there, too.
He approves the request with a flick of his finger, knowing Sulu will receive the confirmation on his PADD. Although he’s right there in front of Jim acting as helmsman, he prefers this. It’s not anyone else’s business who he’s serving tonight, unless Pike’s asking specifically. He’s got an override privilege for all time slots.
Jim’s communicator beeps with a message from Scotty, who apparently needs help with a special project.
“Do I want to know?” Pike asks as Jim rises gracefully from his kneeling position.
“Probably not, sir,” Jim admits with a sheepish smile. Pike’s always wary of Scotty’s off-regulation improvements, but has no squirms reaping the benefits when things turn serious. “Permission to leave?”
“Granted,” Pike says, and smacks Jim’s ass, because he can.
Jim throws him a wink as he leaves the bridge, catching Uhura’s smile as he turns in the turbolift.
_____
Sulu’s and Chekov’s relationship is very interesting to Jim.
With the introduction of the Attendant branch over fifty year ago, Starfleet essentially put an end to non-fraternization regulations unless they involve direct chains of command, and even then you can get special permission. It also implemented an effective way to reduce stress among the crew and verifiably increase crew morale on long-time missions. Jim still laughs at the way Starfleet desperately grasped for scientific evidence when nearly everyone with a sex drive will tell you that regular fucking usually makes you feel good, period.
Sulu and Chekov, though, they have a dynamic going on that defies regulation. Technically, they’re in a chain of command, what with Chekov being Command Ensign, Sulu Command Lieutenant. They’ve gotten Starfleet to approve their relationship, though Jim is one hundred percent convinced they would not have done so had they known what Jim knows.
Chekov is so submissive to Sulu, it hurts sometimes to look at him when he kneels in front of the man. Jim has never seen a face so devoted and pliant and grateful when there’s a hard cock swinging in front of it, and Jim has some experience with acting submissive for his crew -- it’s a common kink with Starfleet personnel. Most have a knack for authority.
To an outsider, it would look like Sulu’s a manipulating asshole. Chekov’s barely legal, eighteen now, and Jim’s pretty sure he’d jump out the nearest airlock if Sulu told him to. Jim has never seen such hero worship in his life.
But Jim’s not irresponsible. He has observed their relationship develop very, very carefully, and it’s so damn clear that Sulu would rather eat one of his poisonous plants than hurt Chekov, he would never report them. It had fallen to Jim to calm him down from a crying fit when his hand had slipped during a caning and it had landed Chekov in sickbay. Jim knows Sulu is a decent person, kind and caring, and so hopelessly in love with his precious Pavel, it balances Chekov’s complete devotion perfectly.
Half of the time, Jim wonders what Sulu even gets out of adding Jim to the equation, but he’s definitely not complaining.
“How does it feel, pet?” Sulu says, his face buried in the side of Chekov’s face. He’s got the Russian sitting on his lap, both of them naked on the bed. Jim’s kneeling in front of them on the floor, Chekov’s cock in his mouth. He’s sucking him at a leisurely pace, just as Sulu told him to, and Chekov sounds like he’s slowly dying the sweetest of deaths.
“W-wery good, sir,” Chekov breathes. He’s flushed in the face, eyes half-closed as Sulu nuzzles into his cheek. The black collar around his neck suits him well, dark and enticing on his pale skin.
“Are you grateful I’ve brought Jim to play?” he asks and Chekov nods almost frantically.
“Yes, sir,” he moans, and Jim tugs at his balls, because he knows the Russian likes that. “Zhank you.”
Sulu lets Chekov squirm on his lap for a few more minutes, stroking possessive hands down his chest. They could do this for hours. Chekov is wearing the usual cockring, and Jim’s given so many blow-jobs in his life, he’s sure he’s got it in him. Besides, Chekov isn’t that big, a nice mouthful really.
But Sulu’s not that cruel and soon, he has Chekov sit up, his hard cock slipping from Jim’s mouth. Sulu adjusts his own cock, stroking it to full hardness, then guides Chekov down to impale himself on it. Chekov is almost always slicked up, Jim’s learned. He faintly wonders what Starfleet would have to say about the fact that Sulu makes his pet wear buttplugs and anal beads through alpha shift, but he’s certainly not going to tell them.
“Go on, suck him,” Sulu orders Jim. He complies, once more taking Chekov’s cock into his mouth.
Sulu has very impressive stamina. Jim’s been on the receiving end of his fucking, and it’s not only enthusiastic and wonderfully harsh, it goes on forever. Jim has to move along with Chekov’s bouncing, but he manages. Jim’s pretty sure Chekov is two minutes away from passing out when Sulu stills, comes with a loud groan and spills inside him.
Jim knows this is his clue to quit, so he gives Chekov’s dick a last, long lick, then crawls aside to let Sulu maneuver Chekov around.
He makes Chekov lick him clean, and Jim’s pretty sure Chekov is so grateful, he’s teary-eyed as he swallows. Jim thinks of himself as a bit of a comeslut, but Chekov puts even him to shame.
“Now, blow Jim,” Sulu says and Chekov complies readily.
Sulu likes them on the floor. Maybe it’s the slightly degrading feel of it, but their sessions almost always end with both of them fucking by Sulu’s feet. Chekov’s sucks Jim off like it’s Sulu’s cock, which means it’s heaven. Jim squirms, moans and groans like it’s the first expert blowjob he’s ever received -- Chekov’s just that good.
Finally, when Chekov has swallowed every last drop of Jim’s come, Sulu slip off the cockring and jacks him off. Chekov actually cries during orgasm, a sight Jim’s always infinitely happy about. He is cute when he cries, and Sulu makes a point of licking off his tears when he does.
“Thanks, Jim,” Sulu says when they’ve all cleaned up and Chekov is curled up in two blankets on Sulu’s bed. “You staying?”
“Not tonight,” Jim replies, because Chekov looks like he needs some quality time with his boyfriend.
He does stay sometimes, though it’s not strictly recommended by Starfleet. Their paramount concern is attachment, but Jim’s pretty sure it’s delusional of them to believe that any Attendant is not attached to their assigned crew. Jim’s certain he could develop romantic feelings for any of his when he took the time to think about it, put an effort into courting them. But he’s happy as it is now. He knows they’re all fond of him, love him even. And besides, it just gets messy when you’re an Attendant and in a relationship. Most people find it hard to distinguish between the job and the romance. Sometimes, Jim’s not even sure there is a real distinction.
He walks back to his quarters and stumbles upon Spock and Uhura talking quietly in the hallway. Jim has pulled off his green shirt, which means he’s technically off-duty and ready for bed, but he walks up to them anyway.
“You got anything planned?” he asks, looking them up and down. Uhura laughs at his eagerness. She knows he got a soft spot for her boots, and they look particularly shiny tonight.
“Nothing special,” she says and Jim nods, getting the message. He’s not one to intrude where he’s not wanted
“You are welcome to join us next week,” Spock adds. He looks very relaxed, his fingers laced with Uhura’s in an unusual public display of affection. Clearly, he’s feeling cuddly tonight, though he’d never admit to such height of illogic. When he sees Jim’s look, he offers his other hand to him.
Jim takes it readily, running his fingers along Spock’s until he feels him shiver. This is what he means when he talks about the lack of distinction between duty and romance. Vulcans are only this docile with their mates, but Jim’s frequently the receiver of the same affectionate attentions as Uhura.
It’s all complicated, really, so he tries not to think about it too much.
“I’m looking forward to Klö’nq II,” he says, and Spock inclines his head.
“I am gratified you find such joy in serving with me.”
Jim smiles and gently disentangles their fingers, pecking Uhura on the cheek before bidding them good night.
He gets ready for bed as soon as he’s in his quarters, but he can’t fall asleep and stares at the ceiling for half an hour. He doesn’t feel lonely often, but sometimes it feels weird to sleep on his own when he’s so busy making others feel good during the day. He puts on the regulation black pants and a black shirt and leaves again.
Bones is always happy to share his bed with him -- Jim knows he’s never gotten used to not having Jocelyn next to him -- but he seeks out Pike instead. Their rooms are pretty close to each other, but not adjoined like Pike’s is with Spock’s. Starfleet’s very particular about the no-attachment thing.
He knocks only twice, in case the captain’s already asleep, but the door opens only a moment later and Jim enters. Pike’s still going over reports at his desk. He looks tired in the shine of his reading light.
“Done for the night?” he asks and promptly yawns. He never asks why Jim shows up when he’s not put himself on the roster. They know each other well enough by now.
“Yupp,” Jim says. “And you as well.”
Pike looks down at the various PADDs and data sticks still waiting to be reviewed, but he nods. “Yes, I think so, too.”
He gets up and Jim helps him undress. It’s not his official duty, god no, but he knows Pike. Pike has this whole thing where he likes Jim to be his servant, kneeling and respectful nods and worshipping glances included. Jim indulges him readily. He can admit to himself that he’s pretty submissive, not like Gaila who dominates the hell out of her crew and they all love it.
Jim slips off Pike’s boots and socks, folds his pants, puts the tunic and underwear in the laundry hatch where it’ll end up in the cleaning processor. Then, he kneels between Pike’s legs.
“Let me,” he says, grasping for the captain’s cock. He’s half-hard at best, but Jim can coax him into hardness in no time.
“You’re off-duty,” Pike reminds him, but he’s not a fan of Starfleet’s unrealistic policies either. He just wants to make sure of the boundaries every once in a while.
“Whatever, sir,” Jim says flippantly and licks at Pike’s dick.
Jim finishes up quickly but diligently, then helps Pike slip into his nightclothes. He strips down to his underwear himself, preferring to sleep like this or in the nude.
Pike tucks him close and Jim readily snuggles into him, enjoying the warmth of Pike’s chest. He always feels most safe with the captain. Bones jokes sometimes about his daddy issues, and Jim has to admit he might have a point.
If Pike has an inkling, too, he’s never mentioned it.
_____
Klö’nq II is mostly yellow plant life, pleasantly warm weather and food that’s to die for. Jim loves Klö’nq II. Definitely one of his top five planets.
He’s kneeling naked by Spock’s feet, his skin covered in the blue henna-like tattoos the natives favor during their festivals. Spock’s feeding him the little foodstuffs specially prepared to be fed to the subservients with a weird sort of twirly fork. Jim feels super-comfortable seeing the foursomes around him, two of either quartet kneeling like him, being fed as he is. The Klö’nq’a are Humanoids, like so many species they’ve encountered and have no proper explanation for, but their skin is covered in tiny, deep-yellow scales.
They’re perfectly adapted to the color scheme and climate of their planet, though with advanced technology, the Klö’nq’a hardly have a reason to hide between the plants to avoid predators and deflect attacks with their scaly hide.
“The food is much to my liking,” the universal translator awkwardly translates the utterance of the subservient kneeling next to Jim, part of the main diplomat’s love square. “My palate is dancing. Is yours as well?”
The Klö’nq’a speak partly in whistles most Humans are unable to replicate, unless they’re ridiculously talented like Uhura. Which is why, twenty years past first contact, translators are still the way to go.
“It is,” Jim replies readily. Most Klö’nq’a also don’t have pronounceable names, preferring to identify themselves with dance and other movements, which is why Jim avoids addressing them until he is addressed himself. The way they try and fail to pronounce Chief Attendant Kirk in return is adorable, but they have less trouble with Jim, which can be partly whistled, it turns out. “I particularly enjoy the fruits. My eyes tingle mirthfully.”
How It tastes sweet translates to that latter part is simply astonishing. Jim swears half of the stuff the translator spits out doesn’t make sense, but as none of the Klö’nq’a have yet to murder them in the face of grave offense, it seems to be doing all right.
The subservient next to Jim seems to understand him, at least. They bob their head, the Klö’nq’a equivalent of a smile, and turn to accept an orange berry from one of their lover’s hands.
The function goes by uneventfully. Jim is invited to dance by the other subservients after the meal, which he agrees readily to. Uhura spent last night helping him brush up on the right movements and as heads are bobbing all around him after his performance, he takes it that he’s done well.
“You are very graceful,” Spock tells him as they get ready to beam back onto the Enterprise with the rest of the party. Subservients do not usually speak directly to their lovers unless it involves body movement, which is why they have also avoided communication safe for the bare required minimum. “Your dance found much approval among the Klö’nq’a.”
“Thanks,” Jim replies happily. “Uhura’s a great teacher.”
“That she is,” Spock agrees.
“It’s kind of unfair, really.” Jim adapts a faux-jealous expression. “She can sing, and dance, and pronounce every damn language there is. When I try to say anything in Klö’nqit’al, it sounds like I’m having some sort of seizure.”
“Nyota is indeed a capable officer with many skills,” Spock says. “However, you also display many talents yourself, Jim.”
Jim grins at him as they dissolve in the bright lights of the transporter beam, feeling warm, happy tingles at Spock’s rare but honest praise.
“Everything went smoothly?” Pike asks as he picks them up in the transporter room for a quick debriefing.
“The festivities concluded without any unusual incident, sir,” Spock confirms, as Jim slips back into uniform. “The Klö’nq’a’s relations with the Federation remain friendly.”
“Very good,” Pike says, watching Jim dress. “You gonna keep those?”
Jim realizes he means the tattoos. “Yeah, Uhura wanted to have a look,” he explains. “Besides, they’re really pretty. Don’t you think so, sir?” He dances a bit as he pulls on his shirt, like it’s a reverse striptease.
Pike does his best not to roll his eyes at his antics, but Jim recognizes fond exasperation when he sees it.
_____
He still has a few hours of alpha shift left, so Jim slips down into Engineering, where Gaila is already working with Scotty. She consistently switches into the red uniform when she’s doing Engineering duty, as the green of her Attendant shirt blends too much into her skin for her liking. Most Orion women like to make a statement with their clothes, choosing colors that any Human might consider clashing and making them look stunning. The green uniform must seem endlessly boring to her specific aesthetics.
“Attendant's meeting tonight,” Jim reminds her as he steps up to her and Scotty.
A brief glance at the working table reveals another of Scotty’s projects: implementing several Orion, Andorian and Tellarite refreshments into the ship's replicators. They’ve been having trouble with the special ingredients, most of which have not been replicated before and have no equivalent. Jim’s not sure he’s going to be of much help, as he’s much better with computers and vehicles than tweaking delicate little machines like a replicator.
“I know,” Gaila says, pecking him on the cheek without once taking her eyes off the table. “2100. I’ll be there.”
It’s another of Jim’s duties as the Chief Attendant, regularly calling meetings for all Attendant crew, making sure nobody is having trouble and everyone is staying healthy. Bones throws impressive hissy fits when an Attendant does not show up for their weekly STD testing, and Jim tries to prevent that as much as possible.
Jim spends the rest of his shift helping a desperate looking Ensign get his work station to function properly again, then leaves for lunch.
He joins Bones in the officer's mess, comfortably entwining their legs underneath the table. He always tends to touch Bones when he’s around him. Three years of sharing a room at the Academy will do that to you, especially as Jim regularly made Bones the test subject for what he’d learned in class. Bones had the privilige to enjoy things like intimate Vulcan head massages for migraines or filthy Coridan kissing practices on a near-daily basis.
“Didn’t I tell you to cut the excessive sodium?” Bones grumbles as he eyes Jim’s salty fries.
“Yes,” Jim says, and devours three fries at once with extra relish.
Bones glares. “You’re unbelievable.” But he runs his leg up and down Jim’s under the table with clear affection, so Jim just laughs and makes a point of eating some of his side salad next.
“What’s up in sickbay?” he asks. “We haven’t talked in a while.” Which really means You haven’t put your mark on my duty roster in forever, and I miss you.
Bones has the decency to look at him sheepishly and offers the barest of smiles, which makes him instantly more handsome. Jim wants to grab him and kiss him senseless right then, but that’s not appropriate because he is off-duty until gamma and people don’t need to talk and get the brass noticing Jim’s constant bending of the no-attachment-policies.
“Nothing much,” he says. “Busy.”
“Too busy for me?” Jim pouts.
Bones shakes his head at him, but dutifully pulls out his personal PADD. Ten seconds later, Jim’s roster goes bing and he grins.
“Yay,” he says when he approves Bones’ request for the next day. “Thanks.”
Bones gives him the usual incredulous glare reserved for that particular kind of gratitude and Jim shrugs, only just blushing as he busies himself with the rest of his fries.
He naps for a few hours after lunch, seeks out Uhura to show her the tattoos and nearly ends up late for the Attendant's meeting himself. He sprints to the debriefing room with a minute to spare and accepts Gaila laughing at him as he sits down at the head of the table.
There’s fifteen Attendants for a crew of roughly 250, which makes them all pretty busy. Gaila takes on the incredible amount of thirty crewmen, which means the load is a bit less for the others. Nobody can keep up with an Orion sex drive, let alone Gaila’s sparkling personality and seemingly endless energy. When it comes to Attendant duties, it often comes down not to getting it up in the bedroom, but being pleasant and caring with one’s crew. Jim’s spent ample time with Pike simply kneeling by his feet or massaging his shoulders.
It’s good they get one day off in the week. Jim doubts anyone could keep up their kind of work schedule otherwise.
“All right, that’s it for the Captain’s notes,” Jim says, placing the PADD down to look around. He scans the faces until he meets the large brown eyes of a petite woman. “Anita, what do I hear about you ending up in Sickbay with a sprained ankle?”
Anita’s flustered blush is hardly visible on her dark skin. “It got kind of rough with Hendorff. I’m fine, though,” she hurries to add.
It’s a stereotype and nobody likes those, but Attendants are especially wary of Security crew, who tend to be big and burly and not quite so careful. Why a little thing like Anita actively seeks them out, Jim will never understand.
“Would you like me to talk to him?” Jim asks.
He makes a point of discussing this kind of thing in front of the others as he wants to foster an environment of trust. Attendants speaking up for themselves is important. They all had endless classes and debriefings about taking care of themselves, of being safe, of saying no or stop when it’s necessary, but it’s hard. They are all fond of their crew, at heart, and if they’re not, switching with somebody is not frowned upon.
“It’s fine, sir,” Anita says. “He carried me all the way to Sickbay, he was genuinely sorry.”
Jim throws her a long, serious look in case she does want to seek him out after the meeting after all, then moves on. “Now, before we wrap up, I’d like to remind everybody, in the name of Dr. McCoy--”
“Don’t forget your check-ups,” the room choruses dutifully and Jim nods. He relieves them for the night, some of them heading for their first shift of the day.
_____
Pike has actually reserved a spot tonight, so Jim grabs the quickest of showers after the meeting and ends up at his doorstep for the second night in a row.
“There you are,” Pike greets him. He’s freshly shaved and smells really good. He's settled down on the big, comfortable armchair he’s specifically requested for his quarters. Captain’s privilege is a great thing.
“Sorry, sir,” Jim says, still slightly out of breath as he lets the door slide shut behind him. “Attendant's meeting.”
Pike only smiles, then orders Jim to his knees with a simple downward gesture of his hand. He has Jim kneel by his side for a while, occasionally offering him a sip of his brandy as he reads something off a PADD. For once, it doesn’t look like duty.
Jim nearly falls asleep against Pike’s leg, which is kind of embarrassing.
“When’s your day off?” Pike asks him, wrinkling his forehead in concern.
“Two more days,” Jim replies, purposely surpressing a yawn. Pike shouldn’t worry about him. Actually, it’s Jim’s job to make him worry less, make him feel good and relaxed and forget about the pressure of a captaincy.
“You getting enough sleep?” Pike asks, and now Jim’s really starting to feel bad.
“I slept with you last night, didn’t I?” he retorts, doing his best not to look exhausted. He’s not that tired, really, but it’s been a busy day, what with the meeting and the festival, for which he had to get up early, quietly slipping out of Pike’s quarters. Clearly, the nap didn’t do much good.
“Hmm,” says Pike and orders him into the sleeping alcove and onto his bed.
Pike traces the swirly lines of the alien tattoos, making Jim squirm and laugh on the mattress. Soon, he’s practically melting into the bed with his skin tingling pleasantly. Pike’s not usually the one doing the work, what with his preference for Jim acting like a servant around him, but tonight is different and Jim is definitely not complaining.
When Pike takes his cock into his mouth, Jim grins helplessly up at the ceiling between his moans, feeling extremely lucky indeed. Pike blows him for a while, apparently in no hurry whatsoever, then grabs the lube and prepares Jim thoroughly. By the time he has Jim flip over, he is keening with need. He really needs to feel a cock inside of him now.
Pike fucks him hard and fast into the mattress, Jim’s face hidden in the pillow. Whoever talks shit about older men and their abilities in bed really needs to sign up for a ride with Christopher Pike. The captain makes a point of stroking him just as he’s close himself. Jim sighs out his orgasm and Pike follows only moments later with a grunt.
They curl up immediately, both tired and sated and kind of sticky. Jim kisses him long and deep, tracing a hand over Pike’s smooth cheeks.
“You’re a marvel,” Pike tells him with a warm smile.
Jim inhales his scent and feels utterly content as he falls asleep.
_____
Jim only remembers going to his own weekly check-up with Bones because he’s booked tonight’s timeslot.
As the CA, he has to be a good example to the other Attendants, but he hates hypos and he hates Bones’ clinical touches which are completely unlike the soft caresses he offers in the bedroom.
Jim stoically accepts an immune booster and a speech on how he really needs to take better care of his knees when Pike insists on making him kneel pretty much everywhere. He accepts the allergen-free creme for the bruised skin and gets once more chastised for his sodium intake.
It’s much better when Bones shows up at his door at night. Attendant’s quarters are supposed to be their safe haven and therefore taboo, but Jim and regulations -- well.
Bones is kind of boring where kinks are concerned and lets Jim kiss him enthusiastically like he’s got no opinion on the matter. When Jim slips his hands inside Bones’ pants and squeezes his dick, Bones moans prettily and nods towards Jim’s bed.
Bones is even more boring tonight and limits their action to mutual handjobs, but he showers Jim with little kisses afterwards, and that’s nice, too.
“Sorry for not showing up earlier,” Bones says into Jim’s hair.
Jim smiles, entangles their hands between them. “I liked it better when you slept in the same room as I,” he admits. He can be all gooey and emotional for a change with the lights at five percent. “I miss you.”
Bones sighs. “Well, Chief Attendant’s a busy job.”
Jim knows him well enough not to take that as any kind of jibe at his duties, but as honest regret over Jim’s busy schedule.
“Being CMO isn’t exactly a vacation either,” he retorts and Bones nods against him, sighing again.
They talk forever afterwards, until Bones grumbles that they’ll be sorry in the morning and lacking sleep. Jim thinks it’s worth it when it means he can have his best friend close to him for this long and tell him everything he wants without interruption.
_____
When he sees that Spock and Uhura have decided against waiting a few more days and booked tonight’s time slot after all, Jim walks around grinning for the entire alpha shift as he fixes several cooling vents.
Scotty comments on it, complimenting Jim’s handsome smile and earning himself a massage for lunch, no appointment necessary. Jim’s kind of miffed Scotty never fucks him, but he loves being cuddled, and Jim can definitely provide him with that. Someday, he will ask Scotty if he’s asexual, just so he can feel better about never once eliciting a physical response from him other than relaxed muscles and smiles of bliss. He might also just have a strong gender preference, but Jim’s so used to people being pretty much whateversexual these days, it’s not usually on his radar.
He eats the healthiest lunch Bones has ever seen (There were sprouts!), files and signs all the backed-up reports in his queue and ends up at Spock’s door five minutes early.
Being Vulcan, Spock doesn’t mind Jim being early as much as Jim being late. He gestures him inside and offers his fingers for a kiss, which Jim readily complies to.
Uhura’s lounging on the bed in what is possibly the shortest skirt in existence, her black boots extra shiny. Jim grins widely at her and drops to his knees in front of her without being told to.
It’s funny that Uhura is probably the most kinky of the crew and has ended up with Spock, who already blushes when Jim offers rimming him for a bit. The simple fact that Spock has no problem sharing his mate with Jim is mind-blowing itself, but he always seems so content to watch Uhura and Jim do their thing before ushering them both close and conveying his affection through gentle touches and a hint of telepathy, it’s hard to worry about it for too long.
In the beginning, Jim just thought he was glad that there was somebody who was willing to handle Uhura’s needs, but he doesn’t think it’s just that. Spock’s too tender with him to see him as a sole convenience.
Jim nearly exploded with joy when Uhura revealed she was into boot worship -- making others do it, that is. In spite of the shiny regulation Starfleet shoes and boots everyone is wearing, it’s apparently not a widespread kink, so Jim’s grateful to whichever power to be has made him end up with the one crewmember who shares it.
Uhura offers her perfect You’re not worth any of my time-gaze as she makes Jim lick her boots for what might possibly be half an hour. Jim’s feeling so blissfully degraded that he kind of loses track of time, stroking his tongue over the shiny black leather, trying to reach every last corner. He comes to himself when Uhura’s nails dig slightly into his scalp and she drags him over to Spock to suck him for a bit. Spock, as always, seems close to running at the sheer kinkyness of it all, but he does manage to order Jim around a bit and tells him where to lick and suck and tug.
Jim watches Spock make love to Uhura -- the word fuck definitely does not apply -- and is then allowed to lick his come out of her. Jim’s pretty sure he’s in heaven when he dives into her with his tongue and she orgasms a second time as he licks her clean. She jacks him off in return, quick and rough.
How Spock has managed to get a bed that easily fits three people is entirely beyond Jim, but he’s sure if was all logically done. He’s definitely not complaining, though, as it means he can lie comfortably between them, head resting lightly on Uhura’s squishy boobs, Spock’s arm curled around his hip.
The tattoos are still visible, and Uhura traces the ones on his arm with idle touches.
“Did I ever tell you about the time when I found out you were in the Attendant branch?” she asks suddenly.
Jim shakes his head, blinking at her.
“I thought you were Command track for sure,” she admits with a fond smile. “You seemed so cocky, so full of yourself, and I commented on it when you passed us on campus. When Gaila said she was taking all of her classes with you, I was so shocked, I nearly tripped.”
“Me? Command?” Jim chuckles. “Can you imagine …”
“I can imagine it very well,” Spock speaks up, sounding too serious for the until now rather light-hearted conversation. “You are kind but strong, and you think of the well-being of your crew first. The other Attendants see you as a person they can trust with their problems and readily seek you out when it is necessary. All of these are characteristics befitting a Starfleet captain.”
Jim and Uhura share a look. He’s hoping he isn’t blushing. How Spock manages to chastise him for his recklessness, childishness and apparent stupidity when he climbs around Engineering without safety gear, only to give Jim the feeling like he’s the most special person in the universe now, he honestly cannot comprehend.
“Thanks, Spock,” is all he says, probably sounding pretty dumb and feeling like it's an inadequate response, but Uhura kisses his forehead fondly.
Jim’s still awake when they’ve both fallen asleep. He listens to them breath, his face buried in Uhura’s long hair, which is tucked loose for the night. Him, a Captain? Jim suppresses a snort. He couldn’t even imagine. He’s happy being an Attendant. Good at it, too. Pike’s been threatening to get himself promoted to Admiral and take Jim with him, but he loves the ship too much, and their mission is still on for three more years anyway.
For a moment, Jim indulges in the fantasy though. He imagines himself in the captain’s chair, ordering about Spock, and Bones, and Uhura, and Scotty, Sulu and Chekov. It seems impossible, though he’s sure it might be the case in some other universe, if the multiverse theories are correct.
“Sleep,” Spock murmurs behind him, tightening his hold on him. Jim hums an apology, sorry for projecting his emotions strongly enough to wake the Vulcan.
Jim slips off to sleep, Uhura’s pleasant scent in his nose, feeling utterly content as the made-up images disappear.