A/N: I appropriated a Superman quote, but I kind of love it.
If that violates everything you believe in and you want to slap me in the face…just skip the first sentence. Not that hard, guys.
The Golden Rule
"With great power comes not only great responsibility but also a great amount of legislature to learn." Pike announced to Jim over his shoulder as they strode down the gently curving hallway. "You're going to have to commit most of the laws to memory and vaguely understand the rest of them. That's what you would be studying in upper Command classes, but you're going to have to play catch-up for the first year or two." Pike walked into his office and snagged two glasses filled with murky liquid from the replicator, which was humming softly and glowing an ominous shade of blue.
"Sorry about this." Pike said, handing Jim a steaming cup of tea and sitting behind his desk. "Replicators been on the fritz and has decided to only spit out Vulcan tea."
Jim took a scalding mouthful, choked on it, and set the tea down. Not only had it burned the roof of his mouth, it was noxiously foul. Pike chuckled at the look on Jim's face. He pulled open a desk drawer and threw Jim a packet of artificial sugar. He added it and sipped cautiously. The sugar only helped in that the tea was now sweet and foul, as opposed to straight up foul. He chugged the rest of the glass and set it down, wincing at the bitter aftertaste.
"Sit down, Jim. It's going to be a second." Jim obeyed, and slid his hands across the edges of the chair. It was sturdily built from cedar, a luxury in space. It stood solid beneath his fingers, the wood cool and reassuring.
Pike scrolled through documents on his PADD, compiling a gigantic message and periodically showing Jim what he was looking at.
"You'll need to read and fill out these here, sign and enforce this set of rules, and…" Pike trailed off, waiting for Kirk to stop fidgeting with the hem of his shiny new captain's uniform and pay attention. "One last thing. Starfleet is very gung-ho about regulation 2.7.831, especially subsection A."
Jim nodded. He didn't care and wasn't quite listening, because, Jesus Christ, not only was Starfleet looking the other way at his sixty seven page (not to mention the amendments) criminal record and erasing the charges for that bar fight he'd caused last week due to a little romp with a twenty-something blonde cadet, they were giving him the Enterprise. He could see it, in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind Pike's desk at the space station, all gleaming silver and polished curves. Gorgeous. Shuttles ferried workers between the station and his ship (Jim was already thinking in the possessive and hadn't even noticed the change), making last minute additions. The deciding officer had to have been smoking something pretty amazing when he cleared the paperwork to give James Tiberius Kirk, juvenile delinquent and infamous genius, command of that beauty.
Pike was…surprised, to say the least. He had assumed Jim would not take this very well. He pressed send on the compiled list of forms. Jim's PADD beeped once, loudly.
"Jim, you do know what this entails, right?" he asked warily, leaning back in his chair and planting his feet on the ground. Jim looked up from his PADD, already ensconced in paperwork.
"Yessir. No smoking any illegal substances in any form while on active duty, no cigarettes, no cigars, no inhalants of any sort." Pike sighed. He didn't get paid enough for this.
"No, Jim. That's not it, that's a whole 'nother chapter. 2.7.831 states that fraternization of any sort between a commanding officer and his crew is forbidden. And I'm serious, Jim. We're talking huge ramifications for this. You could lose her for this kind of offense, you understand?" Jim had paled visibly, but he swallowed and nodded.
"I understand, sir."
Jim was losing his fucking mind.
They hadn't seen contact for three weeks. No contact with any life forms, nothing that moved, breathed, or had a sex drive. The planet that was supposed to be inhabited by a sentient species was home to little more than limestone cliffs and the Tellarite equivalent of a tumbleweed. How a Tellarite plant species had made it to the planet (nicknamed 'The Wasteland' by the bridge crew) was anybody's guess, but Jim didn't care, because he just couldn't take it. The next outpost was seventeen days away, and Jim hadn't had sex in twenty one days.
Twenty. One. Days. His sex drive was running so rampant that Jim was going to spontaneously combust if he didn't get some. He shifted his legs awkwardly, brushing his pant legs against the edge of the captain's chair.
It was like a huge pulsing neon sign was hanging in front of him reading 'NEED SEX NEED SEX NEED SEX' in three foot tall, acidic blue letters. And Jim couldn't sate it, because he couldn't sleep with the crew. Not if it meant sacrificing the Enterprise to quell his raging hormones.
None of this was helped by the fact that his crew was so damn attractive.
They all knew it, too. They were using their collective good looks and feminine wiles (from Uhura, anyway) to ensure he lost his mind before they made it to the next stop.
Sulu struck up a loud conversation with Chekov, its subject of a questionable matter. Jim winced and crossed his legs, one ankle on the other knee. He could do this. Two hours, forty eight minutes, and thirty two seconds until alpha shift was over. He had to restrain himself.
If only he wasn't so damn distractible.
"I need to pull out my sword and get back to what I do best. I'm probably out of practice." Hikaru told Chekov loudly.
Jim whirled in his seat, turning to face Sulu.
"Oh, you'll pull out your sword, eh, Mr. Sulu? Don't think I don't see what you're doing!"
Sulu made a 'what the fuck' face to Chekov.
"Captain, I have found no time to practice fencing in the past three weeks. I've been busy with some recent developments regarding the Moraxian-" Jim wasn't going to put up with any of his crap.
"Don't lie to me, Mr. Sulu. I know what you meant." Jim gave him the evil eye for several seconds longer before sitting back in his seat and returning to the monotony of solving a dispute between two ensigns, who apparently needed a room transfer right this damn second. He lasted approximately 17.34 seconds before accidentally glancing at Chekov's adorably confused face.
"Damn it, Chekov!" The underaged genius looked up at him, and Jim pointed to the main windshield, a look of derangement on his face.
"Keep your eyes on the road!" he roared.
"Vhat? But Keptin, ve are flying in a dead zone, not to mention there is no-" Jim cut him off.
"Just do it!" Chekov turned around.
"I can do zat." He mumbled dejectedly. Jim heard that, unfortunately.
"FOCUS!" he roared again, before going back to his PADD and trying desperately not to look up.
The sight of science blue and black caught Jim's eye as he turned and completely filled his range of vision. He gripped the armrests tightly and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He could not afford to jump Spock. He could not jump Spock. He could not jump Spock.
"Mr. Spock! Please step away from the station. There is no need to take readings at this time, because we're in the middle of space." Spock had bent over to check the monitors, and Jim could not get the image of Spock's perfect ass out of his mind. He needed the man to stand up. Now. "Like…the middle of freakin' nowhere. So there is no reason for you to be bending over to check the instruments. None at all." Spock stood and walked back to his station.
"Captain? I'm receiving a transmission from the next outpost, and…" Uhura stood and made her way towards Jim. A flash of red thigh-high skirt and lustrous brown skin caught his eye, destroying any concentration he may have had.
Jim narrowed his eyes, trying to see as little as possible.
"Uhura! No miniskirts on the bridge!" She sighed and flipped him off, then made her way to the turbolift to change into some pants.
The turbolift doors swished open, and Scotty brushed past her to swagger towards Jim.
Oh, life's a bitch.
Jim held up a hand to cover Scotty's lower half and cringed into his chair.
"Jim! I need your help! I cannae figure-" "Mr. Scott! No miniskirts on the bridge!" Scotty kept walking towards Jim in confusion, so Jim leapt over the back of the chair to keep something between himself and his top engineer. Scotty rounded the edge of the machinery and Jim bounded away, keeping as much space as possible between him and the thoroughly bewildered man. And again with the seeing the back of Chekov's endearing head of blonde curls.
"Damn it, Chekov!" he yelled, pointing to the great expanse of space. The kid didn't question it, despite the fact that he hadn't even turned around.
"Jus' what is going on here? It's jus' my kilt, laddy." Uhura motioned for him to stop, but Scotty had already put his foot in his mouth (so to speak).
And then Jim had a sudden comprehension of the situation. It just hit him, like the time Uhura had whacked him over the head with some rare piece of Andorian pottery. They knew, Jim realized. They knew exactly what his problem was, and they weren't just teasing him, no. They were all in on it together, and it was some giant conspiracy to drive him as crazy as possible in his sexually-deprived state. And being a crew with an average IQ of 158, they sure as hell would be able to pull it off. Knowing them, it was going to get progressively more and more torturous, until he cracked under the strain.
"Just – just a…" Jim trailed off, words escaping his outraged brain. His mouth flapped open and closed for several seconds, and he gave up and returned to his seat to frantically compose a strongly worded memo on his PADD.
Several seconds later, a chorus of beeps across the bridge alerted the crew to a new message in their inboxes.
From this day forward, the following attire is not allowed aboard the bridge of the Starship Enterprise or in the vicinity of her captain:
-Skirts of any length, particularly those of the thigh-baring variety.
-Shirts with a neckline other than crew-cut, tank tops, midriff tops, strapless tops; turtlenecks are permissible.
- Revealing clothing of any manner
The list stretched on and on and on, and was followed by a footnote:
Miniskirts are henceforth permanently banned from the Starship Enterprise, and are no longer considered an acceptable part of the regulation Starfleet uniform.
Spock looks up at Jim, an eyebrow quizzically raised. Bad move. Jim was literally covering his eyes and trying to spin his chair away from Spock.
"Spock. You're staring. You're always staring. Why are you always staring?"
"Captain, that is a highly illogical response, considering that the chair is rendered immobile because it is bolted to the floor, and I am not 'always staring'. I am merely trying to understand your irrational response to Mr. Scott and Nyota's choice of attire, as well as your unreasonable behavior the past couple of days." Did the look Spock was sending him have to be so smoldering? Was he trying to seduce Jim into his bed and convey 'I want to go have extremely hot sex right this instant'? Because it sure looked like it. And then-
OH HOLY CRAP. He couldn't take it anymore. Fuck Russia and fuck stupid genii and fuck everything to do with the inability to say the letter v.
"I'm going to make this very simple for you, Ensign Jailbait. Either you stay ten feet away from me at all times, or you start wearing a paper bag over your head." What else were they going to throw at him? Was Spock going to come over to Jim to make bedroom eyes at him and give him a lapdance?
Unfortunately, Spock didn't, but sure enough, it all went downhill from there.
Uhura finally got worried enough to take drastic measures. She made her excuses and slid into the corridor to call Bones on the intercom. She looked around before holding down the button, praying that nobody who walked by would overhear the conversation she was about to have. Jim didn't care, but if a rather uppity member heard her say such derogatory things, well, she was screwed.
"Lieutenant Uhura to Sickbay."
"This is Dr. McCoy speaking. What can I do for ya, darlin'?" she sighed, and Bones winced in anticipation. This could not be good, if Nyota was taking time from her shift to call him.
"It's Jim. He's lost his mind. He won't let anyone near him, won't let Chekov look anywhere other than the windshield, insists that Spock stares at him too much, and sent out what may be the most ridiculous memo regarding the outlawing of miniskirts. Can't you sedate him?" she begged.
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be up shortly. Just head back to the bridge, stay calm, and whatever you do, don't aggravate him. Good luck."
"Thanks, Bones." Uhura added, before terminating the conversation.
Bones hustled up to the bridge in a record forty eight seconds, carrying a fully loaded hypospray and sporting a menacing look on his face.
"Hey Jim, could you come over here when you get a second?" Jim turned, got an eyeful of insanely attractive twenty-something doctor in full uniform, and when he coupled the image with the rough Southern cadence of his voice, he fled. He hadn't even noticed the hypospray.
"Goddamnit Jim!" he growled, turning a full 180 degrees, and sprinting towards his unruly captain.
Unfortunately for the sanity of the crew, Jim had run track and cross country throughout high school and his years at the Academy. He led Bones on a wild chase from the bridge to Engineering, past Security and plowing through Rec Room 3.
Bones, gasping for air (he hadn't run, well, ever), yelled "What in the hell are you doing? Get your ass over here!"
Jim looked over his shoulder and sped up, panicked beyond belief.
"How do I know that's what's really in the hypospray, Bones, how do I know for sure? Just stay away from me!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
They sprinted through the Botany labs and shoved their way through Dorm Deck, when Jim suddenly skidded sideways and ran into his room. The door swished shut in Bones' face. When he punched in his CMO override code, the door smugly denied him entry, the bastard.
"Jim!" Bones said angrily, through the intercom. "What kind of game are you playing here? Don't make me get Spock and get in through the connecting bathroom!" Jim whimpered, because the mention of Spock and bathroom and Bones in the same thought was a little too much for his overloaded brain to comprehend at the moment.
He could only take so much in one day, after all.
Bones punched that damn door and made his way to the nearest intercom, the forgotten hypospray clenched in his left fist.
"Annnnd we've lost him. Spock, you'll have to take the conn." Spock nodded, then realized McCoy couldn't see him.
"Affirmative, Doctor."
Why am I posting this despite the other WIP awaiting my attention? But then again, it won't be too long. We're looking at two-three chapters tops, here.
Yeah, you've all heard this a milliion times before, but I'm going to say it again. Reviews = awesome, which = Spock = superultrasexiness. So if you review, you are by default superultrasexy also.
Gotta love the logic of that.