It's Not the Liquor Talking
Hikaru Sulu had a natural air of authority and command when he briefly took the Captain's Chair during the incident with Marcus and Khan. Now someone's willing to let him take command in a more intimate setting. One-shot.
Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unnamed OC.
Rating: M.
Warnings: sexual conversation & content, indirect references to very mild kink.
..
Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu was one of the first Starfleet members whom you really paid attention to. You did your own job well, tried to make a good impression and show how much the Federation meant to your life. You assumed that Sulu didn't notice you much. You were wrong about that.
Sulu saw you. Spoke to you, though not right away, when you first met him at the Academy during a collaborative effort between his team of weapons experts and your own team. He smiled when you pronounced his name correctly. You listened so intently when he introduced himself that you barely heard any of the devices and machines and other people working around you. Good to meet you, Hikaru, you said, using exactly the same inflection and timing he did.
Sulu always stayed calm and cool aboard the Enterprise, with a hint of fire underneath. Perhaps that fire was just your wishful thinking; he was so attractive. More than cute. Handsome, really. Striking. Sexy, although you wouldn't dare to reveal your interest in him even to close friends. It wasn't love, but desire; you were old enough now to know the difference, and you didn't know Sulu well enough to love him. You wanted to remain on active duty in Starfleet, and gossip could kill a career – less quickly than a phaser blast, but it could be just as dangerous.
That last relationship you had – an affair or a fling, if you are honest about it - left you confused and sad. You look all right, still take care with your appearance. Perhaps someone will be attracted to you again someday. You try to be kind, reliable, friendly, and make intelligent conversation, but you're still invisible.
Something in you dries up. You can't flirt. During awkward moments, you wish that you had Captain Kirk's easy confidence and stubborn libido, but no luck. Sometimes you see - knowing you aren't meant to - First Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura's fingers brush together, or a tender look exchanged on the bridge.
Once you quietly followed them down a corridor as they made their way to his cabin together, late during the ship's night after a party. Believing that they were alone, Spock had his arm around Uhura's waist as they walked. She sang softly to him, a romantic old Earth culture song. Usually you'd never invade someone's privacy that way, but your loneliness weighed heavily on you that week while some crewmates celebrated a holiday that makes people nostalgic. Jealousy had nothing to do with it; you didn't envy them. It just seemed beautiful to see the couple being so sweet with each other, a reminder that life could go on. After listening to two verses of Uhura's song floating through the ship's cool circulating air you tiptoed into a different corridor, returned to your cabin, and slept alone.
...
"You're looking really good tonight." Hikaru Sulu's thick black hair gleams in the warm, amber lights of the palatial nightclub, a venue approved by Starfleet for recreational visits by personnel visiting the planet. Sulu's beautiful dark brown eyes seem to gleam, too; a side effect of the weak mixed drink in your hand?
You're not a heavy alcohol drinker. Cheap date, that's what you are, they said back in the days when you still dated. Acceptance of your lonesome state means that you've had to accept yourself as you are; you like yourself much more since you wised up. Now you easily relax and have fun without drinking. During the last few months following the incident with Marcus and Khan, you've smiled more, felt spontaneous, enjoyed being with colleagues, made more friends, become self-assured, even got promoted to a more responsible role in Starfleet. Change is good. You can almost, but not quite, stifle your yearning for safe, consensual sexual contact. That's why you feel so relaxed this evening, even after Hikaru joined your group of friends here in a dimly lit alcove, where you moved to be able to converse more easily over the sounds of music and chatter.
Eventually the friends drifted away and it was just you and Hikaru in the half-light, discussing plants, a topic that actually interests you. So it was a bit disorienting when he changed the subject from the hardiness of space-grown calendula to your appearance.
It isn't the liquor talking when you try to dull the edge of Sulu's compliment. Truth be told, you're scared, but too aroused by him to flee. Despite your progress, it's hard to break the habit of years of self-deprecation, so you try to joke.
"Thank you, but you should see me in the morning."
"Really?" Hikaru's mouth quirks up in a smile, and he leans on the side of the little alcove. "And what would I have to do to be so fortunate?"
A surprised laugh from you, then reckless speaking: "Ha! Aren't you the charmer. Take me any time, Mr. Sulu."
The invitation hangs in the air between the two of you. Unable to look away or apologize, your lips part, ready to – what will you say? Lie about wanting him, make an excuse and run? There's no time to find out. Sulu moves further into the little alcove, his shoulders blocking out the sound and noise around you. The heat of his body under his semi-formal clothing warms your fingers, which have gone cold with nervousness as you grip your glass.
Hiakru's gaze is penetrating, his voice deep and direct. "Say that again." It's not a question; it's an order.
"Sir?" you ask, as though you were back at work. Growing awareness and the oddness of the situation combine to make your reply less staccato; you draw out the word so that it sounds less like a question, more like surrender. You didn't intend to say it that way but now it's too late.
"'Sir'? Mmm." Hikaru gives you a speculative look. "I like the sound of that, too. But I want to hear you repeat your invitation. Say it."
"Take me," you say over the thump of music - grown and sexy songs for slow dancing - and the throb of your own blood in your ears. Your reply is soft, but Sulu hears it, and his answering smile is too wicked for misunderstandings.
Warm fingers slide up along your neck, grip your chin softly but firmly. "You fine, fine thing. Are you really giving me permission?"
Swallowing nervously, you're glad he isn't holding your neck anymore. Hikaru isn't a wall of hard muscle like some of the red shirted security force, but his nimble pilot's fingers are strong. "Yes. Sir."
"I prefer 'Hikaru' in situations like this, but we can play with names if that's what you like." His hands caress your shoulders, slide down your back, and you wish there was no cloth blocking the touch of his skin. "We can play other ways too – but only with your agreement. I never force anyone; I don't want you if you don't want me."
"Believe me, I want you." It feels like a light year since you've said that to anyone, and it is… liberating, energizing.
"Good." Whisking the glass out of your hand, Hikaru sets it aside, clasps your hips, and moves you further into the alcove, away from public view. Warm breath whispers over your lips. "Kiss?"
Instead of speaking you thread your fingers into his thick, glossy hair and pull his head close to yours, a response that seems to please him. Technical and navigational crew throughout the Federation have praised Hikaru Sulu's abilities as a pilot, but now you know that he's powerfully skilled in other ways. Heavens and galaxies above, the man can kiss! While he intoxicates you with his lips and tongue, somehow he slides his hand inside your clothes, stroking and pressing and making you mindlessly rock your hips against him. Then he goes for your neck, biting, sucking, and you shudder all over before he pulls away to let you both calm down for a moment.
"I've never done this before," you admit, trying to regain your breath and your composure. Some parts of your body are speeding ahead to warp drive while others feel languid and sensual.
Sulu's warm hand stills on your hip. "Virgin?"
It's a reasonable question. Starfleet includes plenty of virgins; any organization with beings from so many different planetary cultures is likely to have its share of sexual realities and identifications. Some Starfleet personnel are in long-term betrothals, bound by various sets of laws throughout the galaxy. Others use their physiology or medical means to shut down the biological drive for physical contact, reactivating it for lusty shore leaves. Still others neither need nor want sexual contact, and they appear to function as well anyone else aboard the starships. Only you seem to be cursed with this persistent need for touch.
"No. I don't usually sleep with anyone in Starfleet, and I don't do…submissive stuff." People hurt you, years ago. They didn't ask what you wanted, just told you that the hurting was the way sex really is, and that unsophisticated fools like you didn't know it. They lied to you, and they really did hurt you instead of pleasing you – causing pain to heart, body and mind.
Already you know that something's different about being with this man, a Starfleet pilot with real-life power beyond the bedroom. He's secure enough not to have to hurt someone else. Something's different about him, the kind of person he is.
Sulu raises his eyebrows. "You were doing submissive stuff with me earlier. Do you really want this?"
"Ever since you took the command so well during the conflict with Marcus and Khan, I've had fantasies about you ordering me around while you sat in the Captain's chair – with my full consent, of course."
His grin relaxes both of you, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are endearing. "Hey, you know how to make a guy feel good. Seriously, though, I can tone the control thing down if you're uncomfortable."
Giving him your best flirtatious look, you reply. "May I have one of each, please, Mr. Sulu? One vanilla, one specialty flavor?"
Sulu smiles again, but it's different, as though he's planning something. "Let's see how much energy you've got left after the first round. I prefer…active partners." Leaning down, he kisses your forehead. "Or we can just sit in the massage tub in my hotel suite after we wear each other out. Tell me when you're ready to go."
…
Thank you for taking time to read; please review! It helps me to know what works well with a story like this one.
Note: The line "And what would I have to do to be so fortunate?" is adapted from an anecdote told in a documentary about jazz that I watched years ago (perhaps it was Ken Burns' masterwork "Jazz" ? I forget). The line was attributed to composer, bandleader, and handsome man Duke Ellington. A friend and bandmate of his recalled overhearing The Duke have a similar exchange with an attractive woman (Ellington's exact reply was "And what would one have to do to be so fortunate?"). No word on whether or not the attempt was successful…
As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.