Remix: Speed (The Take Me for a Ride Remix) [Sulu/Kirk, 332 words, rated PG-13], by trascendenza
"She's a beauty, isn't she?"
It was an egregiously large black box propped up on rubber tires. "Honestly, sir?"
Kirk groaned. "You're killing me, Sulu, killing me. I mean -- just look at that frame, those classic sleek lines." He put his hand on the back of Hikaru's neck, palm warm from the half hour they'd just spent polishing the metallic exterior. The wax shone in the blistering afternoon heat. "Just imagine all that horsepower purring under your legs. It's like the best sex you've ever had at 210 kilometers an hour. Zero to one hundred in 1.8 seconds." His breath tickled Hikaru's ear. "What more could you want?"
"Um." Hikaru swallowed. "Nothing, sir."
Kirk grinned. "That's more like it." He slung his arm around Hikaru's shoulders. "Let's get you behind the wheel."
His friends from back home would never let him live it down if they knew what he was doing now. Internal combustion, they'd always sneered growing up, the blight of the twenty-first century. They'd been so superior, so evolved, laughing at the backwards petroheads who insisted on replicating the stuff for authenticity, like they were sophisticated aficionados of old terra tech.
But Hikaru had to admit that blasting at 220 kilometers an hour -- because, fuck it, if he was going to do this he was going to push this hideous thing to its breaking point -- had its certain appeal.
When Kirk's hand settled on Hikaru's thigh, he laughed and went faster.
The kicked-up dust they'd left in their wake billowed around them when the petro finally ran out, and Hikaru groped for Kirk through the thick cloud, just able to make out his shit-eating grin, tasting grit and dirt when their mouths finally collided. As they scrabbled against the black leather seats, breathing desert and sun and laughing like idiots, he had to admit that Kirk had a point: the machine might be as ugly as sin, but what it could do was a thing of beauty.