Chapter Text
In the end, Jim does take Spock’s advice, and he finds Bones exactly where he expects: waiting for Jim in his own quarters. He’s got the lights turned up to maximum brightness, and Jim edges inside his cabin like a guilty schoolboy, wincing at the glare.
Bones is just finishing up a call on his communicator, his back to Jim. “I understand, I’ll wait to hear from you then.” It sounds calm and gentle, but then Bones turns around and his face is already flushed with the ‘Jim induced’ rage.
Shit.
“Sit!” Bones barks, and points at the bed.
Resisting the urge to hold his hands up in surrender, which could only fan the flames at this point, Jim steps forward and sits on his bed.
Bones then commences with his scanning and his medical checkup and his general fussiness. He bitches at Jim in a single run on sentence the whole time, yet seems…a little distracted. Well, if he has an actual medically tricky patient his mind is preoccupied with, who is Jim to remind Bones about the deficiencies of, well, Jim?
He complies sweetly with every direction. It’s all ‘yes Bones, I was good,’ and ‘no Bones I wasn’t bad’ and ‘three bags full Bones, I ate a nutritionally balanced meal.’ All to the tune of whatever tribble melody the monstrosity in the cage on his desk feels like emitting.
Bones reaches the inevitable conclusion of his ranting and threatens, “I should drag you straight back to Med Bay for monitoring!”
Jim does his best to look like a man who will submit to Bones’ superior medical wisdom and rank without complaint.
“But we’re full up with engineering idiots, so you’ll have to continue your rest here!” Bones irritably stuffs his various scanners and sample takers back into a little traveling med kit.
Yes! Jim fought the law, but the law didn’t win, Jim won, ha! Jim stands to see Bones out.
Like the idiot Bones always accuses him of being, he does not see the hypo sneak attack coming. “Yeow!” he yelps, and claps a hand to his neck. “What the heck was that for?!”
“Daily vitamins,” Bones grunts.
“Not the hypo, the violence! You psycho!”
Bones zippers up his med kit and heads for the door, as the tribble coos a farewell at him, the little traitor. “Oh, that’s what you get for bein’ a kiss-ass,” Bones tosses over his shoulder.
Jim has a response for that, and oh boy, it’s a real crusher. Too bad Bones leaves before he can get it out.
Bones doesn’t want a kiss-ass, huh? Then Jim will stop behaving, wise ass! How’s that?
…That’s what he should have said. Fuck.
Jim will get showered, get all dolled up with the sexiest clothing he can get the bathroom replicator to spit out for him, and go right back to Spock’s room. And not rest, so there!
It is a bit of a squeeze, but he does technically fit inside the shower. The water dispenses in short bursts, which he should have expected. Burst of water for pre-rinse. Then soap. Burst of water for post-rinse. Shampoo.
The shower beeps at him.“Monthly water allotment reached.” Oh fuck. He’s forced to use sonics to get the soap out of his hair. Damn. And damn and damn. Oh, his hair is gonna look funky.
When he steps out and looks in the tiny mirror over the equally tiny sink, his hair is spiky in some areas, fluffy in others, and dementedly flat on one side.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Okay. He can fix this. First step, fix the hair. He fluffs his hair with his fingers for several minutes. His hair is overall more uniformly fluffy than spiky, and he’s gotten rid of the flatness on the one side. Second step, sexy-type clothes, see if he can pull off a wind-swept look.
He turns to the replicator, and begins scrolling through the ‘Non-Uniform’ options. Ooo! That looks good. He presses the dispense button for a black shirt with a deep v-neck. The clothing replicator beeps at him. “Error. Clothing options locked. Medical override required.”
No. No! He didn’t. Frantically, Jim scrolls through the menus. He did. In a gross abuse of power, Bones has locked all of the clothing options except for the out-patient frumpy sweatpants and shirt. That monster. Jim will get him for this! He’ll find out that crush, he will! And then Bones will never know another moment’s peace.
Because he has no other choice, he dispenses another lumpy grey sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants. The god-awful beige boxers that are his only underwear option, he can’t bring himself to allow on his beautiful body. Commando it is. Once he’s pulled on the pants and shirt, he reviews himself in the narrow strip of mirror as best he’s able.
It’s…not looking good for the home team. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. But not with the sexy just-fucked vibe. If he had some glasses he could maybe pull off adorkable nerd or something, but without he’s just got either: hapless electrician just released from hospital, or: hapless electrician just woke up from electricity induced nap.
He steps back into the main room, and his extremely serious thoughts on where he can come up with some hair gel and/or better clothes are interrupted by a series of hoots from the cage on the desk that sound suspiciously like laughter.
Oh! That is it! Jim is not gonna take smack-talk from a tribble! He glares at it. It rolls over a couple of times and then makes some vibrating purr-like noises. And now it’s mocking him.
Well, Jim is going for a walk to hunt down some hair gel and other clothing instead of resting, so there, Bones. And! He’s gonna get rid of that fucking tribble while he’s at it, so help him.
He grabs the cage off of the desk and marches off. Shift must be changing over, because there’s plenty of people in the hallways of Living Deck, most out of uniform and looking fairly relaxed. He hits up every female he comes across, whether in a group or by herself.
“Hey,” he greets with a debonair smile, “want a cute little tribble? Free!”
Some refuse with giggles, or scorn, or regretful sighs, but they all refuse him.
“No thank you,” an Andorian with the deepest blue skin he’s ever seen refuses politely.
“Aw come on,” he whines, jiggling the cage. The tribble inside hoots happily as it’s bounced up and down. “Look at it, it’s adorable!”
She merely waves her antennae in the negative, and goes to join the line at the replicators.
Why is this so hard? He looks around the crowded common room, his hunt for tribble prey interrupted by a few familiar faces seated at a round table, with a large crowd clustered around them. Uh-oh. What is that trio up to?
Jim heads over, curiosity and a vague sense of responsibility momentarily winning out over his desire to divest himself of the heinous floof beast.
“Scotty? Keenser?” he asks as he stuffs himself through the crowd. “What’s going on over here?” He nods in greeting to Chief Engineer B’rrown, who gives him a cheerful wave with his tail.
Both Keenser and Scotty look up at Jim from the layout of drafting PADDs and actual printouts covering the table, identical misty-eyed expressions on their faces. What. The actual hell?
“Oh Captain,” Scotty sighs. “Isn’t she glorious?”
His brows furrowing in concentration, Jim looks down at the nearest PADD and tries to parse the information from upside down.
“Double Diffusion Chamber,” he reads. He looks back up at Scotty. “For more efficient consumption of dilithium?”
“Genius,” Keenser says, and wiggles, (actually wiggles) in his seat. Great. Keenser is supposed to be the calm, un-excitable one.
“Of course, the intermix pathways can always be streamlined, and I see the specs show the use of the Maliwan coil design, but I believe we all can spot the lobbying effort that is, and agree that Jacobs integrated coil is far superior, and as for the nacelle interior casing, Denebian plating could be swapped in to give her some real speed—”
“Stupid,” Keenser interrupts Scotty’s flow of engineering shop talk scornfully.
“You Roylans can take your unfounded prejudice against good Denebian conductiveness and just—”
Keenser interrupts with a rude noise Jim’s never heard before. Something like a cross between snort and a scoff.
Either way, he doesn’t need to look at Scotty’s rapidly purpling face to decipher the meaning of it.
“Scotty!” Jim interrupts, before he has to break up yet another Roylan/Terran diplomatic incident. “What is all of this?”
“The new exploratory class designs, they’ve just been released, Captain!”
Doc Brown gives a nervous sounding cough. “Well, they’ve been released to me for an independent review, technically confidential, y’know. I say, is that a tribble?”
Jim turns his attention from the design specs and back to his tribble woes. “Yeah, you want one?”
“Certainly not! Tribbles are Class C space vermin, get caught in impulse engine exhaust porting and coolant intake tubes and use Jeffries tubes like playgrounds! Best to just dump it in the incinerator and be done with it.”
The tribble cowers in the corner closest to Jim, and lets out a terrified ‘yeep’ sound.
“I, uh, I’ll get back to you on that,” Jim says hastily, and begins exiting the crowd at the table, more maniacal engineers coming up to fill his gap. Wow. So they really are reviving the exploratory line? Jim sighs. Well, if he waits a good 50 years or so, maybe he can buy another off the junk lot.
“Captain Kirk?”
He shakes himself out of a daydream involving him and a shiny new exploratory ship, and turns to meet the shy gaze of Lt. Tam, of Spock’s Investigative Team. She tucks the hair of her bob cut behind her ears. “Did I hear that right? You’re giving away a tribble?”
“Yes,” he says. “Guaranteed not pregnant, neutered, as much as a tribble can be, and,” he finishes with a flourish, "sanctioned by Captain Saavik herself.”
“I’ll take it!” she says.
Hot. Fucking. Damn.
“All yours,” he says, and hands the cage over.
She coos happily at it and it coos soppily back. Then it jiggles its way to the side of the cage closest to Jim, and gives a slightly melancholy trill.
Absolutely not. “It doesn’t have a name, so you get to call it whatever you want,” he says hastily. “Bye!”
And he scarpers.
Jim takes a circuitous route back to his quarters, because he has no intention of bumping back into Tam and finding himself saddled with a tribble again if she’s having second thoughts. It seems he’s not done running into Spock’s Investigative Team today, however, because three hallways over from his quarters he finds Tolek.
They catch sight of each other at the same moment, and Jim freezes. Tolek pauses for a brief second, then continues walking forward, clearly intent on speaking with Jim.
Jim is gonna keep it cool Tiberius. He can do this. Maybe Tolek has no intention of dredging up Acheron?
“I must offer you an apology for my behavior on LV-426,” Tolek begins bluntly. Oh boy. Nope, they’re going straight there. “My logic was compromised; it was not at the standard for either myself, my position, or my people.”
Jim nods cautiously. “You…took issue,” he frames, choosing his words with care, “with me because of how I was acting around Spock.”
Tolek inclines his head just a fraction.
“You ah, you thought I was a threat, maybe? To your…bond?”
Tolek stiffens, and responds like a robot. “The bond between myself and Commander Spock has always been, and remains, a purely professional one.”
Jim wonders if that’s really true, on Tolek’s side, but doesn’t press. Tolek clearly wasn’t expecting Jim to confront him with knowledge about Vulcan bonds, and Jim has no intention of rubbing salt in any hypothetical wound by demonstrating further evidence of his and Spock’s closeness.
“Spock declined rescue on the Lewis & Clarke, and returned to the terraformer to retrieve you,” Tolek segues abruptly.
Jim blinks.
“The odds of his survival were only 20.26%. The odds of successfully extracting both of you alive, without contamination or serious injury were a mere 16.02%.”
Wow. Those are some abysmal numbers.
“I, uh,” Jim clears his throat awkwardly, “hadn’t heard the actual odds on that yet.”
Apparently having said his piece, Tolek continues on his way, walking straight past Jim.
“Tolek I—” Jim calls. Tolek halts, his back to Jim. “I accept your apology,” Jim says, having actually no idea if that’s the proper response in Vulcan culture or not.
Without turning, Tolek asks, “Would you like to hear the odds of your attempt of a successful retrieval of Commander Spock from Sevastopol?”
Maybe Jim doesn’t actually want to know that but, “Sure,” he says.
“8.46%,” is Tolek’s response, and he continues walking away without another word.
Holy fucking shit. Bones cannot ever hear that number.
Dazed, Jim wanders around until he finds himself back in front of the door to his temp quarters. Well, no hair gel or better clothes, but he did offload the tribble. So, that’s something. He steps inside, the small dark interior a relief after the stark bright white of the Invincible’s hallways. The door closes behind him and he stands in darkness, wishing he’d thought to ask Spock how long he thought Stonn’s treatment might last.
“Lights to 60%,” a voice says in the darkness.
Jim does not scream like a B movie queen, he does not.
“Spock,” he gasps, clutching his chest. “Why were you sitting here in the dark?”
Spock tilts his head, looking up at Jim from where he is sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I was meditating,” he says calmly.
“Stonn?” Jim asks, trying to get a hold of his breathing, wondering if it’s possible to just get asthma.
“I have provided my aid. He will require further attention on Vulcan, a mind meld from either a parent or grandparent, but the immediate injury to his mind has been dealt with.”
“He’s not in pain?” Jim asks anxiously.
“No. He has been neglecting his physical health somewhat,” Spock says, “but I believe Dr. McCoy shall rectify that.”
Jim shakes his head. “I warned him about Bones and his post-release monitoring.”
Spock stands, and folds his arms behind his back. “You did not ask,” Spock says apropos of nothing.
Jim gives him a blank look.
“During our conversation of Vulcan bonds, you did not ask whether there was a bond that had formed between you and I.”
Jim feels his hands threatening to shake, and wrings them a little nervously in front of him. Yeah. Because he’s terrified. What if there isn’t? What if it’s all in Jim’s head? What if there is and Spock doesn’t want it?
“Do we?” He blurts. “Do we have a bond?”
“Yes,” Spock says.
Jim’s breath leaves him in a woosh and he staggers over to sit on his bed.
“It is likely a preliminary bond only,” Spock says, taking a step towards the bed. “I regret that I cannot be more specific at this time. I still require many sessions of deeper level meditation to properly organize my mind once more.”
“So what does that mean for us?” Jim looks up at Spock, knowing he has just made himself completely vulnerable. Spock has the power, with only a few words, to completely destroy Jim forever. At least, that’s what it feels like.
“If we cease contact, mental and physical, it will naturally fade. If we continue contact, it will strengthen.” Spock offers only the facts. “After reaching a certain threshold, it will never fade.”
Ok. Cards on the table. Be a man, James Tiberius. Take the leap. “I want to continue contact,” Jim says, bluntly.
“The thought of a mental bond, it does not displease you?” Spock asks, his tone cautious.
“No, on the contrary, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, trying to brave it out by flirting, “I am extremely pleased.”
“Even though it has formed without your consent?” Spock presses, not willing to be flirted with quite yet, it seems.
Jim shrugs. “It seems like a natural progression in a relationship between any two compatible people to me. The whole telepathic bond thing is just a result of you being a Vulcan, and kinda cool if I’m being honest.”
Spock’s mouth opens, and then closes again.
“You, ah, aren’t displeased?” Jim asks. “I'm, you know, a messy illogical emotional human, so it would be perfectly natural if you were, and you obviously didn’t plan on forming a bond with me.”
Spock takes two more steps until he is standing right before Jim.
“On the contrary, Captain Kirk,” Spock says, giving him a significant look, “I am extremely pleased as well.”
Stomach swooping. Butterflies. Racing heart. Warmth spreading through all his limbs. The whole shebang. Jim swallows, and pats the bed next to him.
Without hesitating, Spock sits. There’s a prim little space of an inch or so between them. Jim lets his legs fall open a little so his knee knocks against Spock’s knee.
Spock is staring down at his hands, folded in his lap, giving Jim a very enticing view of his ear. Jim wonders if Spock knows how enticing it is?
He lets out a breath. Okay so, now is the time for flirting, yes? No time like the present to find out. “Hey Spock, question for you, and if it would bother you then no worries, and absolutely no kind of pressure, but I have been just thinking—wondering how it would be, if you would maybe—”
“Jim,” Spock interrupts, telegraphing amusement with no expression again, “unless you submit your request, I cannot return an answer.”
“Right. Um. Yes. Your ears. I want to, ah, I mean can I—may I—touch them?” Jim bites his lip. Smooth, Kirk. Real smooth. That’s the way to get a Vulcan’s pants off, for sure. Not.
The corner of Spock’s mouth lifts just the tiniest bit, in the way that he does that drives Jim absolutely mad.
“Vulcan culture as a whole has never understood human fascination with our ears,” he comments. But he tilts his head obligingly toward Jim, presenting one elegant ear for Jim to inspect.
Ok, or maybe yes that is the way.
“That’s easy," Jim says lightly, bringing his hand up to gently trace up the long curve of the outer edge of Spock's ear. “It’s because they’re gorgeous and we humans just love pretty things.”
“Not exceptionally logical, but acceptable nonetheless,” Spock says, and does not succeed in hiding a slight gasp as Jim rubs the tip of Spock’s ear between his fingers.
Honestly, they feel much the same as human ears. Soft and delicate. It’s just the shape that is different.
“May I, with my mouth, explore?” Jim asks, finally sounding just a little bit less like an idiot and more like a man with some manner of seduction experience under his belt.
Spock intakes a breath. “Yes.”
Jim leans forward immediately, and fits his mouth to Spock’s ear.
He presses soft kisses up the shell and back down, then traces the shape upwards once more, this time with his tongue.
He pulls away briefly to ask, “Do you like it?” before leaning back in to nibble gently just below the apex.
“It is not unpleasant, however, Vulcan ears are not particularly sensitive in this manner—” Spock starts to respond. Jim closes his mouth over the tip and sucks gently, the way he’s been longing to do pretty much ever since Spock had pulled that wig off, back on Sevastopol.
Spock gasps out “Ah!” and his body shivers, and presses closer to Jim.
Jim makes an inquisitive noise, and applies his tongue to the tip, flicking it.
“I must…reavaluate,” Spock says, his voice sounding a little rough. “It seems you have discovered a previously unknown erogenous zone.”
Well not to be smug about it or anything, because Jim is, above all things, a gentleman in the bedroom, but…duh.
He pulls back from Spock’s ear, and with his heart thumping away in what feels like the vicinity of his throat, holds a hand out, over Spock’s hands, which have clenched down on his thighs.
Spock turns his head and looks at Jim.
“Hey,” Jim smiles. “Want to erm, engage in another joint undertaking?”
Spock arches an elegant brow. “I believe the Terran term you are searching for is ‘sex’,” he says, and reaches up with one hand to thread his fingers together with Jim’s.
They both groan. The press of Spock’s fingers against his is an erotic charge, racing all up and down his body. Jim leans against Spock and presses a hesitant kiss against the column of Spock’s throat. Their fingers play and dance with each other, both sets of hands now engaged, rubbing and stroking and teasing. God Jim really hopes that’s as filthy and depraved as he thinks it is.
He swipes his tongue along the skin of Spock’s neck, tasting him. Not salty, some flavor he doesn’t have any context for. ‘Spock’ his brain reminds him. Yes. He closes his lips over Spock’s pulse point, (located over and down from where he would expect to find it on a human), and sucks.
Green hickey. Jim needs to see a green hickey right now like the Ferengi need the stock market. Desperately.
“What are you doing?” Spock asks.
Jim pulls away just long enough to say, “Hickey,” then dives back in.
“A what?” Spock asks, genuine curiosity in his tone.
“Sex bruise,” Jim says, pulling back further this time to check in with Spock.
Spock raises a brow. “You will have to suck much harder than that,” he says.
“Mr. Spock,” Jim breathes, “was that a challenge?”
“No,” Spock disagrees, “merely a fact.”
“Noted,” Jim says, and adds a graze of his teeth this time to his ministrations on Spock’s neck.
Spock resumes mapping every fold of skin on Jim’s knuckles, the space between his fingers, the lines on his palms. His hands are tingling madly, and all the blood in his body is flowing south to feed the voracious appetite of his growing erection.
Jim goes to town on Spock’s neck for a good few minutes, but when he pulls back to check his work, there’s only the faintest hint of a more greenish tint to Spock’s skin. “Maybe I should bite you,” he murmurs.
Spock shivers, and his hands grip down on Jim’s for a second before easing up.
“You like that?” Jim asks, flipping Spock’s hands over to draw circles into one palm, then the other.
“Yes,” Spock hisses out from between his teeth.
Jim leans forward and bites him, then looks. No visible change. He bites again, a little harder. Nothing.
Spock meets his frustrated look with a provocative eyebrow raise.
Jim bites Spock’s neck again, even harder. Still nothing.
A hand gently presses against the back of his head, pushing his lips flush against Spock’s neck.
“Harder,” Spock says, and Jim can feel the vibrations of his voice.
He fits his teeth on Spock’s neck, and presses down.
“Harder.”
He exerts more pressure.
“Harder.”
He bites Spock savagely.
“Almost,” Spock says. “Harder.”
He sinks his teeth into the muscle of Spock’s neck. Spock shudders against him, and goes slightly limp. When Jim lifts his mouth away, there’s a rainbow of greens surrounding the circular mark, and a green so dark it’s almost black at the imprint of his teeth.
“Fuck,” Jim groans.
“I did not realize,” Spock says, his voice delightfully hoarse, “that humans enjoyed this type of marking behavior.”
Jim laves the mark with his tongue, drinking up Spock’s shivers and the subtle vibrations of what may be a whimper. “Some do,” he says, his lips curving up into a smirk.
He shifts position a little bit, angling himself into Spock, and cups the back of Spock’s head, removing one hand from their ongoing Vulcan make-out session. He presses Spock’s mouth to the side of his neck.
Cautiously, Spock begins to fit his teeth into Jim’s skin.
“Keep going,” Jim urges him. Spock keeps up a steady increase of pressure until the power of his bite is just right and Jim throws back his head with a throaty groan. “There!” he gasps.
Spock keeps the pressure for another few seconds, sucks once, hard, then pulls away. His eyes are dark pools of arousal as they admire his handiwork. A moment later, Jim feels Spock’s hands at his waistband. With a shock, Jim realizes he forgot all about getting himself into sexier clothes and styling his hair as Spock’s hands slide under his frumpy sweatshirt. Jim gasps at the heat of Spock’s palms on the skin of his stomach. Spock moves his hands up and up, rucking the sweatshirt until Jim is forced to raise his arms so Spock can divest him of it entirely. Oh well, the lame-ass outpatient couture look doesn’t seem to have hurt him that bad.
Spock sits back a little, his eyes roving over all of Jim’s bare skin now on display. Jim anxiously reaches up and tries to flatten down his hair, betting that the slightly rough manner of the sweatshirt being removed did his sonic-rinsed style no favors.
Spock reaches up, batts Jim’s hands away, and begins carding his fingers into Jim’s hair, drawing Jim’s head to his face, where he breathes in deep. Jim groans against Spock’s jawline. Fuck that’s—that is amazing. Jim may have to grow his hair out so Spock has more to sink his fingers into.
Then Spock’s fingers are sliding down the back of his neck, around his shoulders, down his spine. Spock kisses every inch of Jim’s body with his fingers, every bit of skin that is open to him. Jim’s arms, his collarbone, his jawline. Spock shyly traces the round shape of Jim’s ears, then his hands fall to Jim’s chest, and his thumbs rub against Jim’s nipples, bringing them to stiff points. Jim’s cock twitches madly with each pass of Spock’s thumbs against him. Oh fuck, he’s so hard.
“This is stimulating for you,” Spock comments.
“Yes,” Jim grunts. “I don’t think my nipples are super sensitive—ah,” he gasps as Spock exerts a little more pressure with his thumbs. He bites his lip. “But it seems to be more stimulating for me than normal, with you doing it.”
Spock makes a noncommittal hum of agreement. Jim reaches for Spock’s blue pullover. “May I?” he asks.
“Yes,” Spock says, and turns a little on the bed, angling himself to allow Jim easier access. Jim pulls the uniform shirt off, revealing a long sleeved black thermal undershirt. He pulls that off as well, revealing another layer underneath that. This one is…a little different. It’s still black, but it’s a material Jim is unfamiliar with, not the standard issue synthesized fabric of Spock’s first two shirts. Jim’s fingers feel a slick smoothness like silk, and yet also a plush breathability like cotton. The shirt is skintight, and the sleeves are only elbow length. There’s a ‘V’ shape embroidered along it, starting at Spock’s chest, and tapering to the point of the ‘V’ at his waist. Jim knows fancy lingerie when he sees it, and this? This is fancy lingerie.
“This isn’t standard issue,” he comments.
“No,” Spock answers calmly.
Jim runs his fingers up and down the embroidered ‘V’ shape. Spock shivers. “I like it,” Jim says, flicking his eyes back up to meet Spock’s. Jim reaches down to remove this layer as well, the last one, he thinks. Carefully, Jim peels it off of Spock’s torso.
Spock’s skin is pale, the veins running underneath a subtle green, and Jim is delighted to discover a tangle of dark chest hair. Jim presses his palms to it, feeling the silky strands and the heat of Spock’s blood underneath. With his hands, he maps Spock’s skin as Spock had done to him. Along his arms, his shoulders, the dip of his collarbones, the cut of his jawline. He thumbs both of Spock’s adorable little nipples to stiff little points, teasing them from a paler green to a far darker one.
“That is pleasing,” Spock remarks.
In answer Jim flicks one with a tip of his nail, far harsher than his previous ministrations. Spock’s back arches, and pushes his chest more firmly against Jim’s hands. He does it again.
“Still pleasing?” he asks.
“Extremely,” Spock replies, sounding gratifyingly breathless. It seems Spock needs Jim to be more forceful, a little harder. Get through that Vulcan toughness. Jim can do that. Oh great and merciful galactic sex gods, can he do that.
He bends down and takes one little point between his teeth, and tugs.
“Humans have such an—” Spock breaks off to gasp as Jim tugs at the other nipple with his teeth. “Oral fixation,” he finishes.
Jim looks up at him, and grins. “And Vulcans have a hand kink,” he accuses. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Spock’s arms come around him and then Jim is lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling over his Invincible-issued bed. Flip Jim like a pancake. That’s what Spock is gonna do about it. Spock positions himself over Jim, bracing himself with one arm on either side of Jim’s head.
“I wish to—” Spock starts to say and breaks off, distracted by Jim trailing his fingers down his own chest. Yeah, Spock likes that alright. And then Jim gets an idea. In the long list of his genius sexual moves, this one has got to take the top spot. Jim takes one of his hands, and starts fondling the fingers of his other hand with it. Can he make out with himself right in front of Spock?
As Spock’s eyes widen and then dilate to pools of darkness, the answer is obviously yes, yes he can.
Spock takes a deep breath in. “In Raal Province, an elected official was exposed as having performed this act for his lover, and the ensuing sex scandal barred him from ever holding public office again.”
“Want me to do it for you some more?” Jim asks, twisting his fingers around themselves.
“Yes,” Spock says, “do not stop.”
Just about the tamest thing (by human standards) he’s ever done in the bedroom is also turning out to be the sexiest. Jim tosses his head back into the mattress and groans as he draws his fingertips down his wrist.
Spock’s breathing noticeably deepens.
Jim gently rubs his fingers back and forth along his own knuckles.
“Spock,” he whispers.
Spock’s mouth falls open and he lets out a needy little whimper.
Jim’s hips rock up into the air between them. Oh fuck oh god oh yes that sound forever yes.
Spock sits back on his heels, and his hands fall to the waistband of Jim’s sweatpants.
Jim tilts his hips up from the bed. “Off, off, off,” he chants.
Spock pulls them down and all the way off in one smooth movement. He blinks, then looks up at Jim. “You are not wearing any undergarments,” he accuses.
Jim looks down at his rock hard dick, where it’s lying curved against his stomach. “Guess not,” he shrugs.
Spock swallows.
“Found another previously unknown turn-on?” Jim teases.
“You are a menace,” Spock accuses him again.
“To decent space-faring folk? All of Vulcan-kind? You, specifically?”
“Me, specifically,” Spock confirms, and trails his fingers along Jim’s abdomen, maddeningly skirting around to the side of his aching cock. “My mind has often had to be redirected from thoughts of this,” he says softly.
“Your fingers, wrapped around me? The sight of it, the feel of it?” Jim says, no longer teasing, his voice low, breaths starting to come in needy pants.
“Yes,” Spock whimpers again and Jim shouts at both the sound of it and the feel of it as Spock’s fingers wrap themselves around Jim’s cock, lifting it from his stomach, hefting its weight, exploring its shape.
“It is done like this?” Spock questions, and begins pumping his hand up and down Jim’s cock. Spock’s palm is hot and dry and perfect and Jim is not gonna last he’s so hard and so turned on. He wants Spock more than anything.
He clenches a hand around Spock’s wrist, where he’s still using one arm to brace himself on the bed over Jim. “Gonna come,” he gasps out. “Oh fuck!”
Spock releases him and for several long, frustrating moments, Jim doesn’t come. He gasps and flops back on the mattress, his body drawing back from his peak. Who is it that’s supposed to be the menace again? Spock pushes off of him a moment, and Jim levers himself up a little bit to watch as Spock methodically unfastens his uniform pants and removes them. Jim licks his lips at the pair of black briefs that is revealed, an obvious match for the lingerie he’d peeled off of Spock earlier. He doesn’t get more than a glimpse, more provocative embroidery in a ‘V’ shape, before Spock has methodically removed those as well. God Jim has missed that cock. It’s lengthening out, the three nodes swelling as he watches. Saliva floods his mouth at the memory of how the blunt head had tasted, felt, between his lips, heavy on his tongue.
Spock’s hands reach out, and then he’s maneuvering Jim to roll over to lie on his stomach.
“Jim,” Spock says, “I wish to…” He trails off as he takes Jim’s asscheeks in his hands and squeezes, flexing his fingers into Jim’s flesh there. ‘Harder,’ he thinks, but doesn’t have time to say it before Spock is gripping him more firmly, and Jim’s eyes roll to the back of his head.
“What?” Jim says, his voice throaty with need like he’s never heard it before; a stranger’s voice. Someone that only exists because of Spock. “You wish to ‘engage in anal intercourse’? ‘Penetrate me’? Insert your Vulcan cock into my human hole?”
“Yes, to all of that. I wish to ‘fuck’ you, Jim. Is that what you wish?”
“Very much, extremely much,” Jim begs. “Please, Spock.”
Jim’s body seizes in excitement, fear, anticipation, delight, as he feels the nudge of what can only be the round, blunt head of Spock at Jim’s hole.
“Oh fuck” Jim whines, but Spock hushes him with a calm, “Still.” The head presses flush against the fluttering muscles of his rim. A thrill of terror runs through Jim, turning his bones to liquid. He sags against the bed. His mouth opens to beg, whether for Spock to stop or proceed, he’s not sure, and then he jerks in surprise as he feels a hot splash of liquid against his anus. “Still,” Spock commands him again. Jim moans as more liquid follows, sliding inside of him and slicking his taint, excess trails slipping down his thighs.
“What?” he gasps, “What?”
Spock’s fingers soothe along his spine again. “I must prepare you Jim,” Spock informs him, “The sexual equipment of the Vulcan male secretes a natural lubrication to ease penetration of a partner.”
Spock begins circling a finger around Jim’s rim. “I will have you like this Jim,” he murmurs.
Jim’s toes curl into the stiff carpet patterning the floor of the cabin. He flexes his hips to grind his cock against the edge of the bed, but Spock grips him around his waist and pulls him away until only his chest is touching the bed. “Spock,” Jim begins to protest, but then a slick, long finger enters him, and he collapses down on his arms and groans.
“Ah!” Spock gives a little cry, and promptly inserts another finger. It takes everything Jim has not to combust there on the spot. He feels so slippery inside, and Spock’s fingers make him throb with need.
“Oh,” he whispers, and shifts fruitlessly on the bed for some leverage to thrust back into Spock’s fingers, which are gently and achingly slowly thrusting in and out of him. “Please,” he whimpers, and Spock rewards him with another finger, but doesn’t divert at all from his gentle rocking motion. The ache at three fingers eases away, thrust by thrust, but no matter how he shifts and groans, the pressure and speed of Spock’s fingers doesn’t increase.
“Patience, Jim,” Spock soothes him, and releases his grip on Jim’s hip to trail two fingers down Jim’s spine, and back up again.
Soon Jim begins to shudder, Spock’s unrelenting gentleness and steady pace driving him to distraction. Slowly, unbearably slowly, from somewhere deep within Jim, orgasm begins to build. Christ he’d only thought he’d been about to come before. Jim’s breath hitches in his chest as carefully, Spock’s fingers begin to press deeper with each thrust. Small sounds begin to escape him in the moments in between, as he awaits each push of Spock’s fingers into his body, which leaves him shaking and gasping each time.
Then it happens at last, a slight graze against his prostate. Keyed up as he is, with every sense he possesses devoted to the almost indescribable things Spock’s fingers are doing to him, pleasure lances through Jim and he shouts, and his cock flexes and jerks underneath him. Spock pauses for a moment, withdrawing to rest just the tips of his fingers against the fluttering rim of Jim’s hole, as his free fingers stroke once again up and down Jim’s spine.
After a moment, when Jim’s full body shuddering has subsided to intermittent shivers once more, Spock presses his fingers back inside. This time, he pushes deliberately deeper, and curls his fingers up against Jim’s prostate when they reach it.
He shouts again. “Spock!” The pressure building inside him grows, his orgasm rising up like the shape of a planet, growing ever larger in the viewport. “Oh god oh god oh god,” he hisses into the bed, he’s gonna come just from some fingering, his cock untouched, and clenches down around Spock’s fingers inside him. Yes. Yes! There…!
And then at the moment when Jim should explode into ecstasy, Jim’s orgasm maddeningly recedes. A cold sort of numbness seeps into his lower back, where Spock’s two free fingers have pressed onto his spine.
“Not yet, Jim,” Spock says, his voice rough.
“Not. Fair.” Jim groans, realizing what Spock has done, thrashing on the bed. “Cheating. Vulcan.”
Spock’s hand cups the back of Jim’s head and his fingers slide through Jim’s hair. Jim’s eyes flutter closed as his eyes roll back into his head. Bliss.
And then Spock resumes his fingering.
He keeps at it until Jim has just about lost the ability to speak. Whining, desperate, and greedy, he begs in moans and needy presses of his hips back into Spock’s fingers. Spock staves off Jim’s orgasm in the same manner twice more before he is at last satisfied. How wonderful for him. Jim is about to lose his mind. Spock’s breathing has moved into deep pants, and his voice is rough when he says, “I will ‘insert’ myself into you now, Jim, as you requested.”
God Jim would love to have a snappy comeback to that, but all he’s up for right now is a drawn out “Please,” into the mattress.
Spock pulls his fingers from Jim’s ass, and his hole feels gaping open as they depart, cold and wet in the air of his cabin without the heat of them inside him.
The blunt head presses once more against Jim’s hole, slick with lubrication, seeking entrance, and Jim struggles with the instinctive tightening of his body against such a large intruder.
Jim groans when Spock begins to press into him. The punch of it. The ache. The rounded, blunt shape of the head of his cock, unfamiliar and erotic, forcing Jim to make way before it. His whole body shakes as he heaves for breath.
Spock’s arms tighten around him and he pulls Jim up from the bed against his chest. One arm crosses over Jim’s waist and grips him tight around the hip, and the other crosses the opposite way over his chest, his hand splaying over Jim’s neck, holding him secure.
The angle changes and Jim sobs as the head pops inside, breaching him at last, putting lie to Jim’s assumption of the size his hole had been stretched to by Spock’s excessive fingering. Oh god it’s big. He hasn’t had anything in him, not in a while and fuck it’s stretching him. “Don’t stop,” he slurs, and he fits one hand over Spock’s hand at his hip, tangling their fingers together, and drops his head back to rest in the juncture of Spock’s neck. He reaches around with his other hand to drag his fingers through Spock’s hair, caressing the short hairs at the nape of his neck with his thumb.
Spock’s hips jerk, and Jim feels the first of the round nodes pressing at his hole, stretching Jim even further around it. It’s enough to be painful and yet Jim doesn’t want to wait for his body to open. He wants it all, the hurt of too much too fast and then the pleasure.
“Yes,” Jim groans, “Make me take it.”
Spock makes a sound that travels straight to Jim’s dick, and bends them back over the bed. Oh god that sound! Jim didn’t know Spock could make a sound like that!
Spock pulls back a little, relieving the insistent pressure of the first node, then pushes forward again. He presses Jim open wider and wider and just when Jim thinks he’s going to have to cry off and beg for Spock to stop, it slips inside and Jim yells, or maybe blacks out for a moment, or both, he’s not sure. He presses his face into the mattress and sobs out a muffled, “Yes.”
God Jim’s never had a cock like this. Not even close. It’s better than anything he’s ever taken, and oh he’s so fucked, but he never wants to take anything other than this again.
“Now you see,” Spock says, his voice shaking with effort, “Why it was necessary to prepare you so thoroughly.”
“Mnnn,” Jim responds, then tilts his hips up fractionally. “More,” he gasps.
Spock’s hips stutter forward a little bit, and then the second node is pressing against Jim, seeking entrance. He moans, wanton, shaking with a sensation that’s just on the right side of too much. Spock’s chest presses against Jim’s back, his breath is at Jim’s ear, and then the second node is inside him. Those fucking orbs are so hard, and the way they fill him! And they’re hot. They are radiating heat inside of him, weakening his knees and overloading him with sensation. There are tears in his eyes, both of his hands grasping at the sheets in front of him, twisting it in his fingers. “Spock, yes,” Jim sobs out again.
Spock grunts, pulls out, each node catching on the lip of his hole on the way out, then repeating as Spock thrusts back in again. One, two, and then the third batters against his rim and then slides in at last, the whole length of Spock sheathed deep inside him.
Oh god! Oh fuck! “Yes, there yes!” He wails, and his hands are clenching on the sheets so hard, he’s practically tearing them off the bed.
Spock makes that sound again, a groan like something is being ripped from him. Jim’s aching cock jerks where it’s trapped between his stomach and the bed. God he wants to get a hand on himself but he can’t make himself release his grasp on the bedding. It’s all he can do to just hold on.
Spock slides his cock out, slowly, each of its orbs catching on his rim. “Oh, oh, oh,” Jim cries out with each one. Spock’s chest lifts off of Jim, and then he feels his hands fit around Jim’s hips and Spock pulls Jim back into his next thrust. It’s good, god it’s so good but the angle’s changed a little, a teasing glance against his prostate instead of the direct hit of the previous thrust. Jim pants for breath and demands, “More! He arches his back a little into Spock’s next thrust and there!
He doesn’t recognize the sound that’s come out of his own mouth, even as his body shudders and his toes curl. “Yes,” Jim groans, “just like that, yes.”
Spock’s grip flexes on Jim’s hips and Jim clenches his muscles around the erotic shape of the cock inside him.
Jim doesn’t manage to press up into the angle for Spock’s next thrust, and he chants out “please please please,” as he looks for it in the thrust after that.
In between one moment and the next they’re fucking, Spock increasing his speed as Jim goes wild underneath him. The feel of those three nodes in and out stimulating the rim of his oversensitized hole is going to drive him insane. Their rhythm isn’t quite in sync, and Spock’s not hitting his prostate dead on just yet, but it’s still the best fuck of Jim’s life, by far and away.
“Give it to me,” he demands and half laughs, half sobs in delight as Spock grunts behind him, and gives it to him. It's so much, it’s so much, tears are running down Jim’s cheeks. In, in, in, and then the blunt head will slam into Jim’s prostate, or glance against it and then out, out, out and fuck Spock is wrecking Jim’s hole ruining him for all other cock.
Spock groans, and pushes Jim all the way flat onto the bed. He climbs on top of him, and then he’s fucking straight down into Jim and there that’s it. His cock is driving so deep and perfect into Jim it’s not possible for him to miss.
“Spock!” Jim shouts.
One of Spock’s hands strokes through Jim’s hair, along the curve of his ear, the other pulls Jim’s grip from the bedding and tangles their fingers together.
“Don’t stop oh god don’t stop.”
Spock thrusts become stronger, more forceful, quicker, and in, in, in, followed by out, out, out, becomes ininin and outoutout.
“Fuck me,” Jim snarls. He needs it, his body needs Spock, just like this, over him, covering him, in him, and Spock fucks him harder, cores him open, in and out of Jim’s clenching hole. God he wants Spock to ruin him. Jim draws their linked hands closer and mouths along Spock’s knuckles and there’s being fucked and then there’s being fucked and Spock is fucking him, his breathing coming in pants and groans in Jim’s ear.
Sweat is gathering on his brow, and a drop trails down from his temple and Spock’s tongue traces it back up.
Spock’s noded cock is sliding in and out of Jim now with almost no resistance. Jim only thought he knew what being fucked open was. No. This, this is being fucked open. Spock’s thrusts shake his whole body, and it’s all Jim can do just to lie there and take it. Inside him, vast and unavoidable, completion begins to build again. It aches in his balls, tightening up his spine. Jim turns his face into the bed, muffling his gasps for breath which have long ago begun to be sobs. Oh god.
He can feel it, even though his cock is aching with neglect, even though coming untouched while being fucked is a thing that’s never happened to him before. His balls draw up tight against his scrotum as pleasure coils within him, yearning for release. All sensation in his body narrows to that one conclusion. A pinnacle surmounted, a distant horizon breached at last.
Jim turns his head to the side again. “Spock! Spock, I’m come—” He gasps for breath. “Gonna come!”
His body tenses, and he cries out as his cock jerks and begins to spill beneath him, synapses overloading with the most intense orgasm he’s ever had. Then Spock’s fingers are on his face and Spock is within him cresting like a wave, sharing in Jim’s pleasure, magnifying it; opening floodgates for it to spill into Spock. He can feel Spock’s yearning, his demand to feel as Jim feels, his greed for it.
‘It’s yours,’ Jim thinks wildly, ‘you did this to me, take it.’
Jim! Spock’s voice exalts, and distantly Jim’s body feels Spock piston his cock within him, and he’s helpless against a rising tide of stimulation; physical and mental pleasure feeding off of each other. Briefly, for a moment, he knows what it is to be inside of himself, tight, welcoming, slick and wet; every sound every scent every sensation calculated to drive Spock to madness.
‘Spock,’ he thinks, ‘Spock!’
Abruptly he’s jerked out of that shared mindspace back into his body. His ass is spasming and clenching around the hot length within him; his own cock still twitching in orgasm. Jim feels Spock’s body stiffen and collapse on top of him and Spock’s teeth sink into the muscle at the back of Jim’s shoulder. Jim keens. It shouldn’t be possible to feel so much. Spock fucks himself back into Jim, once, twice. ‘Please,’ his mouth forms out soundlessly. He shifts, spreading his legs open as wide as he can. Spock thrusts into him one last time, deep; as deep as Spock can get. He can feel it coming, the nodes swelling within him oh god Spock, yes! Liquid heat floods him inside. And then he’s pulled back into their mental space, and Spock’s orgasm slams into them both. Jim’s always wondered what ecstasy feels like, and now he knows. He knows. He exalts with it. He is remade by it. His consciousness slips away on the tide of it.
Jim comes back to himself gradually, to find his body is undulating rhythmically against Spock’s, still trying to give, to take more. “Sshh, t-hy-la,” Spock breathes in his ear, drawing out the separate syllables of the unfamiliar word. Elegant fingers stroke along his arm, his brow, soothe along his sides. “Easy, come back to me now.”
“M’here, Spock,” Jim sighs.
Everything is bliss. Every muscle sings in warm contentment, every nerve ending still alight with the imprint of Spock. Spock’s hands continue to stroke him, and lightning strikes of pleasure still shudder through his body. That beautiful cock is still within him, semi-hard. Spock’s breath is even and warm against his ear. “Don’t leave me,” Jim mumbles.
He doesn’t want to be without Spock. He can’t be without him after that. Never. He sinks into sleep. Spock’s voice, speaking his strange, beautiful language follows him down.
End Chapter EIGHTEEN