- Text Size +


Jim was glad the rest of the shift went quickly. He felt bone tired after the ordeal on Vulcan. His whole body ached from the combined effects of the neuro-paralyser and getting his ass kicked.


He sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off, then fell back, enjoying the give of the surface beneath him. His mind felt wired in spite of the exhaustion. Conflicting emotions beating around. Anger at Spock for concealing his condition, irritation with the mystery and the ritual (yes, even of the venerated Vulcans), pleasure at the resolution.


He simply lay there and took it all in. It was good to be back aboard ship, out of trouble but looking for more. He rested until a flicker of something in his mind roused him. Something that didn't belong, like a spot on his cornea, but a few blinks later it was gone. His eyes roamed the room just to be sure he didn't miss something.


He could feel powerful emotions- a mixture, not easily defined, muted and controlled. In addition to that, there was a sense of busyness. Thoughts spreading out like filaments of a spider web; astro-navigation charts, physics calculations, and engineering schematics.


Very curious.


Jim sat up know, mind kicking into gear instead of wandering as it pleased. The other feeling like a steel undercurrent to the processes of his mind, he reached out to it and...


Abruptly it disappeared.


He shook his head, feeling mildly disoriented again, his stomach surged ominously. What the hell was that?


Spock. That much he was sure. But was it one of their accidental mind touches? They happened. Sometimes when they were separated, or had just melded recently Jim would feel Spock's mind looking for him. But that didn't feel so two way. Jim had never been able to sense the mechanism of Spock's mind before. All he had ever felt was Spock showing up. Even in melds, he was always firmly behind privacy shields.


Perhaps a by product of the Kal-i-fee. Surely that might warrant a crack in mastery. Jim wouldn't hold it against him. As a matter a fact he liked the occasional crack in his Vulcan. Though preferably not when the ship was 7 minutes from burning up in a planetary atmosphere.


The pills Bones had issued him after shift were suddenly hitting him. A big wave of sleepiness. He wouldn't worry about it anymore. Spock was Spock, and would deal with whatever was happening in his own inimitable way.




God, it was so hot. It felt like he was breathing in a furnace, the air oppressive, too large for his lungs.

It was dark, then he realized his eyes simply wouldn't open. But he didn't feel afraid. It seemed natural. His eyes simply didn't open.


He gasped. Pleasure danced across his nerves, literally. He could feel the synapses firing, and a flood of dopamine. How did he even know this? It didn't matter. The electric joy ran up his spine, took a spin around his brain pan, then sped down to his fingers and toes.


He gasped again. It was all he could do. He couldn't articulate a word. It didn't matter. The pleasure became more articulate, not all over his body, but tailoring itself to the things he liked. Fingers on his neck, easing the tension that always resided there, up to fingers running over his scalp, leaving trails on his skin.


Something began to coalesce-ground beneath him, a weight on top of him. Suddenly he really couldn't breath, it wasn't just the air, but literal constriction. His eyes snapped open and-


Jim opened his eyes to the mechanized chime of the computer clock. He felt vaguely hung over, but would be fine. The dream was disapating rapidly, a minor curiosity in the light of day. He got up and didn't give it a second thought.




McCoy eyed Spock hawkishly as the Vulcan pushed replicated food cubes around, but for all the show stuck very few in his mouth. They had already been arguing about the various news vids they had been able to pick up while orbiting Vulcan. Everyone was several months removed from the general galactic news due to hanging around in deep space.


Spock turned his head towards the door and a few moments later Jim appeared, heading for the replicator queue.


Jim came over with his food cubes, and sat down next to McCoy. Bones thought that a bit strange, when given a choice, Jim nearly always opted to sit next to Spock.


He supposed that nearly being killed by your friend and first officer could have that effect.


“Everybody ready for Altair? Should be very exciting,” Jim said with a little roll of his eyes.


“Well, I for one, have had enough excitement for a bit,” Bones volunteered.


“Yeah, me too.” Jim chewed one of his cubes and took a swig of coffee. “Spock?”


Spock blinked once, as if snapping himself out of a reverie, then looked at Jim.


McCoy barked, “We were talking about how we are glad to get away from your dusty, hot planet.”


Spock made a long suffering face but didn't deign to comment.


“Captain, doctor, if you will excuse me, I am going to prepare documents for the briefing.” He stood up. “Gentlemen.”


“Jim, are you sure that you are okay?”


Jim turned his head to look at him. “Yeah, I am fine, just a little groggy from your pills.” He flashed him a toothy grin.


Bones pat him on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it, you know.”


“Yeah. I'm glad to be saying it.”


“Komack untwisted yet?” McCoy asked.


“I think so, but we had better be on our best behavior for a little while.”


Bones stood up, he had appointments in 15 minutes. “WE will be, captain, sir!” He threw off a mock salute, and headed back to sick bay.




Jim sat at his desk doing some more documentation (always more, more) when the chime sounded.




“Spock, I was hoping you would show up sometime.” Jim said with a soft smile. “Have a seat.”


Instead, Spock walked over to the shelf and grabbed the decanter, “If I may?”


“Certainly. I'll join you.” He shuffled the various pads and disks into a half orderly pile.


Spock brought the cut crystal container and two glasses back to the desk, and poured a perfect two fingers in each.


“Are we drinking to anything in particular?” Jim asked.


“No.” Spock shook his head.


They sat in silence for a few breaths. Jim looked lazily around the room as he waited for Spock to speak his mind.


“Shall we play chess?” Spock finally offered and began setting it up without waiting for an answer.


“Spock,” Jim began cautiously, “Is there something on your mind?”


“On my mind, sir?” Ah, super Vulcan.


“Spock, you can't fool me. Out with it.” He took a sip of the liquor then set the glass down and walked over near the small table that had the chess board.


Spock looked at him with baleful eyes. “I nearly killed you, Jim. I cannot dismiss that as easily as you can, apparently.”


Jim grabbed his elbow, ready to tell him it had frightened him, but that he was just grateful they were both alive and well. However, the moment he touched him he felt as if he couldn't breathe. Time dilated, and his mouth just dropped open. He vaguely registered a glass falling and breaking on the thin carpeting.


Spock too, looked stunned and seemingly without volition he stepped closer. Intimately close, which was pretty close given how they usually stood.


“Spock.” Jim said, his voice husky and soft.


“Yes, Jim?” Spock's hand drifted up to his waist and the dreamy feeling intensified. It just felt good, he didn't even question it. Jim closed his eyes, let his head drop back. It was like the best drug ever, times ten.


Spock leaned in, his hot breath fanning across Jim's exposed throat. His hands roamed up and down Jim's body, underneath his shirt. Soon he peeled the shirt off, his hot fingers continuing their sensual motions. Jim arched back beneath the ministrations, his senses turned up to 11. All he could feel was Spock: his fingers, his breath, his psychic presence, his lips timidly pressing against his collarbone.


He groaned aloud when he felt Spock undo the catch of his pants, rolling them down, grabbing his hard cock.


Hard cock?


Jim finally managed a few coherent thoughts in a row and put his hand on Spock's chest. He pushed him away a little, though they were still only inches apart. Kissing distance.


“Spock, what is going on?”


Spock looked at him with fevered eyes that suddenly turned cool, as if taking in the situation for the first time. He shoved Jim back roughly, making him stumble onto the bed.




Spock gathered himself up, and gave him another cold look, then turned and left.


Jim said dazedly on the bed, wondering what the hell had just happened.




The red sand filled his mouth and lungs, leaving a metallic taste trailing down his throat. He felt the ahn-woon catch around his legs and he went down.


It was so hot, he was moving so slowly, and Spock was driven by madness beyond his control. In a blink, Spock was over him tightening the ligature, this time around his neck. Before it killed him though, he stopped. With hardly an effort, Spock tore the shirt off him with one hand and held him down with the other. The fine sand was scalding against his bare skin. Spock's hand felt like a brand against his flesh.


His sharp teeth sunk into his shoulder, and he only seemed satisfied when a bright gout of blood issued forth. His tongue snaking across the small punctures.


His burning eyes bore into him, with a force that would have pinned him even if Spock's weight wasn't. He tore off Jim's pants now too. He lay naked on the burning sands; ancient rocks and a handful of Vulcans bearing witness.


You are mine now, Jim Kirk. Do you understand what it means to belong to a Vulcan?” The voice pervasive, digging into his very thoughts. He couldn't even shake his head, an extreme heaviness filling his limbs, lead in his veins.


You will cool me in the burning and be subject to me.”


He couldn't speak, but wondered what he got out of it. The burning apparition above him seemed to pick up the thought immediately.


Pleasure and power beyond your human reckoning.” A wicked, subtle smile crossed the Vulcan's face and Jim's body was filled with a delight and pain that overwhelmed. It was horrible, it was beautiful. All he could do was lay there, as Spock used his body in every way he desired, mentally and physically. He could feel Spock fucking him in every sense. He could feel the Vulcan cock sawing in and out of him, that unto itself strange, erotic, and uncomfortable simultaneously. And his mind, probing every bit of Jim there was. No secrets hidden, and that was almost worse for someone who controlled his own image nearly as much as the Vulcan above him.


You have no power here, remember it and you may survive.”


Jim sat bolt upright, his body sheeted in sweat and his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest.


“What the hell?” he muttered.


He his the com button near the bed.


“Yes, captain?” chirped the gamma shift officer.


“ETA to Altair 6?”


“Twelve point four hours, sir.”


“Thank you, Kirk out.”


It was 0430 and he decided to go to the pool for a swim. He wasn't going to sleep again, not after that.




McCoy and M'Benga, newly assigned, looked over the charts.


“I don't understand,” McCoy said gruffly.


“Here and here,” M'Benga gestured. “It indicates a high level of telepathic usage. This is unusual, given the method of resolution.”


McCoy peered closer. “You mean, because of the combat?”


“Correct. It shouldn't be like that. If it had been resolved by conventional means, than you would see this, a reflection of the maturing of the marital link.”


“Through sex?”


M'Benga rubbed his chin pensively. “Or intense mental contact. The conventional resolution of Pon Farr is through both, sex and telepathy.” He looked puzzled and then looked at McCoy.


“Does Spock have a relationship with anyone that you know of? Another link that would have sustained him after the severing of his link with T'Pring?”


McCoy made a surprised face. “To my knowledge he's as chaste as, well, a Vulcan. I think you should talk to him. I am sure you have noticed, we don't...ah, really get along too well.”


M'Benga laughed a little. “I had noticed. I'll order him for another check up.”


“Have fun with that!” Bones said and retreated to the relative safety of his office.




“Alright, look at the lights please.” M'Benga said congenially.


The stone faced Vulcan complied.


“Focus on the lights, engage in light meditation up to level three.”


After a short while M'Benga flicked a few switches and then removed the electrodes from Spock's face.


“All done.”


Spock didn't reply and simply stood up from the testing bed.


“Wait, Spock.”


He turned expectantly, but still didn't speak.


“Your last results indicated a lot of telepathic activity. The preliminaries of this one indicate the same. I am curious as to the explanation.”


“Dr. M'Benga, I appreciate your knowledge of Vulcan medicine, but you will cease to pry. Your interference is unwarranted and unnecessary. You and Dr. McCoy have signed off that I am fit. It is so.”


“Now you wait just a moment, sir. You may outrank me, but my concerns have legitimate grounds and you will answer for them,” M'Benga said heatedly.


Spock looked thoughtful, then stared at the wall, but answered all the same. “Now that my bond is severed to T'Pring, I find a secondary link has become more intense. It is of no consequence.”


“With whom?” the doctor asked.


“It is not within your grounds to violate their privacy. I will not answer.”


“They are aware of what is happening, whoever this person may be? You are fully aware of the possible consequences of this?”


Spock rewarded his curiosity with an eyebrow and a hard gaze.


“If that is all, I will be returning to my duties.”


He didn't wait for an acknowledgment.




Jim signed off on some crap. Requisitions for supplies from the Potemkin when they rendezvoused at Altair.


Fucking reception. He was tired to say the least. His unsettling dreams weren't far from his mind today.

Sitting here, on his bridge, which was sacred, he could still feel a myriad of sensations.


A thrust like a knife through water, that effortless, except it was his flesh being rent instead. He couldn't defend himself, was uncertain he even wanted to.


“Captain?” A smiley yeoman, what was his name, Carlson?




“The list of crewman attending the inauguration.”


This is what it means to belong to a Vulcan. Give yourself to me, or I will take you.” Arms pinned over his head in shackles that may as well have been steel instead of bone and sinew.


“Thank you, yeoman.” He turned and hit a switch on the arm of his chair. “Landing party: Uhura, Sulu,...”


Do you give yourself freely?”


“... Bagley, Silea, report to the conference room immediately.”


Yes. Yes, Spock.” Capitulation, complete and total.


“Kirk out.”


He stood up, straightened his shirt and gestured for his replacement. As he stepped on to the turbolift, he wiped away the sheen of sweat he could feel on his upper lip. He hoped he didn't look how he felt.




Spit polish and shine. McCoy yanked on the collar of his dress uniform. It really did feel like it was trying to squeeze the life out of him. He had complained more times that he could count to the quartermaster, who insisted that the jacket measured to specification including the collar. It didn't feel that way.


He glanced over. Spock looked like someone shit in his plomeek soup, though he wouldn't admit to it. He figured he was bent over his tête-á- tête with M'Benga. He didn't envy giving up that duty, no siree.


Jim was the puzzle to him today. He looked like he was pulled too tight. A tenseness around the eyes, a lack of vitality. Jim didn't live for these sorts of affairs, but he usually played them right. And he particularly needed to shine now, to make up for his tardiness.


The whole thing didn't click right. Jim and Spock, not at odds, but certainly not together the way they usually were.


The ceremony was so boring Bones thought he might keel over. All that huff and puff from Komack and all they had to do was stand here and watch some guy get a sash. The only upside was the food afterwards. He couldn't wait. Stupid food cubes. It didn't matter what shape they were and what chemical they poured on top, they all tasted like food cubes.


Finally, the windbag on the stage shut up. His wife, some gorgeous young thing, dripping with jewelery, walked up and took his arm. Altairians were typical humanoids. Nothing special from the reports he read. Nope, just another one of those mysteriously human parallel species. It was enough to make a man drink, that kind of coincidence.


The couple walked down an aisle in the middle of the auditorium, followed by his officers, retainers, and whatever all those other people did for him.


Everyone went shortly to some kind of ballroom, and the real reason they were here would begin. Bolster non-Sol based support for Starfleet. It would be much easier once he had his drink in hand. He had heard through the scuttlebutt they had this stuff called Altair Water here, and that it was well worth the light years. He certainly hoped so. Something had to be.





Jim's teeth felt like they were about to be pulverized if he smiled one more time. He could feel the corners of his lips pinching, making the smile crueler, more calculating. His eyes, too. They felt tired and dull.


And that is when she finally walked up to him. He knew she had been looking at him all night. The lady in waiting to the president's wife, or whatever she was. The first lady (he didn't know what her actual title was yet) had been giving him eyes, but no lay was worth that level of hassle and eventually she had drifted off.


But not her. She just remained in orbit all evening. The mood of the soirée was finally shifting, from networking to relaxed. He was on his second Altair water. He had been waiting until now to drink. The liquors chief aspect seemed to be a cooling, bitter astringency, but the side effects so far seemed to be amazing. He felt lighter, not drunker. Like a better version of himself. Which was exactly what he needed.


Her eyes were sloe, her hair purple, and her figure just right. He couldn't think of a better way to get the aftertaste of the past few nights out of his system.


“James Kirk, Enterprise.” He held out his hand. She offered hers, but not to shake. He pressed it to his lips, half mocking, half serious.


“I know. I've been listening all night.”


He smiled his most seductive smile. Forceful, but sweet. Dark and sticky. “You'll forgive me if I don't have much to say. It's been a long evening.”


“You'll forgive me if I come out and say that I didn't come over here for the conversation.”


“I see we are in agreement.”


“Quite.” She showed her teeth. Her mouth looked soft and wet. She put her hand on his arm.


“Have you been shown your quarters yet?”


“Ah, no actually.” His yeoman had delivered his bags, he had gone straight to the ceremony.


Everything about her got just a little softer. “Then allow me to be the one to do so. Follow me.” She made a playful crook with her finger and he went gladly.


The room looked opulent from what he could see, the lights preset to come on at a low level, casting shadows in all the corners. It was enough light for the task at hand though.


“This is is the sitting area.” She took off her jewelery and set it a table near to a sofa.


“Very lovely.”




She stood near the bed and starting unfastening her top. When it hit the ground, she said, “This is the bedroom.”


“So I see.” He replied, reaching for the fastening of his collar.

When she was sitting nude on the bed, legs spread, he stopped worrying about everything and enjoyed himself.


They understood each other perfectly. Both of them living calculated, highly public existences, and they knew exactly how to please each other - a wonderful, no strings attached fuck.


When she had gotten what she came for (and so did he), she slipped out of the bed and began putting on her elaborate, yet curiously naked dress. He propped himself up on his elbows.


“Do you need help?” A dangerous grey area, that implied more caring than there really was, but he was a gentleman.


And she knew. “No, thank you. I had a nice time. If you are ever on Altair 6 again, let me know.”


He smiled at her, golden. “I will. I had a good time, too.”


She laughed, and pecked him on the cheek. She finally pulled her hair up into a reasonable facsimile of her original hairdo, and slipped out the door with a coy wave.


He stood up and enjoyed the night air. The building wasn't climate controlled, it was built to compliment the natural environment. The room was lined with small, rectangular windows that allowed the cool air to spill in.


He closed his eyes, and let it fall over his sex sensitized skin. He didn't bother to suppress a sigh of satisfaction. He moved over to his carry-all to fish out his pajamas and hit the shower. He had no doubt the shower would be as wonderful as the rest of the amenities.


Then he noticed, how could he have missed it? He looked into the shadows, let his eyes adjust.


Spock, immobile, like a goddamn sphinx. In a chair, in a corner, nearly obscured by shadow.


It was automatic, he didn't even think about it, but suddenly he was an inch from that face, and a million needles of rage flushed his skin.




His had struck with all of his strength, across that face. Spock's expression didn't change, but a dull green hand print appeared.


“You son of a bitch!”


He could hear Spock breathing heavily in the dark. He grabbed his clothes and sat down on the bed, suddenly self-conscious of his nudity. Yanked them on, with jerky movements.


“Spock, what the hell are you doing here?” He leaned his head into his hands, sleeplessness catching up suddenly.


Spock stood up gingerly, and walked closer, but not too close. No, he needed to keep his distance.

“Start talking, or I throw your ass in the brig.” He was so furious. Spock in here, with her, and in his head, and suddenly it was just too much.


“Captain.” He faltered. “Jim.”


He looked acutely uncomfortable, and Jim felt not one ounce of sympathy.


“As you know, my marital link to T'Pring, she who would be my wife, was broken.”

“Yep, I was there, and then you tried to kill me. I remember quite clearly, human frailty notwithstanding,” Jim said with a snap.


Spock swallowed visibly, and when he spoke his voice was scraping gravel. “Do you not see what has happened?”


“No, I don't. Explain in a way I can understand.”


“Our minds are exceptionally compatible.”




“Now they come together, as mine and T'Pring's did.” Spock concluded. So pat.


“And the dreams? Will they go away?” Two was quite enough, the thought of more gave him a sinking feeling.


“Yes. I believe so.”


“What do they mean? Why?” He asked tiredly, almost not caring.


“My mind required consummation.”


“What about your body?”


“It is of lesser concern than the mind.” Jim could sense there was more, the faintest edge of request somewhere beneath all of that Vulcan control. The Vulcan's thoughts were bubbling up slowly in his mind, surfacing to where he could see them.


“You want something, something that you don't even understand.” It really just pissed him off. He felt a throb off Spock, his awareness of him suddenly heightened. Shame, desire, lust, fear, all radiating off him. And to think, a half an hour ago, he hadn't even noticed him sitting silently, watching him fuck some person.


Spock turned to him, his face as open as his mind now. “I love you, Jim. I don't understand, but it is true and I am here.”


How he had craved the Vulcan's loyalty and friendship since he'd met him, and now to have all turned on him in such an ugly way.


“Those...psychic trysts. They were violent, ugly. And now you want...”


Spock's hands fluttered impotently, as if they wanted to reach to him. “It was the plak tow, it was not entirely gone. I don't want those things. I would,” He hesitated. “I would choose to belong to you.” He seemed so confused.


It softened him. This was Spock. Spock who wouldn't hurt a fly, who would barely kill in self-defense.


“Tell me about it. Why did you do that? Why didn't you even ask?”


“Does your unconscious mind ask for permission to imagine its fantasies? Its desires? Are you even capable of knowing them all?” Spock asked.


“No, no, I am not.” He looked over at him. He looked lost, and it made him look young, younger than he would have expected. It was easy to read him now, like pages in a book. How odd to be empathizing with Spock caught in the morass that was love and desire.


Spock looked out into the darkness of the room. “On my planet, the ceremony would normally have been concluded by my symbolically taking T'Pring on the sands.”


“Like in the dream.”


“Correct. My mind would have cemented the link, and we would have retired to a private location. In ancient history, the taking was not symbolic. It was quite literal. Pon Farr was a way to bring others into the fold, to expand your clan. Some were capable of balancing many links, or sustaining them as long as necessary, using the Pon Farr to bind someone new and discarding the old at will.”


“Thank you for the history lesson, Mr. Spock. I think perhaps I understand a little better now.” Jim quested with his mind experimentally.


Spock moved. Jim smiled.


“This link, it could be very useful.” He looked over at the Vulcan, lion eyes bright.


“Yes, Jim. It could be.”


“You wouldn't be allowed to do what you did today, I want that clear.”


Spock looked at him with a challenge in his eyes. “When I show you the Vulcan way of pleasure, I will have no need to.” Jim could feel some kind of empathic force behind the words.


“That, what is that?” This could also be very useful. It embarrassed Spock that he was asking. Interesting.


“It is a form of telepathic persuasion. I apologize,” Spock said softly.


“You are just full of surprises, aren't you?” Jim asked low.


“You will know soon enough, if the link isn't dissolved.” Jim could sense his reluctance to bring it up, an almost desperation.




“Vulcan specialists.” Jim caught spirals of information, Spock wasn't controlling at all.


“That would take too long, I would-”


“Lose the Enterprise. I calculate a 95.223% probability, ” Spock finished dully.


“Not acceptable.”




Jim's mental wheels were spinning. The dreams had been frightening, but if he was truthful, arousing. He had consented, he remembered that. No doubt Spock did, too. Moreover, the options seemed to be dwindling rapidly. What if?


Spock looked over at him, a light in his eyes.


“What if we kept it in place, at least until the end of the mission?”


Spock lifted his brows. “It is possible.”


“It could be dissolved, or otherwise dealt with then?” Jim asked, wanting to be sure. Regardless, he wouldn't risk his captaincy. Not now, not then. And he was sure Spock understood.


“I don't want to leave the ship either, Jim.”


He sat down close to him, put his arm around the narrow shoulders. “I know. I want things to stay the same. You, me, the ship. It's perfect.”


Spock looked over at him. “Not all change is bad.” Spock's eyes were so expressive, lovely when they were alone, and he didn't mask himself. His lips rested in a slack line, his face relaxed as it often was when it was just the two of them.


His eyes met Spock's. When wasn't it just the two of them? Even in a crowded room, Spock always looked at him this way, and it always made the world narrow the same way it did now.


“Then let's just keep things mostly the same. A reasonable compromise.” He let his fingers roam to the Vulcan's face. His fingers brushing against his shadow of a beard.


“Jim,” Spock said. His voice low and husky. It made Jim's flesh shiver, reminding his body of all the things that had happened before, even if they had been only in his head.


Jim ran his fingers over his lips again, and pushed his fingers inside the ultra-hot mouth. Spock sucked eagerly, enthusiasm and skill gaining as he went along. The sensation zipped straight to his groin.


Watching him was almost more erotic that the experience. He practically radiated desire, all of his attention focused on his task at hand. He looked more debauched than he would have thought a Vulcan capable of, and that too was arousing.


“Do you know what it means to belong to a human?” Jim asked, standing up. Two could play that game. It was time to teach Spock some lessons now.


Spock just flicked his eyes up, but didn't say anything.


“Kneel in front of me.” Spock complied, looking slightly breathless.


“Unzip my pants.” The long, pale hands reached up and pulled apart the fastenings.


“Good. Now pull my cock out.” Jim saw Spock take a deep breath, his whole being seemed to vibrate with excitement, mentally and physically.


“Do you like it?” It lay half-hard in Spock's palm.




“Show me that you like it. Give it a kiss.”


Spock gave the head a little peck, and Jim deliberately twitched in response. Spock looked a little surprised. He smiled and ran his hand through the dark hair, to let him know it was a joke.

The Vulcan's eyes glittered when they caught his, and his penis surged as it became fully hard. Spock began to run his tongue up and down the length, and around the head.


“Yes, suck it.” He began to suck it in earnest now, his eyes closed. A fucking hot sight. His cock going in and out of that hot mouth, one of Spock's hands wrapped around the base. Jim reached down and held his balls tight.


“Oh yeah.” He put his hand on Spock's shoulder and began to move faster. Spock put his hand on Jim's hip and took it all in.


“Oh. I'm coming! Fuck!” Jim swore. Spock sucked hard, as if to get the last drop, and it made Jim's guts ache but he let him.


Spock leaned his head on Jim's now sweaty flank. Jim stroked Spock soothingly, and looked down at him. He looked up with a coy non-smile.


“Okay, stand up now. I think I'm tired of this game.” Jim waved his hand upwards.


“I wasn't aware we were playing one.” Spock said, deadpan.


“Come here.” He smiled, his whole body relaxed.


Spock stood up swiftly. Jim pressed his mouth against the Vulcan's. He tasted semen, and a hint of Altair Water. Spock had been drinking! Spock caught his surprise and broadcast his sense of amusement to Jim.


Jim retrieved himself, and pulled back slightly. “This is very weird, but I think I like it.”


“That is good, as the situation will not be changing anytime soon.” Spock tightened his arms around Jim.


“We'll manage. Starfleet's finest, that is what we do.” Jim said flippantly.


“I don't think they intended managing exactly this situation.” Spock replied, his nose prodding Jim at the base of his skull.


Jim untangled himself from the arms around him. “I'm tired, Spock. You have kept me up the past few nights. I have got to sleep tonight.” He stripped off his clothes again, and pulled on the bedding.


“Sleep then. Nothing will disturb you.” Spock said, and touched Jim on the forehead.


“Thank you. Good night, Spock.” The Vulcan began to walk away in the darkness.




He turned, and waited, expectant.


“I would give my life for you, I have already. To give my body, my...soul if there is such a thing, seems like a small price to pay for you. I have paid it, I would pay it again. I wanted you to know that.” Jim said softly to the shadows.


“I know, thy'la. And I would do the same for you. Sleep well. I will be here in the morning.”


“Constant as the northern star. That is my Spock.”


“Good night.” Spock inclined his head and left.


Jim settled into the bed, and swiftly fell asleep, with nary a dream in sight. Enveloped in a sense of protection that he hadn't felt since he was a child, and had never expected to feel again.















You must login (register) to review.