Jim was all for creative homework, but being told to join the chess club by his Battle Strategies and Tactics professor and then write an essay on how an understanding of the game could assist in tactical warfare, he decided, was stretching credibility a bit.
By the time Jim arrived at the club room, it was already bustling with over fifty cadets, and amidst the sea of red, stood out the one person in a professor’s uniform. It reminded Jim of the reverse of one of those black and white pictures where one small part had been colored, but in this case everything was in color except for one black and white detail: the Vulcan in gray with his alabaster skin and black hair, looking drop dead gorgeous in a completely Vulcan kind of way. Jim zeroed in on him, remembering to close his mouth as he approached and was halfway across the room – working his way between all the tables that had been set up for matches – when their eyes met, and Jim smiled.
“What’s the form here, sir?” Jim asked him. “It’s my first time – Professor Lenska sent me.”
The Vulcan’s right eyebrow winged up. “Indeed? I trust you have at least a fundamental understanding of the game?”
Jim grinned. “I was school champion, but that’s not saying much: it was a small rural school in Iowa. I haven’t played since.”
“In that case, I will evaluate your standard and then assign you a partner of commensurate ability.”
Perfect, Jim thought. At least he’d get one game with him and as long as he could hold his own, he’d have a captive audience.
“Jim Kirk. And yours?” Jim watched with amusement as one of the Vulcan’s eyebrows delicately lifted, as though he weren’t expecting the cadet to be interested in who he was.
Around them, people began to sit in pairs at the tables – about half of which had the standard 2D boards, and the rest, the 3D that Jim was familiar with.
“Which do you prefer?” Spock asked him, indicating the two options.
“Uh, 3D’s good.”
Jim sat down and watched Spock gracefully take a seat opposite. The uniform looked good on him, accentuating his broad shoulders and chest, his slim waist and long legs. He idly imagined peeling it off him in the throes of passion.
A hush had fallen across the room as the games began. “I will take black,” Spock said quietly, giving Jim the first move.
Jim had studied all the standard chess moves as well as advanced chess strategy when he’d been at school, but he’d gotten fed-up with the game as no-one was close to his standard and wiping the floor with his opponents got to be boring. Since it had been five years since he’d last played, he’d taken time to revise the game before coming; so he easily recognized many of Spock’s maneuvers and was able to counter them with his own style of play, which he more or less made up as he went along.
Spock’s pieces were falling at about twice the speed of Jim’s and he had to work hard not to smirk.
“You were, I believe, being somewhat disingenuous, Cadet Kirk,” Spock said when his second rook fell and his king was cornered. “I suggest in the next round you seat yourself with one of the advanced players. While your style was highly illogical, your standard of play appears to be at master level.”
That surprised Jim. “Really?”
Spock looked at him dubiously. “You were unaware?”
Jim grinned. “Like I said, small rural school in Iowa.” He stood up. “Thanks, Spock. Maybe you’ll get to beat the ass off me next time.” With those words, he gently palmed Spock’s shoulder. The last expression he saw on the Vulcan’s face before going off to find himself another opponent was that eyebrow heading up towards his bangs again. It made him smile.
Jim loved hand-to-hand combat and worked hard on learning all the different styles he could use to both attack and defend. He was a natural, having an exceptional kinesthetic sense that allowed him to make the best use of bodily position, weight and co-ordination to achieve a high rate of success against his opponents. He was one of only a small handful of cadets who was moved to the advanced class halfway through his second year, all the others specializing in security.
The class rotated the instructors to give cadets exposure to a wide variety of martial arts and combat styles. So Jim was delighted when he showed up for his third class to find his favorite Vulcan doing warm-up exercises at the front.
He’d gotten to know Spock through the chess club, which he’d continued to attend even after he’d completed his assignment and gotten top marks for it. Although it was normal practice to rotate partners, having fallen in lust with him, Jim managed to ensure he got in a game with Spock most weeks.
If Spock looked pretty damn good in his uniform, he looked fucking sexy in work-out clothes, apparently preferring form-fitting wear to the more traditional style worn by Terran martial arts specialists. Jim also preferred the tight pants – his in red complete with the StarFleet logo on the hip – choosing to eschew a jacket and go topless instead.
“Spock,” he said, smiling warmly.
The Vulcan looked up to acknowledge him. “Cadet Kirk,” he said and then continued with his exercises.
Jim made sure he was at the front of the class and quietly hoped Spock would pick him to spar with. He wasn’t disappointed.
At first, Jim found himself seriously out-matched, taking tumble after tumble as Spock appeared not to hold back. But he quickly divined the Vulcan’s style and started to use methods to overcome Spock’s natural advantages. At first, the victories were small, but when he finally managed to throw Spock and pin him, he felt elated and was unable to hold back a grin of victory.
As the Vulcan stood, looking slightly dazed, Jim gently cupped Spock’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”
Spock’s eyes seemed to clear. “I am unharmed. Your approach is most…unorthodox.”
Jim grinned. Very little about him was orthodox.
Jim had heard about it, but had never witnessed it: groups of xenophobic thugs coming into the city – the most diverse on the planet due to its being home to both StarFleet and the Federation council – looking for aliens to beat up. It was a sick practice and those who were caught were dealt with severely. But there never seemed to be an end to them, their hatred stirred up by secretive Earthist preachers who wanted to keep the Terran human genetic pool alien-free.
In retrospect, Spock was always going to be a target of that kind of fanatical group, his unique mixed heritage well-known. But even so, it shocked Jim to the core when it happened.
It was late and Jim had been in town having met up with Bones at a bar. In an ironic twist – because in the almost three years Jim had known Bones, he never even tried to score – his friend managed to pull a local girl on his first try, leaving Jim to fend for himself. Not seeing anyone of interest, he headed back to campus. It wasn’t far from the main entrance that he head a scuffle down a side street. By the light of the lamp he saw six men in a circle and realized they were attacking someone on the ground, kicking and punching their victim.
Without a second thought, he dashed down the street fueled by adrenaline, one hand pulling out the portable hypo he carried everywhere in case of a severe allergic reaction, while with the other went for his communicator, pressing the emergency transponder and putting it, still activated, back into his pocket.
“Stand back or I’ll phaser each you into oblivion,” he shouted, wielding the hypo, the metal glinting menacingly by the light of a nearby lamp.
All of them sprung around to face him. A small, wiry man with swarthy looks stepped forward. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m armed and extremely dangerous,” Jim countered. “There may be six of you, but I could take every one of you out with this right now!” He hoped his voice was carrying okay to his communicator still in his pocket. He was counting on StarFleet security showing up to get him out of this.
“Yeah? With that piddly thing?” swarthy said.
Jim stood his ground. “It might look piddly, but it’s a StarFleet prototype we’re testing – much smaller and twice as powerful as standard phasers. I’ve got this one set to kill.”
Swarthy took a step forward. “You’re only a cadet – they wouldn’t give you something like that.”
“No? Well, why don’t you give me a chance to show you.” He lifted his arm and aimed the cylinder at the man, his hand rock-steady. He was going to have to remember to thank Gary for all the poker games they’d played, as not one muscle on his face gave his bluff away.
The man’s gaze dropped to Jim’s hand and his step faltered, glancing back at the others to gauge their reaction. One of the others shrugged. Just when it looked as though Swarthy was going to risk it, a group of security officers beamed in and within seconds they’d all been knocked out.
“Thanks guys,” Jim said, running over to help their victim. When he saw it was Spock, his blood went cold. Relief washed over him when he confirmed Spock was alive, but only semi-conscious – drugged – and his face was battered and bruised. Jim didn’t even want to think what the rest of his body was like.
He pulled out his communicator. “This is an emergency, I need me and an injured Vulcan to be beamed to StarFleet medical, stat!” Kneeling next to Spock, he gently took one of his hands in his own, running his fingers over the hot skin reassuringly. “I’ve got you, Spock. It’s gonna be okay.” For a moment, Spock’s eyes seemed to focus and their gazes met just as he felt the pull of the transporter.
As soon as they materialized, Spock was surrounded and Jim had to let go of him as he was carried away on an antigrav gurney.
“I’m going to need to get some details from you,” a nurse said, approaching Jim. “After that, you should go back to your dorm and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do waiting here.”
He gave his name and serial number, and an account of the event. That done he asked, “Will someone let me know how he’s doing?”
“Sure, I’ll make a note of it on the report.”
As Jim walked back to his dorm, it seemed as if he could still feel the heat of Spock’s hand in his.
“He was damn lucky you found him, Jim,” Bones told him the next day. “The drug they used on him is toxic to Vulcans. By rights he should be dead, but his crazy hybrid physiology delayed the effects.”
“Ironic considering it was his hybrid physiology that they had a problem with in the first place, Jim said," sickened by the thought. “Have you heard what’s going to happen to them? No-one’s got back to me yet.”
“It’s in the medical report. Because the attack was on a Vulcan citizen, Ambassador Sarek has requested they be sent to Vulcan for trial and if convicted, they'll be sent to one of their own penal institutes for ‘rehabilitation’,” Bones explained.
Jim smiled at his use of air quotes. “If convicted? I don't think any lawyer would be able to get them off. And being constantly surrounded by aliens – I can’t think of a better – or more apt – punishment. So, when can I see Spock?”
Bones gave Jim a look.
“What?” Jim asked, trying to feign innocence.
“I know that look, Jim. And forget it, he’s a goddamn Vulcan. You don’t stand a cat in hell’s chance.”
“Thank you for meeting me, Cadet Kirk.” Spock said looking up as Jim took the seat opposite him.
Jim knew he had it bad when just the sight of Spock made his pulse quicken. Never in his life had he fallen for someone quite so spectacularly as he’d fallen for Spock.
The café they were in was only a stone’s throw from the Academy, yet never seemed to be so busy there weren’t any tables. “Sure,” he said nonchalantly as he sat down. “And call me Jim. So, how are you…” he bit down on the word ‘feeling’, knowing the kind of answer he’d get to a question like that.
“I am functional.”
“Functional, is that all?” Jim asked, searching for signs of the attack. The bruises on his face had gone, at least.
“That is to say, in your parlance, I am well. I have already placed an order for mint tea.”
Jim perused the menu and picked out a double espresso – something he could only indulge in when Bones wasn’t around – and sent the order to the counter staff.
“I wished to thank you for your timely intervention. I owe my life to you. However, I read the report – I believe you took an unnecessary risk.”
“Unnecessary? It saved your life, so it was worth it.”
“It is illogical to enter a potentially violent confrontation, unarmed, when you were clearly outnumbered.”
“Ah, but I had this,” Jim said with a grin, pulling out his allergy hypo.
“It was fortunate they were fooled by your bluff or you could have incurred significant personal injury – or worse – at their hands,” Spock chided.
Jim could see the argument wasn’t going to go anywhere. “So I hear some bigwig Vulcan got the green light to send them to Vulcan, huh? I bet they’re going to love that!”
“Their feelings on the matter are immaterial. The ‘bigwig Vulcan’ you mention is my father.”
“Oops, sorry!” Jim said with an embarrassed smile and took a sip of the drink that had just been delivered. Dark, rich and bitter, he savored the viscous liquid as it slid across his tongue.
“No matter,” Spock said dismissively.
“So what does your dad do?”
Spock provided Jim with a list of duties that then got them into a discussion about Federation politics and then to Starfleet and its space exploration policy, and before Jim knew it, he’d been sitting there for two hours. It was only his alarm going off to remind him of an afternoon class on ‘weapons systems of non-Federation members’ that prevented him staying there all afternoon.
Regretfully, Jim stood. “Sorry, Spock, but I have to get to class. I’d skip it but I need all the info I can get as I’m re-taking the Kobayashi Maru next week. Third time’s a charm!” he grinned.
“Indeed?” Spock said, giving him one of what Jim had come to think of his ‘inscrutable looks’.
“Maybe catch you at chess club,” Jim said with a smile. He glanced down to where Spock’s hands were clasped lightly on the table top and suddenly remembered that moment when he’d taken Spock’s hand and had felt the super-hot skin beneath his fingertips. On an impulse, he quietly added, “Glad you’re okay, Spock,” and then briefly pressed his hand over Spock’s, his thumb gently stroking the deceptively soft skin, and then he was gone before the Vulcan could react.
They’d been back two weeks and the craziness still hadn’t abated. The campus, strictly patrolled by security to keep the media out, had become a sanctuary, even though its emptiness was a powerful reminder of all those who would never return from that fateful call to Vulcan.
The bridge crew – with the exception of Spock – plus Bones and Scotty, had taken to eaten evening meals together at the main Academy refectory, not just as a gesture of solidarity, but from a need to be with people who understood. Jim had once read a book about a soldier in the First World War and how when he returned home to England on leave, he hadn’t been able to handle the disparity between the horror of trench warfare and the obliviousness of those safe in their homes with no notion of the atrocities committed and the sheer normality of their lives. He totally understood that sentiment now as did all his colleagues.
Spock was notable by his absence – Jim hadn’t seen him at all around campus. Neither had Jim tried to contact Spock after he’d asked Uhura about him and she’d just pursed her lips and said he needed space.
Finally, after checking every day for sixteen days, Spock’s online schedule showed he was going to be in that day. Jim wondered whether he’d come in to clear out his office – no doubt Spock would want to join what was left of his people in setting up their new colony. Jim needed to see him before he shipped out because he had some unfinished business with the Vulcan.
At his door, Jim chimed and reflexively pulled down his tunic top to straighten it.
The door slid open to the sight of Spock sitting at his desk with a pile of padds and data disks in front of him.
“Hi, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Jim said with a smile as he stepped over the threshold, his heartrate accelerating, his palms, clammy. Why he should feel nervous, he had no idea.
“I am, as you would say, catching up, though there is nothing that requires my urgent attention. I believe congratulations are in order for your permanent promotion to Captain.”
Jim felt himself flush and smiled through it. “Yeah, thanks. Still haven’t gotten my head around it yet. May I?” he asked indicating one of the seats at Spock’s desk. When the Vulcan nodded he sat down. “So, I was hoping you might consider the post of First Officer.”
“I have decided to resign my commission and fulfill my duties to the Vulcan people.”
Jim nodded, his stomach dropping in disappointment. “Yeah, I figured you might.” A thought occurred to him. “What about Uhura?”
“I terminated our relationship.”
“Oh.” The perfunctory way Spock answered told Jim not to ask any further questions about it. So instead he looked down and took a deep breath. “Look, I came here because I never got a chance to apologize—”
“None is required,” Spock cut in.
“But the stuff I said—”
“—Was merely your way of demonstrating, most efficiently, that I was emotionally compromised and therefore unable to make effective command decisions.”
“Okay, maybe you don’t need to hear it, but I need to say it: What I said about your mom and your relationship with her was totally out of line and I never for one moment believed…” he paused wondering if Spock would allow him to say the words and not remind him that Vulcans don’t do emotions.
“…that I didn’t love her?” Spock interrupted, finishing off Jim’s unspoken comment. “You are correct, I loved her very much.”
Jim saw Spock swallow hard, the only outward manifestation of what must be going on inside him.
“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated.
“Your apology is accepted.”
Jim sat there wondering what to say next. It had become such a big issue, needing to say that to Spock, that he hadn’t actually thought what else he’d say beyond it. If Spock were going, this could very well be the last time he saw him and he didn’t want their meeting to end so soon.
“I’m going to miss…” you…“our chess games,” he said to fill the silence that had suddenly stretched between them. He cursed his unsteady voice which gave away some of what he was feeling.
“Would you care for a match?” Spock asked. The question was so unexpected it momentarily caught Jim off-guard.
“Yeah! I would,” he grinned. “Er…do you have a board here?” he asked, glancing around.
Spock got up and walked over to a cabinet and opening the doors, pulled out a 3D board and a box. “My desk is too wide for us to play comfortably,” Spock said, taking it over to a small round table set against one wall.
“Who was white last time?” Jim asked as they set the board up.
“You were. Though the advantage was lost as I check-mated you within fifteen minutes.”
Jim remembered that: with his third kobayashi maru set for the following day, his mind hadn’t been on the game. That, and the fact he was trying not to think about how much he wanted Spock, worried it might show on his face.
“Yeah, not one of my more triumphant moments. I’m glad you’ll have this game to remember as our last one, instead.”
“Should I infer from that, that you intend to take more than a quarter of an hour to finish?”
Jim grinned and tried not to think about the double entendre in Spock’s comment. “Well, let’s see…”
In the end, the game lasted over an hour and Spock won. There were two times when Jim could have checkmated Spock, but he hadn’t wanted the game to end, so hadn’t pressed the advantage; and he’d seen at least one earlier occasion where Spock also failed to press an advantage that would have seen him win in three moves.
At the end of it, Jim sat looking through the board at Spock, feeling an ache in his chest. He swallowed hard. “Well, I guess I better leave you to get on with your work.”
Spock didn’t say anything in response as he looked down at the black king he held.
“I hope it all goes well,” Jim said into the silence, feeling sad. He knew when he walked out of that room he was going to be leaving a part of himself behind; the better part of himself, he amended.
“I…thank you,” Spock said quietly, glancing up, his eyes dark and intense.
“Take care…and…keep in touch,” Jim said and quickly reached across to touch Spock’s hand where it lay on the table. Spock gasped and snatched it away.
“Sorry!” Jim said quickly. “I—”
“No matter,” Spock interrupted. “The reason for my absence has been due to the a break-down in my ability to control as a consequence of recent events.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated, standing up. This awkwardness is not how he wanted things to end between them – he’d really fucked up.
He walked over to the door and when he got to within its sensor range, it opened up for him. Turning around, he found Spock standing in the middle of the room, as though he’d followed him a few paces and then stopped.
Standing to attention, he adopted the ta’al. Quietly he said, “Commander Spock, it’s been an honor to know you. Live long and prosper.” Then he left.
He turned around, having just summoned an elevator, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. Spock stood in the doorway to his office.
“I wish to show you something,” Spock added by way of explanation.
Jim walked the short distance back along the corridor as Spock moved further into the room. Quietly, he followed him in, confused at Spock’s atypical behavior.
When the door closed behind Jim, Spock walked over to him and reaching out, gently caressed his cheek. Jim watched him unsure what this meant, but not daring to break the spell with words. Spock’s expression was impenetrable, his eyes not looking at him but rather at his own hand, as though it had just acted independently of him and he couldn’t quite believe its audacity.
Spock’s palm felt hot on his skin and his breath hitched as he felt fingertips trail from his face down his neck, sliding around the back and gently pulling him towards Spock.
Jim’s heartrate had doubled as he stared almost disbelievingly at Spock, taking in his intense, dark gaze now focused solely on him. When he saw Spock’s eyes drop to his lips, he knew for certain what was about to happen, and having wanted this for so long, surged forward, his arms going around the Vulcan and pulling him snug against him as their mouths mashed together in a hungry assault.
The contact was electric, Jim’s body lighting up at the longed-for contact, loving the exquisite sensation of Spock’s tongue hungrily fucking his mouth as one of his hand’s gripped Jim’s ass, kneading it. Jim was determined to get as much as he could from this one, desperate encounter before Spock left his life forever, wanting to make sure this was more than a quick frot session.
Pushing his hands between them, he managed to get to the zipper of Spock’s jacket and pulled it down until it was opened all the way. Another barrier lay beneath in the form of Spock’s undershirt, which he pushed his hands under to slide up the flat, muscular planes of Spock’s torso until his thumbs encountered two small nubs. As the calloused pads grazed over them, he felt a tremor run through Spock and for a moment, he’s tempted to break the kiss to taste them, but instead began to roll one back and forth between forefinger and thumb. His other hand slid down between them until he was palming Spock’s rock-hard cock through his pants, his wandering fingers getting the measure of him, feeling with a thrill as Spock pushed himself into the welcome touch.
A part of him couldn’t quite believe that he’d finally attained a long-held wish and another part was frantically trying not to think that this was going to be not just the first, but also their last time together: Spock’s parting goodbye gift to him.
Spock got Jim’s jacket off and unfastened his pants with the kind of quiet efficiency Jim had come to expect from the Vulcan – at least in his more professional endeavors. Breaking off from their kiss, Spock knelt, pulling down Jim’s pants and briefs and engulfing his cock in a fiery, wet heat that made Jim gasp.
“Fuck, Spock!” he whispered, staring down at the sight of the Vulcan rhythmically engulfing him, his fingers carding through the black cap of hair. Spock hummed in apparent approval sending delicious vibrations along the length of him.
Spock’s talents continued to impress Jim when, along with the best blow job he’d had in a long time, the Vulcan multitasked by undoing and removing Jim’s boots and the remainder of his clothes until he was wearing nothing but his tee. It thrilled Jim to know he was standing almost naked in a Vulcan professor’s office while said professor, still fully clothed, was weaving a blissful pattern of pleasure along the length of his cock.
The intensity of sensations were building up but Jim didn’t want it to end yet. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky with need.
Spock paused and looked up, his lips stretched obscenely around his glans.
“I want you to fuck me. Please.”
“Very well,” Spock said and pulling off him, stood. Jim felt bereft, the air feeling cool on his wet cock. “I have oil,” he said, walking over to a small sculpture carved in stone that stood on a plinth just behind his desk.
Not wanting any distance between him and Spock, Jim followed him, entirely unselfconscious in his semi-nudity.
“You keep oil in your office,” Jim smiled as he looked over Spock’s shoulder. “Handy.”
“It is a base to mix with the…” Spock stuttered to a halt when he turned, holding a small bottle, and stared at Jim, naked desire in his dark eyes, “…highly concentrated essential oils I use for my incense burner,” he finished, his voice having deepened immeasurably.
They kissed again, Spock fingers under Jim’s tee, stroking his back as he felt himself being gently pushed backwards towards the desk. Three steps and his ass hit its hard, synthwood edge, though he barely noticed as he concentrated on gaining access to his prize. As Spock put down the bottle of oil he’d retrieved, Jim didn’t break the kiss as he managed to get Spock’s zipper down, snaking his hand into the Vulcan’s tight briefs. With a feeling of euphoria, he wrapped his hand around Spock’s hot, hard shaft, earning a shudder for his efforts.
With no warning, Spock gripped Jim by the waist and as though he weighed nothing, lifted him so he was sitting on the desk, Spock standing between his splayed thighs. A hot fist gripped him and Jim couldn’t suppress a moan at the feel of the firm grip on his cock as Spock began to thrust into Jim’s hand.
Spock eventually broke the kiss and leaning down, took Jim’s cock back into his mouth, as one hand began to explore his balls, rolling them and gently tugging on them before beginning an exploration of the area behind. With a pleasurable sigh, Jim lay back on the desk, his hand uncaringly swiping anything in his way, to fall on the soft, carpeted floor. Once reclined, he pulled his legs to his chest, wanting to give Spock easy access, hoping the slender fingers might be replaced with his mouth.
The thought was answered as Spock’s began to lick down the length of him, swathing wetly over his balls and then further back, his ass-cheeks pulled apart for easier access. Jim’s eyes fluttered closed, noises of approval escaping him when the slightly rough tongue started to lave on and around his hole, creating exquisite sensations reverberating through him, setting him on fire. Unable to help himself, Jim reached out to take himself in hand, stroking himself slowly as Spock’s tongue worked its blissful magic on his ass.
“Fuck, yeah,” Jim whispered, leaning up to look, his abs bunching with his movement. He needed see the sight himself of Spock rimming him with unadorned enthusiasm; and when their eyes met, he found himself pulled into their depths, utterly mesmerized. “Your tongue, Spock, fuck!” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Jim felt a finger slyly join Spock’s tongue and then enter him. When he gripped it with his internal muscles, Spock let slip a gasp and added a second finger, stretching him. He was already close and let go of his cock, not wanting it to end too soon as his head thudded down to the table. But Spock seemed to have other ideas as he moved to take Jim in, lips sliding from tip to base in one languorous move. Jim groaned and arched wantonly as the Vulcan continued to prepare him, his flailing arms sending more items on the desk skittering to the floor.
Apparently satisfied, Spock released him and straightened up. The Vulcan stood there, still fully clothed in his professor’s uniform, all propriety gone as his cock hung obscenely from the front of his pants, all of which Jim found immeasurably thrilling.
“I will now penetrate you, Cadet Kirk,” Spock quietly announced, holding his cock and moving forward to press against the tight ring of muscle.
“Yes, Professor,” Jim hissed, his heart thudding hard in his chest. He wasn’t sure if that was a good guess, or whether Spock had just lifted that fantasy wholesale from his mind. Whichever, he honestly couldn’t remember being so turned on in his life.
He felt himself breached and then Spock was slowly sinking into the heated core of him, the silence of the office broken by Jim’s long, lush groan of rapture as wanting finally became reality.
Spock began to rock, grinding his body into Jim’s, alternating between gyrating his hips in slow, insistent circles, and strong, sensual thrusts. Spock pushed up his teeshirt to ruck under his arms, pulling on a nipple with one hand while taking his cock in the other and matching the strokes to the rhythm of his hips. Jim knew he was undone and surrendered to the inevitable as he felt the beginnings of orgasm unravel deep in his balls.
Unaware he’d closed them, his eyes snapped open when he felt fingers caress his face as light as butterfly wings.
“Jim,” Spock whispered his name almost reverentially. “I wish to…”
“Yes, do it,” Jim said, remembering the incredible intimacy he had felt with the sharing of minds with Spock’s older counterpart. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to cradle Spock in both his body and his mind.
The light touch firmed on his face, words quietly uttered in Vulcan, and suddenly there was an awareness of other sharing his mind, and he opened himself up completely and welcomed Spock in.
For someone not a telepath, the complete acceptance with which he welcomed Spock in, the incredible rightness of his touch, was felt by Jim profoundly. That he could now savor Spock’s arousal, feel the unqualified desire for Jim that he held in every fiber of his being, thrilled him to the core.
Each of them fed the other in a spiraling loop of sensation until they climaxed simultaneously in a toe-curling, pulsing release, Spock calling out Jim’s name like a cry of deliverance.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain.”
Jim swung his seat round at the sound of the familiar voice. “Permission granted.” It was all he could do to contain his utter joy that Spock had changed his mind and Jim wouldn’t, after all, be leaving a piece of his soul behind. Suddenly, the next five years took on a whole new complexion knowing Spock would now be by his side.
“As you have yet to select a first officer, respectfully, I would like to submit my candidacy. Should you desire, I can provide character references.”
Jim grinned at that. Spock was his own best character reference and later, in the privacy of his quarters, he intended to show Spock just how much he appreciated his decision to stay with the Enterprise and with Jim.
“It would be my honor, Commander.” And he meant it. Absolutely.