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For Soral179, I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I sure hope you like it anyway!

 

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“Captain’s log, supplemental:

                The Enterprise is orbiting her home, Earth, for the next seventeen days while her command crew competes in an inter-ship competition which my superiors tell me is supposed to boost Fleet morale. Of course, the wonders it will do for enlistment go without saying. It’s no secret that since the attack of Vulcan, the typical lures—exploration, discovery, flying among the stars—just don’t have the appeal they used to now that the down side—a cold, barren death in the middle of space—was made rather apparent by the implosion of an entire planet and its six billion inhabitants. Looks like Bones’ opening line on our first voyage together…that space is darkness and danger…a disease…is now a pretty popular argument for why those of us who still join and remain enlisted are completely batshit…

                Anyway, I’m not really concerned about it being a PR stunt disguised as a morale exercise—I’m concerned about beating the pants off our competition: The crews of the Potemkin and Defiant and especially Captains Ascher and Moore. I can’t think of anything that would build my crew’s morale more than seeing me take the gold over Seth and Jake in front of everyone three weeks before our scheduled war games, because if I can run circles around them on the track, I can sure as hell do it in the black. End log.”

--

                “Come on, big guy, you got this!” Jim yelled with a whistle, watching enthusiastically as Cupcake, or Barry Giotto for those who weren’t Jim, squared his shoulders and pushed upward from the squat as 475 pounds pressed down upon him.

 “Push, push, push,” Bones cheered with the crowd from Jim’s left.  “And keep your back straight, damn it!” His eyes met with Spock’s over their Captain’s head, “This’d probably be a damn cake walk for you, huh?”

                “The Lieutenant’s strength is impressive, even by Vulcan standards,” Spock replied, choosing not to rise to the doctor’s bait. He still wasn’t completely over the activities he’d walked in on three point eight days ago.

                “He’s still pissed isn’t, he?” Bones muttered into Jim’s ear.

                “What?” Jim turned toward his CMO with an exaggerated shrug, “about you fucking his dad over the table in our suite…no, why would he ever be pissed about that?”

                “I didn’t mean for it to happen…you try fighting off a determined Vulcan…” his words died on his lips at Jim’s unimpressed stare. He’d almost forgotten who he was talking to, “Right.”

                Jim sighed, “Just give him a few more days…I’m sure he’ll forget all about it…” I will not, came Spock’s reply straight to Jim’s brain. No, Jim supposed that was the downside to an eidetic memory,  “…or at the very least forgive you…” he took the silence on the other side of their bond as a fifty-fifty chance that Spock wouldn’t hold a grudge, which was good since there was probably more than half a shot that Bones would end up Spock’s step-father if things got any heavier between Sarek and the good doctor.

                As if by mutual, unspoken accord all the three companions returned their focus to Giotto’s performance. He had to hand it to his security chief, his upper body strength was something to be envied and Jim would shocked if Barry didn’t walk out of here with at least a silver, even though he had slipped a little on the clean and jerk set…the amount of weight he was lifting was incredible. Of course, Jim’s amazement with his crew had been getting a boost ever since the start of the games. It had been an exciting fifteen days and Jim had watched his crew excel in nearly every competition they had entered.

                Uhura had taken the gold in women’s gymnastics their first day, beating out the Potemkin’s head nurse and the Defiant’s navigator. Of course, Jim had known the woman was flexible but the in air splits after bouncing up from the mat, her balance on the beam despite the attitude in her hips, the way her body bent and curved as she swung round and round on the high bar…why was Spock with him again? If he hadn’t been in awe of her before, he certainly was now.

                Of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg. Sulu had killed at fencing as Jim knew he would—you didn’t cut down two Romuluans at over 14,000 feet and then not win gold at a stress-free competition. Chekov had taken second in diving, but considering the guy he’d lost to was the Potemkin’s Russian Chief Engineer, Pavel wasn’t too put out: “Eef anyvone could beat me, eet ees another Russian,” he had said afterward, claiming his silver medal with pride.  The Enterprise’s own Chief Engineer had stuck it to First Officer Daniels and Lieutenant Commander Reed at archery and Bones had taken the gold at hand ball, surprising everyone but Jim, who’d helped the CMO hustle in the rec rooms at the academy more than once.

                Of course, a medal wasn’t the only reward Bones had received for his victory. Sarek had managed to steal away from the Embassy in New York long enough to transport to San Francisco and surprise McCoy with an impromptu visit. It just so happened that the Ambassador had found McCoy in Jim and Spock’s suite, preparing for an after party that Jim had arranged for a few hours later, and then proceeded to seduce the doctor over a desk. He couldn’t have known that Jim and Spock would be barging in, but Bones sure as hell did and really, how hard was it to move things through an adjoining door? It wasn’t even three hundred feet away from where they were going at it. Jim suspected it was likely revenge for that one time he’d walked in on Spock and him in a similar position—the wily bastard.

                Jim imagined it was worse for Spock, because no child, regardless of age, wanted to walk in on their parents going at it. As for himself, if Bones had been going for revenge, he’d have to do better than that. Jim was a sexual being after all, and neither party were his mother, so yeah, seeing his best friend, legs spread and chest pressed against a mahogany surface, his ass pushing back against a hard, pounding cock…not exactly damaging over here, even if that cock did happened to belong to his father-in-law.

                A loud pop from the audience brought Jim’s attention back to the arena (thankfully). Giotto had managed a clean lift and drop. He was now depositing the weight back onto the ground and raising his arms in victory. No way in hell they weren’t winning the gold in this one too, “Fuck yeah, Cupcake!” Jim roared, earning a collection of head shakes from the rest of the crew around him.

                “He’s gonna kick your ass if anyone picks up on that after this, sir,” Sulu commented into his ear from behind.

                “He’d have to catch me first,” Jim replied with a smirk, thinking now about his race in a couple days.

--

                “Oh..oh God, that feels good,” Jim’s sore muscles contracted and relaxed under the skilled hands of his bondmate. His feet hurt, his ass hurt and his abdominal muscles were twitchy but his calves were tighter than a virgin—“Ah! Fuck, Spock!”

                “My apologies,” the Vulcan deadpanned, “but I believe the human phrase is, ‘no pain, no gain.’”

                Jim chuckled, tracing the Starfleet symbol on his gold medal with a thumb as he remembered the look on Seth’s face when he blew past him across the finish line, “You’ve got that right.”

                “I must admit, that I was somewhat surprised by your victory,” Spock admitted. “Captain Ascher and Captain Moore led you by nearly two meters for the duration of the race.”

                “Yup,” Jim smiled, “and they were pretty damned comfortable with their lead, weren’t they?” He thought back to the little exchange they’d had at the starting line.

                “You might be the Fleet’s youngest Captain, Kirk,” Ascher had said, “but I’ve got your number.”

                “Age before beauty, huh?” Jim had teased.

                “Experience before swagger,” Moore amended, earning a nod of agreement from Ascher.

                Jim rolled his eyes as he stretched his hamstrings, the skin tight fabric of his red running pants sliding soothingly over his calves and thighs. “Whatever you say, gentlemen—may the best geezer win…and by win, I mean come in second.”

                “Runner to your marks,” the event official called. The three men took their places at their blocks. They’d be running a standard mile, and Jim couldn’t wait to wax the floor with the men to his left. He’d give just enough room to make them feel like they were only competing against one another…lure them into a false sense of security…let them forget he was even in the race…

                “Get set,” the official’s voice rang out over the arena. There was a loud whistle and they were off, Ascher taking the immediate lead. Jim stayed neck and neck with Moore for the duration of the first lap, one meter behind Ascher. As they took off on the second straight of lap two, Jim slowly eased back another half a meter, then another half meter behind Moore during lap three. He paced his breathing, could hear his heart thrumming in his chest as his feet flew across the track.

They were coming into the final lap, Ascher and Moore eyeing one another determinedly. Here’s my shot, Jim thought, picking up the pace. They rounded the first curve of the final lap and Jim tore off at full speed down the second straight, passing both men with a smirk as the audience erupted into cheers. There was a loud pop from the section of the stands were all 447 members of the Enterprise crew was seated as he broke across the tape. He finished a full five seconds before his opponents.

                “You…” Ascher panted as they made their way over to Jim, “son…bitch…”

                Jim tsk’d at the other man, “Now, now Seth, there’s no need to insult Winona.”

                “Gonna…kick…your ass,” Moore added between gulps of air, “in…war games.”

                Jim bent over to stretch, much to the delight of the onlookers, before straightening and facing his winded adversaries, “Hmmm…” Jim rubbed his chin, “age and experience didn’t really do either of you any favors on the track today…I’m pretty sure they aren’t going to do you any favors out in the black. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Jim had turned and treaded toward the winner’s circle, “I’ve got a gold medal to collect.”

                Now, he allowed Spock to turn him onto his back, those long, lovely fingers and warm open palms pushing his leg back and stretching his gluts. “Y’know,” Jim placed the medal aside and swept a hand through the hair on Spock’s bent head, “it’s too bad you didn’t compete in anything.”

                “The physiological advantages that I possess over any listed competitor would have resulted in a situation of unfairness,” Spock immediately replied.

                “Yeah, but…” Jim freed his leg and sat up, “there were a couple other non-human contenders that had physiological advantages and they still competed.”

                “Jim, there are suppressors available for Orion pheromones and Adorian antennae do not aid in balance so much as to be superior to humans but to be equal,” Spock informed. “Were there Klingons enlisted in the Fleet, then perhaps there would have been a worthy opponent against which to compete. As it was, however, I saw no logic in proving my ability to defeat those participating in the games. I believe the human phrase is ‘it goes without saying’ that I would have been victorious in any event in which I chose to participate.” 

                “Cocky Vulcan,” Jim teased, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

                Spock regarded Jim a skeptical eyebrow, “Indeed?”

                “You can’t bend it like Uhura,” Jim grinned into smoldering brown eyes.

                “I believe you are making an uneducated assumption,” Spock retorted. “Vulcans are, in fact, naturally flexible.”

                “More flexible than Uhura doing the splits on the balance beam?” Jim challenged.

                “Indeed,” Spock replied with a haughty air.

                “Bullshit,” Jim rolled his eyes. “There is no way you can pull that off—if you could, I would know about it—“

                “Again, you are operating under false premises,” Spock interjected, “the first being that the extent of my physical abilities has been displayed to you in its entirety either within a professional or sexual context.”

                “Haven’t they?” Jim asked, wide-eyed. “Can you…” he swallowed, hard, “really do the splits?”

                In answer, Spock stood and turned his back to his bondmate (who was scrambling up to the foot of the bed to watch) and spread his legs a full three feet apart. Spock tossed his robe aside, leaving his nude form on display for Jim’s eager eyes. He then angled his toes outward and began to slowly spread his legs further and further apart in a graceful line. When his unclothed groin was a mere two feet from the floor, Spock bent forward to transfer the majority of his weight onto his arms, putting his ass on provocative display.

                Jim watched, enraptured as Spock’s ass cheeks parted slightly, the pucker of his bondmate’s pretty, welcoming hole just visible. More arousing, however, was the gentle way in which the Vulcan’s sack and half-full cock brushed against the carpet as Spock eased himself, inch by inch, to the floor. Jim was on his feet and circling the spread Vulcan the second he was fully seated, legs spread in a straight line, his cock pushed outward by the angle of Spock’s back, reclining on strong arms placed at a ninety-degree angle behind him.

                Even though his cock was telling a different story entirely, Jim folded his arms across his chest and shrugged, unimpressed, “It’s still not over a beam.”

                Both he and Spock eyed the bar in their suite simultaneously, “Allow me, then, to assuage your doubts.” Then, completely nude and without preamble, Spock placed his hands in front of him and lifted himself into a hand stand. His legs came together, and then folded backward, the rest of his body following seamlessly into a standing position. Jim stared, gaping as Spock crossed the room nonchalantly toward the bar.  “Come.”

                Jim obeyed without hesitation, pulling the Vulcan against him once he was within reach, “You delectable minx,” he pouted against Spock’s lips, “why am I just now finding out about this particular aspect of your physiology? When I think of all the acrobatic sex we could have been having…”

                “I was not aware that this was a particular kink of yours,” Spock stated, bringing their mouths together for a chaste kiss before backing out of Jim’s arms and climbing onto the bar’s counter.

                “It wasn’t, but now that I know it can be…” blue eyes swept over Vulcan thighs, ass and biceps, remembering the curls of muscle that had rippled during Spock’s earlier performance, “There isn’t anything I don’t want to do with you.”

                “Jim,” Spock was lowering himself into position, the heels of his feet gliding easily across the slick granite surface of the bar, “while my own flexibility has been determined, I am curious to know the limitation of your own.”

                “Baby,” Jim crooned, already working his cock, “when it comes to you, there are no limitations.”

                “Am I to assume that you intend to prove this statement?” Spock inquired, turning his gaze over his shoulder to meet the determined blue eyes of his husband.

                “No talking,” Jim choked, coming up behind his lover’s splayed backside. “It’s just…too much, you know?—The legs, the cadence of your voice, the precise words…” he closed his eyes as he ran his hands up and down Spock’s legs, “anything more and this will be over before it starts.”

                Spock acknowledged Jim’s warning with a nod, content to let his lover guide the evening’s activities. He closed his eyes, relaxed by Jim’s soothing hands traversing up and down the length of his spine, teasing the underside of his buttocks on their way to his thighs. Soft lips played at the nape of his neck, just behind his ear, an erogenous zone he did not know he possessed until Jim had found it during their third time together. The warm breath dancing across the sensitive skin there, just before the wet press of Jim’s tongue, sent a flutter to his stomach and a jolt to his groin.

                That tongue slid lower, down Spock’s neck and spine, leaving a trail of saliva all the way to the small of his back. There, Jim placed a lingering open-mouth kiss, sucking at the tender flesh until Spock felt it heat with the promise of an undeniable mark. His back was suddenly cold as Jim moved away, the sound of something being shoved across the carpet soon following after. “Jim?”

                “Shh!” Jim hushed him, “I said no talking. If you’re curious, turn around and look.”

                Spock did, in fact, look. Jim had pushed the couch over to the bar and stacked two of the seat cushions in the middle where he was now seated facing the back of the couch, eye level with Spock’s rectum. “Scoot back just a little, I’ve got you,” Jim instructed, his forearms resting over the couch’s back cushions.

                Spock complied and immediately had to stifle a moan when a familiar tongue swept against his hole without any ado. Jim shuffled closer circling and prodding with his tongue as he gathered the spasming cheeks in his hands and pushed them further apart. Jim was relentless in his attack, enjoying all the little gasps and twitches his actions elicited until he could feel his bondmate’s heart pummeling in his side as if it were his own, could feel the coil in his stomach and the goose flesh on his skin rise wherever he touched. Jim dipped his hand into the open jar of lubricant he’d grabbed from the armoire next to their bed, his lips kissing a path up to the small of Spock’s back as his fingers coated the Vulcan’s entrance.

                Jim made to stand on the couch, once again catching sight of Spock’s pose in full form, absolutely in awe. His legs were still spread in a straight line, his ass and cock hanging over the side of the bar in an amazing show of balance and athleticism.  For the billionth time since they’d tied the knot on Vafer Tor, Jim thanked his lucky stars that Spock had chosen him…that they’d ever met at all. Lovingly, Jim wrapped his free arm around Spock’s sternum, resting his forehead against his shoulder as he pushed his middle finger slowly in, “You’re a fucking miracle.”  

                He could feel Spock’s smile in his mind and Jim nuzzled into the crook of his lover’s neck before pressing in a second finger, his cock throbbing as the rim clenched around his digits. “Mmmm…” Jim licked his lips, loving the way Spock’s arms flexed with tension as he fucked back onto his hand.

                “Jim,” Spock whispered pleadingly, “I am ready…please…”

                Jim nodded, withdrawing his fingers and slicking his shaft with more lube.  He then climbed onto the soft padding of back of the couch, kneeling behind Spock to bring the blunt head of his cock in line. His hands gripped either side of Spock’s ass, lifting up slightly as he slowly pushed in with a long groan. “Fuck, how do you always feel so goddamned tight?”

                “Vulcan…” Spock cut off with a pleasured cry when Jim passed the second ring of muscle and pushed home. They stayed like that for a moment, both reveling in the usual intensity of their joining.  Finally, Jim began to move and any reminder of Vulcan muscle control flew out the proverbial window as Spock lost himself to the rhythm of the experience.

                Never before, in all the time they had been together, had Spock felt so utterly exposed or unfathomably sexual. It was true that their love making often possessed an inherent layer of sensuality, but Jim’s visceral reaction to his ‘splits’ maneuver had made Spock feel powerful in a way that defied explanation and he had found himself open to further exploration in a most unorthodox fashion, contorted as he was atop the bar. Nevertheless, feeling his bondmate’s unfettered desire not just from the mind link between them, but in the writhing of Jim’s body against his own, hands that gripped at him with desperation and the unmeasured huffs of air against the back of his neck was a heady combination both frighteningly emotional and powerfully arousing.

                Spock’s eidetic memory was, perhaps, also partly to blame as the image of Jim in those skin-tight running pants had remained at the forefront of his mind for the remainder of the day. Had he not been controlling his physical reactions, he would have been in a constant state of half arousal throughout the closing ceremony, the dinner that followed and most certainly his ministrations to Jim’s sore muscles. As it was, Jim had yet to set a hand upon his phallus and already he was nearing completion. “Please,” he begged, knowing Jim would understand, “…please.”

                The sound of Spock’s haggard whispers went straight to Jim’s cock, and his hips flew forward in a frenzy of deep thrusts, aimed at striking Spock’s prostate as he moved his hand under the Vulcan’s thigh to rub at his heavy, flapping sack. “Ooohh,” Spock nearly growled, “yes…”

                “God, Spock, keep singing for me,” Jim panted, fucking into tight heat and clenching walls. Knowing he was at his limit, his hand moved to Spock’s organ and he pumped it frantically.

                “Jim…” Spock cried out, his testicles seizing, “oh…oh…yes…yes…yes…” Once again, Jim was pushing Spock’s barriers and he was utterly lost to it, coming over his lover's hand with sweet, forbidden abandon.

                Jim came with a groan, stroking and cumming and feeling higher than a tribble on acid, “What…the…fuck…” Yes, this part always felt awesome, but it never felt like fucking Utopia

                Spock’s legs and arms were now trembling with the effort to hold himself aloft but he managed to formulate an answer nonetheless, “Emotional transference…”

                “Wha…?” Jim began, trying to adjust his knees as he withdrew and failing. He lost his balance, fell backward and tumbled to the floor in an uncoordinated heap, “Owww…”

Spock, who had just released his painful grip on the counter and had been using his bondmate for support, barely caught himself before he too ended up on the floor. Slowly, he maneuvered himself off the bar and made his way to his mate’s prone body. “Jim?” he queried, stroking the flushed forehead.

                “’motions ‘ference?” Jim managed to huff with a wince, “Tha’ happens t’bon-mates?”

                Spock scooped Jim up into his arms, something his stubborn spouse would usually never allow, and carried him to their bed, “No, ashaya, but you are still human and I was…feeling uncharacteristically…liberated.”

                “S’why I’m high?” Jim grinned, loopy and feeling pleasantly tingly all over. “This how you always feel after sex?”

                “To your first question,” Spock answered, pulling his husband near and drawing the covers over them both, “yes. You are essentially responding to the result of my own endorphins releasing and to your second question: to a degree.” He placed a hand over Jim’s temple, mitigating the affects of the transference, “Obviously, as it relates to our earlier conversation, due to the differences in our physiology and especially our brain chemistries we each experience this level of endorphins differently—”

                “Made you lose it, didn’t I?” Jim smirked, no longer feeling like he’d just smoked an entire pound of weed. “I picked up on that spandex kink of yours.”

                “Perhaps,” Spock admitted. “I assure you; I will not let it happen again.”

                “That’s too bad,” Jim edged closer to Spock’s heat, “I liked being high on you.”

A glint of gold caught Spock’s peripheral vision and he allowed a smile to curve the corner of his mouth, “Drug use, Jim, is against competition rules. I would not want you to have to forfeit next year’s gold medal to Captain Ascher.”

                “Ascher could have it,” Jim chuckled. “We could make up our own versions of Olympic Games. Hell, we’ve already created our own brand of gymnastics…”

                Spock inclined a thoughtful eyebrow, thinking he’d very much like to see what Jim would come up with as a viable substitute for pole vaulting, “The idea has merit.”

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

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