It was strange to be able to pinpoint the exact moment it all started. It was one of those ridiculous ‘film nights’ the Captain and Doctor McCoy were insisting on and the biggest recreational room on the Enterprise (Number 8, on deck 4) was packed full of those of the crew interested and not on duty. It was highly distasteful for the Vulcan and he would not have participated at all, if it hadn’t been for the simple fact that the Captain had ordered him to.
It was not like Spock could not have excused himself from this highly illogical activity – after all, he had various immensely interesting tests to conduct and oversee – but it he had, to his utmost chagrin, realized that it was getting harder and harder to refuse his Captain these seemingly innocent pleas.
Not in the least because the Captain and McCoy had... a point, if he was to lend one of those earth idioms. Not that he would ever tell the gloating Doctor something like that. However, the Vulcan had to realize with a certain amount of fascination, that the crew morale in total had been perking up distinctly since they started these weekly hours of staring fruitlessly at old earth entertainment.
Whatever it was that helped the crew to bond... it was working.
So here he sat on one of the couches right in the back, which seemed to have been reserved for the Doctor, the Captain and himself, who was balancing his PADD on his knee, reading a report, while waiting for the crew to settle. For some reason the popular event was today even more popular than usual; the stream of crewmen pooling in through the sliding doors simply seemed unwilling to abate and soon there had to be chairs carried inside. There was a jostling to his left, indicating that the Captain had – finally – been able to disentangle himself from his briefing with Mister Scott and had slipped into the room just in time.
“What did Chief Engineer Scott tell you about the malfunctioning – “he started, while turning his head and abruptly cut off, when he gazed straight into the large, brown eyes of a young Ensign. The girl had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but smiled tremulously and valiantly, shrugged and let her eyes wander pointedly around, expressing with her body language, that there simply was no other place for her at the moment.
Slanted eyebrows drew up fractionally, but the Vulcan nodded nonetheless. “My apologies,” he intoned with dignity, before turning back to his PADD. The light in the room dimmed slightly and the film began – without the Captain.
“Lay the PADD down, Spock!” McCoy hissed from the other side of the Ensign. Spock merely grunted – it was the usual complaint of the Doctor, but he was perfectly able to follow these... films... while concentrating on much more substantial information that needed his attention.
Fifteen minutes in the film there was a slight rustling and murmuring in the crowd. The Vulcan ignored it, until –
“Sorry I’m late... it was a little more complicated than – oh no, no keep sitting where you are, Ensign.” Spock would know this voice everywhere. The mellifluous dark tones, sliding over his skin like so much chocolate, imbibed with a deep warmth and authority. He raised his dark eyes, only to see the Captain standing there, hair slightly askew as it tended to be at the end of a long day. He was wrapped in his green shirt, smiling a distracted but charming grin, while elegantly levering himself onto the floor right next to Spock’s legs.
“Complications, Captain?” the Vulcan asked with a frown, earning a Shhh!! from Doctor McCoy –and again – ignoring it.
The Captain raised his hand and patted Spock’s knee absently.
“Later, Spock. Just let me wind down for a sec, okay?” he murmured. The Vulcan subsided and stared down at the brown-golden crown of hair directly next to his thigh. It was strange to see his Captain from this perspective. It had a boyish and innocent touch, seeing him sitting cross-legged and leaning back against the armrest of the couch, while staring at the large screen at the other end of the room. Spock slowly shook his head, not thinking further of it. Later, however, he would look back to this instant and think, ‘That’s, where it has begun.’
The Vulcan raised his eyebrows when, two weeks later, Kirk was stepping into recreational room 8, one hand pressed to his back and very gingerly weaving his way through chairs and tables towards the couch he and McCoy were already perched on.
“I take it that your training with Mister Sulu went... satisfyingly?” Spock drawled in feigned innocence and just a dash of enough neutrality to be able to denounce everything if McCoy was to call him on his obvious gloating. The self-deprecating grin and sparkling eyes of the Captain told him, that the human had seen directly through him. Huh. Curious.
“Yes, I think it went... satisfyingly. If one can say that,” Kirk said, moaning as he gingerly lowered himself down onto the soft cushions between the Doctor and the First Officer. McCoy was eying him shrewdly, lacing his fingers together over his stomach and grinning.
“I’ll see you tomorrow to reset your joints, eh, Jim?” he chuckled. The Captain only huffed indignantly, valiantly trying to look as if his back wasn’t killing him at the moment. Spock watched him surreptitiously under his dark eyebrows, but turned his attention towards the front, when the lights dimmed and the movie began.
Kirk was wriggling at his side – shoving his posterior from side to side, not able to sit still for more than three minutes. He was obviously trying to find a comfortable sitting position and the Vulcan could practically taste the mounting annoyance from McCoy, until...
“Ah damn it,” Kirk muttered and slid unceremoniously from the couch, settling on the floor while muttering, “It’s simply too soft...”
He was saying something else, but Spock was distracted by the sight of his Captain sitting once again at his feet. Something he had not thought to be seeing so soon again. And something that should not have taken his attention so thoroughly like it had.
Jim was sitting calmer now, only from time to time straightening up and arching his back, leaning this way and that and not shying away when he came into contact with Spock’s thigh for a few seconds. He was emitting the most curious noises in these instances, followed by the soft popping of tendons.
Spock had often witnessed the way young cadets or teenage humans tended to sprawl all over each other, when they were relaxing – not heeding the personal space of others; rather huddling together like a pack of cats or dogs in an unconscious display of trust and affection.
Now he was reminded of these displays and it was very strange for the Vulcan to associate it with his Captain of 35 years of age.
Three weeks later – and four days after their first, stolen kiss in the elevator on their ride up to the bridge – they had been on an away mission that left them all exhausted and bruised and mostly the worse for wear. Spock had been seriously debating skipping the obligatory ‘film night’, but reasoned that Kirk probably would be there in order to wind down and he really, really did not want to be separated from the human, especially after the dangerous mission, so he dragged himself to recreational room 8, which was astonishingly empty.
Only a few chairs were filled and even the Doctor was not in attendance – he was probably still fussing over the two members of the away team, who were still ensconced in medical bay.
So he was all the more surprised, when the Captain finally trudged into the room – not nearly as boisterous and energetic as usual and simply plopped down – on the floor. Right next to Spock’s legs.
There was enough room for him to...
“Jim,” Spock said, curling forwards so his head was next to the soft, golden-brown hair, “there is enough room for you to sit on the couch. Don’t you want to...”
“No. I’m... I’m quite content here,” Kirk interrupted. He did not turn towards Spock, but the Vulcan could see a slight reddening of the tanned cheeks. He wondered what was going on, but let it slide.
Somewhere during the first half hour of the film, the Captain started to sag more and more against his First Officer’s leg. Only after the film was almost at its end did the Vulcan realise that Kirk had fallen asleep – no longer sitting cross-legged, but rather having his legs curled to the side and plastering his upper body against the Vulcan’s calves.
Strands of his hair were softly vibrating in the continuously rotating air around them. They were looking very soft.
Spock surreptitiously gazed around and, after discerning that no one was paying any attention to them, he slipped his long slim fingers into the golden mane and slightly tugged at the strands. His thumb was brushing the skull gently and in a loving caress; the corners of his mouth curled infinitesimally upwards, when Kirk emitted a very low keening sound and turned his face in order to press it more tightly against Spock’s thigh.
They had been lovers for a while now and were sharing their lives in a way that made Spock feel unbelievably content. The First Officer would never have thought that he would become so dependent on another living creature, but the sheer amount of satisfaction it brought him to know that he was able to get back to James at the end of a day, was simply undeniable. They hadn’t talked about their feelings for one another – both men were spectacularly ill equipped for doing so – but the simple fact of the deep regard they had for one another probably spoke more than any words could’ve ever expressed.
However, their relationship was fairly quickly put to a test, when they were ordered to traverse the edges of the neutral zone for the coming month. It was a task not lightly taken – Spock aided his Captain in as many things as he could muster, but it was glaringly obvious that the constant stress and responsibility lying on the human’s shoulders was putting a deep strain on him.
The Vulcan watched with thinly veiled concern as each night after a long, long shift, his lover dragged himself down into their quarters and practically crawled into bed. He genuinely wanted to help James – wanted to lessen the burden weighing down upon him and ease his troubled mind. The mere fact, however, that they were in constant danger due to their proximity to hostile space, was making it difficult to think of anything that would help. Add to that, that Spock had no discernible knowledge of how humans– or this human, at least – spent their leisure time (apart from watching silly movies) made it all the more troubling.
So it was with some kind of relief that the Vulcan realized one evening... that Kirk was helping himself out, in a most peculiar way.
Spock was sitting on the couch, his lyre in hand and gently playing the taut strings, when James emerged from the bathroom, clad only in soft tracksuit pants. The line of his broad shoulders was slumped, his torso curled forward, as if preparing for a blow, while his head was lowered. The Vulcan was fairly certain Kirk would make a beeline for their bunk; he was understandably surprised when the Captain padded over to him, instead, standing for the fraction of a second undecided in front of the slightly spread legs of the alien, before gracefully dropping to his knees and...
...practically curling himself around Spock’s left leg. Strong arms slipped around his calf, while a muscled shoulder dipped under his thigh, so the crook of James’ neck could fit itself perfectly around the corded muscles.
Spock stopped playing, just staring at the back of James’ head, looking at the still damp hair and wondering what all of this was about. He could feel the hard muscles pressed against his leg slowly – painfully slow – starting to relax.
“Jim...?” the Vulcan ventured, but his human said nothing, only tightened his grip around Spock’s calf and curling his shoulders once again forward as if waiting for a landslide. The First Officer regarded the broad expanse of back, turned towards him; saw the rigid lines of muscles and frowned slightly. He had no idea, what was going on, but...
“Very well...” he whispered and watched in curiosity as the muscles – once again – relaxed. They stayed for another half hour, until Spock gingerly laid his lyre aside.
James hadn’t said one word and kept his silence even when he disentangled himself from his lover’s leg and went with Spock into their bunk.
The procedure the following days was very similar. James would vanish in the bathroom in order to shower and dress in his loose sweatpants, before emerging and making a beeline for Spock, sinking down onto his knees and practically melting against his leg. He never said anything. He simply hung on to Spock as if he was his lifeline and the Vulcan was left watching in curiosity as the formidable Captain of this starship slipped onto the floor and curl around his legs like... like...
Like a dog.
“Wait,” Spock said, when James stepped towards him the fifth time – there were deep bruises under his eyes that hurt the Vulcan to see. Their travel on the edges of the neutral zone really had to come to an end. It was robbing the Captain of precious sleep. Kirk froze just in front of him, hazel eyes getting big and astonishingly vulnerable.
His broad, calloused hands started curling into fists at his sides and his Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as if he was valiantly trying not to emit any sound. Spock felt his stomach churn and the little hairs on his arms start to stand up. He did not turn his gaze from James’ face, while reaching for one of the big, flat cushions on the couch and placing it on the floor – on the exact same spot Kirk was usually occupying.
“Here,” Spock said slowly, his voice rasping and the heart in his side fluttering. He was not sure, if his attention would be welcome, but...
Kirk’s face lightened up, hazel eyes starting to sparkle something fierce, vitality returning to his body. He said nothing – as always in these strange situations – and quickly lowered himself on all fours, before crawling the last few feet and curling himself loosely on the cushion. The Vulcan realized his respiration rate had increased by 10.9%.
It did not take long, until James simply slipped down on his legs, crawling into the space between the couch and his calves and curling around Spock’s feet. Neatly tucked away in that little, cramped space and not allowing the Vulcan to move his legs in order to accommodate him. He seemed absolutely content with lying there on the ground wedged under Spock... surrounded by him and the ship.
The Vulcan just stared and tried to fathom where his breath had gone to now, because there wasn’t any left in his lungs.
The Captain was conducting himself normally during their shifts. He seemed slowly but surely to regain his usual confidence. The bruises under his eyes did not vanish, but they lessened a little. The hours spent curled at Spock’s feet seemed to give him a certain amount of rest.
They did not speak of it. Kirk’s reactions, when Spock tried to start a conversation during these strange occurrences, had been clear in the human’s desire to remain silent.
Spock thought about it during the rare, peaceful moments on the bridge – watching Kirk’s authoritative movements from under hooded eyes; it seemed to make a curious amount of sense. Kirk was always in charge of 407 living beings on this vessel. He had to uphold a certain image in front of them; be cultivated and strong and in charge. It really should not come as such a surprise that he would seek to let go of all of this in his spare time. That he would seek to get as far away as possible from the reality of his life as a Captain.
Spock did not realize however, how far he wanted to get away from it.
Their breathing was easily filling the small compartment in which their bunk stood. Kirk was very slowly letting Spock’s legs glide off of his shoulders and slumped forward, pressing his glistening forehead against the collarbones of the Vulcan, while still embedded deeply inside the searing-hot body. Spock regained the control over his body fairly quickly, his panting breaths smoothing out, while enjoying the feel of slick, cool, human skin against his own – the way the broad, muscled chest was still heaving against him and the strong heart was galloping away inside its confines.
His legs were cramping up, but he refused to straighten them out just yet, instead bringing them closer to the trim hips and gently cradling the human between them in an act of clear affection. He disentangled his fingers from the rumpled sheets and slowly brought his arms up, curling them around his lover and cupping his neck with one long fingered hand.
Spock’s thoughts were drifting, tangling every now and again lazily with the human’s practically non-existent thoughts. They were both way too elated to have gotten the news from Starfleet HQ that the USS Kandur was replacing them on the neutral zone in about three hours; so he thought nothing of it, when he started carding loving caresses through the sweaty, short strands, idly petting and gently tugging, feeling the stress of the past weeks slowly slip away from them. They had survived and they were unscathed and everything was perfect –
There was a deep, rumbling growl emanating from Jim. The human was starting to sink more and more down upon the body of the Vulcan, his last strength seemingly draining out of him. It was a little uncomfortable due to Jim being a fully grown male, but not overly suffocating. The human’s flaccid penis slipped out of Spock’s relaxed body, causing the Vulcan to slightly wince, but he was fairly quickly distracted by the way Kirk moulded himself against him in his post-coital bliss.
Soft snuffling was to be heard, while the man rubbed his face and nose against the Vulcan’s chest, nuzzling upwards with a slight huff and pressing nipping kisses along the column of his neck. Spock’s slanted eyebrows rose. He rolled them around, his hand stilling on the nape of Jim’s neck, causing the man to rumble unwillingly, until his First Officer resumed the petting – though this time more self-conscious.
It did not seem to matter to the mostly-sleeping man, though. The Captain curled against Spock’s side, strangely docile, and drifted softly growling off into a light nap.
The Vulcan stayed awake, a calculating look in his dark eyes.
They’d been out of the dangerous neutral zone for exactly 8.5 days and James had not once knelt at his side. The first evening after the Enterprise’s retreat into more friendly space, had seen Kirk stepping out of the bathroom only to freeze where he stood and look strangely uncomfortable.
Spock was sitting at his customary place on the couch with his PADD on his lap, watching his lover surreptitiously from under long, dark eyelashes. His head was bent forward and he simply waited. They were no longer in immediate danger and James was far more relaxed even only one day after the change and he should, in Spock’s calculation, not need this type of comfort anymore.
Jim seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for he mumbled something before retreating to their bunk. It had been a relief for the Vulcan at that time – to see and know that his Captain had not developed a strange dependency for this... whatever it was.
Now, though, watching the human for the past week, he realized that he had made a gross miscalculation. Yes, Jim was conscious of the fact that what was happening between them was not normal. Yes, he was more relaxed and looked better than the past weeks. Yes, he seemed to be his old, exuberant self, and yet...
Spock observed his lover’s behaviour, unbeknown to the preoccupied Captain. He watched the way broad shoulders tensed every now and again and how Jim’s face took on a strange look... a lost look. Hazel eyes would get bigger and jaded, darting about the room as if checking on everyone around. Making sure the ones under his care were safe and sound. Making sure he had done a ... good job at protecting them.
And then there were the small sounds he emitted when sitting at his desk and filing reports. Soft growling, involuntary... yipping. The Vulcan said nothing. He merely recorded, analyzed, filed away and watched.
Spock was fairly certain, that he could have never mentioned it again and let it simply rest; that Jim would never – ever – talk about it or bring it up otherwise. It was nothing that could destroy what they had, it was simply... a little haven for his Captain. A strange source of comfort and security.
Spock really could have decided to ignore it. However, that would have meant to willingly disregard a need of his Captain, friend, lover that was so obvious to him that it almost hurt.
So he decided to try something for the sake of Jim.
James was one of the most intelligent humans Spock had ever encountered. His quick wit and ability to assess information in seconds had been one of the qualities attracting him to the alien in the first place.
And when the Captain stepped out of the bath after one of his showers and froze – again – on the spot, it was this very ability to take something in, in mere seconds that almost brought a smile to Spock’s lips.
He sat on the couch and simply waited for what his lover was about to do. He watched the twitching of hazel eyes that took in his unusually lax posture, the slight sprawl of his long legs, falling open just so in an inviting ‘V’-shape, the flat cushion on the floor right next to his legs.
Seconds ticked along without either of them saying anything. The Vulcan watched on as various emotions played across the expressive, handsome face, hope warring with uncertainty and plain... longing. He watched the Adam’s apple bob, before it practically vibrated under the taut skin.
He watched as broad, muscled shoulders curled ever so slightly forward, large hands twitching in nervous ticks.
“James,” Spock ventured at last. His deep voice filled the room with ease, pushing into every little crevice, making it his. Owning the place. Marking it. Even across the room he saw the sudden and violent dilation of soot black pupils within pools of capricious green.
There was no answer. No worded one, at least. There was only a high, strangled sounding whine – and it was enough.
Spock righted himself slightly, loosening a calculated amount of leisure in order to express more dominance with the taut lines of his body. His dark eyes were calm, never leaving the face of his lover.
“Down,” he said. One word, spoken with a soft voice – and yet it sounded completely nonnegotiable and seemed to fell Kirk like a blow to his head. His knees buckled so fast and brought him with such force to the ground that Spock was absolutely certain his command could not have consciously registered in the human’s head. Yet, Kirk was falling forward, hands on the floor, head hanging low between his quivering biceps, without so much as a moment of hesitation. The broad back, which was tapering into the trim waist, was straight as an arrow.
He looked beautiful – down there, on his knees. On all fours where his dominant, authoritative, proud nature normally would never allow him to be. It sent a heavy rush of power and something very warm and tender through Spock. His Vulcan heart was fluttering in his side and the ever cool, calculating voice in the back of his head whispered, ‘Don’t scare him away. He places his trust in your hands. Don’t force him into defying you. Calm him – care for him. Give him what he needs.’
“Come here,” Spock said, his voice even deeper, sounding husky and unreal in his own ears. He could see a shiver rippling through the thick cords of Jim’s muscles and the Vulcan needed to shift slightly at the sudden tightness in his pants.
He had never been very adventurous in the bedroom – what the humans called kinky. He preferred as much bodily contact as possible, needing it to fulfil his own telepathic desires, revelling in the soft, desirous thoughts of his partners and giving them back tenfold. So he had never even thought of all these... practices, thinking that they could only be detrimental for his health... knowing violent thoughts, feeling the upheaval of too many destructive emotions.
Sitting here now... being inexplicably aroused by his Captain and lover crawling towards him – slowly, with an air of uncertainty he had never witnessed in this human – watching as he shot him enigmatic glances out of these fascinating, changeable eyes... it threw him for a loop. He had no idea what to make out of it.
Where was this going? He had initiated this scene in order to provide his mate a place of serenity, a fixed point where to let go of all his troubles. He had not thought he would actually get aroused by watching Jim crawl at him and come to a slight stop just shy of entering the place between his legs.
Spock’s throat was dry and even though he swallowed, it did not help to smoothen out his voice, as he said, “James...”
His breath hitched slightly, as the human tilted his head, very gingerly and slowly laying his cheek against the inside of Spock’s right knee and slowly rubbing his head against it, while whining. Spock’s eyes widened, staring at his mate, who was blushing into a furious shade of red, hands between his own knees curling into tight fists, waiting for the ridicule to come.
The Vulcan thought of his earlier assessment. He had thought Kirk simply desired to let go of his control, to be comforted by another and not always be the comforter. Never would he have thought that it would take the shape of... of this. Of a need, a desire to be... what... an animal? Animalistic? To degrade oneself so much as to strip himself of his humanity?
Hot and cold warred within Spock’s body, while they stared at one another across the space separating them. It was a heady, powerful feeling to be able to do so, while Kirk was on his knees. Down... Under him. Like a canine.
Slowly but surely his brain kicked back into gear, analyzing the situation, trying to understand and fit it together – at least as far as he could fathom it.
To strip himself of his humanity – to wrap himself in the fur of an animal. It meant the absolute loss of control. It meant no obligations, no deadlines. It meant shelter.
There was so much more lying in the bright, wide eyes of his friend; so many layers Spock simply could not fathom with his limited knowledge of sexual desires. Yet, he had to do something. He had to make a decision, before even the last vestiges of courage left James and he fled from the situation.
The Vulcan took a deep breath, slowly reaching out with a hand, cupping the jaw and still burning cheek of his lover.
‘Can I do this? Is this right? Did I calculate correctly?’ he thought, before his mouth fell open and only two words poured out.
Kirk flinched backwards, his muscles strained to the point of looking painful and Spock had the feeling he was fighting against the urge to scramble away. It was obvious that he had not anticipated this. That he himself had no idea what he wanted from this. Yet, his pupils were once again blown wide, his respiration raised as if he had run on the treadmill in the ship’s gymnasium, his pale, pink lips quivering.
Spock watched everything with an unwavering gaze, the hand with which he had touched him, still hovering in the air. He raised one slanted eyebrow, cocking his head ever so slightly, consciously loosening his stance of unrelenting dominance, lightening the mood a little.
It was the right thing to do with his playful mate. Jim started to relax. The corners of his mouth – perpetually curled into a grin, even when he was not grinning at all – turned upwards even more.
Spock slowly moved his hovering arm, until he pointed with the long, pale hand gracefully at the cushion next to his feet.
“Sit,” he whispered.
And Jim let out a huff, his eyes bright, before crawling towards the indicated spot.
It was fascinating... watching the transformation on a regular basis. Not each night, no. James did not always need the comfort and security of the floor. Spock would watch him during their shifts, interact with others; would calculate and analyze and add and subtract, keeping an exact tally as to when his lover started getting tense, fidgety, unhappy.
Only then would he be waiting for him, sitting on the couch, the cushion already down on the floor and he would be able to witness with utmost interest the way all muscles loosened step by step, as soon as Kirk walked into their room.
James would not speak one word – not even when entering their chambers. He would sink down upon his knees and crawl towards Spock and settle on his spot. The spot that had been and always would be – only his.
And Spock started, with the single-mindedness of a scientist, to experiment. He started stroking and petting his lover, listening to the answering growls and soft, little, involuntary yips. He would concentrate on the feeling of James slowly but surely starting to sag against his legs, holding nothing back and just planting his weight against them, drowsy, absolutely content. Expressive hazel eyes would start to droop and it was not that James was sleeping – no... he seemed to simply drift away. Dive deep into his mind. Sometimes even deeper than Spock himself had ever managed to do. Spock would need to keep a close watch on him in these times. Jim was pliant, when he was in that headspace. He needed time to come back out of it and he needed the gentle coaxing of the Vulcan to do so – which was the reason for why Spock could not always allow him to slip so far down; they were the commanding Officers and simply perpetually on duty.
The ever scholastic Vulcan found out after not too long, that humans even had a term for this phenomenon: subspace. Spock liked the word a lot.
One time, Spock presented James with his hand, just as the human had crawled onto his cushion and not fully arranged his limbs yet. The attractive face turned towards him, hazel eyes scouring the austere, inexpressive face. Spock waited, curious as to what he would do.
He almost gasped, when his lover started to eagerly lap at his fingers. It was messy and wet and accompanied with affectionate growling and moist, slapping noises when the tongue met with his dense skin.
It was unbelievable.
Only once had James been waiting for him, when he had come back late from one of his experiments in the lab. The man had put the cushion down on the exact same spot as where Spock usually laid it down. He had been wearing only grey sweatpants and had curled together on the floor right next to the softer surface as if not daring to crawl upon it, while his... master... was not there.
Spock’s brows had furrowed, wrecking his brain for clues as to why James was behaving so out of their usual parameters. As far as he had been aware, nothing bad had happened that day. Nothing to elicit this fierce need. He himself had not really been in the mood to play either, after a long day in the lab.
However, when James had heard him, pushing himself upwards and had looked at him with such forlorn eyes, while whining high and pitifully in his throat... Spock could not decline the plea.
So he had played along, going so far as to place his hand in Jim’s neck and pulling him between his legs, trapping the man effectively and starting to card with both his hands through the hair – not in a way of someone caressing another humanoid creature, but of someone ruffling the fur of his pet.
The soft pants, emitted with an open mouth, tongue not quite lolling out, still sometimes rang in Spock’s ears even now, a couple of weeks after.
Only the next day Spock had found out that one of the Captain’s best friends had fallen seriously ill. He had been so alleviated, that he had not rebuffed Kirk’s silent plea – and had realized just how much reign he held over his lover.
The sexual undercurrent had been there all along. Right from the beginning, there had been something coiling between them, heavy and electrical and sizzling. They did not often dare to let it show in their interactions, but the heat flared up every now and again; in the way James pressed himself against Spock’s legs; in the way he had lapped so eagerly at the proffered hands. In the way he became totally pliant and drowsy, when the Vulcan started to get more assertive – touching him with more assured moves, directing Jim from one place to the other.
The way Spock kneeled sometimes next to him, drawing his human into his arms, whispering soothing words into the ruffled hair, while coaxing him out of subspace.
Calling him his good boy.
So it was no surprise for them – not really – when the tension of this undercurrent simply... snapped one night.
Spock was deep in thoughts, while staring at his PADD. James was curled around his feet, the weight of the man heavy on them. Heavy and soothing. He could feel the stomach of his lover move against them, while he breathed deep and calm. He was not in subspace, though. Spock had not touched him enough for him to let loose of everything. The usually vibrant man seemed to simply rest and relish the fact that he had to calm down and make his formidable brain take a step back.
The Vulcan was so deep in thought, that the movements of his hands were not as precise as usual, when he fumbled for his stylus – it fell out of his fingers and right next to Jim’s face on the floor.
Spock huffed, leaning forward and reaching out with the intent to scoop it up again, but he froze in the middle of his motion, eyes darting away from the PADD on his lap and fixing on the way James had slightly jolted awake from his dreamy state and took without thought or hesitation the stylus between his soft lips, straightening up and looking at the Vulcan, raising his chin... presenting the little stick to him.
Heat pooled immediately in the Vulcan’s stomach, coiling outward towards his extremities and raising his already higher-than-human temperature another notch. He could not exactly pinpoint why this particular mannerism caused his arousal to surge with a vengeance, but he was determined to analyze it... later.
He slowly raised his hand, presenting it in front of his lover with his palm outstretched. Jim leaned forward, intent on letting the stylus plop down, to be a good boy, but suddenly he stopped mid-motion. Spock had enough time to see the flash of mischievous hazel eyes from under long, dark eyelashes, before a low growl emanated from James and he scooted quickly away.
Slanted eyebrows rose. That... was a first.
“James...” he said slowly, not sure as to how to react just yet. Another growl came from the man; he was kneeling on all fours, eyes heatedly travelling across the Vulcan, taking in the appearance. Lowering towards his crotch...
“Give me the stylus,” Spock said – croaked! It should not make him this hard. It should not make him hard to see Jim crawl a little away, shaking his head without restrain repeatedly and playfully from left to right, growling again, while still keeping the stylus firmly wedged between pale lips.
“James!” he hissed this time, heat flaring in his dark eyes. He put the PADD away, his body curling forward, his meaning clear: he would get it, if James did not bring it.
Tanned, human cheeks were slowly suffusing with colour. Bright hazel eyes looked at him, widening ever so slightly, while glazing over.
Spock stared, roaming the half clad body with his own gaze. As usual, his Captain only wore sweatpants. They did nothing to hide the tenting in his crotch.
Spock’s mouth became absolutely dry.
“Give me the stylus, James...” he growled, slowly standing up. The human narrowed his eyes, growling himself – much more animalistic – and retreated in his crawling position. If he could, he would have angled his ears backwards, Spock was sure of it.
He took a step forward and Jim whirled around, obviously intent on sprinting away; however, he still was a human, not designed for quick movement on all fours and it only took Spock two quick steps in order to surge forward and land on his lover, pressing him to the ground and catapulting the stylus away and under the desk – it was a moot point. They no longer were paying any attention to the device.
James was wriggling under Spock, trying to get away, while huffing and panting and eliciting the most delicious yipping sounds.
The Vulcan held on for dear life, listening to the breathy panting that was eerily similar to a laugh and felt elated himself, though not expressing it. He was far too fascinated with the way James stayed so in character, although struggling valiantly – keeping his silence.
And then he barked. They froze both in their struggle, heavy breathing filling the room, while they both tried to process, if he had really made the sound they thought he had. It was silly, really. It should not have been his undoing. It should not have caused his cock to twitch violently in his pants to hear his lover make this degrading sound in the heat of the moment and in his valiant struggle to come free... but in the end, it was the catalyst to everything that followed after.
Spock ground against the backside of his mate, even before he realized what he was doing. One hand clutched Jim’s hip, the other surged up, planting itself in his neck and pressing him mercilessly down upon the floor.
James was struggling – no longer to get away, but to get his knees under him, so his behind was in the air and he could sway back against Spock.
“Stay...” the Vulcan growled roughly. A breathless whine was his answer.
He took his hand away from James’ neck and righted himself, looking down at the broad, naked back of his friend. He could see the quivering muscles and the way it started to shimmer with slick sweat. Jim was shivering in anticipation, his forehead pressed to the floor where Spock had positioned it and when the Vulcan turned slightly to the side, peering around one rounded, muscled shoulder, he could see the fierce blush across his lover’s neck.
“You want this?” he asked huskily, one hand tugging at the waistband of Kirk’s sweatpants. His Vulcan heart was fluttering in his side and made him almost dizzy, while another part of him could simply not stop analyzing and calculating what was happening.
“You want to be a good pup?” he continued, the words almost stuck in his throat, they were so unfamiliar. They were not really him, he did not know if he liked speaking them... but he knew that he absolutely adored the way James reacted to hearing these words.
He was whining again, shoulders rolling forward, his knees spreading and his body swaying to and fro, trying so desperately to convince Spock non-verbally what he whished to happen.
“Keep still,” Spock whispered, one hand still gripping James’ hip, the other tugging at his own trousers, trying to opening them. It was harder than usual – he had only one hand and it was shivering badly; but it was worth it to see James go utterly still, submissively lowering his shoulders further and waiting with obviously baited breath as to what would be happening.
“Very good,” the Vulcan praised, finally yanking his trousers down enough so his cock could spring free. It eased some of the pressure on his eager genitals and smothered a little the need to claim, now! It gave him back a certain amount of level headedness. He started toying with the waistband of Kirk’s pants, watching the way he valiantly tried to keep still, to obey the last command, while he so obviously was coiled tight as a bowstring.
Spock marvelled at that. Kirk usually was as exuberant in bed as he was in every other aspect of his life – taking what he wanted and not willing to wait on it. Now, though...
There was a tremor going through the tense body and Jim let his hips sway a little bit, obviously trying to get the action going again.
“No. Still,” Spock immediately hissed and the man went rigid again. There was a sound emanating from him – it sounded like a deep, tortured moan that was quickly smothered into a growl.
Spock took a deep breath and finally drew the pants down, until they were tangled about Kirk’s knees. He placed his hands upon the luscious mounds of his mate’s behind, gently stroking the pliant flesh and eliciting a high, desperate whine.
“You deserve a treat...” the Vulcan whispered, scooting a little way forward, his hot, swaying shaft seeking and finding the valley of those voluptuous globes.
He seized to speak at this point, his dark eyes trained down where their flesh met, his slim hips starting up a rhythm that dragged his twitching shaft between the fleshy mounds, clinging on the cool, human flesh until his natural lubrication eased the way and made everything slick and glistening.
It was hypnotizing to watch as his double ridges disappeared between the pink flesh and emerged once again – shining wet and almost forest green.
He almost – almost – forgot the man, who was providing him so graciously with his body, offering him this delectable part of his anatomy to slake his lust; but the high, desperate whines and breathless panting soon enough penetrated his consciousness.
Spock did not debate with himself whether he ought to let Jim come now or later – he simply fell forward, bracing himself with one hand on the floor and curling the other arm around his lover, seeking and finding his swaying erection – it lay heavy and weeping in his hand and pulsed between his fingers, when he closed his fist around it.
Jim positively howled with the contact, bucking forward and backward, head thrown back. Spock let him – rutting himself against the backside of his mate, feeling the slippery friction against his cock and the silky moisture on his fingertips. He rubbed it eagerly across the straining shaft and elicited yet another howl from his lover.
He heard the Captain’s orgasm even before he felt it. The increasingly more desperate tones in his whining were unmistakeable. He was quivering and jerking underneath him and it was so gloriously uninhibited.
Spock’s fingers curled more tightly around the jerking flesh in his hand and his thumb swiped over the weeping glans one last time, before there was simply silence and spurt after spurt of thick fluid streaked the floor. The Vulcan could feel the tightening of the thick stomach muscles, where his forearm was pressed against, rhythmically with each spurt as if Jim was forcibly pressing the orgasm out of his system. It was enough to make Spock raise his upper body and grip the trim hips with bruising force, while thrusting once, twice, three times, snapping his hips viciously and finally ejaculating, painting the small of his lover’s back with his own emissions and letting his head fall back into his neck, while staring blankly at the ceiling.
There was silence for a long time in the room, only interrupted by their rapid breathing and the slow rustling of clothes, when Spock’s muscles decided, that they were no longer able to bear his weight and he collapsed next to the gasping man.
James turned around, plopping down on his side, shimmying his way closer towards to the Vulcan, before placing his head on the heaving stomach of his best friend and lover.
Spock did not react for a long time. A minute or two went past, before he felt coordinated enough in order to raise his hand and place it on the neck of the human. Kirk was pliant and soft beneath him, obviously starting to nod off.
The Vulcan started petting the soft skin of the neck and thought he really ought to be more disturbed by what had happened... to be chastising himself and trying to help Jim to overcome this strange need.
However, he was too exhausted to do it... and he realized after a few moments, that his mind was, instead, preoccupied to decide, whether it would be appropriate to gift Jim with a collar on his next birthday...
Spock slowly spread his fingers around the thick column, taking surreptitiously a measurement.
His lips curled up.