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“Good work, guys. Oh – and lady, obviously. I’m sorry, Uhura.”

“No problem, sir.”

“You’re too kind. Well! You all worked very hard to capture the renegade Klingon ship and I’m absolutely thankful for all who have taken double shifts to assure our victory. Oh, no, no, don’t belittle yourself. Other crews would’ve thrown a hissy fit, but I didn’t even hear so much as a grumble. I’m really proud.”

“But Captain, you were on the bridge since yesterday’s Alpha shift. None of us have managed that long.”

“Well, yes, but... that’s not the point, now, is it? I only had to sit in the chair and look important. You have made the hard work. I really am proud of you. Now, please – go and get some rest. You’ve all deserved that and much more. I’ll be sure to forward your stellar performance to the HQ.”

“Thank you, Captain!”

“Thanks, Captain!”

There was a chorus of more ‘thank you’ from all around him. James smiled, his complexion just as rosy as when he had woken up more than a day prior and his hazel eyes just as alert and bright as usual. There was no indication of the wild chase the Enterprise had been on for the past 27 hours.

The crew started to file out of the bridge, while their replacements trickled in through the lift and Kirk hovered around the centre chair until Scotty came up from engineering and took over.

“We have secured the Klingon in the brig, Captain. Commander Giotto is busy interrogating him,” the Chief Engineer said, while wriggling in the chair. Kirk smiled distractedly and patted Scotty on the shoulder.

“Let me know, if anything comes up, will you?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Right. I’m off, then.”

 

“Good afternoon, Captain!”

“Good afternoon, Ensign. How’s your research project going along?”

“I- I... You- You know about my project, sir?”

“Well, of course. I’m the Captain – I know of everything that’s going on.”

“Oh! Oh, that is... well... my project is going fantastic, Sir! I’m just about to meet with Commander Spock, he wanted to talk to me about it.”

“Oh, is that so? Then it just has to be a good project. Do you know, perhaps, how long your meeting will be?”

“Maybe half an hour, sir.”

“Alright. Then hop along, Ensign!”

“Will do, Captain. Good bye!”

He smiled at the retreating back of the young man. He had looked absolutely thrilled at having exchanged a few words with his Captain.

His smile looked a little strained at the edges, though. Kirk continued his way through the ship towards his and Spock’s quarters.

 

“Hello, Captain!”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Oh, no... don’t stand at attention, please. Just be at ease.”

“Very well, Captain.”

“Was there anything you needed?”

“No, sir. I’m just on my way to my shift.”

“Well... alright. Have a nice day, Lieutenant.”

“You as well, sir!”

And further on towards his quarters. His gait wasn’t as energetic anymore.

 

“Captain!”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

“Do you... do you need anything, Captain?”

“...No, Lieutenant, I’m fine. Why do you think I need anything?”

“I... ah... I was just wondering. I’m sorry.”

“You’re dismissed.”

“Right... Nice day, Captain.”

“Yes. You too.”

He consciously straightened his shoulders from their slumped position after that and continued on his way.

 

“Good afternoon, Captain!”

“Hmmm.”

He smiled fleetingly at the Ensign. It probably was more of a tired tug on the corners of his mouth, but the young girl beamed at him anyway and hurried along.

 

“You look like hell. Just go to bed already.”

“...”

Kirk threw Bones a look out of burning, tired eyes and simply turned left, punching the security code into the panel next to his door. He stumbled inside, slumping against the closed door as soon as it swished shut.

The fatigue of the past day caught up with him with a vengeance. After not having allowed himself to show his crew just how run down he was from the encounter, he nearly went to his knees at finally being in a private enclosure. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth; the mere thought of twisting or even lifting it in order to speak seemed like an oppressive presence in the back of his head, sitting there and weighing down upon him until he dragged his attention away from it and towards the next obstacle: his clothes.

They were clammy in the way fabrics became after they had been soaked in sweat and dried on the skin. The odour was not entirely unpleasant, but pungent and not the smell he currently wanted to indulge in. His fingers were slow and clumsy, while trying to divest himself of the obstructing fabrics; not in the slightest the capable movements the rest of his crew was used by him.

His golden shirt and the black T-Shirt underneath landed in an untidy heap next to the door. He did not bother with opening his boots, simply bracing his now bare shoulders against the metal behind him and viciously toeing on the heels until they slipped off with the socks.

By now it had become a mad scramble for Jim to get all of the fabric off of his body, which seemed even without the added restriction way too small for his liking – thoughts were buzzing around his head, making it feel swollen and heated; coiled energy made his limbs tremble in a way that was too reminiscent of a drug addict going through withdrawal. His tongue still felt too heavy – like a foreign object – and so instead of muttering a curse, he started to whimper in frustration and distress, when his fingers slipped for the fifth time off of the button on his trousers.

There was a beep behind his back and the soft whoosh of the door sliding open. A sharp intake of breath was the only warning he got before hotter-than-human hands settled around his hips and pushed him mercilessly further into the room. The door swished again and the dark voice of Spock immediately spoke up.

“What are you doing like this in front of the door?! It could’ve opened for a member of the crew at any time, Jim!”

Kirk’s brain felt too fuzzy in order to properly digest the words, though he caught on easily enough to the more primal aspects of the delivery: Spock was either angry or impatient. He was not entirely sure which, but that hardly mattered anyway. A high whine escaped his throat; he did not want to make Spock angry. Jim whirled around, wobbling on his legs, suddenly unsteady on them.

His knees prickled and the muscles in his thighs trembled like the flanks of a young horse. He wanted to go on all fours. He wanted to make himself smaller – smaller than Spock. Wanted the Vulcan to tower over him.

He did not let himself fall on his knees, though. He simply stood there, staring at his companion in utter helplessness; imprisoned in his own, rapidly escalating loss of control. He saw the dark, intelligent eyes, saw the way they swept first across his person, before taking in the room, halting only for seconds on the clothes haphazardly strewn across the floor. Understanding dawned visibly in the dark depths and with it the stance of the Vulcan subtly shifted.

There was no longer the slightly annoyed lover; in his stead the assured master came to the front, who reached for Jim’s trousers without qualms and efficiently started opening them.

“What are you doing with those things on, pet?” he was saying, his voice no longer full of annoyance and anger, but of gentle reprimand. It was deep and low. Soothing. The hard, coiled muscles in Kirk’s back started to slowly relax. His shoulders drooped and his mouth softened, falling open in silent abandon. Spock continued, while gently lowering the zip of the pants. “I thought it had been clear by now: no trousers for you. You don’t even know what to do with them – an animal like you, hm?”

Kirk’s eyes drifted shut. He heard the words, but did not actively understand them; except he did and he utterly adored the way they stripped him off of his status, of his captaincy. How Spock made him into a beast, refusing to give him the dignity of a responsible adult by gently chiding him.

He was not even aware of the low keening sound emerging from his throat. His racing thoughts, which had been buzzing around his head since the whole mess with the renegade Klingon had begun, slowly staggered to a halt, quieting down and lulling to a dull rambling at the back of his head, settling right next to the thought that it would be too distressing to force the leaden weight of his tongue to articulate words.

Kirk was so caught up in the quieting of his body that he was almost startled, when the capable hands of Spock suddenly tapped him on his bare hips. Kirk raised his head, looking bleary-eyed at his master. Spock’s mouth moved, but the blonde man was not quite sure why, until he forced himself to drag his consciousness back to the forefront – away from the tantalizing space deep inside himself.

Spock had a calculating look on his face; a look he wore most of the time when playing with Jim in that way. A look that told the human that his mate was calculating every step of the way, thinking everything through, being his thorough self and making sure he was not causing any harm. Spock spoke up again – slowly – enunciating every syllable carefully as if perfectly aware that Kirk had troubles keeping up at the moment.

“Step out of the trousers and get on the floor, pet. Retrieve your cushion from the couch.”

Kirk’s gaze never left Spock’s inquisitive, intelligent eyes, even when he fell down on his knees. He simply stared up at him, not heeding his nakedness.

His master stared at him for a long moment, face an unreadable mask; waiting for something. After a few moments the tense, stern lines softened and Spock expelled a long breath, slowly raising his hand and shoving his long fingers through the mass of blonde locks on top of James’ head.

It was a possessive, almost rough touch; the fingers gripping deep into the strands, tugging them and dragging the unresisting, pliant head this way and that. Jim closed his eyes in utter bliss.

His mouth fell open in a silent moan and Spock’s hand stilled for a moment, before he said in a measured and intense tone: “To the couch. Get your cushion.”

Oh. Right. He had been supposed to do something. Normally Kirk would have been utterly humiliated at the thought of not being able to do even the simplest tasks. He was a perfectionist in some way; he worried on problems until they were solved. His high intellect would not let him go until everything he did not understand was perfectly explained or at least investigated.

Now, though, he was utterly and perfectly content in being reminded of his tasks – of those simple, little things. Of not having to do more than remember them for a few seconds until he had done them.

James could feel the scrape of the rug beneath his palms and knees. He felt the drag across his shins and the way it would chafe, if he crawled for too long. He adored it. Down here on the floor in these moments, this was the largest danger he would ever be subjected to: a little chafing of skin. His master would never allow otherwise.

He felt the heavy gaze of brown, terrifyingly intelligent eyes on his back as he crawled and could not refrain from chancing a gaze backwards over the mound of his shoulder when he was crouching in front of the narrow Starfleet issued couch. His Vulcan was still standing tall and regal in the same place just a few feet inside the room, calmly gazing at him.

There was anxiety tightening his gut he was not even aware of, until he saw the nearly imperceptible nod of his master; assuring him, anchoring him. Tension flowed out of his body and he turned back, stretching his neck until he caught the edge of the cushion – his cushion – between his teeth and pulled. He could have made it easier by bracing himself on the edge of the couch’s seat, but his master did not like that. He said pets did not belong on the furniture.

The thought made the muscles along his back even more lax, until Kirk was swaying on the spot he was kneeling on, nearly spilling all over his cushion, when he finally let it fall down to the floor.

“Good boy.”

Spock was suddenly directly by his side, crouching down and burying his fingers in his hair once again. Kirk hummed appreciatively.

“Listen to me.”

The dark voice coiled around him and it was difficult to concentrate on its actual meaning. He pried his eyes open and sluggishly rolled them towards Spock. Yes, he was listening. At least he tried to. Spock’s face was still soft in a way that told him the Vulcan understood perfectly well his difficulties.

“I’m only here because I need to retrieve a few documents. I actually have a meeting with someone.”

Kirk only blinked dumbly at him. Something told him he knew what Spock was talking about, but it would mean to come further up out of the dark, serene place he was slipping deeper and deeper into. He was not comfortable with that thought, so he simply waited.

One corner of Spock’s mouth curled enigmatically. The grip of his fingers tightened in Kirk’s hair and he pulled the pliant head back until the vulnerable throat was stretched and exposed.

“I will be gone for a while. Half an hour. Maybe even an hour. No longer than that.” He paused, giving Jim time to digest what had been said. Jim was thankful for it; Spock knew exactly what to do.

Don’t use big words.

Don’t use long sentences.

Give easy orders.

“Lie down on your cushion until I come back.” Before Kirk could react to the command his master suddenly dipped his head and was up close and personal to him. When Spock spoke next it was directly into his ear.

“I will be locking the door, so you will be utterly safe while I’m away.”

The Vulcan easily caught him when every strength went out of his body and he sagged down with a high, needy whine. The implication was a heady thought coupled directly to the most primal receptors in Kirk’s brain. Safe. Spock would keep him safe – like a treasured possession.

While the Vulcan arranged his body on the cushion, Jim nosed at the verdant neck and mouthed the soft skin sloppily, until his master drew away and out of his reach.

Kirk whined but did not move from his cushion other than wiggling a little in place. A stern look from Spock, however, stilled him and he settled slowly.

The heat, which had shot through his body at Spock’s solemn promise of safety, was coiling sweet and thick in his belly. He watched his master retrieve a few things from the desk and cross the room. Spock did not even look back at him, when he slipped out of their quarters.

Kirk heard the affirmative beeping that signalled the lock slipping in place.

His body went utterly lax.

He started waiting, while his thoughts drifted lazily.

 

Normally he would not have survived staying on the same spot for more than five minutes – alone no less! But as it was, Kirk merely moved when curling on his other side or stretching cramped muscles. He was not, as of yet, able to sleep, curled up on his pillow – not without Spock’s anchoring presence – but he was able to doze and let the tension of the chase seep out of his body.

When the beeping on the door signalled Spock coming back, he merely turned his head, prying his eyes open and watching silently the tall Vulcan stepping inside. Spock did not look over to him – did not acknowledge the presence of his mate in any way, to be exact. He stalked towards his desk and sank down in his chair, where he proceeded to work on the computer.

Kirk had followed him with his eyes and kept lying on his cushion for one or two more minutes, before he slowly forced his sleepy body unto all fours and crawled towards his master, under the desk and next to those long legs. He sat back on his heels and rested his chin on Spock’s knee.

He closed his eyes. They did not open, even when one long fingered hand slipped into his hair and started petting him. He could not have said how long he had been sitting naked under the desk – it was inconsequential, after all. Captain Kirk might have been a slave to deadlines and the precise timetables every person in high rank was subjected to; Spock’s pet, though, did not have any worries in that regard. His only immediate concern was how to best please his master, which was in and of itself nothing strenuous, since Spock seemed the happiest with him when Jim was simply there and obeyed.

“Pet. Are you listening?”

Spock’s voice was a luscious dark curl, twining around the base of Kirk’s spine. He whined low in his throat.

“We will dock tomorrow after you forwarded your report to Starfleet. I have a few presents waiting for you down on the planet.”

It was hard following the words, dragging his consciousness back from that primal, animal part. He turned his head and started mouthing softly the root of Spock’s thumb. The Vulcan hummed thoughtfully and resumed his petting.

 

.oOo.

 

“I saw a stream behind the house. We should go swimming!”

Kirk knew that he sounded way too enthusiastic about such a small thing, but Spock’s eyes were twinkling in the way that signalled his Vulcan was rather intrigued by his human antics and he could not have cared less about any indignities.

“Very well,” Spock said with a sigh. It sounded long suffering – but the curling in the corners of his mouth gave him away. Jim thought this might just become one of the best shoreleaves in a long time. They mock fought in the chilly water, throwing each other around and wrestling with slick limbs and quick movements.

Kirk laughed enthusiastically the whole time, though in the end he was very much out of breath. Spock panted as well, his eyes sparkling with the fierce joy of spending a few days alone with his Captain.

In this moment they were simply equals – laughing, fighting, talking about everything and yet nothing. Two lovers enjoying their companionship.

The lower the sun wandered along the sky, though, the quieter they became. The touches no longer were rough and seeking to win a playful dominance, rather they became softer – more thoughtful. Kirk caught himself sneaking glances at Spock, trying to figure out what was going through the head of the Vulcan.

He wondered if he was remembering correctly; Spock telling him he had presents for him. He was not entirely sure – when he was in the other headspace everything seemed distorted and surreal.

He was a little nervous, though – it was his first birthday they would be celebrating as a couple.

 

Spock’s hand seemed even hotter than usual after the coldness of the water. It landed with a finality on Kirk’s upper arm that made him stop and turn around immediately; hazel eyes searching for the gaze of his companion and forehead creasing in concern.

“Spock? Is everything alright?” he ventured slowly, taking in the unusually tense features of his mate and the rigid lines of his long, slender body. The Vulcan did not answer immediately, which made Jim all the more troubled, stepping closer to the First Officer and trying to discern from his expression what was bothering him; which was, admittedly, a nearly impossible endeavour with a Vulcan.

Spock frowned for a moment, dark gaze seemingly sweeping over Kirk’s half-naked body, before he slowly said, “The terran custom is to gift someone on the day of his birth.”

He paused after that and Jim wondered briefly if that was all, when the Vulcan continued, “I have procured presents for you.”

Oh. Spock was nervous. An easy grin slowly stretched Kirk’s lips and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lover’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, Spock. You wouldn’t have needed to buy me something. But I’m sure it will be – “

“I don’t think you understand correctly,” Spock smoothly interrupted. There was a curious gleam in his eye that Jim was not able to interpret. He just stared, while Spock moistened his lips with a quick motion of his tongue that was startlingly... human.

Kirk opened his mouth, intent on demanding an explanation. Spock pre-empted him.

“Would you like to see your presents, pet?”

Jim’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Suddenly heat pooled in his belly, making his knees week and the glands in his mouth produce an overabundance of saliva. He swallowed with too much difficulty around the heavy weight of his tongue. His wide eyes stared dumbly at Spock, while he nodded once in a jerky motion.

The Vulcan slowly blew a breath out, some amount of tension draining from his shoulders.

“Remove your shorts. Down on the ground, boy,” he smoothly said and Kirk was helpless against the whimper rising in his throat.

He had not expected for them to play today. The use of the – literal – pet name had hit home like a sledgehammer to the neck, boring deep into all the right receptors in his brain and shooting adrenaline and endorphin through his system until his muscles tried to simultaneously contract and relax, making him stupid and fumbling while divesting himself off his shorts and falling to the ground.

Long fingers found their way into his hair and his head was rotated from one side to the other. Kirk was pliant under the touch, letting Spock do what he wanted. When his head was tilted backwards and a second hand got hold of his lower jaw, prying it open, he merely gazed adoringly up at Spock.

The sensation of one smooth thumb gliding into the moist cavity of his mouth, gently rubbing over the smooth, slick surface of his teeth, pushing away his lips as if inspecting his gums, was a new but not unpleasant one.

Hot heat made his face blush deep red, when the motion of getting his teeth and mouth inspected like an animal hit home in the back of his head and sent even more endorphins rushing through his body. His limbs became heavy and languid; his upper body angling itself forward towards his master, leaning trustingly against the hands inspecting him. They were the only things holding him up. He gave the control over to Spock – there simply was no feeling more divine than that of all the responsibilities of his rank falling off of him; being enfolded in Spock’s gentle dominance and guidance; knowing the Vulcan would take the utmost care with him.

Spock’s gaze was, as always, serious and contemplative. He drew his thumb away and swiped a slow arc across Kirk’s cheek. He could feel the moistness still lingering on the digit and started squirming in place.

“Still,” the Vulcan admonished and Jim reluctantly settled back on his heels. Spock’s nostrils flared subtly, but there was no other outward sign of emotion. He inspected Kirk for a long time, until he spoke up again.

“I will send you deep tonight, if you wish so.”

Jim growled softly; he could feel the heat spreading down his neck and tingeing his chest in a rosy red.

“If, at any time, you feel... uncomfortable or scared or have second thoughts, you will be saying Dragonfly. Do you understand?”

Kirk blinked dumb, hazel eyes fixed trustingly on his companion. A strange feeling prickled through his body, causing the relaxation to slightly dissipate. A... safeword? They never had used one... it was... that was...

He was dumb. His usually formidable brain, which would not let him rest with all its flitting, racing thoughts, was, for once, too slow and he had difficulty grasping anything. Spock was intently watching him. A little frown marring his face, before understanding dawned and the tiny crease smoothed out again.

“If you find yourself unable to speak, you reach for me – any part of my body – and squeeze. Understand?”

Kirk never used his hands during these... special... times. Using them would surely indicate that something was not alright. He whined, his shoulders drawing up towards his ears. He did not want to think. He did not want to have the burden pushing down on him. Spock clicked his tongue in soft reprimand, took Jim’s head in both hands and gently shook him.

“Don’t be like that, pet. I just want to make sure you are safe and well. Come – your presents await you.”

There was a last drag of long fingers through moist locks and then Spock stood upright once more and opened the door to the rented house.

 

Jim was crawling right behind Spock; he was loath to let the Vulcan even one centimetre further away than strictly necessary. It was hard, his knees soon ached and once he almost stumbled, but by the time they reached the living room he started to get the hang of things. He rarely followed Spock when they were on the Enterprise. The space was simply not big enough – he could satisfy his urge to be near his companion by simply observing him and tracking him with his eyes. Here, though, they had much more space.

Spock did not have to say anything for Jim to notice his first present. His heart leapt straight into his throat, causing him to emit a slightly strangled sound and his fingers to curl deeply into the thick rug. His eyes were huge and vulnerable while staring into the corner of the room. A large bed for dogs was innocuously lying there. It was a large, oval cushion of a forest green colour with dark brown bones printed along the edge.

Kirk sat back on his heels, a soft breath escaping his lungs, while he stared at the bed, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he was sure Spock could hear it. He was aware of the intelligent eyes watching him, but he was not able to look up and take on the far-too-knowing gaze.

Spock finally spoke up.

“Pet?”

Jim bit his lower lip, before slowly rotating his head upwards towards his companion. His eyes were huge – seas of hazel swimming in a too-pale face. He suddenly felt so... odd. Unsure whether he was supposed to be happy or not. The sudden confrontation with a visible, tangible evidence of his strange desire to reduce himself to an animal made him uncomfortable and left him feeling like he did something... naughty. False. Reprehensible.

He whimpered; and if the whimper sounded suspiciously like ‘Spock’, neither of the two commented on it. The Vulcan got into a crouch next to him.

“Don’t you like it?” he whispered directly into Kirk’s ear. The man turned his head in sudden shame and gulped for air. He did not see Spock frown, but he felt the gush of breath on his ear.

“Remember your safeword?”

Yes... yes, he did remember. But he did not... he wanted... he...

They were in a stalemate. Neither sure as to how to proceed. Spock asked again, “Do you like your bed, petakov ikh’rom (Darling dog)?”

Jim slowly turned his head, his eyes squeezed shut. He rubbed his cheek against Spock’s shoulder. The Vulcan exhaled. His hand stroked slowly down Kirk’s back – it left a trail of fire in its wake.

“Good boy,” the Vulcan praised and stood up again. “Go and make yourself comfortable, while I retrieve your other present.”

Jim felt bashful, squirming on his place and hesitating for a long moment, until his desire won out over his head and he crawled towards the bed. It was larger than his cushion on the Enterprise – and softer. He bit the tip of his tongue, slowly curling in on the bed – his bed. It felt ridiculously good. He only whished he could go back deeper into that dark, quiet place inside himself so he did not need to feel embarrassed over his needs anymore.

When Spock came back, he raised his head and looked over. The tall half-Vulcan held something in his hands, but he did not come towards the bed – instead he walked towards the couch.

Jim hesitated, before starting to unfurl. Spock, without turning around, admonished: “Stay where you are. I’ll tell you, when you can come.”

Kirk frowned, but backed up and settled back on the bed. He watched surreptitiously as Spock retrieved a book and sat down on the couch. There was silence filling the room and when Jim realized there would be nothing forthcoming for a while, the silence slowly, mercifully, started to fill his head as well.

 

When there was a touch on his shoulder, Jim realized he had dozed off on his new bed. He knew he should probably feel alarmed by the touch, but he could not bring himself to startle. He blinked slowly, sleepily and raised his head, gazing up at Spock.

The Vulcan was crouching next to his large cushion and his already deep voice was low and soothing, when he spoke up.

“Here’s your next present, petakov ikh’rom.

Spock was probably moving unhurriedly and at a reasonable speed in reality, but for Kirk’s sleep addled brain it was way too fast. He only heard the soft tinkling of metal, after something circled his throat. Only when Spock took one hand away and gripped the dense locks of his blond hair did he realize he did not feel the grip of hands circling his throat, but the heavy presence of a strip of leather.

Kirk’s eyes became wide, while Spock tilted his head back with the grip he had on his hair. The other hand was still resting on the strip of leather around Jim’s throat – caressing, from the feel of it. Jim raised one arm reflexively, but his lover clicked in reprimand with his tongue. The man slowly, hesitatingly let his arm down again.

“Good boy...” Spock whispered, the pupils of his dark eyes blown wide while he took in the sight.

“You look stunning... It’s gold-brown leather, my pet. Broad and hugging your throat...” His deep voice trailed off. There was a soft metallic tinkling, indicating that Spock was playing with something attached to the collar. “A golden ring, my pet... so I can attach a leash any time I desire...”

Jim’s breath hitched. His palms felt damp and his heart was once again pounding inside his chest. While the very same things had brought him out of his headspace, when Spock had presented him unexpectedly with the bed, though, they were now driving him deeper into it.

The corners of his vision became fuzzy, indistinct. The sounds out of Spock’s mouth went from clear and understandable to a steady stream of noise, pouring down on Jim.

He was no longer able to understand the exact words raining down on him. Only one thought filling his head and bouncing around in lazy circles.

I’m wearing his collar.

Hotter-than-human hands gripped his head, encircling it with large palms and holding his head steady, while Spock bowed down and pressed their lips together. The rough, slightly dry tongue of the alien slipped into his mouth, which fell open with minimal prompting.

At first he reacted to the kiss out of sheer instinct, until Spock’s fast, agile movements were simply too overwhelming and he let his mouth go slack – let his mate lick inside and claim it at his will. He was rewarded by a steady stream of praise as soon as the Vulcan came up for air.

The words were meaningless to him now, but the implications were all the more pronounced. Everything seemed so blown up right now – stretched out of proportions. The slightest movements seemed unreasonably significant and the warm voice dropping down upon him was like a benediction. Stripping him off of his responsibilities; off his name and status; off his humanity.

He did not even realize the hot, throbbing weight of his cock between his legs, until he slightly moved and jostled his erection.

Kirk’s breathy whimper seemed obscenely loud in the stillness of the room. Spock slowly raised himself and the human watched dazed as the long legs quivered for a moment, before the Vulcan steadied himself once more.

“Come.” A simple command. Kirk yipped in abandon, too far gone to be any embarrassed, since – he could comply to that command! He could do that. He could scramble from his bed and be right on the heels of his master. He could make his master content with his obedience.

The thought made his erection jerk. He could feel his foreskin rub over the sensitive, engorged head with every movement of his hips and thighs while crawling. Even the way it spread the gathering fluid over the too hot skin was blown out of proportions.

While Spock settled himself on the sole armchair in the room, Kirk slowly twisted his head from one side to the other, feeling the edges of the heavy collar around his throat. It felt glorious – sitting right there above his Adam’s apple, digging soft, buttery edges into his skin, when he turned his head this way and that. It seemed to be lined with a thin line of fur in order to assure his well being.

He startled a little when the hand of his mate reached for him and curled once around his throat, feeling the collar, then shoving the fingers into the ring at the front and gently tugging him forwards, forwards – unrelentingly forwards onto his left knee, until Jim’s chest was pressed tight against it and the sharp bone dug into his diaphragm.

He stared up at Spock. Waiting.

“You’re such a good boy... wearing my collar around your gorgeous neck,” Spock whispered intensely, still tugging a little on the ring. Jim whined, trying to follow the tug and yet not sure how to manage it short of crawling into his master’s lap. “You deserve a treat.”

There was a pause in which the Vulcan looked expectantly at him, but Kirk did not understand, simply stared, distracted from the pulsing arousal between his legs and the enticing pull around his neck; finally reduced to what he wanted. An animal; in need of his master’s guidance. After a few seconds Spock’s lips curled with the realization that Kirk was simply too far gone to get what he was proposing.

Jim yelped, when the Vulcan slowly extended his left leg – one naked foot nudging slightly against his throbbing cock.

His hips jerked forwards instinctively, dragging the weeping head across the material of the trousers Spock wore. The flash of arousal shooting through his body made him jerk and whimper; it raced from his cock up his belly to his throat and from the collar down his back, where the arousal started coiling around the base of his spine like a serpent.

Jim stilled, mortified at having humped Spock’s leg, looking up towards his lover and pressing his diaphragm all the more against the Vulcan knee. His master’s gaze was dark, filled with arousal and heat and so much tenderness it made Kirk’s throat tight.

“Good boy... My pet... petakov ikh’rom,” his lover murmured, the hand not still playing with the ring on the collar starting to card through his hair, petting and tugging and playing with it.

The realization that this was exactly what Spock wanted was a heady, hot weight settling in the depths of his belly and spreading slowly over his limbs.

Jim’s vision became all the more fuzzy, when he started frantically moving his hips; no longer heeding any social forms or his dignity. He was aware of a constant stream of howling and whining pouring out of his throat and somewhere he knew he left trails of sticky, clear fluid on the leg of Spock’s trouser, but everything seemed so small and insignificant in the face of the heat and abandon flooding his body.

He did not need to censor himself right now – he did not need to be courteous towards his lover or to mind his feelings. At this moment Spock was simply his master, providing oh so graciously a part of his body onto which he could slake his lust – without expecting anything in return.

Kirk had bent down low, his teeth sunk into the fabric covering Spock’s upper thigh, pulling and tearing on it, while his hips were jerking and humping, rubbing his cock against the soft fabric until even it felt rough and too harsh against his sensitive skin.

He whined, tears starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. Spock’s hands were soothing weights on his bare shoulders, rubbing and squeezing, his voice a soft, deep murmur, anchoring him in midst of this madness.

It hurt, damn, it hurt... and it was so glorious, so perfect! His cock would be raw afterwards; tender and over sensitive to touch for days – and yet it was so perfect, so right, so... yes.

He kept chewing on the trousers, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm, his testicles quivering and drawing up high towards his body. He was so close... so, so close...

He was weeping openly by now, face pressed into the large, hard muscles of Spock’s thigh. He was aware of the slight alarm in his master’s voice and yet he would not have been able to tell if he was crying out of joy or sadness or simple madness even if he had been able to talk in that moment.

One long fingered hand settled on the back of his neck, pressed the buckle of the collar against his skin – and just like that, Jim was off; shooting his ejaculate in heavy, angry, almost painful bursts against the fabric of Spock’s leg, simultaneously laughing and crying and moaning.

 

He must have slipped away after that monster of an orgasm, for when he opened his eyes next he was certain he only had blinked for a second, but suddenly was sitting on Spock’s lap, cradled in the steady arms of his lover.

There was a soft, moist cloth wiping his face clean of everything. He squirmed, trying to get away from it, but Spock clicked with his tongue in reprimand and so Jim settled again.

“Are you back with me?” Spock asked slowly. His voice was more a low rumble in the side of Jim’s biceps. He did not answer; did not feel capable to do so after having spurted his brain out of his cock.

Spock hummed thoughtfully, reaching for something on the side and moments later there was something cool and slippery on Kirk’s over sensitised genitals. He looked down in detached curiosity, watching as his lover spread a salve on his cock. It looked angry red.

Kirk squirmed again, not entirely comfortable with the after care. It was somehow humiliating and utterly addicting at the same time. Spock did not say anything this time, though his arms tightened their hold a little in order to prevent Jim from slipping from his lap.

There were hands on the buckle of his collar, starting to open it – and this caught his attention finally.

“No... don’t...” His voice was raw and hoarse, the syllables slurred and nearly unrecognizable. Spock paused for a moment, his fingers still on the clasp.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his mouth so close to Jim’s left ear. He breathed slowly out.

“Yes. I want to wear it... as long... as possible.”

Spock was silent for a long time, until his hands fell finally away and his arms slowly curled around his mate, hugging him astonishingly close towards his body. Spock usually was not given to cuddles, but right now Jim enjoyed it tremendously.

Just as he enjoyed the whispered, “Very well.”

 

THE END

Chapter End Notes:

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as of yet not beta-read. I will comb through it tomorrow - maybe there'll be slight changes. I don't know ^^

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My internship ended and I needed to get back into the swing of writing :) So here's a sequel xD

Don't worry, I'll tackle 'Dreams and Realities' and 'Lessons in Humanity' next :)

Your thoughts? ^.^

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