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Story Notes:

This series obviously doesn’t completely follow canon, but chronologically this is set just a little before the Deadly Years.

 

Sequel to After Altair, but can probably stand on its own. Enjoy!

Author's Chapter Notes:

What’s up fuckers? You miss me? You didn’t think I was done yet, did you?


As always: only self-beta'd. Feel free to point out mistakes.

 

Captain James T. Kirk pushed his way into the over-crowded, dimly-lit bar, immediately surveying the crowd. Usually when they had a chance to be planet-side it was easy to pick out his crew even in throngs of people, but this was a federation hub planet. Their brightly colored uniforms acted more like camouflage in this sea of diverse styles from various planets. At least it wasn’t as loud in here as a few of the other nightspot hangouts they’d passed on the way here.

 

Kirk tensed for a microsecond under the hand that came down on his shoulder, but immediately relaxed into it. Just Spock. With the hand not resting on Jim, his first officer was pointing towards a group of people crowded into a corner booth, way in the back.

 

Kirk snorted. “Trust Bones to pick the grubbiest corner in the grubbiest bar in the grubbiest town on the planet.” He shrugged and laughed. “The drinks had better be good.”

 

“Given the good doctor’s propensity for strong drink and choosing locations based on character rather than class, I believe you will find the beverages to be inexpensive and, at the very least, palatable.”

 

Kirk laughed warmly. “I’ll take that.”

 

Spock and Kirk capably worked their way through the crowd, aiming for the table around which Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, and McCoy had gathered. Jim flopped down into the booth next to McCoy and beamed at the assembled group while Spock slid in gracefully next to him.

 

“Good of you to finally join us,” McCoy groused good-naturedly. “We got the party started without you, hope you don’t mind,” he said, grabbing and sloshing around the large pitcher sitting in the middle of the table, nearly three quarters empty. “Their happy hour deal is this fruity bull-hockey, but even I have to admit it’s not bad.”

 

“Well, with a ringing endorsement like that…” Kirk smiled and pushed the two remaining empty glasses over to the doctor for him to fill. “Where’s Chekov, didn’t someone invite him?”

 

“I asked him but he said he’d made other plans,” Sulu chimed in louder than necessary, his eyebrows wagging and his cheeks already showing a hint of rosiness from the alcohol. “I tried to press him for more but he wouldn’t say. There’s probably a girl involved.”

 

“How that boy manages to snag so many beauties I’ll never know.” McCoy filled a glass with the sweet-smelling transparent lavender concoction and slid it to Spock. As he filled the second, he drawled, “What kept you two so long? We were starting to think you’d bailed on us too.”

 

“You say that like we had any influence on when we got down here,” Kirk scowled but took a grateful swig from the glass McCoy pressed into his hand. The refreshingly crisp flavors began to dance across his tongue and he had to admit that Bones had good taste. “On top of the delayed delivery of the supplies we need to bring to Gamma Hydra IV, I’ve got admiralty breathing down my neck for data we just don’t have on the ion storm from the other day. And you know that since we’ll be two days late picking up Commodore Stocker means he has been up my ass all day.”

 

“Whaaat?” Sulu exclaimed in overly dramatic disbelief. “And here I thought that was Spock’s job.”

 

There was a sudden hiss as McCoy, Uhura, and Scotty collectively sucked in and held their breaths. Kirk felt Spock stiffen beside him. The booth was silent as the captain caught Sulu’s eyes in a careful stare, maintaining a perfectly blank face for several agonizing moments — just long enough to make the helmsman sweat and rethink his witty words.

 

“Oh, no, I— sirs I didn’t mean it like that,” Sulu slurred, suddenly horrified. “I mean, we know, about you two, but I didn’t mean to imply— I just meant to say that Spock is always keeping you in line—”

 

Then, Kirk burst out laughing. That’s what Jim liked about Sulu: he was so refreshingly honest. The relief around the table was palpable.

 

Since he was the closest, Scotty kneaded his elbow into Sulu’s ribs and scolded, “Real smooth, Mista Sulu. What ‘appened ta waitin’ for ‘em ta tell us ‘emselves?”

 

Sulu laughed sheepishly but unapologetically, trying desperately to lean away from the red-clad elbow. “I saw the opening, I had to go for it. The double entendre was a happy accident, I swear.”

 

Kirk just shook his head in amazement. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, eh, Spock?”

 

Spock dipped his head in acknowledgement and Jim felt him give his thigh a reassuring squeeze under the table. “Indeed.” Spock took a small sip of his drink, though Kirk was almost certain he was using the glass to cover a tiny grin.

 

It had been an interesting four months since the events following the coronation on Altair VI. Shifting their relationship from platonic to romantic had not been without its challenges. They’d fought, they’d made up, they’d fought again, but then they had found a new balance in both their personal and professional lives. Kirk couldn’t remember ever feeling more in tune with another person before. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been this happy. He knew Bones would say it was medically impossible but Kirk swore he felt his heart swell in his chest.

 

“Though I fail to see how,” Spock’s voice broke Kirk out of his thoughts. His tone was not harsh, simply curious. “I believe we have exercised the utmost discretion.”

 

“Don’t look at me,” McCoy threw his hands up in defense when Kirk side-eyed him. “I haven’t told a soul.”

 

“Ach, ye cannae go throwin’ blame around,” Scotty pointed out. “Rumors been boundin’ ‘round tha ship since tha firs’ day ye two met. They jus’ got a good boost in new material ‘round when McCoy had me tryin’a cut through a bulk head with a security escort.”

 

Kirk groaned. He wasn’t even close to forgetting about the security officers, or the yeoman, nor the associated embarrassment of being seen by subordinates at less than his best. But Kirk hadn’t even considered the potential ramifications of the rumor mill. It wasn’t that either of them had wanted to hide the relationship, per say, but it was always wise to keep personal things private when you so often flitted through the public eye. He could think of a handful of ensigns who would be suddenly finding themselves on the night duty roster.

 

“Then, by proxy, Doctor McCoy, you did in fact provide the entire ship with seemingly scandalous gossip material by calling Mr. Scott and a security team to your aid against the captain’s wishes,” Spock teased. But McCoy turned red around the ears with shame and Jim thought maybe he and Spock were the only ones in on the joke.

 

“Yeah, what was going on with that anyway?” Sulu asked.

 

“Boys, enough already,” Uhura gently intervened. “What they’re trying to say is that we’re happy for you.” Reaching across the table she gave Kirk’s hand a gentle pat and her best smile to Spock. “For both of you. We don’t need to know the whole story,” she shot a pointed look at Sulu, “we’ll have your back.”

 

Jim actually felt his throat get a little tight with emotion and had to clear it roughly or risk making an embarrassing noise.

 

“Anyway,” Uhura continued, “You were telling us about Commodore Stocker?”

 

Kirk recognized the escape she was giving him and enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity for a subject change. “I was just griping.” He let out a sigh of frustration. “I know he’s excited for his transfer, but I can’t seem to make him understand that there is nothing I can do to move up our departure. I told him to stop acting like he was going to die of old age before we got him to Starbase 10.”

 

Uhura snickered while the other human men at the table groaned.

 

“Why do you always insist on poking the bear, Jim?” McCoy groused.

 

Kirk only laughed. “Stocker is a good man. He took it in stride.”

 

Just then, a harried looking waitress —Axanar by the looks of it— emerged from the wall of people surrounding the dance floor and bustled up to the table, data slate in hand. “Anything else I can get for you folks?”

 

“I’m gonna need something stronger than this,” McCoy declared straight away. “Got any whiskey?”

 

“Uh…” The waitress chewed her stylus thoughtfully for a moment. “We have bourbon.”

 

Kirk swore he saw a sparkle in his friend’s baby blues. “Even better. I’ll take it on the rocks.”

 

“Make that two,” Jim added. “Spock?”

 

The first officer contemplated the glass in his hand for a moment. “While the soporific effects are wasted on me, I’m rather partial to the flavor of this evening’s ‘happy hour special’. I was wondering if you might be able to divulge the recipe?”

 

The waitress gawked at Spock as though he had grown another head. “It’s not anything special… just filtered Papalla juice and terran Vodka…” She continued to stare for a little while, but when no one at the table said anything, she shifted nervously from foot to foot. “…Would you like another pitcher?”

 

At Spock’s hesitation, Uhura raised her glass in encouragement. “I wouldn’t mind a little more, myself.”

 

Sulu tapped his glass on the table in agreement as well, so Spock ordered the pitcher.

 

“I’d like a scotch, single malt if ye’ve got it, lass,” Scotty added when the waitress was finished scribbling in her little pad.

 

She nodded and then, having everyone’s order, scurried back into the throngs of people, vanishing almost instantly among the crowd.

 

“A wee bit spacey, tha one, yeah?” he said, after she was gone.

 

Everyone nodded.

 

---------

 

A couple of hours passed in much the same way. Several empty pitchers and glasses stood stacked on the table, yet they were still taking turns nursing their drinks (Sulu had finally been convinced to switch to water) and sharing stories of some of the more mundane goings on around the ship. Uhura spoke of an impromptu jam session in the recreation room, Scotty waxed poetic with Sulu about new theories in warp drive mechanics, and McCoy verbally sparred with Spock and grumped about the amount of STDs and easily preventable injuries he was expecting to treat when the rest of the crew got back to the ship.

 

Surrounded by friends, a warm buzz building in the back of his head, and the reassuring heat of Spock’s leg pressed against the side of his, Kirk decided that on the whole this was exactly what he had needed after such a long day.

 

Fingertips trailed gently along Kirk’s thigh and he leaned gleefully into the sensation. It was a significant marker of progress if Spock could give this tiny display of affection in such a public setting, hidden under the table though it was.

 

Kirk turned slightly in his seat to share a conspiratorial smile with his first officer, but the grin quickly fell from his face. Something wasn’t right.

 

It was subtle things: the way Spock slumped down in his seat, his usually calculating eyes half lidded and staring blankly into his empty cup, and —most damning— the tiny smile that seemed to be fighting for residence on his lips, flickering in and out of existence at each twitch of the corners of his mouth.

 

“Spock?” Every conversation in the booth petered out at the unmistakable sound of concern in his voice. “Spock, are you okay?”

 

Spock slowly looked up and a lazy smile spread across his face. Kirk privately thought it was simultaniously the most beautiful and disturbing thing he had ever seen. “I am fine, Jim,” Spock said, carefully saying each word as though they were difficult to pronounce. “However, the gravity is wrong.”

 

And then Spock did something he had only ever done once or twice in the privacy of one of their rooms: he rested his cheek on the captain’s shoulder with a lazy sigh.

 

Kirk turned wide eyes on his CMO and began to say, “Bones? Could you—” But McCoy could and already was scanning Spock with a medical tricorder he ostensibly had pulled from thin air.

 

“No, no, these readings don’t make any sense,” McCoy muttered, frowning at his tricorder.

 

“What’s wrong?” Kirk asked, forcing his panic behind the mental wall of deadly calm he employed when he was captaining his ship in a crisis. “Was it something in the drink? Was it spiked with something harmful to Vulcans?”

 

McCoy shook his head. “There’s nothing unexpected in the drink from what I can tell. But I don’t know what else could be wrong. I can’t tell with just this,” he said and gave the tricorder a frustrated shake. His brows furrowed in thought. “These readings aren’t what I should be getting, Jim. We should take some samples and get him back to the ship where I can do a more in-depth scan.”

 

Kirk nodded and turned back to Spock. “Can you stand?”

 

Spock unhurriedly sat up and slid from the booth, only wobbling after standing fully upright. Jim was instantly by his side, a hand supporting him at the small of his back.

 

As McCoy clambered out of his seat, Uhura waved them ahead. “You boys go on. We’ll stay and get the check.”

 

“An’ kip an eye on our waitress,” Scotty muttered darkly, almost inaudibly.

 

Kirk gave a sharp nod and pulled out his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Three to beam up.”

 

---------

 

Despite McCoy being his best friend, the medical bay had always been Kirk’s least favorite part of the ship. Whether he was watching one of his crewmen getting patched up or on the table himself, the sterile walls always seemed to scream at him, “FAILURE.”

 

As he paced back and forth in McCoy’s office, waiting for news of Spock, Kirk was certain he was wearing a hole into the carpeting — not that he particularly cared at the moment. He’d been kicked out of the main room when McCoy had declared his nervous energy to be too distracting. It felt like he had been waiting for hours, but surely the CMO wouldn’t keep his commanding officer waiting so long?

 

The office door slid open and the familiar deadpan face he’d been hoping and dreading to see poked around the corner.

 

“How is he?” Kirk blurted before the doctor had a chance to speak.

 

McCoy jerked his head to the side, lips pressing into a tight line. “Come out here, there’s something I want to show you.”

 

Kirk tried to brace himself for the worst.

 

In the examination room, Spock sat upright on one of the biobeds, slightly swaying and a goofy grin still fighting for real estate on his face.

 

Kirk stood in parade rest by the half-Vulcan’s side, finding comfort and strength in the rigidity of the time-honored stance.

 

McCoy brought up dials on the over-head display and handed Jim a datapad filled with graphs and charts like he expected Jim to even remotely understand what any of it meant.

 

“Vulcans secrete specific enzymes throughout their digestive tract,” McCoy began, “which happen to break down ethanol molecules extremely quickly into their base components: acetaldehyde to acetate all the way down to good old H2O and CO2. These enzymes are notably absent in our resident hobgoblin’s gut. In fact, almost none of the digestive enzymes I would expect to find in a Vulcan are present.” McCoy smiled mischievously and patted his patient gently on the shoulder. “But there’s no need to worry, Mr. Spock. I have good news. Your stomach is in perfectly healthy condition… for a human.”

 

Spock’s eyebrows came together in a puzzled frown and he placed a hand on his abdomen.

 

Kirk could only stare in disbelief. “So, he’s fine?”

 

“Perfectly. Merely three sheets to the wind.”

 

Jim had to slump in relief against the next biobed over. He was silent for a long time until a tiny chuckle escaped. Then another one, then another, until he was full-blown cackling, skirting on the edge of maniacal. “We got a Vulcan drunk,” he laughed. “We got Spock fucking trashed. And then like a pack of college idiots we all panicked and dragged him to sick bay.” Kirk shook his head. “I’m so glad you’re okay Spock, but I can’t actually believe this is happening.”

 

“You and me both.” McCoy put his hands on his hips. “In any case, seeing as how he’s just dandy, I suggest you get him to bed and let him sleep it off. And let me know if he has a hangover in the morning. I can swing by with something if he’ll let me.”

 

Kirk thanked McCoy and handed him back the datapad. It was effortless to coax Spock’s arm around his shoulders and, with an arm around his waist, it was fairly easy to steer the Vulcan off the bed and to the door.

 

Out in the corridor, with backs pressed against the wall facing the entrance to sickbay, Scotty, Uhura, and Sulu stood with arms linked. Scotty’s face was twisted in concern and Sulu appeared to be asleep, but Uhura clutched tightly to each arm she held, all the while pouring dark ferocity from her eyes. Kirk was certain that, had any crewmen come down to the med bay to treat a minor injury, they would have taken one look at Uhura’s face and turned around.

 

As soon as the door opened, the waiting officers gave a start and Uhura shook Sulu awake.

 

When all three simultaneously began talking at him, concern evident, McCoy intervened, swiping his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Eeeeeh, he’ll live.”

 

They all immediately resumed angrily talking over one another. Kirk honestly couldn’t understand a single word.

 

“Are you folks seriously asking me to violate patient confidentiality? Not gonna happen,” McCoy drawled. “I’m tellin’ ya Spock’s not gonna die and that’s gonna be good enough for the lot of ya! Now, who’s buying me another drink? I’ve had a very stressful night.”

 

As McCoy shepherded the well-meaning —but still overwhelming— officers away, Kirk gratefully escaped with Spock in the opposite direction, silently singing his best friend’s praises.

 

Around the curve of the hall the last echo of the doctor’s voice yelled, “Yes, for god’s sakes! Call off security before you traumatize that poor girl!”

 

As Kirk ducked into the turbolift, he was thankful that they did not have to travel through much of the ship in order to get to Spock’s quarters; though he had no compunctions over practically carrying his wobbly companion, he was certain that Spock would not take too kindly to being paraded about the ship in this state.

 

The moment they were inside his quarters, Spock listed dangerously to one side and Kirk had to scramble to catch him. They managed a controlled stumble to the middle of the room, where they crashed into the divider, Spock heavily pinning Kirk to the partition.

 

Kirk looked up to say something, but all thoughts were completely chased from his mind when Spock cradled his face in his hands and kissed the corner of his mouth tenderly, lingeringly. Perfectly. But perhaps Spock knew his aim was slightly off-center, because he tried again, and again, and again. Each slow press seared into Kirk’s skin and wrenched at his heart.

 

When Spock finally pulled back, it was to give Jim a half-lidded grin before tucking his head into Jim’s neck.

 

Kirk was left utterly shaken; he wanted to be disappointed in himself for literally going weak in the knees, but his emotions had run the gamut today and seemed too exhausted to heed his wishes. The pair stood there for a long while, Spock simply breathing Jim in and Kirk desperately trying to make his heart stop doing ridiculous stunts inside his chest.

 

However, eventually Spock began to waver once more.

 

With a little difficulty, Kirk cleared his throat. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

 

Kirk steered Spock the last few feet to his bunk, which he enthusiastically crawled into. The half-Vulcan was practically a rag doll as Jim helped him out of his uniform boots, trousers, and shirt and tucked him under the covers.

 

Jim leant to place a farewell peck on Spock’s forehead, but instead found himself being clumsily pulled into the bunk. He laughed, “Spock, what are you—”

 

Spock soundly cut him off with a kiss: deeper this time, but just as slow, just as sweet. Kirk couldn’t help but moan into the lazy dance of tongues. But Spock still tasted of papalla juice and vodka, the fruity flavor insistently reminding Jim of the Vulcan’s state.

 

Kirk reluctantly pulled away. “Spock, wait.” He rested a hand on Spock’s chest. “Wait. You’re drunk.”

 

“You are also inbri— ineberia— inebate—” Spock shook his head and gave up. “Drunk.”

 

Kirk laughed. “Yeah, I’m not quite on your level.” He tried to slide from the bed, but Spock held fast.

 

Slanted eyebrows scrunched tightly together as Spock forced himself to think through the mental fog. He struggled for words before simply settling on, “Explain.”

 

A bemused smile crept onto Kirk’s lips. “Explain what? That I’m not as intoxicated as you? That I’m an experienced alcoholic and you went on an unintended binge your first time drinking?”

 

“No,” Spock said mournfully. “You… don’t want me.”

 

Kirk didn’t know what being gutted felt like, but the literal experience certainly couldn’t measure up to the feeling those words tore through the pit of his stomach. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about me not wanting you? Trust me, there is nothing my dick wants more than for me to stay here and explore your new-found tactility, but you can hardly form a sentence.”

 

Spock’s face was a crumpled mess and he was only getting progressively more upset.

 

“I should go,” Kirk murmured, “before I do something I’ll regret.”

 

Still, Spock held fast. This time, Spock brought his hand to Jim’s face, fingertips spreading out in a familiar pattern. “Explain.

 

Kirk tried to ignore the little voice telling him that initiating a mind meld with an inebriated Vulcan might not be the best idea. But Spock’s eyes were so lost and Jim only had so much willpower. “Of course. My mind is always open to you.”

 

Together, they dove into each other’s minds. Kirk was beginning to grasp a semblance of control in their melds, occasionally even able to bring up specific memories. The trick was staying focused on the self while not getting overwhelmed by the entire soul laid bare before you. It was easier said than done. Most of the time, Kirk felt as though he was trying to direct the flow of a river with an oar as his only tool.

 

Kirk sensed his own anxiety and desire and guilt bleeding into the surreal surroundings, while simultaneously Spock’s feelings of rejection and self-doubt curled like tendrils deep into Kirk, deeper, deeper as though searching, seeking—

 

It was apparent when Spock found the thought he was looking for; the explanation. It was like a claxon screaming through Kirk’s mind, “STOP HE CANT CONSENT STOP HE CANT CONSENT STO—”

 

The deep connection snapped. Very suddenly, Kirk was again in he physical world, laying on his back in Spock’s bunk, panting, trying to figure out what had just happened.

 

Kirk was not alone, though; as Spock was similarly plastered to the bed, gasping for air, looking utterly stricken.

 

“You feel… very strongly… about consent…” Spock wheezed.

 

“No shit,” Kirk swore. “Why is this surprising to you?” he added, heatedly.

 

“Not surprising, no, I meant…” Spock clenched his eyes shut and made a guttural noise of frustration. “Cultural differences, how can I explain? We… we are mates. And our minds…” He shook his head sharply.

 

Kirk thought he saw a vein throb in Spock’s temple. “If it’s that hard to explain, maybe we should wait until morning to talk about this.”

 

“No,” Spock growled. He sat up, hardly wobbling. “It is vital you understand.”

 

Kirk swallowed nervously as Spock loomed over him, his dark eyes suddenly much clearer and sharper than before. Spock was every inch a predator and Jim was struck by the contrast to the not-so-distant memory of thinking him vulnerable.

 

“Vulcans’ reliance on mental affinity nearly guarantees consent. Which is fortunate… considering pon farr.” Spock’s eyes flinched slightly at the word. “Except in extreme cases, compatible mated pairs are highly receptive to one another’s urges or lack thereof.”

 

Kirk tipped his head in understanding. That actually made a lot of sense.

 

“I felt your urges and though my mind reached for you, you were pulling away, shielding yourself from me.”

 

“I was?” Kirk blinked in astonishment. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”

 

“Mental controls are subconscious… without training.” Spock’s jaw stretched wide in a yawn. “I did not know why you were pulling away,” his eyes were drooping again, taking on a lustful quality, “just as you did not know you cannot take advantage… when I am already yours, Jim…” He eased boneless back to bed, partially covering Jim with his body, the blanket bunching between them and around Jim.

 

Jim blinked rapidly as his alcohol dulled mind processed. It was a lot to take in and he didn’t quite know what to say, so he settled on, “What the hell, Spock? You were practically sober there for a second.”

 

Spock nuzzled into Kirk’s neck. “Mmm… I briefly stimulated… adrenal… glands… effect… only temporary…”

 

“I am in constant amazement of you, Mr. Spock,” he laughed. “All that for a conversation?”

 

“It was… vital…” Spock groaned.

 

Kirk affectionately carded his fingers through the black strands of hair, but abruptly gripped a touch harder than he’d intended when he felt teeth on his throat. A gently laving tongue followed in their wake, drawing a helpless moan from Kirk’s lips.

 

“You realize…” Spock murmured against his lover’s skin, “if I cannot achieve release with you, I will find none until I meditate… and I find it unlikely I will be able to meditate tonight...”

 

“Definitely not tired, then?”

 

Spock hummed. “No. Exhausted. But also aroused. Alcohol is… most inconvenient.”

 

“Especially in large quantities.” Jim smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, if you let me out of this blanket burrito I might be able to think of a few ways to help with that.”

 

Spock was keen to help disentangle Kirk from the sheets and more than pleased to sit back and watch while he toed off his boots and slowly, teasingly stripped. The dark brown eyes greedily feasted on every scrap of skin revealed.

 

When Kirk was left in only his underwear, he crawled onto the bunk and hovered on all fours above Spock. This close, he could see Spock’s blown pupils, feel the gentle puffs of his labored breathing, even smell the musk of his arousal.

 

Spock leaned up and captured Jim’s lips and mind with his own. Lightly trailing fingers up Kirk’s sides, he left goosebumps in their wake.

 

Jim shuddered and lowered his body to Spock’s, reveling in the feel of only the Vulcan’s undershirt between them, their semi-hard genitals rubbing against each other’s through their briefs. With both hands, Spock cupped the enticing curve of his partner’s rear and rocked their hips, moaning against Kirk’s lips.

 

They carried on like this for a long while, unhurriedly rolling their bodies together, tasting each other, luxuriating in the little sounds they could coax from one another, simply building the pleasure between them. For once, they had nowhere to be, almost no chance of red alerts, and all the time in the universe.

 

Kirk’s hands worked their way beneath Spock’s black undershirt, hiking the fabric up into his armpits. His fingers raked their way through the course chest hair, relishing the contrast to his own complete lack. Spock arched into the touch and sighed Jim’s name.

 

Kirk slowly shimmied down Spock’s body, raining kisses the whole way, and caught a copper-colored nipple in his mouth. He alternated laving it with the flat of his tongue and sucking with varying degrees of force until Spock was writhing and making whispery “oh” sounds.

 

Kirk eased off for a moment and took the opportunity to finish removing Spock’s undershirt, purposely mussing his hair more than strictly necessary. Jim was pleased to note that splotchy patches of green blushed across strategic points of his first officer’s skin, highlighting Spock in what Jim had learned was a tell-tale sign he was fully and completely riled up.

 

When appropriately lust-fogged eyes made contact with Jim’s, a devilish grin swept onto Kirk’s face before he bent to the second nipple and subjected it to the same sweet torture he had the first.

 

“Oh, Jim, please,” Spock cried, no longer certain for what he was begging, just that he wanted. His member strained against his briefs, a damp patch forming on the fabric near the tip.

 

Jim took pity on him and cupped a hand around the fully hard appendage, giving it a firm stroke. He relinquished the nipple from his mouth in favor of leaning up to Spock’s ear and whispered, “I want this inside me.”

 

“Yes, oh yes,” Spock chanted, bucking into the hand wrapped around him.

 

Kirk tenderly tugged at the scrap of fabric obscuring his prize and promptly found Spock eager to assist with their removal. Once he was free of the offending garment, Kirk slicked Spock’s precome down his straining shaft and resumed a gentle pumping motion.

 

As soon as he had Spock trembling again, Kirk nibbled on the tip of Spock’s ear and murmured, “Lube?”

 

Spock, unable or unwilling to pry his eyes away, scrabbled blindly at the bedside drawer as Kirk sat up, peeled off his own underwear —shifting from knee to knee to remove the garment— and straddled the eager Vulcan.

 

Kirk accepted the nearly empty tube from Spock and made a mental note to order more. Much more. After squeezing as much as he’d need into the palm of his hand, Kirk tossed the lubricant back into the drawer Spock had left hanging open. Growing impatient, he slicked the swollen member quickly before reaching back and sliding a finger into himself.

 

Not wanting to bother with much more than that, Kirk snatched his shirt from the floor, wiped off his slimy hand, and positioned himself in a crouch above Spock.

 

Spock opened his mouth to say something, but Kirk was already rocking back, guiding the tip of the jade cock into his body, past the tight ring of muscle. The steady, sweet, piercing pleasure of it penetrating into him made Kirk feel as though he was being split in two and remade whole. Once fully seated, he paused for a moment, letting the sensation of being filled wrack his body in shivers, each chill running up and down his spine in waves, the skin on the backs of his thighs pinching into tight goose bumps as the hot-cold feeling raced along his overloading nerves.

 

“Jim… You didn’t… Fully prepare…” Spock gasped when he managed to find his voice. “Are you—”

 

Kirk swiftly interrupted, “Spock, you can literally read my mind. You know you aren’t hurting me.” Kirk clenched slightly, again causing them both to shudder. “See?”

 

“It was… unexpected…” Spock panted, trembling. “You are… tight.”

 

Kirk hummed in agreement. Bracing his legs, Kirk pushed, sliding himself nearly off Spock’s sex before re-sheathing him tortuously slowly, teasing both of them with the agonizing pace. Kirk repeated the movement only a few more times until Spock’s hands found their way to his hips and urged him faster.

 

Kirk canted his hips on the next downward thrust, pushing Spock’s member into the bundle of nerves deep inside that made fireworks burst across his vision. When his legs didn’t immediately tense for the next thrust, Spock lifted Kirk and allowed him to fall back onto his cock, much to Jim’s delight.

 

A flurry of filthy thoughts swirled through Kirk’s head, the possibilities Vulcan strength opened to them providing inspiration for his wild imagination; shower sex was definitely going to be a thing, Vulcan distaste for water be damned.

 

Steadily, their tempo built, each slide of skin setting their nerves on fire.

 

Soon, Spock was practically bouncing Kirk in his lap and both men were completely lost to the sensations. Babbling expletives and throaty moans filled the air. The steady smack of their skin coming together rang out against the walls but was practically inaudible to Kirk and Spock, who’s ears were filled with the pounding of their own hearts.

 

Kirk could feel through the link that Spock was approaching his peak. Even with only four months of experience, Jim was still getting really good at timing their respective orgasms through the feedback. Kirk braced his legs on the next upslide, forcing a pause in their movements. Jim reached to move one of Spock’s hands, but he apparently had already sensed his intentions and released one hip in favor of wrapping his hand around Kirk’s blood-flushed cock.

 

Kirk began riding again in earnest, reaming himself on Spock’s cock and thrusting into the tight grip around his own, his hips pistoning between the two points of searing pleasure. Kirk soon set the same punishing pace as before, despite his screaming leg muscles. The liquid fire that coiled up his thighs only fanned the flames of intense heat pooling in his groin.

 

Bellowing Jim’s name, Spock reached his peak first, a stuttering, jerking motion seizing his entire body as he emptied himself deep inside. Spock’s spasms slammed into Kirk’s prostate, dragging him over the edge only seconds later. Balls pulled tight against his body, moaning incoherently, Kirk dribbled his release onto Spock’s belly.

 

When the last wracking tremors of his orgasm faded from his body, Kirk practically collapsed boneless against Spock, their over-stimulated nerves still twitching. They lay basking in the afterglow, Kirk’s head nestled in the desert-dry crook of Spock’s neck while Spock glided fingers over Kirk’s sweat-slicked back.

 

“Holy, shit. I mean… holy shit,” Kirk whispered in wonder. “I can’t believe I found you.”

 

Spock wrapped his arms protectively around him and he knew the Vulcan echoed the sentiment.

 

They lapsed into silence for a while until Kirk panted, “I think that position is a good fit for us, yeah?”

 

Spock dipped his head in accord, eyes shining brightly, and said in his heavy velvet voice, “Indeed.”

 

From there, they slowly drifted into sleep, interrupted only when Spock’s softening member slid from Kirk’s body with a wet sound, sending the human into a brief fit of breathy chuckles, much to Spock’s exasperation.

 

Chapter End Notes:

History lesson! The supply ship’s name comes from this 19th-century trading schooner:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Amistad

 

Next chapter is essentially an epilogue and some fluffy drabbles. Enjoy!

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