Chapter Text
Jim wakes up to the harsh pitter-patter of rain battering the plastic, curved roof of their tent. He’s on his back, and for a second, he just stares up at the shifting shadows. It’s vaguely pretty.
As feeling seeps into his body, Jim yawns, coming to. He turns his head slightly, landing next to Spock’s face and unable to move. Spock’s curled up against him, half on top of him, an arm over his chest, a leg over his, and Spock’s head on his shoulder. Jim’s arm is outstretched past that, acting as a pillow. He lifts his hand up, bring it over to land on Spock’s sweat-slicked hair. They’re both sweatier than yesterday, but then, that’s how they went to sleep. His arm’s half asleep.
Jim smiles groggily. That’s going to be a fun memory. He didn’t have morning wood, but he’s getting there. He has to will himself not to think of Spock moaning and rutting into him; it’s not as safe to mess around in the morning. What if his mother comes to wake them up? Or worse, Sarek? Or any of the others, really. They need more privacy. Jim vaguely wishes he’d met Spock at a five-star resort, simply so they could have a hotel room to slink away to and lock the door.
But there’s something raw and genuine about the woods, and this makes it more of an adventure. He wishes he could take Spock on all his adventures. It’s fun to show Spock around, and Spock would probably be a help in his own way. When Jim becomes a captain, he thinks he’d like Spock on his team.
For now, Spock’s still sleeping. His breathing’s even and soft, his cheek warm against Jim’s chest. Jim briefly considers waking him; this is their last day, and they should talk as much as possible.
This is their last day.
That thought suddenly hits home, and Jim’s frowning in a heartbeat. He just met Spock. It’s too soon to have it over.
Jim’s arm tightens around Spock, cushioning Spock’s head and lightly petting Spock’s hair. Jim’s chin ducks down as much as he can so he can nuzzle into Spock. He wants to roll his whole body over and snuggle into Spock, but he also doesn’t want to wake Spock. He ends up lying still. Maybe he can convince Sarek to do this again sometime.
Screw it. His back’s too stiff. He tries to shift as subtly as possible, slipping free. Spock inevitably makes a grunting noise. Jim rolls onto his side as Spock’s lashes flutter before creaking open, and Jim’s already curling up to him, pulling him close.
Jim rubs his nose against Spock’s and murmurs, “G’morning.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand the sentiment. Or, more likely, the need to voice the sentiment. Or maybe Jim slurred too much. But Spock’s stern look is broken by a sudden yawn.
Jim uses that opening to snuggle even closer into him. He’s only half surprised when Spock starts to snuggle back, and together they find the optimum position, comfortable but touching in as many places as possible. Jim’s sure he has morning breath, but he wants to kiss Spock anyway. But then, that would probably get them going. And it’s not safe to get into anything right now. They can’t leave, either. The downpour would get them. Jim didn’t bring an umbrella. It only makes sense to stay trapped in here, alone with just the two of them, curled up as tightly as possible.
There’re a lot of things Jim would say if he were more awake. There’re things he wants to ask, things he wants to know. What Spock wants to do with his life, where Spock’s going to go, what he thinks of this whole thing and if he’d like to come back to Earth sometime. What Vulcan’s like. What Spock’s like, outside of this. What is he studying, what is he interested in, what does he do with his spare time? But Spock’s eyes are closed again; he’s clearly tired.
Jim just mumbles, “I hate that this is our last day.” He closes his eyes too, not expecting an answer. He can feel Spock’s breath on him, and it’s not as stale as Jim’s tastes. He creaks an eye open again when Spock’s hand creeps along his arm, searching for his hand, slipping their fingers back together. Spock holds them together like that, and it feels just as intimate as when they were naked together.
Spock whispers, “Me too.”
Jim’s beaming.
He slips back to sleep to the steady rhythm of the rain and Spock’s buried heartbeat.
It’s still raining. Jim’s mother comes by after not too long, lifting up their tent flap and kneeling down, tucked safely under an umbrella. She passes them bowls of cereal and a carton of rice milk, which he stares at her for, but she says, “It’s for the guests. Anyway, I think we’re all just going to stay in until the rain stops. Do you boys need anything?”
Nothing Jim can ask his mother for. So he simply glances at Spock, who says for him, “I believe we are well, thank you.” Jim’s mother smiles at them and disappears from view, the tent flap dropping behind her. Jim puts his bowl down on the sleeping bag and zips it back up while Spock takes a bite of cereal.
Jim turns around as soon as he’s done, pulling the bowl out of Spock’s hands and muttering, “No, no, no; that’s not how you do it.” Spock lifts an eyebrow and swallows.
“There is a spoon. I assumed...”
“You put milk on it first,” Jim explains, and he pops the lid off the small, square carton, tipping it over Spock’s bowl and watching the generic flakes fill up. He passes it back to Spock after and fills his own the same way. Spock waits to watch him eat, and after the first bite, Jim explains through his mouthful, “You have to eat it fast, or it’ll get soggy.”
Spock nods and begins to eat again. Jim notes his expression, which doesn’t change. Apparently the cereal is neither good nor bad to him. It’s about the same way to Jim, although the milk is strange. But he’s hungry, and he’s never been that picky with food. He’ll take it.
They eat in silence for a few minutes before Spock asks, “What are your intentions for the future?”
This is such a broad and sudden question that all Jim manages to say is, “I suppose I intend to steadily age and continue breathing.” Spock lifts an eyebrow, and Jim snorts, “A joke, sorry.”
After shrugging and eating a bit more cereal, Jim decides to share, “I want to be a starship captain. Like my father. So I suppose I’ll be going to Starfleet Academy and then... just generally working towards that, I guess.” He’s sure Spock has a much stricter plan than that, and he adds in an attempt to just be more interesting, “I want to explore and go on adventures for a living. See what’s out there, you know?”
To his mild surprise, Spock says, “I have some idea.” A few more bites and he’s done his cereal. There’s some milk left at the bottom of the bowl, and he looks at Jim for guidance.
“Just drink it,” Jim says, meaning from the bowl, but of course, Spock simply chips away at it in spoonfuls. “...What’re you going to do?”
“I am interested in the sciences,” Spock says, and it’s every bit as broad and general as what Jim said. ...Jim wants to ask if that includes a starship, but then, he doesn’t want to be too stalker-y. Maybe he just wants to hope anyway. To think of it his way. But Spock ruins it by continuing slowly, “I had considered serving on a Vulcan science vessel. My father is well connected and would probably be able to secure an internship for me, which I believe would be most fascinating.”
Actually, it sounds dull as hell. But Jim nods anyway, trying to be encouraging. “Good luck.”
Spock says, “You as well,” but it comes out half-hearted. Maybe Vulcans don’t believe in luck. Probably not.
Then Jim asks what school Spock went to and what it was like, just to keep talking and to keep learning. He wants to know everything he can about this new creature, and Spock matches him question for question every time. They talk for a long time, and eventually work their way back into the sleeping bag, lying next to each other and discussing everything from Andorian cheese to the difference in where their hearts literally are in their bodies.
Jim doesn’t ever want the rain to stop.
But it does eventually, and Jim’s mother comes to fetch them. Lunch is some bland form of granola that Jim doesn’t like but Spock seems to enjoy. When they’re done, Stonn suggests returning to the ranger station. Suval agrees that this sounds like a good idea. Sarek suggests, “Perhaps Spock and Jim should attend as well.”
T’Pern nods. “It would not due to get lost on our last day.” Jim doubts they’d get lost, but he shrugs and goes. He gets the feeling that the parents are shooing him away. Well, he doesn’t want to listen to their boring political talk anyway. He climbs over the logs and heads for the faded path poking through the trees. The boys all meet there, everyone dressed casually and not for swimming. It’s a shame. But Spock looks good in pants and a shirt too, more Earth-ish than what he probably wears on Vulcan. His t-shirt is a plain blue. Suval and Stonn are both in striped v-necks. Jim’s got his ‘go climb a rock,’ shirt, and he’s surprised he hasn’t had to explain it to anyone yet.
For the first few minutes, the boys are all silent while the sounds of their parents drown into the background, caught over the general lull of the woods. There’s rustling and a few twigs being broken and birds, a squirrel here and there. The path’s half mud from the rain but manageable. Jim watches where he steps. At one point, Stonn asks Spock something in Vulcan, and Jim’s ears practically twitch at the exotic language, so flowing and strange. Spock falls a few steps back to answer, and Suval steps up to Jim’s side, asking, “You are enjoying this ‘vacation?’”
“Yup,” Jim says, meaning it but already suspicious. Suval jerks his head curtly in a facsimile of a nod.
“You would, perhaps, have a more enjoyable time were you in better company.”
Not this again. Jim’s already rolling his eyes, ready to snap. Suval either doesn’t understand the gesture or is simply ignoring it, and he continues, “I would again like to extend an invitation towards my tent for our final night.”
“And Spock?” Jim asks.
From a few steps behind them, Stonn interjects suddenly, “I will, as you humans say, ‘take one for the team.’” A human statement. Jim wasn’t expecting that. He’s still going to tell Stonn off, but Suval’s going again, redrawing Jim’s attention.
“We believe this would be for your own safety.”
“My own safety?” Jim glances back at Spock, whose expression is growing darker: veiled irritation. Jim tries to silently communicate between them that it isn’t a problem—Jim’s got this.
Suval stops walking. Jim halts too, turning as Stonn explains, “It must be difficult to keep him off you.” Spock’s head jerks to the side, stoically nearly glaring as Stonn adds, “Clearly, he must be going through pon farr, or he would not be behaving so shamefully.”
“I am not—” Spock cuts in, cheeks turning green, but Jim’s already talking.
“Pon farr?”
“Forgive us; it is a Vulcan condition,” Suval explains. “Spock has been quite inappropriate, following you all the time like a lost sehlat. He is clearly making advances towards you. I believe the human way to describe it is to say that Spock has become something of a ‘slut’—”
“A Vulcan should not be so sexually loose. Pon farr is clearly commencing and you are his intended victim.” Stonn adds right over top of Suval, and Jim’s so caught off guard that the shock actually makes him pause for a full second before he acts.
Spock looks decidedly angry, but Jim is the one to move. Right as Suval’s saying, “A slut like that should be—” Jim’s punching him in the face.
Green blood spurts onto Jim’s hand out of Suval’s mouth, and Suval, immediately shut up, stumbles back, clutching his cheek. It’s dark, and Jim’s panting with the effort of not lunging forward and beating the shit out of Suval right there, superior Vulcan strength or no. He rounds on Stonn next, who, looking quite surprised, takes a step back.
His mother’s going to kill him. But then, if they tell on him, they’ll have to explain what they said about an ambassador’s son, and somehow he can’t see them admitting to that. Evidently Vulcans are not born logical. Whatever inane mental therapy they go through to achieve it in later adulthood, these two clearly need a lot more lessons. Jim looks at Spock, and the rage on his face has completely dissipated.
Spock looks simply surprised, and he struggles to school that back into a cool exterior. It gets Jim’s back up. Jim rounds on Suval to insist, “You say something like that again and I’ll knock all your teeth out.”
“You are no more stable than he is,” Stonn says. Jim whirls around to glare at him, but Stonn’s slipped back into his dull Vulcan shell. “A human flaw. It was a poor choice of ours to consider you worthy of further study.”
“It was a poor choice of you to be such a fuckhead,” Jim grumbles, and he lets the confusion sit on Stonn’s face, not bothering to explain. Instead, he reaches for Spock’s hand, slipping their fingers together the way Spock has before. He walks passed Stonn stiffly enough to knock into Stonn’s shoulder, and he keeps going, not sparing the other two a second glance. They can find the station themselves.
When footsteps sound behind Jim and Spock, they’re going the opposite direction. Jim doesn’t turn to check.
He veers off the path suddenly, out of sight, slipping behind a tree. Then he stops walking; he just needs a minute. Spock stands next to him.
Spock says quietly, “I am not experiencing pon farr.” Jim’s still not sure what that word means. It doesn’t matter.
Jim looks sideways. There’s a moment where he wants to explain. He wants to express how much he hates those two, how unfair it is that Spock’s treated that way, how much better Jim would treat him if given the chance. He wants to say that he doesn’t care about Vulcan conditions and he’s not concerned about how logical Spock is and Spock hasn’t been at all inappropriate this entire time. Jim has. They’ve reached a point where everything’s quiet except their breathing, and Jim’s eyes are fixed on Spock’s dark irises, still under the shadowed forest light.
Instead of all that, Jim lunges forward. He tilts his head and presses his lips into Spock’s. It’s just as soft and right as he remembers. Spock takes less than a fraction of a second to respond, tongue slipping out at the same time Jim’s is. They meet in the middle, tentatively pressing closer.
Then Spock’s fingers are around Jim’s back, and Jim’s pushed back half a step, so hard that his back slams into a tree. Spock’s flattening into him, one thigh shifting between his and body rolling into his, control gone. Jim can practically feel his hormones going crazy. He’s fired up from the ‘fight’ and wants to pour his irritation into this pliant body against his, wants angry sex right now, wants to push Spock down against the forest floor and claim him so hard that he’ll never doubt how much passion Jim has for him. Forget those other two. Jim can be all Spock needs.
When Spock pulls back, his breathing’s hard and rough. His eyebrows knit together. Maybe he’s ashamed. Jim strokes his face—won’t let him be. Spock asks softly, “Is my following you around unacceptable?”
“I want you to follow me across the universe,” Jim answers without hesitation. It only makes sense. Why should they ever be apart? Maybe this is why Jim wanted to get into space so badly—so he could skip planets and meet Spock.
Spock leans back in. Jim meets him halfway. They make out like the teenagers they are, and Jim doesn’t want to let go.
They’re sitting near the water, feet over the half rock, half mud ledge, kicking aimlessly back and forth. Or at least, Jim’s are. Spock’s are still. They’re both changed into swim trunks and glistening with water, basking in the hot sun and just talking. Stonn and Suval are swimming laps in the distance, and their parents are the same place they’ve been this whole trip. Being a diplomat would be boring, Jim thinks.
He’d much rather be a captain, and he’s currently trying to convince Spock that he’ll get a galaxy class starship. Because he’s that great. He’ll fly through the Academy in half the years it normally takes, and he’ll be in the Fleet in no time. He wants a mixed crew—some humans, some aliens.
“You will not be entitled to choose your own crew,” Spock points out, ruining the fantasy.
“I know,” Jim sighs. “But it’s fun to imagine it my way, anyway. I’d have Klingons on security—did I mention that?”
“A poor choice,” Spock remarks with a lifted eyebrow. “You are highly unlikely to find a Klingon in Starfleet.”
“But very likely in my head,” Jim points out. “I know they’re not allies now, and I’m not usually fans of them anyway, but I feel like if I had a bunch on my side, no one would fuck with me.” When Spock doesn’t comment, Jim continues, “I would put a Grazerite down in Engineering, because I think they tend to stay calm and I feel like that’s where all the crises would happen.”
“Bear,” Spock says bluntly. His lack of inflection makes it difficult for Jim to figure out where in the conversation that goes.
“A bear would do horribly in Engineering. First of all, I don’t think a universal translator would work for bear, and second of all, I feel like their paws wouldn’t work very well on the computer. Besides, what if they ate some of my crewmen? And how would it even get into the uniform?”
“I was referring to the animal behind you,” Spock explains, this time nodding. Jim turns to look over his shoulder—something large and brown and furry is meandering about the edge of the lake on the other side, and as it turns, Jim gets a look at its muzzle. It pauses to stare into the water, probably looking at fish. “That is a ‘bear,’ is it not?”
“Yeah,” Jim mumbles. It’s a fair distance away but still easily recognizable. Stonn and Suval are closer, but they both seem caught up in their laps, neither paying attention to the animal now pawing at the water’s edge.
“We should alert Stonn and Suval,” Spock concludes.
Jim considers making a joke about letting the bear eat them. But Spock might not get that he’s joking. He doesn’t like them, but he still doesn’t want them devoured by wildlife. Not that he thinks a bear would eat a Vulcan unprovoked. Right now, it’s not doing anything aggressive. “We’ll circle around and swim out to get them if it gets much closer.” He decides it for both of them. Spock doesn’t protest.
They’re quiet for a minute, just watching the great beast aimlessly pick at the water. Then it dives in suddenly, emerging a second later with a silver fish caught in its mouth, splashing about wildly. It’s one of the most majestic things he’s ever seen. The bear triumphantly swims back to the shore, shaking out its fur and disappearing into the woods. Jim and Spock stare after it, Jim experiencing the insane urge to run after it and insight an adventure.
Eventually, they go back to talking. Spock’s ideal crew seems to be an intelligent smattering of Vulcans. Jim starts putting unicorns and dragons onto his crew just to be different, and then he has to explain to Spock not only that those things don’t exist, but why they have names if they don’t. Jim spends a lot of the time smiling.
The night comes too soon. Jim isn’t ready for it. They eat dinner in a subdued sort of silence, listening to the flickering fire and the sounds of the night. They have s’mores again, and Jim helps Spock make them, and they trade s’mores at one point as Spock asks if the preparation methods make them taste any different. Spock seems to find the taste overwhelming. Too sweet. When they wander back to their tent, Jim’s still licking his fingers clean.
They change out of their clothes inside, peeling down to boxers, subtly sneaking glances at one another. Jim catches Spock eyeing him almost as much as he eyes Spock. They slip into their sleeping bag together, and despite how hard the ground is, how unforgiving, how uncomfortable, Jim doesn’t miss his bed. His bed’s never had Spock in it. He lies on his side, facing Spock. Spock faces him too, and even through the darkness and the material of their tent, Jim can see the pale moonlight glinting off Spock’s eyes. Jim doesn’t know what to say.
He whispers, “Promise you won’t forget me.” He fully expects a lecture on the competency of Vulcan memories. Or maybe the idea that this doesn’t have to be the end. They live in an age of space travel—messages will be entirely plausible. Their parents will likely work with each other again, and they’ll both be on their own soon, albeit with separate dreams starting on separate planets. But those are all maybes, and Jim needs something tangible to hold.
Spock murmurs, “I promise.” The way he looks at Jim seems to imply that he wants the same back. Jim won’t ever forget him. They’ll have to keep in touch. Jim will keep in touch. And if not...
Jim’s going to have a starship someday. Wherever Spock is, Jim will find him.
Jim lifts a hand out of the sleeping bag, reaching up to cup Spock’s face. He thumbs Spock’s cheek, growing so familiar, and he leans forward. He can tell Spock was waiting for him, for this. Spock surges back. Their mouths meet in the middle, and Jim’s fingers wrap around the back of Spock’s neck, fisting lightly in Spock’s dark hair and holding him in. One of Jim’s legs wraps over Spock’s, the other arm around his trim waist, securing him all over. Jim doesn’t want Spock to ever get away. Spock’s hands are trailing lightly down Jim’s back, the soft pads of his fingers running along the outlines of Jim’s shoulder blades, then spine. He tastes sweet again. Like chocolate and melted marshmallow.
Spock shifts back a few centimeters to mumble, “You taste too sweet.” Jim grins—he didn’t know that was possible.
That’s not going to stop him, even if it maybe should. He licks his lips, then presses forward again, as though anything’s changed. He can feel Spock’s lips twitch: one of those rare smiles. Jim pulls back to kiss the side of Spock’s lips and promise, “I’ll be quick, I swear.” Another peck, and his tongue swipes at Spock’s between their lips, pulling back after. He nuzzles into Spock’s cheek, rubbing their noses together. “I just need to taste you.” He kisses Spock’s lips again and doesn’t explain any better. He trails his mouth across Spock’s face and finds Spock’s ear, because that’s one of his favourite parts of Spock. He nibbles at the shell and runs over the tip, purring into it, “Roll onto your back.” As Spock hesitates, Jim adds, “Please.”
Spock instantly obeys. Jim’s over him in a heartbeat, held up by hands and knees. He meant what he said—he needs to taste all of Spock. And he knows how to do it, and how to make sure Spock never forgets him. He’s never done it before, but he’s had others do it to him—he thinks he can figure this out. Just in case, he snuggles the side of Spock’s face and asks softly, “I want to try something new—can I?”
There’s a second or two of hesitation, but when Spock nods, his eyes are full of trust. Grinning, Jim leans up to peck Spock’s forehead: his way of saying thank you. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable, and I’ll stop. I promise.” Spock doesn’t look like he’d ever stop Jim, but he nods again. Jim’s smiling down as he sits up.
The zipper of the sleeping bag is off to the side, and it’s a bit awkward to undo at first, but then it parts easily. He pushes it all away, spreading it out like a blanket. Spock opens his mouth, probably to ask what’s going to happen, but then he closes it again. He licks his lips and whispers, “We must still be quiet.”
Jim snorts, because that’s not going to be a problem for him. But he nods just to make Spock more comfortable. It’s too dark outside for anyone to see what’s going on—the only silhouettes outside their tents are those of the nearby trees. The fire’s out; it’s just the stars. Jim’s straddling Spock’s waist, just looking. Spock’s half bare, beautiful. Jim wishes they were in a room where he could order the computer to put the lights on so he could see better. He makes up for it by feeling his way across Spock’s chest with his palms, earning a slight hitch in breath.
He hates to climb off, but he has to. He shuffles down Spock’s legs, pushing them gently apart. He shifts a bit to get comfortable.
He leans down and presses his mouth to Spock’s stomach, licking it lightly just to test the reaction. Spock shudders. His body goes rigid. Jim licks at his bellybutton and fingers the tufts of dark hair disappearing beneath the boxers. It takes a lot of effort for Jim to not just pull them down. He turns his face and rests it on Spock’s stomach, looking up to ask, “Do Vulcans do blowjobs?”
Spock’s lips part in curiosity. He looks shaky and hazy, pupils dilated and lids half-down, cheeks already slightly flushed. Jim bites his lip so as not to smirk. “I... I do not know what those are...” Spock’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. Jim figured he wouldn’t. If Vulcans can’t eat with their hands, they’re unlikely to eat cock. Jim always figured he’d stick to the receiving end, but... with Spock, that’s all different. Spock’s boxers are beginning to tent from having Jim so close, Jim’s fingers teasing the hem, and Jim ducks down to nuzzle his face into the growing bulge. Spock throws his head back.
There’s more to ask, but first, Jim wants to warm Spock up to the idea. He opens his mouth and presses it over the outline of Spock’s dick, getting the fabric wet. He blows over it, hoping his hot breath slides through to the skin. Spock mumbles weakly, “J... Jim...”
“I want to take your underwear off,” Jim growls. He didn’t mean that to sound as feral as it did, but he’s nuzzling into Spock’s crotch and he needs more. His own cock is half-hard beneath him, but he’s using both hands to hold Spock’s hips and stroke Spock’s stomach. He doesn’t fully expect to get permission.
Spock never disappoints. “Ah... take... take yours off, as well...” It’s only half a question. Jim pushes his down his hips awkwardly, kicking them off and letting them lie at the bottom of the sleeping bag. The lukewarm air doesn’t seem so cool with the heat pooling in him. He rubs his half-hard cock against Spock to let Spock know he’s not alone.
Spock begins to tug at his own waistband, but Jim hurries to help. Together, they get Spock’s legs free, and Jim pushes him back into place, leaning over him and kissing his hip, whispering hushing noises like he’s soothing a horse. Spock’s dick twitches against the side of Jim’s neck, full and nearly trembling. Jim wraps one hand around it. Spock inhales loudly. Jim’s a little nervous himself—he wants this but doesn’t know how good he’ll be. There’s only one way to get better at it. When he slips his hand away, the cock is still jutting proudly up, fully erect and supporting itself. At least that’ll make it easier.
“What are you going to do?” Spock’s voice is a little shaky. He doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands—they’re loose in the sheets.
Jim tries to sound as sexy as he can. “I’m going to put your cock in my mouth.” He’s still working up the courage, but he demonstrates by pressing into the base, tongue slipping out to taste the top of Spock’s balls. Spock makes a sharp keening noise, and Jim licks wherever he can reach, Spock’s raw musk filling his nostrils. It tastes bland and strange, perhaps a little salty, a little like vanilla, an odd combination that doesn’t make any sense. It’s not unpleasant. Once Jim starts, he can’t stop.
He’s laving up the bottom of the shaft when Spock asks huskily, “Have you... have you done this before?” He sounds scared, unsure. But excited. Or as excited as a Vulcan can sound, anyway.
“No.” Jim kisses all the way up, tracing veins with his tongue and lapping at the bulbous head, lips sealing around the tiny hole at the top. Spock’s hips lift off the sleeping bag, the fabric rustling. Jim pulls back and kisses the side. “But if I do it right, it’ll feel good. ...Trust me, okay?” He needs to get started soon before he loses his head and the need to touch himself becomes unmanageable. He watches Spock’s face as best he can while he swirls his tongue around the tip.
“But... it is... dirty...” Spock gasps as Jim sucks at the head.
Jim stops to ask, breath ghosting over the wet skin left behind, “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Spock says instantly, voice practically mewling. “No, do not stop. Please.” He lets his head fall back, staring blearily up at the ceiling.
That way, he doesn’t have to see Jim’s smirk. Jim licks a full line from base to tip. Then he pauses, preparing himself. He takes a breath. He licks his lips, and he opens them as wide as he can. He thinks he probably looks silly, but Spock isn’t looking at him, so that isn’t a problem. Jim just has to make Spock feel good. He’ll be careful with his teeth. He’ll take as much as he can. He slips down around Spock’s dick, and just to be safe, he shifts his hands to hold down Spock’s hips. It’s immediately a good idea—they flinch in his grasp. They’d probably buck up if they could. One of Spock’s hands clamps over his mouth, but it’s not fast enough to stop the breathy near-scream.
Jim smirks around his mouthful of cock. He can feel it touching the walls of his mouth, almost scraping his teeth, and he tries to go down more, then a bit more. It’s heavy on his tongue, and it’s all he can smell. It gets close to the back of his throat, and Jim has to stop suddenly—he pulls off in a flash, almost about to gag.
Spock looks up at him, and Jim, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand, mumbles sheepishly, “Sorry. I just need to get used to it.” Then he feels stupid for explaining. He can tell from the blissful look on Spock’s face that Spock had no expectations and wouldn’t have thought anything wrong. Jim’s cheeks are hot. Or maybe that’s for other reasons. He glances down at the cock below. He wants it in his mouth again.
He wants his own in Spock’s mouth, and picturing that makes him impossibly hard. He opens wide again and leans back down.
This time he goes even slower, even more careful. He can hear Spock struggling to keep quiet behind his own hand, and that’s encouraging. Jim doesn’t go down so far—he’s probably only halfway. He brings one hand over to grip what he can’t reach, squeezing at the base and holding it up. The other is firm against Spock’s hip. Jim gives himself a moment to adjust, experimentally moving his tongue and loving the way that makes Spock tremble. There’s something sort of spongy and strange about the substance filling his mouth, but Jim doesn’t know if that’s a Vulcan thing or regular for cocks. It doesn’t matter.
He likes it.
Or at least, he likes knowing that he’s doing it for Spock, giving Spock pleasure. It takes a foggy moment for him to remember what to do, and he squeezes harder around the shaft. Then he slowly starts to pull off, pushing down again.
Spock’s moan slips through his fingers. Jim drinks it up. Jim hollows his cheeks out and sucks as hard as he can, and Spock’s free hand is instantly in his hair, fisting in his blond strands and holding him down. Jim makes a short choking noise but manages to control his gag reflex. His hand stops him from going too far. Spock mumbles, “I am sorry, I am sorry,” and his grip loosens.
Jim takes that opportunity to begin bobbing up and down, as fast as he thinks he can without getting overwhelmed, squeezing what he can’t reach. He tries to suck each time he pulls off, but he forgets sometimes and doesn’t do it hard enough others, and then he’ll try to do it even harder next time to compensate. It takes him a minute to get into a real rhythm, but once he does, it’s easier. Spock’s the perfect subject—he lies still, trembling slightly but not bucking up, his fingers petting Jim’s hair and his mouth making the most delicious noises, even if they’re stifled. Jim’s own cock is rock hard against Spock’s leg, and he’s humping Spock like an animal before he even realizes it, body curled up and his head occasionally switching angles. His jaw gets sore, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth it, so worth it.
There’s no warning when it finishes. A hot wave of thick liquid suddenly bursts in Jim’s mouth, and Jim nearly gags, pulling back as much as he can, but Spock’s fingers tighten and suddenly hold him down. Jim manages to get to the head so at least there’s room in his mouth, and he keeps his lips locked around the shaft as Spock’s cum spills into him. It’s slippery and sticky and strange, but it tastes sort of bittersweet, and Jim finds himself sucking to help. Spock moans appreciatively: music to Jim’s ears. Spock might be coming more than humans do.
But he does stop eventually, and his hand tumbles out of Jim’s hair, his whole body looking spent and exhausted. It’s lightly tinged with sweat, and Jim belatedly realizes that his is too. The tent feels full of steam. Jim sits up, looking down at the green face of his pseudo-boyfriend. Spock blinks up at him, eyes nearly entirely black.
Jim makes a show of swallowing. He does it twice to make sure he got everything, and then he runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, going over his lips after. Then he opens his mouth to show that it’s all gone. Spock’s panting.
Grinning wickedly, Jim mutters, “At least I won’t be too sweet anymore.” He’s halfway over Spock’s body before he thinks to ask, “Can I kiss you?”
Spock just nods. Jim happily presses into him, closed-mouthed but still nice. He’s still hard, but he’s perfectly happy to just jerk off on Spock’s stomach. He’d like more, of course, but he isn’t that greedy. He rolls onto his side next to Spock and lets Spock have a minute.
Spock looks so beautiful like this that Jim actually gets lost for more than that minute. He doesn’t know when else he’ll get to see a post-orgasm Vulcan, but that’s not even the point. Spock’s bangs are slightly messed up from the sweat, slicking them at odd angles. His lashes keep closing, thickly dark. Jim looks at the shape of his nose, the strength of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks. Jim’s not done when Spock rolls onto his side, tilting closer to press his forehead against Jim’s.
“I need to please you,” Spock mumbles, and it’s so quiet, but it’s so erotic, one of the best things Jim’s ever heard. Jim shivers in pleasure and shakes his head—Spock doesn’t need to, but he insists, “I do not want you to forget me, either.”
“I won’t,” Jim swears. Spock kisses him, still sweet. Jim kisses back, his arms automatically wrapping around Spock, holding Spock in. Spock’s dick isn’t entirely flaccid yet; Jim can feel it against his own hard-as-rock one. Spock breaks them apart and nuzzles into Jim, still speaking in whispers, sensual in their urge.
“I have never...” Spock pauses, maybe searching for the right words. “I have never been with anyone... sexually, I mean, but I want...”
Jim wants Spock’s virginity so badly. He didn’t even know it was on the table, but now that he knows it is, he desperately wants it. He nods, licking his own lips, rubbing into Spock. Spock seems to have stopped talking, and Jim hurriedly fills in, “I wish I hadn’t, either, because I wish you could be my first. But I have, and I know what I’m doing there—I... I could make it good, I’m sure... Spock, I want... I really want you...”
Spock just nods. They’re touching each other everywhere they can, faces rubbing into each other, and it makes it difficult to articulate anything. Jim kisses Spock’s lips to show that he understands.
He doesn’t know how it’ll work for a Vulcan. His fingers are running back down Spock’s body, bypassing Spock’s dick, rubbing down in the cleft below. Spock leans into him, one hand at his shoulder and the other running lower. Spock traces his waist and hesitantly reaches the curve of his ass, and Jim tries to encouragingly lean into the touch. He licks his lips. “We’ll... uh... need some sort of lube...” There has to be something they can use, and if they put their heads together, they’ll think of it. “If I do this right, it shouldn’t hurt...”
Squeezing Jim’s ass once experimentally, Spock mumbles, “No, ah... if my reading is correct, my... my channel should prepare itself...” Spock’s eyes flicker up to Jim’s, as if searching for judgment.
That’s fucking amazing. All Jim can think is that Spock was made to take his cock. Spock looks like he’s going to say more, but Jim cuts him off by slamming their mouths together for a long, languid kiss. It keeps going while Jim’s fingers explore as much of Spock’s body as he can reach, running down to cup Spock’s ass—they’re still lying so close. He finds Spock’s hole with a sense of victory. It’s tiny and puckered, and Jim rubs at it, trying to coax it open, trying to see how to activate its self-preparation. He feels vaguely like he’s been given a new toy to figure out. Jim doesn’t let Spock’s mouth go—he doesn’t need a hint.
It takes a bit of work to get Spock’s entrance to open even a tiny bit, and he’s subconsciously glad his nails are blunt. He probably should’ve spat on his hand or something, but it’s too late now. He couldn’t pull back if he wanted to; his body’s in full sex mode. Spock’s getting better at kissing. He can feel Spock shudder in his arms at each new experience, but he’s careful. He pushes the tip of his finger in very, very slowly. Spock’s ridiculously tight, velvet soft, and scorching hot. Jim can’t wait to get his dick inside. If he were a virgin, there’s no way he’d be able to last long enough to.
It isn’t as dry as it’s been with most human girls. It’s not wet, but it’s a little moist. Once Jim’s finger is halfway inside, he moves his kisses to the side of Spock’s face so Spock can tell him if it hurts. Spock’s eyes close momentarily. Then his face scrunches up, and he makes a sort of whining noise that he tries to stifle. Jim gasps. The walls of Spock’s ass are suddenly growing wet, secreting something warm and soft. His finger slides more easily in; maybe Spock’s walls are self-stretching. But it’s still a tight squeeze. One of Spock’s hands runs all up Jim’s spine, and Spock bends forward to nip at Jim’s shoulder.
If there were time, Jim would want Spock to take him right after. They’d just keep going, spending time together and fucking and working towards space and the future. But there isn’t, and he has to will himself not to think about that. Just enjoy the moment. He has Spock now. He slips his finger out to try and add a second.
The lubrication, whatever it is, helps tremendously. It’s almost too easy to work his two fingers inside, past any resistance. He pistons them lightly and spreads them out, just a little bit at first, then wider and wider. Spock murmurs against him, “This is not... not necessary...” Using fingers first? But Jim wants to. He needs to be careful. He’s exploring, too, feeling around, lapping up the sensations his fingertips get from brushing Spock’s walls. It’s getting hard to resist. Jim pulls them out slowly, and he has to lift up again to see what he’s doing, to grab his cock and press the tip of it to Spock’s entrance. He needs to hike Spock’s ass up for it, so that Jim’s knees tuck under Spock’s thighs.
He needs the light. Not to line up, but to get a look at Spock’s open, dripping entrance. Jim can barely see anything, and that’s a shame. This can’t be their last time. No matter what, the first can’t be the last.
He licks his lips and asks, “Ready?”
Spock says something that Jim can’t understand. Vulcan, maybe? Then his head seems to clear and he says, “Yes.” That’s all Jim needs.
He presses in, slowly at first, and he groans when his tip pops inside. It’s instantly wonderful. Spock gasps. Spock seems okay. Jim presses a bit more, a bit more, and he slowly lowers back down, sliding his bare stomach across Spock’s and hovering just over Spock’s face. He leans his forehead against Spock’s and closes his eyes, their noses side by side, his cock sinking deeper and deeper into a utopian heat. It’s still very, very tight. But Spock doesn’t sound like he’s in pain.
Spock sounds like he’s enjoying himself as much as Jim is; he’s breathless and making hitching, open noises, his arms sliding over Jim’s back. His hands splay against Jim’s shoulders, holding Jim down. When Jim gets as far as he can go, his balls against the curve of Spock’s ass, he shudders and has to take a minute as much for himself as Spock. He whispers, “You feel so good.”
Spock whispers back with some difficult, “As do you.”
They were made for this. Jim’s sure of it. Lashes fluttering closed and thighs trembling with restraint, Jim slowly shifts back, pulling himself out, only about halfway. He wants to go fast, hard, to claim Spock like an animal, hump him and fuck him into the ground. But this is their first time, Spock’s first time, and Jim also wants to go slow, beautiful. He needs to convince Spock through their bodies that Spock should never, ever leave him; whatever plans Spock has, Starfleet would be better. They could get a room in the Academy together. They could do this every night...
When Jim slides back in, he’s searching. He’s read and watched enough porn to know what he’s looking for, though he doesn’t know if Spock will be different. Spock’s still a little human.
Spock seems to be enjoying the ride. His legs wrap around Jim’s back, heels digging in near the bottom of his spine, seeming to try and urge him closer. Jim slips out again and tries a different angle.
It’s immediately obvious he’s found what he’s looking for. Spock’s entire body goes rigid for a split second, fingers digging into Jim’s skin, mouth opening wide. Jim nuzzles into his cheek and murmurs, “Good?” He can’t say more than that. Spock feels too... amazing. Jim pulls out and tries that angle again, a little faster. Spock arches off the ground and into him.
“Right there,” Spock insists, “please, yes...” His wish is Jim’s command. Jim would give Spock a star if he could.
All he can give is this. He adjusts his own position, forearms on the ground and framing Spock’s body. Then he lets his hips roll properly, working up into their own rhythm, smoothly out and steadily in, always in as far, as deep, as he can get, jamming into the area that seems to make Spock tremble. Spock’s fingers are going to leave bruises into Jim’s shoulder blades, and Jim wants those marks there. He wants physical evidence that this happened. He tries to kiss Spock, sloppy and distracted.
Yes, yes. It’s perfect, so perfect. He pulls out and grinds in over and over again, and Spock’s hips seem to be trying to match him, to press up for more. How he’s going so slowly, he has no idea. He can feel Spock’s dick, now fully hard again, pressing into his stomach on each downward thrust. Jim licks his lips and has to adjust a bit, hips never faltering, to snake his hand between them. He wraps his fingers around Spock’s shaft and pumps in time with his thrusts. Spock immediately mewls and shifts his head to kiss Jim hard. Jim shifts his elbow on the ground so he can use his free hand to slip beneath Spock’s head and cradle it gently, brushing through the dark strands. Spock’s kisses are fervent and desperate.
It’s exactly how Jim feels. He wants to keep this perfect, to keep even and measured, but he can’t, just can’t, with Spock’s tongue down his throat. His thrusts slip into being erratic, still trying to be gentle but only halfway there. He slams into Spock whenever he can, each time making Spock shiver and purr into his mouth. Spock kisses like a dream. Jim’s close, so close, but he doesn’t want to be.
He wants this to last forever. It sounds stupid, but he means it. There’s nothing else he’d rather feel, nowhere else he’d rather be. He has to keep their mouths sealed to keep himself from being too loud. He’s getting close, and he wants to howl like a lion.
Another push inside and that’s it; Jim’s whole body shudders and there’s nothing he can do—his vision goes white and he slams his eyes closed. He buries his cock as deep in Spock’s ass as he can manage, grinding down, and he screams into Spock’s mouth. His pleasure is pooling up in his stomach and his balls are tightening. He’s spilling. He’s filling Spock up with his cum, and Spock is taking it beautifully, ass seeming to spasm around him. Jim doesn’t pull out, but he does roll his hips, intent on plugging Spock up as much as possible.
A moment later, he’s spent, and his boiling head takes a moment to simmer, his head having to pull back to pant. The energy drains from his body. He’s still shakily holding himself up—he doesn’t want to collapse on Spock. He doesn’t want to pull out. He has to; he knows that. But instead he rolls his hips one last time, loving Spock’s grunt. His hand’s gone still on Spock’s dick; he needs a minute.
“Y... you’re amazing...” Jim mumbles, pressing his cheek against Spock in lieu of a kiss. Spock just makes a keening sound.
Jim pecks his lips and starts pumping again, while he’s still inside, jerking Spock’s shaft up and down and squeezing and rolling his thumb around the tip. Spock seems to squirm beneath him, then go stiff again, then arch up. Jim slams their mouths together to swallow the incoming scream.
Spock’s load splashes out between them hard enough to reach their collarbones, trapped where their bodies collide. Jim can feel it slipping over his fingers, warm and slick. He keeps pumping to help get it all out, and Spock keeps coming, until finally the spray dwindles. Then Spock pushes weakly at Jim’s chest, and Jim, reluctantly, pulls out so he can roll to the side. His cock leaves Spock’s ass with a wet squelching noise and a trail of cum.
Jim lies beside Spock, panting, sticky and spent, with their shoulders touching. The air in the tent is thick and warm but slowly coming back down. The sleeping bag feels hard again, and Jim’s elbow is sore, but he doesn’t care. He pulls his makeshift pillow back up, then helps fix Spock’s.
He isn’t nervous or new enough to ask how he was, but he hopes Spock had as much fun as he did. It takes Spock a few seconds to roll his head to the side, and then he opens his mouth, hesitating.
He closes it again.
He rolls abruptly over and into Jim’s side, an arm draped over Jim’s body. Hugging Jim, or rather, clinging to him. Jim takes that as a silent ‘I love you.’
He has to shift a bit to get the sleeping bag cover back over them. He doesn’t bother to zip the side back up. Spock is warm and heavy on his side. Spock’s nose is touching Jim’s cheek.
Jim closes his eyes again, satiated but bittersweet. This is the last night he’ll get this.
The arm beneath Spock curls up, petting Spock’s back gently, then just holding Spock in.
Maybe they’ll run away in the morning and just stay like this forever.
Jim seriously considers it as exhaustion claims him, Spock’s breathing even and soothing against his shoulder.
Jim’s sticky and stale in the morning, the tent smelling heavily of sex and sort of steamy, very warm. It’s exactly the kind of way he likes to wake up, and as soon as he does, he snuggles back into Spock, who’s curled into him. They’re lying side by side, the sleeping bag tight around them.
Spock wakes up a few minutes later, and he sniffs at the air and makes a face but doesn’t comment. He snuggles right back into Jim and shuts his eyes, clearly as in denial as Jim is. That’s fine. Jim’s foggy-headed and wants to savour this. They catch a bit more time together.
But Jim’s mother inevitably wakes them up, calling for them only a few steps from their tent. It’s loud enough to nearly make Jim jump. Spock handles it a little better; he just pulls the makeshift blanket over his head and keeps on ‘sleeping.’
Jim rips it away, because he’s not going to suffer alone. Then he yawns a sleepy, “Sorry.”
Spock’s face filters from sadness into neutrality. He sits up slowly, glancing down at his chest. Jim pulls over his bag and fishes through it for his water bottle and towel, and he uses the combination to clean them both off. Spock climbs into new underwear while Jim cleans himself, and by the time he’s pulling on his own boxers, Spock’s combing his hair. Jim reaches over to help, but he might be doing more harm than good. Spock doesn’t shoo him away.
While they’re in their tent, neither of them says anything. They know that they’ll be packing sometime soon, probably right after breakfast, maybe around lunch. When Spock’s hair is perfect, Jim hugs him tightly for no reason, and Spock doesn’t protest.
Then they’re climbing out of their tent, fully dressed and still tired. The ambassadors are all at the fire pit in their usual places, but Stonn and Suval emerge a few minutes later. Jim and Spock take their seats between their two parents, and Jim realizes belatedly that they’re holding hands. Seeming to notice this too, Spock lets go.
Sarek breaks off his conversation with T’Pern to inform Spock levelly, “I am considering purchasing a second home for us on Earth in order to expedite some of my human-Vulcan relationship missions; Admiral Kirk has been most informative as to the benefits of such. Would this be something agreeable to you?”
Spock looks a little like he’s just been hit in the face with a rock. It takes him a full three seconds to get his face back to an acceptable Vulcan blankness. He glances at Jim so quickly that Jim can’t even be sure it’s happened. Jim’s suddenly gripping the log beneath him very hard.
Spock says, “That would be agreeable to me, Father.”
Sarek nods.
“It’s not something you have to think about right away,” Jim’s mother throws in, and his head jerks around to look at her. She’s smiling fondly at Sarek, though the sentiment isn’t mirrored. T’Pern and T’Paul seem to be off in their own little world now, discussing Terran agriculture. “You’re welcome to come stay with us at any time.” She pauses for a moment to add, nudging Jim not at all subtly, “I’m sure Jim would like the chance to see Spock again.” Jim’s cheeks heat up instantly.
He’d still hug her if he could. But Suval and Stonn are watching the spectacle, and Jim’s too busy trying to play it cool. He looks at Sarek as imploringly as he can, knowing full well that his desires won’t factor in. Sarek looks as though he’s about to politely accept when Spock interjects, “It is likely Jim and I shall see one another when we attend the Academy.” Sarek’s attention diverts instantly.
“I was not aware you had made the decision.”
“Jim has informed me of many... interesting... prospects that I believe I had not properly considered. I will be able to study the sciences there, and, as you suggested, be exposed to a broader spectrum of information through the Federation’s vast resources.” Fuck it. Jim wants to hug them both. Spock and Sarek are looking at one another in an oddly stony manner that Jim assumes is the Vulcan way of cute family bonding time. Hell, Jim could even hug Sarek right now, although he’s sure that wouldn’t end wall.
If Spock goes to the Academy, Jim’s going to make sure they enter for the same semester, get a room together, and see each other as much as possible. All the time. And Spock can come stay with him in between school times, and his mother can keep Spock’s father busy so that he and Spock can just run off and be together. It’s a vague but beautiful future.
Eventually, Sarek turns to Jim’s mother to say, very diplomatically, “Your offer of hospitality is generous. I would like to extend the same invitation should you ever visit Vulcan.” Jim’s mother nods, beaming.
Jim’s just looking at Spock, smiling. Spock’s making a great deal of effort to not look at him back. The corners of Spock’s cheeks are green.
T’Paul interrupts to say, “As we will be packing in approximately thirty-seven minutes, it might be wise to indulge in a final tradition before returning to our respective homes. T’Pern and I believe this prudent.”
“What did you have in mind?” Jim’s mother asks.
After a hefty pause, T’Pern begins to crudely sing, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream...” She jabs her finger at Stonn expectantly, clearly assuming that’s how one indicates that another must join in. Stonn and Suval both look mildly horrified.
Jim joins in before his turn, dragging Spock right along with him.