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Spock stalked down the hallway of his home, pensive, hands clasped behind his back in a familiar contemplative gesture. It was late, and on this particular night he felt some level of fatigue and had decided that he would attempt slumber rather than his usual restorative meditations. Given the workload that he had been so generously gifted by Starfleet in preparation for their upcoming mission, he was unsurprised at his body’s dwindling reserves of energy, however disconcerting this reality continued to be.
He had intended to seek out his mate and bid him a pleasant evening, only to find that Jim was not in his office, where he could be found at any given time as of late outside of family meals, sleep, and the occasional outing with Sonak. The preparations had been doubly hard on Jim as captain of the Enterprise, and the strain had begun to show shortly into the process, not only in the darkening circles under his eyes, but in his agitation, his restlessness, and---most disparaging for Spock--his absence from their bed most nights.
Spock knew, however, that Jim was still within the limits of his abilities, and so did not allow himself to indulge the logical concern that nipped at him late at night as he awaited Jim’s arrival. Linked as they were, bonded telepathically, Spock could feel Jim, know his mind and heart at any time. He knew that Jim was exhausted, anxious, and guilt-laden, but he could also sense Jim’s sense of duty, accomplishment, pride, and love. And so he had ceased his nightly ritual of attempting to coax Jim to bed at a decent hour by reciting health data about human rest requirements and settled for the more comforting ritual of seeking out what Jim had lovingly dubbed “a quick little smooch goodnight.”
Spock turned the corner into the spacious sitting room and a bloom of warmth spread through him, as it always did when he laid eyes on his mate. He made no attempt to stop the warm sense of affection and longing that accompanied the sight from coursing across the bond. Instantly, Jim looked up from the PADD he’d been holding loosely in one hand and graced Spock with a wide, welcoming smile. The subtle creasing beside Jim’s enchantingly blue eyes made Spock’s heart lurch in his side. He tightened his hands behind his back to resist the urge to pluck Jim’s glasses from their perch on the end of his nose and kiss him breathless in the most human of ways.
“I am retiring for the evening,” Spock said evenly. He watched Jim push his glasses up into his hair and briefly considered when he had last regarded his husband in the dim light of the sitting room, and when the shadows had begun to dance so enticingly across the planes and dips of Jim’s features.
“Oh,” Jim said, sounding genuinely surprised. “What time--Jesus, ok.” He had cut himself off after squinting down at his PADD and confirming the late hour. “The sun’ll be up in what, a couple hours? Shit, and I didn’t even pack Sonak’s lunch for school,” he grumbled, more to himself than to the Vulcan.
Jim raised his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose with a quiet groan of frustration, then let out a sharp breath and looked back up at Spock. “I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time." Jim paused, then eyed Spock slowly, his gaze moving unhurriedly down the length of the Vulcan's body. "You’re probably here for your goodnight kiss, huh?”
There was a twinkle in Jim’s eye that Spock recognized immediately, and he made quick work of tamping down the hunger that sparked in him at the sight. That playful look always meant that Jim was in the mood to either indulge his human need to tease Spock or to indulge another set of human needs entirely. The heat behind Jim’s stare abruptly brought to mind the fact that it had been over a week since they had engaged in sexual congress--12.8 days, his mind supplied in an exceedingly unhelpful way--and despite the clawing need that attempted to supplant his logic, Spock recognized that it was much more important for Jim to rest and attend to the ship’s needs than to sate his own carnal appetites. Spock prided himself on remaining stolid in his prioritization of Jim’s needs even at the expense of his own, and he had no intention whatsoever of allowing that to change simply because of how Jim’s eyes were glinting at him in the light, or how the amber glow of the antique oil lamps shaded his sharp, angular jaw and made the week old scruff there stand out from his tanned skin. Spock pushed the thoughts away, deciding to attend to them in some level of meditation before attempting to sleep, but could not conceivably miss the way that Jim’s mouth curved wickedly into a knowing smirk or the subtle buzz of anticipation across their bond.
“I have come to wish you a good night,” Spock said diplomatically, neither confirming nor denying his intention to do just as Jim suspected.
Jim chuckled softly and set his PADD on the side table beside the corner of the couch he was occupying. “And that usually takes the form of a nice, big goodnight kiss. So come here.”
Spock crossed the room to stand stiffly before the sofa in three long strides. Once he had approached, standing inches from Jim’s seated form, Jim had parted his knees expectantly, and Spock moved reflexively to stand between them, looking down at his bondmate’s widening smirk. Spock felt his heart tumble in his side again, but made no move to lower himself to the cushions or reach out to Jim, leaving it to his mate to decide what type of goodnight kiss would transpire.
Jim looked up at him for several moments, eyes roving upward in a languid trail that ended at Spock’s eyes, then shifted and raised a hand toward his husband, two fingers outstretched in the ozh'esta. The innocuous movement caused the blanket that had been over Jim’s shoulder to fall and pool in his lap, displaying an enticing view of Jim’s collarbone and the crook of his neck, as well as a shoulder and arm clad in a very familiar sleeve. The muscles of Spock’s face attempted to seize into a look of shock and he suspected that he was unsuccessful at fully halting them from doing so, if Jim’s answering expression was any indication. He allowed his eyebrow to raise in query.
“You are wearing my meditation robe,” Spock said evenly.
Jim dropped his hand, then his chin to look down at the garment in question, his face a handsome mask of bemusement and mild concern. “Uh, yeah,” he said, puzzled. “I already packed all of my clothes back up and I forgot when I got out of the shower…” Jim trailed off and raised his eyes, wide and bright, to look up at Spock. “I hope it’s ok?”
Jim’s tone was slightly wounded, the words hesitant. The sound of it was soft and unsure, vulnerable in its timbre in a way that made Spock’s nostrils flare. He was not remotely upset, as Jim’s demeanor seemed to anticipate, but the sight of his mate wrapped in his clothing was causing a deep, primal sense of possession to stir in him; it cast doubt on his ability to completely control his base, Vulcan urge to view Jim as intrinsically his , the object and recipient of all of his crudest desires.
Spock tightened his hands behind his back to resist the urge to run his fingers lewdly across the planes of Jim’s body, cloaked as they were beneath the silky material of his robe. “It is...I have no particular objection.”
“Oh, ok,” Jim said slowly, skepticism etched into the wrinkles of his brow as he frowned lightly at Spock. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Spock replied, perhaps too quickly, as Jim flinched back from the sound of his voice.
“You’re sure?” Jim asked, his voice no longer timid but laden with disbelief.
“I believe I have answered you,” was Spock’s stiff reply.
It took longer than Spock cared to admit to tighten his grip on his desire, all of his focus divided as it was between the look of Jim draped in his robe and the need to bite back the possessive desire the sight was stoking in him. He felt the muscles of his back tense with restraint as Jim raised the hand he had just had outstretched to Spock and touched it lightly to the deep, open v of exposed flesh between the lapels of the robe. Spock watched as Jim’s fingers rested in the hollow of his throat and began a slow descent down his sternum.
“Well, that’s good,” Jim said softly, the concern etched between his brows melting, worried slant of his mouth replaced with a knowing smile. “I was worried that you just didn’t like the way I looked in it.”
Spock breathed in sharply through his nose, clamping down on his controls. He recognized this tone, the playful, sultry way that only Jim could round his vowels and lengthen his sentences to deliberately entice and ensnare Spock without fail. It was infuriatingly effective, so much so that Spock could do little to prevent a sense of affectionate pride from swelling within him at how well Jim was able to play to each of Spock’s exceedingly few weaknesses, all of which, unfortunately for the Vulcan, were based in his desires and affections for the man now attempting to seduce him from the couch.
“And I’d understand,” Jim continued, dragging his fingers upward and along the length of his clavicle, brushing the material of the robe so that it slipped sensually down one shoulder. “You are so much bigger than me,” Jim purred, the emphasis wholly unnecessary yet equally as effective. “Your shoulders are so much broader than mine and your chest…”
Spock felt his nostrils flare again, his senses suddenly and acutely on edge. The scent of himself mingled with Jim’s own natural, earthy essence, just slightly tinged with the sharp, clean smell of his peppermint shampoo wafted to his nose and made his stomach clench. He was aware of the warm pulse of Jim’s strong thighs on either side of his knees, the increase in Jim’s heart rate and body temperature displaying themselves as blatantly as neon signs to Spock’s sensitive perception. He felt Jim’s thighs brush him as he shifted, sitting farther forward so that his breath was ghosting over Spock’s abdomen. Spock straightened, dropping his hands from their place folded at the small of his back. He resisted the urge to bury his hands in Jim’s thick chestnut hair, to pull his smug, smirking lips against him and fuck into that pouty, provocative mouth like he wanted so badly to do, to claim him with the spill of his seed pulsing down Jim’s throat, dripping down his chin onto that golden chest for Spock to lick away.
A wanton moan slipped from between Jim’s lips, the sound echoing in Spock’s ears as the feeling of Jim’s warm, moist breath against his skin made Spock’s hips rock slightly forward. He had been so focused on restraining himself from touching Jim’s body that he had failed to prevent himself from allowing his thoughts to diffuse across their bond and caress Jim’s mind. Spock watched Jim’s lips panting, felt their soft brush against the waistband of his sleep pants, and could not bring himself to regret his lapse in control. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement despite himself.
Jim opened his eyes, not remembering when they had slid closed, and looked up into Spock’s molten chocolate gaze. He wanted to resent Spock’s obvious manipulation of his latent sexual tension, but the need in him was mounting too quickly. Jim could already feel himself stirring against the silky material of the robe, its slick caress doing nothing to slow the rapid growth of his erection. Jim hadn’t yet found a way to put into words exactly how big a turn on it was when Spock used their bond to rile him up like this, but the best part about these rare instances was that when Spock let his walls down, loosened the iron grip on his control, Jim didn’t have to say a word. He loved the way that their minds fell into one another, a two way street that also went in every other conceivable direction, a superhighway of crisscrossing bridges, tunnels, and roads to connect their every desire instantly and effortlessly. Though, as wonderful as it was not having to speak to have Spock know his every want and need, he was still Jim Kirk, and he never shied from an opportunity to speak his mind, even to someone already firmly entrenched in it.
“So you came for a goodnight kiss after all,” Jim said, deliberately allowing his lips to brush Spock as he spoke.
In his current position, Jim’s nose lightly touched just below Spock’s navel, and his mouth hovered just across the waistband of his pants, at the end of the trail of thick black hair leading down into them. The feeling of his lips against Spock’s too-warm skin rose gooseflesh across the back of Jim's neck. He raised his hands to hook into the elastic of Spock’s pants and slowly began to draw them down.
“It’s like I read your mind.”
Spock hissed as his waistband scraped over his sensitive flesh, and a flash of agitation skipped along the golden thread of their bond. Jim leaned farther forward and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of Spock’s half-erect cock. Oops, sorry. The words tumbled playfully across their minds as Jim sat back and took in all of his husband’s exposed body. His eyes couldn’t settle in one place, divided between the innumerable aspects of the familiar landscape that called out for his attention. Jim stared openly at Spock’s muscled abdomen, the stark v of his groin, the lithe yet supple curve of his hips where Jim gripped him, and the partially engorged cock, verdant and already slick with Spock’s natural lubrication, poking slightly more than halfway from the swollen, olive colored sheath at the base.
Jim felt his own cock stir strongly, desire coiling in his gut at the deeply erotic sight. He flexed his fingers and rubbed rough circles into Spock’s slightly jutting hip bones with his thumbs. He clumsily projected the raw want clenching his stomach through the touch and his eyes drooped to half-mast at the deep, rumbling sound that resonated from Spock’s chest in response.
“Jim.”
The sound of his name free of Vulcan pretense and redolent with aching desire made Jim shudder. I’m here, baby, Jim thought at Spock, then dropped open his mouth and dragged his tongue unceremoniously up the underside of the organ before him. The first touch of his tongue to Spock made the muscle tingle pleasantly, as always, and the rich, bitter, faintly spicy taste of his husband’s dripping essence drew a soft sound of pleasure from between his parted lips. Jim dipped his tongue into the first shallow ridge of Spock’s flaring cockhead, then the second, and then drove the tip into the hole at the summit of him.
Spock moaned, the sound sultry and forbidden in Jim’s ears. He so rarely go to elicit these unabashed responses from his stoic husband, and to pry them from his poised and controlled lips was a rush not terribly dissimilar from piloting his ship around dangerous terrain. Jim closed his lips around Spock’s head and gave a strong suck, still laving his tongue over the slit, and relished the feeling of Spock’s hips jerking in his grip, briefly back and away from the overwhelming dual sensations, then snapping forward. Jim ducked his head, anticipating the shallow thrust to prevent himself from choking, and gave a slow bob as he pulled back, hollowing his cheeks as he went. Jim continued his languid pace, alternating between lightly suckling the head and taking as much of Spock in his mouth as he could and pressing the length against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, adding more pressure and tightening the suction on each downstroke. Spock continued to moan for him, panting a soft, sensual mantra of “ah, ah, ah”. It pleased Jim to know that he was bringing his husband pleasure, and the weight and girth of Spock in his mouth, stretching his lips wide, made his erection throb and stir in his lap.
Sucking cock always got Jim good and properly horny. It was something of a kink of his, being on his knees before Spock, a willing toy to be used, a wet, hot orifice that existed only to bring the Vulcan to pleasure. He reveled in the idea of being vulnerable by choice, offering his trust and his body to the man who knew him the way that nobody else in the galaxy could, the father of his child, the love of his life. And while those sentiments brought Jim endless joy and comfort, it was neither joy nor comfort that he was seeking between Spock’s legs at the moment. He wanted...God, what he wanted was what Spock had been projecting to him just minutes before. The images rose in his mind again before he could stop them: Spock’s hands bracketing his head, driving himself between Jim’s swollen lips with abandon, the exhilarating feeling of his throat full of Spock’s thick cock, barely able to breathe, the tight pull of his hair wound in Spock’s fist. Jim moaned around Spock as the thoughts swirled in their shared mind, and released his grip on the Vulcan to dive a hand between the halves of the robe and grip his own aching erection. The other followed suit and dropped from its place on Spock’s hip to encircle the base of him.
Jim began to stroke himself slowly, and the feeling of his self-pleasure brought a moan breaking from his lips as he pulled back, drawing Spock out of his mouth so he could pant out a quivering mewl of, “Fuck, Spock,” before plunging his head back onto Spock’s dick. Jim tightened his grip around himself, fucking into his fist, and jerked at the feeling, causing his teeth to scrape inadvertently across the hypersensitive ridges along the underside of the cock in his mouth.
Spock hissed in a breath at the sensation, his hips stuttering out of Jim’s leisurely rhythm and his hand tangling reflexively in Jim’s hair. The Vulcan closed his fingers in the silky strands and jerked Jim’s head back, his cock falling from Jim’s lips to twitch in the cool air. Spock breathed deeply through his nose, stilling his arm immediately and trying to wrestle some semblance of control over his trembling body. The earlier images of using Jim’s mouth so roughly rose to mind again, unbidden, and Spock managed to dislodge them from the forefront of his mind as he began detangling his fingers from Jim’s hair, regret lancing through his thundering desire. It was one thing to fantasize about subjugating his bondmate to his will and quite another doing so, however inadvertently or reflexively.
He had just begun working his fingers out of Jim’s hair when the man reached up and quickly set his hand atop Spock’s own, stopping him from releasing his grip. Spock shuddered at the contact, the wet drops of precum on Jim’s fingers leaving warm trails over the peaks of Spock’s knuckles.
“Spock, don’t,” Jim said swiftly, his voice breaking over the plea. “I want it. Please.”
Jim looked up at Spock with liquid eyes, hazy with lust. In them, Spock could see the earnest desire resonating from Jim’s side of the bond, could feel the trust, the need, the thrumming excitement that Jim was projecting. He had no doubt that this was what Jim wanted from him, what he wanted Spock to do to him, and the idea sent a bubbling thrill through Spock as well. He felt his cock twitch and the white hot wire of his desire coil even tighter in his gut. Ha, ashayam. Dungi tor nash na' du.
Spock whispered his consent into Jim’s frantic mind as he threaded his fingers deeper into Jim’s hair. He curled the fingers of one hand deep into Jim’s thick, tawny tresses while the other rose to cup Jim’s cheek. The sensation of his delicate fingertips brushing along the stubble at Jim’s jaw caused a prickle of delight to trill along Spock’s spine. He tightened his grip sharply in Jim’s hair and stared down at him, schooling his features back into a semblance of glib impassivity, and the man dropped his hand from atop Spock’s back into his lap. As Jim gripped himself through the fabric of the robe, the material casting a sultry outline of his manhood in the low light, Spock brushed his thumb over Jim’s cheekbone gently, lovingly as he stared down at him, then tightened his grip on Jim’s mandible and rocked his hips, drawing Jim’s head forward by the hair to drag his damp member across Jim’s cheek. He repeated the action once, then twice, just barely sawing himself against the corner of Jim’s mouth while maintaining his two iron grips on him to keep Jim from taking him in.
The unique and not unpleasant sensation of Jim’s stubble against his shaft made Spock groan, taking another trembling step toward his orgasm. As the thought permeated the bond, Jim moaned piteously, pulling against Spock’s hold in an attempt to take the Vulcan into him once more. The show of wanton desire and submission caused the primal part of Spock to swell with the need to dominate, to possess, to mark Jim as his and only his. As he tried to tear from his mind, to focus on his bondmate’s desires rather than his own, Jim pushed a tangled bundle of emotions at Spock, at the center of which was a beseeching, Nash-veh nam-tor ish-veh.
A possessive growl rippled up from Spock’s chest, rumbling between them threateningly, and Spock twisted his grip cruelly in Jim’s hair as he pulled him backward, then pressed the head of his cock against his lips and thrust in. A long-repressed part of Spock delighted in the sound and sensation of Jim gagging around him, and he drew Jim backward again before pushing back into the wet and waiting mouth as far as he could before hitting the back of Jim’s throat and causing another small spasm to go through the man beneath him. Somewhere in the far recesses of Spock’s carefully compartmentalized consciousness, concern attempted to intrude on the animal pleasure that Spock was taking from Jim’s mouth just once, but was quickly drowned out by the sloppy, squelching sounds of Jim’s adamant attempts to suck and lick and swallow around the hard rod filling his mouth.
Spock forced his eyes open to half-mast to look down on Jim and watch him struggle to keep time with the increasing tempo of his thrusts and groaned throatily at the sight. Jim was palming himself through the robe with one hand while the other gripped Spock’s thigh. His handsome face was contorted in a mask of desperate pleasure, his eyebrows creased in concerted focus, his eyes squeezed shut as tears glittered in the corners and rolled down over high cheekbones flushed deep pink. There was slick over Jim's nose and cheeks and lips, dripping down his chin and running in rivulets down his neck. What of it was saliva and what of it was Spock’s natural lubrication was impossible to tell, but the sight of the wet mess Jim had become for him tore a snarling moan from Spock’s throat.
Jim groaned in response and the vibrations the sound sent travelling along Spock’s member made his hips buck, changing the angle with which he was driving into Jim’s mouth. Jim managed to shift his head, dropping his jaw to adjust to the new onslaught despite Spock’s grasp and when the Vulcan’s cock nudged the back of Jim’s throat, he swallowed him down, working his throat around the intrusion and taking Spock into him until his forehead pressed to Spock’s groin, his nose rubbing into the thatch of damp black pubic hair. Spock threw his head back with a growling moan of Jim’s name and pumped his hips frantically, thrusting once, then twice more before his orgasm slammed into him, clamping tight around the base of his spine and radiating liquid pleasure through every inch of Spock’s body. Spock erupted into Jim’s throat, spilling and spilling as his hips undulated. He dimly felt the bite of Jim’s fingernails against his thigh and rocked into the wet furnace of Jim’s mouth once more before releasing his grip on Jim’s jaw to extricate his leaking cock, still loosing hot spurts of cum to streak across Jim’s reddened cheeks, his open, panting mouth, his long, exposed throat.
Jim keened, each hot splatter against his skin pushing him closer and closer to his own tipping point. He swallowed down the remnants of Spock’s cum as he felt himself being coated with his husband’s essence, marked and claimed and utterly belonging to the man above him, inside and out and all around him. Jim bucked into his own hand, desperately chasing the release that he needed, that he craved with every fiber of his being. It was so close, just near enough to taunt him. Still pumping himself fiercely, Jim raised his free hand to run through the cloudy mess on his face, dragging his fingers through the warm streaks of it from chin to sternum.
He groaned at the feeling of it, slippery and hot under his hand. This was filthy, he was filthy, and Spock...God, Spock was perfect for giving him this, what he had wanted for so long, to have undeniable proof not just of Spock’s love but of his undeniable desire for Jim. Jim bit his lip as his fingers found one of his pebbled nipples and pinched harshly, twisting. Another bolt of pleasure shot straight through the core of him and each panting breath that left him evolved into a crying moan of “yes, yes, shit, yes.” As he moaned, both hands working frantically to bring him to completion, he felt Spock’s fingers loosen in his hair and tilt his head gently upward.
Look at me. The command reverberated in Jim’s mind, starkly present in the foreground of his chaotic, half-formed thoughts. His eyes fluttered open and he stared up into that molten gaze of Spock’s, panting swear words and sounds of pleasure. Spock looked down at him with a rare, open expression that twisted Jim’s hammering heart for a fleeting moment before carding his fingers gently through Jim’s hair and tilting his jaw upward and running his thumb over Jim’s wet, swollen lips.
“Cum for me, Jim.”
Jim replied with a deep, throaty moan as his body obeyed without question, hips jerking as he spilled his load into the robe, the material clinging to his pulsing member as the wetness spread over his lap. He groaned quiet curse words and words of thanks interspersed with Spock’s name in a repeating mantra as he rocked into his fist, milking the final drops from his shaft and riding out the powerful wave of his orgasm as it ebbed slowly, leeching the last hints of energy from Jim’s bones. He flopped backward, boneless as his head lolled onto the back of the couch. Small pleasured noises floated from his panting mouth as Jim lazily pulled himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He felt rivulets of Spock’s cum dripping down his throat and over his heaving chest and hummed, content.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Jim groaned slowly, suddenly exhausted and was unsure if he’d said it with his lips or his mind.
He felt Spock shift between his knees, then the press of his hot, sure hands on Jim’s thighs as he sank down between them. Jim didn’t stir as Spock’s fingers tugged apart the loose tie at his waist and pushed open the robe, leaving him exposed to the Vulcan’s eye. He loosed a pleased sigh as he felt Spock’s warm fingers trail through the cooling streaks on his stomach and mewled as the touch continued, feather-light, over his spent cock. A breath ghosted over Jim’s hip and he jerked in surprise, sitting up and looking down at the glossy black crown of Spock’s head.
“Ashaya,” Spock said against Jim’s thigh. His voice rumbled across the surface of Jim’s skin, a husky tenor spoken into the wake of a smoldering kiss left there. “Are you alright?”
Jim smiled warmly down at Spock, brimming with post-coital affection. “I’m fine. Great,” he murmured, voice thick and slightly raspy from his throat’s prior use. Jim raised a hand to stroke Spock’s dark hair, letting his fingers trail lovingly over the still verdant tips of his husband’s sensitive ears. Spock pressed wet kisses in a hot path down Jim’s thigh, stopping just above his knee before turning his attentions to the other and repeating the action in a slow, searing ascent.
“You are sure?” Spock’s voice sent a wave of tingles across Jim’s hypersensitive groan and he bit back a hiss. “I did not injure you? Or upset you?”
Jim shifted deeper into the couch and let his fingers run absently through Spock’s hair. “No, sweetheart. It was perfect, just what I wanted.” Jim said, his voice the saccharine tone attained only by doting mothers and the thoroughly fucked. “You were perfect. Just what I wanted.”
Spock reached the juncture of Jim’s thigh and hip with his lips and stopped to lap at the damp skin there, savoring the unique way that Jim’s sweat and musk played across his tongue for a moment before pulling away. His eyes traveled upward, drinking in the sight of Jim’s body, beautifully sculpted and utterly filthy, until they reached Jim’s own, which pinned him so fixedly that his heart seemed to jolt in his side. Jim’s hypnotic blue eyes were warm and liquid, gazing down at him with the unguarded look that Spock had only seen directed at himself, Sonak, and--occasionally--the Enterprise.
The laughing joy and welcome in Jim’s eyes warmed a part of Spock that he struggled to categorize, and he was suddenly overcome with the need to kiss Jim, to hold him, keep him in his arms and stop anyone, anything from threatening the light in those eyes. Spock gripped Jim’s thighs and pushed himself up, placing a knee carefully on the couch between Jim’s spread legs and pulling him upward and into a rough. Jim’s fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of Spock’s neck in an attempt to bring him even closer that left Spock’s lips stinging when he pulled away, licking the taste of himself from his own lips.
“Hey,” Jim said gently. He slid his hands from Spock’s hair and rested his palms, warm and reassuring, on Spock’s green-tinged cheeks. “I’m ok. Ok?” Jim smiled and pulled Spock in for a chaste kiss. “And I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against his husband’s lips, punctuating the statement with another kiss. This one was longer, and the rough swipe of Spock’s tongue against his bottom lip made him shiver. He pulled back with a slight, wet sound and laid his forehead against Spock’s.
“Except to the shower.” Jim chuckled, and dropped his hands to the Spock’s shoulders, pushing softly.
To his surprise, Spock didn’t budge. Instead, Spock raised a quizzical slanted eyebrow before leaning in and pressing his lips to Jim’s cheek, then running his tongue through a streak of his cum arching across Jim’s cheekbone.
“And if I were to tell you that I intend to keep you here, and make a larger mess of you?”
Jim bit his lip as liquid heat trickled down his spine to pool in his belly, his grip tightening on Spock’s shoulders. “Then I would say that I think I’m going to start wearing your clothes more often.”
Spock nibbled across the sharp line of Jim’s jaw and placed a lewdly wet kiss just beneath his ear, smirking at the shiver that wracked Jim’s frame.
“I find that I have no objections to this.”
Jim half moaned a laugh. “As long as you’re doing laundry.”