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Pike grunts and sighs as he grinds languidly one last time, nails digging into the meat of his science officer’s hips. A mess of come and lube has already built up where he’s still fucked all the way into Lt. Spock’s body, he should move before everything starts to really stick, more than the tacky stick of sweat already building up between their bodies. Pike pulls those hips closer to him, savoring the oversensitivity, before grabbing his cock by the base and pulling out. His cock is slick with come and lubricant, shiny and wet, still heated and heavy from arousal and the warmth of Spock’s body. Spock makes a noise, like a soft groan, as Pike grabs a handful of his ass, massaging a bit before dipping a thumb into the gapping mess. Pike hooks his thumb and pulls, waiting for a moment. The dribble comes soon enough.
Spock stays braced against the bathroom counter as Pike grabs and hold his cock at the base, before gently slapping Spock’s hole with it, once, twice. Pike barely hesitates before dipping his cock once more into the warm, creamy mess, just the head and half his cock, thrusting lazily in and out of the loose hole, hand still at the base. He watches the muscles in Spock’s back contract at the intrusion before Pike finally lets his cock slip out for the last time. Pike wishes he could drop to his knees and spend the next half-hour eating that messy, sloppy hole out, but…
“Computer, what time is it?”
“The time is 0345.”
Pike sighed. Fifteen minutes to get presentable and out the door. Lt. M’renga had an audit report on the Enterprise’s data security management system and that man had a punctuality fetish. So to say. Pike released Spock’s hip, palm sticking slightly with sweat, before reaching down to tuck himself back into his standard uniform slacks. The movement of an errant hand reaching back, back arching over the swell of a hip and towards the still gapping and loosed hole in front of him, stopped him quick enough. Pike’s mouth ran a little dry as he watched long, blunt fingers sink into that mess. From the movement of Spock’s other arm, Pike could tell he was jerking himself off. Again.
“Didn’t you come already?” Pike asked offhandedly, hand on the zip of his fly, resting. Perhaps applying some pressure.
“I did. I am endeavoring to do so again.” The words came out breathless and punched as Spock’s wrist twisted to thrust deep, beginning to work up a rhythm. Pike’s eyes flicked to the mirror. Spock’s face looked pretty wrecked for Spock. He was blissfully out of it, lips parted, eyes lidded and glazed. Pike might as well not be there, in the bathroom of his own captain’s quarters, as Spock lifted his knee up onto the counter, spreading himself even wider as he started mindlessly rocking himself between his fingers and his grip. The noise—soft slapping of skin and persistent squelching of tacky fluids…Pike could feel his blood lazily moving south again. He cupped his balls and dragged his hand up over his covered cock. The audit report would end up on his desk anyway, what did it matter?
“No division meeting today then?” He found himself saying as he pulled at his cock through his uniform.
“Rescheduled,” Spock managed, glazed eyes finally meeting his in the bathroom mirror.
“Oh?” Pike slipped a hand into his slacks, exaggerating his movement as he slid his hand over the material of his underwear, fully hard again. He was still young, it seemed. Lt. Spock was even younger.
Spock did not bother to reply, he leveraged his body up slowly, dropping his hand from behind him as he twisted, facing Pike now. Spock pulled steadily at his cock, dark green at the head. Dried and drying come glistened across his abdomen and chest, and between his legs, where Spock spread them into a fairly provocative stance. Dark, hungry eyes watched Pike as the captain proceeded to pull out his cock again, languidly jacking himself to the display that was Spock.
Spock was looking back. Pike appreciated the spattering of dark hair across Spock’s chest, moving as he breathed deeply, dark eyes flicking between Pike’s gaze and his groin. Spock’s head cocked to the side as his gaze wandered to the movement of Pike’s arm, to the jut of his hip, the swell of his calf, back to where Pike was pulling himself off, and up to Pike’s eyes—his mouth, his eyes, his jaw, his throat…
Spock held Pike’s gaze as he leaned back, up onto the counter, lifting his knee to his chest, then outward, exposing his puffy, loose hole. Where Pike’s cock had just been. Where he was still slicked from Pike’s come.
Pike took the invitation as it was. He jacked his cock once, twice, before moving into Spock’s space, and casually pushing the head into the loose gape of Spock’s ass. Spock’s mouth dropped open soundlessly, his hand falling away from his cock to brace himself against the counter. Pike watched his cock disappear into Spock’s body in one smooth slide. Fuck, Spock felt good around him, hot, slick, twitching muscles trying to tighten, but incontrovertibly loosened, relaxed as Spock’s soft mouth as it panted and gasped. Pike reached under Spock’s thighs to grab at his ass and pulled him forward to meet his captain’s grinding thrust. This destabilized Spock wholly. Blunt nails scrambled against the countertop as Spock’s knees and legs hung over Pike’s elbows, ankles bouncing with each deep, grinding thrust. And Spock was a lot of leg. Mostly leg, really. Legs were really all Pike saw when Spock bent, straightlaced and not even the tiniest bit suggestive, over the science station viewing console.
This is what Pike thought of, when Spock would straighten and look Pike directly in the eye to report atmospheric sensor readings, ion charges, unnatural phenomena, whatever—Pike’s physical memory was always superimposed over the untainted, pristine version of Spock on the bridge. The bounce of Spock’s calf against his bicep, the loose, wet clutch of Spock’s hole, the glisten of tongue behind soft lips, the fan of dark eyelashes against a flushed cheekbone. The dull slap of skin against skin, the hummingbird-rapid beat of a green heart behind an elongated ribcage. Lt. Spock, perfect pristine science officer, citing regulation to his face now—in the captain’s quarter an hour later, getting absolutely railed between shifts, sometimes twice per shift. Up well into the night, and on his hands and knees early in the morning. Hiking one knee up in an obscure corridor, writhing on his back in an already cramped Jeffries tube, on his knees in a stopped turbolift. Perfect, fuckable, ready-to-be-spread-across-the-nearest-console Spock. Spock was the hand on his crotch while he piloted the Galileo, the warm vice of clasped thighs on an extended away mission, the tight throat in the waiting room of a diplomatic envoy. Spock was beckoning eyes, long fingers holding himself open, the curve of a pale back as he craned to let Pike’s tongue into his mouth over his shoulder. Spock was the brush of fingers at the back of his neck, a hand sliding down the scratchy arm of his uniform, the bussing of lips against the corner of Pike’s mouth.
Spock was a lot, like he was now, keeping Pike in his body when Pike should be on Deck 11, listening to Lt. M’renga go on and on about some such metadata standard. Spock was too much, like now, as his eyelashes fluttered and his abdominals flexed and his toes curled, and he came untouched. As his insides clutched weakly in tandem with the splattering against his chest and Pike came anyway with him, fucking more come into Spock’s insides. When Pike finally stilled over Spock, he felt the brush of blunt fingers at his hairline, over his rounded ear, to the back of his neck. He felt a mouth, hot, and languid and warm, opening against his, inviting him in. And when he opened his eyes and breathed in, his nose was buried in thick, dark hair, and his mouth was pressed to a curved ear, and he was held, and holding, and held. What had Spock said? Always touching and touched. Never parted and always a part.
Mated.
Mated to perfect, hot, fuckable Lt. Spock. Not so bad.