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“Your hair is getting longer, you know,” Jim said lightly, reaching out to twine one sleek black lock around his index finger. “It’s positively wild by your usual standards.”
Spock said nothing, staring amusedly at Jim, face still bright and ruddy with afterglow.
“And look at this,” Jim said, dropping the tress to stroke his finger down the side of Spock’s angular jaw. “You haven’t shaved in two days. Are the mountains making a rugged woodsman out of my science officer?” Jim laughed brightly, eyes shining as he leaned in and pressed a string of kisses along Spock’s mandible.
The Vulcan let out a soft breath and pulled Jim closer, their bare chests brushing as Spock wrapped an arm around Jim’s waist and pulled him effortlessly to straddle his hips. The dampness between Jim’s thighs made them glide across Spock’s own, and the Vulcan’s lack of refractory period began to make itself known.
Jim’s eyes fluttered as he watched Spock’s member peek out from the dark thatch of black hair around his sheathe, already glistening, its proximity to his own spent cock coaxing a breathy chuckle from him. “It must be the wilderness air, or something in the water at the very least.”
Spock raised his hands to Jim’s waist, digging his fingers into the lithe muscles of Jim’s obliques and rubbing soft circles deep into the flesh. “You know well that I do not need atmospheric adjustment to desire you, k’diwa, ” he said, voice pitched intentionally low. “Nor do I need assistance of any kind to demonstrate my desire without pause,” He rolled his hips upward and pushed Jim’s hips down. “Without end.”
Jim let out a coquettish whimper that only served to fan Spock’s mounting need to pin his mate to the mattress and devour him bite by bite.
“Spock!” Jim gasped, his hands falling to Spock’s chest, palms flat against his pecs as he held himself up. “God baby, don’t do that to me, I wasn’t,” Jim swallowed thickly. “I wasn’t ready.”
At the mild bemusement on Spock’s face, Jim leaned forward and pressed his body tight against Spock’s, his lips sweetly against Spock’s kiss-swollen, green-tinged mouth. Just because you can go all night and all day and all night and all Wednesday and all this morning doesn’t mean I can always keep up. The words were carefree, bouncing across the link between their minds. Jim parted his lips to snake his tongue out of his mouth and into Spock’s. I want you, sweetheart. I always do. Jim reveled in the way that Spock gripped him tightly against his bigger, stronger body, but still allowed Jim to writhe above him and kiss him within an inch of his life. He broke away with a wet sound and a small hum, then pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Spock’s nose. “But I’m also sore, I reek, and if I don’t shower right now I’m going to lose my chance before you fuck me to the point I can’t walk again.”
Spock raised a pointed eyebrow and Jim rolled his eyes, then his body out of his husband’s steely grip. He hissed as his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. His mouth instinctively fell open to tell the home operations computer to heat the floor, then closed again. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. “We’re roughing it.” Jim was wiggling his toes against the icy planks when he jumped with a shriek as Spock’s arms wrapped around him unceremoniously from behind, pulling him down to sit on his naked lap on the edge of the bed.
Spock ran his nose along the base of Jim’s neck in the way that always sent delicious shivers skittering down his spine. “I have no objection to your scent, ashaya. ”
Jim scoffed, but leaned back into Spock’s too-warm chest, dropping his head to loll on Spock’s shoulder, exposing more of his throat to receive the Vulcan’s eager lips. “Spock, I smell like cum and sweat and lube,” he paused. “And probably mothballs from digging up that old quilt for the couch.”
A deep rumble passed from Spock’s chest through Jim’s own. He nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of Jim’s throat and drank in the sound of his lover’s pleasured intake of breath. “Need I reiterate?”
A shuddering breath shook loose from Jim as Spock loosened his hold on the man’s body and began to run his hands over every exposed inch, which was…all of him. He bucked his hips jerkily as Spock gently ran the tips of his fingers over Jim’s exhausted, flaccid cock. With his other hand, Spock pushed Jim’s thighs apart and began to caress his balls, then began to trail his fingers down Jim’s perineum.
“Spock,” Jim breathed. “I mean it, I…oh, fuck.” His words dissolved into a hiss and then a swear as Spock’s index finger slid into him. He was still slicked and stretched from the lovemaking they had only just finished, but the drag of Spock’s skin against his abused inner muscles was unquestionably delicious. Spock made a dangerous sound behind him and Jim instinctively rolled his hips down to take more of Spock’s hand in, thoughts of feeling Spock’s finger joined by another and another until he was pushing himself down onto Spock’s entire fist gathering in his mind. It must have slipped from him into Spock’s mind, if the answering growl and sudden harsh bite to the juncture of his neck and shoulder was any indication. Jim’s hips stuttered at the sudden pain and he winced as Spock’s fingers--another having joined as Jim’s fantasy began to play out in his mind--pushed in, opening him further in a way that made his entrance flair with the familiar yet distinct pain that so often followed marathon fucking.
Without words exchanged, Spock withdrew his digits slowly, carefully, forcing himself to ignore how bereft he felt without the wet heat of Jim’s body around even this part of him. “ Tobeg nash-veh, ” he murmured against Jim’s shoulder, leaving soft kisses in the wake of his request for forgiveness. After savoring one last kiss against Jim’s skin, Spock drew away, replacing lips with strong, deft fingers and beginning to massage the tense muscles there. The pleasure-tinged moan that left Jim made him stir, but Spock reined in his controls and focused on the task at hand. He kneaded the muscles at the base of Jim’s neck, then followed the tension down to his shoulders, patiently visiting each of his chorded muscle groups in turn before stopping at the base of his spine, pressing his fingers into the dimples there.
Jim hissed and pulled away from Spock’s ministrations. The Vulcan furrowed his eyebrows. “Does it pain you here?” he asked, voice gentle and placid, intentionally devoid of desire or romantic intention. Jim nodded, wincing slightly as he shifted on Spock’s lap. Even without their bond, Spock could feel through is contact with Jim’s skin, his touch telepathy at times a better indicator than their spoken or shared internal voices. “You are unusually tense, Jim. There is pain in your muscles, but also fear, upset. You are preoccupied with something, with--” Spock stopped abruptly, cursing himself for thoughtlessly enumerating what Jim was surely still processing, still sensitive to.
A dense, dark emotion passed through their bond and Spock’s heart twinged in his side. He raised his hands from Jim’s back to wrap his arms around Jim’s chest and draw him backward against his chest. “He is alright, Jim.”
As soon as the words left Spock’s mouth, Jim began clamoring for words, spilling his anxieties and wrestling with the guilt of worrying Spock, his fears, his anger at himself, and the million other tiny things that clouded his mind. He could hear Spock wince quietly and cursed himself as well for transmitting it all so suddenly without intending to.
“I know, I know he is. It’s stupid to be this worried. There’s no reason to be this stupid about it but--”
Spock kissed Jim’s shoulder blade softly. “It is not stupid to care for our son’s well-being.”
“I know, but what about Sarek? Sonak’s been with us for so long and he’s not used to that kind of rigidness. It’s not that I don’t trust him but well--I mean, Amanda is there, thank God.”
Spock stiffened at the slight against his father, however deserving, and helpfully attempted to supply: “Ambassador Spock is also--”
“That’s right,” Jim nearly exclaimed, extricating himself from Spock’s arms, wrapping his own arms around himself as he began to pace. “He’s Sonak’s godfather for God’s sake, of course he’s going to be just fine.
Spock stood from the bed with a long, slow breath, unself-conscious of his nudity and stepped to Jim. He raised large, warm hands to grip Jim’s shoulders lightly and squeezed, rubbing comforting circles with his thumbs.
“Jim,” Spock began, and continued over Jim’s dropped jaw and undoubtedly prepared response. “Sonak is quite easily the most well-protected, well-provided for child on New Vulcan.” His hands rose to cup Jim’s burning cheeks. “He is the son of a Starship captain and the heir of one of the highest seats on the planet. Grandson to two of the most powerful diplomats in our star system, and rapidly becoming the protegee to a,” he paused, his face softening into the almost-smile that made Jim’s heart flutter. “Wise, well-traveled, and highly trustworthy Vulcan noble.”
Jim managed a small chuckle at Spock’s attempt and failure to be less self-serving in his description of his older self. “I know, Spock, I know,” Jim said, the air leaving him in an explosive sigh. “I just worry so much. I can’t seem to stop no matter how illogical it is.” He let his gaze rise to Spock’s. “I don’t want him to feel inadequate or confused about who he is, not after everything you went through to find your way on Vulcan and on Earth at his age.” Jim diverted his eyes, his heart squeezing. “And…and I still feel so terrible about the fight, I should have trusted you, known you’d make the right decision--”
Spock inclined his head to place a gentle kiss on Jim’s temple. “I have forgiven you, k’diwa. I know now what I did not then. Your anger was logical and your final decision to allow this voyage of Sonak’s made in agreement, not resignation.” Spock ran his thumb over the curve of Jim’s cheekbone. “You are so many things to so many people; each day you must perform at a standard that would overwhelm lesser men. We are here to allow ourselves, for you to allow yourself, to be only one thing to one person. It is my hope that this will suffice during our time here.”
Jim deflated further, leaning his head heavily into Spock’s touch. He could feel the tightness in him slowly unwinding. He raised a hand to press Spock’s palm against his cheek. “Of course it is, sweetheart. You’ll always be everything I need, more than I deserve, t’hyla. ” Jim pulled Spock’s hand from his face and placed a long, firm kiss against Spock’s palm. He could feel the spark of arousal jolt across their bond and smiled as he dropped the hand with a knowing smile.
“C’mon,” he said, feigning a light tone. “How about a bath instead?”
-xXx-
Later, they sat in a long, companionable silence in the cozy living room of the cabin. The hardwood floor had finally warmed to his body, and Jim was enjoying a book on the floor, wrapped in a bundle of quilts. He sat between Spock’s legs, the Vulcan on the couch, playing a holographic game of chess against himself. It was nice, a reprieve from Jim’s constant pressure to perform, to do, to say, to reassure, to entertain. He couldn’t remember when he last got to just be. The fireplace crackled only a few feet away and between its ambient heat, the quilts, and Jim’s very spiked cider, an honest, lazy warmth was spreading through him that reminded him of having sunk into the bath with Spock at his back only hours before.
Even Spock had allowed himself a rare indulgence: a small mug of hot chocolate. Only the barely noticeable green flush to his cheeks and the slightly longer than average pauses between his chess moves gave away the mild level of intoxication Spock felt, and even then only Jim could have seen the tells, known them for what they were. And that warmed him too. Jim set his book in his lap and rested his head on Spock’s knee. He turned his face toward the almost floor to ceiling bay window. It was too shallow for a window seat, but high enough that the uninterrupted view of the snow falling silently onto the trees surrounding the lake made up for it. The sight of it stirred complex emotions in him that interrupted his hard-won serenity.
“I haven’t seen snow like this since I left Iowa.”
The words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning, heavy with sadness Jim hadn’t known would follow. He tried to close his mind to it, to keep his sadness from reaching Spock but only managed to loose the thoughts that followed on the heels of the admission. Had Spock ever seen snow? Did he hate it? Would Sonak? Would the two of them share a yearning for their desert planet that Jim could never share, could never sate without giving up everything?
Spock carded his fingers through Jim’s hair and spoke softly, but pointedly. “Are you aware that you are attempting to search my mind for answers to your questions?” His tone was not accusatory, but Jim’s muscles tensed. “I believe you referred to it as “eavesdropping” the last time it happened.”
Jim felt his eyes water suddenly, shame and fear of rebuke swelling in him viciously. He gathered a quilt around himself, pulling it tight as he stood, the other that had been loose around his shoulders falling to the ground. He walked toward the window, suddenly feeling the need for physical distance from Spock. It had been nearly five years since he’d been bonded to Spock, but still, somehow, there was still more to learn about how it all worked, how he managed it as a human, previously believed to be psi-null and now of enough emotional and psychic energy to bond not only to his mate and husband but their son. It was unheard of, unprecedented, and at times, the same type of pressure that he had hoped to escape on this little vacation away from expectation. He should have known better than to have hoped for as much.
“Jim--”
“Spock--”
Silence hung between them for a moment, open to whichever of them would continue first. As usual, it was Jim. “I--I didn’t mean to. I would never do that to you, Spock, and most of the time I don’t--”
“You do not realize that your mind is as powerful as I have tried to assure you that it is.” Spock’s voice sounded closer, and Jim realized he’d risen on silent feet and walked toward the window. “It can take a lifetime to master, if such a thing is possible.” Spock stood behind Jim now, their bodies only inches apart, the Vulcan unsure if physical touch was what Jim wanted. “There is only one other human who has managed to achieve what you believe you should have already at your disposal.” Spock let the words hang in the air, radiating his own type of pride, joy, love. “And she has had many more years of practice than you have.”
Spock felt the spark of Jim’s welcome and his arms were around Jim’s hips in the same moment, his chin fitting into the nook of Jim’s clavicle as if made for him. “And if I may acknowledge, the fruit of her labors has produced at least one outcome that I would go so far as to say is noteworthy.”
Jim laughed and leaned his weight back into Spock with a quiet sigh. “I’m ruining this trip, aren’t I? And after we worked so hard to make this shore leave happen.”
Spock pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple, then his cheekbone. “You are not ruining this trip.” He pressed another kiss to Jim’s cheek, then to the juncture of his jaw and throat. “I am quite convinced that you lack the skill of destruction of which you view yourself so capable.”
Jim turned his head to allow Spock to continue his line of kisses as the Vulcan continued speaking softly between each press of lips. “You are extraordinary,” Spock murmured against his throat. “Beautiful, exceptional, passionate,” Spock’s fingers rose teasingly up under the hem of Jim’s shirt, pressing his fingertips into the flesh of his hips and lower back, pulling a groan from Jim. “ Infuriating, ” Spock continued, the word more a growl than a compliment.
Jim shivered, and not solely because the pressure Spock was now exerting against his back was pressing his body against the cold window. His eyes slid closed, reveling in the praise, losing himself in the gentle touch, succumbing to what would surely end as a teasing, loving break from relaxation before they returned to their quiet kisses and activities.
“I love you, Jim Kirk.”
A bolt of shock momentarily jolted Jim, stealing the breath from him, tightening the muscles of his stomach, his entire body hyperaware of Spock’s heartbeat against his hip, his own lurching, the quilt he’d draped around his shoulders slipping from his fingers to pool on the ground. In all their time together, Spock had never given Jim a single, solitary reason to doubt his love. He was an incredible lover, partner, father, and Science officer. He was attentive, endearing in his fumbling for human sentiment, the most intelligent and trustworthy man Jim had ever met, but this. This was somehow, miraculously, after years bonded and wasted in angst and sexual tension beforehand, new. Jim gaped, mouth opening and closing, heart constricting as he felt tears prickle in his eyes, warmth flooding his body.
“I--Spock, I--” Jim tried to respond but the words stuck in his throat, suddenly thick. I love you too.
Spock ceased his trailing kisses to rub his nose in Jim’s hair, his hands climbing higher up Jim’s torso beneath his shirt as he simply inhaled the smell of him, peppermint shampoo and soap and Jim.
“I have never had the choice of not loving you, ashaya. Not you, who are all that I shall ever need, more than I could ever ask for.”
The words struck Jim like a blow. Spock wasn’t just showing a rare and precious display of his love, his raw and open affection. These…these were his vows. Said on the day that they had had the human wedding that Jim and Amanda had adamantly told Spock could not under any circumstances be ignored simply because they were formally bonded on New Vulcan, much to Spock and Sarek’s bemusement.
“You are my k'hat'n'dlawa , half of my soul, my mate and companion to every part of my being. My t’hy’la : brother, lover, and friend. Ashayam, beloved mate.” Spock clenched his hands tight around Jim, an embrace as much as physical proof of his love. “Even more than I could have anticipated in a mate,” Spock ran his nose along Jim’s jaw and a deep, primal rumble shook through Jim as it left Spock. “A fierce, dedicated father to my son.”
Jim bit his lip, sinking further into Spock’s hold, his hand rising behind him to grip the hair at the base of Spock’s neck, to guide his lips back to the line of fire they were burning down Jim’s throat. He felt himself stir in the loose cotton pajama bottoms he wore. Spock’s voice, the dominance and possession in his voice when he'd said it, “ my son,” not their or Jim’s, but his, his to protect, to provide for, to guide, to show to the world that he could do what others believed he could not. That he could have this incredible man in his arms that stood for love, for family, for everything that Sonak would have that the small, frightened parts of Spock that still lived somewhere inside him had never had. Because Sonak would have Jim. His Jim.
“Spock!” Jim gasped, his knees threatening to buckle at the sheer force of the thoughts that Spock so expertly layered into Jim’s mind, into his very being. He had been so intoxicated, so vulnerable to Spock’s tirade of possession, of affection, of desire that he hadn’t even noticed that his shirt was gone and that Spock’s hands were now roaming his torso, unhampered by even the thin barrier of his well-worn Starfleet PT uniform shirt.
“ Jim,” Spock growled against his lover’s shoulder in response. He made no attempt to prevent his thoughts, his desires from bleeding into Jim’s mind, directly against his body to raise gooseflesh and pebble his nipples, to harden his cock without even touching those parts that strained to show the Vulcan how badly he was wanted.
“If you recall, you have expressed a similar sentiment somewhat recently.” Spock’s fingers rose to finally brush over one of Jim’s nipples, reveling in the small sound Jim made in the back of his throat. “To use your own words,” Spock drew back, his hands leaving Jim’s body to rest lightly on his hips, his lips a scant inch from Jim’s ear. “Have I told you lately what a good father you are?”
Jim shivered in Spock’s grasp, swallowing back mewls of pure desire. Spock brought Jim backward to brush lightly against Spock’s now obvious erection. The Vulcan spoke again: “And you say?”
Jim panted, trying to push himself further back, to grind himself against Spock, but was halted by Spock’s iron grip. Even that small show of dominance made his stomach lurch. He was lust-addled, lovesick, his mind was blank. Until it wasn’t, Spock silently feeding him the words he expected, and Jim moaned quietly at the intimacy of it.
“I--I don’t believe you have.”
Spock hummed appreciatively, a dark, deadly sound that made Jim’s cock jump. “Have I told you what a weirdly huge turn on that is?”
Jim’s back arched, his hand tightening in Spock’s hair. The absurdity of his words coming from Spock’s lips, those lips that cited facts, that whispered adorations in the dark of their bedroom, that hardened, so cold in the face of threats, of slights. It was too much, too surreal, the crisp, clipped edges to his own vernacular overwhelmingly wrong in a way that twisted his stomach with desire nonetheless.
“I don’t--Oh God, Spock,” Jim moaned, all but writhing, helpless, craving the friction of even Spock’s clothed cock against his ass. But he knew that this role reversal, the reliving of his own playful desire was more than harmless role play. “I don’t--don’t believe you have.”
“Hmmm,” and the thoughtful sound was more a deep and resonating growl than Jim’s own mock contemplation had been. “That is a shame.”
The scene relived, Spock finally, finally relaxed his grip and pulled Jim backward, grinding his aching cock into the small of Jim’s back, just where the swell of his ass began to part in a trail down to his waiting, well-used entrance. Spock pressed himself against his lover again before pushing the man forward with a thrust of his hips, seaming his bare torso against the glass. Jim hissed through his teeth at the sudden shock of cold against his overheated body, his hands pressing against the glass.
“Jesus, Spock, the glass is freezing,” he panted, the wind knocked from him by the force and the shock.
As soon as the words left him, Spock pressed his chest against Jim’s back, pushing Jim once more against the icy glass. “And I am burning for you, k’diwa. ”
Spock’s long fingers wound into Jim’s chestnut tresses and jerked his head backward, continuing his assault on Jim’s skin. As he did so, the fingers of his other hand made deft work of untying the string of Jim’s pants and pushing them down to his thighs.
Jim made a strangled sound. “Spock, don’t, you can’t, it’s--”
“No.”
The single syllable left no quarter, no room for discussion and Jim felt his stomach quiver in anticipation. That was the voice Spock used to command, to demand compliance, to force Jim into letting go, giving Spock his weight to carry, just for a little while. Jim licked his lips, his cheeks reddening.
“Spock,” he choked. “I--I’m a captain--Jesus--nobody can see me like--”
“Nobody will ever see you like this,” Spock said in that delicious, dangerous voice that made Jim’s mouth slam shut. “Nobody will see your beauty, your surrender, your desperation.” Spock’s fingers tightened further in Jim’s hair, making his scalp tingle enjoyably. “This is a Federation Leave facility, specifically accommodating high-ranking officers and their families. The only other cabins are 3.1, 4.7, and 6.2 kilometers away,” Spock said with a rare nonchalance. “And they are empty.” Spock licked the shell of Jim’s ear slowly. “I made sure of it.”
Jim was going to die. His heart was going to burst and he was going to die, falling into pieces in Spock’s hands. A sound almost like a chuckle came from the man behind him. A moment later, Jim felt the familiar hot, wet press of Spock’s hard cock insinuating itself in the cleft of his ass and whined, panting as he pushed his hips back and heard Spock hiss.
“As ever,” Spock continued, his voice slightly strained. “There is no one to see you like this. No one to hear you. No one else to touch you,” Spock punctuated the words by raising a hand to cup Jim’s erection in a fleeting squeeze before letting his hand fall away. “No one else to taste you.”
Spock released his hold on Jim’s hair, brushing it lightly aside to press a kiss to the slightly protruding vertebrae. He ghosted his lips lower, down the neck to between the shoulder blades, and his grip on Jim’s hips tightened as he continued the press of his lips lower, cutting a line down Jim’s back with surgical precision, lips following the natural path until he was kneeling behind the man, his breath coming hot and moist against the very base of Jim’s spine.
Jim was shaking now, the strong muscles of his thighs quivering, his abs jumping under the skin. Unconsciously, as Spock worked his way down his body, Jim had pressed his forehead to the window and raised himself from pressing his palms against the glass until his forearms were braced against it, allowing him to better plant his feet and push his hips backward as he bent, just slightly, at the waist, presenting himself just the way he knew Spock wanted without a single spoken or even thought of a command. He was panting, fogging the window with every breath, and clenching his fists in anticipation.
Spock slid his hands down from Jim’s hips, stroking downward until he was gripping the very tops of his thighs. He leaned forward and pressed a last, wet kiss at the very top of the cleft of Jim’s ass, his tongue darting out to flick at the peak of the crevice. Spock savored the very slight musk there, mingled with the clean scent of soap and the indescribable scent and taste Jim’s skin always had. He would know it anywhere, through anything. Spock allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, reading Jim’s skin with his hypersensitive hands, touch telepath that he was. He could see the glowing red of Jim’s cheeks, the pinched brow and tightly shut eyes, feel the burning embarrassment warring with the desire and the anticipation, the sheer want to be defiled so intimately. God, take all of me Spock, I don’t care how, I just want you inside me. The word don’t flared to life in Jim’s mind as well, but never made it past his lips, tinged even in his own thoughts as it was with doubt, a perfunctory cry that he believed expected of him when faced with the possibility of being offered something so delicious, so filthy.
Even so, Spock would not allow his arousal to overlook even the slightest chance of the denial of Jim’s autonomy. Spock lowered his hands to cup the ample cheeks, teasingly pressing his thumbs into their bulk and spreading him only slightly, not enough to open him, but enough for Jim to wonder if Spock could see his hole fluttering, clenching already with need. Is this not what you wanted, ashaya, to be devoured by me? Do you want me to stop, Jim? The words shot through the bond, not the usual lazy tumble of loving words from mind to mind but a clear demand for response resonating in Jim’s thoughts.
Jim shook his head, his bottom lip drawn tight between his teeth. Spock was unendingly tempted to let the sign suffice, to push his tongue into the very depths of his lover without another thought beyond how to make him squirm and beg and cum, but even in this state he could not. Spock closed his eyes, robbing himself of the enticing sight in hopes to marshal himself. Will you allow me to pleasure you this way? May I explore you, and seek to find whether I can still taste myself inside you?
“Oh, fuck, Spock, yes, Jesus, please. ”
Spock loosed a quiet sound between moan and sigh, his satisfaction already mounting even before his body could begin its ascent toward orgasm. Jim had worked diligently for years now, as he’d said, to learn the finer nuances of their bond, their meld, the precious place where soul and mind were shared as one. He had grown exponentially through his perseverance, and held many insecurities about his place in learning how to navigate the ultimate intimacy yet--Spock took a breath and let it out as a warm pant against Jim’s skin. When Jim was so ready, so desperate, his emotions emanating like physical waves to crash against Spock, when he was so overwhelmed with need that he could not respond to Spock psychically if he tried, could not marshal himself, gather his mind, could only rely on his rasping, gasping voice to convey his needs, it did things to Spock that occasionally raised questions in him about the merits of Surakian emotional control.
“If you keep thinking like that I’m not going to make it, baby,” Jim said, his words fogging the glass of the window.
By way of apology, Spock squeezed the full, warm flesh of Jim’s ass in his hands, reveling momentarily in the way it filled his hands, then pushed the globes apart with his thumbs and ran the flat of his tongue over the newly exposed flesh there. He could hear Jim’s breath hitch and the sound of his hands streaking over the glass for purchase. Spock closed his eyes and allowed his other senses, sharper than a human’s, to pick up the sounds of the room as he set to the work of thoroughly undoing his mate. As he tilted his head down and dragged his tongue slowly back up and over the familiar puckered entrance, Spock drank in the sounds of his lover’s body: his bounding heart, his rushing blood, his gasps and quiet, keening sounds. He let himself feel, not meld or stroke with his mind, the fullness of his hands, the heat of Jim’s skin in his palms, against his jaw and cheekbones. He savored the taste of him and it stoked the possessive fire in his belly to know that he would be the last to ever know this, that he would die as the last man on any world who knew the secret, sacred taste of Jim’s body inside and out.
The thought slipped between the rapidly expanding cracks in Spock’s controls as he pressed his face into Jim’s crevice and speared his tongue into the pliant ring of flesh that had yielded to his cock, his fingers, so many times before. Jim’s knees quivered and Spock pulled himself away just long enough to push Jim forward against the glass for purchase. Jim groaned as he was bombarded by Spock’s thoughts, his tongue, and the unforgiving cold of the window simultaneously.
“Fuck, Spock,” Jim breathed, his voice already lilting into a whine.
Later. The word filled Jim’s mind with unyielding finality. This is only for you, ashaya.
Jim whimpered, unable to stop the sound from slipping through his lips. He turned his head to press his cheek against the cool glass, its increasing burn at Spock’s ferocity heating him up through the roots of his hair. N ash-veh goh na' du. The response took every ounce of focus left in him, and it came intrinsically, with a surety that Jim could not bring himself to question. How could it be anything but true? Here, pressed against a picture window, his leaking cock leaving smears of precum on glass that exposed him to the whole of a planetoid, braced between a wall of glass and the hot, solid bulk of his husband’s shoulders, who else could have claimed him? Could have questioned Spock’s indelible possession of him, mind, body, and soul?
A gasping moan tore from Jim on the heels of the thought. He felt the sudden pressure of Spock’s finger pressing into him alongside his hot, rough tongue, slick with the familiarly semi-viscous, over-warm coating of Spock’s natural lubrication. The slow drag of the feeling, the almost burn to the stretch mitigated by the lubrication, ran a shiver up Jim’s spine. He was still somewhat pliant from the hours they’d spent fucking over the weekend, the quickie Jim succumbed to while in the tub, and while the digit found its place without much pain, Jim found himself thinking briefly that he was grateful not to be preparing to take the generous bulk of Spock’s cock. The thought of it though, jutting proudly from between Spock’s thighs, thick and dripping from root to tip, flushed such a deep olive green--
“Oh--Oh my God, Spock, fuck, ” Jim cried suddenly, his hips jerking back to push himself reflexively onto Spock’s hand. At the thought of his exhausted body being fucked yet again, Jim had rocked backward into the softer, more forgiving sensation of Spock’s tongue and finger and had inadvertently pushed himself down just so in a way that pressed the pad of Spock’s finger into the clustered nerves inside him that made him see stars.
“Oh God baby, oh my God, Spock I’m going to cum.”
Spock felt a shudder run through him. Pride and visceral want tore through him on its heels. His desire to prolong this experience, to keep Jim pinned like a butterfly for his viewing pleasure against the wall and torment him further and his bone-deep need to watch Jim spend himself, gasping and jerking in a private show of how much pleasure Spock could bring him warred within him. In the end, as always, Spock managed to delay his--and by extension, Jim’s--gratification to win himself more time to watch his mate fall apart.
“Not yet,” Spock groaned into Jim’s body before plunging his tongue back into Jim’s wet, quivering hole. He lapped at Jim’s insides, pressing his tongue into every crevice, circling the appendage to further spread him, to gently fill and elicit a sweeter, less frenzied pleasure. Jim whimpered, pushing back, spearing himself on Spock’s tongue. Spock could not stop himself from capitulating at least somewhat. The sound pushed him closer to his own release, plucking loose a thread that narrowly bound his own need to cum. In a near-compromise that only truly functioned as a new torment, Spock lowered his still-slick fingers and pressed firmly but lovingly against the sensitive skin of Jim’s perineum. His fingertips applied a slow, consistent pressure against the skin there, downy with light brown hair, dragging upward toward Jim’s balls and then back again, his knuckles brushing against the tightly drawn sac.
Jim let out a low, angry moan that sent bolts of pleasure down Spock’s spine. “Spock, please, please touch me.”
Spock drew back, licking his lips, panting against Jim’s cheeks and pressing harder still into Jim’s delicate flesh. “Does this not suffice?” His voice held little of the levity intended, growling out as he rushed closer to his own release at Jim’s plea.
“Put your fingers inside me again, I want all of them,” Jim cried, grinding down on Spock’s fingers. He could feel his body clenching, empty, in need to be filled by any part of Spock it could get.
Spock’s hand stilled and the other gripped Jim’s cheek too firmly for a moment. He drew his fingers away from Jim’s perineum to run his middle finger over Jim’s entrance, hissing at the feel of damp, puckered flesh against the sensitive pad of his finger. “Do not say such things, Jim, or I will not last much longer.”
Jim keened with need, his hand fisting against the window. “I mean it,” he said, his voice barely more than a hot whisper now. “I’m so close, I just want to cum for you. I want as much as I can take.”
Spock dipped a finger into Jim’s hole, then withdrew his hand, unable to stop himself from giving his aching, neglected cock a firm stroke. It was meant to be a strategic motion, gathering lubrication and slaking just the barest of his thirst, but it instead dragged a shuddering breath from him. He was close as well, and only growing closer with each of Jim’s sighs and moans and admissions. He licked his lips, smearing the dampness there, tasting Jim’s essence, and felt himself pulse in his hand. He had intended to draw this out, to pleasure Jim for as long as it took for the man to melt into a begging, shuddering mess, but he could not deny the fraying at his own edges, the coiling of white hot tension in his gut. The words were out of his mouth before he could analyze or strategize any further.
“Show me.”
Jim moaned a sound of assent and immediately pressed his chest with a quiet hiss against the glass, bolstering himself as he reached back and grabbed his own ass, spreading himself for Spock to see, unself-conscious and trembling with need. Spock groaned his response, his hand tightening around himself for a moment more before dropping free of his near painful erection to push two fingers into Jim halfway without preamble.
The sound that left Jim was a thing of carnal beauty that flared to life in Spock a primal, long-shunned thing of near-tangible need to claim, to own and declare himself the ruler of the sovereign planes of Jim’s aching, trembling body--
“ Tash nash-veh, ” Jim croaked out on the tail of his roar of need.
The words spiraled around the base of Spock’s spine, tightening the muscles of his back with the effort not to surge forward into Jim’s body. He took a quiet breath. Over the course of their time together, there had been countless instances during the inevitable trial and error of matching each other’s needs, desires, and curbing Spock’s Vulcan instincts in tandem with his superior strength. After far too many frustrated cries from Jim that Spock was treating him like various delicate, breakable objects, the two had devised several safewords, each corresponding to a need to start, stop, or adjust. Each in English had a Vulcan counterpart and vice versa, a failsafe to ensure that whichever language the other had lapsed into or was overwhelmed by in their shared mind, there was nonetheless a means to express and enforce consent.
This, however, was a comparatively new safeword for a comparatively new experience and Spock had only very recently felt comfortable sharing with Jim. The ak'shem tash. During Spock’s upbringing, it was a highly regular practice, a form of exerting control over the functions of the physical body through discipline of the mind. For young Spock, torn between psychic worlds, the ak'shem tash was at times a daily routine. In the early days of his romantic and then psychic relationship with Jim, Spock had experienced such overwhelming physical desire and possessive Vulcan instinct toward his new mate that he was forced to periodically exit the bridge to put physical distance between himself and Jim; the only sure way that he could attempt the ak’shem tash with any modicum of success.
When Jim, eternal caregiver, had realized what the peculiar behavior meant, he had immediately demanded that Spock either teach Jim how to help Spock do so across their bond or suffer the unthinkable torture of working opposite schedules to Jim’s. (Jim had also suggested that he find ways to make himself less desirable and think less lascivious thoughts about Spock throughout the day, which only produced results entirely to the opposite.) Given the nature of the ultimatum, Spock had disclosed to Jim the manner in which he’d been managing to regain and maintain his controls, however minimal his success. Spock had walked Jim through a less rigorous form of the exercise during a period of intense mindmelding that to Jim had felt like an eternity. When Spock had informed him it had been roughly half a Standard hour, Jim had protested briefly before immediately excusing himself to vomit.
Despite Spock’s immense concerns of the strenuous nature of the ak’shem tash taking its toll on Jim’s body, within a week Jim had managed an impressively effective form of the ak’shem tash and asked Spock to help him along in his study of it. In a clandestine attempt, however, Spock had, while his controls were largely unreliable mid-coitus, inadvertently managed to remove Jim’s mounting orgasm from him completely, and--shockingly--rendered him terribly and immediately flaccid. Since the incident, which ended in uncontrollable laughter rather than disappointment, Jim had asked Spock to help refine the practice and apply it to various other physiological instances: anything between taking tension from Jim’s shoulders, migraines from his mind, and stemming the flow of blood from wounds on the rare occasion became a dependable and semi-routine part of their growing bond.
Here, now, however, Jim was asking, begging, for Spock to perform a form of the ak’shem tash that Spock used only when asked and--preferably, when asked like this. The safeword, tash nash-veh, translated roughly to “control me,” and meant that Jim was asking for Spock to use the ak’shem tash to ease his body away from climax just so, to buy Jim precious seconds of control he was otherwise incapable of to keep him from coming.
Spock swallowed, barely coating his dry throat enough to reply.
“No.”
For the second time that night the word was a response in name only, and by any more stringent standard would have been acknowledged instead as a wordless growl nearly immediately smothered by the press of Spock’s tongue to Jim. His tongue pressed against his own fingers in a way that sent sparks down his spine, wriggling insistently into the tight, puckered entrance to Jim’s body until it breached him, helped along by Spock scissoring his fingers apart as far as Jim’s body could accommodate. Jim’s head made a heavy thud against the window, only mildly quieter than the keening moan that fogged the glass. Spock began to work his fingers in and out of Jim, lapping at the rim of him where his fingers penetrated, the taste of his mate’s body and his own natural lubrication along his fingers dizzying.
Jim moaned a stuttering attempt at Spock’s name and some other such trivial thing that he was incapable of enunciating, and by instinct, Spock attempted to reach for his mind, but Jim was now thoroughly entrenched in a place of overwhelming sensation that even his thoughts were incoherent, fractured, and desperate. Spock couldn’t prevent a growl slipping from him as his entire body thrummed at the singular complete thought that he was able to make out: more.
Spock scissored his fingers again, laving his tongue over their point of connection once more, then ducked his head, tongue retreating. Spock savored the drag of Jim’s heat against his fingers as he withdrew, only to slot in a third and push the digits against wet, yielding flesh. As Spock’s fingers breached his body, Jim bucked, crying Spock’s name in a rasping shout as he began to cum, spurt after spurt against the cold glass. Spock panted against the small of Jim’s back, blood thundering in his ears as the muted warmth of Jim’s orgasm undulated against his own mind and he felt his own cock pulse and begin to spill its release onto the blanket on the floor.
Jim called Spock’s name again and again, in lessening decibels until he was only murmuring nonsensical sounds and grinding back into Spock’s hand. Spock worked his opposite hand, as adept and capable as its twin, slowly over the hypersensitive ridges nestled behind the head of his leaking member and left short, burning kisses along the base of Jim’s spine and upward as he slowly eased his fingers from his body. He could hear a soft gasp as his digits slipped wetly from Jim, saw another rivulet of cum join the cloudy mess drooling down the glass, and licked at the dimples on either side of Jim’s spine with a quiet groan.
The sound of their mingled panting and the delicate sounds of recovery filled the air for several heavy moments until Jim sighed explosively and pressed his hands to the window, levering himself up onto his forearms. Spock gathered the abandoned quilt in one hand and the waistband of Jim’s pajama pants as he rose. Jim reached down and pulled the pants up over his hips with what looked to be the entirety of his body’s strength. Spock felt a familiar bloom of warmth as he watched his lover’s head fall back dramatically and he was unceremoniously devoured by the glow of Jim’s hypnotically blue eyes.
Jim smiled and laughed out a quiet, breathy chuckle that sent Spock’s heart into another involuntary lurch. It was, though statistically unlikely when considering the quadrillions of known and unknown organisms throughout the charted galaxies, one of Spock’s only decidedly unempirical beliefs that there was no other man alive as beautiful as James Tiberius Kirk. Jim laughed that spine tingling laugh again, and Spock could feel the matching pulse of affection across their bond from Jim. The man turned and pressed himself to Spock, who flinched infinitesimally at the chill lingering on Jim’s stomach and chest, throwing his arms around Spock’s neck and pulling him in for a warm, chaste kiss.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Spock,” Jim whispered against his lips.
Spock felt his face soften into a small smile. “Flattery implies that the stated is untrue, and expressed solely to curry favor.”
Jim twirled a piece of Spock’s dark hair around one finger. “Are you trying to tell me you weren’t trying to curry favor? Or is it just another one of your very annoying yet endearing ways to manage making romanticism sound like possessiveness?” Jim halted his ministrations for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. “Or is it the other way around? I genuinely cannot tell with you sometimes, Spock, I swear.”
Spock dropped the soiled quilt and wrapped his long arms around Jim’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm embrace. “And if it were either of the given possibilities,” Spock said, nosing against Jim’s temple lovingly. “In what way would it be false? Given that I both maintain your favor in its entirety and that you do in fact belong to me?”
Jim hummed in contemplation as Spock’s barely scratchy face brushed against his cheek, sending pleasurable tingles up through his scalp. “Those are some mighty big assumptions to make.” As if in response, the Vulcan made a sound like a deep purr that resonated through Jim’s chest in a way that never, ever got old.
“And what do you suggest as an appropriate assumption for a situation in which you fill my bed, bear my name, rear my son, and share my every thought?”
A breathy moan escaped Jim at the sound of Spock’s voice coupled with the sensation of his fingers running up and down his spine as he spoke. He could feel the telltale warmth in his gut that preceded what would undoubtedly be yet another round with Spock, which conjured twinges of soreness throughout him. But if Spock was going to continue to get creative--
His train of thought was interrupted by the sharp double ping of his communicator notifying him of a received message. The compromise that Jim and Spock reached when planning their secret getaway was that Jim would not check or respond to his messages, with the exception of emergency hails from the Enterprise or from Sarek, Amanda, or Sonak. While that was an improvement of Jim’s usually porous work/life boundary, Jim had managed to convince Spock to allow the notifications to come through, even if he didn’t open or respond for them, which he claimed was for his “peace of mind,” despite Spock’s rebuttal that their mind was far from peaceful when shared, to which Jim responded by calling Spock a “butthead.” And that was that.
As it was, Jim glanced over Spock’s shoulder at the communicator on the small sidetable against the arm of the sofa near the fireplace they’d previously been occupying. It was a newer model, absent the fliptop he’d grown accustomed to and now only a thin, shiny piece of plastic upon which notifications were shown. Messages of certain levels of urgency were projected roughly an inch above the screen, where the sender, the time, and date blinked temporarily before disappearing. Jim’s settings flagged every hail from the Enterprise by level of urgency, coded green, yellow, and red. This message blipped green briefly, showing that it was a routine update from Scotty, that it was received at 2046, Standard Earth date, 8 September, before flickering out of existence.
Jim went still, his hands tightening at the base of Spock’s neck for a moment before he released him, sliding his hands down over Spock’s shoulders to rest on his chest. He paused there a moment before closing his eyes and letting out a slow, even breath.
“Spock?”
Spock’s hands froze on Jim’s waist. He knew that voice.
“Yes, Jim?” His words were placid, carefully so.
Jim took in another slow breath, opened his mouth, then shut it. He dropped his hands from Spock’s chest and stepped back from Spock’s embrace. Silently, Jim crossed the room and plopped down into the corner of the sofa he previously occupied and picked up his communicator. He tapped the surface of the implement several times in rapid succession, then set it down with a sharp clack onto the sidetable. Jim turned abruptly toward Spock, who had begun to advance toward him, and the Vulcan froze mid-stride once pinned with the sharp, icy blue glare of his lover. Jim pulled the quilt he'd sat on around him tightly in a gesture that was very ineffectual in demonstrating his anger before speaking in slow, deliberate words that filled Spock with dread.
“Spock,” Jim began sharply. “When were you going to remind me that it was our anniversary?”
Spock blinked, momentarily uncomprehending. He glanced at Jim, then to the communicator, and then again at Jim, then at the tenseness in his shoulders and knuckles where they gripped the quilt. He was aware that he needed to tread lightly, as made apparent by the sudden prickly anxiety that Jim was transmitting across their bond. At a momentary loss, Spock replied.
“I was not aware that you had forgotten.”
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose in his most telltale sign of exasperation. Both his hands subsequently dropped the quilt and he gestured spasmodically toward his communicator.
“Spock, how, how can I just--you--” Jim cut himself off, suddenly at a loss, and dropped his head into his hands with an exasperated sound.
Spock attempted to prod lightly across the bond at the aching part of Jim that was slowly swelling with anxiety, regret, and shame. He crossed the room and joined Jim on the couch, sinking lightly into the cushion beside him. Reflexively, Spock lifted the quilt back around Jim’s shoulders and left an arm around him. After only a moment’s hesitation, Jim slumped into Spock’s chest, wrapping his arms around the reassuring bulk of him.
“I really am ruining this trip. I’m such a fucking idiot, Spock, I’m so sorry.”
Spock bristled but did not respond to the negative self talk, remembering that Jim was working extensively on this coping mechanism and not wanting to inadvertently worsen his mood. “You have had much to preoccupy your mind, Jim.”
Spock felt Jim’s head shake against his collarbone. “Please,” Spock continued before Jim could rebut him. “You have had much, too much, to preoccupy you as of late. Not only your responsibilities as captain, but as father and partner. None of which have you failed to respond to exceptionally, despite what you may think.” When Jim did not interrupt to further assert his failures, Spock continued. “By necessity of your position, of your very nature, you shoulder many burdens. The recollection of any given date need not be among them.”
Jim sighed against Spock’s chest in a way that would have been pleasurable in any other circumstance. “But Spock, it’s our fifth anniversary. It’s the day we got married for God’s sake. I’m so sorry.”
The words left Jim’s lips and he felt them trembling in an infuriatingly uncontrollable sign that tears would soon follow, spilling hot and angry all over his post-coital bliss. And he’d deserve it. A moment after the thought passed through his mind, Jim felt Spock’s finger crook beneath his chin and tilt his head upward until they were eye to eye. Their lips pressed together gently for far too short a time before Spock pulled back and cupped Jim’s jaw.
“As I have told you each year,” Spock began softly, his voice warm and earnest. “I acknowledge your particular sentimentality for such events. However, I do not require the marking of each significant day we have shared, as you, and each day I share with you, are summarily unforgettable.” Spock brushed his thumb over Jim’s cheekbone, staring longingly into Jim’s incredibly blue eyes. “I can recall, eidetically, anything that you may forget, any detail, any memory that you wish to revisit, and share it with you. It is my duty and my honor as your mate.”
The sudden moist sheen to Jim’s eyes caused a spasm of emotion to sting in Spock’s throat. “The day that we shared our vows on Earth is as indelibly ingrained in my mind. The point at which our minds first touched. The morning I saw you for the first time. The moment I learned your name.”
Spock swallowed dryly. “Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. You need remember nothing, as I am incapable of forgetting you.”
“Oh, Spock,” Jim said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
They shared a gentle, silent moment, pregnant with affection before Jim sniffled lightly and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “So, since one of us didn’t forget,” he said, his voice genuinely humorous and no longer tight with emotion. “Your gift to me was…” Jim faked contemplation, placing his finger dramatically on his chin. “To empty an entire Federation leave facility solely for the express purpose of satisfying your exhibitionist streak?”
Spock allowed himself a small smile. He reclined into the opposite corner of the sofa and tugged Jim to lie atop him, spreading out the quilt on top of them and pulling the other from along the back of the sofa to cover them. Jim snuggled into Spock’s chest, resting his head in the crook of Spock’s throat. Spock raised a large, warm hand and set it on the crown of Jim’s head.
“I cannot confidently state that one experience is sufficient to consider the desire sated.”
Jim laughed, the sound distorting shortly into a long, deep yawn. “Well, maybe next year I’ll rent you out your own planet and we can try again.” Jim yawned again, deeper. “Or at least get you…something…y’know.”
Spock felt a small smile quirk the corner of his mouth as he felt Jim’s heart rate and breathing even against his chest. It was only a moment later that Jim began to make the soft, breathy sounds that he vehemently refused (when awake) were snores. Secretly, deep in the recesses of Spock’s most treasured and protected memories, he always thought that the sound was similar to that of the pet aushfa he’d had as a child. The memory brought with it a sense of warmth that tugged at Spock’s consciousness.
He carded his fingers through Jim’s hair and watched the beautiful golden brown locks thread between his fingers, soft and gentle and belying nothing of the adamantine strength of the man that snoozed so peacefully against his chest. As if unconsciously aware of Spock’s musings, his mind was suddenly caressed by the muted sensation of peace and warmth welcoming Spock into the oblivion of Jim’s sleeping mind.
The Vulcan pressed his cheek to the top of Jim’s head and heard his words echoing in his mind. He smiled his small, secret smile and replied to the room, to the crackling fire, to the light radiating outward from Jim’s heart into his very being,
“You have given me…everything…Jim.”
As the words left him to fall, laden with love and affection, to fill the minute spaces between them so too did Spock’s eyelids, heavy with the rare desire to sleep and to dream, to spend even his unconscious hours with the man who had been and always would be his love.