Title: Ten
Series/Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Rating: R
Characters/pairings: Spock/Jim
Summary: Established relationship. D/s. dom!Spock disciplining sub!Jim. It's not all death and disease wrapped in darkness and silence, though. I am in the process of writing this couple into various aspects of their relationship. There will be more with these two. :)
Word count: 1290
A/N: Response to this prompt in the st_xi_kink meme: Spock/Kirk, slash, D/S relationship. Kirk is in command on the ship, but Spock is in control when they're in their quarters.
Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to.
Jim was nude and kneeling with his hands modestly folded in his lap.
Feeling the Vulcan's presence before seeing him, he would have shivered in anticipation. Spock wouldn't like that. He allowed no physical indication of the slowly-blooming arousal and nervous spike of his heartbeat. He swallowed lightly, the action having garnered a tighter hold on his nerves than the physical need to clear his throat. It was always like this before the first touch; the first graze of inhumanly warm finger tips, the first stroke of leather against his flushed skin, the first indication that he would be rewarded with the chance to put his hands on the one he so devotedly served.
Spock went about his nightly routine, seemingly unaware of the body knelt at the foot of his bed. His skin scrubbed clean of the stresses that came with serving aboard a starship and his appetite sated from an evening meal in the mess, he was content to settle down into his mid-week routine with Jim. Dressed in his black regulation attire, he meticulously rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and turned his eyes to Jim's exposed nape and back. Right where I left you.
He took a moment to appreciate the sight of him: the way lean muscle faded into more fleshy, pliant territory, and the slight peek of human genitalia that hung so heavy between his parted thighs. The softly flickering of candlelight from his previous meditation only enhanced the beauty in his mate's skin. An eyebrow twitched. He stopped his musings and steered his mind back to the task at hand...pleasure would come later.
Spock eyed the now healing gash that ran below the curvature of Jim's left shoulder blade. Too close. While away missions gone awry weren't entirely avoidable, Jim's apparent disregard for his own safety often kept him in sickbay more often and longer than any other crew member. Spock clamped down on the surge of anger for the one who dared leave such a mark on a body that was very much his. However, it was Jim's heedless actions to blame for the wound. What he had come to love about his Captain and mate, was the wild and untamed passion that also served as an emotional and mental stressor like none other. Jim's crew would never be found wanting when it came to a captain who would protect them, care for them, and lead them. Even at the cost of his own life.
Which is what brought them to here and now. His emotions carefully checked, his patience infinite, he questioned his Captain. "Tell me, why are we here?".
A moment of silence passed. "You may speak".
"To be punished, Sir", came the quieter but just as even response. Jim's mind strayed back to the last punishment he received at Spock's hand; it had been a long time. His nerves quivered at the thought...while he was never cruel, Spock was a fierce and unrelenting Master.
"Your continued disregard for your safety and for my rules has upset me greatly. Do you believe that I make these rules for amusement and not for your own well-being?"
Each syllable uttered by Spock's clinical tone was punishment enough. He would have cringed. He hated himself in that moment, for yes, he knew that Spock cared deeply for him and wanted him safe. He had disappointed his Master and by doing so, now forced his hand.
"Jim."
His voice hoarser now, "No, Sir."
"Then I must deduce that you enjoy being a strain on my patience, with your flagrant disrespect. Hands on the bed. You will receive ten strokes with the cane and you will count."
Jim obeyed, kneeling forward and grasping the steel frame of the bed with sweaty palms. Closing his eyes, he took a breath and waited in anticipation of the first strike.
Spock took a moment to observe his mate. Jim feared the cane in the past, so it was rarely used in their play. However, it was agreed that this would be his tool used for exacting punishment. It was the most effective, even though it pained Spock to do it.
The hard, unforgiving wood struck the fleshy, sensitive skin of his thighs. He did not flinch. He knew the first would be considered a caress by the end. "One."
By five, the skin of his ass and thighs were an angry red. Spock wished deep inside to take it no further. However, when he promised Jim he would take care of him and his pleasures months ago, he did not make it half-heartedly on a whim. By his hand, Jim required this and he would follow the rules they together made. Jim gave him his submission, and he would not disrespect such a gift.
So it was with a heavy-hand that he dealt another blow to the tender skin and swallowed the lump in his throat when his mate flinched away and cried out brokenly, "S...s-six."
"If you do not cease your attempts to avoid punishment, I will add three more". His Vulcan strength that could cleave Jim's flesh from bone was barely contained as his arm came down once more.
Jim was hyper-aware of his surroundings after his Master's verbal reprimand. His sweat, saliva, and tears soaked into the Starfleet regulation sheets. His grip sliding on the now heated metal of the bed. His thighs quivering uncontrollably. His broken, hoarse whisper..."Se-even".
Wanting nothing more than to gather his mate into his arms and provide aftercare, Spock swiftly and effectively delivered three brutal strokes. He did not allow his internal state to betray him physically. At his dresser top, he traded the cane for a jar of salve that would soothe Jim's pain and prevent bruising.
Slowly bending to a crouch behind Jim, careful to avoid his injuries, Spock whispered into his ear, "On the bed, face down."
Jim shakily stood to crawl over the sheets of Spock's bed, his throat raw and hot from crying out. Laying with legs parted and his face to the side, he let the coolness of the bedding soothe his heated and strained body. His lips, swollen from the tears, parted in a whisper, "Thank you, Sir".
Spock sat next to him and began to gingerly apply the earthly scented salve to Jim's skin, blowing cool air along his back as he did so. While he was ruthless in his punishment, he was hopelessly devoted to Jim's comfort in aftercare. Perhaps, too devoted, as he noted the slow and gentle stirring of arousal between those long, sinfully shaped legs. A eyebrow twitched with amusement.
"You behaved much more admirably tonight, than your last encounter with the cane. I expect that I will not have to use it for some time."
Jim beamed inside, warmth pooling in his belly from his Master's praise. He smiled contentedly, drowsy from Spock's gentle hands.
The smile did not go unnoticed by Spock, nor did the wave of self-satisfaction that seeped through their telepathic bond, now opened once more. After wiping his hands clean, he stretched out next to his mate with his upper body leaning against the cool, metal headboard. He gently threaded his long fingers through golden hair, pausing to playfully tease the tip of a rounded ear.
Jim's eyes opened, gazing at his Master's thigh where a pale, elegant hand rested next to his own. He twitched his index and middle finger towards the other's, hopeful he would not be denied this intimate pleasure. Spock obliged his submissive mate, and allowed the trembling, tanned fingers to ghost over his own.