On the 12th day of Spirkmas my T'hy'la gave to me:
12 Minutes Frotting!
Thanks to tumblr user evil-wears-a-bow for including me in her festivities. Enjoy this drabble complete with copious amounts of a peculiar champagne, a less-than-festive Spock, ill-placed mistletoe, and a table unfit for eating.
Spock narrowed his eyes in sensitive distaste at the twinkling lights wrapped around the arms of the Captain's chair. Why the Captain insisted on adorning every available surface with items condoning what he called "Holiday Spirit", Spock did not know. He personally found the glittering, fuzzy, and occasionally singing decorations to be irritating and virtually unnecessary. Not only did he detest the scratching strings of garland that stuck to his hair and obstructed his vision as he leaned over his station, the Terran custom of meeting lips while posing underneath a poisonous smattering of berries and leaves was particularly illogical and overly demonstrative.
Despite voicing his objections, Jim Kirk was set in his ways; Spock could not find the source of his unwavering doubt that maybe one day the man would become more pliable, perhaps more open to his opinions and thoughts. The whim was silenced as soon as it was recognized; for Jim Kirk to be anything but his irrational, illogical, infuriatingly stubborn self would have Spock inquiring towards his health.
Spock repressed a sigh as he batted away a hanging paper ornament that Ensign Chekov had shaped to model a crystallized droplet of water in a less-than-approximate imitation using a laser from the Engineering deck. Although impressively detailed, Spock did not care for the frivolous waste of space and inaccurate representation. Similar hangings currently littered the bridge as well as popular areas of the ship in order to create an atmosphere of familial relations and comfort in an illogical attempt to distract the crew from the very obvious fact that they are 34.7 light years away from Earth. Spock had to admit that the occasional string of twisted lights along a hall railing and the dustings of white glitter along most smooth surfaces and the occasional yeoman were pleasing to the eye, yet he could not find it within himself to grasp the true purpose of such things.
He approached the Captain where he was sprawled inelegantly in his twinkling chair, plucking a small bit of gold tinsel that had lodged itself onto the material of his uniform sleeve as he walked, examining it closely from between his fingers.
"May I inquire as to the meaning of such decorations?" Spock asked, stopping in front of the chair. The Captain raised his eyes from his PADD and a speck of light entered them in tandem to the grin that broke across his face.
"Spock, I told you, it's festive!" He crowed with a fair bit of feigned annoyance that was not at all convincing when paired with the mirth clearly shown on his face. He stood and stretched his arms behind his head and back with a drawn out groan, several pops resounding from his twisted neck; the smooth slip of skin that his stretched gold shirt exposed was taut and tanned. Spock wondered idly how the man was balancing his strenuous exercise regiment with his duties as Captain while maintaining healthy habits. The inappropriate flutter of Spock's heart was in concern for his Captain and had nothing to do with the aesthetically pleasing pane of muscle he had seen.
"I have come to the conclusion that such means of instilling the warm feeling of the holidays into the crew are more of a hindrance rather than a helping." Spock countered, turning his eyes pointedly at the Communication's Officer who was busy laughing at the helmsman currently restrained in his chair by a long string of glittering garland while a curiously bright-eyed Russian looked on with a decidedly pleased look.
"Relax, Spock, we're stuck in orbit around this moon for the next three days," Captain Kirk was grinning at Ensign Chekov, nodding slightly in approval. "It's Christmas Eve, consider it a ship-based shore-leave. Let them have fun." He told Spock, poking him firmly in the chest with an outstretched finger.
"If we are confined to the ship, this period of time would be more appropriately named a lapse in duties rather than a shore leave in consideration of the fact that we are not 'on shore'." Spock could not resist the comfortable drone, sure to elicit a wry twist of lips and a roll of blindingly blue eyes, actions that did not leave Spock feeling decidedly fond and dizzy.
"Whatever, Mister Grinch, go eat some chocolate or something. You know what I meant." Spock raised his eyebrows at such a suggestion.
"Although my copper-based blood in conjunction with Doctor McCoy's accusations, I am not a heartless imaginary creature from children's stories." Spock paused, a slight crease marring the pale skin of his forehead. "Nor shall I indulge in such unprofessional behavior while on shift." He added in response to the latter command.
"Forgot about the whole intoxication issue." The blonde muttered, scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck in habit, seeming to be lost in thought before smiling fondly at Spock. "Although I may be able to convince you at the party in my cabin tonight." He added with a sly wink. Spock ignored the sudden lack of moisture in his already dry mouth.
"I strongly adhere to my personal rules against the consumption of such delicacies." Spock stood straighter in attempt to conceal the blush he felt ascending his neck traitorously. He refused to allow the image of Jim Kirk taunting him with chocolate while scantily clad to linger in his mind for longer than .78 seconds.
"I think I can be convincing." The man in question replied, winking smartly with a questionable amount of lasciviousness, if Spock's instincts were to be trusted. "Swing by a little early to help me greet the crew, yeah?" He added as he walked backwards to the lift.
"I shall see you then, Captain." Spock nodded, using the shift of his head to dislodge all less than professional thoughts from his mind.
"Jim!" The Captain corrected loudly as the lift doors whisked shut.
Spock did not twitch his lips in a smile as he turned to his station.
Spock frowned at his reflection in the mirror, needlessly adjusting the sweater that he had reluctantly shrugged on. The thin material did not shield against the cool draft that drifted through his quarters, and he shivered lightly. He did not find the article of clothing to be practical, and he would have rather worn his black regulation shirt, but Nyota was strongly opposed to the idea, harking to him that it was a special occasion and it would do him well to step outside of his comfort zone. The fiery woman had shoved the sweater into his arms with a huff and exited his quarters, grumbling to herself, no doubt about his own stubborn attitude.
Spock tugged at the hem of the material, admitting to himself that the stretch of the fabric over his chest and the dark green hue was not displeasing, nor the hang of the creases against his waist that clearly accentuated his height. Spock briefly considered the look that his Captain- Jim -would get in his eye when he entered his quarters, a peculiar one that Spock had become used to, yet one that still lit an odd ember in his stomach. He adjusted his boots briefly and smoothed out the creases in his trousers, a particular pair that he had been complimented on by his former girlfriend many times. Spock was normally above such narcissistic thoughts, but the prospect of seeing that appreciative look in Jim's eye that was more often than not in direct relation to either Spock's current action or appearance was appealing.
Spock plucked the plate of replicated chocolate brownies from the table in earnest as he left. Spock knew that bringing a food or some form of intoxicating drink to a party was customary for Human gatherings; he could not decide between the two, so settled on bringing both: a food that was conveniently intoxicating to him on a personal level. He hoped his contributions were well-received and not taken as a subtle hint that he wished to be intoxicated himself, which was far from the truth. He actually detested the act, and only recalled indulging in intentioned inebriation one time in his life, shortly following the destruction of his home planet and the death of his mother. He did not wish to enter such a state ever again, for the morning after his physical state was less than desirable and he found it oddly difficult to function with the ringing in his ear and churn of his insides.
Spock also recalled Doctor McCoy's laughter as he entered the sickbay in vain search of a solution.
Spock swiftly cleared the memory from his mind and exited his quarters, heading towards the Captain's, located conveniently down the hallway. He stopped smartly in front of the closed doors and pressed the entry button, stepping through and letting the bulkhead hiss menacingly behind him. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the smells and sights that assaulted his sensitive senses and blinked rapidly, yet resisting the urge to study the garish room through his second set of eyelids. The sheer amount of lights, glittering garland and cleverly-scented plants that adorned the walls and nearly every surface was overwhelming at best. A long table was shoved against the far wall and was topped with various varieties of food and drink, including a bowl of festive punch on one end and bottles of champagne on the other, the remaining space filled with plates and platters of enough unhealthy holiday food to feed a small Klingon army.
Spock darted his adjusting eyes to the other side of the room where Jim had entered from the adjoining bathroom suite, dashing in dark trousers and a navy blue sweater. He had a thin champagne flute hanging from one hand, no more than a few droplets of shimmering pink liquid resting in the bottom. His cheeks were oddly flushed and his smile seemed slightly off-kilter, if not downright mischievous.
"Jim." Spock greeted with a friendly nod, quirking an eyebrow at his relaxed appearance as well as the decorations in the room.
"Spock," The captain replied warmly, striding over to where he stood, noting the plate he held and taking it from him gently. Their fingers brushed accidentally and Spock tried not to squirm away. "Thank you for bringing something." Jim added as he fought to find a place for the plate on the crowded table. Spock followed him, watching over his shoulder as he rearranged; he smelled of swirling pine and sharp cinnamon, no doubt remnants from the bowls of foliage and strings of leaves.
"It is expected of a guest to contribute to the festivities." Spock's lips wrapped around the word callously; celebration was not something he was particularly skilled at. Jim turned suddenly an offered him a small smile.
"Not here, but I appreciate it." Jim raised a hand and squeezed Spock's arm lightly in emphasis. Spock was suddenly aware of their proximity, he could feel an unnatural warmth rolling off of his body, laced with odd pheromones and a sharp scent. He stepped back and frowned slightly, appraising the Captain's loose stance and gleaming eyes.
"Are you feeling alright, Captain?"
"Yeah, yeah, I just drank that champagne too fast, I guess." Jim shrugged and leaned back against the table, raising the glass to watch the remaining liquid drift elegantly around in the glass before tipping the rim back to catch them on a deft tongue. Spock watched his lips glisten and shivered. He distracted himself by glancing to the right to look at the bottles at the end of the table, his frown deepening.
"Where did you obtain this?" Spock quipped, reaching over with a long arm to pluck cool, shining bottle from the table, eyeing the label with surprise.
"Duuno," Jim shrugged, taking the bottle from him, pouring a generous amount into his flute, sipping precariously before placing it next to him, "I found it in the storeroom. I didn't know what language it was in, surprisingly, but the bubbles on the picture and the smiling man were enough for me." He grinned. Spock sighed lightly, understanding the pink flush in his cheeks and unusual scent.
"Jim, that is Orion champagne, traditionally served at the dinners prior to mating rituals to promote sexual health and performance." Spock explained in a slightly exasperated tone. He took the glass gently from Jim's grasp, setting it on the table. If their digits brushed for a longer period of time than deemed necessary, Spock did not actively work to avoid it.
"Well that explains it." Jim muttered, dipping his head sheepishly, his blush deepening as he attempted to slide away from the Vulcan. Spock reached out to stop him, fingers latching onto soft cashmere.
"Are you feeling adverse side effects?" Spock asked, concerned; pheromones in such high concentration were not advised for consumption in species other than Orions. Jim stiffened under his touch and let out a shaky breath.
"'m fine, Spock," Jim protested, face red, as he reached a hand to pry Spock's fingers off.
Spock inhaled sharply as their hands met, an overwhelming feeling of lust pouring over him through the contact points of their skin, sending a shock through his body. Jim's fingers had slipped underneath his and the pads of their fingers were in full contact, and Spock could not help the rush of blood that left his brain. He had not been touched in such a way in 8 months, 17 days, 13 hours and 24 seconds.
"I disagree." Spock whispered, unconsciously curling his fingers around Jim's, eyes closing briefly at the feelings that coursed through him. He opened them again and found Jim's blue eyes locked on his, darker than normal, iris slightly shrunken. A wet tongue darted out to flick across dry lips and Spock's own mouth suddenly lacked a significant amount of moisture.
"I-" Jim tried to pull his hand away as he stammered, looking everywhere but at Spock's face, surely aware of the fact that he was transmitting his lustful thoughts to his first officer. Spock saw his eyes lock onto a spot above their heads and to the left. He followed the burning gaze and saw the dangling cluster of leaves. Spock caught Jim's eye reluctantly.
"I cannot decide if I find our current placement to be relieving or worrying." Spock admitted, recognizing the decoration. Jim swallowed loudly and hesitated for a moment, slyly sliding over a bit to place himself under the mistletoe.
"Are you aware of this human holiday custom?" Jim asked in a voice that was slightly rougher than usual, leaning back on his hands slightly, coy smile placed on his lips. Spock felt suddenly flushed and cool at the same time, surprise washing over him.
"I am." He replied simply, stepping over and ending up a tad too close to the man.
"I think I drank too much champagne." Jim whispered hoarsely, eyes wide and breathing slightly shallow.
"I agree with that conclusion." Spock murmured, allowing his fingers to brush gently down Jim's as he let go of his hand. Jim shivered slightly.
Jim did not reply, but simply locked eyes with him heatedly. Spock glanced back up at the offending plant, then back down at Jim. His breathing became slightly quicker and his blood was flowing to places far from his mind. He felt more than heard Jim let out a long breath before straightening his posture and tilting his lips up to breathe across Spock's.
"I don't think I regret it, though." His breath was hot and thick against Spock's lips before the gap between them was suddenly closed.
Spock gasped slightly as an insistent mouth pressed into his, wet and probing. He allowed his hands to settle gently, cautiously, on Jim's upper arms as the other's gripped his hips tightly, thumbs sweeping up to graze bare skin. Spock lost himself embarrassingly in the kiss, hands traveling upwards to frame a tanned face and feel the pull of stubble against his sensitive fingers.
Spock nipped lightly at Jim's lips and groaned softly as the action was met with enthusiasm as the hands around his hips pulled forwards, sending Spock's balance off and causing him to crash his groin into Jim's. The blonde let out a small moan, more of a forced breath, as he felt their hips align. Spock was tipped forwards at the motion sent their chests colliding, his hands slipping off the face he was worshipping to brace themselves on the table.
Spock pulled back a small amount, slipping a tentative thigh between Jim's legs, quirking an eyebrow at the man's slack mouth before dragging his thigh up to brush against Jim's evident arousal. His senses were assaulted with a delicate moan that morphed into a heated kiss, all tongues and teeth and tastes, as Jim settled his hips down on Spock's leg, grinding weakly.
"It would be illogical for me to leave you in such a state" Spock growled into a rounded ear, licking experimentally down Jim's neck to nip at a collarbone. He used this as a distraction while he moved his hands to grasp Jim's hips, lifting him effortlessly to perch on the edge of the table. Jim made a noise of pleasure and dragged his hands up Spock's lean body, appraising the muscles as he went, before tangling his strong finger into his bowl of hair. "You would not want your guests to see you this way." Spock added, as if Jim needed persuasion; he decided the statement was to persuade himself.
Jim's long legs wrapped tightly around Spock's waist as he stepped into the space between his thighs, moaning into a kiss as he felt their erections line up. Spock bucked shamelessly into the offered groin, hands slipping under that sinful sweater and pressing flat against a sweat-damp back. Jim's fingers tightened into Spock's hair and dragged a surprised moan from the Vulcan's lips.
"I would be lying if I denied the fact that I have wanted this." Spock murmured into Jim's pliable lips, feeling the vulnerable man writhe underneath his rolling hips. Jim gasped in reply and the sound shot straight to Spock's groin.
"How long?" Jim moaned back, locking his arms around Spock's bent neck, sliding forwards even more on the table to fuse their hips together deliciously.
"Too long." Was all Spock could manage, pleasure and need building up in his veins. He reached between them and deftly unfastened Jim's jeans, sliding a palm roughly against the hot and hardened flesh that he met. Jim moaned louder and Spock could feel his pounding pulse as it twitched underneath his fingers, back arching up into his touch. The panting Captain reached down harshly and ripped open Spock's favorite pair of pants, wasting no time in springing free his flushed erection.
Spock smiled softly against Jim's lips, melding their lips together, a battle of wills and strength, earning a delighted squeak, surely unfit for a captain, as Spock unsheathed his pink cock in turn and rubbed a long thumb over the slit. He pushed himself deeper into the kiss and wrapped his conveniently long fingers around both of their lengths, holding them together as he continued to roll his hips. Spock buried his nose in the crook of Jim's neck, inhaling his heady human scent, tantalizingly laced with Orion pheromones, and bit lightly as he slicked their hips together.
"God, yes," Jim moaned a long, drawn out sound as he met each of Spock's thrusts with surprising force. Spock bit his lip, tasting blood and he help back a vicious noise.
"Your voice is pleasing in this situation." Spock whispered roughly, letting Jim's whimpers wrap around his mind and squeeze feeling into his veins.
Jim's only response was to moan louder, grinding into him as Spock scraped blunt nails down his back. Jim's arm flailed slightly after a particularly enthusiastic thrust, slick, hot shafts slipping with delicious friction against each other, contrasting colors oddly and fittingly festive. The wild hand knocked the flute of champagne over, carelessly spilling the dangerous drink onto a plate of helpless cookies. They both ignored the mess in their haze of pleasure, and Spock let out a low sound, sliding one hand up to thread tightly into Jim's hair, the other pressing his lower back harder against him.
Spock was so close to the edge he felt like drowning in the lust-filled blue eyes that locked onto him, taking in his fluttering eyelids, wonton moans and unrestrained expressions. Spock kissed a line to Jim's ear, nipping his earlobe, feeling the need want please yes now that Jim was feeding him with every cry and tightening of strong thighs against Spock's hips. Spock growled lightly in his ear, down a sharp jaw to kiss the writing man.
"Sarlah du."* Spock ordered into his wet mouth, biting his pliable lips and wrapping their cocks together once more, bringing him over the edge.
Spock needed Jim to come for him, to come on him, to feel the man break beneath him, just to feel.
"Sarlah du ashal'veh weh ha sarlah.."*Spock moaned a string of filthy Vulcan, egging Jim to obey.
Jim cried out his name as his head jerked back and eyes fluttered shut, and it was all Spock could do to keep breathing. He moaned low as Jim's come streaked his chest, his hands, his cock. He reached down in the mess and stroked himself once, quickly, using the ends of Jim's perfect moans and his clutching hands to bring him to the edge. Spock leaned forwards and sunk his teeth into Jim's shoulder, stifling an embarrassingly loud moan as he came with a great shudder. His breath came in quick gasps as he rutted against Jim, coating his own hand and both of their stomachs. Spock raised his head and locked hooded eyes, reaching out to search for Jim's fingers. Their hands twined elegantly and Jim released his grip from Spock's waist, slumping forwards slightly.
Spock looked over Jim's shoulder to take in the mess they had made of the table.
The spilled glass had tipped onto a plate of now-unappetizing cookies, and their jerking movements had rocked a few precarious stacks of treats and decorations into haphazard locations. Spock saw Jim grimace sheepishly, although it didn't meet his eyes.
Spock stepped back and tucked himself back into his trousers, shivering slightly as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin there. He glanced at his ruined shirt, then at Jim's, then met smiling eyes with an eyebrow raised in question. Jim simply smiled and shook his head, adjusting himself and hopping down from the table lightly. He crossed to the closet and tossed Spock a plain black shirt, donning another himself. Spock pulled on the tight shirt, frowning at the small size, and caught Jim's predatory gaze.
"A little small, but I don't mind." Jim said playfully, voice a tad hoarse. He smirked and approached Spock, running tentative fingers up his chest and across his thin shoulders there the material strained; Spock reached up and caught his fingers with a spark, bringing them to his lips and kissing softly. He caught Jim's now-warm eyes with a flare of emotion.
The bulkhead beeped loudly from behind them, allowing a nanosecond of warning before a scowling Doctor McCoy entered through the hissing doorway, customary bottle of Saurian Brandy clutched in his hands. Spock and Jim had barely jumped apart before the doctor caught sigh of them across the room. Spock straightened automatically, forcing his racing heart to cease it's pounding, turning gracefully to nod a greeting.
"Hey, Bones," Jim crowed delightedly, moving quickly to clap him on the shoulder.
"What happened to the table?" He responded in greeting, forehead creasing as he surveyed the damage of misplaced tinsel, wet dessert and a broken glass. Spock stepped forwards smartly.
"I highly advise you to avoid the champagne." Spock warned with a twitch of his eyebrows, ignoring Jim's surprised splutter from behind him where he was trying in earnest to hide the mess they had made.
Doctor McCoy took in Spock's ill-fitting shirt, Jim's pink ears and the bottles in question that were stacked at the end of the table.
"Never tell me, Jim." The doctor sighed, scrubbing his face and pushing the bottle into Spock's arms, muttering as he went to join Jim in his endeavors.
Spock glanced up at the mistletoe and one corner of his mouth lifted slightly; perhaps the custom was not as illogical as he once thought.
*"You come." then "you come darling please yes come"
Bleh okay it was kinda rushed and I hope I stuck to the prompt enough :D
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Happy holidays :*