The door to Spock's quarters hissed open at the sound of my confident knock. He stood at its entrance, hands crossed at the small of his back, looking down at me.
"Jim." He greeted
"Spock, may I come in a minute? I believe we have a bit more to discuss."
"Of course Captain." His tone was emotionless as usual.
I sauntered in. He followed, gracefully taking a seat by his computer.
I leaned against a wall, arms crossed in a much-too-confident manner. "So, Spock, I was talking to the other you last night about the whole Uhura business, and he offered some advice."
I paused and eyed him up, trying to read him. His posture was stiff and controlled as usual. The sloped eyebrows, the bland mahogany eyes, the thin, relaxed lips, and the unflushed cheeks suggested that he did not find my conversation with Spock Prime suspicious in the least.
Perfect.
I pushed myself off of the wall and stepped toward him, hands at the small of my back, chin upturned slightly to meet his eyes. I took a sharp, dramatic breath before continuing my bullshit montage. "He said to me that in all of his experience interacting with those of the human race, he has figured out two things which he advises you to do in the future to prevent further… issues.
"The first, the most blatantly obvious, was to act more human in times of emotional and/or physical pain. Spock thinks acting human when around humans is a quite logical course of action."
I pointedly pivoted around and began pacing in the opposite direction of my First. He followed in my footsteps exactly as planned.
"Why, captain?" He asked.
"Because it will prevent more hostile emotions from emerging."
He raised his left eyebrow and looked at me inquiringly.
"You see Spock, if you offend a human by not sympathizing with their pain, their jealousy, their grief, their love..." I shot him a sly smile. "...They will become quite irritated and unleash twice as much emotion as they would've in normal circumstances! That must be a big deal for you, Spock. If you take that simple piece of advice, you can cut your feelings of exasperation in half!"
"I am not capable of that emotion, Captain."
I chuckled to myself as I strode closer. "Wow, déjà vu. I could've sworn we had this conversation... just yesterday, in fact."
I swiftly snatched his left hand and sandwiched it between mine. My blue irises raked his brown ones. "Can we do this thing again?" I asked.
His sharp intake of breath—so uncharacteristic of his logical demeanor—was all of the support I needed to continue.
I gripped it tightly and began outlining the delicate joints with my fingertips in a lazy, serpentine manner. They shivered beautifully under my touch.
His face was hard and cold, colorless, clearly uneasy. He was wide-eyed and narrow mouthed, tight lipped and wobbly legged. "Stop."
"Why?"
"Please refrain from touching my hands."
My expression did not change and neither did the placement of my hands.
"Captain..." he pleaded.
"What's with you and hand touching?"
I cast my glance down to our affixed palms and gently sanded our fingerprints together. Distressed, Spock yanked his fingers away, tore them from my loving grasp and took to the other side of the room.
I scanned the length of his nervous, conflicted figure and slowly approached him to dully ask what was wrong.
He glanced back at me, pausing for a short while in attempt to fabricate some sort of excuse. He responded hesitantly, voice lowered minutely, possibly due to his clearly evident distress. "I apologize, captain. Vulcan hands are very sensitive and excess stimulation results in extreme discomfort."
"But we did it just yesterday..." I retorted, clearly in control of the argument.
He stopped and held his breath. I could feel the mechanisms in his brain ticking, attempting to cover his lie with another feeble excuse. He was not blessed with the skill of lying and, moreover, was never exposed to the true masters of lying. Only those who were enrolled in the same class as Leonard McCoy throughout elementary school knew the true meaning of "pathological liar", and while that meaning wasn't too pretty, it did teach a lesson or two about the dos and don'ts of fibbing. Spock, fortunately, was not one of them.
In other words, I knew what a simple game of handsies meant for vulcans. He knew as well. I knew that he knew, and yet he didn't know that I knew. Even if he knew how to lie, he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep the secret for long because I was smart and I knew things. There was a lot of knowing going on, and yet a single unknown complicated his situation far more than it should.
If only he knew...
"What else did he advise, Captain?"
"Oh yeah I almost forgot about the second one." I said, internally rolling my eyes at his pathetic diversion. "This one struck me as incredibly interesting—curious if you will. Completely unexpected." I paused briefly. "It's sort of... difficult to explain."
He shifted his weight slightly. "I'm sure you can muster up an adequate method of explanation."
I smiled warmly at him. "You think too fondly of me."
"I find that incorrect, sir. I most certainly do not think fondly of you, for your illogical and rash nature is insulting and repulsive to most aboard this ship, including myself."
Ouch. "Well then Spock, I guess I'll have to try my best, since obviously I still need to prove my stunning intellect's existence to you." I spat. "He's giving you the advice to end your relationship with Lieutenant Uhura."
"Why, Captain?"
I shrugged nonchalantly, though in my heart, I was aware that this was about to get interesting. Fast. "I just explained the situation to him and it somehow seemed to him that you weren't that interested in her. I'm not quite sure why, but he knows you, so..."
"To which situation are you referring?"
I turned around so he couldn't see my face just in time. My mouth contorted into some kind of screwy smirk, the kind you get when your granddad says something "that's what she said" worthy without realizing it. His tone, frantic and worried, was just too hilarious. I cleared my throat in attempt to regain composure and rotated to meet his eyes once again.
"Our talk yesterday." I said blatantly, trying my best to mask my emotion.
If he wasn't nervous and uncomfortable earlier, he sure as hell was now. His lips were sealed shut, pursed. His cheeks looked sponged green and he was completely and totally silent. Not a single breath escaped his nostrils.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
He shook his head.
I looked him in the eye, or rather in the hair, as his eyes were cast away, head bowed. "So was what he said true?"
"Affirmative." was his response.
"So does that mean that after we have more Vulcan hand sex you'll break up with her?" My lips burst, unable to restrain my cheeky grin any longer.
He stepped back, eyebrows shooting up far out of their comfort zone. A green blush swept over his cheeks in defeat.
I approached him with outstretched hands, teeming with triumph. He hesitated, skeptical of my advances.
"Come on, Spock." I beckoned waving my hand in front of his. "It's okay; I want this."
"I cannot." He said.
"Yield to the logic of the situation! You're dying to kiss and I'm dying to be kissed! What's the holdup?"
Spock visibly—and audibly—sighed, stepped foreword. I grasped his hand.
He looked at me quizzically for a while, contemplating the situation. I gave him time.
I felt no movement from him (save his pulse) for a good 30 seconds.
I continued to wait.
And then, just like that, he closed my fingers together and opened the valley between my third and ring finger, as well as between my pointer and thumb, leaving them exposed, ripe for exploitation. He pressed his similarly contorted hands onto mine and closed his eyes.
His touch lingered for another phase of motionlessness.
I could feel his shields melt away along with my pride and sensibility. Fingers swept across my palm in pairs, skimming across its natural indentions, tickling like a feather. Goosebumps bubbled up to the surface of my skin as pulses of his attraction reverberated through our weak mental bond.
I looked up at him, my eyelashes involuntarily fluttering as I captured his stare. I let out a soft, hot breath and bowed my head slightly, continuing to fiddle with his fingers. The instant his neck craned down to meet my gaze once more, I claimed his lips, overthrowing his previous dominance.
They were shocked and tense, difficult and unforgiving. I had thrust my lips upon his too quickly; he was terribly inexperienced and terribly confused. The pressure I had so firmly established had dissolved instantaneously. Our lips were barely grazing across the others' in long, fluid strokes, severing that tingling contact that I wished for. I could only get a glimpse, a preview, which was most certainly not enough.
I focused back on his hands, distracting his reflexes by gently massaging his third digit to the beat of my pulse. His muscle seemingly disintegrated, his hand lolling about his wrist as I continued to ply his delicate fingers. Heavy eyelids, swiftly starting to seal, were every signal I needed to proceed.
I swept in for another human kiss, this time sloppy and slack jawed. He melted into me, eager to cooperate, eager to submit to my wants and needs as Captain. Our tongues met at the intersecting point and slipped past each other, slick with hot saliva. I could feel his eyelashes about my left cheek, softly tickling my hypersensitive skin as our saturated tongues tangoed to the tempo of our heartbeats.
A good minute of Spock's eager and trembling tonguings interrupted only by staggering breaths flew by. Our lips loosely locked under the dim lights of Spock's quarters. We pulled apart far enough to observe the other while still maintaining the state of our woven fingers. My breath came out in fervent puffs as I looked up at him in a half-lidded stare. He replied with his own bedroom-eyes, pupils engorged with lust.
My cheeks, flushed and ripe with crimson blood, stood, exposed for his review, and yet he glanced past them, seemingly unfazed.
His target was elsewhere. His eyes dropped to my uniform trousers, expressionless save the emerald blush that colored even his ears. His fingers unlaced and took a seat on my shoulders, urging me to the bed. My shoulder blades viciously stabbed the sheets as my back slapped against the mattress, yet the impact barely registered. Our hands and lips quickly found their place against the others'. His body—a heavy presence—weighed me down, thrusting me deeper into the confines of his hard mattress.
And his body's location did not go unappreciated. I kissed him, nailing my colors to the mast, cherry lips puckering playfully, gleaming with saliva. I kissed him, sailing under false colors, teasing his fingers—nimbly stroking and intertwining the digits, flexing and straightening them, rubbing the smooth, elegant nails, doodling on his palms.
I felt my hand pry itself from Spock's passionate kiss and worm its way up the lining of his black undershirt, jittering with excitement. His abdominals recoiled at my relatively cold touch, thereby expanding the maneuverable area.
He bowed his head, raven strands grazing across my forehead, and peeled himself away at a snail's pace, creating the illusion of lingering body contact. In one fluid motion, Spock's torso successfully slithered out of his binding uniform shirt and he discarded it next to the lyre which sat a mere 5 feet from the foot of his bed. The dim lighting left no muscle movement to the imagination, exposing every shadow and every small contraction of his beautiful, inhuman, sculpted form. Short, jet-black hairs decorated his chest, aesthetically framing his exotic green-tinted nipples.
I shied away from his stare to kick off my boots and unceremoniously tossed them at the foot of the bed as he began to remove my clothing in much the same manner. I reached up to pull his neck down and sealed another kiss.
His lips drifted toward my neck. He sprinkled it with zealous kisses with perfect placement, striking my erogenous zones with incredible accuracy.
My brain was not in control anymore. Blood had abandoned it, leaving all behind but reptilian instincts and the registry of my senses. I had been stripped of logic, coherency and clothing, denied my right to freedom of speech, and locked inside the confines of my adulterated mind, unable to escape until after this battle of dominance and stamina.
The joy of Spock's hands exploring me was irresistible, irreplaceable by logic. This electrifying feeling of my body against his, together like sardines, sticky with sweat, was beyond my wildest dreams. Streams of my thoughts whirred through my head faster than warp 9, articulating my observations, emotions, and feelings, thereby amplifying their arousal factor 10 fold.
He ceased fire and looked up at me, his hot stare piercing my eyes...
He wants me.
He unclasped the fastener on my uniform pants with his nimble hand and held each side inviting me so shimmy them off.
He needs me.
I complied, leaving them in a heap on the bed and flipped him over, switching our positions. I slithered downward and bowed my head...
I want him.
I grasped his zipper between my teeth; cold titanium permeated my saliva. I drug my neck slowly downward, hearing each click of the unwinding zipper through my jaw...
I need him.
His soft exhale propelled a magnitude of electric pulses straight to my groin.
I began tentatively dragging my wet tongue across his abdomen with long, curvy strokes. His breath hitched; his brows twitched. I smirked and zig-zagged lower, lower, lower; my mouth latched on the white, detergent-scented elastic of his underwear and yanked it, pulling it downwards until it was out of my way. My tongue crept through the crevice between his abdomen and his shaft, lugging itself sideways across the upper side.
I looked up into his eyes, sensing a disheveled mind behind his dark pupils. I observed their shutting abruptly, eyelashes crunching between lids as my mouth did the handiwork. My eyes strained to keep contact with his as my tonsils took one blow after another.
Every swipe of the tongue gave rise to a new motion, be it a jerk of a leg, a twitch of an arm, or a shudder of the head. I grasped his hand instinctually, desperate to discern his violent reactions. The thought patterns offered to me were helplessly aroused and dizzied, unsure and out of control.
I removed myself from him with a soft pop of the lips to let him take control. He enveloped me almost immediately, His hands delicately stroked the sides with a chilling touch. His somewhat pointed tongue felt beyond heavenly. The twang of pleasure in my gut became more and more pronounced, more and more instinctual, animal, as his tongue honed in on the most sensitive of places and increased speed as the seconds crawled by. I sensed that tidal wave, breaching in the distance, waiting to crash down at any given moment, to drown me and thrust me onto shore. The drives were too strong.
"Stop." I said.
Spock raised an eyebrow smugly before ejecting me. I breathed a sigh of relief. The wave's white crest fizzled out just before its breaking point.
I decided it was best for me to stay put, kicking up enough wind to send another tidal wave surging towards me was not something I wanted to happen this early in the night. I plopped myself onto the bed yet again to help ease my dizzied thoughts and calm the animal within. He sat and waited patiently for my captainy momentum to surface once again.
It didn't take long.
My feet planted themselves upon his cold tile flooring and began to step, slowly and carefully, one foot at a time. Two steps sideways, toes pointing towards the bed, heels outside a pair of green toes facing the lyre, fingertips still kissing. I felt warm hands guide mine onto his thighs. He gently grasped my hips, steering me downwards onto him, not so much for movement as for support.
I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact, heart thumping with anxiety. Spock planted a soft, chaste, human kiss on my forehead and I knew everything was going to be all right, not that I needed to be reassured.
He inched in, centimeter by centimeter, almost worried glance darting up at me every few seconds making sure I was okay. I kept nodding at him through the discomfort, trying to communicate to him through his thick head that I would honestly be in much less pain if he just went ahead and did the deed. Anticipation and unfulfilled sexual tension hurt worst of all.
He sighed, most certainly feeling the burn himself. I tilted his chin up with one free hand, smiled at him, and touched my lips to his. I played with his tongue and licked the tips of his teeth playfully, tasting a hint of myself in him. He allowed himself to unwind a tad, working his way into my mouth. I relaxed and let myself submit to him, only answering to his motions. I could tell he was sufficiently distracted.
In that second, I thrust my hips downwards. Our lips separated instantaneously, leaving our mouths open and gaping, stunned.
A hard shiver rippled through me at the new, alien sensation of being wrenched open at the seams. I clenched my teeth tightly and exhaled in attempt to relax and ease the pain.
I withdrew upwards.
Then down.
Up.
Down.
Pant.
Pant.
Pant.
I pushed myself hard even though it hurt. I coveted his response to me, an "unworthy" captain, stripping away his logic, letting him ravage me on his precious lump-free mattress. I needed to unveil that Vulcan mask of his, to see the same human, animal lust I saw in myself. My insides began to numb, inviting me to pleasure him more, to give him all I had. Down, up, down, up, down, up.
I opened my eyes to see him looking most illogical. His hair was a mess. His expression of that of pure ecstasy, mean blush encasing his skin. He was breathing hard, smelling of sweat, his mouth open paired with a curled, tense posture. His muscles were clenched tight, hands groping mine for support through the most intense human encounter he had ever experienced.
It was beautiful.
It was almost as if he were truly a part of me. My mind consisted of his thoughts; my desire was directly proportional to his, my ears, sensitive to his breaths, my touch sensitive to his heartbeat.
His intuition was spot-on, setting a pace that made me see stars. I rolled my hips, encouraging his actions, thoughts screaming more more more, lips shooting blanks.
He was thrusting into me harder now. I was shaking all over, goosebumps freckling my arms. I curled my legs around his calves for leverage as I gripped his shoulders firmly, bringing our bodies ever closer. My neurons were maniacal, firing signals of both severe pain and guttural pleasure to my brain, mangling my entire sense of touch. Spock's erotic thoughts didn't do much to soothe my cranial distress.
I was nearing my edge; I could feel it deep within my gut, sensation beginning to boil. I kept going. Filling my thoughts with his and my body with him over and over and over again, faster and faster and faster, hands skimming over his torso feeling his muscles, clawing his back, breathing hard and quite possibly moaning.
I ogled him with fuzzy, unfocused eyes as he grasped me and began stroking me furiously. All of my willpower and energy was thrust into concentration in attempt to ignore the pulses of pure energy gushing through my spine making my entire body just quiver in bliss. I was sweltering. A film of sweat swathed my skin. The friction between us was unbearable. He was agonizing, tormenting. I was vulnerable to defeat in 30 seconds at most. I had to last longer… had to…had to…
My body constricted, curling against him, the only outward motion being that of my hips and my breath. I had reached enlightenment, white light flashed before my eyes and sweet, sweet relief bowled me over in ecstasy. One throb. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. Relax.
In his last motion, he gripped me, muscles clenching, clouded eyes unseeing, logical mind unthinking, pleasure irrefutable. He thrust his head down and hips up and just pulsed into me over and over and over again, lining my insides with substantiation of our bond.
I had been washed away. I curled up to his chest, spent, empty, and useless for the remainder of the night.
.
.
.
A/N: Sorry that took so long. I really am, both for my sanity and yours.
I seriously never want to look at this ever again for a long time. Like really. I spent SO MUCH TIME writing and editing this damn thing it's not even funny. I couldn't figure out how to do stuff because this was my 3rd ever smut, my 2nd ever gay smut, and my first ever smut that actually turned out okay.
I'd like to publicly thank my beta because she is a BAMF. She doesn't have a FFnet account that I know of, but she is located at moonshoespotter42(dot)tumblr(dot)com.
R&R please! Just one more chappie!