Jim's heart sank, a nauseated desperation curling into his stomach. He wanted Spock to turn around so bad, to come back.
He sat there, on the edge of his bed with a pulsing erection and a broken ego.
He remained there, motionless, his fists balled tightly into themselves and pressing into the mattress. His blue eyes glanced over at the door into his bathroom.
That's it. That's all that separated them; a bathroom. He let out a huff of a chuckle as he considered what a perfect metaphor it was. They were so close, yet so far apart. A bathroom away, but a world away. And his chest ached with how desperately he wanted to be closer.
The vulnerability in Jim's thoughts and actions scared him.
He considered standing, pacing, getting ready for bed. But he feared that if he walked into the bathroom, he wouldn't be able to resist walking through Spock's side of the door.
He felt like a damn kid, like a foolish teenager who couldn't get his way. He was angry and frustrated and confused; emotions that he had felt more and more since his death.
He slammed his eyes shut and listened to his breathing. The more he tried to ignore the pounding heat pressing against his pants, the harder he got.
Typically the captain would do his best to keep the content of his dreams (involving Spock) locked away in his memories. He tried not to pull on them, not to summon them.
But his hand stung, it tingled and tickled, and when he concentrated, it was like he could still feel Spock's hand pressed up against his. The touch, it was like a drug, and it lit something on fire inside of him that he had only previously felt in his dreams.
Something was waking up inside of Jim and it was his greatest fear that Spock would shut it down, take it away.
He let that same hand press firmly against his straining length. A low moan rumbled past his lips and with clumsy fingers he undid the button on his pants and slid down the zipper. He turned onto his bed on his belly, a hand snaked down into his pants, pushing past the fabric of his boxers.
It was like the moment before deciding to jump off a cliff - there was no stopping - this was a slippery slope and his resolve was gone. He conjured up the images that haunted his dreams, setting his mind adrift in a crashing ocean of tangled limbs, teeth and lips and moans of pleasure.
His hot breath gathered in his pillow and added to the sweat already budding on his face. Jim gulped down feelings of guilt and focused on the memory of Spock stretching out inside of him.
It was the first dream he ever had of them together like that. It stood out vividly in his mind, the memories springing to life in a torrent of emotions and sensations.
Spock was on him, in him, filling him to the brim, until his balls bucked against his body. They were face to face, slick black bangs hanging above his head as his body was rocked back and forth.
His hand moved faster, rougher, twisting as it reached the head, gathering the liquid that had formed there and using it to move even faster. He rolled on his back with a thud.
Spock's lips were kiss bitten, a single drop of green blood trickling down his chin from a tiny cut Jim had sliced into his plump lips with his sharp eye tooth. They rocked together, the bed groaning in protest, obscene noises slipping past his and Spock's mouths.
His starving hands grasped at Spock's cool body, wanting more, needing more. He heard himself say the word "more" in his dreams, and said it again now, into his room as he arched his back and rolled his eyes into his head.
He was here in this reality, but he wasn't…was he moaning into his dream, or was it out loud? His whole body shuddered as his balls drew together. "Spock…" he pleaded into the air.
The Vulcan looked down at him through hooded lids. His eyes were black with lust and affection. "Come with me Spock." The Vulcan's eyes fell closed, his head lowered, as if he couldn't take it.
He bucked his dick into his hands, and every nerve in his body begged for release.
"Th'y'la. I am always with you," Spock answered. He had misconstrued the word, yet his answer was priceless.
Spock pounded into Jim, his double headed dick hitting Jim's prostate at every swipe, making him see stars. He arced up, smearing his sweaty forehead against Spock's. "Th'y'la" the words came pouring out of his mouth as his orgasm pulsed against his still clothed chest.
He rode the waves of orgasm until they ebbed, and ceased. His eyes were closed, a hand still around his spent cock, it was Spock's hand. Spock was above him, mouth parted, looking into his soul.
When he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of the ceiling, he was overcome with the feeling of loss. The silence of the room sat like a dead weight on his chest and squeezed at his heart.
He was so tired….but dreaded sleep.
Spock was with Uhura…he had to let this go. He had to let these feelings for Spock go.
Jim turned on his side, facing the wall and was startled by the devastation he felt creeping down his spine.
Walking away from Jim was … more than hard. But Spock reasoned that it was only logical to pause the situation for further reflection.
He wasn't prepared for the onslaught of Jim's raw emotions, especially not the amount of desire he felt bleeding past his shields.
His mind couldn't make sense of why it had felt so difficult to leave the room. Jim's voice, his plea in the form of Spock's name nearly shattered his resolve.
He paused, then continued forward into their shared bathroom, then his room, each door swooshing open and then closed.
He felt uneasy, emotional, beside himself. He sat on his bed and attempted to calm his mind, to clear his emotions, but he found it exceedingly difficult.
The electric current that passed between their touching hands illuminated the fine webs of what Spock knew could be a strong bond. His mind reached towards Jim, uncurling it's neuron laced fingers towards the golden light of his captain.
It startled him. He pulled away, extracted himself from a situation that was barreling towards emotional instability. He couldn't breathe. He needed to breathe.
What he didn't expect was to be startled once again; this time as he sat in his room, deep in reflection.
His better-than-average Vulcan hearing heard Jim breathing heavily. He gulped and re-focused, feeling ill at the thought of intruding on his Captain's privacy.
But a moan cracked through the nearly solid rock of meditation that Spock had erected. It resonated in his body, sending a shot of arousal straight to his groin.
He made an attempt to steady his breathing, to center his mind, but he was failing. He heard a whisper of his name. He wished he could deny it, think that he heard wrong, but he knew he didn't. It was his name whispered between the moans of a man, of his best friend, who was pleasuring himself in the room next to his.
Only by force of will did Spock manage to suppress a moan. A weak erection had bloomed into a desperate pounding that sought release.
In vain he wished that he couldn't hear so well. He shifted on the mat lying on the floor of his bedroom. A botched attempt at meditation. He felt frustrated despite his arousal. He didn't ask for this.
Rich brown eyes flicked over to the bathroom door.
His heart continued to beat wildly in his side and nearly came to a stop as he heard one word bleed through the double set of doors that separated their rooms…"Th'y'la."