Teeth

AN: Inspired by "Teeth" by Lady Gaga.

Disclaimer: SSDD

Rating: M

"Don't be scared." He whispered seductively, some form of command weaving into the tone, even given the fact that he wasn't really in control, at least, not completely.

He let his hands get pinned down by the wrists, the force calculated, so devoid of any real passion and that was what was driving him completely crazy. He tried his hardest to restrict his movements, not wanting to push this too far too fast, knowing that he could ruin this moment with his impatience, yet still, he knew he couldn't hold back for too long.

It needed to be feral, heated, ardent; everything this wasn't. He wanted something akin to that fire that glowed in Spock's dark eyes that day on the Bridge when the Vulcan had nearly choked him to death. It needed to be that intense. It needed to be hot and beautiful and blinding.

He wasn't sure what he could expect. But he didn't need this caution. He wasn't breakable, Hell, Bones' could attest to that, seeing him every time he came back from a fight or planet-side missions with the most interesting and extensive injuries and he was never fazed. He wasn't a cautious person. He was always 'jump first, think about it after'.

He didn't like caution. It reminded him of mortality. And right now, caution was seriously being a mood-killer. Right now, his entire body ached, and only sex was on his mind.

Spock leaned down carefully, pressing their lips together. He was about to fall apart when Spock pulled his lower lip into that burning mouth, biting down, those perfect teeth almost breaking skin. He groaned and arched, unable to fight back or quell how good that felt.

He needed aggression and possessiveness, because if he couldn't be grounded here, he needed to go elsewhere. He needed someone to save him, to make him alright. He needed to be owned, broken in, he needed someone who wanted all of him and wanted to make him know that he didn't need to search or shake apart because they gave him a place to be.

It was sappy and disturbing, but he needed it. He started to fall back into those thoughts until those sharp, unusually sharp, teeth bit down on his shoulder, harder, as if to bring him back. He writhed and moaned, his hands struggling under the grip of Spock's hand, the grip having tightened. He wanted bruises. As that thought crossed through him, the grip tightened even more. When he gasped, however, the grip released slightly, and that beautiful mouth left his shoulder. He squirmed, even if he didn't want to admit it, trying to get that mouth back.

"Spock." His voice was breathy and barely audible, but he knew Spock could hear him. His hands, now free, found their way along Spock's arms, his fingers curling desperately around that pale neck. "Spock, please." He whispered.

Those thin, heated lips met his, a perfect pressure, and he felt like he could shake apart. The way those lips moved against his, he couldn't even feel the broken skin, but when the kiss was broken, the cold air caressed the wound and he drew in a breath, able to feel it, and it hurt.

He arched, pressing his lips to Spock's cheek, to his temple, up along his ear. He resisted the urge to worry the tip between his teeth; he wanted to be gentle, even if he expected something fiercer in return. He wanted to love Spock gently, because he was unsure how to handle him.

That fiery tongue found the wound on his shoulder, the slow movement pulling the pain out of the little indents and he exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding.

His hands found Spock's, their fingers winding around each other, the soft friction of their fingers sliding together a beautiful sensation. He then lightly and tentatively raked his nails down Spock's fingers, kneaded the palms of those lithe hands with his thumbs, bringing those sensitive digits to his lips, kissing each tip, letting them run over his bruised lower lip. His entire body thrummed when, after pulling an index finger into his mouth and running his tongue over the pad, he was met with a crackling electricity.

Aside from his panting, his heartbeat and the sounds his tongue made around that finger, the room was silent. It was slightly unnerving, not knowing if what he was doing was good. His free hand slid down Spock's side, and he nearly jumped when his hands grazed over where Spock's heart was located. In spite of the strange calmness on the Vulcan's face, the heart encaged in his ribs was beating fiercely, much faster than normal. He was relieved, knowing that he was getting his Vulcan all worked up, even if, still, he wouldn't show it.

The heart under his palm lurched when he released Spock's hand from his mouth and his hand. He pulled his other hand away, resting them over his head, his eyes resting on the slightly, barely, flushed skin of the Vulcan straddling him. His eyes traced those lean powerful thighs bracketing his hips, smooth and pale. When his baby blues finally found Spock's black eyes, his was sure his heart stopped and struggled in his chest as if it suddenly forgot its own rhythm. Those eyes were dark, almost black, but not in that deadly way they had, no. They were nearly black in something that was only describable as some passion, intense and deep. It made his heart ache and he couldn't look away.

Spock's mouth descended on him again, those sharp teeth biting his collarbone, almost hard enough to draw blood. That hot tongue traced the grooves left by the bite, soothing the flare of pain and desire that burned there.

Spock's hands moved along the sides of his body, drawing fire out from his core. He knew he might be acting a bit too forward, but he wrapped his legs around Spock's waist, his fingertips dragging up along that lean back as he arched up.

If he was addicted to anything in this universe, it was to this Vulcan, his Vulcan. He wouldn't admit he was in love, but he was addicted.

Until he found some sort of direction, he was satisfied with being right where he was. As those lips trailed up along his neck, his jaw line, his mind faded somewhere else, as inopportune as it was.

As good as this felt, it was not his salvation. He wasn't sure the meaning behind this. Maybe he was in love, but he was afraid, yes, afraid, to settle down or settle in general. He needs someone who can put up with him, who can help him, save him, fix him. God. He hated this.

He felt cold and he worked his mind back to the plane where his body existed. He was alone. Well, at least, he was alone in the bed. He looked around, finding Spock by the end of the bed.

"Hey." He said stupidly.

"Yes?"

"Don't… go anywhere." He asked, getting off the bed, staring into Spock's now nearly lifeless black eyes. He saw hesitation there. He stepped closer. "I'm sorry about before." He tried to smile, to lighten the heavy mood surrounding them, but his smile faded. "This is just… new for me."

"I am aware." Spock's answers were clipped.

"I know. But I promised I'd try. And I'm not trying really hard, am I?" He asked, still looking the Vulcan in the eyes. They were barely making it over this hurdle; he was weighing them down. He was sure of it. He stepped closer and reached for Spock's hand, stopping short. The Vulcan's hand met his, and he closed his eyes, leaning up and pressing his lips to Spock's. Pulling back slightly he tried to articulate the mess running inside of his head. "I need you to tell me something that will change me." He whispered. He really tried to express what he needed, but he was afraid that his meaning was lost.

"James."

He shivered and smiled at that.

"Spock." He responded breathlessly. He still couldn't find the right words and it was frustrating.

"What do you need?" Spock asked, something akin to concern in his voice, however dulled it was. It was there. And he could feel it.

"I don't know." He answered, shaking his head. He tightened his grip on Spock's fingers. He was comforted when his fingers were squeezed in return. He smiled again, though he had dropped his head, and the smile was almost hidden from Spock. Gently, the fingers of Spock's other hand, pressed under his chin, silently asking him to lift his head. He complied, somewhat unwillingly. "Do you want me?" He asked suddenly, as soon as their eyes locked. If he weren't so unsure of himself, he would have laughed at the look of shock evident in Spock's eyes. When Spock didn't say anything, he wished he hadn't said anything.

"Yes."

The word cut through him. He wasn't sure if it was exactly the answer he wanted.

"James, I love you." Each word was slow, as if there was apprehension that he would misunderstand. Those three words shocked the Hell out of him and he was unsure what to do with them. He started to pull his hand out of Spock's, barely taking a step backward before that thin hand gripped his tighter and one of Spock's arms wound around his waist to keep him close.

Pressed flush against the Vulcan, he felt his heart beating like mad against his stomach, echoing the state of his own. Spock's lips found the bite mark on his shoulder, pressing gently against it. Then Spock moved his lips over to where his neck met his shoulder, and bit down, leaving an obvious bruise and a perfect outline of his teeth, just above where his shirt wouldn't reach.

His knees felt weak and he couldn't help but smile. He was just claimed. He wrapped his free hand in Spock's hair and leaned in as close as he could, his lips right by Spock's ear.

He had found his direction.

"I love you too." He whispered as the sting of the air met with his newest bite mark and his lips were met by the sweetest he's ever tasted.