Nothing Lay Between (4B/?), Kirk/Spock, Pike/Spock, NC-17
Title: Nothing Lay Between (4B/?)
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock (Ch4), implied George Kirk/Pike (Ch4), Kirk/Spock (rest of it)
POV: Chris (Pike's)
Rating: NC-17 - No joke!
Words: 8.492
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Flashback - Christopher's first diplomatic visit to Shi'Kahr, and Vulcan.
A/N: And so the Pike/Spock continues. This part is rated NC-17, seriously. No other warnings other than just sex, though. Except maybe, you know, Spock being a whore.
All Chapters || Chapter Four, Part A
The rooms were certainly richer than even the captain's quarters on the Excalibur. The marble-tiled foyer led into a living room of thick, dark blue carpet and an assortment of plush sofas and lounge chairs clustered around a coffee table and a wide screen on the adjacent wall. Tucked in the corner, by the floor-to-ceiling windows with the forest green curtains, was the bar. Its counter was made of that same wondrous black onyx stone of the front desk, with fancy glasses of various styles on a rack for any type of drink, and presumably a generous selection in the refrigerated cupboards below the counter.
After Spock slipped the robe from his shoulders and folded it neatly over one of the lounge chairs, he stepped behind the bar. Whilst squatting down for better access, he opened the door with one hand and withdrew the tall, squarish-bottle of port with the other, setting it up on the counter before he stood. A strange green liquid swirled within the container. Spock worked silently as he grabbed a shot glass off the rack and poured an appropriate serving. He placed it on the higher counter of the bar, and then looked up at Chris. "Sips, Captain."
"Please," Chris started as he walked slowly across the luxurious quarters, then settled himself in before the bar, the glass of port, and the Vulcan on the other side. "Right now, I'm considering myself off-duty," A tiny hint of a smirk, mostly to himself, "I would prefer not to be called Captain," He picked up the glass lightly, tilting it slowly to watch the movement of the liquid. It was surprisingly thick, like oil perhaps, and almost shimmered beneath the surface. A most curious drink indeed.
"Apologies, Christopher," Chris had to admit, it was a little strange to hear his full first name out of someone's mouth in such a way that it still sounded like a title. He watched Spock take a shot glass from the rack, but not fill it, only holding it in his hand in a particular fashion so that his fingers and palm wrapped around most of the outside. "...Generally one would warm it in their hands, like so, experience the aroma, and then drink," Spock's eyes shifted up from looking down at the glass back to Chris' face. "Again, I suggest a small taste, first."
Chris mirrored Spock's motion, holding it in his palm. "You are the expert," Spoken with amusement coating his words and adding to the smile on his lips. After a few moments, he brought it up to his nose and took a slow breath in. The sheer strength of the scent made his eyes close so the mind could focus on the sensation instead. The scent was complicated, incredibly so, yet over all he was immediately reminded of freshly crushed mint. His eyes remained shut as he let the breath back out, tasting the smell on his tongue.
There was a brief clink of glass on the counter--probably Spock setting his demonstration prop down. "Remember that this is the purest form of the port," His voice was somewhat softer, or maybe that was the drink, clouding his senses before he even drank any. "The flavour is quite mutable when mixed with other ingredients," Just the lightest hint of a warning in his words.
"Pure," Those dark eyes opened and focused on Spock, their gazes meeting. Chris lifted his glass just slightly, a hint of a silent toast, before he took only a light sip.
The experience was unlike any other concept that immediately could be conceived from his mind and yet exactly like something. The taste curled around his tongue like the flight of a fairy, equal parts grace and hidden strength. It was almost indescribable, so alien that the mind could not immediately label the flavor with something familiar. Even more alien was the sensation that spread down through his body with even that small sip; Richard's reaction suddenly made sense. It spread cold through his stomach and outward, filling his body until it made his fingertips and toes tingle, then that cold turned into heat. Almost embarrassingly, his mind decided that the closest thing it could think of was drinking oily liquid orgasm.
He gasped near the end of it, surprised to find that his eyes had closed and now snapped open. His cheeks were lightly flushed, and he stared at the glass in his hand. Richard had not been warned; the man had kicked it back like a shot. Suddenly Chris had a certain very odd new respect for his long time friend for not having collapsed to the floor.
Spock watched him now, and had probably been observing him while he had taken that first drink. One delicate finger traced the rim of the shot glass he had set down earlier. "Did you enjoy it, Christopher?"
Another breath, one that shuddered out of his lungs. "It..." Words to describe this sort of experience did not come easily or immediately. So instead of just babbling as most humans were most likely to do, he stopped and focused before speaking again, "It's unlike nearly anything I have ever come across in all of my years." He chose, his tone paying high respect to the drink.
"I would be surprised, and quite skeptical, if you had experienced a similar beverage," Spock stepped back a little, leaned down and opened the doors of the refrigerator unit under the counter again. "Would you like to sample some variations?"
Chris eyed Spock for a moment, then said easily enough, "Only if you are willing to join me in sampling them." The last thing he wanted to do was be the only one drinking, and he already knew he had to be careful or he would end up drunk on such a potent substance.
Between various bottles being placed up on the counter, Spock glanced up at him, though never stopped in his search-and-retrieve mission. "I will, of course, taste the mixtures before offering them to you, Christopher," Not quite what Chris had meant, but it served its function. Spock shut the doors and stood again, turning the bottles so that all the labels faced Chris. Not that it helped, as fancy Vulcan calligraphy adorned most of them, or else contained Standardized Vulcan. "Do you prefer to try a fruit infusion--" Spock passed his hand over three bottles, all with bright, colourful liquids. "--or one of our native spices?" He motioned over the other three bottles, with drink of deeper and earthier colours, similar to bourbon and red wine.
Instead of answering, Chris tilted his head slightly and turned the question back on Spock, "Is there one you prefer?" Curious about the Vulcan he had spent the day with. It seemed very odd to him that the refined young man who was doing research at the Vulcan Science Academy and knew such a great deal about his home and a million other tiny details throughout the day... was merely a guide. Perhaps more slowly than he would have liked, he was coming to realize there was something more, there.
This question appeared to make Spock pause; he set his hand back down on the counter, and his gaze shifted from Chris' face to the bottles laid out in front of him. "I do not have any preferences in the wider sense, though in my experience, a mix of gespar would be pleasing after tonight," He pushed aside the bottles to one side, and drew one of them that contained a bright, translucent orange-yellow liquid with mysterious flakes floating about in it.
Chris could not help but lean in slightly, studying the substance, "Gespar," Pronounced well enough with the accent tinging it. "What is it?" A simple curiosity.
"I have heard that it tastes similar to, in Terran terms, to a sweet pineapple and a strawberry, though I cannot vouch for this comparison," Spock unscrewed the cap of this bottle, took two new shot glasses, and added half an ounce to each. "Gespar grows in the rarer temperate zones naturally, though it is quite easy to cultivate in artificial conditions," Taking the original green port again, he added a half ounce of this to the glasses. The liquids mixed together without need for mixing or stirring, the colours still starkly separate before they swirled into a new shade between each other in the middle. Spock took one of the glasses, and took something more generous than a sip--though he was Vulcan, it was probably different for him. A pause, after he swallowed, before he nodded, and set the glass down. "Yes, this is acceptable," He placed the other glass in front of Chris.
The second glass was picked up, and scented yet again. The smell had changed, sweet and crisp and citrus all accented with mint. Chris took a moment to appreciate the delicate layers the two liquids mixed together created with the coil of mixture in the middle that formed a green-yellow version of the oil-and-vinegar look. Curious indeed. Feeling a bit daring, this time he took a larger sip and braced himself. The taste had indeed changed, and sweetness rolled over his tongue and settled in his chest. It was a less intense feeling than the previous sip despite being a larger quantity, but it seemed more diluted. The last thing that he would admit aloud to a Vulcan was what he was comparing the sensations to. "Wonderful." He murmured in his rich, low voice that was indeed quite pleased.
"I am glad you find the flavour satisfactory," Spock remarked as he screwed the cap back onto the bottle of gespar extract, and returned it to stand among the other bottles. "Redspice complements it rather well, and is often a follow-up in a series."
Spock mixed another two drinks for him. The redspice, a hearty burgundy mix that separated on a less defined boundary, added a dangerous edge to the lingering innocence of the gespar extract. It was as if it were mimicking the thrill one gets from doing something forbidden, with all the bubbling excitement of almost-but-not getting caught. This was then followed with a kaasa derivative--a strange cerulean liqueur. After the lightness of the gespar, the danger of the redspice, the kaasa left something far more subtle and seductive--that confidence when one starts chatting up a pretty young thing at a bar and ends up with a friend for the night.
The entire process was incredibly strange, but far from unpleasant. Even though Chris kept himself from taking any drink of a glass larger than a fourth of a shot, they added up quickly from the potent liqueurs. Now, at least, he had no doubts as to why Phillip had wanted a bottle for himself. "I believe that is enough for tonight." He said lightly, standing up. He looked to the other's eyes, "Thank you for putting up with my curiosity." His smile was as warm and flavoured as what they had been drinking.
"It was an honour, and a pleasure, to escort you today," Spock answered with a slight bow of his head, before he began to put away the bottles back under the counter. "...However," He stood straight again, and regarded Chris with his own dark gaze. "I am not expected to return until noon tomorrow."
That was followed by a lengthy silence. Not because the subtle hint contained within was not understood, but purely out of shock. It was the very last thing Chris could have dreamed up to be said by the Vulcan. Not expected to return - was this a request from Spock himself to be allowed off for the night, or was this something devised by a higher person in charge? Why this of all things? Had Spock been attempting to simply loosen him up with the dominating power of the port so that this proposition could be made? Was there some ulterior motive he did not know about? It was the part of politics that Chris despised, the plays of power that attempted to be subtle but often were not. The Vulcans were their allies, part of the Federation... perhaps it was bad of him to be thinking such things of them. It definitely came from too many years of having to deal with it from a hundred alien governments and power trips and tyrants met in space. "I believe..." He found himself saying, "That it would be less than appropriate if you remained here." Attempting to remain polite? Good. A gentle dismissal? Good. Could not be faulted, at least.
"On the contrary," With his words, Spock was stepping around the bar, closing the physical distance between them, getting close but remaining just on the boundaries of too close. "It is within the scope of my profession to stay."
Well, the growing concept of just what Spock's profession had to be added to with that statement. A neat checklist popped up in Chris' mental landscape and marked off 'escort' on the list. Then, after a moment of mental hesitation, erased the mark by that and instead, hovered over the list. He was not sure what he would consider this. "Spock," He said in a measured tone attempting to avoid any disrespect, "I am not sure why you are doing this, and I hope I've made no insinuations that this is what I expected when I allowed you to return to my quarters with me."
"I am a thol'es-kafeh, Christopher," Spock appeared quite casual even with everything he was saying, carrying that same familiar ease he had during the dinner. "If there are any expectations here, they are entirely my own."
It was a place to start, at least. "...That is not a term I am familiar with." He admitted, ignoring the tension rising in his shoulders, the light pressure on his personal-space bubble the other made.
"Most out-worlders are not," Spock turned slightly, to gesture to the arrangement of sofas and lounge chairs. "Perhaps you would prefer to sit down, before I begin my explanation?" Chris briefly eyed the Vulcan, then made his way over to one of the plush sofas and sat down; Spock sat beside him, hands folded over one another in his lap. It might have been incredibly comfortable if he was not as tense as a voltage wire. He merely looked to the other to continue. "My primary goal concerns the fulfillment of your satisfaction within realistic boundaries. Thus, I am equipped with a multitude of skills and permissions, some of which you witnessed today--though most are tailored to more private settings such as this."
A word immediately came to mind, then a secondary one did. It was that second one that Chris decided to use, "...a courtesan." He said quietly. Phillip, you would be laughing hysterically at me right now, Chris could not help but think to himself. "I... am not sure that your skills are required." It felt as awkward as the first time he was ever with a girl, as awkward as the first time he had tried to make a move on the man that had become his hero... well, that was a life time ago. Another life time, for sure. His shoulders rose up unconsciously, bunching under his ears, as the knot only became worse. I wish I'd just stuck with my guns and not had those drinks, suddenly, came the almost wistful thought.
Then a hand curled over his shoulder, the heat of the palm pressing through his dress uniform. Spock shifted his eyes away from Chris' face and studied the stress in his shoulders and his neck. "They may be able to provide some benefit. It would be inconsiderate of me to leave you with such tension." As tense as Chris had been a second before, it was worse now. He sucked in a breath, mind quickly trying to run through the dueling thoughts of 'being polite' and 'get the hell off me'.
"Spock..." Words just did not come to his lips as they normally would. The heat that came even through his uniform made him think that the Vulcans had captured their desert sun and boiled their own blood. That had to be how they survived the blaze outside.
"Christopher, please," The fingertips of Spock's other hand lightly touched Chris' forearm, just barely pressing through the fabric. "Allow me to express my gratitude for your gracious company with, at the least, a massage. Though you deserve far more than that, I will not proceed any further than you will permit me."
It took a moment to calm the initial reaction of calling bull on those words, but Chris kept that thought to himself. He tilted his head back to look up at Spock, then said a bit bluntly, "And then how, exactly, do I get to return the gratitude for your gracious company?" That had to be the port speaking, because he was fairly sure that sounded like a proposition coming from his own lips. Not what he had meant, exactly... not that he could deny a part of him thought the younger male was handsome, and the idea of spending a night with him was intriguing but...
There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Spock's lips before he answered. "You need not concern yourself with that," His hand lifted from Chris' forearm to reach towards his chest, those same fingertips barely ghosting over the central braiding of the dress uniform. "If I may...?"
What was he getting himself into? "Difference between wanting to and concerning myself." Chris murmured, but leaned back into the sofa which arched his chest out slightly in a silent agreement.
Spock folded over the braiding to reveal the buttons beneath, and, drawing away his other hand from Chris' shoulder, began to undo them at a leisurely pace. He sat a little bit closer. "I will, of course, be receptive to any of your ideas," Once reaching the most bottom button, his hand came up to draw down the hidden zipper. "But my focus remains entirely on you," His eyes flickered up to Chris' face from his work. "I am not doing this for my own benefit."
Chris met those dark eyes, studying them in silence. His hand came up, tucking fingers under Spock's jaw and chin, feeling the hot, smooth skin there. There was still an uncertainty in his chest, but now a lick of desire created by mixture of Spock's close presence curled with the erotic sensations the port had drawn out of him. Was there anything wrong with this? His morals nudged at him, saying that maybe there was, but there was a certain logic in saying no there wasn't. That made him smirk, very slightly, "Well, then." He said lightly, "I will just have to see to it that there is a benefit for you in the end as well."
"You are too kind," Was all Spock muttered, before hands slid beneath the folds of the shirt. Palms pressed hot to his bare skin, moved smoothly over muscle as Spock used his wrists to guide the shirt off until it hooked over Chris' shoulders. When the pads of his fingers barely pressed into that one knot, Spock drew his hands away from the skin to grasp the edges of the shirt and begin to pull it away. One hand hovered near the collar while the other would guide the sleeve, as if not wanting to get it further wrinkled as it was discarded. Chris watched in a slightly distanced way what Spock was doing, watched as the Vulcan slowly removed the pair of shirts and set them aside, even folded them. He shifted slightly in place, running a hand over his chest and scratching lightly at the thick curls of hair there. He wondered what the Vulcan thought of him, considering the difference in their ways of thinking and biology, and found himself interested in turn what Spock looked like. With that thought in mind he wanted to bring his own hands up and slid them under the grey-white material of the kimono-like shirt Spock was wearing, but hesitated on that. A massage, then... something further, maybe. Certainly seemed to be the path Spock wanted to take.
After setting aside the shirts, Spock resumed his position at his side. Both of his hands immediately went to his shoulder, kneading gently at the muscle. There was more heat than actual pressure, but what pressure he did apply was surprisingly effective. As he pressed his fingers into the back of Chris' shoulder, Spock asked, "...do you desire that I undress, too, Christopher?"
Yes, was the immediate thought. Then Chris berated himself mentally for acting like a horny teenager getting his first chance at real breasts. He closed his eyes, biting back a groan that wanted to pass between his lips as the pressure of the knot started to loosen from the Vulcan's skilled fingers. He was silent to the question for some time before whispering the truth, "Yes, I do," A hesitation, then, "But only when I can undress you."
The kneading paused for a moment, and then continued, moving closer and then finally over the tense muscle at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "You may do so now, if you wish."
The groan could not be stopped this time as tension melted away, and Chris could equally not stop himself from turning so he could face Spock, hands coming up to slid over the soft-slick material. One hand moved to where the cross-over over pleated and smooth surfaces touched as the second found the tie that kept them in their neat arrangement. A tug on the tie allowed him to part the shirt, and let his hands sink down to the bare skin below. Under his fingertips, Chris could feel the sheer heat that the Vulcan threw off, the softness of skin, the lean muscle beneath. For a moment, he allowed himself the pleasure of simply holding there, touching, learning a body so very different then his own yet strangely similar. His eyes traveled downward, eyeing the golden sash around Spock's thin hips, and a moment later it would drift to the floor. Now he could part the shirt fully, spreading it open like wings to reveal Spock's chest. A pleased smile worked its way up to his lips.
Spock's hands came up to run over his arms, traveling from his elbows to his wrists, and then resting over Chris' hands, palms over the back of them. With Spock's hands covering his, he could see a faint twist of orange veins running through the pale, green-tinged skin. Spock's gaze slowly drifted back up to Chris' face after mapping out his arms, his chest. "...am I adequate enough for your preferences?" It did not sound like a question originating out of pride, but an honest inquiry of whether Chris liked what he was seeing.
"More than." Chris murmured before one hand twisting lithely out from under Spock's so that it could move up through the dark hair on the other's chest, along the sharp edge of the jaw, to the flare of the ears. Chris could honestly not help himself in lightly fingering one of the curved edges, moving up to the tip. Those ears were sleek in design, now that he could actually study one for a moment in person. He found himself wanting to move close and follow it with his tongue.
Fingers trailed down Chris' arms again, ghosting over his forearms and biceps, settling splayed over his chest. Spock's head leaned slightly towards his touch at the ear, giving the Vulcan a curious expression. "May I sit closer, Christopher?" As if his desires were an open book. To a Vulcan, Chris considered, they probably were. So, instead of just responding, his free hand came up and slid over one pale hip to tug at the Vulcan's lower back in encouragement.
Spock moved forward, sliding into Chris' lap, legs tucking close on the sides; his pale hands moved up from his chest to curl around Chris' shoulders. The heat from Spock's body pressed so close now, from his new seat, his exposed torso, his hands. It felt like being swarmed by the desert heat itself. This was not the close Chris was exactly expecting, but he was far from complaining. Instead, he moved the hand from Spock's ear to his jaw, tilting the other's head slightly so he could slide their lips together. The searing heat was what he expected, and like this, something to be enjoyed. He quickly learned that Spock was as excellent at this as he seemed to be with everything else, and with an eagerness younger than his years, found himself striving to match that skill.
When they finally drew apart, and he could feel the other's hot breath against his lips, it gradually became apparent that Spock had moved while distracting him. While there had been space between their torsos before, it was nonexistent now, the Vulcan's blazing skin pressing into his own; Spock's arms had slid around his neck loosely, with fingers now moving through his hair at one spot at the back of his skull. "I hope you are aware--" Spock murmured softly, as if he just wanted to keep it between the two of them. "--how extraordinarily handsome you are."
...There are few people in the universe that can avoid the ego boost that comes from being told one is pleasing to the eye. Christopher Pike was not one of those few. He smirked just slightly against Spock's lips, uncaring about the feeling of being burned alive by holding fire against him. "I've been told." He murmured in return. One hand slowly smoothed down the younger male's back, feeling the delicate curve of the spine, until it settled on firm, rounded muscle. There he squeezed as he bit down lightly on Spock's lower lip. Spock arched up slightly, pressing impossibly closer to his body, while the muscle tensed against his hand. That might have been a hitch of breath he heard in response to the bite, a potential blip in the Vulcan's otherwise calm and even breathing.
That tiny hitch, that blip, was something that went straight down to Chris' groin and he decided he wanted to hear more of them. He pulled his head back just enough to bite lightly on the muscle where neck and shoulder met, his other hand going to join the first. Together they squeezed and lightly pulled Spock even closer, forcing the Vulcan's thighs further apart so that they practically enveloped his own hips. At such short distance, Chris could feel the muscles of Spock's neck flex as he took another off-tempo breath, could practically hear it before it even passed Spock's lips.
He felt fingers descend through his hair to the nape of his neck, curling over the skin so he could feel the faint scrape of nails, all while the body against his arched and angled itself perfectly into his spread grip. There was something, a nudge at the back of his mind, that said something seemed off about all of this (and not in the moral fashion) until Chris paused mid-bite to explore it for only a split second. He nearly laughed in a mixture of amusement and pain as he realized he had never truly been the aggressor before, always letting someone else take the pace when it came to this in particular.
The thought made him bite slightly harder, pushing away the thought before whispering against Spock's skin, "...bedroom?"
"Quite lovely and very comfortable," Spock's quiet voice still held some of that professional tone to it, the same one he had held on tour, but the breathless edge made all the difference between the quiet garden lunch and now. "...we may, if you will...release me."
"No." Came the simple reply and Chris smirked as he lifted his head. He changed his grip so his hands were further under Spock, shifting his entire body so that his feet were flat on the floor, made sure Spock's arms were still wrapped around his neck, then spoke again, "Where is it?" Eyeing the few curtained off rooms, guessing one was a bathroom, one was a bedroom, but who knew.
Spock didn't even turn his head to look before he told him, "The left archway, with the thrice-spiraling symbol."
Chris glanced the room, making sure he had the right place in mind, then stood up. Honestly he was almost sadly pleased that he didn't creak or falter in his step - sometimes his body decided it was going to force his age on him instead of him ignoring it steadily. A slight grunt left him though, but Spock seemed oddly lighter than a man his age should have been. "Better." Maybe it was the whole 'being with a younger man' thing or something that made him do something he was sure his body would complain about come morning, but... well... he was only human. He walked across the room quickly, and within a very short time, Spock's back hit the mattress, covered by a soft red and gold duvet, and Chris looked pleased with himself as he leaned over Spock.
The Vulcan watched him from the bed; he could feel those dark eyes on him as he watched Spock trail one of his hands down the center of Chris' body until it stopped at the waistband of his black trousers. Spock's fingers slowly moved into position, as if he were about to undo the clasp one-handed, but then he stopped. "Will you join me, Christopher, or do you prefer that I attend to you first?"
It took a moment to find his voice; the heat of those fingers had stolen it away. "...I would much prefer to join you." His voice had gotten done into its lower registers, a deeper baritone with a smooth heat. His hands slid down Spock's body, fingers playing over the rise and fall of ribs, pausing to graze the pads of calloused thumbs over each caramel colored nipple, and ended at the waistband. His fingertips caressed over the stomach, playing with the fine trail of dark hair there, then skimming down to his target.
But whatever Chris intended to do, Spock appeared to have other plans. The hand that had not been lingering on his trousers came to cup the back of his head and pulled him into a fierce kiss. In his mind, there was a flash of something raw but not entirely unfamiliar, a flare of danger like what the redspice port mixture had imparted but with an added tang of freshness. This feeling did not stay long, though, disappearing as soon as he knew it was there--enough time for Spock to have undone the clasp and the zipper of his trousers and to hook his thumb neatly between Chris' skin and his underwear, but not going any further than that.
It was all he could do to gasp, finding himself bent over Spock, cock suddenly throbbing between his thighs, fingers fisted in the sheets. His eyes went wide as he stared in extreme close up for a moment, then closed his eyes and laid his forehead against the Vulcan's. "What--" He had to swallow first, "What was that?" Something had happened, something so foreign he could not make up his mind on what it even was.
"Forgive me," The hand at the back of Chris' head moved through his hair, smoothing it out in a comforting manner. "I had not meant to release it, nor overwhelm you with the sensation," Spock's leg moved up the outside of his thigh, as if to wrap around his hips, but it did no such thing; Spock's calf pressed over the back of his thigh, ankle against the inside of Chris' knee.
"...release what?" Chris asked, but it obviously did not stop him for a moment from bending his head back down so he could bite gently on Spock's collarbone. What are you doing to me? He thought to himself, eyes closed. He had not just let himself go for too long, so what was it about this Vulcan courtesan that broke down his own self-imposed barriers?
At his bite, there was a breath taken in too quickly to be just irregular like the others, but it was too soft for a gasp. The hand at his hip withdrew from their hold on his waistband to palm his side, the pads of the fingers pressing particularly firm into the skin and muscle. "Passion," Spock breathed this word before swallowing, and speaking again in a more wholesome tone. "That is the closest translation."
He liked getting Spock to make that sound. So they do really feel under that mask of logic. Chris thought to himself, his smile hidden by his position. "Exactly what did I feel? How?" That was the part that made no sense to him. He had been bubbling along just fine then suddenly a flash of something bright like the sun then gone again, leaving him reeling its wake.
The hand that had been moving through his hair now trailed downwards, over the nape of his neck to rest between his shoulder blades with the lightest scrape of nails. "Vulcans are touch-telepaths," A pause for breath. "Thus, I am as well."
Oh that felt good. Chris arched very slightly with that scrape of nails, pressing them together. "Touch-telepaths." He parroted, understanding the concept of it but not knowing fully. "...you can feel what I do." A statement, a question, and yet neither. So, almost testing his own theory, he ground himself downward for a moment and listened to the Vulcan as he himself gasped.
The sound Chris heard from Spock's lips was a mix between desperation and surprise, a gasp and a groan of "Christopher--!". The Vulcan's back arched off the bed, nails dug in between Chris shoulder bl--the passion flared up again, hot and fresh and longer this time, before it promptly disappeared, as if snatched back. Oh this he definitely, definitely liked.
Chris shifted enough so that he could move his mouth up to that curved ear, suckling the tip of it lightly. "Spock," He breathed out the other's name, "...Don't hold back." He curled the tip of his tongue down along that ear, feeling the faint pulse of Spock's heart when he pressed the tip against the underside of the ear behind the lobe. Nails dragged up his back from his shoulder blades, settled and dug behind his shoulder in Spock's new grip.
Then, Spock turned his head away. From this sudden, new angle, Chris could see the jade flush spreading from Spock's cheeks to the very tips of his ear. "I cannot," A faint whisper before he found his voice again, but even then it was still soft. "Do not permit me to be selfish, Christopher, I am not supposed to indulge in my own pleasure--"
"I am more than permitting you," Came that quiet, low tone. "Indulge, if only this one time." He moved one hand up to slide up Spock's chest to cup his jaw. "Be selfish, if that is what you believe it is. Consider it an order, if you have to. If you are not feeling pleasure, experiencing it with me," His thumb came out, caressing across the other's lips slowly, "...then I am not experiencing it at all," Spock said nothing to this, neither accepted nor denied his reasoning, but he did respond. His lips parted, taking Chris' thumb between his teeth lightly before he began to suck it. In the meantime, Chris felt something trickling into his mind: that passion filtering over again, not in the accidental bursts but as a heated undercurrent. The sensation was alien, but very much welcomed. That passion felt as hot as Spock himself, Chris thought to himself.
In particular, the inside of his mouth, as Chris was rapidly finding out. It felt like being surrounded by a volcano, and what Spock was doing with the flat of his tongue... well, it was making Chris rut against the Vulcan as if he was a twenty year old himself, eyes closing as he let himself fall between the pleasure there and the foreign-good one in his mind. Likely tempted by the friction between them, the undercurrent coming from Spock rose like an ocean swell, briefly burning him like the shot of gespar port before it receded to a level still higher than before. Outside of Chris' mind, Spock arched off the bed again, eyes closing, downright moaning around his thumb, and both of the other's legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, pulling Chris closer still.
Quickly making a decision, Chris slid his hands down Spock's body and tugged on the other's pants until they came away. There was a certain pleasure in realizing Spock did not wearing anything beneath those trousers. It reminded him that he was definitely wearing far too much and he -- he tilted his head as he paused, studying. Very slowly he reached down, fingertips brushing by Spock's stomach, and by the erection pressed against it. There was metal glinting there in the flesh and the sight of it was a surprise. It did not take a genius to understand its purpose, even if Chris' own twitched at the sheer idea of having something punch through it to set the ring in place. It was beautiful against the pale skin, the jade of the bead that capped it a perfect match to the white of skin and emerald of its undertones.
Apparently Spock noticed him staring, as a hand slid over the back of his; the Vulcan's index finger moved in circles over his wrist. "Something you were not expecting?"
"I've never seen one in person." Chris admitted, his fingers curling around the flesh. He nearly jerked his hand away a split second later; it felt as hot as cherry-red ember. His eyes went wide, then he smirked. Mmm... so his next course of action was wholly predictable. He started to explore the piercing.
With his tongue.
The metal seemed even hotter than the flesh around it as the tip of his tongue curled around the bead, wriggled a bit beneath the ring, found one of the entrance points and prodded at it. The rustling sound of the duvet being pulled at by clawing hands, the soft gasp punctuated by a breath of his name, the flare of need radiating off of Spock's skin and into his mind--this tipped him off that maybe, just maybe, that spot was more sensitive than any place he had yet to touch. So, of course, Chris took full advantage of this beautiful young body under his and enjoyed himself, eyes closing as he sucked right there, tongue repeatedly rolling over the piercing. A strong hand came up and curled around the base of Spock's flesh, squeezing lightly, before providing a sort of stop-gap for Chris to make sure he did not choke himself.
The passion did not even settle down now from its spikes, just inching higher and higher in intensity every time Chris tongued the right spot, or caused the piercing to shift in a certain way. He could hear Spock trying and failing to hide moans (and the very rare plead) amongst his shallow breathing, could feel the tension in Spock's thighs as he fought not to thrust up into his mouth. Still a Vulcan, even if he was moaning and squirming, blushing jade and "Please, Christopher--" underneath him.
"Tell me what you want, and you'll have it." Chris whispered so that his breath caressed, his tongue flicking out to wriggle the metal lightly. He moved his head slowly, mapping veins with tongue and lips, nosing briefly at the delicate skin between the smooth curve of testicles. He slid an arm under a strong thigh and pulled it up and out enough that he could run his tongue down further over wrinkled flesh.
Spock's body near jolted at this last touch. "Ah!...please," His tone descended into that secret whisper again, barely audible over the rapid pulse of a heartbeat beating in Chris' head that was not his own. "--fuck me."
It almost sounded like Spock was ashamed of his own desires when he whispered like that. It was a desire matched by Chris, so he was only too glad to wriggle out of his own pants, stepping out of them as well as his underwear, and then paused for only a moment. It would be heard in his mind easily, Need lube... not going to take him dry or just with saliva. Again, as if reading his mind--which, come to think of it, he probably was--Spock reached up his hand to gesture at the right bedside cabinet, a nice, unassuming piece of rosewood furniture. "...lubricants are in the bottom drawer."
That would definitely take some getting used to. Chris looked down to the young man beneath him, flushed, nude, heavy with desire, and felt a brief mix of something like guilt for about, a tenth of a second, before definitely feeling pride. He smirked to himself and shifted only enough to grasp the first one that came to hand, popping it open with a movement of his thumb. He tilted his head, deciding, then spread some of the cool lubricant over his fingertips to warm it as much as he could before pressing it back against Spock, just rubbing slowly at the flesh so that it would open up to him. The brief scent of something citrus-y touched his nose.
Despite his attempts to warm the lubricant, it was probably still cold to Spock, who tensed briefly at his touch before relaxing. The Vulcan was taking deeper breaths now, but his flush didn't disappear and neither did his arousal. The pulse that came with the blurring mental heat strummed, but it jumped like Spock's breathing when Chris progressed to the next step. "...this is amazing." Chris whispered, the way he could feel Spock's desire and need in more then just a physical way. It was slowly pulsing in his mind like the steady, constant beat of the bass drum with a higher flare over it like the hum of a hummingbird's wings. He worked slowly, taking his time, as he worked that first finger into Spock's body. It was so hot he was sure he would remove his finger to find it burned, and his body craved the idea that he would be buried inside of it soon.
Spock tensed and relaxed again, taking his finger in to the first knuckle before clenching around it again for a moment. But the words that passed Spock's lips, so clear and open: "More, please."
Those two small words made Chris have to reach down with his free hand and squeeze himself, providing a moment of pressure for a hint of relief. The hand returned to Spock's body, tucking the web between thumb and forefinger under Spock's knee and bringing it up more. He worked that one finger in and out of that needing body, feeling the rising heat in his mind as it streamed from Spock's. "You'll have all of me." Chris rumbled low in his chest, sliding a second finger in along side the first one. He spread them apart, feeling a certain amazing tightness along with the heat that was nearly all consuming.
"I want--all of you--please--" Spock breathed Chris' words through shuddering exhales. His back arched again, hips rolling down onto Chris' fingers to clench around the whole of them; the duvet jerked slightly as it was gripped. Then, a word unfamiliar in sound but not in meaning, softer and more hidden than the rest: "Sanoi--"
A small groan was what left Chris in response to that begging tone. He brought his hand out of Spock's body, hissing as the pressure/heat vanished, and reached over for the forgotten bottle. Some of the slick substance was poured into his palm and he curled his fingers around his cock, stroking it once, twice, to not only lube it up but provide a moment of relief. Then his hand returned to being back under Spock's knee, pulling the other's leg up so a heel rested on his shoulder. When he leaned forward, he would be at a good angle for all of this - to be able to thrust and look down to Spock's face. Even now Spock made a perfect picture, flushed jade across from ear to ear, eyes half-lidded, soft lips parted. He'd never see this in any other Vulcan at any other time, body open and offered with clear, wanton desire. Spock's other leg, skin burning, wrapped around the back of his thigh again, urging him closer with a plead. "Christopher..."
"Yes." Whispered aloud and in his mind at the same time. Chris shifted his stance enough to pull Spock's lower body up, lining himself up, then pressed his hips forward so he sunk down into the endless tight heat of the Vulcan's body. With the constant stream of mental information, it felt twice as powerful, twice as good, as he entered slowly. Chris did not hesitate when he pressed past that first seal of tight muscle, continuing that long first thrust until they were fully together. Here... he had to stop, forcing himself to concentrate on simply not coming. He was not sixteen anymore, dammit. Not that Spock helped these efforts any, head tilted back against the mattress with a low moan of relief and yearning, throat exposed as Chris slid in completely. Thoughts erupted in his mind, planted out of nowhere, of fucking Spock until he screamed, until that Vulcan façade broke completely--
"Fuck!" Came the snapped word, hands clenching hard for a moment. He pulled himself back, nearly pulling out, before slamming back in. Chris started a rhythm he honestly would not have expected out of himself, not so long after... he bent down, enough to bite briefly at a shoulder, before just leaning forward and taking the Vulcan beneath him. The movement of their bodies, the feeling of burning skin against his, a gasp that echoed in his ears--
Chris. Another's voice. The same pleasure, the same feeling, just as burning.
George! His own voice. Remembering. No, different. He had been the one beneath, tucked up under and against George Kirk as the man he had come to care about took him in that endlessly gentle sort of manner that burrowed deeper under the skin then any rough sex could.
He forced open his eyes, looking down at the younger male below him. Positions reversed. Not the suave, devilishly handsome blond above him. There was a flare of guilt, remembering just how many years had passed since he had let himself be with another male - nineteen now - after it had happened.
A pale hand found a firm grip on his shoulder, even if Spock's eyes were closed, and thoughts streamed unbidden into his mind: didn't he like what he had beneath him, did he want more of it than what he already had, did he need something more? Hell, that wasn't what he had wanted. Chris hesitated in his motions, reaching over with a hand so for just a moment, he cupped Spock's jawline. He could remember another hand, slimmer then his own, doing the same to him. Yes, no, and no. He thought to himself, fairly sure Spock would be able to hear him anyway. He bent forward, hissing as there was motion between them reminding him that he couldn't have stopped by the brain in his cock, and laid their foreheads together.
The hand at his shoulder loosened and fingertips moved over the front to brush over his heart while Spock kissed him, gentle and tender and too reassuring for Spock to possibly orchestrate, still flushed and still wanting. The foreign need was still there in the haze of his mind, beating at an incredible pace despite his nostalgic pause. Chris started to move again, but this time, slower. Long, full strokes that worked up deep into Spock's body, left him nearly empty, then filled him again. Each one moved at its own pace, sinking them together, until Chris could have sworn he felt it all inside of his own body as much as he did being inside of Spock's. Come morning, there would be awkwardness, soreness for sure, but now, it seemed as right as it had back then. It was a feeling Chris had forgotten what it could feel like. Spock met every thrust of his, pulling towards him so that each one was complete. That hand had worked back to his shoulder when he leaned close, keeping him close. They were both aflame, Spock like molten lead around and against him, and then--
And then.
Something--happened.
It was nothing that Chris had ever known, something that he could have ever even have described to someone. Everything flowing between them had been like a stream before, with bubbling and steadiness and slow sureness despite the nature of the waters it carried. This, this... was like a tsunami breaking over the dams of barriers that he would not have even known existed before that exact moment. It washed away himself, washed away the separation until they were one. He could feel himself taking Spock, the movements of his own muscles and flesh, but he could feel himself being taken, split open wide. He felt cold as fingers wrapped around his aching cock, he felt hot as his fingers wrapped around Spock's. Melting. It all spiraled together until he lost track of his own physical motions because the mental had become the encompassing world.
Then the physical release came. It sparked all of the normal reactions that curled through the human body, his muscles locking tight so he was buried inside of Spock. It sung through his mind, a tightightight then the white-hot spark of the exact moment of release. That spark went higher, higher, until all at once it fell, sinking into them both.
The world outside of his mind pieced itself back together like a sensual jigsaw puzzle. The soft yellow lights of the bedroom. Silence broken only by their harsh, but gradually calming breathing. Come over his hand and a smooth stomach. Heat in his hand and pressed snug against him. Dark eyes wavering as they stared up at him. The shift of a pale throat with a swallow, before a most pleasant sound: "Christopher..." He liked the way Spock said his name. Something foolish, childish even, but he did. Chris could not say how he climbed into that bed, how he curled up against the too-warm body, but he was glad to simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling something he had not in too long.
Thank you.
Chapter Four, Part C
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock (Ch4), implied George Kirk/Pike (Ch4), Kirk/Spock (rest of it)
POV: Chris (Pike's)
Rating: NC-17 - No joke!
Words: 8.492
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Flashback - Christopher's first diplomatic visit to Shi'Kahr, and Vulcan.
A/N: And so the Pike/Spock continues. This part is rated NC-17, seriously. No other warnings other than just sex, though. Except maybe, you know, Spock being a whore.
All Chapters || Chapter Four, Part A
The rooms were certainly richer than even the captain's quarters on the Excalibur. The marble-tiled foyer led into a living room of thick, dark blue carpet and an assortment of plush sofas and lounge chairs clustered around a coffee table and a wide screen on the adjacent wall. Tucked in the corner, by the floor-to-ceiling windows with the forest green curtains, was the bar. Its counter was made of that same wondrous black onyx stone of the front desk, with fancy glasses of various styles on a rack for any type of drink, and presumably a generous selection in the refrigerated cupboards below the counter.
After Spock slipped the robe from his shoulders and folded it neatly over one of the lounge chairs, he stepped behind the bar. Whilst squatting down for better access, he opened the door with one hand and withdrew the tall, squarish-bottle of port with the other, setting it up on the counter before he stood. A strange green liquid swirled within the container. Spock worked silently as he grabbed a shot glass off the rack and poured an appropriate serving. He placed it on the higher counter of the bar, and then looked up at Chris. "Sips, Captain."
"Please," Chris started as he walked slowly across the luxurious quarters, then settled himself in before the bar, the glass of port, and the Vulcan on the other side. "Right now, I'm considering myself off-duty," A tiny hint of a smirk, mostly to himself, "I would prefer not to be called Captain," He picked up the glass lightly, tilting it slowly to watch the movement of the liquid. It was surprisingly thick, like oil perhaps, and almost shimmered beneath the surface. A most curious drink indeed.
"Apologies, Christopher," Chris had to admit, it was a little strange to hear his full first name out of someone's mouth in such a way that it still sounded like a title. He watched Spock take a shot glass from the rack, but not fill it, only holding it in his hand in a particular fashion so that his fingers and palm wrapped around most of the outside. "...Generally one would warm it in their hands, like so, experience the aroma, and then drink," Spock's eyes shifted up from looking down at the glass back to Chris' face. "Again, I suggest a small taste, first."
Chris mirrored Spock's motion, holding it in his palm. "You are the expert," Spoken with amusement coating his words and adding to the smile on his lips. After a few moments, he brought it up to his nose and took a slow breath in. The sheer strength of the scent made his eyes close so the mind could focus on the sensation instead. The scent was complicated, incredibly so, yet over all he was immediately reminded of freshly crushed mint. His eyes remained shut as he let the breath back out, tasting the smell on his tongue.
There was a brief clink of glass on the counter--probably Spock setting his demonstration prop down. "Remember that this is the purest form of the port," His voice was somewhat softer, or maybe that was the drink, clouding his senses before he even drank any. "The flavour is quite mutable when mixed with other ingredients," Just the lightest hint of a warning in his words.
"Pure," Those dark eyes opened and focused on Spock, their gazes meeting. Chris lifted his glass just slightly, a hint of a silent toast, before he took only a light sip.
The experience was unlike any other concept that immediately could be conceived from his mind and yet exactly like something. The taste curled around his tongue like the flight of a fairy, equal parts grace and hidden strength. It was almost indescribable, so alien that the mind could not immediately label the flavor with something familiar. Even more alien was the sensation that spread down through his body with even that small sip; Richard's reaction suddenly made sense. It spread cold through his stomach and outward, filling his body until it made his fingertips and toes tingle, then that cold turned into heat. Almost embarrassingly, his mind decided that the closest thing it could think of was drinking oily liquid orgasm.
He gasped near the end of it, surprised to find that his eyes had closed and now snapped open. His cheeks were lightly flushed, and he stared at the glass in his hand. Richard had not been warned; the man had kicked it back like a shot. Suddenly Chris had a certain very odd new respect for his long time friend for not having collapsed to the floor.
Spock watched him now, and had probably been observing him while he had taken that first drink. One delicate finger traced the rim of the shot glass he had set down earlier. "Did you enjoy it, Christopher?"
Another breath, one that shuddered out of his lungs. "It..." Words to describe this sort of experience did not come easily or immediately. So instead of just babbling as most humans were most likely to do, he stopped and focused before speaking again, "It's unlike nearly anything I have ever come across in all of my years." He chose, his tone paying high respect to the drink.
"I would be surprised, and quite skeptical, if you had experienced a similar beverage," Spock stepped back a little, leaned down and opened the doors of the refrigerator unit under the counter again. "Would you like to sample some variations?"
Chris eyed Spock for a moment, then said easily enough, "Only if you are willing to join me in sampling them." The last thing he wanted to do was be the only one drinking, and he already knew he had to be careful or he would end up drunk on such a potent substance.
Between various bottles being placed up on the counter, Spock glanced up at him, though never stopped in his search-and-retrieve mission. "I will, of course, taste the mixtures before offering them to you, Christopher," Not quite what Chris had meant, but it served its function. Spock shut the doors and stood again, turning the bottles so that all the labels faced Chris. Not that it helped, as fancy Vulcan calligraphy adorned most of them, or else contained Standardized Vulcan. "Do you prefer to try a fruit infusion--" Spock passed his hand over three bottles, all with bright, colourful liquids. "--or one of our native spices?" He motioned over the other three bottles, with drink of deeper and earthier colours, similar to bourbon and red wine.
Instead of answering, Chris tilted his head slightly and turned the question back on Spock, "Is there one you prefer?" Curious about the Vulcan he had spent the day with. It seemed very odd to him that the refined young man who was doing research at the Vulcan Science Academy and knew such a great deal about his home and a million other tiny details throughout the day... was merely a guide. Perhaps more slowly than he would have liked, he was coming to realize there was something more, there.
This question appeared to make Spock pause; he set his hand back down on the counter, and his gaze shifted from Chris' face to the bottles laid out in front of him. "I do not have any preferences in the wider sense, though in my experience, a mix of gespar would be pleasing after tonight," He pushed aside the bottles to one side, and drew one of them that contained a bright, translucent orange-yellow liquid with mysterious flakes floating about in it.
Chris could not help but lean in slightly, studying the substance, "Gespar," Pronounced well enough with the accent tinging it. "What is it?" A simple curiosity.
"I have heard that it tastes similar to, in Terran terms, to a sweet pineapple and a strawberry, though I cannot vouch for this comparison," Spock unscrewed the cap of this bottle, took two new shot glasses, and added half an ounce to each. "Gespar grows in the rarer temperate zones naturally, though it is quite easy to cultivate in artificial conditions," Taking the original green port again, he added a half ounce of this to the glasses. The liquids mixed together without need for mixing or stirring, the colours still starkly separate before they swirled into a new shade between each other in the middle. Spock took one of the glasses, and took something more generous than a sip--though he was Vulcan, it was probably different for him. A pause, after he swallowed, before he nodded, and set the glass down. "Yes, this is acceptable," He placed the other glass in front of Chris.
The second glass was picked up, and scented yet again. The smell had changed, sweet and crisp and citrus all accented with mint. Chris took a moment to appreciate the delicate layers the two liquids mixed together created with the coil of mixture in the middle that formed a green-yellow version of the oil-and-vinegar look. Curious indeed. Feeling a bit daring, this time he took a larger sip and braced himself. The taste had indeed changed, and sweetness rolled over his tongue and settled in his chest. It was a less intense feeling than the previous sip despite being a larger quantity, but it seemed more diluted. The last thing that he would admit aloud to a Vulcan was what he was comparing the sensations to. "Wonderful." He murmured in his rich, low voice that was indeed quite pleased.
"I am glad you find the flavour satisfactory," Spock remarked as he screwed the cap back onto the bottle of gespar extract, and returned it to stand among the other bottles. "Redspice complements it rather well, and is often a follow-up in a series."
Spock mixed another two drinks for him. The redspice, a hearty burgundy mix that separated on a less defined boundary, added a dangerous edge to the lingering innocence of the gespar extract. It was as if it were mimicking the thrill one gets from doing something forbidden, with all the bubbling excitement of almost-but-not getting caught. This was then followed with a kaasa derivative--a strange cerulean liqueur. After the lightness of the gespar, the danger of the redspice, the kaasa left something far more subtle and seductive--that confidence when one starts chatting up a pretty young thing at a bar and ends up with a friend for the night.
The entire process was incredibly strange, but far from unpleasant. Even though Chris kept himself from taking any drink of a glass larger than a fourth of a shot, they added up quickly from the potent liqueurs. Now, at least, he had no doubts as to why Phillip had wanted a bottle for himself. "I believe that is enough for tonight." He said lightly, standing up. He looked to the other's eyes, "Thank you for putting up with my curiosity." His smile was as warm and flavoured as what they had been drinking.
"It was an honour, and a pleasure, to escort you today," Spock answered with a slight bow of his head, before he began to put away the bottles back under the counter. "...However," He stood straight again, and regarded Chris with his own dark gaze. "I am not expected to return until noon tomorrow."
That was followed by a lengthy silence. Not because the subtle hint contained within was not understood, but purely out of shock. It was the very last thing Chris could have dreamed up to be said by the Vulcan. Not expected to return - was this a request from Spock himself to be allowed off for the night, or was this something devised by a higher person in charge? Why this of all things? Had Spock been attempting to simply loosen him up with the dominating power of the port so that this proposition could be made? Was there some ulterior motive he did not know about? It was the part of politics that Chris despised, the plays of power that attempted to be subtle but often were not. The Vulcans were their allies, part of the Federation... perhaps it was bad of him to be thinking such things of them. It definitely came from too many years of having to deal with it from a hundred alien governments and power trips and tyrants met in space. "I believe..." He found himself saying, "That it would be less than appropriate if you remained here." Attempting to remain polite? Good. A gentle dismissal? Good. Could not be faulted, at least.
"On the contrary," With his words, Spock was stepping around the bar, closing the physical distance between them, getting close but remaining just on the boundaries of too close. "It is within the scope of my profession to stay."
Well, the growing concept of just what Spock's profession had to be added to with that statement. A neat checklist popped up in Chris' mental landscape and marked off 'escort' on the list. Then, after a moment of mental hesitation, erased the mark by that and instead, hovered over the list. He was not sure what he would consider this. "Spock," He said in a measured tone attempting to avoid any disrespect, "I am not sure why you are doing this, and I hope I've made no insinuations that this is what I expected when I allowed you to return to my quarters with me."
"I am a thol'es-kafeh, Christopher," Spock appeared quite casual even with everything he was saying, carrying that same familiar ease he had during the dinner. "If there are any expectations here, they are entirely my own."
It was a place to start, at least. "...That is not a term I am familiar with." He admitted, ignoring the tension rising in his shoulders, the light pressure on his personal-space bubble the other made.
"Most out-worlders are not," Spock turned slightly, to gesture to the arrangement of sofas and lounge chairs. "Perhaps you would prefer to sit down, before I begin my explanation?" Chris briefly eyed the Vulcan, then made his way over to one of the plush sofas and sat down; Spock sat beside him, hands folded over one another in his lap. It might have been incredibly comfortable if he was not as tense as a voltage wire. He merely looked to the other to continue. "My primary goal concerns the fulfillment of your satisfaction within realistic boundaries. Thus, I am equipped with a multitude of skills and permissions, some of which you witnessed today--though most are tailored to more private settings such as this."
A word immediately came to mind, then a secondary one did. It was that second one that Chris decided to use, "...a courtesan." He said quietly. Phillip, you would be laughing hysterically at me right now, Chris could not help but think to himself. "I... am not sure that your skills are required." It felt as awkward as the first time he was ever with a girl, as awkward as the first time he had tried to make a move on the man that had become his hero... well, that was a life time ago. Another life time, for sure. His shoulders rose up unconsciously, bunching under his ears, as the knot only became worse. I wish I'd just stuck with my guns and not had those drinks, suddenly, came the almost wistful thought.
Then a hand curled over his shoulder, the heat of the palm pressing through his dress uniform. Spock shifted his eyes away from Chris' face and studied the stress in his shoulders and his neck. "They may be able to provide some benefit. It would be inconsiderate of me to leave you with such tension." As tense as Chris had been a second before, it was worse now. He sucked in a breath, mind quickly trying to run through the dueling thoughts of 'being polite' and 'get the hell off me'.
"Spock..." Words just did not come to his lips as they normally would. The heat that came even through his uniform made him think that the Vulcans had captured their desert sun and boiled their own blood. That had to be how they survived the blaze outside.
"Christopher, please," The fingertips of Spock's other hand lightly touched Chris' forearm, just barely pressing through the fabric. "Allow me to express my gratitude for your gracious company with, at the least, a massage. Though you deserve far more than that, I will not proceed any further than you will permit me."
It took a moment to calm the initial reaction of calling bull on those words, but Chris kept that thought to himself. He tilted his head back to look up at Spock, then said a bit bluntly, "And then how, exactly, do I get to return the gratitude for your gracious company?" That had to be the port speaking, because he was fairly sure that sounded like a proposition coming from his own lips. Not what he had meant, exactly... not that he could deny a part of him thought the younger male was handsome, and the idea of spending a night with him was intriguing but...
There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Spock's lips before he answered. "You need not concern yourself with that," His hand lifted from Chris' forearm to reach towards his chest, those same fingertips barely ghosting over the central braiding of the dress uniform. "If I may...?"
What was he getting himself into? "Difference between wanting to and concerning myself." Chris murmured, but leaned back into the sofa which arched his chest out slightly in a silent agreement.
Spock folded over the braiding to reveal the buttons beneath, and, drawing away his other hand from Chris' shoulder, began to undo them at a leisurely pace. He sat a little bit closer. "I will, of course, be receptive to any of your ideas," Once reaching the most bottom button, his hand came up to draw down the hidden zipper. "But my focus remains entirely on you," His eyes flickered up to Chris' face from his work. "I am not doing this for my own benefit."
Chris met those dark eyes, studying them in silence. His hand came up, tucking fingers under Spock's jaw and chin, feeling the hot, smooth skin there. There was still an uncertainty in his chest, but now a lick of desire created by mixture of Spock's close presence curled with the erotic sensations the port had drawn out of him. Was there anything wrong with this? His morals nudged at him, saying that maybe there was, but there was a certain logic in saying no there wasn't. That made him smirk, very slightly, "Well, then." He said lightly, "I will just have to see to it that there is a benefit for you in the end as well."
"You are too kind," Was all Spock muttered, before hands slid beneath the folds of the shirt. Palms pressed hot to his bare skin, moved smoothly over muscle as Spock used his wrists to guide the shirt off until it hooked over Chris' shoulders. When the pads of his fingers barely pressed into that one knot, Spock drew his hands away from the skin to grasp the edges of the shirt and begin to pull it away. One hand hovered near the collar while the other would guide the sleeve, as if not wanting to get it further wrinkled as it was discarded. Chris watched in a slightly distanced way what Spock was doing, watched as the Vulcan slowly removed the pair of shirts and set them aside, even folded them. He shifted slightly in place, running a hand over his chest and scratching lightly at the thick curls of hair there. He wondered what the Vulcan thought of him, considering the difference in their ways of thinking and biology, and found himself interested in turn what Spock looked like. With that thought in mind he wanted to bring his own hands up and slid them under the grey-white material of the kimono-like shirt Spock was wearing, but hesitated on that. A massage, then... something further, maybe. Certainly seemed to be the path Spock wanted to take.
After setting aside the shirts, Spock resumed his position at his side. Both of his hands immediately went to his shoulder, kneading gently at the muscle. There was more heat than actual pressure, but what pressure he did apply was surprisingly effective. As he pressed his fingers into the back of Chris' shoulder, Spock asked, "...do you desire that I undress, too, Christopher?"
Yes, was the immediate thought. Then Chris berated himself mentally for acting like a horny teenager getting his first chance at real breasts. He closed his eyes, biting back a groan that wanted to pass between his lips as the pressure of the knot started to loosen from the Vulcan's skilled fingers. He was silent to the question for some time before whispering the truth, "Yes, I do," A hesitation, then, "But only when I can undress you."
The kneading paused for a moment, and then continued, moving closer and then finally over the tense muscle at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "You may do so now, if you wish."
The groan could not be stopped this time as tension melted away, and Chris could equally not stop himself from turning so he could face Spock, hands coming up to slid over the soft-slick material. One hand moved to where the cross-over over pleated and smooth surfaces touched as the second found the tie that kept them in their neat arrangement. A tug on the tie allowed him to part the shirt, and let his hands sink down to the bare skin below. Under his fingertips, Chris could feel the sheer heat that the Vulcan threw off, the softness of skin, the lean muscle beneath. For a moment, he allowed himself the pleasure of simply holding there, touching, learning a body so very different then his own yet strangely similar. His eyes traveled downward, eyeing the golden sash around Spock's thin hips, and a moment later it would drift to the floor. Now he could part the shirt fully, spreading it open like wings to reveal Spock's chest. A pleased smile worked its way up to his lips.
Spock's hands came up to run over his arms, traveling from his elbows to his wrists, and then resting over Chris' hands, palms over the back of them. With Spock's hands covering his, he could see a faint twist of orange veins running through the pale, green-tinged skin. Spock's gaze slowly drifted back up to Chris' face after mapping out his arms, his chest. "...am I adequate enough for your preferences?" It did not sound like a question originating out of pride, but an honest inquiry of whether Chris liked what he was seeing.
"More than." Chris murmured before one hand twisting lithely out from under Spock's so that it could move up through the dark hair on the other's chest, along the sharp edge of the jaw, to the flare of the ears. Chris could honestly not help himself in lightly fingering one of the curved edges, moving up to the tip. Those ears were sleek in design, now that he could actually study one for a moment in person. He found himself wanting to move close and follow it with his tongue.
Fingers trailed down Chris' arms again, ghosting over his forearms and biceps, settling splayed over his chest. Spock's head leaned slightly towards his touch at the ear, giving the Vulcan a curious expression. "May I sit closer, Christopher?" As if his desires were an open book. To a Vulcan, Chris considered, they probably were. So, instead of just responding, his free hand came up and slid over one pale hip to tug at the Vulcan's lower back in encouragement.
Spock moved forward, sliding into Chris' lap, legs tucking close on the sides; his pale hands moved up from his chest to curl around Chris' shoulders. The heat from Spock's body pressed so close now, from his new seat, his exposed torso, his hands. It felt like being swarmed by the desert heat itself. This was not the close Chris was exactly expecting, but he was far from complaining. Instead, he moved the hand from Spock's ear to his jaw, tilting the other's head slightly so he could slide their lips together. The searing heat was what he expected, and like this, something to be enjoyed. He quickly learned that Spock was as excellent at this as he seemed to be with everything else, and with an eagerness younger than his years, found himself striving to match that skill.
When they finally drew apart, and he could feel the other's hot breath against his lips, it gradually became apparent that Spock had moved while distracting him. While there had been space between their torsos before, it was nonexistent now, the Vulcan's blazing skin pressing into his own; Spock's arms had slid around his neck loosely, with fingers now moving through his hair at one spot at the back of his skull. "I hope you are aware--" Spock murmured softly, as if he just wanted to keep it between the two of them. "--how extraordinarily handsome you are."
...There are few people in the universe that can avoid the ego boost that comes from being told one is pleasing to the eye. Christopher Pike was not one of those few. He smirked just slightly against Spock's lips, uncaring about the feeling of being burned alive by holding fire against him. "I've been told." He murmured in return. One hand slowly smoothed down the younger male's back, feeling the delicate curve of the spine, until it settled on firm, rounded muscle. There he squeezed as he bit down lightly on Spock's lower lip. Spock arched up slightly, pressing impossibly closer to his body, while the muscle tensed against his hand. That might have been a hitch of breath he heard in response to the bite, a potential blip in the Vulcan's otherwise calm and even breathing.
That tiny hitch, that blip, was something that went straight down to Chris' groin and he decided he wanted to hear more of them. He pulled his head back just enough to bite lightly on the muscle where neck and shoulder met, his other hand going to join the first. Together they squeezed and lightly pulled Spock even closer, forcing the Vulcan's thighs further apart so that they practically enveloped his own hips. At such short distance, Chris could feel the muscles of Spock's neck flex as he took another off-tempo breath, could practically hear it before it even passed Spock's lips.
He felt fingers descend through his hair to the nape of his neck, curling over the skin so he could feel the faint scrape of nails, all while the body against his arched and angled itself perfectly into his spread grip. There was something, a nudge at the back of his mind, that said something seemed off about all of this (and not in the moral fashion) until Chris paused mid-bite to explore it for only a split second. He nearly laughed in a mixture of amusement and pain as he realized he had never truly been the aggressor before, always letting someone else take the pace when it came to this in particular.
The thought made him bite slightly harder, pushing away the thought before whispering against Spock's skin, "...bedroom?"
"Quite lovely and very comfortable," Spock's quiet voice still held some of that professional tone to it, the same one he had held on tour, but the breathless edge made all the difference between the quiet garden lunch and now. "...we may, if you will...release me."
"No." Came the simple reply and Chris smirked as he lifted his head. He changed his grip so his hands were further under Spock, shifting his entire body so that his feet were flat on the floor, made sure Spock's arms were still wrapped around his neck, then spoke again, "Where is it?" Eyeing the few curtained off rooms, guessing one was a bathroom, one was a bedroom, but who knew.
Spock didn't even turn his head to look before he told him, "The left archway, with the thrice-spiraling symbol."
Chris glanced the room, making sure he had the right place in mind, then stood up. Honestly he was almost sadly pleased that he didn't creak or falter in his step - sometimes his body decided it was going to force his age on him instead of him ignoring it steadily. A slight grunt left him though, but Spock seemed oddly lighter than a man his age should have been. "Better." Maybe it was the whole 'being with a younger man' thing or something that made him do something he was sure his body would complain about come morning, but... well... he was only human. He walked across the room quickly, and within a very short time, Spock's back hit the mattress, covered by a soft red and gold duvet, and Chris looked pleased with himself as he leaned over Spock.
The Vulcan watched him from the bed; he could feel those dark eyes on him as he watched Spock trail one of his hands down the center of Chris' body until it stopped at the waistband of his black trousers. Spock's fingers slowly moved into position, as if he were about to undo the clasp one-handed, but then he stopped. "Will you join me, Christopher, or do you prefer that I attend to you first?"
It took a moment to find his voice; the heat of those fingers had stolen it away. "...I would much prefer to join you." His voice had gotten done into its lower registers, a deeper baritone with a smooth heat. His hands slid down Spock's body, fingers playing over the rise and fall of ribs, pausing to graze the pads of calloused thumbs over each caramel colored nipple, and ended at the waistband. His fingertips caressed over the stomach, playing with the fine trail of dark hair there, then skimming down to his target.
But whatever Chris intended to do, Spock appeared to have other plans. The hand that had not been lingering on his trousers came to cup the back of his head and pulled him into a fierce kiss. In his mind, there was a flash of something raw but not entirely unfamiliar, a flare of danger like what the redspice port mixture had imparted but with an added tang of freshness. This feeling did not stay long, though, disappearing as soon as he knew it was there--enough time for Spock to have undone the clasp and the zipper of his trousers and to hook his thumb neatly between Chris' skin and his underwear, but not going any further than that.
It was all he could do to gasp, finding himself bent over Spock, cock suddenly throbbing between his thighs, fingers fisted in the sheets. His eyes went wide as he stared in extreme close up for a moment, then closed his eyes and laid his forehead against the Vulcan's. "What--" He had to swallow first, "What was that?" Something had happened, something so foreign he could not make up his mind on what it even was.
"Forgive me," The hand at the back of Chris' head moved through his hair, smoothing it out in a comforting manner. "I had not meant to release it, nor overwhelm you with the sensation," Spock's leg moved up the outside of his thigh, as if to wrap around his hips, but it did no such thing; Spock's calf pressed over the back of his thigh, ankle against the inside of Chris' knee.
"...release what?" Chris asked, but it obviously did not stop him for a moment from bending his head back down so he could bite gently on Spock's collarbone. What are you doing to me? He thought to himself, eyes closed. He had not just let himself go for too long, so what was it about this Vulcan courtesan that broke down his own self-imposed barriers?
At his bite, there was a breath taken in too quickly to be just irregular like the others, but it was too soft for a gasp. The hand at his hip withdrew from their hold on his waistband to palm his side, the pads of the fingers pressing particularly firm into the skin and muscle. "Passion," Spock breathed this word before swallowing, and speaking again in a more wholesome tone. "That is the closest translation."
He liked getting Spock to make that sound. So they do really feel under that mask of logic. Chris thought to himself, his smile hidden by his position. "Exactly what did I feel? How?" That was the part that made no sense to him. He had been bubbling along just fine then suddenly a flash of something bright like the sun then gone again, leaving him reeling its wake.
The hand that had been moving through his hair now trailed downwards, over the nape of his neck to rest between his shoulder blades with the lightest scrape of nails. "Vulcans are touch-telepaths," A pause for breath. "Thus, I am as well."
Oh that felt good. Chris arched very slightly with that scrape of nails, pressing them together. "Touch-telepaths." He parroted, understanding the concept of it but not knowing fully. "...you can feel what I do." A statement, a question, and yet neither. So, almost testing his own theory, he ground himself downward for a moment and listened to the Vulcan as he himself gasped.
The sound Chris heard from Spock's lips was a mix between desperation and surprise, a gasp and a groan of "Christopher--!". The Vulcan's back arched off the bed, nails dug in between Chris shoulder bl--the passion flared up again, hot and fresh and longer this time, before it promptly disappeared, as if snatched back. Oh this he definitely, definitely liked.
Chris shifted enough so that he could move his mouth up to that curved ear, suckling the tip of it lightly. "Spock," He breathed out the other's name, "...Don't hold back." He curled the tip of his tongue down along that ear, feeling the faint pulse of Spock's heart when he pressed the tip against the underside of the ear behind the lobe. Nails dragged up his back from his shoulder blades, settled and dug behind his shoulder in Spock's new grip.
Then, Spock turned his head away. From this sudden, new angle, Chris could see the jade flush spreading from Spock's cheeks to the very tips of his ear. "I cannot," A faint whisper before he found his voice again, but even then it was still soft. "Do not permit me to be selfish, Christopher, I am not supposed to indulge in my own pleasure--"
"I am more than permitting you," Came that quiet, low tone. "Indulge, if only this one time." He moved one hand up to slide up Spock's chest to cup his jaw. "Be selfish, if that is what you believe it is. Consider it an order, if you have to. If you are not feeling pleasure, experiencing it with me," His thumb came out, caressing across the other's lips slowly, "...then I am not experiencing it at all," Spock said nothing to this, neither accepted nor denied his reasoning, but he did respond. His lips parted, taking Chris' thumb between his teeth lightly before he began to suck it. In the meantime, Chris felt something trickling into his mind: that passion filtering over again, not in the accidental bursts but as a heated undercurrent. The sensation was alien, but very much welcomed. That passion felt as hot as Spock himself, Chris thought to himself.
In particular, the inside of his mouth, as Chris was rapidly finding out. It felt like being surrounded by a volcano, and what Spock was doing with the flat of his tongue... well, it was making Chris rut against the Vulcan as if he was a twenty year old himself, eyes closing as he let himself fall between the pleasure there and the foreign-good one in his mind. Likely tempted by the friction between them, the undercurrent coming from Spock rose like an ocean swell, briefly burning him like the shot of gespar port before it receded to a level still higher than before. Outside of Chris' mind, Spock arched off the bed again, eyes closing, downright moaning around his thumb, and both of the other's legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, pulling Chris closer still.
Quickly making a decision, Chris slid his hands down Spock's body and tugged on the other's pants until they came away. There was a certain pleasure in realizing Spock did not wearing anything beneath those trousers. It reminded him that he was definitely wearing far too much and he -- he tilted his head as he paused, studying. Very slowly he reached down, fingertips brushing by Spock's stomach, and by the erection pressed against it. There was metal glinting there in the flesh and the sight of it was a surprise. It did not take a genius to understand its purpose, even if Chris' own twitched at the sheer idea of having something punch through it to set the ring in place. It was beautiful against the pale skin, the jade of the bead that capped it a perfect match to the white of skin and emerald of its undertones.
Apparently Spock noticed him staring, as a hand slid over the back of his; the Vulcan's index finger moved in circles over his wrist. "Something you were not expecting?"
"I've never seen one in person." Chris admitted, his fingers curling around the flesh. He nearly jerked his hand away a split second later; it felt as hot as cherry-red ember. His eyes went wide, then he smirked. Mmm... so his next course of action was wholly predictable. He started to explore the piercing.
With his tongue.
The metal seemed even hotter than the flesh around it as the tip of his tongue curled around the bead, wriggled a bit beneath the ring, found one of the entrance points and prodded at it. The rustling sound of the duvet being pulled at by clawing hands, the soft gasp punctuated by a breath of his name, the flare of need radiating off of Spock's skin and into his mind--this tipped him off that maybe, just maybe, that spot was more sensitive than any place he had yet to touch. So, of course, Chris took full advantage of this beautiful young body under his and enjoyed himself, eyes closing as he sucked right there, tongue repeatedly rolling over the piercing. A strong hand came up and curled around the base of Spock's flesh, squeezing lightly, before providing a sort of stop-gap for Chris to make sure he did not choke himself.
The passion did not even settle down now from its spikes, just inching higher and higher in intensity every time Chris tongued the right spot, or caused the piercing to shift in a certain way. He could hear Spock trying and failing to hide moans (and the very rare plead) amongst his shallow breathing, could feel the tension in Spock's thighs as he fought not to thrust up into his mouth. Still a Vulcan, even if he was moaning and squirming, blushing jade and "Please, Christopher--" underneath him.
"Tell me what you want, and you'll have it." Chris whispered so that his breath caressed, his tongue flicking out to wriggle the metal lightly. He moved his head slowly, mapping veins with tongue and lips, nosing briefly at the delicate skin between the smooth curve of testicles. He slid an arm under a strong thigh and pulled it up and out enough that he could run his tongue down further over wrinkled flesh.
Spock's body near jolted at this last touch. "Ah!...please," His tone descended into that secret whisper again, barely audible over the rapid pulse of a heartbeat beating in Chris' head that was not his own. "--fuck me."
It almost sounded like Spock was ashamed of his own desires when he whispered like that. It was a desire matched by Chris, so he was only too glad to wriggle out of his own pants, stepping out of them as well as his underwear, and then paused for only a moment. It would be heard in his mind easily, Need lube... not going to take him dry or just with saliva. Again, as if reading his mind--which, come to think of it, he probably was--Spock reached up his hand to gesture at the right bedside cabinet, a nice, unassuming piece of rosewood furniture. "...lubricants are in the bottom drawer."
That would definitely take some getting used to. Chris looked down to the young man beneath him, flushed, nude, heavy with desire, and felt a brief mix of something like guilt for about, a tenth of a second, before definitely feeling pride. He smirked to himself and shifted only enough to grasp the first one that came to hand, popping it open with a movement of his thumb. He tilted his head, deciding, then spread some of the cool lubricant over his fingertips to warm it as much as he could before pressing it back against Spock, just rubbing slowly at the flesh so that it would open up to him. The brief scent of something citrus-y touched his nose.
Despite his attempts to warm the lubricant, it was probably still cold to Spock, who tensed briefly at his touch before relaxing. The Vulcan was taking deeper breaths now, but his flush didn't disappear and neither did his arousal. The pulse that came with the blurring mental heat strummed, but it jumped like Spock's breathing when Chris progressed to the next step. "...this is amazing." Chris whispered, the way he could feel Spock's desire and need in more then just a physical way. It was slowly pulsing in his mind like the steady, constant beat of the bass drum with a higher flare over it like the hum of a hummingbird's wings. He worked slowly, taking his time, as he worked that first finger into Spock's body. It was so hot he was sure he would remove his finger to find it burned, and his body craved the idea that he would be buried inside of it soon.
Spock tensed and relaxed again, taking his finger in to the first knuckle before clenching around it again for a moment. But the words that passed Spock's lips, so clear and open: "More, please."
Those two small words made Chris have to reach down with his free hand and squeeze himself, providing a moment of pressure for a hint of relief. The hand returned to Spock's body, tucking the web between thumb and forefinger under Spock's knee and bringing it up more. He worked that one finger in and out of that needing body, feeling the rising heat in his mind as it streamed from Spock's. "You'll have all of me." Chris rumbled low in his chest, sliding a second finger in along side the first one. He spread them apart, feeling a certain amazing tightness along with the heat that was nearly all consuming.
"I want--all of you--please--" Spock breathed Chris' words through shuddering exhales. His back arched again, hips rolling down onto Chris' fingers to clench around the whole of them; the duvet jerked slightly as it was gripped. Then, a word unfamiliar in sound but not in meaning, softer and more hidden than the rest: "Sanoi--"
A small groan was what left Chris in response to that begging tone. He brought his hand out of Spock's body, hissing as the pressure/heat vanished, and reached over for the forgotten bottle. Some of the slick substance was poured into his palm and he curled his fingers around his cock, stroking it once, twice, to not only lube it up but provide a moment of relief. Then his hand returned to being back under Spock's knee, pulling the other's leg up so a heel rested on his shoulder. When he leaned forward, he would be at a good angle for all of this - to be able to thrust and look down to Spock's face. Even now Spock made a perfect picture, flushed jade across from ear to ear, eyes half-lidded, soft lips parted. He'd never see this in any other Vulcan at any other time, body open and offered with clear, wanton desire. Spock's other leg, skin burning, wrapped around the back of his thigh again, urging him closer with a plead. "Christopher..."
"Yes." Whispered aloud and in his mind at the same time. Chris shifted his stance enough to pull Spock's lower body up, lining himself up, then pressed his hips forward so he sunk down into the endless tight heat of the Vulcan's body. With the constant stream of mental information, it felt twice as powerful, twice as good, as he entered slowly. Chris did not hesitate when he pressed past that first seal of tight muscle, continuing that long first thrust until they were fully together. Here... he had to stop, forcing himself to concentrate on simply not coming. He was not sixteen anymore, dammit. Not that Spock helped these efforts any, head tilted back against the mattress with a low moan of relief and yearning, throat exposed as Chris slid in completely. Thoughts erupted in his mind, planted out of nowhere, of fucking Spock until he screamed, until that Vulcan façade broke completely--
"Fuck!" Came the snapped word, hands clenching hard for a moment. He pulled himself back, nearly pulling out, before slamming back in. Chris started a rhythm he honestly would not have expected out of himself, not so long after... he bent down, enough to bite briefly at a shoulder, before just leaning forward and taking the Vulcan beneath him. The movement of their bodies, the feeling of burning skin against his, a gasp that echoed in his ears--
Chris. Another's voice. The same pleasure, the same feeling, just as burning.
George! His own voice. Remembering. No, different. He had been the one beneath, tucked up under and against George Kirk as the man he had come to care about took him in that endlessly gentle sort of manner that burrowed deeper under the skin then any rough sex could.
He forced open his eyes, looking down at the younger male below him. Positions reversed. Not the suave, devilishly handsome blond above him. There was a flare of guilt, remembering just how many years had passed since he had let himself be with another male - nineteen now - after it had happened.
A pale hand found a firm grip on his shoulder, even if Spock's eyes were closed, and thoughts streamed unbidden into his mind: didn't he like what he had beneath him, did he want more of it than what he already had, did he need something more? Hell, that wasn't what he had wanted. Chris hesitated in his motions, reaching over with a hand so for just a moment, he cupped Spock's jawline. He could remember another hand, slimmer then his own, doing the same to him. Yes, no, and no. He thought to himself, fairly sure Spock would be able to hear him anyway. He bent forward, hissing as there was motion between them reminding him that he couldn't have stopped by the brain in his cock, and laid their foreheads together.
The hand at his shoulder loosened and fingertips moved over the front to brush over his heart while Spock kissed him, gentle and tender and too reassuring for Spock to possibly orchestrate, still flushed and still wanting. The foreign need was still there in the haze of his mind, beating at an incredible pace despite his nostalgic pause. Chris started to move again, but this time, slower. Long, full strokes that worked up deep into Spock's body, left him nearly empty, then filled him again. Each one moved at its own pace, sinking them together, until Chris could have sworn he felt it all inside of his own body as much as he did being inside of Spock's. Come morning, there would be awkwardness, soreness for sure, but now, it seemed as right as it had back then. It was a feeling Chris had forgotten what it could feel like. Spock met every thrust of his, pulling towards him so that each one was complete. That hand had worked back to his shoulder when he leaned close, keeping him close. They were both aflame, Spock like molten lead around and against him, and then--
And then.
Something--happened.
It was nothing that Chris had ever known, something that he could have ever even have described to someone. Everything flowing between them had been like a stream before, with bubbling and steadiness and slow sureness despite the nature of the waters it carried. This, this... was like a tsunami breaking over the dams of barriers that he would not have even known existed before that exact moment. It washed away himself, washed away the separation until they were one. He could feel himself taking Spock, the movements of his own muscles and flesh, but he could feel himself being taken, split open wide. He felt cold as fingers wrapped around his aching cock, he felt hot as his fingers wrapped around Spock's. Melting. It all spiraled together until he lost track of his own physical motions because the mental had become the encompassing world.
Then the physical release came. It sparked all of the normal reactions that curled through the human body, his muscles locking tight so he was buried inside of Spock. It sung through his mind, a tightightight then the white-hot spark of the exact moment of release. That spark went higher, higher, until all at once it fell, sinking into them both.
The world outside of his mind pieced itself back together like a sensual jigsaw puzzle. The soft yellow lights of the bedroom. Silence broken only by their harsh, but gradually calming breathing. Come over his hand and a smooth stomach. Heat in his hand and pressed snug against him. Dark eyes wavering as they stared up at him. The shift of a pale throat with a swallow, before a most pleasant sound: "Christopher..." He liked the way Spock said his name. Something foolish, childish even, but he did. Chris could not say how he climbed into that bed, how he curled up against the too-warm body, but he was glad to simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling something he had not in too long.
Thank you.
Chapter Four, Part C