Star Trek: The Way We Were
Title: The Way We Were
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Dub-con. It is, however, non-violent and followed by mutual H/C-ness. YMMV.
Notes: For everyone who wishes I'd stop writing so much genfic, this was written for the 'fuck or die' square on my Cliché Bingo card. Beta-read by rhaegal and dedicated to iambickilometer, who is now officially old enough to admit he reads porn! ♥
Summary: Aliens make Kirk and Spock take one for the team, which totally screws up the way things were supposed to have gone.
Trying to make first contact with a race the Klingons had gotten to first (a long, long time ago, and he was already composing that report in his head) was enough to ruin a day, Jim Kirk reflected. Being jumped and taken prisoner was just heaping on the abuse. His restraints were so tight he could feel the skin rubbing off of his wrists.
“Do you have demands, or are you just going to kill us and hope the Federation doesn't come down on you like a ton of bricks?” he snapped, clenching his hands into fists behind his back to encourage the circulation to his fingers.
“We're going to ransom you for dilithium,” the war-painted queen said, two arms crossed over her chest while the other two rested on the hilts of her swords. “You should hope that you're worth a lot of it.”
“That will not succeed,” Spock rasped from behind him. “The Federation has a firm policy of refusing to negotiate with criminals, and that includes instances of extortion and ransom demands.”
Jim thought maybe this wasn't the best time to lay that card down.
The queen blinked her vertical eyelids and looked at Spock thoughtfully. Jim's skin crawled. Finally, she turned to one of her guards.
“Lock them up. We have things to discuss.”
Jim tried not to smirk at having ruined her day. It helped if he focused on the fact that she might kill them now that they were useless as a bargaining chip.
He was jerked roughly to his feet and frog-marched with the rest of the away team through a maze of corridors, coming to a stop at a very typical-looking dungeon. They were all flung into the same cell and left restrained; the door was slammed behind them. Jim looked around. The ceiling, floor and three of the walls were molded out of something like concrete-it was rough to the touch, hard and uncomfortable, anyway. The wall facing the corridor, including the door, was made of what appeared to be transparent aluminum. The cell was utterly bare, with nothing resembling a bed or even a bucket.
Well, Jim had never expected to die in comfort, so why start now? He eased himself to the floor in a place where he could rest his shoulders on the wall. Spock followed his lead, being about as used to imprisonment as he was by now. Sulu opted for the standing lean and Ensign Black just paced back and forth.
“Take it easy, Ensign; you'll wear a hole in the floor,” Jim said wearily.
“It is best to conserve your energy,” Spock agreed.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Black snapped. “Captain,” he added as an afterthought.
Jim shifted with a wince, stretching a leg out in front of him. “Well,” he sighed, “it's fair enough to be nervous. But our hands are tied right now, both literally and figuratively.” He couldn't help a faint grin. “We've got nothing to get the restraints off with and this cell is sealed pretty tight against escape. We have to play the waiting game.”
“Until when, sir?” Black had stopped pacing, at least; pacers made Jim nervous.
“Until either we find an opening to break out or the cavalry arrives.”
Sulu sighed. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
Jim nodded graciously. “Considering the circumstances....”
“I fucking hate going on away missions with you two.”
“What? Why?” Jim had thought he and Sulu worked pretty well together.
“Because they always seem to endanger my life, sir.”
“The lieutenant makes a fair point, Captain. You are very nearly the definition of a 'trouble magnet'.”
“Great, let's all gang up on Captain Kirk. I love this game.” He scowled, but Spock's eyes were smiling with the shared joke, so he couldn't be properly angry about it. “Anyway, he included you in that, you pointy-eared bastard.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at him but tellingly didn't come to his own defence.
“Think we'll get fed this time?” Sulu asked.
That would certainly be an improvement, as far as Jim was concerned.
***
They were in there a whole day and left to sleep with their restraints on. The cell cooled down dramatically at night and Jim and Spock slept sitting up, braced back-to-back against each other to keep warm. Spock was wracked with violent shivers that woke Jim up every single time. He considered offering to spoon instead but the increased body contact would be tempered by increased contact with the freezing floor, so Spock was probably better off as they were.
When the guards came into the cell on the second day to haul Jim to his feet and cut his bonds (while pointing Klingon disruptors at him, three to a person, so he stayed perfectly still), he dared to hope something had changed and that maybe, just maybe, they could leave.
“I don't suppose you're letting us go?” he tried.
“Our leader has already forgotten about you. She has far more pressing concerns. Undoubtedly when she remembers you, you'll be executed.”
Jim gently rubbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he said slowly. “What's going on, then?”
“We have no good entertainment,” said the guard who'd freed him. He nodded at Sulu. “You're going to have sex with him.”
“Excuse me?” Jim blurted.
“Make it good, or we'll kill all of you. We'll start with the one in the red shirt, and you'll be last.”
Spock had hauled himself to his feet and leaped into the fray, apparently ignoring the weapons that were immediately levelled on him. “You require him to copulate with his subordinate for your own amusement? This is gross misconduct and violates several galactic accords, most of which you are party to even as Klingon sympathizers.”
“Galactic accords aren't going to do you much good in here, though, are they?” The guard studied him coolly. “Are you volunteering instead?”
Spock looked blank for a moment, and then answered, “Yes, if that will keep us alive. On the condition that you do not harm those two.”
Jim looked wildly between Spock and the guards. After a moment, the head guard shrugged and then Spock's bonds were cut. They all left the cell and locked it again, pulling up chairs outside to watch.
“Fuck the Vulcan, then, before we change our minds.”
“Face to face,” another guard said, following that with kissy noises that made the others laugh.
Jim whirled on Spock. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he hissed.
Spock cast a wary glance at the guards and pulled Jim close to answer in a whisper. “We must keep ourselves alive in any way possible until we can effect an escape or be rescued; they appear to be quite serious about this, or at least it is not wise to underestimate them. Additionally, it is my belief that your working and personal relationships with the lieutenant would be significantly more likely to suffer in the aftermath of these events than our own.”
Spock was taking one for the team. Well, so could Jim, if that was what they were down to.
A guard cleared his throat meaningfully. Jim shot a glance over at Sulu and Black; they were both facing the wall and had their hands over their ears. He absolutely could not blame them.
“Jim,” Spock said softly. “It is alright.”
“Give him a kiss, come on. ”
Jim swallowed hard and leaned in to kiss him. It was dry and chaste and weird, but Jim willed himself to respond-this was life or death, after all-and stepped in closer, his hands moving to Spock's biceps and then around to the back of his neck as they angled their heads, their noses brushing, and opened their mouths to each other. Spock was nearly a good enough kisser to make Jim forget they were being watched. He shut his eyes and that helped a little, taking him out of the room.
Spock took control, guiding Jim down to his knees on the excruciatingly hard floor and manoeuvring him down and forward by a handful of his shirt; Jim blinked his eyes open to see his first officer staring up at him, his face as blank a slate as ever. Jim pointedly did not look to the side, where he knew their captors were. Instead he shifted to kneel between Spock's thighs and sat upright to haul off both of his shirts. He wadded them up into a soft ball and shoved them under Spock's head, to cushion him from the floor.
“Leave yours on, or you'll freeze,” he said.
The guards heard him. “Clothes off,” one of them called.
They stared at each other, perhaps passing silent apologies back and forth, and then Spock sat up on his elbows. Jim helped him with his shirts and stuffed them under his back for more padding. He couldn't help looking at his chest; there was more hair than he might have expected, if he'd ever given the idea any thought. He reached out to trail a hand down Spock's ribcage but stopped himself in midair and went to undo his own pants, instead. Spock shifted underneath him to do the same and Jim helped him to pull them off, carefully pulling off his boots for him as well.
Spock reached for Jim's hips and pulled his trousers down past his ass, reaching to take him in hand and stroke. His hands were hot and Jim shut his eyes, wishing for the faint stirrings to take hold. A harder grip, twists of the wrist that would normally probably make his eyes roll back in his head-nothing was doing it.
“Come here, Jim,” Spock said quietly, and Jim leaned forward, his hands braced on either side of Spock's ears, and searched out his lips, trying to lose himself in kisses as Spock kept working at him.
His cock twitched and he sighed a little into Spock's mouth. Spock kissed him harder, arching up against him, and there it was, finally. He broke away and stared at his friend, silently demanding to know if he was sure. And hey, Spock was supposed to be a telepath of some kind, and he nodded, understanding.
Not knowing what else to do, Jim sucked his index finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and when it shone with saliva he reached down and traced back between Spock's legs. He watched the Vulcan's chest rise with a deep breath as he pushed his finger inside, slowly. It was tight, too tight, and when he was up to the second knuckle Spock let out a harsh breath, too quiet for anyone but Jim to hear.
Spock had taken Jim's free hand in a death grip by the time he made it up to three fingers, their palms sliding tightly against each other as Jim carefully twisted his fingers and then pulled out. Somehow, he was still hard; he was sickly thankful for this and licked his palm repeatedly before rubbing the saliva on his cock. Spock watched silently for a moment and then leaned up, batting his hands away from himself and leaning forward to take Jim in his mouth, briefly. He swirled his tongue around the shaft and drew out a stuttering gasp that Jim couldn't keep down. Spock was still holding his hand when he pulled off and rearranged himself, though, and that made him feel a little bit less ashamed.
“Ready?” Jim asked, a little hoarsely.
“I am ready,” came the soft reply.
Jim laid an impulsive, chaste kiss against Spock's stomach before carefully lining up and pushing himself inside. It was painful for Jim, which only said bad things about how Spock felt. It felt like ages before he was in all the way, and then he could only lean on his elbows (the pressure of concrete pinched at the nerves in his arms) and pant as they both adjusted.
“Move!” a guard boomed at them.
Jim buried his face in the angle of Spock's neck and collarbone as he obeyed, rocking his hips as slowly as he dared. His stomach rubbed against Spock's dick and he felt it respond, slowly, as they moved. Spock's fingers twisted in his and when Jim felt the tip of his cock bump once, twice against something, when he was all the way in, the grip tightened suddenly and Spock let out a startled little gasp. Jim squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head away from the warm skin below, wondering if speeding up would help this end faster.
“Put some effort into it!”
He could do nothing but obey, and Spock's hips moved up to meet him, their natural teamwork sickeningly coming out in this as well. But there was nothing but hard friction, no ending, and it felt like forever before he heard the scrape of chairs outside.
“Alright, I guess that's good enough for today.”
He was already going soft when he pulled out, and they avoided looking at each other as they scrambled to get dressed. The guards cut Sulu and Black's restraints and brought them in a bucket and some food-warm water and bread that had to be soaked to chew it. No one spoke after the guards had left.
They stayed awake that night, leaning against the wall and shivering, until there were shouts and McCoy barged in with a rescue party, armed to the teeth. Jim thought hard about it before finally setting his phaser to stun as they broke out. Spock needed help moving.
***
They both dodged McCoy's questions about what had happened and didn't speak to each other for a week, except when absolutely necessary. Sulu was wary around both of them but Chekov's exuberance at seeing the helmsman still alive managed to distract him pretty handily, and he was back to his normal bridge behaviour before long.
After ten days, Jim and Spock finally managed a silent meal together in the officers' mess, reminding themselves that their personal and professional relationships were supposed to have survived the ordeal. Had to, really. Any other possible outcome was too hard to think about.
It was a team effort to act normally on the bridge after that, knowing there were whispers among the crew about what had happened on the planet (none of them true, because Sulu could keep his mouth shut when it mattered, and apparently Black was equally tight-lipped). They would talk freely about their duties, make quiet attempts at banter, and generally pretend nothing was wrong. But Jim didn't wander to Spock's station to read screens over his shoulder, preferring to ask from the captain's chair or have the data transferred to his own screen (which he was supposed to have been doing all along). He didn't give Spock a friendly clap on the shoulder as they walked past each other, although he did raise a hand to do it without thinking once, and stared at it in horror for a moment before pretending he'd been moving to scratch at his scalp all along. Possibly Spock noticed that one, although he gave no indication that he had.
Jim's 3-D chessboard got dusty for the first time in a year, and he started spending so much time getting in Bones' hair that the man actually threatened him with a hypo full of sodium thiopental to get his guard down, if he didn't give up and tell him what was wrong. Jim just shrugged cheerfully and made a beeline for the hidden liquor stash he wasn't supposed to know about. There was some yelling about that but in the end Bones just collapsed in a chair with a generous glassful and shook his head at Jim while he knocked back several in a row.
“Work it out,” he said, looking more concerned than Jim ever wanted to see him look again.
***
“Captain,” came a voice from behind him one night.
Jim jumped. It was just past the one-month mark and they still barely spoke. He was starting to wonder if they'd only saved their professional relationship.
He turned around. “Commander.”
“Are you occupied?”
Jim had just been on his way back to his quarters to try and relax for the evening. He toyed with the idea of lying, but instead admitted, “No.”
“Please walk with me, then.”
Jim stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to slouch as he matched strides with Spock through the busy corridors. They were heading for Observation Deck C, he realized. Spock keyed the door shut behind them and made for a circle of chairs. Jim let him choose one and then sat across from him.
“So,” he said awkwardly, “what's up?”
“It is important that we speak. I thought that so-called 'neutral territory' would be a more prudent choice of location than either of our cabins.”
Jim tightened his grip on his knees, tamping down the urge to run for the door. “Good idea.”
Spock looked away. “I confess that this was quite difficult for me. Nyota convinced me that it would be best to stop avoiding our problems.”
Jim looked up at him sharply. “You told her?”
“No. She guessed that I was distressed and additionally noticed that you and I have not been socially active with each other.”
Jim couldn't help laughing a bit at this. “Bones caught onto my shit, too.”
Spock's lips twitched but he kept looking at a fixed point in the distance.
“So,” Jim said. “Talking.”
“The situation was...”
“It was very weird and unavoidable,” Jim interrupted. “If that whole planet ceased to exist tomorrow, I would be fine with that.” He winced belatedly, realizing what he'd said, and to whom.
Spock met his eyes again, tilting his head slightly. “I find that I agree.”
Jim relaxed again and rubbed his hands over his face, breathing out a mirthless chuckle.
“There is, however, something I must reveal to you. Jim.”
That was the first time Spock had said his first name since they'd returned to the ship. “What's that?”
Spock glanced away again, looking down at his hands, but then slowly, deliberately looked back up. “In other circumstances... I would not have minded that kind of contact with you.”
Jim lost himself in the fascination of watching Spock slowly blush green in front of him before he realized what he'd actually said. “Really?” he managed.
“It was certainly not the primary motivation for my actions on the planet, but I confess that I thought... I hoped that....”
“...That it wouldn't make things so fucking awkward,” Jim finished.
Spock nodded at him, looking slightly helpless.
Jim looked down, picking at his thumbnail, and thought. He couldn't deny having affection for Spock, not before that planet and not even now. Bad memories, flashbacks of emotions and sensations, made him scared to reach out and touch like he used to, but if not for that? He frowned at his ragged nail. If not for that, maybe. There was a definite possibility.
He smiled tentatively. “I think we can get past this, if we both want to.”
“I agree.”
***
It was slow, it was so slow, but they were tearing down bad associations and rebuilding new, good ones in their place, so no one would ever say it wasn't worth it. The first time Jim touched Spock on the bridge, it was deliberate and premeditated (Jim had spent an hour fidgeting in his chair, sneaking glances at Spock's back and agonizing over it), a maybe-too-heavy hand dropped onto a shoulder. Spock froze for a second as Jim's heart raced, but then he relaxed (with a deep breath) and went back to talking about sensor readings like nothing interesting had just happened.
Jim grinned secretively and started planning how next time, he was going to lean into Spock's personal space a bit. He found himself looking forward to it.
Hands were sensual for Vulcans, Jim shortly learned. After two months of tantalizing, friendly touches and nudges, accidental brushes that made nerves sing, they began to explore that area. Spock touched the tips of two fingers to the tips of Jim's, softly, or Jim bravely ghosted his index finger down the length of Spock's hand, watching his eyes half-shut with bliss, and he pointedly did not think about desperate clinging and tangling of fingers and the hard push of palms against each other.
Four months into Starting Over, they held hands quietly for an hour while playing chess. Jim's heart beat excitedly the whole time, teased by adrenaline.
Kissing in the human way took quite a while longer, but at seven months they could handle a quiet make-out session without anyone hyperventilating. At nine, they celebrated by spending the night together, keeping the room pitch-black and daring to take off clothes, kissing and touching and exploring their senses in the dark, feeling a low-level burn and relishing it before sighing their way into sleep, still in contact by a hand thrown over a waist, by ankles crossed under the covers. Spock told Jim he could taste his feelings through skin contact and Jim wished he could reciprocate. He did his best to project his relief, anyway.
It was not quite the anniversary of That Other Time when Jim trailed after Spock into his too-warm cabin, joining hands and drawing close as the door shut and locked behind them. They kissed slowly, caressing each other's necks and faces, burying fingers in hair, and the thrill Jim felt now was all pleasure and no nervousness. Spock made a noise into his mouth and Jim sucked his tongue a bit, drawing on old skills as they stumbled to the bed, digging under clothing for hot skin.
Jim started on the fastening of Spock's pants as Spock hauled his shirts off over his head. This was teamwork, their dynamic at its best, Spock dropping to the bed to pull his boots off and watch as Jim stripped down, showing off his space-pale skin and lighter scars and knowing Spock liked every inch he saw. Jim moved forward as Spock slid back across the covers, and Jim crawled over him and dove for his lips, enjoying the way the body underneath curled up to meet him, pulling him down until skin moved on skin as much as it could. Jim moaned at the brush of their cocks and Spock groaned right back and they devoured each other, fingers frantically tracing lines along skin, feeling muscles shift beneath as they melted together.
Spock let out a low growl into Jim's mouth and wormed a knee between his legs to flip them, and Jim grinned up from the pillows as Spock traced fingers down his face. Jim shifted, pointedly, aching with need, brushing against Spock, and it felt so good that his eyes squeezed shut for a second. Thankfully Spock got the idea because he was reaching into the nightstand for the little bottle of lube. He kissed Jim again, hard, searchingly, as the first finger caressed him and then pressed inwards. Jim arched and relaxed and then gasped, because he was turned on and it felt so good, and Spock sighed into his mouth as he added another finger.
Jim found his free hand and tangled their fingers, sliding his against Spock's in a dirty Vulcan caress, and Spock pressed hard into the crease of his hip before moving things along with the other hand. When Jim was ready (really, he just couldn't take any more of this), Spock used more lube on himself, hissing at the cold, and then pressed in, sliding easily, and they both cried out as he pushed in all the way.
“Yes,” Jim gasped, “more.”
They tried to be slow and careful and patient, but Spock put a hand around him and pumped, hard, twisting his wrist, and simultaneously hit something that made Jim's leg twitch and all the air leave his lungs in surprise. Someone shouted and that was all it took, they were gone, thrusting and pushing to meet each stroke, gasping and barely maintaining a rhythm. Jim had never had sex this great.
“May I?” Spock asked, a hand over Jim's cheek.
Jim had secretly been waiting for this and gasped out a, “Yes, do it,” and then was lost as Spock melded with him and was suddenly right there. He wondered if tasting his feelings was like this and Spock said this was better, so much better, kissing him and stroking him and tangling around the inside of his head all at once. Jim had to agree. Spock was a tease of warmth like a desert wind and his desire sparked hotly in Jim's mind, the advance wave of a white-hot rush that Jim could feel encroaching as their pace increased and they rocked harder into each other. Jim's was building, too.
Spock broke first, shuddering into and against Jim and moaning into his mouth. The dizzying flood of shared feeling pushed Jim over the edge too, arching helplessly upward into Spock's hard stomach as he came, probably loudly but he couldn't hear a fucking thing. The unbelievable doubled feeling reverberated between them for several seconds, or possibly hours, Jim had no idea, and they shook for air against each other's damp skin as they came down together, clinging from head to toe, Spock's fingers still on his face, connecting them.
When the aftershocks faded to a slow buzz of contentment, Spock let go, his fingers caressing the length of Jim's face and down his throat to his chest. He sighed and they both sagged bonelessly into the mattress, letting sleep drag them away in the heat of Spock's cabin, maybe to recharge for another round, later on.
Jim tried hard not to think, as he drifted off, that they'd been robbed of an entire year of this.
********************
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Dub-con. It is, however, non-violent and followed by mutual H/C-ness. YMMV.
Notes: For everyone who wishes I'd stop writing so much genfic, this was written for the 'fuck or die' square on my Cliché Bingo card. Beta-read by rhaegal and dedicated to iambickilometer, who is now officially old enough to admit he reads porn! ♥
Summary: Aliens make Kirk and Spock take one for the team, which totally screws up the way things were supposed to have gone.
Trying to make first contact with a race the Klingons had gotten to first (a long, long time ago, and he was already composing that report in his head) was enough to ruin a day, Jim Kirk reflected. Being jumped and taken prisoner was just heaping on the abuse. His restraints were so tight he could feel the skin rubbing off of his wrists.
“Do you have demands, or are you just going to kill us and hope the Federation doesn't come down on you like a ton of bricks?” he snapped, clenching his hands into fists behind his back to encourage the circulation to his fingers.
“We're going to ransom you for dilithium,” the war-painted queen said, two arms crossed over her chest while the other two rested on the hilts of her swords. “You should hope that you're worth a lot of it.”
“That will not succeed,” Spock rasped from behind him. “The Federation has a firm policy of refusing to negotiate with criminals, and that includes instances of extortion and ransom demands.”
Jim thought maybe this wasn't the best time to lay that card down.
The queen blinked her vertical eyelids and looked at Spock thoughtfully. Jim's skin crawled. Finally, she turned to one of her guards.
“Lock them up. We have things to discuss.”
Jim tried not to smirk at having ruined her day. It helped if he focused on the fact that she might kill them now that they were useless as a bargaining chip.
He was jerked roughly to his feet and frog-marched with the rest of the away team through a maze of corridors, coming to a stop at a very typical-looking dungeon. They were all flung into the same cell and left restrained; the door was slammed behind them. Jim looked around. The ceiling, floor and three of the walls were molded out of something like concrete-it was rough to the touch, hard and uncomfortable, anyway. The wall facing the corridor, including the door, was made of what appeared to be transparent aluminum. The cell was utterly bare, with nothing resembling a bed or even a bucket.
Well, Jim had never expected to die in comfort, so why start now? He eased himself to the floor in a place where he could rest his shoulders on the wall. Spock followed his lead, being about as used to imprisonment as he was by now. Sulu opted for the standing lean and Ensign Black just paced back and forth.
“Take it easy, Ensign; you'll wear a hole in the floor,” Jim said wearily.
“It is best to conserve your energy,” Spock agreed.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Black snapped. “Captain,” he added as an afterthought.
Jim shifted with a wince, stretching a leg out in front of him. “Well,” he sighed, “it's fair enough to be nervous. But our hands are tied right now, both literally and figuratively.” He couldn't help a faint grin. “We've got nothing to get the restraints off with and this cell is sealed pretty tight against escape. We have to play the waiting game.”
“Until when, sir?” Black had stopped pacing, at least; pacers made Jim nervous.
“Until either we find an opening to break out or the cavalry arrives.”
Sulu sighed. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
Jim nodded graciously. “Considering the circumstances....”
“I fucking hate going on away missions with you two.”
“What? Why?” Jim had thought he and Sulu worked pretty well together.
“Because they always seem to endanger my life, sir.”
“The lieutenant makes a fair point, Captain. You are very nearly the definition of a 'trouble magnet'.”
“Great, let's all gang up on Captain Kirk. I love this game.” He scowled, but Spock's eyes were smiling with the shared joke, so he couldn't be properly angry about it. “Anyway, he included you in that, you pointy-eared bastard.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at him but tellingly didn't come to his own defence.
“Think we'll get fed this time?” Sulu asked.
That would certainly be an improvement, as far as Jim was concerned.
***
They were in there a whole day and left to sleep with their restraints on. The cell cooled down dramatically at night and Jim and Spock slept sitting up, braced back-to-back against each other to keep warm. Spock was wracked with violent shivers that woke Jim up every single time. He considered offering to spoon instead but the increased body contact would be tempered by increased contact with the freezing floor, so Spock was probably better off as they were.
When the guards came into the cell on the second day to haul Jim to his feet and cut his bonds (while pointing Klingon disruptors at him, three to a person, so he stayed perfectly still), he dared to hope something had changed and that maybe, just maybe, they could leave.
“I don't suppose you're letting us go?” he tried.
“Our leader has already forgotten about you. She has far more pressing concerns. Undoubtedly when she remembers you, you'll be executed.”
Jim gently rubbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he said slowly. “What's going on, then?”
“We have no good entertainment,” said the guard who'd freed him. He nodded at Sulu. “You're going to have sex with him.”
“Excuse me?” Jim blurted.
“Make it good, or we'll kill all of you. We'll start with the one in the red shirt, and you'll be last.”
Spock had hauled himself to his feet and leaped into the fray, apparently ignoring the weapons that were immediately levelled on him. “You require him to copulate with his subordinate for your own amusement? This is gross misconduct and violates several galactic accords, most of which you are party to even as Klingon sympathizers.”
“Galactic accords aren't going to do you much good in here, though, are they?” The guard studied him coolly. “Are you volunteering instead?”
Spock looked blank for a moment, and then answered, “Yes, if that will keep us alive. On the condition that you do not harm those two.”
Jim looked wildly between Spock and the guards. After a moment, the head guard shrugged and then Spock's bonds were cut. They all left the cell and locked it again, pulling up chairs outside to watch.
“Fuck the Vulcan, then, before we change our minds.”
“Face to face,” another guard said, following that with kissy noises that made the others laugh.
Jim whirled on Spock. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he hissed.
Spock cast a wary glance at the guards and pulled Jim close to answer in a whisper. “We must keep ourselves alive in any way possible until we can effect an escape or be rescued; they appear to be quite serious about this, or at least it is not wise to underestimate them. Additionally, it is my belief that your working and personal relationships with the lieutenant would be significantly more likely to suffer in the aftermath of these events than our own.”
Spock was taking one for the team. Well, so could Jim, if that was what they were down to.
A guard cleared his throat meaningfully. Jim shot a glance over at Sulu and Black; they were both facing the wall and had their hands over their ears. He absolutely could not blame them.
“Jim,” Spock said softly. “It is alright.”
“Give him a kiss, come on. ”
Jim swallowed hard and leaned in to kiss him. It was dry and chaste and weird, but Jim willed himself to respond-this was life or death, after all-and stepped in closer, his hands moving to Spock's biceps and then around to the back of his neck as they angled their heads, their noses brushing, and opened their mouths to each other. Spock was nearly a good enough kisser to make Jim forget they were being watched. He shut his eyes and that helped a little, taking him out of the room.
Spock took control, guiding Jim down to his knees on the excruciatingly hard floor and manoeuvring him down and forward by a handful of his shirt; Jim blinked his eyes open to see his first officer staring up at him, his face as blank a slate as ever. Jim pointedly did not look to the side, where he knew their captors were. Instead he shifted to kneel between Spock's thighs and sat upright to haul off both of his shirts. He wadded them up into a soft ball and shoved them under Spock's head, to cushion him from the floor.
“Leave yours on, or you'll freeze,” he said.
The guards heard him. “Clothes off,” one of them called.
They stared at each other, perhaps passing silent apologies back and forth, and then Spock sat up on his elbows. Jim helped him with his shirts and stuffed them under his back for more padding. He couldn't help looking at his chest; there was more hair than he might have expected, if he'd ever given the idea any thought. He reached out to trail a hand down Spock's ribcage but stopped himself in midair and went to undo his own pants, instead. Spock shifted underneath him to do the same and Jim helped him to pull them off, carefully pulling off his boots for him as well.
Spock reached for Jim's hips and pulled his trousers down past his ass, reaching to take him in hand and stroke. His hands were hot and Jim shut his eyes, wishing for the faint stirrings to take hold. A harder grip, twists of the wrist that would normally probably make his eyes roll back in his head-nothing was doing it.
“Come here, Jim,” Spock said quietly, and Jim leaned forward, his hands braced on either side of Spock's ears, and searched out his lips, trying to lose himself in kisses as Spock kept working at him.
His cock twitched and he sighed a little into Spock's mouth. Spock kissed him harder, arching up against him, and there it was, finally. He broke away and stared at his friend, silently demanding to know if he was sure. And hey, Spock was supposed to be a telepath of some kind, and he nodded, understanding.
Not knowing what else to do, Jim sucked his index finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and when it shone with saliva he reached down and traced back between Spock's legs. He watched the Vulcan's chest rise with a deep breath as he pushed his finger inside, slowly. It was tight, too tight, and when he was up to the second knuckle Spock let out a harsh breath, too quiet for anyone but Jim to hear.
Spock had taken Jim's free hand in a death grip by the time he made it up to three fingers, their palms sliding tightly against each other as Jim carefully twisted his fingers and then pulled out. Somehow, he was still hard; he was sickly thankful for this and licked his palm repeatedly before rubbing the saliva on his cock. Spock watched silently for a moment and then leaned up, batting his hands away from himself and leaning forward to take Jim in his mouth, briefly. He swirled his tongue around the shaft and drew out a stuttering gasp that Jim couldn't keep down. Spock was still holding his hand when he pulled off and rearranged himself, though, and that made him feel a little bit less ashamed.
“Ready?” Jim asked, a little hoarsely.
“I am ready,” came the soft reply.
Jim laid an impulsive, chaste kiss against Spock's stomach before carefully lining up and pushing himself inside. It was painful for Jim, which only said bad things about how Spock felt. It felt like ages before he was in all the way, and then he could only lean on his elbows (the pressure of concrete pinched at the nerves in his arms) and pant as they both adjusted.
“Move!” a guard boomed at them.
Jim buried his face in the angle of Spock's neck and collarbone as he obeyed, rocking his hips as slowly as he dared. His stomach rubbed against Spock's dick and he felt it respond, slowly, as they moved. Spock's fingers twisted in his and when Jim felt the tip of his cock bump once, twice against something, when he was all the way in, the grip tightened suddenly and Spock let out a startled little gasp. Jim squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head away from the warm skin below, wondering if speeding up would help this end faster.
“Put some effort into it!”
He could do nothing but obey, and Spock's hips moved up to meet him, their natural teamwork sickeningly coming out in this as well. But there was nothing but hard friction, no ending, and it felt like forever before he heard the scrape of chairs outside.
“Alright, I guess that's good enough for today.”
He was already going soft when he pulled out, and they avoided looking at each other as they scrambled to get dressed. The guards cut Sulu and Black's restraints and brought them in a bucket and some food-warm water and bread that had to be soaked to chew it. No one spoke after the guards had left.
They stayed awake that night, leaning against the wall and shivering, until there were shouts and McCoy barged in with a rescue party, armed to the teeth. Jim thought hard about it before finally setting his phaser to stun as they broke out. Spock needed help moving.
***
They both dodged McCoy's questions about what had happened and didn't speak to each other for a week, except when absolutely necessary. Sulu was wary around both of them but Chekov's exuberance at seeing the helmsman still alive managed to distract him pretty handily, and he was back to his normal bridge behaviour before long.
After ten days, Jim and Spock finally managed a silent meal together in the officers' mess, reminding themselves that their personal and professional relationships were supposed to have survived the ordeal. Had to, really. Any other possible outcome was too hard to think about.
It was a team effort to act normally on the bridge after that, knowing there were whispers among the crew about what had happened on the planet (none of them true, because Sulu could keep his mouth shut when it mattered, and apparently Black was equally tight-lipped). They would talk freely about their duties, make quiet attempts at banter, and generally pretend nothing was wrong. But Jim didn't wander to Spock's station to read screens over his shoulder, preferring to ask from the captain's chair or have the data transferred to his own screen (which he was supposed to have been doing all along). He didn't give Spock a friendly clap on the shoulder as they walked past each other, although he did raise a hand to do it without thinking once, and stared at it in horror for a moment before pretending he'd been moving to scratch at his scalp all along. Possibly Spock noticed that one, although he gave no indication that he had.
Jim's 3-D chessboard got dusty for the first time in a year, and he started spending so much time getting in Bones' hair that the man actually threatened him with a hypo full of sodium thiopental to get his guard down, if he didn't give up and tell him what was wrong. Jim just shrugged cheerfully and made a beeline for the hidden liquor stash he wasn't supposed to know about. There was some yelling about that but in the end Bones just collapsed in a chair with a generous glassful and shook his head at Jim while he knocked back several in a row.
“Work it out,” he said, looking more concerned than Jim ever wanted to see him look again.
***
“Captain,” came a voice from behind him one night.
Jim jumped. It was just past the one-month mark and they still barely spoke. He was starting to wonder if they'd only saved their professional relationship.
He turned around. “Commander.”
“Are you occupied?”
Jim had just been on his way back to his quarters to try and relax for the evening. He toyed with the idea of lying, but instead admitted, “No.”
“Please walk with me, then.”
Jim stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to slouch as he matched strides with Spock through the busy corridors. They were heading for Observation Deck C, he realized. Spock keyed the door shut behind them and made for a circle of chairs. Jim let him choose one and then sat across from him.
“So,” he said awkwardly, “what's up?”
“It is important that we speak. I thought that so-called 'neutral territory' would be a more prudent choice of location than either of our cabins.”
Jim tightened his grip on his knees, tamping down the urge to run for the door. “Good idea.”
Spock looked away. “I confess that this was quite difficult for me. Nyota convinced me that it would be best to stop avoiding our problems.”
Jim looked up at him sharply. “You told her?”
“No. She guessed that I was distressed and additionally noticed that you and I have not been socially active with each other.”
Jim couldn't help laughing a bit at this. “Bones caught onto my shit, too.”
Spock's lips twitched but he kept looking at a fixed point in the distance.
“So,” Jim said. “Talking.”
“The situation was...”
“It was very weird and unavoidable,” Jim interrupted. “If that whole planet ceased to exist tomorrow, I would be fine with that.” He winced belatedly, realizing what he'd said, and to whom.
Spock met his eyes again, tilting his head slightly. “I find that I agree.”
Jim relaxed again and rubbed his hands over his face, breathing out a mirthless chuckle.
“There is, however, something I must reveal to you. Jim.”
That was the first time Spock had said his first name since they'd returned to the ship. “What's that?”
Spock glanced away again, looking down at his hands, but then slowly, deliberately looked back up. “In other circumstances... I would not have minded that kind of contact with you.”
Jim lost himself in the fascination of watching Spock slowly blush green in front of him before he realized what he'd actually said. “Really?” he managed.
“It was certainly not the primary motivation for my actions on the planet, but I confess that I thought... I hoped that....”
“...That it wouldn't make things so fucking awkward,” Jim finished.
Spock nodded at him, looking slightly helpless.
Jim looked down, picking at his thumbnail, and thought. He couldn't deny having affection for Spock, not before that planet and not even now. Bad memories, flashbacks of emotions and sensations, made him scared to reach out and touch like he used to, but if not for that? He frowned at his ragged nail. If not for that, maybe. There was a definite possibility.
He smiled tentatively. “I think we can get past this, if we both want to.”
“I agree.”
***
It was slow, it was so slow, but they were tearing down bad associations and rebuilding new, good ones in their place, so no one would ever say it wasn't worth it. The first time Jim touched Spock on the bridge, it was deliberate and premeditated (Jim had spent an hour fidgeting in his chair, sneaking glances at Spock's back and agonizing over it), a maybe-too-heavy hand dropped onto a shoulder. Spock froze for a second as Jim's heart raced, but then he relaxed (with a deep breath) and went back to talking about sensor readings like nothing interesting had just happened.
Jim grinned secretively and started planning how next time, he was going to lean into Spock's personal space a bit. He found himself looking forward to it.
Hands were sensual for Vulcans, Jim shortly learned. After two months of tantalizing, friendly touches and nudges, accidental brushes that made nerves sing, they began to explore that area. Spock touched the tips of two fingers to the tips of Jim's, softly, or Jim bravely ghosted his index finger down the length of Spock's hand, watching his eyes half-shut with bliss, and he pointedly did not think about desperate clinging and tangling of fingers and the hard push of palms against each other.
Four months into Starting Over, they held hands quietly for an hour while playing chess. Jim's heart beat excitedly the whole time, teased by adrenaline.
Kissing in the human way took quite a while longer, but at seven months they could handle a quiet make-out session without anyone hyperventilating. At nine, they celebrated by spending the night together, keeping the room pitch-black and daring to take off clothes, kissing and touching and exploring their senses in the dark, feeling a low-level burn and relishing it before sighing their way into sleep, still in contact by a hand thrown over a waist, by ankles crossed under the covers. Spock told Jim he could taste his feelings through skin contact and Jim wished he could reciprocate. He did his best to project his relief, anyway.
It was not quite the anniversary of That Other Time when Jim trailed after Spock into his too-warm cabin, joining hands and drawing close as the door shut and locked behind them. They kissed slowly, caressing each other's necks and faces, burying fingers in hair, and the thrill Jim felt now was all pleasure and no nervousness. Spock made a noise into his mouth and Jim sucked his tongue a bit, drawing on old skills as they stumbled to the bed, digging under clothing for hot skin.
Jim started on the fastening of Spock's pants as Spock hauled his shirts off over his head. This was teamwork, their dynamic at its best, Spock dropping to the bed to pull his boots off and watch as Jim stripped down, showing off his space-pale skin and lighter scars and knowing Spock liked every inch he saw. Jim moved forward as Spock slid back across the covers, and Jim crawled over him and dove for his lips, enjoying the way the body underneath curled up to meet him, pulling him down until skin moved on skin as much as it could. Jim moaned at the brush of their cocks and Spock groaned right back and they devoured each other, fingers frantically tracing lines along skin, feeling muscles shift beneath as they melted together.
Spock let out a low growl into Jim's mouth and wormed a knee between his legs to flip them, and Jim grinned up from the pillows as Spock traced fingers down his face. Jim shifted, pointedly, aching with need, brushing against Spock, and it felt so good that his eyes squeezed shut for a second. Thankfully Spock got the idea because he was reaching into the nightstand for the little bottle of lube. He kissed Jim again, hard, searchingly, as the first finger caressed him and then pressed inwards. Jim arched and relaxed and then gasped, because he was turned on and it felt so good, and Spock sighed into his mouth as he added another finger.
Jim found his free hand and tangled their fingers, sliding his against Spock's in a dirty Vulcan caress, and Spock pressed hard into the crease of his hip before moving things along with the other hand. When Jim was ready (really, he just couldn't take any more of this), Spock used more lube on himself, hissing at the cold, and then pressed in, sliding easily, and they both cried out as he pushed in all the way.
“Yes,” Jim gasped, “more.”
They tried to be slow and careful and patient, but Spock put a hand around him and pumped, hard, twisting his wrist, and simultaneously hit something that made Jim's leg twitch and all the air leave his lungs in surprise. Someone shouted and that was all it took, they were gone, thrusting and pushing to meet each stroke, gasping and barely maintaining a rhythm. Jim had never had sex this great.
“May I?” Spock asked, a hand over Jim's cheek.
Jim had secretly been waiting for this and gasped out a, “Yes, do it,” and then was lost as Spock melded with him and was suddenly right there. He wondered if tasting his feelings was like this and Spock said this was better, so much better, kissing him and stroking him and tangling around the inside of his head all at once. Jim had to agree. Spock was a tease of warmth like a desert wind and his desire sparked hotly in Jim's mind, the advance wave of a white-hot rush that Jim could feel encroaching as their pace increased and they rocked harder into each other. Jim's was building, too.
Spock broke first, shuddering into and against Jim and moaning into his mouth. The dizzying flood of shared feeling pushed Jim over the edge too, arching helplessly upward into Spock's hard stomach as he came, probably loudly but he couldn't hear a fucking thing. The unbelievable doubled feeling reverberated between them for several seconds, or possibly hours, Jim had no idea, and they shook for air against each other's damp skin as they came down together, clinging from head to toe, Spock's fingers still on his face, connecting them.
When the aftershocks faded to a slow buzz of contentment, Spock let go, his fingers caressing the length of Jim's face and down his throat to his chest. He sighed and they both sagged bonelessly into the mattress, letting sleep drag them away in the heat of Spock's cabin, maybe to recharge for another round, later on.
Jim tried hard not to think, as he drifted off, that they'd been robbed of an entire year of this.
********************