Star Trek: A Kiss with a Fist Is Better than None
Title: A Kiss with a Fist Is Better than None
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1950
Warnings: Physical violence combined with consensual sex.
Notes: A PWP written under the influence of bendtothesun's dysfunctionally hot fanvid. The title of this is even stolen from the song (by Florence and the Machine).
ETA: ifyouweremine offers up a dirty, intense, sadomasochistic version of her own (seriously, don't skip over the warnings). After you read it, you should join in the fun. And then give me the link.
Summary: You hit me once, I hit you back/You gave a kick, I gave a slap/You smashed a plate over my head/Then I set fire to our bed
Jim was really in for it this time, because Spock didn't even stop to ring the chime before barging into Jim's cabin.
“Come on in, Mr. Spock. My door is always open,” Jim said magnanimously. His feet were kicked up on the desk and he was leaning back in the chair so that it was nearly on two legs.
Spock marched right up to his desk and assumed parade rest, his nostrils flaring and his expression fiercely stony. “I demand to know what kind of starship you believe you are commanding,” he ground out.
Jim tipped back in his chair a little more as he pretended to think about this. “A really big one,” he said finally.
“Desist in your facetious affectations.” (Jim mentally translated this as knock it the fuck off and raised his eyebrows a little.) Spock squared his shoulders, which was impressive because they'd already seemed square. “I have asked you three times today for the paperwork my department requires to begin astrometric analysis of the sector surrounding KY Cygni. It was, in fact, required at the end of Alpha shift for the research to proceed on schedule. And yet this paperwork still has yet to appear in my inbox.”
Jim slowly sat up, put his feet back on the floor, and leaned forward over the desk, lacing his fingers together and bracing his elbows on the blotter. The data PADD next to his elbow contained the paperwork Spock was pissed off about (finished an hour ago). “Well, Mr. Spock, your concerns are noted. I will address this issue as soon as I'm able, but as you know, starship captains have busy schedules.” He smiled warmly.
Spock's hands dropped to his sides. One clenched into a fist before quickly relaxing again. Jim saw.
“Why, Spock,” he said, “are you feeling the urge to hit me? Maybe fondly remembering that little brawl on the bridge? Your hand around my throat?” Jim watched Spock's eyes carefully as he spoke, relished the way they narrowed just a little, dark and angry. He shifted in his chair, leaning back a bit. “Bit of an overreaction to late paperwork, don't you think? That's a shameful display of emotion.”
Spock was quiet for a long time.
“That might be, Captain, were this an isolated incident.”
“Oh? Are there further grievances you wish to air, Mr. Spock?” Jim kept the smile on. “Do you think I'm out to get you?”
“'Never ascribe to malice that which is adequately explained by incompetence.'”
Jim looked down to hide his smirk, then slowly got to his feet and walked around the desk. Spock edged back a step as he got close, and Jim could see that he was tensed, like a coiled spring.
Jim spread his arms. “Well, go ahead. I know you want to do it.”
“Pardon me?”
Jim shook his head. “Hit me. Just do it. One free shot.”
“This is absurd.”
“I'll make it an order, Mr. Spock.”
“You obviously require medical intervention.”
“Maybe I will once you fucking hit me, you coward. Now, are you going to stand there and glare like the plants you ate for dinner are disagreeing with you, or are you going to nut up and take your free shot and then get over your pissy atti-”
Jim caught himself on the desk before his face smashed into it, blinking and shaking his head to clear it. His jaw hurt like a motherfucker. When he'd composed himself enough to look up, Spock was staring at the blood on his knuckles. All Jim's blood. He prodded at the inside of his mouth carefully with his tongue; one tooth was a little on the shaky side. Fucking goddamn, he thought as he pushed himself back upright.
“Feel better now?” he asked, spitting blood into the garbage can.
“No, that would be illogical. I do find that I wish to hit you again, however.”
Jim grinned. “Well, you only got one free shot.” Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, tickling as it cooled on his skin. Spock's eyes went to it immediately, apparently riveted. Jim licked it away, as obnoxiously as he could manage. Spock's eyes were even more riveted by his tongue, and this made Jim smirk.
“You've got more than one problem, Spock.”
“I assure you that you are my chief problem.”
Jim blinked. “Then where does that leave the stick up your ass?”
The next blow was as fast as the first one, but at least Jim saw it coming. He dodged sideways and seized Spock's arm as it shot past his face, pulling it swiftly around him to send his first officer straight into the desk. Spock came up swinging and landed a hard blow to his ribcage; Jim bounced back with a wheeze and brought his fists up to guard his torso and face.
Spock came at him like a whirlwind and it was just like the time on the bridge, the last time Jim had pushed him past the limit of his temper (Jim suspected that he was always given less temper to work with in the first place). Spock was a disciplined, precise fighter, except when he was enraged, and then he was less disciplined but still far too precise and efficient in his movements. Jim had years of formal training under his belt as well but always defaulted to the brawling style he grew up practicing, and so after a few solid hits to Spock's face and midsection, he stepped in close to throw off Spock's rhythm and then tackled him around the middle.
They flew into the wall, hitting it hard enough to bruise even Spock, and Jim revelled in the sound of all the air flying out of Spock's lungs as he pulled back to catch his own breath. Blood ran freely down his chin from the cut inside his cheek; he wiped it away with the heel of his hand, feeling feral and bloodthirsty. “Tell me when you've given up trying to kill me,” he panted, grinning.
Spock launched off the wall with a snarl, taking a glancing blow off his sternum before catching Jim's other fist in his hand and squeezing. The fine bones of Jim's hand strained and ground together under the pressure of Vulcan strength; he let out a yelp at the near-breaking of one of his fingers. Spock used the distraction of pain to throw him at the wall again. He wasn't checking his strength even a little, and Jim's head knocked against the wall hard, leaving him seeing stars, maybe (probably) with a bit of a concussion.
Spock's grip around his throat was almost a welcome feeling. His eyes were fierce, wild, furious, excited, as he glared into Jim's own. Jim's pulse raced, adrenaline lighting up every nerve ending and dulling all the pain as his oxygen started to dwindle. He reached out, flailing, and caught one of Spock's ears, pulling hard but not hard enough to damage it, and intentionally not twisting his grip. Spock winced, a telling show of feeling, and allowed his head to be dragged closer, until they were breathing in each other's expelled, heavy breaths. His strong, hot hand was still around Jim's neck, pressing his windpipe and pinching the jugular vein. Jim felt more and more lightheaded.
“Has the stick dislodged from your ass yet?” he rasped.
Spock gave him a look that clearly said, Die a painful death.
Jim choked out a little chuckle and shifted. His leg brushed against Spock's thigh and Spock tensed. Jim stared at him and did it again.
Spock pressed in close, so that Jim could feel his erection. Jim would have gasped if he'd had the air to do it. “Do not squirm.”
“Kill me faster, then,” Jim shot back, pushing his hips forward. That felt good. He ground his hips in a little and watched in fascination as Spock's eyes fluttered shut.
“Would you rather kick my ass or fuck it?” Jim asked.
Spock's hand slid away from his throat, down his chest, and as Jim took in his first, deep, painful breath, Spock's hand pressed against his crotch.
Jim thrust up against the hand. His eyes fell shut at the contact, at the hot breath on his bruised neck. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, let's do this.”
Spock's hand landed over Jim's mouth as he started undoing their pants with the other one. “You will not speak.”
Jim snorted and reached forward instead to reel Spock in as his pants dropped to his knees. Spock landed flush against him and they both hissed in a breath. Spock's fingers tasted faintly metallic. Like Jim's blood, probably.
Jim took hold of Spock's ass to haul him in closer for the first, rough thrust. Spock pinned him to the wall by his hips and grabbed his hands, shoving them up over his head and holding his wrists against the wall with both hands as he thrust again, up and in. Jim couldn't move, couldn't push back against the hot body pressed up against him, so he rolled his head back against the wall and groaned loudly, his mouth free to be noisy.
Spock wouldn't let go of his wrists, no matter how Jim tugged against that iron grip, and he leaned in to press a hard, biting kiss against his lips, smothering the moans and profanity flooding from Jim's mouth as he thrust and thrust, hard and hot. Trails of precome were slicking things up, making every thrust a little easier, a little better, and sometimes Spock moaned back into Jim's lips, biting them hard enough to draw blood.
It was too much, and the adrenaline spike was fading and the pain was all coming back. Jim shoved hard, on the verge, twisting his hips in the little space he managed to gain and moving against Spock just right. He came with a yell that Spock licked and bit away, the taste of Jim's own blood in his mouth along with Spock's saliva. He pulled away from Spock's mouth, gasping for air, and was surprised to feel his wrists released as Spock still pressed against him.
Then Jim was flipped around and shoved belly-first against the wall.
Spock's hands slid back up Jim's arms, around his wrists, forcing them back into place over Jim's head as Spock pressed against his ass. Then Spock thrust up against him, cock sliding between his cheeks, rubbing over and past his asshole, wet with Jim's come. He thrust hard, harder than he had before, pushing Jim into the wall, and Jim moaned again at the teeth that pressed into his shoulder.
“Ah! Yeah! Come on, you son of a bitch!” he shouted, lost, still riding the high of his climax, feeling little aftershocks with every press of Spock against him.
Spock drew a shuddering breath, thrusting one last time as he came on Jim's ass.
They pressed together, their shirts sticking to their skin with sweat as the semen all over them started to dry and get sticky. Jim felt his heart rate slow as the steady pulse against his lower back still thrummed like a vibration.
Abruptly, Spock pulled away and Jim could hear him hauling up his pants. He left the room without another word.
Jim pulled off the rest of his clothes and headed for the shower, wondering if sending that paperwork along in the next ten minutes would just piss Spock off even more.
THE END
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1950
Warnings: Physical violence combined with consensual sex.
Notes: A PWP written under the influence of bendtothesun's dysfunctionally hot fanvid. The title of this is even stolen from the song (by Florence and the Machine).
ETA: ifyouweremine offers up a dirty, intense, sadomasochistic version of her own (seriously, don't skip over the warnings). After you read it, you should join in the fun. And then give me the link.
Summary: You hit me once, I hit you back/You gave a kick, I gave a slap/You smashed a plate over my head/Then I set fire to our bed
Jim was really in for it this time, because Spock didn't even stop to ring the chime before barging into Jim's cabin.
“Come on in, Mr. Spock. My door is always open,” Jim said magnanimously. His feet were kicked up on the desk and he was leaning back in the chair so that it was nearly on two legs.
Spock marched right up to his desk and assumed parade rest, his nostrils flaring and his expression fiercely stony. “I demand to know what kind of starship you believe you are commanding,” he ground out.
Jim tipped back in his chair a little more as he pretended to think about this. “A really big one,” he said finally.
“Desist in your facetious affectations.” (Jim mentally translated this as knock it the fuck off and raised his eyebrows a little.) Spock squared his shoulders, which was impressive because they'd already seemed square. “I have asked you three times today for the paperwork my department requires to begin astrometric analysis of the sector surrounding KY Cygni. It was, in fact, required at the end of Alpha shift for the research to proceed on schedule. And yet this paperwork still has yet to appear in my inbox.”
Jim slowly sat up, put his feet back on the floor, and leaned forward over the desk, lacing his fingers together and bracing his elbows on the blotter. The data PADD next to his elbow contained the paperwork Spock was pissed off about (finished an hour ago). “Well, Mr. Spock, your concerns are noted. I will address this issue as soon as I'm able, but as you know, starship captains have busy schedules.” He smiled warmly.
Spock's hands dropped to his sides. One clenched into a fist before quickly relaxing again. Jim saw.
“Why, Spock,” he said, “are you feeling the urge to hit me? Maybe fondly remembering that little brawl on the bridge? Your hand around my throat?” Jim watched Spock's eyes carefully as he spoke, relished the way they narrowed just a little, dark and angry. He shifted in his chair, leaning back a bit. “Bit of an overreaction to late paperwork, don't you think? That's a shameful display of emotion.”
Spock was quiet for a long time.
“That might be, Captain, were this an isolated incident.”
“Oh? Are there further grievances you wish to air, Mr. Spock?” Jim kept the smile on. “Do you think I'm out to get you?”
“'Never ascribe to malice that which is adequately explained by incompetence.'”
Jim looked down to hide his smirk, then slowly got to his feet and walked around the desk. Spock edged back a step as he got close, and Jim could see that he was tensed, like a coiled spring.
Jim spread his arms. “Well, go ahead. I know you want to do it.”
“Pardon me?”
Jim shook his head. “Hit me. Just do it. One free shot.”
“This is absurd.”
“I'll make it an order, Mr. Spock.”
“You obviously require medical intervention.”
“Maybe I will once you fucking hit me, you coward. Now, are you going to stand there and glare like the plants you ate for dinner are disagreeing with you, or are you going to nut up and take your free shot and then get over your pissy atti-”
Jim caught himself on the desk before his face smashed into it, blinking and shaking his head to clear it. His jaw hurt like a motherfucker. When he'd composed himself enough to look up, Spock was staring at the blood on his knuckles. All Jim's blood. He prodded at the inside of his mouth carefully with his tongue; one tooth was a little on the shaky side. Fucking goddamn, he thought as he pushed himself back upright.
“Feel better now?” he asked, spitting blood into the garbage can.
“No, that would be illogical. I do find that I wish to hit you again, however.”
Jim grinned. “Well, you only got one free shot.” Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, tickling as it cooled on his skin. Spock's eyes went to it immediately, apparently riveted. Jim licked it away, as obnoxiously as he could manage. Spock's eyes were even more riveted by his tongue, and this made Jim smirk.
“You've got more than one problem, Spock.”
“I assure you that you are my chief problem.”
Jim blinked. “Then where does that leave the stick up your ass?”
The next blow was as fast as the first one, but at least Jim saw it coming. He dodged sideways and seized Spock's arm as it shot past his face, pulling it swiftly around him to send his first officer straight into the desk. Spock came up swinging and landed a hard blow to his ribcage; Jim bounced back with a wheeze and brought his fists up to guard his torso and face.
Spock came at him like a whirlwind and it was just like the time on the bridge, the last time Jim had pushed him past the limit of his temper (Jim suspected that he was always given less temper to work with in the first place). Spock was a disciplined, precise fighter, except when he was enraged, and then he was less disciplined but still far too precise and efficient in his movements. Jim had years of formal training under his belt as well but always defaulted to the brawling style he grew up practicing, and so after a few solid hits to Spock's face and midsection, he stepped in close to throw off Spock's rhythm and then tackled him around the middle.
They flew into the wall, hitting it hard enough to bruise even Spock, and Jim revelled in the sound of all the air flying out of Spock's lungs as he pulled back to catch his own breath. Blood ran freely down his chin from the cut inside his cheek; he wiped it away with the heel of his hand, feeling feral and bloodthirsty. “Tell me when you've given up trying to kill me,” he panted, grinning.
Spock launched off the wall with a snarl, taking a glancing blow off his sternum before catching Jim's other fist in his hand and squeezing. The fine bones of Jim's hand strained and ground together under the pressure of Vulcan strength; he let out a yelp at the near-breaking of one of his fingers. Spock used the distraction of pain to throw him at the wall again. He wasn't checking his strength even a little, and Jim's head knocked against the wall hard, leaving him seeing stars, maybe (probably) with a bit of a concussion.
Spock's grip around his throat was almost a welcome feeling. His eyes were fierce, wild, furious, excited, as he glared into Jim's own. Jim's pulse raced, adrenaline lighting up every nerve ending and dulling all the pain as his oxygen started to dwindle. He reached out, flailing, and caught one of Spock's ears, pulling hard but not hard enough to damage it, and intentionally not twisting his grip. Spock winced, a telling show of feeling, and allowed his head to be dragged closer, until they were breathing in each other's expelled, heavy breaths. His strong, hot hand was still around Jim's neck, pressing his windpipe and pinching the jugular vein. Jim felt more and more lightheaded.
“Has the stick dislodged from your ass yet?” he rasped.
Spock gave him a look that clearly said, Die a painful death.
Jim choked out a little chuckle and shifted. His leg brushed against Spock's thigh and Spock tensed. Jim stared at him and did it again.
Spock pressed in close, so that Jim could feel his erection. Jim would have gasped if he'd had the air to do it. “Do not squirm.”
“Kill me faster, then,” Jim shot back, pushing his hips forward. That felt good. He ground his hips in a little and watched in fascination as Spock's eyes fluttered shut.
“Would you rather kick my ass or fuck it?” Jim asked.
Spock's hand slid away from his throat, down his chest, and as Jim took in his first, deep, painful breath, Spock's hand pressed against his crotch.
Jim thrust up against the hand. His eyes fell shut at the contact, at the hot breath on his bruised neck. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, let's do this.”
Spock's hand landed over Jim's mouth as he started undoing their pants with the other one. “You will not speak.”
Jim snorted and reached forward instead to reel Spock in as his pants dropped to his knees. Spock landed flush against him and they both hissed in a breath. Spock's fingers tasted faintly metallic. Like Jim's blood, probably.
Jim took hold of Spock's ass to haul him in closer for the first, rough thrust. Spock pinned him to the wall by his hips and grabbed his hands, shoving them up over his head and holding his wrists against the wall with both hands as he thrust again, up and in. Jim couldn't move, couldn't push back against the hot body pressed up against him, so he rolled his head back against the wall and groaned loudly, his mouth free to be noisy.
Spock wouldn't let go of his wrists, no matter how Jim tugged against that iron grip, and he leaned in to press a hard, biting kiss against his lips, smothering the moans and profanity flooding from Jim's mouth as he thrust and thrust, hard and hot. Trails of precome were slicking things up, making every thrust a little easier, a little better, and sometimes Spock moaned back into Jim's lips, biting them hard enough to draw blood.
It was too much, and the adrenaline spike was fading and the pain was all coming back. Jim shoved hard, on the verge, twisting his hips in the little space he managed to gain and moving against Spock just right. He came with a yell that Spock licked and bit away, the taste of Jim's own blood in his mouth along with Spock's saliva. He pulled away from Spock's mouth, gasping for air, and was surprised to feel his wrists released as Spock still pressed against him.
Then Jim was flipped around and shoved belly-first against the wall.
Spock's hands slid back up Jim's arms, around his wrists, forcing them back into place over Jim's head as Spock pressed against his ass. Then Spock thrust up against him, cock sliding between his cheeks, rubbing over and past his asshole, wet with Jim's come. He thrust hard, harder than he had before, pushing Jim into the wall, and Jim moaned again at the teeth that pressed into his shoulder.
“Ah! Yeah! Come on, you son of a bitch!” he shouted, lost, still riding the high of his climax, feeling little aftershocks with every press of Spock against him.
Spock drew a shuddering breath, thrusting one last time as he came on Jim's ass.
They pressed together, their shirts sticking to their skin with sweat as the semen all over them started to dry and get sticky. Jim felt his heart rate slow as the steady pulse against his lower back still thrummed like a vibration.
Abruptly, Spock pulled away and Jim could hear him hauling up his pants. He left the room without another word.
Jim pulled off the rest of his clothes and headed for the shower, wondering if sending that paperwork along in the next ten minutes would just piss Spock off even more.
THE END