So Terribly Wrong
Title: So Terribly Wrong
Beta: Unbetaed; wanna give it a go -- be my guest
Pairings: Established K/S; Kirk/Pike, Kirk/others implied
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: See the pairings? Infidelity. Smut. OOC. Not a happy morning story.
Word count: 1833
Summary: "What would you have me do, Jim?" -- "Be enough."
Notes: The working title for this was 'Strange Relationship' though it's not a song-fic. I have no idea where this came from, or what compelled me to write it. I won't pretend that I understand it any better than you do.
He walks in on them by accident.
He’s halfway through his analysis of a spatial anomaly when he realizes he’d left his PADD in the ready room after the briefing. Spock isn’t in the habit of forgetting things, but he had been distracted all afternoon, trying to ignore Jim’s blatant flirting with the admiral and being unable to do so.
Jim must have noticed Spock’s been moody, because he barged into Spock’s quarters just before Spock left for Gamma shift he was supposed to spend in the labs. Spock tried to act distant and aloof, but Jim ignored his coolness as he always did, pressed Spock against the wall just shy of the very much unlocked door, sank to his knees before Spock, and wrapped his lips around him faster than Spock could voice a single protest.
Jim has always been good at this, confident and dirty and completely unrestrained, and Spock’s body holds no secrets for him, hasn’t for a while now. Spock is caught off guard and is anxious of the door that could open at any moment, and it’s over embarrassingly fast. Spock’s mind screams in alarm, but his body goes pliant, slack with relief, and Jim’s grinning up at him, lips bright red and glistening, smug and obscene. He’s out of the door before Spock can even draw a decent breath.
Two hours ago.
It only happened two hours ago, Spock thinks numbly, watching two bodies move in a universal rhythm that neither knows nor requires reason. They are so preoccupied they haven’t noticed him coming in.
“Fuck, yesss,” Jim hisses, grabbing his knees and spreading them impossibly wider. “Just like that. Ah.”
He is sprawled on his back on the conference table, and absurdly, the first thought that enters Spock’s mind is that he’s never going to be able to look at this particular piece of furniture through the same eyes again.
Spock takes in the picture, strangely numb, completely detached from what he’s seeing. His mind supplies him with the information diligently, giving the name to what he is witnessing, as if hoping to stir the dormant emotions in him, to shake them out of him with the running commentary, because somehow the visual is not enough.
His partner - his boyfriend - Jim. Jim is having sex with another man. The same man he has spent the whole day seducing before Spock’s eyes. Jim always has his way no matter what.
Pike leans over Jim, planting his arms against the table and pounding Jim harder. The sound of flesh slapping flesh is louder than Spock had ever noticed. It’s ringing in his ears offensively, and then Jim keens in a way he very rarely does with Spock, his hips sliding along the table with a sickening wet screech that seems to intensify with every motion Pike makes. Spock wishes he were deaf.
“Sp-Spock,” Pike pushes out suddenly, and Spock’s heart stops for a second in terror that he has been discovered.
Later, he will remember that moment and think that it had been absurd to react like that, but here and now, he feels he will die of shame and humiliation if they see him. The words of apologies for the intrusion are burning on his lips when he realizes they haven’t noticed him. They are addressing each other.
“What about him?” Jim pants, rolling his hips encouragingly.
Pike drops to his elbows, never slowing his movements. “You - him - I thought...” He trails off with a hitch, because Jim hikes his hips up higher, and it’s hard to ignore.
“He’ll forgive me,” Jim slurs, arching his back in a telltale sign of him nearing completion. His head lolls back against the hard wooden surface helplessly. “He - always - does.”
“Always?” Pike asks, and Spock suddenly feels his vision darkening.
“Yeah,” Jim rasps, writhing beneath Pike wildly, his hands dropping to the table, seeking for purchase desperately. “He never - asks. We - pretend - he doesn’t - know.”
The deck swaying madly under his feet, Spock hears Pike spitting, “You’re such a bastard, Kirk, you know that?”
Jim hooks his legs around Pike’s waist and smirks up at him, touching himself expertly. “Yeah, but it’s worth it.”
Spock doesn’t remember exactly how he manages to slip out of the room without making a sound.
--
In retrospect, he thinks he did know. Jim has never gone out of his way to cover his tracks. All those little discrepancies when he said he would be on the bridge or in his quarters and wasn’t. The secret smiles he exchanged with the passengers they were ferrying. The strange scents he brought in on him sometimes, teasing Spock for being a sensitive princess when Spock asked as to their origin.
It was there all along. Spock didn’t know because he didn’t want to know. It is the only explanation. He didn’t want to see.
He wants to feel angry, but he can’t. Jim has been honest with him - he never hid anything. If Spock stubbornly refused to connect the dots, it was hardly Jim’s fault, was it? Spock as good as gave Jim his permission. Perhaps even pushed Jim into all those waiting arms with his inability to notice.
Spock has no one to blame but himself.
--
Jim comes in at the early hours of morning. Spock feigns sleep, listening to Jim pad softly around the room. There’s a rustle of clothes, and then the bed dips, and Jim slides under the covers beside Spock, pressing against his side. He buries his face in the crook of Spock’s neck, sighs contentedly, and falls asleep within seconds.
Spock opens his eyes, staring into the darkness and listening to the sound of Jim’s breathing. He runs his fingers through Jim’s hair gently, and Jim makes a quiet little noise, snuggling closer. Jim smells like pine trees and ocean, the clean scent of Starfleet issue body products. His hair is still a little damp at the back of his neck.
Spock usually gets up before Jim does, and as he climbs out of bed, he can’t help but watch the habitual image of Jim reaching for Spock’s pillow and snuggling it instead, burrowing his nose in the fabric that Spock knows must smell like him. He looks down at Jim for countless moments, thinking of nothing, just looking and looking, and asking himself what he is supposed to do.
--
It’s broad daylight, and he isn’t troubling himself with anything more challenging than getting a cup of tea from the replicator in the officers’ mess.
Spock turns and the cup slides out of his fingers, smashing against the deck with a loud splash. He would never have lost control like that, except he didn't expect to come nose to nose with Pike just then.
Their eyes lock and hold, and a frightening moment of understanding surges between them like a lightning bolt, a split second when each of them knows exactly what the other is thinking.
“Admiral,” Spock says at last.
“Chris,” Pike corrects him instantly. “If you’re about to punch me, I’d rather not have to write you up later. I’d be Chris for you for as long as you want.”
Spock shakes his head slightly. “I have no intention of causing you bodily harm.”
“Oh. Well. I-”
“I do not require your apology.”
Pike rubs his eyes with his hand, nodding. “It’s going to sound extremely lame, but I didn’t want it, Spock. Not even because of you - I just never...” He trails off, face contorted in frustrated confusion. “He was - I don’t even know how it happened.”
Spock swallows the acerbic reply whirling on the tip of his tongue. “He can be quite irresistible when he wants to be,” he says instead. “Yes, Admiral. I am aware.”
Pike eyes him for a moment in silence. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you believe I should do?”
Pike blinks; shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
Spock purses his lips, nodding once. “Neither do I.”
--
He’s sitting at his desk in his quarters working when the door slides open and Jim walks in, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the day behind. He doesn’t say anything, probably too enervated for that. He comes to stand behind Spock’s chair, lays his hands on Spock’s shoulders, and starts a gentle massage, grazing bare skin every now and then teasingly.
Spock closes his eyes and lets himself sink into it for a moment. Jim’s deft, smart fingers dive into his hair, scraping lightly, and this is one thing Spock can’t resist, far more effective than a blowjob.
Not today. Without turning, Spock catches Jim’s wrist and pulls it away. Both of them still, listening to the sound of seconds passing by, slipping past them without stirring. Spock thinks he can hear the particles of dust being captured by the ventilation system. They submit without protest.
“If you leave me, I’ll die,” Jim says at last.
It’s not a threat; not a poetic hyperbole. It’s the literal truth as they both know it, and it makes it more unfair than it has any right to be.
“What would you have me do, Jim?”
“Be enough.”
“I do not know how.”
“I don’t have the answers, Spock. You’re supposed to have the answers.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then you’ll leave. And I will go after you. I’ll fight you for you, and you’ll lose. You’ll always lose to me, Spock. Always have, always will. And we’ll be back to square one.”
Spock is silent. There is nothing to say.
“Come on.” Jim uses his free hand to squeeze Spock’s shoulder. “I’m beat. Come to bed.”
It’s dark around them again. Under the covers, Jim presses close against Spock, tangling their limbs as he searches for the most comfortable position. Instinctively, Spock shifts to accommodate him, and Jim hisses suddenly as an awkward movement makes Spock’s hand graze the fresh finger-shaped bruises on Jim’s hip. The ones Spock hasn’t left there.
His anger flares suddenly, smelting his insides, and Spock digs his fingers into Jim’s body vehemently, rolling them over and pinning Jim to the bed. He bends down over Jim, teeth bared in a snarl Spock can’t control. Jim looks up, not a muscle tensing in his body, his eyes indifferent, frowning blue of a caged sky. His lips are moving, invisible, seeding a whisper between them.
“Help me.”
Spock’s arms give, and he collapses against Jim, shuddering all over. Jim rocks him through it, cradling his body gently like a child and humming softly, holding Spock close.
“I am sorry, Jim,” Spock breathes. His eyes burn.
Jim is silent for a while. “It was easier before, wasn’t it?”
Spock thinks about it. “No,” he says. “It was not.”
“No,” Jim agrees softly. “No, it wasn’t.” He presses his lips to Spock’s forehead firmly. “Get some sleep.”
When Spock wakes up the shower is already running. He does not want to know what it means.
Okay. Throw your stones now.