Like a False Mirror, Part 2
Title: Like a False Mirror
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Given what I've produced here, that's probably for the best.
Warnings: MIRRORVERSE. Violence, rough sex, prostitution, willful murder, bad language, het.
Summary: The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered. He'll have to do so now. Sequel to Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't. A love story, of sorts.
Author's Note: Okay guys, I just want to take a moment to say how much I love that pretty much all of your comments on the first part centered around your excitement that Kirk is completely screwed. XD OH SO MUCH. Now on to the fic! Um . . . you guys do realize that this is pretty much just one big excuse for evil!porn, right? Okay, good, just checking.
Part 1
The ship is in orbit around Risa for a stretch of well-deserved shore leave. They’ve spent the past week putting down a minor uprising on a little backwater colony planet, and while there are aspects to such chores that Kirk enjoys, the entire exercise has been more than a little tiring. His entire crew is exhausted and on the verge of snapping under the pressure they’re all under. The orders from Command have come at the perfect time: three whole days for rest and relaxation is exactly what they all need.
In Kirk’s case, rest and relaxation translates loosely into getting fucking laid.
It’s been a month and a half since he and Spock bonded, and in all that time he hasn’t had any company in bed beyond his own right hand. Not that there haven’t been opportunities. Oh, there have been plenty. But somehow something always seems to go wrong. He’s been called into last-minute meetings at inopportune times; his touchy immune system has reacted badly to alien foods; attractive delegates have suddenly and inexplicably gone from blatant interest to equally undisguised avoidance.
Kirk isn’t stupid. He figured out pretty quickly that Spock is behind most, if not all of his romantic misfortunes. But his First Officer has remained calm and unruffled whenever he’s confronted, and Kirk will be damned if he’ll respond to that cool stoicism by ranting the way he really wants to do. There’s also the irritating fact that Spock has been very careful to avoid breaking any sort of regulation, meticulous in avoiding anything that could legitimately be classified as insubordination.
Not that it would matter if he had. The thought of sending Spock to the Agony Booth or of handing him over to Bones for discipline turns Kirk’s stomach. In fact, he was disgusted to realize, two weeks in, that he actually has an active interest in Spock’s well being. Though their bond is still blocked off, he’s developed almost a sixth sense about the Vulcan’s mental and physical state. Most of the time it’s nothing more than a low-level awareness, a base line of Spock’s continued existence. From time to time, however, there are peaks or valleys that leave him breathless with their intensity. He knows when Spock’s feeling particularly murderous, and though he’s staying out of his social life as he said he would Kirk has discovered that he’s equally aware of it whenever Spock comes. Thankfully that isn’t often, because even the echo of it is enough to leave Kirk’s legs weak for nearly an hour afterwards.
So no, the thought of his bondmate in the Booth isn’t one that Kirk is terribly interested in exploring.
He’s tempted now, though, despite how genuinely awful an idea it would be. There had been a very promising young lieutenant transferred onto the ship a month ago. Kirk had finally met her in the midst of their latest mission, and had been imagining her naked and under him in ten seconds flat. There had been too much to do for the two of them to do anything beyond trading speculative looks, but he had been eagerly anticipating the chance to get to know her better.
Except that she’d transferred off the ship with no warning at the last Starbase they had docked at, and it had been Spock’s signature at the bottom of the form.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Kirk snarls as he knocks back his whiskey. “Keeping anyone else away from me.”
“Of course he is,” McCoy snorts. “What did you expect? For the ball and chain to just stand by and let you fuck your way through the ship like you did the Academy?”
“He thinks it’s funny.”
“Green-blooded bastard doesn’t think anything is funny,” McCoy counters, and Kirk raises his nearly-empty glass in a salute. “Where is he, anyway? Figured he’d be skulking in the shadows here, making sure you kept it in your pants.”
“I put him on second rotation,” Kirk says with a smirk. “He’s staying on the bridge like a good, conscientious Starfleet officer while his Captain finally gets rid of the distinct blue tinge that his balls have developed.”
It had been his thought when he first beamed down to find a willing woman at one of the bars he and McCoy planned to hit, and there’s certainly no shortage of options. But with the whiskey loosening his limbs with every pulse of his heart, even that seems like too much work. Instead, he heads for one of the better brothels. There will be time for flirtation and seduction later; what he needs now is release, pure and simple, and he’s had more than enough of waiting.
The slaves are all gorgeous, which is only to be expected, and Kirk has a job of it trying to decide between them. A few of the men catch his eye, but something makes him shy away from that option the way he never has before, something in his gut that feels uncomfortably like guilt. It’s nothing he wants to investigate, though, so he ignores it and turns his attention to the women.
He ends up with a pretty little Human blonde who barely comes up to his shoulders. She’s just his type, and she tugs eagerly at his hand as she leads him into the ‘lift and down a plushly appointed hall to the room he’s reserved.
“You seem so tense,” she purrs when the door has closed behind them, her fingers skimming along his shoulders to do something clever at the back of his neck. Those fingers drift to stroke the hair at his temple, and Kirk feels a shiver shoot down his spine an instant before he grasps her wrist.
“Don’t touch me there,” he says, his voice low in warning.
“Where should I touch you, then?” she asks, her smile just the tiniest bit wicked. “You only have to tell me what you want and-”
“Be quiet,” Kirk snaps. “If I wanted to talk I wouldn’t have bought you.”
He pulls her towards him and she goes willingly, moaning eagerly into his mouth. The scraps of fabric she’s wearing are quickly shed, leaving lush curves bare beneath his questing hands. And yes, he thinks, yes, this is what he’s been missing, and ignores the guilt-like feeling that builds again in his stomach when her fingers make short work of his trouser fastenings. Her skin is as warm as his own; her hand feels small as it wraps around his cock, already hard and leaking.
She pushes him onto the bed in a surprising burst of strength, and it sends lust shooting hot through his veins. Then her head dips, pretty blue eyes locked on his as full pink lips wrap around him. Kirk groans when she takes him deep, eyes locked on the way her lips are stretched, lipstick smeared in a way that makes her look like exactly what she is. If he keeps watching he’s not going to last long, and as appealing as the thought of immediate release may be, he wants to simply feel for a while. He lets his head fall back against the pillows, eyes sliding shut.
The door opens so suddenly that he’s barely heard it before that mouth is being yanked rudely and roughly away. His eyes fly open in shock to see Spock standing at the foot of the bed, hauling the girl up by a hand fisted in her hair. His other hand grasps her beneath the chin, and her eyes go wide and terrified for a split second before he twists, and her neck breaks with an audible snap.
Spock releases the body with a contemptuous flick of his wrists. The girl’s lifeless body falls onto the mattress next to Kirk, and there is nothing accusing in her gaze as she stares back at him. There’s nothing there at all but emptiness and the fading traces of fear. Kirk glares at her for a moment, as though this entire situation had been her fault, and jumps to his feet. Spock’s eyes sweep over him dismissively as Kirk refastens his trousers; then the Vulcan has moved to the communicator set in the wall and a smooth voice echoes through the room.
“How may we be of service?”
“We require disposal of a body,” Spock answers tersely, and there’s the briefest of pauses before the voice answers.
“Porters are on their way to your room, sir. Please leave the door open to provide access. Will you require a replacement companion?”
“Negative.” Spock doesn’t even bother to look at Kirk before he answers. He cuts off communication and opens the door, only then turning back to spare a glance at his silently fuming captain. “I will see you upon your return to the Enterprise, sir,” he says, and is halfway out the door before Kirk recovers his voice.
“Hold it right there.” Spock stops at the order, turns. “Get your ass in here. Now.”
“I am technically still on duty,” Spock reminds him, but does as he’s told. He stops several feet away from Kirk, falling into that damnable parade rest he’s so fond of. “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, Captain?”
“What the fucking hell, Spock?” Kirk is livid, the passion that had built up under the girl’s skilled hands and mouth transforming to fury without losing any of its force. He paces in tight circles and glares at his First Officer. “I was enjoying her.”
That infuriating eyebrow raises, and in that moment Kirk wants nothing so much as to slice the damned thing off. “I am aware,” is the placid reply.
It’s all he can do to keep his hands from fisting in his hair in frustration. “I’ve had just about enough of this.” He barely spares a glance for the porters who have come in to collect the body. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing, cockblocking me like that. Like you’ve been doing,” he growls.
“This is hardly an appropriate time for this conversation,” Spock says, clearly more mindful of their audience than Kirk is willing to be.
“Hurry up,” Kirk snaps at them, and between the two of them they fumble the corpse onto a stretcher and vacate the room as quickly as possible. “I should give you to Bones for this,” he says when the door slides shut again.
“But you will not.”
Kirk’s teeth grind together, because the bastard’s right and they both know it. It’s the part of all this that rankles most, that he’s just as fettered by their bond as Spock is, and lately Spock has been taking every opportunity to remind him of that fact.
“This ends now, do you understand me?” He steps forward, crowding his way into the Vulcan’s space. “I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing, so start talking.”
Spock’s features are very nearly emotionless, but Kirk can see the way his jaw tightens and he can feel the burn of anger behind those dark, stoic eyes. “This venue is not appropriate-”
“Not this time. No.” Kirk steps even closer and lets his own anger and irritation project loud and clear. “You’ve had your chance at appropriate. You’re explaining yourself, and you’re doing it now. You can consider that an order.”
Leather creaks, and Kirk knows that behind his back Spock’s hands are tightening into fists. “She was attempting sexual advances towards my bondmate. I was well within my rights under Vulcan law.”
“What, the right to snap a slave’s neck?”
“Citizen or slave, my proprietary rights remain the same. They extend to far more than the relatively painless death I granted, as well; I simply chose the most expedient option.”
And that is unexpected enough to have Kirk taking a couple of quick steps back. “Wait a second. You’re telling me that you have the right to kill anyone, just for touching me?”
“That is correct.” He’s not imagining the savage satisfaction in Spock’s eyes, knows it because Spock has dropped his shields enough for Kirk to be able to feel it, as well.
Fettered. The word comes to him again, and there’s a brief moment of pure, blinding panic. There’s no doubt in his mind that Spock will do exactly that now that he’s decided not to play nice anymore, will cut a bloody swath through any conquests that Kirk so much as considers. He will cut Kirk off from any possibility of physical contact until his Human bondmate is driven half-mad with unfulfilled need.
But the panic is only momentary, because he’ll be damned if he lets this be the one time he accepts a no-win scenario. His mind is already working, filing away information for later consideration. Even as close to desperate as he is he can see the tactical benefit that such an arrangement could hold for the Empire. And something else occurs to him, something he’s willing to bet Spock was hoping he wouldn’t think of.
“That goes both ways, I’m guessing,” and he catches the infinitesimal narrowing of Spock’s eyes that means he’s right. “And you’d better believe that if I’m not getting laid you sure as shit aren’t either.”
“Your habit of applying Human norms as a universal rule is an astonishingly narrow-minded one.” Condescension is one of the few emotions that Spock allows himself to display openly, and his voice is thick with it now. “Vulcans are required to mate only when the fires of pon farr take us.”
Kirk smiles, because he can see the cheat in Spock’s words. “And Humans are never required. But the need is there. The want. You want me, Spock.” He begins to pace a circle around him, and while Spock may seem to be standing still Kirk can feel the Vulcan’s thoughts tracking his movements as surely as if he were turning along with him. “You wanted me before this whole thing started; that’s why it worked. And I can feel it now.” Spock has made a tactical error in dropping his shields even a fraction; Kirk slides in, twisting past the hasty barriers that his bondmate tries to erect.
“You pretend you don’t feel, that you’re logic and scientific curiosity and nothing else. But you do feel.” He takes a moment to savor it, to wallow in the terrifying depths of emotion hiding behind that Vulcan mask. “You want me so badly,” Kirk says, his voice going rough as the force of Spock’s arousal ignites his own. “Almost as much as you hate me.”
“Were I capable,” Spock says lowly, “I would kill you.”
“Yeah.” Kirk laughs because it’s true, because he can feel it, and it may be hatred but this torrent of emotion is still a victory despite it all. “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it? Well, come on.” His shirt is over his head almost immediately, tossed aside as Spock watches.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re the genius,” Kirk says coyly. “You tell me. It just makes good sense, Spock.” His hands trail down his chest and slowly set to work at the fastenings of his trousers, deliberately teasing. “You want me. Neither one of us is going to let anyone else touch the other, and if you’re keeping me from having sex with anyone else then you’re damn well going to take care of it yourself.”
Spock’s eyes are burning, but his hands are already untying the sash at his waist. “I will not be gentle,” he says on a growl, and Kirk smirks as he toes off his boots.
“Promises, promises.”
That’s as far as he gets before he’s fairly smothered in Vulcan, Spock’s mouth hot and hard and possessive on his. Kirk does his level best to shed as many clothes as he can, as quickly as possible, but Spock’s pants are still on and Kirk’s underwear is tangled around his ankles when he’s shoved onto the bed for the second time that night. He can’t keep track of Spock’s hands, his mouth; it seems that they’re everywhere at once, as though determined to learn him by taste and feel alone. Spock’s gloves are still on, and the feel of butter-soft leather skating over his skin has Kirk so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t simply explode.
Spock is hot, like there’s a supernova beneath his skin, and Kirk thinks he might as well stop pretending that this isn’t what he’s been craving for the past month and a half.
Kirk can’t stop touching, reveling in the feeling of bare skin beneath his hands. He wants more, though; needs it. As amazing as the leather feels he craves the touch of Spock’s fingers, the heat of his hands. He reaches down, tugging at one glove, and before he knows it finds himself facedown on the mattress, his hands pinned painfully behind his back.
“What the-”
He doesn’t get any further than that before Spock’s teeth sink into his shoulder, and Kirk’s words are cut off on a moan as his hips jerk against the bed. Spock is holding his wrists with just one hand; Kirk struggles, because it’s expected, but they both know that Vulcan strength outmatches his easily. The idea makes Kirk’s heart beat even faster. Sweat is breaking out over his skin by the time the bottle of lube from the nightstand lands on the sheets in front of his face.
“Prepare yourself.” Spock’s voice is like sandpaper as he releases Kirk’s wrists. “I have no desire to injure myself when I take you.”
Kirk nearly comes at that, and he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the pillows. “Do it yourself, then,” he says, the challenge in his voice ruined when Spock pulls him back by the hair to hiss in his ear.
“You will prepare yourself. And I will watch.”
Kirk can’t help the desperate moan that escapes him. There’s no point denying how much he loves being watched, not to Spock, and the opportunity to punch a few holes in that solid Vulcan control is too tempting to pass up. He shoves himself up onto his knees when Spock moves back, opening the lube and reaching back with his forehead still pressed against the bed.
He doesn’t touch himself like this often-it’s something he usually only enjoys with a partner, but just the thought of Spock’s eyes on him is more than enough to spur him on. He doesn’t go any easier on himself than he imagines Spock would, either, but immediately shoves two fingers in up to the knuckle. It hurts in the best possible way, and he can feel a flood of lust pour into his head across their mental link. Kirk plays it up, though not by much. There’s less playacting than he would like in the way he moans and shoves his hips back to meet his fingers. He’s just considering adding a third finger when Spock is on him, fully bare now apart from the gloves he still refuses to remove, and flips him roughly onto his back.
Spock buries himself inside in a single harsh thrust and Kirk screams, pain ripping through him, muscles clenching in an instinctive rejection of the sudden invasion. Spock ignores it and begins to move, and fuck, fuck it’s good, hard and rough and brutal. Kirk feels his legs being lifted, pressed against his chest, and then he can do nothing but hold on. No leverage, no control, no recourse but to lie back and take the pounding of Spock’s body into his. It’s all deliciously familiar: the pain and the helplessness, the frantic rutting as though his body is something that Spock craves along with the air being pulled into desperate lungs. The sense of victory in having pushed the Vulcan this far, of bending him to Kirk’s will.
A hand curls around his throat, painful pressure against his collarbone, until Kirk’s eyes focus on the face above his. The instant he does so Spock lifts his free hand, teeth closing over the tips of his glove to tug it off, and it falls to Kirk’s chest as long fingers spider over his face.
Spock invades Kirk’s mind as quickly and harshly as he did his body, thrusting in with a force that steals the Human’s breath. It’s sudden, and violent, and Kirk can’t even begin to imagine a defense against it. Spock is taking him, taking him over, branding himself into Kirk’s thoughts until there is nothing left but him. It’s a claiming, a cleansing, a ruthless campaign against everything that Kirk is, or was, or ever will be.
He almost doesn’t feel the hand that wraps around his cock, smooth leather stroking him to climax. Spock is still sweeping through his mind like fire, burning through everything that’s not him, that’s not them, leaving nothing but ash and the bond that throbs in his mind like a wound. And then . . .
Then everything explodes. Kirk is coming, and it’s not just in his body but in his mind, the force of it doubled as he sweeps Spock along with him. It goes on forever, hollowing him out, leaving him pliant and helpless. He collapses on the bed, sprawled like a rag doll and trying to remember what it feels like to be a human being.
He’s vaguely aware of Spock rising, the sudden absence of his body heat leaving Kirk cold despite the blood still racing furiously through his limbs. It’s some time-minutes? hours?-before he can focus his eyes again. Long enough that Spock has redressed, every hair neatly in place, no hint about his person that he’s just defiled his captain to within an inch of his life.
“This is what it means,” he says smoothly, “to be bonded to a Vulcan. I would advise, for the sake of your own well-being, that you endeavor to remember that in the future.”
He turns on his heel and, without another word or backwards glance, leaves Kirk to piece together the shattered fragments of his mind.
Part 3
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Given what I've produced here, that's probably for the best.
Warnings: MIRRORVERSE. Violence, rough sex, prostitution, willful murder, bad language, het.
Summary: The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered. He'll have to do so now. Sequel to Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't. A love story, of sorts.
Author's Note: Okay guys, I just want to take a moment to say how much I love that pretty much all of your comments on the first part centered around your excitement that Kirk is completely screwed. XD OH SO MUCH. Now on to the fic! Um . . . you guys do realize that this is pretty much just one big excuse for evil!porn, right? Okay, good, just checking.
Part 1
The ship is in orbit around Risa for a stretch of well-deserved shore leave. They’ve spent the past week putting down a minor uprising on a little backwater colony planet, and while there are aspects to such chores that Kirk enjoys, the entire exercise has been more than a little tiring. His entire crew is exhausted and on the verge of snapping under the pressure they’re all under. The orders from Command have come at the perfect time: three whole days for rest and relaxation is exactly what they all need.
In Kirk’s case, rest and relaxation translates loosely into getting fucking laid.
It’s been a month and a half since he and Spock bonded, and in all that time he hasn’t had any company in bed beyond his own right hand. Not that there haven’t been opportunities. Oh, there have been plenty. But somehow something always seems to go wrong. He’s been called into last-minute meetings at inopportune times; his touchy immune system has reacted badly to alien foods; attractive delegates have suddenly and inexplicably gone from blatant interest to equally undisguised avoidance.
Kirk isn’t stupid. He figured out pretty quickly that Spock is behind most, if not all of his romantic misfortunes. But his First Officer has remained calm and unruffled whenever he’s confronted, and Kirk will be damned if he’ll respond to that cool stoicism by ranting the way he really wants to do. There’s also the irritating fact that Spock has been very careful to avoid breaking any sort of regulation, meticulous in avoiding anything that could legitimately be classified as insubordination.
Not that it would matter if he had. The thought of sending Spock to the Agony Booth or of handing him over to Bones for discipline turns Kirk’s stomach. In fact, he was disgusted to realize, two weeks in, that he actually has an active interest in Spock’s well being. Though their bond is still blocked off, he’s developed almost a sixth sense about the Vulcan’s mental and physical state. Most of the time it’s nothing more than a low-level awareness, a base line of Spock’s continued existence. From time to time, however, there are peaks or valleys that leave him breathless with their intensity. He knows when Spock’s feeling particularly murderous, and though he’s staying out of his social life as he said he would Kirk has discovered that he’s equally aware of it whenever Spock comes. Thankfully that isn’t often, because even the echo of it is enough to leave Kirk’s legs weak for nearly an hour afterwards.
So no, the thought of his bondmate in the Booth isn’t one that Kirk is terribly interested in exploring.
He’s tempted now, though, despite how genuinely awful an idea it would be. There had been a very promising young lieutenant transferred onto the ship a month ago. Kirk had finally met her in the midst of their latest mission, and had been imagining her naked and under him in ten seconds flat. There had been too much to do for the two of them to do anything beyond trading speculative looks, but he had been eagerly anticipating the chance to get to know her better.
Except that she’d transferred off the ship with no warning at the last Starbase they had docked at, and it had been Spock’s signature at the bottom of the form.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Kirk snarls as he knocks back his whiskey. “Keeping anyone else away from me.”
“Of course he is,” McCoy snorts. “What did you expect? For the ball and chain to just stand by and let you fuck your way through the ship like you did the Academy?”
“He thinks it’s funny.”
“Green-blooded bastard doesn’t think anything is funny,” McCoy counters, and Kirk raises his nearly-empty glass in a salute. “Where is he, anyway? Figured he’d be skulking in the shadows here, making sure you kept it in your pants.”
“I put him on second rotation,” Kirk says with a smirk. “He’s staying on the bridge like a good, conscientious Starfleet officer while his Captain finally gets rid of the distinct blue tinge that his balls have developed.”
It had been his thought when he first beamed down to find a willing woman at one of the bars he and McCoy planned to hit, and there’s certainly no shortage of options. But with the whiskey loosening his limbs with every pulse of his heart, even that seems like too much work. Instead, he heads for one of the better brothels. There will be time for flirtation and seduction later; what he needs now is release, pure and simple, and he’s had more than enough of waiting.
The slaves are all gorgeous, which is only to be expected, and Kirk has a job of it trying to decide between them. A few of the men catch his eye, but something makes him shy away from that option the way he never has before, something in his gut that feels uncomfortably like guilt. It’s nothing he wants to investigate, though, so he ignores it and turns his attention to the women.
He ends up with a pretty little Human blonde who barely comes up to his shoulders. She’s just his type, and she tugs eagerly at his hand as she leads him into the ‘lift and down a plushly appointed hall to the room he’s reserved.
“You seem so tense,” she purrs when the door has closed behind them, her fingers skimming along his shoulders to do something clever at the back of his neck. Those fingers drift to stroke the hair at his temple, and Kirk feels a shiver shoot down his spine an instant before he grasps her wrist.
“Don’t touch me there,” he says, his voice low in warning.
“Where should I touch you, then?” she asks, her smile just the tiniest bit wicked. “You only have to tell me what you want and-”
“Be quiet,” Kirk snaps. “If I wanted to talk I wouldn’t have bought you.”
He pulls her towards him and she goes willingly, moaning eagerly into his mouth. The scraps of fabric she’s wearing are quickly shed, leaving lush curves bare beneath his questing hands. And yes, he thinks, yes, this is what he’s been missing, and ignores the guilt-like feeling that builds again in his stomach when her fingers make short work of his trouser fastenings. Her skin is as warm as his own; her hand feels small as it wraps around his cock, already hard and leaking.
She pushes him onto the bed in a surprising burst of strength, and it sends lust shooting hot through his veins. Then her head dips, pretty blue eyes locked on his as full pink lips wrap around him. Kirk groans when she takes him deep, eyes locked on the way her lips are stretched, lipstick smeared in a way that makes her look like exactly what she is. If he keeps watching he’s not going to last long, and as appealing as the thought of immediate release may be, he wants to simply feel for a while. He lets his head fall back against the pillows, eyes sliding shut.
The door opens so suddenly that he’s barely heard it before that mouth is being yanked rudely and roughly away. His eyes fly open in shock to see Spock standing at the foot of the bed, hauling the girl up by a hand fisted in her hair. His other hand grasps her beneath the chin, and her eyes go wide and terrified for a split second before he twists, and her neck breaks with an audible snap.
Spock releases the body with a contemptuous flick of his wrists. The girl’s lifeless body falls onto the mattress next to Kirk, and there is nothing accusing in her gaze as she stares back at him. There’s nothing there at all but emptiness and the fading traces of fear. Kirk glares at her for a moment, as though this entire situation had been her fault, and jumps to his feet. Spock’s eyes sweep over him dismissively as Kirk refastens his trousers; then the Vulcan has moved to the communicator set in the wall and a smooth voice echoes through the room.
“How may we be of service?”
“We require disposal of a body,” Spock answers tersely, and there’s the briefest of pauses before the voice answers.
“Porters are on their way to your room, sir. Please leave the door open to provide access. Will you require a replacement companion?”
“Negative.” Spock doesn’t even bother to look at Kirk before he answers. He cuts off communication and opens the door, only then turning back to spare a glance at his silently fuming captain. “I will see you upon your return to the Enterprise, sir,” he says, and is halfway out the door before Kirk recovers his voice.
“Hold it right there.” Spock stops at the order, turns. “Get your ass in here. Now.”
“I am technically still on duty,” Spock reminds him, but does as he’s told. He stops several feet away from Kirk, falling into that damnable parade rest he’s so fond of. “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, Captain?”
“What the fucking hell, Spock?” Kirk is livid, the passion that had built up under the girl’s skilled hands and mouth transforming to fury without losing any of its force. He paces in tight circles and glares at his First Officer. “I was enjoying her.”
That infuriating eyebrow raises, and in that moment Kirk wants nothing so much as to slice the damned thing off. “I am aware,” is the placid reply.
It’s all he can do to keep his hands from fisting in his hair in frustration. “I’ve had just about enough of this.” He barely spares a glance for the porters who have come in to collect the body. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing, cockblocking me like that. Like you’ve been doing,” he growls.
“This is hardly an appropriate time for this conversation,” Spock says, clearly more mindful of their audience than Kirk is willing to be.
“Hurry up,” Kirk snaps at them, and between the two of them they fumble the corpse onto a stretcher and vacate the room as quickly as possible. “I should give you to Bones for this,” he says when the door slides shut again.
“But you will not.”
Kirk’s teeth grind together, because the bastard’s right and they both know it. It’s the part of all this that rankles most, that he’s just as fettered by their bond as Spock is, and lately Spock has been taking every opportunity to remind him of that fact.
“This ends now, do you understand me?” He steps forward, crowding his way into the Vulcan’s space. “I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing, so start talking.”
Spock’s features are very nearly emotionless, but Kirk can see the way his jaw tightens and he can feel the burn of anger behind those dark, stoic eyes. “This venue is not appropriate-”
“Not this time. No.” Kirk steps even closer and lets his own anger and irritation project loud and clear. “You’ve had your chance at appropriate. You’re explaining yourself, and you’re doing it now. You can consider that an order.”
Leather creaks, and Kirk knows that behind his back Spock’s hands are tightening into fists. “She was attempting sexual advances towards my bondmate. I was well within my rights under Vulcan law.”
“What, the right to snap a slave’s neck?”
“Citizen or slave, my proprietary rights remain the same. They extend to far more than the relatively painless death I granted, as well; I simply chose the most expedient option.”
And that is unexpected enough to have Kirk taking a couple of quick steps back. “Wait a second. You’re telling me that you have the right to kill anyone, just for touching me?”
“That is correct.” He’s not imagining the savage satisfaction in Spock’s eyes, knows it because Spock has dropped his shields enough for Kirk to be able to feel it, as well.
Fettered. The word comes to him again, and there’s a brief moment of pure, blinding panic. There’s no doubt in his mind that Spock will do exactly that now that he’s decided not to play nice anymore, will cut a bloody swath through any conquests that Kirk so much as considers. He will cut Kirk off from any possibility of physical contact until his Human bondmate is driven half-mad with unfulfilled need.
But the panic is only momentary, because he’ll be damned if he lets this be the one time he accepts a no-win scenario. His mind is already working, filing away information for later consideration. Even as close to desperate as he is he can see the tactical benefit that such an arrangement could hold for the Empire. And something else occurs to him, something he’s willing to bet Spock was hoping he wouldn’t think of.
“That goes both ways, I’m guessing,” and he catches the infinitesimal narrowing of Spock’s eyes that means he’s right. “And you’d better believe that if I’m not getting laid you sure as shit aren’t either.”
“Your habit of applying Human norms as a universal rule is an astonishingly narrow-minded one.” Condescension is one of the few emotions that Spock allows himself to display openly, and his voice is thick with it now. “Vulcans are required to mate only when the fires of pon farr take us.”
Kirk smiles, because he can see the cheat in Spock’s words. “And Humans are never required. But the need is there. The want. You want me, Spock.” He begins to pace a circle around him, and while Spock may seem to be standing still Kirk can feel the Vulcan’s thoughts tracking his movements as surely as if he were turning along with him. “You wanted me before this whole thing started; that’s why it worked. And I can feel it now.” Spock has made a tactical error in dropping his shields even a fraction; Kirk slides in, twisting past the hasty barriers that his bondmate tries to erect.
“You pretend you don’t feel, that you’re logic and scientific curiosity and nothing else. But you do feel.” He takes a moment to savor it, to wallow in the terrifying depths of emotion hiding behind that Vulcan mask. “You want me so badly,” Kirk says, his voice going rough as the force of Spock’s arousal ignites his own. “Almost as much as you hate me.”
“Were I capable,” Spock says lowly, “I would kill you.”
“Yeah.” Kirk laughs because it’s true, because he can feel it, and it may be hatred but this torrent of emotion is still a victory despite it all. “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it? Well, come on.” His shirt is over his head almost immediately, tossed aside as Spock watches.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re the genius,” Kirk says coyly. “You tell me. It just makes good sense, Spock.” His hands trail down his chest and slowly set to work at the fastenings of his trousers, deliberately teasing. “You want me. Neither one of us is going to let anyone else touch the other, and if you’re keeping me from having sex with anyone else then you’re damn well going to take care of it yourself.”
Spock’s eyes are burning, but his hands are already untying the sash at his waist. “I will not be gentle,” he says on a growl, and Kirk smirks as he toes off his boots.
“Promises, promises.”
That’s as far as he gets before he’s fairly smothered in Vulcan, Spock’s mouth hot and hard and possessive on his. Kirk does his level best to shed as many clothes as he can, as quickly as possible, but Spock’s pants are still on and Kirk’s underwear is tangled around his ankles when he’s shoved onto the bed for the second time that night. He can’t keep track of Spock’s hands, his mouth; it seems that they’re everywhere at once, as though determined to learn him by taste and feel alone. Spock’s gloves are still on, and the feel of butter-soft leather skating over his skin has Kirk so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t simply explode.
Spock is hot, like there’s a supernova beneath his skin, and Kirk thinks he might as well stop pretending that this isn’t what he’s been craving for the past month and a half.
Kirk can’t stop touching, reveling in the feeling of bare skin beneath his hands. He wants more, though; needs it. As amazing as the leather feels he craves the touch of Spock’s fingers, the heat of his hands. He reaches down, tugging at one glove, and before he knows it finds himself facedown on the mattress, his hands pinned painfully behind his back.
“What the-”
He doesn’t get any further than that before Spock’s teeth sink into his shoulder, and Kirk’s words are cut off on a moan as his hips jerk against the bed. Spock is holding his wrists with just one hand; Kirk struggles, because it’s expected, but they both know that Vulcan strength outmatches his easily. The idea makes Kirk’s heart beat even faster. Sweat is breaking out over his skin by the time the bottle of lube from the nightstand lands on the sheets in front of his face.
“Prepare yourself.” Spock’s voice is like sandpaper as he releases Kirk’s wrists. “I have no desire to injure myself when I take you.”
Kirk nearly comes at that, and he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the pillows. “Do it yourself, then,” he says, the challenge in his voice ruined when Spock pulls him back by the hair to hiss in his ear.
“You will prepare yourself. And I will watch.”
Kirk can’t help the desperate moan that escapes him. There’s no point denying how much he loves being watched, not to Spock, and the opportunity to punch a few holes in that solid Vulcan control is too tempting to pass up. He shoves himself up onto his knees when Spock moves back, opening the lube and reaching back with his forehead still pressed against the bed.
He doesn’t touch himself like this often-it’s something he usually only enjoys with a partner, but just the thought of Spock’s eyes on him is more than enough to spur him on. He doesn’t go any easier on himself than he imagines Spock would, either, but immediately shoves two fingers in up to the knuckle. It hurts in the best possible way, and he can feel a flood of lust pour into his head across their mental link. Kirk plays it up, though not by much. There’s less playacting than he would like in the way he moans and shoves his hips back to meet his fingers. He’s just considering adding a third finger when Spock is on him, fully bare now apart from the gloves he still refuses to remove, and flips him roughly onto his back.
Spock buries himself inside in a single harsh thrust and Kirk screams, pain ripping through him, muscles clenching in an instinctive rejection of the sudden invasion. Spock ignores it and begins to move, and fuck, fuck it’s good, hard and rough and brutal. Kirk feels his legs being lifted, pressed against his chest, and then he can do nothing but hold on. No leverage, no control, no recourse but to lie back and take the pounding of Spock’s body into his. It’s all deliciously familiar: the pain and the helplessness, the frantic rutting as though his body is something that Spock craves along with the air being pulled into desperate lungs. The sense of victory in having pushed the Vulcan this far, of bending him to Kirk’s will.
A hand curls around his throat, painful pressure against his collarbone, until Kirk’s eyes focus on the face above his. The instant he does so Spock lifts his free hand, teeth closing over the tips of his glove to tug it off, and it falls to Kirk’s chest as long fingers spider over his face.
Spock invades Kirk’s mind as quickly and harshly as he did his body, thrusting in with a force that steals the Human’s breath. It’s sudden, and violent, and Kirk can’t even begin to imagine a defense against it. Spock is taking him, taking him over, branding himself into Kirk’s thoughts until there is nothing left but him. It’s a claiming, a cleansing, a ruthless campaign against everything that Kirk is, or was, or ever will be.
He almost doesn’t feel the hand that wraps around his cock, smooth leather stroking him to climax. Spock is still sweeping through his mind like fire, burning through everything that’s not him, that’s not them, leaving nothing but ash and the bond that throbs in his mind like a wound. And then . . .
Then everything explodes. Kirk is coming, and it’s not just in his body but in his mind, the force of it doubled as he sweeps Spock along with him. It goes on forever, hollowing him out, leaving him pliant and helpless. He collapses on the bed, sprawled like a rag doll and trying to remember what it feels like to be a human being.
He’s vaguely aware of Spock rising, the sudden absence of his body heat leaving Kirk cold despite the blood still racing furiously through his limbs. It’s some time-minutes? hours?-before he can focus his eyes again. Long enough that Spock has redressed, every hair neatly in place, no hint about his person that he’s just defiled his captain to within an inch of his life.
“This is what it means,” he says smoothly, “to be bonded to a Vulcan. I would advise, for the sake of your own well-being, that you endeavor to remember that in the future.”
He turns on his heel and, without another word or backwards glance, leaves Kirk to piece together the shattered fragments of his mind.
Part 3