FIC: Girls Are Great (2/2)
Title: Girls Are Great
Fandom: Star Trek (probably XI), Kirk/Girl!Spock, Uhura
Disclaimer: ST isn’t mine. There’s one line from Wikipedia and several choice phrases by stultiloquentia in here.
Rating: NC-17, for explicit sex, and very dirty talk
Warnings: Porn. Meta. Porn.
Summary: Girl gets off. Girl thinks about getting off. Girl gets off again. Girl just happens to be Spock, who used to be a guy.
part 1
That wasn’t the end.
Jim hadn’t expected the transporter to get fixed overnight. He hadn’t expected to wake up and find Spock changed back. But he also hadn’t expected for Spock still being a girl to be an issue. He’d expected things to go back to normal, because really, what else was there?
Jim had licked Spock’s vulva, and put his cock in Spock’s cunt, and fucked Spock’s tits. As far as Jim was concerned, that covered the different stuff you could do with girl parts that you couldn’t do with guy parts. Now the novelty had worn off, Jim didn’t see what the big deal was.
There didn’t seem to be much new to explore or discuss. In fact, going on about it seemed to really be drawing things out. They’d already reached the climax (several times). Now came the resolution and conclusion: pussy was neat.
Should be all she wrote.
But it wasn’t, and that just went to show that girls couldn’t just get off. Most of them had to talk about it, too.
“There’s more to female identity than sex,” Uhura said.
“I know that.” Jim frowned. Most of the others in the rec room had cleared out. He was left with Uhura, waiting for chess and Spock. “But we don’t really have to deal with female identity, because Spock isn’t going to stay a girl. Unless he wants to,” Jim realized. He didn’t think he’d mind if Spock wanted to stay a girl. He liked Spock’s pussy about as much as he liked Spock’s cock, and Spock would still be Spock. “That would be a different story.”
Uhura snorted. “Convenient, isn’t it?” she said. “You’ve essentially got a mechanism for enjoyment of the female body, without having to deal with any issues females face. Tie it up with a bow, why don’t you.”
Spock often accused Jim of being sexist, too. Jim tried to understand; he really did, but he’d always thought guys and girls were pretty much the same. They had different strengths and capabilities and reactions to things, but both could be leaders and starship captains and incredible in bed. “Is this about regulation length of skirts?” Jim finally asked.
Uhura gave him a look. “In part.”
“I sort of thought that was a one-liner.” As in: Spock turned into a girl, everyone made jokes about it, Jim had wild crazy sex with him. The end.
“Of course you did,” Uhura said mildly. She was taking out the lyre Spock had loaned her. “You’re not used to thinking of what women face every day. You’re used to thinking of what we face in the bedroom. You’re pretty liberal minded, Captain,” she said, because Jim was beginning to protest. “But do you see how such an emphasis on the difference of our sex organs can place the value on our vaginas rather than women as people? Do you see how that’s a problem?”
“Look,” Jim said in a conciliatory way. “I’m trying really hard not to be sexist here. I can’t help it I like legs, okay? If I had it my way, we’d probably all be wearing skirts.”
Uhura shrugged. “Men should be able to wear skirts, if they want.”
Jim thought that was the most brilliant thing ever.
So he submitted a report to Starfleet about skirts. Meanwhile Scott kept working on the transporter. While wearing a kilt. Spock and Jim had not had sex since Spock first turned into a girl, and Jim was beginning to worry it was because Spock thought he was sexist.
“I have come to the conclusion that I am sexist,” Spock said, when they were alone again in Spock’s quarters.
“You,” Jim said in surprise, sitting on the side of Spock’s bed. “How?”
“I was more emotive during the act of copulation than I have been in the past,” Spock said. He was standing near where he had come in by the door, and had not dimmed the computer’s lights to their evening setting. The light made even his feminine face look harsh. “At first,” Spock went on, “I concluded my altered body chemistry was responsible for such a display.”
“I guess it’s possible,” Jim said. He was going to take off his shoes. He liked to make himself at home here, because Spock did. Spock had his Vulcan things about, the few things he had left, which was actually a lot more décor than you would expect from someone so reserved. Except Spock didn’t look at home. Maybe because he was a girl now. Jim didn’t take off anything. “Girls do have different hormones and stuff,” Jim added. “But I’ve known some girls who don’t emote much; it doesn’t make them any less-girly.”
Spock nodded. “Then you see how I inaccurately attributed my behavior to my femininity. Additionally, I was far more comfortable being submissive to you in this female body than I have ever been in my own male body.”
“That’s definitely not a result of being a girl,” Jim said. Off Spock’s raised brow, Jim explained, “Sure, I’ve know lots of girls who lie back and take it, and really like it that way. But I’ve also known girls who love to be in control. It doesn’t have anything to do with having a dick.”
“Again, I agree,” Spock said. “However, my level of comfort indicates I felt such behavior more ‘natural’ in my female body. The only logical conclusion I can draw is that I hold an unconscious belief that submission is somehow more suitable or permissible in females, and that this unconscious belief influenced my behavior.”
“Oh.” Jim stood up. Somehow sitting on Spock’s bed with Spock standing there looking like that didn’t seem right. “That seems . . . unlikely.”
“That is to say nothing of my debasement,” Spock continued. “You employed terms derogatory to the female sex, such as ‘slut’ and the word ‘cunt’. Furthermore, the act of using my mammary glands to stimulate your sex organ left me in a passive role. I was a mere vehicle for your pleasure.”
The sick feeling coalesced in Jim’s stomach. He hadn’t meant those things that way. For him, sex was just sex. When you were with a willing and equal partner, you did what you wanted and sometimes you did what he wanted, and that was all there was to it. But Spock was always more given to analysis. Jim loved that about him, and yet, certain things didn’t bear scrutiny. “Spock-”
“I enjoyed it.”
Jim’s stomach flip-flopped. “Spock?” he repeated faintly.
Spock tilted his head, the only slightly softer jaw still making a sharp line. “I enjoyed it to an illogical degree, as again, you were providing no direct stimulation. In fact, I wished you to follow the act to its logical end by ejaculating on my face, which you yourself avoided. I derived pleasure from what I perceived as despoilment, violation, and degradation.”
Despite the things Spock was saying, all Jim could feel was concern. Spock’s hands were by his sides in that awkward way he had when he didn’t know what to do with them. They were strong, elegant, capable hands, and Jim had always admired them. Now they almost fidgeting.
Not everything was about sex. Not even when Spock was talking about wanting him to come on his face.
As Jim concentrated on Spock’s hands, Spock went on speaking. “This, my attitude of submission, and my emotionalism all surfaced as a result of my altered sex. Their manifestation at this particular time suggests an unconscious belief in the natural inferiority of my current state.”
“So that’s why you’ve been avoiding me,” Jim said slowly, bringing his eyes up to Spock’s.
“It is logical to rid one’s self of such abhorrent prejudice.” Spock took one step closer. “I have not been avoiding you, Jim.”
“You’ve just been avoiding getting off,” Jim concluded.
“I have been avoiding behavior which will actualize my bigotry.”
Apparently avoiding said behavior meant hovering near the door of his own room when he got off-shift and staying as far away as possible from the bed. “Okay,” Jim said. “A couple things.” He held Spock’s eyes, his jaw was set. “First: you didn’t do any of those things because you have breasts or a vagina now. Let’s get that out of the way.”
“Agreed,” Spock said. His voice was quick and clipped, the way it was when he was tense. “The fact that these tendencies only became apparent with the alteration of my anatomy is what I find problematic.”
“Okay,” Jim said again. “Second. None of these things indicate inferiority. None of them are bad or wrong, or even mean you’re less in control.” He held up a hand to Spock’s opening mouth and closing fists. “Let me talk.”
Spock inclined his head.
“Degradation,” Jim announced. “There’s nothing wrong with liking it. That may be hard to grasp, because humiliation is humiliating-don’t tell me that’s a tautology. You may enjoy the feeling of shame, but you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. Submission,” Jim said next. “It says nothing about your capabilities, or your ability to take control. It is a bedroom preference-which doesn’t have to be consistent, by the way. Emotionalism,” Jim concluded.
“Our views on this topic differ,” Spock interrupted.
“I’m well aware of that. But showing your emotions doesn’t indicate a lack of control. I show you my emotions. It’s not because I can’t control them.”
“You do not choose to.” Spock’s mouth was a flat, unhappy line. For the first time since he’d stepped off the transporter, Jim noticed how ill-fitting the men’s clothes were on Spock’s now womanly body, sagging in the wrong places. Spock’s hair was severe, making his face sharper than ever. Jim thought it was as sexy as Spock had ever looked.
“I don’t know why being as you are now causes you to act this way,” Jim told him. “But since it does, isn’t that an opportunity to explore?”
“I have no wish to explore attitudes which I consider debasing.”
“Why not? Of course you wouldn’t where it could actually debase someone,” Jim said. “But with each other some things are okay. Like asking for what we want and acting on our desires. That’s a part of being equal.”
“It is not a part of being Vulcan.”
“What about being female? You’ve always felt the need to analyze, Spock. Let’s do it. I wanted to find stuff out with you,” Jim admitted. “I’m used to holding all the cards. I feel really comfortable with women, like I know what to do. But I never knew with you. I wanted to show you that even if I’m inexperienced in other things, I’m experienced at this.”
Jim came closer. Spock stayed where he was, staring at him with those dark eyes up from under those straight black bangs. “I know pussy,” Jim said, and shrugged. “I know tits. I know how to get a lot of girls off, and I know what I like. Do you?”
Spock’s eyes widened, his breath almost imperceptibly quickening, but otherwise his only response was, “What has become apparent is that I like things which are demeaning towards women.”
Jim knew he could step closer. Spock’s eyes would get darker, his nostrils would flare. Jim thought he could probably seduce Spock with all this new information; he could demean Spock all up right here and they’d probably both really enjoy themselves.
Jim stayed where he was. “What do you want me to do?”
Nothing changed in Spock’s expression, but something gentled. It wasn’t because he was a girl now. Spock just seemed softer to Jim sometimes. Spock had told Jim on multiple occasions his imagination constructed the expression. To Jim he looked that much more gentle when he told him this. “I would ask that you understand this postponement in our sexual relations while I attempt to reconcile myself to some of these issues,” Spock said. “Time and space, I believe, is the usual human request.”
Jim tried not to look disappointed. “You mean you want to wait until you turn back into a guy?”
“I do not know,” Spock said, but now a glint of humor entered his eyes. “However, I would encourage you to consider this interval without coitus less as a cessation and more as something of an entr’acte. Mr. Scott has installed a subroutine to repair the transporter, which will require beta testing. Before he is finished, my findings may require similar.”
In other words, let me try out my own pussy, and then you can play with it all you want.
Jim brightened immediately, and came closer. “When you put it that way.”
“Time, Jim,” Spock said.
“And space.” Jim kissed him, and left Spock’s room.
Alpha testing commenced on Scotty’s subroutine. Another shift ended; Spock played his lyre while Uhura sang, then he played chess with Jim, and then they didn’t go have sex. Instead Spock excused himself, Uhura stayed picking out things on the lyre, and Jim stayed looking at the pawns and queens. “My report on the uniform regs got pushed,” Jim told her. “Women are allowed to wear the same thing as guys now.”
“You might want to start assuming Communications reads the transmissions we assemble for your review.” Uhura smiled down at her instrument. “Thanks, by the way.”
Jim tried not to look at Uhura’s legs too much. He thought it might get his own legs in trouble, particularly the kneecaps. But she had all five miles of them out today when she could just as easily have put them away. With effort, he brought his eyes up to her face.
Her mouth was quirked at him, she was strumming that lyre, and shit, she looked like Spock. Not Girl Spock either. Raised Eyebrow Spock, Jim, I know what you are thinking, and I think you are an ass, Spock. “Nice gams,” Jim told her deliberately.
Uhura laughed. “I like legs too.”
“Then what’s the big deal?” Jim asked.
“Choice.”
“So you don’t care I’m sort of hoping I’ll be able to see up your skirt when you stand up?”
Uhura rolled her eyes. “You won’t,” she told him, and he didn’t, when she stood up. “If all you can think about is my legs, maybe that’s a problem,” she told him, packing up the lyre again. “But at least I get to choose now who looks at them. Which means if I’m showing them, I want people to look.”
Jim looked at the chessboard, where Spock had sacrificed checkmate in order to queen his pawn. Spock was going a little heavy on the symbolism during this whole entr’acte thing, but Jim was trying to understand. He looked back to Uhura. “It just seems like choosing the uniform that was the default sorta defeats the purpose.”
Uhura raised her brows. “Maybe it subverts it.”
“Always did think subversion was sort of sexy,” Jim offered.
“It’s like this,” Uhura said, looking down at the three-D chess. “Regulation mini-skirts really objectify women. At the same time, in many times and cultures, it’s taboo for women to reveal themselves, to desire and want to be desired, to exhibit their sexuality in any way.”
“So you wear one to turn it around the taboos and stereotypes,” Jim said. “So you can own it.”
“No.” Uhura picked up Jim’s king and tossed it at him, giving him a wicked smile over her shoulder as she walked out. “I wear one because I like mini-skirts.”
When Jim got back from the rec room to his quarters, Spock was waiting for him. He had the lights on evening settings, but the console was up and running. Spock was sitting at it, skilled hand running through some commands when Jim came in. “Hey,” Jim said, “how long are intermissions supposed to be?”
“Three thousand, seventy-one words,” Spock said without turning around.
“Words?”
“I am reading a report contained in the computer files about female sexual behaviors. There are four hundred and eight words remaining.”
Jim went and sat in one of the comfortable chairs, turning it so he could see Spock’s face as Spock scanned the screen. “I have some words for you,” Jim said, after a moment. “They go like this: cunt and slut.” Spock raised his brow, and otherwise kept reading his report. Jim went on, “What if those words are demeaning because women aren’t supposed to want shit?”
Spock turned a fraction, inclining his head toward Jim. “Are you suggesting that by admitting a desire for such vocabulary, I am negating its intent?”
“No.” Jim grinned. “I’m saying you want what you want.”
Spock turned back. “You have been speaking to Lieutenant Uhura.”
“Yeah. Apparently, she doesn’t like pants.”
“The situations are not analogous,” Spock pointed out.
Jim chuckled, leaning back in his chair. Spock’s face was so stern and serious, lit up by that vidscreen. “How many words are left now?”
Instead of replying, Spock flipped a switch. The clear, feminine voice of the computer filled the room. “Unlike the penis, which is homologous to the clitoris, the clitoris does not contain the distal portion of the urethra,” the computer informed them. “Therefore, research concludes the sole function of the clitoris is sexual pleasure.”
“Hot damn,” Jim said. “She wants us to have sex, too.”
“The computer is not a ‘she’.”
Jim shrugged. “If you want to be picky about it, neither are you.”
Spock looked at the computer. The computer glowed back at him. “Your argument is biased, and thus flawed,” Spock said, standing up. He came over to stand before Jim. “You are championing the merits of physical gratification, in hopes that I will agree to coitus, whereby you mean to physically gratify yourself.”
“I’m arguing the merits of physical gratification because it doesn’t have to have any merit whatsoever.” Jim looked up at Spock. “You can just do it. I can just do it. We can do it together, if we want to share what gets us off. If words are what turns you on, I could just make a document and you could call it up whenever you felt like it. For no other reason than I felt like giving it to you, and you felt like getting off.” Jim made an airy gesture at the vidscreen. “I could put it on the computer, if you and her need some time alone together.”
Spock moved closer, still standing, with Jim in that chair. “That will not be necessary.”
“Really? Because I think the most logical way of finding out what gets you off is by getting you off, so maybe you should try it.” Spock was coming closer, so Jim had to tilt his head back to look at him.
“I agree,” Spock said. “The interval is over.”
Spock was between Jim’s legs, standing over him, looking down at him, and the only thing Jim could think to say was, “Oh.”
“I wish to choose the words,” Spock said. “I shall choose what you will call me.”
“Okay,” Jim started to say.
“I am not finished.” Spock put a hand in Jim’s hair, pulling back Jim’s head to look him in the eyes. “I will not submit to you unless I choose. I will not emote unless I choose.”
Oh holy fuck, except Jim couldn’t resist the quip. “I won’t come on your face unless you choose?”
“We are in agreement.” Spock let go of his hair.
“Hell yeah,” breathed Jim. He thought Spock would probably swat his hands away if he put his hands on his brand new hips. So Jim put his hands on Spock’s brand new hips, because that was hot. “You gonna find out what turns you on?” he asked Spock. “You gonna get yourself off?”
“Yes,” Spock said, and pulled away. “You may watch.”
“Shit.” Jim watched with round eyes as Spock backed up from the chair. “You’re going to-”
Spock took off his shirt with the same quick efficiency he could always employ to drop a human opponent to his knees. His breasts were free and rested naturally against Spock’s chest; Spock made no effort to cover them. He folded his shirt neatly and was already beginning on his pants.
When Spock was naked, he hesitated for a moment, then went to the bed. Jim was in the chair facing it, watching avidly as Spock sat on the bed and appeared to take stock of his own body. “Fuck,” Jim said, and he was already hard, “fuck, you’ve got fabulous tits.”
“They appear to be sufficient,” Spock said, and lifted one of them. He was looking curiously down at it as he tested and squeezed, his other hand coming up. “I mean to determine the best way to stimulate the nipple,” he said, and Jim just kept getting harder.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.
“I do not see how that ancient Earth deity factors into anything.”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “Don’t stop touching yourself.”
Spock did his little frown, which Jim had learned was the minute crease between his brow, and let go of his breath. The line deepened a fraction as Spock stared down. “The weight of these appears inconvenient,” he observed, the flesh swinging slightly.
Jim dug his hand into his thigh. “Be careful with them.”
“Why?” Spock said. “They are mine.”
Then he was cupping both of them with both hands, squeezing them together, and Jim said, “Christ,” again.
Then Spock’s focus drifted downward. His hands slid from his breasts again, and he spread his legs. His hand stopped at his pubic hair, and he looked at Jim. “I do not feel the excess of secretion as I did before,” he observed. Long pale fingers dipped in to check, and Jim had to adjust himself in his chair. “The vulva is only slightly damp, causing contact to be-” The line appeared between Spock’s brows again, then quickly disappeared. Spock took his hand away. “It is moderately uncomfortable.”
Jim’s legs were open wide now, to give his dick the most room. It was more than moderately uncomfortable. “You need more foreplay,” he told Spock, swallowing. “Sometimes it doesn’t-you know there’s lube in the drawer.”
Spock’s eyes slanted directly to Jim’s cock, and then over to the drawer. Then he looked back down at himself, the thatch of dark kinky hair and what his wide open legs revealed. “The first time, I did not require additional lubricant. In fact, there was such an excess of moisture, it seemed possible that I would be unable to generate the necessary friction for my own stimulation.”
“God, Spock, touch your tits again.”
Spock raised a brow, then slowly moved his hand up to lift a breast for Jim again.
“Pinch your nipple with the other hand,” Jim told him. “Not too hard, just like that.” Spock was complying, his hands at his breast while he looked down at it with perplexed interest. “Scrape your nail around the-not the middle, you’re going to hurt yourself-around the edge of-”
“It’s called the areola.”
“I know, shit, Spock, just like that. Now you keep those fingers fondling that nipple, but bring your other hand up to your mouth, put two fingers in-”
Spock’s fingers were paused at his lips. “You do realize by directing my actions, you are removing agency from me.”
“Suck on them,” Jim said. “It’s fucking hot.”
“The point of this exercise is to determine the behaviors which might stimulate me, which I have not allowed myself the opportunity to explore as of yet.”
With effort, Jim looked away from where Spock’s fingers were still playing with his nipple, back up to Spock’s face. “Yeah,” Jim agreed. “It’s to get you off. Put your fingers in.”
Spock held Jim’s eyes, opened his mouth, and put his fingers in.
Jim heard himself make a sound in his throat somewhere, so he had to touch himself.
Spock’s eyes immediately flew down to that spot of contact, Jim’s hand on his dick through his pants. Spock pushed his fingers in his mouth more deeply, and then Jim could see the almost invisible flutter of lashes, the almost not-there indication of Spock’s eyes rolling slightly back, the indication of Spock fucking loving that what he was doing was getting Jim off. “Keep sucking,” Jim told him, hand still on his cock, and Spock sucked harder.
“Now take them out,” Jim directed. “Touch your other tit with them. The one you haven’t touched yet. It’s going to-” Spock’s eyes flew open wide as he did as Jim said. “-be cold. Spread it around, get it wet,” Jim said.
Spock did it. He was touching both breasts gently with both hands, fingers gently swirling and pinching and stroking the nipples. His expression didn’t seem to change, and yet there were tells-the loosening jaw, widening eyes, and Jim already knew that meant Spock was getting wet. The point seemed proven when Spock’s hand drifted down from a breast, over the abdomen, between his legs.
Jim’s mouth was dry, and he found himself craning forward; he could see the back of Spock’s hand, the wrist, fingers dipping down past the hair. But as Spock touched himself, Jim could read more tells, of Spock perplexed, slightly displeased.
“What’s up?” Jim asked. His cock was so hard in his pants it hurt, but his voice was soft.
“Vulcan finger-tips are very sensitive. Combined with the number of nerve-endings situated in the clitoris-”
“Shit,” Jim said, because Spock had just said ‘clitoris’. Jim winced. “Too much. Use the backs of your fingers. And your knuckles.”
Spock’s hand changed its position, and then began to move. Spock was looking down at it, his breathing harder. “Effective,” he whispered, and it was Spock petting his own pussy, his hand between his legs and his eyes staring down at his cunt like it was the most fascinating, incomprehensible thing he had ever seen.
Jim shifted in his chair. “Now put your fingers in your-” He cut himself off from saying the words he was going to say. “Spock?” he asked.
Spock’s hand almost imperceptibly quickened its stroking motion. “You may say it,” Spock said.
“Spock,” Jim groaned. “You should say it. You like it, don’t you, you want it, don’t you, so you just come on and say it.”
Spock’s mouth actually fell open. “You wish for me to insert my fingers into my cunt.”
Jim’s hand closed tight around the bulge at his crotch. “God, Spock, that’s so nice.”
Spock clamped his mouth closed, pressing his lips together, an obvious ache in the expression as his hand moved between his legs. His eyes were fixed on Jim, hungry and dark. “You wish me to perform intercourse with my own phalanges.”
“Yeah, shit, you just keep on going like that.”
“Human males seem . . .” Spock took a breath, “preternaturally concerned with penetration.”
Spock couldn’t seem to look away from Jim’s hand on his cock, and Jim’s hand tightened further as a result. “You’re damn right I am.”
“The stimulation of the clitoris will probably be sufficient to induce orgasm.”
“Probably?” Jim wheezed out a laugh. “You got the odds on that?”
Spock’s breath caught, his eyes closing briefly. Must’ve gotten in a nice stroke, and then his eyes flew open again to fix on Jim. “Seventy eight point three six.”
“Yeah.” Jim nodded. “Now put your phalanges in that cunt.”
Spock’s hand at his pussy faltered, and his hips twitched. There was that confusion in his eyes again as he looked up from his pussy to Jim. “It appears . . . a facet of my desire for submission is a partiality for direct instruction.”
“You’re so good,” Jim told him. “You’re perfect. Now put those fingers in, like I said. Use the heel of your hand on that nice clit.”
And then Spock did it, and there was Spock, riding his hand on the bed, his legs wide open for Jim, his other hand wet from his own cunt and touching his nipples again, circling them just like Jim had told him. That was around when Spock stopped paying attention to Jim, lost in himself, in that body, in the feel of his own fingers inside of him, his own fingers tracing his breast. Spock’s mouth was sagging open in a way that was just asking for cock, and Jim had to hold tightly onto himself to stop from coming over the fact that right now Spock looked like the most gorgeous cocksucker ever.
Spock made a little sound.
“You’re good,” Jim said again.
“Yes.”
“You’re so wet right now,” Jim told him.
“Affirmative.”
“You’re gonna come,” Jim prodded.
“I do not seem able to-I am almost-”
He was almost, but he wasn’t there, and Jim wanted to help, because Spock was emoting now. He was allowing himself to emote and the emotion was frustration. It wasn’t a broad expression, but Jim could see it in the slight knitting of the brows and the achy little movements of that hand at his cunt, and it was Spock jerking himself off in front of him and Jim couldn’t help it, he started to get up.
“Stay seated,” Spock hissed.
He actually hissed, so Jim sat back down. “Put more fingers in,” Jim told him. “Push them deeper; bring your other hand down for your clit so you can put your other fingers farther up your cunt.”
Spock did as Jim said, and released another little breath.
“Good, now, you’ve got both hands working you,” Jim said, and it was beautiful. The slant of Spock’s arms aimed straight for his pussy made a vee that pushed his breasts together, and those fingers were working hard at that cunt, pushing up inside and stroking at his clit.
“You’re so good,” Jim told him. Spock was kneeling, and Jim knew Spock wanted to explore himself and this was supposed to be about female desire, or something like that, but Jim couldn’t help feeling like Spock was on display, just for him, touching himself just for Jim, getting himself off just for Jim. That was probably sexist also, except Jim wondered if maybe that was what Spock really found attractive about this too, and whether that made it any more or less sexist. “You can do it,” Jim said. “You’re so close, sweetheart.”
“At this juncture,” Spock said, breathing hard, “I believe the term ‘slut’ is applicable.”
Considering the things Jim had been thinking, that was just wrong in so many ways, and Jim didn’t want Spock to think-
“Jim,” Spock said. His eyes fixed on Jim, desperate and full of lust. Maybe he looked more wanting than Jim had ever seen him because he was a girl: maybe the more delicate features defined the expression, or maybe Spock was more desperate because he just didn’t know how to work that new anatomy to bring himself to orgasm. But maybe it was just that Spock was allowing himself to want. Allowing Jim to see it.
“But you’re such a good slut,” Jim told him immediately. “Got your hands in your pussy, you’re going to come all over them, aren’t you, such a pretty slut, touching yourself for me, you’re going to come for me.”
“That,” said Spock, and bucked down into his own hands. Spock made no more sound except for a huff of breath each time his hips twitched down onto his hands. After several of these twitches he slowed, then stopped. The wince in his expression was so slight, Jim thought only he would have been able to see it, but Spock did wince, and took his hands away. He lay back on the bed.
Jim stayed in his chair. There was a brief pause. Then, “Can I fuck you, now?” he said.
Spock looked over at Jim, the turn of his head almost lazy on the bed, and Spock wasn’t lazy. Dark eyes drifted over Jim, Jim’s tight expression and tighter hand on his cock. Then the dark eyes got darker, and Spock let something show in his face that Jim read as hunger. “I am wet enough to accommodate you,” Spock said. “And previously you proved the ability of the female anatomy to achieve multiple orgasms. Therefore, you may.”
“Fuck.” Jim stood up, coming toward the bed. “Get on your knees.”
“In fact, I do not believe the vagina has ceased to secrete.” Spock paused thoughtfully. “The muscle will also be looser.”
“Shit,” Jim said, and grabbed him. He grabbed him and got him on his knees, and Spock didn’t make a sound, but complied quickly, and Jim said, “honey, such a good cunt,” and he didn’t know if making Spock get on his knees so he could do him from behind helped in any way with the issues Spock was having about being sexist, but Jesus, Spock was kneeling for him, waiting for him facing the wall without a protest, so wet and ready for it, all of which caused Jim to repeat, “honey, you’re such a good little cunt,” as he pushed into Spock from behind.
“Perhaps we might examine your own predilection for that word, irregardless of my own,” Spock began, and Jim could tell he had no intent to finish, the fucker was teasing him, and it almost made him wish he could have his Spock’s balls back because Jim would fucking twist them for that, and Spock would throw him across the room, but he respected women, he really really did, so instead Jim just said,
“No, we can’t. You like it when I’m filthy. Hold onto the headboard.”
He was fucking Spock now from behind, long, slow strokes, and Spock was as wet as he’d said and wide open. Jim loved the feel of his ass, a little rounder and plumper, maybe less hairy, but it was still Spock’s ass and even though this cunt was perfect, Jim still sort of missed it, missed too the feel of Spock’s cock filling him.
“I have been contemplating this issue,” Spock was trying to tell him. “There is no logical reason to be aroused by language. It provides no physical stimulus.”
“No logical reason,” Jim grunted. “Got it. Won’t tell you how tight you are. How sopping wet you are for it. I won’t tell you what a whore you are, for it, Spock, how you love getting fucked by this big, hard, cock. Not gonna tell you’re a good little honey, nice tight sweet piece of ass, got a good tight cunt, got a sweet cunt even when you’ve got a cock, you’re a whore for it even when you’ve got a cock, just won’t admit it, but you’ve got to own up to it, now, don’t you, Spock, because you’re just so fucking wet-”
“Jim,” Spock said, “Jim, affirmative-”
Because he really was just that wet for it, so wet even Jim’s thighs were wet, and he still had most of his clothes on which meant Spock was so wet and messy he was staining Jim’s pants, and Jim said, “You’re a good little girl, aren’t you, you’re such a good little girl-”
And Spock came, the word, “Fascinating,” on his lips, because that was without a doubt his favorite word, so obviously the one he said when he got off; it was what got him off, being so fascinated by Jim and his own anatomy and the word cunt, et al.
Jim loved him for it, he adored him, the way the man was so fascinated by everything, it was no wonder he was a slut. Spock just wanted to know it all, and experience it all, and somehow it was that that was making Jim come, even as he kept whispering dirty filthy things.
They lay there afterwards, Spock allowing Jim to hold him again. Jim was sleepy, but he was afraid Spock would get spooked again, or start thinking about feminist existentialism, or something, so he was staying awake just in case. Then Spock turned in his arms, and Jim saw his first officer was asleep. No more analysis, Jim guessed. No more taking things apart and putting them back together, no more observations or ambiguous perceptions. No more words.
Jim found he sort of missed it. He was glad there would always be tomorrow.
Fandom: Star Trek (probably XI), Kirk/Girl!Spock, Uhura
Disclaimer: ST isn’t mine. There’s one line from Wikipedia and several choice phrases by stultiloquentia in here.
Rating: NC-17, for explicit sex, and very dirty talk
Warnings: Porn. Meta. Porn.
Summary: Girl gets off. Girl thinks about getting off. Girl gets off again. Girl just happens to be Spock, who used to be a guy.
part 1
That wasn’t the end.
Jim hadn’t expected the transporter to get fixed overnight. He hadn’t expected to wake up and find Spock changed back. But he also hadn’t expected for Spock still being a girl to be an issue. He’d expected things to go back to normal, because really, what else was there?
Jim had licked Spock’s vulva, and put his cock in Spock’s cunt, and fucked Spock’s tits. As far as Jim was concerned, that covered the different stuff you could do with girl parts that you couldn’t do with guy parts. Now the novelty had worn off, Jim didn’t see what the big deal was.
There didn’t seem to be much new to explore or discuss. In fact, going on about it seemed to really be drawing things out. They’d already reached the climax (several times). Now came the resolution and conclusion: pussy was neat.
Should be all she wrote.
But it wasn’t, and that just went to show that girls couldn’t just get off. Most of them had to talk about it, too.
“There’s more to female identity than sex,” Uhura said.
“I know that.” Jim frowned. Most of the others in the rec room had cleared out. He was left with Uhura, waiting for chess and Spock. “But we don’t really have to deal with female identity, because Spock isn’t going to stay a girl. Unless he wants to,” Jim realized. He didn’t think he’d mind if Spock wanted to stay a girl. He liked Spock’s pussy about as much as he liked Spock’s cock, and Spock would still be Spock. “That would be a different story.”
Uhura snorted. “Convenient, isn’t it?” she said. “You’ve essentially got a mechanism for enjoyment of the female body, without having to deal with any issues females face. Tie it up with a bow, why don’t you.”
Spock often accused Jim of being sexist, too. Jim tried to understand; he really did, but he’d always thought guys and girls were pretty much the same. They had different strengths and capabilities and reactions to things, but both could be leaders and starship captains and incredible in bed. “Is this about regulation length of skirts?” Jim finally asked.
Uhura gave him a look. “In part.”
“I sort of thought that was a one-liner.” As in: Spock turned into a girl, everyone made jokes about it, Jim had wild crazy sex with him. The end.
“Of course you did,” Uhura said mildly. She was taking out the lyre Spock had loaned her. “You’re not used to thinking of what women face every day. You’re used to thinking of what we face in the bedroom. You’re pretty liberal minded, Captain,” she said, because Jim was beginning to protest. “But do you see how such an emphasis on the difference of our sex organs can place the value on our vaginas rather than women as people? Do you see how that’s a problem?”
“Look,” Jim said in a conciliatory way. “I’m trying really hard not to be sexist here. I can’t help it I like legs, okay? If I had it my way, we’d probably all be wearing skirts.”
Uhura shrugged. “Men should be able to wear skirts, if they want.”
Jim thought that was the most brilliant thing ever.
So he submitted a report to Starfleet about skirts. Meanwhile Scott kept working on the transporter. While wearing a kilt. Spock and Jim had not had sex since Spock first turned into a girl, and Jim was beginning to worry it was because Spock thought he was sexist.
“I have come to the conclusion that I am sexist,” Spock said, when they were alone again in Spock’s quarters.
“You,” Jim said in surprise, sitting on the side of Spock’s bed. “How?”
“I was more emotive during the act of copulation than I have been in the past,” Spock said. He was standing near where he had come in by the door, and had not dimmed the computer’s lights to their evening setting. The light made even his feminine face look harsh. “At first,” Spock went on, “I concluded my altered body chemistry was responsible for such a display.”
“I guess it’s possible,” Jim said. He was going to take off his shoes. He liked to make himself at home here, because Spock did. Spock had his Vulcan things about, the few things he had left, which was actually a lot more décor than you would expect from someone so reserved. Except Spock didn’t look at home. Maybe because he was a girl now. Jim didn’t take off anything. “Girls do have different hormones and stuff,” Jim added. “But I’ve known some girls who don’t emote much; it doesn’t make them any less-girly.”
Spock nodded. “Then you see how I inaccurately attributed my behavior to my femininity. Additionally, I was far more comfortable being submissive to you in this female body than I have ever been in my own male body.”
“That’s definitely not a result of being a girl,” Jim said. Off Spock’s raised brow, Jim explained, “Sure, I’ve know lots of girls who lie back and take it, and really like it that way. But I’ve also known girls who love to be in control. It doesn’t have anything to do with having a dick.”
“Again, I agree,” Spock said. “However, my level of comfort indicates I felt such behavior more ‘natural’ in my female body. The only logical conclusion I can draw is that I hold an unconscious belief that submission is somehow more suitable or permissible in females, and that this unconscious belief influenced my behavior.”
“Oh.” Jim stood up. Somehow sitting on Spock’s bed with Spock standing there looking like that didn’t seem right. “That seems . . . unlikely.”
“That is to say nothing of my debasement,” Spock continued. “You employed terms derogatory to the female sex, such as ‘slut’ and the word ‘cunt’. Furthermore, the act of using my mammary glands to stimulate your sex organ left me in a passive role. I was a mere vehicle for your pleasure.”
The sick feeling coalesced in Jim’s stomach. He hadn’t meant those things that way. For him, sex was just sex. When you were with a willing and equal partner, you did what you wanted and sometimes you did what he wanted, and that was all there was to it. But Spock was always more given to analysis. Jim loved that about him, and yet, certain things didn’t bear scrutiny. “Spock-”
“I enjoyed it.”
Jim’s stomach flip-flopped. “Spock?” he repeated faintly.
Spock tilted his head, the only slightly softer jaw still making a sharp line. “I enjoyed it to an illogical degree, as again, you were providing no direct stimulation. In fact, I wished you to follow the act to its logical end by ejaculating on my face, which you yourself avoided. I derived pleasure from what I perceived as despoilment, violation, and degradation.”
Despite the things Spock was saying, all Jim could feel was concern. Spock’s hands were by his sides in that awkward way he had when he didn’t know what to do with them. They were strong, elegant, capable hands, and Jim had always admired them. Now they almost fidgeting.
Not everything was about sex. Not even when Spock was talking about wanting him to come on his face.
As Jim concentrated on Spock’s hands, Spock went on speaking. “This, my attitude of submission, and my emotionalism all surfaced as a result of my altered sex. Their manifestation at this particular time suggests an unconscious belief in the natural inferiority of my current state.”
“So that’s why you’ve been avoiding me,” Jim said slowly, bringing his eyes up to Spock’s.
“It is logical to rid one’s self of such abhorrent prejudice.” Spock took one step closer. “I have not been avoiding you, Jim.”
“You’ve just been avoiding getting off,” Jim concluded.
“I have been avoiding behavior which will actualize my bigotry.”
Apparently avoiding said behavior meant hovering near the door of his own room when he got off-shift and staying as far away as possible from the bed. “Okay,” Jim said. “A couple things.” He held Spock’s eyes, his jaw was set. “First: you didn’t do any of those things because you have breasts or a vagina now. Let’s get that out of the way.”
“Agreed,” Spock said. His voice was quick and clipped, the way it was when he was tense. “The fact that these tendencies only became apparent with the alteration of my anatomy is what I find problematic.”
“Okay,” Jim said again. “Second. None of these things indicate inferiority. None of them are bad or wrong, or even mean you’re less in control.” He held up a hand to Spock’s opening mouth and closing fists. “Let me talk.”
Spock inclined his head.
“Degradation,” Jim announced. “There’s nothing wrong with liking it. That may be hard to grasp, because humiliation is humiliating-don’t tell me that’s a tautology. You may enjoy the feeling of shame, but you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. Submission,” Jim said next. “It says nothing about your capabilities, or your ability to take control. It is a bedroom preference-which doesn’t have to be consistent, by the way. Emotionalism,” Jim concluded.
“Our views on this topic differ,” Spock interrupted.
“I’m well aware of that. But showing your emotions doesn’t indicate a lack of control. I show you my emotions. It’s not because I can’t control them.”
“You do not choose to.” Spock’s mouth was a flat, unhappy line. For the first time since he’d stepped off the transporter, Jim noticed how ill-fitting the men’s clothes were on Spock’s now womanly body, sagging in the wrong places. Spock’s hair was severe, making his face sharper than ever. Jim thought it was as sexy as Spock had ever looked.
“I don’t know why being as you are now causes you to act this way,” Jim told him. “But since it does, isn’t that an opportunity to explore?”
“I have no wish to explore attitudes which I consider debasing.”
“Why not? Of course you wouldn’t where it could actually debase someone,” Jim said. “But with each other some things are okay. Like asking for what we want and acting on our desires. That’s a part of being equal.”
“It is not a part of being Vulcan.”
“What about being female? You’ve always felt the need to analyze, Spock. Let’s do it. I wanted to find stuff out with you,” Jim admitted. “I’m used to holding all the cards. I feel really comfortable with women, like I know what to do. But I never knew with you. I wanted to show you that even if I’m inexperienced in other things, I’m experienced at this.”
Jim came closer. Spock stayed where he was, staring at him with those dark eyes up from under those straight black bangs. “I know pussy,” Jim said, and shrugged. “I know tits. I know how to get a lot of girls off, and I know what I like. Do you?”
Spock’s eyes widened, his breath almost imperceptibly quickening, but otherwise his only response was, “What has become apparent is that I like things which are demeaning towards women.”
Jim knew he could step closer. Spock’s eyes would get darker, his nostrils would flare. Jim thought he could probably seduce Spock with all this new information; he could demean Spock all up right here and they’d probably both really enjoy themselves.
Jim stayed where he was. “What do you want me to do?”
Nothing changed in Spock’s expression, but something gentled. It wasn’t because he was a girl now. Spock just seemed softer to Jim sometimes. Spock had told Jim on multiple occasions his imagination constructed the expression. To Jim he looked that much more gentle when he told him this. “I would ask that you understand this postponement in our sexual relations while I attempt to reconcile myself to some of these issues,” Spock said. “Time and space, I believe, is the usual human request.”
Jim tried not to look disappointed. “You mean you want to wait until you turn back into a guy?”
“I do not know,” Spock said, but now a glint of humor entered his eyes. “However, I would encourage you to consider this interval without coitus less as a cessation and more as something of an entr’acte. Mr. Scott has installed a subroutine to repair the transporter, which will require beta testing. Before he is finished, my findings may require similar.”
In other words, let me try out my own pussy, and then you can play with it all you want.
Jim brightened immediately, and came closer. “When you put it that way.”
“Time, Jim,” Spock said.
“And space.” Jim kissed him, and left Spock’s room.
Alpha testing commenced on Scotty’s subroutine. Another shift ended; Spock played his lyre while Uhura sang, then he played chess with Jim, and then they didn’t go have sex. Instead Spock excused himself, Uhura stayed picking out things on the lyre, and Jim stayed looking at the pawns and queens. “My report on the uniform regs got pushed,” Jim told her. “Women are allowed to wear the same thing as guys now.”
“You might want to start assuming Communications reads the transmissions we assemble for your review.” Uhura smiled down at her instrument. “Thanks, by the way.”
Jim tried not to look at Uhura’s legs too much. He thought it might get his own legs in trouble, particularly the kneecaps. But she had all five miles of them out today when she could just as easily have put them away. With effort, he brought his eyes up to her face.
Her mouth was quirked at him, she was strumming that lyre, and shit, she looked like Spock. Not Girl Spock either. Raised Eyebrow Spock, Jim, I know what you are thinking, and I think you are an ass, Spock. “Nice gams,” Jim told her deliberately.
Uhura laughed. “I like legs too.”
“Then what’s the big deal?” Jim asked.
“Choice.”
“So you don’t care I’m sort of hoping I’ll be able to see up your skirt when you stand up?”
Uhura rolled her eyes. “You won’t,” she told him, and he didn’t, when she stood up. “If all you can think about is my legs, maybe that’s a problem,” she told him, packing up the lyre again. “But at least I get to choose now who looks at them. Which means if I’m showing them, I want people to look.”
Jim looked at the chessboard, where Spock had sacrificed checkmate in order to queen his pawn. Spock was going a little heavy on the symbolism during this whole entr’acte thing, but Jim was trying to understand. He looked back to Uhura. “It just seems like choosing the uniform that was the default sorta defeats the purpose.”
Uhura raised her brows. “Maybe it subverts it.”
“Always did think subversion was sort of sexy,” Jim offered.
“It’s like this,” Uhura said, looking down at the three-D chess. “Regulation mini-skirts really objectify women. At the same time, in many times and cultures, it’s taboo for women to reveal themselves, to desire and want to be desired, to exhibit their sexuality in any way.”
“So you wear one to turn it around the taboos and stereotypes,” Jim said. “So you can own it.”
“No.” Uhura picked up Jim’s king and tossed it at him, giving him a wicked smile over her shoulder as she walked out. “I wear one because I like mini-skirts.”
When Jim got back from the rec room to his quarters, Spock was waiting for him. He had the lights on evening settings, but the console was up and running. Spock was sitting at it, skilled hand running through some commands when Jim came in. “Hey,” Jim said, “how long are intermissions supposed to be?”
“Three thousand, seventy-one words,” Spock said without turning around.
“Words?”
“I am reading a report contained in the computer files about female sexual behaviors. There are four hundred and eight words remaining.”
Jim went and sat in one of the comfortable chairs, turning it so he could see Spock’s face as Spock scanned the screen. “I have some words for you,” Jim said, after a moment. “They go like this: cunt and slut.” Spock raised his brow, and otherwise kept reading his report. Jim went on, “What if those words are demeaning because women aren’t supposed to want shit?”
Spock turned a fraction, inclining his head toward Jim. “Are you suggesting that by admitting a desire for such vocabulary, I am negating its intent?”
“No.” Jim grinned. “I’m saying you want what you want.”
Spock turned back. “You have been speaking to Lieutenant Uhura.”
“Yeah. Apparently, she doesn’t like pants.”
“The situations are not analogous,” Spock pointed out.
Jim chuckled, leaning back in his chair. Spock’s face was so stern and serious, lit up by that vidscreen. “How many words are left now?”
Instead of replying, Spock flipped a switch. The clear, feminine voice of the computer filled the room. “Unlike the penis, which is homologous to the clitoris, the clitoris does not contain the distal portion of the urethra,” the computer informed them. “Therefore, research concludes the sole function of the clitoris is sexual pleasure.”
“Hot damn,” Jim said. “She wants us to have sex, too.”
“The computer is not a ‘she’.”
Jim shrugged. “If you want to be picky about it, neither are you.”
Spock looked at the computer. The computer glowed back at him. “Your argument is biased, and thus flawed,” Spock said, standing up. He came over to stand before Jim. “You are championing the merits of physical gratification, in hopes that I will agree to coitus, whereby you mean to physically gratify yourself.”
“I’m arguing the merits of physical gratification because it doesn’t have to have any merit whatsoever.” Jim looked up at Spock. “You can just do it. I can just do it. We can do it together, if we want to share what gets us off. If words are what turns you on, I could just make a document and you could call it up whenever you felt like it. For no other reason than I felt like giving it to you, and you felt like getting off.” Jim made an airy gesture at the vidscreen. “I could put it on the computer, if you and her need some time alone together.”
Spock moved closer, still standing, with Jim in that chair. “That will not be necessary.”
“Really? Because I think the most logical way of finding out what gets you off is by getting you off, so maybe you should try it.” Spock was coming closer, so Jim had to tilt his head back to look at him.
“I agree,” Spock said. “The interval is over.”
Spock was between Jim’s legs, standing over him, looking down at him, and the only thing Jim could think to say was, “Oh.”
“I wish to choose the words,” Spock said. “I shall choose what you will call me.”
“Okay,” Jim started to say.
“I am not finished.” Spock put a hand in Jim’s hair, pulling back Jim’s head to look him in the eyes. “I will not submit to you unless I choose. I will not emote unless I choose.”
Oh holy fuck, except Jim couldn’t resist the quip. “I won’t come on your face unless you choose?”
“We are in agreement.” Spock let go of his hair.
“Hell yeah,” breathed Jim. He thought Spock would probably swat his hands away if he put his hands on his brand new hips. So Jim put his hands on Spock’s brand new hips, because that was hot. “You gonna find out what turns you on?” he asked Spock. “You gonna get yourself off?”
“Yes,” Spock said, and pulled away. “You may watch.”
“Shit.” Jim watched with round eyes as Spock backed up from the chair. “You’re going to-”
Spock took off his shirt with the same quick efficiency he could always employ to drop a human opponent to his knees. His breasts were free and rested naturally against Spock’s chest; Spock made no effort to cover them. He folded his shirt neatly and was already beginning on his pants.
When Spock was naked, he hesitated for a moment, then went to the bed. Jim was in the chair facing it, watching avidly as Spock sat on the bed and appeared to take stock of his own body. “Fuck,” Jim said, and he was already hard, “fuck, you’ve got fabulous tits.”
“They appear to be sufficient,” Spock said, and lifted one of them. He was looking curiously down at it as he tested and squeezed, his other hand coming up. “I mean to determine the best way to stimulate the nipple,” he said, and Jim just kept getting harder.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.
“I do not see how that ancient Earth deity factors into anything.”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “Don’t stop touching yourself.”
Spock did his little frown, which Jim had learned was the minute crease between his brow, and let go of his breath. The line deepened a fraction as Spock stared down. “The weight of these appears inconvenient,” he observed, the flesh swinging slightly.
Jim dug his hand into his thigh. “Be careful with them.”
“Why?” Spock said. “They are mine.”
Then he was cupping both of them with both hands, squeezing them together, and Jim said, “Christ,” again.
Then Spock’s focus drifted downward. His hands slid from his breasts again, and he spread his legs. His hand stopped at his pubic hair, and he looked at Jim. “I do not feel the excess of secretion as I did before,” he observed. Long pale fingers dipped in to check, and Jim had to adjust himself in his chair. “The vulva is only slightly damp, causing contact to be-” The line appeared between Spock’s brows again, then quickly disappeared. Spock took his hand away. “It is moderately uncomfortable.”
Jim’s legs were open wide now, to give his dick the most room. It was more than moderately uncomfortable. “You need more foreplay,” he told Spock, swallowing. “Sometimes it doesn’t-you know there’s lube in the drawer.”
Spock’s eyes slanted directly to Jim’s cock, and then over to the drawer. Then he looked back down at himself, the thatch of dark kinky hair and what his wide open legs revealed. “The first time, I did not require additional lubricant. In fact, there was such an excess of moisture, it seemed possible that I would be unable to generate the necessary friction for my own stimulation.”
“God, Spock, touch your tits again.”
Spock raised a brow, then slowly moved his hand up to lift a breast for Jim again.
“Pinch your nipple with the other hand,” Jim told him. “Not too hard, just like that.” Spock was complying, his hands at his breast while he looked down at it with perplexed interest. “Scrape your nail around the-not the middle, you’re going to hurt yourself-around the edge of-”
“It’s called the areola.”
“I know, shit, Spock, just like that. Now you keep those fingers fondling that nipple, but bring your other hand up to your mouth, put two fingers in-”
Spock’s fingers were paused at his lips. “You do realize by directing my actions, you are removing agency from me.”
“Suck on them,” Jim said. “It’s fucking hot.”
“The point of this exercise is to determine the behaviors which might stimulate me, which I have not allowed myself the opportunity to explore as of yet.”
With effort, Jim looked away from where Spock’s fingers were still playing with his nipple, back up to Spock’s face. “Yeah,” Jim agreed. “It’s to get you off. Put your fingers in.”
Spock held Jim’s eyes, opened his mouth, and put his fingers in.
Jim heard himself make a sound in his throat somewhere, so he had to touch himself.
Spock’s eyes immediately flew down to that spot of contact, Jim’s hand on his dick through his pants. Spock pushed his fingers in his mouth more deeply, and then Jim could see the almost invisible flutter of lashes, the almost not-there indication of Spock’s eyes rolling slightly back, the indication of Spock fucking loving that what he was doing was getting Jim off. “Keep sucking,” Jim told him, hand still on his cock, and Spock sucked harder.
“Now take them out,” Jim directed. “Touch your other tit with them. The one you haven’t touched yet. It’s going to-” Spock’s eyes flew open wide as he did as Jim said. “-be cold. Spread it around, get it wet,” Jim said.
Spock did it. He was touching both breasts gently with both hands, fingers gently swirling and pinching and stroking the nipples. His expression didn’t seem to change, and yet there were tells-the loosening jaw, widening eyes, and Jim already knew that meant Spock was getting wet. The point seemed proven when Spock’s hand drifted down from a breast, over the abdomen, between his legs.
Jim’s mouth was dry, and he found himself craning forward; he could see the back of Spock’s hand, the wrist, fingers dipping down past the hair. But as Spock touched himself, Jim could read more tells, of Spock perplexed, slightly displeased.
“What’s up?” Jim asked. His cock was so hard in his pants it hurt, but his voice was soft.
“Vulcan finger-tips are very sensitive. Combined with the number of nerve-endings situated in the clitoris-”
“Shit,” Jim said, because Spock had just said ‘clitoris’. Jim winced. “Too much. Use the backs of your fingers. And your knuckles.”
Spock’s hand changed its position, and then began to move. Spock was looking down at it, his breathing harder. “Effective,” he whispered, and it was Spock petting his own pussy, his hand between his legs and his eyes staring down at his cunt like it was the most fascinating, incomprehensible thing he had ever seen.
Jim shifted in his chair. “Now put your fingers in your-” He cut himself off from saying the words he was going to say. “Spock?” he asked.
Spock’s hand almost imperceptibly quickened its stroking motion. “You may say it,” Spock said.
“Spock,” Jim groaned. “You should say it. You like it, don’t you, you want it, don’t you, so you just come on and say it.”
Spock’s mouth actually fell open. “You wish for me to insert my fingers into my cunt.”
Jim’s hand closed tight around the bulge at his crotch. “God, Spock, that’s so nice.”
Spock clamped his mouth closed, pressing his lips together, an obvious ache in the expression as his hand moved between his legs. His eyes were fixed on Jim, hungry and dark. “You wish me to perform intercourse with my own phalanges.”
“Yeah, shit, you just keep on going like that.”
“Human males seem . . .” Spock took a breath, “preternaturally concerned with penetration.”
Spock couldn’t seem to look away from Jim’s hand on his cock, and Jim’s hand tightened further as a result. “You’re damn right I am.”
“The stimulation of the clitoris will probably be sufficient to induce orgasm.”
“Probably?” Jim wheezed out a laugh. “You got the odds on that?”
Spock’s breath caught, his eyes closing briefly. Must’ve gotten in a nice stroke, and then his eyes flew open again to fix on Jim. “Seventy eight point three six.”
“Yeah.” Jim nodded. “Now put your phalanges in that cunt.”
Spock’s hand at his pussy faltered, and his hips twitched. There was that confusion in his eyes again as he looked up from his pussy to Jim. “It appears . . . a facet of my desire for submission is a partiality for direct instruction.”
“You’re so good,” Jim told him. “You’re perfect. Now put those fingers in, like I said. Use the heel of your hand on that nice clit.”
And then Spock did it, and there was Spock, riding his hand on the bed, his legs wide open for Jim, his other hand wet from his own cunt and touching his nipples again, circling them just like Jim had told him. That was around when Spock stopped paying attention to Jim, lost in himself, in that body, in the feel of his own fingers inside of him, his own fingers tracing his breast. Spock’s mouth was sagging open in a way that was just asking for cock, and Jim had to hold tightly onto himself to stop from coming over the fact that right now Spock looked like the most gorgeous cocksucker ever.
Spock made a little sound.
“You’re good,” Jim said again.
“Yes.”
“You’re so wet right now,” Jim told him.
“Affirmative.”
“You’re gonna come,” Jim prodded.
“I do not seem able to-I am almost-”
He was almost, but he wasn’t there, and Jim wanted to help, because Spock was emoting now. He was allowing himself to emote and the emotion was frustration. It wasn’t a broad expression, but Jim could see it in the slight knitting of the brows and the achy little movements of that hand at his cunt, and it was Spock jerking himself off in front of him and Jim couldn’t help it, he started to get up.
“Stay seated,” Spock hissed.
He actually hissed, so Jim sat back down. “Put more fingers in,” Jim told him. “Push them deeper; bring your other hand down for your clit so you can put your other fingers farther up your cunt.”
Spock did as Jim said, and released another little breath.
“Good, now, you’ve got both hands working you,” Jim said, and it was beautiful. The slant of Spock’s arms aimed straight for his pussy made a vee that pushed his breasts together, and those fingers were working hard at that cunt, pushing up inside and stroking at his clit.
“You’re so good,” Jim told him. Spock was kneeling, and Jim knew Spock wanted to explore himself and this was supposed to be about female desire, or something like that, but Jim couldn’t help feeling like Spock was on display, just for him, touching himself just for Jim, getting himself off just for Jim. That was probably sexist also, except Jim wondered if maybe that was what Spock really found attractive about this too, and whether that made it any more or less sexist. “You can do it,” Jim said. “You’re so close, sweetheart.”
“At this juncture,” Spock said, breathing hard, “I believe the term ‘slut’ is applicable.”
Considering the things Jim had been thinking, that was just wrong in so many ways, and Jim didn’t want Spock to think-
“Jim,” Spock said. His eyes fixed on Jim, desperate and full of lust. Maybe he looked more wanting than Jim had ever seen him because he was a girl: maybe the more delicate features defined the expression, or maybe Spock was more desperate because he just didn’t know how to work that new anatomy to bring himself to orgasm. But maybe it was just that Spock was allowing himself to want. Allowing Jim to see it.
“But you’re such a good slut,” Jim told him immediately. “Got your hands in your pussy, you’re going to come all over them, aren’t you, such a pretty slut, touching yourself for me, you’re going to come for me.”
“That,” said Spock, and bucked down into his own hands. Spock made no more sound except for a huff of breath each time his hips twitched down onto his hands. After several of these twitches he slowed, then stopped. The wince in his expression was so slight, Jim thought only he would have been able to see it, but Spock did wince, and took his hands away. He lay back on the bed.
Jim stayed in his chair. There was a brief pause. Then, “Can I fuck you, now?” he said.
Spock looked over at Jim, the turn of his head almost lazy on the bed, and Spock wasn’t lazy. Dark eyes drifted over Jim, Jim’s tight expression and tighter hand on his cock. Then the dark eyes got darker, and Spock let something show in his face that Jim read as hunger. “I am wet enough to accommodate you,” Spock said. “And previously you proved the ability of the female anatomy to achieve multiple orgasms. Therefore, you may.”
“Fuck.” Jim stood up, coming toward the bed. “Get on your knees.”
“In fact, I do not believe the vagina has ceased to secrete.” Spock paused thoughtfully. “The muscle will also be looser.”
“Shit,” Jim said, and grabbed him. He grabbed him and got him on his knees, and Spock didn’t make a sound, but complied quickly, and Jim said, “honey, such a good cunt,” and he didn’t know if making Spock get on his knees so he could do him from behind helped in any way with the issues Spock was having about being sexist, but Jesus, Spock was kneeling for him, waiting for him facing the wall without a protest, so wet and ready for it, all of which caused Jim to repeat, “honey, you’re such a good little cunt,” as he pushed into Spock from behind.
“Perhaps we might examine your own predilection for that word, irregardless of my own,” Spock began, and Jim could tell he had no intent to finish, the fucker was teasing him, and it almost made him wish he could have his Spock’s balls back because Jim would fucking twist them for that, and Spock would throw him across the room, but he respected women, he really really did, so instead Jim just said,
“No, we can’t. You like it when I’m filthy. Hold onto the headboard.”
He was fucking Spock now from behind, long, slow strokes, and Spock was as wet as he’d said and wide open. Jim loved the feel of his ass, a little rounder and plumper, maybe less hairy, but it was still Spock’s ass and even though this cunt was perfect, Jim still sort of missed it, missed too the feel of Spock’s cock filling him.
“I have been contemplating this issue,” Spock was trying to tell him. “There is no logical reason to be aroused by language. It provides no physical stimulus.”
“No logical reason,” Jim grunted. “Got it. Won’t tell you how tight you are. How sopping wet you are for it. I won’t tell you what a whore you are, for it, Spock, how you love getting fucked by this big, hard, cock. Not gonna tell you’re a good little honey, nice tight sweet piece of ass, got a good tight cunt, got a sweet cunt even when you’ve got a cock, you’re a whore for it even when you’ve got a cock, just won’t admit it, but you’ve got to own up to it, now, don’t you, Spock, because you’re just so fucking wet-”
“Jim,” Spock said, “Jim, affirmative-”
Because he really was just that wet for it, so wet even Jim’s thighs were wet, and he still had most of his clothes on which meant Spock was so wet and messy he was staining Jim’s pants, and Jim said, “You’re a good little girl, aren’t you, you’re such a good little girl-”
And Spock came, the word, “Fascinating,” on his lips, because that was without a doubt his favorite word, so obviously the one he said when he got off; it was what got him off, being so fascinated by Jim and his own anatomy and the word cunt, et al.
Jim loved him for it, he adored him, the way the man was so fascinated by everything, it was no wonder he was a slut. Spock just wanted to know it all, and experience it all, and somehow it was that that was making Jim come, even as he kept whispering dirty filthy things.
They lay there afterwards, Spock allowing Jim to hold him again. Jim was sleepy, but he was afraid Spock would get spooked again, or start thinking about feminist existentialism, or something, so he was staying awake just in case. Then Spock turned in his arms, and Jim saw his first officer was asleep. No more analysis, Jim guessed. No more taking things apart and putting them back together, no more observations or ambiguous perceptions. No more words.
Jim found he sort of missed it. He was glad there would always be tomorrow.