What Part of Forever: Interlude
Find the first half of Interlude here.
Jim woke from a dead sleep, coming slowly awake to a pitch-dark room. He wondered for a moment what had woken him-nothing could be heard except for the faint sounds of crickets-and then realized that Spock was not in bed beside him, nor anywhere else in the room.
He sat up and stretched, glancing over at the clock to check the time. It was almost 2:30 in the morning, Jesus, the absolute dead of night. What the hell was Spock doing not in bed? Jim knew full well that Spock, being half-Vulcan, did not need as much sleep as Jim or any other Human, but especially with the week they'd been having, Spock was still needing a good four to five hours of sleep a night. Jim shook his head. He got up out of bed and padded across the room to the window, which they'd left cracked earlier, the blinds pulled back to look out at the town and the marina, the half-full moon shining bright down on the sleepy little houses.
The windows were open enough for the nightly noises to creep inside. Sounds drifted in over the water and up the hill; somewhere out on the sound, one boat passed another, blowing its warning horn into the fog that had settled low on the water. Jim could hear the swell of waves, and far-off, so faint he might have thought it was a dream, the sounds of transports moving along the highway. Jim shut his eyes, focusing on just listening to those peaceful noises, willing himself to absorb them into himself, as though he might take on their serenity via osmosis. He sure as shit could use it.
Because, now that he was more awake, Jim was pretty sure he knew why Spock wasn't in bed with him.
Spock had received a message to his PADD after dinner, when he and Jim and Alan and Charlotte had all been gathered in the living room, discussing the vid they'd gone to see that afternoon over a few drinks. Spock had withdrawn into the bedroom to read over it, and the look on his face when he'd emerged had been such that the conversation had immediately stuttered and died.
"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked. Instead of replying, Spock simply went to the viewscreen on one side of the room, and punched a few buttons on his PADD before the missive popped up on the wall for them all to read.
Spock. Return to Los Angeles immediately. The Federation is attempting to sabotage the secession hearing. Vulcan has been betrayed. Sasak.
Immediately below the message was a copy of what Jim recognized as a Federation document, lines and lines of text, too many to read all at once. But his eyes caught a glimpse of "filibuster" and "denial of petition," and it didn't take a bureaucrat to recognize that the security clearance at the top of the page was meant for high-level access only.
"Spock, what is this?" Alan demanded, real consternation coloring his voice for the first time Jim had thus far heard. Everyone was on their feet, though Jim didn't actively remember getting up. "What is going on, who-"
"According to the document, an attempt has been made by Federation representatives to block Vulcan's secession hearing from occurring on the basis of fallacious and contrived grounds," Spock said. The relative relaxation of demeanor he'd found in the past week spent in Jim and his family's presence had vanished; this was impassive as Jim had seen Spock since their very first meeting.
No one spoke. Finally, Jim could bear it no longer. He got up, went over to Spock, took Spock's PADD from him, and turned it off. "I think we need another drink," Jim said, and no one argued with him.
Jim shook his head, shaking off the memory. They were going to have to cut their visit short, leaving first thing in the morning on a transport for Los Angeles. Jim would be more than a little sorry to leave the Graysons behind, especially considering what was waiting for them back in Los Angeles. Which-
Abruptly, Jim realized he could hear more than just night-time noises. Somewhere off in the house, Jim could hear music. Spock-it had to be. But at this time of night?
Jim straightened, eyes opening again, head cocked, listening hard. No, he wasn't imagining things; he could definitely hear music, what sounded like piano. Aside from their obligatory discussions of the topic (during which Jim had inflicted a great deal of rock n' roll on Spock, who took it with long-suffering grace), Jim could not recall a single instance in which he had witnessed Spock's own taste in music.
He left the window, walking around the bed to the far side of the room, where his suitcase lay open on the floor. Back at his own house in LA was one thing, but Jim didn't really care for the idea of wandering around the Grayson's house with his junk hanging out. Jim rummaged around until he found a robe, pulling it over one arm and then the other, still listening to the faint music drifting in from some unidentifiable location.
Jim went to the door, and as soon as he'd cracked it and slipped into the hallway, the music became audible. Jim followed the sound, and as he padded silently through the house, he could now make out that it was piano he was hearing. He put out a hand as he walked, sliding it absently along the smooth wooden walls, padding through the dark house and giving his attention to the arcing, flowing music that grew steadily louder.
The bedroom that Jim and Spock had been sleeping in was located at the very back top corner of the house. The Grayson's house was a tri-story; the master bedroom and Amanda's old bedroom were located on the top floor, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room on the middle floor, and a study and playroom on the bottom floor. Jim made his way carefully down the stairs now, and slowed as he came around the corner and crept down the second flight of stairs, emerging at the back end of the playroom, which had a southern-facing window that looked down on the other side of the hill overlooking town.
Because Spock wasn't listening to piano music. Spock was playing piano music.
And Spock, super-sensitive Vulcan Spock with hearing and smell five times more acute than that of a Human, did not seem to even have noticed Jim's presence. Jim hovered at the back of the room, mesmerized by the sight of Spock bent over the piano, his long, clever fingers practically flying over the keys, his eyes trained on something on the far wall, so intent on the sounds he was coaxing out of the instrument under his hands that he seemed oblivious to the rest of the world.
Jim edged slowly into the room, sticking close to the wall and padding sideways until his questing fingers encountered the arm of a chair. He maneuvered himself in front of it and sank slowly down, not wanting to disturb Spock for any reason, never taking his eyes from the scene in front of him. All other thoughts fled Jim's mind, and he sat there for the next eight minutes, hands folded loosely in his lap, listening to the brooding, wistful melody that sang out under Spock's fingers. The music ached inside him, twisting parts of him he usually tried to ignore, and as the sonata neared its end, Jim closed his eyes once more, just listening to the tumultuous, exhausted climax.
As the final notes dimmed, Jim sighed, forgetting himself for a moment, letting the sound sink in and fade away. When he next opened his eyes and look up, it was to see Spock staring across the room at him. Spock sat straight-backed at the piano now, hands that were dancing across piano keys now dormant in his lap.
"I don't think I would ever have pinned you for a fan of Chopin," Jim said, before he could second-guess himself. Spock blinked as Jim stood up, watching the Human's slow approach across the room.
"An accurate assessment," Spock said after a moment, turning slightly on the bench so that he was facing Jim as Jim came to a halt in front of him, Spock looking up into Jim's face. "I confess that I learned the Ballade because it was a favorite of my mother's." Jim moved forward, stepping between Spock's spread thighs, and something in Spock's eyes darkened as Jim came in close, Spock's hands sliding up the sides of Jim's arms, sending tingles of electricity running through Jim's skin. "I did not mean to wake you," Spock said, voice soft, letting his fingers roam further, one hand sliding around to Jim's hip, hot even through the soft terrycloth of the robe.
"I don't mind that you did," Jim murmured. "It wasn't the music that woke me, either. It was just you not being in bed." Now he reached out as well, his hands going to Spock's face, a thumb caressing one angled cheekbone, fingers creeping backwards towards Spock's ear Spock sucked in a breath, and turned his head just slightly, enough to press a kiss to the base of Jim's palm. Jim shivered, a visible tremor than ran the length of his body, and as if the shudder was the permission Spock had been waiting for, Spock reached up with both hands and pushed the robe off Jim's shoulders, revealing bare skin.
Jim stared down at Spock's face as Spock removed first Jim's robe and then Jim's briefs, wondering how he could ever have thought Spock's face expressionless. He didn't know if it was Spock's hands against his skin, or increased familiarity with this maddening, beautiful man, but Jim thought that if he let himself, he could stare at Spock for hours and never get bored. Jim came forward at the touch of Spock's hands, straddling Spock's lap, his breath catching in his throat as Spock's hand cupped his ass, squeezing possessively, fingers curling along the curve of one cheek. Spock's other hand pressed at the base of Jim's spine, sliding up slowly, as if to feel and memorize the shape of each vertebrae. Jim bent his head, pressing open-mouthed, soft kisses along Spock's temple, lips whispering along each eyebrow, his hands seeking and finding the hem of Spock's heavy shirt, needing to feel the warmth of the skin underneath.
Spock stood abruptly, and only the strength of the arm around his waist saved Jim from toppling to the floor, half-sprawled as he was across Spock's lap and in no position to cling. That came a few seconds later, Jim's arm still wound tight around Spock's neck even as Spock reached behind Jim and shut the lid of the piano with one hand before easing Jim's weight against the instrument. "Goddammit, Spock," Jim breathed, the words coming out breathy and uneven.
"I cannot achieve sufficient balance sitting down," Spock murmured in his ear, and the unspoken implication sent a dark thrill down Jim's spine, making him shudder. Spock hummed approval into the skin under Jim's ear, slow, hot pressure that made Jim's cock twitch where it lay against his belly. Jim inched back until his spine hit the upper edge of the piano, Spock pressing closer, Jim's legs wrapping around Spock's waist as Spock bent over Jim, hands sliding along Jim's flanks. The contrast in temperature of Spock's super-heated skin against cool night air sent a shiver down Jim's spine. Immediately, Spock went still.
"Don't stop," Jim said, voice barely above a whisper. Distantly, he knew that they should do just that: stop before they woke up Charlotte or Alan. But Spock pulled back just enough to look into Jim's eyes, his own dark and full of the same heat that burned through his skin. He didn't say anything, just held Jim against the piano, still pinned by Spock's weight, staring into Jim's eyes until Jim started to squirm. "Dammit, Spock, what?"
"I am finding it... difficult to think clearly," Spock said, and Jim was shocked at how rough Spock's voice was, as though he spoke through a throatful of gravel. "Your proximity is most distracting."
Jim leaned forward, spine bowed in a C, sliding his fingers through Spock's hair, a slight tremble in his hands as he nuzzled Spock cheek-to-cheek. "I better be distracting," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. He reached for one of Spock's hands, tugging it gently away from where Spock was braced against the edge of the piano, and bringing it to his own lips, he sucked the tip of one finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. Spock seemed to freeze, but because Jim was pressed against him he could feel the electric shock that went through Spock like the ripples caused by a rock dropped into water.
"Jim," Spock said tightly. He took a deep breath; Jim stopped his teasing momentarily, letting Spock's fingertip slip from his mouth. Spock raised that hand, brushing Jim's cheek with the barest caress of fingertips, and then said, "I should not be here with you right now."
If Spock hadn't had him pinned against the piano, Jim might've been able to hide his reaction, but their skin-to-skin contact betrayed him. Jim went still, and Spock's arm tightened around him almost immediately, Spock's dark eyes never leaving his face. "You are angry," Spock said, faint surprise coloring his voice, the Vulcan equivalent of "utterly gobsmacked." "I do not understand why."
"Gee, I dunno," Jim said sarcastically, raising his hands to push Spock off him. It was like pushing a brick wall. "Maybe because it's bullshit to spring that on me when I'm, I don't know, naked in your arms?" When I can't hide anything from you, he added silently, suddenly not knowing or caring if Spock could hear him. Spock's brow furrowed, but instead of releasing Jim he leaned in close, pressing a hard kiss to Jim's mouth. It was so utterly the last thing that Jim could have expected that he did not even fight it, melting despite himself under the electric heat of Spock's lips, the fingers digging into the back of his skull. He recovered within moments, shoving at Spock's shoulders, but still Spock held him fast, pulling back again only slightly.
"Stop that," Jim snapped, angry now. He didn't like being cornered, didn't like having his options taken from him, but getting Spock off him was like trying to wrestle a stone statue.
"If I release you, you will leave," Spock said, unevenly. "And I have no right to ask you to stay, but I-I request-that you wait until I have explained myself." He swallowed, and Jim could hear the click in his throat.
Jim stared at him for a few moments, knowing he should go, that he should walk away and not look back, hating himself and hating Spock for how much he wanted to stay. Spock said nothing. Jim knew that if he asked again, Spock would release him. "Talk," he said instead.
Spock ducked his face for a moment, pressing it to Jim's neck. Jim's arms went instinctively around Spock's shoulders, despite himself-fuck, he couldn't not want to touch Spock, anymore than a plant could choose to not crave sunlight-and listened as Spock spoke against his throat, feeling as much as hearing the words against his skin. "I have not been as forthright as I should have been about my position, or the true situation surrounding Vulcan's secession. I have been remiss in spending as much time with you as I have, with so much at stake."
"So why are you here with me, then?" Jim hadn't meant to interrupt, but hearing Spock talk about how his time with Jim was mis-spent was like having ants crawl under his skin. He was intimately familiar with his own self-esteem issues; no need to have other people's opinion of his worthlessness contribute to the situation.
"You are not worthless," Spock growled, and Jim sucked in a breath, remembering too late how much of his skin Spock was touching. "Jim. I-" Spock broke off with a low moan, and Jim gasped at the sudden heat of Spock's breath as he exhaled against Jim's neck. "You undo me," Spock whispered. "I should be preparing my position for the secession hearing. I should be focused on the needs of my people. But I have been spending all my time and all my energy on you because I can think of nothing else." Spock shuddered, and Jim twitched as something underneath him creaked-only to realize abruptly that it was Spock's fingers against the wooden keyboard lid, the wood creaking ominously under the pressure of his grip. "I left you alone in the bedroom," Spock continued, "because I did not trust myself to be able to think straight while in the same room as you. But all my meditation has proven fruitless."
"Spock," Jim breathed. Spock flexed against him, one long press of heat and muscle, and now he raised his mouth to press against Jim's in another Human kiss, even as Spock's hand slid along Jim's arm to find Jim's, lacing their fingers together. Jim's erection, which had been flagging, filled again almost instantly, and Jim moaned into Spock's mouth as Spock pressed him down into the piano. Spock's free hand slid down to Jim's buttocks again, palming over the curve of his ass, teasing at his pucker and making Jim shudder. All thoughts of vanishing into the night had slipped away, replaced by the addictive heat of Spock's kisses and the press of his body against Jim's. Jim didn't think he'd ever wanted anything so badly in his life.
"I wish to penetrate you," Spock murmured. He squeezed Jim's ass for emphasis. In response, Jim's hands (sliding against bare skin, underneath the maddening weight of Spock's heavy tunic) dug hard into Spock's skin, Jim's hips twitching against Spock's stomach.
"So romantic," Jim mumbled, and laughed against Spock's temple, a dizzy, breathless sound. Hadn't Spock just been talking about what a bad idea this was for them both? Where did Jim's brain go, again? But it didn't seem to matter. Slowly, Spock straightened, hand at the small of Jim's back, bracing him. He eased Jim up until most of his upper body was laying back against the piano, Spock bent over him, looking down at him with those dark, dark eyes. The weight of them made Jim squirm, even as Spock pressed his other hand to Jim's sternum, splaying all five fingers open in a strangely possessive gesture, as though to reassure himself that Jim wasn't going to bolt the minute Spock gave him the space.
For a few moments, Jim thought he would feel the press of one of Spock's fingers against his hole again, but then the blunt head of Spock's dick, slick with his own secretions, was nudging his pucker and Jim could only catch his breath and bear down. It burned, Jim's breath hitching painfully as his muscles stretched around the flared ridge of Spock's penis, and then Spock was pressing into him, slow but relentless, not stopping till he was buried in Jim's ass, his hips flush against Jim's cheeks. Jim spared a moment to be glad of Vulcan physiology, then, as bizarre as he'd found Spock's retractable sex before now. Jim could feel the scrape of fabric against his skin, and the realization that Spock had not even taken off his pants to fuck Jim sent a wave of heat rolling through him, twisting his guts with desire.
Spock rocked shallowly against him, still keeping Jim pinned against the slanted surface of the piano with one hand, the other now on Jim's hip. Jim was effectively bent in half, impaled on Spock's erection, legs wrapped around Spock's waist as Spock fucked him slow against the closed piano. Jim threw his head back as Spock rolled his hips, the piano creaking quietly underneath their weight. Spock loomed up over him, his face in shadows, his hands sliding greedily over Jim's chest, and then he bent down towards Jim's face, straining until he could press his lips against Jim's mouth.
Outside, at the edges of Jim's hearing, a steady rhythm began to patter against the windowpanes, and Jim realized distantly that the moonlight filtering in from outside was now gone. Rain, Jim thought, gasping as Spock pulled him down closer, a shallow thrust into Jim again making Jim's hips jerk and stutter. Both of them froze as lightning flashed just outside the living room window, and Jim felt Spock jump as thunder crashed almost immediately. "Jumpy," Jim whispered, smiling, and Spock's fingertips tightened against Jim's hips. The rainfall grew heavier then, and Jim let his head fall back again as Spock folded him in two, his thrusts coming faster and more steadily, face pressed against Jim's neck. Jim shut his eyes, letting the sound of the rain fill his ears as he wrapped his arms around Spock's shoulders.
It was only later, curled against Spock in bed and listening to the rain still falling outside, that Jim realized that he still had no idea what was going to happen when they went back to Los Angeles in the morning.
Jim woke from a dead sleep, coming slowly awake to a pitch-dark room. He wondered for a moment what had woken him-nothing could be heard except for the faint sounds of crickets-and then realized that Spock was not in bed beside him, nor anywhere else in the room.
He sat up and stretched, glancing over at the clock to check the time. It was almost 2:30 in the morning, Jesus, the absolute dead of night. What the hell was Spock doing not in bed? Jim knew full well that Spock, being half-Vulcan, did not need as much sleep as Jim or any other Human, but especially with the week they'd been having, Spock was still needing a good four to five hours of sleep a night. Jim shook his head. He got up out of bed and padded across the room to the window, which they'd left cracked earlier, the blinds pulled back to look out at the town and the marina, the half-full moon shining bright down on the sleepy little houses.
The windows were open enough for the nightly noises to creep inside. Sounds drifted in over the water and up the hill; somewhere out on the sound, one boat passed another, blowing its warning horn into the fog that had settled low on the water. Jim could hear the swell of waves, and far-off, so faint he might have thought it was a dream, the sounds of transports moving along the highway. Jim shut his eyes, focusing on just listening to those peaceful noises, willing himself to absorb them into himself, as though he might take on their serenity via osmosis. He sure as shit could use it.
Because, now that he was more awake, Jim was pretty sure he knew why Spock wasn't in bed with him.
Spock had received a message to his PADD after dinner, when he and Jim and Alan and Charlotte had all been gathered in the living room, discussing the vid they'd gone to see that afternoon over a few drinks. Spock had withdrawn into the bedroom to read over it, and the look on his face when he'd emerged had been such that the conversation had immediately stuttered and died.
"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked. Instead of replying, Spock simply went to the viewscreen on one side of the room, and punched a few buttons on his PADD before the missive popped up on the wall for them all to read.
Spock. Return to Los Angeles immediately. The Federation is attempting to sabotage the secession hearing. Vulcan has been betrayed. Sasak.
Immediately below the message was a copy of what Jim recognized as a Federation document, lines and lines of text, too many to read all at once. But his eyes caught a glimpse of "filibuster" and "denial of petition," and it didn't take a bureaucrat to recognize that the security clearance at the top of the page was meant for high-level access only.
"Spock, what is this?" Alan demanded, real consternation coloring his voice for the first time Jim had thus far heard. Everyone was on their feet, though Jim didn't actively remember getting up. "What is going on, who-"
"According to the document, an attempt has been made by Federation representatives to block Vulcan's secession hearing from occurring on the basis of fallacious and contrived grounds," Spock said. The relative relaxation of demeanor he'd found in the past week spent in Jim and his family's presence had vanished; this was impassive as Jim had seen Spock since their very first meeting.
No one spoke. Finally, Jim could bear it no longer. He got up, went over to Spock, took Spock's PADD from him, and turned it off. "I think we need another drink," Jim said, and no one argued with him.
Jim shook his head, shaking off the memory. They were going to have to cut their visit short, leaving first thing in the morning on a transport for Los Angeles. Jim would be more than a little sorry to leave the Graysons behind, especially considering what was waiting for them back in Los Angeles. Which-
Abruptly, Jim realized he could hear more than just night-time noises. Somewhere off in the house, Jim could hear music. Spock-it had to be. But at this time of night?
Jim straightened, eyes opening again, head cocked, listening hard. No, he wasn't imagining things; he could definitely hear music, what sounded like piano. Aside from their obligatory discussions of the topic (during which Jim had inflicted a great deal of rock n' roll on Spock, who took it with long-suffering grace), Jim could not recall a single instance in which he had witnessed Spock's own taste in music.
He left the window, walking around the bed to the far side of the room, where his suitcase lay open on the floor. Back at his own house in LA was one thing, but Jim didn't really care for the idea of wandering around the Grayson's house with his junk hanging out. Jim rummaged around until he found a robe, pulling it over one arm and then the other, still listening to the faint music drifting in from some unidentifiable location.
Jim went to the door, and as soon as he'd cracked it and slipped into the hallway, the music became audible. Jim followed the sound, and as he padded silently through the house, he could now make out that it was piano he was hearing. He put out a hand as he walked, sliding it absently along the smooth wooden walls, padding through the dark house and giving his attention to the arcing, flowing music that grew steadily louder.
The bedroom that Jim and Spock had been sleeping in was located at the very back top corner of the house. The Grayson's house was a tri-story; the master bedroom and Amanda's old bedroom were located on the top floor, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room on the middle floor, and a study and playroom on the bottom floor. Jim made his way carefully down the stairs now, and slowed as he came around the corner and crept down the second flight of stairs, emerging at the back end of the playroom, which had a southern-facing window that looked down on the other side of the hill overlooking town.
Because Spock wasn't listening to piano music. Spock was playing piano music.
And Spock, super-sensitive Vulcan Spock with hearing and smell five times more acute than that of a Human, did not seem to even have noticed Jim's presence. Jim hovered at the back of the room, mesmerized by the sight of Spock bent over the piano, his long, clever fingers practically flying over the keys, his eyes trained on something on the far wall, so intent on the sounds he was coaxing out of the instrument under his hands that he seemed oblivious to the rest of the world.
Jim edged slowly into the room, sticking close to the wall and padding sideways until his questing fingers encountered the arm of a chair. He maneuvered himself in front of it and sank slowly down, not wanting to disturb Spock for any reason, never taking his eyes from the scene in front of him. All other thoughts fled Jim's mind, and he sat there for the next eight minutes, hands folded loosely in his lap, listening to the brooding, wistful melody that sang out under Spock's fingers. The music ached inside him, twisting parts of him he usually tried to ignore, and as the sonata neared its end, Jim closed his eyes once more, just listening to the tumultuous, exhausted climax.
As the final notes dimmed, Jim sighed, forgetting himself for a moment, letting the sound sink in and fade away. When he next opened his eyes and look up, it was to see Spock staring across the room at him. Spock sat straight-backed at the piano now, hands that were dancing across piano keys now dormant in his lap.
"I don't think I would ever have pinned you for a fan of Chopin," Jim said, before he could second-guess himself. Spock blinked as Jim stood up, watching the Human's slow approach across the room.
"An accurate assessment," Spock said after a moment, turning slightly on the bench so that he was facing Jim as Jim came to a halt in front of him, Spock looking up into Jim's face. "I confess that I learned the Ballade because it was a favorite of my mother's." Jim moved forward, stepping between Spock's spread thighs, and something in Spock's eyes darkened as Jim came in close, Spock's hands sliding up the sides of Jim's arms, sending tingles of electricity running through Jim's skin. "I did not mean to wake you," Spock said, voice soft, letting his fingers roam further, one hand sliding around to Jim's hip, hot even through the soft terrycloth of the robe.
"I don't mind that you did," Jim murmured. "It wasn't the music that woke me, either. It was just you not being in bed." Now he reached out as well, his hands going to Spock's face, a thumb caressing one angled cheekbone, fingers creeping backwards towards Spock's ear Spock sucked in a breath, and turned his head just slightly, enough to press a kiss to the base of Jim's palm. Jim shivered, a visible tremor than ran the length of his body, and as if the shudder was the permission Spock had been waiting for, Spock reached up with both hands and pushed the robe off Jim's shoulders, revealing bare skin.
Jim stared down at Spock's face as Spock removed first Jim's robe and then Jim's briefs, wondering how he could ever have thought Spock's face expressionless. He didn't know if it was Spock's hands against his skin, or increased familiarity with this maddening, beautiful man, but Jim thought that if he let himself, he could stare at Spock for hours and never get bored. Jim came forward at the touch of Spock's hands, straddling Spock's lap, his breath catching in his throat as Spock's hand cupped his ass, squeezing possessively, fingers curling along the curve of one cheek. Spock's other hand pressed at the base of Jim's spine, sliding up slowly, as if to feel and memorize the shape of each vertebrae. Jim bent his head, pressing open-mouthed, soft kisses along Spock's temple, lips whispering along each eyebrow, his hands seeking and finding the hem of Spock's heavy shirt, needing to feel the warmth of the skin underneath.
Spock stood abruptly, and only the strength of the arm around his waist saved Jim from toppling to the floor, half-sprawled as he was across Spock's lap and in no position to cling. That came a few seconds later, Jim's arm still wound tight around Spock's neck even as Spock reached behind Jim and shut the lid of the piano with one hand before easing Jim's weight against the instrument. "Goddammit, Spock," Jim breathed, the words coming out breathy and uneven.
"I cannot achieve sufficient balance sitting down," Spock murmured in his ear, and the unspoken implication sent a dark thrill down Jim's spine, making him shudder. Spock hummed approval into the skin under Jim's ear, slow, hot pressure that made Jim's cock twitch where it lay against his belly. Jim inched back until his spine hit the upper edge of the piano, Spock pressing closer, Jim's legs wrapping around Spock's waist as Spock bent over Jim, hands sliding along Jim's flanks. The contrast in temperature of Spock's super-heated skin against cool night air sent a shiver down Jim's spine. Immediately, Spock went still.
"Don't stop," Jim said, voice barely above a whisper. Distantly, he knew that they should do just that: stop before they woke up Charlotte or Alan. But Spock pulled back just enough to look into Jim's eyes, his own dark and full of the same heat that burned through his skin. He didn't say anything, just held Jim against the piano, still pinned by Spock's weight, staring into Jim's eyes until Jim started to squirm. "Dammit, Spock, what?"
"I am finding it... difficult to think clearly," Spock said, and Jim was shocked at how rough Spock's voice was, as though he spoke through a throatful of gravel. "Your proximity is most distracting."
Jim leaned forward, spine bowed in a C, sliding his fingers through Spock's hair, a slight tremble in his hands as he nuzzled Spock cheek-to-cheek. "I better be distracting," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. He reached for one of Spock's hands, tugging it gently away from where Spock was braced against the edge of the piano, and bringing it to his own lips, he sucked the tip of one finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip. Spock seemed to freeze, but because Jim was pressed against him he could feel the electric shock that went through Spock like the ripples caused by a rock dropped into water.
"Jim," Spock said tightly. He took a deep breath; Jim stopped his teasing momentarily, letting Spock's fingertip slip from his mouth. Spock raised that hand, brushing Jim's cheek with the barest caress of fingertips, and then said, "I should not be here with you right now."
If Spock hadn't had him pinned against the piano, Jim might've been able to hide his reaction, but their skin-to-skin contact betrayed him. Jim went still, and Spock's arm tightened around him almost immediately, Spock's dark eyes never leaving his face. "You are angry," Spock said, faint surprise coloring his voice, the Vulcan equivalent of "utterly gobsmacked." "I do not understand why."
"Gee, I dunno," Jim said sarcastically, raising his hands to push Spock off him. It was like pushing a brick wall. "Maybe because it's bullshit to spring that on me when I'm, I don't know, naked in your arms?" When I can't hide anything from you, he added silently, suddenly not knowing or caring if Spock could hear him. Spock's brow furrowed, but instead of releasing Jim he leaned in close, pressing a hard kiss to Jim's mouth. It was so utterly the last thing that Jim could have expected that he did not even fight it, melting despite himself under the electric heat of Spock's lips, the fingers digging into the back of his skull. He recovered within moments, shoving at Spock's shoulders, but still Spock held him fast, pulling back again only slightly.
"Stop that," Jim snapped, angry now. He didn't like being cornered, didn't like having his options taken from him, but getting Spock off him was like trying to wrestle a stone statue.
"If I release you, you will leave," Spock said, unevenly. "And I have no right to ask you to stay, but I-I request-that you wait until I have explained myself." He swallowed, and Jim could hear the click in his throat.
Jim stared at him for a few moments, knowing he should go, that he should walk away and not look back, hating himself and hating Spock for how much he wanted to stay. Spock said nothing. Jim knew that if he asked again, Spock would release him. "Talk," he said instead.
Spock ducked his face for a moment, pressing it to Jim's neck. Jim's arms went instinctively around Spock's shoulders, despite himself-fuck, he couldn't not want to touch Spock, anymore than a plant could choose to not crave sunlight-and listened as Spock spoke against his throat, feeling as much as hearing the words against his skin. "I have not been as forthright as I should have been about my position, or the true situation surrounding Vulcan's secession. I have been remiss in spending as much time with you as I have, with so much at stake."
"So why are you here with me, then?" Jim hadn't meant to interrupt, but hearing Spock talk about how his time with Jim was mis-spent was like having ants crawl under his skin. He was intimately familiar with his own self-esteem issues; no need to have other people's opinion of his worthlessness contribute to the situation.
"You are not worthless," Spock growled, and Jim sucked in a breath, remembering too late how much of his skin Spock was touching. "Jim. I-" Spock broke off with a low moan, and Jim gasped at the sudden heat of Spock's breath as he exhaled against Jim's neck. "You undo me," Spock whispered. "I should be preparing my position for the secession hearing. I should be focused on the needs of my people. But I have been spending all my time and all my energy on you because I can think of nothing else." Spock shuddered, and Jim twitched as something underneath him creaked-only to realize abruptly that it was Spock's fingers against the wooden keyboard lid, the wood creaking ominously under the pressure of his grip. "I left you alone in the bedroom," Spock continued, "because I did not trust myself to be able to think straight while in the same room as you. But all my meditation has proven fruitless."
"Spock," Jim breathed. Spock flexed against him, one long press of heat and muscle, and now he raised his mouth to press against Jim's in another Human kiss, even as Spock's hand slid along Jim's arm to find Jim's, lacing their fingers together. Jim's erection, which had been flagging, filled again almost instantly, and Jim moaned into Spock's mouth as Spock pressed him down into the piano. Spock's free hand slid down to Jim's buttocks again, palming over the curve of his ass, teasing at his pucker and making Jim shudder. All thoughts of vanishing into the night had slipped away, replaced by the addictive heat of Spock's kisses and the press of his body against Jim's. Jim didn't think he'd ever wanted anything so badly in his life.
"I wish to penetrate you," Spock murmured. He squeezed Jim's ass for emphasis. In response, Jim's hands (sliding against bare skin, underneath the maddening weight of Spock's heavy tunic) dug hard into Spock's skin, Jim's hips twitching against Spock's stomach.
"So romantic," Jim mumbled, and laughed against Spock's temple, a dizzy, breathless sound. Hadn't Spock just been talking about what a bad idea this was for them both? Where did Jim's brain go, again? But it didn't seem to matter. Slowly, Spock straightened, hand at the small of Jim's back, bracing him. He eased Jim up until most of his upper body was laying back against the piano, Spock bent over him, looking down at him with those dark, dark eyes. The weight of them made Jim squirm, even as Spock pressed his other hand to Jim's sternum, splaying all five fingers open in a strangely possessive gesture, as though to reassure himself that Jim wasn't going to bolt the minute Spock gave him the space.
For a few moments, Jim thought he would feel the press of one of Spock's fingers against his hole again, but then the blunt head of Spock's dick, slick with his own secretions, was nudging his pucker and Jim could only catch his breath and bear down. It burned, Jim's breath hitching painfully as his muscles stretched around the flared ridge of Spock's penis, and then Spock was pressing into him, slow but relentless, not stopping till he was buried in Jim's ass, his hips flush against Jim's cheeks. Jim spared a moment to be glad of Vulcan physiology, then, as bizarre as he'd found Spock's retractable sex before now. Jim could feel the scrape of fabric against his skin, and the realization that Spock had not even taken off his pants to fuck Jim sent a wave of heat rolling through him, twisting his guts with desire.
Spock rocked shallowly against him, still keeping Jim pinned against the slanted surface of the piano with one hand, the other now on Jim's hip. Jim was effectively bent in half, impaled on Spock's erection, legs wrapped around Spock's waist as Spock fucked him slow against the closed piano. Jim threw his head back as Spock rolled his hips, the piano creaking quietly underneath their weight. Spock loomed up over him, his face in shadows, his hands sliding greedily over Jim's chest, and then he bent down towards Jim's face, straining until he could press his lips against Jim's mouth.
Outside, at the edges of Jim's hearing, a steady rhythm began to patter against the windowpanes, and Jim realized distantly that the moonlight filtering in from outside was now gone. Rain, Jim thought, gasping as Spock pulled him down closer, a shallow thrust into Jim again making Jim's hips jerk and stutter. Both of them froze as lightning flashed just outside the living room window, and Jim felt Spock jump as thunder crashed almost immediately. "Jumpy," Jim whispered, smiling, and Spock's fingertips tightened against Jim's hips. The rainfall grew heavier then, and Jim let his head fall back again as Spock folded him in two, his thrusts coming faster and more steadily, face pressed against Jim's neck. Jim shut his eyes, letting the sound of the rain fill his ears as he wrapped his arms around Spock's shoulders.
It was only later, curled against Spock in bed and listening to the rain still falling outside, that Jim realized that he still had no idea what was going to happen when they went back to Los Angeles in the morning.