Kirk/Spock Fic: Acceptable Loss of Control
Title: Acceptable Loss of Control
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (established)
Word Count: ~3,000
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Character study disguised as PWP. Jim is sick of Vulcan reserve.
Disclaimer: All I do is lie for fun and no profit.
Warnings: D/s themes, nothing heavy.
Author's Notes: After over seven years of writing slash, I've finally forayed into Kirk/Spock. It's like returning to the mothership, literally. Be gentle with me, it's my first time. Tremendous gratitude for formerlydf and zombielove74 for their excellent betas and hand-holding.
A friendly antagonism turned the air silver around the captain and first officer of the USS Enterprise. The two men cut quickly though the hallway, voices low and intense. Passers-by could hear the mumbling of words like "illogical", "unlikely", and "repressed". These kinds of debates were common between the human and the Vulcan, and they passed unnoticed between busy crewmen.
Jim seemed to crackle with energy, hands fluttering like a flock of birds as he emphasized his point. By contrast, Spock's pace and words were steady. Yet even through the calm of logic, Spock’s energy radiated almost entirely from his eyes, the one place he could not fully disengage. His hands were kept behind him, five fingers wrapped around the opposite wrist, as if he feared Jim’s enthusiasm was contagious.
The door to the captain's quarters opened smoothly. The debate ceased the moment it swooshed closed behind them. Jim's hands dug into Spock's shoulders as he pinned him to the wall. Crushing his mouth against Spock's, Jim's movements were near frantic.
"God," Jim panted, hands sliding up along Spock's flat belly, pushing up the material of his uniform.
"It is interesting to observe," Spock mumbled, his mouth pressed to Jim's shoulder, cotton muffling his voice, "The times that humans choose to invoke religion."
Jim rolled his eyes and his hips. "You're insufferable."
"You seem quite eager to suffer me," Spock pointed out, one eyebrow arching, as close to showing humor as Vulcans achieved.
Jim's arousal convoluted his emotions, agitation rising in him when it should have been wit. He let out a sound that could only be described as a growl, the noise rolling low from the back of his throat as he pressed against Spock, flush from chest to knee. There was a glint in his eyes that Spock was beginning to know well.
Spock's hands were warm as he trailed them over the small of Jim's back, his motions gentle if unyielding.
Jim's agitation grew. Something twisted in his gut, hot and insistent. "How can you be so passive?" he demanded. He rolled his hips against Spock's. "Parts of you aren't calm at all."
"Would you rather I resisted?" Spock's voice was merely curious, nothing betraying the tension under his uniform or the hardness Jim was pressing against. Spock had endeavored his entire life to find a balance between pleasure and control, and even Jim could not shake him enough to undermine his equanimity.
Jim pulled back. This was what Spock gave him, this demeanor broken slightly by quickened breath and a sheen of sweat, but always present like a force field between them. It was the Vulcan Jim had fallen for, but he had also fallen for the human beneath, and couldn't help but feel like he was being denied something that should have been his. It sharpened his agitation, spiking it up from his belly to his throat, spreading heat up his neck that had nothing to do with arousal.
Spock's eyebrows rose before he was taken off guard, spun to face the wall, his wrists locked behind his back. He allowed it, shoulders only tensing slightly, and Jim's voice was low in his ear. "I want to see you lose that control."
Spock's voice had not changed. "Unlikely, Jim." Something inside of him hardened, the burn of desire making his resolve igneous. He allowed his rate of respiration to increase, a small concession to what was beginning to swirl in his belly. He wondered if all Vulcans felt passion like this, or if this wasn't his human side, crawling up from where he kept it hidden in his toes, scaling his limbs until it could whisper perverse suggestions in his ear. Spock blinked more rapidly, willing logic to restore his equilibrium.
Leaning forward, Jim tightened his grip. "Call me Captain," he ordered, his smirk close to the point of Spock's right ear.
An almost-imperceptible shiver ran down Spock's spine. "Yes, Captain."
Jim's tongue flicked against the point of flesh, tinted green and darkening under his attention. He licked and nibbled his way to the lobe, sucking gently before pulling away. "Undress and get on my bed."
For a moment, Spock hesitated, a line of tension drawing his shoulders straight. He glanced at Jim over his shoulder, and Jim knew how easily Spock could overpower him and end this little game. He wondered if it was curiosity or courtesy that compelled Spock to turn, stripping his shirts over his head as he moved toward the bed.
In the few months they'd been together, Jim had managed to break Spock's habit of folding his clothing the instant it came off of his body, but Spock still refused to let his clothing fall to the floor. Instead, each article was laid carefully over the back of a chair, one by one. The blue uniform shirt, the black undershirt, the boots lined up next to the furniture, the black pants, black socks, and lastly, a pair of snug black briefs. Jim enjoyed the efficient strip tease as Spock moved with the assurance of one unable to possess insecurity over his own naked form.
Instinctively, Spock moved his hand to his erect cock, giving it a smooth tug and relishing in the small release in tension.
"Hands off," Jim ordered, taking a stilted step forward. His hands balled into fists at his sides, summoning up his own self-control for what was ahead. "That's mine. Now lie back."
Spock complied, kicking up onto the bed and laying his head on the pillows. He watched Jim intently, his dark eyes glinting, obediently keeping his hands at his sides.
Jim stalked forward, his own uniform falling into a rumpled pile on the floor, boots knocked akimbo. In one smooth motion, he was straddling Spock's belly, knees depressing the mattress and hands on Spock's chest. He slid them outward, over the curve of Spock's shoulders, down his pale arms, until his hands were again tight around Spock's wrists. Jim tugged, arranging for Spock's hands to bump the shelf at the head of the bed.
"Hold on," Jim instructed. "And if you let go, I'll stop."
Spock gripped the metal, thumbs curving around the underside of the shelf, wrists bent with an obscene beauty.
Despite the vulnerability of Spock's position, Jim could still see the coils of control over his lover's body. His forearms were tight, body held rigid, face impassive. Jim reached out, tracing the lines of Spock's face. He felt the swell of Spock's lower lip, the curve of his cheek. Dark eyes fluttered shut.
Jim carded a hand through Spock's hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It slid like silk just beginning to dampen and stick with sweat. His thumb worried the point of one ear, causing Spock's mouth to fall open, a rush of green staining his cheekbones. Jim could feel the body beneath him beginning to relax.
Exhaling deeply, Spock allowed himself to sink into the mattress a little, Jim's weight above him keeping him grounded. There was a kind of serenity in the heat simmering in his belly, and the telepathic hum created by their naked bodies was akin to Spock's deepest level of meditation. In this moment, Jim could ask for almost anything and Spock would comply.
Keeping one hand in Spock's hair, Jim settled two fingers against Spock's mouth. Taking the hint almost immediately, Spock drew them in, tongue swirling against the pads, cheeks hollowing slightly. A soft gasp escaped Jim, his hips shifting.
"Spock," he breathed, withdrawing his fingers. Spock blinked, watching as Jim slid forward, rising and tucking his knees under Spock's arms. Jim used his grip in Spock's hair to angle him forward, the other hand guiding his own cock.
A soft, desperate sound left Spock's throat as he tried to press closer, tongue reaching to taste Jim's cock. Spock's eyes fell shut, eyelashes smudging his cheeks as Jim pressed his hips closer, letting the head of his cock fill Spock's mouth. The part of Spock's mind that wasn't occupied with sex was quick to analyze his reactions, judging them within the parameters of acceptable loss of control during intimate situations.
Jim's breathing was ragged in his own ears as he let his hips move slowly, his cock sliding wetly between Spock's lips. He would have been content to come like that, accompanied by the sounds of their grunts and sighs, but he wasn't through with Spock yet. Changing his grip on Spock's hair, he pulled him back off his cock. For a moment, it looked like Spock would protest before acquiescence took over his features.
Jim's lust and ire climbed each other like thorny rose vines, scraping up his belly and collaring his throat. He had been so close, and still Spock had managed to regain his control. Jim practically snarled. Swinging his leg back, he knelt next to Spock. "On your hands and knees," he ordered.
Spock broke his hold on the shelf to roll into position, and Jim's hand fell, his retribution stinging and immediate.
"Did I tell you to let go?"
"Captain," Spock's voice, Jim was proud to notice, held a note of urgency. "It was the most efficient way to--"
Jim's hand came down again, hard against the curve of Spock's ass. The sound of the slap reverberated through the quiet quarters, sharp above the muted sound of their panting. "I didn't ask you to be efficient. I asked you not to let go."
Spock let out a shuddering breath, shaking his shoulders once. He reached forward, thumbs on top of the shelf this time, and held on. "Yes, Captain." The guidelines Jim was presenting him with were illogical, but they gave Spock a framework on which to hinge his own control. Rules implied order. Order implied discipline. A traitorous voice inside Spock implied that maybe it was Jim who had the discipline right now.
Letting out a pleased hum, Jim examined the hue greening Spock's ass where he'd hit it. He rubbed the print, enjoying the way Spock's skin shifted from warm to hot, like a smooth stone absorbing the sun. He brought his hand down again, just because he could.
"May I inquire--" Spock choked out, only to be cut off by another smack.
"You may not." Jim slid forward; his chest covering Spock's back, cock nestled against the curve where Spock's ass met his thighs. He breathed his words hotly into the shell of one pointed ear. "You don't get to ask questions right now. You don't get to explore. All you get to do is surrender to me. I'm going to tear down those defenses one by one, until all your logic is gone, and all you are is my Spock, raw and naked and mine."
The choked hitching of Spock's breathing was not at all under his control. Illogical rules that shifted whenever the authority wished were worse than chaos. Jim's words painted pictures in Spock's mind more illicit than any sex act. Being without logic would leave Spock more naked than he had ever been, and Spock trembled with the power of the image and the unexpected thrill it created.
Jim could feel Spock heaving for breath, felt the small shivers that chased each other over pale skin, felt the way his sides started to quiver like a skittish colt. He kissed his way from one shoulder to the other, hands soothing down Spock's ribs, fitting into the hollows of his hips. Spock took in a lungful of air and clenched his jaw, fighting to regain his composure and push his emotions away.
"Stop fighting me," Jim breathed, hips rubbing a slow circle against Spock's ass. "Let it go."
Spock whimpered helplessly between closed lips, head falling forward between his shoulders. "Captain..."
The sound shuddered through Jim and he had to pull back, putting distance between himself and Spock lest he should lose his own control. He couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook his face as he watched Spock press back, searching for him, arms fully extended, hair falling into his eyes as he turned his head to find him. His next command was an affectionate whisper. “Close your eyes, Spock.”
Spock obeyed, eyelashes fluttering and settling like butterflies.
Jim fumbled slightly for what he needed, prying a half empty bottle of lube from a drawer as quietly as possible. It wasn’t often that his fingers were the ones pressing, stretching, and the anticipation in his veins was hotter and hazier than usual.
Pressing his face against the inside of his bicep, Spock could not restrain the moans that escaped him. His hips canted backwards, inviting and begging and demanding all at once. It frightened Spock. This moment had never arrived until much later, when he teetered over that brink and came hard, waves of emotion coasting out of him like music, unhindered by logic and protocol, drowning Spock in it until Jim’s kiss was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Spock wasn’t toeing that line yet, not really, but he felt his emotions bubbling nonetheless. He felt them clogging his throat, dislodging themselves in these wet, needy noises he’d never heard before. “Jim…”
Jim pulled his fingers out abruptly, and the lube made his slap sting more fiercely. “What did you call me?”
For a moment, Spock pressed his face into the pillow, his emotions clawing for his mouth while his logic drove them down. “I apologize,” he finally forced out, voice low and breathless. “I did not mean it, Captain. I’m sorry.” He gasped for breath. He was going to drown in this emotion soon, and Jim wasn’t near enough to catch him.
Jim believed in rewarding good behavior, and this time the reward was one long, slow thrust, burying his cock as steadily as he could. He didn’t stop until their flesh was flush, as close as they could get. Jim rotated his hips in slow circles, moaning at the friction without pulling out an inch.
Spock panted, mouth open wide, eyes still shut firmly. His hands were white where they clutched the shelf, and it took all of his concentration to summon up the last of his Vulcan discipline and keep holding on. “Captain,” he finally whispered.
“Yes, Spock?” Jim replied. His words were steady but his voice was not. His thighs trembled as he fought the urge to thrust.
“Captain,” Spock repeated, not trusting himself to say more.
“Tell me,” Jim ordered. He bit his lip, trying to even his breathing.
Spock shook his head once, sharply. Reaching down, Jim wrapped a hand over the base of Spock’s cock, squeezing a little too hard for pleasure.
“You have to tell me.”
Trying to rock himself back onto Jim’s cock, Spock regretted letting his honor pin him in this position. If he moved his hands, gained some leverage, he could reverse this situation entirely, pin Jim beneath him, and finish this now. It was an appealing thought, and no matter how much Jim played with power, Spock knew Jim would be just as satisfied with that outcome.
It was startling when Spock realized it was not the outcome he wanted.
With a low whine, the emotion blocking Spock’s throat came hurtling free. His tone was not as impassioned as Jim might have expected, but it was honest and the strength beneath it came from need and desperation. “Please, Captain, please fuck me, I’ll do whatever you require of me, please, I need you.”
Spock’s litany was interrupted when a sharp thrust knocked the air from his lungs. As soon as he could take more in, the words continued, falling from him before he could think them, a constant stream of the kind of dulcet, emotional filth of which only humans are capable.
Behind him, Jim groaned wordlessly, unable to hold back as his hips snapped brutally and without rhythm. His left hand was tight enough on Spock’s hip that he knew there would be five yellowgreen bruises to admire in the morning.
Spock felt the waves of emotion crash over him and fought the urge to hold his breath. There was no answering mouth seeking his, only the soft cotton of pillows and bedding, nothing there to save him from himself as his inner face took over. He sobbed once, and the sound was unexpected and shapely. Fear gripped Spock just as strongly as pleasure as a thought seized him in the back of his mind: This was how he was going to die, drowning in his own humanity and surrounded by chaotic love.
Jim’s vice grip lessened from around Spock’s erection. Sucking in air like he’d surfaced from water, Spock came hard, body shuddering around Jim and beneath him. Jim’s orgasm followed soon after, coaxed by the tightening of Spock’s body, Jim’s face pressed between hot shoulder blades.
They stayed that way for a long time. Spock kept his eyes closed, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ as he gasped for breath. Jim was slumped over him, hands spread over Spock’s back and sides, cock slowly softening.
He wasn’t dead. The realization expanded in Spock like a sunrise. Refocusing his will, he pried his hands away from the shelf and carefully detangled himself from Jim. Rolling onto his side, he pulled Jim against him, embracing the relatively cool temperature of a human body, even in this state.
Jim finally huffed a breath against Spock’s chest. The sound was amused and amazed. “Well, damn.”
“Indeed,” Spock replied, his body pliant. His voice settled back into the warm, baritone grooves to which Jim was accustomed, and something resembling neutrality rearranged Spock's face once more. Jim almost felt disappointed, but their eyes met and Spock's were half open and molten. In the brief moment before they fell shut, Jim could see Spock's exhaustion, his love, and his gratitude. It was enough.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (established)
Word Count: ~3,000
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Character study disguised as PWP. Jim is sick of Vulcan reserve.
Disclaimer: All I do is lie for fun and no profit.
Warnings: D/s themes, nothing heavy.
Author's Notes: After over seven years of writing slash, I've finally forayed into Kirk/Spock. It's like returning to the mothership, literally. Be gentle with me, it's my first time. Tremendous gratitude for formerlydf and zombielove74 for their excellent betas and hand-holding.
A friendly antagonism turned the air silver around the captain and first officer of the USS Enterprise. The two men cut quickly though the hallway, voices low and intense. Passers-by could hear the mumbling of words like "illogical", "unlikely", and "repressed". These kinds of debates were common between the human and the Vulcan, and they passed unnoticed between busy crewmen.
Jim seemed to crackle with energy, hands fluttering like a flock of birds as he emphasized his point. By contrast, Spock's pace and words were steady. Yet even through the calm of logic, Spock’s energy radiated almost entirely from his eyes, the one place he could not fully disengage. His hands were kept behind him, five fingers wrapped around the opposite wrist, as if he feared Jim’s enthusiasm was contagious.
The door to the captain's quarters opened smoothly. The debate ceased the moment it swooshed closed behind them. Jim's hands dug into Spock's shoulders as he pinned him to the wall. Crushing his mouth against Spock's, Jim's movements were near frantic.
"God," Jim panted, hands sliding up along Spock's flat belly, pushing up the material of his uniform.
"It is interesting to observe," Spock mumbled, his mouth pressed to Jim's shoulder, cotton muffling his voice, "The times that humans choose to invoke religion."
Jim rolled his eyes and his hips. "You're insufferable."
"You seem quite eager to suffer me," Spock pointed out, one eyebrow arching, as close to showing humor as Vulcans achieved.
Jim's arousal convoluted his emotions, agitation rising in him when it should have been wit. He let out a sound that could only be described as a growl, the noise rolling low from the back of his throat as he pressed against Spock, flush from chest to knee. There was a glint in his eyes that Spock was beginning to know well.
Spock's hands were warm as he trailed them over the small of Jim's back, his motions gentle if unyielding.
Jim's agitation grew. Something twisted in his gut, hot and insistent. "How can you be so passive?" he demanded. He rolled his hips against Spock's. "Parts of you aren't calm at all."
"Would you rather I resisted?" Spock's voice was merely curious, nothing betraying the tension under his uniform or the hardness Jim was pressing against. Spock had endeavored his entire life to find a balance between pleasure and control, and even Jim could not shake him enough to undermine his equanimity.
Jim pulled back. This was what Spock gave him, this demeanor broken slightly by quickened breath and a sheen of sweat, but always present like a force field between them. It was the Vulcan Jim had fallen for, but he had also fallen for the human beneath, and couldn't help but feel like he was being denied something that should have been his. It sharpened his agitation, spiking it up from his belly to his throat, spreading heat up his neck that had nothing to do with arousal.
Spock's eyebrows rose before he was taken off guard, spun to face the wall, his wrists locked behind his back. He allowed it, shoulders only tensing slightly, and Jim's voice was low in his ear. "I want to see you lose that control."
Spock's voice had not changed. "Unlikely, Jim." Something inside of him hardened, the burn of desire making his resolve igneous. He allowed his rate of respiration to increase, a small concession to what was beginning to swirl in his belly. He wondered if all Vulcans felt passion like this, or if this wasn't his human side, crawling up from where he kept it hidden in his toes, scaling his limbs until it could whisper perverse suggestions in his ear. Spock blinked more rapidly, willing logic to restore his equilibrium.
Leaning forward, Jim tightened his grip. "Call me Captain," he ordered, his smirk close to the point of Spock's right ear.
An almost-imperceptible shiver ran down Spock's spine. "Yes, Captain."
Jim's tongue flicked against the point of flesh, tinted green and darkening under his attention. He licked and nibbled his way to the lobe, sucking gently before pulling away. "Undress and get on my bed."
For a moment, Spock hesitated, a line of tension drawing his shoulders straight. He glanced at Jim over his shoulder, and Jim knew how easily Spock could overpower him and end this little game. He wondered if it was curiosity or courtesy that compelled Spock to turn, stripping his shirts over his head as he moved toward the bed.
In the few months they'd been together, Jim had managed to break Spock's habit of folding his clothing the instant it came off of his body, but Spock still refused to let his clothing fall to the floor. Instead, each article was laid carefully over the back of a chair, one by one. The blue uniform shirt, the black undershirt, the boots lined up next to the furniture, the black pants, black socks, and lastly, a pair of snug black briefs. Jim enjoyed the efficient strip tease as Spock moved with the assurance of one unable to possess insecurity over his own naked form.
Instinctively, Spock moved his hand to his erect cock, giving it a smooth tug and relishing in the small release in tension.
"Hands off," Jim ordered, taking a stilted step forward. His hands balled into fists at his sides, summoning up his own self-control for what was ahead. "That's mine. Now lie back."
Spock complied, kicking up onto the bed and laying his head on the pillows. He watched Jim intently, his dark eyes glinting, obediently keeping his hands at his sides.
Jim stalked forward, his own uniform falling into a rumpled pile on the floor, boots knocked akimbo. In one smooth motion, he was straddling Spock's belly, knees depressing the mattress and hands on Spock's chest. He slid them outward, over the curve of Spock's shoulders, down his pale arms, until his hands were again tight around Spock's wrists. Jim tugged, arranging for Spock's hands to bump the shelf at the head of the bed.
"Hold on," Jim instructed. "And if you let go, I'll stop."
Spock gripped the metal, thumbs curving around the underside of the shelf, wrists bent with an obscene beauty.
Despite the vulnerability of Spock's position, Jim could still see the coils of control over his lover's body. His forearms were tight, body held rigid, face impassive. Jim reached out, tracing the lines of Spock's face. He felt the swell of Spock's lower lip, the curve of his cheek. Dark eyes fluttered shut.
Jim carded a hand through Spock's hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It slid like silk just beginning to dampen and stick with sweat. His thumb worried the point of one ear, causing Spock's mouth to fall open, a rush of green staining his cheekbones. Jim could feel the body beneath him beginning to relax.
Exhaling deeply, Spock allowed himself to sink into the mattress a little, Jim's weight above him keeping him grounded. There was a kind of serenity in the heat simmering in his belly, and the telepathic hum created by their naked bodies was akin to Spock's deepest level of meditation. In this moment, Jim could ask for almost anything and Spock would comply.
Keeping one hand in Spock's hair, Jim settled two fingers against Spock's mouth. Taking the hint almost immediately, Spock drew them in, tongue swirling against the pads, cheeks hollowing slightly. A soft gasp escaped Jim, his hips shifting.
"Spock," he breathed, withdrawing his fingers. Spock blinked, watching as Jim slid forward, rising and tucking his knees under Spock's arms. Jim used his grip in Spock's hair to angle him forward, the other hand guiding his own cock.
A soft, desperate sound left Spock's throat as he tried to press closer, tongue reaching to taste Jim's cock. Spock's eyes fell shut, eyelashes smudging his cheeks as Jim pressed his hips closer, letting the head of his cock fill Spock's mouth. The part of Spock's mind that wasn't occupied with sex was quick to analyze his reactions, judging them within the parameters of acceptable loss of control during intimate situations.
Jim's breathing was ragged in his own ears as he let his hips move slowly, his cock sliding wetly between Spock's lips. He would have been content to come like that, accompanied by the sounds of their grunts and sighs, but he wasn't through with Spock yet. Changing his grip on Spock's hair, he pulled him back off his cock. For a moment, it looked like Spock would protest before acquiescence took over his features.
Jim's lust and ire climbed each other like thorny rose vines, scraping up his belly and collaring his throat. He had been so close, and still Spock had managed to regain his control. Jim practically snarled. Swinging his leg back, he knelt next to Spock. "On your hands and knees," he ordered.
Spock broke his hold on the shelf to roll into position, and Jim's hand fell, his retribution stinging and immediate.
"Did I tell you to let go?"
"Captain," Spock's voice, Jim was proud to notice, held a note of urgency. "It was the most efficient way to--"
Jim's hand came down again, hard against the curve of Spock's ass. The sound of the slap reverberated through the quiet quarters, sharp above the muted sound of their panting. "I didn't ask you to be efficient. I asked you not to let go."
Spock let out a shuddering breath, shaking his shoulders once. He reached forward, thumbs on top of the shelf this time, and held on. "Yes, Captain." The guidelines Jim was presenting him with were illogical, but they gave Spock a framework on which to hinge his own control. Rules implied order. Order implied discipline. A traitorous voice inside Spock implied that maybe it was Jim who had the discipline right now.
Letting out a pleased hum, Jim examined the hue greening Spock's ass where he'd hit it. He rubbed the print, enjoying the way Spock's skin shifted from warm to hot, like a smooth stone absorbing the sun. He brought his hand down again, just because he could.
"May I inquire--" Spock choked out, only to be cut off by another smack.
"You may not." Jim slid forward; his chest covering Spock's back, cock nestled against the curve where Spock's ass met his thighs. He breathed his words hotly into the shell of one pointed ear. "You don't get to ask questions right now. You don't get to explore. All you get to do is surrender to me. I'm going to tear down those defenses one by one, until all your logic is gone, and all you are is my Spock, raw and naked and mine."
The choked hitching of Spock's breathing was not at all under his control. Illogical rules that shifted whenever the authority wished were worse than chaos. Jim's words painted pictures in Spock's mind more illicit than any sex act. Being without logic would leave Spock more naked than he had ever been, and Spock trembled with the power of the image and the unexpected thrill it created.
Jim could feel Spock heaving for breath, felt the small shivers that chased each other over pale skin, felt the way his sides started to quiver like a skittish colt. He kissed his way from one shoulder to the other, hands soothing down Spock's ribs, fitting into the hollows of his hips. Spock took in a lungful of air and clenched his jaw, fighting to regain his composure and push his emotions away.
"Stop fighting me," Jim breathed, hips rubbing a slow circle against Spock's ass. "Let it go."
Spock whimpered helplessly between closed lips, head falling forward between his shoulders. "Captain..."
The sound shuddered through Jim and he had to pull back, putting distance between himself and Spock lest he should lose his own control. He couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook his face as he watched Spock press back, searching for him, arms fully extended, hair falling into his eyes as he turned his head to find him. His next command was an affectionate whisper. “Close your eyes, Spock.”
Spock obeyed, eyelashes fluttering and settling like butterflies.
Jim fumbled slightly for what he needed, prying a half empty bottle of lube from a drawer as quietly as possible. It wasn’t often that his fingers were the ones pressing, stretching, and the anticipation in his veins was hotter and hazier than usual.
Pressing his face against the inside of his bicep, Spock could not restrain the moans that escaped him. His hips canted backwards, inviting and begging and demanding all at once. It frightened Spock. This moment had never arrived until much later, when he teetered over that brink and came hard, waves of emotion coasting out of him like music, unhindered by logic and protocol, drowning Spock in it until Jim’s kiss was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Spock wasn’t toeing that line yet, not really, but he felt his emotions bubbling nonetheless. He felt them clogging his throat, dislodging themselves in these wet, needy noises he’d never heard before. “Jim…”
Jim pulled his fingers out abruptly, and the lube made his slap sting more fiercely. “What did you call me?”
For a moment, Spock pressed his face into the pillow, his emotions clawing for his mouth while his logic drove them down. “I apologize,” he finally forced out, voice low and breathless. “I did not mean it, Captain. I’m sorry.” He gasped for breath. He was going to drown in this emotion soon, and Jim wasn’t near enough to catch him.
Jim believed in rewarding good behavior, and this time the reward was one long, slow thrust, burying his cock as steadily as he could. He didn’t stop until their flesh was flush, as close as they could get. Jim rotated his hips in slow circles, moaning at the friction without pulling out an inch.
Spock panted, mouth open wide, eyes still shut firmly. His hands were white where they clutched the shelf, and it took all of his concentration to summon up the last of his Vulcan discipline and keep holding on. “Captain,” he finally whispered.
“Yes, Spock?” Jim replied. His words were steady but his voice was not. His thighs trembled as he fought the urge to thrust.
“Captain,” Spock repeated, not trusting himself to say more.
“Tell me,” Jim ordered. He bit his lip, trying to even his breathing.
Spock shook his head once, sharply. Reaching down, Jim wrapped a hand over the base of Spock’s cock, squeezing a little too hard for pleasure.
“You have to tell me.”
Trying to rock himself back onto Jim’s cock, Spock regretted letting his honor pin him in this position. If he moved his hands, gained some leverage, he could reverse this situation entirely, pin Jim beneath him, and finish this now. It was an appealing thought, and no matter how much Jim played with power, Spock knew Jim would be just as satisfied with that outcome.
It was startling when Spock realized it was not the outcome he wanted.
With a low whine, the emotion blocking Spock’s throat came hurtling free. His tone was not as impassioned as Jim might have expected, but it was honest and the strength beneath it came from need and desperation. “Please, Captain, please fuck me, I’ll do whatever you require of me, please, I need you.”
Spock’s litany was interrupted when a sharp thrust knocked the air from his lungs. As soon as he could take more in, the words continued, falling from him before he could think them, a constant stream of the kind of dulcet, emotional filth of which only humans are capable.
Behind him, Jim groaned wordlessly, unable to hold back as his hips snapped brutally and without rhythm. His left hand was tight enough on Spock’s hip that he knew there would be five yellowgreen bruises to admire in the morning.
Spock felt the waves of emotion crash over him and fought the urge to hold his breath. There was no answering mouth seeking his, only the soft cotton of pillows and bedding, nothing there to save him from himself as his inner face took over. He sobbed once, and the sound was unexpected and shapely. Fear gripped Spock just as strongly as pleasure as a thought seized him in the back of his mind: This was how he was going to die, drowning in his own humanity and surrounded by chaotic love.
Jim’s vice grip lessened from around Spock’s erection. Sucking in air like he’d surfaced from water, Spock came hard, body shuddering around Jim and beneath him. Jim’s orgasm followed soon after, coaxed by the tightening of Spock’s body, Jim’s face pressed between hot shoulder blades.
They stayed that way for a long time. Spock kept his eyes closed, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ as he gasped for breath. Jim was slumped over him, hands spread over Spock’s back and sides, cock slowly softening.
He wasn’t dead. The realization expanded in Spock like a sunrise. Refocusing his will, he pried his hands away from the shelf and carefully detangled himself from Jim. Rolling onto his side, he pulled Jim against him, embracing the relatively cool temperature of a human body, even in this state.
Jim finally huffed a breath against Spock’s chest. The sound was amused and amazed. “Well, damn.”
“Indeed,” Spock replied, his body pliant. His voice settled back into the warm, baritone grooves to which Jim was accustomed, and something resembling neutrality rearranged Spock's face once more. Jim almost felt disappointed, but their eyes met and Spock's were half open and molten. In the brief moment before they fell shut, Jim could see Spock's exhaustion, his love, and his gratitude. It was enough.