Fic! Star Trek XI (Kirk/Spock)
I was a productive member of society until I went to see the new Star Trek film. And then I stayed up till four in the morning reading fic. And then I wept bitter, bitter tears when I had to be at work four hours later.
This story was inspired by the barrage of debate at st_xi_kink -- surprisingly chatty for a supposed kink meme -- as to who tops, Kirk or Spock, and modelled (with permission) on the incomparable astolat's response to the equally burning question re Sam and Dean in Supernatural.
My thanks also to china_shop for midnight beta, and slaying my run-on sentences. They were this long. She also questioned my use of the word sweetheart, but what can I say? That thing went viral in about five minutes. Fanon, hello, I embrace you.
Title: Command Dynamics
Author: arysteia
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (also Spock/Kirk, and how old skool is that for the order to count?)
Rating: PG to soft R
Spoilers: nothing specific for the movie, vague references to wider canon
Command Dynamics
always kirk
They start out trading off evenly - that's the way it has to be, both of them still too raw, too invested in their relative positions on board ship. Too easily reminded, however unwillingly, of how they got to this place, and how fragile their rapport still is. That can't last forever, not once they start to realise this thing is gonna last and that it isn't a competition. Change is inevitable. When it comes, though, it's not the change Kirk was expecting.
It's his turn, he's all set for it, in the zone and in the mood, when Spock just stops him, takes the lube right out of his hand, pushes him down on his back, hard, and holds him there. Kirk struggles for a moment, a short, panicked sequence of heartbeats. Spock's Vulcan strength is apparent in a way it really hasn't been since that day on the bridge, one hand spread flat on his chest holding him immobile. Spock looks at him impassively, a fractionally raised eyebrow the only sign there's any question at all what's about to happen.
Kirk opens his mouth to complain, boy is he gonna give his delusional first officer a pointy earful, but all that comes out is a breathy moan. Permission to come aboard clearly granted, the eyebrow comes down and Spock sets to work. Kirk comes all over himself without being touched, one heavy hand still on his chest, the other gripped possessively around his hip, and he lies awake after, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell just happened and why it was so damn hot. Spock kisses him on the temple, thanks him politely, and goes to sleep, flat on his back beside him, their shoulders barely touching, and after that, well, that's just the way it goes. It would be illogical to tamper with what works.
mostly kirk
Kirk wants it at least three - okay, four - okay, five, so what, he's a healthy young man in his sexual prime - nights out of the week, and it's not that Spock won't, but all joking about pon farr aside, and with the best will in the world, it's pretty clear that a species that evolved to a seven year mating cycle and a biological imperative is less convinced that fucking is the best possible use of what limited free time is available on a starship.
Spock's just as happy getting laid once a week, and when he does he likes to make a whole performance out of it, making that revolting soup Kirk hates but dutifully swallows by the bowlful, lighting candles and incense, playing Vulcan mood music that sounds like nothing so much as someone strangling cats. And even after all that he takes forever to get ready, talk and mutual meditation and Vulcan finger kissing, which okay, yeah, is kinda hot, especially when they do it on the bridge or in the transporter room, or pretty much anywhere in front of random crew members who have no clue how undone their captain is making their first officer, but god, not in the bedroom after what seems like hours of foreplay! Sometimes Kirk just wants a quick tumble before he's inevitably roused out of bed and summoned to the latest yellow alert.
On the other hand, you can do all you like to train the emotion out of someone, but you can't breed out pure physical sexual response, and Spock is plenty responsive. It's a matter of personal pride that it never takes Kirk longer than about ten minutes to get Spock's eyes to turn deep and black, pupils wildly dilated, even if he's trying to keep them focused on his datapad and holding his entire body rigid and unwelcoming at the start.
And if he insists that provoking irritation is an inappropriate way to request physical affection, and interfering in the smooth and orderly running of the ship is a counter-productive style of command, the fact that he as good as admits Kirk's eliciting an emotional reaction, coupled with the fact that he allows the interference, is game and set as far as Kirk is concerned, and about to be match too when Spock shoves his chair aside, grabs Kirk around the waist and tosses him across the room and onto the bed, grumbling as he does that since a first officer's primary duty is to complement the strengths and weaknesses of his captain, he'd better minimise the delay in preparing the reception for the Araxis trade delegation, which is vitally important to assisting famine relief in the Maracandan sector.
The fact he can get all that out without stopping for breath, disrobing all the while, provokes irritation in Kirk, but hey, disrobing, and the fact that Spock feels time pressure means he skimps on prep and junks the foreplay entirely and that's all to the good. His body temperature, high at the best of times, rockets, and he's like a furnace above and around and inside Kirk, and yeah, good. Great even.
even switching (well, theoretically)
"Best of three?" Kirk asks, grinning winsomely.
Spock huffs a short breath that on anyone else would be a full-blown sigh of exasperation. "We have a meeting of all command crew in your ready room at 0700, Captain. Perhaps we should adjourn to our separate quarters for sleep."
"No, fine," Kirk says sulkily, and yanks his command yellow shirt over his head. Spock picks it up from its far-flung corner and folds it neatly with his own blue one.
"It's just," Kirk insists some time later, "sixteen freaking times in a row, and-"
"I did suggest that three dimensional chess was not a sound vehicle for making such a decision," Spock says calmly, pulling Kirk's legs up to circle his waist and thrusting in hard. "I am what on Earth would historically have been called a Grand Master, and you are an enthusiastic and gifted amateur."
"Yeah, you wanted to make a roster," Kirk says, and clenches around him.
mostly spock
Spock will never vocalise the thought because a) it is an overly sentimental feeling and one he considers beneath him, and b) Kirk's natural tendency towards perversity would likely see him take a contrary attitude merely to aggravate Spock, but the reason he prefers Kirk to take the dominant role is that he gets a little softer when he does.
When in the receptive position, Kirk's like a caged animal, spitting and hissing and demanding, "C'mon, give it to me, Spock, put it in me, fuck me for real," but the other way around he's slow and gentle and sweet. He wraps his arms around Spock, one round his neck, the other round his waist, and holds him tight, and while Spock knows he could easily throw him off, in that moment he feels held, cradled, safe, secure.
Kirk eases his way in and stops to breathe, just holding there, lips brushing cool and moist against Spock's neck, then stretches to nuzzle at his ear, and whispers softly, "That's so good, you're so good, god, I can't believe you're letting me, how's that, sweetheart?" like it's the most amazing thing that's ever happened. His thrusts are strong and slow and deep, and when he gets close he takes Spock's hand and positions it on the flare of his own cheekbone.
The mindmeld gets easier every time, stronger, more familiar, and as the feel of Kirk's body moving inside his gets hazy, the rush of his thoughts, feelings, emotions is a veritable flood sweeping Spock away. There's nothing hidden, it's all right there on the surface, and the last thing he feels as he comes is the absolute certainty of Jim's love.
always spock
Pon farr's a bitch, to use the human vernacular, and the heart wants what it wants, but sometimes the body does too. And if there's one thing Kirk's taught him, it's that when you want something, you have to take it.
This story was inspired by the barrage of debate at st_xi_kink -- surprisingly chatty for a supposed kink meme -- as to who tops, Kirk or Spock, and modelled (with permission) on the incomparable astolat's response to the equally burning question re Sam and Dean in Supernatural.
My thanks also to china_shop for midnight beta, and slaying my run-on sentences. They were this long. She also questioned my use of the word sweetheart, but what can I say? That thing went viral in about five minutes. Fanon, hello, I embrace you.
Title: Command Dynamics
Author: arysteia
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (also Spock/Kirk, and how old skool is that for the order to count?)
Rating: PG to soft R
Spoilers: nothing specific for the movie, vague references to wider canon
Command Dynamics
always kirk
They start out trading off evenly - that's the way it has to be, both of them still too raw, too invested in their relative positions on board ship. Too easily reminded, however unwillingly, of how they got to this place, and how fragile their rapport still is. That can't last forever, not once they start to realise this thing is gonna last and that it isn't a competition. Change is inevitable. When it comes, though, it's not the change Kirk was expecting.
It's his turn, he's all set for it, in the zone and in the mood, when Spock just stops him, takes the lube right out of his hand, pushes him down on his back, hard, and holds him there. Kirk struggles for a moment, a short, panicked sequence of heartbeats. Spock's Vulcan strength is apparent in a way it really hasn't been since that day on the bridge, one hand spread flat on his chest holding him immobile. Spock looks at him impassively, a fractionally raised eyebrow the only sign there's any question at all what's about to happen.
Kirk opens his mouth to complain, boy is he gonna give his delusional first officer a pointy earful, but all that comes out is a breathy moan. Permission to come aboard clearly granted, the eyebrow comes down and Spock sets to work. Kirk comes all over himself without being touched, one heavy hand still on his chest, the other gripped possessively around his hip, and he lies awake after, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell just happened and why it was so damn hot. Spock kisses him on the temple, thanks him politely, and goes to sleep, flat on his back beside him, their shoulders barely touching, and after that, well, that's just the way it goes. It would be illogical to tamper with what works.
mostly kirk
Kirk wants it at least three - okay, four - okay, five, so what, he's a healthy young man in his sexual prime - nights out of the week, and it's not that Spock won't, but all joking about pon farr aside, and with the best will in the world, it's pretty clear that a species that evolved to a seven year mating cycle and a biological imperative is less convinced that fucking is the best possible use of what limited free time is available on a starship.
Spock's just as happy getting laid once a week, and when he does he likes to make a whole performance out of it, making that revolting soup Kirk hates but dutifully swallows by the bowlful, lighting candles and incense, playing Vulcan mood music that sounds like nothing so much as someone strangling cats. And even after all that he takes forever to get ready, talk and mutual meditation and Vulcan finger kissing, which okay, yeah, is kinda hot, especially when they do it on the bridge or in the transporter room, or pretty much anywhere in front of random crew members who have no clue how undone their captain is making their first officer, but god, not in the bedroom after what seems like hours of foreplay! Sometimes Kirk just wants a quick tumble before he's inevitably roused out of bed and summoned to the latest yellow alert.
On the other hand, you can do all you like to train the emotion out of someone, but you can't breed out pure physical sexual response, and Spock is plenty responsive. It's a matter of personal pride that it never takes Kirk longer than about ten minutes to get Spock's eyes to turn deep and black, pupils wildly dilated, even if he's trying to keep them focused on his datapad and holding his entire body rigid and unwelcoming at the start.
And if he insists that provoking irritation is an inappropriate way to request physical affection, and interfering in the smooth and orderly running of the ship is a counter-productive style of command, the fact that he as good as admits Kirk's eliciting an emotional reaction, coupled with the fact that he allows the interference, is game and set as far as Kirk is concerned, and about to be match too when Spock shoves his chair aside, grabs Kirk around the waist and tosses him across the room and onto the bed, grumbling as he does that since a first officer's primary duty is to complement the strengths and weaknesses of his captain, he'd better minimise the delay in preparing the reception for the Araxis trade delegation, which is vitally important to assisting famine relief in the Maracandan sector.
The fact he can get all that out without stopping for breath, disrobing all the while, provokes irritation in Kirk, but hey, disrobing, and the fact that Spock feels time pressure means he skimps on prep and junks the foreplay entirely and that's all to the good. His body temperature, high at the best of times, rockets, and he's like a furnace above and around and inside Kirk, and yeah, good. Great even.
even switching (well, theoretically)
"Best of three?" Kirk asks, grinning winsomely.
Spock huffs a short breath that on anyone else would be a full-blown sigh of exasperation. "We have a meeting of all command crew in your ready room at 0700, Captain. Perhaps we should adjourn to our separate quarters for sleep."
"No, fine," Kirk says sulkily, and yanks his command yellow shirt over his head. Spock picks it up from its far-flung corner and folds it neatly with his own blue one.
"It's just," Kirk insists some time later, "sixteen freaking times in a row, and-"
"I did suggest that three dimensional chess was not a sound vehicle for making such a decision," Spock says calmly, pulling Kirk's legs up to circle his waist and thrusting in hard. "I am what on Earth would historically have been called a Grand Master, and you are an enthusiastic and gifted amateur."
"Yeah, you wanted to make a roster," Kirk says, and clenches around him.
mostly spock
Spock will never vocalise the thought because a) it is an overly sentimental feeling and one he considers beneath him, and b) Kirk's natural tendency towards perversity would likely see him take a contrary attitude merely to aggravate Spock, but the reason he prefers Kirk to take the dominant role is that he gets a little softer when he does.
When in the receptive position, Kirk's like a caged animal, spitting and hissing and demanding, "C'mon, give it to me, Spock, put it in me, fuck me for real," but the other way around he's slow and gentle and sweet. He wraps his arms around Spock, one round his neck, the other round his waist, and holds him tight, and while Spock knows he could easily throw him off, in that moment he feels held, cradled, safe, secure.
Kirk eases his way in and stops to breathe, just holding there, lips brushing cool and moist against Spock's neck, then stretches to nuzzle at his ear, and whispers softly, "That's so good, you're so good, god, I can't believe you're letting me, how's that, sweetheart?" like it's the most amazing thing that's ever happened. His thrusts are strong and slow and deep, and when he gets close he takes Spock's hand and positions it on the flare of his own cheekbone.
The mindmeld gets easier every time, stronger, more familiar, and as the feel of Kirk's body moving inside his gets hazy, the rush of his thoughts, feelings, emotions is a veritable flood sweeping Spock away. There's nothing hidden, it's all right there on the surface, and the last thing he feels as he comes is the absolute certainty of Jim's love.
always spock
Pon farr's a bitch, to use the human vernacular, and the heart wants what it wants, but sometimes the body does too. And if there's one thing Kirk's taught him, it's that when you want something, you have to take it.