[FIC]: Before the Bell, Pike/Spock, NC-17
Title: Before the Bell
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock
POV: Spock
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4.419
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Pike/Spock: in Spock's classroom, right before his students are due to come in.
A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again. We love Pike/Spock.
Interspecies Ethics was, surprisingly, a popular class. The definitive reason behind its popularity eluded Spock, though he had several theories that he kept to himself. As a consequence of the over two-hundred cadets that took the course, he needed to use one of the larger lecture halls on the other side of the campus. His own office and most of his classes were nestled near the science laboratories, so he always got the vague feeling that he was outside of his element when he taught deep in Command territory. It was not something that had any real consequence besides the arrogance of the cadets he has to walk by, but he was aware of it nonetheless.
Spock arrived in the hall through the lecturer's backdoor an half-hour before he was scheduled to begin. Usually he wasn't so early, but aside from the distance and the possibility for obstacles, this course also required some technological set-up. Without the proper lecture materials, the discussion could dissolve into mind-numbing boredom. In that case, Spock wouldn't waste his time, because he would know that the cadets weren't listening, anyway.
After setting down his bag on the desk off to the side, he drew forth three padds and one black device that fit ergonomically into his loosely-closed fist. With the projection on the front wall turned on, he began to connect each of the padds with the larger screen, drawing up reports, images, video--everything relevant to the day's lecture. Occasionally, he would press some buttons on the device in his hand, just to make sure that transitions were seamless and, of course, in order.
The doors to the classroom opened with their quiet swish, and the sound of boots against the hard floor followed. Perhaps a student arriving early? The voice that rang out was hardly the voice of a student, though. "Doors, lock." He knew that voice well enough.
Spock glanced up from coordinating the padds to look over his shoulder, up the stairs towards the main entrance; he was right. "Christopher," He greeted him with that professionalism he always maintained during the day, and returned his attention back to his preparation. The lock did not bother him, for as long as there was no superior code, he was free to unlock it as well. Basic faculty privileges. He still had twenty-five minutes until lecture would begin.
Christopher Pike slowly walked down the stairs, his hands behind his back as he stayed focused on Spock. "Good afternoon, Spock," Said in a light tone, a smile playing over his lips in what most humans would know as definitely mischief. When Spock glanced up for a moment and caught a glimpse of that smile, he didn't suspect much of anything. Perhaps Christopher wanted to sit in on the lecture--something not completely unheard of, especially given the subject matter.
With a press of a button on the device, causing the present image on the wall to change into some Andorian cultural object, Spock looked away from the other man again. "Why are you in this lecture hall?" He asked, bluntly. It was not rude (otherwise he wouldn't bother asking), but he had little time to waste. If he finished preparations early for this course, he had essays to read (and egos to shred).
"There was something I wanted in here." Christopher remarked lightly, slowly moving to stand in front of Spock's desk. He tilted his head, ever so slightly, that same expression remaining on his face. At this, Spock's thoughts paused; comparisons and contrasts between species on the subject of euthanasia slowly dissolved from their stasis into simple curiosity and annoyance. Spock knew for a fact that he had nothing material to give him, that all of the equipment in this room was available anywhere else, and Christopher would ask his secretary to get it, if it was necessary.
The desk between them seemed to shrink when Spock turned to face him, meeting Christopher's gaze and smile (which was looking closer to a smirk with every passing second) with his own calm and unaffected expression. "And what was it you wanted?" His eyes observed the whole of the man in front of him, including--this should have been his first warning, in hindsight--the difference in their uniform collars. Spock had it zipped neatly to the top, as always, but this afternoon, Christopher's collar is unzipped to expose his neck. He only did this during the evening hours. It was two hours and fifty-four minutes until seventeen-hundred.
Slowly Christopher moved around the other side of the desk, stepping inside Spock's personal bubble like it didn't exist. Without comment, he brought his hands up and pressed his palms flat against the black material of the officer's uniform across Spock's chest. Then he started to press forward, urging the other male backwards. At first, Spock put up some token resistance, to simply feel Christopher's hands against him, but when the pressure increased, he allowed it to maneuver him back. He felt the desk hit the back of his thighs, and yet still it continued. His hands came up to slide over Christopher's, and arched an eyebrow at him. "Christopher?" Spock shifted to lean-sit on the edge of the desk, hoping to alleviate the constant pressure.
"Turn around, Spock." Came the cool command, his face serious while his eyes remained full of mischief. The pressure released just a little on Spock's chest, enough to let him accomplish the action but not escape him. Spock searched Christopher's face, his eyes...but the man didn't seem to want to relent. He hesitated, and then slowly turned around, to face the desk, his back to Christopher. Christopher leaned in against Spock, leaning over his back. A hand slipped up, around Spock's chest, and up to his neck. With a deft tug, he pulled down the zip, curled his finger around the collar so it was pushed down, and bit lightly on the back of Spock's neck.
As soon as he felt the teeth on the neck, Spock shoved his hips back against him in retaliation. Perhaps not the best action: he could feel how hard Christopher was, now pressed up against every contour of his body. They couldn't do this, couldn't unzip and open their uniforms when he only had twenty-three minutes until his lecture was supposed to begin. "Christopher," Spock's tone sharpened over the name. "We cannot do this here."
A grunt left Christopher with that sudden movement of hips and strong hands slid around Spock's body to keep his place. Despite that, the older male's voice remained almost jovial. "And why not?" He asked, as if Spock was asking the most foolish question ever.
"This is a public lecture hall," Spock informed him with the just slightest strain to his voice. "This is not the--proper, place for this sort of activity, despite your obvious interest in proceeding with it." He moved again, against him, testing the limits of how far Christopher would let him move, with those hands fixed around him.
Christopher moved his hand down to the front of Spock's body, reaching between his legs and nudging with the side of his hand. "Well, currently, it is not public." The amusement remained in his voice, obviously enjoying himself.
Spock realized, to his greater annoyance, that between the erection pressing against him and the hand between his legs, that all his escape routes were blocked. He didn't want to potential injury by throwing him off (an easy procedure, what with his hands braced against the table), but reason had been ineffective so far. With the touch, too, his resistance weakened--just because he wouldn't have Christopher here did not mean he wouldn't have him at all. "You are also preventing me from completing my preparations for the lecture." Guilting the man into releasing him would probably prove equally ineffective, but Spock wanted to make his concerns known regardless.
"I believe your students'll live just this once if their favorite professor is not fully prepared for their lecture." Christopher changed stance enough to murmur near Spock's ear, "Just... prepared in another way?" Oh, without doubt, the Captain was feeling in a more playful mood. Unfortunately for Spock, today's playful entailed breaking several dozen Academy regulations. Not that thought would have stopped Christopher. It never had.
"I do not understand how copulation with you will enhance my teaching ability." Spock turned his head slightly, to glance back at his face. "This is distracting, historically tiring--and, Christopher, we do not have time for your teasing." He punctuated the last clause with another shove back.
Another grunt, but the Captain kept his hold on Spock like a rider on a bucking bronco. That last part caused a flicker towards the chronometer presumably because Christopher said a moment later, "If you'd stop denying this and enjoy it, we have just enough time." His hand gave a squeeze where it sat between Spock's thighs.
Spock's lips part to allow himself a quiet inhale; not a gasp, since he was fully expecting the touch, but a breath to help him maintain his composure (now and in the very near future). Christopher was right; they could be done before his class started. He stared down at the desk beneath him, and said after a pause, "Do not stain my uniform." It was as much permission as he would give him in this setting. Seemed to be all the permission that Christopher needed, anyway, as he quickly undid the fastenings of Spock's trousers, slid his hand beneath more fabric, and grasped flesh. He brought his other hand around to shove the black fabric down around Spock's skinny hips, skipping his normal enjoyment of foreplay in lieu of their lack of time.
The chill of the classroom hit Spock's skin with an unpleasant sensation--the temperature was always set to the comfort of the cadets and not himself, of course. But the discomfort faded with Christopher's touch, strong fingers and a warm-cool palm wrapped around him. Spock never resisted this touch; if he didn't want it, he wouldn't allow Christopher to get as far as inside his trousers. Now that he could feel it, species comparison topics dropped out of his main thought stream completely. His senses sharpened. He could hear every rustle of fabric in the blissful silence of the lecture hall, feel the faintest brush of fingertips against his hip, smell the fading scent of chocolate pudding rising from his book bag.
Christopher's arm kept him locked in place there against the desk, stroking Spock in sharp, quick strokes that end in him palming across the top of the glans. There was a faint sound of shifting, rustling, then a click. A familiar one. Obviously, the Captain had come prepared. If Spock wasn't so distracted, shuddering a little when one stroke got him just right, he would have commended Christopher on his foresight. That, or scold him for expecting to get this with such confidence. Of course, Spock was still the one struggling to maintain his composure and the delicate order of his mind, so it wouldn't be the best argument he had ever made. And it most likely would have pleased Christopher to no end, which defeated the entire purpose of the scolding.
There was a muffled curse and some fumbling, something got pressed against Spock's lower back, then the sound of whatever Christopher had been holding hitting the floor. A squelching sound followed, very quiet normally but so loud in the otherwise silent room, and the tip of a finger pressed against Spock. Twenty minutes.
He had been expecting this, too, but that didn't make his body stiffen any less. This was still a public area, they weren't supposing to be doing this, but he also knew that they would have to finish it now. For this inevitability, he forced himself to relax, allowing that finger to press inside of him. He completely forgot about the padds on the desk in front of him, the black device blinking casually where it had been set, and the projection on the adjacent wall. One touch, and his world shrank threefold. "Christopher." There may have been need in his voice, but most of it was impatience. Christopher had come here for one purpose only, regardless of the common decency of it all, and now he was trying to be considerate?
"Tell me what you want." Came the cool reply from behind him before not one but two fingers slid up into Spock's body, heavily slicked by some substance that hopefully would not stain. The fingers crooked, ever so slightly, to aim for presumably--right there. Christopher's voice crowded out the rest of the lingering thoughts in his mind, enough that he couldn't concentrate on how loud the gasp was that passed his lips.
"...I want you to be satisfied, so that you will not embarrass me in front of my students." His voice wavered slightly as he made the mistake of concentrating on those fingers around and inside him, and the pressure at all the right places.
Those strong fingers were remaining right there where they were, putting a constant pressure in that exact spot. "Is that all?" When he desired it to, Christopher's voice could roll straight into a smooth almost-growl that was commanding without command. Like now, all the essence of being Captain in action, just for Spock. He knew he was getting spoiled, but he would have preferred it be at another time and place, where he could enjoy it more.
"I want--" An involuntary pause. Spock knew, at least, what his body wanted, but he couldn't vocalize it here. He never used such crude language while working and this was not his own time being interrupted. "I want you to--" He couldn't. Still hard, still aching for it, and knowing that Christopher already knew exactly what Spock wanted and this was completely unnecessary.
The hand didn't move, keeping up that firm pressure, with only the slightest shift in position. "You want me to what, Commander?"
The title shot straight down his spine to his groin, it was not enough to break the professional stop-gap he had in place for this very reason. He could keep himself in line from little touches, kisses, accidental brushes of hands, and occasional hugs. If this continued, though, the wall would crumble. "F--" It only came out as a single syllable, barely breathed. He knew they had to get this over with; his inner chronometer was ticking down past eighteen minutes...but he couldn't.
Christopher's voice came low and steady against Spock's ear after another minute shift of the body, "Say. It." In the tone of an order, though no order on the bridge would ever have been given in that particular tone of voice. The pressure of his fingers was steady, unrelenting.
No, Spock thought to himself. He couldn't. He had to resist it. He couldn't break his composure while working, he couldn't have Christopher simply taking him over the desk like this, almost seventeen minutes until lecture. But his mind was already swamped, he was sure his skin was beginning to flush--but maybe he could still recover if they stopped and--"Fuck me," It felt wrong as he whispered it, which made it fit with the situation so organically. Spock could have used so many other words in several other languages to express his desire, but he knew the phrase that Christopher liked to hear from him the most.
There was a pleased noise from the Captain and he spread those fingers, spreading Spock open for a long moment before withdrawing entirely. The sound of fabric filled the room and strong hands bent Spock over further. An arm wrapped around his midsection, boosting his hips up slightly. The other hand was felt briefly against Spock's backside, then warm-cool flesh pressed against him. "As you ordered, Commander," Christopher rumbled before he started to press into Spock, filling him slowly at first then finishing the stroke in a single unyielding thrust.
A sound escaped Spock's throat, a breath with elements of a groan, followed by a quick swallow and several shallow breaths. "Thank you, Captain." Despite his position, leaning on his elbows over the desk and taking everything Christopher gave him, he could manage a little of his own brand of sarcasm. Now he wanted (needed) him to move, to get on with it, because time was still ticking somewhere outside his isolated mind.
The sarcasm was followed by a breathy sort of laugh from the human taking him. Christopher pulled back, drove back in, and picked up a fast, rough pace. His hand wrapped cool fingers around Spock's need and started to stroke in the same rhythm. The clock was ticking rapidly, every passing second another chance that they could be discovered. Every thrust and accompanying stroke fogged Spock's mind that much more, making the details of reality fade into unimportance. The only exception was the time, which counted boldly in his half-thoughts, reminding him why they had the pace they did.
Soon, Spock began to arch back into those quick thrusts, taking him in as much as he could before the man would pull back, losing himself simultaneously in that stroking hand, and--that! A single hit where he had no defenses (mental restraints and barriers being as fluid as they always were, during this), and he moaned his name into the silence of the lecture hall. "Christopher--!" If Spock had a mind to care, he would notice how loud it sounded, between them, the empty chairs, and the unoccupied pit of the hall. The cry of his partner's name seemed only to encourage, as the force of the thrusts grew in power, the quick, knowing strokes that--
That part suddenly stopped as strong fingers gripped roughly at the base of Spock's erection and a cool hand reached around to lie on top of one pale-green knuckled hand. Immediately Christopher's fingers began to stroke there with a very knowing amount of pressure, touches that made Spock shudder as his mind reeled from the change. He could feel every callus of those fingers across his too-sensitive skin. When he felt a thumbnail scrape his fingertip, he reflexively tried to pull his hand back. Christopher's hand locked around Spock's, silently refusing it to move. Two of his fingers pressed to either side of the captured index finger and started to match the rhythm he had been keeping up below moments before.
The caressing strokes across his fingers had Spock groaning, aching, yearning, breathless. He wanted to come, to crush his hand over Christopher's and knock back a headache into the other's mind as punishment for this entire activity. That grip, right there at his cock, stopped him. Spock knew exactly what was being communicated, and maybe if he could think beyond what it would feel like when his second knuckle was brushed again, he might have been able to predict what exactly Christopher wanted to do. As it was, he just felt desperate, burning, and on the wrong side of the man's mercy. "Please..." He would still try, though, and that did not come out as a whimper.
"Tell me," Christopher said in a tone through gritted teeth, leaning forward just slightly more. The change in angle gave a perfect shift that every press inward smoothed Christopher past Spock's pleasure, over and over. "Tell me what you want." His fingers seemed to pointedly tighten.
"I want to come--" He was beyond thinking anything but answering his commands, beyond professionalism or decency. Spock hung his head--either in shame or concentration, he couldn't tell--and stared unfocused at the smooth steel-grey finish of the desk. "--please--Christopher--allow me--"
"You will hold it." The slightest tightening of the fingers tight at the base of the cock as Christopher's actions sped up; Spock could hear the other's mind beating as he got close to the edge. Christopher nosed against black material for a moment and bit sharply on skin, sure to leave behind a hidden mark by the strength of it.
Spock uttered a soft cry, not entirely of pain, at the bite and he tried to twist his neck away to alleviate the pressure, but he couldn't force his body to move away from the thrusts pounding into him, or the hand fixed there. "Please...!" It wasn't begging; it wasn't whimpering. His mind and body weren't quivering from the effort of holding back.
With contact between them at the hands, and as Christopher's hand suddenly twitched to lace their fingers together, a bright sharp flare of pleasure seized through Spock's mind as Christopher came hard against, into, his body. The bite ceased so the human could ride out his pleasure with his forehead against Spock's back, but the grip on the other's erection never loosened for a moment.
Spock didn't even know how he managed to hold back against the pleasure, a foreign heat just fanning the flames of his own want, but that grip, again, may have been the culprit. His muscles strained against themselves, and his mind reached out, to no success, for some sort of relief. His fingers clenched tightly at Christopher's, pinching them between his own. "Christopher...?" Asking permission again, hoping it didn't come out as a whine.
Christopher indulged in a few moments of hard breathing before he pulled himself back enough to rumble against Spock's ear, "You...were the one that said not to stain your uniform." And he suddenly pulled away.
No! He couldn't leave him like this, unsatisfied, mind hazy with the persistent pleasure, not more than--than--approximately eleven minutes until lecture. "Christopher," Spock threw out the name in a near yell, craning his head over his shoulder to look at him. His hands curled into tight fists. "You--" He stopped himself before he could insult him ('You insufferable, insatiable ingrate--' ); that would guarantee his continuing torment. "You are not done."
Dark eyes flickered up to Spock's for a moment, and he gave a long, cool smirk. "No, I'm not." He grasped either side of Spock's waist and turned him, dropping to his knees in front of the instructor. Another look up, and he quirked the corner of his lips before taking the green-flushed length deep into his throat. As much as Spock wanted to tilt his head back and just enjoy the feeling of his cock in Christopher's mouth, he couldn't tear his eyes away from their locked gaze. One hand braced against the edge of the desk while the other slid long, pale fingers through Christopher's hair, light and almost loving touches, before Spock tightened the grip suddenly at the back of his head. The rest of the encounter had been rough and quick, and there was no reason to change that mode.
Though, while Spock also wanted to enjoy using that mouth, having the Captain, in his temporary control, he couldn't possibly hold back after being so thoroughly fucked. With the grip at the back of his head, Spock pulled Christopher back, feeling his cock slide over a teasing tongue, almost all the way--before pulling him forward again, pushing right back into his throat. In the haze of the moment, he didn't know how many times he pushed and pulled Christopher like that, roughly using that mouth for his own selfish pleasure.
Finally, half-way through a motion, he jerked Christopher's head forward and came into his mouth with a shudder and a cry that clawed its way out of his throat. His mind, exhausted from the earlier pleasure and from trying to keep himself controlled through all of this, simply reached out and caught Christopher's, searching for some mental stability while his thoughts still swam in all directions. His hand, still tight through dark brown hair, slowly began to loosen its grip while he tried to catch his breath. Spock also tried to gather up some shards of his dignity, mostly by using Christopher's mind as a crutch in the process.
Christopher remained on his knees, heading falling forward a little as he tried desperately to catch his breath. His eyes were tightly closed, but he seemed no less damaged for Spock's force. Slowly he did look up, a half-smirk on his lips, decidedly looking, as humans would say, sex-tousled.
Spock took a slow and shaky breath, still in the process of calming, and drew his hand back, to brace it on the edge of the desk as well. "Why did you want this now?" He asked, now that they had satisfied the question of what he had wanted. "If you had asked in the evening, you know that I would have indulged you."
The human stood up slowly, licking his lips, straightening his uniform with quick, neat tugs. "It would not have the same effect." Broad hands moved and tugged up Spock's pants, looking rather amused. "I'll see you later, Spock." His fingers came up, touching under Spock's chin, and briefly touched their lips together as his other hand caressed Spock's fingers. Human and Vulcan kisses. Then he started to leave the room; Spock fixed his trousers to make sure they were secure again.
"Wait, Christopher."
When the man stopped, Spock walked up to him, pressed their chests together, and wrapped his arms securely around Christopher's waist. He took advantage of that still-open collar to bite at the other's neck--hard, marking, and retribution. Christopher made a pained sound that echoed in the room, his body arching hard in the possessive grip, his head twisting to the side as if either to pull away or give Spock room. Hands came up, gripping hard at Spock's arms as if he could make a difference.
"B-bastard," Christopher got out; apparently he had discerned its purpose. Spock continued to nip at the skin until he was sure the mark would stay and then drew back.
His hands came up to take the zipper and close the collar like it should have been all this time. He knew it would be uncomfortable. "It was pleasant to see you, as well." Christopher met his gaze for a long time, looking much more proper with the collar done up. He gave a tiny smirk before turning neatly on his heels, walking up the flight of stairs, and calling 'unlock' just as the first students were coming to the doors to be let in.
Spock briefly checked over his uniform to ensure its overall neatness, and then walked back to the desk to assemble his lecture materials.
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock
POV: Spock
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4.419
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Pike/Spock: in Spock's classroom, right before his students are due to come in.
A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again. We love Pike/Spock.
Interspecies Ethics was, surprisingly, a popular class. The definitive reason behind its popularity eluded Spock, though he had several theories that he kept to himself. As a consequence of the over two-hundred cadets that took the course, he needed to use one of the larger lecture halls on the other side of the campus. His own office and most of his classes were nestled near the science laboratories, so he always got the vague feeling that he was outside of his element when he taught deep in Command territory. It was not something that had any real consequence besides the arrogance of the cadets he has to walk by, but he was aware of it nonetheless.
Spock arrived in the hall through the lecturer's backdoor an half-hour before he was scheduled to begin. Usually he wasn't so early, but aside from the distance and the possibility for obstacles, this course also required some technological set-up. Without the proper lecture materials, the discussion could dissolve into mind-numbing boredom. In that case, Spock wouldn't waste his time, because he would know that the cadets weren't listening, anyway.
After setting down his bag on the desk off to the side, he drew forth three padds and one black device that fit ergonomically into his loosely-closed fist. With the projection on the front wall turned on, he began to connect each of the padds with the larger screen, drawing up reports, images, video--everything relevant to the day's lecture. Occasionally, he would press some buttons on the device in his hand, just to make sure that transitions were seamless and, of course, in order.
The doors to the classroom opened with their quiet swish, and the sound of boots against the hard floor followed. Perhaps a student arriving early? The voice that rang out was hardly the voice of a student, though. "Doors, lock." He knew that voice well enough.
Spock glanced up from coordinating the padds to look over his shoulder, up the stairs towards the main entrance; he was right. "Christopher," He greeted him with that professionalism he always maintained during the day, and returned his attention back to his preparation. The lock did not bother him, for as long as there was no superior code, he was free to unlock it as well. Basic faculty privileges. He still had twenty-five minutes until lecture would begin.
Christopher Pike slowly walked down the stairs, his hands behind his back as he stayed focused on Spock. "Good afternoon, Spock," Said in a light tone, a smile playing over his lips in what most humans would know as definitely mischief. When Spock glanced up for a moment and caught a glimpse of that smile, he didn't suspect much of anything. Perhaps Christopher wanted to sit in on the lecture--something not completely unheard of, especially given the subject matter.
With a press of a button on the device, causing the present image on the wall to change into some Andorian cultural object, Spock looked away from the other man again. "Why are you in this lecture hall?" He asked, bluntly. It was not rude (otherwise he wouldn't bother asking), but he had little time to waste. If he finished preparations early for this course, he had essays to read (and egos to shred).
"There was something I wanted in here." Christopher remarked lightly, slowly moving to stand in front of Spock's desk. He tilted his head, ever so slightly, that same expression remaining on his face. At this, Spock's thoughts paused; comparisons and contrasts between species on the subject of euthanasia slowly dissolved from their stasis into simple curiosity and annoyance. Spock knew for a fact that he had nothing material to give him, that all of the equipment in this room was available anywhere else, and Christopher would ask his secretary to get it, if it was necessary.
The desk between them seemed to shrink when Spock turned to face him, meeting Christopher's gaze and smile (which was looking closer to a smirk with every passing second) with his own calm and unaffected expression. "And what was it you wanted?" His eyes observed the whole of the man in front of him, including--this should have been his first warning, in hindsight--the difference in their uniform collars. Spock had it zipped neatly to the top, as always, but this afternoon, Christopher's collar is unzipped to expose his neck. He only did this during the evening hours. It was two hours and fifty-four minutes until seventeen-hundred.
Slowly Christopher moved around the other side of the desk, stepping inside Spock's personal bubble like it didn't exist. Without comment, he brought his hands up and pressed his palms flat against the black material of the officer's uniform across Spock's chest. Then he started to press forward, urging the other male backwards. At first, Spock put up some token resistance, to simply feel Christopher's hands against him, but when the pressure increased, he allowed it to maneuver him back. He felt the desk hit the back of his thighs, and yet still it continued. His hands came up to slide over Christopher's, and arched an eyebrow at him. "Christopher?" Spock shifted to lean-sit on the edge of the desk, hoping to alleviate the constant pressure.
"Turn around, Spock." Came the cool command, his face serious while his eyes remained full of mischief. The pressure released just a little on Spock's chest, enough to let him accomplish the action but not escape him. Spock searched Christopher's face, his eyes...but the man didn't seem to want to relent. He hesitated, and then slowly turned around, to face the desk, his back to Christopher. Christopher leaned in against Spock, leaning over his back. A hand slipped up, around Spock's chest, and up to his neck. With a deft tug, he pulled down the zip, curled his finger around the collar so it was pushed down, and bit lightly on the back of Spock's neck.
As soon as he felt the teeth on the neck, Spock shoved his hips back against him in retaliation. Perhaps not the best action: he could feel how hard Christopher was, now pressed up against every contour of his body. They couldn't do this, couldn't unzip and open their uniforms when he only had twenty-three minutes until his lecture was supposed to begin. "Christopher," Spock's tone sharpened over the name. "We cannot do this here."
A grunt left Christopher with that sudden movement of hips and strong hands slid around Spock's body to keep his place. Despite that, the older male's voice remained almost jovial. "And why not?" He asked, as if Spock was asking the most foolish question ever.
"This is a public lecture hall," Spock informed him with the just slightest strain to his voice. "This is not the--proper, place for this sort of activity, despite your obvious interest in proceeding with it." He moved again, against him, testing the limits of how far Christopher would let him move, with those hands fixed around him.
Christopher moved his hand down to the front of Spock's body, reaching between his legs and nudging with the side of his hand. "Well, currently, it is not public." The amusement remained in his voice, obviously enjoying himself.
Spock realized, to his greater annoyance, that between the erection pressing against him and the hand between his legs, that all his escape routes were blocked. He didn't want to potential injury by throwing him off (an easy procedure, what with his hands braced against the table), but reason had been ineffective so far. With the touch, too, his resistance weakened--just because he wouldn't have Christopher here did not mean he wouldn't have him at all. "You are also preventing me from completing my preparations for the lecture." Guilting the man into releasing him would probably prove equally ineffective, but Spock wanted to make his concerns known regardless.
"I believe your students'll live just this once if their favorite professor is not fully prepared for their lecture." Christopher changed stance enough to murmur near Spock's ear, "Just... prepared in another way?" Oh, without doubt, the Captain was feeling in a more playful mood. Unfortunately for Spock, today's playful entailed breaking several dozen Academy regulations. Not that thought would have stopped Christopher. It never had.
"I do not understand how copulation with you will enhance my teaching ability." Spock turned his head slightly, to glance back at his face. "This is distracting, historically tiring--and, Christopher, we do not have time for your teasing." He punctuated the last clause with another shove back.
Another grunt, but the Captain kept his hold on Spock like a rider on a bucking bronco. That last part caused a flicker towards the chronometer presumably because Christopher said a moment later, "If you'd stop denying this and enjoy it, we have just enough time." His hand gave a squeeze where it sat between Spock's thighs.
Spock's lips part to allow himself a quiet inhale; not a gasp, since he was fully expecting the touch, but a breath to help him maintain his composure (now and in the very near future). Christopher was right; they could be done before his class started. He stared down at the desk beneath him, and said after a pause, "Do not stain my uniform." It was as much permission as he would give him in this setting. Seemed to be all the permission that Christopher needed, anyway, as he quickly undid the fastenings of Spock's trousers, slid his hand beneath more fabric, and grasped flesh. He brought his other hand around to shove the black fabric down around Spock's skinny hips, skipping his normal enjoyment of foreplay in lieu of their lack of time.
The chill of the classroom hit Spock's skin with an unpleasant sensation--the temperature was always set to the comfort of the cadets and not himself, of course. But the discomfort faded with Christopher's touch, strong fingers and a warm-cool palm wrapped around him. Spock never resisted this touch; if he didn't want it, he wouldn't allow Christopher to get as far as inside his trousers. Now that he could feel it, species comparison topics dropped out of his main thought stream completely. His senses sharpened. He could hear every rustle of fabric in the blissful silence of the lecture hall, feel the faintest brush of fingertips against his hip, smell the fading scent of chocolate pudding rising from his book bag.
Christopher's arm kept him locked in place there against the desk, stroking Spock in sharp, quick strokes that end in him palming across the top of the glans. There was a faint sound of shifting, rustling, then a click. A familiar one. Obviously, the Captain had come prepared. If Spock wasn't so distracted, shuddering a little when one stroke got him just right, he would have commended Christopher on his foresight. That, or scold him for expecting to get this with such confidence. Of course, Spock was still the one struggling to maintain his composure and the delicate order of his mind, so it wouldn't be the best argument he had ever made. And it most likely would have pleased Christopher to no end, which defeated the entire purpose of the scolding.
There was a muffled curse and some fumbling, something got pressed against Spock's lower back, then the sound of whatever Christopher had been holding hitting the floor. A squelching sound followed, very quiet normally but so loud in the otherwise silent room, and the tip of a finger pressed against Spock. Twenty minutes.
He had been expecting this, too, but that didn't make his body stiffen any less. This was still a public area, they weren't supposing to be doing this, but he also knew that they would have to finish it now. For this inevitability, he forced himself to relax, allowing that finger to press inside of him. He completely forgot about the padds on the desk in front of him, the black device blinking casually where it had been set, and the projection on the adjacent wall. One touch, and his world shrank threefold. "Christopher." There may have been need in his voice, but most of it was impatience. Christopher had come here for one purpose only, regardless of the common decency of it all, and now he was trying to be considerate?
"Tell me what you want." Came the cool reply from behind him before not one but two fingers slid up into Spock's body, heavily slicked by some substance that hopefully would not stain. The fingers crooked, ever so slightly, to aim for presumably--right there. Christopher's voice crowded out the rest of the lingering thoughts in his mind, enough that he couldn't concentrate on how loud the gasp was that passed his lips.
"...I want you to be satisfied, so that you will not embarrass me in front of my students." His voice wavered slightly as he made the mistake of concentrating on those fingers around and inside him, and the pressure at all the right places.
Those strong fingers were remaining right there where they were, putting a constant pressure in that exact spot. "Is that all?" When he desired it to, Christopher's voice could roll straight into a smooth almost-growl that was commanding without command. Like now, all the essence of being Captain in action, just for Spock. He knew he was getting spoiled, but he would have preferred it be at another time and place, where he could enjoy it more.
"I want--" An involuntary pause. Spock knew, at least, what his body wanted, but he couldn't vocalize it here. He never used such crude language while working and this was not his own time being interrupted. "I want you to--" He couldn't. Still hard, still aching for it, and knowing that Christopher already knew exactly what Spock wanted and this was completely unnecessary.
The hand didn't move, keeping up that firm pressure, with only the slightest shift in position. "You want me to what, Commander?"
The title shot straight down his spine to his groin, it was not enough to break the professional stop-gap he had in place for this very reason. He could keep himself in line from little touches, kisses, accidental brushes of hands, and occasional hugs. If this continued, though, the wall would crumble. "F--" It only came out as a single syllable, barely breathed. He knew they had to get this over with; his inner chronometer was ticking down past eighteen minutes...but he couldn't.
Christopher's voice came low and steady against Spock's ear after another minute shift of the body, "Say. It." In the tone of an order, though no order on the bridge would ever have been given in that particular tone of voice. The pressure of his fingers was steady, unrelenting.
No, Spock thought to himself. He couldn't. He had to resist it. He couldn't break his composure while working, he couldn't have Christopher simply taking him over the desk like this, almost seventeen minutes until lecture. But his mind was already swamped, he was sure his skin was beginning to flush--but maybe he could still recover if they stopped and--"Fuck me," It felt wrong as he whispered it, which made it fit with the situation so organically. Spock could have used so many other words in several other languages to express his desire, but he knew the phrase that Christopher liked to hear from him the most.
There was a pleased noise from the Captain and he spread those fingers, spreading Spock open for a long moment before withdrawing entirely. The sound of fabric filled the room and strong hands bent Spock over further. An arm wrapped around his midsection, boosting his hips up slightly. The other hand was felt briefly against Spock's backside, then warm-cool flesh pressed against him. "As you ordered, Commander," Christopher rumbled before he started to press into Spock, filling him slowly at first then finishing the stroke in a single unyielding thrust.
A sound escaped Spock's throat, a breath with elements of a groan, followed by a quick swallow and several shallow breaths. "Thank you, Captain." Despite his position, leaning on his elbows over the desk and taking everything Christopher gave him, he could manage a little of his own brand of sarcasm. Now he wanted (needed) him to move, to get on with it, because time was still ticking somewhere outside his isolated mind.
The sarcasm was followed by a breathy sort of laugh from the human taking him. Christopher pulled back, drove back in, and picked up a fast, rough pace. His hand wrapped cool fingers around Spock's need and started to stroke in the same rhythm. The clock was ticking rapidly, every passing second another chance that they could be discovered. Every thrust and accompanying stroke fogged Spock's mind that much more, making the details of reality fade into unimportance. The only exception was the time, which counted boldly in his half-thoughts, reminding him why they had the pace they did.
Soon, Spock began to arch back into those quick thrusts, taking him in as much as he could before the man would pull back, losing himself simultaneously in that stroking hand, and--that! A single hit where he had no defenses (mental restraints and barriers being as fluid as they always were, during this), and he moaned his name into the silence of the lecture hall. "Christopher--!" If Spock had a mind to care, he would notice how loud it sounded, between them, the empty chairs, and the unoccupied pit of the hall. The cry of his partner's name seemed only to encourage, as the force of the thrusts grew in power, the quick, knowing strokes that--
That part suddenly stopped as strong fingers gripped roughly at the base of Spock's erection and a cool hand reached around to lie on top of one pale-green knuckled hand. Immediately Christopher's fingers began to stroke there with a very knowing amount of pressure, touches that made Spock shudder as his mind reeled from the change. He could feel every callus of those fingers across his too-sensitive skin. When he felt a thumbnail scrape his fingertip, he reflexively tried to pull his hand back. Christopher's hand locked around Spock's, silently refusing it to move. Two of his fingers pressed to either side of the captured index finger and started to match the rhythm he had been keeping up below moments before.
The caressing strokes across his fingers had Spock groaning, aching, yearning, breathless. He wanted to come, to crush his hand over Christopher's and knock back a headache into the other's mind as punishment for this entire activity. That grip, right there at his cock, stopped him. Spock knew exactly what was being communicated, and maybe if he could think beyond what it would feel like when his second knuckle was brushed again, he might have been able to predict what exactly Christopher wanted to do. As it was, he just felt desperate, burning, and on the wrong side of the man's mercy. "Please..." He would still try, though, and that did not come out as a whimper.
"Tell me," Christopher said in a tone through gritted teeth, leaning forward just slightly more. The change in angle gave a perfect shift that every press inward smoothed Christopher past Spock's pleasure, over and over. "Tell me what you want." His fingers seemed to pointedly tighten.
"I want to come--" He was beyond thinking anything but answering his commands, beyond professionalism or decency. Spock hung his head--either in shame or concentration, he couldn't tell--and stared unfocused at the smooth steel-grey finish of the desk. "--please--Christopher--allow me--"
"You will hold it." The slightest tightening of the fingers tight at the base of the cock as Christopher's actions sped up; Spock could hear the other's mind beating as he got close to the edge. Christopher nosed against black material for a moment and bit sharply on skin, sure to leave behind a hidden mark by the strength of it.
Spock uttered a soft cry, not entirely of pain, at the bite and he tried to twist his neck away to alleviate the pressure, but he couldn't force his body to move away from the thrusts pounding into him, or the hand fixed there. "Please...!" It wasn't begging; it wasn't whimpering. His mind and body weren't quivering from the effort of holding back.
With contact between them at the hands, and as Christopher's hand suddenly twitched to lace their fingers together, a bright sharp flare of pleasure seized through Spock's mind as Christopher came hard against, into, his body. The bite ceased so the human could ride out his pleasure with his forehead against Spock's back, but the grip on the other's erection never loosened for a moment.
Spock didn't even know how he managed to hold back against the pleasure, a foreign heat just fanning the flames of his own want, but that grip, again, may have been the culprit. His muscles strained against themselves, and his mind reached out, to no success, for some sort of relief. His fingers clenched tightly at Christopher's, pinching them between his own. "Christopher...?" Asking permission again, hoping it didn't come out as a whine.
Christopher indulged in a few moments of hard breathing before he pulled himself back enough to rumble against Spock's ear, "You...were the one that said not to stain your uniform." And he suddenly pulled away.
No! He couldn't leave him like this, unsatisfied, mind hazy with the persistent pleasure, not more than--than--approximately eleven minutes until lecture. "Christopher," Spock threw out the name in a near yell, craning his head over his shoulder to look at him. His hands curled into tight fists. "You--" He stopped himself before he could insult him ('You insufferable, insatiable ingrate--' ); that would guarantee his continuing torment. "You are not done."
Dark eyes flickered up to Spock's for a moment, and he gave a long, cool smirk. "No, I'm not." He grasped either side of Spock's waist and turned him, dropping to his knees in front of the instructor. Another look up, and he quirked the corner of his lips before taking the green-flushed length deep into his throat. As much as Spock wanted to tilt his head back and just enjoy the feeling of his cock in Christopher's mouth, he couldn't tear his eyes away from their locked gaze. One hand braced against the edge of the desk while the other slid long, pale fingers through Christopher's hair, light and almost loving touches, before Spock tightened the grip suddenly at the back of his head. The rest of the encounter had been rough and quick, and there was no reason to change that mode.
Though, while Spock also wanted to enjoy using that mouth, having the Captain, in his temporary control, he couldn't possibly hold back after being so thoroughly fucked. With the grip at the back of his head, Spock pulled Christopher back, feeling his cock slide over a teasing tongue, almost all the way--before pulling him forward again, pushing right back into his throat. In the haze of the moment, he didn't know how many times he pushed and pulled Christopher like that, roughly using that mouth for his own selfish pleasure.
Finally, half-way through a motion, he jerked Christopher's head forward and came into his mouth with a shudder and a cry that clawed its way out of his throat. His mind, exhausted from the earlier pleasure and from trying to keep himself controlled through all of this, simply reached out and caught Christopher's, searching for some mental stability while his thoughts still swam in all directions. His hand, still tight through dark brown hair, slowly began to loosen its grip while he tried to catch his breath. Spock also tried to gather up some shards of his dignity, mostly by using Christopher's mind as a crutch in the process.
Christopher remained on his knees, heading falling forward a little as he tried desperately to catch his breath. His eyes were tightly closed, but he seemed no less damaged for Spock's force. Slowly he did look up, a half-smirk on his lips, decidedly looking, as humans would say, sex-tousled.
Spock took a slow and shaky breath, still in the process of calming, and drew his hand back, to brace it on the edge of the desk as well. "Why did you want this now?" He asked, now that they had satisfied the question of what he had wanted. "If you had asked in the evening, you know that I would have indulged you."
The human stood up slowly, licking his lips, straightening his uniform with quick, neat tugs. "It would not have the same effect." Broad hands moved and tugged up Spock's pants, looking rather amused. "I'll see you later, Spock." His fingers came up, touching under Spock's chin, and briefly touched their lips together as his other hand caressed Spock's fingers. Human and Vulcan kisses. Then he started to leave the room; Spock fixed his trousers to make sure they were secure again.
"Wait, Christopher."
When the man stopped, Spock walked up to him, pressed their chests together, and wrapped his arms securely around Christopher's waist. He took advantage of that still-open collar to bite at the other's neck--hard, marking, and retribution. Christopher made a pained sound that echoed in the room, his body arching hard in the possessive grip, his head twisting to the side as if either to pull away or give Spock room. Hands came up, gripping hard at Spock's arms as if he could make a difference.
"B-bastard," Christopher got out; apparently he had discerned its purpose. Spock continued to nip at the skin until he was sure the mark would stay and then drew back.
His hands came up to take the zipper and close the collar like it should have been all this time. He knew it would be uncomfortable. "It was pleasant to see you, as well." Christopher met his gaze for a long time, looking much more proper with the collar done up. He gave a tiny smirk before turning neatly on his heels, walking up the flight of stairs, and calling 'unlock' just as the first students were coming to the doors to be let in.
Spock briefly checked over his uniform to ensure its overall neatness, and then walked back to the desk to assemble his lecture materials.