Lend Me Your Ears
Title: Lend Me Your Ears
Author: ladyblahblah
Rating: R/NC-17ish? I'm rubbish at ratings.
Fandom: Star Trek (Reboot)
Warnings: Language. Adult situations, though nothing explicit. Also, slash, though if you're offended by mansex I can't imagine what you're doing reading this journal at all.
Summary: An ear kink can go both ways, you know.
Author's Notes: More evidence of a (non-Borg) hivemind. I got to thinking about the possibility of Spock having naughty, lustful thoughts about Kirk's ears. Then a couple of days later, tripperfunster posted this. And it all kind of spiraled from there.
If it had been anyone other than Spock, Kirk told himself, he would have suspected.
The evidence, ridiculous as it might seem, had been there all along. It had started in the bar on Pleione V during their last shore leave, when he and Bones had set out together out for a night of light debauchery. Not difficult to come by on a planet situated at the intersection of three major trade routes and designed to cater to any number of desires that might get pent up over long weeks or months in space. Especially not difficult to come by if the way the bartender was eyeing him were any indication.
“Not exactly your usual type, Jim,” McCoy was saying dryly as he sipped at what he was bitterly calling Uncanny Valley bourbon. “Haven’t gotten that desperate, have you?”
“Bones,” Kirk laughed, “I don’t have a type.” He ignored his friend’s derisive snort and flashed a grin back towards the bar. “Besides, there’s something compelling about a woman who looks like she could snap you like a twig.”
“I’m surprised she’s even looking twice at you, to be honest. Seems like you don’t have enough holes punched in you to be worth her time.”
“Now, Bones, just because you prefer them pure as the driven snow doesn’t mean we all share your preferences. Besides.” He took a deep swallow of his own drink. “I had a pierced ear once.”
McCoy’s jaw dropped. “The hell you say!”
“Had a cartilage piercing . . . for all of about five minutes,” he admitted with a loopy grin. Replicated alcohol might not be anywhere near as good as the real stuff, but it was a hell of a lot cheaper and damned if it didn’t still get the job done.
“Oh lord,” McCoy gasped in between bursts of laughter. “Please, please tell me that somewhere in this universe there’s documented photographic evidence.”
“Sorry.” He snickered at the doctor’s disappointed frown-not a pout, McCoy would slug him for even suggesting such a thing and rank be damned-and shrugged. “Didn’t really last long enough for that. I didn’t have the stud in for a full minute before my ear started throbbing like a bitch. It turned this really bizarre shade of purple, too, before the guy at the piercing parlor managed to get the thing out.”
“Let me guess: you didn’t think to check to see if you were allergic to the metal they used before you paid someone to punch another hole in your head.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Kirk snorted. “I was a badass fifteen-year-old, not the responsible starship captain I am today.” He charitably chose to overlook the way McCoy had nearly choked on his drink at that one. “Had to tell girls I’d gotten the scar fighting.”
“Wait a second, you fed me that line the first time I noticed it. You’re telling me that’s what that scar is from?” McCoy craned forward, trying impossibly to get another look at the area in question.
“No getting one over on a good ol’ country doctor my ass.” Kirk couldn’t help laughing, right up until Bones broke out in his most evil smile.
“Well hell, Jim, no time like the present to fix old mistakes. There’s a piercing parlor on the way back to the transporter hub, and I’ve damn near memorized your medical file by now. Should be easy as pie to get you something even your delicate system will be able to tolerate.”
“Delicate?” Kirk demanded belligerently, but was saved from having to come up with a retort beyond that by the chirp of his communicator. Still glaring at his friend he reached down and tugged the device from his pocket, flipping it open with a single smooth flick of his wrist. “Kirk here.”
“Captain.” Spock’s voice was unmistakable, even through the din of drunken, rowdy patrons. “My apologies for the interruption to your scheduled leave time, but-”
“Spock!” The last thing Kirk had expected was for McCoy to attempt to snatch the communicator from his grasp, but given his prior knowledge of how the older man tended to get off-duty it probably should have been the first. “Just the man we need. Do me a favor and tell Jim here that it’s only logical for him to get his ear pierced again. It's not like there's anything to be afraid of.”
There was such an extended silence that Kirk feared for a moment that the communicator might have malfunctioned. Then that familiarly crisp, unperturbed voice sounded out again. “I’m afraid I can not assist you, Doctor, as I fail to see the logic in willfully puncturing a perfectly functional part of the body. Furthermore, I sincerely doubt that Starfleet Command would look kindly upon such an adornment for the captain of their flagship. Captain,” he said smoothly, diverting the conversation back onto its proper course, “a message has arrived for you from Command, marked Priority One.”
Kirk swore lightly and sighed. “Looks like my leave is over. I’ll be beaming up shortly. Spock, I’d love it if this were something that could be put off a day or two, but I doubt we’re that lucky. Be prepared to call in all planetside personnel, and start rounding up the usual suspects for a briefing.”
“Acknowledged, captain.”
“Kirk out.” He flipped the communicator closed and clapped McCoy hard on his shoulder, more amused than was likely kind at the sour look on his friend’s face. “Come on, Bones. Let’s go see if we can save the world again.”
The crew had accepted the news with gratifying ease when they were told they’d be warping out a full week earlier than planned. The skirmish at the edge of the Neutral Zone kicked them off again, full-speed ahead. Between their unscheduled patrol and the rather tense negotiations that had followed it was over a week before the ship was able to stand down enough for Kirk to manage so much as a simple game of chess.
“Hell of a time lately, Spock.” Kirk moved a bishop to the top level of the board and tried to hide a grin at the quirk of Spock’s eyebrows. He knew his rather unorthodox strategy tended to baffle his methodical first officer. He also figured it was only a matter of time before Spock caught on to the fact that sometimes Kirk did, in fact, move a piece completely at random just to keep him on his toes. But in the meantime he’d enjoy himself.
“Indeed, Captain.” He studied the board for several moments before capturing a pawn with his remaining rook. “I have completed the formal request for another scheduled shoreleave to compensate for the aborted attempt; it only needs your signature before it can be filed.”
“Good, good.” Kirk took a moment to study the board again. Several new possibilities had just opened up, and while fully half of them were obvious traps he found himself intrigued nevertheless. “I never did get the chance to thank you,” he said when he had made his next move. “Your com came at just the right time; I’m pretty sure that with another drink or two Bones would have talked me into something monumentally stupid.”
“I admit I was . . . surprised by the doctor’s enthusiasm for the idea. He has always seemed adequately pragmatic about such matters in the past.”
Kirk chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s a consequence of getting him to actually let his hair down for once. A figure of speech,” he explained before Spock could start. “Even when he’s not on duty, he’s a mother hen as long as he’s on this ship. It’s good for him to completely let that go every now and then.” Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement, and they played in silence for a time.
“Captain,” he said at last, and, “Jim,” he corrected in response to Kirk’s annoyed look. “Might I make a personal inquiry?”
“Sure, Spock.” Kirk might have been surprised, but there was no way he was going to turn down a chance when offered. “Fire away.”
Spock arched an eyebrow at the idiom but let it go without comment. “I could not help but notice that Dr. McCoy was attempting to convince you to pierce your ear again.”
“Yeah.” Kirk waited for the question, but none came. “And you . . . were wondering why you’d never noticed a piercing before?” he finally hazarded.
“I was merely seeking confirmation that my inference was, in fact, accurate,” Spock said primly. “Though you are correct in that I was somewhat confused upon reflection. I have never noticed either the usual adornments that accompany such a ritual-“ Earrings, Kirk managed to translate mentally. “-nor evidence of any area in which such an adornment might be placed.”
“It healed over.” The formality of Spock’s speech had increased, the way that Kirk had started to suspect it did when he was nervous. “The scar’s mostly visible from the back, too.” Without truly thinking about it he tilted his head and bent down the top of his left ear. “See?”
There was another of those long pauses, and when Kirk looked back at Spock his mask of Vulcan stoicism was firmly in place. “Fascinating.” He captured the last of Kirk’s knights with his queen. “I was under the impression that humans most often chose the lobe of the ear for decorative piercing.”
“You’re not wrong,” Kirk said absently, mentally cursing at the loss of the piece and trying to figure out how to recover. “This way just seemed more hardcore, I guess.” He flashed a sheepish smile his first officer’s way. “Would’ve been fine if I weren’t allergic to everything under the sun.”
“Indeed,” Spock said dryly. “However, I must once again point out the illogic of such an attempt. Your ears are most aesthetically pleasing as they are.” And really, Kirk couldn’t have stopped his smile then for anything.
“Yeah? Why Spock, you old charmer, I never knew you had it in you.” Spock arched a dismissive eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the chessboard. “I believe it is your move, Captain.”
“I suppose it is.” Kirk’s grin widened.
With anyone else, that would have been it, game on. But this was Spock. By the time their game ended Kirk had almost convinced himself he had imagined the whole thing. Because Spock didn’t flirt, and he didn’t insinuate. He was straightforward. Logical. If he had said Kirk’s ears were aesthetically pleasing then that’s what he meant, no more, no less. And Kirk couldn’t exactly trust his own impressions, given his acknowledged-to himself, at least-interest in taking things further between them.
In short, he wanted Spock to throw him down and fuck his brains out enough that he couldn’t trust himself not to invent evidence that his first officer wanted the same thing. Because-and he really couldn’t remind himself of this enough-it was Spock.
He had convinced himself he was imagining things when he began to catch Spock looking at his ears. He could just as easily have been looking at his profile, Kirk told himself. Or over his shoulder. Or maybe his hair was doing that thing again where a lock of it stuck out at an odd angle, and that streak of Vulcan curiosity meant that Spock just couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was always a reason, always an excuse.
And like he said, he honestly would have been suspicious with anyone else. Really.
So his surprise was no one’s fault but his own when he found himself pinned between the bulkhead in his quarters and a hot, hard Vulcan nibbling at his ear.
It had barely been two minutes since he managed to finally man up and just tell Spock about the feelings that had started to develop. Barely two minutes, and Spock could give him a more accurate count, he’s sure, but he seemed a little busy at the moment and really, Kirk didn’t want to be rude enough to interrupt. The kiss had been amazing, his back would almost certainly be bruised from where it had been slammed against the wall, and now Spock was doing things with his tongue that made Kirk’s eyes want to cross.
“Aesthetically pleasing, huh?” he managed at last, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. Spock gave an affirmative rumbling noise, and god, if Kirk hadn’t been hard already he would have gotten there after that.
“Indeed. They are quite pleasing to the senses.” His tongue traced the outer ridge, and the shiver that shook Kirk ran through them both. “Beautiful,” Spock breathed, and Kirk moaned. “I am most pleased that you did not attempt to pierce it again.”
“Ah, come on. We could get matching earrings,” Kirk teased as best he could with Spock investigating the scar on the back of his ear. Fingers lifted to trace the delicate point of Spock’s ear, tinged with green in his arousal. “You’d look so hot with a little gold ring right here . . .”
Kirk cried out suddenly when Spock’s teeth clamped down on his earlobe, hips grinding forward and a growl-an honest to goodness growl-reverberated from Spock’s chest. His ear throbbed, and his body was shaking with an unexpected surge of animal arousal.
“The idea has some merit. However, I find that I do not care for the idea of others viewing you in such a way.”
“You do know that most people don’t find ears that big of a turn-on.”
“Indeed. I find that this is yet another way in which you and I are surprisingly compatible.”
Kirk would have laughed at that, because really, Spock had him there, but the Vulcan had sucked the top of Kirk’s ear into his mouth and he was a bit too busy remembering how to breathe. And then he felt something at his other ear, long slender fingers tracing the shape of it, and damn it Kirk had done enough research on Vulcans by now to know what was going on. He stood there, caged against the wall as Spock lavished both his ears with kisses, half human, half Vulcan.
“Spock,” he managed brokenly, thinking vaguely that he ought to be doing something. Turning the tables, taking back at least a hint of control. But damn it, it felt too good to want to stop, so his hands just tightened on Spock’s shoulders to hold himself steady.
“So beautiful,” Spock said again, his breath ghosting over wet skin. “So exotic.”
“Exotic?” Kirk shook his head slightly. “They’re not-” He cut off with a moan as Spock bit down again.
“Of foreign origin or character; not native; introduced from abroad, but not fully naturalized or acclimatized; strikingly unusual or strange in effect or appearance.” His voice was a low, seductive rumble in Kirk’s ear. “Yes, Jim. I find your ears quite exotic.”
It wasn’t fair, Kirk thought hazily, that a dictionary definition of a single word should have this effect. He was harder than he could ever remember having been in his life, nearly crying at his inability to move his hips, to gain friction against the body holding him there. Then Spock began to truly throw himself into his work, licking and nipping and sucking while his fingers stroked and pinched and tugged. Familiar tension was building at the base of Kirk’s spine. Still, he couldn’t believe what was happening until he was coming, hard, fast and desperate, and . . . fucking hell, Spock had never even touched him below the neck.
It was several minutes before he recovered enough to lift his head from where it had fallen against Spock’s shoulder, and he did so with a weak laugh.
“Spock.” He laughed again, despite being weak and sticky and a bit-just a bit-embarrassed. “Did you just give me a . . . an earjob?”
That eyebrow lifted, and if Kirk had had more energy he would have leaned up and licked it. “A crude, if . . . accurate description, I believe.”
Kirk knew he had that shit-eating, just-got-laid grin on his face that McCoy always complained about, but Spock didn’t seem to mind. In fact, unless he was very much mistaken, his proper Vulcan first officer looked more than a little smug. The points of those ears drew Kirk’s fingers again, and he watched as his gentle strokes had Spock’s eyes sliding closed.
“Does it work both ways?” he asked.
“As a scientist, I would advise the accumulation of more data to either confirm or refute such a hypothesis.”
“Hard data?” Kirk smirked, unrepentant even in the face of Spock’s stern stare. “You know, there’s more than a few parts of you that I find . . . exotic.”
“We are well-matched in that sense as well, then.”
“All right, Mr. Spock. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, isn’t that how it goes?” He wrapped his arms around him and grinned against his lips. “How about we try a few of those out."
Author: ladyblahblah
Rating: R/NC-17ish? I'm rubbish at ratings.
Fandom: Star Trek (Reboot)
Warnings: Language. Adult situations, though nothing explicit. Also, slash, though if you're offended by mansex I can't imagine what you're doing reading this journal at all.
Summary: An ear kink can go both ways, you know.
Author's Notes: More evidence of a (non-Borg) hivemind. I got to thinking about the possibility of Spock having naughty, lustful thoughts about Kirk's ears. Then a couple of days later, tripperfunster posted this. And it all kind of spiraled from there.
If it had been anyone other than Spock, Kirk told himself, he would have suspected.
The evidence, ridiculous as it might seem, had been there all along. It had started in the bar on Pleione V during their last shore leave, when he and Bones had set out together out for a night of light debauchery. Not difficult to come by on a planet situated at the intersection of three major trade routes and designed to cater to any number of desires that might get pent up over long weeks or months in space. Especially not difficult to come by if the way the bartender was eyeing him were any indication.
“Not exactly your usual type, Jim,” McCoy was saying dryly as he sipped at what he was bitterly calling Uncanny Valley bourbon. “Haven’t gotten that desperate, have you?”
“Bones,” Kirk laughed, “I don’t have a type.” He ignored his friend’s derisive snort and flashed a grin back towards the bar. “Besides, there’s something compelling about a woman who looks like she could snap you like a twig.”
“I’m surprised she’s even looking twice at you, to be honest. Seems like you don’t have enough holes punched in you to be worth her time.”
“Now, Bones, just because you prefer them pure as the driven snow doesn’t mean we all share your preferences. Besides.” He took a deep swallow of his own drink. “I had a pierced ear once.”
McCoy’s jaw dropped. “The hell you say!”
“Had a cartilage piercing . . . for all of about five minutes,” he admitted with a loopy grin. Replicated alcohol might not be anywhere near as good as the real stuff, but it was a hell of a lot cheaper and damned if it didn’t still get the job done.
“Oh lord,” McCoy gasped in between bursts of laughter. “Please, please tell me that somewhere in this universe there’s documented photographic evidence.”
“Sorry.” He snickered at the doctor’s disappointed frown-not a pout, McCoy would slug him for even suggesting such a thing and rank be damned-and shrugged. “Didn’t really last long enough for that. I didn’t have the stud in for a full minute before my ear started throbbing like a bitch. It turned this really bizarre shade of purple, too, before the guy at the piercing parlor managed to get the thing out.”
“Let me guess: you didn’t think to check to see if you were allergic to the metal they used before you paid someone to punch another hole in your head.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Kirk snorted. “I was a badass fifteen-year-old, not the responsible starship captain I am today.” He charitably chose to overlook the way McCoy had nearly choked on his drink at that one. “Had to tell girls I’d gotten the scar fighting.”
“Wait a second, you fed me that line the first time I noticed it. You’re telling me that’s what that scar is from?” McCoy craned forward, trying impossibly to get another look at the area in question.
“No getting one over on a good ol’ country doctor my ass.” Kirk couldn’t help laughing, right up until Bones broke out in his most evil smile.
“Well hell, Jim, no time like the present to fix old mistakes. There’s a piercing parlor on the way back to the transporter hub, and I’ve damn near memorized your medical file by now. Should be easy as pie to get you something even your delicate system will be able to tolerate.”
“Delicate?” Kirk demanded belligerently, but was saved from having to come up with a retort beyond that by the chirp of his communicator. Still glaring at his friend he reached down and tugged the device from his pocket, flipping it open with a single smooth flick of his wrist. “Kirk here.”
“Captain.” Spock’s voice was unmistakable, even through the din of drunken, rowdy patrons. “My apologies for the interruption to your scheduled leave time, but-”
“Spock!” The last thing Kirk had expected was for McCoy to attempt to snatch the communicator from his grasp, but given his prior knowledge of how the older man tended to get off-duty it probably should have been the first. “Just the man we need. Do me a favor and tell Jim here that it’s only logical for him to get his ear pierced again. It's not like there's anything to be afraid of.”
There was such an extended silence that Kirk feared for a moment that the communicator might have malfunctioned. Then that familiarly crisp, unperturbed voice sounded out again. “I’m afraid I can not assist you, Doctor, as I fail to see the logic in willfully puncturing a perfectly functional part of the body. Furthermore, I sincerely doubt that Starfleet Command would look kindly upon such an adornment for the captain of their flagship. Captain,” he said smoothly, diverting the conversation back onto its proper course, “a message has arrived for you from Command, marked Priority One.”
Kirk swore lightly and sighed. “Looks like my leave is over. I’ll be beaming up shortly. Spock, I’d love it if this were something that could be put off a day or two, but I doubt we’re that lucky. Be prepared to call in all planetside personnel, and start rounding up the usual suspects for a briefing.”
“Acknowledged, captain.”
“Kirk out.” He flipped the communicator closed and clapped McCoy hard on his shoulder, more amused than was likely kind at the sour look on his friend’s face. “Come on, Bones. Let’s go see if we can save the world again.”
The crew had accepted the news with gratifying ease when they were told they’d be warping out a full week earlier than planned. The skirmish at the edge of the Neutral Zone kicked them off again, full-speed ahead. Between their unscheduled patrol and the rather tense negotiations that had followed it was over a week before the ship was able to stand down enough for Kirk to manage so much as a simple game of chess.
“Hell of a time lately, Spock.” Kirk moved a bishop to the top level of the board and tried to hide a grin at the quirk of Spock’s eyebrows. He knew his rather unorthodox strategy tended to baffle his methodical first officer. He also figured it was only a matter of time before Spock caught on to the fact that sometimes Kirk did, in fact, move a piece completely at random just to keep him on his toes. But in the meantime he’d enjoy himself.
“Indeed, Captain.” He studied the board for several moments before capturing a pawn with his remaining rook. “I have completed the formal request for another scheduled shoreleave to compensate for the aborted attempt; it only needs your signature before it can be filed.”
“Good, good.” Kirk took a moment to study the board again. Several new possibilities had just opened up, and while fully half of them were obvious traps he found himself intrigued nevertheless. “I never did get the chance to thank you,” he said when he had made his next move. “Your com came at just the right time; I’m pretty sure that with another drink or two Bones would have talked me into something monumentally stupid.”
“I admit I was . . . surprised by the doctor’s enthusiasm for the idea. He has always seemed adequately pragmatic about such matters in the past.”
Kirk chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s a consequence of getting him to actually let his hair down for once. A figure of speech,” he explained before Spock could start. “Even when he’s not on duty, he’s a mother hen as long as he’s on this ship. It’s good for him to completely let that go every now and then.” Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement, and they played in silence for a time.
“Captain,” he said at last, and, “Jim,” he corrected in response to Kirk’s annoyed look. “Might I make a personal inquiry?”
“Sure, Spock.” Kirk might have been surprised, but there was no way he was going to turn down a chance when offered. “Fire away.”
Spock arched an eyebrow at the idiom but let it go without comment. “I could not help but notice that Dr. McCoy was attempting to convince you to pierce your ear again.”
“Yeah.” Kirk waited for the question, but none came. “And you . . . were wondering why you’d never noticed a piercing before?” he finally hazarded.
“I was merely seeking confirmation that my inference was, in fact, accurate,” Spock said primly. “Though you are correct in that I was somewhat confused upon reflection. I have never noticed either the usual adornments that accompany such a ritual-“ Earrings, Kirk managed to translate mentally. “-nor evidence of any area in which such an adornment might be placed.”
“It healed over.” The formality of Spock’s speech had increased, the way that Kirk had started to suspect it did when he was nervous. “The scar’s mostly visible from the back, too.” Without truly thinking about it he tilted his head and bent down the top of his left ear. “See?”
There was another of those long pauses, and when Kirk looked back at Spock his mask of Vulcan stoicism was firmly in place. “Fascinating.” He captured the last of Kirk’s knights with his queen. “I was under the impression that humans most often chose the lobe of the ear for decorative piercing.”
“You’re not wrong,” Kirk said absently, mentally cursing at the loss of the piece and trying to figure out how to recover. “This way just seemed more hardcore, I guess.” He flashed a sheepish smile his first officer’s way. “Would’ve been fine if I weren’t allergic to everything under the sun.”
“Indeed,” Spock said dryly. “However, I must once again point out the illogic of such an attempt. Your ears are most aesthetically pleasing as they are.” And really, Kirk couldn’t have stopped his smile then for anything.
“Yeah? Why Spock, you old charmer, I never knew you had it in you.” Spock arched a dismissive eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the chessboard. “I believe it is your move, Captain.”
“I suppose it is.” Kirk’s grin widened.
With anyone else, that would have been it, game on. But this was Spock. By the time their game ended Kirk had almost convinced himself he had imagined the whole thing. Because Spock didn’t flirt, and he didn’t insinuate. He was straightforward. Logical. If he had said Kirk’s ears were aesthetically pleasing then that’s what he meant, no more, no less. And Kirk couldn’t exactly trust his own impressions, given his acknowledged-to himself, at least-interest in taking things further between them.
In short, he wanted Spock to throw him down and fuck his brains out enough that he couldn’t trust himself not to invent evidence that his first officer wanted the same thing. Because-and he really couldn’t remind himself of this enough-it was Spock.
He had convinced himself he was imagining things when he began to catch Spock looking at his ears. He could just as easily have been looking at his profile, Kirk told himself. Or over his shoulder. Or maybe his hair was doing that thing again where a lock of it stuck out at an odd angle, and that streak of Vulcan curiosity meant that Spock just couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was always a reason, always an excuse.
And like he said, he honestly would have been suspicious with anyone else. Really.
So his surprise was no one’s fault but his own when he found himself pinned between the bulkhead in his quarters and a hot, hard Vulcan nibbling at his ear.
It had barely been two minutes since he managed to finally man up and just tell Spock about the feelings that had started to develop. Barely two minutes, and Spock could give him a more accurate count, he’s sure, but he seemed a little busy at the moment and really, Kirk didn’t want to be rude enough to interrupt. The kiss had been amazing, his back would almost certainly be bruised from where it had been slammed against the wall, and now Spock was doing things with his tongue that made Kirk’s eyes want to cross.
“Aesthetically pleasing, huh?” he managed at last, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. Spock gave an affirmative rumbling noise, and god, if Kirk hadn’t been hard already he would have gotten there after that.
“Indeed. They are quite pleasing to the senses.” His tongue traced the outer ridge, and the shiver that shook Kirk ran through them both. “Beautiful,” Spock breathed, and Kirk moaned. “I am most pleased that you did not attempt to pierce it again.”
“Ah, come on. We could get matching earrings,” Kirk teased as best he could with Spock investigating the scar on the back of his ear. Fingers lifted to trace the delicate point of Spock’s ear, tinged with green in his arousal. “You’d look so hot with a little gold ring right here . . .”
Kirk cried out suddenly when Spock’s teeth clamped down on his earlobe, hips grinding forward and a growl-an honest to goodness growl-reverberated from Spock’s chest. His ear throbbed, and his body was shaking with an unexpected surge of animal arousal.
“The idea has some merit. However, I find that I do not care for the idea of others viewing you in such a way.”
“You do know that most people don’t find ears that big of a turn-on.”
“Indeed. I find that this is yet another way in which you and I are surprisingly compatible.”
Kirk would have laughed at that, because really, Spock had him there, but the Vulcan had sucked the top of Kirk’s ear into his mouth and he was a bit too busy remembering how to breathe. And then he felt something at his other ear, long slender fingers tracing the shape of it, and damn it Kirk had done enough research on Vulcans by now to know what was going on. He stood there, caged against the wall as Spock lavished both his ears with kisses, half human, half Vulcan.
“Spock,” he managed brokenly, thinking vaguely that he ought to be doing something. Turning the tables, taking back at least a hint of control. But damn it, it felt too good to want to stop, so his hands just tightened on Spock’s shoulders to hold himself steady.
“So beautiful,” Spock said again, his breath ghosting over wet skin. “So exotic.”
“Exotic?” Kirk shook his head slightly. “They’re not-” He cut off with a moan as Spock bit down again.
“Of foreign origin or character; not native; introduced from abroad, but not fully naturalized or acclimatized; strikingly unusual or strange in effect or appearance.” His voice was a low, seductive rumble in Kirk’s ear. “Yes, Jim. I find your ears quite exotic.”
It wasn’t fair, Kirk thought hazily, that a dictionary definition of a single word should have this effect. He was harder than he could ever remember having been in his life, nearly crying at his inability to move his hips, to gain friction against the body holding him there. Then Spock began to truly throw himself into his work, licking and nipping and sucking while his fingers stroked and pinched and tugged. Familiar tension was building at the base of Kirk’s spine. Still, he couldn’t believe what was happening until he was coming, hard, fast and desperate, and . . . fucking hell, Spock had never even touched him below the neck.
It was several minutes before he recovered enough to lift his head from where it had fallen against Spock’s shoulder, and he did so with a weak laugh.
“Spock.” He laughed again, despite being weak and sticky and a bit-just a bit-embarrassed. “Did you just give me a . . . an earjob?”
That eyebrow lifted, and if Kirk had had more energy he would have leaned up and licked it. “A crude, if . . . accurate description, I believe.”
Kirk knew he had that shit-eating, just-got-laid grin on his face that McCoy always complained about, but Spock didn’t seem to mind. In fact, unless he was very much mistaken, his proper Vulcan first officer looked more than a little smug. The points of those ears drew Kirk’s fingers again, and he watched as his gentle strokes had Spock’s eyes sliding closed.
“Does it work both ways?” he asked.
“As a scientist, I would advise the accumulation of more data to either confirm or refute such a hypothesis.”
“Hard data?” Kirk smirked, unrepentant even in the face of Spock’s stern stare. “You know, there’s more than a few parts of you that I find . . . exotic.”
“We are well-matched in that sense as well, then.”
“All right, Mr. Spock. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, isn’t that how it goes?” He wrapped his arms around him and grinned against his lips. “How about we try a few of those out."