SHIP WARS: TEAM SPORK: PROMPT 3 ENTRY
Title: To Burn
Ship: Kirk/Spock
Author: corpus_invictus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The fire starts slow in Spock's blood.
Warnings: Retractable Vulcan genitalia.
Beta: scraplove and heeroluva
To Kindle
The fire starts slow in Spock's blood. First the visual aspect: the pink flush of skin arching over him, the naked hunger in Jim's countenance. Then the olfactory: the smell of human sweat, pungent and suffocating. Next the auditory: the heavy breathing and the damp, suckling sound of lips against his neck. Finally the tactile: fingers threaded with his, a hand cradling his head, thumb tracing the curve of his ear.
To Flicker
The suckling pressure meanders over him in a trail down his neck, his sternum, slowing when it reaches the flat plane of his stomach. Rough, calloused hands smooth over his ribs, along his flank, dragging throug the coarse hair of his thighs. An alien sensation of a maddeningly cool tongue explores him, feathering little pecks over his abdominals, licking over the trail of hair further down. His controls falter and he shudders, the sensation traveling from his brain to his spine, his spine to the rest of his nervous system. The fire flickers between his legs, skin trembling in anticipation.
To Heat
Jim's hands cup the backs of his knees and lift them up, calloused fingers tracing meaningless symbols along his inner thighs, easing them open. Spock submits without protest, closing his eyes to concentrate on his body's response. He knows how much Jim loves coaxing his cock into emerging from his body. He knows also that Jim loves a challenge, so he focuses on keeping himself sheathed, on making Jim work for it.
Of all the things Spock tries to master, this is by far the most difficult. He grits his teeth when Jim strokes his thumbs over the opening between his legs, gathering moisture and smearing it over his flesh. The light, teasing sensation causes his toes to curl. His teeth grind at the maddening randomness of Jim's touch, from the swift teasing flicks to a more intense pressure. Fire pools low in his belly, his own natural lubrication scorching him as Jim spreads it everywhere.
To Ignite
Spock's about to comment on the mess when Jim's mouth hovers over his sheath, the sensation of damp breath against him the only warning he receives before a shockingly cool human tongue drags over the sheath's opening. In one shuddering moment his control snaps, a feral growl escaping his throat as the head of his cock begins to emerge: a dark, glistening green in the low light of the room. It's a battle to keep himself from extending any further, and he abandons any attempt to keep himself quiet in favor of exerting control over the sheath. The noises escaping from him would be humiliating if he could spare any energy to truly hear them; his focus remains fixed exclusively upon the blissfully cool tongue licking over him, digging into the first ridge that's emerged from the sheath, intent on turning him into a needy, whining mess.
Spock can almost hear the shattering noise when Jim fits his lips over the mound of skin, the sheath and the protruding head of his cock, and hums. Hums like he's content, in a state of bliss just by being there with him. The vibrations skitter up his spine, cause muscle spasms in his back, and assault his mind with a kind of pleasure that he can't quantify or describe. He can't do anything but moan Jim's name, grab the short hairs at the back of his head for purchase, and try to snarl out a warning before he extends fully, the oversensitive skin grazing over blunt human teeth and the odd ridges at the roof of Jim's mouth. There's another low hum, somewhat less devastating to his sense of control due to its familiarity now. But then there's suction, wet and cool and utterly obscene.
Spock moans as his hips surge forward, heedless now of his loss of control. The logical Vulcan is gone, the fire in his blood cauterizing that part of his brain in favor of the ancient, aggressive Vulcan of generations past.
To Combust
There something blunt pressed against him, slick with the lubrication produced within the sheath, and he shocks himself by whimpering. He gets little sensory feedback from this particular part of his anatomy - Vulcans are not humans, after all, but humanoid. He does not posses a prostate; the nerve endings there are minimal. But the slow slide of Jim's cock into him means a different kind of penetration than that which humans are so overly focused on.
His body opens easily to the welcome intrusion, his legs fitting over Jim's hips like they were built for this. Jim starts a steady rhythm before he leans down, pressing his forehead against Spock's, his eyes offering the permission Spock needs for this.
Fingers against psi-points, whispered words of ceremony, and Spock pierces Jim's mind with his own. The sensory feedback slams into him with a bruising force, the overwhelming want and need of Jim's passions coupling with the fire that's been boiling his blood. He senses his open and willing body, the force and breathlessness of the one pounding into it, the sweat and the fire and the intensity of emotion that a human displays without shame and that a Vulcan tries valiantly to keep contained. It stabs into him, breaks him, reduces him to ash.
He throws himself headlong into the fire, drawing his mate into the flames.
To Melt
His controls ease back into place, but Spock ignores them in favor of cradling the human collapsed on top of him. He strokes his fingers through the sweaty blonde hair, over unconsciously created bruises at his waist, over firm muscles and sweaty skin. There's a low buzzing in his mind, a residual effect of the meld causing Jim's thoughts and emotions to bleed into him wherever they touch. A low hum of love you, need you, love you, t'hy'la... reverberates in his skull.
“Yes, ashayam” he whispers in response, pressing a kiss against one of Jim's psi points. “Yes.”
Ship: Kirk/Spock
Author: corpus_invictus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The fire starts slow in Spock's blood.
Warnings: Retractable Vulcan genitalia.
Beta: scraplove and heeroluva
To Kindle
The fire starts slow in Spock's blood. First the visual aspect: the pink flush of skin arching over him, the naked hunger in Jim's countenance. Then the olfactory: the smell of human sweat, pungent and suffocating. Next the auditory: the heavy breathing and the damp, suckling sound of lips against his neck. Finally the tactile: fingers threaded with his, a hand cradling his head, thumb tracing the curve of his ear.
To Flicker
The suckling pressure meanders over him in a trail down his neck, his sternum, slowing when it reaches the flat plane of his stomach. Rough, calloused hands smooth over his ribs, along his flank, dragging throug the coarse hair of his thighs. An alien sensation of a maddeningly cool tongue explores him, feathering little pecks over his abdominals, licking over the trail of hair further down. His controls falter and he shudders, the sensation traveling from his brain to his spine, his spine to the rest of his nervous system. The fire flickers between his legs, skin trembling in anticipation.
To Heat
Jim's hands cup the backs of his knees and lift them up, calloused fingers tracing meaningless symbols along his inner thighs, easing them open. Spock submits without protest, closing his eyes to concentrate on his body's response. He knows how much Jim loves coaxing his cock into emerging from his body. He knows also that Jim loves a challenge, so he focuses on keeping himself sheathed, on making Jim work for it.
Of all the things Spock tries to master, this is by far the most difficult. He grits his teeth when Jim strokes his thumbs over the opening between his legs, gathering moisture and smearing it over his flesh. The light, teasing sensation causes his toes to curl. His teeth grind at the maddening randomness of Jim's touch, from the swift teasing flicks to a more intense pressure. Fire pools low in his belly, his own natural lubrication scorching him as Jim spreads it everywhere.
To Ignite
Spock's about to comment on the mess when Jim's mouth hovers over his sheath, the sensation of damp breath against him the only warning he receives before a shockingly cool human tongue drags over the sheath's opening. In one shuddering moment his control snaps, a feral growl escaping his throat as the head of his cock begins to emerge: a dark, glistening green in the low light of the room. It's a battle to keep himself from extending any further, and he abandons any attempt to keep himself quiet in favor of exerting control over the sheath. The noises escaping from him would be humiliating if he could spare any energy to truly hear them; his focus remains fixed exclusively upon the blissfully cool tongue licking over him, digging into the first ridge that's emerged from the sheath, intent on turning him into a needy, whining mess.
Spock can almost hear the shattering noise when Jim fits his lips over the mound of skin, the sheath and the protruding head of his cock, and hums. Hums like he's content, in a state of bliss just by being there with him. The vibrations skitter up his spine, cause muscle spasms in his back, and assault his mind with a kind of pleasure that he can't quantify or describe. He can't do anything but moan Jim's name, grab the short hairs at the back of his head for purchase, and try to snarl out a warning before he extends fully, the oversensitive skin grazing over blunt human teeth and the odd ridges at the roof of Jim's mouth. There's another low hum, somewhat less devastating to his sense of control due to its familiarity now. But then there's suction, wet and cool and utterly obscene.
Spock moans as his hips surge forward, heedless now of his loss of control. The logical Vulcan is gone, the fire in his blood cauterizing that part of his brain in favor of the ancient, aggressive Vulcan of generations past.
To Combust
There something blunt pressed against him, slick with the lubrication produced within the sheath, and he shocks himself by whimpering. He gets little sensory feedback from this particular part of his anatomy - Vulcans are not humans, after all, but humanoid. He does not posses a prostate; the nerve endings there are minimal. But the slow slide of Jim's cock into him means a different kind of penetration than that which humans are so overly focused on.
His body opens easily to the welcome intrusion, his legs fitting over Jim's hips like they were built for this. Jim starts a steady rhythm before he leans down, pressing his forehead against Spock's, his eyes offering the permission Spock needs for this.
Fingers against psi-points, whispered words of ceremony, and Spock pierces Jim's mind with his own. The sensory feedback slams into him with a bruising force, the overwhelming want and need of Jim's passions coupling with the fire that's been boiling his blood. He senses his open and willing body, the force and breathlessness of the one pounding into it, the sweat and the fire and the intensity of emotion that a human displays without shame and that a Vulcan tries valiantly to keep contained. It stabs into him, breaks him, reduces him to ash.
He throws himself headlong into the fire, drawing his mate into the flames.
To Melt
His controls ease back into place, but Spock ignores them in favor of cradling the human collapsed on top of him. He strokes his fingers through the sweaty blonde hair, over unconsciously created bruises at his waist, over firm muscles and sweaty skin. There's a low buzzing in his mind, a residual effect of the meld causing Jim's thoughts and emotions to bleed into him wherever they touch. A low hum of love you, need you, love you, t'hy'la... reverberates in his skull.
“Yes, ashayam” he whispers in response, pressing a kiss against one of Jim's psi points. “Yes.”