Fic: Speaking in Tongues (2/2)
Title: Speaking in Tongues (2/2)
Author: Kairi
Pairing: Mirror!Spock/Mirror!Kirk. Very AU.
Rating: NC-3000 17. Porny and dark.
Warnings: ANTI-FLUFF and pure porn. Warnings for dubcon, sensory deprivation, plugs, anal torture, enema, oral, come-on-skin/comeshot, mind-fuckery, D/s, spanking, light humiliation. Crazy-style hurt/comfort and lots of BDSM.
Summary: When Spock became Emperor, the first thing he did was claim James Tiberius Kirk as his slave, body and mind. But Kirk, being Kirk, has serious trouble with authority, and Spock is pressured by his advisors to discipline his former captain. Permanently.
Wordcount: 11,544 words, total.
Notes: So I promised jou fic for her birthday, and this is the result.... too bad her b-day was in February. I'M SORRY DARLING. UM, HAPPY BIRTHDAY?? FEEL BETTER!! This is actually a prelude to the longer fic I am working on, which is nowhere near done yet. Read part one here.
Spock is coaxing him to his feet again, and Kirk whines in the back of his throat, vague and painful thoughts of their past slipping away into comforting darkness. Kirk's groping hands find Spock's shoulders, and he manages (barely) to stay standing as Spock dries him off. Then Spock is pulling him close again, a thumb stroking lightly over his full lower lip, a hand cupping his face.
Kirk leans obediently into Spock's touch, letting Spock hold Kirk against his chest, warm robes and scented hair sliding against his skin as Spock wraps a possessive arm around him. Fingertips travel delicately over Kirk's neck and throat, caressing Kirk's collar, and when they brush again over Kirk's lips, Kirk kisses them, knowing by now exactly what Spock requires of him and more than willing to give it to him. Spock murmurs his approval, and Kirk feels fresh warmth flood him, this time of an entirely welcome sort. "Your current sweetness and docility is most pleasing," Spock says, his voice so low it's almost a growl, and Kirk shivers at the noise, something needy and primitive in the back of his mind uncurling in response.
Again Spock picks him up, Kirk curling against his chest and lashing his arms around Spock's neck, pressing his face to Spock's neck as he's carried-to the bed, as it turns out, Spock laying him gently down on it. Kirk feels a pang of anxiety as Spock's hands pull away, leaving him temporarily bereft, but he feels the bed sink beneath Spock's weight and moments later Spock is pulling Kirk into his lap, and Kirk gasps as he feels something hard and insistent pressing against his ass through Spock's robes.
"You disappoint me, James." The words are even, contemplative, warm for a Vulcan. "Your recent behavior has been highly problematic. I must procure special dispensation to compensate for the obscene amount of water you saw fit to waste with your immature prank. I trust, however, that repeating your punishment will not be necessary?"
"No," Kirk says, shocked at how husky his voice sounds in his own ears. It's only now that he remembers that he must have spent hours screaming himself hoarse-he just had no idea because he couldn't hear himself.
"Indeed?" Spock's voice darkens in satisfaction. "That is unfortunate. I find I enjoy how docile and well-behaved you are in your current state. Quite a contrast from your typical defiance." Kirk bites his lip, sighing as Spock's long, wicked fingers play over his naked skin. The worst of the shakes and tremors in his ass and thighs subsided while Spock was bathing him, but his body is still so sensitive, and Kirk suspects Spock has every intention of making use of that fact. And he's still blind. Kirk wonders vaguely what will come next-a beating, maybe? Or maybe Spock will have Kirk suck him off-but his brain has strained too hard for too long, and he gives it up after a moment.
What he's not expecting is the pressure of fingertips at his lips again, and the taste of something sweet and spicy on his tongue. "Eat, James," Spock says, and Kirk does, moaning at the taste. It's something like a chocolate truffle, rich and vaguely spiced, with an undertone of cinnamon or cardamom. Spock's fingers probe over his lips, Spock growling in his ear, and Kirk shudders in pleasure, the sensations shooting straight to his cock. Spock feeds him another piece after a moment, pressing his fingers past Kirk's candy-smeared lips as he does, finger-fucking Kirk's mouth after Kirk swallows his truffle.
Kirk sucks wetly at those fingers, the obscene noises filling his ears, Spock's breath hot against the skin just below his ear as Spock bites at his neck, scraping teeth along sensitive skin to leave a mark. It's bliss, pure and sweet, and Kirk mewls happily, the noise garbled as Spock's fingers press against his teeth, his tongue. Far off, he feels the echo of warning, like a muted siren somewhere in the depths of his skull, but it has no urgency for him. Kirk isn't thinking that deeply; nothing exists for him right now except Spock, nothing matters except the heated body pressed to his.
"Do you wish me to restore your sight?" Spock's lips are pressed against the soft shell of Kirk's ear, sending a full-length shudder through him. Spock slides his hand along Kirk's thigh, wrapping fingers around Kirk's erection, squeezing it once, eliciting a gasp. "Are you ready to behave for me now, tepul-fam'veh?"
Oh, Kirk thinks dizzily, arching into the touches. "I'll do whatever you want," is what he says, or tries to; it comes out in a whisper, the words thick and hard to make out around Spock's fingers. Speaking is growing increasingly difficult in this warm, disconnected headspace Spock has put him into, and Kirk would like nothing more than to cease talking altogether, and cede what self-control remains to him to Spock. "I'll be good."
"Mmm." Spock removes his hand, stroking it down along Kirk's side again and kissing over his jaw, his throat, the scrape of his teeth followed almost immediately by the shocking wet heat of his tongue. It never comes as less of a surprise, how rough Spock's tongue is against his skin, like sandpaper. Kirk wonders, not for the first time, whether Vulcans had felinoid ancestors. "Indeed. But will that be sufficient? My advisors demand that the perpetrator of this act be punished-they are calling for a public beating and execution, to demonstrate that my house will not tolerate defiance."
A rush of fear sweeps through Kirk at that. He's endured many things at Spock's hands, but never once has Spock permitted another to lay a finger on him, for any reason. Spock's aides fed and bathed him in the early weeks of his captivity, when his rage and pride prevented him from even considering behaving, but since then it has only ever been Spock who touches him. "I..." Kirk struggles to think, to force his mind to move, and it's like trying to swim in quicksand.
Spock seems to sense his struggling, because he continues as if Kirk hadn't spoken. "You must demonstrate your understanding that you belong to me now," Spock says. "As my slave, you are under my protection. None may harm you without my consent. But your behavior indicates that you do not wish my protection. Perhaps I shall give you what you appear to desire, and denounce my claim to you. What cause have you given me to prevent them from punishing you as they see fit?" Spock's fingers stray up to Kirk's collar, fingering it thoughtfully.
Kirk swallows, anxiety swirling through him. Doesn't Spock want him? Oh god, would Spock really let him go? "No," he blurts, the fear of being set loose too much to bear. It's Spock's collar he's wearing; it was for Spock that he lay in darkness and silence for so long, enduring unbearable torture to make up for his transgression. Surely Spock wouldn't-he isn't- "No, I'm yours. You said so. Yours."
"Is that so?" Spock's voice grows stern. "Say it again. To whom do you belong?"
"You. I belong to you." Kirk's pulse is hammering in his ears. The idea of abandonment is horrible, unthinkable-he can barely comprehend such a thing right now, much less the thought of Spock allowing him to be executed.
Something like triumph surges through Kirk's mind, Spock's fingers tightening against Kirk's throat, and Kirk realizes distantly that they must be very shallowly connected. No surprise, when Spock is touching so much of his naked skin. "Are you willing to prove it?"
"Yes!" Kirk tries to sit up, not even knowing what he's going to do, but Spock pulls him back down, biting his ear in reprimand, and Kirk moans, arching against Spock's body.
"What reason have I to believe you?" Spock says darkly. Kirk feels himself deflate, despair replacing the rush of pleasure at having Spock's hands on him. No- "You are a wicked creature who will say anything to avoid being punished. I had thought to teach you the error of your obstructive, deceitful ways, but I see now that it was a futile effort. You are clearly beyond redemption."
"No! Please-" Kirk tries to sit up again, starting to panic a little now, and again Spock pulls him down, an arm tightening warningly across Kirk's waist. "Please," Kirk moans, starting to beg, "I'm yours, I want to be yours, I'll be good I'll be so good, please Spock..."
Kirk's cock twitches as arousal swamps his senses, some dark and vicious emotion flooding him that feels like mine, and for a moment he's bewildered, but Spock's teeth against his neck quickly distract him again. "Perhaps I should permit you the opportunity to prove yourself," Spock muses, stroking fingers along Kirk's neck as the trapped slave arches pliantly. "As you seem so very eager."
"Yes," gasps Kirk, and then Spock's fingers dig into his scalp, tilting Kirk's head back to expose more of his throat, and Spock's teeth sink into his skin, making Kirk's erection jump at the jolt of pain and pleasure that shoots down his spine. Spock worries a mark into existence, teeth scraping and working at the sensitive skin, making Kirk moan and shudder against the arms holding him pinned against Spock's chest.
"Very well." Spock's voice is muffled against Kirk's throat, fingers playing down along Kirk's bare shoulder, his collarbone, the muscles of his chest. And then suddenly he's moving, shifting with Kirk in his arms, and Kirk finds himself being carried across the room, clinging to Spock in bewilderment only to find himself being set down on the carpeted floor again. Spock presses his hands against Kirk's shoulders, and Kirk sinks instinctively to his knees, hands sliding against the leather of the high black boots Spock always wears. Spock strokes his fingers through Kirk's hair, a momentary caress that has Kirk turning his face blindly into Spock's touch, and then Spock stands back, leaving Kirk to catch his own balance, bereft of sight and touch on his hands and knees.
"You will crawl to me," Spock says clearly, sounding still nearby, calming Kirk's immediate fear of being left to grope blindly in the room by himself. "You will follow the sound of my voice, and when you have reached me you will kiss each of my boots and beg to clean them with your mouth."
Kirk leans forward, trying to orient himself towards the direction Spock's voice seems to be coming from. He's terrified, and he has just enough presence of mind left to be humiliated at the idea of crawling around like this, much less licking Spock's boots clean, but far worse is the idea of abandonment. Spock has ripped open an old, painful scar, reducing Kirk to a small and heartbroken child, struggling to overcome the betrayal of both mother and father, and then finally his brother. Don't leave me, begs the small voice in the back of his head, the one he'd tried to strangle lifeless so many times, and indeed he'd succeeded... until Spock had come along and pulled him open again, exposing all those things he'd buried so deeply inside himself.
"Come here, James." Kirk falls forward on his palms, crawling slowly and hesitantly in the direction of Spock's voice. His muscles ache and his sense of balance is fucked from his long ordeal, and it's lucky he's already down on all fours because he would surely have fallen if he'd tried to walk. Spock continues to talk, telling him how gorgeous he looks like this, how natural he is on his hands and knees, giving him a constant frame of reference to move towards. A hand on his head stops him abruptly, and Kirk sits back on his calves, his face burning from humiliation. It's a frustrating paradox that for all the verbal abuse Kirk subjected Spock to, the Vulcan never returns it in kind; he prefers to rob Kirk of his dignity in other ways, but sometimes Kirk thinks it would be easier to maintain his sense of self if Spock didn't find a way to make this feel so good.
"You have done well." Spock's hair brushes against Kirk's face as Spock leans down to caress the top of Kirk's head, and Kirk feels his stomach tighten at the praise. Slowly, he leans down and kisses each of Spock's boots, one at a time, being careful not to bump his nose. Then he straightens up, kneeling in front of Spock and leaning against him for balance, Spock's hand stroking gently against Kirk's temple. Kirk hesitates, but Spock says nothing, and Kirk knows he's waiting for Kirk to do as he's been told.
"Please," Kirk manages, glad for the umpteenth time that he's temporarily blind, because somehow it makes it easier to not think about what he's doing, "please, let me-let me clean your boots, Spock. Let me lick them clean." His words are shaky and hoarse in his own ears, his voice almost unrecognizable, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if it makes a difference.
"Permission granted." Spock's hand goes to the back of Kirk's skull, pressing Kirk's face against his groin, and Kirk moans as he feels the hard, heated lump of Spock's arousal through his master's pants. He nuzzles blindly against it, mouthing it wetly through the linen of Spock's trousers, and Kirk feels Spock shudder before his face is pushed rather violently away, shoving him down on all fours again.
Kirk arches, catlike, an animal in heat, dizzy with the knowledge of Spock's arousal for him, like something has switched over in his head. He drops his face to Spock's boot-level again, and he's blind, utterly blind-everything is sensation and impulse, heat and lust and something fearfully like love. Repercussions will come later; now nothing exists but this moment. He can feel Spock's lust for him inside his head, mingling with his own, and Kirk has just the scant amount of intelligence left to understand that even though his sight is crippled at the moment, his strengthened connection to Spock is giving him something like double vision. Or maybe it's just his hypersensitive awareness of both their bodies, but regardless, he moves unerringly to lick at Spock's boot, and sees himself with Spock's eyes.
He's naked. Not just unclothed, but aroused and vulnerable and exposed save for the triple-ringed collar around his throat, and instead of a shameful thing he wears it like the sacred ornament of a priest. His skin is gold, tanned from Eridani's fierce light, his blond hair a sweaty mess, and he crouches at Spock's feet with his ass in the air, pink tongue lapping wet and obscene over the dark leather of Spock's boots.
Spock growls then, and the shock of it goes right to Kirk's cock, arousal tightening his guts like an invisible hand. Kirk licks and licks at the musty leather, vaguely disgusted by the taste of dirt and grime and, underneath that, the darker taste of cured animal-hide. Spock pulls his foot away after Kirk has made it as far as Spock's ankle, and then Kirk moves obediently to the other foot, his mouth already starting to feel parched and filthy from the first. By the time he's done, Kirk is fully, achingly hard, and his mouth feels like a garbage bin, but the way Spock hauls him up by the collar and into his arms is more than worth it.
Kirk's arms go around Spock's shoulders, and Spock's hands are moving over Kirk's bare skin now, considerably more aggressive than they were before, and Kirk can feel that eager erection through Spock's trousers, pressing against Kirk's naked hip. "Do you require water?" Spock asks in a voice that's just barely civilized, his lips moving against Kirk's ears, and Kirk moans, nodding mutely.
There's a confusing shuffle of movement then, as Spock maneuvers him around, but Kirk has attention only for the man in his arms, glued to his side as though separation means certain death. And Spock seems disinclined to let him go, either. Kirk drinks greedily when Spock presses a beaker of water to his mouth, and he's glad for the faint bite, the herbal undertones that water on Vulcan invariably has, for it washes away the grime on his tongue. Then the water is gone and Spock is kissing him, arms locked around him, and Kirk is kissing back for all he's worth, his mouth open, sucking greedily at Spock's tongue, seeking his heat, his answering need. Spock bites his mouth, drawing a little blood, and Kirk groans, flattening himself against Spock's chest as though it were possible to melt into him. Kirk cards his fingers through Spock's hair, and it doesn't matter that he once would have died before ever permitting himself to show such unrestrained desire as this. He's hard, his cock aching, weeping pearly drops of pre-come from the slit, but even that pales in comparison to the electricity of Spock inside his head and Spock's hands on his body. Somewhere in the whirl of his dazed mind, he registers that he should be in more pain than this, and wonders if Spock is blocking some of his pain-receptors as well, but it's hard to care too much.
Spock pulls away after a moment, restraining himself with an effort, gripping Kirk's jaw in one hand to keep him from following after to try and keep kissing him, the other arm still curled tightly around Kirk's waist. "Wicked creature," Spock murmurs, and the hoarseness in that deep voice makes Kirk shudder with longing. He wishes vaguely that he could see, wondering how Spock might look right now-whether that heavy black hair is still perfect, or if it's in disarray; if Spock's face is as impassive as ever, or whether there might be a tell-tale flush of green in his cheeks and ears. But Spock will give him back his sight when he sees fit, and not before.
Spock takes a deep breath. If Kirk weren't so lit up, he would be marveling at how frayed the edges of Spock's self-control have become. "Very well, tepul-fam'veh. You have demonstrated admirable eagerness to obey my orders, but I remain unconvinced of your desire to truly behave." Spock releases Kirk's jaw, stroking his fingertips over Kirk's features, tracing the contours of his full, kiss-swollen lips. Kirk catches hold of Spock's wrist in both his hands, bringing each finger to his mouth and kissing them in turn, reveling in how Spock lets him do it and how it makes Spock shudder. He knows that they made a turn at some point, that this isn't precisely how Spock wanted this to go, but he hardly cares.
"Let me convince you," Kirk whispers, and he gets another flash of himself from behind Spock's eyes: his own face, flushed and open with arousal, his eyes a startling blue, the pupils blown wide in a vain attempt to gather enough light to see. Spock nods, and Kirk is dropping to his knees before he has time to wonder how he could even tell Spock moved, and then he just keeps going because it doesn't matter anyway.
Kirk nuzzles at Spock's groin, Spock's hands going to the back of Kirk's head, not directing, just to keep contact. Kirk has a few moments of trouble trying to work Spock's pants open through touch alone, but then he pulls Spock's hard prick free, and Kirk moans open-mouthed simultaneously with Spock, pressing his cheek to the scalding, velvet-soft skin of Spock's erection. Spock's hands tighten on his head, the fingers of one tight in Kirk's hair, the other gripping the back of his neck, and Kirk purrs in the back of his throat as he licks at the very tip of Spock's penis, flattening his tongue over the flared mushroom head, tasting Spock's arousal. He feels Spock's repressed groan, echoing like an after-image on his mental retina, and then he opens his mouth and takes Spock in.
Blind as he is, Kirk finds himself ultra-aware of every inch of Spock's erection in his mouth-the contours of the alien double ridges, the musty taste of his sex, the astonishing heat of his body. Kirk suckles just the head for a moment, working it like a lollipop, enjoying the weight of it against his tongue as Spock's fingers dig hard into his scalp. Normally, Kirk would do this only under duress, but now he can barely restrain his own moans as he slowly bobs his head on Spock's prick, taking more of him into his mouth each time. Finally Spock's swollen erection is buried in Kirk's mouth, Kirk's eyes watering at the way the flat head is pressing at the back of his throat, making him work to suppress his gag reflex. He presses his tongue flat against the big vein that runs along the underside of the engorged cock, then tightens the muscles of his jaw, trying to suck. Spock presses one hand to the back of Kirk's head again, forcing him down a little further, making him cough and gag, and then Kirk feels the fingers of Spock's other hand sliding over Kirk's face, feeling the shape of Kirk's lips stretched wide around Spock's sex. For a Vulcan it's a particularly exquisite form of masturbation, and Kirk moans as Spock starts to thrust, that one hand at the back of Kirk's head holding him tightly still as Spock leisurely fucks Kirk's mouth.
It's torture, so good and hot that Kirk thinks he might come just from having Spock in his mouth. The hand that isn't gripping Spock's hip for balance reaches down to fondle his own aching erection, stroking himself slowly as tears leak down his face. Spock growls, his thrusts coming faster now as he nears his climax, and almost without warning he pulls out, striping hot, sticky ropes across Kirk's face and mouth. Some lingering shred of self-control makes Kirk grab himself to keep from going off without permission, his thighs shuddering at the strain. Kirk swallows, moaning in shock and arousal at the feel of Spock's spend on his skin, heat flooding his cheeks in reaction. Suddenly, he's bereft, Spock's hands gone from his body.
"When," comes Spock's voice, low and silky and dangerous, "did I grant you permission to touch yourself, James?" Kirk swallows painfully, freezing, realizing his mistake too late, but Spock is already moving. Kirk finds himself hauled upright, Spock man-handling him as he likes without further explanation, and without his sight it's all Kirk can do to not fall over, dizzy with vertigo. Then he finds himself being pushed facedown over Spock's lap, his aching erection rubbing maddeningly against Spock's thigh. A hard slap to his still-tender ass rips a shriek from him, Kirk's whole body tensing, and then he sags with a low moan as the hand stays put, rubbing at the spot just struck, Spock's fingers working possessively at the flesh of Kirk's buttock. Kirk can only moan, still reeling from the shock of having Spock come on his face, a few steps behind the power-curve.
"You are mine," Spock says, and at the covetous note in his voice Kirk feels the knot of fear in his stomach unclench a bit. "Every molecule of your being is mine. Before you may touch what is mine, you must have my permission, and only then may you lay hands on yourself. Every part, your pleasure, your pain... it all belongs to me, James." The hand gently rubbing his ass suddenly comes down hard again, spanking Kirk soundly, this time on the other cheek, and Kirk yelps, his cock twitching in sympathy at the heat that floods his face. Spock continues to spank him, striking his ass again and again, Kirk writhing and trembling against Spock's lap as Spock holds him firmly in place with a hand on the back of his neck.
The pain in his ass, which Spock temporarily induced him to forget, comes roaring once more to the front of his attention as Spock gives him some serious bruises to go with the ache of inflamed tissue. It isn't long before Kirk is sobbing and whimpering under the assault, his face burning with lust and pain and shocking, all-consuming pleasure. Spock stops as abruptly as he started, his hand settling against Kirk's ass again, rubbing soothingly against the tender flesh, but the burn has settled deeper, suffusing his entire body now.
Kirk sucks in a ragged breath, and before he even has time to wonder what's next, he's hauled up again to straddle Spock's lap, groping for something to balance against and grabbing hold of Spock's robes. Kirk feels an arm slither around his waist, and he's very aware of his own aching erection, and of the fact that Spock is still hard, pressing against him through the material of his trousers-he must have tucked himself back into his pants, Kirk thinks. He's light-headed now, dizzy from everything Spock's put him through, trembling lightly from the pain in his much-abused ass. He starts slightly when he feels something cold and wet touch his face, until he realizes it's a towel-he'd almost forgotten about the semen drying on his skin, miraculously, during the spanking.
He holds still as Spock wipes him off with the wet wash-cloth, then waits for what's coming next, fisting his hands anxiously in the material of Spock's robes. After all he's been put through and how far down his conscious mind has sunk, his only wish right now is for Spock to fuck him hard enough to make him scream. Fingers come back to ghost over his face, tracing a cheekbone, and then slide back through his hair to grip his skull, pulling him in for a kiss that's more teeth than tongue, the arm around his waist tightening. Kirk's response is instinctive, arching against Spock's hands and body, opening himself to Spock with a moan.
Spock takes a moment to find his voice, even as his hands roam over Kirk's body, one sliding down now to cup one ass-cheek firmly, the fingertips pressing into tender flesh, making Kirk gasp. "Should you desire something, tepul-fam'veh, you must ask me for it," Spock says finally, his voice rough at the edges and gritty, as though it's difficult to talk. "I give you permission to make your request."
"Fuck me," Kirk blurts. He leans in, sliding his arms around Spock's neck again, and it's strange that Spock is permitting him so much contact, so much liberty to cling like he is, but he's too out of it to consider the implications. "Please, I want you to fuck me, Spock!"
Spock stills, going silent, the hands on Kirk's body tightening. "Do you," Spock says, and Kirk's cock jerks at the growl in that voice. There's a pause, during which Kirk feels Spock's hand moving carefully back around to Kirk's face, fingers settling into a familiar position at Kirk's temple and jaw. "I do not believe you. I feel you are saying this because you believe I wish to hear it. You seek to escape further punishment."
"No!" Kirk cries. It does not even occur to him that Spock might simply want to hear him beg. "No, please Spock, I want it, I need you to fuck me-please, please believe me, I need it so bad-" And then Spock throws open their link, and Kirk goes under in a rush.
It happens much more quickly this time-perhaps because Kirk's not expecting it, or perhaps simply because Spock doesn't want to waste any time. Regardless, even as he's swallowed by the darkness that always comes when Spock rolls his mind, Kirk can already feel himself being pulled out of the meld, rushing towards a strangely bright surface and bursting through without warning. Instinctively, his eyes open, all his muscles tightening-and Kirk almost screams, because suddenly his sight has returned, and the world exists once more.
Spock is kissing him before he can panic, strong arms holding him fast, and Kirk's frightened, messy noises are lost into Spock's mouth. Kirk shuts his eyes again and focuses on that kiss, giving his disordered brain a moment to play catch-up, to sort through the images once more being sent it by the rods and cones in his eyes. When Spock pushes him back again, holding him not quite at arm's length, Kirk finally opens his eyes to see the face of the man who's become his whole world.
Spock is staring at him, his eyes black pools, his perfect Vulcan control almost gone, his face like a statue carved from living stone. And most people might not be able to tell, but Kirk can, and it isn't just the green flush of his skin, or the very slight tremor in the hands that are holding him; it's something in those fathomless eyes that Kirk almost never gets to see, something so strange and compelling he can't even rightly identify it now.
"Say it again." The words are deathly quiet. There is an aggrieved note in Spock's voice that Kirk does not understand. Spock has been running this entire show from the first moment he walked into the room. Hasn't he?
Kirk takes a deep breath, staring back into that cruel, endlessly beautiful face. Later, this is the moment that will stand out to him most clearly, the part of the conversation that will replay over and over in his head-their words, and the sight of Spock's face, as if he'd never seen it before, or Spock had never truly shown himself to Kirk until now. "I need-" I need you to fuck me. His jaw tightens, and he's filled with the sudden desire to banish that doubt from Spock's voice and eyes. "I need you," he says instead, and watches Spock's face change. "Please."
Spock stares at him, some nameless emotion struggling to make itself known on his face, and for a moment Kirk wonders if Spock is really about to kill him, or storm out of the room. Instead, he pulls Kirk to him and crushes their mouths together, and Kirk dissolves with a moan, lashing an arm around Spock's shoulders again and pressing close for dear life. Spock kisses him hard enough to steal all his breath, holding Kirk against his chest with one arm wrapped around his waist, and Kirk is so distracted he doesn't even realize that Spock is doing anything else until he feels the blunt, slicked head of Spock's erection pressing against his pucker as Spock settles him down onto his cock. With a moan Kirk slides down on it, letting Spock fill him like he's been craving, tears prickling in his eyes at the burn in his muscles and his channel.
Hands on his hips push Kirk down until his thighs are flush against Spock's lap, his ass stuffed full of Spock's prick, the head pushing against his prostate, and then Spock thrusts up into him, rocking in yet deeper as his fingertips dig crescent-shaped welts into Kirk's hips, making him cry out. It's exquisitely painful, the muscles of his ass still too tender from the capsaicin oil for anything like this, and the shocking heat of Spock's erection just adds to the overstimulation. And it's exactly what Kirk wants. It's like a flare has gone off inside him, and nothing resembling reason or clear thinking will return until it's burnt itself out.
Spock growls at him, something harsh and guttural that scrapes over his skin like asphalt. Kirk doesn't need to speak Vulcan to recognize that he's being claimed; the frightening heat in Spock's eyes says it all. And not even having worn Spock's collar for months now feels as real or permanent as this, as though Spock has just etched his mark into Kirk's skin and bones, and if Kirk had any of presence of mind left at all he'd be scared shitless, or fucking pissed, or something, but instead he just gasps, throwing his head back and rolling his hips down against the cock buried in his ass.
"They tried to take you from me," Spock grates out, his breath scalding against Kirk's ear, hands digging into Kirk's hip and shoulder with bruising force, his control burnt up with the heat that's sparked between them. "Had I not returned to keep watch over you when I did, I would have found you dead-" Spock cuts himself off with a snarl, snapping his hips up against Kirk's ass, making Kirk choke on his own cry, and Kirk suffers a sudden spasm of transferred memory: his own prone body, bound and writhing miserably on the bio-bed, and directly before him a Vulcan forced to his knees, eyes bulging in terror as a pair of hands (Spock's hands) force the traitor's mouth open and pour the contents of a broken hypodermic needle down his throat. The violence of the image is nothing compared to the cataclysmic rage that accompanies it, and though it's snatched away almost instantly, it leaves Kirk shaking, clutching at Spock in stunned reaction, wholly unable to process.
Then Spock starts to fuck him, sliding his hands down along Kirk's hips to grip his ass and hold him in place as he sets up a rhythm, destroying what remains of Kirk's ability to think before he can appreciate what he's just been told. Kirk braces his hands on Spock's chest as he tries to move with Spock anyway, noises hitching in his throat each time Spock slams up into him, jolting up his spine. He shuts his eyes for a moment, only to have them fly open again in shock as Spock shakes him, biting Kirk's throat savagely, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple just above his collar. "Stay," Spock hisses, gripping the back of Kirk's skull, crushing him close again. Kirk moans helplessly as his cock is trapped between their abdomens, the rough friction of Spock's robes making him shudder. There's no way he's going to last, no matter how he tries; he's been riding the edge too long.
"Spock," he chokes, and Spock seems to understand, because moments later a hand snakes between them and starts to roughly stroke Kirk's prick-once, twice, three times as Spock snaps his hips up against Kirk's ass again, skin meeting skin with a wet slap. Kirk's climax hits him exactly like a wall of water, breaking over him hard and fast, all his muscles seizing up at once, right before it all collapses and takes him down with it. Spock fucks him through it, eating him up as he breaks apart, spilling against Spock's stomach and gasping for air.
Kirk loses himself a little then, sagging against Spock, his fragmented consciousness seeping out at the edges. The next thing he's aware of is Spock spreading him out boneless on the bed, bending over him-he's on his back now, when did that happen-folding him easily in two, hooking Kirk's legs over his shoulders. Spock is naked now, and still hard, and Kirk has just enough time to register how fucking gorgeous Spock is before Spock sinks into him again, balls-deep and hot, fuck. Even as Kirk is choking on his own tongue Spock is leaning over him and pinning him, not his wrists this time but his hands, lacing their fingers together.
"Please," Kirk whispers, not knowing what he's asking for, only that he has to have it or he'll die. Spock kisses him in answer, and starts to move, and Kirk's exhausted mind can just barely register that Spock has never taken him like this, never touched him like this, before it gives up and finally shuts off at long last. So there's nothing left to keep Kirk from moaning and sobbing Spock's name, to gasp as though blind again at the way Spock keeps sinking his teeth into Kirk's skin, to tangle his hands in Spock's long hair and beg him for more. And there's no one home to keep track of how long they go like that, wrapped up together in sweat-stained sheets, before Spock presses his fingers to Kirk's temple and drowns them deep inside each other.
The next morning will find their unexpected truce gone as if it had never happened; Kirk will wake to an empty bed, and it will not take him long to convince himself that whatever he might have seen in Spock's eyes was not there, and that he does not care even if it was, because it was all bullshit induced in him by Spock's mind-games. Never mind the fact that it seems Spock punished Kirk because some goddamn Vulcan took it upon himself to try to kill Kirk while Spock had him laid out helpless. And in the days and weeks that follow, Spock will take great pains to remind Kirk that he is just a slave, and that he will be treated as such, and Vulcans do not care for their slaves any more than they might care for a particularly valuable piece of livestock. He does such a good job that they both almost believe it-almost. Months later, Kirk will lie in bed in the belly of a stolen space-ship, staring at the ceiling, and he'll remember this night, and he'll tell himself it meant nothing, that it was just Spock fucking with his mind.
But when they finally collapse, gasping for air and tangled inextricably together, impossible to tell where one lets off and the other begins, Kirk is thinking nothing of the sort. He's speechless with reaction, struck dumb all over again, fumbling to kiss Spock in lieu of words, and Spock cradles him against his chest as though he were the most precious thing in the universe. For a few minutes he can only lay there, stroking Spock's face, the other hand twined tightly with Spock's, too dazed to even register his own situation. Then something hits him.
"I felt it when the guard tried to kill me," he blurts, suddenly remembering the strange sense of movement he'd experienced at one point during his ordeal, as though someone was very close by his unseeing body. "Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, he was that close-"
"Kroykah, klashau-veh." Spock cuts him off, the Vulcan words washing over him, settling him. "You are safe; I will protect you. Be at peace, k'diwa." Kirk takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow, and finds he has absolutely nothing to say that can't wait till later. So he says nothing at all, and simply curls against Spock, taking mute comfort in the warmth of his body.
They fall asleep like that, Spock pressed up against Kirk from behind, holding him tight against Spock's chest, Spock's face pressed to the back of Kirk's head, their fingers laced together and hands resting against Kirk's stomach. And the very last thing that Kirk is aware of is being afraid to fall asleep, despite his overwhelming exhaustion. But a promise fills his mind, a sense of security and safety, and devotion so bottomless that it leaves him weak.
Then sleep takes him, and he knows nothing more.
Comments are love! And a glossary of used terms can be found here.
Author: Kairi
Pairing: Mirror!Spock/Mirror!Kirk. Very AU.
Rating: NC-3000 17. Porny and dark.
Warnings: ANTI-FLUFF and pure porn. Warnings for dubcon, sensory deprivation, plugs, anal torture, enema, oral, come-on-skin/comeshot, mind-fuckery, D/s, spanking, light humiliation. Crazy-style hurt/comfort and lots of BDSM.
Summary: When Spock became Emperor, the first thing he did was claim James Tiberius Kirk as his slave, body and mind. But Kirk, being Kirk, has serious trouble with authority, and Spock is pressured by his advisors to discipline his former captain. Permanently.
Wordcount: 11,544 words, total.
Notes: So I promised jou fic for her birthday, and this is the result.... too bad her b-day was in February. I'M SORRY DARLING. UM, HAPPY BIRTHDAY?? FEEL BETTER!! This is actually a prelude to the longer fic I am working on, which is nowhere near done yet. Read part one here.
Spock is coaxing him to his feet again, and Kirk whines in the back of his throat, vague and painful thoughts of their past slipping away into comforting darkness. Kirk's groping hands find Spock's shoulders, and he manages (barely) to stay standing as Spock dries him off. Then Spock is pulling him close again, a thumb stroking lightly over his full lower lip, a hand cupping his face.
Kirk leans obediently into Spock's touch, letting Spock hold Kirk against his chest, warm robes and scented hair sliding against his skin as Spock wraps a possessive arm around him. Fingertips travel delicately over Kirk's neck and throat, caressing Kirk's collar, and when they brush again over Kirk's lips, Kirk kisses them, knowing by now exactly what Spock requires of him and more than willing to give it to him. Spock murmurs his approval, and Kirk feels fresh warmth flood him, this time of an entirely welcome sort. "Your current sweetness and docility is most pleasing," Spock says, his voice so low it's almost a growl, and Kirk shivers at the noise, something needy and primitive in the back of his mind uncurling in response.
Again Spock picks him up, Kirk curling against his chest and lashing his arms around Spock's neck, pressing his face to Spock's neck as he's carried-to the bed, as it turns out, Spock laying him gently down on it. Kirk feels a pang of anxiety as Spock's hands pull away, leaving him temporarily bereft, but he feels the bed sink beneath Spock's weight and moments later Spock is pulling Kirk into his lap, and Kirk gasps as he feels something hard and insistent pressing against his ass through Spock's robes.
"You disappoint me, James." The words are even, contemplative, warm for a Vulcan. "Your recent behavior has been highly problematic. I must procure special dispensation to compensate for the obscene amount of water you saw fit to waste with your immature prank. I trust, however, that repeating your punishment will not be necessary?"
"No," Kirk says, shocked at how husky his voice sounds in his own ears. It's only now that he remembers that he must have spent hours screaming himself hoarse-he just had no idea because he couldn't hear himself.
"Indeed?" Spock's voice darkens in satisfaction. "That is unfortunate. I find I enjoy how docile and well-behaved you are in your current state. Quite a contrast from your typical defiance." Kirk bites his lip, sighing as Spock's long, wicked fingers play over his naked skin. The worst of the shakes and tremors in his ass and thighs subsided while Spock was bathing him, but his body is still so sensitive, and Kirk suspects Spock has every intention of making use of that fact. And he's still blind. Kirk wonders vaguely what will come next-a beating, maybe? Or maybe Spock will have Kirk suck him off-but his brain has strained too hard for too long, and he gives it up after a moment.
What he's not expecting is the pressure of fingertips at his lips again, and the taste of something sweet and spicy on his tongue. "Eat, James," Spock says, and Kirk does, moaning at the taste. It's something like a chocolate truffle, rich and vaguely spiced, with an undertone of cinnamon or cardamom. Spock's fingers probe over his lips, Spock growling in his ear, and Kirk shudders in pleasure, the sensations shooting straight to his cock. Spock feeds him another piece after a moment, pressing his fingers past Kirk's candy-smeared lips as he does, finger-fucking Kirk's mouth after Kirk swallows his truffle.
Kirk sucks wetly at those fingers, the obscene noises filling his ears, Spock's breath hot against the skin just below his ear as Spock bites at his neck, scraping teeth along sensitive skin to leave a mark. It's bliss, pure and sweet, and Kirk mewls happily, the noise garbled as Spock's fingers press against his teeth, his tongue. Far off, he feels the echo of warning, like a muted siren somewhere in the depths of his skull, but it has no urgency for him. Kirk isn't thinking that deeply; nothing exists for him right now except Spock, nothing matters except the heated body pressed to his.
"Do you wish me to restore your sight?" Spock's lips are pressed against the soft shell of Kirk's ear, sending a full-length shudder through him. Spock slides his hand along Kirk's thigh, wrapping fingers around Kirk's erection, squeezing it once, eliciting a gasp. "Are you ready to behave for me now, tepul-fam'veh?"
Oh, Kirk thinks dizzily, arching into the touches. "I'll do whatever you want," is what he says, or tries to; it comes out in a whisper, the words thick and hard to make out around Spock's fingers. Speaking is growing increasingly difficult in this warm, disconnected headspace Spock has put him into, and Kirk would like nothing more than to cease talking altogether, and cede what self-control remains to him to Spock. "I'll be good."
"Mmm." Spock removes his hand, stroking it down along Kirk's side again and kissing over his jaw, his throat, the scrape of his teeth followed almost immediately by the shocking wet heat of his tongue. It never comes as less of a surprise, how rough Spock's tongue is against his skin, like sandpaper. Kirk wonders, not for the first time, whether Vulcans had felinoid ancestors. "Indeed. But will that be sufficient? My advisors demand that the perpetrator of this act be punished-they are calling for a public beating and execution, to demonstrate that my house will not tolerate defiance."
A rush of fear sweeps through Kirk at that. He's endured many things at Spock's hands, but never once has Spock permitted another to lay a finger on him, for any reason. Spock's aides fed and bathed him in the early weeks of his captivity, when his rage and pride prevented him from even considering behaving, but since then it has only ever been Spock who touches him. "I..." Kirk struggles to think, to force his mind to move, and it's like trying to swim in quicksand.
Spock seems to sense his struggling, because he continues as if Kirk hadn't spoken. "You must demonstrate your understanding that you belong to me now," Spock says. "As my slave, you are under my protection. None may harm you without my consent. But your behavior indicates that you do not wish my protection. Perhaps I shall give you what you appear to desire, and denounce my claim to you. What cause have you given me to prevent them from punishing you as they see fit?" Spock's fingers stray up to Kirk's collar, fingering it thoughtfully.
Kirk swallows, anxiety swirling through him. Doesn't Spock want him? Oh god, would Spock really let him go? "No," he blurts, the fear of being set loose too much to bear. It's Spock's collar he's wearing; it was for Spock that he lay in darkness and silence for so long, enduring unbearable torture to make up for his transgression. Surely Spock wouldn't-he isn't- "No, I'm yours. You said so. Yours."
"Is that so?" Spock's voice grows stern. "Say it again. To whom do you belong?"
"You. I belong to you." Kirk's pulse is hammering in his ears. The idea of abandonment is horrible, unthinkable-he can barely comprehend such a thing right now, much less the thought of Spock allowing him to be executed.
Something like triumph surges through Kirk's mind, Spock's fingers tightening against Kirk's throat, and Kirk realizes distantly that they must be very shallowly connected. No surprise, when Spock is touching so much of his naked skin. "Are you willing to prove it?"
"Yes!" Kirk tries to sit up, not even knowing what he's going to do, but Spock pulls him back down, biting his ear in reprimand, and Kirk moans, arching against Spock's body.
"What reason have I to believe you?" Spock says darkly. Kirk feels himself deflate, despair replacing the rush of pleasure at having Spock's hands on him. No- "You are a wicked creature who will say anything to avoid being punished. I had thought to teach you the error of your obstructive, deceitful ways, but I see now that it was a futile effort. You are clearly beyond redemption."
"No! Please-" Kirk tries to sit up again, starting to panic a little now, and again Spock pulls him down, an arm tightening warningly across Kirk's waist. "Please," Kirk moans, starting to beg, "I'm yours, I want to be yours, I'll be good I'll be so good, please Spock..."
Kirk's cock twitches as arousal swamps his senses, some dark and vicious emotion flooding him that feels like mine, and for a moment he's bewildered, but Spock's teeth against his neck quickly distract him again. "Perhaps I should permit you the opportunity to prove yourself," Spock muses, stroking fingers along Kirk's neck as the trapped slave arches pliantly. "As you seem so very eager."
"Yes," gasps Kirk, and then Spock's fingers dig into his scalp, tilting Kirk's head back to expose more of his throat, and Spock's teeth sink into his skin, making Kirk's erection jump at the jolt of pain and pleasure that shoots down his spine. Spock worries a mark into existence, teeth scraping and working at the sensitive skin, making Kirk moan and shudder against the arms holding him pinned against Spock's chest.
"Very well." Spock's voice is muffled against Kirk's throat, fingers playing down along Kirk's bare shoulder, his collarbone, the muscles of his chest. And then suddenly he's moving, shifting with Kirk in his arms, and Kirk finds himself being carried across the room, clinging to Spock in bewilderment only to find himself being set down on the carpeted floor again. Spock presses his hands against Kirk's shoulders, and Kirk sinks instinctively to his knees, hands sliding against the leather of the high black boots Spock always wears. Spock strokes his fingers through Kirk's hair, a momentary caress that has Kirk turning his face blindly into Spock's touch, and then Spock stands back, leaving Kirk to catch his own balance, bereft of sight and touch on his hands and knees.
"You will crawl to me," Spock says clearly, sounding still nearby, calming Kirk's immediate fear of being left to grope blindly in the room by himself. "You will follow the sound of my voice, and when you have reached me you will kiss each of my boots and beg to clean them with your mouth."
Kirk leans forward, trying to orient himself towards the direction Spock's voice seems to be coming from. He's terrified, and he has just enough presence of mind left to be humiliated at the idea of crawling around like this, much less licking Spock's boots clean, but far worse is the idea of abandonment. Spock has ripped open an old, painful scar, reducing Kirk to a small and heartbroken child, struggling to overcome the betrayal of both mother and father, and then finally his brother. Don't leave me, begs the small voice in the back of his head, the one he'd tried to strangle lifeless so many times, and indeed he'd succeeded... until Spock had come along and pulled him open again, exposing all those things he'd buried so deeply inside himself.
"Come here, James." Kirk falls forward on his palms, crawling slowly and hesitantly in the direction of Spock's voice. His muscles ache and his sense of balance is fucked from his long ordeal, and it's lucky he's already down on all fours because he would surely have fallen if he'd tried to walk. Spock continues to talk, telling him how gorgeous he looks like this, how natural he is on his hands and knees, giving him a constant frame of reference to move towards. A hand on his head stops him abruptly, and Kirk sits back on his calves, his face burning from humiliation. It's a frustrating paradox that for all the verbal abuse Kirk subjected Spock to, the Vulcan never returns it in kind; he prefers to rob Kirk of his dignity in other ways, but sometimes Kirk thinks it would be easier to maintain his sense of self if Spock didn't find a way to make this feel so good.
"You have done well." Spock's hair brushes against Kirk's face as Spock leans down to caress the top of Kirk's head, and Kirk feels his stomach tighten at the praise. Slowly, he leans down and kisses each of Spock's boots, one at a time, being careful not to bump his nose. Then he straightens up, kneeling in front of Spock and leaning against him for balance, Spock's hand stroking gently against Kirk's temple. Kirk hesitates, but Spock says nothing, and Kirk knows he's waiting for Kirk to do as he's been told.
"Please," Kirk manages, glad for the umpteenth time that he's temporarily blind, because somehow it makes it easier to not think about what he's doing, "please, let me-let me clean your boots, Spock. Let me lick them clean." His words are shaky and hoarse in his own ears, his voice almost unrecognizable, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if it makes a difference.
"Permission granted." Spock's hand goes to the back of Kirk's skull, pressing Kirk's face against his groin, and Kirk moans as he feels the hard, heated lump of Spock's arousal through his master's pants. He nuzzles blindly against it, mouthing it wetly through the linen of Spock's trousers, and Kirk feels Spock shudder before his face is pushed rather violently away, shoving him down on all fours again.
Kirk arches, catlike, an animal in heat, dizzy with the knowledge of Spock's arousal for him, like something has switched over in his head. He drops his face to Spock's boot-level again, and he's blind, utterly blind-everything is sensation and impulse, heat and lust and something fearfully like love. Repercussions will come later; now nothing exists but this moment. He can feel Spock's lust for him inside his head, mingling with his own, and Kirk has just the scant amount of intelligence left to understand that even though his sight is crippled at the moment, his strengthened connection to Spock is giving him something like double vision. Or maybe it's just his hypersensitive awareness of both their bodies, but regardless, he moves unerringly to lick at Spock's boot, and sees himself with Spock's eyes.
He's naked. Not just unclothed, but aroused and vulnerable and exposed save for the triple-ringed collar around his throat, and instead of a shameful thing he wears it like the sacred ornament of a priest. His skin is gold, tanned from Eridani's fierce light, his blond hair a sweaty mess, and he crouches at Spock's feet with his ass in the air, pink tongue lapping wet and obscene over the dark leather of Spock's boots.
Spock growls then, and the shock of it goes right to Kirk's cock, arousal tightening his guts like an invisible hand. Kirk licks and licks at the musty leather, vaguely disgusted by the taste of dirt and grime and, underneath that, the darker taste of cured animal-hide. Spock pulls his foot away after Kirk has made it as far as Spock's ankle, and then Kirk moves obediently to the other foot, his mouth already starting to feel parched and filthy from the first. By the time he's done, Kirk is fully, achingly hard, and his mouth feels like a garbage bin, but the way Spock hauls him up by the collar and into his arms is more than worth it.
Kirk's arms go around Spock's shoulders, and Spock's hands are moving over Kirk's bare skin now, considerably more aggressive than they were before, and Kirk can feel that eager erection through Spock's trousers, pressing against Kirk's naked hip. "Do you require water?" Spock asks in a voice that's just barely civilized, his lips moving against Kirk's ears, and Kirk moans, nodding mutely.
There's a confusing shuffle of movement then, as Spock maneuvers him around, but Kirk has attention only for the man in his arms, glued to his side as though separation means certain death. And Spock seems disinclined to let him go, either. Kirk drinks greedily when Spock presses a beaker of water to his mouth, and he's glad for the faint bite, the herbal undertones that water on Vulcan invariably has, for it washes away the grime on his tongue. Then the water is gone and Spock is kissing him, arms locked around him, and Kirk is kissing back for all he's worth, his mouth open, sucking greedily at Spock's tongue, seeking his heat, his answering need. Spock bites his mouth, drawing a little blood, and Kirk groans, flattening himself against Spock's chest as though it were possible to melt into him. Kirk cards his fingers through Spock's hair, and it doesn't matter that he once would have died before ever permitting himself to show such unrestrained desire as this. He's hard, his cock aching, weeping pearly drops of pre-come from the slit, but even that pales in comparison to the electricity of Spock inside his head and Spock's hands on his body. Somewhere in the whirl of his dazed mind, he registers that he should be in more pain than this, and wonders if Spock is blocking some of his pain-receptors as well, but it's hard to care too much.
Spock pulls away after a moment, restraining himself with an effort, gripping Kirk's jaw in one hand to keep him from following after to try and keep kissing him, the other arm still curled tightly around Kirk's waist. "Wicked creature," Spock murmurs, and the hoarseness in that deep voice makes Kirk shudder with longing. He wishes vaguely that he could see, wondering how Spock might look right now-whether that heavy black hair is still perfect, or if it's in disarray; if Spock's face is as impassive as ever, or whether there might be a tell-tale flush of green in his cheeks and ears. But Spock will give him back his sight when he sees fit, and not before.
Spock takes a deep breath. If Kirk weren't so lit up, he would be marveling at how frayed the edges of Spock's self-control have become. "Very well, tepul-fam'veh. You have demonstrated admirable eagerness to obey my orders, but I remain unconvinced of your desire to truly behave." Spock releases Kirk's jaw, stroking his fingertips over Kirk's features, tracing the contours of his full, kiss-swollen lips. Kirk catches hold of Spock's wrist in both his hands, bringing each finger to his mouth and kissing them in turn, reveling in how Spock lets him do it and how it makes Spock shudder. He knows that they made a turn at some point, that this isn't precisely how Spock wanted this to go, but he hardly cares.
"Let me convince you," Kirk whispers, and he gets another flash of himself from behind Spock's eyes: his own face, flushed and open with arousal, his eyes a startling blue, the pupils blown wide in a vain attempt to gather enough light to see. Spock nods, and Kirk is dropping to his knees before he has time to wonder how he could even tell Spock moved, and then he just keeps going because it doesn't matter anyway.
Kirk nuzzles at Spock's groin, Spock's hands going to the back of Kirk's head, not directing, just to keep contact. Kirk has a few moments of trouble trying to work Spock's pants open through touch alone, but then he pulls Spock's hard prick free, and Kirk moans open-mouthed simultaneously with Spock, pressing his cheek to the scalding, velvet-soft skin of Spock's erection. Spock's hands tighten on his head, the fingers of one tight in Kirk's hair, the other gripping the back of his neck, and Kirk purrs in the back of his throat as he licks at the very tip of Spock's penis, flattening his tongue over the flared mushroom head, tasting Spock's arousal. He feels Spock's repressed groan, echoing like an after-image on his mental retina, and then he opens his mouth and takes Spock in.
Blind as he is, Kirk finds himself ultra-aware of every inch of Spock's erection in his mouth-the contours of the alien double ridges, the musty taste of his sex, the astonishing heat of his body. Kirk suckles just the head for a moment, working it like a lollipop, enjoying the weight of it against his tongue as Spock's fingers dig hard into his scalp. Normally, Kirk would do this only under duress, but now he can barely restrain his own moans as he slowly bobs his head on Spock's prick, taking more of him into his mouth each time. Finally Spock's swollen erection is buried in Kirk's mouth, Kirk's eyes watering at the way the flat head is pressing at the back of his throat, making him work to suppress his gag reflex. He presses his tongue flat against the big vein that runs along the underside of the engorged cock, then tightens the muscles of his jaw, trying to suck. Spock presses one hand to the back of Kirk's head again, forcing him down a little further, making him cough and gag, and then Kirk feels the fingers of Spock's other hand sliding over Kirk's face, feeling the shape of Kirk's lips stretched wide around Spock's sex. For a Vulcan it's a particularly exquisite form of masturbation, and Kirk moans as Spock starts to thrust, that one hand at the back of Kirk's head holding him tightly still as Spock leisurely fucks Kirk's mouth.
It's torture, so good and hot that Kirk thinks he might come just from having Spock in his mouth. The hand that isn't gripping Spock's hip for balance reaches down to fondle his own aching erection, stroking himself slowly as tears leak down his face. Spock growls, his thrusts coming faster now as he nears his climax, and almost without warning he pulls out, striping hot, sticky ropes across Kirk's face and mouth. Some lingering shred of self-control makes Kirk grab himself to keep from going off without permission, his thighs shuddering at the strain. Kirk swallows, moaning in shock and arousal at the feel of Spock's spend on his skin, heat flooding his cheeks in reaction. Suddenly, he's bereft, Spock's hands gone from his body.
"When," comes Spock's voice, low and silky and dangerous, "did I grant you permission to touch yourself, James?" Kirk swallows painfully, freezing, realizing his mistake too late, but Spock is already moving. Kirk finds himself hauled upright, Spock man-handling him as he likes without further explanation, and without his sight it's all Kirk can do to not fall over, dizzy with vertigo. Then he finds himself being pushed facedown over Spock's lap, his aching erection rubbing maddeningly against Spock's thigh. A hard slap to his still-tender ass rips a shriek from him, Kirk's whole body tensing, and then he sags with a low moan as the hand stays put, rubbing at the spot just struck, Spock's fingers working possessively at the flesh of Kirk's buttock. Kirk can only moan, still reeling from the shock of having Spock come on his face, a few steps behind the power-curve.
"You are mine," Spock says, and at the covetous note in his voice Kirk feels the knot of fear in his stomach unclench a bit. "Every molecule of your being is mine. Before you may touch what is mine, you must have my permission, and only then may you lay hands on yourself. Every part, your pleasure, your pain... it all belongs to me, James." The hand gently rubbing his ass suddenly comes down hard again, spanking Kirk soundly, this time on the other cheek, and Kirk yelps, his cock twitching in sympathy at the heat that floods his face. Spock continues to spank him, striking his ass again and again, Kirk writhing and trembling against Spock's lap as Spock holds him firmly in place with a hand on the back of his neck.
The pain in his ass, which Spock temporarily induced him to forget, comes roaring once more to the front of his attention as Spock gives him some serious bruises to go with the ache of inflamed tissue. It isn't long before Kirk is sobbing and whimpering under the assault, his face burning with lust and pain and shocking, all-consuming pleasure. Spock stops as abruptly as he started, his hand settling against Kirk's ass again, rubbing soothingly against the tender flesh, but the burn has settled deeper, suffusing his entire body now.
Kirk sucks in a ragged breath, and before he even has time to wonder what's next, he's hauled up again to straddle Spock's lap, groping for something to balance against and grabbing hold of Spock's robes. Kirk feels an arm slither around his waist, and he's very aware of his own aching erection, and of the fact that Spock is still hard, pressing against him through the material of his trousers-he must have tucked himself back into his pants, Kirk thinks. He's light-headed now, dizzy from everything Spock's put him through, trembling lightly from the pain in his much-abused ass. He starts slightly when he feels something cold and wet touch his face, until he realizes it's a towel-he'd almost forgotten about the semen drying on his skin, miraculously, during the spanking.
He holds still as Spock wipes him off with the wet wash-cloth, then waits for what's coming next, fisting his hands anxiously in the material of Spock's robes. After all he's been put through and how far down his conscious mind has sunk, his only wish right now is for Spock to fuck him hard enough to make him scream. Fingers come back to ghost over his face, tracing a cheekbone, and then slide back through his hair to grip his skull, pulling him in for a kiss that's more teeth than tongue, the arm around his waist tightening. Kirk's response is instinctive, arching against Spock's hands and body, opening himself to Spock with a moan.
Spock takes a moment to find his voice, even as his hands roam over Kirk's body, one sliding down now to cup one ass-cheek firmly, the fingertips pressing into tender flesh, making Kirk gasp. "Should you desire something, tepul-fam'veh, you must ask me for it," Spock says finally, his voice rough at the edges and gritty, as though it's difficult to talk. "I give you permission to make your request."
"Fuck me," Kirk blurts. He leans in, sliding his arms around Spock's neck again, and it's strange that Spock is permitting him so much contact, so much liberty to cling like he is, but he's too out of it to consider the implications. "Please, I want you to fuck me, Spock!"
Spock stills, going silent, the hands on Kirk's body tightening. "Do you," Spock says, and Kirk's cock jerks at the growl in that voice. There's a pause, during which Kirk feels Spock's hand moving carefully back around to Kirk's face, fingers settling into a familiar position at Kirk's temple and jaw. "I do not believe you. I feel you are saying this because you believe I wish to hear it. You seek to escape further punishment."
"No!" Kirk cries. It does not even occur to him that Spock might simply want to hear him beg. "No, please Spock, I want it, I need you to fuck me-please, please believe me, I need it so bad-" And then Spock throws open their link, and Kirk goes under in a rush.
It happens much more quickly this time-perhaps because Kirk's not expecting it, or perhaps simply because Spock doesn't want to waste any time. Regardless, even as he's swallowed by the darkness that always comes when Spock rolls his mind, Kirk can already feel himself being pulled out of the meld, rushing towards a strangely bright surface and bursting through without warning. Instinctively, his eyes open, all his muscles tightening-and Kirk almost screams, because suddenly his sight has returned, and the world exists once more.
Spock is kissing him before he can panic, strong arms holding him fast, and Kirk's frightened, messy noises are lost into Spock's mouth. Kirk shuts his eyes again and focuses on that kiss, giving his disordered brain a moment to play catch-up, to sort through the images once more being sent it by the rods and cones in his eyes. When Spock pushes him back again, holding him not quite at arm's length, Kirk finally opens his eyes to see the face of the man who's become his whole world.
Spock is staring at him, his eyes black pools, his perfect Vulcan control almost gone, his face like a statue carved from living stone. And most people might not be able to tell, but Kirk can, and it isn't just the green flush of his skin, or the very slight tremor in the hands that are holding him; it's something in those fathomless eyes that Kirk almost never gets to see, something so strange and compelling he can't even rightly identify it now.
"Say it again." The words are deathly quiet. There is an aggrieved note in Spock's voice that Kirk does not understand. Spock has been running this entire show from the first moment he walked into the room. Hasn't he?
Kirk takes a deep breath, staring back into that cruel, endlessly beautiful face. Later, this is the moment that will stand out to him most clearly, the part of the conversation that will replay over and over in his head-their words, and the sight of Spock's face, as if he'd never seen it before, or Spock had never truly shown himself to Kirk until now. "I need-" I need you to fuck me. His jaw tightens, and he's filled with the sudden desire to banish that doubt from Spock's voice and eyes. "I need you," he says instead, and watches Spock's face change. "Please."
Spock stares at him, some nameless emotion struggling to make itself known on his face, and for a moment Kirk wonders if Spock is really about to kill him, or storm out of the room. Instead, he pulls Kirk to him and crushes their mouths together, and Kirk dissolves with a moan, lashing an arm around Spock's shoulders again and pressing close for dear life. Spock kisses him hard enough to steal all his breath, holding Kirk against his chest with one arm wrapped around his waist, and Kirk is so distracted he doesn't even realize that Spock is doing anything else until he feels the blunt, slicked head of Spock's erection pressing against his pucker as Spock settles him down onto his cock. With a moan Kirk slides down on it, letting Spock fill him like he's been craving, tears prickling in his eyes at the burn in his muscles and his channel.
Hands on his hips push Kirk down until his thighs are flush against Spock's lap, his ass stuffed full of Spock's prick, the head pushing against his prostate, and then Spock thrusts up into him, rocking in yet deeper as his fingertips dig crescent-shaped welts into Kirk's hips, making him cry out. It's exquisitely painful, the muscles of his ass still too tender from the capsaicin oil for anything like this, and the shocking heat of Spock's erection just adds to the overstimulation. And it's exactly what Kirk wants. It's like a flare has gone off inside him, and nothing resembling reason or clear thinking will return until it's burnt itself out.
Spock growls at him, something harsh and guttural that scrapes over his skin like asphalt. Kirk doesn't need to speak Vulcan to recognize that he's being claimed; the frightening heat in Spock's eyes says it all. And not even having worn Spock's collar for months now feels as real or permanent as this, as though Spock has just etched his mark into Kirk's skin and bones, and if Kirk had any of presence of mind left at all he'd be scared shitless, or fucking pissed, or something, but instead he just gasps, throwing his head back and rolling his hips down against the cock buried in his ass.
"They tried to take you from me," Spock grates out, his breath scalding against Kirk's ear, hands digging into Kirk's hip and shoulder with bruising force, his control burnt up with the heat that's sparked between them. "Had I not returned to keep watch over you when I did, I would have found you dead-" Spock cuts himself off with a snarl, snapping his hips up against Kirk's ass, making Kirk choke on his own cry, and Kirk suffers a sudden spasm of transferred memory: his own prone body, bound and writhing miserably on the bio-bed, and directly before him a Vulcan forced to his knees, eyes bulging in terror as a pair of hands (Spock's hands) force the traitor's mouth open and pour the contents of a broken hypodermic needle down his throat. The violence of the image is nothing compared to the cataclysmic rage that accompanies it, and though it's snatched away almost instantly, it leaves Kirk shaking, clutching at Spock in stunned reaction, wholly unable to process.
Then Spock starts to fuck him, sliding his hands down along Kirk's hips to grip his ass and hold him in place as he sets up a rhythm, destroying what remains of Kirk's ability to think before he can appreciate what he's just been told. Kirk braces his hands on Spock's chest as he tries to move with Spock anyway, noises hitching in his throat each time Spock slams up into him, jolting up his spine. He shuts his eyes for a moment, only to have them fly open again in shock as Spock shakes him, biting Kirk's throat savagely, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple just above his collar. "Stay," Spock hisses, gripping the back of Kirk's skull, crushing him close again. Kirk moans helplessly as his cock is trapped between their abdomens, the rough friction of Spock's robes making him shudder. There's no way he's going to last, no matter how he tries; he's been riding the edge too long.
"Spock," he chokes, and Spock seems to understand, because moments later a hand snakes between them and starts to roughly stroke Kirk's prick-once, twice, three times as Spock snaps his hips up against Kirk's ass again, skin meeting skin with a wet slap. Kirk's climax hits him exactly like a wall of water, breaking over him hard and fast, all his muscles seizing up at once, right before it all collapses and takes him down with it. Spock fucks him through it, eating him up as he breaks apart, spilling against Spock's stomach and gasping for air.
Kirk loses himself a little then, sagging against Spock, his fragmented consciousness seeping out at the edges. The next thing he's aware of is Spock spreading him out boneless on the bed, bending over him-he's on his back now, when did that happen-folding him easily in two, hooking Kirk's legs over his shoulders. Spock is naked now, and still hard, and Kirk has just enough time to register how fucking gorgeous Spock is before Spock sinks into him again, balls-deep and hot, fuck. Even as Kirk is choking on his own tongue Spock is leaning over him and pinning him, not his wrists this time but his hands, lacing their fingers together.
"Please," Kirk whispers, not knowing what he's asking for, only that he has to have it or he'll die. Spock kisses him in answer, and starts to move, and Kirk's exhausted mind can just barely register that Spock has never taken him like this, never touched him like this, before it gives up and finally shuts off at long last. So there's nothing left to keep Kirk from moaning and sobbing Spock's name, to gasp as though blind again at the way Spock keeps sinking his teeth into Kirk's skin, to tangle his hands in Spock's long hair and beg him for more. And there's no one home to keep track of how long they go like that, wrapped up together in sweat-stained sheets, before Spock presses his fingers to Kirk's temple and drowns them deep inside each other.
The next morning will find their unexpected truce gone as if it had never happened; Kirk will wake to an empty bed, and it will not take him long to convince himself that whatever he might have seen in Spock's eyes was not there, and that he does not care even if it was, because it was all bullshit induced in him by Spock's mind-games. Never mind the fact that it seems Spock punished Kirk because some goddamn Vulcan took it upon himself to try to kill Kirk while Spock had him laid out helpless. And in the days and weeks that follow, Spock will take great pains to remind Kirk that he is just a slave, and that he will be treated as such, and Vulcans do not care for their slaves any more than they might care for a particularly valuable piece of livestock. He does such a good job that they both almost believe it-almost. Months later, Kirk will lie in bed in the belly of a stolen space-ship, staring at the ceiling, and he'll remember this night, and he'll tell himself it meant nothing, that it was just Spock fucking with his mind.
But when they finally collapse, gasping for air and tangled inextricably together, impossible to tell where one lets off and the other begins, Kirk is thinking nothing of the sort. He's speechless with reaction, struck dumb all over again, fumbling to kiss Spock in lieu of words, and Spock cradles him against his chest as though he were the most precious thing in the universe. For a few minutes he can only lay there, stroking Spock's face, the other hand twined tightly with Spock's, too dazed to even register his own situation. Then something hits him.
"I felt it when the guard tried to kill me," he blurts, suddenly remembering the strange sense of movement he'd experienced at one point during his ordeal, as though someone was very close by his unseeing body. "Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, he was that close-"
"Kroykah, klashau-veh." Spock cuts him off, the Vulcan words washing over him, settling him. "You are safe; I will protect you. Be at peace, k'diwa." Kirk takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow, and finds he has absolutely nothing to say that can't wait till later. So he says nothing at all, and simply curls against Spock, taking mute comfort in the warmth of his body.
They fall asleep like that, Spock pressed up against Kirk from behind, holding him tight against Spock's chest, Spock's face pressed to the back of Kirk's head, their fingers laced together and hands resting against Kirk's stomach. And the very last thing that Kirk is aware of is being afraid to fall asleep, despite his overwhelming exhaustion. But a promise fills his mind, a sense of security and safety, and devotion so bottomless that it leaves him weak.
Then sleep takes him, and he knows nothing more.
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