Growth: Chapter One/Prologue
Title: Growth
Chapter: One Two Three Four Five Six Six.5 Seven Eight Nine Nine.5 Ten Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Warnings: Slash, MPREG, gratuitous use of Vulcan language (vocal and body), sex, somewhat mediocre writing; stuff like that.
Summary: Sequel to “Of Convenience”. Entering a new chapter in life is difficult when you’re single. As a pair? Let’s just say Spock and Kirk are going to have their work cut out for them if this chapter’s going to end the way they want it to.
With one week left before Jim’s Vulcan citizenship would be made permanent, Admiral Komack came aboard to, as he put it, “settle this once and for all,” and while Spock was not in any way concerned that his husband would be removed from duty, it did bring him other concerns.
“I don’t like the way he looks at us,” Jim murmured to him, leisurely running his hand over Spock’s chest. The bed shifted under them as Jim turned slightly to palm the Vulcan through his trousers. Despite the increasing difficulty in concentrating, Spock indicated as best he could that he echoed the sentiment, after which he immediately set about exploring the gently rounded shell of Jim’s ear with his tongue, indulging in the exotic taste and shape of his mate.
Jim stretched out under him, hands working the fastenings of Spock’s slacks. “Don’t like the way he looks at you, either,” he said, working the zipper down. Spock lifted his hips off Jim’s so the final article of clothing on either of them might be removed, finally sinking down onto that firm body. “Don’t like him being here. Don’t want him on the ship.”
“I concur,” Spock managed, feeling Jim’s fingers slowly working their way in. He rocked gently above him, admiring the pink flush to his skin. He did not believe it would ever cease to be so exotic to him. “I find his presence…detrimental to…many activities aboard the Enterprise.”
No instructions needed to be given when Jim’s fingers slipped from Spock’s body, and in the gentle heat consuming them, no questions needed to be asked of either of them. Spock carefully guided Jim into his body, leaning back and working himself down on his mate. The small grunts the human gave were more than enough to distract him from the slight pain that had to be endured before they truly began. Once comfortable, he set about a slow, gentle rhythm.
“Not detrimental to this activity,” Jim groaned out, eyes closing briefly before meeting again with Spock’s. “Just…think. He’s three doors down. Sleeping alone. Nnngh. Probably plotting…my downfall…”
Spock shivered. “Indeed,” he breathed. Amusement filtered through the bond along with Jim’s intense arousal, and he increased his pace just slightly. He could feel all of his mate - his body, his mind, his emotion - and it taxed his endurance heavily. “He does have an…illogical bias…against your captaincy--!”
The last half of the sentence escaped as a gasp as Jim bucked up quite suddenly and came inside him, the warm fluid coating his insides. And although Spock had not quite orgasmed yet, the sensation of fulfillment that spread through him was, in some ways, even more pleasing than that.
Jim seemed to think otherwise, though, and he urged Spock to lift off him, flipping them so the Vulcan was on his back on the sheets. The captain dove right in, mouth wrapping around him and moving with all the skill Spock knew him to possess, bringing him to his peak in what could not have been more than thirty seconds. He arched into Jim’s mouth, body tensing, and then fell back to the bed, feeling distinctly boneless.
His husband laid at his side, one hand on his abdomen. “So, was that adequate, Mr. Spock?”
“I believe so,” he replied, shifting onto his side and brushing his fingers against Jim’s. He fought the powerful urge to slip from bed to bathe. “Did you find it enjoyable?”
“Always,” Jim murmured, pulling him closer. Contentment emanated powerfully through the bond. “McCoy tomorrow?”
Spock pressed his lips against Jim’s gently. “Yes, at 0900 hours,” he answered. “And Komack leaves in one week, barring any incriminating evidence that we are faking our marriage to grant you citizenship.”
“Heaven forbid,” Jim whispered, a small smile on his face. “Gotta be careful with that incriminating evidence, then. Where do you keep it?”
The Vulcan tugged the blanket over them. “Sleep,” he suggested, though his tone might’ve made it seem an order. Jim obeyed, though, curling closer and closing his eyes.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Jim was unable to accompany Spock to Medical the next morning, but that wasn’t precisely his fault. Komack had insisted upon a tour of the features the bridge held, and as much as he protested Jim was unable to get out of it. So Spock went on his own.
“That ends that streak,” the doctor muttered when he saw Spock, and the Vulcan wasn’t necessarily interested in discovering what ‘streak’ he had broken. “Aren’t you due on the bridge?”
“I’ve made an appointment,” Spock informed him - as rare as appointments were for Medical. McCoy raised an eyebrow. “For a pregnancy test,” he clarified.
The doctor was silent for a long moment. “Jim knows?” he asked abruptly, and when Spock nodded he stood and rifled through a drawer for the corresponding tricorder. He emerged with it in hand, glancing over him. “I, uh. I have to know. Are you two trying to get pregnant, or is this another ‘injected with DHEA’ incident?”
“We are endeavoring to conceive,” Spock answered. “Jim had wished to be here, but Admiral Komack insisted on his guidance this morning.”
McCoy didn’t move. “How long you been trying?” he inquired, tapping the tricorder against his arm. Spock took a seat on the biobed.
“We ceased contraceptive measures only four point two weeks ago,” the Vulcan answered. “If it happens that I am not pregnant, I will request a hormone test to determine the current point of my fertility cycle at the moment and what dates would be most appropriate to attempt conception. I trust this is acceptable?”
The doctor still didn’t move. “I don’t get why Jim wants kids all of a sudden,” he said softly. “He used to talk about how he wanted to wait until he didn’t have a life anymore - or just never have kids.”
A flare of irritation escaped through the bond from Jim, and Spock found himself just slightly echoing it. “Your repeated lectures on the dangers of space have not been ignored,” he informed him. “Please perform the test. I am needed on the bridge within the hour.”
Finally, McCoy moved forward. “Guess all things are possible,” he muttered, running the tricorder over Spock twice and checking the screen, and then another two times, no doubt to double check the results. “You’re not going to need that hormone test. Congrats.”
It took an entire two seconds for the doctor’s ‘subtle’ message to sink in for Spock. “We have already conceived?”
“Indications are you conceived about three weeks ago, if these readings are to be trusted,” he confirmed, holding up the tricorder for Spock to examine, the numbers lining up beautifully. He carefully closed off his ensuing elation from the bond. “Lucky time to stop the pills, I guess.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed, and with a fair amount of surprise at himself, he found his palm resting against his abdomen, directly above where the implant was located. He had known that stopping the contraceptives would not immediately return him to fertility, but it had happened so quickly that it could be mistaken for immediate. The technology truly was remarkable. “I assume I will need to make a follow-up appointment?”
McCoy nodded. “You, Jim, me, and the full body scanner,” he said. “Tomorrow at lunch good for you?”
“I believe that will be convenient,” Spock concurred, standing again. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“No explorative missions, no recognizance missions, no beaming down onto aggressive planets - need I continue?” the doctor drawled. “We don’t know a lot about how this is going to go. We have to assume it’s not very stable in there. So be cautious.”
Spock nodded, and with the doctor’s insistent wave, he left the exam room, reaching with the bond to find where Jim might’ve been. Engineering, it seemed. Of all places. Nevertheless, the Vulcan entered the turbolift and made his way down, following the trail his mind led him on. Not surprisingly, he heard Jim before he saw him.
“Admiral, I don’t quite see how Mr. Scott’s record is at all lacking,” his mate was saying, voice just barely betraying his great irritation. “And I really don’t get why having a workstation designed for someone Keenser’s size is ‘discriminatory’. He can’t reach the surface of a full-sized desk!”
Spock rounded the corner, and Jim’s eyes immediately flashed to his. Komack followed his gaze.
“Commander Spock,” the man said, though it sounded as though he was rather trying to rid his palate of some dissatisfying taste. “What brings you to Engineering? I was under the impression that the First Officer’s duty was to man the bridge while the captain is unable to. Have my many, many years in Starfleet failed me?”
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “I assigned Lt. Sulu to command duty until 1100 hours,” he explained. “And I needed to inform the captain that I will be unable to participate in any planetside missions until a later date.”
Komack raised an eyebrow. “Why might that be?”
Anticipation and careful joy streamed through the bond, and Jim looked him right in the eyes. “Spock. Tell me I’m on the right track here,” his husband said, voice just slightly strained. “Just…say it, Spock.”
All of a sudden, it didn’t matter that they were in the middle of Engineering. It wouldn’t have mattered if they were in the middle of a Klingon attack or the destruction of a station or headed into a star. Nothing could have distracted Spock. It didn’t even matter that the man intent on foisting Jim from the ship was listening in. All that mattered was the connection, the words the air awaited - the news Jim could probably already guess.
“We will need to see a Vulcan healer as soon as possible,” Spock finally heard himself say. “It would seem I am already three weeks along, and it will be necessary to determine the viability of this attempt.”
Joy filtered through the bond, heavy and overpowering, making its way into every crevice of Spock’s being. But the silence and the wonder in the room was broken with Komack spoke again.
“Three weeks along what, exactly?” the man asked. Jim’s eyes didn’t leave Spock’s.
“I am pregnant,” the Vulcan finally said, to some great sputtering from the admiral and a victorious laugh from his mate and, a moment later, strong arms wrapping him in a loving and public embrace.
Next Chapter
Chapter: One Two Three Four Five Six Six.5 Seven Eight Nine Nine.5 Ten Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Warnings: Slash, MPREG, gratuitous use of Vulcan language (vocal and body), sex, somewhat mediocre writing; stuff like that.
Summary: Sequel to “Of Convenience”. Entering a new chapter in life is difficult when you’re single. As a pair? Let’s just say Spock and Kirk are going to have their work cut out for them if this chapter’s going to end the way they want it to.
With one week left before Jim’s Vulcan citizenship would be made permanent, Admiral Komack came aboard to, as he put it, “settle this once and for all,” and while Spock was not in any way concerned that his husband would be removed from duty, it did bring him other concerns.
“I don’t like the way he looks at us,” Jim murmured to him, leisurely running his hand over Spock’s chest. The bed shifted under them as Jim turned slightly to palm the Vulcan through his trousers. Despite the increasing difficulty in concentrating, Spock indicated as best he could that he echoed the sentiment, after which he immediately set about exploring the gently rounded shell of Jim’s ear with his tongue, indulging in the exotic taste and shape of his mate.
Jim stretched out under him, hands working the fastenings of Spock’s slacks. “Don’t like the way he looks at you, either,” he said, working the zipper down. Spock lifted his hips off Jim’s so the final article of clothing on either of them might be removed, finally sinking down onto that firm body. “Don’t like him being here. Don’t want him on the ship.”
“I concur,” Spock managed, feeling Jim’s fingers slowly working their way in. He rocked gently above him, admiring the pink flush to his skin. He did not believe it would ever cease to be so exotic to him. “I find his presence…detrimental to…many activities aboard the Enterprise.”
No instructions needed to be given when Jim’s fingers slipped from Spock’s body, and in the gentle heat consuming them, no questions needed to be asked of either of them. Spock carefully guided Jim into his body, leaning back and working himself down on his mate. The small grunts the human gave were more than enough to distract him from the slight pain that had to be endured before they truly began. Once comfortable, he set about a slow, gentle rhythm.
“Not detrimental to this activity,” Jim groaned out, eyes closing briefly before meeting again with Spock’s. “Just…think. He’s three doors down. Sleeping alone. Nnngh. Probably plotting…my downfall…”
Spock shivered. “Indeed,” he breathed. Amusement filtered through the bond along with Jim’s intense arousal, and he increased his pace just slightly. He could feel all of his mate - his body, his mind, his emotion - and it taxed his endurance heavily. “He does have an…illogical bias…against your captaincy--!”
The last half of the sentence escaped as a gasp as Jim bucked up quite suddenly and came inside him, the warm fluid coating his insides. And although Spock had not quite orgasmed yet, the sensation of fulfillment that spread through him was, in some ways, even more pleasing than that.
Jim seemed to think otherwise, though, and he urged Spock to lift off him, flipping them so the Vulcan was on his back on the sheets. The captain dove right in, mouth wrapping around him and moving with all the skill Spock knew him to possess, bringing him to his peak in what could not have been more than thirty seconds. He arched into Jim’s mouth, body tensing, and then fell back to the bed, feeling distinctly boneless.
His husband laid at his side, one hand on his abdomen. “So, was that adequate, Mr. Spock?”
“I believe so,” he replied, shifting onto his side and brushing his fingers against Jim’s. He fought the powerful urge to slip from bed to bathe. “Did you find it enjoyable?”
“Always,” Jim murmured, pulling him closer. Contentment emanated powerfully through the bond. “McCoy tomorrow?”
Spock pressed his lips against Jim’s gently. “Yes, at 0900 hours,” he answered. “And Komack leaves in one week, barring any incriminating evidence that we are faking our marriage to grant you citizenship.”
“Heaven forbid,” Jim whispered, a small smile on his face. “Gotta be careful with that incriminating evidence, then. Where do you keep it?”
The Vulcan tugged the blanket over them. “Sleep,” he suggested, though his tone might’ve made it seem an order. Jim obeyed, though, curling closer and closing his eyes.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Jim was unable to accompany Spock to Medical the next morning, but that wasn’t precisely his fault. Komack had insisted upon a tour of the features the bridge held, and as much as he protested Jim was unable to get out of it. So Spock went on his own.
“That ends that streak,” the doctor muttered when he saw Spock, and the Vulcan wasn’t necessarily interested in discovering what ‘streak’ he had broken. “Aren’t you due on the bridge?”
“I’ve made an appointment,” Spock informed him - as rare as appointments were for Medical. McCoy raised an eyebrow. “For a pregnancy test,” he clarified.
The doctor was silent for a long moment. “Jim knows?” he asked abruptly, and when Spock nodded he stood and rifled through a drawer for the corresponding tricorder. He emerged with it in hand, glancing over him. “I, uh. I have to know. Are you two trying to get pregnant, or is this another ‘injected with DHEA’ incident?”
“We are endeavoring to conceive,” Spock answered. “Jim had wished to be here, but Admiral Komack insisted on his guidance this morning.”
McCoy didn’t move. “How long you been trying?” he inquired, tapping the tricorder against his arm. Spock took a seat on the biobed.
“We ceased contraceptive measures only four point two weeks ago,” the Vulcan answered. “If it happens that I am not pregnant, I will request a hormone test to determine the current point of my fertility cycle at the moment and what dates would be most appropriate to attempt conception. I trust this is acceptable?”
The doctor still didn’t move. “I don’t get why Jim wants kids all of a sudden,” he said softly. “He used to talk about how he wanted to wait until he didn’t have a life anymore - or just never have kids.”
A flare of irritation escaped through the bond from Jim, and Spock found himself just slightly echoing it. “Your repeated lectures on the dangers of space have not been ignored,” he informed him. “Please perform the test. I am needed on the bridge within the hour.”
Finally, McCoy moved forward. “Guess all things are possible,” he muttered, running the tricorder over Spock twice and checking the screen, and then another two times, no doubt to double check the results. “You’re not going to need that hormone test. Congrats.”
It took an entire two seconds for the doctor’s ‘subtle’ message to sink in for Spock. “We have already conceived?”
“Indications are you conceived about three weeks ago, if these readings are to be trusted,” he confirmed, holding up the tricorder for Spock to examine, the numbers lining up beautifully. He carefully closed off his ensuing elation from the bond. “Lucky time to stop the pills, I guess.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed, and with a fair amount of surprise at himself, he found his palm resting against his abdomen, directly above where the implant was located. He had known that stopping the contraceptives would not immediately return him to fertility, but it had happened so quickly that it could be mistaken for immediate. The technology truly was remarkable. “I assume I will need to make a follow-up appointment?”
McCoy nodded. “You, Jim, me, and the full body scanner,” he said. “Tomorrow at lunch good for you?”
“I believe that will be convenient,” Spock concurred, standing again. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“No explorative missions, no recognizance missions, no beaming down onto aggressive planets - need I continue?” the doctor drawled. “We don’t know a lot about how this is going to go. We have to assume it’s not very stable in there. So be cautious.”
Spock nodded, and with the doctor’s insistent wave, he left the exam room, reaching with the bond to find where Jim might’ve been. Engineering, it seemed. Of all places. Nevertheless, the Vulcan entered the turbolift and made his way down, following the trail his mind led him on. Not surprisingly, he heard Jim before he saw him.
“Admiral, I don’t quite see how Mr. Scott’s record is at all lacking,” his mate was saying, voice just barely betraying his great irritation. “And I really don’t get why having a workstation designed for someone Keenser’s size is ‘discriminatory’. He can’t reach the surface of a full-sized desk!”
Spock rounded the corner, and Jim’s eyes immediately flashed to his. Komack followed his gaze.
“Commander Spock,” the man said, though it sounded as though he was rather trying to rid his palate of some dissatisfying taste. “What brings you to Engineering? I was under the impression that the First Officer’s duty was to man the bridge while the captain is unable to. Have my many, many years in Starfleet failed me?”
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “I assigned Lt. Sulu to command duty until 1100 hours,” he explained. “And I needed to inform the captain that I will be unable to participate in any planetside missions until a later date.”
Komack raised an eyebrow. “Why might that be?”
Anticipation and careful joy streamed through the bond, and Jim looked him right in the eyes. “Spock. Tell me I’m on the right track here,” his husband said, voice just slightly strained. “Just…say it, Spock.”
All of a sudden, it didn’t matter that they were in the middle of Engineering. It wouldn’t have mattered if they were in the middle of a Klingon attack or the destruction of a station or headed into a star. Nothing could have distracted Spock. It didn’t even matter that the man intent on foisting Jim from the ship was listening in. All that mattered was the connection, the words the air awaited - the news Jim could probably already guess.
“We will need to see a Vulcan healer as soon as possible,” Spock finally heard himself say. “It would seem I am already three weeks along, and it will be necessary to determine the viability of this attempt.”
Joy filtered through the bond, heavy and overpowering, making its way into every crevice of Spock’s being. But the silence and the wonder in the room was broken with Komack spoke again.
“Three weeks along what, exactly?” the man asked. Jim’s eyes didn’t leave Spock’s.
“I am pregnant,” the Vulcan finally said, to some great sputtering from the admiral and a victorious laugh from his mate and, a moment later, strong arms wrapping him in a loving and public embrace.
Next Chapter