Grey Matter | STXI | NC-17 | Part 1/2
Title: Grey Matter
Author: lalazee
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU Academy Mirrorverse
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~11,000
Warnings: D/S, biting, bare-backing, violence. Oh, and Gaila - a girl like her should wear a warning.
Summary: At the Starfleet Winter Masquerade, Jim Kirk encounters a mysterious man dressed as a Vulcan. The consequences of one night of fun threaten to come back in ten-fold.
A/N 1: Keep an eye out for carouselcycles' sexy as hell accompanying art and be sure to let her know just how hot you think it is!
A/N 2: Written for ksadvent.
No one dared to ask the devil to step aside.
When he walked into the room, people assumed he’d been there all along; lingering in the shadows with a smile. His gaze was always candid and confident. He didn’t need to lie, because the truth was much more satisfying. The devil deserved to be where ever he chose, and that was why no one stopped him.
Perhaps that was why Jim had dressed as one for the Starfleet’s Winter Masquerade. After all, he hadn’t exactly been invited to the prestigious celebration. Only instructors, illustrious military officials, and the most accomplished of upper-classmen were granted access to the glitz and glam.
In other words - only the most conniving and cunning, the most snivelling and sneaky, and the most talented cocksuckers were allowed in the domed ballroom of light and glitter and ice.
James Kirk fit into one or more of these categories, and yet he hadn’t been summoned to this unhallowed hall of fanciful finery and furtive looks. The entire situation was rather unfair, as Captain Pike was merely holding this over Jim’s head as punishment.
The definitive cause of Professor Grady’s nervous breakdown and consequent early retirement certainly couldn’t be pinpointed on Jim. It was no fault of his that the instructor couldn’t handle a daily dose of heckling. The man was teaching Prime Directive Politics - surely he’d be versed in handling Jim’s boundless barrage of criticisms.
How people reacted to Jim was of no concern to him. Jim was rather fond of himself, and that was all that truly mattered.
Of course, there were a select few whom Jim cared about - less whom Jim actually loved. One of the former just happened to be attending the ball, and if Jim had to be perfectly honest - and he certainly preferred to be - Gaila Vro was his primary reason for crashing the party.
Jim... needed her.
Jim grinned crookedly at the hulking door shut before him as he stood in the white marble hallway that surrounded the expansive ballroom on three sides. Rich and lively classical music filtered through, along with the chatter of several hundred Starfleet personnel. All of it just waiting for him - well, after Jim dealt with Gaila first.
Jim tugged once on the sharp lapels of his brazenly red three-piece suit, and swept his fingers over the two short devil horns that protruded from the skin at his hairline. That glue wasn’t allowing them off any time soon, and Jim deemed that everything was where it should be.
With his lips curled in a smirk, Jim yanked open the door a crack and slipped in.
White - everything was glittering white. Whiter than the flash of light behind your eyes when taut knuckles collided with your face and cracked the orbital bone. Whiter than that flashing moment of near-death, when you decided you couldn’t live without testing the limits of your mortality first.
Grand crystal chandeliers sparkled, held and refracted the light across the room like magic. Tiny, speckled stars glimmered on the walls and masked faces like snow or bright tears.
Women adorned in ball-gowns of pale pastel circled the centre of the room, the thick folds of silk and tulle swaying and curling around their legs and that of their dancing partner. Most of the attendants were clad in white or black, and all of them wore masquerade masks or had their faces painted.
Dull.
Jim weaved and cut through the vapid, tittering masses like a streak of blood seeping down a pale-skinned temple. He would not be the only one sporting red, and he kept an eye out for the distinctive fiery curls of a particularly special Orion.
Certain cadets and teachers greeted him with varying degrees of warmth and suspicion. Jim grinned back at them all, shameless in his attendance, and more than happy to make something of it should anyone have the balls to do so. There was no sign of Pike, thus far - so Jim had some time to kill before he was inevitably unearthed and exorcised.
Jim made his way towards the bar. If Gaila wasn’t rubbing up on some lucky cadet like a cat in heat, she would be where the free alcohol was. At least, that’s what Jim would do - and he and Gaila, well, they were cut from the same ragged cloth.
Gaila had seen her fair share of horrors, as had Jim, and they understood that there were only three true things you could do with your life: Fight, fuck, or die.
Jim was adamant to do them all with a big fucking bang.
“What the hell are you not wearing, Vro?” he asked Gaila as he approached her from behind. Jim sidled up on the barstool beside her and smiled appraisingly, giving her a slow once-over.
Gaila was clad in what could only be considered... well, gems. Her tube dress was a green sequined number that looked more like a skirt that she had attempted to stretch over her entire torso. Pasted to her minty skin were hundreds of multicoloured, circular gems that winked and sparkled in the dappled lighting. Her mask was pieced together by jewels glued around her eyes, and her hair was spun into a wild up-do dressed with a gold star.
A self-aware, scarlet grin lit up Gaila’s face. “Jimmy! Can’t you tell? I’m a Christmas tree, and these are my lights. You like?”
Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s not to like? You’re walking holiday porn.” He spared the bartender a glance in order to point at Gaila’s magenta drink. “Whatever she’s having.”
He looked back to Gaila and was met with a pretty pout.
Jim smiled quizzically. “What?”
“You’re not wearing a mask.”
Jim raised his eyebrows, his grin firmly in place. “Sure I am.”
Who wasn’t?
Gaila’s lips twitched in recognition. “Little devil.”
“You know there’s nothing little about me,” Jim quipped and turned towards the bartender to retrieve his drink. He took a sip of the tart, heady alcohol and considered Gaila over the rim of the glass.
Gaila crossed her legs in a smooth motion, and met his look with amusement glinting behind the jewelled mask. “Spill.”
Jim frowned down at the drink in his hand. “No, I didn’t.”
“We both know you’re cute when you play dumb blonde - but spill it, Jimmy. You’ve got that look in your eye.”
Jim aimed his most charming smile her way. “What look?”
Something flashed in Gaila’s eyes, but it could have been the lighting and the glint of sapphire. “Predatory.”
Hm. Not exactly correct under the circumstances, but not bad either. Gaila had a way of slicing through Jim like a razor when she chose.
Jim shrugged mutely and set aside his glass, his attention unmoving from Gaila’s face. “So I hear talk that you were one of the three students accepted into CSAIL next term. Congrats brainiac, drinks are on me.”
Being chosen to work in the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory was a rare learning opportunity. One that only the best and brightest in the field of robotics and AI could be chosen to take part in.
Gaila beamed. That dislodged her from the topic - or made her think that she had been.
“The drinks are complimentary, you jerk - and, jealous much?”
Jim barked a laugh. “Spending my days rubbing elbows with robots? Not so much. I prefer flesh and blood, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh please. In a few years time you won’t be able to tell an android from the next warm body you take from behind. A hole is a hole, darling.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jim admitted good-naturedly, if only to move on to what was most important here.
He allowed a few moments of drinking in companionable silence, before Jim paused and regarded Gaila with his characteristic intensity. “By the way, when do you begin that internship?”
Gaila pursed her lips and swirled the dregs of her drink. “Um, the fifth of January.”
Oh, this couldn’t have been any more perfect.
“The first Monday back, huh?”
Gaila finished off her drink, and clanked the glass to the counter as she signalled the waiter for another. “I think they’re desperate for assistance ASAP. It’s a smaller department from most of the sciences.”
“Not enough brains like yours, you mean,” Jim added with a shadow of a sincere smile. He received a placating look in return.
“You know you would have been accepted had you applied, Jimmy. Gods, I still don’t know why you didn’t.”
“Like I said,” Jim murmured and emptied his own refreshment. “Flesh.”
“Uh huh,” Gaila nodded with a rueful smile.
After the second round was placed at their elbows, Jim popped the two buttons of his suit and reached into his breast pocket. He considered pinning Gaila with one of his more bashful expressions, but since she was one of the only people who realised Jim was emotionally stunted and didn’t have a humble bone in his body, it would have been in vain.
Instead he folded something into his palm and said, “I know you don’t celebrate the holidays, but I have a little something for you.”
Gaila appeared excited for all of two seconds, before she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Her cleavage plumped up between her arms, and Jim could feel half the eyes of the room glued to her glorious tits alone.
For once, Gaila didn’t notice and preen. “You don’t do holidays either.”
Shit. Well, that was true. Holidays had been cold and brittle back in Riverside; with the conversation tense and the mood as frigid and barren as the fields outside. Rather than enduring heated arguments at the dinner table - or hell, even a punch in the face to remind Jim how worthless he was - there was... nothing.
Jim hadn’t grown up with physical bruises littering his body. There were no marks to map his descent into this arctic, polar version of himself. His mother hadn’t spared him a glance most of the time - and when she had, her words had prickled cold and impersonal, like icicles.
Frank had been no better, occasionally offering Jim the back of his hand and a chilling word of reproach when Jim had acted out.
But there were no bouts of screaming or taking him to counsellors or attempting to set him to rights. No, it was as if Jim’s family had given up on him from the moment he’d been thrust into the black, bitter arms of space.
Until a person experienced that gaping voice of silence first hand, it was impossible to comprehend just how truly shattering it could feel to be invisible.
Jim grinned. “I know, but that’s just because I’ve never spent them with people I gave a fuck about.”
Partially true, at least.
Gaila wrinkled her nose. “You haven’t done something wrong that you’re trying to make up for, are you?”
Jim tried to appear affronted. “When have I ever done something wrong that I wanted to make up for?”
Gaila didn’t look entirely convinced, but she wasn’t suspicious either. And when would she ever turn down a gift? The girl was like a magpie attracted to shiny things. Her side of the dorm room that she shared with Uhura looked like a dragon’s lair of hidden treasure, overflowing to the floor.
“Okay, you have me. What is it?” She moved to open Jim’s palm, but he snatched his hand away with an admonishing noise and a smile.
“Hold on, there are some stipulations attached to this gift.”
“Gods, this sounds like the worst gift ever.”
Jim snorted a laugh. “Right, um - think of it less as a gift, and more of something that’ll thoroughly rivet your attention. You’ll be seriously impressed with me, I promise.”
One of Gaila’s largest faults, in Jim’s opinion, was her innately trustworthy nature. Actually, perhaps that wasn’t fair - it was more that Gaila was in love with Jim. At least, in love in the way that an Orion woman could have five husbands.
And so she smiled with curiosity highlighting her midnight blue eyes. “This sounds like fun.”
Jim mirrored her expression, with only the glint in his gaze like a scalpel. “You have no idea.”
With a flourish, Jim presented a slim, red datacard no larger than a matchbook.
Gaila plucked it from his fingers and frowned down at it. “And this is for?”
“You,” Jim said simply, while neatly buttoning his jacket as he leaned in to speak more privately. “Here’s the thing. To experience the full effect of what this has to offer, you need to use it at a specific time and place.”
Gaila narrowed her eyes at Jim, but she was slipping the card deep in the plunge between her breasts as if already convinced. Despite any doubts she might encounter, there were two reasons why she would give in to Jim at the end: Emotional attachment and undiluted curiosity.
Jim wet his lips, his gaze flitting from the lush curves that now hid five months of work and back to Gaila’s jewelled features. “January sixth, ten minutes to oh-nine-hundred in the CSAIL.”
For a span of time there was only the lilt of a festive waltz and tinkling of glasses and tittering feminine laughter; the murmur of droll conversation and the whisper of silken skirts.
Gaila was attempting to dissect Jim’s expression - he could tell. Unfortunately, no one ever could. Jim was carved out of twenty-five years of ice and arctic glares; his layers were far too thick to crack or melt or shatter.
Finally she relented, with a tiny disgruntled sigh of confusion. “Why? What the heck are you up to, Jimmy?”
Jim laughed and held up his palms in an innocent gesture. “Nothing! Nothing at all, beautiful. All I’m saying is the DC won’t work unless you use it at that exact time.”
During my third attempt of the Kobayashi Maru.
“It’s going to be fucking inspiring, Gaila.” Jim bit down on his bottom lip and leaned in, all big blue eyes and boyish sincerity. It probably wouldn’t fool her for a second, but would at least blind her for the moment. “Trust me. If nothing else, you’ll be impressed.”
Even Jim was pretty impressed with himself on this one.
Gaila’s hand fluttered to Jim’s cheek, and for a brief moment she looked concerned - or was that just another form of love? Jim wouldn’t know.
She grinned and flicked his forehead. “What goes on in there?”
Gaila took her untouched drink and Jim’s lips twitched with an edge of bitterness.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Maybe not,” Gaila admitted ruefully; and they both took too-long drinks of their cocktails.
“Don’t look now,” Gaila murmured as she put her hand on Jim’s knee and smiled, “But someone’s been eyeing you from the moment you sat down. Must be the suit.”
Jim frowned and swivelled, intently searching the crowd. It wasn’t long before his gaze snagged on a lanky man in black robes trimmed ornately in Vulcan script. Like Jim, he was not wearing an actual mask. But unlike Jim, he had a mask of pure black painted across his eyes in a long, simple strip - as if someone had blindfolded him in black silk, and the imprint remained.
He stood alone and was indeed staring directly at him with dark, inscrutable eyes.
Jim smirked at the stranger and got no reaction in reply, and so returned his attention to Gaila. “Looks like a Vulcan to me.”
Gaila shook her head. “I don’t think any Vulcans serve in Starfleet. Actually, I can think of one - but I’ve never seen him, and I hear he’s a total recluse. He wouldn’t be attending a party like this.”
Jim hummed in agreement.
Despite their wordy shit about IDIC, Vulcans were notoriously ethnocentric and opportunistic. Vulcans never went anywhere near Humans, unless it was to nerve pinch them as the bodyguard of some military or political official.
“Prosthetic ears, y’think?” Jim asked and finished off his drink in one gulp. The burn was good, but not enough to truly warm his blood.
“Can’t see another explanation,” Gaila replied, already sounding bored with that line of conversation.
Jim grinned. “Do you think I should go and -”
“Gods, he’s coming this way!” Gaila squeaked, with eyes going wide and excited. She immediately straightened her shoulders, pushed her tits out and re-crossed her legs.
Jim laughed in earnest and shifted to lean against the bar. His elbows propped back atop the counter and his hands hung off the edge.
When the stranger approached, Jim merely tilted his chin back to offer a lazy grin - and nearly choked on it.
Up close, the not-Vulcan was exponentially more... imposing. And more than a little hot.
To Jim’s credit, he didn’t drool or begin to babble. Instead he scraped up his most nonchalant tone and simply said, “Hello.”
Gaila managed to look devastating and guileless at the same time as she coyly curved her lips. “Hi there. Enjoying the party?”
“I believe it has recently become adequate,” Tall Dark and Handsome replied, with his voice low and luxuriant as he fixed his stare solely on Jim. A subtle shimmer in the inky paint of the stranger’s mask glinted under the white, twinkling lighting, and brought out the fiery amber of his eyes.
A spark snapped sharply down Jim’s spine - and yeah, that kind of warmth could sear right into his bones.
Jim hardly noticed when Gaila cleared her throat, stood and moved to exit. At the last moment Jim grunted in recognition and captured her wrist. When she looked at him with eyebrows raised, he merely smiled.
“Don’t forget. January sixth. I’ll blow you away.”
Gaila studied him for a second, laughed and shook her head. “I’ve got it, Jimmy.”
With a nod to the stranger, she slipped seamlessly into the sea of pastel and cream.
The moment Gaila departed, Jim raked his gaze down the stranger’s costume and back to that pale face.
“I’m Jim. Jim Kirk,” he drawled with deceptive mildness. “And you are?”
The man peered at Jim down the length of his nose. “You may call me Spock,” he replied in a modulated tone, which illustrated just how unaffected he was by Jim’s bold stare.
“Spock,” Jim purred, letting the name lay heavy and hot upon his tongue. “Well Spock, pull up a stool and have a drink with me.”
Spock gave a curt nod and did as commanded. He settled beside Jim with a straight back and strong shoulders. The bartender took his order for brandy - definitely not a Vulcan as they don’t drink, Jim decided - and when Spock’s tumbler was on the counter, that coal gaze seared into him once more.
“You are not wearing a mask at a masquerade, thereby defeating the purpose of this particular recreation.”
Jim’s lips curled as he cocked his head. “Are you sure?”
There was a beat of silence as Spock’s gaze lingered warmly upon Jim’s mouth.
“I assume you are speaking metaphorically.”
“And we have a winner!” Jim replied brightly. He shifted on the stool to fully face Spock, with their knees brushing. “But to be honest, metaphors and philosophy tend to bore me. I prefer tangible subjects. I like to be…” Jim trailed off, and took a sip of alcohol.
His eyes trailed the long, pale column of Spock’s neck, and detected a faint flicker of pulse. Jim wondered what the soft, hot junction of shoulder to nape would smell like - taste like.
“Physical,” Jim concluded.
“If this is your mask, what are you attempting to conceal?”
Jim pursed his lips, instinctively dodging a genuine reply. What lurked within him wasn’t particularly good first-meeting chat.
“Nothing that can’t be stripped away with the right incentive,” Jim decided with a slow grin.
Hell, this was a party. Now that work was done, play could come.
But Spock remained nearly as unreadable as he had from the moment he’d sat down. The only significant movement he made was the whitening of his knuckles as he held his glass. Spock inclined his chin and Jim wanted to bite it - hard.
“May I inquire why you have chosen to dress as Satan for a holiday masquerade? I was under the impression that this was a common façade for Halloween.”
Jim shrugged. “I look good in red. And you - why are you a Vulcan?”
Spock raised one expertly plucked eyebrow and Jim realised he couldn’t imagine him as anything but a Vulcan.
“Because Vulcans are a superior race.”
Jim laughed in earnest, and playfully buffeted Spock’s thigh with the back of his hand. “That’s kind of a broad generalisation. They’re not superior at everything.”
That severe eyebrow climbed higher. “Please explain.”
Jim hummed in brief thought as he considered Spock.
“For one, Humans have the ability to evaluate problems form varied perspectives. I mean, with Vulcans the right answer is always the most logical path. But more often than not the most logical solution isn’t the most effective.”
Jim leaned in, propping one elbow on the bar beside him as he began to broadly gesture with his hands.
“I mean, Vulcans either follow rules or break them. Black or white, right? But with Humans there’s all this grey matter. Twisted and bent perceptions of the regulations, of normalcy. Vulcan logic might be effective in the long-term, but I imagine it’s boring as all hell and you don’t have nearly as much fun.”
Jim drained his glass and smiled triumphantly as Spock considered him thoughtfully.
“Grey matter.”
“Yep. Wouldn’t be surprised if you cut open a Vulcan skull and the brains were just black and white.”
“And what of emotion?” he inquired, bypassing any argument against Jim’s perceptions.
“What about it?”
“I often find the common debate posed against Vulcans is their apparent lack of empathy.”
“Oh.” Jim shrugged. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
Spock may have leaned in, just a bit. “In what regard?”
“Spock,” Jim began as if he were about to say the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Vulcan High Command and Imperial Starfleet Command are this close to trading blows. Fuck man, Humans may have made first contact with phaser-fire, but Vulcans are the ones who’re holding a centuries-long grudge. If that isn’t emotion, I don’t know what is.”
Then again, Jim wasn’t exactly the leading expert on healthy emotion. Thankfully. All that shit tended to get in the way of what mattered most. Success, influence - admiration.
“Vulcans have no reason to trust the Terran Empire.”
Jim’s smile was slow and sharp, and so out of place amongst the glitter and glam floating around him.
“They’d be fuckin’ stupid to think that they could. But hey,” Jim added with some chagrin, “the Empire wouldn’t have expanded without Vulcan technology. We’d be royally fucked without them beside us.”
Spock nodded. “We remain at the impasse of a precarious truce. There will come a day when the lust for power outweighs the balance -”
“And the scales come tumbling down,” Jim finished with a flash of teeth. He couldn’t wait. He hoped it would all go down sooner than later, as relations had been far too quiet for his taste.
“So,” Jim began and wet his lips. He implored Spock with a single mischievous look. “How would you rate your lust for power, Spock? High?”
Spock pursed his lips, as his pupils flickered wide and then shrunk once more. “I do not have a desire for power, particularly. It can be closer categorised as a lust for control.”
A pleasant zing shot straight to Jim’s cock. He grinned. “Yeah? I find that absolutely fascinating, as I have a particular self-destructive penchant for spinning out of said control.”
For a moment Spock was silent, his gaze direct upon Jim’s face. Then he leaned into Jim’s space. “It appears as though we complement each other.”
“You could complement me any time, and that’s an offer.”
Spock’s lips twitched for the first time. “What exactly does your offer entail?”
Jim bit back a smile and brought his lips to Spock’s ear.
“Whatever your dick desires.”
Spock sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back. His eyes no longer held and reflected the cold light of the room, but sucked it into darkness.
“Come with me.”
Fuck, Jim loved people who went straight to the point.
The clamour of intoxicated party guests and violins were dulled as the heavy door of the main hall thudded behind them. The finality of the noise echoed in Jim’s ribcage and ricocheted off his heart, until it was racing to a new, quicker beat.
As Spock led Jim by the wrist down a darkened corridor, Jim’s lungs felt tight. His blood and breath thundered in his ears with such a brilliant white noise that everything was blocked out, but for the bone-pale nape of the stranger’s neck.
The moment they turned the corner and found themselves in the shadow of a secluded arch carved into the wall, Jim was slammed into the ice-cold marble and assaulted by a feral growl and a feverish mouth. The back of Jim’s skull sang a high, sharp note of dizzying pain even as he laughed into Spock’s mouth and bit down on that velvety tongue.
Spock uttered a short groan as if it pained him to allow the noise, and smothered Jim’s breathy chuckle in a demanding kiss. The body moulded against Jim’s felt constructed of unforgiving iron as Spock sandwiched Jim against the wall. Spock’s bruising fingertips clenched his forearms, insistent hips grinding against his cock, and a bony knee wedged between his thighs.
Jim wouldn’t allow himself to be possessed so easily. It took more than a hard body and clever, frantic hands unbuttoning his suit to bring Jim to his knees - if he chose to go to his knees at all. Jim roughly fisted his hands in the silky mass of Spock’s hair and jerked him forward for a kiss ripe with tongue and teeth.
It wasn’t enough - wasn’t near enough, Jim thought through the suffocating red haze of desire.
His fingers worked at the infernal clasps and clips beneath Spock’s robes, while Spock yanked Jim’s jacket down to his elbows where they snagged and stopped. It didn’t seem to matter that the suit piece hadn’t been entirely discarded, as Spock merely dragged his wide, rough palms down Jim’s hips and pulled out his shirt tails.
Fingers like hot irons snuck beneath the thin cotton and bruised the sharp jut of Jim’s pelvis, as Spock ground him into the wall and claimed the corded muscle of his neck with a lingering bite. A bright spark of pain fizzled into pleasure, and for a moment Jim’s hands stuttered on their journey to Spock’s skin.
Spock immediately caught on to Jim’s reaction; seconds later a deep growl reverberated from his chest. Jim was distantly aware of the jagged sound of his shirt being ripped down the centre - buttons popped and scattered and clattered like meaningless casualties.
And then Spock’s mouth and pointed canines and unforgiving bites would not be dislodged from Jim’s chest. Jim clutched at Spock’s hair once more as his nipples were scraped with teeth and nails, and soothed with a tongue.
With hips arching off the wall and his head digging back against the marble with a dull ache, Jim dug his fingertips into Spock’s scalp and rasped, “Spock. The hell’re you doing? Get up here and fuck me.”
That appeared to be all the incentive Spock needed; his robes somehow were opened the rest of the way, and Jim’s belt was lying slack and unnecessary. Jim thrust his hands beneath the thick folds of Spock’s clothing and gripped at his tightly muscled shoulders. Spock physically flinched and shivered, as if Jim’s touch carried the winter’s icy breath.
When Jim heard a fly that was not his own unzip, he pinned Spock beneath his gaze and gulped for air. Jim realised that his fingertips had smeared the painted mask Spock wore. Long, uneven smudges slashed down his cheekbones, and dull fingerprints inked Spock’s chest like marks of ownership.
Jim had it in him to smirk and bring his kohled thumb up to the centre of Spock’s swollen bottom lip. Spock had gone still; his own hands paused at Jim’s waist, and his eyes blown black with intent as he as he allowed Jim to drag the pad of his finger down over the that wet, plump flesh.
Before Jim could slip his hand away, Spock nipped at the tip and murmured, “You are marking me.”
“People need to know where I’ve been,” Jim replied as he canted his hips against the almost-freed bulge straining against Spock’s boxers. Jim angled his chin down and looked up at Spock with a gradually growing grin.
“What’re you gonna do about it? Play the good Vulcan and let the Terran own y-”
Jim was cut off by a hard, consuming kiss that he readily laughed and moaned into. Rarely did anyone fuck him and fight him at the same time. Rarely did anyone meet Jim’s brazen advances - both in physicality and personality - with such poise and aplomb.
And even more rarely did anyone surprise Jim.
Which was what happened when Spock released Jim - only to yank his suit jacket to the floor and turn him around. Spock cuffed Jim’s wrists and shoved his chest against the wall. Icy marble greeted his cheek as he bucked his hips and struggled to twist and turn into Spock’s arms.
Before military training could kick in and drive Jim into executing a wrist lock towards freedom, Spock’s steel-framed body was pressing hot and heavy against Jim’s back. A fissure of pleasure sparked at the base of his spine where the distinct impression of Spock’s cock pulsed like a raging heartbeat.
Spock’s mouth hovered at Jim’s ear, with dry desert lips caressing the soft shell as Spock whispered coarse and quick, “Humans are so rarely properly put in their place, do you not agree?”
The realisation of Spock’s identity slammed into Jim like a kick to the ribs; but before he could eke out a proper reaction, Spock’s hands were at his waistband. Jim expected fingers freeing his dick, but instead inwardly startled when his hips jerked to the side as Spock yanked Jim’s thin belt from its loops.
“The fuck are you -” Jim’s snarl was cut off when Spock bit down at the nape of his neck. A husky groan was rent from Jim’s throat as the flash of pain obliterated what would have been curses of indignation. A blessed heatwave rippled out from the fresh wound and scorched his very nerve endings, leaving Jim’s limbs nearly lax save for the tightness throbbing within his cock.
It was as if Spock had discovered Jim’s off switch and would use it to his benefit as often as he pleased. He was, in fact, doing whatever the hell he wanted to Jim right now - and with shamefully little fight from Jim.
Beads of sweat pricked the back of Jim’s neck as he struggled in vain against what was clearly Vulcan strength and Vulcan cock and Vulcan fists. Spock merely held Jim’s wrists with one hand and reached up with the other, his fingers hooking over the damp collar of Jim’s shirt and tugging it down. Teeth scrapped at the first ridges of Jim’s vertebrae, and Jim gulped for sanity as he tilted his head back and leaned it on Spock’s shoulder.
“Spock,” Jim rasped, sounding as if he’d swallowed sand. “Fuck me or I’ll kick the shit outtah!”
Spock jerked hard on the belt that weaved so tightly around Jim’s wrists, with the unforgiving leather branding into his skin. Jim’s cry clattered down the empty corridor like a lost soul, the sound swallowed by the surrounding dark and ignored by Spock.
Finally there were frenzied fingers at Jim’s fly, releasing his dick - his slacks slipped and clung to his thighs with a quiet whisper of promise. Jim hissed as his painful erection was forced up against the frigid marble and leaked back onto his stomach. The cold was devastating and delicious and had Jim gritting his teeth against instant release.
Spock was attending to his previous bite mark with sucks and nips and curls of tongue, bringing Jim’s skin to an uneasy simmer. Jim half-heartedly attempted to wrestle his arms free, but they were only pressed further against his back, the muscles of his shoulders crying in unheeded protest.
Despite being almost entirely clothed, Jim felt more naked than he had in years. Even his strongest partners had been unable to bridle Jim’s sexual advances; as Jim was always the aggressor, the instigator. But now that control had been torn from the very heart him - and all he could feel was this weightless heady thrill that anything could happen right now.
Hell, Spock could snap his neck in seconds if it pleased him. Jim’s stomach flipped with mangled horror and hunger.
Spock was sliding two spit-slick fingers at once into Jim’s protesting hole. Jim bit down on his bottom lip and thumped his forehead against the wall; his hips caught between uselessly rutting against the smooth marble or pressing back to impale himself on those curling fingers. The fizzing burn that climbed into Jim like its own smouldering life force made the decision for him, and soon Jim was jutting his ass back and grunting into his own shoulder.
Spock’s panting was faint beneath the din of Jim’s unabashed noises, but the sudden urgency in which Spock began to scissor him open and slip his fingers away too soon spoke volumes for his state. Between the press of their fevered bodies Jim could feel the faintest quiver in the hand that held his wrists at bay.
Jim was distantly pleased to hear that- and although his voice made him sound like a chain-smoker, at least he didn’t stutter. “Lube?”
“Unnecessary,” Spock snapped and angled his pelvis forward, his dick slotting thick and slick between Jim’s ass cheeks. “Vulcans can self-lubricate.”
Jim actually had it in him to laugh even as he undulated back against the swollen erection. “A far better argument towards Vulcan superiority.”
He was rewarded with a bite on his unmarred shoulder; and the pain soaked in like a burn that blazed at first and then left Jim’s skin humming and alight.
Spock’s voice crackled like fire. “You speak too often.”
Then he was curving his palm around Jim’s nape and forcing his shoulders forward, just as he tugged at Jim’s banded wrists and brought his hips back. Jim’s jaw ached against the unforgiving marble, and his dick bobbed heavy and unattended between his legs. His pants pooled at his feet as he was bent, so he could only spread his thighs so far.
Spock didn’t seem to mind. In fact, before Jim’s world burst into flames with that first confident thrust in, he could swear he heard Spock curse under his breath.
Just what kind of Vulcan was he?
Spock buried himself deep in one push, and the pain was exquisite. The tendons in Jim’s arms stretched towards the snapping point, and his heart constricted with the terror and underlying ecstasy of being held at the whim of another as his dick wept for relief.
An instinctive, base rhythm began between the two of them; unspoken and utterly unbearable. Jim’s body and blood seemed to pulse like a single, overwhelming heartbeat. His mind bottomed out with the crescendo of flesh slapping flesh, and his senses rocketed towards some unattainable zenith of pure feeling.
And as Spock gripped tightly on the reins at Jim’s wrists, his half-bared chest pressed against Jim’s arms and back so that Spock’s free hand could find... Jim’s temple?
Before Jim could even consider what the fuck that was about, Spock’s cock grazed Jim’s prostate and his body quivered like a harshly-plucked string. Jim probably fucking sang with the pleasure Spock was pumping into him with increasing urgency.
Fingertips lay poised upon Jim’s temple and jaw and despite the sweltering breath at Jim’s neck, he shivered. Spock’s hips pistoned forward like a man coming home; and just as Jim revelled in the climbing blaze in his gut, his forehead suddenly fizzled - and he erupted.
Constellations exploded before his eyes and Jim’s mouth dropped open in mute shock and awe. His body - his pores - felt alive and breathing and pulsing like a million hearts shattering at once. Whatever Spock was doing to Jim filled him, overflowed him and drained him to the point of complete exhaustion within the matter of seconds.
When Jim came to - and when had he been passed out? - Spock had released Jim’s hands and was resting his cheek upon the damp patch of dress shirt covering Jim’s spine. Jim’s skin practically purred with satisfaction, before his brain rebooted and reminded him of something rather important.
“What the hell was that?”
Jim jerked up, sending Spock slipping out of him and stumbling a foot backwards. Jim inwardly winced at the burn in his ass, but refused to allow the reaction as he yanked his wrists free from the loosened belt and buttoned his pants at his hips once more.
He looked back to Spock and found himself affixed to that unwavering gaze.
Spock’s bottom lip was still smudged by Jim’s thumbprint. He’d also managed to dress himself, although his smeared mask and ruffled hair told a different story.
“I believe that, as you say, was intercourse,” Spock replied with a lofty look.
Jim stalked forward and jammed a finger in Spock’s chest. “What you did to my head? If you’ve done anything that would jeopardize my intell-”
“You dare accuse me of such superfluous sabotage?” Spock snapped hotly. “I merely used my skills to amplify your orgasm - fool,” Spock bit off at the last minute, like a child who required the last word.
Jim bared his teeth, prepared to snarl something in reply when the reality of Spock’s statement settled. He dropped his hand, his face going carefully blank to mask his surprise that someone like Spock would even bother to do such a thing.
“Right,” he said in a clipped tone. He could feel that accustomed ice begin to frost over, and chill his emotions and his heart once again.
Jim smiled, because smiling was always easier than frowning or yelling or crying or feeling. “Well, it was entertaining to meet you, Spock.”
With that he turned and gathered his jacket from the floor, but left the belt lying there because the accessory had become an unnerving accomplice in Jim’s submission.
Jim swept past Spock with a second look - damn if he didn’t allow himself that backward glance - and gave him a cocky salute.
Spock’s voice echoed strong and sure down the corridor. “We will meet on another occasion, Jim.”
Jim laughed hollowly, and it sounded more phoney than usual in such an empty, heartless hall. “Yeah, okay. It’s a date.”
“There will certainly be a date.”
Jim frowned as he meandered into the main lobby. Something in the assurance of Spock’s speech didn’t sit right with him.
But hell - the devil would certainly never turned down a date.
Part 2
Author: lalazee
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU Academy Mirrorverse
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~11,000
Warnings: D/S, biting, bare-backing, violence. Oh, and Gaila - a girl like her should wear a warning.
Summary: At the Starfleet Winter Masquerade, Jim Kirk encounters a mysterious man dressed as a Vulcan. The consequences of one night of fun threaten to come back in ten-fold.
A/N 1: Keep an eye out for carouselcycles' sexy as hell accompanying art and be sure to let her know just how hot you think it is!
A/N 2: Written for ksadvent.
No one dared to ask the devil to step aside.
When he walked into the room, people assumed he’d been there all along; lingering in the shadows with a smile. His gaze was always candid and confident. He didn’t need to lie, because the truth was much more satisfying. The devil deserved to be where ever he chose, and that was why no one stopped him.
Perhaps that was why Jim had dressed as one for the Starfleet’s Winter Masquerade. After all, he hadn’t exactly been invited to the prestigious celebration. Only instructors, illustrious military officials, and the most accomplished of upper-classmen were granted access to the glitz and glam.
In other words - only the most conniving and cunning, the most snivelling and sneaky, and the most talented cocksuckers were allowed in the domed ballroom of light and glitter and ice.
James Kirk fit into one or more of these categories, and yet he hadn’t been summoned to this unhallowed hall of fanciful finery and furtive looks. The entire situation was rather unfair, as Captain Pike was merely holding this over Jim’s head as punishment.
The definitive cause of Professor Grady’s nervous breakdown and consequent early retirement certainly couldn’t be pinpointed on Jim. It was no fault of his that the instructor couldn’t handle a daily dose of heckling. The man was teaching Prime Directive Politics - surely he’d be versed in handling Jim’s boundless barrage of criticisms.
How people reacted to Jim was of no concern to him. Jim was rather fond of himself, and that was all that truly mattered.
Of course, there were a select few whom Jim cared about - less whom Jim actually loved. One of the former just happened to be attending the ball, and if Jim had to be perfectly honest - and he certainly preferred to be - Gaila Vro was his primary reason for crashing the party.
Jim... needed her.
Jim grinned crookedly at the hulking door shut before him as he stood in the white marble hallway that surrounded the expansive ballroom on three sides. Rich and lively classical music filtered through, along with the chatter of several hundred Starfleet personnel. All of it just waiting for him - well, after Jim dealt with Gaila first.
Jim tugged once on the sharp lapels of his brazenly red three-piece suit, and swept his fingers over the two short devil horns that protruded from the skin at his hairline. That glue wasn’t allowing them off any time soon, and Jim deemed that everything was where it should be.
With his lips curled in a smirk, Jim yanked open the door a crack and slipped in.
White - everything was glittering white. Whiter than the flash of light behind your eyes when taut knuckles collided with your face and cracked the orbital bone. Whiter than that flashing moment of near-death, when you decided you couldn’t live without testing the limits of your mortality first.
Grand crystal chandeliers sparkled, held and refracted the light across the room like magic. Tiny, speckled stars glimmered on the walls and masked faces like snow or bright tears.
Women adorned in ball-gowns of pale pastel circled the centre of the room, the thick folds of silk and tulle swaying and curling around their legs and that of their dancing partner. Most of the attendants were clad in white or black, and all of them wore masquerade masks or had their faces painted.
Dull.
Jim weaved and cut through the vapid, tittering masses like a streak of blood seeping down a pale-skinned temple. He would not be the only one sporting red, and he kept an eye out for the distinctive fiery curls of a particularly special Orion.
Certain cadets and teachers greeted him with varying degrees of warmth and suspicion. Jim grinned back at them all, shameless in his attendance, and more than happy to make something of it should anyone have the balls to do so. There was no sign of Pike, thus far - so Jim had some time to kill before he was inevitably unearthed and exorcised.
Jim made his way towards the bar. If Gaila wasn’t rubbing up on some lucky cadet like a cat in heat, she would be where the free alcohol was. At least, that’s what Jim would do - and he and Gaila, well, they were cut from the same ragged cloth.
Gaila had seen her fair share of horrors, as had Jim, and they understood that there were only three true things you could do with your life: Fight, fuck, or die.
Jim was adamant to do them all with a big fucking bang.
“What the hell are you not wearing, Vro?” he asked Gaila as he approached her from behind. Jim sidled up on the barstool beside her and smiled appraisingly, giving her a slow once-over.
Gaila was clad in what could only be considered... well, gems. Her tube dress was a green sequined number that looked more like a skirt that she had attempted to stretch over her entire torso. Pasted to her minty skin were hundreds of multicoloured, circular gems that winked and sparkled in the dappled lighting. Her mask was pieced together by jewels glued around her eyes, and her hair was spun into a wild up-do dressed with a gold star.
A self-aware, scarlet grin lit up Gaila’s face. “Jimmy! Can’t you tell? I’m a Christmas tree, and these are my lights. You like?”
Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s not to like? You’re walking holiday porn.” He spared the bartender a glance in order to point at Gaila’s magenta drink. “Whatever she’s having.”
He looked back to Gaila and was met with a pretty pout.
Jim smiled quizzically. “What?”
“You’re not wearing a mask.”
Jim raised his eyebrows, his grin firmly in place. “Sure I am.”
Who wasn’t?
Gaila’s lips twitched in recognition. “Little devil.”
“You know there’s nothing little about me,” Jim quipped and turned towards the bartender to retrieve his drink. He took a sip of the tart, heady alcohol and considered Gaila over the rim of the glass.
Gaila crossed her legs in a smooth motion, and met his look with amusement glinting behind the jewelled mask. “Spill.”
Jim frowned down at the drink in his hand. “No, I didn’t.”
“We both know you’re cute when you play dumb blonde - but spill it, Jimmy. You’ve got that look in your eye.”
Jim aimed his most charming smile her way. “What look?”
Something flashed in Gaila’s eyes, but it could have been the lighting and the glint of sapphire. “Predatory.”
Hm. Not exactly correct under the circumstances, but not bad either. Gaila had a way of slicing through Jim like a razor when she chose.
Jim shrugged mutely and set aside his glass, his attention unmoving from Gaila’s face. “So I hear talk that you were one of the three students accepted into CSAIL next term. Congrats brainiac, drinks are on me.”
Being chosen to work in the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory was a rare learning opportunity. One that only the best and brightest in the field of robotics and AI could be chosen to take part in.
Gaila beamed. That dislodged her from the topic - or made her think that she had been.
“The drinks are complimentary, you jerk - and, jealous much?”
Jim barked a laugh. “Spending my days rubbing elbows with robots? Not so much. I prefer flesh and blood, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh please. In a few years time you won’t be able to tell an android from the next warm body you take from behind. A hole is a hole, darling.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jim admitted good-naturedly, if only to move on to what was most important here.
He allowed a few moments of drinking in companionable silence, before Jim paused and regarded Gaila with his characteristic intensity. “By the way, when do you begin that internship?”
Gaila pursed her lips and swirled the dregs of her drink. “Um, the fifth of January.”
Oh, this couldn’t have been any more perfect.
“The first Monday back, huh?”
Gaila finished off her drink, and clanked the glass to the counter as she signalled the waiter for another. “I think they’re desperate for assistance ASAP. It’s a smaller department from most of the sciences.”
“Not enough brains like yours, you mean,” Jim added with a shadow of a sincere smile. He received a placating look in return.
“You know you would have been accepted had you applied, Jimmy. Gods, I still don’t know why you didn’t.”
“Like I said,” Jim murmured and emptied his own refreshment. “Flesh.”
“Uh huh,” Gaila nodded with a rueful smile.
After the second round was placed at their elbows, Jim popped the two buttons of his suit and reached into his breast pocket. He considered pinning Gaila with one of his more bashful expressions, but since she was one of the only people who realised Jim was emotionally stunted and didn’t have a humble bone in his body, it would have been in vain.
Instead he folded something into his palm and said, “I know you don’t celebrate the holidays, but I have a little something for you.”
Gaila appeared excited for all of two seconds, before she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Her cleavage plumped up between her arms, and Jim could feel half the eyes of the room glued to her glorious tits alone.
For once, Gaila didn’t notice and preen. “You don’t do holidays either.”
Shit. Well, that was true. Holidays had been cold and brittle back in Riverside; with the conversation tense and the mood as frigid and barren as the fields outside. Rather than enduring heated arguments at the dinner table - or hell, even a punch in the face to remind Jim how worthless he was - there was... nothing.
Jim hadn’t grown up with physical bruises littering his body. There were no marks to map his descent into this arctic, polar version of himself. His mother hadn’t spared him a glance most of the time - and when she had, her words had prickled cold and impersonal, like icicles.
Frank had been no better, occasionally offering Jim the back of his hand and a chilling word of reproach when Jim had acted out.
But there were no bouts of screaming or taking him to counsellors or attempting to set him to rights. No, it was as if Jim’s family had given up on him from the moment he’d been thrust into the black, bitter arms of space.
Until a person experienced that gaping voice of silence first hand, it was impossible to comprehend just how truly shattering it could feel to be invisible.
Jim grinned. “I know, but that’s just because I’ve never spent them with people I gave a fuck about.”
Partially true, at least.
Gaila wrinkled her nose. “You haven’t done something wrong that you’re trying to make up for, are you?”
Jim tried to appear affronted. “When have I ever done something wrong that I wanted to make up for?”
Gaila didn’t look entirely convinced, but she wasn’t suspicious either. And when would she ever turn down a gift? The girl was like a magpie attracted to shiny things. Her side of the dorm room that she shared with Uhura looked like a dragon’s lair of hidden treasure, overflowing to the floor.
“Okay, you have me. What is it?” She moved to open Jim’s palm, but he snatched his hand away with an admonishing noise and a smile.
“Hold on, there are some stipulations attached to this gift.”
“Gods, this sounds like the worst gift ever.”
Jim snorted a laugh. “Right, um - think of it less as a gift, and more of something that’ll thoroughly rivet your attention. You’ll be seriously impressed with me, I promise.”
One of Gaila’s largest faults, in Jim’s opinion, was her innately trustworthy nature. Actually, perhaps that wasn’t fair - it was more that Gaila was in love with Jim. At least, in love in the way that an Orion woman could have five husbands.
And so she smiled with curiosity highlighting her midnight blue eyes. “This sounds like fun.”
Jim mirrored her expression, with only the glint in his gaze like a scalpel. “You have no idea.”
With a flourish, Jim presented a slim, red datacard no larger than a matchbook.
Gaila plucked it from his fingers and frowned down at it. “And this is for?”
“You,” Jim said simply, while neatly buttoning his jacket as he leaned in to speak more privately. “Here’s the thing. To experience the full effect of what this has to offer, you need to use it at a specific time and place.”
Gaila narrowed her eyes at Jim, but she was slipping the card deep in the plunge between her breasts as if already convinced. Despite any doubts she might encounter, there were two reasons why she would give in to Jim at the end: Emotional attachment and undiluted curiosity.
Jim wet his lips, his gaze flitting from the lush curves that now hid five months of work and back to Gaila’s jewelled features. “January sixth, ten minutes to oh-nine-hundred in the CSAIL.”
For a span of time there was only the lilt of a festive waltz and tinkling of glasses and tittering feminine laughter; the murmur of droll conversation and the whisper of silken skirts.
Gaila was attempting to dissect Jim’s expression - he could tell. Unfortunately, no one ever could. Jim was carved out of twenty-five years of ice and arctic glares; his layers were far too thick to crack or melt or shatter.
Finally she relented, with a tiny disgruntled sigh of confusion. “Why? What the heck are you up to, Jimmy?”
Jim laughed and held up his palms in an innocent gesture. “Nothing! Nothing at all, beautiful. All I’m saying is the DC won’t work unless you use it at that exact time.”
During my third attempt of the Kobayashi Maru.
“It’s going to be fucking inspiring, Gaila.” Jim bit down on his bottom lip and leaned in, all big blue eyes and boyish sincerity. It probably wouldn’t fool her for a second, but would at least blind her for the moment. “Trust me. If nothing else, you’ll be impressed.”
Even Jim was pretty impressed with himself on this one.
Gaila’s hand fluttered to Jim’s cheek, and for a brief moment she looked concerned - or was that just another form of love? Jim wouldn’t know.
She grinned and flicked his forehead. “What goes on in there?”
Gaila took her untouched drink and Jim’s lips twitched with an edge of bitterness.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Maybe not,” Gaila admitted ruefully; and they both took too-long drinks of their cocktails.
“Don’t look now,” Gaila murmured as she put her hand on Jim’s knee and smiled, “But someone’s been eyeing you from the moment you sat down. Must be the suit.”
Jim frowned and swivelled, intently searching the crowd. It wasn’t long before his gaze snagged on a lanky man in black robes trimmed ornately in Vulcan script. Like Jim, he was not wearing an actual mask. But unlike Jim, he had a mask of pure black painted across his eyes in a long, simple strip - as if someone had blindfolded him in black silk, and the imprint remained.
He stood alone and was indeed staring directly at him with dark, inscrutable eyes.
Jim smirked at the stranger and got no reaction in reply, and so returned his attention to Gaila. “Looks like a Vulcan to me.”
Gaila shook her head. “I don’t think any Vulcans serve in Starfleet. Actually, I can think of one - but I’ve never seen him, and I hear he’s a total recluse. He wouldn’t be attending a party like this.”
Jim hummed in agreement.
Despite their wordy shit about IDIC, Vulcans were notoriously ethnocentric and opportunistic. Vulcans never went anywhere near Humans, unless it was to nerve pinch them as the bodyguard of some military or political official.
“Prosthetic ears, y’think?” Jim asked and finished off his drink in one gulp. The burn was good, but not enough to truly warm his blood.
“Can’t see another explanation,” Gaila replied, already sounding bored with that line of conversation.
Jim grinned. “Do you think I should go and -”
“Gods, he’s coming this way!” Gaila squeaked, with eyes going wide and excited. She immediately straightened her shoulders, pushed her tits out and re-crossed her legs.
Jim laughed in earnest and shifted to lean against the bar. His elbows propped back atop the counter and his hands hung off the edge.
When the stranger approached, Jim merely tilted his chin back to offer a lazy grin - and nearly choked on it.
Up close, the not-Vulcan was exponentially more... imposing. And more than a little hot.
To Jim’s credit, he didn’t drool or begin to babble. Instead he scraped up his most nonchalant tone and simply said, “Hello.”
Gaila managed to look devastating and guileless at the same time as she coyly curved her lips. “Hi there. Enjoying the party?”
“I believe it has recently become adequate,” Tall Dark and Handsome replied, with his voice low and luxuriant as he fixed his stare solely on Jim. A subtle shimmer in the inky paint of the stranger’s mask glinted under the white, twinkling lighting, and brought out the fiery amber of his eyes.
A spark snapped sharply down Jim’s spine - and yeah, that kind of warmth could sear right into his bones.
Jim hardly noticed when Gaila cleared her throat, stood and moved to exit. At the last moment Jim grunted in recognition and captured her wrist. When she looked at him with eyebrows raised, he merely smiled.
“Don’t forget. January sixth. I’ll blow you away.”
Gaila studied him for a second, laughed and shook her head. “I’ve got it, Jimmy.”
With a nod to the stranger, she slipped seamlessly into the sea of pastel and cream.
The moment Gaila departed, Jim raked his gaze down the stranger’s costume and back to that pale face.
“I’m Jim. Jim Kirk,” he drawled with deceptive mildness. “And you are?”
The man peered at Jim down the length of his nose. “You may call me Spock,” he replied in a modulated tone, which illustrated just how unaffected he was by Jim’s bold stare.
“Spock,” Jim purred, letting the name lay heavy and hot upon his tongue. “Well Spock, pull up a stool and have a drink with me.”
Spock gave a curt nod and did as commanded. He settled beside Jim with a straight back and strong shoulders. The bartender took his order for brandy - definitely not a Vulcan as they don’t drink, Jim decided - and when Spock’s tumbler was on the counter, that coal gaze seared into him once more.
“You are not wearing a mask at a masquerade, thereby defeating the purpose of this particular recreation.”
Jim’s lips curled as he cocked his head. “Are you sure?”
There was a beat of silence as Spock’s gaze lingered warmly upon Jim’s mouth.
“I assume you are speaking metaphorically.”
“And we have a winner!” Jim replied brightly. He shifted on the stool to fully face Spock, with their knees brushing. “But to be honest, metaphors and philosophy tend to bore me. I prefer tangible subjects. I like to be…” Jim trailed off, and took a sip of alcohol.
His eyes trailed the long, pale column of Spock’s neck, and detected a faint flicker of pulse. Jim wondered what the soft, hot junction of shoulder to nape would smell like - taste like.
“Physical,” Jim concluded.
“If this is your mask, what are you attempting to conceal?”
Jim pursed his lips, instinctively dodging a genuine reply. What lurked within him wasn’t particularly good first-meeting chat.
“Nothing that can’t be stripped away with the right incentive,” Jim decided with a slow grin.
Hell, this was a party. Now that work was done, play could come.
But Spock remained nearly as unreadable as he had from the moment he’d sat down. The only significant movement he made was the whitening of his knuckles as he held his glass. Spock inclined his chin and Jim wanted to bite it - hard.
“May I inquire why you have chosen to dress as Satan for a holiday masquerade? I was under the impression that this was a common façade for Halloween.”
Jim shrugged. “I look good in red. And you - why are you a Vulcan?”
Spock raised one expertly plucked eyebrow and Jim realised he couldn’t imagine him as anything but a Vulcan.
“Because Vulcans are a superior race.”
Jim laughed in earnest, and playfully buffeted Spock’s thigh with the back of his hand. “That’s kind of a broad generalisation. They’re not superior at everything.”
That severe eyebrow climbed higher. “Please explain.”
Jim hummed in brief thought as he considered Spock.
“For one, Humans have the ability to evaluate problems form varied perspectives. I mean, with Vulcans the right answer is always the most logical path. But more often than not the most logical solution isn’t the most effective.”
Jim leaned in, propping one elbow on the bar beside him as he began to broadly gesture with his hands.
“I mean, Vulcans either follow rules or break them. Black or white, right? But with Humans there’s all this grey matter. Twisted and bent perceptions of the regulations, of normalcy. Vulcan logic might be effective in the long-term, but I imagine it’s boring as all hell and you don’t have nearly as much fun.”
Jim drained his glass and smiled triumphantly as Spock considered him thoughtfully.
“Grey matter.”
“Yep. Wouldn’t be surprised if you cut open a Vulcan skull and the brains were just black and white.”
“And what of emotion?” he inquired, bypassing any argument against Jim’s perceptions.
“What about it?”
“I often find the common debate posed against Vulcans is their apparent lack of empathy.”
“Oh.” Jim shrugged. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
Spock may have leaned in, just a bit. “In what regard?”
“Spock,” Jim began as if he were about to say the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Vulcan High Command and Imperial Starfleet Command are this close to trading blows. Fuck man, Humans may have made first contact with phaser-fire, but Vulcans are the ones who’re holding a centuries-long grudge. If that isn’t emotion, I don’t know what is.”
Then again, Jim wasn’t exactly the leading expert on healthy emotion. Thankfully. All that shit tended to get in the way of what mattered most. Success, influence - admiration.
“Vulcans have no reason to trust the Terran Empire.”
Jim’s smile was slow and sharp, and so out of place amongst the glitter and glam floating around him.
“They’d be fuckin’ stupid to think that they could. But hey,” Jim added with some chagrin, “the Empire wouldn’t have expanded without Vulcan technology. We’d be royally fucked without them beside us.”
Spock nodded. “We remain at the impasse of a precarious truce. There will come a day when the lust for power outweighs the balance -”
“And the scales come tumbling down,” Jim finished with a flash of teeth. He couldn’t wait. He hoped it would all go down sooner than later, as relations had been far too quiet for his taste.
“So,” Jim began and wet his lips. He implored Spock with a single mischievous look. “How would you rate your lust for power, Spock? High?”
Spock pursed his lips, as his pupils flickered wide and then shrunk once more. “I do not have a desire for power, particularly. It can be closer categorised as a lust for control.”
A pleasant zing shot straight to Jim’s cock. He grinned. “Yeah? I find that absolutely fascinating, as I have a particular self-destructive penchant for spinning out of said control.”
For a moment Spock was silent, his gaze direct upon Jim’s face. Then he leaned into Jim’s space. “It appears as though we complement each other.”
“You could complement me any time, and that’s an offer.”
Spock’s lips twitched for the first time. “What exactly does your offer entail?”
Jim bit back a smile and brought his lips to Spock’s ear.
“Whatever your dick desires.”
Spock sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back. His eyes no longer held and reflected the cold light of the room, but sucked it into darkness.
“Come with me.”
Fuck, Jim loved people who went straight to the point.
The clamour of intoxicated party guests and violins were dulled as the heavy door of the main hall thudded behind them. The finality of the noise echoed in Jim’s ribcage and ricocheted off his heart, until it was racing to a new, quicker beat.
As Spock led Jim by the wrist down a darkened corridor, Jim’s lungs felt tight. His blood and breath thundered in his ears with such a brilliant white noise that everything was blocked out, but for the bone-pale nape of the stranger’s neck.
The moment they turned the corner and found themselves in the shadow of a secluded arch carved into the wall, Jim was slammed into the ice-cold marble and assaulted by a feral growl and a feverish mouth. The back of Jim’s skull sang a high, sharp note of dizzying pain even as he laughed into Spock’s mouth and bit down on that velvety tongue.
Spock uttered a short groan as if it pained him to allow the noise, and smothered Jim’s breathy chuckle in a demanding kiss. The body moulded against Jim’s felt constructed of unforgiving iron as Spock sandwiched Jim against the wall. Spock’s bruising fingertips clenched his forearms, insistent hips grinding against his cock, and a bony knee wedged between his thighs.
Jim wouldn’t allow himself to be possessed so easily. It took more than a hard body and clever, frantic hands unbuttoning his suit to bring Jim to his knees - if he chose to go to his knees at all. Jim roughly fisted his hands in the silky mass of Spock’s hair and jerked him forward for a kiss ripe with tongue and teeth.
It wasn’t enough - wasn’t near enough, Jim thought through the suffocating red haze of desire.
His fingers worked at the infernal clasps and clips beneath Spock’s robes, while Spock yanked Jim’s jacket down to his elbows where they snagged and stopped. It didn’t seem to matter that the suit piece hadn’t been entirely discarded, as Spock merely dragged his wide, rough palms down Jim’s hips and pulled out his shirt tails.
Fingers like hot irons snuck beneath the thin cotton and bruised the sharp jut of Jim’s pelvis, as Spock ground him into the wall and claimed the corded muscle of his neck with a lingering bite. A bright spark of pain fizzled into pleasure, and for a moment Jim’s hands stuttered on their journey to Spock’s skin.
Spock immediately caught on to Jim’s reaction; seconds later a deep growl reverberated from his chest. Jim was distantly aware of the jagged sound of his shirt being ripped down the centre - buttons popped and scattered and clattered like meaningless casualties.
And then Spock’s mouth and pointed canines and unforgiving bites would not be dislodged from Jim’s chest. Jim clutched at Spock’s hair once more as his nipples were scraped with teeth and nails, and soothed with a tongue.
With hips arching off the wall and his head digging back against the marble with a dull ache, Jim dug his fingertips into Spock’s scalp and rasped, “Spock. The hell’re you doing? Get up here and fuck me.”
That appeared to be all the incentive Spock needed; his robes somehow were opened the rest of the way, and Jim’s belt was lying slack and unnecessary. Jim thrust his hands beneath the thick folds of Spock’s clothing and gripped at his tightly muscled shoulders. Spock physically flinched and shivered, as if Jim’s touch carried the winter’s icy breath.
When Jim heard a fly that was not his own unzip, he pinned Spock beneath his gaze and gulped for air. Jim realised that his fingertips had smeared the painted mask Spock wore. Long, uneven smudges slashed down his cheekbones, and dull fingerprints inked Spock’s chest like marks of ownership.
Jim had it in him to smirk and bring his kohled thumb up to the centre of Spock’s swollen bottom lip. Spock had gone still; his own hands paused at Jim’s waist, and his eyes blown black with intent as he as he allowed Jim to drag the pad of his finger down over the that wet, plump flesh.
Before Jim could slip his hand away, Spock nipped at the tip and murmured, “You are marking me.”
“People need to know where I’ve been,” Jim replied as he canted his hips against the almost-freed bulge straining against Spock’s boxers. Jim angled his chin down and looked up at Spock with a gradually growing grin.
“What’re you gonna do about it? Play the good Vulcan and let the Terran own y-”
Jim was cut off by a hard, consuming kiss that he readily laughed and moaned into. Rarely did anyone fuck him and fight him at the same time. Rarely did anyone meet Jim’s brazen advances - both in physicality and personality - with such poise and aplomb.
And even more rarely did anyone surprise Jim.
Which was what happened when Spock released Jim - only to yank his suit jacket to the floor and turn him around. Spock cuffed Jim’s wrists and shoved his chest against the wall. Icy marble greeted his cheek as he bucked his hips and struggled to twist and turn into Spock’s arms.
Before military training could kick in and drive Jim into executing a wrist lock towards freedom, Spock’s steel-framed body was pressing hot and heavy against Jim’s back. A fissure of pleasure sparked at the base of his spine where the distinct impression of Spock’s cock pulsed like a raging heartbeat.
Spock’s mouth hovered at Jim’s ear, with dry desert lips caressing the soft shell as Spock whispered coarse and quick, “Humans are so rarely properly put in their place, do you not agree?”
The realisation of Spock’s identity slammed into Jim like a kick to the ribs; but before he could eke out a proper reaction, Spock’s hands were at his waistband. Jim expected fingers freeing his dick, but instead inwardly startled when his hips jerked to the side as Spock yanked Jim’s thin belt from its loops.
“The fuck are you -” Jim’s snarl was cut off when Spock bit down at the nape of his neck. A husky groan was rent from Jim’s throat as the flash of pain obliterated what would have been curses of indignation. A blessed heatwave rippled out from the fresh wound and scorched his very nerve endings, leaving Jim’s limbs nearly lax save for the tightness throbbing within his cock.
It was as if Spock had discovered Jim’s off switch and would use it to his benefit as often as he pleased. He was, in fact, doing whatever the hell he wanted to Jim right now - and with shamefully little fight from Jim.
Beads of sweat pricked the back of Jim’s neck as he struggled in vain against what was clearly Vulcan strength and Vulcan cock and Vulcan fists. Spock merely held Jim’s wrists with one hand and reached up with the other, his fingers hooking over the damp collar of Jim’s shirt and tugging it down. Teeth scrapped at the first ridges of Jim’s vertebrae, and Jim gulped for sanity as he tilted his head back and leaned it on Spock’s shoulder.
“Spock,” Jim rasped, sounding as if he’d swallowed sand. “Fuck me or I’ll kick the shit outtah!”
Spock jerked hard on the belt that weaved so tightly around Jim’s wrists, with the unforgiving leather branding into his skin. Jim’s cry clattered down the empty corridor like a lost soul, the sound swallowed by the surrounding dark and ignored by Spock.
Finally there were frenzied fingers at Jim’s fly, releasing his dick - his slacks slipped and clung to his thighs with a quiet whisper of promise. Jim hissed as his painful erection was forced up against the frigid marble and leaked back onto his stomach. The cold was devastating and delicious and had Jim gritting his teeth against instant release.
Spock was attending to his previous bite mark with sucks and nips and curls of tongue, bringing Jim’s skin to an uneasy simmer. Jim half-heartedly attempted to wrestle his arms free, but they were only pressed further against his back, the muscles of his shoulders crying in unheeded protest.
Despite being almost entirely clothed, Jim felt more naked than he had in years. Even his strongest partners had been unable to bridle Jim’s sexual advances; as Jim was always the aggressor, the instigator. But now that control had been torn from the very heart him - and all he could feel was this weightless heady thrill that anything could happen right now.
Hell, Spock could snap his neck in seconds if it pleased him. Jim’s stomach flipped with mangled horror and hunger.
Spock was sliding two spit-slick fingers at once into Jim’s protesting hole. Jim bit down on his bottom lip and thumped his forehead against the wall; his hips caught between uselessly rutting against the smooth marble or pressing back to impale himself on those curling fingers. The fizzing burn that climbed into Jim like its own smouldering life force made the decision for him, and soon Jim was jutting his ass back and grunting into his own shoulder.
Spock’s panting was faint beneath the din of Jim’s unabashed noises, but the sudden urgency in which Spock began to scissor him open and slip his fingers away too soon spoke volumes for his state. Between the press of their fevered bodies Jim could feel the faintest quiver in the hand that held his wrists at bay.
Jim was distantly pleased to hear that- and although his voice made him sound like a chain-smoker, at least he didn’t stutter. “Lube?”
“Unnecessary,” Spock snapped and angled his pelvis forward, his dick slotting thick and slick between Jim’s ass cheeks. “Vulcans can self-lubricate.”
Jim actually had it in him to laugh even as he undulated back against the swollen erection. “A far better argument towards Vulcan superiority.”
He was rewarded with a bite on his unmarred shoulder; and the pain soaked in like a burn that blazed at first and then left Jim’s skin humming and alight.
Spock’s voice crackled like fire. “You speak too often.”
Then he was curving his palm around Jim’s nape and forcing his shoulders forward, just as he tugged at Jim’s banded wrists and brought his hips back. Jim’s jaw ached against the unforgiving marble, and his dick bobbed heavy and unattended between his legs. His pants pooled at his feet as he was bent, so he could only spread his thighs so far.
Spock didn’t seem to mind. In fact, before Jim’s world burst into flames with that first confident thrust in, he could swear he heard Spock curse under his breath.
Just what kind of Vulcan was he?
Spock buried himself deep in one push, and the pain was exquisite. The tendons in Jim’s arms stretched towards the snapping point, and his heart constricted with the terror and underlying ecstasy of being held at the whim of another as his dick wept for relief.
An instinctive, base rhythm began between the two of them; unspoken and utterly unbearable. Jim’s body and blood seemed to pulse like a single, overwhelming heartbeat. His mind bottomed out with the crescendo of flesh slapping flesh, and his senses rocketed towards some unattainable zenith of pure feeling.
And as Spock gripped tightly on the reins at Jim’s wrists, his half-bared chest pressed against Jim’s arms and back so that Spock’s free hand could find... Jim’s temple?
Before Jim could even consider what the fuck that was about, Spock’s cock grazed Jim’s prostate and his body quivered like a harshly-plucked string. Jim probably fucking sang with the pleasure Spock was pumping into him with increasing urgency.
Fingertips lay poised upon Jim’s temple and jaw and despite the sweltering breath at Jim’s neck, he shivered. Spock’s hips pistoned forward like a man coming home; and just as Jim revelled in the climbing blaze in his gut, his forehead suddenly fizzled - and he erupted.
Constellations exploded before his eyes and Jim’s mouth dropped open in mute shock and awe. His body - his pores - felt alive and breathing and pulsing like a million hearts shattering at once. Whatever Spock was doing to Jim filled him, overflowed him and drained him to the point of complete exhaustion within the matter of seconds.
When Jim came to - and when had he been passed out? - Spock had released Jim’s hands and was resting his cheek upon the damp patch of dress shirt covering Jim’s spine. Jim’s skin practically purred with satisfaction, before his brain rebooted and reminded him of something rather important.
“What the hell was that?”
Jim jerked up, sending Spock slipping out of him and stumbling a foot backwards. Jim inwardly winced at the burn in his ass, but refused to allow the reaction as he yanked his wrists free from the loosened belt and buttoned his pants at his hips once more.
He looked back to Spock and found himself affixed to that unwavering gaze.
Spock’s bottom lip was still smudged by Jim’s thumbprint. He’d also managed to dress himself, although his smeared mask and ruffled hair told a different story.
“I believe that, as you say, was intercourse,” Spock replied with a lofty look.
Jim stalked forward and jammed a finger in Spock’s chest. “What you did to my head? If you’ve done anything that would jeopardize my intell-”
“You dare accuse me of such superfluous sabotage?” Spock snapped hotly. “I merely used my skills to amplify your orgasm - fool,” Spock bit off at the last minute, like a child who required the last word.
Jim bared his teeth, prepared to snarl something in reply when the reality of Spock’s statement settled. He dropped his hand, his face going carefully blank to mask his surprise that someone like Spock would even bother to do such a thing.
“Right,” he said in a clipped tone. He could feel that accustomed ice begin to frost over, and chill his emotions and his heart once again.
Jim smiled, because smiling was always easier than frowning or yelling or crying or feeling. “Well, it was entertaining to meet you, Spock.”
With that he turned and gathered his jacket from the floor, but left the belt lying there because the accessory had become an unnerving accomplice in Jim’s submission.
Jim swept past Spock with a second look - damn if he didn’t allow himself that backward glance - and gave him a cocky salute.
Spock’s voice echoed strong and sure down the corridor. “We will meet on another occasion, Jim.”
Jim laughed hollowly, and it sounded more phoney than usual in such an empty, heartless hall. “Yeah, okay. It’s a date.”
“There will certainly be a date.”
Jim frowned as he meandered into the main lobby. Something in the assurance of Spock’s speech didn’t sit right with him.
But hell - the devil would certainly never turned down a date.
Part 2