Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans | STXI | NC-17 | 10a/16
Title: Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans (10/16)
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~10,000
Warnings: You’ll never look at cinnamon rolls the same way
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Keep in mind that there are TWO parts to this!
MASTERPOST
Jim had spent the night turning into Mr. Freeze and pondering a future life of crime.
Mostly because Spock had cocooned the entire comforter around himself like a pig in a blanket. Sleeping with a spidery-limbed Vulcan was not as awesome as one would think.
Not that many knew of Vulcans to ponder sharing a bed with one in the first place, Jim thought as he lurched to his feet and considered his odds for getting hypothermia.
But if someone - say Jim, for example - had considered that cuddling with a Vulcan would be a blast, or even slightly sexy, all of those dreams were dashed by morning.
Still, Jim couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, reach back, and ruffle Spock’s increasingly scruffy hair. The poor guy’s bowl-cut was growing like a weed. He must have been one of those kids who had needed cuts every two weeks to stay looking neat.
Not that Jim would know anything about it. As a kid his hair had been hacked at about four times a year. His mom had tended to let it grow out like a golden lion’s mane, while Sam had liked to have his head shaved military-style. His brother probably had a smart thing going, because the amount of times young Jim had gotten gum or some other viscous material stuck in his hair were too many to count.
Hell, he’d still get things in his hair, except it was more a la Cameron Diaz than bubble gum.
Exhaustion still weighed upon Jim like a steel mantle as he got up and padded across the chilled floor to the closet. He felt rested enough, but he could really use a day to just laze around, and Jim had the sneaking suspicion that today would not be one of those days.
It seemed like forever ago since Jim was keeping his distance on the couch from Spock as they watched Lord of the Rings. Or when Spock made something with broccoli that Jim literally spat on the floor, in his haste to get it the hell out of his mouth. It seemed like years since they danced in the living room to Disney music while Joanna giggled and Spock looked terrified. Jim wanted all of that back, even though it hadn’t really left yet.
Actually, no. It wasn’t just that he wanted it back - he wanted this to continue. Him and Spock. Him and Spock and his friends, like some rom-com that wasn’t so shitty after all.
But much to Jim’s persistent dismay, life was not a television show. Things didn’t wrap up in episodes and relationships didn’t mend and evolve every time. Sometimes they fizzled away without notice, while others remained static and boring. Jobs could be tedious or fun, but they rarely involved cutesy, brightly-coloured Disney sets or coffee shops.
This was Jim’s life, and it was running and changing every hour. Jim just wished he knew when the season finale was coming so he could prepare the Kleenex and comfort ice cream.
After he’d bundled up in preparation for the icy blue November morning, Jim headed downstairs and out the back door with a Gumby who was hesitant to step foot on the frosty ground. Gumby had never been a fan of winter.
Moving at a slower than average pace, Jim lumbered through his chores. He murmured to the horses about his day as he groomed and walked them, and sang some slower tunes under his breath as he went about mucking stables and lugging around hay.
Jim wondered again if the farm would stay. He wondered if he really cared all that much. It wasn’t like he’d known anything but this life, so maybe he was just creepily attached to the place for wimpy emotional reasons. Maybe he wouldn’t feel a thing once Sam sold the land - if he sold the land.
“Hey,” Sam said from behind him.
Jim startled and slapped a hand to his heart as he stood. “Fuck, man! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”
“Sorry,” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Sam was underdressed for the weather - no coat or hat or anything. He looked like he’d stepped outside just to talk to Jim. “You need help with anything?”
Need? No. Want, on the other hand.
“No. Manage on my own just fine.” Jim puffed out a breath and watched it fly away in the cold morning light.
“You always do,” Sam said with a smile that was more of a frown than anything. “I just wanted to let you know that Aurie and I will be out all day. We’re seeing Mom and then going straight to Carol’s.”
“Carol Marcus?” Jim asked with a grin.
Carol had been Sam’s best friend throughout high school - way too gorgeous and way too out of Jim’s league. It hadn’t stopped him from leching on her at every opportunity, but Jim had been a scrawny kid back then and too young for anything serious. Still, Jim had dreamed. Oh yeah.
Sam huffed a laugh even as his teeth began to chatter. “The very same.”
“God, she never gave me the time of day, did she?”
“Me neither. Kirk boys weren’t her type, I guess.”
They smiled at each other like idiots.
“Well, when you see her make sure to drop in about five times how sexy and irresistible I’ve become.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah, not happening. She’s married.”
Jim waggled his eyebrows. “Married women love me especially.”
“And on that note I’m heading in before I freeze my face off. Forgot how damn cold it is up here.”
Jim shooed Sam away and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy - get outta my sight.”
“I’ll see ya later tonight,” Sam called over his shoulder.
“Be nice to Mom!” Jim yelled at Sam’s retreating back. He sighed as he watched his brother go inside, and wondered what mess he’d have to clean up by tomorrow. Dammit, sometimes it was really inconvenient to love his family as much as he did.
Jim dragged his heels back in the house some hour later, feeling frozen to the bone. He just wanted a nap right now, and by nap he meant like ten more hours of sleep. But then there was the realisation that he had the entire house left to him and Spock, and they probably had stupid shit to talk about that Jim wanted to - and would - avoid by all means possible.
Talking got boring, doing stuff was more fun. And if he sounded like a six year old boy for saying that, so be it.
Jim herded Gumby indoors and they both clomped upstairs. Spock’s door was still closed, despite it being an hour at which he was usually awake. Jim shrugged at Gumby and headed to the guest bathroom. He didn’t want to trudge through Spock’s room and wake him up if he didn’t need to.
Apparently Gumby was desperate for some Jim time, because he tried to follow his master into the bathroom. Jim stared at the plaintive spaniel’s big brown eyes and sighed.
“Fine. You can come in, but you can’t jump in the shower this time. I don’t wanna smell like wet dog.”
Gumby wiggled his butt with barely restrained glee, and spent the entire shower standing on the bathmat and whining at Jim through the curtain. Jim chatted to him while he scrubbed up, and considered that proper daddy-son bonding for the time being. They would play some fetch later today.
First, food. Er, well - first, clothes. Then food.
Jim found that Spock’s room was empty by the time he got out and the door wide open, so he strode inside and unearthed a pair of holey sweatpants and a plain blue v-neck. As he padded barefoot down the chilly stairs Jim regretted not getting socks, but he was too lazy to go back for them. Halfway down was just too long a journey.
Spock was, of course, in the kitchen. Jim wished he didn’t find it so fucking adorable. He wished he’d stop thinking words like ‘adorable’.
“Well, aren’t you becoming a regular Martha Stewart.”
Spock shot a look over his shoulder as he sprinkled what looked like cinnamon and sugar over a wide, thin slab of white dough and butter.
“Is that a positive or negative comparison?”
“It’s cute that you care,” Kirk said with a grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over. His fingers itched to reach out for Spock - it was like a phantom ache, as if he was meant to touch Spock, and if he wasn’t then something was off. Jim felt like he had a spidey-sense, but all it was good for was nagging him when Spock wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.
Fuck, he was becoming needy. And clingy. Next stop: Norman Bates levels of creep.
Spock didn’t appear amused by Jim’s observation, but he didn’t look displeased as he returned to his baking prep without a word.
Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and sidled up beside Spock. All joking aside, Jim felt awkward regarding the previous night’s insecurity. And he felt aggravated that he felt awkward about it in the first place.
As icing on the layered cake of emotion, Jim was beginning to wonder what Spock thought about all of this. Because fuck if the guy had said less than Jim on the subject of This Thing. Contrary to common assumption, Jim didn’t actually enjoy surprises - well, except surprise parties and blowjobs, of course.
If he jumped off a bridge, it was Jim’s decision. If he kissed someone he liked with the hopes that it would go further, it was Jim that instigated that chance.
Sure, Jim was a daring guy - on his watch.
A lot of people went out with Jim expecting a laidback, fun and free kind of relationship. Yeah, Jim was all of those things - but he was also controlling as hell. He needed to be the leader under all circumstances. He needed to make the choices. He could trust himself. But other people... well, who really trusted anybody, right?
So after last night’s debacle, and Jim’s little begging scene that would never be thought or spoken of from this day forth, Jim needed something.
Something solid.
Jim watched Spock’s long, pale fingers glittering with sugar as he rolled up the dough. Jim licked his lips and swallowed audibly.
Or maybe he just needed to get laid.
Seemed like the more he hung out with Spock, the more Jim felt the stubby fuse of his control burning out - and Jim was really beginning to feel the heat.
“You makin’ cinnamon rolls?” Jim asked, even when he knew the answer.
Spock hummed from the back of his throat; a distracted purr of assent that had Jim’s thighs feeling like melted butter.
Christ, when was the last time Jim had felt like a horny teenager around someone?
Possibly never. Never this abruptly and powerfully. Not like now, with Spock dragging him around by the balls at his bid and beckoning call.
Luckily for Jim, he was fairly confident that Spock was oblivious to this fact. Jim’s pride was safe for now.
Kinda.
Yay?
“Can I help?” Jim didn’t like to stand around feeling useless. Especially when it gave him time to imagine what Spock’s face would look like if he sucked that cinnamon-sugar right off Spock’s fingertips.
Yeah, they’d made-out and groped each other, but nothing had gone past that. Jim wasn’t the type to press someone further if he sensed they weren’t the type to go for that sort of thing.
Then again, Spock had attacked him on the dryer - but drunk. That still left them at ground zero.
Again, Jim couldn’t go further without getting a feel for where Spock was. For all Jim knew, Spock was already mentally packing his bags and Jim had been a very fascinating bonus to the entire crash disaster.
With the private little fantasy of curling his tongue around Spock’s fingers drifting through Jim’s thoughts, Jim shifted and his bare arm brushed Spock’s.
The jolt that wracked through Spock looked like a lightning strike, and had Jim sucking in a sharp breath as he grabbed Spock’s biceps to brace him.
“Spock?” he said with imploring eyes.
Spock’s mouth was flushed emerald, with his lips parted softly as he stared at Jim with pupils eclipsed and his breathing near nonexistent.
“Um,” Jim said after a moment, feeling pinned to the spot. He mustered a grin. “World’s biggest friction shock, or…?”
“I believe, as you say,” Spock sounded velvety and fucked-out and it shot straight to Jim’s dick. “You are existing too loudly again.”
“Sorry,” Jim said, sounding about as unapologetic as he was. He squeezed Spock’s arms firmly before he slid his hands down to cuff Spock’s wrists, then away. “I’ll have to work on that,” he murmured, openly staring at Spock’s mouth.
“I find it difficult to believe you.”
Jim blinked and laughed brightly, the edge of his tension dispersing, but his nerves still singing. “How d’you know me so well after such a short time?”
“I do not believe I do,” Spock said, and abruptly turned back to his baking. “Would you like to help me making the frosting?”
“Hell yeah.” Jim clapped his hands together. “What do you need?”
Spock flicked an unreadable look Jim’s way. He was all smooth, quiet confidence again as he relayed the ingredients Jim should gather. As Jim mixed the glistening, gloopy mess of sugar in a bowl, he wondered how long he and Spock had been speaking in code with each other.
Well, who was he kidding? Since the beginning.
Spock had - has - a lot of secrets. A lot of things he couldn’t let slide in Jim’s presence. The only reason Jim even got a big reveal out of Spock was because he’d cornered him with logic and then pissed him off.
Getting anything out of Spock was like working with a steel trap.
Yeah, he’d definitely loosened up in the past weeks - and he rarely even freaked out when Jim touched him. Well, since Halloween Spock seemed actually receptive to Jim’s advances. Or was it less receptive and more allowing?
Did Spock think that if he allowed Jim to be physically intimate with him that the questions would stop? That Jim would be so distracted with sex, that he would forget how Spock and his buddies were essentially trying to brainwash the geniuses of the world?
Because if Jim were Spock, he would totally resort to that level of diversion.
Fuck, Jim was going in circles. He didn’t know his ass from his head any longer - although some might claim that was the norm.
“Try this,” Jim said, as Spock slipped the cut rolls into the oven and set the timer.
Spock turned and nearly went cross-eyed as he looked at the frosting-coated finger Jim held to his lips. He cleared his throat quietly, his dark gaze snapping to Jim, who was nearly vibrating with anticipation.
Jim knew his smirk held a dare. And as far as Jim knew, Spock didn’t react well to being challenged. He always rose up to -
Spock’s tongue was an entrancing flash of emerald before the flat of it pressed against the pad of Jim’s finger. Those pretty heart-shaped lips closed over the icing, down to Jim’s first knuckle. Jim’s breath caught in his throat, his muscles going stiff and lax as Spock sucked off Jim’s finger with an obscenely wet pop.
“Oh,” Jim said on a shuddering breath as he already began undressing Spock with his eyes. “Oh God okay, yeah I can work with that.”
Jim crashed through the space between them, cupping Spock’s jaw and pulling him in.
It wasn’t until now - until Spock nudged at Jim’s lips with his own, licking tentatively into his mouth with curious curls of tongue and tentative tastes - that Jim realised how badly he desired this connection. How his bone-deep need for Spock - his mind, his body, his humour, his hands - drove Jim to do and say anything that would fuse them further together.
It was stupid, so monumentally ridiculous that Jim should want this of all things. This web of complication which would cling to him, tangle him up, and leave him stuck and helpless with every single step. He was willing giving himself over to this man - fucking alien - knowing full well that this couldn’t really be anything in the long run.
Maybe that was why Jim was going for it with such force. He could put everything into this because he knew it would eventually end. He could attach himself because he knew he wouldn’t be attached forever, and in time their relationship would bite the big one.
Maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe Jim just didn’t want to admit that he was throwing himself at the only person who ever really mattered because he really fucking mattered. In every way.
“Come here,” Jim murmured against Spock’s mouth as he tucked into the band of Spock’s arms.
A little noise of pleasure tumbled from Spock’s tongue as he sunk further into the kiss, his lips becoming more avid and electric with each subtle change of angle.
Then as abrupt as a crack of lightning, nothing was enough. The idle roll of tongues and hips was too much of a tease, and Jim felt close to bursting already. There was something in the way Spock mapped Jim’s hips and ass and spine with wide palms and long fingers that set him on fire, made him burn from the inside out with every touch.
Weeks - weeks Jim had been starved for this. Craving the build-up, the feast, the gluttony of claiming Spock as his and no one else’s. No one on this planet or the next or wherever - Jim was it. Jim was doing pretty damn well to convince Spock of this fact too, if he could go by the way Spock’s eyes went hazy and black as he parted wet, swollen lips.
“Spock.” Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck and buried one hand in his silky hair. He held Spock close, with their noses nearly brushing and their slick, panting mouths mingling hot, thick breaths as they swayed against each other. “Tell me what you want.”
Spock’s eyes widened for an instant, followed by two quick blinks and a startled look that was out of place with the hands that were already sliding Jim’s sweatpants down over his hips.
“I want.”
“What?”
“I want,” was all Spock said, his voice splintering before his mouth descended upon Jim’s.
They wrestled while standing, with Jim’s sweatpants pooled and forgotten on the floor. His tee was shucked and Spock’s flannel shirt - Jim’s shirt that he borrowed and God, that never stopped being hot - was nearly buttonless by the time Jim ripped it off.
Of course Jim had to get hit in the eye with a flying button. But even as he was snorting a laugh, Spock was shoving him against the counter and caging him between strong, pale arms. Their lips warred and smashed, more restless and desperate than ever before as Jim whipped off Spock’s belt and worked at his button and fly with quivering fingers.
Spock rained kisses upon Jim’s shoulders, the heat of his lips and skin and breath more welcome than anything Jim could think of. Not that he could think of much right now, but Spock treating him like a fucking work of art had to be extremely high on the list.
Jim felt desired in a way he couldn’t remember experiencing before. The assurance in Spock’s touch, the certainty in his eyes, and the promise of his mouth left no room for doubt. Spock wanted, and he wanted Jim.
Remaining clothes were shed in the fray of grappling hands and insistent fingers and hitches of breath with each article strewn across the floor. Jim couldn’t release Spock - not with his mouth, which clung to Spock’s in an onslaught of tongue and teeth. Not with his legs, which wrapped around Spock’s waist as Jim was promptly lifted like a feather and planted on the cold countertop.
The temperature change left a delicious shock to his system that jolted up his spine, wringing a moan from Jim’s lips as he jutted his hips forward. He needed more - so much more than this. He needed to feel Spock’s want hard and thick against his thigh. He needed to wake up in the morning with an ache that reminded him that he finally fit with someone, for real.
With the first firm drag and slip of their cocks together, Spock’s breath shuddered and he whispered Jim’s name, low and deep - and it punched straight through Jim’s chest.
Tension coiled around the rampant pulse thumping against his ribs, his limbs starting to slide and lose their grip on Spock as he began to overheat and shine with sweat. Jim knew his face must be red as a tomato, but Spock’s cock was green - full-on Emerald City green - so there were other things on his mind other than looking like he’d run a marathon.
This is really happening, was all Jim could think on a fervid loop as he effectively trapped Spock in his tangle of limbs and surged forward for another kiss of searing, liquid heat. Spock’s didn’t moan, but his breath caught with silent surprise when Jim slid his foot down the curve of Spock’s ass. This is really happening.
“Am I goin’ too fast?” Jim gasped against Spock’s mouth as he dove his hands into Spock’s hair to keep him close, breathing the same air, unable to let go for even a second. “’Cause I can maybe slow down - but only if you’re not naked and I’m not naked and you’re across the galaxy from me.”
“Silence,” Spock murmured, but it was too soft to sound like he really meant it. His hand wedged between their mindlessly rolling hips to circle a thumb over the crown of Jim’s dick, and urgency began to build like a ticking time-bomb. Jim cried out against the pale sweep of Spock’s shoulder, the sound drawing out a ragged noise he didn’t know he could make when Spock experimentally flicked the taut skin beneath the head.
Spock dipped his tongue along the junction of jaw and neck, fucking tasting Jim as he encased Jim’s cock in a tight, insistent grip.
“Fuck, lube!” Jim gasped as Spock trailed wet, messy kisses along the ridge of his collarbone, with his free hand moving to grip Jim’s ass. “It’s upstairs. Fuck - oh god, you’re biting me, I can’t - Jesus, we need lube.”
Spock nipped at Jim’s ear, one hand coming around to jack Jim’s cock with apparent urgency in each flick of wrist. “Not letting you go.”
“Shit, Spock - don’t say that.” A thrill snaked up Jim’s spine as he whimpered and looked desperately across the kitchen for a suitable substitute. “Oh, fuck it.”
Jim grabbed the remaining hunk of butter from its tray and smushed it into Spock’s hand. This was probably one of his worst ideas on the list of Worst Ideas by Jim Kirk, and that was saying something.
“Dude Vulcans fuck other dude Vulcans, don’t they? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to give you lessons right now because I’m going fucking insane for your cock inside me and this might just end up as - mpff.”
Spock captured Jim’s lips, muttering against his mouth, “You say too much,” as he pumped his slicked fist down Jim’s cock.
Before Jim could muster some kind of reaction aside from total brain failure, Spock’s fingers were sliding from his dick to his ass with a bit too much enthusiasm - and, quite literally, began to butter him up.
Jim laughed out loud at the thought, but it was strangled by a long, vocal moan as Spock slipped in a second finger too soon and began to work him open.
“Fuck Spock, where did y- ah! Right there - thank you, thank you God, thank you Academynnggh.” Jim panted against the sweltering curve of Spock’s neck and rocked helplessly against those clever fingers. “Where the hell did you learn this?”
“The Internet.”
The image of Spock watching gay porn as if he’d expected to fuck Jim shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. But Jim threw his head back, smacked it against a cupboard, and hiked his leg up and over Spock’s hunched shoulder - praise the god of your choice for martial arts flexibility. Jim would thank his teacher for it, but the guy was like eighty and probably wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.
Jim laughed breathlessly again, shut his eyes, and revelled in the play of shifting, bunched muscle beneath his palms. Spock was riding him high with fingers and mouth alone, all uncharacteristic urgency and humid heat coming off him in waves. Everything was amazing and agonising and not nearly enough at the same time. Soon Jim was writhing against the countertop, bucking against Spock’s hand and whimpering like an animal in heat.
“Sh-shoulda known you’d be a fast learner,” Jim choked out as his fingertips scrabbled for purchase on Spock’s shoulders, with his nails bruising and biting into Spock’s back. Despite the body draped across Jim and one of Spock’s arms securing him to the counter, Jim was beginning to slide off with each uncontrollable tremor and shake.
Floor.
Before Jim could muster the word, Spock was scooping him up and laying him upon the cold tile. Jim yelped and giggled at the freezing zing that assaulted his back, and was going to say something no doubt very clever and annoying -
When Spock gripped Jim’s ankle, pressed his knee up between their chests, and bumped against Jim’s hole with the head of his cock. Every coherent thought shattered, and the ability to speak was swallowed.
Except that it wasn’t.
“Condom!” Jim yelped, shattering the hot and heavy silence. “I don’t want ASTDs!”
Spock swallowed hard and went utterly still, his dick still pressed hot and throbbing against Jim’s ass.“ASTDs?”
“Alien Sexually Transmitted Diseases,” Jim said in a rush, even as he mindlessly arched his hips to start rutting against Spock’s leaking cock.
“I -” Spock blinked once, hard, clearly trying to regulate his thoughts while Jim mindlessly rolled against him. “Wait,” he growled - and before Jim could even ask, Spock was tilting and slapping his hand on his jeans. He rummaged through his pocket and - bam. Condom.
Jim gaped. “Planning on gettin’ laid, Casanova?”
“The Internet said -“
That was enough. Jim snatched the package from Spock’s hand and did the honours with about as much grace as a teenager on prom night. But it was worth it to hear the fucked-out moan that rumbled in Spock’s throat as Jim slicked on the condom with an extra lingering squeeze and pump of his fist.
Their gazes clashed and locked, with Spock’s eyes wide open and eclipsed to black, his lips swollen and bruised. Jim panted softly, his breath coming in shudders as Spock’s lithe body leaned over him and pressed in slowly, rocking into him with careful precision.
Pierced beneath Spock’s stare Jim felt torn in half, throbbing and aching from the force of each hot, pulsing inch that stretched Jim open and pushed him further to the wrecking point. Spock looked at him like he was the only thing in the universe - like this was something special to be savoured. Like Jim was special, and not in the way other people referred to him.
Then Spock’s hips snapped forward in an abrupt thrust that had Jim whimpering and scrabbling to grip Spock’s biceps for a hold.
“Is that -” Doubt flashed in Spock’s eyes for a moment as he stilled.
“What - yes, God yes it’s amazing, you’re amazing - why have we not done this before, go go go,” Jim babbled as he decidedly shut himself up by surging forward to capture Spock’s bottom lip with his teeth.
Spock groaned - full out made the most human, guttural noise Jim had ever heard from him - and thrust forward, long and deep. The pace he set was immediate and devastatingly even in its rhythm. Jim was wound tighter with each slick slap of balls to ass, and felt coiled to the point of fracturing.
Jim was lost in the warmth of Spock; the dig of Spock’s fingers into his thighs as he lifted and folded him further. Lost in the soft puffs of breath against his neck and the low hum that mounted to a growl when Spock’s speed faltered and increased with burning, utterly destroying urgency.
Spock thrust harder, and Jim rose to meet him because Spock owned him now, could bend him and use him as he desired. The world closed in until it was only Jim and Spock, and the maddening pound of Jim being fucked and filled and falling off the edge. This was too much - too hot, too full, too -
Spock pushed in once, hard, scraping over that bundle of quivering nerves deep inside, and Jim simply fell apart. Broke in Spock’s arms as a languid ripple of heat burnt a path through Jim’s limbs, bursting at his core and branding straight through his heart. Spock sped up, his lips mouthing words that wouldn’t come as he pumped deeper and faster, working Jim through his incineration until Spock choked on Jim’s name.
Spock’s hips stuttered, his eyes going huge and hazy and blind. He curled towards Jim and buried his face against Jim’s neck to breathe him in. With Jim’s last ounce of strength, he bucked into Spock’s orgasm, revelling in the feel of Spock’s release flooding him with warmth and the distinct feel that he was profoundly wanted.
Jim finally allowed himself to close his eyes - he’d been previously unable to look away from the glory that was a debauched Spock - and breathe as a very heavy Vulcan collapsed on top of him like a dead man.
Of course, dead men didn’t nuzzle your throat like an animal in desperate need of love - well, unless it was a zombie. An undead man. Then they wouldn’t be nuzzling, but chewing on your arteries and shit.
Would that be necrophilia or -
“Jim.”
“Hmm?”
“If you would cease thinking such macabre thoughts after…” Spock cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed that he’d effectively ravished Jim on the kitchen floor. He was actually trying to act as if butter - oh god what had Jim been thinking? - wasn’t dripping out of Jim’s ass.
Jim blinked at the ceiling. Sometimes he forgot about Spock’s whole Professor Xavier deal. Maybe he purposely let it slip his mind so the sheer strangeness of it didn’t affect him. Either way, if Spock could gather what Jim was thinking right now, perhaps that meant he knew what Jim was thinking when his thoughts travelled to more, uh... amorous emotions.
“So that thing where you kinda feel my moods - what is that, exactly? Obviously it’s linked to your mind-raping abilities. But how, um - how much do you actually, like... get?”
“A considerable amount,” came the reply, as if Spock had eventually expected the question and had already discerned an appropriately vague answer.
“What constitutes as a considerable amount?” Jim pressed as he pushed Spock off of him without fanfare. He rolled and propped elbows up on the tile, and plopped his cheek upon his palm.
Spock’s eyebrows twitched in a faint grimace as he sat up and reached for a hand-towel hanging off the oven door. He began to wipe himself in easy, clinical movements as if he were totally comfortable with his nudity. If he was, then double points for Spock.
“The situation is dependent upon the person.”
“Don’t bullshit the bullshitter,” Jim said with what he hoped was a charming smile. “I mean, what’s it like in your head when you’re with m- people? I mean, are you actually an empath or a telepath? Oh come on - don’t look surprised that I know the difference. Shit like that is kinda important in the world of X-Men, okay? There is a big difference between the two.”
Spock’s brow remained furrowed as he dropped his gaze from Jim’s face. “I have previously stated that I am telepathic, although there are times in which I believe I may have latent empathic abilities. I find myself reflecting your more overt emotions when you are extremely happy or amused or upset. I surmise that the stronger the personality, the more susceptible I am to their emotions.”
Jim ignored the giddy little flip in his stomach and resisted the urge to roll around the floor in glee. Instead he nodded soberly.
“So you read my thoughts. I mean, I know you’ve said something to that affect before, but I just wanted the full spiel.”
Spock met Jim’s gaze levelly, and it was a wonder that he could look haughty and tall while sitting naked on the kitchen floor, no doubt freezing his beautiful ass off.
“I... unintentionally read certain thoughts.”
Jim swallowed and forced himself to breathe easy. “But you do read them. Not just feel them, like actually told me before.”
Spock’s eyes flashed with something - panic, annoyance? - before he leaned forward and lifted his hand to Jim’s face, murmuring, “Jim, I -”
“O-kay, just no,” Nyota’s horrified voice came out of fucking nowhere.
Part Two
Beta: rainbowstrlght
Series: STXI AU
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~10,000
Warnings: You’ll never look at cinnamon rolls the same way
Summary: A 21st Century AU; In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But dammit, this is real life - not an episode of The X-Files!
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: Keep in mind that there are TWO parts to this!
MASTERPOST
Jim had spent the night turning into Mr. Freeze and pondering a future life of crime.
Mostly because Spock had cocooned the entire comforter around himself like a pig in a blanket. Sleeping with a spidery-limbed Vulcan was not as awesome as one would think.
Not that many knew of Vulcans to ponder sharing a bed with one in the first place, Jim thought as he lurched to his feet and considered his odds for getting hypothermia.
But if someone - say Jim, for example - had considered that cuddling with a Vulcan would be a blast, or even slightly sexy, all of those dreams were dashed by morning.
Still, Jim couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, reach back, and ruffle Spock’s increasingly scruffy hair. The poor guy’s bowl-cut was growing like a weed. He must have been one of those kids who had needed cuts every two weeks to stay looking neat.
Not that Jim would know anything about it. As a kid his hair had been hacked at about four times a year. His mom had tended to let it grow out like a golden lion’s mane, while Sam had liked to have his head shaved military-style. His brother probably had a smart thing going, because the amount of times young Jim had gotten gum or some other viscous material stuck in his hair were too many to count.
Hell, he’d still get things in his hair, except it was more a la Cameron Diaz than bubble gum.
Exhaustion still weighed upon Jim like a steel mantle as he got up and padded across the chilled floor to the closet. He felt rested enough, but he could really use a day to just laze around, and Jim had the sneaking suspicion that today would not be one of those days.
It seemed like forever ago since Jim was keeping his distance on the couch from Spock as they watched Lord of the Rings. Or when Spock made something with broccoli that Jim literally spat on the floor, in his haste to get it the hell out of his mouth. It seemed like years since they danced in the living room to Disney music while Joanna giggled and Spock looked terrified. Jim wanted all of that back, even though it hadn’t really left yet.
Actually, no. It wasn’t just that he wanted it back - he wanted this to continue. Him and Spock. Him and Spock and his friends, like some rom-com that wasn’t so shitty after all.
But much to Jim’s persistent dismay, life was not a television show. Things didn’t wrap up in episodes and relationships didn’t mend and evolve every time. Sometimes they fizzled away without notice, while others remained static and boring. Jobs could be tedious or fun, but they rarely involved cutesy, brightly-coloured Disney sets or coffee shops.
This was Jim’s life, and it was running and changing every hour. Jim just wished he knew when the season finale was coming so he could prepare the Kleenex and comfort ice cream.
After he’d bundled up in preparation for the icy blue November morning, Jim headed downstairs and out the back door with a Gumby who was hesitant to step foot on the frosty ground. Gumby had never been a fan of winter.
Moving at a slower than average pace, Jim lumbered through his chores. He murmured to the horses about his day as he groomed and walked them, and sang some slower tunes under his breath as he went about mucking stables and lugging around hay.
Jim wondered again if the farm would stay. He wondered if he really cared all that much. It wasn’t like he’d known anything but this life, so maybe he was just creepily attached to the place for wimpy emotional reasons. Maybe he wouldn’t feel a thing once Sam sold the land - if he sold the land.
“Hey,” Sam said from behind him.
Jim startled and slapped a hand to his heart as he stood. “Fuck, man! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”
“Sorry,” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Sam was underdressed for the weather - no coat or hat or anything. He looked like he’d stepped outside just to talk to Jim. “You need help with anything?”
Need? No. Want, on the other hand.
“No. Manage on my own just fine.” Jim puffed out a breath and watched it fly away in the cold morning light.
“You always do,” Sam said with a smile that was more of a frown than anything. “I just wanted to let you know that Aurie and I will be out all day. We’re seeing Mom and then going straight to Carol’s.”
“Carol Marcus?” Jim asked with a grin.
Carol had been Sam’s best friend throughout high school - way too gorgeous and way too out of Jim’s league. It hadn’t stopped him from leching on her at every opportunity, but Jim had been a scrawny kid back then and too young for anything serious. Still, Jim had dreamed. Oh yeah.
Sam huffed a laugh even as his teeth began to chatter. “The very same.”
“God, she never gave me the time of day, did she?”
“Me neither. Kirk boys weren’t her type, I guess.”
They smiled at each other like idiots.
“Well, when you see her make sure to drop in about five times how sexy and irresistible I’ve become.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah, not happening. She’s married.”
Jim waggled his eyebrows. “Married women love me especially.”
“And on that note I’m heading in before I freeze my face off. Forgot how damn cold it is up here.”
Jim shooed Sam away and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy - get outta my sight.”
“I’ll see ya later tonight,” Sam called over his shoulder.
“Be nice to Mom!” Jim yelled at Sam’s retreating back. He sighed as he watched his brother go inside, and wondered what mess he’d have to clean up by tomorrow. Dammit, sometimes it was really inconvenient to love his family as much as he did.
Jim dragged his heels back in the house some hour later, feeling frozen to the bone. He just wanted a nap right now, and by nap he meant like ten more hours of sleep. But then there was the realisation that he had the entire house left to him and Spock, and they probably had stupid shit to talk about that Jim wanted to - and would - avoid by all means possible.
Talking got boring, doing stuff was more fun. And if he sounded like a six year old boy for saying that, so be it.
Jim herded Gumby indoors and they both clomped upstairs. Spock’s door was still closed, despite it being an hour at which he was usually awake. Jim shrugged at Gumby and headed to the guest bathroom. He didn’t want to trudge through Spock’s room and wake him up if he didn’t need to.
Apparently Gumby was desperate for some Jim time, because he tried to follow his master into the bathroom. Jim stared at the plaintive spaniel’s big brown eyes and sighed.
“Fine. You can come in, but you can’t jump in the shower this time. I don’t wanna smell like wet dog.”
Gumby wiggled his butt with barely restrained glee, and spent the entire shower standing on the bathmat and whining at Jim through the curtain. Jim chatted to him while he scrubbed up, and considered that proper daddy-son bonding for the time being. They would play some fetch later today.
First, food. Er, well - first, clothes. Then food.
Jim found that Spock’s room was empty by the time he got out and the door wide open, so he strode inside and unearthed a pair of holey sweatpants and a plain blue v-neck. As he padded barefoot down the chilly stairs Jim regretted not getting socks, but he was too lazy to go back for them. Halfway down was just too long a journey.
Spock was, of course, in the kitchen. Jim wished he didn’t find it so fucking adorable. He wished he’d stop thinking words like ‘adorable’.
“Well, aren’t you becoming a regular Martha Stewart.”
Spock shot a look over his shoulder as he sprinkled what looked like cinnamon and sugar over a wide, thin slab of white dough and butter.
“Is that a positive or negative comparison?”
“It’s cute that you care,” Kirk said with a grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over. His fingers itched to reach out for Spock - it was like a phantom ache, as if he was meant to touch Spock, and if he wasn’t then something was off. Jim felt like he had a spidey-sense, but all it was good for was nagging him when Spock wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.
Fuck, he was becoming needy. And clingy. Next stop: Norman Bates levels of creep.
Spock didn’t appear amused by Jim’s observation, but he didn’t look displeased as he returned to his baking prep without a word.
Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and sidled up beside Spock. All joking aside, Jim felt awkward regarding the previous night’s insecurity. And he felt aggravated that he felt awkward about it in the first place.
As icing on the layered cake of emotion, Jim was beginning to wonder what Spock thought about all of this. Because fuck if the guy had said less than Jim on the subject of This Thing. Contrary to common assumption, Jim didn’t actually enjoy surprises - well, except surprise parties and blowjobs, of course.
If he jumped off a bridge, it was Jim’s decision. If he kissed someone he liked with the hopes that it would go further, it was Jim that instigated that chance.
Sure, Jim was a daring guy - on his watch.
A lot of people went out with Jim expecting a laidback, fun and free kind of relationship. Yeah, Jim was all of those things - but he was also controlling as hell. He needed to be the leader under all circumstances. He needed to make the choices. He could trust himself. But other people... well, who really trusted anybody, right?
So after last night’s debacle, and Jim’s little begging scene that would never be thought or spoken of from this day forth, Jim needed something.
Something solid.
Jim watched Spock’s long, pale fingers glittering with sugar as he rolled up the dough. Jim licked his lips and swallowed audibly.
Or maybe he just needed to get laid.
Seemed like the more he hung out with Spock, the more Jim felt the stubby fuse of his control burning out - and Jim was really beginning to feel the heat.
“You makin’ cinnamon rolls?” Jim asked, even when he knew the answer.
Spock hummed from the back of his throat; a distracted purr of assent that had Jim’s thighs feeling like melted butter.
Christ, when was the last time Jim had felt like a horny teenager around someone?
Possibly never. Never this abruptly and powerfully. Not like now, with Spock dragging him around by the balls at his bid and beckoning call.
Luckily for Jim, he was fairly confident that Spock was oblivious to this fact. Jim’s pride was safe for now.
Kinda.
Yay?
“Can I help?” Jim didn’t like to stand around feeling useless. Especially when it gave him time to imagine what Spock’s face would look like if he sucked that cinnamon-sugar right off Spock’s fingertips.
Yeah, they’d made-out and groped each other, but nothing had gone past that. Jim wasn’t the type to press someone further if he sensed they weren’t the type to go for that sort of thing.
Then again, Spock had attacked him on the dryer - but drunk. That still left them at ground zero.
Again, Jim couldn’t go further without getting a feel for where Spock was. For all Jim knew, Spock was already mentally packing his bags and Jim had been a very fascinating bonus to the entire crash disaster.
With the private little fantasy of curling his tongue around Spock’s fingers drifting through Jim’s thoughts, Jim shifted and his bare arm brushed Spock’s.
The jolt that wracked through Spock looked like a lightning strike, and had Jim sucking in a sharp breath as he grabbed Spock’s biceps to brace him.
“Spock?” he said with imploring eyes.
Spock’s mouth was flushed emerald, with his lips parted softly as he stared at Jim with pupils eclipsed and his breathing near nonexistent.
“Um,” Jim said after a moment, feeling pinned to the spot. He mustered a grin. “World’s biggest friction shock, or…?”
“I believe, as you say,” Spock sounded velvety and fucked-out and it shot straight to Jim’s dick. “You are existing too loudly again.”
“Sorry,” Jim said, sounding about as unapologetic as he was. He squeezed Spock’s arms firmly before he slid his hands down to cuff Spock’s wrists, then away. “I’ll have to work on that,” he murmured, openly staring at Spock’s mouth.
“I find it difficult to believe you.”
Jim blinked and laughed brightly, the edge of his tension dispersing, but his nerves still singing. “How d’you know me so well after such a short time?”
“I do not believe I do,” Spock said, and abruptly turned back to his baking. “Would you like to help me making the frosting?”
“Hell yeah.” Jim clapped his hands together. “What do you need?”
Spock flicked an unreadable look Jim’s way. He was all smooth, quiet confidence again as he relayed the ingredients Jim should gather. As Jim mixed the glistening, gloopy mess of sugar in a bowl, he wondered how long he and Spock had been speaking in code with each other.
Well, who was he kidding? Since the beginning.
Spock had - has - a lot of secrets. A lot of things he couldn’t let slide in Jim’s presence. The only reason Jim even got a big reveal out of Spock was because he’d cornered him with logic and then pissed him off.
Getting anything out of Spock was like working with a steel trap.
Yeah, he’d definitely loosened up in the past weeks - and he rarely even freaked out when Jim touched him. Well, since Halloween Spock seemed actually receptive to Jim’s advances. Or was it less receptive and more allowing?
Did Spock think that if he allowed Jim to be physically intimate with him that the questions would stop? That Jim would be so distracted with sex, that he would forget how Spock and his buddies were essentially trying to brainwash the geniuses of the world?
Because if Jim were Spock, he would totally resort to that level of diversion.
Fuck, Jim was going in circles. He didn’t know his ass from his head any longer - although some might claim that was the norm.
“Try this,” Jim said, as Spock slipped the cut rolls into the oven and set the timer.
Spock turned and nearly went cross-eyed as he looked at the frosting-coated finger Jim held to his lips. He cleared his throat quietly, his dark gaze snapping to Jim, who was nearly vibrating with anticipation.
Jim knew his smirk held a dare. And as far as Jim knew, Spock didn’t react well to being challenged. He always rose up to -
Spock’s tongue was an entrancing flash of emerald before the flat of it pressed against the pad of Jim’s finger. Those pretty heart-shaped lips closed over the icing, down to Jim’s first knuckle. Jim’s breath caught in his throat, his muscles going stiff and lax as Spock sucked off Jim’s finger with an obscenely wet pop.
“Oh,” Jim said on a shuddering breath as he already began undressing Spock with his eyes. “Oh God okay, yeah I can work with that.”
Jim crashed through the space between them, cupping Spock’s jaw and pulling him in.
It wasn’t until now - until Spock nudged at Jim’s lips with his own, licking tentatively into his mouth with curious curls of tongue and tentative tastes - that Jim realised how badly he desired this connection. How his bone-deep need for Spock - his mind, his body, his humour, his hands - drove Jim to do and say anything that would fuse them further together.
It was stupid, so monumentally ridiculous that Jim should want this of all things. This web of complication which would cling to him, tangle him up, and leave him stuck and helpless with every single step. He was willing giving himself over to this man - fucking alien - knowing full well that this couldn’t really be anything in the long run.
Maybe that was why Jim was going for it with such force. He could put everything into this because he knew it would eventually end. He could attach himself because he knew he wouldn’t be attached forever, and in time their relationship would bite the big one.
Maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe Jim just didn’t want to admit that he was throwing himself at the only person who ever really mattered because he really fucking mattered. In every way.
“Come here,” Jim murmured against Spock’s mouth as he tucked into the band of Spock’s arms.
A little noise of pleasure tumbled from Spock’s tongue as he sunk further into the kiss, his lips becoming more avid and electric with each subtle change of angle.
Then as abrupt as a crack of lightning, nothing was enough. The idle roll of tongues and hips was too much of a tease, and Jim felt close to bursting already. There was something in the way Spock mapped Jim’s hips and ass and spine with wide palms and long fingers that set him on fire, made him burn from the inside out with every touch.
Weeks - weeks Jim had been starved for this. Craving the build-up, the feast, the gluttony of claiming Spock as his and no one else’s. No one on this planet or the next or wherever - Jim was it. Jim was doing pretty damn well to convince Spock of this fact too, if he could go by the way Spock’s eyes went hazy and black as he parted wet, swollen lips.
“Spock.” Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck and buried one hand in his silky hair. He held Spock close, with their noses nearly brushing and their slick, panting mouths mingling hot, thick breaths as they swayed against each other. “Tell me what you want.”
Spock’s eyes widened for an instant, followed by two quick blinks and a startled look that was out of place with the hands that were already sliding Jim’s sweatpants down over his hips.
“I want.”
“What?”
“I want,” was all Spock said, his voice splintering before his mouth descended upon Jim’s.
They wrestled while standing, with Jim’s sweatpants pooled and forgotten on the floor. His tee was shucked and Spock’s flannel shirt - Jim’s shirt that he borrowed and God, that never stopped being hot - was nearly buttonless by the time Jim ripped it off.
Of course Jim had to get hit in the eye with a flying button. But even as he was snorting a laugh, Spock was shoving him against the counter and caging him between strong, pale arms. Their lips warred and smashed, more restless and desperate than ever before as Jim whipped off Spock’s belt and worked at his button and fly with quivering fingers.
Spock rained kisses upon Jim’s shoulders, the heat of his lips and skin and breath more welcome than anything Jim could think of. Not that he could think of much right now, but Spock treating him like a fucking work of art had to be extremely high on the list.
Jim felt desired in a way he couldn’t remember experiencing before. The assurance in Spock’s touch, the certainty in his eyes, and the promise of his mouth left no room for doubt. Spock wanted, and he wanted Jim.
Remaining clothes were shed in the fray of grappling hands and insistent fingers and hitches of breath with each article strewn across the floor. Jim couldn’t release Spock - not with his mouth, which clung to Spock’s in an onslaught of tongue and teeth. Not with his legs, which wrapped around Spock’s waist as Jim was promptly lifted like a feather and planted on the cold countertop.
The temperature change left a delicious shock to his system that jolted up his spine, wringing a moan from Jim’s lips as he jutted his hips forward. He needed more - so much more than this. He needed to feel Spock’s want hard and thick against his thigh. He needed to wake up in the morning with an ache that reminded him that he finally fit with someone, for real.
With the first firm drag and slip of their cocks together, Spock’s breath shuddered and he whispered Jim’s name, low and deep - and it punched straight through Jim’s chest.
Tension coiled around the rampant pulse thumping against his ribs, his limbs starting to slide and lose their grip on Spock as he began to overheat and shine with sweat. Jim knew his face must be red as a tomato, but Spock’s cock was green - full-on Emerald City green - so there were other things on his mind other than looking like he’d run a marathon.
This is really happening, was all Jim could think on a fervid loop as he effectively trapped Spock in his tangle of limbs and surged forward for another kiss of searing, liquid heat. Spock’s didn’t moan, but his breath caught with silent surprise when Jim slid his foot down the curve of Spock’s ass. This is really happening.
“Am I goin’ too fast?” Jim gasped against Spock’s mouth as he dove his hands into Spock’s hair to keep him close, breathing the same air, unable to let go for even a second. “’Cause I can maybe slow down - but only if you’re not naked and I’m not naked and you’re across the galaxy from me.”
“Silence,” Spock murmured, but it was too soft to sound like he really meant it. His hand wedged between their mindlessly rolling hips to circle a thumb over the crown of Jim’s dick, and urgency began to build like a ticking time-bomb. Jim cried out against the pale sweep of Spock’s shoulder, the sound drawing out a ragged noise he didn’t know he could make when Spock experimentally flicked the taut skin beneath the head.
Spock dipped his tongue along the junction of jaw and neck, fucking tasting Jim as he encased Jim’s cock in a tight, insistent grip.
“Fuck, lube!” Jim gasped as Spock trailed wet, messy kisses along the ridge of his collarbone, with his free hand moving to grip Jim’s ass. “It’s upstairs. Fuck - oh god, you’re biting me, I can’t - Jesus, we need lube.”
Spock nipped at Jim’s ear, one hand coming around to jack Jim’s cock with apparent urgency in each flick of wrist. “Not letting you go.”
“Shit, Spock - don’t say that.” A thrill snaked up Jim’s spine as he whimpered and looked desperately across the kitchen for a suitable substitute. “Oh, fuck it.”
Jim grabbed the remaining hunk of butter from its tray and smushed it into Spock’s hand. This was probably one of his worst ideas on the list of Worst Ideas by Jim Kirk, and that was saying something.
“Dude Vulcans fuck other dude Vulcans, don’t they? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to give you lessons right now because I’m going fucking insane for your cock inside me and this might just end up as - mpff.”
Spock captured Jim’s lips, muttering against his mouth, “You say too much,” as he pumped his slicked fist down Jim’s cock.
Before Jim could muster some kind of reaction aside from total brain failure, Spock’s fingers were sliding from his dick to his ass with a bit too much enthusiasm - and, quite literally, began to butter him up.
Jim laughed out loud at the thought, but it was strangled by a long, vocal moan as Spock slipped in a second finger too soon and began to work him open.
“Fuck Spock, where did y- ah! Right there - thank you, thank you God, thank you Academynnggh.” Jim panted against the sweltering curve of Spock’s neck and rocked helplessly against those clever fingers. “Where the hell did you learn this?”
“The Internet.”
The image of Spock watching gay porn as if he’d expected to fuck Jim shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. But Jim threw his head back, smacked it against a cupboard, and hiked his leg up and over Spock’s hunched shoulder - praise the god of your choice for martial arts flexibility. Jim would thank his teacher for it, but the guy was like eighty and probably wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.
Jim laughed breathlessly again, shut his eyes, and revelled in the play of shifting, bunched muscle beneath his palms. Spock was riding him high with fingers and mouth alone, all uncharacteristic urgency and humid heat coming off him in waves. Everything was amazing and agonising and not nearly enough at the same time. Soon Jim was writhing against the countertop, bucking against Spock’s hand and whimpering like an animal in heat.
“Sh-shoulda known you’d be a fast learner,” Jim choked out as his fingertips scrabbled for purchase on Spock’s shoulders, with his nails bruising and biting into Spock’s back. Despite the body draped across Jim and one of Spock’s arms securing him to the counter, Jim was beginning to slide off with each uncontrollable tremor and shake.
Floor.
Before Jim could muster the word, Spock was scooping him up and laying him upon the cold tile. Jim yelped and giggled at the freezing zing that assaulted his back, and was going to say something no doubt very clever and annoying -
When Spock gripped Jim’s ankle, pressed his knee up between their chests, and bumped against Jim’s hole with the head of his cock. Every coherent thought shattered, and the ability to speak was swallowed.
Except that it wasn’t.
“Condom!” Jim yelped, shattering the hot and heavy silence. “I don’t want ASTDs!”
Spock swallowed hard and went utterly still, his dick still pressed hot and throbbing against Jim’s ass.“ASTDs?”
“Alien Sexually Transmitted Diseases,” Jim said in a rush, even as he mindlessly arched his hips to start rutting against Spock’s leaking cock.
“I -” Spock blinked once, hard, clearly trying to regulate his thoughts while Jim mindlessly rolled against him. “Wait,” he growled - and before Jim could even ask, Spock was tilting and slapping his hand on his jeans. He rummaged through his pocket and - bam. Condom.
Jim gaped. “Planning on gettin’ laid, Casanova?”
“The Internet said -“
That was enough. Jim snatched the package from Spock’s hand and did the honours with about as much grace as a teenager on prom night. But it was worth it to hear the fucked-out moan that rumbled in Spock’s throat as Jim slicked on the condom with an extra lingering squeeze and pump of his fist.
Their gazes clashed and locked, with Spock’s eyes wide open and eclipsed to black, his lips swollen and bruised. Jim panted softly, his breath coming in shudders as Spock’s lithe body leaned over him and pressed in slowly, rocking into him with careful precision.
Pierced beneath Spock’s stare Jim felt torn in half, throbbing and aching from the force of each hot, pulsing inch that stretched Jim open and pushed him further to the wrecking point. Spock looked at him like he was the only thing in the universe - like this was something special to be savoured. Like Jim was special, and not in the way other people referred to him.
Then Spock’s hips snapped forward in an abrupt thrust that had Jim whimpering and scrabbling to grip Spock’s biceps for a hold.
“Is that -” Doubt flashed in Spock’s eyes for a moment as he stilled.
“What - yes, God yes it’s amazing, you’re amazing - why have we not done this before, go go go,” Jim babbled as he decidedly shut himself up by surging forward to capture Spock’s bottom lip with his teeth.
Spock groaned - full out made the most human, guttural noise Jim had ever heard from him - and thrust forward, long and deep. The pace he set was immediate and devastatingly even in its rhythm. Jim was wound tighter with each slick slap of balls to ass, and felt coiled to the point of fracturing.
Jim was lost in the warmth of Spock; the dig of Spock’s fingers into his thighs as he lifted and folded him further. Lost in the soft puffs of breath against his neck and the low hum that mounted to a growl when Spock’s speed faltered and increased with burning, utterly destroying urgency.
Spock thrust harder, and Jim rose to meet him because Spock owned him now, could bend him and use him as he desired. The world closed in until it was only Jim and Spock, and the maddening pound of Jim being fucked and filled and falling off the edge. This was too much - too hot, too full, too -
Spock pushed in once, hard, scraping over that bundle of quivering nerves deep inside, and Jim simply fell apart. Broke in Spock’s arms as a languid ripple of heat burnt a path through Jim’s limbs, bursting at his core and branding straight through his heart. Spock sped up, his lips mouthing words that wouldn’t come as he pumped deeper and faster, working Jim through his incineration until Spock choked on Jim’s name.
Spock’s hips stuttered, his eyes going huge and hazy and blind. He curled towards Jim and buried his face against Jim’s neck to breathe him in. With Jim’s last ounce of strength, he bucked into Spock’s orgasm, revelling in the feel of Spock’s release flooding him with warmth and the distinct feel that he was profoundly wanted.
Jim finally allowed himself to close his eyes - he’d been previously unable to look away from the glory that was a debauched Spock - and breathe as a very heavy Vulcan collapsed on top of him like a dead man.
Of course, dead men didn’t nuzzle your throat like an animal in desperate need of love - well, unless it was a zombie. An undead man. Then they wouldn’t be nuzzling, but chewing on your arteries and shit.
Would that be necrophilia or -
“Jim.”
“Hmm?”
“If you would cease thinking such macabre thoughts after…” Spock cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed that he’d effectively ravished Jim on the kitchen floor. He was actually trying to act as if butter - oh god what had Jim been thinking? - wasn’t dripping out of Jim’s ass.
Jim blinked at the ceiling. Sometimes he forgot about Spock’s whole Professor Xavier deal. Maybe he purposely let it slip his mind so the sheer strangeness of it didn’t affect him. Either way, if Spock could gather what Jim was thinking right now, perhaps that meant he knew what Jim was thinking when his thoughts travelled to more, uh... amorous emotions.
“So that thing where you kinda feel my moods - what is that, exactly? Obviously it’s linked to your mind-raping abilities. But how, um - how much do you actually, like... get?”
“A considerable amount,” came the reply, as if Spock had eventually expected the question and had already discerned an appropriately vague answer.
“What constitutes as a considerable amount?” Jim pressed as he pushed Spock off of him without fanfare. He rolled and propped elbows up on the tile, and plopped his cheek upon his palm.
Spock’s eyebrows twitched in a faint grimace as he sat up and reached for a hand-towel hanging off the oven door. He began to wipe himself in easy, clinical movements as if he were totally comfortable with his nudity. If he was, then double points for Spock.
“The situation is dependent upon the person.”
“Don’t bullshit the bullshitter,” Jim said with what he hoped was a charming smile. “I mean, what’s it like in your head when you’re with m- people? I mean, are you actually an empath or a telepath? Oh come on - don’t look surprised that I know the difference. Shit like that is kinda important in the world of X-Men, okay? There is a big difference between the two.”
Spock’s brow remained furrowed as he dropped his gaze from Jim’s face. “I have previously stated that I am telepathic, although there are times in which I believe I may have latent empathic abilities. I find myself reflecting your more overt emotions when you are extremely happy or amused or upset. I surmise that the stronger the personality, the more susceptible I am to their emotions.”
Jim ignored the giddy little flip in his stomach and resisted the urge to roll around the floor in glee. Instead he nodded soberly.
“So you read my thoughts. I mean, I know you’ve said something to that affect before, but I just wanted the full spiel.”
Spock met Jim’s gaze levelly, and it was a wonder that he could look haughty and tall while sitting naked on the kitchen floor, no doubt freezing his beautiful ass off.
“I... unintentionally read certain thoughts.”
Jim swallowed and forced himself to breathe easy. “But you do read them. Not just feel them, like actually told me before.”
Spock’s eyes flashed with something - panic, annoyance? - before he leaned forward and lifted his hand to Jim’s face, murmuring, “Jim, I -”
“O-kay, just no,” Nyota’s horrified voice came out of fucking nowhere.
Part Two