Not Even the Stars
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk Prime/Spock
Word Count: ~2,000
Beta: all hail notboldly50295
Warnings: rough sex
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: They can’t have who they really want.
Not Even the Stars
Spock found their visitor alone on a little-used observation deck on the starboard side of the ship, elbows on rail, hips canted as he stared through the tempered glass and into the wide black expanse of space. Spock forced his eyes away from the curve of the man’s backside.
“Admiral,” he said in greeting. He received only a grunt in reply, but he moved to stand beside him at a careful distance, hands clasped behind his back. With him, Spock watched the stars glitter beyond their reach. “We have confirmed your identity as newly promoted Admiral James T. Kirk from the alternate timeline we refer to as ‘Prime.’”
That earned him a snort and a shake of the head. Kirk turned around and leaned his back on the rail, fixing Spock with a piercing look that barely masked his disdain. There were subtle differences between this man and Spock’s own captain: this version was shorter, his hair wavier, his body stockier. But the most arresting difference lay in the eyes, and not just the startling, mercurial color. In the admiral’s eyes was a furious powerlessness foreign to the Jim Kirk to whom Spock had sworn fealty.
“You astound me with your powers of observation, Mr. Spock.” He looked at Spock as if affronted by his very existence. A sinking dismay began to weigh Spock down, but his face was placid and his hands steady.
“You have an array of options, Admiral,” he said. “It would be prudent to discuss them as soon as possible.” The sour stare continued, and Spock fought the urge to fidget under its weight.
“God,” Kirk said at last, turning back around. “You’re so young.”
“You will find I am not much younger than you are now, Admiral.”
Another snort. “Younger enough for it to blow my mind completely,” he said. Something bleak flitted across his expression, just for a moment. “I don’t belong here.”
Spock found he wished to comfort this sad, angry, conflicted version of his captain. He felt too much for him, even this unfamiliar specter. He had accepted long months ago that James T. Kirk would always elicit a strong emotional response from him, and it seemed that his alternates were no different. The elemental fires of James T. Kirk blazed within his captain and this admiral, no matter their divergences, and Spock suppressed the urge to present his belly like a low beast. It was a familiar desire, and thus one easily quashed.
“It may buoy your spirits to know that someone else from your timeline is present in this one,” Spock said. “He is further along in age, but he would be… a familiar presence, should you need one. Indeed, I had intended to contact him about your arrival before you went missing from sickbay and I was tasked with finding you.”
Kirk turned hard golden eyes on him. “And who might this sad old bastard be?”
“Me, sir. Greatly aged.” And missing you, Spock couldn’t bring himself to add. That was not his sorrow to share.
Kirk’s face transformed at the news - mouth twisted, jaw clenched, brows drew down in a thunderclap furrow.
“Perfect,” he muttered. His hands worried the rail in a convulsive grip, and he pressed his forehead into the glass, eyes closed. Spock followed the mottled pink blush that suffused Kirk’s face. He was perhaps ten years older than Spock’s captain, a mere drop in the streams of time, but something within him was defeated, and to see such surrender written on that well-loved visage made Spock’s lungs ache. “Is this hell?” Kirk asked then. “A universe full of repressed half-Vulcans parading themselves in front of me for all time, just out of reach? God, I must have died in the transporter after all. What did I do to deserve this?”
Spock took a minute step forward.
“He has angered you somehow, and you’re taking your anger out on me. This is neither fair nor logical, Admiral.”
Kirk drew back from the window and straightened, squared his shoulders. Eyes smoldering with misery and anger shone out from his face, and Spock could not look away. He felt drawn forward, and then their bodies were flush, heat against heat, and Kirk tipped his face up to keep Spock’s gaze. When he spoke, his lips like feathers brushed against Spock’s.
“Have you fucked your captain yet, Mr. Spock?” he whispered, and Spock shivered. “Have you put your hands and your mouth and your cock on him, made him yours?” Kirk pushed his hips into Spock’s, into the rising column of flesh that threatened to humiliate him. Kirk’s mouth was a humid temptation mere millimeters from his own, and Spock leaned forward to plunder it. Kirk jerked back and pushed away from him. “How long til you get tired of him?” he spat. “Or scared of all your dirty little feelings? How long til you run away like a goddamned coward and leave him to - to -”
Spock’s hand darted out and heaved Kirk back against him. Kirk’s breath hitched in a gasp, and Spock’s voice was a low growl when he said, “If I were afforded the privilege, Admiral, I assure you that no force in this universe could make me turn from him.”
The collision of body against body was explosive and desperate, tongue and teeth grinding in a suffocating gnash, hands like talons on rent clothing and sensitized flesh. Spock found himself on his knees, head and shoulders pressed into the floor as Kirk rammed into him aided only by a smear of saliva. Spock’s shout of pain echoed in the empty deck, but his sphincter gave way, his body accepted the intrusion, and deep inside, Kirk’s seeking cock pressed unerringly against Spock’s prostate and he fell headlong into a spiral of ecstasy so dizzying that his vision dappled and his cries took on a frantic, mewling quality. He rocked hard back into Kirk’s thrusts, forcing his cock deeper. He balanced himself on his shoulders and reached back to spread open his cheeks. The tremulous moan Kirk gave at the sight sent a thrill up Spock’s penis, elicited a generous dollop of lubrication from his slit.
Kirk gripped Spock’s hips and fucked him faster.
“So fucking gorgeous like this,” he said in a disjointed, staccato rhythm punctuated by thrusts. “You fuck, you’re perfect, taking my cock. God, Spock, Spock, Spock, fuck, miss you, love you, Spock.”
Kirk knotted a handful of Spock’s hair in his fist and pulled him up to set gnawing teeth and sliding tongue against his throat, his jawline, his open and panting mouth. Spock grunted at each plunge of Kirk’s cock, each jerk of his own cock by Kirk’s hand, each pass of Kirk’s mouth over his blazing skin. Spock was rendered speechless by harsh pleasure gone supernova behind his eyelids. He reached up and grabbed at the rail with both hands, and he cried out with at the change of angle and depth of penetration. Kirk squeezed Spock’s shoulders and held him steady through the litany of filth he spouted.
Through the haze of delirious bliss, Spock thought of his own captain: a flash of blue eyes, the gleam of white teeth through smiles generously bestowed like life-giving favors upon a dour son of Vulcan. Hands that lingered on his shoulders, long lashes, a warm, clean, male scent. Spock had offered himself once, in the form of tangled fingers and halting words, but Jim had pulled away with a hitch of his shoulders and a hasty apology. “I can’t,” he’d said, “I just - I can’t, I’m sorry.” And he was gone, and he stopped slapping Spock on the back, and giving him private grins, and crossing the partition between their quarters just to talk deep into ship’s night over a game of chess. Spock thought of him, of the man he could not have, and he let go of the rail with one hand to strangle his own neglected cock.
“Are you close, Spock? Spock?”
“Y- yes.”
Kirk groaned and sped up. The full velvet solidity of his cock served as anchor to Spock’s rising rapture.
“Wait,” Kirk panted, pausing. He scrambled for Spock’s arm and wrenched it back. Spock gave a hoarse shout. Kirk pushed Spock’s hand back to the rail to join his other and clamped both his wrists there. “Come on my cock or not at all.”
Spock moaned and his cock jolted. Being full of Kirk had made him feel as though all his senses were heightened; the pounding inside him was an exquisite flare of sensation that set every nerve aflame, every synapse into hyperdrive. Orgasm bore down on him with the force of all his longing, all the admiral’s bitter loneliness, all of the euphoric smack of flesh against flesh and then he was there, Jim’s name a benediction on his lips. He soared as a weightless consciousness blasted into the stars even as lights burst behind his eyes and semen splattered the bulkheads.
“Fuck, fuck Spock, that’s - fuck, I’m coming! Fuck! Fuck!” Kirk let out a pained bellow that echoed in the empty deck, and in a single, tangled heap they slumped to the floor.
The observation deck was silent but for the harsh breaths they expelled in the aftermath. Spock hazarded a glance at the man who lay prone beside him, sweaty and red, swollen lips parted and glistening. His eyes were closed, and Spock let himself imagine someone else, just for a single, illogical moment.
“You’re really different from him, sometimes,” Kirk said into the silence. Spock wished to touch the angles and lines of that face. Spock wished, and did not act. “You let yourself feel.”
“History and experience conspire to change us all,” he said.
“But other times, you’re just like him.”
“I can identify similarities, but there are many ways in which you are not like my captain, I think,” Spock said.
Kirk opened his lion’s eyes and turned his head. In his expression a weariness had replaced the fury from before.
“He’s young,” he said. “Like I said. Probably still trying to convince himself he doesn’t have a taste for Vulcan cock.” He cracked a crooked, bitter smile. “He’ll come around, and then it’ll be you breaking his heart.” Kirk sat up and began to gather what clothing they hadn’t left in tatters at the height of passion. Spock grabbed a wrist to still him and disregarded the mutinous glare Kirk sent him when he couldn’t wrench free. He pulled himself into a sitting position and forced Kirk to meet his gaze.
“What has he done to injure you so, Jim? Tell me.”
Spock let him go when Kirk yanked his arm again. Kirk stood and loomed over him. Spock was helpless but to watch as that pinched face grew steadily more wretched as he spoke.
“It was the end of the mission. I was - God, I was so in love. I asked him to marry me. He left for Gol the next day.” He swallowed hard and tried to even out his voice. At his sides, his fists clenched, but with a jerky nod toward the window he indicated the vast expanse of space that sprawled desolate before them. “Somewhere in the universe I came from, my lover is doing his damnedest to forget everything about me, us, and what we were to each other. And I look at you, Spock - I look at you and I know you’ll do the same thing someday.”
Kirk pulled his torn shirt over his head and buttoned his trousers. He turned his back to Spock, didn’t look hard enough to see the devastation his words wrought, and walked away. Before he could activate the doors, Spock projected his voice at the retreating back.
“He is on New Vulcan. Whatever else he has done, he is your t’hy’la, and he waits for you.”
Kirk paused, and then he was gone. Spock let out a shaky breath and wondered how long he could justify sitting naked on the soiled deck staring at nothing, not even the stars.
End
Read the sequel, A Distant Horizon
Pairing: Kirk Prime/Spock
Word Count: ~2,000
Beta: all hail notboldly50295
Warnings: rough sex
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: They can’t have who they really want.
Not Even the Stars
Spock found their visitor alone on a little-used observation deck on the starboard side of the ship, elbows on rail, hips canted as he stared through the tempered glass and into the wide black expanse of space. Spock forced his eyes away from the curve of the man’s backside.
“Admiral,” he said in greeting. He received only a grunt in reply, but he moved to stand beside him at a careful distance, hands clasped behind his back. With him, Spock watched the stars glitter beyond their reach. “We have confirmed your identity as newly promoted Admiral James T. Kirk from the alternate timeline we refer to as ‘Prime.’”
That earned him a snort and a shake of the head. Kirk turned around and leaned his back on the rail, fixing Spock with a piercing look that barely masked his disdain. There were subtle differences between this man and Spock’s own captain: this version was shorter, his hair wavier, his body stockier. But the most arresting difference lay in the eyes, and not just the startling, mercurial color. In the admiral’s eyes was a furious powerlessness foreign to the Jim Kirk to whom Spock had sworn fealty.
“You astound me with your powers of observation, Mr. Spock.” He looked at Spock as if affronted by his very existence. A sinking dismay began to weigh Spock down, but his face was placid and his hands steady.
“You have an array of options, Admiral,” he said. “It would be prudent to discuss them as soon as possible.” The sour stare continued, and Spock fought the urge to fidget under its weight.
“God,” Kirk said at last, turning back around. “You’re so young.”
“You will find I am not much younger than you are now, Admiral.”
Another snort. “Younger enough for it to blow my mind completely,” he said. Something bleak flitted across his expression, just for a moment. “I don’t belong here.”
Spock found he wished to comfort this sad, angry, conflicted version of his captain. He felt too much for him, even this unfamiliar specter. He had accepted long months ago that James T. Kirk would always elicit a strong emotional response from him, and it seemed that his alternates were no different. The elemental fires of James T. Kirk blazed within his captain and this admiral, no matter their divergences, and Spock suppressed the urge to present his belly like a low beast. It was a familiar desire, and thus one easily quashed.
“It may buoy your spirits to know that someone else from your timeline is present in this one,” Spock said. “He is further along in age, but he would be… a familiar presence, should you need one. Indeed, I had intended to contact him about your arrival before you went missing from sickbay and I was tasked with finding you.”
Kirk turned hard golden eyes on him. “And who might this sad old bastard be?”
“Me, sir. Greatly aged.” And missing you, Spock couldn’t bring himself to add. That was not his sorrow to share.
Kirk’s face transformed at the news - mouth twisted, jaw clenched, brows drew down in a thunderclap furrow.
“Perfect,” he muttered. His hands worried the rail in a convulsive grip, and he pressed his forehead into the glass, eyes closed. Spock followed the mottled pink blush that suffused Kirk’s face. He was perhaps ten years older than Spock’s captain, a mere drop in the streams of time, but something within him was defeated, and to see such surrender written on that well-loved visage made Spock’s lungs ache. “Is this hell?” Kirk asked then. “A universe full of repressed half-Vulcans parading themselves in front of me for all time, just out of reach? God, I must have died in the transporter after all. What did I do to deserve this?”
Spock took a minute step forward.
“He has angered you somehow, and you’re taking your anger out on me. This is neither fair nor logical, Admiral.”
Kirk drew back from the window and straightened, squared his shoulders. Eyes smoldering with misery and anger shone out from his face, and Spock could not look away. He felt drawn forward, and then their bodies were flush, heat against heat, and Kirk tipped his face up to keep Spock’s gaze. When he spoke, his lips like feathers brushed against Spock’s.
“Have you fucked your captain yet, Mr. Spock?” he whispered, and Spock shivered. “Have you put your hands and your mouth and your cock on him, made him yours?” Kirk pushed his hips into Spock’s, into the rising column of flesh that threatened to humiliate him. Kirk’s mouth was a humid temptation mere millimeters from his own, and Spock leaned forward to plunder it. Kirk jerked back and pushed away from him. “How long til you get tired of him?” he spat. “Or scared of all your dirty little feelings? How long til you run away like a goddamned coward and leave him to - to -”
Spock’s hand darted out and heaved Kirk back against him. Kirk’s breath hitched in a gasp, and Spock’s voice was a low growl when he said, “If I were afforded the privilege, Admiral, I assure you that no force in this universe could make me turn from him.”
The collision of body against body was explosive and desperate, tongue and teeth grinding in a suffocating gnash, hands like talons on rent clothing and sensitized flesh. Spock found himself on his knees, head and shoulders pressed into the floor as Kirk rammed into him aided only by a smear of saliva. Spock’s shout of pain echoed in the empty deck, but his sphincter gave way, his body accepted the intrusion, and deep inside, Kirk’s seeking cock pressed unerringly against Spock’s prostate and he fell headlong into a spiral of ecstasy so dizzying that his vision dappled and his cries took on a frantic, mewling quality. He rocked hard back into Kirk’s thrusts, forcing his cock deeper. He balanced himself on his shoulders and reached back to spread open his cheeks. The tremulous moan Kirk gave at the sight sent a thrill up Spock’s penis, elicited a generous dollop of lubrication from his slit.
Kirk gripped Spock’s hips and fucked him faster.
“So fucking gorgeous like this,” he said in a disjointed, staccato rhythm punctuated by thrusts. “You fuck, you’re perfect, taking my cock. God, Spock, Spock, Spock, fuck, miss you, love you, Spock.”
Kirk knotted a handful of Spock’s hair in his fist and pulled him up to set gnawing teeth and sliding tongue against his throat, his jawline, his open and panting mouth. Spock grunted at each plunge of Kirk’s cock, each jerk of his own cock by Kirk’s hand, each pass of Kirk’s mouth over his blazing skin. Spock was rendered speechless by harsh pleasure gone supernova behind his eyelids. He reached up and grabbed at the rail with both hands, and he cried out with at the change of angle and depth of penetration. Kirk squeezed Spock’s shoulders and held him steady through the litany of filth he spouted.
Through the haze of delirious bliss, Spock thought of his own captain: a flash of blue eyes, the gleam of white teeth through smiles generously bestowed like life-giving favors upon a dour son of Vulcan. Hands that lingered on his shoulders, long lashes, a warm, clean, male scent. Spock had offered himself once, in the form of tangled fingers and halting words, but Jim had pulled away with a hitch of his shoulders and a hasty apology. “I can’t,” he’d said, “I just - I can’t, I’m sorry.” And he was gone, and he stopped slapping Spock on the back, and giving him private grins, and crossing the partition between their quarters just to talk deep into ship’s night over a game of chess. Spock thought of him, of the man he could not have, and he let go of the rail with one hand to strangle his own neglected cock.
“Are you close, Spock? Spock?”
“Y- yes.”
Kirk groaned and sped up. The full velvet solidity of his cock served as anchor to Spock’s rising rapture.
“Wait,” Kirk panted, pausing. He scrambled for Spock’s arm and wrenched it back. Spock gave a hoarse shout. Kirk pushed Spock’s hand back to the rail to join his other and clamped both his wrists there. “Come on my cock or not at all.”
Spock moaned and his cock jolted. Being full of Kirk had made him feel as though all his senses were heightened; the pounding inside him was an exquisite flare of sensation that set every nerve aflame, every synapse into hyperdrive. Orgasm bore down on him with the force of all his longing, all the admiral’s bitter loneliness, all of the euphoric smack of flesh against flesh and then he was there, Jim’s name a benediction on his lips. He soared as a weightless consciousness blasted into the stars even as lights burst behind his eyes and semen splattered the bulkheads.
“Fuck, fuck Spock, that’s - fuck, I’m coming! Fuck! Fuck!” Kirk let out a pained bellow that echoed in the empty deck, and in a single, tangled heap they slumped to the floor.
The observation deck was silent but for the harsh breaths they expelled in the aftermath. Spock hazarded a glance at the man who lay prone beside him, sweaty and red, swollen lips parted and glistening. His eyes were closed, and Spock let himself imagine someone else, just for a single, illogical moment.
“You’re really different from him, sometimes,” Kirk said into the silence. Spock wished to touch the angles and lines of that face. Spock wished, and did not act. “You let yourself feel.”
“History and experience conspire to change us all,” he said.
“But other times, you’re just like him.”
“I can identify similarities, but there are many ways in which you are not like my captain, I think,” Spock said.
Kirk opened his lion’s eyes and turned his head. In his expression a weariness had replaced the fury from before.
“He’s young,” he said. “Like I said. Probably still trying to convince himself he doesn’t have a taste for Vulcan cock.” He cracked a crooked, bitter smile. “He’ll come around, and then it’ll be you breaking his heart.” Kirk sat up and began to gather what clothing they hadn’t left in tatters at the height of passion. Spock grabbed a wrist to still him and disregarded the mutinous glare Kirk sent him when he couldn’t wrench free. He pulled himself into a sitting position and forced Kirk to meet his gaze.
“What has he done to injure you so, Jim? Tell me.”
Spock let him go when Kirk yanked his arm again. Kirk stood and loomed over him. Spock was helpless but to watch as that pinched face grew steadily more wretched as he spoke.
“It was the end of the mission. I was - God, I was so in love. I asked him to marry me. He left for Gol the next day.” He swallowed hard and tried to even out his voice. At his sides, his fists clenched, but with a jerky nod toward the window he indicated the vast expanse of space that sprawled desolate before them. “Somewhere in the universe I came from, my lover is doing his damnedest to forget everything about me, us, and what we were to each other. And I look at you, Spock - I look at you and I know you’ll do the same thing someday.”
Kirk pulled his torn shirt over his head and buttoned his trousers. He turned his back to Spock, didn’t look hard enough to see the devastation his words wrought, and walked away. Before he could activate the doors, Spock projected his voice at the retreating back.
“He is on New Vulcan. Whatever else he has done, he is your t’hy’la, and he waits for you.”
Kirk paused, and then he was gone. Spock let out a shaky breath and wondered how long he could justify sitting naked on the soiled deck staring at nothing, not even the stars.
End
Read the sequel, A Distant Horizon