Star Trek XI -- "Scientific Analysis"
a late fill for oxoniensis's Porn Battle XI
prompt: Kirk/Spock, no touch, contact, feel
Scientific Analysis | NC-17 | 788 words | complete
Jim can’t help his smile at the adorably confused look on Spock’s face when Jim pulls back from the rather heated kiss they’d been engaged in and shakes off Spock’s hands. Granted, the “look” is just a teeny wrinkle between Spock’s eyebrows, but Jim has catalogued all of Spock’s non-expressions, and this is one of his favorites.
Spock is sitting in the chair at Jim’s desk and Jim is sitting in his lap, knees tucked around the lumbar support and thighs straddling Spock’s hips. Jim stands, confusing Spock further. “Jim, do you not wish to engage in coitus at this time?” he asks, and if it were any other being, Jim would have sworn he was pouting. “It is logical to continue to activity of ‘making out’ for another five point three six minutes before moving to the bed.”
Jim is weak, and he laughs at that one. “Only you would try to apply logic to sex.” He offers his hand, and Spock lets him help him to his feet. “I want to try something different, okay? Go get undressed and lay down on the bed.” Spock quirks an eyebrow at him. “Think of it as an experiment, Mister Scientist.” Jim disappears into the bathroom.
Jim comes out five minutes later, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Spock has done as he asked, and is stiff as a board on his side off the mattress. Jim chuckles and clambers onto the bed, straddling Spock once again. Spock starts to reach for him, but Jim shakes his head and catches his wrists, pressing his arms up so that Spock’s hands are pressed against the wall behind the bed. “No touching,” he says, running his hands down the lean muscles of Spock’s arms. “Leave them there.”
“I do not see the logic of this position,” Spock says, voice perfectly level even as Jim bends down to nuzzle into his armpit.
“You always make it about me, making me feel good,” Jim says, kissing across the jut of Spock’s collarbone, bringing his hands up to trace the delicate curves of Spock’s ears.
“It is pleasing to me to bring you pleasure, Jim,” Spock says, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning into Jim’s touch, and Jim smiles against Spock’s skin.
“Backatcha, baby,” Jim says, kissing Spock before he can protest the diminutive. “Just let me do this. If you don’t like it, we’ll never do it again.” God help him, Spock looks like he’s actually thinking it over, and then he nods. Jim smirks and goes to town.
He skips the usual erogenous zones, focusing instead on those little details he’s always wanted to explore. How that scar on Spock’s arm feels against his lips, how those freckles--freckles!--on his hip taste against Jim’s tongue. He revels in the wiry strength of Spock’s thighs, the curls of hair on his chest. He presses a series of kisses to the psi points on Spock’s face, pleased when Spock gasps, then licks his way down the strong lines of Spock’s neck. He worries Spock’s nipples with his teeth, one, then the other, and kisses down the curves of Spock’s ribs.
He continues like this until Spock is whimpering beneath him, fingers white where they’re pressed against the wall, but he doesn’t move, letting Jim have his way. Finally, finally, Jim rewards him with a caressing hand on his cock, and then he’s pulling of his boxers and straddling Spock’s hips again, lining Spock up and sitting down, enjoying the slight burn as he takes Spock in, one inch at a time.
Spock shouts something in Vulcan and Jim smirks. He stills for a moment when he’s taken Spock to the base, letting them both adjust, and then he settles his hands on Spock’s shoulders, braces his feet, and lifts, rocking back and forth just enough to send spangles of sensation up his spine. It seems to be doing it for Spock, too, if the way his eyes roll up is anything to go by. Jim twists himself so he can lean down to steal a kiss, and Spock is coming, hips bucking against Jim’s ass, Jim’s name trapped between their mouths. Jim wraps his hand around his own cock, strokes one-two-three, and comes, too.
Later, when they’re curled up under the covers, cleaned up and cuddling--James T. Kirk doesn’t cuddle, except with certainly Vulcans--Jim rests his palm over Spock’s heart and say, “So, Science Officer, what did you think of my experiment?”
“For true scientific analysis, an experiment must be repeated to guarantee the validity of any results,” he says, his voice rumbling in Jim’s head where his cheek is pressed to Spock’s chest.
Jim laughs. “I’m holding you to that.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.
prompt: Kirk/Spock, no touch, contact, feel
Scientific Analysis | NC-17 | 788 words | complete
Jim can’t help his smile at the adorably confused look on Spock’s face when Jim pulls back from the rather heated kiss they’d been engaged in and shakes off Spock’s hands. Granted, the “look” is just a teeny wrinkle between Spock’s eyebrows, but Jim has catalogued all of Spock’s non-expressions, and this is one of his favorites.
Spock is sitting in the chair at Jim’s desk and Jim is sitting in his lap, knees tucked around the lumbar support and thighs straddling Spock’s hips. Jim stands, confusing Spock further. “Jim, do you not wish to engage in coitus at this time?” he asks, and if it were any other being, Jim would have sworn he was pouting. “It is logical to continue to activity of ‘making out’ for another five point three six minutes before moving to the bed.”
Jim is weak, and he laughs at that one. “Only you would try to apply logic to sex.” He offers his hand, and Spock lets him help him to his feet. “I want to try something different, okay? Go get undressed and lay down on the bed.” Spock quirks an eyebrow at him. “Think of it as an experiment, Mister Scientist.” Jim disappears into the bathroom.
Jim comes out five minutes later, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Spock has done as he asked, and is stiff as a board on his side off the mattress. Jim chuckles and clambers onto the bed, straddling Spock once again. Spock starts to reach for him, but Jim shakes his head and catches his wrists, pressing his arms up so that Spock’s hands are pressed against the wall behind the bed. “No touching,” he says, running his hands down the lean muscles of Spock’s arms. “Leave them there.”
“I do not see the logic of this position,” Spock says, voice perfectly level even as Jim bends down to nuzzle into his armpit.
“You always make it about me, making me feel good,” Jim says, kissing across the jut of Spock’s collarbone, bringing his hands up to trace the delicate curves of Spock’s ears.
“It is pleasing to me to bring you pleasure, Jim,” Spock says, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning into Jim’s touch, and Jim smiles against Spock’s skin.
“Backatcha, baby,” Jim says, kissing Spock before he can protest the diminutive. “Just let me do this. If you don’t like it, we’ll never do it again.” God help him, Spock looks like he’s actually thinking it over, and then he nods. Jim smirks and goes to town.
He skips the usual erogenous zones, focusing instead on those little details he’s always wanted to explore. How that scar on Spock’s arm feels against his lips, how those freckles--freckles!--on his hip taste against Jim’s tongue. He revels in the wiry strength of Spock’s thighs, the curls of hair on his chest. He presses a series of kisses to the psi points on Spock’s face, pleased when Spock gasps, then licks his way down the strong lines of Spock’s neck. He worries Spock’s nipples with his teeth, one, then the other, and kisses down the curves of Spock’s ribs.
He continues like this until Spock is whimpering beneath him, fingers white where they’re pressed against the wall, but he doesn’t move, letting Jim have his way. Finally, finally, Jim rewards him with a caressing hand on his cock, and then he’s pulling of his boxers and straddling Spock’s hips again, lining Spock up and sitting down, enjoying the slight burn as he takes Spock in, one inch at a time.
Spock shouts something in Vulcan and Jim smirks. He stills for a moment when he’s taken Spock to the base, letting them both adjust, and then he settles his hands on Spock’s shoulders, braces his feet, and lifts, rocking back and forth just enough to send spangles of sensation up his spine. It seems to be doing it for Spock, too, if the way his eyes roll up is anything to go by. Jim twists himself so he can lean down to steal a kiss, and Spock is coming, hips bucking against Jim’s ass, Jim’s name trapped between their mouths. Jim wraps his hand around his own cock, strokes one-two-three, and comes, too.
Later, when they’re curled up under the covers, cleaned up and cuddling--James T. Kirk doesn’t cuddle, except with certainly Vulcans--Jim rests his palm over Spock’s heart and say, “So, Science Officer, what did you think of my experiment?”
“For true scientific analysis, an experiment must be repeated to guarantee the validity of any results,” he says, his voice rumbling in Jim’s head where his cheek is pressed to Spock’s chest.
Jim laughs. “I’m holding you to that.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.