Star Trek XI -- "Dressed to the Nines"
for oxoniensis's Porn Battle XIII
prompt: Jim/Spock, tailored suit; also inspired by this image
Dressed to the Nines | NC-17 | 389 words | complete
It is a rare occasion since joining Starfleet that Spock attends a formal event while not in uniform. But the Enterprise is docked in the skies above Earth, and Spock has been invited to this gala as the son of an ambassador, not as a Starfleet officer. Spock is unused to civilian clothes.
“Ugh, this is even worse than dress uniform, how is that even possible?” Jim says, drawing Spock from his contemplation of two nearly identical sets of black dress robes. “And ties! The appendix of menswear.”
Spock turns away from the closet and is greeted by the sight of his bondmate, fully dressed in his own formal attire. Jim is wearing a black shirt and tie and a grey three-piece suit, elegantly tailored to complement his physique. Even the frown on his face cannot mar the image he presents.
“Spock, you’re staring.”
“Is it not logical to commit a rare, magnificent sight to memory?”
“Uh,” Jim begins, but whatever he had intended to say is lost when Spock strides across the bedroom, grips Jim’s lapels, and kisses him soundly. Jim hmms agains Spock’s mouth and kisses him back, hands coming up to rest on Spock’s hips. “Huh, didn’t realize formal wear got you hot,” he says breathlessly when Spock releases him.
“Nor did I, until now,” Spock says. He presses Jim back against a convenient wall and gracefully slides to his knees, fingers making quick work of Jim’s belt and the fastenings on his pants.
“Spock, we’re going to be--oh,” Jim says, interrupting himself with a moan when Spock frees his cock and takes the head into his mouth.
Jim is barely half-hard, but Spock knows exactly what to do to bring him to full hardness: a tongue trailed along the vein, fingers cradling his balls, sharp suction on the tip alternating with swallowing him deep and letting his throat work the head. Jim’s fingers tighten in Spock’s hair, urging him on. Jim comes with Spock’s name on his lips.
Spock licks him clean and tucks him back into his pants, scrupulously checking for telltale stains before rising to his feet. “Remind me to find excuses to wear this more often.”
“I thought you found Terran civilian formal wear to be old-fashioned and uncomfortable.”
Jim leers. “Yeah, but the fringe benefits make it worth it.”
Originally posted here.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
prompt: Jim/Spock, tailored suit; also inspired by this image
Dressed to the Nines | NC-17 | 389 words | complete
It is a rare occasion since joining Starfleet that Spock attends a formal event while not in uniform. But the Enterprise is docked in the skies above Earth, and Spock has been invited to this gala as the son of an ambassador, not as a Starfleet officer. Spock is unused to civilian clothes.
“Ugh, this is even worse than dress uniform, how is that even possible?” Jim says, drawing Spock from his contemplation of two nearly identical sets of black dress robes. “And ties! The appendix of menswear.”
Spock turns away from the closet and is greeted by the sight of his bondmate, fully dressed in his own formal attire. Jim is wearing a black shirt and tie and a grey three-piece suit, elegantly tailored to complement his physique. Even the frown on his face cannot mar the image he presents.
“Spock, you’re staring.”
“Is it not logical to commit a rare, magnificent sight to memory?”
“Uh,” Jim begins, but whatever he had intended to say is lost when Spock strides across the bedroom, grips Jim’s lapels, and kisses him soundly. Jim hmms agains Spock’s mouth and kisses him back, hands coming up to rest on Spock’s hips. “Huh, didn’t realize formal wear got you hot,” he says breathlessly when Spock releases him.
“Nor did I, until now,” Spock says. He presses Jim back against a convenient wall and gracefully slides to his knees, fingers making quick work of Jim’s belt and the fastenings on his pants.
“Spock, we’re going to be--oh,” Jim says, interrupting himself with a moan when Spock frees his cock and takes the head into his mouth.
Jim is barely half-hard, but Spock knows exactly what to do to bring him to full hardness: a tongue trailed along the vein, fingers cradling his balls, sharp suction on the tip alternating with swallowing him deep and letting his throat work the head. Jim’s fingers tighten in Spock’s hair, urging him on. Jim comes with Spock’s name on his lips.
Spock licks him clean and tucks him back into his pants, scrupulously checking for telltale stains before rising to his feet. “Remind me to find excuses to wear this more often.”
“I thought you found Terran civilian formal wear to be old-fashioned and uncomfortable.”
Jim leers. “Yeah, but the fringe benefits make it worth it.”
Originally posted here.
Feedback is better than chocolate.