(no subject)
Title: Screw
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: porn. tools. somewhat au.
Pairing: k/s
Summary: fills the kink!bingo prompt "domestic/tradesman kink"
It was the tip of his left ring finger that first caught Jim’s eye. It was slightly singed, the skin beginning to peel back, revealing the green-tinged underlayer of healing epidermis. Jim licked his lips.
“How can I help you?”
The visitor twitched an impassive eyebrow, and Jim shifted slightly behind the counter. Apparently his flush was more noticeable than he had hoped.
“I require a part.”
“Ok. What kind of bike is it?”
“It is not a bike.”
“Oh?” Jim leaned across the counter. The man had clasped his hands primly behind his back, his long, lean, form dressed in an impeccable black jumpsuit. Jim stuck a pen in his mouth and began to chew.
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
“A ship.”
“A ship?”
“Yes.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you are extremely unforthcoming?” He removed the pen from his mouth, wiping the well-masticated end on the leg of his jeans. “Are you going to tell me what you want, or are we going to play charades all morning? I got a business to run here.”
His companion’s mouth narrowed.
“Your point is taken.” His voice was deep, but light; subdued, but carrying. “I shall, as you humans say, place all of my cards on the table.” He looked around, then leaned in, closing the distance between them. Jim could smell the faint odor of nitrogen on his clothes, and inhaled involuntarily. His heartbeat quickened with a burst, and he silently blessed the counter which was currently concealing the evidence of his regard for this mysterious guest.
“I am a supervising engineer on the current construction project undergoing assemblage at the Riverside shipyards.”
“the Enterprise…” Jim breathed.
“As you say.” He inclined his head in agreement. “Unfortunately, the last three parts orders I have placed to Denobulous III have come back inadequately filled. I have no more time to waste on this sort of incompetence. However,” his eyebrows folded into a frown, “as the political situation is affected by certain ongoing trade agreements, some of which involve the exchange of building supplies, it is necessary for me to be… discreet in my displeasure.”
Jim nodded.
“I was given your name as someone who might… be able to connect me with the necessary hardware?”
It takes more than a minute before Jim realized that the man has stopped speaking, and is awaiting some sort of response. Jim flushed, tearing his gaze from the battered skin across the man’s knuckles, stark markers of familiarity with a soldering iron. He wasn’t sure when the man had placed his hands on the counter again.
“Umm, sure. I might, might, have some stuff in the back I could show you.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned, gesturing absently for the guy to follow him.
“C’mon, this way.”
The back room was dimly lit and stuffy, fumes of a thousand lost fuel cells wafting through the air. Spock could see that in spite of the air of nonchalant disarray that might greet anyone seeking to rip off or expose this little back door supply operation, the parts were meticulously organized and labeled, albeit in a system which would likely elude most casual observers. The man in front of him stretched out an arm and pulled a chain, the resulting rattle creating a wavering pool of light which shone from the surprisingly high recesses of the ceiling. He was, Spock noted, extremely aesthetically pleasing.
The man, Jim, as his nametag marked him, turned to regard Spock with a critical eye. Blue, he thought, a genetic anomaly in most human populations.
“So. Do you see what you need? Or are you going to tell me more about what you’re looking for?” He placed his hands on his hips in a subtle challenge. Spock looked him over slowly, admiring the way in which the man's skin pinked under his unwavering gaze.
“No. I believe it is best if I continue to preserve the discreet nature of my errand. I will simply require a moment in which to ascertain whether your shelves contain the piece for which I am searching.” He paused, waiting for a response.
None was forthcoming.
Spock cocked his head slightly in puzzlement. The man was utterly riveted by something. Spock followed the line of his gaze. He had placed his left hand upon the shelf to his side, and the angle at which it rested would, to Jim’s view, display the faint scar which arced across the skin of his palm. Spock frowned. This had happened inside as well, the man becoming distracted by his hands. Spock had thought it because of his alien nature, but perhaps…
He slowly rubbed the fingers of his left hand together, snaking them out to grasp a loose bolt, pulling it back and leisurely turning it over between his forefinger and thumb. A thin sheen of grease smeared itself from the bolt onto the webbing of his palm.
Jim’s pupils dilated.
Ah. Fascinating.
Spock subtly adjusted his expression into his best neutral-with-a-hint-of-innocence mask. He replaced the bolt and returned his hand to clasp its mate behind his back. Jim’s expression cleared, a subtle flush rising in his neck and cheeks. He blinked at Spock.
“Oh, right. Well, umm…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “engine bits are mostly on the left, computer bits on the right. Fiddly bits are pretty much all in the drawers in the back.”
Jim’s face was flushed, and he refused to meet Spock’s eyes. Spock leaned across, invading Jim’s personal space nonchalantly to reach for a small component just behind his shoulder, and allowed his arm to brush against Jim’s for just a moment before standing upright again.
Oh my god he’s so hot in my back room oh oh can’t think about it no he’s Vulcan wouldn’t be interested oh god he smells like engine oil down jim down don’t want him to think you’re a skeevy creep but oh those eyes those hands the grease on his coveralls…
Spock barely managed to repress a smile. This was, what was the human phrase? Oh, yes- like shooting fish in a barrel.
He looked at Jim from under his eyelashes, holding the small rectilinear expansion module lightly between two fingers.
“I believe that this is all I shall be requiring from you.” He tipped his head appraisingly, and allowed the curl of lust to pool in his belly. “For the moment.” Jim’s eyes grew impossibly wider as he attempted to rationalize away the double entendre as illogical. “What do I owe you?”
Jim waved a hand magnanimously. “Oh, don’t worry about it. People are always giving me spare parts when I fix shit for them. It’s nothing.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. This particular part was neither common nor cheap. This Jim character was more interesting than he first thought.
“Nevertheless, I insist on repayment. Perhaps…” He nearly smiled, he would not smile, “Perhaps a tour of the ship?” He fingered the part gently, metal lubricant making his fingertips gleam in the dim light. Jim’s mouth was hanging open. “Of the engine room?”
No response.
“Good. I shall expect you at 1900 hours.”
The security officer at the barbed wire gate to the construction site gave Jim a thorough once-over before glancing incredulously at his ID, making Jim suddenly overly conscious of his stained jeans and leather jacket.
“Lt. Commander Spock has left instructions for you at the main guardhouse. Down the road, third door on the right.”
The first sight that greeted him as he stepped from the turbolift was an ass. Spock’s ass, to be precise; round, firm, and sheathed in black fabric. Jim felt his mouth go dry. The muscles in the back of Spock’s thigh flexed enticingly as he leaned further down the Jeffries tube to reach for a tool. Jeans that had fit just fine this morning were suddenly too tight, and Jim reached as casually as possible to adjust himself. He coughed discreetly, not trusting his voice to work.
The legs flexed again as Spock began to climb down, the fabric sliding smoothly across the inside of his knee. Jim tore his gaze away, forcing his eyes down, and attempting to control the flush rising in his neck. An engine tour, he reminded himself, not a fucking first date. A look at mechanical bits, that's all. And if the tour guide just happens to be the fucking hottest engineer known to sentient beings anywhere, well, that just doesn't enter into it.
He raised his eyes to see the Vulcan studying him closely, his eyes dark and secretive, his lips full, and curling just slightly at the corners.
God.
He had a small smear of light blue hydraulics fluid near his left eye. Jim wanted to lick it off, slowly.
“Greetings, Jim. I am pleased to see you.”
Jim's brain attempted to respond, fighting for its fair share of his limited blood supply.
“Uhhmm... hi! Hope that, uh, part worked out for you?” He waved his hands in desperation. “Uh, thanks? For having me up? Very exciting?”
He winced. What was he, twelve? So much for this guy ever wanting to see him again. Well, at least he'd get to see the Enterprise. He might as well make the most of it.
Spock couldn't believe his luck. This was just too good. Jim was nearly beside himself with lust, and yet was still trying to behave normally. It should prove highly entertaining to see exactly how long he was capable of maintaining this farcical charade. He widened his eyes deliberately, holding the other man's gaze.
“I believe I promised you a tour. Shall we begin with my current project? It would be a shame to be anything less than” his eyes raked the form in front of him, “...thorough.”
He forced his face into the most neutral expression he could manage, and gestured with an open and callused hand to the mouth of the Jeffries tube in front of him.
“Please. If you would precede me, I will be better able to direct your attention.”
Jim collected himself as best he could, and climbed the little set of stairs to the tube. He felt uneasy about not being able to see the Vulcan, but, on the other hand, it would keep him from fantasizing quite as much.
The panel where Spock had been working was immediately visible on the left, the glowing lights mesmerizing as they traced the intricate patterns of the ship’s circuitry in the dim recesses of the wall. He caught his breath. He’d never been on a ship this advanced before, much less allowed to inspect her inner workings. She was beautiful. He could hear the soft noises of his companion climbing into the tube behind him, but paid no attention. He reached his hand out, stretching a finger to adjust a tiny dial.
“There’s something just here, it’s a little… ouch!”
Blue light flashed in the tube as a spark leapt from the wiring to his finger, shooting down to ground itself in his hand.
“Jim! Are you all right?” Spock’s sudden concern surprised himself, and he reached out for Jim’s hand, pressing his chest to Jim’s legs in an effort to inspect the injury. Jim’s eyes were wide and blue with shock, and he made no resistance as Spock captured his digits in his own, turning his fingers to inspect the damage.
The burn was small, and Spock touched it as lightly as possible, raising his eyes to lock with Jim’s. He could see the exact moment in which the other man realized the position they were in; Spock draped across Jim’s lower half, confined in the small space with his hand clutched in Spock’s own. He blinked, suddenly, and his blue eyes dilated in full, blue irises subsumed into black. Spock could feel his heart jump in response.
A pull on his hand as Jim made a futile attempt to reclaim his limb, but Spock did not release him. Eyes still locked together, Spock pulled Jim’s hand inexorably to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the digit in question.
The tiny groan which fell from Jim’s lips was a red flag before a bull, and Spock slid the finger between his lips, letting his tongue lick the taste of sweat and metal from his skin. His hands gripped easily at Jim’s hips, hauling his body down and under his own, where he crouched beneath the low ceiling. His skin thrummed with desire, his, and that radiating off the cool skin of the human beneath him.
….heatwantdesireconfusion can’t be must be dreaming so hot want him god his hands his tongue bet he knows his way around a wrench oh fuck those fingers on the tiny chips so delicate fuck this can’t be real can’t be must be going to explode oh what the hell…
As the last thought passed through his mind, Jim snapped, yanking his finger from Spock’s mouth and pulling the Vulcan’s face down to his, pressing his mouth against Spock’s with fervent ease. Caught by surprise, Spock growled deep in his chest, relishing the shiver that ran through his partner at the sound.
This was going even better than he’d hoped.
Jim fumbled at his coveralls, yanking down Spock’s zipper to its terminus between his leg, and shoving the fabric off his shoulders. Spock allowed himself a smile, meeting Jim’s eyes before flipping him easily and pinning him to the floor. Spock grasped his jeans and pulled, not caring when he heard the button pop and the seams protest, hearing only Jim’s delighted groan.
Jim, Spock noted with pleased interest, did not engage in the practice of wearing undergarments.
He pushed Jim’s shirt up, dragging his roughened hands down the smooth torso in front of him, intentionally catching every callus, every ragged edge against the skin splayed out before him in blatant invitation. The throaty moan which ripped from the other man’s throat went straight to his cock, and he wasted no time in loosing it from his pants. He shrugged his coverall sleeves from his arms, freeing the fabric to pool around his knees. Reaching into the zippered pocket along his thigh, he extracted a spare tin of the sterile, water-based, hydraulics lubrication. It would have to do- he had not expected to need such assistance, but he had not counted on the human’s enthusiastic response. It was a rare occasion upon which he was more than happy to have misjudged a situation.
The cap of the tin popped, and Spock could tell when the distinctive scent reached Jim’s nostril. Jim whined between his teeth and bucked his hips up, rising to his knees and pressing his bared posterior into Spock’s increasingly hard erection. Spock hissed, holding Jim still with a hand in the small of his back as he dipped a finger into the liquid, and slid it between the halves of the human’s pleasingly round backside.
The noise Jim made as Spock’s fingers slid home was one which Spock had never heard before, but immediately resolved to hear again. The rush of lust rising from the man’s skin, combined with Spock’s own burning desire, was drowning him in a haze of heat and skin and muttered breaths. Jim pushed against him, writhing against Spock’s hands, sound pouring in unfettered waves from his throat.
This was not going to last long, Spock realized with a slight sense of dismay. He withdrew his fingers with a stroke of apology, slicking himself quickly and efficiently with the liquid before finally, finally sliding into place, sheathing himself fully in the eager flesh of this perfect human.
A pause, a breath, and then Jim moved, forcing Spock to bite his lip and clutch at Jim’s waist helplessly as he pushed back. He dragged his hands along Jim’s torso, hauling him upright and pressing his back into Spock’s chest, as Spock began to thrust.
…oh god best ever can’t believe fuck me never thought think I might be in love…
Spock smiled, fingers tracing over the firm musculature of the man in front of him, bending his head to lick a moan from his neck.
Spock was right, he thought, as stars began to appear in his vision and he clutched at Jim’s shoulders. Next time, he thought, as the world dissolved around him, next time will be even better.
They lay side by side in the now overly-warm tube, breathing slowly, eyes closed as heart rates calmed and blood recirculated.
“I am afraid I must apologize.” Spock’s voice was hoarse. “It seems that my tour has been diverted from the engines.”
Jim laughed, his voice low and free. He reached over and tangled his fingers with Spock’s, tracing a finger across a bruised knuckle.
“Can’t say I’m overly upset. It was a most…fascinating diversion.”
“Indeed.” Spock smiled. “Perhaps tomorrow I can show you some other parts of the ship?”
“Maybe the warp drive?” The eagerness in Jim’s voice was happily obvious.
“If you wish. 1800 hours?”
“Yeah…”
Spock pressed the cool fingers in his hand.
“I look forward to it.”