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The Empire was hardly generous with its shore leave assignments. Those in power knew their subordinates worked best with rest, and so they permitted it on occasion, but it was merely to recharge their tools, not to ensure the people in their charge were comfortable. Still, most of the crew of the I.S.S. Enterprise jumped on the chance to spend a few nights on a starbase when they were able, though only the chief officers were actually given their own rooms. The Captain and bridge crew had been set up in the nicest wing of space station K-13, complete with plush beds, at least three nearby restaurants and drinking establishments, and all the pleasurable company they could ask for.
But Spock had no interest in human food, in luxury or erstwhile companions. So when the captain suggested they begin their shore leave with a celebratory drink, it was only the draw of the captain himself that caused Spock to acquiesce.
Which is how he found himself now tucked into a booth in a raucous bar sitting beside Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Commander Scott. Already three fights had broken out at the bar across the room, and their drinks hadn’t even arrived. But the humans seemed perfectly content in this environment, and Spock allowed himself to sit in silence, watching the captain’s back for any drunken opportunists who didn’t already know that the Enterprise ’s first officer had dispatched more assassins than even he could count.
A waiter, different from the one who had taken their order, slipped through the loud crowd and approached their table, and Spock scanned him for any potential weapons. At first, he was suspicious at the change in personnel, but then he remembered watching their first waiter step into the path of a flying fist a few minutes ago. He relaxed, but only minutely. When the waiter drew up to the side of the table, he shined a handsome, toothy grin over their company. And he was handsome, tall and thick-shouldered with a shock of dark hair and piercing dark eyes-- precisely the captain’s type, Spock thought bitterly.
“Gentlemen,” he said sweetly, depositing the tray of drinks and setting them down in front of their respective owners. He saved Kirk’s for last, settling his eyes on him the way Spock had seen predators eye their next meal. “And this one,” the waiter said with a wink, “is on the house.”
Spock stiffened, noticing the way Kirk’s eyes raked the man up and down, his own predatory smile spreading. Knowing jealousy was irrational had seldom done anything to stifle it, Spock knew. He had been jealous of the captain’s lovers for nearly three years, but it was his fault he had never said anything to indicate as much, and so he allowed the disgusting, carnal display to continue. Kirk stretched his legs out under the table, spreading them suggestively.
“Oh?” he asked, as Mister Scott and McCoy shot each other exasperated looks. “And why is that, mister…”
The waiter picked up his tray and tucked it under his arm, canting his hip to the side. “Jack,” he supplied with a flirty grin, “You can call me Jack. And, really, the illustrious captain of the Enterprise? Scourge of the galaxy? I’d be a fool not to buy you a drink. Especially with my shift ending in… oh, ten minutes?”
Kirk leaned forward with obvious interest, the rest of the table seemingly disappearing from his attention as he focused his gleaming eyes on this-- this nobody. This man who may as well have been faceless.
“Then I see my reputation precedes me.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
“Augh, Captain,” Mister Scott groaned, pulling the captain’s attention, “if you’re goin’ te proposition the man, ye may as well do it where we cannae see ye. The rest of us would like te keep our drinks in our stomachs.”
Kirk shot Scott a wry smile, and Spock curled his fingers around his glass. It was likely Scott was correct that this could only lead in one direction, and frankly Spock had no desire to witness another scene like this, like the one that had played out a hundred times. His patience had long ago worn thin.
Standing abruptly, Spock shoved past ‘Jack,’ ignoring the captain’s “Now what’s gotten into him?” and the waiter’s following “who cares?”
Spock struggled past the crowd, ignoring the stares. He made his way as quickly as he could back to his quarters, hoping to drown himself in meditation and forget how many others had run their hands along his captain’s body when he had barely ever risked a touch more intimate than his shoulder.
Oh, but the worst part was what happened in his mind each time. Without intent, he had formed a mental link to Kirk over the years, a link that burned and pulsed constantly unfulfilled at the back of his mind, but one he was usually able to block with well-established barriers. It enabled him to sense his captain’s pain, which had become useful on their more dangerous missions, but it also enabled him to sense his captain’s pleasure. There were times, if Spock was nearby, that he could feel the moment of Kirk’s release in his mind, and he hated as much as he craved that feeling.
He returned to his assigned room which sat right beside Kirk’s own, nearly scoffing at the bare luxury of the place, the red sheets that laid sickeningly soft over the four-poster bed, the computer console disguised in a gilded, old-fashioned armoire. For all their logical use of force, the Empire had a penchant for hedonism that made little sense to him. But it was here he must stay, and here must attempt to control himself.
So he settled onto the floor’s plush carpet without preamble, drifting back into his mind where he could parse his anger, his frustration, his lust and longing and shove them deep into the back of his thoughts, trap them there until they rose again, somehow stronger each time he felt them.
But the meditation only lasted so long. Because he had turned himself so inward, because he was so aware of the twists and turns of his mind, he was also more aware of the connection.
He knew the moment Kirk stumbled into the room beside his own with a stranger’s hands on him. Kirk’s lust was forceful, like a battering ram against Spock’s insufficient mental walls, and it knocked the breath out of him. He knew he should pull himself out of his own mind, should shut out the feeling as much as he was able and retreat, but he could not. Not once he felt the spike of Kirk’s pleasure at the man’s touch. It was hardly difficult to figure out what was happening.
He imagined, in spite of his own wishes, the lips that pressed clumsy and wet against Kirk’s, the hand that shoved itself into his slacks and began pulling him off in that rough way that Kirk had admitted to enjoying loudly and often when he discussed his sexual exploits. Spock felt anger burning as insistent as his arousal as he thought of them stumbling backwards to the bed, thought of how it must feel to pull those slacks down Kirk’s thighs and see him laying there, breathless and bruised-red from kissing. He could almost feel the moment the man sucked at the hollow of Kirk’s neck, could almost feel rough fingers penetrating him, and Spock wanted nothing more than to storm in-- to stop them in the act and pull the man off of Kirk and finish what he’d started, but he was arrested by Kirk’s wanting, how desperate he was for the thrill, and Spock-- for all he sometimes felt he hated his captain-- could not deny him this.
It went on too long, the near torture of Kirk’s barrage of emotion, a feeling of mounting need that had Spock clenching his own hands into fists, but Spock felt it the moment Kirk reached climax, a force strong enough to make Spock groan aloud as he envisioned Kirk’s back arching, pulling this man deeper inside him though he didn’t deserve it. No one deserved to see Kirk in that way, to have him laid out and gasping beneath them-- and yet Kirk offered himself freely to so many, and never to Spock.
As the arousal faded, Spock began to pull himself from the current of their mental link, forcing himself to abandon the feeling of Kirk laying satiated beneath a body that was not his own, but just as he began to attempt to rebuild his walls, another emotion floated through to him.
Dissatisfaction, subtle but present, something that didn’t make sense now that Kirk had reached orgasm, but as Spock cut off the link entirely and returned his attention to the world around him, he heard the door next to his own open then close, heard footsteps outside his own room.
Had the man simply left? He returned to his thoughts, reestablished the link, searched it for any sign. Yes, dissatisfaction, clear as it could be, and there was pleasure, but it had faded already, replaced with frustration almost, an unfulfilled desire.
Spock allowed these rendezvous only because they brought his captain satisfaction. If they could not even do that…
He stood without thought, but with purpose and intent and anger and jealousy and need because this man had not satisfied. This man had taken more than he had given and he did not deserve what he had tossed aside.
Before Spock knew entirely what he was doing, he had moved into the hallway and pressed the comm for Kirk’s door.
A minute passed before the answer, but when the door flew open Kirk looked flustered. He was still shirtless, though he had at least pulled on his slacks, which remained halfway unzipped and hanging low on his hips. There was a clear bruise rising along one of his hipbones, a thumbprint, it looked like, and a line of red marks on his throat that still bore the impression of teeth. Spock realized then that it had been mere minutes since Kirk had climaxed, mere moments since he had parted ways with the night’s lover, that he might be sore and slick and still reeling from his orgasm, and somehow the thought sent lightning strikes of arousal through Spock’s body.
“Yes?” Kirk asked, frustration clear in the lines of his face, “what is it, Mister Spock?”
It was too late for Spock to second-guess himself, so he didn’t. He crowded Kirk and forced him to stumble backwards, surprise dawning on his face as the door closed behind them.
“What are you doing here, Spock?” Kirk asked harder, regaining his footing, squaring his shoulders and refusing to back down as Spock moved effortlessly into his personal space, breathing in the scent of sex that clung to Kirk’s gleaming skin.
“That man,” Spock said, noting that his own voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “The waiter from the bar.”
“What about him?” There was a challenge in Kirk’s voice, and his frustration with Spock’s intrusion was clear.
“You have engaged in intercourse with him.”
Kirk’s anger bled away for the briefest of moments, replaced with confusion that Spock could read in his expression just as he could feel it over their link-- a link which he now allowed to flow into him the way he always wished it would.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Spock,” Kirk said stiffly.
Spock shifted forward, knowing Kirk wouldn’t back down and feeling strangely gratified when he stood his ground. Spock could feel Kirk’s chest rising and falling millimeters from his own.
“It is my business,” Spock said, tilting his head so his breath slipped along Kirk’s lips, “because I felt the moment of your climax. I always feel it, Captain.”
Kirk shivered, almost imperceptibly, but enough that Spock counted it a victory. “So?” Kirk said, the challenge still present in his voice, but clouded by a very different emotion. “Your Vulcan mind tricks don’t surprise me anymore.”
Spock raised his hand to the side of Kirk’s face, and pressed fingertips to his temple, to his cheek. He felt the buzz of Kirk’s mind under his touch, like a tesla coil, but Kirk gave no indication he felt it, too. He had trained himself well to maintain control. It was almost Vulcan. “Then you should know, Captain,” Spock continued, “that I can sense your every emotion if I allow it. And I know that you are still not satisfied.”
“What are you talking about?” Kirk asked, not balking from Spock’s touch, meeting it the way he met every challenge-- with steel in his eyes and his fists at his sides. “You just said you felt me cum.”
“That does not equate to satisfaction,” Spock responded, his other hand coming to the curve of Kirk’s waist. “These people you bring to your bed cannot satisfy you. Not in the way you need-- deserve.”
Kirk scoffed, leaning up so his lips were a feather’s breadth from brushing Spock’s. “And you can? You’re a computer, Mister Spock. A tool.”
Spock did not answer, not with words, instead, he shifted his fingers to find just the right places, and sent sparks into Kirk’s mind as he had dreamed of doing far too many nights he’d laid alone in his own quarters.
Kirk’s knees buckled, his hands coming immediately to Spock’s shoulders as he dropped his head to Spock’s chest, cutting off the contact of his fingertips after just a flash. But that flash had been enough. Spock was familiar with the human mind-- familiar enough to know which senses to stimulate in the barest of seconds.
His captain gasped against him, the composure of moments ago completely undone. Spock found his arousal growing at the thought of taking Kirk apart like this. In a way no one else could. And with barely a touch, when the push and pull of frenzied movement with another could barely inspire that kind of feeling. When Kirk lifted his eyes, they had darkened.
“What was that, Mister Spock?” he asked, almost accusatory.
“Pleasure,” Spock responded, “was it not?”
Kirk pulled himself away from Spock’s hold, backing up a few paces, an appraising look making its way to his features. “What’s your game?”
Spock approached again, eyes flicking to the bed where rumpled sheets still bore the imprint of Kirk’s grip. Then, they settled again on his captain. “That man did not deserve you,” he said, “nor did the woman on Altair, the person on Andoria, the yeoman, the nurse... They never deserve you, nor do they give you what you need. You know this as well as I do.”
Kirk’s expression didn’t shift, but Spock heard him swallow. “And what do you think I need, Mister Spock?”
Spock approached, snatching Kirk by the wrist and pulling him flush against his body. Kirk stumbled into him, but he didn’t protest the motion, nor did he protest when Spock fisted a hand in his hair and pulled his head back, planting his lips over Kirk’s and muffling the gasp of surprise that tore from him. Kirk shifted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Spock’s shoulders and tangling a hand in his hair, running his other fingers along the curve of Spock’s jaw and the prickle of his goatee.
Though Kirk had cum only minutes ago, Spock felt his arousal stinging, throbbing through his mind and he surged into it, slipping a hand into Kirk’s slacks and palming the curve of his ass.
Spock broke the kiss to whisper against Kirk’s lips. “Is this how he touched you?” he asked, the mere thought of this man’s hands on Kirk causing jealousy to flare again, but he clung to that jealousy, to the fire it inspired in him, because that fire was what Kirk always wanted. He wanted to be dominated, to be pushed to the brink. He wanted to be challenged and to succumb to that challenge because in every other area of his life he remained in control. It was Spock’s desire to see that control wrested from him, if only for a night.
Kirk licked his lips, dropping his hands to curl them into Spock’s slacks and tug him forward. His fingers began to fumble at the button. “Yes,” he whispered.
Spock brought his hand around, knocking Kirk’s reach away and curling his fingers around Kirk’s cock, which had begun to harden already-- the bare brush of pleasure against his mind had been more stimulating than Spock expected. “And like this?” Spock asked, satisfied by Kirk’s whimper and his confirming nod.
Free hand returning to Kirk’s temple, he leaned forward to nip at Kirk’s lip. “Do not pull away this time,” he ordered, and without a word more warning he twisted Kirk’s synapses around the energy that flowed from his fingertips, finding the pleasure center of Kirk’s mind and curling static around it. Kirk whined against Spock’s lips, his cock twitching in Spock’s fingers as his hips bucked. He trembled, and Spock found himself addicted to the waves of lust that pulsed off of him. When he broke the touch this time, Kirk’s knees didn’t buckle, but he leaned heavily against Spock’s chest, breath coming out panting.
He knew he could bring Kirk to climax with a single touch, could simply twist Kirk’s mind around the pleasure and allow it to burst in him, but he didn’t want to do that tonight. He simply wanted Kirk to know he could. As Kirk curled his fingers into Spock’s shoulders and Spock felt the anticipatory excitement of sex slipping into his mind, he knew he had succeded in at least that much.
Spock stroked him, fingers tightening, pulling roughly at his erection for a few brief moments before he forced himself to pull away, yanked his hand out of Kirk’s slacks and allowed himself a feeling of pride at the wrecked moan the man released. Kirk looked to him from under his lashes, predatory, the same look he had leveled at hundreds, but never before at Spock.
“Undress yourself,” Spock said, and Kirk bit his lip, shaking fingers moving to his own fly and pulling the slacks down his thighs. He’d dressed in such a hurry, Spock realized, he hadn’t even pulled on his briefs. The thought sent excitement singing through him.
“What now, Mister Spock?” Kirk asked, almost teasingly as he stepped out of the garment. Spock returned to him, drinking in the sight of him. There were more bruises rising on his thighs where the man’s fingers had gripped him too tight, and Spock gravitated toward them, pressing himself against Kirk once more.
“Now, Captain, I will erase every trace of that man from your body,” he growled, bending his knees to get a hold on Kirk’s thighs, right under those bruises, and hefting him up. He tossed him onto the bed, enjoying the satisfying bounce as Kirk settled upon it, scrambling to his hands with a hunger in his eyes that was arresting. But Spock didn’t stay arrested for long. “I will erase the memory of every lover,” he continued. He brought his hands to his own pants, popping his own button as Kirk looked on with lust-drunk eyes. “And you will never suffer the touch of another.” He slipped his pants and briefs down to his thighs, allowing his erection to strain upward. Tearing off his shirt, he set his knees on the edge of the bed, watching Kirk’s cock twitch in anticipation.
“Did he penetrate you?” Spock asked, throat choked on his desire, overwhelming in its intensity.
Kirk nodded, as though he might be unable to speak himself.
“Show me how,” Spock ordered. So often, Kirk was the one who ordered him, and so often Spock drank it in, but there was something imminently satisfying in watching Kirk watching him, and knowing he would be obeyed.
Kirk’s tongue traced the line of his lip, and he pulled himself backwards to give himself room. Spock watched him as he rolled onto his hands and knees, spreading his legs and resting his chest against the bed. Then, he reached a hand behind himself, spreading his cheeks, “Like this,” he said, and Spock watched the unconscious clench of Kirk’s hole, still slick with lubrication. He swallowed at the sight.
“From behind?” Spock asked, refraining from touching Kirk, holding back though he wanted so desperately to reach forward, but he could not give Kirk the satisfaction yet. The longer he withheld, the sweeter it would be when he succumbed.
“Yes,” Kirk said, and Spock felt that flare of anger again. How any man could squander a gift like Kirk’s consent was beyond him, how he could take him so impersonally. He noted the bruises on Kirk’s thighs and, slowly, moved forward to lay his fingers over them. Kirk shuddered beneath his touch, charged as it was with the emotions Spock could no longer hold back. Possession, jealousy, desire, something that made his teeth clench as he gripped those bruises, causing Kirk to whine against the sheets. Kirk had been spread like this for another, his cock hanging heavy between his legs, his fingers fisting against a swath of red, and now he spread himself like this for Spock.
But it was all wrong. He pulled his hands up the pliable muscle of Kirk’s thighs, curling his fingers into his hips, then tossing Kirk over onto his back. Kirk startled, meeting Spock’s eyes with confusion before Spock crawled on top of him, hands on either side of Kirk’s head.
“I would see your face,” he whispered, lining his erection up with Kirk’s and grinding down. Kirk gasped beneath him, his hands coming to Spock’s back where Spock felt Kirk’s surprise and his impatience and his tension and his thirst as though Kirk were tracing those emotions on his shoulder blades. The touch electrified him, made him rub himself against Kirk’s groin again, pulling a groan from Kirk’s lips.
If it were this easy to bring Kirk to the edge, Spock wondered that so many had failed so desperately to satisfy him-- but he also knew it wasn’t just the pleasure. It wasn’t just the orgasm. It was the game. The tug of war, tearing Kirk down little by little.
Spock lowered his mouth to Kirk’s, biting at his lip before sinking into a kiss. He shoved his tongue into Kirk’s mouth without waiting for permission, delighting in the way Kirk opened for him, his legs lifting to wrap around Spock’s hips and bring him grinding against him once more. Spock felt a sound attempting to break through his own lips, but he beat it down. Though Kirk would be able to feel his pleasure, he could not let on that he felt half as desperate as Kirk was for resolution. He had to keep control over himself, and the man beneath him who seemed to submit gladly to the press of Spock’s body above him.
Hand coming to Kirk’s hair, Spock pulled him back and bared his neck, noting the bob of Kirk’s adam’s apple as he swallowed. Spock found the red line of faint marks where the man’s lips had fastened around Kirk’s skin, where his teeth had sunken in but not broken through.
Spock brushed his tongue along the path of the marks, tracing them like constellations as Kirk shivered his satisfaction. But his goal was not to soothe the skin. He wanted to erase this man, to go back over every inch of Kirk’s body and mark him anew. So he found the mark at the juncture of jaw and throat and bit down as he rolled his hips, teeth scratching past the first surface of skin and making Kirk cry out against his ear.
The sound sent heat through Spock’s groin and he shoved himself almost painfully against Kirk once more, pulling off to lick the wound, lap at the little dots of blood that had been raised by his teeth, and moving onto the next.
Each bite, each sucking press of lips and soothing lap of his tongue sent ripples of excitement through the body below him as they rocked against each other, and Spock forced his own pleasure through the touch of their skin, through the link that bound them whether Kirk knew it existed or not. And Spock felt the difference. He’d sensed Kirk’s encounters with countless others, but he’d never felt Kirk like this, almost needy in the way he scrambled at Spock’s back, raising stinging green lines with the scrape of his nails.
When Spock felt as though he’d teased enough, when each of the man’s marks had been replaced with bleeding bites and purpling bruises from his own mouth, he pulled away, yanking Kirk’s hands from his shoulders and pulling his legs from where they clenched around his back.
Kirk groaned at the loss, looking a mess with his neck bruised from jaw to collar and his hair curled where Spock’s fingers had gripped it. For a moment, Spock drank in the sight of him.
“Spock,” Kirk said with strained authority, leaning up on his elbows. “If you don’t fuck me after all this--”
“I told you, captain ,” Spock interrupted, purring the title as if to remind Kirk where the power lay right now. “I am here to satisfy you.” He paused, feeling Kirk’s anticipation like a vibration within his skull. He moved away just slightly, prompting Kirk to widen his legs, to plant his feet on the bed and bare himself for him. When those legs spread open, almost too eagerly, Spock raised his free hand to Kirk’s entrance. Without a glance at his captain’s face, he slid a finger along the hole, slicking into the lube that still seeped from him and spreading it along one of his cheeks.
Kirk shuddered, dropping from his elbows and looking upward as he gave himself to the feeling that Spock was sure flowed from his fingertips. He had forced it through the contact, the buzz, the spark that ignited between fingertips when Vulcans kissed, but now he sent that feeling through the ring of Kirk’s opening as he pressed against it, then shoved a finger inside.
Kirk was already fucked open, already raw and loose, so the digit slid in easily, but it did not lessen the pleasure that caused Kirk’s spine to curl, caused his hands to scramble against the sheets. Spock inserted another, then three, twisting his hand as the vibration of energy between them brought wanting groans from Kirk’s lips.
Kirk slammed his hand onto the bed, his head tossed back, his erection straining untouched against his abdomen where it already leaked.
“I--” Kirk choked, and Spock marveled at the sound. He had never seen his captain lost for words, and the sound of his voice coupled with the tight clench of him around Spock’s sensitive fingers-- it nearly ruined him right there. “I’ve never felt-- Spock, what are you doing to me?”
Spock shoved his fingers knuckle-deep, and Kirk grunted through clenched teeth. “I do not hear you telling me to stop,” Spock answered coyly, but just to emphasize the point he pulled out, watching Kirk’s ring pulse and clench as it adjusted after the intrusion. Kirk’s hips jerked, seeking that touch again.
But Spock had something very different in mind. “This man,” he said, “he took you right here on these sheets, did he not?”
Kirk nodded weakly, meeting Spock’s eyes. Spock took Kirk roughly by the ankles, raising his legs over Spock’s shoulders and crooking his knees, laying himself over the hard body beneath him.
“Did he touch you while he fucked you?” Spock asked, the foreign word sounding strange on his lips, though he couldn’t deny the way it made Kirk shiver.
This time, Kirk shook his head, and Spock felt another flare of anger. Almost in retaliation, he wrapped a hand around Kirk’s cock, pulling it roughly as Kirk’s pleasure ripped through him. His own erection pulsed, ridges flaring, and he needed to take Kirk now, to bring him to that precipice where no one else had-- or could.
So he shifted forward, bending Kirk in half. Without preamble, he pressed his tip against that intoxicating ring of muscle and shoved himself with one hard thrust into Kirk’s waiting wet heat.
Kirk cried out as Spock slammed into him, and Spock almost did the same when his muscles clenched down. He began to pump his fist over Kirk’s length as he bucked his hips, setting up a rhythm that punished the man beneath him, hard and insistent and as rough as Kirk had always liked it. Rough as he’d felt Kirk beg for from others, rough as Spock had always wanted to take him because he could dominate this man in this way and this way alone and the feeling of Kirk’s begging heat pulling him deeper on each thrust was proof.
Panting beneath him, Kirk met his eyes, the desperation in them clear and pleading and Spock knew Kirk had never felt anything like the ridges that slammed against his prostate, knew Kirk had never felt anything like the electricity that still seemed to flow from Spock’s fingertips as they pulled and dragged at the sensitive skin of his penis. The thought of Kirk experiencing this for the first time, the feeling of Kirk’s clouded awe and buzzing thrill, made Spock pound into him with more force, satisfied that the man who had been fucking Kirk mere minutes ago hadn’t seen him like this. But still it wasn’t quite enough.
Spock released Kirk’s cock, then pulled out of him almost forcibly as Kirk’s legs fell from his shoulders. Kirk protested, a surprised growl ripping out of his throat before Spock leaned forward to wrap his arms around Kirk’s back.
“Spock,” Kirk barked, “I swear--”
Spock yanked him upwards, steadied himself on his knees, and pulled Kirk into his lap. Before Kirk could say another word, though Spock could see a protest forming on his lips, Spock lined himself up and plunged back in.
The new angle had Kirk crying out, and he got his knees under him. Turning half-lidded eyes to Spock, he began to roll his hips in time, meeting Spock on each upward push and shoving him deeper, impossibly deeper. Kirk’s hands came around the side of Spock’s face, forcing him forward into a kiss while he rubbed his erection against Spock’s abdomen.
Spock groaned into Kirk’s mouth, then raised his hand to Kirk’s face again, breaking the desperate grasp of Kirk’s lips to breathe, words coming out in broken, panting gasps. “Do you want to know how it feels to penetrate you?” Spock asked, moving his fingers along Kirk’s cheek suggestively. “Do you want to know how you have consumed my thoughts? Why I wish no other to feel you?”
Kirk pulled back just enough to meet Spock’s eyes. There was a hunger in them, and Spock didn’t need an answer. He settled his fingertips as he shoved into his captain again and again and managed to say the words around the orgasm he felt building inside him. “My mind to your mind,” he whispered.
My thoughts to your thoughts.
With a rush like a gust of wind, he slipped inside Kirk’s mind, inside him in every way, feeling the drag and thrust, the muscle around him that clenched, impossibly hard, impossibly hot, but he was also the one rising and falling to meet the roll of his own hips, the one whose prostate stung with pleasure. And he could feel Kirk’s mind inside his own wrapping around these discordant feelings, penetrating and being penetrated, being inside and outside, within his own mind and Spock’s, feeling the pent-up years of hunger that Spock pounded into Kirk’s ass and Kirk’s own hunger-- starvation , ecstasy and the possibility of fulfilment. Kirk had wanted this too. For far too long, his mind seemed to scream, and now that it was finally happening he wanted Spock to alight every nerve in his body, to hurt him, to bring him pleasure, to fuck him the way he’d always known only one person could. And he knew Spock was holding back, that he was stronger, could break Kirk in half if he wanted to and he wanted to and Kirk’s mind screamed that he wanted to be broken.
Spock increased his speed, Kirk no longer able to meet his movement with the almost catatonic pleasure that overtook him at the feeling, but it didn’t matter, he still hit that spot inside Kirk on every thrust and then they both felt Kirk’s fingers curling into Spock’s shoulders. They both felt the sting of pain, the hot blood that seeped under fingernails, the way Kirk ground his erection against Spock’s stomach for all the friction he could find and Spock’s mind needed to know--
Did he cum inside of you? The thought floated unbidden between them, chased by a stream of them, Did he mark you as his own? Did he take you like this? Has anyone ever taken you like this?
And the answer was no , louder with each question, no, no no , even as somewhere outside the meld of their minds he could hear Kirk shouting ‘yes’ with each stroke of pleasure, and Spock wanted to possess him, to mark him as his own, just as he had been owned by Kirk for years.
Already yours , Kirk’s mind seemed to whisper. Always yours-- no one else can do this to me, no one else--
And then Spock broke the meld, hand falling from Kirk’s face to clench around the curve of his hip and dig bruises of his own into the skin as he rocked up once, twice more and came into the heat of the man above him. He cried out his release, feeling Kirk’s cum spurt between the press of their bodies, splattering his chest as Kirk groaned, biting down around Spock’s neck to stifle the sound.
Spock curled his arms around Kirk’s back, tumbling them onto the bed and rolling his hips to drag in and out of Kirk a few more times, his own semen slicking him as he drew out every moment of shuddering pleasure he could.
Kirk’s fingers found the grooves he’d already carved into Spock’s skin, fitting themselves back into the wounds and dragging fresh pain out of the clench of his fingertips as he writhed a little under Spock’s weight, unable to move but to cant his hips against Spock’s. When their movements slowed and the static cleared and Spock could once again hear the broken sounds of his own breath and could feel the hot gasps against his ear, he dropped his head to Kirk’s shoulder.
He felt Kirk’s bliss as though it were a tangible thing that flowed from his fingertips into Spock’s torn shoulder blades, and-- more than that-- he felt his satisfaction, something that bored deep into his bones and made the man limp, legs falling to the bed, hands dropping from Spock’s back, head lolling against the sheets.
Spock pulled himself up after a moment, shuddering as he pulled out of Kirk, semen dripping from Kirk’s hole as it dripped down the head of Spock’s slowly softening cock.
He rolled to the side, his own satisfaction sinking him heavily into the sheets. Kirk turned his head as Spock turned his own and their eyes met across the ripple of red fabric between them. The air around them was hot, charged with lingering energy, and Spock allowed himself a prideful smirk as he looked on the wrecked face of his captain.
“Well, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, still breathy from exertion. “I supposed there must be some reason I kept you around.”
Spock allowed the captain a half-smile. “Aside from the myriad reasons you have previously expressed for ‘keeping me around?’ My lack of political aspirations and general competence?”
Kirk laughed, something full-bellied that had him clutching his stomach where his fingers spread the slick of his seed. “Then,” Kirk said around the laugh, “since you are so competent, Commander, perhaps we can add this to your list of duties.”
Spock found, looking at the harsh-eyed man beside him, that he would not mind putting one more item on his to-do list, provided Kirk never once looked at another person to satisfy his needs.
As if sensing his thoughts, Kirk’s smile turned cocky, “although, if you don’t accept, I’m sure I could find plenty of willing--”
Spock snatched Kirk’s wrist and held it above his head, rolling back on top of him and straddling his leg. “You will never again look elsewhere for satisfaction,” he demanded, the fire of jealousy igniting in him again.
But Kirk seemed unfazed, even a little proud of the anger he saw in Spock’s eyes, the anger that he must have felt through their skin. “Even if I did look elsewhere, Mister Spock, you know I wouldn’t find it.”
That was, Spock decided, as much assurance of monogamy as he could ever expect from James Tiberius Kirk. And perhaps that was enough.