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“Now I’m no expert in Vulcan biology,” began Bones.
“Neither am I,” Jim interrupted, “and Spock’s little speech about it left me very little the wiser. He says he must get to Vulcan or die?”
Bones lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “I can’t prove, medically, that going to Vulcan will make any difference. But I can tell you, with the level of stress his body is under, if something doesn’t change soon, it’ll give out.”
“But why?” asked Jim. “You can’t just say he’s dying and not have a clue what he’s dying of.”
“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t have a clue. ” Bones rested his hip against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “If I were looking at human biology, I’d say this was an omega heat.”
“What?” Jim sputtered. “I thought we evolved past that alphabet stuff millennia ago.”
“We did! But it still pops up now and again, an evolutionary throwback. I had a patient go into heat oh, ten years ago now. It was just like this. Restlessness, hormone levels out of whack, short temper. And the hilarious thing is, nobody else could tell but he kept getting hit on, constantly. Humans, you see, we can’t smell pheromones consciously, but we’re still affected by them.”
“And what happened?” Jim demanded. “Did he die?”
“Oh, no. I told him what it was, he went home and got his wife to peg him like it was her job, and within a few days he was fine. Heat’s not life threatening, not in humans. Embarrassing more than anything else. But in humans, within a couple of days the hormone levels drop back down. Spock’s have been on the rise for a week and still rising. His digestive system is completely shut down, he’s almost certainly not sleeping, his heart is going double time—you get the idea. If we can’t find a way to end this, he’s got less than a week to live.”
“And there’s no cure?” Jim demanded. “Hormone antagonists, something like that?”
“Among humans, there was never a need to develop any,” said Bones. “It’s rare enough, and harmless enough, that why would you? But if this is normal for Vulcans, any treatment they have is presumably on Vulcan.”
Jim frowned. Spock had not said he needed treatment. He had said he needed to take a wife or die.
“Would sex cure it?” Jim blurted.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Jim. Why, you volunteering?”
Jim paused a second. “No, I guess it wouldn’t work, he’d need an alpha, right? And humans aren’t alphas anymore.”
“Haven’t you listening to what I’ve been saying? We’ve got the genes for them. Heck, I’ve got a little note in my medical file saying I’m a beta, for what that’s worth. Affects me not at all, but it’s one of those things that might be good to know someday if it did come up.”
“I don’t know what I am,” said Jim.
“You’re an alpha,” Bones answered instantly.
“Bones, you can’t just assume that, just because I’ve got a commanding personality. I earned my command, I didn’t just luck into Captain Genes.”
“I’m not assuming it,” said Bones. “I know it. With your testosterone levels, either you’re an alpha or you’re taking steroids and hiding it from your friendly family doctor.”
“I’m not taking steroids,” said Jim, annoyed. He wished Bones had asked if he’d wanted to know before disclosing it. As long as he didn’t know, he might have been anything, and he could own all the credit for his progress himself. He’d certainly scraped his way from a weedy nerd into the charismatic captain he was today with a great deal of effort. And to be told it was some kind of genetic destiny bothered him a lot. “And I’m not aggressive,” he added. “I’m nice. My exes all think I’m a sweetheart.”
“Look, Jim, it doesn’t matter,” Bones said, standing up straight to put a soothing hand on his forearm. “It really doesn’t. I’ve known alphas that liked to be spanked and omegas that ran multiplanetary companies. It’s not like that, I’m not sure it ever was for humans, but it sure as hell isn’t now.”
Jim took a deep breath and tried to banish his self-centered ruminations. It didn’t matter in any practical way, he didn’t matter right now at all. This was Spock’s issue, Spock’s life at risk. They were making full speed to Vulcan now, but if they didn’t make it in time…
“If I’m an alpha,” he said slowly. “Maybe I could fix this for Spock. Do you think? He wouldn’t have wanted to ask.”
“Jim,” Bones hissed in that husky voice that came out when he disapproved deeply. “Think about what you’re suggesting. We both know how you feel about him. Can the command team take that kind of—well—emotional entanglement?”
“I can,” said Jim. “And as for Spock, it’s safe to say he’d rather live than die. The question is whether he’d accept me, whether his biology would think it counted.”
Bones frowned deeply. “I have no earthly idea, Jim. I suppose you may as well ask.”
“McCoy tells me you really are dying,” said Jim, as calmly as he could. “You’d know better than anyone how much time you might have, if you think we’ll make it.”
Spock looked worse than ever, sheened with fever sweat, his hands trembling, his hair tousled and unkempt. The room was worse: his console smashed, some of his trinkets dashed onto the floor, the bed unmade. There was a heavy, musky smell in the air, which didn’t strike Jim as sexy at all. He was hard, but he was thinking about sex while looking at the hottest man he had ever seen, so that was more than sufficient reason.
“The odds of making it in time are seventy two point nine percent,” said Spock.
“Unacceptable,” said Jim.
Spock raised an eyebrow, his sardonicism seeming much less good-natured than usual. “Acceptable or not, it is reality. There is no point in choosing not to accept what cannot be changed.”
“What if it could?” said Jim. “What if you—found someone else?” Tentatively, he put his hands on Spock’s upper arms, his usual substitute for hugging the crew’s least huggable member.
A moment later he was being slammed against the wall hard enough to knock his wind out. Spock had him pinned, toes barely touching the floor. Spock’s face loomed into his, showing black, dilated eyes. “You know nothing of Vulcan ways,” he hissed.
Jim licked his lips, which had gone very dry. “Explain, then. Make me understand.”
Abruptly Spock let him go and turned away. Jim dropped back onto his feet with a jolt.
“I am a married man,” said Spock flatly, to the opposite wall. “This can be resolved by no one but her. If I were free—” He cut himself off abruptly.
“What would you do, if you were free?” Jim asked quietly.
“It is irrelevant, as that is not the case,” said Spock without turning. “Please leave me, Captain. I am not myself.”
Jim bit back a sarcastic response, like I can see that, Spock, and left without a word.
Spock seemed more in control of himself as they headed to the transporter room to beam down to Vulcan. In the turbolift’s confined air, the heavy smell of Spock's musk was overpowering. Bones was clearly trying and failing to repress a face.
Jim was beginning to wonder if maybe the pheromones worked on him after all. It smelled bad, yes, but at the same time every indicator light in his body had spontaneously switched on the second Spock came in range. His uniform pants felt cruelly tight and his face was hot right up to his ears.
“So, it sounds like Vulcans have secondary genders like humans used to?” Bones asked conversationally.
“My compliments on your insight,” said Spock tightly. “It is a thing no out-worlder may know except those very few who have been involved. I hope you will keep this knowledge private.”
“Of course, Spock.”
“One of the advantages of Starfleet,” Spock went on, “was that here no one would know mine.”
Jim looked up at him, surprised. So Spock felt as he did about the whole thing. Much better not to know, not to have it known. If Jim hated the alpha stereotype and didn't want to be placed in that box, how much more would Spock hate the omega stereotype, being the powerful and controlled man he was?
“Captain.” Spock turned to Jim. “There is a thing that happens to Vulcans at this time. Almost an insanity, which you would no doubt find distasteful.”
Jim thought of every caveman holodrama he’d ever seen. Alphas fighting for the omega with their teeth. Fucking in front of everybody. That was distasteful all right.
But who was he to judge, after the things Spock had seen him do? “You've been most patient with my kinds of madness,” Jim reassured him.
“Then would you beam down to the planet's surface and stand with me? There is a brief ceremony.”
Jim's eyes widened. “Is it permitted?”
“It is my right. By tradition, the male is accompanied by his closest friends.”
If it was a ceremony friends could attend, hopefully it wasn't as bad as the things he heard about. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”
Spock was solicitous of Jim when they beamed down, seeming very anxious about bringing him here. He inquired about Jim’s wellbeing in the heat and thin atmosphere and even asked his permission to go into the wedding circle and begin.
“It’s your wedding, Spock, we’ll have to follow your lead,” said Jim, surprised.
There was some back and forth between Spock and the officiant, a Vulcan elder Jim had heard of, T’Pau. Finally Spock walked toward the large hexagonal gong in the middle of the circle. On the other side of the circle, the bride had stepped forward, the woman they had seen on the viewscreen earlier. She was stunningly beautiful, dark-haired and large-eyed, dressed in silver. Not tall, and yet somehow even Jim could tell she was an alpha. Just something in her bearing that made him want to roll over and show his belly.
If that was what Spock needed, no wonder Jim wouldn’t do. He wasn’t actually an alpha, he was a regular human with some deactivated throwback genes. Spock’s wife was the real deal.
Spock raised the mallet to strike the gong, but before he could do so, T’Pring lifted her hand in a gesture of negation and cried out, “Kalifee!”
Everything—the bells, the men with the fancy axes, Spock—froze. “She chooses the challenge,” intoned T’Pau from her throne.
“What’s the matter?” said Jim, because it was obvious nobody was going to explain anything to him if he didn’t ask. “Is this supposed to happen?”
T’Pau looked at T’Pring. T’Pring glared at Jim. “You have interfered with my husband, and for that I must fight you.”
“Interfered?” Jim repeated, confused.
“He leans toward you. He defers to you. It is clear he is conflicted between you and me,” she said, in a level tone that still managed to convey deep offense. “He must see us fight, and me win, or I cannot take him.”
Hope dawned in Jim’s heart. Spock, conflicted between him and his wife? Spock wanted him—even partly?
He looked at Spock, whose hands were steepled in front of his face, clearly doing his utmost to control himself. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked Spock.
“Do not attempt to speak with him, Kirk,” T’Pau said. “He is deep in the plak-tow, the blood fever. He will not speak with thee again until he has passed through what is to come.”
“Then how do I know what he wants?”
“He will want the victor,” said T’Pau, as if it was obvious. “I do not know how humans manage such things, if your weak and squalling omegas go to anyone that will have them, but ours will give way to none but the strongest. Spock is bound to T’Pring, but she can see that he is not fully hers. She needs to defeat you, before Spock’s eyes, or he will not let her have him.”
“Barbaric way of handling things,” muttered Bones, at Jim’s elbow. “You'd think a modern society would have developed a better way.”
“If it’s instinctively triggered,” Jim pointed out under his breath, “they may not have a choice.” Louder, he said, “Can I decline?”
“You may yield at any time,” said T’Pau. “Lie down and show your throat, and T’Pring will mark you with her lirpa. After that Spock will be hers.”
He glanced at T’Pring again. She had a man by her side—another husband? “Do you love him?” Jim demanded.
“What relevance does that have?” she asked evenly. “I will serve him in his trial so that he will live. And for my part, I will have his lands. It is a logical arrangement.”
Spock was still completely zoned out. Impossible to ask him what he wanted. Because surely, in his right mind, he had other opinions than simply deferring to the strongest. When this was over, and he came back to himself the property of T’Pring, would he have regrets?
“If I were free—” Spock had begun. What would he do if he were free?
T’Pring thought Spock wanted him. Jim believed Spock’s deference was purely a matter of the chain of command, but did that necessarily mean she was wrong? Moments flashed before his eyes: evenings at chess when their eyes had lingered on each other, brushes of fingers, Spock’s warm praise of him, counteracted at times by guilty withdrawal. Had Spock wanted him all this time, and been restraining himself because he was married? Was this his chance for freedom?
It was hard to see what the right thing was to do, with the stakes so high and Spock out of commission. And with Jim, of course, wanting him so very badly.
With one resolute breath, he looked at T’Pau. “I accept the challenge.”
There was more ceremony, more bells and drums, and Jim was given a lirpa, a kind of heavy ceremonial axe with a wickedly sharp blade. He swung it once, experimentally.
Apparently the fight was already on, because T’Pring flew at him, slashing with her lirpa. Her short skirt made more sense now: hiked up a little on her hips, it left her with full range of motion.
Jim blocked the blow and backed up to circle her warily. He had given very little thought to the ability level of his opponent, but now it was clear this was a mistake. She might be smaller than him by almost a foot, but she was still a Vulcan. Her dense musculature, the result of life on a heavy world, would be challenging enough. On top of that, she was swift, trained, and—it became clear as they traded a few more blows—incredibly aggressive. That would be the alpha in her.
Jim gave ground to her, bit by bit. He dared not look at Spock, still standing by the gong, watching them. Did he see his fate unfolding before him? Or was he only watching the lithe movements of his wife’s bare arms? This, it seemed, was Vulcan foreplay, and Jim would be lying if he didn’t kind of see the appeal.
That thought immediately birthed another: if the goal of this fight was to make Spock ready to be fucked by one of them, then it followed that Spock would be watching Jim as well. He hoped Spock liked sweat, because he was pouring it in buckets in this heat. Shifting his weight onto his front foot, he advanced on T’Pring. Spock needed an alpha? Then he’d best be an alpha.
Their lirpas clashed together, and T’Pring raised an eyebrow. “So you do want him,” she said.
“I love him,” said Jim. “I don’t want to see him as your second husband, wanted only for his lands.”
She slashed across his chest, too fast to block, slicing through his shirt and leaving a line of blood on his skin. Those blades were even sharper than he'd realized. It barely even hurt.
He leaped back and they connected again a few paces away. “He would have no cause ever to complain of the treatment I would give him,” said T’Pring. “Whereas I am not certain you are alpha enough for him.”
Jim wasn’t sure either, not at all. But he pressed forward again, finally forcing her a step backward, if only due to the advantage of his size. “I’m the alpha of an entire starship,” he hissed.
Now both eyebrows were raised. She looked as cool as if she were drinking tea, but at the same time…possibly impressed? “And what does that mean to you, James Kirk?”
A good question. He kept it on his mind as they sparred back and forth. T’Pring did not seem eager to press an advantage. She was toying with him. Or, perhaps, giving him time to think. Was this really a duel, in all earnest? Or was it a debate, with some showy lirpa-swinging to impress the omega?
Alphas and betas and for all he knew, epsilons and thetas, thought Jim. What did it mean? What were they for? What did they do? Was he an alpha because of a couple of genes? She sure didn’t think so. She thought Spock needed something else.
Wolves, Jim remembered, didn’t really have alphas in the same way. It wasn’t a genetic thing. It was a matter of care. The alpha was the one who led the pack, found the prey, made sure the puppies had something to eat. Had human alphas been the same?
“I take care of them,” said Jim, with confidence now. “I take care of my crew, and I’ve been taking care of Spock for years now.” He pressed forward, swinging the deadly weapon in a high arc.
T’Pring blocked it effortlessly. “And does he welcome that from you?”
He swung from the side, considering. She jumped back. So many times making Spock rest, bringing him something to eat, coaxing out of him whatever feelings were troubling him and then logically explaining them away so he could still feel like a perfect Vulcan. Had Spock liked that? “Yes. I think he does.”
He swung once more, and she artistically tumbled to the ground, looking for all the world like he had bowled her over. Her chin rose, exposing her neck. “Mark me, Kirk,” she whispered. “So he knows you are stronger than I.”
He was struck with an immense temptation to laugh. Stronger than T’Pring? Never. But perhaps, stronger in what he had to offer Spock, comparatively. Carefully, he raised the lirpa and nicked her neck. It was sharp as a razor, spilling green blood from the shallow cut. He’d hurt himself worse shaving, but hopefully it was good enough for Spock.
It seemed that it was. T’Pring rose to her feet, blotted the blood with her first two fingers, and smeared them against Jim’s jaw. “You have bested me,” she said. “The man is yours.”
Leaning in, she added in a lower voice, “Remember, if he wishes you to win, you will.” Then she turned, hefting her lirpa onto her shoulder, and withdrew from the ring.
Jim glanced around frantically. He? There was another challenger?
There was a movement behind him and he spun around. It was all the warning he had before Spock leapt off the dais and bore him to the ground. Sitting up to straddle him, Spock backhanded him across the face.
“What—?” Jim cried in dismay.
“Kroyka!” snapped T’Pau, and Spock froze. To Jim, she said with rather strained patience, “To mate him, Kirk, you must also prove that you are stronger than he is. Why should he consent to be mated by a lesser man?”
“Now look here,” Bones interjected from the side of the ring. “We all know any Vulcan is much stronger than any human. He hasn't a—”
“Kroyka!” T’Pau interrupted, and he too fell silent. There must be some telepathic force behind that word. Jim wished he had that trick when the yeomen squabbled in briefings.
Two of the executioner-looking toughs stepped forward holding some kind of fancy lassos or slings. They laid them to one side, and Spock, apparently released by T’Pau, climbed off Jim to get one.
“You will fight with the ahn-woon,” T’Pau declared. “If you win, he is yours. If you lose, he can only relieve his fever by killing you.”
“Good to know,” said Jim faintly, and scrambled to his feet to grab his own ahn-woon.
Before he could even reach it, Spock's weapon snaked around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. Desperately he kicked free and got back up. This was nothing like the sedate duel with T’Pring. Spock had no interest in fair play. He fought like a predator, no spark of recognition in his eyes.
The next three minutes Jim was flung around the ring like a ragdoll. It seemed that Spock was not content to kill him, he must first bruise every part of his body.
But Jim had to win now. It was the only way they both left this ring alive. He could run—flee back to the ship, and leave Spock to his fate—but he couldn’t leave his friend to his death. And if Spock killed him, Jim couldn’t imagine how he’d feel when he came back to himself. He’d almost certainly demand to be punished to the fullest extent of the law.
T'Pring had promised: if he wants you to win, you will.
Well in that case it seemed a hell of a lot like Spock didn't want him after all. He'd gone and promised T’Pring he could be alpha to her betrothed, and it seemed none of that was really true. Spock needed somebody stronger, and Jim could never be that. Not in body, and not in character either. Spock was the strongest-minded person Jim had ever known.
Then again…Spock could end this very quickly if he wanted. Just like his wife, he wasn’t going in for the kill. Giving Jim a chance to pull himself together?
He dragged himself to his feet yet again, reeling a little, staring hopefully into Spock's eyes. “Please, Spock, it's me.”
Spock did not answer. But his eyes dipped, very briefly, to Jim's ripped shirt.
Blood, drawing a predator?
Or skin, tempting a lover?
Experimentally, Jim hooked his fingers in the tear and ripped it larger. Spock’s eyes tracked the movement, his nostrils flaring.
There. Now he understood. If the first fight had been a debate, disguised as a duel, this fight was secretly a seduction.
And that, Jim was a master of.
He threw himself at Spock, entirely without finesse, and brought him to the ground. For a moment he kept the upper hand, breathing hard in Spock's face, body stretched out on Spock's for maximum contact. His sweat soaked into Spock's clothes, and in turn Spock's musky fever-sweat was on him.
Spock rolled them over almost at once. No matter. Jim squirmed beneath him, letting Spock feel his tensing muscles, making him work to keep him down.
It didn’t work.
Spock had the ahn-woon around his neck in a flash, choking him. Jim’s lungs screamed, and he thrashed about, seeing stars. Spock didn’t want him at all, did he?
Jim arched upward, thrusting his groin against Spock’s. Spock jolted abruptly, his grip on the ahn-woon loosening. Jim got his legs up, kicked at Spock, and rolled clear.
Shock, or had he liked that? It was impossible to tell. Jim unwrapped the ahn-woon from his neck and flung it on the ground.
Spock crouched a moment, panting and looking up at him. Jim yanked at his shirt again, until it hung off him in tatters, showing his whole chest.
Spock looked hypnotized. Then he lunged again, pressing Jim to the ground. This time a hard cock ground into Jim's thigh. “Yes,” Jim breathed, dragging down at Spock's left side to roll them over again. He shoved a knee between Spock's thighs, grinding it into his crotch.
Spock gasped and for a moment Jim thought it was all over. They would simply lie here in the sacred sands and rub together until the heat had passed. Jim shuddered, thinking about that. He had been fighting his own constant arousal for days.
But no, it could not be that easy. Spock flung him off after a moment and resumed circling.
Still, Spock's ahn-woon lay in the dust, and he did not move to pick it up. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw T’Pau rise to her feet, gesture to the guards, and move off.
Spock took advantage of the moment of distraction to tackle Jim again, holding him down by his arms and biting his neck. The skin broke under one of Spock's canines, and Spock released his jaws to lap at the blood with a rough tongue.
“Bones?” Jim called anxiously. He wasn't sure now if he was being murdered or ravished.
“Far as I can figure,” Bones called back, “T’Pau’s confident you're winning, and she's, uh…giving you some privacy.”
Jim felt a moment of terror. He didn’t share T’Pau’s confidence, and now they were all leaving him alone with Spock?
Then again, even if they’d stayed, they wouldn’t have helped, so it was just as well to have them gone.
He rolled them over again so he was on top and ground down sharply against Spock's hardness. “You want me, don't you?” he asked, low and husky. “You have to fight, because it's your instinct, but deep down you want me to fuck you.”
Spock whimpered and arched upward. Jim forced him back down, biting at Spock's neck like Spock had at his. It worked as he had hoped: Spock went limp, letting Jim worry at his throat with his blunt human teeth.
Maybe T’Pau had been right. He released Spock long enough to call, “You can go, Bones. I’ve got my comm on my belt.” Then he latched back on, denting the skin where Spock’s neck met his shoulder. Spock thrashed under him, hips rocking urgently.
“Good…luck?” said Bones. “Or best wishes, anyway.”
Then Bones was gone, and the world narrowed to Jim and Spock. It was time for Jim to claim his mate.
“You’re mine,” Jim murmured into his neck. “Is that—” he began, and then thought it wasn’t very alpha to ask questions. “That’s how it works,” he said firmly. “I beat your wife and I beat you and that means I have you now.”
A long, low whine came from Spock’s throat. Jim fastened his lips to Spock’s, pointing his tongue to force his way into Spock’s mouth. It was rougher than he liked to be, but he knew Spock could fling him off again if he chose. And Spock liked it. He sucked on Jim’s tongue when it breached his mouth, thrusting upward needily. His pants were soaked, and now Jim's were getting wet with it too.
He smelled amazing.
It was the same musky smell as before, but Jim had to be honest: with the way he was instantly aroused every time he smelled it, he was becoming conditioned to the scent. He broke off the kiss and took a moment to huff at Spock's neck, where it was the strongest, before pulling away and sitting up on Spock's hips. “I'll take care of you, I promise. But this,” he pulled at the hem of Spock's shirt, “won't do.”
He tried to pull it up, but Spock was clearly too out of it to sit up a little and let him, so he took it firmly in each hand and ripped it down the middle. These machine-printed uniforms were incredibly flimsy, and at this point that felt like a perk.
Spock’s mouth hung open, panting. He'd liked that, definitely. Jim bent down and kissed all over Spock's chest and belly, not ignoring the hard coppery nipples. Beneath him, Spock writhed and keened.
Jim wasn't sure how to get the pants off without climbing off of Spock, and also unsure whether Spock's passivity would last without Jim’s weight on him. Nervously, he slid off and moved to grasp Spock’s waistband. To his relief, Spock only whimpered and lifted his legs, spreading them to the point Jim had to shove them back together to get the pants off. But he managed it in the end, shucking off his own carelessly beside them.
Spock’s genitals were a surprise. A large green cock was the most noticeable bit, but it was surrounded by two wet, swollen folds—presumably a sheath. Slick dribbled out of it everywhere, smeared on Spock’s thighs and dribbling down onto a gaping pine-green asshole.
Jim tucked the remains of Spock’s shirt under his hips, in the hopes of keeping any of that coarse sand away—though fortunately, it was firmly packed and not getting everywhere as much as one might expect. Tentatively, he rested one hand on Spock’s inner thigh. He wanted to dive into him so much, but he wasn’t used to—well, any of what this was.
“Sanu,” Spock sobbed.
Jim looked up at his face, startled. It was the first time Spock had tried to speak since this whole thing had begun. T’Pau had said he wouldn’t. Was he beginning to come back to himself, then? Was there a chance to confirm that he genuinely wanted this?
Leaning over Spock to gaze into his eyes, he demanded, “Say my name, Spock.”
Spock looked stumped and then whimpered again, “Sanu?”
“Spock, I need to know that you know who I am.”
“T’hy’la,” said Spock, which didn’t enlighten Jim at all.
Jim put his hand on the swollen fold alongside the green cock, sliding his thumb into the slick gap. “I’ll fuck you right now,” he said, “if you’ll tell me who I am and that you want this.”
“Jim,” Spock ground out. “Bath’paik, katela’uh n’nash-veh iyi.”
“You do know me,” Jim said wonderingly. He sank his fingers into Spock's hole, finding it as slick and loose as it looked. Nature, it seemed, wanted Spock to be fucked here.
Spock moaned, rocking back on Jim's fingers. Jim looked down on him in awe. He looked debauched already, black hair splayed in a sunburst around his head, teeth bared as he panted. Jim’s mate, his very own.
A fire rose in him, the yearning Spock had always inspired in him, plus the lust that had been burning him since Spock's pon farr had begun, banked only by his fear they wouldn't get through this, that he wouldn't know what to do. Now his uncertainty was gone. He knew exactly what to do.
Jim pulled his fingers out, swung Spock's legs over his shoulders, and lined himself up. “You asked for this,” he reminded Spock, and thrust in one smooth stroke up to the hilt.
Spock cried out as if in pain, but his legs locked tight around Jim's back. His hands clawed at Jim's shoulders. “Dvun’uh,” he demanded.
“Bossy, aren't you,” Jim said fondly. It was reassuring—all of this had been. To see that Spock wasn't weak, didn't want to be dominated, not really. He needed the trappings of it, but deep down he was the one calling the shots. The ritual, this entire charade was for him. T’Pring had recognized what Spock wanted, tested Jim's worthiness, and gave up her claim immediately when she was sure Jim passed muster. And then Spock himself had fought him hard, but only, it seemed, as foreplay. He wanted Jim and, now that his need to fight had been satisfied, he was ready to lay himself bare.
So what did that make Jim? A worthy alpha? Or only the man Spock happened to want?
When it came down to it, did it really matter?
He thrust into Spock hard. No teasing and no finesse. He was too desperate and Spock, by the noises he was making, felt the same. Spock's eyes were open, but milky with his nictating membrane down. There were green bruises down his neck. His chest hair was damp with pungent fever-sweat.
He was beautiful like this. Jim wanted him so much, wanted to take him, claim him, slam into him and make him feel it. He twisted a hand in Spock’s hair and growled. The sound startled him, coming from his throat, and yet it felt right—in this exact moment, in this exact context, it was right. Those latent instincts were arising, and he rode them like a wave, knowing that it was what Spock needed right now.
Inside Spock’s body it was even hotter than his skin. The same hole that had felt so loose around his fingers seemed impossibly tight now, clamping around him like a hand. Spock rocked his hips, meeting each stroke with equal force. His cock kept dripping fluid, and Jim jerked it almost frantically, feeling as if it were his own orgasm he was chasing.
They climbed quickly toward a peak together, all reservations clearly left behind with the weapons in the sand. Finally Spock came, great jets of pale lavender spattering Jim's belly. Jim thrust inward and followed after, dropping his head down between his shoulders and heaving for breath.
It had been the most feral, unrestrained sex of his life. Once he had steadied himself, he moved to pull out.
Only to find that somehow, he couldn't. He was still hard, too, but he couldn't move more than about an inch either way.
Spock’s eyes were half-lidded and content. “You will not be able to withdraw for some time,” he said sleepily, in perfect Standard.
Jim blinked down at him. “But humans aren't—I'm not—I can't—”
Spock opened his eyes, still looking dreamy. “It is a common misconception that knotting among Earth canines is initiated by the male. In point of fact, it is the female’s vagina that locks down after climax, preventing blood from leaving the male’s penis, producing the characteristic ‘knot.’ The extension to Vulcan biology is cogent.”
“So I have to stay in you till you let me go?”
A strange throb inside Spock's body made him gasp. It wasn't painful, exactly, just—a lot, oversensitive as he was.
“Until my body has milked from you all the ejaculate it can.”
Jim's face must have shown his dismay, because Spock said, somewhat abashed, “I am sorry I did not explain any of this to you. I did not know she would do that, or you. I meant to fulfill my promise to her.”
Carefully, Jim brought Spock’s left leg over to the other side so he could arrange them both on their sides while still attached. Another gentle throb slid along his cock, and Jim decided it wasn't so bad. Like a hand smoothing along his length. He felt like he could come again, maybe, if this went on. Not right away, but eventually.
“Did I do the right thing?” Jim asked. “I didn't know what you wanted, and you weren't there to ask—”
Spock pulled Jim’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Yes. I would not have let you best me if I had not wanted you, you may be assured of that.”
“I'm not much of an alpha,” Jim confessed. “The genes are all dormant, apparently. I'd never have beaten T’Pring if she hadn't let me.”
“Biology demands we mate with the strongest,” said Spock. “But we have found that the sapient mind can interpret that in a variety of ways. You are strong in character, in heart, and it seems T’Pring was aware of that. Likewise, biology demanded you dominate me, but I did not genuinely wish to become property. In a human idiom, you threaded that needle most adroitly.”
Jim chuckled fondly, muffling it in Spock's shoulder. “I'm so glad that you're— you again. I've missed the way you talk.”
“It will not last,” said Spock apologetically. “Having you in me alleviates the madness, but when the knot releases, I will become somewhat incoherent again. Hopefully not as badly as before, now that the initial bond has been formed. We will need to repeat this act several more times. Preferably,” he added, sniffing slightly at their surroundings, “not in the sand.”
“I’ll have them beam us up directly to my quarters in a minute,” said Jim, scrabbling with his foot to hook his pants and bring them closer, to reach the comm on his belt. “But first, can I…can I come in you again? I feel like I can.”
“Do not ask me,” said Spock, in a low voice that made something vibrate at the base of his spine. “Tell me you will.”
Jim smiled, showing his teeth. Between the two of them, he decided he could be an alpha. Just for Spock, and just the amount Spock wanted.
“I’m gonna fuck you again,” he growled low. “I’m gonna fill you up.”
Spock’s eyes fluttered closed, and he bucked his hips closer, so his ass was flush with Jim’s thighs. “Do it,” he hissed.
Jim pressed his palm against Spock’s belly, feeling the way it made Spock’s body shift slightly around his cock. Then he began to move, tiny, almost microscopic movements. Straining outward at the rim of Spock’s hole, then in deep, forcing the knot inward. Spock’s muscles stroked around him, following his rhythm, gently milking him. Jim mouthed at Spock’s neck, rocking in that subtle rhythm, feeling Spock so tight around him.
“Good boy,” Jim murmured. Spock shuddered against him, and Jim tried again, lips brushing Spock’s ear. “So good for me. Does it feel good, that great big knot in you?”
Spock moaned incoherently. Jim sped up the rhythm a fraction. There was no room to operate; his cock felt enormous. And yet it was perfect like this.
Spock cried out, tensing and gushing fluid from his sheath. So he could come just like this, from tiny little movements of the knot inside him. The squeeze around Jim’s cock from Spock’s orgasm was exquisite. He reached into the sheath, probing it with his fingers to coax another climax out of him.
With the second climax, Jim came too, spilling inside Spock. This time, Spock's body released him, and his spent cock slid out easily. He draped a leg over Spock's leg to keep him in place and flipped open his comm.
After he had finished ordering the beamout, Spock said, rather affronted, “You need not worry, I have some moments of clarity left.”
Jim murmured in his ear, “And how do you propose to spend them?”
A moment’s reflection. Thoughtfully Spock said, “I have never been tied up before.”
Jim's eyes flew wide. Before he could answer, the golden light of transport enveloped them both.