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“You requested an additional science officer, Captain?” Spock asks, the slightest inflection of disbelief slipping into his tone.
“I wish I had.” Jim replies, giving the lieutenant an appreciative once over.
As Jim reviews the new crew member’s credentials, Spock struggles with the cracks in his shields that have been splintering wider and wider since Pike’s death.
“...specializing in advanced weaponry.”
The Captain’s tone trails off, uncertainty evident.
“Impressive credentials-” Spock allows.
“Thank you.” Carol replies automatically, smile wavering when she meets Spock’s eyes.
“-but redundant now that I am back aboard the Enterprise.” Spock points out.
“And yet,” Jim grits out, turning a tight smile on his first officer. “the more the merrier.”
Turning back to Lieutenant Wallace, dismissing Spock entirely, Jim says warmly, “Have a seat, Doctor.”
The cracks shatter , and Spock lunges up from his seat, striding quickly towards the ‘fresher at the back of the shuttle. He ignores Carol’s yelp of protest as he steps on her boot in his haste to leave, gives Jim the same treatment at his offended, “Hey!”
The fresher door is nearly closed when calloused fingers catch at the lip, the safety sensors kicking the panel open wide once more.
“What is wrong with you?” Jim hisses, pressing into the tight space, barely large enough for one full grown adult, let alone two. “Are you seriously throwing a temper tantrum over Carol?”
Were his controls and shields adequately in place, Spock might have been able to reply with something reasonable, perhaps even in a calm manner; as that is decidedly not the case, his lips curl back in a twist of a snarl that belonged better to the violent for-bearers of his pre-Surakian ancestors.
“You know her?” he demands, unexpectedly possessive rage gushing forth from behind the crumbled remains of his mental shields.
Of course Jim knows her, he has ‘known’ nearly every Starfleet officer in his age group with a functioning libido .
Distantly, Spock recognizes that this thinking is both flawed and statistically unlikely; the same echo of his remaining logic is just grateful that the door has closed now behind Jim, hiding his shameful loss of control from the other members of the flight crew.
“Who, Carol?” Jim asks, incredulous.
Spock rears back, hands clenching tight into fists to keep him from strangling Jim.
Again.
“What is going on with you?” Jim demands. “Why are you acting like-”
Jim’s words cut off, but Spock's eyes are screwed shut, focused on attempting to control his breathing; a task made significantly more difficult by the heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and Jim’s proximity.
On any given day, Spock is able to control his inappropriate desire for his Captain. The affection and attraction he holds for his obnoxious superior officer has already cost him greatly; his relationship with Nyota, his ability to concentrate when Jim is within hearing distance, and perhaps most concerning of all, his pre-marital bond with T’Pring. After Vulcan’s destruction, she’d been insistent on severing their tie, and his constant preoccupation with Jim had been the final straw.
“You’re jealous .” Jim whispers, licking his lips before his teeth sink into the lower one in contemplation.
“Cease.” Spock snaps. “Leave me, Captain. I must collect myself.”
Jim’s star-bright blue eyes narrow appraisingly, and Spock has to smother the coil of arousal that unfurls in his gut at the downright predatory look Jim is giving him.
“You aren’t jealous because she’s another science officer.” he muses aloud, moving impossibly further into Spock’s space. There is hardly an inch of their bodies below their shoulders that isn’t touching now, and Spock could no sooner stop his physical reaction to that proximity than he could outrun the gravity well of a black hole.
“You think she’s competition.” Jim concludes. “For me .”
Spock’s hands lash out before his ears finish processing that infuriating statement.
“ Mine .”
As his hands clench tight in the blue flight-suit coveralls that Jim and every other crew member on the shuttle is wearing, he tugs Jim close, lowering his mouth to Jim’s pulse point and breathing in raggedly.
It takes every ounce of restraint he has left in him not to bite down, to seal his lips and his teeth around Jim’s throat and reach for his mind, always teasing just so at the walls of his defenses.
To Spock’s pleasant surprise, Jim isn’t teasing now; rather, the human seems almost giddy with excitement, mind calling out like a siren song for Spock’s own. Jim brings his hands to rest on Spock’s chest, and for a single confusing moment, he fears he is going to be pushed away.
But then Jim exhales, long and slow, and cautiously tips his head to the side, exposing the pale column of his throat.
The act of submission, paired with the almost meek, “Okay.” that falls from Jim’s lips proves to be Spock’s undoing.
With an animalistic whine, Spock drags his tongue along the length of his Captain’s throat, feels his pulse racing beneath his skin. Teasing out the line of tendon that runs up the side of Jim’s neck, Spock sinks his teeth into his target, biting down hard .
“Fuuuh-” Jim groans, obscenely loud, absolutely filthy; a perfect melody to Spock’s ears.
Slapping at the wall behind him to engage the fresher’s lock, Jim’s knees wobble dangerously when Spock draws a teasing suck into his skin, long restrained instincts rushing to the fore and demanding that he mark his mate.
Even without Jim’s mind singing in pleasure at the claiming, Spock would be able to feel Jim’s enjoyment of the act; hard evidence is presently grinding into his thigh, the layers of flight suits between them doing little to disguise Jim’s urgent arousal.
“Spock.” Jim gasps, and the Vulcan reluctantly pulls his teeth from the space-pale neck of his Captain, leaning back just far enough to appreciate the indentation and spreading scarlet stain he’s left behind. Satisfied with his work, Spock twists his hands in Jim’s suit tighter still, preventing his escape.
Nosing along Jim’s jaw and scraping their cheeks together in another mark of possession, Spock teases his lips against Jim’s own when they finally make contact. The soft skin he’s hovering over trembles almost imperceptibly before Jim breathes out, “P-please?”
With a rumble of approval, Spock seals his mouth to Jim’s own, teeth teasing at his plump lower lip that drops open provocatively. He will not give Jim the satisfaction of thrusting his tongue inside immediately though, and instead ghosts feather light touches to Jim’s lips, teasing him into a fever as hot as his own.
The needy whine this provokes from his usually cocky Captain is most gratifying.
Breaking away from the kiss and provoking a growl from Spock, Jim gasps out, “How sound proof are these things?” waving a hand to indicate the ‘fresher walls around them.
Spock gives him an assessing look, the chaos of his shields breaking having settled into a laser-like focus, now that the target of his desires is within reach. Jim’s pupils are blown wide with arousal, lips and cheeks flushed an enticing shade of pink and, best of all, the angry mark on his neck is settling into a delightfully dark hue.
“Sound proof enough.” he says, voice low and gravelly from the tension in his throat.
“Oh.” Jim says weakly. “Good.”
🚻
Jim is… embarrassingly turned on.
Every ounce of frustration with Spock’s erratic behavior had vanished the instant Spock had growled at him. The pressure of the last twenty four hours, between Spock’s betrayal, his demotion, Pike’s death, and now Marcus’s strange man hunt, had culminated into his own temper running rampant. He had no idea what he’d do to Spock when he stepped through the ‘fresher doors, but never in a hundred years would he have guessed it to be this .
This, of course, being Spock’s tongue, finally finally making its way into Jim’s mouth; the hands that have held him tight, locked in place, shift. One curls along the back of his skull, grasping futilely at the short strands there before settling into a firm grip at his neck; he has to fight hard against the instinctive urge to go limp as a kitten in that demanding grasp.
Spock’s other hand is doing the Lord’s work, busy unclasping the mag strips along the front of Jim’s flight suit and slowly peeling it away from his body.
Giddily, Jim wonders if Spock is really going to fuck him in a shuttle bathroom on the five minute flight to their ship, and is unsurprised to find himself completely on board with this idea.
:That is not my intention.: Spock’s voice whispers, sultry tones dragging against Jim’s awareness.
Touch telepathy, Jim thinks, as he tightens his own hold on his recently re-instated First Officer; sucking on Spock’s tongue and thinking as loud as he can that he wishes it were another part of the Vulcan’s anatomy.
The rush of heat that blows through his skull like a hot desert breeze made of lust, of yes, has Jim pushing even closer into Spock’s personal space, a needy whimper threatening to escape him.
:I would be amenable to this activity.: Spock purrs, Jim’s entire skull rattling with the force of just how ‘amenable’ he is. :But first-:
Fingers dance along the hem of his ‘fleet pants, teasing Jim and pushing his patience to the limit.
:What is it about Starfleet underwear that you take objection to?: Spock asks as he rubs his thumb into the bare jut of Jim’s hip.
Nibbling desperately at Spock’s bottom lip, Jim nearly misses the question; he barely manages to conjure up the memory of a hastily packed suitcase, his meager belongings dirt-side shoved inside willy-nilly. His career is over, and he’s two shots of cheap synthehol away from riding into the sunset on a hover-bike and never looking back.
Of course, Pike had interrupted those two shots, and now he was here .
:You were going to leave.: Spock’s mental tone has iced over, his mouth pulling away even as the grip on the back of Jim’s neck tightens.
Jim tries to smother the knee jerk reaction of thought that comes with the accusation; that it’s better to leave than be left, but Spock is both too quick and too deeply immersed in Jim’s consciousness with the amount of skin that he’s touching to miss it.
:You cannot leave .: Spock snarls into his mind, though his lips are now distressingly unoccupied. :You must not.:
The pang of hurt that lances through Jim’s chest is an old, familiar ache. But nobody wants me to stay.
Spock doesn’t respond verbally, but his fingers leap to align on Jim’s face in a pattern that he has ached to feel again since the first and last time Selek touched him there. The thought has barely processed in his head before Spock is growling into the crook of his neck and all over his mind. Teeth sink into his skin once more, as Spock’s mind paws at Jim’s own.
Shoving aside his hurt, and never one to miss the opportunity to draw a reaction out of his ever-composed First Officer, Jim tries to recall how it had felt when Selek had entered his mind. It had been fast, and rough, like going in dry for a hard fuck; suitable enough while the adrenaline was high, but with painful consequences on the receiving end when the rush wore off. This is different though, this time he knows who’s coming inside, and he desperately wants to let Spock in.
Spock pauses.
His teeth withdraw, much to Jim’s disappointment, but are replaced a moment later with lips that drop feather light kisses to the abused skin of his neck. The insistent pawing has shifted too, and Jim can just tell that Spock is thinking, assessing Jim like a scientific anomaly that refuses to be neatly quantified.
Closing his eyes and clenching his hands into fists, Jim wiggles impatiently in the minuscule space Spock has allowed him, trying to entice the Vulcan to do something; the bonus friction on his cock, even against the scratchy material of his ‘fleet trousers, is its own reward for the struggle.
Spock exhales, hot breath tickling the bite sensitized skin of Jim’s neck.
When Spock’s mind touches his own again, it’s… decidedly different.
Where before there had been a heavy handed pawing sensation, now there was a soft touch; a teasing caress.
It was still decidedly Spock , and it was a strange combination of senses to feel his First Officer pressed tight along the entire front of his body while also feeling the practically purring feel of Spock’s mind against his own.
He’s in uncharted waters here, but he’s horny, and it’s Spock , and that makes everything easier. So he focuses on relaxing, clings to Spock’s firm body and leans in, tries to concentrate on being soft and open; he’s got no defenses against a telepath, but he pictures opening a door and inviting Spock in anyway.
With a rumble of approval that Jim can feel beneath the hands he’s still got pressed to Spock’s chest in the tight confines of the shuttle ‘fresher, Spock nudges deeper; a slick, easy glide that slides into Jim’s mind with ease.
Sighing with relief, Jim’s world narrows down to the feel of that probing thought, the feeling of Spock that digs deeper into his consciousness with every probing touch and teasing withdrawal.
He’s barely counted three breaths aloud, but it feels like Spock has been stroking his brain for an eternity and a half before the pressure increases, and suddenly he’s deeper and wider, gently forcing Jim’s mind open to receive him.
Whining low in his throat, Jim arches his back and presses harder into Spock’s physical body, aching cock rutting desperately against his First Officer’s thigh.
More.
Please, Spock.
He has no idea if Spock can hear him, but surely he’d pick up something of Jim’s desperation from where he’s knuckle deep in his mind?
:Patience, ashaya.: Spock promises, somehow twisting the sense of him that was buried in Jim’s gray matter, stroking at the confines of his skull as if he were seeking something out.
A moment and three heartbeats later, he finds it.
“Ah!” Jim cries, as Spock’s mental touch ghosts over something like a shock button in his mind; only this isn’t the bad-shock kind of button, no, instead, the pleasure center in Jim’s brain lights up like the fourth of July displays back in Iowa and he’s seeing the same sparks and glitter behind his eyelids.
Ruthless, Spock digs into the spot again; Jim locks up in his arms with another aborted cry as he paints the inside of his ‘fleet trousers, orgasm taking him completely by surprise and turning his vision white for a moment.
When he settles back into his physical form, Spock has taken a few liberties with his mental probing and is now thrusting his mind against Jim’s own, an echo of the desperate rutting Jim had been subjecting him to moments prior.
:Fuck, Spock.: he presses at the rock-solid presence that’s violating his mind in the best way, no longer thinking of a house with an open door; his mind feels like an abused cunt, and he spreads his mental legs open wide for Spock’s pleasure.
:Yes!: is Spock’s hissed reply to this wanton thought, and then he’s breaking through… something in Jim’s head, touching somewhere that Selek never did, had avoided like the plague in Jim’s mind; at the time, it had left him feeling rotten and unwanted, but now, now he realizes that this is right. That part of him belongs to Spock, his Spock, and nobody else.
:Nobody else.: Spock agrees, his thrusts into Jim’s mind picking up in pace. :Jim, I need-:
:Yes! Please, Spock, please.: Jim begs in response to the Vulcan’s wordless query. He wants something from Jim, needs it bad; and Jim needs just as badly to give it to him.
The shock-button feeling goes off again, but this time Jim feels it distantly; knows that it’s Spock’s shock-button of pleasure, and the thrusting comes to a stuttering halt.
Warmth, like sunlight and the best whiskey he’s ever had, floods through Jim’s brain; flows out of that ‘Spock Only!’ space, only now it’s a Spock&Jim place.
Spock’s mental touch recedes only slightly, Jim whining at the loss, before it thrusts home once more; even more warmth and gooey delight pulses out into Jim’s brain. It’s seeding something deep in him, a feeling of connection that doesn’t fade in the slightest, even as Spock gently pulls out of his mind.
“Oh my god .” Jim whispers, panting for breath in the physical world and pawing desperately at Spock’s skin, grabbing at anything and everything he can reach.
“Jim.” Spock sighs happily, pressing gentle kisses into his neck.
And it’s not just his voice, no; Jim can feel how happy Spock is. It’s a level of contentment that Jim thought only barn cats lying in sun-puddles could achieve, but it’s radiating off of Spock like heat from a magnesium flare. It’s a feeling Jim could easily find himself addicted to.
“Arriving at Earth’s Space-dock.” calls the intercom, and Jim is harshly jolted back to reality.
“Already?” he whines, nuzzling into the space beneath Spock’s chin because he can now, and because it makes the Spock&Jim part of his brain glow.
“Duty calls.” Spock sighs, turning to the wall and retrieving a wad of toilet paper, proffering it to Jim with a significant look at his crotch.
Shaking his head and snorting at the ridiculousness of their situation, Jim unclasps his pants and lets them drop to his knees so he can try to salvage them.
“Are you good?” he asks Spock as he dabs with futility at the stain of white streaking his black trousers; at least it’s on the inside this time. “Collected, or whatever?”
Spock’s mild annoyance at Jim’s choice of terminology echoes from the new place in Jim’s mind, but it’s followed by such a wave of exasperated affection that Jim can’t help but look up to see if Spock’s face is showing anything of that emotion.
It’s not, but now he knows what it feels like for Spock to laugh at him from inside his own mind.
“That’s going to take some getting used to.” Jim snorts, but he’s grinning as he tugs his pants back into place.
“You have a lifetime to do so.” Spock assures him.
Trying and failing to cock his eyebrow that way Spock does so effortlessly, Jim asks, “A whole lifetime?”
Spock nods sharply, but his eyes look uncertain; the place in his mind, our bond it whispers, flutters with concern.
Jim grins, brushing the feeling away with a burst of affection for his favorite Vulcan.
“Lucky me.”
🚻