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No matter what situation Jim was in, he was always vocal. In bed was no exception. To begin with, Spock had found it somewhat disconcerting, being a naturally reticent person himself. But soon enough, he’d grown accustomed to the sounds Jim would make during their time together – in fact, he came to enjoy hearing them. In time, he came to love hearing them.
There were the small, delicate sounds: the sighs, the murmurs, the breathy little pants that whispered out from those delectably pink lips. Then came the gasps, the whimpers, the keening cries that told Spock just how close his lover was to completion. There were also the sounds that resulted from Spock deliberately holding him back from completion; the wails, the groans and the whines – the purest forms of begging. And oh, how Spock liked to hear Jim beg.
But what Spock liked most of all – what he really, really lost himself in finding – were the moans.
Those guttural, deep-throated moans that Jim would make when Spock manipulated his body like a prize instrument. Those were the most beautiful sounds that Spock had ever known. They were the ones that truly reminded Spock just who he was with, just who he was fucking, just who Jim belonged to.
He was making them now, his blonde head half-buried in the Starfleet-gray pillow in front of him, his hands tied to the bedframe with his uniform shirt because he’d insisted on touching himself even though Spock had instructed him not to. His rear end was in the air while his knees rested on the bed, legs spread wide and wanton. Spock was holding a glowing ass cheek in each hand, pulling them apart so that he had uninhibited access to the ring of muscle that trembled and quivered with every brush of his roughened, Vulcan tongue.
Another moan escapes, Jim’s hips rolling as he tries to push his ass backwards in an effort to relieve some of the pressure building inside.
Spock’s strong hands hold him effortlessly in place.
“Spoooock,” Jim whines as Spock’s tongue continues licking its way around, occasionally flattening itself and gliding a continuous path from Jim’s balls to his tailbone. That particular action always makes Jim shudder.
Another moan comes, this one louder than the last and Spock feels more blood surging down to fill his already hardened shaft. He laps over the puckered flesh again, pressing the rigid tip of his tongue in just the slightest bit, and then drawing it back out.
“Spock, please,” Jim begs as he squirms again.
Finally Spock pulls himself away from his feasting, kissing his way up Jim’s sweat-slicked spine until his lips are next to a rounded ear. He’s been rather insatiable tonight, having taken Jim three times already and then torturing him like this for approximately 26.3 minutes, but that was one of the advantages of Vulcan stamina. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. With Nyota, Spock had never felt the need to linger in the act. But with Jim, everything was different just because it was… Jim. There was an innate, almost primal need in Spock to claim him in every way possible. To take and satiate Jim in a way that left him too consumed to look at anyone else, lest Spock ever lose him. Because he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose Jim. Not again. Not ever again. He’d done so once before and that moment still woke him in the night, a scream – a name – on his lips in a blood-filled cry with tears pricking at his eyes…
He nuzzles his nose against his lover, pushing away the illogical thoughts of losing Jim when the man was right here underneath him, writhing so beautifully.
“Tell me what you want, Captain,” Spock murmurs directly into Jim’s ear, before flicking his tongue over the shell. He’d learnt a long time ago that his lover – being the beautifully vain creature that he was – always got even more turned on when Spock used his title.
Sure enough, Jim lets out another moan in response and Spock experiences a further surge of lust sweep over him. Oh, if only he could record that sound. He’d listen to it over and over again… Although, Spock’s the first to admit that it’s much better hearing it first-hand. Unconsciously, he begins to rub his burgeoning cock against Jim’s upper thigh; an act which only serves to get Jim more impatient.
“Spock, please,” he begs again. “I want you.”
All this time, the fingers on Spock’s hand had been lightly tracing their way round the puckered flesh that was now practically dripping. His other hand was holding himself propped up, hunched over Jim like some fiercely protective mother wrapping herself round her fragile child.
He brings his middle finger to a stop. The flesh beneath quivers in anticipation. Spock never gets tired of seeing Jim’s reactions to stimuli. He finds them all endlessly fascinating. Slowly he begins to press his middle finger inside.
“ ’Bout time,” Jim manages to utter in something that sounds like a cross between a pout and an exhalation of relief.
It takes hardly any pressure for Spock’s finger to slip inside the searing heat of Jim’s body, particularly with the way Jim’s pushing back against the intrusion, taking it in as if it was all he could ever want.
But what Spock wants… is more of those moans.
So he adds another finger. He gets something close; something like a grunt that becomes choked at the end.
He scissors his fingers for a moment or two before adding a third. He knows that, this far along, Jim needs to feel full. At the stretch, Jim moans again.
“Spock… God, I love you,” he breathes as Spock’s fingers thrust their way in and out of him.
Spock leans his head down that bit further to lay a soft kiss upon Jim’s temple, the act perhaps seeming out of place within such a display of dominance but this is them; this is who they are.
“You are my love as well,” Spock assures sincerely.
Jim’s mouth opens with in a silent cry, both in response to Spock’s words and the way Spock increases the pace of the fingers inside him, ensuring the add the fourth. Jim’s head thrashes from side to side but Spock makes sure he doesn’t brush against Jim’s prostate. He wants to drag the moment out just a little longer because Jim looks so breath-taking like this. And for now, he’s all Spock’s.
Finally Jim can’t take it anymore and pants out, “Spock – please, Spock.”
Spock breathes against the damp blonde locks, “Please, what, my love?”
“Please,” Jim moans the word. “Please – I want you inside me.”
Spock licks the side of Jim’s face, tasting salt and musk, tasting Jim’s want, his desire. “I am inside you, my Captain,” he reasons logically, but at the same time even he knows he’s being pedantic.
Jim growls, his ass clinging to Spock’s fingers. “You know what I mean!” the captain exclaims angrily.
Were it in his nature, Spock would smile. Instead all he does is take one last deep breath and then move back to his previous position.
His draws his fingers out and wastes no time in using them to hold Jim’s cheeks apart once more. Spock himself is now a hard as he can be. He takes just one moment to look at the sight before him and then he slams inside.
Jim’s back arches into a perfect curve and he gives the deepest moan yet – one filled with relief, gratitude, but most of all a profound yearning for Spock.
Spock knows neither of them are going to last long.
He pulls out before thrusting back in with such force that it rocks not only Jim’s body but the bed they’re on as well. He knows he’s hit the right spot when Jim cries out.
Spock sets a pace that is punishingly rewarding for both of them and each time he hears Jim’s vocalising his clear ‘appreciation’, he feels his own response increase.
When they come, it is to the sound of two moans joining together in harmony. The fingers of Spock’s hands, having moved to Jim’s hips, clutch tighter, digging into the soft, exquisite flesh beneath as he releases his seed deep inside, flooding the quivering passage of his one and only lover. His partner, his friend, his captain…
After the rapturous moment has passed, they both collapse forward onto the bed. Spock remains inside Jim as he wraps his arms round his waist from behind, holding him tightly. Not a moment later and his eyes are drifting shut.
Then Spock remembers Jim’s hands. With something like guilt his eyes open once more and he reaches up to quickly undo the fabric bindings.
But Jim’s too sated and sleepy to take much note. He probably would’ve slept that way had Spock completely forgotten. Nonetheless, when Spock does bring his arms back down, Jim murmurs a sluggish, “Thank you,” before snuggling back against Spock’s chest and sighing contentedly.
At seeing how tired Jim is, the guilt pricks at Spock again. Sometimes he did get rather carried away, and with Jim’s propensity for exaggeration regarding his stamina, Spock often neglected the fact that Jim was, after all, a human and as such, weaker than him.
From his position, Spock brushes the hair of his lover back and kisses his temple. “You are very good to me, Jim,” he says lowly. Catching sight of the redness round his wrists, Spock’s fingers drift over the marks from his makeshift restraints.
“Are you kidding?” Jim questions back, still sounding on the verge of sleep. “It’s hot when you’re all…” He waves a lackadaisical hand in the air but the description evidently trails away from him. His hand drops back to grab Spock’s and he intertwines their fingers together. “You’re so hot,” he ends up finishing with. “My Hot Spock, heh…”
Less than 3.5 seconds later, the sound of snores resonate around the room.
Spock lays a tender kiss to Jim’s shoulder blade and only a short time later follows his captain’s lead, lulled into slumber by the feel of Jim in his arms and the sound of Jim in his memory…