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corpus_invictusTitle: Take Refuge in What You Know, Chapter 27
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, hints of others
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt found here: "AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma."
Chapter Notes: Apparently it's the whole month of May that's conspiring to kill my writing, rather than just the week or two I anticipated. Apologies - let me make it up to you with porn. Also, I came thisclose to putting a line from Avatar in here but I resisted as it was too cheesy even for me to take. But I was tempted. Oh so very tempted.
Jim trudged home, having accomplished exactly none of what he'd planned to do at the Academy. His brain was wrapped up in his new problem, the one where he'd have to leave Spock behind unless they could figure out how to get him integrated back into society. As much as it killed him to admit it, staying behind with him just wasn't an option. He wanted to be in Starfleet, wanted to be out in the black dealing with new planets, new civilizations, new problems that needed new solutions. And he knew also that Spock wanted those things - must have, or he never would have left his home world. So now he had a new goal: getting Spock enrolled at the Academy again.
Just as soon as he stopped freaking out over meeting strangers and going outside. For the first time ever, Jim was grateful that he still had at least two or three semesters' worth of credits before graduation. He still had time.
He almost tripped over a package left outside his door, swearing as he picked it up and let himself in. He ripped through the brown paper wrapping, tossing it on the floor and squinting at the text on the small box. It was all medical jargon, which meant McCoy had left it there. Which meant somewhere there should have been an explanation.
On a hunch, Jim walked to the comm unit installed in his kitchen and pressed a button to play any messages that had been left on it. Sure enough, McCoy's southern drawl echoed through the room. "Hey, kid. Left a package by your door. Give it to Spock next time you see him. It's not the experimental stuff, just something he needs according to his medical records. Tell him it's on the house, no pressure."
More confused than before, Jim tried to work out the writing on the box. But it was covered in chemical compound names Jim wasn't familiar with and the only text he understood was the bit saying that the recommended dosage and side effects were on the info chip inside the box. Not wanting to tamper with it before handing it over, he set it aside long enough to change out of his uniform and into something more comfortable before he ambled next door.
"No kids and no medics today, I promise," he grinned when Spock opened the door to let him in.
"I have recovered sufficiently from my last exposure to them," Spock returned, sounding a little imperious and a lot amused. He looked good today, his clothing immaculate, his hair brushed, and his glasses set straight on his face. He was looking more and more put together as the weeks went by. Jim hoped that was an outer sign of his self-confidence increasing.
"Good, because even though I didn't bring a medic with me, he sent me something to give you."
Spock did the same thing Jim had done, scanning the outside of the box for information before he opened it. But rather than look baffled, recognition sparked in his eyes. "Did he give you a reason for sending this to me?"
Jim shook his head. "No. All he said was I was supposed to give it to you. And that it didn't have anything to do with the mentisinil and it wasn't a bribe. No pressure," he repeated what McCoy had said in his comm message.
Spock went silent for some time, staring at the box and then staring at Jim, looking as though he had eight things to say and couldn't settle on which needed to be said first. "Come with me," he murmured after a long pause, gesturing toward his bedroom.
Jim had tried, ever since that first meld, to keep most of their interactions confined in his own apartment. Now that he knew what kind of cage Spock kept himself in, he preferred the relative freedom of his own place. But Spock had rearranged things in his bedroom since the last time Jim had been in there, as if doing so eased the sense of entrapment he felt. The bed was on the opposite side of the room, the headboard no longer blocking one of the windows on the other wall. Both windows were open now, with no curtains or blinds obstructing the view. Instead of the dark, secluded cavern it had been a few weeks ago, it felt more open, more relaxed. Sunlight bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.
Jim let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "Nice," he said offhandedly, but he didn't miss the way Spock's mouth relaxed at the corners as if he'd been prepared for another kind of reaction. Jim wondered if he would always expect to be judged for any hint of sentimentality. He hoped not.
Spock removed his glasses, folding them and setting them on the nightstand before crawling into his bed with the usual elegance that Jim found both arousing and downright irritating; no one should be able to move with that kind of easy grace. He stretched out over the top of the covers, his head flat on the mattress rather than resting on the pillows. "Join me," he offered, although it sounded more like a question than an invitation.
Intrigued, Jim sat next to him, resting his hand over Spock's right side so he could feel the low vibration of his heartbeat. "What is it?" he asked, gesturing to the box.
Spock said nothing as he opened it, drawing out a small bottle. Understanding dawned as Spock unscrewed the lid, revealing an eyedropper. "McCoy has been accessing my medical records again," Spock said, tilting his head back and letting three drops fall into each eye, squeezing them shut when he was done.
Jim took the bottle from him and screwed the cap back on, stashing it on his nightstand next to his glasses. "Allergies?" he guessed, since eyedrops were an almost archaic way of dealing with most maladies anymore. Generally the only reason they were ever used was to flush allergens and other irritants from the eye: anything else could usually be handled through hyposprays.
"No," Spock answered. His eyes remained closed, his hand pressed to Jim's at his side. "When I was approximately ten years of age, it was discovered that my hybrid genetics had resulted in a macular degenerative disorder that had never before been diagnosed on Vulcan. It can be held at bay indefinitely with proper medication."
Jim was getting used to hearing what Spock wasn't saying. "You haven't been out to pick up your medication in awhile," he guessed. "You can't have it delivered? I mean, that's how you get everything else you need."
"I have relied upon the delivery of the generic prescription eyeglasses because most medics insist upon seeing me to ensure the dosage remains accurate. It seems McCoy has no such qualms."
Jim felt the way the sly grin took over his own face. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, shifting his hand so his fingers interlaced with Spock's, exerting just enough pressure on them to count as a brief Vulcan kiss. "He's trying to tell you something in his completely unsubtle kind of way."
Spock raised an eyebrow, even though his eyes were still closed. "Indeed?"
"Mhm. It's his way of proving himself. That he knows his remedies and dosages, that he knows the value of an educated guess. He can't know exactly how much of this stuff you need, so he gave it his best shot. Is it working?"
Spock worked his jaw as if he didn't want to confirm it. "Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" He extracted his fingers from Spock's to trace along his jawline. "How come you haven't opened your eyes?"
"I am waiting for the stinging sensation to pass."
Jim loomed over him, checking his face for any sign of pain. There was none. Still, considering McCoy had taken a guess at the dosage needed, he worried a little. "How bad does it hurt?"
"How badly," Spock corrected automatically, and some of Jim's worry eased. He couldn't be in that much pain if he was picking apart Jim's grammar. "The intensity is greater than I remembered. I am unsure if this is due to a fault in my memory or an alteration made due to the extended period of time since the last time I took the medication."
Jim noticed that Spock didn't voice any fault with McCoy's handiwork. He kept smoothing his hand over Spock's jaw, over his cheek, tracing the point of his ear. "You okay?"
Spock nodded, leaning into Jim's hand. His eyes cracked open, blinking several times in succession to clear the excess fluid from them. Tear tracks escaped from the corners of his eyes, but Jim knew that to be a side effect of the eye drops rather than a reaction to the pain. It didn't stop him from wiping them away, kissing the moisture from his temples.
"Jim," Spock murmured, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing gently, forcing Jim to part from him.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, since Spock didn't generally break contact with him unless he was starting to have an attack. Spock nodded again, blinking a few more times before sitting up, angling himself until they were sitting face to face on the bed. His gaze swept over Jim's face, over his shoulders, surveying his clothing before returning to his face again. The intensity in his eyes made Jim want to squirm, but he remained still under the scrutiny. "Spock?" he prompted.
A hand came up to explore him, not in the soothing, cradling way Jim had touched Spock, but starting at his forehead and tracing down the bridge of his nose, his lips, his jaw, until he'd mapped out his entire profile. Then he settled his fingers at Jim's temple, gazing into his eyes until Jim got the sense that Spock was looking into him rather than at him. "You," Spock began to say, then shook his head and started again. "I will have to use the medication for two more days in order for it to fully restore my vision. But you are... clearer to me than you have been previously."
There was more to that sentence than he could hear on the surface. Jim could almost feel the secondary meanings thrumming through his veins, their origins stemming from Spock's fingers on his skin. Curiosity swept through him, coupled with the low burn of arousal just beginning to thread its way through him - or rather, through Spock, who was projecting it into Jim. He leaned against the headboard in a graceless sprawl, leaving himself open to whatever Spock wanted to do with him.
It started with a kiss. It was brief, fleeting, not enough, but Spock often began that way. He leaned in just enough to press their mouths together, breaking from Jim before he could even kiss back. Spock stared at him for a moment, dark eyes sweeping over his face as if gauging his reaction. Apparently satisfied, he moved forward for another one. And another.
They got deeper every time their lips met, the sensations melting further and further under Jim's skin until he lost all sense of time. He focused instead on reacquainting himself with that faintly sweet metallic flavor of Spock's mouth, licking it from his lips and suckling it from his tongue until Spock started making a soft, panting, desperate kind of noise. Distantly Jim realized that somewhere along the line he'd been divested of his shirt, his bare back pressed almost painfully against the headboard as Spock loomed over him and continued the slow, drowning kisses.
Jim fought for some semblance of conscious thought, dragging his fingers over Spock's arms only to realize that he was touching bare skin rather than the fabric of his shirt. He broke from their kissing, voice hoarse and groggy when he spoke. "When the hell did you get naked?"
"You were otherwise occupied," Spock said, the imperious quality of his voice somewhat diminished by the panting.
"You didn't distract me with a mindmeld?" asked Jim, tilting his head to scrape his teeth over Spock's neck.
"No. However, if that is what you want..." Spock reached out, setting his fingers at Jim's jaw, his cheekbone, his-
He didn't care that Spock was just being playful. He grabbed his wrist, pulling Spock's palm to his mouth and placing a heated kiss there. "No. I don't... I don't want to miss this. Any of this." Another kiss pressed to his wrist. "Don't want to miss one second of you."
He must have been projecting some of his worry and desperation from his conversation with Scotty and Gaila, because Spock's playful mood disappeared. He extracted his hand from Jim's, dragging his fingers over his chest and stomach before working at the fastenings of his jeans. For the first time, Jim was learning to appreciate Vulcan strength as Spock tugged them off of his hips along with his underwear and tossed them to the floor.
There was nothing separating them anymore, and Spock took full advantage of that by straddling his lap. The new position had them pressed flush against one another. Jim could feel the coarseness of Spock's chest hair against his own nipples; he could drown in the heat radiating off Spock's skin and seeping into his own. He slid one hand into the wild black hair, pulling him into another heated, possessive kiss, the other cupping his backside and urging him to roll his hips forward.
They groaned into each other's mouths as their cocks slid together, the sensations heightened by the natural slickness of Spock's length against his own. Jim found himself desperate for more - more closeness, more heat, more of that faint metallic taste from his mouth, just more. He had never been good at letting go of the things he loved, and even though the possibility was at least another year off - if indeed the possibility existed at all - he found himself clinging to Spock like a lifeline. It didn't matter that they'd only recently entered into a sexual relationship, didn't matter that he'd met Spock just a few months ago. He was ingrained in Jim now, already a part of him even after such a relatively short span of time.
He tried to silently impart that into Spock without the use of the meld, needing to tell him in his own rough human way how much Jim wanted him, how much he needed him in his life. So he clutched, he grabbed, he dug his nails into the soft flesh of his shoulders. He claimed his lips with a kind of ruthless adoration. He thrust his hips upward as much as he was able with Spock's denser frame sprawled on top of him, shuddering at the heat and slickness pooling between them.
Spock gave in to all of it with a shivering, panting acquiescence, submitting despite his position on top of Jim and his superior strength. And damn if that wasn't an entirely new kind of eroticism, the way Spock allowed himself to unravel when he could have just as easily pinned Jim to the bed and had his way with him. Instead those soft brown eyes melted into black as they pierced into him, one arm draped over his shoulder and his other hand slipping between them and wrapping around their cocks, spreading Spock's natural slickness over both of them and lending a rhythm to their thrusting.
Jim could have easily come just like that, grabbing hold of every inch of Spock's skin he could get his hands on, watching those lust-darkened eyes glaze over, losing himself in the natural rhythm of their bodies. But he wanted more, wanted to possess him, claim him, brand himself into Spock's flesh.
"Spock," Jim panted into his mouth. "Spock, please..."
Even without the meld, Spock understood. Spreading his slickness over Jim's cock, he indulged in several more heated strokes before raising himself on his knees and lining him up against his opening. "Y-yes," he whispered, the hitch in his breath lighting a fire down Jim's spine. And whatever control Spock was still attempting to exert over his features died a quick death as he lowered himself onto Jim's cock, Spock's expression opening to him just as the rest of his body was doing, his whole being stretched around Jim and embracing him. Jim set his teeth against the cords of Spock's neck, muffling a groan into the bite mark he was leaving there. He pulled his legs up so Spock's back could rest against his thighs, fingers clenched so tightly in the black hair that anyone else would have whimpered in pain.
Spock whimpered, all right, or at the very least made a faint, desperate little sound. But he wasn't trying to shake Jim's hands off of him or even squirm in an attempt to make him loosen his grip. If anything, he was leaning into the grasping fingers, pressing against Jim's palms, silently asking to be held, grabbed, possessed. And despite his eager submission to such rough handling, he himself was cradling Jim's face in his hands like it was something precious to him. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes and using his knees to leverage himself upward, riding Jim at a leisurely pace.
Pinned as he was under Spock's superior strength and weight, Jim couldn't thrust upward the way he wanted, didn't have the ability to fuck him with the kind of force his body was screaming for. He found it didn't matter. His body wanted abandon, wanted release, but the rest of him wanted this moment to stretch into eternity. He craved the closeness, the sensation of Spock's dry skin pressed up against his own sweat-slick body, the maddening pace of his hips rolling forward, the feel of scorching fingertips cradling his skull and caressing his jawline.
Jim's breath hitched into loud gasps and borderline sobs. He let his head drop, pressing his face against Spock's neck and inhaling him with every ragged breath he took. He wanted all of him, wanted to dig his fingers into his flesh until he had his fist curled firmly around Spock's heart. He could not possibly get any closer to Spock than he already was, and yet still he attempted to mold them together, to thrust deeper into him, to own him so thoroughly that there would never be any possibility of separation. He didn't realize he was speaking until the brink of orgasm began to creep up on him, and in a sudden moment of clarity he heard himself whisper against Spock's shoulder, "Mine, you're mine, please say you're mine, don't ever leave, don't ever, don't ever..."
Soft, moist lips traced the curve of his blunt human ear, left a trail of kisses until they were nestled right against the shell. And then a voice as hot and ageless as the desert answered him: "I am yours."
And as he he came, Jim saw the stars Spock loved so much.
*******
They were lying curled together on top of Spock's bed, neither of them having the forethought to turn down the covers before they made love and both of them lacking the energy to attempt it in the afterglow. Jim was surprised Spock had remained so relaxed and lethargic; he knew Spock considered his home to be something of a cage, and his bedroom especially so. Rearranging things must have helped him to dispel some of the nastier memories of the place.
"Jim?" Spock murmured, pulling him from his wandering thoughts.
"Hmm?" He was too relaxed to be more coherent than that. He nuzzled his face against Spock's cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there as he tangled their limbs together.
Spock paused before he spoke, running his hands up and down Jim's back in a soothing motion that would have put him to sleep if he hadn't sensed a kind of significance to Spock's query. "May I ask why you are so concerned with my investment in our relationship?"
Jim blinked up at him, trying to kick his brain back into gear after having it burn out quite pleasantly a few minutes before. "Huh?" was the brilliant, eloquent response it came up with.
"What possessed you to speak about the possibility of my leaving you? I have no such plans."
Jim was glad he was burrowed against Spock's face in such a way that the blush wasn't quite so apparent. "Just a conversation I had with Scotty and Gaila. It's not important right now."
Spock pulled back so they could see each other. "I am not convinced that the depth of your anxiety was caused by one simple discussion with your friends."
Jim squirmed, not sure he wanted to have this particular conversation at the moment. "I'm just needy, Spock. It's really not an issue-"
"Jim." Spock cut him off with gentle reprimand in his voice, one hand splaying over Jim's face. It wasn't quite the same position he used in a meld, but it was close. "I do not have to engage your mind to be able to sense the emotions you project."
Jim remembered the transmissions Spock had given him, remembered the catalyst for Spock's first episode. If he could sense the panic coming from his fellow cadets during a simulation malfunction, he could just as easily sense Jim's mindless desperation. And despite knowing Spock could read him like that, he made one last attempt at evasion anyway. "Seriously, Spock. I just have a longstanding thing about being clingy and stupid. It's not-"
"Jim," Spock repeated, tilting his head up so they were eye to eye. "You have seen me at my worst. You have seen my shame, my anxiety. You have seen things no Vulcan would ever willingly share with another, and you have... you have embraced what I am despite those shortcomings. Why do you shy away from sharing your own difficulties with me?"
It was impossible not to be honest with him. "You have enough on your plate right now. It can wait until you're feeling better - because you're right, it's not just the one talk I had with my friends. It's more than that, and it's kind of... it's really fucking heavy and it's not something I like talking about."
Spock moved his fingers over Jim's face in that quiet, exploratory way of his. He traced his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his eyebrow. He dragged his fingers along the side of his face, curling around the nape of his neck, moving so their lips were almost touching when he murmured, "I would share with thee."
Something in his inflection echoed deep in Jim's heart, touched something fierce and ancient within him. It was similar to the kind of reaction he had whenever Spock said something in Vulcan - almost as if it were a more literal translation for his first language than he generally used.
And despite being moved to his soul, despite the new feeling of warmth and security curling around him, it still took a long time before Jim could bring himself to speak. "You ever... You ever heard about Tarsus IV?"
To Chapter Twenty Eight
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, hints of others
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt found here: "AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma."
Chapter Notes: Apparently it's the whole month of May that's conspiring to kill my writing, rather than just the week or two I anticipated. Apologies - let me make it up to you with porn. Also, I came thisclose to putting a line from Avatar in here but I resisted as it was too cheesy even for me to take. But I was tempted. Oh so very tempted.
Jim trudged home, having accomplished exactly none of what he'd planned to do at the Academy. His brain was wrapped up in his new problem, the one where he'd have to leave Spock behind unless they could figure out how to get him integrated back into society. As much as it killed him to admit it, staying behind with him just wasn't an option. He wanted to be in Starfleet, wanted to be out in the black dealing with new planets, new civilizations, new problems that needed new solutions. And he knew also that Spock wanted those things - must have, or he never would have left his home world. So now he had a new goal: getting Spock enrolled at the Academy again.
Just as soon as he stopped freaking out over meeting strangers and going outside. For the first time ever, Jim was grateful that he still had at least two or three semesters' worth of credits before graduation. He still had time.
He almost tripped over a package left outside his door, swearing as he picked it up and let himself in. He ripped through the brown paper wrapping, tossing it on the floor and squinting at the text on the small box. It was all medical jargon, which meant McCoy had left it there. Which meant somewhere there should have been an explanation.
On a hunch, Jim walked to the comm unit installed in his kitchen and pressed a button to play any messages that had been left on it. Sure enough, McCoy's southern drawl echoed through the room. "Hey, kid. Left a package by your door. Give it to Spock next time you see him. It's not the experimental stuff, just something he needs according to his medical records. Tell him it's on the house, no pressure."
More confused than before, Jim tried to work out the writing on the box. But it was covered in chemical compound names Jim wasn't familiar with and the only text he understood was the bit saying that the recommended dosage and side effects were on the info chip inside the box. Not wanting to tamper with it before handing it over, he set it aside long enough to change out of his uniform and into something more comfortable before he ambled next door.
"No kids and no medics today, I promise," he grinned when Spock opened the door to let him in.
"I have recovered sufficiently from my last exposure to them," Spock returned, sounding a little imperious and a lot amused. He looked good today, his clothing immaculate, his hair brushed, and his glasses set straight on his face. He was looking more and more put together as the weeks went by. Jim hoped that was an outer sign of his self-confidence increasing.
"Good, because even though I didn't bring a medic with me, he sent me something to give you."
Spock did the same thing Jim had done, scanning the outside of the box for information before he opened it. But rather than look baffled, recognition sparked in his eyes. "Did he give you a reason for sending this to me?"
Jim shook his head. "No. All he said was I was supposed to give it to you. And that it didn't have anything to do with the mentisinil and it wasn't a bribe. No pressure," he repeated what McCoy had said in his comm message.
Spock went silent for some time, staring at the box and then staring at Jim, looking as though he had eight things to say and couldn't settle on which needed to be said first. "Come with me," he murmured after a long pause, gesturing toward his bedroom.
Jim had tried, ever since that first meld, to keep most of their interactions confined in his own apartment. Now that he knew what kind of cage Spock kept himself in, he preferred the relative freedom of his own place. But Spock had rearranged things in his bedroom since the last time Jim had been in there, as if doing so eased the sense of entrapment he felt. The bed was on the opposite side of the room, the headboard no longer blocking one of the windows on the other wall. Both windows were open now, with no curtains or blinds obstructing the view. Instead of the dark, secluded cavern it had been a few weeks ago, it felt more open, more relaxed. Sunlight bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.
Jim let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "Nice," he said offhandedly, but he didn't miss the way Spock's mouth relaxed at the corners as if he'd been prepared for another kind of reaction. Jim wondered if he would always expect to be judged for any hint of sentimentality. He hoped not.
Spock removed his glasses, folding them and setting them on the nightstand before crawling into his bed with the usual elegance that Jim found both arousing and downright irritating; no one should be able to move with that kind of easy grace. He stretched out over the top of the covers, his head flat on the mattress rather than resting on the pillows. "Join me," he offered, although it sounded more like a question than an invitation.
Intrigued, Jim sat next to him, resting his hand over Spock's right side so he could feel the low vibration of his heartbeat. "What is it?" he asked, gesturing to the box.
Spock said nothing as he opened it, drawing out a small bottle. Understanding dawned as Spock unscrewed the lid, revealing an eyedropper. "McCoy has been accessing my medical records again," Spock said, tilting his head back and letting three drops fall into each eye, squeezing them shut when he was done.
Jim took the bottle from him and screwed the cap back on, stashing it on his nightstand next to his glasses. "Allergies?" he guessed, since eyedrops were an almost archaic way of dealing with most maladies anymore. Generally the only reason they were ever used was to flush allergens and other irritants from the eye: anything else could usually be handled through hyposprays.
"No," Spock answered. His eyes remained closed, his hand pressed to Jim's at his side. "When I was approximately ten years of age, it was discovered that my hybrid genetics had resulted in a macular degenerative disorder that had never before been diagnosed on Vulcan. It can be held at bay indefinitely with proper medication."
Jim was getting used to hearing what Spock wasn't saying. "You haven't been out to pick up your medication in awhile," he guessed. "You can't have it delivered? I mean, that's how you get everything else you need."
"I have relied upon the delivery of the generic prescription eyeglasses because most medics insist upon seeing me to ensure the dosage remains accurate. It seems McCoy has no such qualms."
Jim felt the way the sly grin took over his own face. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said, shifting his hand so his fingers interlaced with Spock's, exerting just enough pressure on them to count as a brief Vulcan kiss. "He's trying to tell you something in his completely unsubtle kind of way."
Spock raised an eyebrow, even though his eyes were still closed. "Indeed?"
"Mhm. It's his way of proving himself. That he knows his remedies and dosages, that he knows the value of an educated guess. He can't know exactly how much of this stuff you need, so he gave it his best shot. Is it working?"
Spock worked his jaw as if he didn't want to confirm it. "Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" He extracted his fingers from Spock's to trace along his jawline. "How come you haven't opened your eyes?"
"I am waiting for the stinging sensation to pass."
Jim loomed over him, checking his face for any sign of pain. There was none. Still, considering McCoy had taken a guess at the dosage needed, he worried a little. "How bad does it hurt?"
"How badly," Spock corrected automatically, and some of Jim's worry eased. He couldn't be in that much pain if he was picking apart Jim's grammar. "The intensity is greater than I remembered. I am unsure if this is due to a fault in my memory or an alteration made due to the extended period of time since the last time I took the medication."
Jim noticed that Spock didn't voice any fault with McCoy's handiwork. He kept smoothing his hand over Spock's jaw, over his cheek, tracing the point of his ear. "You okay?"
Spock nodded, leaning into Jim's hand. His eyes cracked open, blinking several times in succession to clear the excess fluid from them. Tear tracks escaped from the corners of his eyes, but Jim knew that to be a side effect of the eye drops rather than a reaction to the pain. It didn't stop him from wiping them away, kissing the moisture from his temples.
"Jim," Spock murmured, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing gently, forcing Jim to part from him.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, since Spock didn't generally break contact with him unless he was starting to have an attack. Spock nodded again, blinking a few more times before sitting up, angling himself until they were sitting face to face on the bed. His gaze swept over Jim's face, over his shoulders, surveying his clothing before returning to his face again. The intensity in his eyes made Jim want to squirm, but he remained still under the scrutiny. "Spock?" he prompted.
A hand came up to explore him, not in the soothing, cradling way Jim had touched Spock, but starting at his forehead and tracing down the bridge of his nose, his lips, his jaw, until he'd mapped out his entire profile. Then he settled his fingers at Jim's temple, gazing into his eyes until Jim got the sense that Spock was looking into him rather than at him. "You," Spock began to say, then shook his head and started again. "I will have to use the medication for two more days in order for it to fully restore my vision. But you are... clearer to me than you have been previously."
There was more to that sentence than he could hear on the surface. Jim could almost feel the secondary meanings thrumming through his veins, their origins stemming from Spock's fingers on his skin. Curiosity swept through him, coupled with the low burn of arousal just beginning to thread its way through him - or rather, through Spock, who was projecting it into Jim. He leaned against the headboard in a graceless sprawl, leaving himself open to whatever Spock wanted to do with him.
It started with a kiss. It was brief, fleeting, not enough, but Spock often began that way. He leaned in just enough to press their mouths together, breaking from Jim before he could even kiss back. Spock stared at him for a moment, dark eyes sweeping over his face as if gauging his reaction. Apparently satisfied, he moved forward for another one. And another.
They got deeper every time their lips met, the sensations melting further and further under Jim's skin until he lost all sense of time. He focused instead on reacquainting himself with that faintly sweet metallic flavor of Spock's mouth, licking it from his lips and suckling it from his tongue until Spock started making a soft, panting, desperate kind of noise. Distantly Jim realized that somewhere along the line he'd been divested of his shirt, his bare back pressed almost painfully against the headboard as Spock loomed over him and continued the slow, drowning kisses.
Jim fought for some semblance of conscious thought, dragging his fingers over Spock's arms only to realize that he was touching bare skin rather than the fabric of his shirt. He broke from their kissing, voice hoarse and groggy when he spoke. "When the hell did you get naked?"
"You were otherwise occupied," Spock said, the imperious quality of his voice somewhat diminished by the panting.
"You didn't distract me with a mindmeld?" asked Jim, tilting his head to scrape his teeth over Spock's neck.
"No. However, if that is what you want..." Spock reached out, setting his fingers at Jim's jaw, his cheekbone, his-
He didn't care that Spock was just being playful. He grabbed his wrist, pulling Spock's palm to his mouth and placing a heated kiss there. "No. I don't... I don't want to miss this. Any of this." Another kiss pressed to his wrist. "Don't want to miss one second of you."
He must have been projecting some of his worry and desperation from his conversation with Scotty and Gaila, because Spock's playful mood disappeared. He extracted his hand from Jim's, dragging his fingers over his chest and stomach before working at the fastenings of his jeans. For the first time, Jim was learning to appreciate Vulcan strength as Spock tugged them off of his hips along with his underwear and tossed them to the floor.
There was nothing separating them anymore, and Spock took full advantage of that by straddling his lap. The new position had them pressed flush against one another. Jim could feel the coarseness of Spock's chest hair against his own nipples; he could drown in the heat radiating off Spock's skin and seeping into his own. He slid one hand into the wild black hair, pulling him into another heated, possessive kiss, the other cupping his backside and urging him to roll his hips forward.
They groaned into each other's mouths as their cocks slid together, the sensations heightened by the natural slickness of Spock's length against his own. Jim found himself desperate for more - more closeness, more heat, more of that faint metallic taste from his mouth, just more. He had never been good at letting go of the things he loved, and even though the possibility was at least another year off - if indeed the possibility existed at all - he found himself clinging to Spock like a lifeline. It didn't matter that they'd only recently entered into a sexual relationship, didn't matter that he'd met Spock just a few months ago. He was ingrained in Jim now, already a part of him even after such a relatively short span of time.
He tried to silently impart that into Spock without the use of the meld, needing to tell him in his own rough human way how much Jim wanted him, how much he needed him in his life. So he clutched, he grabbed, he dug his nails into the soft flesh of his shoulders. He claimed his lips with a kind of ruthless adoration. He thrust his hips upward as much as he was able with Spock's denser frame sprawled on top of him, shuddering at the heat and slickness pooling between them.
Spock gave in to all of it with a shivering, panting acquiescence, submitting despite his position on top of Jim and his superior strength. And damn if that wasn't an entirely new kind of eroticism, the way Spock allowed himself to unravel when he could have just as easily pinned Jim to the bed and had his way with him. Instead those soft brown eyes melted into black as they pierced into him, one arm draped over his shoulder and his other hand slipping between them and wrapping around their cocks, spreading Spock's natural slickness over both of them and lending a rhythm to their thrusting.
Jim could have easily come just like that, grabbing hold of every inch of Spock's skin he could get his hands on, watching those lust-darkened eyes glaze over, losing himself in the natural rhythm of their bodies. But he wanted more, wanted to possess him, claim him, brand himself into Spock's flesh.
"Spock," Jim panted into his mouth. "Spock, please..."
Even without the meld, Spock understood. Spreading his slickness over Jim's cock, he indulged in several more heated strokes before raising himself on his knees and lining him up against his opening. "Y-yes," he whispered, the hitch in his breath lighting a fire down Jim's spine. And whatever control Spock was still attempting to exert over his features died a quick death as he lowered himself onto Jim's cock, Spock's expression opening to him just as the rest of his body was doing, his whole being stretched around Jim and embracing him. Jim set his teeth against the cords of Spock's neck, muffling a groan into the bite mark he was leaving there. He pulled his legs up so Spock's back could rest against his thighs, fingers clenched so tightly in the black hair that anyone else would have whimpered in pain.
Spock whimpered, all right, or at the very least made a faint, desperate little sound. But he wasn't trying to shake Jim's hands off of him or even squirm in an attempt to make him loosen his grip. If anything, he was leaning into the grasping fingers, pressing against Jim's palms, silently asking to be held, grabbed, possessed. And despite his eager submission to such rough handling, he himself was cradling Jim's face in his hands like it was something precious to him. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes and using his knees to leverage himself upward, riding Jim at a leisurely pace.
Pinned as he was under Spock's superior strength and weight, Jim couldn't thrust upward the way he wanted, didn't have the ability to fuck him with the kind of force his body was screaming for. He found it didn't matter. His body wanted abandon, wanted release, but the rest of him wanted this moment to stretch into eternity. He craved the closeness, the sensation of Spock's dry skin pressed up against his own sweat-slick body, the maddening pace of his hips rolling forward, the feel of scorching fingertips cradling his skull and caressing his jawline.
Jim's breath hitched into loud gasps and borderline sobs. He let his head drop, pressing his face against Spock's neck and inhaling him with every ragged breath he took. He wanted all of him, wanted to dig his fingers into his flesh until he had his fist curled firmly around Spock's heart. He could not possibly get any closer to Spock than he already was, and yet still he attempted to mold them together, to thrust deeper into him, to own him so thoroughly that there would never be any possibility of separation. He didn't realize he was speaking until the brink of orgasm began to creep up on him, and in a sudden moment of clarity he heard himself whisper against Spock's shoulder, "Mine, you're mine, please say you're mine, don't ever leave, don't ever, don't ever..."
Soft, moist lips traced the curve of his blunt human ear, left a trail of kisses until they were nestled right against the shell. And then a voice as hot and ageless as the desert answered him: "I am yours."
And as he he came, Jim saw the stars Spock loved so much.
They were lying curled together on top of Spock's bed, neither of them having the forethought to turn down the covers before they made love and both of them lacking the energy to attempt it in the afterglow. Jim was surprised Spock had remained so relaxed and lethargic; he knew Spock considered his home to be something of a cage, and his bedroom especially so. Rearranging things must have helped him to dispel some of the nastier memories of the place.
"Jim?" Spock murmured, pulling him from his wandering thoughts.
"Hmm?" He was too relaxed to be more coherent than that. He nuzzled his face against Spock's cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there as he tangled their limbs together.
Spock paused before he spoke, running his hands up and down Jim's back in a soothing motion that would have put him to sleep if he hadn't sensed a kind of significance to Spock's query. "May I ask why you are so concerned with my investment in our relationship?"
Jim blinked up at him, trying to kick his brain back into gear after having it burn out quite pleasantly a few minutes before. "Huh?" was the brilliant, eloquent response it came up with.
"What possessed you to speak about the possibility of my leaving you? I have no such plans."
Jim was glad he was burrowed against Spock's face in such a way that the blush wasn't quite so apparent. "Just a conversation I had with Scotty and Gaila. It's not important right now."
Spock pulled back so they could see each other. "I am not convinced that the depth of your anxiety was caused by one simple discussion with your friends."
Jim squirmed, not sure he wanted to have this particular conversation at the moment. "I'm just needy, Spock. It's really not an issue-"
"Jim." Spock cut him off with gentle reprimand in his voice, one hand splaying over Jim's face. It wasn't quite the same position he used in a meld, but it was close. "I do not have to engage your mind to be able to sense the emotions you project."
Jim remembered the transmissions Spock had given him, remembered the catalyst for Spock's first episode. If he could sense the panic coming from his fellow cadets during a simulation malfunction, he could just as easily sense Jim's mindless desperation. And despite knowing Spock could read him like that, he made one last attempt at evasion anyway. "Seriously, Spock. I just have a longstanding thing about being clingy and stupid. It's not-"
"Jim," Spock repeated, tilting his head up so they were eye to eye. "You have seen me at my worst. You have seen my shame, my anxiety. You have seen things no Vulcan would ever willingly share with another, and you have... you have embraced what I am despite those shortcomings. Why do you shy away from sharing your own difficulties with me?"
It was impossible not to be honest with him. "You have enough on your plate right now. It can wait until you're feeling better - because you're right, it's not just the one talk I had with my friends. It's more than that, and it's kind of... it's really fucking heavy and it's not something I like talking about."
Spock moved his fingers over Jim's face in that quiet, exploratory way of his. He traced his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his eyebrow. He dragged his fingers along the side of his face, curling around the nape of his neck, moving so their lips were almost touching when he murmured, "I would share with thee."
Something in his inflection echoed deep in Jim's heart, touched something fierce and ancient within him. It was similar to the kind of reaction he had whenever Spock said something in Vulcan - almost as if it were a more literal translation for his first language than he generally used.
And despite being moved to his soul, despite the new feeling of warmth and security curling around him, it still took a long time before Jim could bring himself to speak. "You ever... You ever heard about Tarsus IV?"
To Chapter Twenty Eight
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Date: 2010-05-14 07:49 am (UTC)Also, thank you. I'm writing my final rough draft (out of six; I know - cruelty) in a little over an hour, and this was a nice "happy" pick me up.
until next time ... cen