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Jim Kirk thrived in tension. He always had. And even when it dragged on too long, when it became unbearable and agonizing, when the air itself seemed thick with it and all he wanted was to see it end, he knew that the surge of relief that would follow would be worth anything. And this applied to any tension-- the kind that grew in the middle of a crisis, a ten-hour standoff with a Klingon ship or the pursuit of an alien craft-- the kind that filled the spaces between heated words, with both sides of a debate pulling and refusing to yield and knowing only one of them could come out on top-- or the kind, especially, that stretched between two people, two people whose every motion toward each other and every covetous glance went neither acknowledged nor honored until that tension mounted, pulled and finally-- finally, after three long years-- snapped.
In spite of the fact that tension, sexual or otherwise, made up about ninety percent of Jim Kirk’s life, nothing had quite measured up to that . Three years, something like love and lust and nameless, shapeless longing had grown between he and Spock until, some time ago, it had released them, and the relief that had taken Jim’s breath and weakened his knees at the first brush of their lips had been nothing short of orgasmic.
But Jim Kirk thrived in tension, and-- though he adored Spock’s kindness and consideration and tenderness-- there was something incredibly stimulating about the idea of regaining it. So Jim had asked for this, begged for it, knowing his gentle boyfriend might not be too keen on the idea but needing it just as badly as he’d needed Spock himself for so long. And now, he was at the mercy of a much more physical kind of tension.
He tested the strength of the bonds around his wrists, tethered where they lay above his head. Spock had tied them just as Jim had asked-- strong but not too tight, the silk rope only digging grooves into his skin when he pulled at it. He couldn’t see the tie to ensure its proper execution, but he knew Spock had done his research-- insisted on it, in fact. He would not have bound Jim, blindfolded him, and laid him out bare and vulnerable on the bed without knowing he was doing it right, that he wouldn’t hurt Jim more than Jim wanted, or in the wrong way. The mere thought of Spock’s preparation made Jim’s heart ache with love. Even in this, he was tender.
Now, he heard Spock moving around in front of him, the shift of fabric as he adjusted the blankets at the foot of the bed, the sound of his gentle footfalls on carpet. He heard Spock’s breath and his own heartbeat, and in spite of the fact that he had yet to be touched but to be bound, he felt heat pooling in his gut and his cock hardening slightly, the anticipation alone an arousal.
Jim felt the intention in Spock to speak, but he did not, though Jim knew Spock wanted to ask if he was comfortable, if he was okay. But Jim had said very clearly that he would tell Spock if that was not the case. They had their safeword set, and Jim doubted he would need to use it.
The mattress gave way slightly, dipping with Spock’s weight, and Jim felt the movement with another surge of anticipation, almost anxiousness.
Tension.
Spock started with a feather-light grip at Jim’s ankles and moved his touch upward, grazing Jim’s hair into goosebumps. Jim shivered, forcing himself to keep still as those fingers ran up the length of his calf, then up to his thighs. Ten divots were pressed into his skin as Spock curled his fingers into the thick muscle, tightening his grip and stopping.
His touch ended at the juncture of hip and thigh, exactly where Jim wanted him to continue. “Spock,” he prompted, but he tried to keep any strain from his voice. It was far too early to beg, though he wanted to.
Jim was so accustomed to Spock putting him first, prioritizing his pleasure, attending to his every whim and wish before once thinking of himself. And, though he knew Spock was capable of three or four orgasms for each of Jim's (Vulcan refractory periods being nonexistent as they were), Spock only ever came as many times as Jim did, and always after. Jim couldn't really blame himself for getting used to the treatment.
Spoiled brat, Jim thought with some amusement.
“You’re smiling,” Spock observed calmly, the first words he’d spoken since securing the blindfold over Jim’s eyes. Shifting noticeably on the bed, Spock ran his hands hard up Jim’s sides. Then, in a much darker tone: “Do you want me to touch you?”
Jim wanted to protest the phrasing, tease back in what little way he could that Spock was already touching him, but they both knew what he meant. Instead, Jim swallowed.
“Yes,” he said, and he heard Spock breathe deeply, as if in preparation. But Jim’s ‘yes’ was answered without any concordant action, Spock’s fingers edging upward to trace the lines of his ribs rather than moving toward the erection Jim knew was already embarrassingly apparent. With a shift of fabric and a dip of the mattress, Jim felt Spock moving, coming to hover over him, settling himself on Jim’s outstretched thighs.
Spock was still clothed , Jim realized with a spike of pleasure. They hadn’t talked about that, but the image in Jim’s mind was painfully erotic. Spock, fully dressed in his uniform, as Jim lay naked and bound at his mercy. Jim moved his legs just a fraction so he could feel the texture of Spock’s slacks against him, the muffled heat of Spock’s skin just out of reach, separated by so little.
Spock’s hands continued their path up as Jim felt the man lean forward, weight on Jim’s chest. Feeling the air constrict as the space between them closed, Jim wanted to rise into that body above him, but then--
Jim sucked in a breath of surprise, pulling at his ropes as Spock’s deft fingers pinched and rolled around Jim’s nipples, stimulating them into hardness with such delectably subtle pressure. He opened his eyes against the black swath of fabric that covered them, but --the quest for sight fruitless, as it was-- he laid his head back, arching his chest a little closer.
Then, Spock squeezed , and Jim hissed at the flash of pain, his cock twitching as the sensation coursed through him. Another movement of the body above him, and Jim lifted his hips, hoping for some friction if he could just push himself into it, but as Spock’s lips closed around one of his nipples and a rough tongue began to circle around it, Jim found himself bucking into open air.
Jim writhed, knowing the plane of Spock’s abdomen was right there , but one of Spock’s hands returned to his hip and shoved him down, the first time he’d yet exerted any strength. It made Jim quiver.
Spock’s tongue made a few more hard passes, his teeth scraping the sensitive nub so gently that Jim couldn’t justify how much it stung. Then, Spock pulled off and left the area of his focus to the mercy of the air, cooling over saliva. The wet skin was hyper-sensitive, freezing in a way it had no right to be, and goosebumps began to rise on Jim’s arms.
But Jim’s attention followed Spock’s mouth as it traced a line along his chest, lips scraping skin. Spock pulled Jim’s other nipple between his lips and sucked at it, the way he so expertly and so often sucked at Jim’s cock, tiny flicks of his tongue and an almost obscene hunger. Fingers curled in obvious pleasure along the line of Jim’s hip.
Jim couldn’t help it, he groaned aloud, trying to force his body upward again in spite of the hand that restrained him. Far from lessening his arousal, the realization that he could not move as long as Spock didn’t want him to move was horribly stimulating.
“Spock,” he whispered, and it was still far, far too early to beg, but there was a plea in his voice he couldn’t contain. Spock gave his nipple a hard bite that made Jim gasp, then moved off of him without a word, even relinquishing the hold on Jim’s hips. By the way the mattress dipped, Jim thought that Spock must be at his feet again.
He felt the steady scrutiny of Spock’s eyes, knowing without sight that Spock was watching him. Thinking perhaps that Spock might be taking in the view, Jim didn’t expect the sudden motion. Hands fastened hard around Jim’s ankles and Spock shoved his legs apart. Without thinking, Jim allowed himself to be moved, hiking up his knees and spreading his legs and planting his feet on the mattress. He offered himself up, canting his hips so the intention was clear, hoping that now he would be allowed the touch of a hand, a tongue, anything. He was already painfully hard, and all he wanted was some pressure, some friction. Maybe if he complied with Spock’s insistent touch, Spock would have mercy on him.
But, no, it was far too early for that, too.
Jim strained his ears for the sound of Spock’s movements, trying to guess at his intention by the weight on the mattress, but he didn’t expect the two strong hands that ran up the length of his legs once more, then fit themselves under his ass, palming and squeezing, spreading his cheeks wide, almost painfully. He lifted his hips at their touch, moving with their pressure, asking silently, Is this what you want me to do? Will this get you on me any faster? I’ll do anything. Anything.
Shoving himself forward, he was so focused on the heat of Spock’s hands, he didn’t even notice the movement.
Until a hot breath whispered along the cleft of his ass and that tongue, that dangerous tongue that was sandpaper-rough and so hopelessly erotic, darted out, licking a line over his entrance.
As Jim gasped, yanking hard at the ropes, Spock shifted forward in one hard motion, nosing under Jim’s balls and driving his tongue into Jim’s hole. He pulled out, flattened it along the pulsing ring of muscle, then dove back in and curled it upwards. Another burst of breath and Jim was squirming in Spock’s hold, something guttural bursting out of his throat while Spock tasted him, exploring him, licking a solid circle around him and diving back in.
The ropes were painful around Jim’s wrists now, cutting into his skin like twin lines of fire while his cock ached hard and hot between his legs and Spock opened him with his tongue, wet and esurient. Jim gave himself over to the pleasure of it, the way Spock’s nose would brush his balls every time he pulled out to lick hard lines along him, the way he could feel that tongue reaching inside him, nowhere near deep enough but somehow still so satisfying.
Jim rocked against Spock’s mouth, breath heaving.
“Spock,” he whispered again, “Please, please touch me,” begging shamelessly now because he needed Spock to get his fist on his cock or get his mouth over its head-- to do anything that might relieve that pressure that was building to bursting inside him.
But Spock pulled away with one last, long lick, and Jim whined at the loss, regretted saying anything, already bereft without that slight pressure on his balls and the delicious feeling of Spock’s probing tongue.
His hips fell as Spock released him, and Jim tried to contain a selfish whine, tugging at his ties to try to inch his way down the bed where he could feel Spock sitting. But when he heard the familiar snap of a bottlecap, he stopped, his mouth going dry, heart hammering, desperate and needy and willing to admit as much to himself. When he heard the telltale squirt of the bottle’s contents and the snap as Spock closed it once again, a shiver made its way from his toes to his fingertips.
Yes. God, yes. He wanted Spock inside him almost as badly as he wanted Spock over him, surrounding him, against him. He pulled weakly and without effort at his ties and chewed his lips to stop himself from pleading for haste.
A full minute may have passed without movement, without sound but the sound of Jim’s heartbeat and the satisfyingly shallow breaths of the man before him. Spock may not have been voicing his strain, nor could Jim see it the way he often could in those blown pupils or parted lips, but Spock was feeling this as much as Jim was.
So Jim tried to remain patient, feeling his erection flag for just a moment, just a moment before one slick finger met his hole, pressing against it, but not inside.
“You are beautiful, Jim,” Spock intoned gently, a quality to his voice that Jim could hardly remember hearing before. Jim wanted to bite out some clever retort, to say anything to distract from the agony of anticipation, but then Spock’s finger was sliding inside him, knuckle-by-knuckle, pushing past his tight ring. Jim bit his lip against a grunt at the intrusion, shifting his hips and widening his legs, though his muscles protested at the stretch. “Beautiful,” Spock repeated, and he pulled out just enough to slip a second finger alongside the first.
Jim whimpered at the sudden, stimulating discomfort, panting for breath, straining forward because there was a promise in those fingers as they buried themselves knuckle-deep inside him. There was a promise in the way Spock spread them, curled them, twisted them against the walls of Jim’s channel.
Jim’s ears caught on the sound of a zipper being pulled down, practically echoing in the silence, then another fold of fabric, and Jim knew Spock was touching himself, knew the hand that wasn’t occupied with opening Jim up was now palming that thick prick through Spock’s briefs. God, how hard was he? Was his precum already dotting the black fabric? Had he already pulled himself out to jerk off while he refused Jim the same satisfaction? Jim had to know. He wanted to see . But all he could do was hear. So he clenched hard around Spock’s fingers, his own promise of what was to come, and Spock’s breath hitched.
It was imminently satisfying, knowing he wasn’t the only one getting off on this-- the waiting, the wanting. Spock pulled his fingers in and out of him a few times, circling round his hole each time, and Jim lost himself to the stretch, to the quiet sound of Spock working himself, to the steady pressure inside him that, when Spock added a third finger, didn’t even feel like discomfort anymore.
He’d been ready for this, waiting for this, and if Spock would just fuck him already--
Those fingers left him, and Jim whined, lifting his hips and straining forward as though chasing them. “Spock,” he said, but it was more groan than word, “Please, just touch me. You don’t even have to get me off yet, just please touch me.”
An exhale, whether from amusement or arousal Jim couldn't be sure, and then the weight left the bed, and Jim could have screamed.
“Where are you going?” Jim asked, panicked, sure for the briefest moment that Spock would leave him here without relief, hard and dripping and open.
“I am right here,” Spock assured him, and his voice sounded far away, as though he’d stood. Jim squirmed, a shot of fire ripping through him when he heard Spock’s slacks fall to the floor, followed by what could only be his tunic.
“Yes,” Jim gasped, as though he were already getting fucked. “Please, Spock, please.”
The bed dipped again and Jim tried to keep himself still, waiting for those hands to guide him, direct him, show him where they wanted him.
When fingers curled around his ankles again, he was ready to spread impossibly wider if that was what Spock wanted, but then suddenly his feet were over his shoulders, a rough shove that had him folded in half, ass out, lube cooling against him in the open air. He could feel Spock close, his heat and his mass and his presence, and Jim exhaled something sharp and unsteady.
“Yes,” he said, “please,” again. And Spock shifted so he held both of Jim’s ankles in one hand, steadying them over Jim’s head. Jim waited, breathless, feeling his hole pulsing with the need to be filled. And bless Spock, his beautiful lover, the man who always gave him what he wanted eventually. Jim felt the thick head of Spock’s cock press forward, push past that first tight ring, one ridge, then another, the hard slide of skin on skin with just the sheen of lube between them. And Jim groaned bodily, something that started in his stomach and may have curled itself unbidden into the form of Spock’s name. Spock didn’t seat himself fully inside, didn’t give Jim the overwhelming satisfaction of fullness. Instead, he pulled out and pushed back in just as shallow, and Jim realized what he was doing.
“You’re not touching me,” he whispered, the desperation in his voice apparent though he was far beyond embarrassment. “Spock, sweetheart, please, touch me. I want-- I want to feel you.”
Spock thrust forward a little harder, though still not deep enough, and Jim could feel the tip of Spock's dripping cock just barely, barely, barely brush against his prostate. He threw his head back and moaned out his frustration.
“I am touching you, Jim,” Spock said, his own voice a tight whisper as he pulled in and out, in and out with such careful precision it was as if he knew exactly how deep he would need to go to give Jim the satisfaction he craved, the satisfaction Jim hadn't yet earned.
Jim was harder than he’d ever been, right on the edge of that bliss of relief, all it would take would be one hard thrust against that bundle of nerves inside him, one jerk of Spock’s hand, one brush of his tongue. But Spock kept all of that from him, giving him just enough to keep him gasping.
But Spock was gasping too, his own breath shallow, and Jim tightened around him as if to urge him on. If he could make Spock lose control, he could have what he wanted. If he could goad him into going harder, deeper --
“Fuck me,” he whispered, knowing what those words in that tone did to his lover. “I want you to fuck me, Spock. Hard. Make me-- make me feel it. Don’t hold back, please.”
Spock made a noise in the back of his throat as his pace increased, the drag of him and the way his ridges swelled making Jim feel weightless and so, so heavy, thick with his own arousal. Jim tried to push back against him, but he was immobile, bent to Spock’s will.
And Spock didn’t lose control. Instead, he kept fucking Jim shallow, the slick of lube joined now by the slick of Spock’s precum, leaking so hot and wet Jim knew Spock had to be close. And god, if Spock came inside him, filled him with his seed, flooded him, maybe that would be enough to send Jim over the edge because just knowing how close Spock was made his own testicles tighten dangerously.
“Oh,” Spock moaned, his rhythm faltering as he jerked into Jim again and again. The hand around Jim’s ankles tightened and shoved his legs back even farther, changing the angle in a way that had Spock groaning, the sound muffled as though he were trying to force himself quiet with closed lips. Jim writhed, so close, so close to resolution he could feel it building within him just as it built within Spock.
And, with Spock’s strangled cry, suddenly that hot, hard shaft left him, pulled out with force, and Jim felt spurts of Spock’s cum painting his ass, his balls, the base of his own cock. Spock was jerking himself off over Jim, letting out a series of hitched breaths and salacious groans, not even filling him, not even giving him that much resolution. Jim could have strangled the man if only his damned hands were free.
“Spock,” he snapped, his voice hoarse, “you bastard, you goddamned--” but Spock released Jim’s legs and folded himself over Jim’s body, taking Jim’s lips in a bruising kiss-- the first they’d yet exchanged since Jim had been bound.
Jim rose into it without a second thought, opening his mouth to Spock’s insistent tongue, lifting his hips because now Spock was close enough and-- yes-- he shoved himself against Spock’s body and cried out into Spock’s mouth with the first friction against his cock, the hot line of Spock’s abdomen against the slick of Jim’s dripping head. He tried to rut again against him, but Spock pulled off immediately, breaking their kiss with a wet gasp, pulling himself away so as not to give Jim the relief of pressure.
But Spock didn’t stay away for long. In moments, he was climbing over Jim, straddling his chest and settling himself on Jim’s ribcage, knees holding Jim in place on either side. Jim felt the cock hanging before his face even before Spock guided the tip toward Jim’s mouth and laid his dripping head over Jim’s parted lips.
The sweet-salt taste of him dripped into the parted seam of Jim’s lips, and Jim could swear tears were leaking from the corners of his own eyes.
“Suck,” Spock demanded, the tone alone enough to make Jim’s erection throb. Jim leaned up, took the head of Spock’s dick into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, straining against his binds because he wanted to grip Spock’s thighs and look into Spock’s eyes and see what effect his tongue had on the Vulcan’s perfect composure. But instead he swirled his tongue around the ridges as though feeling them for the first time, concentrating on the smooth skin that dragged against his tongue, that familiar tang of taste, the way Spock jerked with the sensation, overstimulated from his orgasm. Jim wished he could relate.
A single drop of precum slid down his own shaft, cold in the air, and he moaned around Spock’s cock, taking him deeper.
“How many times,” Spock began breathlessly, “do you think I will reach climax before I allow you your release?” There was something heady in his voice.
Jim knew Spock could cum as many times as he wanted to, if he wanted to. Jim knew Spock could jerk himself off over and over again while Jim laid here bereft and aching and splattered with his lover’s seed, and he wondered with a vague sense of overwhelming arousal if Spock had the capacity to be that cruel.
God, he hoped so.
Sucking Spock into full hardness again, Jim tasted every drop that laid along his tongue, forced Spock deeper down his throat and choked on the girth, but it was worth it for the way he felt Spock lean over him, hand on the headboard, the way Spock gasped and jerked. And Jim squirmed helplessly beneath him, rubbing his balls along the bed for whatever scant pressure was allowed him.
Jim ran his tongue along the underside of Spock’s cock, buried his nose in the curls of wiry hair at its base, moaned around that blessed fullness between his lips, and in moments Spock’s thighs tightened above him, his hips stilled for a fraction of a second, and he was spilling himself down Jim’s throat with a broken gasp as Jim felt his lover’s body fold. Jim couldn’t swallow every drop. He choked and sputtered while semen leaked from the corners of his mouth, but Spock pulled out in time for him to catch his breath and swallow what he could, panting for air and pulling so tight at his ropes he forgot what his fingers had once felt like.
Spock sat back on Jim’s chest, a hard, heavy weight. Jim listened to the intoxicating sound of his lover’s broken breath, felt the pooling wetness in the center of his chest where his own saliva and the last of Spock’s cum dripped, heard Spock’s hand working himself, eking out those last brushes of pleasure. He could hardly breathe himself with the weight on his chest, but he’d be struck breathless anyway, he knew, overwhelmed with the force of Spock’s climax and the aching need for his own.
He felt filthy, his face dotted with cum, sweat beginning to bead along his neck and chest from the exertion of tugging at his ropes, though he hadn’t realized he’d been pulling so hard. And still, there was the splattered mess of his hole, still fucked open. With difficulty, he took in a long, uneven breath and rolled his hips, though the search for friction was fruitless with Spock on his chest.
“Spock,” he whispered, voice raw from having his throat so thoroughly fucked. “Please, baby. I’m ready. Please let me cum.”
God, and he was ready, the tip of his cock leaking, his whole body and every nerve on fire. Spock’s hands returned to Jim’s nipples and gave them a squeeze that made Jim gasp, and if it were possible he thought he might cum from that bare stimulation alone.
Spock pinched and tweaked, silent for a moment, his hips beginning to move as he rubbed his testicles along the line from Jim’s abdomen to his chest. “I will consider it,” he finally said, grinding down with more force and edging the breath from Jim’s lungs. Jim took in what shallow air he could, light-headed with the smell of Spock’s sex and his own sweat and the humidity of their bodies so close.
Moving off his nipples, Spock’s hands disappeared from Jim’s awareness for a moment, until Jim heard the wet slide of skin over skin, so quiet, but just audible over the sound of their strangled breath.
Spock was touching himself again, pulling himself back into hardness, and Jim whimpered.
“Tell me what you would like me to do to you, Jim,” Spock ordered softly, something dangerous in his tone. And Jim knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Spock would not give him what he asked for if he were weak enough to voice it aloud, but he was far beyond rational thought at this point.
“I want--” he started, losing himself in the feeling of Spock rutting against him for a moment, wanting to feel what Spock felt, that slide and press and push and-- “I want you to suck me off, shove your fingers up my ass like I know you like and suck me ‘til I’m screaming. I want you to take off these damn ropes so I can ride you, so you can cum inside me and fill me up. I want-- fuck , Spock,” Jim gasped as Spock dragged his body down, his ass barely rubbing against Jim’s cock before he pulled up once again. “ Fuck, Spock , I just want--”
He just wanted . He was past specifics now, past any kind of earthly need. He’d become one solid, throbbing nerve, a single-minded being of shapeless desire. Desperate. The only thing he was capable of being. He’d take anything, anything, anything--
“Very well,” Spock said, and Jim’s heart thrummed at the delight of his luck, that he should have someone who loved him like this, enough to give him what he wanted after everything, in spite of everything, alongside everything, except-- “Eventually,” Spock finished enigmatically, and Jim bit his lip against the most pathetic whimper that somehow managed to break through all the same.
Spock rolled off him again, leaving a cooling line of cum and saliva, and Jim closed his eyes for patience, though it made no difference. ‘Eventually.’ That could mean anything .
Jim was numb to the outside world, to any feeling that wasn’t the pulsing ache between his legs. He didn’t even notice where Spock had moved, or why. So when he felt hard hands grip his ankles again, he jolted with surprise.
Then, Spock’s heat approached, and he hoisted Jim’s legs up, fitting Jim’s hips along his lap. Jim’s ankles lay on the hard lines of Spock’s shoulders, and the head of Spock’s wet cock pressed teasing against his opening. Jim expected another bevy of shallow thrusts, another assault of not-quite-there pleasure, so when Spock positioned himself and thrust forward in one, solid line, burying himself to the hilt, Jim cried out, bucking unconsciously into the feeling.
A hand came to the base of Jim’s cock, holding it just above his testicles, hard and unyielding, and though Jim knew the touch was meant to obstruct his relief, he didn’t care. Spock was touching him, finally , his fingers curled so hard and hot around Jim’s prick that Jim forgot it was impossible to cum like this. He could swear, between those five lines of rough heat and the hard length throbbing inside him, he actually began to see tell-tale bursts of light behind his eyes.
And Spock began to move, his hand firm on the base of Jim’s cock, holding him down and in place while Spock fucked into him, already wet and open. Each thrust landed exactly where it was meant to, Spock’s ridges grazing over every screaming, sensitive nerve until Jim’s whole lower half felt like static-- curling through his veins and every fiber of every muscle as though alight with electricity. It usually hurt, when Spock fucked him like this, when he buried himself as deep as he could go and kept up that punishing pace, but Jim was so far beyond pain, entirely unable to distinguish it from pleasure, and this was the most beautiful agony.
Pleas fell from his lips, shapeless words and gasps and groans and cries that echoed the rhythm of Spock’s exertion. Everything was on fire in the most delicious way, and Jim felt consumed by it, so close to that edge he wanted nothing more than to fling himself off of it.
When Spock came again, his nails digging divots into the sensitive skin of Jim’s cock, his voice raw as it cradled a moan of release, he jerked without pattern into Jim’s channel. Jim groaned and curled his hands into dangerous fists, losing himself in the heat that flooded him. Spock’s hand stayed steady at Jim's base, even as Spock himself rocked gracelessly forward and back, his cock wet with his own seed. Jim felt it leaking out of him with those last few thrusts, dripping down his ass, and he knew if he didn’t come right now, right goddamned now, he was going to pass out from the pleasure of it. Already darkness tickled at the edges of his consciousness, his whole body throbbed, his limbs tingled and ached, so when Spock pulled out and lowered Jim’s legs, Jim hardly felt it. He collapsed bodily onto the bed, whimpering, panting, feeling Spock’s seed seeping out of him.
That hand at his base, still holding tight, repositioned itself as the bed dipped with Spock’s shifting weight.
And Jim remembered somewhere deep within himself that Spock was an attentive lover, considerate, tender. And he always gave Jim what he wanted. Eventually.
A hot mouth lowered itself around Jim’s cock, taking him deep until Jim felt his head hit the back of Spock’s throat, and Jim practically sobbed, bucking forward, a scream held silent in his throat when Spock began to suck. Three hard fingers shoved themselves into his channel, and the moment Spock pulled his hand off and curled his tongue, the tension snapped.
Jim did scream then, a wordless cry as he fucked out his orgasm into Spock’s mouth, spilling himself as his whole body surged. It felt like Spock was sucking out his essence, his soul, his entire being, swallowing him down and clutching at his thigh, and though Jim’s sight was black against the tie over his eyes he saw a flash of brilliant white, a moment of pure nothingness.
That rough tongue licked him clean, traced the head of his cock and plunged down again, milking him for everything he had as if in apology for denying it to him for so long. But Jim didn’t need Spock’s apology. All he needed was more of that mouth, more of the fingers that curled deep inside him, more of the skin-on-skin slide, coated in cum, more, more, more. He couldn’t even tell Spock to stop, couldn’t even tell when it was too much. He was so raw, so blown open, it all felt like too much.
And it was incredible .
Spock pulled off him and out of him eventually, released his vice grip on Jim’s thigh, and crawled up his body, their heaving breaths matching each other. Spock laid over him, his hands coming to Jim’s shoulders to steady himself. Their cocks slotted against each other between the press of their abdomens, and Jim rolled unconsciously into the feeling.
Jim felt Spock’s mouth on his own before he registered that it was a kiss, before he could even form his lips into some semblance of one, but it was alright. Spock licked into his parted lips and rounded his tongue and Jim tasted himself in that familiar mouth. Finally, he was able to return the gesture, leaning up slightly and tilting his head to take Spock into him, wondering vaguely if it was possible to breathe him in, to make him a part of him.
They pressed their lips lazily together, parted them in time, moving in perfect, effortless tandem, a kiss that felt as though it lasted at least as long as the tension had. Their relief, expressed through quiet, warm, steadying breaths. The familiarity of intimacy.
Eventually, and reluctantly, Spock pulled away, and soon Jim felt the ropes around his wrists loosen. The moment they fell away, Jim’s hands flopped senselessly to the bed, completely numb down to his elbow. He wanted to pull the blindfold from his eyes, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even think to move. Then, thankfully, Spock shifted over him, and a finger slipped into the fabric over his eyes and pulled it upwards.
Jim wondered, as Spock slid it over the crown of his head, why he still couldn’t see anything, wondered with a laugh bubbling inside him if Spock had actually fucked him blind, but then he realized his eyes were still closed. Blinking them open, he saw the expectant, concerned face of his lover, his first officer, his everything, fading into focus.
He couldn’t help it. He giggled , uncontrollable, giddy little tremors that seemed to start all the way down in his toes. As Spock pulled himself up and steadied himself on Jim’s lap, the concern melted from his features, and Jim flopped a numb, useless hand onto Spock’s thigh. “That--” Jim said, forgetting for a moment that his voice was capable of any word but ‘please’ and ‘Spock’, “was the most incredible orgasm of my life.”
Spock’s lips quirked slightly, and he took up Jim's wrists. With a touch as tender as Jim had ever felt, he kissed the deep red lines that had imprinted his skin. “I did not go too far?” He asked softly, breath warm over the wounds, as though he were actually nervous about it.
Jim laughed fully now, wanting to lift himself up into a kiss but unable to force his muscles to work. “You were perfect, sweetheart,” he assured him.
Spock gifted him that look that had become so precious to Jim, the look that smoothed out every line, every wrinkle, leaving pure, open love in its place. Spock seemed to glow, though that may have been the after effects of Jim’s climax, still clinging to him like static.
Slowly, Spock lowered Jim’s hands and rolled off to the side. Before Jim could protest his absence, Spock tucked himself against Jim on the bed, resting his head on Jim’s chest. Jim managed to wrap a lazy arm around Spock’s shoulder, his whole body limp with relief and satisfaction, glutted on his own pleasure.
And though Jim Kirk did thrive in tension, he had to admit that this-- just the simple, gentle love of the man at his side-- was pretty fantastic, too.