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The Voresebians had one single, incredibly important, request to the landing party.
Gloves.
There didn’t seem to be any particular style or fabric paired with the request, merely the covering of one’s hands. Their uniforms had quickly been replaced with new outfits, also upon request, though this seemed more out of courtesy than any particular need. They had also graciously been provided a room in which to change suits.
“Is this really necessary?” Bones mutters, struggling with the multiple ribbons that were meant to tie his pants together. “Couldn’t we just have worn our uniforms with the gloves.”
Sinking to his knees, Spock takes over the job of tying him into the outfit. Kirk watches a beat too long, his knees folding elegantly and his dexterous fingers making quick work of the multitude of strings. Spock, of course, had finished dressing first. His gloves are already on, a shiny, satiny black fabric that shows off his slender fingers, the curve of his forearm and elbow. They end halfway up his bicep, his shirt sleeveless and leaving his shoulders bare.
It’s mouthwatering, really, and Kirk isn’t even the one with a thing for hands.
He abandons all pretense of struggling into his own outfit, watching instead as Bones impatiently turns his own gloves back and forth, something sheer and see-through and full of rhinestones. For a planet that seems invested in avoiding the direct touch of hands, they certainly don’t share the Vulcans’ more modest approach to it.
“This is ridiculous,” Bones adds, abandoning the gloves for a moment to tug at the high collar of his shirt. “And this shirt is as suffocating as the dress uniform, anyway.”
As true as that may be, the dress uniform lacks an open window cut at the chest. Kirk hides a grin as Spock straightens up again, his eyes glancing briefly at the hairs peeking out of that window.
“We cannot risk insulting their culture, Doctor. I suggest you refrain from complaining about the clothes provided to you.”
“Well, they’re not here, are they? At least you got something less ridiculous than a circus performance!”
This time, Kirk can’t help the grin from appearing on his face. Bones notices, of course, his eyes narrowing.
“And what are you laughing at, Jim? You don’t look much better than me!”
Out of the three of them, it’s possible that Kirk drew the shortest straw. Spock’s top is dark brocade, buttoned at the front, the neckline just barely allowing his collarbones to peek out. It’s slim-fitted and eases into his loose pants, seemingly made from the same shiny, dark fabric as the gloves. He looks stunning, to be honest, though privately Kirk thinks that says more about Spock than the style.
“Lucky me there’s no mirror in here, then.”
There’s some kind of swirly pattern down his chest and arms, the cotton-like fabric looking like someone took their time to splash as many colors as possible on it with the pattern overlaid in bright green. It’s an eyesore, really, especially paired with the half-skirt he’s been struggling with.
His gloves, too, leave something to be desired.
“Any chance you can help me with these, Spock?” he asks, holding them up.
He doesn’t miss the glee in Bones’ expression. Still, he only beats Bones’ outfit by a small margin. The ribbons crisscrossing his pants are sparkly, too, the pants themselves as tight and stretchy as the Enterprise’s workout gear, though lavender purple instead of red. The purpose of the strings is purely decorative. The shirt is lavender, too, with that high collar and edges of the chest window decorated with rhinestones. He truly looks like a circus performer, or perhaps a ballerina, albeit a rather grumpy one.
Not that Kirk minds how tight the outfit is over his legs and ass, but…
It takes him a moment to realize Spock has not replied to him. He turns to him, giving him a questioning look.
“Captain,” he says. “The act of aiding another with dressing or undressing the gloves is considered highly intimate in Voresebian society.”
“Yes, Spock,” he agrees, tone a little dry and amused. “I should say the two of us are intimate enough on the regular.”
Spock’s eyebrow rises, as if to say fair enough. Kirk holds out a hand, and Spock gently takes one of the gloves from him. The gloves are made out of a fur-like material, dark green like moss. He’s not entirely sure how he’s going to perform diplomatic negotiations when his hands are full of thick hairs. Spock, of course, takes great care with him, easily slipping the gloves on. When he lifts his gaze to Kirk, there’s something heated in them.
Oh. Maybe it’s highly intimate for a half-Vulcan, too.
He licks his lips, considering him.
“You know, I think Bones could use some help with his, too.”
“What? I know how to put on a pair of gloves, Jim.”
“I believe Jim knows that, Doctor. I also believe that he wishes to see us both engage in an intimate act under Voresebian culture.”
Kirk can’t help but chuckle a bit at being caught out.
“Alright, you’ve seen through me. I think we can spare a moment for some fun, can’t we?”
“I don’t know that there’s much fun in putting gloves on, Jim,” Bones grumbles, but he does hold them out towards Spock.
Spock gives him a long, cool look, but he does as told. Jim saunters closer, enduring Bones’ knowing look as he stares at Spock while he works. He’s always appreciated both his partners’ hands, the things they can do. He’s never really considered gloves before. Or rhinestones. It’s usually enough to see either of them in a t-shirt to get him going, after all. Spock, on the other hand, has always seemed to enjoy hands in a more directly sexual manner.
Slowly, Spock takes hold of Bones’ wrist, tilting it just a bit. Then he runs his fingers along Bones’ palm, spreading his fingers with his own before nudging them close together. The gloves are short, only covering the wrist, but it seems to take a lifetime for fabric to glide over skin as Bones puts his left hand inside the first one.
The tiny rhinestones glitter with the movement, the sheer white fabric almost like surgical gloves. Once on, Spock trails his fingertips along Bones’ knuckles, touching the stones almost reverently.
“Well,” Bones says, clearing his throat. “I think we can explore this a little later, hm?”
“Yeah.” Kirk’s surprised to find himself a little hoarse. “It’ll be a late-night dinner I think, but then…”
Spock doesn’t say anything. He holds the second glove out, allowing Bones’ right hand to slip inside. Kirk swallows, wondering what those gloved hands would look like around his cock. Perhaps one hand each, one dark and one pale, stroking in sync…
Once the last glove is on, they’re all mostly dressed. Kirk hurries to fix his half-skirt, just in time for a loud chime at the door to their temporary changing room.
“Alright, gentlemen,” he says briskly. “Let’s hold that thought and manage negotiations first.”
☆☆☆
They do manage, but not without some bored moments spent eyeing the gloves in the room. There seems to be more emphasis on individuality rather than style, but his eyes keep straying back to Spock and Bones. Spock performs in an exemplary manner, of course. Bones, who had protested at being forced to attend, doesn’t hesitate to launch into a discussion on exchanging medical research with the present Voresebian doctor, whose gloves are a soft pink and covered in what looks like embroidered stitches.
Fitting, perhaps, but slightly macabre in Kirk’s opinion.
After a long, tiring dinner that tasted slightly salty, Kirk contains a groan as he steps off the transporter platform, ignoring the wide-eyed look from the ensign manning it.
“Alright, I’ll let the night crew know to leave orbit,” he says, pulling at a glove.
He’s stopped mid-act by Spock’s hand on his wrist.
“Captain,” he says, voice low as they start at a brisk walk through the ship’s corridors. “Perhaps you will allow me to assist you after your orders are conveyed to the crew.”
He blinks, having almost forgotten what transpired earlier that day. Instantly, his cheeks heat up.
“Hm, yes, Mister Spock. I suppose some assistance may be in order.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bones roll his. They pause at a conveniently located comm panel, and Kirk relays the order. The ship hums beneath them soon after, a telltale sign of the efficiency of his crew.
In their quarters, Kirk pauses in the middle of the room, hands on his hips.
“Well now,” he says, eyeing the other two expectantly. “Any suggestions for the rest of our evening?”
“I’d like to get out of this sparkly get-up,” Bones replies, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I feel like a showgirl.”
“I wouldn’t mind a show,” Kirk smiles.
Their uniforms had been sent up to the ship already, and he finds his own folded neatly on the desk. At least they had been allowed to keep their own shoes.
“Jim,” Spock says. “As it was your suggestion, how would you like us?”
Considering them for a moment, Kirk plays through several scenarios in his head, dismissing most of them.
“Well, Spock. You’re the one with a preference for hands. Any ideas?”
“I am fully prepared to follow your directions, Captain.”
Bones groans, throwing himself down into a chair.
“Are you going to be like this all night? This fabric is killing me.”
He tugs at a string, muttering a curse under his breath. Taking pity on him, Kirk kneels next to him, pausing his attempt at unlacing himself.
“Allow me,” he says, although the gloves are slightly clumsy for such delicate work.
“You really like the gloves Jim’s wearin’?” Bones asks of Spock, who remains watching. “They look terrible to me. Like something out of an ancient horror movie.”
“It is not the glove itself, but rather the act of removing it.”
“Well, get to the removing part, then.”
Spock moves closer, coming to stand next to the chair beside Bones. Kirk glances up at him, then returns to his task. It’s been a while since they had some time off together, and he can already feel anticipation rising within him. Gloves be damned, he wants a lazy night of lovemaking with both his partners.
“Go on,” Bones urges. “Get.”
To Kirk’s surprise, Spock sinks down next to him, deft fingers working on the strings instead. It is, perhaps, not entirely necessary to untie them all before the pants can come off, but he enjoys the quiet moment of working alongside Spock. Bones taps his foot, knee bobbing with it.
“I’m not feeling very patient today,” Bones complains, touching Spock’s face with a gloved hand.
He trails Spock’s eyebrow, nose, the shape of his lips. He can tell that it affects the Vulcan, although he suppresses most of his reaction. Obediently, Spock opens his mouth when Bones’ middle finger prods at it, allowing the digit into his mouth.
With the delicate glove on, even Kirk can appreciate the vision as arousing.
“Mm, that’s it, Spock,” he encourages. “Get Bones’ fingers nice and wet.”
He receives a dark look for it, but Bones slips a second finger inside, distracting Spock. Spock’s lips shape nicely around them, his tongue darting out to lick at fabric when Bones pulls out a bit.
“How about you use your teeth to take them off?” Bones suggests, highlighting Spock’s cheeks with a touch of blush.
Kirk finishes with the last string, leaning his cheek against Bones’ knee instead to watch. Spock looks beautiful like this, body taut with growing arousal. He shifts, knees protesting his held position, content to watch.
“Just like that,” Bones praises, letting Spock close his teeth over the edge of a fingertip, tugging at the fabric. “Make it come off.”
There’s something about the thickness of Bones’ southern drawl during sex that has Kirk hardening in his pants faster than he’d like. He wants to drag this out, enjoy the show before needing to think about his own needs. Spock pulls one finger off, then a second, blue eyes watching him intently. With the third, Bones grabs the back of his head, holding him still.
“You’re doing so good, Spock,” he croons, tapping his ring finger against soft lips. “You could use your tongue a little more first, couldn’t you?”
Nodding, Spock laps at the digit with fervor, eyes half-lidded in bliss. Even if Bones’ hands aren’t as sensitive as a Vulcan’s, Kirk knows that Spock enjoys the act of pleasuring their hands just as much as he enjoys having his own hands played with.
“Gorgeous,” Kirk mumbles, biting into his lower lip as Spock’s tongue wets Bones’ palm, then trails down to the edge of the glove by his wrist, slipping underneath it to taste skin.
It’s plenty stimulating, just to watch, but Kirk has been patient enough. He finds Spock’s closest hand, lifts it by the wrist to his own mouth. Nuzzling over the knuckles, feeling the silky fabric against his lips and cheeks and nose, Kirk revels in the quiet gasp that Spock lets out.
“Looks like you’re the impatient one now, Jim,” Bones teases, grabbing him by the hair, too. He clenches his fingers, tugging just shy of painful at Kirk’s strands. “Gonna look so good with silk in your mouth.”
A shiver trails down his spine, and Kirk rids himself of his shirt. He doesn’t want the garish colors detracting from the sight, not when Bones watches them like that, hooded eyes sweeping back and forth between him and Spock.
Slowly, he catches Spock’s thumb between his lips, bobbing his head back and forth and twirling his tongue. He gathers saliva in his mouth, attempting to soak through the thick fabric. He keeps his grip on Spock’s writs firm, knowing he enjoys it a little rough when he can.
“As pretty as you are, this can’t be good for your knees,” Bones says after a while, when Spock has managed to tug off another gloved finger. “Bed?”
They relocate, and Kirk pulls off his own gloves before either of the other two notice. He always tends to run hot, and he’s got ideas that require the use of his bare hands. They crawl into bed, and Kirk sits between Spock’s legs, back against his chest.
“What are you thinking, Jim?” Bones asks, lounging next to them.
“I’m thinking Spock can use his hands on me, and maybe keep sucking yours?”
With a sly smile, Bones sits up again, then swings his legs over both Kirk’s and Spock’s. Facing them, he gives Kirk’s groin a pointed look.
“Let’s get this eyesore off you, first.”
With Spock’s help, they pull Kirk’s pants down, leaving him in only his Starfleet issued briefs. Bones gets back in the same position, running his hands over Kirk’s thighs, then up his arms. The glove Spock had worked so hard on is pulled back over his fingers, the rhinestones glittering in the low lighting. He can’t remember who asked the computer to lower the lights, but he appreciates it now.
When Spock slides his hands over Kirk’s stomach, he finds himself slightly out of breath. The dark satin is in sharp contrast to his skin, emphasizing the action, how near his cock they rest. Spock plays with the waistband, featherlight touches driving him crazy.
All the while Bones has kept his hands on his shoulders, rubbing thumbs over his skin.
“Jim,” Spock murmurs into his ear, warm breath ghosting over the shell of it. “Shall I assume you wish to ejaculate on the gloves?”
“Yes,” Kirk whines, bucking his hips up.
He hadn’t considered it until Spock asked, but the thought of pearly strings of come dribbling down that dark satin… Perhaps Spock continuing to work him, squeezing every last drop out of him…
“Hmm, I like that idea, too,” Bones says, hands raising to cup Kirk’s jaw before leaning in to kiss him.
It’s short and sweet, leaving him wanting for more. Spock pushes down his briefs, Bones helping him, and Kirk hisses as his cock catches on the edge of the elastic. They leave the briefs halfway down his thighs, Bones digging his fingers into Kirk’s thighs for a moment before moving to catch Spock’s forearms instead.
“Here,” he says, licking his lips. “I’ll guide you.”
His fingers walk down Spock’s arm and takes his hand, moves it towards Kirk’s hard cock. The anticipation is killing him, eyeing white fabric over black. He presses further into Spock’s chest, feels his warmth against his back, hums in appreciation when Spock loops his free arm around his waist to keep him in place.
“C’mon,” he mutters, Bones sending him an amused glance.
“Judgin’ by the look on your face you’ll come the moment we touch you,” Bones teases him, and Kirk bites his lips as their hands finally brush heated skin.
Bones wraps Spock’s hand around the base of Kirk’s cock, a loose grip that leaves him wanting for more. He resists the urge to jerk his hips into the touch. He can behave if it gets him a nice reward, and the way Bones’ tongue darts out to wet his lips makes him think it’s going to be a very nice one.
“Go on, Spock. Let’s see you work him in those pretty little gloves.”
“They are the correct size,” Spock says, just to be contrary.
It works, Bones rolling his eyes with a fond smile. Kirk glances down, shivering at the feel of satin against his dick. It’s soft, and he wonders how it must feel for Spock, fabric between himself and Kirk’s thoughts.
Kirk tilts his head and presses his forehead against Spock’s neck to make up for it, pours all the arousal he feels into it until Spock’s inhale sharpens, the grip on his cock tightening. When he feels Bones’ hand close over Spock’s he whimpers, thighs twitching with the effort of staying still.
“Shh, darlin’,” Bones hushes him, voice soft. “You’re so worked up already, you like our hands on you that much?”
It’s all he can do to nod. He hadn’t thought he would, not to this extent, but the sight of their covered hands on him, coupled with the slightly unfamiliar sensation is starting to make him a little light-headed. He takes a hold of Spock’s upper arms, clutching at fabric as Bones guides both their hands upwards in a slow stroke.
He keens, Spock pressing a tender kiss to his temple. They’ve had a stressful few weeks, mission after mission going sideways, or if not sideways then at least stretching out until rest became a scarcity. Like this, held in Spock’s arms, Bones sprawled on top of them, he feels like he can relax for the first time in a long while. His breathing grows ragged as those talented hands drag back down, then up again, satin touch rubbing at the head and smearing precum over fabric.
He can’t wait to make a mess of them, watch Spock clean the come off Bones’ hand…
Bones twists his grip just a bit, just enough to squeeze a moan out of Spock that goes straight to Kirk’s groin. He comes with a needy sound deep in throat, coating both their gloves with pearly stripes of come. Some of it catches on his stomach, and Kirk watches hungrily as Bones inspects his glove. The pale color hides most of the mess, and Kirk bites his lower lip hard as Bones scoots closer and holds his hand out for Spock.
“Oh, yes,” Kirk groans as he twists his head to watch Spock open his mouth obediently.
The first digit slips inside easily, Spock closing his eyes and humming at the taste. Both he and Bones watch mesmerized as he grips Bones’ wrist to guide his hand the way he wants it. He laps at Bones’ knuckles, over the rhinestones, cleaning every drop of come methodically.
“Gorgeous,” Bones mumbles, then pulls his hand away to lean in for a kiss.
It’s deep, heavy, Kirk watching with a half-lidded gaze as Bones maps out Spock’s mouth with as much care as he shows everything in life. He’ll never get enough of it, the satisfaction of seeing them enjoy each other. They still argue, still disagree, but in bed they’re more relaxed, more forgiving.
He clears his throat when he starts feeling a little like they’ve forgotten about him, amused smile twitching at his lips when Bones’ eye slips open to scowl at him.
“You should fuck him instead,” he suggests, the scowl turning interested instead. “Keep your fingers in his mouth, make him touch himself through the gloves.”
Bones lets out an impressed hum, leaning back to give him an appreciative look.
“You had some time to think while we were busy, hm?”
“Call it being inspired.”
He catches Spock inspecting the dirtied glove, the drying come marring the shiny fabric. He wants to watch, always wants to see Spock lost in pleasure, usually so rigid and put-together. Something about Bones makes him get there faster – and Kirk isn’t jealous of his apparent skill, because he gets a front seat to the show.
Spock looks so very good when he takes cock, like he needs it but hadn’t known to ask for it. Kirk wants him to have it, as often as he can. He’s glad that Bones agreed to join them, can tell it pleases Spock immensely, too. He grins.
“Well, Doctor?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “Care to get started?”
“You just lie there and look pretty, Jim, and let me decide when and how to do things,” he huffs, but it’s in good humor.
He slides off Kirk’s legs, waves at Kirk to move, too. He does so with a satisfied stretch, scooting up to lean against the headboard. Bones is deep in thought, scratching at his jaw as his eyes drag up and down the length of Spock’s body.
“How much prep do you need?” he asks, and Spock raises an eyebrow in challenge.
“Vulcans are quite capable of relaxing muscle groups at will.”
Predictably, Bones rolls his eyes.
“I don’t think you’ve ever given a straight answer to a question in your whole life,” he mutters, then tugs at Spock’s ankle. “Lie down then, if you’re so sure of yourself.”
Spock does so, but only after ridding himself of his shirt. He aids Bones in his efforts to remove his pants, soon enough sprawled out naked for them. His cock has already emerged from its sheath, slick and stiff, Kirk’s mouth watering at the sight.
“Touch yourself,” he tells Spock, a little breathless.
“As you wish, Jim.”
Spock’s right hand closes around his length, giving it a few good strokes that has Kirk feel hot all over again. The glove grows wet with slick, dark fabric against flushed skin. Kirk wants to suck him, taste that slick and soak the glove with his spit. Bones must notice something in the way his gaze darkens, because he tuts at him.
“Behave, Jim. If you’re a good boy I’ll let you clean him up once I’m done with him.”
Oh, god. He swallows, arousal burning in his throat, so easily affected by Bones’ throaty tone of voice. He casts a desperate look at Spock, but the Vulcan keeps his attention on Bones. Kirk fists the sheet with a hand, resisting the urge to roll over and hump against the side of Spock’s tempting body. He knows all too well his scent, the warmth of his skin, his taste. But he did ask Bones to take care of him, does want to see the way his expert touch will render Spock weak with pleasure.
“Now, Spock,” Bones continues in a low purr, “I want you on your hands and knees. Make sure Jim can see you properly, though.”
Kirk settles more comfortably, forcing himself to breathe slowly as Spock gets into position. He kneels in front of Kirk, concentrated expression on his face. Dressed in only gloves he’s a vision, dark lashes falling against his cheeks as he tucks his chin into his chest.
Reaching out to touch silky hair, Kirk licks his lips and lets slip a moan. He wants, and he can tell that Spock wants, too. He feels it underneath his skin, in the back of his head, in the whisper of sensation somewhere in his mind.
He watches Bones run his hands over Spock’s back and ass, thin white fabric touching gently, thumb dragging down the crack between his cheeks. It’s the sort of teasing that makes Spock shiver, the sort that Kirk rarely has the patience for. Judging by the way Bones licks his lips, he’s in for a treat.
“I’m going to use my hands on you, Spock. That alright?” Bones asks, satisfied when Spock nods. “You always take my fingers so well, don’t you.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Spock’s voice is already strained. Kirk leans off the bed, grabs lube from a drawer. He hands it to Bones with a grin, then sits back again. Spock’s face is within reach, and he only hesitates a moment before reaching out to touch his cheek.
“Want to play with my hand, too?” he asks, running his fingers lightly underneath Spock’s chin to tilt his face up, pretty lips already parted.
The lips part further, and Kirk slips a finger inside. Spock moans around the digit, louder than usual, and a quick glance reveals that Bones had timed his own finger with Kirk’s. It’s pumping lazily in and out of Spock’s ass, glove removed to keep from hurting him. Before he has time to second guess the idea, Kirk holds his other hand out for Bones, motioning towards the discarded glove.
“I’m beginning to think you have a thing for gloves, too,” Bones teases him, but he throws him the glove without missing a beat.
“It’s for Spock,” he argues, abandoning Spock’s mouth for the short moment it takes to pull it on.
Spock opens up wide for him, taking two fingers at once. Clad in white fabric, the sight of them disappearing into Spock’s wet heat is enough to make his cock stir. He swirls them around, presses down on Spock’s tongue and traces the ridges of his teeth.
Eyes closed, Spock sucks on them eagerly, leaning forwards until Kirk takes pity on him and pushes a third one inside.
It’s messy like this, three fingers a tight fit, but Kirk loves the sight of Spock drooling a little. He’s normally so neat, so perfectly poised. Like this, taking Bones’ fingers in one hole and Kirk’s in the other, he looks good enough to eat.
“You weren’t lying about relaxin’,” Bones mumbles, free hand squeezing Spock’s ass before slapping it gently. “Bet you could take both cock and fingers if you’re really good.”
Spock chokes on a moan, and Kirk bites his lip hard at the idea. He wonders just how much Spock could take, if really pushed. That’s not what tonight is about, though.
“Tell me when you’re ready to fuck him,” Kirk orders, slipping the gloved fingers out to smear saliva over Spock’s mouth and jaw.
“I am ready, in any case,” Spock says, sticking his tongue out to lap at what he can reach of Kirk’s hand.
“Impatient, the lot of you,” Bones complains, but he pulls the fingers out and wipes them on the sheet. “Alright then, Jim, since you’re so keen on ordering us around. What next?”
“Turn him around, on his back. And put the glove back on.”
He takes it off and throws it back to Bones, who eyes it with some trepidation.
“The things I do for ya…”
Slowly, Spock turns onto his back, legs spread and hands folded over his stomach. He looks deceivingly calm, if it weren’t for his flushed cock and the amount of slick covering his sheath and dribbling down his skin.
Kirk wants to bury his face in it, lick and suck until the alien taste of Spock’s release burns down his throat. He reins in the urge, settles beside Spock and merely reaches out to brush over a pert nipple.
“Hold his thighs, Bones. Bet he wants to see those gloves digging into muscle.”
“Bet you want to see that,” Bones argues, but he gets in position, hoisting Spock’s legs up.
It does look good, white lace covering Spock’s pale skin. It makes the tendons in his arms stand out, their strength usually hidden beneath his uniform. Kirk moves closer, touches the nearest hand with his own, enjoying the sound of Spock’s ragged breaths.
“I think Spock likes it more,” he teases. He kisses Bones’ neck, trails his hand up Bones’ arm to grip his shoulder. “Want me to guide you?”
“Not sure your hand will fit down there.”
Still, he tilts his head, allows Kirk to suck a bruise into soft skin and drag his hand down his chest, combing through the thick hairs covering it. He watches Spock track its path with keen eyes, the interest growing when Kirk twists his torso a bit to grip at Bones’ cock.
“Oh, that’s good,” Bones sighs, after Kirk has drawn back and returned with more lube, slicking him up properly.
“What do you say, Spock?” Kirk murmurs, biting at Bones’ shoulder. “Think you can take him?”
“As I have said before, I am quite ready.”
He sounds steadier than he looks, leaning up on his elbows to watch more closely. Kirk gropes around for Spock’s hole, presses fingers to it just to see Spock’s hips twitch at the hint of pressure. With a quick kiss to Bones’ cheek, he gently guides him forwards, shuddering at the feeling underneath his fingertips of Bones pushing inside, Spock giving way to him like he was made for it.
“That’s it, darlin’,” Bones moans, hips grinding forwards until he’s all the way in, Kirk’s hand moving up to touch his chest instead. “Love it when you’re wet and loose for me.”
Spock falls back onto the bed, one arm lifting to brace against the headboard. He’s beautiful like this, already taking the pleasure without restraint. He must have wanted it since they got dressed, must have thought about the way Kirk and Bones would pleasure him until it was easy to unwind and give himself to them.
Moving aside for a better view again, Kirk’s eyes are drawn to the way Bones’ gloves glitter as they move, a steady rhythm as his hips drive into Spock. Kirk’s aroused again, cock hard where it rests against his thigh. He takes one of Spock’s hands, lifts it to his mouth. He wants to taste it again, the slippery satin over Spock’s sensitive fingers. Tongue darting out, he licks along the underside of Spock’s middle finger.
“Jim,” Spock groans, watching him through dark, half-lidded eyes.
“That’s it, Spock,” he mumbles, nuzzling into his palm. “Gonna suck on your fingers, alright? Gonna get this glove wet and then I want you to touch your cock, can you do that for me?”
Spock releases a shuddering breath, and Bones snaps his hips forwards harder, a few punishing thrusts before he slows down again.
“Better get sucking, Jim,” he says, licking his lips. “Not sure how long I can last, the way you’re making him tighten up like that.”
“You can last.” Kirk laps at Spock’s knuckles, drags his teeth over them until Spock arches his back. “I want to see him come first.”
“Aren’t you demanding today,” Bones mutters.
Still, he slows his hips, keeps Spock just on the edge of not enough until Kirk sucks two fingers into his mouth. He hollows his cheeks, wants him to feel it right away, and boy, does Spock feel it. Pleasure zings through their bond, the shallow link strengthening as Spock keens into the sensation.
He sucks harder, massages his palm and thumb with his hands, nails pinching through the silky fabric at the most sensitive spots he can remember.
Spock gasps, writhes below them, body trembling as he attempts to push further onto Bones’ cock.
“Please,” he whispers, and something hot and heavy courses through Kirk, makes him want to give Spock everything and more, until he’s a sobbing mess begging for it.
He bites at the pads of each of Spock’s fingertips, the sting soothed by the glove but no doubt verging on painful. He grabs for Spock’s other arm, pulls it from where it’s braced against the headboard, guides it down to the wet mess between the V of his hips.
“Touch yourself, Spock.”
Just like the previous time he ordered it, Spock obediently wraps gloved fingers around his cock and twists his wrist to pleasure himself. The glove is soaked in seconds, dark fabric darkening further with his slick. It’s indecent, borderline vulgar, Kirk thinks. The glove was a gift, a token of respect, and Spock keeps one in Kirk’s mouth and the other on his cock, now and then dipping a finger into his sheath to touch the sensitive nerves inside it.
All the while Bones keeps fucking him, hands gripping thighs hard enough to leave imprints. Kirk loves the way he moves, the intent focus on Spock’s expression, changing his thrusts based on some minute cues that even Kirk has trouble discerning. It’s the sort of delicate attention to detail that makes him a good surgeon, and an even better lover.
“So good, Spock,” Bones praises him, rubbing one hand up and down Spock’s trembling thigh. “Take it easy, you’re almost there.”
A tension Kirk hadn’t noticed melts from Spock’s body, shoulders sinking into the mattress as his body softens for Bones to take, to use for his pleasure. Kirk can barely handle the sight of it. He moans around Spock’s fingers, takes his own cock in hand to deal with the burning need he feels. Bones notices, of course, and gives him a lopsided grin.
“C’mere, Jim,” he drawls, releasing Spock’s thigh to wave him closer. “I can multitask.”
Pushing up on his knees, Kirk wobbles closer, steadying himself with a hand on Bones’ shoulder. A moment later a soft hand replaces his own, lace brushing over the head of his cock and making him gasp.
“Aren’t you a pretty sight,” Bones says, the honeyed praise shooting straight to Kirk’s cock.
It’s all he can do to hold on, burying his face in Bones’ neck and riding the pleasure to its crescendo. He spills over Bones’ hand, coating the thin lace in white. Some of it gets on Spock’s thigh, too, Kirk’s vision fuzzy around the edges as Bones lets him go and leans further over Spock, increasing his speed.
“Need you to come, Spock, need you to come real soon, darlin’.”
“Yes,” Spock agrees, hand stroking furiously at his cock, long, hard strokes that make Kirk’s mouth water.
There’s not much thought left in his brain as Kirk shifts, leans down to close his mouth over that tempting length. With Bones hips doing most of the work he only has to hold still, letting Spock push in and out of his mouth in tune with Bones’ thrusts. Spock’s hand bumps against his lips, holding position by a steady grip at the base of his cock, glove soaked through and clinging to his skin.
It’s heady, barely giving him space to breathe, not when Spock’s other hand grips his hair and keeps him in place.
“God, look at you,” Bones praises, out of breath. “So sweet to me, so perfect, gonna fill you up just like you need me to.”
Kirk relaxes his throat, body too hot and sensitive, moaning around Spock’s length like the taste of his slick is an aphrodisiac. And maybe it is, because Kirk can’t get enough of it. Spock is going to release down his throat and then Kirk is going to lick him clean, just like he’s done a few too many times in uniform, tucking Spock back into his pants like nothing happened, like Kirk’s face wasn’t covered in evidence.
He feels Spock’s hand push him down further, takes him in deeper, drawing in desperate breaths through his nose as Bones speeds up.
“Keep sucking, Jim, he needs it so bad, needs you to swallow like a good boy.”
Bones is babbling, a sure sign he’s right on the edge, and if Kirk hadn’t just been there himself he’s sure the words would have pushed him off. He loves it when Spock turns a little forceful, safe in the knowledge that Kirk would let him know if it ever became too much. And Bones, of course, seems to know better than Spock himself where the line goes.
The sound of Bones fucking into Spock fills his ears, wet, slapping noises coupled with the messy swallows of his own throat. His heart is pounding, too, limbs heavy with the satisfaction of his previous orgasms.
“Doctor, I am going to–“
“Yes, let me see it, Spock, let me see you drop that mask and feel.”
There’s no further warning before Spock spills into Kirk’s mouth, hot spurts of come coating the inside and threatening to spill past his lips as Spock keeps using him. He almost chokes on it, throat burning and the push and pull at his hair bringing tears to the corners of his eyes. It’s overwhelmingly good, listening to Spock’s involuntary, broken moans as Bones fucks into him with vigor until he, too, stutters in his rhythm.
“Oh, Jesus,” Bones groans, and Kirk would have laughed if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full at the moment.
Slowing down, Bones gives a few more tired thrusts before stilling. He’s panting heavily, putting his hand on Kirk’s head to ease Spock’s grip on his hair.
“You good?” he asks, and Kirk licks his lips as he pulls off, staring up at Bones like he’s not sure he knows how to talk.
“Yeah,” he manages, voice hoarse.
“Such a pretty thing,” Bones coos, petting his hair, bringing heat to his cheeks.
It’s not often that Bones leans into it, but when he does, Kirk soaks up the praise like a man starved.
And he feels like a pretty thing, sore and sated as he sinks into the mattress beside Spock. Spock, who’s still wearing those damn gloves, one still loosely wrapped around his softening cock.
“That,” Kirk says, reaching out to grip Spock’s wrist, “is going on the list of repeat performances.”
“As you say, Captain.”
“Cheeky.” He squeezes Spock’s wrist, trails his fingers along Spock’s until he’s just as wet. “We should keep the gloves, is what I’m saying.”
“These gloves are pretty ruined,” Bones snorts, sitting on his ass to stretch his legs out with a grimace. “Now, Jim, don’t tell me you’re trying to coax Spock into a second round.”
Guilty, Kirk moves his hand away, settling it on Spock’s thigh instead.
“Just thinking we should use the opportunity while we have it,” he tries, tapping his fingers on Spock’s skin. “If the gloves are as ruined as you suggest.”
Slowly peeling his own gloves off, Bones sniffs at the state of the lace.
“We could always pick up some new ones on our next shore leave.”
Kirk perks up at that, glancing at Spock. His first officer is resting, eyes closed, but there’s a telltale twitch to his mouth that shows he’s listening, if nothing else.
“Next time,” Bones adds, giving Kirk a raised eyebrow, “you’re doing all the work. My knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“You’re in great shape, Bones,” Kirk argues, eyeing the lines of his body as he gets up to dispose of the gloves. “Spock agrees with me.”
“You were quite satisfactory,” Spock says, mouth twitching again.
“Knocked your socks off, more like,” Bones mutters, but then he disappears into the bathroom.
Kirk rolls over, using the last of his strength to ogle Spock while he can, before he joins Bones in a logical move to wash off. His cock is retreating into its sheath again, and so Kirk contents himself with running a hand through the hairs on his chest, humming low in his throat. He loves these rare moments when Spock is fully relaxed, unbothered by excessive displays of affection.
“Satisfied, Jim?” Spock asks, blinking his eyes open to watch him.
“Always. You and Bones spoil me.”
Spock lifts a hand, runs the tip of a finger along Kirk’s bottom lip. The taste of silk is starting to become familiar, and he feels his body react to it. Eyes falling to half-mast, he wonders what Spock is thinking.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Pennies have not been in circulation for–“
Kirk bites his finger, effectively silencing the lecture.
“Very well,” Spock amends. “I am thinking that I find the sight of your mouth pleasing.”
“Better with your fingers or your cock in it?”
His lewd grin is met with fond amusement, the finger returning to stroke at his bottom lip.
“Perhaps my tongue is an acceptable alternative.”
Kirk takes the cue for what it is, and leans in to kiss him. He feels himself melt into it, wonders briefly how long they have until Bones tires of waiting and calls them into the shower.
He smiles into the kiss, knowing he’s a lucky man.