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“Computer: lights at forty percent, increase ambient temperature by four degrees Celsius, lock door according to parameters Epsilon Theta one seven point six,” Jim said, lips only breaking from Spock's skin for the exact amount of time it took for the string of words to come out. His hands found their way under the hem of Spock's shirt. “Are you warm enough?” he asked Spock's collar bone between a kiss and a small bite.
“I am.” Spock's voice was low and thick in response, unlike anything Jim had heard before. Spock's hands worked independently, his strong Vulcan grasp pulling Jim's hips into him at one point and his neatly trimmed nails biting into the skin of Jim's back at another.
Jim gave a small thrust at Spock's encouragement, but the angle was off. He walked Spock backward into the dividing wall, their legs catching and nearly toppling them before Jim slammed Spock against it with rather more force than he intended. Spock grunted but closed his hand around Jim's butt, and Jim gasped a little as his erection found the friction it wanted.
“Is your head alright?” Jim asked, cupping at the back of Spock's head where it had rapped against the wall. Slowly he let his fingers card through the black hair, and Spock let out a soft sound that might have been considered a moan. Jim closed his eyes and drank it in.
“I am unharmed.”
“Good.”
A quick tug on Spock's hair had him gasping aloud, and Jim let his hand fall and return to its exploration of Spock's ribs. Sliding his thumbs over them one by one, Jim inched his way up until he could spread his palms over the hair of Spock's chest. In the space between them, Spock's hand snaked down and palmed at the tent of Jim's black pants, carefully avoiding the zipper and alternating between firm strokes and awkward squeezes. For a moment Jim's mind went fuzzy with pleasure, but then a hand found Spock's groin in turn. He stroked firmly, reaching down between Spock's legs and back up again, and if it felt nothing like a cis human male, well, that was no concern.
Spock leaned his head forward onto Jim's shoulder and bit it experimentally through the Command shirt, then turned his face into Jim's neck. “Am I stimulating you properly?” As if the man were speaking on the Bridge. The only thing missing was Captain.
Jim smiled a little to himself, feeling those fingers fondle at his balls- a bit dully, through the fabric- then scratch at the inside of his thigh. “Oh you're doing really well,” Jim answered, laughter tinging his voice. And it was true. His erection strained almost painfully at his pants, and his body felt heavy with arousal in a way it had not in quite some time. “What about you? Is this good for you?”
“I am quite satisfied.”
“How do I take you from satisfied to about to come in your pants?”
Spock lifted his head with a curious squint to his eyes, though he could not claim misunderstanding now. His expression grew more serious, and he searched Jim's eyes for a long moment. Then gently, as if trying not to cause offense, he lifted Jim's hand from between them and placed it on the nape of his own neck instead. Jim gave him a smile of encouragement, and Spock folded his sleeves up neatly to expose pale forearms. A simple brush with the back of his fingers, and Jim was sure he was stroking one of those curious Vulcan erogenous zones.
Jim met Spock's gaze. “If you want something, you can tell me. It's okay to want it.”
Spock hesitated only a moment, a thousand thoughts flickering behind his hooded eyes, before giving one small nod.
Jim let his eyes drop down to the pulse ticking away just below Spock's jaw. Fingernails dragged down Spock's arm, teeth nipped at the pulse point, and Spock's head smacked against the wall of its own volition.
It was some time later before Jim was stripped to the waist with his pants unfastened. Spock's fingers worked smoothly, and when the vague form of Jim's erection bounced up- seeking a bit more freedom- Spock looked almost fondly at it before kneeling to press his lips to the underside through the fabric of Jim's boxers. Knees buckling, only Spock's firm hand around his thigh kept Jim from collapsing. Instead he stepped back, pulling Spock up and along by the fly until he felt his bed against the back of his knees.
“If you pull something like that again I don't think I'll be able to last any longer,” Jim said with mirth. Spock's eyebrows rose slightly, and Jim ducked his head to smile against Spock's neck as he worked the zipper down. “Seems like you might like the idea of that.”
“I admit,” Spock began in a low tone, “the thought is... quite pleasurable. A most unusual response.”
Jim's scalp tickled where Spock's breath grazed it. “Oh, I don't think it's so unusual.” Jim bounced up onto his toes and took the tip of Spock's pointed ear between his teeth. A strangled sound came from Spock, and Jim soothed the spot with a kiss. “I'm having a great time watching you unravel.”
“I am experiencing... only a small lapse in my control.”
“Mmhmm,” Jim hummed and reached back to catch a fistful of his sheets as he pulled Spock on top of him.
Within minutes their unfastened pants became a hindrance to their thrusting and grappling, and Jim kicked his own off fitfully before helping Spock slide his over his knees and feet. The fitted grey boxers sat smoothly over Spock's thighs, not precisely tented but mounded in way that made Jim's pulse quicken with anticipation. But he kept his hands away and instead lowered himself on to the tight length of Spock's bare abdomen. The dark curls of Spock's hair tickled against Jim's smooth skin as Jim aligned their bodies. Their eyes met, and with slow deliberation Jim pinned Spock's wrists against the sheets with the heels of his hand, one by each pointed ear. It was all for show, really. They both knew that Spock could resist with ease. But instead Spock's hips twitched up in a frantic jerk, causing both of their eyes to widen in surprise and a brilliant smile to slide onto Jim's face.
“Can I see you?” Jim asked, letting his nose brush against Spock's. He bent down and pressed his lips to the ridge of Spock's sternum. “All of you?”
For a wonder, Spock did not hesitate, only slid his hands easily from Jim's grasp and brought them to the hem of his shorts. As Jim sat back to remove his own, Spock lifted his hips from the bed and slid his down to mid thigh. Jim tugged them down the rest of the way and kicked both pairs to the floor, then straddled Spock's thigh, his balls sitting heavy against the hot skin. Spock's eyes flicked down at himself, then blinked back up to Jim's face.
Jim had held no real expectations, but the engorged folds of skin around the soft, dark cavity of Spock's otherwise featureless groin were certainly unexpected. His fingers twitched, but he looked to Spock's face first. “Will you show me?”
And then Spock was guiding the tips of Jim's fingers inside, and the wet heat of it and the glazed look in Spock's eyes sent Jim leaking all over himself. With deft fingers he stroked the soft, raised barbs of the inner walls: side to side, firmly, circles, quick brushes followed by slow, methodical ones as Spock's hips gave small jerks and his toes alternated between curled and stretched wide. Abruptly, Jim realized that Spock was moving around his hand, and then there was the brush of smooth skin sliding against his palm, relaxing down into it. A sheath of sorts, Jim realized, and he cupped his hand loosely as Spock allowed his penis to emerge fully.
At first Jim held some of its weight, hot and heavy against his palm, but then it stiffened, thickening but not lengthening much past the width of his hand and standing out almost perpendicular to the rest of Spock's body. The raised bumps he could then see were firm with blunt points, tinted slightly green and covering most of the shaft but concentrated to the underside. The barb-like filaments moved and bent under pressure, and Jim chanced a firm brush with his thumb from the base upward, which elicited a strangled gasp from Spock.
Jim slid his hand along the shaft until his fingers met the cartilage-like ridges, concentric and growing smaller toward the base and the smooth head. Jim let his hand slide down the entire length, the ridges bending and bouncing back into place, the barbs tickling at his palm and responding to his touch with ripples of movement.
Spock was palming at Jim's erection now, the smooth, veiny skin of it quite plain in comparison, and Jim moved forward to straddle him, already slicking his hand with spit. Spock sat up on one elbow and grasped their erections together at the base, and Jim couldn't help but cry out as the smooth barbs brushed against the underside of his penis.
“Fuck,” Jim breathed as he smoothed his hands over both of them together. The familiar ache was building as Spock laid back again, one hand cast out over the sheets and the other halfway succeeding at fondling Jim's balls between them. Spock's eyes were clear and focused on Jim, his mouth parted and a small- and rare- amount of sweat glistened at his hairline. Jim tucked his hand under Spock's hips, then changed his mind and reached for Spock's free hand. He smiled, bringing all the love and lust he felt to the forefront of his mind- hoping Spock could somehow feel it- and let his finger tips drag across Spock's palm.
For one moment Spock was still, and then he was arching off the bed. A low guttural sound came from his lips and then there was a stream of semen flooding into Jim's hand, hot and forceful. That was more than enough to send Jim toppling over the edge. He felt himself start to orgasm and gave them as many strokes as he could before his hand began to fumble. Semen spurted beyond his hand and onto Spock's stomach, mixing with what was already there, and Jim collapsed forward as pleasure washed over him in pulses.
For a few long moments with his head resting against Spock, Jim's only thoughts were for the heavy whirring of air in the man's chest. Abruptly Jim realized Spock was still spilling into his hand. Mind thick and reactions slow, Jim propped up on one elbow and sluggishly separated himself enough to glance down at the steady, thick stream still flowing over his fingers. He blinked at it, unperturbed but perhaps more than a bit surprised, then looked up at Spock.
Uncertainty must have been clear in Jim's eyes, though he had intended nothing of the sort. Spock's face blanked instantly. “I apologize for my... lack of control,” Spock choked out, voice still thick despite the expression. His hips jerked. His hand still clutched the sheets. Spock was still in the throes of an orgasm as he turned his face away.
Jim shook his head, trying to clear it. He shifted around- his body barely responding- and slid his free hand under the muscles of Spock's back. The one grasped around Spock's still rigid erection squeezed lightly, and the flow of semen gushed with a small spray before he noticed it begin to slow. Jim's face flashed between concern and reassurance. He wanted- needed- to see this through to its conclusion. "Spock, please. Look at me.”
Spock turned his face back slightly, his eyes flicking to meet Jim's from beneath his heavy brow, his expression unreadable and distant.
"You're amazing," Jim told him earnestly. "It's all okay."
"It is not," Spock began plainly, though Jim was certain he was still orgasming. “Vulcans are capable of controlling their ejaculate outside of Pon Farr, but it seems my controls have... failed. I apologize.” His eyes closed in a meditative way, and his face remained blank.
Jim grimaced and let his head hang. “Spock,” he murmured, stretching down to let their cheeks brush together. The flow was only a slow trickle over Jim's fingers. He wondered if Spock was actively trying to stop it, if he even could once it began. “This is not a problem. Nothing about this warrants an apology. I love this about you.”
Spock remained silent.
When the trickle ceased, Jim allowed his hand a final gentle squeeze around the rapidly softening penis, and Spock's stomach tightened involuntarily, his eyes shooting open. Those dark eyes- attempting detached calmness and missing by a light year- watched Jim bring his hand to his mouth and begin to suck each finger clean of the warm, acidic fluid.
“You may find ingestion of it produces symptoms similar to those of gastroesophageal reflux.”
“I'll risk it,” Jim said simply, holding Spock's gaze as he finished the last two fingers. Jim let his hand cup at the back of Spock's neck. “Are you alright?”
“I have regained most of my controls.”
Jim's face screwed into a sad little smile. “Yeah, see, that's not what I asked. Also you're shaking.”
Spock blinked and- to Jim's surprise- swallowed hard before speaking. “The emotional distress I was experiencing has diminished but still remains in part.”
Jim pressed forward. “Why?” he asked, the gentleness of his tone matching the kiss he placed above Spock's left eyebrow. He waited patiently, counting the breaths against his jaw.
Twelve.
“May I give you my thoughts?” Spock said at last, and Jim nodded without even a moment's hesitation. Spock placed his fingers with an unsteady hand.
The wall of shame that raced forth from Spock's mind felt insurmountable. The sheer thickness of it, tightly and intricately woven with threads of culture and expectation and responsibility and safety and logic, was enough to usurp any other thoughts. It shrank inward, inescapable, squeezing Jim until he thought he would burst. But as suddenly as it appeared it was gone, replaced by a string of memories and overlapping voices, one on top of the other like a poorly edited montage of ridicule and bullying and embarrassment over a lifetime. New emotions whipped at Jim from every direction, seeming to spin him about frantically.
-Spock was aboard the Enterprise, he was a child on Vulcan, he was at Starfleet. Spock's mother was holding him as he wept in her arms. He was bursting with rage. He was coming over his own stomach in his sleep. He was cornered and kicked until he collapsed. He was desperately clawing for control even as he pressed Jim against the wall in the gymnasium corridor. He was submitting himself to the Council for punishment. Spock's father was speaking of his lack of discipline in coldly disgusted tones. He was choking a friend against the navigation desk. He was beaten until blood streamed from his mouth. He was staring up at Jim's quizzical expression as he came forcefully into Jim's hand. He was quivering with grief in his meditation robes-
Stop.
Spock released him immediately, and Jim sucked in a harsh breath as every real sensation rushed back into him at once, each trying to pierce the blanket of emotion that threatened to smother him. He ran a thumb over the dampness under each eye, then pressed his forehead against Spock's.
“I apologize for the emotional trans-”
“No,” Jim said hoarsely. His throat was indeed burning, though the cause was debatable.
Long moments passed as he panted against Spock's mouth. This wasn't about the pool of semen saturating Jim's sheets. Not at the heart of it, anyway. At last he brushed their lips together in a kiss, and Spock's eyes closed. “You don't have to be in control.” Jim began, murmuring against the bridge of Spock's nose. “Not with me. If you want- if you need to be in control with everyone else, that's fine. But not here, whether you mean to be or not. And as for this-” Jim pressed his hips down to emphasize the cooling wetness between them. “I refuse to accept an apology for something that gets me off and more importantly something you can't help. It would be- as my favorite Vulcan would say- purely illogical.”
Spock's eyes opened, and Jim smiled down at him, eyes glittering.
“Oh good, you are listening.”
Spock's gaze danced back and forth between Jim's eyes, and Jim's expression softened.
“I like your feelings. I'd like to have them more often, if you'll give them to me."
Spock's expression dissolved into something bordering on relief.
Jim kissed his temple. “Don't move, I'll be right back." Dripping slightly and not particularly caring, Jim entered the bathroom and emerged again with all the available grey standard issue Starfleet towels. Spock returned Jim's meaningful glance with a small consenting- if somewhat abashed- nod, and Jim knelt on the bed and shook loose a towel.
“It really is okay,” Jim told him as he began wiping at the fluid pooled between Spock's lower ribs and the sheets. It was pink in color- Jim wondered if vegetarianism was the cause, or perhaps something specific to Vulcan biology- and slightly thinner than his own. The amount could truly have been considered a puddle had it not soaked thoroughly into the sheets.
Spock's eyes followed Jim's hands as they pressed the towel to his pale skin and dabbed away the moisture. Spock had withdrawn himself, only the sheath mounded smoothly between his hips. Something about that made Jim pause, and he murmured a quiet “May I?” and waited for Spock's affirming nod before sliding towel clad fingers inside. The space felt much smaller now, and Jim supposed arousal might supply it with more flexibility. One day he would ask Spock these questions, but today was not the day. He feared adding even one more embarrassed memory to that already fine collection. So he made brief but thorough work of it, not wanting to take any advantage of such vulnerability, and finished by drying himself. Only one dry towel remained, and Jim shook it into a semblance of flatness.
“Lift your hips for me,” Jim said and slid the towel under when Spock complied. “There,” he said with a nod. “Right as rain.” A smile brightened his face, and he leaned over the edge of the bed to fish out one of the woolen blankets he had brought from home many years before. He smoothed it over Spock's long body before sliding underneath. “Come now, aren't you going comment on the oddity of Terran idioms?”
Spock's hand came up hesitantly and rested against Jim's rib cage. It trembled faintly as it clutched Jim's cooler flesh. “No,” Spock said simply, then turned his face into Jim's chest. Long arms snaked around Jim's body, a leg firmly pulled their hips together. Hot breath warmed Jim's chest as Spock pulled him impossibly close.
“Computer: lights at zero percent.”
As the room dimmed into darkness, Jim wondered if Spock might actually be capable of hugging the very life out of him. He smiled fondly. What a way to go.