Title: What I Say, When I Say Anything At All
Rating: Adult only (NC-17)
Notes: Inspired by the new movie, but containing vague plot-related spoilers
Summary: Faintly, somewhere in the background of his consciousness, Spock thought he should have better discipline than that. Unfortunately, discipline of any kind never seemed to apply when Jim was around.
“Do what feels right,” his older self had said.
And this felt right: his back pressed flush against the door of his quarters and Jim Kirk’s hand shoved down the front of his uniform pants.
“That’s it,” Jim muttered.
Spock was glad the room was dark, because he didn’t think he could bear to see the cocky, impetuous grin that was surely on Jim’s face. Spock clamped his hands on Jim’s shoulders and fought against the urge to buck up into Jim’s grip. This wasn’t a competition, and Spock knew it wasn’t logical to deny his arousal when the evidence of it was unmistakable, but he couldn’t help feeling that if he just stayed still, he would maintain the tactical advantage.
Jim bit him, at the skin just at the apex of his jaw, causing Spock to jerk. Faintly, somewhere in the background of his consciousness, he thought he should have better discipline than that. Unfortunately, discipline of any kind never seemed to apply when Jim was around.
“Will you relax for once?” Jim hissed. He bumped his hips forward, nudging the bulge in his pants against Spock’s confined erection. Jim’s hand pulled free of Spock’s pants, but only to start removing the offending garment.
At Spock’s abortive protest—-the first thing he’d said since the door had closed, shutting out the ship, the rest of the crew, and the world—-Jim froze. His mouth was centimeters away from Spock's: not kissing—-they never kissed—-but close enough to breathe the same air. When Spock said no more, Jim’s hands finished opening Spock’s pants, and his own. Before Spock could move, Jim had his own erection sliding against Spock’s, his splayed fingers pressing them together.
Spock let his head slide back against the immovable solidity of the door. In these moments, Jim was the same man he was on the bridge: confident, quick-moving, and undeniably talented. Spock hardly knew how to respond. But that never seemed to bother Jim.
“Stop holding your breath.” Jim chuckled: a sharp exhalation of breath against Spock’s neck. “This isn’t supposed to be painful.”
With irritation, Spock realized he had stopped breathing. No one but Jim had the ability to undermine Spock’s self-control that way. Even Uhura, with her soft hands and her warm voice, and her "What do you need?" didn’t bring Spock to the knife edge of desire like this.
Spock took a long, steady breath to center himself as Jim kept up his rough-handed stroking. Then Spock pushed off the wall, sending Jim tumbling onto his back, and landed none-too-gently atop him. Spock shoved a hand between them to squeeze himself and Jim together, reveling in the sharp exhalation of breath that signaled Jim’s pleasure. It was satisfying to take the ever-ready Jim off his guard for once.
It didn’t take long for Jim to recover, however. “Faster,” he demanded, and thrust his hips up against Spock.
“Patience,” Spock said. He tightened his grip, prompting Jim to still. Spock began to move the hand that encircled them both, firmly but slowly, reveling in the slide of Jim’s flesh against his, and Jim’s ragged breath against his cheek. He wondered how long he could keep up this infuriating pace before Jim would rebel.
Apparently less than a minute. Jim pushed up off the floor, and Spock allowed himself to be shoved onto his back. Jim straddled him and grabbed both their erections, stroking them together at a furious pace.
Spock almost wished now that the lights were on so that he could see the triumphant light that gleamed in Jim’s eyes when victory was in sight. He settled for closing his eyes and imagining the expression on Jim’s face as he worked them both in tandem.
Jim went first—-his warm come slicking his hand and adding a wet edge to the slapping sound of flesh on flesh. Spock dug his fingers into Jim’s thighs and followed after with a violent exhalation of breath that was almost a name, almost a syllable that would have given away too much, but not quite.
Jim’s hand slowed to a stop, and he flopped forward onto Spock’s chest. Spock grunted in displeasure. The mess they’d made was rapidly cooling on their clothes and skin, and he knew from experience that Jim could easily fall asleep after their exertions with no regard for hygiene.
“Computer, lights,” Spock called. He expected to see Jim collapsed insensible and careless, possibly drooling. Instead, when the lights came up, Jim had his head propped in his hands atop Spock's chest, watching him with interest.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Spock raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“At the end there,” Jim elaborated. “You said something.”
“I do not recall,” Spock said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He couldn’t know for sure what had slipped out while his guard was down.
“Okay.” Jim pushed himself to his feet and extended a hand to Spock. “Come on.”
Spock took the offered hand and allowed himself to be helped up. “Jim,” he said softly.
Jim nodded, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought,” he said.