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Space was boring.
Or rather, it wasn't that space was boring- it was more that being in space didn't stop messages from needing to be answered, didn't make the long stretches where they were traveling between destination any more exciting, didn't make paperwork spontaneously disappear...or combust. It didn't stop bureaucracy or politics or any of the other mundane details from intruding on the vast blackness that pressed up against the ship's hull, the way the stars danced around each other in the cosmic waltz, or even the subtle gleam of nebulae that they passed through.
Most days though, it was enough just to be out here. Jim had thrived, somehow, in being dwarfed by blue stars barely a hundred thousand kilometers away, in looking out at a series of planets and knowing that one of them might hold life, in taking his seat on the bridge and knowing that his crew could be depended on in all situations and without a single hint of a doubt. So all in all, he loved his job, paperwork and politics notwithstanding.
But that was only most days, and Jim was only Human.
Of the bad days, the truly horrific days, a good portion occurred when missions went wrong, especially when people under his command died. There was no doubt that those were the hardest times, when he was forced to wonder if he was the right man for the job. It was a crushing weight that threatened to drown him when he struggled to piece together The Letter, the euphemism that deserved its capital letters. It was the term that every starship captain used and Jim wished he'd never had to learn. Those were the days that had him waking up with nightmares, sobbing in the bathroom as he waged war to keep from vomiting but rarely succeeded, before he sealed away his worry and stress and once more became Captain James T. Kirk.
Then there were the bad days that were simply bad days, the days that left him exhausted and nursing a cynical view of the Admiralty and universe. Those were the days when he possessed more than a few unkind words for the men and women and aliens who thought it was more important to see how badly they could mess with him instead of spending their time doing something more useful. Their interference didn't really surprise him. After all, there were plenty of people- Admirals and otherwise- who had objected to his instatement as the Federation's youngest captain in history. They seemed to desire nothing more than to make an example of him by crucifying him before the entire Federation as a warning to those who dared to be different or innovative or forthright with their intentions. It was a daily battle, one that was a knife against his skin. Though he was generally able to fend them off or otherwise outwit them, it was still a work in progress.
Even so, they did get to him, sometimes.
Like today.
Today he'd spent a two hour long meeting with Admiral Komack on the view screen in his ready room, defending his actions on the last mission, which had ended with Sulu critically injured. Bones still wasn't sure that he'd pull through, and just the thought of losing his friend made the room tilt dangerously. Then there was the loss of Ensign Felicia Sunders, who had been so new to the Enterprise that she hadn't had the time to properly unpack her belongings. And needing to defend himself against a hostile Komack when he was already beating himself up for the loss of a man who had died while serving under his own command wasn't making this day any easier. Of course, Jim had been injured too, his shoulder still sensitive from the laser burn he'd managed to get from the natives, but that barely qualified as a low point to his day when he compared to everything else. Komack had grilled him again and again concerning the details until the man had even Jim half-believing that there had to have been something else that he could have done, that he should have done, and the mere thought had torn him up inside. He'd been torn between roaring some very uncomplimentary things at Komack, or perhaps simply taking a steel pipe to the screen, an inclination which he fully blamed on the fact that he hadn't gotten more than four hours of sleep in the last two days- besides, destroying the view screen would mean requisition paperwork, and he hated paperwork.
Had it not been for Scotty sending along a message through Uhura indicating that there was a major problem in Engineering he wasn't sure what he would have done, but it would have been loud and rude and probably would have involved several unsavory curses. Of course, Scotty's so called emergency had been, in actuality, nothing more than a concern over the quality of his latest batch of illegal hooch. Even so, he'd caught the dark glint in the Scotsman's eye, and had simply thanked him quietly afterwards by laying his hand on his friend's arm. Scotty had bumped against his arm companionably and shooed him out of his domain without further ado.
Of course, that hadn't been the end of it. After he'd left Engineering he'd been forced to field another irritated call from Komack where he'd been required to defend himself (again) and make the appropriate excuses for the interruption. When Komack had finally, finally, deemed Jim properly cowed another hour and a half later, it still hadn't been the end of his day. Next he'd been forced to slog through all of the messages on his PADD, most of which were little more than requests for his authorization for various supplies or research plans, hardly the most exciting of activities, but somehow making him weary nonetheless. The sheer boredom of it all rested on him like a physical weight. He went practically cross eyed by the end of it, the long hours staring at the PADD screen making everything blurry. In addition, he'd had to sit through his bi-weekly meeting with his command team, which he usually found at least tolerably interesting, as he liked nothing more than to be kept up to date with the goings on in his baby. Today, however, he found himself practically falling asleep, unable to so much as sit back in his chair without jarring his still healing wound, which had been made more uncomfortable by his knotted muscles and exhaustion. This was, in some ways, one of the hardest parts of his job. It was easy to make snap decisions when the adrenaline was pumping through him and he was putting together a plan that everyone else knew was crazy but that he nonetheless believed would work. What was not so easy, he was finding, was dealing with the cleanup, the aftermath, when people fell apart because they no longer had a goal to strive towards.
Jim looked at the table before him, weary.
He finally dismissed them all, grateful beyond words that it was the end of his shift, rubbing a hand over his face yet again, wincing when it sent a wave of pain down his spine. He hissed, resting his opposite hand over his shoulder in an instinctive protective motion. Spock's gaze snapped to him at the motion, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Jim ignored him for a minute or two as Chekov came up, discussing the orbital pattern they would have to hold for the next mission due to the fact that it was a binary planet system. Jim looked over the details of the navigation and nodded; as usual, Chekov's work was superb. Jim took delight in saying so, he was thrilled when the Russian blushed scarlet at the praise.
Chekov left then, but Jim lingered in the back, waiting for the last stragglers to leave before he even contemplated getting out of his chair. Spock waited too, dark eyes kind as he watched the gingerly manner in which Jim moved when he was sure that everyone except his First Officer had turned their attention elsewhere. Such things never escaped Spock's attention no matter how much Jim might wish that it were so. Jim spared a smile for the half-Vulcan. How could he not, when Spock had been with him through thick and thin through the first two- almost three years now, actually, and wasn't that a shock on its own- on the Enterprise. As the last person left Jim's ready room, gentle concern began probing at his mind, flowing through their bond. Jim knew his face softened, but he didn't mind, not with Spock. Having a direct conduit to Spock's mind had been one of the greatest blessings in Jim's life. He'd become adept at reading how Spock felt- hell, he was still one of the few beings on the ship that knew what the half-Vulcan was feeling even part of the time- but it was one thing to guess using the subtle cues Spock allowed himself, and it was another thing to know, to really know. And here, when the universe seemed bent on crushing him with bureaucracy and politics, it was a gift beyond measure to feel Spock's simple concern wash over him.
He gave the equivalent of a mental wave of the hand and whispered, Later, back, both gestures considerably clumsier than Spock's would have been, though he was getting better at using the link between them. As usual, Spock didn't press, instead using his more competent mental skills to make sure that a steady reassurance and love coursed through the bond, easing Jim's aches simply by virtue of the fact that he felt cherished and cared for, as though Spock had made him a mental chicken soup.
And wasn't that a thought.
His own gratitude coursed back along the link towards Spock, and the miniature sun that was Spock's inner smile blazed in Jim's mind for a moment. Jim sighed, his grimace easing at the support from his bondmate. How did I ever do this without you? He couldn't help but ask.
Well, but better still with me, t'hy'la, Spock returned, and there was a gentle humor in his voice that he rarely dared permit enter his voice with anyone.
The Captain of the Enterprise shook his head once, smiling wryly.
Spock stood when Jim did, following his Captain to the door, a silent shadow on his left, half a step behind him, the sound of his shoes against the flooring of the Enterprise muted, a clack that precisely echoed the sound of Jim's own shoes. Jim led them back to their quarters, for once grateful for the higher temperature that they kept the room at. The heat sank into his bones, and a silent, subtle tension leaked out of Spock beside him. Jim's heart clenched just a little bit. He knew that Spock found the majority of the Enterprise to be cool, if not outright cold, compared to his normal standards, and Jim frequently felt bad that Spock was unable to heat their rooms as much as he probably wanted to without giving the Human he was bonded to a heat stroke.
Spock picked up on the sentiment and leaned forward over Jim's shoulder to kiss Jim's cheek, and as always, the touch was cooler than he was expecting, as though Spock had drank something cold just a moment ago. "It is worth it," he told Jim quietly as he embraced the man from behind, and the Human breathed in Spock's scent of fruit and musky copper. Jim reached up with his hand and rested his fingertips very lightly against the cool, smooth skin of Spock's cheek. After a second or two, Jim ran the first two fingers against Spock's skin, and out of the corner of his eye, he just barely saw the way Spock's mouth curled up ever so slightly.
Jim let his hand fall away then, head falling back to rest against Spock. However, the motion pressed him more fully against Spock, and his still healing shoulder was jostled in the process. Jim sucked in a breath, and Spock froze against him. "You know that Bones said that the dermal regenerator can only do so much, and it's going to be sensitive for the next day or two," Jim reminded the half-Vulcan before Spock could pull away. He clutched at Spock's arms, knowing that unless he did so, Spock would release him.
"Nevertheless, I have something that might help that will not require much effort." Spock carefully extracted himself from Jim's grip. He was about to protest at the loss when Spock stepped over to his meditation mat and lit some of the incense. There was an old sadness in his face as he did so; the scent that filled the room was not the smell of sand and wind and water but the smell of wind and rain and earth, the closest Spock could get these days to the incense that Vulcans had used for a time immemorial to aid in their meditation.
Jim bit his lip, at a loss for what to say. These little moments blindsided him, sometimes, and were harder to bear than the carefully constructed mourning that came with the anniversary of the Kelvin disaster or the destruction of Vulcan. Jim let his sorrow and regret touch Spock's mind, felt the same sense of loss hovering in Spock's katra.
Spock simply indicated for him to sit on the bed, however, pushing away Jim's worry and setting aside his own sense of loss. Jim frowned a little, staring at the bed apprehensively. "I'm too sensitive for a massage, even if I'm all twisted up in knots," he warned, "because Bones gave me something mild, and you know I hate when I'm on the stronger stuff because I go all wonky. And a meld, while wonderful, is probably going to leave me smelling colors and seeing sounds, and I'm too nauseous now. If we meld, I'm probably going to end up throwing up afterwards. Again. Thanks, but no thanks." He knew that his voice was too curt, too short when Spock was clearly only trying to do something nice, but he was grumpy, dammit, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a while.
In a show of extreme patience that Jim knew he didn't really deserve, Spock ushered him towards the bed, helping him remove his clothing along the way, careful of the shoulder that was still an angry red along the edges of the wound, even going so far as to help him into a pair of the threadbare cotton pajama bottoms that Jim swore was the most comfortable piece of clothing he owned. Spock helped him get settled on the bed before stripping out of his own uniform and thrusting all of their clothing down the laundry chute before shrouding himself in a black Vulcan robe. Jim admired Spock's lean figure, with the dark robes contrasting against the ivory skin. Jim found himself staring at Spock despite his intention to go to sleep regardless of whatever it was Spock had planned. When Spock was finally dressed, Jim thought he was going to come and sit on the bed with him, but Spock rummaged around in the bathroom for a minute or two before coming out with a bottle of lotion and sitting down opposite him on the bed. It was the stuff that Jim used to deal with the dry skin that tended to crop up due to the recycled air of the Enterprise and he frowned a little, wondering what Spock planned to use it for. Certainly not as a lube; they had a bottle of it sitting on the table beside the bed.
Despite himself, Jim found that he was lulled by the gentle incense filling the room and the serenity that Spock was allowing to pass through their bond. When it appeared Spock was settled, Jim raised an eyebrow in a poor imitation of Spock's before breaking out into a rueful smile that also served as an apology.
Spock inclined his head in acceptance. "What do you know about acupressure?" he asked.
Jim's brow furrowed. That was not what he'd expected to hear. "Only the basics really. A healing art that originated in China. The idea is that by using different pressure points you can alleviate different problems of the body." He tilted his head, thinking. "And there's something about feet being connected to all parts of the body, right? Or am I completely mixing that up with something else?"
"You have the basic idea correct. Vulcans have something similar." Spock held out his hands, palms up. They were strong hands, with long, tapered fingers and broad palms. He loved those hands, loved when they ran over his body, when they practically flew over the keys of the Science console, when they tangled with his own fingers. They were also sensitive, as Jim knew from extensive experience, and he thought for a moment of their last shore leave, when he'd spent a countless amount of time mapping out every millimeter of those hands, etching every sound Spock had made into his memory for future reference.
He knew the reason for the sensitivity, of course. It was one of the first things Starfleet taught about alien physiology, to prevent some hapless Starfleet cadet from mistakenly offering their hand to a Vulcan in greeting. The sensitivity was due to the fact that Vulcans had anywhere between two and three times the number of specialized nerves present in their hands, which aided in their telepathic abilities.
"Our hands and our minds are linked- for example, we use our hands to initiate melds, as you well know. There have even been documented cases of Vulcans who lost use of a hand for one reason or another and found their telepathic abilities greatly reduced as a result. Since this is the case, there is a technique called to'tsu t'el'tanarauni, literally the manipulation of nerves. It was more popular in pre-Reformation times before Healers realized how much transfer of emotion and thought occurs when that method is used; these days, it's considered the height of rudeness to touch another's hand purposefully and without explicit permission unless you are bonded." Jim met Spock's eyes and reached out, stroking the first two fingers of his hand along Spock's. The half-Vulcan let out a little sigh, the bond intensifying for a moment with the joy and pleasure Spock felt from the contact. "Despite that taboo, the touching of hands is permitted during to'tsu t'el'tanarauni regardless of status. Today, it's used mostly in dire situations where a there is no way to gain access to medical supplies and there is no other way to relieve symptoms, for example. It is, however, taught to all Vulcan children as a means of practical first aid experience in any emergency. By applying different pressures to different points on the hand, thereby manipulating different mental energies, it's possible to trigger physical and mental responses."
"And you think you can do that for me?" Jim queried dubiously.
Spock nodded. "The nerves in my hands are not unlike your own; it is doubtful that it will have the same effects it would on someone of Vulcan heritage, but it may be able alleviate at least some of your symptoms, and will have none of the side effects that either a meld or a stronger pain medication would have on your system."
Jim smiled, long and slow. He linked their fingers together and pressed a kiss to Spock's lips. It was chaste for only a moment before Jim tilted his head, pulling away his fingers in order to cup Spock's cheek in one hand. He simultaneously buried the fingers of the other hand in Spock's soft, thick hair. Their tongues stroked against one another. Jim never got used to the taste of warm copper in Spock's mouth, as though he'd been sucking on a penny and he didn't think that he ever would. It was exotic and delicious and Jim would willingly kiss Spock all day if he thought he could get away with it. Spock's own fingers against his neck made him shudder a little. Like his mouth, they were surprisingly cool; it had always seemed somewhat ironic that someone from a planet as hot as Vulcan would have such a low body temperature.
Spock eventually pulled away slowly, stealing a few final kisses before taking Jim's hands in his own. Jim settled back, eyes closed, and let Spock arrange him however he wanted, trusting that his bondmate knew what he was doing. His back was complaining from the kiss, and he really hoped that Spock's trick would work, or he'd have to resort to asking Bones for something stronger, which he'd really prefer not to do. The disorientation wouldn't be worth it.
Jim only opened his eyes when he heard the tiny snick that was Spock palming some of the lotion. Spock took his left hand first, spreading the cream across Jim's palm and the back of his hand before rubbing it in across Jim's hands, up to the wrist. As he did so, he rotated Jim's hand gently, loosening the muscles. It was strangely relaxing and he found tension leaking out of him almost before he noticed it. It was mere minutes before Spock was doing the same thing to his other hand. Finally, Spock rested both of Jim's hands against his knees, Spock's hands covering them. "I am going to begin," Spock told Jim in a voice that could hardly be heard.
"Mmm," Jim hummed. Spock's rhythmic massage of his hands had left his mind and body surprisingly relaxed. "Go for it."
Jim watched with an idle curiosity as Spock pressed his thumb against the base of Jim's left pinky, a hard jab that resulted in the joint there being cracked. Next, Spock used his thumbnails to scrape over the pads of both his middle fingers three times, each time increasing the pressure. Spock's thumb and forefinger encircled his wrists, pressing against the bones there lightly before Jim's right ring and pointer fingers were cracked, this time by Spock pulling at them. He tapped twice at the base of both of Jim's palms before lifting his hands, Spock's thumbs resting squarely in the middle of his palm, his fingers resting against his second metacarpal. Then in a brutal movement, Spock jammed his thumbs into Jim's palm while also using his fingers to twist his hands so that Jim's palms were almost facing his chest.
Jim's vision doubled for a moment, and his nausea flared until Jim thought that he was going to vomit. He forced it down as he pitched dangerously to one side, shoulder screaming, and caught barely a glimpse of Spock's widened eyes when suddenly everything calmed.
He blinked once, then twice, as his balance was restored. Spock's cool fingers were iron bands wrapped around his upper arms, and he slowly drew Jim forward until he was resting against his bondmate's chest. Jim took the opportunity to catalogue his injuries. He was not pain-free, but the pain had retreated to nothing more than a dull ache that was no worse that the pain he felt after a particularly strenuous workout. He flexed his shoulder; the flesh was still sensitive, and he wouldn't want anyone to clap him on the back, but it was manageable now. He also felt awake- not really awake, but certainly like he'd gotten more than four hours of sleep over the last forty eight.
"Whoa," he said finally, stunned. "That was kind of cool."
Spock huffed a breath that was the closest he could ever come to a laugh, even in the privacy of their own room. He rested his hand against the back of Jim's head, fingers running through his hair. "I am glad it was helpful, t'hy'la."
Jim drew in a deep breath, drawing strength from Spock's unique scent, going to far as to press his nose to the juncture where his neck met shoulder. "Yes," he murmured against the skin. "Thank you, Spock, really." He smiled, nuzzling the skin, positively joyful now that the tension he'd held onto for so long had disappeared, the muted pain barely registering compared to the red-hot and deeply-seated ache he'd suffered from earlier. It made him more thankful than ever that he had Spock in his life, not only because Spock made the effort to help in the first place but that Spock had been patient with him even when Jim had been impatient and short with him. "I don't deserve you," Jim whispered.
"Yes you do," Spock returned, catching Jim's face and pulling him up so they could exchange a proper kiss, long and slow and deep. Jim drank Spock in, fingers winding through Spock's hair. He kissed the soft skin of Spock's neck again, pressing forward against his bondmate.
"Does this mean that I get to repay the favor then?" His hot breath sent shivers down Spock's spine, and his grip tightened on Jim involuntarily. His bondmate's hot body against Spock's own always seemed to arouse him despite his best efforts. "Because I'd really like to show my...appreciation." Jim's hand moved to cup Spock's ass, fingertips drumming a random pattern that Jim knew could be felt even through the thick Vulcan robe.
"You need not do that," Spock assured Jim. "You have been under great stress these past few days. You would be better served to rest, t'hy'la. What I did was not for me, but for you. It requires no reciprocation." Spock pulled back, running those cool fingers against Jim's face; Jim leaned into them, hand coming up to catch the hand so he could kiss the inside of Spock's wrist, a motion that inspired a full-body shudder.
"I know you like that," Jim purred, catching Spock's free hand and bringing them both forward before stroking his index and middle fingers against Spock's. The half-Vulcan's breath caught, riveted by Jim's fingers against his own, the intimate touch sending thrills through him as though his nerves were blazing. "I know you like that too," Jim continued, smiling slightly. "And I doubt this was the side effect you were expecting, of course, but I think we can make it work. Orgasms are great for relaxation, you know, and I happen to know how to give you a truly phenomenal one."
With that, Jim shamelessly climbed into Spock's lap, fingers still stroking against Spock's, the contact and close press of their bodies amplifying their bond until it seemed like Jim was composed of nothing more than Spock's love for him; Spock felt the same. They kissed again and again, practically rutting against each other, Jim's newfound energy coursing through them both, passing from one to the other and back again as though on a feedback loop.
"Okay, this has officially been upgraded from 'kind of cool' to really, really, fucking cool," Jim gasped against Spock's lips, grinding down against him. "I think we should do that more often. It's like an instant I-need-sex button. Then again, I always need sex from you, so maybe I'm just using this as an excuse. Of course-" Jim sucked a hickey to life on Spock's neck "-I don't exactly see you complaining. On a separate note, get out of those clothes. Now, preferably." Jim was always talkative during sex, always, and Spock only rarely managed to get him to shut his mouth entirely.
Then again, Spock loved hearing the effects of his touch on Jim, so he never tried all that hard.
Spock muttered a brief agreement. They separated for just a moment in order to discard their clothing, shedding everything and carelessly letting it fall to the floor before coming back together, hands entwined, palms pressing intimately against each other and Jim once more in Spock's lap, thighs and chest rubbing against each other wonderfully in an effort to make up for the time they'd spent apart. Spock moved to run his fingers against the skin of Jim's back but Jim neatly avoided the half-Vulcan's touch. "Let me do this for you," Jim pleaded, fingers rubbing against Spock's palms. "Please, let me," Jim repeated, a touch more serious, laughter fading to be replaced with something that made Spock's breath hitch. Spock paused in his movements, looking at Jim, really looking, noticing the fine lines that bracketed the corner of Jim's mouth and worry that still lingered in those brilliant blue eyes. Spock swallowed, caught by the sadness in Jim's face. He nodded.
Jim blew out a long breath, shoulders slumping a little. He sat back, out of immediate reach, capturing Spock's hands and pressing soft kisses to the center of each palm. Spock sucked in a breath. Jim's face blossomed into a smile. "You've really got unfairly wonderful hands. Of course, their sensitivity is just a really fabulous bonus," Jim laughed, showering Spock's skin with Vulcan kisses, knowing how much Spock got off on them. "Thank you, for everything." Jim smeared the words against Spock's skin, drinking in the tiny gasps and sharp inhales that Spock allowed to escape. "I'm so lucky, I really am."
"As am I." The words were a little strangled, but Jim heard him loud and clear.
Jim smiled at that; for Spock to agree to so illogical a statement- involving the existence of luck, no less!- without even a hint of protest meant that Jim had to be getting to him. Jim pushed Spock down on the bed and straddled him, mouth twitching at how debauched Spock looked already, chest heaving, green undertone gaining strength; his ears and cheekbones were already a deep sage that was as exotic as it was appealing. His hands had always been his weak point. Spock stared up at him, eyes half-lidded, mouth open slightly. His tongue flickered out to wet his lips.
Jim smirked.
Spock was already half-hard, but this wasn't the time to draw it out and make them both desperate for release; now was the time to get them off as fast as Jim could so they could sleep tangled up in each other, sated and weary and primed for a good night's rest in each others arms. At least until Jim got so hot that he tossed off the covers, which Spock usually appropriated sometime during the night. Even so, that was the closest thing to nirvana that Jim could fathom at the moment. With that decision made, Jim reach down, running his fingers over the lubricated sheath that generally hid Spock's penis, smiling privately when Spock gasped and then went rigid, hands clenched so tightly in the bed sheets that they threatened to rip. Again.
Spock was transfixed by Jim's fingers sliding gently over that slick skin, all sense of decorum having slipped away. Instead, his mouth was open, chest heaving, strangled little noises escaping occasionally. It made Jim feel...good. Powerful. It made him feel like he was someone special for being able to bring such unadulterated pleasure into Spock's life, to know him so well that with just a few touches Jim could bring him to the brink. Like now- firstly, the skin that generally hid Spock's penis was extraordinarily sensitive, and any stimulation would be enough to coax his cock out. Generally, Jim used his mouth, because Spock enjoyed few things as much as Jim's hot mouth sucking him off, the heat of Jim's mouth reducing him to sounds of pleasure and need, melting away higher brain function with startling ease. But to be touched by Jim's fingers there, that was a whole other level of intensity for the half-Vulcan. Not only did it give Spock a front row seat into Jim's head because the intimate touch and pleasure opened Spock's telepathy far more than usual, making it the closest thing to a meld without deliberately allowing Spock into his skull, but it also seemed to be strangely taboo.
Spock refused to discuss it and Jim hadn't pushed the matter after the first few times when Spock had resisted his questioning; Jim figured that they were both entitled to secrets so long as it didn't interfere with their personal or professional relationships. He'd worried at first that his touch hadn't been pleasurable, that Spock hadn't been comfortable with it, but after one particularly memorable meld where Spock had shared his side of the equation, which had resulted in Jim coming embarrassingly fast and embarrassingly hard, Jim hadn't questioned the half-Vulcan again. It was enough for Jim to know simply that Spock liked it very, very much. Even so, that didn't stop Jim from wondering, occasionally, and he figured mostly that it simply wasn't something that was done on Vulcan, as it were. The expression on Spock's face when he did this- as though Jim was doing something unspeakably dirty (in a kinky way, which was the best sort of dirty) and unspeakably pleasurable and hot- seemed to back him up. Either way, it was enough for Jim simply to watch Spock dissolve under so simple a touch, basking in it and craving more.
Jim's fingers pressed a little harder, increasing the stimulation and Spock gave a whole body jerk, throwing his head back as he screwed his eyes shut, no longer able to take the visual stimulation in addition to the pleasure coursing over him. Jim took the opportunity to scrape his teeth over Spock's throat, drawing red lines across that clear skin, marking Spock as his own as best he could, even if those marks would be gone by morning. At the two points of pleasure, Spock's grip tightened and the linens made an ominous sound.
"Put your hands on me," Jim coaxed, hoping to get Spock to rest his hands on Jim's hips. Jim removed his hands from Spock and dropped them on top of Spock's fists, pulling gently in an effort to keep the linens from ripping. Requisition would not be happy if Jim asked for yet another set of sheets. They were already giving him ominous looks and dark mutterings. "I don't mind it. Put your hands on me."
Without Jim's ministrations distracting him, Spock recovered himself in a surprisingly short amount of time. "I will bruise you," he rasped.
Jim smiled crookedly at him. "After everything you've done for me, a little bruising is the least of my concern."
"Bruising should not be a concern at all. You are a fragile species, when compared to Vulcans. I will not cause you undue harm." Spock's eyes were dark, intense, staring at Jim's shoulder as though he could see the wound being inflicted on his bondmate over and over in his mind's eye.
Jim blew out a frustrated breath. This was an old argument that usually got trotted out whenever he'd been harmed; in a universe full of dangers, Spock hated the fact that in some ways, he was one of them. Jim knew it tore the peace-loving half-Vulcan up, sometimes, especially when Bones was racing to save him and Spock could only think that if he'd been faster, smarter, stronger, that such disasters would no longer come to pass. Jim smoothed a hand against Spock's cheek, knowing Spock's thoughts almost better than his own. "Shhh," he soothed when Spock opened his mouth. He could give at least a little back now, remind him that at least this time Jim had come through alive.
Fortunately, he knew the perfect rebuttal that even Spock couldn't resist. "If I have a choice between being marked by them and marked by you, you win every time, t'hy'la." It had taken long months to perfect even that small word in the closest to flawless Vulcan that any Human could achieve, but he was rewarded every time. Spock's face smoothed out, something instinctual in him satisfied by Jim's chosen description of their bond. Jim kissed Spock's mouth slowly and breathed against his face, "There is no contest. I would rather have the bruises you gave me, because at least they were done here, in love."
Spock put his hands on Jim's hips.
From there it was an easy, old rhythm that they'd fallen into somewhere along the way. They kissed wetly, hotly, sucking on any skin they could reach, leaving scratches and bruises in their wake. Spock's hands clenched, gripping Jim in a hold that the Human knew would leave deep bruises in their wake. Jim couldn't fault Spock though, not now, not when the memory of Spock's last trip to Med Bay was rising in his mind and he was caught by the urge to reassure himself that Spock was alive and healthy beneath him just as Spock was basking in his touch, using it to remind himself that this time they'd been fast enough, smart enough, strong enough. Jim ran his fingers down Spock's chest, rubbing a nipple here, a particularly sensitive bit of skin there, little drops of pleasure that simply accentuated the fact that they were frotting against each other, lost in the slide of skin against skin. They gasped into each other's mouths, pressing skin to skin as though it would allow them to climb inside one another and never leave. Jim occasionally skirted down to run his fingertips over Spock's own hands, his sheath and his cock until precome was dripping down, easing the slide of skin against skin even more.
Eventually, it became good, but not quite enough. Jim pulled back a little, huffing a laugh against Spock's skin when the half-Vulcan moaned at the loss of heat, fingers scrabbling up Jim's sides and working to pull him back down. "Just a minute," Jim hissed, laughing a little at Spock's eagerness. "Isn't patience supposed to be a virtue for Vulcans?"
"There is a difference between patience and refusing to take the steps necessary to accomplish your goal," Spock retorted, a challenging gleam entering his eyes as he arched his body against Jim's, trying to make him move faster.
Jim laughed again, light-hearted and sweet, but he obediently gripped both of their erections, setting up a fast pace whose sole goal was to drive them mercilessly over the edge. Spock gasped and keened, focusing only on getting more of Jim's hot hand on his arousal, fingers forming bruises atop bruises on Jim's hips. Spock's stared at Jim, mouth forming pleading words that didn't have enough air behind them to carry across even the mere centimeters between them. Jim kissed him then, kissed him into silence, kissed him with the intention to reassure and kissed him to remind Spock that pleasure existed in this world as well as pain. A near silent sound of need escaped Spock's lips, and Jim swallowed it down, luxuriating in the feel of sweat-slicked skin against skin.
But it wasn't quite enough, not for either of them, and Jim brought Spock's left hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, tongue swirling obscenely at the skin around Spock's nails, short and carefully tended. Spock's mouth fell open, riveted by the sight before him even as he thrust into Jim's grip around their erections, desperate for more heat and pressure, desperate for Jim's touch to finally allow him his release.
When his orgasm did come, Spock could not have said what sent him over the edge- seeing his fingers in Jim's mouth, that slick heat against his skin, the hand on his arousal, the taste of iron lingering in his mouth, the scent of Human sweat and precome, the love and joy filling the bond, the way Jim threw his head back and gasped. In reality, it was probably all of those things, combining in some perfect harmony that caused Spock to cry out, drowning in the sensations that Jim awoke in him, shuddering his release as Jim joined him, stroking both of them through their orgasms until Spock made a miniscule sound of protest when enough became too much.
Jim looked down as Spock slumped to the bed, completely and utterly boneless, eyes glazed and barely conscious, pleasure practically resonating in his lithe frame even now. Jim stole a kiss from those slack and kiss-swollen lips, uncaring when Spock didn't return the kiss- Spock was almost always unresponsive for a minute or two after a good orgasm; Jim thought that it was the only time Spock let his mind really shut down, a respite it didn't even get in sleep. Jim ran his fingers down Spock's face and the half-Vulcan turned ever so slightly into that warmth, eyes fluttering shut.
Jim smiled slowly, privately, honored that Spock would allow Jim to see him like this, all defenses stripped away in the face of such all consuming pleasure. Jim slipped away silently, running to the bathroom and dampening a washcloth to clean away the worst of the green and white mess on his stomach and chest before tossing it down the laundry chute and wetting a second one that he took out to Spock.
Spock was just barely beginning to stir, blinking slowly, more than willing to let Jim run the washcloth over his body to clean away the semen that had splattered his stomach. He made a tiny noise of discomfort when Jim ran the washcloth over his flaccid penis, but Jim kissed him, and Spock's answering sigh was both weary and sated, just as Jim had hoped. Jim left the bed, disposing of the washcloth as Spock tracked his movements across the room, watching as Jim did all of his last minute nighttime preparations before finally making his way back to the bed. Jim expertly tugged the covers out from under Spock's limp form before climbing in next to him. It was only then that Spock moved, sliding across the bed and wrapping himself thoroughly around Jim, preventing the Human from so much as turning. Jim's laugh was nearly soundless, little more than a puff of air against Spock's collarbone as Jim shifted, nuzzling against Spock and getting a little more comfortable. "Thank you," Jim whispered against that soft skin. He placed a gentle kiss in the hollow above Spock's collarbone. "I love you."
"T'hy'la," Spock whispered back, and it was all the answer either of them needed.
Outside their room, the universe kept turning. Jim could think of a hundred things that he could be doing, that he should be doing. Paperwork, returning Admiral Nogura's call, reading the latest mission briefing- all the little nuances and responsibilities that came with running a ship. Then he looked at the half-Vulcan in his arms, listening to his soft, deep breathing that indicated that he was already sound asleep. Jim shut his eyes, relaxing into Spock's hold.
The world would keep for a few more hours.
For now, Jim let his breathing even out, lulled to sleep by Spock's fingers sketching abstract patterns against his skin.