Spock crossed one lengthy, black clad leg over the other and simultaneously overlapped one long, blue clad arm over the other, his long, angular face profound in thought. Two deep ebony eyebrows arched triangularly over fathomless, dark maple-brown eyes that were ringed with feathery black lashes. The lids were shaded slightly blue-grey, giving him a royal, almost arrogant air.
The thoughts currently flowing through his incredibly quick, rational mind were confusing. Frustrating. Illogical. With a huff, Spock stroked his chin, annoyed at what his body was feeling. Never before had he been so overcome with emotion and feeling. He blamed it on his human half, but in the back of his mind wondered how much other Vulcans suffered after going through their first Pon Farr. Of course, most Vulcans would have either mated or died, and then, at least in the former case, gotten over it. But Spock had done neither, and wished for both since now the hormones raging through his body were searching for an outlet. And they’d found one. Kirk. Captain James Tiberius Kirk.
With soft, irritated moan, Spock considered that. Perhaps, he reasoned, it is because we are such close friends. Naturally a humanoid body with anything similar to human or Vulcan physiology would react in such a way when bombarded so heavily with chemicals demanding physical release. Then again, Spock mused, perhaps there is something to the feeling “love” after all.
“Computer,” he rumbled in his resonant, purring voice, “This is Spock.”
“Locate Captain Kirk.”
“He is on the bridge, sir.”
“Hmm.” Spock didn’t usually waste words or computer effort for pointless information. He’d known Kirk would be on the bridge and he’d known that it wouldn’t really matter where Kirk was. What mattered was that neither the captain’s location, nor Spock’s position relative to him, would cease the annoying hormonal and emotional battle that was being waged in Spock’s mind and body.
With a flash that left the copper and chlorine scent of blood in his nose, he felt his memory overwhelmed with the dream he’d had the night before.
He was hunched over Jim, pushing his captain’s face into the mattress of a bed. There was no furniture other than that, there were no walls, no ceiling and no spectators. Just a bed, Jim and Spock. With a grunt, he’d forced himself upon Jim, slamming his rock-hard erection into his warm body, eliciting a shriek of agony from the captain. Spock’s hands had latched onto Jim’s wrists, holding him unquestioningly in place as his hips slammed forward, thrusting into him with hard, short bursts of power. He could feel the hot, wet tightness of Jim’s soft, yielding body around his penis, felt his large testicles slapping against Jim’s ass. Jim had taken a mouthful of sheets and was gnawing on them, tears of pain leaking slowly from his hazel gold eyes.
“Jim,” Spock whispered as he continued humping the captain frantically, feeling release winding tantalizingly in his belly, warming, tingling, niggling. Finally, with a few more frantic, decidedly-un-Vulcan grunts and thrusts, Spock felt release, his hot, jelly-like seed squirting deep inside Jim’s body. He pulled backwards, tugging his dick out from inside of Jim, observing almost scientifically the blood and semen running down the inside of Jim’s thighs.
And with that, the dream would end, abrupt and unsettling. Spock could never tell with any certainty if he had raped Jim in the dream, or if it had merely been a bout of rough sex. Though he feared that it was the former. As a matter of fact, in the back of his mind, though he chose to ignore the thought, he knew it was rape. It was what would have happened if he hadn’t made it to Vulcan in time for the Pon Farr. With another nauseating slam of memory, controlled entirely by his hormones and instincts, Spock remembered yet another commonly occurring dream as a droplet of fern-green blood slid gracefully from the inside of his nose. The scent of the chlorine and copper that colored his blood green was cloying and metallic. It made him gag as his mind stubbornly reran the dream against his consent, one whose nature disturbed him even more . . .
Jim was on his knees before him, hands grasping at his hips, at his buttocks. He took the tip of Spock’s heavy, hard penis into his mouth and sucked strongly, pressing his tongue down into the two slits on its end and then around the bottom of the head. Spock gasped and shuddered, nearly losing his own footing as the intense warmth of Jim’s mouth made his knees go weak with pleasure. His head would loll to the side and toward the nonexistent ceiling, not questioning the blankness of the room. His only focus was the man before him and what he was doing to his body. Strong, calloused hands slid from his sharp hipbones down to grasp his large balls, massaging them methodically as that hot, wet mouth sucked his length further inside, sucking, licking, nipping, stroking with a rough pink tongue. Spock growled in his throat, hips thrusting forward into Jim’s mouth, half gagging him with the thick, hard length of his dick. Jim shifted his weight, moved his hands back to Spock’s hips to hold him firmly in place, fighting the mad thrusting Spock was attempting to continue.
With a deep-throated moan, Jim would take as much of Spock into his mouth as he was capable of and would give a last, strong suck. Then that same tingling warmth would overcome Spock and he would lose all control, shooting thick, sweet-smelling semen into Jim’s mouth, gasping as Jim continued to pull on him, suckling the last of his seed gently from his softening cock as he massaged clenched balls. . .
And again, the dream would end, leaving Spock wishing he could remove his brain from his skull and wash it clean of the image of having his dick inside another being’s mouth. Both of these dreams would inevitably cause Spock to awaken in a puddle of his own thick, copious lack of self-control, leaving him both wet and humiliated. His only redemption was that there was no one in his quarters to see the embarrassing mess he’d made in his briefs, his pants and his bed.
Spock snapped out of his reverie, fighting the continuing barrage of memories and feelings that continued to attack his mind. He wiped his bloody nose impatiently, sniffing once and checking to ensure the emerald flow had stopped. Regaining himself, he was able to see that he had avoiding dumping yet another load of semen into his pants. At least this time. With an exasperated sigh, he stood, paced around the data room and then sat once more.
“Computer,” he paused for a moment, tugging thoughtfully at his collar, “is it normal for two Terran humans of the same gender to feel attracted to one another, either emotionally or sexually?” The computer processed his question and in a moment replied,
“Affirmative.” Drawing in a deep breath, Spock went on.
“Is it normal for two Vulcans of the same gender to feel attracted to one another emotionally or sexually?” The computer thought for a remarkably long time, so long that Spock nearly repeated his question. Finally, it spluttered,
“The data present is inconclusive. There are no records of such an occurrence. However, there is little data available concerning Vulcan mating rituals.” Spock steepled his fingers, his sensitive elfin ears tingling at the sound of the computer beeping after it answered him.
“Computer, how is copulation accomplished between humans of the same gender, males, particularly?” he asked, curious. He’d never really given the idea much thought, beyond what his subliminal mind came up with in dreams. Mating and affection, to Spock, was highly illogical, an irritation at best, a severe distraction at worst. The computer hummed and then began to answer, whilst solicitously displaying documented pictures of such practices on the viewing screen. Spock’s face turned a very fetching shade of green by the time the computer had finished casually describing typical homosexual mating in extreme, methodical detail. “Stop!” he gasped, and the computer complied.
His ears, Spock felt, literally burned with what he’d just heard. He was tempted to check the pointed tips with his fingers, just to be sure they were still there. Well, at least now he knew that his erotic dreams were scientifically accurate, he realized with a distressed snort. To his great dismay, Spock found that the information he’d just been exposed to did little to discourage the feelings in his body. On the contrary, it merely promoted them to further and more uncomfortable heights. Logical and reasonable as he was, Spock could not help, in his very clear cut imagination, performing with Jim the things the computer had listed and shown.
As he did so, he felt a very strange, very unwelcome warmth and swelling at his groin. He’d noticed this over-sensitivity in his penis during and directly after Pon Farr and had hoped that perhaps if he’d ignored it, it would simply go away. Of course it didn’t, or he wouldn’t be sitting here doing research and he wouldn’t have a pile of semen-wetted laundry in his hamper every night. With a grimace, he shifted his legs again, unsure of why his body was reacting in such a distressing fashion. Surely now that Pon Farr was over he’d be able to go back to normal. The organ between his legs twitched impatiently and he felt the beginnings of his usually calm temper rising. Normalcy would not return so easily, it seemed.
A deep sense of unease washed over Spock as he felt warmth flood through his body at the sound of Kirk’s voice.
“Spock, this is the Captain, are you busy?”
“No, sir, shall I join you at the bridge?”
“No,” Kirk replied after the usual moment of hesitation that was innately him. “No, I was just wondering . . . if you wouldn’t mind doing some . . . research for me.” For the first time in all the time he’d known Jim, Spock realized he found that halting, hesitant manner of speaking ridiculously alluring. He scowled in self loathing and forced himself to reply calmly.
“As always, Captain, I am more than willing to . . .”
“Good, good,” Kirk replied, cutting Spock’s transmission off. “Would you mind researching the mating rituals of the Yiçäø natives? I was reading about them today . . . in one of my reference books and they struck me as . . .” he drew the word as out thoughtfully, “ . . . curious. If, of course, such research is not an inconvenience and does not interfere with your duties, Mr. Spock?” Spock quirked a brow at the broad, and often vulgar choice of subjects Jim found intriguing, but he answered,
“No, sir, I shall research it posthaste and bring you a data disc of my findings.”
“Thank you, Spock.”
“It is nothing, Captain,” Spock grumbled, feeling his face flush green. He was glad Jim was not here to see. He went about his research and was mildly repulsed by what he found, and yet at the same time fascinated. He scanned through wildly pornographic images of Yiçäøns mating. It appeared that two males and two females joined, forming a foursome that copulated for days on end. Spock raised one fine black eyebrow as he considered the similar physical characteristics Yiçäøns shared with both humans and Vulcans. They were shorter than Vulcans, about Terran height, but had pointed ears, like Vulcans. Their gold and silver eyes, beneath slightly slanted brows, glowed and were deeply expressive. Much like Jim’s, Spock thought, before gasping at his own breech of self-control at the comparison he’d just drawn between the man he wanted and the group of beings that were getting exactly what they wanted. With a shudder and an angry, but exceedingly painful swat at his groin, he collected the information and ran it onto a data disc. However, unlike his normal procedure, he sat down, unwilling to take the disc up immediately.
Curiosity of a purely scientific vein, or so he told himself, caused Spock to stroke his chin meditatively before succumbing to his wonderings.
“Computer,” he rumbled, his leonine face pinched into a frown, “Are there any records of past romantic relationships of Captain Kirk?”
“Affirmative.” An expressive eyebrow skyrocketed, threatening to disappear beneath Spock’s chili bowl-style haircut.
“Who has access to these records?” he asked, wondering if Jim was aware of this.
“Captain Kirk, First Officer Spock, and Doctor McCoy,” the computer answered in a bored-sounding voice. Again, a meditative stroke of his chin.
“Computer, are there any such records that pertain to a same-sex relationship?” Spock queried, mentally kicking himself at the light feeling of hope he felt rise in his large Vulcan heart.
“Affirmative.” Taking a deep settling breath and crossing his legs to ease the discomfort a certain organ was causing him, Spock asked, somewhat shakily.
“How many such relationships have been recorded?”
“One,” the computer chirped. Spock took a deep shuddering breath, curiosity threatening to undo him. He bit his lip angrily. Control yourself, he growled mentally.
“First Officer Spock of Vulcan,” the computer answered casually, as if it were nothing. Spock stood up stock straight in his chair, hearing his pulse throbbing in his ears. His strong, wiry hands clenched tightly on the arms of his chair, his manicured nails digging into the padding. He heard a small click and an answering beep, but ignored it. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to take another steadying breath and considered asking Dr. McCoy if it were possible to amputate certain unneeded, highly illogical organs from his person. He swallowed loudly, the large bump of cartilage, which humans called an Adam’s apple, bobbing skywards before settling back into place. Unclenching his hands, he blinked a few times, dark eyes gazing at the computer screen, which still depicted an image of Yiçäøan copulation.
“Computer,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Where was such information obtained?”
“Captain Kirk entered it last week. The status of the relationship is considered ongoing,” the computer replied dully. Spock felt his big heart pumping strongly, forcing green blood through his shocked veins, making him blush strongly until the edges of his pointy ears were grass-green. Again, he heard a small click and responding beep. Frowning, he cocked his head slightly to the side to listen better.
“Computer, please identify that last noise,” he murmured.
“A recording unit, Mr. Spock,” a decidedly-non-computerized voice responded. Jim was leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed over his muscular chest. His golden-green eyes pierced into Spock, stunning the surprised Vulcan, who leapt lithely to his feet. “I requested that the computer record your reaction, if . . . you happened to research my personal information,” he explained, as simply as though he was merely giving a high school-level lecture over the Krebs’s cycle. Spock’s eyebrows had reached their critical point, the muscles of his forehead simply unable to draw them any further upwards. “I . . . never expected you to. I hoped. But . . .” Jim let the thought trail away, still gazing at Spock.
“Sir . . . Captain, a . . . relationship of such kind is . . . exceedingly . . . highly . . . preposterously . . . illogical. Relationships between Starfleet officers are strongly discouraged . . . strongly . . . highly . . .” His baritone voice trailed off for a moment, his brain struggling for a feasible explanation. “Copulation is purely intended for reproduction, therefore, such activity between two beings of equal sexual form is unnecessary and . . .” Spock suddenly found his words stopped by soft pink lips and a forcefully searching tongue that stilled his own and began exploring his mouth, mapping out his gums and teeth, groping his tonsils and frenula as he gasped for air. Without conscious thought, Spock buried his long fingers insistently into Jim’s golden hair, pressing him against the wall with his Vulcan strength, making his height an advantage as his hips thrust forward to press against a matching arousal within Jim’s pants. “ . . . illogical,” he finished before latching back onto a more-than-willing mouth.
“I think,” Jim gasped, escaping Spock’s mouth, which opted for devouring his ear instead, at least for the moment, “That this activity should be adjourned to one of our quarters.” Spock growled low and dangerously in his throat, the hormones pumped into his system in Pon Farr coming back to the surface in an instant, dreams forgotten, reality overwhelming. Jim latched onto Spock’s face with strong hands and pulled him back. “Spock. Spock!” Confused, feral brown eyes focused and Spock swallowed, stepping back and removing all trace of contact from the captain’s body.
“Jim, I . . .” For the first time in a long time, the dignified, serious Vulcan was shocked to speechlessness.
“Quarters. Now,” Jim hissed. Spock nodded and they retired to his quarters, which were closer than Jim’s. The pungent, bitingly sweet smell of Vulcan incense filled the room and Spock was pleased when Jim’s nostrils opened wide to embrace the exotic scent. Many human beings found the scent of Vulcan incense too sweet, too sharp and too dry.
Though it was not particularly dark in his quarters, Spock saw that Jim’s eyes had dilated to the point where the gold-green was a mere ring around the black pupil. Spock’s eyes, in contrast, had contracted, leaving his pupils as meager pinpoints of black mostly swallowed by chocolate brown irises. A difference in physiology, Spock noted in his always-scientific mind.
“Jim,” Spock gasped, “are you quite certain . . .” For the second time that night, his words were cut off with a warm tongue and moist lips. Jim finally broke away and murmured,
“I’m more than certain, Mr. Spock. I’m sure. I’ve wanted this ever since you came in your trousers after trying to kill me a week ago,” he breathed into Spock’s pointed ear, licking it once, teasingly. Spock flushed a thoroughly fetching shade of green and shivered both in embarrassment from Kirk’s comment and in ecstasy from the warm tongue that had wrecked havoc on his ear. He had fervently hoped that no one had noticed the messy blotch at the front of his pants that had released during the match. The time spent rolling around in the warm sand, Jim’s body, however resistant, pushed against him, had had a disturbing effect on Spock. He’d found himself in a flurry to clean himself up and change, which he’d done directly after beaming up and before finding out that the captain was still alive. “But I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you,” Jim added thoughtfully to his earlier comment before jamming his tongue back into one of the charming crevices of Spock’s delicate elfin ears.
“But . . . what about all the women . . .” Spock gasped, curious. Jim made a deep warbling noise in his throat as he stroked his nose around the sharp edge of Spock’s regal jaw.
“They’re just my hobby, Spock. You’re my passion,” Jim murmured, the small mischievous smile he was known for sliding over his face to reveal his sparkling teeth. He shifted his weight, pulling his leg upward to stroke against Spock’s burgeoning erection.
Spock groaned, loud and deep in his throat, stunned at the feelings in his body. Logical or not, these sensations felt good. Exceptional, really, would be a better description. Jim pushed Spock down onto his own bed, shedding his uniform shirt and laying down beside his best friend. Spock copied his action and discarded his own shirt as well. Jim stroked warm hands across Spock’s wooly chest, reveling in the silky, stark sable down that covered the slim but defined breast muscles and the ribs that jutted out from beneath them to protect his heart and lungs and to sit above his softly furred belly. Jim smiled that sly Felidavian-lion-that-swallowed-the-tribble grin and laid his ear just above Spock’s big heart, reveling in the feeling of the steady thumping and the deep throbbing the organ made as it worked to circulate Spock’s warm green blood to yet another deeply throbbing organ.
The kingly strength that radiated from Spock’s body permeated Jim’s senses, making him touch his hands to Spock’s own, stroking two fingers briefly across Spock’s own before moving on to other explorations, though not before sending Spock a mental promise that he would return his attentions to his hands later. He felt, rather than heard Spock’s soft, disappointed sigh and smiled gently, kissing his softly haired chest.
Accepting the fact that Jim was continuing exploration of his body, Spock ran his fingers through Jim’s hair, perplexed at the silky softness of it though he jerked his head back slightly when Jim did the same to his shiny cap of hair.
“Your hair is softer than it looks, Mr. Spock,” Jim murmured, stroking the silky sleek fluff when Spock relaxed into his touch like a great, silky panther. They were panther and lion, the two of them, elegant and majestic. And wild.
“As is yours,” Spock observed, taking a small pinch of Jim’s golden leonine mane into delicate fingers and stroking it, as if it were a specimen he proposed to run tests on. Jim’s weight shifted and suddenly Spock again felt his cock stroked. All of his senses kicked up into warp drive and he found himself hopelessly drowning in lust. He rocked his hips against Jim’s with a strangled moan. “This is . . . fascinating,” he choked out and he heard Jim snort.
“Half-Vulcan even in bed, I see, Mr. Spock,” he said dryly, reaching down to touch Spock through the material of his pants. With a frantic jerking motion, Spock thrust mightily into the warm touch, gasping for breath, his usually logical mind losing all grip on reason.
“F-fascinating!” Spock reiterated weakly, making a peculiar purring noise deep in his throat after doing so.
“Mmmph, such full frontal nerdity, Spock. It’s . . . alluring in a very geeky way,” Jim joked, always the player of words. “Pants off, my old friend,” he said, leaping lithely from the bed and shedding his own, along with his underwear, allowing his tan, muscular body to display itself fully. His penis stood erect with desire as he removed the remainder of his clothing, tossing it aside. Spock snarled at the sudden loss of touch, but then stood to scrabble out of the rest of his clothes to match Jim. He felt extreme embarrassment for just a moment as he exposed his markedly pale body and velvety green erection, but then, once again logic abandoned him fully and he felt profound passion and intense love.
Jim purred deep in his throat as he paced toward Spock, who was standing next to his bed, nude and fully erect, his blood-flushed penis jutting upward enthusiastically in a eye-catching tribute to some long, blunt, thick plant. “My, my, Mr. Spock,” Jim said with a devilish grin, “What you’ve been hiding.”
“Jim,” Spock gasped, “Why the interest? It is highly illogical,” he panted, his Vulcan half once again trying to take over.
“Need you ask, Spock?” Jim queried, stroking his fingers through Spock’s chest hair and working his way down the silky trail before gingerly touching Spock’s erect organ. Spock shuddered, but Jim stepped gracefully away from him to answer his question. His intense liquid gold eyes, which were studded with jade, bored into Spock’s soul.
“From the moment I first saw you I . . . knew I was interested in you, Spock. Not sexually. I’d never really considered having a male mate. Females satisfied me. For a while. But I never felt fully . . . satiated. But with you, around you, just being with you, it . . . filled me. It made me feel at peace. And I realized just how badly I wanted you. Needed you. And then you so conveniently decided to go through Pon Farr.” Jim chuckled, blushing a bit whilst Spock merely glared at him. There had been no decision, his face clearly said. “I nearly jumped your bones the minute you said ‘biology’ in that miserable, horny tone,” Jim laughed earning him a soft glower from Spock that held no true weight.
“And when I nearly killed you?” Spock asked, eyebrows arching skeptically over his coffee colored eyes. Jim snickered evilly, surveying Spock’s tall, lithe body with interest, seeming to catalogue the small scars, the dimples, the blemishes, the imperfections that made Spock perfect in his eyes.
“That was just . . . foreplay, my friend,” he teased, approaching and stroking Spock’s body once more. “You know you’re the only male I would ever consider doing anything like this with, Spock,” Jim said, to reassure both of them. Spock swallowed, nodded, unsurprised. At this point his arousal was nearly painful.
“I want to love you madly,” Spock cried tenderly, taking a confident step forward, his face intense, burning with lust and love simultaneously and in identical quantities. Jim nodded. “You . . . realize that I will be unable to . . . control myself . . . Jim,” Spock rasped out, tucking a strand of misplaced golden hair behind Jim’s ear.
“So . . .” Jim murmured, an invitation.
That one little two-letter word was all the encouragement Spock needed. The hormones flooding his body and the longing he felt in both his body and his soul turned his brain off and his instincts on. Barely restraining his super-human Vulcan strength, he slammed Jim down to the bed with a roar of passion, kissing up the side of Jim’s neck all the way to his lips before claiming them and shoving his tongue inside. Jim grunted, his hands pressing frantically against Spock’s chest, tugging at the hair, trying to free himself from the strong, insistent being that had taken control of his usually stoic best friend. The maddened, feral Spock, however, twined his legs into Jim’s, his bodyweight pressing him down, holding him in place as his hips tapped against Jim’s.
“Spock!” Jim managed to shriek between kisses. Spock hummed deep in his throat and flipped Jim over, all animal thought, all Vulcan strength. Spock laid the smooth, slim sleekness of his body over Jim’s, his penis lying in the crease between Jim’s gluts. He took his own hand and spread the natural lubricant from the tip of his penis over the organ and into Jim’s orifice, forcing himself to move slowly, gently, as he stretched Jim so that he could fit. Jim shuddered and thrust back against him with a moan when Spock’s long, slender fingers prodded into a small, soft bump he recognized as the prostate.
“Is that . . . pleasurable?” Spock ask, prodding it again, earning a strangled,
“Yyyyyyesss . . .” from Jim. Spock felt his heart rate speed as he pressed the head of his penis to Jim’s opening, pressing gently, his whole body tensed with effort as he fought the urge to slam into Jim like an animal, fighting to keep his dream of tearing and hurting his lover from coming true. With a pained gasp, Jim tensed as Spock slid halfway in, his length filling Jim almost uncomfortably, making his muscles cramp involuntarily. Spock felt his anguish and wrapped his arms around Jim’s shoulders, bring his fingers to the required points on Jim’s face, pressing into his mind, stroking it as he went, soothing him mentally until he felt the smaller man relax beneath him. He slid more firmly in. Jim gasped, his eyes widening as Spock’s long organ stroked him and filled him even as his mind was stroked and filled.
Spock gasped with satisfaction as his whole length was encompassed. His contact with Jim also filled him with his lover’s satisfaction at being filled. It was an incredible, warm sensation. With a grunt, Spock began thrusting, slamming into Jim enthusiastically, eliciting grunts, gasps, groans and whimpers from both of them until finally, overcome with equal parts pain and pleasure, they both came together, Spock shooting a huge load of thick, gelatinous semen deep within the warmth of Jim’s body. Jim shuddered, convulsing internally around Spock as he too came, shooting over his own hand and onto the tangled bedsheets.
Within Jim’s mind, Spock reassured him of his affection, of his gratitude. Of his love. Jim pushed back with his own, more limited edges of his mind, reciprocating the feeling, comforting Spock that there was no need for gratitude or thanks of any kind, only love, only devotion. Jim turned his face to the side as Spock removed his fingers. Gently, very gently, Spock pressed his lips to Jim’s sweat laden cheek, moving his hands downward to clasp Jim’s hand, his sensitive fingertips eagerly feeling the slicked surface of Jim’s skin, soaked with Terran semen. Again probing through his hands, he routed the experience to his mouth “tasting” the flavor of Jim from the palm of his hands, as it were.
Lifting his hips, Spock allowed his now softened cock to slip from Jim’s body, slick semen dripping out as he did so, but, to his relief, no blood. He gently licked and bit at the back of Jim’s ear to distract him from any momentary comfort his movement may have caused. Jim grunted in slight pain but affectionately caressed Spock’s hand, rubbing between the long, graceful fingers, slicking the immaculate palms, bringing one of the big, graceful hands to his mouth to kiss and lick and suck on it, tasting his fingers, sampling his nails delicately with a soft pink tongue. Spock moaned in ecstasy, purring,
“Jim . . .” like a large, pointy-eared feline. Jim was one of the only humans he had ever discussed Vulcan sexuality with, and then barely a week before for strictly practical, logical reasons, because of the Pon Farr. The only reason the discussion of the sexual stimulation of Vulcan’s hands had even been mentioned was because of Dr. McCoy’s prying questions. But now, with a satisfied, half-whimpered, half-snarled sound, Spock found himself extremely grateful that he had admitted the information – and that Jim had paid such close attention.
Jim struggled for a moment, and, through the contact to his sensitive, aroused palm, Spock knew that he wanted to turn over. So, turning to his side, his hip taking the brunt of his weight, Spock rolled off Jim, but kept contact with his hands. Jim faced him, a small, charming smile lighting his face. Hesitantly at first, but then with confidence, Spock matched Jim’s expression with a very beautiful, very human smile.
“My God, Spock. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you have a smile that lights up the room? You should use it more often.” In answer, the bright smile slid shyly downwards, fading to a mere grin, but Spock’s eyes were twinkling just as brightly as they had been.
“This smile is for you alone, Jim,” he insisted in his silky baritone, freeing a hand and stroking it down the side of Jim’s face. Jim wound both of his hands around Spock’s remaining hand, effectively stimulating Spock. The long, lissome alien felt his penis growing hard again at the maddening stroking Jim was sliding up and down his palms. In the meantime, Jim slid his mouth over one elegant, pointed ear, sucking on it gently. Spock gasped and thrust forward with his hips, rubbing himself lightly against Jim’s slick body. Jim wouldn’t have to touch his penis or testicles if he kept up what he was doing to his hands and ears. Any more hand to hand or mouth to ear contact and Spock would come without the touch of a hand. Just as he was thinking this, Jim swapped ears, sucking long and hard on the other’s pointed tip. Spock half-choked as his breath was wrenched from him. His penis shot long, creamy white-yellow strands of cum onto Jim’s chest and abdomen since he was still positioned facing him.
Spock cried out in abandonment when Jim released ears, hands and all. Snapping open eyes that had shut during ejaculation, Spock surveyed Jim and was surprised to find the human, his human wiping up the semen from his belly and chest and lapping it happily from his fingers. Spock arched a brow in curiosity.
“Do all humans lick up the sexual productions of their partner?” Spock asked, genuinely inquisitive. Jim smiled and finished the last of the syrup-sweet liquid. He shook his head.
“Many do, but not all. Most do so to please their partner, not themselves. Some, however, find a particular pleasure in the scent and taste of their lover’s liquids,” Jim explained patiently, licking his lips tentatively as he did so. “Sometimes humans even please one another with their mouths.” Spock arched his brows again, remembering one of the dreams that had haunted him. He considered Jim’s open, handsome face for a moment and then suddenly shifted his long, muscular body until his face was positioned next to Jim’s bare groin. The always-scientific Vulcan gave the slit of Jim’s now softened organ an experimental lick, pleased when he saw red human blood rushing to engorge the organ in reaction.
“In this manner?” he questioned and Jim, after clearing his throat roughly, muttered,
“Yes, something like that,” as he clutched at the sheets. Spock again tasted Jim’s flesh and found it desirable once he adjusted to the idea. He used a hand to add to the experience and alternately pumped and sucked on Jim, repeating movements that caused particular pleasure or caused Jim to make louder than usual groans of pleasure, reveling in the idea of acting out his dream, but in reversed roles. Finally, as his neck was beginning to cramp just a bit, Spock felt Jim’s body stiffen involuntarily. With a shuddering tremble, Jim shot his seed into Spock’s waiting mouth, smelling and tasting the exquisitely sweet but salty substance as it rolled over his tongue slickly. Turning about to face Jim once more, he kissed his new lover and slipped his still semen-slicked tongue into Jim’s mouth, sharing his treat. Jim moaned in appreciation and kissed him back, sliding his tongue beneath Spock’s to deposit his own taste into the Vulcan’s warm, sweet-tasting mouth. Spock hummed in his throat, intrigued at the differing tastes. Both were sweet, but where his own seed was thick, yellowish, syrupy and nearly sickening in its honey-like sweetness, Jim’s was more bitter, salty, almost sweet and sour in unison, with a clear white, thinner consistency. The combined tastes of both their seed and their saliva was exciting and only the very real exhaustion that Spock felt radiating from Jim’s sweaty body kept him from calling his penis once more to arousal.
“Well, Mr. Spock. What would you call this?” Jim asked ambiguously. Spock raised his brows in his typical questioning expression.
“Come on, Spock. This,” Jim said, making a motion with his arms that encompassed both of them lying there before shrugging and gazing into Spock’s deep brown-black eyes.
“May infer that you are referring to our present state of exhaustion and fulfillment?” Jim grunted in acknowledgement. Spock turned away, tightening his chin as if deep in thought. Jim scowled.
“Come now, Spock. What would you call it?” Spock glanced at his new lover, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“An aftershock, Captain.” Jim smirked and nodded, drawing his lips into a thoughtful half-frown.
“Yes, Mr. Spock, I believe that description is adequate. The aftershock of Pon Farr.” Jim turned his face back to Spock’s, eyes glinting merrily. “Are you quite certain such a thing occurs just once every seven years, Mr. Spock?”
“Quite certain, Captain. But, as with earthquakes, there are always periodic aftershocks to be anticipated,” Spock said mock-seriously, but his eyes were gleaming impishly beneath his devil-brow and demon ears, looking for all the world like a gloriously fallen angel.
“Indeed,” Jim purred, rolling over on top of Spock, who gasped and shifted, arousal flooding through him again. “I think I feel one coming on right now, Mr. Spock . . .” Spock flipped them over so that he was perched over Jim, who chuckled gleefully.
“I feel it wise that you should take cover, Captain,” Spock growled in Jim’s ear and gave himself into yet another wild, roiling “aftershock” of Pon Farr.