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fatimaTitle taken from Confucius, who intoned: "In the Book of Poetry are three hundred pieces, but the design of them all may be embraced in one sentence—'Having no depraved thoughts.'"
Kudos to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dissociate for beta services and helping me fleshing out the said depraved thoughts.
Title: Think No Evil
Author: Renata Lord (snowlight)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, mention of Spock/Uhura (XI mirror verse)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,600
Disclaimer: Still not mine, much to my chagrin.
Warning: Vague D/s themes with a toy involved. And this is, after all, the mirror verse.
*
Given the proximity of the conjugal quarters on I.S.S Enterprise, Uhura probably hears everything that goes on in this room. But to Kirk, that's only a turn-on. As for Spock…well, if Spock has any opinion regarding the matter, he doesn’t say it. Discretion: one of the few Vulcan virtues.
It only makes Kirk try harder, but whether he's sucking that Vulcan cock as if his life depends on it or pounding his first officer’s ass on the floor, it's always by the wall adjacent to Uhura’s quarters. He likes to show who’s in charge, after all.
“What did you tell her?”
He never asked before, but now seems a good time as any to start. Spock is just coming out of the shower, naked save for a towel wrapped around the waist. Kirk sits on the edge of the bed, legs dangling and eyes willing that towel to drop. It does.
Spock marches over to the bedside, Kirk's eyes following him all the way. He watches, just staring in ceaseless fascination with those legs, their grace of movement. The Vulcan looks down at him, face carefully blank as usual but with a shimmer of buried heat. Maybe Spock wants to play tonight. That’s fine. With no adrenaline to burn off, there's no absolute overriding need to hammer Spock bloody. Besides, being the one getting fucked raw once in a while is sexy, too—especially by someone who won’t slit your throat at the first chance.
“I informed the Lieutenant that I would be playing chess with you, Captain.”
“Ah.” Kirk glances at the 3-D chess board tossed in the corner. “As they say, Vulcans never lie.”
“Never,” Spock agrees readily, his hands already methodically divesting Kirk of the uniform.
The second part of the adage hangs in the air between them: Vulcans also never tell the whole truth.
Lieutenant N.V. Uhura may have considered her marriage to Spock a great political victory, but she seems to have missed the fact that emotions and familial bonds amount to very little amongst the famously heartless Vulcans. No. She is no closer to getting her hands on the beautiful flagship of the Starfleet; not while her dear devoted husband is busy sleeping with her captain in the after hours.
And like a child who can’t resist showing off his favorite toy, Kirk lets her know it. He sends Spock back to her with bites and marks, the kind that signifies not torture but possession. And the sounds—from Spock to that whats-her-name in Engineering, Vulcans make such beautiful sounds in bed. Whoever says they don’t beg has clearly been doing it wrong.
And on so many nights, Uhura gets to hear every gasp, every scream, every murmur of it.
That thought jolts directly to Kirk’s cock and he throbs, more than ready to get the fuck on with it already. By the time Spock reaches down to work on the trouser buttons, he's already thrusting into the warm hands, hips bucking. Spock stops his movements with a firm push, knocking him flat on his back. Show-off.
He sits up half-way but doesn’t struggle as Spock strips the trousers and underwear off him. Spock pauses for a brief moment, as if surprised by his submission. He gives the usual smirk and sees the Vulcan nodding in silent understanding.
Spock picks up the golden uniform sash and moves to bind both of the captain’s hands together at the wrists. Never one to waste time, Spock moves efficiently and soon enough Kirk is effectively bound, the fabric pulled so taut it cuts into his wrists. Kirk notes it all with a great sense of appreciation—it’s how he himself would have done it. After this is over, when they're on the bridge tomorrow, Uhura'll get all wifely on Spock. And for his part, he'll touch the sash and arousal will flood through his veins. Perfect jack-off material.
—And here comes that fucking alien strength again, with Spock picking him up like a cargo box and throwing him onto the bed. He lands with a thud, body slightly wobbling from unsteady arms. Spock slaps him on the cheek lightly with the half-erect cock, and it’s all Kirk can do to not lick his lips like the eager hound that he is.
But Spock will not permit him that gratification. Not yet, because at the moment this is all about Spock’s pleasure. Kirk opens his mouth reflexively when a hand comes down to grab his jaw, and when fingers are inserted into his mouth he makes a show of sucking on them under Spock’s almost clinical gaze. It’s like the Academy days all over again. Kirk learned well in that place.
Spock fucks his mouth so thoroughly that Kirk tastes something cold and metallic at the very root of those fingers, and with a start he realizes it's Spock’s wedding band. The very one he himself handed to Spock at the wedding on Terra, where he was the best man. This time around, he rids Spock of the ring with his teeth and tongue so that when Spock pulls out from him, he presents the Vulcan with the glittering jewelry caught between his lips. Spock takes the ring from him, now slick from his saliva, and almost smiles before a hard glint comes into calm eyes, black as ink.
*
“On all fours and face the wall, Captain.”
The climate in Spock’s quarters is too hot for humans by default, but even with Vulcan body warmth shrouding him, Kirk shivers at the sound of his low, sleek voice. It’s Spock’s command voice, the one the crew on this ship has learned to respect and fear.
He turns slowly and obeys the order, but only just—he keeps his thighs pressed together, closed off to Spock. Two swift and hard smacks on his ass is Spock’s way to tell him to stop being so smart. It works. Kirk moans loudly and shifts to splay his legs as far apart as comfort would allow, then a pair of firm hands spreads him even wider.
Spock jerks at the sash and tethers him to the bunk’s headboard with efficiency, like roping common livestock. Kirk snarls all the way down onto the bed even as his cock starts to stir, throbbing heavily with both of his hands in the air and his ass raised high. He feels the warmth of Spock’s hand again, encircling his length almost delicately, a thumb stroking the tip. He struggles to thrust back into that heat, but another smack stills him.
When the metallic coldness of the inhibitor descends on his needy flesh he fights to bite back a whimper. The twisting, driving push of orgasm remains, but he knows he can't come, won't come, his dick will just stubbornly stay in this state of arousal no matter what he does to it. Vulcan males derive most pleasure from protracted intercourse, and tonight Spock doesn’t want to concern himself with Kirk’s body responding to all that stimuli.
To Kirk’s relief, Spock had only used the inhibitor device rarely, beginning with Vulcan's return to the ship from a honeymoon shore leave with Uhura. That time the sex was rough—rougher than usual—and for once Spock demanded control rather than just accepting it. Kirk fought back because he always loved a good fight, especially one with Spock. But in the end brute strength won: Spock pinned him down, held both of his wrists over his head with one hand, slapped the inhibitor on him, and fucked him six ways into Sunday. Kirk loved every second of it, even when he sobbed and begged. Especially when he sobbed and begged.
“You may scream, if you wish.”
Kirk chuckles. “Promise?”
Instead of a verbal answer, one hand ghosts upon his thigh and pinches his flesh in clinical examination, as if testing the firmness of some animal's muscle. Another hand strokes at his nape almost absent-mindedly, though Kirk knows Spock never approaches any endeavor with anything less than total concentration. Out of everyone he fucked on this ship, his first officer is undoubtedly his first choice in bed—the Vulcan body can take a remarkable amount of abuse, and when Kirk allows himself to be used like this, his own body sings under Spock’s touch. Perhaps that’s why he only permits Spock to do this with him.
He's shivering continuously and it's soon turning into trembling when he feels the Vulcan’s huge cock prodding at his entrance, and suddenly the meaning of Spock’s warning dawns.
“Fuck. You gonna do it dry?”
Damn. He wishes he could see Spock’s face right now instead of the drab wall; he just loves that smug look. It gets such a rise of him, makes him want to punch something or give Spock a thorough thrashing, possibly both.
“Yes,” Spock says simply.
With one long, searing push, the Vulcan is inside him, all brute force. Kirk arches his back and does scream, knees buckling but pulling hard on the sash in a reflexive move to escape the avalanche of tearing pain. But Spock grabs him with both hands in an iron grip and Kirk gasps again, knowing there would be ugly bruises on his ribcage tomorrow.
The blunt pain is an immaculate blade, splitting him open from the middle. He feels sundered, exposed from within. Spock lets out a harsh breath against his back, fingers digging deeper into the slick flesh, and begins to move with a punishing certainty.
He wants to curse. He wants to threaten. He wants to taunt Spock into fucking him harder; just to prove he can take it, that the Vulcan can't control him. But no coherent words form in his throat and all Kirk can do is scream in tandem with Spock’s rhythm. He's almost hoarse from it. Half of the ship’s probably heard him by now, but they are nothing more than pawns in this game. Let’s see if they are foolish enough to think it’s a sign of his weakness. He's had fun seeing Spock interrogating the culprits from the last three assassination attempts on the captain's life.
Kirk tries to recall those encounters to distract himself from the moment and the pain. Remembers Spock wearing that impassive look while performing his requisite first officer duties in the interrogation chamber, Spock's breath quickening from striking just the barest blow, his aim always precise and without mercy. It makes Kirk’s heart skip half a beat, really, to see Spock allowing himself to be used for Kirk’s sake like that, to set aside the ridiculous pacifism and turn against that Vulcan nature for him.
Perhaps this is his own way of returning the favor to this man, whose great gentleness can only be delivered by greater cruelty.
He isn't screaming anymore. His throat has burnt itself out, and his body is tattered beyond measure. He's certain he's bleeding, like the last time Spock did this. There is no respite, nothing to alleviate the torture. Yet even within the confines of the inhibitor, his cock stirs angrily, almost ominously. And that turns into pain, too, in the end.
"Spock," Kirk whimpers in a small voice. He needs to hear the sound of that name right now, to get him through this. "Spock."
No reply. Spock lets go of his unprotected belly and rams almost an entire hand into his panting mouth. Kirk sucks on it hard, hot tears beginning to sting his eyes. The fingers fuck his mouth the Vulcan way while Spock's cock continues to tear at his other hole relentlessly. Spock lets out a small grunt, maybe. He can't tell anything clearly anymore.
The Starfleet captain in him is fuming that he even got himself into this situation in the first place, where he is this much vulnerable and this much helpless. But the pain soon overrides every thought. It tosses him around, pulls him down, closes his throat up and god, god, he can't breathe. Kirk feels his mind shutting down in one last attempt at self-preservation, and he lets go.
*
There are deep red marks on his wrists when consciousness returns. The gold sash lies on the night stand next to Spock's ring, both glittering faintly in the dim light. The inhibitor is still on but he can deal with that later. His entire body is enveloped by the unpleasant moisture of cooled sweat. When he attempts to move, raw nerves shriek back to him in pain, and under that is the sensation of liquid dripping out from his rectum—semen and blood, no doubt. Well, at least these are Spock's sheets.
The registered occupant of the room is sitting up in bed next to him, still undressed but regarding him thoughtfully with quiet eyes. Kirk's eyes are level with Spock's waist, and as he raises his head a little he sees the Vulcan cock in the nest of soft dark curls, now obviously spent and covered by half-dried semen. The color is a little darker than the faint green color he'd seen so many times, and Kirk feels a kind of vicious satisfaction at that image.
With his freed hands, he grabs onto Spock's thighs and moves his upper body enough to land into the Vulcan's lap. Straining against the bed, he musters enough strength to take Spock into his mouth, sucking his first officer clean vigorously. Spock has a distinct taste; markedly salty though far from pungent. Kirk doesn't particularly care for it, but he puts on a show of worship with great fanfare, moaning and writhing for as much as his battered body would allow. As he finishes, he swirls his tongue playfully around the tip, making loud kissing sounds in the air.
"Whore," Spock says softly.
Kirk only grins.
"Your whore, Commander." He looks up at the Vulcan with wet eyes, swollen lips slightly parted in invitation.
But there would be no kiss. Instead Spock reaches for his crotch, deftly detaches the inhibitor and cups him in those impossibly warm hands.
Sensation instantly overwhelms him. There is only one clear, blessed moment when he stands at the pinnacle of pleasure, his entire being so weightless it could be severed from gravity. Yet he senses the irresistible pull of the abyss, and before he knows it he is hurling himself off from the precipice, falling, falling, falling.
—Kirk collapses with a sharp cry, forehead thrashing against Spock's shoulder and body spasming beyond all control. Spock holds him in that firm grip, milking him for all he's worth. Even in the throes of this savage pleasure he can still hear Spock making a small, low noise. It's somewhere between a choking sound and a glorious rasp.
After it's over Kirk rolls over and slumps on the pillow, feeling the inevitable exhaustion at last setting in. But he fights to keep his eyes open for a little longer, because the sight of Spock slowly licking his own hands clean of Kirk's come is a thing of wonder.
"My, my, Mr. Spock," he drawls, trying hard not to yawn. "Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?"
Spock looks back down at him, one eyebrow slightly raised in mild surprise. "Captain, as I am sure you are aware, Vulcans do not engage in the human practice commonly known as 'kissing'."
"Of course not," Kirk nods, dragging over a blanket. "Computer: captain's override. Lower temperature and humidity by fifteen percent. —And oh Spock, I'm sleeping in this bed for now, so considered yourself dismissed. Get the hell out of here."
*
Finis
A/N: So um, this is my first published "real" NC17 piece after more than a decade of writing in fandoms. The K/S pairing keeps doing things to me. Mommy, I'm scared.
Kudos to
dissociate for beta services and helping me fleshing out the said depraved thoughts.Title: Think No Evil
Author: Renata Lord (
snowlight)Pairing: Kirk/Spock, mention of Spock/Uhura (XI mirror verse)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,600
Disclaimer: Still not mine, much to my chagrin.
Warning: Vague D/s themes with a toy involved. And this is, after all, the mirror verse.
*
Given the proximity of the conjugal quarters on I.S.S Enterprise, Uhura probably hears everything that goes on in this room. But to Kirk, that's only a turn-on. As for Spock…well, if Spock has any opinion regarding the matter, he doesn’t say it. Discretion: one of the few Vulcan virtues.
It only makes Kirk try harder, but whether he's sucking that Vulcan cock as if his life depends on it or pounding his first officer’s ass on the floor, it's always by the wall adjacent to Uhura’s quarters. He likes to show who’s in charge, after all.
“What did you tell her?”
He never asked before, but now seems a good time as any to start. Spock is just coming out of the shower, naked save for a towel wrapped around the waist. Kirk sits on the edge of the bed, legs dangling and eyes willing that towel to drop. It does.
Spock marches over to the bedside, Kirk's eyes following him all the way. He watches, just staring in ceaseless fascination with those legs, their grace of movement. The Vulcan looks down at him, face carefully blank as usual but with a shimmer of buried heat. Maybe Spock wants to play tonight. That’s fine. With no adrenaline to burn off, there's no absolute overriding need to hammer Spock bloody. Besides, being the one getting fucked raw once in a while is sexy, too—especially by someone who won’t slit your throat at the first chance.
“I informed the Lieutenant that I would be playing chess with you, Captain.”
“Ah.” Kirk glances at the 3-D chess board tossed in the corner. “As they say, Vulcans never lie.”
“Never,” Spock agrees readily, his hands already methodically divesting Kirk of the uniform.
The second part of the adage hangs in the air between them: Vulcans also never tell the whole truth.
Lieutenant N.V. Uhura may have considered her marriage to Spock a great political victory, but she seems to have missed the fact that emotions and familial bonds amount to very little amongst the famously heartless Vulcans. No. She is no closer to getting her hands on the beautiful flagship of the Starfleet; not while her dear devoted husband is busy sleeping with her captain in the after hours.
And like a child who can’t resist showing off his favorite toy, Kirk lets her know it. He sends Spock back to her with bites and marks, the kind that signifies not torture but possession. And the sounds—from Spock to that whats-her-name in Engineering, Vulcans make such beautiful sounds in bed. Whoever says they don’t beg has clearly been doing it wrong.
And on so many nights, Uhura gets to hear every gasp, every scream, every murmur of it.
That thought jolts directly to Kirk’s cock and he throbs, more than ready to get the fuck on with it already. By the time Spock reaches down to work on the trouser buttons, he's already thrusting into the warm hands, hips bucking. Spock stops his movements with a firm push, knocking him flat on his back. Show-off.
He sits up half-way but doesn’t struggle as Spock strips the trousers and underwear off him. Spock pauses for a brief moment, as if surprised by his submission. He gives the usual smirk and sees the Vulcan nodding in silent understanding.
Spock picks up the golden uniform sash and moves to bind both of the captain’s hands together at the wrists. Never one to waste time, Spock moves efficiently and soon enough Kirk is effectively bound, the fabric pulled so taut it cuts into his wrists. Kirk notes it all with a great sense of appreciation—it’s how he himself would have done it. After this is over, when they're on the bridge tomorrow, Uhura'll get all wifely on Spock. And for his part, he'll touch the sash and arousal will flood through his veins. Perfect jack-off material.
—And here comes that fucking alien strength again, with Spock picking him up like a cargo box and throwing him onto the bed. He lands with a thud, body slightly wobbling from unsteady arms. Spock slaps him on the cheek lightly with the half-erect cock, and it’s all Kirk can do to not lick his lips like the eager hound that he is.
But Spock will not permit him that gratification. Not yet, because at the moment this is all about Spock’s pleasure. Kirk opens his mouth reflexively when a hand comes down to grab his jaw, and when fingers are inserted into his mouth he makes a show of sucking on them under Spock’s almost clinical gaze. It’s like the Academy days all over again. Kirk learned well in that place.
Spock fucks his mouth so thoroughly that Kirk tastes something cold and metallic at the very root of those fingers, and with a start he realizes it's Spock’s wedding band. The very one he himself handed to Spock at the wedding on Terra, where he was the best man. This time around, he rids Spock of the ring with his teeth and tongue so that when Spock pulls out from him, he presents the Vulcan with the glittering jewelry caught between his lips. Spock takes the ring from him, now slick from his saliva, and almost smiles before a hard glint comes into calm eyes, black as ink.
*
“On all fours and face the wall, Captain.”
The climate in Spock’s quarters is too hot for humans by default, but even with Vulcan body warmth shrouding him, Kirk shivers at the sound of his low, sleek voice. It’s Spock’s command voice, the one the crew on this ship has learned to respect and fear.
He turns slowly and obeys the order, but only just—he keeps his thighs pressed together, closed off to Spock. Two swift and hard smacks on his ass is Spock’s way to tell him to stop being so smart. It works. Kirk moans loudly and shifts to splay his legs as far apart as comfort would allow, then a pair of firm hands spreads him even wider.
Spock jerks at the sash and tethers him to the bunk’s headboard with efficiency, like roping common livestock. Kirk snarls all the way down onto the bed even as his cock starts to stir, throbbing heavily with both of his hands in the air and his ass raised high. He feels the warmth of Spock’s hand again, encircling his length almost delicately, a thumb stroking the tip. He struggles to thrust back into that heat, but another smack stills him.
When the metallic coldness of the inhibitor descends on his needy flesh he fights to bite back a whimper. The twisting, driving push of orgasm remains, but he knows he can't come, won't come, his dick will just stubbornly stay in this state of arousal no matter what he does to it. Vulcan males derive most pleasure from protracted intercourse, and tonight Spock doesn’t want to concern himself with Kirk’s body responding to all that stimuli.
To Kirk’s relief, Spock had only used the inhibitor device rarely, beginning with Vulcan's return to the ship from a honeymoon shore leave with Uhura. That time the sex was rough—rougher than usual—and for once Spock demanded control rather than just accepting it. Kirk fought back because he always loved a good fight, especially one with Spock. But in the end brute strength won: Spock pinned him down, held both of his wrists over his head with one hand, slapped the inhibitor on him, and fucked him six ways into Sunday. Kirk loved every second of it, even when he sobbed and begged. Especially when he sobbed and begged.
“You may scream, if you wish.”
Kirk chuckles. “Promise?”
Instead of a verbal answer, one hand ghosts upon his thigh and pinches his flesh in clinical examination, as if testing the firmness of some animal's muscle. Another hand strokes at his nape almost absent-mindedly, though Kirk knows Spock never approaches any endeavor with anything less than total concentration. Out of everyone he fucked on this ship, his first officer is undoubtedly his first choice in bed—the Vulcan body can take a remarkable amount of abuse, and when Kirk allows himself to be used like this, his own body sings under Spock’s touch. Perhaps that’s why he only permits Spock to do this with him.
He's shivering continuously and it's soon turning into trembling when he feels the Vulcan’s huge cock prodding at his entrance, and suddenly the meaning of Spock’s warning dawns.
“Fuck. You gonna do it dry?”
Damn. He wishes he could see Spock’s face right now instead of the drab wall; he just loves that smug look. It gets such a rise of him, makes him want to punch something or give Spock a thorough thrashing, possibly both.
“Yes,” Spock says simply.
With one long, searing push, the Vulcan is inside him, all brute force. Kirk arches his back and does scream, knees buckling but pulling hard on the sash in a reflexive move to escape the avalanche of tearing pain. But Spock grabs him with both hands in an iron grip and Kirk gasps again, knowing there would be ugly bruises on his ribcage tomorrow.
The blunt pain is an immaculate blade, splitting him open from the middle. He feels sundered, exposed from within. Spock lets out a harsh breath against his back, fingers digging deeper into the slick flesh, and begins to move with a punishing certainty.
He wants to curse. He wants to threaten. He wants to taunt Spock into fucking him harder; just to prove he can take it, that the Vulcan can't control him. But no coherent words form in his throat and all Kirk can do is scream in tandem with Spock’s rhythm. He's almost hoarse from it. Half of the ship’s probably heard him by now, but they are nothing more than pawns in this game. Let’s see if they are foolish enough to think it’s a sign of his weakness. He's had fun seeing Spock interrogating the culprits from the last three assassination attempts on the captain's life.
Kirk tries to recall those encounters to distract himself from the moment and the pain. Remembers Spock wearing that impassive look while performing his requisite first officer duties in the interrogation chamber, Spock's breath quickening from striking just the barest blow, his aim always precise and without mercy. It makes Kirk’s heart skip half a beat, really, to see Spock allowing himself to be used for Kirk’s sake like that, to set aside the ridiculous pacifism and turn against that Vulcan nature for him.
Perhaps this is his own way of returning the favor to this man, whose great gentleness can only be delivered by greater cruelty.
He isn't screaming anymore. His throat has burnt itself out, and his body is tattered beyond measure. He's certain he's bleeding, like the last time Spock did this. There is no respite, nothing to alleviate the torture. Yet even within the confines of the inhibitor, his cock stirs angrily, almost ominously. And that turns into pain, too, in the end.
"Spock," Kirk whimpers in a small voice. He needs to hear the sound of that name right now, to get him through this. "Spock."
No reply. Spock lets go of his unprotected belly and rams almost an entire hand into his panting mouth. Kirk sucks on it hard, hot tears beginning to sting his eyes. The fingers fuck his mouth the Vulcan way while Spock's cock continues to tear at his other hole relentlessly. Spock lets out a small grunt, maybe. He can't tell anything clearly anymore.
The Starfleet captain in him is fuming that he even got himself into this situation in the first place, where he is this much vulnerable and this much helpless. But the pain soon overrides every thought. It tosses him around, pulls him down, closes his throat up and god, god, he can't breathe. Kirk feels his mind shutting down in one last attempt at self-preservation, and he lets go.
*
There are deep red marks on his wrists when consciousness returns. The gold sash lies on the night stand next to Spock's ring, both glittering faintly in the dim light. The inhibitor is still on but he can deal with that later. His entire body is enveloped by the unpleasant moisture of cooled sweat. When he attempts to move, raw nerves shriek back to him in pain, and under that is the sensation of liquid dripping out from his rectum—semen and blood, no doubt. Well, at least these are Spock's sheets.
The registered occupant of the room is sitting up in bed next to him, still undressed but regarding him thoughtfully with quiet eyes. Kirk's eyes are level with Spock's waist, and as he raises his head a little he sees the Vulcan cock in the nest of soft dark curls, now obviously spent and covered by half-dried semen. The color is a little darker than the faint green color he'd seen so many times, and Kirk feels a kind of vicious satisfaction at that image.
With his freed hands, he grabs onto Spock's thighs and moves his upper body enough to land into the Vulcan's lap. Straining against the bed, he musters enough strength to take Spock into his mouth, sucking his first officer clean vigorously. Spock has a distinct taste; markedly salty though far from pungent. Kirk doesn't particularly care for it, but he puts on a show of worship with great fanfare, moaning and writhing for as much as his battered body would allow. As he finishes, he swirls his tongue playfully around the tip, making loud kissing sounds in the air.
"Whore," Spock says softly.
Kirk only grins.
"Your whore, Commander." He looks up at the Vulcan with wet eyes, swollen lips slightly parted in invitation.
But there would be no kiss. Instead Spock reaches for his crotch, deftly detaches the inhibitor and cups him in those impossibly warm hands.
Sensation instantly overwhelms him. There is only one clear, blessed moment when he stands at the pinnacle of pleasure, his entire being so weightless it could be severed from gravity. Yet he senses the irresistible pull of the abyss, and before he knows it he is hurling himself off from the precipice, falling, falling, falling.
—Kirk collapses with a sharp cry, forehead thrashing against Spock's shoulder and body spasming beyond all control. Spock holds him in that firm grip, milking him for all he's worth. Even in the throes of this savage pleasure he can still hear Spock making a small, low noise. It's somewhere between a choking sound and a glorious rasp.
After it's over Kirk rolls over and slumps on the pillow, feeling the inevitable exhaustion at last setting in. But he fights to keep his eyes open for a little longer, because the sight of Spock slowly licking his own hands clean of Kirk's come is a thing of wonder.
"My, my, Mr. Spock," he drawls, trying hard not to yawn. "Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?"
Spock looks back down at him, one eyebrow slightly raised in mild surprise. "Captain, as I am sure you are aware, Vulcans do not engage in the human practice commonly known as 'kissing'."
"Of course not," Kirk nods, dragging over a blanket. "Computer: captain's override. Lower temperature and humidity by fifteen percent. —And oh Spock, I'm sleeping in this bed for now, so considered yourself dismissed. Get the hell out of here."
*
Finis
A/N: So um, this is my first published "real" NC17 piece after more than a decade of writing in fandoms. The K/S pairing keeps doing things to me. Mommy, I'm scared.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 02:04 am (UTC)I am most gratified.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 02:05 am (UTC)I'm so very glad that K & S brought it out of you. Yum.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 02:09 am (UTC)/slinks off
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-22 01:50 am (UTC)Am I supposed to read "TRUST" or just "UST" from your icon?
Edit: NM, I see now that it is "TRU UST", thx. ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 10:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:16 am (UTC)/slinks off again
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:19 am (UTC)And the sounds—from Spock to that whats-her-name in Engineering, Vulcans make such beautiful sounds in bed. Whoever says they don’t beg has clearly been doing it wrong.
One word: T'Ofek/shotno subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 06:47 pm (UTC)Please keep writing.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 10:33 pm (UTC)and I love mirror verse!!
And Uhura's lost is my gain! Yay i love her without Spock even is his wife!
i hope you an write more
no subject
Date: 2009-09-22 12:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-22 01:48 am (UTC)………………………………
Date: 2009-09-23 01:41 pm (UTC)“那个”蝴蝶写了“这么”“那啥”的H呢。。。
所谓厚积而薄发你终于豹变了是吗~\(≧▽≦)/~
不伦人夫好萌XDDDD
Re: ………………………………
Date: 2009-09-23 04:34 pm (UTC)我不知道你看过中島みゆき那首《一期一会》的MTV没有……里面就有偷情人把戒指取下来的镜头。那时候就觉得好萌啊。-_-|||||
仔细一看你这题目还叫思无邪呢 囧
Date: 2009-09-24 12:40 am (UTC)PS 偷情摘戒指这是定番中的定番呀下回人家要看把（最好镶宝石）戒指塞到OO里情趣哒(*^__^*)
总之有肉大好!蝴蝶你终于破蛹而出朝肉食动物进化啦XDDD
戒指塞进去了取不出来怎么办。-_-
Date: 2009-09-24 12:52 am (UTC)下次……下次老子就写男变女了……无限远目……
那可是Spock呢他怎么会犯技术错误完全可以栓根线嘛
Date: 2009-09-24 01:01 am (UTC)男变女好！要看男变女！是小家泼辣碧玉金发孃K还是世家深闺女爵S？XDDD
你写我就看话说听有声书ZQ里一配女角我就嘴皮子发紧呢-w-
Mirroverse的话
Date: 2009-09-24 01:12 am (UTC)目前这个坑，你还真说对了，就是小家泼辣碧玉金发孃K……跟着S去宴会然后被S抛下一个人于是勾搭一群Starfleet男人……果然K先生不管是男是女都那么腥风血雨啊……
yr first nc17!! R U srs??
Date: 2010-03-15 08:08 am (UTC)...better. Whew, this was srsly *hawt*!!!
om nom nom nom...
Greywolf