MESSAGES
"Come!" Kirk ran a towel over his hair, then finger-combed through the
residual damp.
The door opened. "The astrophysics report on nebula N-183, Captain."
Spock offered over a padd.
Crossing
from the shower to the entrance of his quarters, Kirk held out his
hand. The towel around his waist slipped a little with the movement. He
hesitated a split-second. "Something wrong, Mr. Spock?"
"No, sir." Spock surrendered the padd and locked his hands firmly
behind his back.
Kirk
regarded him up and down. "You looked...stressed, Spock." Kirk undid
the towel and dropped it into the nearby chair in a manner that a
stranger might mistakenly presume was casual. He kept his eyes on his
first officer, noticeably not on the report.
Spock swallowed. "I am a Vulcan, not an android."
It
was all the advantage Jim Kirk had ever needed. The padd made a sharp
click as he set it down on the desk unviewed. When he spoke,
it was
with the voice that had danced circles around Klingons, errant
computers, and aliens of all descriptions. "I know that--better than
anyone on this ship. Better than anyone anywhere, perhaps." Kirk closed
the distance between them. "What I don't know, is what you want to do
about it. I'm getting...mixed messages here, Spock. Help me out."
Spock
nodded slowly. "Yes. No doubt you are, because what I want is not the
issue. The deciding factor is my will, and what I will is what is
logical. That must always be the case. As one who was raised Vulcan,
the choice was ripped from me before I was old enough to choose."
"And if you could choose?" Kirk stepped closer. His affect spoke of one
who already knew the answer.
"Irrelevant. Like all who embrace the ways of Vulcan, my will is much
stronger than my want, and shall prevail."
"That's
a shame," said Kirk, but he didn't sound too choked up about it. He
took one more step closer--too close. Not even a stranger would have
found that casual now. "And it's a shame that I wasn't raised
Vulcan...because I can choose--I do choose--and what I will and what I
want fall very closely together right now."
He grabbed Spock's
hand and pressed it atop his respectable erection. "I can choose, and I
do, for both of us. Unless you tell me not to." He whispered into his
ear as he moved against the length of his body. He groaned
involuntarily, then as if to quiet his unruly lips, he tipped his head
up and kissed Spock fully on the mouth.
Jim let his right hand
slide down the velour, down the hip and onto the bulge growing rapidly
under the edge of the blue. With his left hand he took Spock's palm and
placed it smack-dab where he wanted it, then gasped as the sensation
became nearly too much.
Part of him wanted to make it last.
Another part of him said fuck that: there would be other times to take
it slowly. All of him wanted Spock to be in this with him, however, so
he forced his mind from his own bodily responses and onto the work of
his right hand.
"Jim." The word was muffled with Spock's lips
predominantly engaged by Jim Kirk's tongue. Spock pried the hand from
his own genitals, and gently but firmly bent the naked elbow backwards
and away.
"Spock, I want to make you feel good," Jim said. He tried to replace
his right hand, but it was like trying to fight duranium.
"Not like that; touch me here." Spock wrapped their fingers together.
The
voice was so rough that Jim scarcely recognized as Spock's, but he
didn't have time to think on that. In a flash, Jim's mind exploded with
a million erotic sensations and images of things he wanted--or Spock
did--or had done, or would do. The difference didn't matter; it all
amounted to the same thing in this here and now. He tried to funnel
them into some manageable flow, but that was like trying to rope a
supernova and, with a strangled cry, he came and collapsed into Spock's
arms.
When Spock withdrew his fingers, Jim could see again. He
drew back just a little, not entirely trusting his own legs alone. His
eyes questioned Spock, who appeared much as he had when he entered: a
little more disheveled, perhaps, but a great deal less...stressed.
Jim
searched for something to say in a moment like this. He found none, and
so he fell back on the routine that had served them well enough so far.
"I thought it was illogical to act on desires." The teasing tone came
reflexively with the comment; the note of tender affection was a fully
conscious addition.
"It is. But if the desire acts as an
outside force that requires more time and energy to combat than to
succumb to, then logic dictates that the path of least resistance be
taken. "
Kirk blinked in disbelief. "You're saying I'm...convenient?"
Spock
straightened his stained uniform as best he could. "I assure you, that
is one of the last words I would choose. I am saying you
are--insuperable."
Jim chuckled and stroked a finger across
Spock's palm "That report--" Jim nodded to the desk, but the nod lacked
much of his usual enthusiasm.
"Is non-urgent and can easily wait until tomorrow."
"Good. It looks like I need another shower." Kirk reached over for his
abandoned towel.
"As do I."
Kirk looked him over: yes, he did. "Do you want to go first?"
"No.
" Spock held out his hand. Kirk took it and the briefest flicker of
what had been sparked between them. The nice thing about this kind of
sex, Kirk reflected, is that there was no limit as to how many
times someone could get fingers up in one night. He let go the hand
long enough for Spock to undress, and then together they figured out
how to make the narrow shower work for two.