kharti

Kirk found himself, suddenly, face-to-face with a naked and aroused Spock, all slender angles and hairy chest and dark green flush.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a sexual dream about his first officer, but this felt—different. More lucid and vivid than his usual dreams, which tended to be vague images of roaming hands and teeth. It felt as if they were really standing there in Spock’s quarters, simmering heat in the air and firepot quietly burning between them.

Sweat prickled the back of his neck and, for a moment, Kirk wondered if he was actually awake. He had no memory of how he would have gotten here, and Spock was looking at him with open and plain desire in his dark brown eyes.

No, this was definitely a dream.

Kirk let his eyes drift down to take in the Vulcan’s cock, similar to his own save for the flared double ridge, olive-green tinge, and folds of a visible sheath at the base. Copious lubricant dribbled at the tip, and Kirk’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“Well, hello, Mr. Spock. Nice to see you, too.”

Spock’s eyebrow raised. “I do not require you to talk.”

A chuckle bubbled up from Kirk’s chest and he moved around the firepot to approach the Vulcan, his own growing erection bobbing with every step. “Do you require me?”

The other eyebrow raised to join its pair before they evened out again. “You would not be here if I required someone else.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Kirk said with a laugh.

Then a strange feeling gripped him—love. A deep love for the sound of his laughter suffused the air, pressed against his lungs and curled around his thoughts. Kirk blinked once, twice, and then started to smile.

“Is that you?”

Spock’s expression was impassive and unchanged. “To what do you refer?”

Kirk’s hand flitted through the air, a vague gesture at nothing in particular. “You love the sound of my laugh.”

There was a pause, Spock’s eyes taking on an almost impatient narrowing, but Kirk felt the Vulcan’s embarrassment in his own chest. “This conversation is not relevant to your purpose.”

“I’ve always wanted to know what you were feeling under that calm composure,” Kirk continued undeterred, one side of his mouth crooked into a grin. “This is a better fantasy than the usual sex dream.”

A pang of something vulnerable and almost sad followed his words. Kirk frowned and reached out to brush his fingertips to Spock’s wrist, but the hand recoiled from his touch.

“I did not anticipate you would be like this,” Spock said in a low voice.

Kirk’s brow furrowed and he tried again, but this time touching the curve of Spock’s hip. Warmth spread from where his fingertips pressed to cool skin, and desire that was and wasn’t his own spread low in his groin.

“Like what?” he asked, quietly.

Spock moved his hand to cover Kirk’s on his hip, fingers slotting together. “So—” He breathed out, “—perfect.”

Kirk smiled and leaned in to close the distance between them, pressing his lips to Spock’s thin mouth. There was no response beyond a small inhale; the Vulcan’s lips didn’t move, didn’t part. With a chuckle, Kirk pulled back and gave him one of his own arched eyebrows.

“Not much for kissing?”

“I am… familiar with the concept.” Spock’s eyes flicked between Kirk’s own and his mouth. “I was not anticipating a human kiss.”

“I see.” Kirk let his brow settle back into place. “What were you anticipating, then?”

“Copulation.”

Kirk sputtered into a laugh, his fingers tightening on Spock’s hip, and he leaned in for another kiss. There was still no response, no reciprocation, but he did feel a shy fondness bloom across his chest.

He moved his head to kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. He parted his lips to tease the Vulcan’s pulse point with his teeth, and finally—Spock shivered, letting out a quiet breath, one hand coming up to rest on the small of Kirk’s back.

“What can you feel?” Kirk mumbled against his throat. “Can you feel what I feel, touching like this?”

Spock gave the slightest nod of his head. “Your emotions are… strong.”

At those words, Kirk did his best to feel even stronger. He tried to pour the entirety of his longing into the places they touched, tried to fill Spock with every desire he had for his first officer—his best friend—his unrequited love. He felt Spock’s chest expand with a breath in before he exhaled a moan right into Kirk’s ear.

Kirk dared to push his hips forward, the head of his cock rubbing along Spock’s shaft, and that earned him a whole-body shudder. Spock’s fingers curled against his back, nails digging in as he scrabbled for purchase.

The heat of the room was cool compared to the heat that burned in Kirk’s stomach. It came from his own want, but some of it was Spock’s, too. He loved this, loved being able to know how Spock truly felt, loved the instant feedback he received for everything he did.

“How do you want to—” Kirk smirked into the crook of his neck and pressed the whole of his body to Spock’s lithe, angular self. “—copulate?”

Spock sucked in a ragged breath. His hand slid up to rest between Kirk’s shoulder blades, then gripped the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair. Images flooded Kirk’s mind from Spock’s point of view. He saw himself pinning the Vulcan to the floor, thrusting into him, his face hovering above, eyes glowing in the light of the fire.

“As you wish,” Kirk said, pulling back and moving around him to stride over to the bed.

Spock didn’t follow, though he did turn to watch him with a curious gaze as Kirk retrieved one of the pillows and carried it back over.

“To prop you up,” Kirk explained as he tossed the pillow onto the floor at Spock’s feet. “It’ll feel better this way. Trust me.”

Spock’s gaze lowered to the pillow, the straight line of his mouth turning into almost a frown. “You are experienced in this.”

“Hmm?” Kirk started to kneel at his feet with a coy smile. “Is that a problem?”

There was a brief flare of jealousy in the air before it was quickly subsumed by careful neutrality. “No.”

Kirk chuckled. “If it makes you feel better, it was a long time ago.” He raised his arms to encircle Spock’s waist, pressing his face into the thick black hair of the Vulcan’s groin, nosing the base of his cock as he muttered, “And I’m not thinking of anyone but you. I never am, anymore.”

That brought a sense of satisfaction, and Spock slowly started to descend to join him on the floor.

“You like that?” Kirk kissed each inch of skin that was brought past his lips until they were face-to-face, Spock’s legs spread around him, and he pushed himself up onto his knees just enough that he could reach the pointed tip of an ear with his teeth. “Would you like to hear about how often I take myself in hand, thinking of only you?”

“Jim—” Spock gasped out, his hands flying to Kirk’s back, fingers splayed. “Please—do not tease me further.”

Kirk settled back on his heels. “But teasing is my favorite part.”

That summoned a complex feeling that Kirk couldn’t pick a single name for. It was fond and sad and full of longing with an undercurrent of guilt.

“I do not require more than copulation from you,” Spock murmured, avoiding his eyes.

Kirk gazed at him for a moment before inclining his head to the side. “Okay.” He put his hand on the center of Spock’s chest and started to gently push him down onto the floor, resisting the urge to kiss him on the way, instead kneeling over him and nudging his legs further apart. “Okay,” he repeated, softly.

Spock gazed up at him with gentle gratitude, as if Kirk had been hurting him with his teasing. As if Spock was the one dreaming Kirk up for his own pleasure and hated himself for it.

What a strange way for Kirk to imagine Spock, but it was—endearing in an almost heartbreaking way, to conceptualize a version of Spock who would want him like this but think him unattainable.

The same way Kirk thought Spock unattainable.

Kirk mused on this as he sucked a finger into his mouth. Spock’s eyes widened just enough for him to notice before his skull pounded with want and need so strong it actually hurt.

“What are you doing?” Spock asked with a rasp to his deep voice.

Kirk popped the finger out, watching the way Spock watched the saliva trail between his lips and his fingertip. “Well, I can’t prep you dry.”

“Prep,” Spock repeated as if he was speaking Ferengi.

Rather than explain, Kirk reached between them to press his finger to Spock’s entrance. The Vulcan’s eyes widened further before smoothing into neutrality.

“This is not necessary. My shields are in place to block the pain.”

Kirk frowned and stroked his finger over the furled skin. “I’m not going to willfully hurt you, Spock.”

Spock opened his mouth to protest further, but all that came out was a breathy hitch when Kirk applied a bit of pressure and sunk his fingertip inside. His eyes fluttered closed and his mouth snapped shut to smother any other sound, and Kirk wanted nothing more than to figure out how to force a moan out of him.

“Let me be good to you,” Kirk mumbled as he leaned down to kiss his way across Spock’s chest, coarse hairs tickling his lips as he traced the sharp line of a pectoral muscle before moving up to a dark olive-colored nipple.

While his finger worked in and out of him, he laved the soft skin with his tongue, swirling around the peak that stiffened at the slightest touch. He took it between his teeth and pulled back just a bit, just enough to fill the space between his ribs with Spock’s pleasure before he repeated the ministrations on the other.

A dark green flush spread across Spock’s chest for his efforts, and he kissed the edge of it as it crawled toward the pronounced collarbone, his finger sunk in to the second knuckle.

“That is enough,” Spock said in a shaky voice. “I am… prepped.”

“I’m insulted.” Kirk grinned into his skin. “Do you think I’m that small?”

“Our time is limited, and I do not wish to waste it.”

All dreams came to an end, didn’t they? He would wake up and this would be a blurry memory he’d try to chase, but it would recede and he’d be left with just an ache in his chest when the real Spock regarded him only as a friend.

“Then I’ll hurry this along,” he said, sliding down, kissing over Spock’s stomach and navel, feeling the pounding of the Vulcan heart in his side, following the trail of hair that narrowed toward his groin.

Something like panic surged into his chest as Spock gasped, “Jim—”

“Trust me. It’ll relax you.” And without further preamble, he descended his mouth on Spock’s cock.

The taste of the dribbling precum was different than what he expected, more metallic and bitter, but not unpleasant. The second ridge beneath the first was firm, and he flicked his tongue against it, feeling the difference in texture. He’d like to know how it felt inside him, to have his own hole teased by the ridge, to have it press into his prostate.

Long fingers buried in his hair and gave a weak tug, trying to pull him off without any conviction. His own finger sunk deeper into Spock as the Vulcan’s body relaxed in spite of his protesting.

“Jim, I will—”

Kirk hummed. He could feel how suddenly close Spock was in the throbbing of his own cock. He wanted it—wanted to swallow him down, wanted to feel him convulse beneath him, wanted to fuck him while he was still trembling with the afterglow.

His free hand came up to wrap around what his lips couldn’t reach, while his other hand started to work a second finger inside. Spock’s muscles fluttered around him as he fought against the urge to move his hips, and Kirk tried to pour into their shared connection in this space that he could let go.

The message was received. Spock’s hands no longer tried to fight him, instead tightening in his hair and holding him still while he gave a tentative thrust up into his mouth. Kirk moaned to encourage him, and he responded with another shallow push of his hips.

“Jim,” Spock gasped, his breathing labored and his voice like gravel. “I—”

Kirk’s eyes snapped open. He was in bed, staring up at the ceiling; his skin burned all over and he was painfully aroused.

To his surprise, he remembered everything in clear detail as if it had just happened.