Jim has stacked his pillows up against the headboard and he’s leaning back against them, skimming his eyes over Boring Departmental Report Addendum Number 58A. It feels roughly like Number 1,558Z. His eyes are feeling rather bleary but he likes to at least skim anything he puts his signature to, otherwise who knows what sorts of engineering “experiments” he might accidentally approve. Again.
“You are aware that if you had started your work earlier, you would be finished by now and able to participate in other activities,” Spock says, in that maddening tone of uptight superiority he has, from his place next to Jim on the bed. He has tangled up his legs underneath him in the same pose he uses to meditate. But he’s most certainly awake and alert and staring at Jim with a noticeable impatience.
“Hey, it’s been a busy couple of days, okay?” Jim starts defensively, before the second half of Spock’s comment hits. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘other activities’?”
Spock just quirks an eyebrow. “I do not believe that playing strip poker with Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, Mr. Scott, and a clearly inebriated Dr. McCoy counts as being ‘busy.’”
“We’ll just have to disagree on that point—can we go back to these mysterious unnamed activities now?”
Spock doesn’t answer, but as Jim watches him, he lets his eyes slide down the length of Jim’s body, slowly, more provoking than any touch, and then back up. He looks Jim in the eye. “Activities you would find more enjoyable than reviewing reports,” he says calmly, as if he were reciting sensor readings, except he has that extra edge of want to his voice that Jim prides himself on being able to hear.
“I’m sure I would,” he answers, letting his voice trail off into a suggestive smile. He sees a bit of a pleased twitch at the corners of Spock’s mouth. He’s close, he’s really close to just throwing his PADD off the side of the bed and grabbing Spock and wiping all the smug off his face—but he just can’t. He turns his gaze back to Addendum 58A and sighs. “Except I haven’t finished my work.”
“I am aware,” Spock says, sounding superior as always but also a tad put out.
Jim taps the screen and flips to another page, but he’s still glancing at Spock out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t suppose you have any work left?”
“No reports to write?”
“No experiments to check on?”
“No science lackeys to harass?”
“So you’re just going to sit here and watch me read through boring paperwork?”
Spock pauses as if to reflect.
Jim sighs, harsh and frustrated. “All right then, suit yourself.”
“I believe I would be more comfortable in my uniform for now, Jim, unless you believe some sort of role play game would increase your productivity.”
There are no words, so Jim just gives Spock a look and turns back pointedly to the page he’s already read three times over.
It is painfully hard to concentrate, now that he can’t stop thinking about Spock’s hands tracing the same path his eyes did just a few moments ago, or his tongue tangling up with Jim’s, or that almost disgustingly flexible body of his—and Spock doesn’t exactly help Jim keep his thoughts properly focused when he slides down to the edge of the bed and starts to take off Jim’s socks. He pulls off the left first, and then the right, more systematically than sensually, in his determined Spock way. Jim tries to ignore him.
Then Spock runs one finger, lightly, teasingly, up the side of Jim’s foot from his heel to his big toe, and as his touch crosses the sensitive skin of Jim’s arch, he bursts out laughing.
“Aaaah, Spock, don’t do that! Stop!”
Spock just looks at him curiously. “Fascinating,” he says, as if his efforts were more an experiment than an attempt to distract. “That was not the reaction I was expecting.”
“I bet it wasn’t,” Jim answers, setting his PADD temporarily aside and taking his foot between his hands. He rubs a bit at the skin, trying to lessen the faint itch left behind. “I’m ticklish there, okay?”
“Curious,” Spock says, and Jim can tell by the look on his face that he’s eager to perform more experiments. He decides to ignore him. “I was not aware that such a reaction to physical stimulus existed among humans as well.”
Jim looks up from the report he has pulled once more onto his lap. He’d been perfectly prepared not to listen to a word of what Spock was going to say, but managed to catch onto the end of his sentence anyway, and it stops him. “What do you mean ‘as well’?”
Spock looks up at him as if this were quite obvious. “I believed this phenomenon existed only among Vulcans.”
“So…wait, you’re saying Vulcans are ticklish?"
“The word is different but I believe we are speaking of the same reaction: an uncontrollable need to laugh when gently touched on a certain region of the skin.”
Jim pauses to let this information sink in. Then he asks the necessary question, not even daring to hope—
“So then…are you ticklish?”
Spock takes way too long to answer, which is an answer in itself, so when he finally says, “No,” Jim knows he’s lying—and whoever said Vulcans couldn’t obviously never met one.
“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “I believe you.”
Spock raises an eyebrow—Jim’s tone says clearly enough that he believes no such thing. Still he watches without comment as Jim sets his PADD aside deliberately and climbs across the bed to where Spock is sitting. “I can finish my work later,” he says. This, he imagines, is something closer to the reaction Spock was expecting when he set about his plan of distraction, and he’s pleased to see the corners of Spock’s mouth twitch as he straddles him slowly, then pushes him back so he’s flat against the bed.
“Jim, you will never get any work done if you insist on procrastinating in this manner,” Spock tells him, but he hardly sounds stern, and Jim just grins, and kisses him, a long and sloppy wet kiss like Spock will never admit to liking.
“Spock, I will never get any work done if you insist on distracting me in this manner,” he mocks.
“You are the one pinning me to the bed.”
“You have three times my strength. If you didn’t want to be pinned, you wouldn’t be pinned.”
Spock has no reply to this impeccable logic except to grab Jim by the front of his shirt and pull him down for another long kiss. This time there’s a bit of tongue, quick dash into Jim’s mouth and then back, and then they both open wide and the kiss is almost a fight, almost a contest, and Spock has his hands at Jim’s hips. Jim presses his weight into Spock, presses hips against hips, wants to get him desperate and hot, wants to make him forget everything except the body on top of his, the tongue tangling with his. He feels Spock’s hands begin to wander, one down to grab Jim’s ass and the other up to play across his back. He has his own hands planted to either side of Spock’s head, helping to support his weight, but slowly he shifts down, and lets one hand begin to trail down Spock’s arm, and then to his side. He has to wait for his moment. Spock pulls back from their kiss, as if about to move his attentions elsewhere, and then pulls Jim back in, straining to meet lips to lips, and just as their kiss is renewed, Jim sets his fingers tickling against Spock’s side. It’s usually a sure bet, but then, Vulcans aren’t humans, and all he gets for a response is Spock’s hand covering his and moving it back to the bed. He doesn’t even pause in the kiss.
Jim waits before trying again, and while he’s waiting, he enjoys where he is. Spock is a creative kisser, always moving in some unexpected way, keeping him guessing and his mind always involved. He varies his attentions, biting lightly at Jim’s neck or licking his tongue over his lips or kissing at his collarbone or the underside of his jaw. He uses his hands, too, roughly pushing up underneath Jim’s shirt to explore his stomach and side, grabbing his hip or running a hand down his outer thigh. Jim can give as good as he gets but for the moment he lets himself relax, allows himself passivity. He lets Spock use his body as a distraction.
Then he tries the tickling motion again, this time against Spock’s upper thigh. Still nothing, unless he allows himself the small victory of hearing Spock’s low moan. There’s new energy in the kisses now; they are quicker and deeper, more breath catching, and he tells himself to remember this trick for another time. He doesn’t care the slightest anymore for his work, his figures, his forms. He cares about lips, tongue, and teeth. He cares about hips grinding against hips.
He shifts slightly on top of Spock, and then reaches to grab the back of his neck and slip his fingers through Spock’s short hair. It’s then that the idea comes to him, and it seems so obvious that he almost doesn’t think it’s worth it to try; it would be too easy. Still, he lets his hand start to fall, until it’s only his fingertips that still touch lightly against Spock’s neck, and then he trails them down to Spock’s earlobe. He’s touched Spock’s ears before, knows that the right touch at the right moment can drive his man insane, and he’s almost perfected the art of this insanity, knows just how much is right and when to draw back. This time it’s different. This time, he varies the motion, a crooking of his fingers just as they reach the tip and—
It’s funny, he didn’t think that Spock would sound so…human, when he laughed, a staggering, lung-bursting sound. Jim rolls off of him in surprise and Spock rolls, at the same time, in the other direction. He almost falls to the floor, but saves himself at the last moment and curls around himself, trying to catch his breath from his outburst. Jim lies where he is, propped up on his elbows, watching.
After a few moments, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Ah,” Spock answers, the first normal breath he’s taken, “I believe I am.”
Jim nods. He watches as Spock’s breathing returns to normal, as he uncurls his body and sits up properly again, rearranges his clothing and rolls his shoulders back, and then he remarks, “I thought you said you weren’t ticklish.”
Spock gives him a look that is very much a glare, but doesn’t otherwise answer. Jim didn’t particularly expect him to. He reaches over and pulls his PADD back to his lap, then shifts over so that Spock has more room to rearrange himself on the bed. He has to consider the possibility that Spock is really angry with him, and it’s true that for several moments there is a tense silence between them.
Then Spock asks, “Jim? I trust that you will not mention—”
He grins. “It’ll be our secret,” he says.
And after another moment, because his work isn’t any more interesting or absorbing than it was a half hour ago, he asks, “Hey Spock?”
“When I’m done with this…how would you feel about picking up where we left off?”
Spock doesn’t answer, and Jim finds himself considering the possibility that Spock is more put out than he’d let on. He looks up, tentatively, and sees that Spock is looking at him. He tilts his head as their eyes meet and then answers, slowly, “Perhaps,” and stands up as if to leave. “Of course,” he adds, “I cannot promise I will be in the appropriate mood when you finish with your work,” and lifts an eyebrow—a distinct challenge.
“Oh, you just let me worry about that,” Jim grins. He’s sure he’s had the last word this time, for once. But just as he’s crossing in front of the bed, Spock reaches out a hand and runs his fingers maddeningly across the sole of Jim’s foot. Jim shrieks in a loud and undignified manner and pulls his feet up and out of reach. “Maybe this relationship should have a no-tickling rule,” he says.
“I believe that that is an excellent idea,” Spock answers.