"Please. I mean, I'm sure he's probably really educated on the subject, I bet he memorized all five hundred pages of whatever Vulcan Kama Sutra there is, but.. it's a cultural thing." Jim says it easily, with the smooth air of a genius who's counting on his reputation for brains to cover the fact that he's bullshitting. "You've heard him talk. Everything about Vulcans is all logic, and practically all the best stuff about sex isn't logical. They probably don't even have the necessary words in the language for that kind of thing."
Uhura, chin in hand, just gives him a dry look. "Are you telling me-- me, of all people-- about the Vulcan sexual vernacular, which I can assure you does exist?" She drums her nails against the console; this late at night, this far out in space, the odds of any transmissions reaching the Enterprise were low, but she had decided to do a last scan before she turned in for the night. She'd found the Captain, sprawling in his chair, lost in thought until he heard her come in.
Par for the course, they had bantered back and forth, and the topic eventually strayed to the subject of Spock. Sharing him, when that had become inevitable, had not been a very difficult transition; the many issues of petty jealousy and posessiveness had quickly faded to unimportance in the face of planetary catastrophe.
With Uhura's point made, Jim is forced to reconsider. "Okay, stuff like, 'Affirmative, your nipples are erect' or 'my penis is filling with blood in response to your nudity' or 'if you would please apply your palm in a striking motion against by left buttock' doesn't count. That's not sexy, it's just weird."
"Do you ever get tired of being ignorant?" Uhura's smile betrays the mild bite of the words.
"If you look at me like that every time I am," Jim replies smoothly, "No, I don't expect I will."
"It is unwise to refuse Uhura's assessment." Spock's voice is cool and smooth as it echoes from where he's been lingering in the door. "As ever in matters of communication, she is quite correct."
Uhura smiles up at the Vulcan as he comes in; she can read him better than most, and knows what he'll want next. She simply shakes her head and stands, turning easily on her heel on her way out of the room. "Captain, sometimes cluelessness can be cute, but really, being dim is just unattractive on you."
She steps easily out of the door past Spock, dropping a quick kiss on his arm as she brushes by; he nods to her briefly, and lets his mouth quirk up in a brief, small smile.
Kirk stands, an incredulous look casting a harsh light on the blue of his eyes. "So, what? Does that mean your pillow talk is any better than your class lectures? Because I don't think you know the difference." It's a challenge, a tug on the line between them; his smile is a damnably cocky grin.
"You assume much about Vulcan eroticism," Spock replies, and approaches slowly. "You seem to be under the impression that the dedication to logic and passionate verbal discourse are mutually exclusive."
Jim only smiles, and leans back against the console, hands planted on the desktop behind him. "Am I wrong? Enlighten me."
He lets his hands rest at Kirk's waist, then bends his head to the shorter man's ear; the tone of his voice is low, darker somehow, the cool, measured tones taking on a certain predatory rumble.
"Anticipation is often a potent aphrodesiac," he purrs, barely whispering, his lips barely brushing the shell of the captain's ear with each syllable. "Words evoke images, the mind expands on them... but cannot replicate the experience. It leaves one with a certain hunger."
"Uh huh." Jim remains steadfast, pretending he's unaffected; he stands still, pretending that he wasn't already wishing that those warm hands on his hips would move. "Is that right?"
"Quite." Spock presses his lips against Kirk's temple in the faint brush of a kiss before he turns his attention back to his ear. It's round and the flesh is thin and delicate; for a young man raised on Vulcan, it's a potent aspect of the exotic. "Often, when I have been alone, I have lingered on memories of the nights we have spent together; many times I have looked forward to repeating the events of those nights."
I recall the straining of your breath, and the beat of your pulse against my skin. I recall the salty taste of the sweat upon your neck, the tight constriction of your flesh as I penetrated you; as I remember these things, I find myself wishing to feel them again."
It's almost hypnotic; it's not even the words that Kirk responds to, as much as the sound and the warmth of Spock's breath against his ear. Gently, the Vulcan guides Jim to turn around and then shores up against his back, his height making it much easier to wrap one arm around the captain's waist, while his other hand reaches up to lightly brush across his cheek.
For his part, Kirk's shoulders roll easily as though he's limbering up, and the way his body seems to melt against the Vulcan behind him is an unconscious, fluidly graceful motion. He bends his head to nuzzle lightly at the long, slender fingertips on their way up to his cheekbone. "So, what you're saying is," he breathes, the edges of arrogance still on his lips, "you fantasize about me a lot?"
It's a shallow one as mind-melds go; Spock knows it would be irresponsible and possibly detrimental to delve as deep as he knows he could, but there's a faintly welcoming tone to Kirk's thoughts, comfortable and utterly unafraid, that he finds difficult to resist.
Very much so, when the opportunity presents itself. The words echo in Jim's mind, even as the soft purr of Spock's voice is still in his ear. But my thoughts do not linger solely on the physical. Shall I share this with you?
He'd love to respond with something sharp and witty, but the captain is inexperienced with the connection, and humans are creatures of passion and inner fire. Unrefined but honest, he responds in the smooth, arrogant tones of one who knows he's wanted, but the words his mind speaks are simply, Tell me anything.
Spock's free hand runs lightly over Jim's stomach through the thin fabric of his uniform, over his chest, his collarbone. Often, when I was much younger, it was a pastime of my peers to elicit emotional response from me; I did not appreciate the depth of my own feelings, nor their range. With you, later, it was similar. It seemed that the only emotions anyone wished me to express were anger, and grief, and pain.
There's a faint tang of remorse; it's not an apology, but Spock soothes this small hurt easily. What I linger on most, what I wish to experience again, and again, is the way you want me to feel when we are alone. You derive pleasure from seeing me express myself, losing control of my emotions and responses, because you have driven me beyond my limit to contain them; the response you wish to elicit from me is one of pleasure, lust, and closeness. You know I can feel; but it bolsters your confidence as a lover to know you can drive me to show it.
I recall the first time you penetrated me; you moved slowly, fearing you would harm me without allowing me to accustom myself to the process. Though our physical structures were different, and I did not respond to some of the stimuli the way that you had presumed, you sought other avenues with which to please me.
The memory is clear and sharp in their joined minds; Jim's knees nearly give out under him when Spock's recollection gives him a taste of what the Vulcan felt that night, overlapping with what he had felt for himself. Warm fingertips on his brow slide down the side of his jaw; without thinking, he catches one in his mouth and sucks on it.
And this, too, Jim. Spock's voice is as ever, even and measured in his head, but the sensation that follows in its wake is intense. Your lack of preambles and ceremony; the way you do as you will by instinct.. it is exotic to me, now that it is no longer foreign.
Jim's mind slowly floods with memories of their first time, in Spock's quarters, the lights low and the room hot. Spock shows him what it feels like to wrap his lips around his cock, how it feels to have his hand in his hair, the sound of his softly-gasping breaths as he begins to come, and then, deeper, below all that, the rise of a cry in his chest and the sudden surprise when he realizes the sound of the long, low, helpless moan that just tore through the room came from his own voice. Jim remembers that moan, and how it felt like victory.
"I think of these things, Jim," he breathes, and lets his teeth sink into the soft, velvety skin of the captain's earlobe, just enough to cause a pinprick's worth of gentle pain. Spock's hand trails back down to rest on Jim's hip and he presses up against him, letting him feel the undeniable shape of the older man's arousal against his backside. "I think of them often, many times these thoughts have risen in my mind unbidden. Your body and voice are clear in my mind this way, your textures, your scent, your taste-- your sounds, Captain. And every thought leaves me with nothing so much as the next, insistent, undeniable urge to seek it again... and the anticipation only heightens it when I am fina--"
Jim spins in his arms and catches him in a kiss, open-mouthed and hot, as his arms come up to wrap tight around his shoulders. "On Earth," he says, between breaths and deepening of the kiss, "We have a shorter way to say that."
"Oh?" Spock's hands frame Kirk's face, fully opening the mind-meld to them both, wanting a psychic taste of that sudden intensity. Do enlighten me, Captain.
He can feel Jim's affectionate arrogance across all six senses, from the shift of his stance, the curve of his lips, the tone of his voice, and the echo of his thought.
Fuck me, baby, I've been thinking about this all day.