Best. Planet. Ever.
Well, it’s not Earth. But best not-Earth planet ever. Particularly because it’s the first uncharted one on the Enterprise’s five year mission, and that makes Jim, before Spock and everyone else tells him to stop being an idiot, the new ruler of Kirktopia. Naturally, he’s in the landing party, with Spock naturally there to ruin his fun, and he half wishes he had a flagpole like they first put on the moon. How fun would that be?
Instead he’s spreading out from the team, scanning just about everything he can get the tricorder close to. So far, no signs of life. Completely habitable atmosphere, though. Class M with breathable air. They don’t even need any kind of space suits—just the nice looking gold shirt and the shiny Starfleet pin. The grass is all green, but the plants are crazy colours, and more than once, Jim’s sure he sees one move with more than the breeze. He tells Spock, and Spock informs him quite plainly that he most certainly did not see what he absolutely saw, so after a while, Jim decides, “I’m gonna go this way.” And when Spock turns to follow, Jim repeats, “I’m going to go this way.”
Spock raises an eyebrow, which seems to be Vulcan for an eye roll. Pointing vaguely in the opposite direction, Jim insists, “You go check around that hill over there, and I’m going to go into these trees. We’ll call each other if we find anything.”
“Very well, Captain.” And with that, Jim’s ever-loyal fist officer is heading up the nearby hill, and Jim’s ducking into the trees, humming a wordless tune to himself.
The trees are reasonably interesting: reddish brown trunks with bluish green leaves, shaped long with circles on the end, like palm trees someone’s taped coloured plates to. They cast a nice shadow over the green forest floor, and the sunlight pokes in and around the canopy of leaves. Still no signs of any life, and the tricorder isn’t picking up anything noteworthy. Kind of boring. But then again, he is out of his ship (and on Kirktopia, no less, though it might not read that way in his official report) so it’s all good.
He’s a good dozen meters into the forest when he’s sure he hears a twig snap, and he jerks his head to the side, hand on the communicator in his back pocket. There’s a thicket of noodle-like plants on the floor, about up to Jim’s chest, with tendrils as thick as Jim’s legs. It looks sort of like a squid planted in the ground but less slimy. And not moving. Just a plant, obviously—the same greenish blue as the rest of the forest. Jim’s hand relaxes, and he walks over to the bush, getting a good look. Nothing like this on Earth.
On closer inspection, it looks like there might be something under all those tentacles. Or in them, rather. Something shiny at the base—a jewel in the center, perhaps? Jim brushes one of the tendrils out of the way to get a better look.
It instantly shoots up in the air and darts around his wrist, yanking him forward and making him drop the tricorder. Jim almost screams in surprise, but another tendril shoots into his open mouth. The tentacles have his other hand and then his legs before he can even think to use them, and in a matter of seconds, he’s lifted into the air, his communicator tumbling out of his back pocket. He manages to free his hand and grab it just in time, but he has no idea what to do with it. He’s not sure he wants Spock to know he can’t handle a simple Kirktopian noodle plant by himself. When it becomes clear the plants are coming for his hands, he hurriedly shoves his communicator into his pants, just in case, and then all his limbs are secured again, and he’s even less sure he wants to yell at his communicator. He tries to bite down on the thing in his mouth anyway, but the rubbery shell seems impenetrable. It tastes sort of like... coffee.
Which flat out doesn’t make any sense. Jim swipes his tongue along the bottom, but that’s definitely coffee. With a hint of chocolate. Eyebrows knit in confusion, Jim gives the plant—if it even is a plant—a little suck. The tentacle worms further into his mouth, and it shoots a sticky, hot substance down his throat, mostly salty but a little sweet. Jim coughs, and the tentacle shivers, moving as if to pull out, but Jim stops it by sucking it back in, tasting the coffee—it’s definitely edible, and it’s delicious.
Squirming a little, Jim suckles a bit more, and a bit more, and each time, the plant gets a better grip on him. It maneuvers him around to face the sky, hovering a few meters in the air, cradling his body in all the right places to keep anything from growing sore. It wraps a few tendrils around his waist to hold him up properly, and he’s left staring dazedly at the clouds through the trees, wondering what the fuck is seriously happening to him. The tentacle in his mouth is now sliding gently in and out, occasionally squirting the warm liquid along his tongue, heady and bittersweet. It makes him hesitant to fight, because when he does, the plant’s grip becomes more precarious, and the tasty nectar recedes. He can tell it isn’t like the Synthesized stuff he’s become used to on his ship—it’s real, hardy, rich dessert like he hasn’t had since Earth.
Fighting seems to discourage it, but writhing gently in his bonds doesn’t, and he can feel one tentacle in particular wriggling up his thigh. As soon as it brushes against his cock, Jim bucks up, and in a flash, it’s tugged his pants down. Jim tries to yell through his gag, more shocked than anything, but it’s muffled. The thing tugs the dark material right down his thighs, until his cock springs out, shamefully hard—he’s never been particularly put off by wild, completely alien life, and of course, there’s always the fantasy of discovering new pleasures—and another tentacle’s already wrapping around it. Fear is the first thought in Jim’s head, but the plant doesn’t crush him. It only squeezes lightly and starts to stroke up and down, gentle and tentative, and Jim, somehow, groans.
There’s another tentacle pressing at the back of his neck. It rubs between his shoulder blades like a massage, runs down his spine, slides over the curves of his ass and cups his cheeks. Jim whimpers, unsure if this can really be happening. He’s had dirty fantasies of alien excursions before, but not of plants, and he can feel his cheeks burning hot against his face as he lets himself rut into the tentacle around his cock, encouraging more. The other tentacle presses between his crack, running gently up and down, and then it squirts the now-familiar liquid over his hole, swishing it around.
Jim whines, not sure if he’s ready for that from just the coffee-nectar alone, but it gives him another load of the strange substance in his mouth, as if to placate him. He sucks it down too eagerly, but it doesn’t alleviate his worry that the plant knows what he’s doing. As much as he loves fucking around with aliens, he usually likes to explain the preparation humans require first. He’s no longer so sure he should’ve split up with Spock.
Or maybe he should’ve. If Spock had seen this, Jim would’ve never heard the end, and he probably wouldn’t have even gotten far enough for the coffee-nectar and the great story. The tentacles around his chest rub his nipples through the shirt, as if trying to soothe him. Jim whimpers while the one beneath him screws against his asshole, and he’s praying his body will somehow make it work.
It does. He hears the wet ‘pop’ as much as feels it. It’s worming its way inside him, thick and warm, a little wet and a little forgiving, but still far too hard and big to be truly comfortable, at least until it squirts another load of pseudo-lubrication. It’s not that far off from how a human cock feels, just a bit... weird.
It’s going in too fast. He whimpers again and it slows to a stop, until he fidgets and bucks into it, and then it’s going slower. Deeper and deeper, one centimeter at a time, until Jim feels like he’s as full as he can get, and the thing shifts a little, smashing into something perfect. Jim moans loudly, and the tentacle slips out a bit, only to jam back in a second later, ramming into the same spot. Between that and the tentacle stroking his cock, Jim’s easily aroused. He’s so aroused. From a plant. This is a new one.
It occurs to him belatedly he might have to submit himself to an examination with Bones, just in case. That’s going to be a nightmare. He can hear Bones’ laughter in his head, and that only makes his cock harder. Fuck.
The thing in his mouth isn’t helping. The tendrils tormenting his nipples aren’t helping. Other tentacles are stroking the cheeks of his ass, squeezing them together around the one fucking him, and still others are running down his limbs and petting his hair. He feels like he’s being worshipped all over, held high to the sun so the creature can see him better. If it even has eyes. Does it have anything? He sucks more from the tendril in his mouth, matching the strokes he gets and the pace of the tentacle plundering his ass. Pleasure’s ricocheting all over his body, and he’s enjoying it far, far too much...
It isn’t long before his balls are tightening, and he moans heavily around the plant, right when, “CAPTAIN!” rings out below him.
Jim can’t twist around to look, because he’s busy arching his body and coming, straight up and over his own chest, onto his uniform and the various tentacles around him. The plant lets his cock go, and it twitches happily and spills everything he has, while Jim slumps in the monster’s grip, sighing with satisfaction.
Then the tentacles are withdrawing faster than light, and Jim’s tumbling out of the air. He lands right in two outstretched arms, which quickly pull him back, maneuvering him around to allow for a phaser being held, stunning the plant. Groggily, Jim almost asks his first officer to stop attacking his date.
Then he realizes that he’s in Spock’s arms, carried bride style, with his pants pulled down and cum all over his chest, not to mention the other liquid dribbling out of his mouth and ass. It’s... unfortunate.
Jim doesn’t know what to do, so he ends up turning red and burying his head in Spock’s shoulder, while Spock holds him and says quietly, “I’ve got you.”