When the Enterprise is finally safely under escort and on her way home, Chris gets a comm from Boyce ordering that he go and get at least six hours of sleep before he’s cleared for duty again.
He decides to swing by sickbay to make sure Spock actually went to get looked over--those cuts on his face make him look endearingly rugged, but they are also just asking for an infection. Chris has no idea what other, less obvious injuries Spock might have, but he sure hopes the kid isn’t too cagey with Boyce. With what they all just went through, there’s no way Spock’s okay, but he wants to make sure he’s well taken care of.
When Chris enters sickbay, Spock looks like he’s being given discharge instructions by a nurse, so Chris busies himself taking a lap, asking nurses questions and getting a brief report from Phil on the number and severity of injuries he’s seen among the crew today.
He circles back to Spock, who’s just been released. If Chris thought his heart skipped a beat when Spock stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise a few hours ago, it’s doing cartwheels now. Despite or perhaps because of the shape he’s in, Spock’s shaggy hair and dark eyelashes make him look soft even under the harsh lighting of the medical bay, and Chris is momentarily breathless. He can deal with this. He’s being ridiculous. It’s just been a weird day.
“Captain.” Chris savors that voice he never expected he’d hear again.
“Spock,” he says, not even trying to hide his fondness. “You’ve had a long day. How are you?”
“I will soon be functioning adequately, sir.”
Chris has to suppress a goofy smile. “Glad to hear it.” He almost wishes Spock would lose the ‘sir,’ but he supposes it helps to maintain a healthy distance, given Chris’ fragile state. “Looks like you and I have both been given Boyce’s favorite prescription. I just swung by here to see how people are doing.”
“I will leave you to it then, Captain.”
“Things look fine here, Spock. Medical’s got things under control, no one critical. I’m headed to the observation lounge. Walk with me?”
They exit sickbay and round the corner into the corridor. As they stand waiting for the turbolift, a thought crosses Chris’ mind. “You haven’t been to your quarters since you left for Starbase Five, have you?”
“I have not,” says Spock. A pause. “I believe I will need my computer access restored by an authorized individual. Would you accompany me to my quarters and assist me in this matter?” Everyone on the crew knows this can be done remotely, by the captain or any senior security officer. Furthermore, Chris would have guessed Spock would want to go meditate and be alone. Instead, it seems, Spock wants Chris’ company. And damn, if that isn’t the most intoxicating thing.
“Of course, Spock,” Chris says, tearing his gaze away in case he’s mistaken Spock’s intentions. The turbolift doors open, and as Chris and Spock both step forward, the backs of their hands brush just slightly.
Brief and accidental as it is, the contact is electric, sending a thrill through Chris from head to toe. Spock tenses momentarily, gives Chris a curious look, and then carries on as if nothing has happened. But Chris can’t keep his eyes off Spock or keep from thinking about how a more solid, more prolonged touch would feel.
Spock is here. Spock is here and alive and not 900 years in the future and Chris is his commanding officer and he is asking for trouble. Spock didn't choose the Enterprise, but whatever god answered Chris’ prayer has put him here. After Chris missed his last chance to tell Spock how he felt, he can hardly believe he’s being given another. It seems fragile, tenuous. Chris recalls the thoughts racing through his mind just hours ago as he said goodbye to Spock. I admire you. I’m proud of you. I’ll cherish every memory we’ve shared. How were words ever going to do anything but fall short? Best not play with fire, best not risk destroying what they had. ‘ There aren’t words’ was all he could manage. But now Chris has another chance and he aches with want.
Pausing outside Spock’s quarters, Chris resets the lock and Spock hangs back, as though he means to let Chris enter first and follow him in. Chris obliges.
Once inside, Spock circles around in front of Chris. Chris feels strangely cornered. Spock makes eye contact for long seconds, and Chris feels an echo of their goodbye. Soon, Spock has him backed up against the bulkhead.
After a moment, Spock speaks gently, as though he believes Chris will spook and run away. "I wish to ascertain what you had hoped would happen when you followed me here, Captain."
It’s not that Chris would expect anything other than the direct approach from Spock, but he’s never imagined being in a position quite like this one. He lets out an exhale that’s almost a laugh. "I just want to convince myself you're really here with me, that I didn't lose you after all."
“I must admit to questioning, myself, whether this is real.”
"May I kiss you?" Spock asked in the same way he might ask about the spectral signature of a lab sample. Chris wonders if he’s falling in love, and realizes he fell years ago.
Spock surges forward, hands against the bulkhead on either side of Chris' shoulders. Chris parts his lips slightly, breathless, and lets Spock take the lead.
Chris isn't sure if it's the Vulcan telepathy or if these feelings are his own, but he's struck through with the sensation of relief while his desire, slightly distracting before, is amplified tenfold. He grabs handfuls of the back of Spock’s coat, grounding himself in the feel of the smooth material. Spock's entire person is dangerously close, Chris' hips seek out Spock's of their own accord, and it's not enough, because Vulcan outerwear seems to exist for the purpose of getting in the way of the kind of friction he’s after. The slide of tongues and the feeling of teeth gently teasing at his lower lip brings him back to the task at hand, and that is kissing Spock like his sanity depends on it. Spock eventually slows and backs off until Chris loosens his grip on Spock's jacket, and Chris feels a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
Of course it wouldn't do to ask for more than Spock was willing to freely give, because Chris is already three ranks above him and he’s owed nothing. Even this is more than he was ready to dream of this morning. Having Spock here on the Enterprise with him is enough.
But Spock removes his coat and hangs it on the back of the chair at his desk and prowls back to Chris, who is a little surprised to see Spock in a well-worn Starfleet Academy t-shirt that hangs just right, making every muscle movement visible. Chris catches Spock's eye and holds his gaze for a moment, until Spock breaks eye contact. "I apologize, Captain, but I find myself tempted to touch your mind. This is inadvisable at a time of such vulnerability and grief. It is taking some effort to refrain, but if you would tell me exactly what you desire, that would lessen the temptation."
"God, Spock, are you real?" Chris laughs, not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming. "You want me to tell you exactly what I want? I want you to be in control. I want to not have to think about anything except how good it is that you're here, and how good we're making each other feel. Take your pleasure. However you need it.”
“You must promise to alert me if anything should make you uncomfortable.”
“Three taps. Done.”
Spock reaches for the zipper at Chris' collar and draws it down almost cautiously. Chris melts back against the bulkhead, and can’t help the moan that Spock draws from him with lips and teeth and tongue at his neck. His left hand finds its way into Spock’s hair as his right remains clenched at his side. “Spock,” he whines, as the neckline of his undershirt is stretched askew and Spock looks up at him questioningly, and Chris is about to plead with him to just rip it already when instead he’s hoisted up the wall with Spock’s powerful hands on his thighs and Chris lets out a groan and isn’t sure if he’s ever been more turned on in his life.
“Captain,” Spock growls into Chris’ neck, and ooooh , that title does things to Chris, but he’s not entirely sure how he feels about liking it.
“Think we can lose the ‘captain’ while you’re manhandling me?” he manages to pant.
A thoughtful look. “Yes, of course, sir,”
“For Christ’s sake, Spock, you’re undressing me, I think you can use my first na-” he says, as Spock pushes up his undershirt to continue his ministrations.
The way Spock says, “ Christopher, ” almost worshipping, is--more than good enough. He can deal with just about anything as long as Spock never stops touching him, but he can especially deal with it if Spock says his name like that.
Chris tears his hands away from Spock for long enough to allow his jacket and undershirt to be pushed up and over his head until the clothes fall in a heap on the floor, whereupon Spock carries Chris over to the bed and places him gently on his back. As Spock works Chris’ pants down his legs and comes back to tease him through the front of his Starfleet-issue black underwear, Chris’ vocabulary diminishes until it consists entirely of Spock and please and more until all Chris cares about is the sensation of Spock's mouth on his stomach, his thighs, his hips. Spock is going to leave bruises with his grip and visible marks with his teeth and damn, is that working for him.
Chris is lost to the gentle bites and licks, the slight tickle of soft beard. Spock's fingers at his lips. The pads of Spock's fingers against his tongue and the shock of want he feels that is definitely not just his own. Spock's mouth through the front of his briefs, adding to the patch of damp that was already there.
Spock nips at the skin at his waistband, sucking little marks into the skin there and each spot Spock's tongue touches is alight with electricity. Chris wants to beg, wants to plead with him to hurry it up, but at the same time he wants to savor this attention lest it be over too soon. He grabs at Spock’s hair, eliciting a long moan from Spock as Chris’ cock is freed from its confines.
Spock is attentive and curious, using his fingers and tongue to stroke and caress and explore. Chris nearly lets out a brief yell when Spock's mouth closes over the crown of his cock, and his tongue begins to stroke the slit and tease the underside. Spock's fingers find their way to the base of Chris' cock and tease their way over and around his balls to press at his perineum, and Spock’s mouth sinks down until Chris is sure Spock won’t be able to take any more. Spock doesn’t have a gag reflex, though, it seems, or he’s an expert at breathing through it. Chris is so swept up in the tight seal of Spock’s lips and the wet heat of his tongue that he doesn’t even notice Spock's other hand reaching around to a drawer beneath the bed to grab a bottle of lube until slick fingers find their way to his entrance. Chris tilts his hips up, trying to allow Spock better access. When the tip of one finger enters him gingerly, he already needs more. "You’re not gonna break me," he manages. The finger disappears, and is quickly replaced with two fingers, side by side, sliding in to the second knuckle and stroking. Chris' entire body responds, he can feel it in his wrists and the soles of his feet, his thighs shake and he’s begging "please, more, Spock, wanna feel you.” Before long, Spock pulls off, to Chris’ protests.
Spock's hands are on Chris before he even finishes speaking, flipping him over, throwing him on his hands and knees facing the head of the alcove the bed sits in. Chris waits patiently as Spock puts on a condom, and when Spock‘s hands are back on his hips, lining up to enter, Chris bears down until Spock bottoms out and he is more or less kneeling in Spock’s lap. Spock moves the pair of them forward, upright, until they can both brace against the wall that spans the width of the bed. Spock wraps one arm around Chris’ torso, placing a hand at the base of Chris’ throat, and has the other hand covering Chris’ against the bulkhead, and turns his attention back to Chris’ neck and shoulder as he allows Chris to acclimate to the stretch.
“Move, Spock,” Chris commands, breathlessly. Spock obliges, pulling out and entering more forcefully, gradually adjusting them both so that he can have one foot on the floor next to the bed for extra leverage. Chris keeps a hand on the wall, but puts the other behind him on Spock’s flank to feel the powerful muscles working. The angle allows Spock to hit his prostate on every stroke. Spock’s teeth find their way to the base of his ear and Chris is close when Spock grabs him by the hair and shoves them both forward, causing Chris’ shoulder to hit the corner of the wall forcefully. Chris’ pleasure-addled brain registers the impact, but not the pain. He’s too lost in the feel of Spock’s hand in his hair, his opposite forearm at his left hip, hand working his cock. A feeling of euphoria builds and dulls all his other senses as he tries not to let it end too quickly, tries to memorize the way Spock’s body feels against his own, tries to fully appreciate the fact that this is happening.
“Let go for me, Christopher,” Spock urges, voice hot and breathy in his ear. Chris does, and as his orgasm courses through him, he catches a taste of what must be Spock’s pleasure echoing his own. Spock gives a final few thrusts and releases Chris’ hair in favor of holding him tightly across the chest and mouthing at his neck.
"Captain," Spock says after they've collapsed side-by-side on the bed.
"What did I tell you about the rank thing, Spock?"
"I am not 'manhandling you' at present, Christopher."
"Oh my god, not after the most spectacular sex of my life either, okay?" Chris teases, trying to roll onto his elbow to face Spock. He yells with the shock of pain radiating from his collarbone and struggles for a moment before he manages to draw in a next breath.
"Christopher, have I injured you?” Spock looks alarmed.
“I don’t know. You might have,” says Chris, testing his range of motion, “hurts to move my right shoulder and I definitely can’t put weight on it.”
“You must go to sickbay and allow Dr. Boyce to ascertain the extent of your injury.”
Chris covers his face with his good hand. “In
state? I’m never gonna hear the end of it,” he laughs, starting to feel slightly hysterical. “Kill me now.”
"It is possible you sustained the injury earlier in the day, and our activities were not the cause of it,” Spock suggests, as if hopeful this is the case. He’s adorable and Chris wants to hold him and never let go.
“Spock, I say this with all the affection in the universe, but you’re not making it better. Whether you hurt me or not, I don’t need everyone knowing I just had my brains fucked out. I need a shower. Help me up, will you?”
Chris sighs heavily and lets Spock lead him to the shower.