Title: Only Human
Time Frame: Reboot
Author's Notes: I'm so new to this fandom it's ridiculous, but I’m certainly glad I ended up here! So many thanks to my beta sbluerazchoccie, who knows much more than I do.
The crew visibly relaxes—Kirk watches the tension drain out of Sulu's shoulders as he puts the ship into warp drive, hears Uhura's sigh of relief from behind him. They'd been locked to that damn planet for too many anxious hours and a trickle of sweat at his temple cools and dries and steals his attention. He clears his throat, more to snap himself out of it than anything else.
Kirk looks over his shoulder to Spock, finds him standing tall, at attention, eyes boring into the viewscreen.
"It's nice to finally relax isn't it, Mr Spock?"
Spock tilts his head ever so slightly. "Undoubtedly, Captain."
Kirk smiles, rearranges himself in his chair the better to lounge artfully, enjoys Spock's eyes on him.
"We’ve reached minimum safe distance, Captain."
"Thank you, Mr Sulu." He sighs. "Well, I think that's enough excitement for one day, everyone," Kirk says, rising.
Spock slips into the turbolift with him at the last minute and Kirk can't quite read the look (or lack thereof) in his eyes. He does have a theory or two, however, lets his mouth quirk up as he leans closer to ask, "Need some help relaxing?"
Kirk doesn't think he'll ever understand why Spock is such a good kisser—perhaps kissing is more logical than Kirk thinks. His brain begs to differ, gone missing as it has, replaced by instinct and heat and Spock sucking on his tongue.
"You know, this whole sex thing isn't all that logical."
"Certainly it is, Captain. You underestimate the biological need to—"
Kirk laughs. "Since when do you consider your biological—"
"I was actually considering yours, Captain."
Kirk's thought about telling Spock to dispense with all that 'Captain' stuff off-duty, but that probably wouldn't be nearly as hot.
"Biological, huh? Well, I guess I can see your point—I mean the word logical's right in there and everything . . ."
Spock tries a different tactic while divesting Kirk of his shirt and planting kisses along his jaw: "Physical satisfaction isn’t limited to eating or sleeping. You thrive on social interaction."
"I need it?" Kirk asks, keeps Spock's mouth over a particularly wonderful spot on his neck with a hand in his hair.
"You need it."
Kirk laughs. "But not, you, right? Since when are people supposed to indulge themselves? I think you should know that need and want aren't the same thing, and I assure you, this"—he bucks up against him, relishes Spock's startled exhale, the darkening of his eyes—"is definitely want."
Spock kisses him, hard—Spock's kisses are always fairly demanding. Clearly there are benefits to Vulcan repression, and Kirk is the lucky recipient.
"No," Spock says, lips dragging over Kirk's face. He doesn't sound convinced and Kirk’s kind of forgotten what they were talking about. "No, you need me, too." He lets his fingers dance over Kirk's chest, always weirdly graceful movements with his hands. Kirk shivers. "I presume that that is why I am your first officer."
Kirk laughs. Sometimes, he's tempted to point out that a lot of Spock's reasoning sounds more like rationalization. He won’t do it right this second, though, just in case Spock decides that the defense of his Vulcan honor takes precedence over driving Kirk insane with his too-light touch. Kirk arcs into the attention and feels terribly selfish but God Spock's hands are wonderful. "By no means my first."
Spock gets this uncomprehending look on his face—
"Never mind," Kirk says, silences him with a kiss. Spock responds with just the right level of desperation—he's so much better at reading Kirk than Kirk is as reading him, or maybe it's a mind meldy thing. Or maybe it's just plain logical. Kirk smiles as he thinks it, slips his hands under Spock's shirt, urging him closer. The logic in wanting Spock has been proved time and again in the form of mind-blowing orgasm, but it's hard to see what Spock keeps doing it for. Is it really just loyalty or some shit?
Spock withdraws, unexpectedly cold, recycled air rushing over Kirk's bare chest while Spock divests himself of his shirt, stretchy material making it impossible to remove with any elegance, but somehow that is exactly what turns Kirk on—the hairline fractures in Spock's impeccable placidity.
"Care to tell . . . tell me why you’re so, uh, so . . . " Spock’s on top of him again, skin hotter than hot and mouth pulling a moan out of Kirk's throat.
"Yes?" Spock asks.
"Never mind . . . ah, that's good . . ."
"What possible reason could you have to lie?" Spock’s fingers trace up his arm, sides, neck.
"Wha—? No, just . . ." Kirk sighs, knows Spock will just keep asking and looking baffled. "I was going to ask you why you're so, I dunno . . . normal, in bed. That came out wrong. Anyway, I actually don't care why, so can we just . . . ?"
Spock's hand freezes. "I may not be entirely human, however I am partially so." His strict immobility while he pauses is more or less a shrug in the Land of Spock. "Perhaps, in this, I am only human—"
"Y’know, I hate to cut you off like this, Spock, but now is no time for thinking," Kirk says, yanks him down for a kiss.
Kirk loves the way their bodies line up. It's not entirely perfect—obviously the two of them weren't exactly made for each other—but the hard muscles and unexpected jutting bone and the silk of Spock's pale skin, the silk of his lips and the heat—oh man, the heat. Kirk's surprised that passing crew members aren't spontaneously combusting in the corridor.
Spock may act remarkably human in bed but he never makes any noise, just sharp intakes of breath here and there, so Kirk feels like he has to make up for Spock’s relative silence. And anyway Spock seems to enjoy clamping a hand over his mouth and reminding him gruffly of the others on the ship (but then again who can tell?).
Spock's definitely aroused, grinding subtly against Kirk's cock, maddeningly subtle in comparison to the tongue invading his mouth and the hand in his sweaty hair to hold him in place. Kirk groans and pulls Spock's hips hard against his, groans at Spock's eyes flying open and his hand tightening in Kirk's hair. For a minute, Spock's eyes are entirely human.
He gets off of Kirk, off the bed, hands fast and deliberate in removing his trousers. Pale, pale skin and space-black hair and clothes and eyes, stark dusky blush over his cheeks and ears. Kirk swallows and remembers to get the hell out of his own remaining clothing and locate the lube stashed in the drawer.
Kirk's too busy fumbling with the stupid bottle to notice Spock's return right away, but then there's solid heat creeping up his arm and he turns to look over his shoulder at Spock with a smirk like always. Spock's already there, zooms in and kisses him deeply.
Kirk moans into it, hands scrambling at Spock of their own volition. What is it about Spock that pushes Kirk's buttons like this? The stoicism? The strength?
Spock chooses that moment to push Kirk down on the bed without comment and Kirk grunts more from the shock than the landing, isn’t sure which knocked the breath out of him.
Spock twists a slick finger into him and Kirk can't help a tiny moan. Spock's eyes close, brow furrowing impossibly as if to block Kirk out, frantic for control but Spock’s gotta be smart enough to know that lack of control is the founding principle of this whole operation. Kirk touches his face and gets Spock's liquidy eyes back, tawdry human emotions threatening around the edges and Spock kisses him softly, too tender, and Kirk wonders when they went from despising to tolerating, crewmates to friends, friends to this, to Spock's touch putting fragile, sharp electricity in Kirk's chest.
Spock's progressed to two fingers now and Kirk detaches his mouth wetly, gasps and digs his fingers into Spock's shoulders when he hits the right spot, shouts something when Spock shoves against it again.
"Captain, you are . . ."
"Yeah, I know the 'shut up' speech by heart by now, Spock—how about we just pretend we argued semantics for five minutes and get on with it instead? It makes all kinds of sense, don't you worry about it."
Spock's curt nod probably isn't as nonchalant as he would've liked in light of his uneven breathing and the dark blotches of blood on his cheeks. "You’re . . . lovely. Like this."
Kirk isn’t sure he heard him right, wants to kiss him and then Spock leans in to make it come true. Kirk tenses and wants him and, yes, needs him.
The kiss ends and Kirk laughs off to the side. "That your expert opinion?"
"I was stating a fact."
Kirk laughs again, thinks he glimpses affection in Spock's eyes, thinks he hears humor in his voice. "Of course you were." The way Spock doesn't smirk outright is smugger than just about anything.
Spock positions Kirk's legs and leans over to kiss his neck as he pushes carefully into him. Kirk curses and turns his head to suck on the tempting tip of his ear. Spock doesn't say anything but his cock is rock hard and he's shuddering silently, making their skin stick together and gather sweat and part wetly like their lips, hot auras warring between their bodies.
Spock is going a little too fast—hey, isn't eagerness a dirty word to him?—but that in itself is exciting, and Kirk couldn't care less about discomfort when Spock is trembling and unable to look at him. And Kirk definitely stops caring when Spock starts to move, deceptively tentative, his cock hitting the perfect spot except slowly, full of promise and impossible heat.
The pace is wonderful—slow, controlled build of pleasure, but Kirk has a problem with impatience, a trait which doesn't go well with how much fun it is to test Spock's limits. Kirk starts moving in tandem with him, pushes down to meet Spock's thrusts with increasing fervor. Spock gives him such an obvious Look that laughter sneaks into Kirk's labored breathing.
"Don’t care. Do it harder, come on . . ." Punctuates it with a roll of his hips that gets Spock's eyes unfocused. Kirk smirks—he'll win this—
Spock pulls out, shoves Kirk farther up on his cramped bed until Kirk's head hits the plasticy headboard and Kirk isn't even sure if he's aroused, in pain, or just plain amused, doesn't have time of figure it out because Spock is taking the hint, back inside Kirk without delay and fucking him hard, finally, so fucking good and Kirk has to thrash his head around, has to groan with every deliciously deep thrust, Spock all around him. He's losing control and he's suddenly desperate to see it happen to Spock. Spock may be less reserved than usual in bed, and of course he has desires, carefully monitored as they are, but he never totally lets go, never shows much of anything on his face.
"This is good for you. That is, it feels good," Spock states, seems a little confused by it, and nobody, nobody is allowed to be that monotonous mid-coitus, especially with Kirk. Kirk's working on a clever response but Spock's next heavy thrust drives it right out of his head and he moans Spock's name and watches Spock watching him, so insufferably studious.
Kirk seizes one of his hands and brings it to his temple. "Yeah, pretty damn good, Spock," Kirk murmurs, licks Spock's wrist.
"I . . ."
Spock's still moving his hips at a merciless pace when he initiates the mind meld.
Kirk watches his eyes close on concentration, feels the tremor that runs through him right before they fly back open, heady with pleasure. Spock moans and drags his other hand up Kirk's body, flicking a nipple and stopping to trace Kirk's lips, prompting Kirk to lick at them too. Spock moans again and it melts Kirk as much as the raw, exposed warmth of the mind meld. Spock's eyes keep snapping open and shut, expression bouncing between shocked and intoxicated. He mashes his other hand to the other side of Kirk's face, kisses his mouth and brow and fluttering eyelids, speeds up his thrusts at Kirk's groan.
"Oh," Spock says. "Ohh, yes . . . heat, heartbeat, more . . . yes yes yes . . ." Oh God, he’s so lost.
Kirk actually tries to be quiet for once. He doesn’t want to miss a single uncontrolled vowel out of Spock’s mouth. Nothing to do but keep his eyes open and wring the sheets with his hands and die and go to heaven because Spock’s so fucking hard and it’s so fucking good and fuck he’s actually moaning and ohh—fuck—yes—
"Yes," Kirk breathes, going quickly boneless as he comes, mind held up out of the chaos by Spock’s. He’s intellectually aware of Spock’s continued desperation, the gorgeous wanton impulses coursing through him supplemented by the fact that he’s still fucking him, and there’s all kinds of aftershocks and spikes of pleasure over the lazy warmth flooding Kirk’s blood. "Yes," he says again, not knowing how to improve on any of it.
Spock’s grip on his face tightens, snagging skin, and he drives more deliberately in and out of him, muttering and shuddering and so close. "Oh, so good, heat, you, so good . . ."
"Mm, yeah," Kirk says, pulls Spock’s hips in harder. "Let go."
Spock cries out and comes, groans into Kirk’s neck, hands still resting oddly over Kirk’s eyes and ears and hair. Kirk turns his head, kisses his palm before seeking out his mouth. Languid lips in response, Spock’s eyes huge and stunning, dark lashes against pale skin as they drift shut.
They’re both breathing hard, sweaty, panting, connected in a number of ways. Kirk should say something sly and suggestive, should kiss him a little better than that, make Spock want him too. But the thing is their minds are still all tangled and it’s hard to keep track of exactly how that works when the rest of his body feels this amazing, and so lying there aimlessly seems to be the only option.
Spock heaves off of him, sort of, but there isn’t a whole lot of room so he just ends up on his side with some limbs thrown over Kirk’s body. "I wouldn’t necessarily call that relaxing," he says, closing his eyes, voice fading. "We should get back to the bridge as soon as is humanly possible . . ."
Kirk sighs. "You’re right, of course." He traps Spock’s arm securely against him, follows him into sleep.