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The Skant

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It never occurred to Spock to wear the skant.

Upon receipt of Starfleet Academy, after he had been processed through orientation, he had received a set of the tunic and slacks, along with a set of Starfleet-issued boots in his size. Spock had never found any problems with the skant uniform but out of sheer habit, he kept continuing to wear the tunic and pants for the remainder of his career.

It should feel illogical to feel emotions pertaining an item of clothing. Clothes were practical objects made to cover a being's body. Clothes may have an aesthetically pleasing quality but it was not its sole purpose.

Yet when Leonard presented him with the clothing, he could not help but feel a sense of pride, of pleasure trickling down inside his being. Not too long ago, he expressed his curiosity and his desire to wear the skant to him as they laid in bed, whispering in the dark. In the safety of their bed sheets and their shared body warmth, Leonard was able to coax out Spock's deep curiosities.

So when their fingers brushed, Spock simply accepted the gift.


When Spock wore the skant for the first time, from the touch of Leonard's skin, he found the rise of satisfaction, a burst of pride, and the low, warm simmer of lust threatening to erupt in his own body. Leonard's eyes roamed over him in appreciation and Spock realized then he had made a good choice indulging in his curiosity.


As an emotional being, Leonard never failed to speak his mind. This included his feelings about his own person wearing the skant.

"God, darlin', your legs look great in that," he praised one day as Spock slipped his boots on.

Leonard leaned over from behind, his hands slowly trailed up his arms, before it rested on his shoulders. "Your legs looks like they go on for miles," he continued, his breath skimmed the outside of his ear.

After he gave his shoulders a squeeze, he stood up and gave Spock a smile.

"Now come on, we're going to be late if you keep it up," he teased, knew that they had over twenty minutes until the start of the staff meeting.

Leonard's touch and voice ran through his mind the rest of the day.


Spock's change in uniform didn't change his routine. He still got to his post on time, his colleagues greeted and treated him the same, and his work efficiency stayed at the same levels.

For the first couple of weeks, it was Leonard who had changed. He arrived for his daily visits to the bridge five minutes earlier than he normally did, sometimes more than once during a shift. The good doctor always came prepared with some kind of excuse ("Jim, I need you to sign some forms for me", "Don't you usually have a yeoman to send these forms for you, Bones?") and he had been lax on instigating their arguments on the bridge. The action seemed to be uncharacteristic for his human partner until he had caught the man's eyes.

The first handful of times, he stared with a protective glance, worry and concern in his eyes. When Spock questioned him later when they went to lunch, Leonard only said that he was just looking out for him. From his skin, Spock read that Leonard was only concerned for him, wanted to know if Spock had been treated well, only wanted Spock's change to be received well.

In the safety of their quarters, he had told Leonard that his worry, while expected, was not warranted. ("They did not act as if anything was different, Leonard.")

All subsequent visits after their conversation, Leonard was still quiet but instead, his gaze morphed, roved over his body with heat in his eyes, took in the sleek, long lines of the skant and his legs. Sometimes, instead of assessing his entire body, Leonard stopped at the curve of his hip. Even when Spock's back was to him, he knew Leonard was watching.

Sometimes, Leonard grew bold, walked over to his station and brushed his hand from his shoulder, down his arm. If he was especially adventurous, he even stroked his fingertips over the top of Spock's hand, over the hills of his knuckles, down the plane of his digits, over the joints, resumed the path upward. Leonard's appreciation and arousal broadcasted loudly in Spock's mind, lingered after he released his fingertips.

Spock had to tamp down his own answering reactions that coiled deep in his gut.


Somewhere in Spock's mind, he wondered if Leonard would be so daring one day to go further than he'd ever had.


Regardless of Leonard's denials ("As fun as it would be, we don't need to be fired from Starfleet, or scar the minds of our friends") and his meditations, the idea that had sprouted there instead migrated into Spock's dreams.

Most of Spock's dreams were dreamless; an aimless, formless quality floated through the night, his body attained the result of well rested sleep, energized; his organs and his muscles in peak condition.

But once in awhile, glimpses of himself and Leonard filtered through, of his hands roaming Spock's body, often while wearing the skant. Sometimes his senses filled in details: the rustle of cloth slowly moving against skin, of puffs of breath grazing the hairs on his neck or the shell of his ear. If the dream was especially powerful, even his body would react, woke up with his heart pounding in his side.

(On those mornings, Spock would tease Leonard's morning erection in his hand and drove the distracting images from his mind until all Spock could focus on was Leonard's surprised pleasure.)


Even though they were on the bridge, Spock knew this was a dream.

It had started off as any normal day. Spock had been at his station for ten minutes, looked over at the readings they received from the scans they were doing for the updates of their stellar maps. The rest were at their own posts, doing whatever was routine work for them. Captain Kirk perched in his chair, read reports from his PADD, periodically signed off on some form or another.

The whoosh of the turbolift drifted in his ears; the doctor stepped off onto the bridge. The light steps of his feet stopped at the Captain's side, his voice launched into a complaint specifically aimed at Kirk.

Captain Kirk looked up from his PADD, a sly smile graced his lips as if Doctor McCoy was not about to chastise him. "What are you doing here, Bones?"

From the tense curve of Leonard's back, Spock anticipated that he was about to launch into a famous rant.

"What am I doing here, Jim? You really have the nerve to ask that?"

Leonard's right arm rose from his side, that knowing pointer finger out to emphasize his point.

"I'm here because you still haven't reported to me for your physical, Jim. If you aren't there later today, you betcha I'm going to be buggin' you until you're beggin' me to actually get on with it."

Leonard's voice had that rolling, languid quality to him when he was especially upset or extremely content. Unfortunately, this time had been the former.

"But Bones--"

"No 'but, Bones', Jim," Leonard interrupted, "Even Spock's already gotten through his physical and that's saying somethin'. Today, Jim, or you're gonna wish my complainin' was the least of your problems."

Spock watched the Captain's throat as he swallowed.

"Alright, Bones."

Then tension released from Leonard's back and Spock knew from experience he would be grinning in satisfaction.

Captain Kirk returned to his PADD when Leonard strode over toward Spock. His elation was palpable even though he was not touching him. Leonard then moved to sit on top of his console, his smile turned into a smirk.

"Hi," he said. His eyes observed Spock's profile. The fact he was perched on top of his console, engaged in small talk, pointed Spock to his indications this was a dream.

"So, you're wearing the skant again," he commented, his eyes contradicted his voice. Spock merely turned to face him for a moment, raised an eyebrow, and concentrated back on his work. When Spock didn't react, Leonard crept closer, his lips brushed against the point of his ears.

"Do you know how hot you look, bent over your console like that?"

Leonard's hand cupped his hip, pressed his body against Spock's side.

"What are you doing, Leonard?"

Leonard kissed up the line of his neck, felt Spock's racing pulse under his lips. "No one's watchin', Spock. Take a look. The way they're actin', I bet I could have my way with you, right now."

When Spock raised his head up, he knew he was definitely in a dream.

No one was watching them, all too engrossed with what they were doing. Even Captain Kirk, who had them in his peripheral, did not move, even though the reality would be vastly different. Spock could not help but react to this news; his heart paced faster in his side as Leonard rubbed his thumb up and down his hip.

Spock breathed his name, heard the shift of Leonard's body, the expanse of his back pressed against his own, his lips insistently nibbled on his neck. Leonard's hand drifted down the curve of his hip, past the hem of his skant, touched the leggings covering his thighs.

"I've been dreamin' of doin' this to ya, ever since ya wore the thing," he confessed against his skin. Spock groaned, pushed back against Leonard's cock.

Both hands joined in Leonard's exploration of his body; his fingers mapped the sides of Spock's thighs, his hips, until his ass was encompassed in his grip. "Your ass looks so good like this, bent over. Even better when it's in my hands."

Leonard gave a squeeze, slowly massaged the muscle underneath.

Spock desperately wished this was not a dream, wanted to drown in the emotions and thoughts that would fly in Leonard's mind as he pleasured him. The physical sensations of Leonard's actions were wonderful but a pale imitation.

Leonard's hands moved from his behind, back to the sides, reached the hem of the skirt and found the band of his leggings. His fingers dipped underneath the edge and dragged his leggings and underwear down. Spock relished the slow, teasing friction of the fabric playing against his leg hair. Leonard's right hand circled in the hair above his groin, his left hand gripped Spock's hand in his own.

"You love this, don't you?"

Spock only nodded as Leonard bit and licked his neck. The tip of his tongue and the slick, saliva left behind distracted him from the destination of Leonard's right hand descending lower, past the hair to the slit that housed his cock. Those deft fingers lightly petted the outside of his slit; the precise pressure caused Spock to lean his head back against Leonard's shoulder. The sharp, electric heat of arousal traveled down his spine, pooled deep in his stomach, into his groin.

Spock could only exhale, his hips rocked against Leonard's, the stroking in counterpoint to their movements. Leonard released his lips and his left hand brought Spock's fingers into his mouth. The wet, suction of Leonard's mouth, of his tongue against Spock's calluses, intensified his arousal, his body hotter by each swipe of his tongue.

Spock recalled the taste of Leonard's emotions, of his sweet, answering pleasure to Spock's arousal, of triumph and his searing want and love of him, helped to fill the emptiness lacking in this dream world. Spock's mind readily filled in the gaps with the flashes of past emotions; the memories melted and became part of this new reality.

As the emotions swirled in Spock's mind, the dream shifted, felt and became imperceptibly more real. Leonard's groan vibrated against his fingers, cascaded down his body, drew out a shiver. His mental voice floated inside Spock, (need you, want you, love you like this...oh darlin'), fed into Spock's own calling need. Leonard's fingers dipped inside his slit, teased the slowly rising head of Spock's cock.

Leonard's name became a frantic chant, spilled out of his lips, as they increased the pace of their hips. Spock's fingers found freedom from Leonard's mouth, his own name an answering prayer in his ears.

"Spock," he gasped, his breath in staggered pants.

Leonard's cock was especially hard, slid against the cleft of Spock's ass.

It was difficult to speak but through his sheer will power, Spock spoke.

"You are aroused, Leonard. Do you wish for my touch?"

Leonard's mouth sucked on the point of Spock's ear, listened to Spock's moan, before he responded. "Not right now, Spock. I wanna see you come, wanna see you undone like this."

Images of his cock in Leonard's hand, glistening and hard, of Leonard's want, of seeing Spock letting loose on the bridge, drove his desire; the rest of the characters faded away. When his cock parted his slit open, Leonard keened his praises, "That's it darlin'," and closed his hand around him.

The fingers teased the ridges, brushed against the head. As it slipped further out, so did Leonard's hand; his fingers rubbed down his length, over the veins. Soon he reached the base of his fully erect cock, his grip grew tighter and ascended up, then down again. Faster and faster his movements became, his cock slapped his stomach, the head leaked.

"Look at you, Spock. You're so hard and wet for me," he commented, prompted Spock to look down, "Bet you wish I was inside of you, huh, instead of rutting against this fine ass of yours?"

Leonard thrust faster, caught up with the fast rhythm of his hand. "My cock would feel so good inside of you, your tight ass taking me in."

"Yes," Spock confessed, audibly panted now, "...It would."

Only their breaths, their panting and moaning, the slick sound of Leonard's hands pumping his length echoed around them; the quick, friction of Leonard's pants on his ass a hot burn against his skin.

"Wanna feel you clench around me, especially when you come. God, when you come, your ass feels so good, so, so tight..."

Leonard's body stilled, his free hand frantically unfastened his pants to slip his cock out, red and weeping precome at the head. He pressed it in the groove of Spock's ass and resumed his thrusts.

"I'm so hard, Spock. Your skin touchin' mine feels so good."

Then his cock slipped, glided down past Spock's anus, his perineum, until it touched the underside of Spock's dick. His left arm snaked around Spock's body, his left hand surrounded the base of his cock, stroked both their dicks as his right hand continued its up and down motion. Spock's own hands braced against the console, used it to push his hips into Leonard's knowing hands.

This arrangement was infinitely better, the friction better, the smack of Leonard's balls punctuating their momentum. Spock's imaginings caught up in his mind, supplied Leonard's mental voice again.

That's it, darlin'...Everyone knows how much you want it, how much you need it, need me, how much I need you, so much.

Their display must have had looked so wanton, not caring about the exhibition of their bodies. Spock was beyond caring, needed to feel Leonard encompass him.

"That's right baby, want you to come apart in my hands. You want that so much, huh?"

"Yes," Spock said in a dragged breath. Leonard's fists pumped faster and faster.

"Then come for me, Spock. Come for me."

With the brutal pace of Leonard's skillful hands, his emotions a wash of love, lust, need, want fueling his intense arousal, he felt the growing sensation drawing up through his cock; Leonard's fingers were in a frenzy, quicker and faster until Spock's heart pounded madly in a dash. His body arched, then his release shot through Leonard's hands; the landscape became white and bright around them.


When Spock donned the skant the next morning, Leonard caught his wayward blush, eyebrow raised but said nothing at all. If Spock pulled the hem of the skant down a little too hard as he walked his way to the bridge, Leonard did not need to know.