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Spock woke to the sensation of warmth across his stomach. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with this, seeing as though he was used to Jim's arm pulling him in by the waist night after night. But this was different.
He opened his eyes, blinking away sleep.
"Hey," came his bondmate's gentle voice.
Ah, so that's what it was.
Spock realised Jim was laying half on top of him, his arms folded across Spock's torso, chin propped up on his hands. He pressed a kiss onto the hair that dusted the Vulcan’s torso.
"Happy birthday," the human smiled, looking back up.
Spock hummed softly, still a little too tired to speak. Finally he managed to mumble, "Vulcans do not celebrate 'birthdays'."
Jim grinned as if he knew that was what Spock would say, which he probably did. He dipped his head down and placed a kiss just above Spock's navel.
"Well, since you married a human," he began. "Maybe I can show you how to celebrate it the human way?"
Spock raised a brow, eyes still half closed. "I am well aware of human traditions, Jim. I saw countless birthdays celebrated at the academy."
Something changed in the Captain's smile. Something Spock had long since come to recognise as a signal of sexual desire. It didn't quite make sense why Spock's birthday would lead to an increase in Jim's sex drive, but Spock had also learnt that the human libido was often unpredictable. He remained silent, estimating that it would take approximately 2.94 seconds for Jim to make his suggestion.
Unfortunately, Spock was off by 0.13 seconds, because Jim was early.
"But do you know how married couples celebrate birthdays?" Jim asked, placing another kiss 0.9 centimetres below his last. He looked back up at Spock expectantly.
"I understand that singing and sharing a dessert is not limited to schoolmates," he commented.
Jim huffed out a little laugh. "You're not wrong, babe. But there's a little more to it."
"Oh?"
"Since it's your birthday, and we're lucky enough to be on shore leave..." Jim let his sentence trail off.
"Am I to understand that you specifically organised the Enterprise's shore leave schedule to align with the anniversary of my birth?" Spock didn't know why, but something about that idea made his heart beat just a little faster.
Jim shrugged, smiling again in a way that answered the question without words.
"As I was saying," the Captain continued, lifting himself up to hover over Spock's body. He allowed one finger to slowly follow Spock's happy trail down to the waistband of his underwear.
"Jim," the Vulcan warned gently. They had engaged in various forms of intercourse the previous night and Spock was unsure if it was a wise idea to start again so early in the morning.
"Since it's your birthday," Jim continued, hooking his finger under the elastic. "You can choose how you want me."
Spock swallowed.
He shifted his hips a little below Jim, suddenly aware that his words and his caresses had resulted in an involuntary physiological response. Spock felt a slight throb in his sheath, a tell-tale sign that it was too late to stop now.
"So?" Jim locked eyes with him. "What do you choose?"
Confronted with the mental catalogue of hundreds of positions, Spock tried to choose. He imagined Jim kneeling between his thighs, his tongue lapping at his sheath. Or Jim on top of him, sliding up and down with his back facing Spock so he could see it all go in. Or even the idea of burying his fingers inside Jim, letting his warmth stimulate the sensitive tips of his fingers.
But out of all these ideas, the one image that repeatedly featured in Spock's mind was the first.
"I... I wish to have your mouth," he said quietly, cheeks heating up.
"Aww, you're blushing, Spock!" Jim rubbed his thumb over one cheek before quickly returning his attention to the Vulcan's underwear. He slid it off and discarded it somewhere to the side of the bed.
Spock sucked in a sharp breath, thighs clenching reflexively.
"Any special requests?" Jim asked, already eyeing the wet green-ish folds.
Spock shook his head. "Perhaps later."
"Sounds good," Jim replied, pushing Spock's thighs apart.
Spock closed his eyes, trying to relax though his abdomen was tense in anticipation. Despite having engaged in oral sex with Jim countless times, there was something so intimate about having his partner's tongue on him. He was about to speculate about the cause of the tension when he felt it.
The light, teasing flick of Jim's tongue against the seam of his sheath.
"Mmm..." Jim said from below. He squeezed Spock's thighs. "Your thighs are tense, babe. Relax for me."
That was easier said than done, seeing how sensitive Spock's sheath could be. Still, he had asked for this because he knew that Jim's abilities with his tongue were divine. Slowly, he let his legs sag down onto the bed, reaching one hand out to stroke his bondmate's hair.
Jim moaned into this touch, returning his tongue to the sheath. This time, he held off on the teasing, instead placing a few broad strokes across the folds, helping Spock get used to the sensation. Finally, when it seemed that all the tension had seeped out of the Vulcan's body, Jim went back to what he was best at: driving Spock insane.
He allowed the tip of his tongue to slip between the folds, making contact with one of Spock's dormant fra'ls. Spock jolted at the sensation, letting out a quiet breath. Meanwhile, he could feel Jim smiling against his skin, curling his tongue upwards in a repeating motion, guiding the fra'l out from inside.
"Jim..."
"Yeah love?" Jim replied, having to remove his tongue to talk.
Annoyed at being brought to life without sustained attention, the fra'l followed Jim's tongue out. Jim provided it his finger to wrap around. Spock's hips dug down into the mattress as he tried to hold back to groan threatening to spill from his lips. The tendril had attached itself to Jim's finger and now Spock could feel every little groove of his bondmate's fingerprint as though they had been branded onto his soul.
Letting his finger entertain the fra’l, Jim returned to the sheath, diving back in. He hummed and sighed against Spock, lips twitching into a smile as he felt the Vulcan shudder. As he kept exploring, his tongue touched the second fra’l, somewhere inside the sheath. This one did not let him get away. It curled itself around Jim’s tongue and attempted to pull him in deeper.
Above him, Spock gasped, back arching. A small whimper escaped from him before he could clamp his mouth shut. Not that that was particularly helpful. Because next was a low groan. Spock couldn’t handle the feeling of Jim’s tongue being squeezed by his fra’l. The texture of every single tastebud brushed against his mind, begging for—
Jim pulled his tongue out, panting. “Gosh, Spock,” he chuckled.
The Vulcan had no words.
“Thought I would suffocate for a second,” the captain joked, going back down.
As soon as he was in position, tongue back amongst the folds, Spock clamped his thighs around Jim’s head, threading both his hands in his messy brown hair, holding him in place. Another high-pitched whine come from somewhere above Jim, but he couldn’t pull back to comment on it. Spock began to roll his hips, seeking friction. His ragged breaths got faster, his sheath secreting more of its natural lubricant.
Jim was fairly certain the sheets beneath them were wet now, and that only aroused him more. Knowing that Spock—his logical, perfectly disciplined husband—was leaking for him, was enough to make him delirious. He shoved his tongue back into the sheath, coming into contact with the second fra’l again and guiding it out. That too joined the first one by claiming another one of Jim’s fingers.
The noises leaving Spock were gorgeous. A quick glance up while he caught his breath told Jim his Vulcan bondmate was lying back, writhing and whimpering. It was nothing like Spock’s usual baritone. This was soft and tender and high-pitched, and with each sound, Spock’s green flush only grew. He was embarrassed.
Jim returned to his original mission, feeling Spock’s grip on him tighten. The slow roll of his hips began again, grinding the sheath against Jim’s face.
“J…Jim…” Spock rasped out.
“Mmm?” Jim replied, still buried inside him.
“You… You have been—*ah—*teasing—” he gasped louder, bucking his hips as the tip of Jim’s tongue made contact with his lok. “Teasing m-me… for…”
“How long, babe?” Jim pulled back only to ask before he returned to coaxing Spock’s lok out.
“Ngh… nine… point eight… m-minutes…”
“Do you even realise how hot it is when you say—”
Just then, the comm panel at the desk chirped.
Immediately, Spock’s grip on Jim went slack, his thighs falling away, hands retreating from his hair. Jim scrambled back, hearing the comm chirp again.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to Spock. He ran to the adjoining en suite to wash his hands, and called out from inside. “I promise I’ll be right back!”
Jim shot him an apologetic look as he rushed to the desk and opened the channel. “Kirk here.”
Uhura’s voice came online. “Captain, I understand we’re on shore leave, but we’ve just received an urgent message from Admiral Komack.”
Jim glanced back at Spock through the gaps between the partition. His husband was lying flat on the bed, eyes shut, brows furrowed. A pang of guilt flared in the captain’s chest. It was Spock’s birthday, and they were docked here at Deep Space K7 for shore leave, and now was when the admiral decided to contact them.
“Put it through, Lieutenant.”
He quickly shrugged on his uniform shirt and patted his hair down, waiting for the admiral to come on screen.
Meanwhile, Spock was lying down on top of the sheets, his breath still recovering, his sheath still wet. The fortunate part of his half-human biology was that he had the ability to feel sexual arousal outside of pon farr. However, the unfortunate part of being half-Vulcan was that his anatomy was hard-wired to complete the reproductive process once started. And to complete the process, his fra’ls needed to be in contact with his bondmate. What this meant in practice was that once his fra’ls had left his sheath, they would not go back in until he could meld with Jim to reach his climax. Instead, they prowled along the bedsheets, searching for the captain.
Spock could hear the beginning of Jim’s conversation with the admiral, and if he chose to focus his Vulcan hearing, he would have been able to eavesdrop adequately on the conversation. But his mind was clouded, overtaken with the feeling of Jim’s finger and tongue and skin. He felt his sheath release another helpful dose of slickness, just in case Jim came back now.
If he were better acquainted with his own pleasure, he would have attempted to stimulate himself to completion. However, masturbation, as Jim had informed him of the Standard term for the act, was still new to him. He had only tried it once, and that was while Jim was present next to him, talking to him and guiding him, and being there for the final step. He found no need for it since then, because Jim was always present. Besides, his own hands were nothing compared to the touch of his t’hy’la. He heard himself groan, but found he lacked the control to prevent such a display.
The frustration inside him ballooned, likely fuelled by the fra’ls’ pointless search. He shuddered, conceding to the idea of self pleasure. If he could simply alleviate the discomfort until Jim returned, it would suffice.
Spock’s hand drifted down to his sheath, coming into contact with its sticky secretions. One finger pressed up against his entrance, wondering if it should attempt to breach the barrier. Though the sensation it caused could be classified as pleasure, it didn’t feel like it in comparison to Jim’s tongue. His finger slid into his sheath, searching for his lok. If he could just draw it out, he could stroke it to climax. Even his reluctant fra’ls gave up their search for Jim and joined his fingers in trying to pull out his lok.
It could have been ten minutes or two hours. Spock had lost his ability to keep a precise record of time somewhere between his fourth and fifth attempts to extend his lok. No amount of stroking his sheath or touching his fra’ls, or trying to pull it from the inside was working. He was vaguely aware that he was whimpering, and his vision was blurry with water. Somewhere in the distance, Jim’s conversation with the admiral continued.
And Spock’s sheath got wetter, but his lok remained inside.
At some point, Spock’s ears picked up on Jim’s voice saying “goodbye”. Immediately, his heart began to pump blood faster all around his body, sending that green flush back up to his cheeks.
Jim appeared around the partition, hazel eyes soft with apology.
“Oh Spock,” he whispered, sitting on the bed. He pushed up his husband’s fringe and placed a kiss on his forehead. Spock could feel a warm tear leave his eye. He needed Jim, and he needed him now.
Spock shifted uncomfortably with another whine, and Jim received the message loud and clear. Returning to his place between his legs, Jim gasped.
“Oh baby, you’re so wet,” he said, remorse evident in his tone. “I’m so sorry for leaving you like this. I’m so so sorry.”
Spock raised his hips, silently begging Jim to begin—his mind so hazy he could barely think a single thought.
The moment Jim’s warm, wet tongue came into contact with the folds of his sheath, both his fra’ls pounced on it. The sensation radiated from his core throughout the rest of his body, making him tremble. Jim hooked his arms around Spock’s thighs, pulling him in closer.
Another loud moan left the Vulcan’s lips, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“Good boy,” Jim whispered, his breath brushing against Spock’s sheath. “Just lie back and let me take care of you.”
Spock did as he was told, his fingers once again finding their way to Jim’s hair. He lost track of the sounds he was making, letting his body do as it pleased. His hips rolled to meet Jim’s tongue, rubbing and spreading his wetness all over the captain’s face.
Suddenly, Jim’s tongue met his lok again.
Spock heard himself cry out—loudly—followed by pulling Jim in so close he wasn’t sure if his bondmate could even breathe. Jim’s grip on his thighs tightened and he lapped at the tip of the lok, drawing it forward.
As Jim slowly pulled his tongue back, the lok extended. Spock could feel it approaching the opening of the sheath. Finally, with its tip bared to the air, it emerged from the folds, thin and wet and hard. Jim wrapped his lips around it, taking it in his mouth all the way to the base. He slurped up the excess slick coating it, lifting his head briefly to check on Spock.
Seeing his bondmate looking up at him from between his legs, lips wet and swollen and parted, his own wetness dribbling down his chin, Spock felt his lok throb. Those sparkling hazel eyes pierced him and he let his head fall back onto the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.
“God, Spock…” Jim said, wiping his wet chin onto his sleeve. He would have to clean his shirt later. “You taste so good.”
The Vulcan remained quiet, the only sound being his breathing.
“Do you want me to suck your lok till you finish?”
Spock shook his head. Though he couldn’t find the words to articulate why, he knew that after all this anticipation, he needed something that would bring him a stronger climax.
Jim tilted his head to the side, waiting for Spock to tell him what he wanted.
Still unable to speak, Spock reached out with trembling hands, silently asking to meld with Jim. The human leaned forward a soft smile on his face, allowing him to initiate it. Moments later, Jim’s mind was flooded with images of Spock shaking and arching off the bed, whimpering from the overload of sensation. Spock tried to redirect the images to something more helpful.
Eventually, Jim saw something.
He saw an imagined fantasy of himself with his fingers in Spock’s ass, mouth filled with the two fra’ls.
“Is that what you want, love?” Jim asked, reaching out to brush some hair out of Spock’s face. The Vulcan nodded and pushed his sheath back towards Jim.
The captain chuckled and pressed a kiss to it. As he drew away, a long thread of slick refused to part from him.
“Let me grab the lube,” he said, walking over to the bedside table. “I know you’ve probably made enough to fill a whole bottle, but humour me.”
Spock said nothing, glazed eyes tracking his bondmate across the room and back to where he belonged—between his legs. Jim pushed his thighs back a little, exposing the second hole, just a little bit lower than the sheath. He squeezed some lube onto the hole and began to massage it in, making sure to generously coat his own finger before attempting to breach the threshold. To provide its own approval, Spock’s sheath released some more lubricant.
“Look at how wet you get for me,” he marvelled. “You’re so pretty. Do you know that?”
Letting his finger continue to relax and open Spock’s hole, Jim brought his mouth back to the sheath, burying his face amongst the sticky folds. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the man he loved.
“Mmm… and you smell good too,” he said, pulling back an inch so he could talk. Spock raised his hips to close that gap, a wordless request to shut up and fuck him with his tongue. Jim obliged, flicking his tongue against the dripping lok. Meanwhile, his index finger was up to its first knuckle inside Spock.
The two fra’ls had found their way to smear slick against Jim’s cheeks in their clumsy attempt to establish a mind meld. A string of wetness connected the tip of Spock’s lok to the bedsheets below. Jim’s tongue broke it as he took the first inch of the lok in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it then fixated on the little slit through which Spock would soon ejaculate. The nerve endings at this location sent signals straight back to Spock’s brain informing him that this was a level of pleasure he had not yet felt.
While Spock tried in vain to regulate his breathing, Jim pushed his finger in further, finally reaching the last knuckle. With frustrating gentleness, he began to move it, slowly sliding in and out, giving his husband a chance to get used to the intrusion. But Spock was impatient. He chased after Jim’s finger every time he began to slide back. Eventually, deciding Spock was relaxed enough for a second, Jim also added his middle finger.
The Vulcan sighed, temporarily satiated.
This did not last for long however, because the fra’ls found Jim’s lips, one of them parting them so the other could enter his mouth. Once the first one was in, the second followed. Jim did not protest, allowing Spock to explore his mouth in whatever way he pleased. But he was careful not to close his teeth, knowing it would be immensely painful should either fra’l get caught.
Spock cried out again, thrusting his hips against Jim’s fingers. The captain’s free hand came up to stroke the lok, his thumb running over the sensitive head again and again until Spock felt more warm tears trailing down his temples.
One fra’l had wrapped itself around Jim’s tongue and was currently constricting its bloodflow, while the other roamed in the space beneath the tongue. Jim’s fingers sped up, the slick sounds filling the air, mixing in with Spock’s gasps and whimpers. And the final touch on the lok had Spock in bliss.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Jim thought without expecting a reply. The words echoed in the bond established by the fra’ls. “You can cum for me, Spock.”
The Vulcan sobbed, unable to help himself. Every sensation was amplified to the point where he could barely make sense of which of Jim’s machinations were bringing him which pleasures. The fra’l wrapped around Jim’s tongue tightened its hold, and Jim sped up again.
“Let me see how pretty you are,” came another one of Jim’s thoughts. “Cum for me. Let me taste it.”
The sudden image stolen from Jim’s mind, of Jim licking up Spock’s cum was the final straw. Spock’s muscles spasmed as he was hit with a powerful orgasm, toes curling, vision blurring, pulse throbbing. He cried out. Jets of cum released from his lok, some landing on the bedsheets, some on Spock’s sheath, some on Jim’s clothes, and some on Jim’s hand. His hole clenched around Jim’s fingers, trying to draw them deeper, though truthfully, he was far too sensitive to accept them.
Slowly, his fra’ls slithered out from Jim’s mouth and disappeared back into his sheath, followed by his softening lok. Jim remained silent, hazel eyes fixating on Spock.
“Jim…” the Vulcan finally whispered, voice hoarse.
The captain gently stroked the insides of his thigh. “Yeah?”
“I… thank you…”
Jim kissed the crease between his sheath and his leg, making Spock shiver. “Don’t. I’m still so sorry I had to leave you.”
Spock’s eyes flickered shut. Though he still hadn’t left the bed, he found he was exhausted.
“Komack…”
“What did he want?” Jim anticipated the question his husband was trying to ask. Spock nodded. “He wanted to assign us a mission to escort some diplomats from Tellar Prime. He was briefing me on the whole political situation their facing with one of their colonies fighting for independence.”
The Vulcan’s curiosity sated, he curled up. The cum on the sheets and between his legs could be dealt with shortly. For now, he needed rest. Jim moved to lay beside him, sliding his arm under his body. Spock brought his head to his bondmate’s chest, his hand resting over Jim’s heart.
“You are aroused, Jim,” Spock commented. Though he hadn’t opened his eyes, he knew Jim’s cock was hard.
“Shhh…” Jim raked his fingers through the dishevelled black hair. “Rest for a while. I’ll save it for round two a little later.”
Spock’s lips curved up into a small smile as he settled against Jim properly, waves of consciousness washing away as sleep overtook him. Jim too, lay peacefully satisfied, the taste of his husband’s cum lingering on his tongue. As his eyes flickered closed, the door chime rang.
“For fuck’s sake!” Jim hissed, sitting up. “Does no one understand the meaning of shore leave?”
Spock lifted himself off Jim’s chest reluctantly, still too spent to get up.
“Who is it?” Jim asked the computer to relay the question to the guest, getting out of bed to wash up again and put on some pants.
“It’s me, Christine,” came the reply.
Turning to shoot Spock an exasperated look, Jim found his Vulcan was fast asleep. He walked to the door, sliding it partway open.
“Nurse Chapel,” he greeted through the gap.
She was carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of Vulcan spice tea. Smiling shyly, she spoke. “I brought Mr Spock a birthday present.”
“That’s… very kind of you,” Jim nodded, accepting it without opening the door to its fullest extent. “Mr Spock is occupied at the moment, but I’ll leave it on the table for him and let him know you brought it.”
The nurse’s eyes widened incrementally when she handed the tray over, noticing the wet stains on the captain’s shirt. As soon as the tray was out of her hands, she nodded and scurried away, cheeks red with the knowledge of what she had interrupted.
Jim closed the door and placed the tray on the table near the replicator so he could easily heat it up again, knowing it would make an excellent surprise for Spock to wake to.
“Computer, only allow emergency communications,” he instructed his console.
“Understood,” it replied.
With that he climbed back into bed with his sticky, spent husband, pulling his warm body into his arms. Jim kissed the top of his head.
“Happy birthday, Spock.”