Ragdoll (ragdoll987) wrote,

Time Immemorial - 3/3

Part 2

"Enter," Spock called.

Jim stepped into the Vulcan's quarters slowly, ponderously.  It was times like this that really highlighted for Jim the many benefits of having his rooms right next to Spock's.  In this particular instance, it meant that Jim could quickly make a great escape if the discussion went sideways.  And there was maybe some tactical advantage to the fact that they were actually in a fully private room for the conversation this time.  Although technically private, the labs were still a wide open, echoing space, with experiments running in the background.  Not exactly conducive to intimate conversations, for all they'd made it work, regardless.

Jim wondered abruptly if they'd ever had sex in the labs.  They'd done it in sickbay, after all.

Dammit.  This amnesia crap was for the birds.

"Captain?"  Spock queried, and from the sound of his voice, it wasn't the first time he'd spoken.

"Mr. Spock," Jim said automatically, and stepped forward far enough that the sensor let the door slide shut behind him.

"Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

Jim smiled.  Always polite and to the point.  That was Spock for you.  He'd been remarkably tolerant of the rampant emotionalism Jim had been throwing at him all through the last month.  Jim wondered how his Vulcan friend had managed to weather last year's Christmas, a time of year when emotions always seemed to run high for Humans, joyful or otherwise.  This year's holiday was just a scant few days away at this point; they'd be making more memories soon, and perhaps he'd get to see for himself how Spock managed.  Still, he wished he could remember.

"I wanted to apologize," Jim said, stepping forward and waving a hand questioningly at one of the nearby seats.  Spock tilted his head in invitation.  Jim sat.

"Apologies are illogical," Spock replied.

"Not to me."

Spock eyed him calmly, a port in a storm.

"Very well.  For what did you wish to apologize, Captain?"


"For what did you wish to apologize, Jim?"

"All of it," he said simply, and smiled again when Spock raised one eyebrow in enquiry.  "You've been remarkably sanguine about everything I've been putting you through in the last while.  I appreciate your patience with me.  I'm grateful."  He paused.  "Thank you."

"Thanks are unnecessary and illogical."

"Illogical, perhaps," Jim said.  "But unnecessary?  I don't think so."

The second eyebrow rose to join the first.

"Spock, I need you to tell me what happened the day I broke it off with you," Jim said softly, the anger for once a calm pit in his stomach.  He was quiet and still.  He reminded himself of Spock, in that moment, and it was a good feeling.  He couldn't have hoped to imitate anyone better, anyone calmer, or more intrinsically centered in himself.  "Or if not that day, then the day we last had contact before I ended it.  What happened?  What did you say; what did I say?"

Both eyebrows collapsed to form the smallest hint of a frown, although the Vulcan's face remained otherwise impassive.

"I would prefer not to discuss it," Spock said.

"I think I have a right to know.  Logically, it seems to be something I should be aware of," Jim returned.

Spock considered this a moment.

"As you wish.  Two days and sixteen hours prior to your decision, we met for a late evening meal.  Our primary discussion revolved around four major sub-topics: recent discoveries in the Mutara nebula, an academic paper under peer review with practical applications for constitutional class starships, the merits of classical Human literature, specifically pre-dating the early 1900's, and the enduring spirit of Christmas, including the tenants of the religious doctrine which produced Christmas, and holidays of similar origins which are celebrated by five other species aboard the ship.  We created an applicable timeline and diagram to integrate additional celebrations into the Enterprise social calendar."  He paused here, as if expecting a question, and Jim shrugged helplessly.  Honestly, it sounded like it could have been any other day for them.  They were both eclectic conversationalists by nature.  It was one of the things Jim most enjoyed about talking with Spock.

"We played one game of chess, which you won after fifty-nine moves.  At my initiation, we proceeded to have penetrative intercourse in your quarters." (Jim just about fell over at that.  What a way to phrase it.  Only Spock.)  "We resumed discussion after this encounter.  At 2200 hours, I attempted to retire to meditate, and you issued an invitation to remain.  I declined, as meditation requires materials and space not available in your quarters.  You suggested that rearrangements of quarters could be undertaken which would allow a more equal sharing of the space.  I declined, based on the context of our liaison, which was primarily sexual in nature.  You later provided me with your decision to end sexual congress, and declined to offer an explanation for your decision, and I have since honored your wishes in this regard.  We had been assigned to the Ze'brak mission for eleven-point-six days at that juncture.   Four days later, the Enterprise received word that you had been trapped in the collapsed council chambers.  It was seven-point-two-six hours until the rescue team was able to reach you and transport you to the Enterprise for emergency medical treatment.  The rest I believe you are aware of."

Spock stopped, but Jim momentarily found himself with nothing to say.  It was a brutally efficient summary of a miserable chapter of Jim's life, and it clearly pained Spock severely to speak of it.  He remained coolly impassive, but his rigidity gave him away.  He was frozen again, like a whole ocean of ice had swept him away and left a glacier in its wake.  Jim wondered how badly he'd hurt him.  He thought rather a lot.

He wondered if it came anywhere near how badly he'd hurt himself.

He closed his eyes.

"What did you say, exactly?  Our conversation when you tried to leave at 2200 hours to meditate.  You have an eidetic memory.  Recite it for me."

"To what purpose?" Spock asked, and Jim was sorry to hear the chill in his words, pain disguised as indifference.  "There seems little to gain from such a recitation."

"Paraphrase it for me then.  Please, Spock.  I need to know."

The silence was thick.  Jim opened his eyes to see Spock had turned away from him, fingers pressed in gently at the top of his thighs, meditative, contemplative.  He was unnaturally still.

"Please, Spock."

"I attempted to leave.  You stopped me.  You - " He paused.

"Go on."

"You kissed me.  You requested that I stay.  I said that I could not, that I must meditate for a minimum of six hours before the next shift, and therefore needed to return to my quarters.  You asked that I retrieve my supplies, and noted that I would have room for my meditation mat near the doorway to our shared bathroom facilities.  You stated that you would be willing to raise the temperature in your quarters closer to Vulcan-normal if this would enhance my own comfort while meditating."

Jim belatedly realized that the temperature in Spock's quarters was high; not stiflingly so, but warmer than what a Human who hailed from Iowa might comfortably be used to.  He hadn't noticed when he'd first come in.  He'd been nervous; he still was. He rubbed slick palms down the front of his pants, restless.

"What else?"

"I declined your invitation.  It seemed illogical to move materials from my quarters to yours, as I would undoubtedly need to move them back at an unforeseen point, and there was no logic in this effort given that you would be required to sleep while I engaged in meditation."

"And what did I say to that?"

"You suggested that we make the arrangement more permanent."

"Of course I did," Jim murmured.  "How?  What did I say?"

"You asked whether it would be possible to relocate my belongings to your quarters on a more permanent basis.  You reiterated your offer to have the environmental controls set to a more suitable temperature.  I declined, citing a lack of space and questionable feasibility."

"And I suggested we take down the wall shared between our quarters," Jim said.

"Yes," Spock said, turning to him fully, and Jim caught the edge of surprise in his unchecked movement.  "You did.  How do you know this?  Do you remember?"

"No." But it was a closely guarded desire, and a fond wish of his.  The pretty penny he took out to buff and shine occasionally on those days he was feeling adrift or nostalgic.  A fantasy.  And in that moment, it would have appeared as - surely - the only logical conclusion.  Of course.  "Let me guess - you refused."

"I did."

"What were your reasons?"

And here Spock hesitated, actually paused to reorganize his thoughts, and then simply didn't continue talking.  Jim blinked at him, waiting, but he didn't speak.

"Spock?" he prompted after a moment.

Still, he didn't speak.

"Spock," he repeated, and half-rose, concerned, but Spock raised one hand in a disconcertingly non-Vulcan gesture, a clear signal for 'wait'.  Jim sat, and made himself wait.  Silently.

Some time later, Spock began again.  "I logically informed you that it would be inefficient to remove the wall between our quarters unless there was an enduring justification to do so.  And that replacing the wall on the conclusion of our sexual relationship would be an inefficient use of resources."  There was another long silence, one in which Jim had to forcibly sit on his own hands to prevent himself from moving.  "I recommended that we maintain the wall given the clear lack of deepened sentiment between us.  This sentiment, in combination with sexual compatibility, was the primary combination needed to maintain a pair-bond; as we did not intend to pair-bond, furthering our physical access at the expense of personal privacy was neither efficient, not desirable.  We had proven sexual compatibility, but not sentiment.  Therefore, I requested we maintain separate quarters."

Jim breathed through the pain of it, pulling air in a thin stream through his nose and out through his mouth, until he felt able to speak around the stone lodged in his throat.

"You hadn't developed romantic feelings for me, so you concluded that none could exist.  Our liaison was sexual in nature, and you didn't want to change that," he forced himself to say softly.  It wasn't a surprise, really.  He'd known what he was likely to hear, walking in here.  He'd just - fallen a little bit on the wrong side of hope, was all.  McCoy had opened his eyes to the possibility that there might have been more between him and Spock.  He'd been wrong, but it had raised a tiny kernel of potential that Jim hadn't been able to let go.  Ah, well.  At least he could tell himself he'd tried.

"Incorrect," Spock said.  "And illogical.  My desires, in this case, were secondary to the organic evolution of the relationship.  I sought no change; change was inevitable."

"What?" Jim said, frowning suddenly.

"You misunderstand.  I was not speaking of my sentiment, but yours.  My consideration for you had naturally adjusted to include sentiment as a result of our sexual and amorous liaisons.  It was your sentiment that was unchanged.  This, I can thus conclude, was why you chose to terminate the relationship."

"What?" Jim repeated.

Spock turned to face him fully, his control perfect and brittle beyond words.  "My purpose in approaching you was to learn about sexual desire in order to determine the necessity of physical and sexual attraction to the integrity of a pair-bond relationship.  I had already concluded that an emotional component was necessary to the health of such a relationship.  My relationship with Nyota was aesthetically logical, but sexually incompatible.  When you offered to provide an empirical demonstration of sexual dynamic, I agreed; thus began a sexually compatible, but aesthetically illogical match.  My feelings in this regard adjusted naturally with time; I concluded three months and six days after initiating sexual congress that we were well-matched in all necessary realms.  Sentimentality grew as a natural extension of this.  In contrast, your sentiments for me were clearly unchanged from the time we began the liaison, until its ending.  Your superficial thoughts and feelings showed no evidence of deepened intensity.  I concluded that you had no additional emotional investment in our relationship, and logically declined to change the parameters of it."

Jim closed his eyes.  His heart thumped painfully hard against his ribcage, and he waited for it to quiet.  He had to be calm with this next part.  This was the important part.  It was the only part that mattered.

"No, I don't suppose you would have sensed a change, Spock.  It's hard to fall in love with someone on cue when you've already done so previously."

Spock looked at first puzzled, the ice drifting away, then a blankness stole over him that not even Jim could read.  He waited, stretching his fingers to rest against the material of his pants.  Patience.  He was patience personified.

"You would claim that in the months prior to our arrangement, you developed romantic feelings for me," Spock stated more than asked.  "How do you conclude this was the case?  You have already stated that you do not remember."

Jim closed his eyes, shook his head gently, back and forth, back and forth, and felt everything around him tilt into focus.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I've been in love with you for years."

The silence was a living thing between them.

"I do not understand," Spock said at last.

"Yes, you do.  It's not hard.  I've had a lot of questions over the last month, but never this one.  That I loved you was never in question."

"Incorrect," Spock said, "That appears to be the only question truly in need of an answer.  It is not an answer you chose to provide at any time during our liaison."

"Considering how emotionally unavailable you are, please don't tell me you're surprised by that.  And this is coming from a guy who, according to the ship's CMO, has the emotionally maturity of an Aldebaran sand flea."

"Jim," Spock said, and there was a thick emotional charge in Spock's voice, the quiet tremor of urgency wrapped in control. "This is not a matter for humor.  Please explain."

"I'm in love with you, Spock," he said, quietly. "What is there to explain?  I've known it almost since the beginning.  Since Nero.  Since before Nibiru.  And it was also clear I could never tell you, not with things as they stood; not with Uhura; not with our friendship.  Your sexual inexperience, you coming to me; that was a temptation I had no chance of refusing.  I don't even have to remember how it happened to know that it's true."  He shrugged helplessly.

"You asked me how I knew it was you," Jim said.  "The truth is, there was no one else it could have been, but I still couldn't accept that until I'd almost literally torn my quarters apart looking for proof.  The day you stepped onto this ship as my First Officer, already bound to someone else, I knew there could never be anything but friendship between us.  I put you in a box marked 'never' and filed you away somewhere you couldn't haunt me every single day.  Try to imagine how it must have been for me, describing for you what sex with a man was like while I'd spent two years fantasising about every possible way I could have it with you, knowing I never would?  I've gotten very good at denial over the last few years.  But even I have limits."

Spock was quiet, and Jim waited patiently.

"You propositioned me," Spock said at last, like this immutable fact was the lynchpin of everything that had followed after it.  Maybe it was. "And at no time before, during, or following our liaison did you indicate any emotional attachment greater than that of friendship."

"I'm sure that's true," Jim agreed tiredly.  "That would clearly have been too easy for all involved.  It would have meant being vulnerable; that's hard enough for me, even knowing what I know now.  Before?  Not a chance.  Emotional maturity of a sand flee, remember?  Have pity on me, Spock.  I'm trying to turn over a new leaf."

"I sensed no change in your regard for me."

"Of course you didn't, Spock!" he said, impatient. "That's what I'm trying to tell you!  Nothing changed for me, because I've been pathetically in love with you for more than two years.  Pathetic, broody, writing-names-in-hearts kind of love, okay?  I've forgone sex with men because I couldn't manage to disengage my emotions from you when I was sleeping with them.  Sex isn't love, and from what you've told me, you never gave me an ounce of encouragement that what we had might lead to something further.  Hell, I'm sitting here with you right now, I've practically sacrificed myself on the altar, and you still haven't given me an ounce of encouragement.  I asked you to move in with me and share my quarters, share my life.  You, quite logically given what you knew, told me to fuck off.  So, yeah, I broke it off."  He spread his hands, and noticed absently that they were trembling.  "What else was there to do, really?  Are you going to tell me you would have done differently?"

"Indeed, I would have," Spock said.  Jim bared his teeth in a snarl.  Of course he would have.  Fucking Vulcan.

"Fine. What would you have done then, smartass?"

"I would have accepted you in any form you choose to permit me access," Spock said quietly.  "I did accept you in the form you laid out before me.  I am your friend.  I shall always be so.  That is how you told me it must remain."

Jim took a deep, cleansing breath.

"For two years, I did exactly the same," he said.  "Please don't hold it against me that I could only take so much.  You as much as told me you were using me for sex, Spock."

"I did not say that," Spock objected.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that's what I heard.  I think I get a pass on this one."

Spock seemed to consider the justice of this, all his attention turned inward, and the charge between them was thick and hot.

"I had everything I wanted," Jim said, "and then I was apparently the asshole who dropped the ball and threw it all away.  I'd like to give it another shot." He paused, searching, but Spock was silent.  "Tell me you agree."

And still Spock said nothing.  Jim leaned forward, and let his legs flow like water until he was crouched on his knees on the floor.  He crawled slowly toward where the Vulcan was sitting, his heart a painful drumbeat in his chest.  He locked eyes with Spock, and might have missed the tension that strung him tight if he hadn't been looking for it.  When he was near enough, he boldly laid his hands on the inside of Spock's knees, using his thumb to dig into the muscle, testing.  Spock let him, whipcord strength giving way in the part of his legs, until Jim could rise up, fingertips sliding forward, until they were cradling hips, fitted in a familiar hold as if he'd done so before.  And of course he had.

He settled his mouth on Spock's neck, exhaling a breath up to his chin, then brushed their mouths together.  It was electric.  It was sinful.

"Say yes, Spock," he said, whispering the words into the Vulcan's parted mouth.  He touched his tongue to the bow of his own lips, and then Spock's, an implicit promise.  "Say yes."

"I can deny you nothing," Spock said, and Jim was surprised by the feel of his hands, trailing boldly down Jim's hands and then up his arms, across his chest until one finger slipped between them and into Jim's mouth.  He closed his lips around it, sucking, and felt a fine tremor shiver through the Vulcan. "It is no longer in my power."

Jim levered himself up, slinging one leg over the Vulcan's knees until he was straddling him.  Spock's arms rose as if on automatic to cage him around the hips and pull him closer.

Jim angled and brought their lips together for a sharp and sudden kiss, wet and instantly deep.  Spock tasted of tea, an unknown spice, exotic and foreign and lovely.  Jim cupped his face, rubbed two fingers hard into the bone behind Spock's left ear, felt the jarring shudder of the Vulcan's forearms squeezing tight around him, involuntary and primal.

"I can't remember this.  I don't remember this.  But I'm open to making new memories, if you are," Jim whispered, and nipped him sharply just beneath his jaw, as another shudder shook them both.  Jim gentled him down, licked a line up to where his fingers were pressing rhythmically next to Spock's ear.  Jim could feel the restless movements of Spock's hips, but kept the pace languid and easy.  He laved up the edge, then the pointed tip, and crooked his finger to dig his thumb into the shell of it.

Spock gasped, a hoarse grunt of sound, and slid a hand into Jim's hair to jerk him roughly away.  Jim went, because it was simpler than fighting him.

"Easy, Spock," he said quietly, thumb still pressed firmly while the Vulcan fought with himself.

"You have said that before," The Vulcan murmured, "many times when we first began this."  He rocked his head back, and Jim gave him what he so clearly wanted, massaging thumb and forefinger up the ridge of his ear until he could slip his nails into the hollow and drag sharply downwards.

Spock keened, nearly bucking Jim off.

"You like that," Jim gasped raggedly, and took Spock's mouth again, aching for it, he was aching for it. Spock's cock was a rigid line of heat trapped beneath Jim's ass.  His hands had fallen away to take hold of the desk and chair, both creaking with distressed metal under inhuman strength.  "Can you come, like this?  Did we ever try?"

"Yes," Spock gasped. "Yes."

"To what?" Jim planted a foot on the floor and shoved back hard.

"To everything."

"You're so greedy for it," Jim gasped.  His cock was so hard it hurt, but he was engrossed.  Half of him had almost forgotten he had a stake in this; everything was Spock.  Spock's pleasure was lightning between them, heady and dangerous. "I bet you were like this every time.  I bet I spent all ninety times putting this look on your face.  I bet I made you beg for it."

He put his mouth next to Spock's ear, teeth and tongue and heat.  His left hand dropped behind him, shoving Spock's thigh wide and apart until he could slip a hand between them, feeling the shape of him through the pants, wet through two layers, the tip spongy and softer than Jim's.  Alien.  He cupped him in a hard massage, merciless.

"You look so pretty, so desperate."  He wrenched his fingers through Spock's hair and tilted his head all the way back, pulled him in tight, and bit him.  "So mine."

Spock whimpered and shook hard with release, one hand a bruising brand on Jim's arm, legs bands of iron beneath them.  It went on for a long time.  Jim rode through it, light-headed with triumph and some desperation of his own.  He slipped his tongue up the hollow cavity, back to the tip, and Spock made a hoarse groaning sound, flinching, but didn't pull away.  Jim did it again, and then took pity on him the third time when the chair actually creaked beneath Spock's shiver.

He let the Vulcan go, settling both hands on Spock's chest to feel his heaving breaths.  One slipped underneath his shirt to press over the beat of his heart, thumping solidly in his side.

"Done that before, huh?" Jim said, panting, smiling, wild with unresolved arousal, joyful with it.  "Guess I'll have to step up my game."

"Not," Spock murmured, breath like a bellows in his chest, "quite like that."

"A bit more forceful this time, probably," Jim guessed.  "Not sure I'd have had the guts to jump you like that if it was all really - new.  If I didn't know then what I do now."

"That I love you?" Spock asked, a wealth of contentment in his shining eyes.  They were crinkled in the slightest impression of a smile.

"That you love me," Jim agreed.  "And that you're mine."


Shore leave was extended to pass over Christmas, though unfortunately not the New Year.  The universe waited for no man nor mission, apparently.  Jim was determined to make the time count.  Maybe he didn't remember the first few times (or the first ninety times, whatever), but he was going to remember the next ninety.

With the crew scattered to the four winds (except Scotty, buried in his engines, as usual), Jim and Spock took the opportunity to christen a few more places, fulfill a few more fantasies for both of them.  It turned out they had never actually had sex in the science labs.  That changed.  A good time was had by all.

Christmas Eve was a lively affair.  Jim had tried to arrange a small dinner for the senior staff, which had in turn expanded, and then expanded again, until it seemed basically the entire crew had shown up.  Jim got kissed six times under mistletoe against his protests, and then kissed three more people of his own volition; one time Uhura, on the cheek, and twice McCoy, much to the doctor's disgust.

"Keep your lips to yourself, man!  Who knows where they've been!"

"I know exactly where they've been  - "

"Good God, there's not enough alcohol on the entire Starbase for that discussion.  Go away before I - no - stop that - dammit, Jim!"

None of the people under the mistletoe was Spock, and Jim consoled himself with the fact that, all things behind equal, he could always take some back to his quarters to make up for the lack.  And that's what he did.

He made sure to tell Spock all about it, too.  One thing he'd rapidly discovered, which apparently they had not gotten up to much of in the last six months, was some serious dirty talk, the more forceful the better; it drove Spock right up the wall with need.

Of course, there'd been the one time he'd made Jim pay for all his loose lips by fucking him until he couldn't say a word, and then demanding Jim describe exactly how it felt, to the tiniest detail, until Jim felt like he'd almost talked himself into coming, with Spock's cock just an innocent bystander egging him on.

Needless to say, when he'd finally gotten his breath back, he spent the next hour saying the filthiest things he could think of, and didn't regret the consequences of what followed, not even a little bit.

Consequences were a pretty amazing thing, actually, Jim considered, panting as they stumbled out from their shared bathroom, knocking over something on the bedside table and tumbling down to the bed together.  Spock held Jim up with one hand - wow, his strength was an incredible turn on, really - to reposition them comfortably, before he settled overtop of Jim while they exchanged languid kisses.

Jim tipped his head back to break away, smiling.  "Fuck me?" he asked, unashamed.  He reached over to pat down the bedside table, fumbling for the lubricant.

"Would you be amenable to a role reversal?"

Jim smiled.  "Oh, Spock.  You say the sweetest things.  That works too.  But only if you get off your ass so I can get it ready."

"Such manners," Spock murmured.

"You weren't so worried about that five minutes ago when I had my tongue down your throat," Jim laughed, and stripped off what remaining clothes he had on, a piece at a time.  It was on his to-do list to test out the strip tease, another thing he was sure they'd done in the space of time Jim couldn't remember.  But he was surprisingly okay with that.  In some ways, this time they were actually starting off totally new; rock solid; on the same page.  Better.

"I expect you shall have your tongue in worse places than that before the evening is complete," Spock said dryly.  And Jim considered.

"We've done that, too?  Really?  Why, Mr. Spock, I didn't know you had it in you."  He paused.  "Or, wait.  Maybe it was the other way around.  Did I have it in me?"

Spock turned away without answering and a moment later was laying himself naked on the bed, face-down.

Right.  Rain cheque on that thought.

Jim slipped onto the bed behind him, running a hand down the back of one thigh.  He had surprisingly more hair on his body than Jim would have guessed.  It was soft, almost springy, and downy between his legs.  His balls and cock lay quiescent beneath him, heavy and sated.  They'd had a round in the sonic shower, and both of them had come out pleased.  Jim couldn't resist running the tips of his fingers over the soft length him, loving the lax feel of his satisfaction, hearing Spock's breath hitch before he obligingly crooked one knee up, making space and inviting touch.  Jim slid closer, careful hands gathering up the length of him, a gentle examination.  Spock must have been in some discomfort, was likely sensitive, but he made no objection.  Jim tested the dry tip, scratching faintly across the head.  Spock hitched the other knee up, back arching with a shudder.

"Sorry," Jim hummed, considering.  "I should let you alone, I know, that probably hurts a bit considering you just finished.  You're just so - "

"Pretty," Spock finished, gasping as Jim tapped him in admonishment. "So you have said."

"You're always so desperate for it," Jim said, still exploring.  "It was hardly more than a month that I deprived you, you know.  You must have been a wreck when I cut you off.  How badly do you need it?  Can you tell me?"

Spock breathed deeply, meditatively.  "You have not asked me to articulate these things before.  You are - different, now.  May I ask why?"

"I'm not sure.  I'd guess because I feel more secure, now," Jim said.  "You're mine, and I'm yours.  Those six months were about your fantasies; the groundwork for your needs, and I'm sure I was happy to put them into play for you.  The past couple days has been more about me, my fantasies."  The past couple days had actually been one of his many fantasies.  A closely guarded fantasy.  But it felt too telling, too much like tempting fate, to admit that out loud.  He leaned down, breathing in deeply the scent of recently cleaned skin and the ever-present spice Spock just seemed to emanate from his pores.  It was intoxicating.

"I'd really like to get you off again," he said, contemplative.  The Vulcan had a cock very similar to a Human's; he rubbed the dry tip of his thumb over the bundle of nerves clustered just underneath the head.  Another shiver.  Spock was remarkably sensitive, and even more remarkably aroused by the slightest touch.  It's not the way Jim would have pictured this, not how it always appeared in his old fantasies.  It was so much better. "Maybe I'd like to get you off more than once.  May I?"

Spock gasped, and Jim looked up from his work to see both his hands threaded into the sheets on either side of his head.  "I can deny you nothing," Spock intoned, like a mantra.

"Oh, good," Jim said, then slid forward to take the spongy head of his lovely cock into his mouth.  He sucked softly for a few moments before pulling off with a pop that made Shock grunt, shaking.  "Arch a bit, put your chest down and your ass up - yeah, like that."  Positioned more neatly, Jim slipped underneath him, put both hands on the cheeks of his ass, and pulled him down.  Spock made a wretched moaning sound above him and twitched hard.  Jim ran his tongue over the tip of him, taking in the flavor, teased at the slit, then slid down with a touch of teeth until he was as far as he could go.  He bobbed once, then squeezed with his hands, pulled back, and did it again.  Spock picked up the rhythm and began a slow grind and thrust, occasionally interrupted by an all-over shudder as Jim hit a particularly sensitive spot.  He actually hit the wall with the hollow thump of a closed fist when Jim trailed one hand down to circle his balls, taking the weight of them in one palm.  Jim had always thrived on driving his lovers mad for it, mad for him.  There was something very powerful in giving another person such overwhelming pleasure.  And he ached to do that for Spock repeatedly, and often.

The angle was shit - great for fun, less so for a sustained face-fucking - so Jim didn't get a chance to finish Spock that way.  He spent a long time at it, getting him good and hard and desperate for it again, then urged Spock to his side, tipping him over until Jim could pillow his cheek on a thigh, and tucked himself closer to lick and suck at the balls while his hand slid up to his shaft, slick with saliva, to wrap with rough calluses around the entire length.  Spock froze, probably still a bit sore, and Jim stripped him hard and fast, without mercy, taking special care to angle his wrist so the heel of his hand slid hard over the ridge.  One leg came down instinctively at the intensity, and Jim shoved it away, holding him open at the knee.  Spock seemed to approach the edge like a train wreck, fast and ragged and broken, and then didn't tip over for a long time.  Jim rolled his eyes up to see the Vulcan's face locked in a rictus of need, teeth sunk hard into his lip.  He'd buried one side of his face in his arm, and with the other had actually torn holes in the bed linens.  Jim reared up and took him back in his mouth, swallowing him down, and hummed loudly around him.

Spock came with a shout, hoarse and wild, and kneed Jim in the chest accidentally, the strength of him a breathtaking thing as he broke Jim's grasp.  Jim oomph'd from the force of it, but thankfully didn't bite down, and suckled at him until Spock broke away with a tremor, pulling back sharply.

Jim rested his head back down on Spock's thigh, and found that now he was the one trembling.

"Sorry, I know I'm being a bit intense," Jim whispered, biting back the pinprick needles of desire gouging at his insides.  "I just need you so badly."

"There is no - " Spock broke off, still trembling, and it was at least a minute before Jim heard him get his breath back, control sliding into place like a single pane of glass holding back a storm. "There is no need to compete with the memory of our previous liaison.  I do not deny I treasured each encounter.  I will treasure this one, also, and all others that come after it."

Jim laughed, shaky.  Is that what he was doing?  Was he competing with himself?  How strange.  But probably not wrong.  He just wished he could remember.

Jim sat up, rearranging Spock until he was face down again, smoothing out the long lines of his limbs until he was settled in quiet stillness.  Jim reared up and straddled his waist, hunching down until his cock nestled between the cheeks of his ass, rubbing up the centre of him.

"I'd really, really like to fuck you now," Jim told him.  Spock took a breath, hands flattening over the sheets with what was probably part desire and part apprehension at this point - he had to be sore and certainly oversensitive.  Jim should really just count himself lucky and jerk himself off now, or ask Spock to use his mouth - Spock liked those things too.  Spock seemed to like everything Jim said and did.  He was unbelievably responsive, and it was incredibly potent to be the instrument of his arousal and to have a hand (and sometimes a mouth, or an ass) in slaking his needs.  He was always greedy for it.

And Jim was greedy too.

He slid one hand between his cock and Spock, tickling at his entrance with a dry forefinger.  "May I?"

Spock slid apart his legs, as always obliging.

Jim rewarded him by pressing in his fingertip, dry, before he went for the lube, and slicked two wet fingers into him without warning.  Spock clenched hard around him, and Jim could feel the heat and strength of him, and it was erotic beyond words.  He stretched him quickly but thoroughly, scissoring, and slipped in a third just because he knew it drove Spock crazy.  The first time they'd done this - well, as far as Jim could remember - two days ago, he'd spent twenty-six minutes with his fingers up Spock's ass, just working him open until he was wet and swollen and practically rutting against the air for it, and then he'd slid home and hadn't even had to touch Spock before they'd both ended up making a mess of the sheets in short order.

Now, he was too desperate himself to take his time with it, and he pushed into him in stuttering bursts, sweating dripping in ticklish rivulets down his face, listening to the sound of Spock's pleasure, so sharp it was almost pain.  He fucked into him hard, and felt a little badly for it, as Spock shuddered, joyfully enduring.  Jim shoved him forward until he was chest down again, hips arched back, and lasted two minutes against Spock's ragged gasps, the almost keen he let loose when Jim's hand slipped accidentally on his hip and skipped overtop of his soft, wet cock, the shout when Jim deliberately wrapped a teasing, testing hand around him and then mercifully let him go, rocking the bed with his thrusts until he came moments later, laying his head on Spock's back, shaking the both of them with the power of it.

"Mine," he gasped, panting, panting.  There was a whisper of intent behind him, the quiet reminder that this was not the first time he'd said these words.  No, not said them.  Wanted to say them.  Held back from saying them.

Mine. You're mine.  Why can't you be mine.

But Spock could, and was, and is, and will be.

"As you are mine," Spock whispered beneath him.



Jim opened his eyes on Christmas morning, and stared at Spock's face, well-loved and well-known; adored beyond all others.  Familiar.  It was a face he'd spent hours and days and months memorizing, and every minute spent doing it was worthwhile.  He'd seen and worshiped those eyes, those ears, the sweep of his eyebrows curving up, the soft touch of his skin, his scent and his taste, the small scar at his chin, the touch of his mouth, soft in repose and hungry in passion.  Sometimes both at once.

He touched a finger to Spock's face, the sharp of a cheekbone, the blade of his nose, all angles and lines.  Beautiful.  And he'd almost let him go.  There was something ethereal and right in seeing him this morning, like everything had come round to its proper end.  Jim couldn't say if he should call his amnesia a curse, or a blessing in disguise.  He might never have had the courage to reach out for what he'd wanted, if he hadn't forgotten he'd already had it and lost it.  People said Vulcans were the ones that didn't understand emotions, but Jim knew that in this, Spock was his centre, his balance.  He'd had strength with Jim's had failed them, he'd laid himself open when Jim had closed off.  He hadn't been bitter, though another man might have.  He hadn't been angry, even when anger was all Jim had to give him.  The universe had seen fit to give Jim a second chance, and it was a gift beyond measure.

He'd made a friend when he'd have preferred a lover, and then a lover of his friend.  He'd paid a price for his happiness, a pittance of anguish weighed against joy.  He was happy.  It might be called a miracle; Jim knew a few who'd name it so.  There was a touch of the otherworldly in how they'd come together, the runaway train of their journey.  There was magic in the turn of this New Year; he felt like they'd been scoured clean with their trial, and then remade whole, poised for a new beginning.

Spock was an extraordinary experience.  Indelible.  Etched into Jim's very soul.  Incredible.  And unforgettable.

Jim would know.

Tags: fanfic, k/s advent, star trek, time immemorial

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  • Moving Fanworks

    This is an old journal, and an old place for stories, but nonetheless! :-) Since Livejournal has basically gone the way of the dodo, just wanted to…

  • Time Immemorial - 2/3

    Part 1 They left the Ze'brak system two days later with orders to proceed to Starbase 16. In those two days, Jim set a task for himself to…

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