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Spock’s human mother would sometimes use the phrase, ‘once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern’. Spock feels his hipbones grinding into the unyielding stone he is lying across, his cheek and stomach rubbing against the rough surface as he is thrust forward and back. With Jim’s cock firmly sliding into his ass, he wonders, ‘Does that make five times a habit? ’
The first time is a surprise to both of them. Spock looks at Jim, where he stands in the late morning light of Privi-Omega's sun. Jim's forehead is glistening with sweat and his chest is heaving as he breathes deeply from their climb up the mountain. The rosy light falls on golden brown hair with glints of silver, catches on tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His 45-year-old body doesn't tackle the terrain as easily as it might have ten years ago, but he stands tall and proud, shoulders back, hands on hips, surveying the valley that falls before their ledge on the mountain like a king surveying his kingdom. Spock feels the illogical desire to kneel before this golden man and worship.
Quite uncharacteristically, he does just that.
Spock drops to his knees in front of Jim, small stones biting at his knees through his black uniform pants, the slight pain and discomfort a fitting sacrifice to his bold and beloved Captain. Jim looks down at him, startled.
“Spock, are you alright? Did the climb get to you?”
“I am fine, Captain,” Spock says as he leans in and slowly rubs his cheek against the front of Jim's pants, the barest hint of his stubble catching on the black fabric.
Jim hastily looks around them, ensuring they are alone, an unnecessary reaction since they left the rest of the away team behind more than an hour ago, with instructions to scatter in every cardinal direction. They are perfectly alone, and Spock is feeling worshipful and bold.
“Captain,” Spock says, bringing a hand up to explore Jim's still soft penis through the thin fabric of his black uniform pants, “will you permit me to…”
Jim is incredulous. “Here? Now?”
It is not enthusiastic consent, but it is also not ‘no’.
Spock opens Jim’s pants and carefully brings out the penis that is now starting to show interest. He rubs his cheek against it and breathes in the thick musk of his husband’s pheromones and sweat from the morning exertions. The smell of Jim always affects his body, inciting both a feeling of safety and a rush of arousal.
“Are you feeling alright, Spock? Is this a sex pollen thing?” he asks, reaching for the communicator clipped to his side.
Spock runs his nose from the short hairs covering Jim’s mons pubis to the tip of his glans and breathes deeply again before answering. “This is not a ‘sex pollen thing’, Jim. I find I am merely quite…aroused.”
“But—we’re on duty. You’re never aroused when we’re on duty.”
“On the contrary, Captain. I am often aroused while on duty, I merely permit myself no outward signs or signals to distract you.”
Jim’s mouth drops open. “We have been married for ten years and we’ve never once snuck away from a banquet, found a closet somewhere during a shift, or even left the bridge early for a private debriefing in our quarters. And you’re telling me you’ve been horny the whole time and you’ve kept it from me?” Jim says, somewhat indignantly.
“‘The whole time’ is a gross exaggeration. And I kept the information from you to avoid temptation. I would never risk besmirching your command in that way, Captain. We are typically surrounded by inquisitive eyes. But as you can see, we are quite alone here,” Spock says, looking up and appreciating the flush of Jim’s cheeks, the start of a beautiful smile on his face.
“So we are, Mr. Spock, so we are,” Jim says thoughtfully. A moment later, he widens his stance for stability and lightly rests his hands on the top of Spock’s head. “You may—ahem—proceed.”
Permission granted, Spock lowers Jim’s pants down his hips and past his generous ass until they catch on the widened spread of his thighs. He runs his sensitive palms over the soft hair and muscular planes of his thighs and moves his head to place kisses along the crease of one hip.
Jim’s leg jerks slightly and he lets out a huff. “Sorry, ticklish,” he says.
Spock looks up to find Jim gazing down at him, eyes sparkling and a soft smile on his lips.
“I love you, Spock, I really—” Jim cuts himself off with a groan when Spock takes his semi-erect penis into his mouth and sucks.
Spock always enjoys taking Jim into his mouth before he is fully hard. Enjoys tonguing the soft flesh, rolling such a sensitive and private part of Jim inside his mouth, feeling him against his cheeks, his tongue, the palate of his mouth. There is a raw intimacy in being entrusted with his lover's fragile and defenseless body. And then to be made defenseless and fragile himself when Jim’s cock turns hard and heavy and fills his mouth.
Saliva begins to pool in Spock’s mouth as he feels Jim’s penis rapidly grow to full erection, forcing its way to the back of his throat. He suppresses a shiver when he feels Jim’s hands slide to his ears, tracing the sensitive tips. His sheath has been secreting lubricant since he first dropped to his knees, but the feel of Jim’s cock in his mouth and his fingers on his ears and his strong thighs quivering beneath his fingertips has Spock’s lok everting with a small rush of fluid.
With a moan, Spock pulls away, fumbling to get his own pants down far enough that he can take his lok in hand. A breeze drifts across their ledge and Spock watches the goosebumps spread across Jim’s thighs, his cock twitching and bobbing when the air hits the saliva liberally coating it. It is a gorgeous sight, and Spock takes a moment to stare while he grasps his lok and runs his hand up and down the hard, slim length. Spock looks up and moans at the sight of Jim staring down at him, watching him touch himself. He shudders at the feel of his slick lok caressing his own palm and sensitive fingers.
“Spock,” Jim says, hitching his hips forward in a silent request for attention.
Spock leans forward to take Jim’s hot cock into his mouth again, pressing forward until he feels the smooth glans hit the back of his mouth. He breathes deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with Jim’s scent, while his tongue explores the textures of the cock filling his mouth. Spock wants more of Jim, more connection to his bondmate, and with a needy whine, he lowers the gossamer-thin walls that he always keeps up between their minds.
Spock and Jim both groan as the sensations that were theirs alone are now shared. Spock revels in his own pleasure, but he is wont to drown in the feel of Jim’s. Jim feels so deeply, so sharply, so much, and the bone-deep delight of having his cock lovingly sucked suffuses over Spock.
He sucks hard at Jim’s cock, letting Jim hold his head steady with a strong grip in his hair and thrust into his mouth while Spock strokes himself. His dark head and back are hot from the twin suns behind him, a breeze feels cool where it gently caresses his wet lok and the lips of his sheath, and the sharp stones dig into his knees where he kneels on the ground, worshiping his captain, his husband, his bondmate.
Spock revels in the telltale tightness in his body, the glittering feel of Jim’s pleasure through the bond, and he knows they will reach orgasm quickly. He attempts to draw out the pleasure by focusing on the biting pain in his knees, the heat in his back, and finds that instead of slowing his progress toward completion, they hasten it. His body’s sensory systems begin to overload, confusing the tiny stabs in his knees with a biting pleasure, the heat in his back with the glow that suffuses his body when his body reaches orgasm.
Above him, Jim warns, “Spock, I’m close.” Spock hollows out his cheeks with suction on Jim’s cock, tightens his grip on his own lok, and together, they both tumble over the edge and come apart, an avalanche of pleasure that echoes through their bond, leaving Jim gasping and Spock moaning around Jim’s cock as he tries to swallow every drop.
When they have wrung the last bits of pleasure out of each other and out of their bond, Jim is standing on shaking legs and Spock rests his forehead against his clammy stomach. Jim runs his fingers through Spock’s hair, moving it into some semblance of order, and Spock looks up to find Jim beaming at him beatifically.
Now that Spock is no longer being inundated with pleasure, he is no longer able to ignore the sharp stones stabbing his knees, and he shifts his weight back to his toes before gracefully rising. Jim produces a cloth and a canister of water from the pack that he somehow never took off during their relations, and both men occupy themselves with tidying up in companionable silence.
“Well, that was, to borrow a phrase, fascinating,” Jim says, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk firmly on his face.
Spock can feel his face start to heat and he spares a moment to control his features. “Indeed,” he says, “most enlightening.”
“Alright, Mr. Spock, let’s continue on our investigation. See what other fascinating phenomena we might come across.”
Spock takes a moment to finish brushing off his knees, noting with an illogical satisfaction that they still sting a bit from his time kneeling before his captain, a small souvenir from what will likely be a singular occurrence.
It is not a singular occurrence.
The second time it happens, it is entirely logical and highly necessary. Due to a series of sensitive experiments, excessively needy and dramatic diplomatic passengers, and a scientific away mission, Spock and Jim have barely been alone together for nearly three weeks. A fact that Spock finds is less than ideal.
So when Jim volunteers to stay and oversee the transport of the many, many crystal samples gathered during the science department's productive week-long away mission on Mobius 10, Spock volunteers to stay with him. They send the science team back to get started on the analysis, and the security team back to assist with unloading the transporter room and carrying crates to the science department. As a result, they are left entirely alone on the planet. And they have been enthusiastically enjoying one another’s company for the last 13.6 minutes.
With a gasp, Spock pulls his mouth away from Jim’s full lips to speak. “Jim,” he says in a low voice, running his hands up and down his husband’s back and then down to grasp the swell of his generous ass. “Are you aware that we have not engaged in sexual relations in the last 20.63 days?”
“While I don’t have your rather impressive memory, there are parts of me that are very, very aware that it has been much too long,” Jim says, rocking his hard erection into Spock’s own in evidence. “But I don’t exactly see a bed around and it won’t take very long for them to beam all these crates aboard.”
“The transporter and security teams are clearing the crates at a rate of 4.6 minutes per designated grouping. As there are still six groupings remaining, and accounting for variables such as weight and number of crates, I anticipate we have 26.9 minutes before we are called for our own transfer. Also, we do not require a bed for coitus.”
Jim’s answering grin nearly takes Spock’s breath away.
“Well, then, what do you propose?” Jim asks.
Spock lets go of Jim and steps out of his embrace before crossing the clearing scattered with crates. The floor of the clearing is the same crystalline substance that so interests the science team, and circling all around the clearing are a species of plant-like organisms that bear a resemblance to Terran bamboo—if Terran bamboo were roughly one meter in diameter and reached heights of more than 100 meters. The organisms, being relatively slender in ratio to height, bend and sway at the top. The bases are sturdy, however, covered in a rough pink bark-like surface.
Spock approaches one of the tall stalks and braces his hands against it, bending over slightly at the waist. Over his shoulder, he says, “I will support my body weight like so, and you will enter me from behind.”
Jim rubs one hand over his mouth as his eyes light with arousal and affection and amusement in equal measure. “An excellent plan, Mr. Spock. I hope I can execute it to your liking.”
Jim stalks over to Spock, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Alright, Commander. Keep your hands on the tree. That’s an order.”
Spock turns to face the stalk, his hands flexing against the rough surface. “Captain, this alien organism is not of Terran origin and thus cannot be classified under the Plantae kingdom as a ‘tree’. You may refer to it as a tree-like organism.”
Jim huffs a laugh as he slides his mouth up the side of Spock’s neck and smoothes one hand down his back to trail along the crease of his ass. “Ah, yes. I’m always forgetting about proper classification. How kind of you to remind me.” His hand travels lower, pushing between Spock’s thighs to palm his pubic mound.
“Mmmmm. I’ve missed this,” Jim says, rubbing the heel of his hand against the lips of Spock’s sheath through pants that are noticeably damp with arousal.
“Our bodies are acclimated to sexual congress an average of 3.78 times weekly. Logically, they react negatively in the absence of sexual stimuli.” Spock’s voice has deepened to the deep rasp that always accompanies his arousal.
Jim hums distractedly. “It’s not just ‘sexual stimuli’ I’ve missed. I’ve missed you, too,” he says as he moves behind Spock and grips his hips to pull him back against the bulge of his erection.
Spock is forced to dig his fingers into the surface of the stalk to keep his place. He feels Jim's hands tight on his hips, the press of a hard cock between his ass cheeks, the tension in his own hands, the roughness of the stalk against his sensitive fingertips. He feels his lok, pulsing within his sheath but trapped by the pull of his pants in this position. He feels the wetness between his thighs and the bond between them as it begins to stretch toward the sun of their arousal.
“Indeed. Our bond benefits from regular stimulation and fortification. I have also regretted your absence,” Spock says, holding his arms stiff and grinding back against Jim as much as he is able.
“Hmmmm. That feels good.” Jim gives a happy wriggle to his hips. “Even I’ve been able to tell the bond has been a little…wilty these days. Needs more attention.”
Jim seems perfectly content to continue thrusting against Spock’s still clothed-ass until they are beamed back up. The pressure against the sensitive lips of his sheath and the tip of his lok, so valiantly attempting to evert, unfurls tendrils of pleasure inside him. But he wants more.
“Jim, we now have approximately 24.6 minutes for coitus, the ‘basking in the afterglow’ that you are so fond of, and tidying ourselves up. I suggest you proceed.”
Jim snorts. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
Jim finally releases his hips to reach around and undo Spock’s pants, shifting them down his taut legs, along with his underwear. Spock shudders as his lok finally has the room to evert in a gush of his own lubricant. Jim’s hands immediately reach between Spock’s legs to pet at the slick lips of his sheath and to push one finger slightly inside, teasing the sensitive skin around the opening.
“Spread your legs for me a bit, Spock, I want to see you.”
Spock’s ankles are trapped within the confines of his clothing, but he bends his knees as much as he can, leaning forward farther to rest his cheek against the surface of the stalk in front of him. The air teases his newly exposed skin and he gently rubs his face against the rough surface of the tree-like organism. Like the previous time they engaged in sexual acts out of doors, the sensory inputs all around him are layering on top of one another and rapidly focusing his attention solely on his own body.
Jim groans as he pushes one finger farther into Spock’s tight sheath, caressing the base of Spock’s lok with his fingertip, rubbing his knuckle around the sensitive inner skin of the lips of his opening. The sheath cannot accommodate anything larger than one of Jim’s fingers, but the touch of that single digit is exquisite—his sheath is tight from his involuntary period of abstinence and his nerve endings unfurl vivid and bright as they awake from dormancy. Jim runs his finger along the inside of the sheath from top to bottom and then up again, and Spock whines, the pleasure a sharp thorn stabbing into him. But it is still not enough. In Spock’s mind, their bond is a bud still closed up tight, and Spock’s body feels empty and needy, aching to be filled.
“I love how wet you get,” Jim says reverently as he slides his finger out of Spock’s sheath, gathering more moisture onto his other fingers and dragging them across his perineum to massage the puckered rim of his opening. Spock lets out a soft sigh and presses his cheek firmly against the rough stalk as one thick finger enters him. Jim presses in up to his second knuckle, slow and careful, before pulling almost all the way out. Spock feels the pressure and the friction against his rim as Jim slowly begins to move his finger in and out. And it is still not enough.
“Jim,” Spock moans. “More.”
Behind him, Spock can hear Jim opening the closure of his pants. He glances over his shoulder. Jim is standing with his legs spread, one hand grasping his hard cock, his eyes glued to his other hand where one finger moves in and out of Spock’s ass. Jim licks his lips before his eyes dart up to meet Spock’s, holding his gaze as he pushes a second slick finger into his opening.
Spock’s eyes flutter closed at the feel of the stretch, the fullness. Jim’s fingers push deeper inside him, and Spock lets out a low groan when they unerringly find his prostate and begin to massage. Pleasure takes root deep within him, and Spock senses their bond begin to unfurl, wanting to open to its full potential. When Jim pulls his fingers out slightly and begins to scissor them, stretching Spock in earnest now, Spock digs his fingers into the rough stalk, breathes deeply, luxuriates in the stretch, the pleasure of Jim’s fingers caressing his inner channel.
“Jim, I’m sufficiently prepared. Please enter me now,” Spock says breathlessly, eyes closed as he focuses on the sensations in his body.
Jim releases his cock to gather up more lubricant from Spock’s sheath with his clean hand. He groans as he uses the lubricant to slick his cock and line himself up at Spock’s hole. Jim slowly draws his fingers from Spock’s body, leaving him empty for several interminably long seconds before his hot cock pushes inside.
“Jesus, Spock. You're so tight.”
Spock grinds back against Jim and groans out, “I do not know why that should surprise you. After the inordinate amount of time you took in foreplay and preparation, it has now been 20.64 days since we last engaged in this activity.”
Millimeter by millimeter, Jim slowly pushes forward, stretching and filling Spock with his hot cock. And then, with a groan, Jim is seated fully within him. Jim’s fingers are hot where they dig into the skin at his hips and he holds still, waiting, enjoying the pull and heat at his hole. Until, with a shuddering breath, Jim starts to move. He pulls almost all the way out and the drag of his hot cock against Spock's sensitive rim radiates pleasure through him. With a groan, Jim sinks back in, moving forward until his hips press firmly against Spock’s ass. As Jim finds a rhythm and begins to fuck into him in earnest, Spock shifts his stance, tilting his hips, until—there. On his next thrust forward, Jim’s hard cock ploughs hard against Spock’s prostate, and Spock’s body feels split open and turned over, dark and damp.
With each hard thrust, Spock stretches higher and higher toward his orgasm, but it is still as out of reach as the suns above them. Spock reaches one hand down, desperate to provide some friction to his aching lok.
“Bup-bup-bup. Hands on the tree-like organism,” Jim pants between thrusts. “I want to see you come just like this.”
With a groan, Spock moves his hand back to the stalk. He leans forward and now his cheek and both hands move roughly against the bark-like surface with every quick thrust of Jim’s hips. The feel of Jim’s thick cock moving through his tight channel sends pleasure spiraling up through his body, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough.
“Are you close, Spock? Tell me you’re close,” Jim pants, and Spock can tell by the stuttering rhythm of his hips that Jim is beginning to chase his own orgasm.
Perhaps sensing Spock’s frustration through the bond, Jim shifts the hands that are holding Spock’s hips slightly so that both his thumbs rest over Spock’s chenesi located at the small of his back. He pushes. Hard. And Spock shudders at the vines of pleasure that grip him tight. He reaches out to their bond, pouring sensation onto it, shoving Jim over the edge of an orgasm, and falling after him.
Spock’s entire body clenches up as his orgasm bursts into full bloom and Jim groans, his hips grinding into Spock as he spurts his hot seed into his channel, shoving Spock roughly into the stalk he is using for support. Spock can feel the bark-like covering scratching his sensitive hands and cheek and the sting is a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure he still feels racking his body. He shudders and gasps at the sensation, clenching tight around Jim’s cock and drawing a moan from him as he milks more cum from his mate.
As the last shudders of their climaxes leave their bodies, Spock’s awareness of his surroundings slowly returns and he finds his cheek pressed against the bark-like surface of the stalk with Jim plastered limply against his back.
“That was an excellent plan, Commander,” Jim mumbles into Spock’s skin.
“An excellent plan, well executed, ashayam.”
As Jim ‘basks in the afterglow’, Spock turns his mind inward toward their bond. He finds it lush and full, contentedly basking in the light of their union. A sense of satisfaction suffuses Spock. His mate is pleasured, his bond is strong, all is as it should be.
Spock moves to straighten and he feels Jim pull himself up and away from his back, feels Jim’s softening cock pulling out of him. Spock winces at the feel of cum dribbling from his hole. There is no day pack with convenient cloths and water this time. Just slightly damp black uniform pants that are about to become slightly damper.
Spock can hear Jim straightening his clothing and shuffling slightly behind him as he allows his lok to retract and tidies himself as much as possible. He notes the abrasions on the palms of his hands from the stalk’s surface and closes his hands into fists, feeling the minor scratches burn. He thinks back on the intense pleasure he felt from the sting of the scratches combined with the strangling hold of his orgasm. He will need to meditate over this fact later tonight while Jim sleeps.
Spock brings his hands behind his back and turns to look over at Jim. He soaks in the sight of his beautiful husband, hair disarranged, cheeks flushed with exertion, fiddling at a small hole in the hem of his gold command shirt.
“I swear, they make these uniforms out of toilet paper,” Jim mutters to himself. He glances up at Spock, a smile on his face that swiftly shifts to a look of concern.
“Spock! Your cheek! It’s been rubbed bloody.” Jim's concerned hands move over Spock's face, skating over the abraded skin, carefully checking the depth of the wound. “I'm so, so sorry. Why didn't you tell me to stop? We could've moved!”
Spock gently traps Jim's hands between his own. He is not yet willing to divulge the spike of pleasure that had flared within him at the harsh rub of rough surface on sensitive skin, so he deflects. “It is nothing, Jim. A single pass of the dermal regenerator will suffice.”
“We…don’t have a dermal regenerator here. The medical kit was already sent up.”
Spock pauses. “We shall tell Dr. McCoy I fell.”
“And I thought Vulcans didn’t lie,” Jim says, a sparkle in his eye.
“Very well. We shall tell Dr. McCoy we performed coitus against a tree and I sustained injury from your vigorous thrusting.”
Jim chokes out a laugh. “Lies it is,” he says happily.
The third time was highly illogical and was absolutely not Spock’s idea.
“As this location is remote but not uninhabited, there is a 3.4 percent chance that we may be discovered. It is highly illogical to engage in such an activity.”
Jim looks at Spock, bemused. “Darling. If it just so happens that someone comes along and spots me making love to my husband while on a much-deserved shore leave in a gorgeous tropical paradise, I have the utmost confidence that my reputation will weather the storm.”
“We have a perfectly good bed inside our accommodations located less than one hundred meters away.”
“That’s true. But I thought you’d prefer…this,” Jim says as he spreads his hands wide to encompass the uninhabited pristine beach, the pink sand meeting clear aqua waters in front of them and a tropical forest behind them. The comfortable seaside hut they had procured for their shore leave stands a small distance away, the only structure visible on the beach. In fact, their hut is the only structure within a two-kilometer radius, its privacy a large part of its appeal for Spock when he had arranged accommodations.
With a grin, Jim reaches down and slowly pushes his swim trunks over his hips, letting them drop and puddle at his feet before kicking them away. He stands tall and meets Spock's eyes boldly. His middle is thicker than Spock knows Jim would like, his thighs and ass plusher than when they first bonded. But Jim is still proud of his body, still shaves his chest and applies tanner to keep his skin golden even in the darkness of space. His skin glows smooth in the light and Spock’s eyes take in every inch of him. Under his perusal, Jim’s cock gives an interested twitch.
Spock swallows heavily as he takes in the sight of his bondmate. “Vulcans do not have preferences,” he says and fights to keep his voice even and his lok under control.
“Liar.”
“Vulcans also do not lie.”
Jim snorts and then says with a flirtatious smile, “Think of it Spock, the sun on your face, worshiping your skin while I worship your body. The sound of the surf covering the sound of your moans, the taste of the salt air mixing with the taste of my fingers in your mouth.”
Spock swallows hard, his lok growing hot and heavy inside him. “I have no idea why you think I would find any of that appealing.”
“Well, you certainly seemed to enjoy the last two times we made love outdoors,” Jim says with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Let me give you this.”
Spock remembers their last two out of doors sexual encounters and cannot stop the blush that heats his cheeks. He is, of course, not embarrassed by the logical act of engaging in sexual relations with his husband. But the idea that his…interest in an out of doors environment has been noticed is mildly distressing. He has only begun to decipher his deeper feelings surrounding the experiences, and yet, he is not surprised that Jim should already know that something about them was important to Spock.
“Those times were logical.”
“Logically, you like it when I fuck you in nature and logically, I like to make you feel good. Now, lie back on the towel while I make you take my cock. Please.” Jim smiles at Spock, both of them understanding that his orders were merely suggestions, and really, Spock is probably going to get his way no matter what Jim says. Of course that doesn’t stop them from still enjoying the game of command.
A mental image of Jim above him, thrusting hard, mindless of anything but his own pleasure, telling Spock that he can ‘take it’ almost causes a moan to fall from Spock’s mouth, and in his attempt to keep it in, he loses control of his lok. It slides hot and heavy from his sheath and Spock can feel his own lubrication wetting his thighs.
Spock keeps a veil between their minds, blocking the bond throughout the day to afford them both privacy and to prevent distraction. But it is just a veil, not a wall, and he knows that the throb of his desire and the hot panting of anticipation are coming through the bond when he sees Jim smile smugly. Jim knows he has won.
“If you insist, Captain. However, we will lie on the sand. Not on the towel,” Spock says primly and begins to unbutton the ridiculous floral floral-patterned shirt that Jim insisted he wear.
Jim steps closer, his semi-erect penis bobbing between his thighs, and he reaches out to push Spock’s shirt over his shoulders and down his arms to drop on the sand. His hands run down Spock’s sides and stop at the top of his swim trunks. Spock appreciates the difference between their skin tones, Jim’s hands tan and golden against his own space pale skin.
“But Spock, all that sand. Aren’t you worried about the chafing?” Jim murmurs playfully, his lips hovering close to Spock’s own.
“It is a risk I’m willing to take, Captain,” Spock says, before leaning forward to press his lips against Jim’s, enjoying the slide of Jim’s smooth chest and stomach against the crisp hair on his own.
Spock reaches down and grips Jim’s hard cock in his fist. He slides his hand up and down, enjoying the feel of the soft skin over hardness, and revels in the groan he pulls from Jim’s throat.
Jim’s fingers dig into Spock’s hair as he increases the pressure of their kiss. Spock’s lips press against his teeth and a stinging bite on his bottom lip sends another gush of fluid from his sheath to drip down his lok. Jim’s hands move to his ears to gently stroke and pinch the tips and Spock finds himself rocking his hips forward to rub his lok against Jim’s thigh.
Jim breaks their kiss and pulls out of his grip to push Spock’s swim trunks down impatiently, and Spock kicks them free from where they puddle at his feet. When he looks up again, Jim’s first and middle fingers from one hand are shoved into his mouth and his other hand takes both their cocks in a firm grip. Spock lets out a low moan around the fingers against his tongue.
Human hands are nowhere near as sensitive as a Vulcan’s, but the dark look Jim gives him when he presses his fingers further into Spock’s mouth and begins to jack them off tells him that Jim is enjoying this filthy Vulcan kiss very much indeed.
Spock’s hands move to massage Jim’s globular ass cheeks while he explores Jim’s fingers with his tongue. He licks and sucks and gently scrapes his teeth against Jim’s knuckles. He pushes his head forward until he feels Jim’s fingers at the very back of his mouth and Jim rewards him by adding a twisting motion to the fist that is rubbing their cocks together.
Jim’s fingers taste salty and Spock is unsure if it is from the ocean water Jim has been playing in, or if it is just Jim’s innate taste. But he comes from a long line of desert dwellers—to him, salt is life. He savors the flavor and thinks that he is consuming a part of Jim and another gush of liquid exits his sheath.
“Can you take over here, Spock?” Jim asks, giving their cocks a merry jiggle.
Spock huffs in amusement around the fingers in his mouth before he reaches down and takes their hard members into his hand. The slide of their flesh against his sensitive fingers has him thrusting forward into his grip and sucking hard on Jim’s fingers. Jim rubs his fingers against the back of Spock’s own, sending a tingle of psionic energy surging up his arm.
”Spread your legs for me,” Jim says while he gathers up lubricant from Spock’s sheath.
Spock shuffles his legs apart and Jim reaches behind Spock to rub at the opening of his hole. Spock is still loose from copulation earlier in the day and Jim’s two fingers slip in easily up to the second knuckle. Spock’s hips stutter when Jim immediately scissors his strong fingers wide. T stretch is an undertow, dragging his attention to his rim and Jim’s fingers there. He continues pumping his fist distractedly while he focuses on the pull and rub at his hole.
”Mmmm. You’re nice and loose already,” Jim says, pushing his fingers into Spock’s mouth with the same rhythm he is pushing the fingers of his other hand into Spock’s ass.
Spock whimpers under the dual invasion, too distracted by Jim working him open to notice the saliva flooding his mouth until it dribbles past his lips in an untidy rivulet. He pulls off Jim’s fingers with a gasp and lifts an unsteady hand to wipe the mess away. Jim watches him, then catches his wrist, guiding Spock’s first and middle finger into his own mouth and sucking hard.
Spock’s knees buckle.
“Mmrff,” Jim says around Spock’s fingers as he staggers under his dense Vulcan weight.
Spock shudders as Jim drags his fingers from his hole, and he gives a squeeze to their cocks still in his hand in protest. Jim’s eyes widen as Spock pulls down, moving them awkwardly to their knees before pulling away to lie down on his back in the sand, knees bent and legs spread wide.
Jim shuffles forward to kneel between Spock’s thighs. One hand on the base of his cock holds him against Spock's open hole, the other hand grasps one side of Spock’s ass. His hand clenches unconsciously, grinding sand into Spock’s sensitive skin. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down on the towel?” Jim pants.
Spock writhes on the ground below Jim, knees on either side of Jim, hips tilted up, back pressing into the sand. He luxuriates in the heat and abrasion of the sand against his skin, the feel of it almost but not quite distracting him from the push of Jim’s cock against his rim and the empty feeling left from Jim’s preparation. “Jim,” Spock says tightly. “This is acceptable. Penetrate me. Now.”
Jim chuckles. “So impatient,” he says as he slowly guides his cock forward, entering his husband, connecting them in body while Spock drops the veil between their bond, connecting them in mind and soul. Spock is loose enough that the slide forward is smooth and slow and then Jim’s thighs are flush against the flat planes of Spock’s ass and Spock is finally, finally stuffed full.
Jim shuffles closer and reaches under both sides of Spock’s ass, tilting him at just such an angle to force his cock in deeper and make them both groan with the sensation. Spock clenches his tight hole and thrusts his hips upward, urging Jim silently to start moving, but Jim holds himself still.
“Is this okay?” Jim asks, breathless.
“Yes, Jim. Please proceed,” Spock says impatiently.
“Sure you’re comfortable?”
The feel of Jim’s hot cock stretching his tight channel melts into the feeling of the hot sand and sun on Spock’s skin. He feels warm inside and out and he is suffused with the desire to be completely taken apart by his overly cautious and conscientious lover. Who will not stop talking and get on with it.
“Jim. I am still waiting for you to ‘make me take your cock’. ” Spock says, lowering his voice to a provocative growl for Jim’s sake, hoping to incite him to start moving.
Jim shudders at Spock’s words. “Forget about that. I just want to make you feel good.”
Spock takes his lok in one hand and begins to pump it with firm strokes. His other hand slides up Jim’s slightly rounded stomach to knead the plush pectoral muscle before giving his nipple a pinch just on this side of painful. Jim closes his eyes and groans, his hips rocking forward gently. Much, much too gently.
Through their bond Spock pushes his desire to be taken and used, to be pounded into the sand beneath him. Jim looks at him with surprise. Spock knows it goes against Jim’s giving and providing nature to be selfish during coitus, so he sends him a mental image of himself, writhing around Jim’s cock as he slams into him, hair mussed, face slack with pleasure, back arched with the orgasm drawing the first spurts of ejaculate from his lok.
The look Jim gives Spock now is almost pained. “Jesus, Spock, you’re going to make me come before we even get started.”
“I have faith that you can endure, ashayam. Now, please. Fuck me. Hard,” Spock says with a sharp thrust of his hips, beyond the point of asking politely.
Finally, finally, Jim starts to move. Slowly he draws his hips back, raking the inside of Spock’s tight passage with the head of his cock, until he is almost pulled out. His grip on Spock’s ass tightens, and with a groan, he plunges all the way back in with one fast stroke.
Spock’s heels dig into the sand as he pushes up to meet Jim’s thrusts. He sinks his hands into the sand on either side of his body, hot and dry on the top layer, cool and damp underneath, and feels the abrasion of the sand against his back as he rocks back and forth. And then Jim shifts his hips slightly, and with his next thrust Jim’s hard cock pounds against Spock’s prostate, the sensations a surf crashing through him.
Jim takes Spock’s lok in his gritty, sand-covered hand. The scratch of the sand against his most sensitive parts is an exquisite torture and two rough pumps from Jim are enough to send his orgasm crashing over him, submerging him in pleasure and leaving him gasping for air. He spurts out ropes of cum across his chest, and within him, he can feel the answering heat of Jim’s own spend. He is awash in sensation and drowning in the waves of pleasure rolling through the bond.
Spock’s back digs into the sand as Jim collapses heavy on top of him. They are both breathing hard, gasping and weak like shipwrecked sailors washed ashore. But their bond laps pleasurably at Spock’s mind, a calm tide pool warm from the sun and their lovemaking, and Spock slips into a shallow meditation.
One interesting fact about arousal, Spock thinks to himself as he emerges from his meditation, is that it has a way of distracting the mind away from some of the less attractive but unavoidable factors of sex. But as the dopamine and endorphin rush of his orgasm fades, Spock is left with the indisputable fact that his ass and thighs and stomach are absolutely coated in lubricant and cum and completely caked in sand. It is most unpleasant.
“Jim.”
“Hmm?” Jim mumbles into Spock’s chest, not yet recovered from his own orgasm, and seemingly content to use his husband as a Barca lounger.
“There is…chafing.”
Jim chuckles warmly against Spock’s chest. “Told you so. Come on, let’s clean you off.”
With a groan, Jim rises back up to his knees and stands. Spock takes the offered hand and shivers at the feel of the sand-covered skin on his now too-sensitive palm and fingers as Jim pulls him up.
Jim grins as he looks Spock over and reaches out to help brush some of the sand off his hairy thighs. Spock turns his body before Jim can attempt to brush off the very sensitive and very sandy lok he has not allowed to retract into his body.
“Jeez, Spock. It’s really glued on there. Most impressive.”
Spock sighs. “I require a sonic shower, Jim. On a very powerful setting. Immediately.”
“You don’t need a shower, we’ve got a whole ocean!” Jim says. He is evidently fully recovered from his postcoital fatigue, because he takes off at a jog toward the water, calling over his shoulder, “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”
Spock permits himself the slightest eye roll at his bondmate’s antics as he follows him toward the surf. He tentatively steps into the too-cool and very wet water, and as Jim lets out a ‘whoop!’ and splashes water toward him, Spock promises himself a sonic shower. Later.
Spock does not believe the fourth time should ‘count’.
Spock stands with his pants and underwear around his ankles trying to focus his thoughts on his Captain kneeling before him and not on the rain that is falling in sheets around them. Jim gives another slow, hot lick along his sheath and Spock can feel his lok start to stir, his attention finally pulled from the miserable weather around him. So of course, this is when Jim pulls away and sits back on his heels.
“Jim,” Spock says, suppressing a shiver as the water that had been collecting along the line of his collar reaches critical mass and pours down his back in a steady stream of spite. He is unsure if the word he’s spoken is a question or a command or just a beloved name. The stirrings of arousal combined with the sensory input of the rain are making thought…difficult.
“Sorry, Spock, this position is just a bit hard on my neck. And back. And knees,” Jim says, looking up at Spock with an apologetic smile. “I don’t suppose you could be talked into lying down?”
Spock eyes the area around them distastefully. The ground on this planet of unceasing rain is a living multi-cellular silica structure that immediately wicks up the moisture and distributes it into the network of organisms growing in it. Spock supposes that technically the seemingly symbiotic relationship between the sponge-like ground material and the planet's interconnected plant life is of scientific interest. But right now he is only considering that Jim is asking him to lie down on what is effectively a dirty wet sponge.
“I would rather not.”
Jim gives Spock an amused look before unzipping his black Starfleet rain slicker and struggling out of it. He shakes the rain off of it with a snap and lays it out on the ground next to them before smiling up at Spock.
“Here, lie down on this, I’m way too hot in it anyway. Positively soaked through with sweat.”
Spock arches one eyebrow in response. Correction. Jim is asking him to lie down on a sweat-covered jacket on top of a dirty wet sponge. With a sigh, Spock shuffles a few steps over, pants and underwear gathered inelegantly around his ankles. He gingerly sits down on the slicker, knees bent in front of him, and leans back on his elbows. The flickering flame of arousal he had begun to feel has now been…dampened.
Jim’s enthusiasm is as rampant as ever, though. He immediately lies down on his stomach between Spock’s thighs and grasps his outer legs. Jim wiggles forward across the spongy ground and buries his face between Spock’s thighs. He huffs out a hot breath against his sheath that has Spock shivering, uncertain if he’s feeling his desire or discomfort climbing again.
Jim traces the lips of Spock’s sheath with the point of his tongue before nibbling at the opening with his lips and gentle teeth. The sensation is not unpleasant, but it is also not enough to distract Spock from the raindrops pattering his face and head. The drip, drip, drip of water on his skin reminds him of a time spent shackled to a dungeon wall on Denuvian III. Jim was with him then too, and he had done his best to distract Spock at the time.
Almost clinically, Spock watches Jim shift and move his hands to his sheath, using warm fingertips to spread him open and then spear him with his tongue. Spock’s breath hitches when Jim moves his tongue up, collecting lubricant from his opening, before his tongue darts back into his mouth and he swallows heavily.
Jim moans. “Spock, you taste so good. And you’re so wet.”
“Indeed, Jim,” Spock says and raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Although I am not entirely sure how much of what you are tasting has actually come from my body and how much has come from this incessant rain.”
”Either way, you’re delicious. And I never get to do this. You always evert too fast.”
”Too fast?” Spock asks with a confident eyebrow. “I do not believe I have heard you make that complaint before.”
Jim huffs a laugh against Spock’s sensitive skin, sending goosebumps across Spock’s flesh.
”It is possible that the discomfort of the situation is affecting my body somewhat.”
”Well, let me see what I can do to coax that beautiful lok out.”
Jim renews his efforts to bring Spock pleasure, licking a hot stripe along the seam of his sheath before plunging his tongue inside, lathing the sensitive nerve endings around the opening and seeking out the end of Spock’s lok with the tip of his tongue.
Jim’s attentions fan the embers of Spock’s desire. He can feel heat radiating from his sheath and his lok grows heavy, filling up his sheath and forcing Jim’s tongue along the outer edge. Jim grinds his tongue into the small space remaining, his lips slick against the outside of his sheath and his breath hot on his opening. Spock tenses the muscles in his thigh and rocks up firmly against the hot brand of Jim’s mouth.
Spock whimpers when Jim removes his tongue from his sheath, only to grunt in surprise when Jim gathers the lips of his sheath into his mouth and sucks. The resulting sensation has Spock’s eyes rolling back into his head and the flickering flame of arousal that has been fighting valiantly against the unpleasant sensations of the rain is suddenly a bonfire. Suddenly, his lok is too large for the tight grip of his sheath and he shudders as it begins the slide forward, eager for Jim’s suctioning mouth.
Spock closes his eyes and tilts his face upward. Illogically, he thinks that the raindrops must be turning to steam around him, his arousal burning so hot that he can barely feel the drops of water on his skin. He takes a shuddering breath as he feels the tip of his lok breach his opening, sliding into Jim’s mouth, anticipating the hot suction—only to sit up spluttering as the foliage above him, heavy with collected rainwater, chooses that precise moment to succumb to gravity and release what seems to be bucketsful of water directly on Spock’s face.
It is illogical to hate a planet, of course. Nevertheless, Spock occasionally permits himself minor lapses of logic.
At the sound of the splash, Jim looks up, releasing Spock’s lok from his mouth. His lok immediately retreats into his sheath. Where it is going to stay.
His arousal is well and truly doused.
“Jim. This is not going to work.”
Jim pushes up on his hands then looks down longingly at Spock’s sheath.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
”Ah, well, it was very fun to try,” Jim says. “I don’t often get to spend that much time with that gorgeous sheath of yours. Felt like I was with a stranger.” Jim waggles his eyebrows. He stands with an oof and braces two hands against the small of his back in a stretch before reaching a hand down to Spock. Spock grasps Jim’s hot, damp hand and allows himself to be pulled up to standing. The pants puddled around his ankles are soaking wet and clinging and he struggles to pull them up his legs.
“Let me help,” Jim says as he reaches around to tug at the back of Spock’s pants while Spock tugs at the sides.
Still displeased with the weather, but no longer lying down on the damp ground with his pants around his ankles, Spock reluctantly allows Jim to pull him into an embrace. He opens his mouth to Jim’s tongue when it seeks entry, and tastes the tangy sweetness of his own sheath on Jim’s tongue. Jim’s still-hard cock presses hot and heavy against him and Spock shifts his hands up to rub them up and down Jim’s back. His back that is covered in wet, clinging fabric. Spock suppresses an unpleasant shudder and takes a step away, breaking their embrace.
“Kissing in the rain is very romantic, you know,” Jim says with a grin.
Spock feels the hair lying wet and flat on his forehead, the water dripping down his back, the pants plastered to his legs, and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “That is debatable.”
Spock and Jim are required to write reports about the fifth time.
“Jim,” says Spock, fiddling unnecessarily with the settings on his tricorder. “I have a…request.”
Jim looks up at Spock with an open, interested smile.
“I do not know if you familiarized yourself with the historical and cultural analysis of this site prior to beaming down.”
“You mean how the cultural team posits that these stones were previously used for sex rituals to honor their gods?”
Spock stares at Jim, impressed as always that his Captain can so thoroughly ‘cut to the chase’. He looks down at his tricorder again while Jim waits patiently. Despite Jim’s love and support and openness, it is still occasionally difficult for Spock to give voice to some of his more illogical desires. Still. He knows that Jim would like to do this for him.
“I find myself curious…” Spock drifts off, not quite able to finish his sentence.
“Spock, do you want me to fuck you over one of those sex stones?” Jim asks, his voice warm and rich and full of his own enthusiasm for the idea.
Some of the tension leaves Spock’s body. “I would find that most agreeable,” he says.
“Right.” Ever the man of action, Jim immediately strides off to where the rest of the crew has gathered to prepare for beam-out. After a moment conversing, he returns to Spock’s side. “I’ve let them know you’d like to stay behind to take a few more readings and that I’ll be staying with you. Think you can hold out for ten minutes or so until they’re gone?”
Spock raises an eyebrow and looks at Jim in amusement. “Jim, I am hardly going to perish for want of you in ten minutes. I am merely curious. Not insatiable.”
“Careful, Mr. Spock. You’ll bruise my delicate ego.”
With a slight smirk, Spock turns and busies himself taking some completely unnecessary readings of the stones spaced evenly around the circular clearing. There are eight of them in total, huge boulders carved to nearly identical size and shape; 1.15 meters high, 2.27 meters long, 0.76 meters wide. The stones are all made of a dark onyx-like material with carvings depicting eight-limbed creatures using the stones in various positions carved on the sides. The work was beautiful and highly suggestive. Oddly, while in pristine condition, these stones are the only remaining artifacts of the alien species that once inhabited this planet.
Spock returns to the stone that had most captured his attention earlier that day. Its carving depicts one eight-legged creature lying over a stone with another standing behind it. Of the standing creature, two of its limbs support its weight on the ground while the other six wrap around the prone creature, touching it everywhere. The prone creature has tangled its own eight limbs around its standing partner. Lines appear to burst out of the heads of both creatures. Possibly psionic energy? Or communication? Or, Spock supposes as he takes another scan of the carving to upload to the computer’s databanks, a representation of the moment of orgasm.
“That’s the last of them, Spock. Did you pick your sex rock?” Jim asks with a grin, brushing off his hands playfully and coming to stand next to Spock.
Spock looks at his mate and pushes a feeling of love and gratitude through the bond. Jim’s face grows bemused.
“What was that for?”
“Thank you for agreeing to engage in this experiment.”
“Ah, yes. The… experiment,” Jim nods and purses his lips. “The very logical sexual scientific experiment.”
Spock very logically presses his lips against Jim’s to stop him from talking.
10.6 minutes after the last crewmember has beamed away, Spock is face down on one of the monolithic stones surrounding the clearing, moaning as Jim thrusts into him from behind when he has a realization.
Spock considers himself to be a highly intelligent individual. Jim frequently refers to him as the best first officer and science officer in the Fleet, and there is sufficient evidence to support that claim. But as the hot stone underneath him radiates a nearly intolerable heat to his sensitive lok, and as his bony hipbones grind against the unyielding rock hard enough that there will surely be bruises, Spock realizes that he is nearly fifty years old, and he has only now understood something about himself. He finds intense satisfaction in coitus outside not despite the unique sensory stimuli and tiny stinging pain associated therein, but because of them.
“Jim,” Spock pants. “I find I have developed a…preference for sexual relations with you out of doors.”
“I know, Spock.”
“It is not logical.”
“I know, Spock.”
“It may even be habitual at this point.”
“I know, Spock.”
“Jim–“
“Spock. Stop talking about your kink and let me fuck you over this rock.”
“Yes, Jim.”
Jim resumes the steady movement of his hips and Spock stretches one arm down behind him, his sensitive fingertips moving to explore his stretched rim, before moving on to the slick feel of Jim’s hard cock. Spock lightly grips Jim’s shaft between his thumb and first two fingers, a modified ozh’esta that kisses every part of Jim’s cock as it slides in and out of his hole, over and across his fingers, again and again.
Spock’s hips knock into the hard stone, his cheek and one hand rub against the rough, sun-warmed surface. With the sun heating his back, Spock feels Jim thrust forward hard through his fingers and deep into his hole, and with a groan they are both coming, their bodies shaking in the tectonic shift of their orgasms.
Spock’s heart is beating so hard in his side that it takes him several long seconds to realize their bodies are not the only things trembling. The stone under them is shaking. In fact, the entire clearing is shaking, although Spock notices that the tree-like organisms surrounding them are surprisingly still.
Jim notices the shaking a split second later and raises his head, looking at Spock in alarm.
“Spock, did that orgasm cause hallucinations, or is there an earthquake?” he asks, breathing hard.
“As we are not on earth, it could not be considered an earthquake, Captain.”
Jim plonks his head down on Spock’s shoulder. A soft sound has Spock craning his neck to look behind him toward the center of the clearing, where a small room is rising up from the packed soil. Approximately the size of the Enterprise’s turbolift, the sides are open, supporting the soil-covered roof on six spindly supports. And standing at the center of the small structure is a diminutive alien, its bright purple head and bulbous body supported by eight long and flexible legs, staring straight at them.
“Jim,” Spock says, and when Jim looks up at him he raises both eyebrows and gestures with his chin behind them.
Jim turns to look and Spock can feel Jim’s rapidly softening penis pull from his hole, spilling semen on the warm stone beneath them.
“Oh,” is Jim’s surprised response to the alien waving a long leg in greeting. “Well, this is awkward.”
The sixth time, Jim proves once again that he is an excellent bondmate.
“Well, Spock, what do you think?” Jim asked, spreading his arms wide and beaming the bright smile that Spock secretly thinks makes him look quite cherubic.
”It is a very pleasant patio.”
“A pleasant patio? Spock. It’s a climate-controlled outdoor love nest in the middle of nowhere. There is snow falling all around and it’s 90 degrees in the micro-climate bubble. There’s a bed. Outside. In winter.”
Spock looks around carefully to appease his husband. The heated stone surface beneath his feet is smooth and even, stretching the width of the opulent cabin at his back and extending out fifteen meters where it terminates in a snow-covered field. A large fireplace crackles cheerfully at one end of the patio. A large faux fur rug lies invitingly in front of the fire, with a daybed placed a bit farther away. Close enough to feel the heat of the fire, but far enough away that the fireplace doesn’t block the view entirely. Overstuffed chairs flank a small round table at the end of the patio, presumably to take advantage of the view. Tucked away in a corner is a large hot tub, cover off, sending steam into the air.
”Well, do you like it?” Jim asks with a hint of insecurity in his voice.
Spock sends a surge of gratitude and love through the bond to Jim. His lover, who, sensing Spock’s affection, is now sending enthusiastic, if slightly fuzzy images of the two of them engaging in sexual acts on the daybed. And the overstuffed chairs. And the hot tub—but Spock sends a definitive message through the bond that that one is absolutely not happening.
“What do you say, Spock? Sex outdoors? Without the rocks or the rain or the sand or the voyeuristic aliens. Sounds like a romantic date to me…”
Spock's eyebrow twitches up. “I believe a romantic date calls for dinner first.”
“Right you are, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together with a smile. “Got to keep our energy up.”
They move indoors to the cabin’s cozy kitchen where Jim starts pulling out ingredients from the fridge, stocked in advance of their arrival, and Spock hunts through cabinets looking for cookware.
“Pasta primavera alright with you?” Jim asks.
“That is acceptable.”
Spock turns to see that Jim has pulled out a pile of vegetables and a package of fresh pasta and set them next to the herb wall. He goes to gather up a few remaining ingredients and spices that he noticed in the cupboard and sets them next to the pile. A pot of water and a large wide-bottom pan are set out next and soon the sounds of chopping and sizzling and the scents of heated oil and spices suffuse the small kitchen.
Spock’s hand on the knife stills when Jim reaches across him to snag a perfectly sliced zucchini semi-circle. Jim bumps his hip against Spock’s side and their bond gives a happy shiver.
“If you chop faster, we’ll eat faster. And then we’ll have sex faster,” Jim says, crunching on the zucchini slice.
“I was unaware that fast sex was preferable. Regardless, the vegetables need to be chopped uniformly so they will cook uniformly,” Spock says as he carefully finishes up the last zucchini and scrapes it into one of the bowls lined up on the counter in front of him.
Jim rolls his eyes but smiles fondly at Spock. “Find anything to drink while you were looking through the cupboards?”
“There is a cabinet with a selection of beverages there,” Spock says, tilting his head in the general direction of a cabinet with a wide variety of tea, coffee, hot chocolate, and alcohol.
“Perfect. I’ll make us something festive.”
While Jim sifts through the bottles and boxes with merry clinks and rattles, Spock adds the zucchini and the other vegetables to the hot pan and cooks them and the pasta until al dente. He plates the food and looks up at the gentle drone of the kitchen’s replicator to see Jim grab two peppermint sticks, then place them at a jaunty angle into two chocolate martinis.
By unspoken agreement, they carry the dishes back out to the patio and settle in on the comfortable chairs, looking out at the landscape. It is a happy coincidence that the Enterprise’s shoreleave sees them on Earth during the winter season. Far in the distance, beyond the snowy field ahead of them, are the sawtooth mountains of the Grand Teton National Park. The snow has stopped falling and the sky has cleared, a nearly-full moon reflecting off the powdery snow, bathing everything it touches in a glittery whitish blue. Their patio is a warm oasis glowing in firelight around them.
“I feel like I’m in a snowglobe, except the snow is on the outside,” Jim says with a dreamy look on his face. He takes a bite of the pasta and lets out a moan. “Eating first was a good idea. I didn’t realize just how hungry I was.”
Pride suffuses Spock—the knowledge that he has cared for his mate settles warmly in his chest. His stomach tightens with a flurry of anticipation at the thought of tending to him more intimately after their meal. Spock picks up his martini and holds it towards Jim.
“A toast, Jim?”
Jim sets his fork down on the plate of food in his lap and grabs his own martini from the table between them. “To the Enterprise, and to absent friends,” he says and clinks his glass against Spock’s before they both take a sip.
“Many of the crew were pleased with the timing and location of our shoreleave,” Spock says as he picks up his fork and starts eating.
“Yes, they’re scattered all over Earth at this point visiting their families. And most of the non-Terran crew members have been dragged home with somebody to taste their mother’s pot roast,” Jim says with a chuckle.
“My mother’s vegetable pot roast—”
“Does not hold a candle to my mother’s corn-fed Iowan beef pot roast,” Jim interrupts. “But it’s very good for vegetarian,” he hastily adds at Spock’s look of consternation.
Spock and Jim eat in companionable silence for a while, each absorbed with memories of holidays and home. Around them, the snow absorbs the quiet sounds of the night and the only noise is the clinking of their forks against plates and the crackling and popping of the fire.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you into the hot tub?”
Spock looks away from the snow to see Jim gazing over at the object in question. Spock primly wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I have a fear of drowning."
Jim scoffs. “You had to pass the Starfleet swimming test, same as anyone, mister. You just don’t like getting wet.”
“On the contrary, Jim,” Spock says, one eyebrow raised flirtatiously. “I very much enjoy getting wet.”
“Let’s finish up our dinner, Mr. Spock, then I am very much looking forward to dessert.” Jim leers. “Would you like to take it…on the daybed?”
“I will ‘take it’ wherever you wish to give it to me, Captain.”
Jim relaxes back against the chair, a contented look on his face. “The daybed, then. It will be much easier on my back than the chairs or any of the other spots we’ve made love outdoors.”
Spock’s fork pauses on the way to his mouth. “I apologize, Jim. I should have considered your back before some of our more adventurous positions outside.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Jim says, waving away his concern with a flick of his hand. “I love that you love it when we have sex outside, I’ll happily suffer a sore back for a few days. But this time, I won’t have to.”
“Indeed. We will be quite comfortable.”
Jim and Spock continue eating and sipping at their martinis until a sharp ‘pop’ draws Jim’s attention and he gets up to tend the fire. Spock admires his strong back and ass as he leans over, his black pants pulling tight across his rump. The flurry of anticipation from earlier grows to a shower, and Spock finds himself ready to move on to the next course.
“Jim, I will take our dishes inside. Please make yourself comfortable on the daybed when you are finished.”
“Sure, Spock,” Jim says absently, poking the fire with a long stick.
Human males do enjoy poking at fire, Spock thinks with a faint flicker of mirth as he carries the dishes inside to load into the sonic cleanser.
Kitchen cleaned and tidied, Spock steps out onto the patio and his lips twitch. Jim has gotten quite comfortable indeed: he is lounging naked on the daybed.
Leaning back against a pile of pillows, Jim's hands are laced behind his head, showing off his broad shoulders and strong chest muscles. Jim's knees are bent up with legs spread wide, and Spock can feel his lok begin to swell inside him at the sight of Jim's semi-hard penis lying at the base of his trimmed pubic curls.
“I considered spreading myself out on the rug in front of the fire, but then I thought that would be a little too on the nose.”
“Indeed. This is much more subtle,” Spock says, shrugging out of the top layer of his robes and carefully folding it before setting it on a side table. Three additional layers are treated similarly before Spock sits down on the edge of the daybed to remove his socks. The smooth floor is comfortable and warm under his feet and the crisp hair of Jim’s shins tickles his lower back.
Jim grabs Spock’s upper arm and pulls him down next to him. Spock allows himself to be maneuvered and finds himself lying on his side facing the fire with Jim’s arm and leg resting on him. He feels Jim’s cock nestle between his ass cheeks and tilts his hips back suggestively.
“Mmmm. Let’s just lie here for a while and watch the fire. We’ve got four whole days ahead of us and I, for one, plan to relax.”
Despite what Jim proposes, it isn’t long before the cock prodding Spock’s backside has hardened further and Jim’s hand is gently exploring Spock’s wet sheath.
Turning over, Spock frames Jim’s face with his hands and captures his lips with his own. He nibbles and sucks softly, content to linger as Jim’s fingers circle his opening, dipping gently inside to pet and rub. As they kiss and touch, Spock’s lok everts glacially slowly, emerging millimeter by millimeter almost lazily until it rests fully against Jim’s own hardened cock.
Spock deepens the kiss, digging his hands into Jim’s thick hair and pushing his tongue inside Jim’s mouth. He moans against his lips as Jim takes their cocks in his hand and sets up a slow rhythm along their lengths. Behind him, the fire warms Spock’s naked back, while in his mental landscape, the anticipation of their lovemaking has accumulated into a deep blanket of desire covering their bond.
Jim pulls away with a small sigh and pushes himself up on one arm. Spock watches the firelight caress his smooth pectoral and shoulder muscles, and he stretches up as well to lick along one clavicle.
“Mmmm,” Jim hums. “Roll over for me, Spock. Lay across my lap so I can touch you.”
Jim’s legs drop over the side of the daybed and Spock rolls onto his stomach, his hips settling across Jim’s thighs. Jim’s hands card through his hair and caress the tips of his ears, sending a sharp shiver of lust through him. Warm palms slide down his neck, tracing his shoulder blades and running down the long line of his spine. Spock breathes deeply, burying himself in the intimacy. His head rests on his folded arms, and he gazes out at the glittering, snow-covered landscape while Jim smooths his hands over his body.
When the touch vanishes, Spock looks over his shoulder to see Jim grab a few pillows to prop behind his back. Jim scoots back and into them with a satisfied sigh.
“That’s better,” he says with a smile. “Now—where were we?”
“I believe you were just about to prepare me for intercourse, Jim.”
Spock lowers his head to his arms again and opens his legs slightly, lifting his hips to give Jim easy access to all of him. He feels Jim gather lubricant from his sheath and trace wet fingers back to his hole.
Their lovemaking is slow and peaceful, calm and quiet. The only sounds are the soft squelch of Jim’s fingers working him open and the pop and crackle of the fire. They float in their own bubble of warmth and light amid the icy expanse that surrounds them. Their breathing deepens as Spock sends the delicious sensation of Jim stretching him through their bond. Precum drips from Jim’s cock where it presses stiffly against the crease of Spock’s hip and Spock’s sheath leaks lubricant in response.
“That feels so good, Spock. And you’re opening up so beautifully.”
Spock flushes slightly, ever-sensitive to praise from his captain.
Two fingers slide easily in and out of his tight channel now, and Jim draws them almost all the way out, stretching Spock’s rim.
“Do you want another?” Jim asks, his voice deep but hushed.
Spock nods, and Jim immediately pushes three fingers deep into his hole. He finds Spock’s prostate with the tips of his fingers and massages his chenesi with his free hand, sending a blizzard of sensation rushing through Spock. Spock’s hips move without his direction, grinding his lok against Jim’s thigh. His attention drifts again to the glittering snow beyond the climate field—cold, biting, wholly unpleasant.
And yet…the starkness of it heightens the warmth pressed around him now. Jim’s hands, the fire heating his skin, the pleasure building in his body…all of it feels more vivid against the mere sight of that icy expanse. How much more would the touch of that biting cold heighten the sensations within him? Would it narrow his focus until the pleasure became a whiteout?
Spock’s attention shifts once again when Jim’s fingers pull out of him. He clenches down at the feeling of emptiness and sighs.
Jim chuckles. “Well, we can’t all come just from putting our fingers in holes. Come on, hands and knees.”
Jim gives Spock’s hips a pull and starts shifting out from under him as Spock pushes up into a hands and knees position. Jim settles himself behind him and Spock hums contentedly as Jim rubs his flanks and leans forward to press a kiss against his back.
“Spread those lovely long legs further for me, Spock, you’re just a little too tall for this position.”
Spock exhales through his nose as he arranges himself at his captain’s request.
Jim huffs out a laugh as he grabs a firm pillow to place under his own knees.
“So sorry to ask you to work on your vacation, Mr. Spock,” he says, and immediately pushes inside Spock.
Spock echoes Jim’s groan. Jim’s cock fills him, stretching his tight hole. The air around him is his preferred temperature; the bed below him is padded but firm; the fire adds a warm ambiance. Above them, the winter stars burn bright in the sky, and the snow reflects the pale moonlight. It is silent and peaceful and if perfection were attainable, this would surely qualify.
Jim shifts, pulling almost all the way out before his hands tighten on Spock’s hips and he pushes back in until he bottoms out. His hard cock just brushes against Spock’s prostate. His glans glides smoothly along his channel. His shaft rakes against his rim. And all Spock can see is the glittering expanse of snow.
Jim thrusts into him and Spock’s hands and knees slide forward on the smooth fabric. There is no friction to help keep him in place, nothing to hold onto to anchor him, to focus. Only the snow.
Distantly, Spock feels Jim’s fingers dig into his hips, the rocking of his thrusting, but his attention is on a gust of wind that blows across the drifts outside, sending glittering ribbons of flakes twisting through the dark. He hates the cold—detests snow and how it bites and stings against his sensitive skin.
And yet…
“Jim. Stop.”
Jim immediately halts. He is breathing heavily and he takes a moment before he asks, “What? What's wrong? Need a new position? Want to meld?”
“I am very…comfortable.”
“Good. Yes. You’re welcome for the comfortable outdoor sex?”
Spock can feel Jim’s confusion through the bond. His confusion and his strong desire to resume their activity.
“I find that I, illogically, miss the discomfort.”
“Okay…we can move to the floor?” Jim says hopefully.
Spock clears his throat. “The snow, Jim.”
“The snow.”
“I would like to have sex in the snow,” Spock says firmly.
“…Right. The snow,” Jim echoes faintly.
Spock senses that Jim is unlikely to take charge in this instance, so he crawls forward along the daybed, and Jim’s cock pulls out of him with a rather inappropriate slurping sound.
He stands and offers his hand to a still slightly bewildered looking Jim.
“You know it’s really cold out there, right?” he says as Spock pulls him inexorably toward the climate field.
“I am counting on it.”
Jim and Spock stop right at the edge of the patio. Below their bare feet, the smooth tile is warm. Mere millimeters ahead, the frozen, snow-covered field awaits.
“This is not quite how I saw our romantic date ending. There’s nothing sexy about frostbite, Spock,” Jim says doubtfully.
“I hypothesize I will be able to climax quite quickly. You will not be at risk of frostbite.”
Jim barks out a laugh and looks at Spock. “Spock, you literally told me just before dinner that ‘fast sex was not preferable’.”
“I have been known to be incorrect,” Spock says.
“Well. That’s it. Spock says he’s incorrect. Hell has frozen over. Better get used to fucking in the snow,” Jim says merrily. He takes a confident step through the climate field, pulling Spock with him.
Their feet immediately sink through the snow to the frozen earth underneath. The accumulated snow is thin here, where it has been protected from the winds by the climate field. But it still comes up past their ankles. Spock immediately regrets his idea.
He turns back. “Jim, perhaps we should—”
“Oh, no, Mr. Spock,” Jim says as he grabs Spock’s shoulder and turns him back around. “I’m not having you thinking wistful thoughts about sex in the snow for the next four days. We’re doing this now. Quickly.”
“Very well,” Spock says, and immediately drops to his hands and knees before Jim.
“Well, that’s…actually very sexy. Maybe this’ll work after all.”
Jim lets out a shuddering breath as he gets down on his knees behind Spock. He lines himself up and pushes into Spock. He is not nearly as hard as he had been on the patio, but Spock is already stretched and open and he feels him slide in easily.
The snow beneath their knees squeaks as Jim sets a fast pace. Spock catches his faint thought of ‘friction makes heat’ through their bond, and he is filled with a warm glow knowing that his husband would do this with him. For him.
A cold breeze sweeps across Spock’s skin just then and goosebumps break out to cover every bit of his flesh. He hisses at the sensation, then moans when a shiver from Jim sends his cock almost vibrating through his channel.
“You know,” Jim says through chattering teeth, “in Nordic countries they bathe in the snow then immediately jump into a sauna. Or hot tub.”
“Indeed, Jim,” Spock says, his attention on the cold nipping at the tip of his lok. His body pulls tight all over, wanting to curl in on itself against the cold, but the tightness only makes the slide of Jim’s cock in his ass that much more pleasurable.
“And we just so happen to have a hot tub, mere steps away.”
Jim adjusts his hips slightly, striking Spock’s prostate, sending a shiver through him. Pleasure creeps over him like frost on a pane. The tips of his ears and nose feel hot and beneath his fingertips, the snow melts and burns.
“Yes, Jim.”
“So, when we’re done out here, you’ll get in the hot tub with me?” Jim asks.
Spock finds that his hypothesis was correct. Jim’s cock, which normally feels warm within him, is now a hot brand pressing in and out of him. The pleasure building in him is sharp, clean and icy in its intensity. And his mind is narrowed completely to the sensations in his body. The snow no longer exists. Only he and Jim exist. Only feeling exists.
Spock’s extremities tingle painfully from the cold. Jim’s cock strikes his prostate again precisely and he chooses just that moment to dig his thumbs into Spock’s chenisi. Spock’s orgasm flurries out of him like a blizzard. “Yes, Jim!”
Spock shudders as he ejaculates and his eyes are riveted to the sight of his cum spurting into the icy snow below him, steaming as it immediately melts through the fluffy powder, leaving a small tunnel behind. He breathes out and watches the water vapor in his breath as it clouds around him. He is frozen in place and he is achingly, pleasantly numb.
“C-c-can we take this b-back into the b-b-bubble now?” Jim interrupts, teeth chattering.
Jim is still hard when he pulls out of Spock and lifts Spock up with an oof. Spock’s mind is slow to focus and he follows Jim obediently, barely noticing when the heat from the climate bubble hits his skin and the path before his feet grows warm and dry.
He snaps clearly into focus, however, when his lower legs hit hot water and Jim pulls the rest of him bodily into the hot tub.
“Oh, god. Ow. Ow. Ow. No idea why those crazy Swedes do this,” Jim says, pulling Spock into his lap.
Spock moans as the hot water envelops him, thawing the icy ache in his skin and sending shivers through every nerve ending. The heat is overwhelming, and before he can adjust, Jim enters him from behind and Spock’s mind fractures with pleasure.
“Jim!” Spock cries out. He comes again, an echo of his first climax, his orgasm rolling through him like the waves of steam rising from the water.
Jim braces his legs and thrusts up once, twice, three times, then he is shuddering beneath Spock, rocking through his own climax, clutching Spock to his chest. Around them, the water bubbles merrily, the night sky is crisp above them, and between them, their bond burns bright.
Long moments later, Spock takes a deep breath, swimming up through the fog of his orgasms much like coming out of meditation. He shifts in Jim’s lap and feels Jim’s softened cock fall out of him.
”Told you the hot tub was a good idea,” Jim says, sounding smug.
Spock merely hums noncommittally.
Now that he is no longer in the grip of his orgasm or the painful temperature differentiation, the hot tub is feeling decidedly…wet. The steam clings to his face, feeling decidedly like perspiration and the bubbles move his body hair like tiny sea anemones and pop against his skin like tiny explosions. It is, as predicted, not a pleasant experience.
Spock stands, the hot water rushing down his body, steam curling off of him in the slightly cooler patio air.
“I believe I have experienced the full benefits of the hot tub at this time,” he says, climbing over the side to stand dripping next to the hot tub.
Jim sighs and starts to pull himself out as well.
“Well, I got you in there for, what? Ten minutes? That's a new record, at least.”
“It was 6.7 minutes. And there are no towels, Jim.”
Jim rolls his eyes, but heads into the house, leaving a dripping trail behind him. He returns a few moments later with a stack of fluffy white towels under one arm, a pair of Starfleet-issue pajamas and Spock's sleeping robes clutched in the other hand.
Warm and dry, they settle onto the daybed. Jim pulls a plush duvet over them and leans against the backrest, arms up over the edge. Spock sits, contemplating the fire before them, noting how their bond snaps and cracks just as cheerfully.
Jim clears his throat. “You know, I had been curious what exactly it was that you liked about sex outside. But I mostly just thought you liked being completely alone.”
“It would seem that my main interests lie in the sensory inputs and slight cutaneous irritation,” Spock answers mildly.
“Well. You learn something new every day. I'll take that under advisement in the future.”
“I look forward to it, Jim.”
Spock allows himself a softening of his posture and relaxes back onto the daybed with Jim’s arm wrapped around him. The flickering fire before him is almost hypnotic and he is just slipping into a shallow meditation when—
“How do you think you'd feel about spanking?”
Spock’s mouth drops open and his mind goes temporarily blank before enticing thoughts of Jim applying a paddle or (logic help him) his hand to his backside consume him entirely. He is utterly unable to form a coherent answer.
He can hear the smile in his voice when Jim says, “Well. I suppose we'll just have to run some experiments then.”
Spock snaps his mouth closed and he tilts his head, contemplating. He does value the scientific method…