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“Commander Spock.” The sound of his own name had Spock’s interest piqued; Jim’s voice was deep and sticky sweet, the familiar timbre of his voice makes the metaphorical hairs on the back of Spock’s neck stick up with the knowledge that Jim’s eyes are currently transfixed to his person. If Spock was a guessing man, and he was not, he would wager that his gaze was more localized on the lower posterior of his body. The scans of the system before them moved to the back burner of his mind.
He can hear the stifled snort from Uhura next to him, her voice barely rising a decibel and it had only been discernible due to his heightened hearing. He flicks his eyes over to look at her, her grin wide as she returns to looking at her own console as Spock instead moves his gaze to that of the man in the center of the bridge. “Captain.” Spock answers, a raise of his eyebrow as a glint of something shines in Jim’s eyes, almost as if it was an omen for the events that were to follow.
Jim ticks his head, a silent request for Spock to approach him, the sinful twitch of his lips raising in a smirk that Jim often reserved for their more lustful activities, and as such, has Spock’s body responding almost immediately. He can feel the way the slick seeps deep into his abdomen, threatening to spill over and flood him. He takes a step forward, descending the small platform that his station resides on and closing the distance between Jim and he. “Sir?” Spock questions, observing the way that Jim’s pupils dilate at the honorific, his legs spreading further in his seat. A hand rises from where it resides on the arm rest, a finger curving in delicately before retracting; only to repeat the motion once again.
Spock steps closer, steps into the gap between the captains thighs that Jim has gifted him. Jim’s hands are on his hips the moment he’s pressed against him, his eyes fluttering close on their own accord as Jim’s fingers ghost over the exposed flesh of his hips as the hem of his shirt is raised. “Good boy, Spock.” Jim praised him, his hands disappearing, fingers twisting into the fabric of the front of his shirt, pulling harshly. Spock allows him, allows his body to bend down as Jim presses his lips against his roughly, He pulls Spock down again until the older man has no choice but to fall to his knees in front of him as if he was a God and Spock was nothing but a devoted follower; willing to do anything to be favored by him. And Spock would, and he had.
Jim’s arm rises, pressing his hand against the sharp curve of Spock’s jaw, thumb pressing against his lips, and Spock dutifully lets them part. Jim’s sun kissed skin is divine, the scent of him is addictive, and Spock is powerless from letting his eyes flutter closed once more, to turn his head into the flesh, his mouth opening wider as he allows Jim to press inside of him. Not the way that he wants; but the way he would have to have it; if only for a temporary moment in time. “Look at you, Spock.” Jim says, neither one of them cares for the audience around them. The crew know better than to stare, to observe the two of them like this. The crew would also kill to have their positions switched with Spock’s, but they all knew that Jim would kill them if they so much as whispered the thought of harming Spock aloud. Besides; they all knew that Spock was the captain’s favorite toy. “On your knees for me.” Jim leaned in, his digit slipping from Spock’s mouth as Jim pressed his lips against his once more, their teeth knocking together.
Spock wanted nothing more than to pull them both away from the bridge, to drag Kirk to his ready room and let him do whatever he wanted to him; however he wanted. But Jim loved these moments, with their audience and his eyes only trained on Spock and the green flush that would over take his features and the way that Jim would praise him when in the privacy of their own quarters. His hands slipped away completely, and Spock wanted nothing more than to chase after them with reckless abandon and feel them against his flesh once more. Instead, Spock watched with steadfast eyes as Jim’s hands fell to his lap, his erection evident in the familiar bulge of his pants as his fingers worked swiftly to undo the button of his garment. The familiar sound of his zipper being pulled down has Spock briefly loosing what little self control he had left as he felt his heart fluttering in his side as the digits disappeared into the fly. They return momentarily, wrapped around his cock, thick and pulsing in Jim’s hand. His free hand is back on Spock’s face, fingers threading between strands of inky hair as his nails scratch at his scalp.
Spock has only a moment to relish in the touch before Jim pushes him closer, his words coming out low, “Suck me.” he says; he commands, and Spock has never been one to disobey orders. (Liar. Jim’s subconscious whispers into his, and Spock’s eyes flit up to meet his, an eyebrow raising in both a challenge and in comment to Jim’s words. There are a plethora of responses that Spock could voice in this moment, and the laughter that bubbles in the back of Jim’s mind tells him that any one of them is welcomed. Not in front of the crew. Jim says, his gaze never wavering from where they are locked on Spock’s, But perhaps later, Spock. And Spock will take later; would always take later if it means the promise of Jim and he in their bed away from the more scrutinized gazes of their crew and the Terran Empire.
So he dutifully opens his mouth, allows his tongue to slip out, and presses it softly against the underside of Jim’s length: impossibly hot and achingly hard against him. A small puff of air is forcibly inhaled through Jim’s nose, his lungs expanding swiftly at the intake before it stutters out the same way. Spock is aware that it is only he who has witnessed the confirmation of Jim’s pleasure; of the confirmation of what Spock has accomplished.
Spock takes it as his cue to bring Jim further into his mouth, lips wrapping around the head of the swollen cock, his rough tongue swirling around it with his expert precision. Spock had spent countless times, unfathomable hours, with Jim inside of him in various ways and forms. He knows of how best to suck him, and has calculated the optimum pressure to apply with his tongue that will result in the most favorable outcome. He knows the angle of which to ride Jim should he wish for the human’s cock to press again the deepest; most sensitive parts inside of him. He knows how loud Jim wants him to scream to the very decibel, and the way his nails scratch down Jim’s back at precise points that make Jim moan. He’s dedicated countless pieces of information in his mind in terms of his captain. Spock knows his favorite position depending on what surface they have sex in. Knows that Jim enjoys being sucked off with an audience like now, or when on a very boring mission call with an admiral. He knows how Jim likes it rougher after a battle, how he longs to hear Spock scream and beg for him. And the days that Jim wishes to switch their positions, where he prepares their bed and pushes Spock down flat. How he spreads his legs and kneels before him and eats Spock out as if he’s starving, and Spock knows he’s known the sensation, and he keeps the surface memories away while he comes and lets Jim drink his fill of him before pulling away. He pulls away for only a moment, to take his cock in hand and slide into Spock in gentle waves as he fucks him. How they both allow their controls to slip away and just be Spock and Jim. No titles, no legacies, no expectations. Just the two of them.
But right now, Spock focuses on the task at hand, or rather, at mouth. He can sense the familiar taste of his lover, the precome alight with chemicals that send Spock’s hormones into a fury to recreate; to compliment and mirror and return in kind. He swallows more, his throat relaxing as he takes more of Jim inside of him. He can feel the head of his cock as he presses against the back of his throat. He raises himself on his knees just a bit, angles his head lower as he presses forward. The steady threading of Jim’s fingers through his hair is the only outside stimulation he has access to. He can feel himself getting wetter and harder. His own cock slowly exiting his sheath as his folds become wet with slick. He squeezes his thighs together, hoping almost desperately for some kind of friction to ease his need.
He can feel the bemusement from Jim through not only the skin to skin contact, but in the fluttering of their bond through the back of his mind. Jim’s mouth is watering at the knowledge of how wet Spock is, how he wishes he could reach below and taste. But he refrains, here on the bridge there is an etiquette to follow when fucking your crew. Jim isn’t the first captain to abuse his command like that, and he certainly won’t be the last. He can only imagine what the crew must think, how he always chooses Spock to fulfill his needs when they appear. But the knowledge that Spock has gained favor, has shown how well he can complete his official duties of the ship as well as the personal needs of her captain can only serve to highlight him as the best.
He swallows around Jim’s length, pulling him deeper and filling his mouth with him. His jaw widening like that of a Terran snake as he takes Jim down to the hilt of his cock; his testicles pressed against his bottom lip. Spock fights the urge to stretch his mouth wider, to take one inside of his mouth in the way he knows Jim enjoys it.
“So good.” Jim praises him again, “Best damn mouth on this ship.” He continues. Jim has had others before Spock, has had crew dismissed from bridge duty for lack of head game or un-fulfillment. Gary Mitchell once used his teeth and Jim almost tossed him out of the airlock; instead opting for a more fitting punishment by servicing the Tellarites that they were to be rendezvousing with. He had noted the following days the lack of sitting the man had done and the all but glowing review from the admiralty regarding the trade agreements and the request of the Tellarite captain to rendezvous again in the future. Others had come and gone; pretty little yeomen who were submissive and adoring, who worshiped Jim’s cock in ways he had deemed as over acting but had taken nonetheless, watching with pleasure hooded eyes as he filled their waiting mouths with come. Yeomens whose first duties were to have their holes filled with the captain’s cock and be deemed for service, how Jim had taken them and broken them with rough fucks until they had no choice but to be sent to medbay to be fixed and broken once more by McCoy. But they always came back, always begged to be on the captain’s service for the day that fights would break out on who got to be Kirk’s cock-warmer for the shift. And Jim loved it; and rewarded their enthusiasm with praise and hot ropes of cum down their throats and pretty faces.
And then came Spock, who had all but volunteered to kneel between Jim’s spread thighs and take him into his mouth. Had given Jim the best damn head of his life that he was fisting his hand in Spock’s hair to hold him in place while he came down his throat over and over. It had become an addiction after that. Every day after lunch, Jim called his name, already half hard within his trousers at the very thought of Spock on his knees before him. Sometimes, Jim took his pleasure multiple times. A few times, Spock on his knees was not enough to sate him. Instead he would approach him at the science station, Spock arched over his console as he would press against him, letting Spock feel just how hard he was. Spock would remove his pants so dutifully, and Jim would fill which ever hole he wanted in that moment, his fingers pistoning into the other as Spock’s cock hung heavy, swollen and hard and his fra’als rutted against Jim’s flesh. And Jim would release, would forbid Spock from touching himself, from making a mess of the bridge, and maybe they needed to get Spock his own little whore to use but the suggestion never came into fruition. Instead, Spock would be forced to wait, to hold his arousal tight until such a moment that Jim deemed it adequate. To call him into his ready room, to convey a meeting in his quarters, and he would allow Spock to come. Only Jim was allowed to see him unfurl in ecstasy like that, and only him for the rest of their lives.
Jim snapped his hips upward, effectively pulling Spock out of his mental stupor he had found himself in, his cock hitting the back of his throat and making his eyes roll back. The hand in his hair tightened, twisting 43.51 degrees to the left, and Spock allowed his mouth to relax. Jim came down his throat with barely a noise, his hand firm as he forces Spock to swallow all of him; as if the Vulcan would allow any strand of his essence to escape his lips and tongue in the first place. Spock stills, his controls slipping as he strives to not come, wants to continue to hold Jim inside of his mouth, to feel him soften within him and work him back to full hardness and experience it all over again.
Spock’s lips wrap tighter around Jim’s length, his tongue gently laving over the head of his cock, as if he could suckle every last drop of tangy nectar that he could draw out from Jim, like some kind of vampire from Terran literature. A bubble of laughter and intrigue trickles from Jim’s mind into Spock’s, the subtle hint of agreement in Jim’s thoughts and the acceptance of such an idea, and the suggestion that Spock replicate a cape later tonight to really sell the idea to him. Spock can feel the way Jim agrees with him, feels the twitch of his cock in his mouth as Jim’s hands tighten in his hair, pulling back just a touch. Spock does not wish to allow Jim to pull him away, does not wish for his cock to leave him, to leave him feeling empty and needing.
“Such a slut, Commander.” Jim says, his voice dropping lower, still loud enough for the others to hear and the very knowledge of it makes Spock hum around Jim in concurrence. “Look at you. Still begging for more even after I have emptied inside of you.” He pulls harder at Spock’s hair, effectively pulling him from where he’s still pressed into him, Jim’s cock slipping from his lips. A trail of saliva the only thing connecting them until it breaks and Spock watches with desire as it rests against Jim’s pants, still swollen and heavy and aching to be hard once more.
He faintly detects Chekov behind him, a choked off moan as he adjusts himself in his seat. Spock can smell his arousal, smell the way the younger man has begun to leak within the confines of his pants. Jim’s gaze drifts passed him and rests on the back of the Russian’s head. “Sulu.” Jim says, gaze still focused on Chekov, his free hand wrapping around his cock, and lazily beginning to stroke himself, “Seems our little friend over there can’t seem to focus on himself.” he continues.
Sulu looks over his shoulder, eyes straying to Chekov for a moment as he watches the younger man press his hand against himself, eyes closed as he bucks against it. “Seems so, Captain.” Sulu responds, pausing for a moment as he makes eye contact with Cheokov, “What should I do about him?” he asks, a smirk slowly appearing on his face as Jim’s hand combs idly though Spock’s hair.
“I will leave him in your capable hands, Sulu.” Jim replies, “I need to finish here.” Jim said, fingers twisting and pulling up on Spock and towards him, his digits slipping through Spock’s hair and finding purchase along his waist. Black spots erupted in his vision as his hand covered Jim’s.
“Aye, Captain.” Sulu responds, and Spock can see him rise from his chair out of the corner of his eye. His eyes falling back to Jim, gaze flitting down and watching with hidden glee at the hardening of the Captain’s cock.
Spock raises an eyebrow in silent question, and Jim gives no answer as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his slacks and pulls down. Spock’s hands join him, dutifully wishing to quicken the time between divesting himself of his trousers and feeling Jim’s cock slide into him. “Someone’s desperate.” Jim comments, watching as the black fabric pools at the top of Spock’s boots. “Hurry up, then.” He adds, nodding downwards to them, as Spock hurriedly removes his boots, allowing his pants to slide down and step out of them.
Jim’s eyes never waiver, his gaze trained on his genital sheath, the swell of his cock poking through and the tendrils of his fra’als sliding through, the natural lubrication leaking onto the skin of his thighs. Spock knows his hole is soaked, and as he watches Jim, he knows that the captain is aware of the arousal as well.
“Have a seat, Commander Spock.” Jim orders, taking his cock in hand and pulling Spock closer with his other, “I’ve got the perfect place for you right here.” He teases, as Spock almost greedily straddles Jim’s lap, fingers gripping onto the back of the captain's chair as he allows Jim to line his cock with his entrance. He lets out a shaky breath as the head hooks into it, his body all but suctioning Jim inside of him. He lets his body drop down before Jim has a chance to command him, his moans loud as Jim slips inside of him; finally sliding home into where the captain belongs. The fra’als wrap around the shaft, holding Jim’s cock straight as he sinks lower until he’s fully bottomed out and Jim is securely wrapped within him.
“Fuck, Spock.” Jim praises, hands rising from his hips and over his pecs, thumbs brushing against the sensitive nubs and fingers tangling in the thick coarse hair. Behind him, Spock can hear the sound of Sulu’s own cock fucking into Chekov’s hole, the loud cry the younger man lets out as Sulu slides in is almost distracting. Jim’s gaze drifts from Spock’s face for only a moment to watch as Sulu holds him down.
“Sulu.” Jim says, a laugh in his voice, “Who do you think will cum first?” He asks, and Sulu laughs himself in response.
“We all know it’ll be Pavel here, sir.” He replies, “He’s too horny to last more than a few thrusts before making a mess.” Sulu thrusts hard into him as if to make a point, and Chekov’s breath comes out in short pants as his fingers grip to any inch of flesh that he can reach from where he’s bent over his chair.
“He does cum too easily, doesn’t he?” Jim comments, hand splaying across Spock’s back and pressing against his spine. “You’ll have to train him better.” Jim returns his gaze back to Spock. “Spock here has come so far.” Jim says, pressing his hips up and watching as Spock’s Vulcan control slips for just a moment. Chekov says something, his voice muffled and broken and Sulu laughs at him.
“I’ll work on it, Captain.” Sulu replies, giving Kirk a curt nod before turning his attention back to Chekov. He thrusts once more and it’s all that it takes before Spock’s nostrils flare and he can smell Chekov’s come as he spills out as Sulu laughs again, “See,” he says, “told you, Captain.” Spock can hear Sulu pull out, can hear the sound of the leather of the seat as someone sits down. “And still hard, too.” Sulu notes, Spock can still discern the soft whimpers that escape Chekov’s lips, and the promise of making it up to Sulu.
“You should check with Bones,” Kirk said, a hand trailing down Spock’s chest to his sheath, fingers teasing at the slit and grinning as the fra’als wrapped around him. “He’s got suppressants to keep one from coming early.” Spock’s cunt flexed around him, a breathy moan escaping Kirk’s lips as his fingers flexed onto Spock’s skin. “If you can ever catch him when he’s not fucking his nurses.” Jim paused as he pressed his fingers into Spock’s folds. “Or Scotty.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind, Sir.” Sulu replied.
“You’ll have to give him Chekov for a few hours.” Jim commented, “He always did love fucking the ensigns.” Pavel lets out a cry, a desperate half choked out sound that Spock determines is his approval; of his desire to be fucked by the doctor. In terms of pleasure; it is no secret that Doctor McCoy is second only to Jim. How now that Jim had a permanent fucktoy in the form of Spock; McCoy was more than happy to fill the needs of the yeomen whose job was no longer required to the captain.
“What was that, Pavel?” Sulu asks, voice low as Chekov lets out another moan.
Before Chekov could reply, Uhura speaks up, “Sir.” She says, voice even and almost bored, the creak of the metal filling the bridge as she turns in her chair, “Admiral Archer is on the line for you.”
“Put it up.” Kirk replies, hand in Spock’s hair as he pushes him to the side, their torsos flushed against each other as Spock rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to his neck.
“Admiral.” Jim greets as Archer’s face fills their viewscreen. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” he asked, the hand between their bodies wrapping loosely around Spock’s cock and slowly pumped. The position hiding him from view and he grinned widely at the gasp of pleasure that escaped Spock’s lips. The conversation falling away as Jim’s free hand smacked against the curve of his ass.
“Captain.” Spock sighed low into Kirk’s ear, hips rising up and falling back down onto Kirk’s length. He could feel the heat pooling deep in his abdomen, could feel the way Jim became harder inside of him as he rose. Jim’s conversation with Archer continuing on as he continued to fuck himself, desperate for more of Jim. So good. Jim complimented him through their bond, Archer is so proud of you. Fucking yourself on my cock like this. So desperate like the whore you are.
Spock could only nod his head, his chest heaving as his heart raced in his side. He was so close; he needed to come so badly; could feel himself at the edge. Jim’s hand abandoning Spock’s leaking cock and traveling up, fingers wrapping around the column of his throat and squeezing at just the right angle that Spock loved.
He came with a broken gasp, could feel himself tighten around Jim as he released, his cunt filling, Jim’s cock acting as a plug and not allowing himself to empty into their laps. His own cock pulsing and his fra’als desperately rutting against Jim’s stomach as his cock stiffened and released, the thick exude warm against their skin as it seeped into the fabric of their shirts.
He could feel Jim release inside of him once more, their essences combining and filling him more as Spock struggled to remember how to breathe. A low growl emanating from Jim and he faintly recalled Jim’s closing remarks to the admiral and the sound of the transmission cutting out.
“You’ve made a mess.” Kirk said, voice heavy and low as he released again inside of Spock, his hand fisted into his hair as he pulled Spock away from his shoulder to look at him. The deep; mesmerizing hazel of his eyes shone with mirth and something else that Spock couldn’t quite place in the current haze his mind had developed in it’s post orgasmic bliss.
Spock could only nod in agreement, forcing himself to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, “Ha1.” he whispered, voice hoarse and lips dry. “ni'droi'ik nar-tor.” he continued.
“You’ll have to be punished for this, Commander.” Jim replied, head tilting as his hand slid down to his jaw and tilted his face up to look at him. “You understand, don’t you.” and Spock could only nod his head, his cunt tightening as flashes of just what exactly Jim had in mind in terms of restitution for his transgressions against the captain. “Good boy.” Kirk said, leaning forward so that their lips barely brushed a few centimeters between them and Spock could feel his breath against him.
“How do you plead, Commander?” Kirk asked.
“On my knees, sir,” Spock responded, “and guilty as charged.” their eyes meeting as Jim smiled wide.