Chapter Text
Frustration burns with an unending appetite in his gut and, for perhaps the first time in his life, Spock wishes that sensation was the only thing he could feel in this moment.
His attempt at meditation has been a spectacular failure in spite of all his effort for the past ten minutes, which has only reinforced his aggravation, furthering into a spiral that worsens with every deep breath he takes. He has been unable to quiet his mind and simply focus on a single interior thought without the constant reminder of Leonard’s practiced hands, of the hot wetness of his mouth. Every time he is instead rewarded with an incessant throbbing and yearning to seek the doctor once more.
The desperation of the thought is as attractive as it is humiliating.
Rising from his pillow, Spock rounds the partition to head into the bathroom. The action is illogical, yet he marches forward irrespective to the thought as the door grants him access to the shared space. Having already taken a sonic shower upon his return, Spock knows he needs not another, but his skin continues to thrum with broiling desire despite his previous sexual release. He takes but a small gratification that only the tip of his penis remains unsheathed from his body, finding the experience better than the full erection the doctor had wrung from him.
Just as he moves to remove his tunic, Spock catches a shuffling in the adjoining room, the sound faint through the wall and certainly too quiet for human ears to register. He falters, hands stilling at the zipper as a laugh he can only describe as bitter and abashed echoes in the space. Even if it isn’t a sound he has heard from the man in the past, he knows it undoubtedly as Jim’s voice.
His hand is on the door’s lock panel before the thought to do it manifests in his mind, a chime ringing gently as he requests access.
“Come in.”
The response is alarmingly fast. Spock’s heart leaps, clenching tight in his side as the door slides open and reveals an empty, neatly-made bed. He wavers in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, peering around the corner in search of a familiar shade of gold, of a sturdy upper body.
He need not search at all, discovering Jim leaned against the partition separating his office and bedroom, nearly doubled over as his boots lie dejected on the carpeted floor. It’s only with a quick assessment that Spock discovers the man just as aroused as the doctor had become earlier: visibly sweating, skin warm in color, chest heaving. His lips are distinctly swollen, too, but Spock is unsure of what to make of that.
Yet even with his honed mind thrown by a ceaseless lust—channeled through his body in ways he cannot control, degrading circumstances for any Vulcan—his logic does not fail him: Spock infected Leonard, who in turn infected Jim.
He believes, logically, he should feel remorse for putting them in this position. The problem, he quickly comes to understand, is not that he doesn’t, but it is rather a bright streak of pride that bursts within him, an emotion most sickening and detestable. He must attribute it to the infection and not a deep-seated, undisciplined fragment of his mind, something animal and savage.
Jim manages only the briefest of glances before immediately returning his gaze to the ground, shifting his stance so as to hide the tent in his trousers. A fool’s gambit, as Spock had noticed it the moment he laid eyes upon his captain, and his posture indicates Jim is just as aware of that fact as Spock is. He turns around fully, straightens his back as he approaches his desk and switches on the viewscreen. Were it not for the blazing red of his ears, he’d look impeccably composed. It would be difficult for Spock to considering anything but impressive.
“What is it, Mr. Spock?” The question is strained and incorrectly formal, an attempt to recreate the professional rapport they maintain on the bridge with the use of an honorific. Jim’s efforts to create distance does not escape Spock.
To be pushed away like this is... unpleasant. Spock sees no reason to be indirect, not when this is certainly about something other than Jim’s apparent sexual arousal. Or, at the very least, in addition to that fact. “You’ve been to see Dr. McCoy.”
Even with his back turned, Spock can tell how hard Jim swallows before he speaks. “I have. And so have you.”
“Did I make an error in seeking the doctor’s assistance?”
“You made an error in failing to report to me, yes.” The muscles of Jim’s back flex as the words leave him like a faltering strike, the bite there but mitigated by a hampered motivation. As humans would say, his heart isn’t fully in it, the reprimand.
They both know that’s not why they’re here, why Spock requested entry, why Jim allowed him inside with little reluctance.
Spock adjusts his shoulders, trying to find some equilibrium within himself as he half-mindedly recalls the scientific names of the muscles in the human back. “You are correct,” he acquiesces, understanding that he indeed shirked his responsibilities, even if he considered pursuing a medical opinion on the matter before anything else to be a logical one. “The intention was not to undermine your authority, Captain, but that was the outcome. It will not happen again.”
“Do you...” Jim begins, cutting himself off. He leaves Spock to wait once again, but after the passage of approximately five-point-seven seconds, Spock assumes the sentence will remain unfinished without his motion to nudge.
Spock steps closer, lingering at the room divider. “Do I what?”
Huffing out a sigh through his nose, Jim finishes his question. “Do you trust the doctor more than you do me?”
Spock nearly allows himself to answer like that of a knee-jerk reaction, so quickly wanting to deny the idea outright, but the inquiry gives him pause. This is not a question of command loyalty to his captain; this is about the friendship he shares with Jim.
He trusts Jim with his life as much as he does with Leonard, and though the reasons are considerably different, at their root it comes down to the relationships he has forged with each of them over the course of nearly five years. Giving the thought consideration, there is little reason for Jim to believe Spock should not have gone to Sickbay for medical care, even if it hadn’t quite gone the way he had anticipated.
It’s then that he considers that perhaps Jim is not actually inquiring about trust. He asking about intimacy—emotional, physical, sexual.
Just as he was unable to ascertain the exact moment he began to understand Leonard as not merely a colleague but as a trusted friend, Spock cannot determine when his thoughts regarding the good doctor had transformed to one of an amorous nature, one strong enough to build to an unequivocal yearning for shared physical pleasure.
The captain—Jim—is the same, though his path from stranger to a beloved, coveted object of desire is much clearer, smoother. While Leonard insists on a regimen of argumentative conversation multiple times a week—be it something as small as annoyance at an ordinary word like ‘fascinating’ or as large as philosophical debate on the value of Vulcan stoicism—that is buoyed by genuine, intelligent curiosity and care, Jim is not so prone to poking and prodding. Jim may tease, but he does not push when he doesn’t need to. He simply is—providing pleasant company, trusted non-judgment, and a sense of security Spock finds difficult to quantify in words.
Both of these humans—they are so deeply filled with such contradiction. Kindred yet alien, achingly close yet unfathomably distant, individuals he understands so much and so little of at the same time. They intrigue him, but more than anything does he want them, in so many senses of the word.
Perhaps that is the desire the infection is feeding off of, this inexplicable yearning he’s held for these two for some time. More than anything, though, Spock’s unwillingness to be forthcoming about such inclinations has created this exact situation to unfold just as it has, enough that Jim is uncertain of his unique importance.
That simply will not do.
“Jim.” He waits, giving Jim the opportunity to speak, to sigh, to turn around, to do anything. He does none of those things, however, and just simply breathes, hard and slow. “You are not in competition with Leonard.”
“Of course not.” Jim rushes the words out, punctuating them with that strange laughter from before. “No, of course I’m not.”
Spock’s brow furrows, catching the strange interpretation Jim has taken of his statement. Something flares in him—frustration, offense—but he wrangles it, controls it enough that it barely glimmers in his voice when he says, “Nor is Leonard in competition with you. Do not misinterpret me, Jim. Each of you are on equitable ground when it comes to my care and concern.”
Hesitant, Jim turns his head to look over his shoulder, but doesn’t raise his eyes to meet with Spock’s. He searches some distant spot on the floor, his eyes not focused on much of anything. His face is still stained red, glistening under the soft overhead lights. “I don’t... understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Then I will say it simply: I desire both you and Leonard as my mates.”
Jim’s eyes widen. Blinking, his mouth also falls agape. He wavers in place and thrusts his other hand onto the desk to steady himself, swiftly moving to hang his head. After a pause, a vocalization akin to a stifled moan erupts from his throat, his entire body strung taut.
Spock takes a step forward.
“Let me help.”
Jim does not respond—nor react at all, not even in any subtle, involuntary way—for a considerable stretch of time, but Spock is nothing if not everlastingly patient where his captain is concerned.
Then, as if brushed by a sudden chill, a shudder runs through Jim’s body, his shoulders trembling. He leans forward, steadying himself on his desk, and breathes out, “Okay.”
If Jim moves to turn around, Spock does not notice. He edges closer, the toe of his boot nearly brushing the back of Jim’s socked heels, and feathers a hand along the man’s side, just at the dipping curve of his waist before his hips fill out. Heat radiates off of Jim like that of sunbathed sand and Spock deduces his skin must feel searing. He tests this hypothesis by reaching out with his other hand, trailing Jim’s arm until skin meets skin and finding it indeed fevered to the touch.
Spock traces the tips of his middle and forefinger along the drips and grooves of Jim’s hand, going over each knuckle with a careful though unsteady stroke. Part of him mourns that he hadn’t felt the doctor’s hands on his own, that he hadn’t done to Leonard as he does to Jim now. It’s with an aching in his lungs that he hopes he will get the opportunity to, that this incident will not inevitably drive them all away from each other once it passes.
Jim leans back, their bodies becoming flush with one another, sending a rush of pleasant warmth in Spock’s groin. Spock slips his fingers into the palm of Jim’s hand, beginning to trace the creases there while he unconsciously nestles into Jim’s back, the feeling of his body warm and full. The gentle nudge motions Jim to lifts his hand and flip it over so that Spock may have better access, but otherwise keeps the limb unmoving, letting Spock do what he will.
Spock angles his head forward, hovering his chin over Jim’s shoulder as his watches himself work. As he listens to the quick way Jim breathes through his nose, Spock endeavors for a brief experiment and brings his other hand down to Jim’s hip, fingertips skirting along the tilt of fabric where Jim’s erection remains suffocated. His hypothesis is correct when those racing breaths heighten in both speed and intensity for approximately two-point-six seconds before leveling out.
He reaches closer to undo the clasp of the fly and once again does Jim’s breathing accelerate. Spock delights in his predictability and consistency.
Through his skin Spock drinks in the vague impressions of thoughts, their contents ill-defined and therefore understood only by the emotions that carry them along the nervous system. Within Jim brims a familiar, overwhelming sense of longing, occasionally caught swirling in currents of confusion and frustration. These emotions he expects, but he is intrigued most by this stream of curiosity that swims along with all of it.
“There is something you wish to know,” Spock says, his voice quiet but still startling Jim from the close proximity to his ear, “but you refuse to let yourself ask the question.”
“How can you tell?” Jim gasps for air, his hand skidding against the surface of his desk.
“It’s bleeding from you.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, continues, “Like Dr. McCoy, you feel deeply and profusely.”
Jim finally moves along with Spock, tracing his fingers in tandem, an ill-practiced dance that makes Spock’s spine tingle. Jim makes a low hum in his throat, as if he were about to speak, but the word dies in his mouth as he pushes against Spock’s front, the swell of his ass pressing against Spock’s half-unsheathed erection.
He swallows, digging his fingers into Jim’s hip. “Ask and I will answer.”
“How long?” It comes out like a gasp, extricated from him with concerted effort.
While he cannot ascertain the exact moment by which his platonic affections for Jim and Leonard had bloomed into that of passion—blinding, searing, aching passion—he can recall the moment where he came to the realization that he wanted from them something he did not believe they could ever give him, would ever wish to give him.
They sat alone in recreation room two on deck five, the smallest and closest lounge to each of their respective personal quarters. It was late into the night, long past any of their assigned shifts or that of the majority of the crew. The Enterprise was on her way to the nearest starbase after an uneventful supply run to a colony near the edges of Federation space, and as such it was a quiet, peaceful evening. There was little concern of their being disturbed during the early hours of delta shift, but Jim had locked the door anyway, one of the few times he took advantage of captain’s privileges for foolish reasons.
Leonard had procured one of his many alcoholic beverages from his personal supply and poured a glass for all three of them, even after—or perhaps in spite of—Spock’s declining for one of his own. A warmth swelled in his core, settling comfortably to the right of his heart, at Leonard’s continued insistence of including him in his imbibing with Jim and the fond glance the two of them gave one another when Spock began to gently push the glass away.
He was grateful they were too preoccupied with one another in that moment—their faces mind-numbingly close together as they sat in conspiring laughter—because the sheer depth of the affection Spock felt for them made his hand stagger in its motion to reject the drink. He quickly tucked it back onto his lap before either of them could glance his way again.
Though in not so many words, Spock describes this exact memory as he finally slips his hand past the waistband on Jim’s briefs. His finger barely brushes past the curls of Jim’s pubic hair and already does Jim lean into the touch, rolling his hips in search of it. Something sweet blossoms in Spock’s stomach as he elaborates, “I had made the assumption neither of you held interest in me as I did for you both.”
“Can’t speak for Bones, but–” Jim takes in a wet breath, brushing his thumb along the creases in Spock’s palm before interlacing their fingers together, holding on so tightly his fingertips burn white. He brings their intertwined hands to his chest, pressing the heel of Spock’s hand against the vicious beating of his heart. “I thought I was obvious.”
Spock stifles a groan, already deeply missing the clumsy way by which Jim met his hand but enraptured by the unrelenting hold keeping him so close to his heart. “Perhaps you were,” he murmurs, fully plunging his hand to wrap around Jim’s swollen erection, delighting in the staggered moan he earns as reward, “to a human, that is.”
From his skin, Spock gets the impression of Jim wanting to retort with some wit of his own, but Spock doesn’t give him the chance as he frees him from his underwear and begins to stroke, slowly and mindfully. Whatever he might have came up with turns into a deluge of choked gasps, every muscle in his body tensed. Wrestling with his own reignited desire, Spock begins to lose the fight, feeling himself emerge further from his sheath and his pants grow tighter.
Tilting his head, he peers pass their joined hands to look at Jim’s erection, his eyelids heavy. Spock has no value judgment on the length, girth, or shape of it—hardly having much exposure to the variety human reproductive anatomy or cultural ideas of what makes one phallus so desirable on configuration alone—but he finds himself appreciating the large, round shape of the glans; the vibrant rosiness of the tissue; and the alien way the foreskin shifts along as he tugs. It is very unlike that of a Vulcan.
Perhaps he likes what he sees because it is Jim’s.
The tip of it glistens with wetness, a bead of clear fluid clinging to the slit at the top of the head. Squeezing firmly—though mindful not to grip too hard—Spock strokes upward and successfully wrings a little more of it out, Jim letting out a choked moan in the process. Spock gathers the precome in his palm and smears it along Jim’s length with a reverse-handed grip. The hand laced with his own clenches tighter, pulls him closer as hot, damp breath blows against his knuckles. It spurs him on further, giving his backward stroke a tentative twisting motion, and all Jim can respond with is a sharp, gasping curse. He must be close.
As he returns to his earlier pace, listening carefully to every little hitch and stumble in Jim’s panting voice, Spock catches the distinct sensation of recollection running through his captain’s body amidst the storm of everything else there. Though he can’t perceive it fully outside of a mind meld, somehow he knows definitively that it’s a memory of Leonard, to which his brain begins to race to fill in all the blank spaces.
Judging from Jim’s current state, it seems unlikely that he had been touched much at all, if any. He must have tended to Leonard, just as Leonard had tended to Spock himself, and there’s something about the cyclical dance they’ve accomplished that brings a new wave of arousal to his lower half, a twisting twinge in his gut and a throbbing between his legs. He can feel himself grow wetter at the thought, the image of Jim’s hand hidden beneath Leonard’s underwear flashing vividly in his mind’s eye.
Haven’t they always done this, circling one another, falling into each other’s orbits but never quite making contact? Certainly he is the main culprit for that, despite all that he feels, despite how deeply such love burrows into his heart. It took him so long to come to terms with it, having deemed it so illogical that he couldn’t even consider it beyond a strange, passing thought, no matter the fact that the sheer intensity of the sensation would fill his body to the point of overwhelming. He spent many a night after his shift folded into a meditative position for hours before he reached a semblance of quiet in his racing mind.
He wonders, then, if crashing together like this was inevitable, something he never would have been able to avoid in spite of all his Vulcan discipline, and that now all that matters is what the fallout will be. To have this be reduced to nothing but space dust enfolds him with a harrowing dread, one that he fears he could never reconcile, not even through Kolinahr. He won’t let that happen.
In their enthusiasm, their joined hands slip against Jim’s breast and, even amongst all that is toiling in his brain, Spock readily catches the hitch in Jim’s voice when it happens. The sound goes directly to his groin.
Spock disentangles their hands—a difficult parting, though he’s uncertain whose reluctance is the determining factor—and rushes for the hem of Jim’s shirt, slipping his fingers underneath and quickly caressing the length of his torso. The smooth flesh there trembles beneath his touch, slick with sweat and blistering with heat, as he searches for one of Jim’s nipples. He knows he finds it less from the unique softness against his fingertips and more from the slight stutter in Jim’s weighty breaths. With only a few passes with his middle finger does it harden, eager to be stroked further.
“Spock, don’t–” Jim stumbles, his stifled moans falling in rhythm with his own bucking hips, seeking sensation in Spock’s fist. Spock listens, his finger stilling on along Jim’s bumpy areola, though that only seems to cause frustration as Jim’s abandoned hand hastily seeks his arm and grips tight. “Don’t stop.”
He certainly isn’t wont to not abide by his captain’s orders. Spock resumes, middle and ring fingers working in tandem to roll the nipple along his fingertips, synchronizing his strokes with his hand on Jim’s erection. Jim’s vocalizations heighten, his cries only partially muffled with what must be his teeth bearing down on his lips, and Spock decides that he must hear more of it. He pulls Jim to stand upright, easing them backward until Jim’s shoulder blades press solidly against his chest. Mindful not to slow his ministrations, Spock brings his lips to the soft edge of Jim’s jaw, pressing almost mindless kisses along his cheek.
When Jim tries to turn his head to return the kiss, Spock speeds up his hand, bringing it down hard against Jim’s pelvis as he pumps relentlessly. Jim lets out an almost surprised moan, the sound spilling from his throat and caught between hungered want and startled disappointment, as if he wanted this moment to last forever.
Spock understands the feeling, but more than anything he wants to have it shared, to reach out to Leonard with open arms. Having both of them separately has since sated some deep-seated longing, but the want remains, aching for a third. From all that bleeds through the other man’s skin, Spock is highly certain Jim is thinking the same thing.
So he pushes Jim over the edge, holding him tight against his front and shuddering along with him as Jim’s entire body trembles, his head thrown back in a silent scream, taking in a vicious, shocked gasp. Spock tightens his hand around the tip of Jim’s spent cock, catching the ejaculate in his cupped palm and successfully sparing the floor from being soiled.
For a long moment they remain unmoving, caught in their tight embrace with their bodies so closely flushed together. Spock waits for an interruption—and the slight, tense unease Jim carries despite having just orgasmed gives Spock the impression that he awaits the same—but none comes, the room ever silent but for the Enterprise’s soothing breathing.
Spock releases Jim’s softening erection, his palm tacky with cooling fluid. The hand under Jim’s shirt slips to the soft dip of his sternum, where his heart beats with solid, ferocious rapidity. He seeks not to part from their embrace entirely, so he doesn’t, merely letting his muscles relax as he keeps his arms wrapped around Jim’s torso, mindful to keep his dirtied hand off Jim’s uniform.
Jim, for his part, does much of the same. Finally releasing the tension that had him coiled like a tight spring, the grip on both of Spock’s arms loosen yet his fingers remain comfortably curled around them, holding him steady. With an exhausted huff of air, Jim tilts his head back until his nape slots against the slope of Spock’s shoulder, and suddenly feels heavier, leaning almost all his body weight against Spock. Even if he tried, Spock finds that he doesn’t mind at all.
He counts the seconds that pass before Jim decides to move again—approximately twelve-point-five—when he lifts his head and removes a hand from Spock’s arm, putting his mostly-softened cock back in his underwear. He does not bother with closing his fly.
Spock keeps his hands on Jim’s body as the other man turns around, stroking with his hand as it falls from his chest and following the turn to settle it against a slightly damp spot on Jim’s lower back, still snaked underneath his uniform. A hand rests on his hip while another faintly brushes along his ribs once they’re face-to-face.
Jim searches his eyes, his brows caught in a gentle, thoughtful furrow, and then his gaze falls down to Spock’s mouth before he leans forward. Their lips press together almost tentatively, Spock letting Jim take the lead as he gets swept up in it, the embrace quietly deepening after Jim lightly prods with his tongue. Fingers feather along his jaw and settle there gingerly, warmly as Spock slides his tongue against Jim’s, dimly aware of how uncertainly he does it, if only because he has such little practice in human intimacy conventions. He hopes Jim and Leonard can change that.
When they finally part, it is only fractionally. The kiss breaks but their lips continue to brush together, their foreheads anchoring them in steadied position as they catch their breath. It lasts for a considerably lengthy moment, but Spock neglects to count this time.
Eventually, he pulls away, straightening his posture and removing his hand from Jim’s back.
“Have you been relieved enough so that you may hear my report, Captain?”
Jim nods in the affirmative, following Spock’s example and ending their embrace, clearing his throat while visibly trying to shift into work mode. He’s marginally successful. “Alright, Spock,” he starts, his voice quiet and still a little thick, “give me the nitty-gritty.”
Spock blinks. “You are referring to my condition?”
“You must have a hypothesis already.” There’s a slight grin pulling at Jim’s lips, glistening. A green overhead light shines against his back, outlining his hair and giving him a passionate glow. Spock tries not to think too hard about either detail.
“Correct. I believe this heightened state of arousal was due to a foodstuff I ingested at the institute. Upon the conclusion of my tour, the scientist brought me to their cafeteria.” He pauses for a moment, remembering the billowing plant life that made the space resemble that of an arboretum rather than a mess hall. It was quite striking. “I watched her prepare some tea from leaves plucked fresh from the area. She expressed that she wished it to be seen as a gesture of good will.”
“Do you suspect any malicious intent?”
“No. She drank a cup from the same kettle. I also cannot see any reason in my deliberate poisoning by the Kvorlans as I was not acting as a Federation representative but simply visiting as a fellow scientist.”
Jim furrows his brow. “No one else in the landing party was with you?”
“Only Security Officer Cheng, who declined the beverage. Officers Sepulveda, Harlowe, and Lake were escorted along the premises by a different researcher.” Spock pauses again, clearing his throat to recall their name—and to recenter a wandering brain, distracted as he is by the pinkness still painting Jim’s skin and the heat of him standing so close. “Dr. Leitra, if memory serves.”
“I see,” Jim responds, audibly distracted. He blinks a few times, tearing his eyes away from Spock’s yet lingering on his face. Spock watches the way they trace along his mouth, but he remains silent and unmoving, allowing Jim to conclude on following up with Cheng later. “As important as this all is, we should get cleaned up...”
Spock waits, knowing—somehow—what Jim is going to say next.
His eyes return to meet Spock’s, twinkling. “...and I think we ought to pay our dear doctor a visit.”
“Indeed.”