my_daroga: (star trek)
my_daroga ([personal profile] my_daroga) wrote2011-07-03 08:32 am

Fanfiction: Fingers Crossed [Star Trek:TOS, Kirk/Spock, NC-17]

Title: Fingers Crossed
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS (at least, that's how I imagined it; there is no canon specific element here)
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (established relationship)
Word count: 2,600
Genre: PWP
Summary: Spock knows Jim believes Vulcan hands to be unusually sensitive. He doesn't disabuse him of that notion, but he has his reasons.
Notes: Written for Dreamwidth's Kink Bingo's amnesty period for the "hand fetish" square on my card. I wanted to play with the common trope in Trek fic about Vulcan hands. It went from there.
Warning/content notes: (skip) Fisting.



It was a common misconception, among non-Vulcans, that the Vulcan hand was a uniquely sensitive organ, a sort of secondary erogenous zone. It was a patently ridiculous notion, having no basis in either biology or logic, and at times Spock indulged, purely as an exercise in understanding his partner, in wondering just what it would be like to have one's genitals constantly exposed to the elements. Not to mention requiring that the most sensitive part of one's anatomy double as one's primary interface with controls, menial tasks, and other beings. It was both intriguing and horrifying at once.

And yet, Spock increasingly saw little reason to disabuse Jim of the notion.

He understood, because he had made a study of his captain and lover's grasp of logic, how such a misapprehension had occurred in this case. But Jim often made leaps which confounded Spock with their accuracy, and then utterly failed to follow them to their logical conclusions. For instance, if the Vulcan “kiss” had evolved as a means of preserving the privacy of intimacy, publicly joining one's privates with another's would surely defeat the purpose. Jim had no doubt considered Spock's parents to be scandalously engaged in public coitus, and no doubt this had delighted him. Then again, explaining to Jim that one's privates were not in fact meant to be the center of one's public life would most likely have been met with incomprehension. Spock was not entirely certain if the blank stare he predicted would be due to Jim's conviction that they were or inability to connect the statement to his own behavior. It was one of the many mysteries which continued to attract Spock to Jim. And to be perfectly fair, Jim's tight trousers and periodic shirtless parades from the gym to his quarters benefited crew morale in eminently logical ways.

Jim was wrong about the sensitivity of Spock's hands. But it was for a very good reason—Vulcans were touch-telepaths. There just didn't seem to be any reason to inform Jim that he got that extra sensation no matter where Jim kissed him. Not with Jim so ready to wrap his lips around Spock's fingers, eyes falling closed, sucking them in as far as he could to lave the tender skin between with his tongue. The contact meant that Spock could feel Jim's arousal, his delight in pleasuring Spock in this special way, and Spock was so moved by this that Jim might as well have been right.

There was another reason Spock did not correct him. And that was more difficult to explain, even to himself. Because, objectively, there was nothing really special about Jim's hands. They were strong, blunt, capable. But they weren't beautiful. And yet, Spock found himself mesmerized by them. Touch-telepaths didn't avoid contact because their hands were sensitive but because they were. And yet. Jim interacted with the world through touch just as surely. He touched everything. Spock had watched him for some time, before they were even together, cataloging the ways in which his captain touched his crew and unwillingly tallying the incidents of casual contact with himself as opposed to others. It had been cold consolation, back then, knowing Jim touched him more and knowing he was not even aware of it. Let alone counting.

In this, Spock thought, Jim had been far more logical.

And now that Jim had been logical and seen to it that their mutual attraction and regard were formalized and consummated, Spock could watch Jim's hands with impunity, at least when not absorbed by other duties. He could allow himself to enjoy the way they cupped the air when Jim spoke, as if he was holding the words and waiting to release them. The way he brushed the hair off his forehead. The way they played unconsciously with a stylus or fork, or the varying pressure of his fingertips on Spock's arm as he communicated something complex in a look and a few squeezes, as eloquent as anything Spock could filter through their contact. Jim spoke with his hands and while there was no part of him that was not expressive, even for a Human, it was his hands Spock paid attention to most. And when Jim lovingly extended his first two fingers, his eyes dancing with supposedly illicit delight, Spock thought he might as well be naked in public, so transfixed and undone he was in meeting them with his own. Jim's hands were so thoroughly a representation of his personality, an extension of his very self, that Spock found himself increasingly distracted by them.

This was nothing, of course, to how distracting Jim's hands were when they were actually naked. Jim could fell an opponent with one swipe of one hand so efficiently that Spock had always wondered why he envied Spock's Vulcan nerve pinching techniques. The hands had no less an effect on Spock's anatomy. But he had difficulty explaining that it was not a lack of oral technique on Jim's part which made hand jobs so satisfying, nor did he feel logical in demanding that Jim insert more fingers into his anus than were strictly required to prepare him for Jim's cock, which was a perfectly efficient instrument of pleasure. But he knew that Jim kept that just for him, wherever it had been before and wherever it might go with Spock’s blessing. His hands, though. Spock had no claim on his hands, and Jim’s hands went everywhere, not a private thing at all but an oh-so-public expression of himself to the world.

Perhaps Spock had internalized Jim’s beliefs about the arousing nature of that uniquely Vulcan kiss. Perhaps he, too, found something covertly sinful in the idea of taking into himself that which Jim relied upon so heavily. It was a corruption of his Vulcan upbringing, Spock thought, a perversion of something his culture held dear. And yet, Jim made even perversion seem logical, in his refusal to let society dictate what was perverse for each individual. Spock could reconcile this startling discovery with the knowledge that it was theirs, and theirs alone, and no reflection on the acts or choices of others. According to Jim, that which aroused him in the privacy of their room did not automatically take on a sensual context in every other situation, though Spock sometimes wondered when watching Jim quite publicly consume the whipped topping off his ice cream in the officer’s mess. Spock lived in the entirely illogical (and selfish) hope that shore leave would not provide them with bananas.

So this was all at the back of his mind when Spock found himself on his back in his quarters, Jim between his spread legs, gold uniform tossed negligently aside in a way that would only bother Spock later because right now he was transfixed by the sight of Jim rising from between his knees, somehow still a gleaming gold color himself despite the lack of UV in standard ship lighting. Spock was naked, not self-conscious of his body and certainly not in Jim's presence. He had always found satisfaction with his body to be logical; Jim had taught him that its responses did not need to be. His skin thrilled to the trail of Jim's fingers down his chest, leaving behind them invisible lines of sensation. He could lower his barriers here, release some of his control. He refused to think about it as becoming more Human—simply more himself. The look that Jim was giving him saw him that way—as him, not the sum of his parts, though he was intimately familiar with those as well. His other hand skated up Spock's thigh, and instinctively Spock lowered it further, spreading them both, his desire evident. Jim's hand was passing his heart now, low in his chest, pulse rapid from more than his Vulcan physiology. He had found he could control his responses, but that it gave him more pleasure not to, which in turn pleased Jim even more.

“Please,” he said as Jim spread his palm, fingers wide, on Spock's stomach, Human heat radiating in every direction. And then Jim drew his fingers up, arching them, and Spock thought he was going to take hold now of the erection his lengthy teasing had produced, but he simply slid his hand, fingers on one side and thumb on the other, over his rigid cock without touching it. Spock could feel its heat, however, and he trembled almost imperceptibly as Jim's hands met where his legs joined, spreading wide again to skim over his legs and then back, grazing his hips, the hollow of his stomach again, and Spock wanted to plead again but the promise was in Jim's eyes. His captain's face was tender and serious, despite his teasing; he took Spock's pleasure as an honor, no matter how joyous he could be in his lovemaking.

Now he relented, despite Spock's silence, one finger pressing gently to his entrance as Spock bit his lip and sighed, forcing himself to relax. His greater-than-Human control of his body was useful here, and Jim's finger, already slick by some sleight of hand born of Jim's great experience, was admitted easily. Jim kept it slow, however, and Spock could feel the flare of his knuckle, the way he swiveled his finger slightly to open him gently, staring at his face as if Spock were the most beautiful thing in the universe. Spock knew he was not, but this fact was irrelevant next to Jim's ability to believe it in this moment. But this was not nearly enough, the value of taking one's time which Spock had impressed upon Jim quickly losing its logic against the heat inside him. But Jim knew this too, and as he drew his finger out to the tip he added a second next to it, still hardly a stretch though Spock could feel more now and savored it, fingers scissoring inside him, fingers which just as easily manipulated controls or signed orders.

“That's it,” Jim murmured, never content to stay silent for long. “Love feeling you around me.” His fingers twisted again, seeking his prostate which, like his heart, served a similar function to its Human counterpart but was positioned differently. But Spock shook his head. That wasn't what he wanted, not right now, and while Jim's expression displayed a moment of uncertainty, he seemed to understand and on his next pass added a third finger, pressed together.

Spock sighed again, relaxed again, though it was getting harder to remain still against the stretch of Jim's fingers, knuckles breeching him again as Jim slowly drew his fingers out and in. He had the uncharacteristic urge to thrust himself onto Jim's hand, an urge he recognized from previous experience as well as Jim's often wanton abandon as he fucked himself, driving himself down on Spock's cock like he couldn't take enough of him, fast enough. But he controlled it, forcing his body still and open, waiting, wanting all of him. He had to be transmitting some of this, if the flush of Jim's face was any evidence, the increased heart rate he could feel in the hand that still lay spread on Spock's stomach, gentling him.

“More,” he said, his voice low with need, and the hand moved to his cock and Spock shook his head fiercely, placing his own hand over Jim's. “No.”

Something in Jim's expression cleared, gaining a tinge of wonder. “You want to come like this,” he said, sounding strangely hoarse, and Spock's dark eyes locked with his as he nodded. “Oh god,” Jim said, and Spock could not determine the cause of the exclamation because Jim's fingers inside him were flexing in the most distracting way, filling him and spreading him. He was grateful for the fact he did not need to explain himself, nor ask for the fourth finger that joined the others, Jim's hand as slender as he could make it though Spock was acutely aware of its bluntness, its practical size. Strong hands, thick fingers, deadly and tender and a window to Jim's particularly tactile soul. Not made for this, no, these hands which had all-unknowing driven him to distraction. Jim's hands had owned him for some time. By surrender, he could own them, too.

Jim didn't even ask before folding his thumb against his palm, slicker somehow than he'd been before. So careful, his Jim, but only when it was far too late to turn back. Spock opened to him, not easily but with a pleasant burning stretch, eyes sliding shut as the broadest part of Jim's hand spread him wider than he'd ever imagined. And then there was a sudden shift and it was in, to the wrist, Spock's body only wanting more. Taking all it could.

It still wasn't enough, though every part of his body tingled with arousal, with the connection to Jim, the shock of this feeling of almost too much.

“More,” he ground out, and when nothing happened for a moment he opened his eyes to see Jim staring with glazed expression at the place where his hand disappeared. Jim was breathing faster than he was, nearly panting, and Spock hazily tried to imagine why and gave up as Jim turned his eyes to Spock's.

“I want you to know what you look like,” Jim said raggedly. “Like you could take all of me. God, Spock. You're beautiful.”

Without a word, Spock raised his hand and Jim blinked and lowered his face into it, the images coming fast and fierce as Spock touched the meld points. Jim's hand inside him, his body stretched green-tinted and tight around his wrist, cool flesh cradling him so tight and Jim's cock so hard in his pants and fuck fuck fuck so hot love want all of him all of me everything together so beautiful mine yours all mine and Spock's hand fell away and Jim's head fell back and his fingers curled down together and Spock didn't think it was possible to feel this much, that it had to be dangerous, that this kind of belonging could not be expressed in physical touch but regardless he was connected to everything Jim was and did and when Jim unfurled his fingers again and began moving gently inside him it seemed the work of mere moments for his world, reduced now to Jim, to explode and re-form around him.

He only recognized the sense of awe as Jim's by stages, as his mind cleared somewhat and Jim folded his hand together again to slip out and that feeling altered with it. This had shaken Jim as thoroughly as it had Spock, and as Jim settled next to him after disappearing into the bathroom for a moment, Spock realized that Jim had only been projecting his own experience of the world onto Vulcans. And that Jim fully recognized what Spock had wanted, finally, and had wanted it just as much.

“Love you,” he murmured against Spock's ear, curled in his warm Human way around him. He did not have to say it, but it was just as moving to hear as it was moving to know that Jim knew Spock returned the feeling without saying it. He kissed Jim wordlessly, pulling Jim's arm around him as he turned away and entwining their fingers together as they settled against one another. Spock could feel Jim smiling against his neck, but he wasn't sure if it was their proximity that allowed him to hear the thought or if Jim actually murmured “Vulcans” in an amused little chuckle.

Either way, Spock did not contradict the assumption in his tone.

Post a comment in response:

From:
Anonymous
OpenID
Identity URL: 
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.