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Jim can't believe it's happening, but it is. It's the kind of thing that spread like a plague from the rumour mill of the Academy, back when he was still a cadet. Not, in reality, so very long ago. Less than three years. But it is happening, and the aliens-made-us excuse is the only one he can really give.
Except they didn't really make them do it. He'd asked Hendorf to leave them to it, instead of pulling Spock off or stunning him. He hopes Spock won't be angry later, but right now he's begging so sweetly, so desperately, a mixture of need and affection. And it's gone straight to Kirk's cock. Hendorf's left the tent for the respite of the shuttle and they're alone for the night. Spock stands in the centre, head almost brushing the fabric ceiling, his dick standing out like the tent pole. There's a little of the offending pollen, a smudge of purple, on his cheek. It didn't affect Jim or Hendorf; he suspects it's a Vulcan thing. His eyes are glazed and he's trembling, normally blank features screaming lust, parted lips, flushed green cheeks, almost crying because if Kirk refused right now, he wouldn't rape him, but he would want to, and he can't bear that.
He won't have to, though, because Jim stands from his mattress and slowly, slowly begins to peel back his black under shirt, the one he'd left on for sleeping. He gives Spock a glance, telling him to look, not touch, enjoying how much his friend needs this and the way he almost breaks trying to reign himself in. This is probably going to break a hundred different regulations, but if Spock doesn't care, Jim certainly doesn't. Dark eyes memorise the contours of his stomach and chest.
Spock gives a muffled sob as Jim unzips his fly. His boxer clad cock bulges slightly through the gap, and Spock can't tear his eyes away, even though it looks like he wants to close them. He doesn't touch Kirk or himself, but his desire is filling the tent with a sense of urgency.
That doesn't phase Jim, though. He's used to being the object of other people's desire. He steps slowly, so fucking slowly out of the uniform trousers, flicking them aside, and then rests his hand on his cock through the shorts.
“Please...” Spock begs, moving forward, but Jim steps back.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Commander, or I'll beam me and Hendorf back to the ship and leave you here till you can keep your hands off my obviously irresistible bod.” He can't really do that and they both know it; it'll be two days before the Enterprise returns to collect them. Jim just gets a kick out of having power over Spock. He knows Spock likes it over him, too, but Jim isn't having that this evening. If he's going to fuck his First Officer over a plant, he's going to do it on his own terms. It would be a lie to say he'd not thought about it. He's planned this session a thousand times in his head. He hopes Spock has too. He knows he's hot, knows it's possible that Spock likes him, and that's the worst part, because it means he's never been able to let go of this infatuation.
Spock whimpers, for God's sake, but settles to an agitated parade rest. His precum is seeping through the front of his pants, glistening in the lamp light.
Kirk closes the gap between them, his fingers gripping the hem of both of Spock's shirts. He pulls them off in one, his crotch very lightly brushing his Science Officer's through their remaining clothing, making his nostrils flair. The Vulcan is wet enough that it passes through Jim's boxers. It's the hottest foreplay he's ever had and his member strains to get more of that slick liquid from the Commander. He looks at Spock with mock severity until his raised hands return to their position behind his back, then he surveys the beautiful body that he's just unveiled. Not as muscled as he'd expected, but clearly powerful. A treasure trail leading below the elastic of his underwear.
“Good boy,” he says, just a little predatory, stroking the smooth skin. There will be no illusions as to how much he wants this when they're done, but right now he doesn't care, and he doesn't think he could go back to normal afterwards anyway.
He plays with Spock's nipples, because he can. They seem a little more redundant compared to human ones, but he seems to get something out of it on a psychological level anyway, and Jim is happy to keep up the slow torture.
Eventually he bends down, head inches from Spock's groin, to remove his own boxers. Whilst he's down, he tugs Spock's pants off, but leaves the briefs on. Kirk wants to be wanted, and being wanted by Spock is the sweetest of all. His hand ghosts over the covered Vulcan penis for less than a second, and Spock sobs, a tear of pure desire slipping down one cheek, making a trail in the pollen. Oh yes, it's the sweetest thing Kirk's ever tasted. Incidentally, he hasn't actually tasted it, so when he stands back up, he leans in for a kiss.
He's in momentary shock when Spock gives him the cheek.
“Only if we can kiss the Vulcan way, also,” He says, surprisingly aware, putting his hand in the narrow gap between them, forefinger and middle finger extended like half of a Vulcan salute. Jim's never heard of Vulcans kissing before, but Spock standing there like that asking for kisses, any kisses, is just too adorable, and he mirrors the hand shape. Spock presses the tips of their fingers together, stroking and touching, erotic in ways Jim couldn't have imagined. The touch telepath's arousal runs through his hand and up his arm, right through his body to his cock. This was better than all of those fantasies, a hundred times better. He leans in again and is rewarded by Spock kissing him the human way. His lips are soft and a little cool, and he gasps quietly, Jim taking the opportunity to slip in his tongue. His Commander tastes exciting, a tiny bit sweet and a tiny bit spicy. Somehow fitting for a Vulcan. Both of their mouths are drier than normal, but their tongues tangle anyway, and it's a beautiful mess of nibbling and licking and chaste little kisses in between.
Jim's never wanted anything so badly, and he hopes, prays that Spock wants this in spite of the pollen. “Fuck,” He says quietly.
“Please, Captain. Do.” The formality of the words is ruined less by context than by the moan that makes the hairs rise on Kirk's neck.
He can't refuse that voice, never could, and he doesn't try. He steps back a few centimetres so that he can unite Spock's briefs with his discarded pants. The Vulcan penis springs free, hard and glistening, a little green at the tip but otherwise pink and fleshy, and angular like the rest of Spock. There's so much precum that the briefs are soaked and it's run down to moisten his balls. He twists at the tip, just once, just to hear the moan. Then he walks around, forcing Spock to wait even longer. The look in Spock's eyes is lustful to the point of violence, and Kirk imagines that were they not engaged in their current activity, Spock would be pummelling the crap out of him in a far less pleasant way than he intended to do to his Science Officer.
He stands behind Spock and slaps one of his ass cheeks hard on a whim. The First Officer gasps, then whimpers again, a hand print standing out like a welt against the skin, greener than Kirk had imagined it would be and certain to bruise. He slaps the other just as hard in the interest of symmetry, and Spock cries out softly. He could bend Spock over and spank him right here and now if he was willing to risk coming onto the floor of the tent, but really, he has a much better idea of where he wants his seed to be.
Jim loves parade rest. Legs shoulders' width apart. Perfect. He presses his chest to Spock's back, reaching around him with one hand on his right side, feeling the buzz of his heart beat and the other making its way up to Spock's parted lips. He can tell this finger thing is arousing to the Vulcan and he intends to take full advantage. The First Officer sucks obediently on the fingers, lapping at them and biting gently and it's Jim's turn to gasp. But he withdraws them, trailing down Spock's chin, his neck, his collar bone, chest, his belly, skipping over his member quite intentionally, even though he wants to, before moving it back and between the firm cheeks. Spock's hole is already wet, either from some differing biology or from preparation. Both of those options are incredibly hot. Spock wouldn't have planned it, though, so Kirk assumes the former.
He pushes a finger in up to the first knuckle, and his First Officer immediately shoves down onto it. It's tight and erotic, but Kirk clicks his tongue in disapproval and it stills the man in front of him. As punishment he doesn't move the finger for more than a minute, listening to Spock's ragged breathing in the quiet of the tent. He can't hold off any longer and plunges it in all the way, his second finger joining it. It's a little too fast for Spock, he knows, so he reaches for where he thinks a Vulcan prostate must be. It's there, and he strokes it with a gentle apology that makes Spock groan. He massages the bundle of nerves whilst his Commander becomes accustomed to the entry.
“Jim...” Spock moans, his ass squeezing the fingers hard.
“Yes?” He croons into a pointed ear, kissing the tip, unable to maintain any semblance of dominance in the face of something so utterly flawless.
“I want you inside me...” Jim's mind blanks for a second because he's heard those words before, and the last person he ever expected to actually say them was Spock. All of this was too perfect. He wants to take him there and then, standing up, almost spooning, but more than that he wants to see Spock's face when he finally loses it, so he leads them both to the blow up bed and pushes Spock backwards onto it so that he's facing up. He takes a moment just to look. Long limbs, flushed, greenish cheeks and lips, legs spread, asshole wet and begging for it, cock spilling clear fluid over his stomach. He grips the bed and bites his cheek, but his hair is inexplicably still perfect, as though someone had come along to style it whilst Kirk had been fingering him.
He straddles Spock so that their cocks are pressed together, and strokes the flat plain of his chest, rocking slightly.
“Please, Jim, may I... Touch you?” Spock moans. Jim nods feverishly, expecting the hands to go straight to his member, but instead the trace over everything, fingers paired as Spock maps him out. He tingles with arousal where they touch him, and suddenly his shoulder and his hip are both erogenous zones.
“Oh my God, Spock. If I never fuck anyone again...” He regrets saying it, because it's true and Spock knows it. He's been so good at hiding his attraction and now he's thrown the last year of effort down the drain, but there's no way he could resist Spock literally begging him to fuck him.
Spock touches every inch of him, seeming a little surprised when Kirk responds so eagerly to rubbing his nipples, both hands on Jim's chest at once.
Kirk ruts against him, savouring the feel of it, because he knows the chance will never come again. He reaches up to mess the impeccable hair, but the strands card silkily through his fingers and fall back into place.
“...Jim...” Spock gasps at a particularly rough thrust, and Kirk takes it as he means it, time to move on. He positions them so that Spock's legs go around his waist and looks down to press the head of his dick against that wet, slick place.
It takes every bit of his control to push in slowly, but he does, sinking into the tight heat of it. Spock's gentle exploratory fingers suddenly changed their mission, gripping and scratching and feverishly kneading his shoulders and back as he hissed out a breath of pleasure and pain. His precum was pooling in his navel, so whilst Jim waited for him to adjust he dipped two fingers into it and spread it over Spock's belly, making him shiver.
Spock's ass grasps him like his is the last cock on Earth, or whatever the name of this planet was, anyway. If it wasn't for Hendorf, it would be, because apart from the local flora, everything on this planet reproduced asexually. He can feel the hole almost vibrating with a Vulcan pulse, several hundred beats per minute, and his hips begin to move without his permission. He angles himself so that he was brushing Spock's prostate with each thrust, causing him to cry out and spasm around him. It's a beautiful sound.
“Captain!” Jim had never liked hearing his title so much. He catches Spock's wrist as he tries to reach his hand between them, bracing it against his own shoulders instead so that Spock was carrying his weight. He wraps his own hand around the verdant member, mapping it with his hands the way Spock had done to all of him. The head is smooth and wet, like the inside of Spock's mouth, and the delicate skin covering his shaft is a little thinner than that of a human. He constricts around Kirk when he lazily runs a finger around the tip. “Jim, please!”
It's too much to resist and Kirk pounds into him like his life depends on it, jerking Spock's cock almost too hard and making him groan and writhe with pleasure. He holds off as long as he can, but he can't hold off forever, and when Spock's orgasm makes him loose the hold on Jim's shoulders and he falls onto Spock's chest, his First Officer's seed slicking their chests and his ass constricting around his cock he doesn't have a choice. One more thrust and his balls tighten and the orgasm rolls through his belly, up his cock and into Spock's still spasming ass.
He rides it out clumsily, keeping his head up to watch as Spock's eyes roll into his head and he sucks in his lower lip in a gasp of ecstasy. Spock's orgasm is almost silent, his back arching against Kirk's chest. It lasts twice as long as Jim's, and the pleasure of it nearly drowns him in every place where they have skin on skin contact.
Then suddenly it's over as quickly as it began and he can't bear it. There's no post-coital bliss, just a shuddering come-down that drags Kirk kicking and screaming behind it. He feels awful. He doesn't pull out, but clings to Spock as though the latter might get up and leave, and the panting turns straight into a sob he can't suppress. It's only one, but it's enough. Spock probably doesn't even need to hear it to know it happened. He's ruined their friendship, and probably hurt Spock in the process. He's feeling some sort of pre-emptive bereavement, the knowledge that what he's just gained is about to be taken away again. He wills his companion to say anything, anything at all, to show that he still wants to know him.
Spock simply lies there in the silence broken by heavy breathing, one hand trapped between them, the other hanging off the air bed onto the floor. His face recovers to its normal, blank state.
Kirk waits for Spock to say something, or to dismiss him, and the fact that his softened penis is still inside the Commander is becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second, but just as he decides to get up and leave the Vulcan to himself, ashamed of his own behaviour, an arm falls across his back.
“Thank you,” Spock says quietly. And it's enough.