Title: Cold & Wet
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Characters: Kirk, Spock
Warnings: Uh, smut? Vulcan hand!porn?
Notes: Another one for the st_xi_kinkmeme. This one called for rain, but I’m afraid I made do with sleet.
In response to this prompt:
jim and spock get caught in the rain.
freezing heavy rain, clinging clothes, drenched hair, and hotter-then-human vulcan skin.
Durenia IV was not the most pleasant place for a Vulcan. Certainly the captain was uncomfortable, but Spock’s thermal comfort zone was easily fifteen degrees higher than Kirk’s, and this planet was well below even Kirk’s comfort.
"Captain, I am not picking up any traces of the research team. I think it is safe to say that, while parts of their ship survived the fall to this planet, neither the team not the rest of their ship is here."
Spock looked up from the tricorder, lifting one eyebrow very slightly, in a gesture that clearly read ‘can we go, now?’ to anyone who knew how to read it, but was wholly unintelligible to anyone else. His nose was green-tinged with the beginnings of frostbite, and his joints ached with the burning cold. Frankly, the captain didn’t appear to be in much better shape.
"Just another minute or two, Spock. I want to double-check the readings off the —" A deafening crash of thunder cut off the end of the sentence, and the tremor rolled through the ground beneath their feet, as the sky cracked open, deluging the pair in sleet. Kirk slipped, still trying to regain his footing from the roll of the ground, and Spock caught him, with one arm.
"We are leaving now, captain." Spock opened his communicator and hailed the ship. "Mr. Scott, please beam the captain and myself directly to my quarters. The research team is not here."
"To… your quarters?" came the responding squawk.
"Yes, Mr. Scott. It is a proper Vulcan temperature, in my quarters." Spock’s control had started to slip, and a tiny bit of annoyance could be heard in his tone, as the sleet slid down inside his jacket.
"Yes, sir!" Mr. Scott still sounded dubious, but he complied. He wasn’t one to question Spock twice.
As soon as the room resolved around Spock, he could feel the heat of it like fire against his exposed skin. Yes, he thought, that’s definitely going to be frostbite.
Unthinking, Spock dropped the captain on the floor, in his struggle to get out of his wet and frosty clothing as quickly as possible. Even a cold shower would be warmer than his body, and probably less likely to aggravate the frostbite. The coat and two shirts had hit the floor, before his gloves came off, and he pressed one glove to the end of his nose with a small, disconsolate sound, before tearing it off his hand with his teeth.
Spock stopped, glove still hanging from his mouth, at a sound from his captain — one that he could only describe as a giggle. Removing the glove from between his teeth, he dropped it to the floor, gazing dangerously at Kirk.
"Do you find something amusing, captain?"
"Never thought I’d see the day when you of all people would be so … aggressive about getting naked," Kirk replied, pulling off his own boots, unable to entirely suppress an amused smirk.
"It is entirely logical to remove as much of the sleet from my body as possible before it can do any further damage to my skin." Spock’s gaze was unwavering, but he ran a thumb across the bright-green tips of his fingers, checking for sensation.
"Logical would be to remove your clothing in the reverse order to how it was put on. Gloves, coat, boots…" Kirk stepped closer, still obviously entertained. Spock flinched very slightly as the captain seized the fingertips of the glove he still wore, dragging it off his hand. As soon as his fingertips cleared the cuff, Spock snatched his hand back, glaring imperiously and fearfully at his captain.
"Don’t. Touch. My fingers," Spock growled, holding one of his hands cautiously in the other. He hadn’t wholly lost sensation — in fact, his fingers were in terrible pain — the burn of being chilled and the ache in his joints. And considering the importance of the fingers to a Vulcan, the best explanation he’d be able to make to the captain would be to introduce his knee rather violently to Kirk’s testicles. He didn’t want to, but if Kirk didn’t back up, he would.
Kirk did step back, looking confused and wary. "I was joking," he clarified, stripping off his sopping uniform shirt. "But, you probably want to get your hands in the sink, before that gets serious."
"Thank you, captain," Spock remarked, dryly. "That was my intention."
Spock knew he needed to get his boots off — that they had filled with the icy downpour — but it required more manual dexterity than he had, at the moment. With a small huff of irritation, he stepped into the small bathroom, filling the sink with cool water to rest his hands in, while they thawed. Once he had working fingers, again, he could attend to his feet.
After a short time, Kirk stepped into the room, behind him, wearing nothing but tight, damp, black silk thermals. The colour contrast in the mirror fascinated Spock, as he took the time to notice that where he had turned chartreuse, the captain’s face burned deep pink. He lifted an eyebrow, asking silently what it was his captain wanted.
"You should probably get the boots off, Spock. If your fingers are that bad, your toes might be worse." Kirk actually sounded concerned, as he took a seat atop the closed lid of the toilet.
Spock snorted. "No, captain. My toes may not be in the best condition, but my fingers are definitely worse. It is a matter of Vulcan biology."
Kirk started to lean down, but remembered what had happened with the glove. "I worry about my crew," he excused himself, "Will you let me help you with your boots, so I can be sure we don’t need to get Bones in here to have a look at you?"
Spock’s face shifted, minutely, around his eyes, a few times — derision, offence, anger, and finally, sensibility and acceptance. "Please, captain. My hands —" He gestured impotently, wincing as his fingers curled, slightly, and every knuckle popped.
"No trouble at all, Spock." Kirk patted the toilet lid, between his legs. "Just put your foot up here."
Kirk’s fingers were stiff, but sure, unfastening the catches on the side of the tall boot, and sliding the icewater-filled rubber away from his first officer’s foot. He poured the water into the shower, set the boot aside, and stripped off Spock’s soaked sock, to get a better look at the foot.
As the captain’s sure fingers rubbed feeling back into his numbed toes, Spock moaned softly, in contentment, turning cautiously to sit atop the sink counter, resting his hands in the water behind him.
"C-Captain, the other boot?"
"Hm?" Kirk looked up, slightly dazed, from where his cold fingers continued to caress the icy foot he held. "Oh. Yes, of course."
The captain released Spock’s foot, and repeated the procedure with the other boot. Spock leaned back, slightly, thanking his exquisite sense of balance as he revelled in the feel of his captain’s hands against his somewhat less numb feet. Somewhere, he was certain, there was someone that Kirk had learned this from. And, somewhere in the databanks, there would be a protocol for thanking that person.
The cool water had finally begun to feel lukewarm against Spock’s hands, instead of the burning heat he’d felt when he first placed his hands in it. Still, his hands didn’t feel right, at all. His fingers were oddly stiff as he popped the sink drain, before bringing them around in front of him, to have a look. The one word that slipped between his lips was actually Romulan, because the Vulcan language had been stripped of its most powerful expletives, hundreds of years in the past. There was no Standard translation for the word, because expletives were always the last things to be translated, but it was definitely the sort of word intended to melt the ears off of prim librarians.
Both of Spock’s hands were swollen, to nearly twice their proper size, by the rush of blood returning to them and the body’s attempts to resolve the damage done. The sensations in his skin were entirely surreal, as he thumbed his fingertips — the swelling had stretched the skin, making everything feel at once very far away and extremely erotic. Fascinated, he continued stroking his fingers, as the captain massaged his feet. As his penis hardened from the sensations, pressing uncomfortably against the tight, wet fabric of the thermal underwear beneath his already slim-cut uniform pants, Spock began to realise he had an even greater problem. The uniform pants closed with buttons — very small buttons.
"Ah, captain? I believe I have discovered something else, with which I require your assistance." Spock held up his hands, looking grimly at his captain over them. "I cannot open my pants. I anticipate wearing a traditional robe, until the swelling subsides, but I cannot get out of my pants, now, to make that a viable option."
A smirk crept across Kirk’s face. "You won’t let me touch your fingers, but I should help you with your pants? That’s a new one."
"My fingers were painful, captain. There is no part of my anatomy, covered by my pants, that is currently experiencing that level of discomfort." The faint green flush on his cheeks was hidden by the tint his face had taken from the cold.
Kirk’s face shifted, slightly, suspicions beginning to dawn in the back of his mind. "Your fingers must have hurt quite a bit," he commented, leaning forward, to tackle the buttons on Spock’s trousers.
And other suspicions became vivid realities, in Spock’s mind, as his foot came to rest against the captain’s very warm erection, through the damp fabric of the thermal pants. Kirk’s fingers lingered just a little too long on the buttons, as if studying the tension in the fabric.
Spock’s eyes closed, and he reached for his captain’s hand, stilling it, as he tipped his hips just slightly, allowing his waiting erection to swell into the space cleared by the open buttons, distorting the thermal fabric still in its path. In silent comment, he rubbed his toes against the hardness in Kirk’s pants.
Kirk knew he’d been caught, and Spock knew he knew, by the slightly discomfited look that slid back into the usual arrogance.
"Looks like your hands aren’t the only things swollen. Need some help warming that back into operation, too?" Kirk joked.
"Quite the contrary, Captain. I think you’ll find that to be the warmest skin on my body at this, or any other time." Spock’s eyebrows arced up, blandly, conveying absolutely nothing, as he attempted to decide whether to push his luck.
"Hm, maybe I should be warming myself against it, then." The captain was inevitably incorrigible.
"I will only suggest that you warm your hands to at least room temperature before attempting to insert them in my pants. I would hate to reflexively break your wrists." Spock’s voice was exquisitely dry and faintly droll. "I have no fondness for the cold, Captain."
Kirk grinned, sliding one hand up the back of Spock’s shirt, earning a thin hiss from his first officer. "Then I’ll just have to start warming my hands on cooler skin, first."
Spock hooked his thumbs into the hem of his shirt, closing his eyes as his jaw twitched at the sensation. In one relatively elegant movement, he stripped the shirt off, cracking both shoulders and one elbow, before dropping it to the bathroom floor. His entire body still ached, dully, and he’d begun to sweat as his body temperature recovered, but Spock found himself willing to ignore these things, if his captain was willing to keep touching him. Completely irrational, yes, but extreme circumstances tended to have that effect on him. He was certain he’d be fine in a few hours.
In the mean time, Kirk’s cool hands slid over his chest, as if counting the ribs beneath his skin.
"Thirty," Spock commented, with a faint smirk. "Fifteen pair."
It took Kirk several seconds to determine what the hell the Vulcan was talking about. "I wasn’t counting! I was … enjoying."
"I see." One eyebrow arced, and Spock’s foot shifted, tucking his toes beneath the captain, as he rose up, balancing himself on the edge of the toilet with one foot as he braced a wrist against the ceiling. With the other hand he tugged at his sopping uniform trousers, attempting to slide them over his narrow hips without removing the thermals, beneath, in the process.
"This is not proceeding as intended," Spock quipped, realising that one severely swollen hand was not going to be enough to get the job done.
Kirk grinned up at him. "You’re doing it wrong."
With no further warning, Kirk reached up, grabbing the waistband of both the trousers and the thermals beneath, and yanked straight down, twisting his hands to avoid catching on anything vital. Spock’s hot-skinned, green-tinged, slightly less stiff than five minutes prior erection bobbed free, coming to rest against the tip of Kirk’s nose.
"And now I’m doing it wrong," Kirk muttered, cross-eyed.
The captain’s hands closed around Spock’s hips, tightly, and Kirk’s tongue traced along the underside of his flagging erection. Spock shuddered, slightly, as his captain’s mouth slid around the tip of his cock.
"Captain," Spock started.
"Hmm?" Kirk responded around a mouthful of Vulcan cock, as he turned his eyes up, to see what Spock wanted.
In that moment, Spock was exceedingly glad for the captain’s foresight in holding his hips, because he completely lost his balance. Kirk’s arms tensed and trembled as Spock reeled, loose foot slamming into place against the edge of the sink counter as his lean body arced back over the sink, itself, coming to rest at last with the top of his head pressed against the opposite side of the counter. His body formed an exquisitely artful arch, as reflected in the mirror panel on the side wall, but Spock could hardly concern himself with that, since his pelvic arch had made sudden and forceful contact with the captain’s … nose, he thought. The point was that his captain had taken the sudden shift to deep-throating without so much as a flinch, as far as Spock could tell. He felt Kirk’s breath rasping past the head of his cock with relative calmness.
Kirk was, if nothing else, incredibly smooth. And for once, Spock was ready to give him that point.
However, none of that changed the appallingly awkward position they were in. Spock tried to put his mind to work on how to get out of that position without injuring himself or his captain, but Kirk had other ideas, having leaned back to more easily resume sucking and licking the significantly more intent erection in his mouth.
Spock braced his forearms against the counter, knowing the captain wouldn’t stop sucking to answer him. "I am going to assume you are unharmed, Captain?"
"Mm-hmm," Kirk responded, and Spock felt it more than heard it. "Mmm?"
It took a few seconds for Spock to get an answer out. "Yes, Captain. My condition is little worse than it was before. However, this in no way alters the fact that I cannot get up, unless you release my hips."
There is a grunt of amusement from the vicinity of his crotch, and Spock realises it’s going to be quite a while before he extracts himself from this position. With a small sigh, he adjusts his elbows to take some of the weight off his neck. The shift in weight must have been what the captain was waiting for, because suddenly the sucking isn’t just distracting, it is the whole of Spock’s consciousness.
"Jim —" he gasps, and in that one syllable is every filthy desire he’d ever need a mind-meld to communicate, because sometimes words just aren’t enough.
Spock blinked in confusion as his captain released both his hips and his now extremely attentive rock-hard erection. Settling his ass against the edge of the sink counter, he sat back up, closing his eyes against the dizziness of the sudden change in position.
"That didn’t look comfortable," Kirk offered, and Spock could tell that wasn’t the only reason.
"Th—Thank you, Captain." The room hadn’t quite stopped spinning, and his body was filled with an entirely different sort of ache than it had been when they began. "Did you mean to continue this in a more comfortable arrangement?"
"Well, you know, it’s your room, and I don’t mean to take anything for granted, here." Kirk neatly avoided the question, looking awkward as he stood up and stepped toward the bathroom door.
Spock shook his pants off the ankle they were still caught on, and gestured toward his own crotch with one hand. "To avoid taking advantage of such an obvious offer of something you clearly desire, because of some unstated moral concern would be entirely illogical."
"Moral concern!?" Kirk looked offended at the very suggestion that he might have morals. "It just seemed fast. You’re not usually one to rush into things, Spock. I couldn’t be sure you weren’t just humouring me or something."
"Captain, does it look like I am humouring you? If you would feel better about me taking control of this situation, I can do that." He slid down from the counter, lean and bare, and closed the slight distance between himself and his captain, slipping an arm around Kirk’s waist and bringing his other swollen hand up to the captain’s lips. "Do you feel better about it, this way?"
"Much." Kirk smiled and licked at the fingers against his lips, watching as Spock’s eyelids fluttered in response. "Will you take me to bed?"
Spock couldn’t use his fingers properly, yet, but the strength in his arms was just as it had always been. In a quick adjustment, he hooked a forearm under the captain’s ass, pulling Kirk to the side and lifting him. Without another word, he walked out of the bathroom, turned the corner, and deposited the captain on his bed.
"Did you intend to continue wearing clothes?" he asked, lounging on the bed in the opposite direction, and sliding a hand up Kirk’s leg. The world spun in lazy circles around Spock’s head, as the almost imperceptible texture of the cloth filled his fingers with new and delicious sensations. "I do not think thermals will serve you well, in this climate."
"Are you going to take them off me?" Kirk asked, with a hint of challenge in his smile. The smile fell away as Spock lifted one eyebrow and both of his hands. "Right. Sorry. Are you sure you don’t want Bones to take a look at that for you? It looks pretty bad."
"My hands will recover in a matter of hours," Spock replied, running a finger up the bottom of the captain’s foot. "Why are you still dressed?"
With a wild look and a sharp laugh, Kirk yanked his shirt off and tossed it across the room. As he started to shimmy out of the thermal pants, Spock shifted around to lie beside him, propped up on one elbow, the other hand tracing surprisingly graceful figures up Kirk’s chest.
"I thought your hands were busted," Kirk said, with a sly look as he wrenched the thermals off his feet, throwing them to meet the shirt.
"If you lean back, you will notice that it is not my fingers doing the work, but my wrist." Spock just looked smug.
"Creative bastard, aren’t you?" Kirk rolled onto his side, sliding down the bed to come level with Spock. After a few long moments of watching the grace of the swollen, long-fingered hand against his chest, the captain captured it, raising the fingers to his lips, and slipping the first two into his mouth.
Spock arced backward so sharply, he nearly knocked himself off the bed, driving his hips against his captain’s. He opened his mouth to say something — to apologise or excuse himself in some way, but all that exited his mouth was a desperate moan.
The damage done to his hands had intensified every sensation in them to a nearly unbearable point, but his captain’s tongue felt so very good that he was not about to complain, instead wrapping a leg around Kirk’s, panting and rutting like a desperate animal. This was not what he wanted to be. This moment was the antithesis of all things any Vulcan strove for, but he could not stop himself from thrusting and grinding against his captain’s thigh. He wanted to be in control, and this was so very far from any such thing, that he wasn’t sure he was coming back.
Wild-eyed, Spock gasped as his fingers were removed from his captain’s mouth. He growled, mildly threatening consequences if the sucking did not continue, post-haste.
"You really like that, don’t you? Like it even more than when I sucked you here." Kirk’s other hand traced a line along Spock’s impressive erection, and the first officer’s growl turned into a snarl of lust.
Spock rolled onto his back dragging Kirk onto him in a mess of legs and forearms. As the captain knelt across his hips, Spock back-wristed the drawer beside the head of his bed, which thankfully for situations like these, opened when pressed. He struggled to form words, to hold back the desperate lust of his human side, amplified by the Vulcan depth of emotion, and say something coherent.
"Jim," he managed, finally, tapping his wrist against the drawer. "Lube. Use it."
As Kirk stretched over him to look in the drawer, Spock crossed his ankles to make dead certain the lube ended up where he meant it to. He was starting to lose what little excuse for a grip he had, as his captain’s crotch hovered mere inches from his face, and the scent of human lust assailed him. After a long and torturous two seconds, Kirk was back down with the bottle in his hand, and the flicker across the captain’s face let Spock know that he’d figured it out. Kirk cocked his head and nodded, with a lazy shrug of acceptance. He moved to take Spock’s fingers back into his mouth as he used the lube on himself first, but Spock jerked his hand back, unwilling to lose control until he was reasonably certain he wouldn’t hurt his captain — Jim, his mind insisted — too badly.
"Really?" Kirk asked, slightly concerned.
"Not yet," Spock ground out. "Hurry up."
A daring smile slid onto the captain’s face, as he moved to apply the lube to Spock, as well. "My, my… From ‘don’t touch my fingers’ to ‘I’m going to fuck you stupid’ in under thirty minutes. I think this is a new record, for me."
Spock grunted, only half paying attention as he tried to recite full classification indices for various forms of plant life, to keep himself in check. There was his proud Vulcan control. Right where he’d left it. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be, with the possible exception of the fact that he was about to engage in what would likely be violent sexual intercourse with his captain. That was probably not at all as things ought to be, but he was willing to overlook that point, for the moment.
He failed to break from his reverie until Kirk mounted him. Spock’s eyes shot open as his cock slid slowly into Jim. (For now he was unquestionably Jim.) He begged wordlessly, strained groans between gritted teeth, until at last, Jim took his hand, sucking the same two fingers. Spock bucked and thrust, scrabbling at the skin of Jim’s hip with the useless fingers of the other hand, and getting nothing but more enticing sensations for his trouble. He made a sound he’d never heard from his own mouth, before, as Jim began to ride him — nearly a howl of desperate lust. The few rational shreds of his mind vaguely wondered if pon farr would be like this, before realising that it would be significantly worse. As it stood, he’d had sex, before, but not like this. He’d also had frostbite, before. He’d just never thought that combining the two could possibly be a good idea, by any stretch of the imagination. Learn something new, every day…
When he came, Spock saw stars, or more accurately, he hallucinated the births of star systems, burning brightness against the infinite dark, the blinding forces of matter compressing and igniting, whipping through the black at immeasurable speeds. He probably made sound — likely quite a bit of sound, given the way his chest ached and the raw burn in his throat. He remembered nothing but the deafening roar of an igniting star. His vision returned like a mirage, wavering sweat-sheened images of Jim still riding his now-softening erection, flushed pink as he knew he must be flushed green. As sound came back, he could hear Jim begging around the fingers in his mouth, pleading for the release he’d yet to reach. Jim’s other hand, the one with which he didn’t hold Spock’s, was wrapped around his own erection, pumping erratically as pre-come dripped down his knuckles.
With an exhausted smirk, Spock licked the tip of his unoccupied thumb and ran it against a spot just below the head of Jim’s cock — an extremely sensitive spot he’d expected would be right where it was. Being half-human, he’d read up on these things, just in case they became important, although this was not the use he’d foreseen for this particular fact.
Jim gasped and choked at the unexpected sensation, throwing his head back, and letting Spock’s fingers slip from his mouth as he came, painting Spock’s chest and face in glistening white. As Jim sat bent backward and trembling with the force of his release, Spock’s smirk took on sufficient force to be sardonic, rather than merely exhausted, and the Vulcan stuck out his tongue, licking the come from his lip.
From across the room, Kirk’s communicator chirped.
"Unnh." Jim sounded disgruntled, sticking out one hand, as if expecting it to come to him to be answered. "Mission’s over. Sleeping now. Fuck off."
Spock’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Captain, there’s a comm link on the wall above my head, same as there is in your room. It’s probably Dr. McCoy, checking on you," he rasped, still a bit raw in the throat.
Jim groaned and leaned forward, hailing sickbay as Spock’s cock slid out of his ass. "Kirk here. We’re fine. Go away. I’m sleeping now."
"Jim, you were caught in the sleet on an ice planet," McCoy’s voice came back. "I need to make sure you haven’t done something entirely stupid to yourself."
"Fuck off, Bones. If I hurt, you’d have seen me. There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow." With that, he flicked off the comm, and collapsed to the side, lying mostly next to Spock. "That was good. Really good. Sorry about your face."
"My face is an acceptable casualty. I have to do laundry anyway," Spock said, wiping his face and chest with the bedsheet.
"I’m too tired to get up. Can I stay here for a few hours?" Kirk was nearly whining, but in an intentionally pitiful manner.
"Only if you stop talking at once. I, too, would like to sleep."