Jul 162009
 

Title: The Sweetest Purrfection
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters: Kirk, Spock
Rating: G-
Warnings: OMG FLUFF
Notes: SO MUCH FLUFF. Er, please to be forgiving punny title, yes? Jesus Christ, I cannot stop writing, today…


From Crackmeme prompt here:
kirk/spock plz. while cuddling or fucking like bunnies (whichever you prefer) kirk plays with/rubs spock’s ears until spock purrs. or the vulcan equivalent of purring.

captcha "scribers factual" SEE KINK MEME IT ARE FACT. PLZ TO BE FILLING.


It’s late, and Jim Kirk’s only half paying attention to the paperwork he’s filling out on his PADD. He’s lazily lounged in his desk chair, in his quarters, feet up on the desk, with Spock — and he will never understand how Spock functions on four hours of sleep a night — leaning over his shoulder, with a faint smile, pointing out the errors he doesn’t catch. It’s easy, this way. He gets lost in the rhythm as the pages go by, the glazed look stilled solid on his face, except when he asks a question.

Jim wonders how Spock can stand to stay leaned over so long, until he realises Spock’s actually kneeling on the bulkhead dresser, behind him, bent forward, elbows on the back of the chair. Spock’s face is slightly above and to the left of the top of Jim’s head, in this position. Languidly, unthinkingly, Jim rests the elbow of the arm he’s not using beside Spock’s elbow on the back of the chair, raising his hand to rub the bulge of the mastoid process, behind Spock’s ear. A few questions go by unchecked by Spock’s sharp eyes, as he rubs his chin against the side of Jim’s head. This is the simple contentment they both want — the glorious lack of excitement they don’t get anywhere else.

"T’hy’la," Spock murmurs, nipping at Jim’s ear, and Jim sighs contentedly, eyes losing focus for a moment.

"Mon beau petit chat," Jim mumbles, increasing the pressure on the bone behind Spock’s ear, as he rubs in slow, tight circles. He’d sucked at most of the languages he’d tried — Vulcan was not his pint of ale, in the least — but he’d taken French in school, and some of that had stuck. It was a useful language to have, when he’d been trying to prove that Earth girls were, in fact, easy.

In this context, it has exactly the effect he’d intended. French, he’d learned, worked wonders on Vulcans, too, and Spock was no exception. Spock’s teeth close around the very edge of Jim’s ear, nibbling softly, as he begins to purr warmly — a low rumble, deep in his chest. Only Jim Kirk had ever learned to make him make that sound, and Jim could do it every time he tried. Rubbing his brow ridge high on the side of Jim’s head, Spock curls his fingers into his beloved’s shoulders, still purring like a happy kitten.

Jim shoves the PADD onto his desk and tosses the stylus after it. Work can wait, he has a happy Vulcan to enjoy. With a hum of satisfaction, he turns his head just a bit, rubbing his cheek against Spock’s. This is perfection, and he never wants it to end.