Aug 192009
 

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X
Title: Zahvan T’Masu
Co-author: diane_kepler
Fandom: ST TOS
Characters: Starek, Spock, T’Nis, Amber
Rating: E
Warnings: Smut. Hilarious Vulcan euphemisms. Voyeurism.
Notes: If things got interesting, last chapter, here’s where they get fun. Pants? Fuck pants.


Starek stops, then, with Spock stretched beneath him, pants undone. He should be tearing those pants off, but he’s not. Instead, he buries his face against the open fly and breathes deeply. The pheromone-rich smell is intoxicating — dizzying, even. He breathes it again, and it strikes at his crotch, drawing out a long moan, as his thumbs dig into the tops of Spock’s thighs.

Soon, he knows, he’ll have to move for a complete blackout. Soon, but not quite yet. He’ll give good film a little while longer. And, really, he’s almost tempted to turn on a light, just so he can get a copy of the recording.

Unaware of the reason for the shift in tempo, Spock nonetheless notes it and wonders. He glides his hands down and tenderly strokes Starek head. There is a pleased hum in the vicinity of groin, and this encourages Spock to continue his ministrations. Starek’s hair is really quite remarkable. The feel of it against the sensitive pads of his fingers is exquisite.

"Starek," Spock breathes, "Eit’jae nash-veh du. Nam-tor t’nash-veh bolaya lo’uk."

"Ashayam," Starek murmurs and, unthinking, repeats himself in Romulan. "A’rhea."

He carefully edges the trousers and undergarments down, over Spock’s hips, his eyes closed, and hands certain. After a pause, he spreads his knees and bends back, balanced well, despite the mattress beneath him, to strip Spock bare. He draws the garments off, over his own almost-supine body, before returning to a moderately more vertical position.

Taking a guess at which fixture holds the lens, he tosses the trousers in that direction. Then he takes in the body below him with a gaze that is at once hungry and worshipful. He begins at the knee, tracing out the word for ‘beloved’ up Spock’s inner thigh, in Andorian, with his tongue.

Impatiently, Spock rubs one of his own hands with the fingers of the other, watching the angles of Starek’s shoulders, as he supports himself, hovering. The muscles play beneath his skin in a fascinating dance of light and shadow.

At the end of the Andorian word, Spock catches Starek and draws him up so that he can, at last take Starek’s head in both hands, pressing human kisses to his lids and cheekbones and the line of his jaw as their bodies lie long and warm against one another. But Starek’s pants are in the way. Luckily, removing them is the work of a moment.

Starek nuzzles under Spock’s cheek, barely breathing the next words from his mouth.

"Let’s darken the room." He holds Spock still with a hand on the shoulder, nuzzling his ear.

Spock is confused. "Tam-kal, I enjoy the sight of you." Spock leans in for another kiss, nipping at Starek’s lower lip in the manner that so pleased him earlier. He trails his fingers up the other’s forearm, the fine hairs rising in their wake.

Starek feels the pain of the betrayal Spock’s setting himself up for, as it blossoms in his chest. He draws back, placing a gentle, but lingering kiss on Spock’s lips. "And I you, a’rhea. You nearly glow in this light, soft reflections…"

He traces the paths of the light with his fingers, stopping, at last, to squeeze Spock’s hip, thumb tracing along the curve of the bone. Then he moves his hand, cupping Spock’s ass, pulling the Vulcan closer to his own body. He kisses Spock’s lips, then, with a smirk, uses his nose to push up Spock’s chin, and begins to kiss his way down the lean body, using his weight to roll them over, so that once again, he is on top. He stops to nip at the tops of both hips, and to lick the inner curve of one, where the bone forms the cradle of Spock’s belly.

And because now he can watch the blush, he asks, "And have you ever been kissed like this?"

He wraps his lips around the exposed tip of Spock’s lok and laps at it for a moment, before raising his head and waiting for an answer.

Spock only moans and shakes his head. How can Starek even speak, and with that matter-of-fact tone, no less? The lurid question is stimulating to the point of madness. Just that voice, those few strokes of the tongue, and Spock is helpless.

Everything about Spock is clenched after that initial nova of feeling. His hands (fingers digging into the palms), his jaw (eyes pressed shut), his glutes, his abs. It is all he can do to just throw his head to the side and push his hips upward, silently begging for more.

Starek knows he’ll have to be cautious. Too much of this, and well, he doesn’t know what the lag time’s going to be, or if Spock’s even going to be able to stay awake. He pushes Spock’s legs up and apart, lowers his head, and licks along the creases where his thighs join his body, first one side, then the other. He blows a stream of cool air along the rather verdant flesh that juts onto Spock’s belly. And then, praying that his neck stays intact, as he ducks his head once more, dragging his tongue from the point at which Spock’s body meets the bed all the way to the tip of that rich green t’an, drawing a long, hissing breath from its owner.

Although Spock wants to dig his fingers into Starek’s shoulders, he forces himself to just hold them. He doesn’t caress or massage or pull down, he just touches, feeling the strength there, wondering at how Starek can still be so flippant in is tone, yet so poetically sincere in his attentions.

He is masterful, Spock thinks, with more than a little of his own reverence now.

Spock’s touch is so undemanding that it immediately garners all of Starek’s attention. He looks up, mild concern in his eyes, and catches the gleam of reverent confusion. Certainly not the worst he’s done, not by a long shot.

With a slim smile, he pushes Spock’s legs up, lifting the Vulcan’s hips ever so slightly. He brings his head down, again, passionately applying his lips and tongue to the single most irrational part of Spock’s body imaginable. With a low groan, he dips his tongue inside — just the faintest push — before tracing that ring of muscle with his tongue, and raising his head with the same slim smile.

"I don’t think you need to tell me you’ve never been kissed like that. It’s an entirely illogical pleasure."

Spock gives one, two, three panting breaths, mouth open, eyes on the ceiling.

"Your illogical approach may have some advantages."

Starek backs off to stare down at him again. "Now. I’m sure I’ve put some ideas in your head." Starek lifts an eyebrow in amusement. "I’ll ask the same question I did, before, but with less of a moral tone: Which implausibilities would you like me to teach you the finer points of?"

He untangles himself from Spock’s legs, and pulls himself back up, with as much flesh-on-flesh friction as possible, to look straight down into Spock’s eyes.

Spock slides his hands along Starek’s upper arms, wondering if he dares say what’s on his mind.

"You must make use of me." he dictates, his eyes dark and hungry. "In any way you wish. Speaking to me as much as possible. And then if we could . . . cleanse one another." Spock’s eyes drift to the bathroom with its hydrous delights. He thinks longingly of the shower, of how Starek would look leaning against the tiled wall, water clothing him in a rippling layer.

This time it’s Starek’s turn to be stunned with pleasure. There is a slight creak as the mattress resists the spread of his hands as his fingers tense. Hazy-eyed, he retains enough mental function to smirk, smugly.

"Tizh-tor spes t’nash-veh ha? Kup-ar’kada be’ish-veh." He puts his tongue out, tracing it along Spock’s bottom lip. "Any languages you don’t want to hear?"

"None."

"Excellent." Starek presses a kiss to Spock’s lips, then pulls away, moving back down the bed. "Aitlu nekwitau lahv t’nash-veh svi’pekh-razh t’du. Palikauk dungi nem-tor lok t’du ru’lut t’nash-veh heh vitem-tor."

The next time his mouth opens, it is to accomplish exactly that. He twists his head from side to side, working that sleek organ into the top of his throat. With a long breath in, he pulls air across the tip, and then swallows, hard, using his tongue to cycle the pressure. Not willing to surrender to the inevitable, just yet, he slides back, holding just the head between his lips, as he watches the reaction.

"Ahhhh! Ofereiksu — dungi-aiyahl!"

Starek’s precise and beautiful words are almost enough in themselves to bring Spock to his crisis. The combination of this with Starek’s ability to bring forth sensation is absolutely devastating.

Spock swirls his hips, bucks them, seeking more pleasure, he is greedy for it.

"Ri’ofereiksu. Is’uh t’nash-veh ahm," Starek insists, letting his first prize fall from his lips as he sinks to the second.

"Hna fascae arhva hrrafv hwai dhhaol," he murmurs, before pressing the tip of his tongue into Spock’s body, and getting forced back out, as the muscles contract. He licks again, softly, teasing, tempting. This is a skill he doesn’t put to use nearly as often as he’d like to, but he knows he’s good enough to fake his way around someone who’s never had it done. He uses his lips to stretch the flesh a bit, and darts his tongue in and out of the shallow opening.

Spock spreads his legs, feeling even more lightheaded than on his earlier escape to the courtyard. That tongue. Not only has logic left him, but he fears that reason may be on its way out as well.

Starek’s hands are braced on the insides of his thighs, and Spock covers them with his own trembling ones, urging Starek to push his legs further apart if he needs to. Anything he needs will be his and his alone.

The hands against his own are broadcasting in exactly the way they wouldn’t be, if their owner was still in control of his senses. Starek sits up, suddenly, a splash of apologetic fear on his face.

"You’ve never done this before. I mean, not, this, that’s obvious, but … in general. This is your first time, isn’t it?" He looks stunned for a long moment. "I’m sorry… I’m probably going to ruin you."

The wicked grin is back as Starek slicks his fingers off his own oh’a’did, and rubs one where his tongue had been. "Definitely too early in the night for this, then."

He blinks and then swallows. "Ruin me? No, this is —"

But then he understands and blushes hotly. Further evidence of his inexperience.

Starek knows he is smirking, and he cannot stop, as he pulls his hand away.

"She’uh fi’mal-nef t’du." He beckons with that still-slicked finger. "Zahv’uh nash-veh."

It takes Spock a moment to get his knees under him but manages at last. He leans towards Starek, who is also kneeling, and rests his forehead against the other’s shoulder.

"Show me."

"I will." Starek puts a bracing hand on Spock’s shoulder, and steps back off the bed, gaining a few inches. "Sit down onto your heels, and put your hands on the edge of the bed. It’s less uncomfortable, that way."

He takes his cock in one hand and angles it forward. "Just put out your tongue and lick. If you like it, enjoy it. If you don’t, I’ll find something more fun."

Spock does as instructed, but very quickly colors outside the lines. It’s not that he doesn’t like the sensation of Starek’s tash-fek in his mouth, it’s that he likes it too much. He likes slippery feel of it against his tongue, and then his cheek — he can’t help rubbing — and, the taste of it, and the scent, suffusing his consciousness, giving the impression of a wild fruit that he’s always seen beyond a fence but only just been allowed to consume.

All of this means that licking progresses very quickly to sucking, and then holding, because his hands come off the bed. One is resting overtop of Starek’s hand and the other at the small of Starek’s back, pulling him in.


T’Nis murmurs to her prisoner, her voice smooth, but edged with something darker. "Had I mentioned that you are a consummate actress?"

Amber, propped up in the crook of T’Nis’s arm, is flushed, panting, and well on her way to a second climax.

"Unnhh," she says, incoherently.

"No, I’m quite serious. That line about your mother using lavender in her recipe? And afterwards, when you looked so terribly unsettled. ‘Oh, do accept what I’ve made Commander Spock, I would so very much like to please you’."

The blonde turns her head away and fists her hands in the sheets.

T’Nis leans in closer. "Little slut," she whispers fondly.

She returns her attention to the lone monitor, here in her bedroom. The view just now is from camera four which is observing from high in one corner.

Spock is laid out quite agreeably on the tangled bedspread, with Starek probing between his legs. Then he beckons and Spock rises to his knees, follows him to the edge of the bed and soon has that long, glistening Romulan cock between too-eager lips.

T’Nis gives a little cry of delight, pressing her own thighs tight together.


Starek moans, his legs stiffening as he resists the urge to thrust. Don’t break the virgin, his mind reminds him, and it becomes a steadying mantra as he watches those thin lips slide over his flesh.

"Ha. . ." he gasps, unwilling to break the promise to keep talking. "Yes, ie — fuck — Weht! Taurauk! Nam-tor du taurauk! Spock —" He trails off into a long, desperate groan.

There’s a thought pulling at his ear, though it takes a minute or two to get his attention. "Don’t worry, I won’t surprise you. Takes more than this to set me off, without my intent. Keep going as long as it pleases you. Do whatever you like; I’ll let you know if it’s a bad idea."

Both of Spock’s hands are on Starek’s hips now, pulling him into his mouth. He is inexpert, he knows it. Sometimes there is a scrape of teeth and once, to his consternation, he gags, but it is as if they are again by the pool and Starek is offering him water, only this this time he seizes the glass and gulps it down.

Orion gesture of apology, indeed, Spock thinks to himself. Starek, you wanted this all along.

The Romulan twitches at the teeth, but only the slightest bit. He’s had worse from people who claimed to have a lot more experience. When Spock chokes on him, his eyes roll back in his head, at the pressure.

"Maut lamekh! Maut rom! So fucking good, Spock!" He trembles, slightly, but otherwise, he is statue-still. "Do you like it? I want you to tell me, and then you can go back to what you’re doing. Or something else. I don’t think I’m in any shape to care, as long as your mouth touches me somewhere —" he gasps "— Fucking incredible!"

"Yes, I —" he gasps, pausing to wipe his mouth. "Please, come down." and Spock pulls at him, guiding his hips to the bed, sliding him up it, until he can lean over Starek and, now at a more leisurely pace, slide his mouth up and down Starek’s virescent flesh. Spock pauses now and then to try sucking hard, to see how deep he can go, to see what happens when he adds a hand, stroking in tandem with his mouth. He revels each new experience. Especially the one of sliding a cautious finger down between Starek’s cheeks and tracing what he finds there.

Starek’s vision is splotchy from the pleasure, as he moans and begs for more, which is not at all a normal state of things. He wonders how much of it is just that this is Spock — that this entirely implausible event, directly out of his late-night fantasies, is actually happening.

He props himself on one elbow, looking down the length of his body to the Vulcan so thoroughly pleased with the taste of him. It’s an incredible rush to watch Spock — of all the people in the quadrant, Spock — sucking on him.

"The finger," he notes, finally. "Lick it, first. At least."

Spock does better. He gives himself a few easy strokes, enough to slick up his hand, and then returns, exploring quietly, his other hand rubbing slowly along Starek’s length. Having Starek in both of his hands now is most intoxicating. Growing bolder, he nudges at Starek’s entrance, wondering if the pressure around his very sensitive finger will be as — he gasps — no, it’s even more pleasurable than he thought, and he thrusts twice, involuntarily, into the mattress.

No, this is too much. It will be his undoing. He needs Starek’s hands or mouth or eyes on him soon because he is so very close . . .

Starek notices Spock’s thrusts, feels the bed move under him. He holds his hand out, invitingly. "Come to me, k’diwa. You’ll burn yourself out, doing that."

He lies back, dragging Spock up over his body, gently kissing his forehead, his lips. Taking Spock’s hand in his own, Starek does his best to radiate calm, as his other hand strokes the Vulcan’s back. "A little too much, I think, a little too fast."

He kisses Spock’s lips, again. "Let us take a little time. Tell me one of your fantasies, and I’ll tell you one of mine."

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X