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It is illogical to dislike a certain area of the ship that is imperative for the proper functioning of said ship (and especially an area that also assisted in the proper functioning of Spock himself) but nonetheless, Spock hated medbay. The lights were always much too bright for his crepuscular tastes. The biobeds always made a faintly unpleasant humming sound that underpinned every other noise in the room. And there was always an antiseptic smell that made Spock’s nose twitch and the hairs inside it burn.
Then, of course, there was also the consideration of the not insignificant fact that Doctor McCoy spent most of his time in the medbay.
“Well, Spock,” the doctor in question was saying, looming over the side of the biobed that Spock lay uncomfortably stiff on, “not a big surprise here but you’re not pregnant.”
Kirk, standing on the other side of the bed, let out an uncomfortable giggle.
“Was that on the list of things he could have been?” he asked, chuckling. The new bond in Spock’s head itched as Kirk swelled with amusement. “I thought you were just giving him a post pon farr check-up?”
McCoy’s eyebrow rose at the same time that Spock’s stomach fell. He knew that his counterpart from the other universe had had several conferences with the doctor (and the captain for that matter) that Spock himself had not been invited to, and he knew that McCoy seemed to always know a bit more about Vulcan health, culture, and, in a way that most alarmingly suggested firsthand knowledge, anatomy after these conferences. The counterpart had no doubt forewarned McCoy about pon farr, as he had been quite prepared and not particularly surprised by its appearance in Spock a month ago, but just how much McCoy knew was a mystery to Spock. Evidently enough to check him over for a very unlikely embryo.
The lack of an embryo did not signify the lack of trying to create one, however. The first wave of pon farr had lasted a total of three days, during which the necrotic mating bond tying him to the deceased T’Pring burned away in order to latch onto Kirk instead, and Kirk had subsequently been infected by the fever and had kept Spock most satisfyingly pinned to his mattress, soaked and full, for those three days. The memory of it heated the new bond even as Spock leaked his nervousness into it.
“I am,” McCoy shot back. He gestured at the readout on the screen of the biobed. “Even though we all knew it probably wouldn’t have happened, there was always that very, very slim chance that it could have, so I needed to check. But I needn’t have bothered cause his cold and acidic Vulcan cooter murdered your human swimmers quite thoroughly. So even though he was nepik and in pon farr, you didn’t knock him up.”
Due to the constraints of the circumstances surrounding Spock’s first pon farr (namely how Spock had allowed his symptoms to reach a dire state), Kirk and he had been rushed into the bond and from there rushed into the bedroom, and therefore Spock had not had time to explain the lack of sexual dimorphism in Vulcans. The topic had also not come up after the fever had run its course. Beginning to explain what pon farr did to a Vulcan body meant explaining more about pon farr than Spock was prepared to do. And it got very close to needing to offer knowledge about the dahr-katrelaya, which Spock was actively trying to avoid talking about.
He knew that the time of secondary mating was just as sacred a rite as the original pon farr, and he knew that without an embryo in his sudef pouch, his body was already preparing for the dahr-katrelaya regardless of his thoughts on the matter, but Spock had been illogically clinging to the idea that he might be able to quietly coast through this time, taking full advantage of the fact that he had a partner who was unable to enter pon farr himself. The doctor, of course, was poised to destroy all of Spock’s foolishly optimistic plans. Even now Spock could feel Kirk’s clever curiosity beginning to pirouette in the bond.
“He can get pregnant?” Kirk said, blue eyes twinkling dangerously. The harsh light of the sickbay glowed on him garishly, pooling into vibrant shadows that made him appear to be an automaton carved of marble. “Seems like that's something that someone should have told me.”
“Relax,” McCoy replied, rolling his eyes at Kirk over Spock, who had decided to stare unseeingly at the wall rather than look at either of the humans discussing things that one never discussed with humans if one could help it. “The likelihood of that was astronomically small. Between his hybrid nature and you not being a Vulcan, if you somehow did manage to put a bun in his oven, it wouldn’t live too long. And now you missed your window. Nobody is knocking him up until he goes into pon farr again, but now it’s your turn—”
“Doctor,” Spock cut in, trying to keep the terror out of his voice. “If that is all, I would like to return to my quarters.”
He knew he was too late in cutting McCoy off when he saw Kirk’s eyes widen and then squint shrewdly, whipping between the two of them. The bond probed at Spock’s mind, no doubt tasting the hidden panic, and Kirk’s mouth began to quirk up into a predatory grin.
“My turn for what?” he asked, flashing his white teeth like they were fangs.
Spock rose out of the pillows he’d been lounging on and was nearly surprised that McCoy didn’t try to prolong his torture and keep him there. But the doctor, blessedly, didn't stop him from swinging his legs over the side of the biobed and getting to his feet. Spock retrieved his overshirt from the side table and, holding it tightly in his hand, started toward the door of the examination room, aware that Kirk was watching every move he made closely. McCoy waved at him with a dismissive gesture as Spock started to move past him, the doctor evidently bored by the entire interaction and unaware of the sizzling energy zipping off of Kirk.
“To be the potential mommy,” McCoy grumbled with another wave, this one at Kirk as he brushed past him to join Spock. “If he didn’t get pregnant, he’s supposed to get you pregnant. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed how big his dick has gotten in preparation for the dubious honor of knocking you up. Seems like something you’d notice.”
A wad of cold weight fell in Spock’s gut.
“Wow,” Kirk said, laughing even as his eyes flashed to Spock and seemed to burn the very skin from his bones. “Silly me. Must not have been looking close enough.”
“It’d be hard to miss,” McCoy grunted, already turning away from where the other two were edging through the door. “Unless he was forcibly keeping it tucked up in himself, I think it’d be pretty obvious.”
Spock stepped out of the exam room and walked purposefully across the sickbay. He didn’t wait for Kirk, but the captain slid into place right beside him nonetheless. He walked half-angled toward Spock, spearing him with that brutal grin and sparkling eyes, his mind on the other side of the bond pacing like a predator in a cage, but he kept uncharacteristically silent.
Spock marched them to the turbolift, saying a quick prayer of gratitude when the lift arrived full of other officers on their disparate ways around the ship. Kirk made banal human chat with them instead of trapping Spock into a conversation, or worse, a confession.
If not for the doctor‘s meddling, Spock had been relatively sure (a probability of success sitting at 57%, which was lower than Spock would have liked but not outside the realm of likelihood) he could have made it through the time of dahr-katrelaya with Kirk completely unaware of his body masculinizing itself. He’d been able to keep his lok from everting all of the way each time that Kirk had engaged in sexual contact with him, which had not been particularly easy when Kirk was doing his best to turn Spock on, but Spock had managed it. All in vain.
Unsurprisingly though terrifyingly, when they made it to Deck Five, Kirk did not go to his quarters but followed Spock to his own. He stood beside him, still silent and still grinning in a way that had Spock’s deeply illogical core fearing for his life as Spock keyed his unlock into the door plate. Though if Kirk were to perform this homicide, at least then Spock could avoid the obligations of dahr-katrelaya hanging over his head. As Spock opened his door and they both slid into the half-dark privacy of his quarters, he was almost longing for the killing blow to strike him. They kicked off their boots in silence.
“Mr. Spock--” Kirk started after a moment.
“Captain--” Spock began at the same time.
They met each other’s gaze, Spock very much wanting to cower but managing to keep his posture straight and correct and eyes fixed on Kirk’s ample forehead. As close to his blazing, smiling glare as he could manage. They stood in the center of his quarters, facing each other like opposing armies.
“After you,” Kirk said, violently polite. He gestured at Spock to continue, flippant yet accusing all at once. “I’d really love to hear what you have to say. Though, I’m sure you’re about to tell me that I’m ridiculous for suspecting that I’ve been thoroughly had. After I spent several exhausting days drilling you into the mattress while you did no work but just laid there and took it, and begged for it, now you’re gonna let me know that I’m crazy for thinking you weren’t going to tell me that there’s a second pon farr where I’m the one that gets to lay back and think of England, right? That you were just waiting until your cock got absolutely humongous before letting me in on it? You were about to tell me, though, of course.”
“Captain,” Spock said. He swallowed. “It is difficult to talk about such things with outworlders.”
“I’m your bondmate,” Kirk replied flatly.
“You’re also a human male who is incapable of carrying my children,” Spock said, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. “Thus, there is no point to my trying to impregnate you. I believed it to be illogical to attempt such an enterprise and felt no need to inform you of the second stage of pon farr.”
“It wasn’t illogical for me to break my back blowing your back out though?” Kirk snapped, arms crossing over his chest. “You heard Bones, the probability that I could have knocked you up was astronomically low, but you never stopped me from trying.”
“I am a Vulcan and you bested me at my koon-ut-kalifee,” Spock replied, trying to explain without cringing. “Because you bested me in the combat, I was overtaken by the instincts of my estrus cycle to submit to you.”
“’Bested in combat‘?” Kirk said, starting to laugh disbelievingly. “You barely put up a fight! You’ve beaten my ass quite thoroughly many a time in the gym and that one very dramatic time on the bridge, so you are fully capable of it. But you barely threw a punch before you were sprawling out on New Vulcan’s sand, looking up at me with those big, wet eyes of yours and telling me how you surrendered, and that the fight belonged to me. You wanted me to impregnate you. But now that it’s time to pamper me, you’d rather bite the hand that breeds you. Mr. Spock, that is unwise.”
Shaking his head slowly, Kirk made a tsk-ing sound.
“Where’s that proper Vulcan equality?” he went on, clearly warming to his subject and subsequently thawing out of the challenging posture he’d taken on. “I bet there’s a fancy, old-school Vulcan ritual around us swapping roles too. If you were a good Vulcan, you’d have your bells and incense and a big fire pit and the whole nine yards as you enthusiastically plow my ass. Right, Spock? If you were a good Vulcan, you wouldn’t have hid that big cock of yours.”
Spock tried not to gasp but was not sure of his success as his heart was beating too fast and hard in his ears for him to hear anything but its hammering clatter. He also tried not to dampen but was very sure that, at this at least, he had spectacularly failed. His briefs clung to his skin, sticky and uncomfortable. He was still in uniform, they both were, fresh from alpha shift, then dinner, then Spock’s check-up. Spock could smell Kirk’s skin, even from his distance, ripe with human pheromones. The scent was warm, alien, and male, always, unchangingly male, no matter what the environment or telepathic suggestion of his partner might push.
“Jim,” Spock said, trying not to whine. In something of a streak, he failed at this objective as spectacularly as he had the last one. “I dislike being abrupik. Though my body is very clearly not, if you wish for sexual contact, might we... pretend my body is still nepik? We might pretend that I had been abrupik already for pon farr and thus will be the opposite for dahr-katrelaya. Seeing as we are engaging in an illogical exercise in fantasy already, as it is soundly impossible for you to be impregnated, we may construct a different imaginary scenario.”
“Pretending?” Kirk said, balking ostentatiously. He glared, still smiling. “Good Vulcans don’t play pretend either, I’ve heard. Spock, are you sure you’re not being a little selfish here? The needs of the Spock outweigh the needs of the Jim? Is that it? Are you being a little human and not the good Vulcan at all?”
“You are attempting to manipulate me,” Spock said, stunned for a moment at the husky breathlessness of his voice.
“I am,” Kirk confessed. “Is it working?”
Spock closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the racket of his pounding heart. He took a nearly shuddering breath, leaking even more into his underwear as his over-engorged lok shifted and twitched.
“Yes,” Spock breathed.
Kirk’s expression shifted slightly, minutely, the shadows of the half-lit quarters around them falling on the planes of his face creating new, off-putting shadows. He stalked forward, starting to crowd Spock until he was forced to step backwards into the sleeping area of his quarters. Kirk followed him at a respectable distance, the air between them crackling with heat.
“I want to see it, Spock,” Kirk demanded, hands drifting to his hips. He blocked the doorway into the reception area, cutting off any means of escape and staring pointedly at the pinned Vulcan. “The whole thing. This massive hog of yours.”
Spock shook his head and attempted to turn up his nose at the open vulgarity that Kirk was spouting, but, try as he might, he couldn’t quite manage it. Though he could commonly push back against Kirk if he disagreed with him or his orders elsewhere, when Kirk ordered him here, behind closed doors, Spock could not quite find himself summoning up anything but weak arguments against doing exactly what Kirk told him to do. He hung to his stubbornness by the thinnest margin.
As though his briefs were not so wet that his slick had started dripping down the inside of his uniform pants, Spock straightened into parade rest and squared himself under Kirk’s carnivorous stare. He did not cower nor did he flinch, but he merely shivered as a side effect of the ravenous anticipation growing in Kirk’s side of the bond.
“I would prefer not to show you,” Spock said, spoken as neutral and steady as his shivering would allow. “A bonded dahr-katrelaya, unlike an unbonded pon farr, is not fatal. Neither of us would suffer ill effects if we did not mate for a few days until my body returns to equilibrium again.”
Kirk tapped his temple lightly.
“Except I can feel your mind, Spock, and, while it’s not fevered and senseless, I can tell that this dahr-katrelaya is making you just as disgustingly and just as relentlessly horny as the pon farr did,” he said, shaking his head slightly in a condescending gesture. “You’ve wanted me to fuck you all day. It’s been pounding in my skull like a migraine every fucking where I go. You went to your quarters and you jerked off instead of having lunch for the past two days, Spock. Did you think I didn’t feel that? It might not be fatal but if I let you go on like this, just waiting it out, I’m afraid I’d need to confine myself to the brig for unwarranted cruelty.”
He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, so close now that Spock’s shivering began anew. Without waiting for permission, taking as many liberties with touch and with access to Spock’s body as he always did, Kirk reached and fisted his fingers around the waistband of Spock’s uniform, dragging him forward.
Arms still locked impotently behind his back, Spock’s body crashed against Kirk’s. They both stood, Kirk dropping Spock so that his arms hung down, doing nothing but brushing against Spock harmlessly. Kirk’s face was so close to Spock’s that his human heat seemed scalding and his calculating gaze was utterly unavoidable.
“Jim,” Spock started, not sure where he’d intended to go from there.
His mouth hung open slightly, panting as he fought the instincts in him reacting to his bondmate‘s nearness, and breathing in Kirk’s scent as deep as he could get it. Kirk was correct that Spock’s mind was not nonsensical in its agitation like it had been deep in the fever of the initial mating, which was exactly why he would easily survive this, but the captain was also right in his other statement: Spock’s libido the past two days as his lok had grown was unappeasable.
He had taken to changing his briefs whenever he went to the bathroom, the fabric coming away sticky with slick every time. As Kirk unfortunately observed, he had snuck away on his lunch break to, as unobtrusively as possible, chase several orgasms while Kirk had been dining in the mess, and had planned to do the same tomorrow. He’d initiated sexual contact (though none that required him to reveal the entirety of his lok) with Kirk every morning and evening. This, however, was the first that Spock was receiving something like a complaint for his efforts at managing his symptoms without resorting to giving in to the demands of his abrupik body. Prior, Kirk had enthusiastically reacted to his overtures and his continuing to behave as though he was still nepik.
“Take your clothes off, Spock,” Kirk said, low and dark and commanding, “while you tell me about the religion of what we’re doing. Tell me what kind of rituals we’re supposed to be doing now as bondmates switching roles. Is there more wrestling in the sand? Do I need to invite Bones over to watch?”
When Spock neither moved to undress himself nor answer him, Kirk grabbed the hem of Spock’s undershirt himself and started to roll it up his stomach. Spock unclutched his arms and let Kirk manipulate them until he could force first one and then the other out of their sleeves, but assisted him in no other manner.
“Answer me,” Kirk rumbled, hands roving over Spock’s newly bared chest, the bond making sure that Spock knew Kirk had noticed how the hair there had thickened and darkened slightly and the skin beneath it was less smooth and dewy than it had been before the dahr-katrelaya had started.
“The pon farr is the growing season, the struggle of life against death,” Spock explained, focusing on his words and not the scalding touch. “T’Khasi fights her t’hy’la, T’Khut, life fights death, and for a moment T’Khasi is successful. She impregnates her sister with the bond. But death is always barren and no child comes from T’Khut. She then enters the bridal chamber and her sister, life, accepts her embrace without fight. Every life thus has the seed of death in it.”
Kirk’s fingers started toward Spock’s pants.
“The rituals around dahr-katrelaya are much more intimate than those around pon farr,” Spock went on, continuing to address the space just beside Kirk rather than looking at him directly. “There is no spectacle. Merely, a... surrender.”
“A surrender?” Kirk asked, yanking the clasp of Spock’s pants open. He started to drag them down his thighs, raising a thick eyebrow minutely at the soaked and dripping underwear beneath them, before coaxing one foot up for Spock to step out of the pant leg.
“Pon farr forces our control from us but the dahr-katrelaya is a conscious lowering of control,” Spock replied, stepping out of the other pant leg before Kirk began to tug him out of it. Dressed only in briefs so thoroughly drenched they hung off of him uncomfortably and with his cock pushing against his sheath enough to quite obviously bulge out the fabric, Spock’s shivers became full-on shakes. The profound exposure had his heart pounding wildly. “The victor in the combat of the first stage now willingly submits instead to the loser of the bout. It is a profound surrender.”
Kirk nodded thoughtfully. The bond gave nothing away as to what was going on behind his glacial eyes but only blasted Spock with a senseless heat he couldn’t parse any time that he pushed at it. He, upon learning that his elder counterpart had had a mating bond with his universe’s Captain Kirk, had naively thought that if he ever were to have a similar bond with his own captain that it would help him understand the, at times, frustratingly enigmatic man. But the opposite had happened and Spock felt as though the addition of the bond had done nothing but complicate Kirk even further.
He knew nothing about what Kirk was thinking, but knew only that the colors of his thoughts were dark and dangerous.
“I like the sound of that,” Kirk said. He hooked his thumbs in the band of Spock’s briefs, fiddled with them for a moment, and then took his warm, human hands away from Spock’s hungry skin utterly and shoved them into his pockets instead. “I’m tired of fighting you, Spock. It’s about time that we do some surrendering and some submitting, don’t you think? None of this butting of heads. Take your underwear off. Let your cock out. All the way.”
The last was spoken with the same commanding authority as an order on the bridge. The tone forced Spock to comply, even as his eyes squeezed shut against a wave of shame so powerful it seemed to wash his innards out. He could not keep his lok politely contained in its sheath and made a small noise as it pushed out into the tight prison of his briefs. Trembling, he got his hands under the waistband and pulled the underwear down, stepping out of them.
He was dribbling lewdly all down his inner thighs, the hair plastered to his skin, and his lok, free from both the constricting clothing and Spock’s constricting influence, slid farther and farther from his sheath to jut before him. He was determined not to look at it, but it was enough to feel it, engorged and swollen and dripping and aching and never-ending, as it ripped its way out of his stretched sheath.
“My, my,“ Kirk said. When Spock cracked open his eyes to look at him, he was smiling and unselfconsciously staring at Spock’s extended lok while shaking his head slowly. He gave a low whistle. “What a great, big, useless thing.”
He reached and took hold of the offending organ, testing its weight in his hand. Spock hissed at the contact, feeling himself impossibly become even harder and bigger with the attention. He cringed away even as his hips began gently moving in an attempt toward friction. Kirk simply held him, inspecting him as though he was an intriguing inanimate object, maddeningly prodding.
Another noise burbled out of Spock before he could stop himself.
“What do you expect to accomplish with this?” Kirk said in a heated scoff. He flicked the swollen cock dismissively as he dropped it. It was so hard it barely fell when he let it go, but continued to reach stubbornly forward. “It’s wasteful, Mr. Spock. Giving this much meat to a vegetarian. What could you possibly do with this?”
Without losing his air of demeaning condescension, Kirk slowly sank to his knees in front of Spock, running his hands down his bare sides as he did so. From his new position, he reached and again palmed at Spock’s sizeable erection, inspecting it closely now that it was at eye level. The scrutiny had shame filling Spock over and over, fresh rivulets of slick proof of it leaking out of him.
“What, do you think you could choke me with this thing?” Kirk asked with another scoff of disgusted disbelief. He wrapped his fingers around the thing in question and directed it toward his mouth. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”
His plush lips opened and he roughly yanked Spock until the double-ridged head of his lok was sliding across Kirk's equally plush tongue. The unescapable heat of his mouth scalded Spock’s skin as soon as it touched him. Usually, Kirk could completely engulf his lok into that humid magma but now, despite the way that Spock was even starting to slide into the throat, there was still some of him on the outside of Kirk’s lips.
Shame continuing to drain through him, Spock made another unconscious sound of pain. He ripped his eyes away from Kirk’s face, unable to bear the sight of the long, fluttering eyelashes, the hollowed cheeks, the working, dripping mouth, and the cock still not fully devoured. Though glaring at the collection of antique weapons he had on his wall, tools of the abrupik, did not help much when he could hear it.
Kirk was sloppy without shame, gurgling Spock’s slick and drooling. He was making murmuring, hungry moans that mingled with the other loudly wet and slurping noises he was producing. His hand stroked Spock where his mouth had yet to reach, but his fingers stubbornly refused to play with the opening of the sheath that the cock bloomed out of, focusing only on the lok itself, the other tool of the abrupik.
Spock shook, pleasure surging in great swoops in his gut. He felt Kirk open his throat further and he swallowed even more of Spock’s slippery cock, almost taking the whole thing now and the shock of it flooded Spock. He tried not to look but his eyes drifted down again and met Kirk’s gaze, staring openly back up at him as he sucked. The moment he caught Spock looking at him, the corners of his lips quirked up in a satisfied smirk and he moved, taking the last bit of Spock into him.
It caused Spock to startle with a whine, accidentally jerking the hips he’d tried to keep so still. He thrust into Kirk’s throat, making him stiffen and make a slight gagging sound, though the working lips never slowed. Spock’s hands fluttered up, about to yank Kirk off him, when the bond in his head stopped him cold. Kirk had liked the thrust and the loss of control it represented.
“Jim,” Spock gasped, but Kirk did not listen to the broken warning in his tone and reached his hands around to Spock’s buttocks.
He clutched them and pulled Spock forward, forcing him to thrust again. Kirk didn’t gag this time but he moaned, deeper and more broken than any that had come before it, as he accepted the motion. Spock offered no assistance but allowed Kirk to keep forcing him to thrust into his mouth while his breath became panting with building need.
Kirk’s tongue was clever and hot, his throat and saliva nearly burning Spock’s skin as it wrapped around him. It was almost painful and continued to wring unseemly noises from Spock’s own throat. Kirk had always been quite skilled with his mouth when Spock was his normal, smaller size and he did not lose any proficiency with Spock’s larger lok. He worked him over until Spock started moving himself with very little further coaxing from Kirk. He pushed himself deep into Kirk's waiting maw and let him take him as far as he could.
"Jim," Spock whimpered again. He was gulping down air like a drowning man. "You have proven yourself. It is not possible for me to choke you. Please."
One of Kirk's hands that he'd been clutching onto Spock's buttocks smacked across the fleshy swell instead and then he pulled off with a moist slurp. He pursed his lips and lay a kiss to the tip of Spock's saliva-soggy cock before he sat back on his haunches and smiled up at Spock. He was a mess, spit and lubricant dripping off his chin and onto the front of his uniform, and his cock was tenting out his pants quite noticeably. Yet, his voice was just as calm and level and condescending as ever.
"Please what, Mr. Spock?" he asked, cocking his head to the side puppy-like, blinking innocently.
"I do not know," Spock admitted brokenly, the words all slurring together into one great big rush. His heart was pounding so hard it was making him light-headed, and sweat, a rare occurrence for him, was prickling at his temples. "Only… please."
Shaking his head slowly, almost pityingly, Kirk rose to his feet once more and patted Spock's bare chest with a patronizing slap.
"You want me to just know what you want?" Kirk demanded. He started to edge away from Spock, moving toward the bed and pulling his shirts over his head. "You want me to do your thinking for you? That doesn't seem to be keeping in the spirit of the dahr-katrelaya, if you ask me. Not that I claim to be an expert on the subject or anything, but you're not doing a very good job of this."
In short order, he had divested himself of his uniform entirely, tossing it on Spock's floor without a care, and stood challengingly, shoulders squared and hands on his naked hips. His cock, always human, always abrupik, always large, stood before him flushed and eager and —Spock almost choked himself with self-disgust — smaller than Spock's own now.
Wielding the bond and the intimate knowledge of Spock's feelings that it provided, Kirk beckoned at him, crooking his fingers. When Spock, unable to do anything but obey, stepped forward, Kirk again got close to him. This time, however, he gripped his cock and rested it against Spock's, scrutinizing them together with as much eager interest as he had earlier peered at Spock's alone.
"Look at that. You've got a couple inches on me," Kirk said, somehow sounding both impressed and degrading at once. He made a low, husky noise as he began to stroke them together. "You're so big and manly."
"Please," Spock begged once more. And once more he had no idea what he was pleading for. He wanted Kirk to stop, to cease torturing him, to do what he had when pon farr first afflicted Spock: caress him and tell him he was beautiful and his cock was wonderfully small and his body was perfect to dump one's ejaculate into. Yet, more than that, he wanted to do anything Kirk forced him to do. The shame he felt was addicting and beckoned to him with the same inevitability as Kirk himself had. "Don't…"
"Don't what?" Kirk asked, not slowing his motions.
"Don't…" Spock started, trailing off again. He could hardly think over the desire and revulsion churning in him. He made another go of it. "Don't… stop."
More contrary than anyone that Spock had ever met, Kirk immediately ceased his motions at the demand and drew his hand back. His cock flopped impotently against Spock's, the hot human limb smeared with cold Vulcan slick, and Kirk glowered at Spock.
"Naughty boy," he said with a tsk. "Getting close, were you? About to cum without permission, were you? Was that your plan? Bossing me around because you want to cum so bad…" He shook his head and then smacked his hand on Spock's lok so hard that it bobbed and pain zapped through Spock. He hissed with it. "Sneaky, sneaky little pathetic boy. Can't even control yourself long enough to get inside me. How are you going to impregnate me if you blow your load in my hand?"
"Don't force me to do this," Spock whined.
"I'm not," Kirk argued. He stepped away and took the last few steps to the bed, sinking down to the mattress before looking up at Spock expectantly. "You're surrendering. Like the good, obedient Vulcan that you are. The good, obedient, virile, masculine, abrupik Vulcan you are."
He crawled backwards on Spock's bed, propping himself up in the pile of Spock's pillows when he reached them. With the practiced motions of someone who had done it several times already, he snatched at the first drawer in Spock's side table and unearthed the bottle of lubricant that he had stashed there, holding it up to wave it in Spock's direction. Half the bottle was gone from the events of Spock's pon farr and what was left sloshed in its container invitingly. Spock's hole tingled in fond remembrance of the activities that had caused the bottle to be so depleted but Kirk quite obviously had no plans to revisit them (nor the optimistically tingling hole) in the near future. The bond was boiling with Kirk's sexual irritation and his need to dominate and his quaking desire to feel the rippling and pure strength of Spock's abrupikhood.
"Come over here and finger me," Kirk ordered, gesturing with the lubricant again. He shifted in the pillows, drawing his legs up toward his face. "And don't you dare cum from your weird, Vulcan hand stuff."
"I.. can't," Spock argued feebly. He didn't know if he meant that he couldn't orgasm from hand stimulation alone (he could not, though through much experimentation, he had concluded that he could get quite close to doing so), or that he couldn't touch Kirk in that way (he could, but he knew what it was a precursor to and he did not wish to proceed further with such activities).
"Sure you can," Kirk grunted, coolly dismissive. He waved the bottle again, expectantly and demandingly pointing it at Spock. "You're a Vulcan fella. At least for the moment. You can hold me down and spread me open and fuck me until I scream. That's what you're supposed to do."
"Only…" Spock started. He took a gulp of air before he could get the rest of it out. "Only if you tell me to do so." He swallowed again. "Only if you command me."
"Mr. Spock," Kirk shot back, "what do you think I've been doing? I order you, not as your captain, but as your bondmate, as the victor of the kal-i-fee, as your t'hy'la, as your husband, as your wife, to come over here and treat me like your woman. Like your nepik. Now."
As though he was a leashed animal, Spock felt himself compelled forward and awkwardly clambered onto the bed. He crawled across the length of it, head hanging under the weight of a forlorn spasm of fresh shame. Kirk held the lubricant out to Spock expectantly, but Spock didn't take it. He kneeled between Kirk's legs, head still cast down, and tried to arrest all the motion in his body. He sat stiffly, in complete control of himself everywhere but the trembling lok, which continued to point obscenely out in front of him and dripped slick and saliva onto his blankets.
"You're not gonna make this easy, are you?" Kirk sighed.
Despite the exasperation in his tone, the bond was sizzling happily in Spock's brain. Kirk liked a fight, it was part of the reason that he was a captain, and it was definitely the reason that he was in Starfleet. A bar fight and the singularly powerful and patriarchal intervention of Christopher Pike. If something was easy, then Kirk would find it boring. Spock's misery was delighting Kirk with startling burbles of hungry felicity.
"Give me your hand," Kirk said, clutching roughly at Spock's wrist as soon as he lifted it. He wrenched it toward himself. "There's a good boy."
He kept ahold of Spock's wrist hard enough to hurt while he used his other hand to flick open the lubricant and started to drizzle it over Spock's knuckles. It flowed over his fingers, chilling his skin and paradoxically warming all of the myriad nerves in his sensitive Vulcan hand at the same time. Spock tried not to react but a shiver twisted through him. He wished, with a longing that was stronger than his meager attempts to stop it, to feel Kirk's skin, the tease of his mind, behind the glimmering, viscid barrier.
Using the strength that he had refused to use against him in the sacred fights of pon farr, Spock pulled his wrist out of Kirk's hold. He brought his wet hand down, not to the opening that Kirk was trying to seduce him toward, but to the erection that arched up toward Kirk's belly. As soon as his gooey fingertips made contact with the heated flesh, Kirk's thoughts, muffled juicily by the liquid (so unlike the dry, slight deadening of touching someone on the other side of clothes), taunted him with their sloshing immediacy. Whatever small blockades that existed within the bond broke up in the touch and Spock drenched himself in the thoughts bleeding from Kirk's cock.
He knew he was making the wrong decision, yet Spock was compelled nonetheless to stroke the turgid organ and smear the lubricant on it. Anger soaked Spock from where it dripped from Kirk's side of the bond and Kirk's mind behind the nerves Spock ran his fingers along. He continued to work his grip over Kirk even as the anger mutated into rage.
"Spock," Kirk growled, eyes so bleached and blank and waxy he became corpse-like.
He looked like he had as he'd been dying, as he had when he'd pulled his fists back and beat them into Khan's steady immovability, as Spock imagined he must have looked during that fateful bar fight. He looked like he was poised to use his body as a punishment. He didn't ball his hands into fists but with just as much violence as if he meant to, he threw the lubricant to the bed and then brought his hands to his thighs. Glaring that dead, blank glower at Spock, he used the gripping fingers to pull his legs even more obscenely upwards, splaying himself open even further for Spock.
The pink of his human body, so vulnerable and alien and warm, demanded Spock's attention and he whined, hand stuttering, gazing down on his bondmate. His bondmate who, questioning nothing, trusting him implicitly, went down to the temple grounds of the colony at New Vulcan and pounded him into the sand, and later into the rented bed, and then his bed, and then Kirk's bed too (seemingly for good measure). His bondmate who had owned him during his pon farr and now must be owned in turn. Properly. Like a proper Vulcan.
"Spock," Kirk said again. Again in that same animal growl. The warning in it caused Spock to drop Kirk's now shimmery cock. "For a genius, you are remarkably stupid. For a Vulcan, you are remarkably disloyal. Do you like betraying me every chance you get? The man who has saved your life enough times that your fatal self-hatred kind of dislikes me a little bit for it? You like fighting me even when Vulcan propriety has dictated that you're supposed to surrender?"
Spock's breath was coming so fast that he was sure that he was not getting enough oxygen to his brain. Everything was fuzzy and his cock, its insistent, pounding desperation filling the whole heavy weight of it, bridled any and all of Spock's higher thinking. He couldn't seem to think at all. He only seemed able to take Kirk's lashes and accept his orders.
"No," Spock gasped out. He addressed his lap and the giant, twitching thing that had replaced the sensibly sized lok he usually possessed outside of his mating season. "I do not like it."
"No?" Kirk pressed.
"No, sir," Spock whispered. "But you do."
"Ah," Kirk said. He looked at Spock with a scalding gaze that Spock couldn't force his eyes upward to meet. "And there's the surrender, eh, Mr. Spock? The fight is the surrender." He didn't wait for an answer but jerked his head down toward where he shamelessly continued to hold himself open. "Finger me until you think I can take that disgusting monster you're sporting, — or make it hurt me a little, I don't care, I kind of like it — and then fuck me until I feel like I'm being split in half. But fight me again, try to be clever again, and I'll break your neck."
The threat was a false one, they both knew it, but the venom it was spoken with seemed to hit Spock with deadly honesty. Kirk was bare before him, more bare than he had ever been before, and he expected Spock to burrow into him and expose him even more. All while he ripped Spock limb from limb in return.
Without meeting Kirk's eyes, Spock reached over him for the bottle of lubricant. He poured more onto his fingers, focusing on his work with a nearly dissociated kind of stubbornness, ignoring the shivers that threatened under the onslaught of the cool fluid onto his cold, oversensitive hand. Still refusing to look at Kirk, he brought his sopping fingertip to his rim and pressed on it gently.
He tried not to make a sound, or make any reaction at all, as he began to slide it inside the boiling human body. The ring of muscle opened at his prodding, more easily than he had been anticipating, and he made it down to the knuckle before he betrayed himself and sighed. The tight, burning squeeze around his fingers, tasting Kirk's thoughts from the inside of his body, the overwhelming and inescapable smugness that seethed from Kirk's side of the bond, it all broke Spock's will. He groaned under it as he began to pump his finger in and out of his bondmate.
Spock, more keenly aware of his size than he wanted to be, thoroughly prepared Kirk. He stretched and probed and added fingers until Kirk was practically gaping open and the dissociation that Spock had erected around himself was crumbling. Sweat continued to bead under his slick bangs, his bottom lip was sore from where he'd been tearing into it with his teeth, and his heart raced so fast it felt as though it were trying to beat its way out of him. He'd started moving his hips, determined not to consciously notice it, rubbing his cock against the bed in time with the way he was pushing his fingers into Kirk.
"I'm more than ready. Fuck me," Kirk ordered in a pitying whisper. One of his hands moved from his leg to Spock's upper arm, wrapping around it and giving it an encouraging squeeze. It was the friendliest motion that Kirk had offered Spock since the evening began. "You sure as shit don't know what to do with that cock of yours, but after all the practice you've had with your own, you sure know how to finger an asshole."
Even the degradation was spoken in that same friendly, encouraging tone. The hand on Spock's arm started to caress it, rubbing up and down in calming strokes. Rather than tranquilize him, however, the touch only made Spock feverish once more. He'd been floating above his body, above the bond with Kirk, above the hunger growing teeth between them, but the soft caresses plunged him back into his bones. He was shivering and couldn't get himself to stop, gooseflesh and sweat covering his entire body. As he came back into himself, he realized that he'd made a thick puddle in the blankets beneath him and it caused them to stick to Kirk's buttocks and to Spock's knees.
Spock's shivering became something closer to writhing as shame, newly rekindled and newly violent, again clawed its way through him. He couldn't stand the mess, the obvious and undeniable proof of his body's yearning, and he couldn't stand the equally obvious and undeniable shape of his straining lok dragging him forward like a magnet. He was totally at the mercy of his mindless body.
But no, that was not quite it. He was totally at the mercy of his body but his body was totally at the mercy of Jim.
"Jim," Spock prayed, not meaning to say it out loud, but the moan dropped from his lips because Kirk had willed it to. The bond in Spock's skull had become a brand, all red plasma that churned and seared. "Sir."
Spock's hands wandered to Kirk's thighs, pushing them up and out of the way as Spock maneuvered himself forward. His cock fell heavily onto Kirk's, dwarfing the human's again, but Spock left it there and clenched his eyes shut. His chenesi were already seething in his back, more swollen than they'd been even during these last insufferable few days of the dahr-katrelaya, eagerly anticipating an attempt at impregnation, which they'd been instinctively priming themselves for since Spock entered this stage and which Spock had stubbornly been denying them. They were making it so hard to think and the shame was making it so hard to feel.
Tears welled in Spock's tightly shut eyes as Kirk's hand abandoned the gentle rubbing it had been laying on Spock's arm and reached between them instead. He clutched Spock's slimy, engorged cock daintily, almost sweetly, and dragged it forward, lining it up. He dropped the delicacy in his motions, turning demanding and virulent instead, as he pushed the head inside. Spock refused to budge, to push farther, despite the howling screams that his chenesi were bellowing into every nerve. He trembled and he silently cried and he waited. He waited to be led.
Kirk breathed loudly, meditatively, like he was contemplating a tricky chess move on which the whole game was pinned and held Spock there, only inside Kirk up to the first ridge. The heat of his human body stung deliciously with pain so syrupy with overripe sweetness that Spock's teeth ground together to hold in a festering whimper. He trembled and his panting, husky breaths turned completely into quiet sobs.
Fingers still gripped tightly around Spock's girth, Kirk pulled him again. The tight, hot rim stretched and swallowed up Spock's second ridge before Kirk stopped moving him once more. Spock held himself as motionless as he could, silent, shaking, dripping so much it was creating a pattering sound as it fell onto the bed. Again came the loud, meditative breaths that seemed more like an ostentatious taunting of Vulcan ritual practices than proper human breathing. Then Kirk tugged him again and, in order to follow his direction, Spock was forced to inch forward on his knees and to rise up slightly. The motion caused him to slide in, nearly halfway, before he caught himself and stopped again.
He couldn't open his eyes but he knew that Kirk was gazing up at him, something expectant wriggling in the bond. His fingers whispered more of his emotions to Spock: arousal and pressure of fullness and anger and love and desire and a great flush of self-satisfied conquest. It all mingled with the expectation until it shackled Spock beneath its collared weight.
"Open your eyes, Spock," Kirk demanded as he dropped Spock and wrapped his legs around him, dragging him in with their strength. "Look at me."
Blinking away the moisture, Spock fluttered his lids open. He met Kirk's piercing and frigid glacial stare, unable to tear his gaze away from it, and watched it crumble slightly as he sank into him. Kirk's lips opened, letting out a wet exhale, and his contrariness slackened with pleasure. A grunt spilled from him when Spock filled him with all of himself. Every inch of him was engulfed in incinerating heat that pressed around him firmly.
"Look at me," Kirk said again. His eyes had misted over, but he directed them downward alongside a stuffy nod in the direction of their joined bodies. "Look at us. Look at where you're fucking me."
"No," Spock begged. He hadn't said the word, however, the one that they had established would make Kirk stop if he was ever asking too much of Spock.
He looked down.
He was completely inside Kirk so that the glittering lips of his sheath were pressed against Kirk's perineum and the soft swell of his testicles, and the lubricant from Kirk's hole was smearing into the dark hair that grew in a thatch between Spock's legs. He'd started to rock, chasing the wet friction of Kirk's compressing innards without permission from his brain, and, biting his bottom lip so hard he tasted the familiar copper of fresh blood, he watched as the motion moved Kirk's stomach. Any time that Spock plunged forward, it would bulge out to make room for his probing cock. He whined, long and keening, as he saw it. The shame in him was so violently purified it muscled out every other feeling with its scintillating domination.
"You're so big," Kirk moaned in something not quite praise and not quite censure but something made of them both and that cut through Spock like a clever scalpel. "So fucking big."
He threw his head back in Spock's pillows and was silent for a moment as Spock moved slowly in him. Spock stared at the bulge and Kirk's flopping cock bouncing on it and the shame twisted in his guts so that he gagged with it. He knew that Kirk could feel his disgust and that he was aroused by it and, most alarmingly, could feel that Spock was aroused by it as well. The bond destroyed any barriers between them. Kirk knew that Spock's body had become something he despised and he thoroughly enjoyed exploiting this.
"So big," Kirk repeated, the moan this time explicitly censure. "So big but you still can't find my fucking prostate."
"I…" Spock started, determined to defend himself even as he blushed heatedly. He began to move slightly faster. "I am trying."
"No you're not," Kirk snapped back. "But we can be terrible Vulcans like you suggested before and practice a bit of pretending. Fuck me harder and I'll pretend you're doing a good job. Slam me around a bit and I'll pretend you're not just a hole with a useless hunk of veiny meat sewn on. Fuck me like you mean it and I'll even pretend that you can pull off abrupik."
Spock gritted his teeth around an embarrassingly broken whimper. Kirk pressed all around him, demanding more motion with his heat and with his eyes. The bond clutched at Spock with its teeth, all of them biting or twisted into a vicious, unVulcan grin. Spock felt as though he was bleeding from it. He had turned to liquid, but something thicker and hotter and more horrible than water. This was what it meant to be abrupik, of course. This horror. It meant that he was glutted with blood. It meant that he was a warrior, not battling on behalf of duty or loyalty or morality or rightness, but battling on behalf of hunger.
Spock snapped his hips harder, shoving Kirk up the bed with his thrusts until Kirk had to reach over his head to clutch at the headboard to prevent his being spattered against it. His mouth had fallen open again so that moist, panting breaths fell from it, and his cock jumped across his bulging stomach.
"That's it," Kirk praised, gasping it out. His legs kicked at Spock's back, his heels getting worryingly close to digging into the squirming knots of Spock's chenesi, and tried to drag him even deeper into Kirk's already stuffed body. "Now you're fucking me like a goddamn man, Spock. Mr. Spock. My good boy. My very good boy."
"I am not…" Spock began, trailing off into a sob.
"What?" Kirk asked, somehow sounding clearer than Spock could manage despite being the one of the two of them who was being abused by an uncontrollable alien in the throes of his rutting cycle. "You're not… what? A boy? A man?"
He shook his head and, forcing all the air from Spock's body in a great rush, he dug his feet into the notches in Spock's back that hid his tightening chenesi. It was pain so sublime that Spock stuttered under the force of it. It worked to expel Spock from his own body and in a detached manner, he began to piston wildly into Kirk, surely striking his prostate now as Kirk jack-knifed beneath Spock and a disgustingly indulgent moan shook through him.
"Fuck…" Kirk drew out, again pushing his heels into Spock's back. "You like when I smash these useless things? Like the bitch you really are?"
"Jim," Spock warned in a whine. His abused chenesi were tingling dangerously. "I am going to—"
"Oh yea, fill me up with it," Kirk interrupted with a growl. He fluttered around Spock's probing cock, making it inevitable that the Vulcan would obey him. "Get it all in me."
A guttural noise broke from Spock and his thrusts became even more wild and sporadic. He was so close that every faculty in his skull had become devoted to wringing every bit of pleasure he could get on his journey toward it. In a moment of pure senseless, animal need, he let go completely and trusted Kirk to catch him.
His climax, violent and total in a way that they had not been when he was nepik or when he was ta'raf, exploded up his spine. He shoved at Kirk, pounding into him so that his grip on the headboard faltered and he slipped down, meekly accepting Spock's orgasm into him. Spock shot deep, feeling the cold, thick dampness of it squelching around his still pistoning cock.
He rode it out until every last drop and fiery blast of sensation was wrung out of him. He kept going longer than he thought he could stand before he finally pulled out, breathing heavily. His heart raced nearly painfully and as his cock dropped out of Kirk's body, it unleashed an embarrassing amount of spend behind it that dribbled down Kirk's ass and into the already fairly ruined sheets.
Free of the painful nirvana of Kirk's channel, Spock fell forward, burying his face in the notch between Kirk's shoulder and neck. Kirk didn't move but let Spock get his breath back by breathing in Kirk's masculine sweat and human pheromones, colored slightly with the scent of sex. Kirk's cock shoved none-too-subtly against Spock's side, insistent and accusatory.
"That was rather pathetic," Kirk said, his voice cold and not betraying any of his arousal. "You couldn't even make me cum."
He patted Spock's back with a comforting gesture. Then, without warning, he used the gentle touch to grab Spock and push him back away from the human skin that Spock was trying illogically to bore into. Spock sat back on his haunches with his softening lok bobbing and dripping before him, blinking at Kirk in surprise. Staring and smiling cheerily, Kirk reached down and held his erection, boldly pointing it at Spock.
"Come on, Spock, hurry up," he said, stroking it lightly. He shook it at Spock. "Before your giant cock goes back in your sheath and takes up all the room. Get over here and ride me. You're no good with that cock but I know you can make me cum with that fat pussy of yours."
He raised one of his thick eyebrows in exasperated expectation. The eye beneath it was glassy with desire and the grin beneath that was sharp and predatory. He shifted slightly, cuddling up more comfortably among the pillows.
Still, Spock hesitated. His lok was throbbing and, now successfully sated, the only thing it was yearning for was to return to the safe confines of his sheath. It was going flaccid as Spock stared forlornly at it and it was already beginning to look smaller as it retreated inside him.
"Spock," Kirk said in a scolding tone. "If you don't hurry up and I end up having to jerk myself off, I'm going to be mighty disappointed with you. So disappointed, in fact, that I might make you keep doing this until we end up managing to make an actual proper abrupik of you out of sheer practice."
Spock closed his eyes against the glare that was threatening to coalesce in his gaze and tried to ignore the protests of his swollen lok as he concentrated on preventing it from sliding any further into himself. His sheath, which had been so thoroughly ignored until now, was tingling with the same kind of overstimulation that plagued his cock.
The bond yanked at Spock, adding weight to Kirk's threat. He broadcast his impatience and it worked to melt Spock's spine. He crawled up the bed, straddling Kirk and perching himself gently on him. Kirk brought his arms above his head and propped himself on them, watching Spock expectantly and lazily. Even though he'd been present and knew that it was not the case, Kirk acted as though Spock had been drowsy and pampered during the first stage of his pon farr and now in the second stage, Kirk was to behave in this same indolent manner. This teasing was just as bad as any that had come before it and the constant barrage of shame in Spock again grew. This time it moved through him with such violence that it was only his devotion to the man before him, a hedonistic faith more burly than the leash that tied him to his logically ordered Vulcan religion, that could break it.
Spock twisted, hiding his blushing cheeks while at the same time reaching behind himself for Kirk's neglected erection. He raised himself up slightly, and then guided the human cock toward his dripping sheath, not as open as it was when he was nepik, but not as closed and impossible to squeeze into as it was when his abrupik cock was taking up all the space. He sank down slowly, the stretch aching wonderfully, and the way that Kirk rubbed against the underside of Spock's sensitive, half-hard cock hurting blissfully.
He sank down slowly, not fully adjusting to any of the burning cock already inside him before he was forcing more of it into himself. It shoved Spock's flopping lok out of the way brutally, causing it to land in a wet roll onto Kirk's stomach, reaching so well past the navel sprinkled around with light hair that Spock's pained moan tapered off into a disgusted gag.
"So big and so fucking tight," Kirk praised pointedly, voice sharpened by running through his grit teeth. "So fucking tight, Spock. You're not made for this anymore. You're going to fucking tear something in the unimpressive excuse for a pussy you're sporting now." He shook his head, pushing at Spock and lacerating his brain as though the bond were a buzzing, serrated blade. "Can't fuck me properly with that cock. Can't fuck me properly with this hole. What kind of Vulcan are you? What are you good for?"
He continued to shake his head as he refused to look away from Spock's painfully expressive face, trapping him. His eyes, so clear and bright and tempestuous, gave Spock nowhere to hide. It didn't matter anyway. Kirk was chewing up Spock's mind with the bond that Spock himself had implanted in Kirk's skull; he had lost all the shadows he could crouch in. Kirk could see him in the full light of midsummer day.
Spock didn't wait for his body to fully stretch to accommodate the last of Kirk's cock before he began to move on it. He flexed his thighs and started to rock up and down. Despite everything, despite the illogic of trying to preserve some tiny bit of privacy and dignity before the onslaught of Kirk's attention, he turned his head and then clutched his eyes shut for good measure. He could stand to look at nothing but the inside of his eyelids as he moved just as he wanted to.
"Oh yea," Kirk grunted. His hands went to Spock's waist and gripped him tightly so that he could push and pull at Spock to get him deeper and faster. "Bounce on it, you fucking whore."
"Jim," Spock hissed, biting into his lip so hard blood gushed onto his tongue. He didn't slow but pushed himself even harder, his everted cock smacking Kirk with every vigorous thrust. "Please."
Kirk's fingers tightened on Spock until they dug into the fleshy part of his waist hard enough to sting.
"Please… what?" he demanded. He'd been so determined since this whole thing began to laze about but the closer he got to his climax, the more wild he always became. He started to thrust up to meet Spock. "'Please cum in me'? Is that what you were going to say? Is that what you want, Spock? You want me to do the work? Come on, Spock. Make me cum inside you."
The challenge was husky with splintering control so Spock met it with his own tattered control finally coming apart completely. He discarded a sliver here and another there and then he was completely lost. He opened his eyes once more and met Kirk's own, letting him see the way that his eyebrows inverted and his mouth fell open and his eyelids fluttered and tears spilled over his flushed cheeks. He moved harshly, pounding down onto Kirk with terrible, fleshy noises. He was still so aroused and slack from his orgasm that he squelched around Kirk, spattering slick with his motions onto Kirk's splayed body.
Every lively thrust had Spock's lok either slapping Kirk's stomach and chest and leaving behind pearly smears of cum and lubricant or pinwheeling obscenely into the air. He couldn't watch it but Kirk couldn't seem to keep his attention off of it. He arched his back to try and meet Spock's thrusts with his own but the attempt was remarkably human and feeble and he quickly took up moving just enough to make Spock's painfully abused cock jump.
"Good boy," Kirk gasped, face seeming to crumple in on itself. His coming climax gummed up the bond, soaking Spock's mind, and had Kirk's words running together into a mantra. "Goodboygoodboygoodboy. Oh, Spock, there's my good boy. My very good boy with his pussy so tight. My good, good, so fucking good boy. Fuck, Spock."
His nails broke the skin of Spock's hips as he clutched desperately at him, but the pain was nothing compared with the white hot pleasure that Kirk spat at him. The bond dissolved under Kirk's orgasm, leaving Spock no shielding against it. It ripped through them both, Spock's already spent chenesi writhing in protest as they absorbed the shock of it and a few fresh drops of cum dribbled up and out of his cock. Kirk shoved himself as deep into Spock as he could go and spasmed.
Human cum filled the tiny bit of space that Spock had, burning him deliciously. He shuddered and didn't slow, milking Kirk until the bond sent him a twinge of warning. He ignored it long enough to thrust a few more times and then shifted until Kirk's cock flopped out of him. It landed heavily on his belly with a moist sound, right in the thick puddles that Spock had already made there. In its absence, wads of Kirk's cum started to jiggle down from the sheath that Spock still held hovering over him.
More of it oozed out of him and dripped onto Kirk the longer he stayed poised there and the more his cock attempted to slip back inside himself. The giant thing, almost entirely flaccid now, drove the lips of Spock's stretched and sore sheath to the limit. He clenched his teeth and trembled and bled boiling human cum onto Kirk.
"Well, fuck," Kirk groaned, throwing his head back with a breathless chuckle. He was panting and his skin had turned adorably alien pink. "You managed to do it. Didn't think you had it in you for a minute there. Thought you were gonna give up. Glad to see that I was wrong and you are a proper Vulcan after all."
He looked back at Spock again and, still panting slightly for breath, he smirked at him. The bond wriggled happily. Too broken down to prevent it, Spock let the bond's suggestion overtake him and he moved, sinking down to lay his head on Kirk's chest. He smelled unpleasantly of semen and sweat, the scent of a nepik, but Spock buried his nose in Kirk's throat, breathing the scent of him in deeply anyway.
"You did what was maybe your best, though I doubt it," Kirk went on, one hand coming up to run through Spock's damp hair. "But despite the effort, I don't think you put a baby in me. I think the only thing you made here was an absolute mess."
"My bed is, indeed, quite soiled," Spock agreed in a whisper against Kirk's collarbone.
"As is your gross little pussy," Kirk replied and for emphasis, he took his free hand and reached between them in order to worm a few fingers into Spock's sheath. There was barely room for the fingers and they ended up stroking Spock's lok as it slid inside, managing to coax a whimper from Spock. "You're so fucking nasty, Spock. So unbelievably nasty."
He pumped the fingers, fucking Spock and letting Spock's cock fuck the webbing between the digits at the same time. The whimper turned into a mewling whine.
"I love you, you know," Kirk continued in the same dirty tone he'd been using so that the affectionate confession felt just as taboo and vulgar as his previous statements. He kept working his fingers inside Spock. "I can't believe we're married. You're my wife. My beautiful, nasty wife."
"Your nepik," Spock moaned.
"Yea, that's right, Spock," Kirk answered. "My bitch." He breathed in deeply, almost a hungry gasp, before he went on. "You're my little bitch. My submissive little bitch."