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“Jim.”
Jim had just emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Pausing in drying his hair — he’d decided to take a water shower, since he felt like he needed the luxury — Jim turned towards the voice of his bondmate, and almost dropped his towel in response.
Spock lay across the red lounge chair in their bedroom with the afternoon sun of New Vulcan casting a halo of light around him. He was wearing something of white linen and green silk, or at least that was what Jim thought it looked like. The green material was sheer and light, draping around Spock’s body like shrouded mist.
“Spock.” Jim’s voice was strangled, a little hoarse in his throat as the towel in his hands finally dropped. He ventured closer to the Vulcan on the lounge chair, blinking rapidly, half-convinced the sight before him was a mirage. Before him lay all that could or should possibly exist in this moment; Spock was a vision of sensual beauty as he basked in the New Vulcan sunset, looking expectantly up at Jim as the Terran drew closer.
Jim could dimly feel through the bond the slow burn of arousal in his bondmate, and swallowed in anticipation.
“Is that lingerie you’re wearing?” he asked.
“I had it specially made, based on historical documents detailing the mode of dress of pre-Surakian Vulcan culture,” replied Spock matter-of-factly, as if this entire enterprise had simply been historical curiosity, and not some attempt to surprise (and arouse) James T. Kirk.
“Wow,” said Jim, because there wasn’t much else to say to that.
Spock arched an eyebrow. “I believe the requisite question is: ‘do you like it’?”
Jim huffed a little. “Of course I do,” he said. “I’m just taken aback, that’s all. I figured that nowadays Vulcans would think lingerie to be illogical.”
“They are clothes designed to elicit sexual arousal within oneself and others, and are more widely accepted in cultures that place great value on sexual relationships and the possible emotional attachments that come with them —”
“Mr. Spock, are you trying to seduce me?” Jim interjected, grinning. Spock raised an eyebrow in response.
“I would be misleading you if I deny such intents,” replied the Vulcan.
“Good, because you can consider me seduced,” said Jim. He was now practically towering over Spock, looking down into the Vulcan’s dark eyes. Leaning down, Jim traced his fingers along Spock’s jawline before he pressed a kiss to Spock’s lips.
Spock kissed back. Jim would never tire of that, of the reciprocations that Spock easily undertook, of the tiny moments when his ironclad Vulcan control slipped to allow the human side of him to show through. He would never tire of these surprises, of the whisper-soft fabric of the Vulcan lingerie brushing lightly across his fingertips as he ghosted his hand along Spock’s shoulders.
Spock’s mouth was Jim’s heaven; Jim regretted breaking the kiss almost the instant their lips parted, but Spock gave a low rumble of satisfaction and bumped his nose gently against Jim’s.
“Are you amenable to further activities?” the Vulcan asked quietly.
“Are you?” countered Jim.
“Yes,” said Spock.
“Of course,” replied Jim, leaning in to kiss Spock again, this time a little harder, a little wetter, a little hotter. One leg went onto the lounge chair, knee pressing against olive-tinted thighs.
Spock entwined their fingers with one hand, the other moving to unfasten the towel around Jim’s hips. Within moments, the fabric fell away and the Vulcan reached out with skilled fingers, stroking along Jim’s already half-hard cock, coaxing it into full hardness. Jim stifled a groan with his free hand.
The Vulcan shifted and sat up, his hand lazily exploring Jim’s cock. Jim’s breath hissed sharply as he watched his bondmate take him into his mouth, the small iridescent gems in the Vulcan’s smooth black hair twinkling in the light as he moved. Spock’s tongue was warm with a hint of roughness, a foreign but not wholly unpleasant sensation against Jim’s cock as the Vulcan licked and sucked. It felt as exhilarating as the first time — but then again, sex with Spock often walked that fine line between novel and familiar.
But Jim did know in this moment that if Spock kept it up, he would be coming a little too soon for his liking. So it was with great regret that he pulled away.
“Come to bed,” he suggested, squeezing the hand that he was still holding. His other cupped Spock’s face gently yet briefly. “I want to unwrap you,” he added with a sly grin.
Spock complied; with an amused twinkle in his eyes, the Vulcan wordlessly let go of Jim’s hand to rise from the lounge chair. He strode to their bed and lay down on it, dark eyes hooded with arousal as he spread his legs. Jim’s breath hitched in his throat as he watched his bondmate, before he quickly moved to the bed as well and rested between the Vulcan’s legs, lightly kissing him in the human fashion before pressing Vulcan kisses along his body.
It took him a couple moments of puzzlement, but eventually Jim figured out how to unwrap the whispery lingerie from his bondmate’s solid form. Inch by inch, the Terran exposed pale skin flushed with green for his fingers, lips, and tongue to worship. He pressed human and Vulcan kisses alike to Spock’s body, eliciting pleasured rumbles from the other man’s chest as he moved ever southward to green cloth-covered hips tented by Spock’s own member.
Jim practically lived for these moments in which he could touch Spock like this, fingers slipping under the cloth and tracing the length of the Vulcan’s shaft. They rubbed lightly along the ridges before circling the tip, eliciting a pleasured sigh of Jim’s name that made the Terran’s heart skip a beat. He lived for these breathless afternoons where it was just them in bed, stroking and fucking and loving one another, all thoughts of ranks and missions and Starfleet pushed out of their minds. What mattered now was that Spock was mewling beneath him, head thrown back and gems astray as he bared his throat for Jim’s hungry kisses, hips arching to help Jim discard the last of the cloth that separated their bodies. What mattered now was the scrape of Jim’s teeth along Spock’s collarbone before the Terran pulled away and reached for the lube on the nightstand.
“Will you permit a meld?” Spock breathed as Jim slicked his fingers.
“Is this what you want?” countered Jim, hesitating just a little as his fingers brushed lightly across Spock’s buttocks.
“Affirmative,” replied Spock, pressing himself closer to Jim’s fingers, and Jim obliged, pressing a finger into his bondmate. In response to Spock’s question, he moved his head closer to Spock’s hand.
“Go right ahead,” he said, and then paused. “Pun not intended.”
Spock’s breath escaped in a brief chuckle before his fingers pressed against Jim’s psi-points. And then they were both lost, drowning in each other’s sensations. Jim added another finger, scissoring and loosening; he could feel both his and Spock’s pleasure and anticipation. Melding with Spock never failed to take his breath away.
Spock bucked up into Jim’s touches, one hand moving down to work at his own erection before Jim batted it away, his own fingers wrapping around the base of the Vulcan’s cock and pumping. Sensing Spock’s readiness through the meld, Jim withdrew his fingers, slicked up his cock, and pressed it against Spock’s opening.
“Spock —” he began to say, but Spock was already rocking his hips against Jim’s cock, the most delightfully illogical noises coming from his throat. At the additional mental nudge, Jim thrusted in, closing his eyes as he sank into his bondmate and felt, through the meld, the lines between them becoming less distinct. It didn’t matter anymore where Spock ended and Jim began; all that remained now was this feeling of homecoming, of love and desire and rightness—
This was where Jim was meant to be, and Spock was who Jim was meant to love, and the pleasure that they shared was the most exquisite death that Jim could ever experience. He felt like he was coming undone by the oneness of their minds as their bodies moved together, and the hand that had been stroking Spock’s member stilled as Jim was lost to pleasure, as the tension mounting within him became undone at last. And Spock came shortly after with a soft contented sigh of Jim’s name tickling at his lips, his formidable Vulcan mind now mostly just a blur of satisfaction.
Jim kissed those lips over and over, unable and unwilling to stop. Pulling out, he lay down next to his bondmate and cast a glance towards the discarded lingerie before returning his gaze to Spock’s face, grinning hazily and quietly.
Spock reached out, ending the meld.
“Jim,” he murmured, the question lingering unspoken on his lips.
“Wear that more often,” Jim answered, gesturing to the lingerie before leaning in to kiss Spock again.