Duty and
Pleasure
By T'Aaneli
Title: Duty and Pleasure ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Duty and Pleasure ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was surprisingly comfy. He bounced on the edge of the bed for a moment. Firm but cushiony. Much more cushiony than his own bunk. This would do quite nicely. He looked down at his chronometer. Even in the dim lighting, he could see that he still had three hours to wait. This was highly unusual. He’d never had to wait more than ten minutes in the past. As he surrendered to a yawn, his eyes squeezed shut. Truth be told, he probably hadn’t slept in more than 50 hours. He yawned again. He leaned over and pulled off his boots, carefully laying them underneath the bunk. For a moment he hesitated; then, with practiced efficiency, he quickly removed his clothing and piled it on the floor. It would be easier this way later. Clothes would be an inconvenience tonight, especially when he wasn't familiar with the fastenings. With an audible sigh, he swung his feet onto the bed and lay down, turning onto his side, and found his face pressed against the coarse, metallic coverlet. For over a minute he tried to convince himself that mind could conquer matter; that he could ignore the itchy fabric. Then, with a quietly uttered Aldarian curse, he rolled off the bed in one movement. He pulled down the covers and returned to the bed, pulling the annoying coverlet around his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, a smile returned to his lips. The pillow was lightly scented with the essence of its normal occupant. With a smile still playing on his lips, he fell asleep. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A warm tongue licked its way up his neck with long, slow, broad strokes. As he woke up, he felt his erection--rock hard. Groaning, he lifted his arms upwards. Eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms around the lean form he knew was hovering above him. Unless he was in the wrong cabin. He didn't want to acknowledge that possibility. "Come here. Now." His voice was hoarse. He realized that his companion must have been casually stroking his cock through the coverlet. Unless … Were the rumours true? That aroused Vulcans exuded some pheromone which caused immediate sexual arousal on the part of their partners? For a moment, he allowed his mind to dwell on the possibility. He would have to do more research on that subject. However, now was not the time. He pulled his companion towards him, increasing the pressure on the backs of the steely arms as he felt a slight hesitation. "Spock." He eyelids opened and he looked up into the dark eyes fixed on his. "Trust me." He sent a brief prayer upwards. He was in the right cabin. He felt the slight hesitancy, and then, the heavy, welcome weight of a male Vulcan pressed against his body. He closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply, of the scent of this Vulcan, lying so vulnerably within his arms. So trusting of his new lover, James T. Kirk. The wonder, the hesitancy--it was still visible in each of Spock's movements. Dredging up an old wrestling move, he turned and twisted so suddenly that Spock didn’t have an opportunity to react. One second Spock was above him, the next he was straddling Spock’s lean hips. The reddish flicker of the meditation pot was the only light in the room. He was grateful for the flicker, hoping that it would conceal the hesitancy of his own moves. He ran one finger along the naked chest below him, starting at the collarbone and slowly, teasingly, moving downwards. His eyes were focused on his own finger, on the contrast between his pale skin and the olive tone of the Vulcan's body. His finger moved upwards and began to circle the dusky nipple, around and around. He leaned down and drew the left nipple between his teeth, biting down, softly, then running his lips around the darkened aureole. The soft gasp that escaped from Spock’s mouth was reward in itself. He moved to the other nipple, treating it with the same attention: bite, lick. Spock’s hips bucked between his thighs. He rose up again, and ran both of his hands down the chest in front of him, his fingers catching and playing with the soft, dark curls. His eyes wandered, upwards, admiring the long neck thrown backwards. He wanted to nuzzle into that neck. But he hadn’t fallen asleep in Spock’s bunk for no particular reason. He knew what he wanted. He shimmied down, his thighs releasing Spock’s hips. Seconds later, he’d reached his preliminary destination. His tongue darted outwards to lick at the ridged shaft, thrusting upwards. One lick; a second. And then he began swirling his tongue around the ridge of the cock head that began to dance in rhythm to the jabs and licks of his tongue. His lips curled upwards. Enough teasing. He wasn't sure how far was too far. He engulfed the cock head in one smooth move, eliciting a gasp from the Vulcan, lying helplessly underneath his fingers. As his hunger increased, his throat welcomed the hot, heavy shaft. His tongue tattooed a dizzying pattern across the distended skin as he breathed in the increasingly spiced air around him. He felt his own cock growing achingly hard. "Jim." The name was barely recognizable; hoarse, almost anguished. He backed away, his lips releasing their hold on Spock’s cock as he lifted his head to meet Spock’s dark, glazed, eyes. Impulsively, he leaned forward and began to kiss the jaw of his lover; butterfly kisses, teasing the Vulcan backwards, until Spock’s head was once again resting against the pillow. Seconds later, he'd moved so that his hips were hovering once again over Spock’s groin. He could feel the heated head of Spock’s cock pressing against his anus. "Push." He could hear himself giving Spock orders. He could feel Spock pushing into the warmth. He knew Spock wanted it. Inside. Now. A gasp escaped from his lips as he felt the cockhead begin its penetration. He took a deep breath, then pushed against the invader, welcoming the warmth, and in a small, deep part of his mind, grateful for the lubrication that he’d applied earlier. Be prepared. The ancient motto tickled at his memories. He almost laughed. Coherent thought with a Vulcan almost ready to fuck him? What was wrong with him? He felt Spock’s cock pushing deeper and deeper within him, hot and pulsing. Slowly, he began to lose track of the time, forgetting his own reasons for being there, lost in the pleasure which kept growing in wave after intense wave, as time after time, Spock's cock instinctively found his prostate, pressing and teasing. His essence was the first to shudder; then his physical body. And then he felt his own balls tighten, unbearably so. He cried out, arching his back. His body was bare wire, electrified. His control had long since been shredded to the common denominator of mutual pleasure. And as Spock’s hard cock took one final, long, hard thrust, pressing directly against his prostrate, he surrendered, wantonly, to the pleasure which washed over him. He listened to Spock’s cry and felt the hot semen collecting deep within him. He collapsed, resting against the Vulcan's chest, permitting himself this simple indulgence. Their breathing began to slow. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He lay quietly in Spock’s arms, monitoring the Vulcan’s breathing, matching his own in a reassuring rhythm. Once he was confident the Vulcan had in fact fallen asleep, he slowly extricated himself from Spock’s arms. Time was of the essence. He had never completely understood why Section 31 demanded this sample collection to occur in this particular fashion. He’d heard murmured rumours; something about the technology they had stolen from the D’Jhavians requiring cells taken in the moment of passion. His lips curled up in a smile as he drew his clothes on quickly. He wasn’t going to complain. Especially after tonight. He pulled on his boots and took one final look around Spock’s quarters. Nothing was amiss. His eyes strayed towards the sleeping Vulcan. In another time, another place … Impulsively, he leaned over and permitted his lips, his physically modified lips, to caress the warm brow. For one night he had become James T. Kirk, thanks to dangerous medical technology. And at the cost of a small part of his soul. Then he leaned in closer. The words were softly whispered. "Your children will thank you." And Sloan was gone, headed for a rendezvous with his temporal technicians, bearing the genetic material required to clone the Spocks Section 31 required. --finis— Author’s Note: Sloan is a character introduced in DS9. He works for a mysterious branch known as Section 31 which specializes in identifying and dealing with potential dangers to the Federation. |