Word count: 4200
Summary: Crazy truth serum PWP crack. Yeah, I dunno either. *grins*
Notes: In celebration of my newest book release. Yay, slash! ;-D
"Jim, you've got to come get your pet Vulcan."
Kirk suppressed his snicker and glared at Chekov's back until Chekov suppressed his snicker, as well. "Bones," Jim said, toggling the control, "Spock would probably appreciate a little more professionalism."
"Get down here, and we'll discuss professionalism. McCoy out." The voice clicked off.
The bridge was silent for a long moment.
"Mr. Sulu," Jim said at last, rising. "You have the conn."
Jim took the turbolift straight down to the medbay, trying not to think of the havoc that Spock and Bones together could create. Spock was Vulcan. Surely even under the influence of heavy drugs, he couldn't do that much harm.
Everything seemed peaceful when Jim walked into the office, glancing around. Too peaceful. Almost empty.
"Bones?" He wandered through, a little relieved when he saw an ensign sitting on a bed, being treated by Nurse Chapel. But there was no one else.
"Dr. McCoy is in the back, Captain. With Spock," Nurse Chapel told him quietly.
"Thanks." He smiled, more automatic than anything, and headed toward the back. It was empty. Rows of beds, all without a single patient or RN. "Bones?" he called again, when he got all the way to the rear of the medbay.
"Here, Jim. Thank God." Bones stood up from behind a desk, shooting a dark glare toward the corner of the room where Spock sat, head rolling against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "You have got to do something about him."
"He's okay, isn't he? You said the drugs would wear off in due course..." Jim looked with concern at his first officer -- the only member of the landing party to have been dosed with truth serum before security had gotten to them. He made a mental note to give security a bonus for finding them so quick. He could do that, right? Sure he could. He was the captain!
"He's fine, but he keeps talking. Things I really don't want to hear. Things anyone else really shouldn't. He's answering questions that no one actually asked -- I had to empty the whole bay to make sure no one overheard Starfleet intelligence! Get him out of here!"
"What am I supposed to do with him?" Jim looked at his first officer in alarm.
"I don't care! Take him back to his quarters. He needs to be kept warm, anyway."
"For how long?" He was supposed to play babysitter? He wasn't needed at the moment, true, but...
"A couple of hours. The drugs will burn off in his system, he'll go to sleep, and by the time he wakes up he'll be fine. But I have work to do and I can't with him here!"
"I don't like being here," Spock chimed in from the corner. He was still staring at the ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
"There, you see? He doesn't like it. Get him out of here."
"Okay, okay," Jim mumbled, dragging himself over to where Spock slouched. "Hey, Spock, let's head to your room, okay?"
Spock smiled at him. It was almost creepy. "Okay."
Jim took him by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. "Two hours, Bones?"
McCoy only nodded, standing aside to let them pass.
Jim hurried Spock out of the medbay and down the hall, up the turbolift, and finally down another hall toward the officer's quarters. For once he didn't stop to greet people as they passed, just kept moving. If Spock was blabbing Starfleet classified information, they really didn't need to stop and chat.
Spock followed along docilely enough, even if he did nearly stagger into walls a couple of times.
"Man, Spock, how much did they give you?" Jim muttered, waiting for Spock's door to swish open.
"It was supposed to be thirty-five CCs," Spock told him cheerfully. "But I think it was actually thirty-four ... point... seven two. I think." His eyes narrowed. "Hard to tell, exactly."
Jim chuckled. He hadn't really expected an answer, but after all this time together he should have known he'd be given one. "And how much is the normal dose?" He shoved Spock into the room, and the doors closed behind them.
"Yes, I suppose the great religious leaders would have had holy crap."
Jim looked at his first officer and, more recently, friend, and grinned wickedly. "You're a trip when you're tripping."
"That is a terrible play on words, Captain Jim." He flopped into a chair.
Jim chuckled at his new title, pushing up his sleeves. It was hot in Spock's room; closer to ninety than the human comfort zone of seventy-four. "You want to play chess? We have a few hours to kill..."
"No." Spock's head lolled against the head rest.
Halfway to the three dimensional chess set, Jim paused and looked back. "...No?"
"No. I do not want to play chess."
"Oh." He looked around, slightly at a loss. "Then what do you want to do?"
"Eat. I want to eat."
"Okay." Jim wandered toward the replicator. He was starting to sweat despite the cooling/warming system built into Starfleet uniforms for cases like this. "What do you want to eat?"
"Grilled cheese." Spock twirled his chair.
Jim hesitated, glancing back. "Really? That's not very... nutritious." In all the time they'd known each other, nutrition had been utmost in considering what Spock ate.
"Grilled cheese. On white bread."
Jim stared at him for a moment more, then finally shrugged and programed it into the replicator. "That drug really did you one, huh?"
"I do not understand the reference."
"I mean... you're really loopy."
Spock smiled. "I am, as you say, really loopy."
Eying Spock with renewed interest, Jim took the grilled cheese sandwich and wandered over. "How loopy?"
"Four hundred and twenty-three percent loopier than I have ever been before."
A smile flickered across Jim's face before he managed to get it under control. "Four hundred and twenty-three percent? That's pretty loopy."
"Indeed." Spock took the sandwich, leaving the plate in Jim's hand, and began to eat.
Jim contemplated his best friend for a while, then finally grabbed a chair and turned it backwards, straddling it. "So... that drug basically just makes you blabber, right?"
"And reduces impulse control."
It was a long moment's debate before Jim finally decided he really was that evil. "Why did you and Nyota break up?"
"She said I was in love with someone else. Silly, because Vulcans don't have emotion. I was with Nyota because it was logical. We complimented each other well, and--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who did she think you were in love with?" This was great. He was going to have so much blackmail material--
Everything stalled out. Jim stared at Spock. Spock licked cheese off his fingers. Jim stared some more. "Oh. But that's silly. Because you're not. We're just friends."
"Yes, indeed," Spock agreed happily. "And I believe I feel the emotion humans would call love toward you."
"Indeed, indeed, indeed," Spock sing-songed happily, and popped the rest of his sandwich in his mouth before lurching to his feet. "I believe I want another."
"Oh, damn," Jim murmured.
Spock didn't hear. He was crooning to the replicator.
"Bones! I have a problem." Jim set his tray down beside the doctor's, looking around furtively as if someone in the mess hall might overhear.
"If you tell me you asked Spock about Vulcan porn while he was high--" Bones began, looking annoyed.
"No, no no. Nothing like that."
Disappointment flashed across Bones' face.
"I--" Jim paused and frowned. "Did you want to know about Vul--"
"Don't be ridiculous. What were you going to ask? I don't have all day."
"Okay, well, I asked Spock about... stuff, and he said this thing about me that I don't quite know what to do with."
"Ignore it." Bones stabbed his food with his fork, shoveling it into his mouth. "He won't remember anything he said, anyway."
Jim felt his face fall. "Really? None of it?" But that would be good, right? He didn't have to worry about anything crazy like his first officer being in love with him. Spock would forget.
Okay. That was great. Peachy. Perfect. Things were just fine like that.
And Spock was in love with him. Or as in-love as a Vulcan could get. Or, okay, maybe he was just in love with the idea. And what was the idea, exactly? Sex! Jim's brain happily supplied.
He couldn't have sex with his first officer! He didn't have sex with his crew! It made things too complex. He didn't want people worried about whether or not it would affect their jobs or feeling like they had to do what he wanted because he was the captain--
Not that Spock would think any of those things. Spock was... Spock. He didn't worry about stuff like that, because he didn't worry.
What was sex with a Vulcan like, anyway? Jim knew they had to be anatomically compatible, or Uhura wouldn't have seemed so very happy half the time, he was sure. (Or maybe Spock just had a really good tongue.)
"He won't remember anything?" Jim asked after a long while.
Bones eyed him. "He shouldn't. Why? What happened?"
Jim shrugged and pushed away from the table. "No reason. Just wondering." He offered Bones a quick smile and headed away.
It took him three days to decide that really, it was for Spock's own good that Jim seduce him. It wasn't healthy for his first officer to be wandering around in love with him, while he ignored Spock. Besides, he was really getting curious about Vulcan sex.
He wasn't sure how to go about seducing another man, particularly a Vulcan one, but he was gonna try. He did the only logical thing he could think of. He looked up Vulcan porn.
Turned out, they didn't have any available. Pity, that. He made sure to send a memo to Bones.
He considered asking Uhura, but decided he wanted to keep his jugular, thanks.
He couldn't do the soft looks and devil-may-care grins, first off because Spock had seen them all before, and second off because they didn't seem to work on Spock.
So he went with the oldest seduction in the book. Touching. Also, thinking sexy thoughts. Vulcans were touch-telepaths, after all. So every time they played chess, Jim thought about sex and brushed against Spock as often as possible. Taking pieces. Passing glasses of water. Nudging Spock's leg under the table.
It didn't take long before Jim was horny as hell, and Spock seemed totally unperturbed. Then one night, Spock actually lingered after their game. Jim decided that was probably Vulcan for, "TAKE ME NOW, OH BABY, OH BABY," and began to plot for the next night.
"Is it too cold in here for you?" Jim asked, wearing his black pants and an undershirt, half sweltering in his own room. It still wasn't as hot as Spock's room.
"No, Jim," Spock said, and there was almost a trace of surprise in his voice. "It's pleasant. I assume you have turned the heat up for my comfort?"
"Yeah, well, seems like if we're gonna play chess here you shouldn't be cold."
"That was considerate of you."
Jim waved a hand and didn't say what he was thinking: if everything went well, he didn't want Spock to be naked and cold. That would just be a mood killer.
"Do you want a drink?"
"Water would be sufficient, thank you."
That was predictable. Jim got Spock his glass of water, and sipped a beer himself. He could use the alcohol, even if it wouldn't work on Spock. He'd never seduced another guy before. Still, couldn't be all that different from seducing--
Oh, hell, this was Spock. It was going to be completely different.
Jim perched on the edge of the table rather than taking his seat, blocking Spock's ability to set up the game. "So, tell me about touch telepathy. You can read thoughts, right?"
Spock sat back in his chair as if they did this every time, and linked his hands together. "I can."
"Can you put thoughts into someone else's mind?"
Jim grinned. "Fascinating."
One eyebrow twitched.
"Spock, I wanted to try something, and I thought you might help me."
Spock waited, quiet and patient.
Now or never. Once done, no going back. Jim held out his hand and fumbled a nervous smile.
Spock looked at the outstretched hand. Then he looked at Jim. Then back at Jim's hand. Cautiously, he reached up and settled his fingers on Jim's palm.
Jim thought about dropping to his knees and sucking Spock off. Spock's eyes widened marginally. With utter innocence, Jim smiled. "Can you read that?"
Silently, Spock nodded.
Jim imagined the two of them on the bed, petting, stroking, moving. "And that?"
Spock's mouth opened slightly. "Indeed," he said, and his voice sounded constricted.
Jim shifted the image. The two of them up against the wall, grinding together, hands running down Spock's ribcage--
"Jim." Spock sounded definitely hoarse, now. "May I inquire as to whether this is a request or simply an observation?"
Jim grinned. "More like an invitation."
"Ah." For a moment, Spock looked like he was considering the matter. His gaze turned inward to something only he could see.
Right about the time Jim was beginning to think he'd made a major mistake, he got tackled.
No, tackled wasn't the right word. It was all very fluid and graceful, really. One moment Spock was sitting, and the next he'd stood up and pressed into Jim. Pressed into Jim until Jim was flat out against the table and the chess game had crashed across the floor, pieces rolling underfoot -- except Jim's feet were off the ground.
Jim laughed. He couldn't help it. He had a chest full of horny Vulcan -- it was either laugh or yell, and he wasn't about to yell. Well, okay, maybe in a minute he'd yell, but hopefully for different reasons. Then a mouth pressed down on his, and he couldn't laugh, either. Spock gentled almost as suddenly as he'd pounced, his hands pinning Jim's wrists in place. Jim pulled, and nothing budged. Vulcan strength. Right. He hadn't considered that.
Spock's tongue was cooler than his own, sliding into his mouth and out again, exploring with the same intensity Spock might study some alien planet. Unable to move his hands, Jim twisted, rubbing his leg up the outside of Spock's thigh.
Spock pulled away, and Jim inhaled deeply, trying to assuage burning lungs. "Okay," he said, and he was laughing again, "maybe Uhura didn't have to breathe, but I do."
"My apologies, Jim." Spock was still bending over him, keeping him pinned in pace.
Jim squirmed. "And you could let me up."
The look on Spock's face was almost contemplative. Jim's heart raced faster, pounding behind his ribcage.
"I don't believe so," Spock said finally, as if coming to a difficult conclusion about a complex problem.
Spock was playing. After months of being together on a boat, Jim recognized the signs, but he was still a little bit surprised. "What do you mean, no? I'm your captain!" Jim laughed and threw his weight upward, as if he might be able to fling Spock off.
Spock leaned in, rubbing them hip to hip. "Right now, you are most certainly not my captain." Even so, his hands eased their grip, one holding loosely while the other slid up Jim's arm to his wrist. Long, graceful fingers skimmed up his own, spreading shivers down his skin. He slipped his other hand out of Spock's grip, sliding it up Spock's arm, feeling hard, lean muscles under heavy material.
Spock was watching him, still sliding their hands together, rubbing two fingers between Jim's middle and ring fingers. Jim couldn't say why it felt so good, but it sure as hell did. He squirmed, trying to get friction, and wrapped his hand around the back of Spock's neck to tug, leaning up to catch Spock's mouth again, sliding his tongue against parted lips, dipping into the warmth -- not heat, not like a human, but so good anyway.
Jim groaned, and felt more than heard Spock's chest rumble as he might have groaned back.
Touch telepath. Spock didn't touch people, and Jim understood why as sensation cascaded between them. He was sprawled on his back, he was leaning over, he was tonguing a warm mouth and fondling callused hands, and they were both grinding together, pressing close, tension coiling in their guts. He'd been trying not to want this, and he hadn't known this was possible.
Jim's heel brushed a chair, and with sudden inspiration he planted his foot on the seat and, using it as leverage, managed to twist and shove them both over. Somehow, he knew that Spock could still have stopped it, but in the next moment they were standing, staggering toward the bed, still locked together. Jim's hand was on Spock's neck, Spock's hand pulling his hips close, keeping Jim's other hand captive with gentle, stroking fingers. That should not have felt so good, but it did.
They hit the bed sideways. Jim pushed, ending up on top, nearly banging their heads together as they landed. He didn't care. He kissed the edge of Spock's jaw, seemed to feel the same careful pressure on his own, and nearly fumbled in the confusion of the double-caress. It withdrew slightly, leaving him over-warm and shivering with sensation and wanting more.
It killed him to pull back, to take his hands away, but it was the only method he could see for getting their clothes off -- and that was becoming a distinct necessity. He shimmied out of his tunic, tossed his undershirt to the floor, and starting dragging at Spock's shirt, too, trying hard to ignore the hands moving over his torso, shaping the lines of muscle.
"Spock," he groaned, and with a single eyebrow quirk Spock leaned up so Jim could get that blasted shirt off.
Spock was even paler under his clothes than Jim had suspected. His chest was bare, with just a fine line of downy hair coalescing on his stomach and vanishing under the waistband of his pants.
Jim hesitated. If Spock were a woman, he'd nuzzle along the tendons in that long neck, or rub his thumbs over peaked nipples. But Spock most definitely wasn't a woman. "Uh," he began uncertainly. "What... now?"
Spock paused, too, and Jim could practically see the formality fall back over him. Given they were both shirtless, in bed, and Jim was straddling him, it seemed a little funny. "Are you inquiring about biological differences between humans and Vulcans, about which is the logical next step in copulation, or is this a human colloquialism I'm unaware of?"
Spock looked confused. "I'm sorry. I seem to have misunderstood -- what are you finding humorous?"
He was so formal. Jim had his answer. What now was to make Spock lose his shit completely. He grinned and fibbed an answer. "You said 'copulation.'" Okay, it wasn't entirely a fib; that had been funny, too.
Before Spock could respond, Jim leaned in and licked his throat, nudging his head out of the way. The flutter of his alien pulse was a drumroll against Jim's skin.
Spock's hands came up, framing Jim's face, fingers trailing heat down the edges of his cheekbones, his jaw. Jim turned and nipped lightly at one fingertip. He felt the response through his own body, through the skin-to-skin contact that increased his awareness of Spock. It was a moment of heat, of lust, of surprised arousal. Obscenity and kink both came to mind.
Jim leaned back a little to get a look at Spock's face, at dark eyes that were watching him avidly, then wrapped his hand around Spock's wrist to tug those fingers back to his mouth. He parted his lips, flicking his tongue out so lightly he almost didn't even feel Spock's fingers.
Jim didn't need telepathic communication to know it was good. Spock's eyes widened. His breathing nearly stopped in his chest, his own mouth opening slightly. The hand that had fallen to Jim's hip stilled, tightening slightly. Jim ran his tongue along the edges of Spock's index and second finger, teased down the crease between the two, and dragged his teeth along the callous at Spock's palm.
Then he had to stop, laughing and wincing, and pry Spock's hand off his now-bruised hip.
"I apologize." Spock sounded horrified, his grip tightening around Jim's. Two fingers slid up against Jim's palm, sending shivers down his spine.
"It's fine." The words were practically a groan. Spock did it again, using those same two fingers to trace Jim's, to part his and slide between them.
"What is this?" Jim asked, forcing his voice to come out somewhat normal, if strained. Whatever it was, it turned Spock on -- and all this touching sent that arousal right back through him, too.
"This?" Spock moved his hand against Jim's face, tracing his jaw, the line of his lower lip. Jim turned and sucked on those fingers briefly. Spock's breath broke. "It's how Vulcans kiss."
Ohhhh. Well, that put a whole new spin on things, and gave Jim some great ideas. "So if I did this..." He let the words taper off, taking one hand and dragging two fingers down the center line of Spock's body. Spock's eyes closed halfway, his head tipping back. Jim did it again, starting at his throat, feeling the ridges of his windpipe, the dip just above his collarbones, the hard, sleek muscle over his ribcage, down the soft hairs around his navel and the hem of his pants.
Spock breathed softly, quivering under the careful onslaught.
Jim smiled. "Fascinating."
It surprised a quick look from Spock, a glimmer of recognition. Then Spock did the same thing Jim had just finished, and diffuse pleasure ran throughout Jim's whole body. He leaned into it, more than willing to pay heed to the reaction Spock had tried to smother.
Some part of him was aware that half of his reaction came from Spock, but he didn't care. It didn't matter who felt good, when you both felt it. He tugged at Spock's pants, pulling the button free and undoing the zipper. He kept dragging his fingertips over skin the whole while, pushing here, sliding there, finally bending for his own enjoyment and tonguing the hard muscles along Spock's abdomen, tasting pale flesh.
He pulled Spock's pants down only as far as he needed to, wrapping his hand around a long, thin erection -- Vulcans were really humanoid, he was slightly relieved to see -- and stroking.
It was odd, not doing it on himself. The angle was wrong, and he felt weirdly awkward and --
And then the backlash hit through Spock's telepathy, and it was the hottest damn thing he'd ever done. Hotter than seeing someone suck him off, more erotic for all that it wasn't done, that Vulcans didn't use sensitive hands to pleasure themselves--
Jim yanked his own pants down with his free hand and leaned in, rubbing up against his wrist until Spock reached around and stroked him back. Mutual masturbation indeed, but it was one of the most arousing things he'd ever felt. Pleasure tugged on his organs and twisted his guts, made his muscles spasm and his breath come short and fast. Hands moved off him, grabbed him and flipped them both.
Spock pressed a kiss to his throat. Teeth scraped along his windpipe. He couldn't get a hand between them anymore, but it didn't seem to matter. Spock thrust against him, gripping them both and stroking. Jim planted his feet on the bed and thrust up, until the rhythm was confused and erratic, and absolutely perfect.
Orgasm nearly took him by surprise, it washed so quickly over, tumbling him as he pushed upward one last time and emptied himself between them.
When the world settled again, Spock was lying beside him, and they were both breathing hard.
"Wow." Jim licked his lips and wondered if he'd been screaming. His voice was hoarse. "I was gonna make you lose it,but that was better."
"Perhaps next time," Spock responded, and even he sounded a little breathless, "I will endeavor to 'lose it.'"
Jim stared at the ceiling. "Next time?"
There was a long moment of silence. "Not if you don't wish."
He had to stop and think about that one. He didn't normally like men, but... well, Spock was Vulcan. It just meant he was aliensexual, which he kind of already knew. Aliens were hot. "Okay. Next time."
Two fingers traced his wrist. "Very well."
I thought porn was a good celebration for having just had two books come out in print this week! If you're interested in my original writing, check out my webpage. *grins* YAY BOOKS!