Lace Me Up, Spock

A/N: I think this is pretty much a gift fic for my Internet Wife/Wench, Leeana, who introduced me to Trek!Porn of all varieties. I’ll forever be in her debt. I wuv oo, my little sexy frozen popsicle!


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Lace Me Up, Spock

Jim scowled at his bathroom mirror as he gave his dress uniform another fruitless tug. By God, he hated diplomatic shit! Being an explorer had many benefits, but the problem with finding new life and new civilizations was that sometimes the more civilized ones required him to do things-like invite them for dinner. Which, of course, required pomp and ceremony and panicking the cook with vague dietary preferences and allergies.

And dress uniforms. He hated those, too.

The chime sounded at his door and he called a distracted welcome, ambling into the living section of his quarters. Rather than his yeoman, whom he'd expected, it was his First Officer, looking utterly prim and proper and . . . uptight . . . and utterly, undeniably smokin' hot in his own dress blues.

Oops. Better stop that thought right there. Kirk knew better than to think that Spock was completely unaware of his . . . preoccupation with his Science Officer, but he was hoping that the other had 'logically' explained it away as Jim trying to be friends, or that the undue interest was due to his meeting with the Elder Spock. Both were true, in a way. Jim was trying to overcome the initial animosity between them, and the Elder Spock had caused him to be fascinated with the half Vulcan. He knew now that the man had emotions-powerful ones-and it became something of a personal goal to bring those to light as often as possible.

However, the first time he'd caught himself checking out Spock's ass, he knew he was in deep shit.

Uh oh. He'd been thinking too long. Spock had raised an eyebrow and was giving him the 'how did someone as distracted as you survive childhood?' look. It was one he was familiar with, though 'distracted' could be replaced with several different adjectives, depending on the situation.

Scrambling for something to break the silence, Jim blurted out, "Uh, hey, Spock. You look . . . really nice."

Well, that was smooth. 'Way to go, Casanova.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, but otherwise looked about as lively as a statue. "Captain, may I remind you that we are due to meet the captain of the Vlaari ship-"

"In about fifteen minutes, yes, I know, Mr. Spock." Seizing the opportunity to pretend nothing was wrong, he quickly moved over to his desk, rummaging through several data pads. "I've already gone through all the information you and Lieutenant Uhura provided me with, unless there's some new development I need to know about?" Finding the relevant pad, he grabbed it and turned to face his friend.

Spock tilted his head negatively, "No sir, I was simply-"

"Making sure I was dressed and had washed behind my ears? Thank you, Mr. Spock, but I am capable of handling myself," Jim replied, the teasing grin on his face belying any harshness in his words.

Spock raised his eyebrow again and stepped closer, "Forgive me, Jim," and here, Jim felt warmth curl in his stomach, "Your statement is, unsurprisingly, in error." He stopped only a few inches away, his higher-than-human body temperature radiating between them.

Jim's brain had shut down the instant Spock called him by name in that smooth, velvety voice. It took an inhuman effort not to visibly shiver, but he could see Spock's awareness in the amused glint of his dark eyes. After a moment, though, he realized just what his First Officer had actually said. Scrambling to gather his thoughts, he attempted to glare the Vulcan into submission, "I beg your pardon?"

Spock actually allowed himself to smirk just the tiniest bit. "You've left your shoe untied."

Oh.

"Oh," he began, his mind already switching to 'bullshit' mode to come up with an excuse, albeit a guaranteed lame excuse.

Before he could, though, he suddenly found himself pressed back against his desk. Strong hands gripped his hips as Spock lowered himself-dress uniform and all-to his knees. Long, slim fingers traced his legs down towards his feet.

Jim's eyes slammed shut as he made a valiant-if futile-attempt to control his baser instincts. The sight of Spock kneeling there, that perfect, silken hair, those delicately pointed ears flushed slightly green at the tips, was . . . impossible, but here they both were. He tried to think, mentally shouting at his Inner Scotty to divert all auxiliary blood flow back to the bridge, causing his Inner Bones to start growling, 'Dammit, Jim, you're a human, not a machine!'

For a moment, he even wondered if maybe he was dreaming, or hallucinating. That when he looked again, he'd be alone in his quarters . . . the very idea made his stomach clench in consternation.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, Spock was still there, amusement dancing in every subtle line and movement of his eyes and mouth. "Jim, if having untied shoelaces is an unacceptable deviation from proper dress protocols, then surely you don't consider this to be any more appropriate?"

This, of course, was Jim's now rather painful erection. Obviously, Inner Scotty was not nearly as awesomely efficient as Outer Scotty. Jim managed somehow, to tense further, Oh God, he knows!', his mind babbled in panic, He knows and he'll shut down and we won't be friends anymore and working together will be as awkward as when he and Uhura broke up, but worse because-because-

Because Spock was unzipping his fly!

His brain, by now severely oxygen-deprived, attempted to compose a grammatically correct sentence. What came out of his mouth was a choked, "Wha?"

Yeah, he’d totally torpedoed his smooth-talking reputation.

Spock had the audacity to raise an eyebrow and reply, in The Tone, "I should think that my intentions should be obvious. I am attempting to rectify the problem."

Jim bit back another groan as hot fingers slid into the opening of his pants to draw out his cock. Spock's eyes calmly assessed the twitching organ for a moment before he started firmly stroking.

Oh hell. "Spock!" he gasped, hips jerking against his will. His First Officer's breath hitched a little as Jim's cock fucked his fist, and he was dimly reminded of something Bones had once said about Vulcan hands being 'ridiculously sensitive.' It raised the pressing question, "B-but why?"

If Spock were the type to roll his eyes, Jim was sure he would have. Instead, he met Jim's gaze with an amused, yet intent look. His mouth opened and Jim was suddenly reminded of just how hot Spock was compared to humans. If his hands were warm, then his mouth . . . His eyes glazed over a bit, completely missing Spock's low voice droning about things like 'blood pressure' and what-the-fuck-ever else.

Through his daze, however, his conscience, sounding remarkably like Bones (probably due to the added, "Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a sex therapist, and I don't need to see this!"), prodded him again. He snapped out of it a little, his hand reaching down to stop Spock's, "But you hate me! I mean, maybe not hate, but-but . . . this is the sort of thing that . . . I mean, you shouldn't do it unless you at least like them, like-like Uhura!"

Spock's voice was bland, yet conveyed a tone of amusement, "Leaving aside the cessation of my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, her anatomical structure does not grant the opportunity for this particular-"

"Dammit, Spock, you know what I mean!" Jim forced himself to ignore his body's insistent demands and instead tugged harder at his First Officer's wrist.

The Vulcan was regarding him with a patient, yet slightly exasperated look, "Your assertion that I am not receptive to your advances is illogical. However, I must fault myself; I assumed you were capable of inductive reasoning and would comprehend my interest. Obviously, a much less subtle method must be applied." With that, he leaned forward and popped the leaking head of Jim's cock in his mouth.

"F-fuck!" Jim swore, his head jerking back. He was momentarily glad that he was against his desk rather than the wall(though that certainly held some appeal.)

Spock pulled back a moment, earning a desperate, pained whine. "Not at this juncture, Captain," he said, awfully stern for someone on his knees. "We are on a schedule; perhaps when we have no pressing matters at hand." He returned to his previous activities.

Jim gaped. Did Spock just proposition him?

He did!

While Jim was torn between one brain wondering just which Gods he should address his heartfelt thanks to, and the other was reveling in the fact that Spock's mouth was indeed the hottest, wettest slice of heaven he'd-so far-encountered, Spock pulled their hands out of his way to that he could move his head further down the shaft. Rather than simply releasing Jim's hand, he twined their fingers together, moaning softly.

That's right, the hands were erogenous zones! Uhura had warned him about that, thankfully before he'd offered to shake hands with the already shaken leader of several Vulcan refugees. That in mind, he let his fingers slide against Spock's, gently rubbing his thumb against the knuckles. Spock made little whining noises around the cock in his mouth and Jim felt both an upsurge of arousal and an evil delight in making his First Officer lose some of his self-control.

Releasing him for a moment, Spock leaned back and gasped, "Jim, I do not think-" he paused as the other wiggled his fingers teasingly, "It is . . . illogical . . . to cause us both to be similarly . . . "

"Mr. Spock," Jim interrupted in his best 'Captain' voice, " Fuck logic." Then he slid his fingers from Spock's grip, pulled the hand to his mouth, and slid the Vulcan's long, elegant fingers into his mouth, sliding his tongue between them.

It was worth a million galaxies to see Spock then, a guttural groan escaping him, pupils blown wide with desire, a delicate green blush tinting his ears, cheeks, and spreading down to the high collar of his dress uniform. Jim made a mental note to find out just how far down that blush spread.

Later.

Things got hazy and heated after that. Spock's mouth returned and seemed to map out every square centimeter of skin, testing for what worked best. Jim eagerly helped in the experiment, while performing several of his own. They came almost simultaneously-when Spock deep-throated for the first time, sending Jim spiraling to completion, Jim bit down gently on the fleshy base of the Vulcan's fingers, causing Spock to shudder violently as his orgasm seized him.

Jim was still trying to catch his breath when Spock, his composure quickly returning, glanced at the chronometer. He then proceeded to usher Jim through the process of cleaning up, made sure their uniforms were in good order(apparently, Vulcans had enough control over bodily functions that he'd had a dry orgasm) and then shooed him down the corridors to their dinner engagement as though he was a truant schoolchild.

He kinda liked it when Spock was being all bossy.

With Spock on one side and Uhura on the other to ensure he avoided any serious social gaffes, Captain Kirk made an excellent first impression on the Vlaari, and they professed interest in joining the Federation. This was good news, of course, for the Federation, but as Jim watched the Vlaari captain make off with his First Officer, who was giving him an introductory run-down on procedures and protocols and who-the-fuck-cares, he was terribly disappointed that he wouldn't be able to kidnap Spock until the next evening.

And he most certainly was planning on it.

Jim had returned to his quarters, tired but strangely happy at the turn things were taking. He'd managed his first alien diplomacy mission and managed to move things in a highly positive direction with Spock. It wasn't until he was undressing for bed that he suddenly noticed something rather . . . intriguing.

His dress shoes didn't have laces.

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As always, R&R; it makes me giggle. Be gentle with me on this one; it's my first time. And I'm a little nervous about it, too; I have trouble separating Old and New Kirk/Spock, so if they seem slightly out of character, try imagining it with Shatner and Nimoy.