To Be What You Need
folder
S through Z › Star Trek (2009)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
6,941
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Star Trek (2009)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
6,941
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Star Trek or any character or thing in that universe. This is for fun, not for profit.
To Be What You Need
He’s pressing Spock up against the wall before the doors even close, uncaring of those who might see, who might catch a glimpse of what their captain and first officer do behind those normally closed doors; to see the things they do in private, the way they move against each other, desperate and immediate as if there was no option but to just that.
Jim had known the moment Spock had gotten hurt, could feel it in his bones as if the pain were his alone. He’d gritted his teeth and carried on, pushed worry and pain to the back of his mind until now, when it comes pouring out in impulsive touches, heated lips. Spock lets Jim keep him there, allows the leg wedged between his knees and the hands that move with little finesse down his body, until they are pushing and pulling away layers of fabric, until they’ve found that heat and hardness they were looking for.
“Captain,” Spock says, voice betraying little of the very real and urgent human passion flowing through him, but Jim doesn’t stop, caught between his haze of want and his ebbing fear.
“Jim,” Spock tries again, one warm hand tracing moisture on Jim’s cheek, the other catching his chin until Jim is looking at him, raw emotion there in his eyes for Spock to see, hidden behind uncharacteristic diffidence and demure lashes.
Gentle fingers start to form in a familiar, intimate pattern on Jim’s face until a hand comes up and catches them, moves them away with a small shrug and an unsure look.
“Not what I need,” Jim is whispering against Spock’s lips, “need you. Need to feel you, Spock, need you to feel me.”
Spock understands, gives in wordlessly, takes Jim’s fingers into his mouth to make them slick with spit before constricting fabric is shoved down as far down his hips as it needs to be, before he turns and faces the wall, presenting himself to Jim in a way he rarely does, allowing him to take what he needs.
Jim eases slow into slicked heat, hands pressed possessively into slim hips, forehead resting between shoulder blades. He takes his time until Spock thrusts back, willing him on, challenging him for more.
“Jim,” he groans, no more of that reigned in emotion, “I can take it. Take from me what you need.” Jim hisses at a harsh drive back, plants his hands palms down on either side of the wall for better leverage, “Let me give you what you need. Let me be what you need.”
Jim is lost, drowning in Spock’s aberrance, fucking up into him and holding his breath, afraid that he’ll crumble under the weight of the tide crashing over him. Spock braces himself, allows himself to be ripped into the same current until they crash into each other and hold on, thrusting, pushing and falling, only letting out a breath when the wave finally topples them and they emerge, gasping for air and falling to the ground.
Jim had known the moment Spock had gotten hurt, could feel it in his bones as if the pain were his alone. He’d gritted his teeth and carried on, pushed worry and pain to the back of his mind until now, when it comes pouring out in impulsive touches, heated lips. Spock lets Jim keep him there, allows the leg wedged between his knees and the hands that move with little finesse down his body, until they are pushing and pulling away layers of fabric, until they’ve found that heat and hardness they were looking for.
“Captain,” Spock says, voice betraying little of the very real and urgent human passion flowing through him, but Jim doesn’t stop, caught between his haze of want and his ebbing fear.
“Jim,” Spock tries again, one warm hand tracing moisture on Jim’s cheek, the other catching his chin until Jim is looking at him, raw emotion there in his eyes for Spock to see, hidden behind uncharacteristic diffidence and demure lashes.
Gentle fingers start to form in a familiar, intimate pattern on Jim’s face until a hand comes up and catches them, moves them away with a small shrug and an unsure look.
“Not what I need,” Jim is whispering against Spock’s lips, “need you. Need to feel you, Spock, need you to feel me.”
Spock understands, gives in wordlessly, takes Jim’s fingers into his mouth to make them slick with spit before constricting fabric is shoved down as far down his hips as it needs to be, before he turns and faces the wall, presenting himself to Jim in a way he rarely does, allowing him to take what he needs.
Jim eases slow into slicked heat, hands pressed possessively into slim hips, forehead resting between shoulder blades. He takes his time until Spock thrusts back, willing him on, challenging him for more.
“Jim,” he groans, no more of that reigned in emotion, “I can take it. Take from me what you need.” Jim hisses at a harsh drive back, plants his hands palms down on either side of the wall for better leverage, “Let me give you what you need. Let me be what you need.”
Jim is lost, drowning in Spock’s aberrance, fucking up into him and holding his breath, afraid that he’ll crumble under the weight of the tide crashing over him. Spock braces himself, allows himself to be ripped into the same current until they crash into each other and hold on, thrusting, pushing and falling, only letting out a breath when the wave finally topples them and they emerge, gasping for air and falling to the ground.