obstinatrix | Ficlet: Jealousy (NC-17) , for candesgirl

Title: Jealousy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock. I write them as TOS, but I guess this is pretty much YMMV.
Word Count: 498, squeaked into my limit with two words to spare. ;)
Summary: Jim smells of sweat, and an unfamiliar perfume.
Notes: This is for the gorgeous and amazing

candesgirl as thanks for her donation to UNICEF on behalf of Haiti. She gave me the keyword 'jealousy', and I am unimaginative, hence title. If you want me to write a wee thing for you in response to a donation, please visit my thread at

help_haiti, here.

Jim smells of sweat, and an unfamiliar perfume. Spock registers the second scent first, hand stilling on the desktop console as the doors glide smoothly shut. The newness of it grates on his senses, a high note of vanilla sounding out clear over the tawdry tang of alcohol beneath. The warm base-smell of Jim holds no surprises, but there is an earthiness to it, now, a depth unexpected at this hour of the afternoon. It is, in fact, not one note only, but that whole human symphony of Jim scents Spock licks from his skin in their bed, but which, at this moment, make the blood rush hot behind his eyes. Jim smells of sex, and when Spock stands to face him, his expression says he knows that he is caught.

This, then, should come as no surprise to him: Spock's upright steps marking a swift-trodden path to the door; Spock's Vulcan strength exerting itself on Jim's biceps. Jim stands quite still, his eyes wide and dark in the dimmed light of the cabin, and that smell is suddenly, distressingly all-pervasive. For a long moment, Spock does nothing but look, nostrils imperceptibly cataloguing the places Jim has been. There is the oil-sharp smell of Mr Scott; the whisky-and-juniper scent of Dr McCoy; an upholstery smell from the centre seat, recently recovered; a faintly heady undertone of chocolate, surreptitiously consumed during Alpha shift. These are Jim's smells, laid over the salt of his skin. But there is no Spock in all of this, no cinnamon-sun-spice-red-dust-Vulcan marker, and that repugnant perfume is everywhere.

The situation will have to be rectified.

Between the door and the bed there are no words, only the hitch of Jim's breath as his feet part company with the deck, the rustle of fabric shucked heedlessly over Jim's head. When they reach Spock's bunk, Jim is half-breathless and naked, the gold of his skin yielding warm to the touch of Spock's hands. He chokes out "Spock - " and Spock turns him, pins him face-down. Long fingers close over Jim's wrists, wresting them up over his head, secure in the grip of one hand. Beneath him, the whole of Jim shudders, and he pulls up his knees in a gesture both submissive and repentant. Spock unzips his pants; opens Jim swift and ungentle. Jim offers no protest, but presses back into his touch. Spock answers the wordless plea with his fingers and his tongue; demands more of it as he licks her scent from Jim's back. Jim is shivering in a way that makes Spock burn, and he thrusts into him with a rasped feral sound that makes Jim torque his spine and cry out.

He is riding the wave of him, thunderous; relentless as wild desert sun. Jim tastes like Iowa, aluminium and tears; sobs as he clenches around him.

By the time Spock has emptied his jealousy over Jim's back, Jim will smell of Vulcan, and nothing more.