obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2009-06-30 11:11 pm
obstinatrix) wrote2009-06-30 11:11 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: A Course For Home
Title: A Course For Home
Rating: R
Pairings: Kirk!Prime/Spock!Prime, Nu!Kirk/Nu!Spock
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Paramount, not self.
Notes: Written for a prompt at the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
st_xi_kink meme back in the days when it was only one post. :)
It is beyond strange, this sensation: watching that breathless open mouth pressing kisses to the point of an eyebrow, in smooth counterpoint to the furious pistoning of hand on cock, and knowing, as one knows things in dreams, that the mouth is Kirk's and the eyebrow unmistakeably his own.
How they came to be here - or why - Spock is utterly unable to fathom, but if there is any man in this universe, or beyond, who would, upon finding himself deposited with his first officer into a parallel universe, decide that rutting with said officer in the engine room might be an excellent plan...well. Spock shakes his head. James T. Kirk, the one and only. Except that, incredibly, there are two of them.
His Kirk - his Captain, Spock corrects himself; the man he entered the room with - is at his elbow where they crouch behind the towering pile of empty storage cases Scotty insisted would be out of here by last Wednesday at the latest. Spock doesn't dare look at him. On the other side of the room, his other self is throwing back his head, is saying "Jim - Jim - Jim," and there's a flush prickling up the back of Spock's neck and climbing into his hair. He shifts, uncomfortable. They are both of them panting now, their counterparts; Spock bites back the urge to protest that the other Spock's behaviour is unVulcanly unrestrained. But then, they are different together, this Captain, this Vulcan. They are lovers. The slick ease of their kisses, the practised press of hand against flesh, tells him that they have done this many times before.
Kirk's mouth, open on a gasp. Spock cannot look at his own Kirk, will not chance a meeting of eyes that might be his unravelling, and so he looks instead at that soft full mouth and watches himself kiss it. The prickle is crawling both ways, now, advancing down his spine and through his pelvis, into his groin. His lips tingle, as if it were him, kissing and kissed. It is illogical. But everything about this situation ought to be illogical, and so he does not know where to begin, and can only breathe in and out, in and out, clenching his hands into fists.
They have discarded their clothes. Kirk's breathing, doubled, drifts to Spock's ears; he becomes slowly aware that the panting closest to the surface of his understanding is coming, not from the man across the room, but from the one beside him. He will not look at him. He screws his eyes shut.
They are rocking, now, against the floor, against each other; both of them whimpering and gasping and then there is his own voice pleading with his Captain, with Kirk, as far as he ever could - "Jim - there, Jim - Jim, t'hy'la!"
When he opens his eyes again - the action is foolish, but inevitable - the two of them are clutching each other as they move, Jim's hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle and flesh. Spock feels the weight and pressure of those hands; feels them drift up his neck; brush his ear.
"Okay," Jim Kirk says, into that ear. "I know this couldn't get any weirder, but you've got to admit it's fucking hot." And he is catching Spock's hand; drawing it without preamble to his own groin; pressing it there where he is hot and hard through his trousers.
Spock wants to say that he is confused, but somehow, confusion does not enter into the equation. He wants to say that they should not, cannot, do this; but they are already doing it, and have been doing it for years, and will continue to do it for many, many more. He wants to find the logical thread in this liquid situation, grip it in his fist; but he wants to kiss Jim more, and somehow that impulse, weak and human and fierce, wins out over all the others.
Their kisses are heated, soft-slow-smooth and the taste of Jim's lips are familiar even as they are strange, and Spock licks at the soft inside of his mouth until that edge of strangeness disappears and they are together again. They shed their clothes like a skin, emerging again indistinguishable from the last time, the first time; biting and nipping and gripping each other as they rock and rut and shiver. When Jim comes in Spock's mouth it is a dual sensation, a known quantity never experienced; when Spock comes in Jim, it is like coming home.
They sleep.
When they wake, a sticky tangle of youth and limbs behind the packing crates, their counterparts are gone. But Spock's whole body is tingling with the rightness of this, of Jim in his arms, missing it at a distance of lifetimes, so that somehow he doesn't think they can have gone very far.
Rating: R
Pairings: Kirk!Prime/Spock!Prime, Nu!Kirk/Nu!Spock
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Paramount, not self.
Notes: Written for a prompt at the
st_xi_kink meme back in the days when it was only one post. :) It is beyond strange, this sensation: watching that breathless open mouth pressing kisses to the point of an eyebrow, in smooth counterpoint to the furious pistoning of hand on cock, and knowing, as one knows things in dreams, that the mouth is Kirk's and the eyebrow unmistakeably his own.
How they came to be here - or why - Spock is utterly unable to fathom, but if there is any man in this universe, or beyond, who would, upon finding himself deposited with his first officer into a parallel universe, decide that rutting with said officer in the engine room might be an excellent plan...well. Spock shakes his head. James T. Kirk, the one and only. Except that, incredibly, there are two of them.
His Kirk - his Captain, Spock corrects himself; the man he entered the room with - is at his elbow where they crouch behind the towering pile of empty storage cases Scotty insisted would be out of here by last Wednesday at the latest. Spock doesn't dare look at him. On the other side of the room, his other self is throwing back his head, is saying "Jim - Jim - Jim," and there's a flush prickling up the back of Spock's neck and climbing into his hair. He shifts, uncomfortable. They are both of them panting now, their counterparts; Spock bites back the urge to protest that the other Spock's behaviour is unVulcanly unrestrained. But then, they are different together, this Captain, this Vulcan. They are lovers. The slick ease of their kisses, the practised press of hand against flesh, tells him that they have done this many times before.
Kirk's mouth, open on a gasp. Spock cannot look at his own Kirk, will not chance a meeting of eyes that might be his unravelling, and so he looks instead at that soft full mouth and watches himself kiss it. The prickle is crawling both ways, now, advancing down his spine and through his pelvis, into his groin. His lips tingle, as if it were him, kissing and kissed. It is illogical. But everything about this situation ought to be illogical, and so he does not know where to begin, and can only breathe in and out, in and out, clenching his hands into fists.
They have discarded their clothes. Kirk's breathing, doubled, drifts to Spock's ears; he becomes slowly aware that the panting closest to the surface of his understanding is coming, not from the man across the room, but from the one beside him. He will not look at him. He screws his eyes shut.
They are rocking, now, against the floor, against each other; both of them whimpering and gasping and then there is his own voice pleading with his Captain, with Kirk, as far as he ever could - "Jim - there, Jim - Jim, t'hy'la!"
When he opens his eyes again - the action is foolish, but inevitable - the two of them are clutching each other as they move, Jim's hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle and flesh. Spock feels the weight and pressure of those hands; feels them drift up his neck; brush his ear.
"Okay," Jim Kirk says, into that ear. "I know this couldn't get any weirder, but you've got to admit it's fucking hot." And he is catching Spock's hand; drawing it without preamble to his own groin; pressing it there where he is hot and hard through his trousers.
Spock wants to say that he is confused, but somehow, confusion does not enter into the equation. He wants to say that they should not, cannot, do this; but they are already doing it, and have been doing it for years, and will continue to do it for many, many more. He wants to find the logical thread in this liquid situation, grip it in his fist; but he wants to kiss Jim more, and somehow that impulse, weak and human and fierce, wins out over all the others.
Their kisses are heated, soft-slow-smooth and the taste of Jim's lips are familiar even as they are strange, and Spock licks at the soft inside of his mouth until that edge of strangeness disappears and they are together again. They shed their clothes like a skin, emerging again indistinguishable from the last time, the first time; biting and nipping and gripping each other as they rock and rut and shiver. When Jim comes in Spock's mouth it is a dual sensation, a known quantity never experienced; when Spock comes in Jim, it is like coming home.
They sleep.
When they wake, a sticky tangle of youth and limbs behind the packing crates, their counterparts are gone. But Spock's whole body is tingling with the rightness of this, of Jim in his arms, missing it at a distance of lifetimes, so that somehow he doesn't think they can have gone very far.
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and so strange.
:sigh:
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the last part i really can understand whet Jim and what Spock finish in their...
the logic says maybe the younger ones???
but the first person was Spock prime so???
I'm confuse!!
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