Summary: Wherein Kirk mistakes fletching for felching, gets Spock messy, then cleans him up.
Notes/Warnings: So this is basically crackcrackcrackPOOOOORN, so if you're not into either of those, you might wanna skip this. It was written for a prompt on the kink meme here. Also, if you don't like rimming, barebacking, and felching (or fletching, for that matter!), you should probably not read it. Otherwise, yay, enjoy!
That Spock was in his quarters, on his bed, wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the debris that surrounded him; feathers, sticks of wood, and bottles of glue littered the bed, taking up every available inch that wasn't already inhabited by cross-legged Vulcan. Kirk wasn't even sure where Spock would have found sticks of wood, much less why they were on his bed.
"You are being silly, Jim," Spock said, somehow managing to project both Why must you be so relentlessly illogical? and intense concentration without any discernible shift in expression. "I used the replicator. How else should I have been able to acquire feathers on a starship with so little notice?"
"Right, okay," Jim said, watching as Spock picked up a feather and placed it parallel to the wood, his fingers gentle and precise, "but why would you want feathers on a starship?"
Spock finally looked up from his task, having apparently affixed the feather to the stick satisfactorily. "To make arrows, of course. I had assumed it would be obvious." The non-expression radiated puzzlement, as if Jim were the one who could be considered crazy in this scenario.
"Uh," Jim said, because really, arrows? What the hell did Spock need arrows for, anyway? "What the hell do you need arrows for anyway?" he asked, which he thought was a perfectly logical question.
Spock didn't think so, if his expression was to be believed; he had that Oh, Jim look on his face (which meant his left eyebrow was a millimeter higher than usual), the one he got when explaining some bizarre local custom that Jim should have known about had he read the five hundred page debriefing report cover to cover, as Spock had done. "Captain, I can only assume that you..." he said, but Jim didn't hear the explanation that followed. He was too busy watching Spock, who was somehow managing to make gluing feathers onto sticks of wood sexy.
Spock's hand was cradling the next feather carefully so as not to damage it, his long, elegant fingers gently pressing it to the wood next to the first feather. The look on his face was one of intense concentration; Jim recognized it as the look he got when he was on the bridge and had just detected some fascinating anomaly (the look that made Jim have to turn away or risk losing it and fucking his First Officer right there, bent over the science console in front of Uhura and Chekhov and Sulu and anyone else who happened to walk in), the same look he got when he was deep inside Jim and searching for the perfect angle (the one that would make Jim scream with pleasure, the hot thick length of Spock in him so good, so perfect, so right that he couldn't imagine anything better than Spock inside him, the burn, the ache of it perfect, perfect).
Jim's mouth went dry. He could barely make out that Spock was speaking over the rush of blood in his ears, all headed straight for his cock. He stumbled forward, stopping only when his knees hit the edge of the bed. Spock looked up, mid-word, and stopped at the look on Jim's face. "Fascinating," he said instead of continuing his lecture on the necessity of arrows for space flight, or whatever. "Jim, if you will permit me to say so, your reaction to my fletching seems most illogical."
Jim choked on his tongue. "Fletching? Spock, isn't that a little too dirty for a Vulcan?"
"Well, Jim," Spock said, and now -- jesus christ -- he was stroking the goddamn feathers, "I do find that my fingers are often sticky after engaging in this activity." -- Oh god, Spock was trying to kill him. He obviously had been hiding his ambition for the captaincy, that was the only explanation -- "However, I do not see why that should be a deterrent from what I find to be a most pleasurable pastime."
And that was it. Jim felt something in his brain snap at the picture of Spock, legs in the air, come dripping out of his ass as Jim licked and sucked at his fucked-loose opening. He made some sort of growling, feral noise in his throat and swept his arm across the bedspread, sending all Spock's feathers and sticks crashing to the floor.
"Jim," Spock said, but Jim was beyond talking now: he had to see what Spock would look like, completely owned, completely Jim's. He yanked at Spock's legs, spreading them wide and then using them as leverage to haul Spock down the bed, Spock's shirt scrunching up under his armpits with the movement. "Jim," Spock tried again, but the noise was muffled in the fabric of his shirt as Jim stripped it off him.
In a hazy, lust-fueled flurry of movement Jim was able to get both of them naked, a feat considering all the blood normally in his brain was now considerably further south. Still, Spock wasn't resisting Jim pushing and pulling him into position on the bed, obediently spreading his legs when Jim pushed them open, simultaneously going for the lube on the nightstand before coating two fingers and positioning them at the entrance to his own body.
Jim groaned, watching Spock's long, elegant fingers disappearing in and out of his body, stretching the tight ring of muscle. It was obscene, the greedy clench of Spock's hole around his fingers, the tiny tremors in his limbs that he couldn't control, the tiny gasped, "Jim," Spock couldn't stop as he added another finger.
Seeing wasn't enough, not nearly, Jim decided; he needed to feel, he needed to taste Spock's abandon. He reached forward, spreading apart Spock's cheeks so he could see better before leaning down and licking around and between Spock's fingers, the unpleasant sterile taste of lube on his tongue as he mouthed at a knuckle, as he licked around the grasping entrance to Spock's body. Spock groaned above him, the noise deep and unwillingly torn from him, a minute loss of control that Jim would never have thought could be so sexy, before he met Spock.
"I believe," Spock said, withdrawing his fingers, "that is enough preparation, Jim." His voice wavered on Jim's name and Jim smiled, giving another lick to Spock's hole.
"I dunno, Spock," he said into Spock's skin, the vibrations from his words making Spock pull in a quick, almost silent breath. "I think we can get you looser than this." He nipped at the curve of one cheek before moving back to Spock's hole, lapping at the tiny furl there before stabbing in with his tongue, reveling in the way he could feel Spock trembling from the inside. He stroked in, fucking Spock with his tongue until he was gasping, his legs shaking under Jim's hands.
"Jim," Spock breathed, "I assure you, I am more" -- a gasp -- "more than prepared for you."
Jim drew back then to survey his work and, satisfied, lined himself up before pushing in easily, a long, slow glide into the hottest, sweetest space he had ever felt. He stilled a moment, letting Spock adjust, until Spock shifted impatiently under him and merely said, "Jim," the lowering of his eyebrows more demanding than if he had shouted, the single syllable coming from Spock's mouth sexier than the gasped pleas of a dozen Orion slave girls.
Jim grinned and started fucking in earnest, short, deep thrusts that made Spock clutch the sheets, his face impassive but his eyes burning with lust and focused completely on Jim. Jim felt hot under that gaze, scorching like the skin under his fingers; he was being burned alive in the inferno of Spock's body, tongues of pleasure licking up his spine, curling warmly in his belly as he fucked Spock wildly.
And then suddenly he was released from the intensity of that look as Spock closed his eyes and arched upwards, his body clenching Jim tight, tighter as he came all over his own stomach, mouth open and a blissful expression on his face in the instant where he lost control completely, his pleasure washing it away in the tide of feeling Jim had created.
Jim clenched his teeth and kept thrusting, his strokes shortening, coming faster, harder as he watched Spock lose it, until Spock opened his eyes and looked at him again, his face soft with orgasm, his eyes dark and focused intently on Jim. And Jim had never been able to last with Spock looking at him like that, hair mussed and face flushed green with blood, his lips wet and bruised from Jim's mouth; this time was no exception. He slammed into Spock's pliant, welcoming body one last time before stilling, his entire body shaking with the force of his release, the sound of his harsh gasps filling the air between them.
When he could think again he found that he had slumped forward onto Spock's chest, Spock's hands stroking up his spine as he caught his breath. "I must admit," Sock said, voice rumbling in his chest beneath Jim's ear, "that although I did not foresee this outcome when I began fletching this afternoon, I am not displeased." He tangled his fingers in Jim's hair, pulling him up for a kiss, Jim laughing breathlessly against his mouth.
"Well," Jim said when they parted, voice rough and sated, "we still have to see about cleaning you up." He raised an eyebrow, a trick he had learned from Spock after months of dedicated study. "After all, we can't have you sticky, can we?" He shifted back onto his knees and surveyed Spock. He was a mess, his normally smooth hair wild and tangled from Jim's fingers, bruises from his mouth just beginning to bloom green on his skin, underneath the streaks of come decorating his chest. He was beautiful.
Jim licked a long stripe up Spock's chest, the spicy sweet taste of his come thick on his tongue as he cleaned Spock's skin. Spock clutched at Jim's head, fingers tight in his hair as Jim laved at a nipple; it wouldn't do to be less than thorough, Jim thought, smirking. When Spock's chest was completely clean he licked down, ignoring Spock's rapidly hardening cock and making his way to Spock's hole, shiny with lube and come. Jim pushed Spock's legs apart, holding him open to his hungry gaze, before leaning down and dragging the flat of his tongue over the pink, stretched skin. Spock's thighs shook under his hands when he did it again, his hole fluttering under his tongue as he tasted both himself and, underneath that bitter, salty taste, the earthy flavor of Spock. Jim groaned at the taste, his breath making Spock shudder once, hard.
"Jim," Spock said, voice nearly unrecognizable it was so deep, "Jim."
"I got you," Jim said, and sucked at Spock's hole, his own come filling his mouth as he cleaned Spock's sticky ass, tongue delving inside in search of every bit of his come. He could feel Spock's heels digging into his back, the clench of Spock's body around his tongue as he fucked in, pressing a finger in alongside it as he thrust in and out. There was only the taste of Spock beneath his mouth now, heady and spicy, and Jim could hear Spock's labored breathing as he found his prostate, pressing it mercilessly as Spock's legs clenched around his ears. Spock groaned and Jim could feel it in his tongue, deep within Spock, before his asshole clenched unbearably tight around it, squeezing his finger and tongue together, and Jim knew he was coming, could feel it in the way Spock's body suddenly pulled tight for long, endless moments before relaxing completely, his legs falling from Jim's shoulders, the tension around his tongue easing enough for Jim to pull it and his finger out, giving one last lick to Spock's hole, one last bite to the cheek of his ass.
Jim surveyed his handiwork, smiling: Spock was as limp as Jim had ever seen him, limbs spread wide and careless across the messy sheets, a slight sheen of sweat and come glistening on his chest. He looked wanton, fucked-out and owned, just like Jim had wanted. "I can see why you like fletching," Jim said, leaning down to lick up the fresh come on Spock's chest. "But I agree: it is a bit messy."