I went to see Star Trek for the second time today, and it was just as stratospherically awesome as it was the first time. And now, after a week of being unable to decide between the delicious fic ideas in my head, I wrote something. And it's kink, but what else would you expect from me? *g*

Title: Tell Me Once, Tell Me Twice
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (hah! the godfather of slash)
Rating: R
Fandom: Star Trek (2009)
Word Count: 2,209
Summary: Um. Erotic asphyxiation?
Warnings: As above.
Notes: Beta'd by hikarinotabi  <3 Posted over at the kink meme, the link of which is outside of my brain capacity right now. It's gone 4AM, people. Will post at comms when I'm awake. ETA: Done.

Spock finds him on the observation deck, watching the stars. Warp travel might be a technological marvel, and undeniably helpful, but it takes some of the romance out of being in space, and considering the kind of hell they warped into last time, Jim wants some of that romanticism back. Not that he'll ever admit it, of course, and especially not to Spock, but it's true.

"Captain." Not a question, or even really a statement, just his way of letting Jim know he's there, and would like a word.

"Yes, Commander Spock?"

Spock joins him by the viewing screen, accepting the offer implied in Jim's tone. "I would like to make a personal observation, if I may, sir."

Suddenly Jim wants to talk about the stars, anything but something personal. He worries, in brief moments at odd intervals, if more came through in his meld with the older Spock than either of them intended, because even standing in a silence rapidly threatening to become uncomfortable feels undeniably right.

"You can ask, but I reserve the right to not answer." God, he's starting to sound like...like an adult.

Spock inclines his head a fraction in acknowledgement, then says: "You showed a remarkable ability to function commendably even after enduring great physical stress."

"Huh?" Okay, maybe not an adult.

"The regrettable attempts of myself, Captain Nero and sub-commander Ayel to asphyxiate you." Spock lifts one hand and gestures to his throat, and Jim has fight the urge to touch his own, to press against the bruises there.

"Oh." Jim smiles, the kind of bright, intimate smile that has no doubt caused much trouble at the Academy - and will likely continue to do so in space. "Well, I've had...practice in that area."

"I do not understand."

Jim's had enough practice (or maybe he's borrowed enough from the older version) to know that Spock isn't confused in the slightest. "Erotic asphyxiation, Spock. Being partially strangled during sex."

"That seems...highly illogical." He waits for a beat, and...there. That eyebrow. The one that has a dozen meanings, or maybe more, most of them boiling down to 'James T. Kirk is an idiot, but I shall refrain from killing him because he does a decent job of being captain'.

Jim kinda wants to learn all of the others, though.

"Maybe, but it feels fantastic." He lets his smile twist, turn into a smirk, slow and dark. Spock follows the movement of his mouth with an almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes, but it's there. It happens. "The build up, not being able to get enough oxygen but not caring because of whatever it is they're doing to you at the same time. And then the moment when they press hard, and your whole body goes tight, and it feels like you're coming apart, piece by piece..."

Spock's hand twitches.

Jim's getting surer by the minute that the other one, the one that knows how to lie and cheat, did this, made him more in-tune with his (his, and what's up with that?) Spock, to help this precarious friendship along. He wants to push it, though, because he's spent most of his life slamming up against his limits, and now those boundaries just expanded by a whole lot of light years.

He's got to start somewhere.

Voice dropping to a whisper, he takes a step closer to Spock, hands loose at his sides. "Did you enjoy it, Spock? Pinning me down, hand around my throat?"

Spock doesn't move this time, which Jim finds disappointing. And challenging. "My control was not-"

"Your control was fine," Jim interrupts. "Any harder and I would've passed out. No one's done it that hard before." The double entendre was unintended, but whatever. Every little thing helps, and all that.

"Vulcans are stronger than humans. It is logical that a minor application of my strength would be considerably more than that of your previous...encounters." Dry, almost scholarly tone, but Jim can see heat in the eyes looking at him so levelly, a heat that he wants to feel against his body.

He steps in closer, looking up at Spock through his eyelashes because he finds the idea appealing, for some reason that escapes his grasp. Not that he reaches for it with any focus, because now, he really can feel the heat radiating from Spock, and it's one thing to know that Vulcans have a higher body temperature than humans, but another thing entirely to actually feel it.

Spock is holding himself very rigidly, like he's standing on the bridge during an official inspection, but Jim knows he's barely in control. How he knows this is unfathomable, and also irrelevant, because he never thinks things through that aren't life-or-death situations, and even in those, he's usually making it up as he goes along. So, he accepts it and moves on.

It takes him a moment to find the right words, but in the end he goes straight for the throat. As it were. "Do you want to do it again?"

"I do not-" Spock starts, but looks mildly surprised when he cuts himself off. Well, his eyebrow lifts, and Jim assumes it's in surprise. He's certainly a little surprised himself, looking down at Spock's hand gripping his wrist. He'd been about to touch the bruises on his neck, to emphasise what he was asking Spock, but he can't move his arm.

Spock really is a hell of a lot stronger than he is, and wow is that a turn-on. In a weird way, because the few guys he's slept with have been similar to his own build and strength, but the possibility of being pinned underneath Spock is looking pretty damn good.

Better than good, in fact. Definitely something he wants to try.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says softly, instead of throwing away all dignity (not that he has much of it anyway) and asking to be held down and fucked hard. Spock lets go of his wrist with a jerk, but he doesn't move away. He just keeps watching Jim, with only a slight hitch in his breathing to show that Jim's words have had any effect.

"Computer, re-polarise viewing screen." He steps back enough to lean against the screen, more to give himself room to breathe than out of any plan. Never mind a hand around his throat - although he wants that as well - the atmosphere between them is enough to get him hard, to send a thrill through his body. Spock's hands are behind his back again, no doubt neatly clasped, but Jim doesn't want them there. He wants them on him, around his neck.

This time, Spock doesn't stop him from reaching up to touch the bruises, just follows the movement of his hand. Jim traces them, letting his eyes slip shut and feeling the slight burst of pain mingle with pleasure as he presses down lightly. He doesn't go as far as putting his own fingers in the right position, but as it turns out, he doesn't have to.

He notices the heat of Spock's skin this time, as a hand wraps once more around his wrist in a gentle grip and pulls it away, down to his side. Jim doesn't resist (couldn't if he wanted to, and god that makes him want to try), doesn't move when Spock speaks, mere inches away.

"You wish me to do this. To purposely hurt you." His fingertips trace along Jim's jawline and then down, skimming over his throat with the barest of touches. Jim shivers.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Not being able to see Spock's face, the calmness there, bizarrely makes it easier to hear the minute inflections in his words, the hint of incredulity and the more evident desire. Jim opens his eyes, tilts his head a little to one side. "I thought that was obvious."

He doesn't just mean here and now, his clear arousal and the link between Spock and the bruises he so badly wants to touch. He's talking about all of it, the sense that there's so much more between them than they might ever know, thanks to Nero.

Jim badly wants Spock to understand this.

A slight nod is all the answer he gets before the hand at his throat is removed, then replaced, this time spread wide to wrap around almost half his neck. Spock simply rests his hand there, just letting Jim know that at any moment he could begin to squeeze. He seems to be waiting for something, but Jim is having enough trouble keeping his sanity together long enough to enjoy this to work out what Spock wants.

"Captain."

"Jim," he corrects, gasping in a way that has nothing to do with the fingers around his throat and everything to do with the way Spock is looking at him. "If you're going to do this - and you'd better fucking do it - first names would be more appropriate."

Spock quirks an eyebrow, the meaning of which is lost on Jim, who's rapidly losing the ability to think. "Jim, then. I believe I would like to kiss you."

"Fucking hell, yes." Jim reaches for him blindly, but Spock is already moving forward, pressing him back against the viewing window with the weight of his body (not all of it, nowhere near, and if it feels this good, god, what would the real thing feel like?) and kissing the hell out of Jim.

It makes sense that Spock would be this good at kissing, some small part of Jim's mind thinks, the part not currently going into meltdown. Spock applies himself to everything until he has full mastery over the skill, and in this case that means the ability to make Jim go weak at the knees with just the touch of his lips and the flick of his tongue.

"Please," Jim gasps, and he really didn't mean to say anything, but he wants. He groans when Spock's hand tightens slightly, a tiny exertion of pressure, and his hips jerk up against the thigh that Spock has, at some point, pushed between his legs. It gives him something to thrust against as the pressure on his throat increases by degrees, Spock's other hand on the side of his head, keeping him in place for sharp, biting kisses that give him scant time to suck in what little air he can still reach.

It's more than he thought he'd get but nowhere near what he wants, and it's utterly perfect. Spock either has hidden experience (unlikely) or he's just an incredibly fast learner when it comes to understanding what gets Jim Kirk off (way more likely), because his hand reaches a grip that on any other person would be the stopping point, and then tightens a little further.

Jim arches as much as he can, feeling Spock's hand leave his head and slide down his body to press his hips back against the blanked-out window, keeping him in place as Spock leans in. The sudden sharpness of a thumbnail pressing into one of the older bruises (probably one left by Spock, how's that for irony) sends him over the edge, hips jerking against Spock's grip as he gasps and shudders his way through orgasm.

The removal of the hand around his neck leaves him bereft, head dropping forward as he pulls in air and wonders where his mind has gone. He really hopes no emergencies crop up in the next, oh, hour, because he'll likely need that long to recover.

Spock hasn't moved away, hand still keeping Jim in place, so Jim just reaches up and pulls him in for another kiss, slower this time, but still as intense. He can feel the new bruises forming, can feel the phantom grip of Spock's inhumanly strong fingers on his skin.

"You enjoyed that," he says, voice raspy, because he might never have studied xenobiology but even he can tell that Spock is hard.

"I did," Spock says, and Jim laughs a little, not caring how wrecked he sounds, because that's such a typical answer. "And, if I may say so, I find myself curious to know what else would facilitate such a reaction from you."

"You want to know what else gets me off?"

"An entirely human phrase, but yes, I do." Spock's thumb presses into the hollow of Jim's hip, hard, and his lips curves slightly. Jim groans again, a smirk settling on his lips. "I already know two things that you find pleasurable, and it would be...illogical to stop collecting data."

The smirk turns into another laugh, hoarse and rough. "Two?"

"Being asphyxiated, and my strength being used against you. Possibly you also enjoy pressure being placed on your bruises, although I have not yet confirmed this."

Jim shuts his eyes for a moment, fighting to keep his breathing even. "Consider it confirmed. And add a fourth to that list of yours: exhibitionism."

Spock lifts an eloquent eyebrow, and if he keeps doing that, Jim is going to find it very difficult to function in public. He'll just have to get used to it in private, in that case. "I have no evidence of that at the present time."

Jim's smirk widens. "I didn't lock the doors."