elliewood | Fic: Consort, Chapter 15

WARNING: smut ahead. Hit your back button now if you're underaged or squeamish.

The evening before we left for New Vulcan, I made pasta for dinner. Pretty nerve-wracking because I knew Spock had higher standards than Academy cadets who honestly would eat fucking anything. Plus, when I asked him if he liked Italian, he said no, then tried to cover up by saying that it was only because he hadn't tried it before. And my sauce recipe involves epic amounts of hot pork sausage, obviously an ingredient that would not go over well with either his palate or his ethics. So, morphing the meat sauce into a marinara that didn't suck balls was a pretty big challenge; I thought I could just add more spices to make up for leaving out the sausage, but I couldn't get it right, and no matter what I did, it just tasted like absolute shit.

So I spent fucking forever in front of the stove, burning my face over this bubbling pot of godawful marinara, tasting it over and over, then adding whatever I could find to get it not to taste like moldy donkey balls. By the time Spock looked up from the PADD he was reading in the living room, I'd accumulated over a dozen used tasting spoons on a saucer. I was about ready to start using forks.

I could feel him looking at me through the cutout in the kitchen wall and thinking

James, WTF?

Okay, not literally WTF, because I think Spock would have a spasm if he even thought the F-bomb, but that was the impression I got from him. I pulled the latest spoon out of my mouth.

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Tasting the marinara. It's hard to get it right without using meat."

"But why are you utilizing so many spoons? Surely it is wasteful to use multiple utensils when one would suffice."

"I didn't want to gross you by getting my spit in the sauce. It's called 'double-dipping.' Very bad happy-hour etiquette."

He gave me that look, the one that says, Dumbass, please. "I assure you, there is nothing about your person that repels me."

Would love to believe that but you won't come near me so

yeah

"Well, thanks for that, but I'd rather not take a chance."

So he puts down his PADD and gets up from his chair to circle around the kitchen wall and stand next to me.

Spock, WTF?

"You do not believe me."

"No, I believe you, I just..."

"You do not trust."

Guilty as charged

I feel bad about that because he was right, because there's always been this thing between us where I just don't quite get what it is he's after with me, why it is he wants to be with me, and sometimes if the drugs haven't knocked me out I lie awake and turn it over and over in my head, figuring that it's out of duty, or pity, or something else, but whatever it is, it's for damn sure not the same as my reasons, but I'd never know because he never tells me.

I move away to put the spoon down, but he catches my wrist and turns me around so my back is to the counter, and we just stand like that for a second, him holding my wrist, me holding the spoon. Then he puts one knee between my legs and leans into me

I need

and boom goes the dynamite -- I can actually feel every red blood cell abandon my brain and run, laughing like hell, down to my dick. If he hadn't been holding me up with his knee, I would have fallen over.

"Let me repeat, so there is no mistake."

One time over winter break, I dragged Bones to Jackson Hole for some snowboarding, and after he'd had enough, I left him in the lodge with a mug of cocoa and a handful of muscle relaxants while I hit the backcountry, off the trails. Dumbshit move, I know, but standing alone in the most beautiful expanse of unmarked powder I'd ever seen, I thought it was worth it. Until I heard it, the dead giveaway that I was now in the deepest of deep shit, that whumph followed by a low rumble I didn't so much hear as feel in my gut. That's what this moment feels like, that spike of exhilaration and excitement and pure terror, his hand gripping my wrist so I can't escape, his voice low like the sound of the uphill snow, his eyes like a wolf's, hungry and mean and laughing.

He walks his fingers up my wrist to grasp my hand, the one with the spoon,

touch me yes

and pulls it upward to bring the spoon to his mouth, to deliberately suck off the little smear I'd left on it after tasting the sauce, his tongue moving behind his closed lips as he cleaned it off. I think I was close to passing out right there, because my field of view shrank down to almost nothing, just his mouth working around the teaspoon, everything else around it dotted with black.

your mouth on me your lips sliding over me your tongue circling oh my god please

At some point he must have pulled the spoon from his mouth and dropped it into the sink, because the next thing I know, his hands are on either side of my face, his mouth breathing into mine.

please

"I assure you..."

His hands slide from my neck to my shoulders, across my chest and down to my sides until they reach the waistband of my shorts

"...there is nothing about your person..."

to push them down past the biggest erection of my life, and now his hands are on my bare hips

"...that repels me."

and he spins me away from him to face the sink, then pushes on my back with one hand to bend me over while he parts my legs with the other, running his hand from the back of my knees all the way up to the crack of my ass, slow like an ache, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to go insane. I can't see shit but I can sense him change position, a smooth, unhurried drop to his knees, both hands on my ass now, gently squeezing and pushing to either side,

then

...

oh

Yes

oh my GOD

and it's a good thing I'm leaning over the counter because that feeling, the scratch of his beard stubble against my skin and the soft heat of his tongue on my asshole, is so totally overwhelming that I wouldn't be able to stand.

never oh jesus no one ever aahhh

I can feel myself relaxing under his mouth as he licks and sucks at me, his tongue probing farther in as I open up, and it's the most fucking amazing sensation ever. I actually start to whine.

I need please

Yes

And I feel him pull his face away, and now one finger is circling and massaging in place of his tongue, and he stands to arch over me, his voice like the rumble of sliding snow.

"I wish to enter you. Do I have your permission? To enter your body?"

yes you oh

yes

And now I'm turned around again to face him, and he lifts me to sit on the counter, pushing my knees upward until my bare feet rest on the countertop on either side of his hips. And his eyes are hungry and mean and laughing as he reaches behind my back, and I hear the sound of a bottle being opened, catch the scent of the olive oil I'd used to fry up the onions and garlic

oh

and his finger returns, slick with the oil, and he's circling, pressing, and now entering

OH

and my bones dissolve, everything goes slack and numb, no feeling except for the heat of his finger inside me, pressing its way in a little way and then retreating, then pushing in again, a little farther each time

oh jesus yes

and I fall back against the cabinets behind me, flailing with my hands to find something, anything, to hang on to so I don't slide right off the counter, and he wraps his other hand around my swollen dick, his fingers tight and hot, and I finally find the handles of the cabinets behind me and grab onto them as he slowly pumps my cock in time to his thrusts into my ass, two fingers now

oh fuck

surging inward as his other hand strokes downward so that it feels, absolutely incredibly, like I'm fucking myself.

please I want you let me please

I let go with one hand to reach for him, to try to pull him closer, to grab for his clothes or his hair or anything of him, but he leans back to avoid my touch and just strokes me harder

please I need I need to feel you

and now there are three fingers sliding into me, filling me

oh goddamn

and his eyes are hungry and mean but his mouth is soft, its edges blurred and vulnerable, and all I want right now is to brush it with my fingers, feel it under my lips, but

oh god here I come

it's too late, I'm coming hard, erupting over and over, my hips helplessly bucking off the counter into his hand, my body clenching and sucking his fingers inward with each spasm. And even before it ends, I can feel the blackness taking over, my hands losing their grip so that I fall forward onto his shoulder, his fingers sliding gently out of me and his hands lifting me to carry me across the kitchen floor to the bedroom, to lay me down and pull the covers over me and leave me alone in the dark.