Title: Watch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kirk gets a mirror...he wants Spock to watch. PWP. Sequal to Taste and Listen, but can stand alone.

When the captain of the USS Enterprise asks for a full-length mirror to be brought to his quarters, it happens without question or comment. The two crewmembers who ultimately fulfilled the order shared more than one look between them, but they didn’t say a word, and neither did anybody else. Spock didn’t even say a word, though its unexplained presence in the sleeping area did raise more than one question in his mind. Kirk didn’t volunteer an explanation, either.

It wasn’t a particularly lovely or ornate mirror. Spock assumed it came from the storage level, where they kept most of the gifts they received from diplomats, dignitaries, and other official personages. It was a little over two feet wide, and a little bit taller than Spock himself. Kirk had it propped up against the wall, almost haphazardly. As near as Spock could tell, it had no special significance, it was not particularly valuable, and it didn’t actually do anything to improve the look of the room. Not that Kirk had ever seemed concerned with the general beauty of his living quarters. Either way, it clearly had not been brought in as an accessory.

“Do you like it?” Kirk asked from behind him.

“I see no reason why I should,” Spock answered, turning away from his reflection.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Kirk rested his chin on Spock’s shoulder, his chest to Spock’s back. “Because it’s for you.”

“For me, Captain? What do I need with a mirror?”

“Are you kidding? What don’t you need with a mirror.” Kirk touched Spock’s jaw and gently directed him to look forward. Spock’s gaze jumped away from his own reflection to study Kirk. His chin was still resting on Spock’s shoulder, and his eyes were dancing, as though they held a piece of irrepressible good news.

“I do not understand.”

“I think I’m going to have to show you.” Kirk rested his hand against Spock’s stomach, the tips of his fingers just skimming across the waistband of Spock’s pants. “That’s part of the gift.”

“Why do you give me a gift at all? Is there some sort of special occasion I’m not aware of.”

“No.” He turned his head and pressed his mouth to Spock’s neck. “No special occasion. But I want you to just watch the mirror.”


“Captain’s orders.”

Spock had no choice but to refocus on the glass in front of him. “Yes, sir.”

He felt Kirk smile against his skin, and then his hand was moving, sliding down Spock’s body to palm his growing erection. Spock did not require the same sort of release that Kirk did, and he never thought to ask for it, but Kirk was always happy to provide it. Now he massaged Spock through his pants, working his hand up and down Spock’s length slowly. The pants were cumbersome. Annoying. Spock would have happily unzipped them and pushed them away, but he kept his hands at his side, unwilling and unable to stop Jim from the slow, thorough caress. Each time his hand reached the tip, he would squeeze lightly. The muscles in Spock’s stomach and thighs flexed automatically, pulling tight with pleasure.

“Are you watching?” Kirk asked between hard kisses along Spock’s neck.

“Yes.” His voice was steady, even though everything inside of him was already quaking. Kirk’s other hand slid down Spock’s arm, barely touching him at all until he reached Spock’s wrist. He began to caress Spock in a tight, circular pattern, as if trying to coax all the nerve-endings just below the skin into life. It was working. “Why…do I need to watch the mirror?”

Kirk glanced up through his lashes, meeting Spock’s dark gaze. “I’m too busy to explain.”

To prove his point, he sank to his knees, leaving hard kisses down Spock’s back. Even through the material of his shirt, he could feel Kirk’s hot mouth and the sharp points of his teeth. Every inch of clothes created a maddening itch. One he wanted to be well rid of. One that would be soothed by the smooth texture of Kirk’s lips, and the rougher tip of his tongue.

When Kirk hit his knees, his hand disappeared from Spock’s erection. Spock gasped—the most he would allow himself to protests—and then he was alone in the mirror. Kirk was lost behind him, practically invisible, and Spock was left to stare at himself. Was that what Kirk had intended when he ordered the mirror into his room? It was unnerving. The being staring at him in the mirror with dark eyes and too many human features. His eyes. Kirk had commented on them more than once, unknowingly echoing taunts that Spock could still hear. Of course, Jim’s words were never mocking. They were…affectionate.

Five fingers closing around his scrotum pulled Spock rather abruptly from his thoughts. Kirk had reached between his legs, and for a moment, his hand almost seemed disembodied. And far too pale against Spock’s black pants. Spock couldn’t help but stare at each flex of Kirk’s fingers, sighing as the corresponding pleasure raced through him. Strangely, each time Kirk squeezed, Spock felt it right at the base of his throat. It made it impossible to swallow. Impossible to breathe. Kirk’s mouth was busy once again, biting the curve of Spock’s ass—gnawing at it. Spock did not understand the pressure was enough to make his knees weak, but it was undeniable that—not Kirk’s hand—that made his legs shake a little.



“I need to get out of these pants.”

“Oh.” Kirk’s mouth disappeared. “I guess you better take care of that.”

Spock’s fingers were shaking as he unzipped his pants. It would not have been noticeable to anybody else. Not even Kirk. But Spock noticed it. Marveled at it. It took so little from Kirk to completely change everything Spock knew about himself. About his own body. Spock glanced up briefly, surprised by the sight of his own face. There something different—perhaps his eyes were too bright. His mouth parted a little too widely as he gasped for breath.

Kirk gripped the pants just above Spock’s knees and gave them a hard tug. Spock stepped out of them as Kirk pulled, tossing them to the other side of the room. Spock barely had a chance to adjust to the change in temperature before Kirk’s impossibly hot mouth returned to his skin. He left a trail of small kisses down Spock’s buttocks, his lips as smooth as Spock had imagined. A nudge at his thigh prompted him to widen his legs.

“Are you watching?” Kirk murmured.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, though Spock still didn’t know what he was watching for. His penis was fully erect, a slight bend curving the tip upwards. The muscles in his thighs were clearly defined, pulled taut. His skin was pale with the lightest green tint, which was only emphasized when Kirk wrapped his pink fingers around Spock’s length.

Because Spock was watching as he was told, he had just enough warning to take a deep breath before Kirk caught Spock’s scrotum with his lips. He sucked hard on Spock’s balls, rolling his tongue around them, teasing them ever so lightly with his pointed teeth. After a few moments, Kirk began moving in a recognizable rhythm, his palm and mouth working in tandem. Pleasure, hot like the Vulcan sun, worked its way up Spock’s body, starting at his toes and moving higher and higher, pushing through is blood like a fever.


Kirk didn’t respond. He didn’t acknowledge Spock’s soft plea at all. Spock dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t watching anymore. He couldn’t. Not as his control slipped farther and farther from him. Gradually. He was dangling over a cliff, his fingers digging into sheer rock, gravity pulling at his body, as gravity must do. And moment by moment, painful inch by tedious inch, he was losing his purchase on that rock. Kirk would not help him find it again.

Because Jim Kirk liked falling, liked the abyss, too much.

Kirk’s rhythm was perfect, Spock realized. The detached part of his brain that was still capable of higher processes understood what was happening. It was fast enough to fan the tiny flames licking at his flesh, but it was not fast enough to bring any sort of satisfaction. With each stroke of his fist, Kirk heightened both the pleasure and the frustration. Desire drummed through him. It was his heart, picking up speed, preparing for that final moment, that elusive release that was just…out…of…reach.

Some sound, something guttural, tore itself from Spock’s throat. That was enough to make Kirk freeze, and then everything was moving. It was all so fluid—his mirror self matching him perfectly, both moving so gracefully. At one moment, Kirk was behind him, hiding from the mirror, and then Spock blinked and Kirk was beneath him. Their eyes clashed, and though Spock had Kirk pinned to the ground, his back flat, his shoulders immobile, there wasn’t a single hint of fear in Kirk’s eyes.

“Don’t stop watching,” he said, and Spock didn’t even know what that meant. Jim licked the corner of his mouth, his tongue drawing Spock’s full attention. It was so close to his arousal that Spock knew Kirk must have been teasing him. He felt as though he was moving in slow motion, though the detached part of him—completely out of control now—understood that the world was moving at its regular pace.

Spock pushed his erection past Kirk’s parted lips, sliding his entire length into his mouth, not stopping until he was completely buried in Kirk’s throat. Kirk didn’t look away, his eyes wide as his cheeks hollowed. He swallowed once, sending a series of sparks down Spock’s spine. He rocked back an inch, but he couldn’t stand to lose the heat. When he pushed forward again, Kirk’s mouth opened even more, his jaw relaxing in perfect submission. Spock rested his hand on top of Kirk’s head, his fingers getting lost in his hair as he braced himself.

Spock didn’t mean to, but he looked up and caught his reflection once again. And once again, he couldn’t see Kirk’s face. Just his own as Kirk swallowed around his length, his throat squeezing and squeezing and squeezing tighter than anything Spock had ever experienced. He saw his own hunger twisting his face, and the relief lurking in the back of his eyes. He was close. He was so close.

Kirk reached behind Spock and cupped his ass, his strong fingers pulling Spock even closer. That was all Spock needed. With Kirk holding him tight enough to leave faint bruises, he gave in. He didn’t just release the ledge. He pushed himself away from it. He went into free fall, his mind going black, his world narrowing to the points where his body met Jim’s.

His hops moved in hard thrust, and he fucked Kirk’s throat without another thought, without a single bit of hesitation. There was nothing to hold him back. Nothing to stop him. Jim couldn’t have even stopped him if he wanted to. Every cell in his body was focused on the friction against his shaft, the growing pleasure, the way the fever consumed his blood before seeking fresh fuel to burn. Kirk’s throat was slick, tight, and fragile. But at that moment, it belonged to Spock. Kirk belonged to him, existed for nothing more than his satisfaction.

As soon as that notion passed through his mind, he exploded. His semen was different than Kirk’s—a bit thicker, and there was a bit more of it. Kirk never seemed to mind, though. He sucked at Spock’s length, his throat working to swallow every bit of it until Spock was completely spent.

“Jim…” He eased away carefully, considered standing, then simply dropped to the floor, settling at Kirk’s side. “You shouldn’t…”

“Why not?” Jim rasped.

“Because I could hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Your faith, while appreciated, is illogical.”

“It’s not, Spock.”

“But I…”

“Trust me. Did you watch?”

Spock’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He needed a drink. “I did, Jim.”

The smile he bestowed on Spock was more than reassuring. “Good, Spock. Good.”
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