concnon

Title: No Greater Glory Than
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2900
Warnings: Slash. Porny slash.
Spoilers: None, really. This assumes Kirk and Spock have already gone through the hassle of becoming friends.
Disclaimer: Neither Star Trek nor any of the related characters belong to me. I'm too poor for the case to be otherwise.
Summary: from the st_xi_kink meme. Prompt, basically, was Kirk occassionally prostituted himself before joining Star Fleet.
Author's Note: Beware, this is unbetaed! I think it's safe, but just be wary. And this totally ended up longer than it was supposed to be. Oh well, I'm sure y'all don't mind. And a fun fact: the Edo of Rubicun III are canon! Liberties are taken with the Ambassador, of course, but the Edo exist. And bonus points to anyone who can identify the Psych reference in the story.



Jim Kirk has never minded his less-than-decent reputation. He’s not proud of some of the things he’s done, but he’s not ashamed, either – he did what he had to at the time, and he pulled through. He always has. And if he had to blow a few guys in dirty motels to earn enough cash to feed himself when his mother was off-planet and his stepfather had kicked him out of the house, well, that’s his own business.

Except that the Enterprise is currently in negotiations with the Edo of Rubicun III. Which is bad enough to begin with, because the entire race is inexplicably blond and beautiful and as soon as they say hello they offer you a quickie in the nearest closet – and it’s a testament to the new maturity being a Captain has brought him, and possibly his minor infatuation with his First Officer, that he hasn’t fallen into bed with any of the Ambassador’s entourage yet – but there’s something worse. The Ambassador knows him, knows him from when he was seventeen and strapped for cash and just a kid in a bar with a pretty mouth.

When Kirk is standing next to Scotty at the transporter control, waiting to welcome the Edo Ambassador and his entourage on board, he is expecting that the talks will be run-of-the-mill. Boring meetings, Spock saving him from some awful cultural offense, Uhura verbally abusing him for almost making said cultural offense, and in the end, lots of paperwork. So he is shocked when he realizes he recognizes the man materializing at the head of the group. His throat catches for a moment, as he remembers hands on his head, at his hips, fucking him open and raw, taking all his damn money’s worth.

Jim can feel Spock’s stare, heavy on his back, and he’s known the Vulcan long enough now to know that his concern is for Jim himself, and not Jim’s diplomatic ability. But he shakes it off, and steps forward with a smile and his hand extended. He can be fucking diplomatic, Starfleet has no idea.

“It’s an honor, Ambassador Tiavan. I’m Captain James Kirk.”

Tiavan takes his hand, and Jim can see the flash of recognition in the man’s eyes, and the slight curve of a leer at the corner of his mouth. “My pleasure, Captain Kirk,” he replies, and when Jim pulls his hand back, the other man deliberately trails his nails across Jim’s palm.

It is uncomfortable to sit across a table from a man who has paid to fuck you and try to negotiate the end of a trade embargo on grain.

Jim is deflecting to the best of his ability – and Bones would confirm that it’s a great skill of his – but Tiavan keeps saying things and staring and touching him at the worst possible moments. Jim could deal with it if they were just suggestive brushes, subtle come ons, but they’re more than that. They’re tinged with a possessiveness that pisses him off, because he has never belonged to anyone, and every time they’re becoming less subtle.

On the second day, late in the afternoon, the negotiations hit a snarl. Jim is exasperated, for more than one reason, and doesn’t think when he says, “Ambassador, I understand your difficulty with this trading circuit, but you cannot expect the Federation to simply bend over because you’re asking us to.”

A split second later, Jim thinks, Fuck.

A slow, dirty grin curls across Tiavan’s face, when he replies, “Which is most unusual, as you seem to have an unusual proclivity to bend over when one asks it of you.”

Uhura looks shocked and genuinely indignant, and in his fog of surprise, Jim spares a moment to be gratified that she cares enough about him to be angry for his sake. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Spock lower his eyebrows, his lips pressed marginally thinner than usual, and Jim realizes with a start that he is furious. On Jim’s behalf. Or maybe just at the Ambassador’s impropriety, he can’t really tell.

Either way, he’s glad Spock has only choked someone in anger the once, because Jim doesn’t have the faculties right now to explain away his Vulcan First assaulting the Ambassador of a peaceful Federation planet.

Tiavan looks viciously smug, and Kirk grits his teeth before saying, “I have no idea where you get that idea, Ambassador. If you have some sort of story, I’m sure we’d all be glad to hear it.” He gestures at the crew in the room, and leans onto the table, smiling beatifically. “It’s late in the day – I think we would all love to have a break. Maybe we can all tell our own stories. Think of it as a bonding experience.”

The other man’s sneer drops, and he blinks rapidly. That’s right, you fucker, Jim thinks viciously. Tell everyone about how the foreign dignitary picked up an underage hooker in a dirty Iowa bar.

Tiavan smiles, and Jim can see the nervousness behind it. “I’m afraid I must beg off, Captain. I find myself most drained from our talks – perhaps dinner is in order? We can resume the negotiations in the morning.” And without waiting for an answer, he was out of his chair and sweeping out of the room, his assistants scrambling for papers at the table before following him.

Jim sighs, and pushes himself to his feet.

“Something you’re not telling us, Captain?” Uhura asks, tapping a pen against the tabletop. Jim smiles tiredly, and waves the question off. “Some other time, Lieutenant. He was pissing me off, and right now I just need a drink. Who’s with me?”

The ensigns at the end of the table – Ryans and Davis – cheer, and Uhura offers a begrudging smile.

“I’ll be down to the cafeteria in a bit,” Jim promises, and strides into the hall, running a tired hand through his hair. He’s not at all surprised when Spock follows. Jim can tell that he wants to say something, but he doesn’t seem inclined to speak in the hallway.

So Jim stops and asks, “How’s Sulu on the bridge?”

“He reports nothing out of the ordinary, Captain.” Spock’s eyebrows are still tenser than usual, and it’s a little unsettling.

“Good. Then I’m changing out of uniform before dinner.” And Jim turns down the hall towards his quarters. Spock is still following him, and Jim resigns himself to a discussion before he can have a drink. Or maybe he can convince the Vulcan to talk over a game of chess, instead – he’d be more comfortable spending the evening with Spock than with the crew. Even an unusually angry Spock.

When the door to his quarters slides open, Jim heads straight for his dresser, intending to change before anything else. Hand on the drawer, he pauses – he can feel Spock standing just inside the door – and thinks better of it. Spock doesn’t need to spend any more time analyzing than he already has. He turns around and leaning against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. “All right, go ahead and get it out before you explode. I’m listening, Spock.”

The Vulcan has his hands folded behind his back. He tilts his head in acknowledgement, and says, “The Ambassador has no right to address you as if he is familiar to you.”

Jim laughs, just a little, and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for defending my honor Spock, but it’s okay, I can handle it. Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t seen authority figures misbehave before. You work with me, after all.”

Spock doesn’t even acknowledge the joke, just asks, “And how will you ‘handle’ it?”

Jim pauses again – there is an undercurrent of something more than anger in Spock’s voice. But he just shrugs, and says, “Mostly by ignoring him. Though I’ve got to say, it’s not so easy to ignore him when you’re all riled up on my behalf.”

“Riled up?” Spock inquires, that damn eyebrow raised skeptically.

Jim snorts. “You know what I mean. Look, Spock…”

“Captain, the implication of your retort to the Ambassador is that you know something about him that would be detrimental to his character. If you know such a thing, it can be concluded that perhaps the Ambassador’s familiarity is not without reason. The only logical conclusion is that you and the Ambassador know each other from a previous encounter.”

“That is some of the best nut-shelling I’ve ever heard,” Jim mutters. He drops his eyes to Spock’s feet. “Yeah, I know Tiavan. That’s not what he called himself at the time, but I recognize him, and his behavior is sure as hell confirmation. The circumstances of our, uh, association, wouldn’t really reflect well on either of us.”

He can feel Spock’s eyes on him, and he really doesn’t want to look up, but he does anyway because he’s never been good at being a coward.

“When you’re strapped for cash and stuck in a bumfuck town, there aren’t many things you won’t do to feed yourself.” Jim laughs, and rubs the back of his neck again. “Shit, look man, I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this. I’m sure it’s a more vulgar subject than Vulcans are used to.”

“Jim, I consider you to be my friend. I would not want you to curb your conversation for fear of possibly offending me.” The words are nice, but Spock’s tone is void of anything, inflectionless and dull in the way that Jim knows only happens when the Vulcan is trying to suppress a strong emotion.

Just because Jim’s not ashamed of himself doesn’t mean he is immune to his friends’ opinions. He doesn’t need their pity – he’s never told anyone, not even Bones. At least not seriously. Once or twice he might have joked about turning tricks when he was a teenager, but he’s never had a heart-to-heart on the subject, and he can’t help his incredulous snort.

“Jim, I am not judging you.” Spock’s voice is still flat, but he’s looking Jim in the eye, so that’s something at least.

“Well, you seem awfully angry for someone who’s claiming to not be accusatory,” Jim snaps.

Spock reaches out, lays a hand on his arm, and Jim cuts off his anger to blink in amazement. He can count on one hand the number of many times Spock has initiated physical contact between them.

Jim touches Spock all the time – he’s a tactile person, and Spock has never said anything or shrugged him off. So it’s normal for Jim to rest a hand on his First’s shoulder, to pat his back, to playfully punch him in the arm, to get any physical contact he can. He knows that Vulcans are touch telepaths, so he accepts that Spock only touches him when he has to – to save Jim from nearly falling into an unexpected canyon, to pull him out of the way of phaser range.

So it’s really kind of shocking that Spock is touching him now.

“I am not trying to appear critical of your personal choices, either in the present or in the past. I simply wished to express my concern regarding Ambassador Tiavan and his impropriety.” And he squeezes Jim’s arm gently, in emphasis.

“Good to know. Thanks, Spock.” Jim smiles, just a little. “But if he were alone in his impropriety, this whole thing would be less of a problem. The fact that I really am involved kind of complicates things.”

Spock releases Jim’s arm suddenly, drops his hand to his side, curls his fingers into a fist. For just a second, Jim’s hurt, but then his intuition finally kicks into gear, and he watches in fascination, hope coiling high in his chest.

“Spock. Are you jealous?” Jim asks, incredulous and a little exhilarated at the idea. The Vulcan is staring straight ahead, not looking at Jim at all.

“Spock.” Jim knows that his voice is hopeful and breathless and likely to crack any second, but he doesn’t quite care. He moves in front of Spock, looking into eyes that are looking over his shoulder. Delicately, he touches his hand to the side of Spock’s face, to his cheek, tilting his head down to look at him properly.

And Jim then is kissing him. For one still moment, he’s terrified that he’s read Spock wrong, that his First will be offended and outraged and he’ll excuse himself, icily polite, and Jim will have ruined the best friendship he’s ever had.

In a second Spock has Jim pushed against the wall, his fingers fierce on the other man’s hips. Jim lets out an oomph into Spock’s mouth as his back hits steel, and he settles a hand on the back of Spock’s neck, holding him in place as he licks into the Vulcan’s mouth.

Jim has thought about this, about Spock’s hotter-than-human skin and his Vulcan strength and the single-minded attentiveness that he applies to any project, and it is so much better in life that he can’t even consider his old fantasies. They’re useless in the face of this, his recalcitrant First Officer shoving him up against a wall and fucking his tongue into his mouth.

Spock is hard against Jim’s stomach, and oh God, that means he’s been hard, while they had been talking, and Jim doesn’t want to think about why that’s so hot. He’s pinned down, restrained, and Spock is unmoving, unyielding as Jim tries to find room to thrust against him. His cock is trapped against Spock’s thigh, and he can barely move into it, can barely arch and slide like he needs to, and he is so turned on by the sheer dominance that he’s already moaning into Spock’s mouth.

Jim has just enough of his brain left to remember about Vulcans and hands, so he pries Spock’s hand from his hip and presses their palms together. Spock squeezes his fingers around Jim’s, and pushes their joined hands to the wall as he presses fervent, sucking kisses to Jim’s neck. Jim can feel the teeth nip down his throat before sinking into the thick muscle at the base, and he groans because he knows Spock is marking him, pulling up mottled red and purple skin.

“God, Spock, just let me –” gasping, and he is working his free hand between them, Spock leaving him just enough room, and he’s pulling desperately at their pants, somehow working them open and down their thighs far enough that he can wrap his hand around both their cocks.

Spock inhales sharply, and murmurs something that might have been, “Most pleasing,” but Jim can’t really hear over the rushing in his ears. He can’t believe the heat, as he jerks them slowly, pressing their erections together.

Spock relinquishes his hold on Jim’s hip to slip his hand between them to join Jim’s, and now their fingers tangle together like their hands against the wall, and it’s just fantastic.

The Vulcan presses a thumb to the head of Jim’s cock, spreading precome and pushing against the slit. Jim whines and he doesn’t even have the time to be embarrassed about it, just arches into their hands, desperate.

Spock kisses him again, deeply, curling his tongue against Jim’s gums. Sliding off Jim’s mouth, he presses small kisses along his face, until he reaches the join of jaw and ear, and says, “You’re mine, James Kirk.”

“Yes, oh God,” Jim groans, bucking. Their hands are moving too fast, and it’s too much dry friction, but it feels fucking amazing and it’s Spock. “Yours, yes, yours,” he chants, and it’s the first time he’s ever said something during sex that feels so true. He doesn’t have the time to think about it, though, because his head is full of sharp pleasure and Spock. When Spock whispers, “Mine, James,” again, Jim fucking keens and comes into their hands, fluid striping both their shirts, sliding down their fists.

Jim shudders through the aftershocks as Spock keeps thrusting, still jacking their joined hands. The Vulcan comes without making a sound, but he closes his eyes and kisses Jim, and that’s enough. Jim thinks of his silence as a challenge, anyway.

Spock slides his lips away, and leans his cheek against Jim’s. Their hands are still moving, just a little, and Jim can’t stop shivering at the feeling.

“You’re amazing,” Jim manages, when he’s caught enough breath to be able to form words.

He can feel the corner of Spock’s mouth quirk against his cheek. “I have been told that humans often share platitudes upon sexual satiation.”

Jim huffs, a breathless little laugh, and slides his clean hand across the back of Spock’s head to pull him into a chaste kiss.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Jim says when they break apart. “Now I'm even hungrier than I was before. Will you eat dinner with me?”

Spock actually smiles at him – not much of a smile by human standards, but a verified grin on a Vulcan – and says, “That would be most pleasing, Captain.”

Jim’s cock twitches at the words “most pleasing,” and he groans. “Oh fuck. Working on bridge is going to be hell.”

Spock just kisses him again.