Disclaimer: Alas, they're not mine, but belong to a long line of people starting with Gene Rodenberry.
Author's Notes: Response to a prompt at the Star Trek XI Kink Meme at Livejournal, which was:
Five Times Spock Suffered an Early Morning Erection
(And One Time He Really Quite Enjoyed It)
Spock is instantly awake. There is no drifting mid-point where the last grey remnants of dreams slip away or he slowly becomes aware of the bed solidifying beneath his frame. He is awake, and the day has begun. Pushing back the sheets, Spock moves to sit upright. But something is different. Part of his anatomy is engorged, sensitised and causing a distinct problem.
He is eighteen years old, very young by Vulcan standards. The human part of his physiology, however, is almost an adult but still passing through adolescence. To a large extent, the changes common to humans have had little effect on him. His voice has deepened, as is the way for both humans and Vulcans, and he began shaving four years ago. His over-abundance of hormonal energy has largely been channelled into combat training. It has been a long time since any young Vulcan tormentors have attempted to illicit an emotional response. It stopped being amusing to them the moment Spock learned to incapacitate in three strokes.
This increase of blood supply to his penis, however, is very new. And not entirely unpleasant.
"Spock? Are you awake?" his mother calls from the other side of the door.
"Yes. You may come in."
She does so, with a pile of clothes in her arms, which she leaves on the end of his bed. Spock draws his knees up to his bare chest automatically. He is not ashamed, exactly, of his erection. But he has no desire for his mother to actually see it.
"Everything OK?" she asks, eyeing him shrewdly.
He internally debates for a split second – but in the end honesty wins out. His mother has always been perfectly straight-forward about the nature of humanity and human physicality, and he has no reason to deceive her. "I am experiencing something unusual," he says. "When I awoke, I found my pen-"
"Oh!" she interrupts. His mother is a smart woman, in both the abstract and social sense. His awkward posture and the start of his confession are clearly enough to help her calculate the cause of his discomfort. "Um, OK Spock. Go take a cold shower. Then talk to your father." Her smile is strained, and her cheeks are flushed. She is wearing the expression she refers to as 'biting her tongue', meaning that she is trying not to laugh at him. Spock is mildly affronted. "This is definitely man stuff."
Raising an eyebrow, Spock nods slowly and eases out of bed to move towards the bathroom.
Spock has never dreamed before. Therefore, when he enters the strange world where the colours are too bright to be real, and objects and rooms appeared as they are needed, Spock finds it easy to identify the landscape of his imagination. This does not mean, however, that he has any control over the happenings in that world.
Cadet Uhura has been sent to learn how to dis-assemble her computer console. She is smiling and eager to learn. He cannot actually remember the specifics of his instructions, but she is quick to follow them out. On her knees, she leans under the console, her top half disappearing. She does not see him watch her skirt ride up, revealing bare, dark skin that feels as soft as it looks.
Spock knows this because, without having any knowledge of how or why, he is kneeling behind her and his hands are smoothing up the outsides of her thighs. She is sighing softly from within the console. He leans forward over her, his erection rubbing over her ass, so his hands can cup her breasts through the fabric of her uniform. In a soft moan, she instructs him, "Harder."
And her voice wakes him. Eyes open and glance around the room. Adapting to his new and very real surroundings, Spock grounds himself. These are his rooms. It is oh-five-hundred hours. Weak, early sunlight begins to seep through his curtains. And the bed around him is cold and very lonely.
Furthermore, his pyjama bottoms are sticky with some form of fluid that begins to coat his abdomen. A frown the only sign of his distaste, Spock quickly shucks the garment. His penis is surprisingly flaccid. It does not take long for Spock to discern the connection.
Lying in his bed, Spock closes his eyes and brings forth the memory of his first kiss. A memory all the fresher for being only three hours old. Nyota smiles when she kisses. She keeps her eyes open, and her fingers curl through the hairs at the nape of his neck. She does not object when he takes a step closer, nor when he rests a tentative hand on her hip. Though it is only one kiss, and not nearly enough, he has already learned some of what she enjoys – and some of what he enjoys, for the kiss leaves him partially erect despite his strict emotional control. If she noticed, she made no comment. And he had at least some circumstantial evidence that she was also aroused.
When he awakes the next morning, he is un-surprised by the painful hardness of his penis. For the first time, he does not move straight to the shower. He remembers the swell of Nyota's hip under his hand, and the softness of her body for that brief moment that it pressed against his. Spock's hand drifts to his erection. It is almost too sensitive, but twitches at the tentative brush of his fingertips over the engorged head. Spock cannot help shuddering in pleasure, the dual stimulation to his penis and hand shooting bursts of pleasure through his nervous system.
It was not an activity he had studied, and so Spock did whatever felt pleasurable. It was incredibly rare that he indulge his human side, but Spock had a suspicion this morning problem was going to become a regular occurrence. Cause and effect.
Cause: Spock hoped to experience more intimacy with Nyota. Effect: his body would only naturally reserve its frustrations for the moments when his subconscious ruled, his Vulcan control ebbing away for the night. Result: the human post-slumber affliction he had crudely heard referred to as 'morning wood'.
Squeezing himself, Spock ceased forming theories on the psycho-physical reactions of his body to pleasurable stimuli. The feel of Nyota's lips swam to the fore of his imagination and, hips bucking upwards in an entirely involuntary movement, Spock gasped as his control shattered and an orgasm tore through his body.
It took five hours of solid meditation to properly pull together his self-control once again. It had not quite been worth it, not for one solitary, lonely orgasm. However, he estimated that two or more orgasms, as shared with a specific partner, would properly balance the required contemplation.
When Spock woke, he was not alone. Nyota's body had been warmed by his own during the course of the night, but still felt faintly cool. Her arm flung over his chest, her head on his shoulder, and one naked breast pressed to his side. His fingers run over her bare arm. She breathes steadily, and the weight of her body is entirely relaxed. He concludes she is still asleep.
Which is a pity. Their night's activities have not removed what he has come to think of as a regular morning affliction. His erection slightly tents the sheet that covers them – it had been decided they would dispense with night clothes, as Nyota had sleepily proclaimed herself 'too comfy' to get up and find a shirt to sleep in. Spock's hand smooth down her spine, fingertips curling over the curve of her ass. His penis twitches in reaction. Bringing up his other hand to stroke her thigh, he begins to wonder if human women suffered similar morning afflictions.
"Nyota?" he whispers, lips brushing the mussed silk of her hair.
Dark eyes flutter, and she hums gently. Her body stiffens, back arching slightly in a way that makes her buttocks press into his hand, and his desire for her surge. "G'morning," she mutters, a long sleep and the many loud and incredibly arousing noises she made the previous night roughening her tone.
"Good morning," he replies softly. He kisses her forehead, now she is awake enough to appreciate such an action. His hand tightens on her thigh, fingers reaching lower to hook her knee and raise the leg slightly. Spock's hips press upwards, rubbing his penis against the inside of her thigh.
Nyota is suddenly awake. She rises up, one hand supported on the centre of his chest, to look at him more closely. His face is as impassive as ever. But a discerning woman, who has spent a lot of time coming to read that face and its many subtle nuances, sees the marginally lidded, very heavily dilated eyes; the slight crease at the corner of his mouth suggesting an almost-smile; the slight draw down to his eyebrows which suggests something approaching mischief is afoot. And all this, together with the rather obvious evidence of his arousal, brings Nyota to respond, "Jesus, Spock, aren't you sore?"
This is not a deterrent to Spock, merely a challenge. He runs his lips along the column of her neck, turning slightly into her awkward embrace. "I have always found gentle exercise most efficacious in relieving stiffness," he replies against her, tasting the salt of her skin.
Nyota chuckles deep in her chest, pulling his head up to look into his eyes. She is smiling in the way that made her eyes shine, which mixes deep affection with the desire he could not deny feeling for her. "Then I suggest you exercise your way over to a cold shower, because I'm already at the point where I can't walk straight. And I have classes in twenty minutes."
Adjusting to life on the Enterprise is difficult for so many reasons. They have had to establish a working relationship, balancing the regard they hold for each other with the professional atmosphere. Added to this is the constant danger of being alone on the front line of space exploration. They have both faced numerous dangers, been called on to suffer at the hands of new species with less-than-peaceful intentions. Added to this, there were shift patterns and long hours. The need for secrecy at the Academy had been an irritating drawback, but they at least had matching schedules. This, however, was nothing to being constantly on-call as the ship's First Officer.
A rare cohesion in their work patterns meant that they had been off duty for the same eight hour period. They had been able to make love and fall asleep together for the first time in an Earth month. And Spock was made very aware that Nyota had missed their old routine just as much as he had.
Spock wakes instantly, as Spock always did, but he wakes with a groan. Nyota is taking advantage of Spock's ever-present post-sleep erection. Spock finds he has no objections.
Her mouth sucks him in once more, hand squeezing tight around the base, and Spock wonders briefly that he so rarely allows her to do this for him.
"Bridge to Commander Spock," says the painfully familiar voice of the Captain.
Nyota does not remove his penis from her mouth but looks up at him and rolls her eyes. Spock takes a breath and swallows, determined to keep his voice as flat and expressionless as normal. "Spock here, Captain."
"Sorry to disturb you, but we need you up here now. There's some weird shit going down."
She sucks him in deep, the back of her throat bobbing against the sensitive head as her tongue swirls across his shaft. Spock's eyes close and Nyota has the gall to chuckle around his erection. He sits up, pushing her off of him gently. "On my way, Captain."
And One For Luck
Shore leave. The ship is half-empty, they are in a deserted corner of the cosmos, and only gracious Uhura and gallant Spock have offered to remain aboard and take care of the Enterprise. There is no Captain, nor a bridge crew of any description, to disturb them. And, while it has taken a lot of persuading to get Spock away from the bridge for a full ten hours, it has been worth it.
Three hours of that ten have been filled by lengthy, noisy sexual intercourse. The remainder is the sleep that inevitably follows. And when Spock awakes, customary morning erection in tow, he resigns himself to being chivalrous. It had been a long time since they last engaged in such a long period of sexual activity, and Nyota would doubtless be tired and sore.
She had been dreaming, and turned away from him in the night. He rolls onto his side to press the length of his body against her, arm curling across her bare stomach, the other hand pulling hair back from her face. He kisses her cheek quite chastely. She smiles with her eyes still closed, and it is more beautiful than the asteroid shower he had witnessed from his garden as a child; the one that focussed all his future aspirations on the stars. "That was nice," she murmurs sleepily. Leaning down, he graces her with another kiss, and she chuckles. "I meant the sex, Spock."
"Nice has numerous definitions, but each and every one is insipid. I have to fault your choice of vocabulary."
"Well, it's still early," she sighs, pressing back against him. Spock's erection pulses at the firm contact. She looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "I see you're entirely awake, as usual."
Though he longs to run his hand upwards to her breast, or down to her soft centre, he resists and merely pulls her closer. "I understand that you are tired and sore. I have no intention of molesting you."
She hums softly, a familiar sound that makes the tips of his ears flush green. "Pity," she mutters, pressing purposely back against him.
"It is cruel to tease," he reminds her, not for the first time.
Nyota reaches back between them, her hand clumsily pulling on the hard, throbbing flesh that really needed no encouragement. Spock groans, hips thrusting forward into her eager, cool hand. "Who said anything about teasing?"
Her voice takes on the deeper, slightly throaty tone that means that sex is all-but promised. It is a tone that offers him permission to lower his hand, fingers brushing over the soft curls between her legs. "Are you in need of preparation?" he asks, fingers pressing slightly firmer and feeling slick heat.
Nyota's hand moves to his hip, pulling him closer. With a satisfied sigh, she says, "I want you inside me, Spock." A little jostling and he is quickly sheathed inside her. He lifts her leg at the knee, spreading her slightly wider to push in deeper. Her hum becomes a groan, her hand tightening on his hip to pull him tighter against her. Spock rains kisses over her shoulder, breath coming short and sharp already. "Touch me, Spock," she asks, and his name on her lips is his undoing. Groaning, Spock fumbles to press his fingers to her slick clitoris, pressing and shifting erratically along with their movements.
His thrusts speeding, building momentum and rolling him ever closer to the impending orgasm which somehow always felt better in the morning, he growls against her ear. Spock only ever allows himself one word of coarse human slang, reserved for such moments and used only because he has discovered Nyota reacts so strongly to it.
"Come for me, Nyota."
Spock knows he is being half-selfish; that the feel of her strong muscles squeezing him, the sound of her breathy cries of pleasure are all he needs to crash over the edge. But from the mewling, gyrating, tightening, whimpering wreck that Nyota has become, he hazards an accurate guess that Nyota has no objections to this small act of selfishness.
Incoherent – because even a half-Vulcan cannot be articulate all the time – he thrusts hard into her and empties himself deep inside her.
They lie together, simply breathing and enjoying the rare closeness. Nyota moves first, turning in the bed to face Spock and smile at him, hand coming up to stroke his face. "I love you, you know," she says softly. Spock smiles. A true, genuine, curve of the lips, crease of the eyes smile. They both have learned to accept this as his own declaration of love. Nyota grins back at him, leaning in to kiss his lips before they return to their normal thin, austere line. Such smiles are incredibly rare and never last long. Pulling back she adds, "But I think I love shore leave more."
Spock knows better than to react.