This was written specifically for KSValentine on LiveJournal but I knew I needed to post it here too. Because it is a continuation of Kirk, James T. Kirk. Just know that this is pure, unadulterated porn.

Thanks and all love to romanse1 who rocks the most and told me what I had to hear; and Lyricoloratura who owns my heart and told me what I needed to hear. You two make sure it says what I meant it to say! And my affection and gratitude are boundless.

Anyway, here is it. Let me know what you think?


The tall, well dressed man entered the University library and stopped just by the large circulation desk. The librarians glanced up at him, and except for a few appreciative gazes that might have lingered a moment too long, did not bother to address him. The man checked the main floor of the building, not finding he whom he sought. This was not unusual.

After taking the steps up two at the time, he strolled through the tower of shelves, lingering only briefly to absorb their secret knowledge, the smell that was singular to books, the feeling that whatever you needed to know was contained within their bindings. He emerged from the relative darkness of the stacks containing volumes on lost and endangered languages to stand in a pool of sunlight that streamed in from the curved bay windows.

That same sunlight landed on the head of the man he sought, making his golden hair gleam in response. His head was tilted down over one of the numerous books arrayed on the table, the very tip of his pink tongue peeking out of his lush mouth. His reading glasses rested on top of his head where they were of no use to him. They did, however, inexplicably add to his already considerable beauty.

Only a few seconds elapsed before the blond man felt the gaze of the other and he looked up. Black eyes caught blue and the blond man smiled. The dark eyed man felt his breath catch at the sight, the blue eyed man beautiful at any time but even more so at this moment.

The man with the luminous black hair approached the table and stood on the opposite side from where the other was sitting. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, voice low and seductive.

"Not right now," the blond man responded, looking up at the taller man. The tilt of his head exposed his neck, all muscle and sinew and begging to be marked. "I'm expecting my bondmate any minute."

"Your bondmate," the taller man said. "You belong to a Vulcan."

"I do," the blond man responded. "He can be pretty possessive. You can sit if you want but you'll need to leave when he arrives."

The dark haired man considered those words and slowly pulled out an unoccupied chair to settle in it. "He should take better care of his possessions."

The blond man smiled and shrugged with one shoulder. "He knows he can trust me. We're in love, you know."

"We Vulcans do not believe in such Human emotions as love," the dark eyed man said.

"My Vulcan does. He's very special in many ways," the blond man told him, a far-away look in his eyes.

"What is it you are doing?" the Vulcan asked, waving a hand over the numerous books on the table, some open, some piled perilously close to the edge.

"Research."

"On?" An elegant hand reached out for one of the books, looking at the title that read Lanuages Hemos perdido. "Lost languages?"

"Yes," the blond man confirmed.

"You attend school here?"

The blond man shook his head, his incredibly blue eyes sparkling in laughter. "No. I'm a writer."

"A writer," the first man repeated.

"You seem surprised."

"You can hardly be old enough to be out of college. Are you published?"

"I am," the blond man confirmed. "See those books over there?" he asked, pointing his elegant fountain pen to a shelf with a tidy row of blue bindings.

"I do."

"Those are mine," the blond man told him.

The first man raised one expressive eyebrow, going to the shelf to extract a book at random. He brought it back to the table to study the picture of the man smiling from the back cover. He glanced from the book to the blond man and back to the book. "So you are the James T. Kirk about whom I have heard so much."

"I'm him. I don't know why you would have heard of me," James T. Kirk laughed.

"I have connections to the publishing industry," the Vulcan informed him.

"Connections?" Kirk repeated, laughter barely disguised.

The first man shrugged and waved away the discussion with an impatient motion. "Are you certain your Vulcan is coming?"

"Of course. He's very prompt. Why?" Kirk asked, the tilt of his head adding to his inquiry in such a way that it would be impossible to not answer.

"If you were mine, I would not keep you waiting."

"No?"

"I would take you home at this very moment," the Vulcan said in a rich, low voice, one full of promise.

"And once you got me home, what then?" Kirk asked, mesmerized by the beauty of the Vulcan across from him.

"I would not wait until we were inside my house," the Vulcan informed him, the tone and the words causing a flush to creep up Kirk's neck to color his cheeks. "I would walk you to my car. We would drive out to where I live. On the way, I would reach over and with the palm of my hand, press firmly against you."

"Press against me where?" Jim whispered, licking his lips unconsciously.

"You are a grown man. I do not need to spell it out for you," Spock told him. "I would press firmly and you would become even harder. By the time we reached my house, there would be a visible damp spot on your jeans. No doubt you did not bother with briefs this morning."

"How do you know that?"

"I recognize your type," the Vulcan said knowingly. "Sensual. Wanton. Ruled by the desires of the flesh."

Jim shook his head once at that.

"No?"

"I am ruled by the desires of my Vulcan."

"Yes," Spock agreed with a nod. "Still. Once I got you inside my house and unbuttoned your jeans, I would find nothing underneath."

"I think it's my house," Jim laughed softly. "At the very least, our house."

"Our house is a very very fine house. With two dogs in the yard," Spock responded, making Jim laugh out loud.

"OMG. I can't believe you just said that."

"O.M.G.?" Spock said, one eyebrow raised. "Are you truly a writer, as you claim?"

"Yes. But you are melting my brain."

Spock nodded once, staring at his Human with fire in his black eyes. "I would disrobe you in the foyer. You would have no need for clothes once the door closed behind us."

"Would you disrobe as well?" Jim whispered.

"Not as of yet. I would wrap my arms around you, holding you close as I kissed you. My tongue would enter your mouth to gather your flavors, to learn you, to know you. When you were gasping for air, I would move my attention to your neck. The marks I leave would remain for three days. Proof that you are mine."

"Yours," Jim breathed.

"My hands would roam over your beautiful body as they would. Touching you, caressing you. My right hand would no doubt travel down your backside, tracing over the firm flesh that is so tempting. Perhaps one finger would enter the crevice to discover your receptiveness to being touched in your most secret place. Perhaps that finger would barely penetrate that opening, making you need me to provide you with more."

"More," Jim agreed with a nod, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow.

"You would spread your feet for me, silently begging me to enter you deeper, further, firmer. But I would not comply, not yet. There would be more kisses to be given and received. While I was kissing you, touching you, I would walk you backward down the hallway and into the bedroom. If you had any lingering uncertainties of my intentions, they would be swept away when you saw the bed, the covers already turned down and awaiting your arrival.

"No doubt by the time we arrived in the bedroom, you would be completely aroused. I imagine there would be a gossamer strand from the end of your beautiful erection connecting us, staining my trousers as I had already caused yours to be stained."

"Would you be aroused?" Jim whispered, his eyes wide.

"No doubt. I would lay you down on the bed and you would grip the brass swirls that make up the headboard. I would then disrobe, allowing you to watch me as I discard each item of clothing. You would see my arousal that matched yours in firmness and eagerness. Your hips would be undulating, impatient to be in contact with my body. Slowly and carefully, I would join you on the bed, my knees straddling you. Your hips would rise, searching, seeking. But my body would not be within reach, not yet. Rather, I would lean over you, kissing your mouth while providing no additional contact. My tongue would find yours, making no allowances for you. Knowing, owning, loving.

"When you were breathless, gasping for air to fill your lungs, my mouth would trail down your beautiful body, kissing you, marking you, licking you. When I reached your chest, my tongue would circle your tender crests, hardening them further. My teeth might nip at them, making you gasp and your back arc, thrusting your body up against mine. I would allow it as I continued to tease you, finally placing my hand in the center of your abdomen and pressing you firmly back to the bed. Perhaps a whimper would escape from you before you were able to stop it. One sound - of protest, need, pleading.

"That sound would arouse me further, although I would not have thought it possible until it occurred. My arousal would fill your senses, another whimper sounding low and urgent. Was the sound yours or mine? Does it matter? My head shakes to tell you no – with whom it originated is of no consequence. It is now a shared urgency. My body lowers to lay stretched out over top of yours, my weight welcome and comforting rather than oppressive. You arch up to meet me, our skin together hot enough to melt us both. Our erections collide, fiercely wanting completion, the tightness that will relieve the ache that has settled in our lower bodies."

Jim was staring at Spock, hardly breathing, not blinking. "Then?" he whispered, begged.

"I kiss you again, allowing reciprocation. This emboldens you. Your tongue takes precedence over mine, licking all of the tastes that you can find. I lift my head to gaze down at you, your mesmerizingly blue eyes staring up at me. My teeth lightly mark your neck, trailing back down your body until I reach your hard length. I would wait, looking up at you in question, in delay until confirmation was given."

"Please," Jim breathed, leaning that much closer to Spock.

"My mouth engulfs you. Your essence fills my every sense. All I can feel, see, smell, taste, is you. The core of who you are. Who you are to me. I feel your surprise as I create the suction I know you want. The sensation I have never before provided to you."

"You don't have to," Jim whispers, not sure if he's telling the real Spock or the vision of Spock his bondmate has created with his voice.

"I wish to. Few sensations are as pleasurable as when you provide me with oral stimulation. Finally, I have perfected the technique and wish to demonstrate this to you. You try valiantly not to thrust up, forcing your need deeper. But your hips will not be stilled. I use the lessons you have provided and relax my throat. You are fully encased and you stop breathing. You stop moving. You stare at me in wonder as I continue. Before you can find completion, I straighten, your moan disappointed as your erection is once again freed and yearning.

"While you are rebounding and returning, I will carefully coat you. Every inch of your shaft must be anointed, prepared. You do everything that you know not to erupt in my hands. You want to be encased prior to reaching the pinnacle. Understanding this, my touch is thorough yet light.

"Certain you are fully prepared, I rise above you, guiding you to enter my body. I set an almost leisurely pace. I have not been opened, slowly introduced to your fingers. I do not mind the momentary pain. It is quickly replaced by pleasure, fullness, completion. You try to thrust up but I am too close to your body. You can only pant in need, staring at me, desperation overflowing from your expression.

"I accommodate your length and begin to move. Up and down. Up and down as you thrust up to meet me descending over you. I cant my hips, your hardness brushing against my prostate in just the way it is meant to do. I gasp and it quickly becomes a moan. I hear an echoing sound from you. My speed quickens as does my heart rate. I stare down at you, your eyes wide and pleading and almost startled. Your mouth is open only enough to gasp for air.

"You release the headboard with your right hand. I shake my head no. Instead, I reach for my own erection, dripping onto your tight stomach. You quiver beneath me as I begin to stroke my length – up and down. Up and down, the rhythms of my hands matching those of your thrusts." Spock stopped whispering his words of seduction. Jim's eyes were as wide as those Spock had described, the table shaking from Jim's grasp on the edge. Spock knew if Jim was not holding to the table, his hands would be inside his jeans.

"Please," Jim begged. "Please."

Spock stared at him, equally breathless, wondering what would happen next. They were both beyond aroused, Jim's pupils dilated in desperation.

"The bathroom. Now," Jim finally whispered, standing up, his body vibrating in unfulfilled urgency. Jim turned and walked away from Spock who did not fail to note the unsteadiness of his gait.

Spock followed, far enough behind, he hoped, to make them look casual. Anyone who looked closely would recognize the yearning that arced between them. The dampness on their clothes that could be accounted for by only one circumstance.

At this end of the library floor, the bathrooms were singular, assuring them of their privacy.

Jim was in the process of unzipping his jeans in impatience when Spock entered and locked the door. Spock swatted away Jim's hand, undoing and lowering his jeans in efficiency and alacrity. When they were shoved down around Jim's thighs, Spock turned him to face the door, pressing him up against it. "You are mine," Spock practically growled into Jim's ear.

"Yours," Jim whispered, looking over his shoulder, one of Spock's hand firmly between his shoulder blades holding him in place. "I've never been more aroused. Please do something about it."

"You can be certain I will," Spock said, biting where neck met shoulder. "We require lubricant."

"Oh God," Jim groaned. "You can't leave me like this."

Spock considered his words, glancing around the Spartan bathroom. "Soap?"

"No," Jim said, shaking his head. "Spit. I don't care. Just do it."

"Hmmm…." Spock responded, reaching into the deep pocket of his trousers. "Well."

"You bastard," Jim whispered. "You planned this."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "Stay where you are."

"Like I have any intention of ever leaving you," Jim responded, fingers splayed beside his head as though trying to grasp the wooden door for strength. He shivered when he heard the zipper on Spock's pants finally descend.

"For the record, Amanda and Sarek were married when I was born," Spock said as he lifted Jim's shirttail out of the way to enter his body with two slick fingers. Jim silently relished the momentary burn on entry. Before the discomfort fully registered, pain was supplanted by pleasure and the need for more.

"I know they were," Jim gasped, spreading his feet as much as his crumpled jeans would allow. "I meant it in the pejorative sense, not the literal one."

"I see," Spock responded, a third finger joining the first two. That caused its own brief flare of pain, one Jim craved and relished and thrived on. "It was not kind."

"Neither are you. The way you are teasing me. Fuck me or kill me. Either one. Just hurry the hell up."

"Such language," Spock said, withdrawing his fingers abruptly. The emptiness was soon replaced with his hot, hard erection, filling Jim with pleasure that was nearly more than he could stand. "Do not come against the door."

Jim moaned in response, trying to shake his head. "I have to do something."

"Do not touch yourself. I will handle you when I am complete."

"Handle? How?" Jim asked between clinched teeth. The things Spock was doing to him made it nearly impossible to talk, to think, even to breathe. Spock gripped Jim's right hip, creating a blossoming bruise that would be evidence of the placement of his hand, guiding, steadying, controlling the stutter of Jim's hips.

"In time you will know," Spock said, licking the place just below Jim's ear that ensured his full and complete attention, as though there was any doubt. He continued to pound into Jim's receptive body, Jim arching his back to meet the thrusts, searching for even greater penetration, deeper integration of Spock into his whole being.

"Will you give me your thoughts?" Jim whispered, trying to breach Spock's barriers to join with his essence, to connect through their bond.

"You will orgasm if I let you in," Spock said, biting his earlobe.

"Don't use that word," Jim responded, quivering in urgency. "I'm at the brink as it is."

"All the more reason we cannot meld," Spock said, his left hand flat against Jim's stomach to control his counterthrusts.

"Let me turn around. You can hold me up," Jim requested in desperation.

"No. You will remain as you are until I orgasm within your body. Filling you with my seed. Joining with you fully."

"Nnnghnnn….."

"That is not a word," Spock informed him, his voice not as steady as he would have liked to believe.

"Nnnghnnn…."

"Indeed," Spock whispered, his hips bucking hard into Jim's body and exploding within him. Spock had to lean against Jim to remain upright as first the overwhelming sensations began to subside and then the aftershocks raced through his body.

"Oh God, T'hy'la. Please," Jim begged, writhing beneath him in a vain effort to reach his own erection.

"Do not touch yourself," Spock growled into his ear, using a final reserve of strength and consciousness to grasp Jim's hands and hold them over his head.

"Don't torture me," Jim pleaded. "I need…."

"I am aware," Spock assured him, finally straightening away from his lover's overheated body, his softened shaft slipping free. He bit his way across shirt covered shoulders before slowly turning Jim, devouring the overwrought expression on his face the same as he did Jim's lips. "You are in a bad way."

"Please," Jim whispered. "Please."

Spock kissed his gasping mouth again, his tongue tasting the keen desire that was drowning his T'hy'la. Lifting his head and maintaining eye contact, Spock gracefully went to his knees, the tip of his tongue gathering the wetness of Jim's weeping erection.

"Ohhhh…." Jim gasped at the first touch. "You sure?"

Spock gave one nod and with only minor hesitancy allowed Jim's hardness to slip between his lips. Careful to keep teeth safely at bay, Spock accepted half of Jim into his mouth before he had to stop. He feared he would gag if more of Jim entered him. He was not entirely certain he understood the enjoyment that others derived from providing their lovers with oral pleasure. He was, however, well acquainted with the incredible experience of being on the receiving end of fellatio. And to Jim's credit and Spock's never-ending gratitude, Jim loved going down on Spock with never a hint of expectation for reciprocation.

Spock concentrated on the incoherent sounds Jim was making above him rather than the discomfort and claustrophobia he was experiencing. It helped when Jim's fingers threaded through his hair, careful not to grasp Spock's head in any form of direction. They only rested on his head, exerting no pressure. Deciding this was not for him, Spock allowed Jim's erection to slip free of his mouth, Jim moaning in response. The near-agony morphed into pleasure as Spock wrapped both hot hands around him, stroking, grasping, pleasuring his lover's rigid shaft.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Spock whispered into Jim's ear as Jim panted from the near over-stimulation. "I love the way you smell right before you come and the way you smell when my semen mixes with yours. I love watching you wake up in the mornings, waiting for your eyes to open so I can once again be startled by the blue that is like no other. I love that I alone can make you writhe and beg and want. I love how much you love me. And I love you more than I had ever dreamt was possible."

With those words, the climax that had been held at bay for years was released, Jim's body shivering as the evidence of Spock's skill spilled onto his hand. Jim was panting and groaning and murmuring words that had no meaning, that needed no translation. They were the sounds of love, fulfillment, ecstasy. And Spock absorbed them all, taking them as the gift they were.

Jim was staring unseeingly at Spock as his legs gave way and he oozed down the door, sitting on the floor, his legs crumbled beneath him. Spock squatted before him, leaning close enough to lightly kiss Jim's slack mouth.

"Come back to me," Spock whispered, kissing Jim's fiery cheeks. He responded with an almost smile when Jim shook his head and closed his eyes.

"I love you," Jim murmured, barely enough air in his lungs to get out the words.

"I know that you do," Spock said, kissing his forehead. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Mmm…" Jim sighed, no energy or inclination to otherwise respond. But it was enough for Spock. Having Jim was enough. And that made every day Valentine's Day, no matter what the date on the calendar might read.