Notes: This is PORN. Unashamed, unabashed PORN. That ALSO reduced my soundboard to keyboard spasms - for only the second time in my writing career. BE. WARNED.
Warnings: kink, dirty talk, drug use, explicit sex (duh), McCoy generally being a BAMF top.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009, and I make no profit from this work.
The muscle relaxant was more powerful than Leonard had led him to believe: when he returned from the bathroom with towels, Spock could offer neither assistance nor resistance as they were slid under him. They had been on a warming rail, however, so he found nothing to truly protest about, and Leonard offered a brief kiss before turning him onto his front and straddling the back of his thighs.
"I can read you like a book," he said conversationally, speaking over the quiet pop of a cap. The faint smell of oil drifted from his cupped palms, and after a moment, warmed liquid pooled in the small of Spock's back. "You've got a tension here and here, and a developing knot there. Your back is going to give you a heckuva fight when you grow old, darlin'."
He spread the oil calmly over Spock's kidneys, barely touching him but for his fingertips, then pressed the heels of his hands into the skin and leaned forward, bracing his entire weight on his arms and making a sharp jerking motion up with his hands.
Something creaked, and a breathy sigh escaped Spock's lips.
"One down," Leonard chuckled, running his left hand north up the laddered spine and down again, still bracing at least two thirds of his weight on that arm. Spock's spine flexed powerfully under the pressure, and he located the three primary neuropressure points above his hips with practised ease.
"That is not necessary," the end of the word was lost in another strange sigh as Leonard pressed down, digging into the points and releasing a burst of tension.
"Only a Vulcan would retain this tension after being drugged up and fucked out," he remarked, trailing his fingers back down, whisper-light, and locating the next group of points. He paused, and cocked his head. "Are you still shielding?"
"A little," Spock murmured.
"Well, don't," he said, and dug his fingers in again.
With the sigh came a flood of emotion - both ways, some of the confident poise of Leonard's spine bending under the languid relaxation and contentment that echoed back at him, and a gentle curl of lusty possession seating itself in a familiar knot of similar, remembered sensations in the right of Spock's mind.
"What do I feel, right now?" Leonard asked, his voice beginning the slow drop out of conversation and into intention. Another pool of heated oil trickled into the crevice between Spock's shoulder blades, and was smothered by a large hand, which bore down hard on the knot there, before the fingers dug in either side and began to rotate small, intense circles into the muscle.
"You," Spock struggled to reach beyond the languid mess that Leonard had made of his mind. "You feel...dominant...possessive, dominant, powerful - you are...are lustful...ah."
"Go on," Leonard said idly, working on the thin skin under the shoulder blades, almost digging up under them in points. It was both intrusive and terribly pleasurable.
"You are...in control; you are..."
Those hands rubbed in one long push from hips to shoulder, and Spock felt the heat of Leonard's chest come down to hover just above his back. It was oddly erotic: he could not physically feel him, and yet the heat was immense, radiating off the Human skin with enough intensity that Spock could almost imagine the rasp of the chest hair against his back, or the drum of his heartbeat - and yet neither were accessible...
"I am in control."
Leonard's voice was very low - almost a whisper - and washed over his ear, mere millimetres separating his lips from the base. It felt like being told some sordid secret - or being that sordid secret.
"Tonight? I own you. I completely own you."
He was not moving: his weight was not dense, but the heat from his skin was branding, and his voice commanded Spock's attention. Commanded. Leonard was not wrong.
"This," his fingers rippled once in an idle pattern along the bones of Spock's shoulders. "This is mine. Every inch of this skin is mine. Every inch of what's inside it is mine. Every thought, every feeling, every action and reaction, equal and opposite. They are mine."
There was a short pause: and then the very last tense points bled out of the Vulcan's body, sinking into the same languid state as the rest of him and leaving every last one of those possessed inches at the mercy of the man with the power.
"Good," Leonard growled, leaning in a little closer to kiss the base of that exposed ear. "Very, very good, darlin'."
He did not lower his chest to Spock's back, as Spock had expected him to: instead, he shifted higher, straddling Spock's hips and pinning them to the bed, and leaning up to run his hands (still heavy with his weight) up Spock's forearms and to those long fingers.
"These especially belong to me," he said idly, stroking each fingertip in turn before bending one arm down to rest the hand at Spock's side-turned face. "You stroke your instruments and your padds and your reports all damn day on that ship, but at the end of the day? These are mine, even more than the rest of you, because I am the only. Person. Allowed to touch them. Is that clear?"
He abandoned the right arm and focused on the left, leaning close to Spock's ear again to breathe into it and almost idly stroking those fingers not inches from the Vulcan's face.
"Is that clear?"
Spock's breathing was becoming accelerated, and he more breathed, "Yes, Leonard," than said it.
"Good," Leonard repeated. "Very good."
Then he brought that index finger to his mouth and sucked.
Spock's hands were sensitive, and he gasped sharply, his chest heaving under Leonard's weight and his hips shivering between the doctor's thighs momentarily. Leonard allowed no respite, and nowhere to go; his tongue brushed the pad of the finger briefly before he straightened the middle finger and moved on to nip and suck there instead.
"Leonard - Leonard, please, please..."
Leonard paid no attention, and by the time he had reached the pad of the smallest finger, Spock's pleas had deteriorated into incoherent shivers and murmurs. His eyes were glassy, and his hips shaking with the desperate need to seek motion, friction, anything more than the forced inaction that Leonard's locked position afforded him.
Then he reached for Spock's abandoned hand, and those incoherent pleas rose again into vague words.
"Leonard, I need..."
"You'll get what you need," Leonard said idly, resettling firmly and drawing the index finger of that right hand to his mouth and blowing on it lightly. "But you'll get it when I'm damn good and ready. You're not in control here, darlin' - that would be me."
Spock subsided again, closing those glazed dark eyes and shivering through the stimulation, fingers twitching weakly in Leonard's grasp and hips never ceasing their intense, patterned shivering. By the time Leonard had treated every finger and returned both hands to the bedspread, Spock was entirely silent, and all the languid relaxation of his spine gone.
"You want to get to the point?" Leonard coaxed, shifting up and off Spock's hips, and sliding his hands under him to find the heavy cock beneath. He had barely touched it before Spock hissed through his teeth, and Leonard chuckled. "Listen to you. Damn vocal once you've had a good fucking, aren't you?"
"Didn't say you could answer me," Leonard replied idly, stroking a single finger and nothing more up and down what had to be a marginally painful erection. "If I take care of this, you will come for a third time, and it will be once I'm inside you, you got it?"
Spock's hands clenched in the bedspread.
"I..." Spock began, then paused. He was clearly struggling to think, and Leonard waited patiently, still stroking that one finger up and down, as lazily as a man tracing a fingertip around the top of a wine glass. "I...it is not my decision."
"No?" Leonard paused.
"It is yours."
"Because I am yours."
Leonard smiled; it was a lethal, predatory smile. "That's right, darlin'. Mine."
His fist - hot and compact and callused and oil-slick and mind-blowing wrapped itself around that hardness and pumped. There was no other word for it: powerful, tight motions that were akin to being milked, dragging the orgasm from Spock in a rush of mindless, blissful, incomprehensible pleasure, pressing him down into the mess of damp towel and hot hand and himself even as his second orgasm of the night tore any sense of coherency from him.
He came back to himself when the towel was stripped away, and those hot hands turned him over onto his back again, offering fleeting touches to the exposed skin before a weight settled upon him and Leonard returned with deep, probing kisses. Spock managed - with considerable effort - to bring shaking, damp fingers up to curl into the doctor's hair and feel another blast of lustlusthotsodamnhotit'scriminalgoddamnit...
"See what I do for you?" the doctor murmured around wet kisses. "I coulda held you off that until I was ready, but I didn't. Can't have toys if you're not goin' to treat 'em right."
"I am not a toy," Spock informed him breathlessly.
"Either a toy or a whore, darlin', and when you're pinned under me and beggin' for release, there ain't a whole lotta difference," Leonard drawled, beginning to shift again, rocking back up on his knees and leaving one last damp, clinging kiss to Spock's mouth and tongue and lips and teeth.
His hands - fire-branding hands - stroked south over flexing ribs and the concave stomach to settle disorientingly close to the now-limp cock before he turned the hips over - and by extension, Spock. The moment that Spock was settled, Leonard crawled back up his body, sinking over him like a quilt, lips close to that same exposed ear again.
"Feel that?" he asked, rolling his hips almost lazily; a distinct pressure pushed against Spock's ass, but not... "I'm not all the way there yet, sweetheart. I'm not as young as you anymore, and I don't have that Vulcan stamina on my side. So you're going to have to help me along a little here."
He did not leave room for questions, reaching for one of Spock's hands and twisting their fingers together before bringing it to his mouth.
"Now I'm pretty damn sure I just gave you the equivalent of a Vulcan blowjob, so why don't you show me how it's really done, huh?"
Spock's hips twitched up into his momentarily, before those thin lips parted and sharp teeth wrapped themselves about the first knuckle of his - their, both - index finger and a cool tongue began to lap rhythmically at the pad.
"The fact you even know how it's done..." Leonard drawled, and rocked his hips again. "Beginnin' to think you're more of a whore than you've let on to me, darlin'."
He was no telepath, but the wave of submission-lust-owned-tornopenandpossessed was unmistakeable.
"Oh, I ain't tearing you open," he growled, leaning down to bite at the lobe of Spock's ear as the tongue wrapped itself around his fingertip and it was sucked hard. "I treat my toys right: I'll have you all opened up and exposed and vulnerable to me until you're beginning me to get inside you, you got that?"
His thrusts were harder now, as the wave of pure submission and the sight of Spock with his lips wrapped around their fingers to the final knuckle and sucking like a pro went straight to his dick. The Vulcan's lips were swollen and bruised with attention, his eyes were half-closed and glazed, the base of his ear damp from Leonard's mouth, and his hair a mess: he was sex, pure sex, and the sight of him lapping and sucking, throat working, was lust defined.
"Fuck," Leonard snarled, growling the curse into that upswept ear. "Fuck, you have no idea. Orions look goddamn chaste next to what you're doin', you know that? You strip away all those barriers and all those walls and all that goddamn sass and this is what you are: fuck-bruised and ready to do it all again..."
He tore his fingers from that enticing mouth almost violently, and had Spock on his back in a second, hands working underneath him and pressing two fingers into him without pause. They were still slick from oil and spit, and he was still loose from their first round, and so he barely twitched as two fingers pressed up into him to the last knuckle.
"This is tearin' you open; this is possession, you got that? This is when I own you, every last part of you, because once I get inside you, I'm the only damn thing on your mind."
He did not bother - too heady, too lust-driven, too pushed - to add a third and instead went for broke, lining himself up and pushing in his cock until the head was swallowed in a vice-like pressure, gripping and pulsating...
"This'll be tearin' you open," he growled, and Spock gazed down at him from glassy eyes over a heaving chest. "This'll be possession."
Spock shook his head. "I am...already yours."
"Well, then," Leonard growled. "This is so you won't forget."
Spock cried out when he rammed in, back arching up into the waiting grip, and Leonard settled over him like a dead weight, pressing him down into the bed until he was entirely surrounded and pinned, immobile but for the fine shivers that danced along his back.
Leonard began to thrust - not the controlled thrusts of earlier, but wild, powerful thrusts that utilised his entire body and shook the bed in its frame. He thrust long and deep, to the limit of Spock's ability to take, and the outpouring of lustsheerlust was as overwhelming as the physical sensation.
Then he bent his head and pressed two of Spock's fingers into his mouth.
Any control - any thought, any sentience, any conscious knowledge and behaviour and sense - was lost then, lost to both of them. Muscles rippled up the doctor's spine as he held the Vulcan captive; that long frame shook and writhed in his grip as though trying to escape, but for the weak, desperate attempts to thrust upwards and cling to the power above. Their hips collided, their chests rasped; the smell of sex, musky and dank and permeating, overrode the oil and the relaxation that had gone before - and then -
There was the whipcord-snap of completion: the long spine arched up, moulding itself in, and a breathless groan of abandoned, mindless contentment. Everything did relax - in him. The coiled thrusts - power and life and vitality and masculinity - continued to shake the bed - the world, the universe - for a few moments more before that ripple, too, shot up the spine and under the dark hair, head thrown back and pleasure announced to the entire hotel.
He came down to a long, wet, grasping kiss in a shaking mouth, and smiled against the boneless pleasure waiting.
"You are...most possessive..."
"S'a human thing," he mumbled into that cool mouth, propping himself on his forearms above the lax body below and giving in to the exhausted post-coital pleasure of simple kissing. Spock tilted his chin up, pressing into the contact as much as he could, before eventually slipping, drained, to the bedspread.
"Still speechless?" Leonard asked, and chuckled, forcing exhausted muscles to reach for the abandoned towel. "That's gotta be a record."
"There y'go," he murmured, cleaning off Spock's twice-abused stomach and easing him over.
"Leonard, I cannot..."
"Oh hell no," Leonard chuckled. "Don't think I can either, sweetheart. Just cleanin' you up a bit."
He wiped him down gently and tossed the towel in the general vicinity of the ensuite door before peeling back the topsheet and rejecting that as well, and finally pushing the languid, exhausted mess of a Vulcan under the covers.
"Lights, off. How's your back?" he asked, and Spock made a noise that was distinctly sarcastic into his shoulder as he settled along the doctor's side.
"Fair enough," Leonard agreed, catching a wayward hand and kissing the back of it before settling it (and his) onto his chest. "That the last of your fuses?"
He kissed the top of the dark hair, and settled his other arm around the lean back, draping the fingers over the shiver of a heart in his side. "We're lying in tomorrow or so help me, I will handcuff you to the balcony railings and fuck you in full view of the city hall."
Spock said nothing, merely shifting marginally and relaxing into the lines of the doctor's body as though he had not even heard the threat.
"You might wanna put your shields back up," Leonard murmured drowsily, hand stroking lazily over Spock's fingers on his chest. "After all of that, you don't wanna hear my dreams tonight."
"Perhaps," Spock murmured. "Or perhaps they would repair my fuses."
Leonard snorted, and grinned in the darkness. "Oh no, darlin'. Not for at least a week."