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untitled s/k fluff

title: ---
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: kirk/spock
rating: r for cuddling? why not.
word count: 1840
notes: prompt here: "Kirk/Spock, touching, kissing, sex when it's raining (in rain). It can be porn, angst, anything, your choice :)" so. quick fluff. originally there was going to be porn, but i was just like 'ehhhh, porn.'

“Captain, the cloud-covered sky and moist air suggest it may rain in the near future. I would suggest retreating back to our hotel rooms, so that we do not get wet.”

The captain turns from where he’s staring out into the bloody sunset to look at his first officer and lets a grin curl up the edges of his mouth. “The one thing I miss about Earth?” He says, and he crosses his hands behind his back, the gesture idle and not attentive. “Rain. Is that weird?” 

“Precipitation is a fascinating phenomenon,” the first officer answers. “Not only that, but the psychological connotations of it can be widespread. Water as a life-giver is a commonly held belief among humans; rain brings life. In this context, it does not seem ‘weird’ at all.”

“It’s not just that,” the captain shoves his hands in his pockets, still looking up at the sky. “But since we’re not obviously not allowed to be wading in alien rains and it definitely doesn’t rain on the ship, it’s just one of those things you don’t notice until it never happens again. You have any of those?”

The first officer, a straight-backed vulcan, does not want to answer this question. What he would like to do is retreat back to his temporary room to double and triple-check his calculations that he’s been wading through for the past couple of weeks. They’re important, regarding the possible environmental effects that the Vulcans might have on the colony they’re settling on. The planet’s mostly uninhabited, and it’s impossible to not offset the environment (even in the most minor of ways) by adding an additional ten thousand creatures to the biosphere, even if they weren’t as sophisticated as Vulcans. Plus technology…..he found the helmsman’s botanical knowledge came in quite handy for a place like this.

“My mother,” he finally answers, “used to sing, a habit not often taken by Vulcan women. When I moved to Earth, I realized how quiet it suddenly seemed, even with the usual living noise of humans.”

He doesn’t scowl as a raindrop hits the tip of his nose and drips off, but the captain can see the irritation flash in those dark eyes, in the slight pull of his cheek.

“Captain, you will become ill if you remain outside in the rain.”

The captain laughs, this time, and spreads his arms out wide, staring into the clouds. “Bones’ll take care of me.”

“Dr. McCoy will be quite upset if you do not take the necessary precautions to avoid his care. He can be, as I am quite sure you are aware, exceptionally vengeful.”

“Spock, stop being logical and come here.” Jim meanders over even before he’s finished talking, squeezing his first officer’s arms, moving his hands over strong shoulders, up his neck. Water drips slowly, then steadily, down his arms, runs in little torrents off his elbows.

“Captain,” Spock murmurs, though his hands have found their way around Jim’s waist. “We’re getting wet.”

“Is that what they teach you in Vulcan school? To use your eyesight?” Jim grins; the rain rolls off his lips and drips into his mouth when he talks. “Wonderful. No wonder you’re able to do the kind of things you do - you can see. Congratulations.” He steps forward, presses their bodies together, needing contact. The water doesn’t hiss and steam when as it falls, then slams into Spock’s skin, but it feels more like a sauna than a torrential downpour when holds the Vulcan close and leans his head into the crook of Spock’s neck.

“Captain,” Spock begins to take a step back, towards the ship, “We--”

“Shut up,” Jim puts a finger against Spock’s lips, silencing him; he takes a deep breath of the air and gets some water in his nose; he listens to the sound of the drops, smaller than Earth’s norm, more misting fiercely than raining. He closes his eyes and pulls Spock close like he will never let go. “You know,” and his voice is small, thoughtful, almost uncharacteristically soft, “I’m going to remember this moment, right here, holding you standing in the rain. We’ve been together a long time, and a lot of that time has sort of bled together, in between missions and sex and commanding and dramatic rescues, and I don’t think that’s a good thing. When I close my eyes and think of us I want to remember moments, perfect snapshots of how good you are, of how good I am, of how well we fit together, of what we mean. I don’t want to just think of everything together. I want moments, moments like this. When I die I want to be able to close my eyes and be right here, drenched, with you.”

“That’s very morbid, Captain,” Spock says, though the usual dryness in his tone seems to have slipped.

“Jim,” Said captain replies automatically. “You never learn.”

“I am standing in a torrential rainstorm because of you, Captain. If anything, I would refer to you by title simply to agitate you as much as I am.”

“Shut up.”

“I do not see w---”

Jim kisses him slow. He licks the rain off Spock’s lips and sucks one into his mouth, trying to pull the Vulcan’s warmth into him. He tweaks a pointed ear and slips a soaked hand under Spock’s regulation uniform, under the shirt underneath, feeling the perfect posture in that muscled back. He shifts his hips forward and swallows the hitch of Spock’s breath, tries to swallow Spock’s eager tongue, tries to swallow all the compassion that Jim feels in the kiss that Spock doesn’t show in his voice, in his emotions. He sucks breath in through his nose to stay attached, to keep moving against that warm mouth that gives to him so perfectly, so willingly. In all his years of one-night stands it’s always take, take. With Spock, he’s given. The Vulcan opens himself up like Christmas present and Jim is always so perfectly careful with the wrapping paper so he can tape it back up and pretend to open it the next morning, like he never already did. Spock has a face to wear, after all, and Jim loves the perfect emotionless mask as much as he loves peeling it back to see the vibrant layers of Vulcan and human emotion in there.

Spock finally pulls his mouth away and Jim stares at the way the water forms little misty rivulets around swollen, green-tinted lips. Stares at how it makes his skin gleam and soaks his uniform to his skin, outlining muscle. Stare at deep eyes that he, cliches aside, always seems to be falling into.

“Captain,” Spock breathes.

“Shut up,” Jim replies in the same voice, and he picks a spot to plant his mouth and let it crawl over Spock’s shoulder, all lips and teasing tongue and bare hints of teeth scraping, teasing, appearing and disappearing almost at will. He doesn’t leave a mark even though he’d like too, but he certainly manages to shake Spock’s control, listening to those suppressed whimpers that slip. He licks the hollow of his throat, the strong vein in his neck, the ridge of his ear, nibbles on the top. His hands wander, and in one gesture he pulls the uniform and the undershirt in the wet grass.

“I didn’t know Vulcans got goosebumps.”

“They do not; humans get cutis anserina due to the muscle arrectores pilorum under each hair follicle contracting to pull the follicles up to posture or hold in heat. Hypothermia was never and continues to not be an evolutionary concern to the Vulcan people. Humans still have this reaction however, despite that it is only vestigial due to the insignificant amount of body hair they possess.”

“Nice to see there’s something human about you.” He says, and stares as the rainstorm finds new ground to take over, pouring down his chest.

“Both Vulcans and humans are, however, capable of hypothermia. Which I may be experiencing.”

“Lay down - I’ll help you keep the heat in.”

Spock narrows his eyes. “This is an exceptionally poor seduction attempt.”

“I’m serious!” Jim at least has the dignity to sound mildly indignant, even if he can’t stop smiling. “Really, I’m not just trying to fuck you in the middle of a rainstorm. Maybe one of my goals, but keeping you from getting hypothermia is probably slightly higher.”

The vulcan glares, but lies down in the grass anyway.

“See, is this so bad?” Jim murmurs, as he pulls off his own shirt and drapes himself over Spock’s body. Geothermal energy keeps the ground warm - relatively thin crust, as far as planets are concerned. High-altitude freezing torrential storms transformed into hard mist combined with core-warned dirt and grass?

“The planet’s unique precipitation creates steam at the surface, due to the thin crust,” Spock says, turning his head to admire the thin layer. “Fascinating.”

“Much warmer down here,” Jim grins and sits up, squarely on Spock’s chest. His upper body has cleared the steam and is, quite frankly, freezing without Spock’s heat. “Now that I’ve cured you of hypothermia…”

“You planned this.”

“Of course I did,” Jim leers at him, then scoots backward, onto Spock’s thighs, so he can pull off his pants.

“Your dedication towards planning unique sexual encounters never ceases to amaze me.”

The mist increases in force, turns back into a rainstorm again. The mist rises higher at the stronger rain; Jim lifts his head above the steam. The cold water drenches him immediately, falling through his hair and ending up on Spock’s chest. “How are the Vulcans going to deal with all this rain? Don’t you think they’ll flip?” he talks as he pulls his own pants off, trying to keep himself within the warm mist and wincing when the freezing rain - and now seemingly hailstones, when one whacks him in the lower back.

“Flip?” Spock arches an eyebrow, perfectly composed despite his nakedness. “They will deal with the situation adequately and in a logical manner. Adaptations may be necessary, and they will be evaluated and considered.”

“Wonder if they’ll melt,” Jim says, idly, as he strokes Spock’s thigh, sticky with sweat and steam.

“I do not understand,” Spock murmurs, feeling himself shudder slightly at the delicate touch.

“Just human pop culture. It’s not important. There are way more important things to deal with right now. I might even have to shut up to deal with them.”

“A positive turn of events.” He’s glad that his captain is paying attention to other parts of his anatomy to not haggle on what may or may not be a quirk of his lips. “You have my permission to continue.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Jim glances up at him, laughing slightly. “I’m your captain.”

“Of course, captain.”

“Shut up,” he hears Jim say, mildly amused. He lets his eyes close, and smiles.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 9th, 2009 09:21 am (UTC)
This? The Vulcan opens himself up like Christmas present and Jim is always so perfectly careful with the wrapping paper so he can tape it back up and pretend to open it the next morning is perfect.
Aug. 27th, 2009 07:23 pm (UTC)
this was super awww-inspiring
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )