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Oh God, Why Is This So HOT?
"I do want you," Spock said, still in that casual voice. "Many people do, you must see it. No doubt you think it is because you are handsome, and I suppose you are, by Terran standards. But it is more than that. There is something wanton in you. Shameless, to the point of vulnerable. You can be taken. It is dangerously attractive." He leaned his whole body into Jim's, trapping him against the glass. His cock pressed against Jim's ass, his mouth against his ear, both of them hard, insistent.
"If this were three thousand years ago, and I were a warlord. If I saw a boy like you for sale at market, I would bid for you instantly." Spock's voice had slowed and softened, a storyteller's voice—a hypnotist's. "There would be competition, of course: Boys like you do not come along often. But I would prevail, if I had to slit my neighbor's throat to assure victory. I would take you home in chains, and I would keep you—train you—discipline you." With each phrase he gave Jim's shaft a firm stroke, before grasping him tightly once again. Jim could see it—the rock walls of an ancient fortress, Spock in rich robes, himself naked, shackles around his neck, his wrists, his ankles. On his knees, bent over, helpless and submissive. Penitent. He could have come from the image alone, if Spock's grip on the base of his cock hadn't prevented it.
"You would rebel, of course. It is your nature. What would I do with you then?"
"P-punish me?" Jim would be ashamed at the eagerness in his voice, if he wasn't so fucking desperate. "You would have to. I—I would deserve it."
"Yes," Spock said, voice thoughtful. "I would punish you. That is what would bind you to me, would it not? You want punishment. You crave it, quite frantically. To receive it, you have put yourself in the most terrible situations. What awful thing did you do, Jim, that you feel you need to bleed for it?" Jim said nothing, just ground his face into cold glass.
- Secret Vulcan Mating Rituals, aka, the ginormous Tarsus/pon farr/kink/hurt-comfort WiP that currently owns my ass.
"If this were three thousand years ago, and I were a warlord. If I saw a boy like you for sale at market, I would bid for you instantly." Spock's voice had slowed and softened, a storyteller's voice—a hypnotist's. "There would be competition, of course: Boys like you do not come along often. But I would prevail, if I had to slit my neighbor's throat to assure victory. I would take you home in chains, and I would keep you—train you—discipline you." With each phrase he gave Jim's shaft a firm stroke, before grasping him tightly once again. Jim could see it—the rock walls of an ancient fortress, Spock in rich robes, himself naked, shackles around his neck, his wrists, his ankles. On his knees, bent over, helpless and submissive. Penitent. He could have come from the image alone, if Spock's grip on the base of his cock hadn't prevented it.
"You would rebel, of course. It is your nature. What would I do with you then?"
"P-punish me?" Jim would be ashamed at the eagerness in his voice, if he wasn't so fucking desperate. "You would have to. I—I would deserve it."
"Yes," Spock said, voice thoughtful. "I would punish you. That is what would bind you to me, would it not? You want punishment. You crave it, quite frantically. To receive it, you have put yourself in the most terrible situations. What awful thing did you do, Jim, that you feel you need to bleed for it?" Jim said nothing, just ground his face into cold glass.
- Secret Vulcan Mating Rituals, aka, the ginormous Tarsus/pon farr/kink/hurt-comfort WiP that currently owns my ass.
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send help
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(There is no help, only the painful wait for new chapters. Sorry!)