It was dark, but far from silent. The tiny sounds that came from the body against him, the burning flesh under his bare hands. The meeting of mouths, burning hot to cold, the grind of flesh on flesh. Moving in the low lights, pulling Spock's wrist to his mouth, and tonguing the scars there. Scars made by his own hand. A branding done by the knife, his own marking, making Spock his and his alone.
A hitch of breath, a near gasp, the skin always sensitive after he had marked the skin so deeply. Fingers dug into his shoulder, and dragged over the front, and then down his side. Teeth scraped his collar bone. Sex was rarely gentle between them, but despite their much aggressive existence, it was always charged. The single moment of release of their positions, the constant wary existence, just being able to be without the weight of everything else around them, the constant threat of death at every turn.
It was the only time other then a shower that Pike would remove the gloves that had made him into something so fierce.
And Spock always enjoyed taking advantage of that opening in times like these. The hand running down his side caught his hand, hot fingers interlaced with his, a hot palm pressed against the inside of his hand. A brief jolt of thoughts, none of them particularly coherent, but all flavoured with the same lust.
Spock's strength was always something tested but never abused. Something long since settled between them without the need of words or threat. They knew. If Spock pushed too far, Pike would not hesitate to use the gloves on him or some other form of punishment. 'Too far' had not yet happened. It was a flex of that strength that pulled him up from where he was laying on his back to their positions being reversed. His body was stretched out over top of Spock's, still lost in their battle of bites and sucks and scrapings of teeth.
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Date: 2009-08-15 02:28 am (UTC)The scene changed..
It was dark, but far from silent. The tiny sounds that came from the body against him, the burning flesh under his bare hands. The meeting of mouths, burning hot to cold, the grind of flesh on flesh. Moving in the low lights, pulling Spock's wrist to his mouth, and tonguing the scars there. Scars made by his own hand. A branding done by the knife, his own marking, making Spock his and his alone.
A hitch of breath, a near gasp, the skin always sensitive after he had marked the skin so deeply. Fingers dug into his shoulder, and dragged over the front, and then down his side. Teeth scraped his collar bone. Sex was rarely gentle between them, but despite their much aggressive existence, it was always charged. The single moment of release of their positions, the constant wary existence, just being able to be without the weight of everything else around them, the constant threat of death at every turn.
It was the only time other then a shower that Pike would remove the gloves that had made him into something so fierce.
And Spock always enjoyed taking advantage of that opening in times like these. The hand running down his side caught his hand, hot fingers interlaced with his, a hot palm pressed against the inside of his hand. A brief jolt of thoughts, none of them particularly coherent, but all flavoured with the same lust.
Spock's strength was always something tested but never abused. Something long since settled between them without the need of words or threat. They knew. If Spock pushed too far, Pike would not hesitate to use the gloves on him or some other form of punishment. 'Too far' had not yet happened. It was a flex of that strength that pulled him up from where he was laying on his back to their positions being reversed. His body was stretched out over top of Spock's, still lost in their battle of bites and sucks and scrapings of teeth.