SUGARPLUM CHRISTMAS
Author: Starshadow
Title: Sugarplum Christmas
Date: December 20th
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: K/S
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Gingerbread Men, Candy Canes, Chocolate Cherries and lube. Nothing else
on hand. (challenge)
Disclaimer: Kirk, Spock, and the gang all owned by Paracom and Viaborg.
Everything not owned by them is copyright Starshadow Productions, Ltd, which is
me, and no money is being made, though I wish I owned 'em so I could. I promise
they'll all be returned to their boxes in time for Christmas.
Feedback address: starshadow AT starshadow DOT net
Note: Merry Christmas. Happy Kwanzaa. Chappy Chanukah. And whatnot.
Beta: Tony Pearson, but all mistakes mine.
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Jim Kirk and Spock's Christmas party was in full swing. There was food, drink,
and merriment, and both hosts were circulating. All seemed as it should.
Except...
Spock was in the fresher, retching again. He'd started a few hours ago, but was
hiding his illness from his husband. This party, these friends, were important
to Jim. He did not wish to spoil his husband's fun, and so he quietly got sick
and then cleaned his teeth and mouth, rejoining the festivities, and trying to
not look greener than usual.
Luckily his mate didn't seem to notice. He was in a corner, laughing with Chekov
and Uhura.
Meanwhile, Spock had been cornered by McCoy, who was regaling him with some
family lore and holiday story. Spock found his attention drifting. A fragment of
memory surfaced. Himself at no older than three, when his mother had taken the
family to visit his grandparents. There had been some older cousins and an aunt
and uncle. His mother had tried to interest him in the lights and tree décor
which had only held his attention for a few minutes. Far more interesting was
the play of unbridled emotions, the stranger-relatives who'd tried to get him to
smile, when he'd just learned to control that impulse at home, and who tried to
entice him with toys much too simple to hold any appeal. He did not want
“stuffed animals” or toy machines. He wanted mathematical puzzles, and complex
toys to take apart and reassemble. But human children his age weren't ever given
anything like these. His relatives meant well, but they did not understand
Amanda allowing her son to be as solemn or studious as he'd grown.
Nonetheless he'd enjoyed the visit. Adults made much of him, and were charmed by
his manners, he remembered. His younger cousins were indulgent though a bit
distant, perhaps thinking he was too young to be held accountable for his
differences. Their scorn would surface later, in future visits.
Inwardly he shook off the memory and became aware he had lost the thread of
McCoy's narrative. “Forgive me, Doctor,” he murmured, and detached himself and
headed again for the fresher. McCoy, startled into silence, let him go, but
noting the direction of his retreat, thought nothing of it. He looked for
another victim to regale, promptly forgetting Spock for the moment.
Miserably, Spock bent over the toilet, retching again. He was glad of the
soundproof walls, at least. He'd hoped to be spared this last humiliation his
body had in store for him. But it was not to be. He could only hope he'd get
through the next few hours without anyone knowing. This was not for public
consumption—not a thing Vulcans shared with outworlders, like many secrets.
Finished for now, he cycled the toilet by closing its lid, and fastidious as
always cleansed his mouth and hands. He splashed his face with warm water, an
indulgence he still couldn't get used to having access to, but fully appreciated.
When he emerged minutes later, he saw Jim talking with animation to a rapt Sulu.
Good. No one had noticed. Grimly he continued circulating, as the party
gradually wound down. Eventually the only guest left was McCoy, who had finally
noticed the pallor in the angular face of his friend.
“Damnit, Spock. I'm not just your friend, you know. I am your doctor. There's
something wrong, and if you won't tell me, I'll tell Jim.” McCoy had cornered
Spock while Jim was in the fresher.
Spock shook his head, again miserable. “Please, Doctor. I cannot. It is nothing
of importance. I will be all right, if I'm just left alone.”
“Christmas Eve, Spock, and I'm not going to 'just leave you alone,'” McCoy's
voice softened. “Is it another of those Vulcan things?”
Spock nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Spock. You know I can be trusted. Let me help.”
The Vulcan hesitated. Nausea rose and once again he retreated, pushing past Jim
as he emerged from the fresher. “Spock!” Jim's voice could not penetrate the
closed door, but Spock felt him in his mind, and to his shame, could not hide
the fear and nausea before he managed to close his shields.
“Bones, something's really wrong. I've never seen Spock like this.”
McCoy had an idea. “I'm calling my colleague, Syben. That old Vulcan healer owes
me a few. I can't see Spock staying sick on Christmas Eve. Don't worry, Jim.
We'll sort things out.”
Jim found his husband in a corner of their bedroom, curled up in an unresponsive
ball. “Spock. Spock!” Spasms shook the thin body, and Jim knelt beside him.
Their hands connected, and Spock clutched at him, eyes shut tightly. Jim felt a
shock and the shields slammed down again, but the hand that clenched his
tightened. He wasn't being rejected, exactly. Jim didn't know what to think.
Behind them, Syben had entered, ushered in by McCoy. He looked at Spock, then at
the human whose hand was being enfolded mutely.
Syben in turn ushered McCoy out. “Thee must give the two bond-mates privacy. Go
home, McCoy. I promise thee. It is nothing thy friend will not survive. But the
two of them need to be alone. And,” Syben had spent two decades on this world,
adjusting to human customs in order to serve Vulcan's ambassadorial staff,
“Merry Christmas. I will let myself out.”
For once, McCoy went, trusting the healer knew what he was talking about, but
determined to eventually get to the bottom of this mysterious secret. But not
tonight. It was too cold and it was late.
Back in the bedroom, Syben crouched by the two. Spock's drowning fingers
clutched at his lover's, a life raft for his storm. His eyes were still closed.
Embarrassment?
“It's the last change of adolescence, James Kirk.” Syben sighed. “One of the
many things Vulcan does not talk about. But thee are his bond-mate.”
“Adolescence? But he's over fifty Standard years!”
“I know, James Kirk. And half Vulcan. It is a few years delayed, but not much.
His brain is laying down the neural pathways it needs to facilitate a purer bond.
This is the last change of life for a male. He will need thy presence. Be near.
And...he needs sucrose. That will quell his nausea. Thee does not have to touch
him, but be near. His hormones are fluctuating. He will be ...emotional.It is a
needy time, for those of our race. I would advise thee to seclude thyself and
him for at least a tenday. Until it is complete, he will not want to be seen by
...no offense intended...outworlders.”
Jim sighed. His husband was full of surprises, it seemed. No wonder Spock had
seemed embarrassed. He was.
Syben wished them both a good holiday, and let himself out.
It had taken some time to coax Spock into bed, but Jim had surrounded them with
the remains of the feast, all laden with the sugar Spock's body craved.
Gingerbread men, candy canes, even the chocolate cherries McCoy invariably
brought to the holiday feasts. He'd programmed his comm system with a “go away”
message and filed leave of absence forms with Headquarters. They had two weeks
entirely to themselves. He took a moment to also let McCoy know that they'd be
all right, and no, he wasn't going to explain. This was a personal matter. If
Bones had been inclined to make any kind of wise-crack answer, he decided
against it, just telling Jim he was relieved and that he'd field any inquiries
and squelch rumors, always quick to spring up where these two friends were
concerned.
Spock was munching his way through the treats around him. He seemed oblivious to
the crumbs on his face. Was that a skin eruption on his nose? He was ignoring
it. Vulcan acne, Jim decided, and decided to ignore it too. Jim leaned over and
licked a crumb off Spock's chin. A green blush suffused his face. He didn't
speak. Jim continued to lick and nibble, as Spock did. “Are they good, Spock?”
“You are good. These are necessary.” Spock's voice was a bit wobbly. His mouth
was full. “I cannot seem to stop myself.”...his voice trailed and he chewed
thoughtfully. “I feel gluttonous.”
“Eat, Spock. You're a growing boy.” Spock blushed again. "Sorry, just my bad
sense of humor surfacing. No one here but us, and I won't tell. I'm told you'll
outgrow the sugar need...in about ten days or so. Then it's done with.” Jim
scooted closer to Spock. “It makes sense, I guess. Vulcans live about three
times longer than we humans. Besides, I can think of worse ways to spend one's
final adolescence. I had to make do with Rosy Palm and her sisters. You've got
me.”
Spock blushed again, a measure of his emotional roller coaster. Ordinarily he
fenced back or played with his mate's private raunchy love talk. His mouth was
full of chocolate cherries. He was growing distracted by Jim's mouth nibbling
and kissing his sensitive ear, from lobe to upswept tip. He swallowed, and
turned his face, and Jim's mouth found his. Spock, that's the closest I've
come to those cherries this year. I've been trying to be good.
You are not good,
t'hy'la. You are wonderful. And I am a glutton.
My gluttonous Vulcan. One of Jim's hands snaked around his husband's neck
and the other touched a brittle hard cylinder. He brought the candy cane around
to Spock's face and stroked his chin with it, gently. Spock's nostrils widened.
The scent of cinnamon, rather than the familiar peppermint, was in this
particular decorative confection.
Cinnamon, Jim knew, had a mild aphrodisiac effect on his mate. He deepened his
kiss and felt his husband's hardness as he responded. He carefully placed the
candy cane on the pillow near Spock's head, and moved the cookies off the bed,
pulling the top blanket aside to catch any stray crumbs, and began undressing
the lean body. Spock seemed unable to either resist or help, for once. His hands
were not totally idle, however, as he used his sensitive fingertips to map his
way over Jim's hips and the curves of his pecs and the rosy and tight nipples
crowning them.
He managed to lift his hips as his briefs were pulled down over the straining
hardness. Jim caught his breath. He couldn't get enough of gazing at Spock,
winsomely cuddly now in his clumsiness, for once his feline grace having
deserted him. Spock, for his part, also lost himself looking at the golden pink
skin of his lover. Still blushing green, he gazed into Jim's ever changing eyes,
now reflecting flecks of gold on green, lost in the sea of color. He felt so
awkward. He couldn't remember when he had last been self-conscious of his body
and his looks. He was so different from his human who was all cushion and cuddle.
He loved the way Jim's body thickened at his middle. He thought he was beautiful.
From the silver in his love's hair, to each beloved wrinkle in his face, his
gaze swept from top to bottom, and rested on the burgeoning sex nestled in its
soft curled hairs, also golden. So deceptively soft looking and so different
from his own, which now emerged from its sheath to quest upwards as if to answer
the call of the other, so pink with the veins that stood out on its surface. The
underside of the one ridge, the flattish tip with its single drop of precum now
glistening like some dewy plant...Spock bent double and licked that drop, unable
to resist his desert born instinct. He liked his husband's taste, not sweet like
the cookies he'd just chewed his way through, but salty, with a metallic tang.
Jim stood and divested himself of the rest of his garments, then hugged his lean
mate, now lying and gazing raptly through his dark lashes.
Jim had an urge to ruffle the fringe which was still demurely straight in its
silken gloss. Instead he began his own mapping of Spock's body with tongue.
Usually this was something Spock did to him, but he caught the stray thought.
Spock felt clumsy and did not want to inadvertently hurt his lover. It was a
real possibility, with his strength married to this newfound awkwardness. Tears
abruptly stung the Vulcan's eyes. “I do not deserve such happiness,” he thought
to himself. Jim caught the stray tendril of thought just as his tongue had
worked its way down the furred belly to the treasure below, and made that
thought disperse by closing his mouth over the Vulcan's hot glans and licking
the double ridges, as they stood glistening with the natural lubricant. Spock's
hips bucked involuntarily.
“Roll over, husband. My turn to do all the work.” Obediently, he rolled,
unconsciously grabbing the cinnamon candy cane as he did so, and placing the end
in his mouth. He still needed the sugar. His mouth filled with the cinnamon, and
he allowed his legs to be spread. Jim reached for the nearby tube of lubricant
and wet his fingers and ran them down his shaft, spreading copious amounts. Then
he started massaging Spock's back in circles. His thumbs worked their way down
the Vulcan's spine, to the hollows that contained his primary testes. They were
swollen and tender, not hard as they became during Spock's Burning. He gently
massaged the chenesi and was rewarded by gasps and purring growls. Spock
absentmindedly crunched the candy and with an effort, managed not to inhale any
when his sensitive parts were caressed. The thumbs worked their magic and then
circled the twin globes of his ass, first oiling, then parting the cheeks. He
caught Spock's unfocused plea and carefully inserted an oiled finger, massaging
the prostate. Spock clenched his muscles around the digit and released it as it
frictioned. T'hy'la! Now? A single moment of clarity and he withdrew the
finger and replaced it with his cock. A thrust inside the ring and the tight and
hot embrace caused his own moan, answering Spock's. Slowly, he pushed in, and
then pulled back. He wanted this to last.
Underneath him, Spock moaned and pushed back. His hands, unable to reach the
body behind him, furled around the pillow. Jim reached around the slim body, and
grasped and massaged Spock's penis, now fully emerged from its protective sheath,
and his fingers tasted the hardened steel under velvet. He played with the
sensitive ridges and glans while still managing to keep up a rhythm of thrust
and counterthrust. Again their minds entwined, and Jim felt Spock's roil of
emotive need, almost painful.
Neither
one of them could tell where each man's pleasure began or ended, nor cared as
their desires claimed them. When the explosion came, simultaneous as always with
their bond, they lay intertwined for long minutes, as Spock licked his
gelatinous sperm off his husband's fingers. This was an ingrained response for
Spock, Vulcan instinct on a moisture scarce world, and Jim found it incredibly
kinky and sexy.
His once flaccid penis having slipped out of Spock's body began
hardening again.
This time it was Spock who again licked and nipped, most carefully taking Jim
into his mouth as he fondled the hairy sac underneath, with its twin globes.
When the much anticipated creamy treat erupted, again, he drank it all, lapping
until Jim's sex was clean.
Then he rested his head on Jim's chest and lovely squishy belly and fell asleep.
Jim gently caressed the lean face and winced as he felt a crunch underneath his
body. He'd rolled onto a candy cane. Spock slumbered on, his grip tightening a
little when Jim tried to shift the candy out from under him.
This was certainly going to be one of his more memorable holiday seasons.
End
(written for and first published in Slash Advent Calendar 2005)