Spock is waiting, of course. But off to the side of the door, a smirk on his face that had been there since these texts began. He waits for the hiss saying that the door had shut and then shifts behind his lover, taking the strip of cloth that was in his hands and wrapping it tightly around his eyes. It was a thin fabric that allowed a bit of light through. Not the blindfold Spock would have used for complete sensory deprivation (which might be sitting beside the bed, waiting). This one allowed shadows through. Allowed Jim the ability to get a bearing for where Spock was, in relation to him. See his outline as he leaned in and kissed him softly.

His hand dips down, touching the part of him that is rock hard and probably overly eager for contact, at this point. "I see you were honest regarding your responses to my messages," he hums, already starting to undo the buttons of his trousers, slowly. It's open, then, but not pushed down. Spock's hand slips inside, squeezes, and then rests in an infuriating lack of motion.

"You wanted pain, Jim?" he asks, mouthing against his jaw before giving a light bite where it connected with his neck. "Tell me what you wish for, Jim." His hand moves. Rolls once, then goes still once more. "Tell me what you want."

There's one more bite, harder, around his shoulder. Spock's other hand is exploring the twitching muscles of his side, just under his shirt.

"And I appreciated the honorific. It can remain."