insurgents | OPEN POST.

screw that. I like it when it hurts. so make me hurt, Spock, take me apart. don't deny me that.

This is unfair, Jim.

I cannot text you sexually stimulating material but the same restriction does not extend to you.

suck it up, pointy. life's unfair.

just like I've got to make the rest of this walk with a hard on in my pants but you don't hear me complaining about it.

Pointy.

I do believe you are asking quite directly to be hurt, now.

yes.

[ A second later, another text follows. ]

please.

I do not believe that is the proper way to make the request.

I was going for something a little more creative.
looks like it's working too, if you ask me.

Get to the room.

Now, Jim.

Damn if that short text doesn't shoot a jolt of pleasure right down his spine. Jim bites back a groan and that's all he can do not to trip all over his feet while he's walking.

Immensely unfair— but immensely satisfying to know he can affect Spock so easily. He types up a quick text —a brief but still teasing yes, sir— then there's nothing more coming from him, and there won't be until he finally makes it back to the ship.

At this point he's sure his destination isn't a secret to the rest of the group, nor is what he and Spock are about to do. Well, the general idea anyway. No way they could know the details (except maybe for Bones, who might've caught a glimpse of the start of their conversation when he had the phone in his possession).

Regardless, what matters is that none of them try to stop him. Bones makes a vague comment about tradition but then wanders off to his own quarters, while Jim all but runs down the hallway on the deck of their bedroom, stopping for a brief moment while standing right in front of the door.

Spock's waiting for him on the other side. Jim can't even begin to imagine what might happen the moment that door slides open, but he has no doubt that his fiancé is going to catch him off guard as soon as he steps inside. Something that makes him feel both nervous and excited, and after taking a couple of deep breaths, he finally reaches the control panel.

The door opens, and he steps inside.

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."

Despite being ready for the unexpected, Jim still lets out a sound of surprise when something's put over his eyes, though he doesn't so much as tense or flinch. He knows it's Spock, after all, and when he leans in and kisses him, he easily returns it, the contact breaking when a hand slides down and cups his bulge, a shaky moan spilling from his lips.

It's both a blessing and a torture, the way Spock touches him. He should've known he'd do this, but still when that hand stills Jim all but cries out in frustration, his hips bucking hard as his hands cling to Spock's shoulders. The tone in his voice spills like molten gold into him, making him burn from the inside out, and Jim feels like hearing him alone would be enough to push him over the edge at this point.

"Yes," he mewls out, his head tipping back and his whole body jolting and arching when the hand moves again. Then stops. Fuck, Spock's gonna drive him mad— and he's going to let him. "Ropes. Use the ropes. Tie me down."

A brief pause, as he sucks in a breath at the hand sliding underneath his shirt and the teeth digging into his shoulder. "Please... sir."

"Hm," Spock hums, somehow making the small noise sound disappointed. "Unimaginative," he explains, not quite 'tsking' his lover, but making it clear all the same that he would, were he a different person. "You already requested the rope. Therefore it is redundant to use your opportunity now to reiterate a wish already granted." There is a whisper of something moving against fabric, behind Jim. Then the tease of a rough rope against the sensitive skin on the inside of his arms. Spock's hand leaves his groin and his presence shifts behind Jim, letting his fingertips trail after the abrasive material. Soothing as he rubs raw.

"In a normal situation, I would not allow you another opportunity," he explains, the words humid as he speaks them quietly against the shell of Jim's ear. "However, I understand that your evening has had little in the way of thought and much in the way of instinctual servicing of animal needs."

The rope shifts, tying around one wrist tight and then releasing, again. Not starting, then. Not yet. Spock can draw this part of the evening out for hours, if he wished to. And part of him does. His lips kiss the back of Jim's neck, inching his hand around his side, under his shirt. Exploring up his abdominal muscles and then down to the open Y of his pants. Cupping him once more, squeezing, and then journeying upwards and away once more.

"I ask once more. Do you have any requests, Jim? What do you want? This is your final opportunity."

Jim gasps when he feels the rope brush against sensitive skin, letting out a heavy laugh, dying out halfway up his throat. Of course Spock would tease; of course he'd taunt him until he was a whimpering and begging mess on his knees, and of course Jim would enjoy it a little too much.

The longer Spock denies him, and the longer Jim himself asks and begs and keeps tempting him in all the ways he knows get to Spock the most, the better it will be when Spock finally gives in. Like each passing second he just gets closer to acting entirely irrationally, passionately, aggressively. The mere thought sends a jolt of pleasure down Jim's spine, pooling between his legs.

"You're so good to me, sir," Jim says that warmly, somehow managing to sound every bit like a brat, lips quirking a little as he curls his hands into fists, then relaxes them again, whimpering when that tempting hand leaves his aching cock again. "They're not tight enough. I want them tighter. Want you to do it so I can't move."

Or... well, not move as much. Either way he trusts Spock not to tie him in a harmful way, and he's all too familiar with Jim's safe words by now to know he has to stop if Jim gives that signal. Not that he expects to. They know each other too well by now.

"Are you gonna choke me with the rope?" He tries to sound even, but it's impossible to miss the way his breath hitches at the thought. His hips shift, and Jim rolls them back to press his ass against Spock's groin, rubbing himself against him. "Or are you gonna use your hands?"

"Parience," he reminds, plainly amused as he moves out of reach once more. The rope is tied tight around his wrists. Tight enough that Jim will be able to feel his pulse pound against it but not hard enough to cause numbness. There's a lead on it that Spock tugs, dragging Jim back enough to throw him off balance but not enough to make him actually fall. From there, it's easy enough to loop a finger into Jim's trousers and pull him forward, toward where the bed is, walking slow enough for him to blindly follow.

There's a chair placed by it and Spock pauses right in front of it before helping Jim onto his knees and only then sitting in it. The blindfold is removed, Spock looking almost bored as he ties it around Jim's neck and finally answers his question.

"I have plans," is all Jim gets. "However, I am displeased. We have engaged in this activity multiple times, at this point. And your interest in having your breathing restricted had not been shared. This has resulted in a potential reward you have been deprived of needlessly."

Which isn't fair, really. Spock had not asked many questions. This particular aspect of their relationship was relatively new still for the both for them. However, he can't resist to make Jim squirm.

"Perhaps you should explain to me why you are deserving of this reward, now?"

And just to help Jim start getting into the right headspace, he reaches around and grabs a handful of his hair, pulling it back sharply to expose his neck with the black fabric wrapped around it. His fingertips trail over the blue veins, the twitching Adam's apple.

"Do not try my patience. You will find it already greatly reduced and the penalties for expending it further unpleasant ."

Well, it's a start at least, and Jim lets out a pleased little sound when Spock tugs him along, managing to follow after without tripping over his own feet, and gladly falling to his knees without needing much prompting. As much as he enjoys having a smart answer at the tip of his tongue in situations like this one, all in all he's very pliant, easy, and for the lack of a better word, obedient.

He licks his lips while he hears Spock shift around just in front of him, curving them into a smile when finally the blindfold falls and he gets confirmation of their current positions. Which, for the record, he finds very pleasing and very promising both.

Slow breaths, Jim's knees shift on the floor, getting himself into a comfortable enough position as he sits back on his heels, dark eyes looking up Spock's figure, lingering on the bulge in his trousers, then up to finally lock their gazes together.

But before he can manage some smart little quip, Spock's tugging hard at his hair, teasing at the all too sensitive skin of his neck. He gasps audibly, barely managing to keep back a whine, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks his parted lips again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows dry.

"I didn't... didn't remember," he answers honestly, and feels both sad and pleased that he did forget. If it gets Spock to react like this now, well... he can't say he minds the wait. At all. "I'm sorry. Didn't cross my mind— before."

Cracking his eyes open just a hint, he manages a crooked smile. Probably more teasing than it should be right now. "Better late than never?"

Wrong answer.

Spock yanks the hair all the harder before letting it go and shifting back in his seat. "I asked for an explanation for why you deserved a reward. And you have made the decision to respond glibly. Unwise." He stands, walking a few steps away, out of Jim's view.

"Perhaps I should clarify the punishment you are on the verge of experiencing. If I do, you may be less inclined to run toward it." His hands are undoing Jim's ties carefully. Removing the restriction without causing additional pain.

"Masochistic individuals often behave poorly as pain is seen as a reward to them. They believe upsetting anothet will therefore give them what they desire. This will not be the case with you and I, Jim."

He's back in his chair, the rope loose in his hands.

"I know you. Intimately. And I know an effective way of punishing you will be a lack of any stimulus at all." No rope. No hands. No lips. Nothing at all.

"So, I will ask you a final time in the hopes you will be less inclined to test my resolve: why are you deserving of a reward?"

He'd said it as a tease, of course. Testing Spock's patience as always, having little too much fun with flighty comments and a show of nonchalance that he doesn't feel right now, not in the least.

He knows Spock can make this difficult for him. He can turn this into torture all too easily, and not the kind of torture that Jim would enjoy. He can and will use that calm and patience of his to make Jim really suffer, really wait for it, and the more Jim pushes at his limits, the more likely that is to happen.

So, maybe if only briefly, Jim's expression sobers up, turning just a hint more serious. His smile fades and his dark gaze fixes on Spock's, not even a breath of a complaint when Spock undoes the knots and the rope eases around his wrists. His arms fall to his sides.

Licking his lips, he swallows dryly, searching for the words before answering.

"Because... I love you. Because I spend every minute of every hour of every day thinking about you. About making you smile, making you as happy as you make me."

He leans in just barely, lips brushing across Spock's knee.

"T'hy'la," His voice is warm and soft, and he purrs a little, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his knee, cheek brushing softly against it. "You're the only one that can make me feel good. The only one. Please..."

Right answer.

Oh, almost unfair, really. Spock's whole spine goes molten, his stomach fluttering at this response. Jim's voice saying that word so perfectly. His soulmate in every way here before him, being completely incredible. Spock can't help but reach out, stroking his hands through the blonde hair. It seems almost wrong to hurt Jim for this. But he knows it's what he wants. And Spock wants to reward him, so there's no reason for him to deny Jim, now.

"Good," he purrs. And then, pushing Jim's face off his knee, he sits back in the chair and looks at him with hunger. "Take your shirt off," he demands. "Carefully. I want it to be folded on the table, over there. And then you can return to your knees and await the next command I give you."

He knows it worked almost instantly, and he warms all over at the thought. It wasn't a game or a play, just then; he meant every single word, and when Spock slides his fingers through his hair, he closes his eyes with a deep, slow sigh, head tipping back a little, licking his lips and his exposed Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows dry.

When his eyes open again, the pupils are stretched wider, but he doesn't so much as whine when Spock pulls away. He sucks in a shaky breath and slowly nods at the order, then does as told without even complaining about how much he hates folding his clothes.

He gets to his feet instead, and slowly undoes a few buttons before tugging off the shirt, fabric dragging up his torso and skin exposed inch by tempting inch. If he's taking his time it's only because Spock told him to be careful, and he's just as careful as he makes his way over to the table, stretching the shirt out across the surface and folding it as neatly as he can manage, then walking back to where Spock is.

"Can I take my shoes off too, sir?"

Spock watches him with greedy eyes. Watches how beautiful he looks as the skin is exposed and Jim is standing there in all of his glory. "Yes," he says in a low voice, eyes unblinking. "Shoes and your socks. Not your pants." He stands, then, out of his chair and instead over toward the bed. He sits on the edge, still watching Jim carefully as though he expects to see him do something interesting.

Well. More interesting than slowly stripping.

"When you are finished, you will come back to kneel before me. And you will come over on your hands and knees."

Jim simply nods and does as told, toeing off his shoes first. Spock might be expecting some kind of rebellious response, or maybe not, but Jim behaves all too impeccably, not even an amused quirk to his lips when his eyes lock onto Spock's.

The following order does get a slightly raised eyebrow from him, but he says nothing, and stays silent even as he falls to his knees. He reaches behind himself to tug off his socks, then once they're out of the way he leans forward, hands resting on the floor as he slowly starts making his way towards Spock, crawling across the floor until he's close enough that he could so easily reach out and touch—

And then he sits back on his heels, hands resting on his own legs. Gaze dark as he looks into Spock's eyes and waits for what comes next.

Spock is impressed. Jim is in the perfect headspace, already. He'd thought it would have taken a bit longer, honestly. But here he is, kneeling before him, looking utterly perfect. Spock reaches out and rewards him with a stroke against his cheek. But. No, that wasn't a reward, was it? Jim had made that clear. He liked the pain. He liked the loss of control. And if Spock really wanted to reward him, that was where this had to go.

His hand trailed down, fitting neatly over Jim's throat and squeezing just enough that a deep breath would be impossible. Just a tease of what was to come.

"Tell me about the day, on the bridge," he demands. "When I had you pinned to the console with one hand. Strangling you until your eyes teared. Until you could feel your lungs burn and your pulse race." He's smirking, which is not what he normally does, telling this story. "Tell me what happened, afterwards."

Jim's quick to adapt, if nothing else, and he's been thinking about this even before he's made it back to the ship. God, he wants it terribly even now. There's no way he'll delay the gratification by not playing along, or by being the cheeky little smartass he can sometimes be. And when Spock's fingers stroke along his cheek, he closes his eyes and lets out a soft shaky breath.

That breath dies somewhere down his throat when that hand trails lower and those long fingers wrap around his neck. He lets out a gasp and snaps his eyes open, pupils widening the tighter Spock curls his hand around his throat, tight but not tight enough to choke just yet.

"My head was light," he starts, taking slow breaths, trying his best to stay in the here and now and not get lost in the feeling of those fingers on his neck. "My heart raced, and my skin tingled. Took me hours to lose the feeling of your fingers around my throat. Took me days to stop staring at your hands whenever we were together."

He wouldn't go so far as to say that he'd been attracted to Spock since that very moment, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it for a while then. Something he ascribed to what had happened on the bridge, then promptly put away in a box somewhere and forgot about. For a while, anyway.

His hands curl into loose fists, fighting the urge to reach out. He wants to touch Spock's wrist and hand, encourage him to keep going, but at the same time he knows Spock wouldn't allow that.

Spock rewards the truth with a harder squeeze. Tight enough to finally restrict Jim's breathing into something shallow and abbreviated. Spock knows just how much a human can take at this level before the deprivation becomes concerning. But Jim can still breathe, so they have a long while. Unless he tightens his hand even more.

"Good," he praises, his other hand coming up to stroke along Jim's cheek. "Did you self-gratify yourself, after that event?" His fingers press lightly into Jim's psi-points, testing his mind before pulling them away. Spock might be the most cautious Dom in the entire world, but it came from the utter inability he had to live in a world without Jim. Especially if he was harmed at his own hand.

"I am certain you did. How many times, Jim? What was your favorite fantasy? How did you desire for me to have you, the next time?"

The sound Jim lets out is a mix between a surprised gasp and a pleased mewl, his eyes rolling back just as his eyelids fall closed, his head tipping back. His Adam's apple moves just barely, pressed up against Spock's palm, and he can almost feel how little air passes through his throat right now, with how tight Spock's hold is on it.

"Yes," he practically moans out, knees shifting on the floor, his cock straining the fabric of his pants and making them gradually more uncomfortable. He keeps curling and uncurling his hands into fists to stop himself from moving them, from brushing his fingertips against the back of Spock's hand or palm his own bulge through his trousers. God knows he could use that relief right now.

"I didn't— keep count," his lips dry and the words are soft and whispered, as Jim tries to talk slow and calmly so that Spock won't see a reason to loosen his hold on his neck. "Kept thinking... about you crowding me into some corner. Just— just grabbing me by the throat. You were so calm. I just... wanted to make you angry again. Fuck," he breathes out a strained, drawn-out groan, his hips shifting and rolling into the air and towards nothing else at all.

OPEN POST.

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rolls with it

HA! I was wondering why the text boomeranging had stopped.

yes i slipped and fell into all these words. <<

Spock is a brat.

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