insurgents | OPEN POST.

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.

Spock grabs one side of those gyrating hips and pins it down to the bed, hard. He's not moving. Not one inch. Not right now, at least. And, with that settled, Spock loosened his grip, allowing Jim to breathe regularly for three inhales. And then his hand tightens, stopping all oxygen flow completely. "Is this what you were fantasizing about?" he asks in a soft, tender voice completely at odds with the iron fist around Jim's throat.

"You enjoy this?" He reaches his other hand down, slipping to his pants and slowly undoing the fly on it. He doesn't push them down, then. Just slips his hand inside, cupping Jim's erection in his hand. Letting it warm beneath it. "I suppose this is all the evidence I need, is it not?" He looks back at Jim, gauging his oxygen level before giving him one last squeeze and then releasing.

Just a tease, then. Just a small tease of what was to come.

"On the bed. Hands over your head, wrists crossed."

Jim can't bite back the whine that crawls up his throat when Spock pins him down, but at least he doesn't complain, nor does he try to move again. Which, for the record, is a small feat when Spock's hand wraps even tighter around his neck. His mouth hangs open and he feels a heady rush when he tries and fails completely to draw breath into his lungs, knuckles white as he fists his hands even tighter than before.

He doesn't know where he gets the presence of mind not to buck his hips against Spock's hand, but the fact that he doesn't drives him mad. He's rock hard already, aching and desperate for any kind of relief, and Spock presses and cups him with just enough presence to offer a bit of pleasure, but far more frustration than anything.

Everything leaves him at once when Spock lets go of his neck— air, thought, a loud moan and a few soft but audible gasps as he tries to calm his breathing again. Eventually, when he feels like he no longer might fall over by simply trying to move, he gets to his feet and climbs on the bed, crawling to the middle of it and lying flat on his back, legs folded and knees parted wide, arms crossed over his head like Spock told him to do.

Spock wastes no time. He crawls onto the bed and straddles Jim's waist as he takes the rough rope and binds those wrists together. The end is looped around a standing piece of metal attached to the bed and pulled taut. Jim can rub his skin raw on this amount of tension. He'd probably enjoy it a great deal as well. "Test your binding," he orders, wanting to see Jim as he fights against the restraint.

To add incentive, he rests his hand back over Jim's throat, back to the firm grip. Just enough to make him hiss air but not enough to cut it off, yet.

"The harder you attempt to secure your escape, the more I will encourage your activities through suffocation," he advises, giving Jim a short, two second example of what that would feel like. A tight grip and a complete inability to either move or bring in even a little gasp of oxygen. He releases it, mischief in his eyes.

"Demonstrate for me what you desire."

He tries not to whimper when Spock ties his wrists together, though it takes special effort when he winds the rope around them so tightly. Not enough to cut off circulation even if he moves around, but definitely enough for him to feel the fibers dragging across his skin. Tugging and moving would definitely leave marks behind, which is something Jim immensely appreciates.

And he appreciates even more when he all but gets permission to do just that. Lips parted and dark gaze fixed on Spock's face, he tugs just once. The knots don't budge, the frame above the bed doesn't even creak. He yanks harder again, letting out a gasp that's more pleasure than frustration as the rope digs into his skin, a trace of pain that promises to leave marks behind.

The brief tightening around his neck makes heat spread all over his body, and he moves again. This time he tries to arch his whole body while tugging on the ropes, but he both knows and expects to not be able to go anywhere or do anything, not when Spock's sitting on top of him like that. The mere thought and subsequent realization that his expectations hold true make him let out a soft mewl. "Spock..."

Spock is, once more, thankful to be part Vulcan. It allows him the ability to multitask at a rate far better than anyone else would be capable. And in moments like this, it is a talent which is immeasurably useful. For instance, he is able to simultaneously monitor the damage the coarse rope is doing to Jim's wrist, the damage his own grip is doing to Jim's throat, and also enjoy thoroughly the look of pleasure on Jim's face at all of these ministrations.

It is...very good. And Jim is being absolutely perfect.

Spock smirks a little as he tightens his grip in time with Jim's struggles. At the gasp of his name, Spock's hand finally tightens the last little bit and restricts his windpipe all together. Mentally, he starts the clock while at the same time monitoring the pounding pulse he can feel under his fingertips. The skin contact, much like the first time, allows emotions to bleed through where Jim screams them at him. Right now, it's impossible to ignore the lust that clouds up the entire room. But it's pleasing to have it on a feedback loop, like this. Just like always.

"If you are able to talk, then you are clearly not restricted enough. Tell me, Jim. Can you speak, presently?"

Doing as he's told brings him its own rewards. First of all, what he's told to do so happens to be something he immensely enjoys doing —the struggling, straining, feeling the rope tight and rough around his wrists—, and secondly, what Spock gives him is exactly what he asked for, and then some.

Jim barely has the time to react, a surprised gasp leaving him, then being choked out of him when Spock's hand tightens. No sounds slip past his lips now, not when he can't even draw a thread of air into his lungs. The grip is careful but tight and strong, and Jim's head feels considerably lighter with each passing second, his very skin burning hot as he struggles pointlessly again.

He can't move, just like he can't breathe. His eyes are dark as they settle on Spock, looking unfocused, but he doesn't even try to shake his head, though he does act like he tries to speak. He can't, obviously, a fact that only arouses him further. His hips shift again, grinding just barely against Spock's, trembling from head to toe at the onslaught of pleasure that washes all across his body.

Spock feels the small grind and smiles as he reaches back, stroking Jim slowly with his free hand as the other continues to restrict his airflow. He's harder than Spock can remember him being so soon into their intimacies. He can feel Jim as he trembles. Feel him as he struggles fruitlessly against his binding. Spock keeps track of the time. This first one, he's going to take right to the limit. Give Jim everything he wants and then tease him from here on out with what he knows he can get. Spock's hand grips him tightly, stroking him just enough to make the pleasure Jim's feeling hit the bottom edge of excruciating, but not enough to throw him over the edge. Not yet, at any rate.

When he feels Jim has had enough, his hand is removed from his cock, but not his throat. "You cannot call for help. Cannot escape. You enjoy this, Jim. You enjoy being at my mercy. Helpless to whatever I decide." The clock hits just about where 75% of humans would begin to lose consciousness and Spock removes his hand completely to let Jim fill his lungs. Let him hyperventilate as many would in such a situation. Light-headedness is what Spock's aiming for, next.

He slinks down Jim's body, pulling down his trousers and drawing Jim's cock into his mouth, just once. Just the once for one, long suck before he gripped the base of Jim's cock and holding it tight. A makeshift ring.

"Tell me your physical state," he demands. "Tell me how you are faring."

Jim's eyes roll back in their sockets, a shiver making his whole body shudder beneath Spock's. His hips shift in an attempt to meet Spock's strokes, arms tense as he tugs at the ropes hard, knowing full well he won't undo them or yank himself free. Just as he likes it.

Spock's words only fuel his arousal, and the only reason he doesn't moan in mindless pleasure is because the tight hand around his neck prevents him from doing just that. He licks at his lips and tries to swallow dryly, Adam's apple shifting with incredible difficulty against Spock's palm. Seconds pass and he feels his head lighter still, and his heart beats fast only out of exhilaration, not fear or worry. He trusts Spock completely, after all, and knows he'll stop long before any of this actually becomes dangerous for him.

When that hand pulls away so suddenly, Jim gasps for air, the single sharp inhale making his head spin and his vision turn white for a moment. His eyes focus on Spock again soon after, pupils blown wide as he watches him move down and quickly take his cock into his mouth in a single suck that doesn't offer nearly as much relief as it does immense frustration.

"Hot... it's so hot," he pants breathlessly, chest heaving a little. "My heart's racing, I can't— can't think straight. Fuck, I'm so... dizzy. Need more, Spock. More pleasure, more... more pain. I want... want you."

Spock is only too happy to indulge. He bends his head and kisses Jim's inner thigh before giving it a hard bite. Hard enough that it will leave a mark but not nearly hard enough to break the skin. Not yet, anyways. Spock's other hand reaches up, adjusting the rope so that it bites into Jim's skin a little more. Even without motion it should offer a good chaffing, now.

Spock trails his fingertips around Jim's throat, teasing him with the promise of more. "You remind me of the day, on the bridge. You have the same look in your eyes now as you did then. Dazed," he clarifies, stroking Jim's cock once from root to tip and then back down once more. Gripping it tight after that to let Jim feel the pulse of blood. His other hand grips his throat once more, just tight enough for his inhales to go shallow, and then releases it with soft caresses once more.

"If you desire more, you will request it properly, Jim."

Jim's legs spread wider apart as Spock bites down on the inside of his thigh, gasping breathlessly at the flicker of pain, and the knowledge that Spock's teeth will definitely leave a mark behind. Just how he likes it.

He doesn't like the teasing touches quite as much, though, not when they're so few and stop so soon after. Jim doesn't even get to roll his hips up towards those strokes before Spock stops again, hand tight around the base of his cock, but the whine's literally choked out of him when he wraps his other hand around Jim's throat. Again, too brief and gone too quickly.

Breathing out, he lets out a frustrated moan, letting his head fall back for a moment. He takes a deep breath and licks his own lips, gaze as steady and calm as he can manage when he looks back to Spock again. "Please... give me more, please." Pain, pleasure, at this point Jim couldn't care less what Spock goes with. So long as he gives him something, anything at all to make him feel good and drive away the intense frustration that's piled on. "Please, sir... t'hy'la..."

OPEN POST.

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