The BLTS Archive - Better Than Coffee by Greywolf the Wanderer --- ObDisclaim: ParaBorg owns 'em, I'se jest playin' wid 'em, ain't makin' no money nohow... Also -- contains m/m sex, so if that ain't yer bag -- DOH! Don't read it, 'kay? Simple, ennit. Okay, here's the deal, folks... Over on ASCEM, we've got a thread going, about how we'd like to see various Trek characters dressed up, savvy? Well, 't'other day, Robin posted this: --- Spock: Black, straight leg jeans, tight. No shirt. Long black heavy coat. And smoking. Wet look hair. Black wraparound sunnies. Smelling of expensive men's stinky stuff. A long, black, plaited whip trails from his left hand and curls over his boot tips, lying across the wet, cold concrete of the deserted carpark like a lazy viper. --- Kirk: Curled, bound and naked, at Spock's feet, shivering on the cold, wet concrete of the deserted carpark, the red welts glistening in the rain as the arc lights hiss and spark overhead. --- Uhura: Gold spandex, thigh high "come fuck me" boots, and a gig in Vegas. --- Bones: Armani, a black stretch limo, three busty bimbos, and smoking; waiting for Spock to "finish the business"... Well, being the kinky fucker that I am, I took the ball and ran with it!! ;-)> This is all Robin's fault, I'll have you know -- I haven't been able to get that image out of my head, not *once*, since I read it. Oh -- and it doesn't help that Moon's in heat, Monk's strung out, and the entire house absolutely *reeks* of pheromones and sex... Gahhhd. I suppose there are better ways to spend one's morning than this -- but if there are, I haven't been able to think of any! Be gentle, lads and lasses -- this be me first try at *real* naughty bits... And now, our story. 'Tis purely PWP, absolutely no socially redeeming values whatsoever. Paramount's God an' all that -- but we know better what the characters want!! Be warned, this story contains fairly explicit m/m sex; if ya don't like that, don't read it. Doh! --- ...tsssh! The tip of the long black whip snaps against the skin of the human, as he lies, shivering, on the cold wet concrete of the deserted carpark. He can smell the acrid smoke of the harsh Turkish tobacco; it mixes with the scent of the Vulcan's cologne, and the smells of the rain, and the cars passing by in the street, below. The bonds are tight against his wrists, and he feels the burning of the welts on his back, on his legs... He is so hard he cannot stand it, but the other merely watches him, eyes hooded behind the mirrored shades, face expressionless. He longs to kiss the toes of the black biker boots, rub himself against the tight black jeans, feel the fur on the other's chest as he licks his way down to the treasure below. But he is tied, and the other has not moved. A stray puff of wind pushes at that long black coat, showing, for just an instant, the slim flat belly, the rain twinkling on the curled black fur... Oh, he can just *taste* those delectable bronze nipples -- but he's tied, and the other hasn't moved... --- ...Jim gasped, and opened his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was, as the last fragments of the dream reluctantly let him go. God!! What was *that* about? *You know damn' well what that was about,* he chided himself. Shit, he was so hard it hurt -- and that pain was delicious, exquisite. He shivered, feeling the hair prickle on the back of his neck, feeling his nipples contract into rock-hard nubs. It had been *years*, since he'd had a dream like that... He turned, then, to gaze at the face on the pillow beside him -- elegantly slanted black brows, that long Roman nose, the lush fullness of the lips, faintly bruised in the clear morning light. Yes, they *had* gotten a little... carried away, last night... *Well, hell. If we're going to have to stop by Sickbay anyway -- why not?* And he smiled, leaned forward, and delicately bit the tip of one pointed ear. *I've always wanted to do that...* and he nibbled his way down the Vulcan's neck, pausing to lick at the hollow of the base of his throat. *Mmmmm -- delicious...* Somewhere in the middle of it the Vulcan awoke, and gathered the human into his arms. Fever-hot warmth all around him, and God, he was even harder now. He reached up and nipped at an earlobe, relishing the salt-sweet taste of the other's skin -- and Spock gasped, unable for a moment even to breathe, much less to speak. Fingers at Jim's temples, then, and that voice in his mind... <<...thee are *wicked*, t'hy'la -- I cannot get my fill of thee...>> Jim nuzzled at the side of his throat, feeling the rapid drumming of the Vulcan's heart... He planted a trail of kisses along the line of his jaw, until finally their mouths met and he lost himself in the smell and taste of the other. The images of the dream returned to him, and he felt a hot pulse of *need* in his belly. Spock's hands on him were so hot -- they burned, and he moaned, as those long, thin fingers trailed heat along his ribs, caressed his hips, pulled the two of them together... Hot burning hardness pressed against his groin, and again, he saw the image of the dream -- and this time, the other saw it too. <<...I *see*...>> Black eyes gazing into his; so deep, so full of desire that he thought he would drown -- and he didn't care. He groaned, as one of those hands strayed, to touch his belly, to reach and stroke where he needed it so badly... He arched upwards, helplessly. <<...yes! I need...>> <> *ahhh...* Oh, gods, he couldn't -- he *had* to move, arching his hips, rubbing himself against that hardness, that burning hotness, tangling his fingers in those coarse black curls... And his hands were grasped, roughly, pulled up above his head and held, in an iron grip. He writhed, and shivered, and couldn't budge them. *ohhh -- yes!!* <> Command voice, that -- and the snap of authority brought him closer to the edge... It was what he craved; that voice, and that touch, and the things those fingers were doing, to his body and his mind... *OH!* -- a shock, cold hard wetness, turning into heat, pressing against him, pushing his legs apart -- and he arched, again, utterly helpless, and loving every minute of it. A moment of pain, exquisitely sharp -- delicious! -- and then that heat, getting slicker as it moved, and that *fullness*, pressing into him, filling him till he thought he would burst... Hot, coppery musk fills his nose; hot, furred skin drags across his nipples, and he moans -- but the hand on his hip is like iron, and the fingers on his wrists are like steel. So strong -- he cannot *move*, can only lie there and shiver, moaning, as the other begins to thrust into him, slowly at first and then faster... Oh, *god*, he is *so* hard, now, and the fur on the other's belly is like rough silk, dragging across his cock, bringing him ever higher... He can't *breathe*, it feels so good; so hot, inside him, so full... Their thoughts touch as closely as their skin, the two twined together into one; one huge quivering bundle of nerves, and need, and pleasure, and... Sharp white teeth bite down, at the place where his shoulder joins his neck, and with that pain he is lost, gasping and shuddering; he fills, and is filled, spills his seed between them/within him, on top and beneath... Shattered, melted, utterly undone, as the waves of fiery pleasure rush through him, over him, washing him away into pure wordless joy... It seems an endless time later when he finally knows himself again, and opens his eyes, to see the other looking down, an impish twinkle in those knowing black eyes. He reaches up for a kiss, salt-sweet and savoury, and thinks, *this is better than coffee, any day* <<...Mmmm!! And a good morning to *you*, too!!>> -- Whew!!! Um, well, anyhow -- whaddaya think, sirs? --- The End