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If there’s one thing Pike has learned during all of his years in pornographic film production, it’s that it all gets boring after a certain point.
Well, that and also how it’s always a good idea to check the dietary regimes of the porn stars before shooting a rimming scene.
The point is it all gets so very mundane. Christopher Pike is a hot-blooded male like any other; he appreciates the act of sex in the way he appreciates a fine sandwich – with gratuitous appreciation and care. He revels in the wet, slicked up sounds and moans; loves how simply having sex on screen blurs everything out so that it’s the only thing that matters, compensating for crappy lighting and cheesy dialogue with its sheer intensity. But that doesn’t mean that Pike is so into it that he can still be genuinely interested in the proceedings after eight shootings in a single day. After a while, everything simply degenerates into some guy sticking his dick into a vagina, both D grade actors pretending to enjoy it with over the top moans while being painfully conscious of the camera in front of them and the big fat paycheck they’ll get later.
So he switches it up. After the first year of shooting vanilla porn with nice young men and nice young girls, he starts to foray into different markets. BDSM, homosexual, nonconsensual, and once, an ill-advised attempt at tentacle porn gone horribly wrong with the result including copious amounts of Jell-O and three very confused girls.
Four years and so many movies later, Christopher Pike of Enterprise Productions is at the head of the game and considerably richer for his attempts. He has six cars now, and one of them even has a custom license plate with lewd words and numbers on it that he drives on special occasions (namely, porn conventions). He’s learned through experience that when he starts to get bored of a market, it’s time to move on to the next one. And in the twenty third century, the next new market is interspecies porn.
A few of his competitors have already dipped their toes, or rather, their genitalia into the mix. Humans with Andorians, Cardassians with Coridans, Edosians with Gorns; displayed with pomp and circumstance and archaic titles like “Fifty Shades of Green”. But Pike is no ordinary porn film producer. He is daring, innovative, and new. He is, to put a fine point on it, going to go where no man has boldly gone before.
He’s going to make Vulcan porn.
When James Tiberius Kirk was five, he wanted to become Supreme Overlord of the Universe.
When he was eleven, he wanted to be a Starfleet Captain.
When he turned twenty, he wanted to be a man free from his student loans.
So he put his education on hold. Like all protagonists of a story who aren’t affluent from birth, Jim came from a struggling home. He needed money; his grandmother was suffering from a new Romulan influenza that didn’t yet have a cure, his mother was gambling and his father was dead. He had six brothers and sisters to feed.
Actually, Kirk just wanted some more pot without several hundred grand’s worth of debt hanging over his head.
After a few part time jobs and a brief stint as a bartender, his stunning good looks and considerable package won him an approving glance from one Christopher Pike. At first he was a bit leery about talking to the guy (hey, he wasn’t exactly bad looking per se but Kirk’s default response to old men giving him once overs wasn’t exactly to spread his legs open), but one invigorating recruit speech later, Jim T. Kirk was reborn as Jizz’D Cock.
Kirk wishes he were lying.
But aside from the cringe worthy names, it really wasn’t that bad at all. He was paid – extremely well – to have sex with very attractive women and sometimes men. It opened him up to sexual intercourse in a way he had never thought possible, with a lot of awesome new sensations attached. And he could finally show the world that yes he did have something worth noticing, and he knew how to use it too. His sun kissed golden hair and buttocks soon graced nearly half of the covers of Enterprise Productions, and it was a point of personal pride with him that they all got excellent reviews.
But the last thing he was expecting in the mail was a new script with the words “Default Title: Porn Farr”. The random phrases that jumped out when he skimmed through it (“Vulcan ass licking”, “intense fingering” and most notably “try to moan like you can feel the logic”) did not alleviate his growing feelings of distress. So he did the first thing any sane man would do – call the person responsible. Bones picks up at the fifth ring, just when Kirk’s head is starting to hurt.
“Boner, what the hell is this? Vulcan porn? As in Vulcans in porn? As in actual Vulcans being active sexual partners?”
He’s near hyperventilating as soon as he gets the chance to speak.
“One, don’t call me that, it’s degrading. Two, yes, that is what Vulcan porn implies.”
“Okay, Bones, but Vulcans can’t be in porn. It wouldn’t sell. They’re so fucking logical and shit and they have eight inch sticks up their asses in totalle not fun ways."
“Thank you for that mental image-”
There’s this little rattling sigh at the other end that’s supposed to mean Kirk is making Bones’ life miserable and he should feel sorry for that. Except he isn’t, so he’s not going to be sorry at all. Bones is totally the one making Kirk’s life miserable in this case.
“- but this wasn’t my idea in the first place. Believe me, I was against this as much as you are when Pike told me. But then he told me to shove it up my ass because he was the one with shitloads of money that was paying for this goddamn thing.”
Oh. So maybe he wasn’t responsible for all this.
“Besides, why are you getting so uptight about this? You get paid to put your dick in things. On occasion, you get paid to have a dick put in you. This isn’t anything you haven’t done before ‘Mr. Cock’.”
“It’s different. Stop making me sound like some common whore. This is an art form. My work is art. I can’t make art if the person I’m making art with is a green blooded encyclopedia that can only bend over at precise ninety degree angles.”
“Granted, you are a common whore in many of your artistic movies.”
“Is there even a Vulcan who’s willing to do the job?”
“Surprisingly enough, yes. Look, just come in on Thursday when shooting starts and you can take a look for yourself. This guy I found looks Vulcan but he’s supposed to be half human; maybe he’ll bend over at eighty five degree angles.”
“Oh ha-ha Bones, you’re so funny. Fine, I’ll go over on Thursday but I still reserve the right to say I told you so when the Vulcan’s unable to even get it up when we start shooting. Good bye.”
Kirk presses the end call button with all his might just to make a point. Bones is right though; it’s just sex isn’t it? As long as the Vulcan manages to hold up his end of the deal, it’ll all be fine. It’s just that he hates working with uptight co-stars, it’s always so awkward and the sex would just be stilted, making him aware of the most random things like bugs in the air and the dick in his ass (in a disjointed, very unsexy way). But he figures Christopher Pike knows what he’s doing (or rather, hopes) and so he flips open the script again to memorize the ten lines he has.
On Thursday, Kirk walks into the shoddy warehouse that inexplicably serves as all of Enterprise Production’s filming locations. He is not dreading this at all. Read: he’s dreading this so much he just wishes he were at home with his pirated sci-fi movies and crappy junk food right now. But he’s a professional porn star, so he hunkers down and gets into character.
The script told him that the movie’s set on a spaceship called the U.S.S. Enterprise. Kirk is to be first mate of this ship (no names and only calling each other by rank – it’s a kind of kink, he’s guessing), with The Vulcan as his captain. It’s a fairly predictable storyline of Kirk mouthing off to his superior, getting fucked into obedience before he turns the tables and owns his captain. It has a relatively happy ending with a blissed, fucked out Vulcan ex-captain “relieved” of his position. It’s a nice premise that at least attempts at a storyline, and Kirk’s not finding it hard to get into the mindset of mouthy, insubordinate first mate James T. Kirk, frustrated at the illogical logic of his Vulcan captain. It’s just the fucking he’s worried about. That, and trying not to laugh at the probably shoddy attempts at the inner layout of a spaceship Pike has waiting for him.
When Kirk steps inside the warehouse though, he realizes the second of his worries was totally unnecessary. The “bridge” of the U.S.S. Enterprise is all shiny and new and shit, as if it were right out of some nerdy kid’s – Kirk’s – imagination. Everything in that corner of the room is covered in steel and chrome, with beeping lights that are going to make for some truly nice lens flare effects. The screens are glossy and have legitimate looking controls; basically, what it looks like is as if Pike stole the bridge off a random high tech spaceship and put it in a crappy warehouse. Also, for the first time there’s actually a crew for lighting. Kirk dares a low whistle as he looks around.
“You guys are really putting everything into this, huh?” he says without a trace of sarcasm, because wow. And he gets to have sex on top of all this newness. Sulu the camera guy looks up from where he’s fiddling with his tripod.
“Mr. Pike wanted to make sure everything was high quality per his first attempt to seduce the Vulcan market,” he said in a slight accent, his face betraying no trace of amusement whatsoever. Kirk rolls his eyes.
“You mean we’re actually marketing this for Vulcans? I thought it was just a one off attempt like the tentacle thing. They probably don’t even watch porn, think it’s illogical and everything-”
“While your assumption is entirely correct, I must inquire on your tone. Are you suggesting that viewing porn as illogical is an incorrect trajectory of thought?”
Kirk nearly swallows his tongue at the intruding voice. He turns around to see what’s obviously the Vulcan – the signature bowl cut, pointy ears, and ramrod posture – standing just three feet away. He’s already in costume, some knock off of Starfleet regulation uniform (blue, not the standard yellow for captains – and there’s another tiny detail they got wrong, Kirk notes) and he looks put together and calm, but definitely not like a debuting porn star. He could see this guy doing well in porn if only for his aesthetic features; the deep heavy set eyes, angular chin and broad shoulders were all very nice to look at and it’s not as if the industry was all about acting anyways.
“Well yeah,” Kirk manages to say after the cursory once over, “porn most often functions as a sexual release for those who don’t have other means. It’s a simple, easy, logical way to get rid of sexual frustration.”
“However, it’s gratuitous and popular nature often result in an overindulgence of sexual activities and a waste of time which could have been put to better use,” the Vulcan says easily, the words buttery smooth in an even, deep tone. The Vulcan even raises a single eyebrow for additional impact.
“But it still provides that base function of sexual release, which you can’t deny to which porn is the logical solution. Also,” Kirk narrows his eyes, “I don’t think I have to justify the logic of porn viewing to you when you’re about to star in one and benefit from its existence.”
“My actions are entirely logical from my own personal viewpoint; the existence of the pornographic industry on the other hand, is a separate issue.”
There was no arguing with this guy. Kirk’s about to come back with some witty and most definitely logical retort when a familiar voice booms from behind the Vulcan and cuts off any lines of thought Kirk had going. He sees the silhouette of Christopher Pike, probably here for initial briefing, growing rapidly closer by the second.
“Well hello there Kirk, I see you’ve met Spock,” Pike says entirely too cheerfully, “your co-star for the next week. Spock, this is James T. Kirk, the golden boy of our little enterprise. You two will see a lot of each other from now on, meaning you’re going to have to cooperate with each other and try not to bite anything off.”
“Of course Mr. Pike, we were just having a very friendly philosophical debate about the industry,” Kirk replies, resigned to another week of awkward, stilted intercourse. It’ll be on shiny machines though, so that’s a plus.
“Well that’s the foundation of any blossoming friendship,” Pike says before launching into a monologue about what he’s expecting from them.
Kirk catches Spock’s eyes, more calculating and assessing than emotional; and holds his gaze until Spock looks away. In the meanwhile, Pike goes on about how the movie was on a different level than the average porn flick, and how he wants the sexual tension between them to be as real as possible.
“It needs to be so thick you could cut through it with a butter knife,” he’s saying.
Spock looks like he wants to cut through Kirk with a butter knife.
Yup, definitely not looking forward to it.
If Kirk had known the scenes would contain this much violence before the sex, he would have signed off altogether.
After the first two days where they filmed the multiple scenes that set the story and the characters in place, it’s finally time to shoot the sex. It starts off with his mouthing off, then there’s a brief scuffle before Spock’s supposed to achieve the upper hand and initiate sexy time. What Kirk hadn’t counted on was the sheer strength Vulcans seemed to possess. Everyone else had been too lazy to choreograph the fighting scenes and Kirk had been too stupid not to protest too much when Bones finally suggested they just wing it. And now, Kirk is paying that price.
Spock is simply too fast and unpredictable; his actions when he’s angry at total odds compared to that cold and logical bastard from earlier. Spock hits like a truck, and it’s all Kirk can do to shield himself, leaving his forearms to absorb the worst of the blows as much as they can. Kirk thinks he maybe got two hits in; he’s not too sure. Nothing’s planned, everything’s just instinct; and Kirk doesn’t even have time to breath before all of a sudden he’s backed up against one of the comm desks, splayed against it and scrabbling for purchase, and Spock’s just there in his space, those strong fingers closing in on his neck. He’s not choking Kirk as hard as he probably can; but it’s still enough to have Kirk turning red with labored breaths, both hands clutching at Spock’s wrist.
Spock looks positively manic. He’s completely lost it, Kirk’s thinking, now Kirk’s probably going to die here, at the hand of a crazy Vulcan porn star at Pike’s insane wishes for some interspecies porn –
“I will beat obedience into you if I have to. There will be no insubordination on my ship,” Spock hisses, and just like that he lets Kirk go, lets him fall to his knees. Kirk lurches forward, gasping and emitting ratcheting coughs, and he doesn’t hear the rustle of clothing or the harsh unzipping of pants before something wet and huge is slapping insistently at his cheek. He doesn’t have to look to know it’s Spock’s dick.
“Suck,” Spock orders, and Kirk doesn’t need to be told twice.
This is in the script, it was all in the script; it’s just that Kirk isn’t – could never have been – prepared for the sheer intensity Spock’s bringing to this performance. Example being Spock’s penis, so hard it’s jutting straight out, flushed green and angry; he didn’t even know Vulcans could get hard unless they were in Pon Farr or something. Kirk takes it into his mouth; and it’s so insistent in cramming Kirk’s mouth that there’s no room for anything like finesse. It’s not even computing as a dick in his mouth but as an overwhelming of sensations: the ache in Kirk’s jaw, the impossibility to breathe, the heady, salty taste and now Spock’s demanding hands in his hair, clenching and tugging at the roots. Spock fucks his mouth as with a series of hard, excruciating pumps, and pulls out just as Kirk chokes a bit. He’s wiping his mouth when Spock kneels down in one fluid motion and brings their mouths together for a sloppy, invasive kiss.
The kiss is what does it; it just feels so personal and he’s just so smothered by Spock. Kirk’s getting into it, gasping a bit when Spock latches onto that junction between neck and collarbone, sucking and biting. Spock comes back for another kiss, and Kirk shivers at the hard swipes of tongue at the roof of his mouth. Spock’s such a whirlwind of anger and arousal that Kirk doesn’t have time to act, only to respond, and he can’t remember the last time sex was so much about feeling and not thinking about what would look best on camera. His own dick’s now extremely interested in all this, and Spock’s hands grip at Kirk’s erection tightly as soon as it starts to take proper notice.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, cadet?” Spock says, “Though it’s entirely illogical; one would presume this would be a nonconsensual act of intercourse. Yet you’re so clearly interested in the proceedings, it makes one wonder if this wasn’t what you wanted from the very beginning.”
Kirk has no idea how Spock’s even capable of saying his lines; so full of words that contain more than four syllables. It’s strangely hot; apparently Spock’s higher brain functions weren’t lost at all during any of this. Kirk grits his teeth when the heel of Spock’s hand grinds insistently into the base of his erection.
“Answer me, cadet.”
“Yes, sir, I’m-ah-enjoying this very much.” His voice hitches at the end of ‘much’, trailing off into some higher key before disappearing into the keening sounds he makes as soon as Spock gets a hand down Kirk’s pants, fisting while the other pulls them down the rest of the way. He pauses for a minute to get Kirk’s shirt out of the way, before returning with another brutal kiss and hard strokes on Kirk’s cock.
Spock’s chest is like a brick wall in front of him, and Kirk leans back onto the white tiled floor; his head hitting one of the legs of the comm desk. It’s not a comfortable position at all, but this doesn’t really register, especially when Spock executes a clever twist and nearly has Kirk coming all over that blue shirt. He’s nearly at the end of his wits when Spock doubles back and fishes out a white tube of slick from his back pocket (because of course in this insane porn video all Vulcan captains carry around lube for no reason other than to fuck subordinates into submission). Kirk watches, finally catching his breath, as Spock drizzles clear gel onto his fingers, rubbing them around as if to test its viscosity. He looks up at Kirk’s flushed face and his unwavering gaze – god, those eyes, they’re so intense like they’re going to swallow Kirk up and he just can’t look away – and it’s all the warning Kirk gets before there are two fingers in his ass, insistent and pushing.
Kirk’s taken a lot more than two fingers before, has been for the past year or so, but he can’t help the way his hips buck forward especially when he hears Spock let out something between a grunt and moan at being inside Kirk. He remembers hearing somewhere that Vulcans have hands as erogenous zones (which, to be honest sounds completely inefficient and illogical, but also freaking hot) and he clenches down, trying to make it good for Spock. If the Vulcan’s labored breathing is any indication, he’s succeeding. Too soon Spock’s already drawing out; but he’s back with an additional finger, and this time they’re moving with purpose like they’re looking for Kirk’s prostate. They find the little bundle of nerves entirely too easily, and Kirk gasps as he feels the short, intense jolt-slash-wave of pleasure that’s traveling up from inside his ass to the roots of his hair. He’s humping the air as those fingers scissor and flex inside him, and more than once Kirk has to grip harshly at the base of his cock to make sure he doesn’t come prematurely. He whines only a little bit when the fingers slip out again.
“Get up,” Spock commands, and he’s getting up himself, hooking his hands under Kirk’s arms and just drawing him up.
Once again, Kirk’s surprised at how fucking strong Spock is, and he lets himself get pushed down onto the glassy comm screen as soon as he gets his feet under him. The screen’s a lot colder than he anticipated; the perspiration on Kirk’s back making him stick to it in an extremely uncomfortable way. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk can make out Bones and Sulu behind the cameras, and he remembers with a sudden jolt that he’s shooting a porn movie right now. It jars him out of the heat of the moment, but then Spock’s hooking up Kirk’s legs over his shoulders and slapping his cheek as if to tell him to remember what they were supposed to be doing. Spock’s pinning down Kirk’s hands the best he can, keeping them above his head, and though Spock’s hand isn’t big enough to completely wrap around both of Kirk’s wrists, he’s still strong enough that he can keep them there through immovable force. It’s just enough force to get Kirk’s secretly submissive kinks into play, and Kirk’s arching his back forward when he feels that teasing, pulsating pressure against his hole that can only be Spock’s erection. Kirk tries to grind downwards, but his position on the glass surface is just precarious enough that he can’t get enough leverage.
“I’m going to need verbal confirmation from you that you wish for me to proceed further, cadet,” Spock says, and damn him if Kirk doesn’t hear the slightest bit of a smirk in that voice. Kirk’s forgets his line, but he wings it anyway, looking up through his eyelashes and saying in the sluttiest, yet challenging voice he can muster,
“Please, Captain, fuck me.”
Apparently that’s the ticket, because Spock takes a deep exhale before closing his eyes as if to gather himself, and finally pushes inside, his huge cock forcing Kirk’s ass to accommodate. It’s somewhat different than what he’s used to, but having a dick in his ass is still comforting at the same time; and Kirk’s gasping and trying to inch Spock closer to his prostate when he feels a sudden brightness in his brain. It’s gone as soon as it came; an abrupt, warm feeling that lit all his neural synapses on fire for one scintillating moment before vanishing and leaving them bereft. All Kirk can think is, Well, that was new, and for some reason he can feel Spock more…intimately now, if that was even possible. Spock looks at him, deep hooded eyes asking wordlessly if he can move, and Kirk nods.
Spock starts out nice and easy, but Kirk’s having none of that; it’s like there’s an itch he needs scratched and he’s whining “Harder, faster” and taking the Lord’s name in traditional porn star fashion after the first few strokes. It’s so much hotter, literally, than he remembers sex being, Spock’s dick seemingly burning a path inside him. Spock adjusts his position, ramming into his prostate when Kirk feels that brightness again. It’s longer this time, and he has enough time to make out some sensation of being encased in snug heat before it ends just as Spock retreats only to push back in again.
Kirk knows he probably looks like a wreck right now, sweating and flushed all the way down to his collarbones. Spock’s still impeccably put together, fully clothed except for where he’s thrusting into Kirk; the only trace of him being affected by any of this being the two high pink spots on his cheekbones. Spock wordlessly shoves a hand into Kirk’s face and he laves it, alternating between licks to pant heavily. Spock’s eyes, light brown and amber in the white lighting of the bridge, are drawing him in, and Kirk watches as the pupils dilate further whenever he raises the tip of his tongue and wets the intersections between fingers. Spock emits something like a groan before he can catch himself; and starts to speed up, taking on a fast rhythm that’s unruly and sloppy until it gets up to speed and becomes perfectly timed, hitting Kirk’s prostate at every thrust.
Kirk’s moaning incessantly now, and he clenches up and moves his hips as best as he can. He thinks Spock’s getting close, it’s not like he could ever tell for sure, but Spock’s sweating and his thrusts are starting to get frantic and less precise by the minute. Kirk whines, “Come on, captain come for me, please,” one of his less elegant improvs for sure, but it does the trick and Spock’s coming inside him, wet and slick –
All of a sudden that brightness is back at full force; and Kirk can make out images and memories, feelings and sensations, and it’s only after he sees a young boy with a bowlcut sporting green cut lips that he realizes he’s …feeling Spock somehow, through some cerebral pathway he couldn’t have imagined possible. In a vague, detached sort of way he can feel Spock’s come inside him, wet and slippery and warm, but he can feel himself too somehow, a velvety pocket of flesh that’s just taking whatever Spock’s giving. Kirk’s mind is reeling. This is all so different and new, and he’s suddenly not at all comfortable with the cameras and the people and the blinking lights everywhere; this is fucking intimate.
“Turn...turn all the cameras off!” he shouts, trying to make sense of what’s happening in his head, why the hell Spock’s there; and then there are warm hands at his shoulders, petting him down, soothing him.
“Jim-”
Kirk lets out a choked gasp, and comes.
It’s intense, and for a second Kirk can’t see anything but white. The orgasm courses through him in a heady rush, all the way down to his toes and he’s breathless but he feels so alive. He lies there, staring with wide eyes at Spock, who seems similarly in shock for once. He’s panting, trying to get a grip on the sticky glass of the comm desk. Behind Spock he can see Bones, Sulu and the rest of the crew coming over to clean him up and probably to ream his ass for ruining the final cuts.
It’s all so surreal and the only thing Kirk can register is that this was the weirdest sex he’s ever had in his life.
“I think,” Kirk says slowly, “I think you and I should have dinner some time.”
--End