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"Ok. A plan. We need a plan."
"Indeed, Captain."
So far so good. They were in agreement. They needed a plan.
He opened his mouth and closed it again immediately, turning the emphatic finger point into a frustrated hair sweep.
They were fucked.
Jim paced the length of the cell again. Six full strides, one half step, then wall. He shot a glance over to Spock, standing with enviable equanimity on the other side of the room (six full strides and one half shuffle away) perfect posture maintained with his hands clasped lightly behind his back in parade rest. Jim loved that about him, the unflappable control and placid expression completely belying the frighteningly astute mind grinding away a million simultaneous statistical calculations while rewriting his thesis paper on ionic transference and warp theory to incorporate recent postulates on observed behaviours of gamma waves in wormholes. An infinitesimal fraction of that awesome brain power would be devoted to figuring out how to get himself and his Captain out of their current predicament.
"What the hell are Klingons doing out here anyways? Dammit, this was supposed to be shore leave!"
"There were no reports of Klingon activity in the area when we selected this planet for leave."
Jim sighed and let his dream of an uninterrupted week with his First Officer, away from the stresses of missions and red alerts and fighting for their lives, skip merrily away, leaving him to his gritty reality in a tiny cell. In need of a plan. At least they were in the same cell this time, which probably meant their gracious hosts didn't know who they had captured in their surprise raid.
And dammit, it was supposed to be shore leave!
"So, what do you think Spock? Has the Universe decided that we never get to fuck again because I'm telling you, after these past few weeks I'm beginning to see some pretty convincing signs that something, somewhere is singularly opposed to me getting you naked."
"There is no evidence to support that the Universe has sentience, Captain, let alone a malevolent interest in your extracurricular activities."
Jim's mouth twitched at the dry rebuke.
"The how do you explain it? We haven't gotten past second base in almost a month!"
"We were at Starbase 2 less than a week ago, Jim."
He couldn't help the laugh, Spock really was the perfect straight man. He glanced over again and saw the tiny pleased curl of his Vulcan's mouth. It made him want to cross the six full strides and one half step it would take to latch on to that subtle curve with his teeth and take both of their minds off..
His brilliant new plan.
He pitched his voice to the low growl he knew got Spock hot. "C'mere Spock. I have an idea."
Trust. It never failed to astound him just how much trust his Vulcan placed in him. Spock crossed over to him without question, just one perfect eyebrow raised to brush the fringe of sleek black bangs. He noticed it only took his First five full steps as he'd adjusted his stride to eliminate the awkward shuffle before he was a hair away from Jim, close enough to see the rim of caramel gold around pupils and count the individual eyelashes if he were so inclined.
Some other time, perhaps. Eyelash counting was a lazy Sunday lover's game and while lazy Sundays were in woefully short supply aboard the Enterprise these days, they were an unimagined luxury in a cramped prison cell with a surly Klingon down the hall.
He raised his hand to cup the back of Spock's neck and rested their foreheads together. His kept his words to a husky murmur. "What we need, Spock, is a good old fashioned distraction." He tilted his head so he could run his tongue along the soft line of Spock's lips.
He didn't miss the slight hitch in Spock's throat. "Is it our guards you are attempting to distract, Jim, or ourselves?"
He leaned in close to breathe deep and pressed his answering grin into Spock's cheek. He ran his free hand down Spock's back rubbing slow circles along his spine until he hit the belt loops, conveniently structured to allow for one tight pull to initiate full body contact. They both groaned, low sounds mingling between a purr and a rumble, filling the tiny space. A series of soft kisses along the sharp cheekbone brought Jim to the pointed ear. He tongued the cartilage fold of the tragus lightly, first flicking then tracing his way up along the gentle ridge.
If his whisper was a little ragged, Spock certainly wasn't complaining. "They're Klingons, Spock."
He smothered a groan when Spock's hands began a needy survey of his ass and hips and rubbed himself against Spock's thigh, twisting so he could lick his way around that white column of throat over to the other ear. He was a firm (very firm) believer in balance and hissed his brilliant tactical analysis through teeth determined to nibble on a delicate green tinted lobe.
"They're, ah god yes like that. They're hardly going to come charging in if one of us pretends to be sick. We need to be-" he broke off to bury his face in the slope of Spock's shoulder, momentarily overwhelmed. Spock had found his way down his pants and those elegant fingers were now campaigning for entrance, scratching at the door, so to speak. His whimper was a stuttered broken thing and he renewed his assault with fierce bites and a wet tongue crawling their way back to Spock's ear.
He pressed closer, revelling in the heat emanating from the hard body and shifted so their hips aligned. Another twinned gasp sounded and he was gratified that Spock was hard against him. He rocked lightly, letting the delicious warmth spread from his groin into his belly.
"We have to be more creative than that-" He swallowed the surprised yelp when the first of Spock's fingers worked their way inside of him. He gave up his explanations and savoured the burning stretch a moment. Spock had clearly grasped the concept and it was past time that he put a bit more into their little performance anyways.
It was of course with the need for a convincing display in mind that he pushed his weight forward to manoeuvre Spock closer to the door. James T Kirk did not believe in doing things by half measures so it was in the interest of verisimilitude that he was trying to climb his First Officer while simultaneously pressing himself back against the two fingers that were now stroking inside him. When he clawed his pants open to free his cock and allow Spock better access, it was his intrinsically helpful nature coming to the fore. After all, he decided with a throaty moan of philosophical approval, a good actor was always willing to lend a fellow the inspiration to perfect a scene.
His hands got greedy and he shoved them under the hem of black t-shirt to grasp their fill of hot Vulcan skin and muscle, teasing his sensitized palms over the coarse hair peppering the strong chest and running his fingertips over the smooth planes as if he were a horny blind man decoding a steamy letter in braille. He surged at Spock's mouth with his, pressing their lips together and thrusting his tongue past teeth to twine and curl with Spock's, keening cries swallowed between them as long fingers fisted their way around him and glided up the entire length of his cock.
Jim kneaded the curve of jaw and worked his other hand down between the unyielding force of their forms to find Spock's erection, still woefully restrained by Starfleet issue casual slacks and brought about emancipation with a few quick flicks of fingers over fastening. He jerked away from the beautiful heat surrounding him, pressing into him and vibrating through him to slide to his knees and celebrate the ideals of freedom with his mouth.
Spock was leaning against the wall, skin flushed olive and panting softly through slick lips, neat cap of hair mussed by impatient hands. Jim placed one tiny kiss to the leaking slit at the head and waited with his hands tangled in the coarse weave of fabric bunching around thighs until those wide brown eyes were fixed on his. He loved watching Spock's impassive face betray itself when he swirled his tongue over the tip to taste the copper salt tang, heavy lids shuttering down halfway so only the slightest satisfied glint could be seen. He pulled the shaft in, waving his tongue along the curve and finding the sensitive patch beneath the head to tease while he hollowed his cheeks with a firm continuous suck.
Spock's eyes actually rolled up and the sight of perfect white teeth holding the swollen bottom lip captive speared heat through Jim, his balls constricted and ached with the need to come now. He brought one hand down to work himself while he continued to bob along Spock finding a rhythm of laving strokes and sucking pulls that drove the tiny grunt and whimpers past the sentinel teeth.
It was a good thing Spock was the one standing beside the door when it scraped open because Jim may have forgotten the plan in the ecstasy of the moment and would have definitely been tempted to finish instead of lashing an arm out to disable the angry guard. He bit back a sigh of frustration as he rolled to his feet and tucked himself back in, giving one last longing look at Spock's beautiful penis as it disappeared, still hard, back into the ugly grey wool trousers. They'd been so damned close.
Spock met his resigned shrug with a similarly frustrated eyebrow raise.
"We'll finish this when we get back to the ship." He did not sound plaintive, dammit.
"Indeed Jim, I find that my resolve to return to the Enterprise has been significantly bolstered."
He laughed and moved past the fallen Klingon. "Viva la fucking resistance."