Title: Wet Dream

Author: Bersakhi

Series: TOS

Rating: [NC-17]

Codes: K/S

Summary: Spock has a daydream. Kirk is in it. They get wet.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all that is worthy, I am just along for the ride. This is an original work of amateur fiction based upon Star Trek and is not intended to infringe on the property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of copyright in Star Trek.

Wet Dream
by Bersakhi

You lie at my side near slumber, loose in my arms as if spilled from there. I watch as alien blood pulses at your temple, at the base of your neck. You would laugh, even tease me, at my precise perception, even in this non-light. I can clearly see the fine hairs, the pores, the lines. Yes, it is with so much clarity that I see now.

A pre-sleep jolt shifts you towards me and suddenly there is your breath, hot against my chest. It travels down my stomach, envelopes me with a protectiveness not known since times of savagery, whose genes have not totally been diluted. This is what you do to me, release my humanity. For so long I had kept it safely and securely at bay, away from prying eyes and hurtful words, only to be released now, in this haven, with you. It occurs to me this has been my goal all along, to savor and protect this part of me, until it could be reached by you. You have lured it out of me, seduced it. And now I am lost.

An image comes to me, its very nature scandalous in every way, and so with a newly discovered passion I embrace it.

In the eye of my mind, you rise, the sheet reluctantly releases you, and as you turn, you smile. It is the one that confirms this reality, that tells me this is the right thing, the right place. The one I thought I had seen before, directed at different, softer faces. But it is not. It is mine.

You rise further, and slip from my arms, my slight. I am left with your absence, shockingly shamefully painful. With one hand I reach and touch the place where you lay, still ridiculously warm. My fingers cannot smell, but they hum with your very essence. I'm compelled to follow.

I hear the water. It drowns out the small sounds you make as you enter your favorite element. I imagine you here, under the flow, relishing the sensation in your sensual way, indulging as you have increasingly done. Then I step forward and see you, and our eyes meet.

Your smile is different this time, enticing. You close your eyes and turn from me, hands against the wall head back, and I am breathless at the sight of your shamelessness. I must move.

Magnetically I am driven to mold my body against our white flesh. You arch back to welcome me, my arms surround you, draw you close, and we stand as two halves, compete. My hardness presses painfully between us, demanding. Your legs part and the wordless invitation makes me
want to weep. My hands tremble as they assist me into you with an urgency that is alien to me, shocks me. For a moment I am afraid that I will have lost control. Then your head bows, slightly turned, and I see your profile, eyes shut, lips slightly open, then you breathe my name like a secret.

I find myself poised, and there I hold, the water splashing against us both, encasing us in our imminent union. Then in one thrust I am in you, with an efficiency and ease that can only be maintained in this fashion of manipulated mental imagery. Yet the physical sensation is so real, it makes me burn, makes me catch my breath, and I look to see you still beside me, peaceful.

My mind returns me to our watery union. With each thrust you press against the wall, are sandwiched there. I watch your hands brace with each movement. My own catch at your hips, pull them towards me hard. Your gasp releases something within me that is almost unrecognizable, feral. Imbued with a demand beyond my control, even in this state, I quicken my pace, faster, harder, thrusting, grinding tirelessly. Near violence that reluctantly recalls the edge of a memory I have tried desperately to contain, I press into you once more and my seed releases itself inside you. Your head falls back and the sides of our faces meet, join. I cannot speak. I am not finished. Your own pleasure demands attention, a pleasure which is equally mine.

I turn you in my arms, and sink blindly to my knees, mouth groping for what I know has been awaiting me, weeping for me in anticipation. I take you in at once and your voice comes out in a moan. My fingers work at your round globes, tease the entrance that still throbs, linger on the roiling sacs, press against the base where you disappear in my mouth.

I cannot stop from moving, I cannot restrain my hands and mouth, they must know you completely. I feel your hands on the back of my head, urging me closer, closer, faster. Your fingers clench my hair and pull at my scalp in sharp pain. I devour you, am devoured by you.
Your seed when it spurts forth flows effortlessly down my throat. I hold you in me, feel your pulses which I continue to suck gently, until you are spent. At last I release you.

You fall to meet me, and we rock together, each of us equally consumed and satiated. I realize that not once since we touched have our eyes met, and my mind brings me back instantly to the reality. I am driven with the desire to look at you, to see you look at me. But I do not wish to disturb your slumber.

With a selfishness that surprises me, I shift against you. Your moan enters me with guilt and anticipation. Your body squirms, your face moves, and suddenly your eyes are open and meet mine, smiling.

Your first words to me bring me instantly to erection. "What a delicious sight to wake up to. Feel like a shower?"

Your mouth curves in delight as I respond with the only correct response.

"Indeed."

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