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Tame

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Jim knows he has no business staying in command, but someone has to, and he wouldn’t know how to explain it to his crew—excusing both himself and his first officer from duty in one fell swoop. He bears the bristling emotions that course through his body, mingled pain and pleasure permeating every last bit of his being. He tries to be strong, more for his crew than himself. He tries to force it down, to sooth his partners through the thick bond that looms between them, but it’s hard when they’re off together and he’s stuck in the captain’s chair. Then he gets a hail from Leonard and can’t wait any longer. He passes command on to Sulu and heads for the turbolift without meeting anyone’s eyes. He knows that they won’t judge him, though he judges himself.

By the time he’s finished the ride down to sickbay, he’s both relieved and rife with anticipation. This is what he’s needed. It kills him to be left out, to stand by and do nothing. He can feel Spock’s suffering, and it kills him. Leonard’s exhaustion is almost at its brink. Jim beelines through the empty space and right into Leonard’s private office. The door slides open for him and immediately seals off again, keyed for only three officers.

They’ve moved since he left them. They have to—Leonard has to keep Spock’s circulation from cutting off, though he’s still tightly bound and has to be, as much to protect himself as them. He’s lying across the biobed on his stomach, his legs bent over the edge and spread open, his hands chained to cuffs beneath it. His face is turned to the side on a plush pillow, wrapped up in a harness, lips stretched wide around a gag. His eyes are fogged and unfocused, cheeks green. His handsome figure glistens with sweat, flushed with exertion, even his hair ruffled. Human and Vulcan seed drips all down his legs, coating his thighs and dribbling along the base of the biobed. The sheer stench of it halts Jim in his tracks. Leonard’s buried to the hilt in Spock’s pert ass, right up against his taut cheeks. But then Leonard moans and pulls out, dragging more cum with him.

Jim stares at Spock’s gaping hole, barely acknowledging anything else. He’s dimly aware that Leonard’s speaking to him, but it takes a moment to regain himself enough to listen. He can see Spock trembling, feel how much Spock needs it. He’s still so deep inside pon farr. Leonard groans, “Sorry, Jim. ‘Thought I could handle it, but...” He just sort of trails off, vaguely gesturing, but Jim understands. Their lingering bond, fortified from countless mind melds, encompasses all three of them. Jim knows exactly how tired Leonard is. Leonard stumbles back into the nearest chair, pants still around his ankles. Jim barely even looks at his flaccid cock, because Spock demands all eyes on him. Leonard mutters, “He still needs more. Damn... I never thought I’d say this, but I think I actually couldn’t fuck him again if I wanted to.”

“I understand,” Jim mumbles. He steps forward like a man possessed, drawn to his first officer. His hands land on Spock’s lower back, and Spock immediately tenses, straining against his bonds, but they hold firm. He shudders almost violently. Jim can feel a torrential flood of feral hunger clawing at him, dying to throw Jim hard against the wall and fuck him into oblivion. It’s such a shame that they can’t do that. He wishes he could just unleash his Vulcan’s true strength, but he understands their doctor’s orders. He pets Spock sympathetically and murmurs, “Shh... it’s okay, Spock. I’m going to take you now... we’re going to get you through this...”

Spock marginally settles, but he’s still panting, still desperate—Jim reaches down to feel his rigid cock, painfully hard between his legs. Jim fondly strokes it a few times, only to feel Spock burst immediately, painting his fingers in a thick, sticky liquid. Spock’s dick doesn’t wilt at all. Jim withdraws his hand despite Spock’s grunted protests.

Jim needs his hands to get his pants down so he can gives his darling t’hy’la just what he needs.