Telltale - (Star Trek XI, Spock/Kirk, claim)
Jim was on his way to the bridge when he ran into Lieutenant Uhura.
He hid his sudden discomfort and smiled winningly at her. Thankfully, their conversation was brief - she’d worked gamma shift, working on a complex translation, and was going off-duty now - and it wasn’t long before Jim was walking away cheerfully.
Uhura cleared her throat, and Jim winced - he allowed himself the wince, as he wasn’t currently facing her. “Captain, with all due respect… What happened to your neck?”
Jim blinked, then felt himself flushing slightly as he turned to face her. She was referring, of course, to the uncomfortable bruise half-way up his neck - too high for his uniform to cover, of course. It was worthy of remark; he’d seen it in the mirror this morning - it was a deep bluish colour.
He coughed, stalling, and she raised a brow. “Don’t tell me. You ran from a vaccination again? You know, Captain, it would be far easier on everyone if you just sat still - Dr. McCoy doesn’t like having to bruise you to give you a hypospray, I’m sure.”
Jim strangled down the laugh welling in his throat, remembering precisely how he had gotten the bruise - it had not been from Bones.
A flash of imagery resurfaced in his mind; Spock panting near-silently a steady rhythm to his counterpoint of moans and demands; the deep noise that sounded almost like pain that Jim had dragged from his lover as he tightened his grip on Spock’s shoulders, dragging him down harder; the scream he knew had come from his own throat as Spock bit hard on his neck, after a moment he’d started sucking, though he hadn’t released the bite.
Jim had felt the rush of blood that signified a forming bruise, but the knowledge had faded into unimportance as he felt the undercurrent of ‘mine’ from Spock, carried by the expanses of their skin touching. Touch-telepathy, a part of Jim’s mind had noted absently, as the rest of him was occupied with a spectacular orgasm and bruising finger-marks into Spock’s arms.
This morning he had caught sight of the resulting bruise, which had had just enough time to colour fully as they slept - he’d bet the damn bastard had done it there, where it would be entirely visible no matter what he did, on purpose.
Jim had voiced this thought to his lover, half-scowling and trying to repress the small part of him that loved that thought, but Spock had merely raised a brow in a particularly infuriating smug version of his non-expression.
Uhura’s annoyed stare - though Jim fancied there might be a touch of concern there, as well - finally got through to him, and he laughed. “Oh, uh… Yeah. Bones being a little overzealous again, you know. Got to- uh, get to the bridge, now - hey, Spock! Wait up!” he added, raising his voice.
Before Uhura could react - demand a better explanation, perhaps - he was trotting off down the corridor toward his First Officer - she thought he looked rather like a man that had just been thrown a life-line.
Uhura’s brows rose as she saw Spock adjusting his stride minutely to compensate for the Captain’s. Spock turned his head, murmuring a greeting, and she recognised the flick of an eyebrow and a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth as a subtly affectionate welcome.
Perhaps even more surprising than Spock’s actions was the fact that the Captain appeared to have recognised them himself - he returned the welcome with a wide grin and wriggled his own eyebrows teasingly as he joined Spock.
Uhura’s eyes tracked back to that bruise, and she had to wonder…
She’d known instantly that the Captain was lying, of course, but . . . Spock? Really? He had never been so-
Maybe that was the point, though.
She had never brought out that kind of passion in him - the Captain might not always do so in the best of ways, but he could always get a response from Spock.