Summary: Spock attempts a birthday surprise for Jim.
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Dedication, disclaimer, rating and warning:
This limerick was written in hours of leisure
Exclusively for the July birthday pleasure
Of our dear, beloved Lyra
(I’m a fan and an admirer
Of her writing and wit. She’s a treasure.)
This poem is rated NC-17.
So if you’re under the age of eighteen,
I ask you: go elsewhere.
I certainly won’t care
And you’ll be happier, because you’ll be clean.
If just yesterday you were born
Then you really shouldn’t be reading such porn.
But I’m old, so I can write
Anything that seems right.
And I’ll still like myself in the morn.
This poem contains explicit sex between males
And all of the things that entails.
And if you are wary
Or find the subject scary,
You should avoid this and all its details.
Paramount-Viacom are the owners.
I just borrow the guys, and give them big boners.
(They’re birds of a feather
So I get them together
Because they’re too good to live life as loners.)
Fanfiction, by definition, is free
Without any profit to me
Except Lyra’s smile,
Which will make it worthwhile
(And if you know her, you’ll certainly agree.)
Spock stared at the back of Kirk’s head
And considered the information he’d read
Just a few weeks ago
When business was slow
And he’d had time to kill while in bed.
He’d read of a curious tradition on Earth
Employed to celebrate one’s anniversary of birth.
It seemed that they’d make
A double layer cake,
That was of substantial height and of girth.
Between the layers, they would use for splicing
A sticky substance called frosting or icing.
They’d add more to the top
And on the sides they would glop
Even more, just to make it enticing.
It was a custom without logic or sense
And yet Spock thought of it many days hence.
“Would it show too much affection
If I made Jim such a confection?
Would he be pleased, or take sudden offense?”
For Jim’s birthday was the twenty second of July -
An old Earth date that drew alarmingly nigh.
And Spock had nary a clue
Of what he should do
Or what sort of present to buy.
Though he generally acted with speedy precision
In this case he fought indecision.
“It might tell him too much,”
He thought with a touch
Of panic. “I might earn his derision.”
“If he knew the true depth of my feeling …”
He stopped, for his poor brain was reeling
Just from the mere thought
That he’d ever be caught,
And Jim would find out what he’d been concealing.
The idea made him utterly quake,
Till he finally gave himself a good shake.
“This fear is for naught –
You’re all overwrought
From a perfectly innocent cake.”
From that moment, Spock devoted his mind
Completely to trying to find
The perfect sort of cake
He could plan and then bake:
He was determined to make just the right kind.
But what sort of kind would it be?
For a time he considered strawberry,
Till he happened to think
That Jim didn’t like pink
And was forced to move on to Plan B.
Plans C, D and E quickly followed
As in indecision Spock lingered and wallowed.
“Carrot cake is too chunky
And banana tastes funky
And should neither be abided nor swallowed.”
Vanilla, he decided, was too bland
And he rejected pudding cake out of hand,
For it was too soupy –
Far, far too goopy –
For the aesthetic masterpiece that Spock planned.
For hours he didn’t even budge
As in turn each flavor he’d judge.
Just when he despaired,
He started and stared:
‘Twas a layer cake called “Feather Light Fudge.”
“Jim’s fondness for chocolate’s well known,
And to fudge he’s particularly prone,”
Spock said with delight.
“And as for feather light –
Well, that has an especially nice tone.”
The perfect kind of cake had been found.
Now Spock needed butter (a quarter pound),
And other things, dry and wet,
That would be awfully hard to get …
No matter. To procure them, he was bound.
He bribed an official for cocoa on Marisco;
On Xerxus Six he found three eggs and Crisco.
He stole baking powder from the lab;
He purchased a slab
Of butter from an Andorian named Sysko.
The replicator needed to be totally rewired
Before it eventually fired
Out cupfuls of flour.
(It took Spock an hour
To clean the mess that subsequently transpired.)
And so, little by little Spock got
All he needed to pursue his little plot.
Now his long shift was through;
Spock knew what to do:
He lunged for the lift like a shot.
He left Jim behind him in the dust.
“That’s odd,” Jim said, “but I trust
He’s planning a surprise.”
And he followed Spock with eyes
Full of love and a trace of pure lust.
Spock had read that a mixer would be required
So he jury-rigged and then wired
A suitable device
That he thought would suffice,
Though its appearance was a tad uninspired.
Being careful not to make a mistake,
He placed all the things for the cake
In a bowl and then stirred
Till a batter occurred.
“It soon will be ready to bake.”
“But if this cake’s to achieve full potential
There first is a step that’s essential:
Before it can be eaten
It must be thoroughly beaten –
A fact that is most consequential.”
And so he brought to the mixer
The sticky sweet chocolate elixir,
Stuck the beaters deep in,
And as they started to spin,
Said something like, “That ought to fix ‘er.”
But the beaters made a horrible clatter
When they started to mix up the batter.
A small disaster occurred
As they churned and they whirred:
They caused some of the batter to splatter.
Spock’s shirt took the brunt of the stuff:
It was plastered from collar to cuff
With Feather Light Fudge –
A terrible smudge.
Stain removal, he knew, would be tough.
“A result that’s a bit unexpected,
But I shan’t from my task be deflected.
I’ll simply take off the shirt –
It surely won’t hurt,
And the cake will remain unaffected.”
So over his head the shirt slipped
And Spock continued to work partly stripped.
The batter didn’t care
That the Vulcan was bare,
Nor did Spock. He just beat and he whipped.
Once in a pan the stuff safely was confined
(Greased and floured, but with parchment unlined),
He said, “Now some heat,
And Jim will soon eat
A treat that is sweet and refined.”
He set his phaser on “Medium Stun”
And on a stand he fastened the gun
Aimed right at the cake
And started to bake.
(On starships, that’s how cooking is done.)
“And now for the frosting,” he said,
As the recipe he painstakingly read.
It wasn’t complex:
Just sugar (triple x),
And some butter to make it all spread.
“And of course, it needs chocolate – lots of it,
For Jim puts no flavor above it.
I’ll add more than a hint –
It won’t do to stint.
I want Jim not to like, but to love it.”
“Not to like, but to love.” Spock’s gaze
Softened as he considered this phrase.
If only his Jim
Would just once say to him …
He stirred away, in a wish-induced daze.
As his thoughts grew increasingly wanton
The mixer’s past treachery was forgotten.
And so, yet again
He put the beaters in –
A decision, it turns out, misbegotten.
With a whine and a crash and a clash
The beaters proceeded to flash.
So much frosting flew,
Spock was coated anew
In chocolate … much more than a splash.
The gods don’t like cake – it’s apparent:
At that moment, the phaser went errant,
And shifted from “Medium Stun”
To “Way Overdone,”
A development that was utterly aberrant.
As he walked down the hall, Kirk scared
Three yeomen by the way that he glared.
“Not one word from him,”
Muttered disgruntled Jim.
“Damn Vulcan. I thought that he cared.”
“On one’s birthday, one’s best friend ought to say
Or do something just to convey
His respect or …or … devotion.
Is that an unreasonable notion?
But not Spock. He just hides away.”
“I haven’t seen him since we ended our shift
And he bolted straight into the lift.
I thought that he’d call,
But I’ve heard nothing at all –
Not a card or a word or a gift.”
With these uncharitable thoughts in his head
Jim decided to head straight for bed.
He might just as well:
The day’d gone straight to hell
Once that damnable Vulcan had fled.
So he stomped along, utterly miffed,
But at Spock’s doorway, he stopped and he sniffed.
Was it smoke he detected?
Spock must be protected!
Jim’s reaction was decisive and swift.
In his mind’s eye, without his volition,
Arose a frightening premonition:
Spock struggling for breath
Or meeting his death …
“No!” He banished the dreadful apparition.
“Door: unlock – command override!”
Jim shouted and dove promptly inside
With one thought on his mind:
His Vulcan to find
And assistance or rescue provide.
But the sight that met him once in
Caused a considerable drop of his chin.
For in the middle of the room,
Still holding a spoon,
Was Spock, with a look of chagrin.
Kirk licked his lips and then swallowed,
As he saw that in frosting Spock wallowed.
*A Vulcan in icing
Would taste incredibly enticing,*
Was the thought that involuntarily followed.
“Is that … chocolate?” he managed to blurt,
Well aware Spock was lacking his shirt.
He tried not to stare
At the parts that were bare,
But it was impossible his gaze to avert.
“It *is* chocolate, Jim,” Spock confessed.
(He was sorry that he’d partially undressed,
For under Jim’s stare
He felt terribly bare
And had thoughts that must be suppressed.)
“And … what about that?” Jim inquired.
Spock sighed. “Till a disaster transpired,
It once was your cake.
Unfortunately, it was baked
A bit more than I really desired.”
“You went through all this just for me?”
Jim marveled as he surveyed the debris.
The sight was berserk -
It looked like the work
Of sixty drunken elves on a spree.
Eggshells and cocoa were scattered
And the walls were pretty thoroughly battered.
It was horrendous to see,
But, “He did this for me,”
Jim murmured. It was all that really mattered.
With an affectionate light in his eyes
That he didn’t much bother to disguise,
Jim moved over to Spock
And said, “I’m in shock.
You’re a continual, walking surprise.”
“A surprise?” Spock managed to stammer,
As his heart began loudly to hammer.
With Jim standing so near,
He felt decidedly queer
And his mind was in a whirl and a clamor.
A wild desire sprang up in him, unassisted,
And though he knew that it must be resisted
It wouldn’t be quelled.
*By this man I am held:
And I think it has always existed.*
*If I kissed him,* he thought in desperation,
*Would it be our friendship’s termination?
And could I go on
If from me he’s withdrawn?
No. I must not give in to temptation.*
But Jim was feeling a little bit braver
As the sight of Spock he continued to savor.
In a tone soft and low,
He said, “Did you know
That chocolate’s my favorite flavor?”
“In fact, not a bit should be wasted.
It should be thoroughly sampled and tasted.”
And with that, Jim quite soon
Had hold of the spoon
That with frosting was so liberally pasted.
Jim’s tongue darted out, wet and pink,
And Spock’s heart quickly started to sink.
*I can’t watch this display,*
He thought with dismay.
He felt dizzy, as if he’d chugged a strong drink.
But Jim seemed not the least bit affected,
If Spock’s discomfort he even detected.
The fact is that our Jim
Licked the spoon with such vim
That not one tiny bit was neglected.
Watching, rapt, while the spoon was denuded,
Spock wished he could go somewhere secluded.
But of course he could not.
*He’s made me so hot
I’ll explode,* he silently concluded.
“Delicious,” was Jim’s enthusiastic review
When at last with the spoon he was through.
And with a sidelong glance
He took a big chance:
“It will taste even better on you.”
Inside, our Jim was a wreck
As he leaned forward and licked at Spock’s neck.
*It’ll give him a jolt.
He might even bolt,
Or maybe deck me … but, hey – what the heck.*
So he put aside his unspoken trepidation
And gently, with great dedication,
He lapped at Spock’s skin
Several times, then again
When he met with no loud protestation.
All Spock could manage, in truth, was an “Oh,”
As the tips of his ears started to glow.
Of logic bereft,
He found all that was left
Was to fall back on a little quid pro quo.
And so with his heart all aquiver,
He proceeded on Jim’s lips to deliver
A long and deep kiss.
(Its effect was just this:
It caused both of them to pant and to shiver.)
“Spock,” Jim whispered when next he could speak,
“You’ve caused both of my knees to go weak,
But another part to strengthen
And even to lengthen,”
And he nudged Spock with that part of his physique.
This elicited a small moan from Spock,
And instinctively, he reached for Jim’s cock.
“Oh, yes,” muttered Jim,
But he turned briefly from him
To order: “Door – engage privacy lock.”
Then he said, “Spock, fondle me much more
And we both will end up on the floor.
I don’t mean to be pushy,
But the bed is more cushy,
And better suited for what is in store.”
“A suggestion both logical and quite wise,”
Said Spock as he stroked at Jim’s thighs
And also his chest,
“We both need some rest,
And bed is just what I would advise.”
Jim said with a smile salacious,
“Your hypothesis, I’m afraid, is fallacious.
Rest is not in the offing.”
(His clothes he was doffing,
Or he might have been a bit more loquacious.)
With a worried look in his eyes,
Spock said, “Jim, I don’t have supplies
Such as ointment or gel ... ”
Jim said, “What the hell,
Spock – I’ll just improvise.”
With Spock safely ensconced on the bed
Jim ordered, “It’s time that you shed
The rest of your clothes
From your waist to your toes –
It’ll be more convenient for what lies ahead.”
Without dissent, Spock promptly complied.
“What *does* lie ahead?” he replied,
As if a true neophyte –
But he wasn’t – not quite –
For his long legs were splayed open wide
And in the general location of his midsection
He sported a massive erection
That proved he dissembled.
Jim practically trembled
When he subjected it to a visual inspection.
“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Jim assured,
As the bowl of frosting he abruptly secured.
“If you think that I can’t,”
He proceeded to pant,
“From that misapprehension I’ll soon have you cured.”
Spock suddenly felt a bit leery.
“Why the frosting?” was his tersely put query.
(Though I must make this confession:
Jim’s lecherous expression
Had helped him to develop a theory.)
Jim grinned. “It’s my birthday – you owe me dessert.
There’s no cake, so I propose to convert
You to the treat.
Just lie still on the sheet
And don’t worry. I swear it won’t hurt.”
So while Spock lay there in the buff,
Jim slathered Spock’s cock with the stuff.
Jim iced like a pro –
You never would know
That his actions were all off the cuff.
As for Spock, he writhed and he gasped
And the bed sheets in clenched fists he clasped.
He now understood
That being frosted felt good.
“Jim, please,” he finally rasped.
“Good enough to eat,” Jim proudly announced
As on the Vulcan’s staff he eagerly pounced
To suck and to lick
At Spock’s straining dick
While Spock’s moans grew more wild and pronounced.
For blow jobs, there’s none that compare
To Jim Kirk: he never came up for air
Until Spock gave a scream
And started to cream
In Jim’s mouth like a Vulcan éclair.
Jim swallowed with gluttonous greed
Both the frosting and Spock’s castoff seed.
“Happy birthday to me,”
Was his final decree.
All Spock could muster was a feeble “Indeed.”
After this frolicsome bout
Spock was as limp as a dead rainbow trout.
With a smile that was sly,
Jim said to him, “Why,
I believe that I’ve just blown you out.”