A/N: Written for a kink meme prompt that asked for a K/S, non-Brokeback cowboy fic. So I did the exact opposite of Brokeback, i.e. an overdose of non-angsty fluff.

He limped into the kitchen an hour before sunset, covered in dust and sweat, a lasso looped over his shoulders. Spock paused from where he was stirring baked beans over the stove to arch an eyebrow at him, asking a silent question.

"Well." Jim hung his bizarre, wide-brimmed hat on the hook by the door, then took a seat on one of the beat-up chairs, flinching and easing his way down with both hands. "That was harder than I thought it would be."

"I see." Spock turned his attention back to the task at hand, retrieving crude utensils and bowls from the appropriate cabinets. "You assumed that sitting on the back of a fast-moving animal while attempting to cast a rope around the neck of another fast-moving animal would be a simple task?"

"No. Ok, maybe." Jim heaved a sigh behind him. "It looks easy in the holovids," he mumbled.

"I presume that these holovids are also unrealistic in their depictions of the accuracy of archaic weapons," Spock said idly as he began to set the table.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"As the rental vehicle that was nearly damaged is under my name, I feel the need to remind you multiple times." Spock took the beans off the stove and poured them each an appropriate serving. Jim was silent as Spock placed the salad and basket of cornbread on the checkered tablecloth as well, then took his own seat across the table.

"Oh man, you outdid yourself. This looks delicious." Jim grinned fondly at Spock, then started eating at a mildly alarming rate. Spock watched Jim for ten point three seconds to ensure he wasn't about to lodge something in his trachea before picking up a spoon to try the fruits of his efforts.

A few minutes later, Jim had slowed down his frantic consumption of the food enough to speak. "So how was your thing up at the lodge?"

"I learned a great deal about pioneer culture," Spock said, and hesitated. "Although most of my companions were… significantly younger than myself."

"I warned you those classes are meant to keep the little'uns out of their parents' hair."

"The majority were well-behaved," Spock said, reminding himself that only two had engaged in uninvited ear-pulling. "I made butter."

"This butter?" Jim indicated to the piece of half-eaten cornbread on his plate. Spock nodded. "It's good. Way better than the replicator."

Though Spock knew it was illogical, as the production of said butter had required very little effort, he felt a brief swell of satisfaction at the complement.

They retired to the lantern-lit living room after dinner, or as Jim insisted on calling it, supper ('because it sounds more western-ey!') Mindful of Jim's muscular discomfort from the day's activities, Spock urged him onto the sofa, coaxed a fire into the hearth with flint and steel, and began heating a kettle of water for a bath. Their cabin had few amenities, ostensibly to preserve the historical façade of the ranch. How humans could enjoy such anachronistic and uncomfortable vacation settings was beyond Spock's comprehension.

"My legs are killing me," Jim groaned, rubbing at his thighs as he sat slumped over on the couch. "Why do horses have to be so damn wide?"

"Evolution," Spock said simply, recognizing that Jim did not want an actual explanation. He crouched on the floor in front of Jim to assist him, kneading at his thighs to facilitate increased blood flow to the muscular microtears.

"Screw evolution. What about all that selective breeding? They couldn't make a skinnier horse?"

Unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, Spock allowed himself a query. "Were you truly as unsuccessful in your endeavors as your attitude would lead me to believe?"

Jim nodded, his face grim. "I may have ended up flat on my face. Twice. Then they actually got me on a horse – scratch that – a demon horse, and you'll have to wait for that part, because it's just too soon. Surprised?"

"I have come to expect your success, however improbable, in almost every situation. You are a competent individual in many disparate areas of skill."

"Could you tell that to the rodeo instructor?" Jim said earnestly. "Could you tell her I fly starships? Because I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm more than a few sandwiches short of a picnic." He hissed between his teeth when Spock pushed his thumbs into a particular spot on his gracilis muscle. "No wonder all the sheriffs swaggered."

"Perhaps the hot water will provide some relief."

"Yeah, that sounds like heaven." Jim scrunched up his nose a little. "And I am pretty filthy."

"Yes," Spock agreed, and Jim pretended to take offense.

When the bath was ready, and Spock had guaranteed a safe temperature with his tricorder despite protests that he was 'breaking immersion,' he helped Jim disrobe and climb into the wooden tub. Spock did not require bathing, as he had not been engaged in outdoor activities, which was fortunate considering the small size of said tub. Instead he assisted Jim, scrubbing soap through his hair and washing his back, neglecting the available sponge in favor of bare hands. He savored the drowsy, erotic tingle that passed through Jim's nerves and into his own, building with each caress.

"You're amazing," Jim sighed after awhile, leaning back into Spock's touch. "You really spoil me."

"I believe that a stressful job merits the occasional overindulgence of one's partner." Spock trailed his fingers over Jim's where they rested on the edge of the tub. "Can you stand for a short period of time?"

"Think so."

Spock hauled Jim to his feet and washed his legs, working his way up. Despite the cool air and the effects of evaporation, Jim was half-erect, and maintained the agreeable flush that Spock had assumed was due to the heat of the water. He teased Jim at first by washing him as clinically as possible, palming his testicles briefly and stroking his penis only twice. Predictably, his dispassionate methods served to enhance Jim's enthusiasm. Jim's breathing quickened, and his erection grew, and he made small, pleading sounds as Spock barely avoided his more intimate areas.

Eventually Spock decided to reward Jim for his uncomplaining attitude. He rested his soap-slicked fingers against Jim's perineum, and dragged them back between firm buttocks to massage the sensitive ring of muscle there. Jim cried out softly, and his whole body alternately tensed and relaxed, his hips pushing into the touch. Spock rubbed his other hand in slow circles over Jim's stomach to keep him upright as he slipped a finger inside.

Just the sensation of that smooth flesh beneath one hand and the grasping tightness around the finger of the other boosted Spock's heart rate at least twenty percent. He gently probed around, searching for Jim's prostate, his own erection pressing uncomfortably against the jeans he had been coerced into wearing.

"Wait, wait, hold on a second," Jim gasped, and clutched at Spock's hand in front of him. "Not that this isn't great and all, but I think we should move it to the bed. I'm still pretty sore."

Only then did Spock realize Jim's legs were trembling, and he quickly ceased his ministrations and allowed Jim to immerse himself in the water and rinse off. "I apologize. I was not paying sufficient attention to your condition."

"Condition," Jim snorted. "Way to make it sound like I'm ninety."

Spock wrapped Jim in a towel, supporting him as he staggered out of the tub and recovered his stability. "The manner in which you currently carry yourself is not unlike that of an elderly human."

Jim smacked him on the buttocks and kept his hand there, squeezing gently as he leaned into Spock. The smell of soap wafted over them both, and Spock slipped an arm around Jim's waist as Jim nuzzled his neck. "You look scary hot in jeans," Jim murmured. "I think I should tell Starfleet to make them regulation."

"I was under the impression that you consider me distracting enough without my wearing something specifically arousing."

Jim snickered. "It's not a sliding scale. Distraction levels stuck at maximum." He pulled Spock down by the back of his neck and into a brief but tender kiss, then wrapped the towel around his shoulders and hobbled his way toward the bedroom. Spock followed close behind, suspecting that one misstep was all it would take to topple Jim over.

But Jim made it to the bed without incident, throwing himself onto the quilt, still tucked tightly inside the towel. He wriggled foolishly to center himself, his arms trapped against his body. If Spock were human, there was an eighty-seven percent probability he would have laughed. Jim flailed a few more times before he released himself from the towel and sat up to scrub it over his head.

"You tired?" he asked as Spock unbuttoned his flannel shirt.

"Not particularly. Are you?"

"Yeah. Still want you, though," Jim's seductive smile faded after a second or two, and he started drumming his fingers on his knee. "Come on, are you really going to do every button? Just pull it over your head."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of the buttons?"

"See how much I care," Jim pointed to his excessively solemn face. "Now quit that and get over here."

Spock complied, and forced himself to simply drape the disheveled shirt over a chair rather than spend more time folding it up. He kicked off his socks and removed his jeans, pausing to raise an eyebrow at Jim's wolf-whistle. Nothing left but his briefs, he turned around to push them down teasingly slow, and a wet towel collided with the back of his head. He decided that he had tested Jim's patience enough, and made his way onto the bed.

They kissed for awhile, mostly the Vulcan way, because Jim liked to watch him respond to such stimulation. Eventually Jim's hand came to rest on his hip, thumb stroking up and down Spock's waist as he leaned in close. "What d'you think?" Spock understood the question immediately.

After approximately three point one seconds of consideration, he determined the only position that would prevent discomfort on Jim's part. He pushed Jim down to lie on his back, straddled his lap, and reached for the lubricant on the bedside table. Moving with practiced ease, he poured some into Jim's outstretched hand, and worked himself open while Jim stroked his erection patiently, grinning his approval.

Jim sometimes complained that they never took the time to draw such activities out, but the reality of their careers made efficiency necessary on a regular basis. They often found themselves in scenarios where they could either have intercourse within fifteen minutes, or not at all. Even while on shore leave, as the old Terran adage went, old habits died hard.

Soon they were both prepared, and Spock took Jim inside himself, an involuntary sound escaping his throat at the familiar heat and fullness. He remained stationary for a moment, absorbing the pleasant sensations, allowing Jim to relax so he wouldn't finish too quickly when Spock began to move. They proceeded through the excitement phase toward plateau together at a typical rate, Spock making full use of his strength and stamina to do most of the necessary physical work.

But suddenly Jim started snickering, then laughing in the giddy, helpless way that Spock had learned to associate with exhaustion. The rhythm Spock was building collapsed, and he stilled above Jim, his arousal slightly mitigated.

"What is it?" Jim's laughter declined, than increased again when he opened his mouth and failed to speak. The tremors from his body carried into Spock, shaking him in what he felt was a rather ridiculous manner. "I fail to see what you find so amusing."

Finally Jim calmed down enough to articulate himself. "Ride 'em, cowboy." He promptly dissolved into laughter again. Spock didn't roll his eyes, and even if he had, Jim was too oblivious to have noticed the expression. "You… you should get my hat," Jim continued, between pants and chuckles. "But I'm a pretty lame… bucking bronco. Can't really–"

Spock decided that he had enough and clenched around Jim, cutting off his absurd tangent and replacing the laughter with a sharp, surprised moan. He leaned over to suck a bruise into Jim's neck and murmur against his ear, damp golden hair tickling his nose. "I do intend to ride you," he said in the low, deliberate tone that he knew Jim enjoyed immensely during such situations. "I will ride you until you're blown."

"Fuck, Spock…" That was all Jim managed to gasp before Spock sat upright again and began to move in earnest, rocking smoothly back and forth. He placed a palm on Jim's chest, pressing down just hard enough to restrict movement, and he was rewarded with a short, helpless cry. Jim squirmed and tried to lever himself up, but Spock didn't allow him to get more than a few inches.

"Be still."

"Please, just let me…" Spock could guess from the angle of Jim's head and his parted lips that he wished to kiss in the human fashion.

"Not yet."

He angled himself so that Jim brushed against his prostate with every thrust, and orgasm rapidly became imminent, surging from the place they were joined to the tip of his erection. His body seized up, and before the inevitable burst of neurotransmitters could erase all coherent thought, he touched Jim's face to share the feeling through a shallow meld. Jim cried out Spock's name mingled with blasphemy and profanity as his own climax was triggered, and he lifted his hips beneath Spock, blind to any previous pain.

Spock regained awareness first, and he bent over to kiss full, red human lips as Jim gasped through the last tremors of orgasm. Jim didn't respond for several seconds, but then his mouth moved beneath Spock's patient kisses as he latched on and returned them weakly.

Presently Jim stopped, and Spock rolled off of him and basked in emotional contentment, and the highly agreeable sensation of physical release. Jim's seed began to trickle out of him, but he didn't care to move, and there was something satisfying about being so intimately marked. Slowly his more typical thought patterns interceded, coming back to him as threads of order in the chaos.

Even though they had not lasted any longer than average, his sense of time had been distorted by the above-average intensity of the orgasm. In any case, they had a trail ride scheduled for the next afternoon, so it was better that they had not engaged in excessive relations. Spock wondered if Jim would be recovered by then, and thought about ordering a painkilling hypospray from the lodge's replicator. He ceased these practical considerations when Jim stirred beside him, coming down from his own physiological high and releasing a sated, mumbled 'love you.'

Spock touched a meld point and projected the same.

Jim made an abstract, gratifying sound and curled into Spock's side, wincing slightly as he shifted his legs. "Didn't know you could pull off a double entendre like that."

"My previous attempts have been unsuccessful," Spock admitted. "However, this one proved surprisingly effective."

Jim smiled and nodded against Spock's arm. "You bet your scrawny ass it did," he said, in a vague approximation of a southern accent.

"Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"Please do not attempt to mimic regional pronunciation. You sound as though you are imitating Dr. McCoy."

"Sure thing, darlin'," Jim drawled, and let out a sleepy chuckle. "Now if you don't mind, I'm fixin' to get me some shut-eye."

Spock sighed and was about to reproach him again, but Jim had fallen asleep almost the second he finished his statement, so Spock pressed a kiss to his forehead instead. The barking of a coyote, likely artificial, sounded somewhere in the distance. Spock drifted off to the occasional pops of the dying fire in the next room, and the soft, nasal sound of his captain's breath.