Fic: The Ties that Bind, Chapter 11, Kirk/Spock, COMPLETE
Title: The Ties that Bind, Chapter 11/11
Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Length: 9.5k (of circa 80k in total)
For: awarrington, always ♥
Warnings: More therapy
Summary: The Enterprise crew makes contact with a planet where an all-male society thinks they're sexual catnip, and decides to keep and marry them all against their will
A/N: The Chulu will be resolved at a later date, which was always the intention because I'm mean and twisted. Thanks again to my feedbackers - I hope this eventually got where you wanted it to. Need to sleep, will fix errors tomorrow.
“You'll be okay. I know it.”
“I am okay, thanks.”
Mom looks at me, then shrugs. “Eh. Could be better.”
I kick at her chair, sending her rocking again as she throws back her head and laughs. It's become out ritual at weekends, sitting on the porch watching the sun go down, a cold beer each while I bitch about Jeff and she bitches about work. Tonight's sunset is unspectacular, the skies too clear tonight with only a faint haze of pink outlining the trees at the far horizon, the air cooler now Fall's setting in.
“So much for unconditional love.”
“Oh, Jimmy.” She strokes my arm, picking at the rolled sleeve of my shirt. “There's no such thing.”
“Jesus, Mom. And people wonder why I'm in therapy.”
“You think your love for your Spock's unconditional?”
“I do, and he's not 'my Spock' like he's my dog or something.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to call him? Your boyfriend, your fiance, what?”
“Fucked if I know.” I throw back a mouthful of suds.
“More importantly, am I going to get lots of little pointy-eared grandbabies to play with soon?”
“No.”
“Aw.”
“Nu-uh. Not happening.”
“You're a disappointment to your mother.”
“I guess that's Monday's session taken care of.”
She pushes herself out of her chair, coming over to wrap her arms around me from behind, her chin propped on top of my head. “Need another beer? I'm heading that way.”
“I'm good, thanks.”
Her hands pluck at my hair, twirling it this way and that, and I tolerate it, wanting to shake her off.
“You will be okay. I know it's taking longer than you expected, but you always land on your feet.”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes as Mom runs her fingernails across my scalp. “I do, don't I.”
-
“No. Back off, I mean it.”
“Jim . . .”
“Nobody talks about my father that way. I won't hear it from my mother, so I'm certainly not going to take it off some psych-tech who only graduated last year.”
“From the Academy, not from med school. I'm not insulting your father, Jim. Consider his position -”
“'Powerless'? Sure as shit sounded like an insult to me.” I'm leaning against the wall with my hands balled in fists, shaking with the effort it's taking not to lash out at Jeff, who's a head shorter than me and about ninety pounds soaking wet. He's fallen silent once more, letting me calm as I turn back towards him and fold my arms. “George Kirk saved the lives of more people than you or I meet in a year. He took control of the situation. That's not powerless.”
“Of course he saved lives, hundreds of them, including yours.” Jeff looks at me for a moment like he's deciding whether or not saying this next thing is likely to get him a busted nose. “By accepting the situation for what it was, and accepting his inability to prevent certain outcomes. One could argue that his was primarily an act of essential passivity. Would you have made the same decision if you were him?”
No. It's something I've asked myself a million times, and I know what Jeff's prodding me towards. “It's impossible to say.”
“Why did you take the Kobayashi Maru more than once?”
“It made me pissed that they thought they had this unbeatable test. I wanted to prove them wrong.”
“To what end?”
“To show them that nothing's unbeatable and that it's arrogant to think otherwise.”
“You think it's arrogant to believe that there are unbeatable scenarios.” He says it flat, like a statement, and I have to admit it sounds stupid.
“No. I don't know. Maybe. It's a matter of lateral thought. There's nothing you can't think your way around, change the rules of engagement.”
“So what do you think would've happened if you'd taken an exclusively passive path through the occurrences on Ping?”
“He wasn't passive, you need to stop saying that, and I'd have died. The whole away team, Spock, me . . .”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I'm sure! You're not listening to me. You weren't there. You need to - know what? I'm done here. That's it, I'm done, enough of this shit.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair, Jeff looking up at me as I jab my arms into each sleeve. “Take my starship, take whatever, I'm through. I'm not spending the rest of my life in this room with you calling my father powerless, and we're no closer to you signing me off than we were a month back. We're getting nowhere. So, I'm done.”
“Jim. Sit down.”
“Go fuck yourself. You weren't on Ping. I couldn't just sit there on my ass waiting to die.”
“Ask yourself why you're getting so antagonistic with me now. We've been here six weeks, why are you walking out right this minute? Why now?”
“Because - ” I blow out a breath, my hands shaking so I push them into the pockets of my jeans. “Because . . . I don't know. Alright? I don't know why.”
“I honestly believe that you do.”
“Because I don't like you calling my father passive, or powerless or whatever. I'm supposed to sit here and take whatever you dish out? What the hell kind of therapy is that?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I sigh and roll my head around to work out the tension in my shoulders. “Sure.”
“Spock is powerless sometimes. Vulnerable, even weak. I can promise you that. I am weak, vulnerable and powerless, sometimes. Your father was. Sextus was, even when convinced of his own invincibility. Everybody you know is. Everybody you will ever know.”
“No. Spock's not -”
“Sure he is, and he'd tell you that himself.”
“But it's different for me. My position, I mean, a captain can't afford to be weak.” My nose burns inside as I say it.
“Sit down, please.” I clench my jaw and do it, staring at the lines on the palms of my hands, turning them over to look at my knuckles, Jeff's voice almost calming in its nasal drone. “Sometimes it's positive to refuse to accept your own limitations, but there's a point where it becomes unhealthy. When are you going to stop pushing, Jim?”
“What?” I look up, the burn at the back of my nose growing as my eyes begin to smart. “Pushing what?”
“You should read your file sometime. Over and over again, you've placed yourself by choice outside whatever boundaries are available to you and seen how far you can take it. It's not a refusal to play by someone else's rules, or righteous indignation when someone thinks they have an unbeatable test, and it's not anger with me. What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“I think you do.”
“I don't. Fuck, quit poking at me. If I say I don't, I don't.” I can't sit for this, moving over to watch the rain run down the window, thick gray clouds hanging heavy and low over the city. It's suffocating, the sky trying to force us back to the ground and out of its dominion.
“I'm not trying to beat my father.”
Silence, a cloud burst a few blocks over heading this way.
“I'm not afraid of being imperfect.”
Silence. The clouds are the same color as tritanium and my breath catches before I can reassure myself that it's simply water vapor.
“I'm scared.”
Silence. Not even a slurp of coffee this time to distract me.
“Not to die. I'm not afraid to die. My grandmother died when I was a kid and everyone cried, and I didn't understand why, because going to sleep and not waking up didn't seem like a bad thing. Mom got so mad at me.”
The cloud burst arrives, hitting the window pane hard with a rattle of rain. And the burn in my nose builds, my eyes filling up and up until I blink and a teardrop bounces off my cheek and down to soak a dark patch in the front of my shirt.
“What are you scared of, Jim?”
I don't want to say it. “That you're right.”
-
“Man, I needed this. Some time spent kicking ass always does me good.” I sit back and stretch out my hands, smirking as Admiral Pike frowns at the my queen and both knights on the upper levels of the board then glares at me.
“Yeah. Real relaxing. How about you quit looming over me like some diseased vulture and start engaging?”
“Just getting you where I need you to be.”
“No shit.” He glares at my queen some more before shifting his rook into the start of a basic river maneuver that's going to hand me the central board and his king in three moves. “I remember when this used to be fun.”
“You should play Spock some time.”
Pike grimaces and grabs his glass. “I have. That's about when it quit being anything other than an humiliating set of tiny defeats. Step by step until the bitter end. Spock's brutal.”
“Sure is. It's so hot.”
“I'll take your word for it.”
I sacrifice a pawn to his bishop. “There. Another one to add to your collection.”
“I hope you don't play so fast and loose with my crew.”
“I like to call it 'chumming the waters'.” He picks off the pawn, and I look over the board for a minute like I don't know exactly what I'm going to do. “Hmm. What now? You've got me on the run, Admiral.”
“Pfh. No I don't.”
I check him with a bishop. “Yeah, maybe not.”
“Dammit. Anyone ever told you you're a sneaky little bastard, Captain?”
Something tells me he'd grow to like Bones if they ever got the opportunity to socialize. “Fleet's finest tactical training in action, Admiral. When in doubt, hide behind the nearest rock then jump out and blast everything in sight.”
“I don't remember that being on the curriculum.”
“Maybe not in your day. Did you guys even have phasers back then, or did you just throw rocks at each other?”
Checkmate, my queen swooping down to corner Pike's king. He scowls and knocks it over.
“Thanks for making that look tougher than I suspect it was. And 'rocks'? I should promote you for that right now, just for the hell of it. Stick you behind a desk somewhere.”
“What's it like?” I watch his face for a reaction, wondering if I'm going too far. “If that's not too personal a question.”
“What, being a desk jockey?” I nod, rolling a sip of the malt around my mouth as he sits back in his chair with a sigh. “I suppose I'm getting used to it. Still don't like anything that takes me up to space dock - it makes me want to jump out of this piece of crap,” He punches one of the arms of his chair lightly. “And go hijack a ship. Shoot out into the stars. But it's good being a part of the bigger picture, deciding who goes where, moving our pieces into position. Sure makes me wish my chess skills were better.”
“Why did I get given Ping?” This must be the fifth time we've hung out in the last six weeks, and it's the first time I've asked. “Why was it a priority?”
“I can't tell you much, Jim, you know that.”
I shrug. “So tell me what you can. Did Command know about the uprising before it happened?”
“No.” Pike starts to place the chess pieces back into starting positions. “We'd never have sent you in without that information. A major source of tritanium allied to the Federation was bait enough. You may not realize this, but you came through for us - the new regime's expressed an interest in membership. Apparently Captain Jim's something of a Pingian legend now.”
“Oh, well, that makes everything better.” It's bitter, the malt fumes turning sour in my throat as I tilt my glass in my hand, watching how the light refraction changes the whiskey from brown to gold and back again.
“Look, Jim, I - ”
“No, it's good.” I smile, noticing that it doesn't make him look any less concerned. “We all lived, and it helped me figure things out faster with Spock. It's better to concentrate on whatever positive came out of it.”
“Your therapist tell you that?”
“Nope.” I knock back my drink and turn the board so I'm white this time. Maybe I'll let him win one. “Came up with that all by myself.”
-
He's staring at me. I can feel it like a weight, a patch of heat against the side of my face as I pick at my fingernails and don't talk. Trying not to count the minutes passing. Jeff breaks first.
“I can see it there.”
“I'm sure you can.”
“Then say it. What's stopping you?”
“Soon as I say it, it's real.”
“It's real now, Jim. It's why we're here.”
“I know!” I close my eyes and breathe out slow, a little unsteady. “I know.”
“I'll dare you to say it, if that'll make it easier.”
I laugh and wipe over my nose with the back of my hand. “That's freaky. You know me far too well already.”
“That's why they gave me a window.” Jeff leans forward like he's letting me in on some huge secret. “If I was sucky at this job, I'd be stuffed in an equipment locker in the basement with the rest of the noobs. If I don't get you back on your ship soon, they might take my window away. So you need to get it out.”
“To save your window?” He nods several times in a row, like it's a matter of life or death. “Well, that's certainly raised the stakes.”
“Know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I do.” I scratch over my head with both hands, screwing my eyes shut. They're just words. Nothing's too big to say aloud. I told Spock I was in love with him and that has to be bigger than this. But then I hear myself say it and start to worry that it's not, that this is insurmountable.
“I screwed up on Ping. If I'd quit pushing so hard, I'd have listened to my men and, in all likelihood, we've have learned about the revolution sooner. By pushing Sextus too far I gave him ten days without me as a distraction, and just delayed everything longer. I was too scared to let any of us give in. I couldn't do it. Even if it meant I had to die, it'd be on my own terms and it was the one piece of control I had left. I had to fight. I don't think I know how to quit fighting.”
“Hmm. Okay, fighting what?”
“Weakness. Frailty, vulnerability, whatever you want to call it. I hate that there's beings out there stronger than me, and how completely the Pingians could take control. I hate that there's unbeatable scenarios. If I'd been in my father's position, I'd have wanted to go out fighting and got myself blow to space dust, and not saved a soul. Spock's stronger than me and I can't stop wanting to beat him, at chess, at wrestling, at work, in everything we do where I resent that he's more powerful. I want to better the person I'm in love with, how fucked up is that?”
He watches me some more and my thumb starts to bleed as I tear a strip of dried skin from next to the nail.
“I don't know if I can stop. Maybe I shouldn't be captain of a starship. I put people in danger because I refused to admit that I can't win. Worse, I'm proud of it. Even as I'm saying it to you, part of me's thinking it's not a bad thing.”
“Good. That's good.”
“It's not good. It's terrifying.”
“It's good you recognize that part of you values your competitive nature. Self-insight is always valuable.”
“I guess.”
I don't sound sure. I hear him place the PADD down on the coffee table, the slither of his pants as he crosses his legs.
“Okay, Jim. Know what?”
“What?”
“I think we're done.”
“We're finishing early today? Great. Fuck, you're exhausting.”
“No, Jim.” I look at Jeff and he's smiling big, proudly, proud of me. “I think we're done with our sessions.”
“What? No. No, I'm not ready. Didn't you hear that? I've figured out what's wrong with me and just got through telling you that I'm proud of my own goddamn fatal flaw.”
“But you've accepted the concept of your own limitations and understand that you need to take them seriously.”
“So what? I knew I wasn't perfect before but it didn't stop me fucking up on Ping.”
Jeff shrugs like it's no big deal.
“I don't think you fucked up on Ping. Nobody thinks that. You were in an untenable situation, you could say an unbeatable one, where anyone would've had extreme difficultly dealing from a command position. Ping was your Kobayashi Maru. It was the one that counted, a test that's going to help you build on your considerable strengths as a captain.”
“But I - ” This can't be right. “That doesn't help me know what the fuck to do next.”
“You'll figure it out, you don't need me for that.”
“I do!” He scoffs, picking up his PADD and holding it out to me to sign for the day's session. I wave him away. “No, I mean, I know I've not been the easiest guy to work with, but how am I supposed to deal with being unable to accept vulnerability? You need to tell me how. You.” The panic feels different this time, more naked, tumbling through the air like Jeff's teaching me to swim by throwing me off the Golden Gate. “Please. Do your job. Fix this. Fix me.”
He spreads his hands helplessly, then holds out the PADD once more. “It's not my job to fix you, you're not broken. It's my job to point you towards the correct path. I can't walk it for you.”
I can't believe this. “I don't believe this. This is bullshit.”
He laughs and gets up, physically placing the PADD into my hands. “Listen, I'm not going to recommend you fit for active duty for another ten days. I want you to go somewhere and relax. Find a beach. Go on a fishing trip. Climb a mountain, whatever you want. Trust yourself and let yourself find the way. I'm at the end of a comm-line if you need to talk.”
“Seriously? You're going to rip my guts out then recommend I go fishing?” I sign the PADD and give it back. “You don't deserve a window.”
He steps away as I stand, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Finding your feet again is all part of the process and I'm certain you'll manage it fine. It's been a pleasure working with you, Captain.”
“Liar.”
“No, I mean it. Leonard said you'd be fun.”
I shake his hand, surprised at the strength of his grip. Wonderful, now everyone seems stronger than me. “Know what, Doctor? If this has been your idea of fun, you're more in need of therapy than I am.”
-
I can't remember when I got so dependent on other people. I always used to like being by myself as a kid, nobody else around to try to force into place in the adventures running through my head. Even when I was older, I had friends but nobody I'd rely on and absolutely nobody I'd seek out on purpose. Hell, in a small town like Riverside, you spend half your time ducking your head into your shoulder and hoping to avoid the guy across the street, who you recognize from school as your first mutual jerk-off that time at junior prom, the one who's now married to your mom's manicurist's cousin, who's that girl you dated for a month in high school. So solitude is at a premium in places like back home and I'm surprised to figure out I'm lonely as hell.
I've been back home seven days, Mom leaving on a three month rotation after two of them, and I'm about ready to start talking to the wallpaper. The quiet here pushes in at me, especially when the wind drops down and there's nothing out there but insects and air for miles. The skies are too big after a year of looking through viewscreens and I get vertigo lying on my back staring up at them from the back yard, the ground beneath me spinning too fast, gravity pulling me tight into it like a fairground ride where the floor drops away leaving you pinned as you whirl around and around. I think about the ship and my crew almost constantly. I miss all of them. I miss him so much it's a physical weight in the center of my chest. I keep the news feed on all day just to hear voices, accustomed now to the constant low hum of a starship, the chatter of an efficient crew, the day to day buzzes, clicks and chirps of my beautiful bird's workings.
So I run, building up my muscles until I'm dropping. I climb up onto the roof at night with a bottle and look out across the fields, trying to accept that the worst thing isn't death, that it'll be next time a mission gets out of my control and that this fear I've acknowledged now might paralyze me completely. Action is easier. I've never thought of myself as a guy who takes the easy route but it's so clear now that it's what I've been doing all along, pushing forward because it's so much less demanding than doing what Spock does, stepping back to observe and understand every last detail of a situation before deciding on the logical course of action. I'm a charging bull operating on instinct alone, he's the matador standing absolutely motionless before he whips the cloak away and drives a sword between my shoulders. Day five and I've convinced myself I did the wrong thing, that he should be Captain. So I get drunk, fall off the roof, and bust up my ankle.
“Know what, Captain Kirk? You're pathetic. It's probably a passing trans-haul.”
Talking to myself. I don't think that's a sign of progress. I wince, pulling my foot down from the porch's rail and putting down my coffee so I can get up, limping over to look out over the road. All it takes is the distant hum of an approaching vehicle and I'm like a kid at Christmas, hoping Santa's going to bring me someone to talk to so I can get out of my head for awhile. A glint of sunlight catches my eye up above, a reflection off a white aircab that's circling down out of the sky, heading in this direction. Thank fuck, it's got to be someone coming here and I'm so relieved a potential distraction's coming that I start grinning, dusting off my shirt and turning to check that I'm not wearing the jeans that I ripped the ass half out of when I fell.
The cab settles out in the road and I realize I'm holding my breath as the door opens, not wanting to hope. Then the sun burns brightly against gleaming black hair and I'm running, jumping off the porch and staggering with a curse when my ankle protests. I'm shouting his name, yelling it at the top of my lungs as I limp fast as I can up the lane to the road. Damn him, I know he can run, I've seen him eat up the miles with those long legs like he was out taking a Sunday stroll, but he turns from the cab then stands there, watching me stumbling towards him like a raving lunatic. But my ankle's not done knitting yet and I have to stop at the gate post, aware that fucking it up any worse over a matter of a hundred meters would be stupid.
“Spock! Dammit, I bust my ankle out, get over here.” Still he doesn't run, his black robe whisked by the wind as he starts to stride towards me, his eyes steady on mine and I'm smiling, my heart too full, my dick throbbing almost as bad as my foot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, walk any slower and you'll start going backwards.”
“An inaccurate statement. Even factoring in the potential quantity of conjugate variables, it is highly improbable that the linear momentum of my movement towards you will be negated to the point of polarization without an external event of equal or greater energy.”
I grin, his voice flowing through me and filling my veins. “And given the magnetic potential between two bodies operating in nth-dimensional coordinate space . . .”
He's twenty meters away. I can't breathe or see anything other than him, his face so totally serious. “Indeed.”
I start to limp towards him again, unable to simply wait and let him take his damn time getting to me. Guess I've still got some way to go on accepting the concept of passivity. It surprises the fuck out of me when I don't throw myself on him, though, instead holding out my hand, two fingers extended. His eyes darken as he repeats the gesture and slides his against mine.
“Jim.”
“You came.”
“So it would appear.”
“Sarcastic bastard.”
I'm laughing as I grab the front of his robe and tug him towards me, reaching up to stroke over his hair, trailing my fingers down one pointed ear before I cup the nape of his neck to pull him into a kiss, a mouth and lips and tongue one this time as we press against each other tight. I was wrong all those weeks back, it wasn't my last first kiss because this feels like another one all over again, his mouth new and familiar, his taste something I worried I'd forgotten. His rough tongue moves against mine as his hands move down my back to palm my ass and pull me harder against him. I groan and mutter that I missed him against his mouth, and he breaks the kiss, rubbing his forehead against mine, his nose tracing around the curve of my ear, his words a rough whisper.
'Parted from me, and never parted.'
I tilt my head back to look at him, his eyes lacking their usual intense focus, his cheekbones flushed dark. He looks broken, composure gone, as full of confusion as he was on the transporter pad reaching out towards a mother who wasn't there.
“What is it?” I stroke his jaw, thumbing across his open mouth. “What's wrong?”
His fingers wrap around mine as he takes both my hands, holding them at his sides, his heartbeat thudding against my wrist. His hands are trembling in mine, his fingers tightening as he closes his eyes.
“I have found it increasingly difficult to meditate and order my thoughts in your absence and now, with the stimulation of your touch, the need to complete our bond has become a physical compulsion that I cannot deny much longer. My controls are weakened. It is imperative that I leave if you no longer wish to commit to our intimate relationship to such a degree.” His hands are on the edge of bruising mine, my skin aching. “However I am uncertain I presently have the strength to remove myself from your person.”
“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His eyelashes flutter almost an inch long against his skin before he complies, and I'd sooner cut my throat than hurt him any longer or allow him a second's more uncertainty. “Nothing's changed. I'm yours, it's simple as that.”
His eyes close again and I'm swamped, unyielding arms wrapping around me as Spock pulls me tight against him to the point where I can barely breathe. Who needs oxygen? He says my name like it's some ancient incantation and I weave my hands beneath the folds of his robe, annoyed to discover he's got pants on underneath it.
“Let's do it. Right now.”
His grip on me loosens as he looks around us, frowning at the old gatepost that's still leaning at a drunken angle from where I hit it with Mom's beater truck the first time she let me stay home alone as a kid. “You wish to bond with me here?”
I squeeze his butt with both hands, digging my fingers in, a rumble of pleasure vibrating through his chest. “I don't know where's best. This may come as a shock to you but I'm not exactly an expert on the Vulcan bonding process.”
“A claim I cannot make myself.” He noses into my neck and I can feel him sniffing at me, taking in long breaths against my skin, his lips soft beneath my earlobe. “But I do not anticipate any difficultly in completing the process.”
“You think there's any merit in my idea of doing it naked?”
He kisses me. In our few days together I was almost solely the initiator, seeking out his mouth at every opportunity, but his tongue meets mine before he draws away, the suggestion of a smile lifting his lips up at one corner, his hands on me no longer trembling. “I do. Allow me to assist you into the house.”
“I'm good. It's about healed. Lead the way, I like to watch you walk.”
“Jim.”
I guess it starts now. His head's tilted, an eyebrow suggesting that it's time to begin accepting my limitations. “Okay, yeah. But you're not carrying me this time.”
“I could suggest that it is a Vulcan ritual linked to the bonding process.”
I lean on him, allowing him to turn us towards the house. My ankle's pissed at me and that leg gives out as I lean on him harder. “Huh. Is it?”
“There is nothing to prevent it becoming so today.”
“You have a point.” I hold up my arms. “Very well, Mr. Spock. Sweep me off my feet. But this is the last time, understand?”
-
I don't know how he could think I'd ever stop wanting this. We're lying wrapped around each other on my childhood bed, his bangs mussed and I sweep them back with a fingertip before running it along the upward streak of his eyebrow, his hands moving slowly over my back, his dick lying heavy and hard alongside mine. There's no pressure, no urgency to move forwards at too fast a rate, and it was the same as we undressed each other in between slow kisses as dust motes danced in the blades of late afternoon sunlight shifting through the boughs of the apple tree outside my window. I can't speak, only look and touch, his lips a gentle contrast with the rasp of his tongue as he trails his mouth over my shoulder. Then he closes his eyes and lays his cheek against mine, and it moves me beyond understanding.
“I do not wish to delay further.”
I nod, a slight shift of my face against his as I don't trust myself not to say the wrong thing and fuck up an unforgettable moment. But he lifts his head to gaze down at me and it feels like he's waiting for me to speak.
“I'm ready when you are.”
“I recall the creation of my former mating bond, and believe there is little purpose in our duplicating the more ritualistic aspects of the event.” He notices I've stiffened against him. “Do you disagree?”
“Your former what?”
“Mating bond.”
“You've done this before?”
“I have.”
“Who with? What, you're divorced? You'd better be divorced.” I was never any good at sharing. This is fast becoming unforgettable for the wrong reason.
“No, I am not divorced. There is no direct equivalent, but in human terms I am widowed.”
“Oh. I didn't know.” Widowed? Spock was married? He's widowed. How did I not know that? “Fuck, Spock, I'm sorry. Was it when Nero - ”
“Yes, and I do not think that you understand.” His fingers slide up along my spine and shoulders, up further along my neck to stroke along the outer shell of my ear, his eyes following their path. “Vulcans are habitually pair-bonded as children so they will be naturally drawn to the other when the blood fever first begins to burn. I was bonded to a female I knew only as a child. I had no personal affection for her, but I understand that she had grown to become an accomplished adult, trusted with a position of authority within her family. The severance of our bond was a telepathic wound I have long since recovered from.”
“You didn't love her?”
“I did not. I did not know her beyond that which I sensed through the bond between us, which was not one of notable strength. She had become a distant memory.” His fingertips glide along my jaw and I start to feel guilty for the rush of anger and jealously that he must have sensed from me, skin to skin as we are. “I know you. I love you.”
“Sometimes I'm not sure I know you at all.” Spock's fingers pause in stroking up my face and I press into them to reassure him, tugging at his hip to pull him closer. “But I'll have a lifetime to figure it out. It's time.”
The stretch of his hand across my cheek is familiar, and not, because it's him and he's different. My pulse picks up and I swallow on a dry throat as his fingertips press into my skin. It feels as if my heart's beating against each point of contact and I mutter half-remembered words along with him, My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts . . .
It's not as instant as I recall, a slower fade as my physical self retreats and Spock's everywhere, images flashing past me of shared times and memories of his that I'm not familiar with, a whirl of color, thought and emotion with Spock's presence all around me, unseen but as solid as I know his body is against mine. It's his scent, the texture of his skin, the timbre of his voice. Everything I know and adore, and it's wrapped around me. He's the air I'm breathing.
Then something releases, a dam busting open as Spock relaxes into the meld and love hits me, one that equals mine, possessive and fierce, burning brighter than a new star. It's intoxicating and it feels like I'm laughing, echoes of it racing around and becoming part of this . . . whatever this is. Wherever.
It is our minds interlaced, the point of convergence. It is union.
It's not the fractured, echoing whisper of his counterpart and I can hear my heartbeat beneath it, his own racing at dizzying speed in accordance, and now a sinuous thread of -
You can't still be jealous of his meld with me. Get over it. What is, is, as some smug bastard chooses to remind me on a regular basis.
The recognizable warmth of his humor mellows it instantly, but it doesn't disappear.
His katra is the twin of my own. That he would have been drawn to the pull of your mind is undeniable, the fact of which we, he and I, are both aware. His trespass affronts me.
Funny that I'd never thought about it until now. You think he and his Jim ever . . . ?
I am certain of it, as I am certain he grieves your loss, a wound that can never heal.
The images flashing around us are darker now, my bruised body lying in a biobed with Bones bending over me, a fist from an angry Antaran breaking my jaw in a space dock bar, a gaping slash across my chest growing wet and dark with blood, my emaciated frame huddled in sweats and a t-shirt after Ping. Spock's fear for me, his recognition of my comparative fragility and his respect for my determination to overcome it.
I get it. We're bonded now just so you can guilt-trip me into being more cautious.
We are not yet bonded. Parted and never parting, never and always touching and touched. I await you.
I'm right here. I don't think I know how to do this.
But I do. I'm not sure how, but I do it instantly I've finished the thought and it seems to only take a second. I instinctively concentrate on matching his love with an affirmation of my own, opening myself to it and to him without hesitation, the images around us dissolving into an inky fog the color of his eyes. The syncopation of our heartbeats grows louder, reverberating and growing in strength until they throb through me like a fetus surrounded by the constant pulse of its mother's heart. And it's ecstatic, climactic, any sense of self I retained blown apart and it feels like I'm coming, or that we are, no longer separate. Never and always touching and touched, and it's beautiful, a sublime height that sustains beyond belief . . .
I sense his fingers slipping from my face at the same moment his mind begins to retreat from mine, and I catch my breath on a sob as reality reasserts itself. I'm shivering, covered with a light sweat, the pillow under my head soaked through with tears and my stomach splattered with both my cum and Spock's. I open my eyes, then open them wider as I stare into his and realize that I can feel him, a thread of awareness, a repetition of that sustained note.
“I feel it. I can feel you. Fuck. That's new.”
I grin and see it reflected in him as he senses that I'm beginning to figure out that this is perfection.
“It is incomparable. I am . . .”
“Speechless? Something that's also new.”
I close my eyes and the feel of him grows stronger, retreating to a low hum of warmth as I open them again because I need to look at him. I never want to stop. He touches my face in amazement, his fingers grazing the meld points.
“I suspected that any bond between us would be unusually strong, but I did not anticipate that our compatibility could lead us to this depth of connection.”
“This isn't normal? Because it's great, a piece of you in the back of my mind for always.” I tweak his nose, watching his eyes soften and smile at me. “It'll be like carrying a little Spock around in my pocket.”
“A curious metaphor. You want to have me in your pocket?”
Fuck. I react instantly whenever his voice drops like that, a hint of suggestion to it that tightens my nuts and makes my butthole clench hungrily, my dick beginning to perk up over my messy stomach where he's still hard. But my arousal's different this time because I can feel his rising in tandem with it, a hot, thrumming thread of lust that flares as I lick my lips, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on my tongue.
“My pocket would very much like to have my bondmate in it.” Interesting how much of a turn-on it is to finally call him that, his own reaction burning into me and hardening my dick further.
“Then your bondmate does not intend to disappoint.” His skin slides against mine as he moves, rising up over me, kissing my neck, his lips brushing my collar bone, the center of my chest. “Your physical recovery has been of an impressive rate.”
“Pizza and beer. It's a cure-all.”
I shift under him, Spock's body settling over mine as his hands stroke down my sides, his head ducking down further to kiss my nipple. “I have noted that your right hip and thigh appear to have suffered additional injury.”
“I fell off the roof.” He looks up at me, his bangs falling down into place as he purses his lips in silent question. “It's how I bust my ankle. It's only bruises. Broke my foot, though.”
A kiss at the base of my ribs as a sense of his amused acceptance warms me through, his chest hair brushing my dick as I moan and close my eyes. “I wonder if there is any environment in which you are able to safely exist.”
“Can't make Bones' life too easy. You know how he's a bitch when he's bored.”
Then his tongue dips into my belly button as he starts to lap the cum off my stomach, and thoughts of Bones or my aching ankle are gone, nothing else existing but the rough touch of Spock's tongue as he cleans me off, his breath gusting against my skin, his cock hard and wet against my knee. I comb through the fine silk of his hair with my fingers, cursing as his lips fasten over the tip of my dick to suckle softly, his mouth gentle along the length of my dick and down to kiss my balls, his nose nuzzling into my bush. I start to spread my legs but his hands stop me, his voice vibrating through my groin as he growls 'Turn onto your stomach' against my nutsack.
“Ow. Ooh, fuck. Shit.” I manage to kick my ankle against his leg in my hurry to obey and he gives me a long-suffering look from under his bangs. I'm going to have to teach him to eye-roll one of these days. “Don't give me that look. It hurt.”
“I will attempt to provide a distraction from your discomfort.”
“I don't know, it's pretty painful.” I settle onto my front and Spock starts kissing my shoulders and down my spine. “You'll have to work at it.”
“Understood.”
It feels like I've been waiting for this since the first moment I saw him. He presses his mouth to each of my asscheeks, then nips one with sharp teeth, a fresh flood of humor and arousal pouring into me through the link between us as I curse and twitch beneath him. Then his hands mold to my ass, digging into my flesh and spreading my cheeks and I moan, knowing he's looking down at my asshole and how tightly it's clenching in anticipation. I arch my back in invitation, pushing my legs apart to give him better access, a shiver of heat passing through me as I first feel his breath against my pucker.
A kiss first, sweet and almost courtly as I groan loud and hump against the bed, needing more. Then his tongue's on me, rough and dry, a heavy rasp as I cry out and grab at the bedsheet. My arousal's a sharp, living thing in me now, winding my gut tighter as he laps at my asshole, my dick throbbing against the bed with each harsh swipe, his fingers strong on my ass keeping me spread wide beneath his mouth. He starts to purr into my ass and, damn him, I'm going to come soon if he keeps at this, my butthole spasming against his tongue as his purr resonates up through my nuts. I'm pleading with him mindlessly, whimpering helplessly into the pillow, 'Fuck me, Spock, come on, fuck me, don't make me shoot like this . . .' One more kiss and his mouth leaves me, a fingertip rubbing over my asshole as he shifts to sit between my legs.
“Lotion's in the nightstand, it's all I've got here.”
“There is no need.”
“Uh, sure there is.” I look back at him with a frown because I don't want him getting any ideas about a spitfuck, and just about lose my mind as I watch him stroking his dick, sliding his fingers over the flared tip to wipe up some of the copious pre-cum that's pouring out of him. “Damn, you look good doing that. Is it going to be enough?”
“Trust me with your wellbeing, t'hy'la. I will not harm you.”
Then his fingers are back on me, smearing his slick pre-cum over my hole and I moan again, burying my head in the pillow as he pushes one finger into my ass. I'm so turned-on I'm more than ready for it, grunting 'More' into the bed and pushing my hips back. It's more of a stretch as he pushes another in alongside the first, my ass opening up to him as his long fingers stroke up inside of me, my asshole gripping his knuckles tight. The stretch burns but I need more still, humping back onto his hand, too aroused to wait. The ache spreads throughout my nuts, making my dick leak against the bed, and a third finger pressed inside me makes me almost howl with want into the pillow.
“Dammit, Spock! Fuck me already, you're driving me crazy. Your cock. I want your cock. Now.”
“When you are fully prepared.”
“No, now. I mean it. You're not going to kill me with your dick. Trust me, I can take a little pain.” His fingers bump over my g-spot and I go rigid against the bed, gasping. “Shit! But not too much of that, or I'll come and I'll never forgive you if I come now without you in me. Give me you.”
'You have me.' Spock mutters it into me ear as he withdraws his fingers slowly and covers my back with his body, his teeth nipping at my earlobe and neck as he starts to fuck between my asscheeks with his cock. He's so thick and heavy, soaking wet and coating me with his pre-cum and I writhe back against him, turning to catch his mouth in a kiss as the tip of his dick rubs over my pucker. I'm trying to back onto him like some bitch on heat, whining in frustration as his raging want pours into me through the bond.
I'm awed for a second at his control, how he holds back and keeps getting me ready instead of plunging deep inside and fucking me raw how I can feel he needs to. I doubt I'll be anything like as considerate the first time I'm preparing to fuck him and I rub back against him, his chest so strong and fuzzed at my back, his hair soft at my ear. This isn't just some first fuck. This is so much more. I crane my head back, turning to find his jaw to kiss, his neck, his ear.
“Make love to me.”
He tilts his head to look into my eyes, his hips stilling, his dick throbbing hard and warm against my asshole. “Always.”
The first press in seems impossible and I screw my eyes closed tight, gritting my teeth and pushing out against him. I've never been with anyone this big and it's a struggle, my thighs shaking as I force myself not to clamp down against him, waiting and barely breathing as the heavy flare of his tip slowly shoves into my ass. Then I feel him breach my ring and my asshole clamps down hard, the ache growing to spread over my ass, up my spine, into my dick as he pushes in deeper. I moan and push out again, encouraging him to seat himself deeper still as Spock continues to fuck down into me with a cock that feels about the size of a baseball bat right now. The bruise on my right hip smarts as his hands grip me tighter and then, with one final slow thrust, he's fully seated, his silky bush tickling my buttcheeks as he flexes inside me.
“Don't wait.”
It's a cracked whisper followed by a hiss as he pulls out of me an inch, my asshole burning as it grips him tightly, not wanting to let go. Then he fucks back into me, slow at first, his second thrust deeper, the ache turning molten as my muscles start to relax and welcome him in. I lift my hips up and start to push back at him in time with the pump of his hips and he growls, his hand stroking up my spine as he grips my hip with the other and starts to fuck me harder and faster. I can't stop cursing, already getting loud, unable to let go of the bed to jack off because all I want to do is bounce back onto him, forcing him deeper, my ass on fire and my dick soaking my stomach as he fucks me hard into the mattress.
I'm submitting to the fuck of my life, Spock slamming into me hard and fast as the grunts and growls pouring out of his chest vibrate against my back, when strong hands wrap themselves around my torso and pull me up to lean back against his chest. He keeps fucking into me hard, my dick bouncing in front of me as I turn enough to open my mouth for him, his tongue thrusting into my mouth possessively as his hand strokes up my chest and neck to find my face. I'm begging for it, pleading, grinding my hips back and whimpering as the ridges and flare of his dick jab at my prostate with each stroke, and I'm so close now that it feels like I might be able to shoot from this alone.
He starts to jack my cock at the same time the fingers of his other hand stretch to span my face and I can feel my climax coming on, every muscle tightening to the point of pain, my butthole clenching on him hard as his fingertips press into my face. I open my mouth to shout, gasping, but then he's in my mind and I'm swept up in the violent, turbulent inferno of a Vulcan lust at full strength, a need more intense than anything I've ever experienced. It's an auto-da-fé, a sacrificial burning and I can feel through him as my hole begins to spasm around him, my orgasm roaring through me like a forest fire as his cock swells deep inside my gut and begins to fill me with his cum. I can feel his teeth at my neck, his hand milking me hard, a boiling, dominate satisfaction at mating me prolonging my climax to the point where I can't tell what I'm feeling any more, my own spurts of cum over his fingers or those he's pumping into my body.
Emotion floods into me, his emotions, possessiveness, love, gratitude. Relief, more than anything, something I don't understand. His hips are stilled, his pelvis cradling mine as I sit back against him and feel his arms go around me as his fingers slip from my face. We're back in my room, back on the bed, my legs, asshole and stomach clenching irregularly with tremors, his dick beginning to soften inside me. Spock holds me to him gently, his mouth at the back of my neck, his forehead against my crown as I gasp for breath and try to remember my own name.
“Ashayam.” He squeezes me tight, his head rubbing between my shoulders. “Half of my heart and soul.”
I've collapsed down, taking him with me. Spock noses into my neck, kissing and nuzzling over what feels like one hell of a hickey, and my words are a sleepy mumble, muffled into the pillow I'm not moving out of for the next ten hours or so.
“Mmm, that's nice. I never knew Vulcanir was so mushily illogical. What's the other thing you keep calling me?”
“T'hy'la.”
A finger strokes behind my ear as his other hand wipes me down. I'm drifting, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Spock settles into the bed beside me, pulling my leg over his as I grunt at him because nobody needs to move me right now. Stillness is good. Stillness and sleep. Maybe an ice pack for one area in particular.
“Thanks. I'll bet that's Vulcan for Sugar Tush.”
“It is not, and the absolute logic of expressing adoration to one to whom you are physically bound is indisputable.”
The bed's a upward thermal and I'm floating away, sprawled over his chest as Spock strokes up and down over my back. “Keep screwing me that thoroughly and we're all good whatever you call me.”
This feels incredible, afterglow cubed, Spock's satisfaction and love snaking around my veins, a whisper of concern as he threads his fingers through my hair like he can't stop petting on me. I sigh, cracking open an eye to squint at him. “What?”
“It can wait. Sleep.”
“No, it can't.” I prop my chin on a hand splayed over his chest, not bothering to cover a yawn. “Spill. Quickly, energy reserves are fading.”
“My attentions, and therefore controls, were so focused on our bonding and subsequent mating that I only now realize that I have not inquired after your mental health.” His mouth twists ruefully. “Perhaps not a positive omen of my likely spousal aptitude.”
“Spock, I didn't ask a single thing about your wellbeing. I didn't even ask what the hell you're doing here and who's looking after my ship.” I nuzzle back into his chest, closing my eyes. “I think most people are going to agree you got the sticky end of the stick. Don't worry about it.”
“But I must ask - Have you found your path?”
Spock's voice is so gentle, a touch of sweetness that breaks my heart. I'm bonded to someone that can screw me through the bedboards then ask about how crazy I'm feeling, and treat one as seriously as the other without a second thought. I hug into him for a second, overcome with how indebted I am to the universe for sending me someone like him. Then I move to kiss him, my nose against his, his mouth firm beneath mine, our bond thickening the air between us until it feels like I could sense his heartbeat from a mile away. Then I break the kiss, leaning my head against his.
“Jim? Was I incorrect to inquire?”
“No, not at all. Did I find my path?” I rub over his mouth with my thumb and look down into eyes like a black hole that's pulling me into infinity. “Yeah. I'm looking at it.”
Pairings: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Length: 9.5k (of circa 80k in total)
For: awarrington, always ♥
Warnings: More therapy
Summary: The Enterprise crew makes contact with a planet where an all-male society thinks they're sexual catnip, and decides to keep and marry them all against their will
A/N: The Chulu will be resolved at a later date, which was always the intention because I'm mean and twisted. Thanks again to my feedbackers - I hope this eventually got where you wanted it to. Need to sleep, will fix errors tomorrow.
“You'll be okay. I know it.”
“I am okay, thanks.”
Mom looks at me, then shrugs. “Eh. Could be better.”
I kick at her chair, sending her rocking again as she throws back her head and laughs. It's become out ritual at weekends, sitting on the porch watching the sun go down, a cold beer each while I bitch about Jeff and she bitches about work. Tonight's sunset is unspectacular, the skies too clear tonight with only a faint haze of pink outlining the trees at the far horizon, the air cooler now Fall's setting in.
“So much for unconditional love.”
“Oh, Jimmy.” She strokes my arm, picking at the rolled sleeve of my shirt. “There's no such thing.”
“Jesus, Mom. And people wonder why I'm in therapy.”
“You think your love for your Spock's unconditional?”
“I do, and he's not 'my Spock' like he's my dog or something.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to call him? Your boyfriend, your fiance, what?”
“Fucked if I know.” I throw back a mouthful of suds.
“More importantly, am I going to get lots of little pointy-eared grandbabies to play with soon?”
“No.”
“Aw.”
“Nu-uh. Not happening.”
“You're a disappointment to your mother.”
“I guess that's Monday's session taken care of.”
She pushes herself out of her chair, coming over to wrap her arms around me from behind, her chin propped on top of my head. “Need another beer? I'm heading that way.”
“I'm good, thanks.”
Her hands pluck at my hair, twirling it this way and that, and I tolerate it, wanting to shake her off.
“You will be okay. I know it's taking longer than you expected, but you always land on your feet.”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes as Mom runs her fingernails across my scalp. “I do, don't I.”
-
“No. Back off, I mean it.”
“Jim . . .”
“Nobody talks about my father that way. I won't hear it from my mother, so I'm certainly not going to take it off some psych-tech who only graduated last year.”
“From the Academy, not from med school. I'm not insulting your father, Jim. Consider his position -”
“'Powerless'? Sure as shit sounded like an insult to me.” I'm leaning against the wall with my hands balled in fists, shaking with the effort it's taking not to lash out at Jeff, who's a head shorter than me and about ninety pounds soaking wet. He's fallen silent once more, letting me calm as I turn back towards him and fold my arms. “George Kirk saved the lives of more people than you or I meet in a year. He took control of the situation. That's not powerless.”
“Of course he saved lives, hundreds of them, including yours.” Jeff looks at me for a moment like he's deciding whether or not saying this next thing is likely to get him a busted nose. “By accepting the situation for what it was, and accepting his inability to prevent certain outcomes. One could argue that his was primarily an act of essential passivity. Would you have made the same decision if you were him?”
No. It's something I've asked myself a million times, and I know what Jeff's prodding me towards. “It's impossible to say.”
“Why did you take the Kobayashi Maru more than once?”
“It made me pissed that they thought they had this unbeatable test. I wanted to prove them wrong.”
“To what end?”
“To show them that nothing's unbeatable and that it's arrogant to think otherwise.”
“You think it's arrogant to believe that there are unbeatable scenarios.” He says it flat, like a statement, and I have to admit it sounds stupid.
“No. I don't know. Maybe. It's a matter of lateral thought. There's nothing you can't think your way around, change the rules of engagement.”
“So what do you think would've happened if you'd taken an exclusively passive path through the occurrences on Ping?”
“He wasn't passive, you need to stop saying that, and I'd have died. The whole away team, Spock, me . . .”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I'm sure! You're not listening to me. You weren't there. You need to - know what? I'm done here. That's it, I'm done, enough of this shit.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair, Jeff looking up at me as I jab my arms into each sleeve. “Take my starship, take whatever, I'm through. I'm not spending the rest of my life in this room with you calling my father powerless, and we're no closer to you signing me off than we were a month back. We're getting nowhere. So, I'm done.”
“Jim. Sit down.”
“Go fuck yourself. You weren't on Ping. I couldn't just sit there on my ass waiting to die.”
“Ask yourself why you're getting so antagonistic with me now. We've been here six weeks, why are you walking out right this minute? Why now?”
“Because - ” I blow out a breath, my hands shaking so I push them into the pockets of my jeans. “Because . . . I don't know. Alright? I don't know why.”
“I honestly believe that you do.”
“Because I don't like you calling my father passive, or powerless or whatever. I'm supposed to sit here and take whatever you dish out? What the hell kind of therapy is that?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I sigh and roll my head around to work out the tension in my shoulders. “Sure.”
“Spock is powerless sometimes. Vulnerable, even weak. I can promise you that. I am weak, vulnerable and powerless, sometimes. Your father was. Sextus was, even when convinced of his own invincibility. Everybody you know is. Everybody you will ever know.”
“No. Spock's not -”
“Sure he is, and he'd tell you that himself.”
“But it's different for me. My position, I mean, a captain can't afford to be weak.” My nose burns inside as I say it.
“Sit down, please.” I clench my jaw and do it, staring at the lines on the palms of my hands, turning them over to look at my knuckles, Jeff's voice almost calming in its nasal drone. “Sometimes it's positive to refuse to accept your own limitations, but there's a point where it becomes unhealthy. When are you going to stop pushing, Jim?”
“What?” I look up, the burn at the back of my nose growing as my eyes begin to smart. “Pushing what?”
“You should read your file sometime. Over and over again, you've placed yourself by choice outside whatever boundaries are available to you and seen how far you can take it. It's not a refusal to play by someone else's rules, or righteous indignation when someone thinks they have an unbeatable test, and it's not anger with me. What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“I think you do.”
“I don't. Fuck, quit poking at me. If I say I don't, I don't.” I can't sit for this, moving over to watch the rain run down the window, thick gray clouds hanging heavy and low over the city. It's suffocating, the sky trying to force us back to the ground and out of its dominion.
“I'm not trying to beat my father.”
Silence, a cloud burst a few blocks over heading this way.
“I'm not afraid of being imperfect.”
Silence. The clouds are the same color as tritanium and my breath catches before I can reassure myself that it's simply water vapor.
“I'm scared.”
Silence. Not even a slurp of coffee this time to distract me.
“Not to die. I'm not afraid to die. My grandmother died when I was a kid and everyone cried, and I didn't understand why, because going to sleep and not waking up didn't seem like a bad thing. Mom got so mad at me.”
The cloud burst arrives, hitting the window pane hard with a rattle of rain. And the burn in my nose builds, my eyes filling up and up until I blink and a teardrop bounces off my cheek and down to soak a dark patch in the front of my shirt.
“What are you scared of, Jim?”
I don't want to say it. “That you're right.”
-
“Man, I needed this. Some time spent kicking ass always does me good.” I sit back and stretch out my hands, smirking as Admiral Pike frowns at the my queen and both knights on the upper levels of the board then glares at me.
“Yeah. Real relaxing. How about you quit looming over me like some diseased vulture and start engaging?”
“Just getting you where I need you to be.”
“No shit.” He glares at my queen some more before shifting his rook into the start of a basic river maneuver that's going to hand me the central board and his king in three moves. “I remember when this used to be fun.”
“You should play Spock some time.”
Pike grimaces and grabs his glass. “I have. That's about when it quit being anything other than an humiliating set of tiny defeats. Step by step until the bitter end. Spock's brutal.”
“Sure is. It's so hot.”
“I'll take your word for it.”
I sacrifice a pawn to his bishop. “There. Another one to add to your collection.”
“I hope you don't play so fast and loose with my crew.”
“I like to call it 'chumming the waters'.” He picks off the pawn, and I look over the board for a minute like I don't know exactly what I'm going to do. “Hmm. What now? You've got me on the run, Admiral.”
“Pfh. No I don't.”
I check him with a bishop. “Yeah, maybe not.”
“Dammit. Anyone ever told you you're a sneaky little bastard, Captain?”
Something tells me he'd grow to like Bones if they ever got the opportunity to socialize. “Fleet's finest tactical training in action, Admiral. When in doubt, hide behind the nearest rock then jump out and blast everything in sight.”
“I don't remember that being on the curriculum.”
“Maybe not in your day. Did you guys even have phasers back then, or did you just throw rocks at each other?”
Checkmate, my queen swooping down to corner Pike's king. He scowls and knocks it over.
“Thanks for making that look tougher than I suspect it was. And 'rocks'? I should promote you for that right now, just for the hell of it. Stick you behind a desk somewhere.”
“What's it like?” I watch his face for a reaction, wondering if I'm going too far. “If that's not too personal a question.”
“What, being a desk jockey?” I nod, rolling a sip of the malt around my mouth as he sits back in his chair with a sigh. “I suppose I'm getting used to it. Still don't like anything that takes me up to space dock - it makes me want to jump out of this piece of crap,” He punches one of the arms of his chair lightly. “And go hijack a ship. Shoot out into the stars. But it's good being a part of the bigger picture, deciding who goes where, moving our pieces into position. Sure makes me wish my chess skills were better.”
“Why did I get given Ping?” This must be the fifth time we've hung out in the last six weeks, and it's the first time I've asked. “Why was it a priority?”
“I can't tell you much, Jim, you know that.”
I shrug. “So tell me what you can. Did Command know about the uprising before it happened?”
“No.” Pike starts to place the chess pieces back into starting positions. “We'd never have sent you in without that information. A major source of tritanium allied to the Federation was bait enough. You may not realize this, but you came through for us - the new regime's expressed an interest in membership. Apparently Captain Jim's something of a Pingian legend now.”
“Oh, well, that makes everything better.” It's bitter, the malt fumes turning sour in my throat as I tilt my glass in my hand, watching how the light refraction changes the whiskey from brown to gold and back again.
“Look, Jim, I - ”
“No, it's good.” I smile, noticing that it doesn't make him look any less concerned. “We all lived, and it helped me figure things out faster with Spock. It's better to concentrate on whatever positive came out of it.”
“Your therapist tell you that?”
“Nope.” I knock back my drink and turn the board so I'm white this time. Maybe I'll let him win one. “Came up with that all by myself.”
-
He's staring at me. I can feel it like a weight, a patch of heat against the side of my face as I pick at my fingernails and don't talk. Trying not to count the minutes passing. Jeff breaks first.
“I can see it there.”
“I'm sure you can.”
“Then say it. What's stopping you?”
“Soon as I say it, it's real.”
“It's real now, Jim. It's why we're here.”
“I know!” I close my eyes and breathe out slow, a little unsteady. “I know.”
“I'll dare you to say it, if that'll make it easier.”
I laugh and wipe over my nose with the back of my hand. “That's freaky. You know me far too well already.”
“That's why they gave me a window.” Jeff leans forward like he's letting me in on some huge secret. “If I was sucky at this job, I'd be stuffed in an equipment locker in the basement with the rest of the noobs. If I don't get you back on your ship soon, they might take my window away. So you need to get it out.”
“To save your window?” He nods several times in a row, like it's a matter of life or death. “Well, that's certainly raised the stakes.”
“Know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I do.” I scratch over my head with both hands, screwing my eyes shut. They're just words. Nothing's too big to say aloud. I told Spock I was in love with him and that has to be bigger than this. But then I hear myself say it and start to worry that it's not, that this is insurmountable.
“I screwed up on Ping. If I'd quit pushing so hard, I'd have listened to my men and, in all likelihood, we've have learned about the revolution sooner. By pushing Sextus too far I gave him ten days without me as a distraction, and just delayed everything longer. I was too scared to let any of us give in. I couldn't do it. Even if it meant I had to die, it'd be on my own terms and it was the one piece of control I had left. I had to fight. I don't think I know how to quit fighting.”
“Hmm. Okay, fighting what?”
“Weakness. Frailty, vulnerability, whatever you want to call it. I hate that there's beings out there stronger than me, and how completely the Pingians could take control. I hate that there's unbeatable scenarios. If I'd been in my father's position, I'd have wanted to go out fighting and got myself blow to space dust, and not saved a soul. Spock's stronger than me and I can't stop wanting to beat him, at chess, at wrestling, at work, in everything we do where I resent that he's more powerful. I want to better the person I'm in love with, how fucked up is that?”
He watches me some more and my thumb starts to bleed as I tear a strip of dried skin from next to the nail.
“I don't know if I can stop. Maybe I shouldn't be captain of a starship. I put people in danger because I refused to admit that I can't win. Worse, I'm proud of it. Even as I'm saying it to you, part of me's thinking it's not a bad thing.”
“Good. That's good.”
“It's not good. It's terrifying.”
“It's good you recognize that part of you values your competitive nature. Self-insight is always valuable.”
“I guess.”
I don't sound sure. I hear him place the PADD down on the coffee table, the slither of his pants as he crosses his legs.
“Okay, Jim. Know what?”
“What?”
“I think we're done.”
“We're finishing early today? Great. Fuck, you're exhausting.”
“No, Jim.” I look at Jeff and he's smiling big, proudly, proud of me. “I think we're done with our sessions.”
“What? No. No, I'm not ready. Didn't you hear that? I've figured out what's wrong with me and just got through telling you that I'm proud of my own goddamn fatal flaw.”
“But you've accepted the concept of your own limitations and understand that you need to take them seriously.”
“So what? I knew I wasn't perfect before but it didn't stop me fucking up on Ping.”
Jeff shrugs like it's no big deal.
“I don't think you fucked up on Ping. Nobody thinks that. You were in an untenable situation, you could say an unbeatable one, where anyone would've had extreme difficultly dealing from a command position. Ping was your Kobayashi Maru. It was the one that counted, a test that's going to help you build on your considerable strengths as a captain.”
“But I - ” This can't be right. “That doesn't help me know what the fuck to do next.”
“You'll figure it out, you don't need me for that.”
“I do!” He scoffs, picking up his PADD and holding it out to me to sign for the day's session. I wave him away. “No, I mean, I know I've not been the easiest guy to work with, but how am I supposed to deal with being unable to accept vulnerability? You need to tell me how. You.” The panic feels different this time, more naked, tumbling through the air like Jeff's teaching me to swim by throwing me off the Golden Gate. “Please. Do your job. Fix this. Fix me.”
He spreads his hands helplessly, then holds out the PADD once more. “It's not my job to fix you, you're not broken. It's my job to point you towards the correct path. I can't walk it for you.”
I can't believe this. “I don't believe this. This is bullshit.”
He laughs and gets up, physically placing the PADD into my hands. “Listen, I'm not going to recommend you fit for active duty for another ten days. I want you to go somewhere and relax. Find a beach. Go on a fishing trip. Climb a mountain, whatever you want. Trust yourself and let yourself find the way. I'm at the end of a comm-line if you need to talk.”
“Seriously? You're going to rip my guts out then recommend I go fishing?” I sign the PADD and give it back. “You don't deserve a window.”
He steps away as I stand, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Finding your feet again is all part of the process and I'm certain you'll manage it fine. It's been a pleasure working with you, Captain.”
“Liar.”
“No, I mean it. Leonard said you'd be fun.”
I shake his hand, surprised at the strength of his grip. Wonderful, now everyone seems stronger than me. “Know what, Doctor? If this has been your idea of fun, you're more in need of therapy than I am.”
-
I can't remember when I got so dependent on other people. I always used to like being by myself as a kid, nobody else around to try to force into place in the adventures running through my head. Even when I was older, I had friends but nobody I'd rely on and absolutely nobody I'd seek out on purpose. Hell, in a small town like Riverside, you spend half your time ducking your head into your shoulder and hoping to avoid the guy across the street, who you recognize from school as your first mutual jerk-off that time at junior prom, the one who's now married to your mom's manicurist's cousin, who's that girl you dated for a month in high school. So solitude is at a premium in places like back home and I'm surprised to figure out I'm lonely as hell.
I've been back home seven days, Mom leaving on a three month rotation after two of them, and I'm about ready to start talking to the wallpaper. The quiet here pushes in at me, especially when the wind drops down and there's nothing out there but insects and air for miles. The skies are too big after a year of looking through viewscreens and I get vertigo lying on my back staring up at them from the back yard, the ground beneath me spinning too fast, gravity pulling me tight into it like a fairground ride where the floor drops away leaving you pinned as you whirl around and around. I think about the ship and my crew almost constantly. I miss all of them. I miss him so much it's a physical weight in the center of my chest. I keep the news feed on all day just to hear voices, accustomed now to the constant low hum of a starship, the chatter of an efficient crew, the day to day buzzes, clicks and chirps of my beautiful bird's workings.
So I run, building up my muscles until I'm dropping. I climb up onto the roof at night with a bottle and look out across the fields, trying to accept that the worst thing isn't death, that it'll be next time a mission gets out of my control and that this fear I've acknowledged now might paralyze me completely. Action is easier. I've never thought of myself as a guy who takes the easy route but it's so clear now that it's what I've been doing all along, pushing forward because it's so much less demanding than doing what Spock does, stepping back to observe and understand every last detail of a situation before deciding on the logical course of action. I'm a charging bull operating on instinct alone, he's the matador standing absolutely motionless before he whips the cloak away and drives a sword between my shoulders. Day five and I've convinced myself I did the wrong thing, that he should be Captain. So I get drunk, fall off the roof, and bust up my ankle.
“Know what, Captain Kirk? You're pathetic. It's probably a passing trans-haul.”
Talking to myself. I don't think that's a sign of progress. I wince, pulling my foot down from the porch's rail and putting down my coffee so I can get up, limping over to look out over the road. All it takes is the distant hum of an approaching vehicle and I'm like a kid at Christmas, hoping Santa's going to bring me someone to talk to so I can get out of my head for awhile. A glint of sunlight catches my eye up above, a reflection off a white aircab that's circling down out of the sky, heading in this direction. Thank fuck, it's got to be someone coming here and I'm so relieved a potential distraction's coming that I start grinning, dusting off my shirt and turning to check that I'm not wearing the jeans that I ripped the ass half out of when I fell.
The cab settles out in the road and I realize I'm holding my breath as the door opens, not wanting to hope. Then the sun burns brightly against gleaming black hair and I'm running, jumping off the porch and staggering with a curse when my ankle protests. I'm shouting his name, yelling it at the top of my lungs as I limp fast as I can up the lane to the road. Damn him, I know he can run, I've seen him eat up the miles with those long legs like he was out taking a Sunday stroll, but he turns from the cab then stands there, watching me stumbling towards him like a raving lunatic. But my ankle's not done knitting yet and I have to stop at the gate post, aware that fucking it up any worse over a matter of a hundred meters would be stupid.
“Spock! Dammit, I bust my ankle out, get over here.” Still he doesn't run, his black robe whisked by the wind as he starts to stride towards me, his eyes steady on mine and I'm smiling, my heart too full, my dick throbbing almost as bad as my foot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Spock, walk any slower and you'll start going backwards.”
“An inaccurate statement. Even factoring in the potential quantity of conjugate variables, it is highly improbable that the linear momentum of my movement towards you will be negated to the point of polarization without an external event of equal or greater energy.”
I grin, his voice flowing through me and filling my veins. “And given the magnetic potential between two bodies operating in nth-dimensional coordinate space . . .”
He's twenty meters away. I can't breathe or see anything other than him, his face so totally serious. “Indeed.”
I start to limp towards him again, unable to simply wait and let him take his damn time getting to me. Guess I've still got some way to go on accepting the concept of passivity. It surprises the fuck out of me when I don't throw myself on him, though, instead holding out my hand, two fingers extended. His eyes darken as he repeats the gesture and slides his against mine.
“Jim.”
“You came.”
“So it would appear.”
“Sarcastic bastard.”
I'm laughing as I grab the front of his robe and tug him towards me, reaching up to stroke over his hair, trailing my fingers down one pointed ear before I cup the nape of his neck to pull him into a kiss, a mouth and lips and tongue one this time as we press against each other tight. I was wrong all those weeks back, it wasn't my last first kiss because this feels like another one all over again, his mouth new and familiar, his taste something I worried I'd forgotten. His rough tongue moves against mine as his hands move down my back to palm my ass and pull me harder against him. I groan and mutter that I missed him against his mouth, and he breaks the kiss, rubbing his forehead against mine, his nose tracing around the curve of my ear, his words a rough whisper.
'Parted from me, and never parted.'
I tilt my head back to look at him, his eyes lacking their usual intense focus, his cheekbones flushed dark. He looks broken, composure gone, as full of confusion as he was on the transporter pad reaching out towards a mother who wasn't there.
“What is it?” I stroke his jaw, thumbing across his open mouth. “What's wrong?”
His fingers wrap around mine as he takes both my hands, holding them at his sides, his heartbeat thudding against my wrist. His hands are trembling in mine, his fingers tightening as he closes his eyes.
“I have found it increasingly difficult to meditate and order my thoughts in your absence and now, with the stimulation of your touch, the need to complete our bond has become a physical compulsion that I cannot deny much longer. My controls are weakened. It is imperative that I leave if you no longer wish to commit to our intimate relationship to such a degree.” His hands are on the edge of bruising mine, my skin aching. “However I am uncertain I presently have the strength to remove myself from your person.”
“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His eyelashes flutter almost an inch long against his skin before he complies, and I'd sooner cut my throat than hurt him any longer or allow him a second's more uncertainty. “Nothing's changed. I'm yours, it's simple as that.”
His eyes close again and I'm swamped, unyielding arms wrapping around me as Spock pulls me tight against him to the point where I can barely breathe. Who needs oxygen? He says my name like it's some ancient incantation and I weave my hands beneath the folds of his robe, annoyed to discover he's got pants on underneath it.
“Let's do it. Right now.”
His grip on me loosens as he looks around us, frowning at the old gatepost that's still leaning at a drunken angle from where I hit it with Mom's beater truck the first time she let me stay home alone as a kid. “You wish to bond with me here?”
I squeeze his butt with both hands, digging my fingers in, a rumble of pleasure vibrating through his chest. “I don't know where's best. This may come as a shock to you but I'm not exactly an expert on the Vulcan bonding process.”
“A claim I cannot make myself.” He noses into my neck and I can feel him sniffing at me, taking in long breaths against my skin, his lips soft beneath my earlobe. “But I do not anticipate any difficultly in completing the process.”
“You think there's any merit in my idea of doing it naked?”
He kisses me. In our few days together I was almost solely the initiator, seeking out his mouth at every opportunity, but his tongue meets mine before he draws away, the suggestion of a smile lifting his lips up at one corner, his hands on me no longer trembling. “I do. Allow me to assist you into the house.”
“I'm good. It's about healed. Lead the way, I like to watch you walk.”
“Jim.”
I guess it starts now. His head's tilted, an eyebrow suggesting that it's time to begin accepting my limitations. “Okay, yeah. But you're not carrying me this time.”
“I could suggest that it is a Vulcan ritual linked to the bonding process.”
I lean on him, allowing him to turn us towards the house. My ankle's pissed at me and that leg gives out as I lean on him harder. “Huh. Is it?”
“There is nothing to prevent it becoming so today.”
“You have a point.” I hold up my arms. “Very well, Mr. Spock. Sweep me off my feet. But this is the last time, understand?”
-
I don't know how he could think I'd ever stop wanting this. We're lying wrapped around each other on my childhood bed, his bangs mussed and I sweep them back with a fingertip before running it along the upward streak of his eyebrow, his hands moving slowly over my back, his dick lying heavy and hard alongside mine. There's no pressure, no urgency to move forwards at too fast a rate, and it was the same as we undressed each other in between slow kisses as dust motes danced in the blades of late afternoon sunlight shifting through the boughs of the apple tree outside my window. I can't speak, only look and touch, his lips a gentle contrast with the rasp of his tongue as he trails his mouth over my shoulder. Then he closes his eyes and lays his cheek against mine, and it moves me beyond understanding.
“I do not wish to delay further.”
I nod, a slight shift of my face against his as I don't trust myself not to say the wrong thing and fuck up an unforgettable moment. But he lifts his head to gaze down at me and it feels like he's waiting for me to speak.
“I'm ready when you are.”
“I recall the creation of my former mating bond, and believe there is little purpose in our duplicating the more ritualistic aspects of the event.” He notices I've stiffened against him. “Do you disagree?”
“Your former what?”
“Mating bond.”
“You've done this before?”
“I have.”
“Who with? What, you're divorced? You'd better be divorced.” I was never any good at sharing. This is fast becoming unforgettable for the wrong reason.
“No, I am not divorced. There is no direct equivalent, but in human terms I am widowed.”
“Oh. I didn't know.” Widowed? Spock was married? He's widowed. How did I not know that? “Fuck, Spock, I'm sorry. Was it when Nero - ”
“Yes, and I do not think that you understand.” His fingers slide up along my spine and shoulders, up further along my neck to stroke along the outer shell of my ear, his eyes following their path. “Vulcans are habitually pair-bonded as children so they will be naturally drawn to the other when the blood fever first begins to burn. I was bonded to a female I knew only as a child. I had no personal affection for her, but I understand that she had grown to become an accomplished adult, trusted with a position of authority within her family. The severance of our bond was a telepathic wound I have long since recovered from.”
“You didn't love her?”
“I did not. I did not know her beyond that which I sensed through the bond between us, which was not one of notable strength. She had become a distant memory.” His fingertips glide along my jaw and I start to feel guilty for the rush of anger and jealously that he must have sensed from me, skin to skin as we are. “I know you. I love you.”
“Sometimes I'm not sure I know you at all.” Spock's fingers pause in stroking up my face and I press into them to reassure him, tugging at his hip to pull him closer. “But I'll have a lifetime to figure it out. It's time.”
The stretch of his hand across my cheek is familiar, and not, because it's him and he's different. My pulse picks up and I swallow on a dry throat as his fingertips press into my skin. It feels as if my heart's beating against each point of contact and I mutter half-remembered words along with him, My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts . . .
It's not as instant as I recall, a slower fade as my physical self retreats and Spock's everywhere, images flashing past me of shared times and memories of his that I'm not familiar with, a whirl of color, thought and emotion with Spock's presence all around me, unseen but as solid as I know his body is against mine. It's his scent, the texture of his skin, the timbre of his voice. Everything I know and adore, and it's wrapped around me. He's the air I'm breathing.
Then something releases, a dam busting open as Spock relaxes into the meld and love hits me, one that equals mine, possessive and fierce, burning brighter than a new star. It's intoxicating and it feels like I'm laughing, echoes of it racing around and becoming part of this . . . whatever this is. Wherever.
It is our minds interlaced, the point of convergence. It is union.
It's not the fractured, echoing whisper of his counterpart and I can hear my heartbeat beneath it, his own racing at dizzying speed in accordance, and now a sinuous thread of -
You can't still be jealous of his meld with me. Get over it. What is, is, as some smug bastard chooses to remind me on a regular basis.
The recognizable warmth of his humor mellows it instantly, but it doesn't disappear.
His katra is the twin of my own. That he would have been drawn to the pull of your mind is undeniable, the fact of which we, he and I, are both aware. His trespass affronts me.
Funny that I'd never thought about it until now. You think he and his Jim ever . . . ?
I am certain of it, as I am certain he grieves your loss, a wound that can never heal.
The images flashing around us are darker now, my bruised body lying in a biobed with Bones bending over me, a fist from an angry Antaran breaking my jaw in a space dock bar, a gaping slash across my chest growing wet and dark with blood, my emaciated frame huddled in sweats and a t-shirt after Ping. Spock's fear for me, his recognition of my comparative fragility and his respect for my determination to overcome it.
I get it. We're bonded now just so you can guilt-trip me into being more cautious.
We are not yet bonded. Parted and never parting, never and always touching and touched. I await you.
I'm right here. I don't think I know how to do this.
But I do. I'm not sure how, but I do it instantly I've finished the thought and it seems to only take a second. I instinctively concentrate on matching his love with an affirmation of my own, opening myself to it and to him without hesitation, the images around us dissolving into an inky fog the color of his eyes. The syncopation of our heartbeats grows louder, reverberating and growing in strength until they throb through me like a fetus surrounded by the constant pulse of its mother's heart. And it's ecstatic, climactic, any sense of self I retained blown apart and it feels like I'm coming, or that we are, no longer separate. Never and always touching and touched, and it's beautiful, a sublime height that sustains beyond belief . . .
I sense his fingers slipping from my face at the same moment his mind begins to retreat from mine, and I catch my breath on a sob as reality reasserts itself. I'm shivering, covered with a light sweat, the pillow under my head soaked through with tears and my stomach splattered with both my cum and Spock's. I open my eyes, then open them wider as I stare into his and realize that I can feel him, a thread of awareness, a repetition of that sustained note.
“I feel it. I can feel you. Fuck. That's new.”
I grin and see it reflected in him as he senses that I'm beginning to figure out that this is perfection.
“It is incomparable. I am . . .”
“Speechless? Something that's also new.”
I close my eyes and the feel of him grows stronger, retreating to a low hum of warmth as I open them again because I need to look at him. I never want to stop. He touches my face in amazement, his fingers grazing the meld points.
“I suspected that any bond between us would be unusually strong, but I did not anticipate that our compatibility could lead us to this depth of connection.”
“This isn't normal? Because it's great, a piece of you in the back of my mind for always.” I tweak his nose, watching his eyes soften and smile at me. “It'll be like carrying a little Spock around in my pocket.”
“A curious metaphor. You want to have me in your pocket?”
Fuck. I react instantly whenever his voice drops like that, a hint of suggestion to it that tightens my nuts and makes my butthole clench hungrily, my dick beginning to perk up over my messy stomach where he's still hard. But my arousal's different this time because I can feel his rising in tandem with it, a hot, thrumming thread of lust that flares as I lick my lips, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on my tongue.
“My pocket would very much like to have my bondmate in it.” Interesting how much of a turn-on it is to finally call him that, his own reaction burning into me and hardening my dick further.
“Then your bondmate does not intend to disappoint.” His skin slides against mine as he moves, rising up over me, kissing my neck, his lips brushing my collar bone, the center of my chest. “Your physical recovery has been of an impressive rate.”
“Pizza and beer. It's a cure-all.”
I shift under him, Spock's body settling over mine as his hands stroke down my sides, his head ducking down further to kiss my nipple. “I have noted that your right hip and thigh appear to have suffered additional injury.”
“I fell off the roof.” He looks up at me, his bangs falling down into place as he purses his lips in silent question. “It's how I bust my ankle. It's only bruises. Broke my foot, though.”
A kiss at the base of my ribs as a sense of his amused acceptance warms me through, his chest hair brushing my dick as I moan and close my eyes. “I wonder if there is any environment in which you are able to safely exist.”
“Can't make Bones' life too easy. You know how he's a bitch when he's bored.”
Then his tongue dips into my belly button as he starts to lap the cum off my stomach, and thoughts of Bones or my aching ankle are gone, nothing else existing but the rough touch of Spock's tongue as he cleans me off, his breath gusting against my skin, his cock hard and wet against my knee. I comb through the fine silk of his hair with my fingers, cursing as his lips fasten over the tip of my dick to suckle softly, his mouth gentle along the length of my dick and down to kiss my balls, his nose nuzzling into my bush. I start to spread my legs but his hands stop me, his voice vibrating through my groin as he growls 'Turn onto your stomach' against my nutsack.
“Ow. Ooh, fuck. Shit.” I manage to kick my ankle against his leg in my hurry to obey and he gives me a long-suffering look from under his bangs. I'm going to have to teach him to eye-roll one of these days. “Don't give me that look. It hurt.”
“I will attempt to provide a distraction from your discomfort.”
“I don't know, it's pretty painful.” I settle onto my front and Spock starts kissing my shoulders and down my spine. “You'll have to work at it.”
“Understood.”
It feels like I've been waiting for this since the first moment I saw him. He presses his mouth to each of my asscheeks, then nips one with sharp teeth, a fresh flood of humor and arousal pouring into me through the link between us as I curse and twitch beneath him. Then his hands mold to my ass, digging into my flesh and spreading my cheeks and I moan, knowing he's looking down at my asshole and how tightly it's clenching in anticipation. I arch my back in invitation, pushing my legs apart to give him better access, a shiver of heat passing through me as I first feel his breath against my pucker.
A kiss first, sweet and almost courtly as I groan loud and hump against the bed, needing more. Then his tongue's on me, rough and dry, a heavy rasp as I cry out and grab at the bedsheet. My arousal's a sharp, living thing in me now, winding my gut tighter as he laps at my asshole, my dick throbbing against the bed with each harsh swipe, his fingers strong on my ass keeping me spread wide beneath his mouth. He starts to purr into my ass and, damn him, I'm going to come soon if he keeps at this, my butthole spasming against his tongue as his purr resonates up through my nuts. I'm pleading with him mindlessly, whimpering helplessly into the pillow, 'Fuck me, Spock, come on, fuck me, don't make me shoot like this . . .' One more kiss and his mouth leaves me, a fingertip rubbing over my asshole as he shifts to sit between my legs.
“Lotion's in the nightstand, it's all I've got here.”
“There is no need.”
“Uh, sure there is.” I look back at him with a frown because I don't want him getting any ideas about a spitfuck, and just about lose my mind as I watch him stroking his dick, sliding his fingers over the flared tip to wipe up some of the copious pre-cum that's pouring out of him. “Damn, you look good doing that. Is it going to be enough?”
“Trust me with your wellbeing, t'hy'la. I will not harm you.”
Then his fingers are back on me, smearing his slick pre-cum over my hole and I moan again, burying my head in the pillow as he pushes one finger into my ass. I'm so turned-on I'm more than ready for it, grunting 'More' into the bed and pushing my hips back. It's more of a stretch as he pushes another in alongside the first, my ass opening up to him as his long fingers stroke up inside of me, my asshole gripping his knuckles tight. The stretch burns but I need more still, humping back onto his hand, too aroused to wait. The ache spreads throughout my nuts, making my dick leak against the bed, and a third finger pressed inside me makes me almost howl with want into the pillow.
“Dammit, Spock! Fuck me already, you're driving me crazy. Your cock. I want your cock. Now.”
“When you are fully prepared.”
“No, now. I mean it. You're not going to kill me with your dick. Trust me, I can take a little pain.” His fingers bump over my g-spot and I go rigid against the bed, gasping. “Shit! But not too much of that, or I'll come and I'll never forgive you if I come now without you in me. Give me you.”
'You have me.' Spock mutters it into me ear as he withdraws his fingers slowly and covers my back with his body, his teeth nipping at my earlobe and neck as he starts to fuck between my asscheeks with his cock. He's so thick and heavy, soaking wet and coating me with his pre-cum and I writhe back against him, turning to catch his mouth in a kiss as the tip of his dick rubs over my pucker. I'm trying to back onto him like some bitch on heat, whining in frustration as his raging want pours into me through the bond.
I'm awed for a second at his control, how he holds back and keeps getting me ready instead of plunging deep inside and fucking me raw how I can feel he needs to. I doubt I'll be anything like as considerate the first time I'm preparing to fuck him and I rub back against him, his chest so strong and fuzzed at my back, his hair soft at my ear. This isn't just some first fuck. This is so much more. I crane my head back, turning to find his jaw to kiss, his neck, his ear.
“Make love to me.”
He tilts his head to look into my eyes, his hips stilling, his dick throbbing hard and warm against my asshole. “Always.”
The first press in seems impossible and I screw my eyes closed tight, gritting my teeth and pushing out against him. I've never been with anyone this big and it's a struggle, my thighs shaking as I force myself not to clamp down against him, waiting and barely breathing as the heavy flare of his tip slowly shoves into my ass. Then I feel him breach my ring and my asshole clamps down hard, the ache growing to spread over my ass, up my spine, into my dick as he pushes in deeper. I moan and push out again, encouraging him to seat himself deeper still as Spock continues to fuck down into me with a cock that feels about the size of a baseball bat right now. The bruise on my right hip smarts as his hands grip me tighter and then, with one final slow thrust, he's fully seated, his silky bush tickling my buttcheeks as he flexes inside me.
“Don't wait.”
It's a cracked whisper followed by a hiss as he pulls out of me an inch, my asshole burning as it grips him tightly, not wanting to let go. Then he fucks back into me, slow at first, his second thrust deeper, the ache turning molten as my muscles start to relax and welcome him in. I lift my hips up and start to push back at him in time with the pump of his hips and he growls, his hand stroking up my spine as he grips my hip with the other and starts to fuck me harder and faster. I can't stop cursing, already getting loud, unable to let go of the bed to jack off because all I want to do is bounce back onto him, forcing him deeper, my ass on fire and my dick soaking my stomach as he fucks me hard into the mattress.
I'm submitting to the fuck of my life, Spock slamming into me hard and fast as the grunts and growls pouring out of his chest vibrate against my back, when strong hands wrap themselves around my torso and pull me up to lean back against his chest. He keeps fucking into me hard, my dick bouncing in front of me as I turn enough to open my mouth for him, his tongue thrusting into my mouth possessively as his hand strokes up my chest and neck to find my face. I'm begging for it, pleading, grinding my hips back and whimpering as the ridges and flare of his dick jab at my prostate with each stroke, and I'm so close now that it feels like I might be able to shoot from this alone.
He starts to jack my cock at the same time the fingers of his other hand stretch to span my face and I can feel my climax coming on, every muscle tightening to the point of pain, my butthole clenching on him hard as his fingertips press into my face. I open my mouth to shout, gasping, but then he's in my mind and I'm swept up in the violent, turbulent inferno of a Vulcan lust at full strength, a need more intense than anything I've ever experienced. It's an auto-da-fé, a sacrificial burning and I can feel through him as my hole begins to spasm around him, my orgasm roaring through me like a forest fire as his cock swells deep inside my gut and begins to fill me with his cum. I can feel his teeth at my neck, his hand milking me hard, a boiling, dominate satisfaction at mating me prolonging my climax to the point where I can't tell what I'm feeling any more, my own spurts of cum over his fingers or those he's pumping into my body.
Emotion floods into me, his emotions, possessiveness, love, gratitude. Relief, more than anything, something I don't understand. His hips are stilled, his pelvis cradling mine as I sit back against him and feel his arms go around me as his fingers slip from my face. We're back in my room, back on the bed, my legs, asshole and stomach clenching irregularly with tremors, his dick beginning to soften inside me. Spock holds me to him gently, his mouth at the back of my neck, his forehead against my crown as I gasp for breath and try to remember my own name.
“Ashayam.” He squeezes me tight, his head rubbing between my shoulders. “Half of my heart and soul.”
I've collapsed down, taking him with me. Spock noses into my neck, kissing and nuzzling over what feels like one hell of a hickey, and my words are a sleepy mumble, muffled into the pillow I'm not moving out of for the next ten hours or so.
“Mmm, that's nice. I never knew Vulcanir was so mushily illogical. What's the other thing you keep calling me?”
“T'hy'la.”
A finger strokes behind my ear as his other hand wipes me down. I'm drifting, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Spock settles into the bed beside me, pulling my leg over his as I grunt at him because nobody needs to move me right now. Stillness is good. Stillness and sleep. Maybe an ice pack for one area in particular.
“Thanks. I'll bet that's Vulcan for Sugar Tush.”
“It is not, and the absolute logic of expressing adoration to one to whom you are physically bound is indisputable.”
The bed's a upward thermal and I'm floating away, sprawled over his chest as Spock strokes up and down over my back. “Keep screwing me that thoroughly and we're all good whatever you call me.”
This feels incredible, afterglow cubed, Spock's satisfaction and love snaking around my veins, a whisper of concern as he threads his fingers through my hair like he can't stop petting on me. I sigh, cracking open an eye to squint at him. “What?”
“It can wait. Sleep.”
“No, it can't.” I prop my chin on a hand splayed over his chest, not bothering to cover a yawn. “Spill. Quickly, energy reserves are fading.”
“My attentions, and therefore controls, were so focused on our bonding and subsequent mating that I only now realize that I have not inquired after your mental health.” His mouth twists ruefully. “Perhaps not a positive omen of my likely spousal aptitude.”
“Spock, I didn't ask a single thing about your wellbeing. I didn't even ask what the hell you're doing here and who's looking after my ship.” I nuzzle back into his chest, closing my eyes. “I think most people are going to agree you got the sticky end of the stick. Don't worry about it.”
“But I must ask - Have you found your path?”
Spock's voice is so gentle, a touch of sweetness that breaks my heart. I'm bonded to someone that can screw me through the bedboards then ask about how crazy I'm feeling, and treat one as seriously as the other without a second thought. I hug into him for a second, overcome with how indebted I am to the universe for sending me someone like him. Then I move to kiss him, my nose against his, his mouth firm beneath mine, our bond thickening the air between us until it feels like I could sense his heartbeat from a mile away. Then I break the kiss, leaning my head against his.
“Jim? Was I incorrect to inquire?”
“No, not at all. Did I find my path?” I rub over his mouth with my thumb and look down into eyes like a black hole that's pulling me into infinity. “Yeah. I'm looking at it.”