The Preserver - Part V
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McCoy poured himself another shot of whiskey, setting it on the table beside the biobed he was reclined in. There was little else to do.
They’d been stuck out here, in the biggest middle-of-nowhere that even a Georgian country boy could have ever envisioned, for forty-two days. The ship, inexplicably, had no power, no navigational control, no sensors, and no way to find its way of here. They’d had meetings and meetings and meetings, all of which were used to just say, “We have no captain, there’s nothing to see, nothing to do, and we have no idea if we’ll ever see home again.” After the third or fourth meeting, they really just became an excuse to get together and comfort each other. The number of actual medical patients shot down to a nonexistence and the number of psych patients quadrupled, though there were no more mass hallucinations and break downs. It was early yet.
McCoy spent his days in a half-drunk stupor, never drinking enough to be intoxicated and therefore useless if a real emergency sprung up but never sober enough to start thinking about all the horrible ways they could die or starve to death in the next three or four years when the food ran out or what had happened to Jim, if he was still alive or needed their help.
So when a naked and bloodied Vulcan, a middle-aged Human, and a blue and yellow winged lizard-bird alien popped into the middle of sickbay, McCoy wondered if there were hallucinogenic properties in his whiskey or if he had miscalculated his tolerance and drunk himself into a new state of being.
It took a few beats for McCoy to remember that he was a goddamn doctor. By then the Vulcan had been carefully arranged on a biobed by the human and the alien. McCoy had been alone in sickbay, so the first thing he did was flick the medical emergency alarm on his comm unit to call in the staff. He rushed to the biobed, simultaneously checking the read out over the bed and scanning with his tricorder.
“Bones! Thank god, help Spock,” the human said frantically. McCoy did a short double-take, looking properly at the Vulcan. He’d heard about the existence of the alternate version of Spock from Jim, but he’d never seen the man up close. A million questions occurred to him but he shoved them all away in favor of his training. It might take a minute or two for help to arrive, so McCoy bolted into the room next door, entering the blood bank storage and grabbing hold of several still-reserved (thank god) pints of Spock’s blood. He rushed back to his patient and immediately hooked the older Spock into the transfusion regulator. He loaded up a hypospray of Kayolane in case Spock decided he was going to wake up any time soon.
Two nurses arrived, breathless from a mad dash down the corridors, and he began to demand instruments from rote memory, trying not to be overwhelmed by horror at the damage laid out in front of him as he catalogued it.
How anyone had cut the skin so precisely was a marvel in itself. His left arm was a quivering mess of green blood and exposed dermis layers and muscle. His chest and lower stomach were similarly afflicted, half of his torso barely lined with lingering stripes of skin that had been left untouched. His upper right thigh showed similar damage-to a lesser degree-as his arm, and his face had deep gouge marks scored parallel across his cheek. Tricorder readings showed internal bleeding from his lungs, liver, and heart, the pattern suggesting he had been thrown into a hard surface repeatedly.
McCoy had cured even more gruesome injuries than this, barely, but those had all been sustained in accidents or battle. This was flat-out torture. For the first time in months, McCoy had to work at keeping his hands steady and not shaking. God, Jim could be out there with whatever things could do this.
M’Benga had arrived at some point while McCoy’s attention was focused on his patient. The nurses were busy staunching the flow of blood while McCoy prepped for surgery.
“Doctor,” M’Benga said, touching McCoy’s shoulder. He was pointing up at the readings. The Vulcan’s vitals were, inexplicably, strengthening at a staggering rate, much faster than a mere mere blood transfusion could accomplish.
“How the-”
“He’s gone into a Vulcan healing trance, Doctor,” the human said softly, holding tightly to the Vulcan’s one healthy hand.
McCoy had little knowledge of Vulcan healing trances. Their Spock had gone into one once on an away mission that McCoy hadn’t been on. He was almost positive that the internal bleeding could be healed under the trance, but the missing skin was another matter. M’Benga, who was an expert on Vulcan anatomy and having worked all these thoughts out himself, took up a dermal regenerator and began to work on the stomach, right above the ambassador’s heart. McCoy joined with another regenerator, starting his own progress with the damaged arm.
“Bones, let M’Benga take over. I need to speak with you a moment.”
“I’m the Chief Medical Officer and this is my patient,” McCoy bit out. “Also, why do you keep calling me that? My name is Leonard McCoy.”
“Right you wouldn’t…I’m flustered. I’m Jim. Well, another Jim.”
McCoy spared a glance from his work. He certainly didn’t look like Jim at first take, not in the slightest. However, there were some small similarities in movement and the cadence of his voice. That and he just happened to be all over a guy named Spock, and in McCoy’s handbook that was a universal role that any James T. Kirk filled.
“And I’m Florence Nightingale,” McCoy scoffed, not letting up with healing his patient.
“We need to talk right now. If there’s anyone who is more concerned about Spock in this room, it’s me, but we have to think of the ship first.”
McCoy hesitated. Damn but did this guy play a good Jim Kirk. McCoy stepped aside to let the M’Benga and the nurses take over, walking only a few feet away in case anything drastic occurred and he needed to intervene.
He was momentarily distracted by the alien, who was even more remarkable and odd at close-range. The being shifted restlessly and McCoy heard the sound of a jingling bell. He looked down and saw that the alien was wearing bells on his ankles. For some reason this was what made McCoy completely lose it.
“All right, what the hell is going on?” McCoy demanded in a low growl, pointing in the direction of each person he mentioned. “Ambassador Spock was nearly tortured to death, you’re supposed to dead, and I don’t even know what the hell you are.”
“Never mind all that,” Kirk said, infuriatingly. “We have to get this ship out of here. There’s a monster out there, an extremely powerful, malicious monster. She was the one who did that to Spock, but Spock did something and she’s not in control at the moment. You must tell Scotty to leave now.”
“You and Spock cannot leave,” the blue creature said before McCoy could respond. “I can bring the life support equipment, but that is all.”
“I didn’t intend to stay,” Kirk said in a resolved tone. “But this crew can leave. There are over six hundred people on this ship. Tane, just point this ship toward the exit and let them go home. She doesn’t need them; she’ll kill them just to have the ship, or worse, she’ll use them all as lab rats.”
“Now just hold on a minute,” McCoy cut in angrily, rounding on them in the middle of the corridor, bringing their group to a stop. “Where’s our captain, where’s Jim? Is he with that monster you’re talking about?”
“They’re safe for now,” Kirk said dismissively. “I may not always see eye to eye with them, but they’d want your safety more than they’d want to save their own lives.”
“Wait, ‘they’?”
“Jim and-oh, you wouldn’t know.” Kirk’s voice softened. “Jim and Spock. Spock’s alive.”
“Spock? You mean, our Spock?”
“The Vulcan who just had the best resurrection since Jesus Christ? That’d be him.”
For a moment, McCoy felt a surge of hope and relief flood through him. He smiled brilliantly. Kirk looked at him in kind amusement.
“Ah Bones, you’re a big softie.”
McCoy’s smile fell and he scowled, remembering their conversation. “You can’t just leave them behind.”
“And we’re supposed to leave this crew to rot? Four lives against hundreds.”
“Can’t you at least try? How hard would it be to just pick them up and then get the hell out of dodge?”
“Her senses are returning to her,” the creature named Tane intoned in the flattest voice possible. “Her eye is fixed upon the other Kirk and Spock and she knows that you and your Spock are missing. At this rate, it will not be long before she discovers your location. We must leave as soon as possible.”
“Not before we get this ship out of here. Please, Tane.”
“No, I agree with him,” McCoy said to Kirk, pointing at Tane. “You guys go back and try to do whatever the hell you did before to bring her down.”
“Doctor,” Kirk said in a hard voice. “It’s very unlikely that we’ll be able to do it again if she knows what to expect. This is your chance to get out of here, save everyone. We’ll find a way to escape on our own.”
“Look here,” McCoy growled, getting in Kirk’s face. “Half my life is spent patching Jim up and the other half is arguing with Spock about letting Jim get into trouble. My life is out there, so don’t tell me I can’t do anything about it.”
Kirk visibly softened, and when he smiled it looked exactly like Jim’s smile. “I wouldn’t presume to debate you, Leonard. I suppose it would reflect poorly on Starfleet if the crew of Enterprise left their commanding officers behind.”
“They’d probably understand,” McCoy said. “But Jim wouldn’t leave a crewmember behind.”
Kirk smirked. “Neither would I. Thanks for reminding me of that. We’ll find a way.”
“She is growing ever stronger,” Tane reminded them.
Kirk sighed, glancing back at sickbay. “Yes, just make sure he’s good for travel.”
Tane nodded solemnly. “It is a simple matter. My powers have fully returned.”
He touched Kirk’s shoulder and the two disappeared. Chapel shrieked in surprise and M’Benga, dumbfounded, said, “what the hell?” McCoy turned back to the biobed they surrounded, Ambassador Spock gone and the medical equipment still intact. McCoy momentarily worried that the ambassador was in danger without the life support, but then decided that if the lot of them could disappear into thin air, it stood to reason that they could work their mojo and keep the Vulcan stable.
McCoy suddenly groaned; he’d definitely have to sit through another meeting now.
*
“I hope they’re all right,” Jim said quietly from where he sat on the ground next to Spock, staring up at the sky as if an answer would fall out of it.
“I, too, am concerned for their welfare,” Spock said.
All they knew was that the creature had been hurt somehow and that the elder Spock had been severely injured. To pass the time and to keep Jim from going out of his mind with worry, they tested their abilities, noticing that, as time passed, they grew stronger. They hadn’t really talked in the last half hour or so, and Jim wasn’t keen on striking up a conversation. He was shaken from seeing the older Spock, still reeling from the massive amount of damage the Vulcan had suffered. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, like he could have stayed and stopped what happened. It was obviously illogical, so he didn’t mention it to Spock, but he still felt like he was somehow to blame.
Another few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, Jim casting sidelong looks at Spock, anxious to move into action.
Spock called out to Jim and pointed at two figures in the distance. Jim leapt to his feet and ran out to meet them, face breaking out in utter elation at the sight of the elder Spock on his feet, dressed once again in his Vulcan-styled traveling clothes, not a trace of pain on his face. He stopped a few feet away, not because he didn’t want to fling himself at the Vulcan, but because he and Kirk were making out.
“Oh that’s just weird,” Jim said under his breath.
“It is most disconcerting,” Spock agreed, of course having heard Jim.
Jim wished he hadn’t run, because then he wouldn’t have to stand here next to Spock, waiting. It was bad enough that he and Spock were not exactly stable as far as their friendship was concerned. Having to watch the older mirrors of themselves getting intimate with each other was just another awkward cherry on the awkward sundae.
Eventually they pulled apart to stare sappily at each other. Jim found it in himself to be nothing but happy for them, regardless of his own mixed feelings. He moved closer, now that the show was over.
“Are you completely okay?” Jim asked Spock, glancing at the exposed parts of his body that had been torn apart before.
“I am physically sound, thanks to Tane providing me with immediate medical attention and then regenerating my body when he had the ability to do so,” Spock said calmly, but his eyes were haunted. “However, the memory is fresh. If it is agreeable to you, I require meditation.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jim agreed, knowing how much his own Spock needed that after a bad mission.
The elder Spock nodded and, after creating what looked like a different version of his own Spock’s quarters, disappeared entirely. Jim guessed that either their powers were fully back online or the elder Spock was just that awesome.
Probably both were true.
“Your crew is safe,” Kirk told Jim, and he relaxed even more.
“For now. What happened?”
“I don’t know much more than you do, and I really don’t want to bother him at the moment, but I gathered that he did something with his telepathy, made her feel the pain he was in. I don’t know how important that all is in the grand scheme of things, but it’s useful to know that she’s not infallible. I’m betting he doesn’t know much himself yet,” Kirk said, moving toward the area his Spock was disappeared to. He said over his shoulder, “He only just got his head back on straight and he’s trying to sort it all out. I’d better stick by him in case he needs me.”
“Okay, we’ll just be out here,” Jim said, watching as Kirk disappeared. A few seconds of silence passed, and Jim realized that they might have to wait hours before getting any answers. He chanced a look at Spock, who was staring unabashedly at Jim.
“Would you accompany me?” Spock asked.
“Sure,” Jim said. As if he was going to deny Spock anything right now. Spock nodded and closed his eyes. Apparently Spock had been really practicing while Jim had been in that cave with the other Spock, because he effortlessly began to create an entire world around them from memory, and Jim’s heart panged at the sight. It was Vulcan, but Vulcan in a way Jim had never seen it. There was no disaster, no blistering hot sun or freezing night shown on informational holos on the planet, none of that. The red sands were dark and cool and it was night. The stars seemed even more beautiful on Vulcan, most likely due to the thin atmosphere, which made it harder for Jim to breathe and thus literally made his breath catch at the burgeoning landscape. There was no moon, of course, but what really surprised Jim was the festival of lights that stretched across the horizon. It was much like Earth’s aurora borealis or aurora australis.
“Was this part of Vulcan?” Jim asked quietly.
“It was,” Spock said. “It is called the khu’rak ha-ge, often seen near the magnetic poles. My father took me to see them as a boy. However, the land you see is on the outskirts of ShiKarh. It is more comfortable for habitation.”
Spock climbed atop a rust-colored rock. Jim followed and they sat beside each other, staring up at the waves of light, red and green dancing across the stars and galaxy, shooting up from the horizon like a strange rising sun.
Jim had a feeling the silence was supposed to be comfortable and full of awe and wonder at the universe, but couldn’t help feeling a bout of deep anxiety and nervousness. After all, he hadn’t talked directly with Spock since the Revelation. He had no idea what Spock was thinking or feeling and he wasn’t brave enough to ask for fear of being punched-or worse, ignored. Jim sort of hoped they wouldn’t talk about it, even if that was the absolute worst thing one could do in the situation. He didn’t want to be let down gently nor did he want to hear empty assurances. He attempted to focus his mind on the environment; it really was spectacular.
“You know, I’ve never really seen Vulcan. My first visit here was when we failed at destroying the drill.”
“You are not at fault,” Spock said, turning to Jim with a face free of dishonesty, with the same conviction he used when explaining gravity. “If I had known you and trusted you then as I do now, you would have been entrusted with the charges and you would not have failed.”
Hope surged through Jim. Spock said he trusted him, even after the Revelation. Maybe they could salvage something of their friendship. He managed a small, genuine smile.
“Isn’t that illogical, saying that I’m unable to fail?”
“Hyperbolic, perhaps. The sentiment, I feel, suits you.”
Jim was further floored and his smile widened as that familiar warmth flooded through him. Then he remembered that Spock knew now, was probably uncomfortable at Jim’s display of affection, could easily read how Jim felt. Jim’s grin faded and he became anxious again, returning his gaze to the sky.
“Spock, can you, you know, remember anything about being in my head? Any memories shared with me?” Jim blurted out, already wishing that he hadn’t said anything. Apparently he just couldn’t let things slide, even if it would likely hurt like hell.
“Negative. However, I am left with an impression.”
“An impression? That I was acting like a lunatic?” Jim said, trying for flippant.
“Jim,” Spock said. “I dwelled within your mind for 27 days. Do you not think, in all that time, that I would not know how you felt?”
Dismayed, Jim continued staring off into the distance and scooted a little farther away from Spock. The air felt heavy with tension, despite the thin atmosphere.
“I hope it doesn’t change anything, how I-feel.”
“It changes many things,” Spock said evenly.
“It shouldn’t,” Jim insisted frantically, almost desperately, hating how pathetic and needy he sounded.
Spock, surprisingly, moved closer until his face was inches from Jim’s face. Jim quieted, his throat working uneasily with the effort of not saying a god damn thing until whatever had Spock so captivated was known.
“I wish for it to, Jim.”
Spock spread his fingers in the Vulcan salute and Jim nearly lost his shit and cried. Jesus fuck, Spock was saying goodbye to him?
Spock looked expectant and concerned, most likely because Jim was trying to bottle everything he was feeling, but it was like the bottle he was trying to shove it all into had cracks all through it. Jim had absolutely no words worth pushing past the lump in his throat, and he refused to raise his hand until his brain was in some semblance of order and he could shout about this a little.
Spock studied him for a long moment before he reached over and lifted Jim’s lax hand, manually spreading the fingers himself into the salute. The warmth of Spock’s hands on his was enough to startle Jim out of his self-loathing. Now that he was actually looking at Spock, the expression on his face could only be described as serene and warm. It was difficult to fight whatever was going on when Spock was looking at him like that.
Spock brought their posed hands within a centimeter of the other, heat radiating out and warming Jim’s hand. Keeping the same V-shape, he traced two fingers down two of Jim’s own.
The sensation was unexpectedly arousing. Jim shivered at the touch, his hand trembling as Spock moved back up and then down again, brushing them over Jim’s palm. Jim was panting quietly, hardly daring to believe what was happening. He was no expert on Vulcan customs, but this seemed stunningly intimate by what little knowledge he possessed.
“Spock…” Jim whispered, trailing off and gasping as Spock took his hand away and transferred it to Jim’s mouth, touching his lips lightly with impossibly warm fingers. “What are you doing?”
“You labor under a false assumption,” Spock said, removing his fingers from Jim’s lips and resting his hand on Jim’s shoulder instead. “Your affections are not a hindrance to our friendship. Love is a rare and precious gift, no matter the form it takes. To shun you merely for wanting a relationship beyond friendship would be illogical.”
“That’s great, man,” Jim said, writing off the weird hand thing as some archaic ritual he’d never heard of. “So we can be friends again, no problem.”
“Jim,” said Spock reprovingly.
Jim watched as Spock shifted even closer, and then he nearly had a heart attack when Spock effectively crawled onto his lap, one knee on either side of Jim’s, the intimate heat of his inner thighs causing Jim to grow instantly, achingly hard. Spock’s hands cupped the back of Jim’s neck, and he brought their heads together with enough distance to look Jim in the eyes.
“I should have known subtlety would have no effect on you.”
Jim laughed to himself then moaned quietly as Spock rocked his hips once into Jim’s. “It’s definitely not one of my strong suits.”
“Yet you are quite adept at self-flagellation. If either of us should feel shame, it is I. I have desired you for longer than I can quantify, and that fact alone disquiets me, as Vulcans have an innate sense of time. I repressed all emotions with the exception of friendship, believing that this alone was enough shame to bear. I was foolish. What shame can I feel when I believe that there is no greater honor than remaining at your side? If you blame yourself for not making your feelings known, then I share the greater burden of guilt for refusing to even acknowledge that they existed.”
“You sure I’m the one who’s good at self-flagellation?” Jim murmured, letting his hands roam freely up and down Spock’s back, hardly daring to believe that this was actually happening. It was all too much happiness to ask for, to take-Spock here, alive, in his lap, saying that he wanted Jim. He wondered if maybe he was still in the brig on the Enterprise, mind finally breaking into insanity, unable to see reality for what it was.
If it was a delusion, it was the best he’d ever fabricated.
“Perhaps we are well-matched,” Spock said, leaning in the final few centimeters and kissing Jim softly, experimentally.
Jim’s hands froze on Spock’s back as if Spock’s lips were a live wire connected to him, shooting bolts of electricity into his body, rendering him immobile under the sustained power. Tentatively, Jim opened his mouth on a sigh, angling his head to deepen the kiss. The effect was immediate and explosive, setting off a frenzied chain reaction; Spock grasped the back of Jim’s head with one palm and began devouring Jim’s mouth; Jim broke the kiss to pull Spock’s uniform shirts, both of them, up and over his head; Spock just ripped Jim’s undershirt off, reclaiming his mouth and grinding down into Jim’s lap. Jim gasped and gasped into Spock’s mouth, the thin air making his head swim and Spock busy robbing him of whatever breath he could contain. Jim finally had to break the kiss to breathe, his cheeks stained red with exertion. Spock growled lowly and kept kissing him, moving down Jim’s face and to his neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point there, one hand clutching at Jim’s back and the other sliding up the bottom of his shirt. Jim gripped the small of Spock’s back, coaxing him, realizing that he could come from this alone, Spock sucking small bruises into his neck and dry humping his dick.
“What do you want?” Jim asked, words spilling out of him like licks of flame on kindling. “Anything, god, you can fuck me-“
Spock shuddered violently against him, sending a tiny groan vibrating into Jim’s throat. Spock moved his head away, pushed at Jim’s shoulders, sending him to the ground, which was-kind of fucking hard and dug into his bare back. He’d forgotten that they were currently on a rock.
“Let me…” Spock trailed off, closing his eyes briefly. The rock beneath him morphed and Jim looked over to see that plants were growing from the ground and a small rock pond was now a few feet away from them. Spock kissed his lips again, momentarily robbing Jim of coherent thought before he noticed the smell.
“Oh my god, we are not going to have sex on a god damn bed of roses,” Jim exclaimed.
“They are mu-yor svai. They only bloom at night. You have an objection to the flora?”
“Yes I’m complaining about the flora! Look, I have this little voice in my head that sounds like Bones and it’s laughing right now and telling me that we should braid flowers in our hair after we’ve made love under the evening sky in a bed of mu-yor svai.”
Spock stopped moving all together, which was really the wrong idea and Jim bucked against him to get the party started again, really only partially concerned about the damn flowers.
“Why would one braid flowers into their hair?”
Jim sighed, closing his own eyes. He managed to get rid of the mu-yor svai and replaced them with good old-fashioned Terran moss. Spock nodded approvingly, then pointedly unzipped Jim’s pants, freeing Jim’s cock from the confines.
They both shuddered at the contact, stilling a moment before they began struggling out of what was left of their clothing, both of them trying to get their mouths on whatever skin they could reach. Impatient, Jim sat up, fighting with the stubborn zipper on Spock’s pants; Spock curled around him heavily, grunting encouragement, and Jim managed to wriggle a hand in to seize a fistful of Spock’s cock. Jim looked down to watch it slide slickly in and out of his hand, flushed green and twitching minutely, his own erection leaking in Spock’s perfect grip. Jim had been with guys before, had jerked them off and even sucked off a couple, but he’d never gotten serious enough with one to even think about fucking or getting fucked. Yet here he was now, wanting Spock inside him already, and that was sort of terrifying, how little control he had around Spock and to what degree he’d let Spock do whatever he wanted to him.
Spock groaned and twisted out of Jim’s grip, shaking a little as he took his own erection in hand and squeezed like he was trying not to come early. Jim sucked in a startled breath, then groped around beside him and came up with a bottle of lube, the same one he’d kept on the nightstand in his academy dorm room. He felt momentarily embarrassed that he’d used it enough that he could think of its location on autopilot. He shoved the bottle at Spock who-bless pointed ears and pitchforks-opened it, squeezed it into his hands and slicked his cock, uncharacteristically graceless. Vulnerability curled in his stomach and, annoyed at himself for feeling it, Jim rolled onto his stomach, pulled one leg up and, well, presented. For a moment Spock was silent and didn’t move closer, and Jim started to feel awkward just lying there like that, almost able to feel Spock’s eyes rake over his skin. Self-consciousness gave way to want when one of Spock’s hands touched Jim’s side, sliding over the skin of Jim’s ribs. Spock then pulled gently and Jim followed the motion until he was lying on his side.
Spock’s hand traveled lower, ghosting over Jim’s ass, dipping further until a finger was pressing against and then into Jim’s hole. Jim moaned, trying to keep his hips from jerking too much as first one finger slid in and out of him and then another joined in, working him open. It felt tight and full, and a little unreal, knowing this was Spock inside of him, wanting him. Jim squirmed under the realization and reached down to take himself in hand, jerking his cock slowly as a third finger was added. It hurt, and he couldn’t make himself to relax into it. He forced himself to keep in mind that one cock was a hell of a lot bigger than three fingers, and he wanted-needed-this, so he made it happen, let go of his tension, opened himself. Spock pulled out and stretched himself across Jim’s back, kissing Jim’s neck and murmuring indistinctly as he positioned himself at the entrance to Jim’s ass. Jim gulped in air, nodding to keep Spock going, and Spock slowly slid in.
His ass burned as Spock made little thrusts into him, groaning mindlessly into Jim’s ear and grasping the wet expanse of Jim’s hip. Jim buried his face in his arm, stifling any whimpers that wanted to come out. Finally Spock bottomed out, and he rested there, waiting for Jim to be ready. Jim didn’t know if he’d ever be ready; Spock was fucking huge. Then Spock trailed his hand from Jim’s hip in a trembling caress and wrapped his whole arm around Jim’s chest, embracing him, one hand resting over Jim’s heart.
Jim stared at the pale skin contrasted with his tan, Spock’s fingers curling in lightly to press against his skin. He marveled at the fact that he was having sex with Spock, who wanted him and might even love him a little. He craned his head to look over his shoulder, not able to see Spock very well until Spock moved in to kiss him. Jim’s neck stretched uncomfortably, and he made a command decision, pushing Spock back, letting Spock slide out of him.
Spock looked adorably confused and Jim smiled, moving into a supine position, spreading his legs open in invitation.
“Get over here,” Jim said, in case his intention was unclear. Spock’s face cleared and he obeyed, crawling on top of Jim and hooking Jim’s legs around his hips. Spock sank into him again, hitting what Jim guessed was the mythical prostate. Shocks of pleasure hit him and he mindlessly rocked his hips against Spock in a silent plea for more. Spock thrust incrementally harder, a definite rhythm emerging as he fucked into Jim. It was too slow, and Jim grew impatient with the burning need for more. He tightened around Spock inside him, which caused Spock to breathe harshly.
“Fuck me like you mean it,” Jim nearly growled. Never let it be said that Spock couldn’t take an order. Eyes darkening in lust, Spock picked up Jim’s legs and put them on his shoulders, then began to fuck Jim hard, near-silent but for his heaving breaths. Jim was much louder, keening like he was being slain, fingers digging hard enough into Spock’s working hips to leave bruises. Jim began making embarrassing sounds as Spock relentlessly thrust into him, hitting his prostate with every stroke.
“Oh fuck, Spock, so good, so good, need it, need this…”
“Jim,” Spock moaned, eyes wild and searching, like he too couldn’t believe he was having sex with Jim or that anything could feel this good. Spock wasn’t even touching his cock, yet Jim felt like he was going to come at any minute, reaching his peak faster than he had in years. Spock hovered over him, face screwed up like he was in pain, hips stuttering, losing the rhythm in favor of the sensations, and Jim needed him more than he ever needed anything in his whole life.
“Come here,” Jim got out, voice oddly serious.
“I believe we are uncommonly close at the moment, Captain,” Spock said, and Jim laughed, pulling on Spock’s shoulders.
“No, come here,” he emphasized. Understanding shot across Spock’s face and he dropped Jim’s legs so that they straddled his hips again, lowering himself until he was lightly draped along Jim’s body, lips within kissing distance. Then to Jim’s surprise, Spock snaked his forearms under Jim’s back and curled his hands over Jim’s shoulders, clutching Jim close to his body, cradling him like that as he kept up a firm rhythm, and the action made Jim’s chest tighten, made him feel like something cherished. The moment intensified when Spock began to fuck him hard as they kissed, actually shoving Jim back an inch or two with the force of it. His cock rubbed between them every time Spock thrust, and that friction finally pushed Jim over the edge. His entire body locked up in ecstasy as he began to orgasm, vision blurring and hot come spilling between their bodies, shouting into Spock’s mouth as he bucked, hard, over and over.
He was limp and boneless, with Spock’s dick still fucking into him, when he finally opened his eyes. Spock looked like he was in pain, biting his bottom lip as he thrust, staring desperately into Jim’s eyes. He finally let go, coming with tiny, hitching breaths and lips gleaming wet and open.
Spock threw himself to the side, had probably made an exact calculation as to what Jim’s human frame could handle versus the applied weight of a Vulcan skeleton and accordingly decided that crushing Jim was not a logical post-orgasmic activity. Jim giggled at the thought and Spock sat up on one elbow to look down at him, eyebrow raised.
“I was given to understand that having one’s partner laugh after coitus is a negative statement on their sexual capability.”
Jim pulled him down and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips, breathlessly admiring the way the stars and lights perfectly framed Spock’s face.
“It means I’m happy. You’ll find, Mr. Spock, that humans are remarkably light-hearted and compliant after sex. And a good meal, too. Make me a sandwich, woman.”
“I believe the proper response to that is, ‘get it yourself, you chauvinist pig.’”
Jim laughed, pulling Spock down to kiss him again.
*
Spock was still meditating an hour later. Kirk was reclined on Spock’s old Starfleet regulation bed, staring at the weaponry and blood-red curtains while a tendril of Spock’s gradually calming thoughts swirled around his mind, making him lethargic. He shot an occasional glace at Spock, who was kneeling near the foot of the bed, and had to fight not to stop his emotions from flooding into their bond and troubling Spock. Kirk knew that, just as he sometimes had nightmares of near-fatal bullet wounds and fatal radiation burns, he would now also be inundated with the soul-crushing image of his love stripped and wrecked, unable to even speak through their bond to Kirk. He also felt a profound rapture because they had, against the odds, cheated death again.
He knew it was probably unfair to rejoice in triumphing over death when Spock had suffered for so long, had really felt almost an entire century of loneliness and grief.
“Do not be troubled, ashayam,” Spock said from the floor. Kirk saw that Spock was looking right at him.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your meditation.”
“I was nearing its completion, in any case. I believe I may have an enlightening theory for many of the events that have occurred since our arrival.”
“Great,” Kirk said, scooting to the edge of the bed and putting his legs on the floor. “We should go tell the kids.”
Spock gave him an unimpressed look. Kirk grinned roguishly.
“They are fully grown individuals, Admiral.”
“Come on, they look like two children dressing up as us for Halloween. Were we ever that young?”
“Obviously we were,” Spock said, feigning arrogant condescension. “All living beings in our galaxy are born and undergo a lifelong maturation process.”
“Key word being our galaxy. I’m sure Tane was born with the exact same stick up his hindquarters that he sports now.”
“You should not speak so lightly of him,” Spock admonished. “He did, after all, save my life.”
“You’re perfectly right, of course,” Kirk said, sighing. “If I were stuck here for as long as he’s been with no peer and having to escort living beings to their own personal hells, I’d be far less reserved.”
“However, we still cannot be sure he saved my life out of altruism as much as for self-preservation-I was informed from our captor herself that she is only in need of one Spock and one Kirk, and we do not know if he would have chosen to help us if he knew I was expendable.”
“You just can’t make up your mind, can you?” Kirk said, speaking lightly but feeling heavy-hearted. He had thought Spock might die accidentally, but not by selection.
“I simply believe in giving him the benefit of the doubt. He may be a priceless ally or a regrettable opponent.”
“You’re right again. I should be sick of saying that. I really must like you.”
Spock quirked his lips. “Of this, I have no doubt.”
“All right, enough of this, let’s go talk about what’s going on.”
“There is no need to rush.”
“Spock, all pleasure and no business? Where’s the Vulcan I cashed all my chips in with?”
“The creature will no doubt take some time to regroup. Furthermore, we are being blocked by Spock and Jim.”
“Oh?” Kirk said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you think they’re sowing some wild oats?”
“It is unkind to speculate,” Spock chided, a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Fine, fine, take all my fun away. We’ll just wait here until the metaphorical ‘do not disturb’ sign is off the handle, shall we?”
Spock looked at Kirk with his best ‘I’ve got an idea’ expression and closed his eyes. A moment later, Spock’s quarters were shifted into a large hotel room that was vaguely familiar.
“Where are we?” Kirk asked, staring around at their lush accommodations.
“We are in a Risan hotel suite. You do not recognize this particular room?”
“Our Honeymoon Suite!” Kirk exclaimed when he remembered. He peered up at a chandelier that cascaded from the high ceiling. “Yes, I remember now. Bones had the room next door.”
“It was a pity that the headboard rested against the adjoining wall.”
Kirk let out a deep belly laugh. “Oh how he complained the next morning. Had to get another room in the middle of the night! By the way, how is Bones?”
Spock hesitated briefly. “He died, Jim.”
Kirk sat down hard on the bed, staring at the floor. Somehow he’d forgotten how much time had really passed since that ill-fated launch of the Enterprise-B.
“I should have guessed. He would have been-“
“162-years-old, if he was still alive when I left. He lived to be 139.”
“How did he die?”
“Old age. He was at his home in Georgia when he passed.”
“That’s-good, that’s good,” Kirk said, though he felt anything but comforted. He’d never see Bones again, even if they somehow returned to their own exact universe. Having Spock around had made him forget that things had changed, that the world had gone on without him. Most of the people he had known were probably dead by now.
“I regret that I was not there when he died. It seems that I have a knack for not being present at the deaths of my closest friends and companions.”
“Stop that, stop it right there mister,” Kirk said instantly, pulling Spock down to the bed next to him. “What have I told you before? You are responsible for no actions but your own. You can’t very well predict someone’s death or hover over them like a raven of ill omen until they die.”
“I should have been there. I should have not have let you go either.”
Kirk stared at him incredulously. “I can’t even begin to deconstruct that sentence and point out all the illogic. What are you going to do, sit on me to keep me from going anywhere?”
Spock stared solemnly at Kirk in that familiar ‘I will not deign to dignify that remark with a comment’ expression. Then to Kirk’s utter surprise, Spock stood up from the bed and to all effects, sat in Kirk’s lap. Kirk laughed, angling his head to steal a quick kiss. Spock returned to kiss, but he brought his hands up and cupped Kirk’s face solemnly.
“I should have told you that I had remarried.”
Kirk had been waiting for this to come up again. He sighed, feeling very put-upon.
“Yes, you should have. And don’t believe that I’m not annoyed that you didn’t tell me. Look, let’s talk about it. When did you marry Saavik?”
“46.7 years after you were declared dead.”
“And you were telling the truth when you said that you had not shared a martial bond with Saavik?”
“Of course, Jim. We merely shared a shallow mating bond and a legal marriage.”
“Then all you did was tell me a little white lie that was unnecessary. Spock, even if you had gotten a martial bond with Saavik, I’d understand. 46 years is a long time, and I would just be happy you found a bit of happiness.”
“Our relationship was merely of friendship, outside of legal marriage and mating urges. We hardly saw each other, as I spent great amounts of time on Romulus and she was a captain. My life saw little change before and after our marriage.”
Even the tiny hint of jealousy Kirk felt drifted away by the depthless sorrow in Spock’s eyes. Kirk had constantly struggled with getting older, but Spock actually was old, was at that time in one’s life when outliving others stops being luck and starts becoming a curse.
He removed Spock’s hands from his face and kissed Spock gently.
“There’s change now,” Kirk said deeply, then switched to a lighter tone. “The problem was that you were certain I was gone for good. Just let this all be a lesson for you; I’m always with you. If I die again, just tell yourself that you’re just waiting for me to come back. Who’s to say we can’t do it again?”
Kirk felt triumphant when Spock managed a small smile. “We are the bane of probability theory.”
Kirk chuckled. Spock repositioned himself next to Kirk, taking his hand in his. They both stared out at the city skyline of Risa with its hovercraft and towering skyscrapers, and a certain peace fell over them. Nothing out there was real right now. Kirk didn’t know if they were, by this strange magic, sitting in a reconstructed hotel room complete with city or if they were sitting on rock flooring inside an empty domed prison. But he felt Spock next to him, could feel the edge of his thoughts, and that, at least, was real.
“Ah, love, let us be true to one another!” Kirk quoted quietly. “For the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.”
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