Daffodil Time, Part 17/17
Title: Daffodil Time
Author:
ladyblahblah
Beta:
ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot . . . ish
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: R
Warning: Consensual, mutually-adolescent sexuality
Disclaimer:I own nothing. The title is from a William Carlos William poem. I can't even take full credit for the idea, and all of the adorable can be traced directly to
momo_girlie and her painfully cute drawings. *fangirl flail*
Summary: Vague A/U. What would have happened if Kirk and Spock had known each other as children? Yes, another one of those.
Author's Note: I, um. Well, okay. YOU CAN NOT SAY THAT I DIDN'T WARN YOU. But remember, I do have a plan! You'll have to trust me on that. To all who have read along so far, thank you so much. And to those willing to follow me into what comes next, thank you as well! I hope to see you soon. Remember, there will be a time jump of several years in between this and the next story. Remember also that the name of this story will be officially changing soon. ^_^ All right, I'll get on with posting this from my undisclosed location, so . . . uh, enjoy? *hides* ETA: Oh yeah! There is an itty bitty homage to one of my favorite K/S authors in here; super-extra-sparkly bonus points to anyone who spots it!
Part 1│Part 2│Part 3│Part 4│Part 5│Part 6│Part 7│Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16
Jim wakes slowly, warm and comfortable and reluctant to open his eyes. The bed feels different; bigger somehow, with smoother sheets, and it takes him a moment to remember why. Not his bed at home, but the one in San Francisco. Which explains, he supposes, why he can feel a body radiating heat next to him.
He rolls over to see Spock lying on his back, his face relaxed and his normally immaculate hair messy and rumpled, and a fierce sense of pride blooms in Jim’s chest. It’s almost impossible to believe that they’re here, and Jim has never in his life been so glad to have lied to his mother. It’s meant months of pretending an interest in the boys and girls back home-with some rather creative subterfuge with Katy and Johnny’s help-but this moment makes it absolutely worth it. Even disregarding the fact that Spock had been absolutely right about their parents disapproving of their relationship, there’s no way on Earth or any other planet that they’d have been allowed to go to a strange city by themselves, let alone share a bedroom, if they’d been open about their relationship.
The urge to touch-the knowledge that he can-is nearly overwhelming. A persistent twinge in his bladder demands his attention, however, and Jim slips as carefully as possible from the bed. Feeling a tiny bit unnerved by walking around a hotel room completely naked, he pauses to scoop his underwear off of the floor before heading quietly into the bathroom.
While he’s there he figures he might as well brush his teeth, too; the last thing he wants is to wake Spock up with his awful morning-breath. Though he tries to be as quiet as possible, when Jim pads back into the bedroom he’s surprised to find Spock still lying in bed, breathing deeply and apparently undisturbed by Jim’s absence. That’s odd, he thinks; Spock always wakes up before Jim does. There’s something suspicious about the curve of his body, too, the way it’s positioned so that it will be easy for Jim to slip back under the covers and curl up against him. Jim grins as he burrows in again, feeling a familiar flicker at the back of his mind that makes him smother a blissful laugh against Spock’s shoulder.
“You big faker. I know you’re awake.”
Spock’s arms wind around his waist, holding him close. “You have no proof,” he murmurs into Jim’s hair, and Jim doesn’t bother to smother his laugh this time.
He lifts his head to find Spock gazing back at him, his deep brown eyes still soft with sleep, and Jim’s heart aches pleasantly.
“Hey,” he says, unable to keep an idiotic, smitten grin from stretching over his face. Unable to wait another moment, he leans forward to press his lips to Spock’s. The sharp, sweet taste of mint surprises him, and he pulls back again to fix Spock with a suspicious look. “How long have you been awake?”
“Thirty-seven minutes and approximately thirty seconds,” Spock admits.
“And you snuck out of bed to brush your teeth before I woke up?” Jim teases, smoothing his fingertips over Spock’s raised eyebrow.
“As did you.”
“Fair point.”
Jim kisses him again , because he wants to and because he can; he still can’t believe it. This time, however, Spock does not wait for him to lead, but wraps a hand around the back of Jim’s neck and guides him to exactly where Spock wants him. It’s Spock’s tongue that swipes entreatingly over the seam of Jim’s lips, taking advantage of Jim’s surprised moan to dart into his mouth. Jim is more than willing to submit to his desires, unable to do anything but feel his head spin and his heart race at Spock’s confident, insistent touch.
“You’re getting really good at that,” he manages to say when they finally break apart to breathe, and feels Spock’s delight at his praise.
“I believe,” Spock says with a teasing warmth in his eyes, “that I still require additional practice.”
Jim laughs. “Well, I guess that can be arranged.”
“Is there anything in particular you wish to do today?” Spock asks, his hand skimming lazily up and down Jim’s spine from the nape of his neck to the waistband of his underwear, and Jim raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “The second half of my entrance exam is scheduled for 1400 hours,” Spock reminds him with the slightest twitch of his lips. “I am afraid that we will be unable to spend all day in bed.”
“Well. Not today, anyway.” Jim’s leer is slightly derailed by the fierce rush of want that streams into his head. “Spock.” He leans forward, skimming his lips over the soft skin beneath Spock’s jaw, delighting in the faint scratch of stubble there. “There are so many things I want to do with you. I don’t want to rush anything, but . . . I can’t help . . .”
He feels more than hears Spock’s breath catch as two years’ worth of fantasies start running through Jim’s mind. For a moment, Jim tries to rein in his thoughts; almost immediately, however, he feels Spock through their link, pressing against the weak barriers Jim is trying to raise. And well, if Spock really wants to see . . .
“You have . . . an incredibly vivid imagination, James,” Spock says hoarsely, and Jim can feel himself blushing.
“I’ve had a long time to think about it.” He focuses on the sight of his fingers tangling in the dusting of hair that covers Spock’s chest. “I don’t expect us to do everything right away,” he says in a rush. “Or at all, you know, if you don’t want to. I mean, just because I’ve thought about it doesn’t mean-”
Spock’s mouth on his keeps him from finishing that sentence, which is good because he’s pretty sure he was rambling. And when Spock pushes against him, maneuvering his weight until he’s rolled Jim beneath him, oh, yes, that’s good too. That inhumanly warm body holding him down, all lean muscle and soft, dry skin. Desire, hot and insistent, pours into his head, nearly overwhelming him. Jim kisses back fiercely, pulling Spock even more firmly down onto him. They’re both getting hard already as Spock’s hands slide greedily over Jim’s ribs, as his mouth trails down to kiss and suck and bite at Jim’s neck. Jim feels surrounded, overwhelmed in the best possible way, and he threads his fingers through Spock’s silky hair as he feels something in his heart simply give way.
“I love you.”
He breathes the words into a pointed ear, and feels Spock go still above him. For just a moment, Jim is certain his heart has simply stopped altogether. Then he’s looking up into wide brown eyes staring down at him, bright with unhidden emotion.
“I love you,” Jim says again, unable or unwilling to hold it in; he’s not sure which. It hardly matters in the face of the warmth that runs through him as the words pass his lips, the way they make him feel so light he almost thinks that if Spock weren’t holding him down he’d simply float up to the ceiling.
“James.”
Spock’s voice sounds wrecked, and Jim has time to see that his eyes have gone even darker than usual before he has Spock’s fingers tangled in his hair and Spock’s tongue sweeping through his mouth. Spock is kissing him like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, and it doesn’t even matter that he hasn’t said it back. Jim doesn’t need the words, not really; that kind of declaration isn’t Vulcan, and Jim wouldn’t change who Spock is for anything.
“Spock.” Jim is gasping for breath by the time he finally pulls away, and he grins at the way Spock simply switches his attentions to Jim’s ear, instead. “There, um. There is something I want to do, if we can. If it’s okay.”
Spock presses his brow to the side of Jim’s head. “Yes?”
“I want . . . I . . .” The words stall on on tongue, and he tightens his grip around Spock’s back. “Don’t you know?”
“I need to hear you say the words.” Spock leans up to gaze seriously down at Jim, lust and solemnity warring over his features. “There is a chance that I am misreading you, because . . .” He swallows heavily. “Because there is something that I want very much. I am afraid I may be confusing your desires with my own.”
“You’re not.” Jim gathers his courage with a deep breath. “Will you . . . can we do that mind meld thing again? Like we did the one time, when we were kids.” He closes his eyes at the flare of heat in Spock’s eyes, shivering as fingertips brush over his temple.
“Yes,” he hears, and then Spock’s fingers settle over his face. “My mind to your mind-”
>-my thoughts to your thoughts. James.
>Spock.
Jim has wanted this for so long, the remembered comfort of Spock’s mind inaroundbetween his. He’s only felt it once before, but it feels like coming home. This is where he belongs: here with Spock, their minds twined around each other. There is joy, and warmth, and excitement, and whether it’s from one or both of them he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Their thoughts are one, as they’re meant to be, and what one thinksfeelsknows so do they both.
Spock’s mind, orderly and structured, takes form around him as a house with infinite rooms. On every side the walls thrum and vibrate-powerful emotions held in check.
>What happens if you let them loose?
>The same thing that happens when an earthquake hits. Destruction, rubble, chaos. Hours, if not days, to properly rebuild.
The way is open, letting Jim pass through freely as he explores; it is some time before he comes to a closed door. He touches it lightly, carefully, questioning. A sense of sharp intelligence fills him, and curiosity tempered by nearly boundless patience. The memory of gentle hands spreading over his face is so strong that it might easily be happening at this very moment.
This is Spock’s end of a link with Sarek’s brother Sopek, Spock’s uncle and one of the Healers that Spock sees on a regular basis; Jim suddenly knows it as though he always has.
>In the interest of privacy, Vulcans typically shield their familial bonds such as this.
Jim has barely begun to wonder what their own link looks like when he finds himself standing in an open doorway, nearly out of Spock’s mind and yet incredibly deep within it. He can feel himself stretched out from the other side and knows that it would be easy to slip through, as though some strange, faint gravity is urging him to fall back into his own body. It’s easy to stay where he is, though; Spock’s mind is welcoming and warm, and the doorway that arches between them is tall and wide. It used to be smaller, he knows, and further from the center of Spock’s mind. Now it is larger than almost any other, and only three doors stand beyond it.
Curious, Jim moves towards them. Spock’s parents are easy to identify-the thin door separating them from Amanda’s mind seems like more of a formality than anything, and the imposing one that nearly touches it can surely be no one other than Spock’s father. The final door stands on its own, however, thick and solid with hinges that have nearly rusted over from neglect.
>James. Wait.
But Jim’s mental fingers are already brushing against the surface, his mind already filling with the sense of strict order and cool reserve, the memory of a solemn ceremony and two minds joining, thoughts of heat and madness and promised relief.
T’Pring.
Jim jerks away, coming back to himself with what feels like a crash. He’s breathing hard, staring up at Spock who is staring back with something in his eyes that looks like horror. His hand is still stretched over Jim’s face, and his body resting over Jim’s suddenly feels confining instead of safe.
“Get off.”
Jim shoves at Spock, panic threatening to consume him as he struggles to get free. The fact that Spock rolls away without protest does little to calm him down, and Jim staggers to his feet despite the weakness in his legs. He stands beside the bed, trembling with a mix of emotions he can’t bring himself to define, and watches Spock rise as well.
“What did I just see, Spock?” Jim’s voice is rough, broken. He’s wrong, he must be wrong, and any second now Spock will explain and Jim will feel stupid but relieved and everything will be okay. Except that Spock is looking back at him with wariness and obvious fear. “Who the hell is T’Pring?”
“You . . .” Spock makes a move like he’s going to reach out, but when Jim flinches back he drops his hand again. “T’Pring is my koon’ul-veh,” he says unsteadily. “What you saw was our kah-ka.”
“You know I don’t speak Vulcan,” Jim snaps. “What does that mean?”
“A kah-ka is a bond, made with the partner of your parents’ choice. Koon’ul-veh . . . there is no proper translation in Standard.”
“Try.” Jim can’t seem to catch his breath, and his heart feels ready to explode out of his chest.
“James.” Spock looks nearly desperate. “It is not so easy. There are nuances-”
“What is she to you?”
Spock bows his head as his eyes slide closed for a brief moment. “She is my . . . not yet my wife, yet more than . . . we are betrothed.”
“Betrothed.” The bottom drops out of Jim’s stomach. His voice sounds hollow. “You’re engaged?”
“As I said, there are nuances-”
“Bullshit.” Horrified, Jim swipes at the tears that are gathering in his eyes. “You’re supposed to marry her?”
Spock looks up again, and the sorrow that Jim can feel from him is echoed in his eyes. “Yes. But-”
“When?”
“When . . . James, I do not understand.” Spock’s fear is nearly overwhelming, and Jim struggles to stand beneath the weight of it. “I can not read you properly. If you will simply let me touch-” He stretches out his hand again, and again Jim stumbles back. Spock looks gutted, but when he speaks his voice is almost normal. “Are you asking when I am to marry her? Or when our bond was formed?”
“Both.” Jim scrubs a trembling hand over his mouth; he can still feel the echo of Spock’s kisses there. “The first one. When are you supposed to get married?”
Spock opens his mouth, closes it again, and spreads his hands in a surprisingly Human gesture. “I do not know. Perhaps never.”
“Never?” Jim’s voice cracks on the word, and he blinks at Spock in dazed confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Our bonding . . . it has to do with biology.”
“What kind of biology?”
“Vulcan biology.” Spock’s throat works as though he’s struggling against the words. “I can not . . . we do not speak of it, James,” he says pleadingly. “It is a very personal thing.”
“Personal,” Jim repeats flatly. “Right.”
“Please. I-”
“How long have you been engaged?” Jim demands, and his stomach drops at the way Spock hesitates.
“We underwent the Kan-Telan at the customary age-”
“In Standard, Spock.”
Spock swallows. “As is traditional, we were bonded at the age of seven.”
“Seven.” The math isn’t difficult. “The first time we melded . . . you said there was a ritual you had to participate in.” The look on Spock’s face is confirmation enough. “You melded with me so you wouldn’t be nervous about bonding with her. God.”
“I did not know, James. I could never have anticipated how much you would come to mean to me.”
“You’ve been engaged to someone else since you were seven.” Jim’s stomach is churning as he struggles to digest this news. “And you never thought to mention that.”
“James-”
“The first time I kissed you,” Jim says over the weak protest, “when I asked you to be my boyfriend, when we-” He has to look away from Spock, from the rumpled bed, or he’ll be sick. “You never bothered to tell me that you were already taken.”
“There was no need to do so,” Spock says a little desperately. “Our bond is a matter of necessity, nothing more. T’Pring and I do not interact on a regular basis; we have not even seen each other in person for several years. Given our disinclination for each other’s company, our relationship did not seem relevant-” Spock cuts off suddenly as Jim turns to stare as though he’s never seen him before.
“It didn’t seem relevant?” he repeats dangerously. “She wasn’t around, so you figured it would be fine for you to just screw around with someone else.”
Jim has never seen Spock as pale as he turns now. “James. No.” He takes a shaky step forward. “No, it was not like that.”
“No?” This isn’t happening; can’t be happening. “What was it like, then?”
“Our bonding was a necessity; it was never something I would have chosen for myself.” His eyes, his mind are pleading with Jim for understanding.
“Why was it necessary?” Jim’s hands clench into fists when Spock looks away. “Damn it, Spock, you can’t expect me to understand if you won’t explain. You owe me this much at least. Please.” He’s begging now; he knows, and doesn’t care. “Please, explain it to me.”
Spock nods shallowly, and his shoulders hunch inward in a way that Jim has never seen before. “As I said, it is a matter of . . . biology.” He looks up at Jim again, a raw and vulnerable look in his eyes. “Forgive me, James,” he says. “This is . . . difficult.” He takes a deep breath.
“The way in which Vulcans choose their mates is . . . not logical. We shield it with ritual, and customs shrouded in antiquity. There is there no Terran equivalent of which I am aware. Nothing Human, certainly.” He swallows heavily. “The time of mating strips our minds from us; brings a madness which rips away our veneer of civilization. It is . . .” The words sound practiced, but they seem to stick in his throat, and he closes his eyes again. “The pon farr,” he manages after a moment. “We are driven by forces we can not control, to return home, and take a wife.” Spock’s eyes open and lock on Jim’s again. “Or die.”
“Die?” Jim can barely speak the word through the horror that swamps him.
“That is why,” Spock says earnestly, “Vulcan children are bonded at a young age: to ensure that when the male’s Time comes, the fire in his blood will not rage unchecked. T’Pring and I were bonded before my link with you grew; before the Healers began to suspect that I may never be forced to endure my Time at all.”
“You might not?” Against his better judgement, hope sparks faintly in Jim’s heart. “Why . . . why would they think that? Because of your mom?”
“In part.” Spock takes a hesitant step forward and looks relieved when Jim doesn’t retreat. “It was my link with you, however, that led them to believe I will likely be spared. If I am Human enough to share your dreams, it is thought that perhaps I will not be Vulcan enough to burn.”
“Okay.” Jim struggles to take a deep breath, to think clearly. “So if you don't need this bond with her, you can break it.” Spock, about to step forward again, stops. Jim can’t make sense of his expression or the confusing whirl of thoughts and emotions that he’s sensing through their link. “You can break it, can’t you?”
“It is . . . possible,” Spock says, and Jim feels a moment’s relief.
“Okay. Then-”
“But I will not.”
Jim feels as though he’s just stumbled headlong into a wall. “You . . . won’t?” He stares at Spock, lost. “Why?”
“Belief is not certainty. It is possible that the Healers are mistaken in their analysis, that I may in fact require a mate after all.”
“No problem.” It’s Jim’s turn to inch forward this time. “You have me.”
“No, James.” Spock gazes at him, longing and horror vying for control of his thoughts. “When my Time comes-if it comes-I will see any other male as a challenger encroaching on my territory. Even if we were bonded, there is an unacceptably high chance that I would simply attack you. It is too great a risk.”
“So . . . what?” Jim refuses to understand, refuses to accept what he suspects Spock is saying. “You’re just going to keep this bond with her and wait around to marry some girl you don’t even like?” He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “What about us?”
“There is no reason for our relationship to end,” Spock says, his voice hopeful.
Jim feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
“You wouldn’t have told me, would you?” he manages to ask past a throat gone impossibly tight. “If I hadn’t found out on my own, you never would’ve told me about her at all. You’d have just let me go on thinking you were mine.”
“I am yours.”
“You’re not!” Jim shouts, stumbling back. He feels dirty, covered in filth he’ll never be able to scrub away. “You never have been! And you’ve turned me into . . .” His gaze falls on the bed again, and he feels the room spin.
“James, please, you must-”
“Do you love me?”
The question seems to catch Spock off guard. “James?”
“Just tell me, Spock.” He’s shaking; he can’t stop. “Do you love me?”
“I . . .” Spock looks helplessly back at him. “James. You are my t’hy’la,” he says, and Jim feels something inside of him turn to ice.
“That’s just a word, Spock,” he says flatly. “Just another Vulcan word that I don’t understand.”
Pain washes through him-Spock’s, his own, merged together in a wave so strong it nearly knocks Jim from his feet. He can’t bear it. It’s shredding his thoughts, threatening to drive him mad. The unchecked emotion, the sheer force of it, is too much, and with the last of his strength he reaches out to the doorway he saw between their minds, and imagines the thickest, strongest steel door he can.
The torrent eases immediately, and Jim can breathe again. Spock is the one staggering now, staring at Jim in mute astonishment.
“I don’t want you in my head anymore, Spock.” Jim’s voice is weak, cracked and rough as if he’s been screaming. Maybe he has. “I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“I do not . . .” Spock stands glued to the spot as Jim begins to pull on the clothes scattered across the floor, trying not to think about how they got there. “I do not understand.”
“It’s simple.” Jim shrugs on his shirt and grabs the bag he hasn’t bothered to unpack, trying to hide the way his hands are still shaking. He fights to keep his voice normal past the lump in his throat. “We’re through.”
“James, please, you are being unreasonable.” Whether Spock is angry, or sorry, or both, Jim can’t tell. He can’t sense even a hint of Spock’s thoughts anymore. Better this way, he tells himself; better to be numb than to endure that pain again. “You have not allowed me to properly explain.”
“Are you bonded to someone else?”
Spock’s jaw clenches. “Yes.”
“Will you break that bond? Make one with me instead?”
“James-”
“Will you?”
Spock’s face goes blank. “No.”
“Then there isn’t really anything left to explain. I won’t be your whore, Spock,” Jim says stonily. “Not anymore.”
He doesn’t pause until he’s standing on the pavement in front of the hotel. His mom has transport back to Riverside arranged for him, but not until the end of the week. That’s too far away, and Jim can’t handle the thought of going back to campus anyway. Not now.
She knew, he realizes, and a fresh burst of pain breaks over him. He remembers how she sat him down for a talk, back when he and Spock were kids, making sure he knew that they shouldn’t get too serious about each other. The relief she hadn’t been able to hide when they broke up; the looks that she and Spock’s mom had traded when they’d heard the news.
She’d known, and she hadn’t told him. No one had told him.
He has money in his personal account, saved from his summer jobs; there’s plenty to buy a spot on a public transport back to Iowa. He doesn’t look at the time during the trip, doesn’t let himself wonder if Spock has gone back for the second half of his exam. He doesn’t think of anything at all but the aching, empty spot in his head where Spock used to be. It takes the attendant several tries to get his attention when they finally arrive in Des Moines, and Jim has to rush to make the final transit shuttle to Riverside.
It's warmer in Iowa than it was in San Francisco, but Jim can't seem to stop shivering. He makes an effort to hide it as he approaches his house, but no one is there when he steps inside. No reason for anyone to be, really; he wasn't supposed to be back for three more days. He'd somehow forgotten, though, that Frank is gone and his mom is still working on the refit of the Yorktown; he's alone, caught off-guard. The house is empty and quiet, and the lies he prepared about getting sick and having to come home early die in his throat.
He can't stay here. This house isn't home; never really has been, despite Frank's best efforts. So he leaves.
Jim can't say for sure how he manages to get out to the farm. He remembers catching a bus, headed nowhere in particular, and the next thing he knows he's walking up the dusty front path and picking the lock on the front door because he can't remember where they hid the spare key. Inside it's dusty; they've stayed in town for the past few summers, and though his mom hires someone to air it out once a year it doesn't look like they've been by yet.
The stairs still creak in the same familiar pattern as he climbs them, and the echoes that they spawn, he thinks, are hanging in the air. The clatter of his feet as he raced up and down, the whispered conversations that he overheard perched halfway down with his hands clutching the banister. He pushes them aside. He doesn't want to deal with those memories tonight.
The water is still turned on, at least, and he's dirty and smelly from his trip. He strips, leaving his clothes discarded in a pile on the bathroom floor as he steps under water that's as hot as he can stand it. Thankfully there's soap and a washcloth stashed under the sink; he works up a thick lather and starts to scrub the dirt from his skin.
The water already has him flushed bright red, and each sweep of the washcloth makes his skin tingle sharply.
He presses harder.
He's scrubbing with such force that it hurts now, but it's still not enough because he can still feel the ghost of warm hands, of soft, tentative lips pressed against his body. He wants to drown the memory, to wash it down the drain so that the lack of it won't hurt anymore. But his head is still empty; he's still cut off, still alone. He barely notices the tears that have started running down his face, or the fact that he's sitting at the bottom of the tub now, his knees pressed to his chest.
He misses Spock, and he hates him, and he hates himself because he's weak enough to still want him in spite of everything. Hates himself more than anything, because there’s a part of him that’s not even sorry. A part of him that would do it all again, even knowing how it ends.
This is what it feels like, he knows now, to fall off the edge of the world with no one there to catch you after all.
>> Epilogue
Author:
ladyblahblah
Beta:
ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot . . . ish
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: R
Warning: Consensual, mutually-adolescent sexuality
Disclaimer:I own nothing. The title is from a William Carlos William poem. I can't even take full credit for the idea, and all of the adorable can be traced directly to
momo_girlie and her painfully cute drawings. *fangirl flail*
Summary: Vague A/U. What would have happened if Kirk and Spock had known each other as children? Yes, another one of those.
Author's Note: I, um. Well, okay. YOU CAN NOT SAY THAT I DIDN'T WARN YOU. But remember, I do have a plan! You'll have to trust me on that. To all who have read along so far, thank you so much. And to those willing to follow me into what comes next, thank you as well! I hope to see you soon. Remember, there will be a time jump of several years in between this and the next story. Remember also that the name of this story will be officially changing soon. ^_^ All right, I'll get on with posting this from my undisclosed location, so . . . uh, enjoy? *hides* ETA: Oh yeah! There is an itty bitty homage to one of my favorite K/S authors in here; super-extra-sparkly bonus points to anyone who spots it!
Part 1│Part 2│Part 3│Part 4│Part 5│Part 6│Part 7│Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16
Jim wakes slowly, warm and comfortable and reluctant to open his eyes. The bed feels different; bigger somehow, with smoother sheets, and it takes him a moment to remember why. Not his bed at home, but the one in San Francisco. Which explains, he supposes, why he can feel a body radiating heat next to him.
He rolls over to see Spock lying on his back, his face relaxed and his normally immaculate hair messy and rumpled, and a fierce sense of pride blooms in Jim’s chest. It’s almost impossible to believe that they’re here, and Jim has never in his life been so glad to have lied to his mother. It’s meant months of pretending an interest in the boys and girls back home-with some rather creative subterfuge with Katy and Johnny’s help-but this moment makes it absolutely worth it. Even disregarding the fact that Spock had been absolutely right about their parents disapproving of their relationship, there’s no way on Earth or any other planet that they’d have been allowed to go to a strange city by themselves, let alone share a bedroom, if they’d been open about their relationship.
The urge to touch-the knowledge that he can-is nearly overwhelming. A persistent twinge in his bladder demands his attention, however, and Jim slips as carefully as possible from the bed. Feeling a tiny bit unnerved by walking around a hotel room completely naked, he pauses to scoop his underwear off of the floor before heading quietly into the bathroom.
While he’s there he figures he might as well brush his teeth, too; the last thing he wants is to wake Spock up with his awful morning-breath. Though he tries to be as quiet as possible, when Jim pads back into the bedroom he’s surprised to find Spock still lying in bed, breathing deeply and apparently undisturbed by Jim’s absence. That’s odd, he thinks; Spock always wakes up before Jim does. There’s something suspicious about the curve of his body, too, the way it’s positioned so that it will be easy for Jim to slip back under the covers and curl up against him. Jim grins as he burrows in again, feeling a familiar flicker at the back of his mind that makes him smother a blissful laugh against Spock’s shoulder.
“You big faker. I know you’re awake.”
Spock’s arms wind around his waist, holding him close. “You have no proof,” he murmurs into Jim’s hair, and Jim doesn’t bother to smother his laugh this time.
He lifts his head to find Spock gazing back at him, his deep brown eyes still soft with sleep, and Jim’s heart aches pleasantly.
“Hey,” he says, unable to keep an idiotic, smitten grin from stretching over his face. Unable to wait another moment, he leans forward to press his lips to Spock’s. The sharp, sweet taste of mint surprises him, and he pulls back again to fix Spock with a suspicious look. “How long have you been awake?”
“Thirty-seven minutes and approximately thirty seconds,” Spock admits.
“And you snuck out of bed to brush your teeth before I woke up?” Jim teases, smoothing his fingertips over Spock’s raised eyebrow.
“As did you.”
“Fair point.”
Jim kisses him again , because he wants to and because he can; he still can’t believe it. This time, however, Spock does not wait for him to lead, but wraps a hand around the back of Jim’s neck and guides him to exactly where Spock wants him. It’s Spock’s tongue that swipes entreatingly over the seam of Jim’s lips, taking advantage of Jim’s surprised moan to dart into his mouth. Jim is more than willing to submit to his desires, unable to do anything but feel his head spin and his heart race at Spock’s confident, insistent touch.
“You’re getting really good at that,” he manages to say when they finally break apart to breathe, and feels Spock’s delight at his praise.
“I believe,” Spock says with a teasing warmth in his eyes, “that I still require additional practice.”
Jim laughs. “Well, I guess that can be arranged.”
“Is there anything in particular you wish to do today?” Spock asks, his hand skimming lazily up and down Jim’s spine from the nape of his neck to the waistband of his underwear, and Jim raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “The second half of my entrance exam is scheduled for 1400 hours,” Spock reminds him with the slightest twitch of his lips. “I am afraid that we will be unable to spend all day in bed.”
“Well. Not today, anyway.” Jim’s leer is slightly derailed by the fierce rush of want that streams into his head. “Spock.” He leans forward, skimming his lips over the soft skin beneath Spock’s jaw, delighting in the faint scratch of stubble there. “There are so many things I want to do with you. I don’t want to rush anything, but . . . I can’t help . . .”
He feels more than hears Spock’s breath catch as two years’ worth of fantasies start running through Jim’s mind. For a moment, Jim tries to rein in his thoughts; almost immediately, however, he feels Spock through their link, pressing against the weak barriers Jim is trying to raise. And well, if Spock really wants to see . . .
“You have . . . an incredibly vivid imagination, James,” Spock says hoarsely, and Jim can feel himself blushing.
“I’ve had a long time to think about it.” He focuses on the sight of his fingers tangling in the dusting of hair that covers Spock’s chest. “I don’t expect us to do everything right away,” he says in a rush. “Or at all, you know, if you don’t want to. I mean, just because I’ve thought about it doesn’t mean-”
Spock’s mouth on his keeps him from finishing that sentence, which is good because he’s pretty sure he was rambling. And when Spock pushes against him, maneuvering his weight until he’s rolled Jim beneath him, oh, yes, that’s good too. That inhumanly warm body holding him down, all lean muscle and soft, dry skin. Desire, hot and insistent, pours into his head, nearly overwhelming him. Jim kisses back fiercely, pulling Spock even more firmly down onto him. They’re both getting hard already as Spock’s hands slide greedily over Jim’s ribs, as his mouth trails down to kiss and suck and bite at Jim’s neck. Jim feels surrounded, overwhelmed in the best possible way, and he threads his fingers through Spock’s silky hair as he feels something in his heart simply give way.
“I love you.”
He breathes the words into a pointed ear, and feels Spock go still above him. For just a moment, Jim is certain his heart has simply stopped altogether. Then he’s looking up into wide brown eyes staring down at him, bright with unhidden emotion.
“I love you,” Jim says again, unable or unwilling to hold it in; he’s not sure which. It hardly matters in the face of the warmth that runs through him as the words pass his lips, the way they make him feel so light he almost thinks that if Spock weren’t holding him down he’d simply float up to the ceiling.
“James.”
Spock’s voice sounds wrecked, and Jim has time to see that his eyes have gone even darker than usual before he has Spock’s fingers tangled in his hair and Spock’s tongue sweeping through his mouth. Spock is kissing him like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, and it doesn’t even matter that he hasn’t said it back. Jim doesn’t need the words, not really; that kind of declaration isn’t Vulcan, and Jim wouldn’t change who Spock is for anything.
“Spock.” Jim is gasping for breath by the time he finally pulls away, and he grins at the way Spock simply switches his attentions to Jim’s ear, instead. “There, um. There is something I want to do, if we can. If it’s okay.”
Spock presses his brow to the side of Jim’s head. “Yes?”
“I want . . . I . . .” The words stall on on tongue, and he tightens his grip around Spock’s back. “Don’t you know?”
“I need to hear you say the words.” Spock leans up to gaze seriously down at Jim, lust and solemnity warring over his features. “There is a chance that I am misreading you, because . . .” He swallows heavily. “Because there is something that I want very much. I am afraid I may be confusing your desires with my own.”
“You’re not.” Jim gathers his courage with a deep breath. “Will you . . . can we do that mind meld thing again? Like we did the one time, when we were kids.” He closes his eyes at the flare of heat in Spock’s eyes, shivering as fingertips brush over his temple.
“Yes,” he hears, and then Spock’s fingers settle over his face. “My mind to your mind-”
>-my thoughts to your thoughts. James.
>Spock.
Jim has wanted this for so long, the remembered comfort of Spock’s mind inaroundbetween his. He’s only felt it once before, but it feels like coming home. This is where he belongs: here with Spock, their minds twined around each other. There is joy, and warmth, and excitement, and whether it’s from one or both of them he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Their thoughts are one, as they’re meant to be, and what one thinksfeelsknows so do they both.
Spock’s mind, orderly and structured, takes form around him as a house with infinite rooms. On every side the walls thrum and vibrate-powerful emotions held in check.
>What happens if you let them loose?
>The same thing that happens when an earthquake hits. Destruction, rubble, chaos. Hours, if not days, to properly rebuild.
The way is open, letting Jim pass through freely as he explores; it is some time before he comes to a closed door. He touches it lightly, carefully, questioning. A sense of sharp intelligence fills him, and curiosity tempered by nearly boundless patience. The memory of gentle hands spreading over his face is so strong that it might easily be happening at this very moment.
This is Spock’s end of a link with Sarek’s brother Sopek, Spock’s uncle and one of the Healers that Spock sees on a regular basis; Jim suddenly knows it as though he always has.
>In the interest of privacy, Vulcans typically shield their familial bonds such as this.
Jim has barely begun to wonder what their own link looks like when he finds himself standing in an open doorway, nearly out of Spock’s mind and yet incredibly deep within it. He can feel himself stretched out from the other side and knows that it would be easy to slip through, as though some strange, faint gravity is urging him to fall back into his own body. It’s easy to stay where he is, though; Spock’s mind is welcoming and warm, and the doorway that arches between them is tall and wide. It used to be smaller, he knows, and further from the center of Spock’s mind. Now it is larger than almost any other, and only three doors stand beyond it.
Curious, Jim moves towards them. Spock’s parents are easy to identify-the thin door separating them from Amanda’s mind seems like more of a formality than anything, and the imposing one that nearly touches it can surely be no one other than Spock’s father. The final door stands on its own, however, thick and solid with hinges that have nearly rusted over from neglect.
>James. Wait.
But Jim’s mental fingers are already brushing against the surface, his mind already filling with the sense of strict order and cool reserve, the memory of a solemn ceremony and two minds joining, thoughts of heat and madness and promised relief.
T’Pring.
Jim jerks away, coming back to himself with what feels like a crash. He’s breathing hard, staring up at Spock who is staring back with something in his eyes that looks like horror. His hand is still stretched over Jim’s face, and his body resting over Jim’s suddenly feels confining instead of safe.
“Get off.”
Jim shoves at Spock, panic threatening to consume him as he struggles to get free. The fact that Spock rolls away without protest does little to calm him down, and Jim staggers to his feet despite the weakness in his legs. He stands beside the bed, trembling with a mix of emotions he can’t bring himself to define, and watches Spock rise as well.
“What did I just see, Spock?” Jim’s voice is rough, broken. He’s wrong, he must be wrong, and any second now Spock will explain and Jim will feel stupid but relieved and everything will be okay. Except that Spock is looking back at him with wariness and obvious fear. “Who the hell is T’Pring?”
“You . . .” Spock makes a move like he’s going to reach out, but when Jim flinches back he drops his hand again. “T’Pring is my koon’ul-veh,” he says unsteadily. “What you saw was our kah-ka.”
“You know I don’t speak Vulcan,” Jim snaps. “What does that mean?”
“A kah-ka is a bond, made with the partner of your parents’ choice. Koon’ul-veh . . . there is no proper translation in Standard.”
“Try.” Jim can’t seem to catch his breath, and his heart feels ready to explode out of his chest.
“James.” Spock looks nearly desperate. “It is not so easy. There are nuances-”
“What is she to you?”
Spock bows his head as his eyes slide closed for a brief moment. “She is my . . . not yet my wife, yet more than . . . we are betrothed.”
“Betrothed.” The bottom drops out of Jim’s stomach. His voice sounds hollow. “You’re engaged?”
“As I said, there are nuances-”
“Bullshit.” Horrified, Jim swipes at the tears that are gathering in his eyes. “You’re supposed to marry her?”
Spock looks up again, and the sorrow that Jim can feel from him is echoed in his eyes. “Yes. But-”
“When?”
“When . . . James, I do not understand.” Spock’s fear is nearly overwhelming, and Jim struggles to stand beneath the weight of it. “I can not read you properly. If you will simply let me touch-” He stretches out his hand again, and again Jim stumbles back. Spock looks gutted, but when he speaks his voice is almost normal. “Are you asking when I am to marry her? Or when our bond was formed?”
“Both.” Jim scrubs a trembling hand over his mouth; he can still feel the echo of Spock’s kisses there. “The first one. When are you supposed to get married?”
Spock opens his mouth, closes it again, and spreads his hands in a surprisingly Human gesture. “I do not know. Perhaps never.”
“Never?” Jim’s voice cracks on the word, and he blinks at Spock in dazed confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Our bonding . . . it has to do with biology.”
“What kind of biology?”
“Vulcan biology.” Spock’s throat works as though he’s struggling against the words. “I can not . . . we do not speak of it, James,” he says pleadingly. “It is a very personal thing.”
“Personal,” Jim repeats flatly. “Right.”
“Please. I-”
“How long have you been engaged?” Jim demands, and his stomach drops at the way Spock hesitates.
“We underwent the Kan-Telan at the customary age-”
“In Standard, Spock.”
Spock swallows. “As is traditional, we were bonded at the age of seven.”
“Seven.” The math isn’t difficult. “The first time we melded . . . you said there was a ritual you had to participate in.” The look on Spock’s face is confirmation enough. “You melded with me so you wouldn’t be nervous about bonding with her. God.”
“I did not know, James. I could never have anticipated how much you would come to mean to me.”
“You’ve been engaged to someone else since you were seven.” Jim’s stomach is churning as he struggles to digest this news. “And you never thought to mention that.”
“James-”
“The first time I kissed you,” Jim says over the weak protest, “when I asked you to be my boyfriend, when we-” He has to look away from Spock, from the rumpled bed, or he’ll be sick. “You never bothered to tell me that you were already taken.”
“There was no need to do so,” Spock says a little desperately. “Our bond is a matter of necessity, nothing more. T’Pring and I do not interact on a regular basis; we have not even seen each other in person for several years. Given our disinclination for each other’s company, our relationship did not seem relevant-” Spock cuts off suddenly as Jim turns to stare as though he’s never seen him before.
“It didn’t seem relevant?” he repeats dangerously. “She wasn’t around, so you figured it would be fine for you to just screw around with someone else.”
Jim has never seen Spock as pale as he turns now. “James. No.” He takes a shaky step forward. “No, it was not like that.”
“No?” This isn’t happening; can’t be happening. “What was it like, then?”
“Our bonding was a necessity; it was never something I would have chosen for myself.” His eyes, his mind are pleading with Jim for understanding.
“Why was it necessary?” Jim’s hands clench into fists when Spock looks away. “Damn it, Spock, you can’t expect me to understand if you won’t explain. You owe me this much at least. Please.” He’s begging now; he knows, and doesn’t care. “Please, explain it to me.”
Spock nods shallowly, and his shoulders hunch inward in a way that Jim has never seen before. “As I said, it is a matter of . . . biology.” He looks up at Jim again, a raw and vulnerable look in his eyes. “Forgive me, James,” he says. “This is . . . difficult.” He takes a deep breath.
“The way in which Vulcans choose their mates is . . . not logical. We shield it with ritual, and customs shrouded in antiquity. There is there no Terran equivalent of which I am aware. Nothing Human, certainly.” He swallows heavily. “The time of mating strips our minds from us; brings a madness which rips away our veneer of civilization. It is . . .” The words sound practiced, but they seem to stick in his throat, and he closes his eyes again. “The pon farr,” he manages after a moment. “We are driven by forces we can not control, to return home, and take a wife.” Spock’s eyes open and lock on Jim’s again. “Or die.”
“Die?” Jim can barely speak the word through the horror that swamps him.
“That is why,” Spock says earnestly, “Vulcan children are bonded at a young age: to ensure that when the male’s Time comes, the fire in his blood will not rage unchecked. T’Pring and I were bonded before my link with you grew; before the Healers began to suspect that I may never be forced to endure my Time at all.”
“You might not?” Against his better judgement, hope sparks faintly in Jim’s heart. “Why . . . why would they think that? Because of your mom?”
“In part.” Spock takes a hesitant step forward and looks relieved when Jim doesn’t retreat. “It was my link with you, however, that led them to believe I will likely be spared. If I am Human enough to share your dreams, it is thought that perhaps I will not be Vulcan enough to burn.”
“Okay.” Jim struggles to take a deep breath, to think clearly. “So if you don't need this bond with her, you can break it.” Spock, about to step forward again, stops. Jim can’t make sense of his expression or the confusing whirl of thoughts and emotions that he’s sensing through their link. “You can break it, can’t you?”
“It is . . . possible,” Spock says, and Jim feels a moment’s relief.
“Okay. Then-”
“But I will not.”
Jim feels as though he’s just stumbled headlong into a wall. “You . . . won’t?” He stares at Spock, lost. “Why?”
“Belief is not certainty. It is possible that the Healers are mistaken in their analysis, that I may in fact require a mate after all.”
“No problem.” It’s Jim’s turn to inch forward this time. “You have me.”
“No, James.” Spock gazes at him, longing and horror vying for control of his thoughts. “When my Time comes-if it comes-I will see any other male as a challenger encroaching on my territory. Even if we were bonded, there is an unacceptably high chance that I would simply attack you. It is too great a risk.”
“So . . . what?” Jim refuses to understand, refuses to accept what he suspects Spock is saying. “You’re just going to keep this bond with her and wait around to marry some girl you don’t even like?” He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “What about us?”
“There is no reason for our relationship to end,” Spock says, his voice hopeful.
Jim feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
“You wouldn’t have told me, would you?” he manages to ask past a throat gone impossibly tight. “If I hadn’t found out on my own, you never would’ve told me about her at all. You’d have just let me go on thinking you were mine.”
“I am yours.”
“You’re not!” Jim shouts, stumbling back. He feels dirty, covered in filth he’ll never be able to scrub away. “You never have been! And you’ve turned me into . . .” His gaze falls on the bed again, and he feels the room spin.
“James, please, you must-”
“Do you love me?”
The question seems to catch Spock off guard. “James?”
“Just tell me, Spock.” He’s shaking; he can’t stop. “Do you love me?”
“I . . .” Spock looks helplessly back at him. “James. You are my t’hy’la,” he says, and Jim feels something inside of him turn to ice.
“That’s just a word, Spock,” he says flatly. “Just another Vulcan word that I don’t understand.”
Pain washes through him-Spock’s, his own, merged together in a wave so strong it nearly knocks Jim from his feet. He can’t bear it. It’s shredding his thoughts, threatening to drive him mad. The unchecked emotion, the sheer force of it, is too much, and with the last of his strength he reaches out to the doorway he saw between their minds, and imagines the thickest, strongest steel door he can.
The torrent eases immediately, and Jim can breathe again. Spock is the one staggering now, staring at Jim in mute astonishment.
“I don’t want you in my head anymore, Spock.” Jim’s voice is weak, cracked and rough as if he’s been screaming. Maybe he has. “I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“I do not . . .” Spock stands glued to the spot as Jim begins to pull on the clothes scattered across the floor, trying not to think about how they got there. “I do not understand.”
“It’s simple.” Jim shrugs on his shirt and grabs the bag he hasn’t bothered to unpack, trying to hide the way his hands are still shaking. He fights to keep his voice normal past the lump in his throat. “We’re through.”
“James, please, you are being unreasonable.” Whether Spock is angry, or sorry, or both, Jim can’t tell. He can’t sense even a hint of Spock’s thoughts anymore. Better this way, he tells himself; better to be numb than to endure that pain again. “You have not allowed me to properly explain.”
“Are you bonded to someone else?”
Spock’s jaw clenches. “Yes.”
“Will you break that bond? Make one with me instead?”
“James-”
“Will you?”
Spock’s face goes blank. “No.”
“Then there isn’t really anything left to explain. I won’t be your whore, Spock,” Jim says stonily. “Not anymore.”
He doesn’t pause until he’s standing on the pavement in front of the hotel. His mom has transport back to Riverside arranged for him, but not until the end of the week. That’s too far away, and Jim can’t handle the thought of going back to campus anyway. Not now.
She knew, he realizes, and a fresh burst of pain breaks over him. He remembers how she sat him down for a talk, back when he and Spock were kids, making sure he knew that they shouldn’t get too serious about each other. The relief she hadn’t been able to hide when they broke up; the looks that she and Spock’s mom had traded when they’d heard the news.
She’d known, and she hadn’t told him. No one had told him.
He has money in his personal account, saved from his summer jobs; there’s plenty to buy a spot on a public transport back to Iowa. He doesn’t look at the time during the trip, doesn’t let himself wonder if Spock has gone back for the second half of his exam. He doesn’t think of anything at all but the aching, empty spot in his head where Spock used to be. It takes the attendant several tries to get his attention when they finally arrive in Des Moines, and Jim has to rush to make the final transit shuttle to Riverside.
It's warmer in Iowa than it was in San Francisco, but Jim can't seem to stop shivering. He makes an effort to hide it as he approaches his house, but no one is there when he steps inside. No reason for anyone to be, really; he wasn't supposed to be back for three more days. He'd somehow forgotten, though, that Frank is gone and his mom is still working on the refit of the Yorktown; he's alone, caught off-guard. The house is empty and quiet, and the lies he prepared about getting sick and having to come home early die in his throat.
He can't stay here. This house isn't home; never really has been, despite Frank's best efforts. So he leaves.
Jim can't say for sure how he manages to get out to the farm. He remembers catching a bus, headed nowhere in particular, and the next thing he knows he's walking up the dusty front path and picking the lock on the front door because he can't remember where they hid the spare key. Inside it's dusty; they've stayed in town for the past few summers, and though his mom hires someone to air it out once a year it doesn't look like they've been by yet.
The stairs still creak in the same familiar pattern as he climbs them, and the echoes that they spawn, he thinks, are hanging in the air. The clatter of his feet as he raced up and down, the whispered conversations that he overheard perched halfway down with his hands clutching the banister. He pushes them aside. He doesn't want to deal with those memories tonight.
The water is still turned on, at least, and he's dirty and smelly from his trip. He strips, leaving his clothes discarded in a pile on the bathroom floor as he steps under water that's as hot as he can stand it. Thankfully there's soap and a washcloth stashed under the sink; he works up a thick lather and starts to scrub the dirt from his skin.
The water already has him flushed bright red, and each sweep of the washcloth makes his skin tingle sharply.
He presses harder.
He's scrubbing with such force that it hurts now, but it's still not enough because he can still feel the ghost of warm hands, of soft, tentative lips pressed against his body. He wants to drown the memory, to wash it down the drain so that the lack of it won't hurt anymore. But his head is still empty; he's still cut off, still alone. He barely notices the tears that have started running down his face, or the fact that he's sitting at the bottom of the tub now, his knees pressed to his chest.
He misses Spock, and he hates him, and he hates himself because he's weak enough to still want him in spite of everything. Hates himself more than anything, because there’s a part of him that’s not even sorry. A part of him that would do it all again, even knowing how it ends.
This is what it feels like, he knows now, to fall off the edge of the world with no one there to catch you after all.
>> Epilogue