Amalgamation (3/9)
Gone.
Vulcan is completely gone.
It is near impossible for Spock to remain as calm as he needs be. This is only made harder when Nyota follows him into the turbolift, dead set on comforting him. Her thin arms around his neck and shoulders, her hand in his hair, her lips on his face-
It is not Kirk.
He allows her to embrace him, to whisper comforts, apologies, gentle words into his ear. There is some sexuality to her now, inappropriate and disgusting. But she is young. She cannot control that. Her cool body presses against his and he lets it. Lets her cup his face and look into his eyes, lets her act as though he is the only one who matters.
“Tell me what you need,” she whispers. “Tell me.”
James Kirk.
He tries to forget his imprint. She is here now. She should be right for him.
“I need everyone…” he manages, looking into her eyes. She is beautiful. She is here for him. She loves him. “…to continue performing admirably.”
He kisses her back when she leans up into him. Soft. Gentle. Humans love so deeply.
His mother was every bit as human as Nyota. As Jim.
His control breaks. He parts from her, exiting the turbolift as quickly as he can. It is no longer in his power to change his course - his body is intent on one direction, one target, and he is helpless to change it. He walks the halls without a second thought, not walking towards his chambers or the workout room.
He walks until he comes to find James Kirk, leaning against a wall and looking for all the world that he’s just seen Hell.
Disgust. Disappointment. He looks up at Spock.
Pity.
Spock breaks.
It would not have mattered if the hall was filled with people, though thankfully it is devoid of anyone other than the pair. Spock cannot control his body - and he does not want to. He strides to his imprint and before the confusion he feels in his mind can result in action or words, he grips the other man’s arms, presses him to the wall, and kisses him.
It is intoxicating, soothing, addictive. Spock forces his tongue into the man’s mouth when he opens it, choking off any protest. The arms in his hands struggle, the man’s body writhing against the wall, creating some strong friction against his chest, and Spock merely takes the opportunity to explore every crevice in the man’s mouth.
He cannot control himself. A surge of lust makes its way through the bond, and before he is aware of it, he has not only let go of Kirk’s arms, but he’s managed to pull his shirt out of his slacks, running his hand up and over his chest.
They need this.
Kirk does not understand the sudden physicality. Confusion, outrage, and desire flood into Spock, but he can do nothing to soothe it but project back his need. Gradually, the outrage ebbs, and with that Spock pushes as much lust into the bond as he can. The need for release, closeness, and heat. Kirk returns the kiss.
Spock forces him back against the wall, drawing the man’s slacks down around his knees. And even as he continues to plunder his imprint’s mouth, he reaches down to explore the genitalia of his intended.
It differs so greatly from his own.
Spock almost can’t help but look. The flushed penis - pink, red, something in-between - is substantially larger than Spock’s. Beneath it are what he knows to be the man’s testicles - Spock’s reside within his body. He reaches behind them-
There is nothing.
For once in his life, Spock does not know how to proceed.
Kirk helps, though, an image flooding through the bond of Spock on his knees, mouth on his genitals. The Vulcan cannot imagine how intercourse between them would be possible. How could it? He follows the lead Kirk has sent him, sinking to his knees and eyeing the alien appendage. He does not understand why the man thinks taking it into his mouth would be pleasurable.
“If you’re gonna start it,” Kirk pants, and Spock looks up at him, “you gotta finish it. Suck that cock.”
Spock glares returns his attention to the penis - the ‘cock’ - and takes it in hand, pulling it from base to end a few times. A hand comes to the back of his head, and he understands what is requested of him.
He opens his mouth and lets the man’s ‘cock’ push inside.
All that keeps Spock going is the constant stream of images through the bond - the unconsciously given instructions, words he does not understand, visions of him bobbing and demands for suction and how to best use his tongue - but it seems sufficient. It seems to take very little time before the man before him is reduced to gasps, both hands clutching at Spock’s head, hips canting into his mouth. Spock feels the pleasure almost as his own, and when Kirk lets out a long moan, a sticky substance flowing into the Vulcan’s mouth, it is almost overwhelming, his vision going white.
He feels the shared climax fully.
The substance in his mouth is not unpleasant, so he swallows it. It should have no detrimental effects, he thinks. Kirk’s mind is blank, waves of satisfaction flowing from him through the bond, and it is all Spock can do to rearrange his appearance and make as hasty an exit as possible.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Kirk only questions inwardly Spock’s motivations on the bridge - through his aggravation and insistence on fighting Spock’s instructions. The Vulcan can hardly take it any longer; he is too drawn to this man, too invested in him. He will give in to an illogical course of action if he can’t get away from his imprint.
He incapacitates him and orders him off the ship. It is the only logical course of action. As much as it physically aches, he watches the pod enter the atmosphere of Delta Vega. He tells himself that this is the right decision. This is moral. This is logical.
This hurts.
The ship enters warp drive, and there is little to do. Spock will need sleep. His body protests the hours of stress amidst grief and the lack of his imprint. Assigning command of the conn to an ensign (one who looks competent enough), he leaves the bridge, allowing the turbolift to take him to his quarters. Before entering, he reminds himself that he is not the only one using them.
Sure enough, his father is there.
“Father,” he greets solemnly, making his way into the room. He will need a shower. His father returns the greeting silently, seated firmly at Spock’s desk. “Excuse me.”
The sonic shower pulses, vibrates - and as the day’s grime is washed from his body, he reaches down to examine his own genitalia. Like Kirk, he does have a phallus - a ‘cock’, the man had called it - but he is lacking testicles. They rest within his body, he understands. The color is different, but he can attribute that to the differences in coloration of their blood. Only hesitating for a moment, he reaches down to search behind what he can see.
Kirk did not have this.
His fingers find loose skin and an opening into his body. Spock has always pondered why this part of him existed. It is unnecessary. He knows the basics of his species’ sexuality - of how intercourse is performed and the process by which offspring are produced - and yet he has never seen another Vulcan bare.
He has seen humans bare. He has studied human anatomy. But his genitals do not resemble those of either human sex.
Is there something different about him?
Once the shower finishes, he dresses absently. He has always believed himself to have the physicality of a Vulcan male. He can find no secondary sexual characteristics displayed by the females of his race. His hips are narrow and his chest is flat. His shoulders are broad. He has no doubt that his physiology is that of a male.
But he needs to confirm it.
He steps out of the bathroom, eyes settling on his father again. He ponders how to start the conversation, and then crosses his arms behind his back.
“It occurs to me with the destruction of Vulcan that if our kind is to survive, we will each need to put forth the necessary effort,” Spock says stiffly. His father gives no indication of having heard him. “Colonization. Repopulation.”
His father nods. “Indeed. However, there are other priorities. You know this.”
The younger man forces calmness into his body, even as it sings with tension. “There is something I do not know,” he states flatly. “I am of two species. Will I even be capable of reproduction?”
His father is still for a long moment. “We had you engineered to be capable, yes.”
Spock takes a deep breath. “And yet my body differs from both species from which I was derived?”
His father nods. “The chromosomal count between humans and Vulcans differs,” he says slowly. “As a result, we could not engineer you to be fully male. However, your mother was…adamant that we have a son. I conceded and you were created as you are.”
“How am I, Father?” Spock asks, but he already knows. He has known since before this conversation started. His father stands and faces his son.
“You are intersex, Spock,” he informs him. Spock stays as still as he can. “But as I said, you are reproductively capable. As either sex.”
At last, an answer.
“I see,” he says as a way of ending the conversation. He makes his way to his bed. “I need to rest before the start of the next shift.”
His father nods and leaves the room, perhaps hesitating a short time at the door. But soon enough Spock is alone, sliding under the covers and trying to rest.
But it does not come as easily as he had hoped it would. The revelation plays in his mind. He is of two sexes. Hermaphroditic.
It is no wonder he was able to imprint on a male.
This does not make him any less a man, does it? Spock turns onto his side, a hand traveling over his flat chest as if in confirmation. No, his mind is certainly a man’s mind. He has melded with enough women to know he is different from them. So why did he imprint on a male? Are his reproductive capabilities as a female superior?
He closes his eyes and awaits sleep he knows will not come.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Spock makes his way to the bridge, joined by Nyota. She is tense at his side, meaningful glances making their way at his face, and he tries to ignore her.
Illogically, his body is burning for release. He knows she cannot provide him this.
Terror flashes through the bond, faint from distance and yet clear enough in his mind that he feels it with every fiber of his being. For a moment, his mind flashes to the well-being of his imprint. But he ignores it, focusing on his duties as acting captain. Focuses on the frail body of the girl beside him and not her obvious intentions. It works to dissipate both the fear and the arousal.
He makes it to the bridge before another emotion pushes through the bond - one just as strong as the terror. Confusion.
“How long until we reach the rest of the fleet?” he asks of Sulu, who spouts off numbers that make enough sense not to question. The emotions are flying into his head now, wave after wave.
Disbelief.
Irritation.
Confusion.
Hope.
And then, out of nowhere, the most intense emotion he’s ever felt - one he felt just hours earlier for the first time.
Devastation.
And yet this feeling does not seem to fit in with Kirk’s patterns. He can’t imagine what would devastate his imprint. It is gone within seconds, but traces of it remain, making their way through Spock’s body. It is a physical reaction. He cannot control it any more than he can control the blood in his veins. And for all his years practicing meditation, mental blocks, and isolation in one’s self, he cannot keep his imprint’s emotions out of him.
There is a blissfully long period in which there is nothing particularly strong, during which he remains on the bridge. Nyota shoots him longing glances as though she thinks the rest of the crew will not notice.
She is stronger than she acts. This version of her - weak, lovesick - irritates him.
Amusement seeps through the bond some time later, and Spock wonders what could be so amusing on Delta Vega. He does not concentrate on it for very long, though, switching his focus to his work.
NEXT CHAPTER
Vulcan is completely gone.
It is near impossible for Spock to remain as calm as he needs be. This is only made harder when Nyota follows him into the turbolift, dead set on comforting him. Her thin arms around his neck and shoulders, her hand in his hair, her lips on his face-
It is not Kirk.
He allows her to embrace him, to whisper comforts, apologies, gentle words into his ear. There is some sexuality to her now, inappropriate and disgusting. But she is young. She cannot control that. Her cool body presses against his and he lets it. Lets her cup his face and look into his eyes, lets her act as though he is the only one who matters.
“Tell me what you need,” she whispers. “Tell me.”
James Kirk.
He tries to forget his imprint. She is here now. She should be right for him.
“I need everyone…” he manages, looking into her eyes. She is beautiful. She is here for him. She loves him. “…to continue performing admirably.”
He kisses her back when she leans up into him. Soft. Gentle. Humans love so deeply.
His mother was every bit as human as Nyota. As Jim.
His control breaks. He parts from her, exiting the turbolift as quickly as he can. It is no longer in his power to change his course - his body is intent on one direction, one target, and he is helpless to change it. He walks the halls without a second thought, not walking towards his chambers or the workout room.
He walks until he comes to find James Kirk, leaning against a wall and looking for all the world that he’s just seen Hell.
Disgust. Disappointment. He looks up at Spock.
Pity.
Spock breaks.
It would not have mattered if the hall was filled with people, though thankfully it is devoid of anyone other than the pair. Spock cannot control his body - and he does not want to. He strides to his imprint and before the confusion he feels in his mind can result in action or words, he grips the other man’s arms, presses him to the wall, and kisses him.
It is intoxicating, soothing, addictive. Spock forces his tongue into the man’s mouth when he opens it, choking off any protest. The arms in his hands struggle, the man’s body writhing against the wall, creating some strong friction against his chest, and Spock merely takes the opportunity to explore every crevice in the man’s mouth.
He cannot control himself. A surge of lust makes its way through the bond, and before he is aware of it, he has not only let go of Kirk’s arms, but he’s managed to pull his shirt out of his slacks, running his hand up and over his chest.
They need this.
Kirk does not understand the sudden physicality. Confusion, outrage, and desire flood into Spock, but he can do nothing to soothe it but project back his need. Gradually, the outrage ebbs, and with that Spock pushes as much lust into the bond as he can. The need for release, closeness, and heat. Kirk returns the kiss.
Spock forces him back against the wall, drawing the man’s slacks down around his knees. And even as he continues to plunder his imprint’s mouth, he reaches down to explore the genitalia of his intended.
It differs so greatly from his own.
Spock almost can’t help but look. The flushed penis - pink, red, something in-between - is substantially larger than Spock’s. Beneath it are what he knows to be the man’s testicles - Spock’s reside within his body. He reaches behind them-
There is nothing.
For once in his life, Spock does not know how to proceed.
Kirk helps, though, an image flooding through the bond of Spock on his knees, mouth on his genitals. The Vulcan cannot imagine how intercourse between them would be possible. How could it? He follows the lead Kirk has sent him, sinking to his knees and eyeing the alien appendage. He does not understand why the man thinks taking it into his mouth would be pleasurable.
“If you’re gonna start it,” Kirk pants, and Spock looks up at him, “you gotta finish it. Suck that cock.”
Spock glares returns his attention to the penis - the ‘cock’ - and takes it in hand, pulling it from base to end a few times. A hand comes to the back of his head, and he understands what is requested of him.
He opens his mouth and lets the man’s ‘cock’ push inside.
All that keeps Spock going is the constant stream of images through the bond - the unconsciously given instructions, words he does not understand, visions of him bobbing and demands for suction and how to best use his tongue - but it seems sufficient. It seems to take very little time before the man before him is reduced to gasps, both hands clutching at Spock’s head, hips canting into his mouth. Spock feels the pleasure almost as his own, and when Kirk lets out a long moan, a sticky substance flowing into the Vulcan’s mouth, it is almost overwhelming, his vision going white.
He feels the shared climax fully.
The substance in his mouth is not unpleasant, so he swallows it. It should have no detrimental effects, he thinks. Kirk’s mind is blank, waves of satisfaction flowing from him through the bond, and it is all Spock can do to rearrange his appearance and make as hasty an exit as possible.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Kirk only questions inwardly Spock’s motivations on the bridge - through his aggravation and insistence on fighting Spock’s instructions. The Vulcan can hardly take it any longer; he is too drawn to this man, too invested in him. He will give in to an illogical course of action if he can’t get away from his imprint.
He incapacitates him and orders him off the ship. It is the only logical course of action. As much as it physically aches, he watches the pod enter the atmosphere of Delta Vega. He tells himself that this is the right decision. This is moral. This is logical.
This hurts.
The ship enters warp drive, and there is little to do. Spock will need sleep. His body protests the hours of stress amidst grief and the lack of his imprint. Assigning command of the conn to an ensign (one who looks competent enough), he leaves the bridge, allowing the turbolift to take him to his quarters. Before entering, he reminds himself that he is not the only one using them.
Sure enough, his father is there.
“Father,” he greets solemnly, making his way into the room. He will need a shower. His father returns the greeting silently, seated firmly at Spock’s desk. “Excuse me.”
The sonic shower pulses, vibrates - and as the day’s grime is washed from his body, he reaches down to examine his own genitalia. Like Kirk, he does have a phallus - a ‘cock’, the man had called it - but he is lacking testicles. They rest within his body, he understands. The color is different, but he can attribute that to the differences in coloration of their blood. Only hesitating for a moment, he reaches down to search behind what he can see.
Kirk did not have this.
His fingers find loose skin and an opening into his body. Spock has always pondered why this part of him existed. It is unnecessary. He knows the basics of his species’ sexuality - of how intercourse is performed and the process by which offspring are produced - and yet he has never seen another Vulcan bare.
He has seen humans bare. He has studied human anatomy. But his genitals do not resemble those of either human sex.
Is there something different about him?
Once the shower finishes, he dresses absently. He has always believed himself to have the physicality of a Vulcan male. He can find no secondary sexual characteristics displayed by the females of his race. His hips are narrow and his chest is flat. His shoulders are broad. He has no doubt that his physiology is that of a male.
But he needs to confirm it.
He steps out of the bathroom, eyes settling on his father again. He ponders how to start the conversation, and then crosses his arms behind his back.
“It occurs to me with the destruction of Vulcan that if our kind is to survive, we will each need to put forth the necessary effort,” Spock says stiffly. His father gives no indication of having heard him. “Colonization. Repopulation.”
His father nods. “Indeed. However, there are other priorities. You know this.”
The younger man forces calmness into his body, even as it sings with tension. “There is something I do not know,” he states flatly. “I am of two species. Will I even be capable of reproduction?”
His father is still for a long moment. “We had you engineered to be capable, yes.”
Spock takes a deep breath. “And yet my body differs from both species from which I was derived?”
His father nods. “The chromosomal count between humans and Vulcans differs,” he says slowly. “As a result, we could not engineer you to be fully male. However, your mother was…adamant that we have a son. I conceded and you were created as you are.”
“How am I, Father?” Spock asks, but he already knows. He has known since before this conversation started. His father stands and faces his son.
“You are intersex, Spock,” he informs him. Spock stays as still as he can. “But as I said, you are reproductively capable. As either sex.”
At last, an answer.
“I see,” he says as a way of ending the conversation. He makes his way to his bed. “I need to rest before the start of the next shift.”
His father nods and leaves the room, perhaps hesitating a short time at the door. But soon enough Spock is alone, sliding under the covers and trying to rest.
But it does not come as easily as he had hoped it would. The revelation plays in his mind. He is of two sexes. Hermaphroditic.
It is no wonder he was able to imprint on a male.
This does not make him any less a man, does it? Spock turns onto his side, a hand traveling over his flat chest as if in confirmation. No, his mind is certainly a man’s mind. He has melded with enough women to know he is different from them. So why did he imprint on a male? Are his reproductive capabilities as a female superior?
He closes his eyes and awaits sleep he knows will not come.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Spock makes his way to the bridge, joined by Nyota. She is tense at his side, meaningful glances making their way at his face, and he tries to ignore her.
Illogically, his body is burning for release. He knows she cannot provide him this.
Terror flashes through the bond, faint from distance and yet clear enough in his mind that he feels it with every fiber of his being. For a moment, his mind flashes to the well-being of his imprint. But he ignores it, focusing on his duties as acting captain. Focuses on the frail body of the girl beside him and not her obvious intentions. It works to dissipate both the fear and the arousal.
He makes it to the bridge before another emotion pushes through the bond - one just as strong as the terror. Confusion.
“How long until we reach the rest of the fleet?” he asks of Sulu, who spouts off numbers that make enough sense not to question. The emotions are flying into his head now, wave after wave.
Disbelief.
Irritation.
Confusion.
Hope.
And then, out of nowhere, the most intense emotion he’s ever felt - one he felt just hours earlier for the first time.
Devastation.
And yet this feeling does not seem to fit in with Kirk’s patterns. He can’t imagine what would devastate his imprint. It is gone within seconds, but traces of it remain, making their way through Spock’s body. It is a physical reaction. He cannot control it any more than he can control the blood in his veins. And for all his years practicing meditation, mental blocks, and isolation in one’s self, he cannot keep his imprint’s emotions out of him.
There is a blissfully long period in which there is nothing particularly strong, during which he remains on the bridge. Nyota shoots him longing glances as though she thinks the rest of the crew will not notice.
She is stronger than she acts. This version of her - weak, lovesick - irritates him.
Amusement seeps through the bond some time later, and Spock wonders what could be so amusing on Delta Vega. He does not concentrate on it for very long, though, switching his focus to his work.
NEXT CHAPTER