Nothing Lay Between (4C/?), Kirk/Spock, Pike/Spock, NC-17
Title: Nothing Lay Between (4C/?)
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock (Ch4), implied George Kirk/Pike (Ch4), Kirk/Spock (rest of it)
POV: Chris (Pike's)
Rating: NC-17 - Still!
Words: 7.508
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Flashback - Christopher's first diplomatic visit to Shi'Kahr, and Vulcan.
A/N: This concludes our Pike/Spock interruption. Warnings include handjobs, and Spock still being a bit of a whore, but lesser so.
All Chapters || Chapter Four, Part B
When the morning came, it was probably the most relaxing wake up Chris could remember having in about ten years. No rush to get up to an alarm, nothing demanding on him, just the slow rise of consciousness that settled into a long, flat plain that was caressed by the crimson of the sun on the other side of his eyelids. The only strange part of this in any fashion was the waking up beside another person. He could feel that warmth against him and the fact it was making him sweat, but he ignored that second part. Instead, he chose to nose against the too-hot skin and let himself just... think. Half-formed thoughts came and went without focus, little ponderings about things that needed to be done that day, that needed to be done on the ship.
One thought did crop up that he let come into focus. Rarely did he allow himself to think about it simply because it always brought the faintest heart ache, even after nineteen years. No one remained alive that knew about the relationship he had had with the now very famous and very dead George Kirk. Up until meeting that man he had never really thought about another male in that way, but there was something that had sparked between them almost instantly. He could remember making the first incredibly awkward move, the surprise that had come from it, followed by learning first hand how gentle George could be.
Chris let out a slow breath, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. There was no good that could come from remembering what had been lost.
A hand ran absently through his hair now, fingers parting the strands until a palm smoothed them out again. "Christopher?" A calm, quiet voice which held the leisure of the morning but no remnants of sleep. "Are you sufficiently awake?"
It was a comforting feeling, a surprisingly familiar one, one that threatened to pull back him back to the thoughts he had just recently forced himself to stop thinking of. One eye crept open enough for Chris to scout out his surroundings, then the Vulcan beside him, relaxed and leaning back against white pillows. The wide window on the adjacent wall, previously black with night, now allowed the scarlet rays of a morning sun to shine through. They reached across the red-gold, wrinkled covers of the duvet, and over two of them with a pleasant warmth. "...getting there," His voice thick still with sleep, "Slow and steady."
The hand brushed the curve of his ear, ghosted over the side of his neck, and then returned to sinking through his hair. "When you are ready, I will call for breakfast," Chris could not help the small sigh that left him, comforted by the touch. He let himself drift because he could do so, fingers very slowly smoothing across skin, taking small pleasure in simply being able to have it there to touch.
But, to no surprise of his own, he finally realized he was being forced awake by his own internal clock. He smiled at the idea that not even his body would let him sleep in when he so desired, and turned his gaze fully to Spock. It seemed to him that the Vulcan had been awake for some time, but seemed content to remain with him. "How long have you been awake?" Chris murmured, a little curious.
"One hour and six minutes," Spock answered, eyes unwavering from his face--not even needing to look at any chronometers in the room. Then Chris saw those dark eyes shift away, to look at the window; the glass darkened to match the increasing intensity of the sunlight. "I always witness the sunrise, if I am able to."
That prompted Chris to shift his position so that he could follow Spock's gaze, watching the show as the crimson sun slowly rose higher and higher. At this height, the view was simply breath taking as the light revealed Shi'Kahr's unique architecture, shimmered across planes of glass, and swept upwards until Chris swore he saw the tell-tale wavering image of heat waves. He remained silent for some time, enjoying the sight, before saying quietly, "One of the things I miss from Earth... being able to watch the sunset and sunrise. Forget what they look like, sometimes, when I've been out in the darkness for so long."
Spock's hand paused, fingertips resting on the side of Chris' forehead. "At least you are able to see other suns, unadulterated by an atmosphere."
There was some small something in Spock's voice that made Chris tilt his head to look up at the other. He studied the young, clean face for a long moment before speaking quietly, "There are ways for anyone to do the same," Implication in his voice? Perhaps. He had seen thousands join to the ranks of Starfleet, coming together from every part of the globe and universe, all with the same aspiration to see foreign stars and suns.
"Of course," Spock's eyes remained focused on the glimpse of skyline they could catch from the window. "Though some methods are more probable than others."
"...tell me about yourself, Spock. About the profession you're in," Chris asked quietly. "I've never seen one quite like it," A courtesan, he understood, but there was an intelligence going to waste on such skills. In his mind, from how impressed Richard had been, he thought Spock's mind seemed better working in the science lab then well... he had no doubt of Spock's skills here.
This line of questioning finally brought Spock's gaze back from the skyline, though the hand drew away from Chris' hair, to fold together with its partner in Spock's lap. Almost a hesitation in the silence, before he spoke. "I am a thol'es-kafeh, and have been trained as one since I was a child. While I am on Vulcan, I am expected to escort foreign dignitaries in order to acquaint them with the area, act as a liaison between them and various facilities, and generally ensure that their visit is a pleasant as possible. Thus, I have been trained in the professional etiquette of all the major Federation species and their corresponding languages."
Curious indeed. Chris had only heard of such a thing in the most vague sense during all of his years in Starfleet. "...and science is a part of such training?" He questioned lightly, bringing his hands up behind his head to prop it up more. The edge of the duvet fell to puddle in his lap, exposing the broad chest and flat stomach only lightly affected by age.
"Not to the extent of my current research," The Vulcan's eyes unabashedly scanned his upper body. "Mandatory science education for myself concluded when I was approximately thirteen of your years. Now it is only an avocation--a 'hobby.'"
That made Chris sit up further, frowning. "...why are they letting such a gift go to waste as merely a hobby?" He could not help a very faint disgust in his tone from the sheer foolishness in the concept of throwing away such a potent mind. Starfleet was actively trying to get new minds into its science program just like this one.
Spock arched an eyebrow and also sat up more. "They decided long before my research at the Academy what my primary occupation would be."
"That doesn't mean there could be more use," Chris pointed out. He kept his tone calm, level, simply pointing out fact. "There are other places that would give the world at your feet practically to have you working with them," Even without knowing the full extent of the Vulcan's education, he could already see him as a potential asset.
"I am certain that there are others they would rather collaborate with," Spock moved his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. "Are you ready for breakfast, Christopher?"
For now, Chris was content to let it drop. All he could do was attempt persuasion, but in the end it would be entirely Spock's choice. At least the young Vulcan would know that there was more, that there was a choice if he so desired it. "Breakfast... would be lovely." He said finally, working his body to the edge of the bed so he could sit there, stretching his upper body out. The muscles corded along his back as he worked the kinks from them and bit back a hiss. This is what you get for acting like a twenty year old, Chris.
By the sounds of various buttons being pressed, Spock was activating the communication console embedded into the top of that bedside cabinet, and then dialogue followed that Chris did not understand.
"Moi loma, wuh'rak poprahek ro itisha," said a young male voice from the other end of the communication.
"Spohkh ro itisha," Spock responded in his usual tone. "Wani ra nina asal-yem ro seisha."
"Travek ta?"
"Terra no...slor, ha."
"Wani ra ken-torsha."
"Nemaiyo," Spock ended the communication. The covers rustled, and Spock walked into sight from the side. He slid smoothly to his knees on the carpet beside Chris, legs folded underneath him, hands flat on his thighs. "Christopher, I must inquire about a detail of last night."
Chris looked to Spock, hesitantly disliking the pose but from the sense of it, it was something Spock was very much trained to do, and thus said nothing of it. "Anything," He said encouragingly, scratching his chest lightly.
"Is your mind unharmed from the point of release?" A blunt question, almost said too quickly; Spock looked to the floor.
The odd phrasing made Chris hesitate, but finally he said cautiously, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Unharmed? He...felt fine, other then maybe having pulled out his back which would please Phillip to no end, he was sure.
Spock took a slow breath. "There was a moment, when we were together last night, where you developed dual senses directly preceding orgasm. Do you recall this?"
Very much so. It was something someone could not ever forget. In fact, it pulled a twist of a smirk to Chris' lips. "...oh yes. I remember quite distinctly."
"Then you will remember the sensation of a mental burn," Spock's fingers curled towards his palms. "Do you feel as if you were in any way harmed by this sensation?"
Chris' head tilted very slightly as he listened closely. He did not remember anything that was painful, burning, or in any other way could be classified as 'harmed'. But from the tiny motions, he had a feeling... Spock was worried. "Spock," Spoken gently yet a light command. Only when the Vulcan looked up did he speak, "I am fine. It was one of the most..." He was having trouble picking out a single word, "Intimate moments of my life," The word unsure, as he was not one to let himself divulge in romantic stuff like this.
Spock's gaze didn't hold long; it shifted down to settle on Chris' hands. "I ask...because it was not my place to force you to endure it."
One broad hand came out and brushed Spock's cheek, curling under the jaw. "There was no force, no enduring. It was wonderful, something... I could do again, without second thought," He hoped to alliviate some of those concerns, and it seemed to work. Tension relaxed away from those slim shoulders, and Spock looked up at him again.
"Then I must also request that you not reveal it to anyone," One of Spock's hands came up to brush his, the one touching the Vulcan's jaw. "It is not standard protocol, as you may say...and I would be chastised for it."
The request was accepted with a small nod. "I will not, if you would indulge a few questions on the subject?" His tone carefully measured to indicate he would keep the 'secret' no matter what, and that Spock had the option to say no to his own request.
"Of course," Spock rose from his position on the floor--its purpose obviously served--to sit next to Chris on the bed. "What are your questions?"
"Touch-telepaths," He started off with, watching Spock closely. The young, nubile body reminded him of his own, and for a moment he was almost self-conscious of the differences between their bodies. "It stems from any touch, or must it be through the hands, or skin to skin?" It was something only vaguely known. Vulcans did not shake hands or permit contact during any meeting. They are a culture of the mind and are thus limited on physical contact. He could remember someone teaching him in the past. Not quite right, it seemed. They had the idea, but not the truth. He wondered then if it was a true cultural unknown or something that was actually requested to be glanced over in Academy teachings by the Vulcans themselves. A very possible option, that last part.
"It can stem from any touch, though the clarity of any thoughts relies on the openness of the mind and the location. We may touch by accident," Spock's knee gently shifted to touch his, but that's all it was: a touch. "And there is no transfer because I have maintained my mental barriers. If lowered," There was a distant thought creeping into his mind, a lingering feeling of pride, but about what or to what degree was unknown. "Then there may be some minor impressions," Spock moved his knee away, breaking that physical contact.
"The hands are more sensitive," Spock's fingers gently lay over his forearm, warm against his skin. "And so indistinct thoughts come without the need to completely dismantle the shields," The question of how good the french toast would this morning slipped into his mind from seemingly nowhere. "However, if I allow myself..." Spock's fingers moved up his arm and closed over his wrist.
Then I may transmit my thoughts more clearly, Those fingers released his wrist. "But it does leave the mind vulnerable to outside influences."
"On both parts?" Chris asked, a certain sense of awe in his voice. It truly was amazing, how Spock's thoughts came through that momentary physical connection as if they were his own, yet tinged with a certain flavor that made them completely alien. "I assume it could be equally dangerous to both parties," His hand moved to lightly caress over the back of Spock's, running his fingertips down the long digits in a way, human or Vulcan, was a bit seductive.
"...yes," Spock said after a pause, staring down at their hands. Those barriers Spock mentioned must have been up, as there were no thoughts passing through. "Such as last night: I could have overwhelmed you or altered your mind accidentally."
"Then I suppose a thank you is in order for doing neither," Chris said easily. "Considering that I feel fine this morning, it is a procedure I would have not even a moment of hesitation in repeating," The tip of a finger curled around one of Spock's, caressing slowly. Even more so, he wished he could talk Spock into coming with him. The idea of actually learning more about the people they were allied with... there had never been a Vulcan in the Starfleet Academy, as far as his memory told him.
"Christopher," Spock's other hand came over his, stopping his caress by sandwiching his hand underneath a hot palm. "There is another reason that Vulcans do not shake hands, but breakfast is likely to arrive in the next thirty-four minutes," The Vulcan looked up at him, and he could see the fading traces of jade on those cheeks. "I would like to administer your shower, first, and then we may discuss the finer details of Vulcan erogenous zones."
A blink. "Erogenous... zones..." Very, very slowly a grin spread over his lips. Well now, that was an interesting bit of news. Chris stood up, careful of his back, and turned his hand so that he captured Spock's own. He brought their hands up to his mouth and kissed the edge of one slender finger, just the tiniest hint of tongue caressing. "Administer. Come on, then." He let his voice drop down into that deeper baritone with a hint of command to it.
Spock led him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, which was a modern yet elegant mixture of technology and ancient decor. The one important thing was that everything seemed to be made of white marble, and there many strange Vulcan symbols placed on the walls, on the bottoms of the sink and the tub, on the ceiling. The bathtub was wide and round, enough for a full grown man to easily lie along the bottom of it, and there were multiple shower heads curving out from the walls and the ceiling above. Below this was a smooth shelf, set into the wall, that wrapped all the way around; it had numerous bottles of all different colours, brushes, cloths, and several new soap bars.
When Spock opened the door to reach in and fiddle with the faucets, the glass immediately changed to become mirrored on the exterior. As the water poured from the shower heads, it became clear that they had been placed in such a way as to give a thorough soaking as possible without needing to turn, the spray coming from all sides, falling from the top like rain. Spock stepped in, staying on the relatively dry outer circumference, and reached out a hand to touch the water, and then, apparently satisfied, looked at Chris expectantly.
Chris wasted no time in joining Spock in the spray, closing his eyes as the hot water hit him from every side as he stepped within its range. It soaked down over his body, wetting his hair, darkening the hair along his chest and down between his thighs. The heat was the perfect temperature without even the need of adjustment. He stretched slightly, then turned his gaze on Spock. Perhaps it should have all seemed awkward, after all it had been far too long since he had showered with someone and a damned first for showering with someone he had only met the night before, but somehow it seemed natural enough. Maybe that was all part of Spock's gifts, or maybe it was hard to feel awkward with someone after sharing a single mind even if it was only for a moment.
Spock grabbed a washcloth from the shelf, dampened it in the spray, moved around to grab one of the bottles, and poured a generous amount of the viscous liquid into his cloth-covered hand. After applying some friction to the soap, causing some of it to foam, Spock stepped up to him, into the spray. The cloth passed over his chest with a gentle pressure. Chris enjoyed the feel of it, even though he could surely say that he had not been bathed by someone else since he was five years old, but did not take the opportunity standing idle. His hands came up and slowly traveled across Spock's skin, enjoying the feel of it slicked by water. It was so smooth, without sign of scar or marking other then the piercing. Beautiful.
An amusement filtered through into his mind that tasted familiar but foreign; Spock's hand that did not have the washcloth had been resting on his arm, near his elbow. After washing down his chest and his abdomen, Spock moved around to his back, always one hand in contact with his skin while the washcloth cleaned with constant, even pressure. With his back done, Spock concentrated on his arms but avoided his hands. There was a brief break to pour more soap on the cloth, and then Spock returned--squatting with perfect balance, began to attend to his lower body, but avoiding the most obvious area, like he had his hands. The whole process was a mixture of enjoyment, relaxation, and amusement. He calmly allowed Spock to do as he would, watching the Vulcan with a heavy gaze. Spock had been doing this for some time, from the look of it. He only briefly let himself wonder how many times Spock had done these same things with other visitors. It was a rude thing to even think, so it was pushed aside.
Chris brought his hand down and slid his fingertips through the wet black strands of hair, wanting to caress the entirety of the younger man's body. At the touch, Spock glanced up, but said nothing nor stopped his motions. A minute more passed before Spock rose to his feet and set the washcloth aside. Using bare hands, Spock washed the soapy residue from his body, and then progressed to the next stage. From a smaller bottle grabbed off the shelf, a dark red liquid poured out onto Spock's bare palm. It changed to orange as Spock rubbed it between his hands. With falling water still the only sound in the tub, Spock took Chris' hand between two of his and began to massage it, working the smooth soap into his skin.
Even without the new found knowledge of just what the hands were to the Vulcans, it still would have been erotic. The way Spock's fingers caressed over his, worked down lightly into the muscle, the tenderness of it. So while he had the chance, Chris brought up his other hand and mimicked Spock carefully, fingers curling together through the slippery texture that the soap provided. A rich scent came around them both from the chosen product - earthen, with a lightly spicy scent that was almost bitter. It reminded Chris of Vulcan itself.
The sharp breath that passed Spock's lips was almost, almost swallowed by the roar of the shower, but just enough of it did reach his ears. Spock took both of his hands separately, parting them with a thumb massaging circles into each of his palms. Then, with fingertips rolling over his knuckles, hands held out to the sides now, Spock pressed up to him and kissed him, quiet and affectionate. A thought, not his own, bubbled up briefly that this was not something the Vulcan did for everyone. There was a flare of pride and respect that rose up in Chris' chest with that thought; it pleased him deeply. He returned the kiss, keeping it that same level of gentle affection without letting it go more deeply as his body was lightly urging him to do. Years ago, he probably would have already had Spock pressed up against the mirrored glass of the shower. The feeling of their hands pressed together seemed as raw and intimate as the press of their full bodies. Or maybe it was a passing concept coming from Spock, but who cared?
Eventually, Spock drew away and washed the soap from his hands, rubbing each one gently under the spray, and then moved off to the shelf again. A few long moments passed for Spock's final decision, until a bottle of a swirling blue-and-white soap was picked out. It foamed an azure blue between Spock's hands, which still moved together as Spock stepped up to him. The Vulcan's eyes did not waver from his face as those hands lowered, slid around his cock and under his balls--touches not exactly clinical, as Spock's eyes seemed to be almost daring him to keep his composure during this. Chris' eyes went wide only for a split second before recognizing the challenge in Spock's eyes. He held that gaze as he felt those deft fingers manipulating him. He slowly started to react to those skilled fingers, but he kept his face calm. Harder to hide his emotions that could easily stream with their touch. Even as he kept his body calm, his mind rushed with the slow build of pleasure.
Neither did Spock seem to have any intent on showing him mercy. Those hands, hot as they were last night, stroked him leisurely, long fingers wrapped neatly around his length; his balls were fondled between a soapy palm and soft fingertips. Through it all, Spock never looked away, hardly even blinked as they watched him, and Chris returned it all. He kept his gaze firmly locked to Spock's, letting everything he felt simply stream between them. The only time his composure failed as at the moment of release, where his eyes closed for a moment, lips parted, a breath shuddered from him.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, with Chris asking more about Spock himself, casually hinting on the possibility of Spock coming back with him without pushing the subject. The food, no surprise, was absolutely wonderful. All in all, extremely enjoyable. Chris dressed with Spock's aid, allowing it though it was rather strange, into his normal uniform. He would have sworn that he saw a look of appreciation from the thol'es-kafeh after the golden command shirt was slid over his head and settled into place. Chris watched the pale body as it was covered by the concealing clothing yet again, but the faintest touch of a smile did not leave his lips. Hard to be in a bad mood after having a night like that.
Only when the golden sash with the strange symbols wrapped securely around his waist again did Spock look up at him again. "You may transport back to your ship from the hotel lobby provided you have your communicator, Christopher, or you may ride with me back to the Reception Hall, and transport from there."
A thought passed through Chris' mind, something that seemed almost sneaky. He watched Spock for a long moment, thumbing the communicator where it sat neatly on his belt. "Perhaps, Spock, before we leave orbit, you would like to come for a tour of the ship?" He kept his face as carefully neutral as he dared, but there was a light sense of pride in his voice. He and the Excalibur had been together for a long time. Despite the crafting designs of the new ship that he had underway, he had a feeling his mind would keep the concept of 'home' locked to the beautiful ship orbiting right now.
Spock's eyes widened slightly before his gaze dropped to the floor. "...if you would not find it too troublesome," Another almost-hesitation before Spock added, "You are aware that recompense is unnecessary for my services?"
"This isn't recompense," Chris informed immediately, "This is merely an offer. I'm proud of my lady, and enjoy getting any chance to show her off," Only a tiny bit of a lie. It was not recompense, no, but it was also not fully a matter of pride. He pulled out his communicator and called into it, "Pike to Excalibur."
"Excalibur here, sir."
"Two to beam up on my mark."
"Yes, Captain."
Chris flipped the communicator shut and looked to Spock. His lips quirked slightly, "Do you need to tell anyone that you're going?" The last thing he wanted to do was get the kid in trouble.
"As long as we do not leave orbit," Spock glanced up at him again. "My location is only of your concern."
A slight nod of the head, and Chris bent down to pick up the small over night bag that had been beamed down previously. "Then let's go," He said easily, walking out of the room and out to the elevator; Spock walked alongside. He wondered if perhaps showing a small part of what Starfleet offered would add value to his previous suggestions to Spock. The Excalibur was a respectable ship in every area, though she would not hold a candle to what he had been developing.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby that looked quite different with the added touch of sunlight, which shown through with various intensities at every other level of the central atrium, giving it a strange, spiraling staircase of orange-red light that climbed all the way to the top. Some of the rays hit the decorative centerpieces on the ground level and mirrored their way spectacularly through their jeweled, glass containers. Chris took a moment to admire the beauty the Vulcans had created. It was as if they were making up for the dull colors and plain aspects of the desert planet they lived on by creating such beauty within their walls. After talking to somebody at the front desk--the young male Vulcan he had heard during that call for breakfast--Spock led them to a particular spot, in the middle of triangle between a glass centerpiece, a bronze statue, and the waiting area (rugs and plush furniture). Then Spock looked back at him. "This should be an adequate location for transport."
Chris nodded slightly, then pulled out and flipped open the communicator, "Beam us up," He said simply, and glanced to Spock. Light wrapped around them both, dissolving molecules, and what seemed like only a breath of darkness, everything happened in reverse. The cool air of the Excalibur wrapped around them with its familiar scent and sounds as they appeared on the transporter pads. Chris took a slow breath, making sure he was there entirely, then nodded to the man behind the console. He looked over to Spock, curious as to how the Vulcan would take to everything. Had Spock ever even been beamed up from planet side to ship before?
Spock pulled slightly at the robe he was wearing and adjusted the collar of his shirt before looking over at Chris. "The tour, sir?" Ah, back to formalities.
"This way," Chris gestured lightly, and started the tour. There was no doubting the pride in his step or in his voice as he spoke about the ship and what she provided. Of course, he did not plan for them to go on a near-straight but impossible to tell route down to the science lab. Of course not. But, as long as they were down there... "Our science lab," Chris gestured for Spock to enter, hands tucked behind his own back as he watched several people glance up from their work, acknowledging who had entered, and went straight back to work. In the distance, he could hear Richard barking out an order.
After stepping in to the labs, to stand beside Chris, Spock said nothing for at least a minute. Chris could see him studying the screens with experiment results on display, the equipment, the people. Maybe this would be enough, maybe...
Spock slowly turned his back to the lab. He was hanging his head a little. "Sir."
Not the reaction Chris was expecting, honestly. "Is something wrong, Spock?" He asked in a quiet tone, keeping a respect for the Vulcan's privacy.
Spock looked up at him, dark eyes sharp with something that Chris hadn't seen the entire (short) time they'd been together. "...may I speak to you alone, Captain?" The voice does not carry any farther than his ears.
"...Of course," Chris led the way to an empty conference room not that far off from the science lab. Once inside, he looked to the door, "Lock," And sat down, looking to Spock curiously. What was going through the Vulcan's mind? What was that look in the dark eyes? "...Feel free to speak openly, Spock."
Spock lingered by the door for a moment longer than necessary before taking a seat beside him. Long, pale fingers folded together on the surface of the conference table, but whatever calm they were meant to convey lost to the much more obvious tension. "Sir, I must ask that you refrain from doing this," Spock's voice tightened marginally, not the calm, confident tone of before.
He was no fool. He knew the game was up, and yet--"Refrain from what?" He kept his tone calm, body language relaxed. He was very curious how Spock would react to that 'innocent' response.
"Tempting me into believing that I may have a life different from the one I have so far maintained," Spock did not look up at him. "You know I will never have the opportunity to work in that laboratory, and it is cruel to suggest that I would."
It was not the response Chris had been expecting. In fact, it made him thinking silently for several moments to gather a response of his own. Finally, he spoke honestly. "I don't claim to know Vulcan culture enough to fully understand your position. I do know, however, that people in a possible similar circumstance have ended up in Starfleet," The words were so very carefully chosen. Chris leaned forward, putting less distance between himself and Spock, looking to the young man's face. His voice was almost a challenge. "If you so desired to achieve a different life, to have one of your own, you could do so. Sometimes obtaining what you desire means leaving behind what you have."
Spock leaned away from him, farther back in the chair, hands falling from the table to the lap. "No, I cannot. I could not. My desires are irrelevant, if they existed. I cannot."
"They exist," Chris said immediately, "I saw them, there in the Vulcan Science Academy. I've felt them in my head," He touched his temple to make a point. "Do not ever let yourself believe they don't exist. If that is all I can leave you with, then it's worth it," His eyes were both hard and warm at the same time, trying to make his point.
"Such desires are a liability," Spock retorted, hands clenched tightly together in his lap. "They impede my ability to serve and it is only due to my inexperience that they remain. If I allowed them to linger they would beget--discontent--"
"Discontent in who? Yourself...whomever you are working for?" Chris watched Spock closely, studying his reactions, what little he could see. "The inexperience you speak of...I can only guess comes from the Vulcan ideals of logic and being as emotionless as possible, even though you've clearly proven to me that you do feel."
"There is 'feeling,' some of which is necessary, and there is selfishly reaching for the unattainable. If I am not working as thol'es-kafeh, Christopher, I am no more than a parasite upon my planet, and one that will not leech for long," Spock took a breath. "Can you comprehend the danger I face, if I lose enthusiasm for the only thing I am allowed to do? I have no other place in this universe, no other purpose, and certainly not in this armada. Though your offer is generous, and I thank you for it."
Anyone who knew Christopher Pike would know the buttons that speech had pushed. He reached out and grasped Spock's chin lightly, tilting his gaze so their eyes met. "You have a place in the universe that's a greater purpose then the one you're currently filling. Do not ever think of yourself as a possible parasite. If your people are so blind that they can't see the gem they have in the dirt, you need to remember that there are people out there, right here on this ship, that will point out their folly. Do you understand?" Not that he doubted Spock would understand the words themselves, but worried Vulcan upbringing might miss the truth that laid behind them.
"Christopher, please," Fingers came up to curl around his wrist. "Do not distract me with grandeur and self-importance. They know exactly who I am and what my abilities are, and for that, I am granted my profession. Trust me when I say there is nothing else."
"There's only nothing else if you give up on yourself," Chris replied with slightly narrowed eyes.
A long silence. "...you are assuming that I have an identity to resign."
"You do have one, even if it is only the one you hold inside your self," On this he would not relent. What had the Vulcans' forced into this young man's head!? Such a lack of self-respect, of pride, to the point of believing his career (which seemed forced upon him) was his only identity?!
"In which case it should be sequestered for my own benefit. No one would appreciate such individualism from me."
A flicker down at their touching skin before he spoke again. "There are places that appreciate individualism," Chris said quietly, meaning it. "In the end, it's your choice, Spock. But know that you have that choice," He slowly released Spock's chin, knowing in the end only the Vulcan could make the decision about his own life. To this, Spock simply nodded once, but wouldn't meet his eyes again. Conflict, maybe, but the lack of protest hinted that perhaps some of it had gotten through. Chris let out a slow breath, then stood up. "Do you want to go back planetside now?" He offered quietly.
"Not at the moment," Spock answered, standing as well, eyes still downcast. "I would like to see your engineering decks, if you do not mind."
Chris was silent for a long moment, then his smile returned, "Come have a look," He unlocked the door, then led Spock down below to the engineering decks. It was always a place Chris felt good walking through, in the bowels of his ship where her hum could be heard as well as felt. "...I have been working on plans for a brand new starship." He spoke softly with a genuine smile. "They are nearly complete. We'll start getting supplies to build her in the near future," Indeed, Spock was just too easy to talk to.
At the moment, the Vulcan was fixated on one of the warp cores, staring at the glow that could be seen of it through the protective encasement, hands leisurely folded behind the back. "Is this ship defective in some way?"
Confused, Chris looked to Spock, "Hardly. She's in great shape," Then what Spock must have meant clicked. "I've been on quite a few long term missions, and there are certain things that I've always wanted to add to the Excalibur to improve on her that simply can't be done," In his mind, he brought up the blue prints in his mind of the beautiful new ship that had just recently gotten its approval.
"And your crew?" Spock glanced at him, looked at the warp core one last time, before stepping to his side again. "Do you plan to transfer personnel, or enlist new officers?"
"Both." Came the immediate response, as if it was something Chris had been thinking about in the not too distant past. In fact, he had been thinking on that very subject in the past few days. "...I have a very loyal crew, Spock. We have been working together for more then fifteen years. But some of them... are starting to look forward to retirement or want to stop wandering and be with their families. Those that wish to transfer will be encouraged to... those that don't, I will personally make sure they end up where they want to be. Some will be new recruits. I plan to make sure that the best of the best end up in that crew," He wanted to work with a mix of those he was familiar with, who could teach a new generation, as well as molding newly minted officers to up hold the same strong values his current crew did.
"So that you may captain over the most exceptional crew in Starfleet," Spock studied him while saying his half-questioning statement, as if trying to solve something about him. "They will give you all of this?"
Chris was silent as he stared into the warp core, then spoke quietly, "They know my record, they know the results I get, they know the loyalty of my crew. They've allowed me a freedom few get to create this new ship, and have allowed me freedom to chose my crew. I wouldn't have agreed to create or captain her if I couldn't."
As he spoke, a warm arm curled around his. Slow, almost tentative, giving him the chance to stop it before a pale hand laid over command gold. There was no one to see them, in this part of the deck. "Then you plan to do this--this exploration and related activities--for many years to come? Until you are unable to?"
Dark eyes looked down at the arm against his, but Chris did not pull away. "What would I do if I retired, Spock? I would, without a doubt, go insane. Being in one location too long after years of being in space, going to its outer reaches and beyond? Space is my home, my ship is my home. Until I'm no longer able to captain a ship, I'll be doing it. Even then, I imagine I'll still be working with Starfleet. Also plan to make sure I'll be an old, old man before that happens." The idea of being tied to one place for too long sounded like a fate worse then death.
"You appear to have everything else under command," Spock noted quietly. "I would be surprised if your plans did not all come to fruition."
"...I have under command what I'm capable of commanding," Chris turned his head to look at the Vulcan beside him. "Sometimes, that's all we have," His gaze went back out, and his lips parted to say something else, but his communicator chirped at him. He pulled it out with his free hand and flipped it open, "Pike here."
"We're ready to leave orbit, Captain."
"Thank you. We'll leave when I return to the bridge."
"We'll be waiting for you."
He closed the communicator and looked to Spock, offering a small smile, "...This looks like the end of our time together," A very faint tone of disappointment.
"Apparently so," The arm around his was smoothly, if a little reluctantly, drawn away. "Thank you for the tour...Christopher."
"It was my pleasure." Admitted freely and readily. Chris began to guide Spock back towards the transporter room, but paused outside of it. "I hope you'll think about what I've said, Spock. I meant every word."
"I will definitely consider it, though you know I cannot guarantee any change on my behalf," Spock told him, meeting his gaze; that sharp-something was gone, replaced with his usual confident ease. When they stepped into the transporter room, Spock parted from him with something that was probably scripted, memorized, but had all the feeling of being genuine, even if it was just something at the back of his mind. "I hope you enjoyed your visit to Vulcan, Captain Pike. We await your return," Then Spock was gone, carried away by the beams of light.
Trees and blue sky and the soothing sound of water falling over water came together piece by piece, along with the smell of the bay, the shine of sunlight reflected by water and white stone. A warm body sitting close to his, a warm arm laid over his, hot fingers gently pressed to his cheek, to his temple, above his brow, near his chin. All of his senses sharpened until the environment became clear around him, where he was, when he was, and who he was sitting next to. When the world stopped unveiling itself, those fingers drew away, bringing their heat with them; the cool bay breeze washed away any lingering sensation of warmth on his skin.
Falling clear of the mind-meld that had brought up a clear memory of his first time on Vulcan, his first time meeting Spock, was not easy. Chris shuddered, his eyes remaining closed as he pulled himself together. Wetness gleamed on his cheeks, along Spock's fingers, and it shocked Chris to realize he must have been crying. His eyes opened with that fact, looking to the half-Vulcan in front of him. He said nothing, because there was nothing to be immediately said. Spock had relived every moment of it through his eyes, hearing his thoughts as it had occurred that very day in detail even Chris knew he would not consciously remember. Instead, Chris shifted enough to bring his own hand up to Spock's face, laying the palm against the younger man's cheek, and tried to pull together the remains of his own dignity.
Spock's hand pressed over his, and Spock tilted his head slightly nearer to his palm, eyes always locked with his. The thought that slid into his mind, not so foreign as it had been that first time, was layered with something heartfelt, almost--emotional: Thank you.
There's no need to thank me. Chris said quietly, keeping his eyes fixated on Spock's. I...how far you've come. He finally finished lamely, unsure of what to say to everything they had both just remembered.
One of Spock's fingers gently ghosted back-and-forth over one of his; a small show of affection, one Spock never did unless no one was watching. I only wish I could have escaped from Vulcan without its destruction. A brief flare of that pain-anger-despair one would expect from witnessing a home planet destroyed, before it was skillfully reined back.
Saying I'm sorry means nothing. Chris said. All I can do is offer a place to come when you have no where else.
Chapter Five, Part A
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Pike/Spock (Ch4), implied George Kirk/Pike (Ch4), Kirk/Spock (rest of it)
POV: Chris (Pike's)
Rating: NC-17 - Still!
Words: 7.508
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Flashback - Christopher's first diplomatic visit to Shi'Kahr, and Vulcan.
A/N: This concludes our Pike/Spock interruption. Warnings include handjobs, and Spock still being a bit of a whore, but lesser so.
All Chapters || Chapter Four, Part B
When the morning came, it was probably the most relaxing wake up Chris could remember having in about ten years. No rush to get up to an alarm, nothing demanding on him, just the slow rise of consciousness that settled into a long, flat plain that was caressed by the crimson of the sun on the other side of his eyelids. The only strange part of this in any fashion was the waking up beside another person. He could feel that warmth against him and the fact it was making him sweat, but he ignored that second part. Instead, he chose to nose against the too-hot skin and let himself just... think. Half-formed thoughts came and went without focus, little ponderings about things that needed to be done that day, that needed to be done on the ship.
One thought did crop up that he let come into focus. Rarely did he allow himself to think about it simply because it always brought the faintest heart ache, even after nineteen years. No one remained alive that knew about the relationship he had had with the now very famous and very dead George Kirk. Up until meeting that man he had never really thought about another male in that way, but there was something that had sparked between them almost instantly. He could remember making the first incredibly awkward move, the surprise that had come from it, followed by learning first hand how gentle George could be.
Chris let out a slow breath, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. There was no good that could come from remembering what had been lost.
A hand ran absently through his hair now, fingers parting the strands until a palm smoothed them out again. "Christopher?" A calm, quiet voice which held the leisure of the morning but no remnants of sleep. "Are you sufficiently awake?"
It was a comforting feeling, a surprisingly familiar one, one that threatened to pull back him back to the thoughts he had just recently forced himself to stop thinking of. One eye crept open enough for Chris to scout out his surroundings, then the Vulcan beside him, relaxed and leaning back against white pillows. The wide window on the adjacent wall, previously black with night, now allowed the scarlet rays of a morning sun to shine through. They reached across the red-gold, wrinkled covers of the duvet, and over two of them with a pleasant warmth. "...getting there," His voice thick still with sleep, "Slow and steady."
The hand brushed the curve of his ear, ghosted over the side of his neck, and then returned to sinking through his hair. "When you are ready, I will call for breakfast," Chris could not help the small sigh that left him, comforted by the touch. He let himself drift because he could do so, fingers very slowly smoothing across skin, taking small pleasure in simply being able to have it there to touch.
But, to no surprise of his own, he finally realized he was being forced awake by his own internal clock. He smiled at the idea that not even his body would let him sleep in when he so desired, and turned his gaze fully to Spock. It seemed to him that the Vulcan had been awake for some time, but seemed content to remain with him. "How long have you been awake?" Chris murmured, a little curious.
"One hour and six minutes," Spock answered, eyes unwavering from his face--not even needing to look at any chronometers in the room. Then Chris saw those dark eyes shift away, to look at the window; the glass darkened to match the increasing intensity of the sunlight. "I always witness the sunrise, if I am able to."
That prompted Chris to shift his position so that he could follow Spock's gaze, watching the show as the crimson sun slowly rose higher and higher. At this height, the view was simply breath taking as the light revealed Shi'Kahr's unique architecture, shimmered across planes of glass, and swept upwards until Chris swore he saw the tell-tale wavering image of heat waves. He remained silent for some time, enjoying the sight, before saying quietly, "One of the things I miss from Earth... being able to watch the sunset and sunrise. Forget what they look like, sometimes, when I've been out in the darkness for so long."
Spock's hand paused, fingertips resting on the side of Chris' forehead. "At least you are able to see other suns, unadulterated by an atmosphere."
There was some small something in Spock's voice that made Chris tilt his head to look up at the other. He studied the young, clean face for a long moment before speaking quietly, "There are ways for anyone to do the same," Implication in his voice? Perhaps. He had seen thousands join to the ranks of Starfleet, coming together from every part of the globe and universe, all with the same aspiration to see foreign stars and suns.
"Of course," Spock's eyes remained focused on the glimpse of skyline they could catch from the window. "Though some methods are more probable than others."
"...tell me about yourself, Spock. About the profession you're in," Chris asked quietly. "I've never seen one quite like it," A courtesan, he understood, but there was an intelligence going to waste on such skills. In his mind, from how impressed Richard had been, he thought Spock's mind seemed better working in the science lab then well... he had no doubt of Spock's skills here.
This line of questioning finally brought Spock's gaze back from the skyline, though the hand drew away from Chris' hair, to fold together with its partner in Spock's lap. Almost a hesitation in the silence, before he spoke. "I am a thol'es-kafeh, and have been trained as one since I was a child. While I am on Vulcan, I am expected to escort foreign dignitaries in order to acquaint them with the area, act as a liaison between them and various facilities, and generally ensure that their visit is a pleasant as possible. Thus, I have been trained in the professional etiquette of all the major Federation species and their corresponding languages."
Curious indeed. Chris had only heard of such a thing in the most vague sense during all of his years in Starfleet. "...and science is a part of such training?" He questioned lightly, bringing his hands up behind his head to prop it up more. The edge of the duvet fell to puddle in his lap, exposing the broad chest and flat stomach only lightly affected by age.
"Not to the extent of my current research," The Vulcan's eyes unabashedly scanned his upper body. "Mandatory science education for myself concluded when I was approximately thirteen of your years. Now it is only an avocation--a 'hobby.'"
That made Chris sit up further, frowning. "...why are they letting such a gift go to waste as merely a hobby?" He could not help a very faint disgust in his tone from the sheer foolishness in the concept of throwing away such a potent mind. Starfleet was actively trying to get new minds into its science program just like this one.
Spock arched an eyebrow and also sat up more. "They decided long before my research at the Academy what my primary occupation would be."
"That doesn't mean there could be more use," Chris pointed out. He kept his tone calm, level, simply pointing out fact. "There are other places that would give the world at your feet practically to have you working with them," Even without knowing the full extent of the Vulcan's education, he could already see him as a potential asset.
"I am certain that there are others they would rather collaborate with," Spock moved his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. "Are you ready for breakfast, Christopher?"
For now, Chris was content to let it drop. All he could do was attempt persuasion, but in the end it would be entirely Spock's choice. At least the young Vulcan would know that there was more, that there was a choice if he so desired it. "Breakfast... would be lovely." He said finally, working his body to the edge of the bed so he could sit there, stretching his upper body out. The muscles corded along his back as he worked the kinks from them and bit back a hiss. This is what you get for acting like a twenty year old, Chris.
By the sounds of various buttons being pressed, Spock was activating the communication console embedded into the top of that bedside cabinet, and then dialogue followed that Chris did not understand.
"Moi loma, wuh'rak poprahek ro itisha," said a young male voice from the other end of the communication.
"Spohkh ro itisha," Spock responded in his usual tone. "Wani ra nina asal-yem ro seisha."
"Travek ta?"
"Terra no...slor, ha."
"Wani ra ken-torsha."
"Nemaiyo," Spock ended the communication. The covers rustled, and Spock walked into sight from the side. He slid smoothly to his knees on the carpet beside Chris, legs folded underneath him, hands flat on his thighs. "Christopher, I must inquire about a detail of last night."
Chris looked to Spock, hesitantly disliking the pose but from the sense of it, it was something Spock was very much trained to do, and thus said nothing of it. "Anything," He said encouragingly, scratching his chest lightly.
"Is your mind unharmed from the point of release?" A blunt question, almost said too quickly; Spock looked to the floor.
The odd phrasing made Chris hesitate, but finally he said cautiously, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Unharmed? He...felt fine, other then maybe having pulled out his back which would please Phillip to no end, he was sure.
Spock took a slow breath. "There was a moment, when we were together last night, where you developed dual senses directly preceding orgasm. Do you recall this?"
Very much so. It was something someone could not ever forget. In fact, it pulled a twist of a smirk to Chris' lips. "...oh yes. I remember quite distinctly."
"Then you will remember the sensation of a mental burn," Spock's fingers curled towards his palms. "Do you feel as if you were in any way harmed by this sensation?"
Chris' head tilted very slightly as he listened closely. He did not remember anything that was painful, burning, or in any other way could be classified as 'harmed'. But from the tiny motions, he had a feeling... Spock was worried. "Spock," Spoken gently yet a light command. Only when the Vulcan looked up did he speak, "I am fine. It was one of the most..." He was having trouble picking out a single word, "Intimate moments of my life," The word unsure, as he was not one to let himself divulge in romantic stuff like this.
Spock's gaze didn't hold long; it shifted down to settle on Chris' hands. "I ask...because it was not my place to force you to endure it."
One broad hand came out and brushed Spock's cheek, curling under the jaw. "There was no force, no enduring. It was wonderful, something... I could do again, without second thought," He hoped to alliviate some of those concerns, and it seemed to work. Tension relaxed away from those slim shoulders, and Spock looked up at him again.
"Then I must also request that you not reveal it to anyone," One of Spock's hands came up to brush his, the one touching the Vulcan's jaw. "It is not standard protocol, as you may say...and I would be chastised for it."
The request was accepted with a small nod. "I will not, if you would indulge a few questions on the subject?" His tone carefully measured to indicate he would keep the 'secret' no matter what, and that Spock had the option to say no to his own request.
"Of course," Spock rose from his position on the floor--its purpose obviously served--to sit next to Chris on the bed. "What are your questions?"
"Touch-telepaths," He started off with, watching Spock closely. The young, nubile body reminded him of his own, and for a moment he was almost self-conscious of the differences between their bodies. "It stems from any touch, or must it be through the hands, or skin to skin?" It was something only vaguely known. Vulcans did not shake hands or permit contact during any meeting. They are a culture of the mind and are thus limited on physical contact. He could remember someone teaching him in the past. Not quite right, it seemed. They had the idea, but not the truth. He wondered then if it was a true cultural unknown or something that was actually requested to be glanced over in Academy teachings by the Vulcans themselves. A very possible option, that last part.
"It can stem from any touch, though the clarity of any thoughts relies on the openness of the mind and the location. We may touch by accident," Spock's knee gently shifted to touch his, but that's all it was: a touch. "And there is no transfer because I have maintained my mental barriers. If lowered," There was a distant thought creeping into his mind, a lingering feeling of pride, but about what or to what degree was unknown. "Then there may be some minor impressions," Spock moved his knee away, breaking that physical contact.
"The hands are more sensitive," Spock's fingers gently lay over his forearm, warm against his skin. "And so indistinct thoughts come without the need to completely dismantle the shields," The question of how good the french toast would this morning slipped into his mind from seemingly nowhere. "However, if I allow myself..." Spock's fingers moved up his arm and closed over his wrist.
Then I may transmit my thoughts more clearly, Those fingers released his wrist. "But it does leave the mind vulnerable to outside influences."
"On both parts?" Chris asked, a certain sense of awe in his voice. It truly was amazing, how Spock's thoughts came through that momentary physical connection as if they were his own, yet tinged with a certain flavor that made them completely alien. "I assume it could be equally dangerous to both parties," His hand moved to lightly caress over the back of Spock's, running his fingertips down the long digits in a way, human or Vulcan, was a bit seductive.
"...yes," Spock said after a pause, staring down at their hands. Those barriers Spock mentioned must have been up, as there were no thoughts passing through. "Such as last night: I could have overwhelmed you or altered your mind accidentally."
"Then I suppose a thank you is in order for doing neither," Chris said easily. "Considering that I feel fine this morning, it is a procedure I would have not even a moment of hesitation in repeating," The tip of a finger curled around one of Spock's, caressing slowly. Even more so, he wished he could talk Spock into coming with him. The idea of actually learning more about the people they were allied with... there had never been a Vulcan in the Starfleet Academy, as far as his memory told him.
"Christopher," Spock's other hand came over his, stopping his caress by sandwiching his hand underneath a hot palm. "There is another reason that Vulcans do not shake hands, but breakfast is likely to arrive in the next thirty-four minutes," The Vulcan looked up at him, and he could see the fading traces of jade on those cheeks. "I would like to administer your shower, first, and then we may discuss the finer details of Vulcan erogenous zones."
A blink. "Erogenous... zones..." Very, very slowly a grin spread over his lips. Well now, that was an interesting bit of news. Chris stood up, careful of his back, and turned his hand so that he captured Spock's own. He brought their hands up to his mouth and kissed the edge of one slender finger, just the tiniest hint of tongue caressing. "Administer. Come on, then." He let his voice drop down into that deeper baritone with a hint of command to it.
Spock led him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, which was a modern yet elegant mixture of technology and ancient decor. The one important thing was that everything seemed to be made of white marble, and there many strange Vulcan symbols placed on the walls, on the bottoms of the sink and the tub, on the ceiling. The bathtub was wide and round, enough for a full grown man to easily lie along the bottom of it, and there were multiple shower heads curving out from the walls and the ceiling above. Below this was a smooth shelf, set into the wall, that wrapped all the way around; it had numerous bottles of all different colours, brushes, cloths, and several new soap bars.
When Spock opened the door to reach in and fiddle with the faucets, the glass immediately changed to become mirrored on the exterior. As the water poured from the shower heads, it became clear that they had been placed in such a way as to give a thorough soaking as possible without needing to turn, the spray coming from all sides, falling from the top like rain. Spock stepped in, staying on the relatively dry outer circumference, and reached out a hand to touch the water, and then, apparently satisfied, looked at Chris expectantly.
Chris wasted no time in joining Spock in the spray, closing his eyes as the hot water hit him from every side as he stepped within its range. It soaked down over his body, wetting his hair, darkening the hair along his chest and down between his thighs. The heat was the perfect temperature without even the need of adjustment. He stretched slightly, then turned his gaze on Spock. Perhaps it should have all seemed awkward, after all it had been far too long since he had showered with someone and a damned first for showering with someone he had only met the night before, but somehow it seemed natural enough. Maybe that was all part of Spock's gifts, or maybe it was hard to feel awkward with someone after sharing a single mind even if it was only for a moment.
Spock grabbed a washcloth from the shelf, dampened it in the spray, moved around to grab one of the bottles, and poured a generous amount of the viscous liquid into his cloth-covered hand. After applying some friction to the soap, causing some of it to foam, Spock stepped up to him, into the spray. The cloth passed over his chest with a gentle pressure. Chris enjoyed the feel of it, even though he could surely say that he had not been bathed by someone else since he was five years old, but did not take the opportunity standing idle. His hands came up and slowly traveled across Spock's skin, enjoying the feel of it slicked by water. It was so smooth, without sign of scar or marking other then the piercing. Beautiful.
An amusement filtered through into his mind that tasted familiar but foreign; Spock's hand that did not have the washcloth had been resting on his arm, near his elbow. After washing down his chest and his abdomen, Spock moved around to his back, always one hand in contact with his skin while the washcloth cleaned with constant, even pressure. With his back done, Spock concentrated on his arms but avoided his hands. There was a brief break to pour more soap on the cloth, and then Spock returned--squatting with perfect balance, began to attend to his lower body, but avoiding the most obvious area, like he had his hands. The whole process was a mixture of enjoyment, relaxation, and amusement. He calmly allowed Spock to do as he would, watching the Vulcan with a heavy gaze. Spock had been doing this for some time, from the look of it. He only briefly let himself wonder how many times Spock had done these same things with other visitors. It was a rude thing to even think, so it was pushed aside.
Chris brought his hand down and slid his fingertips through the wet black strands of hair, wanting to caress the entirety of the younger man's body. At the touch, Spock glanced up, but said nothing nor stopped his motions. A minute more passed before Spock rose to his feet and set the washcloth aside. Using bare hands, Spock washed the soapy residue from his body, and then progressed to the next stage. From a smaller bottle grabbed off the shelf, a dark red liquid poured out onto Spock's bare palm. It changed to orange as Spock rubbed it between his hands. With falling water still the only sound in the tub, Spock took Chris' hand between two of his and began to massage it, working the smooth soap into his skin.
Even without the new found knowledge of just what the hands were to the Vulcans, it still would have been erotic. The way Spock's fingers caressed over his, worked down lightly into the muscle, the tenderness of it. So while he had the chance, Chris brought up his other hand and mimicked Spock carefully, fingers curling together through the slippery texture that the soap provided. A rich scent came around them both from the chosen product - earthen, with a lightly spicy scent that was almost bitter. It reminded Chris of Vulcan itself.
The sharp breath that passed Spock's lips was almost, almost swallowed by the roar of the shower, but just enough of it did reach his ears. Spock took both of his hands separately, parting them with a thumb massaging circles into each of his palms. Then, with fingertips rolling over his knuckles, hands held out to the sides now, Spock pressed up to him and kissed him, quiet and affectionate. A thought, not his own, bubbled up briefly that this was not something the Vulcan did for everyone. There was a flare of pride and respect that rose up in Chris' chest with that thought; it pleased him deeply. He returned the kiss, keeping it that same level of gentle affection without letting it go more deeply as his body was lightly urging him to do. Years ago, he probably would have already had Spock pressed up against the mirrored glass of the shower. The feeling of their hands pressed together seemed as raw and intimate as the press of their full bodies. Or maybe it was a passing concept coming from Spock, but who cared?
Eventually, Spock drew away and washed the soap from his hands, rubbing each one gently under the spray, and then moved off to the shelf again. A few long moments passed for Spock's final decision, until a bottle of a swirling blue-and-white soap was picked out. It foamed an azure blue between Spock's hands, which still moved together as Spock stepped up to him. The Vulcan's eyes did not waver from his face as those hands lowered, slid around his cock and under his balls--touches not exactly clinical, as Spock's eyes seemed to be almost daring him to keep his composure during this. Chris' eyes went wide only for a split second before recognizing the challenge in Spock's eyes. He held that gaze as he felt those deft fingers manipulating him. He slowly started to react to those skilled fingers, but he kept his face calm. Harder to hide his emotions that could easily stream with their touch. Even as he kept his body calm, his mind rushed with the slow build of pleasure.
Neither did Spock seem to have any intent on showing him mercy. Those hands, hot as they were last night, stroked him leisurely, long fingers wrapped neatly around his length; his balls were fondled between a soapy palm and soft fingertips. Through it all, Spock never looked away, hardly even blinked as they watched him, and Chris returned it all. He kept his gaze firmly locked to Spock's, letting everything he felt simply stream between them. The only time his composure failed as at the moment of release, where his eyes closed for a moment, lips parted, a breath shuddered from him.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, with Chris asking more about Spock himself, casually hinting on the possibility of Spock coming back with him without pushing the subject. The food, no surprise, was absolutely wonderful. All in all, extremely enjoyable. Chris dressed with Spock's aid, allowing it though it was rather strange, into his normal uniform. He would have sworn that he saw a look of appreciation from the thol'es-kafeh after the golden command shirt was slid over his head and settled into place. Chris watched the pale body as it was covered by the concealing clothing yet again, but the faintest touch of a smile did not leave his lips. Hard to be in a bad mood after having a night like that.
Only when the golden sash with the strange symbols wrapped securely around his waist again did Spock look up at him again. "You may transport back to your ship from the hotel lobby provided you have your communicator, Christopher, or you may ride with me back to the Reception Hall, and transport from there."
A thought passed through Chris' mind, something that seemed almost sneaky. He watched Spock for a long moment, thumbing the communicator where it sat neatly on his belt. "Perhaps, Spock, before we leave orbit, you would like to come for a tour of the ship?" He kept his face as carefully neutral as he dared, but there was a light sense of pride in his voice. He and the Excalibur had been together for a long time. Despite the crafting designs of the new ship that he had underway, he had a feeling his mind would keep the concept of 'home' locked to the beautiful ship orbiting right now.
Spock's eyes widened slightly before his gaze dropped to the floor. "...if you would not find it too troublesome," Another almost-hesitation before Spock added, "You are aware that recompense is unnecessary for my services?"
"This isn't recompense," Chris informed immediately, "This is merely an offer. I'm proud of my lady, and enjoy getting any chance to show her off," Only a tiny bit of a lie. It was not recompense, no, but it was also not fully a matter of pride. He pulled out his communicator and called into it, "Pike to Excalibur."
"Excalibur here, sir."
"Two to beam up on my mark."
"Yes, Captain."
Chris flipped the communicator shut and looked to Spock. His lips quirked slightly, "Do you need to tell anyone that you're going?" The last thing he wanted to do was get the kid in trouble.
"As long as we do not leave orbit," Spock glanced up at him again. "My location is only of your concern."
A slight nod of the head, and Chris bent down to pick up the small over night bag that had been beamed down previously. "Then let's go," He said easily, walking out of the room and out to the elevator; Spock walked alongside. He wondered if perhaps showing a small part of what Starfleet offered would add value to his previous suggestions to Spock. The Excalibur was a respectable ship in every area, though she would not hold a candle to what he had been developing.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby that looked quite different with the added touch of sunlight, which shown through with various intensities at every other level of the central atrium, giving it a strange, spiraling staircase of orange-red light that climbed all the way to the top. Some of the rays hit the decorative centerpieces on the ground level and mirrored their way spectacularly through their jeweled, glass containers. Chris took a moment to admire the beauty the Vulcans had created. It was as if they were making up for the dull colors and plain aspects of the desert planet they lived on by creating such beauty within their walls. After talking to somebody at the front desk--the young male Vulcan he had heard during that call for breakfast--Spock led them to a particular spot, in the middle of triangle between a glass centerpiece, a bronze statue, and the waiting area (rugs and plush furniture). Then Spock looked back at him. "This should be an adequate location for transport."
Chris nodded slightly, then pulled out and flipped open the communicator, "Beam us up," He said simply, and glanced to Spock. Light wrapped around them both, dissolving molecules, and what seemed like only a breath of darkness, everything happened in reverse. The cool air of the Excalibur wrapped around them with its familiar scent and sounds as they appeared on the transporter pads. Chris took a slow breath, making sure he was there entirely, then nodded to the man behind the console. He looked over to Spock, curious as to how the Vulcan would take to everything. Had Spock ever even been beamed up from planet side to ship before?
Spock pulled slightly at the robe he was wearing and adjusted the collar of his shirt before looking over at Chris. "The tour, sir?" Ah, back to formalities.
"This way," Chris gestured lightly, and started the tour. There was no doubting the pride in his step or in his voice as he spoke about the ship and what she provided. Of course, he did not plan for them to go on a near-straight but impossible to tell route down to the science lab. Of course not. But, as long as they were down there... "Our science lab," Chris gestured for Spock to enter, hands tucked behind his own back as he watched several people glance up from their work, acknowledging who had entered, and went straight back to work. In the distance, he could hear Richard barking out an order.
After stepping in to the labs, to stand beside Chris, Spock said nothing for at least a minute. Chris could see him studying the screens with experiment results on display, the equipment, the people. Maybe this would be enough, maybe...
Spock slowly turned his back to the lab. He was hanging his head a little. "Sir."
Not the reaction Chris was expecting, honestly. "Is something wrong, Spock?" He asked in a quiet tone, keeping a respect for the Vulcan's privacy.
Spock looked up at him, dark eyes sharp with something that Chris hadn't seen the entire (short) time they'd been together. "...may I speak to you alone, Captain?" The voice does not carry any farther than his ears.
"...Of course," Chris led the way to an empty conference room not that far off from the science lab. Once inside, he looked to the door, "Lock," And sat down, looking to Spock curiously. What was going through the Vulcan's mind? What was that look in the dark eyes? "...Feel free to speak openly, Spock."
Spock lingered by the door for a moment longer than necessary before taking a seat beside him. Long, pale fingers folded together on the surface of the conference table, but whatever calm they were meant to convey lost to the much more obvious tension. "Sir, I must ask that you refrain from doing this," Spock's voice tightened marginally, not the calm, confident tone of before.
He was no fool. He knew the game was up, and yet--"Refrain from what?" He kept his tone calm, body language relaxed. He was very curious how Spock would react to that 'innocent' response.
"Tempting me into believing that I may have a life different from the one I have so far maintained," Spock did not look up at him. "You know I will never have the opportunity to work in that laboratory, and it is cruel to suggest that I would."
It was not the response Chris had been expecting. In fact, it made him thinking silently for several moments to gather a response of his own. Finally, he spoke honestly. "I don't claim to know Vulcan culture enough to fully understand your position. I do know, however, that people in a possible similar circumstance have ended up in Starfleet," The words were so very carefully chosen. Chris leaned forward, putting less distance between himself and Spock, looking to the young man's face. His voice was almost a challenge. "If you so desired to achieve a different life, to have one of your own, you could do so. Sometimes obtaining what you desire means leaving behind what you have."
Spock leaned away from him, farther back in the chair, hands falling from the table to the lap. "No, I cannot. I could not. My desires are irrelevant, if they existed. I cannot."
"They exist," Chris said immediately, "I saw them, there in the Vulcan Science Academy. I've felt them in my head," He touched his temple to make a point. "Do not ever let yourself believe they don't exist. If that is all I can leave you with, then it's worth it," His eyes were both hard and warm at the same time, trying to make his point.
"Such desires are a liability," Spock retorted, hands clenched tightly together in his lap. "They impede my ability to serve and it is only due to my inexperience that they remain. If I allowed them to linger they would beget--discontent--"
"Discontent in who? Yourself...whomever you are working for?" Chris watched Spock closely, studying his reactions, what little he could see. "The inexperience you speak of...I can only guess comes from the Vulcan ideals of logic and being as emotionless as possible, even though you've clearly proven to me that you do feel."
"There is 'feeling,' some of which is necessary, and there is selfishly reaching for the unattainable. If I am not working as thol'es-kafeh, Christopher, I am no more than a parasite upon my planet, and one that will not leech for long," Spock took a breath. "Can you comprehend the danger I face, if I lose enthusiasm for the only thing I am allowed to do? I have no other place in this universe, no other purpose, and certainly not in this armada. Though your offer is generous, and I thank you for it."
Anyone who knew Christopher Pike would know the buttons that speech had pushed. He reached out and grasped Spock's chin lightly, tilting his gaze so their eyes met. "You have a place in the universe that's a greater purpose then the one you're currently filling. Do not ever think of yourself as a possible parasite. If your people are so blind that they can't see the gem they have in the dirt, you need to remember that there are people out there, right here on this ship, that will point out their folly. Do you understand?" Not that he doubted Spock would understand the words themselves, but worried Vulcan upbringing might miss the truth that laid behind them.
"Christopher, please," Fingers came up to curl around his wrist. "Do not distract me with grandeur and self-importance. They know exactly who I am and what my abilities are, and for that, I am granted my profession. Trust me when I say there is nothing else."
"There's only nothing else if you give up on yourself," Chris replied with slightly narrowed eyes.
A long silence. "...you are assuming that I have an identity to resign."
"You do have one, even if it is only the one you hold inside your self," On this he would not relent. What had the Vulcans' forced into this young man's head!? Such a lack of self-respect, of pride, to the point of believing his career (which seemed forced upon him) was his only identity?!
"In which case it should be sequestered for my own benefit. No one would appreciate such individualism from me."
A flicker down at their touching skin before he spoke again. "There are places that appreciate individualism," Chris said quietly, meaning it. "In the end, it's your choice, Spock. But know that you have that choice," He slowly released Spock's chin, knowing in the end only the Vulcan could make the decision about his own life. To this, Spock simply nodded once, but wouldn't meet his eyes again. Conflict, maybe, but the lack of protest hinted that perhaps some of it had gotten through. Chris let out a slow breath, then stood up. "Do you want to go back planetside now?" He offered quietly.
"Not at the moment," Spock answered, standing as well, eyes still downcast. "I would like to see your engineering decks, if you do not mind."
Chris was silent for a long moment, then his smile returned, "Come have a look," He unlocked the door, then led Spock down below to the engineering decks. It was always a place Chris felt good walking through, in the bowels of his ship where her hum could be heard as well as felt. "...I have been working on plans for a brand new starship." He spoke softly with a genuine smile. "They are nearly complete. We'll start getting supplies to build her in the near future," Indeed, Spock was just too easy to talk to.
At the moment, the Vulcan was fixated on one of the warp cores, staring at the glow that could be seen of it through the protective encasement, hands leisurely folded behind the back. "Is this ship defective in some way?"
Confused, Chris looked to Spock, "Hardly. She's in great shape," Then what Spock must have meant clicked. "I've been on quite a few long term missions, and there are certain things that I've always wanted to add to the Excalibur to improve on her that simply can't be done," In his mind, he brought up the blue prints in his mind of the beautiful new ship that had just recently gotten its approval.
"And your crew?" Spock glanced at him, looked at the warp core one last time, before stepping to his side again. "Do you plan to transfer personnel, or enlist new officers?"
"Both." Came the immediate response, as if it was something Chris had been thinking about in the not too distant past. In fact, he had been thinking on that very subject in the past few days. "...I have a very loyal crew, Spock. We have been working together for more then fifteen years. But some of them... are starting to look forward to retirement or want to stop wandering and be with their families. Those that wish to transfer will be encouraged to... those that don't, I will personally make sure they end up where they want to be. Some will be new recruits. I plan to make sure that the best of the best end up in that crew," He wanted to work with a mix of those he was familiar with, who could teach a new generation, as well as molding newly minted officers to up hold the same strong values his current crew did.
"So that you may captain over the most exceptional crew in Starfleet," Spock studied him while saying his half-questioning statement, as if trying to solve something about him. "They will give you all of this?"
Chris was silent as he stared into the warp core, then spoke quietly, "They know my record, they know the results I get, they know the loyalty of my crew. They've allowed me a freedom few get to create this new ship, and have allowed me freedom to chose my crew. I wouldn't have agreed to create or captain her if I couldn't."
As he spoke, a warm arm curled around his. Slow, almost tentative, giving him the chance to stop it before a pale hand laid over command gold. There was no one to see them, in this part of the deck. "Then you plan to do this--this exploration and related activities--for many years to come? Until you are unable to?"
Dark eyes looked down at the arm against his, but Chris did not pull away. "What would I do if I retired, Spock? I would, without a doubt, go insane. Being in one location too long after years of being in space, going to its outer reaches and beyond? Space is my home, my ship is my home. Until I'm no longer able to captain a ship, I'll be doing it. Even then, I imagine I'll still be working with Starfleet. Also plan to make sure I'll be an old, old man before that happens." The idea of being tied to one place for too long sounded like a fate worse then death.
"You appear to have everything else under command," Spock noted quietly. "I would be surprised if your plans did not all come to fruition."
"...I have under command what I'm capable of commanding," Chris turned his head to look at the Vulcan beside him. "Sometimes, that's all we have," His gaze went back out, and his lips parted to say something else, but his communicator chirped at him. He pulled it out with his free hand and flipped it open, "Pike here."
"We're ready to leave orbit, Captain."
"Thank you. We'll leave when I return to the bridge."
"We'll be waiting for you."
He closed the communicator and looked to Spock, offering a small smile, "...This looks like the end of our time together," A very faint tone of disappointment.
"Apparently so," The arm around his was smoothly, if a little reluctantly, drawn away. "Thank you for the tour...Christopher."
"It was my pleasure." Admitted freely and readily. Chris began to guide Spock back towards the transporter room, but paused outside of it. "I hope you'll think about what I've said, Spock. I meant every word."
"I will definitely consider it, though you know I cannot guarantee any change on my behalf," Spock told him, meeting his gaze; that sharp-something was gone, replaced with his usual confident ease. When they stepped into the transporter room, Spock parted from him with something that was probably scripted, memorized, but had all the feeling of being genuine, even if it was just something at the back of his mind. "I hope you enjoyed your visit to Vulcan, Captain Pike. We await your return," Then Spock was gone, carried away by the beams of light.
Trees and blue sky and the soothing sound of water falling over water came together piece by piece, along with the smell of the bay, the shine of sunlight reflected by water and white stone. A warm body sitting close to his, a warm arm laid over his, hot fingers gently pressed to his cheek, to his temple, above his brow, near his chin. All of his senses sharpened until the environment became clear around him, where he was, when he was, and who he was sitting next to. When the world stopped unveiling itself, those fingers drew away, bringing their heat with them; the cool bay breeze washed away any lingering sensation of warmth on his skin.
Falling clear of the mind-meld that had brought up a clear memory of his first time on Vulcan, his first time meeting Spock, was not easy. Chris shuddered, his eyes remaining closed as he pulled himself together. Wetness gleamed on his cheeks, along Spock's fingers, and it shocked Chris to realize he must have been crying. His eyes opened with that fact, looking to the half-Vulcan in front of him. He said nothing, because there was nothing to be immediately said. Spock had relived every moment of it through his eyes, hearing his thoughts as it had occurred that very day in detail even Chris knew he would not consciously remember. Instead, Chris shifted enough to bring his own hand up to Spock's face, laying the palm against the younger man's cheek, and tried to pull together the remains of his own dignity.
Spock's hand pressed over his, and Spock tilted his head slightly nearer to his palm, eyes always locked with his. The thought that slid into his mind, not so foreign as it had been that first time, was layered with something heartfelt, almost--emotional: Thank you.
There's no need to thank me. Chris said quietly, keeping his eyes fixated on Spock's. I...how far you've come. He finally finished lamely, unsure of what to say to everything they had both just remembered.
One of Spock's fingers gently ghosted back-and-forth over one of his; a small show of affection, one Spock never did unless no one was watching. I only wish I could have escaped from Vulcan without its destruction. A brief flare of that pain-anger-despair one would expect from witnessing a home planet destroyed, before it was skillfully reined back.
Saying I'm sorry means nothing. Chris said. All I can do is offer a place to come when you have no where else.
Chapter Five, Part A