Fic: Agkaliazo trela (Embrace Madness)
Finally I have a large enough chunk of free weekend to get this continuation done. This is a sequel to Phthora logos and is from Jim's POV. I have a third and final part planned to make this a trilogy.
Title: Agkaliazo trela (Embrace Madness)
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Relationship status: Preslash
Rating: PG-13ish for briefly mentioned violence and D/s themes
Word Count: 434
Summary: A look at what was running through Kirk's mind while having the life choked out of him.
Disclaimer: I do not own. I make no money.
It was dangerous, insane, and proof of his typical reckless planning.
He should be freaking out right now.
Hell, he should be fighting back, giving all he’s got back at the Vulcan officer instead of letting himself be pummeled and thrown about, pinned down to a console and choked within an inch of his life.
He’s good at fighting, it being one of the only things he’s good at, along with flirting and finding unusually sneaky ways to get out of things. Fighting has always been his best way to deal with the world from his past to people’s expectations. Better to go out swinging on his own terms than wait for someone else to flip the anti-gravity switch off on you.
So it’s not his usual MO that has him following some senile Vulcan’s advice to allow his younger alternate reality’s ‘emotionally compromised’ self to beat the shit out of him and start strangling his windpipe.
Pulse racing, heart pounding with adrenaline, and body loudly protesting with pain, his throat steadily giving in to the pressure the crazy-eyed Vulcan is dishing out, he can’t help but think that if this actually does kill him, at least he’ll go down having gotten some reaction out of the uptight Vulcan.
Now instead of fighting, he could feel his body caving in to the force being applied to it, his hand over the one cutting off his supply of air his body’s only defense, and apparently a useless one at that from his increasing difficulty of drawing in air.
As his vision begins to go blurry, his can’t keep his thoughts from focusing on the power being displayed to him and he feels horror in his mind when he realizes that he’s actually getting hard from it.
Though his mind places blame on it being an effect of asphyxiation, the true cause is far more brutal.
Some deep, primal part of him revels in the forced submission; in finally giving up control to one whose strength overwhelms his own and to find a challenger worthy of his submission.
Even as the hands suddenly leave his throat and he lies still for several moments, breathing in wheezing gasps that make him sound and look like just another whore with a pretty face, his body is still running high on the spike of lust and adrenaline the struggle gave him
He can’t help but picture what having all that power and challenge would feel like directed at him, just in bed instead of slammed up against a console.
He knows he shouldn’t
But he can’t help but wonder.