Fic: Phthora logos (Passing Away of Reason)
So here's my first foray into writing something for the fandom of Star Trek. My knowledge of it only extends from a few episodes of TOS, a couple novels, the first six movies, and the new 2009 movie. If you haven't seen the 2009 movie, I guess this would be classified as having a few spoilers. The title is supposed to be ancient Greek (I'm a nerd sorry.)
Title: Phthora logos (Passing Away of Reason)
Fandom: Star Trek XI, nuTrek, Star Trek Reboot (is that all?)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Relationship status: Preslash
Rating: PG-13ish for briefly mentioned violence and D/s themes
Word Count: 370
Summary: A look at what was running through Spock's mind while choking the life out of Kirk.
Disclaimer: I do not own. I make no money.
It was barbaric, shameful, and a testament to his own inherent weakness.
He could not bring himself to care.
The principles and teachings of Surak, those fundamental tools he had struggled so much to master from birth, were abandoned between one heartbeat and the next as his control snapped, his body reacting to the burning of raging fury that originated from what filth the human Kirk had dared to speak to him
Raining blows down upon the one who had challenged him, his assault came to a head with a hand firmly clasped around the other’s combatant’s throat.
Primal euphoria overtakes his body with information streaming into his mind; the temperature of the human’s skin, the pulse thrumming against the sensitive skin of his fingers, sensing the disoriented and racing emotions of the fragile human’s mind.
Something inside him, buried in the darkest recesses of his mind, thrills at having the human’s life in his hands, both literally and figuratively, to have complete control over another.
He glories in the ancient struggle of bodies and wills, domination and submission, the testing of strength and virility, as the human grasps a hand over his own in a feeble and doomed attempt to wrest back control.
The human’s futile struggling only causes the fires of his rage to swell and rise, the sudden urge to show all those watching that this human was his, his to conquer, to own unfurling within his body and branching out in an all encompassing wave.
To fight and claim; body, breath, and will as his.
It is his father’s voice, foreign in its obvious tone of reprimand that brings the return of logic and numbing of the emotions that had just previously been displayed. However, though the emotion in the tone was the catalyst for the return to logical thought, there was also the underlying threat of another male, a potential threat, attempting to make claim on what was his.
The explosive rage and animalistic urges had been successfully buried, but they had not been purged. Instead they lingered near the surface, their remembered stimulation a constant hum in the back of his thoughts.
The ancient urges had been awoken.
And they yearned, burned for more.
Title: Phthora logos (Passing Away of Reason)
Fandom: Star Trek XI, nuTrek, Star Trek Reboot (is that all?)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Relationship status: Preslash
Rating: PG-13ish for briefly mentioned violence and D/s themes
Word Count: 370
Summary: A look at what was running through Spock's mind while choking the life out of Kirk.
Disclaimer: I do not own. I make no money.
It was barbaric, shameful, and a testament to his own inherent weakness.
He could not bring himself to care.
The principles and teachings of Surak, those fundamental tools he had struggled so much to master from birth, were abandoned between one heartbeat and the next as his control snapped, his body reacting to the burning of raging fury that originated from what filth the human Kirk had dared to speak to him
Raining blows down upon the one who had challenged him, his assault came to a head with a hand firmly clasped around the other’s combatant’s throat.
Primal euphoria overtakes his body with information streaming into his mind; the temperature of the human’s skin, the pulse thrumming against the sensitive skin of his fingers, sensing the disoriented and racing emotions of the fragile human’s mind.
Something inside him, buried in the darkest recesses of his mind, thrills at having the human’s life in his hands, both literally and figuratively, to have complete control over another.
He glories in the ancient struggle of bodies and wills, domination and submission, the testing of strength and virility, as the human grasps a hand over his own in a feeble and doomed attempt to wrest back control.
The human’s futile struggling only causes the fires of his rage to swell and rise, the sudden urge to show all those watching that this human was his, his to conquer, to own unfurling within his body and branching out in an all encompassing wave.
To fight and claim; body, breath, and will as his.
It is his father’s voice, foreign in its obvious tone of reprimand that brings the return of logic and numbing of the emotions that had just previously been displayed. However, though the emotion in the tone was the catalyst for the return to logical thought, there was also the underlying threat of another male, a potential threat, attempting to make claim on what was his.
The explosive rage and animalistic urges had been successfully buried, but they had not been purged. Instead they lingered near the surface, their remembered stimulation a constant hum in the back of his thoughts.
The ancient urges had been awoken.
And they yearned, burned for more.