Inheritance
Rating: NC-17
Ships: Kirk/Spock Prime, Kirk/Spock Prime/Spock, Kirk/Spock
Word Count: ~3600
Warnings: graphic porn, rimming, double penetration, character death
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Spock Prime realizes he must relinquish his lover to his younger self.
Inheritance
He comes to you whenever his ship is in orbit around New Vulcan. Starfleet sends its flagship with regularity if not frequency, a show of solidarity. The Enterprise crew offer their hands and backs and expertise in the effort to rebuild, and Jim climbs into your bed after long talks with politicians and diplomats about the logic of pacifism. There is growing unrest in the colony: controls stripped by tragedy, an entire population swallowed by space, many Vulcans blindly seek revenge. You raise your voice against the rising tide, but you are no one here. You are not even welcome in your father’s house. You are vrekasht, outcast, until Jim comes back between long stretches of border patrols and first contacts and star mappings. You fold his golden, vibrant body, so long missed, into your arms and sink into the cool oblivion of his affections.
When you are alone here, on this world whose colors are too bright, whose air is slightly too humid, you hole up in the laboratories - the ones your father’s people built immediately after erecting safe shelter. Their priorities are always bent toward the acquisition of knowledge, even in the face of extinction. You find this admirable, if a bit sad. You are human enough in your old age that you can admit this. You go days without sleep, ensconced in your experiments with wormholes and temporal folds. You have witnessed so many accidents with time - can you now control how it bends and warps enough to return to a universe where Vulcan still orbits Eridani, proud and austere? You are also human enough to cede occasionally to wild hope.
The Enterprise arrives again as your experiments gain some attention as a possible weapon against the Romulan Empire. You prefer your lab to meeting halls, but sometimes when you duck your head in, Jim is pontificating at a high volume, and the Vulcans surrounding him are looking decidedly pinched. It amuses you.
Your counterpart watches you with Jim from the periphery. You remember being that controlled, but you wonder if your eyes always gave you away as his do. Sometimes you catch his gaze, a hateful, burning thing, and you quirk an eyebrow at him. On one such occasion, he refuses to view this as a dismissal.
“You are selfish,” he says as he follows you into an empty lab, “to lay claim to that which cannot be yours.”
“Jim makes his own choices.” You bend over your workspace, back to this young, angry you.
“You have coerced him somehow, snertau-veh, interloper. You do not belong here.”
You make meaningless notes on the substance you are tentatively calling “pink matter.” That amuses you, too.
“The latter is true,” you say mildly. “But that is not why you are here, harassing me with your pitiable lack of control.”
“Pitiable-”
“You are here to tell me that I do not belong with him.” You straighten abruptly and whirl to face yourself. The other you is rigid and veritably vibrating with contained rage. You feel… you feel too much, looking at him. “You are here to tell me that I have no right to what is yours.”
Your counterpart’s expression snaps closed. He tightens his limbs about the straight column of his body.
“He is not mine.”
“You wish him to be.”
There is silence until:
“As the humans are fond of saying - you had your chance.”
You smile at him. You have no qualms about this anymore. You are too old. You have loved and grieved too deeply for such a concession to trouble you any longer.
“Yes,” you tell this younger you. “And you know that I am selfish because you recognize it in yourself. I would take any chance. All chances, to be with him.”
“At my expense?”
You consider him. You recognize an old defiance there. Your heart, where you’ve come to accept that your softer feelings metaphorically spring from, aches for him, for this miserable, motherless version of yourself. You remember isolation and solitude at his age, but not the incapacitating fury of losing far more than a planet. And not the knowledge that someone had usurped your place in your t’hy’la’s bed and mind. Nevertheless, you say,
“He approached you. You rejected him. Only then did he come to me. You had your chance as well, Spock.”
He gives himself away with a swallow and a minute frown, a clenching of his fists at his sides.
“I doubted his sincerity and questioned his ability to practice fidelity. It was my gravest misjudgment.”
“And now you are here not to call me selfish and sentimental, and not to denounce my union with Jim. You are here to beg me to step aside. And you know it is too much to ask.”
He is silent. Silent and bleak.
“Yes,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Yes, please, elder.”
You turn back around to face the pink matter. You can feel him behind you, his presence reduced to waves of heat and pain and frustration. Tonight, you think, making one last calculation, is as good a night as any.
You are naked when Jim arrives well after the evening meal. He is tired, but he shoots you a lascivious grin and makes haste out of his clothing. His body never ceases to please you: firm and strong and smooth and young. You remember a time when it softened and expanded, bits sagging and wrinkling, and you worshiped it then, too, still tender and violent in love. He greets you with his customary enthusiasm, a wet mouth open against yours, his arms slung around your neck.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he declares when he pulls away. You are propped against the wall, and he is straddling you, his half-hard phallus lolling against the quiescent length of yours. His knees tighten around your hips and he rocks into the contact. Your hands trace a lazy map of his back, his buttocks.
“It is pleasing to see you, as well, my Jim.”
He sighs and leans in for another kiss. His hands come up to tangle in your hair, to fondle the tips of your ears. He was always so fond of them.
“Did you do anything interesting today?”
“I had a breakthrough in my experiments. I will provide you with an explanation later.”
“Eager, Spock?” The honeyed tones of Jim’s lustful accusation ignite your loins.
“Always.”
Conversation ends and you apply more force in your kisses, in the press of your hands. All of his vast skin, its freckles and downy golden hairs and the feeling of love-satisfaction-sadness-lust-jealousy seeping from it are yours for tonight. You squeeze your cocks together and suck on his collarbone, his pulse point. You memorize the exact timbre of his groan, how his voice cracks when he cries out your name in benediction. You savor how perfectly his thick cock fills your mouth, and how tightly his sphincter constricts around your finger. When he comes with a hoarse grunt and a sharp twist of your hair, you moan around the load in your mouth and let it rest on your tongue before swallowing it down like the thirsty desert creature you have always been.
You rise to loom above him. He is red in the face and chest, perspiring, and his eyes cannot open through the haze of euphoria. He makes an inarticulate, guttural sound of approval, his hands coming up to flutter about your shoulders, your neck. You settle at his side. He curls into you and lays a hand on your erection, toying with it as he sighs into your chest.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he mumbles, “but I wanted to come while you were fucking me.”
“That is a complaint, Jim.”
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against your side and sends electricity through your ears, down your spine and into your penis.
“Guess you’ll just have to rectify my discontent,” he says with a firm pump of your cock. It is becoming a slick mess in Jim’s hand, your personal store of lubricant leaking copiously onto your groin and through to the mattress.
“I will,” you choke out. You stroke your hand down a strong thigh and hitch his knee up around your hip. You maneuver him again into a sitting position above and around you. Here, like this, he consumes your line of vision. He is your entire universe, and beyond his body and adoration is an infinite abyss where you refuse to exist. “But we must wait.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“A surprise.”
His smile blows blinding light through your universe. You are kissing him again, long, breathless draws of lips and tongue. You imagine you can gain your life’s sustenance just from this act of connection and the promises it holds. You have lost count of the kisses and the number of times he has pled to take you into the edifying grip of his body when your counterpart arrives in your bedroom. Jim’s back faces him, and he is oblivious to the sight he presents as he writhes atop you. Your fingertips rub teasing circles around his asshole, the insufficient pressure something he is vowing never to forgive you for. He has attained full hardness once again and grinds into your pelvis. You have always loved the abandon with which he surrenders himself to your mercies.
You watch your younger self clutch his sudden erection through his Starfleet issue trousers, overcome at the vision before him. With both hands, you spread Jim’s cheeks wide so you, this young, incredibly lucky version of you, can get a clear view of the sweet pink hole and the coarse bronze hair surrounding it. Briefly, you hate him for having his entire life and destiny unfurling long and happy before him. But Jim is in your arms, and you are giving him the finest gift in your arsenal as well, so you banish your ugly thoughts. Jim moans something filthy and ineloquent, wriggling back into your hands, crushing your hard cock against his for relief.
“Fuck, Spock, stop teasing.”
“Look back,” you tell him, your heart wringing in your side.
Jim twists around and cranes his neck. Spock stands there, arms awkward and unoccupied at his sides, hard on painfully indiscreet. A sound between a bellow and a shriek escapes Jim’s gullet.
“Fuck!” He tries to scramble to the side to hide himself, but you stop him, locking him in your embrace.
“This is your future, Jim,” you say. “Take it.”
He pivots his head to look into your face with dread and confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
Spock approaches your bed, hovering there as you share this moment with the lover who was never truly yours. You cup his face, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones in reverence.
“I am selfish in my constancy,” you say. “But I cannot trade your happiness for mine, Jim, t’hy’la, I cannot.”
You close your eyes and give over completely to the kiss. You hear your counterpart shedding his garments, and you can feel the minute weight of his hand as it ventures a stroke down Jim’s spine. You open your eyes and you see yourself, young and powerful, kneeling behind your lover, gaze and hands intent on his backside. Jim moans and pulls away from your mouth to bury his face into your neck.
“Pay kind attention to his anus, Spock,” you say, running your hands through Jim’s hair. “He is particularly fond of that.”
Your counterpart nods in a distracted manner, and you trail your hands back down to spread Jim’s ass for him. Jim is panting, small, urgent sounds filling the silence of your bedroom. You hold him tight as he writhes beneath the attentions of so clever a tongue. You begin to talk, speaking painful, beautiful truths you can no longer contain.
“You are perfect like this ashayam, perfect and glorious under my hands and mouth, yielding to me. I am powerless against such devastating beauty. I curse the time we’ve spent apart. A lifetime, my Jim, so long I’ve yearned for your touch, your mind, your mouth.”
“Spock,” Jim gasps.
“Your cooling balm,” you continue, “your love and anger. Your semen on me and your legs around me, oh, Jim.”
Jim cries out and shoves back into your counterpart’s face, one hand working furiously at his own cock. You are content to allow yours to languish, leaking against your belly.
“How I’ve missed you,” you say. “How I will miss you when you are only his.”
Jim gives a small shake of his head and grabs you, plundering your mouth. His kiss is hot and metallic, his tongue graceless, branding you. He was always marking you as his, and now is no exception. Your counterpart rises and you can feel him press his chest to Jim’s back. He is sucking red marks into Jim’s shoulders and neck. You were always branding Jim in turn.
Jim cannot contain a wail when your counterpart’s fingers slide into him. He fucks Jim’s ass sloppily with his middle and ring fingers, Jim reduced to babbling between you, and over Jim’s shoulders your eyes meet. If you expect a challenge, you are surprised not to see one. You see only staggering gratitude. For the second time in one day, you smile at this younger you.
He guides Jim’s pliant ass onto your slick, aching cock, and you and Jim both sigh at the relief of reunification. You look up into the fathomless blue of his eyes and feel awe. He begins to rise and fall on your penis, aided by your counterpart behind him, and soon he throws his head back, eyes sliding shut, surrendering to the incandescent rhythm of your coupling. Your hands, greedy sponges, absorb the feeling of his chest and his stomach, his hips and his ass and his cock, his wonder and love. You bask in the sounds he makes as he opens around your arousal, and you add your own low moans to the rising din.
“Jim,” you hear Spock say, voice rough. The name is a question, and Jim answers in the affirmative.
You hold Jim against you as he pauses in his movements. His heart flutters a nervous staccato, and you stroke his sides to calm him, making comforting, meaningless sounds. Spock flicks his eyes up to meet your gaze. You nod once. Then, you feel hot fingertips rubbing where you are connected so intimately with Jim. Spock caresses along the rim of Jim’s asshole, stretched wide around your girth. He soothes and strokes until the accommodating hole gives way enough for him to insinuate a slender finger alongside your cock. Jim mewls, and Spock is exploratory as he feels along Jim’s inner walls, relaxing the rectum with his careful ministrations.
Spock ventures another finger and Jim gasps and groans out your name. Your counterpart’s name. You know that was for him, and your hand squeezes Jim’s hip in reactive possession. You press kisses into his hair, the side of his face. You tell him how well he’s doing, how much he pleases you. He is straining to bear the intrusion, trembling in your arms and chewing on your shoulder. His arms are locked around you, and you feel, for a moment, that you have been as indispensable to him as he has been to you. You know that he will miss you, too.
Behind him, Spock lines his cock up against Jim’s slackened hole, his testicles resting against your thigh. You refuse to examine the bizarre, churning feelings that sensation inspires. When the head enters Jim’s ass tight against your own cock, Jim seizes up in your arms.
“Oh, God, Spock, I can’t, I can’t,” he says, cringing forward. You rub his back and Spock eases out.
“You can, t’hy’la,” you murmur into his ear. He turns panicked eyes on you, his face red and sweaty and beloved. “Breathe for us and bear down. Look at me.”
So trusting, Jim keeps his eyes trained on yours, and your counterpart tries again. You can feel the tight fit inside Jim’s ass as you watch him breathe through the discomfort. You hold his head and kiss his lips as Spock sinks deeper in tiny increments. A thin wail escapes Jim’s throat, but you keep his gaze. There is disbelief in those wrong-colored eyes, flickers of pain, and, finally, a wash of wonder when Spock goes still, fully inside. Jim lets out a shuddering breath and his eyes fall shut. He leans back against your counterpart, who whispers, “t’hy’la.” You watch as Jim reaches back and turns his head to kiss him for the first time, and you are struck through to the core of your being at the perfect vision they make.
“Oh, God,” passes your lips, unbidden. You have never said such a thing before, but suddenly it seems the only phrase appropriate. Your counterpart begins to rock gently, his cock and yours so tightly grasped inside Jim that no other movements are possible or advised.
Slowly, the three of you begin to undulate, finding a drugging rhythm that has Jim howling and you and your counterpart answering in helpless grunts. Jim lights in ecstasy each time the cocks inside him graze his prostate. He alternates between kissing you and kissing the younger you, and as he occupies his hands with Spock’s, you set to jacking his penis with increasing speed. He tears away from Spock’s mouth to keen, then he braces his hands on your shoulders, his head bent low. Spock is doing the majority of the fucking, and Jim gives himself up to the rhythm and the huge stretch in his ass and the hot grip around his cock. His cries stutter, and he forces you and the other Spock deeper as his orgasm blasts through him, sending his back arching, an anguished sob rending the air as he ejaculates in four thick jets into your chest hair.
The sight of him so moved in rapture triggers your own climax, and you cannot help but squeeze your eyes shut and clutch at his hips as you erupt within him. A sore note in your throat indicates that you shouted your agonized pleasure, as well.
As you blink away the haze of orgasm, you see Jim is being help upright, and behind him, Spock is thrusting with graceless jerks, moaning continuously. You feel your own semen leak out around two cocks, and then Spock is throwing himself forward and going still with a harsh cry. Hot come slathers your softening penis. He jolts as his orgasm ebbs, but Jim’s fingers locked around his anchor him.
Spock takes care extricating himself from Jim’s ass, then slides off to the side. He helps Jim off of your own cock then, pressing his fingers against the outer rim of Jim’s loose hole when Jim gives a hiss of distress. Spock settles Jim between you, casting an inscrutable look your way. You are weary and something inside you has shattered, but you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bones protesting the movement, and you get up to retrieve a few cloths and some analgesic salve. When you return, they are curled in towards each other, whispering, your t’hy’la and the version of you who belongs to him, and you let yourself feel a boundless grief before ousting it and settling back into the bed.
Jim turns to give you a warm, sated smile. He reaches out a hand and runs it down your face.
“You are amazing,” he says. “Both of you.”
Spock shakes his head though Jim cannot see it. You know what his objection is.
“Love of you has transformed us, Jim,” you say.
“It is you who are amazing,” your younger self adds.
Spock bears Jim down onto his stomach, and the two of you, having reached a silent, peaceful accord, cooperate in cleaning and anointing Jim’s sore anus, which gapes now at the absence of two needful cocks. Rude sounds ensue as he expels creamy loads of semen, which Spock wipes away with care. It moves you to see your essence inside Jim, and you know it must move your younger self, too. You are confident that he will treat this act with only respect. You press a wet cloth to Jim’s asshole and he sighs, his shoulders tense.
“Relax, ashayam,” Spock murmurs, nuzzling into Jim’s hair. “Let us care for you.”
You apply the salve to your fingers and, taking great care, you spread it around Jim’s anus, then inside. You add more for posterity, and you coat Jim’s rectum as deeply as you are able with stiff, gnarled fingers. Spock is rubbing the small of Jim’s back and gazing down into his face with open worship.
You go into the washroom to clean yourself and put away the supplies. You look in the mirror. You are a lifetime and a universe away from home. When your t’hy’la and his rightful mate are asleep, you will get dressed, leave your keys and a copy of your estate naming Spock the owner of this land, this house, and all its meager contents. You will disappear into a controlled, deliberate wormhole with all the pink matter, all your notes and schematics, and everything that could aid in recreating it. You will know your calculations were wrong. Your atoms will scatter though space, and you will know peace beyond a life without James T. Kirk. In a divergent timeline, a pair of lovers, one human, one half, will mourn you. They will honor your memory with a union that lasts decades. They will, from time to time, gaze out into open space and hope that you are content.
Ships: Kirk/Spock Prime, Kirk/Spock Prime/Spock, Kirk/Spock
Word Count: ~3600
Warnings: graphic porn, rimming, double penetration, character death
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Spock Prime realizes he must relinquish his lover to his younger self.
Inheritance
He comes to you whenever his ship is in orbit around New Vulcan. Starfleet sends its flagship with regularity if not frequency, a show of solidarity. The Enterprise crew offer their hands and backs and expertise in the effort to rebuild, and Jim climbs into your bed after long talks with politicians and diplomats about the logic of pacifism. There is growing unrest in the colony: controls stripped by tragedy, an entire population swallowed by space, many Vulcans blindly seek revenge. You raise your voice against the rising tide, but you are no one here. You are not even welcome in your father’s house. You are vrekasht, outcast, until Jim comes back between long stretches of border patrols and first contacts and star mappings. You fold his golden, vibrant body, so long missed, into your arms and sink into the cool oblivion of his affections.
When you are alone here, on this world whose colors are too bright, whose air is slightly too humid, you hole up in the laboratories - the ones your father’s people built immediately after erecting safe shelter. Their priorities are always bent toward the acquisition of knowledge, even in the face of extinction. You find this admirable, if a bit sad. You are human enough in your old age that you can admit this. You go days without sleep, ensconced in your experiments with wormholes and temporal folds. You have witnessed so many accidents with time - can you now control how it bends and warps enough to return to a universe where Vulcan still orbits Eridani, proud and austere? You are also human enough to cede occasionally to wild hope.
The Enterprise arrives again as your experiments gain some attention as a possible weapon against the Romulan Empire. You prefer your lab to meeting halls, but sometimes when you duck your head in, Jim is pontificating at a high volume, and the Vulcans surrounding him are looking decidedly pinched. It amuses you.
Your counterpart watches you with Jim from the periphery. You remember being that controlled, but you wonder if your eyes always gave you away as his do. Sometimes you catch his gaze, a hateful, burning thing, and you quirk an eyebrow at him. On one such occasion, he refuses to view this as a dismissal.
“You are selfish,” he says as he follows you into an empty lab, “to lay claim to that which cannot be yours.”
“Jim makes his own choices.” You bend over your workspace, back to this young, angry you.
“You have coerced him somehow, snertau-veh, interloper. You do not belong here.”
You make meaningless notes on the substance you are tentatively calling “pink matter.” That amuses you, too.
“The latter is true,” you say mildly. “But that is not why you are here, harassing me with your pitiable lack of control.”
“Pitiable-”
“You are here to tell me that I do not belong with him.” You straighten abruptly and whirl to face yourself. The other you is rigid and veritably vibrating with contained rage. You feel… you feel too much, looking at him. “You are here to tell me that I have no right to what is yours.”
Your counterpart’s expression snaps closed. He tightens his limbs about the straight column of his body.
“He is not mine.”
“You wish him to be.”
There is silence until:
“As the humans are fond of saying - you had your chance.”
You smile at him. You have no qualms about this anymore. You are too old. You have loved and grieved too deeply for such a concession to trouble you any longer.
“Yes,” you tell this younger you. “And you know that I am selfish because you recognize it in yourself. I would take any chance. All chances, to be with him.”
“At my expense?”
You consider him. You recognize an old defiance there. Your heart, where you’ve come to accept that your softer feelings metaphorically spring from, aches for him, for this miserable, motherless version of yourself. You remember isolation and solitude at his age, but not the incapacitating fury of losing far more than a planet. And not the knowledge that someone had usurped your place in your t’hy’la’s bed and mind. Nevertheless, you say,
“He approached you. You rejected him. Only then did he come to me. You had your chance as well, Spock.”
He gives himself away with a swallow and a minute frown, a clenching of his fists at his sides.
“I doubted his sincerity and questioned his ability to practice fidelity. It was my gravest misjudgment.”
“And now you are here not to call me selfish and sentimental, and not to denounce my union with Jim. You are here to beg me to step aside. And you know it is too much to ask.”
He is silent. Silent and bleak.
“Yes,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Yes, please, elder.”
You turn back around to face the pink matter. You can feel him behind you, his presence reduced to waves of heat and pain and frustration. Tonight, you think, making one last calculation, is as good a night as any.
You are naked when Jim arrives well after the evening meal. He is tired, but he shoots you a lascivious grin and makes haste out of his clothing. His body never ceases to please you: firm and strong and smooth and young. You remember a time when it softened and expanded, bits sagging and wrinkling, and you worshiped it then, too, still tender and violent in love. He greets you with his customary enthusiasm, a wet mouth open against yours, his arms slung around your neck.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he declares when he pulls away. You are propped against the wall, and he is straddling you, his half-hard phallus lolling against the quiescent length of yours. His knees tighten around your hips and he rocks into the contact. Your hands trace a lazy map of his back, his buttocks.
“It is pleasing to see you, as well, my Jim.”
He sighs and leans in for another kiss. His hands come up to tangle in your hair, to fondle the tips of your ears. He was always so fond of them.
“Did you do anything interesting today?”
“I had a breakthrough in my experiments. I will provide you with an explanation later.”
“Eager, Spock?” The honeyed tones of Jim’s lustful accusation ignite your loins.
“Always.”
Conversation ends and you apply more force in your kisses, in the press of your hands. All of his vast skin, its freckles and downy golden hairs and the feeling of love-satisfaction-sadness-lust-jealousy seeping from it are yours for tonight. You squeeze your cocks together and suck on his collarbone, his pulse point. You memorize the exact timbre of his groan, how his voice cracks when he cries out your name in benediction. You savor how perfectly his thick cock fills your mouth, and how tightly his sphincter constricts around your finger. When he comes with a hoarse grunt and a sharp twist of your hair, you moan around the load in your mouth and let it rest on your tongue before swallowing it down like the thirsty desert creature you have always been.
You rise to loom above him. He is red in the face and chest, perspiring, and his eyes cannot open through the haze of euphoria. He makes an inarticulate, guttural sound of approval, his hands coming up to flutter about your shoulders, your neck. You settle at his side. He curls into you and lays a hand on your erection, toying with it as he sighs into your chest.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he mumbles, “but I wanted to come while you were fucking me.”
“That is a complaint, Jim.”
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against your side and sends electricity through your ears, down your spine and into your penis.
“Guess you’ll just have to rectify my discontent,” he says with a firm pump of your cock. It is becoming a slick mess in Jim’s hand, your personal store of lubricant leaking copiously onto your groin and through to the mattress.
“I will,” you choke out. You stroke your hand down a strong thigh and hitch his knee up around your hip. You maneuver him again into a sitting position above and around you. Here, like this, he consumes your line of vision. He is your entire universe, and beyond his body and adoration is an infinite abyss where you refuse to exist. “But we must wait.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“A surprise.”
His smile blows blinding light through your universe. You are kissing him again, long, breathless draws of lips and tongue. You imagine you can gain your life’s sustenance just from this act of connection and the promises it holds. You have lost count of the kisses and the number of times he has pled to take you into the edifying grip of his body when your counterpart arrives in your bedroom. Jim’s back faces him, and he is oblivious to the sight he presents as he writhes atop you. Your fingertips rub teasing circles around his asshole, the insufficient pressure something he is vowing never to forgive you for. He has attained full hardness once again and grinds into your pelvis. You have always loved the abandon with which he surrenders himself to your mercies.
You watch your younger self clutch his sudden erection through his Starfleet issue trousers, overcome at the vision before him. With both hands, you spread Jim’s cheeks wide so you, this young, incredibly lucky version of you, can get a clear view of the sweet pink hole and the coarse bronze hair surrounding it. Briefly, you hate him for having his entire life and destiny unfurling long and happy before him. But Jim is in your arms, and you are giving him the finest gift in your arsenal as well, so you banish your ugly thoughts. Jim moans something filthy and ineloquent, wriggling back into your hands, crushing your hard cock against his for relief.
“Fuck, Spock, stop teasing.”
“Look back,” you tell him, your heart wringing in your side.
Jim twists around and cranes his neck. Spock stands there, arms awkward and unoccupied at his sides, hard on painfully indiscreet. A sound between a bellow and a shriek escapes Jim’s gullet.
“Fuck!” He tries to scramble to the side to hide himself, but you stop him, locking him in your embrace.
“This is your future, Jim,” you say. “Take it.”
He pivots his head to look into your face with dread and confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
Spock approaches your bed, hovering there as you share this moment with the lover who was never truly yours. You cup his face, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones in reverence.
“I am selfish in my constancy,” you say. “But I cannot trade your happiness for mine, Jim, t’hy’la, I cannot.”
You close your eyes and give over completely to the kiss. You hear your counterpart shedding his garments, and you can feel the minute weight of his hand as it ventures a stroke down Jim’s spine. You open your eyes and you see yourself, young and powerful, kneeling behind your lover, gaze and hands intent on his backside. Jim moans and pulls away from your mouth to bury his face into your neck.
“Pay kind attention to his anus, Spock,” you say, running your hands through Jim’s hair. “He is particularly fond of that.”
Your counterpart nods in a distracted manner, and you trail your hands back down to spread Jim’s ass for him. Jim is panting, small, urgent sounds filling the silence of your bedroom. You hold him tight as he writhes beneath the attentions of so clever a tongue. You begin to talk, speaking painful, beautiful truths you can no longer contain.
“You are perfect like this ashayam, perfect and glorious under my hands and mouth, yielding to me. I am powerless against such devastating beauty. I curse the time we’ve spent apart. A lifetime, my Jim, so long I’ve yearned for your touch, your mind, your mouth.”
“Spock,” Jim gasps.
“Your cooling balm,” you continue, “your love and anger. Your semen on me and your legs around me, oh, Jim.”
Jim cries out and shoves back into your counterpart’s face, one hand working furiously at his own cock. You are content to allow yours to languish, leaking against your belly.
“How I’ve missed you,” you say. “How I will miss you when you are only his.”
Jim gives a small shake of his head and grabs you, plundering your mouth. His kiss is hot and metallic, his tongue graceless, branding you. He was always marking you as his, and now is no exception. Your counterpart rises and you can feel him press his chest to Jim’s back. He is sucking red marks into Jim’s shoulders and neck. You were always branding Jim in turn.
Jim cannot contain a wail when your counterpart’s fingers slide into him. He fucks Jim’s ass sloppily with his middle and ring fingers, Jim reduced to babbling between you, and over Jim’s shoulders your eyes meet. If you expect a challenge, you are surprised not to see one. You see only staggering gratitude. For the second time in one day, you smile at this younger you.
He guides Jim’s pliant ass onto your slick, aching cock, and you and Jim both sigh at the relief of reunification. You look up into the fathomless blue of his eyes and feel awe. He begins to rise and fall on your penis, aided by your counterpart behind him, and soon he throws his head back, eyes sliding shut, surrendering to the incandescent rhythm of your coupling. Your hands, greedy sponges, absorb the feeling of his chest and his stomach, his hips and his ass and his cock, his wonder and love. You bask in the sounds he makes as he opens around your arousal, and you add your own low moans to the rising din.
“Jim,” you hear Spock say, voice rough. The name is a question, and Jim answers in the affirmative.
You hold Jim against you as he pauses in his movements. His heart flutters a nervous staccato, and you stroke his sides to calm him, making comforting, meaningless sounds. Spock flicks his eyes up to meet your gaze. You nod once. Then, you feel hot fingertips rubbing where you are connected so intimately with Jim. Spock caresses along the rim of Jim’s asshole, stretched wide around your girth. He soothes and strokes until the accommodating hole gives way enough for him to insinuate a slender finger alongside your cock. Jim mewls, and Spock is exploratory as he feels along Jim’s inner walls, relaxing the rectum with his careful ministrations.
Spock ventures another finger and Jim gasps and groans out your name. Your counterpart’s name. You know that was for him, and your hand squeezes Jim’s hip in reactive possession. You press kisses into his hair, the side of his face. You tell him how well he’s doing, how much he pleases you. He is straining to bear the intrusion, trembling in your arms and chewing on your shoulder. His arms are locked around you, and you feel, for a moment, that you have been as indispensable to him as he has been to you. You know that he will miss you, too.
Behind him, Spock lines his cock up against Jim’s slackened hole, his testicles resting against your thigh. You refuse to examine the bizarre, churning feelings that sensation inspires. When the head enters Jim’s ass tight against your own cock, Jim seizes up in your arms.
“Oh, God, Spock, I can’t, I can’t,” he says, cringing forward. You rub his back and Spock eases out.
“You can, t’hy’la,” you murmur into his ear. He turns panicked eyes on you, his face red and sweaty and beloved. “Breathe for us and bear down. Look at me.”
So trusting, Jim keeps his eyes trained on yours, and your counterpart tries again. You can feel the tight fit inside Jim’s ass as you watch him breathe through the discomfort. You hold his head and kiss his lips as Spock sinks deeper in tiny increments. A thin wail escapes Jim’s throat, but you keep his gaze. There is disbelief in those wrong-colored eyes, flickers of pain, and, finally, a wash of wonder when Spock goes still, fully inside. Jim lets out a shuddering breath and his eyes fall shut. He leans back against your counterpart, who whispers, “t’hy’la.” You watch as Jim reaches back and turns his head to kiss him for the first time, and you are struck through to the core of your being at the perfect vision they make.
“Oh, God,” passes your lips, unbidden. You have never said such a thing before, but suddenly it seems the only phrase appropriate. Your counterpart begins to rock gently, his cock and yours so tightly grasped inside Jim that no other movements are possible or advised.
Slowly, the three of you begin to undulate, finding a drugging rhythm that has Jim howling and you and your counterpart answering in helpless grunts. Jim lights in ecstasy each time the cocks inside him graze his prostate. He alternates between kissing you and kissing the younger you, and as he occupies his hands with Spock’s, you set to jacking his penis with increasing speed. He tears away from Spock’s mouth to keen, then he braces his hands on your shoulders, his head bent low. Spock is doing the majority of the fucking, and Jim gives himself up to the rhythm and the huge stretch in his ass and the hot grip around his cock. His cries stutter, and he forces you and the other Spock deeper as his orgasm blasts through him, sending his back arching, an anguished sob rending the air as he ejaculates in four thick jets into your chest hair.
The sight of him so moved in rapture triggers your own climax, and you cannot help but squeeze your eyes shut and clutch at his hips as you erupt within him. A sore note in your throat indicates that you shouted your agonized pleasure, as well.
As you blink away the haze of orgasm, you see Jim is being help upright, and behind him, Spock is thrusting with graceless jerks, moaning continuously. You feel your own semen leak out around two cocks, and then Spock is throwing himself forward and going still with a harsh cry. Hot come slathers your softening penis. He jolts as his orgasm ebbs, but Jim’s fingers locked around his anchor him.
Spock takes care extricating himself from Jim’s ass, then slides off to the side. He helps Jim off of your own cock then, pressing his fingers against the outer rim of Jim’s loose hole when Jim gives a hiss of distress. Spock settles Jim between you, casting an inscrutable look your way. You are weary and something inside you has shattered, but you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bones protesting the movement, and you get up to retrieve a few cloths and some analgesic salve. When you return, they are curled in towards each other, whispering, your t’hy’la and the version of you who belongs to him, and you let yourself feel a boundless grief before ousting it and settling back into the bed.
Jim turns to give you a warm, sated smile. He reaches out a hand and runs it down your face.
“You are amazing,” he says. “Both of you.”
Spock shakes his head though Jim cannot see it. You know what his objection is.
“Love of you has transformed us, Jim,” you say.
“It is you who are amazing,” your younger self adds.
Spock bears Jim down onto his stomach, and the two of you, having reached a silent, peaceful accord, cooperate in cleaning and anointing Jim’s sore anus, which gapes now at the absence of two needful cocks. Rude sounds ensue as he expels creamy loads of semen, which Spock wipes away with care. It moves you to see your essence inside Jim, and you know it must move your younger self, too. You are confident that he will treat this act with only respect. You press a wet cloth to Jim’s asshole and he sighs, his shoulders tense.
“Relax, ashayam,” Spock murmurs, nuzzling into Jim’s hair. “Let us care for you.”
You apply the salve to your fingers and, taking great care, you spread it around Jim’s anus, then inside. You add more for posterity, and you coat Jim’s rectum as deeply as you are able with stiff, gnarled fingers. Spock is rubbing the small of Jim’s back and gazing down into his face with open worship.
You go into the washroom to clean yourself and put away the supplies. You look in the mirror. You are a lifetime and a universe away from home. When your t’hy’la and his rightful mate are asleep, you will get dressed, leave your keys and a copy of your estate naming Spock the owner of this land, this house, and all its meager contents. You will disappear into a controlled, deliberate wormhole with all the pink matter, all your notes and schematics, and everything that could aid in recreating it. You will know your calculations were wrong. Your atoms will scatter though space, and you will know peace beyond a life without James T. Kirk. In a divergent timeline, a pair of lovers, one human, one half, will mourn you. They will honor your memory with a union that lasts decades. They will, from time to time, gaze out into open space and hope that you are content.