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The prisoners stood as Commander Kirrk of the pirate vessel the Bloodlust looked them over. There were three of them, the survivors from a small private transport Kirrk had captured. Their escort had been killed, but these three were of a High House and would bring a fine ransom.


“What are your names?” Kirrk asked. The taller male hesitated and then spoke.


“I am Spock, of the House of Surak,” he said. He indicated the beautiful young woman by his side. “This is T’Pring, who will be my wife, and Stonn” his hand pointed to the other man, “my cousin.”


Kirrk inclined his head. “I am Kirrk, ruler of this ship,” he informed them. “I have already been in touch with your people regarding a ransom; they confirmed your identities. Thank you for not lying to me; it saves time.” He regarded the leader of the group, the one named Spock. By the gods, he was a fine specimen. His cousin was a stocky, stolid-looking fellow with ears that looked like they would flap in the wind, but Spock was slender and beautifully-made, with a fine-boned face and deep, dark eyes that echoed the flowing, shoulder-length black hair that fell like skeins of silk around his features. Kirrk grinned to himself. Perhaps there was some sport to be had while he waited for the ransom. He nodded to Chek’hov, his First Officer.


“Take the lady and Stonn to guest quarters.” He gave Chek’hov a stern look. “Tell my men that they are not to be touched; I want them in prime condition to sell if the ransom doesn’t come through.”


T’Pring flung back her head, glaring defiantly at the pirate. “How dare you?” she hissed. “I am no slave.”


“You may be, lady, if I will it,” Kirrk snapped. He waved her and Stonn away. He then turned to Spock. “Come with me, Vulcan princeling. We have—matters to discuss.”


 


Once inside his quarters, Kirrk motioned the young Vulcan to a seat. And he was young; Kirrk could tell now that he looked at him closely. Granted, Vulcans aged very slowly, but there was a freshness about this one, a tender softness in his features, that told Kirrk he was quite young, perhaps not even 30, and quite—sheltered as well.


As he sank into a chair, Spock looked at his captor, seated next to him. He had been told that the man was a Klingon, but…


“You do not look like a Klingon,” he observed then blushed as he realized how that sounded. His Clan Elder T’Pau was always lecturing him on his human tendency to blurt out unfortunate thoughts. For Spock’s mother had been human, and as a result, he had never completely eradicated those traits within himself.


Luckily, his captor did not seem upset. “I am half Klingon,” he informed Spock. “My mother was a Betazoid, a captive of my father. Some of my features are those of her people, especially my coloring.”


Spock had wondered about this. Kirrk did not have the muddy-brown coloring and dark hair common among Klingons. He was a creature of gold, his hair a very light gold, his skin a warm gold-tan, his eyes a deep, rich amber. He is…most aesthetically pleasing, Spock thought then suppressed the thought. If his captor was indeed half Betazoid, he might be able to read Spock’s thoughts or feelings.


Kirrk was still looking at Spock. “Tell me, my tender little Vulcan, you say the lady with you is to be your wife.” He licked his lips. “Have you—anticipated the ceremony?”


For an instant, Spock did not understand. Then a wash of green bloomed on the high cheekbones. “No,” he said coldly. “It would not be appropriate. I am marrying T’Pring to help bring peace to our Clans. She is untouched, as my honor demands.”


“Really?” Kirrk leaned closer. “What about you?” he asked softly, laying a hand on Spock’s wrist. “Are you…untouched?” The dark flush gave him his answer, even before Spock jerked his hand away, staring stonily at the wall as Kirrk laughed.


“How interesting,” Kirrk said. “Two virgins.” Suddenly, he lunged, grabbing Spock’s chin in his hand.


“Do you want her to remain a virgin?” he asked, licking his lips. “Does her honor matter to you?”


The dark eyes stared at him. “Yes,” Spock replied. “Her honor is to be protected by me at all costs.”


“Good.” Kirrk released him. “Then I have a proposal for you. Come to my bed; let me use you, and I will make sure she is untouched.” He pinned the Vulcan with his gaze. “Refuse me, and I will give her to my men. Some of them have not had a woman in months.” Secretly, Kirrk was determined to do no such thing. He would never allow his men to rape the female captives; it was bad business and often led to fights between men who foolishly thought they were “in love” with this woman or that. But Spock would not know that. He would think T’Pring in danger from the rapacious pirates.


The blood was pounding in Spock’s ears, and strangely, his skin was burning where Kirrk had grabbed his chin. He tried to swallow, tried to speak, but it took a moment. Then:


“Yes,” Spock whispered, closing his eyes. “If you will swear to me that T’Pring will not be harmed, I will…submit.”


Kirrk smiled.


“It’s a bargain.”


 


Dimly, Spock had thought that Kirrk might wait, might postpone his assault on Spock’s body, but that was not the case. No sooner had Spock agreed than he found himself in the other man’s arms, his clothes being pulled from his body by hard, insistent hands. He stood, his eyes closed, enduring, seeking his center. However, he couldn’t help his body reacting when Kirrk’s hand brushed against the wrapped cloth Spock wore around his loins, the last shred of modesty the Vulcan possessed.


“No,” Kirrk whispered in his ear. “I will let you keep this—for now. You will want it removed soon enough, I promise, my Vulcan virgin.” His hot breath caressed Spock’s ear, and for a moment, the Vulcan swayed in his embrace, dizzy with a sudden loss of blood to his head. He tried to pull free as he felt Kirrk’s hands caressing him.


“Finish this, “Spock all but spat at him. The Vulcan stood tall and proud in the center of the room, fists clenched, body stiff to hide his fear. “I have traded my virtue for T’Pring’s; I am your captive. Take me and be done with it, Klingon. Rut on me until you are satisfied, and then let me go back to my cell.”


Kirrk threw back his head and laughed. “You think that I plan to rut on you? Oh, my poor Vulcan. You do not understand. As I told you, I am half-Betazoid. My pleasure only comes when my partner’s pleasure is complete.” He pulled Spock into his arms again, resuming his touches.


“You mistake the terms of our bargain,” Kirrk informed him, his hands losing himself in Spock’s soft, shoulder-length hair, caressing the back of his head and neck. “If I wanted to simply rape you, you would be spread beneath me and spitted on my cock by now. I want all of you, my Vulcan princeling; I will not allow you to simply lie there and block me out.” He pulled Spock to the center of the room, pressing a button in the wall that caused a set of manacles to appear. “Now, I do not want to chase you all over my cabin, so…”  In an instant, he snapped the cuffs on Spock’s wrists and ankles, leaving the Vulcan standing in the middle of the room, arms and legs spread, body completely exposed to his captor’s whims.


“Now,” Kirrk said. “I realize that you are, shall we say, sacrificing yourself for your betrothed. Most touching. However, that does nothing for me, and I want you hot, my beautiful captive. I want you wanton.”


“That will never happen,” Spock said coldly, proudly. “I am a Vulcan; we can control our reactions to stimulus. You may take me; I cannot and will not stop you. But I will fight you with all that I have; I will not give you what you want.”


Kirrk just smiled at him, the smile of a predator whose prey refuses to walk into the cook-pot. “Someone should have told you never to issue a challenge you cannot fulfill,” he said softly. “I promise you, before we are done, your words will be laughable. I will not force you; you will yield to me. You will beg me.” He shrugged off the loose shirt and pants he was wearing, letting the sight of his naked body fills Spock’s eyes. Spock tried not to look; he didn’t want to look; he didn’t care to look—


He could not help but look. Kirrk’s body was a thing of beauty, its perfection obvious to even a causal observer. He was an inch or two shorter than Spock, but he carried himself as if he were ten feet tall. His broad shoulders, muscled chest, rippling belly muscles, his graceful arms and neck, his strong, sculptured calves and thighs, his handsome face with its broad brow, high cheekbones, strong chin, and tenderly-molded lips, all set off by that golden skin and his amber eyes. As he looked at Kirrk from under the screen of his long, straight, black lashes, Spock caught a glimpse of the other man’s cock, already hard and eager, rising from its bed of spun-gold fleece. It was not quite as long as Spock’s, but it was thick and strong-looking, an organ any male would be proud of.


Spock had thought his glances were surreptitious, but Kirrk caught him. “Like what you see, my little princeling?” Kirrk purred. He let his hands wander across his own pectoral muscles, let those strong fingers tweak and pinch the red-gold rosettes until they stood proud and erect. Spock swallowed hard, his respiration increasing for a reason he could not understand.


 “Your body is strong and muscular; your features are symmetrical,” he said coldly, or at least he tried to make his voice cold. It was no doubt his rage and nervousness that made his voice weak and uncertain. Kirrk just laughed.


“I have had many lovers and many more have wanted to be in my bed,” he informed Spock. “I know a look of admiration when I see one. But don’t worry, my tender virgin. You will soon be able to do more than look.”


Kirk strode to the wall unit and picked up a jar waiting on the top shelf. He removed the lid and scooped some of the contents, a pale blue gel, onto his fingers. He rubbed his hands together and then let them drop to his cock, stroking and massaging the gel into his hard shaft, shuddering and panting slightly in obvious enjoyment. He reached into the jar again and got more gel. Then he moved towards Spock, his erect, glistening cock bobbing slightly as he walked, seeming to hone in on Spock with the precision of a missile.


“My Betazoid brethren have developed the most amazing array of—supplementary items—for sex,” he informed Spock. “This gel is one of them. It sensitizes the skin, as well as adding a warming element to erotic play. Since you Vulcans like it—hot, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.”


“No.” Spock tried to jerk back, to get away, but there was nowhere he could go. He was totally at Kirrk’s mercy, which is just how his captor wanted it.


As gently as a breath of air, Kirrk’s fingers slid along the outer ridges and up to the points of Spock’s ears, coating the hot, delicate skin and cartilage with a thin layer of the gel. It burned for just a moment or two; then it settled into a warm glow that seemed to penetrate all the way to Spock’s vitals. He could feel something stirring, tightening, deep in his core, but he did not know what it was. He had never felt that sensation before. It was almost painful, yet he craved it; he found himself shuddering slightly as the feeling washed through him. He shifted in his chains, suddenly restless. There was a sudden heaviness between his legs as his penis, so long quiescent, stirred slightly, twitching inside the cloth that covered it. 


Kirrk moved closer, letting his eyes caress the prize waiting for him. He reached out and gently stroked Spock’s chest, marveling at the pelt of fine, silky dark hair that decorated it. Klingon males did not have such hair on their bodies, and Kirrk found it extremely arousing.


“Now,” Kirrk said simply, “you may fight me if you wish. Indeed, I will probably find that even more exciting than your final capitulation. But it will avail you nothing. I will have you, my tender little Vulcan and by your own free will. I promised I would not force you, and I will not have to. ” He moved closer, breathing softly into the delicately pointed ear. Spock shivered; the feel of Kirrk’s breath against the tender skin, already sensitized by the warming gel Kirrk had rubbed on it, was far more arousing than such a simple act should be. Spock’s ears were throbbing with sensation, echoing the sweet, insistent ache between his legs, a pain he had never felt before. He did not understand. His mental controls were failing him; his body was betraying him. How could this being call forth such feelings from Spock’s un-awakened body? Suddenly, Spock knew he was in danger of losing the challenge. He was in danger of losing himself.


“I ask you,” Spock tried again, “please do not do this. You will receive your ransom for me; it is enough. Leave me and my party untouched.” Despite himself, he shivered as Kirrk simply leaned closer and let his tongue trace the pulsing artery in Spock’s neck, his mouth quickly settling into the tender hollow beneath Spock’s ear, sucking hard for just an instant, savoring the sweet-salt tang of Spock’s flesh, loving the way Spock rocked within his bonds, his hips, independent of his will, thrusting forward helplessly. Kirrk glanced down, seeing the evidence of the Vulcan’s excitement as the long penis swelled beneath the wrapped loincloth, stirring like a sleepy animal craving to be petted. Kirrk grinned to himself. Oh, I will pet you, he promised. Soon, I will pet you until you purr. But before that…”


“Ahhh,” Spock panted softly as his captor’s bold fingers sought and found a copper-tinged nipple, circling and rubbing the sensitive flesh. “Oh, please, no!” He arched his back as Kirrk pressed against him, his hot, wet mouth replacing his fingers, suckling Spock with an expert rhythm as Kirrk’s hands moved lower, stroking his stomach and upper thighs, deliberately avoiding Spock’s penis, ignoring the center of Spock’s arousal, heightening it even more, bringing Spock ever closer to that moment when he completely lost control and begged for his captor to take him. Kirrk knew it would not be long. Kirrk knew that it would be so good.


He stepped back, savoring the faint moan of disappointment from Spock as their bodies separated. Kirrk moved around behind his captive, knowing that the fact that Spock could no longer see him would only heighten the Vulcan’s apprehension—and his anticipation. Kirrk picked up the jar of gel and spread some on his fingers, letting it warm from the heat of his hands. He regarded the long, slim, muscled back presented to him, remembering what he had learned in his research. There, in the lower back, on either side of the spine, ah, yes. Slowly, with a deceptive gentleness, Kirrk began to rub the gel into those tender, barely visible swellings on Spock’s back, stimulating the Vulcan’s chensei.


Spock gasped. “No! Please, do not touch me there. You cannot….ohhh, stop, I beg thee….ohhhh.” He pushed back against the caressing hands; it was impossible to ignore the stimulation, impossible to resist. His cock swelled even more, its natural lubrication flowing freely from the gland under the head, the feel of it trickling along his length stimulating Spock even more, adding to his torment as he hung in his bonds, trying to control, trying to ignore the flames dancing along his nerves wherever Kirrk touched him.


Kirrk moved his palms across the tender skin in light, deceptively soothing circular motions, feeling Spock writhe beneath his touch, smelling the hot, spicy fragrance of the Vulcan’s excitement. Kirrk removed his hands and knelt down behind Spock, griping his hips to hold him still. Then he began to blow soft puffs of breath across the chensei, the cool drafts combining with the warming gel to torment Spock until he could only twist in his bonds, pleading with his captor for a mercy Kirrk did not intend to grant.


“Tell me,” he whispered. “What do you want? Do you want my touch? Do you want me to free you?”


Spock could no longer resist. “Yes, yes!” he gasped. “Free me. Touch me. I beg you…master.” His voice broke as he shuddered. “I beg you; free me, and I will…I will yield to you.”


“Very good,” Kirk murmured. He rose and hit the controls, letting the chains fall away. Spock staggered for an instant and then regained his balance. Kirrk walked back round Spock and held out a hand.


“Come here,” he said simply.


Desire and trepidation warring within him, Spock could no longer think, no longer reason. He took that final step forward and grasped the cool, firm hand that was offered. Kirrk drew him closer and pushed him down onto the waiting bed, allowing the Vulcan to lie back full-length on the silk coverlet. He looked at Spock, seeing the tiny nervous tics in his muscles, the faint green flush on his cheekbones, the swell of the hard, hot penis pressed against that ridiculous cage of cloth that kept it from Kirrk’s hand. Kirrk stretched out next to Spock, letting his fingers just graze the edge of the wrapped undergarment.


“Can this worthless piece of fabric be removed now?” he asked softly, knowing the answer as Spock’s pelvis arched to meet his touch.


“Yes.” Spock shuddered as Kirrk’s deft hands removed the loincloth, tossing it aside. Kirrk drew in his breath at the long, slender organ was finally exposed to his gaze.


“Oh, so beautiful,” Kirrk murmured, not touching yet, just admiring. It was so different from Kirrk’s own, longer and more slender, a creamy green-tinged ivory, twin ridges around the crown that seemed to flare in the open air like a flower spreading itself before the sun, a neat patch of silky black hair at the base hiding the smooth plane where Kirrk’s testicles were on his own body. Kirrk swallowed hard. He had planned to torment his prize, make him wait for satisfaction, but suddenly, he no longer wished to do so. He had to have that glorious cock. He had to savor it; there was no reason to wait.


Kirrk lay on his side, his head propped on one hand, and ran the other hand down Spock’s stomach to just the very edge of his pelvis. He stopped for a moment, his fingers stroking lightly, idly.


“Is it your will that I touch you?”


“Yes, yes please,” Spock gasped, all defiance gone. He expected the Klingon’s hand to grasp him, but again, Kirrk did the unexpected.


“Ohhh,” Spock moaned as Kirrk rolled over and pressed their bodies together. Instantly, Spock could feel the heavy golden cock rubbing against his organ, Spock’s natural lubrication providing a counterpart to the delicious friction, the two shafts sliding together as Kirrk worked his hips and slid his arms around Spock, pulling the Vulcan’s body ever closer, bending his head to once again worry Spock’s nipples with his teeth and tongue.


“Oh, you feel so good against me.” Kirrk thrust harder and was rewarded with a gasp. “By all the gods, little Vulcan, your cock was made for me.” He bent to suck on the tip of Spock’s ear, wringing another moan from him as Spock clung to him, his sensitive organ stiffening even more. Kirrk slid his hands lower and again massaged those tender swellings at the base of Spock’s spine, feeling them hot and hard beneath his touch. Spock could feel the pressure in his chensei, felt the way his penis was quivering beneath Kirk’s thrusts. He was going to die; he knew it. This pleasure would kill him; it would never end; it would, it would…


Spock cried out, convulsing, as for the first time, an orgasm rolled through his body, the hot, thick cream spurting from his penis. Kirrk roared as he felt the sudden spray bathing his flesh, and his cock erupted as well, the two men clinging to each other as their bodies took over for their minds, as they came together in a flood, the spasms going on and on as the pleasure swept through them.


Finally, Spock rolled over and buried his face in the blankets, his entire body shaking with desire and humiliation. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the fact that he had responded so passionately, or the fact that it had taken so little for him to climax. He lay shaking, his breathing unsteady, hoping that Kirrk would simply go away.


It was a vain hope. Spock found himself pulled into the Klingon’s arms, pressed to that golden body. He felt Kirrk’s hand stroking his hair, caressing the back of his neck.   


“Now, that was not so terrible.” The voice was almost tender, the tone almost wistful, and everything in Spock cried out to simply sink into those arms, to answer that loneliness and longing. But he could not. This was his captor. This man used his body. Spock stiffened, kept his head turned away. After a long moment, Kirrk sighed, released Spock, and rose from the bed.


“I will leave you—for now,” he said quietly.


Spock raised his head, looking at Kirrk pleadingly.


“You…you have had what you want,” he whispered. “Please do not torment me further.


“Oh, little innocent Vulcan, I have had only a taste of what I want,” Kirrk replied. “There is much yet to savor.” He motioned to the door set into the side wall. “There is a ‘fresher there; make use of it as you wish. I will be in the cabin next door, and of course, there are guards. You will not be disturbed—except by me.”


With that, he was gone. Spock curled up in the bed and tried to calm himself, tried to find his cool, untouched center.


He was completely unsuccessful.


 


The next night, Spock was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, trying to meditate, when Kirrk entered the room again, dressed in a fine silk robe. Spock rose quickly, standing by the bed, hands clenched at his sides.


“Good evening, my pupil,” Kirrk said calmly as his eyes devoured the Vulcan. “I have been informed by Mak’khoi my healer that you ate well today. That is good. You will need your strength.” He motioned to the bed. “Remove your clothes and lie down,” he said quietly.


“Are you not going to chain me?” Spock spat at him.


Kirrk shrugged. “Perhaps later—if that excites you.” He gave Spock a glance from under the long, bronze lashes that fringed those amazing eyes. “For now, I have other—diversions.” He motioned to the bed. “I will not ask again.”


Spock knew he had no choice. He slipped off the clothes he wore and lay down on his back, arms at his side, legs together, breathing deeply, forcing calm.


Kirrk slipped off the robe and lay by his side, letting his hand reach out to slowly run up and down Spock’s arm, not arousing him, not stimulating him, just letting him feel Kirrk’s touch. Despite the casualness, his hand seem to burn wherever it touched.


 “You are trying to pretend that you are not affected, but I can feel it in you.” Kirrk’s voice was low and seductive. “There is something between us, Spock. I felt it when your eyes first met mine. If you will not admit it, well, that is your problem. But I intend to enjoy it.”


Kirrk rolled over and reached into the pocket of his discarded robe, pulling out a small jar and removing the lid.


Spock glanced at him.


“More of your Betazoid lubricant?” he asked, trying to sound dismissive.


“No,” Kirrk replied, a sudden grin lighting his face. “You should be flattered, Spock. I spent much of the day researching Vulcan physiology. Much of what I read is probably myth. I wonder if this is.” He dipped his finger into the jar and withdrew it. A heavy drop of a golden substance caught the light. Spock drew in his breath as his sensitive nostrils caught the scent of honey.


“Ah,” Kirrk said, pleased. “I see it’s not a myth.” Slowly, tenderly, he leaned over and ran his finger across Spock’s lower lip, smearing the honey onto the silky skin. Spock moaned faintly as the flowery sweetness instantly soaked into the thin skin. Honey, from any bees on any planet, was the one substance that acted on all Vulcans like a drug. They craved it; they almost never allowed themselves to have it. But now Kirrk was tempting him with it.


Almost against his will, Spock’s tongue shot out and licked the honey from his lip. Kirrk dipped more honey from the jar and spread it on his own lips, leaning over Spock, letting his eyes—his honey-colored eyes—stare into Spock’s.


“Kiss me,” he whispered. “Come, my little Vulcan bee. Gather your honey.” He lowered his lips to Spock’s and kissed him.


Spock gasped as their lips met, as his tongue licked along the seam of Kirrk’s mouth, the taste of honey flooding his mouth, the feel of honey hot and thick in his veins. He moaned in protest as Kirrk moved away, but the golden Klingon only chuckled softly.


“Don’t worry; there’s plenty.” His fingers dipped into the jar and then roamed across his chest, circling his golden-rose nipples until they glistened with sweetness in the light. He pulled Spock’s head to his chest, the honey scent rising from his hot flesh.


“Suck me,” he whispered. He moaned as Spock’s mouth latched onto first one nipple then the other, licking and sucking the honey, rolling Kirrk’s nipples with his tongue. Spock found himself pressing closer, ever closer, his hard cock now trapped between strong, velvet-skinned thighs as Kirrk drizzled more honey on his skin and arched against Spock’s mouth as the Vulcan licked every golden drop, his eyes dazed with passion, his mouth sticky with golden honey.


Kirrk pulled back and let his honey-covered hands drop to his groin, coating his eager cock with a thin glaze, the mingled fragrances of his arousal and the warm honey going straight to Spock’s head and his cock.


“Oh, no, please,” Spock moaned. “Not there, please. I beg thee.” But even as he begged, even as he sobbed dryly in sexual hunger, his mouth moved lower on Kirrk’s flesh, following the trail of honey droplets down Kirrk’s torso, down his stomach, down to…


“Yes, Kirrk hissed, arching into the hot, wet pressure as Spock sucked his penis into his mouth, his lips and tongue working as the sweetness of the honey and the salt tang of Kirrk’s flesh drove him wild, his mouth flooding with saliva, his cock so hard it was painful; Spock reached down and began to rub himself, trying to ease that exquisite ache, only to sob in frustration as Kirrk batted his hands away.


“Suck me,” Kirrk growled, “and you’ll get your reward.” He arched as Spock worked him harder, his head sliding up and down Kirk’s shaft, that incredible black silky hair brushing Kirrk’s thighs as Spock sucked him, mouthed him, licked him.


Kirrk came, thrusting deep into Spock’s mouth  feeling the Vulcan’s throat working as he tried to draw Kirrk ever deeper into his oral embrace, as Kirrk rode his mouth and came until he was drained. Finally, freeing himself from Spock’s mouth, Kirrk slid down the bed and grasped the Vulcan’s cock in his hands, sucking it into his own mouth even as he let his honey-covered fingers seek between the Vulcan’s cheeks, pressing into that tender opening, finding and stroking that sweet spot within, coating Spock’s inner flesh with honey as he felt Spock explode in his mouth, as he drank the Vulcan dry.


Kirrk fell back on the bed next to Spock, realizing after a moment that the Vulcan had seized both his hands and was frantically sucking Kirrk’s fingers, licking every last drop of honey and cum off his captor’s hands. Kirrk shook his head in amazement as he allowed Spock to feast on him.


“Not a myth at all,” he murmured, satisfied.


 


Kirrk left Spock alone for the next day or so, and the Vulcan had time to think. He found himself replaying their times together over and over again, his body aching with sweet pain as he remembered Kirrk’s hands, his mouth, his cock driving Spock to utter surrender. Spock realized that despite the enforced nature of his compliance, Spock craved the other’s touch. He had never wanted anyone’s touch before. In his youth, when the sons and daughters of other Houses played kissing and touching games in preparation for their eventual adulthood, he had never wanted anyone. He wanted Kirrk. It was that simple. He wanted Kirrk, the golden Klingon/Betazoid, the man whose very being called to something in Spock. By the time Kirrk finally returned to Spock’s cabin, the Vulcan was ready.


Kirrk stood in the door, looking at Spock.


“Good evening,” he finally said softly.


Spock inclined his head. “I was beginning to wonder if I would see you again,” he replied as quietly.


Kirrk moved towards him, dropping into the chair next to the bed where Spock sat. “I had…much to ponder,” he replied.


Spock looked at him. “Ponder?”


“Yes.” The Klingon drew a deep breath. “I am…sorry for using you,” he finally said. He dropped his head into his hands. His voice was muffled, but Spock still heard every word.


“I…I wanted you, as I have never wanted anyone,” Kirrk confessed. “Because of who I am, because of my make-up, most bed partners mean nothing to me. But you….you.” He shuddered, his face still buried in his hands. “I am sorry; I should not have done it.” He got to his feet, not looking at Spock. He froze when Spock reached out and laid a gentle hand on his wrist. He looked down at the Vulcan on the bed. The dark eyes looked fearlessly into Kirrk’s.


“I was waiting for you to come so I could tell you the truth,” Spock said gently. “You speak of wanting me as you have never wanted another; that feeling is mutual.” He rose gracefully, twining his arms around Kirrk’s neck. “You have awakened me,” he murmured. “I would ask you to fulfill me.”


Kirrk looked at him for a long moment. “Are you sure?”


“I am certain.” Spock kissed him gently, with none of the savage passion the two had used on each other before. He felt everything in him yearning to be one with the magnificent being, if only for this night.


Kirrk responded with joy. He picked Spock up and laid him on the bed, slowly undressing the Vulcan, caressing each patch of skin as it was revealed, while Spock lay quietly beneath his hands murmuring with shy pleasure at each touch, his body responding easily, his arousal growing with every tender stroke. Kirrk removed his robe and lay down next to Spock, gathering him into his arms.


“I do not want to hurt you,” Kirrk murmured, “but I must have you and soon. I cannot resist; I will not.” He stroked Spock’s erection from base to tip, loving the way Spock arched into his touch. “You do not want to resist, either, my proud Vulcan. You crave what only I can give you.”


“Yes,” Spock whispered, a part of him still shamed, but knowing that Kirrk was right. It was too late to pretend, to late to lie back and think of Vulcan. He wanted Kirrk, wanted all of him, and wanted to give himself completely to this incredible being.


Kirrk smiled as if he could hear more than just the whispered “yes,” and perhaps he could. He reached over to the bedside table and opened a drawer, drawing out the jar of honey and a slim, cylindrical object perhaps 18 centimeters long. He opened the jar and spread a thin coating of honey on the object. He set it aside for a moment and laid one hand on Spock, stroking the soft, tender flesh of the inner thigh.


“So now you trust me?” he murmured gently, teasingly.


“Never,” Spock gasped, pressing even closer as Kirrk chuckled. “But I care not. Please, please, take me.”


“I will, my hot Vulcan. But I must prepare you first.”


Kirrk knelt between Spock’s legs, gently pushing his thighs apart until Spock lay totally exposed to whatever Kirrk chose to do. Kirrk picked up the object that he coated with honey.


“This is a little toy called the gentle persuader,” he informed his captive. “It will open you for me; it will give you the greatest pleasure you have ever known.” He leaned down to lick at one pointed ear. “The greatest, that is, until I take you.” He sat back between Spock’s thighs and carefully moved the toy into position. He rubbed it against that shy, tight pucker of flesh, letting the smooth, cool hardness and the soft, sticky honey create new sensations, send messages of heat and craving to Spock’s nerves. He observed Spock closely, who lay with his eyes closed, his lower lip caught in his teeth, trying to lie still but failing as his hips began to rock gently, as his body began to press itself against the toy.


“Let…let it go in.” Spock shivered. He could feel the empty ache inside him. More than anything, he wanted that pain soothed.


“Yes,” Kirrk murmured. “Oh, yes, my Vulcan.” He gently eased the toy into Spock, letting just the tip slide into that tender opening, feeling Spock’s body tremble as he felt the first tentative probe.


“Ohhh….” Spock panted as the dildo eased inside him, as it touched places where no one and nothing had ever touched before, as the warm, golden honey that coated it spread across that soft inner flesh, as it brushed a spot that had Spock suddenly writhing in Kirrk’s arms.


“Yes, that’s it,” Kirrk encouraged him, delighted at his response. He moved the hard, blunt cylinder deeper into the yielding, yearning channel, using his thumbnail to flick on a tiny switch at the base of the toy. Spock cried out, his hips pushing him all the way down onto the dildo as it began to vibrate, his cock springing to life as the pulsations teased his prostate.


“Ahhh, oh, what….ohhhh please, it is too good, too much,” Spock moaned. Kirrk kept plying the instrument, sliding it in and out of the Vulcan’s body, letting it create a path where none had been before, preparing Spock for Kirrk’s cock, which was already dripping sweet moisture, already craving that hot, velvet embrace.


Spock was almost mindless with pleasure, the waves of sensation sweeping through him, the hot, keen pulses swelling his cock and causing the sweet lubrication to pour from him, the sparks from his stimulated prostate stiffening his nipples until they were diamond-hard peaks, Spock’s face flushed with arousal, his whole body yearning for more heat, more stimulation, more…


Kirrk could not stand it any longer. He leaned down and captured that long, rigid shaft in his mouth, sucking Spock in with a desperate hunger even as he continued to wield the toy within the Vulcan’s passage. Spock keened as the double stimulation made him thrust forward into the hot, wet mouth, back onto the hard, pulsating toy, forward and back, again and again, riding the waves of pleasure, feeling everything in him gather to a point far beyond ecstasy, beyond control.


With a soft cry, he came in Kirrk’s mouth, the hot, sweet juices flowing into the other man’s eager maw. Kirrk licked and sucked gladly, greedily, drinking in every precious drop.


Spock fell back, his body still thrilling to Kirrk’s touches. Kirrk gently pulled the vibrator free and tossed it aside. He slid up the bed, the strong, golden body pressing Spock into the mattress. Kirrk rubbed his cock against the Vulcan’s hole, wordlessly pleading.


“Yes,” Spock breathed, the hunger still in him, that empty place still crying out to be filled. “Yes, my golden captor. Take me; fill me with you; make me yours, if only once.”


“Oh, yes,” Kirrk cried, and with no more delay, he plunged into Spock, feeling the Vulcan’s hips snap up to meet him, seeing the passion on Spock’s face.


“Oh, yes!” Spock cried, writhing beneath the eager thrusts, his cock instantly erect as Kirrk’s shaft pushed into him. “Yes, please…harder….oh, deeper…do not stop, please, I beg….” He thrashed beneath Kirrk, trying to push himself ever closer, wrapping his thighs around the other man’s body and rocking frantically. It wasn’t enough, not for either of them. They had to be closer.


Kirrk pulled free, wringing a cry of despair from the Vulcan. He rose to his knees and grabbed Spock’s hips, his hard, urgent hands turning the Vulcan over, coaxing him up onto his hands and knees. Spock buried his face in the pillow beneath him, torn between arousal and shame as he realized how he must look, his ass thrust into the air, his cock hanging heavy beneath him, weeping its moisture onto the bed. He moaned, his body so empty and hungry.


“Wait,” Kirrk murmured, crouching over him. “Wait, it will get better.” He thrust back into the Vulcan’s body, crying out as he sank to the hilt inside the velvety ass. Spock cried out as well, pushing back as hard as could, no longer caring how he looked, no longer caring what Kirrk thought. He had to have him, had to have every inch of that golden shaft buried inside him.


Kirrk was right; it was better. Every stroke hit Spock’s prostate, causing him to jerk and squeeze Kirrk’s eager hardness in turn. Kirrk draped his body over Spock’s, letting his ridged belly muscles stroke and rub against the Vulcan’s chensei with every delicious thrust, letting his mouth lick and suck that tender spot at the back of Spock’s neck, letting his hands reach beneath the Vulcan to stroke and slide his hands up and down Spock’s shaft, up and down in time with his thrusts, driving harder, pounding deeper, making Spock’s entire body quake and dance to the rhythm of Kirrk’s cock.


Oh, please, Spock’s mind babbled. Harder, deeper, never leave me, always here, always in me, take, me, mark me, claim me.


“Yes,” Kirrk moaned as if he could answer Spock’s thoughts—and perhaps he could. “In you forever, never leave me, oh, please let me fuck you fuck you….ohhhh!” Kirrk convulsed as his hardness broke within Spock, as he came again and again, as he felt Spock’s creamy hot cum flowing over his hands, as Spock’s body and mind reached out and touched a flame deep in Kirrk’s soul, as they came and clung together, both mindless, both driven to a place they had never been.


As they collapsed together, Spock knew their minds had joined. He knew that what had happened might change their lives forever.


 


For the next four nights, Spock and Kirrk spent hours together in Kirrk’s quarters. They made love feverishly—it was no longer sex, not for either of them—and they talked just as much, telling each other things that no other soul had ever known. Kirrk told Spock all about his upbringing among the Klingons, a race who only admired warriors and always let Kirrk know that his half-breed status made him less in their eyes. Spock felt deeply for him, having experienced the same among his peers. Kirrk even told Spock his personal name, J’hames, a name that only Mak’khoi and a few others ever used. Spock told Kirrk all about his human mother, Spock’s grief at her death, the loathing of the Clan leaders for Sarek’s half-breed son, the loathing of T’Pring for her half-breed betrothed.


“And yet,” Kirrk’s gesture took in the bed they were lying in together, “you…you let me…” Kirrk actually blushed.


“I did that for my honor, not hers,” Spock replied quietly. He took a deep breath. What he had to say would be hard, but it must be said. “That same honor compels me to wed her.”


For an instant, Kirrk looked at him. Spock could see the pain in the golden eyes. Gently, he reached out and cupped Kirrk’s cheek.


“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I know you had hoped…that I would stay.” Kirrk had hoped, but he had said nothing. Spock’s new affinity with him had allowed the Vulcan to pick up his thoughts. “But I am bound to my people, bound to my Clan, bound to a woman who despises me. Vulcan honor is a hard mistress, but I will not put her aside.”


Kirrk bowed his head, fighting the sick hollowness in his very soul. Then he rose, pulling on a robe that lay at the foot of the bed, hiding that beautiful golden body from Spock. Kirrk turned to look at him.


“I understand,” he said, his voice toneless.


“J’hames, please.” Spock held out a hand. The other man refused it.


“No; I have…indulged myself too much already.” Kirrk turned away and walked to the door. “I will not…bother you again.”


He was gone. Spock sat in the bed they had shared, cold to the depths of his being.


 


The next day, the Valiant arrived from Vulcan for its rendezvous with the Bloodlust. The ransom was paid; Spock, T’Pring, and Stonn were transferred to the Vulcan ship. Chek’hov took the ransom and exchanged the Vulcans. Kirrk was nowhere to be seen.


 


Once back on Vulcan, Spock tried to re-assume his routine. Having assured his father and T’Pau that he was unharmed, Spock buried himself in his research and waited for the day, five moons’ hence, when he would turn 30, and he and T’Pring would wed. She occupied a guest suite in his father’s house, but Spock seldom saw her except at meals or some other gathering of the Household. He did not care. She meant nothing to him.


Spock thought often about Kirrk, wondering where he was, if he was safe, if he and his ship had been captured. He could still faintly feel the thread-thin bond that had formed between them, but it was not strong enough to tell him anything. Spock did not know if the bond would survive his marriage. If Kirrk had been a Vulcan, his bond with Spock would have taken precedence. But there was no way to know how a bond with a half-Klingon, half-Betazoid would react when pon farr set in. Spock could only hope that it would fade once he had bonded to T’Pring. He did not want to die in the plak tow, and he didn’t want Kirrk to burn in the mating fever, since it seemed they were destined to be separated forever by honor. Honor. What a tasteless word.


Five weeks, four days after their return, Spock looked up from his reading one morning to find T’Pau standing in his doorway unannounced.


“Elder!” Spock came to his feet and bowed, wondering why she was here and here without her escort.


“I wish to speak with thee, alone, Spock,” she said calmly.


He hastened to lead her to the most honorable seat and sat down on a small stool at her feet.


“What would you say?” he asked.


“T’Pring is with child.” For a moment, the statement hung in the air as Spock blinked. Then a dull flush of anger darkened his face.


“It is not mine,” he replied firmly.


“I know.” T’Pau raised an eyebrow. “At first, she insisted that it was, but when I offered to ‘prove’ thy paternity through a mind meld, she broke and confessed. It is Stonn’s child.”


 “Of course.” Spock was cold now with the knowledge of T’Pring’s betrayal.


T’Pau looked at him shrewdly. “What is it?” she asked. “It is not the mourning for a lost love; I know there is no love between thee and T’Pring, not even the healthy desire of one young person for another.”


Spock bowed his head. T’Pau should know. Quietly, without emotion, he told the Elder about Kirrk, about Spock’s bargain to save T’Pring from rape, about how his time with Kirrk had changed from captivity to ecstasy, about how he had turned his back on the Klingon/Betazoid to return to Vulcan and fulfill his obligations.


T’Ping bowed her head. “Thee has acted with honor, Spock, and thee has been repaid with treachery. I grieve with thee.” She looked resolute. “T’Pring shall pay the price for her betrayal. I will demand her life from her Clan.”


“No,” Spock said swiftly. “Elder, that will only provoke a war, provoke what our bonding was designed to prevent. Stonn is also of our House; a bonding with him fulfills the terms of the agreement. Let Stonn have her.”


“But what of thy shame?”


He shook his head. “There is no shame where none is felt,” he replied simply. “I wish Stonn nothing but evil, and by giving him T’Pring, I ensure that he will have it.”


The old eyes gleamed with a quiet, evil glee. “So be it. It is…most fitting.”


And so it was done. T’Pring and Stonn were called before T’Pau. Spock stood by her side.


“I know all,” the old woman told the frightened pair. “I could have thee flung to the le-matyas, T’Pring, and have thy manhood sliced off and flung to them as well, Stonn. But Spock does not wish vengeance, and since he is the one wronged, I have let him decide thy fate.”


Spock stepped forward,. “Stonn, she is yours,” he told his old childhood nemesis. “After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasant a thing as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.” He walked past them and out the door, feeling free for the first time in his life.


 


Two months later, it came. Spock woke sweating, his heart pounding, every nerve in his body aching for someone who wasn’t there. The bond was pulling him; he now knew exactly where Kirrk was—two quadrants away, but within reach.


Spock rose, bathed, and dressed, imposing his mental controls to tamp down on the fever. That would work for a time, but not forever.


He requested an audience with T’Pau. Kneeling before her, he told her the truth.


“I burn,” he said simply. “I must go to him, or we will both die.”


The old face looked sad. “It will cost thee thy place in the Clan,” she warned.


“So be it,” he replied. “I should never have left him.”


“Will he accept thee? Will he accept a bond? It will be most strange to him.”


“I know, Elder, but I must try.”


She rose. “So be it.” She beckoned to him. “Come. We will make arrangements.”


 


By the end of the day, it was done. Spock was released from all vows to the Clan stone, and he was given his share of the family properties in gold, along with a small, swift scout ship—T’Pau’s personal gift. He knelt before her one final time.


“Go with my blessing, Spock,” the old woman intoned. “Thee deserves to find thy t’hy’la.”


He bowed his head. “I will find him,” he promised her.


 


Four days later, a small scout ship hailed the Bloodlust, asking to speak to Mak’khoi. The healer stared at the figure in the other ship.


“You!” He was amazed. “Thank all the gods. J’hames is ill, out of his mind with fever. Nothing I have tried makes nay difference. He keeps calling for you.”


“I know,” Spock replied. “I can save him, if he will let me. Will you let me come aboard?”


Mak’khoi looked at Chek’hov; Kirrk’s second-in-command nodded. “One Vulcan is no great danger,” he said. He nodded to Spock. “Send us your coordinates; we will beam you over.”


 


Mak’khoi escorted Spock from the transporter to Kirrk’s quarters. Outside the door, he stopped, his arm gripping Spock’s.


“If he dies, Vulcan,” Mak’khoi growled, “I will kill you.”


Spock gently freed his arm. “If he dies, I die with him” he replied simply. “I know this means nothing to a Klingon, but I love him. I will do all I can.”


The healer nodded. “Believe it or not, you pointed-ear goblin, Klingons love, too. If you say you will save him, then I believe you.”


Spock slipped into Kirrk’s quarters, remembering the last time he had been here, the last time they had been together. He looked towards the bed. As he had been warned, Kirrk lay there, tossing in a fever-sweat, panting for breath, silent tears leaking from beneath his closed eyes as he whispered, “Spock. Oh, Spock. Please, come back to me. Please.”


Swiftly, Spock moved across the room and sat down at the edge of the bunk, tenderly reaching out a hand and stroking the sweat-soaked hair away from Kirrk’s brow.


“My lord,” he said softly. Kirrk merely moaned, his eyes flickering beneath their lids. Spock leaned closed, letting his lips brush the fever-dry check.


“J’hames,” he whispered into the rounded ear, using Kirrk’s personal name, the name he had given Spock as a gift. “J’hames, I am here.”


Slowly, the bronze lashes fluttered, and the amber eyes opened to meet Spock’s gaze. Kirrk looked at him, and a small smile touched his cracked, parched lips.


“The gods are kinder than I had hoped,” he whispered, his voice a mere thread of sound. “Before I die, they have given me the vision I most longed for.”


Spock felt the relief flooding through him. He had believed, he had hoped, that Kirrk would still want him, but he could not know for certain. Now that worry was swept away.


“It is no dream, no illusion,” he said tenderly. “I am here, and I will not leave unless you send me away.”


“Spock?” Kirrk whispered, his eyes still trying to focus on the face above his own. Spock toed off his boots and slid onto the bed, pulling Kirrk into his arms, holding the trembling, fevered body close to his. He felt Kirrk cling to him at once, the other man’s body knowing instinctively what it needed.


“Spock, I’m ill; you must go away. You must be safe.” Even as he spoke, Kirrk pressed closer, feeling the Vulcan’s touch in every part of his body, feeling something in him ease as the agony of the past days seemed to recede.


“It is all right,” Spock whispered, letting his hands move soothingly up and down Kirrk’s spine. “I have the same illness; it is called…pon farr. We…we have joined, mentally. Our souls—our katras, in Vulcan terms—are so completely compatible that when you…took me that first time,” Spock blushed at the memory, “we formed a bond. If we both accept the bond, we will be fine. If one of us rejects it, we will both die of the fever.” He looked at the man in his arms. “Do you understand what I am saying, J’hames?”


“Do you….can you be bound to me?” Kirrk whispered. “I thought…there is T’Pring, is she not your mate?”


Spock shook his head. “T’Pring betrayed me with Stonn,” he explained. “I freed her, but even if you and I had never met, I would not have taken her as my mate.” He gently stroked Kirrk’s brow again. “I have come to you; I need you, just as you need me. I want you, just as you long for me. Will you accept what I offer? Will you save us both?”


 “Spock,” Kirrk whispered. “I am sorry. I have brought us to this. I do not deserve your pity.”


“No, you deserve no pity.” Spock kissed him, letting his lips convey all the longing in Spock’s soul. “But you do deserve my love.” He took a deep breath. “You were right, my t’hy’la, my love; I did not resist you because I did not want to. All that I am is yours, as it was meant to be. Will you accept me; will you bond with me?”


“Oh, Spock,” Kirrk said. There were tears shining in those golden eyes. “How could you ever doubt it? I… love you; I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. But…but I would not bind you when you should be free. Slake your burning on my flesh then leave me. Save your own life, and do not worry about mine.”


Spock felt something in him give way, a last secret doubt laid to rest. “Oh, ashaya,” he whispered, drawing Kirrk even closer, “we are one. I can no more abandon you than I can myself. I am yours, and you are mine.” He let his lips meet Kirrk’s. “Forever,” he vowed. “Forever.”


The kiss was meant to be tender, but even as their lips met, Spock felt his final controls failing, the final barriers between their minds dissolving. The fever roared to life in his veins. Gasping, he reached for his love, knowing Kirrk would be there. He felt that satin-smooth golden flesh pressed against his aching body, cooling him even as it inflamed him, a curious paradox but one Spock was more than willing to explore. He filled his hands with Kirrk’s flesh, caressing and stroking his arms, his neck, his nipples, his hard-muscled belly, feeling Kirrk shiver and gasp at every touch, feeling that magnificent, heavy cock press into his thigh, hard and seeking, craving warmth, craving Spock. 


Spock didn’t hesitate. The shy virgin was gone; a Vulcan claiming his mate had taken his place. His clothes were shed with ease; his hands were busy on Kirrk’s body.


“Oh, Spock, please, please,” Kirrk moaned as Spock bent and sucked a nipple into the hot, loving embrace of his mouth, filled his hands with that heavy cock, stroking and pulling, tormenting and teasing until Kirrk came in a flood, his hot juices trickling through Spock’s fingers. Spock coaxed Kirrk over on his stomach and then up onto his knees, letting his long, clever fingers seek out the opening to his body, using Kirrk’s own moist cream to ease his passage, thrusting two and then three fingers in and out as Kirrk sobbed and pushed back against him.


“Don’t stop, oh, Spock, please fuck me, fill me, take me…ahhh!” Kirrk’s voice broke off in a keening wail as Spock parted his checks and plunged into him, the Vulcan’s cock swollen and hot past all endurance, the flaring ridges  plowing into Kirrk, setting him aflame with renewed heat, his channel rippling around Spock’s erect organ, Spock pushing in and out of him at a frantic rate, driving deeper, ever deeper, trying to become one with Kirrk, to bury himself so far that they would never part.


“Oh, J’hames, my own, my only, give me…give me your love. Never parted…never…and always…touching!” Spock thrust one final time and erupted, coming in those deep waves that Kirrk always seemed to call from his body, flooding Kirrk with his semen, even as he clasped and stroked Kirrk’s hardness until the Klingon sobbed in completion and once again spilled his seed. As they came together, deep in their souls, both again saw that white-hot flame, that light that called to them. But this time, both stepped eagerly, willingly, into the flames, sealing themselves together for all time.


 


Four days later, the fever had run its course. The irascible Mak’khoi had checked their vitals and confirmed that the danger was past. Kirrk and Spock lay together resting, at peace with each other.


“I am sorry,” Kirrk said yet again, running a hand through Spock’s hair. He could never get enough of the feel of those glossy strands against his skin. “I have cost you everything, and in return, you saved me.”


Spock, lying with his head on Kirrk’s shoulder, gently kissed his neck, letting his lips soothe one of the many love bites that decorated Kirrk’s person. “We saved each other,” he said tenderly. “I want nothing that you cannot give me.”


“But I have cost you your place as clan leader, cost you your family…”


“My clan is relieved that they will not have to be led by a half-breed,” Spock said, matter-of fact. “My family—the ones I care for—want me to be happy. Those who never accepted me now have an excuse to ignore me, and the feeling is mutual.” He looked at Kirrk, suddenly wondering if there was more to this than the obvious.


“Are you regretting our bond?” he asked quietly.


“Never.” Kirrk claimed his lips in a kiss that settled that question forever.


“I can never regret what we have,” he said softly, his lips still close to Spock’s. “You have given me, a half-breed Klingon empath, what I had never hoped to find. But it is not all about me now. I must think of you, my love. You do not want to turn pirate; I know it. And I do not want you to. I want...I want us to be something more. I want us to prove all of our peoples wrong about us, prove that it is not blood that makes a person but deeds.”


Spock caressed that smooth golden cheek, still amazed that he could touch this man freely and have his touch returned without guilt.


“What would you do if you were not a pirate?” he asked his t’hy’la. “What would your crew do?”


Kirrk thought for a moment. “Most of my crew would follow me to the Romulan execution pits, if need be, so I think they will go where I lead.” He looked at his love, drinking in the sight of that beautiful face, the dark eyes shining with joy, not clouded with fear or guilt. “If I must fight, I would fight for a reason, not just for profit. I would defend those who deserve it,” his teeth flashed in a sudden, fierce grin, “And punish those who deserve it even more. I would travel across the galaxy, see places I have never known, learn about other cultures, perhaps even find a place where I would be accepted for who I am.” He stopped suddenly, a slight flush warming his features. “I probably sound like a silly child to you.”


Spock shook his head, his fingers still caressing the beloved features. “No, my love, you sound like someone who wishes to make a difference in the universe. There is nothing childish in that.” He thought for a moment. “The Terrans,” he said.


“Terrans? Humans?” Kirrk was puzzled.


“Yes,” Spock replied. “I have—contacts among my mother’s people. They have told me of a confederation that the Earth humans are forming with several other races, to explore the galaxy, to stand against the Klingons and the Vulcans, to create worlds where peoples can live and thrive freely.” He looked at his love.


“The humans would welcome you and your crew,” he said with certainty, “and I would welcome a chance to make a life for myself where I am neither Vulcan nor human, simply Spock.” He pressed closer to Kirrk, craving his touch, knowing it would take a lifetime to slake that thirst. He would always want this golden Klingon at his side, in his bed, safe in his heart.


Kirrk held him tight, still amazed that Spock was here, in his arms, in his bed, and in his heart. He knew that it would take a lifetime for him to fully accept the luck that had brought Spock to him. But for now, there were new worlds to explore.


“The Terrans,” he murmured drowsily, gently kissing that delicate, pointed ear. “Yes, we will have to talk with the humans…”


The two slept. A great legend was about to begin.


 


 


 

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