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Excerpt from Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

            Spock regarded Lieutenant Reynolds impassively.

            “C’mon, Spock … you know you want to.  It’ll be like that time we did it in the arboretum – only better!” Reynolds urged.

            Spock was aware of a deepening of desire.  It was true that the time in the arboretum had been most pleasant.  He’d calculated the odds quite carefully and had known it would be unlikely for anyone to venture there … but as Jim had said at one of their recent forays into enemy territory, “No matter what the odds are Spock, nothing’s certain.”

            And with that thought of Jim, Spock’s incipient arousal grew and he stepped into Reynolds embrace, allowing the man to fondle his penis provocatively through the fabric of his dress pants.  He was smaller than Jim, and his hair was much lighter, with no curl, but there was something in the man’s attitude, Spock mused – his Napoleanesque hutzpah perhaps – that made it possible to imagine what Jim might be like …

            Spock almost stepped away from Reynolds.  Thinking of one individual while engaging in intercourse with another was undoubtedly perversion, something no Vulcan would contemplate …

            But Reynolds was not Vulcan, and could not know Spock’s thoughts, even when they were pressed skin to skin.  Further, he’d made it clear he wanted only the physical, the sexual – and certainly nothing intimate.  Spock’s fascination with the captain was private, and would remain so.


            It was a fascination of long duration.  His preference for men had been set years before he’d met Captain James Tiberius Kirk, but time spent in his orbit had certainly focused and solidified that preference.

The captain’s body was deceptive; he appeared almost soft with those lushly rounded buttocks and a tendency to carry a little excess fat around the middle.  But as Spock found when he’d finally agreed to a shared practice, Jim had tremendous arm, leg and back strength, augmented with a wrestler’s sense of physics, angles and precision timing. 

He’d turned those cannily to his advantage, and Spock’s longer leaner build to disadvantage.  Time after time he catapulted himself out of Vulcan’s reach using his own body as a fulcrum, and at the last, deliberately tangled their legs to drop them both to the ground where he grinned and said, “Now we’re the same height – you’ve no advantage, Mr. Spock!”

Immediately Spock recalled the phrase that Lieutenant Uhura had uttered to Yeoman Rand one evening as they’d compared men of their acquaintance, “Well, Janice, on their backs, they’re pretty much all the same height.”  Unthinkingly he gazed down the length of Jim’s body, and in that moment of distraction found himself flipped to his back, with Jim’s strong arms and hands now pinning his shoulders to the mat, and Jim’s nose hovering just inches above his.  Lines from of Kubla Khan fed through his mind as Jim laughed at him, ‘Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.’1.

            Jim was off him in another instant and offering a warm strong hand to help him leverage himself off the floor.  Spock had managed to appear composed, but it had been a defining moment.  Before he’d generally regarded the captain as a superior officer with an interestingly diverse method of engaging his staff in their roles.  Now he was intensely aware of him as a physical being.  An exceptionally attractive physical being.

            From that moment, Spock found himself speculating frequently on the nature of the captain’s sexual preferences, and wondering what the Captain’s response might be to an invitation from his first officer.  Perhaps fortunately, it had taken only a short period of observation to determine that James T. Kirk was one for the ladies.

Ladies of every size, shape and color.  His flirtatious eyes followed almost every new female encountered, and while Spock had yet to observe him do more than teasingly exchange innuendo with female crewmembers, he’d kissed – quite passionately – 37 other females, well within Spock’s view over the course of the first year of their mission.

            His swift pursuits were nearly always successful; his two-punch combination of an intensely focused charm, and a willingness to offer extravagant verbal compliments were used to devastating effect on each woman of the day – or hour.

            On one memorable occasion, just inches away from where Spock had been attempting to meditate, Jim engaged in several hours of sexual activity with two different females.  The fact that the bed he was putting to such vigorous use was on the other side of the wall provided no impediment to Vulcan hearing or imagination … and Spock found that meditation was impossible when he could hear Jim’s voice rasping, “Yes, ladies, oh yes – turn just a little more this way – I can do you both, I swear I can!”

            And if a small portion of Spock’s consciousness still pondered the odds of the captain being amenable to exploring other genders, that speculation was laid firmly to rest the night that the he, Jim, McCoy and Sulu had wandered into a bar on Space Station Epsilon following a briefing that even Spock had found tedius.

            They’d been waiting on a second round of drinks, when a young person of somewhat indeterminate gender, with painted lips and swaying body, climbed right onto Jim Kirk’s lap and laid a wet kiss against his lips.  “Baby, you’re so hot,” the being said huskily, “And I could really use a warm-up.  Come on upstairs with me, will you?  I’ll get you off any – no every - way you like.”

            Both of Jim’s eyebrows went up, and then he calmly but firmly removed the being from his lap, and replied, “Sorry, baby, but I just don’t go for guys.  Thanks for the offer, though – and happy hunting.”  His words had been accompanied by a polite smile, but Spock could read his captain by then, and could see the mild distaste that displayed itself only in the slight rigidity of his form, and the increased watchfulness of his eyes.

            Spock had been aware of a cold sinking in his stomach, a sensation that he could only associate with severe disappointment.  Immediately the iron doors of logic slammed down on that reaction.  He had known for over a year that Jim enjoyed women.  The odds of his having even a slight interest in men had been very low.  The confirmation of his exclusive heterosexuality would now permit Spock to refocus his own interests in areas of possibility; a much more efficient usage of his time than his previous meditation on what had been at best highly improbable.

            And so, for the next two years, each time Spock was struck by the captain’s undeniable charms, he resolutely shoved his reaction firmly into the cmpartment that he kept for impossibilities.  For the most part, this became routine, and yet …

            Spock was irritated.  For the 2,364th time his gaze had dropped to Jim’s crotch.  He inhaled shallowly and moved casually to just beside and behind the captain’s right shoulder.  From this vantage point, he would be unable to ascertain whether the captain was interested in the admittedly aesthetically pleasing contingent of representatives from Scithscine II.  At least, not by looking at his crotch. 

Yet again he found his mother’s guidance sometimes served him better than the lessons in control from his Vulcan instructors.


He was six, and he’d spent eleven point seven hours in meditation on the rest day prior to the resumption of classes.  His mother considered that excessive, and attempted to redirect him, “Spock – I know you seek to control everything - even your most subconscious wishes.  But you are still learning control.  It is not logical for you to set your self-expectations so high.” 

“Mother,” Spock replied, “If I do not set my own expectations high, it is unlikely that I will succeed in countering those whose expectations are low.”

            Amanda Grayson had achieved a great deal of control herself during the years living among Vulcan’s, but her mouth thinned nonetheless at this unintended reference to what humans would undoubtedly condemn as bullying.

            “Very well, my son,” she conceded, “But there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

            As he looked at her with barely concealed repugnance, she could not resist allowing one small smile to form, but then explained gently, “Sometimes, oh Grasshopper, it is easier to control your place within a situation, than to attempt to control the situation itself – or your response to it.”

            Despite the odd references his mother delighted in throwing into her conversations with him, her suggestions were often most effective.  And so, Spock began to practice placing himself differently in situations where direct control proved difficult.

            It had become something of a habit.


Spock was not, however, positioned so far behind the captain as to avoid seeing the eager look in his honeyed eyes as he reached out to take the hand of the first female to approach, and then raise it to his lips while gazing up through his own lush lashes suggestively.  Spock would have predicted nothing less.

Even Spock had raised an eyebrow at the Scithscines’ uniformly large, dark and lushly lashed eyes, their luxuriant silver hair that shone like starlight, and the apricot-colored skin that was displayed in large quantities by both males and females. 

They all wore sleeveless tunics that varied greatly in color and ornamentation, but none extended beyond the knee, and the fabrics were quite lightweight, so they draped revealingly about breasts, chests, hips, and buttocks.  The entire population looked amazingly … healthy.

But for once, Spock simply did not care to watch Jim pursue yet another alien female.  Restless, and impatient with his inability to control the distraction that was Jim Kirk, Spock’s eyes searched the room for an alternative distraction.

Reynolds was already aggressively pursuing one of the silverhaired males from the delegation, but a raised eyebrow from Spock was enough to bring the Lieutenant to his side.

“Something up, Spock?” he asked suggestively.

“Yes,” Spock replied tersely.  “Do you wish to accompany me to your cabin?”

Reynolds eyes widened slightly.  While they’d only had sex a handful of times, each time previously Spock had waited for Reynolds’ invitation.  Once he’d been invited, Spock rather aggressively took charge of the action, but this was the first time he’d issued an invitation.  Reynolds chewed his lip for a moment.  Spock was fucking hot, and knowing that he could break Reynolds in half at any moment only added to the attraction, but the change made him a little uneasy.

            “You’re not jealous of my interest in the Scithscine, are you?” he asked suspiciously.”

            “No,” Spock replied.  “If you prefer to pursue him, I will select another partner.”

            Reynolds grinned, “Okay – let’s go.”  The Scithscine was a maybe, and almost too pretty.  Spock was a known quantity.


Captain James T. Kirk was feeling weary.  He’d charmed the Scithscine ladies until his teeth ached.  It was strange, but the minute he’d seen Spock leave, closely followed by that Rawlins … Ralston … that new lieutenant that worked in the lab, the fun had gone out of the evening.  Probably some experiment needed babysitting.  He couldn’t begrudge Spock leaving the reception early – he kept longer work hours than anyone else almost all the time.  But now that he was gone, and there wasn’t that comradely support poised just over his shoulder, Jim wasn’t inclined to keep going to the bitter end either.  So, after a few last compliments to the ladies, and a laughingly issued ‘no thank you, really’ to one overly interested Scithscine male, he pointed a finger at Sulu, said, ‘You’re up, Lieutenant,” and strolled out the door.

But it was still a little early to go back to an empty room, so Jim decided a ramble within the corridors of his silver lady was in order.


            Reynolds continued to press and stroke at Spock’s erection.  “You like that, don’t you, Spock?” he said.

            Spock stared back, wishing that the man’s eyes were not so dark.  Jim’s were so warm, so golden …

            Angry suddenly, Spock surged forward, and shoved Reynolds against the bulkhead, then braced a knee there and wrapped his hand around the back of the lieutenant’s head and clenched the short hair tight.  Reynolds gasped with excitement – oh, fuck, Spock was pissed, that had never happened before!  Spock’s free hand reached and found Reynolds ass, and pulled him forward, grinding their erections together.

            Reynolds groaned, and raised his own hands up to pull Spock’s head down to him, frenched him as hard and wet as he knew how, smacking and sucking at his lush bottom lip and licking at that narrow top lip. 

            Spock drew his head back – he didn’t like kissing Reynolds, it always felt somehow as if he was behaving badly; allowing an intimacy that he shouldn’t.  And then a soft gasp from the end of the corridor made him look in that direction.

            Jim.  It was Jim.  Stunned immobile, Spock gazed at his captain.   The feeling of disaster, and the calm that sometimes comes with it settled heavily on Spock’s shoulders.  Jim was looking shocked – worse than that, Jim was looking … destroyed.  Why?

 “Sorry … I … sorry, excuse me.” Jim uttered, and then turned and disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

With a frown, Spock pushed off from the wall, and set Reynolds to the side.  He gazed in the direction Jim had gone.  There was no logic to Jim’s reaction, and there was no logic in what Spock was thinking either, but …

“I do not care to continue this,” Spock said calmly to Reynolds.  “My apologies.”

Brows drawn together, Reynolds watched Spock walk, somewhat rapidly, in the same direction the captain had taken.

Uncertain where the sense of disaster had come from, and uncertain as well with the direction his steps were taking him, Spock nonetheless continued resolutely to Dr. McCoy’s quarters.


McCoy was lovingly pouring a single glass of bourbon when his cabin door chimed.  “God damn,” he said, “There had better not be any goddamn emergency.  If someone so much as tore a hangnail …’

And then as the door whooshed open McCoy went silent as he took in the sight of Spock standing in his doorway.  A Spock with mussed hair.  What the fucking hell?

 “Doctor,” Spock said calmly, “May I speak with you?”

McCoy stared.


“Uh, oh, sure Spock, sure!” McCoy uttered and then automatically drew a second chair out for Spock to sit in. But he didn’t sit in it, of course not.  He just took four steps into the room and then just stood there.  Sitting down would be too friendly, too ...  Whoa.  Bones reined himself in.  Something was up, something had to be up.  Spock didn’t just wonder by his cabin in the wee hours of the night.

“Doctor, are you aware of anything which has happened this evening that may have … disturbed the captain?” Spock asked.

“Disturbed him?” McCoy repeated.

“Yes,” Spock confirmed.

“Spock, I haven’t even seen Jim this evening.  Did you see him?  What makes you think he’s upset?”

“I did not say that he was upset, Doctor, I asked if you …”

“Oh, knock off the bullshit, Spock,” McCoy said, “You know and I know that you know Jim better than anyone.  If something’s wrong with him, you’d be the first to know it.  Now what do you know that I don’t know?”

Spock stared at the Doctor and opened his mouth to reply¸ and then closed it without saying anything at all.

McCoy lowered his gaze threateningly on him.

Why, Spock wondered, did I come here?

McCoy’s watchful eyes saw the hint of uncertainty, of … need? in Spock’s eyes and changed his tone and posture, “Look, Spock,” he said gently, “Jim’s your friend, and you’re his.  You’ve saved each others lives – not to mention sanity – more than a dozen times over the last few years.  If you think something’s not right, then you’re probably right.  And if something is wrong, there’s nobody Jim’s more likely to open up to about it, than you.  Go talk to him.  If that doesn’t work, well, I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Spock gazed at McCoy silently for a few moments, and then nodded his head and turned to go.  At the last moment, before striding out the door, he turned his head and said politely, “Thank you Doctor.”


In the lift, on the way to Jim’s cabin, Spock considered McCoy’s words.  It was certainly true that over the last several years, he and Jim had become very good friends.  They had come to understand and appreciate each other greatly.  Being Jim Kirk’s friend was now just a part of who Spock was.  An important part of who he was.  So if Jim were in any way distressed by … by Spock’s activity, then he would apologize.  However it still seemed uncharacteristic that Jim would object in any way to either Spock’s sexuality or activity.  Provided that his crew behaved appropriately on-duty, the captain was amazingly relaxed with their actions at other times. 

The lift doors began to open and immediately an impatient figure pressed forward to bump violently against Spock. 

            Spock’s fingers gripped and righted Jim as he rocked back from their collision.  As the lift doors closed behind the captain, Spock took in his pallor, and felt the panic radiating against his fingertips, even through the fabric of his shirt.  A certain shock went through Spock.  He should not be able to sense Jim’s feelings without the touch of skin to skin.  Somewhat discomposed himself, Spock released Jim abruptly and took refuge in formality; he straightened his posture and folded arms and hands folded behind his back.

            With effort, he recalled his intent to determine the cause of Jim’s distress.  “Captain?” he ventured awkwardly, “You appear … discomposed.  May I be of assistance?”

            Jim stared at him fixedly and did not reply.

            Spock frowned, and raised an eyebrow, “Jim, are you unwell?” he queried.  Perhaps he was ill – there was always some risk when new populations were brought on board, no matter how vigilant the medical crew was is screening for previously unknown viruses.

            Jim’s face changed to fury and he snapped viciously, “Done fucking already, Spock?  I thought you’d be occupied for at least an hour.  Maybe Vulcan endurance isn’t as it’s rumored.”

            Shock ran icy through Spock and the training of his youth provided him with a response.  His spine snapped him even more tightly vertical, and he replied with the disdain and contempt he’d reserved for his youthful tormentors, “You disapprove of my actions, Captain?”  Almost distantly he heard his voice issue through lips that felt numb, “That would appear to be somewhat hypocritical given your own frequent public displays of …licentiousness.”  Pain was running through him, pooling in his chest, in his throat.  Jim was his friend, his good friend.  Wasn’t he?

            Jim had not allowed the sentence to be completed before snapping, “I’ve yet to fuck anyone into the bulkhead right in the middle of the corridor!”

            Spock attempted calm, pushed the hurt deep within the compartment he reserved for the untenable and issued incontrovertible fact, “The bulkhead is undamaged, Captain.”

            Moments passed with neither speaking or shifting a gaze.  The lift stopped, door chimed and whished open and Spock said distantly, “If you will permit, Captain.” and began to move past Jim.  His focus was now wholly on attaining the privacy of his cabin, where he could absorb the loss of Jim’s regard without observation.

            But the captain stretched out his arm and gripped Spock’s bicep almost painfully.  Jim’s voice was urgent, “No – no, Spock …”.  Spock looked at him blankly.  He had never needed Vulcan control more, and never had it seemed so out of reach.

Jim’s voice came again, his eyes searching into Spock’s, “No, please … I … I … we need, I need to talk to you.”

Was there panic in his voice?  Pain?  Spock’s childhood experiences and McCoy’s instructions warred briefly within him, but the look, the pain and urgency in Jim’s golden eyes settled the matter.  Spock stopped and waited.

            Jim looked away for a moment, and then returned his eyes to Spock’s, “Somewhere private … maybe … my cabin, Spock?”

            Spock looked – really looked at Jim.  He appeared nervous, or worried perhaps.  Certainly he’d lost the cockiness and confidence that was his hallmark.  Perhaps he was unwell.  If McCoy saw this behavior, would he suspect illness?  Perhaps there was a biological cause for Jim’s unprecedented attack.  Duty intruded.  He should minimally attempt to evaluate Jim’s condition, and report to McCoy if necessary.  “Very well,” he replied.

            In silence Spock followed the captain through the corridors to his cabin, then practiced patience while waiting for developments.

            The captain’s nervousness had not abated, and rather than get to the point, he filled the silence unnecessarily, “Uh, Spock, let me get you a drink – water, or tea?”

            “I am not thirsty, Captain.”

            “A snack maybe … you’re probably hungry after …” Jim winced added, “Sorry, scratch that.”

            Spock felt an eyebrow twitch but firmly suppressed all other reaction.

            Finally Jim looked directly at him and his eyes were apologetic, “Look, Spock … okay, first off, I apologize.  I … my comment in the lift – that was unacceptable and rude and, and I’m afraid that I …”

            Apologies were illogical.  Spock attempted to direct the conversation to possible causes, “You were afraid of me,” he commented.

            Jim said nothing.  No denial or agreement. 

“I could feel … panic … in you,” Spock persevered, while firmly suppressing any sign of his embarrassment.  His ability to directly sense the captain’s emotions without a physical touch was quite … shocking.  It implied a connection that …  Spock firmly suppressed that thought.

            Jim was still silent, but he was swallowing nervously.  Spock firmed his resolve and spoke bluntly, “I can assure you however, that your person is safe from my sexual assault.”  That should address the possibility that his behavior with Reynolds had raised some irrational fear.

            Perplexed, Spock watched as the captain lowered his head, pressed his fists against his thighs, and then blinked his eyes.

            “Jim?” Spock queried.  Jim’s face was flushed and he was holding his breath.  “Jim …” Spock tried again, “Did I offend you?  That was not my intent.” 

            “No, no,” Jim said shakily.  “It’s just that I, I was surprised to see you so … so affectionate with a man who … well, who … who wasn’t me.  I’m afraid I was jealous.”

            Jealous.  Spock heard the word but could not reconcile it with his perception of Jim Kirk.  He’d seen Jim firmly repulse any male who showed interest.  And there had been that expression of distaste …  Was Jim simply searching for an excuse, even a false motivation for his irrational behavior?

            “Jim,” Spock replied, “That is not logical.  Jealousy is an emotion conjoined with desire.  You have stated that your sexual orientation precludes feeling desire for males.”  Spock paused and then frowned and added carefully, “Surely you do not feel that my sexual activity has any detrimental effect on our … friendship … or on our working relationship?”  Spock held his breathe awaiting Jim’s response.  Would he deny their friendship?

            Jim shook his head and said, “Spock – you ought to know by know that humans aren’t necessarily logical.  The full truth of the matter is …” and Jim took a slow breath before continuing, “I didn’t realize until I saw you with Rogers, er Roberts …”

            “Reynolds,” Spock interjected.

            “Oh right, sure, Reynolds … uh, I didn’t realize how I felt.”

            Spock considered, with an inclined eyebrow.  It was true that Jim did not tend toward introspection. 

            “But I do now,” Jim said and then continued haltingly, “I … I want you for myself.  I don’t want to share you.  Not with Reynolds, and not with anyone.  I know it doesn’t make sense.  I can’t help that.  But … I want you.”

            Spock stared at Jim.  He could feel his brows rising with disbelief.  It was impossible.  There had never been the least hint of sexual interest.  He would have noticed immediately. Nor had the captain ever shown any interest in any other male.  If he had … if he were interested … no!  Spock immediately quelled the faint swell of hope.

            “Captain …” he began.

            “Spock, I think, at this juncture, you might call me Jim.”

            Spock noted the flushed face, and chose to ignore it, “Despite what you have said,” Spock continued resolutely, “the likelihood that you do in fact desire me is very low.  It is much more probable that what you feel is …”

            “Fuck this,” the Captain said, and before there was any time to think of resisting, he’d grabbed the back of Spock’s neck and pulled his head down to firmly place their lips together.

            Spock jerked as the touch of Jim’s lips against his released the torrent of emotion boiling through the captain with every pulse, and every heartbeat.  Unable to shield from it, Spock wanted both to thrust Jim away, and to clutch him closer.  Desire!  Need!  Hurt!  Fear!  Desperation! …  Spock closed his eyes and clenched his fists.  The danger, the danger of giving in to that emotion, that uncontrolled lust and … Spock’s eyes flew open in amazement.  Yes!  Lust and desire, there was no mistaking it, Jim did want him.

            Frozen in astonishment, yet burning within the desire unmistakable in Jim’s hold, Spock stood still while Jim slanted his mouth over his, trapped his upper lip and sucked on it, thrust his tongue between Spock’s lips, and licked inside.

            Slowly, very slowly Spock realized that he was withstanding those emotions rolling through Jim’s touch - without control, without violence and without fracturing!  How could this … this torrent of emotion be so tolerable?  It was turbulent and unpredictable, but it was Jim – Jim, who was so familiar to him. 

Spock felt like a rock, steady and sturdy and solid in the sand, Jim’s feelings rubbing against him in a steady stream as if heated winds were carrying them past.  As Jim plundered his mouth, Spock was already adjusting, and could hear, just beneath the passion, the murmur of Jim’s thoughts

            C’mon Spock, c’mon … give me something; give me … a moan, a pant, a little movement, anything.

            Spock closed his eyes and catalogued the sensations as Jims lips pressed firmly against his; warm and dry – becoming smooth and soft as they formed over his top lip.  His suction added moisture and heat, and then a puff of humid and heated air hit the surface of his mouth as Jim’s tongue moved swiftly between his lips.  Spock felt a liquid stroke inside; a clever tongue outlining the inside of his lips, teasing at the roof of his mouth, and then … oh – then that plunging tongue, firm, but wet, and … demanding … decisive, just like the Captain, sliding and stroking against his own tongue. 

Spock pressed his eyelids tighter together and breathed heavily against that tongue … oh, yes, … oh, yes that was … “Jim!”  Or rather ‘uimmn’ since clear speech was impossible.

            Jim seemed to take encouragement from the unintelligible response.  One of Jim’s hands gripped more tightly at Spock’s hair at the back of his head, and the second hand moved down to Spock’s bicep and pressed firmly against it. 

Now his palm was sliding, silkily, smoothly along Spock’s chest and on to his hip.  Spock luxuriated in the sensation and then almost gasped as Jim shifted his stance so that Jim’s cock was now pressing into the hollow between Spock’s thighs – its hot length nestled now against his own engorged penis.  Against the shock of that intimate pleasure, Spock caught Jim’s thought, Good!  He’s feeling something at least.

            Uncertain what Jim meant, Spock opened his eyes and looked down to see his eyes intent on his.  They were slightly narrowed in concentration and … something else - need?

            Jim said intently, “You want me … don’t you, Spock.  You want me, and …” Jim pressed his groin in a slow grind against him in emphasis, “ … and I want you. So … it’s logical Spock, it’s … it is logical.” 

            Spock watched with bemusement as Jim’s face became determined, his hand clenched hard into the muscles at Spock’s hip, and the fingers of his other hand tightened in a grip on the hair at the nape of his neck.

            “Logical,” Spock repeated. Was it logical?  How could he tell?  His own thoughts were as nothing against the bombardment of passion and need that was pulsing through the skin – and yes, even the clothing where they were pressed tightly together.  Spock was lost in sensation; nothing so cohesive as a thought was possible.

            “Yes, Spock, yes …” Jim said commandingly.

            Spock gazed at his captain, felt the desire careening through them both, hungrily took in the sheer beauty of Jim’s flushed cheeks, the deep rose of his lips, the brightness in those brilliant eyes, listened to the suppressed breath and pounding heart, and felt the pulsing of Jim’s penis pressed tight to his.

            “Very well, Captain,” Spock heard himself reply.  A distant warning began to rise from some logical portion of Spock’s consciousness.  He thrust it angrily away.  He wanted this, he needed this.  And Jim wanted it, wanted him.

            Jim’s eyes widened as Spock brought his hands down to mold his ass and pull him even closer within the pocket of Spock’s groin.  Spock lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against Jim’s cheek.  Jim, finally, finally it was Jim, under his hands.  Spock let desire sweep through him and tongued the lower edge of Jim’s earlobe.  Yes – it was soft and tender and so delicious.  He sucked on it gently, feeling his chest swell almost painfully with pleasure in the taste of Jim’s skin.

            “Aah!” Jim choked out, “Spock, let’s … let’s get these clothes off.  Now, okay?”

            Clothes, yes, clothes were an impediment.  Spock stripped them both quickly.  He wanted nothing between them, nothing. 

            A naked Jim Kirk stood for just a moment within his gaze, passing his eyes over Spock’s body.  Spock felt his skin clamoring for the feel of Jim’s against him again, but just as he reached for him, Jim sank to the ground, pulled Spock’s foot onto one shoulder and then enclosed a toe within his mouth.

            Spock’s mouth flew open, his eyes widened, both eyebrows shot to the sky and his breath left his chest.  Jim’s hot wet mouth sucked hard, and the pleasure shot up his foot, through his leg and groin, and on to his nipples and lips.  Every erogenous zone in his body was on fire.  The surface of his skin felt as if he stood in the face of a roaring flame.

            All reason fled. Lust controlled.  Spock grabbed Jim’s arms and wrenched him upward so they were once again chest to chest, and groin to groin. Spock took Jim’s lips in a kiss, but lips alone were not enough and Spock plunged his tongue demandingly into Jim’s mouth.  He would have moaned if he’d had breath for it.  Spock’s hungry hands moved to Jim’s ass – he pressed hard and at the same time thrust to grind their penises together.

            Hunger.  Desire.  Spock moved tongue to earlobe and began sucking there again.  Ah – the taste, the texture, the smooth …

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed, “Oh, Spock … I …”

            Spock claimed Jim’s mouth again, and moved a hand to caress and tweak Jim’s nipple.  Spock felt Jim buck his groin against his.  The pleasure/pain was building with each taste and touch.  Impossible, it would soon be impossible for this to suffice.

            He needed in him, wanted to feel Jim surrounding him, to plunge within him.  Words were difficult, took concentrated effort, but some remnant of sanity reminded him that Jim had not been under him before; he would need direction.

            “Jim,” Spock said as he tasted Jim from earlobe to collarbone.

            “Huh – wha – what?” Jim panted out.

            “Turn … around,” Spock managed to press the words out.     

“Uh, Spock … I … wasn’t thinking very far ahead,” Jim said, “No lube.  We’ll have to wait for …”

The warning voice of reason rose again, and even more viciously, Spock thrust it away.  No!  He would not stop.  He would not.  This was his.  This moment, this memory, this never-possible-always-wanted dream of Jim.

            “Not necessary,” Spock replied.  Once again it was as if his voice came from someone else, somewhere else.

            “What do you mean, not necess …”

            Spock moved to Jim’s back, pressed open his cheeks and in a quick moment pressed just that crucial inch and a half within him.  It was instinct driving him now, the instinct of a Vulcan intent upon mating, sharing the life-giving fluid so precious to all desert-dwellers.  Spock’s back stiffened as he felt the emission of the viscous liquid begin to flow.

            “What is that?” Jim yelped.

            The voice of conscience whispered … he does not know … you have not told him … this is a danger to him.  Spock’s body, mind and instinct all warred together.  With effort Spock managed to say, “Lubrication.  Do not move.”

            “It’s hot,” Jim said.

            Was Jim in pain?  Spock had been too careless, he’d not prepared him, softened his opening at all.  Was he torn?  Fear rose.  But need argued no, no, Jim was fine.  Spock would feel Jim’s pain just as he was feeling the pleasure, the heat built within him; the flames soon to flicker.  But he should make sure, make certain …

“Is that a euphemism?” Spock managed, eyes closed and instinct still holding him unmoving, the precious fluid flowing slowly.

            “No … it’s really – Spock … you should have warned me …”. 

            Yes, he should have … what was he doing?  He had never before been so careless with a lover. Always he’d carefully explained the process, that instinct kept Vulcan’s immobile until the exchange of liquid ensured safe penetration.  He must tell Jim, he must … ah, but they were so close … so nearly there.

            “Are you uncomfortable?” Spock asked.  Spock’s cheek pressed against Jim’s neck, his breath coming faster with the effort of not moving, not yet.

            “Not … really, it’s just … I’ve never felt …”

            “I will begin moving soon,” Spock began.

            Jim tensed … Spock felt it and tried to warn him again, “Jim! I said do not move.  You will break my control.”  The animal inside laughed.  Control?  What control, this was instinct, and lust had control.  No!  Spock argued back, no, I will not hurt him, he is precious to me.

            And then, incredibly, Spock felt Jim’s ass clench and tighten around him.              “Jiiiim!”  Spock felt both panic and indescribable pleasure and pain and his body bucked in reaction further within Jim.  Oh - he was tight – too tight, and there was not enough lubrication.  Disaster!  He would tear him, damage him.  Despite the knowledge, the fear, the panic, Spock’s body was still in control; he bucked again. Jim, impaled, moved back and forth with him as if they were fused together.

            “Oh fuck, we’re stuck,” Jim said with a mixture of laughter and pain.

            Laughter?  Did Jim not understand the gravity of the situation?  In desperation, Spock summoned control, and depressed pleasure, depressed pain.  He concentrated fiercely and thrust all sensation and thought but that of reason deeply away – where animalistic instinct belonged.  Moment by moment he persevered, and then finally capable of some reason, he growled, “Did I not tell you to remain still?”

            “Hnh,” Jim laughed.  “Sorry.”

            Spock gritted his teeth and continued, “If you cannot obey I will not be able to prevent damaging you.  Surely Jim would listen now?

            Jim stilled and Spock closed his eyes and bit by bit managed to reduce his arousal.  His penis shrunk somewhat.  Perhaps enough. 


            “What?”  The captain sounded pissed; would he forgive this?

            “Try to pull free from me.  I will attempt to hold my position.”


            “What?”  The question sprung from Spock without volition.

            “You feel good.”

            Spock spoke slowly and carefully; anger at his recklessness would not aid them, “There is insufficient lubrication to safely attempt coitus.  If I move within you now, I may tear your intestine.”

            “So … don’t move for a bit. Won’t that hot liquidy thing happen again?”

            “No,” Spock restrained his temper again with difficulty and reminded himself that he was at fault, “That hot liquidy thing can occur when only the top one and one half inch of my sexual organ is within you.  While I am more deeply imbedded than that, no lubrication is exuded.”


            “So,” Spock added, “It is necessary for you to carefully remove yourself so that I do not damage you.”

            “Right.”  Spock felt Jim attempting to find leverage; his feet flattening on the floor and then his palms pressed against Spock’s thighs. Spock almost moaned with Jim’s touch, and then did moan as Jim wiggled against him.  Ah, the feel of Jim there, his ass cheeks so smooth and firm!  Spock’s cock expanded again.

            “Uh, Spock,” Jim said.

            Spock closed his eyes and focused hard on control, forcing away the feeling of pleasure and said to Jim, “A moment.”  Once again he managed to reduce his erection.

            Jim’s body began to pull slightly away; but his ass cheeks constricted again ant again Spock moaned at the feel of that pressure.

            “Um, Spock,” Jim said, “Maybe … maybe we ought to just work our way over to the dispenser and order up some lube.”

            Spock considered.  But such an order might well show up on Dr. McCoy’s monitor – and that, combined with Spock’s earlier visit to his cabin would likely cause the doctor to question whether the captain were perhaps unwell, or at least engaged in behavior that was aberrant. 

To Jim he replied, “If you think that Dr. McCoy will not subsequently question your unprecedented need for lubrication, then certainly, let us go to the dispenser.” But now reminded of their earlier conversation, Spock thought grimly again of McCoy’s comment, ‘Jim’s your friend, and you’re his.  You’ve saved each others lives – not to mention sanity – more than a dozen times over the last few years.’  His actions tonight were not those of a friend; he’d been out of control, animalistic.  He’d not behaved even as a lover … Spock’s erection began to flag.

“What, – you think I’m going to tell him what we’ve been up to?” Jim asked

            Spock winced.  He would have to report this incident to the doctor.  He’d endangered Jim’s safety.  His behavior had been completely inappropriate.

            “The doctor can be persistent,” Spock replied.  His penis lay flaccid now within Jim’s channel.

            “Believe me Spock, I’m not going to tell Bones what …”

            Before Jim could finish his sentence, Spock gathered himself, grasped Jim’s hips and smoothly removed himself from Jim’s body.

            “Hey!”  Jim’s head whipped around to look back at Spock. 

Spock gathered up his uniform.  He would go immediately to report to Doctor McCoy.  He well knew that given time, his resolve could falter, rationalization would find a way to make such a report seem unnecessary.

            “You put that back!” Jim yelled.

            Spock paused in lifting up his shirt and looked back at Jim questioningly.

            “What do you think you’re doing?!  We’re not done here,” Jim said.  He was still looking amazingly appealing; flushed pink in places where the skin was not tanned to gold, his lips plumped and vibrant, his eyes … best not to look at him, Spock thought and turned away.

            “I believe, Captain that it would be best if we were,” he said in as cold and  dampening a manner as he could manage.

            “You don’t mean that Spock,” Jim said coaxingly.

            Spock inserted his foot into the opening in his black briefs.  He would not look, would not respond.

            But then suddenly Jim was kneeled before him, and had lifted his penis to his mouth and was kissing, licking …

            Spock stared at Jim’s folded form.  So desirable, and ah, he was beginning to suck now.  Spock fisted his hands so that he would not touch him.  That hair was just inches from his hands.  It was so uncharacteristic for Jim to be the supplicant – always he’d been the pursuer … the dominant actor. 

            “Jim, stop,” Spock attempted to command him.

            Jim’s mouth continued to suck on his penis and one hand rose to softly fondle Spock’s sack.

            Spock tried again, “Jim, there is no point to this.  You do not wish to have to explain your activities to the Doctor.  I have no wish to see you … subsume … your own desires in an attempt to satisfy mine.  Both your nature – and mine – is to take command in intimate sexual relations.  We will always be mismatched.”

            Spock sighed in relief as Jim stopped and sat back on his heels.

            “Spock … you don’t … you don’t understand,” he muttered, looking up at him.

            Spock replied, “I understand that you are used to having these activities go as you have directed them.  However …”

            “No, dammit.  Spock, it’s not just ‘these activities’!” Jim said angrily.

            Spock frowned down at Jim.  He’d fisted his hands on his thighs as he balanced on his heels.  His posture was distracting.  His penis looked like an offering laid upon an alter … a golden pink fruit, rosy and …

Resolutely, Spock wrenched his gaze to Jim’s eyes.  “Explain.”

            “I … I …” Jim stuttered, and then said, “I can’t just … explain.  Words aren’t enough.  I need to … to show you.”

            Spock doubted his ability to continue to control his body’s response with temptation so close.  He should leave.  Now.  But his body refused to move.

            Jim rose to his feet, and then wrapped his arms around him, pressed his head and cheek against Spock’s chest, and hugged their bodies together.  Spock closed his eyes and tried not to move, not to respond.  A second time, Jim hugged again, and held onto him tightly.

            Jim’s voice came softly against his ear, “Spock … I, I love you.  It’s not just …” Jim paused and in that pause Spock felt his heart roar, and the want came charging back to the surface to batter at his control.

Jim continued in a hoarse, almost whispered voice, “It’s not just sex.  If it were, we could hump and be done with it, and it wouldn’t really matter that much to either of us how satisfying that single encounter might be.”

Spock felt Jim press his cheek harder against his chest. 

“It would just be one more little experiment among hundreds of others,” Jim finished softly, and then he shuddered and wiggled against Spock as if he was trying to merge them into one body.

            Spock held himself very still.

            He knew well there were moments in life in which a future path diverged from plan.  Opportunity, fork in the road, pivot point; the name did not matter.  But actions at such times, words at such times … they held greater weight, greater importance than at any other moment.


In his cabin, McCoy glared at the bourbon in his glass.  Damn it, what if Spock’s speculation were correct, and there was something wrong with Jim?  They’d been as thorough as always in the pre and post-contact analyses, and added a nano-decontam on top of it, but nothing was foolproof.  And if Spock suspected something, anything at all – well he did know Jim better than anyone, and he wasn’t prone to error.

Yeah, God forbid that that he might ever be at fault – damn perfect bastard that he was.

            Oh, hell, Leonard sighed.  No excuse, he had no excuse for sending Spock off.  Resolutely, he set the glass down and thrust a scanner into his pocket.  He’d go pay Jim a visit.  It’s what he should have done in the first place.  And he’d find Spock and apologize.  His own frailties might make him resent the Vulcan’s perfections, but it wasn’t fair to Spock.  And maybe if he explained himself, the Vulcan wouldn’t try to find fault with him quite so often.

            He hated to admit it, but somewhere over the last year he’d realized that he wanted Spock’s approval.  Even found himself entertaining fantastical images of Spock conveying affection and …

            Hell with that, Leonard thought.  Fantasy is one thing, but he’d never manage an apology with those kinds of thoughts roiling around in his brain.  He pulled on his boots and headed out the corridor.


            Spock still held himself motionless.  This moment, the words he chose and how he said them could change the path of his friendship with Jim.  How should he respond?  He’d always found himself at a loss with the human need to express emotion.  Vulcan expectation and perception was so different.  Certainly he’d learned that humans expected an emotional response as a part of their sexual activity.  Never in the past had he satisfied in that regard.  His sexual expertise had seemed to provide sufficient compensation to his partners but … this was Jim.  Would the physical be enough?  How could he say what Vulcans did not say, at least, not outside of a meld.

            “Jim,” Spock began carefully, “I appreciate that you wish to convey your … feelings to me.”

            Jim took a deep breath and held it. 

            “And I can appreciate that you may wish me to convey my … feelings … as well,” Spock said and then paused to gather courage.  Would he lose Jim in this moment?  He lowered his voice, and tried to firm it, and tried to warn Jim of his limitations, “However, as a Vulcan, I will … disappoint you in that regard.”

            Jim loosened his hold and leaned back to gaze up at Spock.

Spock felt his face freeze but inwardly he mourned, not enough, never enough

            Jim seemed to search his eyes, and then said gently, “Spock … I don’t need you to tell me what you feel, but I … I need to tell you what I feel, and more importantly, show it.”  Jim rubbed his hands along Spock’s upper arms and offered a rueful smile up at him and added, “Maybe not always sexually, but … well, I also don’t want anyone else’s hands on you.”

            Gently, Jim continued, “So … so if you don’t want to be celibate, I certainly hope you’ll allow me to … be your lover.”

            Spock stood stock-still and thought in amazement, he still wants me!  But in the next moment he reminded himself that caution was still called for.  They did both tend toward dominant roles with their partners.  If they were to be lovers, it would be necessary for one, or both of them to be willing to take a more passive role – at least on occasion.  Spock carefully tucked away the thought that Jim truly did not wish to share him as if it were a treat to nibble on later.

            “Jim,” Spock said cautiously, “If we could reach some compromise … that satisfied us both, then …”

            “Yes!  Absolutely, Spock,” Jim replied.  He rubbed his hands affectionately up and down the sides of Spock’s ribcage.  “We’ll figure something out.  We’re two mature adults, we both have plenty of experience and … I know!” Jim said gleefully, “We can take turns!”

            “Take turns?  Is that not somewhat … contrived?” Spock asked dubiously.  He could not see either of them behaving in such a pre-arranged fashion.

            “Spock, you’ve got perfect memory … so you just keep track of who went where last time, and we’ll just …” Jim’s voice trailed off as he took in Spock’s distant gaze.  “What – you don’t like that idea?” Jim asked.

            Spock remembered uncomfortably how many times his passion had been heightened by the unexpected, or by the thought of some slightly aberrant behavior on his part.  If they were to be lovers, should he not give Jim some hint of this?

Reluctantly he confided in a muted voice, “I prefer a little … spontaneity in my encounters, Jim.”

            “Well,” Jim said grinning up at him, “How terribly perverted of you.”

            Spock said nothing, but he felt his ears and cheeks heat, and at the same time his body relaxed just slightly.  He should have known that Jim would approve of anything that Spock himself might consider risqué. 

            “Okay, then,” Jim said, still grinning, “We’ll just go with the flow … you lead and I’ll follow.”

            Spock pondered, what if Jim continued to be reckless?

            “No – really,” Jim said, “I can be spontaneous and flexible.  Just try me.”

Would Jim know to obey him when it was necessary to his safety? Spock worried.

            Jim laughed.  “Ok, my dear Mr. Spock, I guess I’ll have to prove it to you,” and so saying Jim grabbed Spock by the wrist and pulled him to the door – which obediently whooshed open – and into the corridor.

            Spock’s eyes widened and he whipped his head left and then right.  Miraculously the corridor was empty, but Jim could not have known that.  The recklessness …

            “And now, sweetheart …” Jim said,

            Sweetheart?!  Spock frowned at having such an endearment used on him.  He returned his eyes to Jim who was grinning mischievously – and then he moved away, spread his hands on the corridor wall, and turned his head back over his shoulder to say, “Fuck me into the bulkhead.” Jim grinned again.

            Spock swallowed hard.  There was his captain, completely naked and that golden pink round ass was pointed cheekily into the corridor, and more specifically in Spock’s direction – and at any moment, any moment at all, anyone could come around that corner.

            Spock flushed and felt his heart start beating rapidly against his side as his cock filled and bobbed at the idea – the very idea of taking Jim right here in the corridor.  Both of them naked for anyone to see.

            “Jim,” he said hoarsely, “Anyone could see us, anyone and …”

            “So you better be quick then, hmmm?” Jim said and wiggled his ass a little.

            The heat rose up in Spock and in the next moment he was pressing against Jim, both hands pulling his cheeks apart and pushing a very thick and hot cock at his entrance.

            “Ah! i t’nash-veh,” Spock snarled and with his last vestige of control pressed a precise one and one half inches of his penis within Jim’s canal.

            “Oh man, oh man,” Jim uttered.

Spock waited breathlessly, filled with hope that this time, Jim would hold still.  

Jim once again felt the hot liquid begin to fill him.  And this time, he barely dared to breathe.  He’d give Spock no reason to leave him.  He’d wait … wait for Spock’s word. 

Jim had his head down, and Spock pressed his cheek against Jim’s neck.  He could feel Jim’s pulse racing, and now skin-to-skin could feel not only the steady pressure of the release of his fluid into Jim’s canal, but also the heat and pressure that Jim felt as the heat filled him deeper, and began building a flame.  Spock could feel Jim’s tension, his need to move, but he was waiting – he was waiting.

Spock rubbed his cheek on Jim’s neck, back still tight against the pressure of the fluid release, but then, just then that pressure eased.  Yes!  He’d held!

Spock flexed his hands against Jim’s waist..

            “i, Jim, terau,” Spock growled and then with clear effort he repeated, “Now, Jim, join – join with me.”

            And with that permission, Jim bucked back into Spock, and Spock grunted and pushed back. 

At the start there was just a steady pump and pull, with just a little friction as Spock took care to assess the lubrication.  With relief he noted it was indeed sufficient and his cock could freely press in and out of Jim without restriction or pain.  Satisfied, and eager to provide greater pleasure, Spock calculated the correct angle, and pushed in firmly.

Jim moaned as Spock’s thick hard organ hit his prostate.  He stilled with the pleasure of it.  He’d heard, and read and of course, he’d known it was supposed to be, to feel wonderful – but oh, oh, it was incredible.  He could never have imagined – and it was Spock, Spock! pressing within him, ensuring this pleasure.

 Spock saw the moan and beatific look, and repeated the angle and pumped again into that spot even harder.

Jim gasped and moaned again, “Oh, yes, Spock, please, just like that, just like that – oh more of that please, please.”

Spock growled at his name on Jim’s lips, grasped tighter at Jim’s hips and began a punishing pound, rapid fire and forceful.  But careful, careful just the same.

“Oh man, yes … yes, inttooo th’ bulk … head, baby,” Jim whispered, “That’s it, I’m done for Spock.”

Spock felt his brow rise with amusement at Jim’s commentary, and joy filled him as he felt the quaking of Jim’s stomach and the clenching of his cheeks as he began to come.  Spock closed his eyes with satisfaction and made three more quick thrusts into that tightening ass to stimulate his own climax.  Spock shuddered as his prostate discharged his seed within Jim, a series of pulses that rapidly emptied him.  He pressed tight against Jim’s sweaty back as the tremors passed through him, and felt Jim’s harsh breathing rock them both slightly.

Clinging now more to the wall than to each other, their bodies still heaving and the sweat dripping to join the rest of the wet mess on the floor, they each came to their senses in almost the same moment.

“Crap, Spock, you’re a bad influence,” Jim said, “Let’s get the hell out of the corridor, shall we?”

“I concur, Captain,” Spock replied.


Just around the corner of the corridor, a flushed Dr. Leonard McCoy pulled his hand out of his shorts, wiped it on his pant leg, and then skulked as quickly as possible to the nearest lift.  Damn.  He was going to have to track Scotty down and beg for a bottle of engine room hooch.  And maybe ask one of those goddamn Vulcan adepts to give him a mind-wipe the next time he came across one.  Sleep was going to be hard to come by after this. 

And that little fantasy about affection … lordy.  Suddenly he was certain it would be going to a whole ‘nother level.

Chapter End Notes:

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