- Text Size +
The whole title:



How to drive your perfectly reasonable, albeit libidinous, bondmate completely out of his mind ...



Or



“But Jim, why is it called K/S, when logically it should be J/S or K/X?




The story:




Captain James T. Kirk strode down the corridor to his quarters. He and Spock were on different duty shifts this rotation, but this time at least part of the off duty time coincided more conveniently. Thank god for Vulcan tractability. Spock could shift his metabolism to suit his needs, unlike Kirk who must shift his needs and wants t suit his metabolism. This time around they should have much more time together when both were rested and alert, and the Captain could barely contain his anticipation.



As he reached the door and passed through Captain Kirk was superseded by Schames n’ha Xtmprsqzndtwlfb.



Spock was seated, as usual, at the computer terminal deeply engrossed. He was, however, still in his Vulcan robe, a difference which sent Jim’s already active libido spiking up another few notches. Rather than disturbing his mate immediately, he decided to change himself and the sleep area to match his amorous mood.



Thirty minutes later, a well-scrubbed Schames snuggled into the back of his bondmate’s neck.



“Good evening, t’hy’la.”



The only response he received was a grunt (from Spock?) and a hand sensuously twining in his hair. He continued to nuzzle Spock’s neck in an attempt to distract him.



“What can possibly be more interesting than your obviously very horny roommate practically chewing on your neck and very sensitive ears?” Jim snapped in frustration ten minutes later as he stood back gripping (not gently) Spock’s shoulders.



“It’s some new material in the archives that has just been retrieved through the Guardian from the late 1970s and the early 1980s. You really should read this, Jim. Your ancestors were …. Quite …. Imaginative,” Spock spoke, not letting his eyes drift from the monitor.



“You don’t usually go in for imaginative fiction.” Jim scowled. He had tried to get Spock to read some of the more inflaming pornography on many occasions. “What’s so interesting about this?”



“These are ‘fanzines’, amateur fan magazines, written by devotees of the television show Star Trek…: Spock’s voice drifted off as a particularly lurid passage entwined his attention.



Jim realized that there must be more to it than the fact the old TV show had seemed (right down to characters and personalities, he of course being the exception) to be a déjà vu of their ship. He couldn’t imagine Spock so engrossed in fictionalized accounts of McCoy, Uhura or Sulu’s love life. And Spock reserved the term imaginative purely for pornographic fiction.



“There must be more to it than that, love. You’re positively ignoring me,” he pouted as he reached into Spock’s robe to rub his nipples erect.



“Umm….” Spock leaned back into the seat never losing his place in the story. “These particular fanzines are exclusively about our love life and they are quite graphic.”



“Oh?” Kirk had to admit that the idea was intriguing as he reached lower under the robe to stroke Spock’s penis.



“They are also very imaginative in their speculations as to the size and configuration of my sexual organs.”



“Uh hmm,” Jim moaned as he arched so that his engorged sexual organ pressed into the hard back of the chair.



“Would you prefer that I had a double ridge? Would it be more pleasurable for you?” Spock quickly glanced up at Jim and back to the page.



“I’m more than satisfied with what you were born with, love. Le me show you.” Jim moaned and mumbled as he moved to kneel beside Spock and pull his robe above his waist. He then wasted no time in setting to work on that most loved member of his bondmate’s anatomy.



For the next half hour the only sounds in the room were the hum of the computer terminal and very sucking. Jim was squirming trying to find a comfortable way to kneel to support his fully roused penis.



“Spock….you’re not….(slurp) cooperating. Raise your ass,” he pleaded as he realized a rear attack was called for. He deftly inserted two fingers into the tight green orifice before Spock returned his weight to his bottom effectively trapping his bondmate.



“Umpff…(plop),” Kirk groaned. “Spock, you’re breaking my wrist!”



“I’m sorry, Jim,” Spock replied as he wriggled his ass up and off of Jim’s fingers.



Kirk, shaking the injured wrist, leaned over Spock’s lap to glare at the viewer.



“What in Zandru’s hells are you reading anyway?!” He spoke as he started to read.



Schames moaned as he slowly impaled himself on the hot, fleshy jade column until he felt his master’s pubic hair tickling his buttocks.



“Oh…gods…more…I want…more of you in me. Spock…Spock, please…more…” he groaned as his owner began to thrust the verdant bayonet of his passions. “Oh…oh…harder…faster…oh…fuck me…split me…




“Oh uh…I can’t stand it.” Kirk grabbed himself and started pumping. “Spock, get up!”



Jim swiftly sat in the chair and turned the back to the viewer. He then grabbed Spock and pulled him into his lat, roughly impaling him.



“You’ll have to read over my shoulder,” he stated as he started to move. Spock cooperated for one thrust and then settled himself so that Kirk could not move.



“If you will answer one question for me I will dispense with reading until after my shift.”



“What question? Anything.”



“All of these fanzines are categorized as K/S, i.e., Kirk/Spock.”



“Yes, go on.”



“Logically since they are using only initials, the body of the material should be categorized with either both first initials J/S, James/Spock, or both last initials K/X, Kirk/Xtmprsqzndtwlfb, although properly that would now be n’ha X/X, rather than the last initial and first initial, K/S.”



“Okay, I follow you so far,” Kirk groaned in exasperation. “What’s the question?”



“Why would they refer to the literature as K/S when it is obvious from the writing that these are not totally illogical humans?”



“If I answer this, can we get on with it?” Kirk asked. His deeply imbedded penis was throbbing, quite painfully, with each heartbeat. Spock nodded in answer.



“It’s probably because the majority of the readers either didn’t know or couldn’t spell or pronounce your last name and because there is only one Spock but there could be many Jims. Logically, they would choose a tag that was easily referred to and understood by the majority of the people involved in the creation and dissemination of the body of literature. Okay?” He held his breath waiting for Spock’s reply.



“Indeed! I fail to see why I did not think of that,” Spock finally answered as he wrapped his arms around his bondmate and began to pump up and down vigorously.



“Oh uh…you probably had other things on your mind,” Kirk panted in answer on the fourth, and as it happened last, thrust.



No sooner had he spoken than the red alert started whooping throughout the ship. Spock rose with alacrity to change into his duty uniform as Kirk continued to sit.



“God damned Klingons!!” he muttered vociferously as he rose. He spent the time it took to dress and reach the bridge wondering vaguely if it were possible to die of terminal horniness.



AS the ship returned to normal duty status many hours later, a very uncomfortable Captain (suffering a severe case of blue balls) stole a look at the chronometer. He was delighted to see one half hour remained before Spock had to be on duty. As he rose from his command chair he noticed, however, that his bondmate seemed thoroughly engrossed in his duties.



“Mr. Spock.”



“Yes, Captain.”



“Come with me, please.”



“Captain, I really must correlate the data on the attack and …”



“Mr. Spock…you are not on duty for another thirty minutes. Since the ship is not on alert, you are not required on the bridge. I’m sure the Lieutenant is quite capable of correlating the data. I require your presence for the next half hour.”



“Twenty-eight point two seven minutes….sir,” Spock added at Jim’s scowl.



“Whatever…come with me, please. Now!” So saying, Kirk turned and exited the bridge. Spock was no more than three steps behind him.



To Kirk, who shared the turbolift with Spock and most of the senior crew, the trip seemed interminable. He managed a pleasant good night to one and all before grabbing Spock’s arm and dragging him into their cabin. As soon as the doors closed behind them he started shedding clothes (his and Spock’s) in a direct line to the sleeping quarters.



“Jim, I’ve been thinking about our previous discussion.” Spock stopped dead two feet from the bed. It made removing his pants and boots nearly impossible for his bondmate.



“What discussion?” Jim honestly couldn’t remember. As the old saying went his brains were definitely between his legs.



“About the fanzines.”



“Oh, yeah,” he paused and smiled as he remembered the passage he’d read. “What about it?”



“Why would they continue to call them K/S after it was pointed out to them that it was illogical?” Spock canted his head and eyebrow in guileless innocence at Jim.



“K/S?” Kirk glanced at the chronometer, slowly counting away the minutes.



“Yes, K/S, Kirk/Spock, as opposed to J/S, Jim/Spock or K/X Kirk/Xtmprs…”



“Oh.” Jim sank disgustedly to his knees. “I thought I answered that to your satisfaction before.”



“As to why they originally chose to call it K/S, yes. However,” Jim fell back onto his cute, round ass, back against the bed, “what I do not understand is why they would continue with the misnomer after the illogicality had been pointed out to them.”



“You mean somebody else started this whole mess?!” You didn’t think it up on your own?!” The (in)famous Irish temper boiled. “Who? I’ll personally kill them.”



“That would be impossible.”



“Why?” Jim looked again at the chronometer. Five minutes left.



“Because she has been dead for several centuries.”


“Huh?”



“In one of the fanzines, California K/S, I believe, a certain writer argued the point. From the lack of change it would seem that fandom at large chose to ignore her arguments.”



“And you want to know why, when presented with logic,” Jim tried to be patient as he pulled himself onto the side of the bed, “the rest of them didn’t change to J/S or K/X?”



“Precisely.”



“Spock….Spock. You can’t expect a leopard to change its spots.”



“I fail to see…”



“I mean that we humans, Spock, are creatures of habit. It’s very difficult, almost impossible, to change traditions and long held opinions. It was easier and more convenient to continue on – probably a whole lot less confusing too.”



“I suppose given the human predilection for complicating the simplest of facts, it is understandable that they chose to ignore her.”



“Good. Come here,” Jim’s voice dropped into a sultry growl on the last two words. “I’ve got a case of killer blue balls and you’re just…”



“Bridge to Mr. Spock.”



“Spock here.”



“Sir, Lt. Sulu wishes to know if you will be detained much longer. If so, since his shift is over, he would like your permission to turn command over to…”



“Not necessary. I will be there in two point eight minutes.”



Kirk’s face had crumpled at the first sound of the intercom. One glance at the chronometer had completely killed his hopes.



“…what the doctor ordered!”



“I’m sorry, Jim, but I must report for duty. Perhaps we can continue this in sixteen hours when our off duty coincides again.” Spock moved toward the door, dressing as he went.



“If I live…and barring further Klingon and fanzine attacks,” Jim muttered.



“I beg your pardon.” Spock stopped at the doors.



“Nothing, go on, you’re late,” he sighed.



AS the doors closed, he decided you could dies of terminal horniness. He also began to wonder how difficult it would be to take a trip through the Guardian, to 1983 or thereabouts. How much would it change history if one fan writer disappeared. Mysteriously.
You must login (register) to review.