RoH 13

Because It Is Bitter, And Because It Is My Heart

Stardate 2260.248, somewhere in the deserts of Arrakis

They didn’t bother with dressing. It was hot, and they had plans that didn’t include clothes for after the Bonding. Together they laid out their sleeping pads and spread out blankets on top. It might be hot, but the rocky ground was hard, and they weren’t used to sleeping rough. It was only logical to think ahead, Jim thought.

Jim pulled the package with Sybok’s gift out of his backpack. The name of the drug, “Water of Life”, implied something nice and wholesome, like good Scottish whisky. The Arrakis version was anything but. It was gross. Seriously, catalyzed bile of a dying sandworm? The stuff was also stronger than any version of Spice he’d used before – during the years after Tarsus. When he hadn’t minded that his eyes changed color and that he couldn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. Then, he would have jumped at the chance to try “Water of Life”. But things were different now. He was different now. His apprehension must have shown, because Spock caught his wrist.

“You do not have to do this,” Spock said softly. “Any of this. Just your friendship is enough for me.”

Somehow that typical Vulcan selflessness helped. Because it made Jim angry. “But it’s not enough for me,” he retorted. “I want everything we can have, and more.” He took a deep breath. “Also, facts. Spice? This is the drug that allowed your mother to form a Bond with you long enough that you’re even here. Your brother may not be a messiah, but he’s definitely a kind of Vulcan supermind. And the two of us? We’ve already been through a hell of a lot together. I don’t believe it will be all pancakes and maple syrup from here on out. So, if your brother tells me that this drug can make us stronger? I’ll take it.” Jim lowered his eyes to Spock’s hand, those long fingers wrapped around his arm. “I just …” he started, stopped, tried again, “Spock … if that makes the addiction come back, please … please don’t think less of me.”

Which was a stupid thing to say. Because a) a relapse was out of his control, and b) if Spock were to think less of him because of his Spice habit as a teenager, he already did so. To his surprise, Spock released him and raised his fingers to Jim’s face. His hand was close enough to the meld points that Jim could sense the heat of his higher body temperature on his skin. “Never, ashayam.”

“Alright.” Jim sighed and lifted the phial. It was a small glass flagon, filled to the brim, holding no more than a shot of transparent liquid. He pulled out the stopper and almost sneezed at the sharp scent of cinnamon tickling his nose and the back of his throat. He took a deep breath and upended the small flask, swallowing before the acid bite of concentrated Spice could make him gag.

“Bottom’s up.”

Jim had no idea if he even managed to say that out loud; the drug hit him so quickly. It seared through the mucous membranes of his mouth, burned into his stomach, and its scent went straight to his brain. Within seconds his vision changed, and Jim no longer felt connected to his body.

The drug opened up his mind like a flower, unfolding him petal by petal. A mere remnant of focus remained, barely enough to see Spock’s hand, to meet his eyes. He thought that Spock must move, must touch his face, must meld with him. But the air – time itself – turned solid around him. He tried to reach for Spock. But each movement stretched out in weird dimensions, as if his hand was dissolving into strands of sticky syrup. Or as if he had forgotten what a hand was. He couldn’t speak. When he moved his lips, silence spilled from his mouth. He sank into the stillness of space. But the streams of the stars didn’t progress in a linear fashion anymore. Numbers were nameless and language lost all meaning. Instead, Jim was trapped at the center of a whirling web of times and places. Lives and deaths and rebirths spun in and out. Petal by petal was ripped off the blossom. The future turned into memories and morphed into a life never lived.

“My mind to your mind.”

Five. Words. Fingertips on his face. A number, a word. Meaning. Like the birth of a star in the silence of space. Memory. Like a rebirth from darkness and death. A sense of identity returned, an awareness of his body, mirrored in another mind. SpockSpockSpock. He was crying with the effort to pull his mind together, to direct it toward those words, those heated touches. He jerked under the hand that held him down. Not because he wanted to escape but because he no longer knew the difference between body and mind. Spockspockspock …

“My thoughts to your thoughts.”

SONOFABITCH! Jim was slammed into a hard surface. A fist kissed his lips with a punch that rocked his head and made him see stars and dark, dark eyes. A ta’al, a smart turn on his heels: Live long and fuck you. Blue eyes. Hazel eyes. Such a crooked smile. A boy tumbled out of a car, stumbled away from a mass grave. I don’t believe in no-win scenarios. He threw himself into the fight with wild abandon. He was just a hick, and an addict, and next time, prison would be for real. He was viltah. He was at best a disadvantaged hybrid, at worst the bastard of a traitor and a whore. He was just a child who did not belong, a child who wanted to love his mother and didn’t know how. Nothing to lose is a win-win situation. A hand wrapped around his throat. Fingers dug in deep, defining bruises and a friendship. Asphyxiation burst into a supernova in his mind. Not confined by his skin, it exploded into alien senses. Fingers clawed into his wrist. Nails marked tender skin with green crescents and a mind forever. They both gasped for air and only wanted to feel the other again. Instead, they got missions and misunderstandings. Destiny’s a bitch … and lonely drinks in a bar. And an ancient voice, light-years away: “Your path is yours to walk and yours alone.” Bullshit!

“Our minds, one and together.”

So you do feel … The messy awkwardness of sex, the strange exhilaration of love. The gentleness, the brutality of it. The naked vulnerability. I have been and always shall be your friend. Bodies entwined, thrusting into each other’s depths. Hands pressed against glass. The needs of the one. Sealed doors again. The universe was full of doors. I’m scared … help me not be … Hands, minds reaching—

Desert heat enveloped his naked body. Sweat trickled down his back. Vulcan-hot touches seared his forehead, temple, cheek, and jaw. The pressure of fingertips held his head in place with inhuman strength. Finally, deep breaths.

Then, thoughts: »Holy shit! Spock, what we just did, that shouldn’t even be possible!«

»The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture past them into the impossible.«

»In other words: We cheated, and you’re all for it. Now what?«

“Nam-tor du na’telan?” Spock asked, without relinquishing the meld.

“I am,” Jim replied and opened his eyes. He hoped they were still hazel. Why he was so obsessed with his eye color, he couldn’t say.

“Are you prepared for Bonding?” Jim reached out for Spock and framed his face with his palms. With his thumbs he gently wiped away Spock’s tears.

“Nash-veh nam-tor,” Spock whispered and leaned into Jim’s tender touch. “Kashkau wuhkuh eh teretuhr.”

“Our minds, one and together,” Jim repeated.

Chaos and order, emotion and logic, passion and serenity. How does that even fit together? Principles of the universe. And the universe in us. The connection deepened. Control didn’t matter anymore. Oh. We’re not that different, after all. No …

“Estuhn wi ri estuhn,” Spock said, his voice gentle. His lips moved against Jim’s, almost, but not quite a kiss.

“Touching, yet not touching,” Jim replied and had no compunctions about deepening the soft touch into a kiss.

The need to touch was shocking in its intensity. He could sooner stop breathing than he could stop touching. But touching was wrong – inappropriate – and touching hurt – mental discomfort that needed to be controlled – because to touch meant to know, and knowledge was pain – emotional transference – because he was never enough – inadequate by Vulcan standards, ill-equipped for human relations. But the need to touch was awesome, a thing of damn beauty. He’d rather stop breathing than stop touching and being touched. Never mind how kinky that was, he thrilled at the memory of a hand around his throat. He wanted more of that. But other touches were good, too; a pat on the shoulder, a hug, a kiss, the human way or Vulcan style, a shared nap. He reveled in every friendly touch. In his own way, Jim knew what it was to go without – and to be reduced to a playground for the wrong kind of touches, the cruel, the hurtful, the debasing.

»Touching, to be touched, that’s a basic human need. It doesn’t have to hurt. (Look at it this way, Spock: Touching triggers a release of oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin. That reduces stress hormones. And that is beneficial for the balance and serenity of a half-Vulcan mind. You see, touching is logical. I’ll show you.)«

Spock barely withdrew from the kiss. Each syllable fluttered against Jim’s lips: “K’wuhli wi ri k’wuhli.”

“Apart, yet never apart.” Jim returned the whispered kiss.

Not a supernova in their minds. Instead, a desert sunrise. Light. Clarity. Warmth. Connection. Surprisingly simple. Natural, even. Healthy. In this universe and in all others. Now and forever.

“Nam-tor etek wuhkuh.” Spock withdrew his hands from Jim’s face. To Jim’s surprise the connection remained. Its warmth, its intimacy, and the instant knowledge of Spock’s thoughts.

»The influence of the drug, Jim. For now you are as much a telepath as I am, if not more so. But that will fade.«

A hint of concern melted through the Bond. Jim shook his head and captured Spock’s hand with Vulcan kisses. “We are one.”

»We’ll be fine,« he thought at Spock. »We are one. I’m yours.«

His nipples tightened in anticipation. He noticed how Spock focused on that small sign of arousal, how his eyes drifted lower and darkened as he took in Jim’s growing erection … Spock inhaled, a deep shuddering breath through the mouth. The last three days, Jim had spent a considerable amount of time thinking how a connection between their minds would change their experience of desire. He did not expect Spock’s lust to hit him like the rush of heat and steam in a 230°F sauna. In spite of the heat, he shivered. From one second to the next, his cock was achingly hard.

Jim gasped for breath. To tear his gaze away from Spock’s black-blazing eyes took real effort. His reward was to watch Spock’s erection unfolding. Oh fuck, yeah. He’d had this irrational idea that Spock would be magnificent. Now he knew that it had been a good decision to use the bigger plug to get his body used to the idea of bottoming again. Also, he swallowed hard, those barbs were definitely bigger than the ones in the picture. Thankfully they didn’t look sharp. More like interesting. Kinky. That thickening base of Spock’s penis, too. Also, if not exactly self-lubricating, he was definitely slick, thanks to the sheath’s inner membranes, probably. Even without the special lube, it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Jim wanted to touch Spock and tell him how beautiful he was. He wanted to ask Spock what he wanted, and he wanted to give it to him. All of that, damn it, and more. Spock kept doing that to him: to want more, to be better.

As he handed Spock the lube, he remembered M’Benga’s and Sybok’s instructions. That supremely awkward conversation three days ago …

♦♦♦

[Three days earlier.]

Stardate 2260.245, 1300 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Office

“Thank you for taking the time to meet me,” Jim said and nodded at M’Benga and Sybok, who’d settled into the visitors’ chairs in front of his desk. He wasn’t comfortable with going behind Spock’s back, but there was too much at stake. He folded his hands on his desk to keep from fidgeting. “M’Benga, what I want to discuss with you is primarily a private matter. However, the issue does concern Spock’s health and my own, so I’ll leave it to your discretion how to handle documentation. For the time being, I only request that you do not inform the CMO. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, Captain,” M’Benga replied calmly. Jim liked that about the ship’s expert on Vulcan medicine. He was as imperturbable as any Vulcan, but with all the warmth of human compassion. As a result he was easy to talk to.

“Jim, please,” he asked. “Private matter, okay?” He wasn’t a prude to start with, and his long recovery in the wake of the Marcus conspiracy had further inured him to sharing intimate details of his body. But he didn’t care for being addressed as captain when the topic was essentially what happened to his ass.

“Very well, Jim,” M’Benga agreed. “Since Mr. Spock’s brother is here,” he inclined his head politely toward Sybok, “and you have mentioned Mr. Spock’s health as well as your own, I assume that you are considering a Vulcan Bonding.”

Jim allowed himself to take a deep breath. Thank goodness for smart guys like M’Benga. That made this conversation a lot less awkward. “Yeah,” he said. “That. So we’d have had this discussion at some point anyway. But Sybok alerted us to the fact that there’s a risk in putting it off.”

M’Benga turned to Sybok. “Is the compatibility that strong?”

Sybok nodded. “When we met yesterday, I greeted Jim with a simple handshake. The emotional transference was extreme.”

Jim frowned at M’Benga. “So you were aware of a problem concerning the two of us already?”

M’Benga shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I know that Mr. Spock is not Bonded, and that he is already late in undergoing pon farr. In addition, I have been advised that it is likely he will experience it at some point during the next five years.” The doctor regarded Jim with sympathy. “Everyone on the ship is aware that you and Mr. Spock are very close. Taking into account Mr. Spock’s situation, I confess that I have been hoping the connection between you might grow beyond friendship. But I am not a telepath. Since both of you have refused to see Dr. Elbrun for an evaluation, I am not in a position to assess the extent of your compatibility or the effects of mutual mental attraction. If a Vulcan mind healer – who is also a close relative of Mr. Spock – is worried about your mental safety, I am concerned, too.”

“Yeah, well, then I guess it will reassure you that we intend to go through with the Bonding as soon as I can get us some shore leave on Arrakis. Probably in three days, if nothing comes up,” Jim said. Now he felt really bad for refusing to work with Dr. Elbrun.

“Congratulations, Cap–” M’Benga broke off and smiled his relief. “That’s good, Jim.”

“Thanks, M’Benga.” Jim realized with a start that M’Benga was the first to congratulate him on his, well, marriage. In spite of the differences that was still the best term, as far as he could tell. Jim scratched his head. Talk about things he’d never expected to do in his life. “Why I’ve asked to meet you, what I want to discuss is, well, Spock is …” He didn’t think “freaking out” was a good way to put it, even if Spock was doing just that. “Well, he’s concerned for my safety. So I was wondering what I can do. To reassure him, to make things safer. I know there are traditional uh… Vulcan security measures, which are unavailable on the ship. But if there’s anything I can do, I want to know.”

“That is both logical and beneficial,” Sybok said approvingly. “There are indeed several techniques you can employ to increase your safety. I have overseen the Time of the members of the Vulcan colony on Dune for the last seventeen years. While injuries are inevitable, there has been no death so far. The most important element is a strong Bond. Your Bonding creates the foundation for pon farr. The more resilient a Bond is, the easier the Time will be for both partners. There are several methods to strengthen a Bond. For adults Bonding outside of pon farr, the most important method is to have sexual intercourse during or directly after the Bonding.”

Jim nodded. That made sense. “Spock said it’s more dangerous for two men?”

“That is correct,” Sybok said. “Any male will be considered a challenger at first. However, if clear roles are defined from the outset, the risk is lowered significantly. Especially if only one partner will ever go into pon farr.”

“So, you’re saying if I bottom from the start that will help when pon farr rolls around?” Jim asked. He’d done that before and liked it. At the Academy, with Gary. No problem there.

Sybok frowned. Human sex slang was beyond him. Thankfully M’Benga was present to translate. “Sybok, please correct me if I’m wrong. But it is my understanding that there is more to that technique than taking on the passive role colloquially called ‘bottom’ among Humans. Jim, in the context of pon farr, what we’re talking about is complete submissiveness until the partner at risk – in this case, you – has been recognized as Bondmate instead of challenger. The goal of Sybok’s strategy is to make that recognition instinctive. If the Bond itself is established on that basis, the risk of an escalation of violence should be much lower.”

Sybok nodded. “That explanation is accurate.”

“Okay,” Jim agreed. “Can do.” He’d do whatever it took. “Two questions, though. One, how submissive are we talking here? Can you give me parameters of acceptable behavior? Spock’s not Bonded; he has zero experience. If he’s not in pon farr, how is he supposed to act that dominant? I mean, he definitely has his moments,” Jim couldn’t suppress a grin, “but as a rule he’s not that aggressive. Two, is there sex life beyond the limits of pon farr role play? Not that I’m going to complain, but is it going to be safe at some point to hmm… diversify?”

M’Benga leaned forward. “Jim, you’re still thinking in human terms. But human standards do not apply in this case. This is not ‘role play’. We are not talking about who gets to penetrate, we’re not talking about erotic dominance and submission, we’re talking about an uncontrollable biological drive. There are no safe words in pon farr.” M’Benga didn’t manage to keep his concern from showing on his face as he went on, “Also, your perception of Spock as placid is skewed by your own propensity for aggressive behavior. For a Vulcan, Spock has a precarious history of violence. Near lethal violence. Violence that is already focused on you. If the details were known, he’d be regarded as dangerously unstable. The High Council might even pull him out of Starfleet and force him to undergo Kolinahr.”

For a moment M’Benga paused, letting his words sink in. Then he added with quiet authority, “When Sybok and I talk of submissive behavior, what we mean is that you don’t do anything except breathe on your own. You don’t move. You don’t talk. Just let it happen … whatever happens. Technical problems should not be an issue. Spock’s development has been overseen by the medics of the Vulcan Science Academy. He has been taught all relevant details of human and Vulcan sexuality.”

M’Benga’s words hit him like a punch in the gut, and now Sybok looked worried, too. “What kind of violence has Spock displayed in the past?” Sybok asked.

Jim winced. “After the destruction of Vulcan, Spock was emotionally compromised, but he could not admit to it. I had to provoke him, make him lose control. It was my fault. There was an altercation. A fist fight, on the bridge. He choked me. I didn’t faint, but it was close. When your father intervened, he let me go at once. Then last year I was badly injured. After I collapsed, Spock went after the man he held responsible and nearly beat him to a pulp.”

“I did not know that. It is indeed worrisome; I will have to reflect on that.” Somehow Sybok sounded taken aback at this news. But how should he have heard of that before, here on Arrakis? Neither story was common knowledge, and it wasn’t as if Sybok was still in contact with Sarek. “But to answer your questions,” Sybok went on, “the doctor is correct. You should remain as passive as possible until the Bond has been fully formed. For Vulcan couples that takes around three days. You may need more time. To aid the process, frequent intimacy in form of intercourse and mind melds is recommended. Once the Bond has become resilient, you are free to diversify as you please outside of pon farr.”

“I can do that,” Jim said. Under different circumstances he would have welcomed the prescription of “fuck as often as you can” with a lewd joke. Right now he didn’t feel like laughing, though. His mouth was dry. He had an inkling why Pike had pushed so hard to get him away from Earth on this five-year mission, and he was immensely grateful to his mentor for that. What he’d never quite understood so far was why Sarek had supported the plan so vehemently (well, vehemently for a Vulcan). Now the Ambassador’s motivations were a lot clearer … Damn. It’s all my fault, Jim thought. Spock, how do I keep you safe?

“When you have arranged your shore leave, please come and see me about the relevant medical details,” M’Benga requested, very calm and matter-of-factly.

“Details?” Jim asked. Hadn’t they just discussed those?

“I can replicate traditional Vulcan lube for you, which Spock should be more comfortable with than the standard medical version,” M’Benga explained, as casually as if the topic was standard inoculations. “There are also ways to make anal intercourse easier on a body. Due to Spock’s physiology and his greater physical strength, preparations are advisable.” He didn’t say it, but “Captain” was the form of address that echoed in the silence of the office.

Jim was getting to the limit of his endurance in terms of sexual responsibility real fast now. “Great,” he said without any real enthusiasm. “We’ll do that. Thank you, M’Benga.” He rose to his feet, the other two men following suit. “Sybok, if you have the time, I’d like you to meet someone. A Vulcan boy we’ve picked up along the way. His name’s Thorby. Thorbehrak. He has problems, and our Betazoid counselor hasn’t been able to get through to him …”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.248, somewhere in the deserts of Arrakis

Yours, Jim thought.

He reached out and pulled his pillow toward him. Then he shoved it unceremoniously under his ass. Without taking his eyes off Spock he rose to his knees. Yours. (He wanted to reach for Spock and pull him into his arms. He wanted to kiss Spock and tell him that he fucking loved him, and then he wanted to fuck him.) With a careful gesture, he tilted his head to the left, exposed his throat. (He wanted to bury his hands in Spock’s black hair and ruin his logical looks. He wanted to bite kisses into Spock’s neck and call him dirty names until Spock protested how illogical he was and kissed back just as hard.) Without a word, he lowered himself onto the pillow again. As if in slow motion, he leaned back, further and further, until he lay on his back, arms at his side, ass tilted upwards, thighs spread wide. Yours. (He wanted to grab Spock and press himself against his body. He wanted to reach for that damn beautiful green cock of his and ask Spock if he liked his hands around his dick.) He closed his eyes and breathed.

Jim felt the heat of Spock’s body before the first touch. An electric current surging right into his dick. Holy shit. But Spock hesitated. As if he didn’t know what to do … or perhaps – a sense of glorious anticipation began pulsing in Jim’s balls – because he couldn’t decide what to do first, where to touch, what to taste.

The first touch was fluttering fingertips, stroking his sides, his waist, over his hips to the juncture of his thighs. His own skin was soft and cool like silk, while Spock’s fingertips were fiery embers on his body, and Jim felt both at the same time. He clenched his teeth and tried to focus on breathing. In and out. Out and in. But then a Vulcan-hot sigh scalded his cock. Just a soft exhalation, but by now Jim was so aroused that sensation went straight from damn hot to painful. He gasped for air. Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe. At least the pain kept him from grabbing Spock. Next came the careful, flat-palmed touch from before, measuring, assessing. Jim groaned. He couldn’t help himself.

That one small sound sufficed as a trigger.

“Mine,” Spock growled.

Spock ground himself against him. He pressed his penis against Jim’s cock and covered his body with his weight. Settling his forearms on Jim’s shoulders, he held him in place, trailing burning fingertips around his neck. Jim arched his back, instinctively pushing upwards, seeking relief. He couldn’t control that reaction any more than he could stop breathing. Jim might bench-press twice the weight Sulu did now, but Spock pinned him down easily, still twice as strong. The red-hot touch of Spock’s hand on his throat. The icy realization that M’Benga was right. Yours.

“Mine.”

Feverish fingers pushed into his ass. Not one, but two at once, digging in greedily. Again, the sensation doubled in Jim’s mind. On one level, he was being fingerfucked in his ass in the most perfect way he could ever have imagined. On another level, his hyper-sensitive fingers were sheathed in the silky flesh of his lover’s body, and that sensation was more intense than anything he could ever do with his penis. Joy and pain and sheer exultation.

“Jim.” Spock pressed his face between Jim’s neck and shoulder and nuzzled him, mouthing kisses and sighs into his skin. “Oh, ashayam.”

“Guh.” Jim thought he was losing his mind all over again. Involuntarily he pressed himself against Spock’s fingers, into his palm, demanding more.

“Is that satisfactory?” Spock asked suddenly, desperately. »Am I doing it right?« his thoughts whispered.

Jim couldn’t bear it any longer. He slung his arms and legs around Spock, holding on as tightly as he could, drowning, in over his head, perhaps in mortal danger, and still happy. With a kiss, he silenced his almost-lover. “Love you. Love you. Love you. Now please fuck me.”

Spock pushed in with a hard, awkward thrust. Jim discovered that the barbs were harder than they looked. He very nearly screamed. When Spock surged into him again, Jim nearly blacked out in bliss. Whoever managed to replicate that as a dildo would own the universe. “Spock, Spock, Spock!” he chanted, the need for silence forgotten as he urged his partner on, and on, and on, until the exquisite balance of pleasure and pain became too immense for him to hold, and he came in an incandescent explosion of lust and semen.

A moment later Spock slid his fingers over the meld points on the left side of Jim’s face. The connection between them intensified to the point that Jim felt himself slipping in and out of Spock’s mind with each thrust. To do nothing but breathe became easy. Jim floated. Beyond orgasm, beyond caring. But Spock’s urgency was still increasing with each stroke, each movement, each touch, Vulcan control getting in the way of his need for release.

“Spock, Spock, Spock …” Jim arched into his rhythm, impossibly aroused all over again, refractory period be damned. But it wasn’t enough. He tangled his legs with Spock’s. Still not enough. One hand reached for Spock’s face, the other grasped his neck, sliding around his throat. Not. Enough.

A hoarse order, shouted: “Now, Spock, now, damn you!”

♦

Spock knew exactly what an orgasm was (the sudden discharge of accumulated sexual tension during the sexual response cycle, even for Vulcans or half-Vulcans a process controlled by the involuntary nervous system; resulting in rhythmic muscular contractions in the pelvic region as well as other involuntary actions; characterized by sexual pleasure and a general euphoric sensation). He had experienced it three times in his life. Often enough to be familiar with the procedure and its effects. He had found it not unpleasant and was not averse to experiencing it again, especially with Jim.

What he was not prepared for was the crazy clamor of love and lust that claimed him the moment he touched his new Bondmate.

At first Spock found himself caught unawares in the alien sensation of a San Francisco April shower, of “Yours”/“Yours”/“Yours” hitting him like hail. Jim’s desire drew him out into the rain and painted goose bumps on his body in the heat of the desert. When he reached for Jim, he staggered into the currents of a relentless river, soaking up Iwantyou–kissyou-fuckme–yourstupidhair–sogorgeous–markyou–kissme–fuckingwantyou through his skin until he couldn’t breathe. Until he had to kiss Jim, had to claim him as his own – or drown.

Spock was drowning: He was sinking into Jim or into an ocean. He couldn’t tell. You were not supposed to dissolve into another’s body, you shouldn’t lose yourself in another’s mind. But Jim’s desire rushed into him with the force of a tsunami. With his right hand he clung to Jim’s mind, his only anchor now. His lust flooded his senses, until all he could feel was Jim, his penis pressed against Jim’s, his fingers buried in Jim’s ass. Jim’s arousal surged against him, into his mind, scraped him raw. For a delirious fraction of a second, Spock came up for air. He gripped Jim’s hips without regard for bruises and positioned himself. The sight of his penis pushed against Jim’s anus startled him, shocked him. Spock stumbled more than plunged into Jim. He was going under, losing himself in these terrible waves. In and out, in and out, an inescapable rhythm. Helplessly he flailed in the currents sweeping him on and on and on.

Until Jim screamed at him: “Now, Spock, now, damn you!”

A scalding riptide crashed over him and tore his control asunder, as he spilled himself into Jim’s depths, body and mind, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, couldn’t …

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.249, 0300 hours, Deck 21, Spa & Pool

Leonard’s day started going wrong at 0300 hours, when Scotty woke him with a frantic comm: “You’ve gotta get down here. The girls are back from shore leave, and they are completely pissed. I can’t get them decent on my own. They’ll drown themselves, giggling like that. I’ve sealed off access. Override code is the captain’s birthday. Hurry!”

Then Leonard heard a shrill scream and a splash. He was out of his room and in the turbolift before he realized that he was still in his PJs. When he barged into the spa area on deck 21, the scene that greeted him should have been a sight for sore eyes, balm for the soul of any man this side of the grave.

In the pool, giggling and squealing, frolicked Lieutenant Gaila, Lieutenant Amell, Ensign Canningham, and Lieutenant Carolyn Paul. Gaila, Amell, and the Wraith were buck naked, while Carolyn was wearing some kind of long shirt. Scotty was still trying to convince the women to emerge and get decent. High-pitched, drunken laughter told Leonard that Scotty wasn’t getting through. A second look at the frisky females told him that they’d need reinforcements.

“We’ll need help with them,” he told Scotty. “I’ll call Gwaloth’s husband.”

“Aye,” Scotty replied. “I’ll call Chekov. He’s friends with Gaila, maybe he can convince her to get out.”

Leonard hurried to the next comm line. Had the universe gone mad? It was a woman’s duty to come and retrieve her drunken man, not the other way around!

When he turned back to the pool, the threat of her husband’s involvement had made Canningham come to her senses. She swam to the steps and hurried to her clothes, catching the towel Scotty threw at her. “My husband is never going to let me hear the end of this …”

“I’m still not coming out,” Carolyn Paul cried, hiding behind Gaila. The Orion just laughed and swam away, leaving Carolyn exposed. With a shriek, the woman went under, flailing.

Leonard did the only thing he could: He jumped into the pool and grabbed Carolyn.

“Out we go, Missy, bath time’s over,” he growled and dragged her to the stairs. To his surprise, she gazed at him with adoring eyes and let herself be towed off without protest. That was almost too easy. When she refused to walk up the stairs, he was not surprised and hoisted her up into his arms. He couldn’t help enjoying her solid weight, her lush curves.

That way he managed to get her out of the pool. But to find himself with a squirming armful of happily drunk, soaking wet, half-naked Carolyn Paul had an immediate and unfortunate effect on his body. If he hadn’t noticed the slogan on her shirt next, he wasn’t sure what he might have done. But the thin fabric plastered to her breasts inevitably drew his eyes – to the slogan: “All I want for Christmas is the damn CMO.” His reaction was as unprofessional as that damn shirt. He pressed himself against her, hard enough to take her on the spot. Then he dropped her on the tiles like a hot potato.

Once reinforcements arrived, Gaila, Elena, and Gwaloth could be persuaded to dress. However, that didn’t help much. The shirts they grudgingly pulled on so Leonard and his helpers could herd them off to sickbay were no better than Carolyn’s, except that they were dry. Gaila’s read “Naked Muse of the Navigator Inside”. Elena’s spelled out “Thrusters On Full!”. Only Gwaloth’s was mostly harmless with the sigline “Mushiebrew Is Not For You”. Damn right.

By 0400 hours Leonard had the women detoxed and maliciously sent them off without a hangover remedy. Cold, wet, and with the bluest balls in the history of mankind, he returned to his quarters to get ready for Alpha shift.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.249, 0700 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

At 0700 hours Leonard hadn’t even told his yeoman to get him a cup of coffee, much less given thought to inappropriate doctor/patient relationships when Lieutenant Paul waltzed into his office, looking hung over like hell, to declare that he was no longer her doctor or her therapist.

“You gonna press charges?” he asked, incredulous, still a vision of that damn shirt stuck to her full breasts in his mind. “For heaven’s sake, I couldn’t help myself.”

That was not quite true, and the reason for his bad mood. His arousal may have been involuntary. But drawing her tighter into his embrace, pressing himself against her body, even if only for a moment? Not so much.

“What? Me? You?” She stared at him in shock. “Are you out of your mind? You didn’t do anything wrong. I behaved like an idiot and all kinds of unbecoming an officer. As a result I have disciplinary action heading my way, and I’ll take it without a chirp of protest. I’ve put you in an impossible position, and it’s my responsibility to rectify that situation.”

He hadn’t really believed she would report him. Hadn’t had that kind of impression of her. Had even come to like her. But he knew all about bitches who would stop at nothing. He had good reasons to stay away from women beyond a fuck for fun.

“And how did that even happen?” he asked, indicating a long shirt with a vague gesture.

“How do such things happen?” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “Hormones? Pheromones? I collapsed at your feet and liked your shoes. You’re the doctor, you tell me. I’m sorry, though. It’s such a cliché.” She made a face and continued, “I’m also sorry for getting shitfaced and letting Gaila talk me into that shirt. And for interrupting your sleep. And for errr… provoking you.” She blushed like a little girl. “I should have switched doctors right away, when I realized I was developing inappropriate feelings.”

“Switching doctors? And how is that supposed to work for you?” Leonard chose to ignore her rambling excuses and poked an accusatory finger in her direction. “Because I know very well you weren’t going by protocol giving me access to your file when you couldn’t keep it together after Pyrithia.”

“I’m better,” Carolyn said stubbornly. “Our last three meetings we’ve only talked about Jo, Thorby, Chekov’s novel, your project for improving medical treatment guidelines for alien crew members, and how irritating Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are. The meds are working. I sleep well most nights and haven’t had any panic attacks lately. If I need to talk, I can go to Guinan. She’ll listen even if I replace every important fact with ‘blubber nitwit oddment tweak’. I’m not allowed on any away missions anymore, so presumably the worst medical emergency I’ll have is a cold I catch from the kids at school. To treat a common cold Dr. Chapel doesn’t need access to my complete file.”

“You’re only stuck on board because there’s been no real reason for sending you into danger,” Leonard argued. “That can change the second Sybok pries the data out of Thorby’s mind that Colonel Baslim put there. Pyrithia messed you up so bad because I didn’t have the necessary medical information about you from the start, and I know you cannot hand that to Chapel like a piece of cake.”

Carolyn shrugged. “I’ll have to deal. And in an emergency I trust you to be professional and ignore that I have a stupid crush on you.”

“Jesus, woman. Who even calls that a crush anymore? Except Jo, of course.” Leonard forked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Also, while I guess you can’t blame gravity for it, it’s not exactly your fault. Such things happen. And you never let on when you’ve interacted with me up until now.” He had no idea why that pissed him off.

“Perhaps. But I shouldn’t have gotten drunk over it or jumped into that pool wearing that shirt. I should have been professional.”

“Damn right about jumping into a pool while you’re drunk off your ass.” He shook his head. “Remind me again how old you are?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Lord have mercy and bourbon I pray.” Leonard groaned. “How about I just forget what you did, how I reacted, what you said, what I said, and we both go back to acting our age and being professional about it all?”

“No.”

“What? I just handed you a peace treaty, ready for signature and you refuse? Why would you do that?” He wondered if murder before coffee would be ruled as justifiable homicide.

“Possibly because I’ve decided that I don’t want to be professional where you are concerned.” She gave him a hard stare. “Also, I’ll still switch doctors.”

Then she turned around and walked out on him. Just like that. Also, there was no way she was switching doctors. Not while he had anything to say about it.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.249, 1200 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

At noon, Leonard found himself missing Jim, who more often than not joined him for lunch. He scowled at his sandwich. Jim on shore leave on a desert planet where the leisure activities included riding giant sandworms – Leonard didn’t even want to imagine how wrong that vacation must go. And the only thing he’d been able to do about it was to remind Jim to put on sunscreen.

A moment later his PADD chirped to alert him to a message. A text from Jim, obviously written in advance and programmed to spoil Leonard’s lunch.

Hi Bones,

Sorry to tell you this way. But that shore leave Spock and I are taking, there’s a special reason for it. We’ve decided to get together the Vulcan way, Bond and all. I could give you details, but that will just make you twitch and/or break out the booze, so I won’t. M’Benga and Sybok will tell you everything you want/need to know. Suffice it to say that Vulcan voodoo requires real privacy, and I’m looking forward to having a good time, too. Just in case and so you don’t freak out completely, I’ve listed the coordinates below. Fair warning: If you decide to peek with your scanner, I won’t be held responsible for what you see.

Take good care of the crew, especially Jojo and Thorby. See you in three days.

Jim.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.249, 1900 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

At 1900, Leonard was in his office and waiting for Sybok to finish his third session with Thorby. Leonard had come to care for the boy; not just as a doctor or because his daughter had become fast friends with the kid, but because he admired the boy’s stubbornness and innate resilience. In some ways, Thorby reminded him of Jim. They’d both survived atrocities and emerged … not unscathed, no, but … unbroken. And that gave Leonard hope in his own private hell.

In the last five days since Sybok had first beamed aboard, Leonard had learned more about Vulcans since medical school. That man was intense – think Spock squared, without the filters of logic and rationality normally installed by Vulcan biology and culture. Damn weird. But Leonard wouldn’t look a gift hobgoblin in the mouth. Especially if the information he got out of Sybok might help to keep the two Vulcans in his life safe. (And that damn fool Human getting mostly married to one of said Vulcans down on the planet right now.)

Leonard was doing his level best not to freak out. Judging from Nurse Oli’s wary looks, he wasn’t really successful. At least he hadn’t gotten out the bourbon yet, although he’d been damn tempted several times already (starting with the pool incident last night). Because even without Jim announcing his Vulcan marriage via PADD message (never mind that Sybok and M’Benga had done their best to reassure him that Bonding was “beneficial” for Spock and harmless for Jim), it simply was that kind of day (starting with fishing three drunk girls and a drunk Wraith out of the Enterprise pool in the middle of the damn night because they were too far gone to find the damn stairs or their shirts on their own).

Sybok entered his office and slumped on a visitor’s chair in a posture that was light-years from his brother’s most relaxed way of seating. Leonard took in the long hair, the ragged beard, the expressive face. Once again he wondered if the universe had a master plan that currently focused on teaching him that he knew absolutely nothing about anything, starting with his own child and his best friend, and ending with Vulcans and women.

“Any progress?” Leonard asked. (If he concentrated on Thorby’s problems, he wouldn’t go crazy worrying about Jim.)

Sybok sighed. “Not really. It is very possible that your Colonel Baslim has found a fool-proof way of securing data in a messenger’s mind. Of course it won’t be easy to replicate the method as it hinges on a Vulcan mind’s reactions to profound trauma.”

Leonard was torn between his – grudging – respect for Vulcan demands for privacy and his curiosity as a doctor and xenobiologist. Sybok noticed and raised an amused eyebrow. But he didn’t seem to mind explaining. “What keeps getting lost in translation between Humans and Vulcans is that Vulcan emotions are not just stronger than human feelings, but inherently different. Even more important, so are the emotional processes.”

Fascinated, Leonard leaned forward. “What exactly do you mean with that?”

“You didn’t think Vulcans nearly managed to extinguish their species even before we invented nuclear weapons because we used to be such an overly emotional bunch, did you? Not even Humans managed that spectacular feat of stupidity.” Sybok’s sarcasm was tinged with bitterness. He rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “Human emotions, they come and go, isn’t that correct, Doctor? You experience various emotions at different stages of your life, triggered by a variety of impulses, minor and major, inside and outside. For you it is normal to eventually overcome your emotions and move on, and to experience them all over again. Letting go and making peace with the past is an important part of your mind-healing lore.”

“Hmm. Psychology is a complex area of study for any species,” Leonard hedged. However, he was willing to play along. “But so far, so good. Go on.”

“Vulcan emotions don’t work that way. If a healthy Vulcan falls in love, he stays in love. There is no way the feeling can lessen or grow more intense over time. Love is love. Pain is pain. There is no escape. That is why we need logic and control. Once Vulcan emotions reach a certain threshold of intensity, they cannot be overcome. Just as you cannot heal a broken leg by sheer force of will, a Vulcan overwhelmed by the rage of war cannot make peace. It is neurologically impossible. There are exceptions, of course. Surak was one, I’m another. A genetic quirk allows us a more versatile approach to emotions, even though it is still a far cry from the dynamic, flexible way of how Humans handle their feelings. That is how Surak could break the self-destructive cycles of Vulcan emotions in the first place. That is why I can embrace emotions up to a point, why I can ease the trauma of an injured mind,” Sybok explained. He offered Leonard a crooked smile. “My brother has inherited the benefits of both our species. He experiences the full depth of Vulcan emotions as well as the full flexibility of Human emotions. Unfortunately, I think he doesn’t appreciate how fortunate he is – if he is even aware of it.”

Suddenly, all academic curiosity and even his concern for Thorby were driven from Leonard’s mind. “Wait a moment. Do you mean to tell me that Spock may not know how his own mind works? And he’s down there in the desert right now, trying to Bond with my captain?”

“There is no need for concern,” Sybok reassured him. “Spock is an extremely talented and versatile telepath in his own right. For Vulcans to form a Bond is an instinctive, natural form of telepathy. There shouldn’t be any problems.”

Leonard shook his head. “Please forgive me, but I have to check that myself.”

He jumped up and hurried to the remote medical scanners in the main area of sickbay. He’d already saved the coordinates Jim had provided. So far he simply hadn’t checked on them. He did trust them. (Up to a point.) And he could not bring himself to begrudge them their right to privacy, to intimacy.

Thankfully, the weather was good, so the scans took just a few seconds to complete. Leonard stared at the results. He’d never seen anything remotely like that before. His blood pressure skyrocketed, pounding in his temples. With icy fingers he tapped the panel to bring the scans up on the screen for Sybok. But his hands didn’t shake. His reaction to crisis was that of a surgeon – perfect control, foul language, and a vicious temper.

“What the bloody hell is happening to them?” he snarled at Sybok. “Are those scans supposed to look like that? Or are modern diagnostic tools beyond your Vulcan voodoo?”

Sybok stepped next to him. “I am familiar with brain scans, Doctor. I did study at the—” He broke off and stiffened. “No. No, those scans are not supposed to look like that, not at all. Doctor, I need to examine them at once.”

“McCoy to bridge. Medical emergency on Arrakis, involving the captain and the first officer. Beaming down ASAP.”

He only took the time to call Carolyn and ask her to look after Jo and Thorby while he was gone, then he dragged Sybok to the sickbay transporter room.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.249, 2010 hours, somewhere in the deserts of Arrakis

Ten minutes later, Leonard ripped open the flap of a standard Starfleet tent somewhere in the deserts of Arrakis and froze.

Unconscious and naked, Jim and Spock were lying on the floor, their limbs entangled. Jim was on his back, a pillow under his ass, exposing him to their unexpected audience. Spock had buried his face in the crook of Jim’s neck. His right hand was still fastened to Jim’s face in a mind meld, while the fingers of his left were intertwined with Jim’s right. His penis was still firmly embedded in Jim’s ass. For a second, Leonard could only stare in shock, at the lewd display of their paralyzed, naked bodies, at the fragile ecstasy on their lifeless faces.

“What the fuck?!” he cried and aimed his tricorder at them. The machine lit up with a dozen lights, trilling alarms. Throwing it aside, he moved to tear Spock away from Jim.

But Sybok caught his arm in an iron grip. “Do not interfere just yet. You could kill them both. I shall initiate a superficial meld with Jim to ascertain what is going on.”

Leonard froze. “Why with Jim?”

“Spock initiated the meld. To disrupt his focus could be disastrous.” Sybok knelt next to Jim and trailed his fingertips over his forehead, a gentle, swift touch. Concern turned into anxiety. “I was right to stop you from separating them. For some reason they have joined in the mode of plak’tow, the blood fever, even though Spock is not in pon farr. They are physically tied together – an idiosyncrasy of the Vulcan member that normally comes into play only during the fever. They are also deeply melded, in the throes of their new Bond. Tearing them apart now would end them both, make no mistake about that.”

“Jesus.” Involuntarily Leonard took a step backward and swallowed hard. “But we can’t just leave them here like that!”

“No, that would not be advisable,” Sybok agreed. “Jim is not used to the climate. It is already affecting him. Could you beam them on board of the Enterprise the way they are? Without jarring their position?”

“Yes,” Leonard said. “It’s impossible to get them directly to a room from here, but once they are beamed up, they can be transferred to sickbay in a second step.” He pulled out his comm unit. “McCoy to Enterprise. Scotty, you there?”

“Aye, what can I do for you, Doctor?”

“I need you to prepare for beaming Jim and Spock up and then to quarantine room one. They are unresponsive and in … in something of a state. Can’t be carried on stretchers.” Jesus. But how was he supposed to describe what condition they were in? “Get everyone out of there, Scotty. We don’t need an audience. Have M’Benga expand the bed to double. Can you make sure that they are not jostled in the process?”

“Sure can do. Give me a moment to clear the way and double-check their exact position – then I’ll get them up without a molecule or hair out of place.”

He pulled Sybok backward, so they wouldn’t interfere with Scotty’s analysis of the coordinates. “What the hell happened to them?” he hissed at the Vulcan.

Sybok shrugged helplessly. “I do not know. It must be the Spice.”

“Spice?” Leonard asked and shook his head. “No. No way. Jim would never use that again. It messed him up bad enough as a teenager. He’s been very careful here. The most he’s had is some Spice water. He’d never take the drug.”

“I am afraid that is my fault,” Sybok admitted. “I insisted that he should take ‘Water of Life’ before the Bonding. I did not expect that it would affect both of them. Spock should have been able to control it easily. The meld must have transferred the effects.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Leonard demanded. “Did you want to kill them all along? What kind of a sick bastard are you?”

“I wanted to save their lives,” Sybok replied, his voice shaking. “There was no other way …”

♦♦♦

Somewhere, Somewhen

Jimspock drifted in space, and space was black and silent. But space was not empty. A silver web stretched out across the abyss. Spockjim drew closer, curious. Iridescent strands spun out and pulled them in. At the core they found a living, breathing entity of pearly spheres or soap bubbles or the almost translucent petals of magnolia blossoms. A world? Or a ship? Or maybe both?

As they glided closer, an eerie music greeted them. Trills and wails and rumbles, tinkling, warbling, rumbling. Welcome back? But they had never been here before … Jimspock hesitated. One of the spheres moved towards them, enveloped them, in light, music, and a profound sense of peace and freedom. After a while, it withdrew again. Not yet. Not yet, but one day. A promise. The worldship or its inhabitants pushed them away, off into the depths of the unknown, toward unfathomable coordinates.

What remained was the silver bond that tied them together. The loose ends of the bond extended far into the blackness of space. One end disappeared in a distant, glowing ribbon, a nebula maybe, or some kind of energy anomaly. Spockjim sensed a pinprick of light at its center. A tiny spark, perhaps a lost golden star. The other end of the bond was tied to a precious, silver teardrop. Jimspock knew what these tears would taste like when they licked them from each other’s faces – of ashes and bitterness and love.

Naked, they clung together. After a while, they began to move in a gentle rhythm. They pressed against each other, flowed into each other. Desire pulsed deep inside them, drove their bodies and their minds to completion once more.

♦♦♦

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter – bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
– Stephen Crane, In the Desert

♦♦♦♦♦♦

---

Author’s Notes

• The first effects of the “Water of Life” on Jim follow the description of “Dune” canon; “The universe is full of doors” is also a quote from “Dune” by Frank Herbert.

• Vulcan phrases and rituals are based on “Vulcan Rituals and Ceremonies” at the Star Trek Online Geekipedia.

• “Blubber nitwit oddment tweak“ is from “Harry Potter” by J. K. Rowling.

• The final scene features a worldship cameo from Vonda N. McIntyre’s tie-in novel “Enterprise: The First Adventure”.