RoH 12

Opposite States In Harmony

Stardate 2260.245, 0100 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Cabin

Jim pressed his right hand against the middle of Spock’s body, over his heart. A flurry of palpitations thudded against his palm.

“You are scared,” he said softly.

Spock’s eyebrows pressed low over wide, black eyes. “I am—”

“I know you do feel,” Jim interrupted him. His own heart was pounding, too. “Emotional transference, remember? When other-you melded with me, I could sense what he was feeling.”

“That is not what I wanted to say.” Spock minutely shook his head. “I will not forget what experience of the Vulcan mind you possess,” he added, sounding just a little bitchy. Spock, jealous? Of himself?

“Then what?” Instinctively, Jim moved another inch closer. That close, he could see Spock’s tension even more clearly. Around his eyes, in his lips.

“I am concerned,” Spock emphasized, “because Sybok is right. Our minds are – shockingly compatible.” He lowered his gaze to Jim’s hand. A hint of green tinged his cheeks.

“Is that how you could take my fear when I died, even through the glass?” Jim asked. He didn’t like thinking of his death; he disliked talking about it even more. He sensed that Spock shared that aversion. But Sybok and Guinan were both right. If they wanted to get anywhere with each other, they had to talk, and there had to be honesty between them, no matter how emotional or awkward.

Spock blinked, fiercely enough that Jim caught a glimpse of his inner eye lid. “But I did not,” he whispered. “I could not. A fact that has caused me – pain.”

Spock shifted on his feet, a hint of movement that brought him even closer to Jim, allowed their foreheads to touch, skin to skin. Jim inhaled. The skin contact, limited though it was, created an almost electric surge of tension between them. “Not all of it, no. But the moment our hands … even though we couldn’t touch … it was not so bad then,” Jim insisted. That had been a different kind of bad – Spock’s hand, so close, but out of reach. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before.” He swallowed hard and drew back, meeting Spock’s eyes. “Bones reckons that’s what made you lose control so badly.”

Spock frowned, such a clear sign of distress that Jim was on the verge of simply pulling him into his arms then and there. It was difficult to remember that Spock would hardly find a hug comforting. Would that change once they were Bonded?

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Spock said, abandoning any attempt at Vulcan precision. “I confess I do not recall much of those hours. I remember your hand. After that, there is a haze – until Nyota caught up with me.”

“Shock,” Jim said, as matter-of-factly as he could. “That’s normal.”

“Not for a Vulcan.”

Jim wanted to kiss Spock. He wanted to fuck that terrible, haunted expression from his face until he was caught in a very different kind of haze, post-coital and blissful. Instead he forced himself to take a deep breath and walk over to the living area of his cabin. With a grimace, he sat on the couch and turned to the side so that his erection would not be as visible. He was determined to give Spock the space he needed to regain his tattered control. There was still a shitload of awkward topics they needed to discuss …

To his surprise, Spock not only followed him but settled down at his side, almost, but not quite touching. “I am drawn to you,” he admitted. “Due to your restoration, your mind has become sensitive far beyond human norms. Even from a distance I am aware of you now, of your mind reaching out to me. If you touched my skin you might be able to sense my mental state as well.”

“Seriously?” Jim knew he should be, to use one of Spock’s favorite words, “concerned”. But he wasn’t. “Kind of cool.”

That got him a raised eyebrow. Jim chuckled – hey, at least that meant Spock wasn’t freaking out quite as badly anymore. “Arousal seems to increase the effect,” Spock added, as calmly as if he was commenting on the proper seasoning for plomeek soup.

Urgh. Awkward. Well, you knew it would be, Jim reminded himself. “You tend to have that effect on me.” Since Spock wanted physical proximity for once, he offered his left hand, palm-up. Jim knew that touching each other’s hands could be a form of intimacy among Vulcans. But it didn’t have to be – Vulcans used their unprotected hands in everyday life as much as most other humanoids. “So, talk to me about Bonding and about pon farr.”

Spock placed his right hand over Jim’s left, lacing their fingers. “What you feel between us is the potential to form an intimate Bond, such as the Bond that married couples share. A monogamous, life-long commitment.” His tone was neutral. His words held no insinuation that this concept wasn’t compatible with one James T. Kirk to start with. Perhaps his eyes betrayed a hint of wariness.

“You do know that I haven’t had sex with anyone since those three times in the hospital with that nurse?” Jim asked. “And that was just—”

“Doctor McCoy took it upon himself to attempt an explanation,” Spock said. “He told me that you … needed to feel alive.”

Jim winced. More awkward. The sex had been good, the effect sort of what Bones had told Spock. But something about the encounter had been … off. Wrong, somehow. “A telepathic Bond for life?” Before his own death, the implication would have been lost on Jim. Now it drove the air from his lungs. “Spock … does that mean what I think it means?” He couldn’t stop himself. Shock made the words tumble out of him. “Does that mean there shouldn’t have been … any survivors, after Vulcan?”

Spock closed his fingers around Jim’s hand. “Again your conclusions are almost too astute.” Vulcans didn’t sigh, or so Spock kept insisting. The way he inhaled now was close, though. “The answer, Jim, is both yes and no. Not every survivor was mated. Also, while it is correct that there is a strong compulsion, for most Bonded couples it is a choice to follow their partner into death. It is not an uncommon practice, but by no means ubiquitous. After the destruction of Vulcan, most survivors – my father among them – chose to eschew that option. The needs of the many outweigh the demands of individual grief.”

“Tushah nash-veh k’du,” Jim whispered. I grieve with thee. Another thought occurred to him. Before, he might have gotten mad at Spock. Never mind that it was idiotic to apply human standards to Vulcan – what even? Their telepathic Bonds were more than a cultural thing. To Vulcan biology, then. Now, although he was nauseated with shame at his instinctive reaction to Spock’s intentions, he was too selfish. Too weak not to want what Spock was offering. Not to be alone in his mind, next time. He swallowed hard. “That’s what you’re up to with Sulu and Leslie, aren’t you?”

“To have a perfectly qualified secondary command team is only logical on a five-year mission.”

Jim laughed. Spock’s plan was so fucked-up it didn’t even compute for him, with his human outlook on the universe. Not to mention pessimistic as hell. At the same time, Jim couldn’t suppress the devastating relief that swelled up inside him. “But that is where you draw the line, isn’t it?” he asked. “The limit of what you’re willing to do for the needs of the many.”

“I have never been able to live up to Vulcan ideals. I am overly emotional and selfish,” Spock replied. “And I find that with you, there is no logic.”

“Same here.” Jim smiled. “Of course I’m not even trying. Also, I’m …”

He hesitated. What he was about to say, he’d never said to anyone before. The last time someone had even tried to say those words to him, well, that had been Gaila. Wow, had that been weird, and awkward, in a bad way. But looking into Spock’s eyes, holding Spock’s hand, it was different. Everything was different with Spock.

“I’m in love with you,” Jim said. “That’s kind of supposed to be illogical for a Human.”

Spock didn’t reply, but Jim didn’t expect him to. Their conversation had to be so far beyond the limits of Spock’s emotional tolerance, it was something of a miracle he wasn’t cowering in a corner, twitching, having a perfectly logical nervous breakdown.

“Okay,” Jim said at last. “So, let’s talk about pon farr and then go to bed. Because I’m done in. And I get that there won’t be any action before we’re Bonded, but I’d still prefer to spend the night with you. If that’s not asking too much, that is. Which I’d totally accept—”

“Yes.”

“Oh – okay. Forget I asked—”

“Yes, I would prefer to spend the night together,” Spock said, lightly squeezing Jim’s hand. “Even though you are right – again. Before we are Bonded it would be … difficult for me to do anything more than what we have already done.”

“Oh.” One of these days, I’ll get better at the subtleties of an intimate interspecies relationship, Jim promised himself. He kind of hoped that a telepathic Vulcan Bond would help with that. “So.” A deep breath. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk about mating cycles right now, but he was pretty sure it was better to get that particular discussion over with ASAP. “Pon farr. I think there’s stuff about that in the medical database, protected with hand-crafted encryptions by your older self that are a thing of beauty, by the way. Sybok said it’s a mating cycle. Does that mean Vulcans go into heat like …” He trailed off. No. No animal comparisons. Not going there.

“To quote one of your favorite phrases: ‘Something like that.’” Jim would have appreciated the joke if Spock hadn’t let go of Jim’s hand, if he hadn’t moved away to sit stiffly on the edge of the couch, tension visible in every muscle. “It is a cultural taboo,” Spock said without looking at Jim. “A time of madness that strips away our logic, renders us violent and incapable of speech. Indeed, very much like feral beasts in heat. We must mate or die. The scientists who created me attempted to spare me from that affliction, but I have since been informed by my older self that ultimately, they failed.”

“Whoa, there.“ Jim scooted forward on the sofa. For a second he hesitated, before he followed his instinct. He was a touchy-feely human being. Spock knew that. If Spock couldn’t deal with that, they had a worse problem than pon farr. So he slung his arm around Spock’s back and pulled him to his side, hard. “None of that. I get it’s different when it’s you, but … Spock? Procreation makes most species in the universe look pretty damn silly. No need to be embarrassed.”

Spock didn’t pull away again, at least. But he stiffened even more. He sat frozen, nearly paralyzed. “It is illogical to be embarrassed about biological functions,” he stated, calm and cool. But his nostrils flared. Jim was used to interpreting the tiniest clues by now, in his on-going efforts to make sense of whatever was going on inside Spock’s mind. So he had an inkling of how upset Spock was, never mind what he sounded like.

“You told me that you’re afraid you might enjoy losing control,” Jim said slowly and frowned. “But you must know that I don’t mind that at all. I like risky, rough sex just fine, cutting loose and going crazy. But that’s not it, isn’t it? You’re terrified. Why?”

“Jim, even in the safety of Vulcan-that-was, with the structure of rites so ancient they have become biologically ingrained in our species, even with healers and helpers ready to intervene at once, pon farr has always remained dangerous,” Spock explained, his voice flat and expressionless. “Even Bondmates whose minds have been attuned to each other since childhood do not always survive. The risk is exponentially higher for homosexual partners. Even a Bonded male will be instinctively considered a challenger at first. I could kill you before I even realized who you are.”

“But you won’t,” Jim said firmly. “One, I’m a damn good sub if I want to be. I promise you won’t mistake me for a challenger. Two, your older self. I know old Spock won’t tell us shit, and he’s probably even right not to. But … the fact that he’s here, old as he is? Doesn’t that already prove that you cannot kill anyone during pon farr? And three, don’t discount pure dumb luck. Sometimes things don’t go wrong just because they could. And last but not least? We’ve been over how I’m not ever going to let you die before. So there.”

“Jim.” Now Spock sighed for real, a shockingly human sound. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jim wrapped both arms around Spock. He pressed his lips against Spock’s temple. First a kiss. Then a truth. “No, I don’t,” he admitted frankly. “But neither do you. You’ve never experienced pon farr. And …” Jim sucked in a deep breath. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his lips fluttering over Spock’s skin. “I am not saying this to hurt you. But – your mother? She must have survived it. And uh… I’m sure she was one hell of a woman, but … Spock, I’m not exactly made of glass. Especially not after whatever Khan’s blood did to me. Your mom made it. She survived pon farr. We’ll be fine.”

To Jim’s shock and surprise, Spock leaned against him. He wasn’t shaking, but it was close. “My mother defied the most iron-clad tenets of our culture,” Spock murmured against Jim’s shoulder, not much more than a hoarse, painful whisper. “She told me not to be afraid. She said she cherished the Time. I was ashamed.”

Jim had no idea what to say. Except perhaps “Jesus” or “shit”. Not helpful. Instead, he held Spock. When he realized that he was close to falling asleep, he nudged Spock. “Don’t feel so bad about it all,” he said in a last ditch effort to pull thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences as gently as he could. “For a human teenager, the very idea that your parents have sex is mortifying. I know, illogical. But that’s how Humans work. That’s normal for us. You’re not ashamed of your mom now, are you? So why not believe her? How about you trust your older self? And perhaps even you and me? Just a little bit? We’ll be fine. We’ll Bond. We’ll get used to each other. You won’t ever mistake me for a challenger when your Time comes. We’ll be fine.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.248, 0600 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Cabin

Jim stared at the text on his PADD, at the message that would be sent to Bones’s private comm line once he and Spock were on shore leave in the desert of Arrakis.

To leave Bones a note was both cowardly and a sign of trust. Cowardly, because it was what a kid would do if he already knew that what he was up to – sneaking out of the house to have sex – was wrong. It was also a sign of trust because Bones was the one person on the Enterprise who could stop them. Perhaps Bones even should.

For a Vulcan it might be rational to make plans for following his prospective Bondmate into death. After all, that was a normal biological impulse for his species and a culturally accepted practice. Jim, however, couldn’t justify his ready acceptance of the premise that way.

And it wasn’t about death – what he shared with Spock, what he wanted with Spock. There were many levels to their relationship. They were a damn fine command team; their differences and similarities meshed perfectly. They’d become the best of friends, shared meals, chess games and all. There was an almost inhuman level of sexual tension between them. Jim simultaneously smiled and winced at the memory of how his morning erection had affected Spock, who was still physically unable to reciprocate. So, yeah, many elements of a healthy relationship. But … Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. There was an undercurrent of violence and death, too, and he’d be a fool to ignore that. Taking into account how they’d first met, the circumstances that had made them realize that friendship was not enough, and the threat of pon farr, maybe that was inevitable. Maybe it was enough to acknowledge those facts. It had to be, because he’d made his decision long ago.

With a sigh, Jim switched off the PADD. He didn’t think Bones would attempt to stop them or declare them unfit for command. He also knew that “angry” wouldn’t even begin to cover Bones’s reaction.

Jim picked up his backpack and went to meet Spock in the transporter room. They’d beam down to Sietch Jacurutu. From there, Sybok would take them out into the desert on a sandworm, far away from any disturbance, from any interfering brainwaves. They’d Bond, and they’d have sex. Bond and sex and pon farr: quite a bit of a chicken/egg paradox right there, with a bit of burnt omelet thrown in for fun. Sex strengthened the Bond that would keep the partners safe during pon farr, which in turn strengthened the Bond (to the point that the death of one mate could mean the death of the other). What came first? Jim wondered. Pon farr or the mating Bond? He grinned at Spock and stepped up on the transporter platform. Main thing, we get to have sex. Finally.

Bones had come to see them off. “You could at least pretend you’re going to enjoy yourself, Mr. Spock,” he said gruffly and frowned at Spock’s solemn expression. “Not that I understand how riding a sandworm can be anyone’s idea of fun.” Now he scowled at Jim.

Jim laughed. “Of course it’s fun! Like space jumps are fun. Or a workout with Klingons. It will be awesome. Next time you have to come with us.”

Bones shook his head in horror. “Mr. Spock, please bring the captain back in one piece. The Enterprise needs him.”

Spock inclined his head. Jim noticed how his eyebrows tightened. He wanted to squeeze his hand and tell him not to worry. But of course he couldn’t. “It will be awesome,” he repeated. “We’ll be back in three days. Relaxed and de-stressed, just the way you ordered. And until then Sulu and Leslie can put in some command team practice. Win-win all around.”

“Yeah, right,” Bones muttered. “Now off with you. And don’t forget the damn sunscreen, Jim.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.248, 0700 hours, Sietch Jacurutu, Arrakis

Sybok had granted them permission to beam directly into Sietch Jacurutu. In consequence, Spock expected that Sybok would be waiting for them when they arrived in the entrance hall of his sietch. He was not disappointed and nodded a greeting.

“A word before we leave,” Sybok requested. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and led them down the corridor beyond the hall and into his private office.

There, his brother picked up a small package from the table and turned to the captain. “I have a gift for you. Jim must take it before the Bonding. A phial of Water of Life.”

Jim paled and swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sybok,” he said. “That stuff – it’s Spice, only a thousand times more potent. I’ve … I’ve taken Spice before. I don’t handle it well.”

Hazel eyes wide and dark, Jim met Spock’s gaze. Spock thought he could detect fear, and shame. The addictions and tragedies of his chosen partner’s past troubled him. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other.

“I understand,” Sybok said, although Spock failed to discern how he could arrive at that assessment rationally. “But it is necessary. You must take it.”

“I do not see the logic in risking a relapse into addiction, brother,” Spock objected, uncomfortably reminded of his attempt at a human joke pertaining to Sybok’s choice of planetary residence. “As a Human he is incapable of regulating the effects of awareness spectrum narcotics on his dopamine system.”

“I know that, Spock,” Sybok replied impatiently. “But you are Vulcan. Once the Bond is established you should have no problem controlling any adverse effects.”

“That may be true,” Spock agreed. “But why take that risk? I believe it is well within my power to establish a Bond without the aid of psychoactive substances.”

Jim frowned. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to him so far that Spock’s hybrid state might affect procedures. Spock was 97% certain that would not be the case. In spite of his problems with emotional control, he had always been a particularly strong and versatile telepath.

“That is true,” Sybok confirmed. “But you do not possess the information I have access to.”

“Do tell.” Jim’s curt request told Spock that he didn’t appreciate Sybok’s behavior either.

“Have you heard what the Fremen call me?” Sybok asked.

“Lisan al-Gaib,” Jim replied, irritated. “So what? You told us you’re not a messiah. Having second thoughts, or what?”

Spock felt cold; an uncontrollable physical response to emotional stimuli. “Kwisatz Haderach,” he said, concentrating on the Fremen word and the associated mythology. “The shortening of the way. A mind capable of unlocking genetic memory and achieving a state of prescient telepathy with the aid of neutralized worm bile.”

“And more than that,” Sybok agreed, “if the mind in question is a Vulcan mind. Or at least in my case.” He shrugged. “Provided with sufficient data, even computers can predict the likelihood of certain outcomes within a linear projection of time, albeit with limited scope and statistical validity. However, under the influence of Water of Life, I am able to discern not just one timestream but many, not just one universe but many.”

“Have you seen the older Spock?” Jim interrupted. Spock did not wince; his control was better than that. Once again Jim’s ability to cut to the quick purely by instinct baffled him.

“Indeed.” Sybok nodded. “He is one of the reasons why I know that the two of you will need the most resilient Bond you can form. Spice will activate your latent psionic potential, Jim. With the assistance of the drug, you can create an active Bond that will be as strong as the closest connection formed between the warrior-lovers of Vulcan myths, if not stronger. I have seen your past and your future. Not just once, but dozens of times. You must use the drug.”

Spock could not suppress the instinctive revulsion his brother’s words elicited in him. “This is most disturbing,” he said. With difficulty he managed to set aside his fear, his horror at loss of control, the agonizing helplessness faced with— “Our father once told me that I am capable of choosing my own destiny. Your words imply the rule of determinism as opposed to that of free will.”

“No,” Sybok countered, almost gentle now. “The basic assumption of quantum cosmology always holds true as far as I have been able to detect: ‘Everything that can happen does happen, in equal and parallel universes.’ Everything is possible, always. You are, and always will be, the master of your own destiny, free to shape the potential of your time and your space.” Sybok glanced at Jim. “Which is why I will not tell you more than I already have,” he said wryly. “Though I will not imply any universe-ending paradoxes – if only because so far, I haven’t encountered any. However, foreknowledge has the curious effect of limiting your options. The more you know, the less choice is left. This gift is intended to have the opposite effect.”

Suddenly Jim laughed. “You’re cheating,” he said, his eyes brightening with realization. “That’s what this is all about. You’re totally trying to cheat destiny, Sybok.”

Jim turned to Spock and reached for his hands. Carefully, deliberately. The turmoil of his mind surged into Spock, although he detected a creditable and not entirely unsuccessful attempt on Jim’s part to focus, channel, and shield his thoughts and emotions, fears and desires. “Spock,” he begged, “if this means we’ll have an ace up our sleeves next time we face certain death, then I’m for it. Please.”

To his astonishment, Spock realized that Jim did not intend to decide this matter on his own, in his typical impulsive and brash human manner, jumping in without looking. No, Jim truly wished for them to arrive at a decision together. Spock returned the pressure of his hands. “That you are here with me today as my Bondmate-to-be is proof that nothing is as certain as I once believed. If it is your wish that we should choose to use the drug, we will.”

With a sigh of relief, Jim let go of Spock and turned to Sybok. “Thank you. We’ll do it the way you suggested.” Abruptly, boyish excitement brightened his face. “So we’re going to ride a sandworm now?”

Sybok nodded. “Stilgar and the steersmen are in position beyond the drumsands. We’ll call a worm to ride, and we will take you out deep into the desert to an abandoned sietch. It is a sacred place, safe and isolated. A good place for a Bonding – or a vacation.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.248, somewhere in the deserts of Arrakis

Thanks to the drumsands surrounding Sietch Jacurutu it wasn’t even necessary to use a thumper to call a worm. They just had to be fast enough to reach the next dune beyond the drumsand to safely mount the worm.

“Most likely one of the smaller specimens from nearby Spice beds will follow the sounds of our steps,” Sybok said. “It will be quite safe.”

Nevertheless Spock insisted on carrying Jim’s backpack in addition to his own, so Jim would have more freedom of movement. Jim wanted to argue, but as Spock was still at least twice as strong as he was, he kept silent.

Stilgar and the Fremen steersmen crouched beyond the flat stretch of drumsands, whiplike hook-staffs in their hands. These would be inserted between the ring segments of the approaching worm. To keep its sensitive interior away from the abrasive sands, the worm would not only stay above the earth but roll the opened segment as far away from the surface of the desert as possible. That way, strategically placed hooks could be used to steer a worm.

They were halfway across the drumsands when Jim heard a distant hissing of whispering sand, the first audible sign of a worm’s approach. Their timing was good. As soon as they reached the top of the sandy ridge where Stilgar and his Fremen were waiting, the worm rose from the valley between the dunes in front of him. Its circular mouth unfolded before them like the triangular petals of a giant flower. The smell of Spice dominated the air and made Jim cough. Above him, the massive flanks of the worm curved up like a moving wall, each segment of its body clearly outlined as it rushed past them.

The Fremen leapt and placed the hooks, one, two, three. Stilgar, the last to go, reached out his hand for Jim with an iron grip and drew him up along the side of the worm. He kept a tight hold onto him until he was sure that Jim’s footing was secure. Sybok had inserted a hook of his own beyond the next segment, parallel to Stilgar’s. Effortlessly, he scaled the worm’s side. Spock was right behind him, bounding up the worm as if there was nothing to it.

The worm continued its rushing roll until they were exactly on top of it. Stilgar and Sybok added a few extra hooks. Ropes with leather handles were attached to them for riders to hold on to. The two steersmen went to work behind them. Soon the worm changed direction and began to move away from the sietch into the desert. The thrill of dominating the brute force of this giant creature, the rush of speed, the dizzying scent of Spice, Spock at his side – Jim felt like the ruler of the desert. He couldn’t suppress an exultant shout as he grasped Spock’s hand in triumph. What a perfect beginning for their shore leave!

At noon they reached their destination, a rocky outcropping deep in the desert with the ruins of an ancient sietch, far away from civilization and interfering minds, yet safely within reach of the transporter beams of the Enterprise. Spock had insisted on that as a precaution, just in case there was an emergency.

“Don’t forget to take my gift,” Sybok shouted over the hissing of the worm’s passage and pushed Jim toward Spock. “And now get down!”

They jumped. The sand rushed up to them in a blur. Before Jim could get his bearings, Spock was already dragging him to his feet and in the direction of the rocks. “Run,” he shouted. “Or we’ll get caught in the vortex.”

Together they ran across the sand, stumbling, sliding, until they the sand gave way to the harder surface of rocks under their feet. Out of breath, his heart pounding, Jim collapsed on a boulder. “Wow, what a ride.”

Spock remained standing, not a hair out of place, as calm and solid as if he had beamed straight down from the Enterprise. But when Jim caught his gaze, his eyes were gleaming. Jim’s throat constricted and his pulse sped up again. A different kind of exhilaration began to course through his body.

For the first time ever they were really alone together, and away from it all, from the ship, the rules, the responsibility.

Jim rose to his feet and walked up to Spock. “Hey.” He smiled at the raised eyebrow. “What now?”

“I suggest we explore the area and set up our tent,” Spock said. “You also require sustenance as well as additional hydration.”

“I’m not a plant,” Jim protested, “We’ve been over how I’m not one of Sulu’s sensitive mimosas.”

“I am fully aware that you are human,” Spock replied, eyebrows drawing together in a hint of a frown. “Physical exertion takes a greater toll on you in this desert climate.”

“Hmm,” Jim hummed, relenting. Spock had a point, especially since he was really, really looking forward to certain physical exertions. “Okay, you win. Lunch, then exploring, then setting up camp … and then …” He delicately brushed two fingers over Spock’s hand.

Spock inhaled sharply. “I see you have been talking to Lieutenant Uhura.”

Jim grinned, unrepentant and satisfied. “Not only to Uhura. Your brother has been very helpful, too. It’s a shame that we’re too far away for spontaneous communications with New Vulcan, though.”

“Jim, you would not—”

At that un-Vulcan outburst, Jim laughed. “Of course I would! Who better to advise me on what gets you going than you yourself?” He pressed a quick, apologetic kiss on Spock’s mouth. His lips were too beautiful and too close to resist. “But I promise I didn’t. I …” He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Spock’s relationship with his older self was uneasy. It was probably going to take a while yet before old Spock could stop feeling guilty over his mistaken warning about Khan and until his Spock stopped blaming his older self. He leaned in closer, almost touching, but not quite. “I won’t embarrass you knowingly,” he promised. “And I didn’t want to worry him. But … if or when it is appropriate, I would like to let him know.” He stared into his Spock’s dark eyes. The knowledge of the depth of pain Spock was capable of enduring echoed deep within him. A stark reminder how there was more to this shore leave than desert camping and sandworm riding.

“Who else did you talk to?” Spock asked.

“Full disclosure?” Jim smiled. “I think that’s better with lunch.” Trailing his fingers over Spock’s arm, he linked their fingers. Hand in hand they walked deeper into the rocky cliffs and ruined walls until they found a shady spot with a breathtaking view of the desert.

Jim pulled some containers and cans out of his backpack and arranged them on a convenient rock with a flourish. Spock he served a selection of nutritious salads, while he claimed a can of cold soup for himself. Noticing Spock’s questioning eyebrow, he wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think you want that explanation before lunch.”

“Jim.”

Jim shook his head. “Eat first. Because you are right about nutrition and hydration, and I am not sure I can eat once I’ve explained, okay?”

That explanation sufficed, and they consumed their picnic in companionable silence. Once Jim had stowed away the empty containers again, he sighed in appreciation. “That wasn’t half bad. Okay, so you want the sordid details. It’s quite simple. I talked to your brother and M’Benga. Your brother already knows about us, and M’Benga will have to know sooner or later. Anyway, apparently it’s better for the Bond if I bottom.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Establishing clear roles initially will help with pon farr later on. Catch is, human beings don’t have perfect control over their bodily functions unlike you guys, and a desert environment is not helpful in terms of hygiene. Plus we shouldn’t return to civilization until the Bond is stable, which may take up to three days. So I had M’Benga help me with preps. Which means I’m clean inside out now, and I’ve had a nice hypo that will slow down certain natural processes for the next three days to the point that I’ll uh… stay nice and clean, provided I stick with non-solids.”

Amused, Jim noticed how Spock was reduced to blinking owlishly. He reached out and touched two fingertips on the smooth, hot back of Spock’s hand. “Also, I know that’s silly human ideas talking, but … I want the first time to be good for you.”

“I—” Spock started. “I do not know what to say.”

Jim smiled. Another first. “You don’t mind?”

Silently, Spock shook his head. “I appreciate your consideration.”

“Good.” Jim stood. “Let’s explore and set up camp. I want to get out of this stillsuit.”

♦

They soon discovered that the rock formations of their campsite were smaller than any other sietch they had visited. The cliffs didn’t rise above the level of the surrounding dunes. The lines of the rocky slopes were much gentler than any others they had seen before, softened by erosion. Only a single, deep cave remained at the center of the highest cliffs. But this cave held an amazing secret in its depth: a small pool of Spice drenched water, about as big as one of the fancy Jacuzzis on the Enterprise.

So that was the reason why this isolated spot was sacred for the Fremen. The water hole also explained the comparative abundance of vegetation, creosote and incense bushes, tunyon vine, onion and poverty grass. They saw desert hares and kangaroo mice, and once even a desert hawk, high above in the bright blue sky.

They set up their tent near the entrance to the cave, in the shelter of the cliffs and the remnants of ancient walls. As far as they could tell, it was the shadiest spot around, and out of the wind. Jim wriggled out of his stillsuit. The activity always reminded him of extracting a Jim-shaped sausage out of a way too clingy skin. At least Bones wasn’t here to make fun of him. When he stood buck naked in front of Spock, he scrunched up his face. “Urgh, I feel gross. Those insulating membranes are awesome, but I still end up uh… maybe not sweaty, but something not so nice. What do you think, we hit the pool? Or would you mind if I do? I get that you may not like water much.”

Spock stood at the entrance of their tent. He was staring at Jim. While his face remained expressionless, his eyes were not. Spock appeared to be captivated by Jim’s body, and Jim didn’t mind at all. He merely wondered how he’d get Spock to return the favor.

“I do, as a matter of fact, ‘enjoy’ water in that I find it pleasing to behold, an agreeable beverage, and comfortable upon skin contact,” Spock said mildly. “The environment of my childhood has impressed upon me to regard it as both precious and exotic. My skin does not absorb moisture as efficiently as a full Vulcan’s, but the sensation is still … pleasurable. Also, though I do not normally sweat, there is no way to avoid dust in the desert. It would be beneficial to clean the areas of my body that have been exposed.”

“I need to stop assuming,” Jim muttered, smiling, “that just makes an ass out of me.” To follow up on that plan, he took another step forward, until he stood right in front of Spock. Although the tent was perfectly insulated, it was still hot inside. He hoped that Spock didn’t mind a bit of human sweat. “So how do we go about this?” he asked softly. “Is there a ritual? Anything else I should know about?”

“There are several rituals for van-lal t’telan,” Spock said, “But they do not quite fit our case. The standard procedure is the kan-telan, the Bonding between children with compatible minds. In Terran terminology that is more a betrothal than a marriage. The other rites lead up to koon-ut-kal-if-fee, the formal marriage ceremony which is a part of pon farr. A Bonding between adults outside of pon farr is unusual, though not unheard of. It is … more than a betrothal, less than a marriage. There are no fixed rites.”

“We’ll have to create our own ritual in that case,” Jim murmured, leaning in, once again physically drawn to Spock in a way he couldn’t quite process. “Something that belongs only to us. I like that idea.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” Spock replied. He didn’t draw back. Judging from the gleam in his eyes, he liked Jim standing so close and didn’t mind that he was sweaty and naked. “While the idea of a ritual belonging to particular individuals is foreign to Vulcan culture, I find that notion illogically appealing.”

“Getting clean is a part of rituals all over the universe,” Jim mused. Spock was right. Not even Vulcans could escape dust in the desert. It coated his skin like fine powder. “So we can start with that. And then?”

“You should take the drug my brother took it upon himself to provide,” Spock said. “I will meld our minds and create a permanent Bond between us. It will be beneficial if you are relaxed. There are rhythmic verbal devices to aid with the process. I will teach you the phrases.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jim wondered if orgasm was an appropriate method of achieving the required state of relaxation. He didn’t want their first intimate acts clouded by mind-altering drugs.

On that thought he slid his hands under Spock’s uniform top. Naked skin, hot to the touch. Of course. On Arrakis, Spock could for once forego his customary long thermal underwear. And he didn’t seem to mind Jim undressing him. First Jim pulled the uniform top up and over Spock’s head. He took the time to shake it out before folding it carefully and setting it aside. Spock’s eyes widened at that uncharacteristic neatness, and Jim grinned. Then he reached up to smooth the Vulcan’s tousled, fine black hair. From the immaculate corner of Spock’s logical bangs, Jim trailed the tips of his right index and middle fingers across his face and to his lips. Spock remained passive, but his eyes widened even more, pupils blown wide, to the point that the iris was virtually invisible.

Oh yeah, Jim thought. That works. Humming under his breath, he drew back to take in the muscular chest, the green-tinged areolae, the generous black fuzz that condensed into a distinct pleasure trail further down. Curious, Jim ghosted his fingertips over Spock’s chest hair. Oh… “Soft,” he murmured. “Nice. Real nice.” More like fur, the tiny hairs straight and silky instead of coarse and curly.

With a cheeky grin, Jim knelt down. “Shoes,” he ordered. To his surprise, Spock lifted first his right foot, and then his left to allow him to remove his boots. If Jim had attempted that maneuver, he would have lost his balance and made a fool of himself. Spock, however, remained perfectly poised. Reaching for the waistband of Spock’s uniform pants, Jim looked up to meet Spock’s eyes. Discomfiture over naked facts might be irrational, but that didn’t mean Spock wouldn’t experience any.

“All right?” Jim asked. “Little kids on Earth have a game: ‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours’. Also, I should probably confess that I’ve seen pictures.”

Spock’s hands hovered over Jim’s but he didn’t stop him or push him away. “Pictures?”

“Research,” Jim explained. “I was curious and horny.” In fact, he was more than half-hard now. Still curious, and extremely horny.

“… logical.” Spock inhaled and dropped his hands again.

Jim pulled down the bottom of Spock’s uniform, over legs that were both slender and muscular. As Spock stepped out of the pants, Jim couldn’t help noticing that Vulcan feet were very pretty, too. Elegant, with long toes. Starting at Spock’s ankles, Jim moved upwards again, fingertips only, the lightest touch he could manage.

The picture, Jim discovered, had been accurate. Above large balls dusted with fuzz and closely attached to the body, a sheath protected the Vulcan penis. Green skin folds sheltered Spock’s dick. Sort of like petals surrounded by more of that silky black fur. Not unlike a human vulva, actually, though bigger and bulging outward, straining over the length within. Because it was not, in fact, completely withdrawn into the body. The opening of the sheath was just wide and long enough to expose a tantalizing length of smooth, green skin. Up close and personal and in 3D it was even nicer than the picture on his PADD.

“Beautiful,” Jim sighed.

“It …” Spock’s voice sounded hoarse. When Jim raised his head, Spock’s cheeks were flushed a bright green. “… is illogical to consider reproductive organs in aesthetical terms.”

Jim thought Spock meant to say that he was glad Jim liked looking at him. He smiled but kept any comments on erotic art to himself. (For the time being, anyway.)

“You said that without a Bond it is difficult for you to react to me sexually,” Jim said. “Does that mean it’s unpleasant when I touch you?” He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, just couldn’t. Gently, he outlined the sheath with his index finger.

Spock gasped, and his inner eyelid fluttered. “Not … unpleasant. Intense.”

Jim pulled back. For a moment he didn’t move. His erection pulsed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that turned on. Much less the last time he’d needed and wanted to be that careful with a partner. Talk about torture. With a groan, he rose to his feet and gathered up a blanket, towels, a pull-out bucket from the standard survival kit, and a small bag packed with items that might come in handy.

“Alright,” Jim said, turning back to Spock, “Let’s go clean up.”

Even deep inside the cave it was still hot, as hot as in the tent, if not quite as hot as out in the sunshine on the sand. Sweat seeped down Jim’s back. But in spite of the heat, the atmosphere in the cave was pleasant. The clean, spicy scent of water laced with Spice filled the air. A row of dim glowglobes followed the curve of the rocky pool. In their light the water glittered like liquid silver.

Jim laid out the blanket and the towels. When he turned around, he was not surprised to see Spock scanning the water with a tricorder.

“The water is clean,” Spock announced. “Lightly laced with Spice, but the dilution is such that it will have no more than a marginal effect even when ingested. The concentration is 40.6% that of Spice coffee, 20.3% of Spice beer.” He put the tricorder on the floor next to the blanket. “I suggest we employ the bucket for our ablutions so as to avoid contaminating the only water source for the local fauna and flora.”

“Fine with me,” Jim said. He had an idea … Maybe he could assume a somewhat submissive role in spite of having to take the lead for now. Spock was clearly not unaffected even by the subtle caresses Jim had managed to sneak into the process of undressing him. It was also obvious that he was really unable to reciprocate, much less take the initiative. “Would you prefer to sit down or stand?” Beyond the pool the ground dipped further to the deepest part of the cave. There were also a few boulders that might work as seats, a meter or two from the water hole.

“It would be inefficient to sit down.”

“Okay.” Jim led Spock to the back of the pool. “How about standing here? Used water should drain off, and filter back into the pond through crevices in the rocks.”

Spock stood motionless. The white light of the glowglobes illuminated the long, strong lines of his body with the perfection of a professional holographer’s spotlights. Jim’s breath caught in his throat, and his cock throbbed. “Shit, you’re gorgeous, do you know that?”

Jim didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he filled the bucket with water and opened the bag he’d brought with them. A sponge, and Vulcan spice soap. When Spock attempted to reach for it, Jim stopped him. “Let me,” he murmured. “Let me be your … dvinsu?” He wasn’t sure if that was the correct term. The connotation of submission was definitely there, but also the idea of simple domestic services.

The way Spock’s breath hitched and his eyes darkened even more told him it was the right word. That’s a go, he thought. Now I just need to keep myself from coming … There was already a distinct edge of needy pain to his arousal. Not yet unpleasant, though.

Jim dipped the sponge into the water and wrung it out well. First he wiped it across Spock’s high forehead, before he carefully cleaned the dust from his face, mindful not to get near his sensitive ears. Then he trailed Spock’s throat from his chin to the delicious hollow between his collarbones. Jim’s heart was pounding now. An echo of his heartbeat throbbed in his ears and in his cock. Under his fingertips Spock’s pulse thrummed. Oh hell, yes.

Chest and back next. A bit more water, firmer touches. Soap suds massaged into fine, fur-like chest hair. Fingertips pressed on green nipples, until Spock’s eyelids fluttered. A daring hand, gliding along the elegant line of Spock’s spine, sliding down between the firm cheeks of his ass, stopping shy of his anus. More soap, more water. No words, just the sounds of ragged breathing, human and Vulcan. Arms next. But not the hands; he’d leave them for later. He’d even brought a second sponge for that, softer and finer than the first. Jim didn’t dare to use soap near the sheath. Gently he rubbed the wet sponge around Spock. Jim nearly came when the folds parted a little more, and Spock moaned, his hands opening and closing helplessly at his sides. Legs. At that point Spock slid down to sit on one of the rocks after all, as if his legs were about to give out. Kneeling to wash Spock’s feet was risky. The friction of bending over was almost too much. Jim needed a moment before he could stand and refill the bucket. Although Spock had claimed that his skin was not as water-absorbent as a full Vulcan’s, combined with the desert heat no towels were necessary.

When Jim returned, Spock’s eyes were glued to Jim’s erection and the glistening smear of pre-cum at the tip. “Fascinating, Mr. Spock, huh?” Jim teased, breathless and pleased.

Spock swallowed hard. Once, twice. “Indeed.”

“I think we can move to the blanket for the rest,” Jim suggested.

“Rest?” Spock blinked. God, he was stunning, flustered and enthralled like that.

“Your hands,” Jim whispered drawing Spock to his feet. “I saved the best for last.”

When Spock had settled into a graceful cross-legged position on the blanket, Jim grasped his right wrist. Tenderly, he held Spock’s hand over the bucket. With his free hand, he pulled out the fresh sponge. One long, slender finger at a time he washed Spock’s hands. Such beautiful, elegant hands. Perfectly manicured nails with a distinct green hue. And soft, so incredibly soft. Softer than a girl’s hands. Strong, too. He could sense Spock’s inhuman strength in the way his fingers twisted under Jim’s ministrations. Spock was shaking by the time he slid the sponge over his middle finger.

“Should I stop?” Jim looked up, concerned.

“… no …” Spock frowned in concentration to be able to reply at all. “… just … intense …”

To see Spock like this – naked, shuddering, his penis even more visible than before, a little out of control already – Jim’s breath hitched. He was nearly undone with the raw beauty of the scene.

“Love you,” he whispered. “Love you so much.”

He put the bucket aside and knelt in front of Spock. “How do you feel about making me come? Just with your hands.”

“There is a strong compulsion to touch you,” Spock admitted. “An almost painful urgency … a bizarre desire to taste you. I am familiar with the theory of human sexuality, but to experience it myself is …”

“Reality is always different.” Jim drew Spock’s right hand up to his mouth, until his fingers grazed Jim’s lips. “I’m all yours. Anything you want. Just ask. I’ll tell you what feels good for me.”

Jim stretched out on his back on the blanket. “I won’t last long, though,” he warned. “Washing you, that was like the foreplay to end all foreplays.”

“Based on my research your control is better than that of …” Spock bent over Jim. Hot fingertips stroked his hips, moving toward his erection. “… 77.8% of Human males of your age and constitution.”

“Just 77.8%?” Jim was surprised he could still speak. His surroundings were fast dissolving into a haze of desire now that he allowed himself to concentrate on his arousal and the sensations of Spock touching him.

Spock placed soft palms over Jim’s penis, at first as if measuring length and width, then pressing down to assess the density of his flesh. Vulcan heat combined with such deliberate pressure drove Jim beyond words right into the realm of moans.

“Ahh,” Spock sighed, apparently satisfied with the reaction. After a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped long, strong fingers around Jim’s dick. “I recall that friction is most pleasurable in this state of arousal.”

Either he was a natural, or it took Vulcans only three tries to become experts at hand jobs. Either that, or emotional transference extended to sexual situations in ways Jim couldn’t have imagined. Jim closed his eyes and gave himself up to Spock, to soft hands, strong touches, and gentle exhalations on tender skin.

When he knew he wouldn’t last more than seconds, he opened his eyes again. He met Spock’s gaze. Those blazing black eyes, hyper-expressive, focused on the task at hand. And those hands – their tight, nearly scorching friction made Jim shudder. Pressure gripped his balls, almost too much to enjoy. Balanced between tension and release, Jim gasped for breath. A fraction of a second later, he arched against Spock’s touch with a hoarse scream. His orgasm surged through his body in a scalding wave of ecstasy, as he spilled over Spock’s hand and onto his stomach.

Reluctantly Spock let go of him, trailing a gentle, curious finger over Jim’s spent penis, even dipping into his come. Jim watched, silent, still beyond speaking. Relaxation didn’t even come close to describe this level of post-orgasmic bliss.

Without a word, Spock reached for the bucket and the sponge and set about cleaning Jim up with careful, tender touches. Jim didn’t mind just lying there, allowing Spock the same chance to learn the details of his body he had enjoyed with Spock before. For long minutes Jim dozed, relishing the massage of soap and sponge and water and towel. Spock was nothing if not thorough. Much sooner than Jim would have thought possible, his cock stirred again, reacting to those sensible caresses with renewed interest. Jim inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. He’d been pretty sure that being with Spock would be all kinds of awesome. But given Spock’s biological and cultural limits, Jim had been unprepared for the intensity of this first encounter. And now … now he wanted more.

Luckily he was not the only one. When Spock was done, he gazed at Jim with unveiled desire burning in his eyes. “Are you ready to move back to the tent now?”

“Yeah, let’s,” Jim said. “Can’t get much more relaxed than that. And I really want to feel your orgasm at some point today.”

“As I wish to share myself with you, Jim,” Spock said softly.

Hand in hand they made their way back to the tent, to conclude the makeshift Vulcan-Human ritual that would join their lives together as one and that would allow them to fully know each other’s mind and body.

♦♦♦

“How can one set these opposite states in harmony? There is only one way: through giving oneself completely. How does one give oneself? By forgetting the traumas of the past, and by not forming expectations about the future – in other words, the orgasm. How can one do this? Very simply: by not being afraid to err.”
– Paulo Coelho, Warrior of the Light