THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
PART 2

The weather in the city of Christi on Nobel was foul. A northern cold front had blown in and firmly established itself as a harbinger of winter in the few days Kirk had been gone. A bitter wind blew, and rain occasionally poured from the steel gray clouds overhead. The weather matched his mood exactly. It had been fourteen hours since he’d heard any news from the Enterprise, and that had only been a tersely worded text message from McCoy: "S’cahli will attempt a healing meld soon. I’ll let you know results as soon as they’re available. Don’t fret, Jim, this might take a while."

Kirk’s breath puffed against the pane of glass, then he turned to survey the currently empty, low-ceilinged, darkly paneled negotiating room. One large table with seventeen chairs around it, eight for each side from Nobel, one for himself. An array of seats along the walls to accommodate the aides, the advisors, the essential toadies. Two days of hard work, and this was all he had been able to produce.

Over Kirk’s strong objections, the location of the forthcoming series of meetings was to be kept secret from the populace. Nor was there any provision made for the media. In his opinion, that was a bad decision; the more the negotiations were publicized, the safer all the participants would be.

At least, he considered as he walked along the line of neatly placed cherry-wood chairs, he’d been able to thwart the first suggestion for negotiating venue. Before he’d arrived, the government had almost agreed to the twenty-seventh floor in a high-rise in one of the bombed-out sections of the city, because of the historical significance of the site and the religious importance of the number twenty-seven in the officially-sanctioned state religion. Kirk had quietly pointed out the dangers in such a location; he could just imagine how easy it would be to stage a raid there, or to launch a missile exactly on target. Though the rebel faction was willing to come to the table and begin a discussion, the captain of the Enterprise had too much experience with splinter groups drunk on their own violence, who didn’t agree with talk and thought that force would be much more effective in promoting their goals. Kirk was a student of history, and he’d been pressed into service as a diplomat far too often. It would be impossible to be too careful in this situation.

So at his insistence, the talks had been moved to a suburb that had been relatively unaffected by the uprising and was far from the center of operations for either side, and at the extreme edge of the range for missile bombardment by the rebels. An unaligned church had donated use of its retreat center, and one long, low building on the outskirts of the grounds was perfect for the task. It was set amidst rolling hills and framed by a riot of low, dull gray bushes whose withered leaves rustled in the wind beneath the many windows, but to Kirk the view those windows provided was essential. Half a kilometer of open space surrounded the retreat hall on all sides; any attack or movement against those inside would be clearly visible.

Kirk shrugged on the utilitarian brown field jacket as he stepped outside and surveyed the gusty mid-afternoon weather. They’d have snow by nightfall if he was any judge, hard icy particles to beat against the windows as the negotiations continued around the clock. He nodded at the two planetary guards posted at the door—useless because they were unarmed at the insistence of both parties, but symbolic of mistrust—and set out one more time to double-check security precautions along the perimeter of the building. He’d operated as security consultant more than anything else since he’d arrived, something his own head of security could have done as well or better than he had. But at least the talks were finally about to begin, and working on Nobel had kept his mind from whatever might be happening in orbit overhead.

The first ground vehicle swung into the specially created parking lot a quarter kilometer away, and Kirk squinted to see which identifying mark was on the door. A squad of four—two regular government soldiers in sky blue uniforms, two representatives from the rebel movement clad in their typical brown and green—marched up to the car and started a scan. Two more vehicles pulled up; time for the talks to begin. Kirk cast another hard look skyward, as if anticipating another round of missiles. The rebels, the reasoning had gone, would not assault their own negotiating representatives, and the location was supposedly being kept secret. That was the official line, but Kirk did not agree. People fought for reasons, but they often got so caught up in the effort that reason no longer held sway.

A line of people began the walk to the retreat house. Kirk squared his shoulders and went forward to meet them.

Long ago Kirk had mastered the art of separating his personal concerns from his duty. A captain was not only the commander of his ship, he was a slave to it and to the crew and the Federation they all served. Neither his personal opinion of the merits of either side of the conflict nor his animosity against the rebels because of what they’d done to Spock could hold weight; his duty was to carry out his orders. And so he did. Kirk would have preferred to melt into the background, but it was quickly apparent that both sides considered him the de facto chair of the talks, and he was drawn willy-nilly into active participation. If he hadn’t started to control the flow of the discussion, there would have been no discussion at all, only acrimony. He nodded, smiled, frowned, agreed, disagreed, and attempted to steer a middle course that maintained the Federation’s basic neutrality in the internal conflicts of its members.

But as he gave almost all his concentration to the emotions and words that swirled about him, a small part of his attention was focused on the communicator hanging from his belt. It remained stubbornly silent.

The hours passed. The sun set and darkness crept across the green space, covering the retreat house with shadows. The two lamps that hung low over the long table glowed brightly. One woman from the government delegation called for a break for food and drink; Kirk summarily vetoed the suggestion and ordered aides to provide food at the table as the talks went on. If he was going to be spending his time on Nobel, away from his ship, away from his first officer, then by God he was going to spend his time intensely and successfully. When the Federation negotiating team finally arrived in five days, he wanted to present them with nothing left to do except the mopping up.

Past midnight it was obvious a break of some sort was needed. Thirty minutes, Kirk announced. He rose, stretched with his palms against the small of his back, and kept his eyes resolutely trained on the fine wood grain of the table as the delegates made their slow way from the room, so no one would be tempted to try to pull him into further discussion.

The only one left in the room, he wandered over to the view outside; from where he’d been sitting, it had been obscured by glare. With small satisfaction, the only satisfaction he’d been granted for many hours, he noted that he’d been right, and it had begun to snow. The part of his mind preoccupied with safety realized that tracks would be easy to follow now, but most of him simply surrendered to the faint swish-swish of the falling flakes, and to the hypnotic sight of the ground slowly turning from dark to ghostly pale white.

He must have been standing there for several minutes, lost in carefully frozen no-thought-at-all, when Lieutenant Shivé, his aide during the talks, approached from behind. He heard her footsteps and recognized the distinctive tapping of Starfleet boots, but he didn’t turn around.

"Sir?" she said, hesitantly.

"Yes, Lieutenant." Kirk followed the course of a snowflake on its journey—so high, highlighted by the outside spotlight, drifting down, down in a slow spiral, finally captured by the ground to merge with all its fellows.

"A courier just brought this over from the main base hospital."

A medical tricorder.

"That will be all, Lieutenant."

Why hadn’t Bones called him? Or even S’cahli?

The glowing text scrolled down slowly. He skipped over most of it, his eyes intently seeking, until his gaze fastened on one entry:

Insane.

The word glowed white-hot on the screen, growing larger and larger until there was nothing else in Kirk’s vision. The hubbub of voices in the adjacent chamber faded into silence, his hands holding the viewer grew numb.

It couldn’t be.

"No." His lips moved soundlessly. As if to escape everything the one word meant, he stepped back, then again, until his shoulders pressed against the frigid, smooth glass.

He forced his frozen fingers to move, to scroll back to the beginning of the paragraph. Desperately, he read again, trying to find something to contradict, to give him hope. But there was nothing. Just sparse words, clipped words, logical words, saying: "Although there is a 12.5% chance (margin of error: 2.5%) that Commander Spock will regain consciousness, no resuscitation efforts can change the fact that he is clinically insane."

Insane. The healer, S’cahli, had entered Spock’s mind, and this was his conclusion.

Kirk looked up; someone was calling his name.

"Captain Kirk?" It was Maris Templeton, one of the cabinet members Kirk and his people had rescued from captivity. She was the first to return from the break. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, all concerned solicitude.

Every protective shield Kirk had slammed into place. For so long he had guarded his heart, kept it locked away under the layers of his professional pride, his duty, his determination to never push Spock where he did not want to go. He would not expose his heart now.

He swallowed, instantly was filled with the tender memory of how Spock swallowed when he was anxious, and just as quickly pushed the memory away. He was a starship captain.

"No, Councilor." He straightened, appalled at the realization that he had slumped against the windowpane. "It’s nothing."

"You look ill," Templeton ventured. "May I get you some water?"

Damn the woman for existing here before him. "No. No, I’m fine." The rest of the delegates were filing back in; there wasn’t even time to read the rest of the report because he had a duty to fulfill. "Shall we be seated?" He extended an arm in courtesy, she gave him a doubtful look, then she took her place. Kirk sat down. He opened the portfolio of outlined demands and surveyed the assembled enemies before him. "Gentlemen, ladies, let us begin again."

The hours passed.

"…no further progress can be made in these negotiations until the hostages…."

"…the hostages are our insurance that you bargain in good faith…."

"…perhaps you might consider allowing a third party to…."

The brilliant colors of Spock’s mind, dulled and twisted, never to be shared again. God, could he endure the thought? Circling, circling, like a vulture lighting at last on the stench of the dead. He had loved the touch of the meld, Spock’s mind sliding into his, overlaying it, he’d stretched himself out and received those pristine thoughts in joy, even during a crisis, there’d been that leap of utter rightness every time their minds had touched. Gone. If Spock were insane, it was all gone.

"…preposterous that you claim economic discrimination. All citizens of Nobel…."

"…opportunities and education. A redistribution of wealth…."

"…Federation offers programs to help. Perhaps you could petition the Department of…."

On the bridge, Spock turning and providing him with facts, opinions, data often even before he’d asked for them. Indispensable. What would the Enterprise be without him? No presence of calm in the midst of a crisis, no quietly shared moment of relief when the crisis was over, that look that would pass just between the two of them. Spock’s eyes had warmed his heart so many times, his incisive reasoning had guided him, supported him…. Gone.

"…recognize the need for diverse programs to care for…."

"…charity isn’t what we need! The state religion isn’t ours, we demand…."

"…suggest you sit down. Nothing will be accomplished here if you don’t…."

Only a twelve percent chance of regaining consciousness. Should he even wish for it to happen? Perhaps better for Spock to slip away silently in the deep twilight of unknowing, rather than be…. No! How could he even think it?

It wasn’t until seven hours later, when the meeting finally adjourned in the weak morning light, when the delegates walked away to their cars, exhausted, that Kirk pulled out his communicator. He stood in the stillness of the snow-whipped countryside, ignoring the cold that penetrated through his jacket straight to his bones and said, "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Uhura here, Captain."

Odd. Words that he had heard her say so many times, and yet he had to fight against the tightness in his chest as they sounded. Penda was his friend as well as his subordinate, and she was the most compassionate individual Kirk knew. She would be devastated by the news, because in her own way she loved Spock, too. For just a moment, Kirk closed his eyes against her voice, against the image of her arms going round him in comfort….

God, he was tired. He just wanted to go back to the ship, his cocoon, his haven. Where Spock was.

"I’m finished here for a while, Lieutenant, and I’ve decided against accepting Nobelian hospitality. Send a shuttle for me."

"Aye-aye, sir, one is available now, we’ll launch right away."

"Fine. Kirk out."

He stood and waited. A speck appeared against the pale blue sky, accompanied by a droning noise. Surely too soon to be the Enterprise craft. An aircar of some sort overhead, too high to be landing, and not one of those that typically carried armament, but nevertheless, Kirk eyed it suspiciously. Its flight path would take it directly over the retreat house, and it was lower than it should be.

So low that when a white cloud emerged from its belly, it settled over him quickly, too quickly for Kirk to do anything other than open his communicator, key in its emergency broadcast, and tuck it up the sleeve of his jacket. By then he was on his knees, trying not to breathe but knowing he must. Whether the gas was fatal or not, it had already robbed him of all his strength. Then, darkness.

***************

Kirk was not alone when he finally awakened from his drug-induced sleep. He moved his restless, painful limbs, heard his own groan, slowly opened his eyes, and recoiled from S’cahli’s face staring down at him.

"Do not attempt sudden movements, Captain. You have been unconscious for approximately six hours; your body will require time to adjust."

He closed his eyes and thought: It must have been a nightmare. I dreamed that S’cahli sent me a report that said….

No nightmare. Truth.

For some unknown reason, just the two of them were caged in a small, windowless room. The floor, his aching back could attest, was cold, hard tile. As Kirk struggled to sit up—S’cahli did not help him, the Vulcan aversion to touch—the healer said, "This room is strange to me. I do not know where we are."

Kirk cast a quick glance around at the rows and rows of small metal square doors surrounding them on three sides, ranging from the floor to eye-level. The fourth wall presented only a brown, featureless door. "A bank," he provided, and leaned back against one wall. The small handles on the lockbox doors pressed into his throbbing shoulders, but he momentarily needed the support. "Or a securities firm, or a precious gems dealer, something like that. These are security lockboxes of some sort, for valuables." His voice croaked. "Is there any water?"

"Our captors have not provided us with any sustenance or water."

Nor had they shown their faces for the past four hours, at which time two male individuals had taken S’cahli to a sanitary facility to relieve himself.

"Were you able to see where we are?" Kirk asked sharply. "Downtown? Near the hospital? Ground floor? Or higher?"

S’cahli slid gracefully down to sit cross-legged on the bare floor across from Kirk. "On the ground floor, I believe, or a level not much higher. There is no structural swaying in the wind that would indicate otherwise. I do not know the location of the building, however. And to answer another inevitable question you will ask, no, I do not know if there are other captives, although logic suggests that we are the only two. Otherwise, others would be incarcerated in this space, which is perfect as a prison and would easily hold more individuals."

Kirk regarded him sourly. "Were you gassed, too?" It galled him to think how easily he had been taken. If they had wanted to, the rebels, or whatever faction of the rebel movement had acted, could have moved against everyone there in the night. That they hadn’t, that only he and S’cahli had been taken, argued ransom and blackmail against the Federation.

"No, I was attempting to exercise by walking outside the hospital when three men abducted me," S’cahli said calmly. Kirk was familiar with that Vulcan calm, but it didn’t soothe him now, he resented S’cahli even words, his controlled expression, too much like….

Don’t, he admonished himself, kill the messenger because of the news he brought. It wasn’t S’cahli’s fault that Spock was….

Kirk struggled to his feet to escape the thought. Although dizziness assaulted him, he was able to walk with one hand against the pocketed wall. Slowly he made his way to the door, tested it because that was something he had to do. Constructed for security against burglary, the door didn’t even move against his shoulder. Solid.

He turned and leaned back against the solidness, folded his arms across his chest, and realized both his jacket and his communicator were gone. "So."

The healer tilted his head up and regarded him quizzically. "So?"

"We’re stuck here until they come get us for whatever reason. We’ll make our move then."

"You refer to an escape attempt. I choose not to participate in that."

"What?"

"I understand that you may have such a duty, but I judge that such an attempt would carry with it significant danger, given our captors’ menacing attitudes and the weapons they carry. I am a political prisoner in a conflict in which I have no interest. I will not endanger myself; I will wait until I am released so I may return to my own life and my people. It was a mistake to listen to you, Captain Kirk. I should not have left my planet to aid your first officer."

Kirk didn’t know which emotion to give in to first: anger, outrage, smoldering resentment. But he recognized the logical wheels rolling in S’cahli’s argument, and realized that this was one Vulcan wall he was not going to scale. He didn’t want to. But he had to know….

"My first officer," he said after a minute’s silence. "The report you sent on him. You’re sure?"

Was it just his imagination or had a real expression crossed S’cahli’s face? Dislike? Disapproval? Why?

"I initiated such repairs as I could over the course of many hours. The situation was critical and strained the limits of my skill. I planted the suggestion that he achieve the res’sanin if it became possible, and then I withdrew as there was nothing more that could be done."

"But…." Impossible to say the word. "His mental condition?"

Inexplicably, the healer regarded him haughtily. "Apparently cannot be changed. It is most unfortunate. Commander Spock has a fine mind."

"Yes," Kirk said weakly. "He does."

Over the next several hours, Kirk tried to think of the situation on the planet, what attempts he could make to overpower the guards if he ever got the chance, but he had almost no information with which to work. And a cellmate inclined to silent meditation. He had too much time to think of Spock.

He closed his eyes and the image of his friend appeared, whole, healthy, vital, looking at him so seriously. Take care of me, the image said. I trust you to do the right thing.

He knew Spock would not want to continue living if his mind were seriously damaged, just as he himself would not want to live that way. The life of the mind was so important to his friend, superseding the physical existence. Maybe that was why Spock had never responded to his gentle suggestions and mild overtures of love: the physical just didn’t mean anything to him, except for every seven years.

No, Kirk couldn’t believe that. Spock was a physical person, too, there was a repressed but vital sexuality in that long lean body. That was part of what Kirk had responded to. He hadn’t fallen in love in a vacuum, and there’d been something between them, some spark that had jumped from Spock’s body to Kirk’s and stirred him into aching hardness. He had loved with all parts of himself, because all parts of Spock had called to him.

No longer. As if emerging from a dream, Kirk shook his head, dazed, and looked down at the healer, still sitting on the floor with his head bowed. Then he turned away and walked the few paces that took him furthest away; he faced the wall.

He might have to make the decision to end Spock’s life support. If it were that bad. Because one night, Spock had given him a great gift.

***************

It had been in the warm companionship of a late night raid on the food replicators that Spock had spoken. They’d been working hard together on the semi-annual reports that were due to Starfleet Command in a few days, and Kirk had stretched his arms over his head and whimsically declared the wish for a midnight snack. "One of those Andorian crisps," he’d said, "would go down great with some kri juice. Have you ever had those two together?"

"No," Spock had admitted, with a little smile on his face that declared he knew exactly what his captain was going to say next, "that culinary delight I have been denied."

"Then let’s go. Our evaluation of the ‘Efficacy of the New Deflector Program’ can wait for a while."

Kirk bypassed the nearest rec room and led the way to the small kitchen alcove instead. Rec, even deep in gamma shift, would be well populated, and he didn’t want to bother with meeting and greeting the crew.

It was just the two of them in the small room that had real kitchen equipment for cooking and baking in it and three tiny round tables for couples. The crisps and juices he procured with a flourish from the replicator, then they sat across from one another in the far end of the long narrow room.

Whimsically, because he was enjoying himself, Kirk reached out and playfully flipped the crisp on his first officer’s plate upside down.

"Ah," Spock said easily, "our signal that one of us is in distress. How may I help you?"

Don’t I wish I could tell you, Kirk thought as he smiled across the miniature table. They were much closer than usual, and he found that he liked it. I wonder what you’d say if…. But the evening’s companionship was too precious to be complicated by his deeper feelings. Now was not the time to declare himself, if there ever were to be a time. He shook his head. "Just checking to see if you remembered."

"I am not likely to forget that which saved my life just two weeks ago. Had I not been alerted to your presence by the upended canister in the lab, I would not have acted swiftly enough when you initiated my rescue."

"That little signal has come in handy, hasn’t it?"

"Yes, most ingenious of you. Of course, it is also symbolic of the type of reasoning often employed by humans."

"Upside down logic?" Kirk asked around his first bite of the chewy confection. "I think I’m insulted."

"Do not be. I have come to learn that while your logic does not follow the same pathways as mine, it is often as effective, especially when tempered with emotional intuition. Jim, I have something that I have been wanting to discuss with you."

Kirk swallowed and smiled lazily. "Softening me up with compliments before asking for a two month leave? It won’t work, Spock, I’m tough."

"You are a fair-minded commander," Spock contradicted. "Compliments are not necessary, especially in the face of truth, and I do not fear you. However, my request does not require any action on your part at this time, although it may in the future."

Intrigued, Kirk leaned forward over his plate. "What is it?"

Elbows on the table, hands folded before him, Spock said, "Several months ago we enjoyed a conversation in which we spoke about the number of committed couples on board the ship. Do you recall?"

Kirk’s mouth went dry. He swallowed and coughed. "Yes." Spock remembered that talk? He’d been thinking about it?

"I said at that time that the dangers associated with our profession, the uncertainty of whether we would survive the next week, the next mission, were possibly a contributing factor to a general reluctance to form intimate relationships of a long-lasting nature. I have been contemplating that danger recently, especially in light of my escape from Tibelli’s lab just two weeks ago. The compounds to which I was exposed were extremely toxic to the Vulcan nervous system."

Kirk wondered where in the worlds Spock was headed with his line of reasoning. "That’s why we had to get you out of there as quickly as possible."

"Indeed, time was of the essence. Since that incident, I have reviewed both my will and, more important, my last requests to be fulfilled in the case of my death or disability. I have found them to be lacking."

He didn’t know what to say. It was almost a superstition among Starfleet officers not to speak of their last requests with anybody. He didn’t know what was in Spock’s, didn’t want to even contemplate reading them. But of course his logical, clear-thinking friend wouldn’t subscribe to superstition.

Spock went on. "I had not previously addressed the subject of continuing life support in the event of my physical or mental disability. At least, not adequately. My instructions had been to contact my clan leader and allow her to make decisions. I find that is no longer an adequate course of action for me."

"Spock…." His friend was looking at him so steadily, with such clear and determined eyes that saw right down to the core of him. All of me, Spock? Do you see what’s really in my heart?

"Jim," Spock said, "would you accept responsibility for making decisions in the event of my severe mental or physical damage?"

Such precise, emotionless words Spock had uttered, such horrific images propelled them, but coming from Spock’s lips, with the force of Spock’s trust behind them, how the words flooded Kirk’s heart. Still holding his friend’s deep gaze, he breathed against the tightness in his chest. Kirk knew that this simple request, this mind-rending, spirit-testing request was a gift from the heart without embellishment. This came from a logical Vulcan who had such difficulty with even the smallest expressions of emotion, but who nevertheless had been finding ways to show affinity, comradeship, and, yes, even affection towards his captain since the two had discovered that, though they came from different worlds, they shared a common spirit.

"Spock," he said softly past the rock in his throat. "I don’t know what to say."

"Perhaps you should say that you require time to consider my request. I realize that it might be difficult—"

"No! No, I don’t need any time. Of course I’ll do that for you." With love unspoken. With deepest sorrow, if the time came.

The dark head bowed. "I believe the proper response is: thank you."

"No thanks are necessary between us, my friend."

"That is true."

Kirk cleared his throat. "I should have told you…. A while ago, I changed my last requests, too. So you…. You’re the one I named, if it ever comes to decisions like that." More than eight months ago, when he had truly realized what he felt for the man sitting before him.

Spock stirred as if uneasy. "No reciprocation is necessary—"

"It’s already done, Spock. I just never got around to telling you. There’s nobody else I’d want making such decisions for me."

"That is true for me as well. When I reviewed the issues involved, I realized that."

Later they had walked back together to their quarters, and Kirk’s arms were heavy, his shoulders bowed under the weight that Spock had placed there. But paradoxically, his steps were light. Trust. Affection. Love? Whatever the term used to describe the emotion, it felt like love. It felt right.

"Good-night, Jim."

"Good-night, Spock."

They parted and slept alone.

***************

He didn’t know if he could cut off Spock’s life support. To stand there and hear the machines suddenly stop, to watch the chest stop moving, the lips stop breathing, to see the man he loved slip from life into lifelessness. Kirk shuddered all over and dropped his head into his hands where he stood. Spock had been right to question whether he wanted that responsibility.

"May I be of assistance, Captain Kirk?" S’cahli’s voice sounded from where he was still seated on the floor.

With sudden anger, Kirk rounded on the innocent Vulcan. "Why would you think I needed help? I’m just an emotional human. Go back to your meditation."

"As you wish," said so calmly. S’cahli closed his eyes again and his psychic presence retreated from the room. Kirk was left alone with his heartache.

Time passed and Kirk had no way of measuring it. And he wasn’t going to ask the silent healer, surely the least companionable person with whom he had ever been incarcerated. Even in perilous situations, when Spock had been with him there had been moments of companionship, and sometimes Spock’s wonderfully dry humor had made him smile.

It had to have been at least four hours since he’d regained consciousness when S’cahli’s head came up sharply. He seemed to stretch all over, then he was smoothly on his feet. "Someone approaches," he reported.

Kirk had been relying on Vulcan hearing for years. He positioned himself behind where the door would open, hoping to lure one individual at a time into their makeshift cell, but their captors were serious and efficient. There was the buzz of some sort of electronic key, then the door swung open.

"Come on out," a hard voice commanded.

S’cahli promptly obeyed. Behind the shelter of the door, Kirk held his breath and tried to establish how many there were. Surely at least two, he could tell by the breathing. The healer had said he had been captured by three, though.

"We know you’re in there, come on out, Starfleet."

A long twenty seconds passed. "We’re not dumb enough to come in after you. Come on out!"

The Nobelian rebels used old-style projectile weapons supplied by the non-aligned Tosti worlds. One discharged six quick rounds into the makeshift cell, the sound deafening in such a small area. Kirk ducked and put his hands over his head as the bullets ricocheted everywhere.

"And if that won’t get you moving, we’ve got your friend the Vulcan here. Want us to hurt him?"

Too often words like that had referred to Spock, as he was always "the Vulcan" who accompanied his captain everywhere. But Kirk could not allow even the unsympathetic S’cahli to be hurt in his name. He’d find another way.

His call of "Leave him alone, I’m coming out" merged with a scuffling sound. When Kirk came round the door, his hands carefully resting on his head, the healer was on his knees with one arm twisted cruelly around his back, to the point where dislocation must have been imminent. Kirk winced even though the healer’s expression was calm. He must have been in pain.

"I’m here," Kirk said pointedly to the man behind S’cahli.

"And make sure you stay here," another one said. There were four burly individuals, too many for his inadequate plot to have worked anyway.

With four long barrels aimed at their backs, they were marched down the carpeted hall of what looked to Kirk like an ordinary office building. A window revealed they were on the second floor in a concentration of skyscrapers. Downtown, then. And it was still daylight. From the color and angle of the light, perhaps late afternoon.

"Stop right there." They did, and S’cahli turned expectantly to his left, as if he was familiar with the place.

"Time to relieve yourselves. One at a time. You first, Vulcan."

S’cahli disappeared into the rest room with two of the guards. They were taking no chances. Kirk eyed the two remaining. If the Vulcan had only been Spock, he could have relied on his first officer to apply the neck pinch while they were separated, and Kirk would have done his best to kick one of his guards’ weapons away, trusting to his luck that he could dodge the discharge of the other. But this was not his Vulcan. Having a civilian with him curtailed his options and meant he had to deal with all four guards himself. He’d have to wait.

"Your turn, Starfleet."

It was a relief to empty his pressing bladder, even though one of the guards leered at him while he did so.

"Don’t be so hasty," the man said as Kirk zipped up. "I like what I see."

Kirk glared at him. The other man said, "Don’t you get enough at home, Jack? Let’s go."

The guards urged them further down the corridor, away from the vault. Kirk’s eyes roved, trying to memorize it all, looking for chances, holding his hands easily at his side, palms open to take advantage of any opportunity.

It came when they stopped in front of an elevator. If he timed it right, he might be able to separate at least some of their captors from the group, and in the close confines of the lift, the bulky rifles would be less effective.

Spock would have been on the same page with him, but S’cahli wasn’t even looking his way. The doors opened, Kirk delayed, suddenly coughing, then he grabbed S’cahli by the arm, attempted to throw him forward while at the same time shoving back against the man behind him….

If he’d been able, Spock would have quoted odds to him and told him not to risk a maneuver with such a low likelihood of success. Kirk knew even as S’cahli resisted and looked back towards him in confusion that he’d lost, but he had to try.

One guard yielded to a hard fist to the face, and he dropped to his knees with a groan. But the next was a canny fighter and swung his weapon not at Kirk’s head, where he could have dodged, but with the butt end directly into his stomach. It connected with a thud and an explosion of red-hot fire in his gut. He tried to stay on his feet, but he couldn’t even see straight, it seemed all his senses were reeling….

"Do not do him harm!"

The voice seemed to come from very far away, but it was sharply imperative, and Kirk wished with all his might that someone would obey, because then maybe they’d stop kicking him….

Moaning and trying to retch, he rolled over onto his side and struggled to get away, but strong hands grabbed his hair and pulled him over onto his back again. A shaggy head loomed in his returning vision. "Don’t you try that again, Starfleet!" Another kick to his side convulsed his body upwards as if it were totally out of his control. He tried to breathe and couldn’t, heard himself heaving for air.

"Cease this unnecessary, destructive behavior."

It was S’cahli trying to stop the guards, Kirk realized with mild surprise as he was hauled to his feet only to be mown down again by a vicious left fist. He landed with a thump on the side where the guards had taken their revenge with their feet, and for a time he just lay there, losing and then gaining and then losing consciousness again.

"Captain Kirk." S’cahli was calling him. Urgently. This was the man who had last touched Spock’s sweet, seductive, siren mind. He owed the healer at least for that, for trying. He opened his eyes for the second time that day to S’cahli’s face. He looked not quite so calm anymore. Maybe even concerned.

"You must regain your mobility, Captain, or our captors will force me to carry you, and I am hesitant to do so as it may aggravate your injuries. Can you rise?"

Much as he hurt all over, Kirk knew he hadn’t received any serious injury. He’d been beaten by experts. "Yes," he said thickly, and with the support of a thin arm that was deceptively strong, he was on his feet, swaying, a minute later.

"Animals." Kirk spat blood to the floor, but carefully away from the guards.

"Not an accurate evaluation," the healer returned. "These men are sentient beings, but they acted from extreme emotions. They are insane."

"Not us," the tallest one said. "We knew exactly what we were doing."

"Your actions are not guided by logic," the healer frostily returned, even as he urged Kirk forward into the open elevator with a hand on his back.

"Words won’t hurt us. And if they did, we’d hurt you right back. Let’s go."

Kirk wanted to lean against the elevator wall, and though pride stopped him for a moment, he realized an instant later how illogical that was. If leaning saved even a modicum of strength he could use later, he should lean.

He did, with a sigh, and surveyed the four guards as he did so. No, they were not insane as S’cahli had called them, merely men who looked a lot like him who were fighting for something in which they believed. They weren’t insane, not like Spock….

He blinked. S’cahli was the one using that word….

The guards hustled them out onto the first floor, through a marbled lobby and then down another long hallway, but Kirk barely noticed. His heart pounded and he was breathless with a half-formed realization. He was afraid to hope, afraid to think it through just in case he realized he was wrong, that for once his human logic, the kind that Spock said was guided by emotional intuition, hadn’t leaped to the right conclusion. He glanced at S’cahli almost fearfully as the tall guard opened a steel gray back door, and they all stepped out into fading sunlight. Suddenly, escape seemed less important than finding a way to speak to the healer.

They emerged in a narrow alley that must have been used for deliveries before the violence began. Trash rustled in the wind, a garbage can gaped its open mouth right by the doorway. Kirk shivered as the icy fingers ripped right through his uniform shirt, but only partly because of the cold….

"Wait right here," the leader said, then he stepped away and pulled a communications device, bulkier than Starfleet’s, up to his mouth.

The easiest way to gain access to the healer was to feign injury, so he did, collapsing to his knees with a moan just loud enough to draw attention.

The remaining guards didn’t stop S’cahli as he calmly walked over to give aid. He knelt next to Kirk and asked, "Where is your pain?"

In my heart! "Healer," Kirk asked in as distinct an undertone as he could manage, "what is your definition of insane?"

The Vulcan drew back, clearly puzzled. "I…you sustained a blow to your head, it is likely you are concussed." Gentle fingers probed his scalp.

Kirk shook them off. "No. Answer me. Why did you report that my first officer was insane?"

"Clinically insane," S’cahli corrected quietly. "Because the evidence was clear within the meld."

"What evidence?"

"He is in the grip of violent emotion," the healer said, his pursed lips the slightest indication of distaste. "It was difficult to enter and function within his mind, the contamination is so broad."

"Violent emotion?" Kirk’s brow furrowed. "Spock’s the gentlest person I know. That’s impossible."

"But his is the worst sort of violent emotion. He has succumbed to the irrational passion of the humans, and you, Captain Kirk, are its focus."

"Me?" Though already he was leaping ahead, and his spirit was starting to sing.

"You are his captain, and to you he owes loyal service and nothing else. It is to a bondmate that he should turn his inner fire, not towards you."

There couldn’t be any mistake, he had to be completely sure. Even as he was sending a prayer heavenward—Live, Spock, live!—Kirk roughly grabbed the healer’s shirt to pull him forward. Face to face with S’cahli he hissed, "Are you talking about love? Are you saying Spock is insane because he loves me?"

"Release me, Captain."

"Tell me!"

"Clinically insane, yes. According to the strict definition of the term."

"For Vulcans," Kirk whispered. "But not for humans." He let S’cahli go.

No time to rejoice or live in the moment, no time even for fear to blossom because there was just a twelve point five percent chance that Spock would ever escape his coma. Just barely time for him to hug the truth in silence before the rebel leader returned.

"On your feet, Starfleet! Off we go. Hatcher wants these two at the south base where the transmitter is."

They started off towards the far end of the alley, and propelled by his new knowledge, Kirk thought frantically of escape. He had to get back to the ship….

…but then they passed an overturned garbage can. Innocuous by itself, but next to it was an upended bicycle, its wheels spinning slowly in the brisk wind that suddenly gusted down the narrow canyon. A tumultuous joy began to howl deep inside of Kirk. The god who looked upon starship captains and those they loved had heeded his plea.

The tipped-over metal newspaper dispenser just as the passageway opened to the street was as obvious as a shout, and Kirk almost grinned. Any minute now….

When it came, rescue was so easy. A low hum, three beams of light, and three of their captors dropped. Kirk spun with the first sound and faced the comically dismayed guard who had taken such pleasure in watching him pee. It was a pleasure to chop him down with a single blow to the neck.

"What?" S’cahli asked as he slowly turned in confusion. "What has happened?"

But Kirk only had eyes for the tall figure in a brown jacket who was running towards them, two security guards close behind.

"Quickly," Spock shouted. "This way!"

Spock looked like hell, pale and even thinner than he usually was, with a startlingly white crescent moon of scalp showing over his ear, but he was more beautiful even than Kirk’s deepest, most fervent nighttime dreams. He took out after his fantasy-come-true at a dead run, and every part of him was alive.

He didn’t stop to question Spock’s anxiety, he trusted his first officer’s knowledge and assessment of the situation completely. To S’cahli’s exclamation, "We cannot leave these men here, they are injured," he flung a quick, "They’re not hurt, just stunned," and followed Spock back the way they’d come, through the back door and the long hallway and the extravagant lobby, but then down a dingy staircase tucked to the side. One flight, two flights, and by the time they emerged onto a long, darkened platform lit only by a few naked bulbs, Kirk realized where they were going.

"The subway tunnels?" he panted as Spock paused, and he caught up with him at last.

"It is an efficient way to maneuver, especially since the conflict has caused the system to be shut down," his first officer said, but then he seemed to get a good look at Kirk for the first time. "Jim, you are injured." He brought his hand up to almost touch the aching bump on Kirk’s head.

"Almost surely a concussion," S’cahli provided. "Though a minor one. And possibly injuries to his ribs as well."

Spock ignored the healer, his whole attention was focused on his captain. "Can you travel?" Spock asked in his wonderfully Spockian way, a way that combined concern and efficient logic that was uniquely his, and which Kirk would have missed so much.

"As well as you can," Kirk said with a grin. "I bet McCoy raised holy hell."

"McCoy," Spock said with disdain, "does not need to know everything."

"Sir," one of the security men interrupted. Kirk recognized Lieutenant Vida, who held a tricorder. "Readings from the first floor overhead. I think they’re coming after us."

In one smooth motion Spock turned and dropped himself down from the platform to the level of the tracks. He looked up at the rest of the party. "We must go. Captain, may I assist—"

At any other time Kirk’s pride and his vitality would have caused him to decline Spock’s offer. But in truth his ribs grated with every step, and the opportunity to touch Spock was too tempting to resist. To touch in awareness, knowing Spock loved him….

An instant later he was sitting on the edge of the concrete, legs dangling. Spock reached up his arms, and Kirk slid into them. I’m like a giddy teenager, Kirk thought as he stood within the circle of his first officer’s embrace for the first time, even if for less than a second. Their eyes met for a timeless moment as they clung to one another, and he knew that he would always remember it. "Race you," he growled, and he took off down the tracks into darkness, sprinting towards his future. No danger that threatened could dampen his exhilarating flight, not with the sound of Spock’s footsteps following right behind him.

Their small party of five ran and jogged and finally walked for almost an hour, creeping past two dimly lit stations, never seeing another soul, conversing in quick whispers, and hearing only the stirring of rats. Kirk knew they were headed north, but he doubted they could actually walk their way through the subway system to safety. The rebels’ area of control extended too far.

But finally Spock took them to an emergency set of stairs that led to another platform. It, too, seemed to be deserted, and a quick scan confirmed that. Nevertheless, Spock indicated with a finger that they should maintain silence as they found their way up two more sets of stairs to street level.

The last few steps were littered with debris, torn-up pieces of sidewalk, twisted bits of metal, and Kirk was somehow not surprised at all to realize as they paused on the top few steps that they had emerged exactly where Spock had been injured—an eternity ago.

He and Spock remained just high enough on the staircase so they could peek out over to the street; the rest Kirk silently motioned to remain below on the first landing, just barely in sight in the shadows. Night had fallen as they’d pursued their own darkness underground, but the wind had died down. A star-filled sky peered down at them through clear air and bitter cold.

Spock detached a flat disk from his belt; Kirk recognized a homing device of specialized design, one that supposedly could not be traced. The Vulcan twisted the top and set the device carefully on the ledge on the street. "Now," he whispered, "we wait. The shuttlecraft should arrive within ten minutes."

They stretched out on their stomachs on the rubble to keep watch, side by side, a human starship captain and his half-Vulcan, essential companion; each of them had been handed back their lives that day. And in the gloom of night, Kirk could not help but turn his head and confirm once again the miracle next to him.

He had a hundred questions. He wanted to know: Is it true? Do you love me as much as I love you? Will you bond with me? Will you stay with me and forego the hydraulics engineer on Vulcan?

But then he remembered how often he had tried to find the words on the ship, how he had relied on Spock interpreting his unspoken cues instead. It hadn’t worked.

Spock must have sensed his perusal, for he twisted to return his captain’s regard. In the starlight, there was just enough vision granted Kirk to see the tiny crinkle of lines as Spock smiled at him with his eyes. A thrill, deep and sexual and yet honestly pure, too, rocketed through Kirk’s chest and up to his throat at this connection, as real as a touch. He tingled, hiding in a blasted-out subway entrance under the stars, sharing gazes with his first officer. These were the eyes he loved, with their sense of calm and strength, the Spock that was clear and clean and honorable straight through the core of the man.

And suddenly he knew he could not return to the ship with just words as his tool and his explanation. He needed more. He needed to be sure.

"Spock," he whispered, though he knew he already had all his Vulcan’s attention.

"Yes?" came the reply, so softly, with layers of mystery.

"This." What he’d dreamed of: Kirk hitched over on the rough concrete until his shoulder pushed hard against his friend’s, he turned his head, saw Spock leaning towards him, perhaps in innocence….

…finding lips in the dark, unerringly they met because Spock had turned in exactly the right way at the right time, as he was always there when his captain needed him….

Kirk tried desperately to live only in this one moment—first kiss—but even now he would not push too far, he kept their joining tentative, asking, just a bittersweet pressing of his lips against the ones he’d dreamed of, hot and fiery and demanding, but now they were still and surprised.

Too soon, Kirk pulled back, not knowing anything yet, but looking deeply into those eyes….

A moment that existed out of ordinary time, when everything hung in the balance: would Spock be surprised, offended, horrified? Would he need the words, the explanations that Kirk had never been able to voice?

Spock searched his face in wonder, as if he could not believe what had just happened. Then, tentatively, two paired fingers reached up, traced along Kirk’s cheek.

"Jim," Spock breathed.

And suddenly Spock’s arms were around him, Spock’s mouth against his was open and hungry and as desperate as his own, and there were no questions left at all.

***************

Dreams did not come true. Fantasies did not take flesh. The aching yearnings of the heart were never fulfilled.

Except, Kirk thought as he paused in the bathroom doorway and looked at the beautiful man-Vulcan in his bed, when the world turned upside down.

Standing meters away from his lover, leaning against the doorjamb and feeling the whisper breath of the ship’s ventilation system caress his naked body, Kirk could also feel a different kind of caress: the bond. Deep within his mind, Spock was always with him. Loving him.

They hadn’t been able to wait. The first night in sickbay had been torture, knowing that Spock was in a bed across the darkened ward, probably as wide awake as he was, yearning….

When there was a rustle of bedclothes, Kirk had not been surprised. He was sitting up and expectant when Spock came to his side. They had kissed, touching tongues, grasping shoulders so hard to stop themselves from reaching further. Then Spock had reached for the meld points.

In his cabin days away from the event, still Kirk had to close his eyes as memory overwhelmed him. He was part of something sacred now, and he pitied anyone who could not share an intimate communion granted by a Vulcan’s mind. To cradle a part of Spock within himself, always, and cherish the gift. To give the one he loved a part of him, and know he was treasured and welcomed. To no longer be enough alone, and wonder how he had existed so long in his solitary state.

So drunk on the merging of their minds had he been, he’d thought he’d been granted everything he had ever wanted. Until tonight: their first lovemaking. Now he had everything.

Suddenly the space between them was too great. Kirk crossed the distance to the bed and slid under the sheet Spock held up for him. Already, their bodies fit together naturally. From knees to shoulders he pressed against his lover, separating only enough so they could gently kiss. The heat of passion had burned high and now was banked, smoldering. It would flame again soon.

Kirk rested within the curve of the strong arm, his head on Spock’s shoulder. "Happy?" he whispered.

"Yes, although that word seems inadequate to describe my current emotional state."

"Me, too."

A hot hand carded through his hair. It felt good. Kirk sighed and gave himself up to the moment.

"Do you know," a deep voice asked, "when I realized I…how I felt about you?"

That brought Kirk up to his elbows. He looked down at the serious face of his lover: elegant ears, soaring brows, glowing eyes framed by the pillowcase. The white scar from Spock’s injury was already obscured by a sparse growth of hair. "When?"

"Shortly after we had the conversation about committed couples on the ship."

Spock held him lightly at both shoulders, his fingers spread; his own fingers toyed with soft chest hair. He couldn’t seem to stop touching the erotically warm skin. He wanted to possess all of it.

"That was the first time I tried to talk to you about us. It was the closest I ever came with words, really. I didn’t think you had a clue what I was getting at."

"I did not. But I began to consider what you said. Even at that time, before our friendship deepened to a greater extent, it was difficult for me to discern the difference in the emotional quality of relationships between committed couples and ourselves."

"I’ve loved you forever," Kirk whispered, and then he leaned forward to kiss Spock. Each kiss was a new symbol of his devotion and a thrill for his body. He felt his penis stir and lift again.

This time an innocent kiss, closed-mouthed and firm. Their lips parted, and his Vulcan whispered against his mouth, so close, words he was shy to say. "I came to understand I loved you. Desired you mind and body."

"Was it difficult?" Kirk could imagine the nights Spock had spent, wrestling with forbidden emotion.

"No. Easy. I turned and you were there, the emotion was clear. But I did not know what to do with it. When I tried to find a way to communicate, I was unsuccessful."

"It doesn’t matter," Kirk soothed. "I heard you a hundred times. I kept telling myself it felt like love, what was between the two of us, but I was afraid to really believe it, to do anything about it."

"I would not have gone through with the bonding, you know," Spock said abruptly. "With T’Mara." He turned over onto his stomach, away from Kirk.

Kirk placed a comforting hand between sharp shoulder blades. "Then why…."

"I thought it might open up an avenue of discussion between us. It is why I told you about the possibility so far in advance."

Kirk dropped his forehead to the back of a muscled upper arm. "Oh, God, we were both so stupid. I can’t believe it. All that time we could have been together, and instead we were so far apart."

"No longer."

A stirring in the bond, a familiar ache that might have come from his own wanting, or it might have been Spock’s mind reaching for his instead.

"Come here," Kirk whispered, and he reached for a shoulder to pull Spock around, facing him. "Bondmate, I need you. Take my mind."

He leaned into the fingers spread to catch his thoughts and, for the split second before Spock established contact, wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to—

A dizzying spiral of disorientation. He was falling, falling from a great height, twisting and turning as the wind rushed with a tortured moan past his ears, he had to stop himself, grab hold of something to break his descent, but there was nothing to give him purchase, he was going to tumble end over end into this great unknown black hole that loomed before him, it was calling him down, coaxing him with light and sound and colors and a bewitching, siren voice….

Jim.

Sudden stillness after the whirlwind, then he landed safely within the eager thoughts of the mind that loved him.

Jim. And Spock.

Always they paused for a moment here, as the part of him that was Spock allowed him time to decide if this unfamiliar mental landscape were a delight he wished to explore, or a mystery too alien for his human senses.

He turned, choosing always the delight.

I have never been able to resist you.

And then the other part of him turned, choosing also the delight.

I never wish to resist you. I come to you, beloved.

Two halves in this realm of light and truth, they faced each other. A warm breeze blew up from where Spock held out his hands, swirling towards Kirk and then around him, skirting his ankles and then up over shoulders, tender fingers that sparked wherever they touched, electric discharges of knowledge that made him tremble, made him throw back his head and close his eyes as sensation overwhelmed him. Yes! Touch me! Lay yourself over me….

The air wound around and over, and from behind it wafted through Kirk, pushing through his essence as if he were a sheet billowing on a summer’s day or a kite flying high. Eagerly, he pushed out and towards Spock, towards completion, knowing what was to come next, shivering for it, the complete joining he’d dreamed about and now knew intimately. The power of the meld, enhanced by the bond: all of Spock over him, they wouldn’t be separate, for they would fill each other, merging…. He might have been stretched thin, except there was love fueling his expansion, and desire. Come to me. Closer. Almost with me….

And then: First shocking touch, a convulsive shudder of unalloyed, pure pleasure as Spock settled not against him, but within him. The moments of adjustment—touch me here, take this there, here is where I need you—and then:

Peace. Satisfaction of the soul. They were meant to do this. From the hour Kirk had stepped foot on the Enterprise, the universe had been guiding them to this glorious achievement.

What I’ve wanted for so long: two thoughts with one voice.

We are so beautiful together. Feel it. Here, where our love is.

How do we endure it? To know this is what we are together. It is almost more than we can bear.

We could withdraw….

No! Longer. More. I hold myself open for you. Give yourself to me!

Here is all I am, t’hy’la.

One moment of pure perfection, possessing and possessed, Spock’s clear crystal worth entwined with his own solid strength….

And then with a jolt Kirk was flat on his back in the physical world, his heart aching with loss. Spock had told him it would be like this until they learned to maintain the highest levels of energy in the meld; the severances would be painful. Each time Kirk had come back to himself bereft, feeling as if he’d lost his best friend….

But he hadn’t. His best friend was spread out flat over him, kissing his left temple—the meld point—in desperation.

"Jim," Spock whispered, and again, "Jim."

Oh, God. Spock was erect, Kirk could feel the steamy penis between his legs, pressing up under his balls. The same physical longing that he’d wrestled with for so many nights sounded in Spock’s voice. Here was the antidote to the wrenching loss of their mental union, his arms could reach and be filled. He needed….

"Your lips," Kirk murmured thickly. He turned his head and there was Spock’s mouth, warm and lush.

The reality of what they were doing nearly overwhelmed Kirk. After all the dark nights alone, the misunderstandings when they had each tried to speak and had not been heard, after the awful moments when Kirk had stood over Spock’s broken body: finally, now, they were in each other’s arms. Finally they were naked together in bed, as lovers should be. He had the chance to love Spock as he’d always wanted. Suddenly, the craving to do exactly that ignited within him. He had to be inside Spock’s body as Spock had been inside his mind.

His legs clashed with those above him to gain leverage, then with a twist and a grunt he rolled them over, so that he was staring down into the masculine face he always wanted to see in his dreams.

"Let me love you," he gasped. "Please, let me."

The words were inadequate, didn’t convey exactly what he meant, but it didn’t seem to matter. Spock stretched erotically beneath him, his hands reaching to each side of the bed, offering. "Anything with you," his Vulcan said. "I want to know it all."

The first time had been a whirlwind of hunger, they’d thrown themselves at each other and climaxed within short minutes, just from one body pressed against the other. It had been wonderful, but Kirk wanted more this time—his midnight desire.

First, the mouth, Spock’s sweet, seductive mouth. One kiss would never be enough, and Spock’s kisses were intoxicating, inflaming, so different from the kisses his lips had known before. No passive lover, Spock demanded entrance into his own mouth with a strong, stabbing tongue, and Kirk groaned as he acceded. He couldn’t possibly have imagined what it would be like, that hot plundering tongue, sucking on it, the noise their mouths made as they slid together, disjuncted, then frantically joined again. The sound of Spock breathing wetly was enough to bring his arousal to aching hardness. At last, Spock was turning to the body, not just his mind, and he was sharing that body with his captain….

But not just the mouth. So much more to touch and explore. He didn’t know whether his love would like his fingers sucked, or his eartips licked, or the long line of his neck kissed, he wanted to do it all. Kirk reveled in the tiny noise of pleasure that Spock made when his mouth settled over one eartip, and the way the strong hands convulsively gripped around his shoulders.

He tongued the unique point vigorously, Spock bucked up, out of control, and it was glorious to feel the hardness throb against his thigh. "Do you like that?" he asked, swiping at the earlobe with his tongue.

"I had not known how sensitive…." Spock panted. "No one has ever…."

No one had ever loved Spock in this way, ever shared his soul and his body, ever sucked on his intensely private friend’s ears. Kirk’s penis jerked hard, and he almost came just with that realization. He felt like a king. He was omnipotent, being able to give this, being permitted to give this…. But he needed more.

Spock’s mossy nipples, hidden within chest hair so unfamiliar to Kirk, but treasured because it was part of Spock. Before his lips found them, the buds were hard. Nothing like the soft breasts of Kirk’s many women, more exciting because of that, and because Spock liked his head bent in service to the breast. "Yes," he whimpered, and gripped the back of Kirk’s head to keep him there, suckling.

But not enough; there was still more to explore. Kirk wrenched away and planted a quick row of kisses down the heaving belly, past the neat navel, further down….

The double-ridged penis. Sometime soon, perhaps later that night, it would command him as he gave Spock every gift that had been given to him. Now it bobbed before him with each shuddering breath Spock took, and it wept in need. One clear drop of seminal fluid glistened at the opening. When he gripped the shaft at the base, Spock moaned and threw his head back against the pillow, then he delicately tasted with just the tip of his tongue.

Sharp bitterness exploded on his tongue, not salty, but a strong and commanding flavor that forever Kirk would associate with his lover, thrusting his penis into the air, wanting….

Not another minute, Kirk couldn’t wait any longer. He got to his knees beside his wild-eyed love, reached over to the bedside drawer, and fumbled for the lubricant.

"Is this all right with you?" he panted as he squeezed the cream directly onto his own cock. "Do you know what I—"

"Yes! I wish to feel you inside me. Penetrate me!"

Then Spock did something that shook Kirk’s determination not to come until he was embedded deep in Spock’s body: his controlled, not-of-the-body first officer spread his legs and took his own penis in his hand. Inexpertly, as if he had never touched himself before, his long fingers played down his erect length, then rested cupped around his testicles.

"Oh, God! Spock!" Kirk couldn’t get between those legs fast enough. They were up and over his shoulders in a flurry of movement, then Spock blatantly tilted his pelvis to align his anus at the right angle, and they were almost there.

Kirk took a deep breath to try to calm himself. He didn’t want pain to accompany the pleasure, and that meant some preparation.

He pulled back just enough from the hot contact between his groin and Spock’s ass, leaned forward with one hand braced against the mattress while the other sought between Spock’s buttocks. And he captured Spock’s gaze. Brown eyes, wide with unaccustomed arousal, stared up at him with trust.

"I can’t believe we’re really doing this," he whispered, just as his lubricated middle finger found the tight opening it sought and pushed inside. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," and a quick nod. "Jim, I can control the tension of the sphincter. Please, do not delay."

"All right," Kirk breathed.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off Spock’s face. He grabbed his own cock, fumbled as he sought for the right location, the best angle, and all the while he was being eaten alive by Spock’s intent gaze, watching as his captain did this thing, this obscene, intimate, wonderful thing to his virgin body. There! Kirk gasped. The puckered hole opened the tiniest bit to the tip of his penis, so good, he pushed with one sure, insistent thrust, and the secret channel opened, welcoming him. He slid all the way to the base of his wildly throbbing cock.

They were one.

The difference between bread and ambrosia. Between darkness and sunlight. Between yearning for what was impossible and finally being granted your deepest desire.

Yes.

A moment of adjustment, of experiencing the tight fit of his cock in Spock’s slick ass, a moment to reach down and wrap his fingers around Spock’s hardness, and then he had to move.

One thrust towards what he needed, two, three—

He’d never thought it would really happen.

Seven, eight, nine thrusts into the hottest, best home Kirk’s penis had ever found, its only home from now on—

Spock was making whimpering sounds, he’d thrown the back of his hand over his mouth, he was pushing with his elbows and shoulders against the mattress to ensure that each penetration went all the way in.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen times he plumbed the depths of Spock’s body—

Spock’s penis so hard in his hand, jerking, a quick ripple down its length, that must mean he was about to—

Kirk stilled his movement, pumped the cock vigorously, watched—

Spock stiffened, arched the full length of his body, the legs over Kirk’s shoulders tensed—

"Spock!"

—the fine mouth opened in a soundless cry—

"Come for me!" Kirk demanded.

—and hot Vulcan semen jetted over Kirk’s fingers.

Spock’s eyes squinted shut in the short ecstasy of orgasm, his mouth worked open and closed, his cheeks tensed and froze: Kirk, entranced, would never forget the sight. He’d given his love the ultimate pleasure of the body.

And taken it himself. Too much. One more thrust and he was lost.

He couldn’t help himself, he lost sight of Spock as orgasm wracked his body. He had to push all his spurting cock as far up as possible, to prove to Spock that neither of them was alone any more….

Spock caught him as he collapsed forward in helplessly shivering aftermath. Kirk had just enough energy to withdraw carefully, and then his lover, with Vulcan strength on which he could always rely, rolled them both over onto their sides. Kirk couldn’t seem to breathe enough air into his lungs, but he thought that beloved hands on his body, gentling him, soothing him, were enough to keep him alive forever.

Finally his heart calmed, and he opened his eyes. Spock was right there gazing at him with love. Their heads shared the same pillow.

Kirk didn’t know what to say, so he grabbed Spock’s hand in his and squeezed. Spock didn’t speak, either, but deep inside Kirk the bond opened like a flower.

I love you.

I love you.

"Do you know," he asked quietly, "that your soul shines in your eyes?"

Predictably, the intercom chose that moment to shrill loudly from its bedside station. Although Kirk was Spock’s lover and his bondmate, he was also captain of the Enterprise. With a sigh and a quick kiss, he slid across Spock, maximizing their body contact, and activated the audio only.

"Kirk here."

"Jim, it’s McCoy. I know it’s a little late, but you keep late hours with the best of them. You weren’t asleep, were you?"

Kirk settled himself more comfortably across Spock’s chest. He smiled down at his bondmate, smiled again at the look in Spock’s eyes. "No, Bones, I wasn’t."

"Good. I thought you’d be interested in some news that just came in about the Emergency Medical Shuttle."

"You mean the one that never showed up?"

"The same. They’re claiming engine trouble and are all apologies. Say it’s a good thing that we managed to take care of the problem on our own. I think there’s a good chance they’ll be reimbursing you for our expenses in, uh, getting Spock back on his feet. You won’t be destitute after all."

He was rich beyond his dreams, with a warm Vulcan breathing beneath him, the echoes of their lovemaking sounding in his heart. Kirk said earnestly, "It wouldn’t have mattered."

"I know that."

Kirk cleared his throat. "You know, Bones, I never did say thank you."

"What for?"

"For beaming back with Spock to the ship."

"I had to do it."

"I know, but it was still—"

"I couldn’t very well deprive you of your favorite Vulcan, now, could I? Good-night, Jim."

"Good-night, Bones."

Kirk closed the connection, then rolled back next to his lover. Spock came into his arms, and the wonderful reality of his weight, his skin’s warmth was like a homecoming.

…breathing in your essence, living in the same space you inhabit….

"My favorite Vulcan," Kirk whispered, kissing the top of Spock’s head.

Mine.

----THE END----

CHALLENGE: Kirk overhears a conversation between Spock and someone. Or perhaps Spock is doing a personal log? He finds out that Spock is in love with him

AUTHOR'S COMMENT: Well, almost!