No Answers

by Hypatia Kosh; rated NC-17 & warning for other S/m pairings
Typed by Farf and written in fulfillment of her old "sex in Gol" challenge
For anyone who knows what it's like to hate yourself so intensely.
FB: to Farfalla at blueberrysnail @ yahoo.com because Farf actually checks her email

Spock submitted to the male's demands, as was usual. It was whispered around the complex that Spock did not care, which was almost true. Being pushed into sexual acts seemed to recall a long-ago memory of being possessed, and it was possible that he enjoyed awakening this feeling too much. This simple bodily function should have meant nothing to him. One more failure among many here.

The male was desperate. His scent was new. Spock did not know his name and did not care to. He leaned against the rough stone wall and allowed his skin to be bloodied by the friction. He looked down and felt nothing. The male finally pushed the robes aside and rubbed his slick phallus against the cleft of Spock's ass. Pleasure stirred in Spock's groin at this--it almost always did. Without the perpetual fear of embarrassment and shame outside these walls, he found he would consent to almost anything. He spread his legs and presented his rear, high and inviting. The full-blooded Vulcan male entered him then, but he was too rough, as if he intended to bruise Spock. This would not do. Spock braced his arms against the wall now, pleasure replaced with irritation.

It did not take much longer. Spock did not move when the male pulled out. It was time for him to leave, and they usually did.

This one did not. He roughly yanked at Spock's shoulder and spun him around. Spock glared at him. "Go," he said.

The male punched him in the side. Spock reacted violently, throwing the male against the opposite wall with all his strength. Vulcans do not prefer violence, but preserving one's existence is logical in the right circumstances. "Get out," Spock said now.

"Slut," the male said, picking himself up from the floor. "I'm not done with you."

"Call me that again," Spock said, advancing on him. The other male had Spock outmatched for bulk, but Spock was the outraged of the two. A useless physical contest would have ensued had they not been interrupted. The other male heard advancing footsteps and chose to flee.

Spock, having no reason to flee, stood in place.

"Spock?" It was Daran, a young widow who had made excuses to make conversation with Spock since his arrival at Gol a few weeks ago. She was certainly no threat to anyone; Spock supposed his erstwhile attacker had feared discovery by a Kolinahru.

The light was low in the chamber and Vulcans rely more on hearing than sight, but Daran saw the blood. "Sistek should have been sent directly to prison," she noted.

"The adepts here have special methods to cure the violent," Spock said, reflexively defending this place and its methods.

"So they claim," Daran said bitterly. "And what have they done for me? Nothing. They may have practiced the same techniques since antiquity, but are they effective? Walk with me," she directed, and Spock followed without complaint. There was no task before him but silent contemplation, and he did not want to contemplate why he had allowed a violent convict to attack his body.

As Spock expected, Daran led them away from the residential part of the compound so they they were less likely to be overheard. Her dissatisfaction with Gol had grown steadily, and lately she had been trying to convince Spock to leave as well.

Impossible, of course.

"Gol is a fraud," Daran said. "It operates on superstition and unquestioned tradition. They know nothing."

"But have you not been comforted?" Spock asked. Daran had come close to death herself after the death of her spouse; now she seemed healthy, if manifestly unhappy.

"I was helped by the intervention of others, like yourself--not by any method or technique known only to Kolinahru. They were of no help to me. They did not even seem to understand my distress.

"You should realize by now that Kolinahr will not help you. The masters of Gol use abilities we all have and present them as if they are Gol's special provenance."

Becoming frustrated by Spock's silence, she added, "You are a scientist. Demand the same standard of evidence."

"My situation is impossible. Here I will not be tempted. Here I will be protected from the consequences of biology."

"Your situation is not impossible," Daran said firmly. How rich and crisp her voice was! Spock was reminded once again that Daran was a very beautiful woman. "Don't you understand that the compulsion"--to bond with Kirk, she meant--"derives from he fact that he desires the bond as you do?"

"He cannot know," Spock said unthinkingly, meaning it was impossible, not that he forbade it.

"He does know. You should trust him and go to him now, while he still lives." Daran turned heel and moved away from Spock, her grief having been brought too near to the surface.

Spock had said during a prior dialogue with her that his death would free Kirk, and Daran had become incensed. Spock rationalized the comment as aiding Daran in working through her grief. The excuse was shallow, and proof of how much farther he had to go.

Spock said nothing this time; he didn't want to find out how hard Daran could hit him.

Daran went to a chink in the wall, where the native stone had crumbled away. It was something to look at other than Spock, and it eased her frustration with him. Her emotional control was still erratic, but she would be gone soon. She, too, had enjoyed the sanctuary from embarrassment and shame.

She had not given up on Spock yet. "Terran medical science is greatly advanced beyond Vulcan, as is Rigellian. Why not seek assistance on Earth? Couldn't a human mediator provide an objective judgment?"

"Terrans have been kept ignorant of certain aspects of Vulcan biology," Spock rejoined. "They are in no position to pass judgment."

"Truly?" Daran had never been offworld. "Why?"

Spock's family had been partially responsible for the decision, two and three generations ago, so he answered, "It was deemed in Vulcan's best interest."

"How?"

"You know that human civilization posed a great threat to the peace and stability of this portion of the galaxy. Securing their cooperation was imperative. In the course of building an alliance, certain information was withheld. They did the same. And, as is typical in these matters, both sides have been complicit in hiding information from their own people."

"How, then, did your parents come to be married?"

"My mother was deemed trustworthy. She left everything she knew to live on Vulcan. As the result of her choices, she became badly estranged from her birth family. They could not accept what she had done."

"Nor could they accept you," Daran said perceptively. "Your entire view of the world is framed in terms of rejections."

"Amateur psychoanalysis?"

"I only listen to what you say. You are so obsessed with these rejections, and so conditioned to accept them, that you flee acceptance, and come here to pursue the title of Kolinahru, for which you will almost certainly be rejected."

"Success or failure are equal."

"Then your life has no purpose."

"Purpose is not logical. Purpose presupposes an organizing structure to the universe which does not exist."

"We seek purpose. For we have the choice to exist or not to exist, and why should we exist without purpose? Such would be a waste of resources."

"Perhaps I will find an answer."

"Perhaps. Perhaps you are throwing your life away among these, society's throwaways, when there is someone outside who wants and needs you very badly and whose voice you have selfishly deafened yourself to."

"Selfishly?"

"Indeed," she said hotly. "This is a place for the dead. He is alive. Are you?"

Spock did not feel alive. "No."

"Very well." She left.

Spock wandered to the source of the spring beneath the complex and washed his wounds. The water stung where the clotting and scabbing was incomplete. Listlessly he washed his feet as well of blood and grime.

The hallways were empty; he returned to his cell.

He meditated, putting Daran's accusations out of his mind. Her words of returning and claiming his chosen mate were beguiling. There would be many temptations walking this path. Spock reminded himself that if what Daran said were true, then, surely, Kirk would have come for him. Spock conveniently forgot about the horrible things he had said to Kirk before he left.

Spock returned to the task of identifying and expunging his emotions, one by one.

He was irritated when his office door opened. He'd made it clear umpteen times how much he hated interruptions. The young cadet who bounded through the door was apologetic. "Admiral? I've got a call for you from Vulcan. She keeps calling, insists on talking to you, sir."

Kirk sat up. "Who?"

"Says her name is Daran, sir."

"Who?" He wrinkled his brow. Daran, Daran. The name didn't ring a bell. Any call from Vulcan could be important, though. "Put her through."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Kirk set his work aside. The image came through: a black-haired Vulcan woman with a stern mien, though certainly more... gentle than T'Pring--or at least less arrogant.

"Are you Captain Kirk?" she asked.

Kirk shrugged. "I was."

"Mister Kirk, my name is Daran. I have just left the monastery at Gol. I am concerned about the welfare of Pilgrim Spock. You may say it is not my place to interfere. I am not kin. However, I came to know your Spock while I was at Gol. He is an extraordinary being. That being is in grave danger of being destroyed."

"You mean... I apologize for my ignorance, but I don't have any idea what goes on there. What's happened to him?"

"Do not apologize. The masters of Gol have caused your ignorance. They have caused the ignorance of us all, for their advantage.

"Spock has applied himself to the achievement of Kolinahr, the state of perfect non-emotion. Why, he cannot say. Nor can anyone."

"Spock said that he would no longer..." Kirk stopped, embarrassed at the thought of bringing up Vulcan mating drives in front of a beautiful woman. He stuttered and moved his hands. "...you know... every seven years... pon farr."

"You refer to the rumor that the adepts have mastered the plak tow? A fraud," the woman said. "Male Kolinahru can no more control their mating urges than any other man."

"But--so--do they die?"

"They succor each other. The act has no meaning to Kolinahru."

Kirk's jaw dropped. This was worse than he'd thought. "And do they ever leave?"

"Yes, though they are as the dead among the living. Mister Kirk, my people accept many claims which have no basis in fact because they are covered with the patina of antiquity."

"So do we," Kirk acceded. "What can I do?"

"Go to Gol. Convince him to leave. Perhaps if you tell him that it was illogical for him to accept the sole opinion of a Vulcan healer when he is half human, he will listen." Daran had not lost her composure but there was a certain urgency in her voice which reminded him of another Vulcan long ago.

"He had the advice of a human doctor. He didn't listen. He can be very stubborn sometimes. Thank you for your call, Miss Daran. If you think there's a chance I can convince him, I will go."

"He is dissatisfied with his experience there, Mister Kirk, but he does not yet admit it. He believes it is he who is wrong, not the techniques."

Kirk slumped forward. "This will be a wasted effort, but at least I can say I was bidden, and not by his father, either."

Turis came closer and brushed his fingers and lips against Spock's face. Spock didn't respond. He had not felt the stirrings of sexual desire since Sistek's attack.

"Come, Spock," Turis whispered against his ear and rubbed his groin suggestively against Spock's thigh. He could feel the hot erection through their robes.

Spock sank to his knees and lifted his chin. "Not here," Turis whispered, and picked him up. Hand around his wrist, Turis led him to an alcove. Turis sat and lifted his robe. A firm erection rose from between his legs, barely slick, heathy and engorged with blood. Spock went down on him, returning a favor given many times, serving, fulfilling a need.

Turis was very excited. He began to come in Spock's mouth but held himself back. He pulled out and fondled himself in front of Spock. Spock bent forward and licked the shaft. Turis moaned at this attention. He thrust the head of his penis back into Spock's mouth and, with Spock's cooperation, face-fucked him.

He pulled out again. He pulled off his robe and pulled off Spock's. He began to kiss Spock, but seeing that he was not aroused, desisted and merely thrust his phallus between Spock's legs. Spock squeezed, providing the necessary friction. Turis's thrusts were hard and fast but his strength and muscular control were excellent and he held Spock's body lightly, without injury.

He shuddered in orgasm, releasing his come on Spock and the floor. Spock caught his spent organ and massaged it, knowing he preferred this.

"This is unlike you, Spock," Turis said. The Vulcans in the complex did not always become aroused when approached for sex, but Spock always did.

"The human element may be silent now," Spock said.

"Unfortunate, if so," Turis said. "I have found this human element of yours most intriguing; perhaps your most valuable asset."

Spock knew he didn't mean sexually, although in Spock's generally masochistic mood he was tempted to take it that way. Turis had sex with him because he liked him and because Spock listened to his philosophical musings. The same could not be said of the others who came to Spock for sex, but he would admit no preference.

"It may be that you have suffered long enough here," Turis said, looking Spock over. The hybrid did not look well. "I do not believe what you seek will be found here. I myself intend to leave. The silence of Gol is most welcome to my spiritual researches, but the rule here is arbitrary."

"You have spoken to Daran?"

"Indeed. She is a beautiful woman--though simple." Turis looked at Spock significantly. He had made it quite clear that if Spock reconsidered his position on marriage, he was available. "She was right about one thing. The Deltan literature on meditation and satori is far more sublime than anything I have heard here. I have meditated long on the concept of non-emotion and I no longer believe there is such a thing."

"What of those who achieve it?"

"They appear to achieve it for a time. Afterwards they hide their failures with harshness. The few others are suffering from a mental illness. You can tell these, for they are listless and unhealthy and speak little.

"You are too honest to become a fraud. You will either honestly fail or they will break you. We have reached the limit of what they can teach. Anything more you gain here you will have taught yourself."

For the first time in some time, doubt crept into Spock's consciousness. He had shut out Daran's words on account of her obvious emotionalism, but Turis was calm and Spock respected him. He had no agenda.

"Where will I go?" Spock asked, mainly rhetorically.

"Come with me to Delta Prime," Turis said. "A traveling companion would be welcome and as foreigners there we could both use a friend."

"The Deltan psyche is a mystery to me."

"Then we go to gain understanding."

"I will consider it." There was only one place Spock wanted to be--where Jim was, on his knees, at Jim's knee, begging his forgiveness and forbearance.

"I will be settling matters here soon," Turis said. "Perhaps in a fortnight."

"We will speak again before then," Spock said, and pulled on his robe.

In the morning, the matron found something amiss in his appearance. He was subjected to a borderline insulting tirade which touched on his heritage and upbringing. Brought before T'Leu, the second to T'Sai, he tested her by suggesting that the matron's fixation on physical appearance was emotional and illogical. T'Leu, being no fool, turned his words on him. Any animal, she said, grooms itself because that is its natural function. Vulcans who fail to groom themselves do so for reasons of emotional disturbance. Spock won the argument over his hair, however, when he explained how much time and trouble he would have to expend to keep it glossy. They agreed that this was vanity, and not one more word was said about it. Spock did have to clean the dust and semen from his robe. His hands stung as he plunged the fabric into a chemical bath. Even after the passage of several days the cuts from Sistek's use of him had not fully healed. The convict was now in deep telepathic therapy, under T'Sai's personal direction, and Spock had not seen him since. Spock ruled the stinging sensation and washed the garment.

It was drying in the laundry room when T'Kel found him there. She was short, with long light brown hair which she had tied in back, and she was carrying a large bundle of what looked like sailcloth. "They say there is a visitor for you, Pilgrim Spock," she said, and frowned, taking in his unkempt and naked state. Vulcans keep themselves clean, and Spock was not.

T'Kel had borne two children, as evidenced by the size of her bosom, and like all mothers she was practical. She put her burden on a shelf and pulled a scrubbing tool off the wall. "Use this to clean. Over the sink." Spock could almost hear the word 'child' following these commands.

Reluctantly he washed himself with soap. It took off the outer layer of dead skin and grime and exposed all his contusions and abrasions. When he was done, T'Kel took the still-wet robe off the hanger with a hook. When Spock simply stared at her, she said, "Dry off on the roof."

Spock went alone to a high part of the complex and walked out to where he was exposed to the sun and the wind. Ordinarily the burning heat was uncomfortable even for him, but it was just what he needed, drying him quickly and smoothing out all the wrinkles in his garment. He looked down into the outer courtyard. Looking up at him from beneath the shade of a wall was a human--Admiral James T. Kirk.

Kirk started, his eyes jumping from Spock to someone in front of him, a Vulcan with deep tan-olive skin and blue-black hair in tight little curls. Unlike Spock in his sepulchral black, this one was wearing a light blue Vulcan traveling suit.

"How do you know my name?" Kirk asked. He had told the gate attendant that his name was James T. Kirk and that he was here to see Spock. He had not used the familiar form 'Jim'. After taking his message the Vulcans had avoided him--except this one. He had very dark, almost black eyes. Intelligent, almost amused--and nothing like the countless Vulcans Kirk had encountered on the shuttle, in the airport, in the capital, on the road...

Kirk had come to Gol quickly, before he could change his mind. A dozen dropped projects vied for his attention but he brushed them aside. Spock. Spock was the biggest dropped project of all.

"I am Turis," the Vulcan said at last. "Spock has told me of you. It seemed likely to me that you would come here sooner or later, but he did not believe it."

Kirk looked at the rooftop again. Spock was gone. "Where is he? I need to see him."

"I will take you to him," Turis said. Kirk accepted the offer. Turis seemed trustworthy enough. He felt some jealousy that Turis had shared Spock's company when he had not, but that was only natural.

Gol was something of a maze. They passed Vulcans, some in simple robes, others in more elaborate garb. "If you don't mind my asking," Kirk said to Turis, "why don't you wear a robe like the others?"

"Not at all," Turis said. "I have decided to leave this place. I have shed the garb of a Pilgrim."

"I see," Kirk said. They started up some stairs. "Would it be rude to ask you if you achieved non-emotion?"

Turis laughed lightly. "Non-emotion is an illusion. We control our emotions. We do not eliminate them. I was seeking spiritual awakening here, but I will be seeking it elsewhere. Spock!"

Kirk saw a swirl of black fabric down the corridor and ran after it. A door slammed in his face. Turis was right behind him pushing the heavy door open. "Puerile of him to react this way," Turis muttered, as if embarrassed. Kirk realized then that Turis was close to Spock and became considerably more jealous. "Spock?" Kirk called, and added, in English, "I don't bite."

Spock came from around a corner. "What do you want?" he asked in Standard, the guttural language of spacers across the Alpha quadrant.

Kirk didn't care what language Spock used because his brand spanking new implanted UT made them all intelligible, but Turis knew nothing of either tongue, save a few words that Spock had let slip in unguarded moments. He judged it was time to butt out. "Be civil," he advised Spock. "It's important."

"Forgive him," Spock said in English after Turis's retreating form, "he knows not what he does."

"Spock," Kirk said, and there was an edge in his voice. Spock turned towards him. "He said he was leaving. That this place didn't hold his answers. Maybe you should leave, too."

"Daran sent you," Spock said flatly, returning to Standard. He seemed to prefer the hard sound to the soft consonants and half-vowels of English.

"Daran called me, she did not send me," Kirk said. "She shared information. Information about pon farr. You explain to me why you are still here." Kirk had slipped into a command stance, but Spock did not respond. The listlessness of the last few months was replaced with anger. If Turis had stayed, he would have been shocked at the transformation.

"Explain," Kirk reiterated.

Spock repeated the mantra that was keeping him here. "I am a danger to myself and others. I am dangerously unbalanced and these techniques will teach me to control."

"Enough with the Standard. You sound like a Klingon."

"Your presence here is illogical."

"You told me that you came here to overcome your biology. Because you were afraid of hurting me. I thought it was stupid, but I let you go anyway. Well, it was stupid; they can't help you, and they have you so brainwashed that you're telling lies about yourself."

"You do not comprehend--"

"Hell I don't, Mister! This is pathetic. This is a mighty fine length to go to in order to avoid telling someone that you made a mistake and don't want to bond with them after all."

"But--That's not true."

"You know what I think? I think you're afraid. Afraid to change, afraid to grow, afraid to accept me because you can't accept yourself. This is the bottom of it, isn't it? You can't accept yourself."

Spock looked down. "If you truly loved me, you would have come on your own."

"I loved you, and so I trusted you and gave you the space you said you needed. You don't know how much I've needed you and missed you, how badly, how very badly I wanted to come after you."

"But you did not."

"You went here of your own free will, with open eyes, or so I thought. I've always respected your need for privacy. I thought you needed this. I thought it would be selfish of me to interfere."

For a moment their eyes met and locked, but Spock looked away.

"Have they been treating you well? You don't look good."

"I have no complaints."

"A VSA official on the shuttle told me they send convicts here."

"Occasionally. Some choose to undergo the regimen here; others choose a newer therapy at the Tevkhar Institute; but most prefer prison."

"Most prefer prison?" Kirk asked himself. "The irony of that statement--"

"You misunderstand. They are subjected to telepathic probes and relearning, perhaps even neural surgery. The Pilgrims here are not subject to that, nor are other temporary residents."

"This place looks like a medieval stronghold. All that's missing is the dungeon."

"This compound was built over a natural spring," Spock said, becoming civil for the first time in the conversation. "Do you wish to see it?"

They descended several flights of stairs and entered a grotto. Light filtered in through a long high horizontal slit. The water was black but not murky. The wet smell was comforting after days of dryness--the artificial air of the shuttle and then Shikahr, and the desert.

Kirk put a dipper into the bubbling pool and drew out a half liter or so of clear water. "Do I drink?" he asked.

"Drink," Spock affirmed, and watched approvingly as Kirk held the cup part against the dry part of his lip and carefully sipped without spilling. Spock took the dipper and drank the rest. He had not been aware of any thirst before but now it was as if he could not drink enough. Illogical. And yet...

Kirk was looking at him, smiling at him. Spock pulled the human to him and kissed him on the lips, sharing that moisture. This was not the easing of a physical need but the fulfillment of a most emotional passion, but Spock did not care.

There was great need in both of them, such that they pulled at each other, gripping and pulling into a hot iron embrace. Kirk did not want to stop kissing Spock even to breathe. He hugged Spock's thin frame to his chest tightly, crushing two sets of lungs.

Spock pried them apart, but his eyes were smiling. He led Kirk up the stairs and through the maze to an unoccupied visitor's cell. It had a mattress rather than a stone slab, and a glass windowpane.

Spock pulled Kirk to the bed, pulled the human on top of him. With practiced hands, he removed Kirk's jacket.

Kirk caught Spock's roving hands and held them down on the mattress, twining their fingers. He stopped and just looked at Spock. He'd missed this face for too long.

They sank into another bout of kissing and petting. Spock touched Kirk's face and fumbled at opening a link, but finally achieved it. They removed their clothing and enjoyed the sensuality of skin against skin and emotional sharing. Kirk began to nibble on Spock's earlobe. Spock reached for Kirk's exposed testicles. They both groaned.

"Careful, Spock, I won't last like this," Kirk said, and it was true. Shivers went up his spine and his arms clenched.

Spock stroked Kirk's cheek gently. "How would you like it, Jim?"

Kirk closed his eyes. "I need you."

"There isn't anything we can use as lubricant, unless we were to steal something from the kitchen."

Kirk pushed himself up and sat back on his haunches, which displayed his erection to fine effect. "No? Guess you're lucky humans are so resourceful."

Spock watched, amused, as Kirk rifled through hidden jacket pockets, pulling out travel papers and lip balm and used tissues. At last he triumphantly produced a slightly dusty sachet of water-based lubricant.

Spock opened the sachet and prepared them both. For comfort, he elected to lie on the bed and let Kirk be on top, face-to-face. Spock ran his wide hands over Kirk's shoulders and down his back and then over the full buttocks, which he spread and pulled onto the head of his penis.

Spock gasped, just to touch that passage again. Memories poured back to him and emotions flared through the link. They pushed and pulled and Kirk went very still, fighting the discomfort of being stretched open again after too long.

"You're so big," Kirk whispered in awe and Spock rubbed the small of Kirk's back, relaxing the muscles to allow his entry.

At last the resistance ended and Kirk slid down until he was fully seated. His prostate was stimulated. "Oh--oh God," he ejected.

Spock couldn't resist. He thumbed Kirk's cock and balls.

"Stop. Stop! I'm going to--oh. I mean it."

Spock removed his thumb and circled a nipple instead. He enjoyed Kirk's response. He was such a sensual creature.

But Kirk didn't come right then. He started to slide up and down on Spock's erection and Spock rubbed his cock and then he did come.

Spock closed his eyes and enjoyed the beauty of Kirk's orgasm.

"Your turn." Kirk's humid breath condensed in Spock's ear.

Spock pulled out and deftly rearranged them. Now Kirk was on his stomach and Spock took him from behind. Entry was still slow, but Kirk was looser now, more relaxed. Spock had his way with him--almost. But at the very peak of pleasure, where one wishes it never to end, there Spock wanted so badly to force the bond that he had to physically restrain himself, holding his hands away and his fingers in. So frustrating this was that his orgasm was without pleasure, an exhausting let-down that left his nerves in pins and needles. When he trusted himself again, he held Jim close, needing that human contact as a salve to his pain.

"Spock?" Kirk asked. Spock shut his eyes in shame. "Spock, it wasn't very good for you, was it? How could I make it better?"

"Jim," Spock said, infinitely weary, "there is no cure for what afflicts me." Save the bond, but he did not say this. A peculiar sense of honor kept him silent. He believed that Kirk's consent must be freely given, yet he also knew that Kirk did not know all the facts. He told himself that if Kirk cared enough, he would find out himself. He knew he wasn't playing fair but he was so bound on punishing himself that even his awareness of his own dishonesty did not stop him. Still, he felt terribly guilty as he held Jim. It didn't concern him that Jim sensed it--Jim trusted him, trusted him too much and thought he felt guilty for different reasons. Spock nearly cried when he sensed the shift in Kirk's emotions, the sadness, the terrible sense of loss.

"Did you see his human--lover?"

"What a strange manner of dress."

"Are they always so noisy?"

"Could not make out a word of that language."

"Matron says the human refused a bond."

"I've heard that it is Pilgrim Spock who refuses it."

"That is the delusion he has invented and shares with everyone because he can't accept the truth."

"Such a waste."

"I didn't find that ruddiness beautiful at all."

Spock flushed a few toilets to drown out the nattering. He hadn't heard every word, but he heard enough to know that the new rumor about him was just about the inverse of the truth--and he preferred it that way.

Someday, every sin of his would be revealed. Someday Jim's anger would be terrible.

He held onto the memory of the taste of love a little longer.

Read more stories at the Kirk/Spock Advent Calendar home page

Hosted by Side by Side, the free online K/S e-zine