Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 4 Jan 2004 08:24:23 -0800 In: alt.startrek.creative From: watergal@mindspring.com (Lyra) Title: Brueghel's Icarus Author: Lyrastar Series: TOS Codes: S/m, K/S themes Rating: NC-17 Parts: 3/4 Contact: lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com For more information, see part 1 of 4 -------------------------------------- Near the smokehouse Chiz Yazzie was busy attending to the fire. A pile of porous stones glowed red and black under a pile of burning cedar brushes. A thick curl of gray smoke choked the air. At Spock's arrival Chiz Yazzie glanced up and gave a sidelong look of approval. He passed the shovel to Spock. "Pile the rocks against the north wall," he instructed. He lifted a thick blanket to reveal a small doorway built into the hillside. Spock accepted the shovel and pushed aside the smoldering brush to reach the rough rocks. He hefted one and noted it to be significantly less dense than the local stone. Igneous, in all probability. He shoveled the hot rocks down into the tiny space. From the doorway, the floor was less than two meters below, roughly square, with a stone bin built against the right wall. It might hold three people uncomfortably. Task completed, Chiz Yazzie dropped the heavy blanket flap down over the entrance. Under the bright morning sun, he began to divest himself of his clothing. He motioned to Spock to do the same. Spock raised an eyebrow and allowed himself the illogical wish that he had learned more of traditional Navajo mating customs. Chiz Yazzie retrieved the small packet from a fold of his jerkin and turned to face Spock. Spock remained fully dressed. Spock said uncomfortably, "Although the mating instinct is the driving force, at this time, perhaps it would be better--" Chiz Yazzie's voice held a slight lilt of amusement. "We must cleanse ourselves of impurities before approaching the spirits. It is most difficult to bathe in clothing, but you may try if you wish." So saying he picked up the water skin and slung it over his bare shoulder. He hopped down into the lodge. Raising an eyebrow, Spock followed his lead. When he lifted the flap to enter, the heat blasted up against his naked skin with a fierce intensity he had not felt since leaving Vulcan. He welcomed it and dropped into the dark chamber below. Chiz Yazzie squatted against the opposite wall. "Close the flap!" he hissed. Spock secured the blanket behind him leaving them alone in the faint red glow of the superheated rocks. His eyes began to accommodate to the dramatic change in light level, but for now he could see nothing but the rock furnace to his right. "Squat down. Be careful not to burn your leg." Spock squatted. The earthen walls were still cool, a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat of the lodge air. He leaned back into the chill. A warm hand touched his thigh. He gasped involuntarily. The hand moved upward. His whole body tensed. His penis jerked. No! Too soon! Not like this! But the hand did not tarry. It continued working its way up through the darkness until it found his chin. "Hold out your tongue." The touch of the healer caressed his face. The heat wrapped around the whole of his being, entering him, catalyzing some dreadful reaction already underway within. A finger teased his nose. A sweet smell of the earth and life and man wafted up. He couldn't argue. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. Automatically his tongue extended, firm and wet. In sympathy his penis began to do the same. He made a token effort to subdue it, but he knew he must fail. Breathing hard he waited in terrible anticipation. He felt the healer's exhalation of moist breath upon his face. When the touch came, it was but two fingertips. They alit delicately on his tongue then fluttered away. It was all Spock could manage not to groan in frustration. He licked madly after them, but they had vanished into the darkness. What they left behind was a honeyed flavor that spread itself even over his tongue and through his mouth. With alarm he realized that this might well be peyote or some equally noxious drug, but his blind lust had rendered the matter moot. It had already dissolved inside of him. "The sacred pollen," said Chiz Yazzie by way of explanation. There was a hiss. A cloud of steam arose from the bin of rocks. A hauntingly familiar smell of sweat and pine filled his nostrils. His head swam; he lowered it to his hands. His thighs shook until he feared they would no longer support him. He sank to a seated position on the floor. Chiz Yazzie began to chant. The rhythmic harmonics echoed in Spock's throbbing body. He focused only on taking one breath and the one after that. There was another hiss and a fresh blast of scalding steam. His skin was on fire. The chanting resumed. Spock's mind drifted back to another ceremony. The rolling cadence, the ritual words, the fire pit, the steam, an earnest face hovered before his, a name that he dare not say in dreams. So close to so right, but so all so wrong. He thought his heart would burst. He lowered his shields and sent out an anguished call for his t'hy'la in his time of need. But the only possible answer was centuries away. Another hiss. A new scent now wafted in air of the lodge. Pine, fragrant herbs, yes, but something more as well. More, and building rapidly. The strong male musk of the healer was carried on the cloud of steam and permeated through his being. His penis jumped. The smell grew stronger. He drew in a long slow breath letting the scent linger in his nostrils. Shocked at his own behavior his eyes flew open. He could now see a little. Chiz Yazzie squatted in front of him. Their knees all but touched. A sheen of sweat glistened off of his muscular body. Rivulets ran down his chest to end in the matted thick triangle at his groin. Eyes closed, Chiz Yazzie rocked in time with the slow chant. It was too much too watch. The blood fever surged hot and red. If he stayed, he would certainly go mad. Heedless of propriety, Spock interrupted. "Chiz Yazzie, how much longer must this go on?" His voice was barely recognizable. "Though the sweat we remove the impurities of the body. When they are gone, we are finished." "I do not sweat," said Spock. "At all?" Chiz Yazzie asked. There was the confirmatory touch of slick palm upon his thigh. This time the contact was so startling to both body and unshielded mind that he did cry out aloud. As the hand again ran the curve of his hip, a fingertip accidentally brushed the side of his swollen penis. Lightning shot though his brain, down the entire length of his body. At once his whole being rebelled at the dissonance between the cravings of the flesh and the ideals of the mind. He threw himself out of the doorway and rolled down the hill to lie shivering, face down in the sand. The day was already warm but, after the heat of the bath, the sand lay cool against his skin. The burning abated just a little. He concentrated solely on the present. Slowly he returned to himself. Gradually his erection abated. He rolled onto his side and blinked in the bright sunlight. To his surprise, Chiz Yazzie now sat beside him, sand in his hair, sand clinging to his chest. The healer nodded with approval. "Exactly. The sand will grind away remaining impurities." Chiz Yazzie picked up a handful and, starting at the arms, began to scour himself vigorously. As the cool fresh air seemingly restored cooler thoughts, Spock stood. With some consternation, he realized, abruptly, that he had no where to go. Letting the sand sift from his fingers, Chiz Yazzie stood as well. "Come," he said and started back up the hill. "Where are we going?" Spock asked. "Back to the lodge for the next session of blessing." Chiz Yazzie extended a hand. "Back!" Spock said in undisguised dismay. "Yes. The cleansing is not complete. Is that acceptable?" Chiz Yazzie eyed him clinically. Spock summoned himself. "I will make every effort to complete the cleansing ritual, however, I believe it would be best if you would refrain from touching me at this time." Chiz Yazzie nodded. His hand fell to his side and he disappeared underneath the blanket. The last of the sessions completed, Spock again lay shivering in the sand. He had begged the medicine man leave him to meditate. That was acceptably close to the truth. As his breathing slowed he backed up against the hill and let the desert permeate his body. He thought of nothing, nothing at all. After a shamefully long time this erection, too, abated. Hoping for enough control to return with dignity, Spock donned his clothes and clambered back over the hill to the hogan. To his surprise, Chiz Yazzie was moving busily around inside. He had donned wristbands and a necklace of silver and deep turquoise and a deep turquoise. His deerskin medicine bundle lay open on the earthen floor. The large basket was beside it. Although the day was warming rapidly, the medicine man had lit a small fire in the stone circle under the smoke-hole. Across it he put an iron grate. He returned to his medicine bundle and began to work with a purpose. He pulled small sacks and clay jars out from the bundle and from the basket. He lined them up systematically on the ground behind him. The last pot he placed apart from the rest. He retrieved Spock's untouched cup from the floor and placed it on top of the grate. Spock interrupted, "I have said that I do not wish to--" "It is not for you," the healer said curtly. He reached into the basket and retrieved a cactus button. Cutting it carefully into sections, he threw several more chunks into the cup to steep. He added a sprinkling of small leaves from a branch lying on top of the basket, then he set the branch itself on top of the grate. Soon a pleasant smell filled the air. With a brush broom, the medicine man began to sweep an area of the earthen floor even smoother. "Dine medicine men can invoke the Holy People though dry painting on the earth," Chiz Yazzie explained. "Sandpainting," said Spock. "I know of it." Chiz Yazzie said, "Yes, sandpainting. Through it, the Holy People can be called to our aid. They are able to restore balance when it is lost. They bring healing and all manner of good things to those who know how to ask. "Sit near the center of the room," Chiz Yazzie ordered. Spock obeyed. The cloying heat from the fire beside him began to close in on his throat. He swallowed hard. His head began to buzz. He pressed it between his palms and focused all his energy on drawing the next breath. And the one after that. The medicine man began to sing in the language of his people. The rhythm was agonizing slow, primal, even hypnotic. Methodically he scattered the colored powders over the red dirt floor. Eventually shapes and figures began to emerge in the sand. The painting grew slowly. First there was the sun in the east, then billowing clouds of pure gypsum appeared. The great mountains grew around the edges and guardian spirits appeared to sit upon the mountains. Sacred plants grew among the mountains; a monstrous lizard sat upon a cliff. There were animals, and men with prayersticks who roamed over the mountains and through the vast space in between. And in the middle of the sandpainting were the twin heroes who had been granted dominance over all of this. One was depicted in green and black. The other, the Monster-Slayer, was painted in the burnished pinks and golds of sands painstakingly collected from the land of the Painted Cliffs. The healer ended the chant. Spock forced his eyes to roll open, but still his head swam. The room lurched. First, he summoned all his will to focus upon the depiction in front of him. And then he could not tear his eyes away for the face of the Monster-Slayer was unmistakable. "How have you done this?" Spock asked. His voice grated rough in his own ears. He struggled to his feet. Breathing hard, Chiz Yazzie removed his wristbands and necklace and secured them within the folds of the deerskin bundle. He reached back and tugged one set of the silver beads that swung from his hair tie. The bun unfurled. Thick tendrils of rich black hair spilled down his back to end in uneven wisps around his waist. He threw the wrap across the bundle and turned to face his patient. "I have not. The gods act through me. The painting tells of the Two Twin Heroes and how they were granted beneficent dominion over all creatures that reside between the Sacred Mountains. "The painting is left through the day. In the evening it will be destroyed. If it is their will, the Holy Ones will act for us and restore health and balance." Chiz Yazzie walked to the center of the hogan. His cheeks were ripe and flush with blood. His jerkin was unlaced; his smooth chest still heaved from the heat of the hogan and the exertion of the rite. "Come," he said, "we will wait until sunset for the Holy Ones." Spock faltered, almost tripped over a stone from the fire circle. The healer reached out and caught him by the shoulders. Spock battled with his own body to straighten, to pull away. "I cannot breathe," he gasped. He tugged violently at the neck of his uniform shirts and ripped them both off in a single furious motion. He could perhaps now breathe a little, but the air was still far too thick. Much too thick with the heady scent of his intended. Spock stood quivering, utterly unable to process anything but the drive of his own erection and the overwhelming presence of the man who channeled for the spirits. Spock's lips moved wordlessly. He fell helplessly to his knees, head bowed in concentration. He clutched at a rock from the stone circle and squeezed compulsively. Dark green blood began to drip from his palm. Chiz Yazzie watched in fascination. To all things there must be balance. "I think, perhaps, even the gods will make an exception occasionally," Chiz Yazzie said, with the slightest raise of an eyebrow. He reached for the clay cup of brewed medicine and downed it in one gulp. With a grimace he abandoned the cup and moved to the pile of skins and blankets. Choosing the largest skin, he laid it carefully out over the sandpainting. He piled several others beside it. Lastly, he went back for the one medicine jar he had not used, and placed it beside the skin. He kicked off his boots, divested himself of his leggings and lay down on the soft skin. He reached two fingers into the jar and pulled them back with a dollop of soft fat. He anointed his burgeoning penis, perhaps more generously than he would for a woman. As an afterthought he reached between his legs and smeared the tender place between his cheeks as well. "Come, Spock," he said softly. This time, he extended a hand. With some terrible fusion of movement, Spock moved towards the bedding. With the first touch of their hands, he knew nothing further. ~end part 3 of 4 -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? Mon Jan 05 01:42:01 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n29.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.85]) by killdeer (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aDorB23w3NZFlr0 for ; Sun, 4 Jan 2004 22:42:31 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-12815-1073284949-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.