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Date: Wed, 28 Jan 2004 00:29:38 -0600
Subject: [ASCEM-S] New: TOS "The Cave of K'ri'lior" S, S(m), [NC-17] 2/2
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Chapter 2/2
(All disclaimers and warnings posted in chapter 1.
Please heed the warnings before continuing!)

It took the shuttle one hour and twelve minutes to 
reach his destination.  His final destination.  Three 
times during the trip, he had been forced to stifle 
moans that had threatened.  He was comforted by the 
knowledge that soon he would not have to fight against 
that which was trying to claim him.  It was this thought 
that kept his controls in place until the shuttle had 
deposited him and departed.

He turned and walked into the mouth of the cave.  It 
was what was needed.  A large room with a soft sand 
base.  Even though death would be certain, injuries 
would be minimal.  He noted that a small firepot, a 
mat, blankets, towels, water for drinking, and breads 
for eating had been placed inside the cavern.  There 
was a separate room with a shallow pool.  The water 
was just slightly cooler than his normal body 
temperature.  It was fed from melting snows high 
above that ran near the underground volcanic flows 
before being forced back to the surface.  There was an 
area that could be used for toileting.  For a while yet, 
he would still have the control needed to take himself 
to a separate location to rid himself of waste.  In the 
latter stages of plak tow, with no one present to pacify 
his tormented body, or to receive his mental images, it 
would not matter.

The hot ache within him grew ever stronger.  The 
ability of speech was becoming difficult.  When he had 
experienced this Time before, this was the stage when 
T'Pring had issued a challenge.  Had she not done so, 
he would have taken her as his bondmate.  It would 
have been a successful bonding, but it would never 
have made for a successful alliance.  They had kinship.  
It was a link established as children.  It was a link 
made at the insistence of a father who, even then, 
knew his son was different from himself.  According 
to the teachings of Surak, his father had plunged a 
spear into three hearts on that day.

It had been unfortunate for her.  She, like the father 
who had negotiated the child-bond, and the son who 
had resisted, had paid dearly.  The girl-child; promised 
due to a favorable familial association, waiting thirty 
Standard years to see if the detest seen in the mind of 
the boy-child was still present in the mind of the man.  
Yet, she had not waited, as the infant that came in the 
less-than-required gestational period from the day of 
the kal'i'fee attested to.  When the challenge was 
complete, and a captain's blood was dripping into the 
sand, her belly was already growing full from the seed 
that Stonn had planted there.  She was ostracized by 
her kin who had sought such an alliance, and by her 
peers who looked upon her and her offspring with 
accusation.

The father who had negotiated the child-bond had paid 
dearly, as well.  Never again would he see trust and 
warmth reflected in the eyes of the son as they looked 
upon him.

The son, too, had paid.  He had tasted shame and 
disapproval on that day.  It was a taste he grew used to.  
It was an appetite he learned to feed through small acts 
of rebellion against the father.  The large rebellion 
would not come until much later when he rejected all 
that the father wished for him.

In the main room of the cave, he placed one of the 
folded blankets in front of the firepot, knelt upon it, 
and waited.  He meditated until he felt the next round 
of hot flames licking at the lining of his abdomen.  The 
burning moved downward toward his groin and 
upward toward his eyes.  The tentacles of the fire 
reached inside and lapped at each nerve ending, 
taunting each one along his spine with its white-hot 
tongue.  A moan grew along with it, and reaching his 
throat, exploded from him.

His hands grasped the front of his robe and tore it 
apart, shredding it at the points of closure.  He did not 
slide his arms out of it.  His arms were not the area that 
demanded his attention.  His undergarment was ripped 
apart, freeing his straining manhood.  His hands, one 
behind the other, grasped the shaft and began to pump 
furiously.  He came, but it did nothing to quench the 
flame that tormented him.  He continued pumping until 
release after release had his semen pooled in 
convoluted streams on the ground in front of him 
before it soaked into the sand.

Only then did the flame withdraw.  He knew it was 
temporary.  It was still growing, pulling back only to 
collect itself so it could attack him to an even greater 
degree the next time.  It was a powerful and conniving 
enemy.  He was defenseless against it.

His hands released their grip on his shaft.  He 
struggled to his feet and freed himself of the shards of 
material that still clung to him.  Clothing was 
unnecessary.  He took one of the towels and went to 
the pool where he washed the remnants of his ejaculate 
from his hands and body.  He moved to the more 
secluded area, prepared a place, and forced himself to 
empty his bowels and bladder in an attempt to keep 
from spontaneously doing so later.  He then washed 
that region of his body.  Seventy-one hours, eleven 
minutes were left.

He returned to the main room and took a sip from the 
cask that contained water, just enough to moisten his 
parched lips and throat.  He lay upon the mat, rolled on 
his side, and pulled his knees up.  Exhaustion claimed 
him, pulling him into the false security of sleep.

His hand tugging at his body woke him.  Even before 
the sleep was cleared from his eyes, his fluid was 
spewing from his penis.  His hand was grasping his 
scrotum, squeezing it, trying to force more semen out.  
Even the pain that radiated through him from this act 
could not stop him.  He managed to crawl to his knees 
so his hands were free to do what they must.

If he had a thousand hands, he still could not have 
found fulfillment.  They pinched at his nipples, clawed 
as his scrotum, kneaded his chest, his abdomen, and 
his buttocks.  They pulled and pushed at his swollen 
organ.  His fluid would flow from him, only to be 
replaced by even more needing to be released.

The sight of his hand working furiously up and down 
his shaft aroused him.  The sight of his release aroused 
him even more.  It was a vicious circle that had no end.  
As the unrelenting hours passed, he craved for the 
body of another.  He craved for the body of the bright 
one.

As he remembered what it had been like to watch his 
organ disappear inside the small, pink orifice, stretched 
to accommodate him, he came.  As he remembered 
what it was like to have that mouth on him, drawing 
his semen from him, he came.  When he remembered 
the taste of the viscous, salted honey that would be 
shot into his mouth and trickle down his throat, he 
came.  He reached back and drove his fingers inside 
his own body and remembered what it was like to have 
that golden cock driven inside of him, and he came.  
When his body could no longer respond, he bent over, 
supported himself on his outstretched arms, and in dry, 
retching heaves, he vomited.

He crawled to the edge of the pool and rolled himself 
into it.  The alkaline taste was preferable to the bile he 
had tasted, and he took deep gulps.  Eventually, the 
water cooled him.  He crawled out of the pool.  By 
holding onto the rock wall, he pulled himself to his 
feet.  Stumbling into the main room, he retrieved 
another of the towels and began to blot the drops from 
his body.  The material against his groin aroused him 
again, and he spewed his ejaculate into the soft 
material.  The fever, however, had not fully returned.  
Not yet.  It was there, lurking in the shadows, waiting 
to attack.

Time.  He had no idea of the time.  Throwing the towel 
aside, he made his way unsteadily to the mouth of the 
cave.  It was dark outside.  He searched the sky.  The 
position of the sister-world told him it was not the first 
night in the cave, but the second.  The second night, 
plus nine hours.  He could not be sure of the minutes.  
Forty-five hours had gone past.  Twenty-eight hours, 
and an unspecified number of minutes, were left to 
him.

He turned to go back inside.  He had not made it more 
than a few steps when the scorching beast attacked him 
once more.  He fell to his knees.  The beast screeched 
a primal scream that echoed from the furthest walls of 
the cave.  It used his own voice to do so.  He reached 
for his throat, trying to choke the beast, but it was only 
his own flesh that he ripped at.  The beast was within 
him.  He was the beast.

He tried to get to his feet, only to stumble onto the 
ground once more.  His face was in the sand.  Turning 
his head, he began to spit the granules from his mouth.  
He pulled himself to his knees, his hands going to that 
unrelenting inferno that burned between his thighs.  
With only a touch, he released.  He vomited once 
more.  This time it had the taste of bile and alkali.  It 
surged up his throat and out his mouth and nose.  He 
struggled to breathe.  Through it all, he released.  
Urine, feces, semen, it was all the same.  He no longer 
had to touch himself.  His body was emptying.  
Everything, including his life force, was flowing from 
him.  He prayed to the ancient ones for it to come 
quickly.

He wanted to whisper the name of the bright one.  
Hear it on his lips just once more.  It was not a 
whisper, but a shriek, he heard.  "Jim!"  He collapsed 
to the cave's floor.

Hands were on him, pulling him up, clearing his 
passages so air could once more fill his starved lungs, 
brushing the debris from his eyes so he could see the 
face before him.  'NO!  Go away!  I do not want you!  
It is too late!' he attempted to scream to no avail.  He 
did not want assistance.  If he had been left alone, it 
would have been over.  He flailed his arms in an 
attempt to pull away.  He felt himself falling, but 
strong arms around his waist prevented it.  The touch 
against him seared his flesh through to the bone.  He 
was eased to the ground and the hands were removed 
from him.

"I'm here.  I'm here to be whatever you need me to be," 
he heard through the fever in his mind.

His hands were being raised.  His fingers were 
positioned at the meld points.  "Meld!" he heard.

He tried to reach for the mind.  Could this be his bright 
one?  His Jim?  Had he come to him?

"Yes!  Reach for me, Spock!  Let me help you put an 
end to the madness!"

Through the fever, he saw gold flecks in green eyes.  
He saw soft, swollen, pink lips.  He wanted to speak.  
He wanted to profess his love for the face he saw 
before him.  His lips would not move.  His throat 
would not vibrate to make the sound.

In an attempt to speak the words with his mind, he 
found his silent voice.  The floodgates opened as his 
mind found release.  He poured out all that had been 
building within him.  A lifetime of pent up images and 
emotions.  The humiliation felt by a taunted child.  The 
anger toward a father who could never accept him for 
what he was.  Loneliness in two worlds, the one lived 
in as a child, the other chosen as an adult, both passing 
judgment on him as an outsider.  Admiration for those 
shipmates he longed to call friends.  Shame, a never-
ending presence of shame, for wanting to express such 
feelings.  Fear of a doctor who was probing and 
inquisitive, and had wrenched from him too many 
secrets; a man who knew him better than he knew 
himself.

He poured out all the emotions within him.  Emotions 
that he thought had been left behind for more than two 
years.  Emotions that the teachings of Surak had been 
powerless to free from him.  Mostly he poured out his 
love.  Love for a lover who could never give him that 
part of himself that belonged first to a ship.  Love for a 
lover who would enjoy his body, then reject him, then 
come to the hot sands of this planet and save him.

He felt the bright one cleaning him, touching him, 
receiving his ejaculate as he plunged repeatedly into 
him.  He felt his bright one draw his semen from him 
with his hand and with his mouth.  He felt his bright 
one enter him when his nether region craved to be 
entered.  Filling him.  Satisfying him.  When his body 
had begun to cool, he felt his bright one carry him to 
the mat, place him gently upon it, enfold him in his 
arms, and cover him with a blanket.  He felt his bright 
one give him back his life.

He awoke.  The fever no longer burned within him.  
The arms no longer surrounded him.  A light robe and 
a blanket covered him.  He was clean.  He was 
groomed.  He was not alone.  The man was seated 
away from him.  Dark eyes, seeped in even darker 
shadows, watched him.

Spock sat up.  He refrained from showing any outward 
sign of the tenderness felt within his flesh.  Their gaze 
held one another's.  "You...you should not...have 
come."

"There was no choice."

"I was prepared to die."

"I was equally unprepared to allow you to do so, my 
son."

"How did you know?"

"I cannot betray confidences.  Suffice to say, there are 
those, even on this planet, who care deeply about your 
welfare."

Spock looked into the glow of the fire.  Images of 
these hours remained.  Many he found disturbing. 
"Although it was your face I saw in the beginning, you 
allowed me to believe it was him."

"I allowed you to believe that which was necessary to 
assure your survival."

Once more, he met the never-wavering gaze of his 
father.  "You realize what this means.  Now that we 
have joined our bodies and our minds, even though the 
bond instituted was only one of a temporary nature, 
there is danger of a thread remaining.  We will never 
be able to meld as father and son.  The risk for a 
permanent bonding, one arising out of this period of 
shared sexuality compounded by the fever, would be 
too great."

"As with the nomadic tribes, as it has been for these 
thousand and more years, where such is mandatory in 
situations where father and son, brother and brother, 
have found themselves alone, so be it.  It is little price 
to pay for your continued existence."

"This is only a ephemeral solution.  I shall experience 
other fevers."

"Although in the past I have given you little reason to 
trust me, believe this: as long as there is breath in my 
body, I shall do all that is necessary to protect you.  
Should all remain the same, and you remain without 
one with whom you feel kinship, one who can and will 
see you safely through the burning, then I will return to 
you again."

Spock shook his head.  "The danger in that would be 
even greater than that of a shared meld."

Sarek nodded, knowingly.  "Danger would not be my 
first consideration.  You are my son.  I will never again 
allow you to suffer when it is within my power to stop 
it."

Spock noticed the large bruise on the side of his 
father's face.  A bruise he is certain he inflicted.  He 
could only assume that beneath the regal robe, there 
were others.  "I cannot request such a sacrifice."

"You are my past, my present, and my future.  It is no 
sacrifice."

The remnants of animosity he had long carried for the 
father melted away.  "Why would you do this?"

"Because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of 
the few, or the one.  I do not believe your journey is 
over, my son.  I believe there are many who will rely 
on you."

"That is not logical."  With these words, there was a 
small smile that caressed the lips of the older man.  It 
was something the son could never before remember 
seeing.  Conceivably, it may be that he had never 
looked.

"Forgive me.  Perhaps where you are concerned, my 
logic is uncertain."  Sarek stood up.  "I am returning to 
the family home.  Do you wish to join me?"

Spock shook his head.  "No.  I have food and drink.  I 
will return to the Order and complete that which I have 
begun.  A shuttle will come tomorrow.  I will use the 
time to meditate."

Sarek nodded.  He raised his hand, positioning his 
fingers into the ta'al.  "Love long and prosper, my 
son."

Spock rose from the mat.  He raised his fingers into a 
like sign.  "Live long and prosper, Father."

Once his father had departed, he turned and knelt 
before the fire.  The time he had left was...unknown.

<finis>






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