Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!feed1.news.rcn.net!feed2.news.rcn.net!rcn!news-out.visi.com!petbe.visi.com!newsread.com!newsstand.newsread.com!POSTED.newshog.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: From: "lyrastarwatcher" MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW TOS: Sensate Focus 3/4 (K/S)[NC-17] Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 808 Date: Mon, 11 Oct 2004 02:55:14 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: newshog.newsread.com 1097463314 209.198.142.218 (Sun, 10 Oct 2004 22:55:14 EDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 22:55:14 EDT Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:85056 X-Received-Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 19:56:15 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Sensate Focus [NC-17] Part 3 of 4 Author: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com , www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher Chapter 5 Captain's Log: Stardate 3384.1: Mr. Spock has made some startling discoveries during his interviews--discoveries that must in good conscience be investigated immediately. I have contacted Sector 9 with an update and requested permission to deploy an independent scout team, as we can no longer trust information provided by the Altairian government. "Absolutely not," said Komack. "You've offended and upset an allied government enough; you will not make things worse with these accusations." "No one is accusing, Sir. We simply need more information-- information obtained neutrally. If there is any truth to what Mr. Spock saw--" "And I need more information too, before I authorize a covert operation right under the noses of a friendly government. The Klingon Empire has its eye on Altair as well. If we even appear to be wavering on support, they'll move in like vultures on a carcass." "So you've already told me." Komack grunted. "Who else can verify this mental vision of his?" "No one--but telepathic evidence is considered valid," said Jim. "From a reliable source. Spock just got off your sick roster. He was there for over a week, I see. Who knows what his illusions are from?" Jim took a breath. "Admiral, there are no other telepaths on board and the nearest Starfleet vessel not on critical deployment is three days away. The government knows that we have the Fivers and will learn their secret. We have to act now!" "You're assuming there's a secret to learn; we don't know that. Get me a reliable witness, and I'll consider it. Komack out." Jim looked up from his desk, where McCoy and Spock both stood waiting. "You sure have a way with people," McCoy said. "That's some bee he's got in his bonnet over you." Jim ignored the comment. "Bones, is there some way to alter my brain? Make me able to receive the Fiver's thoughts? Maybe that drug you gave me yesterday?" McCoy snorted. "Psychotropics? Now there's a brilliant idea. Take a mind altering drug, call Komack back and tell him to believe you now." "Mm." As Jim pressed memory of the sensual vision back and down, a thought occurred. "Spock, with this link-- Can I somehow communicate with the prisoners--through you?" "A three way meld?" McCoy asked. "Komack'll still question Spock's influence." "I'll just tell him I witnessed it and give my report. We know that some Fivers can reach non-telepaths. I'll leave out one little detail." "That's pretty close to deception, Jim," said McCoy. "They're enslaving a world, Doctor." The words came out like bullets. "Spock, is it possible?" "It should be, although you may find the process--disturbing." Jim stood. "One thing's for sure. I know I find slavery deeply disturbing. Come on. Let's go." As soon as Spock opened the link, he knew he was in trouble. Drug or no drug, the naked openness of Jim's mind whirled around him and he fell away, lost his orientation. He had been a fool to believe he could master the unfiltered force of James Kirk--or the equal passion that that Kirk could unmask within him. The Fiver--the name had no pronunciation--relayed sharp concern; this had not happened with their other melds. He reached out at once to support Spock's faltering body with his arms, stabilized the link to the best of his abilities and waited. In the maelstrom, Spock fought to restore the order of his mind. He leaned into the storm, and with the other's strength struggled to replace borders and barriers where they should properly have been all along. Eventually he could see and hear. 'Now, who was it who was supposed to be disturbed?' Jim's mindvoice laughed the question without form or sound. The warmth of Jim's affections threatened to cripple him again; Spock tried for lightness and narrowed the link between them down to a more restrained level. He presented Jim a patently false denial of recollection of any such statement; the humor of the flagrantly futile oh-so-Vulcan evasion rippled through them all. Jim's mind laughed again, and the dizziness lessened a little. The disorientation was not nearly so disturbing as the sheer force of his desire to stay in this moment forever. But for now his will was still stronger than his desire, and Spock regained himself and prompted the Fiver to retell his tale. He told a tale passed down through collective memory of a once peaceful little planet--all citizens telepathically connected and interdependent, all working for the greater good. He told how one day the neighbors came from the disc in the sky. The neighbors were singles--they could barely see or hear the commonvoice--but they knew other things instead. They knew how to grow plants without soil, to produce food in the off- time. They knew how to build things and do things and they shared this knowledge freely. There was food all year round now; there was no more hunger or strife. And the people began to work for the neighbors to show their gratitude. To work for them and to fight for them and to do all their daily duties for them, as if they had no higher purpose at all. But there were a few who were too proud for the neighbors, who would not eat their plants of air or take their goods of manufacture. They separated themselves and watched in abhorrence as their people drifted from A People to many people and they questioned the food the neighbors brought. For one is what one is made of, and if one is made of foreign stuffs... So they ate only what they could find or grow, but the best space and light were taken by the plant production mills, and so they scraped and starved and finally took to flesh out of desperation. Eventually the alien substance diffused through the planet until all the plants of the world had been tainted with the will of the neighbors. Those who ate of any plant lost their free spirits and their free wills and turned to serve the whims of those from the disc. So the Determined abandoned all plants and ate only of the flesh. Their bodies sickened; this was not their nature. Many even died. But they stayed their own heart and their own mind, and never did they turn to serve the disc. And through the years the wisdom had been passed down through the Determined: to be true to Five, eat not of the plants or shrubs. And the Fivers that ate plants fought a war that was not theirs with a willingness that had been fed to them, and the rebels fought to bring their people back from the will of the disc to the freedom and to the unity and to the land that they had loved. Spock broke the meld and slammed closed the link before the rampant emotion in Jim's mind could spread further. Jim's face was tight, but his voice quavered. He grasped the Fiver by the shoulders and held his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he said. I know, the man's eyes answered. "Is it possible, Spock? Biochemical brainwashing through alteration of the vegetation?" "Affirmative. Colonial telepaths are highly susceptible to many psychoactive substances. Add in a substance with addictive properties, and one would have just such a society: calm, content, and willing to do anything as long as they are provided the substance- -the drug--in abundance. "I have taken the liberty of analyzing my stomach contents. I was able to isolate a compound related to mescatropic acid. Based on known biochemistry, it is predictable that it could have mind- altering properties for humanoid brains. It could even have been a factor in--our joint experience last night." Jim turned. "I'm calling Komack. Spock, have Sulu, M'Benga and four security men meet me on the hangar deck in five minutes. Load the shuttle with whatever we need to scan for your mescatropic acid derivative." "Request permission to--" "Denied. This could get ugly. Brief M'Benga and Sulu. I need someone I can trust as much as myself to stay on the ship." Jim jerked his head towards the Fivers. "To take care of them." He strode from the Brig without looking back. The President readily agreed to a meeting, perhaps too readily in retrospect. They had just opened the shuttlecraft hatch to disembark, when the Klingon party attacked. Fourteen Klingons armed with phasers leapt out, heavy assault munitions strapped to their backs and sashes. They swarmed the landing party, pressing phaser barrels against their heads. From behind the pack, a last Klingon swaggered out, the smallest of the lot, his face twisted in a cruel display of victory. His body was lean and muscular, a phaser hung at one hip and a blade at another, but the most disturbing feature was his arm. His left arm had been replaced at the shoulder with a cybernetic implant. He wore neither clothing nor armor over it; the entire device was metal, shining with the characteristic violet-gray luster of duranium. It was jointed in four places, to move with serpentine freedom, leaving an eerie, unnatural impression. It terminated in three separate implements, viced pincers, a straight blade, and a vicious looking hook. "So, this is the legendary Captain Kirk; I expected you to be taller." "Sorry to disappoint." "I'm Tchaar." The Klingon paced a sharp circle around Kirk. "You aren't supposed to be here at all, you know. We arranged for diversions for the Republic and the Yorktown, but heard that you had been--" Tchaar bared his teeth in a cruel perversion of a smile. "Detained. Tant mieux." "How thoughtless. We must have forgotten to send you a memo," said Kirk, his voice as carefully modulated as antimatter. Tchaar snorted and ran the cold surface of his hook down the side of Kirk's face. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it; it's all quite true now." His fetid breath curled under Kirk's nose when he laughed. "Why look, you are now officially--detained. "Things would have been simpler without you here, but since you are, I intend to make the best of it. I intend to capture your starship." "You and whose army?" Kirk asked softly. "I should think that would be obvious." "You were behind the Rebel attack?" Tchaar gave a grunt. "Behind it? Quite the opposite. We're here to squash the rebels into Peena paste. Last night's attack was as much a surprise to us as it was to you. We could have stopped it of course, but I wanted to see the great Captain Kirk in action. I found myself, once again--disappointed." "I'm so sorry." The words slid over Kirk's lips. "And I am so sorry about your men. Two you lost, wasn't it? You humans take such things rather personally I hear. I suppose we could have stopped it, but--" Tchaar threw a casual gesture in the air with his hand. "C'est la vie." Kirk swallowed his anger. Later for that. Now there was work to be done. "You're allied with the government? Why? What's in it for you? Altair has nothing of any military value." Tchaar threw back his head and laughed. "'Nothing of any military value?' You Terrans are so oblivious. They have only the greatest military asset of all: an endlessly renewable supply of pliable soldiers. The only thing a Fiver under the influence of mescamorphine will refuse to do is fight against his own planet or people. "The Sixers have grown cowardly and lazy after so many years. They cannot fight their own battles, and so they called on us to quash the rebel movement." "For a price," said Kirk. "All we ask is a little information on how the drugged vegetation is grown and dosed." Tchaar smiled. "How can that compare to our valiant warriors going into battle?" "And when you have the information and don't need the government anymore?" Tchaar shrugged. "Plus ca change. Circumstances change all the time; that's the way of the universe. And this is an adequate planet. It will make a charming addition to the Empire. Your starship will help see to that." The cybernetic joints hissed as he gestured towards the Henry Hudson. "But enough talking. Let's go. My trophy Enterprise awaits, and I am so eager to have you give us the tour." "I'm afraid it will have to be just you. The shuttle has a maximum capacity of eight. If life support senses more than that, the hatches won't close," said Kirk. "Sixteen with the emergency excursion override." Tchaar gloated. "Don't look so shocked, Captain. Nothing, especially military secrets, is forever." "That still puts you six over," said Kirk. "Not me--you. Prang!" "Yes, Captain." One of the Klingons thumped his chest in response. "Is today a good day to die?" "Yes, Captain!" "Good, then activate your Dead Man's Revenge, and secure the prisoners." Prang pulled a small device off of his bandolier. There was a buzzing noise; it seemed to come from within his chest. In the middle of his breastplate, an orange glow began. The Klingons began to herd the party over to the next shuttle. "Captain?" Sulu looked toward him, a question in his eyes. Kirk shook his head in a tight jerk. The Klingons with the weapons against his head pressed in tighter. "A wise decision. Have you seen the Revenge before, Kirk? I imagine not. It is a polypotnic explosive with a remote trigger. The explosive will stay with your comrades; the trigger is in Prang's chest. Once activated, it cannot be deactivated except by detonation. "It's triggered by any energy jolt to the chest. A phaser, a fall, even too vigorous a slap between friends." Tchaar slapped Kirk's back in demonstration. Kirk staggered forward into a phaser barrel and steadied himself back again. "Any of those will set off the device, killing your crewmen--rather unpleasantly, I should think. "Prang is under orders that if I am killed, he is to phaser himself and trigger the device. His mates will avenge him later, but not until you have seen the charred bodies that were your crew," said Tschaar. Kirk watched helplessly as the last of his men climbed into the Altairian shuttle. The device was tossed in behind them and the hatch welded shut with a low force phaser burst. "Any questions, Kirk?" Prang walked back to them and removed his breastplate. The metal glow was even brighter now. Kirk glanced back and forth between it and the hatch, hopelessly sealed behind his men. "I didn't think so." When they boarded the Henry Hudson, Kirk made straight for the weapons hold. "The ignition key is kept in here." "Captain, Captain," Tchaar restrained him with a twist of his metal appendage. "Have some dignity. A leader should be above such menial tasks. "Briicht, the captain seems to have left his key in his shuttle; will you retrieve it for him?" Briicht extracted the eight phasers in the hold, and passed them out among the warriors. "No key in there? How peculiar. Well, do your best with the ignition then, Kirk; I'm sure you'll think of something." He waved Kirk into the pilot's seat. "And no tricks when you call your ship. I promise, it will be Prang I kill, not you." Jim began the pre-launch sequence; he had immediate clearance--one good point of traveling with the corrupt, the grim humor came to his mind unbidden. Running through his rapidly diminishing options, he triggered his lap force restraint. "Gentlemen, I suggest you put on your seat-belts or secure yourselves to the deck. Take-off could be bumpy." Gales of uproarious laughter filled the cabin. "We are not delicate like you pasty Terrans. We need no weakling's protection. And Prang's trigger is very, very sensitive, so I suggest that you take care." Jim grimaced and launched the craft up and out as smoothly as a Denebian slime devil slides through butter. It was a desperate plan, but these were desperate times. He concentrated with all his might on channeling his thoughts. He had no idea what or how; he just instinctively screamed for Spock with his mind. When the cool answer came, it was all he could do not to sigh in relief. Instead he concentrated on the plan, felt the answering concern--fear for him, truth be told--and the following steadfast commitment and faith in his abilities. They were almost there. "Henry Hudson to Enterprise." Tchaar jabbed him with his fist. "No tricks, Kirk," he whispered. He poised the blade of his prosthesis with the tip against Prang's chest. "Enterprise. Leslie here." Jim's voice was as even as ever. He could have been ordering lunch. "Enterprise this is the Henry Hudson. Request permission to dock." "Permission granted. Transporter chief Spock will bring you in." Before the central viewer, the great flight doors to the hangar deck slid open. Kirk turned his head. "Gentlemen, I seriously suggest that you put on your seat belts. Tractor landings are unpredictable." "And I seriously suggest that you take care that it isn't. For the sake of your men on the planet." Kirk shrugged. "Have it your way." The shuttlecraft drifted in for a perfect 10-point landing. Tchaar grouped his men into formation. "Kirk, you in front--so that your crew can see the benefits of cooperation." Kirk gave a rueful grin. "It looks like my belt's stuck." He gestured to his lap. "Won't open." Tchaar rolled out a joyless laugh. "Quelle surprise! You don't say. Not the same belts you wanted us in, I'm sure. Prang, stay with him. Make sure he stays--stuck." "Believe me; I'm not going anywhere," said Jim. "Then excuse us if we must conquer your ship without you." Tchaar hit the hatch release and with rapidly waning cries, the Klingons were sucked out in a violent burst. The first rule of explosive decompression is never hold your breath. It had been a long time since Academy training and years since his last vacuum exposure, but like riding a bicycle, some lessons aren't forgotten. Jim tossed his head back and opened his airway trying to pull in the last few precious few molecules of air. The vacuum sucked at him, but the force restraint held, biting painfully into his hips. He was so dizzy he could vomit, if the desperate need for air weren't clamoring at his body, claiming first dibs over his diaphragm. The headache was stupendous. Something sticky ran down from his ear. He put his hand up to it and pulled it away red. His skin began to itch as the first tiny bubbles of dissolved gas began to gather in the end capillaries of his skin. Soon they would coalesce into bigger and more lethal ones, keeping blood from reaching vital tissue. He knew he had less than twenty seconds of consciousness, but a human in good health might survive up to 80-100 seconds of vacuum--with proper technique, immediate recompression, a good medical team, and a good deal of luck. If he had ever been told the equivalent statistics for a Klingon, he couldn't remember them now. A few random shots were fired taking out a light fixture, damaging one interior hatch and taking out most of a shuttlecraft pod. Most of the Klingons were sucked immediately out the open flight doors and into space. A few Klingons bumped about the hangar deck. Tchaar was the last to go. Jim saw the metal arm flail and the vice-grip catch the hatch way casement. His head spun and his vision faded to gray and then to black. It was a good try, he thought to Spock as the last of his consciousness bled away. ------ Chapter 6 He awoke on the hangar deck, Spock and McCoy bending over him. His right arm stung from the burn of McCoy's hypos; the rest of his body felt even worse. "The Klingons?" he choked. He tried to sit, but his head spun violently. He lay back down before McCoy's could say the word. "All extruded into space," said Spock. The words echoed in his ears, indistinct and muffled. "Tchaar? The captain?" "It seems he got his fingers caught in the door, but finally gone as well." Jim sighed and relaxed himself into McCoy's care. "I told them to put on their seat belts." "Both tympanic membranes perforated, one round window blown. I'll have to repair those surgically." McCoy closed his medikit. "It coulda been a lot worse. What kind of damnfool stunt was that anyway?" "Necessary. I'll tell you later." Jim tried again to sit, but the vertigo was horrendous. Spock held him on one side, McCoy on the other, and he leaned on them both as he struggled to his feet. He put his hands on his knees and kept his head lowered against wave after wave of nausea. "Spock, get a security party. Two. Put sixteen in the Columbus and fourteen with us in the Kon-Tiki. We're going to get our people back." McCoy blustered "We? You aren't going anywhere except Sickbay, mister! You can't even stand up." "A shuttle is flown from a seated position. Bones, I got those men into this, and I'm going to get them out." Jim straightened a little more, resting most of his weight against Spock's body. Spock slipped an arm around his back and under his shoulders, supporting him easily, almost entirely. "Spock, you're not going to be a part of this, are you? A Vulcan should have more sense than a damnfool captain with a nearly lethal thrill-seeking complex." "I have received orders from my commanding officer," said Spock. He firmed his hold as Jim's knees weakened and threatened to buckle. McCoy knew when he was licked. He could handle one on a good day, but both united were unstoppable. "Let's go," said Jim, and they limped off together. The extraction went smoothly. With the additional evidence, Komack called every ship he could muster to the area. He publicly praised Kirk's performance, but said not a word of apology. The Enterprise guarded the space gate, holding the Klingon troops planetside until Federation reinforcements arrived. Ears patched, Altair V under Federation reconstruction, Altair VI under Federation site control, the Enterprise warped back out into space. At long last, the ship stood down from alert. Back in the captain's quarters, Spock set up the chessboard. "This link is pretty useful," Jim said, pouring himself a small brandy. "You need to show me how to control it; it could be a huge tactical asset." "Captain, you fail to understand that this is an intimacy on par with human marital sexual relations; it is not to be used casually." "You've melded with people before. With me. With others." "And I will again if ordered or if essential to our survival or objectives. I have sworn an oath to give myself and my abilities to Starfleet, and that supersedes most other ethical posits. But I ask you, would you use sexual relations as a strategic instrument?" Jim took a sip and cocked his eyes to the ceiling, trying for innocence. "I may possibly have done so upon occasion--once or twice." "Would you order others to do so? Or would you do so with one whom you love?" Pushing the chess board aside, Jim leaned over the desk. Spock's eyes were very full, very bright, and locked unrelentingly on his. "No. No, I wouldn't." Checkmate. The concern in Jim's eyes was unmistakable, and far more than a Vulcan knew how to take. "This is all real to you, isn't it? I've been treating it as a joke, but as far as you're concerned, you really are--joined to me. As any Vulcan would be to a life mate." A lack of rebuttal must suggest agreement, but Spock could think of no less incriminating response. He remained silent. Finally Jim straightened and licked his lips. His eyes darted within their sockets, as if thinking serial thoughts in rapid succession. "Spock, can you--? If you--met someone else, could you-- join with her?" Spock kept his tone neutral. It wasn't easy. "Not while you live." Possibly not even after. "Then we have to break the link." Spock's heart fell. He had expected this sooner rather than later, but could never have prepared for it even given 200 years. "If you wish." "Not if I wish!" Jim leaned across the desk and grabbed him by the shoulders. Through the link, the essence of the vibrant katra that was Jim's glowed bright before his mind's eye. "Not if I wish. Spock, you didn't tell me-- I didn't know. You can't make a life altering decision because I didn't want to disrupt the ship's schedule. You have to be free to be with whoever you want." Spock looked up into the hazel eyes. While it is not true that Vulcan's cannot lie, it was quite true that one half-Vulcan could not find it within himself to lie to such open honesty. "I consider myself free; I desire no other. "When you asked how the bond formed, I did not give you a complete explanation. My katra--my soul, if you will, already had developed a predilection for yours. When T'Pring released me, my soul sought yours instinctively--and secured it." "You chose me," said Kirk, the wonder in his voice spreading throughout the breadth of his face. "You were in love with me, and you chose me." Spock struggled for a reply. Four separate ones rose to his throat at once; none made it through. Jim slid his right hand down Spock's shoulder, his arm, and squeezed his hand with respectable strength for a human. "You chose me," Jim repeated. Spock had to settle for silent acknowledgment with his eyes. Jim dropped his hands and pushed out of the chair. He paced the floor, his brow knitted in consternation. It would have been an easy matter to read his thoughts; the energy was spilling over freely. It took an alarming amount of control to suppress the urge to do so. The need to know was almost overpowering. Everything Spock valued hung on whatever would come next. Jim stopped in front of the desk. "Spock, will you marry me?" Whatever he had expected, it was not that. Spock shook his head. "Jim, while this may not be something you can comprehend, it is not to be dealt with in a cavalier manner--" "I'm perfectly serious!" Jim sat back down, spread his hands open wide and twisted his face. "I admit, this isn't exactly how I presumed my life would go, but Spock, if there were one person in this universe I could have as a friend, a brother, a confidant, a colleague, a partner--they would all be you. Every one. Everything that's important to me in this universe, you're a part of. I've had a taste of what more we could have--joined and I want that. I want that. I want to stay in that togetherness. And if the only thing that's keeping us from it is the fact that I didn't ask for it in advance--well now I'm asking. We're already bonded, so I can't ask you that. So I'm asking you the one thing I can--for everything and anything that it entails." Jim dropped to one knee on the floor and took his hand. "Spock, will you marry me?" Several more words rushed into Spock's throat at once, but this time they all carried exactly the same meaning. "Yes." He extended two fingers. Jim reached back, and Spock let the link swing open between them. Jim felt himself falling, falling into some endless ocean. Then Spock was there, around him, through him, in him. He reached out--no, he reached within himself--and embraced the essence that was there and the two were one, then two again. Jim struggled for breath, back in the confines of his own mind. His head rested on Spock's lap where it fell. Spock's fingers played lightly through his hair. "Wow." Jim breathed the word into his thighs. Spock brushed the meldpoints oh-so lightly. Just a whisper of the feeling returned. "My sentiments exactly." Jim visibly pulled himself together; it didn't take long. "So, who shaves the barber?" "Pardon?" Melds could be disorienting for non-telepaths, but this non sequitur suggested even more concerning pathology. "The captain performs shipboard marriages; the first officer may do so in his absence. But if the captain is to marry the first officer-- " "Ah. The records officer may ratify any such status change, or there are three crewpersons aboard ordained to perform Federation marriages." "Not Korvalis. Greek ceremonies take all day." Kirk keyed the intercom. "Records officer to the captain's quarters." No moss would ever grow on Jim Kirk. "The records officer is off duty at this time," said Spock. "Captain's prerogative," said Jim. He wedged himself further in behind the little desk, where there was scarcely room for one, let alone two. He leaned backwards against the desk sliding his legs up alongside Spock's. "Besides," Jim's eyes danced. He ran his palm around the back of Spock's neck, caressed his hair, ran fingertips around the edge of an ear. "I don't suppose Vulcans fool around before marriage." "If you mean genital sexual congress, you are correct. By the Vulcan definition of Vulcan marriage is complete only when copulation abrogates the pon farr. But I fail to see what that has to do with your haste." Jim tried for charming--the pose that worked for him so often. "It's been a long week. I was--hoping to get on with the honeymoon." "Sexual intercourse?" "Well--that is one of the perks of marriage." Memories of the not- quite dream returned and Jim felt himself swell. "I mean, I did say, 'everything and anything.'" With the pad of his thumb, Jim swept the contours of Spock's jaw. He ran the back of his fingers down his neck, the front of the blue tunic, down further and circled the nipple. His own body was quite ready already and he surveyed Spock's responses, looked for the little cues. He was very used to seducing people; he was not at all used to wanting one particular person this much. Spock crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Captain, did I not explain the Vulcan mating cycle? Intimacies among Vulcans are primarily mental via the bond, as you have just sampled. Sexual arousal and coupling occur exclusively during pon farr." "You mean--only every seven years?" "Possibly longer. My hybrid nature make things unpredictable, and my first cycle was markedly delayed." "Oh, that's not going to work!" Jim dropped his hand. "Are you altering your decision?" "No. No of course not. I just can't believe that after that--vision, dream, fantasy that we shared, I just can't believe those feelings aren't within you somewhere. I can't believe that a man who's even half human could go years with out," Jim groped, "--sex. Sexual desire." Spock clasped his hands, looked aside briefly, then back up into those eyes. "It is possible that you are correct. It is true that in pre-reform times, Vulcans mated at will. "When I think of you, I feel something I cannot name. A desire for more. To be nearer. To be a part of more of you, to be everything that you need--but nothing similar to the physical imperatives of the pon farr. It is possible that that capacity is within me--along with the other baser passions we have come to master--suppressed long before puberty, before it could be acknowledged. "If that is the case, I have no interest in freeing it; the violent abandon of the pon farr is not something I wish to explore. Of course you are free to copulate with other persons." "I don't want other persons." The knee-jerk response flew out of his mouth unplanned, but it was the vehemence behind it that shocked him utterly. He heard an anger in his own voice that he had no right to feel. Anger, or was it only the protective harshness that so often covers one's fears? But it was true. God help him, it was true. He grasped Spock by the shoulders and leaned in to pull them face to face. "Spock, I don't want anyone else. I want--I want to make love with my husband. Can you understand that?" Spock reached up and touched his face, shying just clear of the meld points. The link between them opened just a little and Jim felt such great affection roll around his mind and through it, that he could barely grasp the extent. He gasped and his body tensed. His fingers gripped the thin shoulders too tightly, but he couldn't let go. Then the sense was gone, and he was again by himself. "Yes," said Spock, "I can." The palpable emotion in the air became more than he was ready to feel. Hybrid Vulcans are not the only ones unsure of how to cope with such an overwhelming surge of newly-released emotion. It's been said that love conquers all. Jim couldn't claim to believe that per se, but he was utterly certain that between him and Spock, they would find a way. They always did. For something that they both wanted this much, they would find a way. Then the moment passed. It had been quite enough and Jim let it go. He straightened, dropped his hands and cleared his head. "Maybe McCoy can help; he's made quite a project out of studying you." "Involving the doctor in our matrimonial affairs would not be my first choice." Jim shrugged. "Okay. Your father married a human; he must have some insight. We could call him." Spock toggled the computer comm. "Doctor McCoy: report to the captain's quarters." Jim chuckled. He knew that Spock would see it his way. ---------- End part 3 of 4 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: