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First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3110.8 - The Captain and I have been marrooned on a science expedition to collect rock samples from a planet with a pre-warp society that resembles medieval Europe, and everyone appears to be more or less bilingual in English and French, with the latter being their native tongue. They have offered the Captain and I food and board in private accomodations, and in payment, the Captain is telling stories from Hans Christen Anderson fairy tales. I focus my efforts on establishing communications with the Enterprise and analyzing rock samples. Spock out.
*
It was as simple as connecting wires, yet Spock could not fix the communicator with such rudimentary tools like arrowheads and knives that the aliens from the village gave them. Morose, Spock stared down at the malfunctioning equipment while Kirk seemed to be making the best out of a rough situation: Sipping on the mysterious liquor the villagers gave them while talking endlessly about the stars.
“We’re lightyears away from home, these constellations a total mystery to me. But I suppose they’re not so mysterious to you, are they, Mr. Spock?”
Spock ran a nail down a groove in the communicator. “Indeed, Captain, these stars are in the Vulcan Science Academy’s star charts.”
Kirk took a sip from his drink, but tremors shook his hands. Eyebrow raised, Spock noted the cold air and considered Kirk’s shaking hands.
“Tell me a story about the constellations,” said Kirk.
“There are no stories to tell. Each star is light travelling, perhaps from an already supernova star that we could never know about.”
Kirk smiled, and with the starlight, it was as if his face were aglow. Spock tried not to stare and forced his attention back to the communicator in hand. “Must you always be so logical, Mr. Spock?”
“Does it displease you, Captain?” asked Spock, absently staring at the communicator.
He didn’t notice when Kirk shifted and settled a hand upon his thigh. Spock stilled over his observance of the communicator and instead focused on Kirk — Jim’s — hand. He wished he would move it higher. He didn’t. Instead he leaned forward and kissed him.
They’d been kissing each other since that fateful day on Vulcan when Spock succumbed to the pits of plak tow. Reminents of it had plagued Spock — as well as a link to the Captain formed in that inopportune time. Some things were impossible to remain hidden, both their regard for each other and Spock’s need in that moment. So they started kissing. It meant little more, Spock knew. Some things were still hidden, despite the bond. They respected and cared for each other because as the years went by on their five year mission, it was impossible not to develop a positive regard. But that didn’t mean Jim genuinely loved him, not as a bondmate should.
Spock tasted the liquor’s bite on Jim’s tongue, lulled into a sense of calm at the intimacy of knowing the flavor to exist. Jim bunched a hand in Spock’s coat — some furs sewed together that the aliens gave them, rudimentary but practical — and deepened the kiss by shoving his tongue quite lewdly down Spock’s mouth. Not expecting it, Spock moaned. Kirk slipped away and scrapped his five o’clock shadow over Spock’s cheek.
Spock glanced up at the stars, taking the white specks in. Kirk turned away, leaning against him, and when he spoke, it was softly. “I’m no expert, but I bet that over there is rhinocerous charging toward a naive, sleeping lion.” He pointed at a cluster of stars and Spock fought to make out which ones he meant. “But what the rhino doesn’t realize is that the lion isn’t sleeping, and it is also not alone.”
“Lions do live in prides,” said Spock.
“Precisely.” Kirk shivered again and took a drink.
*
They woke bright and early the next day for a “light excursion” exploring the neighboring hills that in truth was intended to test if the communicator were merely out of range. They could travel far from each other. The bond acted at times like a tether, alerting them always to their presence and when one went too far.
It felt so natural and right to be attuned to Jim in such a way. Spock felt his essence, his soul, reverberating through his, mingling together as a single point of energy. He rememebered as a boy, his mother attempted to explain how bonds felt, and Spock now concluded that she did not do it justice. It felt like nothing else. He felt intrinsically Vulcan in succumbing to his biology, a deeply satisfying experience, and to have it with Jim made his heart flutter.
*
Spock’s favorite time to kiss was before bed, when both were too tired to not lay down, and yet too awake to fall asleep. Kirk slipped into Spock’s bed and rubbed his shoulder, urging him to turn on his side. Knowing his ploys by now, Spock ignored him — because this cold shoulder somehow amused Jim, so he liked to do it — and Kirk started pecking along his neck, his jaw, before he started to suckle on Spock’s ears and the world went white.
Spock struggled to remain nonchalant, but as Kirk pulled and kissed, it grew impossible to ignore him any longer. Spock turned on his side and finally gave in and gave Kirk what he wanted. He kissed him full on the mouth, and Kirk responded by opening his mouth wide to force in his tongue. He hitched a leg over Spock’s knee, pulling his hips against Kirk’s waist, to the flaccid length stiring to life there.
That was as close as they ever got — and it hadn’t been enough at the start when Spock rode off the ruckus waves of pon farr, and it still wasn’t enough even now. Now when he merely felt an ache of wanting, an illogical desire for the human to whom he was bonded.
He wondered if Kirk believed him to be an abomination, if it were merely the bond and their ranks forcing him to be so intimate. Did he see Spock as a half-breed at the end of the day? Spock kissed so hard that Jim grunted beneath his lips, and told himself not to care. It was better to never know.
*
Eventually, Scotty found a way to beam them aboard and did so as they ate dinner. Spock had yet to drink from his goblet before his molecules were stolen and transported to the Enterprise. He stood parallel to Kirk in opposite transporter slots, his vacant expression a masking of his surprise, while the shock was blatant in every detail of Kirk’s physicality.
“Excellent work, Mr. Scott,” said Kirk, stunned, and what with the way he then looked at Spock, there was the sinking suspicion in the Vulcan that Kirk intended to ask if he was all right.
It warmed a chilled part in Spock and made him want to reach for the bond — only then he realized, as he actively avoided the bond, that Kirk had not looked at him in a certain way at all. His concern had been tranposed into the bond and conveyed to Spock telepathically.
It was most disconcerting.
He did not respond to the inquiry.
Spock left as soon as the moment arose and went to his private quarters for a shower. The warm spray hit his shoulders in a burning fury, and he let it, dumbstruck over what had just happened in the transporter room.
It occurred to him that Jim couldn’t have known the gravity of communicating through the telepathic link, evermoreso with such casual askance.
It meant nothing, surely.
Jim was not Vulcan and was only able to understand the bond they shared when Spock explained it in terms of perfecting their efficiency as Captain and First Officer. They could bypass communicators in a sticky situation. They could finetune to each other’s rhythms for escape. There had been no explanation about the more intimate aspects of the telepathic link. Thus, it was illogical to read into it or presume or hope.
As soon as he finished and dressed, his communicator lit up with an incoming holographic transmission: His mother. Spock situated himself at his desk and accepted the call.
His mother appeared before him, eyes a kind, deep brown and hands folded at her waist. “Oh, Spock. You look more and more handsome each day.”
“Thank you, mother. It is good to hear your voice.”
“How have you been? It’s been so long since I last saw you.”
A warmth seeped into him from how genuine she sounded. “I am well. The five year mission is underway splendidly.”
She smiled. “Wonderful! I am glad to hear of it. I must admit, I called with an ulterior motive. I heard about T’Pring and wanted to check in on you.”
“I am fine. In fact I… I am bonded.” He spoke detachedly, as if the bond were the weather.
“Oh Spock, how wonderful!” she said. “Bonding is one of the most important times in a Vulcan’s life. Are you happy with your partner?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
His mother shook her head, laughing. “Indulge me. Tell me about them.”
He went on to describe Kirk with as little notifying information as possible. He spoke of a gregarious intelligent human who served on the Enterprise, and played a mean game of 3D chess. His mother reacted at all the right points and in the exact way that made Spock want to keep talking. Then, soon enough his guard came down from talking so much, and he let slip a question that he did not intend to ask. "Mother, how do you know when your partner wants the bond?”
"Excuse me?"
“How do you know?"
“It shouldn't be that difficult. Afterall, the bond hides very little.”
“Indeed.” With how soft her expression became, Spock felt the pressing need to run away.
As if sensing this, his mother sighed and shifted on her feet. “I must go, my son. Before I do, I have you heard from your sister Michael?”
No, and I do not intend to hear from her for a long while. It lied on the tip of his tongue, but this information was classified to only select members of Starfleet. Besides, he felt in the moment her name was spoken a deep hurt that transformed into bitterness, and he wished not to dwell on it. “I last spoke to her three months ago,” he said, lying. “She is well.”
“Wonderful! I do miss her. Well, goodbye Spock. I love you.”
“Goodbye, mother.”
*
Spock examined Enterprise for foreign debris through the science station’s scope, lulled into a meditative state as he did so with the routine noises from the bridge. Quiet beeping, ruffling clothes, the stray cough. He concentrated on his breathing and the scope, the work a little boring on account of nothing happening.
“Captain, the reports you requested.”
“Thank you, Viv. That’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so, Captain.”
“Glad to make your day, yeoman.”
“Oh, so you think you made my day, did you?”
“You’ve certainly made mine.”
The resulting light giggle sent Spock’s fingers curling around the scope, irritated. A primal part of him awakened and abruptly his thoughts switched from examining his findings from the scope and devolved into rapid, furious ramblings in Vulcan. Seconds passed. His mind blanked from anger.
Horrified, Spock did not gain cognizance of his actions until he realized he had begun to stand upright with a rigid back and set shoulders.
It was the pon farr, upset at an usurper coming for his bonded.
“Mr. Spock,” said Jim, and Spock swayed as a wave of dizziness hit him. “Are you all right?”
“Permission to go to sickbay, Captain?”
“Granted.” Then Spock felt a prescence in his bond — Jim searching for answers and finding only fury. Lust, longing, anguish. Luckily these could be attributed to the pon farr and nothing more.
*
With nothing medically wrong with him, Spock was sent to his quarters for rest, which he spent by mediatating to rid himself of feeling. Only hours later, there was a hailing on his door: Jim. Spock hurried to allow him entrance.
Jim strode across the room and sat beside Spock, laying a hand on his knee. “You’re not all right.”
Spock couldn’t lie to him, not when his suffering was blatant to see, impossible to hide from the bond. “No, I am not.”
“Should we… You know. Talk about it.”
Spock wanted to vanish from the room. “Only if you want to.”
“Of course I want to! You’ve been driving me crazy since you left the bridge.”
Spock closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, finding it had excellerated in Jim’s prescence. Is this only about the intimacy? Do you feel trapped? But he didn’t know how to ask that. Not without scaring Jim away.
He reached for Jim’s hand and held it, rubbing two fingers on the knobs of his knuckles. “I worry that you do not want the bond.”
“Why do you think so?”
“We didn’t — it happened suddenly without your consideration.”
“That’s true, but these bonds don’t just happen, do they? Maybe some are more of a business transaction, but ours isn’t unheard of. It happens when two Vulcans feel something, you know… romantically, for one another.”
They locked eyes, and Spock tried to find something tangible in Jim’s gaze. He’d never heard Jim say that before — admit to an emotional regard for Spock, in a way that spoke to his concerns.
“And the yeoman?” he asked, needing to know.
“The yeoman? Who — oh, you mean Viv. What about her?”
It was the way he said it. Utter confusion, almost, “What about her?” He shouldn’t delight in a Captain speaking so flippantly about the crew, but he wasn’t thinking of Jim as his Captain right then.
Spock didn’t want to talk anymore, old habits dying hard.
Spock reached for his own shirt and took it off, setting it aside before reaching for Jim’s. They stood to remove their pants. The second Jim’s hand fell upon Spock’s length, he sucked in a deep breath that Jim chased after with a kiss — wet and needy and pushing him off from where he stood and toward the bed. Jim’s colder hands burned on his skin, and when his fingers slipped past the hole in his boxers to trace soft, cool lines over his cock, Spock hissed against his lips, pulling away quickly. Jim caught his lip between his teeth and pulled lightly.
Jim knocked him onto the bed and sprawled over him, still feeling along his length but not with kisses to his lips but along his neck, his jaw, before settling upon his highly sensitive ears. Jim licked and nipped on the lobe, suckling, and kissed his way to the pointed tip. Spock’s mind blanked out, and he mentally processed the sensations by reaching for Jim’s cock and grasping it lightly, smoothing the come along his tip and wetting the whole length.
“You’re a jealous Vulcan, aren’t you?” whispered Jim into his ear and sending a shiver through him. “I bet even with your cock in my hand, you’re still jealous of that yeoman.”
Spock swallowed, feeling blood rushing to his cock over the tormenting words.
“It’s illogical to want so much when we are bonded, don’t you think?” Spock barely processed the words, but a burst of joy erupted in him regardless. Yes, we are bonded. We are. We are. “Is it logical to think with your dick?”
“No,” moaned Spock.
Kirk pumped him faster, too fast that Spock couldn’t focus on restraining himself. If Jim didn’t stop, he’d come in an instant. Only then Jim slowed down, pulling on his cock until the foreskin buried the tip in its fold. “That’s right. You’re not so logical all the time, are you?”
Spock closed his eyes and let himself be guided by Jim’s whims. Jim bit down on his ear and suckled on it. They rolled around with Jim on his back, and Spock braced over him, panting and hungry and — for them both, Spock sensed through the bond — bewildered, wanting, and longing. Jim raised his hands and laid them on Spock’s cheeks, drawing him near for a kiss. Spock let himself be coaxed, and as he melted into the kiss, he slipped his fingers over Jim’s face in a caress, a primal urge in him wanting to explore the bond further. Ordinarily, he might have toiled over melding into a mind link, but as he kissed Jim, nothing else mattered. And maybe Jim emoting through the bond meant more than Spock gave it credit for.
He triggered the meld as they kissed, and the overwhelming warmth of emotion forced Spock to momentarily concentrate on his cock to prevent himself from coming too quickly. He felt every morsel of Jim — his wants, his desires, in this moment so immense and powerful, and Spock went further, sensing his very soul. No rock was left unturned, parts of Jim that Spock had never been privy to now exposed to him. And the reverse was also the same. Spock’s mind and soul were bared to Jim, in all its pathetic majesty.
Memories of his bitter childhood — half-breed, barely Vulcan, human mother, abomination — all of this Jim now knew. Jim kissed him with a ferocity that Spock knew must have been incited by the meld. He relished in it, a balm to his past and present hurts.
A warmth seeped against Spock’s belly in three long bursts — Jim coming. Spock came not longer after, aroused by Jim’s mess and the depths of their bond. Jim broke the kiss and not long after Spock slipped out of the meld. He fell over onto his back, and they laid side by side, panting and spent.
Kirk licked his lips, turning his head to Spock. Spock looked over at him. “You’re not any of those things.”
Spock wished he could believe him. He thought that with the bond not being so unwanted, maybe a little part of Jim did love him back. Spock reached down and grasped Jim’s hand, opening up his fingers and laying his middle and forefinger over the tips of Jim’s own.