Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
Author's Note: Kudos to anyone who picks up the tip of the hat to Larry Niven.
Kirk sighed as the hot water pounded on the back of his neck. Alpha shift had been one petty problem after another and he had actually felt relieved when he turned the bridge over to Scotty's capable command. As long as the problems stayed petty, he wouldn't be interrupted tonight.
He stepped out of the shower, toweled off and donned a white terry robe. He rubbed his head vigorously with the towel as he left the bathroom. The door to the corridor slid open and Spock entered, his hands behind his back.
The door closed behind him and they kissed softly, briefly. Kirk wondered why Spock stood so still. Then he smiled, as he thought of the amazing variety Spock brought to their lovemaking.
"What are you holding behind your back, Mr. Spock?"
"Captain. Five point three days ago, I asked why you persisted in wearing briefs to bed and you said--"
"'I enjoy having them removed.' Yes, I remember. But I'm surprised you bring it up," he teased. "I thought you were rather irritated with me at the time."
Silently, Spock brought a small box out from behind his back and handed it to him. Kirk tried to read his expression but couldn't. He removed the cover and saw dark fabric in soft folds. He lifted it out of the tissue and found he held a pair of briefs. He set the box aside and turned the gift in his hands. Not much skimpier than his usual fare, yet nonetheless exotic. The fabric was heavier than silk, lighter and more fluid than cotton, with a faintly coarse texture that he anticipated feeling against tender skin. And the color was the deepest black he had ever seen, reflecting blue where it caught the light.
"I cannot remove them until you do."
A puckish smile spread across Kirk's face as he turned around and moved away from Spock. You'll see that two can play this game, mister. He stepped into the briefs and pulled them up under his robe, revealing nothing to the Vulcan standing two meters behind him. Then he strode back into the bathroom, unaware of Spock silently disrobing behind him.
Wisps of steam curled around Kirk's legs as he studied his reflection in the full length mirror. He untied his robe, revealing black against the light tan of his skin, framed by the whiteness of the robe, which he pushed back to his hips. The briefs clung, outlining his already growing arousal. They fit more snugly than he'd anticipated and seemed to have more texture than when he'd held them. He pushed the robe off and ran a hand over his chest and down to his stomach, silently thanking McCoy for being so strict about his diet. His hand was moving lower when Spock's voice halted him.
"Jim. You are exceedingly vain. Even for a human."
Was there a hint of amusement there? Kirk's face warmed under Spock's studious gaze.
"However, in your case--" In the mirror, Kirk watched the dark head bow and felt warm lips pressed to the back of his neck. "It is justified." Strong hands reached around him and rested on his own. Kirk luxuriated in the admiration.
Spock inhaled deeply, savoring the clean smell of soap mingled with the intoxicating musky scent of the man he loved, more than a friend, more than a lover, more than life itself. Kirk felt the heat of Spock's naked body against his back and his heartbeat quickened.
Spock reached for the bottle of bath oil that sat near the faucet, opened it, and turned Kirk's right hand over to pour a small puddle into the cupped palm. He closed his hand over Kirk's and rubbed softly, spreading the slickness over their fingers.
Kirk closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of Spock's palms massaging the backs of his hands, one oily hand sliding easily, the other moving with hard, dry pressure. Then their fingers intertwined and slowly, deliberately, Spock maneuvered Kirk's hands to retrace their path over his body.
"Yes, my love," Spock murmured, his warm breath tickling Kirk's ear. "Admire your beauty. Glory in it, as I do."
Kirk groaned softly as his fingers were manipulated to pinch an already hardening nipple, then moved on, continuing their purposeful, titillating journey, kindling fire in every nerve. Spock brought their dry left hands up to Kirk's mouth.
Hungrily, Kirk licked the tender spots between his own fingers, sucked his own fingertips, ran his tongue along his fingernails, as his slick right hand was pulled down into the briefs.
/Ah, yes. Two *can* play this game./
Hands cupped Kirk's testicles, stroked his cock, squeezed lightly. When his left hand was dragged from his mouth, he moaned in deprivation. Then the hand was moving down his chest and stomach, to the cloth at his waist. Then slower still, both hands were pulled around to his buttocks, kneading them, parting them. Kirk gasped as an electric thrill shot through him. He feared he would collapse under this masturbatory seduction. Then his hands were forced up to his waist and down to his ass again, this time outside the briefs. The coarse fabric teased him, bringing him to near ecstasy.
Kirk obeyed and saw himself arch as he felt rough-cloaked fingers, his fingers, stroke the delicate entrance to his body.
He saw hands close over his mouth, muffling his incoherent sounds as his fingers worked persistently. He saw the fabric in front pull tighter, clearly displaying how close he was to coming. He felt it bind and scratch his cock and scrotum. As if in a dream, he saw himself twist voluptuously. He could read the agonizing pleasure in his own eyes. Too soon, too close to the edge. Not yet, please not yet. He jerked his head away from the mirror.
He felt his face being turned back toward the mirror. Fingers exploring more insistently, deeper now. A sudden thrill of pain convulsed him violently, freeing his mouth.
Hands quickly closed over his mouth, cutting him off. Then, slowly, deliberately, even gently, the fingers withdrew.
"Very well," Spock said calmly.
Spock released him and Kirk fell forward, gasping as he pressed his face and hands to the mirror's welcome coolness. Spock stroked his hair softly, tenderly.
"Is this more to your liking, my t'hy'la?" he murmured, his lips brushing the tender skin at the base of Kirk's neck.
Stroking Kirk's damp hair, Spock dragged his mouth across his neck and shoulders, savoring the salty taste.
What sweet torture, loving this man, so familiar and yet foreign in every way. Spock reveled in each new discovery--how far Kirk could be pushed, how much he could be led before rebelling. He felt an unexpected quiver of excitement at the memory of the first time Kirk had turned the tables, glorious in triumph, taunting, daring the Vulcan to bring his strength against him. The human's capacity for passion of every variety propelled Spock closer to a dangerous edge each time they made love. Cold logic told him that eventually they would tumble over that edge, but what would happen then was beyond his reason. The bond they shared was both frightening and intoxicating. Spock prayed for the strength to love and trust each other, no matter where their passion led them.
Kirk turned to him, almost losing his balance as his sweat-slicked back slid against the mirror. He pulled Spock's face close to his own, staring deep into those unreadable eyes, knowing Spock could read the determined wanting in his. With sudden violence, he pressed his mouth hard against Spock's, tongue exploring, lips sucking, teeth biting.
Momentarily startled by this impassioned ambush, Spock pulled away, but Kirk held his lover close, clutching his buttocks roughly, knowing he would leave bruises, determined to leave bruises. Then he leaned forward, bending Spock back in his arms, forcing the Vulcan to his knees. With a sound that was almost a growl, Spock acquiesced.
The heat and scent of Kirk's erection invaded his nostrils, demanding to be acknowledged. Spock rubbed his cheek and chin against the shape swelling beneath the dark fabric. Kirk shuddered as the unforgiving texture scraped every ridge. He grasped Spock's hair and pulled his head back.
"Release me," he ordered hoarsely.
They stared at each other, neither one willing to lose this particular battle of wills.
After what seemed an eternity, Spock's fingertips slid under the waistband. Then with exquisite slowness, he rolled it down once, still staring into hazel eyes, now clouded with obscene pride. Rolled the band once again and the head of Kirk's cock sprang free, felt Spock's hot breath.
With Kirk's hands still clutching his hair, Spock leaned forward and kissed the softest skin on his lover's body. He moved his tongue lightly around the crown, sucked at the tender spot below it. Kirk shivered in ecstasy.
/Enjoy your victory, my t'hy'la. It will not last long./
"Long enough," Kirk growled tightly.
Spock slipped his tongue under the waistband that pressed Kirk's sex hard against his stomach, and in a slow tantalizing motion, twirled his tongue around the demanding shaft. Then he withdrew.
Bending his head low, Spock's teeth pulled on the fabric where it clung damply to Kirk's scrotum, then released it. He savored the sharp thwack! of its sudden, stinging contact.
Kirk gasped in painful astonishment and found his wrists were imprisoned by the steel of Vulcan hands, crushing them against the hard, cold mirror.
Now with agonizing deliberation, Spock scraped his teeth along the hardness that was bound more tightly with each passing second. Kirk's helpless struggling only forced his cock harder against that cruel mouth.
Mustering all his strength, Kirk twisted away from the mirror but Spock moved quickly, too quickly for him to react, standing up as he threw Kirk over his shoulder in one fierce motion. Spock moved toward the sleeping alcove, a barbarian with his plunder.
As they passed the mesh screen, Kirk grabbed it in desperation, hoping it was fixed solidly enough to allow him to pull free. Spock turned swiftly, almost shaking Kirk's grasp on the metal. But now they were equally matched, at least in stubborn determination, and Kirk held on, ignoring the hot pain in his arms and shoulders as they were turned in unfamiliar directions.
/Jim, do not fight me. You will injure yourself./
/You will when you are forced to explain it to Dr. McCoy./
Then Spock reached up with his free hand and slapped Kirk's ass, once on each cheek, hard. Kirk's violent response to this new humiliation sent them both tumbling into the sleeping alcove.
Now they were tearing at each other, fighting for supremacy, neither knowing why, each knowing he could not stop. They spun violently as each tried to gain an advantage over the other. Using every tactic and dirty trick they knew and a few invented spontaneously, they clawed, bit, kicked. Panting and grunting as they slammed into each other, their hands and fists slid on sweat, oil, and blood, both red and green. Each felt a fear that should have halted the mad plunge into the unknown but instead drove them forward. The desire to shatter the other--both in mind and body--was a craving that could not be denied. Being the first to back away was unthinkable, would have been unbearable.
Finally, summoning the ancient violence he had held in check all these months, Spock threw Kirk toward the nearest wall, then flung himself against the human before he could react.
"Spock! Let me--" Kirk barely recognized his own strangled voice.
"What--let you go? Let you *win*?" Spock rasped hoarsely. "I shall do neither."
He pressed harder against Kirk's chest, cutting off movement, protest, air. Kirk blacked out and slumped against him.
Kirk awoke on the bed to the sound of ragged breathing. A dark figure loomed over him. He shook his head to clear his vision. The destruction of the room around him filled him with nauseous panic at what must happen next. His shoulders protested as he tried to rise and he discovered that Spock was tying the final knot that bound his hands to the headboard. Oh, god, not this--Spock wouldn't--
His own fear mocked him, Did you really think you could control him?
Then, almost weeping with self-loathing, too spent to fight anymore, every taut nerve gave way at once and a spasm of terror coursed through his body.
Spock's face was above him now, only inches separating them, and Kirk saw no recognition in that cold, silent gaze. Slowly it came to him that he would not survive this, did not want to survive this, would rather be found dead where he lay than ever look into those eyes again.
He had nothing left, no shred of feeling, even the hope of mercy had deserted him, nothing left but pain and loss and emptiness. He turned away with a cry of despair and did not see the wrenching emotion that crossed the Vulcan's face. He felt Spock trembling and a new panic froze his insides. Thinking his weakness had aroused something unimaginable, something he did not dare put a name to, his pride deserted him and a desperate whimper escaped his lips.
Suddenly, with a sharp cry, Spock shot across the room, as if pursued by demons, as perhaps he was. Kirk turned and saw the Vulcan in a lunge position, his arms straight out, hands pushing against the wall where only moments earlier he had savored his victory. One long, straight leg stretched behind him, muscles rippling, straining to the point of breaking. Hypnotized, Kirk watched as the Vulcan fought for control, battling the unseen enemy that threatened to consume them both. He heard Spock speaking in a fierce, desperate whisper.
"I am in control. I am in...control." His voice rose. "I will not...will not do this. Not now. *Not yet*. NOT EVER!"
The Vulcan screamed in torment and slid down the wall, collapsing on the floor. For a long time, his tortured breathing was the only sound in the dark room.
How long could they stay like that, not moving, not thinking, in shock at what had passed between them. An hour? A day? Eternity would not be enough time to absorb the devastating self-knowledge.
Eventually, Spock stood, stumbled blindly to the bed and collapsed beside Kirk. After a few moments, Kirk realized that Spock was breathing at an almost normal rate and, more surprisingly, his own heart no longer raced with fear. Spock moaned, turned to his bound lover, and pressed his face against the soft underside of his arm, murmuring softly. The only word Kirk understood was "t'hy'la," over and over.
Spock reached up and untied the cord that bound Kirk's hands. He drew Kirk's wrists to his mouth and kissed the redness that encircled them. Finally he sat up, turned away, and began speaking. His words shattered Kirk to the core.
"Loving you is--a curse. A burden that I do not bear well. The very qualities that--endear you to me and tear at my heart make it--impossible for me to love you as I should, as a true Vulcan. Because you are--human. Not--strong. You make my blood burn, but at the same time your--fragility--forces me to smother my true desires. Each time we make love, I must use the link to measure your response, to ensure that I do not--damage you." He shuddered as he inhaled. "Until tonight, I believed I had accepted this limitation. However...when you fought me...it was strangely familiar. I felt that we were re-enacting what occurred at the koon-ut-kalifee--when T'Pring chose you as her champion. In that combat, I was not killed but neither did I receive the prize--to bond with a partner and to unleash a passion in which love and caring plays no part. The mating that occurs after the koon-ut-kalifee is not...normal. There is no tenderness, no love, only an ugly need that demands to be satisfied. Had I bonded with T'Pring, the ritual would have been completed. But I bonded with you. And tonight, a part of me--hated you--for not being Vulcan, for not fulfilling your role as my mate. I wanted to--rape you, hurt you, and perhaps more, with no thought to the consequences for either of us. And if I had, if I were ever to--truly let go--fuck you the way I want to--there would be no going back."
Kirk's calm, even tone hit him like a body blow.
"Jim, you do not understand. You would suffer greatly, perhaps even die."
Kirk sat up and whispered intensely, "Do you think I would care? Don't you know I would rather die at your hands than live with the humiliation of knowing that I hadn't satisfied you?"
Spock reacted as if slapped, dumbfounded at having this truth flung at him.
"How dare you--" Kirk continued, low and intense, "How dare you treat me like a child to be coddled and protected? How *dare* you let me believe that what we have shatters you as it does me? If you felt one tenth of what I feel, one particle of true love, there would be no question of ever controlling your desire. You make me love doing things I'd never dreamed of, expose parts of myself that I've shared with no one else, and then turn me away. And, most insulting of all, you tell me it's for my own good. That you're protecting me. You think you're cursed? Try loving a coward."
Spock's mind was racing. Why had he not anticipated this? How often had he seen Kirk deliberately place himself in danger's path, intentionally pushing himself past the point of endurance? Kirk thrived on danger. He would never accept the limits Spock had imposed. He would taunt and push and demand, oblivious to all peril, until Spock crumbled. And Spock was at his weakest, his guard down, foolishly thinking he had beaten the worst demon he would face that night. He almost gasped as he realized that Kirk knew this as well and was playing to that weakness. And now, as Kirk lashed out, each angry word kindling a dangerous fire, Spock felt his control slipping.
"I've given everything I am to you until there is nothing you don't possess and now you tell me that I'm not good enough. Because I'm human--too weak to withstand 'Vulcan passion.'" Kirk laughed bitterly. "And you call *me* vain. Your Vulcan pride knows no limits."
"Jim, do not do this," Spock pleaded hoarsely.
"Why not? I couldn't possibly hurt you. You'd never let me close enough for that."
The words scalded as they went straight to their target. Spock felt anger and lust mingle in his loins. Breathing heavily, he turned away sharply, but Kirk moved quickly, pushing him down on the bed, not allowing him any escape.
"No, you're going to hear this." He sat on Spock's hips, straddling him. The intense heat and scent of his body was tinged with deep hurt and overpowering rage.
"All this time while I've held nothing back, stripped my soul naked to please you, you've--tossed me crumbs, saving your true self for someone more *worthy*. You're just amusing yourself with me until that bitch T'Pring calls you back," he spat the words, wanting Spock to suffer as he did. "I salute the wisdom of your parents. She's the perfect mate for you. You couldn't hurt her with a tass whip."
Sweat dripped off his face and onto Spock's chest, causing the Vulcan to writhe with wanting, but wanting what? to fuck him? to hear him scream in pain? to kill him? The room swam and Spock was blind with craving, couldn't see Kirk anymore, could only feel him, smell him, and hear those searing, provocative words. The dark spell Kirk wove held him tighter than any rope. He longed to give in to the churning ache inside, to lose himself in selfish desire, to plunge headlong into the abyss.
NO! He shook his head and tried to focus.
"Jim--you don't know--what you're asking."
Now Kirk had stretched himself out, pressing his body against the Vulcan's. Spock felt the unmistakable evidence that Kirk's arousal matched his own.
"You're right, I don't. Another of my shortcomings. How *could* I know when you've kept yourself hidden from me?"
Faintly in the back of his mind, Kirk heard a woman's voice saying, 'This combat is to the death.'
He sat up and spoke with cold resolution, punctuating his words by slapping Spock's face with stunning, intoxicating brutality. "I'm not asking--I'm *demanding*--what I have every right--to expect--as your lover--"
He clutched Spock's chest roughly, dug his nails in and dragged his hands down, trailing rivers of green blood. He leaned in and spoke with white hot intensity.
"Spock. I burn. My eyes are flame."
Spock writhed in anguish. "NO!"
Kirk grabbed Spock's shoulders roughly and pulled him up until they were nose to nose. Anger, desire, hurt, truth, lies, all woven into an irresistible glamor, swirled around them.
"For god's sake, TAKE ME NOW!"
Kirk thought he was prepared for the reaction he had deliberately provoked, but Spock moved with stunning speed, throwing Kirk onto his back, and forcing his knees apart. Panic rose in his throat as he realized he *wasn't* prepared. Even a gentle entrance would be painful. And Spock had no intention of making a gentle entrance.
Now Spock's hands were under him and he dimly realized he was still partially clothed. He heard the fabric rip as Spock tore the back of the garment, exposing his bare ass and lifting it off the sweat-soaked sheet. Then, with a bellow that would've frozen a Klingon's blood, Spock took him, penetrating deeply on the first stroke. Jim cried out in pain, twisted, fought, only partly because he knew Spock wanted him to.
Spock tore at the front of the briefs furiously. Realizing that Kirk's spread legs prevented them from being removed, Spock reached behind himself and grabbed Kirk's ankles, pulling his legs straight up in the air. Kirk gasped as Spock leaned forward, forcing him into a jackknife position, and pulled the briefs up? down? over his knees, freeing his cock at last. Then Kirk felt the cloth being twisted and tied tightly around his ankles. He saw cruelty burning in dark eyes above him. Kirk tore at the sheets as Spock wrapped his arms around his thighs and crushed them to his chest, never pausing in his cruel, steady thrusting. Kirk heard himself moaning but couldn't understand the words. Then gradually, terrifyingly, he became aware that he was moving, matching Spock's rhythm. And the sound of his own voice saying, "Yes, YES," frightened him beyond anything he had ever imagined.
Spock was up on his knees, his back arched, preening in triumph as he held Kirk's ankles high, his cock lifting Kirk off the bed. Suddenly, he slammed Kirk's legs down to the bed, twisting him so he was on his side. Kirk struggled, tried to free himself, but strong Vulcan hands pinned his knees and hips to the bed. Spock bent over him, grunting in persistent cadence.
The angry, gasping words they flung through the darkness at each other inflamed them further. Hating what they were doing, they moved perilously onward.
Then suddenly, all motion stopped. For a moment, Kirk believed he was dead. Then, panting heavily, Spock turned Kirk back again, held his feet high, and leaned on the back of Kirk's legs. He ran his tongue along the lean calf and bit deeply, drawing blood. Kirk's anguished cry and his futile struggles spurred Spock on and he sucked hungrily at the wound.
Now he held Kirk's feet in one hand, forcing them downward, as his other hand snaked its way between bending knees, pushing them apart, making way for his head to follow. As pain shot through his legs and back, Kirk struggled to accommodate those wide shoulders, hoping he could get his knees down to Spock's waist. But no, Spock stopped moving forward when he felt Kirk's ankles at the back of his neck. Then he rode him mercilessly.
Kirk was being crushed by waves of pain and desire. He feared he would be torn in half, dimly wondered if it was possible, felt certain that it was. Knowing the only way he would survive this would be to drive Spock to climax quickly, he brought his knees to his chest, using his bound ankles to press Spock closer to him, to penetrate deeper. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then onto his hands, his legs on Spock's shoulders, straining, pumping. They were face to face, harsh animal sounds coming from deep within. Knowing physical strength would be nothing against this onslaught, Kirk spat angry words into the darkness, called every filthy, degrading name, alternately taunted and begged, tormentor and tormented. Some primitive force, neither human nor Vulcan, was completely out of control. As if from a distance, they watched themselves, fascinated by the terrifying inferno that rose around them. No other choice before them, unable to turn away, they plunged forward into a dark, shattering climax.
Kirk didn't think he had lost consciousness but he felt himself slowly returning from a trancelike state. Probably shock, he thought dully. He slowly became aware of Spock's shoulders pressing heavily against the back of his legs. The Vulcan was panting deeply, gulping and moaning with each exhalation.
With a great effort, Kirk managed a hoarse croak. "Spock. I need to...put my legs down."
Spock reached back behind his head and untied Kirk's ankles. As Kirk's legs dropped limply to the sides, Spock lost his only support and fell forward, catching himself at the last minute. With a groan, he rolled off the bed and slumped heavily on the floor. He held the wet, mangled briefs in his hands, dazed. How could this simple garment have brought them to this? The fabric slipped from his fingers. He turned to Kirk, reached to touch him.
Kirk was curled up on one side, his back to Spock, his knees drawn up into an almost fetal position. He lurched weakly at Spock's touch. Spock withdrew his hand.
"Mmph," he bit down his pain. "Just--give me a minute." I must control this. I can't fall apart now.
He forced himself to stop trembling and lay very still, refusing to allow himself the comfort of rocking. After long minutes, he managed to push himself up onto one elbow. The room spun and nausea sent him staggering toward the bathroom, bile rising in his throat. He fell to his knees and convulsed over the commode.
Spock entered the room and knelt beside him. Kirk felt a strong arm curl around his waist as a steady hand held his head. He retched violently, tears streaming down his face.
Finally, the humiliating gagging subsided, and, choking and gasping, he swayed unsteadily. He rested his arms on the cool seat and hid his face in them.
"Jim. There can be no excuse for what I have done and I have no right to ask you even the smallest favor, but I beg you--*let me help.*"
Those three words, so simple and devastating, hung in the air between them. Tentatively, Spock turned Kirk and, after a heart-stopping moment, the human collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably, an anguished lament of pain and sorrow. As his lover's body shook with a force that nearly knocked them over, Spock cradled him as he had always wanted to, always needed to, never more so than at this moment. He felt something inside himself dissolve with humbling gratitude that Kirk would allow this after all that had happened. Perhaps Jim has always needed this as well, he thought. Stunned at this new insight, he cursed himself for a fool. All these months when he had worried about what Kirk's body could withstand, he'd neglected to acknowledge the capacity of the human heart. He pulled him closer and held him tightly, as his stoic Vulcan heart crumbled.
Finally, all emotion was spent, passion of every kind was satiated, and the small room was quiet for a very long time. They no longer knew or cared who had been hurt, who had been driven to hurt. They were together, clinging to each other and to the hope that, eventually, they would be whole again.
The fragile spell was broken by Kirk's muffled voice. "God, this floor is cold. We'll probably both catch pneumonia."
"I fear pneumonia is the least of our worries."
Again a long stillness. Spock's statement engulfed them as they contemplated what might come of this night of truth and pain.
Finally, Kirk's parched and aching throat demanded attention. He turned from Spock, pushed against the wall until he had his feet under him, and stumbled to the sink. He turned on the cold water, cupped his hands under the spout, raised them to his mouth, and drank repeatedly, gulping eagerly. The cold water dripped down his arms and sent shivers through his battered body.
"It is almost certain that Dr. McCoy will place us both under arrest for assault," Spock said evenly from his position on the floor.
"He'd never make it stick and he knows it. Consenting adults. The official report will say we fell."
Kirk straightened and looked in the mirror, barely recognizing the man who stared back at him through swollen eyes. He continued wryly, "Off a cliff."
There were purple finger marks on his throat. Lower lip split and swollen. An ugly bruise blossoming on one cheek, scratches down the other. Dried blood and vomit smeared across his chest. He became aware of a throbbing at the back of one leg and knew he didn't want to look any further.
Spock rose and stood behind him. Kirk started at the sight of the complete, undeniable antithesis of his usually meticulous first officer. His hair was stiff with sweat, standing up in all directions. A slash of blood smeared across his mouth. The beginning of an impressive black eye, among other less definite marks. His chest was covered with green streaks.
Kirk made a strangled sound that may have been laughter.
"Spock, we're not fit to be seen," he gasped. "Not even by each other."
Spock turned on the shower and stepped in, gently pulling Kirk in with him. With exquisite tenderness, they lathered each other's broken bodies, using soft fingertips, avoiding areas that were too sensitive for even the soapiest of caresses. Thus began a heart-breaking inventory. They found that neither could bear to have his penis touched. Kirk's skin displayed red streaks, as if touched by nettles, everywhere the waistband had rested. Spock's knees were raw and bleeding.
As Kirk examined the ugly welts he'd clawed into Spock's chest, he hoped the shower masked the tears in his eyes. Then he saw that Spock's face was suspiciously wet for someone who wasn't standing directly in the spray.
Spock turned off the shower and stepped out. He held a towel out to Kirk, who shuddered at the sight of the white terry cloth.
As Spock began carefully patting himself dry, Kirk left the bathroom. He went to the console near his desk, poured himself a large whiskey and tossed it back. It burned his throat and he clutched the glass tightly. He had no idea what would come next. Spock was right, there was no going back after this, but to go forward?
He shuddered and poured himself another drink. He forced himself to sip slowly.
Spock came out of the bathroom and headed silently for the sleeping alcove. Kirk followed, entering just in time to see Spock pick up the tattered bundle of black.
Kirk crossed the room quickly and reached for it. For a moment, the garment was between them, each holding a part of it, each aware of what that tangled obscenity represented.
Making a sudden decision, Kirk snatched the fabric away and carried it to the garbage chute. He dropped the briefs in and closed it with a firm snap. He turned to Spock.
Silently acknowledging that there was nothing more to be said or done that night, they walked wearily to the bed, lay down, and were mercifully claimed by deep, dreamless sleep.
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