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.
WARNING: This is a TupperTrek story. In the TupperTrekiverse, at least one male character in the story is waaaaay too in touch with his feminine side. Curse you, Tuppertrek Demon!
Jim approached the doorway slowly and stopped as his trembling courage failed him.
*Oh, Spock. What have you done to me?*
Jim had always been a brave man, indeed the bravest of men. Yet love had made him splendidly weak and indecisive. How he had reveled in his own helplessness! How wonderful it had been to respond to Spock's every question with, "I don't know, honey. What do you think we should do?" How comforting to curl up with him at night, happy as a well-fed puppy, untroubled by pesky thoughts about his career, his ship, his crew. How delightfully naughty to squeal and whimper as Spock's turgid, double-ridged thing filled him with its pounding tumescence. How gratifying to absently scribble his signature across duty rosters, fuel consumption logs, and orders from Starfleet without reading them. Who could be bothered with such trivialities in the face of perfect love? He had wallowed in it like a raccoon in a compost heap.
But then...things had changed. Spock had become cold and distant. He hadn't rewarded Jim with a secret smile in weeks. Jim couldn't even remember the last time he had felt the gentle nibble of Spock's mind against his.
When he finally worked up the courage to timidly approach the subject, Spock had said...he had said...
"I believe a period of separation would be in order."
Jim had agreed, naturally. What else could he do?
Yet he somehow sensed that Spock wanted him to do something. And he knew he must figure it out for himself. For the past ten days, he had paced back and forth across the small room he had booked at a quiet retreat. For the past ten nights, he had tossed and turned, wracking his tortured brain.
What did Spock want? How had he failed his beloved?
Finally, as rosy-fingered dawn pointed at him accusingly, he had faced up to the truth. There was only one person who could help him.
Gathering his courage around himself like a warm shawl on a cool night, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door.
"Come in," said a gentle feminine voice.
Spock allowed himself to sigh in exasperation. Where was Jim? Spock had sent a message, specifically stating that he was returning to the Enterprise. Yet, upon his arrival, Mr. Scott had informed him that the captain had gone on leave ten days ago without setting a return date.
The silly human had probably worked himself up in to a lather, worrying and fretting. Spock sighed again. Jim was far too prone to that sort of behavior. Yet--he smiled secretly to himself--he found his mate to be singularly attractive when his lower lip stuck out unhappily. And when it began to tremble and hazel eyes filled with tears--it was all Spock could do not to pull him onto his lap and murmur, "There, there, pumpkin. It's all right."
His Vulcan discipline prevented him from doing so, of course.
But perhaps he had been too strict. Perhaps he should have been more generous with the little gestures of love that meant so much to Jim. Perhaps he should have lied and told him that his latest batch of plomeek soup was delicious. Perhaps he should have remembered his dearest one's birthday.
Perhaps he should not have requested oral sex.
"So you see," Jim concluded tearfully, "there's no one else I can talk to about this. I don't know what I've done, but I must get him back. Please help me!"
The Lady Amanda reached over and patted Jim's hand gently.
"There, there, Jim. It can't be that bad."
"It is! It's worse than bad! It's--it's--awful! Please, Lady Amanda, you're his mother. Tell me what to do."
She stood and went to the window. Jim watched, his heart pounding fearfully, as she quietly studied her garden. Her roses, so lovingly planted and tended, were withering in the heat of the Vulcan desert.
She sighed, wishing once again that Sarek would consider relocating to Seattle. How wonderful it would be to let the constant rain wash away her anguish and flood her with an even deeper depression.
She subtly dropped her hand into a small dish on a table near the window and scooped up two Tri-Prozac. She coughed, covering her mouth and discreetly tossing them down her throat. That made six already today.
She turned and looked at Jim, noticing that his nails were bitten down to the quick. Perhaps he could use a couple of tranquilizers.
No. Sarek would be angry if she did that. He had finally accepted the doctor's sworn statement that the pills were medically necessary, but he had absolutely forbidden her to share her newfound peace with her friends and neighbors.
What a shame. The pills made her think such interesting thoughts. One might almost call them insights.
"Jim." She approached him slowly. "Perhaps it isn't your fault."
A panic-stricken frown darkened his face. "Of course it's my fault! Whose fault could it be, if not mine? I haven't made him happy! I've tried so hard, but I've failed! He deserves so much better than me! He asks so little of me and I--"
She slapped him across the face.
"Oh, stop it, you ninny! You're a starship captain! Act like it!"
Jim's hand slowly moved slowly to his face as his mouth fell open in shock.
"I'm sorry, dear. But you were acting like a total wimp. If that's how you act around Spock, I'm not surprised he left you."
Jim sniffled pitiably. "But what can I do?"
"You can stand up for yourself. He didn't fall in love with a sniveling dishrag, so why would that be appealing to him now? When he asks for your opinion, give it! And if he doesn't ask for it, give it anyway!"
"But--Lady Amanda--that doesn't sound like love."
"Jim, I know you're young and this is hard to understand, but love means never having to say you're sorry."
"Don't let him walk all over you. Be yourself. Don't be afraid to be honest with him."
"Oh, I couldn't do that! I love him too much to be honest with him. Why, when I finally told him how I felt about him, I was so nervous I threw up."
"And I fainted at the bonding ceremony."
His face beamed with subservient pride.
"Yes, dear, I remember. And you hid in the bathroom for the first three hours of pon farr."
"I guessed. Jim, if you keep this up, Spock will leave you for good. How can he stay with someone who plays these silly games? It's unbecoming, to say the least. If you're going to hold onto your Vulcan, you'll have to develop a spine."
Jim swallowed hard. He knew she was right. But...
"Jim, dear." Amanda smiled warmly. "Let me help."
Three days later, Amanda waved as she watched Jim beam back up to the Enterprise. Smiling, she turned away and decided to do some window-shopping before returning home. Many of the stores in downtown Shikahr were having sales.
Jim had certainly looked a different man when he left. That assertiveness workshop had worked wonders. As a matter of fact, she was feeling pretty assertive herself. As she hailed an aircar, she decided that if Sarek didn't clean out the garage by this weekend, he could rub fingers with himself.
Jim took a deep breath and kicked in the door to the quarters he shared with Spock.
Startled, Spock looked up from the computer.
His voice trailed off as he noticed that his darling was not attired in his usual manner.
"Quiet, you! There are going to be some changes here, starting now."
"Jim, I do not understand," Spock said, staring at the skin-tight leather chaps that hugged Jim's well-muscled legs, the black silk pouch that cupped the treasures of his manhood, and the hazel eyes flashing through the slits in the velvet mask.
"You don't?" Kirk whispered, approaching slowly and swinging his riding crop with casual menace. "Let me explain."
He grasped Spock's hair and pulled his head back. Then he bent down and kissed him, roughly exploring his mouth with his tongue. As he pulled away, he studied Spock's face and saw surprise and--yes!--desire and--YES!--*awe* in his dark eyes.
"Listen carefully, t'hy'la," he growled, "because I'm only going to say this once. You want a blow job, you're going to have to earn it. No more Mr. Nice Guy."
"Did I say you could address me by my name?"
"C-c-captain? Does this mean--?"
"Yes." Jim smiled with feral pleasure. "The bitch is back."
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