"Captain, it's been almost four days, he's most likely dead." No. No, he couldn't be dead. Spock was not dead. But he was in big trouble. Jim knew that much.
"Keep searching Mr. Sulu, that's an order," Jim snapped back. He didn't like the finality in Sulu's tone. What did it matter to him if Spock was dead? He had Chekov; he didn't have to look after Spock in a universe so full of illogical humans. Sulu didn't know; he did not have a T'hy'la.
Spock calculated that he had been strapped to this table for approximately 3.4 days. He had been unconscious for some of it, but his keen senses were all active now. And had been for a while. He had been questioned, he had been hit, the Romulans had even plunged his head into tanks of icy water to get information about the Enterprise and her captain. But Spock had not given in to the Romulans. His pain levels were high, but he was controlling them fine. His emotional state however, was already fragile, and this physical and mental abuse was breaking it more. The emotion Spock was trying to suppress at the moment was fear. Nero himself had gloated and promised something especially awful. Spock was afraid as to what it was, and afraid that Jim would stop looking. They were well hidden, Spock knew, and he couldn't bear the thought of his captain, his eventual T'hy'la giving up and leaving him to whatever awaited him here.
Spock distracted himself with memories. He hadn't liked Jim for a long time, after he cheated his test, was so reckless, so determined, so human. But he proved himself, and used his determination, not to annoy Spock (though he did at times), but to make him feel as good as he could, seeing as he was grieving for the loss of his planet, his friends, his mother. Not that he had many friends outside of the ship. Jim started off making conversation. They played chess some nights. They both knew what Jim really wanted, but they both ignored it, until Spock began to gather his head together again, and sort through some of the confusion. He realised he wanted it too. And the way Jim had hesitated, comforted, genuinely took an interest in Spock. Not just stared at him for being Vulcan. The way he had thought of Spock before himself proved to Spock that Jim meant something. He recalled the night they did not play chess. The way Jim Kirk had been gentle, slow, letting Spock lead, though he was on top. For a little while, Spock had disregarded everything, and Jim wasn't complaining either. You would never think with his reputation, that Jim was a considerate lover, but he was. Spock opened his eyes and wished Jim was here now. Wished he could tell Jim what they had done to him already, so he could be in those strong arms, resting his head on a sturdy shoulder.
Spock quickly clamped down on the new rush of emotions too. Maybe it would be better if he didn't think about anything at all. He attempted to meditate, with some success, for several hours, but was shaken from his healing trance by Captain Nero himself.
"Good evening, Captain," Spock said coolly, playing the logical, courteous side. Nero had no intentions of returning the sentiment.
"I'm going to fulfill my promise, Spock. I promised I would hurt you. How oh-so-easy it will be to break you." His tone was sing-song, mocking, and it struck a deep chord of fear into Spock's logical heart. He began again to clear his mind; now was not the time to respond emotionally. He reserved his human side for Jim. Nero ordered the guards out of the room, but not before he gleefully dragged his nails down Spock's unblemished cheek and tugged his prisoner's stained and ragged uniform shirt off. Spock didn't struggle; just attempted to quietly break his restraints, with no success. Nero continued a string of insults and threats as he calmly scratched Spock's exposed torso, pulling his hair for good measure. The prisoner couldn't help but wonder what new, inventive form of abuse his captor had lined up for him, but gave nothing away. He just clamped his lips together and glared.
It was only when Nero's pointed fingernails began to dig in to the soft flesh of Spock's lower stomach and began to play with the fly of his uniform trousers that Spock began to properly worry. His hips jerked involuntarily, and Spock struggled at his restraints.
"Oh hush," Nero crooned. "It's far too soon to be getting so jumpy." He grinned, showing white, sharp teeth. Nero seductively wriggled out of his robes, so he was half naked, like Spock, and climbed on to the table, planting his knees either side of Spock, to hold him steady. He leaned over so his face was inches from Spock's.
"It's only now that you should start getting scared…" he whispered, pressing his hands on to Spock's shoulders as he undid the ties holding Spock to the table, and leaning even closer to bite the tip of Spock's pointed ear, in such a way that would have been sensual if it was his T'hy'la that was doing it. As it stood, Nero was hurting him, biting harder and harder, so Spock could feel the green tinted blood running into his tangled hair.
"Don't." Spock stated, trying to sound commanding and unafraid, but it didn't work. It sounded like he was pleading. Nero just laughed, but pulled his teeth from Spock's delicate ear, leaving it burning and ruined for the moment. Nero shifted position a little and Spock felt his captor's erection pressing into his now-exposed thigh; Nero had decided to rid him of his uniform altogether.
"Don't!" Spock hissed again, knowing now, where this was going. He could not bear the thought, and tried again to calm his mind. Tranquility would not come tonight. All he could do was attempt to believe this was all a dream, and he would wake up with Jim beside him, and they could laugh about the illogic of it together.
"Oh, I will Spock." Nero grinned, wickedly. "Because it's what will hurt you most. Maybe you'll regret destroying my home planet if I give you a few reminders." So that was it.
"No…I never…it wasn't…please!" Spock knew resistance was hopeless. Nero would never listen. Spock's captor's long fingered, almost white hands scratched their way down his stomach, and rested on his hips. Spock's own hands urgently held them still, trying to stop them moving any more. Pointed nails dug into his narrow hips and Spock bit his bottom lip again, reactions mostly emotional now. He still held a shred of logic and Vulcan mantra enough to keep his face carefully neutral. He had enough to be disappointed in himself for his shrill begging, so he decided to be silent from that moment on.
Nero was even stronger than Spock, and easily flipped him on to his stomach, despite Spock's attempts to stop him. Oh Jim, where are you? His mind shouted, and Spock had to bite his lip to stop him shouting it out loud. Spock still tried to stop Nero's hands, as his nails made more and more angry, vivid green welts on his pale back. Nero effortlessly pinned them between his shoulder blades, twisting them painfully. Spock didn't see his face, but Nero stopped dead in his tracks, grinning maliciously. Spock's breathing quickened, anticipating, dreading.
Spock's sharp little teeth split the skin of his lip as Nero finally invaded his deepest, most private place, reserved for his T'hy'la, Jim only. But still he did not cry out. His mind screamed out for Jim, needing Jim's slow, delicate passion here. But none came. No warm, lithe body bent over Spock's back to whisper endearments and sweet nothings in his pointed ear. No wiry, yet strong arms wrapped around his hips or chest. No form of preparation was applied. And it was most certainly not in any way pleasurable for Spock.
He felt as if he was being split in two. Even his first time had not been like this. Nero pressed him further into the freezing metal of the table as he thrust, deep and hard, into Spock, sending shockwaves reverberating through his thin body every time he jarred Spock's poker-straight back with his sick desire. Nero leaned over him, pushing his arms higher and sending a long shudder of pain along them. Spock choked as Nero pushed particularly hard, and he felt something tear.
The blood was a blessing and a curse. At least it acted as some form of lubricant, far too late. But it also meant Nero was thrusting into the cut inside him. Spock exhaled forcefully through his nose as he forced himself to stay silent. He rode out the rape with a decidedly un-Vulcan mantra running through his turmoiled mind. "Jim will be here soon…Jim is coming…Jim will make it all right again…" Spock hung on to the memories of sex with Jim, slow, gentle, kind to him. He could almost believe it was Jim inside him now, if it was not for the repetitive, stabbing pain.
Nero's pace quickened, and Spock's whole body was jolted on the steel table. His eyes watered as Nero tore him, more and more. "Jim!" he mouthed, a silent plea for his T'hy'la and captain to be there. To hurt Nero, to stop him breaking Spock completely. Nero's fingers bunched in Spock's hair, and scraped it back so Spock's roots felt as if they were on fire. Every time Nero thrust, he pulled Spock's hair, and Spock bit deeper into his swollen lip.
Finally, Nero was finished. And as he released into Spock, he slammed Spock's head into the table, giving him an angry olive ring around one eye. He roughly pulled out, and stormed out of the room, leaving Spock alone, naked and bleeding. All his logic was gone now, and Spock whimpered aloud to the cold room, before pulling his torn and dirty uniform back on.