Author's Notes: Many thanks to Museaway for cheerleading, and to Aranel Took and Obsidianjg for beta-reading.
Warning: This story contains "strong adult themes" according to the rating "M" of the FanFictionNet rating guidelines.
xXx
Everything I Can Do
Jim knew that he was about to be tortured. He reacted the way he'd been trained. He shut down his connection to Spock. Tried not to think of what may be happening to Spock. Shielded his mind to the best of his ability. Repeated over and over again:
"My name is James Tiberius Kirk, I am the captain of the United Federation of Planets starship USS Enterprise 1701. My serial number is SC937-0176CEC."
xXx
The pain is terrible. But that is par for the course with torture. Jim expects it. And he knows pain. He is good with pain. Perhaps too good.
Because when he notices that pieces of his life – of himself – have gone missing, he is in no position to say how much he has lost already.
He has memories of hunger twisting his guts inside out, and of pleading on his knees with a man in a black uniform looming over him. He remembers excruciating pain and humiliation. He thinks that is not all there was, but he doesn't know what else there might have been. He recalls a bar brawl, blood smeared across his face, drying into flakes. He thinks it may have been a good fight. But the memory he retains is all futile fury. He remembers a man with black hair and dark eyes, choking him. He thinks that maybe this is not the only time this man has touched him, but it is the only time that is still fixed in his mind.
When they take his pain away from him, he breaks. His shield shatters, and what is left of him dissolves into the ruins of another mind.
Shards. Katras splintered into slivers. Apart now, and never together. Shreds. A Bond torn to ribbons. Never again one mind, whole and together. Fragments. Lives and limbs fractured. Not touching, never touching again.
xXx
It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but it was already damn hot on the northern coast of Yerak, the largest continent of Uzh-Ah'rak.
Cestus, the sun of New Vulcan – the planet formerly known as Cestus III – was brighter than Sol and hotter than 40 Eridani A, but the differences evened out in the habitable circumstellar zone. The deserts of New Vulcan were hotter than their Terran equivalents, but less brain-melting than the Forge on Ah'rak used to be. And in the coastal regions of Yerak, the climate was similar to that of Northern Africa on Earth.
Leonard McCoy couldn't care less. Today he didn't mind the heat or the blue-white flare of this alien sun. For a moment, he just stood on the beach and closed his eyes. In spite of the ocean, the air was dry. It tasted like sand and salt. He listened to the surf. Apart from the sound of the waves, New Vulcan was very quiet. There were no birds, only giant, iridescent dragonflies. And those weird red and yellow not-quite dinosaurs – therapsids, the elder Spock called them, a life-form that existed on Earth, too, before reptiles and mammals developed. But they didn't seem to make any noise, either. Or at least he hadn't heard a chirp out of them yet. A small scarlet critter was baking in the sand just a few meters away, without a care in the world. And for a few minutes, Leonard made like a lizard and basked in the sunshine, too, and even enjoyed the sweat trickling down his spine.
The terrible pressure that had constricted Leonard's chest for two long months had finally lifted. He could breathe again. To get to New Vulcan had been a race against time. (Against death.) They won that race. Only to face the verdict that Jim and Spock were beyond help. But although the best mind-healer of the colony admitted defeat, the elder Spock persisted, putting his own life and sanity on the line. The previous night he managed to stabilize Jim's and Spock's brain functions in a deep three-way meld. The Son'a nearly killed both of them in their torture chambers on Ghioghe. But now, against all odds, they might live.
They will live. Leonard inhaled a shuddering breath. The reflections of sunlight on the waves painted flickering shadows on the inside of his lids. Once their Bond was fixed, there might not be any lasting physical or mental damage. Leonard shivered. On his back, the sweat turned cold. If their Bond could be healed ...
He took another deep breath and opened his eyes. Then he turned around and walked back to the house, where the elder Spock was waiting for him to talk about the details of what they could do, of what they must do.
xXx
He has no name now. But once upon a time, before the darkness came, he had two names. Sometimes, he can almost remember. How it was to have a body. How it was to have a name. Sometimes, stars blink into existence and coalesce into colors and the colors turn into glowing glass shards floating in the darkness. When he reaches for them, they cut deeply. But for a heartbeat, they reveal their secrets. Here's a face: dark eyes, deeper than darkness. Stronger than death. There's a smile: bitter and too close to the bones. Bones.
Sometimes, the darkness is warm and holds him in a gentle embrace. He remembers this darkness. He has been here before. This is illogical; yet it makes perfect sense.
Lightning strikes. Bright agony in his darkness. A web made of silver and gold tightens around him and pushes him deep into the colorful shards and their secrets. They cut him open until he is bleeding out ...
xXx
A week later, Spock – or Ambassador Selek, as he was known on Uzh-Ah'rak – was sitting in the living room, waiting for Leonard McCoy to return from his daily walk. Every morning, the doctor sought refuge at the beach, escaping from an atomsphere charged with hope and despair in equal measure. Since Spock had managed to contain the damage done to Jim's and Spock's brains with the mind-sifter of the Son'a, their condition had not deteriorated any further. But there was no progress, either.
The Vulcan mind-healer they had consulted had advised them to wait seven standard days before deciding on any further treatment, but no longer than that. There was a window of opportunity for healing mental injuries such as the ones Jim and young Spock had sustained. So far, they hadn't discussed all available options. Now they didn't have a choice anymore.
Spock considered the doctor's position, how he might react to the conversation they could postpone no longer, and to the few options still available. McCoy had been present for Jim's and Spock's Bonding four years ago, and he had been the one to "pick up the pieces", as the Terran saying goes, after Spock's first pon farr two years ago. He was aware of how mental and physical intimacy strengthened the Bond. He also knew that time was not on their side. When (if) the paralysis receded on its own, it might very well be too late to save the Bond – and Jim's and Spock's sanity.
The view through the transparent northern wall of the room was breathtaking. The ocean glittered in the blue-white light of Cestus. To the east and to the west, sandy beaches stretched out for many lonely miles. South of the house, the ground rose up to form gently sloping hills. The land was fertile, even though the climate was arid. Five years after the Vulcan settlers first arrived on the planet, many Terran and Vulcan vegetables and fruits were cultivated in the hill country between the coast and Cestus, the capital of Uzh-Ah'rak.
The house was silent. Spock's young counterpart and his Jim were still asleep, and they would remain so for several hours. They were very weak, their katras troubled in the aftermath of torture. Spock did what he could to keep the terror at bay, but with their Bond nearly broken, there was only so much he could do.
The house – it was a beautiful building. The design of the dwelling combined form and function flawlessly into an aesthetically pleasing appearance. But there was more to the building than convenience and architecture. The house belonged to First Officer S'chn T'gai Spock Cha' Sarek and Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. It was a gift from the Vulcan High Council on behalf of all the Vulcan people. An expression of appreciation for services rendered. Spock – as Ambassador Selek – had overseen the construction process himself, from the first blueprint to the final installations of showers and replicators. Young Jim had called the house Shahov-mak – Beach Joy. Vulcan words to convey a thoroughly human sentiment.
So far, the house had not seen much joy. It was an illogical reaction to experience an emotional response to that fact.
And yet ...
He got up and entered the kitchen to prepare Vulcan spice tea for himself. Going through the motions of heating water and adding the mélange of spices was soothing. Spock could not sleep or meditate, not after what he had seen in Jim's mind, in Spock's mind. Making tea was his only respite. He took a moment to ascertain that the Terran sweet tea in the fridge, which he had prepared for McCoy the previous night, was ready for consumption before he poured the mixture into an insulated jug that would keep the concoction cool for hours even in the heat of Uzh-Ah'rak's noon. When everything was ready, he prepared a tray and carried everything to the living room.
Spock heard the doctor's slow footsteps long before he reached the front door. Leonard McCoy was weary, care-worn after weeks of worrying.
The way he entered the room, the way he slumped down in the arm chair – this was not the Leonard McCoy Spock knew for so many years in another life, another universe. This man was dark, intense, and volatile – not brittle, wry, or gentle. Yet they were the same. In their passionate, limitless friendship and their carefully concealed idealism.
"I'm back," McCoy informed him needlessly.
But his attempt at deflection extended no further than that. After Ghioghe, after the last two months, not even Leonard McCoy had any capacity for sarcasm left. Spock inclined his head and wordlessly pointed at the pitcher with sweet tea on the low table. He himself cradled the cooling cup of spice tea.
McCoy gulped down a glass of tea. Then he slammed the empty tumbler on the table and grimaced at the taste of the beverage. Too sweet for his taste, Spock thought and wondered if bitterness of the heart could influence gustatory perceptions in Humans. McCoy looked as if he needed a drink. Perhaps a whole bottle of bourbon or Saurian brandy. But Spock knew that he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since Ghioghe, and now was not the time to offer.
"They are still asleep," Spock said.
"Any change?" McCoy leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. Hope against hope lit up his dark green eyes.
Spock put down his cup gently. The porcelain hit the stone surface of the table with barely a sound. A tinkle, perhaps.
"No," he replied.
"But you can feel them?" McCoy asked. "You can reach them?"
Oh yes, Spock could feel them. Even now, even without a meld, he felt them, like an echo in his mind. Emotional transference was a common side-effect of mind melds, but he had never experienced it to such a degree. If that was due to the depth of the three-way meld he initiated to save their lives, to the terror and torture they endured on Ghioghe, or to the familiarity of their katras, he did not know. But he could sense how they struggled to cling to their fractured Bond and to reclaim this most intimate connection.
"Yes, I can feel them," he answered. "Their need for each other. It burns in my mind."
It was basic Vulcan biology. Sex strengthened the Bond. The Bond strengthened the mind so it would withstand the onslaught of pon farr. This was true for other violations of the mind as well. What Spock did not know was if such sexual intimacy would suffice to initiate the healing process in this case. If there was any treatment powerful enough to overcome the trauma of prolonged torture with the mind-sifter of the Son'a. Especially since they were kept separated throughout their ordeal on Ghioghe.
At last he said, "In your Terran Bible it is written 'And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.'"
"You're talking about sex, though," McCoy muttered. "Not love. Or faith. Or hope." Then he closed his eyes and rubbed both hands over his face. "No, you're not. I know; I'm sorry; I am tired."
Their eyes met, and what they saw was fear. Reflected in the other's dark gaze and tension that turned a face into a mask.
"But I am talking about sex." The fact remained that what Vulcan logic and Vulcan mind-healing and Terran medicine could offer now was less than hope, which was an elusive human construct devoid of logic to start with. And faith? For all his logic and the long, mostly lonesome years of his life, Spock could not begin to define that concept.
"How's that even supposed to work?" McCoy asked, instead of making a disparaging remark about Vulcan biology. "It's not as if—" Helplessly, he shook his head. "It's not as if either of them is well, up to anything."
"Not without help, no," Spock admitted. "But if I am able to induce ..." He hesitated. Although he knew that this Leonard McCoy was familiar with the process of Bonding, with the ordeal of pon farr, and the union of plak'tow, the taboo never to speak of this with anyone, least of all with an off-worlder, was deeply ingrained.
"Plak'tow," McCoy supplied promptly and frowned, considering Spock's suggestion. "Physically, if you can get Spock to knot, there wouldn't be much thrusting involved ... And mentally, plak'tow is the strongest kind of meld there is, right? Couldyou meld them like that? Would that be enough?"
The— How would Jim phrase that? This Jim, that was. This precious young man who was so much in love with his younger self that he would die with him if Spock could not save them both. And oh, so much time had passed that Spock did not know anymore how his Jim would express the relevant sentiment. For a fraction of a second, he closed his eyes. In his mind, he heard what this Jim would say: The bitch of it was that Spock did not know. Hope was not a Vulcan concept. The only Vulcan word to express the idea was "rok": the confident expectation that a wish or desire will be fulfilled. Right now Spock was light-years removed from confidence of any kind.
"It is a possibility," Spock said at last. This one word – derived from Latin "possibilitas", known in English since the late 15th century as the condition of being possible and later accepted as one of currently 1,978,629 words as Federation Standard – was the best he had to offer.
"I've seen how it can be," McCoy said suddenly. "Plak'tow. After their Bonding, four years ago. There were ... side-effects. This thing they have – that you had – this t'hy'la connection – for a while there, it overwhelmed them, the way it happens for all of you during plak'tow. I had them down in sickbay, and I know I should have left. But I didn't. I stayed; and I watched."
The expression in his eyes was raw and almost violent, and Spock wondered what McCoy had seen, what they had looked like, his younger self and his mate, caught up in the beauty and desire of their new Bond. This – all of this, Bond, torture, aftermath – never happened to Spock and his Jim like that. They were so much older when they recognized what they meant to each other, and Spock had already survived pon farr and almost completed Kolinahr. They never set foot on Ghioghe together. The two men sleeping in the other room now were so young and so different. Yet so precious to him.
Spock discovered that he had no words of explanation or persuasion left. He looked at McCoy. That was all he could do.
When Leonard McCoy reached out and took his hand, Spock did not know how to react. He froze, barely breathing, but allowed the touch. (The first touch since Jim and his Spock last visited New Vulcan years ago, when Jim had included him in his typical, casual touches as if it was the most natural thing in the universe to hug an ancient Vulcan ambassador of dubious origins.) Now the strong, steady fingers of a surgeon intertwined with his, captured his wrinkled, trembling hand. Exhaustion bled through his skin, along with a barrage of complicated, contradictory human emotions. But most of all this: hope, and faith.
"I've seen it. What it does to them," McCoy repeated, his eyes darkening with memories. "I couldn't describe it then, I sure as hell can't define it now. But it will be enough."
xXx
In a rush of hot blood, the colorful glass shards pour into the darkness. They spill into puddles of gold and blue. The broken pieces drift in darkening pools of blood, drawn together by an invisible force. The fragments align into a shifting kaleidoscope of color. Blue and gold.
A woman's voice, bright and beloved, talks of languages and love and logic. "What do you need?" she asks. "What do you need?"
Her words mean nothing in the darkness. He picks up the pieces, blue and gold, and presses them into his face, slices through skin and flesh, saws through bone and skull, to fill up the emptiness within. There is logic to that, and the pain is pure and beautiful. The mirage of the woman keeps talking. She tells him that in an ancient Terran tongue – in Portuguese – the contrast of blue and gold is a symbol for soul mates. The void within his mind echoes with another word, in a language lost to him.
But he cannot speak. The splintered glass cuts up his throat from the inside. He chokes on hot blood, verdant and crimson. The kaleidoscope spins into a vortex of blue and gold, green and red, silver and gold, and unbearable, undefinable need.
xXx
Ambassador Selek and Doctor Leonard McCoy entered the bedroom of the patients late in the afternoon, when Jim and Spock's younger self were most likely to drift back to wakefulness. The room was spacious, with many narrow northern windows, designed to catch every breeze and keep out the heat. The low bed had no headboard and took up the center of the room. They had arranged the positions of the two men so they were as close to each other as possible, to ensure skin contact, to allow them to feel each other's heartbeat, and each breath they took, and so that they would gaze into the other's eyes upon waking.
Touching, yet not touching. Apart, yet not apart. But it was not enough, and Spock and McCoy both knew it.
Spock looked at Jim first but moved to stand behind his younger self, just as McCoy gravitated toward Jim, but focused on the younger Spock. Both men lay in exactly the same position they had left them this morning. There were no physical reasons for the persisting paralysis. Even their worst injuries had been healed weeks ago. It was all in the brain, as the good doctor put it. But that didn't change the fact that it was. And the longer the condition continued, the less likely full recovery became. Worse, their brain functions had started declining again. The fractured Bond was draining what was left of them.
Gently, Spock placed his fingertips on the meld points of the young half-Vulcan. Horrified, he realized that he was getting used to what he found: a maelstrom of painful need, of half-formed thoughts, of memories too devastating to contemplate. When he broke the connection, he needed a moment to come back to himself. His younger self's experiences were not his. Neither his pain, nor his joy.
Then Spock moved on to Jim. McCoy watched him closely, every gesture, every move. And Jim. As always, it was difficult for Spock not to think of that first meld on Delta Vega – the shock and the joy of it. There was no joy now. Only confusion and grief and agonizing need ...
When he broke the meld, Spock swayed on his feet. He would have stumbled and fallen if McCoy had not caught his arm. The doctor steadied him but did not speak, did not ask what he had seen. Cantankerous nagging would be easier to bear, Spock thought.
"I can still sense them," Spock commented at last. They were getting weaker, though. His intervention a week ago had bought them time, but not much of it, and no more than that. He did not know how to continue, what to say, how to prepare the young doctor or how to fortify his own mental controls for what they would endeavor. "If I can delve deeply enough, I may be able to bypass the damage. If I can recreate the physical and mental connection of plak'tow, they may be able to overcome the trauma. But I cannot do it on my own. Our katras are linked. Without a mental anchor, there is a high probability that I will not only fail to save them but – to use one of your colorful Terran idioms – 'lose my mind' in the process."
McCoy didn't reply. Instead, he pulled out the tricorder and carefully scanned both men once more. He stared at the screen of the device for a long time. Spock knew what the results revealed. Time was indeed running out. The window of opportunity was closing fast.
"Let's get on with it," McCoy said at last as if Spock hadn't told him that he would have to be a part not only of a mind meld, but a sexual meld. "They can hardly get worse." He slammed the tricorder on the nightstand with a muffled curse. "Fuck." Then the nature of his exclamation registered with him, and he shook his head. When he spoke again, he sounded calm, the doctor again, not the grieving friend. "It will work. It must work. Sex jumpstarts Vulcan Bonds. And if the Bond is healed, we have at least a chance to deal with whatever brain damage remains. Nothing else we can do at this point. And your idea is already a damn sight more constructive than anything the mind-healers came up with. At least we will know we have done everything. Everything."
Primum nil nocere, the healer's creed. Above all, do no harm. Do everything you can. And McCoy's personal oath: Once you've done all you can, do the impossible. No matter the cost. The good doctor was very much like his captain in that regard.
"You will prepare Jim?"
McCoy produced two small bottles of lube from the nightstand. He tossed one of them at Spock and raised the other in a gesture of ironic cheers. "You take care of Spock. When you need to meld them, I'll be ready."
Spock nodded. But he did not move. He needed a moment to breathe, to center himself. The echo effects of emotional transference increased with proximity. He was not certain if that would make what they were going to attempt easier or harder to bear for him.
He gazed at the two young men lying helplessly spread out on the bed before him. They were naked and covered only with a silken sheet to decrease any additional stress due to extraneous sensory input. They were beautiful, this young Jim and this younger, harsher, yet much more human version of himself. They seemed to look at each other. But Spock knew that no matter how beautiful their eyes are, hazel-bright and dark and rich like Vulcan tea, they were blind. They could not see each other, would not recognize him or McCoy.
Spock inhaled deeply, into the k'rawhl. Kneeling behind his younger self, he poured lube on his left hand. Then he slid his right hand between the pillow and young Spock's face, instinctively aligning his fingers with eerily familiar meld points. With his left, he reached for Spock's sheath. It was the strangest sensation. He was touching himself, yet not. In another lifetime, in another universe, in another timeline his Jim found it arousing to watch Spock as he touched himself, making his penis rise desirously from his sheath. Shocked, he felt his own body stir with lust and inhaled again. Looking up, he met McCoy's eyes. The doctor had not moved to Jim's side of the bed yet. But there was no reproach in his eyes.
"It's okay, Spock," McCoy said calmly. "There's bound to be ... some of that emotional transference you people keep going on about. Under the circumstances a physical reaction is perfectly normal. And that is my medical opinion. If this is going to work, I expect I'll be affected, too." He scowled at the bottle of lube in his hands. "It better work. Damn it."
Spock closed his eyes and focused on the task at hand. Tenderly, he traced his younger self's sheath, concentrating on the desperate need for Jim he sensed in this young Spock's mind. He's here, he thought, your Bondmate. You shall have him, feel him, own him. He's here. Under the touch of his hand, he felt his younger self's erection growing. In his mind, he heard himself cry out for Jim.
"K'diwa," he crooned, "beloved. All will be well. You are alive, you are together. You will be well." I will make it so, he thought, and if it is the last thing I do.
xXx
There are no thoughts here and no memories. No sensations, no emotions. Only silence. Only darkness. But whatever space or state of mind this is, it is not empty. Broken pieces of something drift in its expanse. Translucent debris in hues of blue and gold. An energy ribbon twirls around the ragged edges of the drifting fragments and ties them together like the tesserae of a mosaic.
An image forms. Two men in a pavilion. A desert house, one of those ancient structures set aside for the time of pon farr, as far away as possible from intrusive thoughts and emotions. Situated high on a cliff face adjacent to a Vulcan rock garden, the dwelling overlooks the desert. The sun is about to disappear below the horizon, and the sky glows crimson. The layout of the garden is unusual, a design of concentric circles. At their center, a desert rose sparkles in the fading light. The baryte rosette fans open in radiating rows of crystal petals, as delicate and organic as any real flower. The men in the rau-nol are barely middle-aged. In their late thirties, early forties. Confident, and comfortable in their skins. A Human and a Vulcan.
Silver and golden light envelops them. Joins katras. But they are souls without bodies. Ghosts. No, not even that. There is too much and not enough left of them. Whatever remains is drawn to these men in the desert. No more than motes of dust, they swirl around the silhouettes of the men. And like minuscule crystals glittering in sunshine and starlight, they dissolve into the shadows of those two men, into their embrace and their kiss, long and lingering.
These men have just endured pon farr. The marks of the time cover the canvas of their skin in blue bruises and verdant scratches. They may be beyond plak'tow, but their eyes still burn fever-bright. They cling together.
The Vulcan's voice is rough with exhaustion. "No, Jim."
"Yes, Spock." Jim laughs, a honeyed sound, although he trails off in a harsh exhalation. But even that breathless discomfort is tinged with a lazy haze of pleasure and desire and fatigue. "Take me," he begs. "Tie us."
"It will hurt, Jim, it will hurt both of us," Spock objects. "And it is no longer necessary." However, his hesitation is laced with lust. The fever may be waning, but the heat lingers. "It is illogical to suffer without need."
"But I do need," Jim whispers. "I need to feel you like that again, need to feel as if we're one, forever." He doesn't say it, but even now, at this intimate moment, there's an awareness in his eyes that they won't be.
Jim's eyes shine with amber reflections of love. That golden desire for eternity makes Spock give in. And that boundless need draws them in, too. Their darkness condenses into blood, into fever, into passion – and into something more substantial, into a bond of body and mind and soul.
Spock propels Jim to the bed in the center of the room. It is a simple platform carved out of desert rock and covered with a thick mattress, sturdy enough to withstand even pon farr, and not altogether uncomfortable. Jim lies down on his stomach. He moves awkwardly, stiff from the exertions of the past days, but also a little self-conscious. Spock taking the dominant role like that is obviously unusual. That this circumstance constitutes an eccentricity is strange and not at all normal for them (whoever, whatever they are now). But every touch, every gesture between them (regardless of who they are) is infused with so much warmth, so much love, so much need, that such differences matter little.
When Spock pours spicy lube over his fingers and nestles close to Jim, when Spock begins to trail long, strong fingers up and down Jim's ass, from his perineum to his tailbone, nothing else matters anymore. They feel the teasing touch of Spock's hand and Spock's mind, and how Jim's need flares from a spark into a bonfire. They echo Jim's sigh when Spock slips two slender fingers inside Jim's body. Not to stretch him – he's still more than loose enough to be taken without any preparation at all, with pon farr barely over. No, this is just for Spock, for the extreme sensitivitiy of his hands. Jim's sore and wide open, more than ready for Spock, and the Vulcan lube burns. When Spock finally presses his erection into his body, Jim screams. And he doesn't like pain. Not like they do. Yet at this time, he does enjoy it, and more important: he needs it. Needs to feel Spock as much as he possibly can, no matter how much it hurts. He pushes back, until Spock allows himself to sink as deeply into his bondmate's body as he can. Spock soothes him with gentle bites and tender strokes, sensitive fingers fluttering across his skin.
"Ashal-veh," Spock whispers, "ashayam."
Darling. Beloved.
"Do it," Jim urges, even though his breath hitches with the pain of penetration.
Spock obeys the command of his captain. The pressure is too much to take in silence. At first Jim pants, then he moans. He never cries out, though, not even when reflexive tears spill over, trickling from the corners of eyes squeezed shut ever so tightly.
Spock kisses away Jim's tears, lips soft, tongue quick. Then he inhales deeply and frames the beloved face with both hands to join their minds in the most intimate of melds. The meld draws them in, as well, into a realm of golden and silver light.
And yes, they feel like forever here, all light and passion and no more pain.
Jim feels Spock's orgasm, the hot spill of his semen deep inside his body. Contained by the knot, it's the strangest sensation of warm, viscous fluid filling him around his lover's cock, and then he comes, too, comes with a scream, and comes to—
Suddenly, Jim is back in his own body. He lies in another bed, in an unfamiliar room, perhaps on a different planet altogether. His mind is filled with memories of other times and other places. But Spock is there, too, inside his body and inside his mind. Forever.
xXx
Leonard couldn't look at them anymore. The elder Spock's grief was just too raw. He knew that the other Jim had died nearly one hundred years ago. To see that the passage of time had done precisely nothing to soothe this loss got to him more than he expected. And his – no, his Jim's Spock – he was just too damn beautiful, even in his helplessness.
So he concentrated on the logistics and on Jim. Carefully, he turned Jim on his back. He hesitated just a moment to smooth a shaggy lock of dark blond hair away from his forehead. Then Leonard pushed a cushion under Jim's ass, before he leaned over and spread his friend's unresisting legs. He pulled on surgical gloves and lubed up his fingers. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with Jim's asshole; he was his doctor. There were check-ups. There was the long, rocky road to recovery after the Marcus conspiracy and the aftermath of Spock's first pon farr. Yet somehow this was different. Less technical, more intimate.
He proceeded slowly, methodically, slipped in first one finger, then a second. To feel Jim like that, tight and hot, made his cock twitch – never mind that he was at the far and narrow end of the scale of sexual orientations, with no homosexual experiences at all beyond the one time, when he watched Spock and Jim in the thrall of their new Bond and found himself inexplicably aroused. Now Leonard could only think of how this may be the last time that Jim would be touched like that intimately, tenderly. How in hell was he supposed to maintain a professional distance when this was the last ditch effort to save his best friend's life and sanity? But somehow he managed to shove aside stress and fears.
Leonard crooked his fingers and found Jim's prostate easily. With gentle pressure, he rubbed the spot, then added a third finger. Jim's breath hitched, and his penis reacted to the stimulation more strongly than anticipated, engorging beautifully. Jim's head was still turned toward Spock. His eyes remained open, staring blindly ahead. He didn't see how his Bondmate was being prepared for him. Leonard reached for Jim's erection with his other hand and jacked him off. Once, twice. A translucent drop of precum spilled from the slit, and he thumbed over the head carefully, smearing precum and lube up and down Jim's member.
Leonard's own cock stirred with more urgency now. He swallowed hard. Apparently he was not as indifferent to homosexual situations as he thought he was. He withdrew his fingers from Jim's anus. He needed an embarrassingly long moment until he managed to draw a deep breath, until he could look up again. "Ready when you are."
The old man inclined his head. He removed his hand from the meld points of his counterpart and let go of his flushed, verdant erection. Carefully, he gathered the young man up in his arms. Although he was still too thin for a man his age and species, the young Spock was heavy. Loose-limbed and unresponsive as he was, it was taxing for the old Vulcan to lower him gently onto Jim's body. Once he lay prone across his Bondmate, they drew up Jim's legs for better access. He, too, was still emaciated, even more so than Spock. Ever since Tarsus, his metabolism wasn't very resilient.
Across the naked bodies of Jim and his Bondmate, Leonard met the elder Spock's dark eyes. Dark with desire. And with despair, Leonard thought. Incredibly human. For a moment words failed him. Then he shook himself. "If you lift Spock up a little, I can get them ... situated. Once you have induced the plak'tow joining, we should try to move them on their sides. Jim can't take that much weight on his lungs for long."
Again a wordless nod. The old Vulcan gripped his younger self's hips and drew his body a few inches downward and upward.
"Perfect," Leonard said softly.
The angle was good, the position ideal. He tried not to think of why the elder Spock knew those intimate details on such an instinctive level. And he could not bear to think of Jim Kirk as dead. Not in the old man's universe, not in this universe. Instead, he focused on his purpose. Jumpstart the Bond. Help them fuck so they can heal. He knew Jim's and Spock's body well, but only as a physician and a surgeon. Grasping Spock's penis and guiding it towards Jim's ass felt damn strange. Too erotic for his peace of mind. Spock was hot in his hand and pulsed with need, just like Jim. He had no idea how much of that need was Vulcan mind voodoo and how much was just the fact that those two were always, always horny as fuck for each other. Somehow that thought helped, though.
Maybe it was just his imagination, but when he had Spock aligned to nudge Jim's anus, he thought he heard or felt a sigh from his best friend. He took another deep breath. His hands were shaking, the left spreading Jim's ass wide open, the right holding Spock in place.
"Now."
At Leonard's command, the elder Spock moved. He held the hips of his younger self in place. Protectively, he leaned over his back, until he almost nuzzled his neck. Then the old Vulcan pushed down, thrust against Spock's ass with a groan, and Leonard felt how Spock slid into Jim. And this time there was no doubt: Jim sighed. A ragged, vulnerable sound. When Leonard turned to look at Jim's face, he was not surprised to see tears streaking his cheeks.
Leonard drew back, as carefully as he could. He discarded the surgical gloves. Somehow he managed to get to his feet and to walk around the bed to the side where the elder Spock had collapsed, rolling off his younger self's back in an awkward slump.
The next step was for the elder Spock to meld with his younger self and induce the knotting typical for the stage of plak'tow during pon farr. When that had been accomplished, Spock would join with Leonard in order to meld Jim and his Spock. If this strategy worked, the parallel meld would stabilize an intimate mental connection between Jim and his Spock that might allow them to heal their Bond.
For the time being, Leonard hovered behind the old Vulcan, watching and worrying. Laboriously, the elder Spock pushed himself upright. Then he crawled awkwardly toward the head of the bed and knelt next to Jim's Spock. His fingers were trembling, and he closed his eyes for this meld, shutting out Leonard and the view of Jim's and Spock's naked, entwined bodies. At first the renewed meld with the young Vulcan didn't seem to have any effect.
But then Leonard noticed a verdant flush that slowly suffused the young Spock's face, and a fine trembling that gripped his whole body. And then he heard Jim's needy sigh, loud and clear. When the elder Spock relinquished the meld at last, he almost collapsed. Bloody Vulcan. Leonard should have known that if Spock described the effects of the fractured Bond as draining what he really meant was debilitating. He hurried to the old man's side and helped him to sit up, once more disregarding all Vulcan propriety. For long minutes he just held the elder Spock in his arms. He experienced the strangest sense of déjà vu. As if he had held him like that before, and perhaps even more intimately than that – never mind that he knew for sure he had never touched the Ambassador before this very day. He couldn't help wondering which part his counterpart had played in that other universe. Then he shook himself. This was neither the time nor the place for such speculations.
"Now I will meld with you," the elder Spock explained the next steps of the intervention with quiet, precise words. "You will be my conduit to Jim, and an anchor so I will not lose myself within the meld. Additionally, our linked minds will support their connection until their link is strong enough to keep them joined on their own."
Fear flooded Leonard. There still was nothing that terrified him more than this: to lose his mind, to lose himself. To expose all that he was (all that he could never be again), everything he had done (everything he would do again) to another's scrutiny.
His heart was pounding with panic, but he whispered, "Everything I can do. Everything."
The elder Spock's eyes were suspiciously bright, and Leonard's own eyes were burning. Then the old man inhaled deeply and rose to his feet. Working in tandem, they maneuvered Jim and Spock onto their sides, propping them up with cushions and pillows. When the two men were positioned as comfortable as possible, Leonard drew a low padded bench next to the head of the bed.
Leonard sat down on the bench next to Jim's head, folding himself into an awkward cross-legged position. He would have preferred to kneel, but he hoped this position would offer more stability so he wouldn't keel over. He must not break the meld.
He wondered if it would help to close his eyes. But before he could decide whether or not to shut his eyes, the elder Spock reached for him. His fingers were very warm and dry and strangely soft. And so was the meld he pulled Leonard into – he almost didn't notice how it happened. One second he was staring at Jim and Spock, as they lay together, trembling in each other's arms. The next he was ... still there, yet not.
He had done this before, not just a meld in the line of duty, to convey information or facilitate communication, but a personal, intimate meld. Spock and Jim had melded with him once because he wanted to know what it was like. He would never forget that – the blinding intensity of their passion, that bonfire in their minds. He still wasn't quite sure mere mortals were supposed to have such feelings. (On the other hand, the presence of the elder Spock in this universe might indicate that they never were mere mortals to start with.)
This meld was different. It reminded him of his childhood and the fireplace in the old farmhouse that belonged to his grandparents. A crackling fire on a winter's day. A warm hug. The smell of pecan pie baking in the oven. Hot apple cider in chipped mugs. And a memory of Jim and himself that never happened in this universe. A tent and a camp fire and roasted marshmallows. Gentle jokes and overpowering grief. Well. That, at least, was not new.
From far away he heard Spock's ancient voice. "Now I will place your hand on Jim's face and extend the meld to his mind. Do not remove your hand until I tell you. I will attempt to shield you from any emotional transference."
He watched as Spock clasped his hand and positioned his fingers carefully on Jim's meld points. Jim's skin was smooth like a baby's butt. Leonard had shaved him this morning because Jim never liked the itchy feeling of stubble. He'd even put some lotion with a spicy, Vulcan scent on him because his skin was so sensitive. He could feel Jim's pulse pounding in his temple, and the ragged breathing of arousal. Apart from that, nothing.
Spock switched hands. Slowly, carefully, so the contact skin to skin – mind to mind – was never broken. Leonard's right hand rested on Jim's face. The elder Spock's right hand cradled his left cheek. "And now I will draw my counterpart into the meld." The old man reached out again, placed his left hand upon the left side of his younger self's face and closed the circle.
For a time, Leonard was only aware of his own heartbeat, thudding in his neck, his throat tight enough to choke. When nothing happened, he finally took a deep breath. Such a surreal situation. He watched dust motes floating in the light that flooded through the narrow windows. He listened to the effervescent rush of the waves. Now and again a high-pitched scream pierced the sounds of the surf. Apparently, those semi-dinosaurs were not mute after all. Under his fingertips he felt Jim shuddering sweetly as Spock throbbed inside his body with that subtle, relentless rhythm Leonard remembered from when he watched their Bonding years ago.
When nothing else happened, his thoughts started to drift, and thankfully his erection subsided. Whatever was going on in Jim's and Spock's minds, the old Vulcan was shielding him. But before worry or worse boredom could take over, he noticed how the old man's hand was beginning to tremble. Not the hand on young Spock's face. Only the fingers that ever so gently touched his own face.
It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. "For God's sake, stop shielding me," Leonard snarled. "Don't waste your energy on me."
When the old Vulcan only drew a labored breath instead of answering, he knew he was right. "Stop shielding me," he ordered. "Stop, damn you, you stubborn, stupid hobgoblin."
Without warning, he was plunged into an inferno. To his mother's eternal disappointment, he had never bought into concepts of hell and damnation. Now he may have to rethink that attitude. He couldn't draw enough breath to scream as arousal and agony overwhelmed him in equal measure. He couldn't make a sound, couldn't move. But when he thought he would break apart or burst into fire, all sense of self shattering in this turmoil of need, cool, silver light enfolded him. It was both less and more than an embrace – touching, yet not touching. And this, this subtle contact was too much for him to hold. The emotions may be human. Their intensity was not. He gasped for breath, and then he came, exploding into an orgasm that was more pain than pleasure.
When Leonard opened his eyes, he found himself back on that low bench next to the bed, slumped sideways, and cradled in the older Spock's arms. The damp fabric of his briefs chafed, but he ignored his discomfort, staring at Spock and Jim instead. Something was different. But what? Then it hit him. They had moved. Not much. Just enough to press their foreheads together. And their eyes were closed now. Leonard could hear them breathing, that light, delicious panting in the aftermath of climax.
Somehow he managed to speak. "What the hell ...?"
"Emotional transference is a common side-effect of mind melds," replied the elder Spock, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. "In this case I believe it served as a catalyst to effect—"
Before Leonard could stop himself, he turned around and cupped the old Vulcan's face in his hands. Then he kissed Spock, those trembling, soft lips, and he pulled the old man into his arms, and it wasn't chaste and wasn't sexual, and it was relief more than desire, but they clung together as if they were drowning. And really, that wasn't far off the mark.
xXx
On the bed, Jim opened his eyes. He wondered how long he'd been out of it this time. His brain felt fuzzy. Some memories seemed to be missing, or maybe they were just misplaced. But it didn't matter. Because he was here. He was alive. And Spock was here, too. Inside his mind, inside his body. Jim's stomach was sticky with spilled semen. He shuddered, still awash with the bliss of release. Jim lifted his hand. He was shaking with the effort, muscles seizing up. Wow, the last time he felt this weak was after he died in the warp core chamber. Okay, so whatever had happened was bad. Like real bad. And he had no fucking clue how he got from real bad to having sex, but hey? He didn't mind one little bit. In fact, this had to be the best way ever to come back to the living. He reached out and touched Spock's face with trembling fingers. Moving his lips was way harder than it should be. He almost didn't recognize his own voice. It was too soft, the syllables slurring together.
"Hey, sweetheart ..."
Spock's eyes were feverish bright, unfocused. He was beyond words or memories. As if he was in pon farr – only he wasn't. Whatever this was, it was a far, far gentler thing. Once more Spock throbbed within his body, a soft, pulsing sensation that made Jim gasp with need all over again. When Spock released the knot and withdrew from Jim's body, his face contorted with the pain of separation. Still he made no sound, offered no sign of recognition. A sunbeam filtered through a window behind Jim's back and illuminated Spock's face. For a moment, golden stars glittered in his dark eyes. Jim's breath hitched: Spock smiled.When the Vulcan exhaled, the sound was more than a sigh. He may not remember his own name. He may not remember Golic or Klingon or Standard. But he remembered one word:
"Jim."
xX Kaiidth Xx
xXx
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