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Chapter 1. Dishonorable Discharge
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A shuttle diagnostic is always a good place to start.
So Spock Prime had told him. The old man was an unrepentant pest when it came to sex with Nyota. Since he hadn't ever gotten any from his own Uhura, he was determined that he, Spock, would get some from his.
He would have to get a new name for his counterpart or his mind would split in two every time he thought about his own penis.
To make the longest seduction in history short, Spock and Nyota had wanted each other for a long, long time and only when they believed he was leaving the Enterprise to die did they kiss. He supposed it was logical, since he had been her instructor and it really was not appropriate. But then propriety did not seem to matter much, did it, when it came down to publicly displaying their affection, on duty, on the transporter pad, in front of the acting Captain and everyone?
Spock Prime made him so agitated he could not control such bitter thoughts.
The startling, mind-blowing truth was that he loved Nyota, and that her logical and controlled behavior for three years--during which, had she been any other girl, he could have been receiving blow jobs under his desk--was a big part of what he admired about her.
He planted his face in both hands. He had to get her in his arms for more than the chaste kisses and loving declarations they'd made during the attack of Vulcan and in these few weeks following. The burning was turning him into a jerk.
She was being too gentle with him, waiting for him to comprehend his grief, let alone begin the lifelong process of living with it. He realized it stemmed from her deep love for him. But he wanted to fucking fuck her already. In desperation and total aggravation, and against all better judgment, he took Prime's advice and asked Nyota to join him in completing a shuttle diagnostic.
"It is a fully seal-able, sound proof environment, which affords various horizontal and vertical surfaces," his older self had told him.
He found the concept itself--and the reality that Spock Prime had first-hand experience in testing it --fascinating. In point of fact, the idea of Nyota up against a shuttle wall, pinned in a shuttle chair, splayed over a console, was so fascinating, it had gnawed at Spock ever since.
He now found himself in his shower, thinking about it some more. They were scheduled for the diagnostic too much later in the day, and he could not wait.
As hot water coursed over his down-turned head and broad shoulders, he watched his erection grow with a familiar exasperation. He closed his eyes, and Nyota was ducking under the shuttle hatch, coming to find him. He imagined her eyes, her lashes sweeping delicately, just touching her skin, he imagined her mouth. She was licking her bottom lip with her tiny, pink tongue.
He felt his hard cock in his hand and began to stroke it, at a pace so slow he could conceivably die of starvation before finishing. But he knew how these things tended to go. It would be a brief incident once he got going. He squeezed himself, with an amount of pressure he had learned--over the preceding weeks--was most effective, then while holding himself firmly he moved just his thumb in long obtuse-angled arcs. That always felt good.
As he thought about her sparkling lips opening just for him, he suddenly had an abrupt and horrifying vision of Spock Prime's face as he told him about shuttles, a wicked gleam in the old man's eyes. Fuck! He forced him out of his mind, recalling Nyota's scent, so maddening and delicious. His hand moved faster now, stroking the length of his penis as it became harder and the sensations throughout his body became more insistent. He heard Prime's voice say "You really should try it," and he cursed in anger at the man's intrusion during this critical time. He began to pump his fist, the head of his wet cock protruding each time his hand reached his pubic bone.
His mind's eye returned to Nyota, and he pictured her lifting her skirt to show him her thigh, thought of how his view of her thighs would no longer be limited to the too-narrow band between her skirt hem and the tops of her boots. He pictured her hands spreading her own bare thighs for him, bringing him to the very peak of ecstasy and moment of release, and as he came he pictured her sliding her tongue into Spock Prime's mouth. He roared with rage as he sprayed hot semen all over the shower wall. He was so angry at his mind's treachery, he hauled off and slammed his fist into the wall. The tiles cracked, and a trickle of green blood was washed down with his semen.
The sight of it made him crazy. He punched the shower wall again, and then, as if the shower were Jim Kirk himself, he hit and attacked it with every martial art technique known to him and accessible by his brain at the moment. He shattered every tile, then moved on to ripping out the showerhead, mangling it in one fluid motion, and tossing it on the bathroom floor. He also ripped out the hot and cold faucets simultaneously and dashed them onto the floor, where they cracked the very surface. He kicked them savagely and managed to make a large, ugly dent in the toilet.
Finally, he began to calm down. But he was still panting and somewhat crazed as he surveyed his surroundings. He had dispatched with the shower efficiently, and with the full strength of a young, strapping Vulcan.
Damn right.
He would have to call maintenance.
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