Age 15
"You're a great one for logic. I'm a great one for rushing in where angels fear to tread. We are both extremists. Reality is probably somewhere in between." Jim Kirk, "The Undiscovered Country"
Breasts were a natural wonder of the universe. Truly, they were, all squishy and inviting, if they could speak they would say 'touch me, I'm so soft'. Jim was absolutely certain nothing in the world could compare to them… except, perhaps, the male penis, for which Jim also carried a certain fondness.
Jim was certain his own was a work of art. It really was. Michelangelo's David had nothing on him.
His love of erogenous zones on both male and female forms aside, Sally Forthead was sitting in front of him, sans shirt, and Jim felt as if he'd died and gone to heaven. Horndog heaven, a heaven made specially for fifteen-year-old boys with more than their fair share of hormones.
Jim knew he had an abundance of hormones because he pretty much thought about sex all the time. In gym class (wrestling was a sport invented so one could touch, thrust, grab and hold, all in a public location), in math class (the square root of 49? Hot, baby) and even in chess club (Jim didn't care what anyone said, those pieces were phallic, they really were). And also because Spock, who had no hormones at all, had told him so.
The last time he visited Spock he had tried, and really hard at that, to get in Spock's pants, but the thing was that his supposed 'bondmate' could out-statue a statue. Jim was a romantic at heart, and no matter how many times Spock gave him 'I resent your presence in my life, get away from me' vibes he continually tried to give this 'destiny' thing of theirs another shot. If he'd had a say in the matter, he and Spock would have lost their virginities to each other, and Spock would have loved it.
Yet Spock always put him off. Always. He had thought, perhaps, after the Tarsus-recovery-thing, that he and Spock had had a breakthrough, relationship-wise, but no. It was as if the guy inherited absolutely none of his human mother's imagination. Oh well, it was his loss. Jim wasn't going to die a celibate old man, no sir. If Spock wasn't going to give him any, then there were others who were ready and willing. Sally had been chasing him for ages. Hell, she'd practically thrown herself at him and Jim wasn't going to let the chance to get rid of this pesky virginity thing of his go.
Sam had been sixteen when he had lost his. Jim knew this because he'd caught Sam at it. The numb-nut had been uncreative enough to bring the girl home and use the old barn on the Kirk family property... the very barn Jim loved to visit with a good book, so he could curl up on the hay laden loft, with an icy cold soda resting temptingly at his side. Neither Sally nor any of his classmates knew this about him (Spock did, but he didn't care), but books? Best escape ever. He was a closet nerd, he embraced it. That particular day Jim had received an education beyond the one offered in "Lady Chatterley's Lover", which he had been reading, from his secret vantage point above.
And now Jim was going to beat Sam's record by a year. And in a location far more creative than a dirty barn floor, oh yes, Jim was doing it in style, in a car. Over achiever? Why yes, yes he was.
But then the weirdest thing started to happen. Virtually the moment he stepped into the car, a small headache manifested. By the time he was tentatively reaching for those breasts, it had grown into something impossible to ignore. So then he backed off of Sally, and the headache started to recede. He'd reach for Sally again, and it would come back. And each time it only grew, and grew, and grew, until Jim was in so much pain that he was pretty much put off sex. Maybe for life.
What was up with this? Did hormones cause this? He'd never gotten headaches whenever he had beaten himself off (which, okay, had only started happening in the past year or so). Nor did Sam look particularly overcome with agony when he had done it. What was the deal, here?
As embarrassing as the situation was, Jim had had to resort to faking an allergic reaction to the pizza he and Sally had eaten not half an hour before (allergic reactions were something Jim was sort of an expert on) and have Sally drive him home, virginity still annoyingly intact.
The entire situation was pretty much the most embarrassing moment ever, even topping the time he had 'tripped' and spilled Plomeek soup all over Mr. Sarek's robes (that was his story and he was sticking to it, even if he suspected that Spock, walled off against their bond though he was, was totally on to him) and the Ambassador had 'logically' lectured him in front of everybody on the need to slow down and walk with deliberation.
Research on the web provided no further insight, especially since Jim was distinctly not a menopausal woman (the only other creature, animal, vegetable or mineral, to get headaches from a hormone fluctuation).
As much as he was loath to do it, he only had one option left available to him… he had to go ask Sam.
Finding his older brother lounging on their living room couch was easy. Blurting out his embarrassment? Not so much.
"Sam, do you get agonizing headaches just before sex? Is that normal?" If Jim's cheeks were red after voicing these questions, he didn't want to know it.
Sam merely looked at him, blinked, and then burst out laughing, for a good solid five minutes.
Clearly brotherly solidarity left a lot to be desired in the Kirk home.
When Sam had finally calmed down, and retained enough breath to speak, he voiced the one questioned that Jim had not considered. "Did you not think to wonder if the headache had something to do with your bond? Maybe bonded people aren't meant to have sex outside marriage. Some sort of glorified Vulcan chastity belt. How precious is that? Good God, Jim, this is too awesome for words. I gotta comm Mom. Hey, you wouldn't mind if I told Uncle Jack this, too, would you?"
And then Sam resumed his laughter. But at that point Jim no longer cared. Well, he cared, but figured he would just get Sam back later. And he most definitely would. His brother would pay like no other. His more immediate concern, however, was that he had a bondmate to kill.
Jim wondered if Spock had to actually practice at being the most annoying bondmate in existence, ever, or if it just came naturally for him.
Whatever romantic notions Jim might have had when he was young and naive (at fifteen he was practically a man) about finding your soulmate, that one person in the universe perfect for you, who made you breakfast in bed, knew intuitively when you needed a massage, and gave you sex whenever you wanted it, Spock had long since disabused him of any such notions. Well, occasionally, once in a great while, he and Spock would have a 'moment', a brief stretch of time where they would seemingly get each other, or they'd express an idea at the same time, or even share a joke, albeit an understated one, but these moments were becoming increasingly rare and Spock would always selectively forget about them the next minute.
Lady Amanda had once explained to them that their bond was extraordinary, rare even among the telepathic Vulcans. That such a spontaneous link was a coveted prize to be cherished. T'hy'la: friend, brother, lover. On paper it sounded absolutely fabulous. If Jim were new to the whole gig he'd probably be asking where to fucking sign. But as much as Jim loved and adored the Lady Amanda, and he did, he had come to the conclusion that she clearly had her facts wrong.
There were times when Jim wondered if Spock even liked him, let alone felt friendship, brotherhood, or love for him. When Jim had visited Vulcan he had tried to joke around with Spock, like he did his other buddies, tried to engage him in conversation, and for all his attempts all he would get was a raised eyebrow. Jim had come up with a theory, about six months prior, that Spock didn't appreciate his human half too much, and had long since equated Jim with that side of him. Which, fine, whatever. He'd seen the kids Spock had grown up with, a part of him couldn't even blame Spock for his existential crises. He'd probably have grown up all kinds of messed up, too, if he'd had to deal with those assholes.
In a way, Jim had his own existential crises to deal with… Spock should try growing up the son of a fallen hero, one who had died so that you might live, and everyone and their brother/cousins/uncles/nosy neighbors compared you with; see how he handled that.
But, whatever, if his bondmate didn't want him, what was so wrong about trying to find someone who did? It wasn't as if he was trying to find another soulmate. He was fifteen. What he needed was a good lay. Was that really too much to ask?
When Spock's image came up on Jim's computer monitor, after Jim had dialed him up, Jim didn't waste time with small talk. Bondmate or no bondmate, Spock was a cock-blocking son of a … really nice woman. 'Twas a shame about her son's unfortunate disposition.
"You owe me so much you don't even know… Here I was, ready to get some. She was naked, Spock, and right in front of me. Mine for the taking. And what should happen? What? I'll tell you what, a fucking whopper of a migraine, that's what! Why do you hate me?"
Spock's eyebrow raised. And, God, Jim never knew an eyebrow could be so fucking annoying. If Spock didn't stop it, Jim was going to glue his eyebrow like that permanently the next time he saw the bastard, he really, really was.
"I do not hate you. It is the nature of the bond to prevent dalliances from occurring. The solution is simple… learn impulse control. A difficult concept for you, I am certain, but I am sure, with time, you can learn to overcome your animalistic desires."
Animalistic desires? Oh Jesus fucking Christ! The universe, in its infinite wisdom, had somehow decided that Jim Kirk was the perfect match to a being who thought of sex as an animalistic desire? Clearly the entirety of his life was the butt of a cosmic fucking joke.
"Hey, Spock, got news for ya, pal. How are little Vulcans made?" Jim snorted, hoping that conveyed the sheer magnitude of his annoyance if his words did not. "That's right, through sex, asshole. So don't get all high and mighty on me. Our anatomies aren't that different. You're bipedal, I'm bipedal. You're a mammal, I'm a mammal. We both have fucking dicks. I'd like to use mine. Make it happen."
When Spock didn't immediately reply, Jim continued to try and drive the point home. Sure, he didn't really give Spock much opportunity to get a word in edgewise, but Jim was very passionate about this particular subject.
"Do you know what being a fifteen-year-old human male is like? Well, let me explain it to you. We see corn growing, we want sex. We see a cloud in the sky, we want sex. A tree falls in a forest with no one around to hear it… we still want sex. Moral of this little tirade? Adolescent human males want sex, a lot. It's biology, man. This bond of ours is trying to squelch a natural, biological drive and that's just mean."
And because Jim was a total masochist, he accepted this about himself, he added, "If you don't want me to have it with anyone else, I'm right here, waiting, buddy, come and get me."
A small part of him couldn't help but hope that Spock would finally, finally, show some interest but once again his proclamation was met with silence. Jim would scarcely admit to it, but it fucking hurt, even though he had predicted this reaction.
"You are aware that such action would be impossible at this time?" Spock responded at last, eyebrow still raised. "I am currently studying for my entrance exams for the Vulcan Science Academy. You are also in the middle of a school semester. Your mother told mine that in addition to your primary educational requirements, you are also taking university courses in history and literature. Are your academic pursuits not enough for you at this time? If that is the case I suggest you acquire more course work."
Jim snorted once more. And included an eye-roll this time, for effect.
"Spock, ever hear of multi-tasking? Try it sometime. Lucky for me I am capable of thinking of sex AND history at the same time. Hey, you know what? It is scientifically verifiable that people in history had sex…" and if that came out blatantly sarcastic, Jim felt he could be excused. His patience was entirely worn.
"Indeed," Spock replied, and though Jim thought he could be imagining it, the corners of Spock's mouth twisted a little, as if he were visibly fighting back a grin. Well, wonders never ceased, maybe Spock had a sense of humor in him after all. It was all so shocking. "But since I, myself, have not partaken in such carnal urges, I am unfamiliar with which areas of the bond I would need to dampen so that you may… 'sow your wild oats', I believe you humans call it? I'm afraid that I cannot assist you at this time."
Right, so there had been a second there when Jim was thinking that maybe Spock was alright, but then Spock had to go immediately kill such a concept. Typical. Totally par for the course. Somebody should just shoot Jim and put him out of his misery.
Jim didn't even bother to say goodbye to his 'soulmate' as he cut their call. The Vulcan truly was evil.
But even as he lamented his fate, his brain was busy churning out ideas. Spock didn't experience 'carnal urges'? Was unfamiliar with the concept? A bond worked two fucking ways. So did cock-blocking.
There were many reasons having a parent in Starfleet was awesome, access to xenobiology works being one of them. Over the next few days, Jim read everything he could get his hands on regarding telepathic bonds. Spock had long since learned to block their bond, but Jim was certain that that didn't preclude messing around with him some way, if even just a little. There had to be some other way of knocking on the door to Spock's mind.
And so, one night not too long after their distressing conversation, research firmly under his belt, alone in his bedroom, revenge in mind and dick in hand, Jim set out to do just that.
He meditated slowly, took deep breaths, and reached out with his mind, following the thread of a bond he'd been aware of being there since before he was old enough to understand what it was. Once at the doorway to Spock's mind, it took quick work to discover that the visual and memory centers of Spock's side of the bond were firmly closed off, as Jim had suspected they would be. The pleasure centers, however, were not.
Excellent.
Jim caressed those parts of Spock with his own mind, watched as they vibrated and hummed beneath his touch, then grabbed them mentally as he grabbed himself physically. And then he let go, let the testosterone and adrenaline in his system build and build. He felt a sea of ecstasy crash over him and then, on the cusp of orgasm, he stopped.
Oh, it wasn't easy to do. In fact, it fucking hurt. The blue balls he was experiencing just then would probably kill a lesser man. But, well, needs must. Jim could be just as stubborn as Spock.
He pulled himself out of his bondmate's mind, and when that was done, he smiled.
Score one for the human.
Minutes later he received a comm, as he had suspected he would.
"You've made your point," an immensely irritated Spock told him (Jim knew he was irritated because his dark eyes flashed and his eyebrows were lowered). "I will, of course, be blocking this aspect of our bond in addition to the others to prevent further such occurrences. Good evening, Jim."
And just like that, he was gone.
For a few minutes Jim simply sat there, kind of shell-shocked.
He should be feeling triumphant. He had won. He had made his point. Hooray! But in actuality, his victory felt kind of hollow, and left him shockingly depressed.
Having a soulmate actually kind of sucked. It was also confusing as hell.