Spock could taste the air as they strode forward into the featureless nothing around them. The sounds of flesh surrounded them, yet provided no direction or sense of space.
Spock could taste the air, and realized as he maintained pace alongside his friend and captain - and what more, now? - realized that he could hear and smell beyond the norm as well. Faint but unmistakable his nose was teased by the heady, masculine odor of Kirk, a mixture of aftershave and combat and defiance. After a brief puzzle he realized that the faint rasping sound in time with their steps was nothing more than the slide of their uniforms over taut muscles, skin held tight by the tension of the moment.
"My senses have been affected by this place" Spock said, stating the fact without judgement. "I wonder to what extent I can trust them."
Suddenly now, at a pace that seemed to defy their measured strides, they approached a figure looming in the mist. The sharp scent of worked leather assaulted them, mixed with a faint undertone of nickel plate. "Careful" breathed Kirk, the faintest whisper sharp as a shout in Spock's peaked ears. Kirk reached back with one hand to still Spock, the texture of the fabric impossibly nuanced beneath his palm, the smooth textile sending thrills throughout his nervous system. With his other hand he reached tentatively forward, as if to touch the air itself.
The shape seemed to draw nearer still, although they had stopped moving and surely it was merely the mist clearing. The shape became clear, humanoid bodies held rigid in the perfect shape of a cube, bound with leather and buckles and all the while straining to escape and to reach each other. The air was filled with moist sounds and moans of indeterminate disposition, and yet the words came through clearly as Kirk intoned "by God...", his voice hanging leaden in air thick with scent.
"We can not help them yet; not until we understand this place." advised Spock, steadying Kirk with his own hand. The seam of the velour tunic felt like a mountain range under his hand, the texture impossibly lush, and he trailed his fingers down Kirks shoulder and the fabric felt more real than the bare skin ever had. "I don't trust my senses..." his voiced trailed off, uncertain.
"Here" said Kirk, leading despite his own muddled sense of reality, carrying them forward with determination that was no longer backed by a grounded universe. Ahead a dodecahedron loomed tall, the tang of metal sharp on their tongues, and chains both rattled loosely and creaked under impossible tension.
The fabric between Kirk's thighs rasped loudly in Spock's ears as they moved forward, and he could taste their future in the air.