Archive of Our Own

“I must say that killing kings whets my morning appetite more than anything in this world,” Kirk said with a bright smile as he lifted his linked hands above his head for a languid, rib-cracking stretch.

The once-King Abhlach Aed of Orion stood on the grassless cliff’s edge with a quivering shortsword clutched in both hands, while his face flushed near purple with strain and fury.

Such poor form. This would be like battling an aimless, old sheep.

Well, orders were orders – and Kirk had never been fond of Old Aed with his roaming black eyes and sagging potbelly. Whatever Gaila saw in him was beyond Kirk’s vision. He was simply resolved to the odd taste of Orions and abandoned the matter there.

When it was clear that Kirk’s near-blubbering prey was coming loose at the seams, Kirk drew his longsword and gave it a few idle loops and swings. His muscles reacted to the weight, sung in tune with steel, as he meandered towards Abhlach as if merely taking a morning stroll along the cliffs.

“Do you wish to remain silent and snivelling, or are there any Gods whom you pray will hear your dying squeals?”

“More than anyone, it is you who would be wise to beg at the feet of every God willing to listen,” Abhlach spat, his sallow green face perspiring despite the cool morning air. He warily circled Kirk, keeping well out of fatal range – or, what the poor fool assumed was a safe berth. “I may have fucked a willing servant girl or two, but you – you are a murderer the likes of which I have never seen.”

Kirk barked a short laugh. “You should’ve presented your flattery before I’d decided to kill you, old man.”

“I will bathe in your blood!” Abhlach charged forward, all clumsy footwork and bared teeth and reckless stabs of sword.

“Better men haven’t had the privilege,” Kirk murmured as he side-stepped the barrelling Orion, spun on his heel, and swung out with his glimmering blade.

The sickening squelch of Kirk’s weapon chopping through thick neck fat and muscle and spinal cord was not the sound of victory or satisfaction. It was the sound of a mission completed – it was the sound of Kirk’s loyalty to Orion.

Perhaps his smirk didn’t fade as he wiped the purple blood off his sword and sheathed it, then proceeded to pick up King Abhlach Aed’s severed head from the dirt. But James Kirk was just a man, and he did so enjoy doing his duty.

Kirk abandoned the scarlet-soaked cliff edge with a spring to his step and a head bobbing against his bare thigh. Blood pattered and spattered in a trail behind him as he worked his way up the side of the steep, crumbling hill. Deep in Kirk’s gut, a low rumble sounded.

But Gods, had he worked up an appetite!

“By the look on your face, I feel as if the head of your third husband won’t cheer you.”

Gaila looked up sharply from a crisp scroll, her normally amiable expression set in a deep frown.

The fact that she did not speak a single word had Kirk heaving a sigh as he carelessly tossed Abhlach’s head to the floor, where it rolled and squelched to Galia’s feet. Her gold-braided toe rings glinted dully in the smoky stone hut, and reminded Kirk that he needed to speak with the craftsman about a thin gold headband for Kailan’s birthday.

“What news?” Kirk said as he remained leaning in the doorway.

“It seems as though the knife-ears have caught wind of Kailan’s inheritance upon my death.”

“And so?”

Gaila rolled her eyes and dropped the scroll to her feet, where the pulpy parchment began to soak up the dark, congealing blood of what was once Abhlach.

“So they’ve got their ugly, double-ridged cocks in a knot over it.”

Kirk didn’t bother to repress the shiver that struck him at the words. Gaila had a mouth like a seasoned soldier, and it made even him wince.

“Why? It’s not as if any of them have the balls to come up and claim Orion’s strongest tribe.”

“Apparently someone does.” Gaila pouted as she slouched back in her chair and crossed her long legs. Climber’s legs, dancer’s legs – shapely and thick of calf and thigh.

“Who?”

Gaila shrugged, looking unconcerned with the ‘who’ of the matter. “It appears that some fool assumed that once I’d fallen on my sword one of them would claim the seat.”

The notion was so ludicrous that Kirk could do nothing but laugh incredulously. It was one thing for Vulcans to claim some hold over Orion where they technically had none – it was more like a symbolic marriage where no one fucked and had babies. But it was another thing altogether to send a heartless knife-ear across Surak’s Wall to fumble with, and inevitably destroy, the Orions.

Kirk knew what Vulcans did to tribes – to people who weren’t their own.

But that went without saying. The acknowledgement of their situation already hung in the air like the acrid stench of burnt blood and bodies. So he laughed instead.

“My thoughts exactly,” Gaila said with a thin smile.

“And yet you look troubled.”

“Trouble will come of this,” was all Gaila said as she looked down and stroked her fingertip over a thick, minty scar that stretched across her bare thigh.

Kirk grinned. “I’ve missed trouble.”

Gaila raised her gaze, her eyes sparkling dark as blue midnight. Her full lips curved. “As have I.”

“Shall I send for the scribe?”

“Oh no.” Gaila waved him off, looking considerably relieved just for having spoken to Kirk. “They’re not worth the reply.”

Kirk chuckled and shook his head. “And this is why I love you.”

“This is why everyone loves me.”

This was true. The people loved Gaila, Queen of the Scamallach – the cloud people. Even those not part of the tribe admired and feared her. Gaila’s will was iron and her spirit indomitable, with her humour as sharp as a blade and her heart as lively as a child’s.

And she could kill a man in a hundred different ways. That happened to add to her swelling reputation.

Gaila was not a negotiator, she was a warrior. Her mother and her mother’s mother had all guarded the mountain on which they lived – the women of the clouds. Unconquerable in more ways than one, for who could ever hold the clouds in their hands?

“Do you think we should put a guard on Kailan?” Gaila mused aloud with pursed lips.

“Kailan?” Kirk laughed. “Our daughter would have a blade in a man’s heart before he could take a second breath.”

Gaila nodded faintly, her eyes distant as she clearly moved onto other matters.

“Will that be all?” Kirk asked.

“What’s this sudden misplaced sense of propriety?” Gaila said with a smile. But she flicked her fingers dismissively. “Go. Go wrestle with some wolves or something. I dare say the villagers are beginning to think your bark is worse than your bite.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Kirk said with a mirrored expression of amusement. He nodded once to his Queen and backed out of the hut in search of his daughter.

“Good Gorn, are you doing a lady’s work?” Kirk said in his most incredulous tone.

Kailan looked up from her sewing with a scowl. A frizzy curl of dirty blonde hair flopped onto her face and she blew it away with a great huff.

“Be quiet old man, or I’ll stitch your mouth shut.”

“Not in the poor manner which you sew these boots, I hope!”

Kailan frowned down at the wolf hide she’d strung together with leather twine. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Not nearly tight enough,” Kirk said as he motioned for her to scoot over on the log. Villagers milled about their morning activities, with some older folk who knew Kirk from his wilder days pausing to glance and smile at a warrior and his scrappy progeny.

Kirk sat down and pointed to Kailan’s stitching.”You need to make it too tight, as it’ll stretch over time to suit your foot. The first week will be the most uncomfortable.”

“Why would anyone wear uncomfortable shoes?”

“Now I know you’re not a real woman,” Kirk said with a proud smile.

“You’re obnoxious – go away,” Kailan said as she got back to work, but a small smile ghosted over her lips.

“You may find this difficult to believe, but I did come for other reasons than to pester you.”

“Ulterior motives, Da?” Her eyes were all sky blue innocence and laughter. Her teeth flashed blinding white against the olive of her skin. “You? I would never have dreamed.”

“Obviously you are as witty as I am,” Kirk said with a wry smile that quickly faded. He flicked a glance around them, noting no one within earshot. He leaned in. “Listen.”

“Mmhmm.” Kailan wasn’t listening.

“Kailan.”

“What, what?” Kailan heaved a sigh as she plopped her hands on her lap and stared at him with all the impatience of a Kirk. “What?”

“You need to be aware of something.”

Kailan put on a petulant look and stared at him silently.

Gods, she was still just a girl. Kirk’s little girl. Sixteen was nothing – regardless of the fact that at sixteen Kirk had already been skipping from tribe to tribe, weaving in and out of mortal danger until he landed himself here. Until he found himself deeply enamoured with a cloud princess.

Even so – that was him. This was Kailan.

Kirk dropped his voice low. “The Vulcans desire a battle, and they want you as their primary casualty.”

Neither Kirk nor Gaila appreciated lies or fabrications or talking in circles, and so he put it true to his daughter. They were not a family of secrets.

Kailan raised her eyebrows, her electric eyes showing no spark of alarm. Kirk expected no less.

“And they told you this, did they?”

“In so many words.” Kirk shrugged, with one hand shifting to instinctively grip the hilt of his sword. “You’re Gaila’s heir. You’re the fiercest fighter of her three daughters – and the most intelligent, if I do say so,” Kirk added with a wink.

Kailan jerked a shoulder. “Let them come. I have no reason to fear a pack of rabid dignitaries and slave warriors. I’ll put them out of their misery.”

“Not unless I get to them first.”

Kirk’s words were spoken with levity, but the underlying stone beneath was unquestionable: He would protect his daughter to the death.

Kailan’s grin flashed quick and bright as he elbowed Kirk in the side. “Ooh, I tremble in my ill-sewn boots!”

***
Life continued on its course as if there were no indignant, angry Vulcans at the door. The cloudfolk hadn’t a clue what only Gaila, Kirk, and Kailan knew – and it would remain as such. It wasn’t the tribe’s business until Gaila made it their business.

Anyway, the Scamallach were busy working themselves into a frenzy over Kailan’s birthday celebration, which commenced on this very sunset. Preparations were well under way as everyone bustled around to prepare food, dust off their fine clothing, and even write new songs for the occasion.

Kailan took the attention with aplomb, as she ever did. A queen she was through and through – and perhaps in time, a better one than Gaila. Only years of experience and bloodshed would tell.

Kirk had spent the morning standing about, feeling useless as a babe. He was an excellent party-goer, storyteller, and entertainer, but Gaila’s guard really had no place in preparing for a celebration.

It was at times like this where Kirk felt that restlessness seep into his bones, and it made his joints ache like a damp, foggy night. Perhaps it was wanderlust – or bloodlust, too. Or not such strong terms, but there was still a desire for the old days of battle and blood and adventure.

Kirk was not an old man – he was still in his prime – but he had seen much, and experienced plenty of excitement and grief. Some days his nature called for him to dash off into the mountains, never to be seen again. Other days – most days – Kirk could not fathom leaving his only offspring behind to be raised by another.

It seemed as though Kirk was constantly torn in two directions – family and freedom. Most times the choice was simple: Kirk only had to look at his daughter and know. He’d lost his parents at nine, and he wouldn’t do the same to Kailan.

Then there were the hours when his deep scars pinched and groaned and pulled him towards the rolling and misty hills, into oblivion and beyond.

Kailan was sixteen tomorrow – and adult. Kirk was standing around being as useless as he had been for years now, because no one had been fool enough to attack the Scamallach on their high hill citadel in half a generation.

Was his time wasted here? Did anyone really need him anymore?

There had been a time when Kirk had been Kailan’s age, and he’d wandered into this murky glen on a whim. There had been skirmishes across all of Orion, and the Vulcans were coming. If one wished to live, Orions had to band together with other tribes for solidarity. That, or attempt to overrun other tribes to gain their strength by force.

The Scamallach had a settlement at the peak of one of Orion’s highest mountains, which floated past the mist and fog and stretched towards the Gods. Perhaps the tribe had survive so long because they’d lived somewhere between earth and heaven.

Or perhaps they’d survived because of Kirk. He had been a young, strapping lad who’d fallen for the pretty face of a cloud princess and thus committed himself to fighting at her side as they drove off greedy, plundering tribes. Kirk and Gaila had bonded over blood and gore – and when the dust had cleared and the adventures were gone, they’d been left with a deep friendship, a child, and no lust to speak of.

Kirk’s thoughts were interrupted by a shout that had him standing at attention before Gaila’s hut.

“What news?” Kirk demanded before the warrior could make his full approach.

“Riders,” came the breathless reply. “From the south. Vulcans, sir.”

“How many?”

“Four, near as I can tell.”

Kirk’s face went hard. “I’ll take care of this.”

“But sir –”

“Stay high, I’ll go earthside. That’s an order.”

Kirk didn’t pause to check if he’d been understood. He was already shimmying down the steep slope towards the base of the mountain. Civilian homes which had been dug long ago into the side of the decline flashed past Kirk as he clamoured down with the ease of a goat.

Their settlement had no worn-down paths, no ladders or stairs carved into the landscape. Every member of the tribe was an expert climber – they had to know every rock, nub, and indent of the mountain face if they wished to survive childhood. That was the life of the Scamallach.

Anyone who approached its base would be at a loss to reach the top – to reach the queen and her family. No one could make the climb but for the cloud-borne and the brave.

But before an intruder could reach the mountain, they would have to pass the ten foot stone wall that circled the entire base.

Kirk was sitting on the ledge of said wall, barely out of breath, as he watched the Vulcans make their final approach. A familiar thrill burned through his veins at the mere sight of the pointy-eared bastards. But Kirk quelled the fire – barely – and forced himself to calmly assess the situation.

They were dignitaries, all in those ridiculous robes and tunics; with one guard, from the look of his clunky armour. All of them so fucking ostentatious. Especially the one in the deep blue, nearly purple, robes. What a pity such a fine colour was spoiled on a waste of breath and bone.

So it goes.

Kirk sighed and waited for them to come some ten feet before the wall. The party lumbered forward on sehlats, which were the mighty, fanged, and slobbering creatures from across Orion’s Belt. Or, as Vulcan was attempting to rename it, the Vulcan Channel – fools.

“Tonk’peh,” Kirk greeted them informally, simply to be aggravating. He knew his Vulcan accent was atrocious, but it was Vulcan all the same. He’d claimed and killed enough Vulcan prisoners to learn the basic tongue. It left a sour taste on Kirk’s mouth, but came in handy on occasion.

The Vulcan leading the pack was the first to speak – Kirk had assumed he was the leader of the party. He had the largest sehlat, straightest back, and the most expressionless features. Again, it was a shame that such a fine face should be wasted on a Vulcan.

It would be unfortunate if Kirk had to kill him.

The handsome dignitary looked up and their eyes locked.

“I am S’chn T’gai Spock of Shi’Kahr, consul to Empress T’Pau. We request an audience with Queen Gaila of the Scamallach.”

“Do you?” Kirk said, unmoving.

Spock didn’t reply, he simply held Kirk’s stare levelly. A mountain-face held more character than this one.

Kirk shrugged and smiled as he leaned on his knees, looking down at the group. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

“Find someone who can,” the female in red said in a low, hard tone.

Spock flashed her a look that Jim would have guessed was annoyance, had it not been for the sheer blandness of it.

The second male dignitary spoke up – he was in plain blue robes and had an even plainer face. “Allow us to speak to her, lest we gain entry through more unsavoury methods.”

Kirk’s smile sharpened and his fingers itched to clench around his scabbard. “I know all about your methods. It’s with a heavy heart that I assure you we cannot come out to play.”

The unmistakable whir of a lirpa cutting through the air directed Kirk’s attention to the lone warrior at the back. The Vulcan’s face was green with fury, his eyes dark and livid as he held the weapon in both hands.

“You believe we are here to play, Human?”

“Sybok,” Spock snapped.

“What purpose could you possibly serve here?” Sybok continued. “What place does a mere Human have among Orions?”

“Sybok!” Spock’s voice took on a note of steel as it rang true and clear across the glen.

Sybok’s jaw clenched shut. Which was unfortunate, as Kirk would have liked to have seen his head on a spike. Perhaps he would yet if things continued in this manner.

“I apologise for my guard’s behaviour,” Spock said in a modulated tone that Kirk suspected could placate most people. Kirk was not most people.

“Do you?” Kirk said again. “A real man would apologise for himself. You can’t rely on your pretty face alone to quell the opposition, you know.”

Sybok laughed harshly, and Jim realised he probably would have respected his gall had they met under different circumstances. He was certainly unique.

Alas.

Kirk hopped down from the wall. A bitter sting sang through his legs with the landing, but the drop was fluid and practiced. Kirk stood tall again and marched up to the great, toothed maw of Spock’s sehlat. Kirk had yet to draw his sword. Thus far, he had not felt the need.

He met Spock’s gaze, and Kirk still felt confident despite Spock looming above him. A zing zipped down Kirk’s spine as he realised those eyes were less soulless black and more tarnished gold. Curious.

“You should leave now,” Kirk said with that unwavering smile.

“We would like to speak with Queen Gaila.”

Kirk ran his hand along the thick snout of the sehlat without fear. The beast snorted beneath his palm and nothing more. “Well I’m sure you’d like a lot of things, Spock, but we can’t all get what we want.”

Spock’s lips tightened. “I will not ask again.”

“Oh, I am glad for that.” Kirk turned on his heel and sent up a wave. “Until another day!”

That trademark swish of a lirpa slashing through the air came sudden and unexpected. By the time Kirk had swerved, whirled around, and unsheathed his longsword with a teeth-baring snarl, Sybok had dropped to his feet with an arrow protruding from the one soft spot between shoulder and neck. Green arcs of blood spurted into the air and spattered onto Kirk’s boots.

The arrow tipped with falcon feathers was unmistakable.

Kirk looked up and behind him, and was utterly unsurprised to see Gaila standing on the wall with her bow still taut and aimed. A new arrow was pulled tight, waiting. Her stance was wide, her full mouth firm, and her elbow-length hair fluttering behind her like a curtain of fire.

Her voice cut clear as a bell above the gasping, dying breaths of Sybok. “You wished to speak with me?”

Kirk closed his eyes for a moment and took a quiet breath. “Gaila –”

“Quiet,” she barked in Orion.

Kirk ground his teeth and returned his attention to Spock and the remainder of his party. He idly pointed his sword at Spock.

“That’s an Orion welcome,” Kirk said in Vulcan.

Spock didn’t appear particularly perturbed by Sybok’s slow, painful death. Maybe he thought Sybok deserved it. That would be interesting.

Spock ignored Kirk and addressed Gaila directly. “We do indeed wish for a few moments of your time. I would be grateful to you if you were amenable.”

Gaila’s eyes narrowed, her expression impenetrable from this distance.

“Come,” she said in Orion. And just like that, she was gone.

Kirk tried not to look annoyed as he glowered at the Vulcans. “Come in, then.”

Without a second glance, Kirk turned and strode away.

All of this bullshit, and on his daughter’s birthday as well.

Drums beat in an unrelenting tattoo, the thunder of music seeming to shake the mountain to its very foundation. The winds howled on this night, as if they too celebrated the birth of Kailan Kirk of the Scamallach – as well as took some pleasure in making some Vulcans extremely uncomfortable. It seemed that even the Gods did not welcome the knife-ears to Orion.

Good. Let them all feel inconsequential, as they’re surrounded by Orion drunks and dancers and merry-makers.

A fire built into a pyramid as tall as a grown man blazed and whipped in the wind, and it was Kailan who laughed and held her half-sisters hands as they danced around it. There was no care on her face for the Vulcans who sat huddled just outside the orange light of the fire.

They were probably sulking over how poorly the initial meeting with Gaila had gone, Kirk thought gleefully as he tore into a roasted leg of grouse. Kirk had looked on with a smug smirk as the two other dignitaries, known as Stonn and T’Pring, had pulled out a veritable pile of scrolls and suggested they discuss this heir issue, in order to put it to rest immediately.

Gaila hadn’t even acknowledged them. Her eyes had been for Spock – as had Kirk’s, if he was being honest. She’d said to Spock, I won’t desecrate the birth of my heir with such talk on this eve. Enjoy the celebration, Vulcan of Shi’Kahr – and wait patiently, as I understand you’re wont to do.

The meeting had concluded there. Afterwards, Kirk had been given the pleasure of monitoring the party’s first climb to the top of the mountain. The flattened peak in the clouds was where the celebration would ensue at sunset.

T’Pring had taken the climb without complaint, while Stonn had practically snarled at Kirk by the time they’d reached the top and he’d offered the Vulcan a hand up. Spock had remained at Kirk’s side, as if he hadn’t trusted Kirk climbing behind them. Kirk found it begrudgingly fascinating that Spock didn’t seem concerned with becoming dishevelled as he made his way to the top. Where T’Pring and Stonn took ages as they contemplated each step, Spock travelled straight and true without a care for wiping his dirty hand over his brow, or getting his clothes muddy.

Kirk wasn’t above admitting that he liked the look of the mussed Vulcan when they reached the settlement in the clouds. Of course, Kirk especially liked the look of a dead Vulcan – but he’d already gotten to see one today, so that was a bit of a bonus.

Now Spock and his crew were as impeccable as ever, as they each sat amidst the celebrations with their cups of ale. T’Pring looked generally offended, Stonn looked bored out of his skull, and Spock looked... it was hard to tell. Curious – interested, perhaps. There was something about his face and demeanour – something like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Kirk wondered just what lay beneath those garments.

Kirk swaggered over to Spock, his stride pronounced due to an old knee injury. He eclipsed the fire from Spock’s sight as he stood before him and peered down with a smirk.

“Tell me, knife-ear. Do Vulcans dance?”

Spock’s stare snapped up, his eyes reflecting embers.

“Is that an invitation or an insult?”

Kirk frowned as he made a show of consideration. The fact that Spock caught both edges of Kirk’s question lit a fire in his belly. Perhaps he could make something of this otherwise fruitless encounter. He’d never buggered a Vulcan before – it would be worth a try.

“Both.”

Spock’s angled eyebrow twitched as he calmly surveyed Kirk, who loomed above him. The drumbeats hastened and encircled them, swelling like a dare to dance. Someone’s jaunty flute joined in, but the notes were spinning and wheeling in an increasing pace that drove Kirk’s heart to beat too fast as he felt himself pinned beneath Spock’s gaze.

Kirk refused to shift in place. “Well?” he snapped. “Are all Vulcans so slow to make decisions?”

Spock stood in one graceful motion, his midnight robes moulding to his lithe form against another onslaught of wind.

“I would inquire if all Humans are so carelessly impatient, but I know the answer.”

The firelight flickered over Spock’s rigid features and licked at the outrageous curve of his top lip. Kirk narrowed his eyes against the ripple of warmth that flooded him from heart to toe. Yes, he would try to fuck this Vulcan. It could be an adventure, of sorts.

“If you’ve come to terms with our rash nature, then you won’t be surprised if I do this.”

Kirk grabbed Spock’s hand and yanked him into the whirling circle of dancing couples. He felt Spock’s resistance – saw it in the brief widening of eyes – then just like that, they fell into step. They mirrored each other’s stances like old lovers, one hand on each other’s hip, with their free palm cupped against the other’s as their fingers laced.

Spock took the lead in spinning them around the tower of flame. His cheeks flushed a green that was too soft to be Orion, and his eyes reflected not only the fire, but the heat that streaked through Kirk’s body.

Laughter and song encompassed them, paired with jubilant clapping to the beat and the stomp of boots to earth. Kirk and Spock twisted and turned around each other, their gazes entwined as surely as their fingers. Spock led the simple footwork, and Kirk knew the Vulcan’s dominance was causing a frown to mar his own features – and that was a small victory he didn’t want to allow Spock.

So Kirk plastered on a wide, toothy grin as he locked eyes with Spock and flung them into a spin that was too fast for the both of them. Kirk heard a young girl squeal with apparent glee at the movement, but Spock only quickened his pace to match Kirk’s. For each movement that Kirk stole, Spock kept up and added his own.

What Vulcan danced like this? The question must have shined in Kirk’s eyes, because Spock raised his eyebrows in what could only have been a smug smile. Kirk felt his jaw twitch as he purposely crushed their bodies together and drove them higher and faster. They spiralled and twisted to the staccato, overlapping music of voice and hand and drum and flute – until it halted with a single ringing note of finality.

Cheers and chatter echoed off the mountaintop as some folk embraced, while others dashed away for food and drink or to pull a new partner towards the fire.

Kirk and Spock remained ensnared in both their gaze and hands. Spock’s body was hard and unforgiving beneath the soft folds of his tunic – a warrior’s body more than a diplomat’s. Kirk’s breath huffed out shallow, and each time his chest expanded it touched Spock’s own. The Vulcan may as well have been wearing a breastplate beneath that linen.

It had been so long since Kirk had stood so close with someone of his own similar stature and build. Since he’d been with someone who wasn’t delicate and safe – and it hadn’t been since Gaila that anyone had pierced him through with such fearlessness. Spock might’ve been unaware of Kirk’s reputation up in these hills, but even so, the scars that mapped Kirk’s body into grooves of past gore and glory had to prove his might to anyone who noticed them.

A new jig began, something light and pretty and full of airy notes.

Spock stepped away, his eyes hard and unreadable. That was good – Kirk didn’t care to know how a Vulcan mind operated.

“You dance well – for a Vulcan,” Kirk said as they stepped away from the new circle of dancers.

“You would like to believe that Vulcans carry little appreciation for the arts.”

Kirk frowned at that as he slipped between two logs clogged with Orions. He stepped into the dimly glowing shadows beyond the main celebration, and Spock followed. Kirk briefly wondered why Spock appeared so different from the rest of his party – why he felt like a sharp blade masked by a very fine sheath.

Kirk shrugged and leaned against the wall of a stone hut. He folded his arms across his chest and looked up at Spock. “I don’t give a sheep’s arse either way. I simply found it strange that a Vulcan would so readily dance before a group of strangers – enemies, even.”

Spock cocked his head and took a step closer. His voice was deep velvet beneath the darkness and wind and laughter. “You sound as if you care. I find myself consistently fascinated by the fatal curiosity of Humans.”

Kirk gritted his teeth. “Then allow me to further fascinate you.”

He bunched his fists into Spock’s hair and yanked him forward. Their mouths crashed together with clattering teeth and plunging, plundering tongues that left no questions for both their intentions. Kirk was prepared to force the kiss further, but it was Spock whose growl rumbled low in his chest. He who bracketed Kirk’s face with surprisingly rough palms and methodically fucked-out Kirk’s mouth with tongue alone.

Kirk surged forward on a moan as his hands dove beneath Spock’s robes, discovering the furred chest and sweltering stomach that quivered beneath his touch. Spock’s fingertips bruised into Kirk’s forearms, and Kirk’s answering snarl merely had Spock sucking on his tongue and wedging a thigh hard between Kirk’s legs. They grappled against each other; with all impatient, demanding hands and mouths that were used to taking and never giving.

But Gods, did Kirk want to get as good as he gave right now.

The realisation had Kirk trembling between the hard planes of Spock’s body and the cold stone behind him. Kirk sucked in a sharp breath and broke away from Spock’s lips, just to drag his teeth over the pulse that thundered at the pale flesh of Spock’s throat.

Kirk bit down sharply on Spock’s earlobe and tasted hot copper.

The answering hiss and the swell of Spock’s cock against Jim’s thigh were unmistakable before Spock jolted back. One hand lay over his ear, and there was a displeased curl to his swollen lips. Their eyes met and held in the darkness for mere seconds before Spock was on him again – this time with curved dagger at Kirk’s jugular that he hadn’t seen Spock draw in the first place.

Kirk hadn’t forgotten how talented Vulcans were with a blade, but this was a fresh reminder.

Only adrenaline coursed through Kirk’s veins as Spock’s heavy form overpowered him. Spock leaned in and said in clipped tones, “Vulcans may be pacifists by nature, Kirk of the Scamallach, but I am only half.”

Before Kirk could inquire, Spock had stolen away and there was only darkness and the fierce hardness in Kirk’s pants. It took him many hours to realise that Spock had pricked the underside of his jaw. On the first eve of their acquaintance, they’d already made each other bleed.

This could be promising.

“Do you often rest in doorways?”

Kirk jerked from sleep, already gripping the unsheathed dagger upon his lap and blindly thrusting it up. He met Spock’s eyes just as the Vulcan clamped his fingers around Kirk’s wrist.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “And with a bared weapon, at that. Curious sleeping habits, indeed.”

Struggling to clear his sleep-addled thoughts, Kirk allowed Spock to pull him to his feet. Kirk still gripped the blade tightly as he jerked out of Spock’s hold. He offered a thin smile when he noticed all three Vulcans were awake and dressed for the day.

“I’m merely playing my part.”

He was here to guard Gaila – protect Kailan. Rather than waiting for any Vulcan to make the poor choice of coming to them, Kirk figured he would take up sleeping in or outside their doorway. It saved him time if they foolishly attempted any queer business.

“Of course,” Spock said with what might have been a curve of lips. The mauve morning shadows made it difficult to see much in the dim hut.

Kirk eyed them all with blatant suspicion as he sheathed his dagger. “What’re your plans for the day, then?”

T’Pring took a step forward, just behind Spock’s shoulder. “Obviously we wish to continue our conversation with Queen Gaila.” She spoke as if regarding a child.

Kirk smirked. “My Queen won’t be seeing anyone on this day. Surely you realise no one does business after an auspicious event such as Princess Kailan’s celebration of birth. Today is a time for the rejuvenation of mind and body.”

In other words, this was a day to work through the lingering effects of ale and smoke.

T’Pring visibly bristled. “Is there no day which your people work?”

“My people are long dead, thanks to your people,” Kirk replied immediately, his eyes going stony even as he bared his teeth in a smile. “As for the Orions, I believe you’ll have to stay and find out. Feel free to find an open fire and request a meal from any of the cloudfolk – I’m certain they’ll oblige. Wander if it pleases you. I have guards posted should you encounter difficulties.”

It was a latent threat as any. We’re watching you.

T’Pring sniffed. “Under most circumstances, a host would do well to treat their guests with care.”

“Under most circumstances, a Vulcan would not be on our mountain unless they were a corpse.” Kirk’s demeanour was cheerful now. “Good day,” he said, and slipped out.

“Kirk,” Spock’s voice sounded behind him, not more than five steps from the hut.

Kirk stilled, but didn’t turn. “Aye?”

“May I join you for breakfast?”

Frankly, Kirk had been looking forward to some time away from the knife-ears. Some time away from Spock and his increasingly suffocating presence. The Vulcan was like a summer storm that loomed in, all humid and sticky and choking until it burst open with explosive force.

Kirk wasn’t averse to getting his feet wet, but he certainly wasn’t fond of drowning. He trusted what he saw when he looked into a man’s eyes, and Spock would not be underestimated.

“I care not,” Kirk replied with a jerk of shoulder. “Walk with me if it pleases you.” With that, he headed towards his own small hut. He was placed directly between Gaila’s quarters, and the hut which Kailan shared with her two half-sisters.

Spock fell into step with him just as cleanly as the night they’d danced. It annoyed Kirk for reasons he couldn’t place a finger on. They walked in silence for a minute or so, Spock clearly taking in his surroundings with an avid eye. The pale, thick fog sunk low and cuffed their ankles as they waded through. The peak of the mountain was eerily quiet, but for a few hushed voices of those who had survived the evening’s festivities without the scourges of alcohol.

Before they’d even reached Kirk’s abode, Spock was speaking in hushed tones beside him. “Vulcans conquered your lands?”

“They did.” Kirk said nothing more on the subject. They’d reached his quarters and ducked past the leather flap that covered the doorway. Someone had already lit a small fire in the centre – one of Gaila’s servants by her order, no doubt – so Kirk sat upon one of the many furs piled around.

Spock followed suit, and Kirk could feel that inquisitive gaze bent on his back as he rummaged around for a bag of oats.

Kirk didn’t ask what Spock wished to eat – he just set a pot of oats and water, enough for two, atop the fire. As he waited for the boil, he unearthed two pears from a pack and tossed one to Spock. The Vulcan caught it with ease and took a neat bite.

“You wanted something?” Kirk asked. Why else would Spock invite himself in?

“From where do you originally hail?” Spock said after swallowing. For a politician, he’d been rather forthright with Kirk since their first encounter – and he’d been particularly forthright with his tongue down Kirk’s throat.

“Why do you care?”

“I’m merely curious.”

“You sounded infected with the – what did you call it? – fatal curiosity of Humans,” Kirk said with a grin, and then took a large, sloppy bite of pear and allowed the juice to drip down his chin.

Spock stared at Kirk’s lips as they worked over the succulent fruit. “So I hear.”

Kirk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “May I assume that when you spoke of being ‘only half’, you were referring to being half Vulcan, half Human?”

“You may assume that, yes.”

“Such a curse one must carry,” Kirk said, but he was smiling at Spock’s misfortune. No doubt he had been judged most severely for what the Vulcans would consider a disability.

Spock didn’t reply, he just sunk his teeth into the pear as he watched Kirk with that unwavering stare.

Kirk reminded himself to keep Spock away from firelight, as it did unholy things to his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked down at the flames that licked at the blackened pot.

“I’m from the North of the Mainland.”

“Where in the North?”

“So far North that no one bothered to give it a name,” Kirk said with a quirk of lips. He polished off his pear in a few hefty bites and tossed the stem aside. “You’re wondering what holds me here, I suppose.”

“Your skills are quite obviously underappreciated here.”

Kirk shot Spock a sharp look as he leaned over the fire to stir the porridge with a wooden spoon. “You know little of my abilities.”

Spock inclined an eyebrow and sat back, looking almost at home in this dingy hut of smoke and furs. “I have eyes. I see how you handle a sword. For you it is an extra appendage rather than a mere tool to be used and discarded.”

With a hearty sigh, Jim sat back on a lush, grey wolf pelt and studied Spock from across the shallow flames and blue smog. “As my old home has been long rend from me, this is where I choose to make a new one. Not everyone can boast the city from which they originate with such pomp and circumstance as you.”

“I too am from the North. To announce such a heritage would, of course, ruin my reputation,” Spock said soberly. He tilted forward and tossed the stem of his pear into the fire. It fizzled in the silence between them.

Kirk shut his gaping mouth. “You’re not.”

“Do you consider me dishonest?”

“I don’t consider you at all.” Kirk obviously didn’t mind lying in the slightest.

Spock’s lips twitched. “I see. Well, I assure you I was raised in the Northern Lands as well. My mother had been the mistress of an ambassador stationed in Shi’Kahr. When my father had discovered that she was with child, he gave her a full purse and sent her away – far away. When the Vulcans eventually came to overtake the North, they killed everyone, including my mother.” Spock said the words without a hitch in his voice, without a scrap of emotion. “It was only logical to clear the area for their use. I was spared due to my aesthetically acceptable inclination.”

They were quiet for a while, then. Kirk had to think. He lifted the boiling pan from the heat and stirred the thickened porridge again. He set it on the floor and motioned towards Spock for two wooden bowls stacked near him.

Spock passed them over the fire, and their hands didn’t brush. Kirk made sure of that.

“Sweet or salty?” Kirk asked, once he’d doled out globby servings onto each dish.

Spock looked like he would smile again. “Sweet.”

Kirk laughed. “Pansy.” But he dribbled on some honey from a small pot, anyway.

Then he remembered he really didn’t want any Vulcans, no matter how charming, on his mountain. In fact, he especially disliked the charming Vulcans because that could only mean something ill was afoot. There was no such thing as a genial Vulcans – half Human or not.

Kirk allowed Spock to have a few bites of porridge before he spoke up. “Why are you pursuing me?”

Spock’s eyebrow rocketed up and his spoon paused halfway to his lips. “Considering the previous night, I could make the same query.”

Kirk scoffed and waved his spoon at Spock in indifference. “Fucking is one thing. A hole’s a hole – but the life story sharing? That’s a different field of battle.”

“I was simply making conversation,” Spock said blandly.

“Vulcans don’t make conversation,” Kirk said. “They talk, but they don’t converse. Conversation implies a give and take, not simply the latter.”

“And you deduced this by...” Spock paused and took a mouthful of porridge, then swallowed and finished his sentence. “Killing them?”

Kirk snorted. “Fucking sarcastic half-caste.”

“Bloody tactless orphan.”

Kirk nearly dropped his bowl in shock. He stared incredulously at Spock’s too-blank expression – and grinned like an absolute fool. Kirk threw his head back with an airy guffaw that shook him to the very gut.

“Gods, who the hell are you? Honestly.”

Spock didn’t answer. He simply looked into his bowl and finished his meal in amiable silence.

Somewhere towards the end of their breakfast, Kirk said, “I haven’t a care for how much I may fancy your company. At the heart of all things, you’re a Vulcan and I’ll slaughter you if need be. My daughter – my home – comes first and last.”

Spock set his bowl down carefully, and when he looked up his expression was blank. “Your daughter?” he said softly.

Kirk frowned. “Aye. You didn’t know?”

Spock blinked, his voice faint. “No.”

“Thought Vulcans knew everything about everything,” Kirk said with a teasing smile that Spock didn’t seem to appreciate.

“I can only assume your name was left out of the debriefing due to your inconsequential role as her father.”

Kirk decided not to be offended by Spock’s honesty. “I’m no king, if that’s what you imply.”

Spock cocked his head. “Why?”

“I’ve no interest in ruling. The position is brain-numbingly dull, and as lovely as Gaila is, the thought of fucking her again makes my balls curl up inside me. You’ve met her. She grows only more frightening with age.”

Spock’s eye may have twitched. “I see. And yet Kailan is the offspring of you and the Queen.”

Kirk smiled at Spock’s subtle discomfort. “Back when we were young and horny and I enjoyed the warmth of a good woman. Now...” He wet his lips and watched Spock’s gaze fall. “I’m less inclined towards delicate flesh.”

Spock swallowed. “I see,” he said again.

The air felt too thick, and the distance between them too far. Kirk’s hands ached, as did his lazily swelling cock. It was beyond fascinating to see a Vulcan, of all creatures, reacting so strongly to Kirk’s presence and words. Kirk knew he had an effect on people whether he tried or not – but the fact that he and Spock mirrored each other’s desire with such organic ease was unprecedented.

“This means nothing,” Kirk whispered fiercely, before his bowl clattered and spilled at his side as he dived across the room and knocked Spock backwards.

“Nothing,” Spock said against Kirk’s desperate mouth and avid hands.

“I hate – your – kind,” Kirk said between nips and licks and hitching breaths as Spock’s fingertips dug into the nape of Kirk’s neck. Kirk moaned without care as he mounted Spock’s thigh and rolled his hips against the lithe muscle beneath bunching linen.

“And I would – ha – I would rather,” Spock tilted his chin and bared his throat to Kirk, who immediately began to ravage the pale skin with suckled bruises and bite-marks. “Rather be entirely Vulcan than t-tainted by your kind.”

Kirk was surprised at his own shuddering laugh as he yanked Spock’s robes to his hip on one side. Kirk’s hand rushed beneath the soft folds only to find no undergarments to separate him from that rock-hard, faintly curved cock. Spock’s hiss and the buck of his hips spoke more to Kirk than begging ever could.

“Then we have an accord,” he said, and plunged his tongue into Spock’s mouth to chase that spicy, foreign flavour. Kirk knew that within seconds he could, and would, have Spock moaning like a common whore beneath him. They only needed to get out of these clothes and –

There was a rustle outside of Kirk’s doorway.

Both he and Spock heard the noise at the same time, as they scrambled away from each other in tandem. Spock stood and smoothed out his robes, while Kirk leapt to his feet and stuck his head out from behind the leather flap with a scowl.

He glared daggers at one of Gaila’s servants. “Speak.”

“Uh – um – the Queen requests your presence,” said a young girl who was barely Kailan’s age.

Kirk gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

Without looking back for Spock, Kirk strode out of the hut and stomped to where he was needed. What a fucking morning. What a fucking life.

Kirk knew Gaila didn’t have to attend hunts. The task was above her. But she did it anyway, because Kirk knew she loved the exhilaration and excitement it brought.

The track, the chase, and the kill became a bonding activity early on with him, Gaila, and Kailan. Since their daughter was small they would leave at dawn and track a stag or fox or wolf. They taught Kailan a level of patience that Kirk certainly didn’t have, and one that Gaila had worked for with much effort.

Now that Kailan was an adult, she was the most skilled hunter of them all. She didn’t favour the bow and arrow like her mother, but her aim was still accurate, and her tracking skills were exceptional. Kailan noticed the little things that Kirk and Gaila might’ve overlooked.

So this had almost become a game for them. They had a few hours of play – to be together, to run, to feel alive. Once it had been Kirk and Gaila leading the hunt, and now it was Kailan who streaked forward through the brush; nimble and sure-footed as a deer. Now it was her parents who obediently followed. Kailan was a natural leader – that much had always been clear.

Leaves slapped at Kirk’s burning cheeks and twigs snapped beneath his soft boots as he dashed between thin, gnarled trees with a free and open smile on his face. They’d been running at full force for some quarter of an hour, and Kirk had long stopped assuming they were chasing any animal in particular. Sometimes it was beautiful to simply run.

Kailan veered to the right with a squeal of laughter and Gaila followed seconds later, her hair a trail of flame behind her.

Without rhyme or reason, Kirk swerved left. Sometimes the need to disappear into these forests was so powerful that he allowed it of himself, if only for a few hours. It harmed no one, and it refreshed Kirk’s soul. So he dashed in the opposite direction, increasing the distance between himself and his known world. Raced faster than he knew he could, extended each stride until his thighs protested against the stretch and his lungs burned. It hurt, and it felt beautiful.

There was dappled light ahead of him, with wavering grey flecks in the trees. Kirk barely dug his heels to a halt as he abruptly burst through the line of trees and into a clearing. His heart leapt into his throat as he caught sight of a figure standing at the edge of the cliff.

“What’re you doing here?” Kirk said, still breathless from his escape. He could feel the beads of sweat cooling across his collarbone and damp temples.

Spock didn’t appear alarmed by Kirk’s presence; had likely heard his approach some great distance away. Kirk knew how Vulcans functioned – perfect spies. Sneaky, ruthless, efficient. The eyes and ears of the nation.

Spock didn’t turn. His strong, stoic features faced the land beyond the grassy precipice on which he stood. Knuckles and knobs of verdant green hills dipped and dotted the seemingly endless stretch of space beyond. The heather had long perished with the turn of the season, and so the view was that of rust and amber and glens the shade of Gaila’s skin.

A mist rose high above them, with clouds like wispy, ever-present spirits bound to this world. The wind howled across the cliff, clearly enraged by the Vulcan’s presence. Kirk empathised with the weather’s temperament. Spock was piercing between his ribs very slowly and very surely, like a dagger used in torture. Although what Spock wanted from Kirk remained a mystery.

“Appreciating the view,” Spock said distantly.

Kirk grinded his back teeth and stalked up behind Spock. The Vulcan didn’t flinch, and that was incredibly foolish. No one should ever keep their back turned to a Kirk.

“Truly? I find myself surprised, as it’s your people who are salivating to bite a chunk out of Orion. It’s you Vulcans who wish to chew this land beyond recognition and spit it back out.”

Spock shifted to peer over his shoulder at Kirk. His cheeks were flushed from the bite of the weather as he raised a single eyebrow. “You are rather fond of making broad generalisations, are you not? I always found that to be a gross sign of ignorance.”

“And it’s not ignorant to blindly follow an Empire that murdered your mother?” Kirk said. A heavy gust whipped at his face and roared past his ears, a noise like being plunged into the ocean. His eyes burned against the cold. “You’re a bloody idiot if you believe you can march into our home and demand anything.”

Kirk lunged forward and shoved Spock’s shoulder with the heel of his palm, effectively turning the Vulcan to face him. Spock’s back was to the cavernous drop, and it would be easy . But Spock looked so fucking calm and confident and smug about it that Kirk knew it would be the coward’s way out.

So he leaned, nearly nose-to-nose, and smiled. “Trust me. The only thing you’ll receive from us is an early grave.”

Spock cocked his head. “I anticipated nothing less.”

Battle drums thundered in Kirk’s head as he searched Spock’s face with narrowed eyes. “What? What do you –”

Spock yanked Kirk into a kiss much like the one two nights ago. He forced Kirk open with demanding dips of hot tongue, and a perfect ridge of teeth that pulled at Kirk’s bottom lip like a beast tearing at fresh kill. Spock’s hands were everywhere – bruising Kirk’s shoulder blades, marking the tender slots between his ribs with dragging thumbs, palms clenching around his ass with ownership.

Kirk fought back. Battled this buzzing swarm in his head that drowned out common sense. When two warriors met in the centre of battle, they didn’t bow to each other – they broke each other down.

So Kirk snarled against Spock’s mouth, nearly ripped Spock’s hair out at the root with the force of his clenching fists. He attacked Spock’s lips from angles that wouldn’t remain still, and thrust into him with tongue as he brought a hand around to cup the long, pale line of Spock’s throat. He could feel Spock’s racing pulse through thin skin, just moments away from being able to crush it with his fist.

Kill him.

It would be so simple. Kirk could end this debacle before it began. No one would have to know. Spock would simply disappear, and his cohorts could be dealt with in the night. Kirk would no longer feel this strange plague that consisted of Spock’s mouth and voice and hands creeping up on him in dreams.

Spock abruptly broke the kiss and bared his teeth, his canines scraping over Kirk’s raw flesh as they pulled apart.

Kirk’s hand was still around Spock’s neck. He couldn’t seem to let go. Spock’s expression was livid, his eyes black as caverns people went into but never came out of. Spock’s nostrils flared as he pressed forward, encouraging Kirk’s fingers to tighten at his throat.

“Do it,” Spock said in a voice like a dying man with nothing to lose. “Discover what will happen. I welcome it.”

No. No, this wasn’t his place.

Kirk released Spock with a gasp of breath, as if it had been him beneath the hand. Without scrutinising Spock’s reaction, he turned and left. He trembled for the entire trip home.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kirk said as he poked his head into Kailan’s quarters.

The sun was at its zenith through the haze, and despite the cold, Kailan would normally be outside with sparring lessons, or chasing the younger children in some game. She’d always been like Kirk – voracious in everything she did, whether it was work or play. Right now, though, Kailan was usually playing.

Kailan flicked up a quick look from the scroll in her lap, her sandy hair a wild halo around her olive face. Kirk had noticed some months ago that her baby fat was fading away. Emerging from that was a mirror image of Kirk’s face. It was almost as disconcerting as it was awesome.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Kailan said.

Kirk’s brow furrowed as he stepped inside the hut and came around to loom at Kailan’s side. “That’s Vulcan.”

“My, but you’re quick!” Kailan looked up with a sickly-sweet smile. “This is why you’re my hero.”

Kirk tried to mask his grin with a scowl, but likely failed. He took a seat beside Kailan and peered over her shoulder at the crisp parchment. “I never taught you to read Vulcan.”

“Do you even know how to read Vulcan?” Kailan shot back.

Kirk huffed. “I can speak it, and that’s what’s important.”

“I’d say reading it is more important, considering one could then both speak and understand,” Kailan said with an arched eyebrow. “Do you find my logic failing?”

“Who on earth have you been talking to, insolent whelp of mine?” Kirk said. When had his daughter been able to run circles around him?

Kailan shrugged and returned to her scroll. Her fingertips traced the curves of an elaborate symbol. “Spock.”

“Spock.”

“Your ears fading, old man?”

“You shouldn’t keep company with Vulcans,” Kirk said stiffly, already inwardly groaning at his tone.

Kailan snorted a laugh. “Says you.”

“Says your father.” Kirk watched as Kailan continued to peruse her reading. “He’s not a good man.”

“Neither are you, by all accounts. And yet I still love you.”

Warmth spread through Kirk’s chest as he sighed. He dropped a hand atop Kailan’s head and left it there, just embedding the feel of her soft curls against his palm. She’d had so much hair as a baby, and still did. One day Kailan would be a queen, and Kirk wouldn’t be able to pet her like this. She’d be too old, too mature to desire the comfort of a father.

Kailan had been the only thing to truly terrify Kirk. She’d been so perfect, so beautiful with screams like a banshee and tiny waving fists. Kirk had only known death and taking life – he’d been so frightened he would break her. She was the only thing that made Kirk afraid to fail.

“Spock is different. He can’t be trusted.”

“I don’t have to trust him to have him teach me Vulcan. He could bugger young boys for all I care, as long as he teaches me to say kiss my arse.”

Kirk was too shocked to do anything but laugh. “Well. Phrased in such a manner, I believe I’m forced to wish you luck.” He patted Kailan’s head, earning a grumble of distaste as he lurched to his feet. “Keep your guard, though. Spock is not an average man.”

“Queer,” Kailan said as Kirk was leaving. “He said the same of you.”

“I’m afraid the Queen is unable to meet with you. She is travelling to a neighbouring tribe to negotiate trade prices and won’t return for two days. Please accept our humblest apologies.”

“I must say that your combat instructor has taken on some rather drastic physical alterations,” Kirk said with his eyebrows raised and his arms folded across his chest. “Knife-ears and the whole lot of it.”

Kailan and Spock paused in the middle of an attack and defence; Spock with his sword pointed to the sky and Kailan’s clashed horizontally against it. Neither of them moved from the stance, but both turned to consider Kirk with twin expressions of utter guiltlessness. Completely shameless, these two.

The sight was bizarre. Not simply because Kailan was being taught how to fight from a man whose culture destroyed half of her blood’s lineage. And not because Spock seemed to have mysteriously discarded his Vulcan garb for his own pair of black, wolf-pelt boots, and a grey tunic belted with thick leather at the waist.

The most unsettling aspect of the entire scene was Spock’s swordsmanship.

Kirk had been watching these two for a quarter of an hour, and one thing he could definitively glean was that Spock was not only talented with a sword, but he was seasoned with it as well. Despite his going gently on Kailan, Spock’s movements were fluid and lithe, each stroke and swipe as clean as any soldier in his prime.

When and how had Spock come to learn such a skill? He was a dignitary, an orator and conspirator. His place didn’t belong on a battlefield stained in blood. And yet – and yet there it was. Spock was not an average Vulcan. Of this Kirk could be certain.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” Kirk said with a dismissive wave of one hand. His eyes never left Spock’s. “I’d like to see what you both have to offer.”

Spock’s lips pursed subtly and he nodded. Then he looked to Kailan and inclined his chin. Kailan nodded in silent agreement – and abruptly sprung into motion. Her longsword was that of a man’s, forged for a man’s muscles and physique, and it was why Kirk had given it to her. She could never afford to be at a disadvantage. Training with it now would only make her a more formidable enemy in the future.

Kailan advanced and slashed at Spock from all angles. To his right shoulder, to his left, to his hip – and Spock parried easily with quick flicks of wrist and barely a step in retreat. It wasn’t that Kailan was unskilled – she was the finest female warrior in the tribe, and certainly surpassed some of the younger boys. She’d been playing with wooden swords since before she could walk, and had received her first true blade at six years. She understood the basics, but she had not yet learned to kill. She hadn’t had the opportunity, or the necessity.

Spock lunged forward, his sword straight towards Kailan’s stomach – he was deflected, but reprised the thrust with two quick steps towards her. Kailan arced her blade down and twisted it around Spock’s with a screech of steel to steel, and sent Spock’s attack to retreat.

Kirk critically followed every bat of Spock’s eyelashes, the way he looked at Kailan’s eyes to gauge her next move rather than her feet or hands. Each harsh clang of metal vibrated through Kirk’s system and he soaked it up, these sounds of war. Revelled in the artful bunch and stretch of Spock’s muscles beneath his shoulders and thighs. That was how a warrior should look – stare sharp as any dagger, stance as balanced as a perfectly forged hilt, and victory riding on his fingertips.

“Stop,” Kirk said loudly. Kailan had been in the middle of a spin, her sword coming down hard on Spock’s. In a flashy move that had Kirk laughing despite the hot knot coiled in his belly, Spock managed to hinder Kailan’s swing and flip the sword from her hand, where it fell at her feet.

“Son of a whore!” Kailan said as she bent to retrieve her weapon.

Spock raised an eyebrow and looked to Kirk. “She is very much like you.”

Kirk couldn’t help but grin as he ignored the warmth that spread through his limbs at seeing Spock’s face flushed so green with the day’s exertion. “I know it. Off with you now, Kailan.”

“What?” Kailan rounded on him with blue eyes narrowed. “No.”

Kirk made it look as if he were reconsidering, and then flatly replied. “Leave us now. I’d like some instruction myself.”

“Like hell you need in–” Kailan’s face morphed into pure disgust. “Eugh. What a vile, scheming father I have.” She flicked her tangled mess of golden curls over her shoulder and put on Gaila’s most haughty expression. “I’m to depart, then. Surely someone else will appreciate my company, as they’re meant to.” Kailan nodded politely at Spock. “Good day to you, Spock. Until later.”

“Good day, Lady.”

“Curious place to train,” Kirk said the moment Kailan was out of earshot.

He wandered over to Spock, passed him, and peered down at the steep mountain drop that plummeted immediately from this particular stony ledge. There were plenty of eaves and small plains carved into the top of the mountain, with some made by the Gods and some by men. This one was safe from the direction which Kirk had come, but ended abruptly at another.

“Someone could find death quite easily,” Kirk said as he turned back to Spock.

“I have deduced that people are more easily persuaded to learn when death is the only other option.”

“True enough.”

Kirk’s fingers idly rested on the hilt of his longsword as he looked back to Spock. Worry gnawed at his gut, but Kirk’s expression remained fairly bland as he approached Spock and met that calm, unflinching gaze. “Is there a particular reason why you’ve been loitering at my daughter’s side?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow and sheathed his sword. “Kailan is extremely intelligent. I find it... pleasant to be in company such as hers.”

At that, Kirk stiffened and he aimed a narrow look Spock’s way. “Are you insinuating that you have eyes for her?” Because if that was so, Kirk would cut them out.

Spock blinked in obvious surprise. “Not in the slightest. I was merely implying that your daughter is as brilliant as I suspect you may be, and I find her countenance stimulating. We have spoken on several occasions previous, and she appears rather eager to gain whatever knowledge of the outside world that she can.”

Kirk scowled. Kailan was an identical reflection of Kirk in many ways. Including the wanderlust, which worried Kirk on some level.

“Your concern is unfounded,” Spock said softly, with his eyes travelling from Kirk’s hand at the sword and up to his face. “My eyes are wholly for another.”

Kirk swallowed tightly and attempted to will away the slow, burning heat that coiled in this stomach and threaded through his limbs. On a daily basis he’d encountered extreme difficulties eradicating the memory of Spock’s lips and teeth and tongue on him. The feel of bruising fingers and hands and scraping palms and feral noises that jolted straight to Kirk’s cock.

Normally Kirk was able to control the memories as they came, but when Spock stood before him with that unholy light in his eyes... Alas, there was very little Kirk could do to quell the thrum under his skin and the interested twitch of his dick.

So he reacted as any man would. Kirk drew his sword.

“I’d like to see what foreigner’s nonsense you’re teaching my offspring,” Kirk said with a growing grin.

Spock’s reply was to simply unsheathe his sword and take up a defensive stance. A frigid wind scraped over the side of the mountain and stung Kirk’s cheeks, but still he unhooked the clasps of his white fur-collared cloak and allowed it to sink to the ground. He wouldn’t be hindered, even in a ‘friendly’ sparring session.

Kirk attacked first – he always did. He dove in with a high arc of his blade, and was unsurprised to be deflected. He expected more from the Vulcan who apparently handled a sword with the same talent as he used a scroll. Kirk advanced forward, forward, forward with thrusts and swipes and jabs that left an invigorating thrum in his veins and beads of sweat cooling on his brow.

Spock stood his ground, counter-attacked when necessary, but played it too safe. His footwork was impeccable, better than any Kirk had seen, including himself. But Spock appeared to only use this skill for side-stepping rather than coming ahead.

As soon as the thought had passed through Kirk’s mind, Spock’s sword came down and the tip ripped at Kirk’s cheekbone. Spock left only a clean, shallow graze – but a cut was a cut, and Kirk openly boggled. Kirk caught the challenge snapping in Spock’s eyes, the confidence in the set of his shoulders, and reminded himself never to underestimate Spock again.

With a roar, Kirk invaded Spock’s space with a thick, sharp blade and a snarl curling back his lips. Spock’s expression was bland, but for the amber fire in his eyes as he lifted his sword and caught Kirk’s downward slash. Their weapons screamed as steel scraped down steel – and for a moment, he and Spock’s faces were close. So close that Kirk could smell honey on Spock’s lips and the scent of his foreign musk.

Kirk’s head reeled when he realised Spock was staring straight back, unblinking, with breath coming in short and shallow huffs. Kirk swallowed thickly, and his muscles screamed and shook with the effort it took to keep his sword grinding against Spock’s in an endless push and push between them.

“Kirk,” Spock said between teeth clenched tight, as if he hadn’t wished to speak in the first place.

Kirk’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Yes,” he said quietly, even when he had no idea to what he was agreeing.

“Your quarters are near,” Spock said, still without taking his eyes off of Kirk’s face.

“Yes,” Kirk said again. There was a dull droning in his head, a thrum that spread from the base of his skull down to his curling toes. Kirk’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said.

Swords sheathed as quick as a coward’s.

Upon entering the hut, Kirk was on Spock like a thistle stuck to skin. Their mouths crashed together in sloppy, heated kisses full of tongue and teeth and desperate huffs of breath. Their hands dragged at each other’s clothes, with Kirk working the cold, copper clasp of Spock’s belt while Spock tore impatiently at Kirk’s tunic.

Spock’s sharp, needy noises were amplified to roars in Kirk’s ears as they kicked out of their boots and tugged at remaining garments. They nipped at exposed collarbones and wide plains of shoulder, while Kirk grabbed Spock and pushed him onto the mound of lush, silver furs. Kirk was on him in moments, blanketing Spock’s body in hard rolls of hip and the fervid heat of Kirk’s cock thickening and rasping against Spock’s thigh.

Petty words and encouragement were unnecessary. Spock’s eyes were like moonless nights, and his hands were hungry and rough enough to rip Kirk’s remaining doubts to shreds. For so long Kirk had desired a new battle, a new war – when all along what he’d craved was this.

This clash of tongues and scrape of nails with trailing red welts and bitten-back whimpers. Sweat pooling behind Kirk’s knees and in the crook of his elbows and the dip of his spine. Blood rising to the surface of bruises sucked into his throat. All of these were scars and experiences of two warriors coming together, prepared to perish by the other’s hand.

They tore at each other like ravenous beasts. Both of them rolling and grappling for dominance, pausing only to grind mindlessly against the other. Power flooded through Kirk’s veins as he smiled against Spock’s neck and pinned one of Spock’s hands above his head. But he was flipped just as abruptly, with Spock’s knee wedging between Kirk’s thighs and pressing up against his balls in a way that had Kirk’s eyes rolling back.

“Remain still,” Spock said with a voice hoarse and destroyed.

“No,” Kirk said with a sneer, even as his chest heaved with breaths steeped in excitement. This was the chase, the hunt, the rush he’d sought and felt the loss of for so many years. It wasn’t that he didn’t fuck people, but this – this was predator and prey, and Kirk rarely found a man or woman willing to play.

Spock nodded curtly. “Very well.”

His high cheekbones were flushed to his temples and stained to his ears. Spock’s actions were nearly harried when he hooked an arm beneath one of Kirk’s knees and hefted Kirk’s leg up and over his shoulder. Kirk bucked his hips up in reply, but brought his other foot up to slam squarely in the centre of Spock’s chest.

Spock rocked back, and Kirk pounced. He grinned until his face hurt as he wrestled Spock to his back and straddled his hips. Kirk leaned in and bit down just shy of gentle on Spock’s lower lip, then soothed the offended skin with a swipe of tongue.

“Stay,” Kirk said soft and deep.

“Pardon?”

Spock flinched – a shiver wracked through his body as he tilted his head back in order to inspect Kirk’s expression. Spock looked almost... pleased?

Kirk cocked his head. “Stay where you are,” he said, by means of clarification.

Spock fisted a hand in Kirk’s hair and yanked their mouths together – and it was surrender enough for Kirk.

Soon – too soon, because Kirk needed to fuck Spock again and again as if it was the only thing keeping him alive – it was Kirk behind Spock. Slick chest pressed to the strong, shifting muscle of Spock’s shoulders as Kirk sunk his teeth into pale, taut flesh.

He lavished the nape of Spock’s neck in throaty grunts and kisses as Kirk drove into Spock’s tight hole with oil dripping down the inside of Spock’s thickly furred thighs. Each thrilling slap of damp skin on skin washed through Kirk; built from a relentless hum to a throat-tearing scream of nerves and rushing blood.

Kirk leaned in further and curled his fingers around Spock’s throat. His palm curved up, beneath Spock’s jaw as he slipped the pad of his thumb into Spock’s gaping, gasping mouth. Spock bit down hard and rocked back against the uneven pounding of Kirk’s cock. Kirk saw red as he flashed into action; clamped Spock’s hips in his hands, rested his sweat-slick brow against the curve of Spock’s spine, and fucked him in earnest.

Spock was murmuring filthy things; a dark swirl and tangle of Vulcan and Orion and Northern that stuck their barbs into Kirk’s chest and refused to rip free. Kirk’s heart felt swollen and near to bursting as he dug his nails into the shadows between Spock’s ribs and squeezed his eyes shut with a hiss.

Fast and frenzied thrusts ached at the small of Kirk’s back as he impaled Spock with a fervour that left him blind and dumb, but not nearly deaf to the ragged sounds scraping from Spock’s throat. Kirk fucked in further, pulling out to the crown and pounding in to the hilt. Kirk wanted to rip Spock open; tear him in half and leave him as raw and aching and inconsolable as Kirk was.

He wanted Spock to feel as lost and found as Kirk did.

Then Spock was tugging on his own erection, with his cheek pressed into the pelts and his hips up at a deadly perfect angle that had them both shouting in relief. Spock shook and spasmed around Kirk’s cock, a snarl snapping in the air as Kirk’s body was wracked from head to toe with bursting stabs of heat. Riding through the waves of sun-bright aftershocks, Kirk slumped atop Spock, who bonelessly collapsed onto the damp, messy furs with a faint huff.

The crackle and pop of the fire was the first thing Kirk recalled afterwards, followed by the subtle snore of Spock still beneath him. Snoring. Spock.

Kirk had no idea how long he’d been out, but the matter seemed inconsequential as he rolled away with a deep, unfettered peel of laughter.

Spock grunted and shot up, his eyes wide open and foggy with sleep as he blinked owlishly at Kirk. He had green lines imprinted on his cheek from passing out with his face atop his own belt. Kirk didn’t attempt to stifle the fresh roll of humour that rumbled in his chest.

“Tell me, do all Vulcans snore?” Kirk said, once he’d gathered enough breath to inquire.

Spock aimed a narrow look his way. “Vulcans do not snore.”

Kirk hummed in agreement as a fond curve played at his lips. He shifted into Spock’s space and pressed a kiss to his ear. Very quietly, Kirk said, “Then I suppose that makes you special.”

“Our Lady of the Cloud is unable to meet with you fine Vulcans. She has been caught ill with the oncoming cold. Perhaps in several days time she will be prepared to take an audience with you once more.”

***
“Do you suppose they’ll try to kill us?” Kailan asked in a rather reasonable tone as she plaited the black hair of her seven year-old half-sister, Aibreann.

Kirk pursed his lips thoughtfully as he singled out another strand of Kailan’s hair and added it to the long, thick braid he was weaving. “Anything’s possible.”

Kailan huffed. “Vague.”

They were a silent for a while longer, comfortable in their routine of Kirk sitting behind Kailan and she behind Aibreann. The wee one was content to play quietly with her dolls, and she rarely spoke.

Then Kailan said, “I would very much dislike killing Spock, if the situation amassed to that.”

Kirk hummed a noncommittal noise, because he very well couldn’t rightly agree or disagree. Anything would be too telling when it came to his daughter. Although Kirk had done his utmost to keep his nightly trysts with Spock a secret, there was only so much he could hide in a tribe this size. Kirk did not feel ashamed – a good fuck was a good fuck, regardless of the fact that Kirk enjoyed nattering on with Spock afterwards. It was simply that Kirk despised explaining himself, and explaining would be all he’d end up doing if his escapades were revealed.

“And,” Kailan said casually, “Considering your vulnerable position in the matter, I would say that you agree. Also, by the way you’re currently sputtering all over my unfortunate hair, I would also venture to say that you rather like him.”

Kirk eventually regained the ability to breathe. “I will put you in a vulnerable position if you don’t mind your mouth.”

“Empty threats, the lot of them. Poor show, Da.”

Kirk could only remain silent and grind his teeth.

“You’re no dignitary,” Kirk said. He was draped across Spock’s torso, with his nose tucked beneath Spock’s jaw. Sweat cooled on Kirk’s back, leaving a chill slick down his spine. Spock smelled like wood smoke and the winter winds of the North. Kirk discreetly inhaled the scent as he felt Spock stiffen beneath him.

“Not in an official sense,” Spock said. His hand slipped into the dip at the small of Kirk’s back, long fingers spanning across his humming skin.

“There is only the official sense.”

“How did you come to this conclusion?” Spock said.

Kirk didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “The way you handle a sword,” he said as he smiled into Spock’s throat. The pulse he tasted there quickened. “As an appendage, rather than a tool.”

“Ah.”

Kirk was no fool, and he knew a warrior when he saw one. It was simply a matter of divulging Spock’s part in this drama. A soldier masking as a dignitary, and pulling the charade off in grand fashion. The entire situation was perplexing.

Kirk didn’t feel threatened, of course. He had guards posted from earth to sky, and they all took his orders. One wrong move and the Scamallach would be wading ankle-deep in green blood.

“Do you plan to kill me?” Kirk asked as he nudged his nose along the curve of Spock’s ear.

Spock shivered and stared at the ceiling. One hand came up to nestle in Kirk’s hair. “I do not plan to, no.”

Kirk snorted a laugh. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Satan’s progeny.”

“You flatter me.” Kirk restrained a sigh as he shifted. He folded his forearms atop Spock’s chest and propped his chin up.

Spock didn’t appear a warrior in this setting. He looked up at Kirk from beneath a thick crescent of black eyelashes, his bottom lip swollen from a particularly severe bite.

This time Kirk did sigh. “You’re making it difficult for me to kill you later.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows twitched. “I apologise for being an inconvenience.”

“Fucking inconvenience,” Kirk agreed.

“May I assume you have already decided to kill me?”

Kirk aimed a pointed look. “From the moment I saw you.”

“Ah.”

“What does that mean?” Kirk narrowed his eyes. “That’s a sound of ponderance if I ever heard one.”

“’Ponderance’ is not a word.”

“In the North it is.”

“It is not.”

Kirk bit back a smile. “Of what were we speaking?”

The light of humour doused from Spock’s dark eyes as his mouth went thin. “I believe a discussion is at hand.”

“We’re having one right now,” Kirk said as he traced a fingertip over an ashen, jagged scar beneath Spock’s jaw. It appeared as though someone had once thought to slit his throat.

“My meaning was with your Queen included.”

Kirk’s hand froze. He schooled away any notable expression as he fixed upon Spock’s face.

“You do realise you’ll gain nothing from her, correct? She won’t see you. She’s not a patient woman by nature, but she’ll still wait. She will bide her time until you grow agitated and leave. Or, better yet, you make an advance on her that would give reason to finish what –” Kirk dragged his nail lightly over the scar. “Someone else began.”

Spock abruptly sat up, causing Kirk to tip and roll flat onto the furs beneath them. He stared at the pale, muscled expanse of Spock’s back and waited. The fire crackled and popped, its heat burning at Kirk’s feet too close to the fire. Outside someone played a dainty flute, and Spock’s breathing was soundless.

Spock’s shoulders were stiff and his voice was grave when he finally said, “If I do not meet with her, everyone you hold dear will die.”

***“Why are you telling me this?”

Gaila sounded annoyed. Rather than appearing worried over the news that somehow her entire tribe would perish if she didn’t speak to Spock, she was annoyed. If Kirk was inclined to venture a guess, he would say it was because she despised ambiguity. Spock was being vague, and was therefore plummeting further away from Gaila’s approval.

“Pardon?” Spock said, squaring his shoulders.

“We’re all going to die,” Gaila said flatly. She waved a hand, and the gold armband high on her forearm winked in the firelight. “Bland. Unoriginal. I expected better threats from a Vulcan. You may leave now.”

Spock was devoid of reaction. “I was sent here to assassinate you, Highness. You and your heir.”

Kirk was surprised at his own lack of outburst. Instead a roaring in his ears grew and his vision began to fog with crimson. His hands shook, bones shivering under his skin like the earth rumbled with the march of an approaching army, a hundred thousand feet stamping through his veins. Kirk fixed a narrow, unblinking look the knife-ear’s way and fisted his hands at his sides.

Of course. Naturally this was how it would end. Kirk hadn’t pulled the wool over his eyes, had not imagined this story would come to any other conclusion. Absolutely had not.

Gaila inclined her chin and coolly surveyed Spock for long moments that pulled thin and brittle with tension.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job of it, then. It’s been – what – nearly a fortnight since your arrival?”

“Thirteen days,” Spock replied evenly. His gaze remained fixed on Gaila. He didn’t err to Kirk for even the briefest moment.

“And what do you hope to gain by telling me this?”

“I have more I must share before I am through,” Spock said, completely disregarding Gaila’s query.

“Then stop speaking in riddles and roundabouts,” Gaila snapped as she loomed forward in her chair, suddenly looking every inch a wrathful leader. “And say your mind! If I were immortal I’d still have little time for your drivelling ambiguity.”

“Previous to our arrival, it had already been deduced that you would not be mollified by any offer we might have formulated. Even if, against all probability, you had agreed to step your bloodline down from leadership, the conclusion to the dilemma of your tribe had already been decided.”

Spock paused, and for the first time looked to Kirk. For just a moment their eyes fixed and locked, and Kirk felt his eyes burn just as sure as the rage that simmered beneath his flesh. He wanted to peel at his skin, rip away the discomfort that crackled through his marrow and singed at his breast.

Instead he jutted his chin out and dared Spock to open his mouth; encouraged him to spill his putrid, green guts on the floor before them. Kirk would stomp upon Spock’s innards and throw his carcass off the edge of a cliff when this was through. No one so vile should be allowed near his family – and the fact that Kirk had suspected a certain amount of foul play all along and had gone on to ignore it in favour of his cock was utterly appalling. Kirk might as well jump off the cliff with Spock’s body, while he was at it.

But right now he needed to focus on the present. Spock looked away and faced Gaila with a forthright bearing faux honesty that made Kirk ill.

“I was dispatched to dispose of you had you disagreed. Had you agreed, your fate would have been the same. The reason being, an army fast approaches.” Spock pressed his lips in a thin white line. “In either instance, a considerable Vulcan force is trekking across these lands. They come to seize this tribe and the ones in the vicinity. They come to complete anything that I was unable to. They come to destroy you.”

Gaila was still as death, and even Kirk was unable to read her. She didn’t appear to breathe or twitch. Her knuckles were faded evergreen where her fingers clenched at the armrest of the small stone throne.

“And why,” she said quietly and precisely, “Have you not finished your task, Spock?”

Spock didn’t say a word. With his head held high and his dark eyes the only movement upon his visage, Spock looked directly and pointedly at Kirk.

Kirk blinked. He looked at Spock, then at Gaila who was peering curiously at him as well, a smirk playing over her lips. Kirk swallowed thickly. “Bullshit,” he croaked.

Then, as if incensed by the weakness in his own voice, Kirk shifted closely to Gaila’s side. He leaned over the throne’s arm, one palm atop Gaila’s wrist as he inched forward and sharply said, “Don’t you see what this bastard’s doing, Gaila? He’s realised he can’t win through simple duplicity, so he’s altered tactics. He’s come forward, using honesty as a mask to hide his true intentions. If you trust him now,” Kirk gulped a breath and refused to think of the beast that battered at the cage of his ribs. “If you trust him now, he will wait for your kindness to unfurl before he strikes his blade through the heart of it. He has disclosed his yellow nature – do not relent to redemption. No Vulcan deserves it.”

Kirk stabbed Spock with a glare, and further fumed when Spock merely looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Kirk looked directly at Spock as he spat, “Especially not this one.”

“James,” Gaila said in a placating term exclusively reserved for family. She flipped the wrist that was in Kirk’s grasp, shifted her hand, and threaded their fingers together for a brief moment. She squeezed their palms together, and then released.

Kirk clenched his jaw, his gaze flitting rapidly between both Gaila and Spock’s docile expressions. What the hell was going on here? Wasn’t he the only one that sensed the battle upon them – that heard the dying screams of women and children, the snap and roar of spark and fire destroying their homes? Was he the only person here who recalled how it felt to lose everything?

But he gritted his teeth and took a step back, and returned to his spot beside Gaila, at a safe and respectable distance. He would be silent for now, even if he had to bite his tongue off in the process.

Gaila nodded once and returned her attention to Spock. She crossed her legs in a single, lithe motion and idly bobbed her bare foot. “So. Spock. You’ll have to clarify for me, as it’s rather plain that one could easily doubt your sincerity in this situation. Why are you telling me this instead of slitting my throat in my sleep?”

“Because I find myself linked to your home, and I no longer wish to see it seized and raped by my people,” Spock said, as if the answer were obvious.

Kirk snorted, but said nothing.

Spock squared his shoulders. “Because as surely as I feel swayed towards a man whose full name I had not known until three minutes and forty-seven seconds ago, my allegiances also sway.”

“Seven hells,” Kirk snapped and folded his arms across his chest. He looked to Gaila and flailed a hand out. “Are you hearing this? Love – he forgoes honour and vows to his lands for love? What scum!”

Gaila’s eyes shined with humour as she raised her eyebrows and gave Kirk a mysterious feminine look that he could never decipher, and didn’t feel inclined to. “You don’t sound as if you reciprocate, darling.”

“Of course I don’t,” Kirk said immediately. He made a sour face and kept it as such while he looked at everything but Spock. “Absurd. A Vulcan.” Now he did look to Spock. “Cut your heart out for me and we’ll pardon you.”

Spock’s eyelashes lowered, black moons against his cheek. “If you truly wished that, I would make it so.”

“Shut up!” Kirk said as he felt his face enflame. “What are you on about in the first place? You’ve said not a word about this – this farce of emotion. You expect anyone in this room to believe that you’re in love with a man like me?”

Spock’s stare snapped back to Kirk. “It’s not merely the emotion. In truth, much of the time you grate upon my nerves like riding a stallion without a saddle. But –”

“Oh, brilliant,” Kirk muttered.

“But we are t’hy’la,” Spock said, as if that would mean anything to anyone in the room.

Kirk looked at Gaila, who was looking at Spock, who was looking at Kirk.

“Well,” Kirk said after a moment. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Friend, brother, lover,” Spock said. “Destined.”

“Destined,” Kirk said slowly. A smile cracked across his face. “Destined. Ha! I need some air.”

With that, Kirk brushed by Spock and marched out of the hut and into the waning, grey light. The day was damp and colourless, sapped of warmth and vibrancy. The hills beyond were shoulders and elbows of bright green and rust – but here, atop one of the highest peaks in Orion, there was only sallow blue and shadows. Days like these reminded Kirk of the shade of his dead brother’s skin after hours of sitting beside his corpse in the cold, praying to a god who wouldn’t twitch a finger to save a frightened little boy.

Kirk was not a skittish child any longer, and he did not fear death for himself. But the thought of bloodshed finding its way here chilled him to the bone like an unforgiving winter night. Even if no one else would fight or do what was right, Kirk would. Even if he was alone, he would go against them all without a second thought. Kirk loved few people, but those who captured his heart were forever engraved there.

Storming blindly past huts and cloudfolk, Kirk outright snarled as the visage of Spock came to mind. As quickly as his hands began to shake with the thought of the Vulcan, Kirk disregarded him – tossed aside any affection or skewed kinship that might have grown, and firmly stomped it into the ground. Kirk wouldn’t allow himself to even think about it. Hope was for the weak, and he was anything but.

Before Kirk realised where he was, he stood at the entrance to the Vulcan diplomats’ quarters. In that same moment the droll Vulcan, Stonn, stepped out and nearly bumped into him.

“Pardon m–”

The crack of Kirk’s knuckles against Stonn’s cheekbone echoed in Kirk’s ears a hundredfold, like lightning breaking through him over and over. The force of his muscle behind the swing coupled with Stonn’s shock sent the Vulcan reeling into the mud. Kirk was straddling Stonn’s stomach in seconds, with his short blade drawn from its sheath with a chilling shink that cut through the air and the gasps surrounding them.

Kirk did not hear the women’s sharp intakes of breath or the surprised cries of children. He heard only the snarls of the sehlats that the Vulcans had road in on so many years ago. He heard only his father before he’d been beheaded, saying I love you so much, I lov–. He heard only the sounds of what was to come, of what they’d do to Kailan, to Gaila, to his home.

With the tip of the dagger about to find its home nestled in the gristle and flesh of Stonn’s jugular, the Vulcan flailed with the clumsiness of a true, spineless dignitary. Stonn flipped their positions through sheer luck of superior physiology. The back of Kirk’s head squelched into the thick, wet dirt as Stonn gripped the wrist which held the blade.

Kirk didn’t care. He didn’t need the arm. His free hand shot up, a palm shattering Stonn’s nose in a perfect break. Stonn howled and snapped his head back, where globules of dark green blood began to drip over his lips to mix with spittle and pathetic whimpers. Kirk wasted no time in his second move. He lurched forward in time with the backward tilt of Stonn’s body, and gained enough balance and slithered out, cupping the back of Stonn’s neck to crack his skull against the Vulcan’s.

Starbursts erupted behind Kirk’s eyes, but it did nothing to deter him from repeating the motion again with increasing force. With his hand and blade free, Kirk tackled Stonn into the sludge and rain that squelched beneath their bodies. Stonn gurgled as blood no doubt flooded the back of his throat and slid down to his gut in thick, sticky streams.

Kirk mounted Stonn’s chest with his teeth bared and the smell of copper and rage filling his lungs. He hunched over his prey, the dagger placed directly beneath Stonn’s jaw. Swallowing the tremor in his voice, Kirk leaned towards Stonn’s ear and quietly said, “Would you like to live?”

Stonn bucked once, nearly sending Kirk head over heels. He dug his boots into the mud and clenched Stonn’s sloppy, tangled hair in his fist.

“I said, do you want to live!” Kirk demanded at a decibel that had his throat searing. He remained eye to eye with Stonn, with the blade nipping at the delicate flesh near his Adam’s apple. The whites of Stonn’s eyes were like full moons, with the tiny pinpricks of his pupils darting over Kirk’s face like a confused beast.

Silently, his breathing coming out in heaves, Stonn nodded.

Kirk smiled. “Very well. I’ll need to take something of yours first, though. I’m thinking of starting a collection.”

With that, Kirk spun the dagger in his fingers, held it as if he were about to stab – and made a deep, ragged cut at Stonn’s temple, straight down. He’d sliced off the Vulcan’s ear before Stonn had gathered the wind to scream. The body beneath Kirk surged with pain, and before Kirk could find a hold on Stonn’s mud-slick frame, Kirk was diving face-first into the grime.

Everything happened too quickly to process. There was a scream – someone yelled Kirk’s name, and another great roar sounded in his dirt-clogged ears. Something large thudded beside his head. Kirk rolled on instinct and sat up on his elbows despite the pain that sang from every joint. He gaped at what he saw.

A lirpa lay beside him. T’Pring’s face was still mangled with shock as she stood above Kirk with her fingers still spread, having just dropped her weapon. She coughed once, thin and reedy.

And Spock was behind her. One large hand was curled around T’Pring’s shoulder, holding her in place, while the other palm remained wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The blade was thrust in T’Pring’s side, right through her heart, angled up and punctured through a lung. A perfectly executed Vulcan kill.

Kirk’s shocked stare collided with Spock’s mournful, glistening eyes. For a streak of time, Kirk saw regret, loyalty, sacrifice – and love.

Then Spock, slid his stained sword out, released T’Pring, and her corpse toppled into the mud with a great slap. Kirk didn’t move. Stonn was passed out at his feet from the pain, and T’Pring was dead. Kirk was clotted in dirt, with a Vulcan ear still sat crunched in his fist.

Spock’s expression was blank as he walked to Kirk. He held out a hand, and Kirk took it. Spock pulled him up in a way that made Kirk feel like a child taking his first steps.

Kirk’s heart drummed with something other than fear and anger. This beat was something new, a dance to which he did not yet know the steps. When Kirk realised that they were standing, simply clasping palms, he cleared his throat and took a step back.

“This,” Kirk said quietly. A crowd was gathering – one larger than his scuffle had initially attracted. Kirk met Spock’s gaze levelly and took a breath. “This changes nothing between us. I don’t know what you believe we are, but we aren’t. As for all the rest –” Kirk shrugged. “That’s Gaila’s responsibility, not mine.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he remained expressionless. “I don’t believe, James Kirk of the North. I know.”

The confidence humming like steel beneath Spock’s words was enough to send a shiver down Kirk’s spine. With a faint nod, Kirk turned on his heel and strode away.

He needed to get cleaned up. Then he needed to raise an army.

“You have no reason to trust me,” Spock said as he took his place at Kirk’s side. The cloudmen had refused to move when they’d seen Spock at Kirk’s side. To follow a Vulcan into battle would be worse than the death they might find on the field. They waited with stony expressions and brittle patience.

They would not shift without explanation.

For the first time, Spock was dressed in a manner that suited him. His Vulcan armour made him look wider, more formidable than flimsy robes. A heavy cloak of midnight blue snapped and folded in the shrieking winds that scrapped across the base of the mountain.

The gusts stung Kirk’s eyes, but Spock did not blink as he faced the warriors of Scamallach with eyes like fire and a voice like roaring waves. He stood just shy of too close to Kirk, but in this moment – well, the small Scamallach army were not the only ones impressed with Spock right now.

“I will not request that you do trust me,” Spock said as he scanned the crowd, meeting each Orion’s eyes. “I merely demand that you trust your leader. I implore you to follow his command with the surety that you would follow your own God. Because for today, and as long as this battle may last, James Kirk holds your life in his hands. My presence here will not change that.”

“In fact –” Spock shifted, and before Kirk could realise Spock’s intention, there was a hand on his shoulder. “My life, my heart, also lays with him. What he demands of you all, he will demand of me as well – and I will follow him to the death.” Spock nodded at the silence that met him. “Thank you.”

Spock took a single step back, hovering just at Kirk’s shoulder.

With more effort than Kirk wished was necessary, he set aside whatever confusing heat roiled within him at Spock’s speech, and settled his mind on what was to come.

He faced his men with a wide, feral smile and clapped his hands together once. Loudly, he said, “All right, men – let’s strip down!”

“I had assumed the fables and reports from Vulcans gone mad to be false,” Spock said in a low, faintly bewildered voice.

Kirk bit back a laugh, and remained crouched and still in the cover of thick, shadowed brush. His shoulder was pressed firmly against Spock’s. It was a rather cramped bush.

“The better for us. You Vulcans are so thunderous with your stomping the Orions, we hear you half a day away. And when you finally arrive, there’s half as many from when you began, and then –” Kirk jerked his head towards the treetops, where dozens upon dozens of nude, green-stained Orions were poised in the trees.

Kirk knew they could sit there for hours, waiting to drop and slit a man’s throat. They were silent killers, invisible in the olive shadows the foliage cast through the wood. This was the only way through to the Scamallach. The forest was wedged between two steep hills, impassable for a large army of clumsy Vulcans. They would come this way – and soon.

Spock tilted further towards Kirk, to the point where Kirk could see Spock’s white clouds of breath as if they were his own. “My party is the first in two generations to make it this far alive.”

“Oh no,” Kirk said as he angled his chin and looked into Spock’s eyes with a cocky smile. “Many have made it this far. They’re simply filleted before they have a chance to return. That’s why Vulcans have nothing but ghost stories to tell of the Orions.”

Spock considered him silently and nodded once, then turn away to stare out between the leaves. “And this army?” Spock said after a long moment. “They will be several hundred strong.”

“Manageable,” Kirk said without looking at him.

There was silence again for a good quarter of an hour. Then Spock said, “I will be greatly displeased if you die, so please avoid such an end at all costs.”

Kirk felt his face heat as he quietly huffed. “Fucking talkative Vulcan. Shut your mouth.”

There was a scream in the distance, and the sound of a tree branch collapsing beneath the weight of a man. The steel ring of swords drawn and orders delivered in tight, harried commands set Kirk’s blood on fire. He felt Spock tense up beside him in tandem with Kirk’s own muscles.

This is it, Kirk thought. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t have to say it aloud. Spock would know – Spock knew.

Air screamed through Kirk’s lungs as he ducked down, out of the path of a spinning lirpa. He flung his longsword out and sliced the back of the Vulcan’s knees open, not pausing to see the soldier fall. It was enough to hear the fading scream as Kirk shimmied up the rocky wall of a short waterfall. He hefted himself onto the ledge and hopped to his feet, his sword at the ready just in time for two more Vulcans to thunder towards him.

They were hindered by the Vulcan corpses that already littered the forest floor, with their blood seeping into the thin stream and dying the waterfall the colour of wilting moss. One of them tripped on the cracked open skull of their comrade, the muck of trodden brains squelching around the Vulcan’s sandaled foot.

Kirk saw a flicker of horror pass over the Vulcan’s face, and took the opportunity to thrust his blade straight through the soldier’s neck. He yanked back the longsword in one clean jerk, and didn’t cry out when the second Vulcan’s lirpa swung at eye-level and sliced cleanly across the bridge of Kirk’s nose.

His face felt aflame, and he could taste the blood that streamed from the deep cut and ran over his lips. It would scar, but Kirk had his sight and he was still alive – that was all that mattered.

With a roar, more out of annoyance than pain, Kirk grabbed the Vulcan’s wrist with his free hand and brought his knee up, cracking the bastard’s elbow up and through the skin. It was like breaking a particularly stubborn branch. Blood splattered on Kirk’s face, but he was already covered in his own, so the difference was negligible. He finished the kill with an angled sword into the armpit, and dashed away before the body hit the ground.

Kirk ran past several fallen friends as he picked off Vulcans separated from the meagre remains of the party. More than anything, he wished he could stop and tend to their wounds – see if they could be saved. He knew these men, knew their wives and children and sisters.

But more than that, Kirk wanted to be certain those wives and children and sisters had the opportunity to live. So he stepped over the broken bodies of his men and walked on. Kirk knew the cloudfolk would be regrouped nearby. The Orions did not spread out, as a rule. They murdered well in confined spaces, taking advantage of the confusion it caused the Vulcans to be closed in like a tightening fist.

Traversing through the forest with blood in his eyes and literal mountains of Vulcan corpses to climb left Kirk’s joints crying, and his temper flaring for even acknowledging the fatigue that settled in his bones. His teeth were bared in a silent snarl as he burst through a particularly thick copse of trees and tumbled directly into the heart of battle.

Kirk’s quick survey of the small clearing as he unsheathed his sword and jammed the blade into a Vulcan’s eye socket was that they were winning. Of course they would, but it jolted a new bolt of energy through Kirk’s limbs. He laughed aloud with triumph as he spun and sliced open the thigh of a Vulcan.

He whirled to find another combatant and saw Spock. Two Vulcans were upon him, but Spock’s face was stoic and blood-speckled as he executed one fluid kill after another. The muscles of his arms bunched and shifted beneath pale and soil-stained skin, and his calves and feet were slick and green from wading in the bloodied carcasses of his own people.

Spock looked glorious.

From across the circle of battle, as if Spock had suddenly known exactly where Kirk was, Spock looked up. Their eyes met and held. A familiar roar filled Kirk’s ears as his vision tunnelled in on Spock and only Spock. A deep, dark ba-dum sounded in his chest and –

“Spock!” Kirk was already sprinting forward – but he wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t agile enough to weave through the mass of clashing Orions and Vulcans.

Kirk wasn’t fast enough to stop the soldier behind Spock from thrusting his sword straight through Spock’s shoulder.

Spock’s mouth opened soundlessly, surprise mapped on his face as he looked down and saw the tip of a blade jutting from above his armpit. He jerked his gaze up, found Kirk, and gasped for a single breath before collapsing.

“No – no!”

Kirk didn’t know if it was sweat or blood or tears that stung his eyes and blurred his vision, but his scream was enough to startle the offending Vulcan for enough time to behead him in one swipe. Kirk’s arms screamed with exertion, and still he impaled his sword through the loose head that fell to the ground. He abandoned his blade sticking out of the Vulcan’s skull, and fell to his knees beside Spock’s body.

“Stupid fucking Vulcan,” Kirk hissed as he huffed for a breath that wouldn’t come.

He freed the shortsword from Spock’s back, and sighed in relief when Spock’s short cry filled his ears. He was alive yet, although perhaps not for long. It was difficult to tell, and Kirk was no healer.

Spock’s eyes were closed, the thin skin of his lids so pale that Jim could make out faint veins beneath the flesh. A cough dislodged a spatter of blood, and Spock bared his teeth in a wince.

Kirk gritted his teeth together and pinched Spock’s cheek, hard enough to bruise. “Fool! What was that talk of avoiding death at all costs? Did you think the displeasure, as you so finely put it, would not be mirrored in myself should you take the coward’s route?”

In fact, Kirk himself hadn’t known it would be like this. Hadn’t known his heart would climb into his throat and leave him gasping – hadn’t known such blind panic would consume his every fibre with the sight of Spock’s mouth going tired and lax.

“If you die – ” Kirk paused as his breath hitched. He swiped his hand across his eyes and it came away wet and crimson. “If you die, I will never forgive you.”

Spock’s eyes cracked open, a sliver of amber beneath dark lashes. “I do –” he croaked, “I do apologise for the inconvenience.”

His lids fell shut and – for the first time in a dozen winters, springs, falls, and summers – Kirk felt utterly desolate.

“Survivors?”

Kirk shook his head and brought the cup of water to Spock’s lips. “Only enough for rantings of tree people and ghosts, I’m certain.”

Spock took the drink offered and swallowed without difficulty. Since breaking his fever, he’d become lucid quickly – but not enough to wander about. Spock lay upon silver pelts, his head on Kirk’s lap. He looked up at Kirk with faint bruises beneath his eyes and slight jaundice to his skin. But he was alive.

“And the Scamallach?”

Kirk considered the funeral pyre, stacked high with the bodies of his brothers. The acrid smell of their charred flesh still clung to his nostrils, and the burning had been days ago.

“The village still stands, does it not?”

“I should hope so, unless this is some form of hallucination.”

Kirk huffed a laugh – the first in days, weeks. Without thought to the gesture, he placed his hand on Spock’s hot forehead and smoothed back his fine, black hair.

Spock narrowed his eyes. “You are behaving strangely.”

“Am I?” Kirk said innocently. “I would care the same for my daughter.”

One eyebrow had the energy to twitch. “Are you insinuating that you think of me as a child?”

Kirk repressed a grin. Clearly Spock’s spirit was returning to him like a gale force wind.

Kirk shrugged. “Friend, more like.” A corner of Kirk’s lips curved as he stroked the pad of his thumb over one angled eyebrow. “Brother, undeniably.”

Spock blinked rapidly, and soon his cheeks were blooming with spring green. “And?”

Kirk frowned and cocked his head. “Well, you’re certainly no one’s lover in this state! You’re useless to me like this.”

Spock’s agitation was clearer than Kirk had ever seen it, in the way he shifted as if to sit up in a huff. In the way his gaze dropped, his mouth thinned, and his ears flushed entirely.

This time Kirk couldn’t hold back a laugh as he pushed Spock back down with little effort. He slid his palm past the clean bandage over Spock’s bare chest, along Spock’s clenched jaw, and paused to cup his stubbly cheek.

“Fine,” Kirk said quietly with a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. “Perhaps not entirely useless.”

Spock looked like he was barely repressing a scowl. “Eventually you will admit to our being t’hy’la. I will wear you down as surely as the sea beats at the cliffs.”

“Oh, will you now?” Kirk said, looking more amused by the second. “You’ll have to stay with us for quite some time to ever hear such a perverse thing escape my lips.”

“Then I will stay,” Spock said. “Here, with you.”

The hut boomed with Kirk’s laughter, even as he laced his fingers with Spock’s. With their palms warm as they slid firm against each other’s, Kirk felt as if he’d finally found home.