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A Taste of the Exotic
********
There was no doubt that the Enterprise had seen her share of battles; if one wanted to be philosophical about it, it could even be said that the ship had been born into them, a child of war in an otherwise peaceful universe. It was an odd realization, considering that the purpose of Enterprise was peaceful exploration, but weirder things had happened in the universe. It would have made for an interesting conversation, actually, except such conversations usually involved engineers. Engineers and philosophers.
Kirk wasn’t an engineer or a philosopher, but then, he didn’t need to be; he had people for that. So, instead of reflecting on what was probably a contradiction and possibly a bad omen, he did the normal thing. The human thing.
“Fuck.” The lights of the bridge flickered, highlighting the forms of the crew strewn across the floor before plunging back into almost complete darkness. Kirk groaned and pulled himself up, levering his aching body into the command chair and punching the intercom button with a hand still numb from when he had landed on it.
“Scotty, please tell me that was just a minor blip and the shields are back on?”
Scotty’s voice filtered through the tiny speaker, strong but surprised.
“They are, Captain. I don’t know what happened; I didn’t think that ship had that sort of power, but the shields were only off for a minute, two tops.”
Kirk sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Well, at least they weren’t dead in the water quite yet.
“Great. Just great. Thanks, Scotty.”
Kirk ended the call and then carefully wiped the blood off the armrest of his chair while he waited for the rest of his crew to resume their posts. He had a busted nose; he saw the blood glint in the dim light, and he felt it enough anyway, but he supposed he would deal with it later.
Chekov’s voice startled him enough that he jumped, and the soreness in his back made certain that he regretted it.
“Captain, the ship is gone.”
Sure enough, it was—the viewscreen showed only free, open space with the smallest amount of debris from where the Enterprise’s phasers had struck the other ship. It hadn’t been destroyed, obviously, since they’d been able to return fire, but it was as Chekov had said: gone.
Kirk heaved an enormous sigh of relief.
“Awesome. Alright then; injuries? Crew condition, Commander?”
Silence was his only answer, and Kirk felt the faintest touch of unease in the darkness.
“Spock?”
Still nothing, and this time the unease shot straight to panic. Was Spock injured so badly that he couldn’t answer? Kirk glanced at the faint form of his helmsman, lit by the lights of his consol, assumed that he was at least conscious, and barked out an order.
“Sulu, emergency power.”
The lights flickered on in response, weak and dim, but enough that Kirk could see the science chair clearly.
The empty science chair.
Kirk glanced around the bridge, but he didn’t see Spock standing or laying anywhere. The confused expressions on the faces of his bridge crew confirmed it; Spock wasn’t on the bridge any longer.
Kirk scowled, surprise warring with worry.
“Where the hell is Spock?”
********
The cargo hold was badly lit and somewhat chilly even through Spock’s Starfleet-issued thermo clothes. It was most uncomfortable and unwelcome, but then, he had been forcibly removed from the Enterprise; it would have been foolish to assume that the ship—whatever their purposes—would offer him first-rate accommodations after such treatment.
Still, he was…disconcerted…to find himself stored in an area not meant for living beings in general, much less one that was soon to be on the receiving end of fire from the Enterprise. Spock had no doubt that they would soon be aware that he was missing—Kirk, at least, had some affection for him and would notice his absence—but there was a strong possibility that the realization would come too late. Spock wondered if that was the aliens’ intentions; to use him as a shield, of sorts, while they attempted what was by all accounts a losing battle. He wondered if they would use him to bargain with the Captain, perhaps to get out of the fact that they had attacked a Federation vessel with no provocation.
An instant after he had concluded this to be the case, Spock felt the noticeable jerk of a warp drive being activated, and all of his theories became irrelevant. Whatever their purpose, it did not involve returning Spock to the Enterprise.
In the most logical course of action, Spock settled himself once more among the crates of Orion wine and Klingon weaponry and began to formulate a plan of escape.
********
“What do you mean, they might have boarded us? Of course they did; Spock is no longer on the damn ship.”
Kirk heard the words coming out of his own mouth and knew they were overly harsh. Nobody had expected a boarding, not when the attacking ship was small, badly designed, poorly powered, and no match for any sort of Federation vessel, much less one that was Constitution-class.
Still, the fact remained that they had been boarded, only for a moment, and Spock had been taken. Kidnapped. Stolen right out from under them.
Kirk knew he was angrier about the fact that he hadn’t noticed than the fact that Scotty had let the shields slip for just a minute and allowed it to happen. It had been less than fifteen minutes since they had realized Spock was no longer among them, and already Kirk had cursed himself multiple times for his lack of observation. If he’d noticed earlier, he could have stopped the kidnapping. Hell, if he’d noticed earlier, he could have at least gone with, and then he would have known that Spock wasn’t alone. At least he would have known Spock was safe.
But there was no time for worry, not for the Captain, and so Kirk was harsher than he’d ever been.
Scotty looked appropriately chastised, and Kirk made a note to apologize later, when he was thinking more fairly.
“I’m sorry, Captain—this is all my fault.”
“No, it’s not; we suspected them of pirating, but we didn’t think they had something capable of knocking out our shields, even for such a short time. Now we know, and we have to do something. Have you analyzed the warp signature, Ensign Chekov?”
“Yes sir, but there’s something wrong. That ship may not have had much for weapons or shields, but they are very, very fast. Faster than us.”
“How much faster?”
“They may be an hour ahead of us at maximum warp, and judging by the degradation of the signature, that distance is only going to increase. We may lose them entirely.”
“Okay, everyone, think. Why would someone kidnap a Vulcan? Anyone?”
The conference room was silent, and Kirk closed his eyes. There were tons of reasons to kidnap a Vulcan, and none of them were good. Out of desperation, Kirk replayed the conversation they’d had with the masked captain of the ship in his mind.
Ah, you are the Enterprise. Am I speaking to Captain Kirk?
“Scientific research? An attempt to catch up to the Federation in technology?”
You’re Commander Spock. The only half-Vulcan in existence.
“Money? I know Spock’s father is one of the remaining members of the Vulcan High Council.”
The only half-Vulcan in existence…
“Maybe they needed a new computer? A calculator? A heater?”
The only half-Vulcan…
Kirk opened his eyes.
“Does anyone know how much Vulcans are going for on the slave trade these days?”
His response was a series of gasps as they all absorbed the implications, but Kirk didn’t wait. It was a stretch—attacking a ship for one slave was ridiculous, even for the most daring of pirates—but he couldn’t afford to assume it was wrong.
It was the worst option, and Kirk had to believe they could stop it.
“No? Well, I have a guess, and that guess is a lot. I want everyone to look into the recent slave trade activity in the area, and Lieutenant Uhura, I want you to listen in. Find out where the next markets are at, and when. Scotty, we’re following that warp trail, maximum warp.”
A chorus of “yes sir” was his only answer, and Kirk nodded and dismissed them quickly. As soon as they were gone, he closed his eyes briefly in misery and tried not to think of what might be awaiting his friend—his precious, dear, cherished friend—in just a few short hours.
********
Spock needed only half an hour of reflection to conclude that escape was impossible, but even so—perhaps in honoring the spirit of his absent Captain—he took forty-six point three minutes before he finally admitted defeat.
It wasn’t that he assumed that escape was impossible as a concept; the faint steps that passed the cargo door every six minutes showed that he was poorly guarded, and initial scans done by the Enterprise had shown that there were only ten beings on-board in total—eleven now, including himself. Although Spock would have preferred not to fight his way to freedom, he had dismissed bargaining as an option the second he realized he was seen as cargo, and the few other options he could come up with—hiding, sabotage, and disguise—were equally unrealistic.
The difficulty was that fighting didn’t seem to be an option either. He was outnumbered, certainly, but not by so great a factor that he could not have managed; the problem lay in the fact that the ship was designed poorly and held together by the weakest of methods, and open conflict with his armed guards had the very real risk of puncturing a hole in the hull.
If he exposed the ship to open space…well, then escape was a moot point. In addition, even without this possibility in mind, he did not recognize the design of the ship other than to identify it as a vessel designed for pirating, and he knew he would not be able to operate it if he did somehow gain control without incident, and then he was left in a possibly worse situation: captaining an obvious pirate vessel in unclaimed space. The pirates who were operating it now at least knew the dangers, and they likely had methods for avoiding open conflict, while Spock would essentially be a babe in the woods.
It was a quandary he did not want to contemplate, and so he waited, listening to the familiar yet unrecognizable mutterings of his guards. They would be stopping soon, he imagined—this vessel was not designed for extended travel—but even so, Spock found himself illogically hoping that they would overestimate their fuel and become adrift, and easier to locate.
Spock knew the Enterprise would find him; it was only a matter of when.
********
Kirk didn’t know how they were ever going to find them. It galled and panicked him to admit it, but slaving was such a wide-spread affliction that isolating one area to target was next to impossible, and the warp signature of the ship they had been chasing was disappearing rapidly. If the vessel changed directions any minute, the Enterprise would lose them, and—although Uhura had been listening into frequencies for only forty minutes—they already had five possible locations for upcoming slave markets. Any one of them could be where the vessel was headed, and that was if they didn’t include the dozens of markets that slave traders simply had the good sense not to talk about.
It was hopeless, absolutely hopeless, but he knew he was still going to run his crew to the ground in an attempt to find Spock. He couldn’t stop looking. He wouldn’t…even if it took his entire life.
“Captain?”
Kirk looked at Uhura, and he felt his pulse quicken. There was excitement in her eyes. Excitement and confidence.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I’m picking up a conversation between two ships. It’s about a competition of strength and cunning; the winner is rewarded with, and I quote, “the rarest of alien creatures.” It sounds like the prizes are slaves, and last year’s competition apparently had an Andorian and Romulan hybrid as the first place prize.”
It was a solid connection, a strong motive, and Kirk gladly took it.
“Can you get the location of the competition?”
Uhura pressed her headset ever closer to her ear and shook her head.
“They haven’t said, sir, but one of the ships—a heavy cargo ship—says they’ve had some internal damage and can’t maintain warp.”
“Can you track them?”
Chekov answered immediately, and Kirk tried not to wince at the sight of someone else using the science station.
“I’m doing so now, sir—less than a light-year away.”
Kirk nodded, and for the first time, he actually believed they would be in time.
“Good. Mister Sulu, drop out of warp; we’re going to let them think they got away, and as soon as Chekov has coordinates for you, we’re finding that other ship.”
Sulu confirmed and the Enterprise slowed to impulse; Kirk listened to the rapid beep of navigation tell him that the warp signature of the other ship had disappeared, and he hoped he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
********
Spock hadn’t expected to meet his captors so soon, considering their regard for his comfort. However, the surprise was mild enough that he still managed to drag himself to his feet as the solid slab of a door was opened and a man wearing a worn but distinct Captain’s uniform was revealed.
Spock blinked then; without the helmet he had worn during the course of their discussions over the viewscreen, the man almost looked—
“You are a Vulcan subspecies, but not a Vulcan?” The ears were distinctive, of course, but Spock knew more about his own species, and was thus able to recognize things that were not common knowledge. The whisper of a third eyelid. The hammer of a heart in his side. The dark green vein on the side of his temple that ensured the brain was oxygenated properly even in low-oxygen conditions.
The Captain nodded and entered the cargo hold fully, and the door closed behind him. Spock spared another second to consider fighting his way free—a hostage would be most appreciated in this case—but his eyes flickered to where the Captain’s hand was currently resting on a phaser at his belt, and the idea was dismissed again.
“Where am I being taken?”
The Captain shrugged, and threw something at him—it was a coat, thick and smelling strongly of animals. Spock tried not to think of what it was made of, choosing instead to simply shrug it on.
“Does it matter?”
Spock supposed it didn’t, and he kept his mouth closed, hoping the conversation would end. He had noticed one other thing about his captors—the four that he had seen were an average of five inches over seven feet tall, and he assumed that it was a trait of their species. Or a family trait, perhaps; for a brief moment, he sympathized with humans and their inability to tell Vulcans apart.
His musings were interrupted by the Captain abruptly grabbing him roughly by the chin. In contradiction to his actions, his gaze was not angry. Simply…lingering.
“I didn’t have a chance to notice earlier, but you are a beauty, aren’t you?”
Spock’s first instinct was to jerk back, but the bruising force on his jaw spoke of broken bones if he tried.
“I beg your pardon?”
Spock was no more or no less aesthetically appealing than any other member of his species, and not even his mother—with her tendency towards human romanticism—had ever called him “a beauty.” To that matter, the expressions of his crew mates when they assumed he was not listening were, of course, invalid in this case, as humans found sexual attraction to most beings.
“A shame I have to give you up, but money’s money.” The Captain paused, and then his lips twisted into an expression that belonged on no Vulcan face. Spock believed the term was a “leer,” but he preferred not to think about the implications if the term was indeed accurate.
“Maybe I’ll just have to compete after all.”
The Captain stroked rough fingers across his cheek, his expression hungry, and Spock held his eyes determinedly; the Captain flashed another quick smile and the hand released him almost immediately. Spock knew his breath of relief was seen clearly, as the temperature in the compartment had dropped several degrees in the past few minutes. Spock was certain that it would be at the common definition of freezing soon.
The Captain tossed another cloth at him, this time a blanket.
“Bundle up, Vulcan—we’re diverting power from the life support systems now, and it’s going to get cold. Don’t want you freezing to death before we get paid.”
There was laughter from just outside the door, the sounds from the guards that had no doubt been listening to their entire conversation. The Captain scowled, then, but the expression quickly disappeared as he resumed his briefing.
“Also, stay put—some of the wings will have no life support at all.”
Spock felt the temperature drop another seven degrees, and he wrapped the blanket around himself tightly.
“I will not survive in these conditions.”
The Captain looked unconcerned.
“Sure you will; it’s only for a few hours, and then everything—” The Captain snorted, the expression of amusement making little sense to Spock at the moment. A guard opened the door just far enough to hand the Captain another blanket, and Spock was ready when it flew towards him. Thin, wool; it was a Starfleet-standard for freezing conditions, and it had likely been stolen as well.
The Captain continued, voice more amused with each word.
“—then everything will be just fine. Have you in a warm, toasty bed before you know it.”
He laughed as he left, closing the door once more behind him; this time, Spock heard the sound of environmental seals firmly snapping in place, and he knew his guards were leaving to seek shelter from the cold.
Having no other options, Spock settled himself once more among the crates. Once there, he huddled down into his blankets as far as he could go and simply waited.
********
They found the ship exactly where Chekov had said it was; the result of moving at impulse was the fact that, most times, it was more practical to save energy and not move at all. Kirk was more relieved than he could say, and he only felt a moment of guilt over the fact that the cargo ship would never meet the people who were supposed to rescue them, a guilt that he quickly squashed. He owed Spock a speedy rescue and more for the whole heap of dreams he’d had about him in the middle of the night, dreams he was too ashamed to admit to, and when combined with the worry that came from not knowing, he didn’t have time to be kind.
Kirk hailed the cargo ship, and they answered immediately. The man who fielded the call was short, nervous, human, and he was twitchy. Oh, was he twitching. Sweating, too, and Kirk knew there wasn’t a cargo ship in existence that was capable of maintaining hot enough temperatures for that. Kirk figured it was a good bet that they had some stolen cargo themselves, and he smiled while he told them—without any qualms at all—that he was confiscating their ship and bringing them back to Federation space.
They argued, and when that failed, they tried to run with their broken down ship. They even fired weapons, which was a stupid, stupid mistake, and the entire affair took twenty minutes tops.
Kirk got more satisfaction out of it than he could say when he threw all fifteen of them in the brig, and he pulled Mr. Twitchy into a conference room for interrogation. There were better procedures for this, he knew, but Kirk was dodging them in favor of saving time.
“Hello, Mister—Colton? How are you doing?”
“I have rights. You have no right to take my ship.”
Kirk calmly tapped a file on the tabletop, and smiled.
“Except we’ve been following you since your last raid.”
Of course he fell for it; the man was too nervous to think about why a Constitution-class vessel would be following a small-time smuggling and pirating ship.
“I knew that damn raid was a set up; too many valuables for such a small planet.”
Kirk blinked; he couldn’t believe his luck. Well, at least Starfleet wouldn’t kill him for this.
“Eridinas XIII?”
The planet had been raided close to a week ago, and all the scientific equipment and rations had been stolen. It was one of the Federation’s biggest losses to date, and Kirk couldn’t believe this tiny, nervous man was responsible.
Then Colton looked at him, surprised and relatively harmless, and Kirk knew he wasn’t the one behind it. He carried himself like an underling; no doubt he just had some of the cargo, and the least valuable parts at that.
“You just said…oh, God dammit.”
Kirk nodded cheerfully.
“Yep. I knew you had some pilfered cargo, but hell, I didn’t know you had that much. You’re in more trouble than I thought.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“Yes, you do. Because if you answer my questions, I might be able to swing something. You’ll have to give the cargo back, of course, but you, your crew…maybe you escape?”
Colton looked so pathetically grateful that Kirk was even willing to do it, too—off record.
“Yeah, maybe.” He paused, looked down, and then looked back up, resigned.
“What question? I can’t tell you who helped; they’d kill me.”
Kirk didn’t care; he wasn’t the border patrol, and he knew Starfleet would find the culprits eventually anyway.
“That’s fine. Where is the Lyret Competition you mentioned earlier?”
Colton just stared at him.
“On Saradis III—you know, the little planet orbiting the big one? Why?”
“No reason.” Kirk did some quick math, and he guessed it was seven hours away at maximum warp. Hopefully, they could get there in time to stop the competition in its tracks, along with whatever operation was going on beneath the scene.
He seriously doubted Spock was the only one who had been taken.
Colton was still staring at him, but Jim ignored him.
“Thank you, Captain Colton—that’s all we needed to know.”
The security division took Colton away, and the entire time he was sputtering about his sentence, and trying to make deals.
Kirk ignored him and called the bridge with orders to head for Saradis III.
********
Spock hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but in the end, it hadn’t been up to him; despite superior Vulcan control over his body’s normal functions, lessening life support also meant lessening oxygen content to a possibly dangerous level. In a dark room with a rapidly decreasing temperature and little oxygen, he had no choice but to fall asleep to conserve energy and resources.
The Captain seemed to get some amusement out of waking him up once they had reached their destination, and Spock didn’t pause to contemplate how long they had simply observed him before they decided he should be awoken.
“Up, Vulcan. Hope and dreams are in your future.”
Spock didn’t know what he was saying or why, but when his eyes opened and his body gave one quick intake of air now rich with oxygen, he didn’t consider it important. No matter the Captain’s promises of before, the environmental conditions of the cargo area had dropped to near-fatal conditions. One hour, two at most, and Spock would have died; it was a thought that he wanted to avoid if at all possible, and his request was granted when the Captain reached down and yanked him upwards to stand on numb feet. They marched him out of the cargo bay rather than tranquilize him, most likely because they knew he wouldn’t put up a fight in his condition, and when he stumbled, they jerked him back up and kept pushing him forward.
They left the ship through shuttle—partly to conserve energy and partly, he knew, so that his captors could have phasers locked on him at all times. Spock was too busy slowly accustoming his body to the change in temperature and atmosphere to give it much thought, but as the shuttle punctured the atmosphere and they began to descend, it occurred to him to wonder where they were taking him.
They landed, and as soon as the doors opened, he knew.
Saradis III was technically considered a moon by Starfleet standards—it orbited the larger planet of Saradis II—but it was one of the few moons in his knowledge that was capable of supporting life. Gravity of 1.3 times that of Earth and with a solid core and thin atmosphere, it was very reminiscent of Vulcan before its destruction, but it had never been colonized for many reasons. Lack of plant life. Lack of water. And, of course, the fact that it had long been a hub for illegal activity made settling the planet a risk that an average family would not be willing to take.
As Spock was led across the dry surface of the planet, he saw that now was apparently a season for such activities. He estimated fifteen hundred people—humanoid and not—were currently residing on the planet, and by the appearance of their cheap tents and hastily-constructed water fountains, it was clear that they did not intend to stay. Spock wondered how much time he would have before he was shipped off planet with some other ship as some other cargo, and—for the first time—he had doubts. The Enterprise was only one ship, after all, and this planet had dozens. Then he closed his eyes, saw Kirk’s smiling, confident face, and he knew his doubts didn’t matter.
If there was one thing Spock had learned after two years as First Officer of Kirk’s Enterprise, it was that there was nothing Kirk couldn’t do, no matter the odds against him.
The parade of he and his captors stopped outside the largest tent, the weather-proof material a cheery red that reflected too-bright sunlight. The Captain entered the tent, and—for a moment—Spock considered making a run for it, considered obtaining a shuttlecraft and reaching orbit, perhaps heading back in the direction of Enterprise’s last known location. However, he had seen the guards—numerous guards—patrolling the surface, and he knew his chances of survival during such an attempt were slim.
The Captain came out of the tent with a smile on his face and a bag of bright, clean dilithium. He looked at Spock almost with regret, but Spock knew that he wouldn’t go back on his deal; the armed guards would make certain of it.
The Captain seemed to come to a decision, and he tucked the bag inside his belt.
“There’s a cell over here for him, boys; let’s make sure he’s comfortable.”
The cell was standard fare for criminals, employing old-fashioned iron bars, and it lacked the cleanliness of the brig on the Enterprise. He was shoved inside without warning, and the Captain reached over only long enough to reclaim his coat before the door closed.
Spock stared at them as they walked away without a word, and he would have continued to stare after them if he hadn’t felt a slim hand come to rest on his shoulder. Startled, he turned and saw bright blue eyes looking at him with something like fondness.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”
********
It was inevitable that the Enterprise began to falter; she wasn’t meant to maintain maximum warp for so long, and the dilithium crystals were fracturing under the strain, something that Scotty had warned for even before they had laid in the heading for Saradis III. Kirk had ignored the warning, and the signs; like with any time they were in danger, he had expected Scotty and his engines to pull through despite the odds, and he had expected everything to work out just fine in the end. Perhaps he and Spock would even talk about what a close call it was later, and they could have one of those conversations where Jim laughed and Spock was just quietly nodding along.
But just light-years away from their destination, reality struck. Of course pushing for Warp 5 for five hours was going to damage the engines. Of course it was.
Scotty was apologetic and some of the younger ensigns were almost in tears, but it didn’t change the fact that Enterprise had been slowed to a crawl, and she and the cargo ship she was hauling were barely at impulse.
Two hours. They were just two hours away, but it might as well have been a million.
Kirk was reluctant to do it, but when faced with the possibility of not getting there in time or of not getting there at all, he went to talk to Captain Colton. He needed an alternative. Any alternative.
Colton looked surprised and resentful at his presence, even though he still shook in his boots when Kirk glared at him.
“Captain. What can I do for you?”
Kirk ignored the sarcasm and entered the brig. Several people looked up, but as he’d suspected, no one said anything.
“Where do the ships go when they leave the Lyret Competition?”
Colton shrugged.
“Another competition? Home? I don’t know.” He grinned then, the first easy expression Kirk had seen on his face since they’d dragged them all kicking and screaming to the ship. “Planning on busting them for slavery, Captain?”
“Maybe.”
Colton sobered, and he looked down.
“No, really. Why do you care so much? They happen every standard year; you can catch the next one.”
“They took someone off my ship. An officer.”
“Really?” Colton started to laugh, and Kirk scowled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Captain Kirk.”
“What?”
Colton looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, Kirk got the feeling he was being pitied.
“If they’ve been taken to the competition, you probably won’t want what’s left of them.”
Kirk felt a rage that he convinced himself was normal for any friend or Captain, and he left for the bridge before he could do anything rash.
********
Spock stared at the man next to him for just a moment, noting the uncommonly fine features, and then he glanced to his left, to the darkness of the cell. Several pairs of eyes blinked at him; eyes that, in his distraction, he had not noticed. The first man just watched him with his blue eyes set in his dark green face, and Spock knew he was waiting for some acknowledgement beyond the half-startled flinch Spock had given at discovering he was not alone.
Spock took an extra moment to make certain that none of the motions of those sharing his cell were hostile, and then he turned back to the man.
He was young, even for an Orion.
“Yes, I am Commander Spock.”
The Orion nodded in sympathy and smiled softly.
“I figured as much; there aren’t many Vulcans left, especially in Starfleet.”
Spock didn’t look at his own clothes; for a moment, he had forgotten he was still clad in his uniform, as it had been mostly obscured by the coat he had been wearing just moments ago.
“How long has it been since you were taken from your ship, Vulcan?”
“I am not Vulcan; I am Commander Spock.”
It had taken him a lifetime to be able to say it, but the Orion did not look impressed.
“Honey, trust me when I say it would be better to forget that. Names don’t mean much around this place, and if one of the guards hears you waving rank…oh, there will be hell to pay. Or more than usual.”
Some of the figures hidden in the shadows laughed but Spock ignored them, focusing instead on the one brave enough to speak to him in the light.
“What is your name?”
“Me? I’m the Blue-Eyed Orion; it’s kind of my thing. I’m one of the more common folks, here, which means I get awarded first.”
Spock frowned, the expression barely touching his lips.
“Awarded for what?”
The Orion shook his head
“Not “for,” as. I’m the prize for the last ranking place. There are twenty in all out of nearly two hundred competitors, so it’s kind of a bigger deal than it sounds.”
The Orion actually sounded proud, and the emotion seemed incongruous with their situation as hostages at best and slaves at worst.
“I do not understand.”
“You’ve never been to a Lyret Competition before?”
Before Spock could reply, the Orion answered his own question, expression sad.
“No, I can imagine you haven’t; you would have been snatched up if you got within two light-years of this place. This is going to be rough on you, then.”
“What is this competition?”
“A bunch of pirates and traders and generally foul people compete in pairs in various ways; archery, wrestling, that sort of thing. One member of each match advances to another match while the other is eliminated, and it goes on until there are only ten pairs left. The loser of the lowest match gets me, and the winner gets…oh, Andorian, I think.”
As soon as he was finished speaking, an Andorian woman with bright red hair shifted out of the shadows and waved cheerily. Spock had only a second to absorb the unusual hair color for an Andorian before she slipped back out of sight, and the purpose of the competition—at least in his mind—was confirmed.
“This is a slave-winning contest, and the prizes are rare aliens.”
The Orion nodded, and he had opened his mouth to speak when a cheer exploded up from the desert around them; the competition had begun.
The Orion waited until it died down, and then continued.
“Sure is. You get to be the first-place prize, though—only Vulcan hybrid in existence, and pretty to boot.”
Spock looked out the bars of his cell, watching as the crowd filed by. He did not miss the expressions cast at him and his companions, and although he hesitated to ask, he had to know.
“What does it mean to be won?”
The Orion rested his hand on Spock’s shoulder again, and his eyes were kind. Spock did not shrug him off as he normally would have.
“It means we’re very, very sorry. Some of the lower ones are nice…the top dogs, though, not so much.”
Spock heard the compassion, felt it underneath his skin; in response, he closed his eyes and thought of the Enterprise, and the one pair of blue eyes he longed to see again.
********
After his entirely un-fruitful conversation with Captain Colton, Kirk had nothing to do but wait; wait for the Enterprise to be repaired, for the crystals to magically reform, for Scotty to pull another miracle out from under his belt. Kirk waited for half an hour with his ship at a crawl when time was of the essence, and then he could wait no longer, electing instead to go to the engine room and observe the proceedings himself. At least there he felt like he was of some use, although—as Scotty was all too happy to point out—his hovering didn’t help the Engineering team work any faster.
“It’s as I told you before, Captain—you make them nervous, and miracles are hard to come by when folks are nervous.”
Kirk sighed—groaned, really—and buried his head in his hands, but he didn’t leave. He knew there were no miracles coming, and that Spock was as good as gone.
It hurt, probably more than it should have; Scotty must have noticed his despair, because he reached down and awkwardly patted Kirk on the shoulder.
“Now, now lad, it’ll be okay. The Commander will find a way to get us a message eventually, and we can track him down then. There’s no sense giving up hope.”
For comforting words, they seemed to only make the situation worse.
“Scotty, we don’t even know if Spock is alive. We’ll never know, at this rate.”
Scotty huffed at that, and Kirk knew he was a step away from being offended. Hurrying was one thing; questioning Scotty’s workmanship was quite another.
“Well, I’m sorry, Captain, but there’s nothing I can do. Unless you have some spare dilithium tucked under your belt, the Enterprise will be cooling her heels for a while.”
Kirk perked up.
“Dilithium.”
He’d known that was the problem, of course, but he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been too worried, and so he was missing things; they all were.
“Scotty!”
Scotty looked up from the engine specs he was examining.
“Yes, Captain?”
“The cargo ship! What about the cargo ship?”
Scotty looked at him with a very patient expression.
“Cargo ships don’t run on dilithium engines, lad, and they don’t have any in their records.”
Kirk remembered that, of course; dilithium was too expensive, too rare, but they had something…
“No, but cargo ships do run on something similar, right? Can we make it work?”
Scotty frowned.
“Purseronite? Yes, Captain, but not for long. It’ll burn up the antimatter/matter reactor within a very short time.”
Kirk looked at him, the expression as close to pleading as a superior officer ever came.
“But will it last long enough, Scotty?”
Scotty opened his mouth, no doubt to give Kirk another list of reasons why it wouldn’t work very well, but he seemed to come to a conclusion. Perhaps it was the way Kirk looked so tired after only five hours without his First, or the way he seemed to beg for even this small favor.
“Yes, Captain. I can have the switch and adaptor done in an hour at most.”
Kirk sighed, the sound one of relief this time.
“Do it, Scotty, and let me know when it’s up and running.”
So saying, Kirk finally went back to the bridge.
********
There was not much for him and his cellmates to do while the competition continued; other than the unwelcome company of the guards, they saw no one except for when two of them were taken away. Usually, his companions were presented directly to those who had won them, and each time, Spock wished them luck out of the compassion he had gleaned from his human shipmates. They always smiled, and although the words were not Vulcan, the meaning behind them was still very sincere: he did wish them luck.
It was the others, however, who pulled not just sympathy from him, but fear and something very like despair. The others, who were taken away to one of the larger tents so that their new owners could enjoy them immediately.
Spock, with his sharp Vulcan ears, heard them crying, and when they stopped, it was because they had stopped making noise at all.
Although Spock still very much believed that the Enterprise would arrive as soon as they were capable, he felt anger at what was happening, and fear at what may still come. He hid them both well, but in the end, he knew they were there, and he felt shame as well.
It was two hours and forty-six minutes after the competition had begun when Spock and the only remaining person in the cell—a handsome woman who called herself Hybrid and was half-Klingon, half-human—were escorted from behind the iron bars to the desert outside. As the rarest of prizes, Hybrid explained, they were expected to watch the final match.
They stood at the sidelines, surrounded by twenty guards and a crowd full of jeering, laughing aliens, some of them with prizes already won, some not. Some even had children.
Spock didn’t watch the match; he was too busy cataloging all the reasons he already belonged to the Federation.
********
Scotty was as good as his word; within thirty minutes the engines were up and running as fast as Warp 4 again, although the engineer warned him not to push it a second time and informed him almost gleefully that the cargo ship was now pretty much destroyed as far as functionality went. Kirk didn’t care, and he pushed the Enterprise as hard as he dared.
The travel time to Saradis III went from an estimated six hours and forty three minutes to eight hours and twenty minutes, and Kirk hoped that they wouldn’t be too late, and that the competition would still be going strong when they arrived.
It seemed his wish was granted, because by the time they gathered to orbit around the tiny planet, there were dozens of ships still in orbit as well. Kirk took a second to catalogue them—cargo ships almost exclusively, and not a dangerous fighter ship among them—before he had Chekov scan the planet for signs of Vulcan life.
Chekov did so, and informed him sorrowfully that the planet was full of Vulcanoid life signs, concentrated in the exact same area as all the other life signs; there were far too many to distinguish one Vulcan among the rest.
Kirk knew that it was possible that Spock wasn’t there at all, but he had a hunch, and—like so many other times in his command—he trusted his hunches not to lead him astray. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to have him be wrong this one time when everything seemed to hinge in the balance.
He gave the order for the security division to assemble as many armed men as they could spare, and then he headed to transporter room. Spock would no doubt skewer him when he found out he was breaking the chain of command for him, but then, that was the point.
Kirk would have given anything to have Spock back on-board to lecture him once again.
********
The match lasted a mere seven minutes; the result, Spock believed, of the two beings in the ring being horribly mismatched.
One was a Ferengi; snarl-toothed and ferocious, fast and clever—he had an advantage, no doubt, in cunning and games of speed. However, the other was of the same Vulcanoid species as Spock’s original captors, and he was large and powerful, possibly even intelligent, although it hardly mattered at that point.
The game for that match was wrestling; of course the Vulcanoid won, and it was only the rules of the bizarre and rugged competition that kept the Vulcanoid from completely crushing the Ferengi and claiming both prizes for himself.
Hybrid said he was lucky, that at least the one who owned him now was not ugly. Spock was unable to agree on either point, but it didn’t matter; as soon as the match was over, they were separated, Hybrid being carried off to a ship while Spock was led back to the open desert.
When he saw that they were leading him towards the large vastness of a purple tent, he started to resist. The guards laughed, and they made jokes about “virgin flesh” while they pushed him forward, or at times dragged him forward. When they reached the tent, the flap was lifted and he was shoved unceremoniously inside, and the shadows that reflected on the floor through the thin cloth were enough to show that they remained just outside to make sure he didn’t run.
Spock glanced at his surroundings, saw only a bed, a chair, and a rug to cover the otherwise hard sandy ground, and he curled his hands into fists. Anger—he felt anger, and underneath the cloudy emotion was the knowledge that this would not end well for anyone.
The Enterprise had not come, and Spock was on his own. It was a fact although the reality seemed barely comprehensible, and Spock knew he would have to deal with what he had, his life, as it was, as Vulcan. Perhaps he would find the Federation and Starfleet again one day, or perhaps not. He would survive, until then. He would cooperate, if necessary, and he would bargain if possible.
The flap opened a second time, revealing the huge Vulcanoid from the match, and despite his resolution, Spock instinctively moved as far away as he could get.
********
It was out of practicality rather than caution that had Kirk and his men beaming down to the planet surface just outside of the largest group of people rather than right in the thick of it, but he took one look at the guards touting those big guns and he knew it was the right choice all around.
Kirk also knew, unfortunately, that they couldn’t just go into the make-shift camp while advertising their Starfleet-presence and the fact that they were armed. Although he hated the delay, he had Scotty beam down a whole passel of replicated cloaks not unlike the ones he observed on the people currently planetside. Then, his bright golden command shirt and phaser carefully concealed, he ordered all fifty of his security officers to trickle into the camp a few at a time.
It took minutes, precious minutes, but soon it was Kirk’s turn, and he waded into the crowd with a smile pasted on his face.
He went to the first semi-reputable man he saw and started asking questions.
“Hey there. Anything interesting this year?”
The man snorted and turned back to his work—packing a shuttlepod, clearly—but he answered anyway.
“Yeah, but you must have missed it. The last match just ended.”
Kirk felt his skin grow cold.
“How long ago?”
The man shrugged and made a vague gesture, his dried old skin matching the desert air perfectly.
“Minutes. Only minutes.”
Kirk swallowed, and his hand itched to go for his communicator, but not yet.
“What about the, er, prizes?”
The man continued to load his shuttle, and Kirk didn’t miss the crate of clear contraband; a market as well as a competition. He got an idea.
“What about ‘em? They’re all claimed.”
“I’m looking for a Vulcan, and I’m willing to pay. Any of them?”
The man straightened, and there was a gleam of greed in his eyes.
“Oh yeah, Starfleet Vulcan. You can probably still get him undamaged if you hurry; he was the last.”
Kirk felt his eyes narrow unintentionally, and the man backed up a step.
“What do you mean undamaged?”
The man looked suddenly nervous, and Kirk didn’t blame him; he was ready to spit nails, or start shooting. Either one.
“He’s probably being…claimed…as we speak.”
Kirk’s next word was a bark.
“Where?”
“Dunno. A tent?”
Kirk cleared his throat, and forced a smile.
“You’ve been a lot of help. Thank you.”
Then, he whipped out his communicator and called the head of security. The man, despite his clear distraction, obviously knew enough to recognize the flash of gold under Kirk’s cloak and the clear tech value of his communicator; he stopped loading his pod immediately and ran.
“Kirk to security. Stop as many of them from leaving as you can.”
He waited only long enough to get confirmation before he ran off, intent on finding someone who had more information before news got around that Starfleet was knocking at their doors.
********
The Vulcanoid stared at him with dark eyes, and Spock cleared his throat.
“Greetings. I am Spock.”
The Vulcanoid’s eyes darted across his body, seemingly cataloging his uniform. Spock read the expression on his face as surprise, possibly interest, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that there was no madness in the man’s eyes, or even violence. Perhaps, then, he could be reasoned with.
Even with the possibility, however, Spock did not stay where he was when the Vulcanoid reached out to him. His pursuer only blinked when his hand closed on air, and his eyes followed Spock quizzically.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
The response was a great boom of laughter, startling in its intensity, and the Vulcanoid made another grab for Spock’s arm. Spock darted out of the way again.
“Ha. And here I thought they were lying about having a Vulcan-Human hybrid.”
Spock’s voice was as earnest as he could make it.
“They do not “have” me. I was kidnapped from the Starfleet vessel I serve upon.”
Another snort of laughter, and this time, Spock heard cruelty behind it.
“And what, you think the others volunteered? For being Starfleet and Vulcan, you’re not very smart.”
Spock stiffened, and deftly avoided another grab as he sprang to the other side of the bed. The Vulcanoid did not follow him, seemingly exasperated by having to chase him. Spock felt the faintest stirring of hope.
“Insults are unnecessary.”
The Vulcanoid, rather than come after him again, merely sat on the lone chair.
“They’re necessary if I say they are, now take off your clothes.”
Spock felt his blood run cold, and he clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. There was no way out, no telling how long he would have to dodge the creature’s advances, but he had to hold on for as long as possible. As long as it took, he told himself.
“I am certain that we can reach an understanding that would make such…actions…avoidable.”
The Vulcanoid snarled at him.
“Who says I want to avoid anything? I’ve fought almost a dozen men to get to this point, now take off your clothes.”
Spock swallowed, but his voice was strong.
“I do not wish it. I will not submit.”
Dark eyes just looked at him with amusement.
“We’ll see about that.”
It burned the pride that Spock did not have, but he had to try.
“Please.”
The Vulcanoid stood and pushed the chair to the side, looking at Spock with eyes too intense. Spock wondered if pleading was all it took to break through the savagery, and then the Vulcanoid’s lips parted.
“You talk too much.”
Without warning, the chair was flung at his head. Spock—with reflexes tuned from Starfleet training—ducked down low to avoid the injury, and the chair bounced off the cloth above his head, harmless.
When he looked up, however, the Vulcanoid was standing above him, and he reached out for Spock too quickly to be avoided.
********
Word moved as quickly as Kirk had expected; he had been running not two minutes before the people—people used loosely as a term—had started to scatter. With only fifty security men, Kirk knew he couldn’t stop all of the pirates and slave traders from leaving, but all the same, he wanted to.
Still, if luck was with him, he could stop one, and he used his quick mind and clever eyes to immediately pick out a leader among the fleeing criminals. Someone had to organize these things, after all.
Kirk grabbed him right out from under his guards and pressed a phaser against his stomach.
The man—a Vulcanoid—just looked at him calmly.
“I assume you have a purpose for stopping me?”
Kirk only pressed harder, and the fact that the man was capable of crushing him—perhaps easily—didn’t even enter his mind.
“Yes. One of the prizes of this competition was a half-Vulcan science officer from Starfleet. I want to know who won him and where he is right now, or I’m going to severe your damn spine.”
The Vulcanoid smiled thinly, and the expression looked so wrong that Kirk wanted to shoot him on principle.
“Violence is unnecessary. The man you are looking for is inside a purple tent, currently, although I do not know how much longer he will be there.”
Kirk removed his phaser and pushed the man away, knowing full well that he would escape as soon as Kirk turned his back. He didn’t care.
“Thank you.”
Kirk turned and ran in the direction of the only purple tent he’d seen.
********
Spock responded to the Vulcanoid’s touch in a way that would have maimed anyone but a being as strong as a Vulcan, thrashing out with jabs and punches designed to strike pressure points, impact joints, and cause the assailant to release him; it was a proven and true method for fending off attack on Vulcan, but they were not on Vulcan.
Some of the strikes landed, but most of them did not, and the Vulcanoid only laughed as he dragged him down to the rug in the center of the tent-enclosed ground. Spock closed his eyes and, despite how his body rebelled, he reached his hands up to come into contact with skin.
Let me go.
The Vulcanoid laughed again.
“I may not be a Vulcan, but we have enough common ancestry that I’m not about to fall for telepathy.”
Spock tried to twist away, but he wasn’t standing any longer, and the massive weight of his assailant was working against all of his efforts. When Spock reached up again, intent on finding the bundle of nerves that would send the Vulcanoid into unconsciousness, his hand was caught and forced back down, and Spock shuddered and then froze under the onslaught of lust tinged with a thirst for blood.
When he had recovered enough to block the sensation, he struggled harder, mind beginning to cloud with the first hints of panic. His movements were no longer coordinated, and they were no longer designed.
The Vulcanoid laid upon him fully as he yanked at Spock’s belt, and he whispered in his ear.
“Keep fighting. I like it when they struggle a bit.”
Spock immediately went still, and his pants were dragged off his legs in pieces, his briefs following in jerky movements. Spock remained motionless, even when he felt hot fingers touch the bare skin of his hip.
The Vulcanoid’s voice was triumphant.
“See? Not so bad.”
Spock responded by darting quickly forward, and biting his neck hard enough to make him bleed.
********
Kirk knew he had the right tent the moment he saw the guards, and he spared only a moment to wonder why there were so many of them before he ducked behind the next nearest tent, intending to formulate a plan that would get him and Spock away safely.
Then, he heard a sound like the cry of an animal coming from inside the purple tent, and the time for plans was up; he put his phaser on the highest setting and began shooting.
********
The Vulcanoid howled; it was not a pleasant sound.
Spock felt a fist close tight around his throat, and he expected pain; his expectations were proven valid when the Vulcanoid pulled back his other arm and drove his fist into Spock’s face.
His lip split against his teeth, causing a spilling of blood too great to be from just a minor cut, and Spock’s vision was filled with shadows even as he tasted it in his mouth. The Vulcanoid took advantage of Spock going completely limp in dazed reaction, and he flipped him over, pining an arm behind his back with a twist designed to hurt as much as possible.
“Fucking Vulcan.”
Spock wanted to struggle as he heard the Vulcanoid fumbling with his belt, but the pressure on his torso was too great to allow much more than breathing.
As a too-hot hand slid between his legs, Spock closed his eyes.
********
The guards—clearly not having expected an attack—fell like stones, silently and without a fight. Kirk felt guilt over killing them only for an instant, and then he was dragging their bodies out of the way, stepping over them when he had to, and then, just like that, he was reaching for the tent flap.
He pushed it aside, and what he saw made his vision go black with rage: a Vulcanoid with his pants pulled down, and on top of another slightly smaller Vulcanoid who was not moving.
Even if the blue shirt had not been recognizable, the face would have been, and Kirk raised his phaser to fire one last shot.
The Vulcanoid fell to one side with a thud, giving one final twitch before his body gave up. Kirk entered the room and quickly scanned it for other threats, expecting none, but his gaze flickered over the room too fast to catch any even if they were there.
Spock was half naked, his lower half, and he wasn’t moving, even though he must have heard the shot.
Please, let him have heard the shot…
Kirk tucked his phaser back into his belt and approached carefully.
“Spock?”
The prompt was soft, hesitant. There was no answer, and Kirk shrugged out of his cloak, intent on covering what may have very well been his friend’s body.
“Spock?”
He spoke louder this time, and the body moved, the head twisting to look at him with dark, familiar eyes that were—as far as Kirk could tell—stunned. Stunned, and so openly grateful that Kirk almost couldn’t breathe.
“Captain.”
Kirk felt weak, and he stumbled the last few steps to the center of the tent-formed room to cover Spock with the cloak, and then he sank to his knees. Spock looked at him for only a second—as if to confirm that Kirk was indeed real—and then he sat up on his knees and crushed Kirk with an almost terrifyingly strong hug.
It was the first time—that Kirk knew of—that Spock had ever reached out to anyone. He was unable to resist such a display, and so he simply hugged back, probably too long for just friends.
But Kirk had thought he was dead, gone forever, and he was due, dammit. In any case, Spock didn’t seem to care.
“Spock. You’re okay. You weren’t…he didn’t…”
Kirk didn’t know how to ask or even if he was supposed to, but Spock just pulled back and looked at him fondly, the expression strangely comforting despite the blood that trickled from his mouth.
“No, Captain. Jim, you arrived just in time.”
There wasn’t enough relief in the world, and Kirk was just barely able to resist hugging him a second time. Not a man-hug, either; a true my-most-cherished-Vulcan-friend hug.
“Thank God.”
Spock nodded, and then his face was back in its normal emotionless façade. Kirk missed the openness—only from Spock—but he let it go.
“Jim, there are others.”
Kirk nodded, and he tried not to think about how many other captains were missing their treasured science officers, possibly had been for a long time.
“I guessed as much. The security team is attempting to round them up as we speak, and hopefully there will be more than a fair share of repeat offenders in the lot. I don’t want to have these people loose again.”
Spock nodded, the gesture approving.
“A wise suggestion, Captain.”
Kirk beamed, and when Spock stood and stumbled, he reached out a hand to steady him.
“Of course. Oh, and Mister Spock?”
Spock looked at him quizzically.
“Yes, Captain?”
Kirk grinned, the expression uncharacteristically weak. Still, it was an attempt.
“Make sure you keep that cloak closed.”
Spock nodded a second time and tugged the cloth around himself as he exited the tent. On the way back to the beam-up point, Kirk kept one hand at his back to steady him, hoping that he had only imagined the way Spock was shaking.
Spock didn’t once complain.
********
The mission—such that it was—went as well as could be expected. Everyone on board knew that the primary purpose was getting Spock back, but for politics sake, Kirk had made certain to wrap the whole situation in a cover of slavery and pirating so at least he wouldn’t get disciplined too strongly for what was essentially a desperate rescue mission. They recovered eight—eight—of the captives besides Spock, and captured nearly two dozen ships, all with stolen Federation cargo and records for pirating. Kirk laughingly said it was one of the Federation’s better twists of luck, and Spock knew he only half meant the arrests that were made and the dilithium that was found in one of the ships.
Through all of this, Kirk didn’t mention anything about the conditions he’d found Spock in, and for that and other things, Spock was grateful.
It was not gratitude that made Spock long for Kirk’s company in sickbay, or that made him look at Kirk with eyes full of emotion the entire time he had it. It was not Vulcan or professional, but judging from the disgusted sounds of Doctor McCoy, it was only too obvious that Spock watched Kirk with respect and affection, perhaps even love. Spock himself was not prepared to admit to the presence of the emotions, but he was very aware they were there all the same, and for the first time in his life, he did not attempt to hide them.
Kirk appeared not to notice, but then he probably excused it as a result of trauma. Spock would have answered honestly if asked, and he would have told him that trauma had merely made the feelings more obvious, not caused them to manifest. Trauma was the reason he was shaking even in his warm quarters, the reason he couldn’t focus, the reason he took an illogically long shower.
But it was not trauma that made him push the button for the across quarters comm unit, or that made him ask for Kirk’s company when he normally would not have. It was because of a sense of rightness with his world, and a longing for something he wasn’t allowed—would never be allowed—that made him reach out. Kirk’s friendship was worth so much to him and just then, Spock needed it, needed to see the man he trusted above all others, and the one he had loved secretly almost since the beginning.
Kirk agreed to come play chess almost as soon as Spock asked him to.
********
Kirk entered Spock’s quarters hesitantly; the call had surprised him, because Spock never asked to see him, and Kirk had been operating under the assumption that time alone for his friend to do Vulcan things would be best.
Apparently, Spock didn’t agree, and when Kirk entered the room, it was to the sight of Spock sitting at the chess table and waiting for him. But the eyes…oh dammit, his eyes…
Spock was still looking at him the way he had been in sickbay, with those dark eyes focused and almost worshipful, the expression so clear that Kirk had ordered Spock to take a few days off to recover, knowing he wouldn’t want the crew to see him like this and wonder why. More than that, however, it wasn’t an openness Kirk had ever expected from Spock, and it wasn’t a good combination with his own fantasies, fantasies that a good friend would never have had.
Spock was just confused, grateful, and as innocent as someone who had only had one relationship in his life that ended almost as soon as it had begun. Kirk would have to be a pig to take advantage of that, especially now, and so even though he sat down at the opposite end of the chess table, he was already thinking of excuses to leave the room and his own thoughts behind.
“Jim.”
And Spock was even using his first name, which Kirk had never been able to convince him to call him, not without prompting.
Kirk sighed and knew he had to go.
“Spock. I have to…do some reports.”
Spock looked surprised.
“I do not understand.”
“It’s just that I…” Kirk trailed off, and he saw Spock watching him with patient eyes. Dark, focused eyes.
Oh, dammit all to hell.
“I don’t have time for more than one game.”
Spock nodded, and he made his first move, long fingers lingering on the pawn while Kirk’s eyes lingered on him.
After that, things only got more difficult. Spock had him checkmated in three; not Kirk’s finest hour, to be sure, but it had the benefit of being a short game and allowing Kirk to duck out immediately afterwards with a fake yawn and a smile.
“Well, thanks for the game, Spock. I have to get back to work now.”
Spock’s hand darted out to stop him before Kirk could even get out of his chair, and the expression on his face was pleading.
“One more game, Jim?”
Kirk frowned apologetically.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Spock.”
Spock looked at him for a moment, analyzing, and then he pulled his hand back with a shudder.
“You pity me.”
Kirk blinked.
“No, never.”
Spock shook his head and looked down.
“You keep trying to leave. You do not want my company after the events of today.”
Kirk hurried to protest; he had never wanted to lose Spock’s friendship over this.
“That’s not true. I have work—”
“You do not.” The words were sharp and almost accusing, but when Spock looked at him, his gaze was still soft. “All the reports pertaining to this mission have been submitted.”
Okay, so Kirk’s lie had been caught. That didn’t mean he was lying about everything, except, in Spock’s eyes, it probably did.
“Spock, I don’t pity you. I’m just…it’s the way you’re looking at me, Spock.”
Spock simply continued to look at him with those trusting eyes.
“I do not understand.”
Kirk swallowed, and his voice was soft.
“You’re looking at me like I’m everything you need.”
Spock looked surprised for an instant, and then:
“You are.”
Kirk huffed out a breath, and his mind hurried to find an excuse for that answer that didn’t give him the wrong ideas. In the end, he couldn’t find one.
“Ah, dammit Spock. You’re not yourself right now.”
Spock scooted his chair to the other side of the table, most likely to better see Kirk in the artificial light. However, in Kirk’s mind, Spock was unnecessarily close.
“I will always be me, Jim. I’m simply…not controlling myself as well as I should be.”
Kirk nodded hurriedly.
“And to me, that’s a huge part of who you are. I don’t want to…get ideas.”
Spock blinked at him, his eyes hidden for only a microsecond.
“Ideas?”
In response, Kirk was unable to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing the softest, gentlest, least aggressive of kisses to his lips.
Whatever Kirk had been expecting, it wasn’t for Spock to open his lips instantly and allow Kirk to roam freely inside, touching tongues with him so sweetly. It was like Spock had been waiting for it all along, and Kirk felt guilt, wondering if he was so transparent about his desires.
Spock whispered “no” against his lips, and Kirk pulled back.
“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…after everything…”
Kirk made to leave, but Spock pulled him back down again, expression patient and affectionate.
“Jim, I was answering your question. You are not transparent, but I have been waiting for this.”
Kirk couldn’t believe it.
“You…want me?”
Spock answered immediately.
“I love you.”
Kirk froze, and he felt the terror deep in his spine. No, not love, not Spock. Kirk had learned his lesson about sleeping with people who loved him when he didn’t feel the same, and Kirk had never been in love. He couldn’t lie about that, not to Spock.
Spock touched his face gently.
“Do not fear, Jim; I expect nothing from you.”
Kirk swallowed, and he knew he had to be honest.
“Spock, I’ve wanted you for so long, but love…” It isn’t there. Spock was his friend, a desirable man, but Kirk couldn’t pretend he loved him. He was a little overinvested, maybe, but it wasn’t love, and Kirk didn’t think he could stand himself if he broke Spock’s heart like that.
Spock seemed to understand. He also seemed not to care about it at the moment.
“As I said, I expect nothing. I will take what you can give, and I want—”
Spock leaned forward and kissed the bottom of his ear.
“I want you to touch me, Jim. Erase him with your touch…only yours.”
It sounded a lot like a pronouncement, and Kirk wasn’t ready for that—no way was he ready for that—but he could hardly deny Spock or his own long-hidden desires, not when Spock was looking at him like he was the world. Even though his mind said this was probably a bad idea—somebody was going to get hurt, he knew it—he still couldn’t seem to stop himself from turning his head to catch those lips a second time.
The smooth texture of Spock’s mouth was heaven, the rough feel of his tongue bliss, and Kirk sucked on his lips until they were dark green, the color he had always imagined. He was desperate to see that color on all of Spock if he could, and he longed to cover Spock—if not with his mark—then with his scent, his desire, his affection. He could give Spock that; he owed Spock that when Spock met him kiss for kiss and nip for nip, when he sank rounded teeth into the curve of Kirk’s shoulder, though his shirt.
Kirk moaned, and he pushed Spock away just long enough to stand and kiss him again, pressing him down into the chair until Spock pushed himself up. Their teeth clacked and Kirk felt the roughness of Spock’s still freshly split lip, but Spock just continued to kiss him back as they moved seamlessly to the bedroom and tumbled amidst unmade sheets.
Spock pressed against him until Kirk felt a hardness swell against his own, and they kissed even more passionately while Kirk’s hand hovered at the edge of Spock’s shirt.
So close together, Spock knew his thoughts, and he pulled away just long enough to remove his shirt.
“Touch me, Jim. Everywhere.”
Kirk complied eagerly, and he slid his hands across every inch of skin he could reach; when that no longer seemed like enough, he used his mouth, leaving deep emerald marks on the pale skin, and the sight caused him to surge with a rush of possessiveness that he hadn’t expected. It was wrong; Spock wasn’t his. Spock was his friend and—for the moment—his lover. But it wasn’t love.
He wondered why he wanted it to be.
Kirk scowled, found a fresh spot on Spock’s skin just above his left nipple, and sucked harder while one of his hands moved down to fumble with Spock’s belt. He hesitated, just for a minute, but when Spock didn’t react to the touch with anything but a heavy breath, Kirk pushed the cloth and belt aside before massaging the hardness underneath.
Spock was so hot that it almost burned, and when Kirk’s hand found the smooth, dry column of flesh, he pumped gently and with affection. Spock made a sound against his throat, a rich purr, and Kirk would have been content to remain that way if he had not felt the lightest of touches on his hand. His hand that was nowhere near either of Spock’s hands.
Kirk pulled back, surprised.
“What the—”
He glanced down and saw the pale green of Spock’s shaft resting against his palm—a welcome but not surprising sight—and then he saw the slim tendril the color of seaweed tickling against his fingertips. Then he saw another, and another.
“Three?”
He knew he was staring, and he could feel Spock breathing against him even while he shifted, almost self-conscious.
“Yes. They have a biological purpose, I assure you.”
Kirk tapped one lightly with the pad of his thumb, and it curled away from him instantly even though Spock whimpered in his throat, the noise one of certain pleasure. He touched it again, barely, and it unfolded again. Kirk grinned.
“Spock, they’re cute.”
“You’ll forgive me if I do not find that complimentary.”
“Well, it is. Trust me.”
Kirk was suddenly struck by an idea, and he pulled away completely. Spock look startled and nowhere near happy, or at least he did until Kirk crouched down on the floor, face inches away from the tendrils that were now spinning frantically.
Spock made a choked noise when Kirk pressed his lips experimentally around the tip of one tiny tendril. Kirk responded by lapping at it with his tongue, both pleased and excited by the feathery texture and the almost sweet taste. He mouthed the threadlike appendage almost greedily then, and when he pulled back, he blew soft breath across the wet shape.
Spock arched with a quiet moan, and Kirk noticed that the other two wispy green stems no longer seemed so hesitant to be near him. When he reached out to touch them, they met him halfway and Kirk grinned again before he swallowed the head of Spock’s cock with enthusiasm.
Well, it only makes sense that Spock would have a sentient dick. Kirk didn’t question why that made sense to him right then, however, as he was too busy enjoying the soft brushes of those extra little members on his face and the way Spock bucked strongly under his hands. Kirk pressed down on the bones of his hips, lapped at the tip of Spock’s shaft until the skin was wet and dark with arousal, and he tried not to analyze why, through all of this, he never expected Spock to touch him at all.
One of the tendrils brushed his cheek bone, and Kirk rolled it lightly, experimentally, between two fingers. Spock responded with a noise almost like a sob, and when Kirk pulled back, certain he had done something wrong, Spock cried out and his cock twitched, releasing a familiar white liquid.
Kirk grinned again, and he ignored the presence of his own aching need, too interested in watching Spock’s penis go completely limp against his thigh, the little tendrils tucking themselves back inside what Kirk could only assume was some internal storage area. Well, that explained why Kirk had never seen them before, not even in the gym showers (and he’d looked.)
Spock was panting against the pillows, and when Kirk lightly brushed the skin of his thigh, intending it as a calming gesture, he was surprised to see the spent flesh respond with a twitch.
Spock opened his eyes—Kirk hadn’t noticed they’d been closed—and stared at him in wonder. Kirk shifted, somewhat uncomfortable (come on, he wasn’t that good) and then a long, familiar hand touched his face.
“Everywhere, Jim.”
Kirk blinked and shuddered, and his fingers resumed their trails on Spock’s thighs happily, inching over the smooth skin until he reached the crease of Spock’s backside. He swallowed.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Kirk slid one hand across the crevice, stopping when it encountered the puckered, virgin flesh. He pressed against the tiny opening, and the muscle gave way willingly to the tip of his finger. Spock hissed.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Spock’s answer was punctuated by the return of the tendrils that now wound around Kirk’s wrist, and he touched them affectionately with his spare hand. He could get used to those little guys.
Without warning, Spock spread his legs, and Kirk responded by pushing his finger just a little deeper. However, the hot channel resisted, and Kirk looked around almost frantically for something slippery to ease the way.
Spock reached down and guided his hand to the slim little appendages flicking across his skin. Kirk touched them and felt a wetness that hadn’t been there before, and he only took an instant to realize that lubrication must have been part of their purpose before rubbing one between his palms. The resulting slickness was more than enough, and Kirk gladly resumed his motions from before.
When one finger had been completely buried in Spock’s flesh, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock. The second finger went in more easily, but by that point, Kirk’s vision had gone hazy with desire.
“Spock.”
Spock whimpered, and Kirk removed his fingers, pushing at Spock’s knees to encourage him to scoot further back on the surface of the bed. Kirk followed, and waited.
Spock looked at him expectantly, his expression saying that there were no conditions, and Kirk unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants and briefs down over his hips just far enough to expose his thick, aching length. Spock opened his arms, and Kirk fell into them gladly, his hand moving blind to find the hot opening and then guiding himself to the entrance, pushing against the muscle not designed to accept him.
The penetration must have hurt, but Spock never made a sound other than a moan of pleasure against his throat while Kirk bucked, the motions harsher than he would have wanted. Spock wrapped his legs around him and cried out as he moved, and the wet sounds of flesh piercing flesh filled the room with their grunts and groans.
The slickened tendrils touched him, right at the base of his cock, and Kirk came deep inside Spock’s body with a shout. Spock followed him quickly, but despite the noises of before, he only breathed out a soft “I love you” against Kirk’s skin.
Kirk was too exhausted to care, and he had time for only one last thought before he collapsed against Spock’s body, mind drifting to sleep, their bodies still connected.
I should love you.
********
Spock felt Kirk’s weight hit him, and he grunted; the expression “dead weight” was all too accurate. Even as he tried to catch his breath, he shifted out from under the body of his Captain, moving gently enough to dislodge the spent flesh inside of him without damaging it. It must have been exhaustion that drained Kirk as enough to cause his abrupt descent into sleep, but Spock couldn’t help but wonder if it was the result of stress as well. The stress of a friend worried about another friend.
Spock breathed deeply in order to calm his pounding heart, and he faced the truth.
Kirk didn’t love him…and that was fine. Spock hadn’t expected it, and—in this case—his desire would have to be enough.
With this in mind, he carefully got up, using the corner of the Starlfleet-issued sheet to clean them both gently. After a moment of hesitation, he carefully removed Kirk’s clothes and tucked him back in his underwear before covering him with a thin blanket. Kirk only let out a soft snore as Spock laid down beside him.
Even though his mind was still troubled, Spock forced himself to sleep alongside his friend, his Captain. “Love” was a term that would have to wait.
********
End