RESOLUTION
From the chair
behind his desk, Jim stretched his naked body. He ran his
hands
over his smooth chest, feeling the delicious ripples run through the
harmony of his muscles. His body pulled back in, no longer
tense
and tight, but finally relaxed and at ease--for the first time in
months, perhaps.
Every part of him
felt good
and smugly satisfied with the way this first physical discovery had
gone. Like an engine that had finally hit upon its optimum speed, his
body purred along with quietly restrained power, confident of its
abilities, content to idle in that one particular point where it was at
its peak.
He smelled of sex
and of
exotic Vulcan musk. So did the air around him. The
fine
curls of his pubic hair still bore the drying evidence of the love that
they had made, at last, in that illogical, wonderful, messy Human
fashion. For a man who claimed to favor his Vulcan half,
Spock
had been a pretty adaptable. And from the look of utterly
stunned
pleasure that had dissolved his face, to the trilling, senseless sounds
he had made deep in his throat as he came, there was ample evidence
that his Human side had been too long in hiding. A situation
that
could, and would, be easily remedied.
But they had also
shared the
ultimate Vulcan intimacy of bondmates--the deep meld--finally
acknowledging to both worlds that which had been growing inexorably
between them. Jim's head still rang from the unbridled energy
of
Spock's thoughts and--yes, feelings as they rejoiced in quiet discovery
inside his brain, an experience he could neither begin to classify nor
comprehend.
Spock had told
him it would
get easier, but he wasn't sure he wanted it to. He had
climaxed
with the first deep penetration of the meld into his uninitiated mind,
and in the surreal sensations of the moments after orgasm he had hung
on an unprecedented high. Never much of a spiritual man, he
had,
for that immeasurable stretch of time, been sure that it was only the
constant strength of Spock's embrace that held his soul together with
his corporeal flesh.
With a shiver
from shoulder to
groin, Kirk glanced backwards through the mesh to the bunk where his
friend--his boyfriend? (oh my!) slept. Envy warred
with
pity at Spock's ability to simply will his body to rest. Jim
himself was far too dizzy with the discoveries of the night, far too
energized to sleep. Not tonight.
For in all his
life he could
not remember a feeling more perfect, not one, than the way he felt
right now and he would not waste it in sleep. He had finally achieved
everything he had ever desired all at once, and it was better--far,
far, better--than he could have imagined. Ship command has
always
been a heavy trophy born in loneliness; he had felt that as much as any
other man. But everything was different now, and he would
never
be alone again.
Although Jim
wouldn't have
traded one minute of this feeling for the void of sleep, Spock had felt
the need. Establishing the bond had been difficult for
him.
The sudden rush of such raw, passionate emotions all flooding him at
once had been as much burden as bliss, and the strain had been evident
as soon as they had broken into separate men again. Spock had held him
until the trembling ceased, but it was only after long minutes, when
his own breathing had quieted and his heart rate slowed, that Jim had
realized it was Spock who trembled and not he. Jim had pulled
him
close and pressed him tightly to his chest, willing his own strength
toward him, but the residue of psychic contact through their skin
persisted and increased, and the chaos continued to rage within Spock's
brain.
Reluctantly Jim
had released him. Until they had learned to control the bond,
it seems he couldn't help this way.
"A fascinating
experience. It appears we could use some--practice," Spock
had managed with some strain.
Jim had chuckled,
"I love you
too." And Spock had taken his hand despite the mental
undertow. Jim had pulled almost completely away, using just
the
pads of two fingers to caress Spock's hand until the Vulcan went to
sleep.
Jim stretched
again. He
should try to sleep in the chair, he supposed. The bunk was
too
small--he would have the carpenter fix that in the morning--but for now
if he lay down next to Spock, their minds would blend on the surface
levels, barely detectable to him, but disturbing the Vulcan once again.
He crossed into
the sleeping
section to get a blanket and leaned over the bed. Spock's
face
was placid and serene in sleep, his body twisted half in and half out
of the sheets.
As carefully as
he could, Jim worked the coverlet off bit by bit, but the movements
shook the Vulcan and he opened both eyes.
"Jim," he said,
as he extended
a warm arm around Jim's back. "Stay." He curled his arm and
pulled his captain in. Captain Kirk, leader of men, went down
willingly.
They tangled arms
and legs hot
and chilled together on the much-too-small little bunk.
Spock's
heart beat staccato against Jim's side and Jim's essence beat
relentlessly against Spock's mind. It was an awkward,
uncomfortable and unfeasible arrangement beyond any reason, yet Jim
sagged his head against a lean shoulder and wished only to stay.
"I should sleep
somewhere
else," Jim said watching Spock's face as he struggled with the
startling newness of his bondmate's katra romping through his
head. "You'll never get any peace with me here."
"Stay," Spock
repeated.
"I will never have any peace with you gone." Spock pulled him
in
tighter against his body and Jim yielded to the happy and ridiculous
logic of the situation and settled himself in securely somehow.
Spock lifted his
hand and ran
it dry and light over the unique meld points on Jim's skull.
He
opened the bond to the human just a little. Jim saw more than
heard the words inside his head. He could never have said
how,
much less described it, to one who had never known.
"I love you too,"
Jim repeated
back. His body went lax. It no longer mattered who
slept,
but in the morning they rose to practice again.