NEW: Targets, TOS, K/S 1/1
Author: Dread Nought
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom own these guys. This is a not-for-profit work.
Archive: Drop me a line if it is a public archive. Private archive okay.
Summary: Sequel to "Arrows". Kirk the seducer, despite his injury, gets his man.
I crouch beside the captain. He rouses and greets me warmly.
The scanner shows two wounds in his right leg and more pain than I
would have expected based on his voice.
"You just relax there, Captain, while I get a look at you. Then we'll
get you back to the shuttle."
There isn't enough light from the midmorning sun here in the forest
so I power up two portable lamps to work by. There are two neat cuts
in his quadriceps where, I assume, Spock removed the darts which have
been stored in the camp medkit he handed me when I arrived.
"You could have been a surgeon, Spock."
"I hope I have not caused the captain undue additional damage."
The tone of his voice is off. I look up at him. He is kneeling, sitting
back on his feet, at the corner of Kirk's sleeping pad. He looks a
bit. . . well. . . shell-shocked. I wonder at this as I test the sensitivity
of the nerves of Kirk's leg. It looks as though only the muscle itself is
"No, no, you did a fine job." I hear myself slipping into general
bedside chat mode, which I despise.
The sound of many additional feet is heard outside the tent as well
as the sound of hands slapping on chests. My patient half sits up and
twists to peer out of the tent.
"The chief is here with his warriors?" Kirk asks me.
"They said they would escort us. Seemed determined to overcompensate
for the confusion yesterday."
He indicates the stretcher behind me. "I can't be carried out of here--just
"Jim, half the muscles in your leg are paralyzed. . . "
"Bones, we just spent the last eight days building the respect of
these people. I can't be seen being carried around with a few
I shake my head.
The captain insists, "There's no risk to it--just brace my knee and give me a local."
I look over at Spock for support. He offers no opinion and I
suspect he would have a hard time formulating one at this moment.
"Oh, hell," I say as I pull out the instacast. If he hurts more, he'll
only be getting what he deserves.
Kirk hobbles off in the direction of the village with assistance
from one of our security officers. This greatly impresses the
chief. I shake me head at this encouragement of Kirk's self-absorbed
I hang back with Spock, intentionally delaying until we are alone.
"What's up?" I ask him. He is packing up the last of the
samples. Security has taken the tent and the camp supplies
already. Four native warriors are waiting patiently for us so as to take
up the rear.
He doesn't answer right away. Eventually he asks, "Will you be able to
cure the captain's paralysis?"
I know an avoidance tactic when I hear one. "I expect so," I reply
noncommittally. I must admit that after watching the captain limp off
it had left my immediate concern.
Spock slings the sample case over his shoulder and stands up. I have
to move quickly to keep up. I resort to a hand on his arm to prevent
him from regaining the main party.
He stiffens and seems to take excessive affront at this unwarranted
contact, but he has stopped and faces me.
"I'm not done with you yet," I say.
My words seem to melt his rigidity. He adjusts the case slung at his
side with a hand I swear is not quite rock-steady. Kirk's condition
isn't serious enough to warrant this level of distress in this Vulcan.
"Spock, what's wrong?" I ask gently. "You seem . . . unsettled."
The warriors have stopped in formation five paces behind us. They wait
with calm, uncomprehending expressions for us to continue.
Spock takes a deep breath. "During the night, the captain's fever
resulted in a. . . mild delirium. I am. . . uncertain what to think
of his revelations."
"Oh, is that it?" I know Kirk's opinion bears enormous weight with
Spock. I give him a reassuring smile and a friendly pat on the
arm. "Spock, I'm sure Jim didn't mean what he said--humans
say all kinds of things when their delirious with fever. Don't worry
Spock's strange expression makes me think I've said the wrong thing,
somehow. He recovers his mask quickly though and we begin walking
In response to the captain's summons I present myself at his door.
"Come in, Spock," he invites in a friendly tone.
He appears to be calm, convivial even. I wonder at this. For myself I
feel as if I have lost my frame of reference, as though I am a moored
boat that has been tethered too loosely in unexpectedly high waves.
"Well, Fleet should be happy about the results of negotiations," he
I realize that I am uncertain what the captain expects of me. I am
unaccustomed to uncertainty of any kind, especially personal uncertainty.
He stands, making judicious use of the desktop. As I move forward to
assist, he waves me off and grasps a cane propped against the desk. He
steps forward with it braced against his hip.
"Perhaps I should go to the lab and assist with finding an
antidote. . ." I say, disturbed by his difficulty.
"No, no. Stay here. Bones said they'd have something by tomorrow
afternoon at the latest." He steps around to the bed chamber. "I want
to talk to you a bit." After sitting heavily on the bed, he hangs the
cane in one of the room divider's gaps. He then sighs as he considers
his feet. "I didn't call you here for this, but could you pull off my
I obey without thought, stooping to carefully remove his footwear.
"Sorry, Commander. A bit above and beyond," he apologizes as he slides
backward with an apparent twinge of pain.
I stand. "It is quite all right, Captain." I find myself wishing for
another concrete task.
He slips off his uniform shirt and pulls the covers over himself.
He relaxes, gaze fixed beyond the ceiling. I have not been dismissed.
"Have a seat," he says.
There is no chair. He shifts to make room beside himself on the
bed. With unaccustomed trepidation I follow this unspoken
instruction. He smiles gently at me. In the past I have observed his
use of charm to influence others. I have also noted that he resists
using it on me as if he realizes I am just as susceptible to it even
though I am certain I have given no indication of this.
"Spock. . ."
He has taken my hand in his own, is stroking my fingers in a human
way, not a Vulcan one. His fingers then trail up the underside of my
wrist. His eyes are watching me closely for a reaction. Inside I am a
maelstrom of conflicting impulses and instinct. Stable within this
swirl is the core of warmth that ignited last night at his informing
me of his deep feelings. I hesitate to use it as an anchor; I fear
it will be my undoing.
His head tilts to one side as he regards me. I hold my hands steady
and fix my gaze on a point to the left of his right ear. He seems to
be thinking things over.
Eventually he sits up and in one smooth motion, slides his arms around
me. His chest is cool and his generous muscles cushion the
embrace. His hand strokes my hair and he whispers my name again. It is
this verbal caress that splits my mind open. His hands slip under my
tunic and brush the flesh above my waistband. Cool wet lips touch my neck.
I cannot move. Like an orbiting planet, my momentum holds me away but
his gravity keeps me close. I utter a sound that I cannot at first
comprehend. Upon replaying it in my mind, it startles me with its
similarity to a whimper. It shakes me into some manner of control. I
push him to arm's length.
His hand caresses my face still. "Let me show you. . ." he says softly,
"I. . . show me?" I ask, the verb seems nonsensical in this context.
"Show you what human love is like," I say. I study him again, gauging
him. The angular features of his face seem softer than normal. His
posture is bent, his head bowed. Looking at him is making me feel more
sympathetic pain for him than I ever have. "If you are going to be so
vulnerable to me I want to make it worth your while," I finally say.
"I do not necessarily subscribe to that reasoning, Captain."
He eases the grip on my upper arms and purses his lips in
thought. Watching him over the last year has forced me to redefine
my definition of beauty. He straightens his shoulders and I think he
is about to stand and leave, but he remains sitting.
"You are offering. . . sex?" he asks.
I nod. "Pleasure, essentially."
A look of disbelief crosses his face and I feel a smile on my lips,
which I keep subtle. I brush his perfect bangs back out of place and
let my hand gravitate, apparently naturally, to his right ear. The
elegant pointed tip is more flexible than I would have thought. I then
find the neck seal on his tunic and tug it all the way under and down
the sleeve. His top peels away like a second skin when I repeat this
in the other side. He is now officially out of uniform.
"Spock," I say matter-of-factly as I take his hand loosely in my own.
I want to make certain he isn't held here by duty. "You can leave anytime,
you know. Even just say 'stop' at anytime."
He stares at me and finally nods. "I realize that, Captain."
His thermal shirt has no seams. I shift forward running my hands over
the tight cloth on his chest and abdomen and find his lips with
mine. They taste of bitter melon and tea and dry earth. He responds to
the kiss and I keep his lips busy while I unseal his pants. I slide my
hands around to the sides of his buttocks and tug downward. He doesn't
assist the process by standing up. I decide I have enough slack and
slide my hand back around his waistband to draw his cock out over his
briefs. His torso goes rigid as my hand encounters his softness. I pull
him closer to the kiss with my free hand and stroke him lovingly with
"Jim," he gasps into my mouth as I pick up the pace of stroking and his
cock stiffens with a twinge.
My own cock surges into a painful erection inside my trousers. I want to
give this to him so badly. Want to drive him over the edge of ecstasy,
make him scream my name in glorious release of that reserve.
His cock feels wonderful in my hand, so hot, the core rock hard but
with a loose covering of very soft skin. His pulse makes the whole
thing like a faint vibrator. The head is longer and less ridged than a
human one with more point to the tip. I press a fingertip into the
slit at the very tip. He moans with a tinge of whimper.
I long to fuck him. To bend him over my bed and drive into him with my
needy cock. I want him to hear my own lust. But I wrap that all up and
bury it inside me. My throbbing leg makes itself known constantly and
I fear it is more than he can handle right now. I settle for making
him wild with pleasure. I can jack off later with ease with all of the
fantasies swirling in my head.
I urge him to lean forward so I can slip his pants down to his hips then
press him back so I can slide them down his thighs. "Come closer," I
He reaches down to push his pants down over his boots. He slips boots and
pants off and leaves them in a heap on the floor. His bare ass is so
beautiful the glimpse I have of it as he turns makes my erection press
painfully against my fly.
I direct him with my hands as he shifts closer. He follows my hands and
places his knees on either side of my hips. I shift backward to rest against
the bolster bringing him with me. His cock bobs before me, dark green
and thick with desire. I rub my hands over his firm buttocks, relishing
the small curve of them. His balls are tucked back far from his shaft,
more distinctly two than a human's. A fine covering of soft hair shrouds them.
I brush me fingers over it.
He is fondling me with a fine touch which contrasts with the chill air of his
cabin. It torments the screaming need in me. My thoughts can focus on
nothing but his touch on me. My organ hungers and I hunger with it. Each
touch causes a shift in the stiffness and it fairly writhes, causing a similar
writhing in my chest and brain. I ache with a need more desperate than
the thirst for water in the driest seasons of Vulcan.
I want to beg but don't know how. Please satiate this need,
my mind pleads. Free me from this physical chain. As if in
response, his hands grab my buttocks and pull me forward. I look down
and see my glans disappear into his open mouth. The cool wetness sends
static electricity across my skin. I hear myself gasp and groan. One
of his hands moves to encircle me and begins sliding back and forth
from his lips to my testicles, bumping the latter.
The need in me shifts in whole, relief floods my limbs. This is what
the need was demanding. I wonder fleetingly how he could know so
precisely. Aren't Vulcans more different than that?
The waves of blessed relief continue as his hand and mouth continue
their concerted efforts. In mimicry of his actions I stroke his hair
as I watch the movement of his hand, listen to the delicious wet sound
of his lips as they close and re-close over my glans. His tongue strokes
and circles, varying its ministrations just enough. I am enraptured by
this gift he gives to me. I would have imagined his actions to be
demeaning to the point of abhorrence. That he does not find them so
speaks profoundly of his affection for me. Emotion threatens to
overwhelm even the intense pleasure.
I withdraw from him. He strokes and grasps my butt cheeks and looks up
at me. His lips are dark red from the friction and moisture surrounds
them. He strokes my thighs, massaging them a little as he does so. We
stare at each other. One of his hands slips up the inside of my thigh
and cups my testicles, rolling them against my groin. His look shifts
to one of pure seduction. It causes my cock to surge painfully.
"Come," he says and pulls me forward again into glorious relief.
A new discomfort begins building as his attention continues. I grab
the bolster hard to try to suppress it. It seems to be caused by his
attentions as though his is filling me with this discomfort. I urge
him to stop again and watch as he uses the break to pull something
from the beside drawer. He pours what appears to be oil onto the palm
of his hand and works it over all of his fingers. When he next grabs
my penis the sensation is softened, more profound. He squeezes harder
as he strokes me. The new discomfort spasms inside of me. He pulls me
close again, this time taking my right testicle into his mouth. His
free hand slides again up my inner thigh, but this time his fingertips
explore backwards until they encounter my anus where they circle,
leaving trails of oil.
I cannot comprehend his actions. His stroking hand has eased almost to
a maddeningly light touch. His mouth is coating my testicles with cold
saliva. I groan my impatience then suppress it, trusting him. His
index finger slips into my anus and moves in a circle, stretching my
sphincter. His middle finger joins it and both digits slip in fully. I
find myself completely still, focusing on his fingers as they spread
the opening to my rectum.
"Jim?" I ask questioningly.
He doesn't respond but returns my glans to his mouth. His oily hand
now strokes my erect penis with a tight grip. The discomfort rebuilds
and I struggle not to cry out my dismay at it. His fingers bend and
stretch inside of me, his knuckles pressing painfully against my
groin. As he bends them farther, though, they bump my prostate sending
shearing pleasure through my erection which jumps in his mouth. I
hear the echo of my cry on the sound-proof walls of his quarters.
I am thrusting now into his mouth. He is guiding me with his
hand. The incomprehensible discomfort has exploded into a blaze of
pleasure. I am nearly mindless with it. My body has fallen into
instinct. I want to drive myself into him, feel him around me, feel my
touch on him through his mind. I want to impale myself on him, I want
his entire fist in me, not just his fingers. This lack of full
completion seems to feed the orgasm into rolling out longer as these
needs bloom in a sequence in my mind.
I am calling his name, I realize, as the pleasure fades leaving my
mind free and my body lax. My testicles throbbing captures my
"You haven't cum," he says. He withdraws his fingers and cups my
I have to find the right switch in my body for this. Vulcan males have
conscious control over ejaculation though I do not know control of the
mechanism. The delay becomes sharply painful.
His hands pull me down and lay me beside him on the bed. His right
hand returns to a gentle kneading of my tender balls.
"Relax," he whispers.
I trust him again and after three controlled breaths find the muscles
controlling the erection and close the dilated veins.
"Spock?" his beautiful voice asks.
"It is all right," I respond and sigh at the release of tension as my
penis molds to his hand, lays heavy against his fingers. I groan as
my testicles squeeze and semen oozes into Kirk's cool palm. This
happens repeatedly until the pressure is gone leaving warm completion
in its space.
Kirk shifts and I guess he is wiping his hands on his discarded
tunic. I stand and begin to retrieve me clothing from the floor.
He looks up at me. "You're leaving?" He then shifts gears. "Never
mind," he says gently. "You probably need to be alone."
I look down at him. The covers are in disarray and he still has his
trousers on. Surprisingly, I do not need to be alone. I need to be
near him, inside him, surrounding him, but not alone.
"You desire my continued company?" I ask, completely uncertain about
standard social protocol for this situation.
He straightens out the covers and folds his hands over his abdomen.
"Only if you want to."
He has emptied me of all sexual need, freeing me from bonds I did not
know existed and he still considers my needs above his own. "I. . ." I
begin, torn between habit and new realization. "I would prefer to
stay," I finally say.
I grin at him. At first wondering if he is agreeing to stay because he
thinks it is expected of him. The honesty in his voice is unmistakable
so I relax and finish undressing with no little pain from my leg. He
assists with pulling my trousers free of my feet. During which I have
to work hard on staying un-aroused. I watch him straighten and strip
off his black t-shirt as I hold the covers open for him to enter.
He settles against me, warm and dry to my cool and sweaty.
"You have not been pleasured, Ca-- Jim," he observes.
My cock lays half turgid, touching his hip bone. It stirs at his words.
"Will you allow me to pleasure you?"
"Will I allow?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm. "Please, do."
His hot hand shifts down to my nearly hard cock, stroking it into
fullness. I let out a sharp breath of relief.
"Do you want to fuck me?" I ask, desire speaking for me.
His stroking falters for a second then continues. "Yes," Spock replies,
his voice even deeper than normal.
"Good." As much as my injured thigh will allow, I rock my hips to the
rhythm of his hand. "I want you to fuck me. You have a beautiful cock,
I want to feel it inside me." I ride with the pleasure for a while
then hold it back. I want this to last as long as possible.
"Do you wish me to use my mouth?" Spock asks.
I shake my head. "Not yet. Where do you want me to be when you fuck
me?" I ask.
He doesn't respond immediately. "On my bed," he finally answers.
"Not in the command chair on the bridge?" I tease.
"I do not think that can be easily arranged."
"You've only wanted me since yesterday?" I ask, fighting the build to
"I believe that was my first moment of realization."
"Uhn," I groan. "Please, use your mouth."
His hot rough tongue rasps over my head as he settles into sucking me.
Within seconds he has worked out a more than adequate technique.
"You know I think I've wanted you since the first moment we met. You
looked so incredibly sexy standing there in the transporter room when
I first came aboard." I pause a moment to thrust upward a few
strokes until the pain overwhelms the pleasure. "I thought for certain
you must be Pike's. . . or somebody's." Orgasm takes me then, a short,
Spock shifts back up beside me, pulling the covers straight over both
of us, but mostly over me. "How did I get so lucky?" I ask with a smile.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," he says. "You are the first being I have found
to have the perfect combination of logic, physical appeal and. . . charm."
I chuckle at that. "You are susceptible to human charm?" I ask in disbelief.
"Vulcans are not taught to resist it since it is such a rare quality in our
I reach up and trigger the bed light to go off. I shift on the bed,
sending spikes through my forgotten injury. A warm hand strokes my thigh
and the pain blissfully fades. "Thank you," I say simply.
"Mmmm," I murmur with relish as sleeps pulls at me. I fall into
blackness with thoughts of future pleasure with this amazing being
Bones tilts the examination table back with me on it. This motion
always produces an instant of vertigo, so I close my eyes.
"So, Jim, we have a barrage of things to speed your recovery." He
arranges the sample tray now full of colorful vials for the
hypo. "This is going to take about two and half hours, you have the
He has interrupted me mid-first shift. "Do I have a choice?"
McCoy injects three vials worth of something directly into the leg
muscle. The nurse departs and after scanning awhile, McCoy pulls over
a stool and sits down.
"Have you talked to Spock?" he asks unexpectedly.
"I spoke with him in the lift on the way to the bridge," I say.
"It is just that he seemed a little out-of-sorts down on the planet."
"Did he?" I ask neutrally. I honestly don't know what McCoy would
think of my behavior. I hold my tongue on questions I'd like to ask
him such as: why don't Vulcans come when they orgasm? My lips try to
betray me as I wonder what the good doctor would think of a question
like that out-of-the-blue.
He begins prepping more hypos. "He always gets a little edgy when
you're hurt, but this seemed like something else."
"He seemed a little tense, maybe?" I can't keep a neutral face as I say
"He was definitely not his usual, stoic self."
"I'll be sure to have a long talk with him this evening. Make sure
everything is all right."
McCoy nods. "If he's going to open up to anyone, it'd be to you."
"You think so?" I ask ironically.
He misses my tone apparently and puts the feinberger down and
straightens out the devices on the tray. "Well, I have other things to
do . . . I'll be back in half an hour."
I am still lying on the examination table when shift ends. McCoy
comes in for the fourth time. He doesn't make me do leg lifts this
time, for which I am grateful; the last set were excruciating.
The door swishes open and Spock strides in.
"Captain," he says. "How are you feeling?"
There is a slight extra warmth to his voice--an extra shade of
familiarity. I smile at him. "Pretty good." I lift my leg and tilt it
from side to side to show him. I almost hold back the grimace.
McCoy looks at me oddly. "If you want to come back at two-hour
intervals for the next two doses, I can let you go," he says.
With slightly unnecessary eagerness the captain sits up. "Sure."
I put down the hypo and cross my arms and watch as Spock offers, without
hesitation, a hand on Kirk's arm to balance as Kirk jumps off of the bed.
Something is just off here, my instincts tell me.
Spock releases Kirk's arm and watches him closely. His eyes are too
bright and too dark at the same time. They exchange a look, though I can only
see Spock's side of it.
"One hour intervals?" Kirk asks, turning to me.
"Two," I return.
"Oh, yes. Good," the captain says and does a fair job of walking to
the door. It parts for him. "I'll see you at eighteen hundred then."
He gathers Spock up with a look and they depart.
I stand in the empty room for a full minute trying to arrange the
conflicting impressions into something logical in my mind. I finally
frown and shake my head and decide to write up Kirk's case. I'll have
each of them in here again at some point, so nothing will stay a
mystery for long.