(unknown)
lyrastarwatcher
by Lyrasta...@yahoo.com
See 0/3 for more details
To his surprise, Chiz Yazzie was moving busily around inside. He had
donned wristbands and a necklace of silver and deep turquoise and a
deep turquoise. His deerskin medicine bundle lay open on the earthen
floor. The large basket was beside it.
Although the day was warming rapidly, the medicine man had lit a
small fire in the stone circle under the smoke-hole. Across it he
put an iron grate. He returned to his medicine bundle and began to
work with a purpose.
He pulled small sacks and clay jars out from the bundle and from the
basket. He lined them up systematically on the ground behind him.
The last pot he placed apart from the rest.
He retrieved Spock's untouched cup from the floor and placed it on
top of the grate. Spock interrupted, "I have said that I do not wish
to--"
"It is not for you," the healer said curtly. He reached into the
basket and retrieved a cactus button. Cutting it carefully into
sections, he threw several more chunks into the cup to steep. He
added a sprinkling of small leaves from a branch lying on top of the
basket, then he set the branch itself on top of the grate. Soon a
pleasant smell filled the air.
With a brush broom, the medicine man began to sweep an area of the
earthen floor even smoother. "Dine medicine men can invoke the Holy
People though dry painting on the earth," Chiz Yazzie explained.
"Sandpainting," said Spock. "I know of it."
Chiz Yazzie said, "Yes, sandpainting. Through it, the Holy People
can be called to our aid. They are able to restore balance when it
is lost. They bring healing and all manner of good things to those
who know how to ask.
"Sit near the center of the room," Chiz Yazzie ordered.
Spock obeyed. The cloying heat from the fire beside him began to
close in on his throat. He swallowed hard. His head began to buzz.
He pressed it between his palms and focused all his energy on drawing
the next breath. And the one after that.
The medicine man began to sing in the language of his people. The
rhythm was agonizing slow, primal, even hypnotic. Methodically he
scattered the colored powders over the red dirt floor. Eventually
shapes and figures began to emerge in the sand.
The painting grew slowly. First there was the sun in the east, then
billowing clouds of pure gypsum appeared. The great mountains grew
around the edges and guardian spirits appeared to sit upon the
mountains. Sacred plants grew among the mountains; a monstrous
lizard sat upon a cliff. There were animals, and men with
prayersticks who roamed over the mountains and through the vast space
in between.
And in the middle of the sandpainting were the twin heroes who had
been granted dominance over all of this. One was depicted in green
and black. The other, the Monster-Slayer, was painted in the
burnished pinks and golds of sands painstakingly collected from the
land of the Painted Cliffs.
The healer ended the chant. Spock forced his eyes to roll open, but
still his head swam. The room lurched. First, he summoned all his
will to focus upon the depiction in front of him. And then he could
not tear his eyes away for the face of the Monster-Slayer was
unmistakable.
"How have you done this?" Spock asked. His voice grated rough in his
own ears. He struggled to his feet.
Breathing hard, Chiz Yazzie removed his wristbands and necklace and
secured them within the folds of the deerskin bundle. He reached back
and tugged one set of the silver beads that swung from his hair tie.
The bun unfurled. Thick tendrils of rich black hair spilled down his
back to end in uneven wisps around his waist. He threw the wrap
across the bundle and turned to face his patient.
"I have not. The gods act through me. The painting tells of the Two
Twin Heroes and how they were granted beneficent dominion over all
creatures that reside between the Sacred Mountains.
"The painting is left through the day. In the evening it will be
destroyed. If it is their will, the Holy Ones will act for us and
restore health and balance."
Chiz Yazzie walked to the center of the hogan. His cheeks were ripe
and flush with blood. His jerkin was unlaced; his smooth chest still
heaved from the heat of the hogan and the exertion of the rite.
"Come," he said, "we will wait until sunset for the Holy Ones."
Spock faltered, almost tripped over a stone from the fire circle.
The healer reached out and caught him by the shoulders. Spock
battled with his own body to straighten, to pull away.
"I cannot breathe," he gasped. He tugged violently at the neck of
his uniform shirts and ripped them both off in a single furious
motion. He could perhaps now breathe a little, but the air was still
far too thick. Much too thick with the heady scent of his intended.
Spock stood quivering, utterly unable to process anything but the
drive of his own erection and the overwhelming presence of the man
who channeled for the spirits.
Spock's lips moved wordlessly. He fell helplessly to his knees, head
bowed in concentration. He clutched at a rock from the stone circle
and squeezed compulsively. Dark green blood began to drip from his
palm.
Chiz Yazzie watched in fascination. To all things there must be
balance.
"I think, perhaps, even the gods will make an exception
occasionally," Chiz Yazzie said, with the slightest raise of an
eyebrow. He reached for the clay cup of brewed medicine and downed
it in one gulp.
With a grimace he abandoned the cup and moved to the pile of skins
and blankets. Choosing the largest skin, he laid it carefully out
over the sandpainting. He piled several others beside it. Lastly,
he went back for the one medicine jar he had not used, and placed it
beside the skin.
He kicked off his boots, divested himself of his leggings and lay
down on the soft skin. He reached two fingers into the jar and
pulled them back with a dollop of soft fat. He anointed his
burgeoning penis, perhaps more generously than he would for a woman.
As an afterthought he reached between his legs and smeared the tender
place between his cheeks as well.
"Come, Spock," he said softly. This time, he extended a hand.
With some terrible fusion of movement, Spock moved towards the
bedding. With the first touch of their hands, he knew nothing
further.
For Chiz Yazzie the world began to slow. Some distant part of him
had to be aware that Spock had mounted the front of him, but his mind
could not process the enormity of it. The impassioned touch of
another's flesh on his was something he had too long been without.
He knew only parts for the whole. The burning scrape of fingers as
they raked across his shoulders. The bruising pressure of a wiry
knee as it pushed against the most tender flesh of his thigh. The
dizzying, exotic scent that suffused his nostrils as nothing ever had
before in his life. The weight of another man on his body. The grip
of muscles stronger than his own, pinning him firmly to the ground.
The sounds of fervent desperation rasping in his ear. The sound of a
frantic need that only he could answer.
And the heat. The impossible heat that radiated from every part of
him, scorching, searing, branding everywhere he touched. Each new
wave of hot, dry breath whispered in his ear like wind through dry
grass and threatened to desiccate him completely.
The bulge of Spock's urgency pressed hard against the hollow of his
hip as Spock ground into him in that most elemental instinctive
rhythm. Through the slick synthetic fabric, the crest of the bony
pelvis rubbed unrelentingly over his burgeoning erection and
threatened to drive him insane. He dug his fingers into Spock's lean
back, clutching him more tightly against his body.
Spock arched his neck. His eyes flew open wide and a strangled sound
gurgled deep in his throat. Chiz Yazzie tensed. He waited in
dreadful anticipation of the ravenous assault.
But it never happened. Instead Spock pressed his face firmly into
the curve of his neck and resumed the measured thrusts of groin
against hollow.
He groaned. A wisp of Spock's hair tickled against his nose, driving
him further to distraction. He couldn't think, couldn't reason. He
knew only a single primal need. He reached for the lacing of his
jerkin, but found it caught in the crush of Spock's body.
With one furious gesture he reached a hand down the neckline and
tore. The leather lacing tensed, then broke with a resounding pop.
The jerkin hung open leaving his torso bare and free.
Taut and ready, his penis thrust against the slick fabric of Spock's
hip, but still it wasn't enough.
And then Spock shifted. Spock's hand went to the naked penis.
And then Chiz Yazzie did cry out. In one galvanic moment his world
crashed in. The intensity of the fever-hot hand that milked his sex
was a threatened to drive him over the edge right there and then.
Automatically his hands went for the trousers. He tugged frantically
at the waistband to no avail. Spock paid no heed. Spock continued
to pump in the same maddening meter, never faster, never slower.
Always too much and never enough.
In desperation he tore at the seat of the trousers. With some work
they rent down the middle. He pulled the flaps farther to the side
until the fabric concealed nothing and Spock's ready penis sprang
free.
A musky odor climbed to his nose. He groaned helplessly at the rich
aroma of arousal. He rocked his pelvis and their mirrored members
met heat to heat with a shock that would have surely driven a lesser
man into oblivion.
And still Spock continued in the same unchanging motion. He tried
fruitlessly to push Spock aside, to end this sweet torture with his
own hand. But one might as well try to move the Sacred Mountains.
With finality he relaxed his body and submitted himself to Spock's
will.
As he surrendered to the inevitable, an unexpected sense of peace
overcame him. He was past the point of orgasm. Past anything but
the mingled measure of their joint need.
And still it wasn't enough. He had to have Spock inside of him. In
vain he struggled against the resolute strength that pressed him to
the ground. He strove to turn, to bend, to offer himself in
supplication. But in his frenzy, Spock would not be moved.
It was not too much to beg. He choked, "Spock...behind me...now!
Let me up!"
But his words were lost in the howling tempest of the madness. He
remained pinned firmly by the scalding press of groin to groin.
And then, in desperation, he spread his legs. He parted his thighs
and pulled up his hips as a woman might. Hoping against all hope, he
willed Spock to understand his most elemental need.
Spock stopped. He rose to his knees and grasped his ass with both
hands. It was more pain than pleasure as the fingers clamped the
cheeks and pulled him firmly onto his swollen penis. His head bumped
the ground as he was suddenly pulled forward in the grip of Spock's
passion.
And then there was no room to think. His ankles flew up over Spock's
shoulders. He was being hammered relentlessly by a force such as he
had never known. It was all he could do to find his own penis and
squeeze out a few strokes to extinguish the fire within. He pumped
himself with all his might, aiming for the sweet annihilation that
would put this to an end.
When it finally came, it was more torture than release. And still
Spock never broke his rhythm. Molten semen spewed over his belly,
but he barely noticed. Sobbing, he dropped his painfully sensitive
penis and flailed his hands helplessly into the sand. He squeezed his
eyes and prayed for the agony to end.
His vision dimmed. The ideal marbled with the concrete in one great
liquid swirl before his eyes. He saw his own body as if from a great
distance. He watched it roll and slam into Spock's hard groin with a
mechanical precision. Spock's face bobbed before him, intent only on
his own fulfillment. And then it all shifted.
Then it was not Spock before him but Quinani. His body relaxed as he
drank in the solace of her face, so beautiful after all these years.
And then he knew not who was in whom. It was all the same. The
rhythm of the blessed friction reverberated through his being in a
glorious harmonic thrill. His balls contracted, his prostate
threatened to burst, but still they rocked together as one. His
world was reduced to the lunge of hard penis, the slide of slick
skin, the slap of flesh against flesh, and the ethereal image that
moved with him in love. Caught in the nether world between memory
and reality, he wanted it to go on forever. He needed it to end. In
blind desire he reached up to pull his mate down to him.
But Spock moved instead. Holding the healer's ass with one hand,
Spock slid the other up to the gnarled face. Hot fingers forked
around one curved ear and pushed through the long, loose hair.
Spock's fingers pressed hot into his face, hotter still into his
mind. And then Chiz Yazzie was coming again.
The dry orgasm was so unexpected it was painful. He body was shook
with spasms that wracked him from head to toe. With an inhumanly
high pitched wail, Spock collapsed on top of him in a heavy heap.
Outside, the horse whinnied. Slowly his world began to reform.
Somewhere in the back of his mind the waking echo of Quinani's face
still beckoned. Just for a while, he thought. Yes, just for a while
I will go with you.
He didn't know how long he had slept. When he awoke the light from
the smokehole had migrated a little farther down the wall. An urgent
force billowed up in his chest. He pushed Spock aside and sat bolt
upright. His head still swam with the visions that now seemed more
real than did the past 20 years of his life. His stomach churned
demanding his attention most urgently.
He crawled to the medicine bundle and dug for a sprig of dried
juniper. He leaned up against the stone wall and waited for his
stomach to settle. The feel of the cool stone was a blissful relief
to his hot clammy skin, too badly over-stimulated.
As he waited, he watched Spock rest. The sunlight of mid-day
streamed in through the smokehole and hit the austere angles of his
body etching them in crisp chiaroscuro.
He wondered how there ever could have been a time when he did not
find this man beautiful.
In rapt abandon, he crawled back to lie beside him once more. He
noted that the carefully constructed sandpainting was no longer
recognizable. The motion of their union had swirled the sands of the
images inexorably one into the other. The men, the animals, the
mountains, the clouds, the sun--they had all mixed together. It was
no longer possible to discern one part of the painted world from any
other. Only the border of muted rainbow bands remained largely
undisturbed.
He lifted up the edge of the deerskin. The two central figures had
been rolled together so thoroughly that they were utterly
obliterated. But it no longer mattered; the Heroes had done their
work.
Chiz Yazzie lay on his side studying Spock in a new light. His
muscles roped beneath the skin, each one defined in the candid
light. Each vein stood full and high. His skin flushed a ripe olive,
his chest heaved evenly. His eyes were closed. The skin above them
was a rich teal blue, like no color he had ever seen before. It
spoke of distant seas and skies, a world he would never know. But
the eyes remained tightly shut; his aspect was focused intently on
something within.
Gingerly he reached out to touch his chest. Spock gasped, but did
not pull away. For all their exertions, the skin was still as dry as
the very desert. He moved his fingers through the forest of dark
curly hair, and still Spock did not make a move. Emboldened, he set
out to learn that captivating face.
He started with the ears. He swept a finger up to one tip, then down
around the elegant curve. He ran his finger repeatedly around the
maze of ridges and whorls until Spock squirmed, incoherent under his
ministrations. His eyes flew open. His mouth moved faintly, and yet
no sound escaped.
And still Chiz Yazzie moved languidly, as one held in quicksand. He
traced the severe eyebrows and slowly massaged the tips, pressing
into the taut muscles of the temple. He felt them loosen just a
little beneath his hand. He traced the lines of the forehead
wondering what stories they could tell of this stranger and his life
that went before. He drew his fingers down the sharp nose and let
them slip off to the sides. He tracked the deep furrows of the
nasolabial folds down to the corners of the mouth.
Lightly he dragged his finger across the thin lips. The skin was sere
and cracked like the bed of any arroyo in summer. He traced the
length of the thin line between them. Spock's breath came in more
frequent pants, prickling the fine hairs of his forearm in a
tantalizing dance.
On an impulse, he leaned down for a kiss. Spock's ragged breath
danced across his face, seemingly coating his very being. With a
silent benediction he touched their lips, hot and parched. The lips
parted infinitesimally. A puff of hot breath escaped into his mouth
intoxicating him at first blush. He smelt the heated copper and
savored an alien essence that could not fill him enough. Greedily he
grabbed at the smooth black hair, clutched at the trembling mouth
with his lips, with his teeth, urging it to let him in.
Spock shifted. "No." Spock's voice was strained, as if he were
struggling back from a great distance. "No...please. Even now, I can
barely keep the madness at bay."
"Madness? No, this is the first sanity I have known for a very long
time." Decisively he buried his face in the curve of Spock's neck and
ran his hands resolutely down his flanks.
"No," Spock said. It was almost a whimper.
"Yes." Chiz Yazzie reached down and took the ripe cock in his hand.
Spock made a soft sound in the back of his throat. Chiz Yazzie
curled his body protectively around Spock's groin. His eyes never
left Spock's tense face. First tenderly, then with the escalating
urgency of their joint need, he stroked Spock to orgasm and back.
In the languid warmth of the afterglow, Chiz Yazzie rested replete
and content. His head rose and fell with each even breath that Spock
took. Absently he pondered yet again how a man could live without a
heartbeat. Perhaps not so strange, he thought. For if I have
survived with an empty heart, can it be so much harder with a silent
one?
He circled his fingers through the coarse hair of Spock's chest,
wondering not for the first time, what he might now be thinking. He
raised his eyes to Spock's face. There he beheld such a great
loneliness as a man may only know when all passion is spent and he
finds that nothing more remains behind.
For only the second time he leaned in for a kiss. No decent soul
could do less. This kiss was soft as the cactus flower in the
morning dew. With a quiet insistence he worked his lips and tongue
in harmony together. Spock's dry, cracked lips parted, and just for
a moment, he let him in. It was enough. He fell away, and lay his
head back down.
"No." Spock's voice was strained, as if he were struggling back from
a great distance. "No...please. Even now I can barely keep the
madness at bay."
"Madness? No, this is the first sanity I have known for a very long
time." Decisively he buried his face in the curve of Spock's neck and
ran his hands resolutely down his flanks.
"No," Spock said. It was almost a whimper.
"Yes." Chiz Yazzie reached down and took the ripe cock in his hand.
Spock made a soft sound in the back of his throat. Chiz Yazzie
curled his body protectively around Spock's groin. His eyes never
left Spock's face. First tenderly, then with the escalating urgency
of their joint need, he stroked Spock to orgasm and back.
In the languid warmth of the afterglow, Chiz Yazzie rested replete
and content. His head rose and fell with each even breath that Spock
took. Absently he pondered yet again how a man could live with out a
heartbeat. Perhaps not so strange, he thought. For if I have
survived with an empty heart, can it be so much harder with a silent
one?
He circled his fingers through the coarse hair of Spock's chest,
wondering not for the first time, what he might now be thinking. He
raised his eyes to meet Spock's face. There he beheld such great
loneliness as a man may only know when all passion is spent and he
finds, to his dismay, that nothing more remains.
For only the second time he leaned in for a kiss. This kiss was
soft as the cactus flower in the morning dew. With quiet insistence
he worked his lips and tongue in harmony together. Spock's lips
parted, and just for a moment, he let him in. It was enough. He
fell away, and lay his head back down.
"Chiz Yazzie," said Spock softly, "we are experiencing a biological
necessity of my people. Although you are a dear friend and I owe you
my life twice over, I cannot stay with you."
In his mind's eye the old man saw himself, once again young and
strong. He rode a silver horse; Quinani rode behind him, clinging
tightly to his waist. Her face was young and free and entirely
without fear.
Beside him, on a mighty golden stallion, rode his dark brother-in-
arms. Hair flying in the wind, together they raced across the great
plateau and leapt wildly up and over the sacred mountain to spread
out against the sky.
"I know," he replied sotto voce. "And yet a part of you ever will."
*****
When Chiz Yazzie awoke, he was alone. The fire had burned down to
embers; the deerskin beside him had grown cold. He feared it would
always be so.
Then, as his eyes accommodated to the darkness, he saw it. The
tricorder still stood against the wall, right next to his own hunting
bow. With a smile Chiz Yazzie rolled over and went back to sleep,
his wife's face floating gently in his mind.
Outside Spock sat and stared at the stars.
~Lyra
March 2003
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages
can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML.
Hypatia Kosh
> Brueghel's Icarus 3/3 [NC-17]
> See 0/3 for more details
>
[ newsgroup posting-script note: line exceeds 512 bytes. Line being reformatted]
Hey, just wanted to say I liked this a l
ot. I don't know hardly anything about N
avajo culture, but you did your research
on the few details I know anything abou
t. (Otherwise you might have made it up
out of whole cloth--I'm no wiser :^) You
really have Spock to a T. Those times w
hen he remembers Jim are really poignant
(without descending into melodrama). Wh
at is it about stories about Kirk and Sp
ock with other people that puts K/S in s
uch relief? You did a very good job esta
blishing the original character as someo
ne Spock would trust. I'd like to say so
mething nicer or more coherent, but this
'll have to do: GREAT JOB!
[end of reformatted line]
-Hypatia
lyrastarwatcher
much!
Hy:
First off, thanks loads for your help.
> I don't know hardly anything about Navajo culture
Yeah, me either. But SAMK does and was great! The Navajo stuff was
really an accident--who else would have been around?--and took hours
more research than I care to confess to. Suffice it to say that
having maxed out my own card, I had to borrow library cards from two
friends in order to check out all the references I reviewed. And the
more I read, the more terrific correlates I found.
And the more I read, the more I certain I became that I would NEVER
try historical fiction again!
> What is it about stories about Kirk and Spock with other people
that puts K/S in such relief?
I dunno, but K/S without either K or S actually present is rapidly
becoming my favorite theme.
Rae:
Thanks! I am delighted to see I didn't bug you too much to finish
your REV. No Appleton's here, but I promise to try a dab of Meyer's
before posting anything else!
Actually, I agonized over the title for over a month for similar
reasons, but decided that I myself liked it enough to stick with
it. That is one of the precious few perks of writing one's own fic!
Voile:
I was ecstatic to receive your fb particualarly as I had assumed this
would be too... [*tap on the shoulder* Uh, 'schmoopy', Lyra. The
word is 'schmoopy'] soft for lots of folks. I can think of no higher
compliment than to hear that it spoke to you.
Regards,
~Lyra
www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher
Hypatia Kosh
> I had assumed this
> would be too... [*tap on the shoulder* Uh, 'schmoopy', Lyra. The
> word is 'schmoopy'] soft for lots of folks.
Too soft? I don't think so. Just human. :^)
-Hypatia
--
Peace Rally * Boston Common * March 29 * Noon
syredronning
> I was ecstatic to receive your fb particualarly as I had assumed
this
> would be too... [*tap on the shoulder* Uh, 'schmoopy', Lyra. The
> word is 'schmoopy'] soft for lots of folks.
What please?
I read it faster than I should have because of time problems, but
darn, this is not schmoopy. And it's also not soft. It's a well-
written, interesting, slightly sad, still with hot sex spiced up
great story! You made me go awww, even though I probably missed most
of the Navajo depths by my quick read *sigh* The tie-in with Roswell
was a nice thing, too. Weird image to have Spock as the green man
from outer-space - and he is! (I just tend to forget this.)
Thanks, Lyra, for a wonderful read. And I am with you on the K/S
without K or S *sigh*
Birgit :)))