NEW: TOS "Jack-a-roe" S/m+ 1/3 [NC17]
Greywolf the Wanderer
"China Doll," it may interest you to know that this story
takes place in the same timeline, but some months earlier.
It is a prequel, if you will.
Summary: Troubled by his newly-awakened sexuality, Spock
goes in search of relief.
Warning: Contains m/m sex; if that's not your thing, go read
something else and enjoy. In case of glass, break fire.
Not suitable for farm animals, small children, or elderly
Republican congresscritters.
Disclaimer: Viaborg owns the Trekiverse; I'm just playing
here. This story, however, is all mine. I ain't worth
suing, and I ain't makin' no money off of this. Viaborg's
too chickenshit to admit that characters have sex, so we
have to do it for them.
Right then, on with the story...
Jack-a-Roe
TOS S/m+, [NC17]
part one of three
This is madness. I should not be here. I cannot go
through with this. I was insane to even consider it. The
music is so loud in here that I can hardly hear myself
think.
Even so, this is better than the first place I
tried. The music there was even louder, all the inhabitants
were bare-chested -- many were completely nude -- and none
of them seemed to be over 20 years of age. I did not even
attempt to enter that establishment; I turned away from the
open door and walked back out into the night. I could not
help hearing the derisive laughter and vulgar comments that
followed me down the walkway.
Still, there is something about this place that
draws me, calls to me. I am half-hard already just from
standing beside the door, smelling the scent of male arousal
on the air.
This entire club is full of men. Only men. There
are no women here, though some of the men are dressed and
scented as if to imitate a woman. All around me men are
touching one another, exchanging heated glances, murmured
invitations, intimate caresses. On the floor in the center
of the room men are dancing together, holding one another
close or spinning wildly about some invisible common center.
I stand and I watch all this, and I *hunger...*
...As I have hungered since the day of my supposed
marriage, the day that ended with the kalifee, with Jim
lying apparently dead at my feet even as my own cooling seed
still dripped down my legs and the last of the Fever-haze
slowly left my mind.
I knew shame on that day. Shame -- and gratitude,
for the dark uniform fabric that so perfectly concealed that
shame. And I knew something else, too. I realized that I
did not want T'Pring, or any other woman. Even though she
was lawfully mine, I hastened to give her to Stonn. I could
not get away from there fast enough. I retreated to my
quarters in order to wash myself and don clean clothes,
before reporting to sickbay. Once there I thought to make
the final arrangements for Jim, and to put Mr. Scott in
command. Then I would have returned to my quarters, locked
myself in, and scrambled the door-access code. I meant to
perform *tsun'a-shto ek'kakh,* the Peaceful Ending -- for
surely there could be no life for me after what I had done.
When I found that Jim was alive I went into a kind
of shock, a haze of relief, gratitude, even joy. I actually
*smiled.*
For a moment there, I thought McCoy was going to
faint.
I know that Jim is not mine, that he will probably
never be mine. But it does not matter. He *lives.* He
lives and he has forgiven me, even though I tried, lost in
my madness, to kill him. He calls me his friend even now,
and for that, also, I am deeply grateful. To remain his
friend -- it is more than I expected, more than I have any
right to ask. It will suffice.
But my body is awake now, as it has never been
before. It is aware, it is hungry. It plagues me and
distracts me from my duties. For the last three weeks, ever
since my pon farr ended, I have been in a constant state of
arousal. The slightest erotic stimulus is enough to make me
hard, to make me sweat and start to shake. Once aroused, I
am forced to stand behind a chair or a table, or even to
simply stay seated so I will not give myself away. The lean
hard curve of a thigh, the swell of a young man's cheeks as
he bends over a console... The scent of masculine sweat,
wafting from the locker rooms beside the gym... That smile
Jim gives me, when he knows I know he is teasing me... Any
and all of these are enough to bring me to quivering, hungry
readiness, which is nearly impossible to suppress.
I cannot live like this. I am Vulcan. I *must*
control.
I have to find another way.
And so I have come here, seeking -- I am not
entirely certain what. I know only that I need help.
I first heard of this place two days ago; two
crewmen were talking as they walked past my quarters, secure
in their belief that they would not be overheard amid the
rest of the noise. It was obvious from their conversation
that both of them shared my own newly-discovered preference
for men. Further, it was obvious that, unlike myself, both
had been aware of this aspect of their natures for some
time, and that they were content, well-adjusted,
*satisfied.*
As Vulcans reckon age I am considered quite young,
though my ship-mates do not think of me that way. I have
learned, since my pon farr, that when young human men first
become sexually aware they often have difficulties similar
to mine. Regardless of their sexual orientation, they
initially experience a lack of control, an ease of arousal,
much like what is happening to me. And I know that it
passes. In time they learn to properly control and divert
that hunger, to save it for those times when it will not
interfere with their duties or their lives.
That is the condition I must achieve if I am to
continue aboard the Enterprise. I have theorized that if I
devote some effort to satisfying these new needs of mine, it
may become easier to control them the rest of the time.
I must regain my control. *I must.* I do not wish
to leave StarFleet, nor to leave this ship. But my current
condition is unacceptable, impossible. I am the first
officer of the Enterprise. I cannot carry out my duties if
my body is going to betray me a dozen times each day.
I find this entire situation grotesque.
As a boy, I was taught what awaited me. I learned
that one day the fires of pon farr would claim me. My mind
and body would burn and I would return to Vulcan, where my
bondmate would cool those fires with her body and her mind,
leading me back to sanity. And then I would return to my
duties, secure once more within my logic, my newly awakened
sexuality satisfied and put aside for another seven years,
as Vulcans are able to do if they wish.
I knew these things. This was fact, this was the
Way of the Vulcan. So it was, I was taught, for my father,
for his father before him, and for Vulcans on back to the
dawn of our days.
Only, it did not happen that way. My bondmate did
not want me. She called for the Challenge. She chose Jim
to be her champion -- and he accepted, unaware of what that
meant. I could not help myself; lost in the plak tow, I
fought and defeated him. The shock of thinking I had killed
Jim cooled my blood too soon. And as I stood there over my
t'hy'la's body, weakened and shaking in the aftermath of my
first sexual release, I knew that I did not want her,
either. Only then did I finally realize that I am
*s'skandrie-htath,* a man who prefers men.
And for that, none of my father's teachings had
prepared me.
There are other Vulcans like me. I know that now.
At one time in our distant past, men who declared their
preference for men were very common. We have always bred
more males than females -- perhaps a lingering effect of the
solar flare that nearly sterilized the Homeworld when my
race was still young. Even now there remains a slight
imbalance. But the Way of Surak and the practice of
heterosexual bonding in childhood have considerably reduced
our numbers. Vulcan's population is not as large as the
Elders might wish; children are valued and necessary. Many
of us are infertile, and there are many deleterious
mutations, not all of which are recessive. Same-sex
bondings are considered illogical under the Tenets of Surak.
The ostensible reason is that, in order to
reproduce, such a couple must use a great deal of time,
effort, and medical intervention. The truth, of course, is
that when Surak was alive the requisite medical technology
did not yet exist and therefore his dictate was in fact a
logical one. Time and technological progress have changed
that situation, but Vulcan custom has not changed with it.
And so we are not taught of these things as children. We
are expected to stay in the pairings the Elders make for us
and be content with them, as logic commands. And most
Vulcans do just that, even those who might prefer to do
otherwise. It is quite rare, now, for a man to end up in my
situation. The odds of my finding another like myself with
whom I can form a bond are very low indeed, especially on
the Homeworld, the center of Vulcan orthodoxy.
And so I have come here. I am half-human, I live
among humans. I will try the human ways. Vulcan custom has
failed me; perhaps human customs will serve me better.
And in truth, where else can I go? I cannot satisfy
my needs aboard the ship. It is out of the question to
impose myself on a subordinate. I cannot bear this constant
state of hunger, of wanting, of *need.* I must find relief.
That is why I am here, and I shall not leave until I do so.
I approach the bar, glad of my dark hooded cloak and
my anonymous black clothing.
I am extremely tense. I need to make myself relax.
But I am unsure how best to do this -- meditation has not
helped me with this problem. Nor would it be practical at
the moment.
I have heard the doctor and Jim declaim many times
upon the beneficial effects of alcohol as a relaxant. I
never thought to have need of such effects, but tonight I
do.
"Whaddaya want?" the bartender asks me. He looks
bored, impassive. He is a large and heavily-built
individual, bald of head and oiled of skin, wearing only
black leather shorts and an elaborate leather harness, such
as a gladiator might wear. How odd -- he has metal rings
inserted in his nipples. I should think that would be
painful, but they do not seem to be bothering him. I look
away for a moment and remind myself of the principle of
IDIC.
He has asked me a question; I should answer him. I
think about it. Vulcans are not much affected by alcohol,
as a rule. But there is one drink that I know will affect
me.
"Do you have Romulan ale?"
Technically the ale is still illegal, but I have
heard that it can be purchased in many places, if one is
willing to pay. That is not a problem. I am Sarek's son.
I have no shortage of funds.
He laughs. "Yeah, we got that. Sure ya wanna start
with that?"
A nervous swallow escapes my control, but I do not
let him deter me. "Yes, I am sure."
"Your funeral, bub." He turns around to pour me a
glass. It is a deep rich blue, with a head of creamy pale
blue foam and a sharp, peaty odour quite separate from the
alcohol's metallic tang. I hand him my cred-chip and he
deducts the price, returning it to me. Now his expression
is one of surprise, but he does not speak of what he has
seen on his scanner. Evidently it is true, what my
shipmates have often said about bartenders and their
discretion. Well enough.
I find an empty stool, sit down, and take a drink of
my ale.
It is indeed strong. It is familiar, somehow; it
reminds me of home. Which is strange, for certainly I have
never drunk this before, nor, as far as I know, do Vulcans
consume it on the Homeworld. But for whatever reason, it
*is* familiar. And it is good. I like this taste. I drink
more of it, savouring the burn in the back of my throat, the
wave of relaxation that ripples through my body. This was a
good idea. More comfortable now, I lower my hood, unfasten
my cloak, and lay it on the bar beside me.
I hear something new amid all the other noise and
turn to see what it is. A man has taken the stool next to
mine, one which was previously empty. He smiles when he
sees that I have noticed him. He is a human, older than I
am and shorter; he is mostly bald and he is sweating
heavily, though it does not seem warm in here to me. Like
the bartender he has rings piercing his flesh -- one in each
eyebrow, one in his left nostril, and a whole series of them
in each ear. His eyes are a watery blue colour, and what
hair he has left is a sandy blond.
He smiles nervously and begins to speak. "Say,
you're new. My name's Chazz." He extends a hand to me. I
hesitate for a moment.
I had not considered this. As a rule I do not touch
my ship-mates, since most humans cannot shield their
thoughts. But this is foolish -- if I do what I have come
here to do I will be touching much more than just a hand. I
extend my own hand and grasp his for a moment.
"I am Sevek," I tell him. I have chosen that name
as it is both common and easy for me to remember. I do not
wish it known who I really am. What I do here tonight is
no-one's business but mine.
"So, ah, how do you like it here?" His voice is
shaking -- he is getting more nervous, the longer we speak.
This is most peculiar.
"It is... acceptable," I say. This is called small
talk, and unfortunately I am not skilled at it. "I have not
been in this establishment before, but I have heard that it
is a good place."
He laughs. "Yeah, I think so. Always a lot of
action here." He laughs again and wipes the sweat from his
brow. His scent is changing, growing sharper. This is
strange -- he is afraid of me. And yet he is aroused by
that fear. I do not understand.
He puts his hand on mine once more. "Say, ah, would
you like to go somewhere with me? Someplace quieter, a bit
more private?"
His fear is broadcasting very strongly now, and for
a moment my shields waver. I flinch, surprised enough by
what I am feeling in him to momentarily lose control.
He likes pain. He likes to be afraid, to be bound
and dominated. It excites him sexually. And he wants me to
do these things to him. I must struggle for a moment to
regain my composure, not show my surprise. I have heard of
such people; I have always considered them to be part of the
infinite diversity of life. Certes there is no harm in
consensual activities of that sort.
The difficulty lies within myself. I do not find
such things arousing. I do not wish to do this, or to have
it done to me. I cannot be what he wants, what he needs...
I look up, meet his eyes, and am surprised to see
sad resignation there. How did he know, did my face give me
away? I am not certain. There is much here that I do not
understand.
I touch his hand again. "I am sorry," I tell him,
my voice soft. "I am not... I cannot do what you desire. I
do not wish to offend..."
He laughs again, but it is a bitter sound. "No,
it's all right. I was just hoping. You didn't really seem
like the type, but damn, I was hoping..." He sighs. "Don't
worry about it. I'm sure there'll be someone here who can
satisfy me. There always is, eventually." He finishes his
drink and gets up, walks over to the bar to order another.
I pick up my own glass and drink some more, still puzzled
over what has just happened. For a moment I consider that
perhaps I should leave -- but that will not solve my
problem.
No. I am here for a reason and I am going to stay.
The ale is strong; it tastes good. As I drink it I
find myself relaxing once more, slowly becoming more
comfortable. I am surprised, when I lift the glass again,
to discover that it is now empty. I think for a moment and
then decide. I will have another. I rise to go and fetch
it.
For an instant the room wavers about me, but I focus
my will and it grows steady again.
So this is the effect of alcohol. It does not seem
overly troublesome.
Back at my seat again, I drink from my glass and
watch the other patrons, intrigued.
All around me men are watching one another,
touching, dancing, speaking together. I see now that there
are many different types here. I continue to drink and to
watch. Some are clad in the somber clothing of businessmen,
some in Free Trader motley. There are students here, and
farmers, and those who work with machines. Or at least,
there are men here who are costumed as if those were their
trades. Their clothes seem very new and neat -- I think
perhaps they have affected such dress purely for this
evening. I was not aware of this custom, before tonight.
For a moment the strangeness of it all threatens to
overwhelm me, but I remind myself of why I am here, of my
need for relief. This being true, my discomfort abates.
Some of the men here are very young, some are rather
older than I. Some are very modest, some display most of
their flesh. Some are dressed as women -- sometimes with
great effect. Others are less convincing. Quite a few are
dressed in the same way as the bartender, all in leather,
with various rings and chains and tattoos for adornment.
One man is wearing nothing but thigh-high black leather
boots, a studded black leather collar, and a silver ring
about his genitals. Several more are wearing leather
leggings that do not cover their buttocks; some do not even
have a thong underneath. As I look at these men I feel my
body responding again, my flesh growing hard and eager. Ah,
yes, I like this. Here no one thinks anything of it if I
stare to my heart's content. Nobody knows who I am, nor do
they think it odd that I have an erection.
Most here are human but I see several Andorians, a
Tellarite, and a trio of Cygnians with their ruffs full
flared, all lavender and orange. I see a Troyian, and one
man who looks as if he is Klingon, at least in part. In a
corner of the floor several Rigellians are dancing as a
group, weaving and looping in the intricate patterns of
their homeworld. All are young, and the man in the center
is -- no other word will suffice, but to call him beautiful.
By the way he carries himself I can tell that he is fully
aware of the effect he has on those who are watching him.
There is even a single elderly Sicarii, his feathers
long past their youthful glory. He sits quietly at the end
of the bar, sipping on a honey tube. I do not see any other
Vulcans, but that is not surprising. Regrettable, yes --
but not surprising.
The scent of sex is strong in here. I can hear the
sounds of men having sexual intercourse, though the noises
are very faint. They are coming from somewhere toward the
back of the place, another room perhaps. I doubt any of the
humans can hear them over the rather-too-loud music in here,
but I can. Combined with the effects of the ale, my
response is predictable. My body is hungry and it knows
that tonight that hunger will be satisfied. I savour that
feeling, still new and unaccustomed. Yes, this *is* the
right place to be.
End part one.
If you're reading this on ASC, please email me a cop of any
feedback; my newsfeed sux. If you're reading it on ASCEM,
don't worry, I'll see your message. Feedback welcomed, any
kind; be warned though, sufficiently entertaining flames
will be posted for public amusement.
Enjoy...
Greywolf the Wanderer
itinerant writer and Vulcan biker punk
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages
can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML.
menollyau
> Okay, here we go. For any of y'all that remember my story
> "China Doll," it may interest you to know that this story
> takes place in the same timeline, but some months earlier.
> It is a prequel, if you will.
> Summary: Troubled by his newly-awakened sexuality, Spock
> goes in search of relief.
Oh, thankyou for posting this Greywolf, this was a great way to wake
up on a lazy Sunday morning. A terrific story that is going to make
me go and find 'China Doll' again and reread it... Loved the Spock
and McCoy conversation at the end and would like to be a fly on the
wall for the follow-up meeting <g>.
Menolly
Greywolf the Wanderer
> --- In ASCEML@y..., Greywolf the Wanderer <greywolf@s...> wrote:
> > Okay, here we go. For any of y'all that remember my story
> > "China Doll," it may interest you to know that this story
> > takes place in the same timeline, but some months earlier.
> > It is a prequel, if you will.
> > Summary: Troubled by his newly-awakened sexuality, Spock
> > goes in search of relief.
>
> Oh, thankyou for posting this Greywolf, this was a great way to wake up on
> a lazy Sunday morning. A terrific story that is going to make me go and
> find 'China Doll' again and reread it... Loved the Spock and McCoy
> conversation at the end and would like to be a fly on the wall for the
> follow-up meeting <g>.
You 'n me both! <evil grin> Glad ye liked it! I had fun writing it -- lots
of reminiscences there...
> Menolly
Greywolf
bigmisssunbeam49
>
> TOS S/m+, [NC17]
> part one of three
"Jack-a-Roe" was so sexy it roused even me out of winter
hibernation. I'm a sucker for sex bars anyway, and when it's Virgin!
Spock!, well . . . The bar was sexy, going off with Ronan was sexy,
even the Kal-i-fee was sexy. And the whole thing is perfumed with
the inestimable scent of Jim! I thought McCoy might be being nice,
well, not only because he IS a nice guy and a gentleman, but because
this incident gives him a little emotional room. He now sees that
Spock is NOT superior in every way. I would, however, study about
changing five little letters. At the beginning, Spock is thinking
about how driven he is (sexy passage) and he thinks of the "cheek" of
a young man -- "cheek" is, to me, a sexually knowing term. I might
want to use something romanticky, something more innocent, like
"curve of his body" or "curve of his hip". But what do I know, being
an old crack whore lounging in a doorway.
Glad you posted; sorry I dallied.
luv ya,
Sunbeam
ellen_fremedon
>
> Boo! Wolferman!
> "Jack-a-Roe" was so sexy it roused even me out of winter
> hibernation.
Speaking of hibernation-- you're not giving up ASCEM for Lent this
year, Sunbeam?
Ellen
Miss Sunbeam
wrote:
> --- In ASCEML@y..., "bigmisssunbeam49"
> <bigmisssunbeam49@y...> wrote:
> >
> > Boo! Wolferman!
> > "Jack-a-Roe" was so sexy it roused even me
> out of winter
> > hibernation.
>
> Speaking of hibernation-- you're not giving up
> ASCEM for Lent this
> year, Sunbeam?
>
> Ellen
It's very strange: I don't quite feel the same
way about ASCEM as I did in previous years. I'm
going through a . . . oh, hi, Wolfsie, Markie,
Gordo, Selek-welleck, Cuz Rich, say, isn't that
Elvis over there? Why don't you go look!
<whispering> girls, I'm going through a rather
rigorous ange-chay of ife-lay, knowhutimean? My
ecstasy over treksmut has mutated into
institution (like marriage or like any conversion
experience). I guess that's a good thing; I
dunno. Anyway, now it's more important to me to
participate in the institution than to just slut
around. One doesn't want to give up GOOD things
for Lent. . .
Oh, hullo, boys. Oh, my, that WASN'T Elvis.
Hohoho, Granny Sunbeam's old eyes must be playing
tricks on her.
At any rate, looks like I'm here for the long
run.
sunbeam
=====
Check out my TNG episode guide at
http://geocities.com/promised_land_by_sunbeam/
(that's right, the tireless K.Ghia has put them at the end of the beautiful *Promised Land* page she created)
__________________________________________________
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dunyazad9
> ecstasy over treksmut has mutated into
> institution (like marriage or like any conversion
> experience). I guess that's a good thing; I
> dunno. Anyway, now it's more important to me to
> participate in the institution than to just slut
> around. One doesn't want to give up GOOD things
> for Lent. .
Definitely not! Does this mean that ASCEM has become the Eighth
Sacrament, right up there with the penance and holy matrimony?
My Lent is off to a bad start. I had to miss Ash Wednesday in order
to appear at a hearing that a judge in Memphis rescheduled at the
last minute. It seems that Ash Wednesday is not a big focus of
Memphian piety. I bet that even Elvis did not observe Ash Wedneday.
This meant not singing some of my favorite music, like Allegri's
Miserere and a chant by Purcell that we affectionately call "Butt
Dust," reflecting the dick-si-on insisted upon by our choirmaster.
Hope yours is going better.
Judith
Miss Sunbeam
--- dunyazad9 <Duny...@aol.com> wrote:
One doesn't want to give up GOOD
> things
> > for Lent. .
>
> Definitely not! Does this mean that ASCEM has
> become the Eighth
> Sacrament, right up there with the penance and
> holy matrimony?
Is there something in there like, uh, the golden
rule? Or loving your neighbors, because that's
rather how I feel.
> My Lent is off to a bad start. I had to miss
> Ash Wednesday in order
> to appear at a hearing that a judge in Memphis
> rescheduled at the
> last minute. It seems that Ash Wednesday is not
> a big focus of
> Memphian piety. I bet that even Elvis did not
> observe Ash Wedneday.
I think Elvis and them were rather anti-Papist;
Priscilla intimates as much in "Elvis and Me"
when she talks about how cute Gary-Lockwood-
like Memphis-mafioso-and-Roman-Catholic Jerry
Schilling was treated by Elvis and the other
hanger-ons. There's also a slight jab at the
Pope in "Elvis: That's The Way It Is". (see how
I've done my homework! :)
> This meant not singing some of my favorite
> music, like Allegri's
> Miserere and a chant by Purcell that we
> affectionately call "Butt
> Dust," reflecting the dick-si-on insisted upon
> by our choirmaster.
> Hope yours is going better.
>
> Judith
Maybe you all can belt something cool like that
out on Maundy Thursday. And then too think of
the Easter music!
luv ya,
Sunbeam
oh no oh no oh my god I feel a piece of fiction o
poetry coming on: Elvis during Lent!!!!!!!!!!!
Argggghhhh!!!!
=====
Check out my TNG episode guide at
http://geocities.com/promised_land_by_sunbeam/
(that's right, the tireless K.Ghia has put them at the end of the beautiful *Promised Land* page she created)
__________________________________________________
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Greywolf the Wanderer
> --- In ASCEML@y..., Greywolf the Wanderer <greywolf@s...> wrote:
> >
> > Jack-a-Roe
> > TOS S/m+, [NC17]
> > part one of three
>
> Boo! Wolferman!
> "Jack-a-Roe" was so sexy it roused even me out of winter
> hibernation. I'm a sucker for sex bars anyway, and when it's
> Virgin!Spock!, well . . . The bar was sexy, going off with Ronan was sexy,
> even the Kal-i-fee was sexy. And the whole thing is perfumed with the
> inestimable scent of Jim! I thought McCoy might be being nice, well, not
> only because he IS a nice guy and a gentleman, but because this incident
> gives him a little emotional room. He now sees that Spock is NOT superior
> in every way.
Hmm! Y'know I hadn't thought o' that but it makes sense ;-)>
> I would, however, study about changing five little letters. At the
> beginning, Spock is thinking about how driven he is (sexy passage) and he
> thinks of the "cheek" of a young man -- "cheek" is, to me, a sexually
> knowing term. I might want to use something romanticky, something more
> innocent, like
> "curve of his body" or "curve of his hip". But what do I know, being an
> old crack whore lounging in a doorway.
Oh, I don't think so. About the latter part of the paragraph that is. Yer a
sweetin', me dear, and that's that. But it may be as you say. OTOH it's up
now. I'm loath to revise just the one bit.
If I do end up fixing the one hole someone nice pointed out, I'll give this
bit another look too. Either way, 'm happy ye liked it, Beamy me love.
Makes me smile all over so it does.
> Glad you posted; sorry I dallied.
> luv ya,
> Sunbeam
And I thee, lassie. ;-)>
Greywolf, grinning