NEW2ASCEM: Surrender 2/7 TOS [NC-17] (K/S, d/s)
ASCEM
Subject:
NEW2ASCEM: Surrender 2/7 TOS [NC-17] (K/S, d/s)
Date:
Tue, 9 Dec 1997 15:59:49 EST
From:
Killashdra <Killa...@aol.com>
Organization:
AOL (http://www.aol.com)
To:
as...@earthlink.net
The sound of the door buzzer startled James Kirk out of
the familiar waking nightmare, and back to reality.
Irritated, he glanced at the chrono. Who could it be, at this
hour? Then he knew: McCoy. The doctor had been making
ominous noises about him coming down to Sickbay to 'chew
the fat,' which Kirk had translated as, 'let me dissect your
psyche for a little while, Jim, just for grins.' For a moment
he considered ignoring the signal--but if he did, the doctor
would probably have the entire med staff searching the ship
before morning.
Kirk lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling, counting
slowly to ten. No choice but to face the music. Better to do
it calmly.
At last he blew out a breath, cursing, and swung his feet
to the floor. He ignored his tunic and boots where he'd left
them, padding to the door in bare feet. He'd pretend that
he'd been sleeping. Maybe the doctor would leave him alone
for tonight, at least. As the door slid open, he yawned
strategically and tried to look bleary.
Except it wasn't McCoy at the door. It was Spock.
Relieved, he started to smile--and then he remembered
the way he'd run out on the Vulcan earlier in the evening,
and the smile faltered. For a long moment their eyes met,
held. Kirk felt an unsteadiness somewhere, a warm flush
like embarrassment. Then the name was past his lips.
"Spock?"
The dark gaze lowered for a fraction of an instant,
perhaps noting his bare feet, his missing gold shirt. In
spite of the fact that he was quite decently clad in uniform
trousers and black regulation t-shirt, Kirk suddenly felt...
unkempt. Spock, as always, was neatly pressed and
impeccable.
"Captain, forgive me. Have I disturbed you?"
Kirk realized, with a little jolt of insight, that McCoy
wasn't the only one who was worried about him. The
realization made him feel both guilty and oddly pleased.
"No, Spock, you didn't wake me. I was just reading. What is
it?"
The Vulcan glanced once down the corridor, not
immediately answering. Kirk frowned. What exactly was
this odd tension he was sensing in his friend? They were
both speaking in low tones, for no real reason except
perhaps the lateness of the hour. For a moment, he had the
strange feeling that he was dreaming.
The dark eyes returned to his, shuttered and unreadable.
"Jim, may I come in for a moment?"
Kirk was nonplused. "Well... of course. Please." He
moved aside. Spock went past him into the tiny office area
of his quarters, stood there for a moment. The door slid
shut, and they were alone.
Kirk took a step toward his enigmatic visitor, the
dreamlike feeling getting stronger. The Vulcan was looking
about the room as if he'd never seen it before--as if he'd
forgotten why he'd come. "Did you want to talk to me about
something?" Kirk asked finally.
Spock looked at him then, but still didn't say anything.
Kirk realized that his heart was beating faster than normal.
To steady himself, he went to the food synthesizer and
keyed in a request for coffee. What was wrong with him?
He could feel the Vulcan's eyes on the back of his neck. "Can
I get you something to drink?" he offered, not turning.
"Some tea?"
"No, thank you."
The coffee appeared in the receptacle, steaming, and
Kirk retrieved it, took a sip. He felt better with something
in his hands. Then the absurdity of that thought struck him.
This was Spock. What was he afraid of?
He turned, to find Spock's back to him. The Vulcan was
seemingly very interested in the row of books against the
far wall. Which was rather odd, considering he'd read every
book in Kirk's collection... probably knew their titles by
rote.
Seeing Spock there, dark head bent, fingers clasped
loosely behind his back in a familiar posture, Kirk realized
quite suddenly how much he had missed their quiet evenings
together.
He cleared his throat softly; Spock turned. Kirk gestured
toward the chess board, smiling a little by way of apology
for his earlier cowardice. "Would you still... care to play? I
don't think anyone else will be looking for me this evening."
But Spock shook his head slowly, once. "Not tonight, I
think."
Coffee cradled in both hands, Kirk sat on the edge of his
desk. "Name your poison then."
"I merely... wished to speak with you."
"Ah." Kirk tried a smile, managed a shadow of one.
"Coffee and conversation. Very well, Mr. Spock. What's on
your mind?"
"You are." The words were serious, matter-of-fact, and
sent a needle of apprehension through Kirk's insides.
"Care to specify?" he asked carefully. He realized he had
tensed instinctively, made himself relax.
Spock had faced him, hands still clasped behind his back.
At Kirk's question, he paced two steps toward the mesh
divider and then back again, slowly. When he was back
where he had started, he looked up. "Perhaps I should ask
you those questions." The dark eyes seemed to know the
answers already. "What is troubling you, Jim? And when
did you last sleep for any significant length of time?"
Kirk drew a breath. For a moment, the desire to talk to
someone, to this man, was almost overpowering. He
couldn't quite answer, for the longing and the need was all
tangled up in him, closing his throat. He had to swallow;
realized that he was breathing too hard, a sudden heat
behind his eyes.
The coffee cup crackled in his hand, started to buckle
under the pressure of his grip. Startled, he looked down,
saw that he had been crushing the thermoplast between his
hands. He made himself stop doing it.
When he looked up, Spock's eyes were on the cup. The
Vulcan took a single step closer to him. Met his gaze.
"I can't," Kirk said in despair, before he could stop
himself. I'm the captain. I'm responsible. I don't get to put
the load down. I have to bear it... "I can't."
"Jim." The velvet baritone enveloped him, embraced him,
the voice more gentle than Kirk had ever heard it. "Please."
Kirk put the coffee cup down very deliberately, before he
could crack it. As if from a great distance, he saw himself
turn, heard himself tell the lies that would push his well-
meaning friend away before he could do real damage.
"Listen, I... appreciate your concern. But I think you're right;
what I really need is six hours or so of uninterrupted sleep.
So if you don't mind--"
He started to shoulder past the Vulcan, who was
standing between him and the sleeping alcove. But at the
room divider, Spock's voice stopped him.
"My friend. *Let me help.*"
Kirk closed his eyes.
"Spock..." It came out sounding as shaky as he felt, and
behind him he sensed the Vulcan close, too close. Hotter-
than-human hands touched his shoulders, and he shuddered.
"You do not have to say anything, Jim. If you cannot tell
me what is hurting you, I will accept that." The long fingers
pressed gently into muscles which cried out in protest.
"You are far too tense for sleep. Perhaps I can--"
Kirk stepped out from under his friend's hands, turned to
face him. "You don't have to do that." He knew his face was
too warm. "I'm all right."
"Jim." Those dark eyes, reading him from the inside out.
"You are a poor liar."
They measured one another for a heartbeat, two. Finally,
Kirk smiled wryly. "Only where you're concerned."
"The doctor, also, is not fooled."
Kirk sighed. "Did he send you in here?"
The eyebrow lifted faintly. "In a manner of speaking."
Kirk brought one hand to the back of his neck. He
managed an affectionate expression that was nonetheless
meant to be a dismissal. "Get out of here. You don't have to
do this, Spock. It's not part of the job description." He
started to turn away.
"I had not assumed that it was."
Kirk stopped, hearing something he had not expected in the
Vulcan's stiff reply. Turned back. "Look, Spock. I didn't
mean..."
"You believe I came here tonight out of some sense of
duty? You believe I make an offer not of friendship, but
rather of professional courtesy?" The Vulcan's mouth had
drawn tight.
Kirk swallowed. "No, of course you didn't. I only
meant..." He broke off, tasting a flash of anger. Couldn't
they just leave him the hell alone? He could handle the
Spock he'd seen earlier tonight, at dinner. He didn't think he
could deal with this one. A Spock who wouldn't take no for
an answer, who could touch him like that, who offered
himself without reservation--that was a dangerous man
indeed.
He turned accusing eyes on the Vulcan, feeling exposed
and vulnerable, needing too much. "Why *did* you come here
tonight, anyway? You trying to tell me you're really
comfortable with the idea of giving me a back rub? You
*wanted* to play true confessions?"
"I wanted to help you."
It was said quietly, the hurt unconcealed.
Feeling like the lowest form of life in the known galaxy,
James Kirk passed a hand over his eyes. When he had his
voice under control, he said softly, "Dammit Spock. I can't
let you in this time and this time only, don't you see?
Humans don't work that way. You can't change who you are-
-and I don't want you to, not for me. I don't want to take
responsibility for that!" He met the Vulcan's eyes, pleading
with him. "Don't you understand? I don't want you trying to
be something you're not. I don't want to make you something
you're not."
Spock only looked at him, calm, so calm. His eyes were
very bright. "But you are wrong, if you think I do not wish
to help you any way I can."
Too much, to feel the Vulcan's compassion like a tangible
thing in the room. The longing for release closed Kirk's
throat but had nowhere to go. He felt...deeply touched. He
wished that he could find an answer in himself, a response
deserving of this man's friendship. But he'd already proven
in the last five minutes that he didn't deserve Spock's
regard.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, all he could find to say. "I
just don't know any way."
And then the Vulcan closed the distance between them,
standing close, until Kirk could literally feel the heat of his
body. Unwillingly, unable to stop himself, he looked up.
Dark eyes demanded something... something he couldn't
name, wasn't sure he could give. "Do you trust me, Jim?"
Kirk felt a pressure on his heart.
A pause, a breath. Then he answered, honestly, "Without
reservation."
"Then--let me help."
And Spock's hands were on him, the contact as shocking
as it had been the first time. Vulcans do not touch, Kirk
thought vaguely, as the strong grip closed gently around his
biceps. Spock does not touch. Spock does not touch me.
But he was, and suddenly Kirk wanted nothing more than
to give himself over to that strength.
Spock was steering him toward the bathroom, and he
went willingly. "Where are we going?" he heard himself ask
in a small voice, and somewhere he was astonished at his
willing capitulation.
"You are going into the bathroom, where you are going to
take a very hot shower. Then you are going to return to this
room, and I am going to massage your neck and shoulders for
a time. Then you are going to sleep until alpha watch. After
that, we shall see."
The flush of relief, of gratitude, that swept over James
Kirk then threatened to undo him. His knees felt none too
steady. It had been so long since he had let anyone take care
of him like this. So long since he had felt anything but
alone.
How did Spock always manage to know what he needed?
"You're too good to me," he murmured as they reached the
bathroom, and Spock released him. "You know that?"
"Yes." The Vulcan gave him a stern look in the mirror.
"So I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter."
Kirk smiled a little, in spite of himself. "Aye, aye,
Captain Spock, sir. I wouldn't presume to debate you."
"That is wise," the deep voice said, near his ear.
When the bathroom door slid shut behind him, he was
surprised to find he could still feel the imprint of those
too-warm hands, even through the fabric of his shirt.
<end part 2>
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