The BLTS Archive- In The City First in the Edge of Forever series by S.R. Benjamin (phil@temples.com) --- Paramount owns Star Trek. I make no money from this and intend no infringement. This story draws on canon, most specifically, Ellison's episode "City on the Edge of Forever." It also springs from a thread on the newsgroup, in which someone commented on the slashy subtext in "City," and especially about the single bed. Thank you for getting my mind pondering! This story ain't nothin' but a PWP, and it contains consensual sex between men. If thatıs not for you go no further. As for the rest of you, I hope this adds a bright note to your day. --SR Benjamin --- Afternoon of Day 4 in New York City 1525 hours --- That was most disturbing. I was resting on the bed after finishing the last mnemonic memory circuit. I must have fallen asleep, and dreamed. It felt very real, especially the physical contact. I am sure this cannot be the beginning of pon farr. It is a good thing that Jim is out with Edith Keeler. I believe I left a rag near the circuit boards. I can use it to dry myself. --- Evening of Day 5 2040 --- I have completed the electronics for visualizing tricorder data from the Guardian's transmissions. The devices of this era are so primitive that they take up a whole bed. During construction I did not consider the consequences of location. I will sleep on the floor. I am sure Jim and I will argue about that. If he comes back tonight from his time with Edith Keeler, that is. I lie on the one bed left, in the dark, waiting for Jim's footsteps. When he arrives, I need to hear so that I can vacate this space for him. I should not like him to find me sleeping in the bed and decide for himself to sleep on the floor. --- Night of Day 5 2250 --- Now, where's my key? The room is quiet and dark. I wonder where Spock is as I enter, because the reflected streetlight is faint compared to the bright hall where I kissed Edith goodnight. I hope my XO isn't out wandering around somewhere. He's been brooding lately, even if he is Vulcan. And conspicuously silent about Edith. But what I'm doing is simply logical, as he himself would say. Face it, there's a tension between Spock and me right now, back here in time. I'm finding it easier to spend time with Edith while Spock builds his communication device. Not that I can't understand the strain. After all, these are the highest stakes we have ever faced. The entire future, everything we were and everyone we knew, all depends on what we do. So much is riding on the ability of the two of us to find McCoy and to intervene--but intervene how? I am reminded of tornado season in Iowa. How the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up when the winds rose below a boiling dark sky. The storm would be gathering focus, while the poised world waited. But for what? What must Spock and I do? Ah, there he is, sprawled on his bed. What's on mine? Dammit, he has completely covered my bed with electronics. I should have stayed with Edith. How am I going to move something that bulky and delicate? Oh, he's awake, he's called me, and when I answer, he wants to argue about who gets the remaining bed. --- Night of Day 5 2310 --- I am concerned about Jim. Perhaps he will not have enough room and he will be uncomfortable. He is so commanding sometimes, even when it is not necessary. But after serving with him for so many years, I know better than to question that tone. Despite the fact that this bed was not designed for two people. It is, however, at least softer than the floor--and warmer too. I can sense the warmth from his body, due to its nearness to mine. It is disquieting. I wish he had stayed with Edith. No, that is incorrect. But I would prefer to be able to say it. --- Night of Day 5 2314 --- Now why did I insist we sleep together in the remaining bed? To prove something after what he did with the electronics? It may not have been such a good idea. This is the last thing I need lying next to my First Officer, to be having a delayed reaction to Edith Keeler. I'm glad to be hidden under the blankets for several reasons, not least among them being the cold. It's late autumn and getting colder every night, because it's impossible to heat these drafty hovels. Lying next to my XO reminds me of how nice it feels to be near intense warmth, brooding though the bearer of that warmth may be. I can imagine how this cold must be affecting Spock. Even the Enterprise wasn't comfortable for him, and this is less regulated and much colder. Maybe I can warm him up a little by staying here. Well, time to stop pondering Spock's situation and get some sleep. He'll be all right back here, and all things considered I'm glad the two of us are in this together. We complement each other, that's why we make such a good team. I wonder if he appreciates that, given his behavior recently. "What, Spock? Yes, I'm comfortable. Get some sleep. We've got another long day tomorrow." Good, finally, he's breathing like he's asleep. This is hard on both of us--and hard on me, in more ways that one, dammit. --- Night of Day 5 2347 --- Jim is sleeping, like he told me to do. But I am not tired. I have slowed my breathing, and am resting in meditation, yet I am far from still within. I keep thinking of him, and it stirs me. Regrettable. Alone with my thoughts as he sleeps, I must acknowledge what is true en route to mastery of it. It is, after all, illogical to deny that which is. I have chosen to ignore this intent of my body for some time. I have dismissed it, forgotten it. But now he is here next to me, and it is only the two of us. He was soft and warm when he brushed against me as he turned, and it made my heart accelerate, among other responses. How could I ever permit this to happen? I must have better physiological control. Even if something happens and we are forced to remain here, I must never let him know. I am a Vulcan. The mind rules-- --- Early Hours of Day 6 0117 --- I'm sure he's awake. I can sense it. That powerful mind, going parsecs. He must be figuring the equations and details of further electronic construction. Sometimes I watch him as he works, watch his face. So intent, crafted in planes and shadowed angles. Ah, the strange musings of what must be the small hours of the morning by now. Hell. I'm going to take a chance. Find out what is it about this mission, about what's riding on our shoulders, to make us so tense with each other. And what if it is permanent, and I lose my ship and crew--except for him? What if he is all that's left? "Spock? Are you asleep? No, I can't sleep either. I was just thinking about us." Now that was a great choice of words. 'Thinking about us' sounds like a date, not a mission. Not my intention. Still the aftereffects of Edith, I see. This is ridiculous. That's the end of it, then. "No, you take the bed for the rest of the night. You were right, it's crowded with two in here. And you have to be rested to work on the electronics. No, Spock, I don't. I'll recognize McCoy when I see him, no matter how tired I am. Why do you concern yourself with my reasons? No, I am NOT reluctant to discuss it. I'm surprised you would ask such an inappropriate question. No, don't apologize. It's not a problem." Well, this is a silence thicker than fog. We'll just spend the night frozen next to each other. And the days, as if we can continue to work effectively with this strain between us. That's not acceptable. "Look, Spock, the answer is that I am -- no,reticent is not the word. I don't know how best to say this. I feel awkward near you. And you seem to be awkward around me, since we've been here. I can understand that. There's a lot riding on our actions. And we're in pretty cramped quarters here. You're a Vulcan, you need your space. The bed's too small." Now I'll have to listen to ten minutes of logic convincing me that he should sleep on the floor. What a discussion to be having in the middle of the night. The silence was almost better. "Look, if I'm honest, Spock, it's something else too. I don't know how to tell you this simply. But it's not reluctance you're hearing. You see, sometimes, when humans are close to others, we feel--like being even closer. Physically. Touching. That's all. And it's not something to discuss further. After all, it's just one of those human quirks. I prefer to be more respectful of you." There, that was surely not the worst handling of it, during this dead-of-night attempt at diplomacy. "What?! Spock, what did you say?" Gods, WHAT did he just say?! Can't be-- --- Early Hours of Day 6 0125 --- Now I've done it, as my mother would reprimand me. I should never have acknowledged to Jim that Vulcans also value proximity. That sounds dismayingly sexual. Doubtless I have troubled him, as he has grown still and silent. At least I have spoken in the abstract about Vulcans in general, and not told him about myself. He is gazing at me with large eyes, full of puzzlement. So I will tell him again. "Yes, Jim, Vulcans do appreciate proximity to specific others, just as humans and many other species do. Indeed, our proximity during performance of our duties has been essential. That you would wish such proximity is not disrespectful. Rather, it is a logical outgrowth of our time together." I will not tell him how I am responding to him, about the reaction to his admission that burns in me. I could never speak the words. But the facts remain. He has moved almost imperceptibly closer to me, so that we are almost touching. He was very concerned that I would consider his wish to be in proximity disrespectful. So I will move closer also, by way of indicating to him that I do not consider his behavior lacking in respect. I should do this quickly, before he leaves the bed to sleep on the floor. I can move just a little closer--oh--there--our shoulders are touching, his arm firm and warm against mine. He said that he was getting out of the bed, but he has stopped doing so. He is lying very still, although he is breathing deeply. A stillness fills the silence. Similar to the Forge, just before a dust storm. All waiting, unmoving. And then a wind to stir the skies and sand, blending them together. No! I am a Vulcan. It is illogical to risk the ruin of my career and my professional relationship with Jim. It would necessitate a transfer. If we ever get back to the Enterprise, which seems unlikely. Ahhh, he is touching me back, just the lightest quivering of his fingertips on my hand, as he says, "Spock, you said Vulcans value proximity to certain others at times. Are you saying you value this proximity?" He wishes to move from my general response to specifics. His voice sounds serious and there is great vulnerability in his question, although he has mixed it with a wry tone that is almost joking. That way, he can, as humans say, 'laugh it off' if necessary. But that will not be needed. I must revise my earlier decision not to communicate about myself to him. Whatever I have done, I must go forward, or risk hurting him. This I will not do. So there is only one logical course of action. I say to him, "Jim, I do appreciate the contact between us, the way our bodies are touching." It is possible that I did not need to give him the detail about body contact, but in retrospect I think it was helpful because he seems reassured. His hand clasps mine firmly, squeezes. In a logical counterpoint, I reach, almost without volition, moving my other hand toward him, to touch his shoulder. I roll on my side to face him, as the sheets rustle and he does the same. We are facing each other. I feel his warm breath against my cheek. His face is so soft, against my fingers. And his lips-- --- Early Hours of Day 6 0131 --- Oh gods! This, this has been the tension? I thought it was the mission, maybe Edith. No one has ever kissed me this way. It's like being swept into a dizzying windstorm. He's so gentle, but it burns everything else out of my spinning world. What am I going to do? What can I do? I've got to do more than make these urgent noises. Or is that him? --- Early Hours of Day 6 0138 --- I cannot obtain sufficient contact with him. Even after I have removed his t-shirt. And, watching me with wonder, he has removed mine. Then, on mutual impulse, we have also shed our briefs. Beauty, by any logic. But it is not enough. Even the kisses, his body firm and warm against me, the way his tongue feels, and his soft cries. There must be more than this, for I can feel the way he needs me. Maybe it will be enough for him if I just move to lay against his body with mine. I can stop here. Ohhh--so firm and hot--I will just move closer--just a few movements. --- Early Hours of Day 6 0154 --- Spock don't stop! I don't know what we're doing, but he's thrusting on top of me, we're between each others' legs,and I'm going to come if he doesn't stop soon. Kissing, tongues lapping like cats, arms about each other like drowning sailors. How can I go on with him, with my First Officer; we should stop. Don't stop, Spock! Ohhh gods, don't stop-- --- Early Hours of Day 6 0201 --- It's like the dream, but this is real. I'm on top of Jim, he's in my arms, heaving against me and calling my name. There is a whirl-wind between us driving us into each other --I can't think--only him and the warmth and sounds and taste and his arms pulling me against him and all I know is this rising storm gathering in me, soaring. Hold me, --oh, please, please--tighter, Th'y'la-- --- Early Hours of Day 6 0202 --- Fantastic, like a perfect dream. Totally swept off the ground into nothing but the feel of letting go, the noises he was making when we came, the burning embrace, his face against mine, damp with perspiration. At some point I was yelling Spock! Spock! and crazy incoherent things and biting him-- I can barely breathe, and his chest is heaving against me, his gasps so loud--and he trembles from time to time with a soft whimpering sound. I'm still shaking too. How could I have known? I never knew. Never knew how he would feel, hard and moving with such passion together and then crying my name, and the sudden hot splashes of his semen against me. It pulled me into a tornado (those fierce Iowa storms of summer ripeness). And I bit him. Gods. I think I left a mark. --- Early Hours of Day 6 0204 --- Kadiith--a foolish, illogical indulgence. Was I not cautioned about this by teachers on Vulcan and at the Academy? There will be consequences for this, and they will be negative. But still, now, I still want him. I am spent, but even after I have moved from atop him to lie side-by-side, facing, I keep stroking him. His face radiates warmth, his smile is infinitely gentle and accepting. My hands continue caressing his trembling body as if they have a life of their own. I shiver intermittently, overwhelmed with relief in his welcoming understanding and the aftermath of the lovemaking we shared. Soft noises escape my shaking chest, as my arms draw about him. He brushes my cheek with his lips in response, he tightens his strong grip on me in turn, then his hands move along my ribs, stroke my face, ear and chest. He pauses to reverently touch the tender marks he left on my shoulder. Such powerful hands, imparting a tactile benediction. He says my name, an awe-filled whisper; I reply in low tones with his. Illogical. Exquisite. --- Early Hours of Day 6 0210 --- My Spock. He has slipped himself catlike to lie against me, embracing, hands moving in a gentle caress across my shoulders, chest, face. I can't stop touching him, either. And his bruised shoulder--. After a long time, he reaches for a shirt to wipe me off, then himself. We hold each other, gazing in wonder, whispering each others' names like answered prayers. The room smells of sex. We probably woke everyone in the building. In retrospect, that vortex between us has spun silently for ages, waiting for the lifting moment, which finally came. My First Officer and I are lovers. And there's no going back. What will this mean for us? I'll think about the dark ramifications later. Will McCoy know, perceptive healer who is physician to us both? He will, if he emerges from that Cordrazine hell. He would be pleased, in his irritable way, I think. Amused. Provided we ever see him again. I hold to the hope that we will. And in my ears, Uhura's words, "Happiness, at least, sir." She was right, she is always so right. For communications to her is not those bulky electronics that led Spock and me to share a bed, but the resonance of hearts that foreshadows in potent silence the events to come. It is a low rhythm beyond hearing but, for her, not beyond perception. It is what led Spock to build the electronics as he did in the first place. And I "heard" him. I am so grateful for that. For now, in this dim city, I have Spock. I have given myself to him. And we have just altered the times we live in. Forever. --- Morning, Day 8 0900 --- I'll figure it out, I told Jim. Where the two of them belong. It wasnıt difficult. The sounds from their room have answered it for me, these last two nights. Oh, I understand why Jim wanted to be with me, to hide feelings too strong to face. Except you can't hide it at night, when you've used one bed for a workbench and there's only one left to share. Does Jim think I didn't see that? It was crystal clear, every time Spock looked at him. Well, I should go check on that man who staggered in here yesterday morning. He's looking better and calling himself a doctor now, but I still worry. He even said he was in the service, but no branch of the armed forces has clothing like that. Anyway, where do Jim and Spock belong? In each other's arms, that's where. --- The End