The BLTS Archive- The Cave of K'ri'lior
by T'Thrill (TThrill1216@aol.com)

---

This, like all my stories, can be found on my webpage -- T'Thrill's
Den of Trek Delights - http://www.geocities.com/tthrill1612/

Warning:  This story contains *explicit* m/m sex.  I mean it!  It's
pon farr, under the *most extreme* circumstances.  There is nothing
pretty about it!  If you are not interested in and/or are offended by
such things, you will find reading this a complete waste of your time,
so please move on.  If you are under 18 years of age, please move on,
as well.

Disclaimer: Copyright 2004 by T'Thrill. This is an original work of
amateur fiction based on Star Trek. This work makes "fair use" of Star
Trek copyrighted material; it is not intended to infringe on the
intellectual property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of
copyright in Star Trek or any of their assignees or licensees. The
author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.

Archive:  Okay to archive in ASCEM, BLTS, and COCO-SSD, provided that
header, disclaimers, my name, and email address are all attached. All
others please ask.

Acknowledgments--A big THANKS to my wonderful beta, Selek.  This story
was actually inspired by Selek's Vulcan Language Dictionary
(http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/).  I was looking for a Vulcan word for
another story I am working on, and I noticed the word, K'ri'lior,
eighth month of the Vulcan year, the meaning is Bright one.  Also,
thanks go out to MizzMarcee, who read the first part of this story and
gave me a big 'thumbs up'!

---

It was the ninth day of the month K'ri'lior, the eleventh hour, when
the burning began.  After only a brief moment of confusion, his mind
yielded.  It had been six Standard years since he experienced the
first burning.  The reason this was upon him sooner than expected was
unimportant.  It was.  That was all that mattered.  The Standard
translation for the word K'ri'lior is Bright one.  Once, long ago,
there had once existed for him a 'bright one'.  Not a star.  A man.  A
Human.  Now, he would be called to death in the month that unwittingly
bore his name.  Even through the bands of sheer logic that had been
sought after and found in these two Standard years, there was a smile
that caressed the acolyte's lips.  Indeed, it was fitting.

There were alternatives.  None, however, were acceptable.  Although he
did not seek death, neither did he fear it.  He accepted it.  It was
restlessness followed by sleep.  It was torment followed by peace.  It
was a logical end to a life that had been comprised of equal mixtures
of logic and emotion, successes and failures.  It would not be a
notable death, but neither would it go unnoticed.  In five days, it
would be done.

Had he not lived through the burning once before, he would not know
this with such clarity.  Each male responds in the unique way of his
own physiology, and it is an unknown until a cycle has been
experienced.  Possessing this knowledge, he could calculate almost to
the second when his last breath would be drawn, the last heartbeat
felt, the last call for relief would be ripped from his throat.  This,
he found comforting.

It was simple mathematics, the most logical language of the universe.
The clock had begun.  It was a simple matter of counting down.  As
calculated in VuH, there were eighteen hours in a Vulcan day.  Six
additional hours would need to be allotted for his biological
functions to stop.  Three minutes later, death would claim him.
Ninety-six hours and three minutes.  On the fourteenth t'ved of
K'ri'lior, the seventeenth v'hral plus three lirt'k, his death would
come.  Kaiidth.

Kneeling on the stone floor in a third level chamber at Gol, the very
nature of the acolyte's meditation changed from that as a seeker of
logic, to that as a seeker of courage.  The sonorous tone emanating
from the ringing of the kep, signaling the time for the taking of
sustenance, was ignored, as was the next.  Only when his knees could
no longer bear his weight, and his thoughts could no longer be
ordered, did he rest himself upon the thin pad that was positioned the
length of his body away.  Eighty-seven hours, forty-two minutes, he
thought, as he closed his eyes.

The images that came to him in his sleep were troubling.  It was
expected.  It was the call of the flame that burned steadily within
him that awakened him.  He lay on his back and concentrated on the
block of stone located directly overhead, calculating its dimensions
and weight, scrutinizing its texture and color.  It was no different
from the other blocks that comprised the walls, floor, and ceiling.
This one, however, was the one on which he chose to remain fixated as
he waited for the effects of the blazing torrent that had arisen
within him to subside.

When it became bearable, he rose from the pad and resumed his
meditative stance.  He had slept for four hours, eleven minutes.  The
call for asal-yem, the first offered meal of the day, would be sounded
in two point six hours.  He knew that upon refusing sustenance for a
third time, the Shakhu, the elder one, would come to him.  The next
period of time would need to be spent in preparation for his arrival.
Knowing he would be required to defend his request for Kup'es Ma'toi,
the right to die, he knew he must be ready to do so, logically and
methodically, in an orderly manner.

Systematically, he began to define and justify his reasons.  When the
kep sounded, he was prepared.  He did not have to wait long.

"Ne'lan Spahkh," the elder addressed his student as he entered the
chamber.  "You have refused the offer of nourishment a third time.
Explain."

The acolyte remained in his kneeling position.  "The time of pon farr
is upon me, Osu," he bowed his respect.

"Is there one who will attend?"

"Nirsh, Osu.  Neither do I request one to attend me.  I request Kup'es
Ma'toi."

"It is not a choice made without consideration.  This choice is based
on emotion?"

"Nirsh, Osu.  This choice is based on logic."

"Ne'lan Spahkh, you must convince me of this.  State your reasons."

"I am sa-ka-ashausu.  Only the body of a male can please me;
therefore, procreation during the mating is impossible.  I have never
before sired offspring, and it is my intention never to do so.  My
continuation will not interrupt the genetic code that would otherwise
be passed on through me.  I have no contributions that require my
continued presence.  Any contributions I have made are self-sustaining
and a matter of record.  I am expendable.  Neither the welfare of my
planet, or of its people, is dependent on my continued existence.  As
a student of the Kolinahru, I am replaceable.  The Order has existed
for two thousand years.  It shall continue in its existence even
though I am no longer present.  Although my death may stir the
emotions of some, it will cause physical harm to no one.  No fear, no
anger, no hatred, nor any other emotion compels me in this decision.
It is simply my choice.  My reasons are sound.  Such a request must be
based on that which is, not on that which may be at some time in the
future.  Therefore, I request that my application for Kup'es Ma'toi be
granted."

There was a moment of silence during which time the elder seemed to be
considering his request.  "Indeed, I can find no flaw in your logic.
I shall present your request to T'Sai.   Should it be granted, do you
have a preference for location?"

"Ah, Osu.  I request to be left in a place I knew in my youth.  The
Cave of the Tai'la.  It is a remote area that bears only the remnants
of ancient ruins.  It is unpopulated and infrequently visited.  It is
free from carnivorous animals and has pools of water in which to cool
myself.  It will serve to shield me from the hot winds and allow me to
pass through all that I must, unimpeded and unhindered."

The elder nodded.  "A logical choice.  Will you wish to transfer your
katra?"

"I will not."

The elder nodded his understanding.  "You shall await the decision of
T'Sai."

"Th'i-oxalra, Osu."  The acolyte nodded his appreciation.  When the
elder had left him, he grasped his midsection and doubled over.  It
had taken all the strength he could find within him to stave off the
burning while he made his case.  He only had to wait.  If he were
granted his request, he would leave this place.  If he were denied, an
attendant--not one of his choosing--would be brought to him.  He would
have no power to resist.  He would mate.  If it were not one with whom
he felt a kinship, he would be unable to release that in his mind
which was necessary.  It would only serve to sustain his life.
Insanity, permanent and irrevocable, would certainly be the outcome.

His body began to ache for release.  It was too soon to give in to
what it called for.  Soon there would be no ability to resist.  Once
control was relinquished, there would be no peace.  He pushed back the
urgent need and began to concentrate on the hour.  The exchange had
lasted four minutes.  Eighty hours, twenty-one minutes was the time
left to him, after which he would be either dead or kae'amp.  Death he
could accept, insanity he could not.

With difficulty, he regained his posture.  He stared into the
never-changing glow of the firepot set before him.  Silently, he began
to chant, and contemplate, the Doctrine of Surak.

'Do no harm.  Harm speeds up the death of the universe, and
indirectly, your own.'

'The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own.'

'Cast out fear.  Cast out hate and rage.  Cast out greed and envy.
Cast out all emotion that speeds entropy, whether it be love or hate.
Cast out these emotions by using reason to accept them, and then move
past them.'

'Wide experience increases wisdom, provided experience is not sought
solely for the stimulation of sensation.'

'Do no harm to those who harm you.  Offer them peace, and offer them
peace again, and do it until you die.'

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

The one.  The gold-green eyes of the bright one.  There had once been
great love, and then great anger, that boiled in his blood with his
memory.  No more.  The men who had once stood in the cold dampness
upon that blue-green island no longer existed.  Indeed, they both
still lived, for now, but they were no longer the same.  Neither did
the love that had led to the offer of a bond, or the anger when
hearing the refusal, exist any longer.  All that was left was, in
accordance to the teachings of Surak, peace.  Others, those of lesser
understanding, would call it emptiness.

The kep sounded the mid-day meal.  It could not be.  It must be.  The
ringing of the kep was a constant.  Five hours and twelve minutes had
past since his request had been made.  He must not allow himself to
lose track of time again.  Time was all he had to hold on to.  It was
time that would see him through to the end.  Seventy-six hours, nine
minutes were left to him.

Despite the ache that was growing ever stronger, he forced himself to
stem the anxiety that attempted to rise within him.  An answer would
come.  Anxiety was illogical.  To give into it would not bring the
answer sooner; however, he knew it would not be long before he would
be unable to resist ripping the cloth from his body and attempting to
satisfy the unrelenting hardness between his thighs.  It would, of
course, be useless, but there would be no stopping the attempt.

He allowed his weight to shift slightly forward in an attempt to ease
the discomfort.  It was not successful.  He resumed his original
position.

He had been at this stage once before.  He had used surgical tape to
strap his unrelenting erection to his abdomen, attempted to carry on
with his duties, and had appealed for leave on his home planet.  His
request had been denied.  He was optimistic that the request made this
time would produce a more favorable outcome.

He must concentrate.  His thoughts had strayed from their purpose.  He
was contemplating that which Surak had endowed upon his people.  Had
he mentally explored the first five, or was it six?  He shook his head
in a futile attempt to remember.

One hour and eight minutes later, the elder Vulcan returned.  He
bowed.  "Spahkh, does thee still request Kup'es Ma'toi?"

"Yes, Oau," the acolyte replied.

"T'Sai has granted your request.  Follow me.  Your transport awaits."

Finding it difficult to stand, it took a moment before he was able to
steel himself and followed the elder Kolinahru through the sacred
halls to the gate that had not been breeched by him in over two years.
Outside sat a shuttle, the hatch open, a pilot waiting for his
arrival.

"Spahkh, once 40 Eridani has past overhead six times, the shuttle
shall return to retrieve that which is left.  Know that yours is a
life that will be remembered with honor."

"Most kind, Oau.  Live long and prosper."  He raised his fingers in
the ta'al.    The elder Vulcan did the same.  There was no mention of
a long life as he bid him his leave.  "May peace be your companion."

He did not look back as the shuttle left behind that place where he
had spent these years.  Neither did he look forward toward that place
of his destiny.  He only had to survive an additional seventy-four
hours, forty-two minutes.

---

It took the shuttle one hour and twelve minutes to reach his
destination.  His final destination.  Three times during the trip, he
had been forced to stifle moans that had threatened.  He was comforted
by the knowledge that soon he would not have to fight against that
which was trying to claim him.  It was this thought that kept his
controls in place until the shuttle had deposited him and departed.

He turned and walked into the mouth of the cave.  It was what was
needed.  A large room with a soft sand base.  Even though death would
be certain, injuries would be minimal.  He noted that a small firepot,
a mat, blankets, towels, water for drinking, and breads for eating had
been placed inside the cavern.  There was a separate room with a
shallow pool.  The water was just slightly cooler than his normal body
temperature.  It was fed from melting snows high above that ran near
the underground volcanic flows before being forced back to the
surface.  There was an area that could be used for toileting.  For a
while yet, he would still have the control needed to take himself to a
separate location to rid himself of waste.  In the latter stages of
plak tow, with no one present to pacify his tormented body, or to
receive his mental images, it would not matter.

The hot ache within him grew ever stronger.  The ability of speech was
becoming difficult.  When he had experienced this Time before, this
was the stage when T'Pring had issued a challenge.  Had she not done
so, he would have taken her as his bondmate.  It would have been a
successful bonding, but it would never have made for a successful
alliance.  They had kinship.  It was a link established as children.
It was a link made at the insistence of a father who, even then, knew
his son was different from himself.  According to the teachings of
Surak, his father had plunged a spear into three hearts on that day.

It had been unfortunate for her.  She, like the father who had
negotiated the child-bond, and the son who had resisted, had paid
dearly.  The girl-child; promised due to a favorable familial
association, waiting thirty Standard years to see if the detest seen
in the mind of the boy-child was still present in the mind of the man.
Yet, she had not waited, as the infant that came in the
less-than-required gestational period from the day of the kal'i'fee
attested to.  When the challenge was complete, and a captain's blood
was dripping into the sand, her belly was already growing full from
the seed that Stonn had planted there.  She was ostracized by her kin
who had sought such an alliance, and by her peers who looked upon her
and her offspring with accusation.

The father who had negotiated the child-bond had paid dearly, as well.
Never again would he see trust and warmth reflected in the eyes of the
son as they looked upon him.

The son, too, had paid.  He had tasted shame and disapproval on that
day.  It was a taste he grew used to.  It was an appetite he learned
to feed through small acts of rebellion against the father.  The large
rebellion would not come until much later when he rejected all that
the father wished for him.

In the main room of the cave, he placed one of the folded blankets in
front of the firepot, knelt upon it, and waited.  He meditated until
he felt the next round of hot flames licking at the lining of his
abdomen.  The burning moved downward toward his groin and upward
toward his eyes.  The tentacles of the fire reached inside and lapped
at each nerve ending, taunting each one along his spine with its
white-hot tongue.  A moan grew along with it, and reaching his throat,
exploded from him.

His hands grasped the front of his robe and tore it apart, shredding
it at the points of closure.  He did not slide his arms out of it.
His arms were not the area that demanded his attention.  His
undergarment was ripped apart, freeing his straining manhood.  His
hands, one behind the other, grasped the shaft and began to pump
furiously.  He came, but it did nothing to quench the flame that
tormented him.  He continued pumping until release after release had
his semen pooled in convoluted streams on the ground in front of him
before it soaked into the sand.

Only then did the flame withdraw.  He knew it was temporary.  It was
still growing, pulling back only to collect itself so it could attack
him to an even greater degree the next time.  It was a powerful and
conniving enemy.  He was defenseless against it.

His hands released their grip on his shaft.  He struggled to his feet
and freed himself of the shards of material that still clung to him.
Clothing was unnecessary.  He took one of the towels and went to the
pool where he washed the remnants of his ejaculate from his hands and
body.  He moved to the more secluded area, prepared a place, and
forced himself to empty his bowels and bladder in an attempt to keep
from spontaneously doing so later.  He then washed that region of his
body.  Seventy-one hours, eleven minutes were left.

He returned to the main room and took a sip from the cask that
contained water, just enough to moisten his parched lips and throat.
He lay upon the mat, rolled on his side, and pulled his knees up.
Exhaustion claimed him, pulling him into the false security of sleep.

His hand tugging at his body woke him.  Even before the sleep was
cleared from his eyes, his fluid was spewing from his penis.  His hand
was grasping his scrotum, squeezing it, trying to force more semen
out.  Even the pain that radiated through him from this act could not
stop him.  He managed to crawl to his knees so his hands were free to
do what they must.

If he had a thousand hands, he still could not have found fulfillment.
They pinched at his nipples, clawed as his scrotum, kneaded his chest,
his abdomen, and his buttocks.  They pulled and pushed at his swollen
organ.  His fluid would flow from him, only to be replaced by even
more needing to be released.

The sight of his hand working furiously up and down his shaft aroused
him.  The sight of his release aroused him even more.  It was a
vicious circle that had no end.  As the unrelenting hours passed, he
craved for the body of another.  He craved for the body of the bright
one.

As he remembered what it had been like to watch his organ disappear
inside the small, pink orifice, stretched to accommodate him, he came.
As he remembered what it was like to have that mouth on him, drawing
his semen from him, he came.  When he remembered the taste of the
viscous, salted honey that would be shot into his mouth and trickle
down his throat, he came.  He reached back and drove his fingers
inside his own body and remembered what it was like to have that
golden cock driven inside of him, and he came.  When his body could no
longer respond, he bent over, supported himself on his outstretched
arms, and in dry, retching heaves, he vomited.

He crawled to the edge of the pool and rolled himself into it.  The
alkaline taste was preferable to the bile he had tasted, and he took
deep gulps.  Eventually, the water cooled him.  He crawled out of the
pool.  By holding onto the rock wall, he pulled himself to his feet.
Stumbling into the main room, he retrieved another of the towels and
began to blot the drops from his body.  The material against his groin
aroused him again, and he spewed his ejaculate into the soft material.
The fever, however, had not fully returned.  Not yet.  It was there,
lurking in the shadows, waiting to attack.

Time.  He had no idea of the time.  Throwing the towel aside, he made
his way unsteadily to the mouth of the cave.  It was dark outside.  He
searched the sky.  The position of the sister-world told him it was
not the first night in the cave, but the second.  The second night,
plus nine hours.  He could not be sure of the minutes.  Forty-five
hours had gone past.  Twenty-eight hours, and an unspecified number of
minutes, were left to him.

He turned to go back inside.  He had not made it more than a few steps
when the scorching beast attacked him once more.  He fell to his
knees.  The beast screeched a primal scream that echoed from the
furthest walls of the cave.  It used his own voice to do so.  He
reached for his throat, trying to choke the beast, but it was only his
own flesh that he ripped at.  The beast was within him.  He was the
beast.

He tried to get to his feet, only to stumble onto the ground once
more.  His face was in the sand.  Turning his head, he began to spit
the granules from his mouth.  He pulled himself to his knees, his
hands going to that unrelenting inferno that burned between his
thighs.  With only a touch, he released.  He vomited once more.  This
time it had the taste of bile and alkali.  It surged up his throat and
out his mouth and nose.  He struggled to breathe.  Through it all, he
released.  Urine, feces, semen, it was all the same.  He no longer had
to touch himself.  His body was emptying.  Everything, including his
life force, was flowing from him.  He prayed to the ancient ones for
it to come quickly.

He wanted to whisper the name of the bright one.  Hear it on his lips
just once more.  It was not a whisper, but a shriek, he heard.  "Jim!"
He collapsed to the cave's floor.

Hands were on him, pulling him up, clearing his passages so air could
once more fill his starved lungs, brushing the debris from his eyes so
he could see the face before him.  'NO!  Go away!  I do not want you!
It is too late!' he attempted to scream to no avail.  He did not want
assistance.  If he had been left alone, it would have been over.  He
flailed his arms in an attempt to pull away.  He felt himself falling,
but strong arms around his waist prevented it.  The touch against him
seared his flesh through to the bone.  He was eased to the ground and
the hands were removed from him.

"I'm here.  I'm here to be whatever you need me to be," he heard
through the fever in his mind.

His hands were being raised.  His fingers were positioned at the meld
points.  "Meld!" he heard.

He tried to reach for the mind.  Could this be his bright one?  His
Jim?  Had he come to him?

"Yes!  Reach for me, Spock!  Let me help you put an end to the
madness!"

Through the fever, he saw gold flecks in green eyes.  He saw soft,
swollen, pink lips.  He wanted to speak.  He wanted to profess his
love for the face he saw before him.  His lips would not move.  His
throat would not vibrate to make the sound.

In an attempt to speak the words with his mind, he found his silent
voice.  The floodgates opened as his mind found release.  He poured
out all that had been building within him.  A lifetime of pent up
images and emotions.  The humiliation felt by a taunted child.  The
anger toward a father who could never accept him for what he was.
Loneliness in two worlds, the one lived in as a child, the other
chosen as an adult, both passing judgment on him as an outsider.
Admiration for those shipmates he longed to call friends.  Shame, a
never-ending presence of shame, for wanting to express such feelings.
Fear of a doctor who was probing and inquisitive, and had wrenched
from him too many secrets; a man who knew him better than he knew
himself.

He poured out all the emotions within him.  Emotions that he thought
had been left behind for more than two years.  Emotions that the
teachings of Surak had been powerless to free from him.  Mostly he
poured out his love.  Love for a lover who could never give him that
part of himself that belonged first to a ship.  Love for a lover who
would enjoy his body, then reject him, then come to the hot sands of
this planet and save him.

He felt the bright one cleaning him, touching him, receiving his
ejaculate as he plunged repeatedly into him.  He felt his bright one
draw his semen from him with his hand and with his mouth.  He felt his
bright one enter him when his nether region craved to be entered.
Filling him.  Satisfying him.  When his body had begun to cool, he
felt his bright one carry him to the mat, place him gently upon it,
enfold him in his arms, and cover him with a blanket.  He felt his
bright one give him back his life.

He awoke.  The fever no longer burned within him.  The arms no longer
surrounded him.  A light robe and a blanket covered him.  He was
clean.  He was groomed.  He was not alone.  The man was seated away
from him.  Dark eyes, seeped in even darker shadows, watched him.

Spock sat up.  He refrained from showing any outward sign of the
tenderness felt within his flesh.  Their gaze held one another's.
"You...you should not...have come."

"There was no choice."

"I was prepared to die."

"I was equally unprepared to allow you to do so, my son."

"How did you know?"

"I cannot betray confidences.  Suffice to say, there are those, even
on this planet, who care deeply about your welfare."

Spock looked into the glow of the fire.  Images of these hours
remained.  Many he found disturbing. "Although it was your face I saw
in the beginning, you allowed me to believe it was him."

"I allowed you to believe that which was necessary to assure your
survival."

Once more, he met the never-wavering gaze of his father.  "You realize
what this means.  Now that we have joined our bodies and our minds,
even though the bond instituted was only one of a temporary nature,
there is danger of a thread remaining.  We will never be able to meld
as father and son.  The risk for a permanent bonding, one arising out
of this period of shared sexuality compounded by the fever, would be
too great."

"As with the nomadic tribes, as it has been for these thousand and
more years, where such is mandatory in situations where father and
son, brother and brother, have found themselves alone, so be it.  It
is little price to pay for your continued existence."

"This is only a ephemeral solution.  I shall experience other fevers."

"Although in the past I have given you little reason to trust me,
believe this: as long as there is breath in my body, I shall do all
that is necessary to protect you.  Should all remain the same, and you
remain without one with whom you feel kinship, one who can and will
see you safely through the burning, then I will return to you again."

Spock shook his head.  "The danger in that would be even greater than
that of a shared meld."

Sarek nodded, knowingly.  "Danger would not be my first consideration.
You are my son.  I will never again allow you to suffer when it is
within my power to stop it."

Spock noticed the large bruise on the side of his father's face.  A
bruise he is certain he inflicted.  He could only assume that beneath
the regal robe, there were others.  "I cannot request such a
sacrifice."

"You are my past, my present, and my future.  It is no sacrifice."

The remnants of animosity he had long carried for the father melted
away.  "Why would you do this?"

"Because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the
one.  I do not believe your journey is over, my son.  I believe there
are many who will rely on you."

"That is not logical."  With these words, there was a small smile that
caressed the lips of the older man.  It was something the son could
never before remember seeing.  Conceivably, it may be that he had
never looked.

"Forgive me.  Perhaps where you are concerned, my logic is uncertain."
Sarek stood up.  "I am returning to the family home.  Do you wish to
join me?"

Spock shook his head.  "No.  I have food and drink.  I will return to
the Order and complete that which I have begun.  A shuttle will come
tomorrow.  I will use the time to meditate."

Sarek nodded.  He raised his hand, positioning his fingers into the
ta'al.  "Love long and prosper, my son."

Spock rose from the mat.  He raised his fingers into a like sign.
"Live long and prosper, Father."

Once his father had departed, he turned and knelt before the fire.
The time he had left was...unknown.

---

The End