The BLTS Archive- Out of Our Heads
by Laura Jacquez Valentine (jacquez@dementia.org)

---

Disclaimer:

Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, the Star Trek universe, and Kirk and
Spock.  Original characters in this story are the property of Laura
Jacquez Valentine, as is the story itself.

Information:

This story is a bit strange.  It's not like anything I've written
before.  Spock is a both the one we know and love, and someone we know
nothing about.  And that stranger is, in many ways, deeply emotionally
disturbed (and, according to one beta-reader, disturb*ing*).  He's out
of his gourd, out of his league, and confused as hell.  But I don't
want to hear any "This should be an A/U" nonsense--it's *not*.  There
is canon evidence that Spock is emotionally disturbed.  I just ended
up going in a weird direction with it (or rather, the story seems to
have gone there on its own).

Furthermore, it's not set in my usual Overloaded Spock Operator story
collection.  The OSOs are in their own little timeline, and they are
all interconnected.  This is outside of that, and in fact contradicts
some events of "First Light."

I would really, really love feedback on this one.  Please tell me how
you felt about it,  any plot criticisms, what you did and didn't
believe, and anything else you'd like to tell  me about it.  I'd
appreciate it very much.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Kirk and Spock, and certain other persons
are owned by themselves.  Thanks to Greywolf for kicking me in the
pants about this one.

This story is copyright 1998 by Laura J. Valentine Unlike most of my
stories, it is *not* set in the Overloaded Spock Operator universe. 
:)

---

I suppose I did it because Jim is a "history buff."  Because I knew it
would give him pleasure, and because giving him pleasure lights fires
inside me.  I did not expect it to turn out as it did.  My body
remembers, trembles when ghosts of his hands travel my skin.  I have
to stand and pace to shake off the feel of them and restore my
concentration.  I have been making Uhura nervous all day as I have
circled the bridge like a caged animal.  The guitar is in my quarters,
proud and sensual as a ka'athrya, and more dangerous.

I found it on Terra, on one of the Enterprise's rare stops there.  I
so rarely have whims, and this one was so sweet...I bowed to my
feelings, let them rule me, let it seduce me as I dreamed of seducing
Jim.

----

The shop was a blackmarket antiques and reproductions distributor.
Replication of certain items is forbidden, but with a talented
programmer and some custom modifications, one can make almost
anything. The price of certain narcotics, for instance, has dropped
drastically since my days in Starfleet Academy, mostly due to
cheap--and quite illegal--replication.

Perhaps my father is correct when he accuses me of rebellion, as he
does so often.  I cannot resist the blackmarket shops on Terra, the
smell of them and the dinginess, the quick evaluating flick of the
eyes as the proprietors decide whether or not they trust you, whether
you have the right contacts, whether you are safe.  It is not logical. 
I do not know of any other Vulcans who would even think of such a
thing.  And yet...the lure is so strong.  Forbidden fruit, my mother
would say. Illogical, childish, rebellious, my father would say.  Fun,
Jim would say, laughing.

I knew this shop well, having frequented it when I was in the Academy.
The proprietor was named Janet, a plump woman perhaps fifteen years
older than I, and she collected "Vulcanalia."  I had traded bits of it
for various Terran items over the years--another act of rebellion,
since some of the Vulcan pieces should never have left the planet, let
alone ended up in the hands of a Terran criminal.  I hardly cared. 
This was my secret life, the thing which tied me to my mother's world,
and I gave to it what gifts I could.

Janet smiled at me as I came in.  "Long time no see, sweetheart.
Anything?"

"Of course," I replied, and laid my latest acquisition on the
counter--a carved gas bottle filled with liquid.  "Sandalwood extract.
A highly prized aphrodisiac--on Vulcan.  The bottle was designed and
carved by Senat cha'Senal over four centuries ago, and originally held
perfumed oils.  That was before contact with Terrans, and we had no
sandalwood then, obviously."

She couldn't resist.  I watched her try and hide how much she wanted
it. "How much?" she asked, her voice trembling.  I wondered if she had
a Vulcan lover, someone who had never told her about sandalwood.
Someone she longed to use it on.

"A gift," I said, and turned to explore the shop.  And I saw it--a red
guitar, a Fender, sleek and beautiful.  I moved closer and picked it
up.  Unreplicated--and very old.  As old, or almost, as Senat's glass
bottle.  And more dangerous, more alluring.

"A gift?" Janet said from behind me--very close behind me.  I hadn't
noticed her coming close, and I jumped.  "I shall have to make you a
gift in return."

--------

I left carrying the guitar across my back.  There was no way to hide
it, and I drew quite a few curious glances--a Vulcan with a
centuries-old, bright-red, electric guitar.  And a book that Janet had
given me.  "One of them used a guitar like this one.  Take a look. 
You might learn something."

There was nothing I wanted to learn more.  I went to the hotel room
I'd rented for the week of leave I'd taken, and read the book cover to
cover.  Then I closed my eyes and played the guitar, half-silent
without power.  I would have to rig something up, tie it into the
power systems somehow.  I had to hear it and feel it singing under my
hands.  But for now...

I programmed the replicator in my room for some clothes to match those
in the book--some for me, and, after a moment's thought, some for Jim.
I would invite him here two days from now.  He would love it.  He
would laugh and tease me and want to play the guitar himself, and I
would bask in his pleasure.

I was aroused by the thought.  His hands, reaching for mine, brushing
his fingertips over them as he took the guitar from me.  His legs as
they would look in the tight trousers, the way his nipples would show
under the thin fabric of the shirt.

I set the guitar aside and lay back on the bed.  I had to twist my
hands into the bedcovers to keep from touching myself.  The fantasy
was so strong--I could almost see him, almost reach out and touch him. 
I tried to think of something else, anything else, but I could feel
his hands, ghosts of his hands perhaps, sliding over my body, his
mouth cool on mine and his weight on me.  I felt as I had felt in the
pon farr. Consumed by burning, by need and desire.

I gathered my will.  If I was going to fantasize, I would *not*
involve Jim.  I would involve a truth, a memory--my roommate at
Starfleet Academy, years ago.  The first human, and the first male,
that I experienced sexually.  The one who let me taste that which
became my addiction--human men, strong and soft and beautiful.  Oh,
Kevin--Kevin long dead now, and remote from me.  Safe in my memory.

I used to tangle my fingers in his hair--red and curly--as he pressed
his mouth to my stomach and licked downwards to my penis.  He loved to
run his tongue over the ridges.  Once, I asked him why.  He laughed
and said "Extra lube, my love," and stood up--and kissed me until I
thought there was nothing more to the universe than Kevin, with his
white skin, his green eyes, and his lovely red hair.

He would lie underneath me and wrap his legs around me and hold me
with his whole body.  He was sweet and alien and everything to me for
nearly three years, and it was he who introduced me to Janet.  I let
the memories sweep over me again, carry me on them to the height of
ecstasy.  Let myself come--oh yes, for Kevin and for Jim.  For both my
true loves.

I cleaned myself and thought about that.  Both my true loves.  There
were so many things alike about them.  That power that Jim had, the
smooth grace of his moves, reminded me of Kevin.  When he had had
occasion to touch me, I had stilled the response in myself, my
reaction to him both as himself and as my lost lover.  I must examine
this further, I thought.  Is it Jim I want, truly?  Or is it Kevin?

I put on the clothes I had replicated and went out to find some sort
of power adapter for the guitar.  The clothes made me feel less
myself, but more dangerous, somehow--a Vulcan in a silk leopard-print
shirt and black jeans.  A Vulcan on the prowl.

Rebellious, yes, my father would say.  Jim would laugh and clap me
lightly on the shoulder.  Kevin would have tried to hold my hand.

---

To my relief, Jim loved the clothes.  He put them on with relish,
while I pretended not to watch, not to tremble at the sight of him in
almost nothing. Instead, I set up the guitar and flipped through the
book, looking for the song I had learned last night, just for him.  I
was wearing yet another outfit I'd found in the book, and I knew it
suited me, suited the guitar...

Jim laughed and shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans. 
"Where did you find the program for this?"

"I wrote it," I answered.

"For me?"

"Yes."

The look on his face made my heart catch.  Kevin used to look like
that, sometimes, just before he kissed me.  And yet...Jim kissing me
was something that I had not dared to hope for.

But he was already distracted; the look was fading.  He'd seen the
book.  "What's this?  Oh, this is lovely.  Twentieth century!  Spock,
where did you get this?"

"I have...contacts."

"The Rolling Stones.  I've actually heard some of their
music--survived the Eugenics War because it was so widely
disseminated.  But I've never seen pictures before."  He turned the
pages and found the costume I was wearing.  "You wear it better than
he does.  Who is that?"

"Keith Richards," I answered.  "Appropriate, considering the guitar."
Could he see me shaking?

I closed my eyes and began to play.  Perhaps I remembered enough of it
from memory.  He would enjoy it.  I knew he would.  It would remind
him of his struggles with Starfleet Command.  It would remind him of
every time he worked out a compromise with some recalcitrant diplomat,
every time he was asked for more than he could give, and gave it.

"...You can't always get what you want But if you try sometimes well
you might find You get what you need--"

"Spock!  Play this instead."  I opened my eyes, startled.

He handed me the book, and I looked at the open page.  Love is Strong.
Love is strong, I thought.  He cannot possibly know.  I reached for
Kevin within me as I had so often through the years.  Give me
strength.

*Go ahead,* Kevin said, laughing in my memory.  *Play it for him.  I
bet he swoons.  I would've swooned.*

I read the music quickly and began to finger the notes.  *Go all-out,*
Kevin said.  *Balls to the wall.*

I stood up, let the feel of the clothes wash over me.  Felt myself
transform, as though I truly was this man, dead three hundred years,
who had once held a red Fender and made it sing.

"Love is strong and you're so sweet You make me hard, you make me
weak."

I tossed my head back and let my body go.  I felt distanced from
myself, aroused, so full of desire for Jim that I did not know myself. 
He must see my arousal.  It must be obvious.  And I did not care.

"...I followed you Across the stars..."

I thought I could feel his hands on my legs, caressing the muscles.  I
thought he moved behind me and pressed against me.  I leaned into the
sensation, into the feeling.

"What are you scared of, baby? It's more than just a dream I need some
time-- We make a beautiful team."

This could not be a dream, unless I was going insane.  His hands
covered mine, and I stopped playing.  Froze in place, held my breath. 
I must be out of my head.

He twisted the guitar around behind me and stepped away.  I didn't
move.  This was...fascinating, this manifestation of my desire.  I
must write a paper on the effects of sexual stress on...I must try to
appear normal.

"You are so fond of history, Jim.  I thought this would please you."

"It does, Spock.  It does please me."

I am integrating reality into my hallucinations.  That is exactly what
I expected him to say--the real Jim, who must be sitting on the bed
somewhere, not prowling around me like a wolf.

"More than you know, Spock.  Hearing those words from you--you have
followed me across the stars, haven't you?"

The dream-Jim was touching me again, his arms around my waist, his
legs against mine.  I reached out for something to cling to, something
to root myself in the world.  *Love, go for it.  I would.  Though he's
a bit of a pretty boy, isn't he?*

Kevin...my Judas, Kevin.  You have betrayed me.  I heard him laughing
as I raised my hands and took Jim's face in them (the dream-Jim?  the
real one?  Kevin, do you know?) and kissed him on the mouth.

And his mouth answered me, and his hands tore at my clothes.  I lifted
the Fender over my head and we tumbled onto the bed together.  His
skin was human-cool and he smelled of fresh musk.  It had been so long
since I had smelled a man like this, a human man, the right size to
fit the hole in my heart that Kevin had left behind.

This was so real.  He pressed himself down on me, and my erection slid
along his belly as we moved.  I reached and wrapped my hand around his
penis, felt the hardness of it under the silken skin.  He twisted and
I lost my grip.  I closed my eyes and waited for the next thing to
happen--and it did, as his lips brushed the inside of my thigh.  As
his tongue travelled the shaft of my penis---

*I told you it would be fun, didn't I?*

Kevin, I am not having a threesome here.

*Sorry, sorry...*

Oh, Jim...

He entered me, and sobbed out my name when he came.

---

And so I paced the bridge.  Uhura looked as though she would jump out
of her skin very soon  now, but the end of my shift arrived before she
did so.  I had scheduled a chess game with Jim, in the mess hall,
safely away from beds and the guitar.  I didn't want to go, but I did. 
I had to.  Perhaps I could see him without losing control.  I had to
know.

He and I were silent for the first ten minutes of the game, and then
he made an unorthodox move.  I looked up at him, ready to challenge,
and he smiled at me.  That dazzling smile that tore me apart inside--

And then he spoke.  "Well, love?"  His voice was low, pitched only for
my ears.  Not again.  I swept the chessboard onto the floor and left,
running.  There was only a skeleton crew onboard--very few people saw
me.  But I could not stop running.  How does one outrun a ghost?  A
hallucination?

*How does one outrun a memory, love?*

"Kevin?"  I spoke aloud, just to say his name.  Kevin would have
chased me down, held me and kissed me and driven away the demons. 
There was no answer but my breathing.

"I am a Vulcan.  I must control--"

"Spock?"

Jim, behind me.  He had chased me down.  But he would not hold me.  He
was not my lover.  I was out of control.  I had lived for Kevin, but
he had never made me lose control this way.  His presence had not shot
me through with auguish and desire.

"Kevin..." I whispered.

"Your relationship with Kevin Lightfoot is a part of your personnel
record.  You must have known.  He's listed as your partner, deceased."

"Kevin has been dead ten years, three months, and seventeen days."

"Spock, I love you."

"Captain, I must request that you isolate me.  I am--not myself."

"No.  Spock, listen--"  But I was off again, running.

This was shameful.  I could not do this.  I must control.  *Spock, for
God's sake, stop hating yourself.  Please.*

I hated myself?

I stopped running.

Hate?  "Is that it, Kevin?  I've never hated before."

*Please.  I remember when you loved everything.*

"You are not real.  You are a product of my imagination."  I could not
do this.  Could not listen to this.

*But it's what I would've said, isn't it?  Go on, deny me.*

There were footsteps in the next corridor.  It was Jim, walking
slowly.

"It is what you would have said."

*Well, then.*  And I saw him as he was the last time, laughing as he
boarded the Magsaysay, the ship where he died a year later of an
unknown virus.  I had asked why he had listed me as his partner in his
personnel file, and he had asked if I objected.  Of course, I had not. 
"Well, then," he had said, and kissed me in the spaceport until I was
trembling from arousal.  "That ought to last you until you find
someone else." And he had laughed, and left me there, and I had never
seen him again.

Jim was getting closer.

I wanted to run.  I could feel Kevin's hands on me, holding me still.

I waited.

Jim turned the corner, wearing the outfit I had replicated him only a
few days ago.  He held the guitar in one hand, and he raised it
towards me.

"Play for me."

Kevin released me.  I touched Jim's face lightly.  "You mean it?"

"I mean it."  He moved close and kissed me.  "I really mean it."

---

The End