The BLTS Archive- Brionglaid
by Fizzbin (fzzbin2@att.net)

---

Disclaimer: Yea, yea, and verily, Paraborg doth own the whole kit and
kaboodle. I don't have a claim to them and I certainly don't intend
to make a penny off them. So, dinna fash yersel! This has some,
in fact a lot, of explicit sex between two men, so if you're younger
than 18, or that's not your cup of tranya, it's best you take a hike
right now.

Comments: Brionglaid is a Gaelic word for dream, in the sense
of confusion, as in "I must be dreaming". I chose it over two other
words for dream, "bruadar", which is a plain old everynight dream, and
"briollag", which also means illusion, because in Scotch Gaelic
brionglaid has a secondary usage as "wrangling" or "contention".

As to the unusual pairing...well, it's not part of my personal canon,
which is strictly K/S, but I've always noticed a connection between
Spock and Scotty. Especially in the early episodes, the two have a
number of interesting interactions bordering on camaraderie -- if
you've never caught this, you may want to look for it the next time
you have the chance-- so it was easy for me to imagine how it might
happen.

---

"Illusions," the Voice whispered, "illusions and shadows." The
Voice deepened, caressing him, soothing him. "Clouds they are that
blow away and scatter with the wind." Then it seemed to him that
the mists around him cleared, drawing back to reveal an endless vista
of rolling hills, steep and lush, deep in forests and birdsong, while
over and through the rush of mountain streams and rustling leaves, the
Voice chanted a fragmented tale, shifting now and again to language
that eluded him, words dropping off into depths beneath his hearing,
into an insistent hum like the drone of far-off pipes. He became aware
of the hands then, fingers hot against his face, reaching inward to
his center, warming him, stroking him until mad with desire for the
Touch, the heat and longing ignited in him and tongues of fire ran
outward, burning through the secret places of his flesh, opening gates
of the senses he had thought unbreachable, teasing him, inflaming him,
tormenting him until he had no choice, but, with straining body and
arched back, to cry out, "Keep yer Vulcan hands off me!"

He awoke, sitting upright. A shudder took him and he realized
that he was drenched in sweat, that the coverlet bound him in twisted
disarray. He flung it off and called for the lights. He breathed
deeply and took comfort in the normality of his quarters. The Spartan
furnishings and martial bric-a-brac spoke of solid reality, bringing
him back from the nightmare edge of memory and sleep. Muttering an
oath, Scott headed for the bathroom.

He leaned forward under the hot water, a luxury he rarely permitted
himself. It was just too demanding of his ship's resources to consider
such an indulgence on a daily basis, when a sonic would do the trick
just as well. After that dream, however...

"Ah dinna ken what's come over me. Ah've known the man fer years,
an' ah've never thought a him like tha' before. Not tha' ah find
it unpleasant, but ah cannae think what he would say if he knew what
ah've been imaginin'."

His ramblings formed litany, a complement to the water that massaged
the taut muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders, an attempt to
drown out the memory of the dreams that had overtaken him nightly for
weeks. At first, they had seemed harmless enough, fleeting glimpses of
the vistas Spock had called forth to help him block out the Melkotian
version of reality. But, as time went on, they had become more lucid,
more erotic, and more and more insistent. They began to intrude on him
even in his waking state, and his fixation on them distracted him from
the care of his beloved engines.

"Och, aye, and now, now tha' ah've gone an' insulted him... nevermind
it were under the influence a tha' beastie from the nether end of
hell..."

Annoyed with himself, he cut the taps and stepped out of the stall,
grabbing a towel as he went. He tried to concentrate on his actions
as he rubbed the water from his hair, then wrapped the towel around
his waist like a kilt. Leaving the bathroom, he paced back and forth
in his quarters for a moment, forcing himself to ignore the whispering
Voice that threatened to spring into consciousness at the slightest
lapse. His eye was drawn to the rack of swords hanging on the wall
and, almost without volition, he reached for one. Not until he had
grasped the hilt and lifted it from the display, did he realized that
it was the claymore.

Gazing bitterly at it, he called to mind that terrible moment on the
bridge, just the day before, the moment that had changed the dreams
from guilty pleasure to abiding shame. The weight of the sword in his
hand was a reminder of how it had felt to raise it against the Vulcan,
how easily the angry words had fallen from his mouth as a
counterweight to that menace.

"Transfer out", he had screamed at him. "Freak!" He had called
Spock a freak. With a groan, he threw the sword across the table
and slumped into the chair beside it.

"Aye, yer the beauty, Montgomery, tha' ye are!"

Reaching back, he took down a bottle of Scotch and a glass from the
wall unit. He sat for moment staring at the bottle before uncapping
it to pour out a stiff double. He knocked the whiskey back and, as
the warmth of it spread through his chest, he rested his elbows on the
table and ran his fingers through his still damp hair.

"What have ah done? The man's always treated me wi' the greatest
respect. Ah cannae say we've been as thick as thieves -- he's not
been close wi' any of us, savin' maybe the Captain -- but ah've always
thought a him as a friend. An' ah've got nothin' but the highest
regard fer his technical skill. Why the man could make a mnemonic
circuit out a little more than a lump a platinum and a handful a spit.
Aye, what an engineer he could hae been!"

He sat back in the chair thinking with pleasure of all the times the
two of them had put their heads together to create miracles for their
Captain, of the times they had worked as a team... under the gun... in
close quarters... Spock's hands deftly repairing a damaged circuit,
his fingers tracing connections with all the delicate skill of a
surgeon... Spock's hand brushing his as he handed up a tool from below
him in a Jefferies tube... Spock's hands reaching forward to complete
the meld... his hands...

"Yer a fool, Montgomery!" He pounded his fist on the table. "It's not
as if he's sittin' in his cabin dreamin' on the likes of you!"

He poured himself another shot, downed it, and poured another.

"Ye hae just got tae get yer mind off it."

He straightened up and swiveled the chair to face his viewscreen.

"Computer. Give me the latest journals from the Daystrom Institute."

With a fierce resolve, he began to review the backlog of technical
treatises that had built up while he had been mooning.

An hour and several shots of whiskey later, he gave up. The journals
were full of articles that should have held his interest, that would
have held his interest not that long ago. But he could not keep his
mind from wandering, could not keep down the thought of that Touch,
the murmur of that Voice. He shut down the computer and, unwilling to
return to his bed, rested his head on back of the chair. Without
realizing it, he drifted into a troubled sleep.

Almost immediately, the dream took him. Again, he stood on the
heights, but this time, when the mist cleared, the land below him was
not a lush and verdant paradise. It shimmered under the intensity of
a sun that was the wrong color. Red cliffs reflected back the glare
rising from an even redder and endless expanse of sand. A wind, drier
and hotter than any he had ever felt, blew sharp particles against his
burning face, and he closed his eyes tightly to shield them from the
dust and glinting incandescence. The wind began to rustle and hiss in
his ear. "Illusion", It whispered. At the sound of the Voice,
he felt himself grow hard, felt his nipples draw up into aching
pinpoints. He groaned and ran his hand across his chest, grasping and
squeezing each rigid nub in turn.

"We judge reality by the response of our senses." The Voice caressed
him again and he nearly came from the sheer sweet heat of it.

"Create your own reality." He felt the wind touch his body, its hot
breath trail across his abdomen and down along his thighs.

He swayed, and letting his head drop back, he became aware that he was
no longer standing on those alien heights, but rather laying back into
the chair, in the cabin where he had fallen asleep. He raised his
head to see the Vulcan gazing at him from the opposite chair.
Paralyzed by the sight, he watched as Spock leaned forward resting his
elbows on the table and laying his steepled fingers along his
cheekbone.

"Is this not the reality of which you dream?"

He shivered even though the Voice burned into him.

"Aye", he sighed. "Aye, lad, tha' it is."

Despite the familiarity of the setting and its solidity, Scott wasn't
entirely certain that he wasn't still sleeping. Everything he thought
he knew told him it was impossible for Spock to be sitting here in his
quarters in the middle of the night, that Spock would not have even
entered in daytime without first asking. Also, he had no memory of
waking, no sense that the dream had ended, and, whether or not it was
a souvenir of the glaring sands, everything seemed suffused with a
sharp-edged aura denoting hallucination and fantasy. And the dreams,
of late, had been so lucid, so tangible. He struggled to focus,
shifting forward to steady himself on the table. His elbow bumped
against the empty shot glass and it occurred to him to test the
reality of the situation.

"Now, then, would ye care tae take a wee drop a whiskey wi' me?"

Surely, the Vulcan -- if it was the Vulcan -- would decline, and if
he didn't then... He suddenly realized he was staring back into
Spock's eyes and biting his lower lip.

"As you wish."

He dragged his eyes away just long enough to retrieve a second glass.
All of his movements seemed too deliberate as if he were watching
himself from a distance. The time it took to pour the drinks was
endless. The sound of the glass as he slid it across the table grated
on his ears.

"Ah still cannae swear tha' ah'm not dreamin' this, ye understand."

As the Vulcan took the glass, his hand grazed the Engineer. Scott
felt an electric shock and a dizzying wave of heat. Only then did
he realize that he was still fully aroused. The thought of his near
nakedness in the presence of the fully clothed First Officer made his
cock twitch against the roughness of the towel.

"Does it matter?"

His heavy breathing made it too difficult to answer, and he could only
shake his head slowly. Mesmerized, he watched as Spock, never breaking
eye contact, sipped at his drink, rolling the whiskey over his tongue.
Scott thought that he had never seen anything as sensuous as those
lips against that glass. Spock paused a moment as if considering the
taste, then finished the shot and placed the empty glass precisely on
the table. Scott swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"Well, then, dream or no, ah cannae help wonderin'..."

The words trailed off, as Spock rose and padded around the table to
stand close behind him. He held his breath, waiting. Warm hands
slid down over his bare skin, massaging his shoulders. He moaned
softly, letting his head roll back. Strong fingers drew the tension
from him and sent ripples of pleasure echoing through his aching
groin.

He protested weakly as the hands left him to swivel the chair around,
then moaned again, louder, as Spock's fingers trailed fire down the
side of his face. Through his half-opened eyes, he saw Spock leaning
down to brush his lips against his cheek. His eyes closed and he
convulsively gripped the arms of the chair. Suddenly the heat seemed
to be everywhere.

A hand cradled the back of his head, lips pressed into the hollow of
his throat, and a fingernail drew a line of flame on his barrel chest
across one nipple and down to his navel. The Voice breathed in his
ear,

"I did not intend to start this, but I am willing to finish it, if
that is your wish."

"Aye", he murmured, and turned his face to meet the Vulcan. Reaching
up, he ran his fingers through the dark hair and drew Spock down into
a passionate kiss. The Vulcan's lips parted and their tongues met,
tasting and savoring each other for a long breathless moment. He
groaned, and Spock drew back. He tried to follow, but found himself
stopped by the gentle pressure of fingers against his lips.

"Slowly. There is time."

Spock knelt down gracefully, and he watched as the hands he had
dreamed of each night reached forward to peel away the towel.

"Aah... I can see that you do have need of me."

There was no answer to this; his jutting erection spoke for itself.
He gripped the chair again, certain of what would come next. Spock
did not disappoint him, but slid his hands upwards along the
Engineer's lightly furred thighs, parting his legs and stopping only
when his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of the groin. Scott rocked
forward and felt one hand close around his shaft, while the other
fondled his balls, rolling them together in their heavy sac. He
writhed in the chair, and Spock began to stroke him, pushing down with
his fist to press against his pelvis, then drawing back slowly along
the thick, swollen rod. Once... twice... and then, on the third
stroke, he flicked his thumb across the glistening tip. Scott gasped
and, reaching out, tried to draw the Vulcan's mouth down onto him.
Instantly, bands of steel encircled his wrists and held him back as he
arched upwards, desperate to bury himself in that moist heat.

"Patience, Scott."

The sound of his name immobilized him and he was helpless to prevent
Spock from standing and, after releasing his wrists, taking a backward
step away from him.

"Humans are so impetuous. You must learn to savor the moment.
There is, after all, a great deal of pleasure to be had in merely
wanting."

As he spoke, the Vulcan began to undress for him. Spock rushed
nothing. First, he peeled the blue tunic over his head and stood
with it in his hand for a moment before letting it fall to the floor.
He dropped his chin slightly and closed his eyes briefly, opening them
again to meet Scott's enraptured gaze. A faint smile flickered in
the corners of his mouth. Crossing his arms, he ran his hands down
into his waistband and tugged the tight, black tee shirt up and off,
further ruffling his already tousled hair. At the first sight of the
tightly drawn, green nipples and the line of dark hair running down
the lean body to disappear into the skintight pants, Scott thought he
would die. Instead, he drew in a long shuddering breath. The smile
flickered again. Spock took a step forward to rest one boot on the arm
of the chair. Scott stared at it.

"Perhaps, you would assist me."

Stirring himself to action, Scott eagerly ran his hands down the
muscled calf, then along the leather to the fastening. Releasing it,
he drew the boot away from the fine-boned foot. The second boot
quickly followed and Spock stepped back again. This time there was no
question that he smiled as he looked down at Scott through thick
lashes and fingered the opening to his trousers. Now, he moved a
little faster, loosening himself and drawing forth a magnificently
aroused phallus. A flush of green spread across his cheekbones and his
lips parted slightly, as he ran the tip of his tongue between his
teeth. He stroked himself gently and cupped one splayed hand over his
breast. His eyes never left the Engineer.

Scott shifted forward in his chair, resting one hand on his knee.
Spreading his legs wide, he grasped his own cock and squeezed down
hard. His breath grew ragged as he watched the Vulcan's hand glide
along the rigid length to where a drop of fluid shimmered at the
ornate tip. He urged him on in a strained whisper.

"Aye, lad, doo it, doo it..."

Spock's eyes glistened as he backed up to lean against the table,
before drawing off his pants and briefs in one smooth motion. Resting
a hand on the edge of the table, he leaned back further and stroked
himself again. Scott groaned and, immediately, Spock ceased his action
and released his penis. He looked down at the sword on the table
beside him. With a quirk of his mouth, he gave Scott a fleeting
sidelong glance, then looked back at the sword. He picked up the
claymore, and began to examine it intensely with the eye of a
connoisseur. Ignoring Scott completely, he ran his thumb along the
edge, then standing with his feet planted solidly, made a few slow
passes with it as if to test its balance.

"A formidable instrument. I am grateful you did not have more
opportunity to test it."

He looked up, then reversed his grip and extended the haft toward the
dumbfounded Engineer.

"You should not leave such a fine blade lying about so carelessly."

Scott stood, his eyes narrowing, and stepped forward to grip the hilt.
They paused for a moment, both of them holding the sword, before Spock
released his purchase, and the sudden weight dragged the blade down to
touch the floor. Scott's eyes followed its descent. Then, lifting
his head, he tossed the sword back onto the table. With a broad grin,
he stepped forward to lay his hand on the Vulcan's shoulder.

"Laddie, dinna a bodie ever tell ye tha' ye shouldna play wi' anuther
man's weapon?"

He was certain he heard a chuckle as his mouth closed down on the
Vulcan's lips.

They sat on the edge of the bed kissing, their hands exploring, lips
roaming over each other's neck and throat. Spock sucked on Scott's
earlobe and bit it lightly. Scott responded with a growl and closed
his fingers on a jade nipple, pinching it between thumb and
forefinger. Spock sighed in his ear.

"I believe I owe you an apology."

"Unnhh?"

Scott mumbled against Spock's neck. The tip of a hot tongue probed
his ear.

"I should apologize for raising my hand against you."

Scott drew back to look Spock in the eye.

"What are ye talkin' about, man? Ah was doin' ma best tae provoke
ye. If anyone should apologize..."

Spock grabbed his face, pulled him forward, and plunged his tongue
into the waiting mouth. Scott sucked on it greedily, then pushed back,
stabbing deeply past Spock's teeth into a moist inferno. For a long
moment, he probed Spock's willing mouth with his tongue, until he felt
the Vulcan moan and sag against him. Then, with a sudden movement,
he flipped Spock backward onto the bed. Moving quickly, he straddled
the Vulcan's thighs, sitting back to pin him at the knees.

"Ah'm afraid ah must insist."

Spock rose up on his elbows, but stopped when the human clutched his
penis.

"Aye, an' therr'll be nae mair a yer teasin' either. Yer distractin'
me from ma work."

He looked down at what he held, a wonder of rock-hard, glistening
green. He drew his hand lightly along its length until he reached the
doubled glans, where he paused to circle between the dual ridges with
his thumb. A bead of liquid oozed from the tip, and Scott leaned down
to collect it, teasing at the fissure with his tongue before sliding
his lips over the engorged head. There was a loud moan. Without taking
his mouth away, he looked up to see Spock, still resting on his
elbows, with his head thrown back and lips parted. The greenish flush
had spread across his torso, and his eyes were closed in ecstasy.
Scott placed his hands on the sharp hipbones, then opened his throat,
and drove his mouth down to take in the full measure of the
spice-scented organ. Spock bucked beneath his hands, and Scott sucked
hard as he drew back and plunged again downward to the root. He kept
up his relentless suction and movement, until finally Spock cried out
and, arching back, filled his mouth with wave after wave of liquid
fire. He drank deeply, still sucking and licking as the trembling
Vulcan collapsed on the bed. Only then did he release the still
quivering penis and slide upwards to lie next to Spock. He placed his
hand on the heaving chest and pulled at the dark curls.

"Well, then, can ah assume the apology an' all hae been accepted?"

Spock took a last shuddering breath and turned his head toward Scott.
His pupils were wide, the eyes bottomless in their darkness. Scott
again felt the giddy brush of dream state and it seemed, for a moment,
that he was looking down into the swirling heart of space. Spock
placed his own hand over the one still resting on his chest. He
circled his thumb across its back.

"Not quite."

The hand closed down on his wrist, and before he knew exactly how it
had happened, Scott found himself sitting again on the edge of the
bed, with his legs spread wide and the Vulcan kneeling between them.
Now he was the object of a hot and plunging mouth. He felt the tip of
his phallus impact the back of Spock's throat, he felt the succulent
lips close down around his pulsing member, felt the press and pull of
a relentless tongue. A hand massaged his balls, another cupped his
buttocks. He grabbed at Spock's head with both hands, tangling his
fingers in the silken hair. His breath came in moaning gasps as he
watched his cock disappear into the Vulcan's mouth only to emerge
again and again, each time more aroused, more impossibly hard. The
sharp-edged colors of dream returned to cloud his vision. He thought
of what it was that sucked him, of the mind that pulled at his flesh
and drew him into its raging fire. The Vulcan clasped his thighs
tightly, pulling him forward to the brink of the bed. He began to rock
his hips, gently at first, then with greater abandon until he was
fucking Spock's mouth, holding his head immobile in his hands, and
driving uncontrollably deeper and harder.

The Voice hissed unintelligibly in his mind, and he exploded in a
rictus of heat and light and color.

"Ahh, GOD!! Spock! Oh, Spock, Spock..."

His bones were non-existent. He couldn't support himself and slid
down the spare body to rest his head on Spock's breast. Everything
went black for a moment, and when he recovered, he felt a hand sliding
through his hair to settle on the nape of his neck. In all his life,
he had never felt such contentment as this. He could not help
wondering if it would all fade away with the coming of day. He had to
know.

"Spock?"

"Yes."

"Is this really happenin', or hae ah just gang daft?"

This time, it definitely was a deep chuckle that answered him.
The hand caressed the back of his head.

"Let us just say we share a dream."

He lifted his chin and met Spock's mouth, tasting his own juices
there. Pressed tightly to Spock's body, he realized with a tinge of
awe that the man was hard again. Spock pulled back slightly, and
thrusting his pelvis forward to maintain contact, traced two fingers
along the human's lips. Still somewhat breathless, Scott opened his
lips slightly to allow the fingers entrance to his mouth. He teased
the fingertips with his tongue and sucked at them. Spock closed his
eyes with a silent snarl and rubbed himself across the Engineer's
belly.

The Vulcan released him and slid up onto the bed to rest his back
against the pillows at the headboard. Scott was drawn up after him
until he was again straddling the sinewy legs. An arm between his legs
supported him, pressing against his balls. The moistened fingers
began to explore him, first circling his rectum then pressing against
it.

"Scott?"

"Aye."

A finger entered him and pushed gently upwards, stopping and
withdrawing slightly, only to return a little deeper. The heat of it
was almost unbearable. He swayed against the forearm and felt the
hardness return to his own cock as it grazed the Vulcan's muscles. His
arms trailed behind him, lightly touching and stroking the legs
beneath him. A second finger joined the first and massaged him, bit by
bit opening him more fully. A third soon followed. Finally, when he
was more than ready, the fingers withdrew. He waited, panting and
trembling. It occurred to him for the first time that he was not in
control, that he had not been the one in control at any time during
that fevered night, not when he had sucked Spock dry, not even when he
had driven himself to exhaustion in the heat of a Vulcan mouth.

"Lean back."

He obeyed immediately, resting his hands on the bed and bracing
himself with straightened arms. The hardness speared him then and took
his breath away. His hips were held aloft, as Spock pumped upwards
into him with long, steady strokes, rhythmically drawing him down then
pushing him away. He lost himself in erotic ecstasy, in the knowledge
of strong hands and probing phallus. He had his eyes closed when he
felt burning lips wrap themselves around the tip of his cock. Gasping,
he threw his head forward to watch the straining Vulcan engulf the
upper half of his shaft. He came instantly.

While still in the throes of his orgasm, Scott was suddenly lifted and
turned to land on his back. Spock dragged him upward onto his thighs
and drove into him again, first with a series of long strokes then
faster and more shallowly. He was slammed into the bed repeatedly, as
Spock ravished him, alternating long and deep with short and swift,
until the hardness from without met the hardness within. A hand
touched his face and long fingers pressed into him, opening the gates
of his mind.

With a rush, the dream broke over Scott again, and he found himself
on a towering height surrounded by a swirling kaleidoscope of images
and sounds. Red sand gave way to rolling hills of green. A glaring
alien sun shifted into a black void then changed again to a star
encrusted field of pulsating energy. A droning sound skirled up and
over the chatter of birds and the whisper of hot, stinging winds. In
the midst of rushing water and tossing waves, a fire raged through
him, racing along every nerve of his body. The Touch of it immolated
him and swept the ashes of him up in a grand conflagration to be
scattered aloft in the howling gale. The Voice filled him, singing in
his ears, urging him upwards, upwards, ever upwards towards a dizzying
peak until, delirious with desire, the weight of the stars descended
upon him and he fell backwards, screaming, off the cliff and into
oblivion.

---

The computer woke him an hour before his shift. He yawned and
stretched luxuriously under the coverlet before swinging his feet to
the floor. Although he felt, for the first time in weeks, incredibly
well rested, he was surprised to find that his body ached in
unexplained places.

"Och, now tha' was what ah call a dream! If it hae been any mair
real, ah think ah would be dead now."

He rested for a peaceful moment with his hands on his knees, then rose
with some stiffness to head for the bathroom. As he passed the table,
he came to a stop with a sharp intake of breath. There, on the table,
beside a carelessly discarded claymore, was a second empty glass.

---

The End