The BLTS Archive - Never and Always
by raku

---

copyright @ 1997, raku2u@aol.com

Disclaimer:  Paramount owns the characters involved below and the
imaginary world to which they belong.  The rest of the story is
mine, except for a certain detail of Vulcan physiology that was
first suggested by Killashdra in *Turning Point,* to the best of
my knowledge.  I thank her, as would K and S if they could talk.

Warning:  This story contains information those under 18 aren't
supposed to have.  If you're younger than 18, stop now.  As Jim
Kirk says, life isn't fair.

Archive at will, but please keep the header intact in all five
segments. Feedback welcome.
------
Intro:  I got the idea for this story from watching a scene in
"The Final Frontier" and one in "The Undiscovered Country."  In
"The Final Frontier," I was struck by the odd intensity of the
scene just after Kirk has been rescued from the planet "Eden" by
Spock acting as the Klingons' gunner, in which Spock says
"Captain, please, not in front of the Klingons."  It's a tag-line
meant for laughs, but the complete scene looks to me as though
Kirk and Spock are trying to convey some other message to each
other as well.

Likewise, in "The Undiscovered Country," I was surprised by the
scene in which Spock is meditating and Kirk just walks in, to
debate whether they're now too old to modify their views about
the Klingons.  Kirk's abrupt entry into Spock's quarters, when
Spock is engaged in a fairly personal activity no less, suggested
to me that the two might be on better terms than we're generally
led to believe.

---

Kirk softly blew the last languid notes on his harmonica, shook
it sharply over the ground to dry it, and tucked it in his
pocket.  Spock looked at him peacefully over the top of the
glowing fire, and rolled onto his back on his bedroll.  "The
stars are very bright tonight," he said.  "It is a shame Dr.
McCoy is missing this--stars always put him in a poetic mood."

"True enough," said his companion.  "He wasn't expecting to leave
so suddenly, but you know him--duty calls, and he's off . . ."
Both of them were conscious of the now-empty bedroll between them
with a book propped against it, and the annoying awareness that
they'd temporarily lost the best cook of the three of them.  "Oh,
well," sighed Kirk, "we won't starve.  We can heat the stuff that
came in the foil packs, if nothing else."

He punched at the sleeping bag behind him, squishing it into a
shape that would let him sit up a bit and look at his companion.
He'd hardly ever seen Spock look so--relaxed.  Hard to credit,
since tension wasn't really something Vulcans ever showed much
of, but there it was.  Lines seemed eased on Spock's face; his
gaze at the dark blue sky looked so serene.  His hands were
folded behind his head, and he looked to be comfortably one with
his surroundings.

After McCoy had left them early that morning, the day had
gradually gained a kind of glow, an aura.  As usual Kirk had
tried to exhaust himself on the cliff face, climbing higher,
faster, and more dangerously than he'd done before.  He'd been
elated to reach the top in record time, and had even grabbed
Spock, sitting cross-legged at the top, in a victory bear-hug
that had surprised them both.

He'd nearly knocked Spock over backward--perhaps it was that, or
the way he smelled after four hours of hard exercise, that had
caused Spock to pull away a little.  Kirk had apologized
prettily, but all the time he was asking his First Officer's
pardon the back of his mind was concentrating on what Spock had
felt like under his hands.

The two had rested companionably on the cliff's top for a while,
looking off into the beautiful pastel distance, and then they
dropped down to camp using Spock's jetpack.  Kirk had grabbed a
change of clothes, shouted "Beat you to the lake!" and vanished
down the path before Spock's almost surprised eyes.  As he lazed
in the clear water, it occurred to Jim that Vulcans perhaps
didn't skinny-dip much, living on a planet that was mostly
desert.  He paddled comfortably along on his back, and after a
short time noticed that Spock had indeed come down to water's
edge--at a deliberate Vulcan pace--carrying McCoy's towel.  How
they had kidded McCoy, whose idea of roughing it had turned out
to include books, a plush towel, a folding chair with an
attachment for a sun umbrella, and assorted other non- camping
odds and ends.  All of which they had shamelessly used, of
course.

With his eyes almost closed Kirk watched Spock strip off his
clothes and strike out into the cool water.  Rhythmically the
alien swam out to the middle of the pond.  He made little noise,
and only disturbed some ducks toward the far side when he had
nearly reached them.  Spock turned neatly underwater and began
the crawl back across the pond, toward the smaller pool that held
Kirk.

He ran through a repertoire of backstroke, breaststroke, and
crawl, which in turn showed off his pectorals, deltoids, and
biceps.  Kirk thought _What shape he's in.  What muscles._  For
the second time that day he noticed himself noticing Spock, and
again shook his head as if to erase the pictures he'd mentally
been making.

Spock worked his way through the chunks of gray-and-cream granite
that helped contain the warmer water from the spring, and eased
his stroke as he came into the more confined area.  He flicked the
hair out of his eyes and floated alongside Kirk.  An inquisitive
eyebrow went up.

"Where'd you learn to swim like that?" Kirk asked.  "Got a lot of
ponds on Vulcan?"

"You will recall that Starfleet disaster training included widely
varying conditions commonly found on Class M planets.  After we
had learned how to cook and eat large quadrupeds with nothing but
a communicator, a few swimming lessons posed little in the way of
challenge.  Besides, it is the next best thing to training for
weightlessness, as you know."

Inwardly Kirk sighed.  Always with a logical reason, never at a
loss for uncommon skills.  The man could probably create and
prepare breakfast with nothing but two lumps of stone . . .

Spock lay easily on his back, gazing at the green crown of trees
that overlooked the water.  He moved his arms a bit to keep
afloat, although the floor of the pool was hardly two meters down.
The somewhat sharp rocks made it more prudent to float at the
surface than to soak while standing up, and Vulcans were nothing
if not prudent.

Kirk on the other hand had found two pinkish stones that made a
sort of seat at one side, and he was able to lean on a third rock
while he regarded his friend.

"Why'd you come with us, Spock?"

"Excuse me?" said the Vulcan, coming out of his reverie.

"Why'd you come with us this time, on this trip?  This kind of
shoreleave is more suited to humans, wouldn't you say?"

After a fraction of a second Spock answered, "The heated water is
agreeable. Starships are somewhat cold for Vulcan taste, as you
know."

"So you're telling me you lugged your stuff all this way just to take
a bath, with McCoy and me?"

Another fraction of time passed.  "I have always appreciated
opportunities to examine non-Vulcan life forms in their original
habitat."

"OK, Spock, have it your way.  This *is* better than using those
crude holoprograms Starfleet's been pushing on us,  I admit.  I
just hope McCoy didn't persuade you along to satisfy one of his
bright ideas about togetherness."

"I can assure you that Dr. McCoy did not concern himself,"
replied the deep voice.  Spock seemed about to say more, but
turned instead and headed for the shore.  Kirk began to follow
suit.  Spock reached the shallows and stalked out of the water
toward the heap of clothes.  The water poured down his skin and
drained off his strongly arched feet, while the remaining
droplets that clung to his skin gave it an odd metallic sheen.
Kirk stopped to tread water, suddenly unwilling to expose himself
in the same way, unwilling to be that near to his friend.

Spock finished drying off with McCoy's towel and dressed quickly.
He then produced a pair of red apples, gestured toward Kirk with
one of them, and sat down on a rock to eat the other.  He looked
silently out across the lake, noting in a businesslike way
several rarer species of tree, a number of lake birds sitting out
on the water, and the interesting gray lichen on the boulder in
front of him.

Kirk watched Spock make his science officer's survey of the
territory, as he had so many times before on a thousand planets
they'd visited.  How many times had Kirk counted on those
abilities to sort, classify, identify as safe/unsafe, find food
where there seemed to be none?  He knew he had been reckoned as
perhaps the finest captain in the fleet, but how far would he
have gotten if he had not had Spock as backup? The Vulcan had
saved him-- no, make that the whole crew--and come back from the
dead afterward, no less.  An unusual achievement even within
Starfleet.

And now Spock was again a walking computer bank, since the
miracle of fal-tor-pan wrought by McCoy and Sarek, but popularly
ascribed to Jim Kirk.  _The way of the world,_ Kirk thought wryly
to himself:  _the one at the top gets the glory, but he stands on
the shoulders of those who serve._  Perhaps Spock's reappearance
would be his ticket back to the admiralty-- maybe that
possibility explained his awareness of Spock on this trip.  The
path back to power, and prestige . . .

Feeling less self-conscious, Kirk came up out of the shallows and
began to dry off.  He shrugged into clean clothes and grabbed the
apple Spock had left for him.  He strolled along the beach
munching, and gestured for Spock to come too.  Companionably, the
two men walked along the shore, pointing out plants and the
occasional animal or bird that caught their attention.

As they moved around to the eastern shore of the pond, they noted
that the sun was considerably lower in the sky on the other side,
and they began to head back to camp.

They hiked up the steep path Kirk had hurled himself down so
precipitously not long before.  Close overhead a large dark
winged something passed, startling the human and causing him to
misstep.  He lurched against Spock and quickly regained his
footing, but not before the other had grabbed his shoulders in a
firm supporting grip.  Kirk jumped at the contact and nearly lost
his balance again, hopping to move away from the startling grasp.

Spock, following in the steps of his friend, raised a thoughtful
eyebrow and began to speak, but fell silent and continued up
toward their shared campsite.

A moment later they arrived and set to work.  Like a long-married
couple they swiftly prepared dinner, hardly speaking.  A few of
the silver foil packs they'd brought in Kirk heated and divided
into two dishes. Spock stoked the fire and put a few more of the
apples to roast in the hot ashes at the side.  Jonathans, McCoy
had said they were called.  Kirk added some russet potatoes to
the apples, and let them roast in their jackets too.  Spock
decanted some of his vegetarian chili into the pot that hung over
the growing flame.  Kirk poured water for each from the main
water bottle, but not the special Altair water McCoy had brought
to tease Spock.  He lifted his cup in Spock's direction with a
little gesture of acknowledgment.

Soon the food was ready, and they set to with enthusiasm.  As
they ate Kirk watched Spock's lean fingers maneuver a hunk of
bread to wipe up the last of the chili.  He ate tidily, neatly,
gracefully.  The long fingers then flipped the roasted apples out
of the ashes.  He tossed an apple from one hand to the other, it
being too hot to hold even for Spock, and then he lobbed it
underhand to Kirk, who caught it in his also-empty bowl.

The two blew the last flakes of cinder off the skins of the
apples, and after waiting briefly for the steam to subside, each
stabbed his apple with a fork and began to eat.  Apple juice ran
down their chins and onto their fingers; Kirk laughed at the mess
they were making, and perhaps a ghost of a smile played over
Spock's face.  When the apples were all but gone, they fell to
licking the sweet juice off their fingers.  Kirk watched Spock
run a long alien tongue between two fingers, then slip them into
his mouth to suck the rest of the juice, and--Kirk snapped
himself out of his study.  _Great *gods,* what am I doing,_ he
thought.

Quickly he hustled about assembling dirty dishes, a few scraps to
move away from the camp lest they interest the local animals,
some leftovers to put away until tomorrow.  _Maybe Bones'll be
back then,_ he thought.  _Must ask him to check me over.  I'm
losing it altogether.  Watching Spock eat, good god._

Soon the cleanup for the meal was over, and as the final golden
light left the sky, each settled back for a quiet evening.  Here
they were, alone together, as they had been on a thousand landing
parties, deep in a quiet pine-scented forest.  But something felt
different.

Kirk lifted his eyes over the low fire, and ran them down Spock's
graceful form.  So familiar, and yet so alien.  A body he knew
better than many he'd said he loved, and yet he hardly knew it at
all.  A body he thought he'd lost forever, with just a fraction of
a moment to acknowledge a lifetime of friendship.  Better to push
that thought away.  All had come right in the end, with
unexpected Vulcan magic.

So here they were.  Spock, lying comfortably on his sleeping bag,
hands behind his head, was apparently lost in thought.  Eyes as
deep and reflective as ever.  The gleaming dark hair, which swung
heavily across his brow, so rarely disordered.  The elegant ears,
sweeping to a jutting point, able to hear so much better than his
own.  Perhaps other senses also were more sensitive?

_Gotta stop this,_ said Kirk to himself.  _He's my friend,
probably my best friend.  More brother than anything else.  I
owe him my life a hundred times over._

Kirk fell into thought, recalling some highs and lows of his
career, and his time together with McCoy and Sulu and the others.
Moments of humor seemingly at each other's expense,
demonstrations of brilliant engineering or scientific work, or
tactical skill.  A fine crew he'd had, always had--maybe it
wouldn't be so bad being just a captain again.  Especially if he
could keep Spock in his crew.  He looked again at Spock, realized
what a world they held between them.  Abruptly he noticed that the
other's eyes were on him, considering him.

"What do you think the future holds for you, Spock?" said Jim.

"In what sense do you mean?" replied the other.

"I was thinking about Starfleet's decision, and wondering where
we'd be finding ourselves in a few months."

"I had not given the matter much thought."

"Well, were you planning on returning to Vulcan?  Or staying in
Starfleet?"

"I had intended to discuss the matter a bit further with my
family, but tentatively I had planned to continue my commission
in Starfleet after a further period of study on Vulcan."

Kirk breathed an inward sigh of relief.  So far, so good.  At
least he wasn't retreating into Vulcan mysticism--mind-melding
with whales, good grief.

"How about a scientific posting?  Gillian mentioned that
Starfleet was reconfiguring the positions on several classes of
research vessel to accommodate some odd data from the outposts on
the Klingon border."

"That occurred as a possibility, but as I said I hadn't given it
much thought."

"How about giving it some thought now?"

"Jim, if I may ask, why are you so interested?  Why does it
matter immediately?"

Rapidly Jim explained, "I'm just naturally curious about the
plans of my former crew.  I want the best for everyone, you know
that."

And Spock half-hopefully thought to himself, _Yet why so
interested in me?_  Aloud he said, "And what are your own plans?"
After a moment Jim said, "Well, I guess I'm hoping that the
tentative reassignment to the Enterprise will come through.
Maybe it would be like the old days, you, me, Bones, galloping
around the galaxy.  We could pretend we were young . . . you
know."

Spock regarded the human with a mixture of puzzlement and
understanding. It was logical to work toward a preferred goal,
but Jim did not seem to have thought out his objective as clearly
as was his custom.  Spock had never known him to be fuzzy-headed.
Yet for all his sympathetic understanding of the human's
situation, he was not sure he wanted to pass up the opportunity
to return to Vulcan, at least at this point.

"Naturally that is an attractive notion--you have been among the
more interesting commanding officers I have had"--_careful,_ he
said to himself.  "But it seems illogical not to continue the
studies I had undertaken, and that would not be possible on
shipboard.  Then, in a few months or perhaps a year--"

_Damn,_ thought Jim.  "Spock, in a few months or a year the
Enterprise likely will already have been assigned another
mission--you'd miss the boat. Surely your work on Vulcan could
wait?"

Now genuinely puzzled, Spock looked closely at his companion.
Eyes bright, slightly elevated breathing, that intent look he got
when he was in hard negotiation over something he wanted.  Was
this really about securing a good science officer, or something
else?

"Jim."

"Yes?"

"Are you genuinely concerned with your career, and that of the
Enterprise, or is something else on your mind?"

"Naturally I'm thinking of the ship first and foremost."

_Then why have you been studying me so intently,_ thought the
Vulcan. "Are you concerned that my mental and physical condition
will not meet regulations?"

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"Because since we have arrived here, indeed, since we left the
hearing, it is my judgment that you have contrived numerous
situations in which you could study me.  You have touched me,
tested my reflexes, and so forth.  I thought perhaps you were
concerned about my health."

Even in the dancing firelight Spock could see that Kirk had
flushed red.

"Or, perhaps, you are concerned for another reason?"

Kirk abruptly stood and walked to the edge of the firelit circle,
turning his back on his companion.

"Jim," said Spock.  "It is not logical to fight it."

"Pardon me?" said Kirk, setting his shoulders more squarely.
"Fight what?"

"What I believe we both feel for each other."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Kirk said quickly, too quickly.

"We have been friends for years, for a lifetime. We have been
separated by death, and now here we are, again in each other's
company."  Spock stood too and went to stand just behind the
other, hands clasped behind his back as ever.  He could sense the
tension in the other's back and could hear him breathing more
heavily.

"Jim, we work together, we separate, we always come back
together.  Even our off-duty time we spend together.  Doesn't
this strike you as unusual?  Pavel is not here, nor Sulu--just you
and me, and McCoy to fix your sprains and learn proper discussion
techniques from me."

Jim began a dismissive sentence, waving Spock off with a
lackadaisical hand.  Spock overrode him and continued: "Sarek
told me you were willing to give your life for mine.  You did
give your son, and a fair portion of your career.  These are all
facts.  Even today, this morning, when you knocked me over, when
you watched me dress, just now when . . ."

Spock finally trailed off.  He touched the other lightly on the
shoulder, and gestured toward their seats.  Blindly Kirk turned
and flung himself on the ground; Spock more deliberately sat,
drawing himself forward to the fire and the man on the other
side.

Kirk drew thin lines on the ground with a dry twig, saying
nothing.  Spock took a deep breath and went on, speaking to the
top of his former commander's head.

"Yet, all these years, we have kept apart from each other.  You
were my commanding officer, and among the more vigorously
heterosexual in Starfleet.  Indeed, you have been so
conspicuously heterosexual that some have wondered if that was
your true preference.  But if you will excuse my saying so, if I
read your actions of recent months correctly, I believe you are
shortchanging yourself--and me--. So now I am asking you, whether
you feel for me as I think you do, whether it is not time to
acknowledge what I believe is mutual."

A silence fell over the two of them, as Kirk was swept along in a
whirlwind of thoughts.  _Propositioned by my own first officer?
propositioned by a man?  and an alien one at that? . . . But this
is Spock, for whom I offered up my career, and those of our
closest comrades. . . ._

Kirk used his hiking boot to scrape away the design he'd made in
the brown dust next to his foot.  With a forced air he lightly
said, "Why, Mr. Spock, you flatter me.  I'm used to this kind of
attention from the ladies, but an approach from a
Vulcan--you--well, that's something new to my experience, and as
we both know that's saying a lot."

Spock thought to himself, _He has chosen the not-my-kind defense.
Far the easiest to meet._  He answered, "Jim, attraction is not
simply a matter of a particular gender, or species.  I am not
asking whether you are attracted to all men, or all Vulcans."  He
paused, went on, hoping for the best.  "Just me."

Kirk had never heard Spock sound so tentative.  Caution was not
exactly an emotion, but a logical analysis of a situation did not
usually render doubtful verdicts.  Jim looked up at his old
companion and was surprised at what he saw.

The dark alien eyes were looking at him intently, _like Pavel's
when he's bet the pool in our poker games,_ thought Jim.

Again Kirk tried lightly to dismiss the suggestion.  With a hand
he waved at the air and said, "Well, it wouldn't exactly work out,
would it?  Look at the luck I had with Carol and David--a fine
father I made.  You would think our society would have figured
out how to have two careers in one family, after four centuries
of supposedly civilized living . . ."

_The won't-work-out defense,_ Spock thought.  _We are moving
through the gambits faster than I had hoped._

"Allow me to help.  Logically, the objections to such an
arrangement would include a) distaste at miscegenation, b)
disruption caused by our being posted to different locations
instead of to the Enterprise,  c) a personal unwillingness
radically to alter a stable lifestyle by including a second
person, d) personal preference for other genders or races, e)
previous attachment to another person or persons, f) other
personal or professional circumstances of which I am not aware."

Surprised by this application of analytical reasoning, Kirk
swallowed hard.

"That's some list.  Done strictly off the top of your head, I
assume," he joked weakly.  Clearly Spock had done his planning;
the stakes must be high.  Jim began again. "No, it's only fair I
tell you it's not a matter of being, ah, repelled by other races,
or being involved with someone else, or whatever your two dozen
other possibilities were.  But it's a fact that I'm, um,
straight," he finally said, awkwardly falling back on slang that
had hardly been used in his boyhood.

"'Straight,' as you quaintly call it, is a relative term,"
replied Spock.  "In all our travels, in your travels, how many
beings did you meet who preferred strictly one form?"  He
continued, half musing to himself.  "It is of course true that
Earth longest of the settled planets clung to the notion that an
individual's preferences must be 'either-or,' rather than the
mixed norm nature obviously intended . . ."

After a moment's silence Kirk replied, "I won't pretend I don't
understand what you're driving at.  And I won't say that the idea
doesn't--that I haven't-- that the notion is unfamiliar  But why
now?  and what would it do to our friendship?  what would our
friends say, let alone Starfleet?  It's hard to believe a roll in
the hay would be worth the cost."

Spock raised an eyebrow and regarded his companion with something
like amused toleration.  He said, carefully, "If this is
something you want, as much as I want it, then these are
incidental problems with logical resolutions.  Jim, think back
over today, over our time here in the forest. Can you honestly
say that this has not occurred to you?  That you do not find the
idea--attractive?"

Kirk struggled to make sense of the situation, of the words he
never thought he'd hear Spock utter, words he'd never heard any
man utter.

Spock finished:  "Jim, it's very simple.  We have known each
other for years, in situations good and bad.  Many who are
married spend less time together than we have.  We have been
melded, have healed each other's injuries, provided shelter and
comfort to each other.  I am telling you I honor and respect you,
and wish to form a more permanent, official bond.  The only
question is, what do *you* want?"  He paused, took a deep breath
of Earth's alien air. "Listen to your heart, as McCoy likes to
say.  What do you feel for me?"

In the distance an animal stepped through underbrush.  The fire
crackled, and abruptly settled in on itself.  Startled a bit by
the fire, Kirk stirred a log with the S-hook that had supported
the chili-pot.  The fire burned more brightly, and shone a warmer
light on the two faces that studied it.  One ebony-dark, all
angles and planes, obviously not of this world and yet more at
home in the woods than the other.  One cream and old gold, now
shot through with grey, bright eyes reflecting the fire's sparks,
cheeks flushing under the turmoil caused by the dark one's words.

Spock reflectively ran a thumb down his jaw, and propped his chin
on his hand.  The other did not miss a movement of the lean arms
and fingers.  Unevenly Jim said,  "Spock, you've always known what
I wanted before I ever did.  I've trusted my life to your
instincts.  But, ah,  . . . you're not exactly in pon farr . . .
How would it work.  I mean, it wouldn't work.  It couldn't work .
. ."

"Jim.  Let me in.  Don't refuse to accept this."  Kirk found the
dark eyes steadily watching him, and he dropped his own under the
other's gaze.  He felt his own thoughts a confused mess, his
breathing seemed uneven, he could hear his pulse pounding in his
ears.

Spock sensed the advantage and said,  "Think back today, or
yesterday. How many times have you touched me, watched me,
studied me when you thought I was not looking?   For a human you
are quite logical.  You cannot deny yourself  forever.  If I were
Carol Marcus, or any of a number of other women, by now you would
have persuaded me out of my clothes and would be whispering sweet
nothings in my ears, as McCoy also says.  There's really nothing
different.  The important thing is how we both feel.  If you
don't want this" _NO,_  he cried to himself,  _*not possible,*_
"then I apologize for bringing it up."

Ears, whispering in those ears.  Kirk's shoulders tensed.  He sat
up, and looked at Spock directly.  Spock eased to his feet and
stepped around the fire.  Kirk slid to one side to make room for
him against the wadded bag.  He sat down cross-legged next to
Jim, and touched him lightly on the knee.  Jim jumped at the
touch.

"It is odd that after all the years that Vulcans have been
working in Starfleet, so few understand Vulcan habits and
customs.  It is true pon farr controls certain aspects of our
mating rituals.  But did you never wonder how Vulcans could marry
humans?  It would be illogical to bind oneself to another whom
one could not support and comfort, in all senses."

He added, half under his breath, "And did you never consider the
half of me that is human?"

Kirk's pulse seemed uneven, his mind raced at the future, the
images, Spock was offering.  The unusually warm fingers on his
knee, that sleek torso, the well-muscled arms just inches away .
. . that alien face, saying things he never thought he'd hear . .
.

More softly, Spock continued, "Jim, don't you want this?  I love
you, and I believe you love me.  We have been given a chance in a
million, a billion, to start over, and regain what we had lost."
He moved his hand to Jim's shoulder, massaged it with those lean,
commanding fingers.  He leaned close and whispered, "Open your
mind.  Let me in."

Unbelievingly,  Kirk felt himself responding to that very male
touch--no woman, no fellow Earthling, had a caress like that.
Spock, this was Spock here, here, so close, touching him with a
lover's touch.  He opened the fist clenched on his thigh, and
Spock placed two fingers in his palm.

With his thumb Spock rubbed the back of Jim's hand, feeling the
tremors that ran up his arm and through his leg.  He bent his
dark head to kiss Jim's hand, looked up to see Jim had closed his
eyes.

_Must take this slowly,_ he thought to himself.  _He has prided
himself his whole life on his appeal to women.  This must be
shocking . . ._

Spock eased an arm around his beloved's shoulders, and slowly
turned the other man's head to face his own.  "Will you trust
me?" he asked.  Kirk barely nodded his head, and yet inclined his
face toward the dark head that was grazing with astonishing
delicacy on his neck, now his ear, now his jaw.

Easily Spock drew Kirk down onto the bag and the mat that had
lain beneath it.  Still keeping an arm about Jim's shoulders,
Spock continued to press warm lips on the cooler human ones.  His
free hand slowly explored the body he loved, older now, a little
slower, a little less flexible, but all the more dear to him for
the shared experiences that the passage of time had given.

Bit by bit he felt Kirk relax.  Quietly Spock stroked arms, legs,
kneaded muscles that felt tight, all the time avoiding the more
dangerous areas.

_Must let him acclimatize,_ he thought fleetingly.  _Must not
rush, must not lose this chance, or maybe never . . ._  It took
all Spock's years of learned mental constructs to hold himself
back.  He had not expected Kirk to yield even this easily, not
the Kirk who stood up to Khan, who defied Starfleet to cross a
galaxy and reclaim a friend.  Spock had spent some days preparing
himself mentally and physically, marshaling resources, altering
the flow and quantity of key hormones and electrolytes, steeling
himself as if for physical combat.  And now the defenses had
fallen unexpectedly, and the task had become to hold himself in
check until the other's response more resembled his own.

After a time Kirk reached up a tentative hand and ran a lock of
the dark hair through his fingers.  Spock felt the gesture and a
calm assurance overtook him.  He caressed the odd, sensuously
rounded ear with his tongue, and whispered in it again, "Will you
trust me?"

Clumsily Kirk bobbed his head, hardly able to believe what he was
doing.  Spock slid his free hand inside Jim's tunic, causing
electric tremors everywhere.  His kisses became harder, more
pressing, more insistent.  He whispered in the other's ear, "I
have long hoped for this day.  When you were on the starbase to
watch my students' Kobayashi Maru, I had hopes.  But then Khan
intervened, and it seemed we would part forever--the best I could
give you was a safe ship and the hope you would live a long
life."

Kirk thought back to the horrible moment.  Seeing Spock crumpled
up, trying to rise to his feet in a dignified way, aware that
time was fast slipping away.  Aware that he wanted something more
from Spock, that something was left undone, and not just Spock's
life either.  The best part of myself, he'd told McCoy.  And now,
to have it given back.

Suddenly he grabbed Spock in an earth-style bear hug, nearly
breaking Spock's wrist in the process.  Spock extricated his hand
from Jim's clothes, looked in his eyes, and understood the
message there.  He rolled Jim upright and took his head between
his hands.  Jim felt the first flickers of a mind- meld and
shuddered a bit, before he felt Spock's mind pull back.  The
other said, "No, not now. Perhaps when--if--we are farther along.
But now--do you want what I want?  do you want more than this?"

With a confidence that surprised himself Jim said, "You know I
do."  He kissed Spock hard, his own hands working at the cloth
covering the other's torso.  His years of experience helped him
open Spock's tunic and lay it back in a flash.  He held himself
in check long enough to admire the alien yet compelling
chest--the heartbeat in the wrong location, the smooth skin
tinged a color not known on his home planet.  Then he was lost,
pressing kisses wherever he could reach, groping at Spock's
limbs, running hands over arms and legs long seen at a distance
but never dreamt of, never like this.

Spock let him catch up, let him become part of the moment, then
pulled back a bit.  "More?" he said, and raised that eyebrow.
Not completely sure what Spock had in mind, Kirk nonetheless
acquiesced, knowing Spock would not injure him _unless I make him
mad enough,_ he thought with a private grin. _I remember when I
had to free him from the spores.  What a grip--hope that's not
standard Vulcan technique . . . who knows what standard Vulcan
technique is . . ._

Spock stood and rummaged in the small supplies bin they'd brought
in.  He didn't seem able to find what he was looking for, but at
last turned with the bottle of olive oil McCoy had used for last
night's stir-fry.  "Not what the computer suggested, but it
should be adequate provided we act with some restraint."

"You researched this on the computer?" said Kirk, not crediting
what he'd heard.

"Of course.  I did not wish to offend against Earth practices."
In a moderated tone he added, "I was not sure I would get a
second chance.  But I appear to have omitted the proper material
when packing.  Unfortunate."

Spock walked back to Kirk, bringing also his own bag and mat.  He
laid them next to Kirk's, and zipped the two bags together.  Jim
stripped off his remaining clothes, and slipped into the bag.
His mind was a rush of images; he tried to shut it off, not
wanting to think too far ahead, think where this was going.
Spock took off his own clothes, and Jim watched him intently.
He'd seldom seen Spock naked, and never at such close range.
He'd read the medical logs on the physiology of the different
races that composed Starfleet--any captain was responsible for a
schematic understanding of alien medicine, just in case--but he'd
never seen a Vulcan body completely revealed like this.  Now he
understood the attraction for Christine Chapel, so many years
ago, for all the many females inexorably drawn to Spock and other
Vulcan officers he'd served with since.

Jim said, rather shakily, "It's true, then?  The two rings?  The
size?" Spock replied briefly, "It's true," not wanting to daunt
his still-tentative companion.  Time enough later for him to learn
about Vulcan stamina, and the connections between mysticism and
sex.  Jim watched, fascinated, while Spock oiled himself.  Spock
stood the bottle within easy reach and joined Kirk in the doubled
bag.

For some time Spock did nothing but spoon himself against Jim's
back, wanting him to get used to the feeling of them together.
Eventually he noted that Jim's hips were almost imperceptibly
inching back against his own.  He ran a hand down the other's
flank, and felt the warm, pulsing erection in his hand.  _Ah,_ he
sighed quietly to himself.  _So.  At long last._  A sense of
oneness, of wholeness, fell over them.  _The calm before the
storm,_ thought Kirk.

For some moments Jim had been aware he was becoming aroused,
stimulated, by the warm body so delicately welcoming him.  He
waited what seemed an eternity for Spock to indicate what--if
anything--he planned to do about it.  At last Spock tipped his
head up and ran his tongue across his ear.  At the same moment he
closed his palm on the head of Jim's cock, and he heard Jim suck
in his breath sharply.

With his fingers he experimented--thumb tracing the underside, a
ring drawn slowly down the length, palm cupping all the curves,
finger tracing the curiously alien hair.  Each caress drew sighs
and groans from the man in his arms--hips turned, twisted,
seeking relief from the warm, persistent, slippery hand.  _Ah,
Carol, it was never like this_ was Jim's fleeting thought.
_Perhaps this is love; I've hidden from it too well.  My
Kobayashi Maru of the heart._

Further thought stopped, as he felt a long finger slip in from
behind.  He groaned aloud, felt Spock whispering in his ear,
saying things in a language he couldn't make out.  Spock pressed
lightly on his insides, making a path, Kirk suddenly realized.
His research had been thorough.  Kirk tried to relax all his
muscles together, while concentrating on that finger, now two,
that made him shudder.  Was this what he felt like to women?
Hard to credit--

Spock put a hand on each hip and eased Jim backward toward him.
He slipped first one ring, then the other, inside, and rolled his
head back as he finally savored the heat he had long pursued.  At
last, at long last, he was enveloped, surrounded, heated by the
one he loved.  He could not restrain himself any longer, and he
began to thrust heavily forward, locking his feet around Jim's
legs to give better control.  Jim responded in kind, rocking
against the force that held him, excruciating, blissful, alien,
compelling sensations all new to him, pressing, urging, driving
him forward to the cliff's edge.  Finally, a brilliant waterfall
of sensation, both of them shouting as they went rolling over the
razor-sharp edge into the welcoming pool below.

Briefly time stopped and they ceased breathing.  Suddenly Kirk
felt that Spock's chest was no longer moving against his back,
and he panicked. _Can't lose him twice,_ was his terrified
thought.  He freed himself and twisted around, felt for Spock's
heartbeat too low and left.  Easily Spock opened his eyes and
smiled--smiled--at Kirk.  "No need to worry," he said. "All is
well.  And for you?  You are well?"

Kirk rolled backward, overwhelmed by the colliding emotions.  _I
have just made love with a Vulcan,_ he said to himself.  _Not
many who can say that.  With Spock--even fewer can say that . . .
Spock, my second self.  How have I done without him, so long . .
._

All his nerves humming, Jim turned into Spock's arms and drifted
off to sleep.  After the shock of so much new, the surface of his
mind was roiled and turbulent, but below he knew a deep-seated,
innocent peace.  Spock stayed awake longer, eventually banking
the fire and sitting for a while watching the still figure of his
companion.  At last he returned to the joined bags,  briefly
regarding the stars overhead, where he had spent so much of his
life.  _Perhaps the natural thing was to return to Earth.  Where
sex began, for humans._   His last thought was  _I hope this was
the right course. . ._

Both slept.

Dawn came rather late as the light filtered over the mountains
and through the tall trees.  The two awoke somewhat stiffly, age
and unaccustomed activity having taken their toll.  Spock had
been drifting to consciousness for some time, his sharper hearing
taking note of morning birdsong, of soft rustlings in the
underbrush where early animals sought food.  He had started a
little to find a person asleep in his arms, then memory rushed
back and he gently tightened his grip on the dozing Kirk.
_Finally,_ was Spock's first coherent thought.  Then, _But let us
see what he says the morning after._

Likewise Kirk was at first puzzled to see strong, dark arms
locked around his chest.  Recollection arrived, then disbelief,
then relief.  _Spock,_ he thought.  Then he thought, _Again._

Very carefully he began to sit up, not wanting to disturb his
companion. Then Spock moved also, and they confronted the morning
as they rubbed their stiff limbs a little.  Quietly Spock waited
to hear what Jim said first.

Kirk looked into the other's eyes, ran a finger down one arm, and
leaned over and kissed him.  He pulled Spock close, and wrapped a
leg around him. "No second thoughts here, Spock.  How about you?"

"None."

"Well, I have a second thought of sorts, that we're too old for
that kind of thing on ground as hard as this.  I vote we strike
camp until McCoy is free again, and that you and I move to more
comfortable quarters."

"Eminently logical," said the Vulcan.  They dressed quickly in
the cool air, and headed for the thermal pool for a quick wash.
They dried off with McCoy's loyal towel, then returned and
rapidly cleaned the site.  They rolled all the bags and mats into
the carry-port they'd brought down and stowed away all the
cooking gear.  They picked up a couple of pieces of fruit and
bread to eat on the short hike to the transport pad.  They'd
forborne to use it on the way in, preferring to pack in the
old-fashioned way, but they felt an urge to make better time.
Each picked up a pack with gear they didn't want to leave, and
they set out.

Three quarters of an hour later they'd reached the transport pad.
They beeped the main ranger station, told them what they wanted,
then stopped abruptly when the transporter chief at the station
said "Where to?"

Kirk grinned wryly, said, "The old question used to be 'Your place
or mine?' I'm guessing mine's about two light years closer,
so--if you don't mind?"

"Certainly," said his companion.  Kirk's home.  He had seen it on rare
occasions, and more commonly he had seen his quarters on the ship.
But even then, he'd tried to hold himself aloof; it would be
insubordination at the least to let his mind go in that direction.

During this train of thought Kirk had given rapid instructions
and coordinates.  The pad hummed, that familiar tingling feeling
overtook them, and Spock found himself looking at a cityscape he
knew from vids, from his clandestine study of Kirk's personnel
records, and from Sulu, an unwitting accomplice, who often spoke
lovingly of his ancestral home.

San Francisco.  Close to Starfleet Headquarters, of course, but
also a city fitting James Kirk's temperament.  Made up of parts
east and west, planetary and extraplanetary, sea and water and
blue blue sky.  What city more fitting, even for an Iowa boy?

Kirk stepped off the pad briefly, to point out a few of the
sights obvious from where they were.  Then he realized that in
their unshaven, uncaffeinated state (well, for him, anyway; only
the gods knew what vegetarian stew Spock drank in the morning)
perhaps they should head straight to his flat.

He punched in the coordinates for his own building, joined Spock
on the pad, and felt the hum take them.  A wall of glazed blue
tile now faced them, with a latticed doorway in the middle.  Kirk
took Spock by the elbow and walked him through it, down the hall
to stairs.

"Stairs?" said Spock.

Jim replied, "Yeah, I love this place.  The antiquated details,
windows that open, stairs, the whole picture.  I looked for weeks
for something like this."

Up they climbed, several flights, then down another corridor to
James Kirk's door.  He keyed the lock with his palm and the door
slid open.

Inside they dropped the equipment they'd brought with them.
Gesturing imprecisely, Kirk said, "Living room, dining room,
kitchen to the right.  Study and bedroom beyond.  To the left,
main bedroom and bath.  Spartan but comfortable--all that I've
needed between assignments and on leave and so on."

Kirk walked across to a comm port and buzzed McCoy at the main
Starfleet hospital, on the other side of town.  The doctor's
tired face appeared on the screen, along with his voice
complaining in midsentence about the "emergency conference" he'd
been called up to attend.  He stopped, suddenly, and said to
Kirk, "Why'd you call me?  Is that Spock behind you?  The two of
you 'I'm gonna rough it' types decide you were tired of eating
roots and berries?"

Kirk quickly said, "Good to see you too, Doctor.  We've had
enough of the great outdoors for now.  We thought we'd take a
break until you're free again--we left most of the gear at the
site.  Would you buzz me at home when you're done, and we'll go
back together?"

"You're at *home*--"  McCoy started to ask what they were doing
there, then he straightened himself as a smile began to cross his
face.  Instead he said,  "Yes, sure, that'll be fine.  No more
than another day or so, tops--these folks'll stop yapping by
then."  He made a movement to sever the link.  "Oh, and Jim?  Let
me just say, it's about time.  All best to both of you."   He
grinned then at the screen, and winked quickly.

Kirk cut the transmission and turned to face his colleague, his
cheeks burning at McCoy's implication.  _Damned prescient
doctor,_  he thought to himself.   He found that Spock had walked
through the bedroom to the bathroom and was apparently steaming
himself in the shower.  Surprisingly he'd shut the door, and Kirk
felt somehow put out, or put off, by this seeming gesture of
exclusion.

He headed to the kitchen and searched out breakfast odds and
ends.  He found some coffee beans that seemed to be relatively
recent, and he ground them and set up a filter while the water
boiled in the kettle.  He set the brew to drip, and replicated a
few biscuits.  Not so good as the real thing, especially when
such good sourdough was available at a stone's throw, but his
stays were erratic enough that stocking much real food had proved
to be a waste.  _Another cost of this damned life . . . weird
faked food from boxes in the wall._

He grabbed a biscuit and a cup of coffee, and walked out onto the
balcony.  So much had happened in the last few months, he hardly
knew where to start taking stock.  And now this.  All unlooked
for, and yet the best part of his life.  Spock alive, at his
side, walking and talking (well, as much as he ever did), and
now--he sucked in his breath at the recollection of the previous
evening's unexpected turn of events.  Where would this lead?  To
what end?  And what was the point?  Perhaps they'd just damage
each other, their careers, their friends . . .  Kirk shoved the
line of thought out of his head.

He leaned on the rail, looked out at the city.  He'd seen this
view many times before, with many other Starfleet friends
and--face it--Starfleet family, and yet it had never looked as it
did this morning.  Bright, fresh, as if it were a new city on a
new planet, instead of a creaking, centuries-old, fault-riven
warren.

Without turning he felt Spock step through the door behind him.
The Vulcan took a place next to him wearing--Kirk's heart skipped
a beat--his own old, faded, red flannel robe.  A private
indulgence, it was one of the few items left from his life in
Iowa.  A last present from his parents, before he had joined
Starfleet. It had traveled across the galaxy and back, and looked
like it had.

Spock said, "I hope you don't mind.  Until I have a chance to
clean up some clothes . . ."

Kirk chuckled and replied, "If you'd asked me the most unlikely
person to wear that robe, I'd have had to say you.  Flannel
doesn't exactly strike me as the Vulcan national fabric.  Though
that red's not bad, on second thought."

A moment of silence passed as Kirk gazed at Spock  Finally the
latter said, "And is that all you meant?  Are you having second
thoughts?"

Jim replied, "Let's get some food."

A  finger of misgiving ran down Spock's back, but a voice in his
headsaid _You never thought he'd be an easy target.  In his whole
life, how many people has he let love him . . . and now you propose
to alter the foundations of his life, his career . . ._

The train of thought was interrupted by the mug Kirk offered him.
Spock sniffed at the unfamiliar smell.  "Chinese green tea," said
Jim briefly.  "One of the perks of living in San Francisco is
good tea."

Spock took a sip, approved it with a nod of his head.  They
picked up plates of biscuits and went back to the living room.
Kirk sat on one side of the fireplace finishing his coffee and
Spock took the facing seat.  Kirk jumped a little as Spock sat
down, prompting a raised eyebrow.

"Well, you wouldn't know this, but that's where your father sat,
when he visited me after your death.  He couldn't believe you
were really gone.  We, ah, he--well, we mind-melded, and he lived
through the whole experience of watching you die.  I've never
found it an easy task to write the letters and make the formal
calls on family members of those who've died under my command,
but this was--well, awful.  I've never had to walk someone right
through the experience of  their relation's death, not until
this. And then to have it be your father, of all people . . . "

He shook his head at the memory, at the pain of the experience
even now, even with this unlooked-for, unhoped-for end.  He had
told Sarek he saw no future for Spock, and even now it was almost
too good to be true, seeing Spock with a future none of them had
dared dream of.

"How was it hard?" said Spock.  "Surely it was a matter of
conveying information he needed."

"Yes, but I didn't know that at the time.  Neither did McCoy.
You kept us all guessing.  Like last night . . ."

The two fell silent, each recollecting the intimate dark, the
unfamiliar situations.

Jim went on:  "And then, you return, against all odds.  My first
officer back, my partner--" he bit off the rest of the sentence
and turned his head away.

Spock tipped up his cup, took a long swallow, replaced the cup on
the table between them.  He rotated the cup on the table top so
that its handle made a more pleasing visual angle.

"Jim."  Softly he spoke the name, as a caress.  The other felt a
fire begin to burn in him again.  Spock leaned forward and
stretched a hand out toward him on the tabletop.

"I cannot speak for Sarek, or for those of you who had to watch
me die.  But I can say that even at the moment of death, I knew
it was right you should be there, I knew that you alone, of all
people, would be the one I would touch if I could.  So last night
I took a chance. A chance that we should each claim what we
already owned.  I gave myself over to you years ago, the first
time I saw you ignore death.  A Vulcan of a different sort, I
thought--a human who keeps his head, who is not swayed by those
around him, who bows always to the logic of the situation."

Jim stood and walked around the glass-topped table.  He sat next
to Spock, next to his astonishing colleague in the most unlikely
clothing imaginable.  His robe.  His own robe--with what? on
underneath.

He put a hesitant hand on one shoulder and thought to himself
_how could I have missed this for so long.  He's unique.
Beautiful, no, breathtaking.  A second chance, he says, and he's
right.  He's always right . . . he could make breakfast with
granite._

He ran a finger around the back of Spock's collar, as the other
dropped his head back to meet the hand.  With the other he
caressed Spock's cheek, felt the strong zygomatic arch fit
naturally into his palm.  _Like he was born to it, like we were
made to fit together, light years away.  Karma, Sulu would call
it._

Abruptly he was aware that while Spock had already shed several
day's worth of forest-muck, he was still in need of a good wash.
Imitating Spock, he raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the
shower with his head.

"Come?" he said.  In response Spock stood up and slipped an arm
around his lover.  The Vulcan thought to himself, _A lover.  My
lover.  Jim . . ._  He pulled the shorter man to him a little
more tightly, almost as a reflex.

They passed through the bedroom into the bathroom, a fairly
austere affair aside from the warmth generated by the skylight.
The sun shone down brightly, causing the white tiles to glitter
in the water Spock had splashed earlier.  Kirk swung the door
shut.  He looked up at Spock, cocked head to one side.  Spock's
face was unusually expressionless.  Jim swallowed hard and
slipped his hands inside the robe.  He loosened the belt and
pushed the worn cloth backward off Spock's shoulders. It fell to
the tiles in a dusky red puddle.

He stepped back to admire Spock openly, with none of the
tentativeness he'd shown the previous evening.  He touched the
Vulcan on the shoulder and gestured for him to rotate where he
stood.  Spock did so, in some puzzlement.  "Is there a problem?"
he said.

"No," said Kirk softly.  "I just, I never thought I'd get you
back.  You can't know how shocking it is just to see you walking
and talking.  Uhura and I were discussing it just last week.
When we saw you come down from Mt. Seleya, when we were trying to
figure out whether to say 'welcome back' or 'how've you been'--I
thought the look on her face captured our feelings best of all.
I'm sorry we have no vid of the ceremony; Sarek told me it was
pretty uncommon. . . . This is all a bit of a shock--for me,
McCoy, Chekov, everyone.  You have to admit, not much in life
prepares you to watch a close friend die, and then have him turn
up again, apparently as well as ever.  And then, to find that he,
a Vulcan, loves you . . .  I still don't quite get this, but I'll
take it on trust until I do."

To emphasize his point he drew a finger up Spock's arm and kissed
the dark shoulder.  With infinite care he drew Spock closer to
him.  He pressed his lips to Spock's face.  To his neck, to his
shoulder.  He drew a line of kisses from shoulder to palm.  Spock
trembled a bit at the persistent touch of another, leaned back
against the wall, and started a bit at the cool temperature of
the tiles.  "Come on, Spock, the laws of heat convection,
remember?" teased the other.  "Or are your memory circuits still
not up to par?"

"Little of my retraining on Vulcan prepared me for this," said
the onetime science officer.  "However, the databanks on the
Enterprise did fill in a few gaps on human sexuality, and Dr.
McCoy lent me some very interesting materials."

"McCoy's in on this?" exclaimed Kirk.

"Not as such," replied the other.  "He did wonder what I wanted
with them.  I explained I needed them to fill in gaps on human
behavior in late 20th- century San Francisco."

"Oh," Jim said weakly.  He didn't dare consider what McCoy was
making of the situation; his grin during their recent talk had
been quite bad enough.  Jim turned abruptly and twisted the shower
on.  He pulled off his own clothes without much ceremony and
dropped them in a heap on the floor at the side.  He stepped into
the shower alcove, and with a smile beckoned for Spock to join
him.  Gracefully yet carefully Spock came forward, as if he were
taking the first steps on a new planet.

For a moment both swayed under the showerhead, getting completely
wet.  Then Jim picked up the disk of soap from the shelf and began
to rub it over Spock's chest and back.  He marveled at the color
contrast between the cream-colored lather and the dusky skin
beneath it.  Spock felt like silk, looked like wet slate, all
angles with the water pouring off.  He ran his hands over Spock
from shoulder to thigh, then down his biceps, then with a hand
behind his neck pulled his head down to meet his own.

The Vulcan ran his tongue over the wet lips of the human,
smoothed the wet hair back from his brow.  He kneaded Jim's
shoulder muscles, felt a little tension from their morning's hike
fade.  He wrapped long dripping arms around Kirk's chest and held
him close.  Their tongues met, touched with a shock, explored,
while their hands moved around, above, between, below, seeking
and rubbing, relishing the feel of the other, so similar and yet
so different.

Spock took up the soap and washed Jim head to toe, lingering over
every crevice and curve he could find, caressing, probing,
tracing, until Jim thought he would come standing up in the hot
stream.  At last Spock stood up and turned Jim  to face the wall,
nudging his legs apart with his knee.  He placed Jim's hands up
high on the wall, then poured some shampoo from the bottle and
began gently to wash Kirk's hair.

As Spock's long fingers began to trace patterns on his skull,
Kirk felt that he was being stroked and massaged from within.
The electric shock he felt when Spock first touched his head
surprised him less--he remembered a similar sensation from
Sarek's mind-meld, and figured it was either some family trait or
maybe just a side effect of the odd experience.  Now it was the
son who was touching him--younger, stronger, more
personal--*much* more personal.  This internal pressure, the
sense of sliding, of friction, as if he'd become one enormous
sexual organ--this was quite a different matter.  When Kirk was
gasping with the stimulation, Spock finished in a very deliberate
manner and directed the shower head so as to wash him clean head
to toe.

Still in spread-eagled position, Jim couldn't quite make out what
Spock was doing.  He had not made much show of erotic caresses
until now--_shy?_ thought Jim.  _inexperienced? regretful?_
Those hands somehow didn't feel like regret, not when they
touched him _like that,_ _there, oh yes, there, don't stop . . ._
Spock leaned up against Jim, caressing him with the length of his
long body, letting him feel his warmth and closeness, trying not
to rush things, trying to stay on top of their shared pleasure.
At the thought of where Spock was probably leading him he tensed
up all over.  Spock stopped his caresses immediately, saying
right in his ear "Jim?  Is this ok?"

Jim said, raggedly, "Not exactly ok, but for heaven's sake don't
stop."  Spock felt the answer in his solar plexus, felt he must
join Jim right now, make them one again, as they should be.  Both
were gasping a little for breath, and half struggling to keep
good footing in the rush of sensations. But unexpectedly Spock
moved away and turned them both back and forth briefly in the
stream of water.  While Jim was still leaning against the wall
with his eyes shut, the Vulcan turned off the water and grabbed a
towel hanging on the white wall an arm's length away.

With single-minded attention he dried off his partner, not
failing even to dry Jim's fingers, his ears, or missing the
chance lightly to cup his balls in one hand, to rub his cock
teasingly with the other.  He leaned forward on his knees and
quickly ran his tongue the length of that compelling flesh.  Jim
started a little at the unexpected feeling. "Just a thought,"
said the Vulcan.  Jim thought to himself, _wonder what the Vulcan
word is for pricktease . . . it's probably a felony in a culture
that gets aroused once in a decade . . ._

When both were dry they stepped out of the shower.  With his head
cocked to one side, Jim said, "Now what?  Where from here?"

A ghost of a smile traveled across Spock's face.  Wrapped in a
towel, he raised an eyebrow at the jacuzzi in the corner.  More
water treatment? he seemed to say.  Kirk shook his head, said "We
can try that later, when we're dirty again."  He took Spock's hand
and kissed the palm.  "I want you in bed," he said very simply.
He felt his knees wobble a bit as he spoke--he'd never imagined
saying anything like that to his aloof second in command, never
considered having company in this bed, the one he had always kept
apart from emotional entanglements.  _And now this.  The best
step of my life?  A colossal mistake?  Gotta stop thinking.
Could use some of that Vulcan detachment._

They passed through to Jim's bedroom, where Spock stopped on the
threshold.  So different from the living room, which was
festooned with weapons and instruments of war.  This room was one
of peace:  very few furnishings--a low table, a futon, the same
breathtaking view of San Francisco outside the floor-to-ceiling
windows.  Speakers for music, a bedside lamp, some books.  A
picture or two of the Enterprise, little else.

A bright rectangle of sun fell on the bed from another skylight
overhead. Jim said, "When I was looking for this place I tried to
find something as unlike a starship as I could manage--no more
closed windows, generated air, endless darkness and stars.  Not
too bad, if I do say so myself."

Spock felt himself reveling in the heat, getting the sensation of
real warmth that was so hard to find beyond his home planet.  The
joke in Starfleet had always been that Vulcans were like
salamanders---heat worshipers, pointed tongues, protective
coloring that made them hard to read.  Well, his protective
coloring was off now, probably forever.

Jim threw himself on the bed while Spock sat down more
deliberately. _Jim's bed.  Never dared think of it.  Not possible
to imagine this space, this feeling.  Such intimacy.  Perhaps I
should have spoken before this._

The other seemed to sense him thinking and said, "We've lost a lot
of time, one way and another, haven't we?  But I'm glad you took
the chance. You're a brave man, braver than I am . . ." He gazed
up at the ceiling.  "Well, it's my turn to be brave."  He sat up
and took Spock's shoulders between his hands.  "Spock, will you
let me make love to you?  Here, in my bed, where you should have
been years ago."

Spock was taken aback at the abruptness of Jim's words; indeed,
he felt almost shy.  _Look out what you ask for,_  McCoy had once
said to him with a smile--_you might get it._  He swallowed hard
and met Kirk's heated gaze.  Nodded assent.

Kirk stood up and began arranging the room, apparently completely
at ease in his naked state.   _A good sign,_ thought the Vulcan.
Jim put some music on--it sounded a little like a sitar.
"Closest thing to a Vulcan harp I've got," he said cheerfully.
"Back in a second."  Spock heard him heading for the kitchen, in
search of--what?  food?  towels?  He relaxed against the soft
bed, thinking to himself how unfamiliar this whole scene was.
Yet how like home, like a homecoming, it was.  Jim's bed, where
he would lie unguarded, asleep, vulnerable--

Jim interrupted this train of thought when he returned carrying a
small black bottle of something.  He grinned at Spock and rotated
the label so he could see it.  Personal lu--- Spock could read.
Then the token dropped.  "Indeed a wise choice.  The olive oil
lent a certain antique air to last night's efforts, but this
morning I felt rather like a salad."

"I hope I'll make you feel like something else," said Jim,
breathing deeply. He continued, "Spock, I want to do this here,
in the bright sunshine.  I nearly lost you to the dark forever.
I want to see every look on your face, trace every wrinkle, watch
every movement."

The heat Jim was generating overwhelmed Spock.  He could see how
the force of this man's personality would attract women--and many
others-- would cause them to seek him like moths to a flame.  And
now James Kirk was here, saying unimaginable things to him.  _How
the wheel turns,_ thought Spock.

Jim had closed his eyes and was leaning over, caressing his chest
with a warm, wet tongue.  He'd set the bottle on the table at
hand, and seemed to be learning his way around the Vulcan's body
by touch.

He stretched himself out next to the darker body, stopped again
to admire the sleek flesh, softly furred, the well-defined
muscles.  He thought to himself, _What a body.  Let's see what I
can teach him._  And Kirk set to work in earnest, wanting to
share his years of sensual experience with one whom he found he
loved more than all the rest, who had returned when all was lost.

He stretched out Spock's arm and kissed the palm of his hand, his
fingertips, the ball of his thumb, the surprisingly slender
wrist.  Titanium in a green velvet package, was his thought.  He
licked his way along the forearm, feeling the offbeat pulse in
the bend of the elbow.  Nuzzling, tasting, licking, he moved up
to Spock's left shoulder, while his hand kneaded the long muscles
in  Spock's leg.  _Cinnamon,_ thought Kirk. _Hmn, no, maybe
saffron--_ and he explored Spock's collarbone with his tongue to
double- check.  _Definitely a spice . . ._  Kirk settled for
that, and inhaled the elusive odor as deeply as he could.

At first Spock lay silent, taking in the new sensations with his
sensor array turned on full.  As Jim's touch began to relax him,
he whispered a word or two through lips stretched thin, then
began to groan as the sensations mounted.  When he heard Spock
groan, Jim found it hard to control himself. He rubbed and
kneaded all of Spock he could reach, yet avoiding the burning
center.

He kneeled astride Spock's torso and ran his hands through the
delicious dark hair.  So often he had seen that head cool in
danger, never missing a trick, the thick hair hardly moving even
in a breeze.  And now all was his.  A finger traced the curve of
each ear, caressed the points, the hollows and ridges, the paler
skin where the neck rose up to meet the ear.  Under this
attention Spock began to writhe a little, rocking his pelvis,
running his hands up Jim's back.

"Shhh,"  whispered his lover, "not yet.  I've hardly begun."

Spock looked down the length of his chest, at Kirk's strong
thighs on either side, holding him pinned to the bed.  He
marveled at the other man's cock, so different from his own,
lighter in color, somewhat shorter, yet he couldn't take his eyes
off it.  Jim saw the direction of his gaze and inched up, so that
Spock could just touch the end with his tongue.  Spock caressed
the mauve tip ever so gently, licking the silken head, listening
to Jim groan in turn.  The intense sensations that warm tongue
was creating made him arch backward, making a half circle as he
leaned back toward Spock's knees.

All he could think was how thankful he was that there were still
some firsts he could experience with Spock, out of all the beings
in the galaxy.  Spock, who'd shared so many other firsts with
him.

The Vulcan stroked him, caressed him, ran sensitive alien fingers
up and down his limbs.  His tongue found the tender spot just
behind the head of Kirk's cock, circled there, touched, breathed
a steady stream of warm, possessive air.  He slid his lips
downward, began to pull persistently from the back of his throat,
careful to keep his teeth off, but never to lose touch with his
lips.  His mind went blank, as the sensations from this famous
Earth posture blew through him.  _So close,_ he thought.  _So
intimate.  Why did we wait this lifetime . . ._

Jim jumped a little as Spock took him inside.  He had always
loved this position but had less frequently experienced it.  The
heat and incredible intimacy brought up feelings he couldn't put
a name to, and he began to shiver.  Fingers of excitement raced
up his back, radiated out from the molten center Spock was
creating.

"Spock?" said Jim.  "I can't wait much longer.  Do you--?"

 "Yes," whispered the other in a commanding voice. "Now.  Don't
make us wait ..."

He slid back between Spock's long legs, and raised them to his
shoulders.  He helped Spock slant himself on the plane of his
thighs, and began to move forward to enter his beloved.

Yet at the moment of contact, when all the day's promise would be
fulfilled, he could not go on.  He felt his erection sliding
away, the sense of urgency still there but only in his mind.  He
beheld the Vulcan, aroused by their mutual efforts, arms flung
back in a gesture of open acceptance, and his heart turned to
ashes.  Limp as he had never been before, he turned away in
shame.

His eyes began to fill and huge groans ripped at his chest and
throat. Spock sat up abruptly, trying to assess what was
happening.  He pulled Kirk toward him and said "Jim?  Jim?  What
is the problem?  This is nothing, it is no matter.  This happens
to all, sooner or later."

Jim cried, "You know nothing. This is death.  You're dead.  You
were dead. Death comes to every single one of us, and I've seen
it come for you.  We had to live through it--we had to learn to
live without you."

Groans racked him, and he swayed with the pressure of the agony.
"Spock, ah, Spock.  I thought I'd lost you.  I thought you were
gone forever.  I couldn't bear to live without you.  I couldn't
bear to admit what you meant. To me.  To all of us."

Kirk clutched at him, grasping him in a hug Spock thought would
break both his arms.  Spasms washed over Kirk.  Spock changed his
caress to one of comfort, rubbing the other's back and shoulders,
whispering Vulcan words into the other's ear.  Gradually the
wrenching gasps diminished in strength, until Jim was able to
speak more clearly.  At last he rolled onto his back.

He drew a deep, calming breath and ran a hand down the side of
Spock's face.  Said, "Did you never wonder what it was like for
us?  Didn't you see the Engineering Bay tapes I had to play for
Sarek?  Starfleet's been using them as teaching tools for warp
core maintenance, didn't you know?"

"I had heard something to that effect," said Spock, "but I took
that to be a sample of rational military thinking.  It *was* a
clear demonstration of how to bring warp engines back online in
an emergency.  Somewhat expensive in personnel, however."

More quietly Kirk said, "That day, that wretched day, I thought
I'd lost you forever.  And I found that not even Starfleet
carried any meaning for me anymore.  Not even Starfleet.  Risking
the admiral's seat turned out to be surprisingly easy.  It made
me sick, it was so simple."

They lay in each other's arms, neither pushing the other farther.
The sun slid across the bed and left Kirk's leg in the shade as
it began to sink behind the skyline.  Quietly Spock replied,
"Jim.  I can help.  I can ease the pain for you, help you heal."

A moment of silence.  Then, "How?"

"Let me touch my mind to yours.  I can soften the grief with an
empathic link, show you an easier way to think.  I learned many things
on Mt. Seleya, and from McCoy.  For a Terran, he is very wise."

James Kirk said, steadily, "I've already had your father inside
my head; what's one more visitor?"

Spock rolled on his side and freed a hand.  He gently caressed
the other's face, traced the alien eyebrows and the sensitive
cheek.  Then he arranged his fingers, maneuvered them to touch
the pressure points.  Jim started a little, then got his balance.
As the connection grew Spock heard a clamor of sound, a
grief-stricken voice shouting _Can't touch, can't return the last
salute.  Spock, my Spock.  Such pain, such waste.  Not like this
. . . _

Shuddering at the assault of elemental human grief, Spock took a
deep breath.  _The final parting, in front of all those people.
All eyes on us.  A scene legends were made of.  Still made
of--'when Spock and Kirk said goodbye'._

Kirk recalled in flashing images the horrified message from
McCoy--_Jim, you'd better get down here._  Looking at the empty
chair.  The mad dash to Engineering.  McCoy and Scotty telling
him Spock was dead already.  Then--too awful.  Spock standing with
difficulty.  Spock straightening his uniform for his last
appearance before his commander.  Telling him not to grieve,
hoping he understands, giving a final Vulcan salute as gracefully
as he can.  Can't even see Jim, see his face and say goodbye.
Ever and always his friend, but nothing more, ever.  Then
earth-born tears welling in Jim's eyes as he realizes what he's
lost, that the noblest part of himself lies dead, poisonous and
repelling in the flesh in a way he never was in life.  All that
never could be now.  The loss, grief, his reason tilting at this
unexpected blow.  A whole future tossed away in a moment.  Better
they should both be dead, than this.

And yet, how like Spock.  A valuable, dignified end.  Tidy.
Useful.  Jim felt Spock's calm strength bearing down on him, felt
his mind steadying.  As the images passed before him, and crossed
to the other, their power and viciousness seemed to fade.  A
familiar voice:

_Jim.  I feel fine.  I am here, I am well.  You and I are safe.
Sulu, Scott, all are safe.  You played cards with Pavel last week.
Uhura lent McCoy that folding chair. All is well._

The telepathic link took shape and eased the human's struggle.
The ordinary images Spock called up for him, the mundane
activities of a normal world.  He felt the peaceful acceptance of
death Spock offered him, and with both hands he held on to the
logical approach extended before him.  Now it could remain
unspoken between them, that next time it was likely to be Spock
who watched while Kirk died, Spock who lived with the loss.

Kirk slept.

For a time the Vulcan lay entwined with the human on the bed,
feeling the relaxation sleep brought to his mind.  Tentatively he
touched his beloved's face, thinking of times he'd seen it in
joy, grief, defiance, pride--but never fear, never this kind of
unreasoned emotion.  _My ancestors were wise,_ he thought to
himself.  _But without grief, no love--neither without the other.
So hard to balance._  Musing on the paradox of human emotions he
eased his arm out from under his sleeping captain, and got up.
He searched out the abandoned robe, and left Jim to sleep.

Quietly he made more tea.  He stepped out onto the balcony, where
he could see the horizon of San Francisco more easily.  Looking
sideways through a window that let onto the balcony he saw Kirk's
still shape on the bed.  He seemed as much at peace as he ever
was.  Spock reflected that he had seldom seen Jim Kirk lie so
calmly.  Not a restful man, all in all.

The Vulcan perched on the rail and looked out over the town.  He
found large urban areas more a matter of endurance than
enjoyment.  He'd seen service on quite a few ships, and their
humming life was far more organized and purposeful than the maze
that lay below.  For all the crowding and necessary toleration of
personal quirks and preferences, there seemed to be more room on
nearly any starship than in the jammed cities of Earth and other
such densely settled areas.  To Spock the town seemed to vibrate.
The barely heard voices of millions of souls murmured in the
background of his mind, like subspace static.

Still, San Francisco had its golden charms.  Sulu had once given
him a list of places to visit if he ever had the
chance--restaurants, museums, other tourist spots.  Perhaps this
evening he could persuade Jim to try one, while they were taking
a break from roughing it with McCoy.  Worth a try, anyhow.

He went back inside and checked on Jim.  Still asleep.  No doubt
worn out by the rigors of their recent Starfleet trial, not to
mention all the events that had led up to it--David's death, and
his own.   It was a wonder Starfleet did not see more in the way
of nervous breakdowns.  It was a wonder also to be looking back
on one's own death, to observe the aftereffects of an event never
meant to be seen by the chief participant.  Fascinating.

He sipped at his green tea and mulled the oddity of his
situation.  Rumors were already circulating among the Romulans,
he knew, about Starfleet officers who came back from the grave.
Also fascinating.  And yet, what consumed his thoughts the most
was the image of Jim Kirk--his own captain, trusting, beloved,
moving under his hands with an abandoned passion he'd never
dreamed of.  Humans were capable of this, he knew; McCoy's
information had told him as much.  And yet, the love, the
affection, the earth-style mind-meld that went with it--all this
had taken him by surprise.

Spock recalled Sarek's story of Kirk pleading for Spock's soul--
"my responsibility, as surely as if it were my own."  Few who
loved were given such a chance to act, were given such a
challenge before they could claim what they wanted.  And yet, Jim
had come to his hands as a magnet to steel, as if they had both
been born to it, worlds and ages apart.  Made for each other, as
sure as they breathed.

His heart beat a little more strongly at the thought of the man
in the next room.  None like him, in this age or another.  Here
was the being to whom his parents should have bonded him, had
they ever dreamed of this kind of future.  Still, a man in pain,
a man in need of space and time to accommodate the radical events
in his life.  The loss of his friend, the death of his son, the
loss of his beloved ship, and his rank.  Good that the others had
been there to soften the blow--Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, and McCoy,
the other half of his conscience.

Sighing a little at the dark reflections he'd fallen into, Spock
rose and went to find some food.  More tea, perhaps a bottle of
red wine, some aged cheese he'd seen in the kitchen, more
biscuits.  On a lacquer tray he assembled the food.  Spock hooked
a corkscrew with his finger as he passed and returned to the
bedroom, where Jim was beginning to stir a little.

Abruptly he sat up, wakening quickly from force of habit.  Spock
rubbed a muscled shoulder and said, "No hurry.  Take a moment."
Jim's green- flecked eyes focused, and Spock saw his command
training take over to smooth the transition, give nothing away.
Jim thought, _It wasn't a dream, then.  Spock here, with me, in
my robe.  Amazing._

He said in a vaguely artificial tone, "How long was I asleep?"
He reached for the tray of food and pulled it to the foot of the
bed.

"Fifty-four minutes," said Spock, "more or less. You needed the
rest.  How do you feel?"

"Fine," said Jim, "ravenous, though.  Thanks for the food.  Pour
me some wine, would you?  I  don't really feel like tea."

Spock busied himself with the corkscrew and poured wine for both
of them.  They clinked glasses.  At nearly the same time Spock
said, "To us" and Kirk said, "To the future."

"May they be the same," said Spock.

Jim's eyes widened a little but he smoothed over the moment by
tearing off a knot of bread.  "Do you cook?" he said as he
munched.  "There's a lot I don't know about you, for all that
we've lived together for two decades."

Between bites Spock answered, "Vegetarian eating on Vulcan is
more a matter of gardening than cooking.  Some tending to
animals, for dairy products and the like."  After a moment he
went on, "I had not anticipated that you would be so interested
in daily life on Vulcan. . . .  Jim, is everything all right?
Are you comfortable with this?"

Jim said, "Well, I don't have a lot of experience entertaining
the formerly dead.  But I'm getting used to the idea.  In the
forest, with McCoy, it didn't seem so strange--more like a
landing party, more like recent years.  But all of a sudden it
hit me, when we returned to the city.  . .  You'd never been here
with me, yet this was where I did most of my mourning after that
disastrous mission.  We were given the 'privilege' of extra
shoreleave after our return from Genesis, and I spent most of it
here, at first, thinking of all we'd lost, talking with Carol
about David and trying to get a sense of his character.  Then
after Sarek's visit we were so busy making plans to, ah, retrieve
you that I kind of lost track of the surroundings.  I feel like
I've fallen down a deep hole, and only just hit bottom
yesterday."

He reached over and took Spock's hand.  "But you're at the bottom
of the hole with me.  I don't have the words to say how that
makes me feel.  It'll take a little getting used to--for me, for
all of us--but don't worry."  He took a breath, then kissed
Spock's palm.  "How could I resist you?"

Spock took a deep breath, working to quell the sensation in his
chest, in his head.  He drank some wine and after a moment said,
"Do you remember the trial?"

Kirk shook his head, looked past Spock's shoulder out the window,
where the afternoon sun was beginning to decline.  "I'll never
forget it," he said. "All at once, given back my friend, our
careers, but busted from admiral in front of the whole court.  At
the time I was glad to keep my head, so to speak, and we were all
laughing and clapping with relief--but--it took its toll.  I still
can't believe it."

"Do you remember Gillian, saying goodbye to Gillian?" said Spock.
A tiny pause.  "By Earth standards she is very attractive."

"She certainly is," said Jim, taking a sip from his glass.  "But
what's your point?  I didn't think you were paying much attention
to that kind of thing, then or ever."

"It seemed to me at the time that you preferred her, that
you--that you hoped a personal relationship might spring from
your shared experience with her."

"Spock, are you jealous?" said Jim.

"Jealousy is not a logical reaction," replied the other.  "I
merely sought to determine the correct parameters of the
situation, so as best to direct my own behavior."

"That's what we call jealousy," said Kirk with a grin.  "Gods, I
didn't know you had this in mind even then."

Spock replied, "I did not precisely have this in mind, at that
point, as you put it.  But your personal history, one must admit,
would suggest you might prefer her company to that of a nearly
middle-aged male Vulcan.  But then, while I was saying goodbye to
my father, I sensed you watching, waiting.  I hoped that that
meant something, even in the somewhat weakened state I was in at
the time."

Kirk chuckled.  "A nearly middle-aged Vulcan whom I know like the
back of my hand, who knows me inside and out, whose intellectual
abilities I can't hope to match, whose . . ." He broke off and
set his glass down.  He cupped a hand against Spock's dark head.
Slid it behind his neck, pulled his head close.  Jim pressed his
lips smoothly against Spock's, and caressed his cheek with a
thumb.  Delicately he traced the Vulcan's lips with his tongue,
then his teeth, then sought the extraterrestrial heat of his
strong throat.  He slid his hands inside the robe and onto his
lover's shoulders, eased the robe backward and off, stopped again
to admire the other's person.  So many hours spent together,
hours that included tacit acknowledgment of the other's power,
but never with this end in sight.  Very softly he ran his fingers
up and down the other's ribs, traced bones, muscles, felt the
strong heartbeat.

He felt Spock catch fire under his touch.  Dimly he thought to
himself how much more powerful Spock was than he, and how he
might be in for a rough ride.  It felt strange to be in bed with
someone of equal or greater strength, rather than being able to
call all the shots.  Different, exciting.  Natural.

He lay back and pulled Spock down on top of him, leaving Spock
struggling to set his sloshing glass upright on the floor.  For a
moment Spock held himself at arm's length, wanting the moment to
last.  He gazed at Kirk's slightly flushed face, the light beard
beginning to stand out, the curve of the muscles in his
shoulders.  Spock leaned forward for the first real kiss he had
given Jim, and put his whole will into it.  Easily he moved his
lips against Jim's, tasting the alien, human scent, the scent he
had associated with Jim since nearly their first mission
together.  He traced Jim's jaw with his tongue, nuzzled his
cheek, returned his lips to Kirk's mouth.  He sought the other's
tongue with his own.  He traced the tip, the other's teeth, and
was surprised at how sensitive his own tongue was, at the riot of
information it was returning to him.

He'd never thought much of the Earth habit of promiscuous
kissing, had never much missed this gesture from his life.  Now
he saw why Terrans so treasured it, from the tiny ones given
their young, to the steaming adult versions he had from time to
time witnessed in the close quarters of a starship.  And now,
here he was, kissing James Kirk.  He never wanted to stop, he
decided--this was his own best destiny, too long denied, nearly
lost altogether.  He decided to make up for lost time.

He trailed his tongue down the side of Kirk's throat and thrust
his fingers into the curling hair, now showing some grey.  He
traced a blond eyebrow, kissed his way down the bridge of Jim's
nose, came to rest again on his lips, and took up where he'd just
left off.  He thought to himself how much more powerful all this
would be if he could stop and join their minds, but he was
uncertain they were both ready for that as yet.  Better to clear
up the performance anxiety first--McCoy had cheerfully told him
many old Earth jokes about that to get him in the mood to visit
San Francisco.

Spock released one hand and ran it up and down Jim's torso.  Such
muscles, even now, such surprisingly cool skin.  Definitely not a
Vulcan.  He put his head down on the other's shoulder, and looked
down toward his cock.  Also clearly not Vulcan.  Pinker in color,
of different dimensions, more swollen at the head, less in the
shaft.  But still compelling.  Still made him want to take Jim,
to take him inside, to be inside him, to do anything and
everything to join their bodies together.

He moved his head down to rest on the other's stomach, and heard
the other's ragged breath as understanding dawned.  He grasped
Jim's cock in his hand and felt the unconscious, almost
animalistic movement, as if it were independently alive.  His
fingers traced every curve and crevice, cupped, outlined,
touched, rubbed, stroked, learned the skin as if it were the
entire comm panel for a starship.  _So alien,_ thought the
Vulcan.  _So unfamiliar, and yet still Jim._

Under this detailed attention Kirk struggled to keep his head,
not to burn up in the golden fire Spock was kindling.  At length
he shifted the other's hand upward onto his stomach, and said
from deep in his throat, "Can we take up where we left off?"

"By all means." Swiftly Jim rolled Spock over on his back, and
grabbed the bottle from the bedside table.  Panting slightly, he
anointed first himself, then Spock.  As the other raised an
eyebrow, Jim said, "You first, then me.  In Old America they'd
have called this equal opportunity fucking." Spock said, "Ah,
yes, one of your quaint Earth customs," and made a noise Jim took
to be a chuckle.

He smiled at Spock, reached a hand under and eased a finger
inward, then two, into the incredible off-world heat.  Now
confident Spock wouldn't be hurt, he spread the other's legs and
moved his cock against his lover.  Spock hissed out a word, and
Jim leaned closer to hear.  "Now," Spock said again. Then,
"Hurry."

Something in Jim's stomach turned over, hearing such words from
one who was always cool, who had stood his ground under court
martial, Romulan fire, a countdown to ship's destruction.

"My pleasure," he replied, and thrust forward.  Spock raised his
hips to take the stroke and grasped Kirk's upper arms in a strong
yet controlled grip.  After a moment's struggle each found the
other's rhythm, and they moved back, forward, in, out, through a
delicious gyre of stimulation, rising always toward the
inevitable top.  All too soon, Jim could see the other losing
control, closing his eyes and groaning softly.  Jim bent forward
a little and said, "I want to feel you come."  The combination of
aural and sexual stimulation was overwhelming, and the orgasm
grabbed Spock like a riptide--he suddenly was falling backward,
the water closing over his head, the bed seeming to veer back and
forth beneath him.  Jim saw him going, and at the thought that he
had brought his old friend to this peak, he tipped over himself,
and found himself clutching at Spock's hips and shouting his name
uncontrollably.

Silence fell in the sunny room--silence but for the gasps of the
two men.  After a moment their breathing became more even, and
Kirk eased himself to a more comfortable position, reclining
behind Spock but with a leg gripping him and holding him close.
Jim wrapped his arms around the other, spent, mindless, with a
sense of sadness growing stronger by the minute.  He listened to
Spock's quiet breaths and envied him his apparent peace.  He had
to admit to himself that perhaps the Vulcans had a better
approach to sex, given the different mood that Spock seemed to
achieve.

Gracefully Spock rolled over so he could see the face of the
human and said "Jim, I have never had a lover like you.  Indeed,
it can hardly be said that I have had a lover in the usual sense
of the word. . . ." He reflectively pulled a damp curl straight,
ran the strand through his fingers.  He studied the truncated
ear, so curiously blunt compared to his own, and weaker in
hearing.  He went on, "Making love with you is powerful, and
sensual. But eventually it will not be enough."

Jim was surprised.  He had always prided himself on his
technique:  he had read manuals and guides to sex in dozens of
cultures, and he always aimed to leave his lovers well satisfied
with his performance.  It helped salve the hurt of his inevitable
departure for another port.

He turned away from Spock, in hopes it would conceal his face,
now turning red.  Obviously there were advantages to making love
in the dark.  What was Spock's problem?  Had he failed to
anticipate even the smallest need?  If this wasn't enough, what
was left to give?  Maybe this had been a huge mistake.

"Jim," said Spock softly, seeing Kirk move apart from him.  "You
misunderstand.  Sexual intercourse with you is all that I hoped,
or imagined, it would be.  Your practical knowledge is of course
much superior to mine--I cannot hope to offer you more on that
count.  But there is another choice, too, a more permanent one,
and ultimately more satisfying."

A thought hit Kirk and he sat up suddenly, thunderstruck.  He
moved to face Spock, sitting cross-legged.  "Spock," Jim said,
"are you asking me to marry you?"

"Marry?  Well, in a sense," Spock replied.  "In Standard terms
probably that is the closest word.  The actual rite, the
kridyll-a, comes from centuries past, and in its original form
was mostly used to join men in different clans, when they shared
forces in risky situations.  The idea was to increase an
individual's strength, both mental and physical.  Later it
evolved into the mind-meld, and elements of the ceremony were
altered.  Or so the antiquarians think."

"What would it mean for us?" said Kirk.

"As in a betrothal, our minds would be linked.  If we had been
children when we were linked, the link would be tenuous, to allow
growth.  Since we are adults the link would be more powerful, and
considerably harder to break.  I must tell you that since you
have not worked through the levels of Vulcan training and
mysticism, breaking the link might damage you.  This is not an
action to take lightly."

Kirk mulled this in silence.  He had heard of Vulcan joining
rites, had seen pon farr on several occasions and in several
stages of advancement, had even fought against Spock as the
champion of his reluctant bride.  He had learned from Spock that
while the cycle of pon farr remained immutable among Vulcans,
they could nonetheless--with the right stimulation--participate
in reproductive and nonreproductive activities that weren't on
the official schedule of the species.  Recent events had made the
truth of this abundantly clear.

Spock went on, "It would be understood as a sign we had chosen
and marked each other, now and always.  Vulcans and other
telepaths would sense that you and I were linked, though humans
would not.  That is, telepaths would consider you spoken for, a
married man, so to say.  It would therefore be logical to expect
that news of our bond would be made generally known.  If that
bothers you."

Spock reached out a tentative finger and traced his thumb.  "It
is important that you understand, and be willing.  If you were to
resist while the link were being made, mentally or physically,
you would not only not enjoy it, you might be injured, in body or
spirit."

Jim considered the offer.  Mind-melds sometimes went wrong, he
knew, especially when used to extract information from unwilling
persons, or when used without preparation or on poorly matched
species, with disastrous results for one if not both.

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him.  "And so?" With a pounding heart
he waited for the answer, for a second, five seconds, a minute.
Two minutes.  An eternity.  Kirk studied him silently, stroking
his lover's palm with his thumb the while.  Then he said, "I'm
willing.  I lost you once, and found the hard way what you
meant--how much a part of my life you'd become.  Let's not make
the same mistake again.  We've waited long enough, our whole
lives, to find this.  I can't imagine what would be gained by
delaying, but I already know what could be lost."

The Vulcan nodded his assent.  Then he leaned forward and touched
the other's lips lightly with his own.  He briefly closed his eyes
and put his palms together, thumbs touching his forehead.  He
lowered his hands to his chest, opened his palms with fingers
entwined.  Then he swung his legs off the low bed and vanished
into the living room, leaving a bemused Jim watching his
departure.  Noises of rummaging floated back, of clicking buckles
and snaps, then silence as Spock padded back to the bedroom,
holding a small something in one hand.  Spock opened his hand and
revealed a dark blue box.

He flipped it open.  Inside, nesting in some dark cloth, was what
looked to be a small metallic fire--silver, perhaps?  No, gold.
Spock lifted out the metalwork and snapped it apart, to reveal
two rings that had fit together as one.  Each alone had several
spikes of flame, with a black stone set in gold in the longest;
together they formed a full burst of combustion frozen in time.

James Kirk sucked in his breath quietly.  "So the stories are
real, then?  The 'flame that ever burns, never fails'? You came
prepared.  I'm honored."

"I came hopeful, one could say," replied the other.  "These were
not easy to find.  I finally had a pair made on Vulcan to match
the description in an ancient codex."

He stretched out an elegant hand toward Kirk's own, took the
man's left thumb between two fingers of his right hand.  Holding
his left hand upright, two fingers raised, he nodded for his
lover to do the same with his other hand.  Kirk raised two
fingers for a Vulcan kiss, hoping he could withstand the heat it
would create.

Light as a moth Spock let his two fingers graze down Jim's, at
the same time placing the burning circle on the thumb of his
lover.  For a moment they sat unmoving, looking into each other's
eyes unflinchingly, eyes in colors never meant to meet in nature,
never meant to share this fire.

The Vulcan blinked once and came back to the present.  He handed
the second ring to Jim, and placed his hands in the position
Jim's had just held. In turn Jim let his fingers glide along his
lover's, while placing the second flame on Spock's right thumb.

As the ring slid home Jim felt a jolt in his solar plexus and he
jumped a little.  "The first level is achieved," whispered Spock.
"The link can be established.  We proceed."

Momentarily he bowed his head, then lifted it back and cried
aloud, "The ancients did not lie!"  At his exhortation the room
seemed to shimmer, to dip, to pulse with an orange glow.  Whether
this was sympathetic magic or his own mental confusion Kirk never
knew.  He was having trouble concentrating:  he seemed to be
falling backward into a dark, deep pool, with nothing in view but
Spock's saturnine face.

Spock resettled himself more firmly against Kirk, but making sure
only their knees touched.  He placed the human's fingers gently
on his own face, thumbs at the temples, four fingers along the
nerves running between his eyes and ears.  In turn he reached
across and placed his own hands on Kirk's head, but with his
thumbs pressed firmly on the forehead.

Jim first noticed that his hearing had grown much more acute.
Then he began to hear the whisper of Spock's thoughts.  He felt
the whisper grow louder, as his lover's thumbs bore down more
heavily on his forehead.

My thoughts to your thoughts, he heard Spock say.  My mind to
your mind, Spock said, as he felt the slower pace of Jim's
thoughts begin to break in on his own.  He had to stifle the urge
to rush forward, sprinting after the thing he had longed for
since forever--a small figure at the end of a long tunnel,
brilliant white against the tunnel's darkness.

We become one, we share minds, we share the link.  We are flesh
of flesh, bone of bone, seed of seed, parted and not, ever and
always touching and touched.

Spock felt the outlines of Kirk's more transparent self, he
sensed the lesser mind begin to expand upward, reaching toward a
plane of light just out of reach.  He could sense Kirk's synapses
displacing and reshaping, his heartbeat coming much faster than
the human norm but far short of the Vulcan rhythm.  So far as he
had been able to determine, no human had suffered heart damage in
a mind-meld, but he had not been able to find a precedent for a
human going through the complete kridyll-a.  Another first for
James T. Kirk. . .

Spock moved onward deliberately, keeping a watch on his lover's
well- being, but nonetheless stretching him inexorably further.
Under his insistent hands the link took form, not weak and
shadowy as with McCoy, planted of necessity but only half set,
hurry, hurry,  must go *now*--*remember.*

Kirk's mind settled at Spock's purposeful touch--it pulsed with
new visions, staggering under the weight of the katra, but strong
and borne forward on love.  A good match, despite the laws
forbidding outworlders.

The ring on his thumb seemed on fire, seemed a weight pulling him
toward Spock.   From the stone sparks seemed to flash, carrying
the scent of Vulcan--of red dust, of crushed spices, of glowing
charcoal in a copper bowl.

"Kluthi meu, kluthi meu,"  Spock spoke clearly in the ancient
language, Hear me, hear me, set the link between us.  Now and
always, this man I have chosen, t'hy'la, t'lassa.  None before
him, none before me, he always mine and I always his.  Let it be
so.

At his mate's words, a riot of images broke in upon Kirk's
thoughts like a tsunami:  fires, mountains, deserts in
rainstorms, wizened priests with swords, strange letters on walls
that turned to snakes and lava as he looked, paired creatures of
all sorts locked in passionate, impossible positions, generations
of Vulcans racing past in thought and word--the cacophony was
overwhelming, his reason wavered.

Spock felt he was falling backward--a sea of waving grass opened
beneath him, a low hill he was rolling down forever in the warm,
scented sun.  Birthday parties, a soft voice singing to him at
dusk, cub cruiser chases.  Laughter he heard, and firing rocket
engines:  the faces of a hundred women poured past, galaxies of
starships, a thousand men in uniforms, and himself at the end of
the line.

Then he felt Kirk's mind slipping sideways, struggling to master
the riot of images, languages, and ancient racial memories that
were breaking over him.  Spock sensed Kirk fighting, working to
absorb what he was being shown, trying to master it all instead
of letting it pass harmlessly inward of its own accord.  Spock
reached across the void and tried to show Kirk the way, thinking
to himself  _I should have prepared him first, I should have told
him more._  Kirk's mind began to recede, to shrink back from the
tumult, and Spock found he couldn't grasp Kirk.  The human was
instinctively setting up barriers, some primitive sense trying to
stem the invasion.  Waves of anxiety began to sweep through
Spock, as he saw the human losing ground and retreating to maybe
an impenetrable state of mind.  He made a last lunge as he sensed
final doors closing in Kirk's mind, and set up a tenuous contact.

_It's ok, Jim.  Don't resist. Let the images do the work._

_Help me, Spock, I don't know what to do._

_Let go.  Watch.  These are Vulcan racial memories, as well as
many of my own._

The sense of panic Spock was receiving began to ebb, as his lover
stopped fighting the transmission.  Spock felt Kirk's mind
expanding, stretching to encompass a history deeper than any on
his home planet.

Spock's eyes flicked open first.  Kirk found the hooded eyes
gazing at him from a light year away, and he marveled he had not
noted the thousand centuries of Vulcan history in them before.
He could hear Spock, he could feel Spock, and he could see
himself as if from a distance.  He realized that he was becoming
Spock, and Spock him:  that his vision was doubled and yet more
singular than any human's.

Spock shifted his hands slightly, and the room's shadows seemed
to shift as well.  Kirk felt his skin enlarging, felt light
currents of electricity running through him, felt every nerve
altering to fit the Vulcan mode.  He felt desire rise in him as a
tide, and he unconsciously shifted his own hands farther back on
Spock's head.

Spock's lips widened in an unmistakable smile:  See, Kirk heard
himself and Spock think, never and always touching and touched.
Kirk felt his stomach turn over, felt he had never seen Spock
look so beautiful, felt he must be in him, feel his heat, feel
his very bones.  And suddenly, he realized he was in him,
realized he was looking at Spock from the inside and out.

It had been years since he had had a formal mind-meld with Spock,
and then only under duress.  Then, there had been no preparation
whatsoever, no readiness, no *desire* to be one with a mind so
different from his own.  And yet, the traces left behind took
weeks to dissipate--made him jump when the Vulcan offered
comments in staff meetings, made him run a fever when Spock had
contracted Kephallian flu, made him pant inexplicably when he
knew Spock was exercising in the gym.

Awash in sensation, he heard Spock say, "The second level is
achieved.  Now we rest."

Each lay back on the futon, his mind a whirl of visions,
experiences, languages familiar and yet new.  Their hands came
together, and the fire bands set up a small disturbing current.
Jim turned his head sideways and again took in the spare frame,
the greenish skin and midnight hair.  Full lips, sensitive ears,
upswept brows looking surprised, against all knowledge to the
contrary.

He recalled the first time he had seen a Vulcan, as a young cadet
at the Academy.  Crossing the campus, he had seen a hundred yards
away a lithe, sensuous figure.  On closer examination the figure
surprisingly turned out to be a man, or a male.  Kirk's libido
had been puzzled:  he held in high esteem (as did many of the
other cadets) his ability to identify available women at some
distance, like a dog finding a bitch in heat the joke was among
his cruder friends. But what was the attraction here?  What made
his head turn whenever Sevar entered the room?  At the time he'd
put it down to too much regulated living--tight quarters with
cadets of all genders and many backgrounds.  He'd just been
thankful his orientation suitemate hadn't been a Deltan.

Still, there was the moment when he'd found a Vulcan was to be
his second in command--a breathless pause, a desire to shake
hands, which he knew was strictly non-policy for Vulcans.  But
he'd managed to get on together with this most alien of aliens,
get his work done, sticky moments often lubricated by the
too-knowing McCoy.  He'd put his constant awareness of his first
officer down to a simple fascination with different races.

And here they were now, against all odds.  Kirk could feel
himself becoming aroused at the thought, at the admission to
himself of what--who--he was lying next to.

Peacefully stretched next to a whirlwind of unaccustomed
thoughts, Spock quietly noted the reverie passing through his
lover's mind.  It felt odd to have the accustomed barriers
against intrusion dropped, much more revealing than if he had
simply taken his clothes off.  But he felt comfortable, as never
before, with the supply of half-alien images, bare human rage,
lust, insecurity, fear, trust, confidence.  Many familiar
emotions:  many he'd tried to cut out of himself altogether,
others well beyond his half-human experience.  But still, he had
to welcome many as old friends--how ironic that in the end he had
chosen a human as his mate.  There would be no escaping the world
of emotions, now.

As Jim's blood began to pound and his desire beat in Spock's
ears, he felt his stomach turning to water, felt himself take the
next step onward. Slowly he sat up, and Jim did the same.
Swiftly Spock laid him back down, and ran a long finger the
length of his chest.  He approached the magnificent swelling,
standing out like a rock amid the tangle of glinting curls.  He
circled his thumb and finger around Jim's cock and tugged gently
upward. His heart pounded at the sure knowledge this was all an
offering to him: months, years of love and lust denied all rushed
together.

He bent forward to take Jim's cock in his mouth.  Jim gasped, as
before, at the alteration in temperature, at the suction that
narrow mouth and strong throat could create.  He felt silken lips
rise and fall, he saw the ebony hair fall away from the high
forehead as Spock's head moved up and down, giving him exquisite,
neverending, unbearable pleasure.

His tongue flickering back and forth found the tender spot, the
streak on the underside.  As Spock slowed to nibble, Jim realized
he was feeling in stereo: his thoughts linked now to Spock's, he
was both the sender and receiver of those novel radio waves.

Spock began to pick up the speed of his caress, working with
tongue and throat and lips.  He wanted to feel Jim's hardness in
him, all ways, and most of all like this. Jim groaned beneath
him, struggling to accept the sensations Spock was supplying, at
the same time his mind disbelievingly told him he was doing this
to himself.

Jim began to shudder uncontrollably, and Spock immediately
stopped.  He pressed a strong thumb against the base of Jim's
cock, and the orgasm died away and left Kirk writhing.  "Not
yet," Spock whispered effortlessly in his ear.  "We are not yet
linked at the last level--you are not yet ready.  But soon," he
said in a whisper of his normal resonant baritone.

"Soon, t'hy'la, always and ever."

He had been surprised to see Jim Kirk respond so strongly to his
caresses and yet be so overwhelmed by the passing of the images.
This did not correspond well with what he had found in the
archives about this rite, and he reconsidered his notion to lead
Kirk through the stages blind, with no advance warning.  He had
understood that ignorance of what was to come formed the
strongest link, the one most involved at a subconscious level,
but it was not worth risking Kirk's sanity on a Vulcan
technicality.

He altered the strokes of his hands from the erotic to the
soothing, while he debated.  As he worked, Jim seemed to hum
under his hands--the stretching and contented rumbling in his
throat reminded Spock of felines he had seen on various planets.
Curious.  Typical of Terran sexual response?  Absent other data,
he would never know.  It seemed peculiar to turn away from a
possible area of research, but the human's influence was already
strong in him, and he was coming to know the difference--though
illogical--between areas governed by taboo, and by rational
thought.

After some moments he made his mind up.  He gave Jim a final kiss
and said, "I must make some preparations.  The third level is
often the most difficult to achieve, and physically the most
complex.  I will need a small fire, some ink, a bowl of water.
Pillows would also be useful."

Jim responded, "There's an old Earth game called a scavenger
hunt, you know, where participants are given lists of strange
items that they have to collect in a certain period of time.
You're not thinking of that, are you?" Spock raised a dubious
eyebrow.  "Sorry, Spock, couldn't help myself.  The fire I think
we can rig in the fireplace, even though it's only September.
Water's no problem.  Ink?  Let me think.  Like for a pen, do you
mean? I doubt I have any around."

Spock said, "It needs to be something that leaves a mark on the
skin.  The ceremony used to involve branding, but then evolved
toward marking with ink or paint."

"Ah, paint.  I think McCoy left a watercolor set here some months
back. Would that do?  I'll see if I can find it."

So saying, Kirk headed off toward his study, and Spock heard
sounds of rummaging.  "Aha!" he heard after a moment.  "Ink after
all!"  Kirk returned holding a black stick with some red shapes
carved on it.  Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Jim said
"Souvenir of Chinatown.  An ink stick. You chop it up, add water,
and presto, ink.  Highly portable, very practical."

The two men went to the kitchen, where Jim did as he'd just
described, and after a moment presented Spock with a small bowl
of what seemed to be black ink.  Spock filled a similar bowl with
water, and the two men sat down on either side of the fireplace,
as they had done before.

Jim kindled a small fire and tossed the extra pillows from the
couch onto the floor at their feet.

"Now what?" he said.

"First, you require a little preparation and information," said
Spock.  "The kridyll-a comes from the distant past on Vulcan.  It
is a somewhat archaic method involving three levels--two that we
have already passed through, and a third yet to come.  I learned
about it when I was a young man and then forgot it.  I saw it
mentioned again when I was retraining, and I decided to seize the
opportunity offered--that was when I had the rings made.  I did
not know how you would feel about such a relationship, whether
you would be willing to pass through the more standard ceremony,
the kal-if-fee, which you have seen.  That is obviously a much
more public rite. It generally involves family members, and for
those reasons can sometimes cause difficulties."

"Like if the family of one party opposes marriage to a
non-Vulcan," Kirk said softly.

Spock looked him in the eyes and saw that he knew what he was up
against. The story of Sarek's misgivings about the
Earth-controlled Starfleet was well known in the Fleet.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Then let's go on," said Jim.  "Let's do this, and worry about
consequences later."

Spock silently noted the same violent independence that had
caused Jim to hijack a starship; his approval mixed with concern.
He continued.  "The rite involves establishing a strong
mind-meld, so that all aspects of each other's character and past
experience are known.  The first level establishes whether a link
can be made, and sets the outline of the path--partly
electrochemical-- through the rings--and partly mental.  The
second builds on the first:  it transmits and establishes
memories and shared experiences. The third level builds on the
second, one could say. Thereafter, with one's character so
exposed and understood, it is possible for the other partner to
gauge or anticipate one's partner's acts."

"Is that where 'parted from you and never parted' comes in?" said
Jim.

"Yes, to some extent," replied Spock.  "The rite takes place in
the presence of fire and water, without which we cannot live. I
mentioned the rite was long used between men in different
clans--the elements were a sign of the depth to which they relied
on each other. At the end, the water quenches the fire, but the
steam still rises, continuing the circle."

He set to work kindling a small fire, and set the bowls of ink
and water on the hearth.  From the pocket of the red robe Spock
produced the box that had held the rings.  He opened it and
tipped it out on his palm, and Kirk saw a sort of figure-8 with a
handle welded to the back where the loops crossed. Spock held it
up so he could see it, and Kirk noted that there were small
points at intervals on the face of the 8. Spock palmed the
device. Now seemingly satisfied with his arrangements, he
gestured for Kirk to kneel on a cushion facing him.  He knelt
too, and gestured for Jim to move closer, within the range of
Spock's long arms.

Spock placed his right hand against Kirk's head and clasped his
lover's other hand with his own.  They seemed to have completed
an electric circuit, causing every sensation to circle back, and
circle back, and circle back. Kirk felt Spock strengthening the
mind meld, felt the stronger mind reaching for his own, shaping,
exploring, pressing onward as if opening a series of doors.  Kirk
felt naked before the power he could sense, and yet he welcomed
the strength and sense of order that was offered.

Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder.  Quite
startled, he looked down, but he couldn't see anything wrong.
Then he noticed that Spock's shoulder was oozing green:  Spock
had dropped Jim's hand, dipped the figure-8 in the ink, and
marked his own shoulder with the points deeply enough to draw
blood.  A dark pair of loops now stood out from the greenish
skin.  Just as Jim was sorting out why he would feel pain if he
wasn't injured, Spock reached over and marked his shoulder in the
same way. Jim jumped again--then realized that the pain of
Spock's injury and his own felt the same to him--as if they were
both his own wounds.  Very strange. Like what Spock had been
doing to him in the second level.  Amazing.

"Tattoos?" he said sharply.

"I did mention it used to be brands," replied Spock.  "The other
reason for the fire.  I chose the more progressive form of
kridyll-a."

"For which we may all be thankful," replied the captain.

Curiously, Kirk found that the pain in his shoulder concentrated
his mind. On one hand, he was feeling pain times two--his own and
Spock's--but on the other it made him see how his whole body had
become a tuned instrument of reception.  Each time Spock caressed
his head Jim picked up more vibration, more sensation, more need,
demand, imperative to unite.

Jim thought to himself, and to Spock, I am not sure I can take
this doubling and redoubling.  This may be more than I can stand
. . .

The pain and the accompanying sensual gratification moved
through, across, into his mind and linked them into one silver
haze of pleasure, sent and received, already so magnified for the
human as to be nearly impossible to bear. Holding him firmly,
Spock bespoke him:  we are becoming one, you will draw my
strength and join it with your own.  You will not fail. . .

Spock's need kept pace with Jim's.  Their fingers moving
simultaneously on the pressure points as the ancient rhythm grew,
and grew, and began to take them out on the wave.  They rode with
the tide, feeling the sun rise over them, grey dawn, first
strokes of light, pulsing, pulsing, growing hotter, stronger,
unavoidable, until the sun seemed to take them up in it.

When Jim thought he could bear it no longer, and could only shout
Spock's name endlessly, he felt the orgasm explode inside his
head, without stopping.  His mind turned toward that of his
lover, now one with him, one in spirit--and the conflagration did
not stop.  Wave after wave of water, of sunlight, of duststorms,
swirled across them both.  Jim shuddered uncontrollably, the wave
in him swelled and swelled until he lost all sensation--felt
nothing but the commanding mental presence and its driving,
alien, intimately familiar force--himself, lying spread across
the universe, forever linked with the one who could bring him
this bliss, this nirvana. Spock ignited at the images Jim brought
him through the tripled and quadrupled sensations.  He saw Jim
ahead of him on the wave and raced to catch up, to swamp him with
the impulses they were generating and receiving, feeding to each
other as if their lives depended on it, wrapping nerve endings
and brain circuits around each other like a grapevine reaching
for the sun.

Spock's voice rose up within their minds:  _The third level is
achieved.  there is no turning back, because there is no path.
ever and always touching and touched, no matter the distance or
time._

After a while Kirk again began to sense the room around him.  He
identified the pressure on his chest as Spock's arm and on his
thigh as Spock's leg, thrown there when Spock lost consciousness
with him.  Softly he rubbed the arm and leg he could reach, and
felt Spock stir.  The Vulcan pulled his hand back and withdrew.
Jim was surprised to feel as if they were still linked in the
flesh.  _It is the mind-link,_ thought Spock to him.  _You will
get used to it; it will become more a second sense and less the
feeling of a communicator in your head._

At this Kirk laughed.  _No laughing matter,_ said Spock.  _Life
as a human offers no preparation for this communication; humans
have been known to find it rather a challenge._

_How'd you manage that, sex without bodies?_ said Jim in
admiration and surprise.

_When working with races not naturally telepathic, we
accidentally found that parts of the brain involved in telepathy
are often also activated as part of sexual response.  The
opposite is sometimes also true.  That is, sexual activity allows
access to different brain and physiological functions.  That is
one of the reasons why we are careful about engaging in
mind-melds with nontelepaths; the results can be surprising, not
to say personally invasive.  I suspect that is also a reason why
telepathy was long opposed on conservative planets--it was too
revealing on too many levels._

_Well, you could have told me we were making love without using
our bodies._

_Is sex then not also cerebral, for humans?  Is such a use of
one's brain so different from the 'norm'?_

_In my experience, yes. Call me conventional, but there are
certain parts of my body I usually expect to involve in a typical
encounter.  But Spock, it doesn't matter.  It was anything but a
typical encounter.  I wouldn't change a thing._

He tried to convey in a direct look at Spock what the kridyll-a
meant, what his feelings about the situation were.  With a finger
Jim caressed the glittering fire on his thumb, and marveled
quietly at what the last two days had brought him.

"Spock," said Jim.  At the change in tone Spock sat up and faced
his lover.

"Yes?"

"Don't misunderstand me.  I have no qualms about you, about--" he
gestured to encompass their camping equipment, the discarded
clothing, the room-- "this.  But we may need to take it a little
gradually.  Starfleet's only just busted me; I'm not sure this is
the best time to alter my personnel records to show I've married
one of the few Enterprise officers they regard as sensible. And
having Ambassador Sarek as a father-in-law . . ."

A small shiver of doubt passed through Spock.  Jim surprised
himself by feeling it, and correctly identifying it.

_No, don't get me wrong.  No second thoughts about this, about
you.  But let's take it as it comes, for a while, anyway.  You
want to tell Sarek, that's fine; we'll send him a joint comm.
Your mother too.  I only wish I had parents and family to tell.
Just Peter, I suppose . . ._

Spock finished in a surprisingly businesslike fashion.  He tipped
the bowls of water and ink into the fire, sending a small column
of blackish steam up the chimney.  He stood and bowed toward the
fire, hands pressed together, muttering a stream of words Kirk
couldn't distinguish.  Spock then turned back to Kirk and bowed
again.  He pressed his ringed thumb against Kirk's tattoo,
gestured for Kirk to do the same to him.  He said, "We are done."

He strolled off toward the bathroom.  Kirk heard the sound of the
shower, and he reflected it was convenient Starfleet had
renegotiated the water rights so as to provide San Francisco with
what it really needed.  The two of them had used up what had once
been a week's water ration in one day.

Spock returned, drying his hair with a towel.  He tipped his head
in the direction of the bathroom, which Jim took as a hint to
follow suit.  Soon they were both clean and dry, Kirk wearing
on-the-town clothes and Spock in some of his clean camping stuff.
They began to discuss where they might get a decent dinner.

"You look a little rustic for some of the local spots," said
Kirk, "but I can think of a pub or two with decent food."

"As you know I like Italian," said Spock.  Kirk shot a look at
the impassive face and wondered if Spock was experimenting with
irony. He thought he could see the glimmer of a smile but let it
pass.

They headed down the stairs and out of the building.  Kirk turned
them to the left, toward the restaurant district, and after a few
minutes' walk nudged Spock's shoulder to turn him into the
doorway of a pub.  "The One-Eyed Moose" said the wood flap
jutting from the building, and a jaundiced specimen of North
American fauna stared down at them from the signboard.

"Better food than it looks," said Jim, "and good draft beer.
Tough to get on a starship."

Spock nodded his head in acquiescence.

They stepped in the door and found themselves a table near the
entrance. Looking around the room Spock was somewhat surprised by
the number of Starfleet types who were present.  He queried his
guide, who replied that in San Francisco he'd found it hard to
find comfortable spots that weren't full of fellow travelers.  He
couldn't decide whether it was that Fleet employees all had
similar taste, or whether he'd become so accustomed to a military
setting that he couldn't go without it.

"A few years ago I stopped caring," Jim said, "and I mostly
concentrated on who had the good food and drink. All unreplicated,
of course."

Spock studied the menu pad in front of them, trying to identify
ingredients from the odd names, and looking for a place to punch
in his order.  A waitron came to stand in front of them, and Kirk
said under his breath, "They use real people for this, just for
the atmosphere."

"Ah," said Spock, uncertainly.  "I see."  After a moment's
reflection he ordered a sandwich that featured something named
"Tiger Sauce," while his companion chose a "Mugger's Special" and
a pint of bitter from a local microbrewery.

"Tiger sauce?" said Spock to Kirk.  "Sauce made of tigers?  made
for a main course of tigers?  made for customers who are tigers?"

"Atmosphere, Spock, atmosphere," said Jim, nudging his elbow and
grinning at him. "Menus aren't logical exercises, you know."

Spock looked unconvinced.

Their sandwiches and drinks arrived fairly quickly, and both dug
in with enthusiasm.

Fairly quickly they finished their meal.  Kirk relaxed in his
chair and began to study the room.  Spock appeared to be waiting
patiently; he had long since grown used to the social aspect of
human dining, which had at first struck him as an illogical waste
of time.  However, it was Spock who first caught sight of a party
of two Vulcans and a Deltan approaching from behind Kirk, all in
Starfleet uniforms.

"Captain Spock?" said the first Vulcan, a lieutenant.  He saluted
as he spoke.

"Correct," replied Spock.

"This is a gratifying meeting.  We look forward to your comments
on death at the upcoming symposium.  I wanted to take this
opportunity in advance to ask you to address the issue of . . . "

At this the Vulcan was interrupted by his colleague, who had
spotted the thumb-rings and nudged his arm.

The second Vulcan turned to Spock and said in a manner even more
stately than usual, "From my house to your house, greetings and
approval.  I anticipate good fortune for you and your
descendants.  May your marriage have as many years as the Pontos
Desert has grains of sand."

Both Vulcans bowed, as Kirk watched in some surprise.  The Deltan
had cocked her head to one side after her salute, seeming to
study Kirk and Spock.  Her aura created a current of sexual
stimulation that the males present couldn't avoid, despite the
suppressant drugs she would be taking.  It added a further sexual
current to an already awkward situation.

Spock rose to his feet, steepled his fingers and bowed toward the
Vulcans.  "From my house to your house, thanks and good will.  We
acknowledge your wishes with appreciation."  He bowed again.

Kirk had been the last to rise, and stood just as the group broke
up.  The Vulcans gave cursory half-bows, then half-salutes, in
his direction.  With the Deltan they continued their path to the
door.

"What was *that* all about?" said Kirk at Spock's ear.

Spock replied, tipping his head toward Jim, "It was perhaps a
miscalculation to announce a marriage publicly before advising
family members."

"Is there a problem?" replied Kirk, feeling puzzled and a bit
anxious.

"The Vulcans did not use the proper form of greeting.  They did
not address you, nor did they acknowledge your ancestors."

"So?"

"This is Vulcan prejudice.  It cloaks itself in the guise of
logic--the logic of excluding those different, so as to preserve
what is a minority culture within the Federation.  It is
prejudice nonetheless."

"Does this pose a problem?"

"Perhaps I ought to have contacted my family first.  Or you
should have informed Starfleet of your change in status.  But it
is of no importance.  What has happened has happened."  Spock took
a long pull from his glass.

Kirk gestured for the bill, Spock proffered his card, and they
were on their way.  As they strolled along the sidewalk Spock
seemed lost in thought, hardly noticing the unfamiliar city
around him.  Most atypical.  Kirk watched him out of the corner
of his eye:  he had been meaning to suggest a tour of some of the
neighborhood spots of interest, but Spock's expressionless face
seemed to argue against sight-seeing.

Instead Kirk steered him with a few nudges back in the direction
of his-- their--apartment.  As they were going back up the stairs
Spock seemed to become aware of his surroundings, and he turned
to face Kirk as he palmed the door.

_I should have anticipated this,_ said Spock.  Jim started a
little at hearing Spock's voice in his head, but the sensation
quickly felt natural.

_It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you,_ he replied.

_It is not so much a question of my own situation.  A more
circumspect path would have been logical, until my family had
been informed._

_What's done is done,_ said the human.  _We're adults after all,
and one of us isn't very logical._

_True,_ said Spock.  _But still, tradition calls for more formal
announcement to family members. . .    As you say, what's done is
done._

They were inside, now, jackets hung by the door, boots on the
wooden rack below, all very domestic.

Jim turned to Spock and took him by the elbow.  "What now?" he
said. "I wouldn't go back, not for anything.  I want this, and I
think you do, too."

"Yes," said Spock.  "We are already far outside the boundaries of
tradition, obviously.  Vulcan common law made no provision for
involving outworlders in ceremonies, to say nothing of having
them as principals.  You remember T'Pau's initial rejection of
you and McCoy, when T'Pring . . ."

Kirk stepped forward and put a hand on Spock's shoulder.

"I remember," he said quickly.  At the recollection of Spock on
fire, at the utmost stretch of self-control trying to keep down
the raging flames--Kirk felt his cheeks flush and he looked Spock
hard in the face, trying to gauge his reactions.

Again Spock spoke to him:  _Jim.  Do not worry.  Nothing will
change or break the link.  Circumstances can alter, but not
facts._

Jim sighed and closed his eyes.  Then he stretched a little and
walked across the living room toward the bedroom.  At the door he
turned and made a gesture of invitation.  Spock responded
immediately, military force of habit combining with personal
inclination.  He followed Jim toward their bedroom and shed his
clothes tidily, efficiently, producing a neat stack that
contrasted with the heap on the floor next to Jim, now lying
under the covers with his hands behind his head.

Through nearly closed eyes Jim had watched Spock undress.  He
silently marveled at the events of the last few days, and began
to cast his mind forward to what might come of this.  Paths
branched in front of him, featuring complexities of different
sorts--Starfleet complications, family complications,
complications of rank.  Time enough for that tomorrow.  The now in
front of him held the man he had watched die, and then mystically
reappear.  That was the now worth attention.

Spock had stretched his lean form alongside the human's and had
comfortably settled his hands on his stomach.  Jim could sense
the mind turning calmly here and there, settling itself for the
night.

"Jim," said the Vulcan.

"Yes?"

"It took me quite a long time to identify what I felt for you."

"Oh?"

"When you stood for T'Pring against me, the speed with which I
lost interest in her did not conform to tradition.  At the time I
thought it was a natural response to my erroneous belief  that I
had killed my commanding officer, but I came to think otherwise."

"When did you know? or when did you decide?"

"Curiously, it was when you had been kidnapped by Janice Lester."

"What?  That long ago? You're kidding."

"For the rest of us, it was fascinating to see you as a woman, to
identify which characteristics were James Kirk, and which ones
incidental to gender and appearance."

"It was among the more unpleasant moments in my dealings with
women, I must say."

"That is hardly surprising.  And yet, to see which facets of your
character were visible nonetheless was most interesting.  That
division of characters had the effect of making bluntly clear
what the elemental aspects of your personality were."

"Well, I'm glad to know something good came of that mess."

"In fact, shortly thereafter I began a detailed study of human
character, and gender-based traits.  Most instructive.  I came to
know that you were the most logical choice for me, in
temperament, in values, in shared interests, in abilities.  It
made clear what an inappropriate choice T'Pring would have been,
for the same reasons."

"So you're here with me now because I was the most logical
choice?  Come on, Spock, that's hardly flattering to a man's ego.
Though come to think of it, 'most logical' is probably the
highest compliment a Vulcan can pay."

"That is true in a manner of speaking.  Yet there are other reasons,
too--they are among the many things I was trying to convey to you when
I was dying, when I knew I would never touch you, that we would never
be mated.  I had always thought the right moment would come, and I
waited too long--it didn't."

He paused.

"It is also true that my views on this matter would have been
conveyed to McCoy, when he carried my katra."

"Probably that explains why he's been so fast off the mark.  His
smirk today was insufferable--I'm going to put him to cleaning
the biobeds as soon as we're back on board."

"McCoy may be a powerful ally in coming days.  It remains to be
seen what Starfleet thinks of our arrangement, and support from a
fellow senior officer would be valuable."

Kirk settled himself backward, pushing away the notion Spock had
raised about public reception of their decision.  Time enough for
that later.

"Well, Spock, I don't know about you, but I'm beat.  Call it a
day?"

Spock reached up and placed his hand on Kirk's face.  Gently he
thought himself inward, and said _Goodnight, t'hy'la._

Kirk sighed with an easy contentment and reached out with _Spock
. . . _

---

Kirk woke first the next morning, and bounded from bed with the
enthusiasm of the farm boy he had once been.  He trotted off to
the kitchen, while Spock was still orienting himself in the
unfamiliar room.

Jim quickly heated a couple more biscuits and made coffee.  He
was busy moving the food to the dining room table when Spock
appeared.  They ate quickly, without much conversation, as if
this morning was no different from the many others on which they
had shared a meal.

As they were eating the comm port beeped again, and walking over
Kirk found it was McCoy trying to reach them.

"I'm finally set, Jim; we've saved the world again, at least for
now.  I'm ready for more vacation--I don't know about you."

There was that indecently cheerful grin again--Jim shuddered to
think what it might mean.

"I'm about ready to head back to the site; can I meet you there
in a couple of hours?"

"Yes, Bones, let's aim for mid-morning.  We'll probably hike a
good part of the way in."

"Sounds fine.  McCoy out."

Jim clicked off the screen and headed to the shower. He beckoned
to Spock with a suggestive crook of his hand.  He wondered to
himself if he would always be the sexual aggressor in their
atypical match--nothing in his experience helped him sense where
his role lay, if indeed it lay anywhere--if indeed he had a role.
It felt strange to act on the basis of inclination, rather than
custom, but perhaps this would make it a more egalitarian
relationship. Who knew.

In the meantime, Spock was helping him remove his robe, and was
warming him with his own higher body temperature.  Spock had
twisted on the water in the shower, adjusted the temperature, and
mostly finished washing Jim clean, as he had done the previous
day.  But now what?  Spock was again moving him here and there
with a nudge, placing his hands against the wall, drawing his
feet apart.

In a spread-eagled position, Jim leaned his cheek against the
cool tile and concentrated on the feelings Spock was drawing from
him.  The long alien fingers were bringing him alive, drawing
amazing sensations from the most unlikely parts of his body.
Spock reached around and ran his fingers up the front of Kirk's
thighs, then drew patterns on his stomach.  He molded his hands
to the muscles now standing out in Jim's arms, as they supported
his own weight and part of Spock's against the wall.

Spock leaned up against Jim, embracing him head to toe, letting
him feel his growing erection, reaching around to stroke him to
the same stage.  Next Jim felt a deeply personal pressure, felt
Spock slipping in . . . a finger? or, maybe,  . . .  The image of
Spock in such an act inflamed him:  he groaned aloud, from deep
in his throat, an animalistic cry of longing and desire.

Spock understood the sound for what it was and pressed forward
strongly, the soft head of his cock pushing forward, feeling Jim
stretch to meet him, feeling him arch back to make his entry
easier, more pleasurable, to allow those twin rings to seek their
natural home.

With Jim bracing both of them against the wall, Spock could reach
around and caress the other with a devastating thoroughness.  Jim
rocked his hips as Spock touched him, trying to match the rhythm
that the Vulcan was setting up.  Jim could feel the rings move
back, forward, in, out, each stroke seeming more than he could
bear, and each making him want more, more. He could feel the heat
Spock was generating, could sense the ridged bars of flesh moving
them inexorably onward.

Spock groaned gently in his lover's ear, taken unaware by the
still-new sensation of being with Jim, in him, of one body with
the man he had so long wanted, desired, loved.  At the sound of
Spock's groan, Jim began to tremble in earnest, feeling the roots
of his climax take shape, grow like a flower.  It began to rise,
to spill, to take them both upward in a towering column of
liquid, like the shower still surging over their heads.

After a moment of hard breathing, Jim spoke in Spock's ear, "Good
morning to you from the planet Earth."

The Vulcan shot an eyebrow up, withdrew slowly.  Without a word
he finished rinsing both of them off.  As Spock made a move to
turn off the shower, Kirk wrapped his arms around him and stood
them both in the warm flow for a moment, relishing the closeness,
the chance to do what felt natural, rather than worrying about
what others thought.  The road ahead would have a few bumps . . .

After a bit they dried themselves and shouldered into their
clothes, their minds and their conversation turning toward their
abandoned shoreleave and their absent friend.  Kirk tossed Spock
a few clean shirts and some other odds and ends, and he swept
through the kitchen gathering some food to take along.

Packs safely stowed, they headed out the door to the transport
pad.  Their return to the park was mirror of their trip out,
except for the moment on the pad outside Kirk's building when
they were looking at San Francisco.  Kirk leaned close to Spock's
tilted ear and whispered, "Could you make it your home?"  Kirk
shot him an ambiguous grin and began manipulating controls before
Spock could speak.

Spock still found himself occasionally puzzled by the human habit
of asking questions that were not questions.  Language did not
always behave in a logical fashion.  It was a challenge.

Soon they were at the ranger station's pad.  They hopped off and
began the hike back to their site.  Casting an eye at the sun,
Spock said, "McCoy will likely have preceded us to the campsite,
if his work went well."

Kirk, humming as he walked, said nothing but turned to Spock and
smiled.  After a few moments he replied, "Are you ready?  Dress
rehearsal's over-- this is the real thing.  Public announcement,
to close personal friends.  It's not too late to go back . . ."

"As a matter of fact, it is too late to go back, for several
reasons."

"Spock, Spock, it's just a figure of speech.  You know I wouldn't
alter this-- besides, McCoy strongly suspects already.  You can't put
much past those sharp medical eyes."

In the end they didn't get to the site until late afternoon.
Spock saw a number of  plants and rocks that caught his interest,
and they stopped to examine most of them.  Apologetically he
indicated he had been too preoccupied on their earlier hike to
notice much around him.  Kirk gave him a private smile and said,
"It's taken me thirty years to learn what breaks a Vulcan's
concentration."

In a short moment their site came into view, and they were
pleased to see their companion already there, lying on his
bedroll, reading his book while a pot of something steamed on the
fire.

McCoy hopped to his feet, took a look at the two hikers, and
broke into a broad grin.  "Well, I'll be goddamned!" he said.
"If the two of you didn't figure it out after all.  My warm
congratulations to both of you."

Kirk began to sputter, but McCoy talked right over him.

"Spock, I believe the appropriate words are 'From my house to
your house, greetings and approval.  I anticipate good fortune for
you and your descendants.  May your marriage have as many years
as the Pontos Desert has grains of sand'."  McCoy turned and
offered the same greeting to his fellow human, who was turning
beet-red.  Spock looked nonplussed at McCoy's correct rendering
of the uncommonly used Vulcan formula.

McCoy chuckled and said "I've been dying to use that and see your
face.  Bet you didn't think I knew that kind of stuff!"

With dignity Spock replied, "From my house to your house, thanks
and good will.  We acknowledge your wishes with appreciation."
He bowed a second time.

McCoy turned to Kirk with a grin and said, "See?  I've been
studying up, waiting for just the right moment.  Maybe you boys
wanna be alone?"

"Pardon?" said Spock.  "If we preferred to be alone, we would not have
returned to camp with you."

McCoy said, "Jim, I hope you're ready to take this one on.  It
isn't everyone who's prepared to have a discussion first thing in
the morning about the logical order for putting coffee beans and
water into a coffee maker."

"OK, Bones, you've had your chance to let rip.  Can we pick up
where we left off, and just have some quiet shoreleave?"

"Quiet?  You gotta be kidding.  You tell me that one of
Starfleet's most controversial admirals, recently busted to
captain in case you've forgotten, has decided to form a personal
bond--using the ancient kridyll-a rite if my eyes don't mislead
me--with his first officer, who incidentally comes from a planet
that's not exactly welcoming to aliens, and you wanna be quiet?
Boy, are you in for a surprise.  Seems to me it's my medical and
psychological duty to get you two up to speed on what'll be
coming your way."

"How long have you been waiting for this?" replied Kirk, as Spock
set about methodically unpacking, seemingly oblivious.

"Given the way you two have been acting around each other lately,
we figured it would happen pretty soon or not at all.  Like how
you warmed up to Gillian, just like your old self, as Scotty was
saying, and then not only did you *not* leave the hearing with
her, you waved her off so you could wait for Spock to finish
talking to Sarek.  Even Sulu commented on that, and he doesn't
usually say much about others' personal affairs.  So we all
figured it was probably now or never.  I just wish I could
remember who'll win the betting pool . . ."

Spock looked up in surprise from a clip he was wrestling with.  "
`Betting pool'?" he said, in the highest dudgeon a Vulcan could
muster.  "Am I to understand, Dr. McCoy, that our fellow officers
on the Enterprise have been wagering on the private lives of
their colleagues?"

"You betcha, Spock.  We only got around to drawing up the chart
and putting down the chits a few weeks ago, if that makes you
feel any better.  We began wondering about it years back, when
Jim couldn't leave you alone about Leila Kalomi.  He seemed
awfully interested in the state of your emotions, whether you
admitted you had them or not.  Not to mention his reaction to
your death--he said he felt 'young,' but he went right off the
deep end for weeks, constant log entries, staring out the window,
snapping at the cadets, the whole works.  When he proposed
stealing the Enterprise, we realized how bad it was, but we
figured his obsession would help him do what we wanted to do
anyway, so we all came along, as much to get him back as to get
you back, when you think of it.  Well, gentlemen, bra-*vo.*  'Bout
time *some* of us have something like a stable home life . . .
OK, if you're both gonna stay, and not go off on your own, hell,
let's have dinner.  Jim and I'll cook, and Spock, you can play
the dinner music."

Kirk slapped McCoy on the back and grinned at him.  "Bones, you
better make sure I get a cut of your winnings from the pool if
you clean up, or you're climbing the cliff with me next time.  In
fact, you're on for tomorrow!"

McCoy shot a look sideways at Spock and said, "Wouldn't you know
he'd pick the day he climbs El Capitan to make me climb with him.
What a silly risk of life!  Captain, I'm sorry, but you're not
gonna get me up there on that cliff.  It'll be quite bad enough
just watching you with the binox, and you'll need someone to pick
up the pieces when you fall."

Keeping up their banter, McCoy and Kirk set to work with the
potatoes, while Spock produced his small harp.  Through the
gloaming his deep voice murmured against the humming strings:
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that brought such chance to
me.  I once was lost but now am found; was blind but now I see. .
. . At last I lie beneath the palms, removed from human strife;
by grace made whole, made well, made free, brought back from
death to life. . . ."

---

The End