Captain Christopher Richard Pike (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mirroredcommand) wrote2009-08-13 07:49 pm
mirroredcommand) wrote2009-08-13 07:49 pm
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Another Confrontation in the Brig
The worst part of the time in the brig was the boredom. Normally he was a very, very busy man. He worked with the science division of his crew quite strongly when it was needed, in particular Spock on the replication of the alien technology that was the source of power for his gloves. They had many plans for it, in particular for the Enterprise herself.
Now he was alone, or possibly only mostly alone depending on who else was in the brig. Without the First Officer that was the single person he trusted in any universe. Briefly, he entertained the thought of Spock attempting to come through the barrier between universes to find him, but would not push the strength of their trust that far. But... perhaps.
For now... he could wait.
Now he was alone, or possibly only mostly alone depending on who else was in the brig. Without the First Officer that was the single person he trusted in any universe. Briefly, he entertained the thought of Spock attempting to come through the barrier between universes to find him, but would not push the strength of their trust that far. But... perhaps.
For now... he could wait.
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Spock had joined Starfleet because, standing in front of the Elders Council as they informed him of acceptance into the Vulcan Science Academy, highest honors on his name an his father's house, he had known the truth of himself without any room for doubt. To follow that path was to belong to another identity for the rest of his long life - to belong to anyone as he submitted to their expectations of him: brilliant, cold, as barren as Vulcan's Forge at high noon.
Now he belonged only to the people, places, and things which he himself had freely chosen.
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Spock's mind would be inundated with images, feelings, memories. Flickers of the two of them working together, the first rushed, brutal kiss that pressed up hard against the bulkhead of the Captain's quarters, the subsequent learnings of sex between them - a line of trust the captain of a ship in that universe rarely crossed.
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You are lovers.
Stating what is now obvious, not simply sex for the sake of domination, though there is that as well, hot between this Pike and that Spock, and a certain mutually satisfactory cruelty.
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The scene changed..
It was dark, but far from silent. The tiny sounds that came from the body against him, the burning flesh under his bare hands. The meeting of mouths, burning hot to cold, the grind of flesh on flesh. Moving in the low lights, pulling Spock's wrist to his mouth, and tonguing the scars there. Scars made by his own hand. A branding done by the knife, his own marking, making Spock his and his alone.
A hitch of breath, a near gasp, the skin always sensitive after he had marked the skin so deeply. Fingers dug into his shoulder, and dragged over the front, and then down his side. Teeth scraped his collar bone. Sex was rarely gentle between them, but despite their much aggressive existence, it was always charged. The single moment of release of their positions, the constant wary existence, just being able to be without the weight of everything else around them, the constant threat of death at every turn.
It was the only time other then a shower that Pike would remove the gloves that had made him into something so fierce.
And Spock always enjoyed taking advantage of that opening in times like these. The hand running down his side caught his hand, hot fingers interlaced with his, a hot palm pressed against the inside of his hand. A brief jolt of thoughts, none of them particularly coherent, but all flavoured with the same lust.
Spock's strength was always something tested but never abused. Something long since settled between them without the need of words or threat. They knew. If Spock pushed too far, Pike would not hesitate to use the gloves on him or some other form of punishment. 'Too far' had not yet happened. It was a flex of that strength that pulled him up from where he was laying on his back to their positions being reversed. His body was stretched out over top of Spock's, still lost in their battle of bites and sucks and scrapings of teeth.
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And Pike allowed it. The Spock watching his memories could see no immediate anger at being controlled for a moment, in fact desiring it. In here, this moment, they were equals.
Pike would never see the man that tried to kill him until it resolved. One minute they were burning for each other, then suddenly, he hit the floor with a thud and there was a sharp-cold pain in his already scarred arm. He looked up as he heard a thud, his other hand already coming up and pressing over the heavily bleeding wound on his arm.
Spock hauled up some figure from the floor, and there was the grate of an open air conditioner vent against the wall--possibly from where the assassin had orginated from. There was a mild struggle, a flailing about of human limbs in dark clothing, and then Spock grabbed at the man's neck, and the body dropped lifelessly to the ground. For good measure, perhaps to give him optimum room for his next course of action, Spock kicked it from the bedside into the middle of the room.
But he didn't go to deal with the prepetrator just yet. He came over to Pike, kneeling down beside him, brows furrowed together in worry and something bordering on anger. His hands were gentle despite the tension in his body, sliding under his injured arm, fingertips gracing over his skin, over the scars leftover from the whip...until it paused over the fresh wound, the line of red blood. His entire body still, and he exhaled a growl, and from their direct contact, Pike could feel the blood-lust flaring, the overprotectiveness that meant someone was going to die tonight.
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His andrenaline was rushing as hot as it could through his body and the blood-fever Spock was feeding into him and making it even worse. He turned, just barely, and brought his other hand up to his bleeding arm. His fingertip swirled in the dripping crimson, and carefully drew out what would be a familiar marking to them both on Spock's cheek. A straight line, a curved one, and an angular one that made almost an R without any of its parts touching, then a cresent shape around the deranged R. Christopher Richard Pike, the initials, done in a cattle-brand style.
"Take care of him." In a deceptively calm tone.
Spock exhaled again, with that same low growl. He withdrew from Pike, standing and walking over to the temporarily unconscious body on the ground.
When the assassin finally woke up, Spock ensured that he would not have to chase his prey around the room; two tibias broke cleanly under his heel. Then he reached down, grabbed between the shoulder and the elbow, and a clean snap echoed throughout the room.
It took less then twenty bones for the man to finally stop screaming.
It would take more then twenty hours for the man to finally die, staked up against the door as a warning against future assassins.
Re: 3 of 3
He was not unaffected by the scene, though the violence pained him. In their universe of savagery it was, it would seem, the most logical path. And the two shared a savage passion to match their universe. Intriguing.
Monsters are not made monsters through lack of emotion, Pike. But perhaps through surplus of them.
Spock had what he needed to know and yet he was reluctant to leave this memory. This Spock was another option, another path he could have chosen and yet did not walk down, this Spock under the heavy hand of his Pike, on-guard and murderous, governed by logic and by this man. Spock's own Pike was not cruel yet Spock had seen glimpses....
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They stopped, and it was like a door being opened.
My Spock.
It was an aching, deep pain at his center, surprisingly well hidden from the outside. To Spock... it was obvious what it was, now that the Vulcan had it.
A bond. Pike was bonded.
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The pain of McCoy's absence, the memory of it rushes to the forefront of Spock's mind. He had collapsed from it, even with the support of the bond with Jim and the bond had still been nascent, glistening. The bond Pike shared with his Spock was mature and vital, the lack of it - the wrench of it across dimensions - would have torn a lesser mind to tatters.
Pike was bonded.
He will find a way to come for you.
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Unless there is anything else, be gone from here.
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Now that he knows the hiding place Pike keeps in his mind, Spock can feel the ache of the bond through him. A resonance, then. Similar to what he shares with the James and Bones of this world. Fascinating.
He leans in, closes the slight gap, and slants a very human kiss, all teeth and tongue across Pike's mouth.
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The pain Spock had felt was nearly missing, but now that he knew it was there, it could be barely felt. A mere twinkle in the far distance. For a human, Pike's shielding was very impressive, but not impossible.
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The hand on the back of his head was not threatening and the hand twined with his was strong, sure, and full of dark energy. Spock continued the kiss, biting back at the chance, teeth bruising lips, sucking on Pike's tongue in his mouth.
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He had Spock. He could have attacked, killed, disabled... but did none of the things. For a man that was supposedly a monster, his touches were almost affectionate.
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Spock pulled away from the kiss slowly, a final bit to the strong jaw. He met Pike's clear gaze.
He was easy under Pike's hands. Not prey but not the predator that Pike was, bond or no bond. A balance between them.
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He moves out from under Pike's hand and out of the cell but pauses before reinstating the barrier.
"I will... speak to Captain Kirk."
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"...and I'll be here, waiting."
Pike sat down on the bed, and for just a moment, the proud lion stance that he has retained since coming to this verse falters. Seen in the tightening of his fists, the dropping of his head, the tight squeeze of his eyes.
Then, as quick as it came, it was gone. He laid out, not looking at Spock again.
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