mirroredcommand | Bonds Know No Distance

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brig

Bonds Know No Distance

The night was dark and deep and long in space, never ending, without a dawn to break the line between waking and sleep, day and night, beginning and end. It made existence endless, broken only by the silent running of the clocks on the wall, the movements of work, food, and sleep. Without these things, without the sureness of a schedule, time became meaningless. Even the stars could not keep him company.

So after Kirk came and 'visited', time resumed its endless patterns, moving on and on without pause or break or concept. For a man used to near-constant action, it was a form of torture more exquisite then any bit of pain or distress. More then anything, it was a torture that gave him nothing to focus his mind on anything but the swelling pain of the broken bond. It was swiftly becoming over whelming, completely and utterly. There was nothing left to keep the pain away, and with his shields designed only to block out Spock's light intrusions instead of a full on force, they were failing after being buffeted for so long. In short, he was going mad.

His expression showed little of the internal war except for the strong brow being furrowed and the age-lines at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth looking thicker. It was his hands that gave him away, gripping fiercely into the fabric of the bed he was reclining on. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes in time with his heart, a thick red-hot band of light that was searing like a knife into his mind. Deeper, deeper with every beat of his heart.

Every part of him was focused on maintaining the failing shields, rebuilding them as Spock had taught him those years ago. He had survived torture from Vulcans who knew precisely what to do in the mind, but could not stop this. This bond that had been forced onto him but in the end welcomed, this bond that had saved his life many times in the past, that had saved the life of his first officer and friend, this bond that had been a respite from a world where one could never relax... this bond was killing him. It would destroy him as surely as any blade to the heart.

SPOCK!

Never screamed aloud, never aloud. Instead, strong white teeth bit firmly into his lip, hard enough to send a trickle of crimson along his chin, down to his jawline. The pain, the strain, had been steadily increasing since James Kirk's visit to his cell, as if the reminder of the bond and speaking of it had started a chain reaction. He had long since started to keep his eyes closed [was it hours? minutes? weeks? centuries?] because at least this way the room would not spin. He was starting to feel that same spinning in his mind, making his world wobble like a child's toy.

It seemed hours passed this way. A day? Perhaps. He vaguely heard someone calling him, but did not dare respond. Still trapped in the arms of the enemy, he could not let a weakness be seen. The smell of food made his stomach swell and gurgle, but not from hunger. It felt like his entire body needed one thing it could not have. [a universe away]

He did not feel when he stood, instead he felt the world sway, go sideways. Could not feel the floor beneath his feet, the slap of his hand against the wall in an instinctual attempt to keep himself upright. Did not feel when the world tuned him out, blew him out like a light bulb, did not feel when the pain consumed him and his shields finally fell, did not feel when he hit the ground.

The darkness had claimed him instead.

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When the bond had first come into being, it had been a thing so subtle, so weak, that it could have been snapped like a loose thread. When it had bloomed into a full bond, it had been a thing of terror, created during Spock's first pon farr that had nearly shattered the human he had been forced on. When it had survived years and years of their lives, it had become something that neither could live without.

Here, in his mind, things could happen that he never would have allowed outside of it. He could show that weakness to the single person that shared in them, protected against them, would not take advantage of. So for now Pike could ~~cling~~ hold onto Spock, feeling their own desperate strength as they physically tried to hold onto what had nearly been lost.

Spock. You came.

They were not gentle men and their universe ruthlessly excised tenderness as a weakness.

So it was neither gentleness or tenderness that carried Spock's fingers to his Chrsitopher's face to brush back the hair from his forehead before Spock leaned forward to capture his mate's mouth (mineminemineminemine) in a kiss.

[OOC - That was beautifully written.]

yours

One strong hand with its wrecked flesh slid behind Spock's neck, holding there in a possessive gesture that was almost like grabbing the scruff of a feline's neck. The other hand slid down Spock's wrist and rubbed his thumb over the familiar markings of the brand he had carved into Spock's skin, and soul, ten years ago.

mine

(OOC - Thank you! Looking back on it, I am embarrassed by my typos.)

Christopher's thumb on his brand - it was always enough to reassure Spock.

Yours always yours

The instinct was there to continue, to offer Christopher all of his submission immediately, to the enjoyment of them both. But Christopher's hands, so pale without their gloves, were hurt and there had been intruders and the sudden rage that flowed through Spock put a temporary damper on his lust. He growled like a great cat.

They hurt you.

There was an undercurrent of terrible retribution in waiting.

They didn't. I injured myself.

It was a quick reply matched with a tightening on the back of the neck. Calm yourself. There could be anger and wrath and blood later, when he was content that things were settled where they should be, between them, with his ship, with himself.

Spock exhaled a long carefully measured breath, reining himself in under Christopher's hand.

I ached for you.

It is a quiet confession.

Your Enterprise is waiting, when you are well. I completed our work - the ship will not respond to any hand but yours.

Or Spock's. But Spock's hand was directed by Christopher.

That brought an immediate pleasure, the confession, and a second rush of it a moment later at the news. They worked, then? Oh, yes. This was good news indeed.

But, almost surprising himself, Pike decided it could wait. He shifted so their eyes could meet, You didn't ache alone. Voiced in his own confession, knowing they both knew it, but to admit it aloud, even in this place, was a step beyond their normal boundaries.

The words carried Spock to his knees, arms loosely held around Christopher's legs, head nuzzling Christopher's thigh, eager for his approving hand. But Spock, even in this position, looked up to maintain the eye contact.

Christopher.

It is the sound of love and relief and willingness.

Together.

A promise. Spock belongs to Christopher but he is not broken, only mostly tamed.

Together. Agreement, content in it. They would remain together, as they had been for so long. They could not be together forever, his own lifetime was so short compared to Spock's own and he was not a young man, but it somehow did not matter.

Together. His hand slid into Spock's hair, stroking through it, across pointed ears, remembering the feel and heat under his hands.

Spock's head turned, rubbed against Christopher's palm and he allowed a rumbly pleasure sound to curl out.

He closed his eyes and basked in the bond and in Christopher's mental touch. Just a moment more.

As far as he was bloody concerned, they could take a few more moments. When they arrived back at their ship, they would take several more moments. He curled his fingers behind one ear so that he could scratch there, only adding to the feline nature of the Vulcan leaning against him.

You have done well.

The praise combined with the action of Christopher's fingers warms him, finally calms the angry bloodlust that Spock has felt rising in him since Christopher first disappeared. He kisses Christopher's leg, because that is what is easiest to reach, and his hot breath warms the skin under Christopher's trousers. He will not move until Christopher commands it.

Do you know that you are in their sickbay?

There is more to the question, unspoken: what does Christopher want from Spock outside of this place? How injured is Christopher's body?

I vaguely recall it. It... He went silent, staring down at Spock. I have never felt such pain. Strong fingers never stopped their motion, enjoying such simple touches were no one else could see. No one in their own universe knew of their bond, could never guess it to be so for it would mean their deaths.

You, your mind, must heal - we both will require time.

Spock savors the simple touches as much as Christopher seems to, starved for the physical contact he shares only with his mate.

Yours as well, Spock. We will be together.

There, only there, did Pike slowly kneel down and pull his mate into another kiss. It was something needed, as badly as he needed to breath, something Spock alone would know.

It is like air to him, this touch, this belonging. All his suffocating violence snuffed out as he shuffled forward, as close as possible, to press his body tightly against Christopher, as though he would climb into him - as though he were not already in the most intimate spaces of Christopher's mind.

I will not let them keep you from me.

They did not hurt Christopher, they did not even try to prevent Spock from coming for him - it was not logical to think they would attempt to separate Spock and his mate. But there was a knee-jerk fear in him now and it would require time to soothe.

Nothing can separate us, not even the universes. Or so it seemed. He slid his hands along Spock's face, feeling the scruff against his palms. The familiar feeling of Spock's strong body against his was a balm on every bit of ache that had been happening for almost a month now. It took a near death to understand it, to feel it.

I will always come for you.

In any sense, in every sense. Spock has been Christopher's creature for years but now that is more true than ever before. He would destroy universes for this man.

Spock rubbed his body against Christopher, pushed his face closer to Christopher's neck to take in the familiar human scent.

There was no doubt that it was the same in reverse. He bore the scars of what he would do to keep Spock safe. He held Spock close, fingers digging into the crop of dark strands and holding fiercely. The scent of spice and heat and blood that was unique to his own Vulcan alone.

Precise Spock, with all of his punctuality, did not notice how much time passed, the two of them pressed close. The bond wound around them both, licking at them with the fire of it, but not burning.

There was no way to know how much time was passing outside of the meld but Spock was more concerned with lifting his head, blinking dark eyes, and finding Christopher's mouth for another kiss.

There was, at least for the moment, no reason to care about that. Time meant nothing in this place, or at least next to nothing. Instead, he remembered the taste of his mate, learned it all over again.

Human mouth, lips that were softer, more generous than the Enterprise bridge crew would know - all they saw was the hard line of Christopher's commanding mouth, never this mouth, his tasting, kissing, teasing mouth.

The bridge crew would also be shocked, no matter how much they whispered to themselves about the Captain's Pet Vulcan, to see eagerness from Spock. His hands crept up until one of them was buried in Christopher's hair and the other, even in this mental place, sought skin, the skin of Christopher's back, under his shirt.

Pike wanted no one else to know, ever. He wanted his Vulcan to be his alone, to come to his call alone, to act like this under no one else's eyes. Just his, his hand, his eyes, his mouth.

So warm. He pressed in just that much closer, remembering the warmth that had been curled up against his side for so long.

He belonged only to Christopher. His classmates had been afraid, heaping abuse on him in the form of verbal insults and conspiracy to ruin him - but no one had touched him.

That first time, on the bridge of the Enterprise. He could have destroyed Christopher's mind then. But the sheer novelty of feeling another person's skin against his own, combined with the fascination he already felt for his captain, had been enough to hold him back.

As their relationship progressed, the encounters had increased in frequency, in pleasure, until Spock had been thoroughly tied to his captain even before the pon farr.

He belonged only to Christopher.

He had chosen Spock to be on his ship, hand chosen in a different way then the rest of his crew. He had seen that proud spirit and needed to crack it without breaking it. So he had taken Spock over the console on the bridge, under the eyes of the rest of the crew, to put Spock in his place.

Circumstances had changed things. Fate had decided to step in and set things the way it wanted. He had stopped taking any others for his pleasure, thought he stilled used the same method to break some people new to his ship.

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