In the After Time

[mirroredcommand]

After Jim and his Spock had left, Pike retreated into himself somewhat. He settled back into the chair he had left, his eyes closing and hand cupping his chin. Much had happened and been learned in a very short amount of time, some that had changed his very knowledge of not only this universe and their situation, but the people involved.

Kirk. That was a surprise in all of itself. Instead of the annoyed brat with a huge ego and a surprising sense of ruthless, charm, and intelligence to back it up, he was meeting someone he almost could respect. There was a keen sense of intelligence behind those golden eyes, tactile and strong, though obviously naive in certain cases. Even that naivety seemed protected by the knowledge of being aware of it. A most strange situation, but it came together in someone that in their universe, he would have considered a truly enemy.

Instead, he found himself surprised in the sense of having enjoyed himself within the limiting concerns of circumstance. There was a play between himself and Kirk that was as intricate as the game of chess that had been played out. Pike's eyes opened to focus on the board before him, pieces assembled off to either side. White, and black, with no shades of gray. He had found himself without another move, unable to win. Yet Kirk had been in the same circumstance. Both trapped, unable to make another move to win.

How very much like life.

Then, there was Spock. So similar to his own, yet vastly different. Shades of gray, indeed. He was curious to what had occurred during that mind meld that had drawn such reactions from his own bond mate, curious about the differences that were far more difficult to see. The relationship between the two men was unlike their own, forged in a vastly different way, but with the same purpose behind it.

He looked to his own Spock, who looked both thoughtful and tense to his knowing eyes and inner-sense brimming over from the bond between them. There had been a sense of dodging, avoidance, that he wanted to know the truth of.

"Spock."

Comments

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Oh.

It is a gasp. An unexpected shudder of pleasure moves through him when Christopher touches the threads.

He gestures.

This is James T. Kirk's Spock. And this is the younger.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Different, then my own. He tilted his head towards Spock and very slowly stroked his fingers own the length of a few, watching his reactions.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

A difference is only logical.

He watched Christopher stroke down the length, and his knees actually weakened.

Christopher...

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

...This could prove interesting.

His fingers caressed, twining gently within the threads. Even more sensitive then his hands, it seemed.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

This time it brought him to his knees.

It was a struggle, but he got the words out coherently.

You do not know what that will do to them.

Would it be the same if Christopher played with their own bond? Did he even want to know?

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

I don't care what it'll do to them. I care what it does to you. He did briefly wonder what it would do to those on the other end, and it only amused him more. He curled his fingers around one without care where it led and stroked it like a cock in his hand.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

It did quite a lot to him.

It was fire in his mind, but it did not burn - it left tingling in its wake, curling through his pleasure centers until his head tipped back and his eyes closed and he moaned, still on his knees for Christopher in his own mind.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

That's it... I bet you'll come just from this. His eyes did not leave Spock, his motion increasing in speed. He wondered how long Spock would even last.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

He shuddered again.

A distinct possibility. But that is no pleasure for you.

It would be, though - he knows Christopher very well.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Isn't there? There was as much pleasure in curling someone's body with his fingers, teasing their arousal... and he was not even touching Spock.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

There... is.

It is panted out. Spock lowers himself to the floor, wracked with sensation playing directly on his nerves.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Pike's head tilted up and he stared up into the brilliant sun above. Spock. His fingers stopped their stroking, squeezed. How do I reach the sun?

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

He surveys Christopher's face from his prone position near the man's feet. His breath is short and shallow and fast as Christopher squeezes.

He flickers his gaze over to the light source, his bond with Christopher, and it slowly uncoils - a thick golden rope much more similar to the ropes that are garlanded about that other mind. Rather than move, he brings curls of rope to them, carried on a drafty cave breeze.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

It was caught in strong hands, very slowly caressing over the golden rope. The texture, the warmth, the weight of it are all very familiar, and when touched, made him shiver as well. Yesss...

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Christopher, please.

He is not sure what he is asking for. Perhaps to know that Christopher feels this, that touching the bond that connects them affects him just as much.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Tell me what you want. Was the command that came, but there was the slightest flutter in his voice.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

I want to know what you feel. I want you to tell me.

He wanted Christopher's voice rushing over his skin, in his mind, licking at his ears.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

His lips quirked at the edges. In this place, no one could find them. Weakness, the very existence of their bond, could not be found. So it was here alone that Pike could speak completely freely.

Such a slut for such things... His mental voice was a low rumble, somewhere between purr and growl. His eyes never left the half-Vulcan prone on the ground, Touch yourself. I want to watch.

The golden rope curled between his fingers, thick and solid, strong and unbreakable. It came with him, enough that he could settle on the floor with it pooled around him, leaning back on the sandy floor of the cave. I can feel every touch as if I was touching myself. His fingers played along the link between them, testing the changes that came with different pressures of his fingers.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

He worked the fastenings of his trousers - there were no rules in this mental landscape but the slow compliance with Christopher's instruction had a certain edge of dull pleasure to it, as if demonstrating the effort of his obedience counted for just as much as the fact of his obedience.

For Spock, though, perhaps it did - he made such fine distinctions in his own logic and reasoning. Objectively, he had the opportunity to make few choices. He would have been, under any other captain, condemned to lowly rank no matter how many he killed to pursue ambition. He would have been a target, loathed for his half-Vulcan heritage. He would, most likely, have continued to escape rape but there would be none concerned with his pleasure either.

Christopher was different. He would have his orders obeyed - and the consequences for disobedience were severe. But Spock willfully submited to him - could make another choice, could refuse or disobey, but instead bent (never bowed) willingly and that made all the difference to Spock.

Spock knew full well the considerable power of his submission.

He shoved his pants down so they bunched at mid-thigh. His eyes were almost closed but he watched Christopher through dark lashes, body twitching as he stroked the bond.

And he set long fingers to work, slowly stroking himself.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

There had been a certain something that Pike had witnessed in Spock all those years ago, standing proud and unbowed despite the disgust that came from simply having mixed blood, having been caged by gloves on his hands as much as the constant attempts of subversion of his career.

That had been something for the eyes of the crew, so they knew their captain controlled the 'creature' in their midst. It had been a test for Spock, to see if the half-Vulcan would break and shatter apart or if he would simply submit. It had come as a surprise when it had been neither of those options. Instead, Spock had almost instantly forced a deal between them. He would obey, but would not be broken. Not in the foolish stubborn way that all men thought they would not be broken, and oh how many times Pike had proven them wrong, but a sure knowledge that being broken would put to waste what Pike had wanted him for originally.

It had been a moment of respect between them, and without words, perhaps without even conscious knowledge, Pike had agreed. What started as rape had turned to something else entirely, and proceeded to set the tone for the rest of their relationship.

Spock was something rare to a captain of the Empire, someone who submitted to command without the only reason for doing so was to bide time. Normally, any crew that obeyed was trying to stay with the winning team, waiting for a chance to betray and strike while the iron was hot. It resulted in rule of the ship being a game of balance, giving reward as much as punishment and overlaying it all in a sense of respect and fear.

Pike had always preferred to do that sense with a visual demonstration. Having a would be assassin skinned and putting his flesh outside his door to dry had kept him free of assassination attempts for more then six months, a record.

Now, the play of command, submission, orders, and obedience between them was either second hand to the point of been forgotten, or like in these moments, something that came vividly enough to both that it turned into a challenge, a game.

Pike's eyes watched every movement of Spock's hand, the twitches of muscles and how they played out. They matched his own, a spreading heat that curled through the depths of his body and crackled down his veins. The thought of touching the bond itself, as if it was a physical object, had never occurred to him before. It had always been something without physical presence, like the unreachable sun, but now that he had discovered it was tangible, it seemed foolish he had never considered the possibility.

Can you feel this, Spock? How much I want you? He could feel a constant resonating feeling passing through him, not just his own touch on the bond but Spock's fingers wrapped around his own cock, the mutual pleasure they were arousing within each other.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

It was a game at times like this, as rare as they were. Even in a world such as theirs, play was vital - it was simply unrecognizable if you did not know what to look for.

Spock arched his back in a feline stretch and then relaxed back onto the floor - he was more at home in his own skin than the other Spocks, certainly, but he did not always pay attention to the feel of muscles gliding, bunching, releasing. Now he reveled in it, fully aware that every sensation was transmitted to his mate.

I can feel the rush and heat of your blood as it hardens your flesh. I can feel the rasp of your clothing pressing against your skin. I can feel the heavy pressure of your want as it sits in your mind, Christopher.

He opened his eyes to meet Christopher's gaze.

But what can you feel from me?

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

The heat that poured from those dark eyes sent a matching blaze through Pike's body, his body arching lightly from the floor. He paused his touches only long enough to pull away clothing. In here, he had returned to what his mind saw him in, which was the uniform of their own world. He wore the black leather vest that showed off the V of his neck and chest along with his arms, the golden sash around his waist that marked him an officer, and form fitting black trousers. His hands quickly and heedlessly divested himself of his uniform, letting it fall where it wound away from him, displaying his body for his bond mate.

He was not a young man anymore, nor was he old, and his body showed the years of fighting, constant training. Scars, long gone thin and white with age except the worst of them, spoke of combat where doctors and dermal regenerators were rare commodities. The hair at the chest and leading down towards his groin was graying, not to mention the dignified streaks in his hair, but it showed off well developed muscle. This was a man used to fighting.

Training against a half-Vulcan almost every day had its advantages.

I can feel each stroke of your hand, the sand against your back, the fierceness of your possession. The desire to mark me like a cat its territory, inside and out. The burning that comes with wanting to not submit, to leap from where you sit and prove your dominance, mixed with a masochistic and greater desire to obey instead.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Spock was not modest. Shame for ones body was illogical. He enjoyed his mate's form and knew very well that Christopher enjoyed his. But for the moment, at least, he left his clothes where they were, rumpled by his slow strokes, constricting his movements in a pleasant way.

I did enjoy marking you.

He is still full of that fierce satisfaction, can still smell his own scent on Christopher's skin. And the bruise on his mate's neck pleases him most of all - humans had such a weak sense of smell but even they would see and know.

Your distaste makes it even sweeter.

It is similar to his own bending but flavored uniquely, with a tang of discomfort every time.

But it is sweetest to give in to you, to make that choice.

His voice is less calm now and a slow, delicious writhing shudder moves him for a moment, displayed for Christopher to see.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

The rope between his fingers became an instrument. He played it, playing their bodies, gasping as his own body reacted to every motion. It was strange, as if the motion of stroking his own cock had every bit of its effect on his mate as well.

He could not more look away from Spock's movements then he could have stopped breathing, yet his fingers continued. Quick strokes, slow caresses, a firm grip, testing and playing with pressure, speed, and motion to see what garnered the most reaction from them both.

Let me hear you cry out. Don't hold anything back.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Spock did not practice much in the way of self-restraint when it came to his passions, his violence, his curiosity. As Christopher had tamed the beast of his will, he had slipped his own tight leash more and more. Christopher had encouraged it and Spock had enjoyed the freedom of wallowing in his nature.

So he did not hesitate once permission was given.

Christopher, mine.

It was almost an endearment.

Christopher, I did not know it would feel like this.

He was interrupted by his own gasping moans, spurred on by his own touches, by Christopher's manipulation of the manifestation of the bond.

He writhed.