[mirror!Pike and nu!Spock] -- [Private, uncommentable]

[mirroredcommand]

This is rated NCC-1701. Seriously. This gets quite graphic. Read at your own hesitation. Not suitable for ANYONE, but if you have a very filthy mind, enjoy!



Security was standing there, two of them directly to either side of the lone occupied cell of the brig. It was so quiet that the hum of the ship seemed more audible then normal. The protected cell was generous for a cell, and its occupant sat on the bed, sprawled casually as if he was in his own bedroom instead of a prisoner.

[OOC: This entire thread takes place between Ensign Spottacus leaving the brig and Spock returning to his quarters and talking with Jim. During this time, amazingly, no one came and checked on the prisoner. This thread cannot have comments as it occurred in private and has already occurred.

ALSO NOTE: As laid down by cso_spock, the security cameras have been incredibly well edited to show nothing out of the ordinary occurring.

P.S. to the Enterprise herself - Done under Cmdr. Spock's codes and the like, the editing would have only been noted somewhat and since the cameras otherwise off, unknowing that it was occurring.]

Comments

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

Spock approached the detention cell alone, having already declared to the security office that he would be performing an interrogation and he was not to be disturbed until he called otherwise. He carried type-2 phaser, set to higher-intensity stun, and it felt odd to carry it around on the ship itself.

"This will be a secure interrogation," He told the two guards, unwavering in his firmness and tone; the indisputable first officer of the ship.

"But sir--" One of the guards tried to protest, but he silenced him with simply a look.

"I have already told the watch officer of my intentions here, and suitable precautions. Any protests you maintain should be directed first at him," This seemed to be enough for them, as the two guards failed to come up with a suitable excuse to further question his authority.

When they were gone, down the corridor, Spock reached out and disengaged the forcefield barrier. He stepped forward, but no farther than the archway. Apprehension was only logical, he told himself, given the events that have transpired between them. The phaser was only a small comfort at his hip.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Christopher Pike, or as he had been labeled, Pher, slowly turned his head to level an unblinking gaze at the Vulcan studying him. His eyes traveled once, from the shined black boots, pausing at hip level and presumably the phaser, the symbol at Spock's chest, and met the other's gaze evenly.

He did not move from his sprawl, which despite its relaxed nature still held a silent position of command. He said his first word in hours, "Spock." A brief flicker of amusement might have come to Pike's lips.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

"Pike," Couldn't call him Admiral, certainly not Captain, so he resorted on the basic truth of his identity, whether he liked it or not. He stayed where he was in the archway. "As you are detained here with no reasonable chance for escape, you have no alternative but to tell me how you came to be on this ship--specifically, the events preceding transport."

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

The smirk only grew. "There's always an alternative." He shifted only slightly, then closed his eyes. It seemed he would not say another word on that subject.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

Spock stepped into the room. His hand tensed at his side, by the phaser, as he felt like he had stepped out of his domain entirely, as if this was not the Enteprise at all. "Some are more invasive than others."

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Pike's lips only curled more, the smirk cruel on his handsome face. Yet, strangely, despite the Pike of the universe Spock was familiar with, the cruel smirk fit on this Pike. "That sounds like the Spock I know."

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

He paused; the force of his mission wavered with the onset of his own curiosity. "Who would that be? You are not any Christopher Pike I have ever known, despite the fact you have so easily assumed his identity."

[In the mind meld]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

This is not what he imagines Pike's mind to feel like at all. It makes him give a mental shudder because it feels cold and sadistic and entirely unwelcoming. He struggles to find a foothold in a mind he's not supposed to touch, and it's like he's sinking through quicksand into a darkness he knows he can't fight.

Spock starts to open up the layers with reluctance. He knows what he needs. He has an idea where to get it. But he knows the mind is never a straightforward path, and the likelihood that he'll run into something he doesn't want to see is staggeringly high. Pike's probably got everything up at the surface, too, just from their short conversation, and the last thing he needs is to run into an image of himself-but-not. Just one more existential and identity crisis.

Re: [In the mind meld]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Captains were trained in the ways of interrogation and torture even in this universe. Ways of tricking the mind into ignoring pain, into keeping the mouth from spewing out secrets. Some memorized poems, some memorized songs. Some spouted names of past captains, some spoke in unknown languages. All ways to stop physical torture.

Where this Pike came from, the Vulcan had been their enemies, then their slaves. He had learned how to fight against their inhuman strength and their greatest weapon of all, their minds. In his world, command was trained to have such defenses to prevent secrets from being raped from the mind.

The first barrier Spock would come up against was unlike what any human should have had. A literal wall of imagery, with a voice spoken like a roar of thunder and fire.

His fury was as that of Mars, or as when a fire is raging in the glades of some dense forest upon the mountains; he foamed at the mouth, his eyes glared under his terrible eye-brows, and his helmet quivered on his temples by reason of the fury with which he fought. Jove from heaven was with him, and though he was but one against many, vouchsafed him victory and glory; for he was doomed to an early death, and already Pallas Minerva was hurrying on the hour of his destruction at the hands of the son of Peleus. Now, however, he kept trying to break the ranks of the enemy wherever he could see them thickest, and in the goodliest armour; but do what he might he could not break through them, for they stood as a tower foursquare, or as some high cliff rising from the grey sea that braves the anger of the gale, and of the waves that thunder up against it. He fell upon them like flames of fire from every quarter. As when a wave, raised mountain high by wind and storm, breaks over a ship and covers it deep in foam, the fierce winds roar against the mast, the hearts of the sailors fail them for fear, and they are saved but by a very little from destruction- even so were the hearts of the Achaeans fainting within them. Or as a savage lion attacking a herd of cows while they are feeding by thousands in the low-lying meadows by some wide-watered shore- the herdsman is at his wit's end how to protect his herd and keeps going about now in the van and now in the rear of his cattle, while the lion springs into the thick of them and fastens on a cow so that they all tremble for fear- even so were the Achaeans utterly panic-stricken by Hector and father Jove. Nevertheless Hector only killed Periphetes of Mycenae; he was son of Copreus who was wont to take the orders of King Eurystheus to mighty Hercules, but the son was a far better man than the father in every way; he was fleet of foot, a valiant warrior, and in understanding ranked among the foremost men of Mycenae. He it was who then afforded Hector a triumph, for as he was turning back he stumbled against the rim of his shield which reached his feet, and served to keep the javelins off him. He tripped against this and fell face upward, his helmet ringing loudly about his head as he did so. Hector saw him fall and ran up to him; he then thrust a spear into his chest, and killed him close to his own comrades. These, for all their sorrow, could not help him for they were themselves terribly afraid of Hector.

Re: [In the mind meld]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

It--it was not something he had been expecting. He shouldn't have even been here, and now he knew why mind melds were supposed to be consensual. You wouldn't face barriers like this if they knew it was coming. So now he had to use some of his own mental energy, open his own floodgates in order to break it. It wasn't pleasant, and there was still a part of him utterly revolted at his actions, but he endured it all until the mind would pause, and then broke through this wall with a mental heave.

Not that he expected it to get any better.

Re: [In the mind meld]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

In that sudden heave of mental strength, like breaking through a heavy wooden door by running and hitting with the shoulder, Spock could not have been prepared for the trap that lay on the other side.

He was fucking someone. A dizzying pleasure that was right on the verge of orgasm, but held back. Under his hand, held down by the back of the neck like a disobedient dog was a Vulcan. That must was obvious by the curve of a pointed ear. The Vulcan had roughly growing scruff down around his jaw, blood at the corner of his mouth, and was, without a doubt, a younger Spock.

He was new to the crew, Pike's mind informed, his first day in fact, and he was getting the Captain's initiation. If they couldn't survive this, they would be worthless on his crew. They had tested his ability to obey command, growing almost angry at his lack of expression even during the beating that had taken place, until the Captain had stepped up, wrapped a gloved hand around the Vulcan's throat, and thrown him over the nearest console.

Pants had been torn, and with only a quick spat amount of saliva, Spock had been taken.

Re: [In the mind meld]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

He felt trapped in his own mind meld. Everything was cold, burning cold. He felt a humiliation, a violation, that was not his. Half-formed internal questions of how-what-why all died as he was forced to watch, unable to close himself from the image.

That Spock, there, stomach pressed into the console, Spock could barely imagine what he would be thinking, the conflict between biology and hierarchy. His hand fisted, white-knuckled, bracing against the console, whole body tense and amazingly tight around Pike. His expression didn't change. He hadn't cried out, and he didn't now. Only his jaw had tightened.

Head turned sideways, staring intently at something across the room--Spock glanced over his shoulder at him. His expression was neutral but his eyes were not. Spock knew that look. He had always used it at the Academy. A challenge--Is that it? You think a fuck can break me?

Re: [In the mind meld]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Suddenly Pike leaned forward with a grunt, speaking right against the Vulcan's ear as a gloved hand wrapped around his cock. "If I wanted someone broken, you emotionless fuck, I would have gotten some useless slave. On this ship, you fucking prove yourself or you get thrown out the nearest airlock. You obey me, or you die." He ripped off the glove that was on the back of Spock's neck, holding it in his teeth. He thrust hard, slamming up against the Vulcan's prostate, and at the same time the hand came down onto the back of the pale neck.

Lust, burning, pure, hot. Adrenaline, hunger, thirsty, need. Those thoughts he forced down, he urged, out of the other beneath him. The other glove still remained squeezing where it was.

[Back to reality]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

"Captain." There is just the lightest hit of exclamation at the end, punctuated by desire he's still keeping mostly under wraps. But it's also louder, he's arching into Pike's thrusts...


He can't take it anymore. This meld has proved too much for him, this mind is too dynamic for his skill, and he admits that. Spock admits defeat and pulls himself back. It's not the smoothest withdrawl he's ever made, either, but he doesn't really care if it knocks back a sharp headache in the back of Pike's mind. He deserves it.

But now there's a problem. In the physical world, he's breathless and flushed, one knee supporting some of his weight against the mattress, otherwise standing over this--man. His fingers don't move from the meld points on his face despite the fact the meld has dissolved; it's just enough contact to allow things to stream past barriers that he hasn't bothered to close yet. The rest of his body doesn't move, either. He's feeling absolutely humiliated because even though it wasn't him, it was his body inch for inch, and he'd be lying to himself if he said he'd never imagine Captain Pike and himself as a cadet, then as an instructor--

Spock's staring into those cold, dark eyes, but his stare is unfocused, because not only has he been assaulted by the pure, unadulterated images, but also the remnants of his own passion felt through another, the startling power of who he witnessed it through. His mind's in a dark haze that he can't get a grip on and thus can't push away. All he can do is stand there, and wait for the man to make his move, because Spock knows (in the back of his mind) he can't.

Re: [Back to reality]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

A strong hand slowly came up to grasp hard, hot flesh through the tight black trousers Spock wore. The grip was firm, almost painful. The other hand stayed behind his head, the expression still calm. The only give away to what occurred in his mind was a matching bulge and the dilation of his pupils.

"Spock." A single word, pure and utter command. Oh yes, this young man was as moldable as his first officer had ever been. Through their contact-bond, he pressed home the command. "Kneel. Down."

Re: [Back to reality]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

His breath was quiet and uneven, the perfect mix of fear and shock and this abominable excitement from earlier. A moment passed, and his fingers drew back. Slowly, every Vulcan fibre of his being screaming to just break his neck and be done with it, he lowered himself to his knees beside the bed. His hands gripped tight at the standard-issue, nondescript bedsheets. His eyes never wavered from Pike's, but they were wide and telling about his internal turmoil, emphasized by the still-present tension that had crept to every muscle of Spock's body.

Re: [Back to reality]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Their gazes remained locked; Pike would not look away when he knew he was slowly forcing this Spock under his command as he had the one of his own verse many years ago. "Good." The same way. Praise and reward for obedience.

He moved in a calm but slow method, reaching over to grasp Spock's one hand. His fingers brushed over Spock's own - like giving a stroke of the cock. "Take out my cock." The command remained, but now it was darker with lust that did not come entirely from the meld but more from the pleasure of the sheer power he had over Spock in that moment.

Re: [Back to reality]

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

There was a small hitch of breath as Spock heard the order. So coarse, so blunt, and--this frightened him as much as it did other things--not doubting at all that he would fill it. A small swallow.

For this, he had to drag his eyes, and his hand, away; he could not do it blind. His hands were steady but hesitant, going about the actions too deliberately: unhooking the clasp, sliding the zipper down link by link, before pushing away the folds. Once he felt black silk beneath his fingertips, there was another strong moment of hesitation. But the order echoed in his mind again without needing audible repeat. Spock grasped the waistband between his fingers, and pulled it downwards, centimeter at a time, until--until.

He wouldn't touch it, no, he just wouldn't; his hands were carefully out of the way and there was no way he was going any farther than this. With another swallow, he looked back up at Pike.

Re: [Back to reality]

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

This time the form of reward was a hand coming up and brushing through the black strands of hair. The almost affectionate gesture did not last for long, though. Reward and punishment, always keeping them guessing. This worked well for a very select few instead of simple fear and anger keeping them in line.

A select few like this particularly brilliant Vulcan. His Vulcan would not have needed the next command, "Suck." His fingers tightened in Spock's hair, holding firm.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

Spock's tongue briefly touched the thumb that had slid between his lips--practically welcome after what he had had to suck into his throat.

After a moment of pause, his eyes opened; they flickered from Pike's face to the archway and back. No. Pike couldn't escape; there were more forcefields to get through.

Spock drew his mouth away from the thumb, and rolled back onto his feet. He turned (suspicious still, even especially after letting forcing him to suck his cock) to face the wall opposite Pike. Once raising his arms, the wall felt cold beneath his palms, and if he glanced down--which he wouldn't--he could see how hard he still was.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Like a stalking tiger, Pike stood slowly, tucking himself away and fixing his clothing so he looked neat again. He bent down smoothly and pulled on one glove, and a second later, body checked Spock into the wall. He growled by the Vulcan's ear, the gloved hand deftly undoing the fastener and sliding beneath Spock's trousers to grasp the hot green flesh in smooth cold leather.

"...You get off on this as much as he did and look just as pretty on your knees." As he started to stroke, voice a growl, knowing just the right grip. "You want nothing more then to give up all that logic and control and have someone run your fucking life, tell you when you can even breathe."

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

He shuddered against Pike's body and the wall once he felt that hand around his cock, arms folded tight by his shoulders. He didn't answer, but it was written all over his actions, that soft moan, rolling his hips into his strokes. It'd be nice, not having to think about this, about having to worry about everything. Except. No. He liked some for himself, liked at least a little under his hand, but right now, with that leather glove--he could give it all up.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

"Say it." Came the darker growl, hand moving faster as Pike kept him pressed nearly full on to the wall. "Who am I? Who owns you?"

The second hand came up, wrapping around Spock's throat from behind, ungloved. It squeezed lightly.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

"Christopher Pike," He breathed; he hardly knew what he was saying anymore, only distantly aware of what was happening, both in general and to himself. "You own me," The words tumbled from his lips at warp speed; there was a break for a groan before a quickly-added "Sir."

He was holding himself back. He didn't want to surrender so completely to him, didn't want to admit that he was twelve point four seconds away from coming because the combined effort of Pike's voice and hands.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

"Good boy." Pike growled against his ear, his grip tightening around Spock's flesh at cock and throat. He pressed harder against the Vulcan, breathing against his ear.

"Come."