"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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[Back to reality]
Date: 2009-07-25 10:15 pm (UTC)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.