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

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.]

Current Location: Brig

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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?

From:

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.

From:

cso-spock.livejournal.com

A sharp inhale and the slightest arch of his back, that's all he'd give him. Every thought he force-fed Spock got repaid fivefold in intensity, all wrapped up in a searing anger, so purely Vulcan in flavour. Spock was familiar with each one. They were undeniably his own, and it was threatening to consume him. The cock was aching hard in his grip, but Spock refused to thrust into his hand, refused to take advantage of the friction of the leather.

"Is this...obedience, sir?" Spoken in a low tone, just for the Captain, but still taunting him with his calm, if interrupted, tone.

From:

iron-command.livejournal.com

"I don't see you fighting back." Was the only response to his question. "You're harder then stone. You're fucking enjoying it." Another crack of hips, repeated harder, breath hot on Spock's ear before that ear was bitten hard in sharp teeth.

From:

cso-spock.livejournal.com

A sound came up from his chest and was killed in Spock's throat, right before his hips shoved back into Pike's, regardless of the hands on him. It wasn't exactly fighting back, but it wasn't encouraging, either--more...retaliatory. "I am enjoying you," As if the Vulcan wasn't being the one fucked over a console in front of the bridge.

From:

iron-command.livejournal.com

That retaliation earns Spock a stroke with the leather covered hand, squeezing at the top of the glans and back down. "As damn well you should."

From:

cso-spock.livejournal.com

His eyes actually close for a moment, and there's the briefest swallow before he regains his breath again--liking this more than he'll admit. "Captain--" It rolls off his tongue so, so well, but whatever else he wanted to say after that has been lost with everything that is, obviously, clouding his mind. It's evident even to an outsider.