[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."

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

"Assumed." Not a question, somehow. His eyes opened and the heavy gaze focused on Spock. "I am Christopher Pike. There's no assumed." His tone was clipped, short, simple, but power in every syllable. It was clear in his voice and body language that this was a man who was used to being respected, obeyed, feared.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

The tension rose from his hands to his shoulders. At this rate, if he got touched by that previous pain-filled seizure again, his muscles would simply snap off the bone in protest. "You are not him--that I know," His hand settled on his phaser, but he didn't draw it off the belt. "Remove your gloves," He didn't want to risk it.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

There was the briefest change on Pike's face, as if something Spock said confirmed something in his mind. One hand slowly rose, and Pike grasped the tip of the black leather glove at the middle finger in sharp, white teeth. His eyes did not waver a moment from Spock's.

He gave a quick, rough tug in a motion of jerking his head to pull back the leather. It pulled off slightly, bunching, and he stripped it off using his other hand. It was dropped almost casually to the side, but not out of range.

The second was pulled off in nearly the same fashion, but this time, held up between them. It hung there before it was dropped to the floor.

A clear challenge, delivered as easily as if he had stood up and used it to slap Spock across the face.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

His eyes lingered for only the briefest moment on the fallen glove on the floor, before glancing back up at Pike; the hand didn't move from the holstered phaser. Spock wanted to lurch forward, break everyone of those fingers that had been around his neck and--

No. He was better than that, surely. He was here to gather information, not take his revenge. "These gloves--in what manner have you altered them, to produce that effect of last night?"

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, he could see it. That same look in the eyes, the barely restrained emotion. This Spock was so very similar to his own when he was younger. It could be taken advantage of, and already was.

"You don't recognize it." Statement. These weak fools did not know what an agonizer was.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

"No," He answered honestly. Just because he wanted to repay all his pain back tenfold did not mean he had to lie to him. "It is not anything I have seen anywhere, and not in your hands. My Christopher Pike would never wield such a device, so you cannot be him."

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

A blink like a massive lion lazing in the sun. Content, for the moment, but could be deadly in an instant. "My Spock would never act like such a pussy, so I guess we're even."

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

Spock stepped forward. He hadn't meant to, and just the single step was all that his emotion managed to carry him before he reined it in, the flare at the insult. "What would he act like?" Not his diplomat's voice, but the one Kirk had become intimately familiar with in all the wrong ways. It narrowed the world between him and this man who he was definitely going to harm in some way--mind, body, or both.

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

There was no physical reaction from Pike, who still seemed calm, sprawled.. and somehow still in charge of the room. "For one, he's more intelligent then to turn his back on an intruder, and two, he can actually fight." His lips curl into a very tiny smirk.

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

The hand not at his phaser twitched; the fingers curled, but not into a fist--into a certain formation, only known to those who had undergone it before. Or Vulcans. "Against your gloves, too?"

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

His eyes travel to Spock's hand, and for a moment, a brow raises. Then the smirk grows and he openly meets Spock's eyes. Challenge. "He bows down and kisses my gloves."

[cso-spock.livejournal.com]

He doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the cross-dimensional humiliation he's suffering or the fact maybe this man is beginning to think he is that Spock. He didn't know what this Pike had done to him in another life, but he'd show him what he could here, now, in this one.

Spock lurches forward, hand off the phaser, and his fingers find the meld points on Pike's face like he's thought about this before. He doesn't let him have a physical reaction, because the very next moment his mind has bulldozed its way into Pike's, seizing it like the agonizer had seized his muscles, keeping the physical realm immobile while he can pillage through his memories and thoughts. He's going to take what he wants, and then he's going to leave him in tatters, a vegetable of a man, a disposable shame on the very name of Christopher Pike, not the man he knows and certainly not the man he respects, among other things.

[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.