mirroredcommand | The Past Remembered

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backstory

The Past Remembered - The Brand

[OOC: This occurs during the year 2253. The year that Pike and Spock left from was 2263, so this was ten years ago. They were only bonded five years ago, to put things into perspective.]

It was not even a full year into their five year mission, but already things had become interesting with his young crew. They desired to rise in the ranks with more urgency then older crews, say the one he had left behind on the I.S.S. Yorktown, but they were young fools without realizing the consequences of having little to no experience in not only the possible new rank, but even in the ways of assassination. Several weak attempts had already been made for his life, but they had been easily dealt with early on. Now things had settled and they were all dealing with their newly acquired positions or grumbling about the failures they had suffered.

There were four in particular that still concerned him, and Pike was keeping the closest eyes on them. The first was his helmsman, Hikaru Sulu. The young man was brilliant in his abilities in flight, absolutely ruthless, but he would not leave alone any young lady that walked onto the bridge. The second was his navigator, the scruffy haired child who was the youngest on his ship. Chekov seemed innocent, but was anything but. He was a silent assassin, vicious and very good at what he did. Pike still couldn't find the body of the person he had originally chosen to be his alpha navigator. Nyota Uhura was dangerous. She was one of the few women to reach as high as she had without sleeping with anyone; she just killed anyone who was in her way. They were often found in their beds, and it often involved a lot of blood.

Then there was Spock, the last of his crew that he was dealing with more often then expected. He heard the constant rumors about 'the Vulcan' on their crew. People were afraid of him, even as they tried to hide it with false bravado. He had taken a shine to the young Vulcan he had bent over the console on the bridge his first day and proven to the crew he had no fear of those who, as rumors put it, 'could turn his mind to mush and drink it through a straw.'

Spock was his, chosen by him when everyone else was too foolish to see possibility. He had been forced to defend Spock on several occasions, most without Spock knowing he had stepped in. One attempt already included a small group who decided to take care of the 'green-blood' on their ship. It had been all too recently that he had been forced to step up and defend Spock in a more physical manner, to prove his point. Spock was a part of his crew, and despite the rumors passing between ships and across Starfleet, was not a slave.

The flesh around his right arm was still tender, itching and burning alternatively despite the incident having happened just over a month ago. It was an ugly reminder of the whip that had curled around his forearm and burned through the skin to the bone. McCoy's skilled hands had been part of fixing it, but also Spock's diligence in making up for the marks by helping him to tend it. Pike was surprised to realize he had begun to trust the young science officer.

He had brought Spock to his rooms more then once a week for a while now, mostly enjoying the mix of resentment and almost puppy-like devotion that came from the half-Vulcan and teaching him the base pleasures of pain and sex. It was almost impossible to find such a raw mass of possible talent that had no molding what so ever, and he had it in one convenient package. He sent the boy back to his own quarters each night, unless he planned to keep Spock trussed up for the entire night.

Pike looked across the room to the collection of leather, metal, and toys he had in mostly plain sight. The weaponry that crossed the walls was more vivid, but the collection was impressive that he allowed it to be displayed. When he wanted to enjoy someone, even more so when they were going to fight back, he wanted to always have something appropriate on hand to deal with them. In fact, the more they fought, the better it often was. Spock had gone back to his bed with no end of marks on his wrists, ankles, neck, and elsewhere.

Tonight, he had yet to decide what he would do with the young Vulcan. The possibilities were endless, and he had yet to find the limits of how far he could push the boy.

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"How pleased I am to hear that." His hand moved, across Spock's collarbone. "Are you actively healing any mark I put on you?" He questioned, the dislike of the mere idea evident.

Inefficient gestures were not his way. Spock did not move.

"I do not care for sickbay and I have been unable to procure a portable regenerator to heal injury of a... personal nature. And were this circumstance different, I would still not seek to erase your marks. You have queried me regarding this fact several times and I would not act to incite your anger on this issue."

Vulcans healed well. There were a few old scars, particularly on the soles of his feet, but his skin was remarkably pristine.

Pike followed the lines of sturdy muscle, his expression nearly thoughtful. "Then I will make sure you have a portable regenerator come morning, and you will keep the remaining marks as they should be."

He stepped back from Spock and gestured out towards where his collection laid. "Chose any one object for tonight." He wanted to know what Spock would chose after having introduced him to some things. Would he pick something he knew, or something he did not? Something of pleasure, or something of pain? Pike sat back down in the chair he had left, eyes watching every motion.

That caught his attention - it had not been expected.

"That would be... appreciated."

His captain was forceful.

And maddening. Spock watched as Pike settled into his favorite chair then moved his attention to the objects that Pike had indicated.

He had names for most of them, though there were a few of obviously alien origin that even Spock's research skills could not unearth in the information banks of the ship. They had worked their way through most of the restraints - Pike had a taste for watching Spock's strength arch and pull in denied torment - and while he had, Spock admitted to himself, enjoyed being so bound on a certain level, it was illogical to revisit a known quantity when there were still variables for which to solve.

Spock considered trailing a finger over the handle made of heavy, dark wood - a provocative gesture, to be sure. But it was not in his nature to attempt enticement. Instead, he simply grasped it, carried the dull gleam and high shine to his captain.

"Is this to your liking?"

Edited 2009-12-04 01:27 (UTC)

It was an interesting choice, one Pike wondered why Spock had made. He watched Spock bring over the protective wooden box, and gestured for him to place it on the table. "I think it is very much to my liking."

He reached out and gently undid the clasp on the simple box, revealing inside of it about a dozen glass balls of various sizes. He traced his finger over one, then looked up to Spock. He had allowed Spock to investigate his collection once before, explaining some of the more obscure items such as these. It would allow him to leave a mark behind on Spock's skin, even if the mark would fade rapidly when used lightly, but the heavier the use the deeper the bruising.

Spock's gaze was steady. Rumors and what he had chosen aside, he was not a slave. He was aware, probably to a greater degree than Pike suspected, that his captain had made this clear to others in many ways. The recent incident with the whip had much preyed on Spock's mind.

His stomach turned at the thought of ownership, forced submission. But Pike continually offered him the choice. It was fascinating - Spock often meditated on the paradox of his freedom being defined by his acquiescence to Pike's desires.

Fascinating also how much satisfaction for himself rested in satisfying the human before him. It was what had led him to choose the glass bells. Evidence suggested they were not really discussing Spock's loyalty as an officer - no, his captain did not care for sharing either, it seemed. To allow this marking, intentional and deliberate.... Spock pondered the potential there.

Edited 2009-12-04 15:26 (UTC)

When Pike decided something was his, truly his, it was his and his alone. So far, there were only three things he had claimed in such a fashion which were the Enterprise, his captaincy of her, and his home. Much to his own surprise, he found himself wanting to claim something new. It was standing in front of him, watching him with a dark gaze. Yet as far as he could tell, he had no reason to want to do so. As a Vulcan might have said, it was an illogical feeling, but he wanted it all the same.

Pike stood up, deliberately removing the gloves he wore slowly. The ice of the planet that had been his very last test in his ability to survive in the cold had leeched into his very bones, and those very bones complained even in what could be considered normal temperatures anymore. He felt old before his time thanks to it, but the gloves he had chosen to wear during the war became an excellent stand-by for the problem. He placed the gloves aside, flexing his fingers, rubbing them together, watching Spock from the corner of his eye.

It was surprisingly stimulating to watch Pike strip off his gloves. Spock had developed an appreciation for what those hands could accomplish and his own were, in the Vulcan way, rather exceptionally sensitive, but for some reason, despite the weight of evidence to support the expectation, Spock was always caught off-guard by the simple action. It raised his pulse, flushed his ears, aroused his flesh.

It was distinctly possible Pike had no idea that what he was doing was, in Vulcan society, quite scandalous.

He knew.

He walked around the table to Spock and rolled his palms slowly onto Spock's chest, starting just above the wrist and moving to his fingertips. He laid them there, acquainting them with the feel again, the heat that made the ache stop. There he left them, mental shields in place again stray thoughts, the silence of the room filling them until he decided to break it. They had the whole night to themselves, where he would drive sounds from the half-Vulcan that Spock would never normally dare make. Silence.

He struggled again, no sign of it on his face. He had, alone in his quarters, begun to crave this contact, skin to skin. He had gone most of his life without it; strange that it would acquire such importance to him now.

The moment stretched - Spock's patience wavered. He could feel Pike's pulse through the fingers that rested on his bare chest.

But it was wiser to maintain his silence, always safer not to speak.

"Lay down on the bed, and we'll begin tonight's lesson." Pike said after the long silence. He let his hands move down across Spock's body, over the protruding hip bones, down over the dark hair dusting each thigh. Pike liked to encourage the confusion Spock felt, making Spock overcome and change.

The first time he had been summoned to Pike's quarters, had been subjected to this casual touching, Spock had flinched away from it and shifted to lessen the proximity of their bodies.

He had controlled the blatant response on his second summons. Pike had pushed him further, seemingly idle gestures of fingers prodding at Spock's flesh. Spock suspected Pike never did anything idlely, never without thought.

Now he struggled for an entirely different reason, even more compelling than his initial distaste. Pleasure was a drug, and Spock felt the desire for those hands move through him - the words to ask for more of the touching were half-formed in his mind already. Spock ruthlessly suppressed them.

But he moved to the bed - his inner turmoil expressed itself in a greater economy of motion on his part. He had been still, then he moved, then he was still again. he would take what Pike offered. To ask for more would be a weakness - though perhaps the wanting was actually the greater weakness.

Spock laid himself face down, the long line of his back pale and almost entirely unmarked.

Pike picked up the box, bringing it over to the table along side of the bed. He drifted a hand just above Spock's back, enough that he would be able to know its presence without actual touch. Touch had become their means of communication, words failing to do what something more simple could. It allowed them to understand each other on a more basic level. It could give different impressions, depending on the touch used. Usually, it was like the bite on the throat of the alpha for most of his crew, to prove who was in charge. With Spock, it seemed the bite was hardly needed. He knew his place and preferred it with only an occasional nip to the flank. It would never be against belief to say that his entire ship was like a pack of wolves.

It had been a long time since he had used the beautiful glass balls. He pulled one free of the box, holding it up where Spock would be able to see it. He put it in reaching distance, tugging out the rest of the balls and grasping the smokeless heating unit he would be able to use on the ship.

The almost-touch rippled across his skin, made him shiver. The logic of allowing it was clear to him - the logic of enjoying it... was not. Why this human? Why this arrangement?

Spock did not desire command for himself - he was enough of a target by simple virtue of his blood. He preferred his research and his experiments. It did not stop him from angling for position within the ranks of the science department but he would make no attempt to obtain command, especially under a competent commander such as Pike.

He did, he was discovering, enjoy the proverbial nip to the flank to remind him of his position. Strange.

Pike made a display of readying what he would need and Spock watched, anticipation building with each breath between decision and application. Had he thought it most difficult to allow the casual touches? It was equally difficult to wait for the purposeful ones. He moved slightly, shifted in his impatience.

Pike placed the balls along side of Spock, then moved over to straddle his body. He leaned over, spreading his palms across Spock's back. "There is little more I'd rather see then this flesh marked by my hand." He murmured into the air between them, then dragged his nails down along the smooth back to raise faint green lines behind.

Spock strectched under his captain's weight, under the nails dragging along his skin, muscles bunching and then elongating as he eased into the mattress. He inhaled sharply as Pike exerted a little more pressure.

"If you will allow the inquiry: why does it hold such fascination?"

Spock pushed himself up on his elbows to twist and look at Pike.

"Down." Pike forced Spock to lay back down with a forceful hand to the back of his neck. He slide his fingers over the skin, like he was reading a map or something similar. "Where to mark first..."

Vulcan strength meant he could conceivably resist. Flip himself and Pike so that Spock was in control. But he had seen Pike fight - Spock was experienced in killing but not necessarily as accomplished at nonlethal hand-to-hand and the odds of his gambit being successful were only 23.625%. Unacceptable.

And his response to Pike's hand on the back of his neck was, in any case, undeniable. Spock shifted against the sheets, already forcefully aroused. He twitched as Pike's hands trailed over his sides.

"Good," Pike whispered the praise, a mixture of praise and punishment that worked so well on the Vulcan. "If you move your hands to stop me, I will restrain them." It was a challenge for Spock as much as a command.

The praise acted on Spock with almost the same intensity as Pike's fearless touch. A sound tried to rise in his chest and he stifled it.

Instead, Spock twisted his fingers securely in the fabric of the bedding, the rasp of it a pleasure in and of itself. The restraints were effective but Spock wanted more, this time at least, to demonstrate his own will, the power of his own choices.

Edited 2009-12-05 22:57 (UTC)

One glass ball was chosen, curled in his fingertips as his thumb rubbed across the entrance hole that pulled into it. He turned on the heating device, scenting the brief electrical burn in the air, then slid it within. They relied on very simple means, using the differences in pressure to create a vacuum within. When it was sufficient, the ball was slid directly to the back of Spock's neck and held in place. It would keep Spock from lifting his head again, and would leave a distinctive round bruise right beneath the high collar of Spock's shirts.

"Remain still." His voice was rich in the silence, watching Spock's skin draw up and blood rush to the site just beneath the ball. The greening proto-bruise was distorted through the glass.

Intellectually, he had known what to expect. As with so many other things he had allowed Pike to do to him, the experience of it was entirely more.

The first was a simple tingling suction. His skin stretched tight and his blood pulsed strongly, bruised him rapidly, not unlike the sucking bites that sometimes marred Spock's skin when he returned to his own rooms. This was a constant feeling, though, one that did not abate, did not sit back to admire. His sense of his back, particularly as Pike placed another of the glass spheres, became a heightened, focused thing - all of his attention on what would come next, where the next would be placed.

It solidified an idea in his mind. After, he would discuss it after.

Now, he spread his thighs a little to settle his erection more comfortably and, as another bit of suction was applied, whined high and soft in the back of his throat.

((OOC - I tried PMing you but nothing seems to be working, argh. I got your message but I don't know if my response went through. Do you have my email address? That might be more effective until LJ starts working again.

Eta:

kirktastic asked me to tell you she also responded but isn't sure you got it since PMs don't seem to be working!))

Edited 2009-12-07 19:41 (UTC)

Each ball was placed carefully, replicating a pattern only Pike could see in his mind. Only when the last of ten had been placed on Spock's body did Pike move. He stood up, a foot to either side of Spock and steady on the bed, staring down at his creation.

There was one at the back of Spock's neck, five down the length of his spine, one just above either buttock, and one just below either buttock. He made a small sound, pleased with his work, and shifted himself off of the bed. He took the last two glass balls and walked around to Spock's front. "...Your hands. Place them flat, palms down."

[OOC: I have received yours and kirktastic's! Have neither of you received mine? I will leave her a comment on her latest journal entry perhaps to speak with her, and yours I will place here below our current thread. You may respond, and before we make this thread live, I will make sure all extra comments are deleted.]

Spock whimpered, face buried in a pillow. The sensation had him shifting just to feel the slight pull of his own skin, mild discomfort, pressure.

But he did as instructed.

"What--"

He interrupted his own words to savor a long, rippling shudder.

"What do you want from me, Captain?"

The shudder passed through Spock's body, allowing Pike to watch the undulation of the glass attached to his skin. "I want you to stay very, very still." Pike commanded, moving up to glide his fingertips across Spock's hands in a ghosting motion, only the barest pressure of skin on skin.

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