The Past Remembered - The Brand

[mirroredcommand]

[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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[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

His lips were green where Spock had bitten too hard and drawn his own blood, which smeared on Pike's pillow. But the release of the suction pressure was finally enough to draw sounds from him - Spock whimpered at the initial release and again at the thumb across the sensitive, raised flesh.

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"Only eleven more times," The voice was low, nearly seductive, further drawing Spock down into the pit Pike was opening for him. Each globe was released in turn, minus the one on either hand. Only when a decorative display of large, emerald markings were on display across Spock's back did Pike take time to enjoy them all.

He placed his palms over the lowest and moved his way up the length of Spock's back, cupping each large welt in turn, drifting the pad of a finger around the edge of each, bending over to press his lips against one to feel the extreme heat rising from it.

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If Spock had been in an analytic frame of mind - and part of his mind was almost always in that frame - he would have been surprised at how quickly Pike had acheived his goal. Instead, Spock was occupied attempting and failing to restrain his own whimpers at the touches to his overly sensitive flesh. The command had been to remain very still but he could not prevent the shudders that rippled over him as Pike reached the welt at the back of his neck.

Spock was not certain he could maintain his composure through a repeat of this treatment.

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This shattering of composure is exactly what Pike desired. He would draw it out of Spock, touch by touch, moment by moment, until he saw it come. His lips brushed the welt on the back of Spock's neck as he spoke, "Turn over." Pike lifted himself up, giving Spock just enough room to turn over. The sheets would surely be a whole new sensation for the sensitive skin now on Spock's back.

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His breath was a deep rasp as Spock turned, settled his welted skin against the sheets - not so rough as those in his own quarters, which were going to feel like fine abrasives if he were sent back tonight.

It was impossible to watch Pike and remain still. Spock closed his eyes tightly, concentrated once again on his breathing. His cock was full and hard and exposed but he did not cover himself. Spock sank himself further into his own sense of focus, his own desire to acquiesce to his captain and, at last, managed to open his eyes.

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"Better." It was a single word offered as a reward for something done right. Pike stared at Spock's body, a butcher carefully mapping the fine cuts of a steak, looking for the design he would lay on this side of Spock's body. He ignored the hardened flesh that was seeking his touch, drawing out the experience for them both.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

It was easier to think, having caught his breath, though the sensations were still feeding in from his excited nerve endings.

Pike found him visually appealing. And submission did not mean that Spock was entirely without his own will, still. He had opted not to act in a provocative, for a Vulcan, fashion earlier upon making his choice. But it was logical to provide a demonstration now.

Spock stretched, toes pointed and arms above his head, pressed flat to the headboard. His long, angular body was spare, lean - he was still very young for a Vulcan and had only just begun to fill out more. Lean, but long and pale and displaying himself, each bunch and extension of arms and legs.

He caught and held Pike's possessive gaze. And offered the barest of smiles, the merest uptilt to the corners of his mouth.

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The Vulcan knew he had captured his interest. It gave Spock power, and Spock was intelligent enough to use it even if only subtly. It was a part of why Pike continually asked Spock to return, because the play of power that lay between them. It was almost delicate, and perhaps in a way, binding.

"Have to remove that smile from your face." He rumbled as he leaned down, grasping Spock's chin. For tonight, it was only an idle threat. It was not always so idle.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

The smile could be removed but there was a glitter of something in Spock's dark eyes that would be more difficult to erase. He lowered his lashes, before looking back up at Pike from under them - a coy glance, almost feminine.

Something about this human pulled Spock to him. Spock writhed a bit, displayed his clear pale skin, and considered it. Pike called and Spock answered, Pike touched him and Spock... responded. Was it simply that Pike was the first and only person to touch him this way? Spock doubted it was that simple; he had never felt this desire to encourage contact, to touch in return, with anyone else.

He would ponder it later. For now, Spock reached up, ran sensitive fingertips over the grip Pike had on his chin, not in an attempt to lessen the grasp but to show appreciation for it.

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Pike turned his head and bent it down enough to nip with sharp teeth at Spock's fingers, releasing the grip on his chin. "Put your hands back out." He commanded, moving off to gather the glass globes back to him. Spock had known nothing of his own body when it came to games of pleasure and pain, despite the fact that he knew how to use his body to kill and restrain with incredible effect. It was his pleasure to teach the limits of the organic body to the half-Vulcan.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

He grunted to the nip to his fingers - not a noise of complaint - and settled his hands back onto the bed, palm up. His body was restless, muscles twitching, nerves eager for sensation.

It would be enjoyable, Spock pondered, to hold his captain in this thrall. A pleasant fantasy; Pike was not a man to cede control to another - though Spock trusted in him enough, was loyal enough, to put his safety in his... lover's hands, it was doubtful that Pike was capable of the same. One did not hold a ship as long as he had by trusting.

The throb of the welts on his back broke his thought and Spock slid, with deliberation, against the sheets, further stimulating the bruised flesh.

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Once he had gained the level of control he had now, Pike had no intention of giving it up to any man. He controlled his ship and its crew, and without crawling further up the ladder through assassinations and blackmail to be, say, and admiral, it was as much control as he could garner. It was enough for him. Being too greedy was what got people killed.

The design began to take its shape all over again. This time, the starting place was over each nipple. Pike did not take his time to do them in turn, but heated both and quickly applied them together. Leaving an imbalance seemed an insult to what he was creating.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

He panted shamelessly now, too caught up to waste effort regulating his breathing.

Perhaps it was unwise to give himself over so thoroughly to the control of another. But there was a delicious whiff of freedom there are well, his rationality set aside for the honesty of his true responses which were so rigidly controlled and hidden from everyone else.

If there were consequences, he would deal with them later - Spock's conviction settled at the completely absorbed expression on Pike's face. He knew his course of action, if he could convince Pike of it. And that began here.

Spock arched up toward's his captain's hands and gave him the noises he seemed to desire at every encounter. A whispering sigh at the light touch of a fingertip, a choking gasp as another glass ball was applied, a moan as the sensations built around him again.

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Those sounds were exactly what he wanted. They poured through him, making him burn. The sheer idea that it was him that was pulling those sounds from Spock's lips, breaking down the barriers he constantly held. "Let it all go, Spock." He spoke monotone, quiet, but the aura of his command rang through. "Let me see you let it all go."

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Pike's eyes stripped another layer of his logic from him and Spock shifted his posture so that, even in his reclining state, he looked open, inviting, hungry.

Earlier Spock had considered it shameful to want, had restrained himself from asking. Now it seemed foolish - the want was of benefit to them both; it was his pride that kept him so apart.

"You may, of course, look for the entire expanse of the evening if you wish. But I would rather touch you in return."

He moaned without restraint at the ghosting of Pike's bare hand over his skin.

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Spock was starting to ask for things in return. It was a small but intriguing change in the game between them, and Pike tinkered with the concept of allowing it. "When I'm done." He finally allowed, giving a purposeful jostle of the glass globes on Spock's chest and starting to add new ones. Two higher on the chest, ones along the ripples of abdomen, ones pulling the tender skin where hip and thigh and groin all came together. Like last time, he left the hands until the end.

Those he stroked each palm with his thumb, an unintentional mimic of a kiss nearly. He smoothed out the palm before adding the first of the two globes, wanting to watch Spock's reaction to it.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Acceptance. At this point, buzzing with sensory input, Spock accepted whatever Pike wanted to do to his body.

The vacuum inside the glass drew at the skin of his palm, made him whimper and shake, cock leaking against the angular plane of his belly.

"Please."

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"Please what?" He had no intention of touching Spock where he needed it most, at least not yet. Was it possible to increase the sensitivity of the hands enough to have Spock release without additional touch? The concept of the experiment had enough interest for him to want to try it.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

His constant shifting against the sheets was a delicious agony on his back - and he could feel new bruises forming under the glass bells Pike had applied to his frontside. Spock's hands were shaking at the pleasurable torment that heightened as the minutes passed.

"I do not know."

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"Then I won't do anything until you decide." Pike moved to sit back on the bed, leaning on an elbow calmly as he watched Spock. His other hand drifted to his trousers and released the fly, allowing him to pull himself free of the confining fabric. Each stroke was lazy in its movements, eyes locked on Spock's shuddering body.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

The high whine at the back of Spock's throat clearly expressed his frustration. If he knew what he needed.... The shifting of his hips took on the same lazy tempo as Pike's strokes.

"How much time like this?"

[iron-command.livejournal.com]

"Until I say otherwise," Pike replied, his eyes drifting half closed as he watched Spock's movements. He debated if he wanted to removed the glass globes from everywhere but Spock's hands and nipples, then take him with the suction remaining on his more sensitive places. Maybe, instead, he would finish his idea for an experiment and release himself across the newly formed bruises on Spock's body. The idea of brilliant green crossed on white seemed an excellent one.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

Pike was still fully dressed. For some reason the contrast between his captain, still in uniform, with his own nudity struck Spock as highly appropriate.

But it wasn't enough - he was stretched taut across, balancing between too much and needing more.

"Captain, please." He needed Pike's touch, the painful, controlling hand. "I want."

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"You want what?" He was sure he could draw the words out of Spock, let the filthy words taint. The fact that Spock could move any time he wanted, rip free the glass and fight, yet he did not by Pike's sheer command alone was a point of pleasure greater then any other.

[mirroredspock.livejournal.com]

His head jerked sharply in negation but he whispered the words anyway.

"Your hands, I want them. I need more, some small hurt. Permission. Or command. Christopher, please."