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Whatever the cheering, drunken crowd might think, he was not concentrating on giving a good performance. He was focusing all his attention on bringing pleasure to his partner. That was the only way he could get through the degradation when Seanan trotted out his ‘exotics’ to please and excite the customers.
He knelt before Spock on the gold-tiled floor, sliding his mouth back and forth along the thick, jade colored erection. The Vulcan was, of course, drugged. Seanan was forced to keep him that way. Yet he always hoped Spock had some awareness of who was using such skill to bring him slowly to climax. He hoped Spock realized it was being done for him, and not to him. True, Seanan ordered it, and they would both be punished if the customers scattered on low couches around the stage weren’t pleased with the exhibition, but he still hoped.
He kept his eyes closed, trying to block out the presence of the audience. He concentrated on the smooth, coppery taste that filled his mouth, the feel of the arousal around him rather than the cause. He made himself hear not the lewd encouragement and wagering of the Carians, but Spock’s hoarse, quick breathing and subdued moans. The Vulcan’s scent was sharp, blending with the perfumed oils that covered both their skins. He found the combination heady and exciting. Being with Spock was the only spark of pleasure or desire left to him now. Only with Spock was he able to pretend that what he did was of his own choice. He needed to have that feeling sometimes, he knew, or he would surely go insane.
It was a survival mechanism, drilled into the heads of all Starfleet officers: When in a hostile situation, do what you have to do to survive and wait for rescue. Never allow yourself to think that there might not be a rescue. Most of the time he tried not to think at all. Or tried to turn the most humiliating moments, like this, into something else altogether.
He filled his mind with images of Spock. He had always secretly thought the Vulcan a handsome man, tall, slender and mysteriously elegant. In the months they’d been stranded on Caria, he had grown to think of him as beautiful. He knew it was partly an emotional response - the situation aroused all his feelings of tenderness and concern. But there was more, much more to it than that. There was more, now, than even duty or honor. He deliberately reminded himself how much pleasure he received from the strong Vulcan cock, how his body would soar on the heady passion Spock, all unknowing, shared with him. He determinedly forgot everything but his own mounting desire, and didn’t even hear the cheers when his hand reached down and began to pump his own erection.
Coming from the dark Carian night into the brightly lit room was almost painful. Jim Kirk had been in brothels before, and had thought he knew what to expect, but the giant room was nothing like he had assumed it would be. The garish colors, harsh lighting, and sheer size of the place stunned his senses. There must have been over a hundred people scattered on couches around the large, open room. Most of them were strongly built Carian males, dressed in heavily embroidered robes and turbans, similar to what Kirk himself was wearing. The remainder of the people in the room were naked, overly made-up prostitutes, both male and female.
Research on the culture of Caria had indicated that it was a slave society, low on the Industrial Scale, and making very little progress toward improvement. Slaves were branded over the heart, and punishment for attempted escape was to have the brand -- and the heart -- cut out.
Hell of a place for a shuttle crash, Kirk reflected worriedly as he strolled through the room. He stared at the naked men and women who smiled back invitingly, but pushed away any who tried to approach. As eager as he was to find Spock, he was almost afraid of finding him here.
The shuttle and its occupants had been missing for nearly two months, and it was through luck as much as anything that they had finally been traced to this planet. Sensors had pinpointed the only Vulcanoid life form in the first hour after entering orbit. After the long, almost hopeless search, it seemed like a miracle. But there had been five others on board the lost shuttlecraft, and Human and Carian readings were virtually indistinguishable. It was to be hoped that they had managed to stay together. Against protests from his Chief Engineer and Chief Surgeon, Kirk had come down alone to try and locate Spock and the others before risking violation of the Prime Directive by sending down search parties.
The largest group of Carians were gathered in a noisy crowd near the center of the room. Kirk shouldered his way through those blocking his view and found himself in an area of low tables and floor cushions surrounding a circular stage. What he saw there froze him.
It was Spock, yes, but Jim knew he had never seen any being so debased. Like all the slaves, the Vulcan was naked, the brand ugly over his breast-bone. Metal cuffs suspended in chains from the ceiling encircled his wrists. His legs were forced wide apart, kept in that position by manacles at his ankles fastened to the floor. His body gleamed with sweat and oil, his eyes closed, his face grimacing in both pain and ecstasy. But the degradation came from more than his nakedness, more than the bondage. Kneeling between Spock’s legs was another slave, one whose mouth worked skillfully at Spock’s erect penis, one who masturbated his own swollen erection without shame. It took Kirk a full minute of sickened staring before he could put a name to the bronze-skinned, dark-haired young man.
Lieutenant Sulu.
Kirk backed away from the spectacle, fighting to control his overwhelming urge to stop this, to pull Sulu away and tear the chains from Spock’s body and take him away from this horror. But common sense won out as he realized he would accomplish no more than getting them all killed. He was careful to conceal his anger and outrage as he went in search of the brothel’s proprietor.
What Jim Kirk did was closer to prowling than it was to pacing in the large bedroom where the proprietor had left him. He’d made a quick call to the ship to report that he had found two of the crewmen and to be ready for a fast beam-up. Then he waited, restlessly exploring his surroundings, and trying not to think about what he had witnessed. The bed, covered in some bright yellow material, was certainly wide enough for three people, or more. There were racks of various instruments of torture on the wall. When he had first seen them, he had stared at them in disbelief while being informed that anything else he required would naturally be provided. It had taken more control than he thought he possessed to keep from striking down the man who thought he was being so helpful. Instead, he had turned his back and growled, “Get out.”
The man, Seanan, had every reason to be helpful. Kirk had handed him every bit of freshly minted Carian coinage he had brought down with him, and had been completely honest in telling him there was plenty more where that came from. Kirk would have enjoyed seeing Seanan’s greedy face when he and his people disappeared from this hellish planet.
Kirk wished he had some way to vent his rage. A part of him wanted to turn it on Sulu. Just what the hell did you think you were doing, Lieutenant!? Stupid. As if the young man had a choice. He had seen the scarring, obviously left by some type of whip, on both the Human and the Vulcan’s bodies. Sulu’s chest bore the same ugly brand as Spock’s. There was no doubt of the treatment they had received during their months here. It was a miracle that either of them was alive at all.
But with what had happened, with the incomprehension on the Vulcan’s features – would Spock still be sane?
The door opened and Kirk turned to face the two men who had entered, finding them already kneeling. Jim nearly choked on the words of greeting he had prepared, managing only to get out one word; a hoarse, almost tentative, “Spock.”
The Vulcan’s head lifted, and Kirk held his breath, hardly daring to hope. Something like a smile crossed the dulled features. “Jim?”
Sulu’s eyes flashed up as well, but Kirk hardly noticed him. The joy he felt at knowing Spock was not mindless, and would soon be safely back on board the Enterprise blinded him to everything else.
As soon as they arrived in the transporter room, McCoy had them hustled off to Sickbay for a thorough exam. Jim followed in the med team’s wake, and used the time waiting for McCoy’s report sitting in the Doctor’s office, making out a log report and sipping McCoy’s best brandy to celebrate. Spock was back, that was what counted. Everything else would work out.
It took nearly an hour before McCoy emerged from the next room. He poured himself a drink and reported in a thoughtful voice, “Sulu’s asleep, but he seems to be all right physically. Spock’s awake, but I’ll be keeping him in bed for a few days.”
Kirk stood. “He’s been drugged, hasn’t he?”
McCoy nodded. “A mildly addictive hallucinogen. It was enough to keep him confused and cooperative. I’ve cleared it out of his system. With M’Benga’s help and Vulcan control, the craving should be gone in a matter of days.”
“What about physical injuries?”
“Like with Sulu, mostly superficial. I’ve removed the brands and scars pretty well. As far as psychological problems, I’ve still got some evaluations to run, but Sulu has always tested out as stable and resilient. Fortunately, Spock doesn’t remember most of it.” McCoy frowned. “Or so he says.”
“Can I see him now?” Kirk asked eagerly.
McCoy smiled. “He asked for you.”
Kirk hurried from the office. He found Spock sitting up stiffly in the Sickbay bed, his body now clothed in a thermal coverall. He nodded to Jim’s greeting and proceeded, voice cool and precise, to make his report.
“Returning from the scientific conference on Garen Six, the shuttlecraft encountered ionic interference causing both engine and structural damage. It necessitated an emergency landing on the nearest class M planet. I dispatched a general distress signal as well as a subspace signal to the closest Starbase as per regulation emergency procedures. Since the nearest planet, Caria, was under protected status, the shuttlecraft was landed in the most remote area of the planet in an attempt to avoid any contamination of the planetary culture.
“Lieutenant Commander T’Seran and Lieutenant McKern were killed in the crash. Despite efforts to avoid the native population, Lieutenants Kent, Park, Sulu, and myself were captured by Carian slave traders three days later. Lieutenant Park was killed several hours after our capture. From that point on, I was given the drug the Carians call molian, and I cannot relate any objective facts.”
Kirk listened patiently to Spock’s report. He heard the words, felt deep sadness at the deaths of the crewmen, but found himself being contentedly lulled by the sound of the familiar voice, a voice he had been afraid he would never hear again. He had missed Spock even more than he had realized or been able to admit to himself. He almost smiled at the Vulcan.
It was McCoy’s, “What happened to Kent?” that reminded him of the grimness of the situation. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself for letting the joy of Spock’s return blot out everything else, and he was glad no one seemed to notice his blush.
“I believe Mr. Sulu told me that Lieutenant Kent attempted escape and was executed. Mr. Sulu will be able to confirm or deny this. My mental faculties were not clear at the time.”
Kirk nodded. “I’ll get a full report from him. You need to get some rest.” He stood quietly beside the bed, waiting as Spock dutifully laid down. After a long moment, Spock, who had been staring carefully straight ahead for the entire time, turned his head to look up at him. Jim gave him what he knew was the widest, most relieved smile his face had ever worn. “Welcome home, Spock. I’ve missed you.”
Spock’s face took on a darker greenish tinge as his eyes dropped momentarily. He looked up again, and when he spoke, his voice was not as cool as he no doubt thought it was. “Thank you, Captain.”
Kirk thought the Vulcan was going to say more, but instead he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. Kirk smiled in understanding before leaving Sickbay for his own quarters.
Uhura was at Sulu’s bedside when he woke up, to welcome him home. Her warm smile held a great deal of comfort. McCoy gave him a clean bill of health, with some reservations and under the condition he return for further tests in a few days.
“How’s Commander Spock?” Sulu asked softly.
McCoy frowned. “That was some powerful drug they gave him. I’ll be keeping him here for observation for a while.” The doctor paused, a half-smile coming to his lips. “Jim’s been with him every minute he's had free. He’ll be fine.”
Sulu nodded his thanks, closed his eyes briefly and was glad to accept Uhura’s invitation to spend the evening in her cabin.
She took his hand while they were in the turbolift, and was in his arms the second the door to her quarters slid shut behind them. He responded to her kiss, but when he realized that it was just an automatic reaction, he pushed her gently away. Her dark eyes were bewildered and a little hurt until he explained, “I’m sorry. You know I care for you, but -- let me be the one to take the initiative for a while, okay?”
She nodded understandingly. “I’m sorry, Sulu, I should’ve realized. But I was so happy to see you I didn’t think about -- I mean, after what you... I thought you might....” her voice trailed off in confusion. Her dusky skin didn’t show the blush he knew was there.
He stared at her without expression. “How many people know what happened to us on Caria?” he asked, his voice a little more harsh than he’d intended.
She avoided his gaze uncomfortably. “No one.... I mean, no one really knows exactly what went on. But the culture there isn’t a secret, and we all know where you were found....”
“And it’s easy to draw your own conclusions,” Sulu finished bitterly.
She touched his arm. “Sulu, it doesn’t matter. No one blames you. We know you’ve been through a terrible time, that’s all.”
He shuddered, then relaxed and gave her an easy smile, a little amazed at the extent of his acting ability. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll save me a lot of explaining, won’t it? Care for a glass of wine?” He crossed her quarters to where he remembered she kept the crystal decanter he had given her.
They shared several glasses of wine while they spent hours talking, mostly Uhura catching him up on ship’s gossip and missions he had missed. Apparently Captain Kirk had had quite a battle with Fleet Command to get permission to take the Enterprise off its regular duties to search for what was essentially a needle in a very big haystack. The chances of finding the lost shuttle had been very small.
“And I know if it hadn’t been someone as important to Fleet as Spock, they would never have given the Captain permission -- although I don’t think that would have stopped him from looking anyway.”
“The bureaucracy being what it is, I guess I was lucky to be stranded with the best First Officer in the Fleet,” Sulu commented ruefully.
Uhura’s face became troubled. “Was it bad, Sulu?”
Sulu answered matter-of-factly. “Yes. But it was worse for Spock than for me.” He was quiet for a moment, then he grinned. “It’s all over now, so let’s forget it and talk about something else. Or better yet, let’s not talk at all.”
She returned the grin and came to him, then led him to her bed. He had been enjoying the feeling of wearing clothes again, but he found he could still appreciate having her undress him. Her touch was gentle, almost fragile after what he was used to. He let it fill his mind, hoping to block out the unpleasant memories.
It almost felt as if he had never touched a woman before. Carian women had come to Seanan’s occasionally, but the ‘exotics’ were kept from them, and from the female whores as well. He kept telling Uhura how beautiful she was, how exciting. He explored her body slowly, savoring the touch of the smooth, dark skin. He found making love to her almost an adventure. But once inside her, his feelings seemed to alter. Emotion disappeared and it became nothing more than another performance. It surprised him, hurt him, and he was thankful she didn’t seem to notice. He was also cynically aware that she wouldn’t, for he was very good at what he’d been trained for.
He lay silently beside her for a long time, his arms around her while she dozed peacefully.
It was just different, that’s all, he kept telling himself. I thought I wanted her, but maybe it’s just too soon to want anything, especially sex.
Why? Nothing wrong with nice, normal sex. I just need to remember what ‘nice, normal sex’ is.
Not with Uhura, though. It isn’t fair to use her to get over the situation. Give yourself time to adjust. That’s all you need. Just give it time.
After a long time of staring at the ceiling, he eased himself out of the bed and reached for his clothes. Uhura awoke.
“Sulu, what’s wrong?”
He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t explain, but wanting to try. “I just -- I have this urge to be alone now. It isn’t you,” he added quickly. “I’ve been sharing a dorm of sorts with a lot of other people, and sharing a pallet with Mr. Spock. I haven’t had any time to myself, by myself, for a long time. I need it. Do you understand?”
She nodded, but her smile was worried, and he walked out the door without saying more.
He already knew he was lying to her. He didn’t want to be alone at all. But he really wanted, he knew he could never have.
It was an alien sensation to wake alone, and it was frighteningly disconcerting.
Occasionally, he had spent a night with a customer, but he had never fallen asleep there. His owner would be angry if it was daylight and he was not locked in the slave quarters, where he belonged. It would mean a beating and no food for the day. No food from Seanan—but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a half-ration waiting for him anyway. Both of them would suffer for his carelessness. Why had he fallen asleep—or had he been knocked unconscious by the overly enthusiastic customer? Either way, there was no excuse. And no point in procrastinating.
He moved to get out of the bed, and the motion brought him fully awake.
Of course. He was on the ship, not Caria. He was free now. Disorientation was to be expected. There would be no punishment. But neither would there be arms wrapped around him and a warm body pressed close to give comfort. Never again.
Freedom had its price.
Despite the Vulcan’s protests, it was three days before McCoy allowed Spock to leave Sickbay. Jim spent much of his off duty time by the Vulcan’s side. The three days were spent in briefing sessions to catch Spock up on his duties. Kirk also got plenty of half-hearted complaints from McCoy on the numerous members of the science department that trooped in and out of his Sickbay. However, both Bones and M’Benga were pleased that Spock took such an immediate interest in returning to the normal routine.
Sulu hadn’t been interested in relaxing either. The young man had spent a day going through refresher drills in the auxiliary bridge, then reported for duty the next morning.
When Spock made his official return to duty, Jim found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Not that the officers who had filled in at the science station had not been competent. They had simply not been Spock. Jim had trusted their expertise with the library computer, but having Spock at that station always meant so much more. Spock was second-in-command, and even though he couldn’t totally share the Captain’s responsibility, he understood it, made it less of a burden. His unique, logical viewpoint was invaluable, even during the times when Jim disagreed with him. Often a comment, or just a look or gesture, had proved a catalyst for Jim’s own ideas. In desperate situations, that kind of spur could mean the difference between life and death for hundreds of people.
Spock’s first watch was a quiet one, as the Enterprise was en route between assignments. Jim used the time to read a stack of reports that, while vitally important, were also incredibly dull. He could only take a few paragraphs at a time and was actually happy for the routine interruptions of normal bridge activity. It was so nice to have things back to normal. Even the occasional exchanges of conversation between Chekov and Sulu were soothing in their teasing normalcy.
That is, until Chekov made the joking comment that if Sulu ever left Fleet, he’d have no trouble getting work on Wriggley’s Pleasure Planet. There was a moment of deadly silence as Chekov turned very red, realizing what he’d said.
Then Sulu chuckled in response, and everyone relaxed. Kirk considered it a harmless slip until he glanced toward the science station. Chekov’s remark had not been loud, but Vulcan hearing was perhaps a bit too good.
Spock was sitting at stiff attention, all color drained from his face, his eyes boring into the space between Chekov and Sulu. The reaction lasted no more than a few seconds before Spock lowered his head to monitor the science board once more. No one but Kirk seemed to notice what happened, and it took all his control to keep from lashing out at the tactless young Humans in front of him.
At the end of the watch, he stepped into the turbolift with both Spock and Sulu, and waited until the car was moving before he spoke. “Sorry about Chekov’s remark.”
Spock did not respond, and it was Sulu who replied lightly, “It doesn’t matter, Captain. He didn’t mean any harm.”
Looking at no one, Spock added quietly, “The statement was also quite true.”
No one spoke again during the long ride to deck five.
Sulu had never been late for duty in his life, but he woke up late and had to race straight for the bridge, unshaven and without breakfast or coffee. He swore at himself inventively in several languages during the entire turbolift ride. Then he swore at McCoy, who had prescribed the sleeping pill for him. By the time he reached the bridge, he had run out of invectives and adrenaline. He was still exhausted, and all he wanted was to get this shift over and get some more rest.
He wasn’t relieved to find Spock at the con when he arrived. The Vulcan was sitting stone still, looking straight ahead. Sulu had noticed that he rarely looked at anyone -- except Captain Kirk. And he hadn’t spoken a word to Sulu since their rescue. Well, we didn’t have all that much in common anyway, he told himself, refusing to let it hurt him. He swallowed the bitterness he knew he had no right to feel, and approached the helm. Spock’s voice froze him in place before he got the chance to take his seat.
“Mr. Sulu, I have already logged that you are five point six minutes late for duty.”
Sulu winced at the impersonal sound of Spock’s voice, but only answered, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” Spock did not reply and Sulu slid into his chair.
He began a routine check of his board. Everything was normal -- except for the thumping of his heart. He went through the rest of the day automatically, wondering why one well-deserved reprimand hurt him so much. Sulu, you are fucked up, he kept telling himself. When you screw up, you should hear about it from the person in charge, be it friend, lover, or stranger. And in this case, it’s a stranger. Get used to it.
He wiped the blood as gently as he could off the other’s back. He was surprised to note that his hand was shaking. His throat was strangely tight, but he thought perhaps talking would distract his companion from the pain. And there was something he wanted to ask.
“You never cry out when you are beaten. Why?”
The dark eyes opened slightly, pain filled slits in a face whose expression was tightly controlled. The voice that answered was a ragged whisper. “A small victory.”
He thought he understood. “Honor.”
“Stubbornness,” the other countered. Then, “They never make you scream either.”
“That is the way I am.”
The eyes closed. “Me, too.”
He woke from the dream/memory surprised, as always, to be alone. A deep sigh that was almost a sob shook him as he fought the emotions he could neither define nor control. Restlessly, he began to pace, then stopped before the array of ancient weapons that decorated one wall of his cabin. Somewhere, too deep in their ancestry to be touched, perhaps they were alike. But one could not revive the past.
Jim made himself stay in his cabin that evening. He had some things he needed to think about. He poured himself a brandy, set it in front of him on the desk, and found himself staring into the green liquid.
What’s wrong with me? he wondered. This whole thing has shaken me up more than I realized.
Kirk had had a long talk with McCoy earlier in the day. The Doctor was worried about Spock; afraid the Vulcan wasn’t adjusting as well as he’d hoped. Jim had been angry, asking just what Bones wanted from Spock. Tears, confessions of the hell he’d been through? Some public display of emotion for Leonard McCoy’s gratification? He had really blown up at what was only one friend’s concern for another. Jim had finally apologized, and received a lecture on his over-protectiveness where Spock was concerned. “Not exactly a safe attitude for a captain, Captain.” And a fatherly suggestion to examine his own feelings more closely.
So what did Bones know that he didn’t? He had let his joy at finding Spock color his behavior for a few days… but where was the proper and expected Captain’s joy at finding another crewman alive? He hadn’t even thought about Sulu. And his grief at losing four others… where was that? Accepted as Captain’s burden -– or buried in that first, overwhelming joy? He had wanted Spock’s return to duty, but had himself insisted, with McCoy's agreement, that Spock be thoroughly checked out before leaving Sickbay. Had he even asked McCoy if Sulu had checked out all right? His own words to Spock suddenly came to him: I’ll get a full report from him. You need to get some rest. It hadn’t occurred to him that Sulu had been through as much as Spock, that the young lieutenant might need rest as much as the Vulcan. He thought only of Spock’s ordeal, only of Spock’s condition, only of Spock’s feelings and reactions and…
Jim took a long pull on the brandy and marveled at the one fact that was becoming increasingly clear to him.
James Tiberius Kirk was in love with Spock of Vulcan.
It was the strangest match he could imagine, and he had no idea what to do about it. Certainly he couldn’t ignore it. Such self-deception wouldn’t be good for him, or Spock, or his command. And he wasn’t even sure which came first anymore.
Never mind that now, he thought. How did this happen in the first place? Years of friendship, the closest friendship either of us has ever known? Isn't that what love really is, after all? But isn’t love also supposed to include things like sexual desire, romantic desire? Maybe it’s always been there, and this incident just brought down the barriers I’ve put up to hide it. Seeing him being abused -- hell, I might as well be honest with myself -- seeing that strong body aroused is what really triggered it. I want him, god help me. I wanted to comfort him, to get him away from that humiliation, true – but I also wanted to wrap my arms around him, to kiss his confusion away — don’t shrink from it now, Jim – to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. There’s the sexual desire, no matter how discomforting I may find it. Yet it’s more than that. His disappearance cut away a part of me. With him back, it’s back. I want to be with him all the time, to help him through this and everything else, if he’ll let me. No, to help him whether he’ll let me or not. If you love someone, you don’t let their walls stop you from giving them what they need.
Kirk smiled at that thought. And there’s the romance. No, he had definitely never been in love like this before. And, to his amazement, it felt very good. I am in love with Spock. Easy. Simple. And most important, right.
Still smiling, he finished his drink, wondering why these rather startling facts had been so easy to face.