Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continnum
Sulu woke groggy and irritable. The fact immediately annoyed him. Usually he woke almost heart-poundingly alert, or gradually to the pleasant feel of a mate’s caresses. He could tell by the lack of other noise in the large bedroom that everyone else was already up. That fact, too, annoyed him.
Somebody could have stayed with me, he snarled to himself, or at least woken me up, too.
He threw off the light sheet that covered his body. He was too warm, which caused annoyance number three: The main bedroom was usually kept cooler than the rest of the family’s quarters. Three, four, or more bodies tended to generate a lot of heat. But he was hot, damnit!
Annoyance number four was that he was achingly hard. “And no one here. Figures,” he mumbled. He gave his erection a disgusted slap. “Go away.” A cold shower, he thought, would fix at least two of his problems.
The kitchen was more spotless than usual. Jilla must be on another cleaning binge, he thought, toweling his hair as he walked across the dining area. As expected, Jilla was diligently scrubbing the countertop nearest the replicator, and Sulu stepped up behind her, intending to give her a quick kiss.
“Do not,” she snapped, “create a mess in my kitchen!”
Biting his tongue, Sulu took a measured step back. His normally calm Indiian wife had been moody the last few days. “I only want coffee, hon,” he murmured. She turned, her hands on her hips, her grey eyes accusatory.
“And you cannot pour a cup for yourself?” she demanded.
“Did I ask you to pour it for me?” he shot back, dropping the towel across his shoulders. “Jesus, I just wanted to say good morning.”
Her pale skin silvered with her flush. “Forgive me, husband,” she said quietly. “It has been a trying day.”
Day? Sulu glanced around. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Almost thirteen hundred hours,” Jilla replied.
Shit! “I’m sorry I slept so long.”
“There was no pressing reason to wake you.”
“The kids…”
“Have all been attended to. Lunch is finished, the Nest is settled for naps, afternoon classes have begun.”
“I had a meeting with…”
“Spock and James met with the Ambassador in your stead.”
“I was supposed to run piloting drills with…”
“Terille, Kelda and Daniel took care of them.”
Sulu bristled. “I thought you said it’s been a trying day.”
“Not for you,” Ruth’s caustic voice said from across the room. Sulu turned, intending to make an equally caustic retort, but Ruth was smiling. “Jilla, stop fussing and get your lyrette.”
“I only wanted to clean up…” Jilla began.
“After the fiasco we called lunch, I know, but you’re done now,” Ruth returned. “There isn’t a molecule of dirt anywhere in this room.” She grinned again. “Except what’s in Roy’s mind.”
“Would you like me to show you?” Sulu asked with a suggestive smile of his own.
“Nothing better, lover,” she replied, “but Spock wants music.”
“Let him play one of your recordings.”
“Command performance, Roy. Lord Husband is in a mood.”
Sulu did manage to get a kiss from his wives before they left to retrieve their instruments from the music room, which only further increased his state of arousal. He sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, trying not to be paranoid about having slept so long. Usually, that was a sign of some kind of psychological time bomb about to go off. At least he had been sleeping, and not walking around in some fugue state.
“Well, well, the dead has arisen.”
Sulu looked up. Lane, Loki and Jeremy were walking into the kitchen. He smiled, opening his arms, palms up, gesturing a fanfare. Jeremy came over to him, the tall, lean, muscled frame bending over to kiss his forehead.
“Afternoon, babe,” he said. “You feelin’ all right?”
Sulu frowned. “Fine. Was that affection or temperature taking?”
Jeremy grinned, white teeth framed by cinnamon-colored lips and a neat beard in a handsome, mahogany face. “A little of both. We were a bit worried when you told us all to go fuck ourselves.”
“When was that?”
Lane came up to the table, sitting down, stretching out his long legs. “This morning when we tried to interest you in actually becoming conscious,” he replied. He casually tossed his loosely banded black hair over his shoulder, then studied his immaculately manicured fingernails. “What surprised us was that you obviously had no intention of joining in on your suggestion.” He smiled urbanely.
“A fact which sorely disappointed us,” Loki added. She walked past the table, heading for the replicator. Her fingers ran smoothly, sensually through Sulu’s hair as she did so.
Sulu chuckled self-consciously. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s all right,” Lane returned. "We had a wonderful time without you.”
“You’re a bastard, Lane.”
“And you love that about me.”
“Knock it off, both of you,” Jeremy mock-growled.
Sulu glanced slyly at Lane. “We could both knock you off,” he suggested, his voice a low, sensual murmur.
“Ooh, can I help?” Loki asked as she returned with a tray, a pot of coffee and several cups.
“Not that I wouldn’t love it,” Jeremy returned, “but we just stopped in.” He gestured toward the tray.
“We’re deep in security negotiations,” Lane explained.
“And I’m nobody’s gofer,” Loki said pointedly, placing the tray on the table. Jeremy and Lane exchanged glances. Lane rose and bowed gallantly.
“As you say, Miss Monolem,” he deferred, and picked up the tray.
“Jesus, I oversleep and everybody’s busy,” Sulu complained.
“We don’t dare neglect our duties, Kam,” Loki murmured, though her black eyes sparkled as if she would be more than willing to do just that.
“Lord Husband’s in Captain Bastard mode,” Lane said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Don’t worry, babe, we’ll all be around for dinner,” Jeremy soothed.
“Might as well get dressed,” Sulu muttered as he headed back to the bedroom. It didn’t strike him as a particularly pleasant prospect. Even the light kimono he was wearing seemed to irritate his skin. Still, if he wanted company, he’d have to leave the family’s private quarters, and that necessitated clothing.
Let’s see. If I wear something loose, it won’t bother my skin as much, but the movement of anything against this damned erection that refuses to go away will be hell. On the other hand, if I wear something that keeps the thing nicely snug, it will irritate the fuck out of the rest of me. And will display my condition to everyone who sees me. I could just lay in bed the rest of the day and wait for dinner and jump the nearest mate. I could call somebody and ask them to take an hour or two off just for me. I could masturbate. The thought was sour. He’d had enough experience with his priapism to be able to accurately judge the nature of his arousal. This was clearly not a case when such an activity would help. He’d end up with raw skin, cramps in his hands, and no relief anyway. Seeing Jilla and Ruth, and then Lane and Jeremy and Loki had strengthened the erection. And Spock’s in a mood so he won’t take too kindly to my interrupting the routine of the household. He’s probably none too happy that I slept the morning away.
No, if that were the case, he would’ve woken me up, if for no other reason than to chastise me for telling everybody else to fuck off. Jesus, did I tell him to fuck off? That sure as shit would’ve put him in a mood. So what the fuck is wrong with me?
Paranoia again began to loom in his thoughts. He turned to the comm.
Jade had just finished a counseling session when the comm signaled. Still making notes on her stat board, she reached over, thumbing the switch. “Han here,” she said.
“Jade, can you spare an hour?” Sulu’s voice asked. There was a guarded tone to it, and she immediately shifted all her attention to it.
“Is there something wrong, Sulu?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m worried.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, one of those.”
She could hear the frown. “Yeah. Can you?”
She touched her computer screen, calling up her appointment schedule. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ve rescheduled my next appointment twice already. I really can’t bump it again.” Her voice became softer. “Is it urgent, my love?”
There was a grumble from the comm. “No, not urgent. Just my paranoia about why I slept so damn late.”
Jade smiled. “Could it possibly have anything to do with the fact that you fucked my brains out last night?”
“Hell, that's not exactly a new occurrence, now, is it?” Sulu replied, and there was an answering smile in his voice.
“You are getting older, dear,” Jade teased.
“Thanks a lot, sweetheart.”
“I can see you at fifteen hundred, will that be all right?”
Sulu sighed. “If I have to wait, I have to wait.” There was a pause. “Will you come here?”
“Of course. Fifteen hundred, then.” She keyed in the change in her schedule. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” The comm clicked closed.
A few more calls convinced Sulu there was a conspiracy to force him to get dressed and leave family quarters. Del was part of the musical command performance. Jim was still busy with the Vegan Ambassador, Calaya acting as his yeoman. Terry was out testing a new needle design.
Sighing, Sulu bowed to the inevitable. The lack of fabric brushing tantalizingly across his overly sensitive cock won out over embarrassing displays, and he pulled on a pair of black, skin-tight leggings. Telling himself he’d get used to the feel of the cloth against his skin more quickly if it were constant, he chose a form-fitting tunic as well, a deep forest green. His hair was another irritant, so he carefully braided it to keep it out of his face.
What is it about being mated to an Antari that makes everyone grow their hair? he mused to himself. It had worked on everyone in the family, with the exception of Jeremy, who insisted on keeping his tightly curled hair just long enough for Sulu to get a good hand-hold in it. Even Spock had succumbed, allowing the back of his hair to grow below shoulder length, while keeping the front properly Vulcan. Sulu’s own black silk was nearly to the middle of his back. He often considered wearing it in a proper topknot, but that required a lot of maintenance and was uncomfortable to boot.
He decided against putting on boots. Even soft slippers bothered his feet. Just before leaving the bedroom, he pulled them off, tossing them in the middle of the deck, and walked out of the family quarters barefoot.
The music was soothing. Spock had tried to meditate and found the distraction of his own heartbeat too much to overcome. He ascribed it to the mild but impossible-to-ignore concern for his Warrior Bond. For Sulu to be so difficult to awaken, even with the enticement of eager, aroused mates, was worrisome. While the gentle, melodious harmonies of lyrette and acoustic guitar did not erase his disquiet, it calmed the irritation that came with it.
He sat on one of the well-padded chairs in the recreation room on Deck 8. The Valinor was the clan’s home: they had made it comfortable and welcoming, deliberately different from the austere surroundings of the Fleet ships they had all grown used to. He and his mates had their own, private quarters – nearly one fourth of the ship. Rider’s offices constituted another fourth, including the shuttle bay as a launch site for the needles it built and tested. Another section was devoted to the rest of the clan’s private rooms; the adult children from their previous separate marriages and their spouses and children. The last was common areas: the galley, recreation facilities, the working areas of the ship. It was imperative to him that the ship be considered as any other Vulcan household, with strict separation between public and private domains.
Yet, he was the Clan Head, and if he desired quiet music in the middle of the day in what was usually a common gathering place devoted to games and conversation, then quiet music he would have.
It had been somewhat trying to arrange at that. Jilla had to be summoned from her unnecessary cleaning. Ruth and Noel only stopped arguing about which pieces to play when he had commanded them to cease their bickering. Even after, he had had to instruct Noel to stop distracting Ruth from her fingering. A flash of bitterness, that Ruth could be so distracted, and by Noel DelMonde, was brushed aside. Any reason for jealousy or envy is long past, he reminded himself. Noel is now as much a member of my home as she is, and is as subject to my desires. Should I forbid them to touch, they would obey.
The thought was smugly satisfying, and he sighed inwardly and went back to letting the music soothe him.
Sulu entered silently, not wanting to disturb the performance. The music was washing over him in tangible waves in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, yet was somehow disconcerting. His heart rate picked up, the leggings becoming a bit more constricting at his crotch. His eyes swept over the musicians:
Petite, voluptuous Jilla sat demurely in a chair, her lyrette held in small, graceful hands. She wore a long, sleeveless gown of deep, dusty rose, her burgundy hair swept softly up in a loose chignon on top of her head. Tendrils of it fell to her neck, accentuating that bare flesh, as well as her curving, pointed ears. A shudder of desire ran through him.
Ruth was sensual, beckoning gold – golden-tanned skin, silky gold hair tumbling over her shoulders and back. Her thin, lithe body wore just enough clothing for modesty’ sake; a bright blue bandana and thigh-high sarong skirt. She perched at the edge of a chair, holding her guitar, one long, naked leg crossed brazenly over the other. She glanced up at him, smiling, her eyes velvet amethyst, and winked. Desire doubled.
Del half stood, half leaned against a stool, one booted foot up on the lowest of its rungs. His head was bent over his guitar, the intensity flowing from him in a passionate flood. His thick, dark hair was pushed back behind his ears to keep it out of his handsome face, the ebony eyes closed in reverie. His legs were incased in black denim, his shirt a silken drape of the same color. The muscles in his back and arms rippled with the movement of his hands on the strings. Desire grew stronger still.
Taking a deep breath, Sulu edged his way around them, moving toward Spock. He could feel his bondmate’s nagging worry and wanted to reassure his Lord Husband that there was, as far as he yet knew, nothing seriously wrong. Or at least nothing immediately threatening.
Spock was perfectly still, his deep-set eyes closed as if in meditation. The long-fingered hands curved gently around the wooden arms of the chair in which he sat. He wore a typical Vulcan evening robe and leggings of the black, velvet-like material that kept in body heat. Vulcan, like any desert world, got very cold at night. Due to the compromises necessary when living with other species, Spock was almost always cold unless he wore the heavier styles. His pale jade skin contrasted sharply with the color in a way that Sulu had always found particularly arousing, though he couldn’t have said why.
Sulu came up beside his Vulcan husband, gently reaching out to the mind that was so finely tuned to his. I’m all right, he sent. To his surprise, Spock’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.
“Where have you been?” was quiet thunder, both out loud and in his mind.
The music stopped. Sulu fell to his knees next to Spock’s chair. “Home!” he gasped out. “Asleep!”
Spock blinked, letting go his grip. “Of course,” he murmured. “Forgive me, husband. I was startled out of a deep relaxation.”
Rubbing his wrist, Sulu murmured, “Forgiven,” but he had the good sense not to try to rise from his knees. He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. They had turned to submissive jelly.
“Play,” Spock said. Ruth, Jilla and Del exchanged glances. “Play!” came the sharp command.
Ruth’s eyes flashed, Jilla began glowing, and Del muttered something in French, but they took up the piece that had been interrupted.
Spock sighed deeply, his dark eyes again closing. His hand dropped to Sulu’s head, idly toying with the silky hair.
The action, like everything else today, Sulu thought, strengthened Sulu’s already insistent arousal. With something of a shock, he realized that even Spock’s sudden ferocity had only heightened the desire coursing through him. Under normal circumstances, that kind of a display from his Lord Husband would have aroused him, yes, but also triggered old fears. This time there was no fear, only erotic shivers and a breathless sense of hungry anticipation.
By fifteen hundred hours, Sulu was fighting to keep his hands and mouth from his Lord Husband’s noticeably erect organ. Spock had coaxed him around to the front of the chair, maneuvering Sulu’s head into his lap. He continued to absently stroke his bondmate’s hair and the back of his neck, sending tidal waves of sensation down Sulu’s spine. In turn, Sulu’s hands grasped at the strong, sinewed thighs, nuzzling his face against the soft material that covered them. It was with an effort that Sulu raised his head, gazing at his husband until Spock opened his eyes, glancing down at him.
“Yes, Sulu?” he murmured.
Sulu shuddered at the voice. So deep, so sexy. “I – ” He swallowed. “I have an appointment with Jade.”
“To discuss this morning’s odd behavior?” Spock questioned.
“Yes.” Something flickered in Spock’s eyes, and for a moment, Sulu was certain he would be forbidden to leave.
“Very well, then, my salaq’in,” Spock said. “Return to me when you are finished.”
“I will.” Sulu rose then, and Spock’s hand came to the back of his neck, pulling him into a fierce kiss.
“Do not forget,” he whispered. Sulu shook his head, unable to speak for the passion screaming in his brain, and stumbled away from the chair. He glanced at Ruth, Jilla and Del once more before leaving the rec room. Was it his imagination, or did their eyes follow him with hunger – and envy?
Spock remained seated for half an hour after Sulu had gone, but his enjoyment of the music had ceased. He was aroused, a fact that had been pleasant enough with Sulu kneeling at his feet. Now it was simply an irritant. He had tried to will it away, to no avail. Each time he attempted to clear his body of the sensation, his mind supplied him with a fleeting yet intensely erotic picture: the dark green of Sulu’s tunic, reminding him of the color traditionally worn by slaves in Vulcan’s barbaric past; the feel of the silky black hair, so like that of Vulcan women; the softness of the skin at the nape of his neck, and how it would yield to the sharpness of his teeth; the tantalizing nakedness of his feet, which Spock knew from experience were highly sensitive erogenous zones. He shuddered, and for a moment, his thoughts were obscured by a brilliant flare of pulsing, emerald green.
“Mon dieu, you feel that?” Del rasped out as his body was flooded with carnal insistence. That it had gotten past his hard-earned shielding was enough to shock him, but the intensity…
He glanced at his companions. Jilla had gone nova, glowing a bright silver. Ruth’s huge eyes were closed, her body tensing almost as if in orgasm. Then she dropped her guitar with a resounding ‘bang!’ and stood.
“Jesus fucking Christ, no warning!” she gasped out, and started to moved toward Spock. Del watched as their Vulcan husband abruptly stood.
“Spock…” Ruth began.
Incredibly, he glared at her. Her eyes widened, and she fell back a step. Without a word, he moved past her and out of the rec room.
Jilla seemed to recover, and stammered, “I thought…”
“Yeah, me, too,” Ruth managed as she turned back. “But it can’t be, not if…”
“And he obviously did not…”
“What th' hell was that?” Del asked, his voice shaking.
“I would’ve sworn…” Ruth said, then let the words drift off as she stared after her absent husband.
“The Time,” Jilla replied softly. Del swallowed, sudden understanding flaring within him. The Time. Pon farr. Mating drive. Then he realized, equally suddenly, that Spock had rejected his wife’s presence. “Why then he not…?”
“Perhaps not,” was Jilla’s bewildered response.
“But then, what is wrong?” Ruth wondered.
Terry was maneuvering the needle back into the hangar when the firestorm struck him. His body went rigid, his mind filled with flame, silver fire blinding him. Needneedneedneed! The emotion rushed through him, consuming him. The needle bumped on the deck, the controls in suddenly slack hands.
In the control room, Danny started, shuddered, then quickly deployed the catch net. The tiny ship slammed into it, bouncing against it back to the deck. He jammed his finger on the buttons for an emergency closing of the hangar doors and re-pressurization of the bay. Then he rushed to the stairway that would take him to the deck. He waited impatiently for the 20 seconds it took for the bay door to open, and raced to the needle. She was scraped, one of the landing struts broken, but there was no sparking. He hit the door release.
Terry was shaking himself like a great silver cat. “Shit,” he rasped, “your father’s in…”
“I know,” Danny returned. “Get the hell out of there. I’ll lock things down.”
“And get Kelly off the Valinor,” Terry added
“Yeah, and me, too.” The large purple eyes twinkled under the mop of blonde hair. “Have fun.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Terry snarled, but he was grinning.
Jim was handing the last of the paperwork to Calaya, preparing to walk the Vegan Ambassador to the transport that would take her to Elysium’s shuttle port. He was quite astonished when Calaya simply let the stat board fall from her hands.
“Calaya?” he said, turning fully to her.
“Is your yeoman all right?” the Ambassador asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jim answered, then repeated, “Calaya?”
The pretty Indiian shook her head. “James, we need to return to the Valinor,” she whispered. “Immediately.”
Jim looked confused, but nodded. “All right, I’ll just see Ambassador Tali-Chan to…
“Now!” Calaya snapped.
“Surely…”
Calaya was glowing. “James, don’t argue. We must go. Now!”
Jim turned to Tali-Chan. “Forgive me, Ambassador, but this is apparently quite urgent. I trust you can find your way…”
“James!” Calaya shrieked.
“All right!” Jim touched the communicator at his wrist. “Valinor, two to beam up, immediately.”
As gold shimmer took them, the Vegan ambassador wondered how the yeoman had known of an emergency when there had been no communications from the orbiting ship.
Jade was surprised when she arrived at the family quarters and Sulu wasn’t there. She had looked in the living room, dining room, bath, kitchen, the family bedroom and two of the other bedrooms. While the wife in her told her that he had probably gone to see the children, or to visit one of his other mates, or even to attend to some governmental paperwork before their meeting, the therapist grew immediately concerned. What he wanted to talk to her about wasn’t urgent, but he had been worried enough to set up an appointment. And he had asked her to come here. Where, then, was he?
She strode to the comm in the bedroom she was in, intending to try to locate him when she heard the hiss of the door from the corridor. “Sulu?” she called, hearing his voice at the same time.
“Jade?”
“In Spock’s room, love.”
She got a second surprise when Sulu came into the room and immediately pushed her onto the bed, his mouth bruising hers in a desperate kiss. The erection that pressed against her through his clothing was neutronium hard, his voice a deep rasp of, “Now, Jade, now!” in her ear.
She had no chance to answer him before his hand ripped at the silk sheath dress she was wearing. Hurriedly she helped him pull it and her panties out of his way. He tore off his own clothing like a madman, completely naked before she could so much as even try to aid him. He grasped at her thighs, pushing them up and apart, slamming his cock into her with frenzied need.
She gasped wordlessly, the initial shock a moment of violent pain that twisted almost immediately into equally violent pleasure. Sulu rested his weight on his arms, pressing fiercely at her thighs. She could feel the bruises that would soon come up on her skin, the knowledge a delicious fire within her. She reached for him, her hands clawing at his shoulders. His eyes were closed and she drank in the passionate expression on his face. Usually he liked watching her face while they made love, but this was not love-making. There was nothing here of tenderness or romance or a loving relationship. This was fucking, purely physical. His hunger was taking on a savage, demanding life of its own.
Harder and harder he slammed into her. His pelvis slapped against her open folds and she couldn’t help but wonder at the punishment his testicles must be taking. Sweat began to slick his skin, his head bending forward. His lips touched her breasts, immediately followed by the sharp bite of teeth. He seemed to be almost rooting, his mouth moving harshly against her flesh. She grasped her breast, feeding the nipple to him, and he sucked hard, biting hard, making her cry out. The sound seemed to inflame him. He began pumping faster, wilder, growls coming from deep in his throat. The feeling was overwhelming, and Jade shrieked in orgasm.
The cry had an effect. Sulu shuddered violently, obviously reacting to the spasms of her vaginal muscles. His hands left her thighs, moving up along her torso, his fingernails scraping her skin. They paused briefly to squeeze and scratch at her breasts and nipples, then continued moving up to her shoulders and to her upper arms. His grip tightened, forcing her arms above her head. He pulled his body upward so he could hold her wrists, then stared down into her eyes. His thrusts slowed, becoming more controlled but no less powerful. He moved with intensity and purpose, watching her reactions. She breathed deeply, licking her lips, craning her head up to silently beg for a kiss. She saw the teasing gleam in his eyes and he lowered to her, just enough for their lips to touch, for her tongue to snake out towards his. Then he pulled away, only a fraction of an inch, making her reach harder for him. She did, straining, soft moans escaping her. Again he allowed the barest of touches, again pulling back. She strained even harder, trying to pull her shoulders off the bed, her wrists twisting in his grasp. He gave a particularly hard thrust into her and she gasped, her upper body falling back to the mattress. He swiftly followed, his mouth crushing hers, pulling her tongue harshly into his mouth to suck and bite at it.
Then, abruptly, all sensation ceased as Sulu’s body was ripped away from hers, a familiar but hideously distorted voice thundering, “You are MINE!”
Sulu immediately dropped into a submissive crouch, his heart pounding cold terror through him. He couldn’t think clearly. The fear, far from disrupting the signals of sexual frenzy that had overwhelmed him, was increasing their intensity. He didn’t dare look up, but there was no need to. It would only be a matter of seconds until Spock claimed him. The knowledge swept renewed arousal through him, but when he felt Spock’s hands on his thighs, he was suddenly blinded by blood-red fury. He needed, he was being consumed by fiery hunger, the female was more than willing, she opened to him as was his right, his due, who was this other to pull him away, to try and control him, to deny the flames that burned in him? No, not again, not this time, FIGHT!
Once Spock had actually touched Sulu’s sweat-filmed skin, the sentience that had allowed him to cry out a coherent claim left him. Emerald fire descended over him, millennia of instinct driving him to assert total dominance over his Warrior Bond. The female could wait; she and the others were naturally subservient. But this one would challenge for authority over the Clan, this one was Warrior, equal to Spock himself unless he could be mastered completely. Subduing him would do nothing to cool the fires, or to ease the torment of need that burned through his veins, but it must be done. There could be no living rival to the Lord of the Clan.
He knelt. His Warrior Bond was already in the position of submission. The fact pleased him. He would have fought as bitterly as was necessary to control the bond, but if all that was required was the claiming…
No, not again, not this time, FIGHT!
The flesh beneath his fingers twisted away, his Warrior Bond turning, refusing the claim. Rage roared through him. How dare he!? Foolish little reed, do you think you will not bend before me?
He reached for and caught the body that was moving swiftly away from him. He felt the sharp blows cutting at him as his Warrior’s exquisite training asserted itself, but they meant nothing. He countered easily, using only a portion of the strength that was five times greater than his adversary’s. His Warrior tried to rise, to gain an advantage over his still-kneeling Lord. Spock grabbed the braid of hair, jerking his head backwards. He cried out, but it was a sound of anger, not submission. Spock hooked his other arm around his Warrior’s waist, pulling the body harshly against his own. He let go of the braid, pushing the head it was attached to forward, forcing it to the ground. He let his grasp slide around his Warrior’s body, his long fingers digging into the flesh of his buttocks. His erection was burning, and he entered his Warrior’s anus with a cry of painful triumph.
Though it did nothing to soothe the fire in him, the brutal thrusts were necessary. His Warrior shrieked and Spock did not heed the cries, though they stabbed him with fear and desperate concern. He leaned his full weight over and onto his Warrior’s hips and back, his mouth seeking the soft flesh at the nape of the neck. It was an instinctive thing, the need for the male to hold his mate with his teeth while he mounted her. That this mate wasn’t female had no effect on that instinct. The noises from his Warrior were becoming less fierce, less furious; there were more whimpers and moans of pain and fear. But still, the body beneath him was rigid, fighting his claim. He pressed on, harder, more determined, his teeth closing on the back of his Warrior’s neck, breaking skin, tasting blood.
With that taste, a sudden shudder ran through his Warrior. The body relaxed with an exhalation of passion. It began to move against him, not in protest, but to enhance the fierce penetration. The head bent forward to expose more of the flesh of his neck, inviting the savage oral embrace. The knees parted slightly, giving a more stable position for Spock to thrust against. The moans which had sounded so agonized lost the sense of rejection and became pleasured and encouraging. Words were formed, words that Spock could not understand, but whose meanings were transmitted directly to his heart: take me, fuck me, I’m yours, lord, husband, own me!
Spock’s heart thundered, his Warrior’s submission flooding him. Plak tow, the blood fever, began to rise as his need to prove his dominance was satisfied. It was too pleasing to leave his Warrior’s body just yet. He would reward his salaq’in for his surrender, filling the need that cried out to him from his Warrior Bond’s mind and body and emotions.