Title: Little Death

Author: Saavant

Contact: saavaant @ yahoo . com

Series: TOS

Rating: [Explicit]

Codes: K/S

Part: 1/1

Disclaimer: Paramount owns them. I get no money for this.

Summary: Spock is going into pon farr again, and he has a shocking request for Kirk.

Archive: Sure.

Note: This story was inspired by a challenge from Farfalla, and I've used the version of Vulcan genitals that Leslie Fish used in her stories "Shelter" and "Poses."

Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2003

Beta: Farfalla. Who rocks like Stonehenge. :-)


I don't know when I've been more frustrated.

I have waited seven whole years for this, nurturing the hope that I was right, and that there was desire in the way Spock sometimes looked at me. I have waited, scared of ruining our friendship, hoping that the pon farr would remove enough of his inhibitions that he could finally show me desire -- if it were there.

But here he is, finally in heat, and instead of melting amorously into my arms, he's standing before me trying to look like a proper first officer, making a formal request.

There is nothing calm about him. His face is flushed that delicious shade of olive, he's breathing raggedly and radiating heat that burns my nerve endings alive, and the front of his pants is strained almost to breaking point. He looks like the cover of a sex magazine; just looking at him is enough to make a mere human's higher brain functions short out.

And yet he's holding onto the shreds of his control, standing almost at attention, uncomfortably asking to be locked away to meditate.

"Do you believe you can resolve the pon farr through meditation?" I ask doubtfully. If that's all that's necessary, why didn't he do it the first time? I'm suspicious of his motives. He's crawled off to die before.

"I have researched the subject and learned that it is... possible. It is not simple, but it has been done." He stifles a moan. I'm amazed that he can try to carry on a conversation when he's so obviously in pain. "In my first... Time... I had almost no knowledge of the subject. I did not want to believe it was happening to me; I kept myself in denial until it could no longer be denied. That was... unfortunate. By the time I took measures to solve my problem, it was nearly too late. This time, I have studied."

"And made no plans," I reprove. "You're telling me about it even later than you did last time. No arrangements for a mate, even? What have you been thinking?" I nearly shout the last words, my anger at his carelessness struggling against my relief that he hasn't decided to get married to someone. The thought of him with some stranger makes me cringe, but I'm sure this meditation idea isn't safe at all.

A shudder goes through him. "I do not want... a mate," he chokes. "My only duty is to..." His eyes catch mine, then turn forcefully away. "...to Starfleet. I could not live on a planet, raising a family. It would be better not to live at all. My home is the Enterprise."

Damn it. For just a second there, he was looking at me like... "Spock, are you sure there is no one you want? You wouldn't have to settle down and raise a family planetside. Is there someone on the Enterprise you're attracted to?"

He barely hesitates. "There is no one... for me. No one whom I desire, who would be willing to enter into the life-bond that pon farr mating requires. Please, Captain, do not concern yourself with that subject. Set the lock on my quarters so that I cannot open it from inside, and... leave me there."

After a pause, he continues. "I may lose control one or more times, and that is why I request the locked door... to prevent me from being a danger to the crew. But the meditation ritual may succeed despite that."

Then he looks at me, suddenly, and the pain I see in his eyes is nearly unbearable. "Jim... it is also possible that it may not succeed. If I do not call you within a day to say that I have resolved the pon farr... then the meditation has failed. In the absence of a mate, the blood fever will kill me in a day and a half."

"So, if I don't hear from you in a day, you want me to leave you in there to die? Spock, what kind of monster do you think I am? I don't even abandon total strangers to death if I can help it. A friend as close as you..."

He winces in pain, whether physical or emotional I'm not sure. "If I fail in the meditation, there will be no hope. Without mating, I will die. If you do not hear from me in a day, there is only one alternative to abandoning me to death in my quarters. It is an alternative I am considering, in fact."

My blood quickens in a sudden, hot pulse. Can he be saying... "Alternative...?"

"For you to end my life yourself."

I almost choke on my own breath. "Spock! First you ask me to leave you to die, then you ask me to kill you? You're insane already! I have done things I am not proud of, Spock, but I do not murder my best friends!"

"It would not be murder, Jim, it would be a kindness. The law permits assisting in the death of a dying person who has clearly stated a desire for such assistance. I have made a recording that states my wish for you to take my life, in the event that I do not resolve this pon farr through meditation."

I stare blankly. "You've thought about this a lot."

"Why should I not? Death in pon farr would be much worse than any way you might choose to end my suffering." He holds me with his ebony gaze, forcing out each word as if it hurt him. "Have you read the Vulcan biology texts, Jim? Do you know what happens in the last stages of plak tow? If you have ever been so aroused that it was painful... then you have an idea. But in pon farr, the pain does not end.

"Without a mind-meld, orgasm cannot occur to relieve the arousal. It goes on and on, builds higher and higher... not only the pressure in the genitals, but also the longing of the mind to join with a bondmate. Both are excruciating. And together, they overcome the function of the brain.

"There is a level of agony that the body cannot endure. And once that level is reached, the central nervous system overloads and ceases to work. Without it, the other systems begin to shut down. And slowly... very slowly... life comes to a halt."

Trembling, he challenges me with his eyes. "Would you have this happen to me, Jim? Would you have me suffer so much pain that I die from pain alone? Would it not be better to kill me quickly? I do not care how you choose to do it; no method could make me suffer more than I would otherwise.

"You need not fear that I might attack you. At the end of a day of failed meditation, I would be exhausted; barely conscious; my body would be desperate to mate, but I would no longer have the strength to seek out a partner..."

Something in his words catches my attention. "To seek one out? Would you still have the strength to mate, if a partner came to you?"

"Yes, I would-- but Jim, do not betray my trust!" The words are almost a sob. "I have told you that mating in pon farr forms a permanent mental bond. Do not bring someone to me! I would rather die any death-- at your hands, or from the pon farr-- than enter into such a bond with someone if either of us did not wish it. Do not make that happen. Swear it to me!"

I think it over, slowly. Finally, I nod.

"Spock, I promise you, upon our friendship, that I will leave you to meditate undisturbed for a day. I promise that, if the meditation fails, I will... put you out of your misery. And I promise that I will not cause you to bond with anyone whom you do not want, or who does not want you."

He bows his head in acceptance of the promise. "Thank you, Jim."

And without another word, he walks painfully away towards his quarters.


Hours have passed. I've been counting them anxiously, and they're getting close to adding up to a day. I've paced my room, tried to read, tried to work... finally I'm lying on my bed exhausted, waiting for the call from Spock to come or not to come.

I'm miserably tired. My eyes are having trouble focusing. I have to stay awake...


I'm floating in a sea of fire. I don't know where I was a moment ago; it seems I've always been here.

I'm drifting among the flames, stifled in their heat, sometimes brushing against one and feeling its bite on my... skin? I don't seem to have a body, though. I just have a strong sense of being an observer here, unable to change anything...

And... oh. *Oh.*

There's Spock. And if I had ever seen him like this before, I wouldn't have waited for pon farr, I would have risked everything to have him then and there.

He's naked, sprawled on his back, his legs open and his hips moving, as if he were straining to stay still but couldn't control his body. He's not floating between the flames, as I am. He's lying in them, held by them, twisting in agony against the burning.

His erection is huge, dark green mottled with darker green. The two tendrils at its base are meandering frantically, seeking a partner to stimulate, but finding none. Every few seconds their tips brush against his shaft and cling a moment, as if they wanted to wrap around it... but he groans and clenches his jaw in a violent effort, and makes them move away.

I'm catching flashes of his emotions from time to time. He is trying to calm himself, but the flames are too strong for him-- as soon as he manages to put his mind in order somewhat, heat surges through him again and scatters his thoughts everywhere.

He knows he can't allow himself any stimulation. His arousal is already terrible pain, and every touch makes it worse. To touch himself would be deadly; it would push him toward the level of pain that his nervous system can't endure. And yet he craves touch with his entire being.

I feel him dissolved over and over again by fire, his meditation repeatedly shattered, and his increasingly feeble attempts to build it back together. I see him sweat and thrust his hips uncontrollably, I hear him pant and groan and give sudden gasps of discomfort.

And finally, I see him lose control.

In mingled lust and despair, I watch him give up the mind-straining effort of weaving together the strands of meditation. I see some of his tension relax as he surrenders his mind to oblivion, giving his body over to unfettered motions of desire.

He is undulating in passion, and his groans are coming freely now. I have to stop him, I have to help him, but I can't-- I'm an observer with no body, and I'm paralyzed with arousal. Spock losing control is a sight so intense that I don't even need a body to be aroused by it.

The tendrils at the sides of his organ have wrapped around it now, twisting, tightening, making him cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He is beautiful: a tree climbed by glittering serpents; the spadix of an anthurium blossom embraced by vines. And he's dying, and I can't do anything but look on, mourn, and worship his beauty.

The touch of his tendrils isn't enough. His hands find their way to his groin... his teeth catch his lower lip... his head jerks back in helpless response. Fingers entwining with tendrils around burning flesh, onyx eyes clenching shut, a blush of green rising from his chest up his neck, onto the prominent ridges of his cheekbones. He is so beautiful, he is so beautiful it makes me hurt, and the more beautiful he becomes, the closer he gets to death. Isn't there any way to stop it?

No, he is too far gone, his body lurching on the bed of flames, his head tossing back and forth, his hands pumping hard at the flesh that leaps in their fingers. He is coming closer and closer to that moment when he won't be able to bear the pain any more. But he can't stop; pleasure is building along with pain, and every sinew of his thighs is straining for completion.

Can't someone stop it? Can't he see that he is pushing himself toward death, not release? Or is death, at this moment, a form of release for him, a climax that he longs for, because only it can end his suffering?

Orgasm has been called the little death. Perhaps death, in its own way, is the great orgasm.

His groans are now like screams of agony, but he thrusts his hips harder and harder into the increasingly tight grip of his hands, knowing nothing now but his need for touch. I see pain tightening his face, the tension building and building...

...and I see the moment, finally, when it becomes too much. His face clenches and his body convulses in one last spasm, and he lets out a single, clear cry. The sound is still ringing in my mind as I watch motion slow to a standstill in every part of his body, as I see his hands go limp and fall to his sides, as I watch his erection relax at last, collapsing gently back into its sheath.

I look on, heartbroken, as the last twitches of life leave the body of the man I love. There is beauty here, too, in the peace he has finally found. It's the same beauty I've seen in living bodies that have rested in my arms after their orgasms.

But what hurts most is the cry that burst from his throat at that moment when pain overrode his systems... the cry that is still vibrating somewhere within me.

Because what he cried out was my name.


Sweating, freezing, I sit bolt upright in bed. For a moment all I know is panic.

Then I look at the chronometer. My heart jumps. It's past the time he should have called me. But even if his meditation has failed, he won't have died yet. There is still time to go to him and do... what I must do.

I stand up and walk from my quarters to his, still sweating in my pajamas. Standing at his door, I open the lock I placed on it. The door slides open, and I walk in.


Oh, Spock...

He's not naked, he's wearing a dark robe. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, slumped over forward, rather than sprawled on his back in a bed of flames. But seeing him ignites all the love and desire I felt in the dream. Again I'm overcome by my need to protect him, to shield him from suffering. Tears tingle behind my eyes, and I blink hard, trying to force them back.

I kneel by him, wrapping my arms around his chest. For a second I press my face against his shoulder. The heat of him pierces through me. "Spock..."

He moans, shifting slightly. Struggling with the heaviness of his exhausted body, I manage to lower him onto his back on the floor. "Spock, I'm here," I whisper to him, massaging his tense shoulders.

His eyes don't open, but he moans again, and his breathing speeds up. "Jim," he says, his voice cracking. "Jim."

"I'm here, Spock. The meditation didn't work, so I'm here."

His face contracts, as he strains to remember something. "You promised me," he finally whispers. "Keep your promise, Jim."

"Yes, Spock," I murmur back, unclasping the front of his robe. "I'm going to keep my promise. Relax."

I have undone all the clasps now, and I slide my hands in underneath the fabric, spreading them over his chest. I allow him a moment to feel my skin on his... my fingers on his collarbones, my palms against his nipples. He begins to move restlessly.

"Relax," I say again, moving my hands slowly downward, pushing the robe open as I stroke his chest and sides within it. "You won't be in pain much longer."

"Jim," he groans, when my hands reach his hips. "Jim!"

And suddenly, in an instantaneous blossoming of warmth, I know.

"Spock," I say to him, my heart ready to burst. "Do you love me?"

"Yes... love you," he gasps. "Have loved you... long time... could not tell you... you would not bond with me... Jim, my friend, my brother, now you know my shame, please kill me!"

"Spock," I almost sob, pushing his robe to the floor at his sides. My hands clench on his hips. God, he's every bit as beautiful as in the dream, more beautiful than that, even. Jade inlaid with emerald, tendrils entwining like ropes of green silk, reaching up to meet me. I give in to years of longing, and bend my head down to press my lips to his erect flesh.

For a moment all I can hear is the ragged in-and-out of his breathing. But when he feels my tongue on his most sensitive skin, he releases a gasp that expresses as much as a thousand pages of erotic poetry.

"Jim," he cries. "Are you killing me?"

"Yes, Spock," I growl into his lap, aroused so fiercely that it threatens to break me apart. "I am devouring you, one cell at a time. I'm going to eat you alive--" My voice is lost in a moan, as I take him into my mouth and suck as hard as I can. God, I've wanted this, I've needed this so long...

I barely have time to think about how much I need it, because he's giving it to me with all his strength, bucking like a crazed animal, his hands clutching my head as if he were drowning. And light and heat are pouring into my soul from his touch, our minds are joining, and I see everything... everything...

Oh, stars in heaven...

Yes, he loves me, and his love blinds and deafens and crushes me with its sheer intensity, pulling me down like quicksand, sweeping me up into the air like the winds of a tornado. In a sudden epiphany I realize that love can't be defined; it must simply be felt. Friendship, trust, respect, desire and commitment are all here, they're part of it, but there isn't a description in any language for the pure, overwhelmingly mighty force of nature that is his love.

We emerge from the meld, trembling with the effort to breathe. The head of his erection is lodged in my throat, pulsing its release; his fingers and his tendrils are clinging tight against my face. I barely notice his orgasm in the aftermath of that violently powerful release of emotion. I can still feel him somewhere inside me, projecting his feelings through my veins.

When his shudders subside and his sated flesh slips out of my mouth, I moan softly in regret, even as I gasp in relief at the ability to breathe freely again. I realize that I am still very aroused. The tightness of my pajamas is an insistent ache, as I move my body up along Spock's until our mouths can meet.

Our first kiss is frantic and quick. His tongue strikes like a serpent, burning my mouth, and then his lips are gone from mine and exploring more of their newly won territory. He brands my forehead, my chin, my throat... then finally buries his face between my neck and shoulder, encircling my waist with his arms.

I want to go on holding him forever, but I can't stand the pressure of his nakedness on my trapped erection. I let go of his shoulders and push my pants down, then settle on top of him again, sighing in relief.

Feeling me naked and hard against his skin, Spock parts his legs in immediate response, his grip on my waist guiding me down between them. Our cocks slide together, my own pre-ejaculate mingling with the oil that's leaking from the dark-green glands that speckle his organ. So alien, and so exotically beautiful.

His eyes are closed, but there is a faint smile on his lips as he leans his head back in pleasure. "Are you killing me yet?" he says, his voice rough with arousal.

"Maybe," I pant. "We do seem to be engaged in a sword-fight. Let's see who wins."

His reply is a growl, and an impulsive tightening of his arms around me. Then I feel the heat of his face against my neck, and-- oh -- the incredible sharp tight embrace of those eager little tentacles, lashing my cock against his, a miniature parallel of the arms that lock our bodies together. Heat floods me all the way to my hair, and I lose control of the motion of my pelvis, abandoning myself to hard, frenzied thrusts.

Spock is writhing in my arms. I didn't think I was going to last any longer than he was, but it turns out he's closer than I thought. His joints suddenly lock, his body goes rigidly still, and his tendrils clasp me rhythmically with every pulse of fragrant fluid that spills onto my groin.

It's all I can do to keep from following him over the edge-- but I manage to wait, because I have further plans. Calling on all my ability to control, I lift my body slightly, and lower myself back down in a different position.

And yes... yes, it feels so good. Rubbing my semen-drenched cock back and forth between his muscular cheeks, I make him moan again, and I moan in reply and kiss his neck, massaging his lower back with my hands.

"I'm killing you now," I whisper in his ear, then lick the tip. His entire body jolts in pleasure.

"How... are you... killing me... this time?" he rasps through his teeth, clenching his ass even as he tries to shove it down onto my penis.

"Stabbing you. Relax and let me in."

Centimeter by centimeter, he opens to me... and just as slowly, I move inside. The alien slipperiness of Spock's ejaculate is wonderful lubrication, and it's not long before I can pull out and carefully push back into him.

We're still melded, on some level. I can feel his pleasure, sharp and bright, mingled with little sparks of pain. Trying my best to maximize the pleasure and keep the pain to a minimum, I follow his mind... moving in the ways he seems to enjoy most.

Damn it, he's tight, and I'm close to coming. It doesn't help that I can feel him getting hard again, rubbing on my stomach, tendrils tangled in my pubic hair.

He rests his head on my shoulder. "Am I dying yet?"

"I'm just about to shoot you," I chuckle.

"Shoot me? While you are stabbing me?" The corners of his mouth curve up, and he gives me an impulsive kiss.

"Captain Kirk can do anything, t'hy'la," I say silkily.

He raises an eyebrow, even as he gets closer and closer to losing control. "You cannot stab me and shoot me with the same weapon."

"Call it a bayonet." I smile against his hair.

"It must be very old, then."

"At least forty years old, I'd say."

"Then it is in very good working condition."

"It is," I gasp, just before the orgasm seizes my genitals and pumps a hard burst of semen deep into my mate's body. He cries out at the sensation, then pulls my face to him and kisses me with swollen and flushed lips.

"Remarkably good working condition," he whispers.

I give him a twisted smile, and kiss him back. "You seem to be in a vastly improved condition yourself."

Tenderness sweeps through him; I can feel it through this link we've somehow created. "Jim, you saved my life, when all I dared hope was that you would kill me painlessly. I would never have known... yes, I suspected sometimes that you desired me, but I did not think you could bond yourself permanently to me... to anyone. You have loved so many, but it has never lasted."

I put my arms around him again. "Spock... I've thought I was in love, a number of times. But you're the one who's always been with me... always loyal, always at my side. A long time ago, I realized that... what I have with you... is the kind of love that lasts. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to take it to a... physical level. And I never had the courage to ask you."


How does he put so much love and reassurance into that one word? My heart wants to melt into a pool of sunlight.

Our bodies have pulled apart, and we are lying on our sides, facing each other. I playfully reach out two fingers and stroke his erection from base to tip, until my hand is so entangled in his viney embrace that it can barely move. Glancing up, I share a smile with him.

He gently extricates tendrils from fingers, and once he has freed my hand, he matches it with his. For long moments, we enjoy the simple, tender eroticism of the two-finger touch. Then his other hand finds its way between my legs, and when he begins to explore my scrotum, I spread my thighs wide and urge him on.

Cupping my testicles, he raises and lowers his hand, as if to observe scientifically how their weight pulls on the skin that encloses them. His other hand comes into play, and he strokes me on both sides, studying the slide of loose skin over the solid flesh beneath it.

He probes at the underside of my sac, experimenting to see what touches I like most. When he finds the sweetest spot on my perineum and feels my whole lower body go tense, he bends down and repeats the experiment with his tongue.

He's fascinated. He has never had the chance to explore that part of anatomy before. If I recall my xenobiology correctly, his own testes are protected inside his lower back.

He's so inexperienced, so curious. His emotions and his sexuality have been repressed for so long. He's been so lonely. I feel a pang of sorrow for him... followed by warm shivers of anticipation, thinking of all the things I'm going to show him.

And of course his experiments are turning me on like crazy; my hips have started rocking against his face, and I can't help grunting softly each time his tongue pokes at my balls from a different angle. And when his lips close over one of them and begin sucking, I throw back my head and make an indescribable sound of pleasure.

A few long, enjoyable moments later, his head comes up again and he smiles at me. "I believe you are now sufficiently aroused," he growls...

...and then he's on me, kissing my face and neck and shoulders everywhere he can reach, while our erections glide over each other in torturously gentle friction. And then I can barely think any more, because he's somehow managed to wrap one of his tendrils around my scrotum, and press the other one against the tip of my cock.

"You learn fast," I manage to say between gasps.

"Are you enjoying this?" he asks seductively.

"You're killing me," I cry... but it is an exclamation of joy.








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