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The council chamber of the great hall echoes with the last voices of those who had come to witness the sentencing. Most have left, having patted me on the back or hugged me or otherwise shared their relief and happiness over the exculpation of multiple charges. Some of us will convene again soon, as friends and colleagues. While the others mingle through the crowds, I am only interested in one, of course.
I swerve past bodies in my search for you and am surprised to be intercepted by Gillian whose excitement about her future is almost equal to mine. Our exchange is brief as she gushes about her unique role as cetacean specialist, then breezily she presses a chaste kiss on my cheek before whirling back into the crowd. Released, I continue my scan until it catches you at the end of an empty hallway, in a private dialogue with your father. I stop and watch at a polite distance with pride and a full heart which accelerates when you turn and stride across the marble floor to meet me. We head in familiar sync out of the room and to the exit.
You stand beside me as we await the lift to the ground floor of the building. You have not spoken since taking leave of your father. You seem unreadable at the moment, perhaps needing time to process everything, and so I too remain silent in solidarity. Meanwhile, I am brimming with such joy it would be impossible to express lest I explode. I am not certain if you can read my flaring emotions, elation mixed with the pain of enormous prices paid. But once again I will have a ship. I have a crew. I have you. All back within my reach as we look towards the future.
The lift arrives and we enter, and I am brought back to so many times we have stood thusly in silent communication, shoulder to shoulder, eyes front in preparation for deliberation or strategy in the face of a critical decision, or they would glance, sometimes lock, with simple knowing. It had always grounded me, to feel you at my side, feel your friendship, your camaraderie. So many times I thought there could be more there, something that might have existed, lurking, waiting, and never expressed. I never allowed myself to pursue that possibility, knowing your proud ascetic nature and unsure how you would react.
Afraid to do so before, however, now I am certain. I return to the moment in the Klingon medical bay when I sat beside you in quiet awe, watching your chest rise and fall, the pulse at your neck throbbing with renewed life. I broke the silence to utter a single desperate plea, but internally, I made myself a promise that I would somehow let you know, given the chance, what you truly mean to me.
My thoughts are interrupted by the opening of the lift doors. We step out into a city now gleaming after the fog has lifted, leaving behind a heavy mugginess, and things seem newer, fresher, more alive. I glance up at you finally and you return my gaze with what looks like a combination of familiarity and satisfaction.
As we head away from the building into the shroud of humidity, I mention a desire to change out of my oppressive uniform. There will be time later, I think, to feel that purposeful joy, knowing those markers of leadership will be mine again. And yours, if I interpret your alliance correctly. “I stand with my shipmates,” you had said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, a thing never to be questioned. That was the moment when it came to me, a new resurgence of hope. You were there, beside me, as always. That was all that mattered.
I realize you have spoken; the verbosity is jarring after so much silence. “If you will indulge me for a few moments, I would like to change out of my uniform as well. My apartment is to the left, one hundred point four two meters away.”
I turn a sideways glance in your direction but you continue walking purposefully ahead and we carry onward, our boots clicking smartly on the sidewalk.
We approach a gray, rather nondescript building which is the new wing of temporary residences meant for fleet personnel, and I follow you to the entrance. It is a short ride to the third floor and you lead us a few meters down the hall. You press your palm to the lock which opens a door to a standard room that offers the basics: a small living area, kitchenette, bathroom and bedroom. Instead of the wall hangings and other paraphernalia of your heritage that you furnished in your quarters on the ship, here there is little of your distinctive presence, a notable contrast. This speaks to me of impermanence, something which hovers in the background of my own hopes and expectations. You could have remained at the Vulcan embassy housing, yet you chose this stark impersonal space instead. You could have also taken whatever position offered to you; almost immediately after our rescue from the Klingon ship in San Francisco Bay, you had been taken away by Starfleet security. It was unclear why they felt you needed a debriefing separate from us, and I had always assumed it came from the Vulcan front as an almost proprietary act. I suspect there may have remained some opposition to you for once again choosing the fleet over serving on Vulcan. I am reminded with a sharp pang that I really have no idea of your intentions, your future plans; it was not until the trial when I would even see you again.
“If your accommodations are more distant,” you say as we make our way into the main room, “perhaps I can find some appropriate attire for you here. The temperature will rise with the passing of the day, and you might feel more comfortable changing out of your uniform into something less confining.”
There is a straightforwardness in your tone, but also a softness at the invitation. It is conceivable that you sense my discomfort of the heat prickling against my scalp and I am moved by the logic and thoughtfulness for my physical comfort. Wondering what you could possibly own that would fit my stature, I consider the curiously worded offer and try not to ponder too much your intention; my apartment is several blocks away, though a short taxi ride would get me there in minutes, a fact of which I am almost certain you are aware.
You are standing before me as if in expectation. There is a silence that is not entirely uncomfortable between us, open to any dialogue I might begin, but it seems words are not necessary as we regard each other. On your face I read a curious expression that I am compelled to risk interpreting. Am I projecting?
Something overtakes me, an intuition, a call back to the urgency of a promise I made, and I begin to remove my jacket, taking time with the clasps. I loosen my belt, and as I bravely continue to undress, you watch as if I am under inspection. There is that familiar endearing curiosity there, and a kind of wonder, and I am not ashamed or self conscious when I finally stand naked before you. I allow your scrutiny with pride.
Your eyes lock with mine as you step forward and reach out with one hand. “May I?”
This is it. This is the moment you will know my truth. It is long past time. I nod.
You touch my shoulder and for a moment I have to close my eyes. It is the first real contact we have had since I held your body against mine in the cold frothy waters of the bay. When I open them again, your darkened eyes are actively searching mine, flicking back and forth as if calculating. Your fingers are cool against my hot flushed skin and I am certain, as they move to the base of my neck, that you can feel my pulse hammering under their soft touch. You take a half step closer and your face is inches from mine. You raise your hand cautiously upward.
“With your permission?” It is a request I have never denied. I will give what I can to help you remember.
“Yes,” I say with a crack in my voice, then swallow to contain my nervousness. “Of course. Anything.”
You close your eyes in preparation and your fingertips settle on my face like soft petals. As I focus beyond your shoulder on a neutral wall in the background, I can feel you inside my mind, that light presence, exploring gently as one’s touch would explore a lover’s body. It is an incredibly calming sensation, a filling of self. The link is deeper than the one your father reached with me as he searched for you. I am caught unaware as you reach those moments in engineering and the devastation that followed, and before I can attempt even a rudimentary psi block for protection, you shudder. A sound of pain comes from deep in your throat. You are accessing everything all at once; it is like a rushing wall of fire and I cannot control it.
“The pain. The grief. It is…profound.”
My eyes close tightly at the memory and tears press from behind them, forcing one to trickle down my cheek. I can feel you embracing my sorrow. I am loath to open this pain to you. You mustn’t linger.
“There is more.” I try to keep my voice steady. “Go deeper,” I say, anxious to move on.
Suddenly I can feel your mind retreat from the moments of crisis, the agony of my losses, back to the surprised quiet joy of receiving your gift, the book that grounded me. Back further, to that miraculous moment in sickbay after V’ger, back to the shock and overwhelming joy of your arrival on the ship after years of absence and confusion, and before I can prepare you for that anchorless period back on Earth, you are witness to a different kind of anguish and heartbreak that dragged me down while you were gone, after you inexplicably left at the end of our mission. I hear you gasp and when I open my eyes they meet yours and I can see through them into your soul.
“I have caused you so much pain,” you say in a rough whisper heavy with regret.
I can only blink back the truth and hope you see the forgiveness in me. “Go further. Go back more.”
In a kind of reset, we close our eyes in unison and your mind reaches further back…back…back, gathering memories and sensations I am trusting to reveal. All the times together, all the pieces that built a lifelong friendship of trust and affection, my growing respect, protectiveness, understanding your challenges and willingly yielding to your needs without jeopardizing your dignity.
Then in my sudden impatience to lay bare the truth, I bravely reveal the thoughts and words I had intended for you in the Klingon medical bay, the promise I had made that you would hear them from me when the time came, to let you know what you mean to me. I feel a sharp pulling away in surprise, then a gentle wonder, and, if I am not mistaken for I have projected before, an all encompassing and enveloping warmth that says simply YES. I can feel your delight at the discovery of this admission and we bask in it, dancing together in our mind link, sharing our joy of revelation. As we embrace the truth between us, we soar on wings lifted by our mutual adulation. My knees are close to buckling with the magnitude of it and your body leans slightly into mine with a similar weakness. You slowly retract, drawing yourself from the link. Your breath is warm and quick on my face and I open my eyes to meet yours. All that you had seen inside of me is now reflected in your eyes. You drop your hand and step back in a kind of startlement.
“This was not revealed to me in my recuperation on Vulcan.” Your tone cannot hide the bitterness of betrayal.
“And now?” I say, trying not to let my voice quiver. You must take the next step. I will accept whatever your choice may be. I have made mine, as you saw.
You stare at me in silence, and I am overcome with uncertainty. Suddenly I am conscious of my nakedness and doubt creeps along my skin like so many goosebumps. I can tell you are evaluating; it is that very pensive expression as you work something out. It is much like the one you made when you turned to me in blossoming recognition on Vulcan, when you finally, finally, said my name.
“Jim.” You say it again, as before, like a statement of fact, not a question. “I did not know. But I do now.”
You step back and slowly reach across your chest to the bindings of your uniform and pull the jacket off, letting it drop to the floor along with mine. With your eyes fixed on me, you undress bit by bit, until we are facing each other, naked and exposed. I take my time with my own inspection, noting the thinness of your body, magnificently alive, stunningly vibrant. My eyes travel from top to bottom and back up to your face, where I see an openness I have never seen before, a vulnerability matching mine.
Suddenly you step forward again with hands outreached and I am in your arms, your arms that are holding me, tightening me against you, and I am forced to gasp in rushing realization.
“I have always been yours.” The words are soft in my ear, but they resonate powerfully throughout my body and heart.
You remember! You remember us! My elation returns ten fold. You say my name again and again, each more quietly until it is but a whisper. Your hands delicately traverse my shoulders and back like tactile explorers. One hand slips down to my waist, then the other tremulously cradles against the back of my neck and draws my cheek tenderly alongside yours.
I am melting, breathless. My arms barely have strength to return the physical adulation, and as my trembling hands begin to rove across your body, I sense you turning away from the cold memory of those purposeful, impassive hands that necessitated touch in your recovery and replacing it with the reverential wanderings of my own.
We press even closer and shift our bodies into a natural fit. The filling of our organs against each other comes as no surprise, as if finally acknowledging our dance of intimacy. I smile against your cheek and drag my mouth closer to yours, and there we connect with a wet heat I have never before known. You are kissing me, bathing me with your emotion, your mouth possessively over mine, your tongue exploring, moving like a separate living entity inside me. From the back of your throat come small sounds of wonderment and I hear my voice crack from my own as I respond in the only way I know how, as I have always wanted, and devour you in return.
The room is silent but for our soft moans, the sliding of lips and tongues, the brush of caressing hands over shuddering skin. It is a heady sensation to be bombarded by your love. I want to laugh, to shout, if I could only catch my breath. Instead, I finally pull away long enough to look at you. I drink in your disheveled hair, your face flushed with a satisfying olive shade, your lips moist and plump with desire. Your eyes are on fire, like your touch.
“Can we…do you want to…?” I stutter.
But you already know my question, and you break away but do not release me entirely, as if doing so might unravel the spell we are under, the one we have willingly been taken by. You lead me to your bedroom and sit me down on the edge of the mattress. You kneel and your hands rest against my knees and your eyes bore into mine. You take my unvoiced permission, then spread my knees apart further and I lean back on my arms in wondrous expectation and then you are on me and I am in you and I can hardly believe the miracle that is your dark head moving between my legs. I drop back my head and gasp harshly with what sounds like equal measures of pain and passion and astonishment. Holding back is not easy; I cannot, I cannot. My arms lose their strength and my torso drops to the mattress, my entire body powerless and weak with passion. I feel so extremely vulnerable, but want so much to show how deeply I trust you. How deeply I love you. I have no sense of control, time, identity. My universe swims with your shockingly skilful oral ministrations, your gentle but firm hands pressing on my inner thighs. Without warning, a bolt of shattering ecstasy fissures open and floods every cell of my body, jolts along every nerve. I release a forceful cry and shower you with my greatest gift and you take it and take it while I swallow my whimpers, and when I am able to lift my head weakly, you are sitting back on your knees and I see you are smiling. It is that enigmatic upturn of lips, those shining liquid eyes telling me you understand. You share my feelings. My desire.
I pull you up and we arrange ourselves on the covers of your bed, taking a moment to recuperate. When I am ready, I lay my body over yours and magnetically our mouths reach to connect and we begin again our long overdue benediction. I can taste myself on your tongue, feel you hard against my thigh, and I shift to return the pressure. I move against you slowly, pressing in just the right places, and am rewarded with a throaty satisfied groan. Emboldened, I continue with unhurried but firm movements, stroking here, brushing there, then boldly wedge my hand between us and I clasp your tumescence and take charge as familiar patterns come into play; they may be old, but this is so very new. I must be certain to do it right, to squeeze out every sacred moment of this conjoining.
We begin to surge back into our long awaited inexorable union. I feel your hands clasping my body closer as you push up and I bear down. I feel your hips press against mine and your movements match the rhythm we have effortlessly created. My hand squeezes and torques you firmly between our bodies and as I start to rock more urgently against you, I try to brace myself on one elbow, feel it scraping against the covers with the friction of holding my position, but your arms crush me against your chest in response. Our mouths break apart and yield to deep heavy breaths that come more rapidly and I can feel you building towards climax. You arch your neck and with growing awe I watch your throat constrict as your Adam’s apple strains against a bridled release. Then your hands clench against my buttocks and your body stiffens and a sob comes from your throat as if it was wrenched from you. I feel your hot release make space between us and I gently slow my movements until you are fully spent. Emotionally and physically exhausted, I remove my hand and drop my head to your heaving chest to catch my breath. We share a fulfilled calming, a rightness of the moment, then I rise back up onto my elbow, needing to see your face, meet your eyes, darker than I’ve ever seen. They search, and find, my own reverence reflected back at you.
With some reluctance I roll off your body. Immediately the air chills against the parts of our skin that are slick with your seed. I skim my fingers there with an irresistible need to feel it, this evidence of intimacy that had only ever existed in the deepest part of my psyche.
We lie like this for several minutes, unspeaking, sated at last, taking in this new world we have created between us.
Eventually, I turn to look at your profile. Your respiration has returned to normal. You appear different, softer, more than relaxed. I lift my hand and rest it on your chest. You cover it with one of your own.
I say the words, finally.
“I love you, Spock. I’ve always…I always have.”
You turn your head and look at me with soft dark eyes. Your voice sounds like smooth velvet. “T’hy’la. My Jim.”
There is a possessiveness to those words that feel like pearls of quicksilver cascading throughout my body. I shift onto my side and smile as you mirror my movements. Our hands rest casually on each other’s hips, our feet shift until they arrange themselves, comfortably entwined. I have no words that can express my joy, so I simply lean forward and press my forehead to yours. Our breaths commingle as we lie contentedly in a promising, long awaited communion. It feels like a home I had dreamt of for so long and have finally arrived after a long journey.
This is how we will begin, together.
END