Fic: Hide & Seek, 1/1. Kirk/Spock.
Oct. 1st, 2009 07:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katydidmischief posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been and I'll only ever be playing in the sandbox.
title. Hide & Seek
rating. PG-13 for Content
Pairing. Kirk/Spock
summary. A torrent of memories hit him, one right after another in quick succession.
warnings. Implied and Mentioned Abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
st_xi_kink.
Hide & Seek Spock had picked up on the nightmares within days of their first mating; Jim had whimpered and tensed in his sleep, though he'd never cried out, and only calmed when Spock had begun to stroke his arm, whisper to him. He'd tried quite hard to determine the cause, but Jim had deflected, lied, and outright refused to share anything about his nightly disturbances.
Then a message from his mother had arrived and Jim had spent that night working himself to a state of exhaustion before crawling, limply, into bed beside Spock. There, he slept in fits, moaning at random intervals and alternating between curling up on himself and wrapping around his lover; Spock didn't sleep at all, whispering whatever he believed would be of most comfort.
In the middle of Ship's Night, a few tears slipped free and Spock's carefully honed control snapped - seeing Jim cry was more than he could tolerate and through the thin link of their bond he could sense the sharp, searing pain of depression. Spock swallowed around the ball that formed in his throat, clamping down on the all too human response before sliding one hand up the curve of Jim's cheek, fingers sliding over the psi points.
He'd explained to Jim not that long ago that he did not take melds lightly. To do one required the consent of both parties unless there was a mitigating factor, and even then, Spock refused to use his abilities frivolously. In this instance, however, Spock knew he'd spent the last month exhausting himself of options and this was the last on that list; Jim could not continue as he was, spending his waking hours pretending to be emotionally stable and mentally healthy while his slumber was filled with upset and suffering. It gave him no rest, no refreshment from the weight of his position.
And Spock knew that, in time, Jim would feel the strain of it all and without his usual coping mechanisms and venting strategies – fighting, intercourse, drinking to excess.
With his own anxieties soothed, the man pressed his fingers firmly into the points and entered his beloved's mind. A torrent of memories hit him, one right after another in quick succession: screaming, fights over comm screens, a spanking too harsh to be considered anything but abuse, a kick, a shove. A whirlwind of emotions clawed at him at the same time, choking him with the overwhelming shock of them; how could Jim even reach the first stage of sleep with these clogging his thoughts?
Slowly he forced them back, gentling the angry, bitter haze with his own recollections of shared affection and their most intimate unions. Images of Jim above him, splaying kisses over naked, green-flushed skin interrupted a recollection of hiding in a hot, locked closet and Jim nuzzling drowsily against his arm as he recovered from a drug induced haze following an Engineering accident stopped the screeches about disobedient, ungrateful bastard children.
Spock lingered for a few minutes more, latently aware that Jim's had gone limp and content in his embrace, before disengaging the meld and pulling his fingers away. It was only then that the realization of what he had witnessed sunk in and Spock's stomach roiled, thoughts of his own mother and her gentle devoted spirit coming to the front of his mind.
How could a mother be so callous? How could a woman who'd shown such love and said such beautiful things about her long gone husband hurt the children he'd left behind? How had she been able to ignore the ingenuity and raw wonder that was Jim Kirk?
“Spock,” Jim muttered, his tone laden with the tired curiosity of a man woken abruptly. He looked up at the Vulcan through glittering blue eyes, confusion clear on his face as he inched back to put some distance between them.
“T'hy'la, you were distressed,” he answered the unspoken question, catching himself reaching for Jim. Looking for all the world like a skittish colt, Spock knew Jim was ready to bolt and felt the dull heat of shame form in his belly – he should have gotten Jim's permission, should have tried another venue before giving in to the need to help Jim and shoving into his mind with an unwanted meld.
But Jim didn't mention the meld at all; he wiped angrily at the nearly dried tear streaks on his face, asking, “Did you see it?”
“I did.”
Jim yanked himself from the bed, dragging himself away with his eyes sealed shut until one outstretched hand hit the wall and he bent toward it, head hung forward. For a moment, he was quiet and only the ragged sound of his breathing kept an awkward silence from descending into the room, then Jim turned to face him, drawing his arms up to cross over his chest in a self-protective hug, and said, “I'm not really sure what to tell you, Spock...”
“You may start by allowing me to contact both Doctor McCoy and Starfleet.” Spock shifted, slipping from the bed himself and walking resolutely to his lover, leaving an appropriate twelve inches of space between them before explaining, “You are in need of rest – Doctor McCoy is in charge of our medicinal stores and could thus prescribe a sedative spray to allow you to achieve a restorative state.”
“And Starfleet?” Kirk challenged, his voice hoarse with fear.
“Your mother remains employed by Command as a private consultant. As she is under their jurisdiction, they must be informed as to her previous reprehensible actions as well as to stop the transmission of any further communications,” he went on.
Cautiously, Spock took a step closer, letting one hand fall lightly onto one of Jim's wrists and was unsurprised when Jim leaned into him; Kirk laid his head into the crook of Spock's shoulder, relaxing some. He remained there for several minutes, until he spoke again, admitting, “I know she never treated us right, Spock, but she's my mom – please don't tell the fleet. I owe her that much.”
“Owing would imply that you had done something that required repayment. You have done no such thing, either now or as a child – time which does not count as you would say. She, as your parent, was responsible for treating you not only with authority and care but with reverence as well. Winona Kirk has not,” Spock growled. How could Jim possibly believe that... that woman was owed anything?
“Spock...”
“James,” the man retorted, bringing one hand up to rake through Jim's lank hair. He needed a shower and eight hours of sleep, yet Spock knew that was a pipedream; Jim wouldn't, even with medication in his system, be able to rest for more than a few hours at a time until his subconscious let go of the horrors that regularly visited it. “T'hy'la. Please do not ask it of me to see you harmed whether your attacker is in my presence or not – I will not stand for it.”
And he wouldn't, the primal urge to protect his lover rearing up. A throwback to when mates were claimed, when sexual needs ate away at rational thought, Vulcans were known to place themselves between physical danger and their mate, to attack any threat. They were possessive, sometimes overbearing, but right then Spock couldn't bring himself to care: Jim required tending to and protecting.
“All right,” Kirk finally breathed out, refusing to look at Spock. “I'll inform Starfleet. File a report. But... in the morning, Spock, in the morning.”
“A wise course of action, Jim,” he nodded, pressing a proper, respectful two fingered kiss to Jim's cheek. He tugged the other man away from the bulkhead, guiding him to the bed then pushed him under the covers, instructing him, “We will rest until then. Should you need it, you will wake me.”
Jim, however, was already asleep by the time the last word left his mouth and the corner of Spock's mouth lifted; he kissed Jim's temple, this time with lips, tucking the blanket securely around his lover before locking the door in the “open” position and departing the room – he had a message to compose.
Epilogue Captain James T. Kirk is an exceptional being. He does not deserve, nor will I allow, his record or reputation to be sullied by your dishonorable actions. Please refrain in the future from contacting him unless you intend to do so in a proper manner. If you are incapable of doing so, do not even contemplate the transmission.
title. Hide & Seek
rating. PG-13 for Content
Pairing. Kirk/Spock
summary. A torrent of memories hit him, one right after another in quick succession.
warnings. Implied and Mentioned Abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at
st_xi_kink.Then a message from his mother had arrived and Jim had spent that night working himself to a state of exhaustion before crawling, limply, into bed beside Spock. There, he slept in fits, moaning at random intervals and alternating between curling up on himself and wrapping around his lover; Spock didn't sleep at all, whispering whatever he believed would be of most comfort.
In the middle of Ship's Night, a few tears slipped free and Spock's carefully honed control snapped - seeing Jim cry was more than he could tolerate and through the thin link of their bond he could sense the sharp, searing pain of depression. Spock swallowed around the ball that formed in his throat, clamping down on the all too human response before sliding one hand up the curve of Jim's cheek, fingers sliding over the psi points.
He'd explained to Jim not that long ago that he did not take melds lightly. To do one required the consent of both parties unless there was a mitigating factor, and even then, Spock refused to use his abilities frivolously. In this instance, however, Spock knew he'd spent the last month exhausting himself of options and this was the last on that list; Jim could not continue as he was, spending his waking hours pretending to be emotionally stable and mentally healthy while his slumber was filled with upset and suffering. It gave him no rest, no refreshment from the weight of his position.
And Spock knew that, in time, Jim would feel the strain of it all and without his usual coping mechanisms and venting strategies – fighting, intercourse, drinking to excess.
With his own anxieties soothed, the man pressed his fingers firmly into the points and entered his beloved's mind. A torrent of memories hit him, one right after another in quick succession: screaming, fights over comm screens, a spanking too harsh to be considered anything but abuse, a kick, a shove. A whirlwind of emotions clawed at him at the same time, choking him with the overwhelming shock of them; how could Jim even reach the first stage of sleep with these clogging his thoughts?
Slowly he forced them back, gentling the angry, bitter haze with his own recollections of shared affection and their most intimate unions. Images of Jim above him, splaying kisses over naked, green-flushed skin interrupted a recollection of hiding in a hot, locked closet and Jim nuzzling drowsily against his arm as he recovered from a drug induced haze following an Engineering accident stopped the screeches about disobedient, ungrateful bastard children.
Spock lingered for a few minutes more, latently aware that Jim's had gone limp and content in his embrace, before disengaging the meld and pulling his fingers away. It was only then that the realization of what he had witnessed sunk in and Spock's stomach roiled, thoughts of his own mother and her gentle devoted spirit coming to the front of his mind.
How could a mother be so callous? How could a woman who'd shown such love and said such beautiful things about her long gone husband hurt the children he'd left behind? How had she been able to ignore the ingenuity and raw wonder that was Jim Kirk?
“Spock,” Jim muttered, his tone laden with the tired curiosity of a man woken abruptly. He looked up at the Vulcan through glittering blue eyes, confusion clear on his face as he inched back to put some distance between them.
“T'hy'la, you were distressed,” he answered the unspoken question, catching himself reaching for Jim. Looking for all the world like a skittish colt, Spock knew Jim was ready to bolt and felt the dull heat of shame form in his belly – he should have gotten Jim's permission, should have tried another venue before giving in to the need to help Jim and shoving into his mind with an unwanted meld.
But Jim didn't mention the meld at all; he wiped angrily at the nearly dried tear streaks on his face, asking, “Did you see it?”
“I did.”
Jim yanked himself from the bed, dragging himself away with his eyes sealed shut until one outstretched hand hit the wall and he bent toward it, head hung forward. For a moment, he was quiet and only the ragged sound of his breathing kept an awkward silence from descending into the room, then Jim turned to face him, drawing his arms up to cross over his chest in a self-protective hug, and said, “I'm not really sure what to tell you, Spock...”
“You may start by allowing me to contact both Doctor McCoy and Starfleet.” Spock shifted, slipping from the bed himself and walking resolutely to his lover, leaving an appropriate twelve inches of space between them before explaining, “You are in need of rest – Doctor McCoy is in charge of our medicinal stores and could thus prescribe a sedative spray to allow you to achieve a restorative state.”
“And Starfleet?” Kirk challenged, his voice hoarse with fear.
“Your mother remains employed by Command as a private consultant. As she is under their jurisdiction, they must be informed as to her previous reprehensible actions as well as to stop the transmission of any further communications,” he went on.
Cautiously, Spock took a step closer, letting one hand fall lightly onto one of Jim's wrists and was unsurprised when Jim leaned into him; Kirk laid his head into the crook of Spock's shoulder, relaxing some. He remained there for several minutes, until he spoke again, admitting, “I know she never treated us right, Spock, but she's my mom – please don't tell the fleet. I owe her that much.”
“Owing would imply that you had done something that required repayment. You have done no such thing, either now or as a child – time which does not count as you would say. She, as your parent, was responsible for treating you not only with authority and care but with reverence as well. Winona Kirk has not,” Spock growled. How could Jim possibly believe that... that woman was owed anything?
“Spock...”
“James,” the man retorted, bringing one hand up to rake through Jim's lank hair. He needed a shower and eight hours of sleep, yet Spock knew that was a pipedream; Jim wouldn't, even with medication in his system, be able to rest for more than a few hours at a time until his subconscious let go of the horrors that regularly visited it. “T'hy'la. Please do not ask it of me to see you harmed whether your attacker is in my presence or not – I will not stand for it.”
And he wouldn't, the primal urge to protect his lover rearing up. A throwback to when mates were claimed, when sexual needs ate away at rational thought, Vulcans were known to place themselves between physical danger and their mate, to attack any threat. They were possessive, sometimes overbearing, but right then Spock couldn't bring himself to care: Jim required tending to and protecting.
“All right,” Kirk finally breathed out, refusing to look at Spock. “I'll inform Starfleet. File a report. But... in the morning, Spock, in the morning.”
“A wise course of action, Jim,” he nodded, pressing a proper, respectful two fingered kiss to Jim's cheek. He tugged the other man away from the bulkhead, guiding him to the bed then pushed him under the covers, instructing him, “We will rest until then. Should you need it, you will wake me.”
Jim, however, was already asleep by the time the last word left his mouth and the corner of Spock's mouth lifted; he kissed Jim's temple, this time with lips, tucking the blanket securely around his lover before locking the door in the “open” position and departing the room – he had a message to compose.
Commander Spock
First Officer
USS Enterprise
no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 03:15 am (UTC)