Rating: R (...ish?)
Summary: Kirk needs to get married for political reasons. Spock offers himself as the logical choice. Written for the st_xi_kink meme. Enjoy!
Six months passed with few changes in their arrangement. Their days went the same, for the most part. Breakfast, bridge, chess, sex, sleep. Spock told himself he was content, that there was no problem with that he was doing. He was professionally and sexually satisfied with the arrangement, and they easily convinced the crew that what they had was legitimate.
Facing down impartial members of his own species? Not so easy.
When diplomats Stonn and Saron first stepped aboard, saluting their fellow Vulcan, there had been no immediate indications of suspicion. They greeted Jim, Dr. McCoy, and then, when they approached Spock, Stonn’s nostrils flared.
“It has been a long while, Spock,” the man said carefully, gesturing Saron back with one hand. The smaller Vulcan acquiesced, and Spock could easily recognize the confused look Jim and the doctor shared. Stonn leaned forward, sniffing boldly at Spock’s shoulder. He leaned back again, meeting his eyes. “You smell…fertile. Desirable.”
Jim tensed in Spock’s peripheral vision. “Indeed,” Spock said, a slight unease building in him. “Welcome aboard, Stonn.”
With no regard for privacy, Stonn raised a hand, palm facing the half-Vulcan. “I wish to breed you.”
“I must refuse,” Spock declined, keeping his own hands firmly behind his back. He could feel the stare McCoy had directed at him, the flare of anger that escaped through the marriage bond from Jim. “Although I recognize the need for an increase in Vulcan births, I have responsibilities elsewhere. Even if this was not the case, however, I am already bonded and married, and would not seek to bear the child of anyone but my bondmate.”
Stonn lowered his hand. “I see,” he said, eyes not leaving Spock’s. “Your spouse?”
“That’d be me,” Jim called over, raising his hand. Stonn glanced him over, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. A protective instinct washed over Spock, and Jim must’ve sensed it through the bond. “Oh, come on, Spock. He’s not going to hurt me. Anyway, Stonn, welcome aboard this ship. I hope it can accommodate your needs until we arrive in Sector Four.”
Stonn did not immediately reply. And when he did, it was in a tone a human might not recognize as confused, but it was evident to Spock. “Captain, your husband is fertile and Vulcan is in need of repopulation. Why have you not bred him yet?”
Jim was quiet for a long moment, and then he simply said, “Stonn, not everything should be based on logic.”
Without another word, Jim beckoned Spock to follow him, and Spock did exactly that. They made it back to their rooms silently, and once they were there, Jim’s lips were against his collarbone, nibbling. Arousal stirred in Spock’s groin, but he subdued it.
“Fertile?” Jim murmured against Spock’s shoulder.
“My contraceptives are undetectable through any method other than a blood test, but I assure you that they are working,” Spock answered. “You needn’t be concerned that you may impregnate me. The odds are very much against this.”
Jim pressed a kiss to his neck and pulled back. “Why was Stonn so insistent that you be bred?”
Spock hesitated for a moment. “The population of surviving Vulcans is just over nine thousand,” he replied. “Any fertile Vulcans are being asked to breed at this time to ensure the survival of our species.”
Jim looked him in the eye. “I can’t help you there. Not now.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed, thankful for Jim’s reticence. “I am not so concerned that Stonn will attempt further persuasion. However, Saron’s scent is indicative of a…condition that may become a complication should we be delayed to Sector Four.”
Jim nodded, and then smirked. “Say ‘indicative’ again.”
“Indicative,” Spock murmured, and Jim tugged him to the bed with him.
Spock did not clean himself out as thoroughly as he usually did once Jim finished inside of him. He allowed some of Jim’s essence to remain within him as a deterrent for Saron. The younger male was entering Pon Farr – no doubt it would be his first, and without giving a physical indication that he was taken, Spock’s apparent ‘fertility’ could prompt an attack.
He did not wish to have to report such a thing when they arrived in Sector Four.
He joined Jim in bed some time later, allowing Jim to hold him close, as always. Tonight seemed so different, somehow. His arms were strangely loose around Spock, his nose repeatedly nudging his ear. “Could you meld with me?” he finally asked, and Spock forgot how to breathe for a moment.
“Are you certain?” he asked, heart beating frantically in his abdomen. Jim turned him around, pulling his hand to his head. Spock felt himself swallow unnecessarily, positioning his fingers against the meld points, looking Jim in the eye again. Jim nodded, and Spock closed his eyes, passing into Jim’s mind easily.
It was a whirl of color, brightness and darkness all swirled together, all loud and quiet and fast and slow and dizzying and Jim all over. He understood at once the troubled relationships he’d seen, the end of so many and the grief the end of life brought. All sorts of emotions flew at him, the depth of them enough to disorient the Vulcan. Confusion, apprehension, contentment, dissatisfaction, fear—
You feel me, Jim?
Warmth. Affection. But wrapped almost indivisibly with that affection was fear. Almost irrevocably interwoven.
If I do not withdraw, I will bind us. A life bond. Let go of me.
I’m not holding on.
Jim. Please. Release my mind before the process is irreversible.
I don’t know how.
Slowly, carefully, Spock pulled back from Jim’s mind as best he could, a single piece of the meld held by Jim’s mind. You must release my mind, Jim.
I wish I could.
It took some instruction, but at last Jim was able to release that last tendril of connection, loosing it from the embrace Jim had unconsciously held it in. They emerged from the meld, Spock’s hand dropping to pull Jim’s chin into a kiss. A cleared throat caught their attention, and Spock looked over his shoulder to find Stonn in the doorway, a hand on the frame.
“Is there a reason you have invaded our quarters, Stonn?” he inquired, minutely stressing the ‘our’. The other Vulcan was still.
“Might I approach?”
Jim confirmed it across the bond, and Spock nodded, sitting up in the bed. Stonn seated himself aside the chessboard, seemingly unaffected by their state of undress. “Take care not to jostle any of the pieces,” Spock warned him. “We had not yet finished our game.”
Stonn’s nostrils flared again. “He has seeded you,” he observed. “Are you not attempting to breed?”
“We are not,” Spock informed him. “Please refrain from observations of so private a nature.”
Stonn nodded. “I work as a direct aide to Ambassador Sarek,” he stated abruptly. “As a personal favor, he asked that I attempt to persuade you to provide an heir to your family. If it is because of your bondmate’s reluctance to father a child, I will offer myself as an alternative. The infant would return with me to New Vulcan. You would never need concern yourself with its affairs again.”
“Unacceptable,” Spock answered simply. “I have already expressed that I am only willing to provide a child to my bondmate. Inform my father that he will need be patient.”
“Your bondmate does not appreciate the circumstances we are under,” Stonn accused flatly. “For him to delay breeding you is selfish and unnecessary. You must understand the necessity of increasing our population. Please work to convince him.”
Spock placed a calming hand on Jim’s shoulder as anger flitted through their small bond. “It is my reluctance which prompts me to utilize contraceptives, Stonn,” he informed him, rubbing Jim’s shoulder absently. “While Jim has expressed that he does not wish to start our family so soon in our marriage, he was not the one who made the ultimate decision. Until we are able to provide the environment in which our child would flourish, I will continue to use contraceptives. I am certain you understand the logic in this.”
Stonn’s lips were a thin line. “I fear your perceived fertility is drawing Saron’s condition to fullness at an alarming rate,” he stated, voice flat. “Do not allow yourself to be alone with him. His fever may begin soon.”
Stonn left with that warning, and Spock laid back down beside his husband. He would have preferred to spend the time after their meld in peace, but such a thing seemed trivial now. Jim raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly.
“You gonna explain to me about the ‘condition’?” the human asked. Spock tugged the blankets back up.
“I will maintain my distance from Saron,” he murmured. “Sleep.”
The next day found Spock recording the dilithium intake in Engine Room 4 during beta shift. It was a tedious task, one performed only once every six months, and were it not for a rather unfortunate (and highly advanced) case of Rhygillian flu, Scott would be the one responsible for ensuring its completion. But it did not bother Spock to complete tasks so dependent on full concentration; rather, he found it to be an appropriate use of his superior skill in that area. A logical choice.
The room was isolated as well, barely six feet by six feet. It was hardly used, aside from situations requiring auxillary power. Two hours in, Spock’s data was showing no unusual readings.
The first indication that anything was out of the ordinary came when the door opened.
“Saron,” Spock greeted, hand going to his communicator. He had promised Jim to avoid the younger Vulcan, and he had no intentions of breaking that particular promise. “I believe you are scheduled to study the arboretum this shift. Do you have business here?”
The young Vulcan – too young, he couldn’t be more than twenty – crossed his arms behind his back. “Stonn wishes to speak with you,” he informed him, maintaining his distance carefully. “I am certain you are aware of my condition, and I expect you will understand if I do not elaborate further.”
“Indeed, that would be unnecessary,” Spock agreed, body still tense. Prepared. “Please tell Stonn that I will meet him at 1600 hours in the crew recreation room.”
“Acknowledged,” Saron nodded, and without any further words, he stepped out of the room and shut the door. Spock did not relax, although the threat was gone for the moment. He flipped his communicator open.
“Captain. Saron has approached in engineering room four. Spock requesting assistance,” he said simply. There was a long quiet, and then Jim answered.
“Keenser is on his way. He’s just about the only one we can spare at the moment; turns out Scotty’s flu is pretty damn contagious,” he replied. “You open communication with the bridge if anything happens, okay? No matter how small.”
Spock confirmed and shut off the communicator, and a few minutes later, Keenser was stepping into the room. Another hour passed with no disturbances, but Spock was not about to drop his guard, not with Saron so rapidly deteriorating towards Plak Tow. The smaller being was not the most logical choice for back up, but Spock did not anticipate him needing to take action. Should Saron attack, Spock estimated his strength to be more than adequate to prevent unintended consequences.
He knew the moment Saron reentered the room, ears catching the swing of the door and the rush of footsteps. He caught him with a neck pinch before he could complete the length of the room, wincing only slightly as something caught on his thigh. A quick glance down revealed an empty hypo in Saron’s limp hand. Spock turned to Keenser, handing him his PADD and gathering the smaller Vulcan over his shoulder, opening his communicator with his free hand.
“Spock to bridge,” he stated mechanically, pulse increased incrementally. “Attempted assault by diplomat Saron. Extremely likely to have been caused by a bio-chemical reaction. I am escorting him to sick bay. Details will follow when available.”
The message was finished by the time Spock made it to the turbolift, and in a few seconds, he found himself face to face with Stonn, who extricated the smaller Vulcan from Spock’s grip. “Your doctor is waiting to see you,” he stated. “I will bring Saron to our quarters. I believe a sedative should suffice in controlling him until we arrive in Sector Four.”
Spock nodded, and Stonn walked past, a hypo in hand. McCoy was indeed waiting, gesturing at a biobed. The half-Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “An examination will not be necessary, Doctor.”
“Jim insisted,” Bones deadpanned. “And the hole in your pants says something happened. Mind telling me what?”
Spock surrendered the hypo Saron had used on him, wordless. The doctor scanned it, frowning.
“I don’t know what this is,” he confessed, watching the screen form the 3-dimensional model of the chemical structure of the remnants of the compound. “Your own damned luck. I’m gonna have to perform a physical.”
Normally, Spock would have refused, but he understood the consequences of being injected with any unknown substance. He obediently sat on the biobed as McCoy scanned him over.
“Blood pressure ridiculously low, pulse damn racing,” the doctor said. “Perfectly normal, at least for you. I’m gonna run a blood test, assuming that green stuff in your veins is blood.”
The sample was taken easily, and McCoy scanned through the results. “Any abnormalities?” Spock asked, hands on the edge of the bed.
“Besides the fact that your blood is copper-based?” McCoy drawled. “Elevated levels of progesterone and testosterone, and you’re got a little adrenaline in you. A little exciting for you, Mr. Spock? There’s also a substance I can’t identify. A hydrocarbon. That might be our culprit.”
Spock pondered this for a moment. “Carbon-13, Hydrogen-28, Oxygen-2, correct?”
“Yup,” the doctor confirmed. “You know it?”
“It is a very common steroid. DHEA,” Spock informed him. “It is used on Vulcan to counteract contraceptives. I believe Saron had intended to breed me.”
McCoy scoffed, and Spock allowed himself off the bed. “That’s all those guys talk about, breeding you. Don’t they know you’re male?” he asked, but his tone suggested he wasn’t actively seeking a response. “Male Vulcans can’t have children, right?”
“No, Doctor,” Spock said coolly. “They cannot.”
And with that, he excused himself, walking back to engine room four.
Thankfully, Jim still had a few condoms left from when they had first begun their sexual relationship. He had taken the news fairly well, and once they’d finished, condom stowed in the trash bin, he pulled Spock to his chest.
“I thought you said they couldn’t tell you were on contraceptives,” the captain murmured. “How would he have known to give you that particular shot?”
Spock listened to Jim’s slow heartbeat for a few long seconds. “I can only assume that Saron logically assumed that, as I have been fertile for some six months and am not yet pregnant, I was using contraceptives,” he said, tangling his fingers with Jim’s in a slow kiss. “It is fortunate that you insisted I have a medical exam done or we may not have discovered the situation.”
Jim chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath Spock’s ear. “Yeah,” he agreed. “No babies, Spock.”
Jim brought his hand up to his face again, just as he had before. Spock drew it back. “Jim. I will not engage in another meld with you until I am confident in our ability to separate without trouble,” he warned, stroking Jim’s fingers. “If we are not careful, it could result in a lifebond. I am certain this is something you do not desire.”
“Someday, maybe,” the human contradicted. “How long before you’re sure again?”
I will be certain when we have divorced and the marriage bond is dissolved.
Spock thought it, but he couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about going back to the times he spent watching Jim, craving his touch, and meditating those emotions away. “It will take some time,” he answered, not wanting to think about the day he would no longer sleep with Jim’s hands on him.
Jim was quiet. “I’ll figure us out someday, Spock,” he offered. But Spock didn’t respond. He was already working himself to sleep, the gentle hum of pleasure in his body lulling him out of consciousness.
He did not quite mind the reprieve from thought.
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