AFTER THE RESCUE

By Karmen Ghia

Part I

WHAT WE LEARN ABOUT THE BROTHERS TALLJET

Jir Talljet, known more widely as Jir the Dancer (Jira Krinat, in the Patois) was enjoying his view of James T. Kirk. KirkaFara, his name in the Patois: Kirk the Beautiful.

'Suits you down to the deck you stand on, fara' (beautiful one), Jir thought.

"So," Jir drawled in Standard, "this is the Enterprise, eh?"

Kirk looked into the beautiful vulcanoid face on the view screen and nodded: "Affirmative. And who are you?"

"Jira Krinat."

Kirk was pensive. Jir the Dancer and his brothers, Hobie (the Pirate) and Ling (the Whore) had been in on every shady deal in non-aligned space for the past fourteen years. Most recently they'd lost their cushy berths in the Tasilinian Empire (all four planets of it) due to its fast track into the Federation. The Brothers Talljet had an odd history of making homes on backward planets which then, mysteriously, developed the sophistication, technology, fiscal discipline and desire to enter the Federation. At the prospect of living on a Federation planet, the Talljets decamped because they refused to live in Federation space. Jir and Ling refused; Hobie was wanted for piracy by the Federation Police as well as the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Empire, the Gokia Guilds, the Neqfarsian Imperial Trading League, and Pejdoletian Confederation of Planets. He, therefore, found it prudent to stay in the Autonomous Zones of non-aligned space where simple folk such as he could live without legal or lethal complications. (The Gokia Guilds, the Neqfarsian Imperial Trading League, and Pejdoletian Confederation of Planets had put a king's ransom on Hobie's head, dead or alive, so it was also prudent to avoid every bounty hunter in the galaxy as well). But it was not onerous for them, as the Talljets were fond of saying, it's a big galaxy, there's enough of it for everyone. These three were maddeningly good natured scoundrels.

The most disturbing rumor about the Talljets was that they possessed second sight. It was thought to be a large part of their continued success.

Jir the Dancer was as widely known for his wit and beauty as for his dancing, which was in itself formidable. He was thought to have run the Molgifinchian Empire (sixty planets), as well as the Emperor, from his bedroom in the seraglio until those 60 planets joined the Federation en masse. Liaisons of this type had been interrupting Jir's artistic career since he had first ventured onto the stage. He was between Monarchs at the moment, hence his engagement on Bharselis and his contact with the Enterprise.

And this was who gazed mildly at the captain of the Enterprise. Kirk cleared his throat: "Why are you on a high priority diplomatic channel ... sir?"

"Oh! Call me Jir!" he enthused and turned to the vulcanoid male next to him. "Mig, why do we have this line? I just wanted to leave a message for SpockDeVulCheq and suddenly I'm a priority." He smiled devastatingly.

"The Chancellor of Carsrellina was so impressed with your performance there he gave you a priority channel so you can reach him immediately. If you call. This channel seeks the apex of any communication center you contact," Mig relayed.

"Huh. Lucky me," Jir mused.

"Excuse me," Kirk cut in, annoyed, "but what do you want ... Jir?"

"I want," Jir enunciated slowly, sexily, "a word with your First Mate."

"Mr. Spock?"

"Tall, ugly, stupid, half-caste Vulcan - would be him, yes."

A palpable freeze reached Jir from the silent humans on the bridge.

"We have," Kirk enunciated, icily, "no such person as you describe, Jir, but if a word with our First Officer, Commander Spock, will get you off my screen, you may have it." He turned to have Uhura page Spock to the bridge.

'These folk love that little fool, Spock,' Jir thought, rather pleased. 'Perhaps he's grown up and turned out to be worthy of love,' he mused, 'or perhaps these are just really stupid people, I'll soon find out, hey?'

Spock stepped onto the bridge, glanced at Kirk and formed his hand into the Vulcan salute: "Live long and prosper, Jir Talljet."

Jir theatrically whipped his hand into a mirror of Spock's: "Peace and long life, SpockDeVulCheq."

They regarded each other, Jir spoke first: "So. Spock. How's your mother?"

"Well, thank you. How are you, Jir."

"Well, thank you."

"And your brothers?"

There was a pause. "They are well."

"All of them?"

There was a longer pause. "Yes, all of them."

Kirk fidgeted; he'd never heard Spock make small talk before, the rest of the bridge was fascinated.

"So, Spock," Jir said, "about your note: I would like to see you if you're gonna be here when you say. My show will open that night so you may as well come see it and we'll chat afterwards. I'll get you a box, bring some friends. Attractive ones." Jir glanced wolfishly around the bridge and continued, "Perhaps you'd like some Orchestra section seats, too, for your pals."

"I do not think ..." Spock began but hearing Uhura clear her throat meaningfully, he changed his tack, "Yes, thank you, Jir."

Jir studied him thoughtfully and smiled: "See ya, Spock," he looked at Kirk, "Captain." He nodded suavely and closed the channel. After a moment of thought, Jir opened a channel into non-aligned space and was greeted in Klingonese.

* * *

"How d'you know Jir the Dancer?" Kirk asked his first mate in the turbo lift.

"He was two classes ahead of me at school on Vulcan."

"You went to High School with Jir the Dancer." Amazed.

Spock nodded, "More precisely, I attended Shirkar Middle School #7 and the Western Vulcan Preparatory Institute with Jir and his brothers.

Pause. "What was he like?" Kirk ventured.

Spock thought, unreadable: "He was .. kind .. to me, as were his three brothers."

"I thought there were only three brothers, not four."

"It is a widely held misconception." Spock seemed closed on this point so Kirk dropped it, for now.

"What did he call you? SpockDe...?"

"SpockDeVulCheq. It is my name in the Magidrian Patois.

"What does it mean?"

"Spock the half Vulcan."

Kirk was taken aback. Spock looked at him calmly: "It was never flung at me as an insult. It was offered as an honor to my uniqueness. I have learned to appreciate the name only since I left Vulcan."

They came to McCoy’s door. Spock, in his abstraction, had brought Kirk to the place he had wished to enter alone and now could not.

McCoy looked up from his reading and was glad he’d stayed dressed.

"D’you know Spock went to High School with Jir the Dancer?" Kirk remarked sitting down.

McCoy looked thoughtful: "I knew the Talljets lived on Vulcan but I’d no idea they went to school with Spock." He looked at Kirk, who was interested.

"How d’you know that?"

"Because of what happened to the youngest one, Ling, on Magidrian and why they were packed off to Vulcan."

"Why’s that?"

"It’ll give you nightmares, Jim."

"You intrigue me; speak, speak."

McCoy looked at Spock, who lowered his eyes. 'No help there,' he thought, plunging on: "Ling was raped by Dr. Lazroid in the presence of Dr. Wilton on Magidrian." Kirk looked shocked. 'I told you so,' thought McCoy and continued: "It was somehow decided that the safest place for the Talljets was Vulcan."

"Why?"

"Well, they are half Magidrian so they have that Mage sex appeal that scares everyone so much. I’m told Vulcans are immune to it. Also, the Talljets are empaths and telepaths, both touch and otherwise, like all Mages, and Vulcan was, at that time, one of the few Federation planets that could cope with that. The brothers are classified as dangerous aliens, there are Federation planets they simply cannot go to because of their telepathy."

"Such as?"

"Terra." McCoy said flatly.

Kirk turned to Spock: "How old was Ling when he came to Vulcan?"

"Eight or nine."

Kirk was silent, he looked at McCoy: "This is going to give me nightmares."

"I warned you."

"What happened to Lazroid and Wilton? Were they prosecuted?"

"No, there was no evidence on Ling – his empath brothers healed him," 'thank god for small mercies,' he thought to himself, "so the only proof that it happened was on Lazroid’s penis," Kirk winced, "but he was dead, throat crushed, and Wilton had an eye torn out when Ling’s older brother rescued him from them."

"Which one? Jir or Hobie?"

"Neither, it was the third brother; Maja. Maja Talljet."

Spock was silent. Kirk was digesting this, he asked: "How do you know this, Bones?"

"Unfortunately, it’s one of the major scandals in the scientific/medical community, Jim. Lazroid and Wilton were brilliant scientists and good doctors at one time, they simply went over the edge on Magidrian and no one saw it coming. It is why we do long distance psych evals and in-person ones as often as possible on remote outposts, especially where there’s interaction with the local population."

"What happened to Wilton?"

"He was murdered on Tefrinis 7 after the Star Fleet mission was kicked off Magidrian. He was decapitated and his shrunken head was sent to the Talljets on Vulcan. It was never discovered by whom or from where."

Kirk looked impressed, looked a question at Spock.

"I have heard this story but have never seem the object," he said quietly.

"Arthur Castaris," McCoy began, "told me that knowing they were both dead gave Ling some peace. Wilton admitted he witnessed the rape but he was never prosecuted and he never showed any remorse over letting it happen."

"Who is Castaris?" Kirk asked.

"A Star Fleet medic, like me, and Hobie Talljet’s adopted father."

"Well, this story gets more interesting by the minute. How does Hobie the Pirate have a Star Fleet doctor for a parent?"

"Well, four doctors on the Magidrian research mission volunteered to adopt four homeless half Mage street boys. Castaris adopted Hobie, Gregor Romsky adopted Jir, James MacQuarrie, Maja, and Paul Duvallier, Ling. The Talljets are not only Federation citizens with the highly desirable permanent residence status on Vulcan, they are also Star Fleet brats, of sorts."

"How long were they with the Doctors."

"Two years or so."

"Bones, you are a fund of knowledge. Why is that?"

"I did research in xenobiology with Castaris on Terra. He liked to talk, I liked to listen but even so, the Talljet scandal is well known in Fleet doctor circles but not much beyond, so I’m not surprised you didn’t know," 'and now I wish you would leave so I can rip Spock’s clothes off,' McCoy added mentally but not unkindly.

Kirk shifted to Spock and turned on the charm: "Will you take me to see Jir dance?"

"If you wish." Spock turned to McCoy, "Would you care to accompany us, Doctor?"

"Sure."

"Do you like the ballet?"

"No, Spock, but I’d like to see Jir dance at least once."

"Have you seen Jir dance?" Kirk asked Spock.

"Frequently before I left Vulcan but not since."

"Well, then we shall have an interesting evening, at least." Kirk rose, "I’ll leave you two to science and see you at supper." He moved to the door, McCoy moved to see him out, "Bones, why is it so hot in here?"

"I like it hot, Jim." McCoy said to Kirk’s back.

McCoy turned to Spock and was startled to find him right there, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

"Are you okay?" McCoy asked kindly.

No answer from the face buried in his neck so he just patted the Vulcan sympathetically and waited. Spock finally disengaged and looked at McCoy.

"Are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?" McCoy asked.

"Later," Spock murmured, pressing his lips to the doctor’s.

McCoy was an extremely patient soul when necessary and was willing to wait for Spock to come round and tell him what was on his mind. Even though the Vulcan would never admit he was disturbed by anything, McCoy and those who worked closely with him could tell. And waiting in this kiss was very pleasant.

Spock had been upset by the discussion of the Talljets and prior to that, he’d been elated by his conversation with Jir, at finally having a conversation with Jir after all these years, so, for him, he was on emotional overload and trying to regain control. Consequently, the kiss that began with desperation (well, as close as Spock got to it) gentled into a soft play of lips and tongues, hands caressing and exploring and peace descending for both. Spock held McCoy close and whispered: "Shall I tell you now or after?"

McCoy felt his own need, reached out to feel Spock’s and decided: "Later. Make love to me. Now."

Spock rubbed the doctor’s back affectionately and steered him to the sleeping alcove. McCoy undressed, he was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt in the heat, so it didn’t take long. Spock pulled off his own clothes with alacrity and lay down next to him, drawing McCoy into the curve of his arm.

Their affair had by now progressed to a calmer stage, which was a relief to both - its original intensity had been exhausting.

McCoy curled against his lover, running his fingers through Spock’s chest hair, pinching his nipples playfully. Spock was enjoying this, McCoy knew this because he felt Spock relax. That was most gratifying and McCoy felt encouraged to let his hand play somewhat lower. Spock was only half-hard, unusual but not unheard of. McCoy gently stroked him a little harder and then moved down to take him in his mouth. Spock was responding but appeared to be in one of his rare passive moods. McCoy, not wanting to misread him, sucked on the head, paying special attention to the underside with his tongue. He fondled Spock’s balls, weighing them, squeezing them in his hand. Spock spread his legs a bit wider, a usual sign that he wanted to be fucked. McCoy was happy to oblige. He looked up, "Ready?" he asked, surprised. Spock nodded and handed him the lubricant. McCoy bent to give his cock one last loving lick or two before lifting Spock’s knees and slipping in slick fingers, readying him.

McCoy lubed up, rolled Spock forward a bit and centered his cock. He drew a breath before gently pressing in. Even though they had worked out the mechanics of inter-species sex, if not raised it to a high art, there was still a moment of hesitation for McCoy, remembering the first, rather painful, time he’d been inside Spock. He was now half way in and feeling more confident. He stopped to rest against Spock’s thighs and look down at this lover. Spock’s eyes were hooded and he was flushed with pleasure, relaxed and trusting.

McCoy continued to press in, as always marveling at the heat and grip of the Vulcan. He bent to kiss Spock gently, Spock, in turn, wrapped his legs around McCoy’s waist and began rocking his hips in encouragement, his cock hard between them. Perceptively, McCoy began gently fucking him, withdrawing and letting Spock press him back in, controlling half the pace with his legs around McCoy’s waist. Spock moved his legs a little higher and McCoy increased his thrusts, panting now, lost in the sensation of such intimacy with his Vulcan. 'Spock – my lover.' Spock – his lover, was now panting himself, and thrusting up to meet each hard stroke.

McCoy was intent on their mutual pleasure. He reached between them to stroke the Vulcan’s cock as he slammed into him. He could feel Spock’s penis start to jerk under his hand and feeling him clenching in incipient climax sent McCoy rushing up to his own orgasm.

"Yes," he gasped, hearing Spock’s ravishing moan, "oh, yes, Spock," he cried out and came, stiffening and then collapsing onto the hot body, into warm arms that held his shuddering form tight, comforting him. He kissed Spock’s neck, drew back and looked into dark eyes: "Thanks." A smile.

"You are welcome." A nod.

McCoy chuckled breathlessly, withdrew and rolled onto his back beside Spock, still catching his breath. Spock settled his sleek head on McCoy’s shoulder and cuddled up. That was unusual but nice so McCoy only held him tight, soothed him and didn’t ask any questions. For one thing, he was spent, for another, Spock talked in bed only when Spock wanted to talk in bed and that was a solid fact. So McCoy rested and waited for his lover to tell him what was on his mind, if he would, if not, oh well, he’d get it out of him later, somehow. At the moment McCoy felt perfect contentment and was happy to let it linger in the silence.

Spock rolled away from him and regarded the ceiling.

"What do you know about Maja Talljet," he asked quietly.

"Just what I said to Jim," equally quietly.

"We were lovers."

McCoy suppressed his surprise and propped himself up to look into Spock’s eyes: "And what happened?"

"I left him for Star Fleet."

"And what did he do?"

"He disappeared from Vulcan shortly after I left and was never seen again. Hobie went with him." McCoy waited. Spock continued: "I made what inquiries I could but they just disappeared. I think they went into the Autonomous Zones of non-aligned space because that’s where Hobie surfaced and where Jir and Ling went after they left Vulcan themselves. They all speak the Patois, they would be able to find their way."

McCoy was thoughtful, the Autonomous Zones were full of renegades, mercenaries, pirates, and all varieties of pariah, psychopath and manic. He did some math, Maja would have been sixteen or so, Hobie, around twenty. It was a hard life to go into especially for ones so young. Hobie had apparently survived, even flourished, but what of Maja?

"Do you think he’s alive, Spock?"

"Jir has said so. I hope he can or will tell me more when I see him on Bharselis."

"Are you trying to find him?"

"Yes. "

"Why?"

"To apologize."

"For what?"

"For rejecting him. I did not understand our situation when I left Vulcan. I now see how poorly I terminated our relationship. I would also like to know if he is .. well."

McCoy was silent. Spock looked over at him.

"If I can help you, Spock, please tell me."

"Thank you, Leonard, you have already helped me a great deal."

"How?"

"What I have with you is very similar to what I had with Maja. Since it is a repeatable phenomena, I could classify it and understand it."

"You loved him, Spock, your first love."

Spock was silent. McCoy continued: "And you threw him away, didn’t you?" quietly.

"I threw them all away."

* * *

Master Ghet was drinking Relan tea and considering the sculpture in progress before him. It was a series of Klingon warriors in battle, an allegory of Klingon honor, victorious and invincible. It would adorn the Klingon cathedral the Commune was constructing here on Rovirin. The Gozshedrefreingin Commune had completed the Klingon Garrison six months earlier. Master Ghet didn’t speculate on the merits of one project over the other. Work is work and it’s better to have it than not.

The Hierophant Kroldt had commented to him that the spread of the Klingon faith was a noble endeavor and a great honor for the Commune to be the vehicle for it. Master Ghet had said nothing but wondered if the Klingon faith would be as effective for collecting the vast quantities of dilithium crystals from the locals as the Klingon blasters had been.

He shrugged, sipped and looked out at his work, deciding that such political issues were hardly of interest to a Master Sculptor and simple priest of the most Holy Imperial Klingon Church such as he. Master Gozine Gozshedrefreingin Ghet returned to contemplating the work at hand and admiring the Rovirin marble, remembering that planets with the finest dilithium crystals also possessed other fine mineral wealth, alas. The finest dilithium crystals brought out the worst in most beings.

His eldest son, Tien, stood waiting for his attention, a welcome distraction - TienaFara was always a pleasure to see, even for his parent.

"Uncle Jir’s calling for you, Master."

Gozine nodded and carried his cup to the comm unit on the workbench.

"He’s on the Imperial advisory channel," Tien commented, obviously impressed.

Master Ghet glanced at him and then at the door. Tien hesitated and then reluctantly left. Like his brothers, Master Ghet wore his ebony ringlets long, however, smoothed over his pointed ears and braided down his back. He'd burned off most of it once casting bronze and never forgotten the lesson. He required his youngest son, Farro, to wear his hair braided when he worked with hot metals, which was all the time. Flipping his long braid over his shoulder, Master Ghet turned to the comm unit and addressed it in Patois: "Hullo, Jir, wherever did you get this channel? You’ve deeply impressed Tien by having it."

"Oh, some guy. Can’t remember his name but he seems to have been sufficiently grateful. I could get straight through to god on this channel."

"Whatever would you have to say to god?"

"My question exactly," Jir commented dryly, "How are you Maja? You look rather thoughtful."

"I’m drinking Relan tea, it makes me thoughtful."

"It’s supposed to. Listen, Noli (little brother), I’ve just been talking to another product of Vulcan, SpockDeVulCheq, he’s coming to see me dance in three days."

Maja's heart stopped but he managed to retain his serene mask: "You’re dancing _Skolta_; he won’t enjoy it."

"He’s not coming for the dancing, he wants to talk about you, Maja," Jir said seriously. He was somewhat annoyed by Maja's affected serenity. 'Scream, cry, blink, react, something! We're talking about the Spock,' he thought savagely but said coolly: "What shall I tell him?"

Maja looked at his older brother with love. Jir would agree to see Spock after all these years of politely avoiding the half Vulcan, he was a kind soul.

"Tell him no one dies of love and that I have forgotten him and he should forget me."

Jir's irritation ascended a notch, he knew Maja too well to go for this misty high falutin' tribble shit: "Lovely, Maja, worthy of Ling’s poetry. So, no one dies of love but they often wish they could." He made one of the dramatic gestures he was so famous for. "And you have not forgotten him, you can’t or you wouldn’t be drinking Relan tea for one thing, for another, you see him everyday when you look at ..."

"I drink it to remind me how lucky lucky lucky I am to have escaped that hellhole."

"Really! Maja, remember me? I helped you pack. You fled Vulcan, Spock escaped it. And you’re both fools but that’s neither here nor there. What shall I tell him when he asks after you?"

Maja sat back, annoyed, he loved Jir but he could be so literal, so demanding, so relentless one could howl. He clenched his tattooed hands in his lap. 'Perhaps this is what having a doctorate in Federation law and a Vulcan Law license does to you over time,' Maja thought, 'makes you an irritating conversationalist.'

"Tell him to go to hell."

"Well, that’s more normal but not very helpful." Jir wondered if bad temper was a prerequisite for being a Klingon Master or a result of it, 'Maja gets worse every year.'

Master Ghet sat up straight and looked sternly at his brother. Counselor Talljet gazed, with a deceptively benign and mild mien, at the same.

Maja exhaled and slumped: "Oh, Nolo (elder brother) can’t you just say I’m well and refuse to discuss it further?" he pleaded, suddenly in need of reassurance that the past really would stay put.

"I can, Noli, I will, if that’s all you want said," Jir said gently, relieved to finally get an honest reaction.

Maja nodded, noticing the light changing and knew he needed to wrap this up. Besides, this conversation was costing somebody a fortune.

"Jir, look, I’ve got to go, call me after you see him, hey? But, one last thing, why did you agree to see him when you and Ling have avoided him for so long?"

"Something in his voice made me curious enough." Jir said thoughtfully, "That's all."

"Oh," Maja smiled, "Well, good-bye, Jir, all my love."

"Peace and long life, Maja Talljet, and all my love as well."

* * *

Star Fleet dress uniforms, although visually pleasing, were torture for the wearer. At least that was the doctor's opinion as he fastened the too tight collar. He hoped Jir’s dancing would take his mind off fashion. Finally finished dressing, McCoy proceeded to the transporter room where he found Kirk and Spock looking magnificent but, he knew, living through the same sartorial nightmare as himself.

"You look lovely, Bones." Kirk was in excellent spirits.

"Thank you, Captain." McCoy was not.

Spock was silent. McCoy speculated that he might have been nervous, if that were possible.

They transported directly to the theater and found their way through a gala crowd to Jir’s box.

Passing through a lavish anteroom they settled themselves into their really excellent seats and looked over the crowd. Kirk was glad they’d dressed up. The Royal family overflowed their box directly facing the stage. Kirk considered sending an invitation to one or two crushed looking princesses. The Bharselis government occupied the boxes on either side of its Sovereign. The Sultan of Orissa and his entourage occupied another. To Kirk's untrained eye it appeared that all the wealth and power of Bharselis and twenty-eight members of Star Fleet were in attendance this gala first night. He looked down at the patch of Star Fleet colors below and blessed Jir for the crew's tickets, they could not have been easy to come by. He looked at Spock studying the programme.

"How did you decide what crew got tickets, Spock?"

"I did not. I gave the tickets to Lieutenant Uhura as she would know who would wish to attend such an event." Spock, having just perused the programme notes, rather wished he were not here.

The story to be enacted before them was _Skolta_, whose story was to be retold in three acts with music.

Act I. Warlord Losknir's fortress on pre-reform Vulcan, in the time of Surak, Losknir's favorite male concubine, Skolta, is persuading his lord to at least banish Surak from his lands, if not kill him outright. Skolta desires this because the imposition of logic as the new religion will erode his own political power and the quality of Vulcan life. Various forms of argument and persuasion are presented, i.e. dancing, singing, etc. Losknir orders Surak banished thereby setting the last Vulcan Civil War into motion.

Act II. Losknir's fortress. On the eve of war, Losknir receives a delegation from Surak, making one last bid for a peaceful solution. Skolta mocks them and convinces Losknir to execute them and display their heads on the fortress wall as an answer to Surak. The delegation is taken to be executed. Warlords Trvsin and Nzrta enter with their entourages and dancing and singing and other forms of entertainment ensue in which Skolta plays a leading role.

Act III. Losknir's fortress. Losknir lies dying in Skolta's arms as his fortress surrenders. Losknir dies. The victorious Surak enters and engages Skolta in private conversation. Surak orders Skolta beheaded and his head displayed on the Fortress walls to herald the tyranny to logic that enslaves the Vulcans to this very day. Curtain.

Kirk and McCoy looked up from their programmes and at Spock, stoically regarding the throng.

"...ah," McCoy began, breaking the silence, "I see the author of the text is Ling Talljet."

Spock nodded.

"Doesn't he like Vulcans?" Kirk ventured.

"Ling's contention is with Vulcan history and culture. He takes issue with the laws of Surak and the Matriarchy. It is a theme that occurs in almost all of his writings in one form or another."

"I didn't know he was a playwright."

Spock sighed mentally and decided it was an interesting enough story to tell: "Ling has an advanced degree in economics and literature from the Vulcan Institute. Upon graduation, he was offered a substantial position in the Federation Development Ministry, based upon his thesis on the economic development of unsophisticated but resource rich planets. He theorized on the development of planets in the Ploynolin group."

"Which have since joined the Federation." Kirk supplied.

"And are being developed using Ling’s thesis as a blueprint." Spock added.

"What happened after he turned down the Federation job?" Kirk asked, intrigued.

"He became a very successful prostitute in the Autonomous Zones and wrote several very popular pornographic novels."

"Such as what we are about to see."

"No. _Skolta_ was Ling's thesis in Literature at the Vulcan Institute."

McCoy smiled: "His committee can't have liked it very much."

"I do not know what the committee's decision process was, however, Ling was awarded his degree with honors and received several offers to publish his poetry and commissions for more." Spock paused, a shadow of pleasure passed behind his eyes: "He is a very fine poet in Vulcan."

"But he chose exile, prostitution and pornography instead." Kirk remarked.

"He remarked to a mutual acquaintance that he wished to study supply side economics in its most extreme form and that prostitution in unregulated social systems presented the purest model," Spock commented dryly and continued: "He further stated that he intended to write smut until he had exhausted the subject, by which time he hoped to know enough about love to write on that."

They were silent, mulling this over. Mig, Jir's secretary, knocked and entered: "Jira's sent up some food for you," he gestured to the spread of vegetarian delicacies being laid out. "And some wine."

Spock barely inclined his sleek head. Mig activated the anteroom stage monitor and continued: "I'll return during the third act to collect you and bring you backstage. Jira is concerned that you will not be able to get through the crowd otherwise."

"We'll miss the ending," McCoy said.

"You can watch it on the monitor in Jir’s dressing room, if you wish." Mig bowed and turned to go. Spock spoke: "What are you doing here, your Highness, if I may ask?"

"I am Jira's secretary.

"Why?"

"I find the travel and people interesting." He paused. "Will there be anything further?"

Spock looked at the Humans. They looked back at him.

"No, thank you, Prince Smig. We shall expect you later."

"Until then, Spock." Mig made eye contact with the humans and left.

"Prince Smig?" McCoy asked.

"An old and noble family."

"Why do you pronounce it Smig and he pronounces it Mig?" Kirk asked.

"Vulcan male names beginning with S honor Surak; remove the S and the opposite is achieved."

They took their seats as the lights dimmed and an expectant hush fell over the audience.

The curtain raised on the scene of Jir, as Skolta, nude, on his knees, sucking Losknir's, portrayed by Phr-tolnet, cock. Kirk blushed at the realism and was glad for the darkness. McCoy wondered how they could stay in character and be so convincing. Spock sighed mentally and girded himself for a long evening.

Losknir: "No, I would only renounce you for war as only strife and chaos excite me as much as you."

Skolta: "And if Surak's peace is thrust down our throats, my Lord?"

Losknir: "I shall cut it off and spit it into his face."

A long evening indeed, except when Jir was dancing. He commanded their attention and suspended time itself.

The trio retired to the anteroom to eat, drink and watch Act II on the monitor. Jir had thoughtfully written down the times of the dances in the performance so they would know when they were missing something good.

Skolta: "Surak offers a living death dressed up as the old whore peace, who'll go with anyone who is willing. Shall we renounce love to conquer hatred? Elation to conquer rage? Ecstasy to conquer despair? We will have nothing but hides that do not feel and hunger only for food. How can you advocate our diminution? What life is that for those the gods made able to know the greatness of god in all its manifestations?"

Delegate: "Without peace we will all die and therefore be unable to enjoy what you speak of."

Skolta: "I prefer to die quickly by violence than slowly of logic."

Kirk and McCoy found the orgy that ends Act II of great interest, it representing a crucial event in Vulcan history, which was suddenly much more interesting than they had previously thought.

Spock, not much of a voyeur, was bored. Had Kirk not been with them he might have availed himself of one of the wide couches and made love to Leonard. He regarded McCoy, flushed with pleasure, excitement and wine, in the dim light from the stage and thought, 'quel dommage.'

"How have I never heard of this play before?" Kirk murmured, breaking into Spock's reverie.

"It is not popular on Vulcan."

"Oh, I can believe that."

"It has, however, been running continuously in the Klingon Empire for the past 10 years." Spock remarked.

During the interval, Kirk and McCoy ran into Sulu.

"Well, Sulu, are you enjoying your evening?" Kirk asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir, I had no idea Vulcan history was so... fascinating."

In another part of the lobby Spock was greeted by Uhura: "Mr. Spock, this is amazing."

"Is it? I find the musical component pedestrian although representational of the period it depicts."

"Is the sex also representational of the period?"

"I would not know, Lieutenant." The lights dimmed for the third act and the hot and bothered crowd returned to their seats.

Skolta, kneeling before Surak: "Can you renounce what you have never had, my Lord?"

Surak: "Yes."

Skolta: "Can you renounce the opportunity to discover what you have not had, my Lord?"

Surak: "Yes."

Skolta: "And so my Lord draws a conclusion without sufficient experience to draw such a conclusion. Is this the future of Vulcan? Then let me die of passion before I grow bored with existence."

Surak: "You will die of logic and law before that, beautiful one. You have sown hatred and now you shall reap death. It is logical to destroy what cannot be salvaged. Your execution will stand as a lesson for others, as well."

Skolta: "Then they shall learn that there is more to this life than logic, Surak. You may stand over my grave to be sure I am dead but as you lay on stones and cook sand while building a logical hell, it will be my eyes you see glowing with pleasure when you have none, my skin you long to caress when you wake on the hard ground and my laughter you will hear forever in the sterile construct you condemn all Vulcans to."

Surak: "Perhaps. But I doubt you would let me live in it very long. Actions provoke consequences, Skolta, and you must face yours and I will face mine."

Kirk and McCoy watched the finale from Jir’s dressing room which was even more opulent than his box.

McCoy found himself wishing Surak could have reformed Skolta along with Vulcan since it seemed a waste to destroy so much wit and beauty, however misguided.

Kirk was wondering if Skolta's sister, if he had one, would have had better luck.

Spock was wondering when Jir was going to stop bowing and they could leave.

The crowd had so far been content to cheer and chant his name with increasing intensity but Jir had a premonition that it was time to go. He signaled his intention to the company, bowed once more and left the stage. A sudden savage howl went up and a new born mob rushed the stage.

"Aaaand away we go,' Jir thought happily, racing backstage with Mig, Spock and the humans in his wake. They dove into the waiting hoverlimousine and passed the riot squad on its way to the theater.

"Well! That went pretty well, dontcha think, Mig?" Jir asked brightly, pulling his dressing gown around him.

"The spectators appeared to enjoy it, as well." Mig opined.

Kirk hailed the Enterprise to make sure everyone got back on board safely. He turned to Jir: "Where are we going?" he asked.

"My place. Did you enjoy the show, Captain Kirk?" 'Even prettier in person,' thought Jir, 'but what was on between Spock and the other human?' He switched his vision from form and color to energy field, an inborn talent all the Talljets had perfected on Vulcan. "Have we met?" He smiled to McCoy before Kirk could answer.

"Dr. McCoy, this is Jir Talljet." Spock verbalized, watching Jir watching McCoy with interest.

"Charmed, Mr. Talljet. Allow me to congratulate you on this evening's performance, it was awe-inspiring," McCoy drawled.

Jir smiled charmingly and thanked the doctor, he did so love compliments. 'Allow me to congratulate you on yours, Doctor,' Jir was thinking. 'You're Spock's coochie but you can't show it for some reason.' He glanced at Spock, who dipped his shields just enough to send Jir a warning as well as a plea. They arrived chez Jir.

"Undo your collars, gentlemen, and relax. I'll be with you terrectly." Jir called over his shoulder, disappearing into a hallway. Spock could hear him speaking softly to someone. Mig brought them into a modestly furnished parlor and offered them more wine, which was refused. He then offered coffee and Relan tea, which were accepted.

Jir reappeared, showered, his unruly, matte, jet curls brushed back into a simple bun and wearing a dark blue dressing gown. He looked closer to his age rather than the sixteen year old Vulcan dancing boy he'd just portrayed.

"Come into the kitchen and keep me company while I get supper together."

"I thought we would go out," Spock suggested.

"Very kind, Spock, but I spent this afternoon making you coza and mlou, with these two hands," dramatic gesture, "and I will suffer greatly if you don't enjoy it."

"I do not wish to trouble you, Jir." Spock enjoyed eating coza and mlou quite a bit.

"You do not." Jir moving around a clean but simple kitchen, the humans and Vulcans sat watching him.

"These are temporary quarters until we decide if we will stay here," Jir commented, catching the human's thought, setting plates and bowls on the table before them and sitting down.

They ate in silence for a while, Jir looked tired because he was. Mig rose to answer the comm line.

"So, Kirk," Jir poured himself a coffee and a Mitca brandy and leaned back, "what brings the Enterprise to Bharselis?"

"We're here as window dressing for the negotiations on Bharselis's entrance into the Federation, a diplomatic mission, they picked us because we were in the neighborhood."

"And a bad choice you are," Jir bluntly stated, "but that isn't surprising. You Terrans are an obtuse lot when it comes to this end of the galaxy."

The Terrans stiffened but Spock was curious: "Why so, Jira?"

Jir smiled at hearing his nickname: "Why send a Starship capable of destroying a planet to encourage a planet that's already made up its mind to join? The rumors are flying that the Enterprise is here to make sure the haggling goes the Federation's way. If not, blam blam blam."

Kirk privately agreed with Jir. He had doubted Ambassador Martin's judgment in summoning them here but was in no position to refuse, his orders had come straight from Admiral Jessup. The reasoning had been that Star Fleet needed to be represented on Bharselis and secondly that if the mission was attacked by pirates or others, the Enterprise had the best chance of fighting its way out of trouble. Bharselis's position in non-aligned space was nervous-makingly close to the Autonomous Zones. This also made its decision to join the Federation and not some other group a major coup. So, he merely smiled and thanked Jir for his opinion. He made eye contact with the little vulcanoid boy peeking around the door frame behind Jir.

Jir swung round to look at what Kirk was seeing: "Hey! Hobiea olio (little other Hobie), c'mere, you."

The boy clambered on Jir’s lap and looked at them with some interest. He was all dark eyes and a pointed chin and jetty curls like Jir’s, except his were shiny where Jir’s were matte.

"And this is?" McCoy asked.

"My first son."

"Named after your brother?" McCoy suggested.

"Of course."

"And his mother?" Spock asked quietly.

Jir looked at him, eyes unreadable: "He hasn't one."

"How is that so, Jira?" Spock was suddenly very interested.

Jir considered, decided there was no harm in telling: "Don't you know where little Mages come from, Spock?" he smiled, amused. "When inspired to do so, even we MageCheqs (half Mages) flip for our guy, go female and get knocked up, three times, have three baby boys, and then back to male. I found it a rather nice change of pace and the fashion possibilities were endless. I've just gone male again about a year ago."

"Then who fathered your sons?" Spock persisted. McCoy thought this was ungallant, but only in passing, he was watching Jir with Hobiea and searching for what it reminded him of.

"Various people you don't know." Flatly, finally. Jir picked up a sugar cube and soaked it in Mitca brandy and fed it to his son.

McCoy, gazing with interest at parent and child, had an odd reaction to this action. On one level he disapproved feeding liquor to a toddler but on the other hand, his father had fed him the occasional cognac soaked sugar cube when he, like Hobiea, had snuggled in his lap after bedtime, to listen to the male voices rumbling about things he didn't understand, lulling him to sleep. He'd been drifting on a wave of nostalgia, remembering this just prior to Jir’s action and was disconcerted by seeing his memory reenacted before him. He looked sharply at Jir, who regarded him with approval.

Jir had picked up McCoy's memory because it was more interesting than what Kirk was musing on and Spock was too well shielded. He had modeled his action to please the human and was curious to see that it had not.

'They don't like being read, these humans,' Jir thought, 'except when they want to be read. This one, however, is very complex and cares very deeply for Spock, god help him. And he must have something going for him if Spock is interested.'

Jir had a favorable but realistic opinion of Spock, lightly tinged with affection and respect. Overall, he approved of what he'd seen and felt from and between Spock and McCoy this evening. It was his opinion that they were onto something good and he wished them joy.

Mig reappeared wearing his coat: "I've got to go to the detention center, half the company was picked up by the riot squad."

"Dammit, they're actors not rioters."

Mig cocked an eyebrow and departed. Jir picked up the now sleeping Hobiea and left the room as well. He returned wearing a long intricately pleated black gown and his hair flowing down his back.

"D'you mind if we go to a little place I found the other night? They play music there that reminds me of Vulcan." 'Reminds me of the happy times on Vulcan,' Jir amended to himself.

They went out on the street and flagged a taxi (Mig had taken the limo), Jir gave the driver directions in Patois. Spock enjoyed hearing it again after all these years, he thought of Vulcan: "How was your last trip to Shirkar to renew your license, Jira?"

"It was annoying. I was pregnant and hid it from everyone except the Sas."

"Are they well?"

"Oh, yes, eccentric as ever. I brought Hobiea to show them and they thought he was fascinatin'." Jir felt the humans smile mentally and he smiled back at them mentally.

"Who're the Sas?" Kirk asked.

"Our Vulcan foster family." Jir smiled at him.

"Why were you visiting Vulcan, Jir?" McCoy asked.

"To renew my license to practice law on Vulcan. Every five years Vulcan lawyers must retake and pass the Federation bar exam and, if you are selected in a raffle, to argue a hypothetical case before the law college. It's a pain in the ass but it keeps us all current and on our toes."

'It also makes Vulcan lawyers the most formidable in the Federation,' Spock thought but said, "Did you argue a case before the college?"

"No, thank god, the college follows the court's tradition of making its members shave their heads to appear before it. I have escaped the savages yet again." But it was said with affection. Jir and Ling were fonder than their brothers of Vulcan, although that was sometimes hard to discern.

"Do you practice law on Vulcan?" McCoy asked, "I was rather under the impression you haven’t been there much in the past dozen or so years."

"Well, I keep an office there but I've never plead a case in court there or done much else either. All I care about is dancing." Dramatic gesture.

"Seems like a lot of trouble to keep a license you don't use," McCoy commented. "Why d'you bother?"

"I'm sentimental." He paused. "And you never know when you might need your Vulcan license." He looked out the window, "Ah, here we are." The taxi stopped before a dim little cafe and they disembarked. Jir and Spock exchanged some terse Vulcan about who would pay the driver before realizing that Kirk was already paying the driver, who saluted them and drove off.

Jir’s entrance did not go unnoticed but there were only a handful of patrons so it was not uproarious. The owner himself brought them wine on the house and asked Jir his pleasure.

"I want to hear an Imman."

Spock looked dubious and turned to watch the proprietor speak to the quartet on the bandstand. The leader, a lanky humanoid in black leather carrying an lyre, addressed Jir, mostly in standard: "Hey there, Fara, what the qwzrk is an Imman?"

"It's kinda a Mirgessian shuffle via Xozishinia on a hot night with a full moon, you dij?"

Spock closed his eyes, hoping this was not leading where he thought it was leading. Kirk and McCoy were curious.

The musician thought about this for a moment: "I dij. Kinda a hep scat laid back wariyo whose mother was frightened by a Rom bolero with a Sorosican accent on a hot night with a full moon, dij?"

"Precisely, we dij." Jir was always impressed to find such refined sensibilities in his vicinity.

The musician swaggered off and engaged his cohorts in a brief discussion. Sharply accented but lyrical music jerked across the dance floor. Spock opened his eyes and was pinned by Jir’s: "Let's dance."

The humans froze.

"I have not danced an Imman since the last one I danced with you, Jir, twenty-three point thirty-seven years ago," Spock informed him.

"Then we can pick up where we left off." Jir stood and Spock could not but follow. Kirk and McCoy exchanged looks and leaned back to watch. They were surprised to notice that Spock and Jir were the same height, Jir had seemed smaller.

Immans, as danced rarely on Vulcan, are a very complex dance where the dancers hold their elbows to their sides and their forearms and hands perpendicular to their waists, fingertips touching. The taller partner leads, in this case Jir decided Spock should lead since Jir could follow anything Spock might do. The lead's fingertips point downward touching the following partner's upward pointing fingers. This is the only contact point. The dance is a series of intricate steps and kicks between and around each other's legs while the lead guides the couple in a figure eight. Misstep or inattention often resulted in serious bruising. Mastery of it was a cultural and scholastic requirement for all Vulcan teenagers, owed to its being an ancient court dance, preserved these many centuries. Jir had taken pity on Spock and partnered him for the exam at W. Vul. Prep. because Jir could make even the teenaged Spock look graceful. Twenty-three point thirty-seven years later they not only looked graceful but also very elegant and rather sexy.

Spock found his bearings very quickly, partly because Jir was such a good partner and partly because he wanted to talk. He addressed Jir in Vulcan: "It is beneficial that we can speak privately. Where is your brother Maja?"

"I was wondering if you were going to ask me that." Jir replied in Vulcan, noting with a sigh what a blunt instrument the language was when Spock used it. At least his dancing had improved somewhat.

"I ask you now, Jir."

Jir sighed mentally: "He does not wish to be found." Thoughtfully, he omitted the 'by you' from his statement.

"Why not?"

"It is illogical as well as emotionally painful to have contact with one by whom one has been rejected and with whom one has no possibility of a positive future interaction." Jir intoned in his best neutral voice. 'Sometimes,' Jir thought, 'Vulcan can be a useful language for saying hard things.' Out of the corner of his eye he noticed still and vid cameras on them, decided the proprietor must have called them to exploit Jir’s presence in his club.

'Live it up,' Jir thought, 'I shall pass this way and dance with SpockDeVulCheq but once.'

Just then Spock did something so shocking Jir was speechless. He locked his fingers in Jir’s and pulled Jir close so they were nose to nose. Spock stared intently into his eyes, Jir was disconcerted, gave up the Imman and simply let Spock move him around the dance floor.

"I do not intend to force myself on your younger brother, but I do wish to know his whereabouts and his condition."

"Why?" Jir was a little angry at Spock's bullying tone.

"To know that he is well."

"I have told you he is." His blood was up now.

"I seek to verify that for myself."

"Whaddaya think, Spock? He died of loving you?" Jir snarled in Standard because Vulcan had no words for this. "Nobody dies of love. They ache from failure and rejection and berate themselves for loving one who couldn't or wouldn't or simply didn't love them back. Be logical, Spock, why would Maja want to see you? When you decided your future he wasn't even on the B list. Why open a closed wound?"

"I wish to apologize to him."

"I'll tell him you're sorry," Jir said wearily.

"I want to tell him myself."

"No. You can only cause him pain. You are not free. He would only see what he can't have and that is the source of all suffering. Please, Spock, forget it, forget him as he has forgotten you."

"Has he forgotten me?" Spock asked quietly.

"Mostly," Jir lied through his teeth. 'Be happy with McCoy, he's right for you,' he added to himself, hoping Spock would hear it. Jir looked around. He had not noticed it filling up but the the cafe was now teeming with people, among them the Sultan of Orissa. He had a bad feeling behind his knees. "Spock, we gotta get outta here."

Spock had noticed the crowd as well and felt a bestial energy emanating from it. It reminded him of Norselats hunting in a pack, closing in on a kill. And unfortunately Jir was their prey. Kirk and McCoy were feeling it, too, Kirk was scanning the exits, looking for a likely escape route, knowing that as long as Jir and Spock kept dancing in the magic circle they were safe. His eyes lit on the main power switch behind the band, next to an exit.

"Bones. You get Spock and Jir down to this end of the dance floor and head them for the exit when the lights go out."

McCoy nodded and moved through the crowd, down to the floor, thinking of the last time he and Spock made love, hoping that would get his attention, somehow.

Jir heard him first, then Spock, they both grinned mentally and headed up the floor following McCoy's fascinating train of thought.

Kirk had gotten to the switch and threw it when he saw they had a straight shot to the exit. Spock and Jir each grabbed one of McCoy's arms and practically carried him out the door Kirk held open. The crowd exploded into a mob in all directions. Jir reached for Kirk and they hurled themselves full speed down the alleyway, pursued.

They nearly collided with an enormous hoverlimo that glided before them. Jir noted the Orissian royal crest on the door just before it opened to reveal the Sultan himself: "May I offer you and your companions a ride, maestro?"

They dove into the Sultan's lap and were whisked away from the pursuing mob.

"Why, of course, your majesty, it would be an honor to accept a ride from you," Jir drawled breathlessly as soon as he could.

The Sultan was charmed, of course.

* * *

They returned to the Enterprise and after seeing a sleepy Kirk to his quarters Spock guided a sleepy McCoy into his own.

He looked calmly into McCoy's blue eyes.

"Spock, now that you've got me in your overheated lair don't you think the hospitable thing would be to get some of these clothes off me?" McCoy was sleepy but not crazy.

Spock unfastened McCoy's collar and worked open the rest of the tunic. They tugged each other's clothes off and moved to the shower.

Very hot for McCoy and bracing for Spock, they soaped as much of each other as they could reach in the confined space. Spock had worked two soapy fingers into McCoy and felt they had both waited long enough. He turned the doctor around in his arms and braced him against the shower wall. Out of habit, he paused the spray, one did not overindulge in water on a starship even in a water rich port like Bharselis. He ran his slippery fingers over McCoy's chest and pressed his cock gently inside, murmuring softly in Vulcan next to the delicate round ear.

McCoy arched his ass to give his lover a better angle and was glad they were nearly the same height. He braced his hands against the wall and bent forward a bit to better meet Spock's thrusts. He wondered at Spock's intensity, perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the very sexy play or a rush from their flight from the mob in the cafe. Whatever. McCoy was enflamed himself, Spock's soapy hands were stroking him higher, his hard cock moving maddeningly across his prostate made him jump with every thrust. Jump with pleasure and meet Spock's thrusts with increasing urgency.

Spock had given up murmuring and taken up moaning, he was very close to climax and he wanted McCoy with him. He stroked the doctor harder and was gratified to feel a response under his hands and around his cock. When he felt McCoy at his own threshold, Spock slammed into the ecstatic, writhing form in his arms and let release crash over him.

After several moments of pure bliss, after they'd settled back into their bodies, after the human's body had released the Vulcan's cock, Spock turned the water on again to rinse them off. He turned McCoy to face him and kissed him, long and deep, both realizing that it was the first time they had kissed since starting to make love. Unusual for them, they both enjoyed kissing, lips and elsewhere, must be the effect of their odd evening together.

After toweling off, McCoy reached for his dress uniform but Spock intercepted his hand and pulled him to his bed. "Stay with me tonight, Leonard."

"All right."

They curled up together. McCoy felt like talking. "What did you and Jir talk about while you were dancing?"

"Maja."

"And...?"

"He says Maja is well and to forget him as he has forgotten me," 'and be happy with you because you are right for me,' Spock added to himself.

McCoy ran his fingers through Spock's chest hair.

"I don't think anyone can forget his first love, Spock," he murmured

"One can if one applies Vulcan discipline and wants to badly enough."

"Do you?"

Spock looked down at the man he held, brushed a lock of hair from McCoy's forehead and considered his good fortune. "Yes. I do."

McCoy was too sleepy to pursue this train of thought. "What did you think of _Skolta_?" he asked changing the subject.

"The play, the performance or the man?"

"The play."

"I think Ling has blown a minor incident of dubious authenticity completely out of proportion for trivial reasons."

"Which are?"

"Homosexuality is frowned upon in Vulcan society; it is illogical and also an affront to the Matriarchy. The Talljets are all homosexual and chafed under Vulcan social structure."

"And yet you and Maja were lovers," McCoy woke up a little.

"It is frowned upon but not forbidden. Vulcan has many same sex couples but they are very discreet. Ostracism is an unpleasant form of punishment for transgressions of Surakian law."

"Is that why they don't live there, then?"

"Partly. They also discovered they had limited access to the larger Federation society due to their status as dangerous aliens. The most serious discrimination was against Hobie: he was denied entrance to Star Fleet Academy even though he scored perfectly on all the entrance exams."

"Why was he denied?"

"Telepathy. Did you not notice Jir reading you this evening? How would that fit on a starship?"

"Might be nice once you got used to it." Like many things he could, but chose not, to name.

"Your opinion was in the minority."

"Why did he want to go to Star Fleet? It's a big Federation, plenty to do in it otherwise."

"He wanted to build starships. He thought he had some new ideas for them. It was his main interest when I met him and continued to be through school. Starships and music." Spock was remembering how beautiful Hobie looked when he thought of his future in Star Fleet and how well he'd hidden his disappointment. It was Maja who'd thrown himself weeping into Spock's arms and told him of Hobie's despair. He pushed it away. 'Forget them, they are beyond you,' he scolded himself.

"Perhaps he did have some new ideas. Jim says the Autonomous Zones' pirate fleets rival the Star Fleet. They lack, however, its cohesion, thank god for small mercies." McCoy gracefully sank into peaceful sleep.

Spock held him, thinking about small mercies and how few of those were bestowed upon the Talljets. And what might have been. He vowed that this would be the last space of time he would wonder what might have been. It was illogical and a pointless waste of time. He would devote himself to what is and what might be. And if a future could be arranged with Dr. Leonard McCoy, he would bring his formidable faculties to bear on that.

He looked at McCoy, sleeping peacefully beside him, and let himself drift off to sleep in the peace and security that there was now another being in the universe to commune with. Now that Maja Talljet was lost to him forever.

* * *

"Captain Kirk, can you explain this?"

James T. Kirk was faced with an enraged Ambassador Martin, gesturing at a huge split vid screen. On one half was the Bharselisian National Theater in flames, rioters and police in pitched battle around it. On the other were Jir and Spock, dancing the night away.

"Explain what, exactly?"

"Why a Star Fleet officer is dancing with that obscene Jira Krinat creature? What in god’s name does Commander Spock think he’s doing?" Ambassador Martin was dangerously red in the face.

"It is a Western Vulcan Imman as they dance them in Shirkar but Commander Spock appears to have made some innovations in it," came from Ambassador Sdiz, entering, regarding the vid screen with interest. Spock had just pulled Jir close. The Vulcan continued: "In my day we never danced that close to our partner but Spock is rather young and I have never danced with Jira Krinat. Perhaps I would have the same impulse, difficult to know." To the untrained eye, Ambassador Sdiz was deadpan but Kirk detected a current of amusement. "I, too, would like to know why Jir is dancing with Spock."

"He invited us out on the town after the performance." Kirk was becoming concerned for Ambassador Martin’s health.

"I KNOW!" Martin exploded. "You were at that pornographic exhibition! Can you tell me, Captain, why Star Fleet officers, involved in a crucial diplomatic mission would have anything to do with that ... that ...." Ambassador Martin was reduced to helpless stuttering, staggered into a nearby chair.

Kirk hailed the ship: "Send Dr. McCoy down here with his black bag. And have Spock join us as well."

They watched the vid screen in silence until McCoy and Spock arrived. McCoy went straight to the distressed Martin, Spock greeted Kirk and turned to Sdiz: "Live long and prosper, Ambassador Sdiz," accompanied Spock's Vulcan salute.

"Peace and long life, Commander." Sdiz returned the salute. "Something new in the Imman, Spock?" He waved at the vid screen. Everybody looked at it.

"The Bharselisian National Theater burned to the ground, sixty dead in the riots which, somehow, became anti-Federation in nature due to Jir’s anti-Federation position and your First Officer is dancing with the monster responsible!" Ambassador Martin was practically shrieking. McCoy hyposprayed him with a sedative, whatever Martin had to do today was going to have to wait.

"You saw the performance, Spock." Sdiz stated conversationally, watching the vid screen loop Spock and Jir.

"Yes."

"I was unable to obtain tickets. How did you get yours?"

"Jir offered us the use of his box."

"And the 25 members of the Enterprise in the Orchestra section?"

"Jir is quite generous, sir." Ambassador Sdiz was very well informed, so Spock asked: "What now for Jir, Ambassador?"

"He and his company are being deported."

"I wonder if they’ll need transport?" Kirk put in.

"I believe the Sultan of Orissa’s fleet has undertaken their transport."

Spock arched an eyebrow but quickly got himself back under control: "And the riots have been quelled?"

"Which one? The one Jir’s performance started at the Theater or the one you and Jir started at the cafe? Both are still raging but the Bharselisian Police project, optimistically, to have order restored by nightfall." The Ambassador paused, "Until then, negotiations are at a stop. Until then the Talljet, Inc.’s mining and cargo ships will continue to load dilithium crystals by the tonne by the hour, round the clock, and there isn’t a thing to be done about it."

"Talljet, Inc.?" Kirk looked at the Ambassador.

"Ling Talljet’s import export business, very successful, huge merchant fleet, private army when needed, ships as sophisticated as the latest Star Fleet vessel, perhaps more so."

"Why are the riots anti-Federation? I thought membership for Bharselis was a foregone conclusion." McCoy asked.

"They are not so much anti-Federation as anti-Star Fleet in nature. The Bharselisians are not used to receiving peaceful visits by starships due to their previously close association with the Autonomous Zone pirates."

Kirk nodded. Star Fleet gunboats chasing pirate clippers were not welcome anywhere, including Federation space.

His communicator chirped.

"Admiral Jessup, sir."

"Put him through, Uhura."

"Kirk?" Jessup rasped.

"Sir."

"The Enterprise is to leave Bharselisian space within the hour and proceed to sector 72564.32-B." 'Merely the other end of the sector,' Kirk thought coolly. "Your orders are being transmitted as we speak."

"Yes, sir."

"Sorry, Jim, this comes from the very top of the Interplanetary Ministry." Kirk looked at Ambassador Sdiz, who gazed mildly back at him. "A shame for your crew; Bharselis sounds like a good place to let off a little steam on shore leave. I also hear Jir the Dancer’s in town. I saw him dance years ago, on Azorieas 4, puts on quite a show, caused a complete riot. Very enjoyable." Kirk glanced at McCoy, who smiled at him. "‘Fraid you’ll have to miss all that. Jessup out."

"Well. Gentlemen, shall we?" Kirk looked at Ambassador Martin, asleep, and at Ambassador Sdiz, awake, "Ambassador," he nodded, "I trust all will be well in your very capable hands."

"I shall endeavor to reward your trust, Captain," Sdiz remarked dryly, raising his right hand. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life, Ambassador."

* * *

Hobie Talljet stretched in his captain’s chair, watching the viewscreen on the bridge of the Tien. Tien means victory in old Klingon. Hobie thought it a good name for his flag ship, a lucky ship and as beautiful as his nephew.

Hobie himself had had and continued to enjoy quite a bit of luck and beauty in this life. He, a classical vulcanoid beauty, and Jir, more in the modern style, were much admired everywhere. Hobie perhaps a little more so.

"How’s the Sultan?" he asked in Patois of Jir’s image occupying one quarter of the screen.

"Lively for his age."

"Well done, Jir, bravo," Ling opined from another quarter. "Lots and lots of loot in the Orissian system."

"How much longer, Ling?" Hobie asked, looking at the quarter of the screen showing the Bharselisian riots, live and in progress.

"Fifty to seventy-two more Standard hours. The Enterprise has gone, thank god, and the riots are fading away ..."

"We spent good money on agents to whip up those riots and keep them going."

"And we’ve got our money’s worth. Hell, Nolo (elder brother), those riots have lasted 2.65 times longer than projected and nearly got the negotiations called off, not just delayed. The transports are almost at capacity now and will proceed to our processing centers on Rovirin. It’s a good haul, Hobie, takes the edge off losing the planet."

Nothing would take the edge off losing the Bharselisian mines but Hobie didn’t want to ruin Ling’s good mood and was, at the very least, pleased that the Enterprise had gone without a fight. Jir was silent.

They all regarded the fourth image.

"His dancing has improved a bit, dontcha think?" Ling ventured

"Have you shown this to Maja?" Hobie asked.

"No." Jir sighed, "don’t plan to. I’ll just tell him Spock wants to see him."

"And?"

"I didn’t tell Spock where he was."

"And?"

"I told Spock to give it up."

"And?"

"I think he might."

Hobie and Ling exchanged glances.

"Why?" Hobie asked. In general, the brothers deferred to each other based on age, Ling was happy to let Hobie do the talking on this one.

"He’s in love with Dr. Leonard McCoy."

Ling’s eyebrows went up. Hobie’s went down.

"Spock has all the fidelity of a Klingon barracks’s whore," he said coldly.

"I disagree, Nolo, I believe he feels as strongly as ever for Maja. He has, however, through contact with Humans or the grace of god developed the capacity to feel a collection of emotional response similar to he what he felt for Maja, for another being. I find it a more appropriate and successful relationship and have encouraged Spock to make the most of it." A Vulcan JD made you nothing if not clear.

Hobie focused on Ling: "You’ve had sex with Dr. McCoy. What's your opinion?"

"He’s made to order for Spock. Godspeed."

Hobie returned to Jir: "You don’t think Spock’s being used as a cat’s paw by the Federation Police and Star Fleet?"

"No, not with his knowledge. Unless he’s become a profound liar, which I very much doubt, he was sincere."

"And without his knowledge."

"FedPol and Staflet aren’t smart enough to run Spock without his knowledge." Ling shook his head. "The day they get that smart, we’d better find a good place to hide."

"Have you spoken to Maja yet?" Hobie asked.

"No, he’s got his shields up, I suspect he’s working or working on the Hierophant Kroldt."

The brothers nodded their approval. Maja's relationship with the Hierophant Kroldt afforded a great deal of emotional and material security for them all and their extended families. What it did for Maja was known only to Maja himself.

Jir looked over his shoulder. "Bedtime in the harem, Nolo, do you need me anymore?"

"Well, I always need you, Noli (younger brother)," Hobie smiled at him, "but the Sultan probably needs you more right now. Off with you. Godspeed." He watched fondly as Jir faded and Ling's gentle features filled the screen.

They regarded each other neutrally. Hobie spoke first.

"It’s not that I don’t believe Jir ..."

"Of course not."

"But I feel his sentimental attachment to that VulCheq colors his discrimination ..."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps." Hobie paused. "Perhaps someone more neutral should go find out what the fuck he’s really up to."

"Since it can’t be you, I suppose it’s me."

"Or one of your empath whores."

"Not likely. My whores and joyhouses are offlimits to Star Fleet personnel. Besides I’d like to see the happy couple myself." Ling looked down at the viewer on his desk. "The Enterprise is bound for Omega 11 in sector 72564.32-B."

"Whatever for?"

"Personnel and equipment check. There’s a Federation research team trying to figure out the local culture."

"How very Federation to send non-telepaths to try to figure out a telepathic non-culture that only bothers with language and bodies just to be polite. That’d make the Vulcan’s laugh."

"It will if anyone ever figures it out. Let’s hope the Omegans don’t decide to join the Federation just to be polite. They’re a good source of water in that neighborhood."

"Then be off. Godspeed, Noli."

"Godspeed to you, Nolo."

* * *

While appearing to be the mildest and gentlest of the brothers, Ling was the most realistic, logical and hardheaded of them. He knew unspeakable things could happen in this life and that they could be survived. All one needed was to keep moving and jump on the next opportunity. And always watch your back yourself, it was dangerous to think that there would always be someone there to save you.

He was thinking about his brothers and Maja in particular. Maja had been late but not too late getting to Lazroid’s lab. But Ling could never convince him of that. Maja was guilt-ridden, all his brothers were guilt ridden about it. And afraid, afraid of seeing a danger too late to prevent it. They had removed Ling’s pain but not his fear. That had gone later, when he knew Wilton was dead, when he knew he would survive anything because he had survived the rape.

But Ling knew and knew well that there is nothing you can do about the past but live with it.

His brothers did not have the comfort of such knowledge. They still flailed around, dodging each blow as it came, hoping to be quick enough, smart enough, whatever enough to make a home somewhere somehow.

Ling did not worry. That was illogical. He carried his home within him and his strength was knowing that this too shall pass and if life did not kill you, it made you strong and possibly wise.

In Ling’s case it also made him rich. He liked money, he thought it was beautiful, like a river that flows and changes and is never the same river twice. A combination of patience, shrewdness and second sight had accomplished his fortune. Also a certain amount of inside information – he didn’t run an empath whorehouse for nothing. His girls not only fulfilled the wildest fantasies of their clients, they also forged a link with them that gave them access to whatever the punter knew. The Bonding, with certain variations and improvements, was one of the many useful things Ling had picked up on Vulcan. Only the richest and most powerful beings could afford Ling’s. It was his policy.

Well, it had been a good game for a long time until one of the Federation’s human punters got scared and went to Vulcan to see what was wrong with him. He was having strange dreams and hearing voices; an unfortunate side effect of the whore’s bonding on the weaker species. A Vulcan healer had undone the intricate ties and alerted the Federation to the dangers of Ling’s house. No direct action could be taken since Ling’s business was in non-aligned space and therefore unregulated. However, Star Fleet made it off limits to its people and a general warning was issued through the Federation.

This did not concern Ling. He had enough Federation informants and could get more if needed, they were a gullible lot, especially the Terrans. But who needed it? It’s a big galaxy, plenty of other rivers to swim in. And so he did.

And now, after all these years, he was going to see SpockDeVulCheq again. How he had idolized Spock on Vulcan. Maja had been in love with him but Ling had had his own crush on him. How disappointing that Spock chose Star Fleet, T’Pring and the code of Surak over the four beings that truly loved him.

'Hochofedra' (ah well, life goes on somehow), Ling mused, shrugging, 'what can you do?'

He nodded to a Minarien trader in his stall just outside the Federation compound on Omega 12. Wherever the Federation set up shop it attracted all sorts of camp followers. They were particularly useful on this planet because the Omegans had given up agriculture several thousand years ago and the Terrans would have starved without food from their ships and the bazaar.

'I wonder what conclusions the Terrans haven’t drawn from the lack of definable culture on this planet?' Ling was amused. 'Can’t they see superior beings when they are in front of them? I guess not. It’d make the Vulcans laugh.'

He stood in the doorway of the compound where he attracted a great deal of attention. Or rather his clothing did. He was wearing a cobalt blue gown with a wide skirt and three meter train, huge sleeves, tight bodice and a huge and outrageous broad brimmed blue hat trimmed in Trezo feathers.

Ensign Chekov was nonplussed: this was the last thing he’d expected to see on this routine assignment on this dusty, boring planet. Then he wondered how the visitor was going to get his hat through the door. He walked right up to the creature and very politely asked what he could do for him.

'Much,' Ling thought, 'but you’d have to lose the uniform.' However, he said, in Standard: "I’m looking for SpockDeVulCheq."

"There is Mr. Spock, he is our First Officer. Would that be him?" Chekov was polite.

"Tall, ugly, stupid, half-breed Vulcan. Yes, that’s him."

"We have no such person! Our Mr. Spock is the finest First Officer in the Fleet." Chekov’s blood was up: no one insulted Spock in front of him.

Ling considered: 'Well, Spock, you lucky lucky lucky dog, you, so at least someone in the galaxy loves you a little. How nice for it to be this pretty child.' He suppressed an urge to brush the dark brown hair off Chekov's creamy brow and said at the top of his voice: "Well, since he’s already paid for the blow job, he should either get it or give it away. I’m a busy man, I don’t have time to stand here chatting with you, how ever pleasant that might be."

"GYHARINE!" Dr. McCoy had just caught sight of Ling. Chekov took the opportunity to flee and leave this situation to his shipmate.

The traders looked up in shock and surprise. Gyharine means ‘boy for sale’ in the Patois and was never shouted outside of the pleasure districts and rarely there.

"LEONARD!" Ling flung himself into McCoy’s outstretched arms.

"Whatever are you doing here, Gyharine?" The traders were completely horrified by the Terran’s cultural faux pas and his obliviousness to it.

"Ah, well, listen Leonard, you’re scaring the horses and the traders. Maybe you’d better call me by my real name."

"Which is?"

"Ling Talljet."

McCoy took a startled step backward and then whispered: "I thought your name was Ghy ..."

"Well, it was, sometimes. But I’m rather out of that line of work these days."

"I’m not sure I understand."

"Leonard," Ling chuckled and lowered his voice as well as his eyes, "’gyharine’ means ‘boy for sale’ and is what the pimps call from the whorehouses to attract business." He raised his big brown eyes to McCoy’s embarrassed blue ones.

"But, anyway, so what?" Ling continued brightly, "I’ve spoken to Jir. I’m so pleased for you, Leonard."

McCoy noticed Kirk and Spock coming into the courtyard. He had a bad feeling about what Ling’s next words might be.

"It’s too wonderful about you and Ssssmmmm ... !" whatever word Ling’s lips were trying to form was snuffed out by McCoy’s lips on them.

'Well, this is interesting,' Ling was thinking, 'I guess it’s a big secret. Jir should tell me these things so I don’t wreck the party. This is a nice kiss. I remember that, he kissed well, and makes love well, too. I hope Spock appreciates this one, he can be so blind sometimes.'

Kirk and Spock exchanged puzzled looks.

'Why is McCoy kissing this outrageous creature?' Kirk was thinking.

'Why is Ling Talljet here?' Spock wondered. 'And why is Leonard kissing him?'

McCoy and Ling finally broke their clinch, both a little breathless. Ling looked at Spock and formed his hand in the Vulcan salute: "Live long and prosper, SpockDeVulCheq."

"Peace and long life, Ling Talljet," Spock returned, his hand a mirror of Ling’s. "What brings you here?"

"You."

Kirk cleared his throat.

"Ling, this is Captain Kirk of the Enterprise," McCoy put in helpfully.

Kirk inclined his head: "You didn’t happen to come here in the barge currently in orbit, did you?" Kirk smiled affably, studying the youngest Talljet.

"How else would I have got here? My broom’s in the shop right now." Ling snapped. He had a low opinion of KirkaFara. He considered him pompous and arrogant and lucky. ('Luck is for rabbits' was Ling’s opinion.) And heterosexual, therefore useless to Ling. And blond, Ling didn’t have much use for blondes either.

"Ling," Spock admonished.

"Well, raaaather, Spock, it’s logical. There are two ships in orbit now, yours and mine. There are only a handful of beings on this planet, therefore, if I wasn’t here when you arrived I could only logically come from the other ship in orbit." Ling was exasperated; was Spock so deep into these idiots he couldn’t see an idiotic statement when one jumped up and bit him on the ass?

They were all silent.

"Why have you come to see me, Ling?" Spock said at last.

"Well, you’ve broken your silence so I thought I’d come say hello." Ling was looking innocent.

Spock remembered this look from Vulcan, it usually meant Ling was telling the truth, sideways, to distract his audience.

"I recall it differently, Ling, it was you and your brothers who were silent."

"Well, I answered your letters."

"Only to ask that I stop writing them."

"It’s still an answer."

"Indeed."

They were silent again. Ling was listening to the silence. Spock had his shields up, way up, but the Terrans were sending lots of messages and all of them good news.

Jir was right: this was a new and improved SpockDeVulCheq. He was in love with McCoy. Ling had that from McCoy’s memory and it showed on them. The subtle energy convergence of love between two people was visible in their telefields. Kirk was oblivious to it. Ling supposed this was a good thing due to the uptight regulations that governed Star Fleet.

He read further from Kirk that they had been in deep space for a long time. If Spock was a FedPol spy he was a useless one in the quadrants they had been in these past few years. Kirk had a high opinion of the Vulcan but did not understand the full magnitude of Spock’s complexity. He had been touched by Spock’s loyalty to Pike but had not understood the underlying, deeply suppressed irrational passion that motivated Spock’s action. The same deeply suppressed irrational passion that caused Spock to seduce and abandon Maja, defy his father, family and culture, flee Vulcan, and kept the Spock-watching Talljets on the edge of their seats. What wild and crazy thing will he do next? Jir and Ling wondered. Maja never mentioned Spock’s name, or very very rarely. He never seemed to wonder about him and rudely cut off conversations about him. He had pushed his feelings for Spock so far away not even he could see them anymore.

Hobie was still angry with Spock and impatient of any discussion. He did, however, keep track of him as he considered him a potential but undefined danger.

McCoy was unsure what should happen next as Ling and Spock seemed to have reached the end of their conversation. Kirk was deciding whether they should offer him refreshment or order him back to his ship and out of orbit.

"Can we offer you something to drink, Mr. Talljet?" Kirk finally said.

"Oh, call me Ling!" Ling cried pleasantly. "Yes, indeed, it’s awfully hot out here. Only fit for Vulcans, you know?"

They repaired to the kitchen of the station. Ling had to take off his hat to get inside. His black curls spilled down his back and over his shoulders like waterfall. McCoy took a moment to admire this, but just a moment because Spock had an odd look in his eye.

"So, Spock, how’s your mother?"

"She is well. How are the Sa's?"

"They are enflamed by the discovery of the ancient Borillian texts. They can talk about nothing else except the development of Borillian from this source. They say it clears up many contradictions that have plagued them for years." He paused, smiled, thinking fondly of those old men and their linguistic manias. "I wish I could find something to make me that happy all at once." He looked at Spock. "And you? How are you?"

"Well."

"And has Star Fleet turned out to be everything you wanted, Spock?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Well, that’s good. One should have what one wants in this life."

"That is open to interpretation, Ling."

"Perhaps. I can only refer to those who seek happiness, which is elusive but worthwhile."

Ling smiled at the humans, trying to draw them into the conversation.

"Yes, I would agree with you," McCoy put in politely.

Kirk smiled and sipped his tea. He was not enjoying Ling as much as he’d enjoyed Jir. However, he rose to the occasion: "I enjoyed your play, _Skolta_," he said pleasantly.

"The play or the performance?" Ling asked; he did love to be complimented.

"Both. I wonder at your dislike of Vulcan culture. It’s very well thought of in the Federation."

Spock had a sinking feeling but Ling, sensing this, came to his rescue.

"It's a .. challenging place for ... unusual people to live," Ling said, hunting for the least offensive words he knew. "Post-Reform Vulcan culture has very little room in it for differences or deviation. One either lives by the laws of Surak or one is marginalized into non-existence. The Vulcans have traded intolerance and violence for intolerance and ostracism. And all under the cover of logic which is much maligned by their use of it."

"They have been very successful."

"Oh, I agree, but we will never know what might have been and what might yet be. I’m all for logic and use it myself now and again, but sometimes it’s necessary to jump over it and into faith, love, passion, etc. All those wonderful things the Vulcans eschew in the name of a quiet life."

"And what’s wrong with a quiet life?" Kirk smiled.

"You tell me, Fara. Why haven’t you had one?" He smiled back, charming, sweet Ling. "Or you, Leonard, why are you light years away from home, risking your life, seeing wonders you’ve never dreamed of?" He gestured toward Spock with his chin. "It’s not logical."

The humans laughed.

"No, it’s not. But wouldn’t the Vulcans have killed themselves without logic?" Kirk asked.

"I doubt it. They hadn’t the technology for mass destruction and the little acknowledged truth was that the warlords were forming political alliances and the planet might have entered a feudal period similar to what you had on Terra. The social structure was developing along a line where the strong ruled but valued intelligence and other useful aspects in the weak. Intelligence, beauty, spirituality, artistic talent, even logic of all things, were beginning to assert themselves as tenable positions from which to bargain for power. Surak swept all that away with Skolta’s execution and the creation of the Surakian dictatorship. The fact that the first logical action of the unchallenged victor was of violence and not compassion is the make or break in Vulcan history. Its message was that resistance was futile and would not be tolerated."

"History is full of terrible ‘if’s’, Ling." Kirk was warming up to him.

"Yes, but it’s fun to wonder. And I further wonder if the Vulcans will ever jump over the logic walls they’ve built and do god knows what."

"I’ve no quarrel with Vulcans the way they are," McCoy commented.

"Have you lived there?" Ling asked, smiling.

"No."

"Try it sometime. It will astonish you just how many shades of beige there are in the universe."

"Ling," Spock said firmly, "Vulcan has a varied and satisfying culture. You are not giving it its due."

"Then why don’t you live there?"

Spock was silent for a moment but then said: "I prefer a less predictable existence."

"And bravo, Spock! Me, too. Let’s leave Vulcan to those who enjoy a quiet life. It’s a big galaxy, life and adventure enough for all." Ling flashed a happy smile that lit up the room and rose. "I must be on my way. Nice to see you again, Spock. Nice to meet you, Captain."

He turned and took McCoy by the shoulders: "And, Leonard, how wonderful to meet again. I wish you well, in all, and I do mean all, your endeavors." Ling gave him a pat, bowed, collected his hat and left.

The three stood looking after his retreating form.

"So that’s Ling Talljet." Kirk muttered. He turned to McCoy. "And how do you know him?"

"I didn’t know I knew him. He had a different name when I, ah, spent some time with him years and years ago."

"He’s very charming." Kirk teased McCoy.

"Once he warms up to you, yes," McCoy commented, thinking that Ling was not as beautiful as Jir but was so warm and loving it didn’t matter.

Spock was thinking that Ling was more like Maja, plain but his presence was strong, warm and comforting. Like looking at the moon over water. He pushed aside a stray longing for Maja. 'That is gone forever,' he reminded himself.

"I must return to my duties, if you will excuse me." He walked away, farther into the building.

"Yes, let’s wrap this up and get outta here." Kirk moved off.

McCoy stood a moment longer, thinking of Ling and the impression he left in the air. Then he shook himself out of his reverie and went back to work.

* * *

Ling returned to his barge and gave the order to leave orbit. He retired to his office to think over the past, present and future before contacting Hobie.

About the past: Why had he seduced McCoy on that afternoon long ago? It wasn't just boredom and a challenge; he'd read McCoy as strictly heterosexual but it was more than that. Second sight perhaps, acquiring knowledge but not knowing why until it became useful.

'McCoy is perfect for Spock,' he thought, 'compassionate, loving, patient when necessary, fiery more often. They love science, both feel rather lost. How lucky they have found each other in all this miraculous creation.'

But there are no accidents, Ling reminded himself, and here was yet more proof that there must be a god to so neatly free Spock from Maja and Maja from Spock.

'Maja will be pleased to know that Spock has learned to recognize love and return it,' Ling mused. 'Too late for us Talljets but, hochofedra,' he shrugged mentally, 'better late than never.'

As to the present: All was well. Spock wasn't a FedPol or Staflet agent. He was never anywhere near the Talljets until lately and that was only to free himself of them.

You must make peace with the past to embrace the future, as the saying went. 'Wise,' Ling thought. 'Godspeed.'

And the future: It was a mystery as usual but the general feeling was good. Intergalactic relations were stable so not much chance of a war smashing things up. The Federation was slowing its diplomatic forays into non-aligned space. Rumor was that an isolationist movement on Terra was creating enough political tension to keep the diplomats home. Probably a good thing if they had more idiots like Ambassador Martin. So, hopefully, Rovirin would not become a bone in a dogfight between the Federation, the Klingon Empire and the Talljets.

Another few years in peace there, Lord, that's all we ask, Ling prayed.

The comm line on his desk rang. Hobie was patient for only so long: "Well?"

"We have nothing to fear from SpockDeVulCheq."

"And from his Captain and his ship?"

"No, they are adventurers, not cops."

Hobie studied his brother for a moment: "How is he?"

"He is well, Nolo, he has learned to love and be loved. He is making his own way in his own SpockDeVulCheq way. We are part of his past and he is putting it behind him, saying good-bye to all that."

"Good bye to all what, Ling?" Hobie was puzzled by the fondness in his brother for the VulCheq.

"All the suffering on Vulcan."

"I don't remember Spock doing much suffering," Hobie said sharply.

"But he did. We all did. We had feelings and sensibilities the Vulcans, friend and foe alike, simply could not fathom. We thought we were mad or defective or cursed, remember? Until we got shut of that place and discovered ..."

"That it's a big galaxy and there is a place for everyone in it," Hobie finished impatiently. He suddenly wanted to see the 'new Spock' for himself but knew it was impossible.

"Exactly." Ling laughed, "I wish him all the best."

"What will you tell Maja?" Hobie asked.

"That he, like us, has found his place in this life and is at peace."

Hobie nodded. It was exactly what Maja had wanted for Spock, even if it meant never seeing him again.

Hobie, on the other hand, wanted Spock to rot in hell forever but refrained from mentioning it. So instead he said: "Hochofedra, Noli," he shrugged. "And McCoy? I looked him up, he won't win any beauty contests. What draws Spock to him?"

"His soul and heart draw Spock, as they drew me."

"That's saying a lot, Ling." Now Hobie wanted to meet McCoy, but that was also impossible. He began to envy his younger brothers a little but pushed it aside and said: "Will Spock stick with him?"

"I hope so. He's still bonded to T'Pring or still was last time I was on Vulcan." Ling was quite frequently on Vulcan to look after the old Sa's and their interests. He numbered T'Pring, warts and all, among his many friends.

"Ah, yes, The Thing. How is the old girl?"

"Oh, same. You could chip dilithium crystals on her. Maybe she'll veer off on her own. She's going to like the new Spock even less than the old Spock."

"I wouldn't put money on that but we'll see. Shouldn't he have Pon Farred by now?"

"I guess, but who knows? Maybe he won't. That Terran blood is hard to predict."

They nodded in silence at each other, knowing very well how unpredictable SpockDeVulCheq was.

"Well. So much for the Spock news. Where're ye bound, little brother?"

"My 'house'. I've been neglecting the girls, you know how they miss me, and business." Ling's 'house' also contained the Talljet Inc. offices.

"Someday you outta shake dem whores and get respectable." Hobie teased.

"That would be disloyal and ungallant." Ling said with mock seriousness, "They're my team."

"Yes. Indeed." Hobie smiled one of his rare smiles. "Farewell, Ling, all my love."

"All my love, Hobie."

***

Dr. McCoy was surprised to see Mr. Spock walk into his quarters the evening of their return from Omega 11.

He'd called 'come' at the door signal assuming it was Jim wanting to chat. He was pleased and curious to see Spock. The Vulcan definitely had something on his mind and got right down to it: "It was my understanding that you had no previous sexual experience with men, Doctor."

McCoy frowned. 'Is Spock jealous? What a frightening thought. Nonsense, impossible.' He pulled himself together and smiled at the memory of Ling so long ago.

"Oh, Ling. I never considered that a sexual experience. It was more of a religious experience."

Spock sat down next to him: "Explain."

McCoy sighed, he disliked talking about this part of his life:

"My father had recently died and I was very depressed. I was drinking non stop and fucking everything female that moved."

Spock steepled his fingers over his chest. McCoy continued:

"One afternoon a young man came up to me and told me I had lovely blue eyes, what a shame they were so bloodshot."

Spock had had the same thought once or twice himself but did not mention it. McCoy continued:

"I was pretty smashed and ready for a fight. I turned to hit him but when I looked into those eyes... I can't really explain it. I felt more peace of mind than I'd felt in weeks. I felt like I could look into those eyes forever."

Spock had had the same experience with Maja. He and Ling were not beauties but such beauty shone from within them they captivated all they chose to bestow it upon. Spock was wondering why Ling had chosen McCoy. Had McCoy's suffering been so great Ling's compassionate nature could not ignore it? Or had Ling seen at a glance what Spock had almost died before seeing? McCoy's loving, accepting nature and wonder at the galaxy around him. He therefore listened with great attention as McCoy continued:

"He paid my tab and took me to his room. A very simple room, I remember, temporary. We sat at his table, like we are, and he made me tea. He asked me what made me so sad and I told him. I told him my whole life, things I never told anyone, things I didn't even know myself until I started telling him. And he just listened. I felt like for the first time in my life someone knew everything, understood everything and loved me for it, not in spite of it.

"When I was done telling my story, I cried. I don't know if it was from joy or sadness or just from being empty for the first time in my life, nothing held in. He held me, rocked me. I hadn't felt so safe since I was a child and never since then, not like that.

"I think we had sex. I remember feeling sexual release but I don't remember the act itself. Whatever it was, it was not what you and I do."

Spock was divided. On one side he was strangely relieved to know Leonard had not had sex, as they knew it, with Ling, on the other, he was disturbed that Ling and probably his brothers had such thorough and intimate knowledge of his Leonard in their communal memory.

"When did this occur?" he asked flatly.

"Eight or so years ago." McCoy smiled at his lover.

"Where?"

"Kirlentis 6."

Spock's eyes widened. Kirlentis 6, eight or so years ago, had been a remote, teeming, violent, disease-ridden den of iniquity. What was McCoy doing there?

McCoy sensed the question.

"I went to a remote nursing station on Kirlentis 6 to take my mind off certain unpleasant events that had recently occurred on Terra." (His divorce, his father's death, his sisters' panic over it and the continual, now exacerbated by his father's death, shortage of money. Kirlentis 6 had been a relief.) "They needed an MD, I needed to get off Terra, it was perfect. I was only there for three months, Spock," he added, seeing Spock's concern.

Spock nodded, wondering what else he didn't know about McCoy. He decided to think about that tomorrow.

His curiosity sated, Spock picked up McCoy's hand from where it lay on the table between them and pressed his lips to the palm. His touch communicated all the pleasure he had in simply being here with McCoy.

McCoy understood. He gazed back at him with love, trust, admiration, contentment; all the things the lovers had grown between themselves over the months since the relationship began.

"I can turn up the heat if you're stayin', Spock," McCoy smiled.

"Yes, please." Spock reluctantly released his hand but he was pleased that McCoy wanted him to stay and that the heat was to increase; he was chilly.

But not for long. McCoy came back from the thermostat and stood before him. Spock reached for him and laid his head on the doctor's belly, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulled him close.

McCoy ran his fingers through the jet silk hair and caressed the broad shoulders.

'How tender this Vulcan can be,' he thought. 'm I the only one who sees it?'

Spock shook himself and stood. He looked into the gentle blue eyes and saw desire there, desire only for him. It was a gift beyond price. He softly stroked McCoy's cheek.

"Come to bed," Spock murmured.

"Yes. Yes."

McCoy leaned against Spock and let himself be guided to the bed. He pulled off his clothes and tossed them in a heap. He slipped into bed to watch Spock methodically undress and neatly fold his clothes. It was part of their ritual, it set the peaceful tempo of lovemaking they enjoyed. Otherwise McCoy would rip off their clothes and fling himself on Spock and it would all be over in ten minutes. This way, Spock's way, was eminently satisfying once McCoy had surrendered to the fact that this was the only way it was going to be. He didn't mind at all. Especially since Spock did, just for contrast, occasionally indulge him and allow him to rip off their clothes, fling himself on him and it was over in ten minutes.

This evening, however, would be longer than ten minutes. McCoy shivered with anticipation of pleasure.

"Are you cold, Leonard?" Spock, slipping into bed, pulled him against his warm, furry chest and ran his warm hands over his back and buttocks.

"More turned on than cold, Spock."

"Indeed." Spock cupped McCoy's ass in his hands and pulled him closer, pressing their erections together. He made no further comment.

McCoy kissed him. Sweetly, deeply, slowly, coaxing Spock's tongue to come play on his lips and in his mouth.

Spock obliged him and then some. He held McCoy even closer, deepening the kiss, savoring it, surrendering to it.

McCoy broke the kiss, panting with lust and lack of oxygen. Spock leaned in to nuzzle his neck and ears, rolling onto his back and pulling the doctor astride him.

McCoy leaned down to rub noses; something that always pleased and puzzled Spock. It was an intimate gesture but not passionate. McCoy began to move down Spock’s body, lightly kissing and biting his way down to his lover’s hard cock.

Upon reaching his goal, McCoy ran his tongue lightly around the head. Spock spread his legs to give him better access to his erection. McCoy played his lips around the head, bobbing up and down as far as he could, running his tongue over the sensitive underside.

Spock was enjoying this, he was practically purring, running his fingers through McCoy’s thick brown hair. McCoy moved to bathe the shaft with his tongue and fondle the Vulcan’s testicles. So lost in the sensation of giving and receiving pleasure, they could have gone on like this all night. However, Spock’s active nature asserted itself and he pulled the doctor up into his arms, lightly playing kisses over his lips and cheeks.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured between pecks.

"I want you to be inside me," McCoy was breathless, wanting union.

Spock smiled mentally and rolled on top of McCoy, spreading his legs with his knees. He reached for the lubricant they kept in the bedside table and laid it on the bed beside McCoy.

This always pleased McCoy: it meant that Spock was not in a hurry.

Obviously not. Spock ran his hard pointed tongue down the doctor’s chest, bathing each nipple in turn, lightly biting and sucking them. This made McCoy arch against him, rubbing his cock against the furry belly that rubbed him back.

Spock moved lower, bouncing his tongue over the doctor’s ribs and belly to his hips. He rubbed his smooth cheeks over the hard rosy cock before sliding his lips up and down the shaft in a maddening but delightful manner.

McCoy gasped when Spock swallowed his cock to the root. Much as he enjoyed it, the sensation was always somewhat shocking to the doctor.

Spock moved up the shaft to slide his tongue sinuously around the velvety head and reached for the tube of lubricant. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, swallowed McCoy’s cock again thus causing the doctor to arch, slipped his well oiled digits between the round cheeks and waited for the descent.

McCoy was all sensation by this time and feeling Spock’s fingers on his anus was almost enough to make him come. Spock, sensing this, was very still, waiting for the doctor to return from the edge.

McCoy, with great effort, pulled himself off the brink and lowered his hips very slowly onto Spock’s hot finger. It was so sexy to feel even this much of Spock inside him.

Spock slipped in another finger, readying him, and moved lower to make love to McCoy’s scrotum. He very thoroughly bathed the sack, sucking on each testicle in turn and then both. He pumped and stretched McCoy with three fingers while doing so.

This was driving the doctor wild: "Spock, I don’t think I can last much longer," he panted.

Spock let the taut sack slip from his mouth and withdrew his fingers. He, too, was ready.

He pulled a pillow under the doctor’s hips, spreading his legs a little wider and then put lubricant on his own cock. Noticing he had McCoy’s full attention, he did this slowly, winding it out, teasing his lover, stroking himself a little higher, driving the doctor wild.

McCoy was beyond ready and let Spock know by tilting his hips up bumping his knees against the Vulcan’s flank impatiently.

Spock caught hold of those impatient knees and rolled McCoy forward. He centered his slippery cockhead and pressed in gently.

McCoy groaned with pleasure and surrender, arching to meet Spock’s intimate, welcome invasion.

Spock groaned mentally with pleasure, slid slowly all the way in and paused, propped on his strong arms, to catch his breath.

McCoy ran his hands up the strong Vulcan arms, marveling at the smooth skin over powerful muscle. It made him shiver to feel such strength being so tender toward him.

"Cold, Leonard?" Spock lowered himself and pressed his warm body against the doctor, his arms around his back, holding him tight.

"No," he whispered, stroking Spock’s back and shoulders. "I’m ... just havin’ a good time."

"Indeed?" Spock almost smiled and began to fuck his lover in his usual precise and rhythmic fashion.

McCoy was content to lie back and be fucked but eventually he began to thrust up to meet Spock’s long strokes. He rubbed his cock against the Vulcan belly and thrashed each time Spock’s cock caressed his prostate.

They were swept up in pleasure and moving as one. So intent on climax, of one mind, that when it came they both lay shuddering with release and rapture.

Spock roused himself off the doctor and lay on his back. After a moment, McCoy rolled onto his side and looked at his flushed, lightly panting lover. He his ran hand over one powerful pectoral, a hard nipple and onto the furry belly. He’d intended to go lower but Spock caught his hand and drew it across his chest, pulling McCoy into his arms and settling his head on his shoulder.

"Had enough?" McCoy queried.

"For now," Spock brushed some brown hair out of the way and kissed his forehead. "Have you dined?"

"On food?" McCoy couldn’t resist. Spock did not honor it with a reply. McCoy snuggled a little closer, enjoying the warm body while he could. "Actually, no, I haven’t dined. I was just thinking about it when you showed up and one thing led to another." He looked at the Vulcan, "Have you dined, Spock?"

"No, but I would like to very soon."

"Well, then let’s shower and go eat. I’m hungry."

"Yes."

* * *

Master Khat had had enough. He threw down his brush and stormed past his adopted son, Tien Gozshedrefreingin baMajaKhat, and out of his studio: "STOP SINGING THAT FUCKING HYMN RIGHT NOW!"

The commune froze. Master Ghet and his middle son, Hraja Gozshedrefreingin baMajaKhat, exchanged looks.

"I believe Master Khat is struggling with his subject as much as we, Master," Hraja said, brushing his blond curls off his subtly ridged brow.

"Perhaps finding a subject for a Klingonaphile mural is more challenge than struggle, being that your father likes Klingons so little." Master Ghet could be maddeningly serene in the face of another’s turmoil.

Hraja nodded. The Klingon Cathedral they were building was to be decorated inside with murals depicting Klingon virtues: honor, fidelity, strength and whatever else they could think up.

As to honor and fidelity, MajaKhat had not seen much of it in Klingons. His mother was the Romulan Emperor’s youngest daughter and had been married to the Klingon Emperor’s youngest son, Kvortine. A dynastic marriage of great consequence between individuals of little consequence. It was, however, a step toward solidarity between the two martial empires and afforded them a year or so of peace. It was Princess Malira’s mixed fortune to be pregnant with Maja when resurgent tensions between the empires caused such anti-Rom feeling in Klingon society that Roms were murdered in the streets. Because the Klingon code forbids killing pregnant women and unborn children (they, however, are fair game after the birth) Malira was merely imprisoned. Romaphiles General ShranHaat and Professor AtaKhat spirited her away, with the aid of young Captain KzostGhet, his crew and ship, to the Khat’s home on Yzorfiraina, a distant planet where the unfashionable Khats now lived. Long ago they had been the imperial family but as they preferred art and knowledge to force, they had seen the wisdom in yielding to the Tzaj clan and their vassals, the Haats and Yhets.

Exile was preferable to death but the Khats did like to slap the Tzajs when they thought they could and rescuing poor Malira (her father had made only a token protest over his daughter’s mistreatment), adopting her child and giving her a safe and happy home was perfect, just perfect.

Princess Malira was a lady of great refinement. In addition to being able to run a household, hunt and organize an attack on a fortified position, she was a very skilled stone and metal sculptress, ceramist and painter. She was a welcome addition to the Khat clan, which had become somewhat effete and needed shaking up. Ata’s brother, BorlaKhat, was delighted with his bride and adopted son, Maja, once he realized that 'yes, dear' was all the conversation his Malira required. They managed to have eight children somehow.

So the newly named Maja baBorlaKhat grew up in peace and security, far from the turmoil and intrigue of the Klingon court. He learned art and survival from his mother and everything else from the Khats, whose company he actually preferred to his intense and bitter mama.

MajaKhat had inherited his mother’s rare blond hair, jet brows and lashes and his father’s Klingon build. He wore his wavy blond locks long over his brow to cover the small Klingon ridges and high Rom eyebrows because the former offended the commune and the latter offended their Klingon masters. He wore his hair long to cover his pointed Rom ears and had an easy grace, surprising to see in the usual massive Klingon physique. Both sexes swooned over him but his preference was for women. Being raised by the Khat’s had encouraged his gentle, thoughtful nature and made him a careful scholar and artist. Aside from the one time he’d contradicted his mother, he had a very peaceful and happy childhood once he learned that 'yes, mother' was all the conversation that fine lady required of her children. He loved his brothers and sisters and rampaged over the decrepit estate and grounds in their own little tribe. It was hard on the shrubbery but the Khats could live with it. The lineage of the possible heir to the Rom and Klingon Imperial thrones was soon forgotten and he merely became another happy, mud covered, mixed breed child romping across the lawn.

And Klingon strength: MajaKhat had only seen it used against the people he loved. No help there.

Now, many years later and on far away Rovirin, Master Khat's other adopted son and Master Ghet’s youngest son, Farro Gozshedrefreingin baMajaKhat, looked up from the bronze model in his hands and at his adopted father: "Thank the infinite mercy of the unknowable mind of god. What shall we sing?" asked the dark little vulcanoid.

Master Khat smiled at his youngest child, Farro could be counted on to say what was on his mind. He thought for a moment: "Sing that love song we learned from the Hijiria singer." He swept back into his studio and confronted his blank canvas. Klingon virtues: he was not a miniaturist.

Profound lyrics and funeral melodies were replaced with inane couplets and a catchy little tune.

'What a relief,' thought Master Ghet, joining in, 'thank the unknowable mind of god the Hierophant Kroldt left this morning and we can stop being so fucking religious.'

As to fucking religious leaders, GozineGhet was all for it. The Hierophant Kroldt was quite a catch for a simple priest such as Gozine was when they met. Much of the success of the commune was due to the opportunities his powerful lover had made available to them. Their continued success was due to the brilliance of Masters Ghet and Khat and the design Masters Whilla and Pzchaz and to all the hard working, art loving artisans of the Gozshedrefreingin Commune. Kroldt and the Haat clan’s patronage protected the commune from being preyed upon by powerful Klingons hunting concubines or other slaves.

For slaves they were, however, such valuable slaves that their safety and well being was of tantamount concern for the Hierophant and the Haats.

The dominant power structure of Klingon culture was not conducive to art and beauty, being too busy with war and intrigue. For centuries whatever artistic accomplishment the empire enjoyed had come from the religious communes which had begun their existence as prisons for misfits, mixed breeds, orphans, bastards, cripples, malcontents and other undesirables, including real criminals. Having nothing else to do, the prisoners made their cage as beautiful as possible and developed a practical philosophy that beauty and captivity were not incompatible. After all, they had nothing else to do so might as well spruce the joint up. The Klingon saint, Uuzsta, had sacrificed himself to bring religion to the prisons, which didn’t have much use for it but knew a good thing when they saw it. Uuzsta, no fool himself, also knew a good thing when he saw it and for the greater glory of the most Holy Klingon Imperial Church and the more lasting spread of Klingon culture (blasters, alas, only got you so far) brought the prisons, now called communes, under the powerful protection of the Most Holy Klingon Supreme Religious Leader.

The Most Holy Klingon Supreme Religious Leader was as useless as the Emperor. The seven Hierophants ran the Church and occasionally the Empire when necessary. The twenty-one Meta-Primates were responsible for where and how the twenty-one communes were employed (to the greater glory, etc.) and this gave them a great deal of power in the outer reaches of the Empire where the communes were most frequently sent to build the infrastructure.

Building infrastructure suited the communes down to the ground. It gave them as much autonomy as they could want, money and power, as long as they played their cards right and didn’t offend their Meta-Primate, his Hierophant and their patron clan. This was not onerous, the main language of the communes was the Magidrian Patois, they could express themselves as freely as they wished. It was perfect for everyone.

Saint Uuzsta had formulated the ranks of Apprentice, Journeyman and Master within the commune. All members of the commune received religious training in addition to artistic training and upon attaining the level of Journeyman were required to take vows in the novitiate and assist the Masters in religious ceremony when called upon. This was seldom since they were so remote from the main Klingon population, however, if a warship was nearby and the needed ceremony for a religious holiday it was the commune’s duty to provide it.

Because the communes lived in remote and unsettled areas they were allowed to bear arms and train in martial arts. They were very good at martial arts due to the type of people that were in the original prisons. The comunists therefore had extensive training, which was handed down through the generations.

Lastly, because they were slaves they were tattooed as property but with a difference. On the back of the right hand was the rune in ancient church Klingon for the name of the commune, on the left was the name of the slave. Journeymen added a thick line beneath their name to indicate their accomplishment, Masters added a thick line at the top to indicate the same. On the palms were tattooed the runes for their accomplishments in the arts, sciences and martial arts. This allowed everyone to know what the artisan was qualified to do and saved a great deal of time and squabbling when two communes occasionally worked together on a project. It also allowed the Klingon warriors that interacted with the commune to know the level of martial skill the artisan possessed and what kind of tussle they could expect. Know your friends as well as enemies and keep an eye on your slaves was a Klingon motto. Klingons hated surprises.

The traditional commune greeting to outsiders was one of submission: hands were crossed at the wrists at waist level, palms down and then turned over face up to show all the runes to the visitor. The hands remained in this position until the visitor had seen all that was wanted and released the artisan with a nod. The communists were happy to have few visitors; they were busy people and had things to do.

The usual commune greeting amongst themselves was a thump on the chest and a bearhug. In this tight knit telepathic Patois speaking community physicality and deep loving bonds were to be reveled in and hidden from outsiders. But obscurity and Patois guaranteed that.

The commune system produced the occasional saint but not too often so nobody felt threatened and life was beautiful.

It was not unusual for ranking religious and military Klingons to take lovers in the communes in return for their patronage and protection. It was unusual for one of the seven Hierophants to take a Journeyman sculptor into keeping, make him a Master and bestow the most desirable projects on the Commune. But there it was and the Gozshedrefreingin Commune had no trouble living up to the reputation they had built for themselves.

Kroldt had seen GozineGhet, formerly Maja Talljet, assisting his sculpture Master, NvartTehn, in a ceremony just before the consecration of cathedral on Pzort 7. He had come to perform the consecration himself to firmly establish this planet as being in the Kroldt/Haat sphere of influence. He’d no idea he’d fall in love with the willowy youth holding an incense vessel at MasterTehn’s side.

That evening Gozine was summoned to the Hierophant’s bedroom in the Bishop’s palace, also constructed by the Commune. MajaKhat, Whilla and Pzchaz had watched him go with concern; he was deeply loved in the Commune.

Gozine himself was unconcerned. He had made enough eye contact with Kroldt in the church to know that a) this was an incredibly powerful Klingon, b) that Kroldt was more than sexually interested, and c) like all Klingons, this one could be wrapped around Gozine’s MageCheq finger in an instant. So off he went, ready to conquer by being conquered for the greater glory of the Gozshedrefreingin commune and the Talljets.

Gozine did not possess great beauty but his peaceful soul shone from beautiful eyes and his graceful presence more than eclipsed his plain, regular features. Those fortunate enough or powerful enough to be his lovers were consumed by being in the presence of great soul beauty that decay would never touch. Because of his plainness he was not passed from Klingon to Klingon as were the great beauties (who often wore veils in the Commune) and so he was able to concentrate on seducing only useful or interesting Klingons.

He considered the Hierophant supremely useful and looked forward to making love to him. Or more accurately, reading him while making love to him.

So Gozine was pleased to see the wide bed turned down and two glasses of wine beside it. Kroldt seemed nervous because he was. He had no previous experience with men and was beginning to wonder if he should refuse the artisan entry. But he did not and felt calmed by the young novice’s presence in his bedroom.

Gozine was at perfect peace, standing in the big room, waiting for the next thing. After a longish silence he ventured: "You asked for me, Hierophant."

Kroldt seemed to wake up: "Ah, yes. I understand you worked the stone with MasterTehn. I find it most impressive and wish to know ..." he trailed off.

Gozine raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

"And wished to know if you will hear my confession." Kroldt finally rapped out.

Gozine gave an inward sigh knowing it was going to be a long night.

"I am not ordained, lord." He lowered his eyes prettily hoping the old fool would make his move and they could get on with it.

"I do not care." Sounded desperate but so what? "Sit over there." Kroldt gestured to a chair farthest from the bed.

Gozine moved to it with more grace than the Klingon had seen in many years and sat.

Kroldt tossed a pillow on the floor beside him and knelt, facing in the opposite direction.

This proximity was actually enough for Gozine to read the Klingon’s telefield, they were a poorly shielded species. 'Or perhaps,' he thought, 'it was the attitude of confession that opened his thoughts to him. Perhaps I needn’t fuck the old boy to get into his head. Unless I want to, that is.'

The Klingon was silent for a moment longer, collecting his thoughts.

"If you were ordained you would have a veil to wear when hearing a warrior’s or member of the Imperial family’s confession but not when hearing a fellow priest or communist's."

Gozine nodded, he knew enough to know not to respond until the penitent looked up at him. He felt decidedly odd in this position but was beginning to see its manifold possibilities.

"I have lived my whole life in religion, child. I have devoted myself to the spiritual well-being of my people with my entire heart. I have avoided entanglements as passion clouds the mind and I feel it is my duty to remain unclouded."

'I have never had sex with a man but I want to have sex with you,' Gozine translated mentally.

"I believe the Communes provide opportunities for many pathetic creatures that would otherwise not survive in mainstream Klingon society."

'On the one hand, people will think I’ve gone mad to go to bed with a Commune boy; on the other, such things are not unheard of.' Gozine translated for himself. He was wondering why this was an issue. Taking lovers in the commune was quite common. He himself had had his share of Klingon warriors, at least they were more straightforward about climbing into bed. 'I wonder how long his knees can last,' he thought patiently.

"I do not believe in weakness, vice, lust, fear or submission."

'Yes,' thought Gozine, 'let’s leave those problems in the commune where the pathetic creatures can make the best of them.'

"But I feel a great spirituality in you, Gozine, and I wish to foster it." (I want to fuck you.) "I feel there might be a wonderful future for you in this Commune." (I want to fuck you a lot.) "I feel that perhaps I myself might learn something from your art." (I might want you to fuck me once in a while.) "We can never know where we will find grace in this mysterious creation." (Only this morning I was a free man and now I am at your feet.) "It would be unwise to refuse the blessing the universe chooses to bestow upon us." (I can probably overpower you but I hope it will not be necessary.) "We must embrace this life in religion in all its infinite diversity and creativity."

Gozine stopped reading the meta message with relief as he felt the Hierophant’s hand sliding up his calf and thigh, under his habit.

Without looking at him, Kroldt eased Gozine from the chair and onto the floor next to him.

"I feel my attraction to you is a weakness." (I feel my attraction to you is a weakness.) "I wish to turn it into a strength." (You must submit, little one, or I will kill you.)

Gozine leaned sweetly into the Hierophant’s arms and looked up at him with a trusting innocence he'd never possessed. And no fear whatsoever.

"We must be strong, together, Master." He murmured breathlessly. 'How annoying these repressed high born Klingon’s are,' he thought, 'you want me, I’m game, let’s go. But, oh no, you’ve got to make a passion play and pageant out of it, don’t ya? Hochofedra.' And he shrugged mentally.

The Hierophant looked into Gozine Ghet’s big brown eyes and was lost. An Avatar could not have gotten his attention at just that moment.

He bent to kiss the novice’s forehead and moved to his eyes, cheeks, nose, jaw, still thinking he would walk away from this, and finally, his lips. And knew there was no walking away from this.

Gozine was impressed. Obviously, the Hierophant intended to take his time about this and that was fine with him. He had all night and had gleaned a great deal of information from the man already.

(There was turmoil in the Imperial court.) The Hierophant lay down on top of him and crushed his mouth to Gozine’s.

(The Yhets had the upper hand in events and the Emperor’s ear for the moment.) He cupped Gozine’s ass in his big hands and ground their erections together.

(The Haat clan’s plan was to consolidate their planets and wait for the Yhets to do something stupid, which could be counted on to happen.) The Hierophant eased Gozine’s habit over his head and stroked his cool hands over the lithe body beneath his.

(The Yhets hoped to cut a swathe through the Autonomous Zones and attack Romulan territory in its least densely planeted space. The Roms would then move their defenses from the real objective, which was the system of rich planets of the Autonomous Zones closest to Klingon space.) The Hierophant lifted Gozine gently in his arms and carried him to the bed.

(The Haats intended to allow the Yhets to proceed with their preparations, but would withhold, divert or sabotage crucial supplies for as long as possible to keep the Yhet fleets in Klingon spacedocks until the Haats themselves could finish consolidating their hold, military as well as cultural, on the rich planets, such as the one they were now on, in this peaceful sector bordering a vast Autonomous Zone.) Kroldt pulled off his vestments and lay naked on top of Gozine.

(The last thing the Haats wanted was another war, even a small one, with the Romulans because ... ) Kroldt spread Gozine’s legs very wide.

( ... their fleets had been devastated by an organized rebellion in the Yqirorian system and preyed upon by Autonomous Zones pirates in their weakened condition.) Kroldt seemed unsure of the next move, Gozine lifted his hips to center the Hierophant’s cock at his anus.

(Hence, it was necessary for the Haats to destroy the Yhet's plans with delays, restore their own fleets and by that time have so discredited the Yhet’s in the Emperor’s eyes that they could continue to colonize non-aligned space. The Emperor did not want war with his former in-laws either but his favorite concubine of the moment was an agent for the Yhets and he was under the beauty’s thumb as well as spell.) The Hierophant pressed inside and rolled his head back in animal pleasure.

(The Haats had their own agents in the Imperial household and intended to remove the offending concubine once the creature’s usefulness had been exhausted. The Haats were consummate strategists, they had flourished for a long time and didn’t intend to let the fool Yhets spoil it now.) Gozine rose to meet his lover’s long, hard thrusts.

(The Yhets were not stupid either. They had recently made peace with the pirates in the Autonomous Zones closest to their richest planets and, unlike the Haats, had not lost some of their best ships and commanders so were in better material condition that their rivals. For the moment. The Haats had every intention of changing that. Building a fleet is expensive. Repeatedly rebuilding a sabotaged fleet is even more expensive.) Kroldt slowed his thrusts and reached between them to stroke Gozine’s hard penis.

Gozine decided he had enough information and laid back to enjoy what had turned out to be really excellent sex. He arched against his lover, rubbing his cock against the smooth honey-colored belly.

Kroldt gathered Gozine in his arms and kissed him deeply. He began to move with more purpose. He was ready to cum and hoped his partner was, too; if not, too bad.

He flung himself against Gozine, who met his powerful thrusts with his own, and felt his climax crash over him. Kroldt noticed Gozine thrashing against him in his own climax as he collapsed on top of him. When he could notice anything else he did not notice any cum between them.

"Did you ... ah... find release?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Master, thank you." Gozine looked demurely at him from under lowered jet lashes. It was devastating.

(The Mage only make semen when impregnation is required but the Hierophant wouldn’t know that until he asked Gozine years later.)

Kroldt rolled off him and lay on his back panting. Gozine rose and walked over to the heap of clothing on the floor. He put on his own habit. He returned to the bed, picked up the Hierophant's robes and carefully laid them over the back of a chair.

Kroldt watched him. He rose, pulled back the covers and got under them. He held them open for Gozine, who hesitated.

"Stay. No one will ask about it and if they do I’ll tell them I’ve developed a deep and compelling interest in sculpture."

Gozine tossed off his habit and curled beside his new lover. Kroldt drew him close, pushed aside some ebony curls and kissed his alabaster forehead.

"How little you are," he murmured, enthralled by the creature he held.

Gozine sighed with pleasure and snuggled a little closer. He fell asleep in the huge arms.

The next morning the cathedral was consecrated, the Commune was split and the Hierophant presided over the creation of a new branch of the Gozshedrefreingin commune and four new Klingon masters to guide it. Master Whilla in structural design, Master Pzchaz in terrain design, Master Khat in painting and as head of the commune, Master GozineGhet, the sculptor. The other Masters, including Master Tehn, and a number of their artisans were packed off to sculpt cherubs and paint saints in a monastery on the other end of the Empire. The decidedly unfashionable end of the Empire.

As news of these astonishing events spread, Gozine was given another name in religion: Gozine the Confessor. Due to the Hierophant’s cagey recommendation (his story, and he was sticking to it, was that he recognized Master Ghet’s greatness while confessing to him) Master Ghet found himself hearing the confessions of the most powerful Klingons in the Empire.

The confessions themselves were boring. Klingons confessed things Gozine did not consider serious transgressions such as fear, doubt, awe, but the meta messages he read in their telefields were absolutely fascinating. He offered what comfort and insight he could to the penitent, usually more than they expected and so developed a reputation as something of a saint.

Gozine found this highly amusing. So did the Hierophant and he occasionally commented on Gozine’s saintliness and other virtues - in bed. Gozine had grown rather fond of Kroldt, he wasn’t a bad lot compared to other Klingons. Having such a powerful lover also afforded Master Ghet the luxury of only sleeping with those who interested him.

The best part of these new conditions was that Gozine could relay the information he gathered to his brothers, especially Hobie, and in certain cases influence the Klingons to act in ways beneficial to the Talljets and their interests. This, combined with Ling’s whores, Jir’s monarchs and Hobie’s pirates, made the Talljets rich, secure and happy. It was wonderful except for one small problem.

The Federation was continually vying for influence in the same sectors as the Klingons, often with greater success due to their lack of history with the planets in question. Since Ling’s cat was out of the bag and the Federation banned his house, the Talljets had lost what little influence they had there. Once a planet joined the Federation it was time to move house for the Talljets and the Klingons. The Federation had inherited some rather amazing art and architecture from the Klingon communes in this process and for once they fully appreciated it. Klingon Masters became famous in the Federation art world, among them one Master Ghet who was known only by his rune on his work.

One of the most famous of his works was the Tossarian Gates on Zatichket enclosing the tomb of Captain Tossar, the pirate, who had liberated them from the Roms and died in the successful defense of the planet. The Haats had commissioned them because Tossar had done them a big favor by kicking the Roms back into their old boundaries. Hobie had been Tossar's lover and had been grateful to Master Ghet. He had loved Tossar enough to regret his death. Losing Zatichket to the Federation was yet another disappointment and resentment for Hobie. But, hochofedra, shrug, what can you do?

Otherwise, the Talljets lived happily as best they could and Master Ghet, as he was now famous, was very content in his work and in the commune. It was a full and busy life.

And they were busy working on the Rovirin cathedral. It was an ambitious project. The Klingons and the Hierophant planned to use it as his main argument, along with the garrison and fleet, to keep Rovirin out of the Federation. Gozine wished them Godspeed. He, like his brothers, had a little second sight and had an uneasy feeling that they would lose Rovirin eventually but he did not know how. Or perhaps, only he would lose what was important to him but, again, he did not know how or when. Only that when it happened, all would be well, somehow.

'Hochofedra,' he shrugged savagely and glared at the little apprentice waiting for his attention. The child took a step back and Gozine softened his gaze.

"Captain Talljet would like a word with you, Master," He squeaked.

Gozine had his shields up and was not taking calls from anyone: "I am still not available," he said in Patois.

"Which is why I had to drag myself all the way down here to have a five minute conversation with you, o’ saint Gozine." Hobie strolled in and circled the sculpture in progress.

"Hraja, bring us some tea, please." Gozine waved both apprentice and journeyman out of the room. "What brings you here, brother?"

"You, MajaYaga," Hobie said, using his brother's pet name. "We miss you when you keep your shields up." Maja Talljet dropped his shields. "You see, that’s better." He smiled at Hobie. "And even better when you smile."

"I’ve been working, Hobie."

"And the Hierophant was here. I saw his flotilla leaving. Man travels in style, I’ll say that." Hobie was impressed by the quality of ship the Haats provided their priest.

"Hochofedera, Nolo" Maja shrugged.

"Any news, Maja?"

"All good. The Klingons are delighted with the new isolationism on Terra. As goes Terra, so goes the Federation."

"They are stupid to forget the Vulcans."

"They would like to forget the Vulcans but, as you and they know, the Vulcans are not interested in forging alliances in non-aligned space for the Federation in opposition to their allies the Terrans. Except possibly Sarek the Vulcan, he likes being in opposition to the Terrans." 'Especially Star Fleet,' he added to himself.

"Yes," Hobie mused, "but I understand he is quite ill these days and is staying home on Vulcan indefinitely."

"I’m sorry he’s ill but glad he is staying on Vulcan and out of our hair."

They nodded at each other. All the Talljets were wary of Sarek and walked lightly where he was concerned. It was something useful they'd learned in their youths on Vulcan. Hraja brought in the tea, Tien and Farro at his heels.

Tien flung himself into his uncle’s arms: "How wonderful to see you, Uncle! And are Polmira, Lyra and Bot really going to live here?" Polmira, Lyra and Bot were Hobie’s children and dearly loved by their Commune cousins.

"Can't they?" Farro snarled at Maja with his usual directness. Maja sneered playfully at Farro's enthusiasm for his cousins. He usually took no notice of others but he adored Polmira, Lyra and Bot. He and Polmira were almost the same age and had played in various sandboxes together. It was, on the whole, a happy history.

"If your Master says yes, then, yes." Hobie gave his brother a charming look.

Maja Talljet laughed: "Well, why not? Polmira, Lyra and Bot are always welcome here. I’m sure they missed me, too, Nolo."

Hobie smiled wryly, knowing at least half of his motives for the visit were discredited.

Maja’s children rampaged out of the room to go settle their cousins.

"Your JetCheqs (half Talljets) get prettier everyday, Noli."

"I look forward to seeing yours, Hobie," Maja poured them Relan tea. "Why have you brought them here?"

"I want them where I know they're safe for a while. I’ll be in space for some time, settling the rebellion on Certeg, in the Ertig system."

"Again? Don’t those fools know what’s good for them?"

"Something about self determination, Maja. I see their point but don’t like it and won’t tolerate it. I’m tired of losing planets to the Federation so no more Mr. Nice Guy."

"Umm."

"I’m also concerned about their education."

"Whose?" Maja was startled.

"Polmira, Lyra and Bot. Who else?"

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows sympathetically, "Your children are always welcome here, Hobie, we have some new tutors that I am very impressed with so rest assured..."

"Bot’s Standard needs work."

"We’ll see to it."

"And Polmira doesn’t draw very well."

"Hobie..."

"And Lyra is having trouble with math."

"Hobie, don’t worry, we’ll get Tien to tutor Lyra and Polmira and I’ll work with Bot myself. Let this be the first joy in your heart but last trouble in your mind." He quoted an old Rom proverb they had learned as children on Magidrian.

Hobie let Maja’s peace wash over him and drank his tea. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments and then moved out into and among the Commune where Hobie’s children looked as if they had been living forever.

Hobie spent the evening and night and was very much at peace when he left orbit in his ship, the Dancer, the next morning.

* * *

"Why have you been avoiding me since we got back from Vulcan?" McCoy was standing in Spock’s quarters, late one evening, several days after those traumatic events.

"I have not been avoiding you, Doctor. We have both been extremely busy these past few days." Spock was using his bridge voice and was unreadable. He was wearing a heavy black robe.

"But it’s not the same with us, is it?" He hated this void between them. Spock’s costume reminded him of trying to talk to Carmelites.

Spock was silent, half hoping McCoy would say more.

"No, it is not the same with us," he said at last.

McCoy wondered should he stay or should he go and decided to ask: "May I sit down, Spock? I have a theory I’d like to share with you."

Spock was wary but gestured him to a chair. McCoy was using his best bedside manner and that made the Vulcan wonder what he was on to.

McCoy sat, composing himself, wondering how much he’d miss going to bed with Spock when this conversation was over. He cleared his throat: "Based upon what you told me about Pon Farr, there is no obvious explanation for your recovery. Being half Terran does not completely explain it, although that is the explanation I put in my report to Star Fleet. I have, however, another idea based on your behavior toward me lately."

"I have explained ..."

"Steady, Spock, I don’t believe that any more than you do. I can feel the difference in you. I can’t measure it or test it but I can feel it."

Spock lowered his eyes. McCoy continued, trying for scientific detachment: "You were bonded young and your system had adjusted to it. Since I did not know about the Bonding, I assumed your bioreadings were normal for a Vulcan male of your age. When they changed with the onset of Pon Farr I was able to compare them to each other. My theory is that an unbonded Vulcan male of your age, having undergone the trauma of unbonding through the challenge would have a different set of bioreadings."

Spock raised his eyes. McCoy lowered his: "Unless he was bonded to another."

Spock was silent.

"It is my opinion that you bonded to Jim under the stress of combat and that accounts for your bioreading being what they were before Pon Farr." He raised his eyes, "And that also accounts for the change between us."

Spock exhaled. Relieved that he would not have to explain it and impressed that Leonard had drawn such accurate conclusions on such skimpy data. He nodded.

"I did not know this would happen."

"But it has and what do you intend to do about it?" Concern but not anger in the doctor's voice.

"Nothing."

"NOTHING."

"Leonard, please, control yourself." McCoy took a deep breath and Spock continued: "I had hoped to adjust to my new condition without your notice. Having failed, however, I do not feel that it impacts our relationship in any way. I was bonded to T’Pring and involved with you to no ill effect."

"Just for your information, Spock, I would have known you were married."

"It did not seem necessary..." Spock raised a finger to successfully silence McCoy’s outburst. "As I thought I would never experience Pon Farr. It usually occurs at a much younger age. Therefore, since I planned to remain in Star Fleet I saw no reason to tell you about it since it did not affect us."

"And now?"

"It still does not affect us. It is my hope that we can continue our relationship unimpeded, as before."

"Are you going to tell Jim?"

"No, I do not plan to tell him. He should be unaware and therefore unaffected by the bond. I will seek out a healer and have the bond removed next time I am on Vulcan."

"And never tell him? Spock, he risked his life for you there and elsewhere as you have for him."

"And you for us, Leonard."

"Yes, well, but this is different. You and he have always been close, is this not just an extension of that?"

"No, it is not." Spock let some amusement show, wondering where McCoy was heading.

"He would want to know, Spock."

"It would be awkward. He is human, he did not choose this, he is not culturally attuned to it, it is of no use to him, or to me for the foregoing reasons. The merit in this situation is that he is unaware of it. Therefore, he will not notice its lack when the bond is dissolved."

"So you’re sayin’ he doesn’t know what he’s missin’." Spock nodded, McCoy continued, "I think it’s a bad idea. I think if I figured it out that he’ll figure it out and then there’ll be hell to pay."

"The difference being that you have more intimate knowledge of me that he does."

McCoy gave his lover a long hard look: "Jim’s knowledge of you might be more intimate than you give him credit for, Spock."

Spock raised his eyebrows to indicate that he dismissed McCoy’s last statement and had completely lost interest in this conversation.

McCoy was too tired to wrestle the point anymore. He rose: "Well, I’m sure you know best." He smiled, "I am glad you lived through it, however you did, however it works out." Spock rose and moved toward him. "It’s late so I’ll leave you. Will I see you tomorrow?" Tomorrow being their usual afternoon and evening.

"Yes. You could also ‘see’ me now." Spock’s voice was low and inviting.

McCoy hesitated, wanting to be convinced. Spock moved closer and leaned in to nuzzle McCoy’s left ear, knowing full well this drove the doctor wild.

On the contrary, McCoy tensed and Spock stepped back to look at him. McCoy was a mixture of fear, relief, love, anger, and other emotions he could not classify from his limited experience. Strangest of all, McCoy suddenly flung himself into the Vulcan’s arms and buried his face in his neck. He was shaking and Spock held him in a comforting embrace.

"Leonard?"

McCoy exhaled: "I have never been so frightened in my life, Spock, watching you trying to kill Jim and being so helpless." It all came out in a rush.

"It was rather distressing for me as well, Leonard, to think that I had killed my CO." He patted McCoy comfortingly and was pleased to feel the doctor laughing.

"I shall never forget the look on your face when Jim came out of my office," He laughed, smiling at Spock, all his emotional turmoil dispersed, relaxing into the Vulcan arms that held him.

"I am pleased to have afforded you some amusement, Doctor." Spock’s tone was so serious he could only be joking.

McCoy tilted his head back a little more, as if in challenge. Spock leaned forward and kissed him, holding him tight, thrusting his tongue into the doctor’s mouth.

McCoy was surprised by Spock’s forcefulness and resisted a little. This seemed only to enflame the Vulcan more. McCoy found himself slung over Spock’s shoulder and being carted to the Vulcan’s bed.

"Hey, Spock, honey," he drawled nervously, "slow down, we have all night."

He was dumped in a heap on the bed and Spock stood over him, looking down at him. McCoy was taken aback by what he saw in his lover’s eyes: the same madness he’d seen on Vulcan. He started to inch away.

"Undress." Spock’s voice was like steel.

McCoy hesitated, thinking, if he can speak, maybe I can reason with him. Spock’s response was to reach down and rip the doctor’s tunic off him. McCoy struggled briefly but gave up when he found himself pinned to the bed with one Vulcan hand while the other ripped off his pants and boots.

Spock leaned back to fling off his robe. He was naked and completely aroused.

"Spock..." McCoy began.

"Shh." Spock rolled McCoy over on his belly like a doll and held him there as he reached into the beside table to the lubricant. He seemed oblivious to McCoy’s trepidation and lack of arousal. He pulled himself together: "Leonard, there is a sexual release in Pon Farr that I was unable to experience on Vulcan. I was hoping that the urgency of it would pass in a few days but that seems not to be the case." He was panting.

'Obviously,' McCoy thought as slippery fingers probed his anus, stretching and preparing him for intercourse. McCoy tried to relax and dearly hoped this wasn’t going to be too rough. He could tell that Spock was not his usual controlled, pleasure seeking self. This was the most desperate he’d ever seen the Vulcan.

Spock spread McCoy’s cheeks and positioned his cock at the tight ring, gathering himself so as not to plunge all the way in. McCoy was still, waiting, trying to be calm. Spock inhaled, summoning all his control, and pushed past the tight opening and stopped. McCoy exhaled, knowing he was not going to be torn apart, just fucked really hard.

Which is exactly what happened. Spock threw his head back with a groan and slid all the way in, resting his entire weight on McCoy. He then slammed into the doctor half a dozen times before cuming with a strangled cry and collapsing on McCoy, who lay, more annoyed than hurt, beneath him.

McCoy, in spite of everything, was half hard from Spock’s rough tumble. 'Wham Grr, thank you, sir,' he thought wryly.

Spock grunted ('unusual,' McCoy thought) and rolled them onto their sides. He stroked down McCoy’s chest to his flank and to his half erect penis. He closed his warm hand over the head gently and stroked up and down the hardening shaft until he could feel his lover squirming with pleasure against him. He increased his pace and brought the doctor to an efficient climax, one that left McCoy gasping and trembling.

Spock relaxed, at last, against his lover and let his penis slip out. He was half asleep; McCoy was not.

"Spock! What the hell was that about?" McCoy rolled over to face him.

"Ummm," Spock cuddled up on McCoy’s shoulder and went to sleep. McCoy realized it would be futile to try to wake him in this condition. There would be time enough to discuss it later.

'Maybe I like it a little rough,' he thought, catching sight of the rags that had been his uniform. 'Well, maybe not that rough.' He’d be a little sore tomorrow but he'd let Spock make it up to him, somehow.

'Is it always going to be like this from now on?' he suddenly wondered.

Spock opened his eyes and held McCoy a little tighter. He looked up into troubled blue eyes: "I apologize. Are you damaged?"

"No, I’m all right."

"Shall I examine..."

"No, thanks," he kissed the concerned Vulcan. "I’m sore but no serious damage. You were very controlled in your out of controlledness."

Spock looked puzzled. McCoy asked: "Will it always be this rough? Now that you’ve been in Pon Farr?"

"That was the last of Pon Farr, Leonard. I did not find sexual release until just now, with you."

"You might have warned me."

"Again, I apologize, I did not realize how deep my need was until I was consumed by it."

He looked contrite; it was irresistible to McCoy.

"I guess I’ll live," he pulled the Vulcan close and stroked his silky onyx hair. "Go to sleep, Spock, it’s late."

They drifted off. The next morning Spock lent McCoy a uniform and that evening they were back to normal.

McCoy was still troubled that Spock would not tell Jim of the bond but could not think up any convincing arguments to change his mind. Eventually he gave up trying and ignored the whole situation until it began to directly affect him.

* * *

Hobie sat with his bridge crew on the Ling watching Spock’s Vulcan wedding deteriorate into tragedy in one corner of the view screen. He was trying not to be too happy about it because Maja, Jir and Ling were watching him, it and each other from the other three corners.

"Well, this is awful, Ling, how do you come to have such an awful thing?" Hobie was trying to hide his elation at Spock’s downfall.

"Maja told me to get it from Vulcan." He looked at his brother. "It turns out to be all the old families can talk about these days." Ling was not elated. He was horrified by T’Pring’s actions.

"I knew KirkaFar was stupid, but not that stupid." Jir put in. "To accept a challenge not knowing a thing about it is the most incredibly stupid thing I’ve seen in a long time."

Maja Talljet was silent.

Ling: "The Sa’s think T’Pau’s gone over the edge."

Hobie: "How so?"

Ling: "They say that this is the worst possible interpretation of the Surakian code and should not be allowed. The Kalifee is only to be invoked when the husband is judged unfit to breed. Not because the wife doesn’t like the way he wears his hair."

Jir: "The Vulcan family lawyers would agree with you."

Maja was silent.

Ling: "Well, I tell you one thing, lads, T’Pring and T’Pau – they’re right off the A list."

Hobie: "They were never on my A list."

Jir: "Nor mine."

Hobie: "But I wonder why she did it?"

Ling: "To marry Stonn."

Jir: "Which one?"

Ling: "The one that lived on her father’s estate."

Shocked silence.

Jir: "The gardener’s son, Stonn? That Stonn?"

Ling nodded.

Hobie: "Poor Stonn. She had him on a leash when we knew them, I can’t imagine what she’ll do to him now."

"Perhaps she’ll calm down and treat him right now that Spock is out of the way." Maja was stony with all this gossip, but wanted to know: "Where the fuck were his parents while their only child was being sacrificed to the cruel Surakian gods of logic?"

Ling: "Sarek still considers him outcast for joining Star Fleet. I also hear Sarek is ill."

"Has he no mother to protect him from the Vulcans?"

Jir: "Maja, be fair, what could Lady Amanda have done?"

"Been there."

Hobie: "What, and been as weak and useless a Terran as ever?"

Jir rolled his eyes, Maja and Hobie had some grudge against Amanda that he and Ling did not share, understand or even want to know about.

"Let us thank the unknowable mercy of the mind of god that Dr. McCoy is not such a weak and useless Terran."

The brothers silently gave varying degrees of thanks for Leonard McCoy and his hypospray.

"And let us thank god that at least someone loves Spock enough to save him for once."

Ling: "We loved him, Nolo."

"And we failed him."

Hobie: "Maja!"

"We were not enough for him to want to stay with us."

Jir: "Maja, please."

"And he chose exile and unhappiness named Vulcan duty because we were not enough."

Hobie: "Noli."

"Because I was not enough."

Ling: "Oh, Maja."

"And he is so fucking stupid I can’t even imagine how he finds his way out of bed in the morning."

His brothers exhaled in relief.

"What was he thinking taking those humans to Vulcan? Did it never occur to him that T’Pring might just reject him after milking him for the bride price?"

Ling was tapping into his computer, he whistled appreciatively: "That girl twisted some change out of him. He’s been paying into her account for years."

Hobie: "How’d you know this, Maja?"

"I saw it in Spock’s mind once. I remember thinking no one would ever pay so much for me."

Jir: "No, they only lay Empires and Religions at your feet."

"She would have been smarter to marry the VulCheq and kept Stonn on the side. At least the money would have kept coming in."

Ling: "True enough. Her family is very hard up these days. Been so a long time."

Hobie: "Perhaps she had a point to make."

Jir: "Such as?"

Hobie: "That she was not willing to throw herself away on Spock." He watched carefully for Maja’s reaction.

"Perhaps," Maja almost snarled. "However, was it necessary to try to kill him? Or worse, to let him rot in prison for killing his Captain and his friend."

Hobie: "How do you know this, Maja?"

"I can feel it in Spock’s mind."

There was another shocked silence.

Jir: "After all these years you’re still linked to him."

"Just a little and only when he is under extreme emotional stress."

Ling: "That’s how you knew about the Kalifee before I did."

Maja nodded.

"What now?" Hobie asked.

"Nothing." Maja shrugged, "Hochofedra. Godspeed to him and us on our separate paths. I hope he finds peace and happiness but I doubt it. I’ve lost the contact but the last feeling in his mind was something about having everything he wanted. I do hope his reach does not exceed his grasp. It felt as if everything he wanted was perhaps more than he could handle but I don’t know what or how." He inhaled, "And I don’t care. It’s done, he’s free of Vulcan, he got the smartest human in the galaxy in his bed and his heart – let us hope he has the sense to keep him, and he has all of Star Fleet and the Federation as his oyster. Godspeed. Live long and prosper."

"Indeed, Maja, indeed." Hobie was impressed by his Noli’s good, if somewhat ruthless, sense.

They bid each other farewell and promised to meet soon on Rovirin. Jir returned to the Sultan, Ling to his business and Hobie to his fleet.

Maja raised his shields. He looked down at his tattooed hands and gave into one last twinge of regret over losing SpockDeVulCheq so many years ago.

'Oh, how I loved him and I didn’t even know what it was. Can’t I ever love anyone else like that? Nothing compares; nothing at all. And he did not love me. And he did not love me.'

He looked at his hands again, squared his shoulders, put the past firmly behind him and became, once again, Master Ghet of the Klingon Empire.

A very busy man, Master Ghet, he returned to his sculpture and gave it his entire attention.

So thorough was his discipline, he didn’t give SpockDeVulCheq any further thought until events conspired to overwhelm even his best intentions.

* * *

Kirk lay on his bed, tired after a long day and a hard won chess game with Spock. He faintly wondered how Spock could have the energy to continue his scientific discussions with Bones after such a battle but perhaps there were wells of Vulcan strength he was unaware of.

He felt very mellow (a small victory brandy) and vaguely aroused. This was not unusual, he was often vaguely aroused in the long stretches between shore leaves. He did feel that there was something unusual about this arousal, as if he were on the brink of some erotic discovery. Pleasant as that might be, he decided a cool shower and a good night's sleep would solve everything.

~

In his own quarters, Spock had just finished stripping McCoy and was running his hands and tongue over as much of the doctor as he could reach. He felt extra aroused and McCoy's cool sweet skin felt and tasted especially delicious to him.

McCoy was definitely warming up. He'd found a distracted Vulcan when he'd arrived chez Spock and had wondered what was up. The Vulcan seemed to be mulling something over as he blandly kissed his doctor. After a moment he snapped out of it, whatever it was, and the kiss became quite emphatic, on both sides.

Spock had been distracted. He'd been puzzling over the lost chess game and replaying the last eighteen moves in his head. He found this difficult as his thoughts strayed to the vision of Jim's hand on a chess piece or Jim's lips as he sipped from his coffee. His concentration had been normal during the game, why was it now wandering off the subject? He'd then had an extremely odd thought: how would Jim's hands and lips look and feel if he, not Spock, were now kissing Leonard? How would the doctor feel to a member of his own species? This speculation enflamed the Vulcan and he made short work of getting McCoy out of his clothes and onto the bed.

~

Kirk's shower did not have the hoped for effect. He found himself letting the water play over his lips and had an intense desire to kiss someone for a long, long time. He was still half erect as he toweled off.

He considered working but the desire to lay down and masturbate was too great. This urgency made him feel like a teenager again.

'Oh well,' he thought, 'no one needs to know.' He got comfortable on his bed and began to fondle his arching cock while fantasizing a long passionate kiss with an unseen lover whose strong arms returned his embrace.

Strong arms? Well, he did like strong women. Was it a woman? Of course it was a woman, probably an alien woman with strong arms.

And thick brown hair and languid blue eyes. (!)

~

Spock, naked, writhing on top of an equally naked, writhing McCoy pulled back from the intense kiss, ostensibly to catch his breath but really to trace the half sensed extra something he was feeling. To cover his confusion he kissed a trail to McCoy's nipple and closed his lips around the hard nub. This elicited a groan and arch.

This was pleasing. Spock felt inspired to vary his caress by flicking the tip of his tongue just at the end of the nipple; teasing it higher. McCoy shivered and undulated against him.

~

Just flicking the tip of his tongue against a rock hard nipple was one of Kirk's favorite things. Drove women wild, even flat chested ones like this one in his fantasy.

He'd ignored the earlier moment of confusion (panic was too strong a word), intense arousal had swept aside all considerations of brown hair and blue eyes. Although he'd known and loved women with brown hair and blue eyes he didn't feel it was of them he was thinking. So he ignored it in favor of the bead of moisture on the tip of his cock. He put his full attention on the bead of moisture on the tip of his 'dreamgirl's' cock. (!!)

~

Spock was licking the bead of moisture off the tip of McCoy's cock when the bolt of Jim's panic jolted through him and he finally realized that the link was open. He was glad his teeth had not been on sensitive flesh.

He buried his face in Leonard's flank and was very still, listening for Jim, who was also very still.

He stroked Leonard with his hand, hoping to hide his confusion from his lover. He was also hoping that Jim would somehow perceive the strokes to be his own hand on his own cock and therefore still believe he was having a fantasy as opposed to what was really the case: that he was in bed, telepathically, with Spock and McCoy.

Spock was shocked to the core when he felt, in Jim's fantasy, Jim's tongue circle around the fantasy cock. It was so compelling an image/sensation that Spock could do nothing but imitate it, doubling and redoubling the erotic sensation between them and driving McCoy completely wild.

'Whatever's gotten into Spock tonight has got to stay! He's inspired and inspirational tonight!' McCoy thought ecstatically.

~

'Okay, so in this fantasy I'm giving a blow job and I'm loving it. So, in that case, I'll do all the things I like and that will get me off,' Kirk's rational mind was hunting for any reason for his body to be so turned on.

'This is wild,' he thought, swallowing the hard pink fantasy cock, sweet and salty taste, hot musky scent.

Feeling his 'dreamman' writhe with pleasure beneath his mouth, Kirk arched and slowed his strokes on his own cock.

'Let's see just how far this new train of thought goes.'

~

Spock had tried to encourage Kirk's orgasm but couldn't really make him come without revealing himself. He had also had a flash of what Kirk now wanted to do. Or was it Kirk having a flash of what Spock wanted to do?

McCoy knew what he wanted to have done next: "Fuck me right now," he commanded breathily.

How could Spock really refuse? It was what everybody concerned wanted and badly.

~

/Fuck me right now/ Kirk heard his old friend Leonard McCoy say clear as day in his head. He froze in the shock of recognition.

'Nah,' he thought. 'Yeah?'

~

Spock felt Kirk freeze and so to give that human a moment to recover and to tease this human a little more, he decided to suck on the rosy head of McCoy's cock a little longer. He even made little slurping noises which caused McCoy to groan with pleasure.

~

'What a beautiful sound,' Kirk managed to think through his discombobulation, 'I want to hear it again.'

~

While Spock considered he slurped the cock again so Jim could hear Leonard's pleasured groan. 'Ah. How nice for all of us.' And he decided that if the idea of penetrating Leonard in what Jim thought was a fantasy was too much for him, he could simply pick up another train of thought. The only thing keeping Jim here telepathically was his intense desire to be here after he had stumbled in.

'Or,' Spock thought (slurp-groan-ah!), 'did I open the link by thinking about the chess game while kissing Leonard?' (wimper-slurp-groan-ah!) 'I have no erotic feelings for Jim but I am very much enjoying his erotic reaction to Leonard's erotic reaction to ..'(slurp-groan-ah! /fuck me!/).

~

'I will, I want to, Kirk was panting mentally, 'what do I...?'

~

Spock crouched between McCoy's legs which McCoy pulled up to his chest to give Spock better access to the anatomy he sought.

McCoy was more wanton and lustful than Spock had seen him since the early part of their romance. That, in itself, was terribly exciting but the Vulcan also had Jim, wanton, lustful and extremely curious, with him, too.

He slipped in two fingers and wiggled them around to stretch McCoy for penetration. Jim had recoiled from this at first but now seemed to be extremely interested in it. Kirk was even more interested when Spock stroked McCoy's prostate and the response that action elicited from the doctor.

Spock removed his fingers, gathered McCoy into his arms and gave him a deep, sweet kiss, waiting for Jim to decide how he wanted Spock, his agent, to fuck McCoy, the object of his desire.

~

Kirk relaxed a little.

'He needs to be well lubed so I don't hurt him,' he mused, 'and now that he is....'

In his fantasy he breaks off his kiss and leans back. Slipping his hands under Bones' knees he gently drapes, first one then the other leg, over his shoulders. He feels McCoy inch toward him in anticipation.

'You're going to love this, Bones,' he thinks huskily.

He rolls the object of his desire a bit forward and centers his slippery cock at the entrance of his old friend's body.

/yes yes/ McCoy sighs beneath him.

'Yes.' He presses in gently, hears McCoy's groan, feels him arching for deeper contact. He would like to plunge in but feels constrained to move slowly so as not to hurt his lover.

Slipping into the tight heat millimeter by millimeter (stroke, stroke, stroke), he looks into his lover's blue eyes. So much love there, so much passion.

'How have I never conjured this up before?,' he thinks, 'it's delightful.'

He hit bottom and could feel McCoy swooning with pleasure beneath him.

~

'Yes,' Spock thought, 'very delightful.'

He began to pump Leonard slowly, finding the angle that put the most pressure on his lover's prostate and attentively watched his face contort with sexual pleasure.

"Yes, yes," McCoy panted, "harder, faster."

~

/yes, yes, harder, faster/ (stroke, STRoke, STROKE)

~

Spock was all sensation now, within and without. He fucked McCoy with long hard strokes in rhythm with Jim's hand on Jim's cock.

Faster, harder, deeper, longer.

McCoy was thrusting against the Vulcan in the same rhythm. Panting, whimpering, ready to die or kill for the incipient orgasm looming just over him. And then it was upon him, he arched, thrashing against Spock, clenching fiercely around the hard Vulcan cock inside him.

Spock slammed into him once more and came.

~

Kirk, writhing with the sensation of strong fantasy muscles clenching on his fantasy cock, slammed both hands up and down his cock once and came all over his chest and belly.

~

All three fought for consciousness and lay panting and spent.

~

Spock moved McCoy's legs off his shoulders and lay his head on the doctor's heaving chest to catch his breath. He lay listening to McCoy's heartbeat and listening for Jim's next thought.

~

Kirk sighed with pleasure, rolled over and went to sleep.

~

"That was incredible, Spock," McCoy murmured when he could.

"Ummmmm." Spock affirmed, not moving, rather wishing he, too, could just roll over and go to sleep.

McCoy stroked his soft hair and pinched an earlobe: "C'mon, lover, let me up before you conk out."

Spock exhaled and rolled off McCoy and onto his back. He felt floppy, like he hadn't a bone left in his body.

The doctor rose and disappeared into the bathroom. Spock did not look up but heard water running.

Having rinsed himself off, McCoy returned with a warm wet cloth and proceeded to bathe Spock, who, if anything, got even floppier. He fell asleep.

McCoy covered him with a blanket and smoothed his hair. He sat for a moment looking down at his sleeping lover and wanted this moment to last forever.

The damp, cooling cloth brought him back to reality. He hung it in the shower to dry, dressed, twitched the covers a little higher on the comatose Vulcan and went to his quarters to pass out in his own bed.

No other events of note were recorded that night.

* * *

Kirk eventually came to terms with the newfound guilty pleasure his fantasies of fucking and sucking Bones brought him. He would have liked to have confided his concerns about it to someone but the only person he might have done so to was the very object of his desire. So he learned to live with it and even decided to enjoy it.

'After all,' he reasoned. 'It's only a fantasy and it will probably go away the next time we hit a port where I can get seriously laid.'

* * *

At the next port he got seriously laid four times and felt at peace with the universe.

For a while.

Until he realized that it was more than fantasy sex with his CMO.

Until he realized he was in love with his CMO.

* * *

McCoy was completely oblivious to all this. He was perfectly happy tumbling into bed with Spock once or twice a week and enjoyed the new level of erotic intensity they'd lately achieved.

He also felt loved more cosmically by Spock since the Pon Farr. Cosmically was as close has he could come to describing it. He felt cherished as usual by the Vulcan but he also felt love that seemed to come not from Spock but through him. He did not care as long as it was wonderful.

The doctor occasionally had a guilty thought that he knew about the accidental bonding and Jim did not. 'This must be how the secret lover feels about the lawful spouse,' he mused. But he pushed it away. There was nothing he could do to get Spock to tell Jim about the bond. Spock was particularly immovable on the subject so McCoy dropped it and simply enjoyed their harmonious relationship.

He had his work, his lover, his friend - who could ask for more?

Spock was enjoying McCoy's happiness more than he let on to his lover. He was, however, extra attentive to the doctor's moods and did what he could to lighten them when they grew dark. A caress, a compliment, a question about his research would take McCoy's mind off whatever was troubling it.

He found himself being so attentive because Jim was more sensitive to McCoy's moods than Spock had previously realized. Perhaps due to the fact of their long friendship, Spock often observed Kirk thinking of ways to amuse or tease the doctor.

Spock was as close to enchanted with his existence as he ever allowed himself to be. He truly enjoyed seeing his lover charmed by his bondmate and the pleasure that provoked in all three of them.

Bondmate. Yes, well, one should call things what they are until they can be changed.

The link between Kirk and Spock was providing all three with a great deal of sexual pleasure. For Kirk it was the wicked pleasure of intense and forbidden fantasy. For McCoy the feeling of being deeply loved (he was anyway, it was just very subtle). For Spock it was the triple sensation of Kirk, McCoy's and his own pleasure, pleasuring and being pleasured.

Gradually, however, he began to feel a shift in Kirk's emotional energy toward McCoy, it took on a more intense and determined cast. It reminded Spock of Jim when he went after a prize with his heart and soul.

'If he wants Leonard,' Spock thought seriously, 'would I be able to deny him?'

The Vulcan did not know and did not want to find out.

* * *

Loegeria 9 was an extremely pleasant type M planet with a sophisticated enough culture to be a trading partner with other planets in its system. Still non-aligned, it had not yet decided to join the Federation or the Klingons and for once neither side was pressuring. Let the Loegerians be non-aligned as long as they sell us their sweet, tangy fruits, crusty breads, tart ciders and elegant wines was the general feeling in the quadrant.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) Loegerian products did not travel long distances well. This fact had allowed Loegeria to avoid industrial farming and thereby maintain its eco balance. A fate other planets with good food had not escaped. So it was necessary to actually go there to get any of it. Which is exactly what Kirk decided to do for his crew when he realized they could go, eat, shop and still make their rendezvous with the USS Aubrey. Commodore Maturin would certainly not say no to a bottle or two of Loegerian fume blanc and a basket of tolmias (sweet sticky juicy golden pear-like fruit that should be eaten with wine and near running water).

"Let's go!" he cried to his navigator and they were off. Delighted smiles throughout the ship.

McCoy, being very busy with an experiment on bacteria sampled on a type L planet (hydrogen environment and dense gravity field), could not take the time to beam down and shop for himself. He did, however, give Christine the entire day off, his credit chip and shopping list and told her not to come back without everything on the list.

She laughed at him. He liked it when Christine Chapel laughed at him. And of course she came back with everything he wanted and at the best price she could get, too, except for one thing.

Later that evening, as the Enterprise sped toward the Aubery, Captain Kirk invited Dr. McCoy to his quarters for some Loegerian brandy (mild tasting but very strong) and mragleans (like tolmias but with denser flesh and small seeds instead of a pit). Kirk knew that McCoy liked mragleans very much and hadn't got any because the vendor sold the last to Kirk himself. Kirk knew this because McCoy was complaining about it over dinner.

"Well, come to my quarters, I have some, I'll share them with you," 'sounds innocent enough,' he thought, 'not like I'm trying to lure him into my den.'

Spock had given Kirk a thoughtful look as if he had heard his mental aside.

"I," McCoy declared, "would be delighted."

Spock seemed deep in thought as he excused himself to return to his lab. It was known that he cared for neither Loegerian brandy nor mragleans.

* * *

He did, however, care for his bondmate and his lover and he was not unaware of the aggressive shift in Kirk's attitude toward McCoy. He hoped Kirk would not force himself on McCoy. He doubted it but found it necessary to acknowledge the possibility. Kirk felt passion for McCoy; Spock recognized it within himself but where Spock's passion for McCoy was an ember; Kirk's had become an inferno.

'And if Jim does attack Leonard,' he wondered, 'what then? Rely on McCoy to fight off a superior warrior? Go to his rescue, somehow? Hope McCoy can recall Kirk to his senses?

'And if Jim uses his powerful seductive charms will Leonard be able to resist? And if he yields? What then? Kirk would never share him so must I lose both?'

So, pushing aside these troubling thoughts, he quietly opened the link and felt Jim's arousal as he poured McCoy yet another large brandy.

'Leonard, Leonard.' He could tell that the wine was doing its job too well; McCoy's defenses weren't just down, they were on vacation.

* * *

'Have some Madeira, my dear,' Kirk hummed the ancient wicked lyrics in his head, pouring a little more brandy for the very mellow doctor.

He sliced up a mraglean and pushed the plate of glistening flesh toward McCoy.

Kirk was reminded of a child having a favorite treat, so great was McCoy' pleasure as he brought the succulent fruit to his mouth.

"Most kind of you to invite me, Jim," he drawled charmingly, licking his lips, sending a jolt of desire though Kirk (and Spock as well, for that matter).

"Anything for you, Bones," Kirk murmured seductively. (Spock noticed; McCoy did not.)

"Brilliant to make a Loegeria run. I do get so tired of replicated food after awhile." McCoy looked around for a napkin; finding none he started to lick the mraglean juice off his fingers.

Kirk simply stopped breathing (so did Spock) in the face of the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life. He threw caution to the wind and reached for McCoy's wrist. (Spock's hands froze over his computer keyboard.) Looking deeply into the startled blue eyes (rather bloodshot, Spock noted), he sucked McCoy's index finger into his mouth and licked it clean of mraglean juice. He was half way through the same process with the middle finger before his stunned guest could manage to comment.

"Um, Jim," McCoy began, realizing just how drunk he was and how sober Jim was and finding those facts rather alarming.

"I'm such a bad host, Bones." He was playing his tongue up and down McCoy's ring finger. "Not to have any napkins on the table. What a barbarian." (Spock and McCoy were feverently hoping not.)

He smiled wickedly as he devoured the little finger, running his teeth along it, up and down.

McCoy smiled politely, wondering just how he had ever come to this point and gently pulled his hand away from Jim's lips. It was gently but firmly pulled back, as if to demonstrate the differences in their strengths and temperaments.

Kirk was bent on a conquest; McCoy had seen it often over the years but never directed at him personally. He felt like a rabbit faced with a python.

Kirk pulled McCoy's hand a little closer.

"Leonard..." he began.

"You never call me Leonard, Jim," McCoy stated.

"May I?"

"No."

Kirk was momentarily taken aback; Spock elated; McCoy felt he had some ground under him. Then he felt the deck under him as Kirk pulled him out of his chair and onto the carpet.

"Then I won't," he murmured, settling his body full-length atop McCoy's.

He could feel McCoy trembling beneath him as he nuzzled his neck, ear and ran his fingers through the thick brown hair.

"Jim, stop."

Jim ignored this, playing his lips over McCoy's, feeling the trembling increase, knowing victory was at hand. He thought of his careful preparations: lubricant within easy reach ...

"Jim, please." More trembling. (Spock mentally wrung his hands.)

Jim ignored this, too, and returned to his kissing and his inventory: a towel under the pillow, some soft music .... He forced open McCoy's mouth in a demanding kiss and tightened his embrace, ignoring, also, the hands helplessly clenched against his shoulders. He spread McCoy's legs with his own, wishing they were naked, and ground his erection into the doctor's groin. He could feel the tension, resistance, and the lack of arousal in McCoy but he assumed the doctor would catch up eventually or next time or something. McCoy freed his mouth, Kirk descended to his throat.

"Captain Kirk, SIR." Firmly and coldly, it was more than Kirk could ignore. He went limp, all except his cock, against McCoy and dragged himself back under control.

He sighed against the object of his desire: so close, so close. He lifted his head to look at McCoy and then bent his neck to kiss him.

"JIM." McCoy was now in control of the situation and knew it.

Kirk rolled off him and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, willing his erection to abate. 'Down, boy, down.'

McCoy sat up, dizzy, and looked down at his old friend. "Now what," he carefully enunciated. "In the flying hell was that all about?"

A cooled off Kirk looked up and decided to lay all his cards on the table: "I'm madly in love with you. All I do is fantasize about making love to you. I want to hold you naked in my arms and feel you come and suck you until you beg..."

"Captain Kirk." McCoy cut in firmly, he could see Jim was getting carried away.

Kirk sat up and flashed McCoy a penitent smile under lowered lashes.

'How am I resisting this? I musta become a saint this afternoon,' McCoy thought dryly. "There is nothing in your psych profile that would ever lead me to conclude that you would want to have sex with me, Jim," he said clinically.

"It was a shock for me, too. I never thought I'd want to throw you on my bed, rip your clothes off and fuck you real hard, either."

(Spock went very still.)

McCoy was very still, remembering that that had happened not so long ago in Spock's quarters.

"Sorry." Kirk noticed McCoy had turned to stone and was sorry he shocked him.

"It's okay," the doctor muttered. "When did these fantasizes begin?"

"About five or six weeks ago."

'After Vulcan,' McCoy thought, stunned. There was suddenly a certain Vulcan he wanted to talk to very badly.

McCoy got to his feet and gave his Captain a hand up.

"Come see me in sickbay tomorrow, when I'm sober, and we'll talk some more."

Kirk was relieved that McCoy was so calm.

"Bones, I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"I know." He smiled and on impulse gave the surprised Kirk a bearhug.

Kirk hugged him back, thinking pure thoughts and watched him leave his quarters.

'Now that's a friend,' he thought recorking the brandy.

* * *

"You have got to tell him."

"You are hysterical, Doctor." They were standing in Spock’s deserted lab and it was very late.

"I am not hysterical, Spock," McCoy said patiently, "just very very very upset."

"You are also overreacting."

"I’ve just been jumped by Jim Kirk, one of my oldest friends. I find my reaction to be right on." McCoy was starting to lose his patience with the Vulcan’s infuriating calm.

Spock was silent, not wishing to let on that he knew exactly what had happened and had failed to come to McCoy’s rescue. He steepled his fingers over his lab bench and gazed at McCoy in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner.

McCoy was unmollified: "I don’t know how it works with Vulcans but I think what’s happening to Jim is he is feeling your, um, sexual desire for me through the bond, somehow, and he doesn’t know it’s not his own desire."

He waited to see if Spock was going to deny this but the Vulcan remained silent. McCoy continued: "It is not only unfair, it is unkind to let him keep thinking this way, Spock. It’s causing a great deal of turmoil for him and now for me, too." 'But obviously not for you, you stubborn, callous, fucking Vulcan.' McCoy was starting to lose his temper.

Spock was thinking that Jim was feeling a little more than just desire through the bond but merely said: ‘I shall take your concerns under serious consideration."

"SPOCK."

"Dr. McCoy," he said firmly, "I am not unaware of your distress, the Captain’s confusion and I will give serious thought as to how to best proceed."

McCoy could be firm too: "If I feel that this situation becomes out of control, Mr. Spock, I shall request a transfer." 'And you can go straight to hell,' he finished mentally.

Spock lowered his eyes and McCoy felt like a jerk.

"You must, of course," Spock said calmly, raising his eyes, "do as you consider best, Doctor."

McCoy felt like a jerk squared. He spun and marched toward the door.

"Leonard." A caress.

McCoy stopped but did not turn.

"Are you all right?" Spock asked gently.

"Aside from hysterically overreacting to Captain Kirk’s caveman come on," he inhaled, "I’m okay."

"Would you like me to stay with you tonight?"

McCoy turned. He smiled and relaxed for the first time in hours.

"Thank you, Spock, no. I am tired and just want to sleep. I want to be alone and think for a while, too."

"I understand. Sleep well."

"You, too, Spock. Good night." Good night, good night, and when you dream...

* * *

Captain Kirk never found time to go to sickbay and discuss the events of that night with Dr. McCoy. He did, however, refrain from molesting his CMO again (as he promised) and eventually the two friends settled back into their comfortable camaraderie.

Seeing the restoration of harmony between his lover and his bondmate, Spock decided it was unnecessary to tell Jim about the bond. No need to upset him when soon there will be nothing to be upset about, was the Vulcan’s conclusion.

He further concluded that there was no harm in leaving the link open during sex with Leonard as long as Kirk’s intentions did not become aggressive toward the CMO, which they did not. Having the link open was quite delightful for all three so why spoil it until he could get to Vulcan and have the bond undone.

Kirk continued to enjoy his fantasies and was content that that was all there would be. He felt virtuous in his unrequited lover state. He did occasionally tune out when he didn’t like the content of his fantasy, such as when he was being fucked by McCoy (really unthinkable!). But that is the beauty of erotic fantasies: if you don’t like the one you’re in, you can always just switch to another.

McCoy gave up nagging Spock about Jim and the bond after Spock went on strike and didn’t sleep with him for two weeks. Enough, already, a penitent McCoy decided it was not worth the trouble it caused and never broached the subject again.

'Everything is going well,' he prayed, 'let’s not rock the boat.'

So they didn’t and the mission continued without incidents amongst the three friends for quite a while.

* * *

***end of Part I***