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Chapter Text

“Well, do you think your father has talked them into changing their minds yet?” Hot wind washed over Jim Kirk as he opened the sliding door of the cool air-conditioned guest-suite and stepped out onto the balcony. “Your father could probably even talk Romulans into surrendering if we turned him loose on them.”

Spock followed him outside, stood at the waist-high wall and gazed out over the high-desert landscape. “You may be correct,” he agreed; “however, I would not care to test that assumption. It would not be to my father’s benefit to find himself in a situation of being outnumbered by Romulans.”

Unlike Kirk, Spock hadn't changed out of his dress uniform yet – despite the hot arid climate of this region, he still appeared cool and crisp in his blue satin tunic, while Kirk had shed his for more comfortable slacks and blouse the minute that they had returned to their rooms.

“I don’t think any of us would appreciate being outnumbered by the Romulans,” Kirk agreed. “That’s why I can’t figure out why the inhabitants of this planet want to stay here. If I lived in a solar system that periodically meandered into Rom territory, I’d get the hell out of there as fast as I could.”

“Their ancestors had no choice,” Spock reminded from behind. “Two-hundred years ago, their ships were not as reliable as ours are now. At the end of the Romulan-Terran War, according to Terran history, sixty-three ships were unaccounted for, neither returned home to Earth, nor known to be destroyed. It was surmised that perhaps some of the ships, disabled or out of fuel, found habitable planets between Romulus and Earth. The history here on Terranova accounts for seventeen of those ships with over thirteen-hundred crew members.”

“Sure, just like the colony of survivors’ descendants that was discovered twenty years ago in the Beta-6467 system. And although they chose not to return to Earth, at least they accepted Federation membership and protection. But these people don’t want to come home, nor do they choose to join the Federation.”

The tall Vulcan strolled to the corner of the small balcony and stared out across the desert landscape toward the red glow of the recently-set sun. “Number one, Jim, this is their home. Although their ancestors were Terran, these people have never set foot on Earth. This is all they know. At present their only space-flight capabilities are inter-planetary. They have no access to any other star-systems. And number two, as Governor Larkin mentioned, what good would Federation membership do them? This whole system wanders through the Neutral Zone from Romulan territory to Federation space. As it is, although they are now in Federation space, their sun will reënter the Zone in two-point-one-five years to begin its journey back across to the Romulan side. Starfleet cannot enter the NZ to protect them without violating the Treaty. In fact, by the very act of aligning themselves with us, they would no doubt incur Romulan protest and quite possibly Romulan attack.”

“And number three,” Kirk interjected, “there’s something that Governor Larkin isn’t telling us. Obviously the Romulans have already been here, before us. You saw how at first the people here thought that you and your father were Romulans – and they didn’t act the least bit surprised. And you know damn well that if the Romulans have come around, it wasn’t just to politely offer membership in the Empire. Although I can’t imagine what the Empire would want with this planet – it doesn’t really have anything of value to offer such a technologically advanced society like Romulus. And it wouldn’t do the Roms any good to hold the people hostage against the Federation, since the system isn’t affiliated with us.”

“Since when does Romulus need an excuse to kidnap non-Romulans as slaves?”

“Since never. But this is a long way to come just for slave-trading.”

“I am curious about this planet’s twin on the other side of the sun.” Warm wind tousled short straight dark hair. An upswept eyebrow lifted. “Did you notice Governor Larkin’s slight reluctance to discuss it? I would not be surprised to find the Romulan activity there, which Starfleet has sent us to seek out.”

A slight shrug of shoulders indicated Kirk’s agreement. “Well, as long as that planet is still in the NZ, we can’t go over there and check it out,” he reminded. “But maybe in two days, when the Enterprise comes back to pick us up, we can try extending the long-range scanners in that direction and see just what kind of readings we find.”

Spock nodded.

Leaning elbows on the balcony wall, Kirk watched a small surface-car some distance away rolling toward them along the dirt road from the city central. Puffs of dust billowed up behind it along its path, and its headlight beams bounced over the bumpy terrain.

“I wonder if that’s Sarek,” Kirk mentioned. “Do you suppose he’s had any success getting them to change their minds?”

“We shall find out when he arrives,” Spock responded matter-of-factly; “however, the odds are quite low that he has. The people do not seem receptive to our invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ll be glad to finish our business here and go home to the Enterprise. This place is hotter than hell – although I guess you and Sarek feel right at home.” The little twinkle in his sidelong glance toward his partner gave away his poker-face.

Spock's own usual expressionless countenance now reflected that same minuscule glint of humor. “If you are speaking of the Hell of Terran theology, I wouldn’t know, Jim. However, if you are making an ironic reference to Vulcan, yes, my father and I do appreciate this more moderate climate than the chilly temperatures which Terrans thrive in.”

“You call this moderate? I nearly baked when Governor Larkin took us on that guided tour of the city this morning.”

But the still-comfortable, still-nonsweating Vulcan had little sympathy to offer. “Jim, it is possible through mental concentration to regulate one’s physical tolerance to temperature extremes. Perhaps you should consider practicing the skill.”

“Perhaps I should just stay out of environments that are hotter than hell,” the human countered.

The vehicle approaching them drove around in front of the guest quarters, and a few seconds later the engine cut off. Spock followed Kirk back into the room.

A knock at the door. Kirk answered it.

Instead of Sarek, a uniformed man stood in the doorway. Kirk recognized him as one of the security personnel from the council complex. “Hi,” Kirk greed amicably. “What can we do for you?”

“Captain Kirk,” the man responded with about as much facial expression as a Vulcan, “Governor Larkin requests Commander Spock's and your presence at a conference this afternoon. Would you come with me, please?”

With a tiny smile, Kirk gathered up his tunic from the chair where it lay folded, and glanced back at his first-officer. “C’mon, Spock, let’s not keep the governor waiting.”

Through the car window they could see Sarek sitting in the back compartment of the vehicle. His gaze remained straight ahead; he did not acknowledge them, but Kirk didn’t consider that too unusual – the man was not known to be effusive with his greetings.

A second security guard stood beside the car, hands behind his back at parade-rest. As they approached, he drew his hands forward, and Kirk caught a glint of metal like a weapon in the man’s grasp, coming to bear on them. Reflexively he reacted, but Spock was faster, and with a cry of “Jim!”, the Vulcan dived on him.

Spock's heavier weight thudded into him,. and together they sprawled to the ground as the weapon fired and a flash of blue light enveloped them. Painfully Kirk’s breath grunted out of him as they smacked the hard-pan with a force like a horse’s kick; and momentarily conscious thought lost coherence in a whirlwind of dream-shards.

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Awareness returned with the consistency of molasses. A heavy weight lay on him – Spock, he guessed – and electricity crawled all over his skin. He couldn’t move, not even his fingers and toes, and he could only barely think. Pain throbbed in the back of his head. Face-down in the dirt, grit-abraded cheeks, mouthful of dust, bloody nose, all he could do was lie there paralyzed and try with great difficulty to re-gather his rationality. Heavy-stun – he’d been on the receiving end of that a few times in his life, and it was one of the most distasteful sensations he had ever experienced: that of electrocution and paralysis. But it beat being dead, and as far as he could tell, he was still alive. Lungs still worked, heart. And Spock… yes, he could feel the Vulcan’s breath, the labored beating of the heart. Thank god for that, but what the hell was going on?

Scuff of boots in dirt. Someone kicked Spock off him, then kicked Kirk in the ribs as well. He wanted to fight back, to protect himself, but still all motor neural messages were scrambled. He could hear one man working over Spock, then the other came over to him and started touching him, frisking him. The man took his communicator from his belt – Kirk had no weapon on him, he had seen no need to carry one tonight, damn his short-sightedness! And then his wrists were yanked behind his back and manacled, and his ankles shackled with a short length of chain between.

Was this the council’s doing? Did they suspect Sarek and Spock of being Romulan instead of Vulcan? Or was this some kind of Romulan kidnapping plot? Yet their captors were human – would humans be working alongside Romulans to capture Federation prisoners? All this morning while they were in conference with Governor Larkin and the council, something hadn't sat right in Kirk’s gut. As Spock had mentioned, there had been a subtle yet obvious reluctance in the council chamber to discuss the Romulan problem. But dear god, why this?

The man handling Spock spoke to his partner. “This one’s heavy, help me get him into the car.”

Kirk could hear them manipulating Spock's limp body, dragging it toward the vehicle. Now his hands and feet tingled as the stun effect gradually began to withdraw, but he still couldn’t move. The men were grunting over the difficulty of maneuvering Spock into the car. A sharp thud of flesh against metal and a soft groan from Spock, and Kirk guess that Spock's head had impacted with the door-frame.

And then they came for him. Grabbing him by the upper arms, they dragged him to the car and pushed him into the rear seating compartment, shoved him across two sets of knees – Spock's and Sarek’s – then slammed the door and latched it. The men then climbed into the front operating compartment, and the engine rumbled to life once again. The vehicle lurched and started forward, and the sudden motion jostled Kirk into a twisted position in the cramped space.

… oh god, what was happening, where were they being taken? The Enterprise wouldn’t be returning for another two days, and by then wouldn’t know where to look from them if they weren't here; and besides, Kirk didn’t want to contemplate what could befall them in those ensuing two days.

Finally now, the stun effect was fading and he could move a little, although needle pains still prickled his nerves. Spock's knees were helplessly poking into his belly and groin, and Kirk’s face lay in Sarek’s lap. A little ashamedly he realized that he was drooling grit and saliva and bleeding from his nose onto Sarek’s robe, and he tried to lift his head from the sodden spot.

“Captain,” Sarek’s calm voice addressed him, “do not concern yourself. The material can be cleaned. I would attempt to make you more comfortable, but my hands are secured as are yours.”

“… s’okay…” Kirk managed to slur, then the vehicle jounced again, and Spock's knees caught him again, and Kirk’s chin bumped against Sarek’s knee. “… ohh…” Kirk winced and gasped, god he wished he could protect his groin.

Spock moved slightly, attempting to reposition his knees without success. “Captain, are you injured?” he asked.

“Bruises… bloody nose… that’s all,” Kirk mumbled, while trying to brace himself against the next bump. “How ‘bout… you and Sarek…?”

“I believe I… sustained a sprained ankle when we fell.”

“Do you… think you can walk?” Finally Kirk’s tongue didn’t feel quite so thick.

“I don’t know.”

“Sir,” Kirk inquired of the ambassador, “were you hurt… when you were captured?”

Sarek shook his head in the growing night-darkness. “No. They stunned me after I was in the vehicle. I only regret that you two have been taken prisoner as well.”

Clumsily Kirk squirmed onto one shoulder to at least be able to look at Sarek. “Do you have any idea who our captors are?... did you get any premonition of danger… when you were speaking with the governor this evening?”

“I… did sense a tension in the governor…” Sarek admitted, choosing his words carefully. “… Now I might ascertain it as though he was aware of what was to come… however, it seemed more the concern of an unwilling participant, than that of an actual instigator. Unfortunately I did not accurately interpret it at the time.”

Pain tautened Spock's face, not entirely controlled. “It is less than logical to regret that which was unavoidable, Father. Even had you realized what was about to occur, you could not have prevented it, nor kept the captain and me from capture.”

Kirk thought he read pain pass over the older man’s countenance. “Of course, you are correct, my son. The only concern relevant at present is the determination of our next action.”

“Which we can’t know until we get more information,” Kirk interjected, “and we won’t have that until we arrive at our destination.”

They lapsed into silence as the car drove on another ten minutes or so. Kirk braced himself against the motion, every now and then lifting his head from Sarek’s lap to glance out the window. No city lights now, nothing but rugged desert cliffs outlined darkly against a darker sky. A brutal thought tugged at his mind: perhaps they were being taken out to the middle of nowhere to be executed; or worse, to be left for dead with no food or water. But why? – why? They had done nothing to threaten or coerce these people – if the inhabitants wanted nothing more to do with the Federation, the Enterprise would have picked them up in two days, and the planet would never have been contacted again. No, that made no sense. Whatever the reason for their capture, that couldn’t be it.

And then an even worse thought surfaced: what if they really were going to be turned over to the Romulans? Romulans, learning of the presence of three Federation representatives on this planet and ordering their capture. Had to be. Kirk’s stomach squirmed, and it was from more than simply the movement of the vehicle. Starfleet Intelligence had in the past sent several teams of Vulcan agents into Rom territory undercover; only a few had ever made it back out. A Vulcan caught in Romulan space was considered quite a prize, a subject to be tortured, maybe drugged, mind invaded, body abused, raped. Romulus cared nothing for its ancient genetic link to Vulcan.

A cold sweat oozed from Kirk’s pores at the sickening prospect of that happening to Spock and Sarek, not to mention himself… damn him for not thinking ahead and bringing along a security team!

The vehicle rolled along the dark desert road for several miles, until turning off onto a side road toward the silhouetted western cliffs. Finally it pulled to a halt.

Kirk listened as their two captors exited the vehicle. Footsteps crunched around the car, then the passenger doors opened.

Hands latched onto his legs. “Come on, get out,” the owner of the hands growled, and dragged him out backwards roughly. Kirk tried to gain his footing, but the short chain between his ankles tripped him, and he thudded hard, unable to break his fall with his hands and protect his head from smacking the ground. Coruscating lights exploded behind his eyes. The guard ignored his difficulty; he left him to grab Spock and haul the Vulcan out, while Sarek was extricated from the other side.

Stiffly Kirk looked about himself. A short distance away, a space-shuttle sat unattended on a launch pad.

“Captain, are you hurt?” Spock inquired calmly, standing beside him.

Awkwardly Kirk wriggled to a kneeling position, then squirmed to his feet. “I’ll be all right,” he assured – and hazel glare nailed one of their captors, the young man who had originally knocked on their apartment door, “… just as soon as I find out what the hell is going on around here.”

The young guard ignored the demand, and instead held a weapon aimed at Kirk’s middle. “Sir, you will walk to the ship, please.”

Kirk’s gaze deliberately did not drop to the gun, but remained with full command presence upon the young man’s face. “My men and I will go nowhere until you tell us what this is all about.”

“You are being taken to Qithra, the twin planet of Qithrati.”

A slight noise of reaction from Sarek; Kirk noted it, but his attention remained on the young guard. “I take it, Qithrati is Terranova?”

“Some call it that.”

“And who calls it Qithrati – the Romulans?”

A little response flickered in the young man’s eyes.

“You’re working for them, aren’t you?” Kirk needled. “You’ve sold out your own people, you little sonofabitch. Under whose orders are we being kidnapped?”

“I am not at liberty to say any more,” the man replied stiffly. “Now, please, sir, walk to the shuttle, or you will all be stunned again.” The aim raised to Kirk’s head.

Kirk’s glare shifted slightly to the weapon barrel. At this short distance, even stun could kill, especially a shot to the head. Then he looked back into the young man’s eyes once again before turning and walking to the spaceship. A cold heavy tension settled in his gut.

So, it was Romulans after all. Starfleet had suspected as much. Now where the hell was back-up when they needed it? If they couldn’t get back to the Enterprise, the knowledge wouldn’t do Starfleet any good. Goddamn, they’d been set up so easily.

A callous shove into a seat; a click of a switch and a restraint locked about his waist. Damn, he hurt all over from his two spills in the dirt, pain throbbed in his head again, and dried blood clogged his nostrils.

Now he saw that Spock was limping, as the Vulcan attempted to walk on his sprained ankle. A hard push deposited him in the seat across from Kirk, then Sarek was locked into the seat next to his son. The cold lump in Kirk’s belly was growing ever colder, ever heavier. Neither of the Vulcans exhibited signs of distress, yet they had to be as anxious as Kirk. It wasn’t just the danger – Spock and he faced danger frequently. That came as a natural risk in starship duty. But to be helplessly handed over to one’s enemies was deeply disturbing, especially knowing that Romulan treatment of Federation prisoners was far worse than the reverse. Kirk was used to meeting the unknown; however, this was one unknown that he had never intended to experience.

* * * * *

Black clouds and sheeting rain obscured the sun from view as the party of five emerged from the shuttled on Qithra’s surface. One of the guards indicated a small land-transport a few yards away, and the prisoners walked to it under the ever-present weapon-aim across the soggy muck. Just after landing, the two guards had donned rain-gear, but the captives had none, and soon the downpour had soaked their clothing. The temperature was not cold, but the climate and conifer-wooded countryside was a distinct change from the desert environment which they had left an eternity before.

Again locked into seats; then the van took off across the muddy terrain. They travelled maybe a mile; up ahead Kirk saw the glow of high-intensity lights cutting through the rain-gloom, heard the buzz of high-voltage current.

As the vehicle rounded a curve, a tall electrified barbed-wire fence came into view. On the other side stood several cinder-block buildings, vehicles, and a scattering of people hastening about their business in the wet. Spotlights continually pierced the greyness. A high-security compound: a rustic military base of some kind… or a prison camp.

Kirk glanced at his partners; Spock's eyes were closed, but Sarek returned his concern with a subtle gaze of compassion and support. And Kirk wondered which of them would need the most support to survive their upcoming difficulties.

The transport pulled up to a locked gate, and a Romulan guard spoke briefly with the driver. Kirk didn’t understand the Romulan language, but didn’t need to in order to guess what they were saying. Then the guard looked inside the van to ascertain its cargo, and surprise registered on his face as he spied the two Vulcans. Again he spoke to the human guard, and the only word that Kirk could make out was the human saying, “vulcani’sha”. Kirk wondered if the Romulan had never seen Vulcans before. The resemblance between the two races was striking. Perhaps they could tell each other apart – Kirk knew he never could.

Finally the Romulan seem satisfied that all was in order; and briefly shutting down the electric force-field, he swung the gate open, allowing the vehicle to drive through. As the van crossed the complex grounds, Kirk oriented himself as well as possible. Any detail, no matter what, might later prove their key to escape.

Small clusters of humans in brown fatigues worked in the rain. One group wielding shovels and pick-axes on the left side of the road, broke ground under the watchful eye and ready aim of a Romulan guard; another crew further down worked on a partially completed building. Kirk noted that the human laborers were chained; and Kirk also noted that although most of the guards were Romulan, a few were human.

So. A Romulan work-camp. That was what all the secrecy had meant. That was what Governor Larkin and the rest of the council had hedged about during the talks. Selling or giving away their own people to the Romulans, providing a labor-force to the beings whom their ancestors had fought against so desperately two-hundred years before. No wonder they didn’t want Federation interference. Kirk wondered just what kind of remuneration the Terranovans were receiving from the bargain. And as for the Romulans, they were getting an outpost built by slave labor on a planet which would soon swing into Federation space. Very convenient.

to be continued…

Chapter Text

The vehicle parked in front of one of the buildings set apart from the others, and once again the three of them were herded out. Drizzle spat in their faces.

Spock stumbled slightly on the wet concrete steps leading into the building, and a hiss of pain escaped his lips as he guarded his sprained ankle.

“How are you holding up?” Kirk urged, moving close behind to offer what support he could with hands still restrained, just in case Spock fell.

But Spock kept his footing. “I am managing, Captain; however, the ankle is swollen and will require medical attention.”

A push between the shoulder-blades propelled Spock inside the building, and the guard announced, “You’ll be seeing a doctor in here.”

The interior looked like any other military admin offices that Kirk had ever seen: cold, crowded, computer terminals on desks piled with papers. Most of the personnel were Romulan; a few humans sat chained to desks, working over consoles or piles of output sheets; fewer still walked about unchained, weapons holstered on hips. That handful, like the Romulans, wore military uniforms, while the chained humans wore the same brown fatigues as the ones outside.

The party of new arrivals walked down a corridor to a door. A sign on the door read ‘Intake’, with Romulan characters inscribed above the Standard alphabet. Inside the small room, fluorescent light lit the empty white walls and floor with antiseptic brilliance. Two open doorways on the far wall led to other rooms.

Their guards ushered them in, then locked the outer door.

One of the guards unlocked Kirk’s manacles and ankle-chains, then stepped back and ordered, “Remove your clothing.”

Kirk glared at the man, rubbed his sore chafed wrists. “No,” he refused bluntly, moving to face their captor. “You brought us here against our will. We won’t coöperate with you until you tell us what the hell is going on, and upon whose authority you’re acting.”

The man did not reply, but the other guard standing beside Spock bent down and suddenly rapped the edge of his weapon sharply against the Vulcan’s injured ankle. With an abrupt gasp of pain, Spock hobbled a step and staggered to his knees. Then the gun barrel raised to Kirk’s surprised and outraged face, and the first guard demanded again, “Strip down, Captain. Completely.”

Kirk glared, then looked down at this first-officer. “Spock, I’m sorry,” he apologized, then raised his eyes once again to the guard and began unfastening his wet muddy tunic.

Spock only shook his head and clumsily regained his feet. “I believe we have no option but to coöperate for the time being, Captain.”

Kirk dropped the tunic onto the floor, leaned over to pull off his boots and socks. “Then for the time being, Mister Spock, you are ordered to coöperate with our captors, as long as to do so does not violate your Starfleet oaths, until you receive further orders from me, or until we are separated, at which time you will judge any change of action upon your own discretion.”

“Of course, sir.”

Kirk’s trousers and briefs followed the rest of his clothing to the floor. “And Ambassador,” he addressed Sarek, who still remained in full possession of dignity, despite restraints and rain-sodden robes, “although I have no authority to order you to do so, I request that you also abide by my command.”

“I shall, Captain Kirk.”

The command dialogue had been nothing more than a reiteration of standard operating procedure in case of capture, but at least by making a show of it, Kirk thought to nip in the bud any attempt by their captors to divide-and-conquer the three of them.

And then Kirk returned his glare to their guard, clad only in his command presence, which he refused to strip away with the loss of his clothing. “So now what?”

A nod to one of the doorways. “Enter the shower, Captain.”

A molded alcove separated the outer room from the inner one. Kirk stepped into it and waited. The guard pressed a button, and from the walls, shower-jets sprayed a steamy liquid all over Kirk’s body from head to toe. Protectively he closed his eyes. A faint bitter odor tingled his nostrils, probably some antiseptic solution – the Romulans probably didn’t want the humans bringing any germs or parasites onto the grounds which might develop a taste for Romulan blood.

Then the shower shut off, and the man ordered, “Step into the next room. There is a towel hanging to your left. Dry yourself, then sit in the chair over there.”

In the center of the room stood a padded recliner like a diagnostic lounger, and beside it some equipment hooked to wires which connected to a computer console in front. Kirk picked a fresh towel from the wall-rack and dried off, wiped the grit from his mouth and the blood from his nose, then walked naked over to the recliner and sat down as the guard followed him.

On each arm-rest glowed a light-plate; upon these the guard placed Kirk’s hands palm-down, then secured his wrists with metal bands. Wider metal strips fastened firmly over the backs of his hands, then the man moved behind the chair and attached a restraining band across Kirk’s forehead.

Kirk wondered if the torture was to begin already. Renewed anxiety squirmed in his belly. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “What is this?”

“Scanner and identifier,” the man answered simply, sitting down at the console. He flicked some switches on, and as servo-motors whined, one machine-arm swung into position over Kirk’s nude body, while another moved a small instrument over his head and lowered it until it stopped less than an inch in front of his face. Instinctively Kirk pressed back against the seat. He wondered if the man was going to hurt his face or his eyes. The band across his forehead prevented him from turning his head away.

To the side he heard the shower again, then bare footsteps entered the room. “Spock?” he inquired a little anxiously, unable to see the newcomer.

“No, Captain, it is I,” Sarek’s calm voice conveyed reassurance despite the unease that all of them felt.

“Captain Kirk,” the man at the console interrupted, “please lie still for the scan. Keep your eyes open. If you comply, you will not be injured.”

… and if I don’t?... Kirk thought to himself, and did not want to consider the answer.

A computer voice requested: “State your name, last name-first name-middle initial, and your identification, please.”

Kirk stared without looking at the device over his face. “Kirk, James T., Captain, United Federation of Planets, Starfleet.”

For a brief moment, low-intensity laser-beams entered his eyes – it was all he could do to keep from flinching or blinking – and slight warmth radiated from the light-plates beneath his palms.

The suddenly, sharp stinging pain burned the backs of his hands beneath the wide metal bands, like dozens of little needles pricking his skin. Involuntarily he yelped and jerked against his restraints, then the sensation lessened, although whatever they had done to him still stung.

The computerized voice reported: “Kirk, James T., retinal scan, voice-print, and palm-prints logged; subject tagged. Ready to initiate medical scan.”

A servo-motor hummed again, then the device over his face lifted away. Experimentally he glanced about himself, testing cautiously for any flaws in his vision, and with relief assured himself that he could detect no damage to his sight.

Again he heard the shower jets across the room, then identified Spock’s limping footsteps entering behind him.

Now the mechanical scanning arm over his midsection lowered to a hand’s-breadth from his body, then slowly moved down his belly, hips, legs, feet, then back up again, up over his chest, arms, head. This time he was able to remain calm as the device scanned his face. Back down to mid-point once more, then another hum of the servo, and the arm returned to the machine.

“Medical scan completed,” the synthesized voice informed.

The guard returned to his side, and released his head and wrists. Stiffly Kirk sat up. The procedure had not hurt him, except for what had been done to his hands.

He looked down at his hands. On the back of the left one had been tattooed ‘J T Kirk’ and beneath that, some Romulan characters; on the right, the numbers ‘1 5 3 4 7 4’ plus the Romulan equivalent. Indeed, he’d been logged and tagged for their system. Angry gaze caught the guard. “Damn you.”

“Don’t complain, Captain,” the man retorted, unaffected by Kirk’s rebuke. “In certain instances, some prisoners are marked on their faces. Be grateful you weren’t.”

Uneasily Kirk felt again the phantom pressure left by the band that had secured his forehead. He looked over at Spock and Sarek standing nude with the second guard just inside the room. No hint of emotion shadowed their expressions as they stared straight ahead..

Then the guard opened a door into another room. “You will step through here, Captain, for your physical exam.”

“Let Commander Spock go first,” Kirk insisted instead. “His ankle is hurt.”

“The commander will wait his turn. You first, Captain.”

Kirk set himself and walked into the next room. This whole situation was growing all too horribly real by the minute. The Enterprise, with Scott in its command-seat now, wouldn’t even realize that anything was wrong for another two days, and even after they did, how long would it take for Scotty to find them, assuming that Starfleet wouldn’t deny the Enterprise the chance to search for them? And that was a huge assumption: unless Scotty could prove that Kirk, Spock, and Sarek had been forcibly abducted and taken into the Neutral Zone, Starfleet Command would refuse to allow the ship to leave Federation space; and even if Scotty had proof-positive, Starfleet might still consider that three lives, no matter whose, were not risking another full-scale war over. Of course, who knew how long Kirk and Spock and Sarek would remain alive to worry about it anyway?

One day at a time, one hour at a time, and always planning for escape – that was survival now. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could matter until they got away… or until they died.

to be continued…

Chapter Text

This time the guard did not follow, but closed the door behind Kirk and returned to assist his partner process the two Vulcans.

Kirk stood inside a medical exam room. Clean, sterile, utilitarian. A simple exam table in the center of the room, quite unlike Doctor McCoy’s computerized diagnostic tables aboard the Enterprise. Shelves holding instruments and solution bottles. A desk off to one side with a computer terminal and a human male seated behind it.

The man rose and approached him. An older man, tall and lean like Spock, steel-grey hair, white jumpsuit. “I’m Doctor Terrence,” he introduced, voice mild, non-threatening. “And you’re Captain Kirk.”

“Yes,” Kirk replied simply.

“I was looking over your diagnostic scan. You’re obviously human, but you’re not from Terranova. United Federation of Planets?”

“I’m from Earth.”

A slight nod of interest. “Earth. I’ve heard about it – our ancestors were from there, not too many generations ago. But I’ve never met an Earthman before.” He reached for Kirk’s hands. “Here, I’m sure that still hurts, what they did to you. Let me put something on it.”

From a countertop he took a spray can and squirted a cool soothing wetness over the fresh tattoos, and it did lessen the pain. Kirk noticed the doctor’s own hands, also marked with name and ID number.

“Does that ever come off?” he inquired.

The doctor gently rubbed the medication into Kirk’s sore skin. “When you leave here, after your year’s commitment, it can be dermabraded off without leaving much of a scar. But don’t try taking it off before then yourself, thinking you can fool the system. Anyone who gets caught is re-marked on the face with a deeper tattoo that can’t be removed. Now, sit down on the table, and let me look you over.”

With only mild protest, Kirk complied. “I would think that your computer would have given you all the information you need.”

“The computer studies the patient and apprises me of its findings. I still prefer a hands-on exam before I make my own decision.” Reaching up to Kirk’s face, the medic gently touched the bruises and abrasions from his two spills. “Put up quite a fight, did you?”

Kirk winced a little as one bruise objected to the mild probing. “Not exactly. I hit the ground before I had any chance to register a protest.”

“I’m not surprised,” the doctor smiled a little, pouring an amount of antiseptic onto a cloth to clean the scratches. “But they don’t look serious. Diagnostic scan says you also took a stun-charge. No real damage done, and no sign of concussion from your fall, although you probably have a whopping headache right now. I can give you some pills for that.”

Abruptly Kirk shook his head. “I don’t want any drugs,” he refused. “It’s not as bad as it was.”

The doctor shrugged. “Whatever you like. But if you change your mind, let me know. God knows, from now on, there will be little enough that you’ll have any say about.” Then picking up a small instrument from a nearby shelf, he glanced perfunctorily into Kirk’s eyes, ears, mouth and nose. “Take some advice, Captain. I see all the new arrivals here; I tell them all: remember that it’s just for a year, and if they obey orders, and if their families don’t raise a fuss, they’ll be allowed to return home when their term is up. I urge you to do the same.”

Kirk looked with disinterest about the sparsely-equipped room, the outdated instruments, lack of supplies. Nothing like McCoy’s sick-bay – but the, Romulans would hardly have reason to accouter a prison infirmary with all the up-to-date apparatus. “Of course,” he refuted the doctor’s recommendations, “as military prisoners, that really doesn’t apply to me and my men, does it?”

The physician hesitated briefly, then had to agree, “No, I guess it doesn’t. Military officers from another solar-system – no, I don’t suppose you’ll ever be allowed to leave. If it means anything to you, Captain, I’m sorry for you and your men. It isn’t going to be easy for you.”

“At least I appreciate your straight-forwardness,” Kirk said, and meant it.

“Well, it never does any good to try to soften reality.” A stethoscope pressed to Kirk’s chest and back. “Breathe,” the man urged, listening cursorily to Kirk’s lungs and heart. “How did you get here?” he asked conversationally. “Did you just happen to be in the area? This is a long way from Earth.”

Just as conversationally, Kirk replied, “We were just passing through – we were offered an invitation we couldn’t refuse to take a scenic tour in a prison wagon.” Conversational and blandly evasive. No reason to mention the Enterprise – the doctor was human and he was friendly, and he could just as easily be a Romulan plant. Men who resisted torture-interrogation, who would never reveal data under threat of pain, every now and then let their guard slip around a friendly stranger who knew the right moment to offer kindness and sympathy. Kirk himself had been trained in interrogative techniques. A lot of times, kindness was a better tool than threats for extracting information from subjects.

The little smile tugged at the doctor’s lips again as he picked up on Kirk’s polite ambiguity. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he apologized. “No reason for you to trust me – although I’m not a Romulan informer, whether you believe me or not.”

“It seems a number of humans here do work for the Romulans,” Kirk mentioned non-committally.

The older man nodded agreement. “Yes, some of the men choose to sign up for military duty rather than put in their year on the labor force. Especially the younger ones. They enjoy playing soldier, and the Romulans let them feel important. Give them a uniform and a weapon, and let them show how tough they are by keeping the laborers whipped into line. I swear, I patch up more results of their enthusiasm than what damage the Romulans cause. Little bastards.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Three years.” A touch on Kirk’s shoulders urged him to lie back, and experienced fingers began palpating his torso. “… And if you’re going to question why I’ve stayed longer than the mandatory year, it’s because not many physicians will work under these conditions – right now it’s just another doctor who intends to leave as soon as his term is up, and myself. The Romulans would just as soon put in their own medics, but the thought of Romulan doctors operating on human patients gives me nightmares. They’d rather experiment on a patient than heal him. So I’ll stay for however long I’m able. As long as I don’t make trouble for the Romulans, they don’t interfere with me. Have you had any surgery in the past year?”

“No.”

“Any serious diseases recently?”

“Rigellian fever, couple of months ago.”

Eyebrow raised in blank comprehension. “That’s one I’m not familiar with. Not something we see around here.”

“Probably not. It’s like a bad case of stomach flu.”

“Not very pleasant, I take it.”

“There’s better ways to spend a week.”

“Anything else I should know about? Any venereal diseases?”

Flash of hazel eyes. “No!” That came out a lot sharper than Kirk had intended, but goddamn, he didn’t want to start discussing his sex-life here, and he couldn’t take the artificial air of normality much longer. He and Spock and Sarek probably didn’t have more than a few days to live – and they would be lucky if they weren’t tortured beyond endurance or sexually brutalized in those few days – and the doctor was acting as though this was nothing more than a routine annual physical. Kirk’s voice softened with controlled desperation. “Please… let’s just get this over with.”

Now the medic was donning plastic gloves. “All that’s left is the internal exam, and we’ll be done. Roll over onto your side, and bend your upper knee.”

But abruptly Kirk sat up instead, muscles taut. “Then we’re done now,” he announced in strict command tone, and swung his legs off the table. “I want my clothes back now.”

A hand gripped his upper arm. “Captain,” the doctor interrupted patiently, “whatever you may think, I’m not doing this for my own amusement. Now, please coöperate with me, and we’ll wrap this up in just a few minutes.”

Disgust tightened Kirk’s face. “You think I’m just going to lie here compliantly and let you fuck with me? Is that why you needed to know if I’m carrying anything contagious?

“I’m going to examine you, Captain, not rape you,” the doctor’s calm voice responded. “However, I won’t lie to you: the Romulans will have just that in mind when they get a hold of you, and I need to know now if you’ll be able to handle it when one of the Romulan guards decides to use you for an evening’s entertainment. Because afterwards, I’ll be the one who’s called in to patch you up.”

Adrenalin rush triggered fine trembling in tight muscles at the blunt all-too-detailed image of submission. Kirk’s heart thudded beneath his sternum. “What makes you think I’ll just give in when some Rom bastard tells me to bend over?”

A frown of long-sufferance creased the other man’s face. No doubt he had held this very same discussion innumerable times over the span of a long three years with countless irate newcomers. “Don’t fool yourself, Captain. I’m sure you could handle yourself competently against any of the little toy soldiers who might try to coerce you. You’re young and strong and healthy. But against a Romulan, our human strength is like a child’s. You said earlier that you appreciated my honesty. Then listen to me now. Don’t even try to resist – you won’t be able to win, and I’ll just have a tougher job putting you back together.”

The authoritarian edge in Kirk’s tone eased slightly. “And you said earlier that from now on, we’re not going to have much say about what happens to us. So I’m requesting that my wishes be honored this one last time. I know that you could call in the guards and have them hold me down while you examine me against my will, but I’m asking that you don’t. You know I’m healthy, your computer knows I’m healthy. Please, let it go at that.”

Momentarily the physician demurred, then stripped off the gloves. “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll let it go. Lord knows, when S’Rezli gets his hands on you, you won’t be left with any dignity at all.”

“Who’s S’Rezli?”

“The commandant of this camp.” From a closet the doctor withdrew a folded-up pile of clothing and a pair of heavy work-boots, and handed them to Kirk. “Captain S'Rezli. I’m sure you’ll meet him very soon. A real devil of a man… in more ways than just his pointed ears.”

Kirk slipped on the underwear, brown work-uniform, socks and boots. The computer had selected his size accurately. The material was some kind of lightweight synthetic and felt water-repellant. If the weather here was always as wet as today, it would have to be – especially since the laborers weren’t issued any rain-gear.

“Well, you’re healthy now,” the doctor agreed. “I just hope you stay that way. But we’ll probably be seeing each other again.”

“All due respect, Doctor, but I hope we don’t.” Kirk tucked his shirttail into the waistband of his pants. “Doctor, my two associates will be coming in next: Commander Spock and Ambassador Sarek. They look Romulan, but they’re not – they’re Vulcan. Commander Spock sprained his ankle badly when we were captured. Please help him.”

The medic nodded. “I’ll do what I can for him, Captain.”

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

The pit was a large excavation for a building basement, twenty meters by fifteen meters approximately, of irregular shape, and at least five meters deep. Plumbing pipes and electricity conduits criss-crossed the cavity at various levels. Huge translucent tarps canopied the dig; but even so, the constant rain had turned the floor of the excavation into thick gooey clayey muck which clung to work-boots and ankle chains, coated pant-legs, and streaked sweaty bodies and rain-wet arms and faces. A sump-pump housed in a ground-level shed siphoned the water out, but not efficiently, and only then between frequent periods of breakdown. The labor crew of twenty-seven men, plus four human guards and two Romulans, descended into the pit every morning and did not return to quarters until well after sundown for shower, dinner, and bed.

For the past two-and-a-half weeks, Kirk had worked in the muggy humid cavity with spade and pick-axe, beneath the clatter of rain on the canopy overhead, with three other men at one end of the basement, fighting the adobe-like soil, tossing shovelful after shovelful of the heavy water-logged muck into a trough. When the trough was full, chain-and-pulley riggings raised it to the surface to be dumped, then returned it to the bottom.

While Kirk had been assigned to this back-breaking labor for the duration of their stay so far, Spock had been working above-ground, inventorying the storage sheds. True to his word, Doctor Terrence had bound Spock's injured ankle, then ordered light-duty for the next three weeks while the ligaments and bruised muscles healed. The afternoon of the day of their arrival, Spock had remained at the infirmary to inventory and clean, then had spent the next weeks cataloguing and counting in the camp’s two supply warehouses. But this morning when the guards had queued the laborers after breakfast, Spock was ordered to the pit, and put to work repairing the once-again faltering pump.

Spock felt little resentment regarding this change to manual labor, certainly not any more than his over-all feelings of outrage regarding their capture – feelings tightly suppressed beneath Vulcan control. His ankle was healing quickly through the application of nightly meditation, and if anything, he welcomed the change to work near Kirk. For the past three weeks, he had not seen Kirk during work hours, although they shared a bunk at night in the barracks. Sarek he hadn't seen at all since their medical processing, nor would anyone tell him where his father was assigned, nor even if Sarek was alive or dead, or in the hands of the prison commandant, suffering whatever horrors the Romulan chose to inflict.

Neither Spock nor Kirk had faced S'Rezli yet, and Spock could only hope that Sarek was as fortunate. Surely the Romulan commandant knew of their presence here, had no doubt ordered their capture in the first place. And yet so far, the man had not ordered them brought to him, nor had them interrogated or tortured. So far, the three Federation representatives had not been treated any differently than the regular Terranovan laborers, suffering no more than the usual maltreatment which the guards inflicted upon everyone.

And Spock knew that each day spent at hard labor rather than beneath torture was one more day to be grateful for – and one more day closer to rescue. By now, the Enterprise knew that they were missing, and Mister Scott was no doubt threatening heaven and hell to get them back. And if their luck held, Scott would succeed before Captain S'Rezli commanded their presence.

Spock only wished that he could share the humans’ belief in ‘luck’.

“Stop day-dreaming, and start earning your supper, freak!” a human guard snapped behind him, and a whip-crack across clothed shoulders punctuated the vulgarity.

Abruptly Spock stiffened against the explosion of sharp pain, twisted around to see his attacker; and another strip of fire cut his right cheek. With a gasp of surprise and pain, he jerked his head back, and pressed wet fingers to the stinging gash across his face. For a split-second, Vulcan discipline faltered, and three-weeks’ worth of hatred and rage flared through the powerful super-human body; then icy control set tighter than ever, and mental concentration instantly quelled the adrenalin rush. He could have easily killed the foul offending human, but that would have only hastened his own destruction, and taken him from Jim’s side. However this whole situation might develop in the next few days, the captain required Spock's focussed support now, as long as they both remained able. Yielding to senseless emotion now would only worsen the predicament for all of them: himself, his father, Jim…

“Get back to work,” the guard ordered, apparently unaware of how close he had just brushed to his own death. “Get this pump working, or you don’t go back to quarters tonight.”

Allowing all tension to melt from his face, Spock acquiesced submissively. “Yes… sir…” and the words nearly stuck in his throat. He felt his blood ooze from the whip-cuts and mingle with trickles of rain-spatter. Then the guard moved away, and Spock returned his attention to the machine inside the shed.

He had already replaced two broken belts, re-lubricated the over-strained motor, then left it for a few minutes to cool down to operating temperature. The pump was obviously too small to properly accomplish the task of keeping the pit drained, but of course the Romulans had no interest in replacing it. Spock knew that he could probably squeeze a little more efficiency out of it if he had the tools and parts, but since he had neither, the whole job was senseless. He remembered seeing items in the warehouse that he could adapt to boost the pump’s power, and he had informed the crew-boss of such, but so far the man had taken no action, and Spock hadn't actually expected him to anyway.

Once more he screwed the motor-housing down, replaced the cover-plates, and hit the reset switch. The motor grumbled, vibrated, then roared to life again, and pretty soon a stream of water began pouring out of the flow-pipe some distance away and down the waste gully. One minute, two… and then abruptly the motor seized and froze up again.

And Spock fought against a dull inertia in his muscles, an inertia of frustration, of lack of motivation, and anger. The guard had warned that Spock would remain here through the night if necessary, to repair the unit, and that was no exaggeration. They could work him here without any break at all for as long as they chose, and punish him or punish Jim, if he balked. Their threats and their whips held no terror for him, but he knew he could not relegate Jim to their hands as long as it was in his power to prevent it. And he regretted that Jim had to work all day every day down in the muck and humidity of the pit, and that desire to spare his captain and friend any more misery became his motivation.

So he would speak to the crew-boss again, and as diplomatically as possible, insist upon receiving the necessary supplies to complete the project properly.

Jim had been correct: for the time being, they had to coöperate with their captors. Rebelling now or refusing to work would only bring down harsh discipline upon them and serve no useful purpose. Punishment here was immediate and brutal, they had quickly discovered: the guards’ whips and neural prods repaid every error, every delay. For worse infractions, such as deliberately committing sabotage or striking a guard or fighting, the offender would be taken out after supper, and in view of the entire camp, stripped, hung up, and flogged – or worse, shackled to a post in the center of the grounds and offered as sexual relief for anyone, guard or prisoner, Romulan or human.

Spock's whip-marks stung irritatingly. For the most part, he had been left alone during the past three weeks of their captivity, as the human guards didn’t quite seem comfortable taking out their petty animosities on a prisoner who looked so similar to their Romulan superiors, nor did he but rarely give them cause to, anyway. Kirk, on the other hand, despite forcibly holding his resentment in check as well, experienced several episodes almost every day beneath the guards’ leather. And every evening in the showers, he and Spock would examine and clean each other’s fresh bruises and cuts and other mementos of the day; and Kirk would vow retaliation against their captors, while Spock would urge him to curb any emotional reaction for at least one more day.

As if on cue from Spock's thoughts, shouts and noises of a scuffle erupted from the corner of the excavation where Kirk worked with the digging crew.

“Goddamn, you bastard, get off of him!” Kirk’s voice yelled from below, and the cry spurred Spock to run from the pump-shed over to the edge of the pit. Any suggestion of risk to Kirk effortlessly nicked a little crack in the otherwise-tempered Vulcan armor of control, and Spock knew that that was his weakness, and also knew that there was no self-discipline in the world that would counter that weakness.

Down in the pit, Kirk was struggling against the grips of two human guards, while a Romulan guard beat another worker into the muck. Spock glanced about for a way down into the hole, but the ladder had been removed until evening, nor would going down into the melee have done any good anyway, even if Spock could have managed it. Helplessly he watched as the Romulan easily overwhelmed the human, ripped the man’s clothes down, then mounted him right there in the wet and the mud, and raped the hell out of him. Of all the other workers, none attempted to interfere except Kirk, no doubt out of fear of the other guards and retaliatory punishment, or perhaps out of disinterest and lethargy. In this hell-hole where mistreatment and sexual abuse happened so frequently, one more occurrence meant very little to those not involved, especially since any expression of rebellion jeopardized the conclusion of each man’s personal term of service.

The victim’s screams pierced the rain-clatter, his arm wrenched up behind his back, and his intestines plowed by the alien organ battering him mercilessly. Adrenalin-charged shrieks, muscles and tendons carved in stark relief, free hand clawing for purchase in the slurpy muck, throat choking and gasping while mud invaded nostrils and mouth beneath Romulan pressure.

Abruptly Kirk jerked free of his own restraining grips, and jumped on the Romulan’s back, one elbow crooking around the thick neck in a desperate choke-hold.

“Jim! NO!” Spock yelled over the rain-tattoo and the screams and noises in the pit.

The sharp warning distracted Kirk momentarily; and in that moment, the Romulan reared up and knocked him sprawling back into the muck; then the two human guards dived on Kirk, punching him stiffly in the head and belly, then pushed him face-down and hammer-locked him just like the other prisoner.

And then nothing could stop Spock from interfering, not Romulan guards, not lack of a ladder… nothing except a sudden ghastly explosion of pain in his left knee, shooting all the way up and down his leg; and he dropped in mid-stride as though axe-felled at the edge of the pit, writhing in his own distress, clutching his wounded leg, and squinting up with pain-tightened eyes at the human guard over him, neural prod in hand.

“Get up!” the man snapped, punctuating the order with a casual kick to Spock's other leg. “I told you to get the hell back to work. Get back in the shed and fix the pump, or I’ll sting your fucking balls next, and you can slack off the rest of the day in the infirmary.”

Involuntarily Spock's testicles pulled up slightly, icily, at the threat of pain. A resolute moment to stifle the pain-level in his knee, then carefully the Vulcan re-gathered his feet beneath himself and stood up. Little tendrils of electricity leaking past his guard sang fire through his nerves all the way to his solar plexus, but he clamped down on the errant sensations, and was able to walk through the drizzle back to the shed with hardly a visible limp.

Cautiously he lowered his mud-smeared weight onto the bench beside the broken piece of machinery, and this time the guard shackled his ankle to one the seat legs. He wondered when he’d be unlocked again, and he wondered how Jim was faring now. For that show of belligerence, the captain risked a flogging tonight, if not a staking-out – at the very least, within the next five minutes he would probably take the place of the man whom he had tried to help, and taste for himself Romulan cruelty and viciousness.

Spock only hoped that by distracting Kirk and thereby aborting the futile heroics, he had also preserved the captain from suffering the more serious penalties. He could not, however, have prevented the Romulan from assaulting Kirk now, although he would have willingly offered himself in Kirk’s stead, if he’d had the chance to do so.

Anguish squeezed his chest, stung his heart, his eyes; and he could not block the knife-lance of mental pain as he could the physical. He wondered if Kirk forgave him for the deliberate diversion.

But whether Kirk forgave him or not for this one incident, he could not forgive himself for not preventing the kidnap in the first place. As first-officer, his primary duty was to protect the captain, and he had failed that duty, and he had failed himself.

And he had failed Jim.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

The sounds at night were the worst of all. The rest of it was pretty bad as well: the stifling humidity of the stuffy barracks; sharing a narrow bunk on a thin prickly mattress barely wide enough for one body, much less two; the chafing leg-irons locking ankles to cot frames; the glaring outside security light blazing through the tiny barred window right into his face; the pervading stench of mustiness and urine, and warm musky human smell.

But the sounds disturbed him most of all: the grunts and groans and gasps of bunkmates sexually relieving each other or themselves, getting what little pleasure was allowed them in this hell-hole. Now and then a cry of orgasm punctuated the murmurs and crude whispers, and Spock would feel the body beside him on the bunk respond with nascent stirrings of empathy.

Their twentieth night of captivity, and their twentieth night of sleeplessness. Kirk had not been raped by the Romulans after all, had not been punished at all for his rebellion, other than being cuffed to a plumbing pipe down in the hole for the remainder of the afternoon. Almost without thinking, Spock drew the human closer to him on the cot, wishing he could protect the smaller weaker man, wishing he could take him away from this place completely… where was Mister Scott and the Enterprise? did they know yet where the captain and Spock and Sarek were being held? were they coming with a rescue force? Or was Starfleet deliberately holding them back on the other side of the NZ border? Spock did not consider it particularly logical to hope for swift action from a bureaucracy, but he found himself pleading silently … hurry, please hurry… there is no more time… Jim can no longer restrain his actions, and the next time he will be disciplined… please hurry…

As if in response to his unspoken name, Kirk rolled over onto his left side toward Spock's weight. Their bodies cramped tightly together on the too-small bunk. At first they had tried having one of them sleep on the floor beneath the bed, but that had proven even more uncomfortable than the sharing the cot.

“Spock,” Kirk whispered softly, close to the Vulcan’s ear, “are you awake?”

“Yes.”

Kirk squirmed to a slightly more comfortable position in Spock's arms. “Damn, I wish I could control my sleep like you. You can sleep and wake up whenever you want. I’ve been awake all night.”

“As have I. There are nights that sleep proves most elusive.” – primarily nights when he had to guard Kirk’s sleep.

“I know.”

In their cramped positions, Spock's left arm lay across Kirk’s body. Kirk’s right hand rested on top. Through their jeans Spock could feel human genitals pressed tightly against his thigh. The penis was hard, and Spock found the pressure difficult to ignore.

Another moan of sexual tension, this time from the bunk at the foot of theirs. Moans, gasps, flesh sliding against wet flesh. Inadvertently Kirk’s own organ stiffened even stronger.

A sudden shiver tingled through Spock's nerves, zapped down to his crotch, as an abrupt telepathic flash of sensuality flooded through their touching flesh. Kirk picked up the echo of the empathic transference, and with embarrassment, shifted his lower body an inch.

“I’m sorry, Spock,” he apologized. “I guess I just can’t help it. It’s just an involuntary bodily response.”

But Spock's head shook negation on the thin pillow. “It doesn’t matter, Jim. Propriety does not exist here.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kirk agreed, and allowed Spock's arms to comfort him. In this hell-hole there was no propriety or dignity left. Only a few stolen moments, caught and grasped whenever available, soothed away the torments and cruelties of daily existence now.

Kirk’s face pressed close to the side of Spock's head; Spock could feel his friend’s breath against his ear. “How are you holding up?” the human whispered. He squirmed on the thin mattress until they faced each other. His arm lay across Spock’s body, hand resting on a whip-scarred shoulder. Their faces practically touched.

“I am managing,” Spock acknowledged. “It is a… trying… experience.”

“I know.” Aimlessly the warm hand caressed a sinewy back. “Did you ever get any supper tonight?”

“No. The parts necessary to repair the pump did not arrive until well after end of shift, therefore by the time I was able to complete repairs, mess-call was over, and I was only allowed to shower and clean my clothes before reporting to bed. I believe that the delay was deliberately facilitated by the guard assigned to my sector.”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Kirk apologized again gently, “for all of this. I should have been able to prevent it somehow. You’re going through hell.”

“As we all are. But there was no way to prevent it. Regret is illogical.”

Kirk managed a little smile despite the circumstances. “Illogical or not, I still feel it. By the way, I saw Sarek at dinner.”

“Is my father well? Did you speak with him?”

“The guards didn’t let us talk, but he looked all right. At least I didn’t see any signs of mistreatment, other than a few bruises like the rest of us.”

Vulcan control relaxed, if only slightly. “That is gratifying to hear. I… feared that perhaps he had been taken and interrogated by the commandant.”

“Fear is also illogical,” Kirk reminded with a friendly little squeeze.

“It is… difficult… to remain emotionless… when one’s father is endangered.”

“… Or one’s friends.”

Spock nodded agreement.

“As a matter of fact,” Kirk continued, “I’ve wondered why none of us has been taken yet to meet Captain S'Rezli. I had assumed that he would call for us the day we arrived. Why simply imprison us like the Terranovan prisoners?”

“Unless we have completely misjudged our reason for being here. Perhaps they simply intend to use us as slave-labor just like the Terranovans.”

“Unfortunately I don’t think so, Spock.”

“Nor do I.”

Bootsteps tramped outside the barracks, then the door opened, and two Romulan guards carrying hand-lights entered the bunkhouse. A cold wet breeze blew in with them, and prisoners pulled thin blankets closer for warmth as well as concealment. The guards overseeing the work-lines often sampled the bodies under their control; the night-watchmen frequently raided the barracks for some available flesh shackled helplessly.

Spock's stomach twisted at the thought.

As the guards walked up and down the rows of beds, the lamp-lights flashed over those prisoners sleeping and those feigning sleep. Kirk and Spock lay still, face-to-face, expecting any moment to hear sounds of someone being dragged out of bed, scuffling, desperate protests, and finally a beating and sexual assault. This was not the first time that it had happened since their arrival. But there was no way to help the chosen victim, any more than Kirk had been able to interrupt the rape of his fellow-laborer earlier that afternoon in the pit.

The bootsteps stopped next to their cot, and light-flare splashed in their faces. They kept their eyes closed against the near-blinding brilliance, and Spock felt the body in his arms tense with adrenalin-charge, human heart trip-hammering against his chest. Kirk would never compliantly submit to rape – he would sooner goad his attackers into killing him, than allow his body to be casually violated.

“Captain Kirk and Commander Spock,” one guard announced aloud, mindless of whomever might actually still be sleeping in the bunkhouse.

Neither responded, so the guard grabbed Kirk by the hair and yanked his head back to identify his face; and then Kirk writhed frantically to free himself from Spock's protective embrace and from the Romulan’s clutching fingers.

“Let me go, Rom bastard!” he swore between clenched teeth, just as the man’s free hand gripped the cervical nerve bundle at the base of Kirk’s neck and applied slight pressure. Instantly a wash of numbness stole over the human’s muscles – not unconsciousness or paralysis, but just limp relaxation so that he couldn’t continue to struggle.

With a threatening grumble, Spock reared up over Kirk into defensive posture despite the constrictive leg-chains… right into the aim of a weapon barrel staring him in the face.

“You will come with us,” the man announced, while the other guard unlocked them both from the cot. “The commandant wishes to speak with you.”

Carefully Spock assisted Kirk to sit up on the edge of the bed. The Romulan neck-pinch had disabled Kirk only momentarily, and very shortly the human’s strength was returning. Even so, Spock steadied his captain as they pulled their boots on, and helped him stand. A slight nod of Kirk’s head acknowledged his first-officer’s support, then the captain stood on his own, physical balance and tight emotional control regained. Again their ankles were hobbled, wrists manacled, then the jerk of the weapon barrel urged them out of the barracks.

So. No rape… at least not yet. Perhaps later… perhaps worse. But at least now they would find out for certain why they were being held here, what the Romulans really expected to get out of them.

The two guards escorted them out into the night-rain to an idling transport-van. Without protest, they climbed in, Spock at Kirk’s elbow in case the human stumbled.

Sarek already sat within. No stress expressed on the older man’s shadowed face, but a blackened eye and half-a-dozen minor bruises and abrasions marred the wrinkled skin. Without remark he watched Kirk and Spock enter the van and sit beside him.

Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarek, Spock set his gaze rigidly ahead as he inquired, “Father, have you been hurt beyond that which is visible on your face? We have not seen you since the day of our capture. Are you being seriously mistreated?”

“No, my son,” the older Vulcan responded calmly. “To my discomfort, I have incurred the application of our captors’ electric prods twice,” – a sympathetic twinge stabbed Spock's knee where he had received the neural charge earlier that day – “and yesterday a guard disagreed with my work methods and illustrated his displeasure by striking me in the face. We have not seen each other because I have been assigned to work in the administration building, and I sleep in another barracks-house. How are you and the captain faring? I sense that you are shielding pain.”

“Minor pain only, Father,” Spock reassured, and it was not completely a lie – ‘minor’ referred to any pain would could be shielded against. There was pain which could not be blocked: the agony of seeing one’s family or friends brutalized.

Sarek could read the direction of his son’s thoughts whether they were touching physically or not. “Spock,” he reminded astutely, “do not forsake your mental training now. Only logic will see us through this difficulty. Emotion has no place here. It would only cause erroneous responses.”

A slight tilt of head. “Yes, my father,” the younger man acknowledged, and knew that he was as much hostage against Sarek as Sarek was hostage against him. The parent-child bond weakened considerably upon the offspring’s attainment of maturity, but never severed completely.

“Sir, if we can help you in any way…” Kirk offered.

“Thank you, Captain, but I do not believe that we will be allowed to give much assistance to each other, other than mental support.”

A small smile of gratitude rested on Kirk’s face. “Your mental support and Spock's have been the only things keeping me going these past few weeks, keeping me confident that we’ll all get out of this somehow.”

“I sincerely hope that your optimism is validated, Captain Kirk.”

The smile quirked a little tighter despite the pain in hazel eyes. “I hope so too, Ambassador.”

Another half-minute or so, then the van pulled up in front of a rustic log building near the admin offices, and the three prisoners disembarked with their two guards.

In the sweep of spotlights, raindrops glittered like silver sparkles, splattered into puddles on the concrete and in the mud. Glistening rivulets trickled off the shingled roof of the cabin. Tucking their heads against the breeze-whipped wetness about them, the small party hastened up the porch steps and into the building.

to be continued…

Chapter Text

A young human guard manning a desk in the reception area looked up from his computer terminal as the two Romulans escorted the three disheveled prisoners into the cabin. Hastily one of them slammed the front door closed against the outside cold and wet, while the other exchanged a few words in Romulan with the young adjutant.

Spock looked about the office. Wood paneling and wood furniture scented the air with a sweet cedar-like aroma. On Earth wood was a rare commodity, too rare to be used for building materials, the forests long exterminated from its land-masses. But here in this thickly forested area, wood was plentiful and cheap. He wondered what finishing process was used to keep the planks from warping in the constant humidity. He wondered about that to keep his mind off what was going to happen to them after they walked into the commandant’s office.

He could feel the tight body beside him. It didn’t take touch-telepathy to sense that… the fear-sweat, the shuddering breaths, all simmering just beneath the veneer of command-control. Spock hoped that that control would hold up during the next few hours. He supposed it was an illogical hope – no amount of stamina could back up human flesh against superior Romulan strength. At least he and Sarek equaled the Romulans physically and mentally – neither of them would be broken easily. And Kirk did seem to possess an inner strength which even physically stronger opponents respected. Still though, Spock wished there were some way he could siphon his own mental training to bolster the captain’s command presence, so that the Romulan commandant couldn’t simply destroy Kirk like a child.

But now they had run out of time: one of their guards was knocking on a door behind the reception desk, the door which no doubt led to the commandant’s office.

“Pran’ti,” a male voice responded from the other side, then the guard opened the door, and the three prisoners were led into the inner sanctum.

A Romulan sat behind a large wooden desk, its glassy lacquered surface reflecting his image silhouetted against a rain-grey window. He smiled through a neatly trimmed goatee beard and moustache, though the smile did nothing to melt the ice-blue of his eyes.

“So,” he greeted, switching his speech from Romulan to Standard, “this is our Federation welcoming committee. How thoughtful of the Federation to send you to our planetary system: an ambassador and a military attaché. Oh, I realize you only intended to visit Qithrati – excuse me, Terranova – but you’ve come so far that it would have been a grievous slight on the part of the Empire not to invite you to Qithra as well. So, when my people on Qithrati informed me of your presence, I immediately told them to bring you here. I am Captain S'Rezli, commandant of this camp.”

As he spoke, Captain S'Rezli rose from his chair and strolled in front of the desk to rest one hip on the edge, arms folded across the red-and-silver-lamé tunic of the Romulan service. He was a tall gaunt man, taller than any of them; and, Spock surmised, older than himself and Jim, although not as old as Sarek. The man did not look full-blooded Romulan, aside from the characteristic upswept brows and pointed ears which Romulans and Vulcans shared: his hair was not the usual straight black-brown tresses, but rather light brown and curly, and his eyes were blue – quite a rarity in Vulcanoid stock – as well as the facial hair. On most Vulcans, facial hair was too sparse to grow into much of a beard. And the man’s skin-tone matched closer to Jim’s coloration, instead of the olive-cast of Sarek’s and Spock's. No doubt some human blood flowed in the man’s veins – no doubt at all, since Romulans considered promiscuity with non-Romulan slaves one of the pleasanter pastimes to indulge one’s self in.

“Captain Kirk.” The man stepped closer to the human standing to Spock's left in an easy but alert stance. “How do you like the accommodations here?”

Coolly but civilly Kirk returned the man’s gaze. “I’ve known better. If this is how you treat ‘invited guests’, I’d hate to be an intruder.”

“You’ve all been treated with consideration, Captain,” the Romulan insisted, and Kirk’s expression tightened. “Haven’t you wondered why you weren’t punished for your bit of rebellion this afternoon? Any other laborer would have been turned over to the entire day-shift for their pleasure. But all the guards have been under orders to refrain from punishing the three of you… too severely.”

… and Spock’s knee still ached from the neural prod earlier that afternoon; and he didn’t have to look at either his father or Kirk to know how badly they were suffering from punishments already inflicted.

The man smiled. “Yes, Captain, I’m well aware of the several incidents that you’ve been involved in since your arrival. I’ve been watching all of you quite closely.”

“Well, I’m glad you find us so entertaining.”

“Oh, I intend to find you even more entertaining… quite soon… Captain,” – and the smile transmuted into a chuckle, as belligerent fire snapped in Kirk’s eyes. Then casually the Romulan turned away from the human, and shifted his attention to Sarek beside Spock's right. “Old man,” he cursed negligently.

Sarek did not respond in any manner.

S'Rezli’s gaze flickered between the two Vulcans. “Tva’tis Romolis?”

Father and son did not reply, did not even make eye-contact with their inquisitor.

The commandant glanced at Kirk, then back to Spock, stood directly in front of him, close in front of the Vulcan, looking down at Spock's impassive face through half-lidded eyes, and asked, voice thick with innuendo, “Q’isa’l-is, vulcani’sha, te dala’vis terrani’sha exanat lo?”

Vulcan body tautened, sparking eyes caught Romulan; a betraying muscle jumped in Sarek’s cheek as well.

And S'Rezli smiled again. “So, you can understand Romulan after all, Vulcan pra’adith.” In a relaxed manner, he leaned back against the desk once more, eyes on Kirk as he mention to Spock, “Will you enlighten your captain as to what I just said, or shall I?”

Spock's gaze fixated again on a point beyond the Romulan. “That will not be necessary.”

“No?” A signal look passed between S'Rezli and the guard standing behind Kirk; without a word, the guard stepped up, jabbed a short hammer-punch into Kirk’s kidney; and Kirk gasped against the unexpected body-shock, eyes bugged open, then dropped helplessly to his knees. One rough hand yanked his right arm up behind his back, another grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked his head back sot that he was firmly locked twisted against a strong Romulan body.

All in an instant – and in that instant, Spock lunged at Kirk’s guard, ankles shackled but Vulcan blood flaming, to protect Jim from the suggested humiliation… and smacked down face-first onto the hardwood floor beneath the weight of the other guard. A brutal grip seized his left wrist and wrenched the arm up and back with Romulan strength, twisted it harder and harder until muscles and tendons and ligaments crackled with the strain. But Spock did not scream even though he had to gasp for breath between clenched teeth as the steadily increasing pressure threatened to dislocate his shoulder. And then the man’s other hand slid up to the juncture of Spock's neck and right shoulder, fingers dug into the muscle mass, found the neural plexus and pinched mercilessly. A stiletto of excruciating agony lanced up the side of Spock's head and down his right arm, electric fire as bad as the prod-stick; and the torturing fingers continued to grind burning nerves, not quite letting the victim pass out into anaesthetic oblivion, but holding him right on the razor-edge of conscious pain, sweating, jittering. And still Spock did not scream.

But Kirk did. “Let him go!” Kirk yelled, writhing impotently in his captor’s grip. “Goddamn, you bastards, let him go!”

“Ka’den,” the Romulan commandant finally spoke up from his lax position against the desk, and the guard immediately loosened the pain-compliance holds. “Let the Vulcan up,” S’Rezli ordered off-handedly, “but keep the human down on his knees where he belongs.”

A grip on Spock's upper arm assisted him awkwardly him to his feet. Once more he stood there, adamantly pounding back the physical and mental pain, face etched with tight lines of rigid control, not meeting the gaze of anyone else in the room. His heart still throbbed with adrenalin overdose, muscles still quivered.

“So… the stoic Vulcan,” S’Rezli smiled a barbed comment. “Pra’adith,” he sneered, and the Romulan vulgarity needled through Spock's battered armor. “So, the human filth means that much to you, Vulcan? Is that all it takes to make you lose control?”

“Spock…” Kirk’s voice gasped against the pain of his arm still locked behind his back, “… it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” the commandant countered. “He’s caught between wanting to protect you, and also wanting to protect his precious Vulcan dignity. He lost control in front of one of his own kind.”

“Does that amuse you?”

“It amuses me greatly, Captain.”

‘You’re a bastard.”

A negligent shrug. “I take that as a compliment. You’ll find out just how much of a bastard I am, Captain Kirk… and I intend to find out a great deal about you as well. Like what Federation representatives are doing on Romulan soil.”

Hazel eyes glared. “This isn’t Romulan soil. If Romulus claims it, it does so in violation of the Neutral Zone treaty.”

“No more than the Federation offering membership to Qithrati,” S'Rezli riposted. Almost sensually the Romulan combed his fingers through Kirk’s hair, then clutched abruptly as Kirk tried to pull away in disgust.

Angrily Kirk looked up at the commandant, unable to move while locked between S'Rezli and the guard behind twisting a fistful of hair as well. “We offered Federation alliance – we didn’t just move in armaments to conquer a weak planet. The people were free to accept our proposal or reject it. And we waited until the planet was within Federation space before we approached at all.”

S'Rezli smiled down at the human braced on spread knees, caught in Romulan hands. Casually he stroked a knuckle along the side of Kirk’s face. “We have already taken this system into the Romulan Empire… and we were willing to wait until it passed into Romulan space. So, you and your Federation are too late.”

“The Terranovans don’t seem to consider themselves Romulan subjects. And in any event, it’s a treaty violation for you and this whole base to even be here in the Neutral Zone.”

“No more so than for humans to live on Qithrati now. They are in violation of the treaty to live on a planet which wanders into Romulan space. How do we know that their ‘accidental’ colonization wasn’t really a Federation attempt to infiltrate spies into Romulan territory? We have the right to protect the Empire from enemy espionage.”

“You don’t have the right to infiltrate your own spies into Federation space.”

A sharp slap exploded fire across Kirk’s face, snapping his head back against the body behind him; then the molesting fingers continued to stroke his cheek patronizingly, and Kirk hated it.

“Tell me, Captain,” the commandant urged, “if the humans on Qithrati had accepted Federation membership, how did the Federation intend to ‘protect’ the planet once it reëntered the Zone? And especially when it moved back into Romulan space? Did you expect the Empire to simply make allowances for Federation… penetration?” A slight provocative pause on the last word, and Kirk squirmed angrily against the restraining grips.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Standing beside the captain, Spock felt heat boil up again. Vulcan control or not, if that man violated Kirk in any way, Spock knew that he would personally kill the Romulan without any hesitation or remorse. S'Rezli was tormenting Kirk with the intimate touches and suggestive innuendos, but the calculated obscenities were also deliberately intended to cut deeply into Spock’s mind and soul. With just their brief exchange a few moments earlier, Spock and S'Rezli had identified each other as adversaries. The commandant showed little interest in the elder Sarek, and Kirk’s human-ness held little challenge for the Romulan, but Spock and he had already sized each other up as equals. And Spock would make the man pay for every touch inflicted upon Kirk.

Uselessly and briefly Kirk struggled against the much-greater strength holding him down so easily on his knees; and Spock knew empathetic pain and the humiliation Kirk felt at having his human-weakness so pointedly illustrated in the presence of Vulcan and Romulan strength.

But whatever shame and loss of ego Kirk was feeling now, he forcibly thrust it under control. Heat flushed his reddened cheek. “Any discussion between Terranova and the Federation regarding protection or anything else,” he pronounced flatly, “is not yet a concern of Romulus – if ever.”

But S'Rezli only reminded, “Federation interest in anything regarding the Neutral Zone concerns Romulus. What are Federation capabilities in this sector? Surely one battle cruiser can’t be expected to protect a whole solar system, or even an entire planet. To offer such protection to Qithrati, you must have a base nearby. Where is it?”

Another inch of pressure on Kirk’s twisted arm, and the pain skinned his lips back over his teeth. “ ‘Captain James T. Kirk’,” he recited by rote, “ ‘United Federation of Planets, serial number SC-937-0176-CEC’.”

“Captain James T. Kirk, of the starship Enterprise.” The patronizing caresses stroked beneath his chin. “Where is your starship now, Captain? How can it protect Qithrati when it can’t even protect you?”

Kirk said nothing, face set and impassive as the two Vulcans beside him. The Romulan smiled; then struck Kirk full in the face again, knocking him back against the guard. Kirk grunted a protest of shock and pain. And when he looked up once more, blood oozing from nose and mouth, only hatred glittered in tear-wet human eyes, and frustrated rage quivered the tense human body.

Sarek’s level voice interrupted the climactic impasse. “To strike a restrained prisoner does not prove your strength, Commandant.”

Momentarily S'Rezli shifted his attention to the elder Vulcan. “I have nothing to prove, old man. I simply enjoy human pain… almost as much as I enjoy Vulcan flesh.” And reaching up to Sarek’s ear, he pinched the keenly sensitive ear-tip, pinched it hard enough that his thumbnail drew a tiny green line of blood. But Sarek did not cry out against the exquisite sensation, did not even flinch; and finally S'Rezli released the torment. “I’m sure you have a high tolerance for pain, Ambassador,” he acknowledged. “I’m curious to discover your limits. I find Vulcans challenging. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the delight of breaking one. The ultimate success is almost as gratifying as a good orgasm. I intend to receive a great deal of… satisfaction… from you and Commander Spock.”

Sarek did not respond to the crudity. Spock noted that the man was speaking more than figuratively: an anticipatory bulge swelled the trouser material over the Romulan’s groin and partway down his left thigh. No doubt one of them here in the room right now would receive the Romulan’s release before the night was through.

If Sarek saw their captor’s erection, he expressed no notice. Instead, he insisted, “Captain Kirk can offer you no challenge. Allow him to return to the barracks. A human is of no use to you.”

“On the contrary,” S'Rezli countered, “this human has great value to me. Obviously the two of you feel deep concern for him. And I have never had the chance to interrogate a Starfleet captain before. I’m sure he holds much information which will prove invaluable to Romulan High Command. Besides, I’m curious how a mere human could rise to a captaincy in your Federation, and why any cousin of Romulan blood would be willing to subordinate himself to such a being of infantile weakness.”

Kirk writhed in the guard’s grip. “If you think there’s anything you can do to make me spill my guts to you…”

“Captain, you have no idea what I can do to you. Unlike your Vulcan friends, you have no training to block pain stimuli or drug-induced coöperation…”

“T’vadala!”

The single word from Spock's lips snapped the Romulan’s attention to him like a barbed dart stinging soft flesh. No hint of emotion behind the outburst played on the severely graven Vulcan countenance, while a multi-phased pattern flickered over Romulan features: surprise, disgust, anger – and the commandant stepped up close to him, hovering over him by several inches, threat sparking in the man’s gaze.

“Obviously you wish to be interrogated first, Vulcan,” the commandant considered. “Very well, I shall grant that wish. I’ll taste you first, pra’adith, and then I’ll have your delicate little captain for dessert.”

Fingertips brushed Spock's arm, almost gently; and from the touch, fiery threads of emotions glittered through the telepathy center of his brain: lust, excited anticipation, cruel thirst. He shuddered despite his control. He did not even know if he would live through whatever S’Rezli had planned for him, but at least he had diverted the Romulan’s interest away from Kirk, if only momentarily. At least Jim wouldn’t yet suffer the torture and profound humiliation which Spock faced now. And if Spock did survive, he just might be able to formulate a method for Kirk to get through it too… if there was any way at all to do so.

Now the first and second fingers of S'Rezli’s right hand stroked almost sensually, suggestively, up his arm. The obscene mind-pictures that trailed though his mind from the touch made his stomach squirm; perversions that comprised the list of this man’s sexual and deviant practices.

… but at least Jim is safe for now…

… and that was all that really mattered.

And then the paired left fingers touched him to mirror their twins, and both alien hands glided up his stone-cast face… then abruptly latched onto his temples in a single fierce mind-probe that lanced for the very center of his self, and a high-amperage psychic charge blazed through his neural pathways in one illuminating flare of brilliance.

He gasped in shock and pain, nearly blacked out amid the piercing onslaught. In an instant, barriers slammed down deep inside himself to repel the invader, to protect the sanctity of his mind from brutal violation, self turned inward to do battle, away from outer reality. Agony pounded between his temples; he thought he heard from far away Kirk’s frantic call, “Spock!”… he wasn’t sure.

And then in another instant, the link severed, and S'Rezli’s hands dropped away from their victim; and Spock banged his knees on the hardwood floor, dragging heavy breath, muscles giving way to fine motor trembling.

So. The Romulan understood meld techniques. That shouldn’t have surprised him – he should have guessed sooner and been prepared for just such a lightning-bolt attack. He wondered how much S'Rezli had gotten out of him. It couldn’t have been much: Spock's shields had slammed into place before he ever thought consciously to do so, and the probe had lasted but a second. And yet he wondered… how much about the Enterprise, about Starfleet… about Jim? He had not expected it because he hadn't see it coming while they had been joined in touch-telepathy. S’Rezli had cunningly hidden his intention from Spock's empathic sense, so cunningly that Spock had not even thought to be alerted against the possibility… damn his own carelessness!... how could he ever protect Jim against such severe mental violation? Jim had some mental training, but not nearly enough to withstand a barrage like that.

“Spock!” Kirk called again, this time not so far away through mental fog. “Spock, are you all right?”

Spock managed a slight nod. “I… will be, Captain,” he got out a gasp.

… how much did S'Rezli learn?...

“What did you do to him?” Kirk raged against their tormentor. “You goddamned bastard!” Vigorously he writhed to free himself from the guard’s grip. “You goddamn fucking bastard! What did you do to him ?!”

This time S'Rezli did not even condescend to slap Kirk again for the vituperative tirade. Instead he spoke to his guards, while his gaze remained on the hunched Vulcan form before him. “Tavren, escort Ambassador Sarek and Captain Kirk to solitary. Selar, prepare Commander Spock in the interview chamber.”

From behind, the guard grabbed hold of Spock's left wrist – the arm that had nearly been dislocated – and shoved him toward a side door within the office, unmindful of the Vulcan’s renewed pain from the wrenched muscles. Compliantly Spock acquiesced to the situation, while Kirk protested and struggled every step of the way as he and Sarek were ushered back through the cabin foyer and out into the rain-soaked night once again.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Pain. It followed him no matter how far he retreated into the depths of his consciousness. Physical pain and mental anguish… and he could hide from neither. S'Rezli’s mind-touches caressed him, teased him, like an insect impaled in a specimen box.

Duality of sensation ebbed and flowed through his being: of protective shielding blunting and repelling the persistent mental probes seeking his pain limits, his pleasure centers; yet also of sensations praeternaturally distinct and sharp, the hardness of the thinly padded exam table upon which he lay naked face-up, the tight restriction of shackles locking his wrists beneath the table and his ankles to stirrups, the edge of the table pressing into his buttocks, the cutting straps binding his bent and spread knees to the table side-rails.

Now S'Rezli’s hands left Spock's temples to travel down his body once again. Uneasily Spock squirmed. He wanted to slip into a deep coma-like trance to block out all awareness of what was happening to him, but perversely his body refused to relax enough to reach any profound meditative state. And perhaps it was just as well – he didn’t dare drift too far away, lest S'Rezli slip beneath his guard unnoticed. So far, he had been able to defend his mind against the obscene intrusion, but there was no way to protect his body. However, the body’s needs were secondary now; mandatorily it was the mind which must remain inviolate throughout this experience.

Fingertips stroked like silk… and like silk rubbed on glass, static electricity seemed to follow in the wake of the negligent caresses, stinging raw expectant nerve endings. Peremptorily he fought down the involuntary reactive twitching and jerking of his limbs. Touches glossed over sensitive belly muscles, carded through coarse pubic hair, discovered his limp penis and stroked it with the back of a fingernail. At that, Spock’s hips jerked, and a gasp escaped his guarding lips… must control, must divorce the mind from this obscenity… do not react… do not…

Fingers closed about the shaft, gently began rubbing the loose skin up and down the soft core, thumb caressed the unsheathed head so spongy soft. Another gasp, almost a tiny sob broke from Spock's throat… relax the body… non-resistance… all the experience to flow through without affecting the self… relax…

Thumbnail probed the urethral opening. Overly-sensitive nerves tingled all the way up to the solar plexus. Fist encircled the organ more firmly, began pumping in earnest now, vigorously. Adamantly Spock controlled blood circulation, and the stimulated flesh remained lax in the tormenting grip. S'Rezli kept it up anyway, jerking the organ, then reached his other hand to squeeze a keenly tender scrotal sac, squeeze it and twist it until its owner cried out.

S'Rezli smiled. “Vulcani’sha t’vadala,” he hissed, holding the tension on pain-throbbing balls. “Think of me doing this to your delicate human.” – punctuated the suggestion with a sudden sharp yank – “Think of him screaming and writhing, begging me to stop.” – massaged the squishy flesh against unyielding pubic bone – “Think, Vulcan, of his soft flesh opening up to me, as I slide into his bowels and fill him with my essence.” – hand on the penis releasing it and slipping down between spread legs, one finger touching the anal orifice.

Reflexively Spock's hips jerked; instinctively he tried to draw his legs together, but the bonds spreading his knees prevented it. The finger teased the sensitive opening, then jabbed in; and once again Spock made a little noise as he was digitally violated, and a shudder trembled through his body. The possibility of this man doing the same to Kirk sickened him beyond anything he’d felt in his life. There had to be a way to protect Kirk from this monstrous savagery… some way without compromising Starfleet or the Federation.

A second finger joined the first, slid in and out, purposefully prodding sensitive internal organs, pulled out, then rammed in again, and Spock groaned. He could physically block the pain, but there was no way to ignore the degradation or the humiliating – and dangerous – potential to Kirk. The fingers rammed hard, rammed and twisted inside; and the continuous friction burned his anus and rectum.

And then momentarily the commandant interrupted the torment; withdrew his fingers to unfasten his own belt and trousers and free a jade-hard Romulan cock, then stepped up close to the table-end and pressed his loins against Spock's perineum. A moist finger trailed down the inside of Spock's thigh, and a calm voice assured, “I am going to take you, Vulcan. We are going to learn a great deal about each other tonight.”

Now Spock looked at his tormentor, etched face rigidly unemotional as he spoke for the first time since the torture had begun. “I already know you… too well.” The words cracked open cut lips.

S'Rezli smiled. “Perhaps you do. Then know this as well, pra’adith.” And gripping Spock's buttocks with both hands, he forced open the sphincter muscle with his thumbs, positioned his swollen penis to the aperture and pushed in.

Despite himself, Spock moaned, lurched his pelvis to escape the intrusion, but only succeeded in impaling himself deeper on the steel-hard flesh. Little by little the probe opened him up, sawing back and forth, working its way deep into the hot core of his body. Spock writhed; he could not prevent himself from reacting, yet all his movement only made it worse. The Romulan held his hips, forced Spock to ram down on the organ, forced their bodies into tighter coition; and the touch of flesh on flesh bombarded Spock's senses with Romulan passion and savagery, all that S’Rezli did not deliberately shield from him.

Never until now, in all his adult life, had Spock felt the sting of unshed tears in his eyes. Such a violation – not only of body but of mind. In years of Starfleet duty, he had faced danger, capture, abuse, but never like this: sexual cruelty meant to utterly abase the victim, and a mind that matched his own trying to rip apart his barriers. And his eyes ached not just for himself alone, but for his friends and for other Vulcans who had experienced such vicious brutality at Romulan hands.

The huge weapon filled him, settled to the hilt inside his bowels, the hot pendulous balls pressed against his buttocks, coarse pubic hair scratched the inner skin of his gluteal cleavage.

And then S'Rezli bent forward to lie on top of him, and long fingers reached up to his temples once again to rape his psyche as surely as the throbbing cock now fucked his body.

“Give me what I want,” the Romulan hissed. “The more you give to me, the less I will have to take from your precious human, and the more of his mind will be left intact.”

The words stung Spock's ears as the thoughts stabbed his mind, and there was only one answer. Coldly, sternly, his mind locked down, disciplined all mental emanations, and tightened his body to fight. S’Rezli wanted resistance, wanted to match Romulan power to Vulcan, wanted an equal to pour his energy into without holding back; in fact, he craved physical satiety even more than he cared about completing the mind probe right now. Very well, Spock would give him that, would struggle, resist, surrender his body to S'Rezli’s obscenities. And perhaps in doing so, he would buy time for Jim.

There were no other options.

He could feel the thing swelling even harder inside him, demanding possession of him or threatening to rupture the barely-accommodating channel. Paired fingers pressed his temples, and he could feel S'Rezli’s essence piercing into his self just as surely as if steel rods drove into his skull and sank into the soft meat of his brain.

And Vulcan fury exploded – a storm of energy surging forth to clash against the foul intruder – and the abrupt counter-attack jarred Romulan essence off-balance. A rage that had deliberately been kept closely leashed all the years around weaker humans; the same intense capability that Romulus flaunted and used, while Vulcan repressed it beneath veneers of civility and intellectual control.

A chuckle of surprise and delight broke from S'Rezli’s lips. His loins rocked back, withdrawing the thick prod until just the slick sensitive head remained within the wet tunnel, then slammed it back in, and Spock's body lurched with the brute force. Only the shackles and bindings kept him from tumbling off the table, and indeed were strong enough to withstand even Romulan – or Vulcan – concentrated strength. He tensed his muscles, but could not break them.

Again out, then another ram up inside him, hot friction tearing delicate anal tissue. Again, and again, incessant pounding against his prostate and other internal parts, bruising them horribly, painfully. Spock wrestled against his bonds, against himself for wanting to scream in pain and rage, against the devil-spawn who racked into him time after time after time. Harmonic feedback passed between them through the mind-link – Spock's agony and S'Rezli’s undamped passion – as they battled body-to-body and mind-to-mind.

Convulsively S'Rezli heaved and thrust into his victim, body trembling with the intensity of his assault, sweat staining his uniform and dripping from his face. Moaning breath rasped from his throat, accenting each ramrod jerk into Spock's agonized channel. Then just for the hell of it, he bit Spock's right breast, allowed Spock another jolt of pain to add to all the others that tormented the Vulcan right now.

Spock acknowledged the pain – the body could be healed later – all his shielding power now protected his mind. The insidious mind-probe sought military data, sought information about Jim, sought anything that could be used against them. And Spock resolutely blocked it with every bit of skill and training he had, holding at bay hundreds of little fire-tendrils all seeking points of weakness to needle in and steal whatever they could. A few made it through to snatch a smattering of inconsequential thoughts as Spock concentrated most of his defenses on vital and confidential areas.

And then suddenly a white-hot orgasmic blaze obliterated all thought – even the mind-probe – and like a rutting animal, S'Rezli shot his fluid into the lacerated wound, came and came, grunting and gasping his release all the way, hard intense bursts that scalded Spock's torn membranes like acid, rough breathless grunts that violated his ears, heavy muscular body that writhed wantonly atop his adrenalin-quivering frame.

Until finally the grotesquery was over; and sagging in sated exhaustion, S'Rezli withdrew the brutal weapon from Spock's raw opening, and that last maneuver just added one more pain to all the rest which screamed throughout his devastated being.

But through the entire horror, he had never cried, and S'Rezli had not gotten the sought-after information from Spock's battered mind; and although his body and mind had been desecrated, he knew that his self remained inviolate.

And he had bought time for Kirk, and he knew that too.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Panting heavily, S’Rezli stepped back from the naked bound figure on the exam table. The procedure had been pleasurable, extremely gratifying. Interrogation was something he was very good at – and something he enjoyed. To take the body and the mind of a prisoner – especially a Vulcan – was an exquisite sensation.

The Vulcan on the table barely acknowledged the guard unlocking his ankles from the table stirrups. With a soft grunt, he lowered his knees and let his legs dangle over the end of the table, while the guard moved to the side to free his wrists. His eyes were closed, bruised bloody face drawn tightly in a futile effort to mentally control his body’s pain and rage over the horror which had just occurred.

S'Rezli smiled as he refastened his uniform trousers. He had gained very little military knowledge from the prisoner, but that was to be expected from a Vulcan trained to shield his mind from unwelcome intrusion. And this one had been trained exceptionally well. But no matter, that would come later. Invariably it took several attempts to break Vulcan prisoners – the first time S'Rezli never tried to go deeper than the first few levels of consciousness. The first interview was merely to explore the prisoner’s psyche, to stress him, to humiliate him, to determine how best to get past his defenses the next time.

Manacles snapped about the prisoner’s wrists after he was dragged to unsteady feet., then the Vulcan was guided hobbling out of the interrogation room. A amused smile tugged at S’Rezli’s lips as he noted the viscid smear of green blood and glistening semen dribbling down the Vulcan’s thighs from his torn anus and rectum. Yes, it had been exceedingly satisfying. The rage, the shame, the power of a Vulcan body… The thought teased Romulan genitals toward another erection.

It had been a long time since he’d indulged in a strength to match his own. Other than the Romulan guard Tavren with whom he infrequently joined, the human prisoners took his fluid whenever he felt like relieving himself. But humans were so fragile, their asses so tender, that any uncontrolled passion on his part usually led to hemorrhagic death. The Vulcan had received the Romulan’s fluid and unleashed intensity; he bled from the ravagement and would have trouble walking for the next few days, but at least he wouldn’t die.

And S'Rezli looked forward eagerly to the next interrogation. Ruthlessly he would exploit the one weak spot in the Vulcan’s shield: the feelings for the human, Kirk, the captain of their ship. A tiny snort of disgust escaped the Romulan’s nostrils. A human captain. No Romulan would ever willingly subordinate to an inferior species – he couldn’t imagine why a Vulcan would either. And yet this Vulcan did so loyally, even eagerly; and each time that the mind-probe had neared that particular subject, Vulcan shields had slammed down like tritanium bay-doors. That very force pleased S'Rezli – obviously the Vulcan had a soft spot which could be exploited, used for torment, break him open to confess anything that the interviewer wanted.

There were many different interrogation tools to use, each with its own advantages and disadvantages. The forced mind-meld was only one. There were compliance drugs that could undermine mental discipline, drugs to cause pain, and of course numerous mechanical devices. Direct physical pain was usually less than effective on Vulcans; however, quite compelling when used on humans. Perhaps a neural prod used on that human captain in front of his first-officer. Or perhaps something to force that proud though fragile human to beg, allow the Vulcan to see his captain broken before his eyes.

Pulsing blood renewed a Romulan erection.

Regarding military information, that would come from a private, thorough interrogation of the human. No human had the required mental discipline to resist an intensive mind-probe. Perhaps this one’s command-training would offer some minor resistance, but only very minor, then his mind would be ripped apart like the gossamer thing that it was, and all his confidential knowledge of Starfleet strengths and weaknesses, tactics and strategy, would be helplessly bared for the taking. Human minds were as fragile as human bodies. It would be easy, obscenely easy.

S'Rezli reëntered his office, dropped down into his chair. Gently his cock and balls throbbed. Perhaps tomorrow he would fuck the Vulcan again, maybe take him into the therapy cell for more intensive questioning. Perhaps the older Vulcan, the ambassador, should be interviewed as well; no doubt he held some information of value other than military. And of course the Terran captain. The human would learn just how puny he was against Romulan strength. And Romulan desire.

And finally, when S’Rezli was through with the three Federation prisoners, he would notify Romulus. Surely his success in gaining Federation secrets would more than restore his fallen honor in the eyes of the Fleet Commander. Perhaps it would even restore his ship to him. That these three had come into his possession was certainly an act of Providence, an opportunity to leave this shameful chapter of his life far behind him.

A familiar icy anger settled in his belly. From a decanter on the corner of his desk, he poured himself a glass of Lledya nectar. The alcoholic heat would dispel his mental chill.

Three-point-seven years had passed since he’d been exiled to this barren little piece of rock on the outskirts of the Empire, three-point-seven years since he’d last seen his family back on the home- planet. Oh, it hadn't been called exile, but that was what it was. His crew had mutinied, and Fleet Command had listened to them. Listened to their accusations of his lack of fitness, his weaknesses, his indulgences; and stripped him of his ship. And the Commander S’Ter had offered two alternatives: be stripped of his rank as well, or accept assignment on the Qithran outpost and oversee the construction of the new base. If he could overcome his preferences for ‘indulgences’ and ensure that the base was fully operational by the time that Qithra moved back into Federation space, then his honor would be restored to him.

Well, damn S’Ter, and damn his own crew for bringing this upon him. The base would be ready, all right. Qithrati, the humans’ world, on the other side of the sun had already moved into Federation territory; and in another two-hundred and fifteen days, Qithra’s orbit would bring it in as well. By then the base would be up and fully shielded from prying Federation scanners, and from it the Empire could launch reconnaissance missions all over this sector of Federation space.

Yes, the job here was an important one, and perhaps he should be grateful for the opportunity to redeem himself and his honor. Other ship commanders in similar circumstances had forfeited their lives as well as their commissions. But discipline was discipline – and his had been undeserved. And as for his ‘indulgences’, well, every member of his crew had some too, and S’Rezli knew that even S’Ter enjoyed a few excesses. However S'Rezli had wisely known when to keep his mouth shut, and for that he might have received unwarranted punishment, but at least he still lived.

And that life was soon to change – for the better. In addition to completing his assignment, he had three valuable Federation prisoners within his grasp at this very moment, prisoners from whom he would wring complete confessions, then turn them over to Romulus for the Empire’s use. A starship captain, his second-in-command, and a high-ranking ambassador. Valuable indeed. Aside from the military information gained, their propaganda-worth was inestimable, and their personal value an added bonus. A certain Fleet Commander had a taste for Vulcan meat: he would appreciate the gift… even if the gift arrived slightly used.

And S’Rezli would walk a ship’s deck once again.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

A rough voice roused Terrence out of sleep an hour early. “Get up, Doctor. You’ve got a patient waiting.” A hand shook his shoulder. The voice and the hand belonged to Peterson, the young human assigned to S'Rezli’s front office. Frequently he brought work to the infirmary – whatever was left after S’Rezli’s evening entertainment.

“Who is it?” Doctor Terrence questioned, climbing groggily out of bed and reaching for his clothes laid out nearby. He and his colleague, Harry Mears, slept in a room right off the clinic – Mears had gotten off work some time earlier and had gone to bed, and Terrence’s shift wasn’t scheduled to start for another few hours.

Peterson led the way to the exam room. “It’s one of the new prisoners who came in a few weeks ago. One of those aliens. The commandant just interviewed him.”

Terrence followed the young man through the doorway, and immediately felt a familiar wave of disgust and frustration when he saw the abused bloody form strapped to the table. As a physician, he was inured to the messy sight of torn flesh, but there was no way to get used to the grotesque evidence of one being’s brutality upon another. It took no diagnostic skill to see what had been done to the victim.

The man strapped down was one of the Vulcans, the younger one who was only part Vulcan and part something else, probably human. His blood chemistries were different than the older Vulcan’s. The older man’s lab results read very similar to a Romulan’s; this one’s were like a hybrid’s, like Captain S'Rezli’s. The commandant was half-Romulan, half-human, and Terrence had had to modify treatments to work on him for the several occurrences when the captain had required his healing skills – how many times had Terrence berated himself for not repudiating his Hippocratic oath and taking the Romulan’s life when he’d had the chance, even if it would have meant sacrificing his own life. Except that even if he were to succeed, the commandant would only have been replaced, and more humans would have died in retaliation. It was too late now anyway – he only hoped that at least some of the treatment modifications could be applied to S'Rezli’s victim now.

The patient – named Spock, Terrence recalled – lay unmoving on the exam table, naked, eyes closed, face set with tense control. Greenish-yellow bruises discolored the sallow skin all over, dried blood dirtied his mouth and nose, the long gaunt body bore glaring marks of abuse: whip cuts on the face and shoulders, electric burns on arms and legs, and of course the savage evidence of rape between bruised thighs.

“Fix him up, Doctor,” Peterson ordered curtly. “The commandant wants him in shape for another interview by tonight.”

Already Terrence’s fingers were exploring inflicted damage. “He’ll be in shape whenever, depending on the soundness of his personal constitution. You tell S'Rezli that he can’t command healing and neither can I. I can only clean up after him – I can’t work miracles.”

“You’re only allowed to work here at all because Captain S'Rezli allows it,” the youth reminded bluntly. “If he ever gets tired of you, you can easily end up in this bastard’s place.

Terrence blandly acknowledged the threat. “You were pretty grateful last month that I was here, Mister Peterson, when I sewed you up after Tavren worked you over. Do you think S'Rezli would have given a damn about you if you’d died instead? What’s one human more or less to him?”

To that, Peterson didn’t have a ready answer, and the medic brushed him aside brusquely. “Now, get out of here, and let me work on my patient.”

“I’ll be back in an hour,” the young man announced, hand on the doorknob. “Have him ready by then to be transferred to a cell.” The door closed behind him.

Terrence ignored the youth’s exit, as he concerned himself with the bloody form on the table. The injured alien moaned in half-conscious pain.

“Commander Spock,” Terrence urged, releasing the restraining straps.

Another moan. “Jim…” the bruised lips managed weakly.

The medic brought a basin of warm water and a washcloth to the table. “I’m Doctor Terrence, Commander. Can you hear me? Do you remember me?”

Dark eyes slitted open. “I… remember you.”

Carefully the doctor cleaned away dried blood and the mess smearing trembling thighs. “You’re in the infirmary now. I’m going to help you as best I can. I’ll give you some medication for your pain.”

The dark head shook listlessly. “No medication… I can… control the pain…”

Greenish blood continued to seep from the torn anal tissue as the medic cleansed the area carefully. “At least let me give you a tranquilizer. I need to lavage you and suture your lacerations, and you’ll be more comfortable with something to help relax you.”

Another shake of head, weak but adamant. “I wish… no drugs of any kind… The discomfort of the procedures… can be no worse… than that which has already… been inflicted upon me.”

“Probably not,” Terrence agreed, leaving Spock's side momentarily to dump the basin of dirty water and refill it. “But I prefer not to inflict any discomfort at all.” He washed Spock’s battered face, briefly fingered a cut over one cheekbone, and the puffiness about one eye. Obviously S’Rezli had taken the time to cuff his victim around a bit before ultimately fucking the sense out of him.

Spock's dull gaze watched the practitioner tending him efficiently yet sympathetically. “Why do you do this?” the Vulcan inquired in an almost detached manner. “Is it not a waste of your time when you know that the commandant will only undo your work shortly?”

But the medic only reminded, “It’s never a waste of time to help a fellow-sufferer – no matter how little one can offer or for however short a time.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Spock allowed.

The doctor’s touch moved down his patient’s body, cleaning and examining, trying to soothe with just his presence. Most of S'Rezli’s victims he couldn’t do anything for – they didn’t live to be put back together again. But this one had survived, probably because of super-human stamina, and Terrence determined to do his best to keep the man alive.   God, if only someone could stop that bastard before he picked himself another victim to rip apart. Sooner or later that Earth human, Captain Kirk, would find himself an evening distraction for S'Rezli… and he would not have the stamina to survive. Even Terrence himself was not protected if the commandant chose to take him someday – that little punk Peterson had been right about that. He had no immunity, and S'Rezli knew full well how he felt about the Romulan occupation. The only reason he’d lasted this long was no doubt simply because S'Rezli had no interest in him and knew that the doctor was in no position to initiate a revolt.

But anyway, he couldn’t worry about his own future now, when he had a patient who needed him.

The cool wet washcloth bathed scabbed-over whip cuts on Spock's shoulders and arms, then gently Terrence urged him to roll over onto his left side to expose the lacerated flesh of his back. A few of the deeper cuts had torn open again during S'Rezli’s assault, and now bled afresh.

Finally the doctor put aside the basin, then carefully assisted Spock to brace himself on his side and bend his upper knee, thereby allowing access to the tender perineal area and the worst of the damage.

“Now, this part is going to be the most uncomfortable,” Terrence announced, laying a kindly hand on his patient’s hip. “I’m going to wash you out, then laser-suture your cuts.”

“Do… what you must… Doctor…” Spock gasped.

“I still wish you’d let me give you something for the pain. I know this is difficult for you.”

Long fingers clutched the table edge. “I… do not require drugs… I do not want them…” the weak voice insisted again. “Please proceed…”

From the cupboards Terrence retrieved the necessary instruments and set them out on a nearby counter. He filled the lavage apparatus with lukewarm water, then set about inserting the tubing into his patient. “I’m sorry,” he tried to soothe again, knowing that there was really nothing he could say to ease his patient. Despite his professional manner, to the man on the table this would seem little different that the ravagement which the commandant had inflicted upon him such a short time before.

… damn S'Rezli! If only there was some way to stop him, some way to end this whole obscenity perpetrated against the Terranovans. In the past three years, Terrence had seen so many of his fellow-countrymen upon this same table, suffering wounds and miseries that they shouldn’t have suffered. And he did what he could to ease their pain, but it wasn’t enough. As Commander Spock had noted, it was only temporary. Anything he could do was only temporary. Some of the men here now would die beneath Romulan hands; most would return home, but only to be replaced by another group of slave laborers – and the vicious travesty would begin all over again.

Except that maybe now there was more that he could do, something beyond futile efforts to simply maintain and keep on maintaining. Perhaps these off-worlders could help… if only their Federation was strong enough and willing to help, and if these men could escape from here and get back to their people.

“Commander,” he ventured, partly to investigate the possibility, and partly take his patient’s mind off the somewhat-humiliating procedure, “this United Federation of Planets where you and your friends are from – is it under Romulan influence, as this system is?”

A brief shake of head. “No.”

Finishing up the procedure, he assisted the injured man to sit up. “I was just wondering if they would be willing and able to help Terranova fight off the Romulans. I will do what I can to help you escape and return to your people. Maybe I don’t have the right to ask you to involve yourselves in our troubles, but my people desperately need assistance.”

Spock said nothing, and Terrence began cleaning up his instruments. “I understand if you don’t want to, or if you can’t talk to me. I realize you probably suspect me of being an informer anyway, just trying to milk information from you. But I’m not, and I’ll still do what I can for you whether or not you can help us.”

Wincing with discomfort, Spock finally replied, “I have… guessed that you are not an informer… I shall relay your request to Captain Kirk … and if we are able to return to the Federation … we shall let them know… of your difficulties.”

“Terranova doesn’t have the manpower or the armaments to kick out the Romulans by itself, but with outside help, we’re willing to fight. I’m sure I speak for the vast majority of my countrymen. And of course we’d pay back the Federation in any way we could. Just let me know what I can do.”

“You are doing much right now, Doctor… I thank you…”

Carefully the medic dabbed a little more blood seeping from a gash on Spock's face. “And I’d better finish up here before that little bastard, Peterson, comes back for you. Are you sure you don’t want any anaesthetic?”

“Yes… I am sure…”

“Well, it’s available if you change your mind. Now this is going to hurt without it, so I’ll do my best to be quick.” And the Terrence went to work cauterizing and suturing all of the open wounds.

At first, Spock flinched and grunted against the discomfort, but then slipped into a self-hypnotic trance, and from that point on, did not feel the pain or anything that the doctor did to him.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Oneness.

A sound of wind-chimes, like the temple bells on Mount K’Tal, where he had taken Spock as a child – how many years ago? … a sound of water or wind rushing through a subterranean cavern… a montage of colors swirling, of light and dark, of shadows, of essences, of beings… the presence of the Masters, of minds in tune, of the One Mind over all…

He felt at ease here; after all, he had spent a great deal of time here since his attainment of this level of Awareness, since his spiritual journey beyond the Void. Here was Absolute Peace and contemplation with the Masters, far removed from the shallow scurryings of material life and the vicissitudes of physical pain and pleasure. Upon this plane of existence, his life force could not be threatened or harmed; indeed, danger did not even exist at this level. He could remain here indefinitely, beyond anyone’s power to inflict evil upon his being – except that back on the material plane waited a young man in terrible mental anguish who did not know the meditative techniques for shifting to the astral planes of existence beyond pain. And that young man desperately needed support and comfort in a much more physical – and much less metaphysical – manifestation of reality.

So, gradually his consciousness descended back to the denser planes, now touching his son’s essence and noting that Spock was engaged in a healing trance, now drifting near to Kirk’s being, that incorporeal essence of himself of which the human was only vaguely aware… drifting down until the physical world gathered itself about him once more.

Sarek opened his eyes.

Kirk sat on the bench across from him in the tiny cramped cell which they now occupied, a thin blanket about his shoulders, elbows resting on knees and head cradled in hands, half in sleep and half in despair. Spock had not been returned to them yet.

Early morning sun hiding behind the ever-present rain clouds had begun to lighten the world, but the breeze that swirled in through the high barred window was still night-chill, and Sarek pulled his own threadbare blanket closer around himself.

Hours had passed since the Romulan guard had escorted them here and left them alone with their thoughts and the helpless realization of what was soon to occur to their comrade back in the commandant’s quarters. Some time later their cell-door had groaned open, and both of them had looked up expectantly – Kirk starting off the bench in anticipation – but it had only been another guard bringing a couple of bowls of table scraps and a container of water from breakfast. And Kirk had collapsed back in utter disappointment and futility, and Sarek had seen such desolation on the younger man’s face that seemed to add at least ten years of weariness and fatigue to the tired countenance.

“Captain Kirk,” the older man gently interrupted the quietude, “I sense that Spock is resting now. The difficulties seem to have been temporarily suspended.”

Stiffly Kirk raised his head, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Sarek thought he saw a glint of moisture in those hazel eyes. “He’s alive?” the captain queried, hardly knowing whether to believe or not. “How badly is he hurt?”

Sarek shook his head. “That I cannot tell, but he is alive and he is recuperating now.”

“Thank god,” Kirk breathed, and tensed muscles loosened slightly. With a quiet grunt, he stretched and straightened cramped limbs. The announcement of even a little good news seemed to infuse an extra spark of energy into his flagging spirit. With a bit of interest, he took note of the breakfast which had been left, tried a few mouthfuls of the mush and gristly meat, then pushed the bowl aside and swallowed a gulp of water to rinse away the stale taste. Since it was all they had to eat, he offered some to Sarek, but the Vulcan only shook his head.

Again Kirk leaned back against the wall, staring idly up at the barred window. “So, you and Spock speak Romulan?” he commented, to make conversation in the boredom of their confinement.

“Yes. It is not a difficult language to master. It is an off-shoot of the Vulcan tongue.” Sarek spoke to divert the other man, if only momentarily, from the hellishness of their situation. “As you know, the Romulan people were originally from Vulcan – they left the planet two-thousand years ago because of ideological disagreements. Though time the two languages developed differently, but they are still basically understandable.”

“Sir…” Kirk was frowning down at the floor. “When we were all in the commandant’s office, what did he say that you and Spock reacted so abruptly to?”

Sarek hesitated, recalling the obscenity that the Romulan captain had voiced. Neither he nor Spock would have responded at all to the man’s verbal abuse, but to direct an insult at Kirk in a language which the human couldn’t understand had been inexcusable.

Kirk misinterpreted Sarek’s delay in responding. “If I shouldn’t have asked that, I’ll take it back. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, Captain, you have not offended,” Sarek quickly assured. “My thoughts were momentarily distracted. Captain S'Rezli expressed a vulgarity regarding the relationship between you and my son. Spock later returned the same sentiment to him, in an effort to draw the commandant’s attention away from you.”

“… And that was when S'Rezli took him.”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Frustration creased the line between Kirk’s brows. “I don’t want to be used to manipulate you and Spock. Please don’t let that Romulan bastard do that to us.”

“Captain, what would you have done in Spock's place?”

Hazel eyes looked up, clear and bright with pain, yet Sarek saw a strength there, something beyond the weak human flesh, something that allowed this young man to face adverse circumstances with as much presence of mind as any Vulcan, some immaterial strength which the Romulan commandant in his ethnocentric prejudice didn’t see at all, or chose not to recognize. Soon Kirk would be forced to face S'Rezli alone, despite anything Spock had managed to accomplish with his brief insolence, but Sarek sensed that the human’s concern, even so, focussed upon Spock's condition, rather than his own upcoming difficulties.

And then resignation softened the human face. “The same,” he admitted quietly. “I’d’ve done exactly the same.”

Sarek’s gentle gaze rested on the younger man. “It is illogical to deny that we are hostages for each other. The Romulan and Klingon races often boast that they give no hostages to love – and perhaps that does free them from certain moral dilemmas, but I for one would not choose to live in a society which sacrifices friendship for situational expediency.”

Kirk nodded silently and settled back into the greyness of his own discouraged thoughts. Sarek watched him, and was reminded of times in the past when Amanda had craved emotional comfort, human comfort, and he had been unable to fully answer her need. He allowed himself the regret now and the realization that quite possibly he would never see her again. But he would offer his support to his son and his son’s captain here as long as he was able.

Several pairs of footsteps approached their cell, one set obviously shuffling and faltering amid weak panting and gasping for breath.

Instantly Kirk thrust to his feet. “Spock!” he called out.

The human guard looked in through the small window in the otherwise-solid door. “Stay back,” he ordered, then a series of electronic tones beeped as he disarmed the lock mechanism, and the door swung open.

Then the guard entered the cell along with Doctor Terrence, and together they braced Spock's weak body between them.

“Spock,” Kirk insisted again, as the two men lowered the Vulcan into a seated position on a thin mattress pad on the floor near Sarek’s bench. The guard stood up without further concern for the injured man’s comfort, while the doctor took the time to drape a blanket over Spock's shoulders. Spock's trembling fingers grasped the material edges and pulled it closer about himself.

“Jim…” Spock whispered.

“It’s all right, Spock,” Kirk urged gently, kneeling down beside his companion and laying a hand on a rain-damp pant-leg. Swollen greenish bruises messed the stoic face. “Sarek and I are here. How are you doing now?”

Spock shivered, partly from the cold and partly from accumulated stress, and did not answer.

Kirk glanced up inquiring eyes at the medic. “What happened to him? What did they do to him?”

A last look over his patient, as if searching for any injuries missed previously. “Your friend was beaten and sexually assaulted. I don’t doubt that the commandant invaded his mind as well. Unfortunately, that I can do nothing about. Captain S'Rezli has some kind of telepathic ability that I don’t understand, but I know he uses it to get inside prisoners’ minds while he rapes their bodies.”

Greater concern tightened Kirk’s words. “Is Spock's mind all right?” Hesitance, as though he didn’t quite want to hear the answer. “Was it damaged in any way?”

“I’m afraid psychology’s not my specialty, so I can’t really give you an authoritative answer,” the doctor admitted helplessly. “But at least he’s been coherent ever since he came to the infirmary. He put himself into some kind of trance while I was working on him, but otherwise he’s been alert and appropriately responsive.”

The guard’s grip on Terrence’s shoulder interrupted the doctor. “C’mon,” the young man insisted. “Let’s go. Your patient doesn’t need you anymore.”

In irritation Terrence jerked away. “I say when my patients don’t need me anymore.” But at the kid’s belligerent glare, he stepped back a step, then assured Kirk and Sarek, “I’ll look in on Commander Spock later today.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sarek acknowledged, as the guard urged the physician out of the cell. The door slammed shut once again.

“Spock,” Kirk murmured, reaching up to lay a hand on the side of a tautly-drawn Vulcan face. Worried pain lined the human’s face as he tried to read something, anything, in the shadowed eyes. “Spock, how bad is it? Please talk to us, please say something.”

Another uncontrollable shiver, eyes tightened against the desperate struggle to overcome the profound humiliation and pain, then the deep voice responded tremulously, “I am… in difficulty… Captain…”

… and Sarek could see the answering pain on the face of his son’s friend, and knew that it was no less than his own for his son.

“Father…” Spock whispered, “… I require… assistance…”

“Of course, my son.”

Sarek moved from the bench; sat down beside the younger man on the floor, and eased Spock down to half-lie in his lap. Gently Kirk helped straighten Spock's blanket, then assisted Sarek to arrange the second blanket around them both. He started to offer his own as well, but Sarek interrupted him.

“Thank you, Captain. These will suffice, and you must retain your own body-warmth as well.”

“All right,” Kirk agreed reluctantly, settling himself to sit against the wall on the other side of Spock, and rested a comforting touch on Spock's knee.

Then Sarek’s fingers slipped to Spock's head, to the meld points on either side on the pained face, and gradually he let his consciousness drift down to mingle with his son’s. Spock released his mental shields to allow access to the violated portions of his psyche. Gently Sarek glossed over the injured parts to ascertain the extent of the damage first. He was not a healer, but he was skilled enough to at least minimize the injury until a healer could be sought – if they lived through this situation to make it back to Vulcan. And because of the lingering shadows of the parent-child bond, an affinity linked their minds, by which Sarek could move with ease through his son’s unshielded thoughts.

An almost physical burning pain flared in their joined minds, as though Spock's brain had literally suffered damage while beneath Romulan torment. Sarek felt a shock wave shiver through the younger man at the psychic touch upon a still-tender essence, and Spock gasped, but the father’s soothing presence eased the fiery anguish like a balm. And finally Spock relaxed enough, now that Sarek guarded his psyche, to enter a deeper healing trance than he had been able to earlier by himself.

Everything that S'Rezli had inflicted upon Spock, every horror, Sarek saw, experienced, but deliberately prevented himself from reacting to. There would be time later to examine and assimilate the brutal knowledge, to cleanse himself of his own pain and rage at his child’s violation; now he must resolutely refuse to allow the grotesquery to hinder his performance of his duty watching over his offspring’s safety.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

“Captain…”

Spock's half-slurred voice roused Kirk from his twilight sleep against the hard cement wall. Unwrapping himself from the thin blanket, Kirk moved closer to the long gaunt figure still reclining with head in Sarek’s lap. “I’m here, Spock. How are you feeling now?”

A hazy rectangle of cloudy sunlight from the high window framed the two Vulcans sitting on the cold floor.

Stiffly Spock sat up from his father’s arms, and nodded once briefly. “I am healing.”

Sarek assisted him to regain his equilibrium and lean back against the wall, then draped his own thin blanket around Spock's shoulders, tucked in Spock's own blanket around shivering legs, as he noted, “You were not in the trance long enough or deeply enough, my son. Your injuries are still apparent, and you are still weak. Allow me to continue aiding you…”

“Father, there is no more time,” Spock interrupted abruptly, reaching a hand to his still-aching head. Carefully he shifted position, obviously guarding against the remaining pain in his abdomen and buttocks. “Have you or the captain been interrogated yet?”

“No, we have been left here unharmed ever since we were removed from Captain S'Rezli’s office.”

“Then Jim must be prepared. We do not know when the commandant will call for him.”

“Spock, it’s all right,” Kirk tried to assure, tried to belie the anxiety in his own gut. “I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be. Whatever they do to me, I’ll hold out for as long as I can.” Empathy from Spock's pain settled hard and heavy in his own belly. He tried not to let it show through his voice. “You know that our command training teaches us techniques to resist interrogation, raise our pain tolerance.”

“It is not adequate in this situation.” Spock sat propped against the cell wall, eyes closed in distress, brow furrowed.

Compassionately Kirk knelt before him, took his upper arms, sympathetic gaze resting on the discolored face. “Spock,” he urged quietly, “what did they do to you? If you broke… it doesn’t matter… whatever S'Rezli got out of you… it’s all right…”

Exasperation tightened the Vulcan’s face, hands pressed to his temples where S'Rezli’s light but cruel fingers had lanced fire through his brain. “I did not reveal anything… but if either of us does give information, it will matter a great deal. The commandant forced himself upon my body and attempted to force himself upon my mind… The damage to my body is reparable, and even now is nearly healed… and I have been able so far to keep him out of all but the surface of my mind…” A short sigh of surrender breathed from Spock's lips as he rested his head back against the wall, and Sarek’s soothing touch took his temples once again to drain away some of the residual ache. Spock's eyes remained closed. “But the commandant is highly accomplished in mental techniques. I was able to shield only because I too have spent years learning mental discipline... You, however, have not, Captain, and what little training Starfleet offers is useless against someone at such a high level of mastery. He will invade your mind and take whatever he wishes.”

Kirk remained kneeling before the father and son, hands resting on thighs. “Well, what options do we have, Spock? Obviously we aren’t going to be able to escape from here, at least not at the present time. I’m willing to do anything to keep S'Rezli out of my head, but I don’t see any way to accomplish that. It’s a shame you can’t teach me to shield my mind like you do before that bastard comes for me.”

Slowly Spock nodded. “There is a way, Captain… although you will no doubt consider it highly… distasteful…”

“At this point, I assure you, I won’t consider anything distasteful. What do you have in mind?”

“Father…” Spock turned his head in the older man’s direction. “The captain and I require privacy to continue this discussion. Would you please excuse us?”

“Of course, my son.”

And Kirk thought a look of understanding ghosted across the ambassador’s face, as the elder Vulcan moved over to the far corner of the cell and composed himself for deep meditation.

Curiosity tinged Kirk’s expression. “What are you proposing, Spock?”

Thin lips drew into a humorless smile. “ ‘Proposing’ is an accurate word, Captain.” Pain dulled the dark eyes, and the lean figure drew the blanket tighter about cold trembling shoulders. “For the past three weeks, I have been contemplating possible methods to protect your mind from invasion. I believe I have reached the only practical solution. I can reinforce your own mental strength with mine so that the commandant will not be able to expose your thoughts… unless he is even more adept at this skill than he appears to be. But to do so, you and I must bond.”

“You mean we must mind-meld? We’ve done that a number of times in the past,” Kirk reminded, “and I’ve never considered it distasteful. If you say it’s necessary now, then I give my permission for you to do whatever you need to do.”

But Spock shook his head. “I do not mean a simple mind-meld this time. I am speaking of mate-bonding. To support you as I must, our minds will have to interconnect on all levels. Only between life-mates is such complete union possible.”

He fell silent momentarily, and Kirk did not respond for a short time. Only Sarek’s shallow trance-like breathing interrupted the stillness.

Then Kirk asked hesitantly, “Do you mean mate-bonding as in ‘marriage’?”

“Yes.”

A slow nod of head, then Kirk moved to sit against the wall again beside Spock, as he absorbed the full import of the Vulcan’s pronouncement. Whatever plan he’d expected Spock to come up with, it wasn’t that. A thousand questions clamored for answers. He asked.

“Are you suggesting something permanent, or do you just meant this to be temporary – until we can get out of this hell-hole and back to the Enterprise?”

Again Spock shook his head, countenance of tension unchanged. “A mate-bond is permanent, severable only in extreme circumstances, and then only at great risk to the participants. The two conjoining minds are so profoundly interlinked that it is very nearly impossible to completely dissociate them afterwards. If we choose to undertake this joining, we shall have to consider ourselves… married… for the rest of our lives.”

“You don’t mean a, uh, fully functional marriage, do you? … sex? ...”

“A mate-bond is a fully functional marriage. It can be no less.”

“I don’t understand why just a deep mind-meld won’t suffice.”

“It will not. I must know every part of your consciousness, or Captain S'Rezli may be able to find a weak point at which to slip in. No mind-meld, however deep, is as pervasive as a bond. There is no other near-absolute method to assure the inviolability of your mind, but the attendant result is that we two shall be linked for life.”

Kirk sat there in the chill of the little room. Arguments, pro and con, struggled against each other. He knew a little about Vulcan bonding and marriage practices. Teasingly his mind immediately taunted him with a vision of a sexual encounter with his best friend. He was not disgusted by the concept of sex between them, but neither had he ever actually considered the possibility.

Peremptorily he jerked his thoughts off that track. Sex was not the issue now; protection of confidentiality was. The knowledge in his head, all the classified military data that a starship captain gathers… there was no question that that amassment of information could not fall into enemy hands. The potential for destruction if the Romulans gained such intelligence about the Federation was not even reckonable.

Beside him, Spock sat huddled in the thin blankets. Whatever the Romulan commandant had done to him – and Kirk had a pretty grim idea – the torture and violation was still very raw on the Vulcan’s face despite the healing trance. Kirk wished he could do something, anything, to remove that piece of hell from his friend’s memory.

He wondered what effect the bond would have on Spock.

More calmly than he felt, he asked, “Is there any reason why we should not do it? … any detriment that would outweigh its necessity?”

The dark head shook. “Nothing that would outweigh its necessity. Neither of us can allow our minds to be accessed… whatever the cost.”

Whatever the cost – Spock was right – and there was no argument against that. They had both long ago sworn their lives and all that they were, to protect the Federation and Starfleet, regardless of the cost to themselves. This then should not be a difficult decision.

Kirk re-phrased his question. “What are the negative ramifications, if any, of us bonding as life-mates at this time?”

Stress tautened Spock's voice. “There is a possibility that our efforts will be in vain, if the commandant is skilled enough to penetrate our shields. I might be forced to… render our mentalities inoperative… if he proves too strong to block out…”

“You mean you would deliberately destroy our minds… or kill us…” Kirk interpreted bluntly, and Spock did not refute his comment. “But if we are successful, if we are able to keep him out – and if we ever escape from here – what will it do to us, what will it mean to us, our lives, to be bond-mates?”

Spock sat there, eyes closed. “It means that you will be aware of me very deeply within yourself as you have no comprehension of yet. You will find that very disturbing at first. You may feel that you are losing your own individuality, even that you are losing your mind, until you become accustomed to the sensation, and until you learn to tune that awareness down. Also,” – Spock hesitated, carefully marshalling his thoughts – “any sexual activity that we engage in for the rest of our lives will be with each other. Bonding ensures that mates are drawn only to each other at any time of sexual arousal. There will be no one else – for either of us – ever again.” The raspy voice whispered, tone forcibly level and calm.

“For the rest of our lives,” Kirk echoed.

Spock nodded, weary, tired, offered brief consolation. “I realize that this is difficult for you, Jim. If it is of any assistance to you, please know that I am… not averse… to any physical expression between us.”

Kirk’s eyes were closed in a frown. He rubbed a hand over his creased forehead. “We’ve known each other quite a few years, Spock, and I’m probably closer to you than anyone else I know. I’m not averse to it either… I just never really considered it a viable possibility. And as for ‘the rest of our lives’, that may prove pretty short anyway, if we don’t get out of here soon.”

Another nod of silent agreement.

“Then do it, Spock,” Kirk decided, in as steady a command tone as he could manage. “Do whatever needs to be done.”

Spock shifted position. “The procedure… requires sexual conjoining… We must unite physically as well as mentally.”

Anxiousness squirmed in Kirk’s belly, but he sat up as well. “All right. Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Spock was spreading one of the blankets over the rough mattress pad on the floor. “Please remove your clothing and lie down here. Try to relax and open your body and your mind to me.” Traces of anxiousness colored his own voice. “Please trust me, Captain… Jim.”

“I trust you.” Compliantly Kirk unfastened the brown work-shirt with nervous fingers, the heavy trousers. His gaze drifted to Sarek across the cell, and he inquired of Spock, “Is your father aware of us right now?”

Spock was removing his clothing too. “He is and is not. He will not intrude upon our privacy.”

Kirk pulled off his pants and undershorts, then moved over to the spread-out blanket and lay down on his side, propped up on one elbow. A shiver skittered across his bare skin, partly from the room-chill and partly from growing nervousness now that he’d ordered Spock to proceed, and he drew another blanket half-over himself.

“You never done this before – bonded with someone, I mean,” he commented, watching the Vulcan disrobe. “How do you know what to do?”

Spock merely shrugged as his trousers followed his shirt onto a pile on the floor. “How do humans know how to fall in love with each other? An unbonded Vulcan inherently feels a bonding urge when he or she connects with another strongly compatible mind.”

“But I’m not Vulcan, and you’re only half; and besides, we’re both males. Has a bonding like that ever occurred before? Will this procedure be able to take place without complications?”

“There may be difficulties,” Spock admitted dispassionately, stripping off his briefs, exposing masses of grey-green bruises discoloring his genitals and buttocks. “To my knowledge, there are no other pairings such as ours, although there have been males bonded in Vulcan’s past – warrior-brothers – as well as in the present-day. However, I am far more concerned that neither of us is prepared meditatively for this ritual, nor is my mind completely healed from Captain S'Rezli’s psychic probe. For those reasons, this operation may abort. I shall attempt to compensate for such a possibility, but I cannot guarantee success.”

“Could a disruption like that damage us mentally?”

“It could.”

“Does the possibility of failure outweigh the chance of success?”

“No.”

“Besides, like you said, we really don’t have a choice anyway, do we?”

“Not that I can determine.”

Kirk watched Spock kneeling on the blanket beside him, and couldn’t help but take notice of the Vulcan genitals. He was keenly aware of their mutual nakedness now, despite the fact that they had seen each other unclothed many times in the past. Spock's testicles hung heavily; and the penis dangling limply, unaroused between corded thighs, was as large as Kirk’s was when fully erect. Again Kirk’s mind replayed an image of Spock loading that thing up his ass, only for it to swell and throb into even huger proportions and rip him apart; and then projected an even darker alternative scenario of the two of them locked together mentally insane for the rest of their lives, brain-damaged from an aborted meld. Again his stomach squirmed queasily.

“Spock…” he ventured hesitantly, “what if I can’t go through with this? What if I decide half-way through that I can’t handle it?”

Spock sat down. “Any interruption will jeopardize our mental stability. If you choose not to proceed, it would be best to state such now. I believe that it can work: although I have never spoken of a union with you, I have recognized you as a compatible mind for many years now; and if you are concerned about the capability of our physical coitus, you need not be. A Vulcan organ is indeed larger than a human one in a relaxed state, but during arousal it swells only slightly. With care, you will be able to accept it.”

A compassionate gaze rested on the still pain-weary visage hovering near. “Spock, do you really want to be bonded with me for the rest of our lives?”

For an answer, Spock slid his lean frame down alongside Kirk’s and straightened the top blanket over both of them. “The prospect is not… undesirable. And you?”

A delayed nod of a chestnut-brown head. “I guess so. At least I can’t imagine being ‘married’ to anyone else… Go ahead, Spock.” And so saying, Kirk lay down flat on his back, took a deep breath, and tried to still his hyperactive mind.

Spock rolled closer, leaned over his captain so that their faces were only a few inches apart, and whispered, “Please forgive me, Jim, if I harm either of us.”

“You won’t,” Kirk assured more calmly than he felt, “but I’ll forgive you if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Thank you.”

And then thin masculine lips came down on his own.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Instinctively Kirk’s head started to jerk away in surprise, but then he made himself received the pressure and return it. A kiss – a kiss from his first-officer, his best friend, a dominant male Vulcan – god, he hardly knew what to do. Unshaven whiskers prickled each other’s face. The pressure between their mouths varied as each moved with the kiss; Spock's breathing quivered, Kirk’s felt none-too-steady itself. Evidently Spock was attempting to make this practical situation as kindly and supportive as possibly under the circumstances. The lean torso, long legs, stretched against Kirk’s, naked skin against naked skin; and an electric shock skittered across Kirk’s surface nerves at the suggestion of sexual intimacy as their genitals pressed together. They had slept together for the past three weeks, but sharing a bunk fully-clothed bore only a shallow resemblance to this; and for a brief moment, he could almost forget that they were locked in a cold cell in the middle of a Romulan prison camp, with a chance of being broken in upon by the guards and Kirk dragged away for a private interview with the Romulan commandant like the questioning period which Spock had recently returned from. His arms hesitated, then slipped around the firm male body nestled close… please god don’t let that happen… please god please god let us be rescued before that happens… let us please be rescued right now…

But no rescue materialized, and then Spock broke the kiss, raised a hand to Kirk’s face, gently touched light fingertips to the meld points on temple, cheek, and jaw; and the electric tingle lanced a little deeper. Kirk’s penis throbbed and twitched, and a super-sensitivity sparked along every neural pathway.

“Relax, Jim,” the deep voice whispered close to his ear; and a half-smile, half-wince tightened the human’s lips.

“I’m trying to, Spock,” Kirk’s voice quavered… and his friend’s essence slipped into him, into a warm comfortable spot where it had visited before. A liquid warmth oozed into him, seeking out his tension and anxiety and fear, and attempting to ease all those demons of present reality. But the unshielded intimacy of a meld worked both ways, and now Kirk saw some of the wounds inflicted upon a Vulcan psyche by Romulan cruelty: helplessness, violation, unshed tears of anger; and empathetic wetness welled up in his own eyes at the mind-image of a thin graven face pain-grey.

… now is not the time for regret and sympathy, Jim… the mind-voice shaky from the re-lived hardships, insisted. … we must consummate this as swiftly as possible, before you are taken… you must relax…

But instead, contrarily, an icy knot of nausea lodged cold and heavy in Kirk’s belly at the horror-thought of being taken and undergoing torture; and anxiety surged, worse than ever, redoubled by Spock's own dread and recollections of agonies suffered. Weakly his incipient erection fled.

… I’m sorry, Jim… the pained mind-voice pleaded.

Adrenalin rush threatened to overwhelm Kirk, heart thudded beneath sternum, perspiration trickled down side of his face on little insect feet. “This is… difficult… Spock…” he admitted aloud, as well as through the link, no longer sure that he wanted to continue to fight the growing demoralization which flowed in the wake of stress.

Spock lay atop him, dark head resting resignedly face-down in the hollow of Kirk’s neck and shoulder, fingers slipping from the meld. “Perhaps it is not feasible after all,” he agreed. “Neither of us is prepared for such an intense endeavor. I apologize for causing you unnecessary stress.” Compassionately a warm hand trailed down human skin tacky with fear-sweat, and Kirk could feel warm moist respirations flutter against his neck.

Then forcibly stilling the panic which eroded his control, Kirk renewed his embrace around the heavy body pressing him against the blanket-covered cement floor, squeezed briefly. Sarek had been correct that emotion – especially fear and regret – had no place in this horror, any more than it had on the battlefield under enemy fire. Panic was a far greater danger than the Romulan soldiers.

“Spock,” he murmured against sweat-disheveled hair, “maybe we’re going about this wrong by trying to establish the mental joining first. Maybe instead we should try to… do the physical first.” The words almost stuck in his throat. “Let’s attempt… the sex… Either we’ll succeed, and maybe that will relax us enough to be able to meld; or we’ll fail – in which case, all the rest of this is just a waste of time anyway. Just… promise to help me through it. I’ve never… had a man before.”

“Nor have I,” Spock acknowledged, voice calm, although Kirk knew that the Vulcan was suffering as much as he, if not more, over this abrupt intimacy forced so negligently by an abnormal situation. “I shall attempt to make it as least painful as possible.”

A forced reassuring touch to a lean-muscled upper arm, a bony back. “It’s all right, Spock, if you do rip me a little. It can’t be helped.” – and Kirk could guess that the Romulan commandant had ripped his victim badly during the rape, and that Spock still endured the phantom pain of the callous intrusion. “Come on,” he coaxed, more steadily than he felt, and squeezed his embracing arms again. “Touch me, my friend, touch me any way you need to.” Then working his hand down between their bodies, Kirk took hold of the heavy Vulcan penis.

Inadvertently the firm flesh twitched in his palm, and Spock's throat released an involuntary moan; wet lips slid against Kirk’s collarbone. A hot-cold shiver scurried across Kirk’s skin… he’d never aroused a man before, never been aroused by a man before… but it wasn’t difficult to know what to do; and if ever he’d chosen to have sex with a man, he supposed that Spock would have been the man.

Despite the chill in the cell, heat generated between their blankets, as their bodies began to move against each other, awkwardly at first, and then a little more bravely. A firm but gentle grip closed about Kirk’s penis, and Kirk gasped a sharp intake of breath, while his wilted erection pulsed back to life of its own accord. A little sound of helpless surrender leaked past his lips while another shiver feather-dusted his skin with goose-bumps. “Spock…” he managed through the nearly drug-like rush that billowed over his brain, and his hips began to jerk spasmically to the stimulation of that kind touch, despite any control he might attempt to wield to sublimate the physical reaction. Blood thrummed a quick rhythm through surface vessels, in counterpoint to the slow squeezing / pumping efforts of the friendly hand, and the velvet-smooth glans slid in and out of its loose foreskin, bumping their bellies each time Spock exposed it from its concealment.

Appreciatively Kirk’s hand reciprocated as best it could between the press of their bodies. Even now Kirk sensed the panic fading from the edges of his mind, and briefly he wondered if a light meld had been established simply through the touching of skin on skin – none of this felt quite real. The hesitation and fear of but a few minutes earlier now withdrew their shadows, as Spock's presence commanded the focus of Kirk’s attention; and the adrenalin tension loosened its grip on human bone and muscle.

“Spock…” a whisper sighed between Kirk’s lips again.

“I’m here, Jim,” his new lover breathed against the side of his neck; and the warm Vulcan hand that wasn’t presently involved caressing his cock now lifted to grip a sweat-slick shoulder, knead it, work it. Again Vulcan lips brushed human – an offer of comfort. Then Spock raised up to his knees, hunched over Kirk’s supine body, to give their groping hands more room to work in.

Gradually an excitement stole over Kirk, an excitement he never thought he’d feel from another man. Spock's fingertips knew all the sensitive spots of his genitals, and caressed them: the underside ridge, the glans crown, the meatus. Touches so slight and skilled that Kirk’s legs jerked reflexively, and he whimpered despite himself, a tiny cry of pleasure and a plea for solace from this hell-hole… oh god why couldn’t we be back on the Enterprise right now, somewhere safe and private, instead of this cold prison cell?...

“Jim…" Spock's lips kissed the outside corner of his right eye. “I must prepare to enter you now. I regret that we have too little time for simple pleasantries. We must consummate this as quickly as possible.”

“Whatever you say, Spock,” Kirk acceded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Spock's fingers pushed down between Kirk’s legs again. “Continue to stimulate me while I open you. I am nearly hard enough for penetration now.”

“You seem hard enough right now without any more stimulation,” Kirk noted wryly. And allowing himself a half-smile in this brutal nightmare, Kirk increased friction on the shaft, rubbing up and down tight flesh, outlined veins, leaking head. The pre-sem dribbled down between his fingers, and an unusual but recognizable musky aroma wafted up from beneath their blanket, combined with his own warm scent to tease his nostrils. The Vulcan organ responded eagerly to the friendly masturbation. Kirk caressed the warm skin. “If you get any bigger, my ass won’t be able to accept you at all.”

“It will get no larger,” the Vulcan assured. “You will be able to accommodate it.” Another kiss to Kirk’s temple, which Kirk turned his face to meet. Carefully one hand cupped Kirk’s testicles, hefted them, rolled them around in their loose sac, while the other hand pushed down further beneath the scrotum and into warm moist buttock cleavage.

An incoherent noise from Kirk’s throat, surprise, anticipation, nervousness; then two fingers pushed into his rectum, and he gasped a startled “oh!” as his anal sphincter gave way and the intruders slid in. Abruptly his hips jerked – but whether to escape or to increase the stimulation, he wasn’t sure himself. A rush of blood surged into his cock as the fingers worked inside him, inside the warm channel, triggering the keenly sensitive nerves; and Kirk couldn’t help the responsive squirming of hips and thighs.

“Spock!” he blurted again, spikes of exquisite sensation jolting his loins and surging up his spine; and considered that the more-than-intimate probing all around inside him would very likely shoot him right into climactic orbit.

By now, hot desire had usurped the place of the previous uncertainty and panic in his psyche. All traces of negativity from before had dissipated. “Spock…” he murmured dreamily, luxuriating in the excitingly new touches and feelings, his partner’s name almost becoming an erotic mantra, “… are you doing something to my mind?... I feel so much better than I did…”

Reflexively Spock's hips began to pump the throbbing organ in Kirk’s hand, voice growing more breathless and broken near the edge of orgasm. “We are in… light telepathic connection… I am… suppressing your tension… through mild hypnosis… so that you can relax enough… for us to achieve copulation…”

Then pulling his fingers from Kirk’s opening, and slipping his weeping organ from Kirk’s grasp, he urged, “Bend your knees. Allow me into you.”

Kirk yielded, flat on his back on the thin mattress; drew up his legs on either side of Spock, the insides of his knees sliding against Spock's flanks. Spock's hands gripped the underparts of his buttocks, spread the cheeks wide to open his anus.

Kirk moaned, sharply aware of the intimate exposure. Taking hold of his tender parts weeping their own need, slick with pre-sem, he pressed them up against his belly, out of Spock's way, touched them so delicately to distract his attention from the next procedure. Spock’s penetration would hurt – Kirk didn’t try to delude himself. The alien probe found its target, wet tip pressed in tentatively.

An intake of breath; and Kirk did his best not to resist the painful intrusion. Carefully Spock's fingers manipulated the thick shaft and the small hole, attempting to achieve conjunction with a minimum of discomfort, but that was impossible; and little noises breaking from Kirk’s throat punctuated each thrust of the fleshy implement. Moving his ass and pressing against Spock, Kirk tried to help get it inside himself. Spock's hands cupped the squirming buttocks, held them just where he needed them, spread wide and quivering; exerted steady pressure, slowly, slowly, until the glans pushed into moist human warmth, and the human anus clenched convulsively behind the coronal flange.

Heart leapt. “Spock!” Kirk gasped, and clutched lean hips as Spock groaned his own rush of pleasure. Pain burned the stretched muscle, but Kirk ignored it and tried to move on the object poking into him, take it deeper into himself. Finally, once the head was in, the rest of the solid shaft began to follow.

An involuntary grunt, responding to the pleasure-pain of being filled, then Kirk let his knees fall wide. Spock's buttocks and thighs tensed; the organ pushed in, withdrew, pushed in. Tender membranes protested with fiery stabs, but desirously Kirk sought penetration. He needed it, and he knew that Spock needed it too. The pulsing organ burrowed into his insides, and he felt it pack him, huge and heavy, working its way into a channel almost too tight to accept it. Skinning his lips against the pain, Kirk slid back and forth on the probe the little that he could bear, rectal muscles squeezing, to pleasure his lover. Little by little Spock forced his way in as quickly as the spasming muscles would allow it, sank into the warm depths.

Kirk was panting now, trying very hard not to cry out from the throbbing pain in his ass. Not even his own masturbation or Spock's hypnotic suggestion were off-setting the intense of discomfort of his best friend’s cock loading him almost beyond capacity. “Spock…” he half-choked this time, sure that he would be ripped when Spock really started to pump, “I don’t think… I can take much more…”

“I’m fully… within you now…” Spock's shuddering breath whispered against the side of his face. “When we bond… I will be able to… control your pain… more successfully.”

Kirk’s legs were beginning to shake from the clenching internal cramps. “Do it now!” he demanded between his teeth, and his hands gripped Spock's sweaty flanks.

Spock lay down on him between his knees, then the long alien fingers reached to his face once more, fingertips pressed gently, and Kirk felt that welcome familiarity seep into his consciousness. Even with that first shallow contact, the sharp edges of Kirk’s discomfort mellowed, and Kirk relaxed with an audible sigh, and his legs stopped trembling.

Warm lips pressed lightly to his own as warm thoughts illuminated his mind. Now Spock impaled him mentally as well as physically.

… enter my mind, Jim, as I have entered yours… the internal voice urged. … come into me…

Concentrating on Spock's touch on his face and the pressure in his bowels, Kirk allowed his thoughts to drift outward, transmitting feelings of recognition and invitation. They had melded so many times in the past that he was no stranger to the sensation of his friend’s essence so close within himself. Always it was an experience anticipated and welcomed. He wondered how different the bond would feel. He hoped his own thoughts could attenuate Spock's lingering pain from S'Rezli’s rape, as Spock's had eased his hurt.

Now a soothing sensation of warm honey melting over his mind, of his consciousness turning inward and the outer world fading away, as though one of McCoy’s anaesthetics was claiming him. Awareness polarized between the mind-touch, which focussed to a point in the center of his brain, and the physical distention which packed his gut and reached to the core of his belly. A low amp current seemed to flow between the two loci, tingling through his solar plexus.

… Spock… he thought; and even as he thought it, Spock was there within him, sinking deep, deeper.

Now a bitter metallic taste filled his mouth, his nostrils. Something searched his brain, as though the warm honey coated every fissure, something seeking to know every degree of his being. The metallic taste wafted sharper. Parts of him were being exposed that hadn't seen light for years. Pain and pleasure. Suddenly he didn’t feel nearly at ease as he had, and a wave of protest surged … Spock!... The thought echoed like feedback delay… very queer – no meld had ever felt quite like that before.

… I am here… Spock's reassurance echoed too, resonating between their individual consciousnesses. Briefly the sensation reminded Kirk of being drunk, except that this was way down deep inside him, far deeper than alcohol ever touched him.

… our individualities are interfacing… Spock explained, and Kirk had to grit his teeth against the weird mental echo. … We are receiving each other’s thoughts even as they form, as though they are our own… this causes the out-of-phase feeling which disturbs you now… you must bear with it for the time being…

Kirk winced. … god, Spock, is it going to be like this forever?... An intense light-headedness gripped him, and he thought he might faint. Tendrils of the previously-suppressed panic attacked his stomach. He knew the Vulcan’s answer even before the thought formed words.

… It will intensify as the procedure continues, but once the bonding is complete, it can be tuned out… Do not fight it now, Jim… flow with it and allow me to guide… trust me…

… I do trust you… just hurry, Spock… please…

And then deliberately Kirk released his hold; like a drowning man yielding to the water, he surrendered himself to the impending faint, allowed unconsciousness to claim him and pull him down into dark warmth.

Only he wasn’t unconscious – he was just somewhere else; they were somewhere else. He could not sense the cell where their physical bodies lay; instead, the two of them seemed to be suspended in a tepid flotation tank, deprived of all external sense… nothing but the physical coitus and the mental echoes… uncomfortable, but not intolerable.

– And then something went wrong.

Suddenly the focus in his brain erupted brilliantly like a magnesium flare, pain exploded in his bowels, and the electric current singing through the center of his being flashed out through all his neural pathways. Another entity lived inside him, moved inside him: himself, yet not himself; Spock, yet not Spock. The bitter taste in his mouth nearly choked him now. Is this what bonding was supposed to feel like, or not?... god it feels like hell… He wanted to scream, but nothing came out… what the hell is happening to us?… Spock, help me… Spock!...

But this time, no familiar warmth responded. Instead, grotesque images from Spock's mind rose up, images of a Romulan commandant grinning down at his bound body, hot and hard primed and ready for his victim. Kirk pulled back from the phantasm in horrified shock… but the bonds hold him cruelly tight on the exam table, his knees spread, his genitals exposed; and then the Romulan lunges forward and buries his weapon to the hilt inside his victim’s vulnerable hole. Now the prisoner screams, writhing painfully on the massive ramrod as it pounds into him with ceaseless rhythm, and a strong Romulan hand squeezes his limp sex organs, beats them and squeezes them; another smacks his face again and again, rock-hard cock battering his prostate until in shame he comes despite himself, then the alien prostate releases its own load, and scalding emission squirts into his friction-burned channel… “Vulcani’sha t’vadala!” … Romulan words curse his ears, and he isn’t Kirk, he is Spock, and the rape isn’t over, it will never be over. … stop it, Spock!... Kirk demands – is he Kirk or is he Spock?... whose nightmare are they living? … Spock, stop it… help me… sights and sounds absorb him, hallucinatory colors and smells… discordant sounds… a pressure closing in on him, squeezing him into a dense matter … so this is what plasma in the warp engines feels like… and he is no longer two, but one… if he is still alive – and that possibility is debatable at this point… Then just as suddenly, even the hallucinations wink out…

And he is all alone in nothingness.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Uncontrollable trembling claimed his body, as reality finally clarified around him once again. Fever-sweat slicked his skin, and pain pulsed in the center of his brain. Vaguely he wondered if S'Rezli was done with the rape yet, or maybe last year’s Rigellian fever had relapsed, or perhaps some drug had cursed him with an A-number-one hangover… was he human or Vulcan now? … the heart of Eridani blistered his skin under the heat-shimmering red sky of his home-world… but was it his home-world or not?...

And then, gradually, memory returned in cold acute detail. And he was Jim Kirk again, lying on a thin cold mattress on the cold floor of a prison cell with his bondmate beside him.

“Spock…” he managed past a dry throat – and winced against the disorienting feedback echoing inside his head. “… oh god…” He clutched his skull to keep it from floating off.

A comforting arm squeezed his shoulders gently, and the unsettling asynchronicity calmed down to a small glow of Spock's essence in his mind, while bodily pains retreated to a dull over-all ache. The new sensation of his partner’s nearness was still strange, but no longer the queasy distress of echoic duality.

Carefully he took stock of his surroundings, not daring to move too quickly for fear of triggering the vertigo again. He lay half-curled on the mattress pad, blanket tucked around him, and his upper body in Spock's lap. Both of them were dressed now, and Spock sat against a wall, eyes closed in fatigue. Residual cramps lingered in Kirk’s ass, but nothing like the grinding pain he had expected. Obviously Spock was blocking that too.

During the bonding procedure they had both climaxed. He didn’t remember it, but he could sense Spock's wetness bathing his insides, and he knew, without knowing how he knew, that Spock had swallowed his cream in reciprocation.

“Spock…” he spoke / thought, and the glow in his mind flared a sudden brilliance, briefly whiting-out all conscious awareness. Abruptly he pressed his head again, and swore between clenched teeth, “Gddd!”

“Father,” he heard Spock say to the older man who hovered near, “could you please assist us?”

And then calm hands covered Kirk’s own holding his head together. The white-out faded, but left a throbbing ache in its wake.

“Captain, allow me,” Sarek’s low voice requested evenly, and the gentle hands replaced Kirk’s as the human compliantly withdrew his own from his pounding temples.

“I don’t feel so good,” Kirk grunted, wondering if he was going to throw up.

The steady fingers began to massage the sides of his face. “I am aware of your distress, Captain,” that same calm voice reassured. “Both you and my son are suffering reaction from the bonding procedure. It will pass in time.”

“How much time?” Kirk just wanted to curl up into a fetal position in Spock's lap.

“That I cannot say. But of you experienced difficulties during the event. It did not proceed as it would have, had you both been in proper meditative relaxation prior to initiating the bonding.”

“God, I hope we didn’t make a mistake after all.”

This time Spock answered. “The bond is true. The difficulties were not unexpected. We both require rest now, and gradually we will recover our strength. You should feel better shortly, Jim.”

“So S'Rezli can have a ball torturing me.” Resentful irony colored Kirk’s attitude, and suddenly he realized he could actually sense his intensity impacting the two Vulcan mentalities close to him: Spock's through the bond, and Sarek’s through their touching skin. A little embarrassed, Kirk modified his attitude, never having intended to disturb his friends. … oh god I’m going to have to guard every thought for the rest of my life… – And realized that even that thought traversed the telepathic links – … jeezuschrist, how are we going to be able to live like this? … if we live…

A calm assurance settled over him, and his overly-acute awareness of the other two minds faded.

“You will still have your privacy, Captain,” Sarek assured. “Bonded couples learn to control the intrusion of mutual awareness – otherwise each would soon go mad. Spock's mother and I adjusted very quickly. You will, as well.”

Kirk appreciated the healing power of Sarek’s fingers slowly diminishing the throb in his temples. Between that and Spock's nearness, he almost felt normal again – whatever ‘normal’ meant from now on. “I just hope we get out of here and live long enough to prove you right, Ambassador,” he replied frankly.

“As do I,” the older man agreed.

“Jim, there is another matter to discuss,” Spock interrupted, changing the subject. “When I was recovering in the infirmary, Doctor Terrence informed me that he wished to help us escape, and requested Federation assistance to counteract the Romulan occupation. I told him that I would deliver his offer to you.”

Stiffly Kirk pulled up, and shifted his weight to sit beside his bondmate. Spock had narrowed their internal contact to a pinpoint of light. “Are you sure we can believe him?” he questioned. “Granted, so far he’s acted trustworthy and more than kind to us when we’ve needed him, but a tiny part of me still wonders if he’s working for the Romulans.”

“I am convinced that he is sincere. As he touched me to treat me, I could sense his intentions. I do not believe he is a Romulan agent.”

Kirk nodded, leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Well, he said he’d come back later today to look in on you. If I’m… not here… when he returns, and if you can talk freely, find out what he has in mind. And let him know that if we do make it back home, we’ll do what we can for the prisoners. I just wish he could help us now… before it’s too late…”

As if on cue, bootsteps approached down the rain-puddled sidewalk. The three men in the cell roused alert, anticipating either the doctor coming to assist them, or a guard arriving to escort Kirk to the commandant’s office.

The cell door opened, and cold fear solidified in Kirk’s belly. It was one of S'Rezli’s two personal guards, Tavren. The Romulan held a small hand-weapon in a casual grip, as though it were no more than an after-thought, as though he expected no worthwhile resistance from the prisoners.

“Captain Kirk,” he addressed the muscle-taut human, while a faint patronizing smile barely pulled at his lips. “The commandant wishes to meet with you now. You will come with me.”

… fuck you and the commandant… Kirk swore in his mind as he rose to his feet, and knew that Spock overheard the silent obscenity.

Spock started to move; instantly the weapon barrel swung up, but Kirk deliberately stepped between the two men on his way to the door, interrupting the potential conflict, while his mind shot a command to his first-officer and bondmate … no, Spock, not now… Reluctantly Spock settled back down under the barrel-point, but his eyes matched the Romulan’s and didn’t drop. The Vulcan had saved Kirk some pain earlier by protesting in S'Rezli’s office, now Kirk returned the favor. For Spock to accept a beating on top of all the other torture he had just suffered would serve no useful purpose, since Kirk would end up being taken anyway.

Deep in his mind Kirk felt the pin-point of union increase to a comforting glow, a watchfire. He didn’t look back as he left the cell, and he didn’t have to: Spock's presence accompanied him now more closely than if the Vulcan walked right beside him.

He could also sense a strange activity in his mind welling up, as Spock forcibly stilled himself to meditation and began solidifying their mental barriers to resist the upcoming interrogation. The uncomfortable sensation of duality did not reoccur, but even so the awkwardness of this new contact made Kirk’s head throb.

… do not fight me, Jim… Spock gently admonished. … you must subordinate your consciousness now and allow mine to guide…

Kirk winced at the pulsing ache. … I’m trying to, Spock…

Drizzle flicked in his face as he walked alongside the Romulan guard. Tavren was watching him intently with a subtle expression that prickled the hairs of Kirk’s nape, and briefly Kirk wondered if he’d make it to S'Rezli’s office in one piece or if the guard intended to detour into the bushes momentarily for a quick fuck before S'Rezli got first chance. A shudder that sneaked through before either he or Spock could suppress it, shot ice through Kirk’s nerves.

… I am here, Jim…

… I know, Spock… And that helped a little.

However, Tavren did not delay their journey, but took Kirk right to the cabin, opened the door, and pushed him roughly into the room. Inside, the young human guard sat at his desk, while the other of S'Rezli’s personal guards, Selar, stood close by. Both looked up as the pair entered, and Kirk didn’t like the expressions on their faces either. He wondered if S'Rezli intended to pass him around after the commandant had taken first shot. Heart thudded anxiously. He wondered if he was going to live after they were done with him. He wondered if he would want to live after they were done with him.

But then Spock's essence welled up even stronger within, and Kirk knew that he wanted to live to see the Vulcan again. God he wanted to be with Spock right now, rather than face what he was going to face in the next hour. Sympathetically Spock's warmth soothed him as best it could.

“Pran’ti,” S'Rezli’s voice answered Tavren’s knock.

Tavren’s brusque shove propelled Kirk into the inner office. Behind them, Kirk heard the other Romulan guard enter as well. … so, do they think it takes three Romulans to control one weakened human?...

Captain S'Rezli sat behind the desk. He smiled at the prisoner.

Kirk’s own face expressed no response. Spock's calm stoicism overlay his features. Anxiety still tingled, and the headache still demanded attention, but Vulcan control backed him up now, so at least he wouldn’t crumple under the first assault.

A heavy wooden hard-backed chair with steel cuffs attached to arms and legs stood in front of the desk. A negligent push deposited Kirk into it, then the two guards shackled his wrists and ankles. He didn’t resist.

Now S'Rezli approached him, lounged in front of him, hip against the edge of the desk. “You know,” the Romulan commented mildly, “I’ve never had the opportunity to entertain Federation officers before. I enjoyed Commander Spock's presence this morning; now you and I will become better acquainted, Captain. I’m very curious about you and your Starfleet.”

… I’ll just bet you are, you bastard… Kirk thought to himself, but said nothing.

The commandant smiled blandly. “I thought you would like to know that my informants on Qithrati say that the Enterprise has returned for you. Your shipmates are investigating your disappearance. What are the ship’s scanner capabilities?”

Neutrally Kirk watched the man, and did not respond. S'Rezli strolled closer, looked down at bound man, while Kirk shifted his gaze somewhere beyond the Romulan’s left shoulder.

Abruptly a hand swung up, exploded fire across Kirk’s face, forehand and backhand. Sharply Kirk’s body jerked, hazel eyes snapped a rage that tore through Vulcan suppression.

Beneath the goatee, S'Rezli’s lips smiled, but the rest of his face did not. He leaned down, and calmly informed his prisoner, “You will show courtesy, Captain Kirk, and speak when your spoken to. Or doesn’t your Starfleet insist upon mannerly behavior by its officers?”

Acquiescently the rage melted from human gaze, and courteously Kirk responded, “Go fuck yourself, Captain S'Rezli… sir…” … and braced himself for the next hot slap that bloodied his nose and rocked his head; and the ache in his brain protested even more loudly.

“That’s better,” the Romulan acknowledged wryly, “but hardly conducive to informative communication.” Another smack for good measure across a pink-flushed face. “Where is the logic in resisting, Captain, when you know that you have no protection against us? I’ve taken apart many humans before you who thought they could resist me.”

Kirk only shrugged, repressing with Spock's help the smoldering fire in his cheeks and the throbbing between his temples, and commented simply, “Well, then I guess I’m one more.”

“Evidently so,” S'Rezli agreed, reaching for Kirk’s face again.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

In anticipation of another slap, Kirk flinched, but the fingers only touched him gently under the chin, then abruptly jabbed his head back. “What is Starfleet complement of ships in Qithrati’s sector?”

Stiffly Kirk resisted the rough tension on his neck. The hard edge of the chair pressed across his spine beneath his shoulder blades. “Captain James T. Kirk,” he started to recite again. “ United Federation of – ”

A sharp jab socked him in the belly, and he gagged and doubled over the fist in his gut, but S'Rezli only shoved him right back in his seat. Anger surged – he no longer attempted to taunt his captor. Queasily his stomach threatened to vomit, throat clenched. He fought the nausea down, glared up into the alien face hovering near.

Gradually the pain diminished to tolerable levels, and he could breathe again. Deep inside him, Spock’s consciousness continued to erect defenses around private data. The intimate nearness of his bondmate’s thoughts gave Kirk the uncanny sensation that Spock was standing right behind him.

… I am with you, Jim… : comforting words of reassurance, yet Kirk realized regretfully as well, that because of their link, Spock would be reliving his own torture all over again.

“ ‘Captain James T. Kirk’,” S'Rezli mocked. “A starship captain.” Then casually he reached a hand to tug open a couple of Kirk’s shirt buttons. At the touch, Kirk lurched against the restraining cuffs, but Selar standing behind him just slammed him back down in his chair.

Then pushing the shirt off Kirk’s shoulders, the Romulan commander exposed a smooth chest, muscles rigid beneath lightly tanned skin. A negligent caress to one soft nipple, and Kirk nearly came out of his seat again, only to be shoved right back. From behind, the guard’s hands fondled him, then wrenched his head back by the hair. Furiously Kirk’s body heaved as insolent fingers yanked at sparse alveolar hairs. Patronizingly S'Rezli pulled at the little hairs, first one tit, then the other, until the biting pain brought the little nipples erect; and Kirk scowled in disgust at his own body’s betrayal.

S'Rezli was smiling again, lightly stroking the planes of Kirk’s chest, as he explained, “I was a ship’s captain once. Four years ago. I commanded a heavy cruiser, the Triva’dya.” His touch slid over Kirk’s shoulder, up the side of Kirk’s neck, dragging against the sweat-tacky skin. “I was court-martialled because my crew said I was incompetent, that I was… soft. My command was taken from me. Do you know how that feels, human, to lose one’s command?”

Kirk didn’t answer.

Abruptly the caressing hand lashed across his unshaven face, jerking his head back against the guard behind him. Selar’s fingers clutched his hair until Kirk thought his scalp would rip. Warily he watched the captain’s dark face over him. Wrenched neck muscles protested painfully. S'Rezli’s touch stroked his hot face; then, instantly savage, clutched his jaw, forced Kirk’s mouth open so he couldn’t bite; then vicious lips came down on the victim’s. Angrily Kirk squirmed to escape, but then a long thick tongue penetrated and jammed down his throat, and his writhings surged in panic as his air was cut off. Again nausea heaved up into his esophagus, and his bladder threatened to void, while he fought futilely to breathe.

… Spock!... he screamed inside his head, yet now even his bondmate’s intimate presence, powerful and enraged, only added to the hell of self-violation; and real terror clutched Kirk’s brain as he felt both body and mind slipping from his own control.

Until finally the invasive flesh withdrew, and S'Rezli pulled back, grinning and panting. A huge bulge swelled the front of red uniform trousers, and casually the hand released Kirk’s jaw, then reached down to the bulk for a couple of good masturbatory squeezes, sensually pleasuring right in front of Kirk’s face.

Scrunched down in his seat, sweating and panting his own desperation, trying to regain his wind and prevent his belly and bladder from discharging, Kirk glared up infuriated at his tormentor. The thick smell of alien musk assaulted his nostrils.

A finger flicked his burning cheek, making him flinch.

“I told you you’ll answer me when I speak to you, Captain.”

With difficulty, Kirk forced a swallow down his dry strained throat, then managed to spit out, “No… I don’t know what it feels like to captain a garbage scow…”

A punch to the face exploded stars behind his eyes, smacked his head against the back of the chair. Inadvertently his teeth split his lower lip. The thudding drum between his ears threatened to split his skull open. He snuffed back blood congealing in his nostrils.

Rough hands clutching two fistfuls of his open shirt-front yanked him back up in his seat, then smoothly slipped beneath the material to tweak his nipples until he winced. White teeth smiled. “You’re soft, human, soft and gentle. And yet you retain your command. Your Federation allows weakness in its officers.” Then exploring hands slipped lower, down over taut belly muscles that twitched under the presuming touch, then rubbed over the front of his pants; and Kirk’s hips thrust to evade the molestation, and a growl rumbled in his throat.

The hand grabbed his bloody face again. “You should learn how it feels to grovel… Captain.”

And then abruptly the teasing fingers locked into meld position; and searing pain like a thousand electric needles stabbed his brain – counteracted almost instantaneously by Spock's power within. Mental currents clashed and sparked in Kirk’s head, and involuntarily he cried out. Again the metallic bitterness clogged his mouth and nose, and tears welled in burning eyes. He wondered if the overload would fry his brain.

But then as instantly as it had started, the amperage explosion ceased, and Kirk was still alive. And feeling like a phaser blast had kicked him between the eyes.

S'Rezli stepped away from the slumped human, puzzlement momentarily creasing his brow. Then understanding dawned, and he smiled revelation. “You’re bonded to the Vulcan.”

… although at that moment, Kirk didn’t give a shit about that or anything else… everything hurt so bad. … Spock, help me… he pleaded again helplessly.

… the bond is aberrant… Spock's thoughts answered. … it is not as true as I had hoped… I cannot fully absorb your pain and still maintain full shielding around the information…

Reaction-shivering overcame Kirk’s body. … then save the information, and shield me only if you can… Sweat dripped off a swollen face, mussed hair. … and if necessary, eliminate me…

… Jim… Spock's chill amplified his own.

… Spock, that’s an order…

Resignation leveled the emotional surge. … yes, Captain, I know… And once more in this infinity, Vulcan control settle in to mitigate the mental and emotional trauma, ease the human as best it could for the moment; and Kirk breathed a little easier, and the shivering suspended temporarily.

S'Rezli was leaning against the desk again, a glass of nectar in his hand, studying the weakened man locked in the chair before him. Curiosity flickered over the Romulan face, curiosity and mild amusement. He downed another swallow of the sweet mead, then strolled over to the prisoner again. “So, I was right – you do suck the Vulcan’s cock. I should have known – no wonder he is so… protective of his property.”

Dully Kirk watched the Romulan officer in front of him. “Is that what you said to Commander Spock earlier?”

The man smiled. “I didn’t fully expect it to be true, but that explains his devotion to you. Human flesh is quite pleasurably addictive. I am half-human, did you know that? My mother was a centurion on a Bird of Prey years ago when they captured a Federation freighter on the edge of the Neutral Zone. She took my father prisoner as part of her reward. For all I know, she still keeps him around to amuse herself. Perhaps I’ll do the same with you – take you home with me when I return to Romulus. I’d quite enjoy having a Starfleet captain to warm my bed. Romulan nights are colder than Qithran nights. And it would amuse me greatly to know that your Vulcan is feeling everything that I do to you. That would be even more enjoyable than fucking the Vulcan himself.

“Leave my first-officer alone,” Kirk demanded bluntly.

A gulp finished off the liquor, and S'Rezli set the glass back on the desk. “I’m not going to leave him alone, and I’m certainly not going to leave you alone, Captain.” Again he stepped up to Kirk’s chair so that their knees touched. “Let’s find out just how deep your Vulcan master is inside you.” He grinned at the suggestive comment.

Kirk merely glared at the man, and steeled his aching body for the renewed invasion.

Then long fingers reached for his temples and he winced, expecting another teeth-rattling slap or punch. Instead, the touch caressed the meld points, and something silkily sinuous like tendrils pierced into his consciousness. Then another jolting spark of short circuit, as Spock's essence countered the intrusion, and Kirk moaned, close to passing out from the power pouring through cerebral ganglia. But unlike the explosive confrontation of before, this time the intrusion was slow and deliberate, and he did not pass out, but felt every raping stroke of the alien probe while it carefully searched around inside him, fiery touches investigating the edges, the shape of Spock’s resistance, of their bond. Invincibly Spock locked down on the military data in Kirk’s mind, so tightly that even Kirk could not get at it; and all Kirk was left with was a sickening dread of being left a mental vegetable with nothing but the grotesque reality of a psychic rape more devastating than physical ravishment.

Until finally the obscene touch lifted, and a numbing cold washed into Kirk’s essence over every fiery trail left by the seeking tendrils. But his mind was still intact, and he was still conscious. Spock had been right: without the bond, S’Rezli would have ripped his mind apart in a moment, without even the need for physical abuse. And Kirk supposed he should be grateful, but right now the painful price for that advantage took all his concentration to endure, and he couldn’t bring up gratitude or anything else.

S'Rezli’s hand clutched a fistful of hair, forced his head up. Cold calm had replaced amusement on the Romulan face.

“I concede,” the man acknowledged. “It seems I erred in assuming that your mind would be easily accessible. The Vulcan’s hold is tight. I’ll have to consider other methods to open up your mind. In the meantime, why don’t we find out just how accessible your body is. Let us see how your Vulcan protects that.” A glance at the two guards; and they busied themselves unlocking Kirk’s wrists and ankles from the chair cuffs.

Kirk sat compliantly until his limbs were freed, then kicked out with all his weakened strength at the nearest Romulan head. But obviously the guard saw it coming; and easily shifting aside, he allowed the human foot to lash past him, then grabbed the ankle and twisted, and Kirk sprawled to the floor in a heap. Echoes of pain reverberated throughout his being, and he didn’t try to resist anymore as he was hefted up under the arms and dragged out of the commandant’s office, barely regaining his feet. The two guards handled him as though he were no more than a recalcitrant child.

As they passed through the front office, S'Rezli spoke to the human guard seated at the desk and another who had entered while Kirk had been inside. “Mister Peterson and Mister Newell, come with us to the therapy room. Your assistance is required.

… required for what?... Kirk muttered in his thoughts. – keeping him in line? – or were they going to get their turns at him after the Romulans? He couldn’t possible accept all five of them – he didn’t even expect to live through the three Romulans fucking him up the ass, one after the other. At least he’d bleed to death before S'Rezli ever got another chance to violate his mind again.

And then he was manhandled out of the office and roughly ushered across the mucky yard to a small cement building about fifty feet away.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

Brutal hands pushed him into the little room, then his five captors filed in behind him. S'Rezli stepped to the control panel on the wall, turned on the lights and locked the door.

Then turning to Kirk, the Romulan commander smiled at him, a smile that didn’t reached the blue alien eyes.

Kirk watched him warily, watched him and the four other men standing around in the sweat-and-filth stink of the cramped yellow-lit cell. Their stances were easy, self-confident – no doubt they’d done this lots of times before, a good few hours of pleasant distraction. He knew he was no match for Romulan strength; the two humans, however, he could probably take out if he had the chance.

Anxiety twisted his gut, lodged heavy and cold in his stomach. Around the small room hung ropes and chains, and in the concrete floor stood iron rings. The floor sloped slightly to an open drain in the center. On the wall was coiled a hose. Kirk didn’t want to imagine what they could do with that.

A spartanly-equipped torture chamber. He tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat. His shirt clung sweat-soaked to his back, and he knew full-well that he wasn’t going to leave this room until they were through with him.

“Captain Kirk,” S'Rezli addressed him casually. The man’s eyes deliberately lingered on the front of Kirk’s work-pants, and Kirk thought he might very well launch a fist at that grinning face and break those smiling white teeth. If the man surmised what Kirk was contemplating – and no doubt he did – he didn’t bother to express any concern. “So. You and the Vulcan are bonded mates – how touching,” he mocked. “Do you like spreading yourself for that big Vulcan cock? It’s bigger than yours. I’ll bet you really enjoy that.”

Kirk glared; didn’t answer, but kept shifting his wary gaze about the room. The men were closing in on him little by little. They didn’t seem to give a damn that Kirk might try to fight back.

“Well, you shouldn’t have any problems then, today,” the man assured him. “If you can take a Vulcan prick up the ass, you’ll be able to accommodate a Romulan one as well. That’s one similarity we share with our Vulcan cousins.”

Kirk tried not to listen to the goading banter. It would take all the willpower he had, not to break during the next few hours. He didn’t want to broadcast helpless blubbery sobbing back through the link to Spock. Spock was in enough anguish already, without the additional stress of Kirk humiliatingly losing control now.

The commandant stepped closer. “Tell me, Kirk,” he urged in a nasty tone, “have you ever taken a fist up the ass?”

Kirk’s gaze snapped to attention; rage surged in his eyes, and his stomach clenched about the leaden weight inside. His chest constricted tightly, involuntarily. The cell-door was locked; there would be no escape. All he could hope for was the chance to do some damage to them before they killed him.

“Answer me, Federation shit,” the Romulan demanded.

“Fucking bastard,” Kirk spat.

The man smiled again – god, how Kirk wanted to smash that grin. “Very good,” S’Rezli agreed. “A fucking bastard. That’s exactly what I am. And I especially enjoy fucking human flesh – it’s too bad that humans bleed to death so easily, they don’t last very long. But you know how to stretch for the Vulcan, so you should survive… at least a little longer.”

Unspoken disgust twisted Kirk’s face. The man was spurring him to launch the first attack and give them an excuse to retaliate and beat him into the floor. He didn’t have anything to lose; he was going to get the hell beaten out of him whether he fought or not. One of the humans, Peterson, was within range of a back-kick. He could at least take out that one punk, and do it in such a way so as to cancel the little bastard’s participation in the party.

His eyes remained locked on the commandant; then abruptly his right foot snapped back with all his strength and impacted solid flesh. A strangled grunt burst from a surprised throat, then the punk dropped heavily to the cold concrete floor, clutching wounded genitals. Kirk’s aim had been true: it would be awhile before the little bastard could use that part of his body again.

But Kirk didn’t hesitate to gloat over his success. He swung on the other human to keep what little advantage he might have gained by the attack. Now however, they were ready for him, and even as the second man stepped just out of reach so that Kirk’s punch barely grazed its intended target, one of the Romulans, Tavren, moved in behind and slammed a chop down on the back of Kirk’s neck. Kirk gasped and went down to elbows and knees. The man hadn’t used full strength, or the rabbit-punch would have killed its victim – as it was, Kirk felt like a poker had just ramrodded up his neck into his skull. Now he assumed the rest of his attackers would close in on him, beat the shit out of him and fuck him senseless. He had no more advantage.

But the rest of the retaliation didn’t come. None of the other men reacted – neither to rush Kirk, nor to assist their injured comrade. They seemed to find the brief flurry amusing. The human guard on the floor was moaning and twisting in pain. Slowly, stiffly, Kirk regained his feet, eyeing the remainder of his captors warily, body crouched slightly in a cautious defensive posture. Inside his mind, Spock's caring presence focussed on Kirk’s aching neck. … god, Spock… Kirk thought… I wish you could transfer your strength to me as well…

… I would take your place if I could… his bondmate promised.

With a negligent nod to the side, S'Rezli indicated the fallen guard. “If he comes to before we’re finished here,” he mentioned to their prisoner, “I’m sure he’ll want to pay you back for that.”

And then he glanced at the other men, and they all took that as a signal to move in.

Again Kirk lunged for the other human, shooting a right jab to the cynical face, but the young man thrust forward to meet him simultaneously, offensive with offensive; canted his head slightly to let Kirk’s punch roll off harmlessly, then responded with a jab of his own just beneath the ribcage. Kirk’s breath shot out in a grunt; pain lanced right through his solar plexus. From behind, someone slugged him in the side – another jolt of pain stiffened him – then he went in flailing at any nearby flesh, Romulan or human. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the Romulans, but at least he would bruise them before they took him down.

Again he kicked out, connected with a shin, and somebody hissed in pain. A fist caught him on the cheekbone, rocked his head sharply, thudding his brain inside his skull. He didn’t even try to defend himself – he was concentrating solely on attack, and it would all be over in a matter of seconds anyway. A leg came within range; he kicked at the knee joint, and a Romulan went down spitting a sharp curse.

But then hands latched onto his arms from behind, pinned them, yanked him upright; then the Romulan whom he had kicked in the shin, Selar, came up and punched him in the jaw, the belly, the jaw again; and Kirk’s world exploded in a red jag of lightning.

He felt them handling him, manipulating his limp body, dragging it a few feet across the cell. His brain throbbed, he didn’t want to open his eyes. Vaguely it felt like someone else’s body being stripped, chained, hung like dead meat. Now he could feel all the places they had hit him during the half-minute scuffle. He only hoped his assailants hurt as bad. In his daze he could imaging that he was back in the cell with Spock and Sarek; for just this brief moment, Spock's dominance could override hellish reality and reassure his bondmate with sympathetic caresses.

But then someone snapped open a capsule beneath his nose, and an acrid smell like ammonia stung his nostrils, watered his eyes. Abruptly he jerked out of his daze, coughing and sneezing and gagging. A fist clutched his hair on top, yanked his head up. He blinked tearing eyes up at the still-grinning face of the Romulan commander, and felt a tiny satisfaction that at least the man sported a bloody nose.

“Welcome back, Captain,” the man greeted… and smacked a resounding slap across Kirk’s face again, jarring away any last wisps of mental haze.

Then the grip let go of his hair, and his head dropped forward again. He was stripped naked to his captors’ view now. Shackles secured his ankles to the heavy rings planted in the concrete floor, spread wide, over a yard apart. His wrists were manacled together and his arms stretched over his head, locked to a chain hanging from the ceiling; and he hung off-balance, tilted slightly forward, so that every muscle felt the strain.

Again he sneezed from the lingering sting of chemical vapors up his nose. Heat pulsed in his beaten face.

The man whom Kirk had kicked in the crotch moaned again from the corner of the cell where he’d dragged himself. Dry heaves shook the kid’s body, and Kirk just hoped that his kick had sterilized the little bastard, or at least ruptured something really serious. He didn’t intent to be the only one to suffer today.

Now he just prayed he’d survive. He wondered if the commandant had meant it when he mentioned fist-fucking. It wasn’t surprising that his human victims bled to death if he did that to them unprepared. Kirk’s stomach lurched at the thought. Spock's organs were bigger than even a very heavy-hung human male’s, and it was only because of Spock's great care that their coitus hadn't ripped Kirk apart.

His captors seemed to enjoy his gradual full comprehension of his helpless position. He felt helplessness, but he also felt anger. Whatever they did to him, to Spock, to Sarek – either they would finally have to kill him after all, or some day he would see them rot for it.

And then S'Rezli stepped closer, reached down and grabbed a handful of Kirk’s soft genitals. An outraged cry burst from Kirk’s lips, and he surged against his chains. Fingers wrapped around his loosely-skinned cock, began to pump with negligent abusive familiarity. Kirk squirmed, seething with indignation, but afraid to fight too vigorously and injure his vulnerable parts. The large strong hand only increased its pressure and rhythm, as though to force the flesh to swell despite its owner’s fear-induced impotence.

The other men standing around watching grinned at the obscenity before them, and they unfastened their pants, releasing swelling organs. Kirk looked at their faces, committing each one to memory. He couldn’t stop them today from raping him, but he decided that if he ever got the chance sometime, he would personally castrate each one of them without the slightest moral hesitation.

A last tug to his limp penis, then the commandant released him. “Well,” the Romulan commented, “since you’re obviously not volunteering an erection, it seems you’ll need some help.”

Kirk’s awkward tilted position tensed his muscles achingly. “Fuck you,” he swore without inflection.

“No,” the commandant grinned. “Fuck you, Federation shit!”

And reaching again for Kirk’s privates, he gave them a little squeeze. Kirk gasped, face scrunched against the ice-tingles that sheeted over his skin and the surge of nauseous pain low in his belly. A moan gurgled and nausea twisted his stomach as cold sweat oozed from his pores.

“Do you and your Vulcan play like this?” his torturer demanded.

Bile rose up Kirk’s esophagus; sickly he fought it down. Sweat popped out all over his face, trickled down one temple, down his cheek, his throat

One of the Romulans laughed, the sound rough and obscene with arousal. They were all masturbating, awaiting their turn with the Federation prisoner.

… Spock!... his mind screamed, colliding with his partner’s mind asynchronously. … save me… please!...

… Release yourself to me… Spock responded in his own desperation… don’t fight the pain… surrender to it, and allow me to control it for you… But for me to do that, you must get your own emotions out of the way…

… how the hell do I do that??... oh gddd… help me!!...

“Federation weakling,” Tavren accused.

S'Rezli sneered. A casual touch to sore genitals, demeaning tone of voice. “Captain, do you like this?”

Kirk refused to answer, to play their taunting game. He wouldn’t participate in his own humiliation.

The flat of a hand smacked his rump hotly; a sharp intake of breath hissed between his teeth.

“I asked you a question, Captain.”

Between clenched teeth, Kirk gasped, “Just do whatever you bastards are going to do to me… and get it over with.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Kirk. We have a long while yet.”

Kirk tried not to listen to the filthy talk. He didn’t think he’d ever been more miserable in his life. He wished he could believe that some miracle rescue would occur before his captors could inflict any more torments on his body and mind. He wished Spock could simply override his consciousness and take this agony from him, although the thought of Spock suffering in his place hurt him as bad as the actual pain.

The hand caressed his still-limp cock. “But you still haven’t gotten anything up yet,” the voice murmured in his ear, as S'Rezli strolled behind him. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Angrily Kirk jerked in his chains.

Then from behind one arm slid around his waist, pulled him up against the man’s body for a quick squeeze. He could feel the large heavy bulge of Romulan genitals press between his buttocks through the thick cloth of uniform trousers. An uncontrolled shudder raced through his nerves; S'Rezli felt it and chuckled, snugged him close again, then slid a finger down his cleavage to his anus, and touched the little sphincter.

“No!” Kirk yelled, wrenching like he’d just been shocked. “Don’t!”

But the arm around his waist locked him firmly, and the finger nudged through the tight ring of muscle. His lungs drew a sharp breath in reaction, his eyes bugged. Futilely he struggled against his bonds. The finger only pushed deeper.

“…god don’t!” Kirk insisted again helplessly, closing his eyes against the sight of the men grinning at him, and knew that he was begging.

“Mister Newell,” the commandant addressed the human guard, “you will take our guest first. Stretch him open so that he will be able to accommodate the rest of us.”

“Yes sir!” the young man responded eagerly. Obviously this was one order he would enjoy obeying. And moving to take the Romulan’s position behind Kirk’s wide-spread legs, he gripped an arm around Kirk’s waist, then slid his other hand over Kirk’s sore buttocks as the commandant had done.

Kirk flinched, then held still. Desperately he tried to call on what mental techniques he knew to try as best he could to dissociate himself from what was about to happen. He might have no control over what was done to he body, but at least he could discipline his mind. He would not react, he would not…

…Jim, allow me to take over… Do not counter me…

He thought of Spock, tried to align his mind with his friend’s. Spock's grip on the data in his mind was firm, but because of it, the Vulcan could not completely override Kirk’s pain without Kirk’s assistance. Now more than ever Kirk wished he had studied Vulcan meditative techniques. At least Spock's presence soothed him.

Then without warning, a solid organ penetrated him. “Ohhh…” a moan of ecstasy issued from the kid’s throat. Rhythmically he humped deeper and deeper into the heat of Kirk’s body.

Kirk’s face twisted in pain, lips skinned back over his teeth. He could feel the ramrod pound up his ass. The kid was gasping and grunting his exertion, just a few seconds from orgasm. All the sadistic foreplay had aroused him fully, and it took only a little hard work to course him over the top to ecstasy.

Then pulling out, the young man gasped laughingly, out of breath. “He’s all yours sir,” the little bastard reported succinctly to his commanding officer.

Kirk didn’t even try to resist now. Tears welled from his eyes. If they had wanted to see him completely degraded, he hoped they were enjoying themselves.

S'Rezli strolled around in front of Kirk, lifted Kirk’s face by a fist under the chin. “I think the captain would like some company. Tavren,” he ordered, “go back to solitary and bring Commander Spock here.”

“Yes sir,” the guard smiled, unlocked the cell door, and stepped out.

Dread twisted Kirk’s guts. “What are you going to do?...” he muttered.

S'Rezli smiled. “You should be grateful Kirk. You get a little rest. I think, before I fuck you, I’m going to open up your Vulcan. You’re too weak right now to give me all the pleasure I intend to enjoy with you.”

Sudden horror squeezed Kirk’s insides. “…oh god don’t,” he begged, and couldn’t see through tear-clouded eyes. “Leave Spock alone.”

The commandant’s grin was cold. “Do you think he’ll scream in front of you? It takes a great deal of pain to make a Vulcan scream. But I’ve accomplished it – a number of times. I wonder if you’ll feel what I do to him. It will be interesting to see if a human bondmate can pick up empathetic vibrations.”

“No!” Kirk pleaded. “Leave him alone!”

The Romulan gripped a fistful of hair. “Then open your mind to me, Captain. Tell me even one piece of information, and I’ll be gentle with the Vulcan. Tell me the fleet complement of the nearest Starbase, and I promise I won’t leave him permanently damaged.” Romulan hands slid seductively down his body.

“Damn you! I won’t! I can’t!”

“Of course you can, Captain. And if you feel guilty afterwards, just tell yourself it was command prerogative. To save a crew member’s life. That’s certainly understandable – especially when the crew member… is your lover…”

“…goddamn you…!”

Fingers groped painfully. “Beg me, Captain.”

Short arrhythmic gasps. Tears rolling down cheeks.   “Don’t… hurt Spock… I beg you…”

“That was too easy for you,” the patronizing voice scolded. “Tell me, has Commander Spock ever seen his captain cry like this?”

Kirk had no doubt that Spock was seeing it now – and empathetically sharing the acute tension of his bondmate.

“Do all starship captains cry? Is that how you command your crew?” Then unexpectedly releasing the bonds that held Kirk, S'Rezli loosed him and let him drop to the floor. “Very well, since you don’t choose to give me information, at least you can suck my cock, human. Prime me for your Vulcan.”

One hand gripped his hair again, yanking his head up, while the other clutched his jaw and wrenched his mouth open.

Helplessly Kirk gagged.

But then, just as the huge organ invaded his mouth, suddenly with a thundering crash, the cell door slammed open and all hell exploded through.

The men in the room jerked up, off-guard, stunned momentarily, as a dark form hurtled through the doorway, and grabbed the nearest of them: the little human punk, Newell. Vulcan strength lifted the horrified victim high into the air, then hurled him against a concrete wall like a broken doll, where he collapsed near Peterson’s still-crumpled form. In one quick motion, the powerful body turned toward the Romulan guard, Selar, and clubbed a fist across a surprised face. The sickening crack of snapping vertebrae sounded grotesquely in the room, and Kirk looked up weakly from S’Rezli to see Ambassador Sarek’s intent yet deadly-calm countenance as the elder Vulcan strode purposefully toward them.

In a moment, S'Rezli recovered from shock, and from his crouched position over Kirk, dived toward the intruder’s knees. Together the two bodies tumbled to the floor, wrestling, snarling like aroused panthers. Flesh impacted flesh, blows with killing-intent behind them. On their feet again; then S’Rezli rushed his opponent to slam him into a wall. But instead of bringing Sarek down, the commandant doubled over abruptly, as a driving kick smashed right into his body, and grunting breath exploded from his ruptured lungs. Another kick to the chin snapped his neck, and bonelessly his body flopped back onto the floor.

Then Sarek rushed to Kirk, and all Kirk could visualize was a blessed avenging angel bending over him protectively, comfortingly; and he let himself faint into the embracing arms just as Spock, clad in Tavren’s appropriated uniform, limped into the cell behind his father.

* * * * *

to be continued…

Chapter Text

“I hope your father knows how much I appreciate what he did for me… for us…” Kirk mentioned once again, as he had numerous times in the past week since the Enterprise had picked them up. Sprawled on his bed, uniform rumpled after a long day on the bridge, Kirk stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t want to appear effusive, but he saved my life. I don’t know how to repay him. Just ferrying him back to Vulcan doesn’t seem nearly enough – we would have done that anyway.”

“That is all he wants,” Spock assured, strolling into the sleeping area of the captain’s quarters. “His own life was in as much jeopardy as ours. All three of us worked together to survive, and we succeeded. My father’s greatest need now is to return to my mother, so that she will be able to assist his recovery. As his bondmate, she will add her strength to his, and their bonding will support them both.”

With a resigned shake of head on the pillow, Kirk closed his eyes. The trip to Vulcan after three days of intensive debriefing at Starbase 18 was their first opportunity for relaxation since their capture. Even the first two days spent in the base hospital had not been conducive to rest. “But he was practically responsible for our entire escape – sneaking us out of the camp with the two of you disguised as Romulan guards, hot-wiring a shuttle, flying us back to Federation space while evading pursuit, as well as preventing us from being shot down by our own people… I submitted a recommendation that he be awarded the Cypress Star Cluster, but no medal can come anywhere near to what I owe him… and you, Spock. Thank you both.”

“It is my duty – and my desire – to support you, Jim. Especially now that you are my bondmate as well as my captain.”

Kirk’s eyes flickered to his companion’s; and a slight unease flickered through the link, as he quickly changed the subject. “The Exeter and the Rodger Young have been assigned to patrol that sector until the second planet moves into Federation space. And Winters has already sent demands to Romulan High Command to get their asses off a supposedly neutral planet. At least this time the admiral did more than just sit on his ass.”

“Yes,” Spock acknowledged.

“I just wonder if we’ll be called back to help clean up… I think I might have difficulty… returning to the camp… even though I’m not a prisoner there anymore.” Despair lined the human’s face, masked immediately by a frown. “Goddamn, Winters practically made me describe word for word what S'Rezli did to us. An the hospital personnel too… damn, it was almost like being violated all over again.”

“Jim, they needed to ascertain precisely how we were injured so that they could help us. I wish to help you too. As my mother is there to assist my father, so we must work this out together. Please allow us to do so.”

Kirk turned a hesitant gaze toward his companion. “Spock,” he admitted, “I’m not sure how to handle this ‘bondmate’ relationship. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act. I sense you inside me all the time – even though I realize you’ve been holding our contact to a minimum. But even so, it’s there – and I feel like I’ll never be alone with my own thoughts again.”

“That is true, you won’t be,” Spock agreed. “We must come to terms with this change in our relationship. You have been avoiding me for the past seven days.”

“No, I haven’t,” Kirk denied. “I’ve… been busy. First the hospital, then Winters’ debriefing, then getting caught up on ship’s business. Besides we’ve been together on the bridge for the last two days.”

“You know that is not what I mean.”

“In the hospital, you joined with me in a healing meld. I let you do that.”

“That was all you let me do.” As Spock stepped closer to the bed, Kirk sat up, folded his arms and crossed his legs. “Jim,” Spock tried to reassure, “I understand this is difficult for you. But you must allow me in. I have been patient for the past week, allowing you to come to terms with this in your own way. But now we must unify.”

Kirk’s dis-ease colored with frustration. “We are unified. I have no privacy anymore. S'Rezli was in my mind; you and Sarek too. I have nothing left to myself.”

“What the commandant did to you – and to me – was not at all the same as what Sarek and you and I have shared,” Spock countered. “Jim, I do realize that humans are not used to close telepathic contact, and I understand that you are disturbed by the intimacy.”

Rising from the bed, Kirk distanced himself from his partner by going over to the dresser and rearranging the items on the bureau-top. “Dammit, I was violated, Spock. It’s hard enough coming to terms with that, without all these new feelings that I’ve never had before. I feel desires toward you, sexual desires. And yet I remember what the prison guard did to me, and I’m impotent as well. You know, before we bonded, I’d never… slept with a man. Now that’s all I can have for the rest of my life.”

Spock moved up behind him. “I told you that was an inevitable consequence of our bonding.”

“I know you did. And I know we had to bond when we did. But now why can’t we just go back to the way things were before? Why can’t we just be bonded but not do anything about it?

Spock's own frustration began to build. “We cannot. We are linked for the rest of our lives. I too have feelings awakened that I never felt before. We are not what we were before. Do not naïvely suppose that we can be. Jim, I have a need for you to join me now as my bondmate.”

A wash of irritation, and Kirk moved into the less-intimate surroundings of the outer office. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you making demands now?”

“Yes, Jim. For both of us.” Spock followed his retreat. “We must solidify our union. Part of your discomfort now is an effect of our out-of-phase conjunction. We must correct that as soon as possible. In four days we will arrive on Vulcan. We must be in harmony by then. Neither of us will be able to function among other telepaths as long as our minds are aberrant.”

“Do you mean re-do what we did in the cell? Do you want to have sex with me again?”

“I very much wish to share sexual pleasure with you again, and soul-unification.”

“Let’s talk about this later,” Kirk announced abruptly, and headed for the door. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore now.”

“No!”

The absolute command in the other man’s voice and through the link, and a powerful grip on Kirk’s arm halted him instantly. Surprise – and not a little shock of fear – squeezed his chest; and whirling around, he yanked from the grip. Never in their four years together had his second-in-command ever spoken to him like that. With wary eyes he stared at the Vulcan, then attempted to walk out the door again.

Again Spock grabbed him, jerked him around, pushed him against the wall. “Jim, you will not avoid me any longer!”

Momentarily the fear blossomed into panic. Kirk could not control Spock's presence in his mind, and he could not overpower the man physically either. In a flash of clarity, he understood Vulcan dominance, and realized just how much Spock had been suppressing all this time. And a familiar sensation of helplessness gripped him as tightly as Spock had hold of him: the same as the Romulan strength had humiliated him so absolutely.

The panic surged through their bond, images of Romulan torture, of a human so vulnerable; and then a grotesque phantasm of Spock domineering, possessing… raping…

And the feedback ripped through Spock; grievous pain drew the stern countenance even more rigid. Immediately he dropped his hands and withdrew the force of his presence. “It is not the same, Jim,” he insisted quietly. “I do not rape. I require your presence as my equal and as my mate. Neither of us is whole alone any longer. But if the bond troubles you so greatly, then perhaps we should attempt to nullify it after all, or at least weaken it. If you wish for us to return to our former state, then upon reaching Vulcan, we shall procure the services of a healer. I cannot guarantee the results, but as the bond did not fully take, perhaps it can be removed without too great a risk to us.”

For a moment he looked into the human’s distressed eyes, then turned toward the bathroom door which connected their quarters. “Good night, Jim. I shall be in my cabin the rest of the evening.”

Without a word, Kirk watched him leave, heard the doors sigh shut behind the departing form. Carefully he checked the spark of his companion’s aura in his mind – it was still there. Anxiety and tension hovered close by, a tangle of confusion. The memory-sense of Spock's strength echoed through Kirk’s arms as though the steel fingers still gripped him, and absently Kirk rubbed the stimulated skin.

Maybe it would be best after all for them to sever the bond. After all, it had only been initiated as a last-ditch effort to confound their captors, and not because of any profound sexual love between the two of them – certainly not like the love between Sarek and Spock's mother. A marriage of convenience – or more accurately, of military practicality. Of course they cared for each other, cared a great deal. As a command team, they had been inseparable for the past four-and-a-half years. They trusted each other’s judgment as though it were their own, covered each other’s rear whenever necessary, spent most of their off-duty time together. But to be bonded as life-mates, sexual mates – that raised a whole other set of circumstances.

Kirk tugged his shirt off and tossed it on the bedside chair. It was late and he was tired. Bed looked so inviting.

His body was healing now from their three-week ordeal; between the base hospital and McCoy’s skillful touch, his injuries had all been tended, infections halted. Bruises and wounds still ached, but that would soon fade, and McCoy had assured that any left-over scars could later be smoothed away, and little sign would remain that the horror had ever happened.

But about the mental damage, the doctor had not been so reassuring. How any of them would deal with the brutal memories of their confinement was up to each one’s individual psychological strength. And right now Kirk felt very shaky in that department.

Boots were stood beside the bunk. Socks followed the shirt onto the chair.

Spock had assisted his physical healing. In their meld during the hospital stay, Kirk had felt the Vulcan’s presence within him, in his bones and muscles and blood. Spock had offered to assist him mentally as well, but Kirk had refused, wanting – needing – to be left alone after S'Rezli’s invasion and the bond’s intrusion. Spock had acquiesced – as he always did – to Kirk’s request.

And now Kirk began to think that maybe that hadn't been the right thing to demand. He’d needed his privacy, but Spock had needed him. Spock needed him now. He wasn’t the only one to have suffered violation under the commandant’s hands: Spock had willingly taken Kirk’s place first, had submitted to the Romulan’s rape to delay his captain’s ordeal and thereby give them time to create some sort of protection for Kirk. Better than the human, Spock had realized what bonding would mean to any other life-plans. And he had been willing to sacrifice other possible futures to join with Kirk. Military practicality, yes, but more than that. A lifetime more than that. Maybe that was love after all.

Pants and undershorts joined the pile on the chair.

He should walk next door and see what he could do for Spock. He owed him that. He owed him everything. And who else did he intend to spend the rest of his life with, anyway? There was nothing else. Nothing but his job, and the Enterprise… and Spock. and what did the sex matter? They’d had sex once, they could do it again. And again. Even the thought now did something to that little spot in his mind where Spock's essence lived, triggered a need, a desire to touch Spock's body now… and more than that, to touch his mind and soul again. Spock was right: alone and apart, neither was whole any longer.

Then before any contrary thought could refute him, he strode through the bathroom and into Spock's quarters.

Spock sat in a chair in the bed-chamber. He was nude, and his eyes were closed, face relaxed in contemplative repose. As Kirk entered, he looked up, meeting the intensity of Kirk’s eyes with calm receptivity.

An intake of breath, then Kirk announced without preface, “Spock, I don’t want to break the bond.” And knew that Spock sensed his words before they were spoken. “I’m… sorry I reacted the way I did.”

Gentleness touched the human’s energy, and the spark in his mind brightened to a watchfire once again. He knew Spock's thoughts too, but Spock spoke them aloud as well. “My presence was over-powering your own self. I retreated to regain my own emotional control and to allow you your center of balance. You needed to confront your true desires with regard to this matter between us.”

Strolling closer to Spock’s chair, Kirk managed a little smile. “I think I knew my true desires better at the time we first decided to bond, while we were still imprisoned, than after we got back to the ship.”

“At the time we bonded, you had not yet faced S'Rezli’s interrogation. The trauma of that damaged the perception of our union. Your loss of confidence is understandable.”

A slight nod of head acknowledged Spock's insight. “Well, I’ve decided I’d like to re-unify – if that’s what you say has to be done.” With a smile, Kirk looked down at himself, at his own nakedness. “I guess I’m dressed for the occasion, aren’t I?”

“Your… uncovering… is most conducive to a state of physical joining,” Spock's own tiny smile of amusement noted. “But I know you do not wish sex tonight.”

Kirk shrugged. “My ass is still too tender to take you tonight. But I’m willing to go along with anything else you want. Do whatever you need to do to make it right between us.” He reached for Spock's hands, whispered gently, “Just do it, Spock. Please.”

Squeezing Kirk’s fingers, Spock rose from the chair and moved over to the neatly opened bed, partner in tow. The watchfire of their bonding glowed steadily, the transmission of thoughts and feelings pulsating with greater intensity as they lay down together. A disparate cluster of emotions warred within Kirk: desire, and the need to correct the situation between Spock and himself, yet also fear, memories of the last time his body was entered, his mind probed cruelly.

“Jim,” Spock murmured, lying beside him. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Kirk insisted despite the storm of conflict in his mind. “Spock, you must know I want this, even if I can’t think straight. Please help me get through it.”

Spock's arms gathered him close. “I shall.” Tenderly he kissed his bondmate’s eyelids. “Surrender, Jim, and I shall bring us together.”

Obligingly Kirk willed body and mind to relax, as he had done once before in a dank filthy cell; but now only peace and comfort filled him, while the fire within began to absorb his being.

“I am with you,” Spock whispered. “Do not be afraid. See the fire, concentrate on the fire. Allow me to draw you out of yourself.”

As best he could, Kirk restrained his restless thought, saw the glow, pictured it as a flaming brazier. Slowly, gradually, he felt Spock's presence guiding him. His legs grew numb, then his arms, torso; and he felt himself drawn weightlessly from the physical plane into another finer dimension. Fear attempted to intrude, but Spock's warmth drained it of its chill.

And then, as though the whole existence faded away, Kirk found himself at the threshold of a new world brilliant and finely detailed – the same, and yet entirely different. He saw the fire blazing and Spock standing within it, like two images superimposed. Spock was nude and reaching out to him, eyes calm and quiet.

This was not the same as their first bonding. Obviously Spock had known before Kirk had, that the human would finally come to him tonight, and so he had initiated the meditative state for Kirk to slip into directly. Now Kirk felt his life essence vibrating as though a sound current surrounded them, passed through them: the sound of bells, of conch shells, of temple chimes.

And Spock remained in the flame – not a funeral pyre, but rather a refining blaze that burned away all the dull heaviness of solid reality, and left pure weightless essence. The long arms and slender hands reached for Kirk, offered solace from his pain, contentment and acceptance.

… you must come to me… Spock urged… you must join me of your own free choosing… come to me, James Kirk…

And it wasn’t difficult, not difficult at all. Kirk felt desire in his bonding center, and realized with this new clarity that what he had previously interpreted as Spock invading him was actually only half Spock and it was half himself as well; and it was love, not invasion.

… I need you, Spock… he pleaded to the image in the flame, and the image smiled at him.

… I know you do… now you understand my need of you as well, my bondmate… come to me…

… is this love, Spock?...

…love by any name you wish to call it…

And the proffered embrace invited him, refusing to be denied… and willingly Kirk stepped forward into the flame, and found that he was merely stepping into himself, stepping into that place which he and Spock already occupied; only this time it was completely right.

And something inside him slid home with a heavy metallic thud like the chamber-doors sealing fast.

Kirk lurched up from the bed, half-expecting that it actually had been the chamber-doors that he heard.

But he was still in Spock's quarters in the dark, and Spock was beside him, and Spock was in him, and he felt a power that would help him overcome the nightmare of torment and abuse.

Lips touched his own, not a threat of usurpation, but an assurance of love. The energy in his mind held at bay all shadows of anxiety; and he sensed himself sinking into a nearly-transcendent peace as Spock's breath and warmth enfolded him. And he felt his own warmth reaching back, brightening the watchfire that he tended in Spock’s mind, the fire that mirrored the blaze in his own.

Gradually feeling and weight returned to his body. Spock's hands were caressing him, carefully, tenderly, touching all the secret spots to pleasure him, while the Vulcan’s mind feather-caressed their bonding center.

The energy stirred in Kirk’s loins; the fire burned away all desecration of S'Rezli’s rape, and now Kirk knew that he wanted Spock, he was no longer impotent.

Spock did not attempt to penetrate him, but rather fingered Kirk’s responding flesh gently, drawing the tendrils of desire stronger and stronger. In reciprocation, Kirk began to stroke the lean hard body beside him, pushed his hand down into the moist heat between parted thighs. Spock's contented sigh breathed close to his ear, while an echo of satisfaction shimmered through their link. Need began to build, simultaneously and reverberating, gathering them in its upsweep, roiling through them.

“We are one,” Spock whispered / thought, and Kirk realized that it was true: aside from enjoying his own participation in the act, he was sensing it all in its entirety from the limits of their individual bodies. The physical, the mental, the emotional – he wouldn’t have thought that he was capable of giving so much and receiving so much.

And then desire could delay no longer: and in near-blinding ecstasy both exploded in searing orgasm, a climax that went on and on, before ultimately returning its performers to solid reality.

In complete satiation, Kirk lay there on the bed, feeling the tender cat-kisses that Spock caressed over his hair, feeling the heavy body-weight lying half on top of him. “Spock,” he murmured against a sweat-slick throat, “is the pain finally over?”

Spock's head shook. “No. But it is ours now, and we shall overcome it together.”

Kirk slipped tension-trembling arms about the lean waist. “Thanks, my friend, for being close whenever I’ve needed you.”

“You have always been close to me as well,” Spock reminded. “Our bond is not as new as we think. We have been one for many years now – we have simply not been aware of it in our souls.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re aware of it now.” And touching the warmth in their minds, Kirk let the embers soothe him into a trouble-free sleep at last.

* * * * * FINIS * * * * *