"And In the Darkness Bind You..."
TOS K/S h/c, NC-17

"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie..."

---from "The Lord of the Rings", by J.R.R. Tolkien

// I have never in my life felt such pain as this. It comes in blazing, incandescent waves. It floods my nerves, tears at my control. Every single nerve is afire; each screams out its own separate signal. All contribute to the flood that is burning me alive. The mind rules enable me to function, but they do not make this easy. Nothing can make this easy. I cannot sleep, nor have I been able to eat. I dare not relax, not even for an instant. I have no strength to spare. And that endless voice, deep within my mind... Even with the mind rules, I cannot shut it out completely.

It is not a human voice, nor a Vulcan one. It is not really a voice at all. It has no words. But the creature does speak to me. It speaks in concepts. I *know* what it wants.

It wants this crew, this ship -- and far more besides. It is pushing at me, hard. Only the thinnest edge of my control remains now. It wants me to beam aboard seeds like the one which planted itself on me, so that it can take over this ship as it has already taken Deneva. The on-planet coordinates where the seeds lie waiting are engraved on my mind in purest fire.

I shall step out of an airlock without a helmet before I permit that to happen.

No. There has to be a way to defeat this creature, a way to spare Jim from what he is even now grimly preparing himself to do -- for if all else fails, it will fall to him to order the orbital strike which will sterilize the planet. No matter what, we cannot let this creature spread beyond Deneva.

But I do not know how much longer I can hold out against the pain. The creature never stops pushing at me, never lets go. Every instant that I do not obey its wishes, it inflicts more pain. I *must* hold on. But the pain never subsides at all, and I grow weary...

When my control does break -- as it must, all too soon -- I will be a danger to us all, even to Jim--//

"No!"

I sit up in bed, gasping for air, my heart hammering in my side. I was dreaming, reliving a memory, that is all.

This is the curse of an eidetic memory -- to think of something is to re-live it. But the creature that was within me is truly gone. I can no longer feel it in my flesh, nor can I sense it in my thoughts.

I open my eyes and blink -- and *remember*.

I am not only free, I am also quite blind.

Haste was necessary. I myself urged the doctor to proceed. I knew, through my link to the creature, that its Denevan slaves were building a ship, that their work was very nearly done. The creature itself was not precisely intelligent, though it did possess a crude self-awareness. Rather, it used the brains of its slaves much as I might use a computer. And I, being a telepath and part of it, could access some of the other minds it had possessed. It was not a meld; it was more like looking for a certain file in a large and poorly organized directory. But I could not discover the precise plan of their ship. The creature itself did not understand such concepts, and my access was limited by that lack of understanding. We had no way to discover what sort of vessel they were building, or how fast it might go, or what range it would have. The Enterprise is a ship of the line, not a hunter-interceptor. Had the Denevans managed to launch, we might or might not have caught up to them in time. The nearest Border Patrol squadron was more than five days away at max warp; Deneva is far from the Rimworlds. Truly, there was no alternative but to complete our tests as rapidly as possible.

But now I contemplate the ruin of the life I have built here. The Enterprise, whatever her other duties, is inarguably a military vessel. A blind man cannot serve as her First Officer.

Nor does it seem likely that I can function as head of the Science Department. At the moment I would not be entirely able to care for my own needs were I somewhere other than my own cabin, where everything is known to me. I need training, adaptive equipment -- all of it time-consuming and none but the most basic available here. It has taken me this long, nearly 24 hours, just to begin reconfiguring my terminal in readiness to start the necessary studies.

My station on the bridge can produce verbal output on command, of course, but this is only a desk terminal, which I myself altered to text-only mode some years ago as a means of speeding up my access. Now I must reconfigure it once more, by hand. And I keep thinking...

It is very possible that I have already worked my last shift on the bridge of the Enterprise.

I shall have to leave this ship, which has been my only home for more than thirteen years.

I shall have to leave Jim.

Were I fully human I might rail against my fate, but it would be pointless. What is, is. This was the only logical choice open to us.

Enough.

I rise and make my way to my desk. It is not difficult. My quarters are small, I know them well, and I have had almost a full day in which to practice sightless navigation. I sit down in front of my half-rebuilt terminal. Perhaps, now that I have rested somewhat, I can at least finish the job of reconfiguring it.

Just in case anything has changed, I open my eyes as widely as I can, but I still see nothing. I reach for my commpanel, touch the switch for maincomp access.

"Computer."

"Working."

"Lights to 100%."

"Unable to comply. Lights are already at that level."

"In that case -- computer: lights off." There is no point in wasting ship's power. The switchover is soundless, but I know that my quarters are dark now.

I lean forward, pick up my tools, and concentrate. After a time I am able to summon a mental image of the terminal's interior. I orient myself by touch and resume my work, careful to avoid the power sink, which can deliver a dangerous shock even with the terminal disconnected. It is gratifying to note that despite my continued exhaustion, my hands are quite steady. This, at least, is still as it should be.

I could order this done, of course. I have that right. Any of my subordinates would be capable. Many would consider it an honour. But I intend to do this for myself. I may indeed be blind, but I am not willing to be helpless.

The work is delicate, but not particularly difficult. I am reassured; the creature's attack on me seems to have left no residual nerve damage. My sense of touch, my dexterity -- these, at least, are unaffected.

A most fascinating creature. So very different from our own kind of life. I should have liked to study it longer, had our circumstances permitted. But it would be a lie if I were to say that I regret its death.

I cannot begin to conceive of what the affected humans must have suffered without Vulcan strength, without the mind rules to help them. Truly a subject for which I must invoke Mastery of the Unavoidable. It is well that it was I who was stricken, rather than any of the others. If it had attacked Jim...

No. I will not think of that. It did not happen.

There. The task is done. It takes me but a few moments to reassemble the terminal and test it. Its functioning is satisfactory.

That done, however, I find myself disinclined to pursue any of my current research. Exhaustion has robbed me of my strength. It is enough simply to sit, for now. I do not wish to try sleeping again, so soon. I might not be able to prevent the dream from returning, if I did.

Perhaps I should have used the healing trance after being purged of the creature -- but that would have required me to stay in Sickbay. I was not willing to do so. I wished only to return to my quarters, where I could be warm and have privacy. So now I sit, and although it might also be wise to meditate, I do not do that, either. I sit, and I *remember*. My memories are clear, bright and sharp; it is like being able to see again.

I remember being at my station on the bridge. I remember the feel of the ship as we go from impulse to warp. I remember the way the crew works together so smoothly, whenever a crisis occurs. I remember walking the corridors late at night, surrounded by the small night sounds of the ship, the scent of the air, the colours and patterns of the almost-empty hallways. I remember the way the stars look in warp space. Most of my human crew-mates claim to find that sight disturbing; I have always thought it aesthetically pleasing.

This is the blessing of an eidetic memory; to think of something is to re-live it.

I remember the colours of the sky on Deneb Altos IV -- infinite variations of pink, lavender, purple, blue. A combination of fine high-altitude dust and certain airborne micro-organisms accounts for the colours. But mostly I remember the look on Jim's face as he watched the sunset there, with the planet's rings arching high above us, glittering in the last of the light... He was utterly entranced. In that moment all his cares had left him and I could see him as he must have looked in his youth. It left me quite speechless; it was fortunate for me that, distracted, he did not seem to notice, or to consider my behaviour in any way strange.

And that is when it hits me again that I am going to have to leave. There will be no more bridge duty or landing parties for me; no more shore leaves, no more late-night games of chess with Jim. He will still be here, but I will be gone.

I have lost *everything*. How do I go on from here? What am I to do?

I do not know. I am *tired*. It is difficult to think, difficult to order my thoughts.

Slowly, painfully, I compose myself again. I *must* meditate, since I dare not sleep.

But I cannot do that, either, it seems. Peace eludes me, and in the end I am left sitting quietly, looking into memory again, watching Jim. Storing up what images I possess against the time when I will be alone again, as I was for so many years before.

Hours pass, before something catches my attention. Ah -- the door chime. There it is again. I get to my feet, slightly awkward, bumping my hip against the table. My body has grown stiff, sitting still for so long. I am about to speak when the door slides open and I hear Jim's voice. "Spock? It's me, Jim. Am I disturbing you, can I come in?"

I can hear the fatigue in his voice, as deep as my own. The regret, the grief he will not speak of, for the loss of his only brother. "Please," I say. "Come in. You are not disturbing me."

He takes an oddly hesitant step, then asks, "Can I turn the lights on? I can't see you."

I had forgotten. "Of course, Captain. I was merely conserving power, since I cannot use them. Computer: lights to 50%."

"Thanks, Spock. I'm sorry to have to ask."

"It is of no consequence." I hear him approach; by the time he sits down across the desk from me I can feel him, too. It is like sunlight on my skin, this awareness that he is near. Has it always been so? Did I simply not notice, busy as I was before with watching him? Fascinating.

"Are you managing all right? I thought you'd still be in Sickbay." I hear his concern for me in his voice; I must find some way to reassure him that I am well.

"Dr. McCoy admits he can do nothing more for me; he agreed to my request to be allowed to return to my quarters once he had treated what he called my 'sunburn'. It is warmer here, and far more comfortable." Not to mention more private. In Sickbay there are always people walking in and out, disturbing my rest... It always smells odd there, faintly unpleasant.

Jim laughs, a little uneasily. "Yeah, I always get out of Sickbay as quickly as possible myself. Bones means well, but..."

"Indeed." I cast about for a safe subject; there is much that neither of us wishes to say. "Can I get you something, Captain? Some coffee, perhaps?"

"I can get that for--" I hear him start to rise.

"That will not be necessary. Please, permit me..." He sits back down. I rise and walk carefully over to my synthesizer, one hand held just slightly in front of me. I am interested to note that I seem to be able to *feel* when I am nearing the wall. I had not expected this, but it is certainly useful. It takes me but a few moments to prepare coffee for him and tea for myself. With some concentration, I am able to carry the cups back and set them carefully down on the desk without spilling any. It is a small thing, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

At one point during the preparation I spill hot water on my hand. I hear Jim draw a sharp breath, but he keeps silent. I am grateful that he does not jump up, try to help. He has always understood me, perhaps better than I understand myself. He is most perceptive, for a human.

Task accomplished, I resume my seat. I take a sip of my tea. It is hot and fragrant; I find it most pleasant. "The doctor tells me that the satellites were successful."

A relieved sigh. "Yes. Calls are coming in from all over the system, now. The things are dead; even the people in the lunar mining towns are free. Seems like when we killed the ones on Deneva itself we got whatever served that thing for a brain; all the rest just up and died."

I am surprised at the intensity of my relief. It is finally over, then. Now that the rest of it has died, I am truly safe. "I see. It is gratifying to hear that. And you, Jim; how are you?"

I hear him shift uneasily in his chair. "Oh, keeping busy. You know the routine. Trying to get the relief effort organized, answering endless requests from FleetCom for more data." He pauses; I hear him swallow, force himself to take a breath. "Peter woke up today. He doesn't remember much; I suppose that's for the best." He pauses once more; I can clearly hear the strain in his voice. "I -- I called Mom, told her about Sam and Aurelan."

That cannot have been an easy task. "How was it, with her?"

"She took it kind of hard. I don't think it's really hit her yet. I called my aunt; she's going to go over and stay there with her until I can arrive. At least Mom won't be alone."

I never met Jim's brother in life, but Jim often spoke of him over the years. I know that they were close. Jim's control, when we found what had become of his family, was admirable, almost Vulcan. "I grieve with thee," I say. It is all that can be said.

"Thanks, Spock -- you know that means a lot to me." He sighs. "Bones says Peter's going to be fine, physically. Kids are tougher than we give them credit for. But we'll have to watch him carefully for a while. He's been through things that no child should have to endure. I'll be surprised if he doesn't end up having some pretty horrific nightmares."

I manage not to visibly start. "Indeed." If Jim knew what I -- but I will not speak of this.

Jim is persistent. "How about you, Spock? How are you doing?"

I permit myself a small sigh. "I am, as you say, managing. I have rebuilt my terminal for speech output. I have much reading to do. There is much I must learn."

"Spock -- I'm *sorry*. I feel responsible for this." First there was concern in his voice; now, I hear guilt.

I did not intend to provoke *this* reaction. "Jim, no. It was my selection as well. It was necessary. Please, do not. I have accepted what is." I can be quite a shocking liar, when I must.

Jim is undeterred. "But dammit, *I* can't accept this! It isn't right." And for this, I have no answer. What a strange sensation I am feeling. Is this laughter, here, inside me? It is a bitter thing, I fear.

Under his breath, I hear Jim mutter once again, "It isn't *right*."

Always the captain. He will worry at this and pick at it, turning it over in his mind, looking for some answer that we might have missed. I know him. But for myself, I am exhausted. I wish only to rest, now. I have not the strength to fight any more.

We both finish drinking at the same time. Jim gets to his feet. He seems frustrated; I hear him sigh, very softly. When he speaks again his voice is hesitant, uneasy. "Well, Spock, I guess I'd better let you get back to your computer. Here, let me take those cups..."

"That is not necessary, Jim." I rise, turn to follow him--

And fall, as I become entangled with his chair, which is not where I had expected it to be. He is on his knees beside me almost as I hit the floor. When I come to rest, I simply lean my cheek on one upraised knee, not trying to rise. Suddenly I am utterly discouraged, disillusioned.

"I'm sorry, Spock. It's my fault, I shouldn't have moved that. Are you all right?"

I cannot prevent the sigh that escapes me. "I am unhurt, Jim. But it is not your fault. The fault, if anything, is mine. I have been a fool. I have been thinking that I can carry on as if nothing has really changed. That is manifestly untrue."

I hear his sharp intake of breath. "But surely, there are devices, ways to compensate--"

"To a degree, yes. But I can no longer serve as your First Officer, even with adaptive equipment. I cannot serve as Science Officer, either. A blind astronomer? A physicist who cannot read his intruments? What place exists for a blind man, on a ship of the line?"

A quick flash of pain that is not mine. I cannot shield against him; I never could. "No! Spock, your career can't be over... There's a way, there's got to be a way... This is all my fault, this never should have happened. I've lost Sam and Aurelan, and now you as well? *Dammit!* I won't lose you, too!" The raw pain in his voice is difficult to bear. Now I have hurt him, and I did not intend to do that. I am not accustomed -- I do not know what to do...

"Jim, you have not lost me. I am still your friend. I will always be your friend. I agree that this is not the result that either of us desired. But it is what *is*. I *am* sorry. I would change this, were it within my power. But it is not." Still I reach out, find his hand, take it. He holds on with the strength of one despairing. We sit silently for a time, unmindful of appearance, each of us all too aware of how much we have lost that we did not think to lose, that neither of us had realized was at risk.

Jim begins to speak again, his voice leaden now, dull. "It *is* my fault. I never should have authorized that last test. We could have waited."

"We did not know that. Jim, they were building a ship, as Aurelan said. I could feel the creature driving its slaves to that effort. The slaves in the link believed that their work was nearly finished. There was *no time*, t'hy'la. We did only what had to be done."

"But your eyes, Spock... Your career; dammit, your life! What happens now?"

I release his hand in order to sit up straighter, to gather and compose myself. "I do not know. I have not yet considered that. But Jim, there was another factor -- I was almost out of time. My endurance was gone, used in fighting the pain. The creature would have overpowered me in the very near future. Once my control broke, I would have been a danger to the ship, to you... I meant what I said in the lab. It was an equitable trade. It is done."

"I can't accept that."

"Jim, please -- you must." I must have become slightly disoriented during this conversation, for this time when I reach out, I brush unexpectedly against his face. I am shocked to discover that it is wet. "Thee weeps, for me? Jim, no. Please, do not." No-one has wept for me since I was a very small child. That *Jim* would do so... No. I cannot pretend to ignore this, I cannot permit it. This is too much.

He is shaking soundlessly, trying to stifle what he feels. His breathing is hoarse, ragged. He will not let go, will not permit himself to lose control. It is no easier for him to do such a thing than it would be for me. Awkwardly I pull him toward me, put my arm around him. He turns his face in to my shoulder, still fighting for control. The arms that reach around me in turn are trembling violently. The strength of his emotions batters at my already-weakened shields, but I am not willing to pull away from him while he is in such pain.

"God, no," he whispers. "Not you too. I won't stand for this; I don't see how we can go on from here, Spock. This *can't* happen."

His words only echo my own thoughts. I have no easy answers for either of us. I agree with him, this situation is intolerable. I do not wish to leave here; it is my home. I cannot bear to leave *him* -- and yet I will have to go. "Jim... I am here now. You are my t'hy'la, my more-than-brother. You will always be my t'hy'la. Nothing will ever change that." It is all I have to offer, and I know that it is not enough.

Finally, I feel him take a deep breath, try to re-assert his control. He stiffens, slightly; I allow my arms to fall to my lap. "I'm sorry, Spock," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to impose..."

"You are not. You could never do that." I do not know what else to say. It is true.

I wish... I am not even certain what it is that I wish for. I take a deep breath -- and time itself seems to freeze, as gentle fingers brush against my face. Once, twice... And now I feel the faintest touch of his lips against my own. I am incapable of moving. So soft...

"Spock," he says. I am silent, my heartbeat suddenly racing, uneven. He kisses me once more, his touch stronger now, less hesitant. "*Spock*."

Long-denied need begins to grow, within me. Hunger... I am frozen, unsure what is the ethical thing to do. It is difficult to bring myself to speak, to say what I feel should be said. "Jim--" I say, my voice noticeably unsteady, "you feel responsible for my blindness. You have suffered a great loss. You are vulnerable; it would be easy to do something you do not--"

He kisses me again. "It isn't like that." His voice is so quiet, yet I hear him so clearly. "I do want this, Spock. Very much." Again he touches my face, softly, carefully. I let my head fall back; I yearn to feel that touch repeated. I feel his fingertips tracing, caressing the shapes of my face; feather-light, human-cool. Once again I can feel what he feels -- concern, for me. Hunger; loneliness as deep as my own; desire, new and hot and bright. And it is not in me to refuse this, or him. How can I, when he is offering what I have wanted for so long, what I never dared to ask for, never hoped to achieve? "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and I feel his fear, so much like mine. Fear of loss, rejection; fear that he has misread me...

With some effort I find my voice again, though it is rough, harsh, full of hunger. "No," I say, little more than a whisper. "No, please -- do not stop." I reach out with one hand, touch his cheek, his forehead, the edge of one ear. His skin is cooler than mine, slightly damp. He turns his head, kisses my fingers, sucks them into his mouth for just an instant...

Some small, muffled sound escapes me. He strokes the sides of my face, then kisses me again. I feel my own desire spark, sputter, burst into flames... Clumsy, desperately hungry, I return the kiss. My hands roam his sides, caress his back; I wish, suddenly, to touch every bit of him, to never stop. His arms surround me, his strength supports me. He is stroking my ribs, my shoulders; his touch is every bit as eager as mine. And this is *Jim* doing this, touching me, holding me. Oh, I *have* needed this. I have yearned for this, for him -- all unaware.

"Ahh," I hear myself saying, "Jim, t'hy'la..." *Bright One*, I think. For he is that; even in this newly darkened world of mine, he is that to me. He has been, almost since the day we met.

We kiss again; we are still awkward together but we are *hungry*. Need is a great teacher. "Spock..." he says, so quietly now that even I can hardly hear his voice. I bend and kiss the side of his neck, eagerly inhaling the beloved scent. I know that scent as well as I know my own. That close have we become, over the years. "Ohh..." he whispers. His arms reach to encircle me again, and now we are swaying together, still sitting on the floor of my quarters.

Jim leans back, pulling me with him till he is lying on his back with me draped on top of him. "You're always so warm," he says, his hands dancing along my ribs, my shoulders. His touch... Ah, his touch does intensely pleasant things to my nervous system. It feels as if, with him touching me like that, all my shields have vanished at once. I can *feel* Jim, not just his fingers but his mind as well. I reach for words, to tell him, warn him -- I must not, he has not asked, he does not know... He takes hold of my hips, pulls us more tightly together. Now I am the one who gasps for air. He is moving, sliding against me, lifting his hips. He is as hard with desire for me as I am, for him. Oh I am truly lost now I cannot think at all and I do... not... care...

I reach down, take his face in my hands, and kiss him as he kissed me, very thoroughly. Wildness is growing in me, a fierce hot need for this, for Jim's touch, for Jim. His skin tastes of iron and salt. I am certain that I cannot ever have enough of him. I feel intoxicated -- dizzy, short of breath. And such a strange feeling; am I *happy*? Is that what this is?

Jim strokes the side of my face; his other hand wanders down my back. When he reaches the place where my belt would be if I were wearing one, he touches -- ah'ai, what is *that*? He does it again. He strokes the hollows just above my hips, where the chenesi lie hidden... ai, yes! "Jim -- ah! That is... there is... ohh..." *Such* pleasure, from just a touch... Cha'ot, this has never happened to me before!

I know that the chenesi are reputed to be a source of pleasure, but... no-one has ever touched me there when all my shields were down. It is not my Time, they are not currently active, I am not usually aware of them at all. I did not realize they could feel like this...

And now I hear Jim laugh, gently. It pleases me to hear it, to know that I have brought him some measure of relief from the pain we have both felt. "You mean, this?" he says, softly. And ai, there it is again... Oh, yes. He touches *that place* on my back and I am lost. I cannot hold myself still, I am *hungry*, and he is *right here*... He laughs again, meets my hunger in mid-air, answers it with his own. "Mmm," he purrs, kissing me again. "Mm-hmm, you *like* that, don't you? We'll have to remember that one!" He smiles, I can feel it in his thoughts, he is smiling... "Spock," he says. "Just a matter for scientific curiousity, of course, but -- don't you think we'd be more comfortable on a bed than here on the floor?" I reach down and find that he *is* smiling, as I touch his face once more. He holds me steady while I rise; I then turn and offer a hand, pull him to his feet.

He keeps hold of my hand. "Come on," he says, very softly. "This way." I follow like a man entranced. My entire awareness has narrowed to the feel of his fingers in mine, the sounds of his footsteps, his breathing, the faint trace of his familiar scent. I hold to his hand as a drowning man holds to his lifeline.

He stops, touches my hip. "One more step," he says, quietly. "The bed's right here." He stands up on his toes to steal a kiss. Surprising myself as well as him, I growl and with great enthusiasm, return it. He wavers, and now it is I who am supporting and he who is supported. He leans backward against my arm, secure, sighing happily, as I find the seam release and peel his shirt from his body. He does not wear a second shirt, as I do. Delighted, I bend to devour my so-willing prize. A long, deep kiss first, and then I am licking at his neck, biting his earlobes, nuzzling at his throat. Only the pressure of my arm about his hips keeps him standing, I think. To think of a thing is to do it; I reach down between his legs and there he is and oh, he is hard, yes, like me -- ah. Yes. *This*... this is for me, this is mine. He gasps, pushes himself harder against my hand. I can feel his pulse beating here, right here under my fingers, the flow of his life itself. Ahh... Quickly I undo the seam, pull the cloth aside, take him in my hand.

He groans, helpless to control himself, thrusting into my eagerly grasping hand. With my thumb I stroke the tip of him, gather and spread the growing moisture there, the better to please us both. I can feel in his mind what it is that he needs. His arms are quivering, tight around my waist; my own growing hardness is pressed against his hip. Jim moves against me and I gasp aloud, overwhelmed by these new sensations. It feels *so good*.

"Oh! Spock -- oh, oh..." All his muscles lock and he thrashes in my arms, moaning his delight. His penis jerks wildly in my hand; I feel it pulsing, slipping... Finally I lose my grip on it just as he sags against me, laughing and gasping and sighing all at once. I hold his waist while he catches his breath, while he straightens and very gently kisses me once more. "God," he whispers, shaken by the speed and the force of whatever this is that we are making between us. I, too, am shaken -- but oh, I do not want to stop. I do not ever want to stop.

He stands, and I can tell that he is removing his remaining clothes as fast as possible. Now he reaches for me and I help him to pull my shirts up and off. I shiver for an instant and then he is warmly wrapped about me once again. He gently pushes us toward the bed, guides me to sit down. "Spock -- I want you to fuck me. Now." Heat flashes through me, at the thought.

He is undoing my pants, and I let him pull them down, away. I do not remember taking off my boots, but they are gone. As he comes into my arms again, it is like coming home, it is how I have always thought that coming home would feel. "Jim..." I can hardly speak, for wanting him. "Yes, Jim, yes. Anything..." He pushes, and I lie back. He slides over to lie beside me, takes my hand, still wet with his seed, guides it to my own yearning flesh. Slowly, savouring every moment, he wraps me in my own wet hand, curves his hand around that. He squeezes, and when I moan and lift my hips, he begins to stroke, to squeeze, to slide...

In moments I am writhing, gasping, out of control; he takes pity on me and stops. "Mm. Yes, now. Come on..." He rolls to the side, pushes himself back against me; now he is warm, not cool. I know that his skin would look flushed, if I could see it. He reaches back, pulls my hand around to show me. He is curled toward his left side, his left leg drawn up in front. Curious, now, I investigate his body. I wish to know this man in all ways. I stroke the tender skin below his scrotum; he shudders, arching his back. I explore between his cheeks, run a curious finger back and forth across the small tight pucker, hear the sudden sharp intake of his breath. I am surprised that I know what to do; perhaps I have taken this knowledge from him, I do not know. But I do have it.

I stroke myself, take this new wetness and rub it on him and in him. He is as eager as me, I can feel it in him. His flesh grasps greedily at my fingers, clamping down around them, taking my breath away... Now I roll toward him, fit myself around him, gently guide the head of my penis between his cheeks. I am slicked now, hard and wet, *hungry*... And this, too, is intoxicating. I stop and hold like that, catching my breath, clinging to some remaining shred of control. I want this, need this, so very much. I must be careful. I must not hurt him...

"Hey. It's okay. Don't worry. You aren't going to hurt me, that's not how this works. Just relax, we'll be fine." He pushes back gently, pushing me, in turn, more firmly against him. The sensation...

Ah, *there*. Yes. I take myself in hand, find the right spot, push.

Jim gasps. "Yes, yes..." We both feel it, a strong bright flash, pleasure/pain all mixed together, when the ridged head of my penis pops through the tight muscle, when I begin to actually enter him. He groans, throws his head back. For a moment his muscles clench around me; I am nearly overwhelmed... I hold still once more; very soon, the pain is gone.

Very gently I lean over him, push myself deeper. He is tight around me, warm inside, soft and wet. I rock my hips back and forth and with each repetition I feel myself slide a little further into him. Oh, exquisite, the sensation, *Jim* surrounding me... I have caught my lip in my teeth; I am chewing on it, trying to hold back, to go slowly. Finally I feel his back against my belly, his firm round cheeks against my thighs. I lie curled over him, inside him, held by him. "Jim, ahh..."

"More," he whispers. "Please, Spock. More."

I arch my back, push myself as deep as I can, then slowly back away. He moans when he feels me leaving, but I am not gone for long. Again I find the right place, push... More quickly, this time. And again I arch my back. He writhes beneath me, and I cannot hold still. Once more, and this time I am hurried. This is delicious -- but it is not enough. I shift position a little to get a better angle, then begin to thrust, savouring the feel of his flesh, like silk sliding over me. We settle easily into a strong ageless rhythm, perhaps the oldest one of all... Ahh, *so good*... Jim flexes his hips, squeezes tight around me, rides with me.

We move together; somehow he has risen to his knees and now he actively pushes back, driving me deeper into him. I am on fire, consumed with delight. We rock together, back and forth -- and oh, I know, I feel, what he wants, he needs. I reach around and there he is, erect again, eager. I take him in my hand and begin to pump, hard, stroking him inside and out in unison, driving us together. He is strong and lithe beneath me, like a cat. He is all hard muscle and strong bone, sweaty human skin so soft... We are in perfect rhythm; we move as one, back and forth. Swaying, rocking, together, apart. There is a place, here, inside him -- I feel it, a quickspark fireflash of pleasure soaring through his nerves, every time I brush against it...

And something -- oh, yes, yes... Ah! He is reaching up, around, he is brushing against my back, stroking the hollows at the base of my spine -- ohh Jim, *yes*...

And I am shuddering, drowning in pleasure, slamming into him; somehow I keep my grip on his hips, somehow we do not fall off the bed. But my nerves are on fire! Pleasure flows from the place where his hand rests to my penis, to my mind, it feeds back, it grows... He thrusts himself into my fist, drives himself backward onto me, pulls us together. I squeeze him in my fist, he squeezes me inside him. Both of us cry out. Once more he manages to caress my back, right *there*... I cry out his name, words in Vulcan, I don't know, I can't, I-- Ah'ai, what is--

oh... *that!*  Jim, Jim, again, oh-- Ohh, *yes!*          ahh...

                Slowly...          ...very slowly, the world reforms. I am lying on my back in my own bed and my face is wet and I am held very tightly in Jim's arms. He is holding me and laughing and gasping for air; his fingers are trying to smooth down my hair and he leans forward and kisses me, so gentle, so strong, this human. My human. Jim. I am adrift. I feel boneless; I do not think I have ever been this relaxed in my life.

"Jim, I--" Oh, I *remember.* Did I hurt him? I lost control! I try to sit up--

"Shh. Spock -- that was perfect. That was marvelous." He kisses me again. "Don't worry so much. I know you -- you're worrying about how you lost control. Well, don't. It was wonderful! Good god, man, you have nothing to apologize for." I look up -- and of course I see nothing. But for once I do not care. I look up with my fingers instead, I feel the shape of his face, the smile that grows even wider as I find it.

Ah, he means it, he is well, I have pleased him... and myself. I settle in against him. In the aftermath of our pleasure I can no longer feel his emotions so directly -- but he makes his happiness known to me via gentle touches and quiet, almost-whispered words.

I am surprised, some time later, when I feel myself start to shiver. Jim just laughs. "I've been waiting for that to happen. Come on, Spock, let's get you under these covers."

Still shivering, I let him take charge; I go where he pushes me, and soon I am lying under a pile of blankets, listening as Jim uses my fresher, runs water, bumps and bangs around in there. He surprises me again when he returns to the bed, reaches under the covers and very carefully and gently washes me with a soft warm cloth. I am so relaxed I had not even thought of that, but it, too, is a delightful sensation. And now he is crawling into bed beside me, curling himself against me, reaching to put his arms around me. Ahh... Yes. I lean back, and there, I tuck my head in against his shoulder as he pulls the blankets up to cover us both. So soft, his skin, so different from my own tough, wiry, desert-born pelt. But he feels right, against me. I turn my head just in time for him to kiss me again. "Mmm," he whispers. "Think you can sleep now, without that damned dream bothering you?" I can feel my eyebrow traveling upwards. He laughs, and says quietly, "Who did you think you were fooling? I could hear you having nightmares in here, you know. Or maybe I could feel it, that you were sad... I'm not even sure, now. I just knew that you were having trouble."

A jolt of surprise. "I was; you are correct. But *how* did you know?"

I can feel him shrug. "Dunno. I just did. Something told me you needed me. It's why I came over, even though it was already so late. I just *knew.*"

I sigh, and relax again. "Then I am grateful that you did, Jim. And yes, I think I will sleep well, with you here." Moments later I am yawning, hardly able to keep my eyes open. I settle myself against him, curled up in his arms, my head pillowed on his shoulder again. It is most interesting, this, how well we fit together. I shall have to conside--

Sleep.

-----///-----

I awaken with a jolt, uncertain at first of where I am or what is happening. The shreds of uneasy dreams still cloud my thoughts; the humming sound with which the creature filled the shadows on Deneva still reverberates within my mind. I know that it is dream only -- yet a chill runs down my spine at the thought of that sound here. Now I recognize where I am -- in my cabin aboard the Enterprise. I draw a deep breath and remind myself that it did not come to that, the creature did not come here, it did not succeed -- and it is dead now. Still, the chill within me is slow to depart, despite the fact that it is Vulcan-warm in here...

I open my eyes to blackness. My time-sense tells me that I have slept for six point three hours. Again I remember why it is so dark -- and then I freeze. A familiar scent surrounds me; firm warm flesh is curled against me. My body is as loose, as relaxed, as if I had spent a day at the bathhouse in T'Ling'Shar. And now I remember the rest of it. I feel my face flush hot, as I think of who lies here beside me, and why...

"T'hy'la? Jim?" He does not truly awaken, but the arm draped around me tightens for a moment. He sighs contentedly, then relaxes into sleep once more. This is real. I am not dreaming. This is Jim, here, sharing my bed with me. And last night...

Ah'ai, eyah. Last night was such pleasure as I have not felt ever in my life. It is not necessary to ponder memories to know this. From Jim's pain and my own, we have made this new thing, this sharing.

Nothing is solved. I still may have to leave the ship; I do not know. But somehow, lying here with Jim curled against me, I am able to regard even that possibility with a measure of equanimity. Logic tells me, now that I am calm and somewhat rested, that we will be here in orbit about Deneva for some time yet. We must be absolutely certain that all of the creature is dead, and there are sure to be problems for the survivors. They will undoubtedly need our help. I know that Jim will not leave here until he is certain that all those needs have been properly met. I have some time, before I must come to any decisions.

When I rise, I decide, I shall search the personnel records. I honestly do not know if there are any blind personnel serving aboard any StarFleet vessels. I simply assumed, lost in my own pain, that there were none. It merits investigation.

Some options are closed to me now, of course. Certainly I cannot continue to serve as the First Officer. Blind, I cannot command a landing party. I cannot take the conn, cannot pilot the ship, cannot fire her weapons. Tactical plots cannot be accurately translated into speech output.

But I have always been primarily a scientist, a computer expert. I do not share Jim's bone-deep *need* to command; in fact, I actively prefer not to. And sight is considerably less important for these life-paths. When I was a boy, one of my most gifted teachers in computer studies, second only to my father, was a man born completely blind. To this day Stokal is a respected professor at the Vulcan Science Academy. Perhaps I will be able to stay on board in some such capacity, if the Fleet will permit me. Perhaps...

It is at this moment that Jim yawns, stretches luxuriously, then wraps his arms more tightly about me and draws me to him for a kiss. Without regret I cast aside my thoughts and give him all of my attention.

"Mmm," he murmurs. "Good morning." He shivers as I stroke his back, his flank, then he presses himself against me once more. "Mm, Spock, that feels *nice*. Now this is the way to wake up."

Heat begins to grow, inside me. "I agree," I say. I curl myself around him, sniff at the hollow behind his ear, reach to taste the tender skin there, the salty sharpness of human sweat. Such a simple thing, to send a long slow shudder through his solidly-built form, to draw from him a soft, yearning moan, muffled against my neck. Now it is he who strokes me, running his cool fingers along my ribs, reaching to tease and pluck at the fur on my chest. I feel my heartbeat stutter, begin to race. Suddenly it feels as if there is not enough air in my cabin.

He draws his fingers down my belly and I cannot stifle the gasp that escapes me. Nor do I wish to... I arch my back, press myself against him; I can feel him flushing, his skin changing from cool to warm, the first hint of renewed sweat springing out. I bury my face in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of him, so familiar and yet in this, so new. My human. My t'hy'la -- ah, yes. Jim...

"Spock..." He moves away and I am bereft, until suddenly I feel cool soft moisture glide along my sex, licking at the needful, yearning core of me. I shudder, unable to control the thrusting of my hips. I hear the soft chuckle muffled in his throat as he takes me into his mouth -- ah! "Mmmm" he purrs, around me, and the vibration of his mouth against my flesh is indescribable, exquisite... Oh... I need, I want -- I want to grasp his head between my hands and finish this, to thrust into him, to bury myself forever... I force myself to grasp the edges of my bunk, to wait, shivering, as he slowly, slowly lifts his head and lowers it again, gently sucking, touching me with just the edges of his teeth... and then his fingers brush along the insides of my thighs and my legs part of their own volition. Cool, clever fingers, just slightly damp, so soft, insistent, touching me, stroking me, cradling my hips in his hands as he moves with me, up and down...

He pauses, lifts his head, and I can *hear* that he is smiling again as he speaks my name. One finger strays between my legs, strokes up and back, touches for just an instant where none has ever touched but me. I gasp, my body shudders, and he laughs, repeats himself. "Spock--" So soft, that voice; like velvet, like honey... "Spock -- would you like -- do you want..."

"Yes!" I can hardly breathe, for the need of him. Suddenly I feel empty inside... "Jim, please. I *need* -- I wish--" And there, he knows; that finger touches me again, but now it is wet, it feels even softer. I will my body to relax and there, ah yes, that easily his finger slips inside me and it is *good*, this feeling. Oh, yes... But I need more; I need *Jim*. I do not even try to hold still; my body surges up toward him, my muscles tighten for a moment and now it is he who gasps. I can feel the hot flushing of his skin as he lies there between my legs. I reach out, pull him to me. "Jim -- now. Please, now. You will not hurt me, t'hy'la..."

His finger leaves me and I feel him stroke himself; the knowledge of what he is doing brings heat now to my own skin. And then he is with me again, pressing against me, hot and hard and wet with his need which is my need also, and I open myself to him, feel him push inside me, deep, strong, silk-covered steel. He groans and I grasp his shoulders, wrap myself around him, hold him close as he begins to move. And I am filled with Jim, his flesh, his thoughts -- we are not melded, no, but so close like this, I feel what he feels, ohh... *so good*...

He moves, I move, surging up against him, seeking to draw him deeper still. His arms are wrapped about me, my sex is squeezed between his belly and mine; as we move, rock, thrust ourselves together, I feel a strange shivering tension begin to build within me. I grow harder still; his skin slides across my belly like electric silk, caressing me -- oh, I cannot stand it, I cannot be without it... Even the friction of the sheet against my back adds to the pleasure; a ghost, an ever-stronger echo of how it felt before, when he touched me there...

Faster and yet faster; back and forth, in and out -- I am soaring, now, weightless, climbing toward the sun, and Jim is climbing with me. And finally, just when I cannot wait another moment, cannot bear that strange and wonderful tension any longer, he shudders, buries himself within me one last time -- and I am lost, carried with him, willing, eager, spiralling out into coruscating waves of pure delight.

When I become aware of my surroundings again, he is collapsed on top of me, still half-hard inside me, his heart racing, as is my own. He is gasping for air. I feel him start to lift himself up, as if he fears he is too heavy, and I hold tight and do not let him rise. "T'hy'la," I say, very quietly, reaching up to nuzzle at his face, to take his lips for my own. I do not say anything else. I do not need to. That word says all. I am content. -----///-----

Jim has taken his leave of me, with a certain reluctance. We have agreed that he will return when his shift is over, that we will share the evening meal. He did not wish to leave, nor did I wish him to -- but there is much he needs to do today. Kaiidth.

Once he is gone, I spend some much-needed time in meditation. I am able to reach a somewhat deeper level now, in sharp contrast to my efforts of the previous day. In fact, from the moment the creature first attacked me I was not able to achieve this. I find it most satisfying. Not only does it fulfill a very real need for me, it enables me to re-establish my Control, my shielding, which is necessary if I desire to leave this cabin at any time in the near future. What Jim and I have shared is precious to me -- but I would not wish to be so unguarded where any other might see me. I am still Vulcan.

After my meditation I am much refreshed. I sit down at my terminal with a cup of tea and begin my research anew.

It takes some time to accustom myself to speech-only output; I find it considerably less efficient, but it is my only option at the moment. Soon enough I dismiss it from my mind and concentrate on finding the information I seek.

At the end of the first hour I have determined that there are in fact quite a number of blind personnel in StarFleet -- but only five on active shipboard duty. All but one are science department personnel; the fifth is the second-shift comms officer on the USS Harrington, a stellar physics research vessel. Two are in fact astronomers; one works with subspace, one with radio. I must have been more deeply affected than I thought, to have forgotten that such a thing is possible. It is true that there are no blind personnel currently serving on any Constitution-class vessel. Still, it is something.

I have also discovered that McCoy has apparently not yet informed the Fleet of my change in status. I do not correct his oversight. In addition, Jim has not changed any of the Command access codes yet; as far as the computer is concerned, I am still on active duty, still the First Officer. I know this will have to be changed, soon -- but I appreciate the gesture. My research is rendered considerably easier because of it.

We are, in fact, under orders to remain at Deneva until the first relief fleet can reach us, which will not be for at least another four, possibly five days. Such vessels cannot run at sustained high warp factors, as the Enterprise can.

I call up information on adaptive equipment, but most of what exists requires custom fittings and extensive training. In the end, I simply requisition a very old but still useful device -- a simple lightweight cane -- and read up on the proper methods of its use. Even this is supposed to be accompanied by training, but the stated instructions seem simple enough. I am a Vulcan; it is not as if I am going to panic somewhere and forget where I am. And after nearly 48 hours in this room I am greatly desirous of leaving, but reluctant to impose upon any of my shipmates to ask for help.

Dr. McCoy is expecting me to call him to my cabin today for a follow-up visit; instead, I have decided, I shall go to him. I believe that this is a logical task to set myself. If in fact I am to remain on board, I will have to be self-sufficient in such matters, not so?

The cane is delivered by a yeoman from Supply. I spend some time moving about my quarters with it, becoming accustomed to the feel of it in my hand, seeking the most efficient way of holding and moving it. It is surprisingly easy to use, elegantly simple in design; a tunable field permits it to be collapsed when not in use, to a small cylinder not more than ten centimeters in length. When tuned the other way the cane extends itself and locks, yet the whole does not weigh as much as one ripe khist'lai fruit. A static fastener permits it to be fastened to the standard uniform, as if it were a phaser or communicator. Apparently Vulcan hearing is an advantage -- I can easily determine whether the tip is striking floor, carpet, or bulkhead by sound alone. I am encouraged.

Next I call up ship layouts and have the computer review my chosen route. I will not try counting steps -- the files I have already read warn that this is subject to too many variables, that it is far too easy to lose one's way. Instead I review all the relevant room numbers and sector nomenclature, as well as the distances involved. I can decipher the placards on the doors if I become unsure of my location; I have tried it on the door to my own quarters and it is not difficult, although it is *slow*, reading with fingers instead of eyes. I am considering learning NeoBraille, for pursuing further research; apparently it permits somewhat faster reading than audio alone. But this is a matter for the future. My project for today is to travel the two decks and three sectors between my quarters and Sickbay, without getting lost.

Somewhat to my surprise, I find that I am quite looking forward to this. Now that I am rested and no longer in pain, forced inactivity is proving rather tiresome. I am accustomed to a heavy workload, after all, in my position as both Science and Executive Officer.

Once more, I review my chosen route. Then I pick up my cane, drink the last of my tea, and step out into the hallway, intent upon my goal.

-----///-----

ON TO PART 2