THE PLACE OF MARRIAGE OR...

"Kalifal."

The words were said, the gong rung, and it was done. Spock was wed.

The incessant bells rang, and Jim Kirk grit his teeth at the sound. He knew he should feel some sort of relief, or congratulations, or something for Spock, but he just couldn't find it in him. All he felt was hate. He hated this woman, this stranger who was stealing Spock from him. He could feel the hate pulse through him, driving an adrenaline high. _How dare she? How dare she take him?_

He had no choice but to allow it, though. It was one thing to disrupt the Enterprise's schedule to deliver Spock to Vulcan. Biological imperative. Quite another to stay while the fever burned itself out. Totally impossible to wait out the season Spock would spend with his new wife, waiting on the birth of his first child.

_Damn, how I hate this woman._

Kirk realized his gaze had fallen away. He did not want to see Spock with that woman, did not want to witness any moments of intimacy between them, any signs of affection or passion or whatever Vulcan equivalent Spock would show his wife.

Kirk's attention was jerked back by McCoy's gasp. He saw that Spock had grabbed T'Pring, had born her to the ground. She struggled beneath him, but it was impossible to tell if it was because of the same fire that burned in Spock, or in protest of the violence. Spock knelt over her and jerked his shirt open, then struggled to shed its clinging fabric in a violent wrench. Kirk's breath caught on his protest, and only the painful bite of Bones' grip digging into his bicep kept him still.

Spock's pants were next. T'Pring lay as if she was dazed while Spock rose long enough to remove them, again using force in his struggle rather than remove his boots first in a logical fashion.

T'Pring was afforded no such preparation. It seemed the traditional costume was designed to accommodate immediate consummation.

Spock knelt again, kneed open T'Pring's legs. The woman began to struggle, but Spock was implacable. He reached down and jerked her legs up, then forced himself into her.

Kirk felt his breath rasping in and out of his lungs, as if he had just undergone some exertion in Vulcan's thin air. He clenched his hands as the desire to flee warred with the desire to scream protest.

Jim, he's killing her!" McCoy started forward, but was stopped by the crossed weapons of two burly Vulcans. Across the sands, Kirk could see another man similarly restrained.

Kirk looked away again, but then guilt drove him, and fear, a little. He did not want to lose Spock, and if the woman died, Spock might die as well. And even if Spock lived, Kirk wasn’t sure Spock would be able to accept what he had done afterwards, when the madness passed.

Ducking around the guards, Kirk ran forward. He pulled at the Vulcan's shoulder, trying not to focus on how Spock pounded into the woman.

"Kroykah!"

T'Pau's sharp command froze the scene, Kirk as much as Spock. After a moment, though, Kirk managed to pull Spock back, off T'Pring, and McCoy scurried over. Kirk could see the bruises on T'Pring's neck where Spock's hands had squeezed; remembered the strength of those hands catching him, holding him from danger. The woman lay still and lax.

She's dead," McCoy announced, horror and shock thick in his tone. Death always seemed to come as an affront to McCoy.

"Dead," Kirk echoed distantly, looking over to T'Pau. Would he still lose Spock, or had this... this aborted consummation accomplished all it needed to? Spock still knelt, frozen immobile, and the madness that had taken him with the ringing of the gong was still twisting his face.

"It happens, sometimes," T'Pau announced, seemingly disinterested in the result. "If the woman is perceived to have belonged to another." She shot a look towards the other restrained male. His face had none of the usual serenity of logic, but was painted with more horror than McCoy's. "Or if the bond has been supplanted by another."

"But what will happen to Spock?" Kirk asked in dismay. The guilt returned, doubled. Had he caused this? Could his own feelings have somehow caused Spock to do such a horrible deed? He pushed that away. Impossible. Of course it was impossible.

"He is deep in the plak tow. If he has formed another bond, that person must be summoned to the koon-ut-kalifee. If he has not, he will die."

"Die! No!" Kirk stepped forward, as if he would fight them all to save Spock. As if it would do any good.

"Jim. Jim, don't." McCoy was at his elbow, holding him back. He wanted to shake him off, but McCoy held tight, and Kirk allowed himself to be drawn back. "Jim, we can't do anything here. If we go back to the ship, maybe I can find some answer."

"Ship, yes. All right." He started forward again, despite McCoy's clinging, intent on retrieving Spock, to take him back to the safety of the ship. The crossed blades clashed in front of him, barring his way, and McCoy hampered his ability to go around.

McCoy shook him. "Jim? Are you all right?"

He jerked his head around to look at McCoy. "What? Yes, yes of course. Back to the ship. You must find some answer to this, Bones."

It felt like a betrayal, but he pulled out his communicator and ordered beam up for the two of them.

#

He was so hot. He felt as if he was burning up. He could see the flames, the sand baking in the heat. He needed something cool, some relief.

Kirk kicked the confining coverlet from his sweat-covered body, but even that provided no relief. He rose, and stripped off his shirt, wandered restlessly around his room. There was somewhere he was supposed to be, something he had to do, but he couldn't quite remember what.

He paused, leaning up against the metal mesh. It felt cool against his heated flesh. He arched back, slid his hands down his bare chest. He was on fire. He heard it then, the voice. _Come. Come to me._

Yes. Yes, that was what he needed.

It was too bright when he left his quarters, but he had to bear it, had to endure so he could follow that voice.

_Come. To. Me._

Someone was blocking his way, shouting in his ear. "Captain. Captain, what?"

He pushed through the hold, but another caught at him. Voices, shouting, blocking out that one voice.

"Transporter room one to sickbay. Medical emergency."

He fought, but there were too many for him. They held him back. He couldn't remember, now, where it was he was supposed to go, and the fire was consuming him.

"Jim! What..."

"He was trying to beam down, Doctor. Like that."

"Jim. Can you hear me? Jim!"

Someone calling him, but not the one he needed to hear. "Let me go," he moaned. "Just let me go."

"All right, clear off, let me in there. My God! He's burning up."

He recognized the voice, then: "Bones. Bones, he'll die."

Silence, and he could struggle to his feet. It was still too bright; his eyes longed for the dim Vulcan light, the fire of the meditation flame. "Bones."

"All right. Lieutenant, beam us down, the same coordinates as this afternoon."

"But Doctor..."

"This is a medical emergency, Lieutenant, which means my orders cannot be disobeyed. Now do it. I'll see to it the captain is all right."

"Yes, Doctor."

Cool hands led him forward, and he stumbled up the steps. Yes, this felt right. He could hear the voice again. _Come._

He was in another place, and the voice was louder. He stepped forward, and the sand burned under his feet. He struggled to rid himself of his pants, to bare his flesh to the cool night winds, then stumbled forward.

Yes, Spock was there, kneeling in the meditation position, rampant cock upthrust before him. The fire-maddened eyes rose to meet his, and scorched him with their touch. Yes, this was what he needed to do. He crossed to that still figure, dropped to his knees before it. "Spock. I'm here."

He was slammed to his back before he realized Spock had moved. In the moment of stunned helplessness until he caught his breath again, Spock had mounted him, thrusting into his unprepared body with the same violence which had killed that woman.

A moment of helpless doubt came with the burning pain. _I was wrong. He'll kill me, too!_

He felt that implacable Vulcan grip tighten around his throat, and screamed, though no sound came out. _Spock. Spock!_

Miraculously, Spock froze, the grip loosened. "Jim." That deep voice sent shivers through him, touched his soul.

"Yes, Spock. I'm here."

"Jim, I burn."

"I know, Spock."

"So cool, Jim."

Spock was moving again, driving into him, and it still hurt, but he didn't fear it any longer. He was on fire, and all he wanted was to quench the flame. The sand ground into his back as Spock thrust, and the cool air caressed his own shaft. "Spock!"

Then a soft touch on his face, an implacable grip, and Spock's mind surged over him, until he lost his pain, his fears, his very identity in one all-consuming wave of pleasure.

#

"Captain?"

Jim Kirk roused at the tentative call. It was dark, except for the faint light cast by flames in the distance, and he could hear the wind sigh over the sands and through the stones. His breaths were short and fast, and he felt light-headed with lack of oxygen. He shivered in a sudden chill.

"Captain? Jim."

He pressed himself up to a sitting position and grunted in surprise as muscles protested the movement. He shifted around until he found a position that did not place tender anatomy in contact with the ground, and then looked up to see Spock hovering beside him.

"Captain?"

He laughed shakily. "Isn't that a little formal under the circumstances?"

"Jim. Are you well?"

"A little sore. I imagine it's nothing Bones can't fix up. And you, Spock?"

"Jim, I apologize--"

He felt a moment's impatience at Spock's reserved formalities. "Spock, skip the apologies for now. Just tell me. How are you?"

The Vulcan looked away, a sign Kirk could now read as embarrassment. "The plak tow has broken but..."

"But what, Spock?"

"The fever... it is not ended."

Kirk shifted, winced a little as he found a new bruise. "Does that mean you'll be needing more 'quenching'?"

"Captain, I am sorry I--"

"Are you, Spock?" He drew himself up to his knees, the better to capture Spock's gaze. He could not help but fear Spock's reaction. Could Spock blame him for the death of T'Pring?

"Captain?"

"Are you sorry this happened? Because I'm not." He winced. "Oh, I might have appreciated a little more warning, and I'm sure we could make it a little more pleasant, but I'm not sorry it's happened, and I'm not sorry if you're telling me there's more to come. I'm certainly not sorry I didn't lose you to... another. Are you?"

"Captain, I..." He could see Spock stop, and really see him, really feel what was between them, now. His voice dropped into that sexy octave that just reverberated in Kirk's very bones. "No, Jim. I am not at all sorry about that."

"Good." Kirk rose to his feet and drew Spock up to an embrace. "Then let's see what McCoy can do about the damage so far, and then we can find somewhere more comfortable for the next round."

"Jim." Those strong arms wrapped around him, capable of crushing his ribs and yet restrained. The warmth of Spock's skin sent flame rushing through him again, and he opened his mouth to meet Spock's, and he wasn't sure if he cared whether they made it back to the ship or not. At least, not right now.

THE END.

KSOF Challenge:
T'Pring didn't challenge Spock at the Kon-ut-kalif-fee. And Spock does not want her. He wants Kirk. What happens?