H A L L   O F   F A M E

Previous stories in the  HALL OF FAME  Section:

SBS#6: Surrender by Killa
SBS#7: I Leave This At Your Ear by Jane St Clair
SBS#8: The World Turned Upside Down by Jenna Sinclair
SBS#9: And In The Darkness Bind You by Greywolf the Wanderer
SBS#10: Younger Times by Rae Trail
SBS#11: The Word Withheld by J.S. Cavalcante

This time, the story is a beautiful one, "Rhapsody in Rain", written by my dear friend, Arachnethe2. The story was suggested by Gilda Felt, which I thoroughly appreciated.

Enjoy!
/Kira

Title: Rhapsody in Rain
Author: Arachnethe2
Series: TOS
Code: NC-17
Pairing: K/S
Disclaimer: Startrek is the property of Paramount Pictures, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, made for no profit.
Summary: In a strange town, during a rainy night, Kirk and Spock healed their wounds.
English is not my native language, please forgive me my errors.
Again my thanks belong to Greywolf, my editor.

Rhapsody in Rain
Written by Arachnethe2 ...
   ...for Killa

It's falling down onto wet stones,  and those gently, soft sounds,
are telling to the dreaming flowers  stories about eternal lovers,
whispering, that it is only right  to make love the whole of night.
It's like tears of black sky,  miracle of soothing,  master of merciful lie,
like healing balsam for world's pain.  The virtuosi of rhapsody  -- the rain.
   (Sonnet of Falling Rain)

He dropped his bag on the red carpet, and the key on the small table in the corner. And then he looked around:

A small room in a small hotel somewhere in Hamburg. God knows why he had chosen this town among so many towns on Earth.  The room was clean, although somehow shabby. Perhaps because the furniture was so cheap: a chest of drawers, a chair, a night table with a lamp and a terminal... The bed - for one person only.  But that was right, for he wanted to be alone this time. At last he explored the small bathroom, and found the place immaculately clean and tidy, like all sanitary facilities in Germany.

He felt the loneliness of this room, and the soft sound of rain behind the window didn't make it any better. The drops seemed to increase the silence around him even more.

Then the urge to leave, to move somewhere else returned again with full force. Ah hell, he didn't want to sleep here during the night anyway. He was definitely not in the mood to remain in this room, to start to unpack his things. Better to survive those hours in an another place, together with strange people, who let you just sit there and didn't ask any questions.

He grabbed the key and then he left.

The rain in the streets of a strange town seemed to change the roads into mirrors, in which the old houses admired their beauty, suddenly becoming vain. And the wet cars moved like odd-looking ships, just leaving the port on the river, to make a small tour of the land. The clouds hanging over Hamburg and the whole of Europe made it impossible to see the stars tonight.  He missed those shiny spots spread over the black velvet background, or passing the Enterprise like short silver rays, when the ship was moving at warp speed. The rain came seldom in his life, in his job as a Starfleet captain. And the temperature tonight was lower than twenty degree Celsius, too.

He had to fasten his jacket.

The song of the rain calmed Jim down, but the cold of an early spring evening in northern Germany forced him at last to enter the small bar.

"Was wuenschen Sie?" the old bartender asked. What he wished? Better not to think about it. Not now.

"Ein Bier."

"Hier, bitte sehr."

"Danke."

He picked up the glass and settled himself down to an empty table. The bar was drowned in semidarkness. The few people here were mostly sailors, or the port workers. Kirk listened, as far as he could, to their talk about themselves, their lives, their work...

Behind the window ships entered the port from both sides: the large ones from the sea and the long and plain river ships from the inner country. There in Hamburg was the end of their journey. Because past this place, where the river flowed into the sea, only their big sisters were able to continue farther.

Kirk sipped at his beer. Not bad. It was cool, had its bitter taste...

He sighed as he watched the slightly surreal scenario behind the window: the ships moving like big shadows in the rain. He thought about the Enterprise, now docked in Starbase 1 in orbit around the planet, waiting for him, while he had run away from her, from his crew, from his friend.

After the docking manoeuvre was finished, he simply signed himself off duty, went to his quarters, grabbed the bag which was waiting there for him and then he was gone, leaving only a short message on the terminal. At first he beamed down to Fleet HQ, where he reported to Nogura and Komack about his last missions, ignoring Komack's penetrating gaze. The urge to pull Kirk aside and start the questioning was written so clearly on the admiral's face that Kirk had to restrain himself, to not to show his bitter amusement. 'Nothing had happened', was T'Pau's order. Kirk felt a cold shudder running down his spine, facing the fact that this old Vulcan woman was so powerful, that even the almighty admiralty had been forced to bow its head to her will.

At the end of the briefing, he had announced that he was taking two weeks of leave. He got them and then he left, quickly, hastily, feeling their curiosity penetrate his back like a knife. He entered the transporter: 'What direction, sir?'  He didn't know. Anything, he would do anything, to disappear from there. His idea, to change the continent, to put the ocean between him and his  superiors, was the best he had in those last hours. But although he could escape both men, he could not escape his own mind.

This was the reason to go out of the hotel, to find a place where one was not entirely alone, yet left to his own thoughts. This small bar in the Hamburger port seemed to be the right choice to survive the night. Since the nights had become the thing he feared the most.

Absently he took another sip of his beer. This would be only the first one of a number of drinks that would follow, this night and the night after that, and the night after that. But he knew that this was not the best solution of his problem, that however much he was ready to drink and how many nights he would spend hanging around in all the bars of this town, it would not get any better. He would still prefer the day for his sleep, because in its light the nightmares were less frightening.  He was defenceless against them, when they came in the  night.

The rain. Falling down from the sky, it played a rhapsody in its own characteristic rhythms on the stones in the streets. Kirk gave in, while listening to the lulling melody, forgetting for a  moment the stifling heat, the strange white sun that shone on a planet of red deserts. He found it satisfying to sit here and  remember all those things that told him that he was still alive: like the feeling of cold spring air, the smell of salt, coming from the sea, the rain gently dropping onto his hair, his face.

'Nothing had happened,' T'Pau had said. Nothing had happened, was his slogan, with which Kirk continued his daily routine after he got out of sickbay. Until he retired into his  quarters at the end of that day, until he went to bed, until his mind started to return to that place.

Again he had seen the ring-shaped arena, the fire, the old matriarch and her silent, jet-black, dangerous guardian. He heard her voice, demanding nothing less than obedience and he, the great captain, who was feared along the whole Neutral Zone, bowed his head to her will and surrendered to her power. As Spock had, helplessly drowning in the heat of his own fever and madness, when he attacked his CO and best friend.

Spock. Kirk felt suddenly the pain on his chest, where Spock's lirpa had marked him. And although the wound had been healed immediately after he was taken to sickbay, a sickle-shaped scar remained, like a memento, that even Spock, the only sure source of safety in the universe, could seriously attack him, with the purpose to kill him.

Perhaps this horrible knowledge was the main reason that he had started to avoid him. On duty they were still the perfect team: the human captain and the Vulcan first officer, presenting to the whole ship the picture of two acting as one. But the talks, the gentle verbal sparring, the chess parties, the meetings in Kirk's quarters had stopped.

His glass was already empty.

He looked again out into the darkness, where the rain penetrated the lighted cones of the street lamps. A night, black like the eyes of a Vulcan, which followed Kirk the whole time, during their bridge shift. They were clear now, free from the madness, but distant and unreadable too. Spock was aware of Kirk's dilemma, but did nothing, while his captain encapsulated himself even more, seeking his refuge in his job.

McCoy was the only person, in those days, who had tried to help him. They were already near the Earth, when he had called him into his office.

"I'm fine Bones."

"Dammit Jim, I was there and I've read something about psychology, so make an ass of yourself and not me."

"I told you I'm fine."

"Ah, to hell with you and your stubborn mind!"

And he did. He went. But not to hell, because he had been there already, and there in the heat of the red sand he was almost killed by a mad Vulcan, who had once lulled him into belief about the most peaceful race in the whole Federation.

The opening door brought Kirk back to reality, but after he had seen the newcomer, he had to smile bitterly: when one is just right then thinking about Satan...

The Vulcan hesitated at the threshold for a moment, but the chilling wind outside the bar forced him at last to step in. He didn't need to look around for too long. The room was small, half empty, and his eyes were able to see clearly in the semidarkness. Slowly he headed to the table where Kirk was sitting, and during the whole time the human remained in the posture of a man who was calmly calculating his next move toward the door. Finally the Vulcan sat down opposite Kirk, his hands placed on the polished surface, his gaze never leaving Kirk's.

An uncomfortable silence hung like an impenetrable wall between them.

"Guten Abend. Sie wuenschen?"

Spock stirred, hearing the unexpected question, spoken in a language he didn't understand, and looked in surprise at the bartender, who was standing just above him.

"Einen Tee fuer den Herrn," Kirk answered for Spock. The man nodded and then he left.

The tension between the human and the Vulcan lightened for a moment. Kirk watched his friend and first officer, while suddenly becoming aware of their environment: this was Earth. There were humans around them, with their human customs and behaviour, speaking a human language which was unknown to the Vulcan. Spock, in a thin coat so inadequate for the cold, wet weather out there, which was soaked with water; the Vulcan, who was raised in the desert, where stifling heat was the standard temperature, who even in the full air conditioned rooms on board felt himself a little uncomfortable, suffered immensely in the early spring rain of northern Europe. Kirk couldn't overlook the wet black hair, the drops on Spock's face, the hands, whose thin fingers turned greenish from freezing. All in all, the Vulcan looked a little lost and helpless here in this place, where Kirk felt himself familiar and safe.

The bartender brought a steaming cup and placed it in front of the Vulcan. Awkwardly Spock took it in his hands, holding it tightly, concentrating on this only source of warmth in this cold world where the water was permanently falling down from the sky.

'How did he manage to find me?' Kirk speculated, while he watched the Vulcan taking some careful, yet eager sips.

"You could be a good detective, Mr. Spock," he couldn't resist saying this quote, giving it a portion of humourless sarcasm. "You actually found me, although I left my communicator in my cabin."

The Vulcan put his cup on the table, but still kept his palms curled around the warm white china. "I programmed a search algorithm to catch the signal of your ID-Card, whenever its data is sent to the central Starfleet database. After knowing the name of the town you had headed to, I beamed myself to the Central Transporter in London, where I took the continental train."  He frowned a little at this evidence of behaviour which was different from the rules of his Vulcan  homeworld, where every leave was considered as a private act and no one was permitted to take notice of it. "The last signal, which came from your hotel, I received at the station."  He  pulled the standard board tricorder out of his pocked, but Kirk didn't react in any way. Awkwardly the Vulcan put the device back into his coat. The human watched him calmly. Again the Vulcan shifted uncomfortably, and continued: "In the hotel... I asked after you, but the people at the reception desk told me that you left, so I started to search for you in the nearby area..."

Again the silence between them. Kirk's face was motionless, like a mask, which hid masterfully all his fears. A minute or so ago Spock finished, now he was waiting, his fingers warming themselves against the cup of tea.

"Why?" Kirk asked quiet, "why did you do all this?"

"I have to talk to you."

"About what?"

At first the Vulcan didn't answer back. He sat there opposite Kirk, his fine-boned fingers entwined around the steaming cup, looking down as if he hoped that all the words he needed would be mirrored on the surface of his drink. 'He is beautiful', Kirk thought, watching this pale, ascetic face with high cheekbones, expressive nose and thin lips. Looking down, his eyes hidden behind the eyelids and long black lashes, this calmness given form in every contour of his body, let him look like a statue made by an artist, whose hands have been blessed by god. But then those pale eyelids framed by long lashes lifted up and revealed a pair of black eyes and the expression in them...

This lasted only a glint of a second, but Kirk was sure that he was *there* again. He could feel the heat, and smell the sand and spice in the dry air and watch the once calm, peaceful Vulcan, who was eyeing him with deadly madness in his gaze, while making his first move...

...and then Kirk's restrained mind gave up, the command to leave shot down from his brain straight into his legs. As fast as he could he jumped up and headed for the door.

Part 2

He didn't remember his sudden escape. When he became aware of himself and the things around him, he realised that he was running through the streets and that the rain had increased in intensity. He needed to get his orientation back. He stopped at the edge of a small park and watched for some seconds the sparsely lighted path, which led inward, before he stepped on it.

The silence of sleeping trees surrounded him. He went farther, and farther, the old leaves from last autumn, now washed by the rain, glittered on the stones. The widely spaced lamps shone here and there, throwing their cone-shaped light down like veils, revealing the fine, cold drops. The dark park, the silence, the light cones, the surreal silhouettes of naked trees made Kirk relax a bit. He moved, being driven by this urge to simply go, which blocked anything else that might appear in his mind. But this worked only for a while.

How it could come to this? He asked himself bitterly. How could it happen, that he was afraid of his best friend? Ten days ago things were still all right. He was the captain and Spock  the first officer. He was the emotional and illogical human, his friend the calm, restrained and logical Vulcan. They were the opposites of each other, the two sides of the same coin, two acting as one, fitting together perfectly. He never thought that this would ever be different. Kirk recognised that despite all the losses in his life, Spock's presence had formed itself as a constant, never changing, always here around him. Until this madness came, the two hours of heat and old rituals, which had changed, and perhaps destroyed, all that had been built between them during the last years. Was it like that? Was it really like that? Something in Kirk protested against this bitter recognition. Lamely and uncertainly. But he was too tired to even listen to those signals. So tired.

He sat down on a bench near the lamp, his palms hanging lifeless between his knees, staring into the dark emptiness in front of him, ignoring the dense rain falling onto his head, his  shoulders. And so he was found by Spock, who remained standing some meters away, keeping a polite distance, growing uncertain at the sight of Kirk in this helpless posture.

Finally the human lifted his head and turned in Spock's direction. He didn't say anything, only looked exhausted. The Vulcan came closer, never leaving Kirk's gaze.

"Still not giving up?" Kirk finally asked in a quiet tone.

Spock only shook his head. Kirk sighed. Slowly as if a heavy weight were lying on his shoulders, he stood up and made some steps toward the light-cone. Hesitantly the Vulcan followed him, and Kirk wasn't surprised by it. 'He is always behind me', Kirk thought, as if he had seen him for the first time. 'Always following me, like a shadow...'

"What do you want to talk about?" Kirk repeated the question for the second time this evening.

"About us. About, what ... happened."

"Hmmm... a very interesting topic." He made a step aside and then back, "and what do you want to tell me?" His voice grew ironic.

The Vulcan looked at his feet, swallowing uncomfortably, struggling with himself and with all the rules of his Vulcan heritage: "I'm sorry...", he said then in a barely audible voice,  "I'm sorry..."

And finally, after so many days Kirk's nerves exploded: "you are sorry?" He shouted out. "You hid basic facts about your state, and about the risk which I was taking when I decided to beam down with you to Vulcan. I have never hidden anything from you, I told you all about me, because I have always trusted you and believed that you told me everything in return." He waved his hand, as he had seen that the Vulcan wanted to say something. "Of course you didn't have to," he continued bitterly, "you could always to keep your secrets in the name of your holy Vulcan  privacy."  His anger grew with every second. "I was about to die, Spock! I followed you because I had always believed that Vulcans cause no harm." He stepped closer to the man, who didn't dare to move back even the slightest bit. "What awaited me was a nightmare! And after so many days you come to me and all you can say is 'I'm sorry'!"

"Jim..."

"Tell, me Mr. Spock, Vulcans don't apologise, do they?"

"Jim, I ..."

"It has been always your favourite sermon to the whole ship, that an apology is only the conclusion of illogical failures of an imperfect human mind. Then why this nonsense at last?"

"Jim please...", this was like a sob and Kirk stopped, shocked to hear this. The Vulcan looked as if he had been slapped. Shivering from cold he stood in front of the human, freezing in his inadequate thin coat -- soaked from water -- his hair tousled, looking like a thin, wet, street cat awaiting its next blow. 'And the whole time I was afraid of this man?' Kirk wondered, feeling  suddenly disgusted by his own behaviour. He stretched out his hand to put it on Spock's shoulder, but the man shifted and turned halfway back.

"You are right, captain", he said in a quiet voice, "there is no excuse."  And Kirk watched, helplessly, the forbidding profile of Spock's face, the growing distance between them, much greater than the half meter of space between their forms.

The Vulcan took a deep ragged breath. The white steam of it formed a contrast against the black darkness around them. The sound of falling rain softened to a whisper. "There is no excuse," he repeated again in a small voice, "but perhaps, an explanation."

The struggle was even more visible this time, the difficulty of speaking about things most intimate for him, this together with the enormous will to continue farther made Kirk's heart crack.

"It is forbidden to talk about it. Especially to non-Vulcans. Because we are ashamed about the time, when our behaviour gets out of our control and all we have learned about discipline fails, against the total disaster. My whole life I have never regretted my choice to became a Vulcan. But still secretly I had hoped, that my human half would spare me this madness..."

In the light of the lamp, Kirk had seen fine green shadows on Spock's high cheek-bones. He realised, shocked, that the Vulcan was blushing.

"It was like a green fog around me. It possessed me, and nothing helped to ease this urge in me. At last, I wished to gain release at any cost... Jim, I ...wanted to kill you,... because you stood between me and her... Although all in me screamed against it. But I wasn't able to hear, for the desire for release was too great. I couldn't control myself. I was an animal, nothing more..."

No, you weren't, Kirk wanted to say, but he didn't, because what the Vulcan said was the truth. A honest, brutal truth.

"But I swear, that I didn't know, that all this would ever happen. The whole time I was sure, that the ceremony would only end what my family started in my childhood."

Kirk swallowed, realising, that his throat was dry: "Was it..., was it really her right?"

"Yes it was. Kalifee is an old custom, which allows the women to choose another partner, when they declare the first one unworthy for their future breed. It hasn't been used for centuries."

"Not with a legend..."

"No!" The Vulcan interrupted him, a bit loud. "She meant it differently..."  He stared at an invisible spot in the darkness.  "She didn't want to mate with a half-breed..."

Again this merciless truth. He really didn't want to spare himself a thing.

Finally the Vulcan forced himself to look at Kirk. "I don't ... I'm sure..., that..."

"That I will never forgive you?"

Spock nodded. "However. I will do whatever you wish me to do."

"And, what do *you* want Mr. Spock?"

"That is irrelevant."

"Really?" Kirk's voice grew ironic again, "do you really want to have it like that? A command to go away, which you will obey? To order you to leave me, the Enterprise and perhaps Starfleet? Is this what *you* want?"  He stood now close to him.  So close he had never been before. "Spock, answer me!"

"No."  The Vulcan was visibly shaken, "but whatever you wish to do, even if you will end our friendship here, it is your right to do so. It would be illogical to expect anything  else."

Kirk had to step back. This was unbearable! Who was this man in front of him? Seeing Spock in his current state, so exhausted, fragile, vulnerable and totally bereft of his restrained attitude, revealing all and hiding nothing, made him almost scream. He couldn't deal with it, he hadn't ever imagined that he would ever witness this Vulcan soul so totally stripped out and exposed to him. This look hurt! More than the worst injuries in his past. He wanted to turn and run away, and simultaneously to step up to him, to embrace him, to hold him tightly, while telling him that he is worthy -- more than everything in his life.

Somewhere around them, space switched onto another level.

"I have to tell you something." And saying those words, Kirk stepped closer again. "I had never thought that I would be afraid of you, beaten by you, be outgunned by you. My friendship with you was the only clear thing in my life, because I thought that there, nothing would change. And now, the circumstances are different, more complicated, and I have to deal with them... The  second truth is, that I have never told you, that my decision to fight with you was made not only from necessity, but from vanity, too." Spock's eyes widened, unable to believe what he had heard. "Yes," Kirk smiled a little, "from vanity. From fear, not to embarrass myself in front of T'Pau and the others. I represented Starfleet. I had the stupid idea that you in your state would be unable to beat me. You proved me wrong. You gave me  a lesson. And a damn painful one."

"Jim...?"

"Spock, I'm a vain brat, who thinks too much of himself. Don't pretend that you have never thought that."

The Vulcan shook his head. A gesture almost childlike, which made Kirk smile again. "Do you wish to leave, my friend?" Again the shake of the head. "Neither do I, Spock, neither do I."

The world around them settled itself in another dimension, the universe took a different direction, the rain sang in a soft voice, songs about falling water. The words took on different meanings.

Kirk stood so close to Spock, that he could feel the heat of his body. The scent of old leaves mixed with the one of spice. The Vulcan bent his head down a little, awaiting what would come next.

"We should begin anew then... What ever it might bring, we should try..."

"Yes."

"It's too late to search for an another room. You can stay with me." The Vulcan nodded.

"Do you have a bag?"

"I left it at the main train station."

There was again the silence between them, but neither found it uncomfortable this time. And then Kirk asked for the third time during this evening:

"Tell me one thing, Spock, why did you come to me?"

"There is no one else..."

Hearing this, Kirk couldn't resist it any more. He took the thin body into his embrace, feeling the Vulcan giving up, letting himself be held, his head resting on the human's shoulder.  The rain glittered like tears on their faces.

The hotel room was drowned in semidarkness, the street lamp threw some light through the window, and the neon sign hanging on the house on the opposite side painted it with blue,  which frequently changed into green. The rain gently drummed on the glass panes of the window.

The first thing Kirk did as soon as they were in, was to turn the central heating up several degrees; then he rummaged in his bag for a while, until he found a towel.

"Here," he handed it to the Vulcan and then he pointed at the closet: "You'd better put your coat in there." Spock obeyed and Kirk felt something like relief. A Vulcan freezing in wet clothing caused only sorrow. He turned back to the heater and checked the temperature. Still not at the right level, but it was already pretty warm here.

He went to the closet and put his own jacket there. The corner of his eye caught an almost funny picture of Spock drying his wet hair with a very resolute gesture. 'Like a cat which got wet,' he mused secretly, while his mind noticed the remarkably fine bones of Spock's fingers...

He headed for the bed... And then he stopped at its side:

This piece of furniture with thin, white sheets, shone in the corner of the room, being halfway lit by the blue-green neon sign outside the window. It was narrow, for one person only, or for two lying tightly in each other's arms. An indefinable feeling shot down into the ends of his fingers, his half closed hands. He took a breath. He felt the Vulcan; he was aware of his calm, solid presence although there were two meters of space between them.

Slowly, like in a dream, he crossed those two meters of distance, feeling the temperature of the air rise, filling with the scent of rain, spice and musk. He reached for the white towel which hung down, hiding Spock's face, and touching those slender fingers, he stopped their motion. Carefully he put the cloth aside, while his other hand slid into the wet hair and pulled the head a bit closer.

The kiss was the most shy and tender he'd ever had. Awkwardly two pairs of trembling lips met in a feathery touch, then parted for the tiniest bit, to return again, slightly opened this time, tasting. The Vulcan hummed quietly - a sound which made Kirk's grip around the wet towel and the Vulcan's hand tighten. He let him go, a little, and looked into his eyes, seeing the depths of the night in them, the calmness of space, the glittering presence of the rain.

Kirk turned away, then took a few steps, then he only stood there, motionless like a statue, his arms drooping beside his body, listening to the faint sounds of drops hitting the window. After a moment, as if in a trance, he started to undress himself. Slowly he pulled down his sweater, unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop down onto the floor.

Spock watched the muscles which tightened across the human's shoulders and back, never daring to make either a sound or a motion, which might stop the scene in front of him. The pale golden beauty of the human seemed to increase, with every piece of clothing falling down. The man took off his boots and socks, his hands reached to the fastening of the pants, which then were dropped down to the small pile on the red carpet.

Kirk turned and Spock caught his breath. The light of the neon sign moved, and projected the shadows of the rain drops onto the pale golden skin and onto the red, sickle-shaped scar stretching itself across the broad chest. But this lasted only for a second or two, because suddenly the human stood near him, taking the wet towel off his hand. Kirk's eyes were shining, tender, the corners of his mouth serious, almost sad and hurt. But Spock didn't want to turn away, he couldn't.

Never leaving those hazel/green eyes, his hand shifted to the buttons of his own shirt. Hesitantly at first, then growing more sure, he opened them and let the garment fall down, together with the rest. It was as if with every dropping piece, the remaining doubts in his mind changed to dust.

Revealing all, hiding nothing. Naked truth, naked mind, naked bodies. Fragile, vulnerable, tender.

He stood undressed in front of his friend, aware of this moment with every nerve-ending in his body. And then, passing him by, he went to the narrow bed and sat down on its edge, looking at Kirk, calling him with his eyes.

Slowly, he had to move slowly, Kirk reminded himself. This beautiful, naked Vulcan here was like the shyest being, who might disappear with the first unexpected move.  He sat down on the white sheets beside Spock and took his hand.  For some endless moments they remained in the same position -- halfway turned toward each other, hips and knees touching, their faces so close -- the one golden, soft, fair, all muscles on the compact body, the second pale, dark-haired, full of planes and angles, fine-boned and slender.

They kissed again. Gently, slowly, tasting each other, the mouths open, tongues touching.

The Vulcan moaned again. The human was holding him in his arms now, those cool hands exploring his body, searching for the sensitive places, touching them and making Spock react in ways he had never thought to do, while those soft lips moved down from his mouth, to kiss his throat, to lick at its veins, to slide farther, behind the earlobe. He arched his back, when those skillful fingers parted his thighs and touched him at his groin. The signals of growing lust shot down into his flanks, urging him to spread his legs further apart, to allow this access. There was a loud sound, and he realised that it came from him.

He sank down onto the white sheets, losing any sensation of the world around him.

Kirk knelt down beside the bed and put Spock's legs up. But then the Vulcan turned his back to him, the thin body curled, the knees drew up almost touching the chest.

Kirk panicked for a moment. 'I have pushed him too far,' shot through his head, while he hovered above the Vulcan, putting his hand on the thin shoulder, feeling the fine tremor under his fingers.

"Spock...?" He whispered...

The Vulcan's face turned to him ...

...and Kirk felt something like relief.  Spock wasn't crying, he wasn't even trembling from cold. Then why...?

"Shhhhhhhhhh...", he smiled slightly, soothingly and then moved his hand down to the arm, to the chest. The touch of his palm worked like a spell on the slender body. The Vulcan turned slowly onto his back, moving his chest at first, then his belly, at last his hips. And then the human caught his breath:

He was aroused.

The green-jade hardness pointed upward, with swollen ridges, a single drop of moisture glittering at the tip.

As if he was hypnotised Kirk moved his hand toward the cock, feeling himself react in the same way. Slowly he bent down and took him in his mouth, tasting salt and cinnamon and something specific he couldn't describe. The Vulcan sobbed as the human's tongue touched those ridges and the sensitive spot between them - a sound that made Kirk suddenly, painfully, hard. He lifted his head and looked at Spock. A pair of black eyes watched him, mirroring an open soul.

"Jim...", he said and stretched out his hand.

To sink into his arms was like laying down in the fire, or savouring the sun. He felt warm, so warm. He didn't remember a time when he had experienced anything similar. And silk, smooth pale olive silk covering a hard surface.

They kissed again, open-mouthed, breathtaking kisses. While their palms wandered over each other's bodies, to pinch the green bronze nipples here, to mark the back with the fingernails there, to slid into black hair to feel the sensation between the fingers, or to grab the curves of the butt.

Their movements grew into a rhythm, their cocks rubbed against their bellies. Their eyes never leaving each other's gaze. Spock threw his head back, feeling the waves of pleasure crashing over him; and with his green-flushed cheeks, tousled hair and mouth half open he grew more beautiful in Kirk's eyes with every second.  Finally something within him exploded. Dimly he heard the human crying out, felt the friction spread out between them, the last thrusts slowing down, a body collapsing into his arms, peace...

...release...

Rain...

Part 3

~ The golden body sank down onto the red sand, and the world's dim green colour, which had driven his mind insane for days, disappeared. He came back to his senses, through a release he had yearned after, to realise that it would be better if he should die right there.

~ Why ? Had been the only question he was able to ask. Why? Screamed his soul. One moment before the man was a breathing being, now he changed into a lifeless body, lying there in the red sand and all that he might once have been vanished in a glint of a second.

~ He couldn't bear himself, he couldn't stand there sharing the same space with those who he had once called his own people. He had became a murderer in the name of logic and the old  Vulcan traditions. But he had to restrain himself, to not show what had been done to him. No, not in front of them, not in front of her.

~ Only the thoughts in his brain drowned into a chaos, calling, screaming, howling only this word: why?

~ Why?

~ Why, why?

~ Why T'Pring, why, why, why, why...? ~
 

"Spock!"

He sat up, panting hard, shaking, bathed in sweat.

"Spock! You were dreaming."

The world around him took the contours of a hotel room  again. Outside the rain fell, gently knocking on the wet stones of the streets of a strange town. A pair of cool arms embraced  him.

"Jim..." Spock buried his face in Kirk's shoulder.

"It was only a nightmare..."

"Jim, you are alive..."

"Yes...," Kirk kissed that raven-wing hair, "yes..."

Slowly he became aware of their bodies, all sticky from drying sweat and semen. Kirk let go of the Vulcan a bit.

"Come," he smiled and stole a feather-light kiss, "come with me."

'Even to the other edge of the universe,' Spock thought.

But the place he was gently dragged into, was an immaculate polished bathroom.

The hot shower did him good. He stood there, his forehead leaned against the wall, feeling the water pouring down his back. He sighed, when a pair of soaped palms touched him between his shoulder blades, traced along his spine, and then embraced him around his waist. A cool body pressed itself against his own. He turned and met two shiny eyes, framed by spiky lashes.

Jim. He couldn't resist the man, being so close to him. He claimed his mouth in a long, slow kiss, never minding the soap running from Jim's hands down his face.

This was something that he had never expected would ever happen. This rainy night in a strange town on Earth brushed aside every disturbing thought. It had been days since all his beliefs were shattered in the arena, on red sand. He remembered his walk thereafter - the endless journey from the transporter room to the sickbay through the Enterprise' corridors. Expecting to find a dead body.

Jim...! To find him alive had been like a mercy coming from heaven.

*You are alive...*

He reached for the jar and poured some soap into his palms. Jim melted under his touch, as he gently massaged his shoulders, his arms, moved across the rib-cage, watching the small, rose nipples getting hard.

*...alive*

He parted his legs slightly, to touch his groin, while he kissed him and his blood sang, when the man hummed into his mouth.

He was alive. Jim was alive. This was the only sentence he could repeat, over and over in his mind, while being in awe that he could hold him in his arms, bringing pleasure to this oh-so-sensitive body with every slightest touch.

Alive...

He reached behind them both to turn the water down.

Jim was as if he was in a trance. Limp, melted, he let the Vulcan bring him onto the mat, to dry him with a towel. He simply stood there, looking calm, relaxed, peaceful. This was new to  Spock. This beautiful, sensuous man standing here had nothing to do with the powerful captain, who radiated authority in every situation. But to himself, he seemed, too, to be totally bereft of his usual posture of a disciplined and logical First Officer. Nothing in this night was the same.

Nor even in his life, since he had been dishonoured by his own people, since he had believed that he had killed the only friend he ever had and since he had embraced him there in the sickbay in front of the others, never minding his uncontrollable emotional outburst. Because Jim was alive. Only this mattered. Only this mattered now in this rainy night, far away from Vulcan and from everything that might disgrace this moment.

He lifted his human up, supporting him with his Vulcan strength, waiting for Jim to put his legs around Spock's waist, to entwine his neck with his arms. Then he left the bathroom, carrying out his most treasured weight; he headed toward the window.

Carefully he placed the man on the window sill.

"You aren't afraid of me any more."

"No."

"You are alive."

"Yes, I am. Do you still doubt it?"

"Every time I touch you, I am convinced anew."

"My beautiful logical Vulcan."

"You are beautiful, so shiny..., so bright... you are..."

"Spock..."

"Jim, Bright One..."

The light of the street lamp shone on Jim's hair, bathed his shoulders in golden light, revealing the scar on his chest. Red, sickle-shaped, made by one single wave of the lirpa. A mark, a sign, that the nightmares he has had frequently, every night since his Koon-ut-kalifee, have been the echo of events which still hadn't gone into the past. He bent down and kissed this red line, caressed it gently with his tongue, then he stopped, simply burying his face in the smooth skin.

A cool hand slipped into his hair and gently forced him to look up. The light around Jim changed: the neon sign on the opposite house went on, throwing its blue-green rays. 'Like Vulcan blood', Spock thought for one moment, but then there was only a compact body pressing tightly to his own, rubbing its arousal against his belly.  Spock loosened this greedy embrace as gently as he could, then lifted up Jim's hands and spread them between the walls of the window. The human put his legs down, moved onto the edge of the sill, exposing himself completely.

Spock took Jim's hips into his hands, to prevent him from falling down. "Don't move", he whispered and then he bent to take the nipples in his mouth, feeling them getting hard, while he  gently bit those puckered tops.

Jim sobbed and the muscles in his arms and back tightened even more.

The hot tongue criss-crossed his chest and belly with wet traces, licking, tickling, tasting the salt of the skin, sliding into the navel, gently squeezing the sensitive spots on the hipbones. Jim's breath got faster, his back arched a little, his hips thrust forward slightly, the erected cock pressing itself against the hollow of Spock's throat.

Spock inhaled the scent of musk and soap, while kissing the fine trace of hair which led down from the navel and spread into coppery curls on the flanks, over the groin. He leaned back a little, to look up. Black eyes met green ones. As if in a trance, Jim watched Spock taking him into his mouth.

A flash bringing oblivion for a split of a second...

...and a shocked thought thereafter: 'My god, it's him...', while he watched the Vulcan close his eyes for a moment.

Savouring the taste.

Nothing in his life had prepared Spock for this. Dimly he remembered that he had read something about it. Here and there. But his interests were different in those days, aeons, years ago, as he had prided himself on being rational and logical, only wondering about the irrational nature of sexuality. He himself had been different, the time and the universe were different... Until the fever came, and changed all.

He squeezed those smooth, cool hips in his hands and moved his tongue across the tip of the cock, tracing the small cleft.  The human sighed in response, a sigh of pleasure. Eager to hear more, Spock let his tongue move down the hard shaft, until he felt the faint hair tickling his nose. He licked the place at the base, feeling the hips shifting. He tightened the grasp around them, his  yearning for more growing inside of him, while the smell of Jim intoxicated his senses. He could spend centuries doing nothing else except for kneeling in front of him, nuzzling and kissing the  human's warm flanks.

Jim sobbed again - a sound most sweet in the Vulcan's ears. Spock moved his mouth down to the groin, being aware of the silky cock brushing his cheek. Again this sob, as he licked a line across the heavy sack.  Bringing pleasure to the being above him. The moan increased in intensity, the hips under his hands writhed more strongly this time. This was unbearable.

He lifted his head and took the cock into his mouth again, deeper this time.  He didn't care about the gagging he had to suppress, while he sucked harder and harder, noticing only the incredible taste on his tongue, the cries of pleasure, the hips, which he had to prevent from thrusting deeper into him.

But suddenly he had to back off, to catch some breath. He released the cock for a moment... and right then, Jim came. Too late to pull aside... the hot seed shot into his face, onto his throat and shoulder.

"Chestnuts", he thought, when he licked his lips. He looked up, to see Jim lying in the corner of the window, limp and spent, his back leaning against the cool glass. Spock released the hips, moved his palms down the pale golden thighs, burying his face  in their skin, listening to the soft sound of the rain.

The soft whisper of falling drops, the surreal light of the neon sign, the hot breath against his thigh, this all increased the silence of the room.

Kirk moved, trying to wake his limbs up enough to get off the sill. The Vulcan loosened his embrace around his legs and let him slide down.

Both men remained silent. Somehow words were unnecessary right now. The human lifted his hand and wiped the drying semen off Spock's face, but somehow he managed to smear it farther into the black hair. The Vulcan sighed. A desperate sound, that they were apart for so long: some endless second. He swayed forward, putting his head on Kirk's shoulder.

The rain sang in its softest voice to them.

*i should be ashamed. but i'm not. i have broken every rule, which i have followed my whole life without any doubt. i should regret what happened, but i don't. *

'My friend, what happened to you, to us? I can't recognise you. I have never thought to see you so naked, so revealed, so vulnerable. Where did it come from? Why you? And why me?'

*illogical, how the corridor seemed to be empty, as i went to the sickbay.  i remember every step, every bowed corner, every opened door.*

'I waited for you. I was sitting on the biobed, ignoring Bones' 'morale-building' quotes, while my attention was focused on the door. The waiting was endless, unbearable. At last, I almost thought that you would never come.'

*nothing matters, this was the only thought in my mind. everything i had thought was important, faded away from my mind. it couldn't be compared with the horrible reality, that  awaited me at the end of this endless journey.*

'Still the door remained closed...'

*hold on, was the only urge, that prevented me from breaking down in front of the crew members. this i allowed myself only in the loneliness of the turbolift, as the pain struck me down, forcing me mercilessly to go to my knees. in the last moment i managed to hit the button, to stop the lift between the decks...*

'I thought that you had stayed back on Vulcan, unable to come to me, to face me. I grew almost angry at this thought.'

*...and then i bit the knuckles of my fingers, to not to scream aloud. how long did i remain there?  i don't know.  minutes, hours, years...?  i have always prided myself on my ability to know the exact time.  i lost it in that moment, of kneeling on the bottom of the turbolift.  but i had to  continue in this walk, to reach the sickbay, to see you for the last time. somehow i felt, that at least this was the only thing i still owed to you, if nothing else then this...*

'Finally you were here. I felt relief, that I could tell you that the nightmare was over. And then you smiled, and embraced me, and I realised that you had changed. No, I hadn't imagined that this would leave you untouched, but I never realised how much it would affect you. It was as if it had been my friend, who had gone for good. The man in front of me was almost a stranger.'

*a part of me had died in the arena on the red sand...*

'I started to avoid you, because of the nightmares, which returned every night, because of the strange man you have become and I haven't any idea how to deal with this, how should I deal with you.'

*growing up causes pain. growing up means to lose the innocence -- a part of everyone, which never comes back. the fever is the sign of the change from a child to an adult man. *

'Something in us went for good...'

*since then i have dreamed every night about you. you have repeatedly died on the red sand, or i have finally reached the sickbay, and you are lying there motionless, lifeless. every time  then i awake bathed in sweat. but this isn't all. sometimes i have dreamed about an awareness, which was here, but simultaneously unreachable. i felt sadness and pain in the empty place in my mind, where once a whisper of her thoughts was. i awoke and the pain didn't vanish. i felt the emptiness in me, my bed was a mess, the wetness drying on my thighs...*

'What happened to you? To us? To be here with you is so strange, to hold you seems to be so unreal, I don't understand myself. I don't understand the pain in me, so great, so sweet, which makes me almost cry.'

*before that i was a child.  my beliefs were those of a child. the fever killed the boy who once thought that there was nothing else but his rules of logic, and nothing could ever shatter them.  a naive thought.  those beliefs are dust in this moment, when the old things are non-existent and the new ones still aren't formed, when the universe has been thrown out of its route, only you remained there, and me, and the rain, in a place bereft of time.*

'This night seems to have a certain spell.  Neither you nor I are able to escape the magic of this moment. The rain behind this window is telling us stories about couples of fools, who have brushed all away, sold their minds for some moments of fierce embraces, never thinking about the consequences in the morning.  Because those hours are still far away. Only the power of now  rules, and the sensation of your skin on my own.'

*the flames were gone, only a spark of them is in me now.  a memento, that the time of dim green fever will return, every seven years.  and the knowledge of longing, desire and need, in me.  only your presence is what matters, and my need. *

'I have hungered after so many beings in my life. I have hungered after them, took them and then sated myself.  Sometimes I have looked back, sometimes I have felt the loss, but never regrets.  I feel my hunger for you.  But this time I'm afraid too, that if I take you, I will lose myself in you and never find the  way back to myself.  But I can't resist you...'

*i need you... *

'I'm afraid of us...'

*i need you...*

'Spock, what will this bring?'

*jim...*

'I can't...'

*you are alive...*

'Oh my god...'

*i need you...*

'...'

*...alive...*

Part 4

Spock lifted up his head from Kirk's shoulder and the human caught his breath:

There was fire in those bottomless eyes.  Fire and Need, which increased the Hunger in him.  He kissed the Vulcan in a long ravishing kiss, and again and again.  His lungs screamed for air, as he licked the dry semen from the face and throat, biting this delicate place, leaving blue marks.  He couldn't get enough of this man.

Never stopping, they stood up.  Spock swung his arm around Kirk's waist to support himself, to not to fall back down to the same place.

They were kissing, as the human paced the Vulcan backward to his bag.  Kissing, as he reached blindly in and rummaged there, for some endless moments, to find the jar he sought. They kissed all the way to the bed and continued, while falling down onto it, licking at each other, biting, savaging.

The Need met the Hunger, the Hunger crushed with the Need, melting into one Desire.

The Vulcan turned on his stomach, feeling those biting kisses on his neck, ravishing the spot between his shoulder blades, down the spine to the small of his back.  And every time he responded, with a sound coming from deep in his throat, from the depths of his soul.

Kirk stopped for a moment, feeling the cleft under his lips. Then he lifted himself onto his knees. The Vulcan protested at the absence of his mouth.  Kirk grinned, then he grasped those lean hips and raised them up and parted the legs to get a better hold in this position.  Spock allowed this, waiting for what would be next, trembling from Need, hiding his face in the pillow.

'All mine,' Kirk thought, 'he is all mine.'

He took the jar.  Aloe vera-- Body Lotion. Quite suitable for the moment. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warming it at first.  And then he reached with his hand to the most private place, pushing all doubts from his mind.  The Vulcan was hot inside, so hot. He rocked one finger in there.  Giving the man time to get used to this new sensation. The lean body pushed back and Kirk's finger slid deeper in, searching, finding, touching the sensitive place.

The Vulcan jerked, his trembling increased together with the Need inside him.  Carefully Kirk added his second finger, gently fucking him, massaging the small opening, preparing.  He leaned forward and licked the hot, green-flushed neck again, while his free hand wandered down to the chest to pinch the hard nipples, to play with the hair there.

Spock moaned into the pillow, his hands holding the edges tightly.  Hard, this made them both at once unbearably hard. Somehow Kirk felt it.  He stopped the licking, he pulled his fingers out and took the slender hips in his hands.  His cock, wet from pre-cum, glittered for a moment in the blue-green light of  the neon sign, before he positioned its tip at the edge of the hot entrance.

He wanted to be gentle, later he would to swear to the whole universe, that he meant to be gentle, but just right in that moment, when he was at the opening of Spock's ass, the man beneath him pushed backward.  He passed the entrance with one swift movement and pushed all the way in.  So deep.  So painfully deep...

He was tight and hot inside, he sobbed aloud, an unrecognisable sound. Of pleasure or of pain?  Kirk didn't know, because right then the Hunger inside of him undid him completely,  conquered his senses, short-circuited his mind.

The heat, the sudden smell of spice.  He had to move, long, long strokes, faster and faster. The heat around him grew red in colour, the temperature increased, forcing his back to cover itself with perspiration.  He held silk, unbearable soft silk of a Vulcan cock in his hand.

Faster!

The red heat around him took a concrete form.  He felt the red sand around him, heard the ragged breath, then the wild cries coming from somewhere.  But he had to move faster and faster, on and on, never daring to stop. There was a swift movement near him, he brushed it away as fast as he could.  Fast, yes, this was the only way he could be now!  Fast, because his life depended on it.  On and on, never stopping, never daring to give in to the pressure inside of him.  Even if this pressure would overtake him.  But not now, when he is still not willing to give up.  He had to  continue as long as he could.

Was someone else here?  Did he hear the cries near him?  He didn't know, because the red heat and the red, spice-smelling sand, didn't allow it. *release*, someone called, *release*, someone screamed, *jim, give me release, i beg you!*

And at the point of the greatest heat and the greatest pressure the desired release came. And then the darkness, and the weakness and oblivion...

Finally he surrendered to it, feeling the heat vanish away, being replaced by the merciful darkness and the cold, singing rain...

A long way, back to consciousness.  He shivered, feeling the cold on his skin and the trembling body beneath him.  He shifted, then slid aside but Spock didn't move, only a tremor running down his body.

Cold. It had gotten cold in here.  But why?  He reached out and  touched the heating. There was only cold metal under his fingers, and a red light on the control display: 'FUNKTIONSSTOERUNG. GERAET AUSSER  BETRIEB.'

Dammit, he swore to himself.  Something had to go wrong in this thing, just now, when he was here with a naked Vulcan.

"Spock?"

"Y-yes, Jim?"  The man tried desperately to suppress the rattling of his teeth.

"The central heating is kaput. You'd better take a hot shower, and meanwhile I will unpack the thermal sleeping bag."

The Vulcan nodded, then stood up and headed for the bathroom. Kirk noticed the careful motions of the slender body.  He turned back to the bed. He tossed the sheet aside, together with the bed cover with a wet spot in the middle. Then he reached for the pillow, to pull it out of the cover. It was wet too. Two small spots, just right there, where the Vulcan had buried his face. The pain inside him signalled that it was still there.

He placed the pillow back on the end of the bed, just right, when the light from the outside of the window moved and fell onto his body.  Something on him caught his attention: a spot of green colour, and he realised, shocked, that this didn't come from the neon sign outside.  He felt rage at himself, the pain in him increased, a wave of panic arose in him.

'I have hurt him!'

"Spock!"  He stalked into the bathroom and almost ran into the Vulcan.

" I ... You are...!"

"I know."

"...bleeding..."

"Not as bad as it might be."

"No, you don't understand!"

"Jim..."

The human shook his head, refusing any farther explanation.

"Jim..."  Spock grasped his shoulders.

"I have done this to you!"

"I wanted it."

"Don't try to make a lousy apology for me!"

"Jim!"  The grasp around his shoulders tightened and then the Vulcan leaned forward, claimed Kirk's mouth, and cut off the next words.

His eyes closed, he felt he had to give in, to surrender to the passionate lips on his own, to respond as thoroughly as he was able. It was breathtaking, almost ravishing, then it slowed down to became long and intensive, then more and more gentle, with growing tenderness, till the last trembling feather-like touch remained there.  And then the hot hands and strong fingers were gone, leaving only the sound of steps and closing door, the silence of an empty room.

He stood there, his eyes closed, for a very long time, feeling the sweet pain in his chest and unshed tears in his  throat.

When he came out, he found a somehow oddly familiar scene: Spock waiting for him, while sitting on the narrow bed.  But this time he was fully dressed and the bed had been covered with the unfolded sleeping bag.  He went and picked up the first garment from the pile on the floor.  Quickly he put it on, and the rest of his clothing too.  It had gotten very cold in here.

He went then to the bed, to his Vulcan, who had been waiting for him.  He allowed himself to be taken by his hand and gently dragged into the bag.  After some minutes he grew warm.  From the thermal chips in the garment and from Spock lying in his arms.  Those Starfleet thermal sleeping bags have been always designed to take two persons at once, to guarantee their survival in a low-temperature environment.  But it had also been this narrow bed, which didn't leave much room for two bodies, except if they were holding each other.

Kirk felt Spock's head on his shoulder, the damp black hair, smelling of spice and shampoo, almost touched his lips.  The rain outside the window gently drummed in its old, eternal rhythm.

"I have to tell you something."  Spock's breath, so hot against his throat.

"Please don't."

"But I want to say it."

"No..."

The slender body lying against his own shifted. "Jim, just listen, please..."

He didn't answer, he couldn't, because of fearing the words, which would come.

"To be here with you like this is a gift beyond any prize."

Sweet pain in him, unshed tears burning in his throat...

"But if you will leave in the morning, then I will understand."

"Spock..."

The slender body in his arms shifted, the serious face with burning eyes appeared above him.  Kirk caught his breath, while looking into the bottomless blackness full of stars. There were fingers gently put on his mouth, to prevent him from saying something that he would perhaps regret afterwards.

"I will understand..."

Honesty. This look and those hot fingers demanded nothing else, than honesty.  And nothing less, for a man who has always been used to facing things straight, sparing himself from nothing. He moved his lips and those hot tips brushed aside.

"Ok," he said then. The only honest answer he was able to give.

But Spock seemed to be satisfied with this simple word, for he had slid down again and rested his head on Kirk's shoulder.

The Vulcan was already asleep, while he was lying still awake. He listened to the peaceful breath of a sleeping man, to the gentle whisper of rain, to the silent cry of the tears in him.

He must have been asleep, for he had missed the change of the black night into the grey morning.

Slowly he became aware again of the heavy body in his arms, of the head, pillowed on his shoulder, the warm breath against his throat.

Carefully, so as not to awake Spock, he slid out of the bed. The slender body moved.  He stirred for a moment.  But the Vulcan only shifted in his sleep, burying himself deeper into the bag.  Kirk suppressed the urge to stretch out his hand and touch the black strands, which were the only visible thing of the man.

As quiet as he could Kirk stood up, put on his boots, reached into the closet for his jacket and then he left the room.

He passed by the breakfast room, which was already open, but still dark and empty, and the reception desk, where the lamp was on, but the person usually working there was nowhere to be seen.  He headed to the main hotel entrance and stepped out onto the street.

The street lamps still shone, the cars passed him by, carrying their owners to their work. The rain, which had been falling the whole night, had stopped.

Kirk took a deep breath. The damp air, smelling of sea and salt, filled his lungs.  He needed to awake to full awareness, because he had to think and re-think the things which had happened.  The spell of the night disappeared with the first pale light of this cold, grey morning. Time seemed to start running again, pointing to the question which seemed to be written in every particle of the space around him: WHAT NEXT?

Only the pain was still there inside him.  Sharp and sweet.  He had felt it already in those night hours in the park, then in the hotel room and now every time he saw those black eyes in his mind.  He stood in front of the hotel, but still somehow his thoughts dwelled on the sleeping Vulcan, some stories higher.

First he had to accept the changes.  If he hadn't done it before, then he should do it now. Perhaps these have caused him this pain. The knowledge that his friend, his rational, logical and innocent Vulcan, has gone for good.  And with him their friendship.  So clean, so straight, so uncomplicated in its simplicity. Things had now shifted into a level of hurts, passion, desire, rage, but of joy and tenderness too.

And suddenly he knew, what this ache in him meant, and realising it, he almost forgot how to breathe.

He had felt it once, in his life.  Twice or thrice.  And although he had believed that this would come again one day, he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined that it would be so strong this time and that it would be with *him*.  How could it come to this?  Has it been there before?  Hard to say.  For the days of innocent friendship have become the past, and the happenings in between have been like a storm: fast, unexpected, taking mercilessly all away, revealing everything that had been hidden until now.

But although things might be like this, Kirk knew that however much he might speculate, he would never figure out a satisfactory answer.  Because it was already too late for this task. The universe, once thrown out of its old co-ordinates, had taken its run in another direction.

'Where is the guarantee, that I will not fail?  Where, in which book is it written, that I will prove myself worthy to hold the soul and heart of this Vulcan?  To be responsible for the most beautiful, brave, gentle and fragile being in the whole universe?  But it is too late to turn back, even when I have recognised too late, that I have already stepped out onto the unknown path. And  to be honest I can't, I don't want to go back to how it was before, because it is his trust which is dragging me forwards, and the awareness, that he came first to me, knowing already what I have realised right now.  I don't know how it all will end, but I will try my best.  Every time I hold him, from now on, I will remind myself of this promise.  Not only because of him, or because of the fact that he came to me during a rainy night and put himself into my hands, but because of me too.  And because of the pain in me, which happened to me again.'

And then the rain came like the tears of the sky above him.


The lights of the breakfast room were on already as he returned and sat down at the nearest table.  He was still the first person there, except for the waitress, who paced busily here and there, bringing dishes and cups and plates.

Kirk pulled off his jacket and made himself a little more comfortable.

The waitress came to his table: "Guten Morgen, was wuenschen Sie zum Trinken?"

"Ich moechte noch warten," he answered back.

The waitress nodded and left the room.

Again there was a motion on the threshold. Kirk lifted his head and then he smiled. Spock, although already combed, shaved and tidied, still hadn't managed to get the sleep out of his eyes.

'He is georgeous,' Kirk thought, while he watched the Vulcan coming hesitantly toward his table.  A bit carefully, he sat down on the chair beside Kirk.

"You ... are still here..."

"Yes. And I will not leave."

A pair of black eyes widened.  Kirk couldn't resist and took Spock's hand into his own.

"Spock, listen..."

"Die Herrschaften moechten bestellen?" The woman stood suddenly at their table.  Kirk felt his Vulcan stir, trying to let go of Kirk's hand.  He didn't allow it.

"Kaenchen Tee fnr den Herrn and einen mit Kafee fuer mich."

The waitress nodded and left again.

"Jim..."

"Shhhh... we are alone here..."

"I don't understand..."

"She is a waitress - discretion is part of her job. Don't worry, she is always looking away."

The Vulcan sighed, but he tightened the grasp.

"I have talked to the man at the reception desk," Kirk continued, "we will get another room.  For two, with a functioning central heating.  We can move in a hour or two."

"Hier, bitte sehr." The waitress seemed to beam down straight from space.  But this time Spock didn't withdraw.  He watched the woman put the pots with coffee and tea in front of them, wearing nothing on her face but an expression of duty.

Spock turned back to his... mate.

'I will tell you,' Kirk thought, 'but not now, not here.  First we will get into our room, where I will kiss you and you will kiss me back.  And then we will move to the bed, losing all our clothing on the way, where I will sink in, taking you with me. And you will make love to me and I will respond to your touch, which will drive me crazy.  Until I will beg you to take me, to fill me, because I want to surrender to you with my body and soul.  You will move then inside me, getting faster with every stroke and every thrust, on and on, until you will cry out from pleasure,  spending your seed into my body, while I will come beneath you.  Then you will collapse down into my arms, exhausted, with your head on my shoulder.  And then, in the sweet moment of the aftermath, I will tell you.'

*yes*, a promise of a pair of black bottomless eyes, full of sparkling stars.


And this is a morning in the strange town,
while behind the window the rain played its rhapsody.

My drops are my fingertips,
touching your eyes, your nose, your parted lips,  
then, sliding down, they leave a trace.  
I'm the rain, gently kissing your face.

Seeing your beauty, I'm breaking into tears.  
I whisper sweet words into your ears,  
while holding your body in my arms.  
I'm the rain, gently kissing your palms.

My instrument are the streets,
you are walking on,  
my repertoire contains this only song,  
which I'm playing again and anew:  
I'm the rain, madly loving you.

    (Raining Love)

END