Date: 2 May 1998 19:53:14 -0400

Message-ID: 

From: Laura Jacquez Valentine 

X-Mailer: BatIMail version 3.01

To: post+alt.startrek.creative@andrew.cmu.edu, ascem@earthlink.net

Subject: NEW: Green Apple Twist, K/S, R, 1/1





Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek and the Boys.  I own this story.

Kenny's Candy Company owns Green Apple Twists.





Summary: Kirk and Spock have an adventure in a Terran import store.



---



It wasn't Earth, but it was the closest thing in lightyears.  I inhaled

the air in the store, smelled curry, cane sugar, licorice, dill, coffee,

saffron--oh, that was Spock, close by me.  I inhaled him, too.  It had

only been a few months since Christmas, since he and I became lovers and

bondmates.  Sometimes the smell of him still made me dizzy, remembering

the wanting, remembering how it had consumed me by the end.  I looked

down at his left hand and saw the ring I had given him on his second

finger, remembered watching him from across the room, wondering if he

would put it on.



He moved away from me, consumed by curiousity, and headed for the coffee

maker.  I don't know that he'd ever smelled real coffee before.  Hell,

it had been years since I'd smelled it.  I smiled and watched him for a

moment, then went to find the proprietor.  I wanted to know how he

managed to import such things from Earth.



The proprietor was an elderly man who turned out to have some

interesting contacts in Starfleet.  Almost everything he had was

smuggled in via diplomatic transport or starship, and he wasn't ashamed

to admit it.  He did make me promise not to tell the local authorities.

Since said authorities were Earth-human, and had recommended the shop to

me, I didn't think he had anything to worry about, but I agreed.  Then I

started wandering the aisles, looking for my bondmate.



Spock was standing in front of rows of candy when I found him.  He

looked puzzled.  "T'hy'la, why do humans ingest..." He waved his hand at

the sweets, and I laughed.  Spock, like most Vulcans, regarded refined

sugar (in its many forms) as a poison.



"It tastes good, Spock."



He blinked.



"Look."  I took a green candy twist from a bag labelled "Taste Me!" and

bit off the end.  He blinked again, and I looked down at the twist in my

hand, thinking that it was the same color as the blood vessels in the

corner of his eyes.



The same color as his blood, bright green.  I licked the twist, thinking

it tasted a little like him.  It didn't, of course, but it was fun to

pretend.  I thought about his scent, about the feel of his penis in my

mouth, and I sucked on the twist, watching him from the corner of my

eye.



His lips were parted, and he was...fascinated.  I slid my tongue along

the length of the twist and sucked it back into my mouth, then let it

slide out slowly.  His hand twitched, helpless.



I closed my eyes and thought of him as he had been last night, head

thrown back as I caressed the first ridge of his cock, as I licked his

right nipple (much more sensitive than the left, for some reason.  He

could come from me licking his right nipple).  He touched my face, his

fingers hot against my skin, and last night flooded into me.  What he

had been feeling when I lowered my mouth to his, the way he associates

humans with wintergreen, the press of his hands to my back as he pulled

me closer, his thigh hot between my legs and his tongue in my mouth.



Sharing memories this way reinforced the bond, I knew.  But he had never

shared in public before.  I was afraid I would come, from memory and

from him, so close to me, and smelling so goddamn good.  I sucked the

twist into my mouth, intending to chew it up and swallow it.  Spock

kissed me, there, in the store, his mouth and body firmly against me--am

I naked? I wondered, because I felt as though his skin touched mine

everywhere, as though the erections we both had were rubbing together

and I could feel the soft hair on his stomach--and he pulled a bit of

the twist out of my mouth and ate it.



I opened my eyes and looked at him.  Yes, he was holding me.  He was

pressed against me--God, he felt good--and the faint scent of green

apple now mixed with his own smell.



"You are correct, t'hy'la," he whispered, his lips close to mine.



"About what?"  I could barely speak.  I wanted him there, now, in the

aisle of the store.



"It does...taste good."



We bought a bag of the green apple twists and shared them out among our

friends that evening, and I told them how the proprietor acquired his

wares.  And every now and then, Spock and I would share a secret smile,

and think of the twists we had reserved for ourselves, stashed in my

quarters.  They did, after all, taste good.



---



END