Wintergreen

Spock/Chekov (R}



Chekov caught me unawares.  I had failed to notice that he was attracted to

me--I, who planned every touch so well.  He was solving a problem I had 

set him in warp vectors through a time continuum (there are some very 

strange mathematics involved, and he needed a challenge.  A year later, 

we published a paper on the topic which became the standard text on the 

subject), and he was chewing on his fingernail while doing so.



I reached out and took his hand, and I...forgot to let go.  His body,

his face--they called up things in me that are rarely felt.  I use my 

body and my mental powers more casually than some Vulcans, but not out 

of the common way.  What is uncommon is that I am so detached from those

I bed.  That I keep my emotional involvement lighter than is normal.

That I am afraid to truly touch and be touched.



(I know why this is.  I know who I love, and why, and I have never yet 

felt him against me, felt him shudder and cry out in the night, felt 

his mouth on my sex or run my tongue over his flesh.  I keep myself 

detached because if I should find myself loving another, I could not 

bear the loss.  It is not logical, but it is true.)



I could feel my erection hot against my thigh as Ensign Chekov moved 

closer, and I smelled fresh wintergreen--his soap, I think.  I was 

still holding his hand, and I could not bring myself to let go.  I 

dropped my shields, sensed desire and trust welling out of him.  I 

thought--oh Pavel, I doubted for a second that you wanted this, forgive 

me--I thought that I should push him away.  He was so young, a child 

really.  But I remembered how he had confessed his love for 

Sulu to me, how he had looked at me with a man's eyes, not a boy's, 

and I gave in to the heat within me, that burned in my stomach and 

my loins.



He kissed me, cool human mouth against mine.  His hand tangled in my 

hair, his lips parted, and I found myself pressing him to me, my hand 

in the small of his back.  Except for Captain Pike, I had always taken 

my lovers with an eye to the little-bonding.  Pike I loved, my first 

love, light of my life until he left me.  The one who first set me 

on fire.  Jim I love, though he may never know.  Pavel--ah, Pavel.  

Young and strong and still unscarred, and we did not love each other.  

And we never will.  But I knew that I could not make the little-bonding 

that night.  My own desire was too strong.  The flame he ignited flooded 

me, filled my blood like the pon farr.  There was a faint haze of 

green across my vision when we broke the kiss.  "I shall lose 

consciousness if he kisses me again," I thought, a whisper in the back 

of my mind.



I heard my voice speak through the gathering dark.  "My quarters, Ensign?"



"Yes, Spock."



There was something masterful in that voice--something that chilled me

and warmed me at once.  We walked side by side, and I stilled my hands'

shaking.



We walked, stiffly formal, to my quarters.  The door slid open before

us, like a red human mouth, and the gentle friction of my clothes

against me was almost too much.  We stepped inside and I activated the

privacy lock with a quick flick of my hand.  I was afraid my voice would

shake.  I noticed that my fingers were flushed, that my pulse was

vibrating in my wrist, almost too fast to see.



Pavel closed his hand on my wrist, his grip sure and strong.  The flame 

inside me leapt.  "Spock."



"Yes?"  So my voice did not shake, after all.



"You...like men?"



"I am sexually attracted to men, yes."



He widened his eyes, a challenge.  "I thought you were married."



"Divorced.  I am sexually attracted to women as well.  Most Vulcans are

what humans call 'bisexual.'"



He frowned, then smiled.  I leaned forward and kissed him again,

inhaling wintergreen, feeling the scent of him flood me.  I had the

the sense that I had lost control of the situation, and I wanted to

regain it.



It was too late.  He took it back from me, moving his body against mine,

pressing his hand against my erection, sliding it in between my uniform

and my skin.  As he touched me, human-cool, I thought of the snows of

Russia.  As his scent filled my lungs, I remembered the sharp sweet

cold crunch of wintergreen between my teeth when I was ten,

and I slid down along him, pressed my mouth to his loins, breathing hot

against the fabric.



He knotted his fingers in my hair, forcing me closer.  I hooked my

fingers in his waistband and tugged the pants down over his hips, 

down to his knees, his ankles.  He permitted me--permitted, yes--and

then tilted my head back, his strong fingers still tangled in my hair.



I let myself be seduced.  I let myself be forced.  Humans are so rarely

the aggressors, so rarely do they pressure me, demand of me, ask of me.

Part of that is who I am, part of that is what I am, and when someone

overcomes that--



"Now, Spock."



I flicked my tongue rapidly over his erection, held him deep in my

mouth, moved back and forth, felt him react to my inhuman heat.  

I locked my arms around his waist and supported him, drawing him into 

me, feeling the quicksilver shudders in him as he approached orgasm.  



I opened my mind, felt what he felt--burning, lust, pain, pleasure,

power, respect--spilling into me even as he came, as he spilled into me

another way.



Pavel's voice was husky afterwards, but he was in control again.  How

remarkable.  He told me to strip--first him, then myself.  I complied

in silence.



I stood there as he inspected me, running inquisitive fingers over my

body.  He bit the back of my neck, and I cried out.  His mouth was

human, cool and aphrodisiac.  (A perversion of mine, some might say, my

deep need for humans.)



He kept biting, leaving a trail down my back.  I felt the skin part more

than once, faintly sensed his shock at the taste of it.  He hadn't

expected it to taste so similar to human blood.  My own words drifted

through my mind: "My ancestors spawned in different seas than yours..."

but potassium chloride does not taste so very different...



His hands found the cleft of my buttocks, caressed them.  I remembered

that I could use my voice.  "Pavel."  He jumped a little, the

subharmonics pulling him out of his control, his desire for

domination--but not for long enough.  This ran deep in him.  I opened my

mind, let him flow into me, and realized--how startling--that I was the

only person he wanted this with.  That somehow he knew that I might

forbid him or stop him, but I would neither hurt him nor think the less

of him.



And so I let him.  I spoke again, submissive, helpless.  He felt it in my

voice, rejoiced in it.  I felt the power flow through him, felt him grow

hard again.  He meant to hurt me, but yet...he did not mean to.  Conflict

shuddered through him and I soothed it with a thought:  ...Next time, you 

will be mine, Pavel-kam...



I knew he would not be gentle.  I knew part of this was frustration with 

Sulu.  But through it--my Pavel!--he knew I was Vulcan, that I was strong

enough, that I held him in high regard, that for now, we were meant to be.



He entered me quickly.  There was no finesse to it and yet it was what we

both wanted.  It was like being stabbed and coming at the same time.

I absorbed the pain and doubled the pleasure back on him, channeling it

between us.  I lit the nerve-fires carefully, as I did not want to burn

out his desire for me.  Not now.  Not yet.



Oh, Pavel-kam--



"Spock!"



He shuddered and dug his fingers into my shoulders.  I was still bleeding 

from the bites on my back, and blood mixed with sweat smeared us both.

He pulled back slightly and exhaled, his breath cool on my back, cool as

wintergreen and the pain and pleasure of him as sharp and sweet.



I fell asleep and dreamed of Russia, of wintergreen, and of Pavel under

my hands.



----



The End.