Title: Permanently Floored 

Author: Arachnethe2 <Arachnethe2@darmstadt.netsurf.de> 

Series: TOS 

Code: NC-17

Cycles: Melted Candies 

Pairing: K/S

Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount Pictures,
this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, made for no profit.

Summary: This story belongs in the bunch of 8 PWP's called
'Melted Candies'; I got the ideas for them all in only 10
minutes. And all except one I have liked so far, so that after a
frustrated cry out, I have decided to write them.

Authors note: And because T'Pat - the swimming, Vulcan entity
has hir happy-birth-day-to-you, so I'm writing and posting this
piece ahead of its time.

Again, my thanks belong to greywolf, my editor.


Permanently Floored



Written by Arachnethe2



        I can't remember how it happened, only when it happened.
And this moment was one of the ugliest in my life.

        The fight was at its end. I stood in the middle of the
battle field, on that surface covered with dead bodies, my
nostrils sensing the awful sweet smells of blood and dirty
wounds, mixed with that of the dusk; the day, slowly settling
down, revealing that after all there were still the sun and the
sky.

        One week ago my ship heard a may-day from a planet that
wasn't a member of the Federation, but had been friendly on
previous contact. Suddenly they were attacked by an unknown race.

        Who were those strangers? Even now, after the final
battle, I haven't any idea. No one has ever seen them. In all
the files in the federation databases I found a notice about
this unknown people. They came from nowhere, attacked the first
peaceful race they found, ignoring every attempt at
communication. Perhaps this was what had scared me the most. I
had faced the deadly cold arrogance in their eyes, I had fought
them in this final battle for four long days, but still they
kept the secrets of their heritage. The last unknown warrior
sliced his throat in front of me, taking all he had ever known
with him to his grave. Leaving me here, wretched, exhausted,
being driven insane by the sudden stillness of this place, 
after hours of moans, cries and the sound of weapons.

        Suddenly a hand, warmer than my own, was put on my
shoulder. I jerked around quickly, but then I relaxed again.
Spock -- clad in armour, still holding the weapon in his hand,
he looked like one of his ancient ancestors. I looked into his
weary eyes, trying to look through the yellow spots of blood
which was not his own. At first I hadn't wanted him to come with
me, to take part in this battle. But he was adamant. After an
uncomfortable conversation spoken in sharp tones, he reminded me
that if I insisted on using the power of command and *ordered*
him to stay on board, it could only be interpreted as a personal
reason put above my professional behaviour. And so I gave him my
permission to go with me, because he was right. My fear for his
life is indeed very personal.

        For the whole time he'd stayed at my side. For the whole
time we fought back to back, protecting each other. I saw in his
gaze those just-past hours when we'd been so aware of each
other's presence, as we stood in the middle of a battlefield in
the moment where time stopped and the world went still.

        Somehow we didn't need any words. He simply turned and I
followed him willingly, feeling somehow grateful that it was me
this time who didn't need to lead, only to follow. The thing was
over and I allowed myself the seldom-granted luxury of not
making any decisions. Only now, for a little while. And only
with him.

        We went a half-hour or so. Passing the dead bodies, the
wrecked fighting machines, the medical teams, one of the
homeworld and one from the Enterprise, who were searching for
survivors. For one moment I thought that I'd seen Bones. But
then the view was covered by a group of medtechs carrying a
crying, wounded man. I turned and headed toward Spock, whose
straight back offered something like a hope of escaping this
place, of getting myself restored before I had to return to my
ship. We continued our walk until we reached the rocks and the
small hole which had served as a sort of sanctuary to me and my
team for the last few days. Now the place was empty. It seemed
to me somehow ironic: long preparations, then the bloody
inferno, and now a backing off. Quick, professional, almost
clinically clean.

        I stopped in the middle of the stone room, watching the
rays of the sun.  Coming through a small opening in the ceiling,
they penetrated the semidarkness.

        "It is over, Jim." Spock's sudden words brought me back
to the present. Here he stood, armed, wearing his battle uniform
and the armour, his hair tousled, his face covered with dusk,
his scent a mix of his sweat, spice and alien blood, stunning in
his dark, forbidden beauty.

        Again he rested his hand on my shoulder, standing so
close. This slight touch loosened something in me. A sob at
first, a fine trembling which ran down my body, while in the
next second I did something I hadn't done in my whole life:

        I pulled his head closer and then I kissed him.

        I wish I could properly describe the sensation of
holding him, of parting his lips, of tasting the wetness of his
mouth and his tongue, as he grabbed me closer and responded with
the same passion. Who moved his hands under which armour? I
think I will never figure it out. All I know for sure is that we
both sank to the dusty floor, kissing each other fiercely,
dropping the weapons, stripping one another out of our battle
gear.

        I felt the urge to pull away every piece of cloth that
might stay between me and him; I inhaled the scent of him, which
grew stronger as I lowered him down. His eyes, which never left
my gaze as he was laid down on his back; his slight trembling
and my desire, when I covered his body with my own. All this I
saw and memorised, in the short moment when I first lay atop
him, savouring the heat of his body, his slightly parted legs,
his already-wet hardness pressing itself against my own. He
reached up and bent my head down to kiss me again and
simultaneously he arched his back in his need.

        Still kissing him, I started to move, rubbing myself
against his groin, feeling him move with me in one rhythm, while
his hands wandered down along my spine, grasping my ass, to
press me closer. I jerked when I felt the hot fingers parting
me, stroking the opening of my anus. But he stifled my moan with
an another kiss.

        How long were we writhing together on the dirty floor of
this small hollow? I don't know. Only that it went on and on,
with those sounds and movements as old as the galaxy itself. But
I wanted this. I wanted to continue like this forever and
perhaps I could have, if there weren't this pressure in my
flanks which increased with every new movement, with every
breathtaking kiss. Finally I cried out and came all over him,
and then as I collapsed in his arms I felt his own orgasm too.

        I fell asleep wrapped in the heat of his body, feeling
the slight caress of his fingers in my hair.

        And my dreams weren't the ones about the last fight...



        ...but about him.

        The peace I felt, sleeping beside him on the dirty
floor, disappeared when I woke up alone in the old hollow.

        I beamed on board and there he greeted me in the
transporter room, all cold calmness and Vulcan politeness.
Seeing him there, his back straight, all the clinical neatness
of my first officer, made it almost impossible to imagine that
only hours ago his hair was tousled in a moment of the greatest
passion. Facing this I didn't dare to give even a slight sign of
my knowledge of what had happened between us.

        I accepted his report and then dismissed him. The only
thing I wanted was to get into my cabin, to cleanse myself of
the dirt, the alien blood and yes... his semen, which had dried
on my belly while I was sleeping. I didn't want to see him. Not
after the way he'd behaved when I came aboard. But what did I
want then? Really, what?

       I chewed on this question for the entire next week.
Except in the line of duty we didn't speak a word to each other.
It was as if all my decisions to make the first move had
splattered against the wall of his restrained withdrawal. After
the nights full of dreams about him I felt suddenly helpless and
uncertain, seeing this mask on his face.

        Perhaps this circling around him would have continued
forever, but some higher force, or something like one,
mercifully took the decision from me. We were checking on
further needed supplies in a room on deck five, where except for
the computer terminal and two chairs there was nothing else. We
had just finished and stood up to head toward the door, when
suddenly the floor under our feet moved, the room shuddered and
catapulted us toward each other. The siren of red alert howled
out.

        Spock caught me in the iron grasp of his hands and
managed to keep both of us from falling to the floor. I hit the
button of the communicator:

        "Mr. Scott, what the hell..."

        "My apologies captain, but this lad from helm mistook
the Enterprise for a horse span."

        Human or not, I lifted my eyebrows up: "Mr. Sulu?"

        "No, Ensign Rowers, our freshman from the Academy."

        Spock's fingers on my shoulders squeezed me slightly.

        "Relive him from duty now, I'll talk to him later in my
office."

        "Aye captain..."

        "Mr. Scott!"

        "Yes?"

        "Turn this howling off... please! Kirk out!"

        The silence was a relief for my ears, but all of my body
seemed to be at peace now. Because of Spock. Because of his
hands, which released my shoulders to slide down to the small of
my back, to finally draw me closer. I pressed myself tightly
against his body, holding him around his waist, my face pressing
against his neck, breathing his scent.

        "I waited for you." I more breathed than spoke it out.

        "I waited for *you*."

        I looked at him in disbelief. The years we've spent at
each other's side, the way we've managed to communicate at the
most subtle level while everyone around us wondered about how we
didn't need any words. And now, we have failed probably for the
first time. Perhaps because our bodies reacted faster than any
halfway intelligible thought could.

        Like for example me, when Spock nuzzled the place behind
my ear.

        "Spock, we should talk," I whispered against the skin of
his throat.

        "Yes," he answered in a tone which made me hard right
then.

        "I mean it."

        "Yes," and then he kissed me.

        No, this time the Enterprise didn't shudder. This time
only my legs gave out and I sank to the floor, taking my Vulcan
with me.

        We were both on duty, weren't we? But as I clearly
remembered, while in the line of duty it is only forbidden to
drink. Or was there something else too? But which brain in the
galaxy could think while a hot Vulcan tongue was nibbling at the
nipples of its body? Certainly not mine.

        I was lying on the rough carpet, the hem of my uniform
tunic and the one of my regular shirt somewhere under my chin,
while Spock licked with delight at my navel before he headed
farther down to all the sensitive spots around my hipbones.
Hipbones? Oh yeah -- finally, I realised that the waist of my
trousers was somewhere near my knees. The cool air brushed the
tip of my cock, before it was replaced by hot breathing. Spock's
lips were only few millimetres away from the tip of my very hard
erection. Our eyes met:

        "Please," I blurted out, ready to beg for the feeling,
the sensation of his mouth on me. He must have seen it in my
face, because he took mercy on my longing. He lowered his head
and in the next moment I almost blacked out.

        Where he did learn it? Did he read all this from my
mind? Were my thoughts flowing to him through my fingers in his
hair? But why ask things which are useless in the moment of
pleasure?

        I was now lying half naked on that rough carpet, feeling
the crispy silk of his black strands, sighing with pleasure
every time his hot mouth and wet tongue touched any sensitive
spot on my genitals, savouring every moment of it. Gently at
first, then more and more raw, driven by my need for release. I
arched my back when I came in his mouth, my fingers pulling at
his hair.

        Spock drank all I gave him in this moment of my release.

        When I once more became aware of my surroundings, I
found myself clad again and lying in his arms. I groaned
slightly in despair.

        "We should talk." I repeated again.

        He nodded, his eyes serious. "Yes, we should."

        Gently I withdrew myself from his oh-so-warm-embrace. I
needed this distance to restrain myself. Should I remain where I
was any longer, I would get aroused again and then I wouldn't be
able to stop.

        I stood up, so did Spock.

        "My quarters, at 22:00?"

        He nodded again. I smiled at him some more and he gave
me this look that made my toes curl inside my regulation boots.

        And then I headed for the bridge.



        Yes, we should talk, I thought, while standing in my
quarters that evening.  I was showered, properly dressed, and
had no idea how to tell him all I had been thinking.

        Never in all those years on the Enterprise had we talked
to each other so little. Perhaps the words weren't enough.
Perhaps it would be better to let our bodies talk.

        I warmed the small jar of lubricant in my hand, knowing
that this was what I wanted. I wanted *him* - the dark,
restrained, serious, yet greedy Vulcan. I wanted the physical
contact of our bodies, I wanted to smell him, to taste him, to
feel him. I wanted him more than any being I'd wanted before.

        The door chimed and at my command it opened.

        The sight of him took away my breath. He entered my
quarters, clad in a heavy, deep green robe which enhanced his
dark beauty. Our eyes met immediately and again he gave me this
look that changed my knees into melting jello. Then his gaze
slid down to my hands and the small jar. When our eyes met
again, I was stunned. It was hunger there, a hunger which set
loose shivers across my whole body.

        With a few steps, he stood suddenly by me, holding me,
to keep me from falling down. No, wrong... to keep me from
falling down alone.

        He pinned me to the floor with the weight of his body,
he put my arms behind my head, holding them there with the iron
strength of a Vulcan. But I wanted it. I wanted my mouth to be
savaged by his own, I wanted to be stripped out of my clothes. I
loved every second of watching him pull his robe off. I thought,
*I will go insane,* when he revealed that he was wearing nothing
under it.

        But what I wanted most was to get lost in his body, in
his heat, in his eyes and in his thoughts.

        "I want to get lost in you."

        This, I had to say it. While laying naked on the floor,
exposed to his gaze, so intense it was burning me almost to
ashes.

        Nothing would be the same, now that I'd said this. But I
didn't want anything else.

        He groaned finely and then he fell on me. His hands, his
mouth, his tongue were everywhere. He seemed to touch, to kiss,
to lick every place on my body: my face, my throat, my nipples,
my belly, my cock, my groin. I turned on my stomach, wanting him
to bite me on my neck, to feel him between my shoulder blades,
to let myself be licked along my spine, to be kissed on the
small of my back...

        He lifted my hips and parted my legs and then I felt the
hot finger entering me, touching the sensitive spot inside me. I
moaned out aloud. He was kneeling behind me, with the one hand
massaging the tight opening of my anus, with the other stroking
my cock. I grew more and more aroused, the pressure in my flanks
became unbearable. But then his hot fingers were withdrawn and I
remained kneeling there, trembling with need, awaiting what
would come next.

        But instead of entering me, he turned me over and took
me in a tight embrace.

        "Wwhat...?" My shaking voice wouldn't let me say
anything in an intelligible way.

        "Jim, are you sure? Do you really want this?" His own
voice was rough with desire, but still he managed to hold back
for a little moment.

        I took his face into my palms: "Yes," I whispered, "I
have said it, and I mean it."

        Slowly, he lowered me down. Then he knelt between my
legs, stroking himself. And I remained certain, as he lifted my
thighs, as he entered me slowly, carefully, as he started to
move inside me in long strokes at first, then growing faster and
faster, taking us both toward our release.

        He was never as beautiful as in the moment of his
orgasm, as he emptied himself in me. And I came only a few
seconds later, dimly aware of his body sinking into my arms.



        I listen to his peaceful breath, which brushes the side
of my throat while his hand and mine lie entwined.

        I know that he will be here in the moment when I awake.
I know that this right now is the most right thing in my life.

        I only wish that we would stop our falling to the floor,
that we would get it one day to that bed.

End.
-------------------------------------------------------------