When is a first time not a first time?
Kirk/Spock; beta-read by Hypatia Kosh

The Impossible Possibility

by Farfalla; rated PG-13
blueberrysnail @ yahoo.com


It was the second night of the Nericon IV negotiations and Captain Kirk was sharing a bed with his first officer. Governer DeZenefred had been embarassed about the sparse accomodations he could offer the Federation's representatives, but unfortunately after the terrible hurricane the city had just endured there weren't many places left in which to house guests.

They had offered to go back to their ship, but the Governor wouldn't hear of it. Hospitality was sacred to their people, and he made up for the lack of sleeping space in every other way imaginable during their waking hours. The food offered to them had been sumptuous, the tours of the gardens and city thorough, the attentions very kind and open-minded. It was taking a long time to convince the Nericonians that the Federation did not need the dilithium for war, only fuel, but the kindly Governor did much to make the delay enjoyable for Kirk and his crew.

Spock realized he had woken up into a room pitch-black with night. Like Vulcan, Nericon had no moon, but the room was even darker than what he'd grown up with because of the thick foliage all around the palace. It didn't matter--he didn't need vision to discern the reason for his interrupted sleep.

A pleasantly heavy body rose and fell in peaceful breath on his chest. Apparently Jim had rolled over on top of him in the throes of a dream, and didn't appear to have been roused by his own movements. Spock's mind filled with the processing of new sensations. So much contact with the body of another--

For a moment, the image of a completely different world than the cramped, dark room in the governor's mansion flashed into Spock's brain. A sandy place brightly lit with artificial light, tinged with a faint smell of chlorine. Cheerful, busy voices muffled by distance were obscured in the background by the more immediate sound of undulating ocean waves.

Spock quickly threw up mental shields and the artificial beach vanished. Tucking all the pieces of himself inside his own mind, he quickly calculated what must have happened. The sudden contact of his relaxed body with that of his close friend, on whom his thoughts were most comfortable, had accidentally brought him close to a meld with Jim's ever-compatible mind. And since Jim still slept, Spock had almost fallen into one of his dreams.

Was this a bad thing? Spock suddenly found himself contemplating the logic of his mental isolation. Jim Kirk was certainly the best friend he had ever had--or even the only being who had ever come close to a best friend. With his friendly, open-minded ways, accepting who Spock was but helpfully encouraging growth, Jim had somehow brushed past all of the defenses Spock had built up against others over the course of his lonely upbringing. He was exceptionally smart, but didn't act like he knew it--a respite from the human command arrogance Spock found so jarring.

Spock was in love with him, but in a kind of un-bloomed way in which the love only belonged to him, and couldn't be shared. A human would have imagined a direction for this affection, but Spock had known he was bonded to that girl since childhood and there was no way out. So his love collected, and pooled, and didn't flow anywhere.

Jim was dreaming, here in his arms, quite by accident. It was peaceful and sweet to lie here like this, holding him, but his mental shields were slipping. After all, he'd been asleep himself, and having to fight the appealing dynamism of Jim's thoughts would have been tiring even if he hadn't been fatigued and unprepared. What would it be like to slip into that dream with him? Vulcans meditated, and banished dreams from their nights. They were troubling reminders of the demon subconscious. But Spock was half-human, and knew what they were, and even remembered having a few as a child....

He didn't see any danger in letting Jim take him there again. After all, he was awake and could control his own actions in the dream, and even withdraw from the meld if necessary. Jim didn't seem to be averse to the idea either; indeed, his mental pull on Spock's self had probably caused Spock to slip into his dream-world in the first place. In dreams, one thinks one is in a reality, and Spock was naturally, in Jim's mind, part of his reality.

Gradually, Spock lowered his defenses and let the brightly-lit image of the artificial beach flood his mind again. Jim's body snuggled into his arms naturally as Spock entered the dream-world.

Spock was standing on a beach of fine, perfect white sand, wearing his uniform. Beside him, Jim was speaking with a burly man in a loud, tacky tropical shirt, baggy shorts, and sandals. Spock looked all around, surveying the scene.

The "sky" appeared to be the dome of a colony, and pervading scent indicated the waters lapping up at the beach's shore were chlorinated like a swimming pool, not salty like Earth's oceans. Coconut palms rimmed the small beach, which led away to a grassy area. There, children were running around a pony, throwing a football. Their happy laughter and shouting sprinkled the air.

Spock walked closer to Jim to listen to his conversation with Tropical Shirt Man. Jim turned to greet him. "Spock! I was waiting for you. I thought you were here, but then I turned around and you--well, never mind." He shook his head.

"Does the beach meet with your approval, Captain?" asked Tropical Shirt Man.

"I'm impressed by your facilities," Jim told him.

"We *are* the most up-to-date tropically-themed recreational colony in the quadrant," the man answered with jaunty pride.

"Before I can sign it off as approved for Starfleet shore leaves, we need to test the beach," Jim explained. "Nothing personal, you understand. Just... regulations." He beamed one of his characteristic smiles at the man.

Spock wondered why his Vulcan family had been so insistent that he not dream. Everything in this fantasy world seemed harmless and nothing out of place. It was a painless, costless escape from the stress of daytime life.

"Certainly, Captain! I understand. Just let me know if you need my help with anything." Tropical Shirt Man took a sip from a fruity drink that Spock didn't remember him holding before.

"Thanks, but I.... think we'll be all right on our own."

The man nodded, and trudged off through the sand towards the children playing with the pony. Jim turned to Spock. "Well? All set, Spock?"

Spock didn't see any harm in answering, "Yes, Captain," even though he had no idea what he was supposed to be all set for.

"We should go somewhere private, where those children can't see us." Jim peered around to the grassy area furtively. Then, with a hand at the small of Spock's back, he led him towards a more deserted area beyond more coconut trees.

When Jim was satisfied that they were alone, and the sounds of the children had died away, he stopped walking and turned to Spock. The only sound now was the water washing the artificial beach, in a steady rhythm regulated by--in the dream, a mechanism of the colony, but in reality most likely the beating of Jim's heart.

Before Spock had time to wonder what kind of a test they were going to perform on the beach, or why they needed to be alone to perform it, Jim had suddenly drawn very close to him. Closer than he'd ever been before, and his arms were around Spock's waist as well. His arms closed around Spock's body, and his face drawing nearer, and--

The sensations of a kiss in a dream are vague. It was an idealized kiss, made of Jim's memories of his favorite past loves. Spock, joined with his mind, moving with him perfectly. It felt strange, but good. He was stunned, to find himself in such a circumstance created by Jim's subconscious. Was this real, or just the random selection of tonight's Dream Theater?

Jim squeezed his ass with both hands. Jolted by the unfamiliar attack on a virginal area of his body, Spock pulled away and looked at Jim questioningly.

"Come on, Spock," Jim flirted in a low, playful voice. He pinched at Spock's shirt. "We've got to test the beach and then get back to the ship in time to start the next mission."

"Test the beach...." Spock echoed.

"I keep forgetting. You don't have beaches on Vulcan." Jim nodded in understanding. He painted his fingers down Spock's chest, trailing a line down to the other man's fly.

Apparently, in the chaotic universe of Jim's subconscious, testing an artificial beach for suitability for shore leave involved an intimate encounter. Spock could find no practical, real-world logic for this. Perhaps the Vulcans were right in meditating their dreams away. This was an environment in which logic had no meaning.

Spock couldn't deny to himself how badly he suddenly wanted to be touched this way by his Jim. He had thought the mere fact of his love would be sufficient to satisfy its natural longing, a supposition he was quickly realizing was circuitous logic. He hesitated, still not knowing whether Jim's somnambular attentions were a manifestation of human love or human randomness.

Jim sensed the apprehension and looked up to Spock's face. "Come on, sweetheart, what's the matter? I miss you! We have so little time for this on the ship."

It sounded so domestic, so normal, so commonplace that Spock knew they were partnered in every way in this dream. The thought, the impossible possibility rushed into his mind like a raging river. He dammed it up and put it away, and then took Jim into his arms.

They held each other, bodies moving together on the soft beach. Jim's fingers scraped shivering trails down Spock's back. His eyes were half-closed in relaxed delight. Spock cradled Jim's head, keeping his hair out of the sand. Jim kissed several places on his jawbone.

This was a place of peace.

Spock felt something dark and murky pulling at his spirit. He clung to Jim's light, but it was flickering. Awake as he still was, he had a feeling what was going on. With great reluctance, he withdrew from Jim's dreamworld.

In the darkened palace room of Nericon, Jim Kirk had once again shifted in his sleep. He'd rolled out of Spock's arms and was now flopped across his side of the bed once again. Spock couldn't see him, but he still sensed an after-image of the happiness Jim was experiencing in his dream.

Love.

He knew Jim loved him. That was certainly an idea to nuzzle up to. Well, he supposed he'd known before. But all good scientists like evidence, and Spock was no exception.

Even if it couldn't go anywhere, it was still a treasured concept. At least they were friends. His childhood bonding couldn't take that away.

Spock drifted away into sleep, his own efficient, safe, dreamless Vulcan variety. The next morning, as he and Jim entered the governor's chamber of state, he noticed a queer churning in his stomach. He decided that he had been unfortunate enough to have picked up a native bug, and put his discomfort in the back of his mind.

The next day, he stopped eating.

And three days after that, he threw Nurse Chapel out of his quarters. She was violently followed by an airborne bowl of soup.