Disclaimer: The prose is Paramount's; the poetry belongs to all of us
A shaft of clear moonlight pierces through the
curtains like truth. It shines from the shapes on the
bed with just not quite enough light to make it
discernable where one man's form ends and the other's
begins. Indeed, they are practically dissolved in each
other, so complex is their embrace.
(Flux Æterna II)
by Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten
blueberrysnail @ yahoo.com
Kirk/Spock; rated PG
One of the ions stirs. Even the incredible marvel of
this romance cannot stand in the way of a crick in the
neck. His movement disturbs the other, whose large.
dark eyes open to him questioningly in the moonlight.
"My neck," Kirk murmurs sheepishly in a low voice.
The miracle beneath him reaches one hand to the back
of Kirk's neck and gently massages away the pain. Kirk
smiles in response, too sleepy to speak anymore. He
sinks back down onto the strong, dense Vulcan body,
warm with life, and falls back asleep, feeling the
lull of Spock's heartbeat against his stomach. The
simple rhythm proves that life is not all prose--that
poetry comes true, and there is love beyond death.
Spock remains awake for a while, continuing to digest
the new things that bombard his brain from the events
of the day. Falling--no, being pulled into San
Francisco Bay by his overexuberant friend and the
subsequent immersion in water, an experience unique to
his more human adventures, released into his mind the
final flood of memories held back by Vulcan training
and the difficulties of refusion. Until that day,
Spock knew of his marriage to Admiral Kirk only
because his family told him about it, and because it
was legal record. For three months on his home planet,
he thought and thought, philosophized and reasoned, to
try to discover the nature of these sentiments and
emotions he'd apparently felt for James Kirk in his
other life. What were they? What did they do to one,
and what good were they? How could they be recognized?
He didn't understand.
He treated Kirk with the respect he was due, of
course--what else could be logical? But it was all he
had--nothing further seemed natural.
He hit the water and everything rushed back, every
feeling, every warm kiss, every deep breath that
caressed the back of someone else's shoulder in a
night, an afternoon, a lifetime. Every time his heart
was squeezed ever so gently by the hand of he that
held it. He knew it all.
But in this moment beneath the salted sea, he also
knew that this was not just the love of his first
life, but the love of all he lived--for indeed, in the
time they spent together in these past months, awkward
though it was for both men, Spock had taken Jim Kirk
into his heart anew, with no memory of the first time.
On the streets of their grand old city on the bay, and
with the shy, silent steps of uncertainty but the
resolution of fact, Spock fell in love with him all
over again. Just as intensely.
In the bay, the new love mingled with the old, and
Spock could taste it on his lips like the saltwater
surrounding him. He tasted it as he kissed Jim in the
sunlight, the beautiful shining sun brought home to
the battered, windswept planet.
Now, it is the moon's turn, and Kirk and Spock rest
under her glow.