The sand on Vulcan should more appropriately be labeled 'silt', because it is finer than sand and consequently exhibits the tendency to form clouds that get up your nose when you're wrestling with your best friend in a fight to the death.

Poor Captain Kirk! "Kill Spock? That's not what we came to Vulcan for," he'd said to the good doctor earlier, and he'd meant every word of it, even the badly-placed preposition at the end. He had no intention of ending Spock's life no matter how aggravating he was being at the moment.

However, as much as he loved Spock--he hadn't mention it because of his now comically erroneous belief in the Vulcan's asexuality--he wasn't about to capitulate and let himself be snuffed out. As usual when faced with a no-win situation, he was convinced there had to be a third alternative, and all he had to do in this case was stay alive long enough to think of it. Every defensive move, every punch, every throw--they merely existed to buy time for that brilliantly enterprising brain.

Any plan he concocted had to preserve Spock's honor. He couldn't run away, because the one with the ears the size of Olympus Mons would just come to take his place. T'Pring's real boyfriend was standing on the sidelines obviously itching to get involved.

What were Spock's honorable alternatives? Well, for one, he could kill Jim, but Jim wasn't crazy about that idea. He could be killed *by* Jim, but that was equally unappealing, and Jim found it unacceptable even if the Vulcans didn't. Sorry bastards--they didn't appreciate this wonderful creature they'd created.

(Now, if only the wonderful creature would stop strangling him! He couldn't breathe through his ears, for goodness sak--)

Ears.

There was a third way out. Of COURSE there was a third way out--he was Captain Kirk, wasn't he? Spock's honor would be preserved if he were to mate. That was, after all, the whole purpose of this ordeal, right?

Ears.

In the closeness borne of their terrible combat, Jim craned his neck closer to Spock's face. His eyes bulged and his face was nearly purple, but he strained nevertheless to reach one of Spock's ears. And when he did, he quickly snaked out his tongue and licked the pointed tip.

Spock froze. But only for a second. Then his body switched gears.

His hands left Jim's neck, leaving him gasping gratefully at his first clear lungful of air in many seconds. He also wrenched free of all of Jim's feeble attempts on his own neck. Then Spock flipped Jim over onto the sand--no, silt--and pinned him down.

Jim felt a hard and elongated mass introduce itself to the seat of his pants. Spock's lirpa was gone, but apparently he wasn't done flailing about with a large stick. Then Spock seized the waistband of Jim's pants and, in a spectacular move like a magician whipping away his cape to reveal that the vase of flowers was now a rabbit, tore them down part-way to expose the captain's rear end to the audience.

With his penis dripping from Vulcan natural lubricant like honey oozing from a dipper, he fell down upon his captive.

Jim, unable to hold back and really having no good reason to do so in the first place, jizzed his pants. Then he passed out.

Spock exploded into him a few moments later and then rolled off, exhausted, half-conscious. That other half soon slipped away and he fainted completely.

He awoke in Sickbay, back on the Enterprise, immediately aware of his deeds. His heart was leaden with shame. What had he done to his priceless, precious Jim?

Spock heard footsteps approaching and closed his eyes again. He wanted to see no one, and wondered if the stories of Vulcans who had been able to stop their own heartbeats in the past were of any validity.

"You awake yet?" It was Jim, and Jim was patting his hand lightly.

Spock opened his eyes reluctantly. "I can ask no forgiveness for my actions--"

"You don't have to," said Jim. "There's nothing to forgive."

"Rape is an offense punishable by court martial--"

"That's right, it is--but that wasn't rape."

Spock looked away. Every second he was allowed to look upon Jim was an undeserved delirium of beauty. "You are being needlessly generous."

"Not really. I can prove it."

Spock's brow lifted. This was unexpected. "Scientifically?"

"Physical evidence, Mister," said Kirk cheerfully.

"I am curious what you have to offer."

Jim had been holding something in his other hand. Now he passed it to Spock. "These are--were--my pants."

"I see," said Spock, compressing vast oceans of guilt into a tiny ball and swallowing whatever facial expressions they would have produced.

"I can prove it wasn't rape because I ejaculated before you did, Spock," said Kirk, with a tiny bit of smugness in his voice.

Spock studied the pants. They were covered in red silt. The back was ripped, and the front was--the front was soiled. With--protein.

"You found it arousing?"

"I would have preferred a mattress and a couple of pillows, but yes. It even made up for this." Jim scraped idly at his chest. He was wearing a new shirt, too.

Spock quickly recalculated his life. Jim's proof was hard to refute--so why continue to try? His pon farr was spent, his marriage unnecessary--to T'Pring, anyway. And he had entered a world in which Jim found sexual congress with him arousing. And had enjoyed it.

Or he had always existed in that world, but blindly.

"Do you refer to a specific mattress?" Spock asked, tentatively participating in what he believed to be 'flirting'.

"Not particularly, although I think Bones would be pretty irritated if we used the one in his quarters." Jim abandoned the stained uniform pants on Spock's lap and boldly took both of his hands. "Spock. I'm not just talking about sex, but I think you already know that."

"I do, but illogically, I find that I relish the declaration. I do wish you to know--I care for you deeply and if I ever, EVER hurt you again I fear I shall hurt myself twice as much immediately."

"I'll try not to let you step on my feet if we go dancing. Really, I'm fine!"

"I am not speaking flippantly." Spock studied Jim's body in cautious disbelief. "You do not suffer from any ill effects of the combat?"

"Bones numbed the thing on my chest, if that's what you mean."

"And your--your anus?"

Jim grinned. "Just a little well-fucked--thanks to your biology, your... male lubrication. No wonder your species is obsessed with logic. Even your penises are logical!"

And Spock was happy to be alive.

want more? Over a hundred of Farfalla's Kirk/Spock stories here!