Summoning the Future
folder
Star Trek › Star Trek
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,275
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Star Trek › Star Trek
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,275
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Star Trek: The Original Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Summoning the Future
Title: Summoning the Future
Author: RockabillySaint
Pairing: K/S
Warning: M/M sex (but not graphic), character death
Summary: In the Mirror universe, Spock makes a decision.
Note: Not my first ST fic, but the first one I’ve done anything with. Takes place sometime after the events of Mirror, Mirror.
________________________________________________________________
Breathe. If he could just remember to breathe, it would be bearable. But he’s being smothered, pushed against the bed with enough force to leave burns. No one ever asks where they come from, no one needs to. You don’t need Vulcan ears to hear the screams emanating from the captain’s quarters. That fact used to bother him, but now he can’t bring himself to care. The crew doesn’t blame him for what he does, what the captain forces him to do. They’d be more than willing to take his place, and some days he thinks of letting them. But then he remembers those words, ones that were uttered what seems a lifetime ago.
So? What will it be? The past or the future? Tyranny or freedom?
Those gold eyes that were everything he never thought he’d see, compassionate and full of light. A light he would never get to witness again, two shining beacons that haunt his thoughts. Even now he can picture that face, so familiar but infinitely different. Almost tender in its curves, worry lines marring the soft eyes, the slight downward turn of the mouth displaying a concern that didn’t incorporate a selfish will to survive or a ruthless determination.
Close, he was close now. The speed had increased, his breathing was more erratic. A few more moments and he would be free of the ecstasy, of the domination forever.
Moaning he reaches under the bed, body throbbing with release as his hand closes around cool steel. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he’s flipped over, a soft, wet body at his side, their harsh breathing echoing in the room.
A moment’s pause and he plunges the knife into hot flesh. A surprised gasp leaves his captain’s throat, his heart pierced with Vulcan precision. Spock’s hand tightens on the handle, and that’s when he’s drawn to those eyes. He sees hatred, shock, and disappointment in their depths, but no sympathy or forgiveness. Not even love, and he twists the blade, the gaping wound bleeding anew, the liquid pooling under their bodies.
Spock’s surprisingly calm as the captain tries to claw at his face, the human’s body weakening and turning pale from the blood loss.
Only when Kirk has stilled does Spock withdraw the knife, dripping and soggy and he tosses it onto the floor with a dull thump. The Vulcan doesn’t move, only stares at what used to be his captain, what used to be the man he wanted so desperately to call T’hy’la.
In every revolution, there is one man with a vision.
Gently Spock closes the lids over vacant eyes, imagines them glittering and pleading in the transporter room, and knows he has done the right thing.
Author: RockabillySaint
Pairing: K/S
Warning: M/M sex (but not graphic), character death
Summary: In the Mirror universe, Spock makes a decision.
Note: Not my first ST fic, but the first one I’ve done anything with. Takes place sometime after the events of Mirror, Mirror.
________________________________________________________________
Breathe. If he could just remember to breathe, it would be bearable. But he’s being smothered, pushed against the bed with enough force to leave burns. No one ever asks where they come from, no one needs to. You don’t need Vulcan ears to hear the screams emanating from the captain’s quarters. That fact used to bother him, but now he can’t bring himself to care. The crew doesn’t blame him for what he does, what the captain forces him to do. They’d be more than willing to take his place, and some days he thinks of letting them. But then he remembers those words, ones that were uttered what seems a lifetime ago.
So? What will it be? The past or the future? Tyranny or freedom?
Those gold eyes that were everything he never thought he’d see, compassionate and full of light. A light he would never get to witness again, two shining beacons that haunt his thoughts. Even now he can picture that face, so familiar but infinitely different. Almost tender in its curves, worry lines marring the soft eyes, the slight downward turn of the mouth displaying a concern that didn’t incorporate a selfish will to survive or a ruthless determination.
Close, he was close now. The speed had increased, his breathing was more erratic. A few more moments and he would be free of the ecstasy, of the domination forever.
Moaning he reaches under the bed, body throbbing with release as his hand closes around cool steel. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he’s flipped over, a soft, wet body at his side, their harsh breathing echoing in the room.
A moment’s pause and he plunges the knife into hot flesh. A surprised gasp leaves his captain’s throat, his heart pierced with Vulcan precision. Spock’s hand tightens on the handle, and that’s when he’s drawn to those eyes. He sees hatred, shock, and disappointment in their depths, but no sympathy or forgiveness. Not even love, and he twists the blade, the gaping wound bleeding anew, the liquid pooling under their bodies.
Spock’s surprisingly calm as the captain tries to claw at his face, the human’s body weakening and turning pale from the blood loss.
Only when Kirk has stilled does Spock withdraw the knife, dripping and soggy and he tosses it onto the floor with a dull thump. The Vulcan doesn’t move, only stares at what used to be his captain, what used to be the man he wanted so desperately to call T’hy’la.
In every revolution, there is one man with a vision.
Gently Spock closes the lids over vacant eyes, imagines them glittering and pleading in the transporter room, and knows he has done the right thing.