DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters
are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are
the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2006 by Djinn. This
story is Rated R.
Substitute
by Djinn
Kirk reaches out, hand falling
on soft skin, his touch rousing a sigh from his companion. Chapel is warm and giving, and, even though
he has never wanted her before, he wants her now, for the memories she holds of
Spock.
Kirk pulls her close, murmurs
her name--he hopes. But she doesn't seem
to mind whatever he has called her. Or
at least the tears she's been crying for Spock don't intensify, so maybe he's
called her by her own name.
She moves under him, face wet
as he kisses those tears away, and then she cries out a name. It's not his.
This is why he's here: to
lose himself in someone who remembers Spock.
In someone who loved Spock.
He can't stop his mind from
going back. Raspy voice, burned skin,
and pure love when Spock said, "I have been, and always shall be, your
friend."
His friend.
His love.
Never his lover. Why never his lover?
"Sir?" Chapel says,
and he realizes he's stopped moving, that his body has died inside her.
He should tell her to call
him Jim. But he doesn't.
She holds him, anyway. Hugs him close and sheds more of the tears he
can't cry. Her love is dead. Did Spock love her? Kirk has never understood their relationship.
Now, he never will. Now, there is no relationship to understand.
---------
Spock feels confusion as he
stares down from the cliff to where a lone human stands looking up. A spark of anger starts--anger from
frustration that this Jim should cause such turmoil in him.
He turns away, shuts down
what he suspects is desire, and goes back to the tests. He can sense his mother's presence. "Why does he stare up? Why does he not go away?"
"Because you are
here."
"I am that important to
him?"
"He sacrificed
everything he had for you."
She says it in a way he knows
gives it utter importance. But he feels
nothing. Or what he feels confuses him
too much, and he pushes it away like spoiled food.
Jim. The man's name is Jim. Why does the name evoke memories of golden
eyes gone soft with desire, of strong arms locked around him when Spock knows
they were not mated? He knows they were
never lovers.
He is afraid that the
memories are what he has discovered are called fantasies.
"How do you feel?"
the computer asks. It has asked this
before.
He feels nothing--and
everything.
He wants too much. He would give everything--did give
everything.
"I have been, and always
shall be, your friend."
A friend. He does not understand how that goes with
fantasies of golden eyes and strong arms.
----------------
Kirk is alone in bed. In their bed.
His and Spock's. A lovely, old
four-poster. Their bed.
He's waited a lifetime to
share this bed with Spock, and now Spock is sharing another's bed. Kirk tosses and turns, wishing he were
enough.
"I love you," Spock
said, just before his biological urges drove him to Chapel's bed.
The Vulcan mating urge is, as
it turns out, an urge to procreate. Kirk
will not do. Kirk cannot answer Spock's
need to send his seed into a body naturally fertile. A body that, it also turns out, Spock has used
before for past Pon Farrs. Chapel is his
landing pad of choice when the blood fever calls.
Kirk prays that Chapel is up
to date on her contraception.
He imagines Spock planting
himself in her soft, forgiving flesh.
Her body will welcome him, even more than it welcomed Kirk.
Kirk gets up, does push-ups,
then sit-ups, lifts weights for a while.
Anything to drive the image of Spock thrusting into Chapel away. Finally, he goes for a run.
He runs much farther than
normal.
He runs to where they are, and
stands outside her building, imagining the sounds Spock is making as he takes
her. Over and over and over.
Spock won't be making love to
her. He can't be. Kirk is glad it won't be making love. He will get Spock back. Tired and sated, but back.
Kirk walks home to their
bed. And lies awake the rest of the
night.
---------------
Chapel bucks beneath Spock's
hand. He is not with her because he
loves her. He is not even with her
because it is the burning, because his body demands her and no other. He is having sex with her in his charmingly
old-fashioned four-poster because he is lonely.
For someone else.
His love is gone. His love is probably dead. He searched for his love long after the
others called it quits.
And then he came home, and eventually,
he called her to him. And he took her,
just this way. The sex is
exquisite. It is also empty. Emptier than when Kirk used her. Emptier than when the fever made Spock use
her.
She always assumed if Kirk
was out of the picture, she'd finally get Spock. And she is getting him--one part of him and
only for a short time, and not until the loneliness becomes too much for him to
bear.
He moans Kirk's name as he
finds release. She remembers when Kirk
murmured Spock's name into her ear. She
called for Spock, too. Back then, it
didn't bother her.
Spock lies still, his eyes
closed. "I have an early
meeting."
He always does.
"So do I." It is a handy excuse to leave with no
humiliation--no apparent humiliation.
She touches his cheek, and she
imagines he thinks it is to let him know that this is all right with her. That he can come to her and use her and think
of someone else, and it will not bother her any more than it ever has.
He thinks wrong.
She leans down, kisses him
gently, in the way she's always wanted to.
He allows it, but he does not return it.
She gets up and dresses,
knows his eyes do not linger on her as she pulls her clothes on. She leaves him, in his old four-poster,
dreaming of a man who will never come back to him.
She sees a hooded figure
coming down the street. He pauses, turns
to look into a window. From far away he
looks Vulcan, but when she draws near and turns to look into the same window,
he pushes the hood back slightly. She makes
out Romulan features in the reflection.
"Have you considered
what we talked about?" Pardek's
voice is smooth: Romulan silk caressing her in a way Spock's voice never has,
even during his greatest need.
"I have."
"And...?" His voice is gentle, as if he is not asking
her to destroy the man she loves.
"I am tired of being
used." She glances at him, lets her
eyes go hard so that he understands she is not a fool. "Let me rephrase that. I am tired of being used by men I care
for."
"Understood." He seems to breathe a sigh of satisfaction. "You will be a great patriot on our
planet."
She laughs. Many of her friends were great patriots; they
worked with Romulus, too. Until it all
fell apart at Khitomer. The Conspiracy,
they are called now, this collection of officers who would have died--some of
them did--to save the Federation.
"I care nothing for patriotism."
"I know. This is about revenge." Pardek's voice has changed, and she glances
over at him. Sees lust. True lust.
Lust for her.
"You want me?" It has been so long since someone wanted her
for herself.
There is no hesitation. "I do."
"I am human."
"Yes. And I have a taste for human females."
"Spock never has."
"To my great good
fortune." He pulls the hood up to
cover his face. "Both
professionally and personally." He
indicates she should walk next to him.
"I know a place we can go."
She believes it excites him
to think of being with her just after Spock has taken her. "Does it have old-fashioned
beds?"
"It does not have any
beds." He laughs, the sound deep
and throaty, and she feels as if the future lies in that laugh.
It is not a future she
wanted. A part of her even feels bad at
what she is setting out to do. But that
part of her is the small, soft part. The
part that gets hurt when names that aren't hers pass by the lips of men who are
inside her.
"You plan to destroy
Spock?" she asks.
"Not in your lifetime,
my dear. But yes, someday, I plan to
destroy Spock."
And in the meantime, she will
not be a substitute, anymore. At least
when she is with Pardek.
It is not love. It is not anything she has ever dreamed
about. But it will do.
FIN