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StarTrekPotluck2023 - Day 12, Serving 1: @gembu-tortuesouscafeine brings us Jim enjoying some forbidden fruit ✨😉 Enjoy! 💚

@startrekpotluck Hi guys!! Here is my participation !!! thank you again for the event!

Si fueris Romae (link on Ao3) Star Trek TOS Space husbands ab. 4800 words. Angst. Sex pollen trope. Dub-con. Kirk/OCfem. Jealousy. English is hard to cook, please tell me if there are language errors.

Jim sat down on the sofa, and started to relax, shedding the diplomat persona that had been his during the official meeting tour. Spock had started to unpack right away, and Bones was already in his undershirt, the weather slightly too hot for him. The servants who had brought their light luggage had just left, closing the door behind them.

Each of their bedrooms were directly connected to a loggia, with a wide balcony opened onto the fabulous gardens. The whole palace was built with a beautiful design of ochre, white and gray stones, and the rampart and turrets looked more like a frame than like actual fortifications. The decoration of the room was just as exquisite. On the walls, complex mosaics were showing scenes of a glorified past, and the floor tiles, cream-colored and dark red, were nicely polished. A frieze of stylised plants and flowers was underlining the perspective to bring the attention to the balcony, and the view.

And what a view! They could see the expanse of the orchard, and the Twin Vines, covered in fruits, were giving off a heady and sweet fragrance.

Their host had laughed gently, during the tour of the palace, when Jim had asked why it was called the Twin Vines. She could not admit that they were unable to distinguish the colors of the two species of plants spreading and unrolling around them. The words she had used to describe the colors could not be properly rendered by the translation AI, and they were summed up in two or three tints of purples. Jim and Bones had exchanged amused glances every time Spock was carefully nodding at the more and more insisting explanations, knowing that the Vulcan, for all his enhanced senses, was no more able to see colors in that light spectrum than them, and was actually just playing along. They understood why Her Highness Sybel was so adamant to make them see the difference when they arrived at the small temple, in the middle of the garden. The huge statue was depicting twin characters, limpid allegories of an Anmiu, their host species, for the first one, in mensuration, clothes and attitude, and of a powerful and divine version of them, for the second one.Both of the figures were handling a vine full of heavy fruits, and Sybel explained that an Anmiu, or anyone, daring to taste the god’s privilege, if not during the festivities of Caprinalia, would be promptly executed. The fruits from both vines smelled wonderful though, sweet and soft, and promises of wonder, making their mouths water.

Sybel had walked them back to their rooms, and a full plate of fruits was waiting for them, along with some pastries and beer made from the strange cereal plant they had noticed during the aerial survey. The fruits were extraordinary. It would easily compete with the best meals Jim ever had, better than any high gastronomy dishes served at any dignitary’s table, maybe even better than his memories of childhood treats.

The host had let them rest for the evening, before a long day of negotiation, and an even longer night of festivities.

One of the three stars had already set, and the daylight had started to dim, but the weather did not seem to cool down. The light breeze was keeping it pleasant, carrying the heady scent of the ripe fruits from the gardens, even more appealing now they had tasted them.

When they were quiet, between two diplomatic planings and a few banters between the Doctor and Spock, they could faintly hear of the city, behind the outside walls of the palace, the vegetation, and the colorful veils hung to protect the younger plants.

The evening was dragging on. Jim was pacing a little, sitting down and getting up, playing with the crumbs in the plates, looking at the gardens, lost in his thoughts, or opening dozens of new tabs on his pad to eventually only read one or two lines of each urgent report. Bones had tried to retreat in his room, but had been back quickly, bored beyond his mind, but unable to sleep. Spock’s perfect meditation stance, on the far side of the balcony, under a golden ray of light, surrounded with heavy vines and carved wooden lattice, had made Jim smile fondly. Bones had rolled his eyes, and muttered something about poster boys.

The second star had set, the three men had started a play of Anmiu chess, with adapted rules, to pass the time, drinking light beer and eating the honeyed pastries. Jim sighed, looking up at the sky that was slowly getting darker.

- “I don’t feel comfortable without the connection to the Ship. I guess I miss Her…”

Spock moved his piece, and caught one of Jim's smallest pawns.

- “If we want to get something out of the negotiation, we have to show our willingness to accept some of their rules.”

Jim looked down at the board, and realized that he could either rampage almost all of Spock’s fighters in a few moves, but the his castle would be definitely out of reach, and they would end in a tie, or try the longer, uncertain path, and hope to get a breach in Spock’s defenses.

- “By the stars, the evenings are so long on this planet…”

Jim pushed his top herald three spaces to the left.

A folk song faintly rising from the city drove Jim up on the balcony. When he eventually came back to the common room, he let a few fruits roll on the table, while chewing with delight, lips tainted pink.

- “Definitely the best I ever tried.”

He let pass a hot second, grinning, before adding.

- “No worry, I checked the vine with the tricorder beforehand.”

Spock looked up at him, and tilted his head in acknowledgment. Bones did not even glance at him above his pad. He had managed to find an excellent detective novel after a long time of indecision, and was now pleasantly hooked.

Jim sat down. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, peeked above Bones shoulder, who shooed him away, walked to the balcony again to take a breath, and eventually came back to sit down again, but on another cushion.

- “Crazy how this place is hot!”

The third star, the brightest one, was starting to sink behind the horizon, and the lamps in the room switched on automatically, lighting up the room. Jim stood up again to follow with his forefinger the intricate designs that the lampshades were projecting onto the furniture, titling his head from side to side with every curve of light, and whispering appreciation about their colors, and their softness.

He then seemed to realize Spock's presence in the room and sat down on the sofa, too close to him, looking at him through his lashes, their thighs touching, a soft smile on his lips. Spock knew that smile, and that gaze, but they usually went with a sassy comment, or even a sincere praise if it was deserved. Never Jim had let himself be that open in his affection, and it felt like breaking a non spoken rule, just staying there, and basking in his warmth. Spock felt Jim’s hand climb along his arm to seize his upper arm, just under the shoulder, and Jim leaned in, as for a kiss. Spock raised his hand to stop him and, by reflex, Jim’s other hand came up to close on his wrist.

Thousands of flashes invaded Spock’s mind at the same time, mixed and glowing, in a kind of rainbow. There were no formed thoughts, just a maelstrom of mental energy, thick, sluggish, and hot. Spock disengaged as burnt.

Kirk did not take offense, and leaned back on the sofa, behind Spocks’s back, using his own hands as a pillow, and crossing his ankles. He had lost his boots somehow, and the breach in the regulation, the soft fabric of the socks negligently wrinkled, and the pants riding up revealing a patch of blond haired skin would have, by itself, given the weirdness of the scene away.

After an exchange of glances, Bones approached carefully, tricorder in hand, as to not frighten Jim. With a crooked smile, and a few words or reassurance, he checked Jim’s vital signs.

While Bones was reading his pad, ordering a few more tests in the machine, Jim straightened up again to stage-whisper in Spock’s ear.

- “Look. At. Him! Leonard’s a real catch, right?” and started to laugh softly.

Spock felt Jim’s breath getting dangerously close to his neck and he stood up, to look at Bones’ pad above his shoulder. Jim stood up too, to join them, serious face and imperious stance, and looked at the graphics a hot second before chuckling again, like a child impersonating a grown up.

Bones clicked his tongue.

- “I think you confused the fruits and ate the sacred one. See ? high levels of phenethylamines and luliberin in your system.”

- “But I checked!”

Spock had gone to study the balcony, as much as to confirm the theory as to escape Jim’s proximity.

- “The two vines interweave up there. You probably checked the closer plant, but that branch, and the fruits on it, belong to this other one.”

Back at Bones’ side, Spock glanced a last time at the pad screen and said, voice low.

- “They will kill him, if what they say is true.”

Bones nodded

- “Agree. Therefore, they must not know…

Jim did look sheepish now, arms crossed on his chest, and head low. It did not last. He crossed the room to get a glass of beer, and sat down on the sofa nearby, openly ogling Spock from head to toes, biting his lips and stroking his own thigh, sly smile and shiny eyes.

Spock focused on the results of the tricorder, and checked a few scientific studies available in the database about the found components, and their effects on human physiology.

Locking his hand behind his back, and looking as distant as he could, he asked Bones.

- “Does the intense tension require to be relieved by some external means, to assure the survival of the Captain?”

Bones blinked a few times before understanding the underlying question.

- “Absolutely not. It will fade by itself in three to five hours, less if we are lucky.”

Spock nodded tersely.

Jim had almost forgotten them, lost in the feel of his own body, touching his own skin, petting the soft fur blankets, drinking his beer slowly, as if every sip was the first one, or rubbing his face and his neck against the silk of the hangings, near the balcony. Feeling Spock and Bones’ eyes back on him, he leaned back against the walls and preened, happy to offer himself to their attention.

Spock turned away, filled with unease, and left to retrieve his own pad from his room. Just a tint of sadness dimed Jim’s seductive smile, and Bones rolled his eyes. Jim shrugged, and fell back on the sofa, all limbs spreaded, humming an old love song under his breath. The shivering lights from the lamps were casting shadows on the walls, and the whole mosaic scene seemed to come to life. Bones carefully sat down, and turned his pad back on, hoping to resume his Noir novel.

When Spock came back to the common room, he found Jim eating the last fruits forgotten on the table, with little groans of pleasure. As soon as he saw Spock, he stood up to bring the last, half bitten fruit to Spock’s mouth.

- “Would you eat some, Lieutenant? They are so good!”

The smell was tantalizing, as much as the sticky juice tinting Kirk’s lips. Spock recoiled.

- “Doctor!”

Bones jumped on his feet. Jim swallowed the last bit, making a show of it, and made a face when Bones tricorded him meticulously.

- “Fuck!”

Spock did not check the results himself. Bones’ diagnosis was enough.

The effects came even faster. Jim became clingy, all inappropriate touches, and appreciative comments.

It was playful, at first, and Bones and Spock never got more sincere, if not lustful, compliments. Then, with the hours, thirst became dark desire, and frustration made the praises sharper. Bones had made himself smaller on the sofa, shaking his head and biting his nails, trying to divert the conversation on some topic Jim would usually like. It was working, for ten or fifteen minutes, and Jim would grin, recalling some pleasant experience on this planet or that city, the food, the smells, the people, the noises, and then, his sexual encounters, with details and descriptions of positions and partners. Spock had almost lost himself in silence, the need for meditation getting stronger by the minute. He had to sort the stingy and indefinite feelings that were forming and coming undone in his chest, every time Jim said what he thought of Bones’s habile hand, every time Jim talked about past lovers, and every time he could not believe Jim’s horny declarations directed to him.

They were looking at him as if Jim was a highly dangerous prisoner, chained to the wall and locked behind bars, careful to prevent any escape trick, letting him talk, but not allowing him any move. Jim had given up trying to touch them, the rejections were getting too painful, but the squirming, the self caresses and openly inviting attitude had not stopped. Spock had not let himself glance at the most obvious proof of Jim’s arousal, he just knew Jim was hard, had been hard for hours now, and Spock had just refused to give the slightless thought to that piece of information.

- “Should we, maybe, sedate him for the time to come?”

Bones shrugged, the idea had occurred to him already. Jim leaned back against the backrest, a sly smile on his lips.

- “Or we could sedate you, Lieutenant…and let me have my way.”

Spock tensed and repressed a shiver.

- “You would hate yourself in the morning.”

Kirk chuckled and nodded, eyes still dark and hungry.

- “Ah yeah, surely I would.”

Hours were long. At the deepest of the night, Bones had proposed that Jim take the matters in his own hands, and rub one off once and for all, for god’s sake. During a few seconds Spock had felt an intense surge of adrenaline, fear and confusion mixed. They could not trust Jim by himself, not with the fruits still hanging just nearby, and Spock would have not been able to stay, not with Jim looking at him, and talking to him. A deep, heavy force in his stomach had prevented him from leaving Bones and Jim alone in the room, and he would not fight that feeling now. Jim had snorted. The subject had been dropped.

With the last hours of the night, the breeze got cooler, and Jim calmed down. The horny tirades got shorter, less descriptive, less convincing. A few honest pleas for tenderness and affection found their ways through the pick up lines and pornographic comments. From time to time, a shadow of sadness in Jim’s eyes, or his voice breaking on Spock’s name would reveal, for a minute, a yearning deeper than sexual attraction. But Spock was already so tired…

Jim was up, looking at the orchards, attracted by small animal calls, from all over the gardens. Two of the planet stars were rising up at the same time, and a golden hue colored the vines. The fruit's smell was still as strong but less heavy than the night before, still sweet, but more like a promise than a temptation. Jim smiled. A shiver and a sigh.

- “Spock. Would you read me some poetry?”

- “Human or Vulcan?”

- “As you wish…both…”

Spock looked through the books saved in his pad for his favorite.

The servants came in to bring morning meals, and, soon, the Anmiu Envoy required the Captain to join the negotiation table. Bones sent them back with their apologies, the Captain is unwell, the weather, probably, it’so different from the controlled atmosphere of a starship, please, understand…

The hormone levels in Jim’s blood were still abnormal, and his behavior was still erratic. The few agitated naps had not helped that much. His mind was still focused on pleasure, whatever the source, the softness of a flower, the richness of a pastry, or the smell of Spock’s travel scarf he had found on a console nearby.

Dozens of people had invaded the garden, to harvest the fruits for tonight's festivities. At first, the smell had been overwhelming, but soon, the songs and laughs of the people, the noise of the vehicles, and the overall agitation had watered down the appeal.

Spock checked Jim’s blood test again, and pushed back the hand that tried to stroke his nape. Bones was getting worried.

- “So? Is he ready?”

Spock shook his head.

- “I don't think so, Doctor. It would be hard for him to focus on the exchange.”

Bones started to bite his nails.

- “And, would you be able to…Could you just transmit him the words, the sentences, by touching? with the mind meld?”

- “It's not puppetry, Doctor. And it would be terribly invasive. I would prefer not to.”

Bones made a wide, desperate gesture.

- “Even if it means dying.”

Spock tilted his head, and did not answer. Bones nodded.

The Envoy came back a second time.The official negotiations had to end before the beginning of the festivities, at the setting of the third star. Spock sent them away with a minimum of words, and absolute politeness.

- “How is he?”

Bones put back the tricorder.

- “Better, I think, but it’s not totally gone.”

They could not refuse a third time the call of their host. The walk to the official wing seemed to Spock and Bones like a long penance path to their potential death. Jim had dressed up in his ceremonial uniform, they had combed his hair and straightened his stripes, but the half dreamy smile, and the spark in his eyes could seal their fate, if the Anmiu realized what had happened. With luck, the sickly pale skin and the ringed eyes would make sickness a believable excuse.

They arrived at the central part of the palace without incident. The Envoy opened a big wooden door, and invited them inside. The room was octogonal, with high vaulted ceilings. It did not seem to be an official meeting room, too small for receiving courtiers, but it was heavily decorated, and easy to guard. A man was already sitting at the discussion table, a drink in his hand, and documents, both paper and 3D digital projections, opened in front of him. It was the first time during their visit that Jim, Bones, and Spock could see such clear indicative elements of the Anmiu technological level. So far, everything had been so heavily based in tradition and old ways that it had been easy to forget that this nation was developed enough to know about interstellar travels, let alone possess their own Starships. Bones remembered with a shiver the jammer that prevented them from contacting the Enterprise, and the automatic lamps, and wondered again if they had not been under discreet surveillance all this time.

On the other hand, their political organization seemed as archaic as the reports were saying. There were only two seats at the table, as if the power could not be shared, and only one authoritarian head could ever rule.

All around them, chairs had been displayed for advisers. Sybel jumped on her feet to welcome Jim, hands on her chest, and to guide him to the free chair at the table.

Jim’s eyes ran on the expanse of Sybel's body, exposed in her official dress, the skin of her round shoulder reflecting the day stars' lights, before kissing her hand, apologizing for the delay with a flourish. Bones glanced, worried, at Spock. The King nodded at Jim when he sat down, and Spock and Bones were invited to take place on the nearby chairs, with the expressed demand that they would keep quiet.

The beginning of the negotiation was difficult, Jim was often distracted, by a strap sliding on Sybel’s dress, by the cry of an animal outside, by the multicolored lights reflecting on the King’s jewels. One or twice, the intensity of Spock's stare on his neck made him turn and smile fondly, as if they were on the bridge, as if that was a safe thing to do.

The hours went, between discussing very specific points of the accord to bluffing their way out of rhetoric traps, and Jim eventually managed to get back on his feet. At the end of the day, the deal could have been better for the Federation, but it was not a total loss.

Sybel put her hand on Jim's arm.

- “To celebrate the marvelous outcomes of the negotiation, would you share the god’s fruit with me, during this first night of the festivities?”

It was more than an invitation. It was protocol.

Jim crossed Spock eyes, deep and dark, eyebrows just a little higher than usual. Closer, Jim would have heard the breath hitch, would have seen the hand grip harder the arm of the chair, the jaw tense in apprehension. But only saw the thin line of the closed lips, and the expective tilt of the head. He bowed slightly in front of Sybel.

- “It would be an honor.”

On the way back to their rooms, Jim was already composing his report, choosing carefully his words, and Spock and Bones shared a few words.

- “We should have not let him go, he was out of his mind.”

Bones shook his head.

- “No. The effects had stopped about two hours ago. His head was clear, for that last decision.”

They were running late, with the meeting postponed twice. They got dressed for the evening in a hurry, and had not not time to talk more.

They were expecting a ball. The evening was a carnival.

The music was loud and hypnotic, and the light was doing wonders for the peach skin of their hosts.

Noblemen and women were wearing their finest dress and robes, arachnid fabric, soft and delicate, showing almost more of their bodies than they were hiding. The highest aristocracy was gathered here, in all their richness and splendor. They were brushing past each other, greeting and smiling, engaged in a game which rules were old as their civilization. They were eating, Fruits mostly, the mundane kind and the Gods’ alike, cut in cubes or nicely sliced, drowned in alcohol or in honey, on the tip of a small pike, or with golden spoons. They were drinking too, mead and Fruit’s wine, helping themselves in the fountain, or filling each other glasses from earthenware pitchers.

The whole palace smelled like Bacchus’ court, heady and sticky and full, making the air more tangible, coating the skin and the mind.

Bones was already pulling on his uniform collar trying to breathe some air. Spock was not that bothered by the temperature. Jim, as a guest of honor, was introduced to seemingly everyone, going from smiles to idle talks, from praise about the city to toasts to diplomatic achievements. Spock saw him accept bits of Fruit, from the tip of a finely crafted fork, lick his lips, and sip the Fruit wine with abandon.

People were dancing already, hands not yet greedy but already adventurous, grazing on arms and naked shoulders, or resting on the small of one's back, whispers and laughs close to the ear, to cross through the music, and feel the warmth of the skin under the lips. Spock had to shake off a few suitors himself, curious and appealed by his foreignness. The smell of Fruits was everywhere, and made Spock slightly nauseous.Bones had a glass in hand, and was smiling and talking, now relaxed and soft, to a group of gorgeous people who were drinking his words.

Jim had found his way back to Sybel. She had put her hand onto his chest, right on his Starfleet insignia, and she was giggling, looking up at him, putting her weight against him as much as she could without making them fall over. Jim’s smile was already high, and even across the room, Spock could see the soft sparkle in his eyes. Jim put down his drink. He caught her arm, just under the shoulder, and leant in to kiss her lips. Spock averted his eyes.

Despite the way people were touching and kissing each other, they were not quite satisfied. They were talking, and nudging each other, looking at the moon rising at the horizon, growing impatient and restless as the night was going. They were loud and excited, pulling on their dress, offering more skin to the view, untying elaborate hairstyles, drinking their glass in hurry to fill them up again.

Then, when the moon was high enough, and the people seemed on the verge of madness, the King stood up, slowly and unstable, and called for the opening of the doors.

A flow of people entered the ballroom, from the lower town, and from the fields, carrying monstrous amphoras of Fruit wine, and offerings of flowers and fruit necklaces. Spock heard people screeching and running, catching hands and arms to draw their prize behind a curtain or on a sofa, before letting someone else steal it. The wine spilled on the floor, the food stained the dresses. Everywhere, Princes were kissing farmer boys, young butchers were ravishing older ladies, and priestess were fucking their servants, letting them go, and offering themselves to soldiers.

A good part of the court had left the party to descend in the streets. The whole city was on fire. Hands and lips and breasts, and hardening bulges caught on Spock’s body as he was trying to cross the flow of people. His eyes caught the softness of a shoulder, the strength of a thigh, the veins of a male hand around his wrist. He had neither drinks nor food, but the vapors from the spilled jars, the plates, and the skin of the people were so heady he was starting to feel the fever in his groin, the tension in his chest, the ghost call of pon farr, and he got suddenly scared.

He had lost sight of Jim.

Spock was looking at the gardens. He could hear the music and the laughter of the city from beyond the walls, but the garden was eerily quiet. Under the moon now getting low on the horizon, devoid of its fruits and its people, the garden appeared like a shadowy net of ropes, like a trap ready to engulf you. Bones had came back half an hour before, half dressed and riding high, and he he has clapped Spock's shoulder on the way to his room repeating

- “What a planet, my friend, what a planet!”

Spock had heard him crash on his bed, and right away the snoring had started.

Then Jim came back too, more assured, with just a little spark left in his eyes. He sat down near Spock, on the sofa.

- “You are not sleeping yet, Mr. Spock. You were worried.”

- “I know the imperviousness of the flesh.”

- “I was not in mortal danger.”

And after a moment of silence.

- “But, if I were, would you roll on the sand to save me?”

There, Spock reached the limits of his strength.

- “No need of a peril, the sand dune would seem the most appealing bed, with you.”

He was met with silence, in the darkness of the room.

- “I apologize, you’re still under influence.”

Jim squirmed.

- “Still a little, probably. It was the only way.”

- “Really?”

Jim’s shrug was self-deprecative.

- “Maybe not. But it was the first time that loving you had hurted me that bad… I know it's not the moment, and I understand all your reservations. But if I dare to understand, if you do mean what I think, please. Can I have a kiss?”

For a few seconds, none of them moved.

Then Jim felt Spock fingers lightly brush the back of his hand that was clenching the edge of the sofa. Jim chuckled softly and relaxed, turning his hand up. Spock slid his fingers through his. Spock had raised up his defense, but his hand was warm and soft.

- “And can I kiss you, as humans do?”

Jim's eyes started to shine a little more, and he stood up to face Spock, without disengaging his hand. His face came dangerously close.

- “Are you sure?”

Jim felt Spock’s hand close more tightly around his. He leaned in. A few sparks of fire leaped at Spock's barriers. Jim stood up straight, took a deep inspiration, letting go of Spock’s hand.

-Well. We should probably talk about this tomorrow. If…if you wish…

Spock simply nodded, and waited a few minutes before going to his room after Jim had disappeared behind the curtains.

Through the bay window, the first stars were ready to peek above the palace walls. The vines were empty, and a soft wind only carried the light fragrance of the flower beds that had gone unnoticed until then.

#startrekpotluck2023 #@gembu-tortuesouscafeine

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