Not in Our Stars
Jan. 3rd, 2018 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) Cambion AU
Summary: The away team starts its rescue mission for the Captain...
Word Count: 1,653
Rating: Teen(??); this is probably the darkest part if not the next one. Choose to read or not carefully. It's certainly not explicit; if anything I tried to parallel the writing style for The Conscience of a King (TOS), in which you realize horrible things happened but it's almost worse by the fact it doesn't go into huge detail on the subject.
Warnings: noncon
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) Cambion AU
Summary: The away team starts its rescue mission for the Captain...
Word Count: 1,653
Rating: Teen(??); this is probably the darkest part if not the next one. Choose to read or not carefully. It's certainly not explicit; if anything I tried to parallel the writing style for The Conscience of a King (TOS), in which you realize horrible things happened but it's almost worse by the fact it doesn't go into huge detail on the subject.
Warnings: noncon
“Given the organization and planning evidenced by the Da`woat people, I’m going to guess that they’ve already dismantled our shuttle,” Abboud points out.
“Enterprise, do you read us?” Spock asks impassively.
“Spock! Hello!” Chekov responds, and as per usual he’s far too loud in his enthusiasm. “Do you need something to be done?”
“What is the status of our shuttle?” he queries.
There’s a moment before Chekov answers. “Mr. Spock, it’s in pieces. The atmosphere is still interfering vith transporters. Should ve send another?”
Spock considers the options. It’s not unlikely that the Da`woat have some sort of weapons, considering that they have shown hostile intention. On the other hand, they may need a quick exit.
Logically, a cautious mix of the two options would be, as humans phrase it, ‘the best of both worlds’. “Yes, but one of the better pilots should be on board. They may need to use evasive maneuvers, and should leave should the situation become too dangerous. Also, further scans of the planet’s surface are required. Look for population particularly with regard to density and any larger, more intact structures that might be described as a ‘temple’.” It is possible that the words were merely a lie, but if they were not, that would be a good place to begin searching for the Captain.
“Aye aye, sir!” Chekov signs off.
The two ensigns hurry to catch up, their uniforms wrinkled. Both appear to be making expressions which appear to be the human emotion of ‘embarrassed’, even if one of them is half-human.
Spock holds up a hand to interrupt. “You need not apologize for events that were not under your control. To do so would be illogical.”
They nod, and get out their phasers. A sensible precaution.
“How long should the antidotes you gave us last?” Nyota asks. The question is another sensible idea.
“I’m not entirely certain. It would depend on the mechanism and strength of the aphrodisiac, which I can’t know unless I get a sample into the lab,” the doctor responds. If they hurry, it won’t be a problem.
If he were fully human, Spock muses as they move into formation and begin carefully moving through the rising fog, ruins, and thin bushes, the surroundings might have been described as ‘eerie’ and adversely impacted his mental state. It is something to keep in mind for his fellow Starfleet representatives.
And then they hear a sound that is quite possibly moaning. Spock pauses to reinforce his mental shields and nods for them all to continue their movement.
It could not be said that the previous clothing of the Dawoathki either was very modest or anything other than intelligently serviceable. They were clearly more adapted to their environment, unlike humans, who with their variety of clothing and other devices were likely to adapt their environment to themselves. Now, however, the Da`woat wears nothing. Several of the others avert their eyes. Spock does not, as that would require human emotion. Knowledge is useful, and there is nothing to indicate that while this particular native appears prone or very nearly so on the ground that this will not change momentarily.
“Cover me,” Featherby insists tersely, and it falls to Spock to do so. She runs her tricorder over the individual, and frowns at the readings. “I can’t say for sure, as most of my study of the Dawoathki biology is preliminary, but…I’d say this Da`woat experienced something a damn sight stronger than a snog. The heartbeat would be fatal for a human, and I’d guess a seizure is a likely result, again, if they’re anything like my usual patients. Everything else is almost in shut-down.” She looks more carefully at the Da`woat without the tricorder. “You poor bastard, what did you do?”
“Ur`retha,” the scientist moans, and Spock glances at Nyota.
She’s frowning. “I think it’s a name, or a title. It was briefly mentioned in the writings about the Time of Abandon.”
Unfortunately, the response to anything else is a moan or unintelligible gurgle. Spock briefly considers his options and reluctantly comes to the conclusion that there is no other path to take. Although it is a violation, and may make it harder for himself to avoid the effects of the chemical mist, the Captain being hurt or killed is an unacceptable result.
The second he kneels, Nyota is by his side, holding his hand and with the other training her phaser on the individual. Her thoughtfulness is appreciated, as anything to help him regain his sense of self is useful.
And then he joins with the scientist and loses his individuality as all barriers disappear.
It’s mostly scattered images. His brain has been scrambled by Ur`retha. All the schematics, the breakthroughs that could come from this tech—latest accomplishments— Recognized when appeared, glowing like the sun, the Trickster. He called himself by a different name, but that’s to be expected.
The anticipation. The dread.
Emotion, individual desire, anything that might interfere with the pure work of science, must be purged. Did not know the exact date, but illogical to waste time on a career like a priest.
Stumbles in, eyes wide, desperate, scared—
Captain—
‘What is happening?’ the Trickster screams, and he frowns.
Not expected.
Different name, fine, but unaware of the Time of Abandon—
Done more than escaped. Escaped himself, his own memories. No wonder he’d returned to them willingly.
‘It is the Time of Abandon, Ur`retha,’ he explains, trembling, feeling the mist claw through his synapses, his brain. ‘Our Trickster god. You thought you could run, but you are our slave as much as we belong to you. I offer myself to be burnt pure in your sun.’
The Trickster-Captain shakes his head desperately, breathing heavily—good, the mist will obscure their will—
He removes the few clothes he wears, sees Ur`retha’s eyes follow even as the god bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. ‘I’m not who you think I am,’ the god mutters desperately. ‘I can’t do this; you don’t want—’ But it’s not like he can listen any further, and it’s not as if either of them have a choice about the matter. The need grows as he lowers himself to the ground, breathes in deeply of the mist, lets his senses fog until the need grows too strong and he writhes, naked upon the surface.
His eyes pop open at the touch. The Trickster-Captain is there, eyes wild and hungry, and yet, the god still resists for what reason he can’t fathom. What’s left of rational thought notes that the god indeed must be strong to have breathed in so much mist and still resist, but in the end he can no more resist the Time of Abandon than any Da`woat. He can smell—oh, gods sharp and musky and he needs—
With a growl he pulls the Trickster-Captain into a mouth-duel, eagerly biting his own tongues and letting the blood mix with the god’s. The mist is concentrated plasma, but this close to the ground, to a naked body, breathing in the mist and tasting the blood, Ur`retha is bound by his own desires. ‘I am yours, Trickster. Taste your fill.’
Ur`retha growls darkly and lowers himself—
Spock? a voice calls him, and his first instinct is to lash out, that none may interrupt the Time of Abandon, but when he places the voice he instantly pulls himself back to the present.
Thank you, my beloved, he responds. Did you see?
Less than you, but…more than I would’ve liked to have seen. She sounds embarrassed, but more than that…guilty? I never thought that I’d be having to save Jim Kirk from…well, it’s rape, isn’t it? That’s barbaric.
As the mist is manufactured and the Dawoathki appear to want this ‘purification’ while the Captain does not…I would concur. He takes an instant to fortify himself with Nyota’s love. Locating him has become even more of a priority. However, I should at least see the end of their encounter so as to have a better idea of the location of the Captain.
Agreed. Her worry and concern are overridden by her sense of duty. It is an admirable position.
He had not expected the intensity of the union. The pain is likely due to the displeasure of the god at being chained once more. The amount of energy drawn from him is a different matter—surely it should have been less—
‘What are you plotting? I could have killed you!’ the Trickster-Captain growls, and he manages a smile.
‘You could no more kill a Da`woat than you could escape, Ur`retha. You are ours.’ He feels a trickle of panic at the expression that follows—surely the Trickster should have taken longer to come to the Frenzy.
‘And what of my crew?’ He physically grabs the scientist’s jaw, and the easy, predatory way it’s done…there’s something dark and dead in the Trickster-Captain’s eyes, pitiless and consuming like a black hole.
He waves a hand dismissively. ‘They will feel the effects of the mist, and you may find and take them in the same way, but there are so many of the Dawoathki needing purification. You will probably not target them before the mist is broken by the sun at dawn.’
The Trickster-Captain bares his teeth savagely, joyfully. ‘If anything, anything at all, happens to them—especially if that anything happens to be me—you’ve made an enemy.’ He trails one finger down the scientist’s jawline, leading to a full-body shiver. ‘With a touch, I can dissolve your world. I don’t need my spaceship to erase your civilization from existence. I hold back, all the time. You’ve torn down everything that stops me from acting on stray thoughts or my darkest desires like that, and you can’t hope to stop me.’ For one naked, he does not appear vulnerable in the slightest.
Da`wo Spock blacks out at the mind-searing kiss that follows.
“Enterprise, do you read us?” Spock asks impassively.
“Spock! Hello!” Chekov responds, and as per usual he’s far too loud in his enthusiasm. “Do you need something to be done?”
“What is the status of our shuttle?” he queries.
There’s a moment before Chekov answers. “Mr. Spock, it’s in pieces. The atmosphere is still interfering vith transporters. Should ve send another?”
Spock considers the options. It’s not unlikely that the Da`woat have some sort of weapons, considering that they have shown hostile intention. On the other hand, they may need a quick exit.
Logically, a cautious mix of the two options would be, as humans phrase it, ‘the best of both worlds’. “Yes, but one of the better pilots should be on board. They may need to use evasive maneuvers, and should leave should the situation become too dangerous. Also, further scans of the planet’s surface are required. Look for population particularly with regard to density and any larger, more intact structures that might be described as a ‘temple’.” It is possible that the words were merely a lie, but if they were not, that would be a good place to begin searching for the Captain.
“Aye aye, sir!” Chekov signs off.
The two ensigns hurry to catch up, their uniforms wrinkled. Both appear to be making expressions which appear to be the human emotion of ‘embarrassed’, even if one of them is half-human.
Spock holds up a hand to interrupt. “You need not apologize for events that were not under your control. To do so would be illogical.”
They nod, and get out their phasers. A sensible precaution.
“How long should the antidotes you gave us last?” Nyota asks. The question is another sensible idea.
“I’m not entirely certain. It would depend on the mechanism and strength of the aphrodisiac, which I can’t know unless I get a sample into the lab,” the doctor responds. If they hurry, it won’t be a problem.
If he were fully human, Spock muses as they move into formation and begin carefully moving through the rising fog, ruins, and thin bushes, the surroundings might have been described as ‘eerie’ and adversely impacted his mental state. It is something to keep in mind for his fellow Starfleet representatives.
And then they hear a sound that is quite possibly moaning. Spock pauses to reinforce his mental shields and nods for them all to continue their movement.
It could not be said that the previous clothing of the Dawoathki either was very modest or anything other than intelligently serviceable. They were clearly more adapted to their environment, unlike humans, who with their variety of clothing and other devices were likely to adapt their environment to themselves. Now, however, the Da`woat wears nothing. Several of the others avert their eyes. Spock does not, as that would require human emotion. Knowledge is useful, and there is nothing to indicate that while this particular native appears prone or very nearly so on the ground that this will not change momentarily.
“Cover me,” Featherby insists tersely, and it falls to Spock to do so. She runs her tricorder over the individual, and frowns at the readings. “I can’t say for sure, as most of my study of the Dawoathki biology is preliminary, but…I’d say this Da`woat experienced something a damn sight stronger than a snog. The heartbeat would be fatal for a human, and I’d guess a seizure is a likely result, again, if they’re anything like my usual patients. Everything else is almost in shut-down.” She looks more carefully at the Da`woat without the tricorder. “You poor bastard, what did you do?”
“Ur`retha,” the scientist moans, and Spock glances at Nyota.
She’s frowning. “I think it’s a name, or a title. It was briefly mentioned in the writings about the Time of Abandon.”
Unfortunately, the response to anything else is a moan or unintelligible gurgle. Spock briefly considers his options and reluctantly comes to the conclusion that there is no other path to take. Although it is a violation, and may make it harder for himself to avoid the effects of the chemical mist, the Captain being hurt or killed is an unacceptable result.
The second he kneels, Nyota is by his side, holding his hand and with the other training her phaser on the individual. Her thoughtfulness is appreciated, as anything to help him regain his sense of self is useful.
And then he joins with the scientist and loses his individuality as all barriers disappear.
It’s mostly scattered images. His brain has been scrambled by Ur`retha. All the schematics, the breakthroughs that could come from this tech—latest accomplishments— Recognized when appeared, glowing like the sun, the Trickster. He called himself by a different name, but that’s to be expected.
The anticipation. The dread.
Emotion, individual desire, anything that might interfere with the pure work of science, must be purged. Did not know the exact date, but illogical to waste time on a career like a priest.
Stumbles in, eyes wide, desperate, scared—
Captain—
‘What is happening?’ the Trickster screams, and he frowns.
Not expected.
Different name, fine, but unaware of the Time of Abandon—
Done more than escaped. Escaped himself, his own memories. No wonder he’d returned to them willingly.
‘It is the Time of Abandon, Ur`retha,’ he explains, trembling, feeling the mist claw through his synapses, his brain. ‘Our Trickster god. You thought you could run, but you are our slave as much as we belong to you. I offer myself to be burnt pure in your sun.’
The Trickster-Captain shakes his head desperately, breathing heavily—good, the mist will obscure their will—
He removes the few clothes he wears, sees Ur`retha’s eyes follow even as the god bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. ‘I’m not who you think I am,’ the god mutters desperately. ‘I can’t do this; you don’t want—’ But it’s not like he can listen any further, and it’s not as if either of them have a choice about the matter. The need grows as he lowers himself to the ground, breathes in deeply of the mist, lets his senses fog until the need grows too strong and he writhes, naked upon the surface.
His eyes pop open at the touch. The Trickster-Captain is there, eyes wild and hungry, and yet, the god still resists for what reason he can’t fathom. What’s left of rational thought notes that the god indeed must be strong to have breathed in so much mist and still resist, but in the end he can no more resist the Time of Abandon than any Da`woat. He can smell—oh, gods sharp and musky and he needs—
With a growl he pulls the Trickster-Captain into a mouth-duel, eagerly biting his own tongues and letting the blood mix with the god’s. The mist is concentrated plasma, but this close to the ground, to a naked body, breathing in the mist and tasting the blood, Ur`retha is bound by his own desires. ‘I am yours, Trickster. Taste your fill.’
Ur`retha growls darkly and lowers himself—
Spock? a voice calls him, and his first instinct is to lash out, that none may interrupt the Time of Abandon, but when he places the voice he instantly pulls himself back to the present.
Thank you, my beloved, he responds. Did you see?
Less than you, but…more than I would’ve liked to have seen. She sounds embarrassed, but more than that…guilty? I never thought that I’d be having to save Jim Kirk from…well, it’s rape, isn’t it? That’s barbaric.
As the mist is manufactured and the Dawoathki appear to want this ‘purification’ while the Captain does not…I would concur. He takes an instant to fortify himself with Nyota’s love. Locating him has become even more of a priority. However, I should at least see the end of their encounter so as to have a better idea of the location of the Captain.
Agreed. Her worry and concern are overridden by her sense of duty. It is an admirable position.
He had not expected the intensity of the union. The pain is likely due to the displeasure of the god at being chained once more. The amount of energy drawn from him is a different matter—surely it should have been less—
‘What are you plotting? I could have killed you!’ the Trickster-Captain growls, and he manages a smile.
‘You could no more kill a Da`woat than you could escape, Ur`retha. You are ours.’ He feels a trickle of panic at the expression that follows—surely the Trickster should have taken longer to come to the Frenzy.
‘And what of my crew?’ He physically grabs the scientist’s jaw, and the easy, predatory way it’s done…there’s something dark and dead in the Trickster-Captain’s eyes, pitiless and consuming like a black hole.
He waves a hand dismissively. ‘They will feel the effects of the mist, and you may find and take them in the same way, but there are so many of the Dawoathki needing purification. You will probably not target them before the mist is broken by the sun at dawn.’
The Trickster-Captain bares his teeth savagely, joyfully. ‘If anything, anything at all, happens to them—especially if that anything happens to be me—you’ve made an enemy.’ He trails one finger down the scientist’s jawline, leading to a full-body shiver. ‘With a touch, I can dissolve your world. I don’t need my spaceship to erase your civilization from existence. I hold back, all the time. You’ve torn down everything that stops me from acting on stray thoughts or my darkest desires like that, and you can’t hope to stop me.’ For one naked, he does not appear vulnerable in the slightest.
Da`wo Spock blacks out at the mind-searing kiss that follows.
