...And Forever
by The Enigmatic Big Miss Sunbeam

"Didn't he ramble?"

And Spock looked up.

What had McCoy just said? "Jim?" Spock asked carefully. Had McCoy been referring to Jim?

"Just an old earth song," McCoy was now murmuring as he looked out at the starfield. Since the Enterprise was in docking mode, even the stars were motionless. Then McCoy sighed. "I gave him the usual treatment." The irradiation: it would keep Jim's body from further deterioration for ten days or so.

Then McCoy turned around; his eyes were wild and lost. "Well, Spock, I guess we better do that ritual Vulcan cleaning thing."

And together Spock and McCoy arranged Jim's limbs and washed every part of him.

Curious how death had treated Jim. He was as pretty as ever, his hair damp and curling around his pink ears.

When they were finished, McCoy slumped against the cabin wall. "Spock, you probably want to stay with the body til the Starfleet ceremony, but I sure would recommend some rest. I'm going to go on to my quarters. You call me if you need to."

And McCoy left.

Now Spock was alone with Jim.

Jim lying naked, slightly damp. Still beautiful as a boy, his skin still that lovely warm color.

It was impossible that Jim (Jim, with that unnervingly slow smile, with those mysterious and heated eyes), impossible that Jim had given in to this most quotidian of enemies.

Spock couldn't tear his eyes from Jim.

From Jim's naked body.

Spock hugged himself.

If this had been a traditional Vulcan funeral, a high priest would now be chanting the ancient litany:

"Birth is the naked time and death is the naked time. Passage without pride, change without chaos."

But they weren't on Vulcan. Still, on impulse - if they had been on Vulcan, it would be what he would have to do - Spock took off his robe. Jim was naked as any animal, and so Spock would be too. He would not claim any superiority in being clad in the last rag of life.

He touched Jim's limp hand.


Jim could not be dead.

He looked down at the immaculate and silent Jim.

"Jim?" he whispered.

His Jim. Still beautiful, still golden and full of the blood Spock loved.

Jim looked so alive. So alert. So familiar. Sleeping as Spock watched him. Often Spock had watched Jim sleep. Watched him so intently that Jim's eyes would open. "What do you want, Spock?" And then Spock would take his fragrant and warm Jim in his arms and move his long legs between Jim's strong thighs and they would make love the rest of the night.

Now Jim was lying there with his hands in limp fists beside him, his eyes closed, his head turned to the side, like a statue of a god. And it was as if Spock's body did not know Jim was dead and was being the least little bit illogical. He breathed out.


Because Jim's beauty was intact.

It was illogical but not entirely. They had been bondmates and lovers. And Jim would want something like this, Jim was the most sexually adventurous person he'd ever known. Jim had loved it when Spock touched himself. He would whisper things in Spock's ear, things about other men or women, and he would whisper about all the delights that were between his own legs or the bliss of his soft and curvy mouth.


Spock wasn't hurting anyone, and he thought of gripping himself with Jim watching clothed or with Jim gently rubbing the front of his own jeans or then insouciantly unzipping and moving his fist against himself, and how often they had watched each other becoming ecstatic together.

So many years ago, after they had become lovers, he had awakened to find Jim standing over him with his erection in his hand. "Spock, jerk off for me." And, when Spock demurred, Jim had said, "Spock, I want to come and come hard, I want to jerk off while you jerk off. Your big cock . .. " Jim had been making himself pink and breathless as he spoke, almost in a trance. "We've undressed together before, and I always got to sneak a look at your cock. Dammit, now do it." And Spock had been erect the whole while and he threw the covers down to his knees and, spreading his long legs, took himself in his long fingered-hand while Jim moaned above him.

He had always done what Jim wanted; he was doing it now.

He would do this for Jim, still beautiful, his skin pink and gold in the bright stars, with the comfortable sound of the giant breathing engines of the Enterprise, his own breathing, his own ears roaring, and he gasped. He had a sudden vision of Jim sitting before him, naked, his thighs open. Spock had not meant to, exactly, but what would it be like to close in on Jim, between Jim's legs, and he was pulsing, his eyes closed, almost as if Jim were alive with him.

He opened his eyes. And looked down. He had come all over Jim, shiny streams of liquid on Jim's stomach, on Jim's soft nesting cock.

Spock touched Jim, rubbing the semen gently into Jim's stomach.

Spock could not believe it.

He swallowed. Breathed in. Because he was still erect.


But he was naked with Jim. It was impossible for him to be naked with Jim and not be aroused. He rubbed himself a little more.

And a sort of fury took over. He would have one more time. It was not wrong and nothing would stop him. He lay on Jim's body, nearly face to face. One last time, t'hyla, one last time. And no one would know.

One more time; it would not even be a violation, pushing Jim's strong thighs together to form a little place for his cock, a little place there that he could fuck again and it would be quick and nearly innocent.

After all he and Jim had already done that a few time when in a hurry, in barroom toilets or on wargame maneuvers before the others could discover them.

Jim leaning over a sink or kneeling on the ground and letting Spock move between his legs while he held himself. Spock kissing him there and Jim squeezing his legs together and asking him to hurry, Jim stroking himself. "I can see it, I can feel it. When we get back, I'll kneel on the side of our bed and . . ." (our bed. Spock's heart had leapt. He had always tried to keep his scrupulous Vulcan distance, but Jim seemed to want him constantly. Our bed) " . . . stick out my ass. Come for me, Spock. Come." Jim always so adventurous. Once naked in an empty barroom. Sitting with his knees apart on a barstool. And naked Spock standing close behind him. Oh, Spock would have pushed himself into Jim's bones if he could have.

"Jim." His teeth were gritted. "Jim." His cock was big and suspended between Jim's soft thighs. "Jim!" He needed Jim to make him come, oh, this one last time. "Jim, Jim," the word itself now seemed to swell and encompass all the universe as if he were trapped between Jim's legs instead of being trapped between lurches of time as he was now.

Jim? Was Jim in a place where he would know how hard he still made Spock. Jim had loved Spock's size, had loved having a lover with a cock as big as Spock's. For Jim, it wasn't just the pleasure of it, it was the knowledge that Spock wanted him enough to show the evolved and limitless desire of a cock that size.

"I'd show you off everywhere if you'd let me," Jim had whispered. "I'd make you take it out everywhere. And I'd say, this is my dick; it belongs to me. It's mine, all mine. Look at it. Look at what I did, look at what I won," and Jim's erotic litany went on and on like that and made Spock very happy because they were safe in Jim's quarters and, while his cock was hard, it was still proper, it was still logical. Jim had his hand inside Spock's pants making him unbearably hard and leaking. "I wouldn't let you ever get soft."

And now he was jerking his body between Jim's big thighs; if he pushed Jim's legs together even more, they would press him more tightly as he rhythmically pushed again and again against Jim's legs. All those times Jim had invited him to fuck him, Jim's casual human sexuality; oh, if Jim were Jim now, Spock would make Jim get on his hands and knees and he would grind himself into Jim's body, gripping the perfect arcs of Jim's body just so, so hard he might bruise Jim's pink skin but Jim had always loved that and sometimes he would rear up and throw his arms behind him, grabbing the surprised Spock, pulling him inside him even further because he wanted to come and he did come screaming and Spock came with him, surprised and surrounded by Jim's flesh and screaming with him before they both collapsed.

And with this, Spock came again, stronger than before.




It must have been some form of the plak tow. Spock had come twice, the last time afraid of crushing Jim with his strength, but he was still hard, still aroused, and he wanted to come even more. He threw his head back and bit his lower lip so hard it bled.

"Jim" he said hoarsely, "Jim."

And he slipped to the floor and pulled Jim's legs apart and began to fuck him for real now, all the way inside Jim's slack and ready body. Oh, it could not have been him doing this, holding Jim's limp thighs over his arms and penetrating Jim's lifeless body, frenzied as a satyr, pumping again and again inside Jim, inside the most secret part of Jim that he knew as well as he knew the feel of his own fingertips - only now he could unleash his strength. He had always held back a touch, not in his heart, which was what mattered, but with his body, because he knew he could have broken Jim even though Jim's bones were horse-like, iron. Now he could use his full strength, Jim was beyond hurt, and Spock refused to think any more, the icy wind of logic would overwhelm him, and all he wanted was Jim, wild to be inside Jim and with Jim forever.

And then he heard it, a whisper of a chime, and he was still in the fever, still pumping against Jim's limpness, but he was also somewhere else, on a great desert plane where he could hear that odd little sound, and he looked at Jim's closed eyes and said "Jim, Jim," meaning make him come, make him come again and again, he wanted to come inside of Jim, he wanted Jim to make him come, and he closed his eyes and he was overwhelmed by the tide of blood that rose over him and he felt he could destroy Jim's frail body with his intensity of his dreams, and he was coming into Jim and he pushed inside as hard as he could as if joined with Jim's body and then suddenly Jim's arm moved off the table and Spock leapt back.



He looked at Jim's arm; it was swinging like the slow pendulum of a clock by the side of the table.

Spock had accidentally pushed Jim's arm off the table.

He looked at the slowing arm, its loose fist.

There was a little blood in the corner of Spock's mouth; he could taste it.

He sat back.

Jim was dead.

Jim was dead.

Jim's arm was swinging very gently now. "Jim?" he said, "Jim?" He had just pushed Jim's body over to the side too far. That was all. The beautiful arm was nearly still now. Jim's last motion.

Jim's flesh was cooling too. Spock could feel it. And Spock could smell the water they had washed Jim in. It did not smell of Jim.

This wasn't Jim.

Something cool and damp came over Spock's fever.

This wasn't Jim.

Because Jim's body was dead, and somewhere inside, near where he had been, the tragic and regrettable decline of the body had started. But there was no Jim in that beautiful body. It had lured Spock in for love, but then the body had failed.

Only the love remained.

This was no more Jim than the robe on the floor was Spock. Less so. This flesh would fall apart very soon. The robe would last a number of seasons.

He pulled Jim's body to him, to kiss it, and Jim's head lolled loosely against his shoulder like a baby's.

He brought Jim's cool cheek to his own superheated face. The coolness was strangely calming.

It was not really Jim, the way a cut rose was not quite a rose. He loved Jim, and he loved this body that reminded him of what Jim had meant to him, but nature had another thing to do to this version of Jim.

"Jim," he whispered, tasting the air-flavored memory. He would never have Jim again because there was no Jim at all.

So where was Jim now?

Spock's eyes cut to the starfield.

A strange sort of happiness, stronger than any orgasm, was possessing him. He still had his love; Jim was dead, Jim's body was dead and soon never to be possessed again in all its golden glory, but his love was entirely intact.

And that was what Spock had left.

All that love.

"Jim," he whispered into the air, the air where Jim lived now. It would be logical now to do the other things Jim wanted: duty, bravery. The way Jim squared his shoulders and made those very human motions towards the future. Jim knew death was there waiting in the shadows of his life, but he was indifferent.

Spock must now taste that indifference.

He reached over and put his robe on; he would have to be ready for the next moment.

The End