kirktastic: ((Sleep - Smile) Possible wet dream.)
The dream was only a vague memory as consciousness pulled at his mind, but what it left behind was neither vague nor unfamiliar. Kirk half-smiled in his not quite conscious state, shifting in the warmth of his bed. Under the covers, burrowed down in where it was warm, soft, and comfy after a night of sleeping. He could feel Bones against his back, and from the sound of his breath... mmm...

Slowly he slipped a hand down along his body - if he could, and he usually could, he slept in the nude - until he was scratching lightly at the dusting of golden hair along his lower stomach. Finally his fingers brushed his cock as it throbbed, pulsing slowly with the mostly forgotten dream. He took a deep breath in, letting his fingers curl and just give a lazy squeeze. The breath was released faster then its motion in, a stutter in its smoothness.

His motions were languid, letting him take his sweet time, enjoy the feeling. Morning wank, before the shit of the day settled into his mind... had been a while. Just the old familiar feeling of his hand that knew just how to move, just what he liked... with the warmth of Bones asleep at his back, the feeling of his breath by his neck...

He breathed out a moan, hand opening, fingers spreading, as it slid down the shaft. At the base, he let them flare downwards, caressing curls of hair and the looser skin of his balls. He let his fingers cup there, rolling once, before traveling back up again.

"Mmm..."
kirktastic: ((Teen) Back on Tarsus IV.)
He was running for his life. His lungs were burning as he dodged around the side of a building and down a thin alley-way, just about tripping over something that could have been a body. He looked down to his hands, staring at the treasure he carried. The bread had green spots on it, but to him it was the most delicious thing he had ever seen. Water was easier to get, much easier. He had places he had bowls collecting dew and rain water. People would find them, would drink his hard work, but as long as he could get some he could survive.

Surviving on Tarsus IV was impossible anymore, but he was forcing himself to.

Jim sat down in the alley and broke into the bread. He pulled off the moldy pieces and put them aside, wishing he had gotten better but not expecting it. Not anymore. He looked to the edge of the bread and swallowed thickly, pulling off a large chunk. It hit the ground, getting dirt. He couldn't eat it - it was stained with blood.

He had seen the two people fighting over the scrap of bread. One had gotten stabbed. He had grabbed it and run in the process. Jim's eyes closed as he shoved the tasteless meal into his mouth, chewing with the hunger of the desperate. He had been running for so long now, ever since he had come home to find his Aunt dead where she laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Everyone was hungry. Everyone was starving.

Jim heard a sound and he clutched at the remains of his meal tightly. He looked towards the mouth of the alley and bared his teeth unconsciously. It had been three weeks since the death of his aunt. It was four since his Uncle had been stabbed trying to protect their house from people trying to get into it. His cousin had run away from him when they had been forced to run from the house. Jim had no idea if he was still alive, but he had a feeling that the answer was probably no.

He was fifteen. His cousin was seventeen.

Slowly he made his way to the opening of the alley and looked out. It came out into a small courtyard-sized area, and he could see two people moving in the gray light of the cloudy day. No. One was still, the other was moving. He could hear a language that was harsh, spitting, unfamiliar spoken in a familiar voice. Jim cautiously made his way closer, and when he got close enough to see faces, his eyes went wide.

"Did you sleep vell? Da, da, of course you did. I vill join you for a little vhile, then I vill try again."

He watched Chekov lay down beside a very still Sulu and close his eyes. Jim waited for several minutes, terror keeping him frozen in place. When all was silent, still, he made his way towards the other two men. There was no movement from either, and he nearly threw up when he got a good look at Sulu's face. He knew the look now, he had seen it before, smelled it in the air. Sulu was dead, and had been for some time.

He tried to shake Chekov awake.

The blond never woke up again.

He was running for his life. His lungs were burning as he ran as fast as he could from where the two dead men where. He had seen others before, but people had resorted to even eating the corpses when nothing else could be found. His aunt had refused to do it, saying that if they ate the bodies of another, the soul would stay inside him forever.

She was dead, now. Maybe if she had been willing to share her body with another soul, she would still be alive. Jim had yet to even dare.

"Come on! No one is allowed to be left behind! Get a move on!" The words were called out, loud and clear, echoing. Jim looked around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. He finally spotted it - a guard was pushing a dark skinned woman forward, his fist wrapped around her hair, half-dragging her when she fought. Jim tucked back into the shadows, bread crumbling in his hands, terror gripping at him. The guards were the Governor's dogs, attacking like dogs, barking like dogs, killing like dogs - ruthless, messy, violent. Looks like the guard had a new bone.

When she spoke, he knew it. He knew it. Knew her.

Jim followed her and the dog-guard, the remains of his meal dropping from his hands to the ground. He stuck to the shadows, along the edge of a building--

"Nn!" He hit the ground hard when he tripped over something he hadn't seen. He looked to what it was and had to swallow hard. The face was known, even if it was so decomposed. Some of the flesh on the body was missing. The white hair was a feature that was hard to forget.

Jim scrambled up and kept following.

He ended up in a large field on the outside of town. There were six people lined up, down on their knees, with a guard behind each one. Uhura was muscled into place at the end of the line, the guard at her back. In front of them, a side profile for Jim, was Nero, and Ayel at his back. Spock was at their side, bound, bloodied, beaten.

Jim could see Nero's mouth moving, but couldn't hear the words. The Romulan seemed to gesturing, talking at Spock, who stared stoically forward. Jim started to get closer, but no matter how close, he couldn't hear anything except the endless whine of the wind.

Scotty was the first to die. With a gesture from Nero, the guard behind Scotty pulled out a dagger and drew it across the engineer's throat. The color of his blood made the crimson of his shirt darker, darker, black.

Even as Jim drew his breath to scream, another gesture, and Winona would be the second to die. His scream was hidden inside of his father's and Pike's as they merged together into a sound of anger and pain.

Another gesture, and Pike was killed next. Jim heard the body hit the ground. He screamed again, and hands grabbed for him. He fought, staring at the bodies on the ground. Those remaining kneeling turned, saw him, stared at him. They needed to be rescued. His crew. He was fifteen.

Nero looked to him as the hands - more dogs, more guards, forced Jim forward. He smirked, all green and darkness, and looked down to Spock, "And now we have your pretty captain as well." His voice was rich, the voice of command, but now only twisted and taunted instead into something surreal and disgusting.

Nero slowly walked over to Jim, standing in front of him, "Tell me something, James T. Kirk. Who should die next?" Jim let out a whimper, trying to work out a sound from his throat, but nothing would come out. Nero took it as a sign of defiance, or maybe weakness, and gestured towards Sam. Sam met Jim's eyes and mouthed at him.

Don't give in.

Jim screamed out as Sam's neck was snapped, a clean white sound over everything else, clear as shattering glass. He fought, every bit of his starving body fought against the guards.

"You could have saved him, Kirk. Just like the rest of your crew, you could have saved them. Starfleet never raised a finger to help my people, and now, yours will suffer and starve and die. They are the weaker species. Weak, pathetic. Inferior."

It wasn't true. Wasn't true. Jim knew it wasn't. Starfleet had tried to help. Was coming with supplies, a ship, red matter, food... coming, had to come, they just had to hang on...

"The other." Nero called out.

Hands took George's head. "Look away!" George called out. It didn't stop Jim from hearing it as George choked to death on his own bubbling blood.

Uhura. Spock. Bones. Uhura had a bruise on her cheek, her clothing was torn. She had fought against the guard. Bones was glaring death at Nero's back, but looking worriedly to Jim with what Jim had always called 'the doctor's eyes'. Nero turned away and moved over to where he had been before, beside Spock. The guard forced Jim forward, a perfect view of all of them. Jim could hear someone coming up behind him, stopping just at his shoulder, but he didn't dare look away.

The world went silent, until his heart beat was all he could hear. The pulse of blood in his veins. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Bones met his eyes. Nero's mouth was moving. The world was silent. He was talking to Spock, that murderer. The guard forced Uhura over to Spock, and Jim could see her lips moving. Talking to Spock. Telling him something. Spock only nodded once, and said something back. Three movements of his lips.

The dull, loud crack.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He couldn't hear his own scream as Nero stepped behind Bones in a fluid motion, drew a blade, and slit his throat.

Bones' eyes never left his.

Crimson and blue do not always purple make.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Spock and Jim looked to each other. He saw Spock's eyes go wide, his lips part in the slightest. Jim felt the coldness of something at his throat. Felt lips at his ear. The voice in his ear was his own, deeper, richer. He knew that voice. He had heard it groaned into his ear, had heard it beneath sparkling golden eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jim. They have to live to stand trial."

He felt the coldness move through him. It didn't hurt. Nothing could hurt. Everything hurt. He tasted copper on his tongue, thick and hot, the opposite of the cold. He felt Jim let him go.

Jim lay on the ground, staring. He tried to take a breath.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He breathed in blood. The edges of the world went dark.

He watched Spock's head drop, and thought he saw pale lips moving. He saw Nero's blade move.

He choked.

The world went black.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba--.
kirktastic: ((Mind Meld) This may also be an O face.)
    Things came in little pieces. First it was a cut of yellow light across his vision, solidifying into a beam of sunlight. Beyond it, wooden planks, soft with age. His gaze dropped, and he stared down at the floor. Bits of hay, slow floating dust motes on the air. The scent of animal and hay and dust and home hit him harder then a phaser, and Kirk looked around slowly. He was in a barn, and he wasn't alone.

For a second, he didn't even recognize the man. )
kirktastic: ((Sleep - Calm) Good night's sleep finall)
The room he had been put into was dimly lit and stifling. The dim lighting was highly preferred to the brilliant white of sickbay proper, but it felt like it was closing in on him. Thanks to Spock, or so he was fairly sure he had told his request to, the drugs keeping his brain from functioning had been taken away or at least decreased severely.

He could think, but he could also hurt.

When Bones had come into the room last, he could very vaguely remember something about his hand. The heat Spock put out had feel so good on his left hand, but despite the fact that the hand looked... somewhat normal... (considering it was still slightly swollen and the tattoos showed vividly), it hurt. It felt stiff and awkward and clumsy in a way that made him nervous or scared the shit out of him.

Okay, so maybe they were still drugging him at least a little.

The constant unmatched beeps of the heart monitors was starting to drive him insane, at least when he was awake. His own was normal (he was pretty sure?) but... his father's... that one was slow, so slow, and scared the hell out of him. Bones hadn't told him anything about George (had he even asked?) and so he knew nothing at all, only that his father looked like he was in a coma.

What had Nero done?
kirktastic: ((Sleep - Troubled) No rest for the weary)
(OOC: The song I was listening to while typing this.)

When they had returned to Earth, it was to madness. News had traveled far faster then they ever could have on impulse power. Earth and all of its people were grieving the loss of Vulcan, the ships that had been destroyed by the Narada, and the thousands of people that had been on those ships by the time they had finally gotten back with a formal escort. Kirk had immediately banned anyone from transporting up to the ship - only off until he gave the word. It hadn't lasted terribly long, they had told him to report immediately after all, but he didn't want to leave until he was sure everyone else was off. He had walked his empty ship until he had found Bones, tucked away in transport room one. Together, they had gone down to the space station.

It had been madness there. Reporters in thousands, security in red trying to hold them back, trying to get information. Kirk had said nothing, just held his head high and walked to the relay transporter down to Earth where the same thing occurred when he took his first breath of non-recycled air. Still he said nothing until he got into the large room with the Board.

It had been silence there. Kirk had stood for five hours and forty six minutes, his body aching and starving, until he had wanted to scream. Even after time in sickbay, he was still sore all over, but bruising would take time to heal. Five hours, forty six minutes of being drilled in every moment of what had occurred.

How had he gotten on the ship? What happened on Delta Vega? (There, he lied. Lied a lot. Amazingly, he had gotten Scotty to agree to lie with him. Kept their stories simple - Scotty had been tracking the sudden something in the atmosphere after sensing the Enterprise's passing, had managed to find him, had perfected his transwarp theory while working on the base.) What happened on the Narada? Tell them everything about Nero and his crew and the ship. How had he known about the lightning storm in space? Why hadn't they gotten information to the other ships faster?

Question after question after question. Kirk told them every bit of truth that he could, lying only when it came to the elder Spock he had met. Finally, finally, they had released him, telling him that they would speak to his crew one by one. Kirk had already known that, but he thought it was their not-so-subtle way of saying 'If you're lying, we'll know'.

He didn't care. He wanted to vanish.

So he did. For five days, though keeping his comm open in case the Board did try to contact him, James T. Kirk vanished. He had slipped out of the building through a small service entrance to avoid the reporters, got back to his dorm, packed up some things, got his cycle, and left. In a leather jacket and jeans, no one knew who he was. When someone recognized him in a bar deep in south... somewhere... he had laughed and said with a shake of his head that he wouldn't be caught dead in Starfleet. They had believed him because he was a charasmatic bastard and because why would someone who had become a star over night be in some shitty bar?

Kirk looked up to the sky that night, laying out on the grass in a big empty field in the middle of nowhere, staring silently at where as a child he had learned Vulcan sat. It was still there, a beautiful crimson dot in the sky that was all a lie. He knew it would take years (but how many?) for the light to stop reaching Earth, for it to vanish from the sky forever.

It was there, with no one at all around for miles, that he could let himself grieve.

No one except one damn old Vulcan knew what he knew. He had been there, lived it himself, the end of Romulus, the black hole, the destruction of Vulcan from two completely different view points. He had, standing there with Sulu with every part of them throbbing in pain, watched the planet collapse on itself. He had, standing on the ice in the bitter cold, watched the sky turn to darkness in his mind.

He closed his eyes on all that remained of Vulcan and let the tears fall, swishing his mouth out with moonshine that burned bitterly on the back of his throat. He carried, and would always carry, that deep seated guilt that he had failed, and that his world had vanished because of those actions. Emotional transference Spock had called it.

Guess that was supposed to explain all the other memories that had come with that damn mind-meld, but it really didn't.

He had come back only when the Board told him too, and it was only for more questioning. He ignored all other attempts to each him for almost another week.

When his mind had finally agreed to deal with people, he had started where few would have - the reporters. He sat down and did a long but casual with the source that offered him the most amount of money that would agree to his terms - he wasn't stupid. We do this nice and casual, just me, the person you chose to speak, and a single camera guy. No crowd of people outside, you don't release where we'll be doing this interview. I don't tell Starfleet I'm giving it, and they can shove it if they don't like it.

He'd be wealthy for a long time with how much the offer had finally been.

He had given that interview - one hour long on the dot - and felt better after it. Starfleet was evidently happy with it because they had said nothing on it. He had been careful about the information he gave, making sure to watch every scrap of available information that the media had before he did the interview to make sure his edited facts matched up.

When everything had been said and done... people knew the rest. They had agreed to give him the Captaincy of the Enterprise. Parties happened.

And now... this.

James T. Kirk laid awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of sickbay, thinking. This time, there were no reporters. No Board drilling him. Just the slow, silent beeping of his heart monitor from the bio bed.

He closed his eyes again and imagined the stars. It was silent here, the rest of the world very far away. He imagined the smell of greenery all around him, the heat of late summer, and let a few tears fall.

He could deal with people later.

A captain could never cry.

So for right now, he was just Jim.
kirktastic: (Default)
There is a certain moment that people take, where they close their eyes and take a slow, deep breath inwards. For that moment, right at the very peak of the breath, the world around vanishes, thoughts disappear, and the body seems to almost float. Try it. Slow, deep breath with the eyes closed.

Each breath was slow, deep, measured. It filled the lungs, as loud as the rush of the ocean on the beach. Underneath it all was the same slow, deep, measured toll of each heartbeat.

It was on the peak of one of those breaths that his eyes opened. White light spilled between his eyelids, then the world became fuzzy colors, then fuzzy outlines, then solid ones. He was staring at a ceiling. So he remained there, time unknown and unmeasured, staring. It was better then the darkness, at any rate.

Sickbay? Looked like the ceiling, at least. The picture of sickbay built in his mind as he heard the biobed's continuous digital beat, the sound of someone murmuring in the distance, the smell of antiseptic, the hum of something mechanical around him.

So, naturally, he sat up. He took a slow look around him, feeling strangely distant from everything, even himself. Bedsheets covered him, there was something glowing slowly around him, and yes, definitely in sickbay.

It should have been very strange to look back down at himself as he stood up, yet there was nothing. No panic, no terror, just a strange divorced feeling. Kirk shifted away, looking at himself, then finally away. His body still beat, still breathed, wouldn't miss him for now. Why was his skin bright pink like that?

He stepped away, unable to feel the cold floor under his bare feet.
kirktastic: ((Kirk/Bones) Friends. Lovers. Always.)
(OOC: Listen to this while reading this and your heart will shatter just that bit more.)

    The sound of the ocean filled his ears. It was familiar and beautiful, etched with the cries of sea birds in the distance. A slow deep breath filled his nose with the scents of saltwater and sand, of sun and Bones. The last one made him open his eyes, looking around from where he was laying. His heart immediately throbbed as he realized exactly where he was - back on Risa, in their cabin, wrapped in the warm confines of the sheets that had not yet forgotten the warmth of a second human body. Kirk slipped out of the sheets, feeling their familiar texture, feeling the coolness of floorboards beneath his feet. He was nude, which was how he had woken up every single morning of Risa, and could feel the sun eeking out through their sheer curtains and covering his body. He could remember laying in the sand, snuggled warm and safe without a care in the world.

Read more... )
kirktastic: ((Sleep - Troubled) No rest for the weary)
(OOC: Warnings! Non-con/dub-con involved in this dream. It probably is absolutely nothing like what you think it will be.)

It seemed perfectly natural to be there, and somehow incredibly wrong. )

Kirk snapped awake, and into a nightmare.
kirktastic: ((Smile - Bright Upwards) Shine like sun)
After making plans with Spock and definitely having worked on his tan, Kirk showered, got himself cleaned up, and dressed. A casual sort of button up shirt and dark jeans, something simple and easy for vacation, but if the place was a little fancier, it'd be fine buttoned up fully. He left the top buttons open, for now.

Without the cycle swiped by Bones, Kirk left early so he could walk into town. Not a long walk, about fifteen minutes, but it was made easy by getting a ride from a group of very lovely ladies. He made his goodbyes (not before slipping them his comm information with a promise for fun), and walked along the boardwalk. Almost on intuition, thinking about the dream last night, he stopped in a store briefly and made a quick purchase. With the bag in tow, he headed for the bay proper and looked for Spock.
kirktastic: ((Sleep - Calm) Good night's sleep finall)

    [OOC: This occurs the night Kirk beamed down to Risa. We decided to stick to a single name for Kirk here because it got confusing otherwise.]

    When he opened his eyes, the first thing that came into focus was the sun. It was a brilliant orange overhead, large and dominating the sky. It seemed to be burning the sky, turning it into the bright crimson of the sunset, yet it was still too high for sunset. He blinked slowly, then dragged his gaze away from its brilliance to look around slowly. He could see strange upthrusts of rock that came out of the ground at a bizarre angle, heavily layered and pointed. The world seemed dusted in tan and umber, sort of like the visit to Death Valley he had taken during the years at the Academy. Yet there was no feeling of heat, no sense of pressure... just... existence.
'James?' It was almost a sound of surprise. )

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James T. Kirk

January 2020

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