Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/207131.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_The_Original_Series
  Relationship:
      Spock/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Spock, Sarek, Original_Male_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Parent/Child_Incest, Pedophilia, Teacher-Student_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-06-02 Words: 3607
****** The End of Youth ******
by Acidqueen_(syredronning)
Summary
     Spock's teacher goes unusual ways to ensure his development.
Notes
     Warning: Consensual gay sex between adults and teenagers. Written for
     the SarekFunFest2003. Special thanks to Hypatia for the beta! All
     remaining errors are mine.
When I look at him, the young boy in my most advanced math class, I see myself.
Not in the black hair over chiseled brows or the slim, unfinished body of
youth, but in the way he moves, disconnected from himself and his surroundings.
No touch, no smile, the back rigid and the features tensed and closed. Just as
he was taught, and he tries so hard to follow the paths the elders have
prepared for him, his father most prominently. But he will fail, I know - he
has to fail, because he is different and always will be. He thinks it is his
human half, but I know better, have known ever since I began to follow his eyes
when he was thinking. They never came to rest on any of the girls, only at the
boys where they danced over slim limbs and muscular backs before they dropped
again.
I can well imagine his shame about this, the same shame I felt for so long.
Vulcans do not talk about sex, but push the subject into the forbidden corner
of pon farr, where all it is useful for is procreation. Boy is bound to girl at
an age no other humanoid species does this any longer; where other worlds hold
high the freedom of choice, we take it away in the name of unemotional logic.
And the reason why we do this, the scientists learned with every colony far
away in space that did not choose early betrothal at first. There, so many lay
with their own gender that they soon started it again just to secure the
necessary birth rate. And so we sacrifice our individuality for the persistence
of our society under the disguise of tradition.
The class is empty now, he is the last one left. Deeply he bows his head over
his padd, and I can see the soft line of his neck from the edge of his hair to
the top of the robe's collar. I step behind him and his shoulders briefly
tense, a loss of control he surely regrets already. But I am not one of his
schoolmates, who, dumb and blind to his beautiful character and mind, only
measure him against the narrow ideas of their fathers. He looks up at me, and I
give him a trace of a smile to ease his fear. I will invite his touch today,
and I will see his disbelief first, and his happiness later when he realizes
that my offer is true and my invitation freely given. And he will melt in my
arms and I will lead him along new paths and teach him how to live. Today I
will make my student Spock my lover.
*
He lies beside me and sleeps, his neck on my arm and his face on my shoulder.
His soft exhalations glide along my skin and cool my chest on this hot
afternoon. How much he changed in those months since he came here with me
first; I can remember the awkward boy that touched me so cautiously, unsure of
everything. He gave way to the young man I hold tonight, the one who learned
how to please someone and, on this road, also learned to let himself be
pleased.
One of his legs entangles with mine, and his hand lies on my stomach. I love
his fingers, they are long and sensible and soft. I remember how they roamed
over my body after the first reluctance was gone, how they paved their way over
my skin and to my private parts. How long he had craved for such liberty, I can
calculate down to the day; with the first mindrule lessons, the only touch
accepted is the ordered centering on melding points or the little contact in
martial arts. With me, he learned that touching and being touched is a pleasure
that does neither destroy his control nor damage our society. There is a middle
course between fire and ice, and with me he learned to tame the beasts of
desire.
He grew, and soon will outgrow me. It is always like that, with every one of
them. Maybe it is my failure to not be able to go along that path with them
further than this border. Somehow love seems to recede with the step from boy
to man; at least, my desire does. The first black hairs of a beard stand on his
chin, and his muscles show prominently now on his broadened shoulders. His body
has lost the milky softness of youth and the naive innocence, so strong and yet
so easily wounded. I walked along with him as far as I can go, and helped him
up some steps, opened some doors for him. I taught him that he is cherished and
wanted, body and soul. Soon he will leave me, no longer a student, neither in
mathematics nor in bed. He just does not know that yet.
He looks up at me with a small smile, and his pale lips open slightly, inviting
me to kiss. He does not know that I will let him loose soon, for another life,
another love; he only knows that tonight I kiss him differently. I press my
lips on his as if I can press the memories of him into my mind with them. Just
as the sunset often is much more intense in colors than the day itself, the
twilight of love brings a final burning and so my mouth lingers longer on his
lips, though I do not claim him deeply anymore. But now he claims me and shows
again that the boy has gone. And with him goes my love.
*
I saw him today on the street while I talked with a boy of a lower class. We
have not met for ten days, and I have hoped he would realize that the last time
was good-bye without me saying the words, but he has not. I think about
dismissing him when I see the sparkling glance he gives the other boy, but then
I feel his urgency. He needs my advice - he wants to leave for Terra, but his
father objects and effectively forbids him to leave, something he can do by
Vulcan law. He is disturbed, angry and helpless, and I embrace him in a hidden
corner, trying to comfort him. But he feels wrong in my arms, and I let him out
of it quickly, only adding to his distress.
Something else comes to my mind, and I ask him to accompany me tonight. It will
be my final gift to him, and I hope it will work as intended. The circle I will
introduce him to is closed and secret, and when I tell him the conditions, he
frowns. I can see his insecurity and reluctance that brings back the boyish
face for a moment, making my decision easier. I do not know why I did not take
him there months ago; maybe it was different with him, I realize now, as I
reflect on my unwillingness to even share the sight of his body with anyone
else. But by now I do not claim him anymore, and tomorrow he will know it too.
It will hurt him a bit, but it is necessary; the final forging of the
protective layer he will need if he leaves our world and goes where others will
judge him inconsiderately by their own standards.
I collect him in the city and we drive to the actual meeting point. He sits at
my side and our shoulders almost touch. But some invisible border is there
between us, and he no longer lays his hand on my thigh as he usually did. There
have not been many trips, as we always had to hide, but I remember one where we
went to the Soth'a mountain and climbed to its top, reaching it just in the
burning heat of the midday sun. Our robes clung to our bodies, and we sank into
a shady corner onto the stony ground. I pulled away his protecting hood, and he
pulled me close, the first time ever he simply followed his desire, no longer
asking for permission on every move. A part of me was contented by this
development - another knew in hidden sadness that the same development would
lead him away from me.
I look at him and he looks back with a firmness I know he does not feel - but
he fakes it well. My pupil has learned its lessons, and we arrive where he will
get his last from me.
*
I feel his gaze on my back, and his disapproval. He does not like the way I
greet too many people here, hug the men and stroke the slim faces of the boys I
know. He follows in my wake, holding distance by the layer of coldness his
features are radiating. Everyone's mask is in place, although those who often
come here know each other; there is no way to keep anonymity for all time in a
small community. And so the metal half-masks on our faces are only protecting
us from the outsiders that come to our hidden world sometimes, the satellites
that fear their true desires. Buying a night is so much easier than allowing
real feelings, and here they find boys that do not mind getting some money for
something they want anyway.
I kiss another boy, and behind me I feel him tense again. Pulling him into a
corner I give him a bit of what he wants, only to realize that I cannot give
him enough anymore. I pursue with empty gestures, but my lips no longer yield
to his touch. He reads my feelings too well to not understand, I am sure, but
he still tries, tries harder, wanting more. His groin pushes against my pelvis,
and he wants too much and I step back. Our gazes lock, and want turns to
desperation in his dark eyes. I tell him I am leaving him to fetch some drinks,
and he nods wordlessly. And I decide I will not go back to him.
The bar is full, and I hide in a corner. But I watch him and the way his body
moves with every changing thought. After a while his curiosity wins out, and he
walks around, examining the surroundings. Other men look after him and revel in
the sight of his young body, and finally he disappears behind the black door.
He does not come out again, and I look down at my glass and find it empty.
Something inside of me wants me to follow him into that room where the darkness
is so deep that nobody knows who is touching whom. There I would be able to
touch him a last time; with my shields firmly in place he would not know that
it was I. The dark room also darkens the perceptions and shifts reality in
one's mind. I would be able to make love to him a last time, my desire whispers
in his mind, and I am still considering my decision when I see someone else
enter the room.
I have never seen his father here, and I do not know why I recognize him
instantly. But it does not matter, as anger rises in me. How can this man so
easily touch the boy at his side for money, but keep away from his own son
emotionally? Is this what our logic does to us, condemn our nearest ones to
cold deserts of Surakian philosophy? When did rules turn into religion? No
matter how often I read our history files, I do not understand why we ended
here, in this corsetry of beliefs. And sometimes I would prefer a bloody death
rather than to see the rigid stances of the boys and girls in my classes that
turn more rigid with each year of their lives.
I see his father walk toward the black door, and I watch his leaving and his
hand that lingers casually on the boy's shoulder, and I turn away. I believe in
fate. And I know when it is time to let it rule.
*
Spock sits at my side on the way back, and he is silent half the journey, his
hands clutched around his knees. I saw him leave the cabin where his father
changed into clothes and wonder what they spoke about. A small part of me fears
the outing; I would surely lose my job and likely be sentenced to
rehabilitation, which means forcibly changing my mind toward the thinking that
the construct named society prefers in their citizens. I would be considered a
disturbance, a perversion, and no one would be able to prove differently. How
little did their own sons matter in the end; only their morals did.
Of course he would not betray me, another voice says in my mind. Besides, Sarek
is in the same position as I am. Even worse, considering how well known he is.
Spock looks at me, and I give the flighter control to the autopilot and meet
his gaze.
"Was that your plan that I would meet him?" he asks.
"No," I reply. "I have never seen him there before."
His gaze shifts away to his knees again, and I see him swallow hard before
speaking further. His voice seems deeper than this afternoon, but this must be
my imagination only. "It's not the right place for me, he said. Not for his
son. I reminded him that the boy he had bought was another man's son. He told
me that I would not need to sell myself because of money shortage. And I told
him that maybe I lacked something else." He looks up again. "Not an answer my
father wanted to hear."
I put my palm on his hands, which are still tightly clutched around his knees.
He closes his eyes at the touch, and his shields drop, broadcasting his
memories in his distress. And though I usually never join the minds of my young
lovers, I open mine tonight and allow the images to flood me. I become him as
he goes into the dark room, instinctively knowing what he would find there. It
is not love, simply bodily desire, and it does not take him long to get what he
needs to make the pain in his chest go silent for a while. Old bodies, young
bodies shift around him in darkness, giving and taking pleasure in many ways.
There is no caring, no emotion besides unguarded desire and open need, and in
the end he wonders about himself and stands up, ready to leave. But he tumbles
into a man, and as he is held in strong arms he thinks it is me, and he
welcomes me with a kiss that ends on lips he does not know. But his irritation
is short-lived when he is kissed back. He does not leave; instead, he yields in
the arms of the newcomer. His mouth finds soft skin on a broad shoulder, and
his hands roam over a hairy chest in exploration. The feeling of knowing
returns and he wallows in it, allowing it to guide his movements. All the
tricks I taught him to make a Vulcan lose control he applies to him, a gift for
the unknown man...and all the while he still thinks of me.
It is as if I feel his hands on my body now although I am in his mind. I am he
as his hands wander over my body and down between my legs, and he is I as my
mouth closes over his cock. I suck and get sucked and I feel not only double
ridges but also a metal piercing on my tongue that I know does not belong to
either of us. I play with it and wonder how I must shift it for optimal
pleasure, and I close my eyes to the darkness as I taste the first droplets.
His mind takes over again when I separate myself from the images for a moment.
He sucks and massages the heavy sac with one hand, fondling the soft skin of
the inner thighs with the other. His service pleases and the man gets hard and
I feel how I get hard too on the image, the tastes and the smells of the scene
that are all transported with the memories. I barely manage to stop the
autopilot and safely land the flighter behind a small hill before I open my
pants in haste. He leans forward and to the images in his mind reality joins,
blending them into a scenery of blinding sensations. He sucks me as he sucked
the man, and I can feel the piercing as his tongue wanders over my glans and
plays with the ring and I feel my orgasm approaching quickly.
But he withdraws as he withdrew with him, and I know what he wants. He crawls
onto the back seat and kneels down with his face to the window, pushing his
pants down over his beautiful buttocks. I join him there, and my penis is erect
and wet. In our joined mind the images of him and the man dance when I enter
him, and I am he and he is I and we are him as we fuck. We never fucked so
hard, so mindlessly banging against each other. His head meets the window with
a dumb sound, but he just centers his hands and pushes back. I take him so hard
that it hurts us both, just as the man did there in that dark room, and I
impale him deeply and he begins to sob, a small sound I have never heard from
him in all our time together. I hesitate but he pushes against me again,
wanting me to finish, and so I fuck him until he comes in violent spasms.
He breaks down on the seat, gasping for air. But I am still hard and I turn him
around on his back, spreading his legs. The sobbing begins again as I enter
once more, and so I rock him more gently this time, keeping myself under the
little control I have left. The flood of images slowly dies down, and now it is
truly me who takes him. I push the half-opened robe aside and touch his chest,
caressing him in a way the man in his memories has not done. The more I touch
him, the more he cries, and my fingers meet the wetness that speaks of his
Terran half and I want to cry with him but I cannot. Instead, I caress and
stroke his body, his arms and legs and chest for a long time before I close one
hand around his flaccid cock, manipulating it back to arousal.
His sobs die on its rise, and he breathes hard now with every stroke of mine as
I pull back and press deep into him over and over again. My thumb rubs his
glans, and I can tell he will not take long. The flesh of my abdomen pounds his
thighs in a last hard movement, and we come in unison almost soundlessly, only
our bodies tensing for a long moment before they relax. I withdraw and sink
down into the seat beside him; he puts down his slim legs and rubs his face
with his hands.
We stay like this for many minutes; how many exactly, my brain forgets to
count. Then I pull him up into my arms and kiss him. How wonderful he is, I
think, and wonder if this will be the one to break my heart, the one I cannot
let go. He kisses back without hesitation, but something in his touch has
changed. I let him loose, and he sits down beside me in a small distance, his
head on my shoulder the only physical contact between us.
"What will you do now?" I ask him. I have seen in his mind that later he
recognized the piercing and followed the man out of curiosity - that it was his
own father he only realized when they stood face to face. And he was sure Sarek
did not know it was him in that dark room.
He looks at me, and I see that the last traces of boyhood have disappeared from
his face in this night. "I promised him that I would keep my silence about his
activities."
"In exchange for your entry into Starfleet Academy?"
He nods. "Indeed." He pulls the robe loosely together and climbs back to the
front. "It is late, I need to be home soon."
I close my pants and return to the driver's seat. We do not speak until we stop
in front of his parents' house. There he turns his head to me, and when our
eyes meet, I know I will lose him. And for the first time it is I who am left
behind, and it hurts.
"Live long and prosper," he says and makes the traditional gesture of a student
toward his teacher.
"Live long and prosper, Spock," I say and make the ta'al, the greeting of
equals. He has grown tonight, and though he may not be adult in the eyes of the
law, he is for me. He tilts his head in wordless approval, and then he leaves
for the gate where he quickly disappears from my view, his firm steps on the
cobbled way traveling off in the silence of the night.
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