Friday, September 15, 2006
Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters. I just like to make sure they have sex from time to time.
Archiving: ASCEM. All others require permission. Contact firstname.lastname@example.org
This story takes place right before TMP and V'jer.
Summary: Uhura retreats to India to heal after Spock disappears into Gol.
Author’s note: Hindu ascetics called Sadhu, practice a severe discipline of meditation and self-denial, living in society, relying solely on alms for sustenance. Naga Sadhu own nothing, including clothing. They are referred to as ‘baba’,which means 'father' or 'uncle', by the people who often call on them to bestow blessings or curses.
existential exegete/Ganges Sadhu wash with/the ashes of the dead
Earth: Varanasi, India—The Nether Realm of the Holy Ganges
I returned again to the bright, hot beach created by a bend in the Holy River. Two days before, thousands had ended their pilgrimage at Varanasi and crowded the ghats at the edge of the water for a chance to wash and to receive a blessing from Ganga. But today the banks were deserted except for an old woman rinsing dark red sheets of cloth a hundred yards downriver. The sun burned my skin through the thin Andorian cotton of my shirt, the heat a heavy yoke across my shoulders. Sweat gathered in beads and ran in rivulets between my breasts and shoulder blades. I unbuttoned another button on my shirt. I had tied a sarong loosely around my waist as a skirt. It was too hot for underwear.
The moist air had weight like the sunlight and pressed against my body, forcing the air from my lungs. It was hot, and my thirst was huge. I walked to the river’s edge to fill the small bowl I carried. The water was the freezing, glacial runoff from the Himalayas, cold even in the shallows near the shore. It numbed my bare toes and my nipples, soft from the heat, hardened.
It’d been two years since I’d seen Spock and the pain that echoed in my soul had finally started to subside. I remember the day that Jim showed up at my flat to tell me. I answered my door and saw him standing in the hallway. My delighted smile faded at the grief in his eyes.
“He left us, Nyota. Spock’s gone.” No one knew where.
My entreaties to Sarek had gone unanswered for months. Desperate, I finally cornered him outside of his office at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. I pleaded with him pathetically as he, stone-faced and silent, regarded me with his dark eyes. He told me nothing. He gently pried my fingers from the sleeve of his robe and walked away.
Six weeks later, I received a message from Amanda that said only this: He is at Gol.
My despair was terrible, complete and incapacitating. Dr. McCoy was furious at me for my uncharacteristic passivity, at Spock for leaving and at Jim for retreating behind his work and his horses and his denial. “Please go see him, Uhura. I was worried about your health but Jim looks like a ghost. What the fuck happened with you three? If I ever see that green-blooded bastard again, I’ll kick his ass into next week.”
But pain is a crucible and time is the fire. My love burned and fell away in brittle flakes, leaving within me a cool, hollow space. I came here to Varanasi for Diwali, to lose myself in the ecstatic celebration, the crush of bodies, the heat and the dust, to bathe in Maa Ganga and to wash away the ashes.
There is a priority message from Admiral Kirk back in my hotel room. I haven’t spoken him for over a year. I came home one afternoon six months after Spock disappeared and discovered Jim sitting on the front stoop of my building. His face was sallow and he was wretchedly thin. “I went to Vulcan. They wouldn’t take me to him. Sarek threatened to have me arrested.” He followed me into my flat. I had no words for him and pity only for myself. We fucked like we hated each other, tearing and biting, trying to injure ourselves or perhaps just trying to feel something, anything other than loss. He cried when he came: loud, wailing sobs that tore from deep within his body. I held him as he writhed and shuddered on top of me, his fingers digging into my shoulders, his cock hard inside me. His tears dripped unto my face and into my mouth. But my own eyes were dry and hot while I held him as he emptied himself into me. After that, I saw him only on news vids or at Starfleet functions where we never managed to be near enough to speak. That was fine with me.
Whatever he wanted from me now, could wait. I turned my face to the sun and smiled.
I walked into the river, stopping when the water reached the tops of my thighs. I dipped my bowl into Ganga, brought her cold sweetness to my lips and drank. The current surged and tiny wave fingers brushed against the lips of my vagina, tugged at my skirt, threatened to pull it away. I dipped my bowl again and poured the water between my breasts and on the back of my neck. The Sun pressed his heat against my shoulders a last time and then retreated. Ganga giggled and licked lightly and quickly at my labia. I shivered with pleasure and for the first time in...forever, I was hungry.
I turned to leave the river and saw the Sadhu on the beach. The breeze lifted his thick dreadlocks and blew into his beard. Ash dusted his skin and settled in the hair on his naked body. He was tall and very fair for someone who lived in this part of the world. He was long-limbed, very lean but strong-looking, even though each of his ribs could be seen clearly. His age was indeterminate. His eyes were closed, his face upturned to the sun. He seemed to be praying.
I didn’t want to disturb him but the current shifted and pushed me towards the shore. I walked out of the water and stopped a few yards away from the man. There was something very familiar about him and I wondered if I seen him at some point during the days of celebration. I looked for the old woman and saw her still rinsing her cloth downriver. There was no one else about. I watched him, he ignored me. I peered at his face. He had high cheekbones, dark, upswept eyebrows and a long, prominent nose. The wind blew his dreads back from his face and I nearly dropped my bowl onto the sand with a start. The pointed tips of his ears had been briefly revealed. Was he Vulcan? I finally allowed myself to look at his penis. It was flaccid but I could see the ridge of its head outlined under the foreskin. One ridge. Every Vulcanoid species I knew had double ridges. Spock had one ridge but he was half human. Were the pointed ears a trick of the light? Wishful thinking?
The Sadhu walked into the river until the water reached his the lower curve of his buttocks. He bent and scooped handfuls of wet sand from the river bottom and began to rub the sand on his body. I watched, fascinated, while he scrubbed his chest and belly, armpits and thighs and even the crack of his ass. I thought that I should leave the man to his bath but my curiosity overwhelmed my better judgment. I checked again for the old woman and she was there, wringing her cloth. I moved closer to him to get a better view. He must have known that I was watching but he continued to ignore me. He gripped his penis, pulled back the foreskin and gently rubbed wet sand on his glans. I saw the river rise and lick his scrotum.
He bent again and scooped sand into his hand and without turning to look, held out his hand to me. I gasped and leapt back. What was this! Was it an offering? Did he want me to scrub the places he could not reach? As all of these thoughts ran through my mind, I realized that I did want to touch him. I wanted to be close enough to smell his scent. I wanted to know if his body held the heat of a red sun.
The Sadhu stood motionless, his hand extended.
I stepped back into the water, circling warily until I could see his profile. I checked quickly for the old woman. She was there, pounding and kneading her cloth. I glanced down at his penis. It was still flaccid. I leaned forward slowly and dug my fingers into the mound of sand in his hand. As I felt my fingertips brush his palm, his hand suddenly closed around mine. I tried to pull away but his grip was very strong. All of my years of Starfleet self-defense training failed me. I started to struggle; I beat at his hand with my other fist and tried to peel his fingers away. I opened my mouth to yell for the old woman and looked up into the face of the Sadhu for the first time. He gazed calmly at me with his clear, brown eyes. I felt as if they could burn into my soul. I stopped struggling.
My movements had soaked my clothes and my shirt clung to me, outlining one of my breasts. The man’s eyes never left my face. I planted my feet against the current and stood as tall as I could.
“Release me.” I demanded. He turned his palm upward and loosened his grip. My fingers still held his tightly. He lifted an eyebrow in a devastatingly familiar gesture. I was free to go if I wanted. My face grew warm. The current lifted and tugged at my skirt. His dark eyes stared into mine.
I slowly uncurled my fingers but left my hand resting lightly atop his. He curled his fingers gently around mine again and pulled me toward him. Underneath the fecund, fishy smell of the river, his scent filled my nostrils. It was like Spock’s, like Sarek’s, like Golan’s. It was Vulcan, and it made me dizzy.
He placed our sandy hands on the exposed flesh between my breasts. Our hands rubbed the sand into my skin, moving in widening circles to my neck and under my collar, pushing my shirt off of my shoulders. I watched his face. His eyes followed the motions of our hands. I felt my shirt slide down to my elbows, binding my other arm to my body. The river took my skirt.
The Sadhu used the back of my hand to rub sand across my breasts and in circles around my nipples. My breath came faster. Impatient, I pulled my hand from his and stepped closer. The current pushed me against him and I felt his penis hot against my belly. I wanted to take his hands and put them on my breasts but my arms were still imprisoned in my shirt.
“Squeeze them,” I whispered. His hands cupped my breasts and pushed them together.
“Suck them.” I was almost begging. He bent forward and rubbed his beard on my nipples before finally taking one into his warm mouth. My moan started from somewhere deep in my abdomen and came out of my mouth with a gasp.
His lips sucked and pulled at, first one, then the other of my nipples. I leaned into him and felt his soft balls press against my bush. One of his hands left my breasts and twined in my hair. The water rose a little higher and I could feel myself starting to float, so I stood on my toes and hooked one of my legs around his hips. I was higher on his body now and with my calf, I pulled him tighter against me. I felt the lips of my vagina open against the underside of his cock. He was no longer flaccid. The current rocked us.
The man nipped and licked and sucked his way from my breasts to my neck to my lips. His mouth tasted of sand and cloves and river water.
I wrapped my other leg around him and squeezed him with my thighs. I rubbed myself against his shaft. He ground his hips against me. The current grew warmer, swirled around our bodies and gently buoyed us. His cock slipped between my legs. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck but my arms were tangled in my shirt sleeves and I could only grip his forearms. I whimpered and sucked his tongue into my mouth. His hand released my breast, slid under my buttocks and lifted me until I could feel the head of his penis at the entrance of my pussy. I gasped and threw my head back. My entire existence focused on that one spot, that place where his hot flesh pressed against me. The hand in my hair drew my head forward and I opened my eyes. I studied his angular face, his square jaw and the sculpted mouth nearly hidden in his beard. Suddenly, I needed to know; I needed to see and, as if he read my mind, the Sadhu tossed his head, flinging his thick dreads back over his shoulder, exposing one pointed ear at the same instant that he pushed his cock into me. I cried out with triumph, recognition, joy and relief as I felt that thick ridge stretch me open and rub against the walls of my vagina.
He locked his mouth on mine and took me with long, powerful thrusts. I ground myself wildly against him, nearly sobbing with the need for release. He pumped into me faster and harder, moved his hand to my breast and squeezed, bending his head to suck my nipple. He used his teeth on me almost painfully in the same way that Jim did, and he pounded into me with incredible strength, his strokes impossibly fast, in the way only Spock could.
As is often the way with memory--persistent, uninvited--the image of the three of us flooded my mind: Jim laying beneath me, suckling the breasts that he loved so much, then sliding down to do the same with my clit as Spock wrapped an arm around my hips, pulled me to my knees and fucked me from behind.
My orgasm crashed through me. The Sadhu held me tightly to his chest until my spasms dwindled to small shivers. I felt his cock slip from my body as he turned and carried me back to the beach. He set me on the hot sand and stood back. He murmured in an Urdu dialect that I didn’t recognize while waving his hands in a complicated but graceful pattern over me. He was backlit by the sun and I could not clearly see his face. I tried to stand but I was too weak. I opened my mouth to say something but he bent and shushed me with two fingers on my lips. He straightened, turned and walked away.
I watched him as he climbed up the river bank. A gust of wind tossed his hair and uncovered the rounded edge of the top of his ear. My breath caught in my throat and I could feel my heart beat in my temples. The ground seemed to move in a long slow wave and I had to rest my head on my knees for fear of passing out. What had happened here? I squeezed my eyes closed and took shallow breaths.
“Mem? Your sari. Mem?”
I looked up. It was the old woman from downstream. She held a piece of wet cloth bunched in her gnarled hand. It took me a moment to recognize that she was speaking in Hindi.
“Your sari. It floated down the river. I caught it. It is blessed now.” She smiled and pushed the bundle into my hands.
“Did you get your wish?”
“Baba.” She pointed her chin in the direction the Sadhu had gone. “Did baba grant your wish?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. It will come. You’ll see.” She winked at me with both eyes, patted my arm and went back to her washing.
I returned to my hotel room and saw that there were now three messages waiting for me: a second from Jim and one from Dr. McCoy. I raised a trembling hand to my throat. In the instant before I realized that McCoy’s message was coded non-emergency, I had assumed the worst. Two messages from Kirk and one from the doctor could only mean that something terribly wrong happened and my first thought was of course, Spock.
Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, I played McCoy’s message first. His handsome, craggy face appeared on the screen. A ridiculously huge beard covered his face. But his eyes were the same, and my heart dropped as it always did when I gazed into their blue intensity. God, it was good to see him.
He was frowning and his attention was directed off screen.
“Well, run it again, goddammit!” He ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, why do they keep sending me these children? Is this damn thing on? Oh hi, gorgeous. Well, looks like I been drafted. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be there in a few hours. I know it’ll be hard but you’ll be ok. Uh, I thought you should know that he started seeing Janice Rand a few weeks ago. She’s serious, he’s not—he probably ended it already. You know how he is about that stuff on the ship.” He grinned ruefully. “Even though that little policy went out the window with you and Spock. See you soon, sweetie. McCoy out.” The screen went blank.
What the hell was McCoy talking about? I played Jim’s messages.
That son of a bitch.
He wanted the Enterprise back and he got her. I needed to get back to the ship.
Posted by girl6 at 7:11 PM