Saturday, November 18, 2006

Props from a LW at

Check this out.

Calling Girl6 - Please Read This

To all the women who posted on this piece, I have to tell you that I read every letter and enjoyed them all very much. Some of them I can't get out of my head and I found myself repeating them over lunch to friends.

Especially Girl6 who wrote about Leonard Nimoy: I have no idea what your background is, whether you're a professional writer or not, but your post made a huge impression on me. Please consider writing a longer piece on this and fleshing it out a bit more. It was wonderful and I want to know more.

-- missioncreep

Thank you, missioncreep. I'm extremely flattered.

I'm writing a piece called "Of Mama and Leonard Nimoy" and you've inspired me to finish it.

Friday, November 17, 2006 Sexiest Men Living

I had to add our boy...

Leonard Nimoy

One of my earliest memories is of my mother and her four sisters sitting in our cramped, yellow linoleum kitchen drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and talking about Leonard Nimoy. They debated his ethnicity and decided that with those full lips and that velvet baritone voice that he was colored, like us. They craved Spock's calm, his honesty, his loyalty--so different from the men in their own lives. "He just looks like he smells good," my mother sighed.

This past September, I happily paid an outrageous amount of money to have my picture taken with Mr. Nimoy. At age 75, he's still as beautiful as ever. And talk about star power. You can feel his personality from across the room.

I remembered to breathe when it came my turn to sit next to him for the photo. He does smell really good.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006


In this photo Nimoy looks like a Ukrainian thug I once dated. Gennady had the same sexy, sleepy-eyed, bee-stung lips thing going. The same beautiful hands. He weighed about 165, and 32lbs of it hung between his legs. I swear. It looked like a baby's arm. Holding an apple in its hand. I was like, no way.

The relationship was exhilarating in a scarycrazy, I-was-young-and-stupid kind of way. He always had a big-ass wad of cash and wore a different Rolex watch every time I saw him. It took me about three weeks to figure it out.

Gennady...disappeared. I didn't miss him.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

What the Executioner Saw NC-17

Here is another toss-off. I wrote this under pressure from my Golan fangirls. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. I borrow them, play with
them and then give them back.
Archiving: ASCEM. All others ask permission, please.
Contact: frokitt@...

What the Executioner Saw NC-17

Author's note: Golan is my new lover.

This story is a sequel to "Foolish Blood." Better to read that first:

Summary: Koon-ut-kali-fee

Chapter 1


Salaran opened her eyes in the dark.

She turned her head and saw the broad, V-shaped form of he who was her husband. He was silhouetted in the doorway that led to their terrace high on the side of the palace keep. His back was to her and she took a moment to study him, her eyes tracing the hard, curved muscles that armored his large frame. She had seen fear leap into to the eyes of Outworlders who saw him, but his fierce looks were deceptive. His features were sharp and his body hard, but his touch
was tender; his lips and his heated skin were soft. Her body still thrummed from their earlier activities. She shivered as she recalled rubbing herself wantonly against him.

Golan turned his head slightly. The soft red glow of T'Khut threw his hawkish features into stark relief.

"My wife," he murmured.

"My husband," she answered. Her voice was somewhat breathless.

She sensed his amusement and flushed.

"Do you require…attending, Aran?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to protest, but instead got up and padded over the cool stone floor to wrap her arms around his waist. "I require only this, my beloved."

"As you wish," he said and turned back to his contemplation of the desert below.

The night breeze was cool but his hot body warmed her. She laid her cheek against the smooth skin between his shoulder blades. She inhaled his musky scent. He had not bathed in the three days since they had received word of Spock-sou's impending arrival. Golan would receive a ritual cleansing after the koon-ut-kali-fi, in the event that blood was spilled.

He ran his hands along her slender arms and brought one of her hands to his lips to kiss. The feel of her soft belly against his buttocks was arousing.

They had been bondmates for forty-one point seven years and still their passion had yet to abate. Early in their marriage, their lust for each other so alarmed Salaran that Golan agreed to go with her to see a healer. They were astonished when T'Lar herself glided into the room.

They knelt and Salaran haltingly told her why they were there. "It is unseemly," Salaran finished in a low voice.

T'Lar was quiet for a long moment. "Please stand and face me, Salaran, daughter of Salenock. Golan, son of Maxon," she said finally. Golan believed he saw a hint of mirth in the healer's expression. "Thee do not require healing, children." T'Lar's heavy-lidded eyes swept over Golan. "Thee are merely...fortunate."

"I am recalling our visit to T'Lar," said Golan. Salaran shifted against him and he felt the increased heat of her skin as she flushed again. He huffed out a sound from deep in his chest. "We have been bonded these four decades and still you blush like an undisciplined girl."

Salaran ran her hand down his body. His abdomen was slightly rounded and lumped with muscle. She held his heavy cock in her hand. "And like an uninitiated boy, you grow hard at my slightest touch."

"You are incorrect, my wife." He turned in her arms and faced her. "I never grow soft when you are near." He dipped his hips and rubbed the head of his penis between her labia and back and forth over her clitoris. "It is most inconvenient," he whispered.

"Inconvenient for whom?" She gasped as his cock slipped inside her.


Golan held his wife across his body and ran his hand over her shorn head. A few weeks prior, Salaran had shaved off her heavy, knee-length tresses, having had enough of the hours spent building the elaborate Vulcan hairstyles. When Golan returned home that evening, he took in
the change in her appearance without comment. She watched him warily.

"Greetings," he said.

"Greetings, Golan." There was subtle defiance in the set of her jaw.

"Maxon will dine with us for the evening meal. He is currently in conference with Sarek and will join us very shortly," said Golan.

"I will have T'Sen set another place." Salaran turned to call the house attendant.


Golan's hot breath whispered across the newly exposed back of her neck. He turned her toward him, gathered her shift in his hands and pulled it up to her waist. He sank to his knees.

"Golan, your father--,"

"Be still," he commanded softly. "This will take only a moment." He bunched her dress in one hand and pushed aside one leg of her undergarment with the other. He leaned forward and pressed his tongue between the soft folds of her vagina, sucking her clitoris between his lips. He rubbed and flicked his tongue over the hard nub then kissed it tenderly. He straightened her shorts and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her shift. He ran his hand over the stubble of her hair. He took a step back. "Now quickly girl, go find she who is my wife and tell her that my father is to dine with us tonight."

Her hair had now grown about an inch and it was pleasant to rub his palm against its thick black brush.

Golan sighed.

She raised her head and rested her chin on his chest. "You are troubled by your duties tomorrow?" she asked.

"I am."

"You will honor Spock."

"I have no uncertainty in regards to Spock's valor. It is the other who troubles me."

"She will challenge."

"Of that, I am certain."

"It is her right, Golan."

"She is a spider."

She pulled back and looked at his face. "Emotion, my husband? T'Pring is her mother's child. That one is the spider."

Golan frowned. "I should not like to execute Stonn."

"Stonn?" She sat up. "Explain."

"Stonn will display cowardice."

"You know this?"

"It was I who trained Spock-sou in the battle arts, my wife. I was there when he returned from his kahs-wan. His is a will that is as strong as I have ever seen. Some are of the opinion that he dishonored his father in joining Starfleet. I do not share their view. I understand what it cost to defy Sarek. Even if Spock is weakened by the plak-tow, Stonn will not prevail. He will falter in
the face of that will."

Salaran lay back down across her husband's chest. "That is illogical. One cannot predict such things."

"T'Pring can and has. She wants Stonn and she will have him. She will not risk him in kali-fee. I do not yet know how she will accomplish this, but I trust that she will find a way," he said.

"In any case, someone will die. By their hand or yours. It is regrettable, but it is tradition."

"Whatever the plot, I do not wish to be party to it, tradition or no." Golan stroked his palm across his wife's head again. "T'Pring has forgotten one thing."

"What is that, beloved?"

"She assumes that Spock desires her."


Golan waited as the bearers took their places at the head of the procession. By force of habit, he inspected all of the members of the marriage party. As he surveyed the guards, he saw T'Pring watching him. Her delicate nostrils flared as her eyes raked over his body. He ignored the answering stab of lust low in his belly; it was a conditioned response, an echo of his own past fevers, felt by all who participated in the koon-ut-kali-fee. Golan returned her gaze steadily, clearly not offering himself as her champion, even if it were permitted.

There was no denying her absolute beauty. She stared at him with her beautiful eyes, a frisson of hot desire darkening her face. She had given him this measuring look before, and he had responded with the same expression he held now: cold, emphatic refusal.

He inclined his head and lowered his gaze, showing the proper respect to one who was to be another's wife--but not before allowing her to see the barest hint of disgust in his eyes. He carefully fitted the executioner's mask over his face and turned his wide back to her.

He busied himself making last minute inspections of the challenge weapons. The marriage party was strangely quiet, the bearers speaking in low voices, carefully avoiding each other's eyes. At
last, T'Pau signaled her readiness.

T'Pring took her place behind T'Pau's sedan. Golan took his position behind the bride but she motioned Stonn to stand between them.

Golan grinned under his mask.

Before moving aside for Stonn, Golan leaned toward her. "Worry not, T'Pring. Your lovely neck is safe from my blade," he said quietly.

T'Pau looked back at him. "You are not to speak, Executioner," she commanded.

"I ask forgivness, T'Pau," he said.

Her eyes traveled swiftly from him to T'Pring and back again. He knew her tiny moue of distaste was not directed at him personally, but at the necessity of his presence. T'Pau gave him a brief nod. She too, did not underestimate the depths of T'Pring's treachery.

Golan held his lir at port arms. The blade was heavy even for one with his immense strength. The hot breeze blew through the scant hair on his bulging forearms and he shivered from the adrenaline that surged through his veins at the sound of the marriage bells.

The party marched forward.

When they reached the place of koon-ut-kali-fee, Golan caught his breath briefly at the sight of Spock standing by the marriage gong. Spock's eyes were puffy and smudged with dark circles. His complexion was sallow and his thin frame seemed to vibrate with tension. The breeze blew his blue Starfleet tunic against his body and Golan could see the outline of his ribs through the fabric. By Golan's calculations, Spock had been holding his fever at bay for ten days, a feat that required a tremendous amount of energy. That Spock was still standing was clear testament to the will that had made itself apparent during his kahs-wan. It was a wonder.

As the marriage party marched through the gates, Golan saw two humans standing beyond Spock. As captain of the Palace Guard, Golan had opportunity to observe humans. The human in the gold tunic stood relaxed with his arms at his sides, his expression curious and slightly amused but not mocking, the expression of a man attending the wedding ceremony of a friend whose traditions were not his own. To Golan, most humans had the look of children, but he took note of Gold Tunic's heavy chest and thick arms and the light and comfortable way he balanced his weight on his feet. This one was a warrior like him.

The other was taller and thinner and as he got closer, Golan realized that what he had thought was a reflection of the blue tunic, was actually the color of this man's eyes. Blue Eyes stood
stiffly, seeming to sniff the air, his eyes wary, a hand resting lightly on a pouch on his belt. His eyes continually flickered toward Spock, his gaze appraising and concerned. Ah. A healer.

Gold Tunic suddenly gripped the healer's wrist then pointed to T'Pau. He spoke a few words and they looked at Spock with surprise. Spock had not told them that T'Pau was the matriarch of
his family. He should have. T'Pau would not respond well to being pointed at.

The bearers lowered T'Pau's sedan to the ground and the rest of the party lined themselves along one side of the challenge ground's semi- circle. Golan took the opportunity to study T'Pring.

Her flat gaze was fixed on Gold Tunic.

The human frowned and glanced about, rolling his shoulders. His eyes landed briefly on T'Pring then he looked away, his frown deepening. The warrior in him knew something was amiss. Golan understood his discomfort. Golan's hands tightened on his lir.

T'Pau motioned to Spock and he rushed to her on unsteady feet. She placed her fingertips on his contact points, shoring up his weakened control so he would remain rational for the brief ceremony. When Spock stood and stepped back from her, Golan was struck again by how much he resembled his grandmother.

Spock introduced Gold Tunic. So. This was Kirk. Almost as much a legend as Spock. T'Pau gazed at him for so long that he shifted uncomfortably. Kirk did not drop his eyes.

Golan saw movement in his peripheral vision. T'Pring had moved slightly away from Stonn.

T'Pau shifted her gaze to the healer and surprisingly, addressed him directly. Leonard McCoy introduced himself with a smile and a small, courtly bow. T'Pau sat back a little and blinked. Golan raised a brow. Leonard McCoy was a warrior of a different kind.

T'Pau grudgingly and in broad terms explained the ceremony. But within her exposition was an admonishment to secrecy, even though Spock had pledged their behavior with his life.

Spock swayed on his feet. It was Time.

T'Pau stood and pointed. "Kali-fah!"

The Outworlders moved away as Spock lurched toward the marriage platform. Had he been a bit quicker, he might have struck the gong before T'Pring could reach him. When T'Pring rushed forward, Golan had to check himself from pursuing her.


Disoriented, Spock stepped off the platform and staggared toward T'Pau. Golan leapt between them with his lir raised. Spock stared at the lir in confusion but he dropped the bloodstone hammer and walked away.

T'Pring stood alone on the platform. Golan glared at her over his mask and she stared at him defiantly. A tiny smile flitted across her lips. Her eyes slid from his and fixed on Kirk.

Blood would be spilled this day.

T'Pring lowered her eyes demurely and pressed her palms beneath her breasts. "As it was in the dawn of our days…"

After that, events progressed in surreal, disjointed quicktime.

"I make my choice…this one!"

"I will do what I must, T'Pau. But not with him!"

"Are thee Vulcan or are thee human?"

"I burn, T'Pau. My eyes are flame. My heart is flame!"

And Kirk, still believing it all to be ceremonial, a charade.

"This combat is to the death."

And there was blood, but not from Golan's blade. He came within a millimeter from beheading the healer, but only as a warning—one that McCoy did not heed.

"The air is the air. What can be done?"

"I can compensate…"

Golan frowned. Why was T'Pau allowing this interference?

"You're going to have to kill him, Jim."

In the end, Kirk lay dead on the hot, red sand.

"I grieve with thee."

"McCoy to Enterprise."

"Enterprise, Uhura here."

Golan blinked. Uhura? He remembered his own words from years ago: "A betrothal does not a marriage make, Spock-sou."

Had Golan sown those seeds that day when he said, "Nyota Uhura. It means 'star'. And 'freedom'." ?

At the sound of Uhura's voice over the communicator, Spock inhaled slowly and seemed to regain his faculties.

McCoy approached Spock. "Any orders?"

Golan's eyes narrowed at the look that passed between them. It occurred to him that he did not hear Kirk's neck snap under the ahn-woon.

"Stonn. She is yours. After a time, you will find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all, as wanting. It is not logical but it is often true."

T'Pring had sorely miscalculated.


Golan took a towel from the attendant as he stepped from his bath, gratified that he did not have to endure a ritual cleansing. Salaran leaned against the doorway and watched as he dried himself. The muscles in his back rippled with the movement of his arms.

Golan glanced at Salaran. He scrubbed his hair dry, realizing with amusement that his hair was longer than his wife's. Zaan, his attendant, frowned at the mass of unruly curls.

Salaran gazed at him, lips parted. After these many years, she still found his habit of immersing himself in water endlessly fascinating. Her clan was from the parched Midlands and she was still skittish around large amounts of water, even their bath.

He stood still as Zaan rubbed oil into his skin and watched Salaran from beneath his lashes. Her eyes followed the movement of Zaan's hands as he kneaded the muscles in her husband's body. Golan smiled.

Zaan stepped back and wiped his hands on a towel, glancing at Golan's face. He glanced back at Salaran and raised a brow. He left them, carefully keeping his eyes focused on nothing.

"My wife," said Golan.

"My husband," said Salaran. Her eyes drifted down to his erection. "The Lady Amanda sent chocolate-dipped roses."

He walked over, picked her up and carried her to their bed. He spread her legs, exposing the soft petals of her sex. "She need only have sent the chocolate."


Chapter 2

~What the Executioner Did Not See

"Come on Spock, let's go mind the store."

Kirk and Spock exited sickbay and walked a few feet down the corridor. Spock stopped.

"Excuse me, Captain. I have an important issue to discuss with the doctor."

"Ok, make it quick. We need to warp out of here before T'Pau changes her mind," Kirk grinned.

"Yes sir. I will join you on the bridge shortly." He watched as his friend walked briskly to the turbolift.

McCoy looked up at the sound of the opening doors. He put down his stylus and stood. He and Spock gazed at one another for a long moment.

Finally, McCoy grinned. Then he chuckled. Spock raised a brow.

"We pulled it off."


"I almost blew it when I yelled at you to stop," McCoy laughed.

"It was of no consequence."

They grew serious.

"There's a very pretty girl on the bridge who doesn't know she's waiting for you."

"Thank you, doctor."

"My pleasure."

Spock raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long, McCoy and prosper."

"I shall, Mr. Spock. I shall."