Title Sharing the Sunlight
Author: Jenna Sinclair
Rating: Eighteen and over only. This novel in seventeen chapters (and a prologue) contains unabashed and explicit depictions of male/male sex, so please read with that in mind.
Contact: Hilary54@aol.com. Feedback is always most gratefully received.
Disclaimers: James Kirk and Spock of Vulcan are their own beings. Paramount fools around with their images, often not very successfully. I think Jim and Spock like it better with me. I don't intend to infringe on any of Paramount's rights, whatever they may be, and I achieve no financial gain from writing this story.
Note: Sharing the Sunlight was originally published by Merry Men Press in 1992.
Thanks: Many thanks to Robin Hood who not only edited and published this novel, but encouraged and gave confidence to a neophyte author. It was truly wonderful working with her.
SHARING THE SUNLIGHT is the first entry in the author’s Sharing the Sunlight series, which includes:
Sharing the Sunlight (novel)
Reflections on a Lunar Landscape
Son of Sarek
Promises to Keep (novel)
In the Shade (novel)
All stories and novels in the Sharing the Sunlight series are posted to the K/S Archive.
Personal Disclaimer: I had never written any fiction at all before STS. I had no idea what I was doing! Although I’m doing a very superficial edit as I scan and post each chapter, I’m making no attempt to actually improve on the prose; I’m mainly fixing comma usage and making sure the scan is legible. So this story will be 99.9% the same as what is in the printed novel. That means my lack of experience in writing really shows. Nevertheless, I wrote with great enthusiasm and love for Kirk and Spock, and I hope that’s apparent, too.
I hope you enjoy this first entry in the Sharing the Sunlight series. Thanks for reading!
SHARING THE SUNLIGHT
by Jenna Sinclair
The Scot’s voice was loud but only slightly slurred.
“...And then she popped him in the stomach and said, ‘Surprise!”‘ Scotty leaned forward in helpless laughter at the punch line, while McCoy, seated next to him, wiped his eyes from streaming laugh tears. They had been listening to Scotty’s jokes for more than thirty minutes, and Kirk had passed the point of laughter. He just grinned, shook his head, and continued to balance his brandy glass on his stomach.
It was late in the ship’s night, and the three friends had gathered in Kirk’s cabin for a congenial glass of the captain’s finest. They had continued talking for hours. It was seldom that ship’s business allowed them so much leisure time and the emotional setting to enjoy it. But with no crisis to cope with or imminent mission to worry over, they were taking advantage of a most unusual lull. Their very relaxed state had quickly degenerated into raucous stories and sexual anecdotes. They were all enjoying the evening immensely.
Kirk’s legs had been propped up casually on his desk for the past half-hour, and he shifted one ankle over the other occasionally to ease the strain.
A silence, comfortable and warm, settled over the three as the laughter subsided. McCoy groped for a tissue, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Kirk smiled at his friend and felt somewhat contemplative. He focused on the pattern of shadows the subdued light made on the wall over Scotty’s head.
Scotty broke the silence.
“Now yon Vulcan, he’s the one who surprised me,” and he tilted his glass in the direction of Spock’s cabin before he swallowed again.
A short pause, and then as Scotty said nothing more but stared quietly into the amber depths of his glass, McCoy turned towards him and asked, “Surprise? How did Spock do that? Find the location of your department’s latest still?” They all knew Scotty turned a blind eye to some of the less traditional pursuits of his eager engineering techs, and Spock interfered as little as possible with the engineer’s domain. McCoy was only trying to provoke Scotty into an explanation. He succeeded.
“Ach, nay, Doctor.” Scotty spread his hand with the denial. His voice acquired a more distinct burr with each drink consumed. “He surprised me on Melkot with that damned meld. I wouldna have thought it of him, private as he is. I wouldna have thought it of him.” Scotty shuddered elaborately, knowing he had the full attention of the other two men, treating this tale like any other of the stories he had told earlier. He was pleased to be the center of attention still.
McCoy tilted his head, looked once at the silent Kirk behind the desk, then addressed himself to Scotty’s knee. “That was the first time you ever melded with Spock, wasn’t it, Scotty?” He glanced up. “You do know it had to be done. We could have all been killed by those damned imaginary bullets.”
Scotty now was sitting bolt upright in his chair, arms folded stubbornly across his chest, a set expression on his face. “Ah ken, Doctor, and I’m grateful he did it, but ah still doon’t hold with anyone amuckin’ aboot in mah mind.” The engineer turned his head accusingly towards McCoy. “I’ve heard you say it often enough y’rself.”
Before the doctor had a chance to agree or defend himself, the previously silent captain spoke. “What are you two talking about?” he asked. The front legs of his chair thudded to the floor as he removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward intently. “What’s so bad about melding with Spock?”
Kirk was used to McCoy’s grumbling. The doctor complained about everything from the transporter to the inadequate training of his duty nurses. It was just part of the man’s character. And Kirk had always taken the doctor’s slightly wary, challenging attitude towards the first officer in stride. He knew without discussion that McCoy had been uncomfortable the few times circumstances had required him to meld with Spock. But now Scotty was expressing reservations about the same thing, and Kirk was very curious.
Neither McCoy nor Scott spoke, so Kirk repeated, “Well, what’s so bad about it?”
McCoy exchanged a long look with the engineer, and then spoke first. “Jim, you know it’s hard to explain such a subjective experience.” He gestured widely with the hand not holding a glass. “We humans don’t have any frame of reference for something like a meld, or even our reactions to it. I’d be hard pressed to explain it to you.”
Kirk seemed undeterred. He remained in his leaning forward posture and encouraged, “Try.”
McCoy grimaced and ran a hand over his face. “You’re a persistent bugger, Jim, you know? All right, I’ll try.” The doctor appeared to spend a moment in thought.
“Each of the few times I’ve melded with Spock, I’ve had the same image in my mind. At first, I feel those hot fingers on my face, and it’s almost like my brain is starting to itch.” He squirmed slightly at the image and took a sip from his glass, trying to find the best words to describe a very exotic experience. “Then there’s this huge waterfall thundering all around me, and I’m about to fall right over it. I’m panicking, but Spock is there to catch me halfway down. He does it with a jolt, too, and it hurts a little to have me slamming right into him. And instead of being grateful that he’s caught me, I’m madder’n hell that he hurt me.”
McCoy cast an ironic glance at his two companions. “Real logical, huh? Anyway, there I am, kicking and heaving, trying to get away, I don’t know where to, and there’s Spock just holdin’ on, never letting go. He’s got me hanging there, suspended in space, with the water roaring all around me.”
He grinned wryly, carefully placing his drink on the floor between his legs, and leaned forward with elbows on knees. He was warming to his subject and planned to finish his explanation. ‘Bout time somebody held the floor besides Scotty anyway. McCoy glanced at the engineer, then spoke directly to Kirk.
“Now I’ve thought about this before, Jim, and I think I know what’s going on. My mind’s doing its best to put an indescribable experience into images I can cope with. Falling off the waterfall is falling into Spock’s mind with the meld. Him catching me is Spock taking control of the meld so that only the necessary thoughts come through and the meld is shallow. And the itching is... well, Spock always does make me itchy.” He grinned again, pleased with Scotty’s guffaw and the way he had turned a personal, serious subject to a humorous conclusion.
But still Kirk was still leaning forward with a dissatisfied expression on his face. He said dryly, “Why Bones, I never knew you had such a poetic turn of mind.” Then he turned to Scott, and said quietly, seriously, looking directly into his eyes, “And how did you see your meld with Spock, Mr. Scott?”
For a moment Scotty was silent, regarding the captain cautiously. Kirk was the best of commanding officers, and a good friend to boot. He could be relied upon in good times and bad, and when it was necessary exercised his authority with compassion and consideration. Scotty had no complaint with the younger man as his captain. But it could not be denied that there was now a commanding tone to his voice, a certain set to his jaw, despite the brandy and the hours of conversation among three friends. For some reason, Kirk was serious about Scott’s reply. The engineer was confused, thrown off balance by the intensity that had not been in the room before.
“Well, Captain, I mean no disrespect, sir...” He trailed off uneasily, shifting slightly in his chair. He tried again. “And I certainly doon’t have the good doctor’s way with words.” He smiled for effect, hoping he could ease the sudden tension with his next light words. “...Robert Burns in me blood or not.” There was no visible reaction from his captain.
Scotty swallowed and decided to just say what he felt regardless of how it would sound. “The truth of the matter is, melding with yon Vulcan made me very uncomfortable, very uncomfortable indeed. ‘Tis not an experience I’d want to repeat, unless I had to.” He became earnest. “I do nae believe we humans were meant to have our minds tampered with, invaded. The good Lord gave me nae power to read your mind, sir, or yours, Doctor,” Scotty nodded to each in turn, “and I doon’t want anybody readin’ mine.” He nodded emphatically and folded his arms firmly over his chest.
Kirk was still hunched over his folded hands on the desk, and now creases appeared between his eyes and on his forehead as he frowned. “But Scotty,” he said softly, the commanding officer disappearing and the friend taking his place, “you said ‘tampered with, invaded’.... Surely you don’t think Spock….” Kirk left the sentence dangling in the air, implying the foregone reply, inviting none other.
The engineer drew back in amazement, only partly feigned. “Ach, Captain, I know Mr. Spock wouldna do anything he shouldn’t have, but....” His body suddenly sagged as the truth hit him. “Ah also know he could have, if he had wanted to.” He glanced apologetically at the two men in turn. “It’s the being in someone else’s power, you see, a power ah doon’t understand.” He stared at his boots and lapsed into introspection.
McCoy nodded slowly. No one reached senior officer status in Starfleet because they enjoyed helplessness. And he understood much of Scotty’s fear, because he felt the same way himself. Well, maybe not exactly. After all, he’d had that awful experience with the bearded Spock in the alternate universe. Anyone who had experienced mind rape would dislike melds! But he agreed with Scotty nevertheless, it was the hanging there, knowing Spock was in total control of the situation that also bothered the hell out of him, and accounted for much of his aversion to melds.
The doctor slowly fingered his upper lip. This conversation was becoming very interesting, very revealing for them all. McCoy had always thought Scotty was a Puritan at heart: so wrapped up in the mechanics of space flight that he had rarely had to confront the wonders it brought. His psych profile had never shown the extreme flexibility that, for example, Jim’s showed. Scotty’s reaction to the meld was actually quite predictable if he had stopped to think about it.
McCoy shifted his attention to the captain, who was looking at Scotty with mismatched expressions of sympathy and incredulity flashing across his face. Maybe this was the night for trading stories. Before the younger man could gather his thoughts to speak, McCoy decided to pursue that thought. “Well, Jim Boy,” he said in his best Southern drawl, a technique that he occasionally used to distract people, “you’ve heard from Scotty and you’ve heard from me. How d’y’all feel about your first officer’s mind in yours?”
Kirk looked up sharply at McCoy. The doctor saw Kirk’s eyes narrow in thought, saw him take a deep breath as his arm went up to run his hand over his forehead, tousle his hair, and then down to rub his neck gently. Kirk smiled slightly and said, “Well, I sure don’t feel like you two do,” then faintly derisive, “waterfalls and invasion. I like it! I’ve always liked melding with Spock.” He looked up directly into each friend’s eyes in turn, then returned his gaze to the floor, obviously a little embarrassed by this declaration. He had never before spoken of his feelings about the meld.
“I don’t think I can explain it though.” How to explain rising refreshed after a deep sleep, or finally arriving home to see his family, or utter repletion after wonderful lovemaking? The soul-deep satisfaction his melds with Spock entailed was indescribable. He just couldn’t do it, or even attempt it. It would come out sounding a lot sillier, and infinitely more personal, than waterfalls. Kirk had never even discussed this with Spock, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that if he continued this conversation, he would be betraying an unspoken confidence with his Vulcan friend. Better to try to end this session gracefully and get some sleep. It was getting late.
Kirk drained his glass as if in summation. “No, I can’t explain it any more than you two can. A meld is apparently indescribable, at least to mere humans. All I can say is, where Scotty feels uncomfortable, I feel comfortable. I don’t know why.” He carefully placed his glass back on the tray and rose in a not-so-subtle message that the evening was over.
But McCoy was unwilling to end it at that. He had easily followed Kirk’s withdrawal into introspection and his quick suppression of his feelings. He’d observed it all too often in both his commanding officers. Maybe it was time to poke a little at the captain’s facade, crack it open to some expression of what was inside. And why the hell, McCoy thought in a rush of annoyance, would Jim want to deny the obvious affection he felt for his first officer? They were all friends here, weren’t they?
“Well, I think I know why you like melds,” McCoy declared as he also rose and put his empty tumbler next to Kirk’s. “You’re friends. Simple as that, right? You and Spock are best friends who are as compatible as fried chicken and mashed potatoes.” He shrugged. “Not too surprising that you’re mentally compatible, too.” He turned to Scott and plucked the glass from his hand as the engineer stifled a yawn. “Come on, Scotty, I prescribe sleep, or you won’t be able to find your engines tomorrow. Good night, Jim. You can drink my liquor next time.” With a smile he left, with Scotty right behind him.
Kirk moved quietly about his cabin, putting it to rights for his duties tomorrow. He felt curiously on edge, Bones’ final words still resonating in his ears with a discordant warble. His mind skittered away from the sound and focused instead on his movements. He put the tray and glasses to one side to clear his desk, deposited the liquor bottle back in its upper cabinet, moved the chairs his friends had been using to their proper places. His movements were smooth, mechanical. Kirk thought briefly of his schedule for the next day, visited the bathroom for clean up, and then neatly turned down the bedspread. It was only when he lay stretched out on his back, one knee bent and one arm stretched over his head, that he gave himself up to thought.
Why had he been so insistent on hearing Scotty’s and Bones’ reaction to their melds, when he had known they couldn’t possibly be anything like his own? But the brandy and the easy camaraderie had loosened his inhibitions and dulled his judgment, so that he had initiated a discussion on something he couldn’t possibly talk about.
He felt a little guilty that the evening had ended on a somewhat dissonant note. Scotty really was funny when he got going with his stories, and it was good to see Bones laugh so hard after the depression that had followed Yeoman Lin’s strange accidental death. The letter to her human mother alone among the Belurians had been especially hard to write. They had all needed to unwind....
Kirk recognized the tactics his own mind was using and re-routed his thoughts directly back to the subject. Spock. No need really to ask himself questions. He knew he was still coming to terms with that last meld on Melkot a month ago, still turning it over and over in his mind.
That meld had been different, very different. Although he and Spock had melded before in the line of duty, it had been a while since they had done so while Kirk had been in his right mind, not suffering from amnesia or a life-threatening injury. In fact, Kirk mused, it had probably been more than a year since his last “normal” meld with Spock. So much had happened in that year. That awful trip to Vulcan. Spock’s smile. Being stabbed by the fake Andorian Thelev. Sargon and Henoch. How alone he had felt in Tholian space. How wonderful it had been to be back.
And then Melkot. Talk about compatibility. Kirk grinned at the ceiling. Bones didn’t know the half of it. Melding with Spock on Melkot had been one of the easiest things Kirk had ever done. And one of the most startlingly joyful. Wonderful. Fulfilling. All the feelings of their friendship ripened by time, the satisfaction in being Starfleet’s best team, the knowledge they had of each other’s support, had fused in that meld and been seen by them both.
Turning over on his side and pillowing his head arms, Kirk basked for a minute in the glow, in the memory of what had passed between the two of them that had been so intimate, and yet so fleeting. As always, duty had forced them to business. But Kirk remembered the seconds in Spock’s mind as if they had been an hour. The natural, easy assumption that he and Spock had grown to be friends as their five year mission progressed had been highlighted to brilliant clarity by the experience on Melkot. It was just too personal to reveal to anyone else, even to Bones.
Kirk turned over on his stomach, punched the pillow and prepared to sleep. If no one else shared his affinity for melds with Spock, that was their problem. He knew when he had a friend. A very special friend with good old Bones’ “mental compatibility.” As he drifted off to sleep, he thought Closer than Sam ever was. Sleep smoothed his thoughts and he assimilated the idea.
Five days later, Kirk felt no reluctance at all in telling Garth of Izar that he and Spock were brothers.
continued with chapter one