Kitten in a Mitten (dreamplum) wrote,
Kitten in a Mitten
dreamplum

New K/S story also featuring Donfield, Denny Crane, & other Shatner favorites

What a wealth of squishy yet manly beauty! Whatever will Spock do?

Oh, let's find out. Not that he's not even more predictable than Farfalla herself.

The story is called "The Only Choice", and it's NAUGHTY and PR0NNISH and all that. You can read it if you follow Spock on his journey below! ^_^

Beta-read by shatfat and catalenamara.

Spock sat down at the computer console in his quarters and fell straight through the chair.

Like Alice on her way down to Wonderland, he tumbled down and down through an unknown void. He was intelligent enough not to grab at the sides of whatever tunnel he might be falling through--he was already moving fast enough to cause severe injury to his hands. Instead, he crouched, and held his limbs in such a position that they would sustain minimal injury once he hit the bottom of... whatever it was.

Surprisingly, however, his velocity slowed rather than increased as he moved further downward, and by the time he landed, it did not cause him more than minor discomfort. He decided that only by conscious will could such a vital law of physics as gravity be disrupted, and wondered which of the universe's powerful energy beings he was about to encounter.

"Mr. Spock! So glad to see you've arrived safely. Your journey was not too distressing, I hope?"

Spock picked himself up off the ground, which proved to be the plushest carpet with which he had ever made contact, and stood to face the Squire of Gothos. "General Trelane," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I take it you are responsible for my departure from the Enterprise."

Trelane's face broke into an enormous smile that crinkled 'round the edges. "None other, Mr. Spock! You're just as sharp as I remembered."

Spock looked at him with weary impatience. "Why have you taken me from my ship?"

"Because I'm a fair man, Mr. Spock. I play by the rules." Trelane began to leave the small, nondescript chamber, and beckoned for Spock to follow. "I've learned my lesson and wouldn't want to be so cruel as to leave you with nothing."

Spock eyed him suspiciously, keeping a safe distance as he followed him out of the room.

They emerged into a lush Classical garden. Columns of startling white alternated with practically nude statues in decoration of the botanical scenery. The ratio of statuary to greenery was so high as to border on the tasteless, Spock observed.

"Just behind this hedge, if you will, please," Trelane invited with his customary air of exaggerated gallantry. He rounded a corner and Spock hurried after.

"Your garden is--" Spock began, but then stopped, unable to speak at the mind-boggling sight that greeted his attention.

Lounging around a large marble fountain with a statue of a nude Apollo at its center were four... five.... seven facsimiles of Captain James T. Kirk. Only they were clearly, somehow, not Kirk at all. Several were older than the Kirk that Spock had just left behind on the ship, at least two by many decades. Others seemed to be the same age, but were vastly different in deportment and dress.

"What do you think, Spock?" Trelane was beaming. "Have you ever seen such a collection of beauty in one place?"

"One James Kirk is all I require," said Spock through clenched teeth. He didn't see his own Jim among the collection, and he was starting to form a hypothesis about what the Squire was up to. "I do not see the captain of the Enterprise among these men."

"Oh, but he's not!" Trelane exclaimed. "These are his replacements."

"Replacements? Who are they?"

"They are all from alternative, as you would say, dimensions. They exist in other planes, other timelines." Trelane strolled among the Kirks as if they were prized bushes in an exquisitely-managed rose garden.

"And the captain?"

"I've taken him back, Spock. I'm old enough to have my own way now, and my parents can't do anything about it." Trelane turned to face Spock and stomped his foot upon the ground. "I've never even seen a specimen as perfect as he is, and no one as powerful as I am should have to be disappointed."

"Disappointment is a natural part of mortal existence," said Spock.

"I'm glad to see you're taking yours so well," said Trelane, misunderstanding. "So which of them do you like best? Oh, of course, you must spend some time with them first. You Vulcans put so much faith in compatibility of minds. You must get to know them before you choose your replacement mate."

Spock knew that fighting Trelane in almost any way was futile. Although he masqueraded as a human army commander of the seventeenth century, he was, in reality, composed entirely of energy and could control both energy and matter at will. The only way to defeat him would be to outwit him, to catch him off guard, so Spock remained calm and feigned acquiescence. There could be no logical alternative, at this juncture.

But he was not leaving this place without Jim Kirk at his side.

"Where is Jim?" he asked, trying to seem as casual as possible.

"I've taken him to my boudoir," said Trelane with an oily voice.

Spock doubted Trelane had any idea what he was going to do with him there, since his entire knowledge of the Human experience came from extreme voyeurism, but he knew that Jim would find Trelane's attempts extremely tiresome. He resolved to put his plan into action as quickly as possible.

If there was a way to conduct it without disturbing another's life path beyond his will, of course...

"I would like to interview the... candidates," Spock told Trelane. "Would you give us some privacy, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. Spock. How very gallant of you, to cede defeat so graciously." And, with a bow, Trelane was gone.

Spock exhaled loudly. Then he faced the seven Kirks. "Gentlemen."

"I'm not going crazy," muttered the older, rotund man seated on the ledge of the fountain. "Denny Crane." He glowered at the rest of the men.

"You are not crazy, Mr. Crane, if that is your name," said Spock carefully. "You have been abducted, if I am not mistaken, but if I may be permitted to conduct my interviews quickly, it is probable that you will be returned to your respective locations without further annoyance. I apologize for the conduct of the General; he is not a friend of mine and I cannot condone his actions in bringing you here. I shall attempt to make this brief, but I assure you, it is necessary."

"Well, you can start with me," Denny Crane growled. "I wanna get out of here as soon as possible. The sun's making my tie fade." He and his bright pink satin tie stepped down from the fountain and walked off into the shade with Spock.

"What is your profession, Mr. Crane?" Spock asked.

"I'm the best damn civil attorney on the East Coast," Crane muttered. "Denny Crane."

"Really?" Spock's eyebrow rose at the unashamed arrogance.

"I've never lost a case."

"Then you must indeed be intelligent."

"I'm sharp as nails!" said Denny proudly. "What's this all about? U.S. government wants me to do some kinda undercover work?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Crane." This was not looking like a good prospect.

"I know!" Crane's face practically sparkled with triumph. "They want me to overthrow the goddamn liberal media!"

"Do you have a family, Mr. Crane?" Spock asked, changing the subject quickly.

Crane's face soured. "I have a son. Had a son. I don't know. He's not really my son. Isn't speaking to me right now."

Spock checked him off the list. He could not remove somebody from an unresolved family situation such as that one. He still longed for a satisfactory reconciliation with his own father.

"Thank you for your answers, Mr. Crane. You will be returned home as soon as General Trelane returns."

He left Crane back at the fountain and looked over the other candidates.

There was a man examining one of the statues who looked to be about the same age as Denny Crane. He wore a brightly-colored short sleeved shirt covered with cartoonish hibiscus, and his posture straightened when he saw Spock approaching. "This statue looks like Miss Minnesota from 1998!" he exclaimed conspiratorially. "And I would know! I knew her very well, if you know what I mean."

Spock examined the statue, which by the sheaf of wheat in the fold of its arm, was clearly a representation of either Virgo or Demeter. "She must have been an attractive woman," he commented. "What is your name?"

"Stan. Stan Fields." He held out his hand, but Spock merely nodded. He wasn't about to casually touch hands with any of these almost-Kirks.

"What is your profession?"

"Oh, you know..." Fields waved his hand around in the air. "A little bit of everything. These days they say I'm more famous for being me than anything else, although what that really boils down to is TV commercials and late night interviews. But once a year they let me host the Miss United States pageant, and that's really something..." His face became dreamy. "I have to tell you about Miss Texas. Her hair--a blossoming russet sunset! Her--"

"Miss Texas is a friend of yours?"

"Mary Jo is very special to me. She's one of the most exceptional women I've ever met." Fields was practically bouncing.

Spock was in no mood to remove a harmless, useless goofball from his young mistress, so he let Fields prattle on for approximately one more minute before returning him to his statue-ogling.

One of the men sidled up to him with a lazy gait. He wore a white suit and hat, and was only a few years older than the real Captain Kirk. His hair was a shade darker, and he wore his sideburns long. It shocked Spock to the core to hear a Southern accent thicker than Dr. McCoy's come out of his mouth. "William J. Baxter, of the Louisville Baxters, at your service." He smiled and tipped his hat. "Did I hear you were interviewing for a lucrative position?"

"I cannot reveal the nature of my inquiries," Spock said cagily. He sensed dishonesty about this man, but nothing that would threaten his bodily safety.

"I wish Wilma could see this place," said Baxter, looking around the tackily-landscaped garden. "She says when we get real rich, we're gonna..." Spock tuned him out and pretended to listen, scanning the other candidates visually. They all were as young as the Kirk he knew, possibly younger. He didn't want to waste any more time with Baxter--his accent was a definite no-sell.

The one who resembled his Kirk most closely was a young man dressed in a white coverall. Spock inferred it was a uniform of some kind. "What is your name, sir?"

"Michael Donfield," said the man with a smile. "What's this all about?"

"What is your profession, Mr. Donfield?"

"My wife and I own a small pest control agency," said Donfield. "I graduated from MIT, chemical engineering."

Spock's eyebrow rose. Intelligence. But he was married. He would not deprive anyone else of his right to a relationship that had not yet lasted its natural duration.

Just then, another one of the younger Kirk-clones stood up, his eyes rolling wildly. He shoved past Donfield, knocking him into Spock for a moment, and flung his hands around Spock's neck. "It's the devil! He's trying to take us all!"

Spock calmly lifted his hand and neck-pinched the poor man, then gently laid him to rest on the grass. He looked around at the other candidates.

"Wacko," commented Denny Crane. "Said his name was Bob Wilson. Kept babbling about airplanes."

"I assure you, I am not the devil," said Spock dryly to his unwanted audience, "although this is not the first time I have had to endure such prejudices."

"How'd your ears get like that, anyway?" asked a man in a police uniform, one to whom Spock had not yet spoken. He seemed to be slightly older than the man with the Southern accent, and the signs of middle-aged spread were beginning to show around his waist.

"I was born with them," Spock said cryptically. "I believe you are next, Officer."

"Hooker." The policeman approached Spock, and they walked a few paces away where they could talk quietly, away from Denny's loud bragging to the other men of his courtroom exploits.

"Is your profession that of police officer?" Spock asked.

Hooker nodded sharply. "Been on the force for--"

Both men looked to their side, where they'd suddenly realized that Donfield had appeared. He was hovering nervously, his boyishly innocent face twisted with anxiety. "Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could talk with you again, Mr....?"

Spock nodded sharply. "My name is Spock." He turned back to Officer Hooker. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"You got it." Hooker walked back to the group of men. Spock and Donfield watched him leave. Then Spock looked at Donfield expectantly.

"This is crazy," Donfield began. He took a deep breath. "You might be my last hope."

"Explain, Mr. Donfield."

Donfield's face was pained, and Spock pitied him heavily. He could tell that whatever Donfield was struggling to say took a great deal of effort and was causing him much distress. But eventually, he managed to get the words out. "I'm a homosexual, Mr. Spock."

Spock blinked. He listened intently.

Donfield was shaking his head. "This may make no sense, but you look very much like someone I like a great deal. I know you must be the same way--that man who brought us all here said we were replacement mates, didn't he? Well, I'm going to come right out and beg you right now--please pick me. I can't bear the secrecy anymore and I can't leave my wife and have her know what I am. It would cause her more pain than if I just--disappeared off to wherever this is."

Spock was touched by his fervent yet steady plea. "Mr. Donfield--"

"Michael, please."

"Michael, then. I must inform you that I have no intention of letting General Trelane keep my mate," Spock explained. "However, if you truly wish to leave behind your stifling lifestyle, I may have a proposal that would solve both our dilemmas."

Michael studied him intently. "What are you?"

"I am Spock," Spock replied simply. "I am also running out of time." He heard footsteps on the grass that sounded like the Squire's familiar strut.

"Well, Mr. Spock, have you made your choice?" Trelane had changed his coat again, but it was still jewel-toned, velvet, and ridiculous.

"Possibly," said Spock. "I require one more question."

"Certainly, my Vulcan friend."

Spock leaned closer to Michael's ear and whispered as softly and clearly as he could, "You could impersonate my captain and remain with this gentleman while we return to our lives. He is not human, but instead a powerful energy-being who has the potential to use his power for great good, if he is only taught proper values. I do not believe he will mistreat you. I will only enact this plan with your consent."

He withdrew his head.

Michael gazed at him, wide-eyed and silent. He looked Trelane over quickly, then cast a sad look back at Spock. Then he closed his eyes and nodded.

Trelane's eyes sparkled and he clapped his hands together. "Splendid!" With a whisk of his hand, the other not-Kirks disappeared, each to their respective worlds. "Then it's a marriage."

"I ask of you one final favor, General," said Spock cautiously. His plan hinged on this crucial factor.

"Anything for you, Mr. Spock. You have cooperated most admirably," Trelane beamed.

"I would like one final audience with Captain Kirk, so that I may bid him farewell," Spock said. "I would also like him to meet Mr. Donfield."

"As you wish," said Trelane with an assumed air of graciousness. He led them into the house, a tacky representation of an Italian villa.

Donfield and Kirk started when they saw each other. "He really does look just like me," Donfield murmured to Spock.

Spock didn't hear him. His entire attention was fixed on Kirk, who looked very happy to see him. "Spock!"

"He's come to say goodbye, Captain," said Trelane mockingly. "I'll leave you three alone for a moment. I'll come back to collect him in five minutes, so don't take too long." He strolled out into the hallway, and Spock quickly closed the door.

"Jim, you must undress as quickly as you can," said Spock hastily. "You, too, Michael."

"Michael?" Kirk asked, studying his double as he removed his boots. "Who's this?"

"Michael Donfield," Michael explained, undoing his own shoes as well. "Pest control."

"Spaceship captain," answered Kirk. "I think, anyway. What's going on, Spock?"

"This man is taking your place," Spock explained, trying to help Kirk undress. "He will stay with the Squire and pretend to be you. Hopefully his rational and sympathetic influence will instruct Trelane in the proper use of his awesome power."

"Sounds like a good deal for us, but what about him?" Kirk's shirt came off easily, as usual.

"He is unhappy living in his heterosexual marriage," Spock explained. "For him, this is a desirable alternative to living a lie."

"He's willingly going to live with Trelane?" Kirk asked in wonder. "He'll still be living a lie."

"He sees the potential for good in him. So do I," Spock added.

Spock did his best to keep Kirk from paying too much attention to his naked double as they swapped clothing, then helped him climb into the archaic mid-twentieth-century tight pants and short-sleeved button-down collared shirt. The white overalls of the pest control service fit easily over all of that. "Reminds me of the jumpsuits up in Sickbay," Kirk quipped.

"Served me well," Michael replied. "How do I look?" Kirk and Spock looked him over carefully. Kirk's command gold uniform fit him perfectly. Spock was glad to have prior knowledge of which was which, or he'd have started to doubt his identification.

"You look the part," said Kirk, smirking. He patted Michael on the upper arm. "Take care of yourself."

"Thank you, Captain," said Michael, his eyes going back to Spock wistfully. "Spock.... thank you."

Spock looked back at him. "Good luck, Mr. Donfield."

The door was flung wide open, and Trelane stood between the posts. "Well, gentlemen, time's up! Last kiss, Captain. I don't want to miss this. I love tragic farewells. They're so--romantic!" He was truly sickening.

Spock hoped Donfield would be able to tame him, for the sake of the universe.

Donfield breasted up to him, a light shining from his eyes. "Goodbye, Spock. I'll never forget you."

Spock put his arms around the stranger gingerly but with compassion, and lowered his head to meet Donfield's kiss.

He was a Vulcan, so luckily, Trelane wasn't expecting much. He definitely got what he wanted from Donfield, however. Michael poured all of his pent-up passion into that kiss, clinging to Spock with thirsty limbs. Spock wondered if he had never before actually kissed another man.

Finally they parted, and Spock left Donfield's side. He took Kirk's hand in his own, and faced Trelane. "We are ready, Trelane. Please send us to the Enterprise. I must return to my duties."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. A pity you couldn't stay longer. But then again, I can't wait to play with my lovely new toy!" He patted Donfield's cheek.

Without taking his attention off Donfield, Trelane waved his hand and both Spock and Kirk disappeared.

Back on the Enterprise again, in Spock's cabin, they rushed into each other's arms. Spock tried to talk, but Kirk was covering his face with so many kisses that he could barely string three words together. Spock squeezed him as tightly as was reasonably safe, then pushed him away slightly. "Are you uninjured?"

"He didn't touch me," said Kirk. "I think he wants to do things right this time."

"Stealing you is not what I would deem to be 'right'," Spock countered.

"He did try to make up for it," said Kirk with a grin. "Who was that Mr. Donfield again?"

Spock explained about the hapless young chemist. "He was the smartest of the men I interviewed," he concluded. "Nobody else could have impersonated a person of your quality."

Kirk beamed. "Why, thank you, Spock. I'm touched." He looked down at his clothing. "So this uniform is--?"

"Intended to protect him from the harmful effects of the chemicals he uses to attack household pests such as insects and rodents," Spock clarified.

"Doesn't look like it's very good protection." Kirk picked at the material. "A painter could wear this. Keep the paint off his clothes."

"Indeed he could," Spock began, but then he realized that Kirk was staring at him with an appealingly evil little smirk. "Painter?"

"Ensign Kirk reporting for duty, Commander. I'm here to paint your quarters." He shifted into the role easily, letting a slow, sweet smile creep across his face as he became the demure ensign who dared to attempt seduction of the First Officer.

Spock had definitely never seen a sexier painter.

"What color is now ordered by Starfleet regulation?" Spock asked with mock professional distance.

"My orders are to paint the walls a deep, chocolate brown," said Kirk, gazing into Spock's deep, chocolate brown eyes. "But if you prefer, since you're... the First Officer... I can be persuaded to let you have... green. Green," he continued, looking around the room and then at Spock's body, "all over."

"That would be acceptable, Ensign," said Spock, letting his reserve drop just the tiniest one percent, because he knew how much Kirk enjoyed the tease.

Kirk crossed the room to look at the wall where Spock had hung his collection of Vulcan antique weaponry. "These'll have to come down while I do my work," he said, reaching for one of the swords. He knew his hand would never reach the handle.

Sure enough, Spock approached him quickly from behind and intercepted his hand with one of his own. Both men froze, Kirk reveling in the fantasy of how unusual it was to touch a Vulcan so intimately as on the bare hand. He counted his pulse against the powerful, gentle force of Spock's hand on his.

Spock decided to surprise Kirk by taking the initiative. His other hand swept around to cup Kirk's ass. Kirk started at the unexpected touch, but then smiled and turned towards the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock," he said in a perfect imitation of the demure, "are you coming on to me?" His body language gave every indication that every breath was an invitation, every heartbeat an innuendo.

Spock pulled him closer and kissed him.

Kirk swallowed the kiss, and the ensuing embrace, with his entire body. He pressed himself up against Spock as hard as he could, molding their bodies together. The strange twentieth-century fabric of the white "painter" suit rustled novelly. Spock caressed Kirk's back and found the substance strange. "I'm sure you would be much more comfortable out of your uniform," Spock murmured into Kirk's ear before sticking his tongue into it.

"OOh!" Kirk moaned. "Yes, I--I believe I would." He ripped off the white coverall as fast as he could.

He now wore a tight pair of pants and a button-down collared shirt. Spock liked the combination. He decided to take him still clothed. Kirk was already hard as the deck itself, so it was a simple matter for Spock to to open Kirk's fly and pull his erection out of his pants.

Kirk throbbed at Spock's touch and humped his hand spasmodically. "Spock... I mean, Commander..."

"I will bring you such pleasure as to make you break your role, Ensign," Spock teased him--with a straight face, of course.

Then he pushed Kirk down onto his bed and lowered his mouth to Kirk's dick.

Kirk writhed and clutched at the sheets, then lay back and floated away into happy fellatio land. Spock's mouth was a wonderful place to be. He wished he could fit his entire body inside of it.

Spock was also playing with Kirk's balls through the tight material of the pants. He poked and fondled until Kirk's brain was pudding, reduced to gasping and sweating and mumbling incoherent sounds.

Spock decided that not enough of his body was in contact with Jim's, so he retreated from the blowjob and pulled Kirk's pants all the way down. He lunged up to Kirk's torso and carefully unbuttoned the top button on the crisp shirt. Kirk took over for him and began to slowly unbutton his shirt, keeping a sultry watch on Spock.

Spock watched hungrily as more and more of Jim's beautiful body became visible. He undressed himself as he watched, but he waited to pull his own shirt over his head until Jim had completed his strip-tease. Then he retrieved a small container of lubricant from its hiding place beside the bed and warmed it in his hand.

The lube was applied, and then Jim swung his legs nimbly around Spock's back. Spock positioned himself for entry. With his mouth close to Jim's ear so that Jim would feel his exhalation as he entered, he pushed his way inside. Jim's body tugged at him. Jim's mind did the same.

He melded them as he thrust in and out.

It wasn't long before Jim came, his exuberant penis spraying them both with fluid. "Look, Spock," he gasped, panting heavily. "I.... It looks... looks like I painted... after all."

Spock kissed his forehead and came deep inside him.

Kirk accepted the weight of the Vulcan bearing down on him and rubbed his back affectionately. "Hey, I wonder how my double is doing back there with General Trelane."

"Hopefully between Donfield's inexperience and Trelane's superficial half-understanding of nearly all Earth phenomenon, they will not make too many mistakes," Spock pondered.

"Are you sure he'll be okay? Trelane might get very angry when he finds out how you tricked him."

"That is a risk I was forced to take," said Spock, caressing the curve of Jim's face with one finger. "I will not lose you."

Jim smiled warmly. "And what about poor young Michael? What if Trelane gets mad at us, but hurts him?"

"Michael Donfield was on the verge of suicide. I could sense if from our brief physical contact. That is why I permitted him to stay with Trelane--he felt as if it were his only choice. My prediction would be that Trelane will eventually tire of him, and send him back to Earth," said Spock. "Even if he is sent back to exactly the time and place from which he was taken, he will be happier and have more confidence, now that he will have had his first significant homosexual experience."

"And maybe Trelane will just set him free in this universe, if Donfield can teach him to love and to get along with others," said Kirk. "He's smart. He might have to be retrained, but he'll be a lot happier." He licked Spock's chin. "Who knows--he may come after you! He seemed to like you a lot."

"He cannot have me," Spock answered. "There is only one choice for me."

"Then I'm the luckiest man in the galaxy."

"And I am the luckiest Vulcan."

Lips met, and life was good.
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