elliewood | Fic: Companion, Chapter 44: Jim (12)

Oh my God, I can't believe it. We just walked in the door, and Spock's already setting up his little firepot thing. Which only means one thing: more meditation.

I swear to God, if I have to meditate one more time, I'm going to go fucking nuts, which I figure is the complete opposite of what I'm supposed to do. Fits, though, because I feel like everything is the opposite of what it should be, or what I want it to be.

The most obvious thing: we're a couple, theoretically. Bonded and all that. My interpretation of that relationship would be shitloads of hot sex. But oh, no. No sex, not even any kissing, for weeks. Weeks. His explanation (because hell yeah I've complained! Several times!) is that my mind needs to be more disciplined in order to withstand more of his hot Vulcan love. Hence the meditation. And okay, I'll give him that, I do feel calmer, like my thoughts are more orderly, since we started singing kumbayah around his little campfire on a daily basis. Sometimes a twice-daily basis. It's gotten to the point that I spend more time fantasizing about heaving that goddamned pot through the window and watching it fall 50 floors than I do meditating.

All this mental orderliness is making me insane, which I'm pretty sure is the exact definition of irony.

And another thing. We're finally moving out of here tomorrow, the first of the month, to our own apartment in Lower Haight. But have I even seen it yet? No. Why? Because he did all the legwork and all the searching and didn't include me in any of it. Granted, the apartment-hunting happened right after (and because of) the whole kidnapping thing, and he was super-paranoid about me leaving the hotel room again. And okay, I was too, a little. I think both of us will feel a lot easier about me being out in public again once we're settled somewhere else. But I feel like he's taken the decision entirely out of my hands, like I'm a child or something. All I know about it is that it's a two-bedroom. Two. Bedroom. More of an indication that we'll be having the opposite of shitloads of hot sex.

I'm putting this all together in my head and coming up with an explanation of my own. I think he started to lose interest in me after the mind meld, once he saw all the shit I have going on, and I can't say I blame him, because it is a lot of shit that I honestly wouldn't mind getting rid of if I could. But he feels obligated to stay with me because of the whole death thing, and my getting abducted by the psycho doctors from hell just made him feel even more obligated.

I don't know. I mean, I want to be with him, really, really bad. But I don't know how much more I can take of being unwanted. I don't even undress in front of him anymore, because I feel like it's too desperate, like, Oh hey, look at me, don't you want some of this? And the answer is always No, which is beyond depressing. So I change in the bathroom, t-shirt and shorts so I'm pretty much all covered up, before coming out to (insert groan here) meditate before bed.

No, hell with that. I'm fucking tired of it. I tell him, no thanks, no meditation for me tonight, you go ahead, I'm too tired. And I get into bed (this beautiful huge motherfucking bed) alone (more irony) and turn my back to him and try to go to sleep.

I can feel his surprise, and something else, through the bond; I've never turned down a chance to meditate with him before, and I can feel his asking why, but I don't feel like answering, so I close it off. That's my best analogy to what it feels like, like a water tap in my head that I can open all the way if I want to, making it hot or warm or cold, whatever I'm feeling. Or, in this case, that I can close completely if I don't feel like sharing. Which I don't.

Welcome to being rejected. Sucks, don't it? Hells yeah it do.

"Is it because of him?"

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what the fuck he's talking about, and then I remember, our waiter from earlier tonight, Dieter, whose name I know because he slipped it to me along with his comm code when he gave me the check. Honestly, there's no way I'm going to follow up, but it did make me feel a little better that at least somebody checked me out, somebody wants to get to know me, hang out with me, maybe, oh I don't know, share a bed with me...?

And I'm feeling low and mean so I don't tell him any of that, I just say, without turning over, "No, it's not because of him, don't be an asshole."

"He desires you."

"No shit," I say, and because I'm still feeling mean, I let it out -- "At least someone does."

He is silent for a moment. "Is it your belief that I do not?"

That, that makes me sit straight up in bed, so pissed off I can't even see straight. "What the hell do you expect me to believe? You haven't come near me in seventeen days! You won't sleep with me, you won't even touch me, so how the fuck does that all add up to you wanting me?"

"There is in fact nothing I want more than I do you."

Oh my God, the bullshit. I can't stand any more. I lie back down and pull the covers around me, check that the tap is shut good and tight, and close my eyes. Maybe all this meditation will help me calm down enough to sleep. Got to be good for something.

Next thing I know, the covers are torn off and I'm suspended in the air, held up by his hands as he leans over the bed, my feet sliding, backpedaling on the sheets as I try, unsuccessfully, to stand up. His voice is low, like the rumble of distant storms on the plains, a welcome sound when you need the rain but threatening too if they're bringing twisters.

"You require proof." A statement, not a question, and I'm so angry I don't even care what he thinks of my shitty reply.

"You've already proven what you think of me, so no, no thanks, I'm good."

He drops me back on the bed and pins my shoulders down with his hands, one knee painfully wedged on my thigh, and kisses me roughly, almost brutally, his tongue hot and thick in my mouth as he hovers above me. And I feel the shock, the electric fence again, but it's different this time; my mind is able to differentiate it into its components and sort them, my thoughts and his thoughts, my sensations and his, as they all hit me simultaneously, blended together in the bond. I can taste the beer on his breath and the mint of toothpaste on mine, feel his knee crushing my thigh and my erection growing against the side of his leg, and now as he drops himself to lie fully on me, I feel his hips moving into mine from both our perspectives, and it's so hot that I have to tear my mouth away from his to take in huge gulps of air so I can cry out.

His thoughts fill me, swirling around my own in a crazy mixture that would make me insane if I weren't able to separate his from mine.

Proof enough?

yes please please

Show me what you want

i can't

Yes

So I let him see something, an image of me tied down on the bed, powerless to stop him as he makes me come in his beautiful hand, those long, elegant fingers wrapped around my dick.

too much...?

He laughs in my head.

Child's play, little James

And he lets me see a vision of myself, tied down as well and drenched in sweat, with him impaling himself on me, making me come inside him as I struggle and scream, then lifting and reversing himself over me to clean my cock with his mouth while I, whimpering in fulfillment, lap and suck my own come out of his ass.

oh my god that's so

He laughs again as his hands move down my arms, from my shoulders to my hands, and he pulls them up and over my head, clamping both of them in one of his so that he can pull down my shorts with the other. And now I feel his hand around me as well as my hardness in his hand, feel him start to stroke me as my pulse beats against his palm.

so beautiful so hard yes

harder please

yes your pleasure oh

your eyes so

yes

oh my god my

yes

His mouth comes down on my neck, hot and biting, and I'm gone, over the edge, his thoughts drowning out my own as my mind goes blank

joy yes oh wonderful mine so beautiful mine

and I know I'm going to faint again, which pisses me off for two reasons. One, it means he was right to make me spend all that time in meditation around his fucking firepot. Two, it means I'm not going to feel most of what he's doing next, which is slowly, lovingly, licking the come off my belly.

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