In My Room

Transparent too bright, pale blue eye, and gaping empty eye socket stare back, pleading. His concern does nothing but extenuate the boyish beauty of his blood stained face, ever hallowed by that pale, singed golden hair.  His very presence melts away the Vulcan heat and leaves a stale chill that smells faintly like settled dust and rotting vegetation. It burns something within the Vulcan adolescent; a sickening urge rises to take what is his, posses the image of a rotting carcass even in the other’s afterlife. 

Spock debates his lover’s request, only a thread of hesitance stopping him. His neighbors were pleasant people, they had never been unkind to him like the others. He frequently watched their young boy while they were away on scientific field explorations. They were of the few people he had not thought about making suffer. 

"Don't you Love me, Spock?"

The unused voice reminded Spock of the howling whispers of  Mount Seleya. His love rarely spoke and when he did, Spock could feel fragmented parts of his katra corrupt and die. Jim's whispered words never failed to make his heart physically stutter and struggle against his ribs to stay pumping. He loved it. 

"You know that I do." 

Despite himself, his words were tainted with muted fear. With bile rising to his mouth, he knows the words seal future actions as if there was ever any doubt. All his love need do was ask. It was his will, his price for accompanying Spock. Jim knew as well as Spock that the Vulcan would do anything to not be alone again, no matter the cost to himself. 

"Then you'll do it. You will go and snuff out the life within them. They've seen me, and in doing so lost their right to live. They can't know that I'm here Spock. They can't know our secret, can’t know of our love. They will tell others, they won't understand. If they know, I'll have to go away and never come back. You have to make them keep our secret Spock, forever." 

Jim’s voice was no louder than any other time he spoke, words still nothing more than raspy whispers that Spock had to strain to hear. Yet there was a hardness to them this time; there was a threat of leaving, an ultimatum that would be carried through. With it, parasitic fear filled Spock's gut like worms slithering out through his veins, seeking out and making a nest in his heart. His love couldn't leave, they were T'hy'la. It was torturous just waiting for the sun to set to see his lover.

"Yes, I'll kill all of them, tomorrow, for you."

His promise of homicidal devotion has the desired effect. A rarely seen smile adorns his love's blood stained face. A smile that causes the pale, cold skin of Jim's left cheek to spread and stretch unnaturally over atrophied muscle. Spock can plainly see the red tongue dancing behind the yellowing teeth, he yearns to taste the rotting muscle. 

Like many things, the conversation has died without another word. Cold hands push and pull Spock so that he settles on his back upon the moth eaten mattress. His T'hy'la's body is weightless and cold against his. Spock grasps the boy as close to himself as he can, needing to inflict bruises on his lover’s pale skin, even while knowing that they will never show on the dead flesh. He waits for the sun's fall so the moon may rise and he can savor the sensation only Jim can bring. 

This is so much better than the loneliness that once swallowed Spock whole. Thinking back, the Vulcan boy can recall with vivid detail the night his angel put an end to that and gave him purpose.  

6 months Earlier: 

He feels powerful waiting for his prey in the middle of the main hallway, his hand deep in his pocket fondling the hidden cool metal of the phaser. He contemplates what has brought him to this; his beatings took place here and it is here where he will demonstrate to them he can be as cold, as unfeeling as them. Today he will make them see how wrong they were, today they will beg him for their lives.