Handyman

           by Judith Gran

This was written in response to a challenge issued 
by Ruth Gifford on ASCEM. Additional inspiration 
comes from my trusty Ryobi DS2000 detail sander.
The version here is a 23d century update. 

Ryobi created the sander, Gene Roddenberry
created Kirk and Spock, and Paramount and Viacom
own all the rights to Star Trek, except, of course,
the right to make fair use of it, which is all I'm doing
here. No one makes money from fan fiction, and this
story is no exception. If you want to make a living
you're better off in the hardware business.

This story involves explicit sex between two men
and their toys.

All manner of feedback welcome, no holds barred.
Please feel free to post feedback to the group.

*************************************

     James Kirk lowered his aircar gently and
looked at the square, sand-colored building in front
of him with a strong, sweet pang of nostalgia.  His
first after school job as a schoolboy back in Iowa
had been at a place just like this.  

     As he climbed out of the aircar and walked
from the parking lot to the large front door, he
inhaled the fragrance of fresh-sawn cedar with a sigh
of deep pleasure. The scents and sounds of this
place, and even the garish orange trim and awning,
said "home" to him. 

     The truth was that James Kirk, captain of the
Enterprise, nemesis of Klingons and Romulans and
the most celebrated starship commander in the Fleet,
was at heart a romantic who had long dreamed of a
home and family to return to from his long,
strenuous voyages. Some of his closest friends
would be surprised to learn that this brilliant
explorer and military leader harbored secret fantasies
of caring for a home and garden. Fantasies of long,
leisurely afternoons planting shrubs and tilling the
lawn, of fixing things around the house, or
remodeling a room to the admiring gaze of wife and
children.

     *Funny, though,* Kirk thought to himself as
the solid, transparent aluminum doors of the
Starbase 17 Home Depot opened automatically
before him, *I haven't had those fantasies in quite a
while. Maybe I've finally accepted the fact that my
job just isn't compatible with a wife and a home and
kids.*

     But the fact was, he did feel a warm glow of
anticipation as he looked around the vast
warehouse. He didn't have to probe the feeling very
deeply before he was able to acknowledge its
source.

     Spock. He was looking forward to fixing up
the room Spock would occupy when he arrived on
the starbase three days from now.  

     Kirk grabbed a cart on anti-gravs to hold his
purchases and pushed it to the end of the store
where the lumber was stored. He needed lumber to
repair the window in the second bedroom. It was
leaky and drafty and Spock would be most
uncomfortable in the room if he didn't fix it. He
picked up several pieces of lumber of the right size
and shape to fashion into a new sill and trim, then
added a couple of lengths of sash bead to his cart.
He'd get some caulk from another aisle in the store.

     Kirk had made a list, but he really didn't
need to look at it. He knew he had to buy a chain to
replace the one in the window pulley apparatus that
had rusted away long ago. 

     He'd also need to paint the sill and trim, of
course. And as he pointed his cart in the direction of
the paints and primers, he remembered that although
he had a saw at home,  he didn't have a sander. He
decided to take a detour through the tools
department. 

     He and four friends from his class at the
Academy had bought the little house in the woods
near Starbase 17 on a whim years ago, when they
were attending an extended training course on the
Starbase and were tired of staying in hotels and
military quarters. The other four used it
occasionally, but Kirk had stayed there only a
handful of times in the last fifteen years. He was here
now only because his ship was in orbit about the
starbase for major repairs on the matter-anti-matter
engines. 

     He'd welcomed the break and the chance to
be alone, to take long walks in the woods and hole
up in front of the fire with a dozen good books.
He'd done little else but that for the week they'd
been there, but now he was beginning to feel
restless. Fixing the window and smartening up
Spock's room would be just what he needed to
work off some excess energy.

     Face it, he was feeling lonely, too. He was
looking forward enormously to Spock's arrival
when he returned in three days from a trip to Vulcan
to visit his family. His thoughts drifted into pleasant
visions of long talks by the fire, chess, perhaps a
long hike in the woods ....

     Yet, at the same time, he felt a vague sense
of unease. With the relentless honesty that had
always served him well as a starship commander, he
tried to analyze his own feelings. If truth be told, it
was Spock's visit to Vulcan that bothered him. He
strongly suspected that Spock had gone home to
talk to his family about marriage. It had been almost
two years since the debacle with T'Pring, and you
didn't have to be a Zee Magnee Prize winner to
figure out that Spock and his family had to be
concerned about his unbonded state.

     *So why does that bother you so much?*
Kirk asked himself as he perused the aisles, looking
for the tools and equipment he needed to sand the
new window trim. *He's your friend, and you want
him to be happy, don't you?*

     Well, yes, he wanted Spock to be happy, and
he certainly didn't want him to die in the *plak
tow,* but nothing could shake the dread he felt
when he contemplated what the future might bring
for Spock--and himself. What if Spock married a
woman who would insist he leave Starfleet?
Marriage would mean children, and surely, if  Spock
were a father, he would not  choose to serve on
another long-term mission in deep space.

     Kirk paused to study a row of sanders, intent
on finding a tool of the right design. Most were too
big and inflexible for the job he had in mind. Finally
he spotted a compact, cylindrical tool designed to
work in small spaces, on wood trim and other
detailed applications. He reached for the tool and
picked it up to examine it more closely.

     It was about 22 centimeters long and just fat
enough for him to close his fingers around. The
housing for the tiny but powerful battery-driven
motor was made of a flexible but durable plastic. He
squeezed it, found it gave slightly, then sprung back.
He found that he enjoyed the sensation and squeezed
again. The tool had a retractable head on which
sandpaper could be mounted for close-up work in
the nooks and crannies of woodwork. Perfect. Just
the thing he needed. 

     It was really a most attractive tool, Kirk
thought to himself. Not quite a perfect cylinder, but
sleek, a little thicker toward the end where the
sanding head was housed. He turned it on and the
battery motor hummed softly. The tool throbbed
pleasantly in his hand. 

     *Nice feeling,* Kirk thought to himself.
*Almost like holding my own cock when I'm really
turned on.* He tried to label the unusual color,
decided "spruce" was probably the appropriate
name. It was a dusky, bluish green, rather like--

     Kirk stared at the tool in a sudden wave of
embarrassment at the sudden image of Spock that
leaped into his mind. He'd worked closely with his
First Officer for four years now, and with due
allowance for Vulcan modesty, he'd seem him
undressed on more than one occasion. The sander
was the exact color of Spock's genitals. Matter of
fact, although he had never seen Spock with an
erection (not that he hadn't wondered what he'd
look like with one), the size and shape were
probably right in the ballpark, too. 

     The sander was still throbbing, and Kirk had
a sudden, forbidden thought of what it would be like
to hold a large, hard, Vulcan cock in his hand. His
First Officer's cock.

     His face flaming, Kirk put the sander in his
cart and looked around for sandpaper.

End of Part 1.



Part 2 of 3. See disclaimer in part 1.

     Kirk swept his hand over the neighboring
display of sandpaper, scooped up a selection in
different grits ranging from coarse to fine, 40 to 180,
and put it in the cart after the sander.  His eye
caught a package of paper rated 500, and he
touched it curiously, found he could barely feel its
roughness. *I'll bet Spock's tongue would feel like
that if he --* He clamped down the thought firmly,
but put the sandpaper in his cart anyway.. *Can't
have too fine a grit for finishing work,* he told
himself innocently. 
     
     He moved on to the aisle with windows and
accessories in search of a chain to replace the broken
one in the window. He found a perfect match,
measured out the length he would need and, on an
impulse, doubled it before he cut it off the wheel. He
had a sudden image of the metal, delicate but strong,
against Spock's olive-tinged skin. He thought about
what it would be like to bind Spock's wrists with it--his wrists that also
were delicate but strong. More
than once he had noticed that Spock had just about
the sexiest wrists in Starfleet.

     Kirk's next stop was the aisle with
wallpapering supplies, where he selected an
understated striped pattern, elegantly masculine. He
hoped Spock would like it. Remembering the age of
the house and the dubious straightness of the walls
and floor, he searched for a plumb line. He choose a
simple, old-fashioned apparatus consisting of a
weight, string and chalk. You coated the string with
chalk, pinned it to the wall, let gravity and the
weight pull it down straight, flicked the string and
voila--you had a nice straight line to guide you in
placing the wallpaper. Simple, but effective.

     Suddenly, Kirk imagined coating the string
with Argelian aphrodisiac powder,  holding it firmly
at the back of Spock's neck, letting the weight pull it
down his spine and into the crevice between the
cheeks of his ass. He shivered deliciously at the
thought of how Spock would feel when he flicked
the string. He thought of Spock doing it to him, and
a sudden burst of heat rose from his groin.

     By the time he picked out a wallpaper brush
with long, soft bristles--it inspired a vivid image of
Spock writhing on the bed while Kirk brushed him
gently from head to toe--Kirk had an active hard-on.
*What the hell is happening to me?* he asked
himself plaintively as he  hefted a bucket of
wallpaper paste into his shopping cart. *I can't seem
to stop thinking about Spock, and sex.* 

     Telling himself to stop didn't work.
Perversely, his mind read his stern commands to shut
down these lustful thoughts about his First Officer as
just the opposite. It was as though the floodgates of
his subconscious had been opened. All he could
think about was making love with his best friend.

     Kirk decided to take a detour through the
garden supplies. *I need to get away from brushes,
chains and sanders,* he said to himself with a
lopsided mental grin. *Maybe I should look at grass
seed and fertilizer for a change--nothing sexy there!* 

     But then his eye caught a large length of
garden hose, wrapped tightly around a wooden
wheel. He couldn't help himself--an image of Spock
wrapped in the hose flashed into his mind, followed
by an even more forbidden image of Spock whipping
him with a length of the hose. In his imagination, the
hose made a pleasant *thud* as it hit his skin and
sent a delicious jolt of pain through his
overstimulated nerves.

     Kirk turned and headed  resolutely for an
aisle filled with grilles for cooking food outdoors.
*Nothing here I can use to stroke, caress or tie
Spock up with,* he told himself ironically. But it
didn't work. He still kept thinking of Spock. Of the
two of them together, cooking over a gas grille, a
homey domestic scene. 

     Finally Kirk stopped, between the barbecue
equipment and the lawn and garden equipment, and
admitted the truth to himself. He wanted his First
Officer and best friend. His love for Spock was no
longer platonic, if it had ever been. He was *in* love
with him, wanted to *make* love with him. In the
worst way possible.

     Shit, how was he going to manage when
Spock came to visit him in a few days? Kirk groaned
aloud, ignoring the concerned stares of the other
customers in the aisle. He'd have to use every ounce
of command training and iron self-control he
possessed. 

     Resolutely, he took his purchases to the
check-out aisle and gave the  bot his credit chip. 

     **************************

     Back at home, Kirk made himself a quick
meal and settled down to repair the window. He
sawed the pieces of wood to make a new sash and
sill, and found the detail sander an efficient working
tool. He tried as hard as he could to ignore the
sexual stirring aroused by the machine's pleasant
throbbing.  Soon he had replaced the rotted wood
with new, freshly-sanded pine and was readying the
area for painting. 

     He worked all the next day on the room,
stripping off the old wallpaper and putting up the
new. The plumb line came in handy, since the room
no longer had any true right angles, if it ever had. 
He established a comfortable rhythm, cutting off a
few lengths of wallpaper, laying them down on the
ground, brushing them down with  wallpaper paste
until they were wet through, then pasting them on
the wall and trimming them with a sharp utility knife.

     His thoughts, meanwhile,  established an
erotic rhythm of their own. He imagined laying
Spock down on the floor, or any other handy
surface, and stroking him with the large, soft brush.
Sometimes his fantasies included tying Spock up
with a chain or a strong rope, or wrapping him tight
with the garden hose. Sometimes (and he had to
admit these were the most sexually stimulating
fantasies of all), he imagined Spock tying *him* up,
and beating him (not with his full Vulcan strength,
perhaps, but firmly) with the hose. 

     He decided to indulge himself in these
fantasies, confident in his ability, honed through
command training and long practice, to suppress
them once Spock was here in the flesh. *Oh, yes, the
flesh,* he yearned, every fiber of his body and soul
craving Spock's flesh. By the time he finished
papering the room, his fantasies had roamed freely
over all the delicious things he imagined Spock
doing to him with that large, hefty, spruce-colored
cock.

     By the afternoon of the second day, he had
finished papering the room and was admiring his
handiwork. On an impulse, he decided to paint a
strip of crown molding around the perimeter of the
room to match the woodwork around the window.
The room looked trim and elegant.

     He'd had a filling lunch and was feeling
pleasantly sleepy, so he decided to lie down in his
own room for a brief nap. On an impulse, he picked
up the detail sander from where it rested near the
window, and retrieved the super-fine, 500-grit
sandpaper that lay nearby. *That was a ridiculous
thing to buy,* he chided himself. *Way, way too fine
to use on a coarse-grained wood like pine.*

     *But not too fine for human skin,* the
thought came to him unwittingly, and he flushed as
he remembered he had bought the sandpaper in the
first place because he thought it might feel like
Spock's tongue. 

     *Look, if I'm gonna indulge myself in
fantasy, I might as well go for broke,* Kirk said to
himself as he headed into his own bedroom. The bed
was rumpled and the comforter askew; he hadn't
bothered to make it the last few days That would
have to change when Spock arrived, he thought, and
found that he didn't mind the idea at all. But in the
meantime, he was going to indulge himself a little
with this handy toy.

     Kirk pressed the button that released the
retractable sanding head and was rewarded when it
sprang into place. He opened the package of
sandpaper and folded and tore a small piece of the
fine paper to fit the triangular surface. It was
adhesive-backed and adhered easily.

     He turned on the battery-operated sander to
its lowest level and savored the soft vibrations.
Experimentally, he touched the sandpaper to the
underside of his arm and found that, indeed, it did
feel rather like being stroked with someone's
tongue. A strong and energetic tongue--much as he
expected Spock's would be.

     He removed his pants, lay down on the bed
and touched the gently vibrating sander to his inner
thigh. The sensations were exquisite, and soon he
was writhing in pleasure. He imagined Spock leaning
over him, tonguing him there. He held the sanding
head along the edge of his groin, then moved it
closer and closer to his genitals until it vibrated
along the edge of the pouch that held his balls.
Delicious.

     He was hard now, hard as neutronium and
wishing that gentle abrasion were really Spock. He
loved the heft of the sander, the way it filled his
hand, its firm yet springy texture. On an impulse, he
retracted the sander head so that the sandpaper
attachment was out of the way, turned up the power
so that it throbbed harder, brought his legs together
and thrust the tool between them a few centimeters
below his genitals.

     He wished it were Spock's  big, hard cock
nudging its head into the soft flesh of his upper
thighs, but the sensation was still wonderfully sexy,
and his imagination supplied the rest. He fantasized
that Spock was lying on top of him, their chests
touching, Spock down a little lower and trying hard
to fuck him between the thighs. He squeezed against
the sander and felt a hot urge of pleasure when it
throbbed against his skin.

     It was erotic, and he knew he'd come soon
enough if he kept this up, but it wasn't quite what he
wanted. He opened his legs, turned the sander off
and brought the sander up to examine it closer. He
wondered if it was waterproof, and what would
happen if he put it ... 

     It was a lovely fantasy, but he rejected it
reluctantly because the sander had not been made,
after all, for such ... applications.  Maybe over
dinner he'd take it apart, see if it was waterproof,
and if not, use his engineering skills to modify it. He
turned the sander back on and opened his legs,
preparing for another bout of ... stimulation ...

     The doorbell rang, shattering Kirk's erotic
fantasy. He leaped from the bed, pulled his jeans on
and rushed to the front door, knowing instinctively
whom he would find there.

     It was Spock. On his doorstep a day early.

End of part 2.


Part 3 of 3. See disclaimer in part 1.

     Despite the interruption of his erotic fantasy,
Kirk was delighted to see his friend. He hustled him
into the kitchen and got him a glass of tea while he
listened to Spock's complicated explanation of how
he had been forced to change his travel plans to
arrive a day before he'd originally planned to.

     They exchanged pleasantries and caught up
on each other's news. Kirk's gentle probing about
what had happened on Vulcan elicited only a
noncommittal shrug and the laconic statement, "My
relationship with my family is unchanged." Kirk
hoped against hope that this meant Spock had not
yielded to pressure to accept his family's choice of
mate, but he'd have to explore that later. Right now
he was eager to show Spock his newly decorated
room.

     He picked up Spock's bags and carried them
through the door of the second bedroom, waving
Spock to follow him. "I fixed up the spare room for
you, Spock. I hope it's to your taste."

     He took Spock's bags to the foot of the bed
and turned to face his First Officer with an expectant
grin. To his dismay, Spock looked slightly ashen.
"Jim, I--" he turned and left the room abruptly. 

     Kirk hurried after him, still carrying Spock's
luggage, his disappointment evaporating in a surge
of concern. "Spock, what's wrong?" he asked.

     Spock went to an open window and breathed
deeply. "It is nothing, Jim--nothing that will not pass
quickly. The room is very much to my taste.
However, I believe that you must have used an
acrylic-based primer in the areas you painted. I am
somewhat sensitive to fresh paints of that type. The
reaction will fade when the paint has dried fully."

     "Ah! Kirk nodded his understanding. "Yes, I
just painted the molding along the ceiling. No
wonder you reacted."

     "Yes, that does explain it. Fortunately, it is
very much a temporary phenomenon. By tomorrow
it should be safe for me to stay in that room."

     Kirk smiled his relief. "Good. We'll just
switch rooms for tonight, then. I'll put your bags in
my room and get you a fresh pair of sheets --" He
flushed a little in embarrassment as he thought about
the condition of the room. Thank God he hadn't
come all over the bed when he was fantasizing about
having sex with Spock.

     "Let me," Spock offered, taking the bags
from Kirk and heading toward Kirk's bedroom. Kirk
grabbed some clean sheets from the linen closet and
followed him. 

     When Kirk entered the room Spock was
standing stiffly, his back to the door, staring at the
bed. As soon as Kirk heard the soft hum, he knew
what had gripped Spock's attention. The sander. He
had forgotten to turn it off.

     He moved to stand beside Spock and
followed his gaze. The thick spruce tool was
writhing around on the bed. The battery-driven
motor made it throb and vibrate so that it turned and
moved as though it had a life of its own.

     Quickly Kirk reached down, grabbed the tool
and shut it off abruptly. There was a moment of
utter silence between them. Kirk struggled for an
explanation, but he had the uncanny feeling that
Spock could see right through him and knew exactly
what he had been doing.

     "Ah, Spock, this is the sander I used on the
window sill and trim," Kirk said awkwardly.

     Spock nodded and raised a quizzical
eyebrow. "Indeed. My curiosity was somewhat ...
aroused ... because  it bears an uncanny resemblance
to certain devices used on Vulcan for a quite
different purpose."

     His light tone and the way his voice lingered
over the word "aroused" left little doubt in Kirk's
mind what kind of "device" Spock had in mind. With
renewed embarrassment he reflected that he had
probably been sporting an obvious hard-on since the
moment Spock walked in the door. Spock plainly
knew what he had been doing in here.

     Well, two could play at that game. "Hmm,
Spock, I don't think I've ever seen one of those
Vulcan devices."

     Spock's eyebrow went up a centimeter or so.
"No? I am surprised, Jim, from what I know of your
vast ... experience. The device of which I am
thinking is designed to resemble the Vulcan ... male
organ."

     Kirk grinned in spite of himself at this frank
talk of sex from Spock. "Well, actually, I did think
of the resemblance when I bought this thing," he
decided it was safe to admit that much, given the
way this conversation was going, "because of the
color, and the shape and all..." his voice trailed off
awkwardly.

     "Precisely," Spock nodded. "Erotic toys of
that size and shape and color are quite common on
Vulcan."

     Kirk was surprised, then emboldened by his
First Officer's matter of fact tone. "Spock, do you
have one of those ... devices?"

     Kirk imagined that Spock could read his
mind. The Vulcan's face, on the other hand, was
opaque. Kirk could not tell what he was thinking.
Finally Spock inclined his head in a gesture that was
neither a nod nor a shake, neither yes nor no.

     "Not precisely," he said in tone that said he
had considered his answer thoroughly. "I do own a
device designed for a similar purpose, but its color
and design bears a closer resemblance to a Human
organ."

     Kirk broke into a huge smile of relief.
Suddenly Spock's face was no longer opaque but
open, inviting. 

     "Logically, I would conclude, Mr. Spock,
that you were attracted to that device for the same
reason I was drawn to the sander."

     "I always endeavor to be logical," Spock
responded in a lofty tone. "May I assume that you
did not purchase the sander exclusively for the
purpose of ... sanding?"

     "No, of course I didn't, you Vulcan mind-reader. I needed a sander, but I
chose this one
because it made me think of a Vulcan cock. Yours."

     "Then I trust I do not need to explain to you
my own interest in a certain Human organ."

     Kirk's knees were suddenly weak and he felt
as though the blood supply to his legs had moved to
his groin. The knowledge that Spock returned his
desire made him suddenly, impossibly hard. "Spock,
I've been fantasizing about your cock for the last
two days," he confessed. "Every moment I spent
working on your room, I thought about how much I
want you."

     Spock closed the few steps between them
and stood very close to Kirk. "I have had such
thoughts about you for a very, very long time," he
murmured. "Longer than I am sure I can recount
with precision."

     "Spock, I don't think I can wait a moment
longer." Kirk did not try to disguise the yearning in
his voice. Spock responded by pulling him into a
strong embrace. 

     Their mouths met and clung together for an
impossibly long time. Spock's tongue was indeed as
strong and sweetly abrasive as Kirk had imagined.
They broke apart at last only to explore each other
desperately, everywhere their mouths and hands
could touch.

     Kirk pulled Spock's shirt out of his pants and
stroked his torso, ran his hands through the hair on
his chest, grasped his nipples and caressed his skin
hungrily. Spock responded in kind. Soon both men
had their hands in each other's pants, grasping
buttocks and thighs. Spock was about to reach for
Kirk's genitals when  Kirk sank to his knees, pulled
open the front of Spock's trousers and freed the
large, hard, pulsing spruce-colored cock.

     Kirk's fantasies paled in comparison to the
glory of the reality. He filled his mouth with it,
grasped Spock's buttocks and pulled them towards
him so that the huge organ would go down his
throat. He fought off the gag reflex easily; he
wanted the taste and feel of Spock in his mouth far
too much to be deterred. And Spock felt incredible.
The heat, the coppery, musky taste sent Kirk into
paroxysms of lust. Kirk contracted his throat
muscles around the splendid organ and sucked and
sucked until he thought he'd pass out.

     Spock groaned and gently pulled Kirk's head
away from his cock. "Jim, is this how you want
me?" he asked in a voice thick with desire.

     Kirk considered the question thoroughly. He
did want to feel Spock shudder and pulse in his
mouth, wanted his semen pouring down his throat,
wanted to drink and swallow his come until the last
drop. But there was something he wanted even more
than that this first time. "Spock, I want to come with
you inside me." He stood up and pulled Spock
toward the bed, pausing to fish a tube of lubricant
from a drawer in the nightstand. He handed the
lubricant to Spock.

     Spock took the tube and nodded. His face
was flushed with arousal and Kirk could tell that he
wanted badly to fulfill Kirk's request. They
disengaged each other's clothes with a few
economical movements and lay down on the bed,
Kirk on his back pulling Spock on top of him. 

     Spock slid down so that his face was in
Kirk's groin and began to tongue Kirk's balls with
the same strength and energy Kirk had felt only a
short time ago from the sander. Kirk could barely
stand the pleasure, and when Spock took him in his
mouth he moaned in ecstasy: "Spock, Spock." He
thrashed back and forth, lifting his hips, wanting this,
but wanting Spock inside him even more.

     As if he'd read his mind, Spock lubricated
his ass and his own fingers and thrust a finger, then
two and finally three inside him. Kirk sobbed
incoherently as Spock began to stroke and massage
his prostate gland. Another time, he would love to
come like this, with Spock sucking his cock with
that incredible strong, hot Vulcan mouth, his  fingers
doing incredible things to his ass. But right now he
craved the blunt feel of Spock's cock inside him,
wanted the simplicity of being fucked, and fucked
hard.

     Spock understood. He raised his head, let go
of Kirk's cock with his mouth and took his fingers
out of his ass but let them linger at the opening.
With one hand, he gently pushed Kirk's legs up and
back and urged Kirk to clamp his legs over his
shoulder. With the other, he continued to stroke
Kirk's ass.

     Kirk was begging for him now. Spock
centered his cock at the opening and Kirk gasped as
he began the slow slide into him. It was impossible.
It was the greatest pleasure he had ever felt. It was
perfection.

     Spock thrust in and out, fucking him hard
and deep. Each time the blunt tip of his cock thrust
hard against Kirk's prostate, Kirk moaned in
ecstasy. Every cell in his body wanted to come, and
every cell in his body wanted this to go on forever.

     The need to come won out, for both of them.
Kirk came all over Spock's belly and his own and
felt an indescribable satisfaction as  Spock gushed
deep inside him. They lay silently for a long time,
unable to move or speak or do anything but relish
the closeness of the other man and the impossible
fact that they had finally come together.

     When they did speak it was to murmur to
each other all the other things they wanted to do to
each other before this shore leave was over. Kirk
shared with Spock some of his ideas about how they
might use the other purchases he'd made before
Spock's arrival. Spock seemed most interested in
the brush, the plumb line, the chain and the garden
hose.

     "I'm glad you have a few kinky fantasies too,
Spock," Kirk murmured, his voice light with
pleasure and anticipation.

     "Indeed, I expect that our fantasies will help
render the next several days most ... stimulating."

     "I know they will be. And if we run out of
ideas, or equipment, we can always go back to
Home Depot for more."

     And the new lovers dreamed, whispered their
fantasies to each other, and drifted off blissfully to
sleep.

End of story.