Mumble, Grumble, Toil, and Trouble

Auction to aid relief efforts in Haiti

suzanne78 — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 12:20:33 GMT

I'm probably posting this and everyone on my Flist already knows about this cause... but help_haiti on LJ has set up an auction to bid on a fic, beta services, art, food, etc. I'm considering jumping in with a fic or beta services.

http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/

If you can't wait to donate to the relief efforts in Haiti, follow these links:

http://community.livejournal.com/help_haiti/660.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/12/haiti-earthquake-relief-h_n_421014.html

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2010/1/13/824866/-(Update)-Helping-the-Victims-of-the-Haiti-Earthquake-Day-2

And So It Began.... Part Seventeen (Kyle/Oliver, R)

suzanne78 — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 11:30:15 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver
Rating: R
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: I am so sorry I've been neglectful updating here. This story's actually already up to Part Twenty-Nine over on Kishmet. Link to story here. I can only blame my own laziness and the holidays with getting it updated regularly over here and on fanfiction.net. Please, forgive! And I'll be better with getting chapters posted!

Again, the response to this story's been overwhelming for me. I can't thank you all enough for reading this. At this point, i've got no idea how long this is going to be, but, I'm going to keep at it until, well... you all know how the college years ended!

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve"
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen:
This Tornado Loves You
Neko Case

He couldn't help himself. He kept touching Kyle's face.

They were still in bed, naked from the fourth... or fifth... night they had spent together. Sure, he was a little hung over. He was certain Kyle was too. He could've done with some aspirin, and Kyle probably wanted some as well.

But neither of them moved from Kyle's bed.

The curtains were drawn around them so the sunlight wouldn't wake them up before they were ready. Oliver preferred Kyle's bed to his own. His didn't have curtains around his, so there was this constant fear of exposure. Not even seeing Kyle's skin in natural light was enough of a persuasion to keep screwing each other out in the open like that. Thus, Kyle's wall-mounted bed gave Oliver the privacy he wanted. Here, inside this dark cocoon, he could just let himself feel and enjoy Kyle. Inside this space, they had all the time in the world.

Their routine outside of their little comfortable corner was nothing special. They hung out with the other KAΔs that were staying over the break, drinking into the late hours of the evening. When they stopped drinking, they went upstairs where they lost themselves in each other's bodies. When the mornings came, Oliver watched Kyle sleep. And when Kyle woke up, they talked, laughed, kissed... among other things. They put away Kyle's candles, which they used until they melted into waxy stubs. They never spoke about these encounters. They simply got dressed and made breakfast downstairs relaxed, and casually joked with the other guys. Only Oliver knew that Kyle's knee always found his under the table, perpetually touching it as if compelled by a magnetic force.

He watched Kyle swallow just before he broke into a smile. "You're doin' summer school ag'in, right?"

Oliver nodded. "I am."

"You don't have a place yet, d' ya?"

Oliver chuckled. "You'd have known it by now if I did."

Kicking open the curtain at the foot of the bed, allowing some light inside, Kyle sat up. He was still totally naked, and he didn't bother covering himself up. "How 'bout you and I get a place t'gether. For the summer," he added.

Oliver opened his mouth, but found he was too flabbergasted to properly reply. "Wh-what? Y-you think... that, er, you and I sh-should--"

"We live together now, Oliver. We practically lived t'gether last summer. What's the problem?"

"No problem. I-I thought that you didn't want to..." He slumped his shoulders. He had to say these words, had to force them out. "I thought you didn't want to room with someone that you were... you know." He swirled his hand around, pleading with his eyes for Kyle to finish his sentence for him.

Kyle, instead, stared at him flatly. "No. I don't. What - are you - tryin' to say - t' me?" He enunciated each word very slowly, drawing them out. Oliver hated when he did that, compelling him to admit things before he was ready to.

"I thought you didn't want to live with someone you've been... h-hooking up with."

Admitting it impressed Kyle, who smiled, rather smugly, back at him. "I think we're a little bit beyond the hook-up stage at this point." He swept his hand between them. Of course, Oliver couldn't argue with that; Kyle was right.

"Yeah. That's true."

"Is that your only objection?"

Thinking about it for a moment, Oliver finally shook his head. "It's not really an objection. It's just remembering what you said before. But, well, it kinda makes sense for us to live together, really. When you think about it."

"I have thought 'bout it," Kyle said, his smug grin melting into something far warmer. Brighter. "An' that's why I'm askin' you if you wanna live with me in our own place, Einstein. C'mon! It'll be fun. Think 'bout all the trouble we could get into." There was that wide, brimming smile again. Oliver hated to admit it affected him as much as it did. A laugh escaped him as Kyle playfully smacked his arm.

"Okay, okay... yeah, we should do it."

"Yeah?"

Oliver chuckled. "I said yes, didn't I?"

Still grinning wide, Kyle brought his hand around the back of Oliver's head, pulled him forwards, and kissed him. "Cool."

****

"Thanks, Kyle," Jason Griswold said, setting his coffee cup down on the saucer in front of him, "you've been so great about everything."

They were in Hallowed Grounds on a Friday evening, after Kyle and Oliver's last class of the day. It was nearing the end of the semester and this Friday was the last great respite before the start of finals. They had already gotten their partying out of their system the night before; tonight, it was all about relaxing and possibly typing up lecture notes.

After they had their coffee.

Oliver watched as Kyle grinned, shaking his head like it was no big deal. "Anytime, Jase. You want anythin' else? Muffin? Bagel? Seizure-inducin' four-shot of espresso?"

Jason laughed. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Fish? What 'bout you?"

The instant Kyle's hand touched Oliver's shoulder, he shot up, sitting a little straighter, slightly energized by the physical contact. Gestures like this, a pat on the chest, the back, or the shoulders were not uncommon when they were out in public. They really weren't all that uncommon even before the night of the blackout. They appeared so fleeting, so casual, just another part of the Kyle Lewis-Oliver Fish friendship that no one questioned.

Only Oliver knew that they had increased substantially after the night of the blackout. Now Kyle's hand would linger a little longer on him, or squeeze him a little tighter. And under his touch, Oliver noticed his body reacting differently, no matter how platonic the contact seemed. The sensations coursed straight through him, sending warm waves through his stomach, tingles careening downward, often times causing embarrassing moments that made him run for the men's room to quickly adjust himself or wait until his excitement retreated.

It had nothing to do with the realization that the part of Oliver was also in love with Kyle. He hadn't admitted anything, nor was he planning to. This was just a college thing. He was sure of it. Even the agreement to move in together, to share an apartment was temporary too; it was only for the summer. Everything, especially Oliver's feelings, all stemmed from having sex with Kyle. And as with all things, it would pass. He knew that. It was just a basic emotional response to feeling Kyle's body against his own, to being naked with him, to waking up next to him...

Shit. His own thoughts were making less and less sense to him these days.

He coughed, still enjoying that sensation of Kyle's hand gently squeezing his shoulder, moving slightly down his upper arm. "I'm f-fine. One's always good enough for me. Y-you know how I get with too much caffeine." He held up his hand, shaking it purposefully.

Smirking and rolling his eyes at Oliver, Kyle headed toward the counter to buy another coffee. Oliver let out a long sigh and turned to their other table mate.

Jason was doing better. He was opening up the more they hung out with him, and he was finding that having friends who accepted him allowed him to be more free with his personality. He was a nice kid. A burgeoning artist too. He was pretty talented. And he was also the reason why his brother, Stan Griswold, kept Kyle's identity private. Oliver wasn't about to jeopardize that.

However, it was hard not to wish some misfortune upon the younger guy. Especially when Oliver noticed Jason's eyes quickly fluttering whenever Kyle walked away. It was hard for him not to notice Jason and how he was unduly attentive toward Kyle. Every single time he saw Jason laugh or a smile at something Kyle said, a white-hot surge shot through Oliver and he briefly envisioned breaking his coffee mug over Jason's head.

He snapped out of it and looked over at the kid, whose eyes were still following Kyle. He coughed, catching Jason's attention.

"Sorry. Guess I'm easily distracted."

Oliver cocked his eyebrow. "What does that mean?" He tried to keep his expression, notably his smile, light and easy-going. The better not to reveal the underlying waves of hostility toward him.

"Well, I don't know," Jason replied, his voice sounding casual but forced. "I think he's... you know." He leaned his head to the side, as if Oliver would help him finish his statement.

"No, I don't." Oliver was surprised his voice came out as sharply as it did. "What do you think he is?"

Jason grinned broadly. "He's really cute. And I haven't heard if he's gotta boyfriend--"

"He's too old for you." If Jason was surprised at Oliver's response, it was nothing compared to what Oliver was feeling at that moment. Shocked, primarily. He wondered whether his skin was turning green, as an ugly monster reared itself in his chest.

"He's only two years older than me."

"He's also your brother's roommate. Don't you think you'd be putting Ky- Lewis in a bad position if you started anything with him?"

Jason reared his head back. "Whoa! What got into you?"

"What? Nothing."

"Somebody just got angry. Have a bad day?"

"'S getting there," Oliver said, muttering into his coffee mug as he swallowed the bitter drink. He sat it down when he saw Stan Griswold barreling up to their table. His heavy bag crashed on the floor and Griswold winced.

"Dammit! Need to be more careful about that... stupid laptop'll get broken someday." He pulled out a chair at the table and heaved himself into it. "What's goin' on?"

Oliver snorted. "It's a good thing you don't have a roommate who knows all about computers. You know I can fix it if you ever need it. I can fix pretty much anything!"

"This is true. Fish's been my own personal Geek Squad since freshman year."

All three looked up at a grinning Kyle Lewis, who took his seat while balancing a cinnamon-and-raisin bagel with cream cheese and another full cup of coffee on a saucer. "Hey, Stan. Took ya long enough to get here." Taking a sip of his drink, Kyle scooted the bagel toward the middle of the table, closer to Oliver than the others. Oliver ripped a chunk of the toasted bread and popped it into his mouth. The snack certainly managed to erase much of his bad mood from earlier and quelled his troubled stomach, jittery from too much coffee.

Stan let out a loud groan and handed Kyle a wad of cash. "Here y' go, Lewis. All 500 dollars for the, uh, help. With those, uh, 'classes'." He bent his thick fingers like quotation marks. Kyle arched his eyebrows, shifting a glance over to Oliver, then to Jason.

"I guess subtlety was a little too much to ask from you, huh?" he inquired in a flat, deadpan tone. Stan only shrugged.

They finished their food and left, Oliver's mind still on the exchange of words and money between Kyle and Stan. They walked along the sidewalk, back to the campus. The lights were starting to turn on, as the sun was beginning to set. Oliver was about to dig deeper into the odd conversation and transaction, when Jason caught up with him. He was clearly nervous about something, the way he kept messing with his nails.

"Can I ask you something?"

Oliver stared at Jason. "It depends."

Taking a deep breath, Jason plowed forward with his question. "Do you have a problem with me, Oliver?"

"Did I do something that makes you think I do?"

Pressing his mouth in a flat line, Jason hummed. "Well, this evening, you acted like I'm your worst enemy or something. And I can't think of anything I did that was bad."

Except for watching Kyle the entire evening. Except for thinking Kyle was hot. Except for wondering whether Kyle has a boyfriend--

"I don't want to offend you or anything, Oliver."

Oliver stopped walking and took a deep breath before he began speaking. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I've been in a weird mood lately. That's all."

"Okay, that's good." Jason looked very relieved.

They continued walking. Oliver scratched his chin on his shoulder, but twisted around to observe Kyle and Stan. They were talking to each other. Stan held some papers in front of him and gestured wildly with them. He was completely focused on the papers as Kyle was trying to get him to put them away.

"Actually, I know I don't have a chance with Kyle."

Oliver was so focused on what was going on behind him, he vaguely heard Jason speak. "Oh yeah?" he replied absently.

"Well, first off, Kyle's got a crush on you."

He nearly lost his balance. "Wh-what do you mean? He has a crush? On me? What?"

Jason stared at him. "Oliver, I can't be the only one who noticed. Kyle really likes you a lot."

The words sent Oliver's heart racing. This kid, who only recently started hanging out with him and Kyle, had picked up on this vibe, on feelings that had never, ever been voiced in public. Was Kyle that obvious, the way he touched him, no matter how friendly and platonic they appeared to be? Did Jason pick up on anything coming out of... of him?

"I mean, he'd never try anything with you," Jason said after a few beats. They kept walking, Oliver feeling like he was about to fall apart. "You're straight."

He let out a laugh that he prayed didn't sound awkward. "Yeah. We're just friends. We're really good friends. He's probably my best friend. We're going to be getting an apartment together over the summer." Oliver spoke too rapidly for his own liking.

"Mm-hm. Well, hope it goes well. He should be careful, though. Actually, you should be careful too."

"I should? Wh-what do you mean?"

"Only that... I don't know. Maybe you're sending him mixed signals. He seems to be really attuned to you. Like that bagel tonight. You didn't ask for it, and yet he clearly got it for you."

"Oh." Jason's observation left Oliver slightly breathless.

"He's really good about picking up on things you want or need or... great!" Jason let out an almighty sigh. "I hope I'm not making anything weird for you two."

Oliver rapidly shook his head. "Weird? N-no... course not."

"Good. The last thing I want to do is be the cause of any problems. I just hope I didn't open this can of worms and you freak out on him or anything. You're really good together, you know?"

"Uh... we're good together." Somehow, Oliver continued to walk, finding it easier to repeat whatever Jason said, so as not to say anything that could give him away.

"You are. And it sucks that I'm clearly not his type." Jason gestured to his wispy frame. "But I hope that he finds a guy that'll make him happy."

A surge of warmth traveled through Oliver. Despite the awkward conversation, the fear that Jason had picked up on something, he couldn't help but smile, thinking of Kyle being happy. "Yeah. Happy's good."

****

"Hey, I'm hittin' the showers."

Oliver turned and smiled at Kyle. "Thanks for the announcement."

Kyle's eyes scanned the room. It was just the two of them. He shrugged and whispered, "Thought you might be interested."

"Stop that!" Oliver laughed and tossed a pillow at Kyle's head. He had learned to be annoyed, and yet, very amused at Kyle's sense of humor. Even as inappropriately timed as it was, with the door slightly open and guys walking around the house. Kyle winked and left for the house's community bathrooms, shutting the door behind him.

Shaking his head, Oliver returned to the computer screen, flicking through apartment listings. He kept his eye out for two-bedroom apartments, and there were plenty listed in their ideal rent range. Kyle had mentioned that that they could go even higher on rent, which prompted Oliver to thinking exactly where Kyle was getting all of this money.

In the middle of his search, his eyes traveled to Kyle's barely opened backpack on the floor underneath the wall-mounted bed. And just peeking out from the split of the zipper was the edge of a large manila envelope -- not unlike the ones Oliver had seen delivered to Kyle since last summer.

Curiosity overtook his sense of protecting Kyle's privacy. Oliver walked over to it, widened the zipper, and pulled out the envelope. It had "K. L." written in large letters on the front, and it was somewhat heavy, the middle feeling thicker than the rest of package. Oliver flipped it over and noticed that the taped seal was already broken. Mentally shrugging, feeling as if fate itself had urged him over here and discover what Kyle had gotten himself into, Oliver opened the envelope up and spilled the contents into his right hand.

He looked at the papers... and when he realized what he was staring at, his eyes very nearly exploded.

In his hands were scantron sheets, with the ovals already darkened, each one labeled with various classes at LU. Mostly the big lecture courses that required scantron sheets for the exams. For other courses, there were paper tests with answer keys. They were all marked for the next week's exams. And there was a wad of cash, ostensibly for Kyle.

The proof was clear; this was his "tutoring business". Selling test answers for money.

Oliver plopped down on the nearest bed -- Stan's -- still holding the packet, far too many thoughts stampeding through his head. One part of his brain screamed at him to drag Kyle out of the showers and ask him what the hell was he doing? Selling test answers could get him and a whole lot of other students kicked out of school. And it looked like he got Stan involved too, thinking back to the conversation yesterday at the coffee house. Not only was Kyle in trouble, he was trouble. Oliver didn't want any part of this. He should just call it quits with him. Just walk away.

But then another voice piped up, practically smacking him upside his head. This wasn't really that bad, compared to dealing drugs or other criminal activity. Sure, it wasn't great. It was incredibly stupid and should Kyle be caught, he'd be in a world of trouble with LU's administration. But why the hell was he doing this? Was it for the money? Or was he just naturally inclined to do crap like this and not think about the consequences? Leslie had, after all, said as much to Oliver... ''You may be the only one here who can help him fix his moral compass whenever he breaks it." She had said that he was impulsive and reckless and he got himself into bad situations.

Would he stop doing these things if Oliver asked him to quit? Would Oliver even bother asking him?

He was so absorbed by his internal conflict about Kyle's bad decisions, he jumped up high in the air when a hand smacked him -- sharply -- on his shoulder.

"Glad I was able to give you a few minutes alone so you could search through my shit. Fish."

Oliver scrambled up, still holding the papers and the money, staring right at Kyle Lewis' furious face.

****

And So It Began.... Part Sixteen (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, this part R)

suzanne78 — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 11:48:35 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: R
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver during their college years
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever
A/N: This is the "candle" chapter, as you'll see below. I really like to think that Kyle was so into candles because candles bring him back to this very moment. This chapter is very much R for mature sexual situations. I debated booting it up to M/NC-17, but I've read some other NC-17 stories, and I don't think I go that far. It's a slightly more graphic chapter than the others, but I don't do the whole anatomical descriptions or anything. I just wanted to warn y'all!

Oh, and this may or may not be AU, insofar as Kish's sexual relationship went back in college. Blame Show and stupid no showing flashbacks! GRRRR!!

Thank you everyone for all your comments and feedback! I really appreciate you supporting this story!

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve"
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen:
Lover Lay Down
Dave Matthews Band

Oliver tipped his beer bottle against Kyle's. "You're really good with Jason, y'know that?"

Taking a drink of his beer, Kyle shrugged. His face said it was no big deal, but his eyes danced at the compliment. "'S nothin'. The kid jus' came out to his family. He needs someone to talk to, and I'm here an' queer. So--"

Oliver laughed and leaned against the wall at the head of his bed. Kyle sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged, slumped over and tracing circles on the bedsheets with the bottom of his beer bottle. They were discussing the brothers Griswold -- their roommate Stan and his young brother, Jason, who was living in Llanview after having been disowned by his family for being gay. The conversation was easy, and Oliver felt his guard coming down. This was due in part to the beginning of Spring Break. Most of the house was away, either back at their homes or in Padre or Cancun or other destinations. There was a skeleton crew at the KAΔ house, volunteering to stay behind to help work on various house projects, get ahead in their classes...

Or, as was the case with Kyle and Oliver, trying to find some proper time to be alone. Although Oliver would never admit that.

Oliver peeled the label off of his bottle, the condensation from the cool beer helping him lift it up from the glass. "But you didn't have to talk to him and be his friend. And you definitely didn't have to tell Stan or Jason about you." He flicked the damp, sticky paper onto the floor.

Glancing over at Oliver, Kyle raised his eyebrows. "I don't know. I just..."

"Just what?"

Kyle rubbed his lip and took another drink. "I don't like seeing a person hurting when they're in pain. Even if they caused it themselves. Besides, Jason is our roommate's brother, and Stan's been nothing short of awesome about me being gay. I don't want to jeopardize that by doing wrong by his brother."

Kyle's truthful assessment needed no reply. Instead, Oliver nodded and held up his bottle. "Cheers." They tapped their beers together again.

"So, Oliver, what're your plans for the week, hm?"

He looked around the dirty room. Three guys living together in a tight space, only one of whom could be classified as a "neat freak", made for an untidy environment. Clothes and books and papers were strewn everywhere. Griswold's bed remained unmade, even though he was on a road trip with his brother and some of his high school friends. Not all of the mess could be blamed on Kyle, but a good portion of it could be attributed to him.

"How about we start with picking up the place around here?"

Kyle groaned. "Why would you wanna do that? I know where all my shit is."

"The only reason why you know where everything is is because everything you own is on the floor."

"But that's how I like it!"

Oliver laughed and took another drink. "Have you ever heard of a vacuum cleaner, Kyle?"

Kyle grabbed a pillow and threw it at his friend. "Shut it! I'm not that dirty."

"Yeah, you kind of are!"

They kept horsing around, when suddenly the lights in the room flickered off and the music that had been playing out in the hallway went quiet. The blackout caught both boys off guard.

"What the-?" Oliver tried to get to the door into the main house. He stumbled right into a desk... and almost tackled Kyle onto the floor.

"Whoa! Easy there, Super Trooper," Kyle said, laughing. His hand was on Oliver's chest. Despite the house's sudden plunge into darkness, he could feel Kyle's breath on his face. He was so close to him.

"Uh, I wanted to see what was going on outside."

"Yeah... okay. Go ahead." Giving his chest a pat, Kyle backed away, allowing Oliver to get to the door. He could hear Kyle feeling his way, rather noisily, around the dirty room, opening up drawers and boxes, looking for something.

Oliver opened the door to the hall. The lights were off there too. A couple of guys had lighters and were flicking them on, using their cellphones and a random flashlight to illuminate what they could. Oliver heard some of the other brothers talking, even if he couldn't see them.

"Dude, the fuck? Did Addington forget to pay the electric bill?"

"Ow! That was my toe, dickhead!"

"Shit! What about the kitchen? The fridge? All that food's gonna rot!"

"What's up, Fish?" Walker Morris tapped Oliver on the shoulder, keeping his cellphone turned on to help with visibility.

"Hey, Morris. Looks like this is a house-wide thing? This blackout?"

Morris shook his head. "Actually, it hit the entire block. I just came from outside, and all the street lights are out and there's no lights on in the other houses."

A chorus of swears piped up from the other brothers. Oliver sighed. Through the limited light in the hallway, he could see a group of the guys clustered together, passing out flashlights, candles, lighters to everyone. Oliver took a couple of candles and a lighter and headed back to the room. Flicking on the flame, he saw Kyle crouched in front of the closet, pulling out box after box.

"Hey. Got some candles." He lit one and put it on an old plate on the desk as Kyle continued his search. Oliver peeked back out; the group in the hallway had disbursed or gone downstairs to ride the blackout together. He shut the door and paused, his fingers on the deadbolt. Several thoughts flew through his head, and his breath slowed down just before he turned the bolt to the locked position. He could tell himself that he didn't know why he did it, but they had been drinking and there was no third roommate around....

"Leslie made a whole bunch of 'em for Christmas last year and gave me some. Lemme see if I c'n... yeah! Here they are." Kyle pulled out a medium-sized box and opened it, pulling out several thick white candles with a textured surface. The rich smell of flowers and fruit filled the room. He handed one to Oliver, who sniffed it. It was honeysuckle, if he wasn't mistaken.

"You have candles just stashed away? Like, for a rainy day or something?"

"In case of an emergency, or a street-wide blackout, yeah. Les makes all this crazy stuff... perfume, candles, clothes. She's, like, all into the vegetarian, hippy-dippy lifestyle crap." They lit several candles and placed them around the room on slick-covered textbooks, old dishes, anywhere they could. "She also does yoga and drinks soymilk and eats tofu." He snorted, laughing at some memory. "She's always trying to get me to find my center or some goofy shit like that."

The way Kyle stared at her handmade candles, with such contentment, made Oliver think all of his talk was simply talk and he actually liked, or was at least amused by, that "hippy-dippy" side of Leslie.

Kyle smacked him on the shoulder. "Wanna finish those beers?"

They sat back on Oliver's bed, drinking one beer after another. Talking, laughing, sighing. Listening to whatever music came through on Kyle's laptop; Oliver preferred his music collection over his. At one point, he looked around the room. The candles all lit up gave off a soft white glow. And a bare hint of heat. They released a sweet, smoldering smell -- like flowers with a slight smoky undertone. It was more than pleasant. It was relaxing. The mess on the floor was gone; all that existed in this space was him and Kyle together.

He couldn't say at what point they stopped talking and at what point they started kissing each other. The conversations and making out always blended together; in between jokes and talking and sips of beer, they kissed and touched each other whenever they could. When they were alone. When no one else in the world existed except them.

They lay together on the bed, their shirts coming off, followed by their pants. Their kisses grew more intense, more heated, and quickly moved from their mouths to other parts of their bodies. Necks, shoulders, chests -- no part was left uncovered by their lips and tongues. Oliver felt ever more grateful that Kyle was playing through his entire music library, the strains of Dave Matthews Band masking their moans.

It was when Kyle's head was, again, hovering above Oliver's hips, kissing just below his naval, that Oliver realized his boxers were sliding off.

"Kyle--"

Kyle stopped tugging the underwear down. "I can stop right here. I can--"

Oliver didn't want to stop. Not now. This was the only chance they'd get. It was completely dark, the only light coming from the candles and whatever natural moonlight filtered through the window. There was no Griswold, no electricity. Kyle's laptop was still going, and the music was just...

There wasn't going to be a better opportunity. And as frightening as taking this to the next level was, his desire to see Kyle naked overcame it.

He lifted his hips up. With bated breath, Kyle eased the boxers down Oliver's legs... past his knees... past his ankles.

With a flick of his wrist, they were off.

Kyle kneeled in front of him. He touched Oliver, running his hands over his chest and his thighs with a wonderful slowness. Instead of feeling angry or frightened, Oliver focused on those hands as Kyle slid them down the center of his torso. The tempo and weight of their breaths were the same: heavy, long, and slightly tremulous. When he managed to focus on Kyle's face, Oliver could see his eyes. Kyle was studying him.

"You're damn handsome, you know that?"

The alcohol was thick in Kyle's voice. Oliver swallowed. He licked his lips. He didn't know if it was the beer guiding his hand or the immediate urgency to disrobe Kyle himself, but he reached for the elastic band of Kyle's boxers and started tugging them off. Kyle helped him, wriggling out of his underwear. Before he knew it, he was just as naked as Oliver.

They breathed together, not quite knowing what to do, not knowing who should start. Kyle waited for him, but Kyle always waited for him. Not that Oliver really understood why. Kyle put himself and his desires out there, and Oliver grabbed it. Whatever Kyle wanted him to have, it was his, no questions asked. Now, he was nervous because he knew what was coming, what they were about to do. He couldn't talk. No words captured it appropriately. Instead, their actions were going to define this moment.

Oliver shifted and crawled out from underneath Kyle. At the same time, Kyle laid down on his bed and Oliver hovered above him. Kyle reached over to his desk and opened the drawer with one hand. He pulled out a flat square package with a round object inside and a small plastic bottle, setting both of them down on the top of the wood.

"Always be prepared," Kyle added with a raspy laugh. He angled up and started kissing Oliver again, his tongue exploring every crevasse of his mouth. And Oliver reciprocated, wrapping his arms around Kyle's shoulders and bringing him as close to him as he could. He was laying flat on top of Kyle, guiding his hand toward Kyle's crotch. The effect of the contact was instantaneous, as Kyle arched up off the bed, gasping as Oliver cupped him and massaged him.

Kyle shifted the angle of his pelvis just so... and Oliver moved his hand lower, until the tips of his finger touched a tender patch of--

"Oh! Oh-oh my... fuck!" Oliver's hand had reached its destination. He rarely swore, but right now, he couldn't control himself.

"Th-that's pretty much... the idea," Kyle replied softly. He smiled, and it was a combination of arousal, nerves, and that unique brand of Kyle Lewis brash humor that popped up when he least expected it.

"We-we've never... I've never... not e-even with a girl--"

"Do you have to ruin the moment talking about girls?"

Oliver chortled. His face fell, although he couldn't get certain images out of his head. "I'll hurt you, won't I?"

Kyle kept his eyes on him and reached down to stroke Oliver, who breathed out the second he felt his friend's hand surround him. "Oliver, you don't have to do this. If you have any doubts--"

"Y-you don't know. I've been thinking about this and h-how it would feel," Oliver replied shakily. "Promise I won't hurt you?"

"You won't," Kyle answered. He nodded at the plastic bottle on the desk. "Use that and you should be fine."

Oliver scanned the label. "This? This stuff'll work?" He sounded out of breath, his voice lower than normal.

"It's supposed to work. Start small -- with your fingers, y'know? W-work up to it." His voice caught; his breath grew heavier the longer they touched each other.

Shaking, Oliver lowered himself down to kiss Kyle again. "Work up to it," he repeated.

"I want this." Kyle's raspy voice was softer. "I want you." This elicited an excited, enthusiastic liplock between the two boys. Oliver held Kyle as he kissed him, the intensity of the contact increasing. He opened the bottle and ripped open the small square foil package and, as he did so, Oliver's heart thudded in his chest. There was no going back, not that he would at this point. He wanted to have sex every bit as much as Kyle did.

Oliver could feel him, the entire length of Kyle's slender body under his own. Warm and full of desire. And for the next twenty minutes, they moved together, the only light in the room coming from the soft burn of those candles. The only sounds filling the room coming from Kyle's laptop, and their mouths moaning, gasping, speaking each other's names as they came.

****

Oliver woke the next morning admist a haze of sex and sunshine. He tried to sit up in his bed, but something was pinning down his right side. Twisting his throbbing head over, he saw dark hair, pale skin, and parted mouth, soft snores escaping from between slightly chapped lips. Kyle. He looked peaceful, calm where he lay. Oliver was sober now, and even though every detail about last night -- the candles, the making out, the sex -- danced through his mind and he remembered it all with painful clarity, he should've felt guilty. He should've bolted from the bed and went straight for the showers to wash away what he had done last night.

But he couldn't.

He felt different. He supposed that was because he was no longer a virgin. And... holy shit! He had lost his virginity to a friend, who happened to be another guy. He laid on his side, staring at Kyle, watching as the beam of morning sun streamed through the window and dust danced in the air. It gave him time to think, to make sense of the war battling in his head. One part spoke to him as his parents. They stared at him, their eyes dark with disgust and hatred and pity. They cried because he had, in the span of almost two years, systematically destroyed every hope and expectation for him to be their perfect son. They abandoned him like he abandoned their church, their community.

And that image very nearly killed him.

But the other part inside Oliver's head began restoring him, little by little. It picked up the pieces that had fallen by the wayside. It screamed at him -- admit who he was, especially after last night. Admit how he felt about Kyle, and tell him, here and now, what he had been waiting far too long to say. Indeed, what he had taken far too long to realize himself.

It was an impossible task. He didn't know what loving someone else felt like. After all, he had never been in love before. The longer he stared at Kyle's sleeping face, the more he ran his hand along Kyle's bare shoulder and down his exposed arm, the longer he thought of Kyle's voice, his laugh and his lips and hands as they touched him, Oliver's heart swelled with emotion. He didn't want to leave this moment. He didn't want to leave Kyle.

Somewhere along the way, this part of Oliver had fallen in love. He knew it. The realization didn't come with any grand fanfare or chorus of angels singing his praises. It just... was. It was real, honest. It was every bit a part of him as his own flesh and blood.

He was in love with another guy. He was in love with Kyle Lewis.

Email to Fanfiction.net

suzanne78 — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 03:17:40 GMT

From: me
To: support@fanfiction.com
Subject: Offensive National Organization for Marriage ads
Link to a_respite's journal entry on the subject: Letter to FFN from respitechristopher. He got the brunt of NOM's ads on fanfiction.net, in the NY/NJ area. I'm sending this letter to the admins of the site to let them know where I stand on this matter.

(if you post on fanfiction.net and feel compelled to reply to this, by all means, do so! Boycott or respond. I feel this is abhorrent, and really, these ads don't have any place on a site like that.)

It has come to my attention that several ads for the National Organization for Marriage have appeared on your website, at least on a regional level. For me, as a supporter of equal rights among all U.S. citizens, allowing NOM to have a platform on which to spread its views promoting hate and inequality against same-sex relationships is wrong and abhorrent. There are a number of GLBT writers on this site, as well as writers, like myself, who read and write slash fanfiction in various fandoms; I can imagine I'm not alone in feeling like this.

I ask you to remedy this situation. Until you do, I cannot use the service/site you provide. Thank you.

And So It Began.... Part Fifteen (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, this part R)

suzanne78 — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 15:19:07 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: R
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver during their college years
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever

A/N: Rated R for language and sexual situations in the first part of this chapter. Thank you everyone for all your comments and feedback! I really appreciate you supporting this story!

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve"
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen:
Fix You
Coldplay

"Mmmrphf.... Nyuuungh.... shit! Oh - oh - oh shit..."

Oliver knew that, in the world according to Kyle Lewis, this meant he needed to suck harder. Faster. And longer.

The crude curtain was pulled around the top bunk, which was securely attached to the wall of the three person bedroom. Inside, all along the side of the bed, empty beer bottles clanked. And in the middle of the mattress and twisted bed sheets were two pairs of feet, legs, arms, and hands. Two bodies, practically naked but not quite, tangled with each other.

And one mouth -- Oliver's -- was exploring very familiar territory.

Kyle struggled to keep his swearing and screaming out Oliver's name under control. His gravelly voice was rough but quiet as Oliver went down on him. For his part, Oliver marveled at how restrained Kyle could be. Since moving into the house, whenever they got drunk and sucked each other off, they risked alerting every KAΔ as to their extra-fraternal relationship. It had been so much easier in Kyle's apartment, when both of them could swear and scream to their hearts' content whenever they came. Where they could just be KyleandOliver and no one would ever know.

Here, they were surrounded by others. Griswold turned out to be okay, and the big guy had become an odd friend to them. Of course, he only knew about Kyle, not about things Kyle did with Oliver. Consequently, because of this new friendship, it was rare for them to find a moment alone, but when they did....

"Fuck! Oliver--"

"Kyle! Seriously, keep it down!"

Kyle pressed his lips together and keened through his shut mouth. Oliver refocused, barely containing a laugh; often times, Kyle was too loud for his own good. Their own good.

Oliver worked Kyle over thoroughly, knowing exactly what he wanted, even when he was drunk. He changed speeds and the pressure from his hands, moving quicker, stroking Kyle as he licked and sucked on him. Oliver's arms were firm on Kyle's hips, holding him down as he bobbed his head in a steady rhythm, his hands moving in tandem. His tongue rubbed against Kyle, and the sounds that came out of him told Oliver there was nothing he couldn't do with his mouth that wouldn't elicit a moan or an ecstatic swear or a--

Kyle's hands surrounded Oliver's head. His body tensed. He gasped and bucked, very nearly knocking Oliver backwards. He should've been ready for that; it wasn't like he was a novice. Not anymore.

And suddenly, Kyle could no longer contain himself. He shot up -- "OHFUCKHELL!" -- and in a single instant, he filled Oliver completely. Kyle breathed out in small gasps, almost like laughter. It slowed down as he fell back onto the bed, sweaty and spent.

Oliver grabbed a shirt and spit into it. Wiping his face with the back of his arm, he tossed the shirt aside and pushed himself forward to lie besides his... well, he still wasn't sure. Kyle was definitely more than a friend, but -- Oliver shook his head. He couldn't define himself at this point, much less who they were together. They were just KyleandOliver. That was enough.

Oliver cast a glance over at the body next to him. "How're you doing?"

There was a low whistle. "Great... pretty damn great." Kyle rolled his head to the side, staring at Oliver with dazed, glassy eyes and gave him a thumbs up. "You're so good. So, so good. Yeah." He shut his eyes and ran his hand through his hair.

Oliver smiled as he watched him, his heady beer buzz slowly starting to fade away. He knew his parents' faces would be returning soon and, at some point in the night, he'd wake up in a cold panic thinking they were in there with him and Kyle, watching them--

But he couldn't make himself leave. Not yet. Not when Kyle was slowly drifting off in his afterglow. Oliver gently ran his finger down Kyle's cheek, and he smiled as the first soft snore escaped from between Kyle's lips.

****

It was late January, and it was cold. Bitterly so. Oliver was bundled up in his black coat, his ear-warmers firmly in place, his scarf pulled high so it almost covered his mouth. He just had a few more steps to go to get to the LU Library.

"Hey! Oliver!"

One foot already on the first step of the old building, he turned at the shout, not expecting to hear his first name come from such a feminine voice. Leslie Kaplan, Kyle's friend, jogged up to him.

"Hi. Do you have a minute?" she asked breathlessly.

He grinned. "Sure. I was just heading to the library to study." She nodded towards the small food court building that was nearby.

"Let's go get inside and find some place quiet to talk." Leslie bit her lip and started walking, Oliver following closely behind her. She seemed nervous to talk to him, and then he laughed and warmed slightly when he realized why he thought that. The biting-the-lip thing. Kyle always did that whenever he got nervous.

They walked the concrete sidewalk toward the little sit-down area. This was a nice, tidy student union near the library, catching students who needed that quick caffeine break before more marathon studying sessions. Inside, there were a small number of tables and a coffee booth that sold pastries and several combinations of flavored coffees. And today, it wasn't terribly crowded. It was perfect for a conversation away from prying ears.

Leslie led him to an empty table far enough from the baristas working the counter, ensuring that whatever she had to say to him would remain private. Sitting down, she licked her lips and removed her scarf.

"Uh, do you want something from the front?" Oliver asked, feeling more nervous as he watched her; she was ready for business.

"No. Sit down."

Her voice asked for no reply. Oliver complied, continuing to blandly smile, acting like he was sitting with a perfectly normal friend at a perfectly normal coffee shop.

She placed two hands, folded together, on the table in front of her.

"So... you and Kyle, huh?"

Oliver froze. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. He suddenly forgot how to speak, how to think. Leslie, however, rolled her eyes. "Oliver, I'm not stupid. That first day I met you? I saw how he looked at you. And you know what else? I saw how you looked back at him."

"I-I... I don't understand--"

Leslie frowned. "It was the exact opposite of discreet."

Oliver felt his lower lip tremble. He tore his eyes away from her, staring at the wall, another table, anything else so he couldn't look directly at Leslie's knowing face... her accusing eyes... Below the table, his foot started tapping against the floor, increasing as his stomach tied itself into knots.

"Um... n-no... no we're n-not... I'm not..."

"Look, I know, okay? Admit it, don't admit it. Whatever. It's fine with me." She stared at him for a few more seconds. Oliver didn't reply verbally, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. Slowly, inch by inch, he relaxed. But he wasn't about to confess anything to her.

"I wanted to say a couple of things to you about Kyle." She leaned on the table, focused, serious. She clearly wasn't going to be stopped from whatever it was she had to get off her chest. "First, you have to know that Kyle has a penchant for getting himself into bad situations. I don't know how he does it, but he doesn't have a whole lot of friends because of it." Leslie chuckled sadly. "I guess that's why he joined the fraternity. It came with a whole lot of insta-friends. Just like that." She snapped her fingers.

"But he has his family. He even told me they were supportive whenever he came out to him. H-he actually told me they outed him."

Leslie looked slightly rattled. She stared at him, her brow creasing. "He told you that?"

Oliver bobbed his rapidly. "Yeah. He seemed really happy when he talked about his family. He doesn't ever talk about his sister, though. I don't know what that means."

Her eyes lingered on him for a few moments; Oliver thought he saw something akin to disbelief in her gaze. But it passed as she blinked again, for a little longer this time, and continued to speak. "I can't say too much about Rebecca, only that she ran away from the family when she was younger and found her own problems." She cast him a smile, one colored with melancholy. "You should ask him about it one of these days."

"Okay. But what do you mean when you said he gets himself in bad situations?"

With a heavy sigh, Leslie shifted in her seat as she thought about her answer. "Don't know if you noticed, but Kyle's slightly impulsive."

This made Oliver snort.

"He also has a mouth on him. If he sees something he doesn't like, he speaks his mind. Which has led to a lot of fights. And when he does things without thinking about the consequences, you get Kyle Lewis, Human Punching Bag."

Oliver felt troubled by this revelation. "How do we stop him?"

She shook her head. "If you learn how to do that, tell me. I've been his friend for ages now, and he never takes my advice." She peered at him. "Although..."

"What? I want to know. Anything I can do to help, I will." He was anxious about what she was going to say; he couldn't explain it, but Oliver suddenly felt protective of Kyle. It must've been the police officer side in him coming out.

"You might have better luck with him."

He raised his eyebrow. "Really? Why would you say that?"

Her mouth flattened into a straight line. "Well, you're... how do I put it? You're his."

He gulped; that wasn't exactly how he wanted to characterize his relationship with Kyle. "I al-already told you... I'm n-not--"

"Oliver, look. You may be the only one here who can help him fix his moral compass whenever he breaks it." Leslie stood back up, readjusting the scarf around her neck. "He needs you. I kind of think you need him too."

"I--"

"Make him open up about whatever he's got going on."

"Do you mean about those envelopes?" he asked.

"Anything that doesn't sit right with you. Just try to get it out of him and talk to him." Leslie checked her watch. "Damn. I've gotta get going," she said. Shouldering her book bag, she flashed Oliver a slightly unnerving smile. "Good talk, Oliver. Oh, and one last thing."

"Yeah?"

She leaned forward. "If you hurt him, I'll hurt you. Got it?"

She didn't wait for him to reply. She simply walked out of the building. Oliver found he lacked any voice to form a coherent response. He sat numbly in his chair, staring at the wall in front of him, willing himself to get up.

****

He shot up in the dark, his heart racing, his face sweating, his stomach churning from the shots he took with Griswold and Kyle earlier that evening. He squinted through the darkness, broken only by a veil of light that filtered through the blinds just above his bed. Griswold was fast asleep, judging by the snores coming from the bed across the room. Oliver hadn't woken him up, not that that was a big surprise or anything as Griswold was a notoriously heavy sleeper.

Oliver's eyes swept up to the wall-mounted bed. Kyle's, of course. His bed was sealed off with coarse curtains that ensured absolutely no light would interrupt his sleep. Oliver could see the tips of his toes peeking out over the edge.

He couldn't calm himself down or erase the images that had passed through his head. What he had seen was... well, it was his worst nightmare come-to-life, the worst thing he could ever think of. No amount of alcohol could get rid of it. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to force it all out of his brain. It wasn't any use -- he was still sweating and trembling. He was going to be sick.

The brief wave of nausea subsided, and in its aftermath, he realized something. He needed comfort and reassurance. He needed to be with the one person who could make him feel he wasn't alone. Screw that they weren't alone in the room. Oliver was drunk; snoring, slumbering roommates didn't really matter at this moment.

He threw his covers off and stumbled toward Kyle's bed. He climbed up the ladder, put his hands around Kyle's bare ankles and shook his feet.

"Kyle?" His voice sounded muffled to his own ears. There was a snort from inside the curtained bed; it surprised Oliver and he nearly lost his balance on the rungs.

The softer snoring from inside the cubicle ceased. "Huh? Wha'?"

Oliver shook his ankles again. "Kyle? I'zme..."

The feet retracted and the curtain pulled back. A bleary-eyed Kyle Lewis poked his head out. "What the hell?"

"I can't sleep. I-I... I jus' wanna talk to you. Please?"

Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, Kyle threw the curtain aside and allowed Oliver to come in. Oliver clumsily crawled forward, moving across those familiar brown and green plaid bedsheets. Although it was dark, he knew them well, having spent so much time with Kyle over the summer in his apartment, and having spent so much time covered by these same sheets. Kyle, who was clad in boxers and a ratty fraternity shirt, settled back down. Somewhere below them, Griswold continued to snore.

"You picked a helluva time to see me." He sounded sleepy, but he still managed to speak with a gentle, teasing tone.

Oliver laid down on his side, facing Kyle. "I couldn' sleep. Sorry," he whispered, slurring his words badly.

"What's up?"

Smacking his dry mouth, Oliver reached out and touched Kyle's cheek. "You're gonna laugh." He felt Kyle's mouth turn up under his fingers.

"Maybe."

"I'z really stupid."

"I'm sure it's not."

Oliver took a deep breath, still touching Kyle's face. "I had... a bad dream."

"A bad dream, huh?"

He glared at Kyle, for all the good that would do in the dark. "Don' make fun of me." Kyle softly laughed, pausing momentarily as Griswold's snores were interrupted by a loud snort. Both boys exhaled, relieved when the snoring started back up.

"Okay, okay, no making fun of you Oliver." The smile was still in his voice. A lapse of conversation followed, and Oliver could practically hear the wheels spinning in Kyle's head. After a few seconds of quiet, Kyle leaned forward and kissed him. An apology without words. "Go ahead. Tell me about it."

There was a moment's pause, as Oliver considered how to begin. The dream involved them doing certain things to each other. Things which normally went unsaid in the daytime, when they were sober. But as he was drunk, and as he could still smell the liquor on Kyle's breath, Oliver thought he could say no wrong.

"You and I... we were on my bed, a-an' we were doin' stuff."

Kyle chuckled. "Define 'stuff'."

"You were doin' stuff to me. You were goin' down on me an' it was awesome."

Laughing, Kyle pushed forward again, his hand cupping Oliver's chin, and laid another kiss, this one longer and deeper, on his lips. "Cool." Oliver brought his hands up to Kyle's chest.

"Kyle, lemme talk." Taking another deep breath, Oliver shut his eyes, trying to get the mental image out of his head. It wasn't any use; seeing their face again, their hatred of him, their disgust mixed with the alcohol and he felt the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. His jaw trembled, and a sob boiled up from his chest. He was about to lose it.

Kyle sensed the shift. His hands went over Oliver's, moving over them in a soothing motion. It didn't quell Oliver's troubled mood, but it did urge him to speak.

"I didn't see the door open," he began, his eyes shut. "But I looked up... an' there they were. M-my parents. Mom and Dad, just starin' at me." His face contorted as hot tears burned their way down his cheeks. He was drunk, he couldn't stop them. Just like he couldn't stop the loud, sopping gasp that escaped from his throat as he cried, his voice as broken as he felt. "Y-you kept goin'... I tried to get you to stop, but you wouldn't. I-it was so... wrong. And there they were, watchin' you. I s-saw their faces, Kyle. They hated me. There was nothin' in their eyes -- they were empty. And then their faces twisted, like I was disgusting. Like they were disgusted with me! And... and I tried callin' out to them. I reached my arm out, but they walked away -- abandoned m-me."

He felt his body move. Kyle wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. "Hey. I'm here. They're not, okay? It's just you and me, Oliver... just you and me."

Oliver yielded. He curled into Kyle's body, burying his head into his shoulder. He cried freely and Kyle held him, whispering into his ear sounds and words meant to soothe. "'S okay, bud... I'm with you. No one else is here."

"They know."

"They don't, Oliver."

"They're gonna find out... they're gonna hate me."

"You'll still have me," Kyle said, kissing Oliver gently on the forehead. Slowly, the crying subsided as Kyle hugged him and rubbed his back, giving him his only respite from the pain.

****

And So It Began.... Part Fourteen (Kyle/Oliver, this part PG-13)

suzanne78 — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 18:12:19 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle Lewis and Oliver Fish
Rating: This part PG-13; R rated activities start up again in Part Fifteen
A/N: This chapter was inspired by Tuesday 10/27's show. Kyle said to Oliver: "Build what? Some secret that only a few of our friends can know about? I'm not going through that ag'in, okay?" I interpreted this to mean that some people, not a lot, knew or suspected they were together in college. As you can see, I'm trying to incorporate how that might've happened. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled smut next chapter. Thanks for such wonderful feedback! I really appreciate the comments and glad y'all are continuing to enjoy this!

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve"
Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen:
Why Do I Lie?
Luscious Jackson

Oliver steadied his bag. He threaded his way through tables and customers to the two people sitting in front of the window, sipping their coffees, laughing like old friends. Kyle looked happy talking to the girl at the table with him. It was the KΘ from the basketball game, the same girl who had taken Kyle to the Lover's Luau months ago. She was pretty. Athletic-looking, with her short blond hair and angular face. She had a friendly appearance to her.

And they were having the time of their life. Oliver wondered whether Kyle ever looked like that whenever they were together, joking around, having a laugh.

"Fish!"

Kyle had spotted him and was waving him over. Oliver grinned as he approached their table. There were two empty plates filled with crumbs, and their drinks were in front of them. Kyle was lounging in his chair, his legs wide apart, his wrist lazily draped over the plastic lid of his pumpkin spice latte with nonfat milk and no whipped cream. Oliver wanted to hit himself in the head -- he hated that he knew that.

He also noticed another large envelope sitting to the side. It had Kyle's name written on it in large letters. But as Oliver drew up to them, Kyle quietly pulled it aside and placed it on the shelf just below the large window. It didn't escape Oliver's attention, though.

"Hey. Uh, what's up Ky-, er, Lewis."

Kyle laughed and flipped his hand dismissively. "'S okay, Oliver. Relax. She's a friend."

"Oh... okay."

The blond-haired girl grinned and rolled her eyes. "Kyle and I don't keep any secrets about each other. And I still haven't bolted."

"How could you run away from this," Kyle asked, his drawl gravelly. He smirked, which made him look impossible and cocky.

"I'm Leslie, by the way. Leslie Kaplan." She held out a hand for Oliver to take, which he did, his grin awkwardly stuck to his face.

"Oliver Fish. Nice to meet you." He took a moment to assess her. Leslie seemed pleasant, but not in a fake, cloying way. Perhaps it was cool for her to know about Kyle because she didn't appear to be the type to needlessly gossip. And she did have a friendly appearance to her. Must've been her eyes, which were round and bright blue.

But if she knew about Kyle, then did she know about....

"She knows about you?"

Kyle kicked out the empty chair at the table and gestured for him to take a seat. "Slow your roll, Sherlock. Les and I went to high school together. She's the first person I ever told about me. And only me." He barely emphasized "only", but Oliver noticed it. He kept his eyes on Kyle as he sat down, but his guard was up.

"I've been his sounding board for so many years." Leslie smiled at Kyle, her posture indicating that she was tired but amused. "He's a bit of a mess, but you'd know that by now, being his friend and all."

"Oliver's my roommate, Les."

"Oh! Well then, you'd know all about him." Leslie winked at him.

"He knows computers. Oliver's the resident Computer Whisperer of the house." Kyle took a long drink of his coffee. He smacked his lips and tapped his cup on the table. "Any tech problem you have? He'll fix it. He's brilliant."

Leslie giggled. "Sounds like it. Computers totally mystify me."

"Kyle's exaggerating. I'm really a big ol' nerd." He snorted and looked up at the ceiling. "Just the resident nerd of KAΔ. That's me!"

Kyle shook his head and waggled a finger at him. "Don't start with that 'nerd' shit." He spoke to Leslie. "We couldn't function without him." His voice was soft, low, and raspy. "I know I couldn't."

Although his body was situated directly between them, Oliver's eyes shifted over to Kyle. He was staring back at him, his gaze intense. Bold.

"Sounds like you're pretty good, Oliver." He barely registered Leslie's voice, but a smile managed to appear on his face. He never broke eye contact with Kyle.

"He's the best."

Damn him! Why was Kyle doing this now? Tempting fate, being so open, so... so transparent around his friend. Even though he trusted Leslie, that didn't mean Oliver should. But any worries were tempered as Oliver kept watching Kyle, who looked like he was admiring him, like he was his. Oliver couldn't tear himself away. It felt too... wrong, being like this out in public.

But that didn't mean it didn't also feel really good. It was crazy to be wanted like this. It damn near took his breath away.

"I need to get out of here. My shift at the restaurant calls." Leslie stood up, which snapped Oliver out of his trance. Her eyes flew between both boys... gathering information about their relationship... assessing them... judging them. She smiled and walked around to Kyle, giving him a kiss on his cheek. "I'll call you later. And you better be careful about that," she said, nodding at the large envelope. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I can take care of myself, Les."

She sighed and lightly punched his shoulder. "That's what I'm afraid of." Leslie smiled at Oliver. "Good to meet you, finally. I'm sure I'll see you again." She waved her hand over her shoulder and let one more glance slip between them. Then she left, pulling her coat around her shoulders as she walked out of the coffee shop.

Oliver watched her walk away. "She seems nice."

"She's been more a sister to me than my real sister."

He scooted closer to Kyle. "She's really concerned about you."

"That's Les. Always looking out for whatever stupid shit I get myself into."

This was the perfect opening. "Does that have anything to do with what's in the envelope? Or the other envelopes that keep magically popping up?"

Kyle leaned over the table, tipped his cup all the way back and drained it to the last drop. He pulled in his lips, licking them before he replied. "It's part of my tutoring business." He beat his fingertip on the plastic lid.

"Okay. So can I see what's in it?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Why wouldn't you just do it?"

Kyle picked up his coffee cup and lightly tapped Oliver's hand. Even that was enough send tingles along his skin.

"I've got a special system worked out, Oliver. If I show you here, it might mess everything up."

This was getting ridiculous. Why the hell was Kyle being so sketchy about tutoring materials? Oliver knew he was hiding something. He could read Kyle like a textbook. After all, he had made it his own personal hobby since last year to observe everything there was about Kyle Lewis. To know his moods, his rhythms, his temper. He knew when something was up with him.

"Why don't you just tell me then?"

"Oliver, it's just tutoring materials. That's all. And I want to make sure they stay clean and organized so I keep them in an envelope."

"I don't understand why you can't just give me a small peek -- wait." Oliver's eyes grew big and he pointed an accusatory finger at Kyle, dropping his voice to a whisper so no one else would hear him. "What if that's not even paper? Kyle, are you into something bad? Criminal?" He leaned in closer and whispered, "Are you dealing drugs?"

Kyle stared at him, dumbstruck. "Drugs? You, Oliver Fish, think I'm - into - drugs?" he asked very slowly.

"I see these envelopes popping up, and you won't give me a straight answer about them. What else am I supposed to think?"

"For starters, how about that I'm not stupid enough, or criminal enough to do stupid and criminal things like dealing drugs? Wow! Now I know how you really feel."

"Why wouldn't I think you were doing something shady with the way you've been avoiding answering me?"

"Oh, I don't know." Kyle's entire body tensed with anger. "Because I know, deep down, that I'd never accuse you of doing anything like that." He snorted in derision. "You must think I'm a huge piece of shit."

"But you're acting suspicious and... and not telling me what you're working on. All I'm asking is that we go back to the room, and you can show me then."

Kyle stared back, his nostrils flaring. "Only if Griswold's not there when we get back."

****

When Kyle opened the door to their room, not only was Stan Griswold there, but he was sitting on his bed, looking distressed. The state of their third roommate was enough to push away any concerns about envelopes and Kyle's odd behavior from Oliver's mind.

Griswold greeted them with a feeble bob of his head. "Hey guys... uh, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Kyle glanced at Oliver, confused. It was unusual for Griswold to appear so troubled. Normally, he stomped around campus, fueled by beer, pizza and whatever random alcohol he could find around the dorms and the house. Studying was, at best, a chore for him; Kyle, as well as the other KAΔs, gave a little extra time to help him out so he'd at least stay academic eligible.

He didn't earn his house nickname "Bluto" for nothing.

"Sure," Kyle replied, letting Oliver inside the room before closing the door. "What's up? You look like someone died."

Griswold laughed ruefully. "Yeah. Almost."

"What do you mean?" Oliver asked.

"Okay, first, I gotta know -- do you two, like, have problems with gays or anything?"

Oliver couldn't help it; he laughed nervously, although he felt he was on the verge of fleeing from his own body. Kyle tilted his head and stared at Griswold. His eyes almost popped out of his head. "Uh, no." It came out more as a question rather than a statement.

"Good, that's kind of what I thought. You seem pretty cool with, well, gay stuff, Lewis."

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The inarticulate way Griswold had of phrasing things probably annoyed him, but other issues were pressing. Kyle ignored the insensitivity and cut to the chase. "What's going on?"

Griswold took a breath and twisted his faded, torn LU cap around on his head. He scratched where the brim had rubbed on his skin. "You two know my younger brother, right?"

"Yeah, we remember. He came up to visit you last year." Oliver sat down on Kyle's bed. He knew the kid, Jason. He had been quiet, shy around the other KAΔs. Some of the brothers had joked behind Griswold's back that he seemed... artsy. Not really masculine. Oliver knew what they meant, as Kyle and he had discussed Jason and the house's reactions to him during one of their private conversations.

"Jason and I -- we're close. I've sorta looked out for him when we were growing up and everything. He used to get teased on a lot. When I went back home, we were having our family dinner and, to make a long story really short, he came out to us."

Kyle glanced over at Oliver. There was confusion, hesitation, and understanding all battling it out in his dark eyes, but he said nothing to expose any personal emotion. He sat down on the floor in front of Griswold, and let out a low, breathy whistle. For his part, Oliver remained seated. He stared at the two guys, surprised by this new information about Griswold's brother, positively shocked that this party animal was so cool about having a gay sibling.

He feared Kyle's response. Would he tell the truth? About himself? About Oliver?

"Damn."

Griswold nodded at Kyle. "Yeah, that's an understatement to say the least. Dad went apeshit, Mom went quiet, and both of them kicked him out of the house."

"Where is he now?" Kyle asked.

"I brought him back here with me. He's got friends he can stay with in Llanview -- his best friend lives in a small place a few blocks away from campus. I'm actually gonna take him out to dinner here in a couple of hours, but I've got a problem."

Kyle's brow fell. "What's that?"

Puffing out his cheeks, Griswold let out a monstrous groan. "I'm cool with the whole gay thing. Hell, I knew he was gay before he told me. I've got a couple of gay friends at school, so I'm used to it. And I'm totally here for him because, let's face it, I'm the only family he has right now. But he's a wreck about what happened and I'm not sure if what I'm doing's enough for the little guy."

"You're doing fine." Kyle's reply was serious even though his voice remained soft. "You're there for him. That's what matters."

"That, um... you're so cool about your brother is pretty... er... c-cool too."

Kyle slowly turned around. "Profound words, Fish." Oliver frowned at his sarcasm.

"Great, but I don't really know what he's going through. You guys don't happen to know anyone who's gay too, who're close by? It'd be great if Jason had someone to talk to."

The silence that followed Griswold's question was thick. Heavy. It blanketed the room, and so stifling was the quiet that Oliver couldn't breathe. He focused everything in him on the back of Kyle's head, his eyes practically burning a hole through his dark hair. He couldn't see his friend's face, but he knew Kyle was watching Griswold, pondering what to say next... whether or not to tell Griswold.

A sinkhole was growing in the middle of the room. Oliver could see everything swirling, falling into its orbit, disappearing forever--

Kyle sighed and stood up. "Stan, I'll talk to him."

The floor shifted under Oliver's feet. The walls moved, the ceiling was collapsing. He was going to tell their other roommate. There was no stopping Kyle; the can opener was already twisting and turning around the edge, and the first couple of worms were inching out.

Griswold, however, looked surprised. "You an expert about this stuff?"

"Actually, I kind of am."

Griswold blinked. And then comprehension dawned on him, literally like a lightbulb flaring on, illuminating his characteristically gormless face with understanding. "Are you saying you're gay?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm gay too."

"Whoa!" Griswold looked over at Oliver. "Did you know?"

"Uh, y-yeah... I've known for a while now... and I'm... y'know, Kyle's cool. I'm cool, too. With it -- I mean him. Being gay, that is." He was shocked he was able to talk at all, as his tongue suddenly muddled into cotton and nothing in his body seemed to be working right.

"I'm not out to the rest of the house." Kyle added. "My family, a few friends and Oliver know. I didn't want to make it a big deal. I still don't, so it'd be good if it stayed between the three of us." He looked back over his shoulder and gave Oliver a pointed stare.

Griswold popped off the bed, his hands raised. "Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal for me. If you don't want anyone else to know, I won't say a word. But would you be cool with talking to my brother?"

"Absolutely." Oliver heard the smile in Kyle's voice. And Stan Griswold responded with his own smile, filled with gratitude.

****

And So It Began.... Part Thirteen (Kyle/Oliver, R)

suzanne78 — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 14:15:01 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, in college
Rating: PG-13 up to Part Nine; R through Parts Ten and onward.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: Still rated R, although the dialogue here's more explicit than anything the boys actually do. And language. All Kyle of course -- if this were real life, he'd be swearing his cute li'l behind off. Who here agrees?

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve"

Part Thirteen:
When Did Your Heart Go Missing
Rooney

Oliver Fish set the box down on top of his desk, which was in his new room. KAΔ was still on probationary status, and said status affected its membership. Not much, but enough that the upperclassmen could choose to have their own rooms, as the house was bigger than the current membership required. The sophomore class, however, was required to roommate up. Right now, Oliver was alone, and he was still waiting for his roommate.

He heard voices of the other guys ribbing each other, being vulgar and loud; their voices filtered through the hall. Music also blared from one of the rooms. Beastie Boys? Yep, it was definitely The Beastie Boys; he could just make out the opening beats and wails of Sabotage. The atmosphere was lively and fun, but it wasn't affecting Oliver. As he unpacked, he kept looking over his shoulders, checking the hallways behind him. He had one ear turned on the commotion, listening for his voice, waiting for him to come by.

Worse yet, he realized that he was going to continue feeling restless and unhappy until he saw Kyle Lewis. No matter how they left things the last time they saw each other.

It had been almost two weeks since he had last seen Kyle. He had left after finishing his breakfast over at Kyle's place without any conversation about Oliver trying to sneak out the apartment, or the envelope in front of Kyle's door, or what had happened the night before. He had made a few feeble attempts to call Kyle, but each time he typed out the phone number, his thumb hovered over the "Talk" button.

And every time, he flipped the phone shut without making any calls.

Oliver should have felt relieved. Instead the whole thing agitated and frustrated him, to the point that during his time at home, he was snappier than ever.

"Oliver, are you sure everything's all right at school?" his mom had asked one evening while she was getting dinner on the table.

"Yeah, Mom," he had replied listlessly. "I'm sure."

"You know, maybe you should consider moving back here. Go to school closer to us."

"No. I'm doing fine." He was rubbing his forehead; as she kept bringing up school, it made him think about Kyle. And thinking about Kyle around his parents was never a good thing.

But thinking about leaving school -- and leaving Kyle -- left a pit in his stomach.

"P-plus," he had added, "I've got friends there. I like having a life up there."

"But you don't seem all that happy, sweetie--"

"Mom." His tone was pointed. "I'm fine. And I'll be fine once I move into the frat house." She had smiled back at him and returned to cooking, slightly hurt at Oliver's attitude.

Oliver returned to the present and pulled out his computer from the box. He started connecting the cords to the various jacks behind his desk. His work was automatic, routine because he had done this so many times before. This was a good thing, as his mind once again drifted toward Kyle, wondering where he was... if he was even back on campus... if he was going to come by and see him... and how he'd react when he did see him....

He thought he heard something, like heavy footsteps in his room. He chalked it up to the sound system that was blaring deep bass--

"FISH! Yo, Fish-breath!" Someone hit the top of his desk with two thick fists. Oliver jumped, knocking his head on the wood.

"Ow!" He pushed himself back out and looked up. Standing above him was Wade Addington, looking all burly and sullen. "Uh, h-hey. What's going on?"

"Come 'ere," Addington said, motioning with his finger. Oliver stood up and brushed off his clothes. "Just got a call from Krabowsky's parents. He's not coming back this semester."

This was... odd, to say the least. The roommate that he had been paired with for the fall semester, Steve Krabowsky, was an okay guy. Quiet, not too demanding. Oliver thought they'd get along all right because they both tried to prioritize their studying. Plus, he wasn't Kyle Lewis, and therefore Steve wouldn't make for any complicated roommate situations. He didn't think that Krabowsky would've flunked out or burned out or anything. He hoped that nothing had happened to the guy.

"Why? Did something happen?" Oliver asked.

"He's transferring to Penn. Something about them having a better International Areas and Business Program than LU. Whatever... he's an idiot. But even though he's not coming back, you can't have a room by yourself; you don't have enough points."

Oliver shrugged. For a brief moment, he was happy; the idea of having a room all to himself was very appealing. That was then followed by an image of Kyle doing things to him with his mouth that Oliver was fairly sure would get them both kicked out of KAΔ... more of which could happen in the future if he didn't have a roommate.

Not that he was going to encourage that. Not that he expected Kyle to do anything like that to him, not after how he bolted from his apartment... although he certainly wasn't going to object to another blow job in the future. Hell, it wouldn't hurt for him to try it on Kyle--

He adjusted himself, hoping Addington wouldn't notice.

"Hey, I don't mind being in here alone. I can work extra around the house and earn points--"

"Uh-uh, Flounder," Addington said perfunctorily; Oliver frowned. He hated nicknames like that. They were too unoriginal and he was pretty sure he had been called every species of fish under the sun.

"That ain't gonna work. You're bunkin' with Lewis and Griswold."

Oliver gaped disbelievingly at Addington. His stomach swooped, but he wasn't sure if it was out of pleasure that he'd be rooming with Kyle -- or fear that they would be thrown into some awkward situation. And then he remembered that he hadn't spoken to Kyle in several days, not since Kyle had sucked him off.

"What's up your ass, Fish?" Addington's voice brought his attention back. "You and Lewis are tight. I mean, the entire house was shocked when you didn't room with him. This is just the universe's way of righting itself, so there shouldn't be a problem."

"Uh... n-nothing's wrong. I... I just don't know if Lewis and Griswold would want to room with me. They may have a problem--"

"There's no problem."

Both Oliver and Addington turned at the voice coming from just outside the room. Kyle Lewis leaned against the doorframe, his mouth smirking, his eyes dark, sharp like little knives.

"You're comin' with me, Fish. Griswold and I have three beds in our room, 'kay? So, we've got enough space that we won't be in each other's hair. I'll help you pack everything up."

Staring at Kyle's unmoving face for several more moments, Oliver took a deep breath. "Okay then. I guess everything's been decided."

****

There were so many chapter meetings and back-to-school activities, formal house dinners, and studying during that first week, that Kyle and Oliver never got a chance to talk by themselves. Plus, their third roommate, Stan Griswold, was always around, always shouting and bellowing about something, always in their face about some party or a new opportunity to drink themselves blind. And despite the fact that Griswold was a reliably heavy sleeper and a thunderously loud snorer, there wasn't any opportunity for them to be alone. To discuss the thing that hung in the air between them, every time they looked at each other...

Until the Saturday their second week back.

Griswold had gone back home, ostensibly to do laundry and get a decent meal from his mom. Oliver shut the door behind him, locked it and approached Kyle. He was on his computer, his textbook in his lap, his head bopping and swaying as he listened to music.

"Hey, uh, Kyle." Oliver tapped his finger on his shoulder. "Can we talk?" Taking his earbuds out, Kyle turned around very slowly. He narrowed his eyes.

"What? What could we possibly need to talk about?" There was that edge in his tone, so like a blade that it could've sliced through Oliver. He needed to do something, say something so Kyle wouldn't stare at him like that. It hurt, seeing such raw anger.

"I-I want to talk with you. And... I want to apologize to you."

This had the effect of disarming Kyle immediately. He twisted out of his chair, standing up to face Oliver head on. "You want to apologize?" He sounded surprised.

Oliver nodded. "I should've called you after I left. We should've talked about what happened that night."

As instantly as Oliver had disarmed him, Kyle's expression hardened. "I'm shocked."

"What's so shocking?"

"That you would even deign discussing such a sensitive thing with me." The cynicism was ripe in his voice. "But then again, no one wrote the book, Blow Job Etiquette 101."

"Kyle--"

He shrugged and roughly rubbed his nose. "Maybe they should have. You've already got a great start. How about this? 'Rule 1: If this is your first time to suck dick or to have your dick sucked, make sure to call the person the day after. To reassure them that you're not blowing them the fuck off!'"

"Do you have to be so... so..."

"So what, Fish?"

This was frustrating. He was trying to apologize, but Kyle was too angry or too hurt to hear him. "I'm trying to make this right, Kyle. I know I messed up--"

"Ag'in!"

"Yes, yes... again. I want to talk now, though. Or get past it, or--"

"Or what? Do you want to talk it out so the next time you get wasted, I'll be right there, mouth and hands all ready and waiting for you?" Kyle stepped forward, now standing inches away from him. "Or do you want something else?"

Oliver felt his jaw twitch, his chin tremble. Suddenly, he was the one feeling anger. Kyle had all these expectations. He wanted Oliver to be on the same page as him. What that page was, Oliver wasn't ready to say. He couldn't confront it now. But it was the same impasse as before -- Kyle didn't know what he went through. Kyle had no idea that he thought about him and what they did together every single day. That the only way to get through the near-paralyzing guilt that Oliver felt every time they touched and kissed and explored each other was to hide from it and pretend it didn't exist. It felt doubly worse when he thought about Kyle, because he couldn't escape from the fact that he wanted him more and more and more....

"Shit, Oliver. Have you ever been attracted to girls?"

"That's none of your business," Oliver snapped back.

"Yeah. It probably wasn't my business until I had my face plastered to your crotch, with you pleading in my ear, 'Don't stop, Kyle! More, Kyle... Please!'"

Oliver flung his arms out and he bent forward as he yelled back. "I haven't, okay? Happy? Satisfied? I haven't ever been attracted to girls, and you're just making it worse!" He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but he was pissed and Kyle was pushing him over the edge.

"What do you mean I'm making it worse?"

Oliver grunted and pivoted around. He ran his hands over his head. "I just meant... that I didn't realize I'd never been attracted to girls until I met you."

"What're you saying?" Kyle stepped closer to him. His voice was no longer so sharp. "That you're attracted to me?"

"I'm saying," Oliver replied quietly now, hoping that he could soften the tension even more, "that I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but it's not anything that I've ever felt before."

"And you've never felt this way about girls? Ever?"

Oliver met Kyle's eyes, so dark still, but glimmering with something. Hope? Expectation? Oliver didn't want to say.

"No. Never. And I'm not sure if I can feel like this about a girl."

That confession seemed to hit Kyle, registering as the last vestiges of anger fell away, leaving only anticipation. The proverbial nail had been hit squarely on its head. Thanks to Kyle, Oliver had spoken out loud what he had been feeling but couldn't say. And saying it made Oliver's chest hurt, his stomach fall to his feet. All he wanted to do was hide under a rock and never come out. Maybe a closet would be more appropriate? He didn't know. He was going to hell anyway, so why not shut himself off from the rest of the world and not drag anyone else into his misery?

"Oliver?"

He bristled slightly at the sound of Kyle's voice, not knowing what was going to come out of his mouth. "Yeah?" he asked in a soft mumble.

Kyle hesitated, but he pressed closer to him. Biting his lip, pondering what to do next, he raised his arm up. It was a slightly jerky motion, as if he was second guessing himself, but finally, his hand lightly cupped Oliver's cheek.

He shut his eyes and leaned into it, as he always did whenever Kyle touched his face. He knew he loved it. His body needed to feel it, and it always surprised him that Kyle could rein in whatever he was feeling at any given point and be like this. Tender. Comforting. Even when Oliver was the source of his anger.

"I've told you before. I like you, Oliver. More than just friends. It's just frustrating that you're holding back."

He had no idea how to respond to this. Instead of using words, Oliver nodded. "I get it. I know. I'll try to be better."

A smile peeked out on Kyle's face, without the cynicism of earlier. "Yeah." Looking at the locked door briefly, he leaned forward and gently kissed the corner of Oliver's mouth. Walking away, he unlocked and opened their room to the rest of the house. "Okay then. We've got some studying to do, Fish."

Just like that, things seemed to be back to normal... for now.

****

And So It Began.... Part Twelve (Kyle/Oliver, R)

suzanne78 — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:45:23 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: R
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver, college years
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: Thank you so much. Here, I'm amping up their sexual relationship -- not too much, but, well, you'll see -- before they move into the frat house. Which explains this chapter. The smut-gates have been opened, apparently. I do hope you enjoy.
Rated R for explicit sexual situations (more explicit than the previous chapter), swearing, and Kyle's naughty mouth.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven

Part Twelve:
Live Bed Show
Pulp

It was the last week of summer classes. The mood of the student body was conflicted; everyone seemed to be in a state of subdued chaos, hunched over books and papers, sneaking in coffee, pastries, and fruit to the library and lectures, whispering to themselves with highlighters and pens sticking out of their mouths and from behind their ears. Voices were low, chatting and giggling. The sharp clicks of rapid typing over laptop keyboards punctuated the frazzled quiet.

Kyle and Oliver staked out a table in LU's library. Kyle sat on one side, chewing on his pen cap, moving his lips silently as he went through his notes. He was surrounded by his Comparative Anatomy and Psychology II textbooks. Oliver was typing away on his keyboard on his Computer Programming Level II final project. Every once in a while he was interrupted by a small kick to his shins from Kyle--

"Dude, relax."

"I'm trying to type."

Kyle smirked. "Hasn't that keyboard suffered enough?" Oliver stared at his friend.

"What're you talking about?"

"You're stabbing away at it like it just killed your dog. We're in a library, Fish. Type quieter."

"For your information, 'quieter' isn't even a word, Kyle."

It was a slip, a tiny one, but Kyle heard Oliver use his first name, which was something that Oliver never did. Not out in public, not with other people around. In public, they were "Fish" and "Lewis", fraternity brothers, study buddies who poked and prodded and teased each other with typical boy-man bravado. The others in their house joked about their apparent "bromance" with each other, and as far as they knew, that's all it was. A friendship forged from the brotherhood of fraternity.

However, when the sun went down and there was no one else, they were simply Kyle and Oliver. That studio apartment, 105-B on Maple Drive, was not only Kyle's but Oliver's place as well. He slept next to Kyle, often times drunk, fewer times sober. Their poking and prodding and teasing took on a far different meaning when they were together and alone. Free from school, the world and parents who would never approve.

Upon hearing his first name come out of Oliver's mouth, Kyle paused. He regarded Oliver with an expression that could only be described as slightly bewildered but happy. Oliver watched him, his own gaze not wavering. He remained calm even though he nearly betrayed that boundary he had imposed on himself. Kyle knew, without ever being told, what that boundary meant, and he didn't cross that line himself, not after what happened in his dorm room so many months ago.

It was Kyle who broke the silence with a crooked grin. "Their ain't no laws against makin' up words. So, what're you gonna do about it, Future Officer Fish? Arrest me?"

Oliver smiled, as he did any time Kyle teased him about becoming a cop. Feeling the tension ease, Oliver returned to studying, holding his book up to hide his face. But his smile widened whenever he felt Kyle's foot gently graze his shin.

****

There were only a few days left before Kyle had to move out of 105-B. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in the apartment labeled with either Oliver Fish's slanted, precise handwriting or Kyle's physician-ready chicken scrawl. The studio was halfway packed up, some of the furniture and things were going into storage before the start of next semester. Not that either boy noticed the boxes, or the overall chaos.

Both were stripped to their boxers, both sweaty from exertion. They kissed each other, their mouths wide, pressing into the other's, desperate and consuming. Their hands were hard at work, playing with and stroking each other. Oliver had taken a couple of shots of whiskey, followed by some lager left over in Kyle's fridge. Kyle had been reluctant at first, because Oliver and he had been drinking.

Any objections had been stifled as soon as Oliver's lips touched his.

By the time the backs of Kyle's knees hit the edge of the mattress, shirts were already off and on the floor, as were their pants. Oliver crawled forward, still kissing Kyle, his body on top of his. He wasn't sloppy drunk, but Oliver had consumed enough alcohol to leave behind his parents, his guilt, and to awaken something inside of him.

Desire. Want. And... something else.

"Oh... God. Fuck! P-please, don't stop."

Wrapping his left arm around his slender body, hearing Kyle's voice, grainy and hoarse from arousal, Oliver lost himself completely in the experience. His head fell into the crook of Kyle's neck and shoulder kissing... licking... sucking. He could hear Kyle's moans, the deep inhalations of his breath. He thrust his hips in the air, moving in tandem with Oliver's hand, which was working underneath Kyle's boxers. Up and down... up and down. Kyle unraveled underneath him.

Oliver wasn't used to being the one in charge but he was at this moment. Drunk or not, damn if he wasn't enjoying in his new-found authority. Moreso than that, what Oliver liked most was Kyle, watching him as he touched him. Kyle was speechless after a few strokes, which was a strange experience. It was both strange and amazing that he was here, doing this to Kyle Lewis -- who could hardly go five minutes without some sarcastic comment or derisive gesture, who knew who he was and what he wanted. He could make Kyle writhe under his ministrations. He, Oliver Fish, was the one person, the one guy in all of Llanview, who could get to Lewis like that.

Oliver would've never allowed himself to let go like this... but that damn alcohol! And the more he was with Kyle, the more he wanted to push things. The ballsier he got.

Speaking of ballsy... Oliver wanted to laugh; Kyle was rubbing off on him.

He felt nails digging into his arms. Oliver held Kyle tighter to his body, stroking him, the tempo steady but increasing. As Kyle arched into his hand, Oliver sped up, his fist tightening just a little bit more. He knew Kyle was close; he could feel him pulsing... any minute now...

He shifted his position without removing his busy hand, and Oliver used his free palm to cup Kyle, massaging him in tandem--

"Oh shit-Ohshit-OHSHIT... OLIVER!!" Kyle almost shot up off the bed, panting, sweating, whimpering. He froze in mid-gape. His mouth and eyes were all wide open, all unmoving.

Oliver's hand remained on his crotch; he smiled at his achievement, but he wondered how he was going to clean up. He slowly retracted himself as Kyle fell back in his bed.

"Damn... damn-damn-damn." Struggling to regain his composure, Kyle sat up, groggy and panting. "Thanks."

Oliver found a towel and wiped off his fingers. Smiling shakily, feeling slightly nervous and pretty drunk, he handed it over. "Need this?" he asked, his words slurring. Kyle took it to attend to himself.

"You were really, really... that was pretty outstanding."

Grinning, Oliver sat back, letting his head lazily fall to his sides. "Was fun. Doin' that to you. And, um... watchin' you."

Kyle threw the towel to the side and straddled Oliver's lap. Oliver brought his hands up to Kyle's sides, flexing them, still feeling Kyle all over his palms. Through half-lidded eyes, Oliver forced his head to steady and looked straight at his friend. Kyle had that expression on his face, one that meant he was up to something.

"It's your turn, Future Officer Fish."

"My turn?" He laughed a little; of course, Kyle would pick right now to be so inscrutable.

His eyes, still hazy from the liquor and the romp, widened as Kyle's hand disappeared around him. Kyle found his boxers; he slipped his hand beneath them, touching him slowly, agonizingly.

Oliver's eyes fluttered shut. "Wh-what're you do--"

He felt Kyle's lips against his, moving down his chin, his neck. "Where's the fun in telling you that?" He continued stroking Oliver.

"Wh-wha- Mmm... feels good," Oliver muttered.

"What I'm gonna do to you? That's a surprise," Kyle whispered, laughing as he spoke. "But you're gonna like it. A lot." Oliver opened his eyes and watched as Kyle moved down his chest, trailing kisses--

And Kyle started sliding off Oliver's boxers. He jolted up, scared... and aroused. He was about to be totally naked with Kyle. Although he perked up at the thought, this was something he hadn't prepared for. This was beyond everything else that they had done. If clothes were still on, even if he just wore underwear, he could somehow convince himself that these were just random hookups, making out here and there, with a little exploring thrown into the mix. That was how he convinced himself things were cool between them.

But full-on naked? With Kyle? That was intimate, special. It was also a place he wasn't ready to go.

Although Kyle's head, presently hovering over his naval and slowly moving toward his crotch, made him forget all of his inhibitions.

"You cool with this?"

"I-I've just... we haven't really done stuff totally, uh, naked."

"Well, I can't exactly suck you off if you have your boxers on."

Hearing that, Oliver practically burst. He clutched at Kyle's shoulder, as the only thing that filled his brain, pushing everything else out, was the vision of Kyle's head, instead of his hand, bobbing up and down--

A whimper escaped him.

"So, what do you say? Can I, Oliver?" Kyle's hands were on his boxers, ready to strip him completely bare.

A split second thought flashed inside his head. In that moment, his want, his need to keep this going, to know what Kyle was about to do to him, and how that would feel, trampled over any sense of propriety he might have had left.

"P-pull 'em down to my knees. Leave 'em on, though."

That was all Kyle needed to hear. He tugged Oliver's underwear down. One more glance back up, and there was no mistaking it; Oliver caught Kyle's cheeky smile. He winked and he lowered his head. He kissed further down and finally took Oliver completely inside his mouth.

It was better than he could have ever imagined.

****

It was the morning after. He woke up, groggy, slightly nauseous, and unfocused from the previous night. Kyle was next to him, lying on his stomach, snoring loudly. Slowly climbing out of bed so as not to disturb him, Oliver dressed himself, wondering whether to stay or split; he was no stranger to either option, and if he did choose to leave, he was certain Kyle would understand. After all, he had understood the other times Oliver left before he got up.

He was looking for his other shoe when he saw a manila envelope lying on the patch of linoleum in front of the door. It must have fallen through the mail slot this morning -- the envelope was big, and fairly bulky. On closer inspection, he saw no stamps or address on it; instead, there was only "KYLE LEWIS" written across the front, along with the apartment number. And it was sealed, taped around its edges. Oliver was turning it back and forth in his hands, when he felt a hand slap his shoulder.

"That for me? Buddy?"

There was no mistaking the edge to Kyle's voice. Oliver turned to see his friend, clad in his boxers leaning forward. With his other hand, he swiped the envelope from Oliver and tossed it onto the coffee table. He sniffed a shirt from the floor, shrugged, and pulled it on.

"So, you want to tell me what's in that envelope?" Oliver managed to keep himself sounding normal.

Kyle walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Why should I tell you?" He popped a couple of aspirin into his mouth and chased it with a big gulp of orange juice. "Far be it from me to keep you from leaving, which you were clearly were. In a hurry too." His tone dripped with irritation, bordering on anger.

Oliver exhaled sharply, feeling a headache coming on as well as feeling slightly annoyed at Kyle's capricious attitude. Why the hell he was choosing to be pissed off if Oliver left early today -- when he had been okay when Oliver left in the past -- was beyond him.

"I didn't want to wake you."

His eyes narrowing into slits, Kyle tossed food on the counter. "I'm making breakfast. You can stay or you can go. But if you stay, I want you to want to stay. Don't stay because you feel guilty that I caught you leaving."

Oliver shut his eyes. "I want to stay..." Unfortunately, his voice sounded weak.

He heard a sigh. "Last night wasn't good for you, then?"

Oliver's eyes flew open and he walked briskly into the kitchen. "Last night was... it was good. Great. But it was also... c-can I have an aspirin too?" He rubbed his forehead as Kyle handed him two, which he promptly popped into his mouth, followed by a swig of juice. Gathering his thoughts, Oliver watched Kyle's face, which registered a mix of emotions.

"What're we doing? Why am I over here, at night, and not out with some girl?"

Kyle sneered and turned on his stove. The crackle of grease and the smell of bacon filled the apartment; despite his headache, Oliver felt his stomach grumble.

"Because, Oliver Fish, you like doing things with me. You like dudes." Kyle wasn't looking at him. Instead, he flipped bacon over in the pan. "And I happen to be a dude, so... Ta da!" Kyle flung his hands out, still holding the bacon-greased spatula in his right hand. "Does that answer your question? Or do you need a Power Point--"

"Kyle, come on."

"Or charts? Or maybe pictures, huh? Something more visual."

"Kyle--"

"I do some mean stick figures."

"Kyle." Oliver replied sternly. He grasped Kyle's wrist, applying just enough pressure to get him to stop ranting. Kyle shook his head and jerked his arm away.

"I'm that disgusting to you? What we're doing's so disgusting, you're wondering why you can't be attracted to girls?" He picked up the last couple pieces of bacon and put them on a paper towel to drain. "Well, that just makes me feel all swell and stuff."

"Kyle."

He looked at Oliver, his nostrils flaring slightly. Taking an egg in his hand, he cracked it on the edge of the pan and stared at him. "How do you like your eggs?"

The question made Oliver pause. Blinking, he stammered, "Uh... sunny side up, I guess."

With one hand, Kyle opened the shell, and a perfectly formed egg yolk started sizzling in the pan. Then he pursed his lips together, took the greasy spatula, and crushed the egg yolk, scrambling it thoroughly, his expression saying he could give a fuck what Oliver liked.

"So, scrambled then?"

Oliver plopped back down in the chair, his hands rubbing his face and scratching his head. He didn't want to start a fight, but a fight was something he couldn't avoid. "I told you about my parents, didn't I? Their church, the town I grew up in?"

He saw the muscles in Kyle's jaw shift, flexing as Oliver spoke. But he didn't reply.

"Look, I... can't be... l-like you." He looked away. "I've told you before. I just can't be--"

"Except when you're drunk," Kyle shot back. "Except when you want to kiss me. Except when I do things to you." He threw the last pieces of bacon onto the plates. Two forks clanked down.

"If my parents found out what I've been doing, they'd be gone. Out of my life. Just like that!" Oliver snapped his fingers. "And I love them. They watched me grow up, they've been there for me every step of the way. I can't lose them... I-I don't know what's going on with me, but if I lost them, I wouldn't have anything!" He didn't mean to let Kyle witness this outburst, but he was hung over. And the way Kyle needled him compounded his guilt, making him feel far worse. Although he now felt equal parts guilt toward his parents and Kyle.

When he looked back up, Kyle was hovering in front of him, two plates in front of him. His face was stiff, his lips pressed tightly together, stifling what he wanted to say. Oliver let his hand drag down his face. At the same time, he noticed Kyle's face soften.

Sighing, shaking his head, Kyle placed a plate in front of Oliver; the eggs were a perfect sunny side up. He sat down in other empty chair, the scrambled eggs from earlier on his own plate.

"Thanks," Oliver muttered.

"Don't mention it... Fish."

****

And So It Began.... Part Eleven (Kyle/Oliver, R)

suzanne78 — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:00:28 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: R
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: To say I'm nervous about this chapter is an understatement. I don't write smut; I love reading it, but it makes me very uncomfortable to write about body parts graphically unless it's in dialogue. Also, I'm not gay nor am I a man, but I'm trying to write something that is sexy and hot but also feels somewhat realistic with the feelings and actions and behavior of the characters. I hope I've achieved those goals here, because this is really the only way I feel comfortable writing sexual intimacy, especially between two men.

Rated R for not-too-graphic sexual situations, including frottage and Kyle's hand getting a little familiar with Little Ollie. Oh, and language.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten

Part Eleven:
Don't Slow Down
Matt & Kim

Kyle and Oliver had just found a table in the LU cafeteria. As per his routine, Oliver dutifully removed the little cup of Thousand Island dressing from his tray first, so as to avoid spillage. Then his perfectly combined salad, his turkey sandwich with a fairly healthy dollop of light mayonnaise and a pickle spear, his Diet Coke, and, last but not least, his small plate filled with the cafeteria's rather decent chocolate cake. Kyle observed him, slowly rubbing his lip with his finger thoughtfully.

Oliver rolled his eyes, but grinned at the same time. "What?"

"I'm just wondering what it would take to completely throw you off this," Kyle swirled his finger at the spread, "little ritual you do every. Single. Day."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Why would you try to do that?"

"Because I bet if I switched your Thousand Island dressing for, oh let's say Italian, it would drive you crazy." Kyle smirked, biting his bottom lip. He added in his raspy drawl, "And I kinda like driving you crazy."

Oliver pursed his lips together; it was risky, letting Kyle talk to him like this, practically giving him carte blanche to flirt in public. But it was nice. Fun. He let Kyle say whatever he wanted, without stepping over The Line. Kyle knew what The Line was, without being told. And if The Line was crossed, then those things they did at night together would stop. Most likely... probably.

Oliver wasn't ready to be so absolute about any possible outcome.

"Dude! Lewis, you completely, totally rule!"

Both of them turned around at the booming yell. Trevor Abbott barreled up to them, holding his fist out to Kyle, who tapped it back with his. Kyle pointed at the exuberant sophomore.

"You got it, then?"

"Three-point-oh-nine, just like you promised. The car's still mine, and that trip to Padre's still on." He raised his arms triumphantly. "The GPA gods have shined down upon me! I shall crush their puny heads in my hands!"

Oliver laughed, if not a touch incredulously, at the showboating sophomore. Abbott was a member of Phi Delta Tau and a massive, burly blond guy to boot. Normally, he was an ass to guys if they were from different houses. Thus, this overly enthusiastic public display of platonic affection aimed toward Kyle was highly suspicious.

At least he wasn't jealous. Not really, if truth be told. Similar occurrences had been happening over the last few days, ever since grades were sent out. Abbott was the sixth, or seventh, person to approach Kyle this week. Oliver wasn't sure why the students were doing this to Kyle, but he didn't ask about it. Nor did Kyle offer any explanations.

But he wasn't jealous. He shouldn't be jealous at all. He was Kyle's friend... no matter what happened at night. When they were alone at Kyle's apartment.

Dammit.

"Easy there, Thor," Kyle replied, interrupting Oliver's thoughts. "That's still a B-minus. I can get you to a three-point-five. Hell, I'll bet I can boot you up to a three-point-eight-nine."

Abbott scoffed. "Whatever. The check's in the mail, bud!" With a couple more finger guns aimed directly at Kyle, Abbott bounded over to his table. Oliver stared at the retreating figure. He decided he needed some answers.

"What in the world was that about?"

Kyle shrugged, but a mischievous spark flashed in his eyes. "I gave him some help in a few classes."

"What? Like tutoring?"

Kyle snorted in mid-sip of his Coke. "Yeah. Like tutoring."

"So all the other guys and girls who kept yelling out random numbers at you -- you tutored them too?"

"Yeah. I tutored them." Kyle wiped his mouth and leaned forward, his expression quite conspiratorial. "Look, that guy -- Abbott -- he had a deal with his dad: get a 3.0 or better and he keeps his Porsche and that trip to Padre with the rest of his house."

Oliver scratched his chin. "And 'the check's in the mail'?"

"You don't think I'm stupid, do you? I don't give them my time for free. I tutor them and they pay me. He owes me for the help I gave."

"Hm. Guess you answered all my questions."

Kyle stared at Oliver, his eyes narrowed. "You don't believe me."

"Well, he is Trevor Abbott, and he's got a reputation for being a jerk. I'm just surprised he wasn't all--"

"All what?"

Oliver sighed and searched for the right words.

"You mean all asshole and Captain Caveman and that he was more..." Kyle dropped his voice low as he mocked Abbott's WWF-like tone, '''Lewis rocks my world -- WHOO!'"

Oliver laughed. "Yeah. That's what I mean."

Kyle cleared his throat, sat back in his chair, and waved his hand. "Forget Abbott. Tutoring's done until his parents get fed up with his bad grades and he asks for my help again so they don't take his Porsche or whatever. It does means one thing good, though."

"Oh yeah," Oliver said, wiping his mouth and leaning forward onto the table. "What's that?"

Kyle grinned cheekily. "Dinner's on me tonight."

****

His foot knocked over a couple of beer bottles next to the couch. He probably also kicked the now-empty pizza box that lay beneath the coffee table. But the only thing Oliver noticed was Kyle, shirtless and straddling him, kissing him hard and passionately. His hands clenched the arm of the sofa directly above Oliver's head, gripping it for dear life.

Oliver himself was sans shirt, and he took the opportunity to touch Kyle's chest, running his hand over ridges of muscle, feeling and tasting his skin. He knew Kyle hated him drinking before they fooled around. But it was better for him. Alcohol helped blur the faces of his parents from his mind. The more he drank, the less he saw them.

He also found out he was more willing to go further with Kyle. The guilt would come later -- that he was sure of. But right now, filled with beer and pizza, feeling the weight of Kyle above him and his tight, solid body surrounding his, Oliver wanted more.

They were in a clinch, Kyle's hands pressed against his face, their tongues tangled together. Oliver shifted his hips, lifting them up slightly and he felt them rub against Kyle's inner thigh, so close to his--

His mouth still on Oliver's, Kyle froze in mid-kiss. "Oliver..." His voice was low, husky, his breath seemed to be trapped on each syllable.

He said nothing. Instead, he rolled his hips again. It was like instinct, moving this way against Kyle's body. He knew Kyle could feel him through his shorts, his boxers; each time he bucked his hips into Kyle's, both of them gasped and moaned at the contact.

Kyle kept his gaze strong on Oliver's face and brought his leg over so he laid at full length next to Oliver's side on the couch. His right arm curved around Oliver's head... and, slowly, shakily, Kyle's left hand traveled down his body. Oliver stopped breathing for a moment; Kyle's fingers unbuckled his shorts. The zipper to his fly fell. And the folds of the thick khaki fabric opened.

"Do you trust me?"

"Kyle--"

"I won't do it unless you want me to." His hand rested on the elastic band of his boxers. Oliver licked his lips; briefly, he wondered if he had had the foresight to put on underwear that was subdued in tone and color, not one of his stupid cartoon-y ones that he got from his mom. His hand lay flat on Kyle's chest, his fingers trembled and flexed as he let the realization of what they were about to do sink in.

"I've wanted to try it. I've never done it to another guy before." Kyle lowered his head and kissed him. "I wanted to see how you'd react."

What Kyle was proposing was something he had only ever done to himself, and although he started out touching himself while thinking about the pretty girls in his classes, usually what pulled him over that edge was imagining the hotter guys on campus. And, since starting at LU, his favorite inspiration was Kyle Lewis. Consequently, he very rarely ever did it. He thought something was wrong with the way he was wired. But now, plied with beer and the intoxicating rush of having a shirtless Kyle splayed over his body, Oliver found his courage. Although his throat felt like it was closed off, Oliver rasped in a hoarse whisper--

"Do it."

He thanked the alcohol; somehow that beer had given him just the right push to go over that edge.

His heart raced as the boxers separated from his body and a hand that wasn't his own eased past the loose cotton fabric. Kyle slid his hand down lower, but his eyes remained on Oliver's face, watching him react, his lips curving up subtly into a very small smile. There was nothing teasing or vulgar about that smile; it was filled with wonder, curiosity. It was filled with affection.

Kyle moved his hand down lower... and lower still. The tips of his fingers brushed against sensitive flesh. Oliver jolted, but Kyle's body, lying flush with his own, kept him pinned to the couch. Physically, the touching was too soft to be defined as a collision, but Oliver's insides burst as if organs and muscles hit each other at full speed. His mind went blank. The only things that existed were him, Kyle, and Kyle's hand, now circling him, nervously trying to find a good rhythm. His brain registered a single thought: that hand did not belong to him. It was scary. Frightening. And exciting.

God, it was exciting! And the more Kyle touched him, the more the thrill overtook the fear.

He moaned, and Kyle trembled. All rational thought flew from his mind as Kyle's shaking fingers touched and teased him. It was unsteady at first, and it was all so new to Oliver, and he knew it was new to Kyle, but because it was Kyle touching him, he almost lost it. Almost.

Kyle adjusted and found the right speed, the right pressure. Oliver keened; although he had never been in this position with another guy, his hips arched into the air, wanting more, needing more. Their foreheads touched, and Kyle continued to work, increasing speed and pressure. Oliver bucked, his body rolling into Kyle's hand. He realized his eyes were shut, so he opened them. He could see Kyle's shoulder and upper arm, moving in time with his hand and with Oliver's body.

Oh God... for the love of... FUCK!!

He yelled out something, he wasn't sure what, and somewhere he heard Kyle's stifled moans, his gasps for air. Oliver's hips shot up one last time -- and he felt himself bursting, his hands clawing at Kyle's back, and something warm spreading over his boxers.

Oliver froze, his back still arched, his chest vibrating. He couldn't come down from this. Hell, he could barely see what was going on; there were spots of color and light filling his vision.

"Y-you... okay?"

Trepidation filled Kyle's voice. Hearing him brought Oliver back to earth. He lowered his body down to the couch and forced himself to return to his senses. "I am. Y-yeah." He turned to face his boyf-, no... Kyle, who looked at him with heated eyes and a face that wanted to smile, but held back for some reason.

"Like it?"

Oliver couldn't answer; he wasn't coherent enough to formulate a reply. Instead, he bobbed his head up and down, exactly twice. He hoped that would be enough to convey exactly how much the experience had gotten to him. Slowly coming out of the haze, he realized Kyle's hand was still on him. He trembled; Kyle rubbed his thumb lazily in circles. That was too much; the sensations that accompanied Kyle's thumb, paired with that finish -- Oliver couldn't take it. He was also starting to lose his buzz. Any second, his parents' faces would return and he'd see them and they would know what their son had done--

He pushed off of Kyle, a little roughly. He reached out to steady himself and he rested his hand on his chest. "Please... uh, c-can you st-stop the... the touching?" he asked in between gasps.

Kyle retracted himself immediately. "Sorry. I didn't know I was..." He chuckled. "I guess wasn't paying attention." He cleared his throat and scanned the floor, picking up a towel that was lying next to the coffee table. "Here. You can clean yourself up. I'll just be in the shower for a few minutes." He untangled himself from Oliver's body and got up, very slowly, clutching at his own shorts. "You can use it after I'm done."

For his part, Oliver kept his attention focused on his shorts, his crotch, and trying to wipe off the mess. Not to mention sorting through the emotions that flooded through him. He felt so many things right now. Happiness, pleasure, fear, excitement. And guilt. Massive guilt. When he had been in that moment -- God! He couldn't think of anything better. The touching, that hands that were not his, the rubbing and stroking, making him feel so damn good!

And it was Kyle. Kyle! He wanted to be the one to make him feel good. It turned Oliver on that Kyle, who could be so frank and sarcastic and open, who could be both nervous and assertive about what he wanted, who could touch him in many different ways... Kyle was interested in him.

That it was a guy who made him feel like this, though, troubled him. It troubled him so much.

"Hey."

Oliver looked up. Kyle leaned against the wall that led into the bedroom section. "You can leave if you need to. I don't want you to, but if you need space, I understand." Oliver opened his mouth, about to answer, but Kyle didn't wait for him to reply. He disappeared around the corner. The bathroom door closed and locked, and in the darkness of the apartment, a light clicked on, shining out from underneath it.

****

And So It Began.... Part Ten (Kyle and Oliver, R)

suzanne78 — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 12:16:41 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: R for this chapter, and definitely for the next one.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading this. I'm upping this to R. I am not a graphic smut writer, and in particular, I get very worried that I'm doing a disservice to the characters and that I'm messing up writing intimacy between people of the same sex. This does lead into the more physically intense parts in the next chapter.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Part Ten:
Show Me What I'm Looking For
Carolina Liar

This whole thing was driving him insane.

Oliver jogged past the apartment complex on Maple Drive for the third... fourth... maybe tenth time that day. His heart beat louder and quicker than normal the closer he approached 105-B.

He swallowed nervously. 105-B -- Kyle's apartment. He had been there since summer began, and Oliver hadn't seen him since the last day of spring term. He stopped jogging, placed his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath. His eyes remained focused on the apartment door. He could feel his brain working some sort of Jedi mind trick, willing the door to open. He wanted to see him again so badly.

Oliver hadn't spoken to Kyle since the KΘ date party. After the run-in with Kyle in the bathroom, his nerves frayed, Oliver had asked his date if he could escort her back to her room and call it an early evening. He remembered something coming out of his mouth like, "I think it's a bug or something... I don't know. It's going around our house." She had accepted his excuse with a sad smile and gave him her phone number. He called her a couple of days later to see if they could grab lunch, as they were both going to be in town over the summer. She sounded happy about that.

That was almost three weeks ago. He hadn't heard from her since.

Instead, Oliver thought about Kyle. What was Kyle doing? How was he doing? Who was he seeing? Was he even seeing anyone? The latter thought practically killed him, as images of Kyle wrapped around other guys and touching and kissing them filled his brain, making Oliver feel confused and conflicted. When he walked through campus to get to classes, he always looked for Kyle. His breath caught if he thought he saw him, and he felt slightly lost when he realized Kyle wasn't there.

Which brought him to this moment, standing off the concrete walk, just behind some bushes. Through the foliage, he could see the door clearly and he kept his eye out for Kyle's car, an old beat-up blue Civic with a KAΔ sticker on the back window. The dirt beneath his feet was still soft from some heavy rains from the past few days. Oliver remained mindful of the mud spot near to him; with his luck, he'd trip and land directly in the muck and--

"Fish! What the hell're you doing?"

"I-wasn't-doing-anything... WHOA!"

Oliver jumped as the voice startled him. His ankle slid into the slick mud, and his leg flew out from under him. He fell, ass first, right into the still-watery ground, splashing his shirt and shorts all over with wet, thick dirt. Shocked, completely embarrassed at his condition, Oliver caught his breath and looked up at the guy who had startled him.

Of course. It was Kyle. Big shock. He snorted; there wasn't much else he could do.

"Hi," he said meekly. He expected Kyle to wave him off with some sarcastic remark and leave him here humiliated and alone.

"Wow. You're a mess." His tone was teasing, but far more gentle than he had sounded at that date party ages ago. He offered Oliver a hand; a lop-sided grin favoring the right side of his face emerged. "Want some help there, Slick?"

Oliver took Kyle's hand, using it to steady himself as he stood up. "Thanks. I, uh..." He quickly assessed the mess; he was drenched. The mud had soaked through his shorts and his boxers, making the fabric stick to his skin uncomfortably. His white shirt was caked, as were his legs and his hands. "I'm a disaster, aren't I?"

Kyle raised his eyebrow. "It's safe to say you shouldn't go to any fancy balls in, um... your current state." He chuckled. "Come on," he said, his voice amused with a hint of exasperation. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Although he was surprised with Kyle's demeanor, Oliver felt horrible that he had caught him spying. He walked behind Kyle, unable to speak because what the hell could he say? He had left his pride back in that mud puddle, and there were no words that would help retrieve it.

Kyle unlocked his door and tossed his keys into a small bowl on a table. "Didn't clean up. Sorry."

Oliver stood inside the small patch of linoleum at the front of the door. The apartment was barely that; it was a basic studio unit, with a large bookshelf dividing the living room from the bedroom, and a small partition that functioned as a counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space. The only furniture in the living room was a television, a faded blue couch with a couple of patches holding it together, and a coffee table, with his laptop, papers and a manila envelope scattered haphazardly. Greek shirts and boxers and text books were strewn about. The space was cluttered and dirty, but the more Oliver observed, the more he realized that the apartment had a certain "Kyle-ness" about it. That inexplicably charmed him.

"It's fine." Oliver smiled. "It's a nice place."

"Heh. You don't have to lie to me about it," Kyle replied with a small chuckle. "Hang tight and I'll get you some stuff you can wear. Here ya go." He tossed a towel to Oliver, who caught it with one hand. "Just hand your clothes over and I'll throw them in with my dirty ones. I needed to do laundry anyway."

Oliver gaped. "Uh.... l-laundry?"

"Yeah, laundry. You know the big machines that spit out water? You use 'em to clean dirty clothes -- sorta like the ones you're wearing right now." The playful tone was back, as was Kyle's friendlier smirk. He acted so differently from the Kyle Lewis that had confronted him at the Lover's Luau; that date party felt like it was ages ago.

"But that'll take too long. A-and I don't want to put you out--"

"Oliver," Kyle said, his voice more reassuring this time, "it's okay. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't want to." Flashing him a smile, he disappeared around the corner, and shut a door off from the bedroom, leaving Oliver holding the towel in his hands. Hesitant at first, he took off his mud-soaked clothes, mindful to keep them off the carpet. He used the towel to clean off his legs. With trepidation, he stripped off his boxers, holding the semi-dirty towel up to make sure he was sufficiently covered. His heart racing, he looked up to see if Kyle had returned. In the background, he heard the toilet flushing and the sink running water. He quickly wrapped the towel around him just as the door opened.

A light flipped on and there was a rustling, with metal scraping against each other and drawers opening.

"Just realize that I'm not as big as you are, Oliver."

"That's all right."

"Yeah, well..." Kyle said, emerging with a shirt, workout shorts and a pair of boxers, but he froze.

Oliver realized Kyle was staring at his towel-clad body.

A moment passed. With a shake of his head, Kyle snapped out of whatever trance he was in and handed the clothes over. "These might be a bit tight." He smiled awkwardly as Oliver took them. He didn't look away, not immediately. "Right... okay. I'll, uh, just give you a little privacy. Bathroom's around the corner if you need it. You can take a shower if you need to."

Oliver watched Kyle turn and head toward the kitchen. He concealed himself in a corner of the bedroom and started putting on the spare clothes. He could hear things happening in the other section of the studio -- the refrigerator opening, cabinets shutting, plates clinking together.

"Kyle, before I forget, thanks for the clothes."

"No prob. You want a sandwich?"

"S-sure." Oliver's voice was muffled as his head was caught in Kyle's shirt. He inhaled, feeling his jaw tighten as he took in the scent. Dammit, he didn't know how he knew it, but the shirt smelled like Kyle. If he wasn't already crazy, then he was getting there. Hanging out with Kyle alone with no roommates or dorm mates or frat brothers around to interrupt them was not going to help the situation. In fact, it was going to make things substantially worse.

Kyle's clothes were snug on him, but not totally uncomfortable. When he emerged fully dressed, he smiled sheepishly at his friend. He raised his arms, posing to let Kyle see him. "Well," he said, feeling awkward, "do I, uh, look good?"

There was a small shift in the room, and Oliver noticed Kyle's eyes travel down his body. He felt something like an electric charge jolt through his chest.

"Yeah," Kyle replied, his voice grainy. "You look pretty good. The, uh, shirt," he said, coughing to clear his throat, "is a little... uh, a tight fit."

"It is pretty snug, I guess."

Kyle nodded and handed over a plate. Oliver laughed; it was a turkey sandwich, mayo, and chips.

"Turkey sandwich? Just like the ones I always get, huh?"

He noticed that Kyle's cheeks reddened. Very subtly, but Oliver was certain he saw him blush. "What can I say? Turkey's cheap."

"I wasn't really expecting all this." Oliver sat down at the opposite end of the couch, eating his sandwich and managing to smile through each bite. He watched Kyle clear the coffee table, shuffling a big manila envelope to the bottom of the stack of papers and stuffing them into his bag. Oliver raised his eyebrow. "Big important papers, huh?"

Kyle shrugged. "Just some assignments and a project I'm working on. Wanted to give you some more room. That's all. Go ahead and kick your feet up."

"Well, thanks. But I didn't think I'd be getting sandwiches, clean clothes and all this charity from you, not after the, you know... that date party."

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds. "Would it make you feel better to know that I almost kicked your ass out there?"

Oliver chuckled. "What stopped you?"

Kyle brought his sandwich up to his mouth. "The mud got you first," he said, with a glint in his eye.

****

This whole thing was driving him insane.

There had been no apology from either boy about what had happened at the Lover's Luau. Not that either Oliver or Kyle would've known exactly where to begin with apologies or discussing the argument in Kyle's dorm that preceded the luau. Oliver could barely face the issue himself. It was the ever-present elephant in the room; they danced around it but never addressed it. He had no idea how to talk about, or even think about, the hook-ups in Kyle's room last year. Many times when the memories of what they did together returned, the image of his mom and dad came to him and he could see, with painful clarity, his father telling him that he didn't love him anymore. That he was incapable of loving his son because he kissed guys.

He assumed Kyle had gotten over it; he never mentioned the dorm room argument. And if it had been bugging Kyle, no one could stop him from saying so.

They spent the following weeks together, filled with lunches and dinners and studying over at Kyle's. Workouts at the gym and the occasional party with the other frat guys. Oliver refused to define how hanging out with Kyle made him feel, but he knew that being with Kyle's made him happy and leaving Kyle's made him sad. And in the times between, when his summer classes weren't occupying his mind, Oliver anticipated the next time he would see his friend with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He tried to think about girls that he saw in his classes. A couple had even flirted with him. But every time he was confronted by soft hair and curves and blushing cheeks, all he could think about was Kyle.

Kyle... Kyle... Dammit!

It was always about Kyle.

Could he blame the heat? Too many classes? Or was he simply confused because his friend was gay and he had been kissing him and he reveled in the way those lips felt on his? Was he remembering those fingers tracing over his face, smiling at him like he was the only person left on earth? Or did he enjoy that unwavering ability Kyle had to see right through him and know exactly who he was?

It was too much to feel these things that he couldn't define. And when he could no longer take the back-and-forth, the internal bickering about the nature of his feelings, Oliver found himself standing in front of Kyle's door late one Friday in the middle of summer.

Kyle answered the door. "Hey, I wasn't expecting -- dude, you okay?"

Breathing shakily, Oliver quickly scanned the apartment over Kyle's shoulder. "No one's here, are they?"

"No. Something wrong?"

He swallowed and stepped inside. Kyle shuffled aside to let him through. Oliver shut the door behind him, keeping his back to Kyle as he locked the door. A hand grasped his shoulder, firmly but gently.

"Oliver? What's going on?"

He spun around. "P-please Kyle... I just... d-don't say anything. Please?" Before Kyle could ask any more questions, Oliver pulled him forward and kissed him.

Instead of getting angry and pushing him away, Kyle was right there with him, filling him, exploring him, twisting his head for greater access. Teeth bumped as both boys searched for the right angles, the right amount of tongue, but it didn't matter. Oliver could feel Kyle's hands on his cheeks, using his mouth and his lips to get as close as he could to him. As for Oliver, he didn't deny anything to Kyle. He cupped the back of his head and let his fingers glide through dark brown, choppy hair. Although Oliver was inexperienced with kissing anyone like this, it didn't seem to bother Kyle, who was walking backward toward his bedroom, tugging on Oliver's shirt, coaxing him to follow. His head swayed left and right, sucking on Oliver's lower lip, his tongue running along Oliver's chin.

Oliver needed no persuasion. He walked, practically ran to the bed as well. His hands found that illicit patch of skin on Kyle's torso, except this time, they moved up and took with it his shirt. They stopped, Kyle's hands still on his cheeks.

"How much have you drunk tonight?"

Oliver took two seconds to regain his breath. "I... haven't. Nothing. None."

Kyle's eyes roamed over Oliver's face. Soundlessly, he dove forward, locking their lips together as he pulled off Oliver's shirt and doffed it to the side. There was a jolt as he felt his bare chest touching Kyle's, which was warmer and smaller than his, but slender and lean, strong in many ways. A shiver went up his spine, a moan escaped that increased in volume as Kyle kissed down his neck, as his hands spread across his shoulder blades and moved down his spine.

They were together on the bed again. Kyle rolled Oliver onto his back and his hands ran down Oliver's chest. He continued to kiss Oliver, who matched the effort with equal enthusiasm. Hands and mouths roamed over skin, exploring, tasting, lapping. As Kyle focused his attentions on Oliver's neck, he realized Kyle right hand was moving lower... and lower....

And lower....

His crotch, already actively interested in what they were doing to each other, sprang to life. However, before Oliver could pull away in shock more than any desire to quit, Kyle did it first.

"You want it?"

Oliver thought his heart exploded; he wasn't ready for that. God yes, he wanted it. The kissing, the bare torsos, the making out -- it all felt so damn good. But always in the back of his head were his parents. Two pair of eyes that had watched him grow up looking through him, like he was a ghost. Like he didn't exist. That was what waited for him if Kyle's hand traveled any further south. Besides that, he couldn't fathom another guy's hand -- Kyle's hand -- actually touching him. Stroking him. Playing with him.

Not yet.

His crotch twitched as did Kyle's lips; Oliver didn't know whether Kyle had felt the shift of his groin. Taking another deep breath, he struggled to stay calm; however, his voice shook. "I... I, uh, I think--"

"Yeah?"

"I need to rest. Just for a little bit. I-is that all right?"

Kyle's smile fell. He rested his forehead on Oliver's shoulder, allowing his jagged breathing to normalize.

"Didn't mean to pressure you--"

"I know. I'm pretty exhausted." He spoke to quickly, striving to sound convincing. The flattened line of Kyle's mouth told him he was not, but he placed a kiss on Oliver's shoulder and grazed his brow with the tips of his fingers.

Oliver said nothing else. He flipped over, shutting his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. But he allowed a small smile to play across his lips as a blanket went over him. He had to admit it felt nice when Kyle's arm circled around him. He tucked it under his own arm and smiled, feeling Kyle pressed tight against his own body.

And So It Began.... (Kyle/Oliver, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 11:42:54 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live. Canon.
Rating: For now though, PG-13 for language. R next chapter.
Pairing: Kyle Lewis and Oliver Fish
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: Thanks so much! The feedback for this story's been great. I haven't been able to start on the next chapter. Yet. But the way it's playing out in my head, the boys might be pushing the rating up just a wee bit higher....

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

Part Nine:
Help Me
Joni Mitchell

The two fraternity brothers sat in Kyle Lewis’ dorm room. Oliver kept himself occupied with his Intro to Psychology paper, but it was a painfully inadequate distraction. He simply couldn't stop staring at Kyle. Not that he was doing anything particularly provocative. He wasn't, but Oliver found himself mesmerized as he watched him. He could watch Kyle all day long, doing anything really — Kyle pulling on his lip while he stared intently at something. Kyle cocking his eyebrow at something stupid a professor or frat brother said. Kyle winking and smirking at things he thought particularly amusing. He had a way of reacting to everything around him, everything he experienced. While Oliver tried to hold whatever he was feeling inside and not react too much lest he draw attention to himself, Kyle simply let everything out. He didn’t care. And Oliver always found himself observing him, studying him, anticipating what he’d do next.

There were a couple of clicks as Kyle punched his keyboard, followed by a low whistle. “Damn!” Oliver grinned as Kyle chuckled in disbelief. “Whoa! That’s pretty good!”

“What?”

Kyle wiggled his finger at the computer screen. “$575 a month for a studio on Maple Drive. It’s walking distance to campus. That’s less than two dollars per square foot, and the building’s only a couple of years old. Heat and water included, but no electric. And washers and dryers are on property... Hey! I can get a dog. Cool.”

Oliver scrunched his nose up. “Won’t that be a little cramped?”

Shrugging, Kyle seemed all right with the size of the place. “I can make do for the summer. All I'll have to come up with is... what? $860? $865? That’s half of what I’ll owe for those three months until September. My family could help with the rest.”

Oliver sat up in the bed and leaned forward. “So you’re intent on doing this on your own?”

“Yeah. I wanna get out of the dorms. Have fewer people in my business. Get some privacy. Plus, the house won’t be open from May until that last week in August when we can start moving in.”

“Uh huh.”

Kyle’s brow fell. “This bothering you, Fish?”

Oliver scratched the back of his head. He couldn’t put his finger on why he felt so uneasy about Kyle moving into his own apartment, as small and as cramped as it appeared to be. It was only for three months. Normally, it was cool for the guys to get a place that wasn't a dorm room or campus housing; several of the guys in their pledge class were getting their own places and had asked both of them if they wanted in. But Kyle said he needed privacy. Was it for them? Was Kyle expecting more of … whatever they were doing with each other when they got drunk? Or did he need his own place so he could see other guys, and not just Oliver.

He shut his eyes; the latter was not something he wanted to contemplate. The former was something that intrigued him, although it frightened him to consider it.

“Hey.”

Oliver snapped his head up. “Yeah?”

“What’s your deal? I totally lost you for a second.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, realizing he was struggling to frame his words, “I just think that, perhaps, you’d do better if you…”

“If I what?”

He looked up at Kyle, his expression uneasy. “You’d like it more if you had more room. And a roommate who you could split the bills with, if you’re concerned about money and rent and stuff.”

Why he had chosen to say that was beyond him. Kyle, though, sensed none of his trepidation or confusion. He merely turned back to his computer screen.

“Eh. I don’t want anyone getting more information about me than I’m ready to give out. Besides, who’d you recommend to be my roommate?”

“Um... 'kay then. How ‘bout me?”

Kyle stiffened instantly. He turned slowly, facing Oliver, his expression hardening like water freezing into a block of ice. “You?”

“What’s wrong with you and me living together.”

He stared at Oliver, and then he snorted derisively. Barking out a laugh, more out of disbelief than humor, Kyle finally replied, “You're shitting me, right? This is a joke?”

“No, it’s not. What’s so funny about suggesting you and I live together?”

Kyle bolted out of his seat and paced back and forth. “Oh, just off the top of my head, I can think of a million things funny — and wrong — with us being roommates.”

Crossing his arms, Oliver glared at his friend. “Well I’d like to hear them—”

“First,” Kyle interjected, cutting him off, “and foremost, if your parents found out you were living with a…” He stopped so he could laugh again. “That your roommate was gay, they’d yank you outta here before you could say ‘ho-mo-sexual!’”

Oliver recognized the inherent irony of that statement; their reaction to his roommate being gay would be positively minuscule if they ever found out about what went on in their own son’s head. Or what he got up to with Kyle when they were alone and full of beer.

“But, there’s nothing about you that would give anything away!” Oliver said, instead of voicing the other things he was thinking. “You totally seem like you’re an average, normal guy.”

Kyle groaned. “God, how many times do we have to go over this? I am an average, normal guy! I happen to like other guys — who also happen to be average. And normal! Jeez!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I just meant that you don’t have to tell them about you. It’s — it’s none of their business.” Oliver tried to keep his voice steady, even. Free from nerves. But inside, he was roiling.

“Whatever.” Kyle stood with his arms crossed. He tapped his foot against the floor, in rhythm with the finger that was tapping on his upper arm. He clearly wanted to say something, but held back.

“What?” Oliver implored.

“If I say it, you’ll just leave.”

A sinking feeling grew in Oliver’s stomach. His guts churned, knowing what Kyle was going to say and hoping fervently that he wouldn't bring it up. Talking about what they were doing at night intoxicated broke the unspoken oath between them — “Don’t ask, don’t tell, just make out."

Oliver shut his eyes; it was useless. When Kyle Lewis had something he wanted to say, he was going to say it, sooner or later. It was better to get it over with.

"And second?"

"Second," Kyle shot back, unable to hold back any longer. "Moving in with someone that you’ve been hooking up with is never a good idea!”

“Shh! Would you keep it down?” Oliver flapped his hands in front of him, hoping Kyle would lower his voice. “The whole hall 'll hear.”

“Fine. Great. If they do, big deal.”

Oliver blinked. “I thought you wanted to ‘not make a deal’ out of it?”

“Yeah well,” Kyle said with a snort, “that was before I realized you sort of liked having my tongue – shoved – down – your - throat! And before I realized you'd run off whenever you sobered up because you're not as straight as you thought you were.”

“Seriously, would you shut up?”

Kyle hissed and spun around. His hands clenched his hair, nearly tearing it out of his scalp. “If this is the only way we’re ever going to talk about what we’ve been doing, then I’m going to do it!” He flung his arms out and stared at Oliver defiantly.” “Or do I have to get you a beer or two or five so we can have this conversation?”

Oliver stood up from the bed. “Why do we have to talk about anything? You wanted to be discreet. We’re being discreet. No one knows and no one will ever know. Besides, it’s not like it’s a big deal for you or anything.”

Kyle’s face fell. “What the hell — is that what you think? That this isn’t important to me?”

Oliver had no idea why he said that; too many times, he had seen Kyle smile after he kissed him. He had felt Kyle touch his face. Every bit of visual and tactile evidence that Oliver had collected whenever he spent his time alone with his friend told him that it wasn't just physical. There was something more between them, greater than just the secret that they shared. However, there was no way in hell he was going to acknowledge that.

"You know," Kyle said, his hands on his hips, his eyes focused only on Oliver's face, "I do like you. I like kissing you, even though you only have the guts to kiss me when you're wasted."

Oliver said nothing in response. He glared at Kyle, feeling himself growing more and more livid with every word his boyfr-, no... his friend said. Who the hell was he to judge him? He had no idea what Oliver went through every day, what he felt, what he thought, and that every single time he was with Kyle he was going against nature, his parents, and even God.

"But the one time I really liked kissing you? Was when you didn't smell like a damn bar."

Squaring his jaw, feeling every muscle in his body on the verge of exploding, Oliver instead stormed toward his things on Kyle's bed. He stuffed his laptop into his book bag, and shut his book, not caring that several notes had fallen onto the floor. He walked to the door and flung it open.

"Big surprise."

Oliver paused, his hand on the doorknob, feeling his fury rise. He didn't turn to face Kyle, but that didn't prevent Kyle from finishing what he was saying.

"That seems to be the one thing you're good at -- running away before things get tough."

Oliver slammed the door behind him, willing himself with each step back to his own dorm room that this whole stupid thing had been a bad dream. Tomorrow, he was going to wake up and somehow be normal again.

*****

In that final month of his freshman year, Oliver Fish came to a realization. Figuring out girls was hard. And as much energy as he put into trying, it wasn't coming as easy as it had been to figure out Kyle Lewis.

"So Oliver," Nancy Sheldon said, her voice soft, "I, uh, had a great time tonight."

"Oh, that's good. No, that's great! Nice, too. I'm very glad -- I mean, that was my overall intention, y'know. Showing you a good time." Oliver's voice was overly bright and chipper, so different from how he sounded when he was with--

He shook his head; he didn't want to go there tonight. Not again.

They were in the middle of a slow dance for Kappa Theta's big end-of-year date party, Lover's Luau. Although they were one of many couples on the crowded dance floor, Oliver felt like he had a spotlight shining on him. Hell, he had felt like that the entire night -- conspicuous, like a sore thumb. At first, he thought it was just the tacky Hawaiian shirt he had been forced to wear because of the theme. And the stupid lei around his neck. But it wasn't just those things.

Oliver found himself preoccupied with what came out of his mouth. He took great pains to comment on Nancy's appearance and to be attentive to what she wanted. He got her drinks, paid for her dinner, and listened to her conversation. It wasn't bad. She was cute, and she was also smart and pretty funny, but beyond that....

Eh. They weren't on the same page. Of course, she was just one girl, and she wasn't the end of Oliver's straight world by any means. But watching the things he said, scrutinizing how he talked about his fraternity brothers, and how he spent his time with when he wasn't in classes was tiring.

Most importantly was making sure he chose carefully how he talked about his... well, Kyle Lewis.

Unfortunately, Kyle was also there at the date party and he was having a great time with his date. Every time Oliver looked over at him with the girl -- Leslie, the KƟ who had made Oliver insanely jealous after the intramural basketball game in December -- Kyle was grinning like he was having the time of his life. He twirled her around on the dance floor with moves that put many of the other pledges to shame. Leslie was clearly lapping up all the attention. It drove Oliver crazy that he looked so damn comfortable, so at ease with himself.

Even worse, Oliver realized that by the time the dance was nearly over, he was paying far more attention to stupid Kyle and his stupid, fun date than to his own.

Oliver and Nancy broke apart and headed back to an empty table. "Hey," Oliver said, using that same bright tone that didn't quite sound like him, "you want anything?"

"Yeah, a drink would be nice." She nodded and smiled. He turned to head towards the restrooms first.

"Oliver?"

He looked back. Nancy's smile had faded.

"I... um, I don't suppose you'd want to go spend some time alone with me, would you?"

His heart sank, but he hoped desperately that it didn't register on his face. "Y-yeah! That sounds great!" He grinned broadly. "Er... give me a sec!"

Oliver didn't wait to see her react or to hear her respond; he bolted for the gent's room and found a free stall. Leaning against the wall, he took a couple of deep breaths, collected his thoughts and willed himself to get excited. He could do this, he knew he had it in him to show this girl a good time. All his brothers teased him about not going to date parties and not going out with girls that showed an interest in him. He could only hide behind the schoolwork excuse for so long.

Here he was now; it was time to cowboy up and do what men were supposed to do with the opposite sex.

Taking two more deep breaths, Oliver nodded resolutely and opened the door.

"Hey... buddy."

Everything disappeared as he stared right into the face of Kyle Lewis.

"K-Kyle."

He looked at Oliver. Slowly a smirk grew on Kyle's face. "So, Fish, you havin' fun?"

He struggled to keep his emotions in check, although the way his stomach swooped, Oliver wasn't sure if it wasn't going to fly out of his body and land on the floor between them. "Yeah. Nancy and I are having a great time."

"Aw, gee whiz, kid!" Kyle reared his arm back and lightly tapped, his fist on Oliver's arm. "That's just swell. That's really, totally awesome!" There was no mistaking the drawl of Kyle's tone; he oozed sarcasm -- angry sarcasm -- masked behind that fake smile.

Oliver grew more angry, more annoyed at Kyle's attitude. He shoved past him to the sink to wash his hands. There were footsteps behind him. When Oliver looked up at the mirror, he saw Kyle standing over his shoulder. Both boys looked so strange, glaring at each other with chilly stares, both clad in colorful, gaudy Hawaiian shirts and leis. They were both a rainbow of bright color belying a mass of emotions struggling to get out.

Kyle had that same wise-ass smirk plastered on, infuriating Oliver even more. "What? I'm truly happy for you, Fish, if you've found someone who understands you so well."

He shut off the sink and shook the excess water off making sure a little bit of it splashed onto Kyle. "I'm just glad you're enjoying yourself so damn much, Lewis."

Kyle paused. Looking away, he shook his head. "Well, I'm having a blast. Leslie's just a friend, y'know? There's no pressure on me to be anything other than myself." Kyle's eyes scanned the length of Oliver's body. He folded his arms and flashed him a subtle wink. "Which is a good thing, as being me's the only thing I'm real damn good at."

Snorting, Oliver turned around. "Gotta get back to my date," he said, just as he was about to open the door.

"And I hope ya two have fun!" Kyle's sharp voice managed to cut through the blaring music and echoed in Oliver's head as he went to get Nancy a drink.

****

And So It Began.... Part Eight (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 23:36:34 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Oliver Fish/Kyle Lewis
Rating: PG-13 until Part Ten, when it goes up to R.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It changed his life forever.
A/N: Hopefully y’all won’t mind how I wrote Oliver’s mom here. I thought it might be interesting to have her think something is going on with Oliver, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. And thanks so much for reading this! I'm glad that y'all seem to be enjoying the story.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

Part Eight
Fool For You
Duffy

“How was ur Xmas, Fish?”

It was December 26th. Oliver, still feeling full from turkey and ham, pastries, chocolate and eggnog from the past two days, leaned back in his chair. His hand propped up his head and his finger rubbed his bottom lip. He watched as the cursor inside the little IM box flashed off and on at the end of Kyle’s message.

Smiling to himself, he started typing on the keyboard that was on his lap.

“Went well. How ‘bout u?”

“Oliver?”

He jumped up, startled when he heard his mother’s voice directly behind him. He thought he had shut the door all the way, but it must have been slightly open. Really, he needed to be more vigilant, although neither he nor Kyle had said anything that was questionable or problematic.

“Mom, what’re you doing here?”

“Sweetie, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Barbara Fish gestured to the plate and glass that she was holding. “I just thought you might be hungry. Plus, we’ve got so much food left from the past couple of days that I need your help to eat it all up!” She sat them down on the desk next to Oliver’s monitor. He grinned wryly; Wonder Bread, leftover turkey, tomato, cheese with mayonnaise sandwich, with cookies and a mug of hot chocolate. There was something comforting about the whole plate, and the sandwich in particular. He had plenty of fond memories of sandwiches like this when he was a kid. Of his mom packing his lunch with a note on his napkin saying how much she loved him. Of him eating sandwiches like this one after his little league games, where his dad would smile at him and tell him how proud he was—

Oliver felt a lump bubble up from his throat. Forcing it back down, he coughed and picked up half of the sandwich. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay, Oliver?”

He nodded rapidly. “I’m fine.” He took a bite, torn between wanting her to stay here and talk to him like everything was normal and wanting her to leave him alone so he could chat with Kyle.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Well, your father and I noticed that you’ve been a little — I don’t know.”

He twisted around in his seat and regarded her, chewing slowly, feeling the wad grow rubbery in his mouth.

“You’ve seemed distracted since you’ve come back home. Quiet, too.” She ruffled his hair. “Is everything all right at school?”

Swallowing the bite and very nearly choking on it, Oliver sought to assuage his mom’s concerns. “No, everything’s going okay. I’m just relaxing.” He laughed, feeling awkward and extremely small. “It’s been an exhausting semester—”

“Who’s KyLewis82?”

Oliver thought his heart was going to explode. His mom was staring at the computer screen with the little IM box, the cursor flashing black against the white background.

And, of course, Kyle’s last message in blazing red: “Hey, bud. Everything OK?"

“Oh! Uh… j-just a friend. Ah… another KAΔ.” Oliver swore to himself; he had to come up with some reason that he was online with Kyle, and he had to do it fast. While he typed out a message back —“OK. Mom’s w/ me. She asked who U R.”

“He and I—”

“Oh, Ky’s a he?” His mom’s face fell; it was minute, almost unnoticeable, but it didn’t escape Oliver. He had no idea what to make of it.

“He’s actually Kyle. And h-he’s just a friend. We do a lot of things together.” Oliver hoped fervently that he wasn’t blushing as he spoke. “Like, we found this MMORPG that we’ve been playing in the dorms.” He smiled, although it was more at his cleverness than anything else. If he threw a lot of technical abbreviations at his mother, she’d focus on that, rather than Kyle. Just as he had predicted, she raised her eyebrow, confused.

“What’s a ‘MMORPG’?”

“It’s just this thing we play online. It’s huge, with people playing it all over the world. A lot of us at LU and the house play it. And there’s this storyline about trolls and elves and you have to kill things to get points. Kyle and I've been talking strategies—”

Barbara laughed and held her hand up. “My goodness! You boys and your computers. When your dad was your age, it was all about sports. Well, for him it was also about fishing. And cars.”

Laughing at his own good fortune that he had successfully distracted his mom, Oliver grinned. “I still think he’d buy his ’65 Corvette Roadster if you gave him half a chance.”

Barbara chuckled. “Don’t I know it. Well, sweetie, I’ll let you get back to your chatting. Tell your friend I said ‘Hi’. I do hope he’ll be a good friend to you.”

Oliver realized that she spoke without the bright, chipper tone she normally used. Part of him wanted to ask about it. However, he was far too anxious to get back to chatting with Kyle to ponder why his mom seemed bothered.

“Oliver?” She pointed her finger at him as she shut the door. “You should get outside at some point. Some fresh air would do you good.”

He nodded and smiled. “Got it.”

“Love you, dear.”

“Love you too.” Oliver watched as she shut the door. He put his sandwich down and turned back to the computer screen.

"I’m back. Sorry."

The text on the bottom on the screen indicated Kyle was typing a reply.

"No prob. Ur mom all right?”

Oliver grinned, and pounded away at the keyboard. "Fine. She says hi BTW.”

He watched the monitor as the next message from Kyle appeared. “Cool.”

Hesitating, but only for a moment, Oliver typed and sent out his reply — “Could’ve used u here. Would’ve been fun.”

Seconds ticked by until Kyle delivered his message. “Same here.”

****

If one had asked Oliver Fish how he had gotten himself into this position, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. There was no thought in his actions, no premeditation, no planning. Coming back from Christmas break, the first thing he, Kyle, and several of their brothers decided to do was see if any of the older KAΔs were back and wanting to drink.

Two hours, and several beers later, that latter question had been answered.

Oliver slung his arm over Kyle’s shoulders. Both boys lagged behind the group walking back to the dorms; Fish was thoroughly drunk but in a jovial mood. He was singing some foul fraternity drinking song. Oliver was in mid-swear, when—

“Shut it, Fish! Security.”

Oliver cringed, snickering into Kyle’s shoulder. “Oops.”

“Fish,” Kyle whispered, grinning and shaking his head, “you're wasted! Gone. Majorly fucked up--”

“I know!” Oliver’s eyes lingered on Kyle’s for a second longer than was necessary. “Y’know,” he said, slurring his words as Kyle positioned him so he wouldn’t be obviously drunk, “I never used to drink like this.”

“You don't say.”

“Uh-uh.” Oliver lolled his head back and forth in an exaggerated shake. “My firs' drink — like ‘full bottle of beer all to myself’ drink — was at that firs' hall party. An' guess... what?” He poked his friend in the chest. This elicited a small, amused snort from Kyle.

“What?”

“I told you to guess.”

Kyle cocked his eyebrow. “Fish—”

“Did I ever tell ya I like it when you call me Oliver?”

Kyle’s smile faltered. He was silent for a few moments, and then he regained his voice. “No, you didn’t. That’s a new one.”

Oliver swiveled his head around so his mouth was close to Kyle’s ear. “Well I do.”

“Hey! Ladies, wanna get a move on?”

The yell caught both Kyle and Oliver off-guard. Walker Morris, fellow pledge and resident of Dolby Hall, was smirking at them. “I don’t wanna break the wittle love fest goin’ on here—”

“Fuck you, Morris,” Kyle said, glaring at him. They pushed past the other bodies and hauled ass to the elevators. Kyle and Oliver nodded goodbyes as each brother left for their respective floors, finally making it to their own. Oliver was still clearly drunk, and he was leaning against Kyle for support.

“Dude, you need help to your room?”

Oliver shook his head. “Let’s just use yours. It’s right here and y’know Rooney’s not goin' to be in.”

Kyle eyed Oliver and then eyed his door. With a sigh, he lowered his voice. “This is not a good idea.”

“Please?” Oliver pleaded, hoping that he was giving Kyle his most pitiful gaze; he wasn’t quite sure on this count, given his intoxication. Watching Oliver with an exasperated expression, Kyle breathed out laboriously. He unlocked his door and hurled Oliver into his room first. The absentee roommate was, once again, absent.

“If Rooney didn’t have his stuff in his closet, I wouldn’t even know that he lived here.” Kyle locked the door and went to his refrigerator. “You know what you need, Oliver?”

“Beer?” He flopped down on Kyle’s bed.

“Bartender says you’re cut off.” Kyle said with a wink and a smirk. He stood back up and wiggled a water bottle at him. “You’re getting some nice, cold H2O.”

Annoyed, Oliver blew him a raspberry. “Whatever.” Oliver flung his arm out and Kyle handed the bottle over to him—

Which dropped on the floor and rolled away as Oliver grabbed Kyle’s wrist and yanked him down onto the bed. Right on top of him.

“Hi.”

Kyle froze. He didn't breathe and his arms went as rigid as stone. “Why did you do that?”

Oliver shrugged, but he felt pleased with himself that he could make Kyle nervous. Lewis was pretty cute when he was nervous.

Scratch that. He was damn cute.

“I don’t know. Why did you lock the door?”

“I… don’t know.”

Oliver grinned as he allowed his eyes to take in his friend’s startled expression. “You don’t seem to know a whole lot.”

Kyle snorted, but the momentary lapse of amusement didn't detract from his clear apprehension. His dark eyes were wild, practically the size of saucers. Oliver noticed his skin had reddened, even in the dim light of the dorm room. And his mouth was open, his lower lip barely trembling as he tried to regain control of his breath.

As nervous as he appeared, Kyle didn’t get up from this compromising position. He was tense, certainly. But he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t crawling off of the bed.

Kyle braced himself, his palms flat on the mattress right next to Oliver’s head. “This is leading to…” He gulped. “To some very bad things.”

Oliver barely paid attention to what his friend said. Smiling but feeling apprehensive, he reached down. His hand found the warm skin of Kyle’s waist and he watched his friend react to the unexpected contact. Kyle's eyes popped out and then squeezed shut. He halted in mid-inhalation, and Oliver felt the slight shiver that coursed through his body.

It was intense. Oliver's own heart skipped a beat when his palm touched the bare patch of lower torso, the same spot that had mesmerized him so many weeks ago.

“Oliver, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” His eyes were focused wholly on Kyle’s mouth, even as his fingers moved slowly up and down his waist. He kept staring at him, watching him inhale… exhale… inhale…

Until he couldn’t do it anymore. Oliver angled his body upward and kissed Kyle. At first, the other boy was stiff, unyielding. He didn’t kiss back.

At first.

Oliver parted his lips wider and he grasped Kyle’s waist in a tighter grip. In no time, the kiss deepened, both boys’ hands surrounding their heads and pulling them closer together. Oliver felt Kyle’s fingers in his hair, his arm circling around his body. Their heads swiveled from left to right as they rolled over on the bed to lie and face each other on their sides. Oliver hooked his leg around Kyle and the pressure of feeling another body, strong and solid and warm, excited him in a way that was both shocking and strange. When he felt Kyle’s lips touch his neck, he let out a gasp of surprise and tightened his hold. He did the same to Kyle, wondering if he could elicit a similar reaction; when he heard the same gasp and the moan that followed, he knew he had his answer.

There were no interruptions — no phone calls, no knocks on the door, no roommates. It was only the two of them, kissing and grasping and moaning. Oliver didn’t dare move his hand any lower down Kyle’s body, though he felt himself twitch with an almost compulsive need to explore. They broke apart after what seemed like hours, Kyle touching his cheek and smiling although his eyes didn't crinkle as he did. He watched Oliver silently, lying next to him as he drifted off.

Right before he fell asleep, Oliver could’ve sworn he felt his bed lighten and he thought that, maybe, he heard the sounds of the other bed’s squeaky springs to his right.

****

And So It Began.... Part Seven (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:31:27 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish (canonical)
Rating: PG-13, until Part Ten, where we boot this sucker up to a solid R!
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N: Language mostly still. It'll start getting a little more physically intense in later chapters.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

Part Seven
Come Together
The Beatles

As it was December, LU was neck-deep into the intramural basketball season. The KA∆s were teamed up with their sister sorority, the Kappa Thetas and by the week before Christmas holiday, they were at the top of the Greek league. The two houses led the others in the tournament that would begin in January. As the team was made up of pledges and second year brothers, Kyle and Oliver were both on it. But of the two, Kyle was clearly the better player. In fact, Kyle was one of the best players on the entire team.

Oliver watched him play as he sat on the bench. It was impressive, that much couldn’t be denied. Kyle’s basketball prowess was obvious the moment he stepped foot on the court. What he lacked in height and body size he more than made up in speed and intelligence. He was too quick for the bigger guys, and he read the other teams’ plays so well, he was consistently a few seconds ahead of the opposition.

His talents surprised even Oliver. Watching Kyle play, seeing him in action and so damn skilled broke down another false belief he had always held.

Kyle liked boys; Oliver didn’t doubt that. But Kyle was also athletic and strong. Masculine. Everything that his father had said a man should be, Kyle was. Had he not admitted his sexuality to Oliver, and had he not been receptive to kissing him, he would never have known. Oliver looked for anything that broke the façade of masculinity. Anything in his walk, or how he talked. But he saw nothing. Kyle Lewis was Kyle Lewis, and no one would be able to deny he was a man.

The more Oliver hung out with Kyle, the more he questioned his own assumptions about people. It was unsettling, but it was always there, always in the back of his mind.

Several loud bellows drew Oliver back to the game. Kyle had maneuvered close to one of the Kappa Thetas, the ball in his tight grasp. The other guy defending Kyle was all over him like he was an octopus... made out of glue... and covered in fly paper.

Kyle faked a pass and threw the guy off. He shot the ball right into the girl’s hands, and she bolted down the court. Kyle ran beside her, darting past the other team, his feet flying left to right. She passed the ball to him, and he took the shot—

The referee blew his whistle. ‘That’s the game! 14-10 — winners: Kappa Alpha Deltas and Kappa Thetas!”

The other KAΔs ran off the bench. They slapped Kyle on the back, offering him hearty congratulations and effusive compliments about his game play. The KΘs mingled happily with the boys, who mingled right back with the same enthusiasm. Oliver stood apart from the joyous mob. By all appearances, he was observing, smiling and celebrating separate from the others.

He only had eyes for one individual.

Kyle was chatting with the girl who had assisted him on the last play. They were laughing together, seemingly at ease. And then, she reached out and brushed her hand against his arm.

Oliver's body stiffened, the smile on his face froze. Something red-hot crawled in his stomach. It was completely unreasonable for him to feel the slightest pang of jealousy at the scene. After all, it was Kyle who had admitted he was into boys. It was Kyle who had kissed him when they were together and drinking in the dorms.

Well… technically it was he who had kissed Kyle, both times. But Kyle had reciprocated.

This feeling was stupid. Insane, especially since Kyle was friendly, but clearly not receptive to the girl’s flirting. It made no sense for him to feel jealous of a girl speaking to him. But he couldn’t stop feeling insecure. What if Kyle decided that he didn’t mind her advances? What if she was the girl who made him realize he wasn’t totally into boys? Sure he said it wasn’t a choice, but what if it was? On one hand, that would be good for Oliver; that would mean this whole thing with Kyle could be just a phase, and he could still be normal.

Could be…?

As he continued to watch his friend talk and laugh with the girl, he wasn’t sure if he could go back to being "normal". If he could go back to liking girls. Not that he had really ever been attracted to the opposite sex.

Not like you are with Kyle -- dammit!

Oliver pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried, vainly, to ignore his own brain.

The group left the gym and headed toward the KAΔ house. Oliver walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his arms pressed tight against his body. Attempting a casual appearance, he scratched his chin on his shoulder, but he turned just enough to look behind him.

Kyle was still talking to the girl, who now had her phone out and was typing something in it. Possibly a phone number. Or a text message. Or a… a—

Oliver grunted and whipped around, clutching his sweater around his neck to prevent the frosty December air from biting him. He heard Kyle say a goodbye, and then quick footsteps approached him. There was a hard slap on his shoulder.

“Hey! We won, dude.”

“Yeah, great — dude.” Oliver couldn’t stop himself from sounding sullen. “You did good. Wouldn’t have won without you.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Oliver jerked his shoulder out from Kyle’s grip and pivoted around. “I’m heading back to the dorms,” he shouted. “Not feeling good.” The other brothers barely acknowledged him; they only waved and yelled incoherently. He walked briskly toward the dorms, but he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Seriously, what’s your problem?”

Oliver shot Kyle a look and nudged his head back behind him. “Nothing’s my problem. So, who’s your new friend?”

There was a disbelieving snort. “You’re serious?”

“What?”

Kyle jogged around to face Oliver; he continued to walk even though his friend obstructed his path. This didn’t deter Kyle, who merely matched Oliver’s pace going backwards.

“You’re jealous?”

Fish dismissed the inquiry outright. “I’m not. You’re free to talk to whomever you want. I don’t care.”

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. Looking around to make sure no one was watching them, he jabbed his palm firmly in the middle of Oliver’s chest.

“What?”

“You know who I am, Oliver. You know better than anyone else here.”

“Do we really need to talk about this out in the open?”

Kyle flung his arm out. “Do you see anyone else around?”

Oliver stared at him for a few seconds. His nostrils flared slightly before he replied. “Like I said — it’s nothing.”

There was no walking away from the unrelenting gaze Kyle aimed at him. The seconds felt like minutes as both boys stood where they had stopped, watching each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m going up.” Kyle pivoted sharply and stormed away. Oliver followed him, his glowering expression not softening one iota.

They made it to their floor, neither boy saying anything. As Kyle opened the door to his room, Oliver’s hand shot out, preventing the door from shutting. Kyle shook his head; he didn’t even try to resist Oliver from coming into his room. “That’s one annoying habit you have there, Fish.”

Before he shut the door, Oliver made sure they were alone; Rooney, Kyle’s roommate, must have been out with his girlfriend. “Kyle,” he said, closing and locking the door. “Look, I don’t know what got into me. I-I saw you talking to that girl—”

“Who’s in our Zoology seminar, and who needed notes for a couple of lectures that she missed, by – the – way!”

That statement threw Oliver off, but only for a brief moment. “Well, whatever reasons she had for flirting with you, I don’t know. I’m not psychic. I’m not a mind-reader. I don’t know what’s going on in her head. But if she was flirting, then you were too. And what does that mean if you say you're gay? Why the hell would you flirt with her? You were talking to her like you liked her. A-and… I don’t know why you were. And you know what’s worse? I didn’t like it! I didn’t like it at all, even if it means you might actually like girls. That’d be good for both of us… but I wouldn’t like it, and I don’t know what that means.”

Oliver had no idea what he was saying. He was so worked up, so agitated that his brain seemed to be throwing anything together. His ramblings came pouring out of him like one big word salad with every possible dressing on top, much less on the side.

In an instant, Kyle’s face lost the tension that had gripped it. His eyes softened, his frowning lips eased up into a relaxed line. Slowly, he approached Oliver. He didn’t reach out for him, but there was no denying that he wanted to.

“Oliver, it’s all right if you’re jealous.”

“But I’m not,” came his feeble protest.

Kyle put his hand on Oliver’s chest, his fingers flexing slightly and catching his sweater. “It’s all right if you like me. It’s all right if you’re feeling something, even if you don’t know or want to say what it is.”

He could feel his heart racing beneath Kyle’s hand. He choked on his own voice. “I… can’t,” he replied softly.

There was a small, sharp intake of breath. “You know, I was confused. For a really long time. My… uh, my family,” Kyle said, laughing as he spoke, “they seemed to know before I did that I was into guys. One day, they sat me down and told me I was gay. It was okay. They laughed and told me they’d had known for a long time. They even threw a party for me and we talked the rest of the night about everything. Life. What type of guy they thought would make me happy. What they were worried about—”

“What were they worried about?” Oliver asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Kyle’s face twitched, as if the memory was both happy and sad for him. “Mostly about society, that there’re some people out there who’d want to hurt me because I’m gay. Also, they were worried about me getting my heart broken. Like any parent would be.”

Oliver nodded absently. He fell down onto Kyle’s bed, hunched over. His hand propped up his head, which felt weighted down as if he were made of lead. There was a dip next to him. Kyle remained perfectly still as he waited for him to talk.

“That’s great for you,” Oliver started, his tone melancholy. “But I can’t have that with my family. If they even thought I was…” He shut his eyes. “I just can’t!”

Kyle leaned into him. “But they’re your mom and dad. They’re supposed to love you no matter what.”

Oliver snorted sadly and looked at Kyle. “They’d cut me out. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“But they may not.”

“You don’t know them. This — me just being here with you like this — would be wrong to them. I’ve already done the worst thing they can think of.”

Kyle blinked. Swallowing, he reached up and ran his finger along Oliver’s forehead, gently touching his hair. His fingertip made his skin tingle, the sensation overwhelming him. He closed his eyes again and inhaled, savoring the feeling, letting himself enjoy it.

He felt the back of Kyle’s hand brush his cheek, the bumps of his knuckles, the smoothness of his fingernails. Instinctively, Oliver angled his head toward the contact.

“I’m here for you, Oliver. No matter what.”

Oliver’s lips found Kyle’s palm. He kissed it, his eyes watching as Kyle’s cheeks reddened.

“I know you are.”

Without another word, Kyle brought his other hand up to Oliver’s face and kissed him. Although he wasn’t drunk or buzzed, Oliver welcomed it. He wanted Kyle to kiss him; he wanted it desperately, and at this moment, he needed it. Somehow, that kiss felt right, the touching of their lips, their cheeks, their tongues. And as the kiss intensified, he prayed that there would be no interruptions this time.

FIC: And So It Began.... Part Six (Kyle/Oliver, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 02:05:35 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Rating: PG-13; will be going to R by Part Ten.
Pairing: Kyle and Oliver, the college years
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N:Still PG-13 for language mostly. For now....

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

Part Six
Ocean of Noise
The Arcade Fire

“Lewis, Fish — shift’s over!”

Wade Addington and Darrell Thomas barreled up to the two pledges. They were there to relieve them from their shift of watching the house’s Christmas tree. The entire Greek system, as well as the other clubs at LU, participated in the huge, campus-wide holiday celebration. The pledges were all required to partner up and watch the tree for a couple of hours in the evening, both to finish decorating it and to prevent possible vandalism.

Despite the incident in the dorm room a few days ago, Oliver signed up to do his shift with Kyle. Neither said anything about the kiss; instead, all talk veered from classes to plans for the holiday to the last game of the season with their biggest rivals, the Pine Valley Raiders.

Oliver was busy rubbing his hands together, breathing into to them to stay warm. Kyle had reclined fully in his small chair, his arms around himself trying to generate some body heat. He saw the officers approach and he jumped up first. “Cool. Thanks a lot,” he replied in mid-shiver. He tapped his forehead and gave the older guys a small salute. “Have fun. Fish, are you heading back?”

“Yeah.” Oliver waved at Addington and Thomas and jogged to meet up with Kyle.

They walked back in silence, mostly. Kyle kept humming something under his breath, a song that sounded vaguely familiar to Oliver. Oliver, however, was barely paying attention. With each step and every note, he found himself preoccupied with the memory of that kiss. This wasn’t unusual for Oliver. Of all his thoughts throughout the day, he estimated that about eighty to ninety percent of them concerned that kiss.

They stood side by side in the notoriously slow dormitory elevator, quiet for the first five floors. When they reached the sixth floor, Oliver turned to Kyle.

“I’m really sorry about what happened.”

Kyle didn’t reply immediately. After a beat, he scratched his nose, keeping his eyes locked on the elevator's doors. “Don’t worry about it, Fish.”

“I don’t know why I did what I did. I was drunk, and I wanted to talk to you about…. that,” he said, waving his hands to emphasize his point, “and I just got, I don’t know. Confused.”

Kyle chortled. “Apparently.”

“But, since it’s just the two of us in here, all I want to say is I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Kyle turned and smiled at Oliver; it was a gentle, warm smile. “It’s okay. Seriously. No hard feelings.”

The elevator door slid open. Oliver stayed back, allowing Kyle to enter his dorm first. He stopped just short of coming in.

“You’ve got something else to say, Fish?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, coughing to clear his throat. He looked around the room; Kyle’s roommate was not there. Chances were he wasn’t going to be in for the rest of the evening. That thought made Oliver suddenly, and intensely, nervous.

He peered down the hallway. The hall was filled with the sounds of voices and music blasting, but there were no other students nearby. Oliver shut the door, feeling the necessity for discretion. Turning back to his friend, he collected his thoughts.

“Did I tell you about my parents?”

Kyle creased his brow. “Only that your mom’s a schoolteacher, your dad’s a cop, and you wanted to be a cop too, just like him.”

Oliver chuckled, but it felt forced and sad. He undid his coat and took off his scarf, laying both at the foot of Kyle’s bed. Gingerly, he sat down beside his things, watching as Kyle opened his small refrigerator. There was a tinny clink of glass as Oliver thought about what he wanted to say.

“Well, they’ve got very strict ideas about your lifestyle.”

Kyle nodded. “I see. But I need to make a correction.” He handed Oliver an open beer bottle.

“Go on.” Oliver said in mid-sip.

“It’s not a lifestyle. I was born gay.” Kyle drank from his own bottle and sat in the chair at his desk. “You have to understand and accept that.”

Oliver pulled in his lips. “You know the church that my parents go to, they have a program that reaches out to teenagers and adults who are… are…” He swirled his hand around.

“Uh, gay?” Kyle replied sarcastically. Oliver nodded.

“Well, that’s cool. Accepting us in a church like that is pretty progressive—”

“No. That’s not what the program’s about.” Oliver flashed Kyle a knowing look. Comprehension dawned on the other boy and he took a long drink of his beer.

“Oh.”

Oliver sighed. “Yeah. Oh.”

“Your church wants to 'straighten me out'. So to speak." Oliver nodded wordlessly.

"So that’s why you think it’s a choice?”

“That, and the fact that the Bible says it’s a sin.”

Kyle hopped out of his chair and sat next to Oliver on the bed. “You know, a person chooses to commit a sin.”

“Right. I know.” Oliver stared at him, confused.

“So once you realize that being gay is a part of that person’s biology, then you realize it’s not a sin. There’s nothing wrong with it.” Kyle took another drink, keeping his eyes focused on Oliver the entire time.

Slowly, Oliver met his gaze. “That’s a lot to ask. You’re asking me to change my entire belief system for you.”

Laughing softly, Kyle leaned back in his bed, placed his right hand behind his head, and drank his beer with his left. “Not your entire belief system.” He squinted his right eye and held up two fingers in a pinching gesture. “Just this one tiny part of it.”

It took one moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle; it felt genuine and comfortable. He shuffled down the bed and sat next to Kyle, his back against the wall. He tipped the neck of his bottle toward Kyle, who lifted his and clinked it against Oliver’s.

“I’ll work on it if you can promise to be patient. I am capable of doing really stupid things… as you can see.”

Kyle laughed again. “Deal.”

As the clock ticked away, and Kyle’s roommate didn’t return, the boys passed the time with another beer, and then another. Oliver wasn’t nearly as drunk as he was that other night, but he was right on the tip between tipsy and buzzed. Certain things caught his attention, like the shock of his knuckles accidentally touching Kyle’s, the way Kyle’s voice swooped and changed when he related a story about his childhood and growing up.

At one point, Oliver realized his head was grazing Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle was in the middle of a story about high school when he stopped. Oliver could feel a gentle puff of air graze the top of his head.

“What’re you doing?”

Kyle’s voice was calm and steady. There was none of the disbelief, the anger that had clouded his tone the last time he asked that question. Oliver said nothing in response, but instead found his friend’s hand and threaded his fingers through his.

“Oliver? Wh-what are you doing. Are you trying to tell me something?”

He lifted his chin up, meeting Kyle’s eyes. Slowly a smile emerged on his face. “I think I’m trying to tell you that you’re pretty cool.”

Kyle didn’t reply immediately. After a minute, he flexed his jaw. “I wasn’t trying to put any moves on you, you know.”

“I know, Kyle.”

“Up until that night you saw that IM, I thought you were totally into girls.”

Oliver felt his insides shake, but he did not break his gaze. “I-I have been.”

“And then I thought that, maybe, you were… that there was a possibility you might have been—”

“What?”

Kyle inhaled deeply and shrugged as if he had nothing to lose. “Jealous. Of my online friend.”

A million replies swirled through Oliver’s head, but only one response seemed to be appropriate. Feeling his breathing increase, he drew his hand out from Kyle’s and touched his face. The stubble was still there, making the pads of his fingers, his thumb tingle, sending the sensation through his arm, right into his chest.

Oliver thought about saying, “Yeah, I was a little jealous,” or, “You could do so much better, Kyle.” Instead, he leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss on Kyle’s lips. Where there was shock and anger the first time he kissed Kyle, Oliver felt pressure as the contact was returned.

Mouths open, breaths shaking, Oliver trembled as the contact intensified. He half-expected a bolt of lightning to come and strike them both dead, on this bed, and they’d be found with their faces still attached to each other.

But no lightning bolt came. Instead, warm breath and hands wrapped around Oliver’s cheeks as Kyle drew him closer. He embraced the other boy, refusing to remove the hand that was cupping Kyle’s face, that was inching to surround the back of his friend’s head.

As Oliver tilted his head to the right, allowing the kiss to deepen, the phone rang. Kyle pulled away, startled as the loud noise interrupted the moment. With a shiver, he shot off the bed and answered it while Oliver rubbed his forehead and worried his bottom lip. What was he doing? Making out with another boy. A friend who had confided to him he was gay. Thinking about it, this made no sense at all to Oliver. But when he let go of that caution, of those mental barriers that he had put up his entire life, he felt deep down that kissing Kyle made a hell of a lot more sense than taking some girl he barely knew to his senior prom.

“That was Rooney. He’s not coming back tonight.” Kyle laughed awkwardly. “He wanted to make sure I didn’t worry.” He gently sat back down on the bed, as if he was worried any extra pressure would shift the atmosphere between them.

“Look, if you want to talk about what just happened—”

Oliver shut his eyes. “M-maybe I should go. Just for now.” He grabbed his coat and scarf and dragged himself off the bed.

“Oliver, you don’t have to. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

“No, I know that,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. He gave Kyle a small smile. “I’m tired and I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to stay here any longer. Can I meet you for breakfast tomorrow?” He winced a little bit. It was lame to ask the boy he had just been making out with if he wanted to eat with him. But Oliver knew he wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet. He couldn’t verbalize who the hell he was, much less what Kyle was to him.

Perhaps if they could maintain their friendship and explore whatever this was between them, they’d be all right. Maybe…. Perhaps…

Jeeze, he was so weak.

Kyle nodded and opened the door. “I’ll be up early. Come by whenever you’re ready.”

Oliver headed toward his room, pretending not to hear the long, heavy sigh from behind him, just before the other door shut.

FIC: And So It Began.... Part Five (Kyle/Oliver, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:32:03 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, the college years
Rating: PG-13 for language--for now; will be R by Part 10.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N: I've been gone because my computer's been unpredictable and broken-downy, and I had limited writing/posting capabilities on the only usable device in my house, so I will be catching up on comments and speeding things along on this story. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. These boys are way too much fun to write! Oh, and if anyone remembers what Barbara Fish does for a living, let me know if I got that wrong. I've looked everywhere to see if I missed something....

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

Part Five
High and Dry
Radiohead

“So, you knew when you were younger? Like, when you were a kid?”

Kyle Lewis rolled his eyes as he squeezed through a group of freshmen lingering in the hallway of the Nixon Building, where LU’s science department was located. “You know, you can ask me the same question fifty times, and the answer won’t change, Fish. Yes, I knew when I was a kid. And yes,” he said, shooting the other boy a sharp glance, “I didn’t tell anyone else until I was older. But they already knew.”

Oliver nodded. A couple of weeks had passed since Kyle confided to him that he was gay. After a day of awkwardness and avoidance, Oliver approached him and reopened the lines of communication. From that point on, their conversations meandered inevitably to Kyle’s sexual orientation, with Oliver steering them toward that topic.

“Okay,” he replied, keeping his voice as low as possible. “But how did you know you were gay if you’ve never… you know…”

“What? ‘If I never…’ played poker? Trivial Pursuit?”

“Kyle, you know what I mean.”

They stopped walking and stood nearby the classroom for their freshman Zoology seminar. Kyle jabbed his finger into Oliver’s chest. “When did you first start noticing girls?”

The question caught Oliver off guard. He quickly thought of the most logical answer to the inquiry – although thinking about it made him realize he had noticed girls, he just hadn’t noticed girls, and not the way boys should. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You were like, what? 12? 13? Maybe 14?” Kyle smiled. “Well, that’s when it started happening for me. But with boys.”

“Just like that?” Oliver snapped his fingers.

“Not just like that. There was this feeling, even when I was 7, that I was different from the other kids. I couldn’t define it then or anything, but the older I got, I started to piece it together. And it started out with small things; I didn’t want to be Justin Timberlake, I wanted to date him. I saw pretty girls, even beautiful girls, but they did nothing for me. However, if I saw a really hot guy, all I could think about was, you know…”

Oliver swallowed; he felt something catch in his throat. “I know what?”

Kyle stared at him incredulously. He leaned in and winked. “I wanted to do stuff with him. Or ask him out. Whatever.”

A shudder passed through him at his friend’s confession; hearing it described in such stark, frank terms struck Oliver with its familiarity. “But you haven’t been with anyone yet.”

Kyle chuckled. “Do you have to have sex with a girl to know that you’re straight?”

“I-I guess not.”

“Well, there you go. I’ve kissed and made out. Have I gone all the way?”

Oliver felt his stomach curdle as an unwanted image of Kyle with another man floated into his head.

“I haven’t,” Kyle continued. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to some day. I just haven’t found the right guy.”

Oliver shut his eyes and shook his head. “But… but what if you did meet a girl, and you found yourself attracted to her and… and….”

Kyle’s face darkened. He spoke low enough so only they could hear their conversation, but his whispered voice took on a harsher, angrier tone. “Why are you so fixated on this?”

“I’m not fixated.”

“Yeah, you are.” Kyle was standing very close to him, and despite the anger in his tone Oliver could smell his soap, possibly his shampoo, and the spicy scent of his aftershave. He tried to push away the thoughts that the scents seemed to bring with them, focusing instead on their ensuing argument.

“You’ve been asking me about it for the past two weeks. You’ve talked about it more than I have. And you seem obsessed with thinking that this is a choice. That I can decide to be something one day and then be something else on another.”

“But you can, Kyle.”

“No, I can’t! You need to understand that. Until you do, don’t talk to me.” He turned to go into the lecture hall.

“Hey. Kyle, don’t—”

He looked back at him. “Fish, I’ve got better things to do with my time than to keep explaining this to you.” He waved resignedly at Oliver. “I’ll catch you later man.”

Oliver let the stream of students dissipate, Kyle at the front of the queue. One minute before the lectures began, he slipped into the hall and found a seat in the back. He was impressed he was able to take fairly good notes, even while he kept staring at the back of Kyle’s head.

****

If anyone asked Oliver Fish whether alcohol helped his situation, Oliver would grunt and attempt to hold his thumb up. However, as he was already on his fifth shot of Jack Daniels, followed by a beer chaser, holding up his thumb was a bit of a struggle.

“Dude,” Jason Greenley, his roommate, said, “you going to be all right?” He was putting on a jacket and heading out for a hall party at his own fraternity.

Oliver snorted and managed to grin. “ ‘M fine, dude. ‘M tryin’ to relax, ‘s’all.”

Jason shot him a dubious expression. “Okay. Well, just in case.” He brought over the metal wastebasket, which was lined with a plastic bag. “This is here, if you can’t make it to the toilet.”

“A-ok, buddy! Gotcha!” He pointed his fingers like a gun at Jason and made a cocking sound with his mouth. Jason merely shook his head.

“Don’t wait up.” With a wave, his roommate walked out and left him sitting at his computer, the screensaver flicking through pictures of vacations with his mother and father, George and Barbara Fish.

Oliver took another drink. He loved his parents. They were good people, church-going and generous. All throughout his life, he watched as his parents gave their time and money to help the less fortunate, practically giving the clothes off their backs to the homeless, to feed those families who couldn’t feed themselves.

But when he started entering his teenage years, he noticed his parents’ reactions to certain things. The little looks they gave each other when the newspaper announced a marriage between men and women who were from different races. Teenaged girls who became mothers. Anything that upset the carefully structured community where he had grown up and gone to church and went to school was frowned upon.

The worst sin, though, was homosexuality. When a teenager came out, their church would encourage their family to go to their sermons and bring the child to the church’s group, to help them find the path toward righteousness. The looks his parents had when they saw someone who was openly gay — he couldn’t face that. He couldn’t face his parents thinking he was some freak who didn’t deserve their love.

They were his mom and dad. They showed up for his little league games. They taught him to help others, to be a good man and a good citizen. No one could deny that his mother was one of the most gentle-hearted people on the planet, a schoolteacher and a model of the community. And, of course, he admired the hell out of his father. A cop. A good one at that. The man devoted his life to public service, and all Oliver had ever wanted was to be a cop just like him.

He loved them a lot.

But he also couldn’t deny these other feelings, things that contradicted everything he had ever been taught was good and right. If he acted on them, all he would see would be his parents’ eyes, hardened and cold and filled with… nothing.

He’d lose them forever.

And yet, here he was, drinking alone and thinking about his parents, and finally managing to take a break from Kyle. Except that Kyle seemed to be mixed and mingled with everything else in his head. Everything seemed to go back to his friend and whatever it was he was feeling toward him.

Oliver downed another shot and checked the clock. 11:15 p.m. Stretching out, he could feel his head spin. He needed air, and quick. Maybe he could find a nice spot outside to vomit if necessary. He stumbled out the door, haphazardly checking his pocket to make sure he had his keys. He had just shut his door when he noticed a figure down the hall, getting ready to enter his own room. Oliver looked up and met Kyle Lewis’ eyes.

“You comin’ or goin’?”

“I’m in for the night, Fish.” Kyle’s eyes scanned him from head to toe. “You look like you’ve had a few too many.”

Oliver stumbled a little as he walked toward him. “Didja meet anyone?” he asked, his words slurring together.

Kyle snorted. “Man, you don’t miss a beat, do you? I’m turning in. See you later.”

Despite his drunken state, Oliver slapped his hand on the door, sliding into the room just behind Kyle. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Come in. Not like you were invited or anything.”

Oliver let the door shut behind him, clumsily locking it. “Rooney’s gone?”

“Well, for the night,” Kyle replied dispassionately. “Benefit of having a roommate being attached to the hip to his older, apartment-renting girlfriend.” He shed his jacket off and tossed his keys onto his desk. “So spill it, Fish. What do you want?”

Oliver took a breath before he spoke again. “Didja go out and meet your friend? Y’ aren’t carrying any books, so I don’t think you were studying.”

“It’s none of your business where I was. You haven’t spoken to me in a week.”

“I was tryin’ to give you some space.” He wobbled a bit, stumbling against the closet next to the door.

“Whatever. You didn’t want anything to do with me after I called you out. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you were here to try to convince me to date girls.”

Oliver lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “No. I’m not.”

Kyle strode toward the door. “Go back to your room.” He started to unlatch the locks. “When you’re ready to start talking to me like I’m a normal person, then you can come back and we can hang out again.”

“No. I want to talk to you.” Oliver reached out, his hand stopping Kyle’s. He shocked himself, his voice coming out more clearly and smoothly than before, despite his intoxication. For the second time that night, he met Kyle’s eyes, determined to make his friend see reason.

But before he could say anything, Oliver’s eyes traveled down Kyle’s face and rested on his lips.

“Damn. You reek, Fish. What’ve you been drinking?”

“A little Jack Daniels. Some beer. Nothing much.” Oliver realized his hand was still on Kyle’s.

“You're stopping me from making you go back to your room?”

Oliver nodded weakly. “I don’t want to go back.” Somewhere in the middle of his thoughts, as he stared intently at Kyle Lewis’ lips, Oliver forgot all the reasons for being in here. He knew he wanted to see Kyle and maybe try to convince him he wasn’t gay.

“Oliver, look—”

But those lips. Nothing else mattered except those lips.

“Please don’t talk,” Oliver muttered. “Don’t talk. Don’t say anything.” Before he knew it, he was bringing his other hand around the back of Kyle’s head. The gap between them narrowed—

And suddenly, there was nothing between them, only the feeling of his mouth on Kyle’s, kissing him, the fine fuzz of nighttime stubble rubbing against his face. Alcohol or not, it was good. The contact made him tingle, and the sensation spread through his body and pooled in his chest. Oliver felt warm, wanted. He chanced tilting his head to the right, and opening his mouth, needing to explore more—

There was a muffled sound of surprise, a gasp that didn’t come from him, and then two hands pushing on his chest, breaking them apart.

“What’re you doing?"

Oliver grasped Kyle again, touching his forehead with his own. He breathed in hard and fast, but he was aware enough to know he needed to make Kyle understand. “Please don’t say anything. I was just…”

“Just what?” Kyle said, glaring at him. “Are you mocking me? Is this some kind of joke?”

“What? N-no. I don’t think anything’s funny.”

Kyle tore himself away from the clinch. “So, what is it? Are you working through something yourself?”

Even though he knew that was the reason, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not yet, at least. He cast his eyes down to the floor, unable to look at Kyle. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Shit.” There was silence for a few moments, until Oliver heard the door unlocking and the squeak from the rusty hinges as it opened.

“You need to leave, Fish. Now.”

Oliver shuffled slowly toward the hallway. He paused for a moment and turned to face his friend. “Kyle—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The sharp stare from Kyle managed to quiet Oliver. With a meek nod, he walked back to his room. Only when he got his keys out and opened the door did he hear Kyle’s shut in the distance.

And So it Began.... Part Four (Oliver Fish/Kyle Lewis, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 19:34:17 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Oliver Fish/Kyle Lewis, canon slash.
Rating: PG-13 for now; it may get booted up to R in later chapters.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N: Still only PG-13 for now. I hope this chapter does not offend anyone; I tried to incorporate some of the things Oliver's parents said during his coming out episodes and I think, for Oliver in this moment, this is where his mind would be.

Links:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Part Four
Teen Age Riot
Sonic Youth

Oliver hadn’t hung out with Kyle Lewis in three weeks.

Well, in actuality, it had been three weeks, four days, eight hours, and fourteen… no, fifteen minutes.

Not that he was counting. He wasn’t. Instead of counting, Oliver went to his classes, did his homework, and performed his duties as a KA∆ pledge. He didn’t go to their date function, and as far as he knew, Kyle didn’t either. He thought he did a good job ignoring Kyle; he certainly didn't pay any attention to the girls and guys that he talked to in between and during classes, or to the times he spent at the frat house with the older brothers, helping them clean the place for the weekends whenever parents would visit and working with them on fundraising activities….

Kyle didn’t seem to pay any attention to him. At all. There was no attempt by him to explain who his online friend was or why Kyle needed an online friend in the first place. And whatever the mysterious “something” was that Kyle was going through — Oliver didn’t know. Although honestly, it wasn't any of his business.

Unfortunately, the longer he stayed away from Kyle, the more he found himself thinking about him. He invaded his dreams at night; Oliver found himself remembering the briefest glimpse of torso... those dark eyes big and round and crackling with humor... the smirk he casually tossed out after he said something sarcastic toward the older brothers. Even more surprising, Oliver remembered the enthusiasm that shone in his face when he talked about Zoology and Biology and going pre-Med.

Finally, three weeks, four days, eight hours, and fourteen… no, fifteen minutes following the evening that he had worked on Kyle's computer, Oliver was in his dorm bed, tossing and turning again. He bolted upright, inhaled deeply two times, and realized that getting any sleep tonight was in vain. He threw on an old fleece sweater, not bothering to change out of his wind pants and socks. With little effort, he was able to slide his feet quietly into a pair of Birkenstocks. Grabbing the keys, Oliver made sure to unlatch the door as noiselessly as possible. There was an audible click and he heard Jason, his roommate, snore. It quickly petered out as he rolled over onto his side. With no other interruptions, he snuck into the hallway and crept toward the elevator.

Once outside, Oliver made his way out to a spot in the courtyard in front of the dormitory with long wooden benches and tables, waving occasionally to packs of students who were studying late or heading for a night out at a bar or a club. The closer he got to one of the tables, he saw it occupied by a lone figure, drinking from something that looked too small to be a bottle and too flat to be a can.

He approached the figure — and his heart leapt up into his throat.

“Kyle?” It came out less a question and more a statement.

Kyle Lewis looked up in mid-sip. “Well, how-dy stranger!” He patted the spot next to him loudly. “Take a seat if you want. Oh, and here,” he said, offering Oliver the small drinking container. “Here y' go! Drinks're on me.”

There was no mistaking the small slur in his voice, or the pungent whiff of whiskey on his breath. Kyle wasn’t drunk, but he was certainly getting there.

Oliver took the flask and gave it a sniff. He surprised himself by taking a small sip from the bottle. “Partying, huh?”

Kyle shrugged and stretched his body out, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Had a big test today.”

“Did you do all right?”

“Did fine. At the top of the class, you know. Even an honors student.”

Oliver couldn’t stop smiling. Kyle was buzzed, but he was celebrating. He seemed to be really happy. “Well, here’s to hoping you aced it.” He raised the flask between them.

After retrieving the flask back to take another drink, Kyle turned his head and squinted at him. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

“N-no,” Oliver stammered, although he felt his face warm considerably. From the alcohol or from Kyle's observation he didn't know. “What makes you think I’m—?”

“You don’t have to lie. I can tell when someone’s ignoring me. That’s fine, if you needed space. I wasn’t going to force you to hang out.”

Oliver gulped. He reached for the flask again, which Kyle handed over without argument. “I guess… well, I didn’t know if I should say—”

He felt a jolt shoot through him when Kyle slapped his knee. Not hard, but the pressure of the hand through the fabric gave Oliver the most unusual sensation. Little darts coursed through his legs, and his stomach flipped, somersaulting unexpectedly at the connection.

“Look, I’ve been thinking that I should talk to someone here. I’ll tell you the truth if you want to hear it. And I want to tell you because I think you’re a good guy, Oliver. I don’t want you to make this a thing and tell the house or the whole school.” Kyle turned and looked at him, his dark eyes slightly glossy from drinking but serious nonetheless. Watching him, meeting his earnest expression — Oliver couldn't deny giving Kyle his attention. That he was extremely curious about it himself was only a bonus.

Kyle sucked in a long, deep breath and began speaking slowly and deliberately. “So, that guy who was online when you came to fix my computer a few weeks ago. You remember him, right?"

Oliver shrugged, hopeful that he didn't give anything away. "Yeah, I think so. Er... vaguely."

"Well," Kyle continued, "I’ve never met him personally but I sort of chat with him every once in a while. Because he and I are... well, we're talking about things that I really can't tell anyone else. And he sort of gets it." There was a pause as he chewed on his bottom lip.

"That's fine if you're friends with him." Oliver tried keeping his voice normal, but his mouth felt dried out, like it was filled with cotton balls. “You know, if it’s too difficult for you to talk—”

Kyle held up his hand. Oliver shut his mouth.

“It really doesn’t get easier trying to say it. Everyone closest to me already knows, but still...” Kyle shifted his eyes toward him. “I want you to know. It could just be the Jack Daniels talking, but I have this feeling in my guts that, if I told you about me, who I really am, you’d be okay with it.”

He shook his head, very slowly. “I’m not sure I understand—”

“Oliver, I’m gay.”

Nothing else was said. The announcement hung in the air between them. At first, they were only words and they didn’t quite sink into Oliver’s brain. But as the seconds ticked by, with each blink and breath, he slowly absorbed their meaning.

“Wh-wh-what?”

“Okay,” Kyle drawled. “I’ll try this again." He squared his shoulders around and stared at Oliver dead-on. "I – am – gay.”

It finally clicked in Oliver’s head. He shot off the bench and walked a few paces.

“Gay?”

Kyle nodded as if it was the most obvious thing anyone had ever said. “Yeah. Gay.”

“B-but, you’re… you don’t look—” Oliver flapped his arms at Kyle uselessly. His friend stood up and strode toward him, looking increasingly angry.

“I don’t look what?”

“You don’t look gay! You don’t sound gay, you don’t — there’s nothing gay about you!”

Incredibly, Kyle laughed. “Well, except for one little detail.”

“What?”

“I like guys!”

Oliver spun around, his face in his hands. This explained it though. Everything he had been feeling, sensing, thinking about since the year began; the fact that Kyle was gay made it all clear for him.

Lewis must have done something to him. Or he must’ve caught it from him; knowing Kyle Lewis was becoming more and more confusing.

“All this time that you and I were around each other, and you’ve been gay? This whole time?”

Kyle shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward him. “Yeah, that's pretty much how it works. Hell, I was born like this.”

Oliver shook his head rapidly. “No, no, no. Being gay is a choice.”

“It’s not.” Kyle was now a foot away from him. His eyes never wavered from Oliver’s face. “This is who I am. All I wanted was to find one person here who I could be honest with.” Kyle bowed his head, gesturing toward him. “And I picked you.”

Oliver could feel his chin tremble, his entire body quake. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Another pause filled the space between them. After a moment, Kyle grunted and pivoted on his ankles. “Whatever,” he replied with a wave. Pulling his flask back out, Kyle took another swig and handed it out to Oliver. He declined.

“What? You afraid of gay cooties?”

Oliver scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you or anything. I think you’re wrong though.”

With another dismissive shake of his head, Kyle took a big swig from the bottle and sealed it back up. “I’m going back up to my room.” He started toward the dormitory, halting right before he reached the path that led back to the door. He twisted around and stared at Oliver.

“Like I said, I thought you were a good guy. If you still want to hang out with me, great. If not—” He flashed a lopsided grin, raised his shoulders high, and turned around slowly. “I’ll see you around, Fish.”

Oliver watched him enter the building. Running his hands through his hair, he collapsed on the nearest bench. Gay — Kyle Lewis was gay. Everything he had ever learned from his parents, his friends, his church was that homosexuality was a sin. And therefore, it was wrong.

But if Kyle Lewis was a sinner, if he was a degenerate and a pervert, then what the hell did that make him?

Oliver constantly made excuses to himself for the stray thoughts that flittered through his own mind, the things that occupied him during those moments in between consciousness and sleep. He knew those things were wrong, as wrong as Kyle's lifestyle was.

He simply never dwelled on it.

But Kyle’s revelation changed everything. He wanted to blame Kyle for the things he was feeling so acutely now, but blame was futile. He knew he had been experiencing this... whatever it was for a while, for far longer than he had known Kyle.

Meeting Kyle, getting to know Kyle... Oliver could feel something roar inside of him, something struggling to escape, to see the light of day. To breathe.

He chided himself. No. No matter what, whatever it was, it was a sin. It was nasty. It was against everything his parents and his church had taught him. And Oliver was resolved not to lose another night of sleep over it.

****

FIC: And So It Began... Part Three (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 20:38:33 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live
Pairing: Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish. Canon slash.
Rating: Pg-13 for now; it may go up in later chapters
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N: Reposted from Kishmet and on my fanfiction.net account: WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot.

Links:

Part One
Part Two

Part Three
The Hazards of Love 4
The Decemberists

“I don’t know what in the world you did,” Oliver said as his fingers flew across the keyboard, “but you wrecked your laptop pretty good.”

Kyle Lewis remained unperturbed. He lay on his bed and tossed a foam ball in the air. “What does that mean, Geek Squad? Can you fix it or not?”

Oliver stifled a smile. Instead, he shot his friend a glare from the desk. “I can fix it, but you know I don’t like it when you call me names.” Kyle looked at him apologetically.

“Sorry.”

Fish snorted and returned to the device. This was the fifth time in almost three months that Kyle had begged for his help with the computer. It kept freezing on screens, shutting down and crashing. But what disturbed him the most about these trips to Kyle’s dorm room was that he didn’t mind coming here, as messy and as cluttered as it was, to help him fix the thing every time it malfunctioned. Kyle would lay casually on his bed, either reading or writing or talking to Oliver. He also invented new nicknames for Oliver. Inwardly, he chuckled at whatever Kyle threw at him.

The only problem was that it made the reaction each time Kyle used his first name in that raspy voice of his quite obvious. And scary.

Kyle tossed the foam ball at his head. Oliver couldn’t duck in time.

“Hey!”

“I was wondering if you were going to the house’s date party.”

Oliver wiped his face and leaned back in the chair. “What? You mean Casino Night?” He shook his head. “I haven’t found a date for it, have I?”

Kyle propped himself on his elbows, the bottom of his shirt rising slightly above the belt of his shorts. Oliver looked over, and quickly turned his eyes away when he saw the patch of fair skin. Kyle’s torso. He could see the trail of hair leading down his stomach, right into his shorts, to his—

“You don’t need a date to go.”

Oliver struggled to keep his eyes focused on Kyle’s face, rather than that mysterious bit of chest that had suddenly revealed itself to him, making his stomach feel uneasy and sending a shiver through his body. “W-well, it’s a date party, isn’t it? Not having a date sort of defeats the purpose.”

Kyle grunted and flopped back down on the bed, an action that caused his shirt to rise up even more. “Eh. They won't care."

"They won't?" Oliver cocked his eyebrow; he couldn't keep himself from sounding dubious.

Kyle flapped his hand at him. "They want the whole house there, you know. For solidarity and brotherhood-ship, blah-blah-blah….”

“Yeah, but if I don’t have a date—”

“I don’t either.” To Oliver’s relief, Kyle shot upright on his bed, his shirt falling down to cover himself properly. “We could just go together. You and me.”

Blinking rapidly, nearly losing his breath for a moment when he thought Kyle had just asked him out, Oliver realized he meant go together as friends. And then his brain caught on to the other implication of the statement. “Wait. You don’t have a date?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You? You don’t have a date?”

“There’s an echo in here.”

This time, Oliver laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re, like... well… you’re one of the hottest guys here.”

If Oliver was shocked at the way he phrased this simple truth, Kyle was just as surprised. His friend blushed. “What?” he asked, his voice soft and confused in tone. Oliver quickly tried to recover while he felt something heavy grip his insides.

“Wh-what I mean is that I hear girls talking about you, and you get dates left and right to the sororities’ parties. But you didn’t get a date for Casino Night?”

Kyle gave his head a quick shake. “Um, no. I’m not really interested in any girls.” His eyes shifted over and met his friend’s. “Not ones that I can take to the function at least.”

Oliver sensed a weight lift off him. Inexplicable and unfamiliar, he ignored the sensation. “Yeah, well… I guess that makes the two of us for now.” A series of three beeps interrupted him and he turned his attention back to Kyle’s screen. He cracked his knuckles, hoping the unsettling atmosphere that fell across the room following their conversation would dissipate.

“Did you fix it?” Kyle asked, standing up and leaning over Oliver’s shoulder to stare at the computer screen. Fish tried valiantly to ignore the smell of soap and spice that seemed to roll off of his friend’s body, and instead pointed out what he did to repair the laptop.

“… So, the Geek Squad saved the day.”

Kyle lowered his head and laughed. “Yeah. The Geek Squad. Thanks, Oliver.”

“Anytime.”

Another tone, this one the alert for an instant message, piped through the tinny speakers of the machine. Instinctively responding to the prompt from the device, Oliver ran his finger over the mousepad, all but ignoring the swearing from Kyle.

It took his brain a few moments to register what his eyes saw, but he finally absorbed it, the image and its implications. On screen was an instant messaging window with a picture of a boy, about their age or slightly older, smiling coyly at the camera. And typed out next to it was a message:

“Ky? R U there? Want 2 meet up later?”

“‘SexyBoi2000’?” Oliver scooted his chair away from the desk and stared at Kyle, who was desperately typing out a quick goodbye message to his friend and shut the computer down. “Who is this?” It didn’t come out as a question, more like a statement, a command. Seeing the message and the picture confused Oliver. It made him roil inside like he had been sucker-punched in the guts.

“Shit!” Kyle stood up, glaring at the computer as if it had severely offended him. “That was just a friend of mine.”

“A friend?” Oliver spoke slowly. “A friend who you’re going to meet up with later?”

“Yeah. Well, h-he’s just… I haven’t actually met him face-to-face. Yet. He was someone I met online, and he seemed to be going through the same things I’m going through.”

Oliver pushed himself out of the chair. “What exactly are you going through?”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Does it sound like I’m accusing you of anything?”

Kyle stared at him, his hands on his hips, his temper growing. “Yeah, actually. It does.”

Fish didn’t know where his own anger was coming from. This was crazy. It was everything this evening: hanging out with Kyle in his dorm room, chatting so effortlessly, and bringing up that stupid date party. His own brain betrayed him as he noticed things about Kyle, his body, and the ways his eyes were drawn to him.

And then that stupid IM. From that stupid SexyBoi2000. Kyle’s friend—

Oliver grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta get some air, Kyle.”

“Wait! Oliver, do you want to talk?”

Oliver spun around. “Talk about what, exactly? Don’t you have to meet up with your friend who knows you better than anyone else?” He spat out the words, not caring about the hurt, confused look on Kyle’s face. Reaching for the door, Oliver flung it open. He could hear a heavy inhalation of breath behind him.

“Oliver, if you’re—”

“If I’m what?” He glowered fiercely at Kyle, whose hands flew up.

“Never mind,” he said softly. “I’ll catch you later, man.”

Oliver stormed down their hallway and was almost to his room when he leaned against the doorframe. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The feeling that had been growing in Kyle’s room, unknown and unwanted, finally became more and more defined.

Jealousy. And it was aimed toward Kyle’s online friend.

FIC: And So It Began.... Part Two (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, One Life to Live, PG-13)

suzanne78 — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 21:05:14 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live, canon
Rating: PG-13 for language; maybe R in later chapters.
Pairing: Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish--the college years.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever.
A/N: I’m making up names of places at Llanview U because I’ve never seen them called anything on the show before (I’ve been watching off and on for almost two decades now). Oh, and I've made some changes from the original posting on Kishmet; mostly what Oliver chooses for food, since Kyle revealed he ate salad with "thousand island on the side" every day in college. And he never forgot it. Awww!

Part Two
Thirty-Three
Smashing Pumpkins

Oliver Fish grabbed a turkey sandwich, light on the mayo, and finished assembling his salad. He reached for the Thousand Island dressing and dumped a spoonful on the side of his plate. It was what he chose for his lunch every day in the sterile LU student cafeteria, so the routine was practically automatic. This was a good thing, as his attention was wholly focused on Kyle Lewis, resident smartass of Dolby Hall and Kappa Alpha Delta. Why he was spending so much time with a guy who kept getting into trouble with the brothers was beyond him. Maybe he thought he needed to look out for him or something.

“You know, I don’t understand why you have to keep shooting your mouth off.”

“Well, Mother,” Kyle replied sarcastically, grabbing a piece of fried chicken with some tongs. “I have a low tolerance for bullshit.”

“Yeah, but it gets you in trouble. And do you really have to cop an attitude with me? I’m trying to help you.”

“Jeeze, you need to relax.” Kyle took two rolls. Thoroughly exasperated at Oliver’s henpecking, he took a seat at a table close to a pair of large windows. “I haven’t gotten my ass kicked.”

“Yet.”

“And if I do push things, I’ve got you backing me up, right?”

Oliver shot him a flat look. “Before or after you run away from the fight so I can take your hits?” To his chagrin, Kyle merely grinned and tore into his bread.

Oliver shook his head as he sat across from his… floormate? Fraternity brother? Friend? Sure they were in KA∆ together and their freshman class schedules were practically the same. They hung out together. A lot. Kyle seemed to gravitate to him.

Oliver reckoned Kyle stayed with him because he could count on getting some kind of reaction. Lewis acted like an idiot. He said stupid and sarcastic things all the time. Oliver would react with a laugh, an eyeroll, or even a polite if not slightly snarky remark. But instead of repelling Oliver, he found Kyle's attention this crazy mix that was both annoying and oddly amusing.

Kyle was the first to break the silence. “Fine. You want to know why I don’t shut up? Even around our house?”

“By all means, enlighten me,” Oliver replied, with the just a tinge of a sardonic tone to his voice.

Lewis put the roll down on his plate and motioned with his finger for Oliver to lean forward.

“I like our brothers. I do. But that doesn’t mean I agree with some of the things they say. Especially to us pledges.”

Oliver furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

"I don’t like being called things like ‘bitch’ or… or ‘little girls,’ or ‘gay’ or anything like that.” Kyle leaned back and shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s stupid and — I don’t know. Offensive.”

Oliver nodded, but said nothing. He agreed that it was over-the-top, but he’d heard language like that all his life, from his coaches to his dad’s colleagues. It always bothered him, but he couldn’t do anything to change the way people spoke about things.

He always felt something weird whenever he heard the word “gay”. Not that he could say why, but he noticed his own strange reactions to it. He'd hear it at his little league games, when others used that word as an insult. In high school, his friends said it flippantly. "Gay" was always a bad thing; it was something you didn't want to be. It only made things worse when Oliver realized he wasn't like the other guys at school. Like when he caught himself staring more at the quarterback than the quarterback’s hot cheerleader girlfriend, the one all the guys wanted.

Oliver thought he knew what to make of it, what it all meant... but he convinced himself he didn't and that everything was okay. But he still couldn't put it out of his mind. It didn't help that he took Sue Deal to prom. She was smart, but quiet and plain. As he had guessed, she had no expectations for them when the evening ended.

“So can you blame me if I give them some shit every now and then?”

“I guess not,” Oliver replied, shifting uneasily in his seat. “It bugs me too.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see you speaking up.”

Oliver stabbed at his barely-eaten dinner. “What difference would it make? You’re not going to change the way anyone acts if you’re being a jerk to them.”

Again, Kyle shrugged. “If they’re going to be a jerk to me, I can be a jerk right back. Maybe it’s you who needs to grow a backbone, Oliver.”

Fish spent the rest of the meal in sullen silence, registering the tiniest irregular thud of his heart when he realized that this was the first time Kyle had used his first name.

****

The Test Part Nine (Spock/N. Uhura, PG)

suzanne78 — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 19:20:53 GMT

Title: The Test, Part Nine: Science Versus the Heart
Author: suzanne78
Characters/Pairings: Spock/N. Uhura, Gaila, Christine Chapel, Janice Rand
Ratings/Warnings: PG; some mild language. This story's not going to be (too) smutty....
Summary: He does not know the ways in which he tests her. Even as an aide, Nyota is, quite unfortunately, drawn to her instructor. Spock and Nyota reach an understanding.
A/N: So many, many apologies. I've been on vacation, then back at work, then sick, then plagued with a sick computer. Is there a swine flu virus for Macs? Again, big thanks to mrstater for her beta-read. I'm still working on Part Ten... I really appreciate anyone who's still up for reading this, after this horrible delay! I'm trying to get back on track, writing-wise.

In case you forgot: Nyota and Spock were at his apartment, when a call from Vulcan interrupted them. It was Amanda, telling her son about T'Pring. Nyota overheard. And now, for the fallout....

Links to previous parts:

Part One here
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Outtake from Part Four: "This Most Illogical Matter"
Part Five here
Part Six here
Part Seven here
Part Eight here

****

“Bonded?”

“Yes, Nyota.”

“Bonded.”

“It does not matter how many times you repeat it. Nothing has changed.”

For one moment, Nyota wishes Spock would react to her temper. She stands up from his couch and paces across his living room.

“You appear to be agitated.”

She inhales — very deeply. “I am agitated! I’m more than agitated!” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, staring at him with fiery eyes, breathing very hard.

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Neither of them move; neither of them speak.

“You should enlighten me as to the crux of your agitation.”

A part of her wants to make him regret that invitation. She bites her tongue, holding back what she really wants to say.

“You’ve been bonded,” she starts slowly, her anger boiling beneath her deceptively calm surface, “to a woman named T’Pring since you were seven years old. And if you don’t mate with her and complete the bond, you will die. Did I miss anything?”

“That is an overly simplistic restatement of what I have told you.”

She cocks her eyebrow. Her nostrils flare.

“For now, though, it will suffice.” His quick speech indicates that he wants to placate her. This is futile. Although Nyota picks up on the mellowness of his tone, it does nothing to assuage her anger. Instead, she holds up one finger, shuts her eyes, and counts backward from twenty.

…19…18…17…

She remembers that he is not of this world.

…15…14…

This is how Vulcans mate. It is part of his culture. It is tied directly to his biology and physical well-being.

…10…9…8…

He has revealed something intensely personal and private for Vulcans. Although he does not express discomfort with his face or words, it is there in his pauses and his breaths. And his eyes.

There were more than a few times when Nyota saw conflict, the way he looked at the floor when she pressed him.

…5…4…3…2…

She opens her eyes and takes a breath. Spock stands in the center of his living room, his hands folded in front of him. He is perfectly still, waiting for her to finish. One would think he is not breathing. If it is not for the occasional blink, he would be mistaken for a statute.

She sits back down on his couch. The voice that comes out of her is calm and controlled, although there is emotion raging beneath the surface. It is rather Vulcan-like, if she is being honest.

“Spock, I’m angry that I didn’t know about T’Pring before we started seeing each other. And honestly, I feel stupid.”

“That was not my intention. You have no reason to feel like this.”

Nyota holds her hand up. “That’s the problem with feelings. They’re irrational, and I can be very irrational. I feel you should be with T’Pring and not me. That I’m convenient because you’re here and I’m here, and she’s not. And you’re biding your time with me rather than wanting to actually be with me.”

He continues to watch her, saying nothing. Doing nothing.

She speaks again. “Like I said. Emotions. They’re not logical.”

Spock takes his turn, walking around the table and coming next to Nyota. He sits down next to her.

“Nyota, when you made your preference for me known, I reciprocated, did I not?”

“Yes. Although now, I’m starting to question your motivations.”

Spock’s mouth hardens as he blinks once. “Our actions have been at odds with Starfleet’s ethical codes, and, indeed, our own convictions of what is and what is not proper behavior between an instructor and a cadet. I have struggled with how to reconcile that which I desire — a connection with you — with the rules of an organization that I have sworn to uphold. I have done so; in fact, we have done so despite the risks. Are these the actions of someone who intends for a relationship to reach a finite point?”

She does not answer his rhetorical question, although she can see his point.

He takes her hands out of her lap and holds them in his own. Nyota almost — almost — removes them, but she does not.

“In retrospect, I should have discussed the matter with you before we reached this stage.”

“I’m glad you’ve realized that now.” Her voice is dagger-sharp.

“If there is one aspect of my character that you should understand, it is that whatever actions I engage in, I engage because I choose to.”

“You could choose to be with me as a placeholder until you’re reunified with T’Pring.”

“That is not a logical choice. It would be illogical to enter into a personal, intimate union with another if one knows it will ultimately be terminated.”

She laughs cynically; there are plenty of men and women, and other species, who would disagree with that sentiment. Looking at his impassive face, so different from the connection conveyed by his touch, Nyota takes a deep breath. “I needed to know about this, Spock. Before you and I began anything.”

“It is not the Vulcan way to discuss such a private matter.”

“But you’re part human, and you’re seeing me and I’m human. We have to be honest with each other, or I’m gone.”

He stiffens considerably, and his nose and lips twitch. Imperceptible by other humans, but Nyota’s eye catches the subtle movements. “I understand now.

“If we continue to see each other, this is going to become a big issue, don’t you agree?”

“That is a reasonable assumption.”

She still feels swells of anger within her. There is a sense that things have irreparably changed between them and she feels jabs in her chest, in her stomach. Unpleasant and unwanted.

There is no solving this tonight, but there are a million questions still running around in her brain. But she doesn’t ask them; right now, she is too scared of the answers. Before this, Nyota thought that there was mutual respect and honesty between them. She thought that it was in his nature to speak the truth. The revelation shakes her. She does not know where she stands with him, and his touch does not help clarify matters.

Nyota’s anger slowly gives way to a heavier feeling, something that falls into the pit of her stomach. She needs to leave here, and soon, because the last thing she wants to do is start crying in front of him.

“I… am going to go now.” She is proud that her voice, although soft, is steady. She stands, and Spock follows suit.

“Is there anything that I can do—?”

“No.” Nyota interrupts, her voice brisk and cutting. She grabs her bag. “I’m tired. And I won’t like myself if I stay here any longer.” Walking toward his door, she waits for it to slide open. She keeps her back to him and her chin begins to quiver.

“Shall I contact you tomorrow?”

“No. I’ll call you.” She doesn’t turn around, she refuses to face him.

“Nyota—”

“Spock.” Her voice reveals every bit of anger, frustration and sadness she is feeling. She knows that her eyes are watering, but, thankfully, the tears are not falling. Yet. “I’m going. I need to leave. And you need to understand that.”

His mouth opens, but only slightly. He shuts it immediately, giving her the chance to finally walk out the door and out of the building.

Once she is a suitable distance away, Nyota finds an empty bench. She sits and runs a hand through her hair, her breath starting to shake.

One tear falls… and then another…

She cries earnestly. Painfully. She clutches her stomach with her hands, bends over and weeps. Her hands cover her eyes, as if to prevent the harsh truth from flooding her head. But her brain works against her and she continues crying so hard that she can feel her throat burning. She thinks the same thoughts over and over again—

T’Pring…

She is bonded to Spock…

T’Pring will be with Spock. When all is said and done, she will have him and I will lose him.

T’Pring…

She is bonded to Spock…

Nyota wipes her wet cheeks, but the tears keep coming. Behind her, there is a rustle of something, as if someone is approaching her. She turns around.

“Spock?”

No one is there. She feels like an idiot.

Sniffling, she reaches into her bag and pulls out her PADD. She touches the screen, transmitting a message that she hopes Gaila will receive.

And she does. Her roommate meets her there in ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

“Don’t ask any questions, please. I just… I really don’t want to be alone.”

Gaila holds her hands up. “No problem,” and waits for Nyota to gather her things. They walk back to the apartment. Their arms linked together, Nyota uses Gaila to hold her up when the same thoughts roar through her mind again.

****

“YEARRH!”

Nyota is in the campus gym, using one of the Academy’s combat training rooms and a poor, defenseless training bag. She sweats, wipes her brow, rears back and punches it — hard.

“TAKE THAT! ERRGH! YERRGH!”

“Nyota?”

She grunts, ignoring Gaila as the Orion tried to get her attention. She clocks the bag violently, almost imagining it to be the face of a man with sharply angled eyebrows, black hair, pointed ears, and a penchant for misleading gullible, stupid cadets.

Gullible, stupid cadets who wanted to take their relationship further without all the facts…

If there is one thing she hates above all else, it is feeling gullible, stupid…

“DAMMIT!”

And misled. By someone she cares about.

“Hey! Warrior Princess!”

Nyota freezes, her arm reared, her fist ready. “What?”

Gaila holds the bag still. “Get a grip, all right? I don’t think the Academy’d be all that happy if you pummel the stuffing out of their best training equipment.”

Instead of backing down, Nyota gives the bag another punch and storms away, with Gaila following close behind her.

“I know you’re not going to tell me about what happened Saturday night—”

“And you’re right!” As soon as the words escape Nyota’s mouth, she feels a hand around her arm.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to just let you go on a tear. Nyota, give me a little something.”

Nyota stares at her roommate. “Look. all I want to do is kick and hit things. Kicking and hitting things’ll make me feel better. Kicking and hitting things means I can pretend I’m hitting him and I won’t be court martialed!”

She wrestles her arm out of Gaila’s grasp and walks over to another practice dummy. She bends her legs and stiffens her hands, bracing her body for the first kick. She lets loose a furious blow, her foot making impact with a loud SMACK!

“He pissed you off so much that you’re imagining this is his face?”

Nyota slams her heel into the firm pad. “You wouldn’t believe how much!” She grunts as she kicks again.

Gaila stands watching Nyota, her hands on her hips. “I don’t understand what he could’ve done that’s so terrible you’re wishing for his decapitation.”

Nyota gives the bag two more kicks and retreats, hopping back and forth on both feet. “Can’t tell you,” she huffs in between panting breaths.

“Fine. Don’t give me specifics. Give me a quick run-through.”

Nyota glares at the Orion. She stops moving. “If I talk, will you leave me alone?” 
 “It depends on what you say.”

Breathing hot air through her nose, Nyota walks over to grab her towel and water bottle. She wipes her face and neck and drinks until she feels slightly refreshed. Gaila never takes her eyes off of her.

Nyota throws her towel into a laundry receptacle and heads to the entrance that leads outside into the main area of the gymnasium. They enter the main floor of the large gymnasium complex. Nyota looks around to see how many people are nearby. It is busy, as it is a weekend. Everyone is in their own little world, going to workout classes, training rooms, or meeting friends. To the left of the women, a large group of cadets are hanging around another training room, pointing and commenting about something inside. They slowly make their way over to the throng, talking as they walk.

“I’m not going to tell you specifics, but, suffice it to say that males of any species are all capable of pulling the exact same bullshit!” Nyota rolls her eyes. “They’ll lure you in, make you feel really good about where your relationship’s going, and then — WHAM!” For impact, she hits the palm of her hand with her fist. “They completely blindside you and forget to tell you a massively important detail that can affect the future of your relationship.”

“Like?”

Nyota leans toward her friend and whispers to her. “It’s not my place to say. But I’d probably be justified to end it right here and now.”

The Orion woman’s eyes practically burst out of her head. “No way! Are you sure it’s not just, you know, a big interspecies misunderstanding and a little make-up nookie will make everyone happy?”

“That’s the problem. We almost — took our relationship to the next level.” Nyota drops her voice low so the growing mob in front of them will not hear them. They do not have to worry about that; the crowd is fully engrossed in whatever is going on in the training room in front of them.

Gaila hears every word, and she gasps at the confession. “No!”

“Uh-huh.” Nyota sinks her cheeks inward, chewing on them as he tries to keep her feelings in check. “He would’ve been just fine with it without ever letting me know about this 'something'.”

“Maybe you should give him a tiny bit of leeway.”

Nyota glares at her.

“Will you hear me out, before you decide to bash my head in?”

Resigned, she gestures for Gaila to continue. The Orion clears her throat and adopts a pedantic expression. “This is probably the commander’s first foray into a serious human relationship.”

“No,” Nyota interrupts, “his mother’s human.”

“If your relationship with him is anything like his mother’s, then… ew!”

“I’m not saying that. He was raised by his mother. And he’s lived in San Francisco for several years now since he entered the Academy. He’s very aware of human behavior and what is and isn’t acceptable.”

Gaila stares flatly at her. “Are you sure? Because it took me awhile to figure out you didn’t like it when I had my partners in our apartment. And other things that humans think are bizarre or completely taboo, but are perfectly acceptable on my home world.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? I’ve found ways to manage my pheromones and my appetites here, but if the elderwomen on Orion saw me on Earth, they would think I’ve lost my way, that I’ve given up the Orion way of life. Spock’s found ways to navigate within human culture. And part of that, apparently, is deciding to be in a relationship with you. That comes with a learning curve.”

“But—”

“But no. You have to remember the two of you are from different worlds. Just as he’s learning, you have to exercise patience and understanding. And he’ll do the same for you.”

Nyota is silent for a beat. Finally, she whistles and she looks at Gaila, reluctantly impressed. “Damn. Someone just found their inner relationship advisior.”

“Correction: my inner intergalactic relationship advisor.”

With a heavy sigh, Nyota intones, “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

“Wait, what’s that?” Gaila pushes closer, her finger against her ear. “I didn’t quite catch you—”

Nyota shakes her head. “I said I guess you’re right.”

Gaila looks at her, immensely proud of herself. “Yep! I do believe I am.” 

The two women reach the crowd, and upon approach, they are surprised to see Janice Rand and Christine Chapel standing right at the front. Christine motions for them to come over.

“What’s going on?”

Christine turns Nyota toward the glass room in front of them. “You might be interested to see this.”

Nyota stands before the large glass walls. In front of a training dummy with long poles sticking out from it is Spock. His strength, speed, and endurance are all on display as he demonstrates the most extraordinary martial arts skills she has ever seen. He twists and darts. He strikes the device with sharp, fast hands, with such strength and force that Nyota would have thought the training dummy would break.

“By the Great Goddess Anyanka!” Gaila breathlessly exclaims.

Around her, Nyota can hear the clamor of cadets straining to see as much as possible of the Vulcan. But her eyes remain focused on Spock, who is dressed in sleeveless black from head to toe. She watches his body, his muscles, the movement of his hands, the unbelievable precision of his kicks. His arms, lean and powerful, move faster and more assured than is humanly possible. And though he sweats, though he fights with superhuman sureness and speed, she can see his face. He remains as stoic as ever.

Kick. Thrust. Strike. He whirls and her eyes barely catch how he attacks the post. Watching him move in ways no human is capable of performing, with an agility no human possesses, Nyota thinks back to the conversation she just had with Gaila.

“You have to remember the two of you are from different worlds. Just as he is learning, you have to exercise patience and understanding. And he’ll do the same for you.”

Amidst all her anger and sadness and humiliation, Nyota realizes that she has not been as understanding as she should have been. And worse, she has missed him even though it has only been a few days since they last saw or spoke to each other. She did not contact him the Sunday following their fallout, and she actively avoided routes that would take her past his office and his classrooms. Only a couple of times did they pass each other in the hallways. Nyota would stiffen her body and pointedly look forward, even though her eyes betrayed her to catch a fleeting glimpse of the commander.

And she would see him doing the same. Both times she had to take deep breaths to calm herself; it felt far too much like a breakup and such a thought brought tears to her eyes.  

“Maybe he should teach our hand-to-hand courses,” Christine offers, her soft voice cuts through Nyota’s memories and observations. She does not know what is going on between her and the commander presently.

Janice taps her playfully with her elbow. “Nyota, you are one lucky girl. Nummy!”

“That’s what I say!” Gaila pipes up.

“Would you two shut it?” Nyota says, annoyed. “And who told you about us?” she asks Janice in a harsh whisper.

Janice scoffs. “Well, no one did. I guessed. I’ll forgive you for not telling me.”

Nyota hisses at her. Janice and Christine share a silent laugh. Gaila gives Nyota’s arm a gentle squeeze.

With a final kick and slice of his hand, Spock stands back from the dummy. He inhales, and brings his arms together, touching his fingertips and holding them in front of his chest. He remains close-lipped and focused on something ahead of him, only blinking, never showing the physical strain of his workout.

All around Nyota, the girls who had been watching the last portion of his workout start applauding. Even Gaila and Janice join in. Christine smiles and pats her on the shoulder, momentarily snapping her out of her trance.

Spock shifts his head toward the clapping. Several of the girls are still going at it, even daring to shout out a couple of catcalls. Nyota glares at Gaila and Janice; of course, the loudest whistling comes from them.

He scans the crowd — and he sees her. His eyebrow angles up only millimeters; it is the only movement his face makes.

Spock emerges from the training room. He is no longer sweating. He is as calm and as collected as ever, even as he stands before them. “I was not aware that observing officers during their training sessions warranted applause, much less an audience.”

Several of the cadets murmur awkward apologies and excuses, all lost on the commander, as well as Nyota, who has turned sharply on her heels. She walks toward the entrance of the gym. She can still hear Spock; his voice sounds slightly sharper than normal. “As you were.”

She is not sure if the edginess to his voice is apparent to anyone else, but she does not stop to observe. Nyota approaches the entrance to the gym. She steps outside, hearing footsteps, strong and purposeful, following closely behind her.

Once outside, she moves off the sidewalk, letting others pass. She keeps her back turned away from the entrance, feeling her heart pounding from anticipation… waiting to hear, to see him…

The door slides open again. There are four more footsteps. “Good afternoon, Cadet Uhura.”

A shudder runs through her upon hearing Spock’s voice. “Commander,” she says. She turns around slowly, making sure she looks as professional as possible.

He eyes her for one-point-five seconds. “You appear to be doing well.”

Her lips twitch upwards; she almost wants to laugh because, right now, she appears to be doing her best impression of a Vulcan. “Appearances aren’t all they seem, Commander.”

There is a small shadow that moves across his face; it immediately disappears. “I have done as you requested and have not contacted you. If I am crossing any lines of personal impropriety by talking to you now, I shall go.”

Nyota does not say anything, but her brow briefly drops as she considers how to answer this.

“By admitting that appearances are not what they seem, does that mean you are not actually well?”

“Sp–Commander,” Nyota says, correcting herself; they are out in public after all. “I saw you working out in there.” This does not answer his question, but she does not want to reply at the moment.

His head inclines towards the gym. “Several of your peers applauded at the end of my training. I did not understand their reaction. Was such a display from the other cadets necessary?”

Nyota thinks about her response. Her face shows nothing of the emotions that she feels, the things she wants to say. “They were impressed because you don’t move like… like a human. Or like any other humanoid.”

“I am aware of the differences between Vulcans and other species. Certainly, as Starfleet cadets, they too are aware of these variations.”

“They are, but their emotions get the better of them. Curiosity, awe, envy... they feel these things and they react accordingly.” She stops talking, but for only a moment. “Regardless if it is right or wrong.”

Spock nods twice, slowly. “Is there a reason that you show no emotion?”

Nyota stares at him, confused. “What?”

Spock takes two steps closer to her. “Saturday evening, when you left my apartment, you were visibly upset and angry at me for the information that I withheld from you. From the time you left to the moment when Cadet A’baa’ntan walked you back—”

She is startled by this admission, realizing with horror that he saw her cry. “You followed me?”

“I had a responsibility to make sure you would be safe. I remained and observed you until you had an escort to your home. I took into account your warning to me prior to your departure that evening. I concluded it would have been unwise to make you aware of my presence.”

The admission makes her tremble, and she presses shaking fingers against her mouth. Spock continues, his voice even but not the same soft, gentle tone that he uses when it is just them.

“Your reaction to seeing me today is unexpected. You show no emotion, either positive or negative, toward our encounter. Please elaborate as to why.”

A small hiccup escapes from her as she lowers her hand. “I’m actually feeling a lot of different things, Commander. Things that I can’t discuss with you right now.”

He bows his head, his ears moving, pressing against his temples. “I understand.” He pauses for three seconds exactly; Nyota counts it in her head. “Cadet Uhura, I will not keep you any longer. I hope you find the rest of your week satisfactory.” With a final, salutary bow, he turns and walks away. Nyota watches him, her eyes focused on the back of his impeccably trimmed hair as a gentle breeze catches the strands.

“Commander! Wait!”  

Spock stops immediately at the urgency of Nyota’s voice. She jogs until she is closer to him, allowing herself to take in the pleasant scent of him, even after a workout.

“Are you available Friday evening?”

She catches Spock’s eyes, indeed his face, as they soften. “I have no obligations.”

Shaking but steeling herself so she can ask him her inquiry. “Would it be all right with you if I came over to finish our discussion? I’ll take care of dinner.”

There is a slight shift in Spock’s face, as his mouth, cheeks and eyes ease up. “That is an acceptable proposal.”

“We can meet at our spot at 1900.”

Without giving anything away, he gives her one nod.

“Good. Friday evening it is then.” She manages to give him a fleeting smile, and she wants to stay longer, to take him by the hand and have that conversation here and now. This gives her a little more time to think about what Gaila has said, about Spock’s mistakes, and about her own.

The mistakes should be discussed, but they should not prematurely end what could be something good, something special for the both of them.

Nyota feels a sense of peace envelop her. Smiling, she pivots and walks away.

 ****

They approach Spock’s apartment silently. He carries the containers Nyota brought that are filled with a lovely vegetable and tofu curry, something she knows he likes. There is not much said between them as they walked. Nyota finds her mind preoccupied with dueling, persistent thoughts.

T’Pring.

He will be hers and I will lose him…

“You have to remember the two of you are from different worlds…”

Spock allows her to enter his apartment first. She places her bag on the floor and removes her shoes. Spock stands next to his door. Pressing a button on the keypad, the soft notes of the Vulcan lute begin to play.

 He points his finger up, as if gesturing for the notes. “This is an old Vulcan folk song that I knew well as a child.

She nods. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is surprisingly calm. She takes the food from him, and walks into his kitchen. She is familiar enough with the space to know where the dishes are, and glasses and utensils.

She lays what they need on the brown stone countertop.

“You went to Dosa?”

Nyota nods. “I did.”

 “You selected my preferred dish.”

She smiles. “That was on purpose.”

Spock looks at the spread. “Though you went to much effort to prepare this, it may be best to commence our discussion about T’Pring and my bond with her.”

Nyota stifles a choking sound. “Y-you don’t mess around, do you?”

“I think it would be wise to begin this conversation early into the evening, in the hopes that an acceptable solution can be reached sooner rather than later.”

She nods and moves past him, into his living room. She goes to the left corner of his couch, smoothes the back of her skirt as she takes a seat. Spock follows her into the room, and he sits in a chair close to her, but allows a reasonable amount of space between them. To Nyota’s surprise, he begins to speak, using the tone he reserves solely for when they are alone.

“I remember the times when my mother and my father would have disagreements. They were not frequent, but they did occur.”

Nyota regards him steadily; her eyes never leave his.

“There was one occurrence, at the learning center. My parents argued — correction,” he says, stopping himself. “My mother argued. My father discussed. She said to him, ‘When Vulcans get disgusted with each other, they never just walk away, do they?’” His eyes are open and full of something Nyota thinks might be regret or sadness at the memory. “And then she would walk away. Her absences were never long. They never exceeded what would be two hours by your clock, but they gave her enough time to temper the conflict. I know it affected my father in ways he could not tell me.”

She blinks at this stark confession. “I see.”

“I say this because I believe I now know what my father endured when she would leave. And as I did not see you for days, the affect upon me was in direct proportion to the duration of your absence.”

The admission takes her breath away for a minute. “You missed me?”

Spock bows his head. “Profoundly.”

Nyota feels tremors course through her body. She remains composed, although it is difficult. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“I require no response.”

His reply surprises, almost shocks her. Nyota blinks quickly and finds her words. “As much as I thought, and still think, you were wrong for not telling me about T’Pring—” She surprises herself; saying T’Pring’s name feels easier than before. “I was wrong too.”

He raises his eyebrow at this. “You were?” Nyota gestures in agreement.  

“I didn’t let it sink in that this bond was extremely difficult for you to discuss. With me in particular because I am not a Vulcan.”

“That is true.”

“And I am the first, and only, human that you have discussed the matter with. Correct?”

Spock nods once. “Yes.”

Nyota takes a deep breath through her nose. “I realized I had several problems with accepting this new information. I told you it made me feel stupid, like you’re biding your time with me. I know that’s not right, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling this way.

“I also realize that what hurt me was that we were close to—” She has no idea how to phrase this. “We were close to becoming more intimate with each other.” She leans forward. “I wanted you that night, and I would have taken that next step with you without knowing about T’Pring.”

His expression flattens out, like he has realized something integral, that he has discovered some unknown variable that solves a mysterious equation. “I see now why the news had a strong affect on you.”

Nyota reaches for his hand; he is close enough to offer it to her. “Sex, Spock, is not something I take lightly. I’ve made mistakes before, and I don’t want that to happen with you.” Her voice thickens. There is emotion building behind her sentiments, and it is going to hit her at any moment. She keeps it at bay; she doesn’t want Spock to see her like this. Not now, at least.

“I told myself that the next man I choose to have sex with, I want to make sure it’s for real and that I know him and I know him well.”

This is such an odd way to carry on a conversation with a member of the opposite sex, Nyota thinks. Stark honesty, memories to represent and signify emotions, not a hint of obfuscation or innuendo. They both reveal themselves to the other person, and they offer themselves as they are.

That is all they can do. And hope that they can make this work. At least, that is what she wants.

“It was my mistake to not tell you about T’Pring, and I see how my failure to do so compounded and complicated your own feelings regarding the direction of our relationship.” Spock’s fingers gently rub the back of her hand. “On Vulcan, the bond is seen as a biological imperative by the elders. While we do not speak of it, it informs much of our behavior and our interactions with each other.”

“How do Vulcans handle relationships that occur outside of the bond?”

Spock’s expression lightens, the equivalent of a facial shrug. “The relationship ends if the female chooses marriage with her bonded partner, or if she invokes the koon-ut-kal-if-fee.” 

Nyota looks at him steadily. “The fight to the death.”

“Between the bonded male and a male of her own choosing, typically the rival for her companionship.” Spock clarifies. Nothing in his voice shows any apprehension or fear about this outcome. He is as stoic as ever.

She does not say anything dramatic like, “But you could die!” or, “Don’t do it! Stay here with me!” Horrible clichés that are in movies that Gaila likes to watch during their girl nights while drinking wine. Instead, she simply breathes. “Then, it’s in the hands of the females?”

“She commences the kal-if-fee, and she selects the male against whom the bonded will fight. If the bonded male emerges victorious, then he may keep her or release her.”

“There’s no other alternative?”

“With bonded Vulcans, there is little else. Intensive meditation will only be effective for a period of time, as the plak tow that takes hold of us during our pon farr can intensify with every occurrence.”

Nyota speaks carefully. “From what I overheard, T’Pring wants to sever the bond with you. Is that something you would prefer?”

Shutting his eyes, Spock nods once. “It would be my preference.”

“And if they cannot sever the bond prior to your pon farr, she will choose the koon-ut-kal-if-fee.” 

Spock nods again without hesitation. “That is the logical assumption.”

“You could die.” Her tone is deceptively calm, matching his demeanor perfectly.

“I might not.”

“Or… you would kill? You would kill another Vulcan or humanoid or whomever to end the bond?”

His response is immediate. “While I recognize the moral objections, indeed even the repugnance you may feel as a human, this is understood by the Vulcans as the proper and logical means by which the bonding process can be fulfilled or rejected.”

Nyota inhales deeply. “It is self-defense. It is totally self-defense. I know it would be considered self-defense here.” Again, her eyes meet his, and she can feel hers starting to water. “Not that humans have any say in Vulcan society.” She shuts her eyes, wiping them as the first set of tears spill out. “Just this one.” She looks at her wet fingertips.

“Sorry.”

He does not embrace her to comfort her as the tears fall. Instead, he stands up gracefully from his chair and he makes his way toward the couch, sitting down less than half-a-foot from Nyota.

“Expressions of emotions are important, necessary for your kind. You should not apologize for them. I do not require it.”

She cries as she laughs and she chokes on her words. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It is human. And as Vulcans embrace logic, humans should embrace their passions.”

Nyota lifts her head up, sniffling. She swallows again, and she thinks she may have regained her composure. “You don’t think less of me?”

“Never.” At Spock’s firm tone, Nyota chuckles and bats the water from her cheeks. Spock speaks again. “I will understand if you want to reconsider personal interactions with me, in light of these admissions.”

As soon as she hears him say this, she feels herself shaking her head, instinctually, reflexively. “No. I want to continue this. I missed you. A lot. I like spending time with you. I like you. But… thinking about you dying…”

She cannot finish the thought. He remains silent.

Nyota breathes in through her nose. “This was a huge obstacle, but I want to work through it, okay?”

His mouth gives a hint of an upturn. “That is what I would prefer.”

“Good.” She is feeling slightly better, but she also feels emboldened to tell him what she needs to. “I’ll tell you two things. I want to know if you think you’ll be able to comply with them.”

Spock gestures in agreement. “You may proceed.

Nyota clears her throat before she begins speaking. “Will you, in the future, be honest with me about whatever occurs with T’Pring? Will you tell me if anything changes and if anything will affect us?”

He considers her point, finally bowing his head. “That is reasonable.”

She moves closer to him. She draws herself up and looks at him with gravely. “Second, if you do bond with T’Pring, I won’t allow myself to be the other woman. If it comes to that, I will end this.”

She watches his mouth press harder into a solid line, and something flashes in his eyes. Nyota feels his hand touch her check, and that surge, that electricity that courses through her every time they touch returns. Her eyes fly open and she looks at his face. No emotions register there, not that she expected it. But she revels in the contact and focuses on his eyes.

His voice is even, deep. “I cannot, I will not allow that to happen.”

It is the words he chooses that hit her. From a human male, they would sound slightly possessive, harsh. From him, because he does not speak in terms of feelings or emotions, it takes on a far different resonance. He means that he will do what he needs to do, to make sure she stays. He will be here for her.

Her heart pounds against her chest. She opens her mouth to say something… but she places her palm low on his torso, feeling his heart beating in a place so different from hers. With no other words, she kisses him.

Spock remains still, his hand still on her cheek. Her lips glide over his, gently pecking the corners of his mouth, and then returning to the center, pressing against his. Spock’s
response increases, and when his lips part, she feels herself sink into him.

They clinch for several minutes, not breaking this contact because it does feel amazing and incredible and Nyota wants him. Somehow, they end up tangled on their couch, as a week’s worth of emotional turbulence and the thought of reconciliation feeds into their desires. It is when she realizes that her hair is mussed and her hands are touching his chest and his body is positioned between her legs that both of them need more. In her mind, which is filled with a million simultaneous thoughts, it is the predominant one.

Spock pulls away first, but only barely, regaining control of his breath. His fingers caress her cheek, pausing slightly as if he wants them to linger there, seeking something that he has not yet asked for. His eyes never leave hers, and he touches his forehead to hers.

It takes him two inhalations before he can speak, and his tone is as calm as ever. “You still desire more from me.”

This snaps Nyota out of her reveries. “There’ll be time for that later,” she says softly, giving him a final peck and standing back up to straighten her clothes. She walks to the kitchen, her step slightly lighter than before. “But for now, let’s go eat.”

****

FICLET: And So It Begins.... Part One (Kyle Lewis/Oliver Fish, One Life to Live, Slash)

suzanne78 — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 02:08:39 GMT

Fandom: One Life to Live (soap opera); Canon.
Rating: PG-13 (maybe R in later chapters) mostly for language. Might up the rating in later installments.
Summary: Oliver Fish met Kyle Lewis in college. It will change his life forever. Part One of ????
A/N: I got the idea for this from a challenge that I did over on FFN. Put my music device on “shuffle” and write out a small drabble/ficlet to a song, using it as inspiration or as the foundation of the story. I wanted to do some stories of Kyle and Oliver in their college years, but I might just write out bits and pieces to whatever song comes on. Plus, this story's helping me overcome my writer's block. Blech!! Hope you enjoy!

Also posted on Kishmet. Thread here: And So It Began...

Part One:
McFearless
Kings of Leon

Wade Addington cracked the huge wooden paddle into his hand, the Greek letters Kappa, Alpha, and Delta burned into the handle. The president of the fraternity was still in his black tie and shirt; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had the most frightening grin plastered on his face. The other brothers, some who were officers with Addington, surrounded him.

Oliver Fish remained perfectly still on his knees, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with the other pledges. He barely registered the smaller, dark-haired guy next to him. Fish dared not move, blink, or even breathe funny; he had heard from the other pledges that the upperclassmen were probably going to do a little harmless hazing. Mostly talk, but nothing else. They weren’t going to risk having their charter pulled again during the probationary period.

Surely they wouldn’t, right?

Oliver hoped desperately that they didn’t see or hear him gulp.

“Listen up, bitches!” Wade bellowed, smacking the paddle in his palm. “Don’t think for one damn minute we’re going to go easy on you. For the next four years, we own you pathetic little shits, and if you fail to live up to our standards, we will end you!”

Oliver did nothing. When the guy next to him snorted, barely audibly, Addington whipped around so quickly and jutted himself toward the two boys so violently that Fish almost fell back.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU LITTLE BUTT-LICKERS LAUGHED?”

He opened his mouth to say, “No one laughed, sir!” but the guy next to him inexplicably spoke up.

“I don’t know about you, but threatening us with bodily harm while you're all on probation doesn’t really seem like the most brilliant move. Sir.”

“Lewis? This is your first night with us, and you’re already giving us shit?” Addington looked menacingly at the other guy, who was now, inexplicably, smirking. Oliver prayed this idiot didn’t just earn himself a beating from the entire fraternity. If there was going to be a fight, Oliver would feel compelled to step in and stop it, even if he didn’t know him.

That’s who he was. He had too much cop in him. He knew what was right and what was wrong. And starting a fight over some stupid, smart remark was definitely wrong.

Lewis shrugged. “No attitude. Just wanted to be honest with my new brothers. Point out some simple truths… buddy.”

Oliver was completely taken aback. This Lewis character — there was nothing but casual amusement in his voice. He could practically hear him smirking. As if he didn’t care whether he got into it with the president if not the entire house.

Addington reared his arm back, the paddle high above his head. Oliver readied himself, waiting for the downward arch, preparing himself to intervene.

The officer jabbed the top of the paddle into Lewis’ chest. “You’ve got bathroom duty. Friday morning through Monday. For a full month.”

Oliver let out a little breath of relief. Bathroom duty? That’s not so bad.

“Our first hall party’s this Thursday. And we’re going to leave all sorts of nice… surprises for you. Buddy.”

Lewis said nothing. Addington turned back around and started barking more orders and more chores to the pledge class. Oliver nodded, barely paying any attention to any of it. A few times he chanced a glance over at the shorter boy.

Only once did he catch Lewis’ eye. And there was a moment, so brief Oliver thought he imagined it—

But Oliver could have sworn he winked at him.

UGH!! 'Puter probs....

suzanne78 — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 12:29:50 GMT

Okay, so I'm posting this because I just wanted to give a heads up on my status.

I haven't updated any stories in three weeks because 1.) I've been busy, 2.) I've been on vacation, and 3.) I've had a very unpredictable computer that's been giving me massive headachey problems for the past week-and-a-half. I'm up and running now, for the moment, but that might not be the case for much longer, as I'm anticipating a full blown hard drive meltdown any day.

(It's also not helping that I dropped the blasted thing at the airport when my husband and I were trying to do a three concourse dash to catch our plane. The fact that she's even running right now is a godsend.)

I'm backing everything up and I'm playing it by ear as to when I'm taking her in for a longer stay at the Genius Bar. So... just wanted to keep the flist updated.

(Oh, I've also gotten addicted to One Life to Live and the Kyle/Fish storyline, so there's that lovely distraction as well.)

FIC: The Test Part Eight (Spock/N. Uhura, PG)

suzanne78 — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 11:39:32 GMT

Title: The Test, Part Eight: Trouble in Paradise
Author: suzanne78
Characters/Pairings: Spock/N. Uhura, Gaila, Christine Chapel, Janice Rand, Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy, and Amanda Grayson
Ratings/Warnings: PG; some mild language. This story's not going to be (too) smutty....
Summary: He does not know the ways in which he tests her. Even as an aide, Nyota is, quite unfortunately, drawn to her instructor. Spock makes an arrangement, Nyota enjoys a girls' night out and she overhears some important information.
A/N: Again, big thanks to mrstater for her beta-read. As to The Beatles reference; I wouldn’t have included it if Alan Dean Foster hadn’t written it in his novelization. Apparently, the Vulcan Learning Center did test Spock on the work of Lennon and McCartney… in the book at least.
And in case anyone was wondering: my inspiration for Christine Chapel’s character is Elizabeth Mitchell, who plays Juliet Burke on Lost. I can’t help but imagine her in the role. And yes, Admiral Richard Barnett was Tyler Perry's character in the movie.

Links to previous parts:

Part One here
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Outtake from Part Four: "This Most Illogical Matter"
Part Five here
Part Six here
Part Seven here

Admiral Richard Barnett’s office is clean, although the walls are filled with plaques and awards and certificates. She sees several pictures of his two children and his wife, some taken at the family’s house in Brooklyn. His wife, of course, is the lauded Admiral Olivia Barnett, the first African-American female captain in Starfleet, currently stationed at Starbase 20. The bookshelves are filled with a mix of antique books and items from the admiral’s travels, including copies of The Art of War, translated in both Andorian Prime and Vulcan Prime. On the top of the bookshelf, on a dark base, are two holographic representations, one of Cape Town and the other of Table Mountain.

Nyota does not feel comforted. This is her first meeting with the admiral — indeed, any admiral — and they will be discussing some inconveniently private matters.

The chair next to her is occupied by a familiar, tall, black-haired man with pointed ears. She does not smile. She keeps her face as straight as possible. This meeting will affect their futures at the Academy, and if one thing goes wrong, that could be the end of their careers altogether. The best thing for both of them is to maintain professionalism, despite the fact that they will be discussing their relationship.

Spock remains focused on the superior officer as Admiral Barnett takes his seat. For the briefest moment, the dark centers of his eyes flicker to meet hers, and in the moment that passes, she feels her anxiety lessen. There is that connection; they are in this together, whatever may occur.

Barnett leans back in his office chair. “Cadet Uhura, given the nature of this meeting, I want to assure you that, for the moment, everything we say in here is confidential.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

He gets right to business. “Commander Spock has already approached me with the main problem. According to him, you have both mutually agreed to enter into a personal relationship, a de facto violation of Starfleet’s Code of Ethical Conduct regulation fifteen three-five.” Barnett peers unnervingly at Nyota. “Since I have nothing but full faith in Commander Spock’s integrity and see no reason as to why he would fabricate something like this, I assume he’s telling the truth.”

She looks at Spock. He does nothing, only appears to wait for her to acknowledge their relationship. Barnett waits for her reply as well. She nods twice, very slowly, feeling her stomach roil nervously. “Yes, sir. I am — I mean we, Commander Spock and I — are seeing each other. We have been for almost four weeks now.” She thanks the stars that she is not standing, lest her legs turn to jelly and she pass out.

“Three-point-two-nine weeks, to be precise.”

She whips her head around. “Precisely? Really?”

“That detail may assist in determining whether any rules have been irreparably contravened, and whether the Academy requires disciplinary proceedings.”

He is not being unreasonable, but Nyota is nervous, and she tends to snap when she is nervous. “Yes, but isn’t the only thing that’s important is that we began this after I started working for Commander Kyle? That was four-and-a-half weeks ago.”

“The correlation of facts is certainly necessary, but the admiral will appreciate any specifics—”

A cough interrupts Spock. They turn and face Barnett.

“If it wasn’t apparent that you two were in a relationship before, it’s pretty clear now,” the superior officer deadpans. He taps his fingers on the top of his desk. “Mr. Spock, of all the officers currently teaching at the Academy, I would never have pegged you capable of such an action.”

She notices the corners of Spock’s jaw tighten slightly. “Admiral, I am aware that my behavior is, at least according to Vulcan standards, illogical. Certainly, the elders on my home world would frown upon it, as would the Academy council. However, the circumstances regarding our relationship suggest that we did not violate any rules and it will not affect our work. Therefore, I wish to appeal on my own behalf and, if allowed, the cadet’s as well.”

Barnett’s eyebrow flies up. Nyota notices the corner of the admiral’s mouth tweaking. He is trying to stop himself from grinning.

“I’d be more than happy to hear anything you’d want to say,” the admiral offers.

She wants to stop Spock; she is not sure if Barnett is looking to ridicule him or if this entire affair is merely for show and the admiral does not actually have any problems with their relationship. But before she can say anything, she feels a gentle but firm pressure surround her wrist. It is Spock’s hand, encircling her arm. And feelings of calmness, of certainty envelop her.

“It will be all right,” Spock says. “I do know what I am doing.” 

She gives him a very small, but no less meaningful, wink. “At least you have that going for you.”

Spock turns back to Barnett. “Cadet Uhura began working as my aide in February of this year. She was awarded the position when she became the sole candidate to correctly identify and bring to my attention an error that had been planted in a paper. This was part of the selection process, approved in advance by Commander Patel.” He bows his head at a shallow angle. “It was, perhaps, logical that Cadet Uhura was the only applicant who successfully performed the exercise. Her talent with xenolinguistics and her exceptional aural sensitivity are well known among the instructors in the department. As is her willingness to contribute verbally during lectures. She has never shown any unease with offering her insights, even if her conclusions were not entirely accurate.”

She cannot help it. She knows she needs to be professional, but she gapes at him. “‘If my conclusions were not entirely accurate?’ When have I ever been inaccurate?”

“I refer to your first semester’s work in constructive verbalization. While your first attempts at identification and production of the sound structures were admirable, your work suffered from an inexperienced ear. This was logical as you were working with language systems previously unfamiliar to you. According to Commander O’Leary, you did make mistakes during your examinations.”

She narrows her eyes. “I received a silver rating in constructive verbalization in my second invitational. And the gold in my last competition!”

“Indeed. But did those honors not follow the work you accomplished during your first semester?”

“Yes, but—”

“And your scores increased in Advanced Constructive Verbalization your second year in the program. Objectively, this is a clear indication that your work did improve, is it not?”

She presses her mouth tightly; she knows he is accurate, remembering how much she struggled with click and whistle theory in Antarean and Bajoran Prime when she first began the program. “I… can’t argue with that,” she finally says through clenched teeth. Spock looks neither satisfied nor upset at her words.

Barnett holds his hand up. “I don’t need to hear anymore. Mr. Spock, you’ve already explained your history with Cadet Uhura to me prior to her joining us today; I believe I have a full and accurate account of your professional relationship with her as her instructor and mentor.

“Cadet,” he says, addressing Nyota, “you’re working with Commander Kyle now. And my understanding of the facts suggest that this relationship began after you quit working for Mr. Spock.” Barnett audibly exhales and leans back in his chair. He props his head on his hand, his arm bent on his chair’s armrest.

“Here’s what I believe. I believe Mr. Spock selected you to be his assistant based on your skills. I also believe that Commander Kyle selected you based on your credentials. Douglas Kyle, despite whatever might be said about the man, makes his own decisions. It wouldn’t matter if Mr. Spock himself applied to be his assistant — if the commander didn’t want Mr. Spock to be his assistant, Mr. Spock would not be his assistant.

“After reviewing your records, Cadet, and after observing your interactions together, I conclude that your relationship does not warrant any disciplinary measures. End of story.” Barnett finally allows the smirk that he had been struggling with to finally appear. Nyota closes her eyes for two seconds, allowing herself to feel a little release of tension, broken only by Spock’s calm voice.

“Admiral, in regards to the disclosure, how will you proceed?”

Barnett stands up and walks to the entrance to his office. He punches a key and the door slides open. “I’ll handle this internally. My only request is that you exercise discretion for the remainder of your time at the Academy. Both of you. Cadet Uhura, if you have told anyone about this, please emphasize the need to keep your relationship discreet. You only have a few more months to go before graduation. I don’t want to hear about any impropriety, or else we may need to hold disciplinary proceedings.”

 Nyota and Spock both stand at attention. “Thank you, Admiral,” Nyota says, feeling a sense of cautious relief. “I assure you that discretion will be our top priority.”

“Your assistance in this matter is much appreciated, sir.” Spock says, his posture like a steel rod. He bows his head in salute.

Barnett lets his smirk broaden into a smile. Nyota notes that there was no cynical edge to it; it is, if anything, understanding. “Well, Mr. Spock, I will say that your decision to come forward about this sensitive matter showed good judgment on your part. You are excused.”

Spock gestures for Nyota to exit first, which she does, giving a salutary nod to Barnett. Just as he passes through the entrance, Spock turns to the admiral. “Please send Admiral Barnett my regards the next time you converse with her.”

The admiral, still with a smile on his face, nods once. “She’ll be very appreciative of that.” The entrance slides shut between the men.

Nyota and Spock start walking through the hall of the Sagan Center, the primary location for the council’s offices. The interior is pretty, richer in tone than the Xenolinguistics Department's greys and blacks and silvers. The floors are a vibrant red and pieces of art from around Earth and other planets line the corridors. However, Nyota ignores the pleasing aesthetic atmosphere surrounding them because she has to get something off her chest.

“Was all that really necessary? The weaknesses in my constructive verbalization?”

Spock walks with his hands behind his back. “I did not intend for you to react in the manner that you did. However, it appeared to convince the admiral that our relationship has not and will not interfere with our professional duties.”

She purses her lips together. “Yes, apparently it did. But why, exactly, did you choose to talk to Admiral Barnett first before approaching the rest of the council?”

“You are unaware that the admiral met his wife at the Academy.”

“I don’t see why that’s important.”

Spock’s face remains perfectly calm, but there is a slight uplift of his mouth — a subtle grin. “He met her because she was his instructor in Level III Advanced Tactical Analysis, in his third year. Their relationship commenced one year before he graduated.”

Nyota falters in her step and her mouth drops wide open. “Oh!” She laughs. “Well played, Commander. Well played.”

Spock tips his head. “I must return to the language lab to begin work on the most recent transmissions from Sector 30. Are you heading that direction yourself?”

She nods and turns down another corridor toward the entrance. “I need to work on the calibration machines and our amplifiers. Commander Kyle is expecting me in about thirty minutes. However,” she says, her voice considerably softer, “I will be free this evening. If you’re available—”

“I have no preexisting obligations.”

She stops walking, as does the commander. “I don’t want to impose on you, Spock. I would like to spend time with you. But if you feel, given this meeting with Barnett, that we should take a break tonight, that would be perfectly fine as well.”

There are no other cadets around. The campus is practically bare, save for the weekend staff and maintenance. A few officers have their entrances open, and they sit at their desks, returning messages or otherwise working. Spock and Nyota are in an area free of others. They maintain about a foot-and-a-half space between their persons. Nyota is certain no one would think they are discussing anything not quite professional.

Spock shifts his upper body a couple of degrees toward her. “Perhaps, I can give you a demonstration of the Vulcan lute. We can also dine together. If you feel inclined to do so, that is.”

Nyota watches his lips and his eyes. She keeps her smile small, but her she knows, despite his coolness, his lack of open demonstration of his feelings, her own are growing. She is resolved to maintain professionalism, but she also recognizes that it will be difficult. “I do feel inclined, Commander.”

****

A few days later, Nyota walks to a set of apartments near the Academy campus. Gaila squeals. Nyota cringes and covers her ears, lest she go deaf at the Orion’s high-pitched caterwauling.

“Girl’s night out! Girl’s night out! Girl’s night out!” Gaila shouts and claps. She does not care that the other cadets, and probably a few instructors, look at her funny. Or that the personnel might be frowning at Gaila’s choice of garb, a clingy, sparkly crimson dress with the bottom hem cut so high and the neckline cut so low, they practically meet in the middle.

Nyota can only shake her head. “Excited much?”

“Oh, Nyota!” Gaila links her arm through hers and pulls her along in quick strides. “Do you realize that, the last time we had a real girl’s night out, at a bar and a club, it was, like, a million centuries ago?”

“Or two weeks ago? Are you, by chance, going by the Orion calendar?”

Her roommate waves dismissively at her snarky comment. “I’m just glad that I didn’t have to knock you out and drag you from Kyle’s lab like I threatened to.” Gaila bounds over to the building in front of them and presses a few keys.

“Now, even though your dressed like you’re retired or something—”

“I beg your pardon!” Nyota’s outfit is decidedly more regulation, as she wears a practical black skirt, boots and a sleeveless top with thick straps. “I look fine. Actually, better than fine!”

“You look like you’re going to a funeral, Nyota.”

“Well then, I’ll just go get my hearse and head back to the lab—”

“No, no, no!” Gaila grabs her arm and pulls her next to her. “It’s on tonight!” she continues excitedly. “Rand and I are single again. You and Chapel—”

“Can be your babysitters?”

“No,” Gaila says, with a trace of hesitation, “You and Chapel can watch the masters at work, and learn how to have fun. F–U–N. FUN!” She curtseys in a very exaggerated manner, making Nyota both laugh and snort loudly.

A sharp buzz cuts through the air. It should be a message from the apartment Janice Rand and Christine Chapel share together. Gaila touches the screen, and promptly shouts into the flat microphone: “CHAPEL! RAND! GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE NOW!” She pauses. "STAT!" she adds, mostly for Christine's benefit.

Nyota does not waste her breath to chastise her. Instead, Christine Chapel’s mild voice comes out of the speakers. “Gaila, what did we tell you about swearing on the comm?”

Gaila touches the button again. “Chapel, you’d better wear something that shows off the girls, or I swear I’ll—”

The door slides open. “Or, you’ll what?”

Gaila squeals again and throws her arms around Christine Chapel’s long neck. The nursing cadet manages to keep her balance, even though she’s being squeezed to death, laughing at the overly dramatic humanoid.

“Oh Nyota, I’m so glad you’re coming,” Christine sighs in her soft voice. She smirks at the Orion who keeps pressing the button to urge Janice Rand outside. “I don’t think I can handle the two of them by myself.”

Nyota hugs her friend. “No kidding. Chris, you look great.”

“I look like a grandmother compared to you two. You haven't seen the insanity Janice is wearing.”

Christine, with her dark jeans and light sweater, is dressed far more conservatively than the other two women. No one can accuse Christine Chapel of not being pretty, though. She is very much so, even if she looks rather naïve, innocent. She has lovely long blond hair, which she wears down tonight in big waves instead of her trademark bun. Her morning jogs keep her in good shape. And she has bright blue eyes that are large and inquisitive, giving her a youthful quality. It surprises people, particularly her instructors, who do not expect the keen intellect and world-weariness beneath the girlish exterior. It is a toughness born from her work as an emergency room nurse at Chicago General, as well as a personal tragedy that she remembers by wearing her fiancée’s ring attached to a necklace.

Chapel swats Gaila’s hand from the touch screen. “Sweetie, you’re going to break that. And be patient. She’s coming down right—”

The entrance flies open. Janice Rand stands before them, striking a pose, wearing something that is decidedly not regulation. It is probably expensive, because Janice does have exquisite taste in clothing as she does with men, and it definitely shows way too much skin.

“I’m HE-ERE!” she announces, although it is not necessary. “Admit it, I look awesome as hell.”

Christine’s head falls into her hands as she sighs exasperatedly. Nyota goggles at how much skin her friend decided to bare tonight.

“Janice! You’re barely wearing anything.”

“I know, I know. It’s something I snagged on my last trip to Betazed. Seriously, half of their ceremonies involve nudity of some sort. It’s crazy! But, I do look damn good, right?” she asks, smirking. It is more of a rhetorical question. Of course, Janice knows she looks amazing, because she is probably among the hottest female cadets at Starfleet. She is quite smart too, as she is Engineering-track. But out of the four of them, Janice is by far the laziest. She much prefers partying to studies and extra credit, coasting throughout the term and scoring just high enough on the tests to get a good, occasionally, an excellent grade. As the daughter of two Federation ambassadors, she is more than a little well connected. She will have her pick of ships after graduation.

Gaila stares at Janice. “You look damn good.” She squeals a third time and wraps Janice up in an embrace, making the stunning blond grin broadly. With her arm still around Janice’s shoulders, she grins triumphantly at their other two friends.

“Ladies, it’s time to show San Francisco who the hot girls are!”

Nyota and Christine simply stare at each other. “Oh no!” they exclaim in perfect unison.

****

Christine brings the bottle of Budweiser Classic to her lips, shaking her head at her roommate and the Orion at the bar. “We aren’t making it to the club, are we?”

Nyota chuckles, taking another sip of her Slusho Mix. “Why do we need to dance, when all the men here have heeded their mating call?” She gestures to the bar, where Gaila and Janice are standing side-by-side, in garments that barely qualify as clothing, Around them, the men swarm like bees around blossoms — or hyenas around pieces of meat.

“You know,” Christine starts, “when I signed up for the Academy, I don’t remember checking the box that asked, ‘Would you be willing to be a surrogate mother for wayward cadets who love showing off their bodies and getting laid’?” Nyota laughs as Christine takes another drink. “I know I’m too old for this.”

“You and me both, Chris.”

“Nyota, you’re almost 23. I’m 35!”

“And you don’t look a day over 25.”

They tip their glasses against each other.

“So,” Christine says, “what’s going on with you, and why are you over here with this old fuddy-duddy and not up there getting free drinks?”

She forces out a sigh as her mind turns to Spock. She has absolutely no problems going out for a drink and a dance with the girls, but she knows perfectly well that the majority of men, or male humanoids, only have one thing on their minds. She’ll talk with them, fine, and make friendly conversation. But, of course she will stop short of flirting.

“I’ve been fine. Not much going on, you know.” She forces nonchalance into her voice; she hates not telling people about her and Spock, but she needs to keep the information limited as much as possible. “I’m not much in the mood for socializing like Gaila and Rand are. I just needed to get out of Kyle’s lab and the apartment. And it’s been too long since we all got together.”

Christine hums contemplatively. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with Commander Spock now, would it?”

“You really should learn not to listen to Gaila—”

“On the contrary,” she replies in her soft voice, her large eyes turning to Nyota, an enigmatic smile playing across her face, “Gaila’s gone oddly quiet about you and your Commander. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “And we know that Gaila never shuts up about anything.”

Nyota lets her head fall backward. “I really can’t—” She feels a hand gently pat her knee.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to anyone.” Christine gives her a wink. “I guessed about you two on my own, but I definitely don’t want you to get into trouble, okay? I won’t even tell Janice, and if she guesses too, I won’t encourage it.”

“Thank you,” she whispers with sincerity. “We’ve told the council, and we’re supposed to be discreet. So if you didn’t tell anyone, I — we — would really appreciate it.” 

“Besides,” the blond-haired cadet says, refocusing on their friends at the bar and making sure they are all right, “if the Academy kicks you out, how in the world am I supposed to handle those two on my own without your help?”

Nyota snorts — and then she groans. For into the bar walks James T. Kirk, followed closely by Leonard McCoy.

“Oh hell!”
 

“What?”

Nyota nods at the two new customers, who are looking around them. “In walked trouble.”

“Who? McCoy?” Christine asks, a smile on her face. She laughs, a light tinkling sound that is pleasant to hear.

“No, not him. Kirk!” She points at the younger man, already gravitating to a couple of girls at the bar. “McCoy’s fine.”

Christine bobs her head in agreement. “Yes he is. He’s not trouble at all. In fact, he’s very skilled. Talented.”

“He’s also a bit — is colorful the right word?” 

“How about ‘fluent in provocative communication.’ But he’s quite handsome.”  
“Christine!”

“Well, he is, Nyota. You should see him in scrubs.”

“Chapel? Uhura?” asks a gruff, Southern accented voice. The two women look up, Christine spluttering in her beer. In front of them stands Leonard McCoy, smiling with a hint of awkward surprise. His eyes seem to linger mostly on the blond nursing cadet. “Good to see you two out tonight.” 

Christine wipes her mouth and grins at the doctor. “Leonard, it’s nice to see you outside of class.” 

“Now how many times do I have to tell ya — my friends call me Bones, Chapel?” He puts his hands on his hips with mock indignation, but he is clearly amused, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Well, perhaps I want to stand out from everyone else. And do I need to remind you that it’s Christine, Leonard?”

Nyota can barely contain her shocked, but gleeful surprise; seeing Christine flirt with Bones so openly is quite amusing. “Please,” she says, holding her hand out, “join us.”

“Don’t mind if I do. Jim!” McCoy gestures for his friend to join then, and Nyota stifles the Klingon swearword that is about to escape her lips, the thought of Kirk joining them annoying her to no end. But Bones flaps his hand and flattens his mouth. “He’s busy, apparently.” He sits in the seat held out for him and falls into easy — and welcome — conversation with Christine.

Nyota looks behind her, and rolls her eyes. Jim is chatting with a couple of girls, holding two longnecks in one hand. Gaila and Janice, thankfully, are in a corner farther away, chatting with a couple of other guys.

Stealing a glance at Christine and McCoy, who are no doubt sharing tales about Advanced Xenopathology, she leaves them be and approaches Kirk. She taps on the cadet’s shoulder.

“Wha–? Hey! Uhura.” He flashes her a huge smile and whispers something to the two giggly, busty girls that are with him. They nod and depart, although Jim’s eyes remain permanently planted on their backsides. Finally, he turns his attention back to Nyota. “What’s up? Whoa — is that an Orion over there?”

She pulls him to a corner of the bar, drawing his attention back to her and away from her roommate, who has, thankfully, not spotted Kirk. “I wanted to see how you’re doing, but it looks like you’re better.”

That arrogant smirk makes its appearance again, and Kirk sets his bottle of beer down on the countertop of the bar. “So you do get worried about me, huh?”

She remains serious, folding her arms together. She hopes her body language will deter him from making any unwanted and vulgar comments. “I was, because I saw that you almost strangled a librarian over a dissertation, which you could’ve gotten easily through the database.”

He winces. “Yeah… I sort of remembered that after snapping in the library. Bones took great pains to remind me.”

She snorts. “Also you looked like hell.”

“As you can see, Cadet Beautiful, I clean up well!” He does. There are no fresh scars on his face and no bags under his eyes. Her lips twitch and she spins around to head back to her table.

“Whoa! Whoa there, Uhura.” Kirk grabs her arm.

“Yes?”

“I know I was acting like a maniac that day you saw me in the library. There were a couple of weeks there when I wasn’t myself at all. I just wanted to thank you for helping McCoy get me back to our apartment.”

She looks at him suspiciously. Kirk sounds somewhat nice and humble, but she expects that he will add something that will ruin the moment. However, thankfully, he does not.

“You’re welcome,” she replies cautiously.

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“I half-expect that whatever comes out of your mouth will be something rude, arrogant, or sexual in nature.”

“Ah! Well, far be it from me to disappoint you—”

Nyota groans and holds her hand up as she turns around again. “Forget it.”

“Okay! All right, I won’t, I won’t. But I do need to ask you something.”

Nyota pivots. She will probably be very dizzy before this evening ends. “Ask.”

“If — if — I were to take the Kobayashi Maru again, would you, Cadet Still-Refuses-To-Tell-Me-Your-First-Name Uhura, be my communications officer? Again?” 

She opens her mouth to say no—

“And before you say no, this time I’ll be more professional and less cocky. Promise.”

Nyota cannot stop her mouth. “Is that even possible?”

Kirk looks at her, annoyed. “Don’t you believe in second chances? Plus, if you aren’t there to help keep me in line, I could very well go full batshit on the administrators. C’mon, Uhura.” He flaps his hand, making a beckoning motion. C’mon – c’mon – c’mon – c’mon—”

“Alright, alright! If you take the Kobayashi Maru again, I’ll be your communications officer.”
 

“Naked?”

“Don’t push it, Kirk!”

****

Her hands caress it gently, the sensation of such intimate contact warming the tips of her fingers.

Nyota hums. She smiles and looks into Spock’s eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

“You handle my instrument well, Nyota. If I did not know better, I would say that you are an expert.”

“I know I’ve got a lot of things to learn about playing your instrument, Spock.” She shuts her eyes and continues stroking it. “But I could play it all day long.” 

“And I would not stop you.”

“You wouldn’t, hm?” She opens her eyes and looks at him.

“I would never pass on the opportunity to listen to the Vulcan lute.” He gestures to the object Nyota holds against her body. “The tones it produces stimulate the portions of the Vulcan brain that are affected by our mediation. Our music, therefore, relaxes us, helps refocus and center our minds, our emotional impulses.”

She looks at the smooth wood, at the curve of the handle, and she gives the strings one last pluck. “It’s so lovely.”

This is the second time she has worked with the lute, and Spock admires how much her finger work has improved. Indeed, with music, as with languages, she learns very quickly. As she is about to place it back on the glass coffee table in Spock’s sparsely decorated, simply furnished apartment, the Vulcan touches her hand, halting her.

“If you would allow me, I will teach you a song.” She nods and Spock moves her so that she faces away from him, her back pressed against his chest.

“What are you—?” She stops talking.

His arms circle her body. His hands rest on top of hers. She stills. This feels good.

Truly, this feels amazing.

“Mimic the placement of my fingers on the neck,” he says, his mouth close to her ear, his breath dancing on her skin. She complies, and she lets Spock guide her hand.

The melody, at once haunting and familiar, wafts through the air. The song is melancholy in sound, thanks to the harp. The style is different from the original version, but Nyota knows it. Her ear tweaks at the notes and she hums each note, reaching into the back of her mind for a memory—

She can hardly believe it.

“The Beatles,” she says breathlessly. She turns and faces Spock, whose face is so very close. “This is She Loves You.”

“Your tone indicates surprise.”

Their fingers are laced, but still they move across the neck, producing the now different, but still recognizable melody. “It’s just… you know The Beatles?”

“I was tested on various areas of Earth culture in our learning center. There was a unit on the master composers of the twentieth century. Among them was the catalog of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.”

She shivers with pleasure at the silky tone of his voice. It is his private voice, the one he saves only for her. That soft sound, the music of the lute, his body wrapped around hers... damn if the room does not suddenly feel hotter.

They finish playing the final chords. She turns her head toward his, smiling when she faces him fully. “You learned about The Beatles on Vulcan? Your world amazes me.”

His chin practically touches her shoulder, which is partially bare thanks to another sleeveless top that she borrowed from Gaila. Her skin tingles as it anticipates contact with the Vulcan… if he decided to kiss me there…

She can feel his chest rise against the small of her back. It surprises her, sometimes, the location of the Vulcan heart. But it beats, and it beats fast. Although the speed is normal for a Vulcan, she would like to think that perhaps, just perhaps, she has an affect on him.

Spock takes the instrument from her grasp and places it gently on the table in front of his couch. Nyota closes her eyes as he touches her hair. He holds the strands in his hand, feeling the tendrils in his palm.

“There are advantages to this particular style.” With a finger, he sweeps a lock from her forehead.

“You like my hair down?” She brings her hand to his cheek, rubbing circles with her thumb.

“It is not regulation, but it is pleasing to the visual and tactile senses.”

“Is it pleasing to your senses?”

She can feel, even hear, the slightest shift in his breathing.

Maybe I do affect him?

It does not last long, and he regains control easily. Neither wait for the other to answer, and they kiss.

Nyota’s hand remains on his face, that same wonderful warmth spreading through her. It is more powerful this time, more intense. It takes hold in her chest and envelops her from the inside out, bursting, retreating, and bursting again. The sensation compels her other hand to snake around his waist.

Spock’s arms surround her, drawing her to him. His palm spreads flat against her back and another hand cups the nape of her neck. She feels his long fingers weaving through her hair.

Their lips part; Nyota regains her breath, her forehead touching his. She runs her tongue over her lips. “I want you.”

“Nyota?”

She meets his dark eyes; although his own breathing is steady and nowhere near as labored as hers, his eyes, heavy-lidded and smoky, tell a far different story.

“Spock, I want you. And I’m pretty sure that you’re feeling the same way.”

He takes a couple of breaths through his nose, blinking as he does so. “You should not doubt the depth of my—” He stops, searching for the right words. “My desire for you. Physically,” he says softly as he touches her hair, “intellectually. On many levels.”

She does not waste any more time talking. She brings her lips to his, and they kiss with a greater intensity than before.

That is, before a beep echoes in the room. Spock pulls away and Nyota’s hands fall from his face.

“Incoming message. Location: Vulcan. Now receiving: Grayson, Amanda.”

Spock pulls away from Nyota. If the announcement affects him, he does not show it. “Computer, please relay the message to my office. Nyota, you will excuse me.” He gets up from his couch, and leaves the room.

Deciding to freshen up, Nyota slowly walks away from the living room of the apartment and around the corner. The apartment contains various shades of browns and tans. Any ornamentation inside serves a purpose, saying something of Spock’s home world. A couple of Vulcan daggers hang on the wall. A Vulcan flute sits on a shelf. She touches a small, metallic teapot resting next to a cluster of pots containing plants he uses in meditation. Each piece reveals something about him, about his home world. It makes her smile.

As she turns toward the hallway, in her search for the bathroom, her ears perk up at the sound of a conversation being spoken entirely in Vulcan Prime. She can hear Spock’s voice, dispassionate in tone. Replying to him was a female voice possessing a warm quality.

A very human quality.

“...A mother’s prerogative, Spock.”

“Indeed. However, I am not in distress nor am I in need of monitoring at the present moment.”

“When a mother misses her child, it is normal to contact them.” There is a gentle laugh. “Apparently, I miss you. A great deal.”

Nyota does not mean to eavesdrop, but the shock of the laughter, the realization that this is Spock’s mother, overcoming her sense of propriety.

“I wanted to tell you, Spock: T’Pring has asked the elders that she would prefer to relinquish her bond.”

Nyota peeks past the entrance. She sees Spock, sitting in a chair, his attention given wholly to the illuminated screen in front of him. She cannot see his mother from her angle, but she can hear her perfectly.

And she finds herself intrigued by this T’Pring person.

“I thought that impossible without undergoing the proper rituals.”

“Traditionally, it is. But the elders are searching to see if there’s an acceptable solution to her request. Your father does not wish the bond to be severed, but he is working with the elders on the task. They have asked for his assistance.”

“They are unlikely to find an answer. If there were a simpler solution other than the Kali-if-fee, it would have been utilized. It is an exercise in futility.”

“They’re still looking, dear. But enough of that unpleasant business. I want to know how you’re doing. I feel as though I haven’t spoken to you in ages.”

“It has been one month and fifteen days, according to the Earth calendar, Mother. That is not the standard definition of ‘ages.’”

“Yes, but for me, going a month without speaking to you is far too long.”

Nyota cannot stop a bubble of laughter from bursting out; knowing Spock’s mother was human is one thing, but listening to the commander conversing with his mother is unexpected. Spock, who values logic and cool reasoning above all emotion, can still be ruffled by his parents.

Some things simply do not change from species to species.

Spock looks up in her direction.

“Nyota?” He talks at the same time his mother also asks — in English — “Spock, you didn’t tell me you have company.”

Nyota really wants to kick herself; she cannot believe she can be so rude — or so conspicuous. “Sorry,” she whispers. Spock bows his head and turns back to the monitor.

“Mother,” Spock replies, “I do have company this evening. I was under the impression that our conversation would not last long, so I did not tell you that she was here.”

“She? Why son, is this the girl you told me about—”

Before she can continue, Spock clears his throat and stands. “Nyota, you may enter.” He speaks slightly louder and more rapidly than normal, cutting his mother off before she can finish her statement.

Apparently, Spock has discussed her with his mother prior to their relationship. And furthermore, his mother has the ability to embarrass him. This could be very entertaining.

Slowly, she approaches the desk and stands next to the Vulcan. The woman on the screen has brown eyes, shaped like Spock’s, but bigger. Her face is slightly lined, mature but far from old. She smiles, and Nyota wonders if this is what Spock might look like if he ever allowed himself such an indulgence as an expression of happiness or joy.

“Mother, this is Cadet Nyota Uhura. She is a former student of mine.”

“Oh, this is Cadet Uhura?” Mrs. Grayson — or is it Mrs. Sarek? — looks at her with obvious, but controlled excitement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please call me Nyota,” she replies with a gentle voice and a smile. “Uh, Mrs.—?”

“Amanda, dear. Please, I insist.” Her eyes move to her son, and she speaks in Vulcan Prime again. “Son, you provided a very complimentary description of her, but it didn’t do her justice. She’s beautiful!”

Nyota chuckles; she looks at Spock, whose face has darkened slightly and whose jaw has tightened a minute amount. “Mother, I did tell you that Cadet… Nyota is fluent in Vulcan.”

“Oh? She is?”

“Yes. We have had more than one conversation about that topic.”

Amanda presses her fingers to her mouth. “Ah! Yes, now I remember. I apologize for my memory lapse,” she responds, returning to English. Nyota grins, and in a surprising moment, Amanda gives her a wink.

“Spock, I’ll let you two return to your evening.”

“Thank you.”

Amanda gives her son the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, dear.”

He returns the gesture. “Live long and prosper, Mother.”

“It was nice to meet you, Nyota.”

“Same here, Amanda.”

The older woman bows her head and the screen goes black, save for the symbol of the Federation.

“I apologize. At times, my mother can be indulgent.”

Nyota laughs. “She’s a mom. That’s what they do.”

His expression is flat, except for his nostrils, which expand slightly due to a sharp intake of air, connoting slight annoyance. “It can be vexing.” 

“She wouldn’t be a mother if she wasn’t.”

He faces Nyota as they continue to stand in his office. “I will understand if the interruption has altered the mood of the evening and you wish to resume this at a later date.”

“Not quite,” she says, touching his chest. Certainly a part of her wants to proceed where they left off, which was the possibility of seeing him without his clothing. However, another part of her wants to know about something she overheard.

“Spock, I want to ask you a question.”

“You may ask.”

“Who is T’Pring? And what is this bond T’Pring has that she wants to sever? And what in the world does it have to do with you?”

Spock avoids looking at her directly. His eyes sweep to a point behind her head, and she watches him swallow.

“Okay, so I wanted to ask you three questions.“ She tries to keep this light, but something in his reaction, in his avoidance, gnaws at her, and suspicion creeps into her words.

He meets her eyes. “Apparently, the time has come to have this discussion. Before we proceed any further in our relationship.”

****

FIC: Before, During, and After Part One (L. McCoy/C. Chapel, PG this part)

suzanne78 — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 11:07:17 GMT

Title: Before, During, and After
Author: Suzanne78
Characters/Pairings: L. McCoy/C. Chapel
Rating/Warnings: PG this part; mild language
A/N: A huge thank you to Kerichi for wading through the muck and the mire of my first draft and encouraging a small three shot story of my next favorite ship in Star Trek. And just to get it out there, my version of Christine Chapel would be played by Elizabeth Mitchell (Juliet Burke, Lost).
Summary: It is just Leonard McCoy’s luck that he’s so damn attracted to her! Leonard McCoy and Christine Chapel at the Academy, during the first mission, and afterwards.

Feel free to check out my other McCoy story: The Things He Sees

I.

Leonard “Bones” McCoy grumbled as he walked toward a sink to wash and disinfect his hands. Today, he had been elbow deep inside a one-hundred-and-eighty-year-old Orion male, who had died from natural causes, and he was fairly certain that if he didn’t scrub harder, he would catch something that would kill him.

He looked over to the adjacent sink. “Had fun, Chapel?”

The lean, blond-haired woman didn’t look up at his voice, but he saw her grin. “It’s my ideal Thursday evening, don’t you know.” Her soft voice shook slightly due to her own vigorous scrubbing. “Dissecting cadavers from various alien species.” She shut off her faucet and shook her hands. “Can’t think of anything better.”

He chuckled and activated the motion-sensitive compressed air dryer, wringing all moisture from his hands underneath the device. She did the same on another unit, but the smile on her face lingered.

McCoy took a minute to regard her. She was one hell of a cadet. Not that it would be hard to distinguish oneself among an entire class of bird-brained idiots, but McCoy considered her not merely competent but skilled. Highly skilled.

And pretty... with that hair of hers that never wanted to stay in its bun... those damn eyes... bright blue and sharp as hell... and gods almighty! Her body!

He stopped himself. Despite whatever Jim said, this was a professional, academic setting. Bones had to keep reminding his friend that the only heavenly bodies he should be studying were the ones in space, not the ones on Earth.

McCoy needed to heed his own advice. He wasn’t doing himself any favors ogling Chapel like this. She was a smart woman, a friendly peer. That was all.

Professional, dammit! I’m a professional!

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and shrugged.

Chapel pulled a necklace out of her pocket. Reaching up, she secured it so the charm rested in the small dip of her clavicle. It was pretty — a simple gold band with a uniquely-cut diamond in a shape McCoy couldn’t identify. She flashed McCoy an amused expression and she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You're looking at me very oddly, Leonard.”

He mimicked her stance. “Well, I was thinking that it’s good to have someone else around these parts who actually knows what they’re doing.”

“Who? Me?”

“I am. You’re one of the few cadets that won’t get the vapors when confronted by a routine phaser burn or typical cysticercosis in a cadaver’s digestive tract. These other idiots — they’re all nervous, twitchy. They don’t have any real world experience.”

“Like us?”

“Yeah, like us.” He realized his tone was more of a harsher, barking sound than anything that could be categorized as pleasant. But that didn’t seem to faze her. Instead, she laughed.

“Thank you for complimenting my constitution. I don’t think you’re giving our class enough credit, though.”

“Maybe,” he said, snorting. “I’ve seen you work in there. You’re good, Chapel. You’re real good.”

“Leonard, I thought I told you to call me Christine.” She smirked and raised her eyebrow. “I call you Leonard, but you have to stop addressing me like I’m your football buddy. Or—” She rolled her eyes, “—heaven forbid, Jim Kirk.”

He laughed. “Deal. You going back to your place?”

“I am.” She smiled, small but warm nonetheless. He returned the gesture, but he promptly fell silent. His brow creased slightly. Of course he wanted to walk back with her, perhaps strike up more of a conversation about Andorian physiology, compliment her again on her talents, for being one of the few cadets that McCoy wouldn’t have minded taking care of him.

He had gotten out of the habit of dating, much less flirting. McCoy could barely talk to someone of the opposite sex these days without reverting to rants about space diseases and bacteria and a hearty chorus of, “Why the hell did I sign up for this shit in the first place?”

There was something about Christine that put him at ease. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was a disarming quality to her sense of humor, even though there seemed to be something else underlying it. He had no idea what, but it didn't stop him from wanting to be in her company.

She cleared her throat. “Were you wanting to know if I was going back to my place because you wanted to walk with me, or did you want someone to walk with you through the scary campus at night?”

It was the teasing tone of her voice, and that playful glint in her eyes, that snapped him out of his stupor. He laughed; it was an awkward, distant sound. “Er, yeah. I’ll walk with you.” They collected their bags from their lockers, walked out of the door, and for the next thirty minutes, he forced himself not to swear as he conversed with her.

****

A few days later, McCoy stretched as he walked outside his apartment. He was hungry for some breakfast, sure, and the last thing he wanted to do was be in bed whenever Jim and Jim’s hot young cadet woke up. Just remembering some of the noises that had managed to cut through his sleep last night just—

McCoy shivered. He started heading for the mess hall, when he saw a figure coming toward him. The comely cadet ran up to him, her blond ponytail, a mass of waves, swinging behind her. A gold chain shimmered around her neck, the ring attached to it bounced left and right. Her workout tank top matched the blue of her eyes perfectly, and when she smiled, McCoy couldn’t help but return it.

Damn. Even when running, Christine Chapel looked amazing.

“Leonard!” She huffed out his name, slowing her pace as she approached him.

“Chapel,” he replied with a nod. This caused her to roll her eyes and regard him with a thoroughly exasperated expression.

“What in the world do I have to do to get you to call me by my first name? Should I start calling you Lenny?”

He cringed, grasping his chest as if hurt. “For Godsakes, no! Alright, alright, I swear I’ll start calling you Christine just so long as you don’t ever call me Lenny. Ever.”

She laughed heartily, a musical sound. “Deal. You jog?”

“I don’t make it a habit, no.”

She ran in place. McCoy had to struggle not to focus on her chest, which was quite difficult, as she was already sweating, and her workout top was very, very tight. “You know, people say jogging’s a way to relieve stress.”

He shot her a dubiously amused grin. “Is that your polite way of telling me I’m under stress?”

“Perhaps. Or it’s my way of saying that a workout’s good for one’s soul. And body.”

McCoy cocked his eyebrow indignantly. “I’m not sure I want to know what you mean by that.”

“Come with me, Leonard,” she said, tipping her head at the sidewalk stretched out in front of her. She yanked playfully on his shirt. “It’ll be good for you. And I’d love to have your warm personality around to keep me company.” She smiled broadly at what she thought was a charming joke. McCoy pursed his mouth shut, but he could feel his lips drifting upward despite himself.

He jerked his thumb behind him toward his apartment. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Don’t take too long. I don’t want my heart rate to decrease.” She winked and held up two fingers to her neck to check her pulse. McCoy shook his head and spun around, his feet pounding on each step.

He burst into his room — and quickly shielded his poor eyes from the sight of his roommate, Jim Kirk, in nothing but his boxers, resuming certain activities with the girl that had spent the night.

“For Chrissakes, Jim!”

“Bones!” Jim grabbed his sheet, and the girl yelped, nearly falling off the bed. “Jeeze, wouldja knock first?”

“It’s my damn apartment too!” He grunted, and made for his closet. “I’m going on a run with Chap-, er, Christine.” He grabbed a pair of long shorts. “Pardon me, miss.” He addressed the half-naked cadet “I’m changing right now. Normally I’d be more modest, but there is a very smart—” He tied the string on his shorts tight. “Very funny—” He kicked off his shoes. “Very beautiful nursing cadet.” He jammed his feet into an older pair of sneakers. “Downstairs. And she and I are going for a jog, and, hopefully, I’ll get to know her a little bit better.”

“N-no problem,” the woman stammered, her voice lifting at the end like a question. She clutched a stray article of clothing to her chest.

McCoy glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that he hadn’t bothered to check his appearance that morning.

Jim slammed his hand down hard on his shoulder. “Check your breath, buddy.”

McCoy winced, but put his hand up to his mouth and breathed into it. He winced again. It wasn’t good.

Jim grabbed a small metal container and shoved it at him. “Here. Mints. Take two… or five.” With a couple more pats, Jim jumped back onto his bed. “And don’t call me in the morning.”

Popping the small, white tablets into his mouth, McCoy turned back around — and saw that his perpetually horny roommate was once again entangled with his giggling paramour. He said nothing else, and instead flung himself out of his apartment to join his new running buddy. He certainly didn’t want Christine’s heart rate to drop. And, after all, how hard could a little jog be?

****

An hour later, he knew the answer to that question.

It was worse than hard. It was torture.

It was the most godawful thing he had ever put his body through.

McCoy skidded to a halt, bent over and clutched his knees. Pain jolted through his sides, his chest felt like it was on fire.

Goddammit, he was dying.

“Ch-Ch-Christine! Wait!” he shouted at the most evil, vicious, sexy woman…

Scratch that. She was wicked. She was the bane of his existence. And as she was jogging ahead of him, she was clearly unfazed by his pain.

She turned around and ran back to him. She continued jogging in place, sweating, controlling her breathing, but smiling placidly. “Too much, Leonard?”

“N-naw… not… too much.” He jabbed his finger at his chest. “J-just… h-having… a mild… severe… cardiac infarction.”

“Do we need to slow down for you? I didn’t realize I was pushing you too hard.”

“J-jus’… need… to rest.” With that, he plopped, hard, down onto the ground, splaying out flat on the green grass. He smacked his lips and groaned in disgust. “I think I can taste my kidneys.”

There was a soft sound in the grass as Christine sat next to his head. “No, that’s the taste of success.”

“I beg to differ. Should I tell you who’s my next-of-kin in case I die right here?”

She laughed heartily, and took a swig from a bottle. “You know, one really good thing about you is that you’re not overly dramatic about anything, Leonard.”

His head fell back to the ground. “I’m too old for this.”

“You’re only as old as you feel. Here.” He felt something hard in his hand; looking down, he saw the same bottle with its dispenser open. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” He stared at the object as if it might infect him.

“Enriched water. Special formula for runners.”

He eyed it suspiciously. “You sure you’re not giving me Romulan Influenza?”

“No, but I do have a raging case of cooties.” Her sarcastic comment was punctuated by her gentle smile and innocent blinking.

McCoy snorted as he took a drink and handed it back to her. She was distracted; her finger rubbed the inside of her ring.

McCoy had never heard the story behind it. He figured the ring must be important to her, as it was the one article of jewelry that she was never without. This might have been as good a time as any to approach the topic. But when he opened his mouth, he thought better of it.

“So, you run?”

She cocked her eyebrow and grinned. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He looked at her flatly. “I meant do you run a lot?”

This time, she allowed herself to smile and laugh more openly. “Yes I do. I started when I was in high school. There was a period of time while I was getting my nursing degree that I fell out of it. When I got up to Chicago, I took up running again. It helped me manage my stress.”

“You get stressed?”

She nodded and quirked her eyebrow. “I’m human. I feel stress.”

“I thought I was the only one around these parts. You never show it in class.”

“I like to think I’m a pretty good at hiding it. You should see me back at the apartment. There’s been a few times Janice thought I was having a panic attack.” She looked down at her fingers, which were still playing with her ring. “I love running. I even ran two marathons in the Windy City.”

He gazed at her, impressed. “Did you now?”

“I did. I didn’t win either, but I came in thirty minutes under my best time during my second marathon.”

“I must say that’s quite impressive.”

She smiled. As if remembering that her fingers and her ring were still tangled together, that smile slowly faded. That damn ring! Whatever memories were connected to it, the emotions were still very much there, still dredging up old ghosts of the past. He wondered what she had experienced, but it didn’t feel like his place to ask. It might be safer to stick with running.

“Why only two?” He kept his voice light and breezy. “You seem like you’ve been doing this your whole life.”

When she looked back up at him, her face was impassive, as untranslatable for him as a passage of Shakespeare in Klingon. In a soft, steady voice, Christine spoke, “Because the year following that second marathon, my fiancée went missing.”

Oh. Damn.

He hadn’t meant to force her into saying anything, but he had. With the skill and precision of a world-class surgeon, he had found the right spot, the perfect spot, on the patient to reopen an old, painful wound. Without meaning to. 

“I’m sorry.”

Christine blinked for a long time. “Don’t be.” She allowed her lips to turn upward in a lopsided grin, although he recognized the emotion behind it. Regret instead of joy. “It’s been six years now since I last saw Roger. Three before coming to Starfleet. I know how unlikely it is that I’ll ever see him again.”

He swallowed as he watched her hand as it turned the ring around on the chain. “Is that your engagement ring?”

“Mm-hm. It was my ring. I guess I wear it for protection more than anything. Like he’s still here, watching out for me.” She turned and looked beyond them, at the sidewalk and green grass that they would, eventually, have to take together. She continued talking in that same soft voice as before.

“It’s an unpleasant thing to say, but I have to see a picture now to remember what he looks like.” She gazed sadly at McCoy. “I hope that doesn’t sound as awful to you as it does to me.”

That she spoke without any hesitation or shift in her voice cut McCoy harder than if she had cried or shown any emotion. But her soft demeanor mixed with her pain in a strange way. The longer he watched her, the more brittle and hardened she became. Even her humor seemed to be some sort of defense, a shield to keep her distance from others.

There was as shift in her expression, a quick tightening of her face. As he watched her, Christine relaxed, like she was opening herself back up to him. And then her smile returned — that radiant, mysterious smile.

“Come on.” Christine jumped up and held her hand out. “We’ve still got a mile more to finish, and I won’t pester you for the rest of the day.”

McCoy took her hand, thinking to inject some humor to break the awkward atmosphere that seemed to have enveloped them. “It’s the running I mind. I kind of like the pestering. I enjoy your company.”

She smiled kindly at his comment, but he noticed a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Besides,” he continued, “we’ve got more Xenopathology tonight at 1800, so we’ll be pestering each other well into the evening.”

Her smile widened, giving her expression a more genuine feel. “Joy. And I was beginning to think that what this day needed was more Orion anatomy.” She lightly whacked him in the stomach. “Let’s get going. And try to keep up, Leonard.”

He watched as she began to jog away from him. “Hey!” he shouted with mock indignation, and he followed her, pushing himself to match her every step.

****

FIC: The Test, Part Seven (Spock/N. Uhura, PG)

suzanne78 — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 15:10:38 GMT

Title: Part Seven: From the Beginning
Author: suzanne78
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Nyota Uhura, Gaila, J. Kirk, L. McCoy
Ratings/Warnings: PG, mild language.
Summary: He does not know the ways in which he tests her. Even as an aide, Nyota is, quite unfortunately, drawn to her instructor. Nyota and Spock begin their relationship, amid rumors and questions. Oh, and Kirk goes little bit — very — insane.
A/N: Another big THANK YOU!! to mrstater for her beta-reading and her suggestions. I’ve got no idea how many parts this is going to be, but I’m really enjoying writing Nyota’s last few months at Starfleet with Gaila and Kirk and McCoy. And, of course, with Spock. I’m expanding the cast a little bit in the next part; I've decided I really like writing the women of Star Trek too. Hope you enjoy!

Links to previous parts:

Part One here
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Outtake from Part Four: "This Most Illogical Matter"
Part Five here
Part Six here

“I hate to bother you, but Commander Kyle demanded the reports today, and I can’t go into his office empty-handed.”

Nyota’s voice is louder than it normal, but not due to anger or frustration. She matches Spock’s long, elegant strides as they round the corner and head toward his office. She forces the air out of her lungs as she moves, causing the volume of her voice to increase.

There are other cadets around them, and using Commander Kyle as an excuse to see Spock for something as innocent as transmission quality reports would stifle any gossip floating around about them. Because Nyota knows that the cadets talk, and Gaila warns her often about who is saying what about her and Spock these days.

Gaila then threatens to kick all their asses; she also plots with Nyota their revenge on the Starfleet scuttlebutt network.

“No, Cadet Uhura,” he says dispassionately, holding his tablet behind his back, “you should not return to Commander Kyle with nothing. I have the reports he requested in my office.” Spock touches the pad next to the entrance and the door slides open. “Come inside.” He stands back and allows her to enter first. Nyota walks into the dim room. She hears a slide and the beep of the door shutting behind her. There is a click as the entrance’s lock is engaged. His office is still dim, as the windows are shaded and practically opaque.

“Computer, decrease window opacity by fifty-five-point-seven percent.”

Upon Spock’s command, the windows lighten to allow a small amount of sunlight to enter the room.

Turning around, Nyota lets out a breath. “Good morning, Spock.” She smiles; she can feel herself aglow.

Spock walks toward her, his lip drawn to the right side of his face, almost — almost — as if he was grinning. “Would I be accurate in my assumptions that Commander Kyle did not request any reports, and this was an excuse employed so that we may see each other, albeit briefly, this morning?”

She approaches him, her smile now easing into a gentle smirk. “Actually, he was demanding them yesterday.” She laughs as he arches his eyebrow. “But I didn’t mind asking you for them myself.”

His face is relaxed as he replies. “I have no objections to your methods, Nyota. To see you this morning after having no formal plans to see you so soon after our dinner is quite satisfying.”

“You didn’t think you’d see me today?”

“I had expected our paths to cross at some point. When they did, I was planning to inquire whether you had any interest in viewing the exhibit of ancient Vulcan artifacts on display at the Institute. That is, if you have not viewed them yet?” 

Nyota does not tell Spock that she drug a protesting Gaila to the exhibit after it was installed last year. Instead, she maintains her casual demeanor, nods and says, “I’d love to go. Were you thinking about this weekend?”

“I was. We can discuss the details at a later time.”

“Don’t forget,” she says, practically standing underneath him, still smiling at him, “I still want to learn about the Vulcan lute. I never had any idea that you were musically inclined. You can teach me how to play.”

“It is not common practice to teach humans how to play our instruments.”

Nyota has to stifle a laugh; she does not think Spock quite understands “double entendres.” She also quietly curses Gaila for corrupting her mind so thoroughly. She keeps her voice as innocent as possible. “But you could still show me how you play it, can’t you?”

He nods once. “Of course. I only meant that such training is not orthodox in our culture. However, exceptions can be made.”

Spock leans in, ever so subtly, toward her.

“May I kiss you again, Spock?”

“You ask for my permission now? You did not require it Saturday night.”

She laughs a little bit, averting her eyes to the ground. “I just had to go for it then, you know?” Nyota clears her throat. “I imagine that you wish it had gone a bit differently, that I should’ve asked for your permission.”

She is startled when he wraps his hand around her arm. His touch is firm, but gentle. “I have no such wish. For me, it was—”

“Satisfactory?” It seems to be his favorite word when something pleases him.

“Quite pleasurable.” His hand slowly moves up until it touches her face, much as she did Saturday night. “If I have any regrets, it is that I did not do more to demonstrate my regard for you, or to initiate more personal, more intimate contact.”

She sighs as she feels the warm comfort of his touch again. “The fact that you didn’t run and we talked about it afterwards confirmed that that you enjoyed it.”

He leans forward another inch, his hand still cupping her cheek. “Still. Vulcans do not engage in demonstrations of emotions. It is something you may find different, even unpleasant, compared to your interactions with human males.” For the briefest second, Spock’s eyes appear dark, troubled. After a breath, the darkness clears. “I will understand if this deters you from continuing to seek out my company.”

Nyota reaches up and touches his lips with her fingers. “I like you, Spock. I want your company. And I think you should kiss me now.”

With that, he complies.

****

Gaila wiggles her eyebrows when Nyota fills her in.

“Hm… it seems as if you’ve got Mr. Sexy Smarty Pants—”

This earns a smack from Nyota.

“Ow! Wrapped around your finger.”

“Would you keep it down, Gaila?” Nyota asks chidingly. “We’re out in public.”

“Fine! Remember, I wasn’t the one who brought up the commander in the first place.”

Nyota knows she is right. They are walking toward the mess hall, and she could not wait to tell Gaila about that morning.  

It is rather like playing with fire, Nyota thinks as she takes a tray and listens to Gaila gab about all things male-related… “After all, I’ve got no idea how long it’s been since your last relationship. You should be thankful that you can benefit from my expertise.”

“Gaila, if there is one thing I’m certain your expertise won’t cover, it’s being in a relationship with a Vulcan.”

However, her roommate ignores her and plows forward with her speech as she tears into a roll. Despite her chatty, ostentatious manner, Nyota knows Gaila is trustworthy. Mostly. At least, she is trustworthy with the things Nyota tells her. Having a female Orion roommate for these past three years, despite their divergent personalities, has proved to be particularly fortunate when she needed a confidante about her feelings for Spock. Orion women share intensely strong familial and peer-based bonds with one another; they view males as the weaker sex, valuable mostly for sexual and procreative needs. Being away from her home world for so long, and being virtually the only Orion woman in the Academy, Gaila found herself in dire need of a female companion. She needed to forge a sisterhood with another peer, or else suffer the next few years. After some stumbling blocks, she found that sisterhood with Nyota, and Nyota realized the feeling was mutual.

When Nyota finally confessed her attraction to the Vulcan commander to her roommate, Gaila vowed to take the secret to her grave, although the Orion stopped short from promising to not tease her about it.

In the middle of Gaila’s vulgar explanation about various techniques that an Orion woman can do to her mate with both her tongue and her fingers, Nyota spies Cadet Luke Aldren at another table. He is pointing at her as he talks to his friends, the sneer on his face telling her that the topic is about her, and it is unpleasant.

She leans forward. “Do you have a problem, Aldren?”

Gaila stops talking and eyes Nyota and the other cadet. Aldren smirks. “Nope,” he drawls. “No problems, although we’re surprised to see you here without your pointy-eared boyfriend.”

Nyota clenches her teeth, but she feels her heart accelerate. Normally, she gets along fine with Aldren, save for the usual, healthy academic competition. Lately, though, he has been copping an attitude with her. She and Gaila both suspected that it must stem from some professional jealousy, blaming it on whatever relationship he thinks she has with Commander Spock. Regardless of whether or not it is true.

Nyota can barely stand to look at him at the moment; his nasty smile makes her want to flick her spoon into his face.

“My boyfriend?” she hisses.

“Yeah. You know who I’m talking about.”

She suspects he cannot and will not say Spock’s name, in case he believes he is wrong. But he can spread innuendo and accusations that Nyota is earning her successes to a close relationship with the commander rather than on her own merits.

For all of her late nights, her long weekends spent in the language labs and in the Academy’s libraries studying to get to the top of her class, Nyota wants to rip his head off and shove it right up his—

He stands up at his table, his friends watching him and looking at Nyota with smug anger. Leaning forward on his fists, he aims his words right at her. “I’m just wondering why you keep getting all the jobs in the department. We’re all wondering that.”

“Gaila,” she says, poking at her friend, “let’s go.” However, Gaila’s attention is focused on her PADD, and not on the two arguing cadets. Aldren continues blathering away.

“How are we supposed to compete with you, Uhura? When we’re not sleeping our way up the Starfleet ladder.”

Oh, it’s on!

Nyota stomps over to Aldren. She knows if she protests too much, it could raise suspicions about her and Spock, but his slander is far too much to bear.

She gets up in his face. “You’ve got something to say to me, Aldren? Say it! But if you’re going to throw accusations in my face, then you’d better be able to back them up.” She presses her face closer to his, staring at him with a furious glare. “Or are you just pissed that I’m better than you are in practically every xenolinguistics class that we’ve taken together? That I got the gold rating at the Oxford Linguistics Invitational, and you came away with the bronze?”

The other cadets all stop eating and stare at the showdown. There are a few personnel watching; Spock is, thankfully, not among them. Before Aldren can respond, an arm goes around his shoulders — and hers as well. Nyota stares into the face of her friend.

“Now, now,” Gaila says, giving them both a shake, “can’t you two crazy kids learn to get along?”

“I have a very hard time staying quiet when my intelligence is called into question, Gaila.”

“Come on, Nyota,” Gaila replies exaggeratedly. “Cut Aldren some slack. After all—” She turns a pair of sharp eyes onto him. “Some men can’t help it.”

Aldren raises his eyebrow. “Help what?”

Gaila brings her arm up over Nyota’s head and faces the other cadet with fluttering eyes and a saucy grin. “That certain inadequacies in one area bleed into another.”

“B-b-but… I-I… I don’t—”

“Luke, it’s okay. I don’t believe all of the rumors from the men’s locker room about you! Some, sure, but not all.”

Nyota plays along and feigns ignorance, but her brow is still lowered in anger. “But Gaila, whatever do you mean?”

Gaila hums and moves her finger down through the air. “Ping! Ping! PING!” Her sound effects are slow, precise, and her finger points — right at Aldren’s crotch.

“Tricorder readings set to... miniscule!”

His friends, and the surrounding tables, snicker at him and Nyota howls in laughter.

“Not that we’ve ever done anything before.” Gaila continues. “I do have some standards you know. I do have to consider appearance, temperament…. size.” She flashes a slightly smug, mostly triumphant grin at a red-faced, spluttering Aldren.

“I’ve… I’ve never! We’ve never! That’s none of your business!”

Suddenly, the Orion shoves her PADD into Aldren’s face. “Maybe next time you want to cut down someone’s intellect, you’ll pick someone who’s actually worse than you in your classes. See this?” Her finger points at his name and his rank in the department. “Your name is below Nyota’s. Not above hers. Be-low! She’s scored higher than you for the past two years now, and yet, you somehow think that she doesn’t deserve her two aideships?” Gaila snorts. “Men! And as her roommate, I can tell you that she spends all her time studying, not ordering the latest off-planet fad guaranteed to — ‘increase – your – size!’” She makes sure to emphasize, rather loudly, the last three words, and the cadets nearest them erupt in laughter and scattered applause. Gaila continues to stare at Aldren as she grabs Nyota’s arm, shoves the PADD back into her bag and in a swift motion, lifts both hers and Nyota’s bags off the floor.

Once they leave the Mess Hall, she lets go of Nyota’s arm.

“The nerve of—!” Nyota glares back at the hall.

Gaila shakes her head; she is clearly angry about the confrontation. “Stupid – patriarchal – society! Men thinking they’re so freaking entitled to everything and can’t handle a woman doing better than them? And Aldren of all people! I can’t believe he went there! Pfft!”

“By the way, how did you get that information? About our grades? And get it so quickly.”

Gaila hooks her arms around Nyota’s. “A computer genius does not reveal her secrets. Besides, you mess with my Nyota, you’re gonna get hurt!” The reply leaves Nyota speechless, but she and Gaila smile all the way until they are outside.

****

They walk from the Federation’s Institute of Multi-Planetary History and Sciences. Spock verbalizes his approval of newly installed Vulcan exhibition. And, indeed, the collection was impressive, in its scope of capturing Vulcan history and in its logical presentation of the artifacts as a testament to the evolution of the species from the proto-Awakening era to the post-Awakening period to the present.

Nyota, however, remains distracted. Aldren’s insults from earlier in the week continue to haunt her, and she cannot stop thinking about what the other cadets might be saying behind their backs.

The day is still bright, and they walk past bright green trees and green grass. The sidewalks are moderately busy, and had Nyota’s head been entirely in the present, she would have noticed more than a few people giving them odd looks, as they walked.

As Spock discusses his observations of the artifacts, Nyota smiles politely. She nods and agrees with him, but her mind is unfocused and stuck on a single, persistent thought, as if a message or transmission caught in a loop.

“I sense that something troubles you, Nyota.”

“Oh… sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I guess I’ve been a bit sidetracked.”

Spock places his hand on her back and gently guides her to a nearby bench. “There are a number of options available to relieve your anxieties. I would not impose any one of them upon you, but I shall remain present and assist with anything you deem necessary.”

She blinks at him, surprised, but she does not protest as she takes a seat. Mulling over his words, she smiles. She cannot believe that she can be so charmed by his reasoning, and even his tone, although there is no emotion registering in his voice. However, he so much as admits that he will stay here for whatever she may need.

Nyota takes a breath. She does not know how Spock will react to what has been on her mind, but since it involves him, she might as well tell him. “Earlier this week, I had a run-in with another cadet, in the mess hall. Basically, the little—” She bites her tongue, stopping herself from calling Aldren a “bastard”. “Basically, he insulted my intelligence. He insinuated,” she says, practically spitting out the word, “that I did not properly earn my aideships.”

Spock nods. “I see.”

“I would’ve smacked him, but Gaila helped me set the record straight.”

His eyebrow suddenly flies up, indicating surprise. “Did she? Fascinating.”

Nyota chuckles ruefully. “No one should ever underestimate her computer skills. Ever. She knows how to get any information you ask for. Any at all.”

Spock nods once. “I am aware that it was Cadet Aldren, and I am further aware of his statements toward you.” 

She gapes at him. “You are?”

“Commander Sun approached me after the confrontation and divulged the substance of Aldren’s protests. That he accused you of inappropriate behavior with an unnamed professor — although there was enough information to conjecture that the cadet was referring to me — in order to gain an advantage in the Academy.”

Her nostrils flare. “It sounds even worse coming from you without all the terrible innuendo.” Nyota feels her frustration keenly.

“There is no method by which one can rationally temper such sentiments. Only by stating them directly can one confront the accusation and defend against it.”

“But that’s not going to be the end of it, Spock. You can show them all the proof in the world that they’re wrong, but they’ll just keep coming back with more and more, and distract and annoy. It’s likely that the more he keeps saying anything, the greater the chance we’ll get into trouble. You’ll get into trouble.”

“I can assure you that, in accordance to the relevant Starfleet Codes, we have done nothing wrong." There is no indication that he feels nervous or apprehensive or bothered. There is no indication that he feels anything at all. “The acknowledgment of our mutual preference for one another occurred after you ceased working for me. Furthermore, I only had your qualifications, your academic record, and your references in mind when I requested you to be my aide. You were the only candidate to find the error in my report. You successfully completed each step of the application process on your own merits. Therefore, you were not advanced because of any personal inclination that may or may not have existed on my part during that time.”

She gazes at him shiftily, as if she is suspicious of him, but a teasing smile plays across her lips. “You are being honest with me, Spock?”

He bows his head. “I cannot lie. I can only speak the truth. Your intelligence and your hard work have taken you far in the Academy.” Spock blinks once. “I will admit that both qualities have strengthened my personal appreciation of you.”

Nyota’s face flushes, but she smiles broadly. “It’s nice to be appreciated for my mind.”

Spock’s face remains composed and emotionless and he says nothing in reply. This does not faze her, because his admission — that her intelligence attracts him — is far more than any Vulcan would normally admit. The ensuing silence gives her an opportunity to consider things. Her brow creases as she says what is still bothering her.

“Unfortunately, it’s not going to go away. Honestly, people will think whatever they want to think, and say whatever they want to say. I don’t know if they really care that you only ever considered my actual qualifications. If they think you and I have some special relationship with each other, then that’s what they’ll go with.”

He nods twice before he says anything further. “There is one true solution to this problem.”

“And that is—”

“That we do not see each other anymore outside of the Academy.”

Nyota freezes, her eyes narrow. “You want to end this before we even get started?”

“It would ensure that I would not be accused of favoritism and—”

She shakes her head before he can finish.

“And your peers would not accuse you of achieving your goals through any means other than your own merits.”

“No.” Her decisive tone surprises her; Spock raises his eyebrow in response. “Forget it. Whatever this is between us, I like it. I like you, despite the fact that the Academy discourages relationships between cadets and instructors.” She stares at him with a determination that no shield could withstand. “I tried to follow the rules, but I kissed you first. And then you kissed me back. So the way I see it, neither of us could abide by the ethical code, could we?”

“Apparently not.” She does not miss the corner of his mouth barely twitch. Spock faces her, his hands covering his knees. “There may be another alternative.”

“I’d love to hear any solution that doesn’t involve us not seeing each other.”

“We could approach the Academy’s council and disclose our relationship to them. This would mitigate any future damage to either of our reputations should further questions arise.”

Nyota cannot hide her doubt. Telling the council about her and Spock seems fraught with peril for both of them. They might ask a ton of questions and maybe even prevent her from being selected for the Enterprise.

“Um… I don’t know. That could backfire big time, couldn’t it?”

“In situations like this, honesty may be the most effective option to neutralize the effect of an intentional and malicious disclosure other cadets or Academy personnel may attempt.”

She grimaces. “Spock, it seems—” Her eyes meet his.

“It seems what, Nyota?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “It seems like we’re asking for the Academy to punish us. They could still choose dismissal because we decided to hell with the rules.”

Spock’s eyes scan the area around them, even while his face remains as blank as empty canvas. He does not scoot closer, but he leans forward, his back still straight, his gaze direct and penetrating. “I am working under the assumption,” he says, his voice low and steady, “that they will not do anything more than lecture us on the positives and negatives of cadet-instructor relationships.” Spock speaks with a faint smoothness to it. His voice comforts her, more so than even his normal, composed tone. Nyota realizes he uses it more and more in their interactions away from the Academy. It is the tone he reserves for his more private moments.

The realization makes her feel quite warm and very comforted.

“That’s a big assumption.”

“And I will remind the council that you are no longer my student or my aide. According to the most literal interpretation of the Starfleet Code of Ethical Conduct, a relationship between a cadet and an instructor is not precluded if that relationship occurs after the cadet leaves the instructor’s tutelage and training.”

She straightens her back and eyes him with dubious amusement. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“I am thorough in my research, Nyota.”

This time, she arches her eyebrow at him, more playfully than anything else. “Maybe you are onto something. Perhaps we can disclose to the council that we are in a relationship and there wouldn’t be any retaliation.” She feels warm at the thought. If they tried it, if they informed the higher-ups and they practiced discretion, it could eliminate the harmful effects if someone else ratted them out.

“If you do not agree, we do not have to tell them.”

Her mouth opens, and for three seconds, she does not speak. She thinks through the other alternatives, none of which strike her as better than divulging the information to the council themselves.

Making her decision, Nyota closes her mouth and looks around them. Once assured that no one who should not see them together is around, she leans forward and places a gentle kiss on his lips.

Spock’s face does not move, nor does it change. But his own lips respond to the contact, and Nyota feels that same uplifting swell, that wave of emotion extending beyond him, beyond her, meeting somewhere in the middle. It is the weirdest thing she has ever experienced…

And yet, it is somehow wonderful too.

She breaks the kiss first, but she still leans forward, smiling coyly, her eyes lingering on his face, his lips, his eyes and brow and ears.

“Spock, you can put me down for a ‘yes, I agree.’”

“A ‘yes, I agree?’” he repeats.

“Mm-hm. To telling the council. Or do you need my answer again?”

“There is a chance I did not understand it the first time. Perhaps further clarification is required.”

“Hm… indeed.” She mumbles the words softly against his lips.

****

She walks across campus, her mind distracted. Her attention is torn between recounting the procedures for some new noise control techniques being beaten into her brain by Douglas Kyle, and the meeting with the council to disclose her relationship with Spock, arranged at the commander’s request.

Nyota has no idea what to expect from the discussions with the council. She has practiced what she should say with Gaila, usually taking the opposite advice from whatever Gaila offered. Which was, of course, rather inappropriate.

She strides across the campus, walking across the well-trodden path between her and Gaila’s apartment and the DeGrasse Tyson Building, the location of the Academy’s library. She pushes past dawdling groups on the sidewalk, absent-mindedly waving at other cadets sitting in the grass. She walks past the large statue of Dr. Zefram Cochrane and the Vulcan Sorik which commemorates first contact, and she is just about to approach the building, when—

“Nyota!”

Her foot stops on the bottom step. She turns and sees Leonard McCoy running toward her. As he reaches her, he holds up his finger and lowers his head to catch his breath.

“McCoy? Are you all right?”

He takes a few more deep breaths and lifts his head up, swallowing as he does so. “H-have… you seen… J-Jim?”

Her forehead creases. “Jim Kirk?” McCoy nods. Her eyes shift to the right. “No, I haven’t seen him recently.” 

He hits his leg so hard Nyota can hear the smack. “Dammit!”

“Is something wrong? McCoy, did something happen?” Nyota is surprised to hear worry in her own voice.

“Jim hasn’t been himself since the damn Kobayashi Maru,” Bones admits, shaking his head. “He hasn’t been sleeping well. His eating habits are shit, and he’s been drinking a lot more. I don’t even think he came back to our apartment last night.”

Nyota clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I don’t really see how any of this is different than before.”

Bones looks at her with dark eyes. “Well, he’s drinking alone in the apartment and I usually know when he’s been with a girl — or a female humanoid.”

She finds this hard to believe. “How would you know, unless he’s with them in your room?” He flashes her a knowing expression. “Ew!” she exclaims with a squeak.

“Yeah. And, unfortunately, Jim’s got a big mouth too. He likes to talk.” McCoy rolls his eyes. “And describe. Jackass.” He nods toward the library. “You going in?” 

“Yeah. Come on. We can talk more inside.”

McCoy walks next to her as they enter the enormous, rotund lobby. There is a model of the Milky Way, hovering in the middle, suspended by state-of-the-art levitation hydraulics. They walk around it and continue across the floor, with its mosaic representation of the Sol System. They pass the walls, filled with the names of space missions and crews from the 1960s to the present day.

“I don’t know, Nyota,” he says, his tone defeated. “I’ve known and lived with him for two years now, and I’ve never seen him like this. He’s a wreck. A total wreck!”

She shakes her head. “But he knows that the simulation is the hardest one at Starfleet. I have a friend who works the programming, and she says that no one’s passed it in at least four years.”

The right side of Bones’ face scrunches together. “Well, I think he’s taking it personal.”

Nyota stares at him, utterly confused. “Personal?”

“He hasn’t really talked to me about it.” McCoy holds open the door leading into the main floor of the massive library, “but I think it has something to do with his father.”

This admission surprises Nyota. She knows full well the story of George Kirk and the USS Kelvin. She knows she takes for granted that that man is James T. Kirk’s father; it is often hard to reconcile that someone so damn arrogant could be the son of a true hero.

“Why would he even make that connection?” She walks through the doorway, turning around to talk to Bones. “The Kobayashi Maru preceded the Kelvin by almost a decade.”

“It’s just me doing a little armchair psychology, but look at the similarities, the details of the scenario.” He ticks off each point. “An impossible circumstance, an unbeatable enemy, a life-or-death decision to make.” He lets the door shut behind him, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. “It could’ve hit him in a really weird place. I heard him mentioning the Kelvin shortly after the test. I thought he was thinking about some maneuver or strategy or something. But maybe there’s more to it than that.”

“You think it’s about George Kirk?”

McCoy sighs. He rubs his eyes; it is clear that he is tired and fatigued, but he cannot until he knows his friend and roommate is alright. “I don’t know for sure, but he’s real close to losing it.”

Before she can reply, a voice at the library’s front desk draws both their attentions. It takes only a few seconds, but Nyota realizes that the voice belongs to Jim Kirk. And he is shouting.

“It’s just a damn dissertation! All I want to do is check the thing out.”

Nyota and McCoy look at each other, distressed, and they run over to see what is wrong.

“And we have a policy in the library, Cadet Kirk; dissertations are non-circulating reference materials—”

Kirk slaps his palm flat on the counter. He points a finger at the cover of the book. “Excuse me, but in case you’re illiterate, those words, right there? U – S – S – Kelvin. As in the ship my – father – LOST – HIS – LIFE - ON!” He aims a furious glare back at the librarian. “And the ship I – WAS – BORN – ON!!”

“Oh no,” McCoy mutters. Nyota and he move closer.

“I’m James Kirk. George Kirk’s freakin’ son! You realize that he’s a major part of Captain Pike’s dissertation, don’t you? You realize that without him, there wouldn’t be any Captain Pike dissertation!”

“Jim—“

“Bones!” Kirk exclaims, shrugging the doctor’s hand off of him. “These idiots don’t even know who the hell I am.”

McCoy grimaces, trying to figure out how to handle his friend. Kirk does not realize Nyota is with him; for the first time since the simulation, she can see large, grey bags under his eyes, and a couple of fresh bruises on his face, including one bandage on his brow.

He looks like hell.

McCoy subtly gestures for her to stand beside Kirk; she does so without drawing his notice. Kirk continues to babble on about needing to look at the dissertation, a manual—

“Anything! The Kobayashi Maru’s been around long enough for someone to have written about it, right?”

“Jim, you’re in a library, and you’re causing a scene.” Bones tries to calm him down, but his attempts have no affect on Kirk.
 

“You know the Kobayashi Maru is bullshit!” A number of students, absorbed deep in their books and computers, look up at the cadet’s exclamation. “My own dad saved 800 people’s lives that day, and you’re telling me, George’s Kirk’s son, that I can’t make it out of a stupid simulation alive? Come on, Bones.”

Nyota grabs his arm, wanting him to shut up before security escorts him out. “Jim, look,” Nyota says gently, but urgently, “you’re working yourself into a state. You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t need to rest. And what the hell are you doing here?” He tears his arm away from her.

“I’m here helping McCoy find you. He was worried, and asked me if I’ve seen—”

She does not even see McCoy whip out the hypospray behind Jim’s back. In a couple of quick, graceless moves, the doctor jabs the device against Kirk’s neck and pulls the trigger. There is a puff as Bones injects his friend.

Nyota gasps as Jim slaps at his neck. He stares disbelievingly at him.

“Bones! What the hell didja—”

The cadet stops talking and his face sags. He falls like a noodle into McCoy’s arms. The doctor swings one of Kirk’s arms around his head, and nods at Nyota to get his other side.

McCoy looks up with a smile, albeit nervous and shaky, at the librarian, who is staring at the scene, startled. “Heh, looks like the late nights finally caught up to him. He just wore himself out. We’ll take him back to his room.” He winks at her incredulous expression and he turns to Nyota. “Help me.”

“What the hell did you give him?” she asks while trying to balance the unconscious Kirk between herself and McCoy, and pulling his deadweight body toward the entrance leading out into the spacious lobby.

“A light sedative. Nothing harmful. At least, nothing near as harmful as those two would’ve been,” McCoy says, nodding at the two burly security officers who were coming over to check on the commotion. The librarian gestures at them, in a manner suggesting that they are not needed.

The two cadets drag Kirk back to the apartment that he shares with McCoy in silence. They waste no energy by talking, since it was taking all of their strength to hoist Jim Kirk’s limp mass between them.

“Thanks. I can get him from here,” McCoy offers when they arrive at the door. Nyota bows her head, freeing Jim’s arm from her body, sore and sweating from the exertion. The doctor shuffles a bit and Kirk’s head swoops. A groan escapes from him.

Nyota flashes a brief, sad smile at McCoy. He returns the gesture. And, oddly enough, he laughs.

“I promise I’ll tuck him into bed and read him a story. If he’s a good boy, I’ll give him warm milk and cookies.”

She chuckles. “Leonard McCoy.”

“What?”

“He’s incredibly lucky to have a friend like you.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes as he punches his ID number with his free hand. “You don’t have to tell me that. I know I’m a damn good friend. In you go, you hotheaded idiot!” he grunts, hauling Jim Kirk’s moaning body into the open building.

****

The Test: Part Six (Spock/Nyota Uhura, PG)

suzanne78 — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 15:03:13 GMT

Title: The Test, Part Six: First Contact
Author:suzanne78
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Nyota Uhura, Gaila.
Ratings/Warnings: PG, mild language.
Summary: He does not know the ways in which he tests her. Even as an aide, Nyota is, quite unfortunately, drawn to her instructor. Nyota gets a new job and enjoys a final dinner with Spock as aide and instructor.
A/N: Another big THANK YOU!! to mrstater for her beta-reading and her suggestions. To say I’m nervous about this part is an understatement, to say the least. I hope that this comes across as in character for both Nyota and Spock. My inspiration for writing them comes from the movie and the novelization of the movie, which I happen to love... particularly when spoken out loud by Mr. Spock himself, Zachary Quinto. Mmm....

According to most of the translations I've seen, Furaha is Swahili for joy and happiness. I thought it might be a good name for a restaurant. Thank you so much for commenting and reviewing. I really appreciate the support!

Links to previous parts:

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Part Four here

Outtake from Part Four: "This Most Illogical Matter"

Part Five here

“Your performance during Cadet Kirk’s simulation was unorthodox.”

Spock walks beside Nyota on the Saturday following Wednesday's simulation. They are inside the Warren Building, the home of the Academy’s Xenolinguistics and Acoustical Engineering Departments. They proceed down the corridor, with its silvery walls lined with monitors and screens for announcements on one side, and clear glass overlooking San Francisco Bay on the other. The view is breathtaking; this side of the building overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge. The midday sun shines on its coppery façade, and traffic flows smoothly along both sides. The water is dark blue and reflects the sky brilliantly.

Nyota grins. “Is ‘unorthodox’ meant to be a compliment?” She is fairly certain that he does not intend for it to be a compliment, but she is testing him, seeing how he phrases the truth.

“I refer mostly to your demeanor during the simulation. I would have approached handling certain aspects of Cadet Kirk’s personality differently.”

She snorted. “Less sarcasm and more logic, you mean?”

“Precisely.” He continues to walk, but keeps a mild expression. “Overall, however, you handled your duties adequately during the simulation.”

She laughs. “You don’t have to hold back with me, Spock. I know I shouldn't have been so sarcastic, but I can’t tolerate arrogance. It’s even more grating when the person has done nothing to warrant being so flip and blasé.” Nyota taps her fingernails against her PADD, beating it in a steady rhythm on her left hip. Her grin falls as she replies, “I do know one thing. After witnessing what Kirk went through once we entered the Neutral Zone, I’m sure I will never want to command a starship.”
 
She looks at him, their pace slow and steady. He regards her with an arched brow. “Did you ever desire to command your own vessel?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “Never, to be honest.”

“Why is that, Nyota?”

Hearing him say her name in his deep voice pleases her greatly. She feels grateful that there are no other cadets or personnel nearby, so they may speak candidly between themselves. Although it does nothing to quell her troubled nerves.

They have just come back from the mess hall for lunch. Although they were engaged in a discussion of an older Romulan dialect, and its unique phonemic structures, Nyota’s attentions were diverted more than a few times. She noticed other students looking at her and Spock as they sat together. The smirking expressions plastered on their faces told Nyota that they were the topic of gossip at several tables.

As she walks the halls with the commander, she wonders whether Spock heard them talk; after all, Vulcans have far stronger aural capabilities than humans.

She tries not to think about lunch; she is happy to discuss the Kobayashi Maru and her desire never to command a starship with her mentor. She returns to his question. “Well, mostly because I hate being wrong.”

Spock watches her with a raised eyebrow and a barely upturned mouth. “I have often been told,” he begins, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the corridor, “that humans learn from their mistakes. That, sometimes, failures can be advantageous.”

“True, but I can’t ask for people to follow me if there’s even the slightest possibility I could be wrong. Which is not good for building confidence among a crew.”

Spock nods. “This is accurate. Thus, you have demonstrated considerable logic by cultivating your strengths with learning alien languages.”

She smiles at him. “I see it as how I can best serve the Federation.” She chews on the inside of her cheek as she thinks about Kirk immediately after he lost his vessel to the simulated Klingon battle cruisers. “I certainly don’t begrudge Kirk and what he went through after his test.” Nyota looks to her left; she is walking next to the glass wall and she can see a watership coming in under the Golden Gate Bridge.

“You are acquainted with the cadet, then?”

“Oh yes, I know him.” The exasperation is thick in her voice; Nyota feels a sharp pang of guilt. Her own personal opinion of Jim Kirk is at odds with what she witnessed a few days ago. Kirk's reaction to failing the simulation was unexpected. His demeanor changed in an instant. He lost the arrogance that had marked his personality, and for the first time since she had met him in Iowa, he seemed vulnerable. Haunted.

She did not know what to make of it then, and thinking about it presently does nothing to answer her questions. But the impression she had always had of Jim Kirk since meeting him in the Shipyard bar almost three years ago comes into direct conflict with what she saw in that simulation chamber. Instead of further speculation, she focuses on what she does know about Kirk, and that is—

“He’s a character, that’s for sure.”

“Do you consider yourself a friend of the cadet?”

At this, Nyota cannot help but laugh. Rather loudly. He watches her, his face soft and relaxed, his eyes a little wider than usual. He appears quizzical, for Spock at least.

“Did I say something that was amusing?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s just funny to think of us as friends. We didn’t start off on the right foot. At all.”

“I do not understand what feet have to do with it?”

“It’s an old saying. It just means that Cadet Kirk and I didn’t have the best introduction.”

“I see. If you wish to elaborate, you may—”

“MR. SPOCK!!”

Nyota jumps; if the shout startles the Vulcan, to whom it was addressed, Spock shows no signs of outward physical reaction. Both the commander and cadet turn around to the source of the gruff voice.

Commander Douglas Kyle is a reedy, middle-aged man. He hurries toward them, burdened with a few PADDs, a big shoulder bag, and an earpiece, used to pick up and amplify incoming transmissions, stuck awkwardly in his right ear. His left eye twitches irregularly, a tic he has had for fifteen years. His shaggy blond hair is mussed, as if he had just rolled out of bed and had not bothered to comb it. It befits him, completing his image of walking chaos.

“There y’are,” the engineer blusters breathlessly. “I‘ve been looking for you… they said you left the mess hall.”

Spock regards the other man with a perfectly expressionless face. “Cadet Uhura and I were returning to the language lab to prepare for Monday’s class.”

Kyle stares at Spock with a deeply creased brow and his eyes move rapidly between the Vulcan and Nyota. She takes the opportunity to contrast Kyle’s wild, disheveled appearance with Spock’s cool, stoic demeanor. There is really no question about which one she prefers. However, Nyota gives Kyle some leeway; it is the worst kept secret in Starfleet that Kyle returned from his mission on Talos IV fifteen years ago a different person. Since then, he prefers to stay on Earth. Rarely, he travels into space, unless expressly ordered by Starfleet.

Nyota is also aware of one basic truth: there are no other Starfleet officers better versed in acoustical engineering than Douglas Kyle. And any cadet with him as a reference can find himself or herself on the short list for a prime, high-profile mission.

Such as the Enterprise.

Nyota cannot help but wish Kyle needs to discuss with Spock the aideship, and that he will be selecting her for the position.

“Might we make an arrangement to have dinner together upon your selection as Commander Kyle’s aide…?”

Not that she thinks of Spock’s arrangement from the previous weekend. No, not at all.

“Oh, so you’re Cadet Uhura?” He shifts all of his PADDs into one arm and holds his free hand out for her to shake. “Read over your application. Spock here says you have exceptional aural sensitivity.”

She turns and looks at Spock with her eyebrow arched and a grin on her face. “Thank you, Commander.” Spock merely bows his head once.

“And you’ve assisted him with deep space transmission identification. Signature recognition and noise cleaning.”

She feels a burst of excitement, but she does not do anything to show it; instead, she continues to smile and she nods. “Yes. That’s true.

“Well, it’d better be! I’m just remembering what you put in your records. I don’t suffer liars and idiots, as you well know. They’re worse than criminals… or Klingons.” He stomps up to her, eyeing her with a seemingly suspicious stare. He squints his right eye shut; his left remains open, examining Nyota. She flinches a bit under his scrutiny. She tries not to have second thoughts about applying for the aideship; perhaps, if a cadet can survive his bizarre personality they can survive flying into space.

After he stares unnervingly at Nyota, Kyle snorts and nods with finality. “Yeah, you’ll do.”

She would appreciate it if he would elaborate, but Kyle snaps his head toward Spock. “You still having issues with the dampeners?”

“Yes. There is far too much sonic interference, as well as background noise, all of which affect our readings of sub- and deep space transmissions.”

Kyle grunts at him and starts walking to the language lab. “I don’t want anyone coming in while I calibrate the machines! If so much as a hair touches the floor twenty feet from them, I’ll have to start the whole process over again!”

With a final sneer — which Nyota thinks is meant to be a smile in valediction — he leaves them standing where they were, next to the glass walls.

Spock turns to Nyota, his eyebrow arched. “It appears that you are Commander Kyle’s new aide.”

She blinks in rapid succession… and snorts out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. He did say that you will do.”

Nyota stares at Spock with a significant amount of cynicism. “And that means I got the job?”

“As familiar as I am with Commander Kyle’s demeanor and temperament, I can logically conclude that is exactly what he meant.”

“That’s not the traditional job offer among humans.” 

“That may be,” Spock says, his voice still smooth, but his lips slowly, subtly drawing up the right side of his face. "Is it not also true that Commander Douglas Kyle is not a traditional instructor?”

Nyota considers this. “Well… yes. You’re right.”

Spock nods once and turns back to the view of San Francisco Bay. Shuttlecraft fly high above the Golden Gate Bridge, and a slightly thicker mist of clouds settles near the shore—

“As it appears you have been selected as his aide and will, undoubtedly, be put to work by him soon — perhaps even this week — we should make arrangements for dinner.”

His words paralyze her. Dinner? Nyota has not forgotten their deal, but she also does not expect Spock to be the first between them to bring it up. There is nothing nervous or amused or coy in his demeanor; he is as dignified as ever.

“Perhaps we should.” It is all she can manage, and she is infinitely thankful that her voice is far steadier than her nerves.

Spock, again, nods. “Very well. Do you have any existing obligations next Saturday?” 

Nyota stuffs down the smile that wants to erupt across her face. “A week from now? No, Spock,” she says in a serious tone. “I don’t have any plans.”

His eyes, and his eyes alone, shift so he may look at her while keeping his face forward. “Then we shall dine together that evening, Nyota.”

She replies only with a smile, unable to speak because her heart has leapt up into her throat.

****

Gaila enters their room with all the grace and subtlety of a grown elephant. Or an entire herd of elephants.

“Oh – my – God! Nyota, you would not believe the day I’ve had!” she says very loudly, ignoring the fact that her roommate had been lying on her bed with a pillow covering her face. At Gaila’s entrance, Nyota jumps up and glares at her angrily.

“Couldn’t you see that I am — no, was — resting?”

Gaila looks at her apologetically. “Sorry, sweetie.” She throws her bag to the ground, where it lands with a dull thud. Gracelessly, she plops on her bed. “Rough day?”

Nyota sighs and lays back down, pressing the back of her hand against her closed eyes. “You can say that again.”

“Hm… rough day?”

Nyota turns to shoot Gaila a flat expression. “That wasn’t meant to be taken literally.”

The Orion smirks. “I couldn’t resist. Lame jokes,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’ve been on this silly world way too long.”

Abandoning any attempt to nap, Nyota sits on the edge of her bed facing her roommate. “Only one day as Kyle’s new aide, and all I know is that man is insane!”

Gaila guffaws. “I thought you already knew he was all—” She whistles as she her finger makes little circles next to her head.

“Knowing from secondhand information is one thing. Actually living through the Commander Kyle Experience is something else altogether.” She rubs at her temples, the sound of his bellowing throughout the day, from the most general concepts to the tiniest minutiae, still resonating in her head. She suspects that the first day alone has overwhelmed her eardrums. “I can tell you, working with Spock never gave me a headache.”

Gaila throws a pillow at Nyota’s head.

“Hey! That was uncalled for!”

The Orion woman stands up, her hands on her hips, her skin a far deeper green than normal. “Do I need to remind you that we talked about comparing Spock and Kyle’s mentoring styles? And how you weren’t supposed to?”

Nyota tosses the cushion back at her friend. “Fine, alright? In my head, I’m constantly comparing the two. I can’t help it.” She grunts as she falls back onto her bed and shuts her eyes. “Only one day in, and I’ve got no idea how I’m going to make it through until graduation. If I did one thing, he yelled at me. If I did the thing he wanted me to do, he yelled at me to do something else! At this point, I’ve got no idea if I’m doing anything right.”

Gaila flops down on the bed next to her and primly crosses her arms. “I will bet you all the credits in Captain Pike’s account — which I hear is not an insubstantial amount — that you’re doing everything right. Don't forget, I've seen you the last few days, and you’ve been pouring over every manual and diagram that you can lay your hands on. I’m sure by the end of all of this, you’ll be able to tear apart and put together subspace signal cleaners even if Spock was dancing in front of you—”

“Gaila!” She tries not to smile. But as she jabs her elbow in her friend’s ribs, Nyota lets a soft chuckle escape.

“Naked,” the Orion finishes. Nyota rolls her eyes.

“This is how you’re helping me get over Spock? By putting that image in my head?”

Gaila flaps her hand blithely. “Please! You getting over your green-blooded sex god anytime soon — or ever — is about as likely as me going celibate for a month.”

“Or a week,” Nyota mumbles.

“Either way,” Gaila continues, ignoring the comment, “that’s not happening. Especially as T-minus-zero hour approaches for your date with him.” She arches her eyebrow just as Nyota is about to protest the nature of her dinner with Spock on Saturday. Instead, she lets it go, her thoughts turning to the possibilities, to the whatifs of the evening. She has been thinking about it during her free time, and she has even pondered scenarios with Gaila — what to wear, what is the proper way to consider this dinner, if this particular activity in any way violates Starfleet’s Code of Ethical Conduct…

“Let’s make a deal,” Gaila says, interrupting Nyota’s musings, “we work on the pesky issue about what you’re going to wear on your ‘not date’, and then I get to tell you about my crazy day — starting with me breaking up ever-so-dramatically with Berkeley!”

This gets Nyota’s attention. She gapes at her. “You didn’t?”

Gaila nods, slowly, exaggeratedly. “Uh-huh! But first thing’s first.” Gaila scrambles off the bed, and heads over to her closet, flinging the doors open. She tosses a bottle to Nyota, who nearly rolls off of her bed trying to catch it.

“What’s… Oh yes! Bajoran Springwine. Perfect.”

Nyota takes the glass that Gaila offers her and reaches for an opener.

“If we’re going to do this whole ‘girly’ thing, we’re going to do it right.” Gaila winks at her as Nyota fills both their cups and she starts throwing out dress after dress, skirt after skirt, and top after top, trying to find the perfect outfit for her friend for the long-awaited dinner.

****

They have shared dinners before. But Nyota knows this is different.

She approaches their scheduled meeting spot. Tonight, they will dine at the same restaurant — Furaha — where Spock shared with her the story of his childhood.

That was a few weeks ago. This is now.

Nyota takes the opportunity to adjust her wrap around her shoulders, mentally thanking Gaila for suggesting that she dare to bare a bit of skin. Not that her outfit is at all inappropriate. A simple black cocktail dress, the most conservative article of clothing Gaila owns, is certainly nothing the Academy could complain about.

Of course, the Academy may frown upon the slit on the skirt of the dress, one that affords quite a provocative view of Nyota’s whole left leg. “No guts, no glory! Carpe diem! Actually, Carpe Spock!” Gaila winked when she shoved Nyota out of their apartment.

Any doubts as to her choice of evening wear was put to rest the moment Nyota meets Spock in front of the restaurant. They make eye contact for three seconds; she keeps time in her head.

And then his gaze falls. After three seconds of silence, she continues counting as his eyes…

She can feel blood rush to her head, but she stands perfectly still, waiting to see if he will say something. There is no talking at first; she inhales deeply through her nose. Six seconds pass, and still his gaze lingers on her. She smiles, biting her lip. For a human, certainly such observation would be normal; a man would take his time admiring her.

Eight-point-five seconds.

For a Vulcan, this is uncharacteristic. Nyota feels little doubt that it is Gaila’s dress that must have caught the commander’s attention—

“Your dress is not regulation.”

She barely registers that he has spoken. His voice is deep, and yet possesses a soft quality. The gentle breeze catches his words, making them sound even softer as if they are about to drift away. But as Nyota has resolved not to let her mouth run unchecked from her, she tries to formulate a smart reply that is a dash flirtatious in tone.

“Is there a problem with it? Should it be regulation?”

Spock looks at her, betraying no emotion. “It was merely an observation.”

She grins, favoring the right side of her face. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I only arrived five-and-a-half minutes ago. I happened to arrive early, in order to confirm that there would be a table waiting for us.”

Nyota looks at him, partially surprised, slightly bemused. “You… reserved a table for us?”

“It is my understanding that this is common practice among humans. Planning in advance to ensure that the selected dining location would be able to accommodate us.” She laughs, but it is a pleasant and easy sound.

“I don’t know why I’m even questioning your thoroughness, Spock. You really do think of everything.”

He regards her again, his face showing no emotion. But she notices there is smoothness to his expression, as if he is free from tension or stress. Perhaps there is something to this, that he actually does enjoy being in her company.

“Are you ready to enter the restaurant, Nyota?”

She nods and proceeds past him, smiling from the butterflies erupt in her tummy as he holds the door open for her.

****

Nyota takes a sip of her Riesling, her face pulling upward into a coy grin as she sets down her glass. Their conversation this evening has flowed effortlessly.

She licks her lips. “I swear though, if heard one more student say, ‘Ng-tlh’, rather than ‘Ngetlh', I was going to scream.” Nyota, making sure to jut her chin forward to facilitate the correct pronunciation of one of the Klingon words for ‘home’.

“It is a common mistake. Indeed, I have seen several xenolinguists ranked as officers who made similar errors.”

Nyota shakes her head in disgust. “But when dealing with an alien species that’s both hostile and suspicious of the Federation’s motives, all trained Federation xenolinguists should make it their priority to know their language as if they’ve spoken it their entire life!” She speaks rapidly and with no pause, stopping only once to allow herself a single breath. “Familiarity with Klingon dialects and customs would certainly garner respect from the empire. It could even help shift the Klingon-Federation relationship into a peaceful one rather than this stalemate that you know won’t last.” She does not mean to become so impassioned, but they are discussing xenolinguistics, and if there is one thing that can rile Nyota up, it is a lack of intellectual curiosity about alien languages.

“Your observations and reasoning are logical, Nyota. We do our best as instructors, but, sometimes, we find the quality of the cadets to be less than satisfactory.”

She places her wine glass down again and dabs at her lips. “Present company excluded?” Spock tips his head forward. The gesture is minimal but elegant, and it pleases Nyota to see him like this. Smiling, she looks down at his plate.

“I hope you’re enjoying the food here.”

Spock places his fork on the plate and brings his napkin to his mouth. He finishes eating his bite as he folds his hands in front of him. “I find myself curious about the food indigenous to your culture.”

“Our cuisine intrigues you?”

He nods once. “There are certain similarities to the Vulcan diet.”

She folds her hands together and rests her chin on them. “Do you mean the emphasis on vegetables and grains over meat? Cooking with aromatics, using spices with strong heat and flavor profiles?”

“That is precisely what I mean.”

Nyota smiles. “Well, we love our greens. I will say that we do mean roasted pig, though. Perhaps we could try it someday.”

“Although I would not normally be inclined to consume animal flesh or skin, given the opportunity, an exception could be made.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” The words roll off of her tongue, but despite her flirtatious tone, she does not flinch as she looks at him. Nyota blames the wine… partially. She also blames the fact that she is no longer his aide, and this entire situation — the low light of the restaurant, the candle flickering between them, and the graceful chorus of voices singing softly in Zulu piping through the restaurant—

It feels more and more like an actual date.

“Yes, that is an acceptance of your invitation.”

She smiles so big, so wide, her face feels as if it might burst. It is the dawn of a new day between them. She knows it. And, deep down, Nyota feels Spock knows it too.

He studies her for five seconds; Nyota can see the light of the candle cast shadows that appear to tickle his otherwise pale skin. He breaks the trance. “Might I make a personal query of you, Nyota?”

She sits straight up, her hands falling on either side of their small table. She notices how close they are to his. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Spock tilts his head slightly to the right. “As a young child, did you go out into nature?”

“Oh, I did! Plenty of times,” she says, leaning forward on the table and lowering her voice. “I even got to spear an automated lion when I turned sixteen.” She punctuates her revelation with a teasing grin.

Spock arches his eyebrow. “Fascinating. This is similar to what I endured during my kahs-wan test.”

“Well, I didn’t have to survive on my own for ten days in the harshest natural conditions like you did, but I will say that fighting a machine that is smarter than any real lion and can critically injure you can give a girl a rush.”

“Indeed.”

Nyota leans against her chair, and swirls her wineglass in her hand. As Spock does not speak right away, she continues with her memories. “I do love nature. Both my mother and father were avid gardeners.”

Spock looks at her, acknowledging the new bit of information, but he says nothing, allowing her to elaborate further.

“They thought it was a good way to relax away from their jobs. They even managed to grow a small private orchard of orange trees, about fifteen trees or so, right on our land.” She laughed softly. “I loved helping them. Loved it. When I went to school, everyone said I smelled like oranges and grass. Honestly, I probably still do.”

Spock listens to her, his back straight, his eyes watching her the entire time.

“My mother still worked in the garden even after my father...” Nyota coughs, suddenly getting choked up. She takes a sip of her wine and takes a moment to compose herself. Spock says nothing, only waits for her to continue.

It is something she tries to not think about, instead focusing all of her energies on her mother whenever possible. After all, dwelling on her father’s inexplicable disappearance six years ago still hurt, still shakes her to her core.

But in those rare moments when she remembers she is, for all intents and purposes, fatherless, Nyota allows herself to feel whatever it is she feels for five seconds. Then she remembers that she let herself mourn for two years and she has moved on, focusing all of her energy onto Starfleet Academy. She has created a life now separate from her past and she has learned to continue living.

“Sorry.” She flashes him a small smile, one that she does not feel is truly genuine.

“Nyota, it was not my intention to have said anything that would make you uncomfortable or bring forward unpleasant thoughts.”

She holds her hand up. “No. It’s not you, Spock. Sometimes, it hits me funny when my father comes up in conversation. That’s all.”

“You may talk about something else if that will help.”

“Er, thanks,” she says quietly. Nyota clears her throat and takes another drink. She is about to say something else, but suddenly thinks the better of it. She searches her mind for anything else that they could talk about, anything at all to remove this ever-increasing awkward silence. The quiet stretches painfully between them, and a whole minute passes with no further conversation.

As she sits still, her hands fidgeting in her lap, the choral music still playing in the background, Nyota feels more uncomfortable than she ever has before. They were having such a brilliant time, talking, eating, and reminiscing. If only her emotions had not gotten the better of her…

Maybe, she thinks, Vulcans do have it right, after all.

“If you are finished, we may leave.” Spock glances over at a window to his left. “The weather is adequate for a walk, if that is acceptable for you.”

Despite the sudden shift in her emotions, Nyota feels her chest give a pleasant lurch. “A walk would be great.”

After settling the credits and exiting the restaurant, Nyota takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, the tang of the salty sea wafting into her nose, comforting her. She loves nights like these, when she can see the stars and smell the water in the air. Gulls fly above them and she can hear their calls mingling with the breeze, mixing with the sounds of the city around them.

They begin walking along the sidewalk, illuminated by old-fashioned street lamps that are probably over two hundred years old. They receive little in the way of stares or gossipy whispers from other couples and pedestrians; Nyota thanks the stars that they chose to dine at a good distance from the Academy, and a place that not many of the other cadets knew of.

Once she has wrangled her emotions and thoughts under control, she chances a question of the commander. “Well, it’s my turn to ask a query of you.”

“You may proceed.”

She holds her small purse in front of her, her steps matching his, slow and steady and even. “Why did you ask me if I went out into nature when I was younger?”

He turns to face her. “We do not have to talk about this if the subject is one that will elicit a negative emotional response from you.”

She spins around and faces him. “Spock.” Her voice is gentle, but with a slight chiding tone. He stops walking. “I’m fine. I’m just curious about why you would ask me something so specific. About me liking nature.”

“It is something I have been thinking about recently. On Vulcan, I would climb mountains and walk through deserts. I would swim in Lake Yuron and hunt in the Vulcan Forge.”

She looks at him contemplatively. “You miss Vulcan, don’t you?”

His brow barely creases. “I possess many memories of Vulcan. A legion of positive remembrances from my childhood, and several that were not so kind. Of the positive memories, I find that many of them center on my excursions onto the planet proper.”

“Is there no way for you to return, even briefly?”

“That would be impossible, given my duties for the upcoming months. I must confer with Captain Pike about the crew selection of the USS Enterprise—”

Nyota says nothing at this, only feeling her chest leap at the possibility of serving on the vessel.

“—And given the reactions of the elders to my decision to join Starfleet Academy, it would be logical to assume my return would be…” He stops talking and his eyes shift slightly downward, as if searching for the right sentiments. “My return would be unwelcome.”

Nyota does not know what to say at first. She chooses to turn the conversation to a more positive track. “What about the other happier memories of your world?”

The street light that they pass catches the slight flexion in his jaw right before he speaks. “They would be of my parents. My mother, in particular.” There is a beat where neither of them speak.

“This is not an appropriate conversation one would have with a peer, especially on Vulcan.”

Nyota frames her thoughts carefully. “With all due respect to your world and culture, you haven’t said anything that I thought was inappropriate. But you don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable.”

“It is not a question of whether or not I feel anything. Feelings are illogical. I only refer to what is considered proper on Vulcan.” He looks at the sidewalk ahead of them. Nyota says nothing, wanting not to push him to talk when he is already reluctant to speak.

However, she does not have to wait long.

“My mother provided a different style of parenting, a style not commonly found among other Vulcan families.” He makes eye contact with her, his face expressing nothing. “She and I would converse together. Openly and freely.”

“Vulcan families don’t normally talk?”

Spock’s voice is calm as he clarifies. “It was the subject of our discussions that was different from other Vulcans. We discussed emotions and feelings. I would speak about matters that troubled me, and she would provide a human perspective to my experiences.”

“Oh,” she says softly. He walks further, albeit slowly. She keeps pace with him, her eyes fixed on his profile. “Did it help you?” 

“There were times that the conversations with my mother aided me in ways the Vulcan methods could not. Although I frequently turned to the ways of my father’s people to deal with situations that troubled me, the talks with my mother afforded a different kind of satisfaction.” 

She hums. “My family talks. A lot.” She smiles, chuckling behind her closed lips when he looks at her. “One could say that they didn’t know a thing about boundaries. My mother and my aunt knew exactly when something bothered me, and they’d always try to get me to talk. Which… I didn’t always do. Occasionally, when someone tells me to do one thing, I’m compelled to do the opposite.”

Spock’s brow furrows. “Such a response is illogical. It would also lead to potential conflicts between yourself and your commanding officers.”

She laughs. “I don’t make a practice out of it. I’ve learned to control that side of me professionally. It still pops up when I’m with friends and family…” Her voice trails off; of course it is natural to think about her father, as the conversation at dinner had turned to him briefly. But Nyota knows she is now composed enough to speak again.

“When my father disappeared, I stopped being so obstinate. Our family was dealing with a lot, and I didn’t want to add to the turmoil. But,” she says with a rueful smile, “when I got to Starfleet, a little of it came back, but I do know when to use it and when not to. So, if I were to… oh, let’s say work with Captain Pike on the USS Enterprise—”

Spock stops walking. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She meets his expression with a serious one, but her lips twitched.

“If I were to work with Captain Pike on his ship, I would most certainly follow his instructions to the letter, while offering my expertise on whatever he needed.”

“Am I correct in assuming that you are attempting to give me a hint as to your qualifications to work on the Enterprise?”

This time, she cocks her eyebrow sharply. “I thought my qualifications and my talents were already well known to you.”

“Yes, that is not being disputed—”

“I’m only making sure you remember I still hope to be considered for her.”

“As you are one of the Academy’s finest students, your qualifications will certainly be reviewed, along with your peers'. However, from a logical perspective, it would not benefit the Federation to have all of our top graduates onboard one vessel.”

She takes a deep breath through her nose, feeling her nostrils expand. For a being gifted with such intelligence, such skills of observation, sometimes Spock could be completely obtuse. Nyota chances a step forward, closing the gap between them by half a foot. The night’s breeze swirls around them, gently smoothing her checks. She can see Spock’s black hair, always perfectly combed and cut, blow ever so slightly in the light wind.

“Do you yourself have any issues about me serving on the Enterprise with you?”

The skin of his forehead creases ever so subtly, and his head tilts just to the left. “Any issues, if they were to exist, would be irrelevant to your assignment on any vessel, if that vessel was deemed to be the most appropriate assignment for you.”

A warning, brief and quick, fills her head. Only for a second. She pushes it away, determined to do something about this Spock situation. Tonight has felt far too much like an actual date, and perhaps that is not a wholly inaccurate read of their dynamic.

“What I mean is, is there anything at all that might make you have doubts of us serving together on the Enterprise?” Nyota takes one more step; she cannot be any less than six inches from him. His eyes shift up and scan the surrounding area around them. They are next to a park, and while people walk close to where they stand, they are not recognized.

“Looking for someone?”

Spock’s eyes lower to meet hers. He does not back away. “I was merely ascertaining whether there are other Academy personnel in the vicinity.” His voice is soft, softer than she has ever heard him. 

“Why would you do that?” She leans even closer.

“Because it would not be wise for our conversation to be overheard.” His voice has a definite mellow quality to it, one that it does not normally have.

Nyota refuses to let up. She rubs her hands together, knowing that she shakes from her nerves. “We aren’t discussing anything that’s improper, Spock.”

“But that does not mean that we will not. I sense that, due to the tone of our conversation, as well as our physical proximity to each other—”

She raises her eyebrow at him, a gesture which throws him for a split second.

“Quite possibly, this may lead to—”

“Spock,” Nyota interrupts, “I apologize for interrupting, but can I ask you something?”

Spock blinks and nods. “Yes, you may.”

She looks at her hands, flexing them, thinking through what she wants to say. Slowly, she brings her right hand up, her left still clutching her purse tight. She holds it up between them. “What would happen if you touched my hand?”

He blinks again, but his face remains otherwise calm. “Vulcans possess telepathic abilities. Tactile contact is the best medium through which our telepathy may be utilized. Should there be any physical contact between the two of us, it would create a brief, but mutual empathic exchange.”

“An empathic exchange?”

Spock bows his head. “It would not be as strong as a true mind meld, but the experience would be shared.”

Swallowing, Nyota looks at her hand, and then up at Spock’s face. He is closer to her than he has ever been. Her heart races, threatening to burst through her chest. She can hear each beat, the pulse of her blood rushing to her head.

She looks right into his eyes, at his calm, collected expression. It is not fair that he can stand before her so still and impassive and not betray a single emotion. It is not fair that she cannot be around him without losing her breath. Her mind screams out at her to do it, to gird herself and seize the day.

Before she can stop herself, her hand reaches up to his face. Nyota readies herself for whatever may happen. She touches his cheek, the shock of making contact almost, almost stopping her.

But the sensation, the warmth that envelops her when her hands meet his skin only makes this easier. As does his mouth parting a millimeter, allowing a single breath to escape—

She presses her lips against his.

An odd, but pleasant sensation envelops Nyota. She cannot surmise what this feeling is at first, because the only thought that fills her mind is that she, Nyota Upenda Uhura, is kissing Commander Spock. His lips are surprisingly soft and he still smells of the spices from the restaurant and his own Vulcan tuber. Her hand lingers on his face as she continues to kiss his lips; he does not reach for her hand or embrace her, but there is this feeling, indescribable, undefined. She cannot identify it at first… but suddenly it hits her.

He is kissing her back. And the feeling, the mysterious, warm feeling that surrounded her the moment her skin touched his, swells within Nyota. She knows what it is.

Desire. And it is, most definitely, reciprocal.

The kiss does not last long. Nyota breaks the contact and she stands back, opening her eyes, her right hand still cupping his cheek. She withdraws it quickly, not knowing what to say. Spock meets her eyes, his face revealing nothing. But she notices that his eyes are wider, minutely so, than usual.

She should say something. She wants to say something. Does she speak as if nothing happened between them? Does she apologize for her inappropriate actions? Does she force him to address it, or does she…?

Before she can talk, she watches the corner of Spock’s mouth slowly draw upward. His face relaxes, and it gives him a hint of amusement to his features. His expression is certainly not as overt as a human’s, but for Spock, even the smallest changes can reveal so very much.

“Nyota, I do believe we have much to discuss.”

She nods and cautiously smiles. “Apparently, we do.”

****