Lyre…Liar

Standing beside my window in contemplation. Will he come to me today? But then, why would he subject himself to the company of a Barbarian. I strike a closed fist, weakly against the window of my quarters. He challenges me in ways that trouble me.

I have always had a strong sense of what colleagues and crewmates referred to as Vulcan Patriotism. Now, however I find myself questioning what exactly it is that I feel “proud” of…and why.

I glance at the time piece on a small table positioned in the sleeping area. Spock is due off shift in 20 minutes time. Quickly I reach into a storage panel and withdraw an item I did not expect to encounter in the inventory of one of the ship’s shops…a lyre…A Vulcan lyre.

My throat nearly closed shut when first I beheld it. I don’t know if my Sa-kai Sochya would approve of my impulsive procurement.The truth of the matter is I do not know if even I approve of my purchase. Surely it is not a logical choice, when you consider my history with regard to the Vulcan Lyre.

My first was a gift given to me by the Mother of my betrothed, in secret. A note accompanied it, written in T’Pring’s aristocratic hand, a Terran quote.

I wonder if my Dewk’a Sasu is familiar with it: “Music soothes the Savage Beast.”
Referring to me.

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~ by T'Naehm on April 26, 2011.

20 Responses to “Lyre…Liar”

  1. I find myself coming to a pause upon entry of my Sa-Kai’s private quarters, an eyebrow slowly raising upon witnessing what he is currently seated with.

    “A lyre?”

    One native to the planet that ‘is’ no longer. The pang of loss is felt. Where had Sa-Kai T’Naehm obtained one?

    • His arrival, so unexpectedly forces me to my feet, even as my cheekbones burn deep emerald.

      “Were you not instructed to knock?”

      I bark the query, childishly shielding my new second-hand instrument behind my back. I feel the forest hued burn extend up my neck, to the tips of my ears.

      “As a child, Spock! Were you not so instructed in polite behavior!”

      • I feel pointed ear tips shade a deep jade at his words, a shame creeping into my chest, daze lowering at his tone and use of my name, nearly visible in the lines of my body.

        “Affirmative, Sa-Kai, yes, I merely…”

        He had permitted me entry almost immediately on every other occasion…

        “…Forgive me. It shall not occur again” Scolded. I recall only one other occasion like it…with father.

  2. I witness the destruction of his confidence with regard to his position in my eyes, with an unbearable sense of shame.

    I did this. I, alone, am responsible for his fractured spirit. His sudden displacement and uncertainty.

    I place the lyre in the storage panel once more and I return to the chair beside the viewing glass.

    I take a breath to collect myself, with my back to him.

    • I endeavor to reign on my runaway emotions, utilizing control to draw them back in and work to suppress them, inhaling slowly when this does not work as seamlessly as I would prefer.

      The fact that his back is to me when I lift my gaze only seems to add to the difficulty of suppressing shame and uncertainty.

      “…I should perhaps go.”

      I waver somewhat before turning to leave, heart in my side quite suddenly heavy.

      “May your evening improve, Sa-Kai….my sincere apologies for the intrusion.”

      • Moments prior to opening my mouth to speak, lest my silence attempt to communicate on my behalf, my Sa-kai opens his first.

        His words belie the battle I had previously believed myself to grapple alone, that within his mind between Logic, and Emotion.

        Compassion once again threatens to asphyxiate me. I turn to watch his face in the dimmed lighting, hoping for a glimpse of the War on his face.

        It is only visible as I approach, and then only in his eyes, and then only because I know what I am seeking. My breath catches in my chest.

        “Sochya…Sakai…” A hand reaches for his temple, with great tenderness.

  3. The sound of his rising and approach is heard easily by acute, curved ears and is enough to still me just as I might have exited.

    Uncertainty lingers, the battle within yet waging, bringing pause to my breath when gazes meet and my own I searches for the disappointment, disapproval, and ‘change of opinion’ I expect to see there.

    All I see is a version of compassion I do not merit…one that brings a clench to the heart on my side.

    “…T’Naehm…”

    Followed by a speechlessness when his digits graze my temple.

    • A sentiment as foreign to me as Sochya’s tendencies, Compassion.

      Yet, I feel…something akin to it. Perhaps something more?

      He resembles, I imagine, what we may have looked like when we were small. There is no way to be certain…probably…

      I murmur in a low rumble felt throughout my person. “Et’Liwh Sa-kan…***”

      *** Bad Boy…

      • I feel the thrum of my pulse in my veins, ear tips shading a pale but noticeable jade as I suppress the faint shiver that would have otherwise made itself known.

        Words are quieter spoken, digits carefully adjusting blue fabric if only to have something to occupy themselves with.

        “Ni’droi’ik nar-tor…”***

        *** Asking Forgiveness

  4. So softly, one without the added benefit of three eardrums would miss it entirely: Sochya Sa-Kai’s request for forgiveness.

    I inhale sharply as I fight the urge to…but then I choose not to fight.

    I grasp his upper arm, fingers digging into the lean muscle there I use leverage, and the element of surprise, to my advantage. I rotate him away from me, grabbing an antique book he had given to me prior to now for my perusal.

    Bending my Sochya Sa-Kai over the sleeping platform, I grip the book with one hand.

    “Before forgiveness, S’chn T’gai Spock…comes Taflaya***.”

    ***Punishment.

    • His actions catch me off guard, my defenses having been near completely lowered, surprise bringing a stiffness to my muscles as I find myself repositioned, inhaling somewhat sharply as hands reach out to steady myself.

      “Taflaya..” An echo that follows the just noticeable shiver that does touch my spine on this occasion.

      I find myself torn between the desire to straighten out of shear dignity…and the desire to not displease my T’Naehm Sa-Kai any further.

      To be granted forgiveness, an el’es t’ mesh* for my earlier vi-kwitaya.* *

      A sensation I am unfamiliar with passes through me alongside a quickening pulse, chin dipping down, “Maut muhl…”***

      * Freedom of shame
      * * Intrusion
      *** Very well

      • Holding a sure hand over his flanks, with the book separating us, I lean along side him, to position myself near his ear.

        “Negative, Ashalik* *…”
        I surprise myself with the term of endearment, not that my mind selected it, but with how accurate the word is.
        Proper. Auspicious.

        “It is insufficient to concede to what is needed, Fonn Ashayam.”*** Again, effortlessly selected.

        * * Darling
        ***Loyal Beloved

  5. Hot breath ghosts over my sensitive ear, his proximity to me holding all the promise -threat?- of an intoxication of the senses, my breath hitching within my throat.

    I feel a flush creep along my flesh, my heartbeat audible in my own ears as eyes close.
    So many thoughts.
    Ashalik, fonn ashayam…I am not…we are not…but a part of me knows, and I…

    I still the light tremor that passes along limbs.

    “What,” somewhat breathless as I attempt to gather a semblance of self, “..would be sufficient, then, T’Naehm?”

    • My hands delve into the waistband of his Federation trousers, pulling them down but allowing his undergarments to remain.

      “Two answers, though merely one is sufficient, Sa-Kai…” I allow the thick tome to glide over the fabric of the intimate garment.

      “First…”
      I gently grasp hair so like my own, turning his head, even as I push it into the bed linens.
      “Nekhau* *. Do you have a concept of this word in your world Spock?”

      I bestow the first of many strikes with the ancient yet sturdy book on his posterior.

      The sound reverberates seemingly everywhere at once. “The other word is Eit’Jae***…we utilize both in Battle.

      * * Submission
      *** Begging

      • There is a humiliation to be found in the lowering of pants, the grasping of hair, the feel of bed linens against my cheek and the side of my face.

        But despite my deepening flush, I remain.
        I remind myself of what I have done, touch sensitive digits curling around the fabric of the linens.

        I feel the book at my posterior before he strikes, a nervousness clenching my muscles, and as I respond, my “Yes..” in regards to having a concept of nekhau results in much more of a softly gasped hiss at the strike.

        Not terrible, not unbearable, but…stirringly felt, leaving me bemused as to my perception of it.

        I have never been subjected to this, let alone known what my hybrid body’s response might be.

        There is the faintest of shakes to my voice, mouth dry, “…Submission and supplication?”

  6. I find myself pleased beyond measure at his body’s obvious responsiveness…

    However, one response in particular is hidden from view, which illicits a line of decided displeasure to mar my brow.

    I administer another thwack, considerably harder.
    “Negative, Spock. In my World, we prefer the word ‘Begging’. It has a more depraved ring to it, don’t you agree?”

    I run my nose along the fabric of his shoulder. “What is that scent, Sochya Sa-Kai? Is it…Cinnamon…or Surrender? We favor that word over Submission, although I prefer both.”

    • Another strike. Stinging and resonant, my intake of breath disrupted, yet I cannot deny a unique manner of release to be found in it.

      Even so, even like this, even with my body’s traitorously illogical responses, I inherently aim for control, for suppression.
      Trained response as of yet.

      Begging is far more depraved, but I merely nod jerkily once verses confirm it vocally.

      “You…desire a surrender to your will?” His authority? His currently held power?

      • I trace one of his ears with a finger, gently.

        “I am not entirely without mercy, Ashalik Sa-Kai. If you want me to stop, you must indicate your desire. Conversely…”

        Strike after strike ensue, firm, alternating on both gluteal surfaces

        “If you prefer that I continue, you must speak your mind, Spock.”

  7. I am beginning to realize there is a form to this –whatever this is– that I am unfamiliar with, something here to be learned, even in the midst of the tome’s resounding strikes against my posterior, no doubt giving birth to a world of agitated green flesh.

    Another strike and I feel my body give a jerk, a soft groan of pain bleeding from my lips. A delicate crack in control.

    “Please..” scattered thoughts endeavor to piece together his offered information, correlating them to why this has even come to pass, “whichever of the two grants forgiveness, Ashal-veh.”

    The word, the beg beneath, leaves me without even realizing.

    A submission of its own, offering him the power over ‘stop or continue’…for I desire his forgiveness, and he alone can grant it.

    • His plea causes me to stop mid-swing, and I gaze at the back of his head incredulously.

      I did not anticipate such a response. I place the hard-covered book down, almost in a state of shock.

      I reach for him and pull his trousers back up, exercising all control within my power, to keep from running my hands soothingly over the marks from his Taflaya.

      Instead I sit beside him and pull him into an embrace.
      “Such a brave boy…My Ashalik, my Fonn Sa-Kai…***”
      I murmur softly, rocking with him.

      ***My darling, my Loyal Brother

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