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Darem set his food tray down with a bit more force than necessary, paying little notice as his peas rolled ominously around the plate. His eyes were locked on the table across the room where Jay-Den sat with his idiot boyfriend and his War College colleagues. He may have acknowledged his asshole tendencies toward Kyle, but that did not mean that Darem was going to stop any time soon. He wasn’t sure what Jay-Den thought he saw in that sunburnt twat, anyway.
His view of the unfortunate couple was blocked out by the grey and red of a cadet uniform sitting across from him. He looked up, unsurprised to find Genesis watching him with arms crossed.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
He had only returned from his failed nuptials yesterday, and clearly it still showed. Genesis was not the first person to check in with him, but he secretly appreciated her concern.
“Ha,” Darem let out a dry chuckle. “I’ve been better.”
Another tray joined the table, this time with only an empty plate.
He greeted Sam with a quick smile that she matched with a tenfold grin. “At least you’re not the first person to get rejected by your wife because of your duty to Starfleet,” she announced, possibly attempting to comfort him.
Her contribution to the conversation was as socially clumsy as he had come to endearingly expect from her, yet he was still surprised. “I suppose,” he reluctantly agreed, before shovelling a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.
“It happens,” she shrugged, as if the largest embarrassment of Darem’s life was on par with a glass of spilt blood wine. She continued, “The same thing happened to Spock. You’re in good company.”
“Oh?” he hummed. That wasn’t a story he had heard about the legendary Vulcan officer before.
Genesis scoffed likewise. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever read Spock’s memoir The Many and the One? The full text is loaded in my database.”
Darem rolled his eyes. “Why would I read a memoir from a thousand years ago?” They had learned about Spock’s diplomacy and teachings countless times in various classes. He felt like he knew his role in Vulcan-Romulan relations better than he knew the history of Khionia’s own alliances. The required reading on the man took up enough of his time without any extracurricular pursuits.
“Actually, the first edition was published in 2320,” Sam clarified.
Darem set his fork down and stared at her. “Fine. 875 years ago. Now what’s this story about?”
“Well, in the book, Spock details a lot of his experiences as the first Vulcan in Starfleet, but this was before the development of modern interspecies protocols.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Vulcans were still so secretive about the process of pon farr that Spock tried to hide his symptoms at first, but eventually they had to divert the ship to Ni’Var—Vulcan—where he met his intended mate, T’Pring, for the koon-ut-kal-if-fee.”
“The Vulcan mating ceremony.” Darem nodded in understanding. While each culture had their individual practices, he personally found the Khionian sealing ceremony to be much more in line with his own preferences compared to what he had heard of the Vulcan tradition.
“I am so confused,” Genesis interjected. “Wasn’t he married to James T. Kirk?”
Sam continued. “Yes, but that was later. This happened during their original 5-year mission, and Kirk accompanied him down as his captain and friend. But, instead of marriage, T’Pring rejected Spock and chose Kirk as her champion to challenge him.”
Genesis’s eyes widened gleefully. “That’s so messy. Imagine attending your future husband’s wedding and fighting with him over his wife. Those two were something else, I swear.”
“The fight was about more than just his wife,” Sam was eager to clarify. “If Spock married T’Pring, he would have had to remain on Vulcan. His contributions to Starfleet and Romulan diplomacy likely would have never happened. He already chose Starfleet once when he rejected the Vulcan Science Academy and became the first Vulcan in the fleet. His commitment to Starfleet is likely the reason why T’Pring challenged him in the first place.”
Suddenly, Darem’s peas were the most interesting thing in the room. His fork squeaked on the ceramic as he hopelessly chased one of the spheres around the plate. He could probably try pushing it into the mashed potatoes, then scoop it up from there. His heartbeat picked up as he tried not to think about the implications of Sam’s words.
Genesis, on the other hand, was more attentive than ever. “So what happened? I’m assuming Spock won, because I’ve never heard of him marrying a T’Pring. But isn’t the fight traditionally to the death?”
“The logistics are debatable, but Kirk managed to fake his death. Spock writes that the perceived emotions of killing his captain caused the pon farr cycle to end early, but there are theories that the, ah, requirements of the mating ritual were fulfilled during their sparring.”
Genesis’s jaw dropped. "Are you saying that—” she cut herself off, leaning in closer to Sam and dropping her voice. “Are you saying that Spock rubbed one off on Kirk during his wedding to another woman?”
Darem knew his face was red. Probably more red than Kyle’s, which was just pissing him off now.
“It’s only a theory. And there are multiple ways for a Vulcan to reach orgasm due to their psionic abilities.” Sam raised her eyebrows. “He was likely in a heightened physical and emotional state because of the plak-tow, and combined with his mental bond with Kirk, it’s possible.”
Darem’s eyes were glued to his half-finished mashed potatoes. “Oh my god. Can we stop talking about this?” he begged. The man was hundreds of years old. And dead.
Of course, his plea went unanswered. He needed new friends.
“At least you didn’t go insane with lust at your sealing ceremony,” Genesis smiled. “Or get horny fighting to the death with your future lover. It’s a bit less embarrassing.”
Darem glared at her and conceded between gritted teeth. “A bit.”
They continued on with their meal, the two girls chatting along while Darem’s thoughts began to spiral. His mind was fixated on the image of Jay-Den in the ceremonial Khionian mantle, the way the pale sea tendrils and pearlescent scales cascaded down his frame, outlining the silver rivulets of coral draped across his body.
Darem had dared to shed the royal sealing mantle, the traditional symbol of his people that declared him as Jvera to all Khionians, and place it over the shoulders of a Klingon. But Jay-Den had been cold. Jay-Den had always hated the cold, and Darem wanted him to bring him comfort. And so, there he stood, cloaked in everything that Darem would never be. The threads of tradition had ripped down the middle. His duty, torn by his belonging in Starfleet.
He thought of the weight of Klingon’s hands on his shoulders, the comfort of his presence during his moment of panic. Jay-Den’s eyes had met his. They were too green, too striking, and Darem had to look away.
Jay-Den, who truly knew him, who knew who he was in Starfleet during classes and battle and the version of himself he presented at home. Who understood every side of him, now. Jay-Den, who thought he was confident, and brave, and caring, and sometimes cocky, too.
Darem’s mind landed on the Ko’Zeine speech. Jay-Den had spoken about his proclivity to put himself aside and favor the needs of others above his own. The idea he had rebelled against when he became the first Khionian to join Starfleet, and when he returned.
He looked up. “Hey, Sam. What was the name of that memoir again?”