Dec 162009
 

Title: Too Many Fingers, Not Enough Pie [part I]
Fandom: ST XI
Characters: Spock, Spock!Prime, Starek, Stavret, Orion Engineers
Rating: M
Warnings: Smut, language, foreign language…
Notes: Another one I started and didn’t finish for the crackmeme. It’s on my queue. I’ll finish it, eventually. OP requested a hand!porn orgy, and I have cheerfully provided.


From this prompt:
Three words: Vulcan Hand Orgy. Does it even exist? Is it even possible? Bonus points if it’s Spock/at least two other vulcan males. You can even use OMCs if you like, I don’t care. :D


Starek and Stavret are the Romulan starship pirates from Zahvan t’Masu. This story contains both nu!Spock and Spock!prime (as Ambassador Selek).

Some of this story will be in Romulan and Vulcan. Depending on where this goes, some of it may also end up in French. Mouse over the foreign text for translations.


It was late. It might have been so late that it was early, but in space, it’s hard to tell. It didn’t really matter, in the end. Stavret was too busy with his latest theories on temporality to pay attention to the passage of time, as peculiar as that sentence sounds, to some. He heard the hiss of the doors, as he started the next experiment, inside the containment field, and then Starek was leaning over his console with a pint of mocha in each hand.

"You’d better not detonate space-time in the middle of my ship, ira’draes," Starek laughed, setting a mocha on the desk.

Stavret smirked, tolerantly. "If I do, are you sure you’ll know the difference? Why aren’t you still occupying yourself with things I don’t want to know about?"

"Because things you don’t want to know about is on subspace with his captain. Something about whether the Empire’s selling weapons to the Andorians. Which I’m pretty sure they aren’t. When have you ever known the Shiar to sell technology?" Starek laughed and sat on the edge of the desk, blocking two of the screens.

"Well, before you go back to violating sense and good taste, would you tell him I need a second opinion on something, here?" Stavret absently picked up the mocha and took a sip, still watching the patterns on the four screens that weren’t blocked by his best friend’s arse.

"Oh, you want good taste, then. He’s down in engineering, drinking with Dee and Larue. Sense is going to be on that call for another hour or two. That captain of his is pretty thick, sometimes." Starek gulped some mocha, and watched Stavret watch the screens.

It took him nearly half a siure to figure out what Starek had actually said. "I didn’t know Kiitha Selek was aboard. I thought our only Vulcan passenger was the cranky one."

"It’s because you never come out of your lab." Starek leaned out, precariously, and hit the comm button on the wall. "Selek-daeh, Stavret wants your opinion in the temporal physics lab, when you have a siure or six."

An amused Orion answered the call. "Does that mean I have to let him up?"

"Yes, Larue. We promise to give him back when we’re done." Starek looked back at Stavret. "Looks like he’s having a lovely time with the Orions. You should try it, sometime."

"I don’t want Orions, dinam-saj. I want to finish the damn model for the temporal stitch drive."

"I will be up to the lab, as soon as your chief engineer sees fit to return my other shoe, S’thora," a smooth Vulcan voice responded, at last, from the comm panel.

"Take your time, Kiitha. No rush." Starek pushed off of the wall, using the momentum to rebalance himself on the desk, just in time to put his face in the way of one of Stavret’s fingers, as he reached for one of the screens Starek was blocking. Several mochas down, and never one to pass up an opportunity, Starek turned his head and caught the fingertip in his teeth.

"Fine. You do that. Just push the purple button on the second screen, for me." Stavret stared into the containment field, intently. "You’re the one who doesn’t want me blowing the ship sideways into an alternate timeline."

Starek raised an eyebrow and did as he was told. One didn’t question the lunatic astro-temporal physicist, in the middle of an experiment. It could be hazardous to one’s health, he’d heard, and after listening to the stories Kiitha Selek told about his travels, he’d decided his own corner of the space-time continuum was quite enough adventure, khnai’ru rhissiuy.

Swiftly flicking his tongue, Starek pulled Stavret’s second finger into his mouth, as well, lazily stroking the tips with his tongue, as he watched the containment field over Stavret’s head. He had no idea what he was looking at, but it bothered him no less, for that. The field looked empty, except for the part where the density of the air inside the sphere seemed to shift, from time to time. It was nothing definite, just a slight change in the colour or the angle of the opposite wall of the room. Like any sensible sentient, he was creeped directly the hell out by things that were almost there, but not quite.

To distract himself from the unclear but unquestionable danger inside the field, he sucked intently at Stavret’s fingers, stopping the other Romulan from retrieving them, with his teeth, when necessary. He was grinning obscenely down at the astro-temporal physicist’s distracted and slightly irritated countenance, when the doors hissed open, and Kiitha Selek presented himself.

"Am I interrupting something I shouldn’t be?"

"Nnn, r’kkhrr," Starek managed to mutter, through his teeth, around the fingers that also occupied that position. "C’me r’t ‘n."

"As the Riov says, Kiitha. Please come in. I need another hand, at this point, as well as your opinion." Stavret raised a tolerantly dismayed eyebrow.

"As you wish." The ambassador stepped around the console and looked over Stavret’s shoulder at the screens. "Bolau nash-veh dvun-tor du – eaha-hwi," he commented to Starek, with the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, as he cocked his chin as the screens the Commander blocked.

With a warm purr, Starek slid off the desk, coming nose to nose with Selek. "Thaebe arhem krehii mh aou’Ourhhyan ie?"

"Na’ya’shakhuv nash-veh ha? Na’shikhau du ni’droi ra vesht saven-tor au." Selek retorted, as one eyebrow arced up, smugly.

Starek laughed uproariously, finally releasing Stavret’s fingers. "I like this one, Stavret! Can we keep him?"

"I think the Federation might object," Stavret muttered, wiping his fingers on Starek’s sleeve. "Tell me, dinam hrrau afwe, this behaviour, right here, is going to cause problems, if I attempt to compress relative space around the ship, isn’t it?" He tapped one of the screens.

Selek cocked an eyebrow at Starek as he leaned over Stavret’s shoulder, laying his hand atop the other scientist’s, as he moved their fingers to various parts of the tables and equations as he explained the exact problem it would cause, and why this approach could not work. Starek smirked appreciatively, watching a master at work. Selek’s mouth remained just behind Stavret’s ear, as he spoke, smooth and low, weaving smoother theories out of the things the physicist held dearest. Starek watched Stavret’s unoccupied hand begin to react, fingers curling and uncurling, distractedly, thumb repeatedly counting his knuckles, absentmindedly.

As far as Starek knew — and Starek had known Stavret for more years than either of them cared to admit having lived — Stavret was eighty percent asexual and fifteen percent straight. He’d slept with his best friend exactly once, but in all those years, he had never watched Stavret come apart like this. The tips of the physicist’s ears had begun to blush a verdant jade and the bridge of his nose was looking a shade chartreuse.

Selek tipped his face just so, and when Stavret turned his head to ask an inevitable question, the tip of one ear brushed along Selek’s lower lip. It was genius. It was vivid, visual poetry, the way Selek worked, and Starek was filing it all away for future reference. As good as he was, he wasn’t this good.

Starek leaned over Stavret’s other shoulder and tapped the shifting lines and swirls in one corner of the centre screen. "Tell me what I’m seeing. It’s … verelantanafik, weht do goh vaksurik."

"Maut gish-yehat." The warm words slipped from Selek’s mouth, taking both Romulans by surprise.

"Lvhiet," Stavret snorted, bringing the other two back to the moment. "He’s right. It’s always art, with you."

"Of course it is. What else is there?" Starek laughed, tangling his fingers with Selek’s, behind Stavret’s back.

"This diagram, to answer the original query," Selek began, lifting Stavret’s hand with his own, to point to the screen, circling his fingertips in barely noticeable circles on the backs of Stavret’s nails, "tracks both the passing temporal currents and the duration and depth of contact they are making with our time, through the pinpoint tear that Stavret-kam has generated, inside that field."

"And we can only touch the ones that are significantly similar to our own, yes?" Starek asked, sliding two fingertips across the backs of the knuckles on Stavret’s other hand, as he smiled thinly at Selek, over the physicist’s head. "The greater the difference in events, the farther away it is."

"Ie. That’s about it. Well, insofar as you can talk about a space between times, in physical terms." Stavret shook his head, to clear the persistent distraction from his mind, and caught the tip of one of Starek’s fingers between his thumb and a knuckle.

Starek’s mind made the jump that Stavret’s didn’t, at the moment, and both his hands stopped. "You really can’t go home, can you, Selek-daeh?"

Starek could see the word ‘no’ form in Selek’s eyes, even as a more rational and optimistic sentence exited his mouth. "I think that depends on the work of your friend, here. But, what would I return to? All my friends are dead, and so is my family. And even my work died, with the fall of Romulus. I am dead to that time, now, and it is dead to me."

"You knew us, there, didn’t you?" Starek’s first two fingers caressed the back of Selek’s hand. "It’s how you found us. It’s why you brought Spock to us."

Selek countered by darting a fingertip between Starek’s fingers, and squeezing gently at the low web where they connected to the palm. "I might remember some things about you."

Starek nearly melted to the floor, his other hand clutching suddenly at Stavret’s, as Selek’s thumbnail traced up his palm.

"I’m not turning around. I don’t want to know." Stavret’s ear twitched in annoyance, as he continued to glance between the screens, Selek’s hand effortlessly moving with his own, never quite in the way, always making faint and pleasurable contact with his skin. From the conversation, it seemed like the old Vulcan wasn’t even paying attention, and that led Stavret to wonder what effect his attention would have on the situation. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it with his sanity intact.

Selek twisted his wrist, tapping at the screen again, pinning Stavret’s finger with his own. "Hold this. I can see the pattern. You’re looking at it from the wrong angle."

His other hand continued to dance, fingers tracing intricate contortions with Starek’s, as he continued to talk temporality with Stavret. Vulcan control, Starek was beginning to gather, was not about suppressing the desire for pleasure, but practising it in ways that left the mind free to pursue the sciences, unhindered. It was ingenious, and he was going to make a point of learning it, from the old diplomat.

Starek let his fingers wander, caressing the Vulcan’s softer skin with the fingertips of one hand, as he copied the ambassador’s blood-stirring gestures with his other hand, tangling his fingers with Stavret’s, as the two scientists continued to deconstruct time and space.


Spock entered to a glassy-eyed, wicked smile from Starek, whose hands were not visible behind the console, but is the angle of the bodies was to be believed, both of those hands were quite occupied with unspeakable things. He’d always been fairly certain that there were some barely-concealed shenanigans going on between the two Romulans, but Ambassador Selek — his other self — stood between where Starek stood and Stavret sat, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Starek! I must insist that you cease molesting the ambassador, at once," he ground out, as flatly as possible.

"What makes you think that I am the one being molested, Spock? Is not an old man entitled to his eccentricities?"

The ambassador’s sentence was punctuated by a slim and knowing smile from Starek, who raised their tangled fingers to his lips and licked the tip of one of Selek’s fingers. "Nam-tor ish-veh trensu t’tanaf. You couldn’t be bothered to tell me?"

Spock looked to Stavret for some trace of sensibility, but the physicist looked back at him, dazed and enraptured, and he and Starek parted hands and reached out to Spock.

"This is insane. You are clearly out of your minds," Spock insisted.

"Do you see why I told you to leave the Romulans to me? I spent more than half my life in the company of Romulans, in my own time. I have what you might call an innate understanding of their means and functions." Ambasador Selek raised an eyebrow. "Join us, and I will teach you."

Spock simply stared in very restrained horror, as the ambassador spread Stavret’s hand atop the console’s screens and continued to trace delicate patterns from Stavret’s wrist across the back of his hand. Stavret’s hand turned, and their fingers crossed passionately, in gestures unseen outside of pornography. Selek — his other self — was pornographically amusing two Romulans, in front of him. It was horrifying. Appalling, even.

The comm panel crackled to life, on the wall. "Spock giving you problems, Riov? I’m sure we can loosen him up a little for you."

"Dee, are you watching this?" Starek’s head swivelled so fast that Spock expected his neck to squeak. "Leave Spock alone, eaha-hwi. We’re all the trauma he needs, right now. I promise."

"But, we’re bored!" the Orion engineer whined.

Starek’s eyebrow arced up. "Stavret needs a bathtub. Make it happen."

"I thought we weren’t allowed to touch the plumbing again…"

"Here’s your exception. If you flood him out, I’ll leave you on Andoria, in your underwear. Go."

The comm panel ceased to crackle, and Spock found himself profoundly pleased to be in a room full of pointy-eared lunatics, because he definitely did not want to be left alone with the Orions.

"You’re missing out," Ambassador Selek commented, cocking his head, sympathetically at Spock.

"I protest. Stop that." Spock looked more dismayed than any Vulcan had a right to.

The ambassador gave a very Vulcan smile — the corners of his mouth relaxed, subtly. "Stop reading your mind?"

Spock raised an infuriated eyebrow. "At once."

Selek raised both eyebrows, in a smug protestation of innocence. "I can’t do that, Spock. I am you. And until I am well-baffled with Bendii syndrome, and have forgotten who we are, I will remember what we are like, at your age. Even with the difference of circumstance, your behaviour is faintly illogical and eminently predictable, although probably only to me."

"I am certain there is something I am supposed to be working on, right now," Spock hissed, turning back toward the door.

"That’s not what you said, this morning," Starek reminded him, with a thoroughly self-satisfied grin. "You’re on vacation. Come over here and enjoy it."

"I was enjoying it, before I came to find you." Spock griped. "It is not logical to engage in sexual activities with you, your heterosexual friend, and myself. No purpose could be served by this."

Stavret seemed to come back to himself for a moment, and stuck his free hand under his other arm, as he stared intently into the console. He then surreptitiously pressed two fingers into the base of Selek’s palm, dragging one short fingernail down into the centre, temptingly. His base sexuality, he found, was largely, but not completely, irrelevant, in light of the current situation. He was merely enjoying a wonderful opportunity — and that thought gave him pause. When had he started to sound like Starek?

Starek was still trying to convince Spock to join them. "—besides which, if he’s you, then isn’t that just masturbation, anyway?"

"Yes," said the ambassador, as Spock said, "No."
"No," said the ambassador, as Spock said, "Yes."
They stared intently at each other for a long moment, before turning back to Starek. "Maybe," they agreed.

"And I’m nothing new, to the two of you. So, the problem must be Stavret. Are you afraid you’ll be taking advantage of him?" Starek reached down and retrieved Stavret’s free hand, nipping at the fingertips. "Tell him, Stavret. Tell me. Do you want Selek’s other half to take care of your other hand?"

Stavret shifted in the chair, his head falling back with a low moan, as Starek’s warm mouth closed around two of his fingers. "Ie. Rruieh aei. Mneiyye— Theah— Imirrhlhhse!." He was reduced to wordless, pleading groans, as Starek nibbled, sucked, and licked his fingers.

With a hollow pop, Starek pulled Stavret’s fingers from his mouth. "He’s with us. Are you?"

Spock crossed the room with three strides, squeezed Starek’s jaw open, and rammed two fingers into his mouth, stroking the Romulan’s tongue. There was a feverish look in the young Vulcan’s eye. "Du t’nash-veh," Spock purred, slow and low, as Starek’s tongue pushed up, between his fingers.