Wanna Be A Hardcore Nerdward Contest

Title: To Boldly Go…

(Where No Man Has Gone Before)

Rating: M

Summary: Jasper Whitlock is the Kirk to Edward Cullen's Spock—they're best friends and hardcore Trekkers. Will some smuggled Romulan Ale give Edward the liquid courage he needs to let Jasper know exactly how he feels? *Entry for the Hardcore Nerdward Contest*

Word Count: 5255

Disclaimer: I own nothing Twilight. The story and characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Beta: Lupin4Tonks

The first time I saw Star Trek, I was four years old. I still remember the moment with complete clarity. I saw Spock, and I instantly knew that the secret of the universe had just been revealed to me. Here was someone I could finally relate to! It didn't matter that I was only four; even then, I knew that I was somehow very different from everyone else. Spock was a kindred spirit.

I spent my childhood watching Star Trek reruns. I got the entire set on DVD for my fifth birthday. I watched the other Star Trek iterations on TV, but none of them quite compared to the original series for me (although I've always reserved the right to admire and respect Captain Jean Luc Picard—the man is the epitome of a true leader). And please, don't even get me started on Janeway.

My mother and father did what they could to encourage my Star Trek fascination without letting it spill over into an obsession, but it was no use. I'm the sort of person who clings tenaciously to an idea once it takes root. My playtime was a series of Star Trek adventures. Building freeform with LEGOs, I created replicas of every version of the Starship Enterprise from every Star Trek movie. I even made my own version of a tricorder for my science project in the sixth grade.

My father brought me to my first Trek convention, bravely going where no Cullen had gone before—he even dressed up in a Star Trek uniform along with me. It was the first time I got to meet Leonard Nimoy, and I nearly peed in my pants. Fortunately, I kept it under control long enough to wait in line to shake his hand. I'll never forget the thrill of sitting in the auditorium, knowing he was mere yards away from me. I'm a man of science, and I've never been a fan of organized religion. But sitting there, listening to Nimoy's voice glide over us? It's the closest thing to a religious experience I will ever have; shaking his hand was like meeting god. I was understandably upset when my mother finally made me wash my hands a week later. I still haven't completely forgiven her for that egregious error in maternal judgment.

Over the years, I had to suffer through several movie versions of Star Trek—The Next Generation, when all I really wanted was more adventures with Kirk and Spock. In 2009, that all changed; J.J. Abrams directed a new, sexier movie version based upon the original series. I remember when I first caught wind of this project on the internet, I spat out Red Bull all over my laptop screen. I mean, J.J. Abrams and Star Trek? That's like a wet dream waiting to happen. This is the guy who came up with Alias and Lost, for Christ's sake.

~xXx~

I met my best friend, Jasper Whitlock, in second grade. As a Southern boy, he was completely out of place when he moved to rainy Forks, Washington, which is probably why we got along so well. He was an outsider who spoke my language. From the moment we met, he's been the Kirk to my Spock. The analogy works well, too, because he's all blond hair, swagger, and smiling charm, and the girls all love him. I'm the scientist by his side, observing, making notations, but never truly understanding what all the screaming and giggling is about.

Girls.

They might as well be Romulans as far as I'm concerned; I've never understood them.

Because we've always been comrades in arms, Jasper likes Star Trek by default. One year, for Christmas, my parents gave both of us matching uniforms—Spock's blue science officer for me, and Kirk's gold captain for Jas. Since then, we always dress like Kirk and Spock for Trek events. Jasper is the only person on earth who I genuinely understand, and I know him practically better than I know myself.

By the time we were in our teens, Whitlock should have outgrown his southern accent, but he hadn't. At Trek conventions, the girls would go apeshit over his looking like a blond surfer dude version of Captain Kirk, and then when he finally opens his mouth? He pulls out the accent for them. It's the ace up his sleeve, and he doesn't even need to use it.

I should know, after all, because it's always worked on me.

~xXx~

Naturally, Jasper and I have tickets to the midnight opening of Star Trek at the IMAX theatre in Seattle. We're innocently standing in line, waiting for the theatre to begin seating. I'm in my Spock uniform, Vulcan ears and all, and Jasper is pretty boy Kirk. Our good friend from work, Leah Clearwater, joins us in line, dressed as Uhura. She's a total hottie, but neither one of us could tap that because it just feels too… incestuous. She's just another one of the guys.

Lucky for us, Clearwater has smuggled in some Romulan Ale—she puts it into a Powerade bottle, and it masquerades as an energy drink. We're talking an equal mix of Bacardi 151, Everclear, and Blue Curacao. Freeze it for two hours, and you have an icy Blue Death just waiting to happen. At the last Trek convention we went to, I barely remember the costume contest because I was so strung out on Romulan Ale.

I look around at all the other fanboys, trying to see if anyone's uniforms are better than ours. I roll my eyes at some of the lameass shit I see floating around and silently scoff to myself—they look like a Star Trek spoof from Robot Chicken. Some dude is even wearing a Yoda costume, and I have to laugh out loud at him. I mean, really? How does he dress up as a character from another franchise altogether? Those damn Star Wars geeks annoy the crap out of me. If I need to argue about the merits of Luke Skywalker versus Captain Kirk one more time, I'll fucking slit my throat. The idea that a whiny bastard could beat the bravado of James Tiberius Kirk is positively obscene.

Now I'll be the first to admit that dressing up as a fictional character puts me squarely in the camp of men who use pocket protectors and require glasses. I totally own my nerdy ways. But when I see an entire family dressed as the Borg waiting in line for the movie (infant included), or the group of dorks behind us who refuse to communicate in any language besides Klingon, I understand that I'm truly in the upper echelons of geekdom. I mean, even I'm embarrassed by the Klingons. Jesus.

See, the geekdom pecking order goes like this: geeks have geek-like knowledge, and some social skills; nerds have geek-like knowledge, and few social skills; dorks have neither. The Borg family? The we'll-only-speak-Klingon contingent? They're clearly dorks. I take pride and satisfaction in knowing that I'm a nerd. Jasper, he's a geek—the crème de la crème of the world we inhabit.

Amid the sea of 99.99% XY chromosomes I'm observing, however, I see her. She sees us, and heads straight for Jasper.

Fuck, not again.

Jasper Whitlock is totally a Grade A pussy magnet—all he has to do is stand there, and the girls appear in flocks, I swear to god. I'm just the tall, skinny nerdboy who stands next to him; I might as well be invisible. I may appear to be asexual, but inside? I'm a raging mess of hormones and horniness. I've practically developed a permanent case of road rash on my cock, I beat off so much.

I shift my attention away from my dick and over to the girl who is honed in on my companion like a Klingon Bird of Prey attacking a Starfleet vessel. She's a tiny little thing, barely legal, but she has tits. Tits that are displayed prominently in her official Star Trek series dress. You know the kind I'm talking about. Skintight, short-skirted, and definitely not one of the modern day rip-off type costumes that you'd find at an online costume store. And fuck me if she isn't determined to meet Jasper.

She's like beat-off-to-the-Uhura-poster-on-your-wall hot. As I'm gaping over her brazen attitude, I see Jasper notice her for the first time. I'm slightly disappointed to learn that he's so easily distracted by the kind of girl who fawns all over him. But what do I expect? This is the way it always plays out; today is nothing out of the ordinary. My only saving grace is that she chose her uniform poorly—it's red. I simultaneously hate her, and want him, with a passion.

I catalog all the reasons this girl will end up in my roommate's bed tonight.

All the reasons I want him in my bed tonight.

Perky, pointed tits?

Amply sized bulge accented by tight pants.

Spiky, funky black hair?

Blond curly hair that falls into his eyes.

Sexy as hell fit and muscular legs, just ready to wrap themselves around a man?

Sexy as hell fit and muscular legs I want to have wrapped around my face.

'60s style Star Trek mini dress that leaves nothing to the imagination?

'60s style Star Trek pants that leave nothing to the imagination.

It's completely impossible to hide my physical attraction to Jasper. It isn't like there's any room to maneuver in these Star Trek pants, either. Clearly, Gene Roddenberry wasn't thinking when he let the costuming department come up with such fucking tight pants. I mean, come on! Captain Kirk was a major league player! How the hell did he supposedly sex it up when he must have been sporting a third leg 90% of the time? Roddenberry is god, but he sure as fuck needed some help when it came to things like costume development. Just saying.

This is worse than the time I got a woody in front of my math teacher in 7th grade. All I can do is pull my shirt down and hope it provides at least some coverage over my prominent erection. My nerves leave my palms all sweaty and my mouth is dry and pasty, but I'll be damned if I'm going to leave my friend's side when Pussy Galore arrives to pounce on him.

I let out a sigh of exasperation. I'm not jealous because Jasper gets all the girls, I'm jealous because he wants girls. And I want him.

Clearwater kindly nudges me, prompting me to drink more Romulan Ale. The shit burns your esophagus, but it really does the trick. I take a long swig and brood.

Jasper makes small talk with Pussy while sharing his portion of ale with her. She's twirling her hair with her finger, acting all cute and coy, and then she stands on her toes and pulls a curl away from his eye. I feel like I need to hurl. Fucking Romulan Ale.

Jesus, kill me now. Please.

Unable to tolerate the conversation my best friend is having, I pull out my iPhone. I have a couple of great Star Trek apps I want to use. I turn on my tricorder, and pass it over Pussy's brain.

"Searching for life forms, Captain. The planet is curiously vacant."

Jasper spits out his Romulan Ale. "Fuck, Cullen, warn me before you get your geek on, dude!"

We both laugh together.

He rolls his eyes at me, but politely listens to whatever it is Pussy's babbling on about. That's Jasper for you—genteel to a fault. He's incapable of being rude.

I do my best to distract his attention from time to time, giving him a respite from the midget's screechy voice. Anyone with a voice that falls above 100 decibels should be forbidden from speaking. In fact, the authorities should handle it by simply cutting her vocal cords. It would practically be a public service—all for the greater good.

When Pussy gets all hyped up about a point she's making, I mimic her behind her back. Jasper tries so hard to pay attention to what she's saying, but I can tell he's also holding back a laugh.

Leah leans over to me and whispers, "Tonight, you are going to finally do something about this boner you've had for Whitlock all these years."

I look over at her, aghast.

How the fuck does she know?

Apparently, the look on my face is obvious, because she answers my unasked question.

"I can see the way you look at him. Hell, a blind man in space could see the way you look at him! Now pony up and give that boy a kiss before the end of the night, or I'm going to tell him myself. I so want to see you guys make out."

~xXx~

Once we sit down, Pussy Galore and Leah quickly succumb to the effects of the Romulan Ale—they both pass out during the previews. It seems to have done nothing for me except get me completely wired and on edge. It's like every nerve fiber in my being is be stimulated at once. Jasper, however, has merely mellowed.

Just what the hell did Leah put in this mix, anyhow?

I take out my iPhone once again and I scan Pussy's head. "She's dead, Jim," I deadpan.

"I could have told you that, Spock," he smiles and winks at me.

That's how it is with Jasper. You adore him all the time, but there are secret moments when he shines on you, and only you, and it makes you feel like you're the only person in the world.

God, I want him.

With Pussy Galore out of commission, Jasper is all mine once again. He's such a happy, friendly drunk. And by friendly, I mean his social boundaries become non-existent. There is no more good touch/bad touch—it's all good in his book. Tonight, however, he's a little bit different, more than merely friendly. He was standing closer to me in the line than usual, nudging me and bumping into me frequently. While I'm certainly not complaining, I'm not really sure how to take this sudden shift in character.

The movie starts, and we settle in to watch. I'm determined to sit and drool over the hotness of Chris Pine's James T. Kirk. Jasper, however, decides to slouch in his seat, so that his knee is touching mine. The second his body comes into contact with me, it feels like a jolt. There's only a square inch of him touching me, it's just his knee for fuck's sake, but I'm as turned on as I've ever been in my life.

Sitting next to him, breathing the same air, makes my head spin. I try to breathe deeply and slowly, focusing upon the movie, but it's no use. I'm pretty sure I landed in some freaky weird time/space continuum where Jasper is touchy-feely and practically wants to cuddle next to me in the movie theatre. I look at him for confirmation that he must have suddenly sprouted a goatee, which is all the proof I need to show that he's morphed into an Evil Kirk from a parallel universe. Alas, Jasper is sans goatee, the genie is out of the bottle, and his knee is touching mine—I couldn't concentrate on what's happening on the screen to save my life, regardless of what movie it is or who's starring in it.

What the hell will happen if I ever have the chance to touch his cock?

My own cock throbs at that thought. Thank god we're now in a dark movie theatre so I don't have to try to cover it up.

I take a moment to steal a glance at him. His face is framed by his blond curls. I can see the lighting from the screen shift over his visage, creating highlights and shadows that only enhance his beauty. He has no idea that I'm watching him watch the movie. He's so fucking sexy just sitting there, doing nothing.

He's one of those people whose face animates while he watches something. I see his features register surprise, happiness, shock, disappointment.

He leans over suddenly and whispers in my ear. "Cullen. You've been eyeing me like a hunk of meat all night. You planning to do anything about that?"

Hold the fuck up.

I'm suddenly thrown back to the stark reality of the moment.

"You know?"

He nods his head and grins, eyes still glued to the screen.

Fuck.

"So, are you gonna do something about it or not?"

"Now?"

I have a brief fantasy flash in my brain that involves my hauling Jasper to the restroom, dropping to my knees, and giving him the best blowjob of his life.

"SHHHH!" Some gung-ho dork hisses at us.

I turn back to taunt the asshole, "Shut up, Janeway! We're having an important conversation here."

"No, not fucking now!" Jasper continues. "We're watching Star Trek, you dweeb."

"After?"

"Hell fucking yes."

My cock practically leaps out of my pants in exuberance.

Hell fucking yes indeed.

I slump down in my seat to mirror Jasper's stance. Our heads aren't quite touching, but we're close enough that I can hear him breathing. I move my foot around his so that our legs are tangled together. I watch him swallow hard, and I can practically see his defenses dropping away, one by one. He seems almost… suggestible. I subtly reach over and start stroking his thigh with one finger. I don't want to be obvious, but I can't not touch him.

After a few minutes, Jasper hooks his pinkie around mine, though I can't tell if he's trying to reciprocate, or if he's silently asking me to cut it out. I stop moving altogether and sit there, staring down at our legs and our fingers that are coiled together.

He nudges my foot and I look over at him. Grinning, he puts my palm on his inner thigh. I can't believe I'm so fucking turned on. If we weren't surrounded by geeky fanboys right now, Jasper Whitlock would find his pants around his ankles and my lips around his cock. I imagine what his face would look like when he watches me slide his dick slowly in and out of my mouth. I would torment him, speeding up and then slowing down, never going at the tempo he would prefer just so I could keep him on edge.

While my brain conjures up sexy as hell scenarios featuring Jasper, my index finger circles around his thigh, teasingly light. Eventually, I add another finger, and my circles get wider. I write secret messages to him that he'll never understand, such as "Jasper Whitlock needs to ride me like a bitch," or "Please let me put your dick in my mouth," and "Show me how hard your cock can get for me." When I run out of clever sexy things to write, my palm moves to squeeze his inner thigh. I try to channel every ounce of desire I have into my hand, and it works, because I hear his breathing hitch.

Giving me tacit permission, he slides my hand higher, temptingly close to his junk. I start my circling technique again, with an innocent, accidental brush to his balls thrown in for good measure. I know the second I touch them, because his thigh muscles tense. I continue to experience periodic slip ups, and every time I sweep over his balls, his hips thrust up to meet me. The knowledge that I'm getting him so worked up is making me feel invincible.

As my thoughts drift toward yet another very hot fantasy of him bending me over and having his wicked way with me, his hand suddenly grips my thigh, catching me totally off guard. I jerk in response, my mouth gaping. I hear him quietly snicker at me.

I can't believe this is the hottest, most enticing sexual experience I've ever had, and it's only consisted of touching about 12 square inches of Jasper's clothed body surface. In fact, if he touched my naked cock at this very moment? I'd probably come. That thought is equal parts embarrassing and hot as hell.

I barely notice what's happening on the screen. Knowing I'll just have to see it again is such a small price to pay in comparison to what I'm sharing with Jasper. I have years of pent up sexual longing that I'm slowly releasing, and the minute I get him alone, I'm going to unleash a veritable sexual tsunami. It's getting hard for me to breathe; my entire chest is taut with tension.

The second the credits start to roll, we look at each other, eyes full of anticipation. All it takes is one tiny nod from him, and we both clamor toward the exit. That is, until we remember Leah is still passed out.

Jasper goes over to her and kicks her foot. She stretches and rubs her eyes.

"I fucking missed the entire thing? What the hell?"

"That's what happens when you imbibe the icy Blue Death of Romulan Ale, Clearwater. You should know better by now."

I reach my hand out to her and help her stand up. "You gonna be okay? Or do you need me to drive you home? We can pick up your car tomorrow—"

"Just get out of here, you horny nerds. I'll take care of the redshirt. She is kinda hot, come to think of it…"

I so owe Leah a month's worth of proofing HTML coding. She's a saint.

We reach the Volvo, and my hands are shaking so badly I can barely get the keys in the ignition. I drop them on the floor, and when I look over at Jasper, I can see him palming his erection through his skin tight pants.

"Jesus, that is so fucking hot, Whitlock."

I reach over to give him a hand, and he slaps me away. I'm confused and hurt by his actions, until he follows with words. "Not until we get home. So you better goddamn get this car in motion!" His voice is rough and raspy, and it just makes me want to jump his bones even more.

I feel as though I'm not in possession of my faculties—as if someone else is controlling my actions. I'm suddenly able to get the key in the ignition and I take off. Neither one of us says much during the ride home, and the air is practically crackling from the tension we both feel.

When we stop at a light, I glance over to Jasper, only to find him eye fucking me. I reach down to adjust myself, and he growls at me, "Get your hand off your cock, Cullen. That's mine."

OK, now I know I'm going to come in my pants.

I've officially stopped breathing. I have no idea how my body is getting oxygenation anymore. My chest is tight, my cock is rock hard, and I'm so wound up that I'm going to explode. I've barely even touched Jasper tonight, and he's barely touched me, but the promise of his naked body is all I've needed to arrive at this epic level of sexual tension. Scully and Mulder? They're in the kindergarten class of sexual tension compared to us. Plus, there's the specific difference that their sexual tension was unresolved. Jasper and me? Oh hell, is there going to be resolution. In fact, I'm fairly certain that our resolved sexual tension will be the ultimate religious experience for me—more so than meeting Leonard Nimoy.

When the car finally arrives in our driveway and I turn it off, we pause and look at each other, the hunger evident in our faces. I yell, "NOW!" and we're both at the front door in seconds. Before I even know what's happening, the door is closed, we're in the entryway, and we're just standing there, eyes locked on each other, panting. Just as I get ready to pounce, Jasper slams me up against the front door.

Oh my god, he really does want it.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, because I understand that this is really going to happen. Finally. After dreaming about it for years. But this moment is mine, and I'm going to use it to lavish my boy with all the attention I can manage. I flip our positions around and reach down to Jasper's dick.

The corner of my mouth rises in response to how quickly he got hard for me. I look him in the eye. "I can't deny the laws of physics, Captain; I want you."

He chuckles, pulling me away from his cock. "Are you out of your Vulcan mind?"

I look at him, confused. Did I get something wrong?

He clarifies for me. "It's the captain's job to venture where no man has gone before. I'm first."

He takes me by surprise, grabbing my ass and pulling our hips together. He grinds his hard cock into mine, and I'm not sure if I've ever felt anything more exquisite in my life. I let out a deep moan in response, and he looks pleased with himself.

Oh, Jas, if only you knew how little it takes for you to get me wound up.

I lean in and kiss him. It's an oddly surreal experience, one I've anticipated forever, but it's nothing like I expected. I've certainly kissed girls before, but this is entirely different. It's both sweet and feral at the same time. It's rough. He has a guy's lips—there's none of the female softness. I can feel his stubble grazing my mouth and it's an incredible turn on. How can a kiss, a simple kiss, be so goddamn hot? His kisses alone could induce an orgasm.

We're loud, filling the room with our moans and groans. Jasper takes my upper lip between his teeth and nips down. There's a sharp, burning pain followed by a flood of warmth. I answer by thrusting my hips into his to increase the friction. His gasp makes me feel powerful.

I did that. I made him gasp.

He flips us around again, so my back is up against the door. He yanks my pants down and my dick slaps my belly once it's released. He leans one of his arms against my chest, pinning me there, and grabs my bare cock with his fist. I nearly lose it—it feels so fucking good.

He drops to his knees and swipes his tongue over my head. My cock jumps in response, earning a grin of satisfaction from him. He slowly works me deeper into his mouth, trying hard to take me in without gagging. I have no idea how he knows what to do, but I'm certainly not questioning him right now. I watch him, sliding me in and out of his mouth, and it's the most erotic thing I've ever seen in my life. No woman's lips ever felt like this wrapped around me. I need a new superlative just so I can adequately describe how incredible this is.

I slip my hands into his waves, being careful not to guide his movements. I'm sure as hell not going to fuck his mouth the very first time he lays a hand on me. My grip on him is tight, but he's ultimately in control of the motion.

He grabs my balls, giving them a slight tug, then moves his finger back over my pucker. It's so sensitive I jump. He just keeps gliding his finger over the area, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers is electric. I'm making sounds I've never heard before. Without warning, he carefully slips his finger inside.

When the fuck did he lube up?

These sensations are all brand new. My breathing is rough and ragged, but I'm doing my best to hold out as long as I can. I close my eyes, unable to stand the sight any longer—if I keep watching, I'll come in an embarrassingly short time. All too soon, I feel the familiar climb of my orgasm winding up, and I warn him.

"Jasper… unh, fuck… I'm going to come."

His only reply is to press down on my prostate, and I come hard in response. I release again and again, my body shuddering, but he takes it all. I have so many questions for him about his blowjob skills, but that can wait. I can barely even stand right now, so coherent conversation is totally out of the question.

He stands up and gives me a kiss, just waiting until I catch my breath. He whispers, "You ready for me to fuck you now?"

Shit. Am I ready for that?

I look into his bright blue eyes, and I see the man I trust more than anyone else on the planet. "I'm ready for whatever you want to do to me."

He gives my ass a hard slap, then turns me around. I hear him tear open a condom, and feel his lubed fingers on me. Before I know it, his hard cock is pressed against my backside. I want it, so badly.

Jasper is gentle with me, working himself in slowly, giving me time to adjust before he goes to town. He slides in deeper with each thrust, slow and deliberate, until I can feel him flush against me. There's a constant burning sensation, but it's a very pleasurable kind of pain. One that I would endure a thousand times, just for him.

"Fucking hell, Edward, you're so goddamned tight."

He gives my ass another hard slap and I gasp. "You ready?" he asks.

"Yes," I manage to groan out.

Jasper starts thrusting into me in earnest. I can hear our skin slapping, feel his balls bouncing up against my ass. His chest is pressed against my back. We're a mess of sweat and heavy breathing. His fingers are digging into my hips, which I'm sure will turn into bruises tomorrow, but I'll wear his marks with such fucking pride.

His voice is tight as he announces his orgasm. I'm absolutely thrilled that it's my body that gave him what he needed this time. No Pussy Galore could provide him with this experience; it's me alone. He relaxes against my back, panting heavily. I grab his arms and wrap them around me, and we stay in this position, relishing the feel of our entangled bodies.

After a few minutes, I mumble "bed" and stand up. I take his hand in mine, and we make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to dispose of the condom. We stop outside my room, and I lift an eyebrow in an unspoken question. He nods, and we stumble into bed.

He pulls my body into his, and I can feel his breath on my ear. "You okay with this, Cullen? I know you wanted this as much as I did, but I don't want to have any weirdness between us—"

I interrupt him, delivering a deep, passionate kiss. "You are, and always shall be, my friend. Nothing that happened today will ever change that."

J.J. Abrams will now be eternally linked to the night I admitted to the universe that I'm in love with my best friend, and Leah Clearwater is the reason I acted upon it. I'm incredibly grateful to them both.

END NOTE: Thank you to my dear friend Einfach_Mich for providing inspiration on what it's like to actually meet Nimoy in addition to the recipe for Romulan Ale. Leah Clearwater as Uhura is expressly written for her.