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Temporal Incursion Report: Department of Temporal Investigations

Report Submission of: Lt Cmdr Dax, Jadzia (Assignment: Deep Space Nine; Commanding Officer: Cpt Benjamin Sisko)

Date of Submission: SD 50194.3

Date of Incursion: SD 4523.7

Report in Brief

Temporal Incursion Report concerning Intimate Relations: Lt Cmdr Jadzia Dax/Commander Spock. Supplementary Medical Report: Pending.

Appendix to Report of Commanding Officer Captain Benjamin Sisko of the same date (ref. DTI50194-3-023).

Report in Full

NB: Report contains explicit material. Discretion advised.

As dictated by Dax, Jadzia (Quarters, Deep Space Nine):

Computer, begin recording.

What follows is a complete and faithful account of intimate relations between myself, Lt Cmdr Dax, assignment Deep Space Nine, and First Officer Spock, assignment USS Enterprise (Constitution class), during temporal incursion SD 50194.3, effective incursion date 4523.7. I am submitting this report as an appendix to the report of my commanding officer, Ben Sisko, submitted on the same date, in line with Starfleet Order 9701 and in adherence to the Temporal Prime Directive. Starfleet Medical report is pending.

Good, now that the formalities are out of the way, let me tell you all about it. The guys from the DTI say this'll remain confidential, and thankfully Julian wasn't asked to complete my physical, but that doesn't mean that someone out there in your department isn't angling for a bit of temporal gossip. So here goes.

I had no idea. I'd seen pictures of Spock in the database, even holo-photos - and as Ambassador to the Federation, the Spock of my time was certainly revered, but this was the real deal, the real McCoy, so to speak, in his prime and standing right there in front of me. The man really was so much more handsome in person.

I remember Ben thought I was talking about Kirk. No. It was his eyes that I found truly surprising. Dark and hooded, and of course, the really appealing thing about them was the glint of that irrepressible intellect. Even as Ben pulled me away, I couldn't take my eyes off him. I make no apology for that, or what happened later; though I guess I should have tried harder to keep my head in my own time. But hey - no lasting repercussions, right?

Ben pulled me into the Turbolift and kept a hold of my wrist - I can see why he thought it was necessary. And really, I had managed to get my head around the look-don't-touch thing, I really was on board - but then we split up to search, hoping to cover more ground, and I went around a corner and ran straight into Spock himself on his way to Sickbay. We straight out collided. Well, he stopped immediately, stopped dead as he rounded the corner and found me in his path, but I had my head in the damn tricorder, so I collided with him.

And I know, I should have put my head down, waved him off, just kept walking till I was out of sight. But as I steadied myself with a hand on his arm I looked into his face, his eyebrows raised at me, his hands behind his back and I couldn't resist. I nodded. I smiled.

'Sorry, Commander,' I said, righting my tricorder, snapping it shut and gathering my hands behind my back in a neat mirror image. 'I didn't see you.'

He said, 'Evidently. I am, however, undamaged. An apology is not required.'

I really did try to move away, then - I put my head down, opened my tricorder, but as I stepped past, his inquisitive glance followed me. In actual fact, it burnt me, it flamed along the back of my neck. His hands, firmly clasped behind him, did nothing, but I felt him pulling at me.

In many ways, you see, Vulcans and Trill share some common ground. Each of our species has found a way to supplement our existence - they with logic, us with symbiosis. We each have techniques for transferring a soul - the zhain'tara isn't all that far from a fal-tor-pan, after all - so perhaps I felt him reach to me more obviously than a human would have.

And so I turned back. I was curious. All-encompassing curiosity.

I saw him blink a couple of times, as though assessing me - or perhaps he was assessing himself?

Spock straightened but his eyes had lowered to the floor, and it was as close to awkward as I'd seen any Vulcan be. Frowning, I realised that we were alone in the corridor.

'Are you okay?' I had to ask, and we were both frowning then.

For several long minutes, he did not speak. When no one entered the corridor, he eventually looked at me, right into my eyes, and said,

'All Vulcans are touch-telepaths, Lieutenant; sometimes the instinct to reach out to another's mind is stronger than we realise. I found myself unable to control the urge and, somehow, it seems your mind was just open enough for me to know some of you; some of your thoughts, some of your fact.'

He lowered his gaze again momentarily, in a very human way. It was very obviously guilt.

'I am very sorry, Lieutenant. I hope that you are, likewise, undamaged?'

And I found myself stunned into silence - which I'm sure you can imagine doesn't happen very often. Of course, I recovered quickly.

'Undamaged,' I nodded, pulling my shoulders back. 'Absolutely.'

He studied me carefully, curiously, for several minutes, and then tipped his head in my direction.

'Please excuse me.'

I watched him as he walked up the corridor and I saw him straighten, yet again - I think he was actively compartmentalising, Vulcans are so damn good at that. I think he was storing his little lapse away for further analysis.

Well. You can imagine the amount of thought that I dedicated to that exchange over the next couple of hours, even though I was desperately trying to keep my mind on our mission. Once we had a plan in place to follow Kirk, though, I knew I'd end up running into him again - after all, where Kirk went, Spock would follow.

And of course, we're sitting in the deck five mess and in comes Kirk, and Spock is right behind him, head still bowed, and the second he's through the door, he looks straight at me. Well, glances, but it's almost as though he knew where I would be before he came through the door. His eyes cut straight through me; I realised that I'd never felt anything like that, not in all my lifetimes. It's like a sixth sense, or a proximity alarm. Kirk is talking to him, carping about the tribbles, but he just looks over to me again and says absolutely nothing, and I look at him. Ben thinks I'm just on the mission, but I can't look away. Spock takes a measured breath and turns himself back toward Kirk and the matter at hand, and though we've narrowed the search and are only a few steps ahead of Kirk, I can't keep away this prickly feeling, the feeling you get on the back of your neck when you know someone's watching, except it's in the back of my mind. I think perhaps he was tempting himself, he was reaching out again, however much he didn't want to or knew he shouldn't. Perhaps it was like a reflex, perhaps it was like if you say, 'Don't think of an elephant', and an elephant will be in your mind without choice, without option, automatically, an association of neurons, a blink of uncontrollable imagination.

Arne Darvin put a bomb in a tribble and then we were knee deep in them trying to find that tricobolt signature. Now I'm compartmentalising - I can think about Spock later, otherwise half the station will go up, and take us all with it - me, Spock, and everyone else, along with half of recent history.

Then Ben finds it and before we know it, the panic's over; the mission's complete.

Through the gap in the hatch though I hear that bass rumble, and limp though I am with relief and the echo of adrenaline, I am snared by the authority and composure his voice.

Was it then, then, that when we returned to the present? Well, not quite.

Before we left, I realised there was one last thing I had to do.

I found him in his quarters. He was blinking mildly at a stellar map of the region as he bids me entry. Its great undulating shimmer of stars was divided by a sharp line - the course of the Enterprise.

Drawing my hands, once more, behind me, I cleared my throat.

'Is wistfulness an emotion, Mr Spock?'

He turned smoothly, his dark eyes meeting mine. He was a foreboding presence; tall and compact, as though resources were being conserved in his construction. With a nod, he stepped toward me. It was a tiny room divided by a bulkhead, with a desk on one side and a bed on the other.

'I fear it may well be,' he said evenly. I found myself smiling.

'My name is Dax,' I said. 'Jadzia Dax.'

'Lieutenant Dax-'

I lifted up a hand and Spock, holding himself stiffly on the other side of the console, paused.

'I would prefer that you call me, Jadzia.'

Spock nodded simply.

'As you wish, Jadzia,' he said. Eventually he said, 'it seems redundant to prefix our conversation. I will merely note that you are not listed on the ship's personnel records.'

'I'm afraid you're right about that, Mr Spock.'

The Vulcan's eye brow lifted in an expression of both condescension and intrigue.

'I assure you,' I added, reaching my hand out without thinking, 'I'm no threat to the Enterprise. My companions and I are leaving shortly, I just had to see you again before we go.'

His eyes were fixed on my hand, where my fingers had tightened around his wrist. With startling clarity, I realised that there was new sensation against the edge of my mind - not exactly like a swell within my mind but close to it, a sort of fullness at one side of my head, and I realised with a start that the cool presence was Spock himself - shocking in its sudden known-ness. Like the first time you see someone without clothing, and you didn't realise that you'd never even thought about what they might look like naked. He blinked again and breathed, noticeably, coolly. He looked up and gently, ever so gently pushed the idea that I should release his hand into my brain, where it flittered into my arm immediately. It was a peculiar sensation.

'"Before we go"?' he repeated then, out loud, and, 'Go where?'

'I can't tell you that,' I said, trapping my fingers behind my back in an effort to keep them to myself.

'May I ask a personal question?' he asked then, with a tip of his head. He was tall; very tall, with calm, large hands which he'd also rested behind him.

'What is it?'

'Why have you chosen to disguise your native markings?'

I confess, that was when my interest became truly piqued. For a Vulcan, let alone a Vulcan of Spock's repute, this was not an idle enquiry. This was an overture. A personal question with no logical reason to be asked. A smile found it's way back onto my face.

'Trill hadn't made first contact with humans yet,' she said, considering how he had arrived at the conclusion that I was Trill.

He was looking at my temples; he was looking at them with what was almost, ever so almost, hunger. I couldn't tell if he was looking for a sign of my spots or a way into my mind. 'If we were human,' I said, to draw him back to me, and feeling somehow like the air had thinned, 'I'd say we had a connection.'

'I readily admit,' he said quietly, 'I find myself very drawn to you. It is highly unusual to have a such a strong initial reaction. Bonds like this are normally reserved for…' I saw him visibly swallow. Those eyes were on mine again. 'For mating pairs. And they take years of work. For such a connection to form as a product of a chance encounter is-'

'Unusual?'

'Unheard-of,' he corrected, delicately. He paused, and looked carefully at me. I was sure that he was deciding something. Then I saw his chin lift, in the most minute and provocative gesture. Oh, in seven lifetimes nothing had burnt along my spine like that look.

'Yes?' I asked.

'It warrants investigation,' he said simply.

I laughed. 'I'll say it does. What are you suggesting?'

His eyes fell again. In the small room, we were mere inches apart.

'Verbal communication is, at best, inefficient. Sometimes woefully misleading, where humans are concerned.'

He stepped, if possible, even closer, and placed two fingers carefully against the inside of my wrist.

Then he said:

'Let me speak plainly, Jadzia. I believe that my body and mind desire you. I do not know from where you come, or what protocols are in place to prevent... contamination; although if they exist, your presence here suggests you have already disregarded them. This phenomenon,' his emphasis was punctuated by a shameless wave of prickling, cold desire that fizzed up the back of my neck, and I was sure it was his, though it could have been mine, 'is undocumented - we must explore its potential now, before it is too late.'

I swallowed, and saw him examining my responses with his eyes, and brushing the edges of my mind. Potential for what?

'Your pupils are dilated; your blink rate has decreased,' he said matter-of-factly, lowering his eyes to examine mine. 'The capillaries in your face are producing a flush. Is that acquiescence?'

I think I nodded, I'm not sure, I might have just stepped forwards.

Vulcans do not instinctually kiss; but Trill do. I shaped the desire for it and pressed it clumsily towards him, and he took it and opened it like a badly wrapped package or a closed flower, and pressed his mouth to mine. The fingers of his strong hand tightened around my wrist. I wasn't sure if he'd ever kissed anyone before but he seemed to copying from my notes - he owned me completely; he devoured me. Perhaps he'll get a bug for it, after this?

He was feeding off my desire, which had spiked gloriously against his mind. I could feel him diligently monitoring the line between our thoughts, ensuring his own stayed out of my past, out of my time, and holding his in a current, like soft music. Oh, but his thoughts fascinated me - unless, was that his fascination? They sputtered against me, and I could feel in front of all else, a thin sheen of perfect logic. Under that was me; just me. His fingers itched for my temples, and he could see my missing spots in my mind. Then there was a sudden and overwhelming engulfment of delirious arousal. It was a tidal swell that flooded my mind; it drowned all other thought. In an instant and bodily response, my vagina swelled and tightened.

Spock broke away from me with a deep and abrupt breath, and held me for a moment at arm's length, though his grip on my shoulders was firm.

'It is much more difficult to stay out of your mind than I anticipated.'

For once, I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just looked at him. His eyes were searching mine, dark and intent; if I wasn't swollen with arousal already, his look alone probably would have done it.

'Do you wish to continue?' he said then, and I laughed - did I ever. His face was impassive, but I felt his fingers twitch before he could resist the impulse; annoyance at the laugh or relief? 'There is no guarantee that I will be able to maintain a distance from your thoughts.' Unambiguous consent was what he was asking for.

I have always, as Jadzia Dax, been prone to a reckless action in the face of compelling stimuli.

His palms moved down my arms and brought my hands up, between us. His fingers parted easily, and he pressed them in a 'V' against my hand; an invitation. Only three out of seven hosts had been able to do that, and Jadzia wasn't one of them, so I extended two in a point instead. As they rested against Spock's, I could see his face open a little, in nothing but a glance of his eye. A little relief, perhaps even a glint of anticipation bloomed in his expression. His mind was behind a wall, though, I couldn't feel him, or only just.

I kissed him again, just barely, just briefly, but with intent. His hands came to rest tidily on my sides, and I threaded my fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, stretching my body out along the length of his. It back a languid kiss, achingly hot and slow, and his hands, with some keenness, wrapped around my waist. Like a shuttle engine warming up, I felt him soften and bend, and in the distance I knew there was a narrow doorway the wall between his mind and mine. I considered seeking it out, but he'd formed it to give me control, so for the moment I instead pulled my body gently away, and reached for the fastening of the little red uniform dress.

Beneath the thick strap of my regulation underwear was where my spots started again. His eyes followed the trail of my markings, like dappled shadows, along the edge of my breasts and along my sides, as I raised my arms to let down my hair. My skin prickled with the fierceness of that gaze.

Spock's head tilted.

'Curious.'

'What?'

'I… like your spots.'

'Thank you,' I said, with a grin. I stepped into his space, and rubbed my thumb along the enticing curve of his ear to the point. The urge to put my tongue to it was overwhelming, but I managed to resist. 'I like your ears.'

'I am aware,' he said, because he felt my excitement and my restraint in his own mind. The pull of him seemed to flare briefly as he stepped away, like a loss, as he opened the neck of his shirt and lifted it over his head. Before it had been dropped to the ground I reached out and put my hungry hand against his stomach, warm and taught, and I ate up stretches of his skin with my palms. I wallowed in the angular reaches off his torso, in the coarse, dark hair, and in the smell of meditation smoke and something faintly metallic but very sharp and clean.

'You are a fine specimen, Spock,' I told him with a smile, pressing my tongue to his abdomen in a wet kiss. He felt him force a breath into his lungs as I returned to his arms. He pressed his two fingers against my outstretched own, and our foreheads met.

'A sentiment I heartily reciprocate,' he said, with something that was bordering on humour.

'For a society that claims to have harnessed every primal instinct,' I said, unable to resist my instinct to tease as Spock's hands followed a symmetrical path down either side of my stomach, 'those are some pretty strong responses you seem to be having.' By way of punctuation, I drew my fingers against the dent of his hips, and I felt his stomach muscles flutter, and through the ghosting connection of our minds, I felt a pulse that I knew had made his cock twitch. Oh, it was compelling having that kind of influence.

'You mistake an emotional response for a physiological one, Jadzia,' he said mildly, but he pressed his fingers firmly against my ass and drew our hips tightly together. I felt the hard weight of him against my pubic bone. 'Although,' he added, with raised brow, 'I would be false in claiming to be completely unmoved.'

From a Vulcan, it was near to a declaration of love.

Spock knelt then, in front of me, and whilst one hand tightly gripped my leg, the other ran firmly but gently up the fissure between my aching thighs. His long fingers hooked beneath my underwear and touched my swollen vagina, a confident, wet slide against my pounding sex. An approving hum left me, and I saw him peering at me from beneath his brows, those fibrous shoulders tilted softly into his task. With an exacting movement his two fingers, the two against which my own had rested, pressed into me, my ready flesh proudly accommodating his touch. It's a weird trick of nature that the Trill also evolved a clitoris, and even stranger that it rests in the same place a human's does. (Don't ask me how I know.) The heel of Spock's hand met me at the interstice of my thighs and rubbed gloriously against it now, against the whole bundle of feeling, and my legs tightened to keep me upright. The sound of his wet movements was unbelievably shocking. I was unable to smother a noise that came from my throat.

'Do Vulcan's ever engage in oral sex?' I asked, breathlessly. 'Not a request, just a question.'

Spock's eyebrow lifted.

'Truthfully, I do not know,' he said, and from his mind I understood that he had lived most of his life among humans. In a society unwilling to touch food with their hands, it seemed unlikely, but my thoughts of it had bled into his imagination, and my excitement at the prospect became his - the gap in the wall was close to us now; I was sensing things in my opinions and preferences that I knew hadn't been there before, but it was difficult to separate them out as Spock's thoughts. Our senses of self were almost merged, a sort of visceral overlap that meant we each understood the other's desires and felt them as our own. Overwhelmingly, Spock wanted to penetrate me, it was a bizarre and all-encompassing compulsion, animal and instinctual, like a dog hunting a desperately fleeing rabbit. Perhaps he felt my longing to have him likewise inside my body was just as right and peculiar to him.

Spock dragged my shorts off and stood. He removed his trousers and, in tandem, I lifted my underwear over my head. It was a moment of terrifying though brief loneliness. We could not come back together quickly enough, and when with the first glancing touch the bond was re-established, like sinking into a warm bath, we revelled in the widening of our perception, of our being.

'There is a myriad knowledge and experience within you,' Spock spoke, though talking out loud seemed superfluous. He was holding my hand in an almost human gesture, and leading me past the bulkhead to the wide, red country of his bed. 'To be bonded to a joined Trill would be highly advantageous.

'Flatterer.'

But he knew I was taken with the idea, he could read the thought as plainly as I could read his. In seven lifetimes, this experience was new, and that was an accomplishment in itself.

I traveled each plain of his body, worried the hair across his chest and followed the dense trail of it to where it met his penis, faintly green with his blood flushing within it, and circled him in my grasp.

'Jadzia,' he said out loud, and he lifted me into his lap. We fitted ourselves together and I pressed him into me, the rigid length of him fitting so well against my ready walls that I dropped my head against his with a delighted sigh. His big hands came up to my breasts, and followed the road of my spots down my flanks. My hands gathered his face and brought his mouth back to mine, and with slowness he learned my skin, each mottled trail of markings, the dark, damp thatch between my thighs, the length and the dip of my spine. The soles off my feet and the palms of my hands.

I moved my fingers to his cheek bone in a wordless request, and his hand came to the corresponding side of my face.

'Gestalt,' he said, very quietly. 'We are a whole that is more than the sum of its parts.'

We were. He was me and I was him, his thoughts and wants and needs were mine. The need in me and the need in him flowed together and became one stream, one river, and it was a torrent, raw and destructive. His hands grasped me, bruised me, his fingers on my face so forceful that it edged on pain, but as he felt it he corrected, and at his thought my legs flexed and I knew to move, and at my thought he braced his legs against his bed, pulling me over him, so we were each an equal part in each single movement of him surging in and out of my body. Like two harmonies we rang together, like two rivers meeting in a turbulent fork. I felt again that primal state, revelled in that dogged chase for base pleasure, for the accumulation of nerve impulses, miniscule frisson not in his cock as I imagined but behind it, somewhere in the joined two of us, where he fit inside me, and that chase was a dog through a forest with the sound of ragged breath being drawn in and out, the lactic ache in my thighs - no his, ours - the smell of his copper scent and my own perfumed perspiration that tasted of raw meat and San Francisco oysters. His mind, our mind, cleared with the shared purpose of tying together our need, until the tightness in us stretched just a minute too long, and with his fingers still clutched against my temple, I felt in my mind and in my body the startling release of orgasm, the shared realisation that was almost surprising, and the combined sensory experience of two, simultaneous eruptions of liquid elation. Adrenaline, dopamine, and oxytocin flood our bodies, I'm aware of the conscious feeling of it shuddering through me. I count point-eight seconds between the spasms tightening my vagina around Spock's cock, and the sensation of both his release, almost a tickle, and in the same breath my body feeling him come inside me. It was close to joy, if you could call it that. I sensed Spock allowing himself a measure of it, but designating and categorising the physiological responses with diligence.

I tried to move automatically, habitually, but he held me.

'Please do not move,' he said quietly, wrapping his arms around my shoulders firmly. 'I must separate our minds slowly, to avoid damaging you.'

Delirious happiness rolled through me and I laughed. Our minds were still connected and the ghost of it flashed across Spock's face, lighting it up just briefly. I think he still sensed that delight in me. My body stuck to his; his quarters smelt of us.

'Jadzia,' he said, moving his fingers carefully. 'Your mind is your own. Your thoughts are your own.'

'Wait,' I said, holding his wrist. I pushed a sense of my respect and enjoyment and pleasure into his mind, into the gap between our minds, and he absorbed it gently with a returning feeling of - what was it - yes, respect, a little gratitude, and fondness.

With something between pragmatism and awkwardness, we separated our bodies. His fingers still on my face, we stood, retreating a few centimetres from each other, though we were both, still, utterly naked of course.

Finally, he dropped his hand from my flushed cheek.

I sat at the edge of the bed. Unbidden, the thought of the impossibility of it, of the Temporal Prime Directive and the mission and the sure and certain knowledge of the finite nature of our relationship came to me, and as I looked at him, I could tell that he still felt a remnant of the connection, as I did.

His face betrayed his surprise - perhaps my inability to control my emotions had softened some of his.

'You won't report this,' I asked, and before the sentence was free of me I knew he wouldn't.

'It would make no logical sense to do so,' he said. He was standing naked, his hands behind his back. When I stood, to retrieve my uniform, he addressed me with something akin to kindness.

'Please avail yourself of my facilities before you depart.' He held his arm out to show the bathroom door, and as I passed him I kissed him unapologetically on the cheek.

'Thanks, Spock.'

'Your visit has been most... enlightening.'

Spock and I walked together towards the transporter room. Side by side, hands drawn behind us, of course.

A smile - a somewhat smug smile - found its way to the corner of my mouth.

'I certainly feel enlightened.'

Spock looked carefully at me, sidelong. 'It is regrettable that we haven't had more opportunity to explore this phenomenon.'

'We may see each other again,' I said. 'In another life, perhaps.'

He eyed me carefully for several minutes.

'Perhaps.'

I stopped him outside the transporter room. If the rest of the Away Team were in there, walking in with Spock might generate some awkward questions.

'It has been an absolute privilege getting to know you,' I said. Momentarily, I thought about turning trail and leaving immediately, but in all my lifetimes I had learnt the value of goodbye. I extended two fingers towards him, and, eventually, Spock returned the gesture. A echo brushed along my mind off a keen sadness, or regret.

I couldn't help myself. I tried for stoicism, but ultimately I am a selfish creature. So I hugged him, very tightly, and pressed my lips to his neck.

'See you around, Spock.'

His hand came up as I pulled myself away, of course.

'Live long and prosper,' he intoned quietly.

I just nodded.

Well, there you have it, folks. That is a full and faithful report concerning intimate relations during mandated away mission, as detailed above. I hope it gave you kids down at Temporal Investigations something to talk about.