Where the Love Light Gleams

Posted on Fri Mar 18th, 2022 @ 4:30am by Fleet Admiral Sturnack & Captain Jocelyn Blake

Mission: Episode 2: 18th and Constitution
Location: The Fortress, Pinetop, Arizona
Timeline: Mission Day 28 at 1830

[The Fortress]
[Pinetop, AZ]
[MD 29: 1830 Hours]

The Fortress, as it was so affectionately named, was picturesque in the quiet dark of Christmas Eve. The sun had only just set, but somehow the dark outside the windows, falling snow visible in the light that came from the windows, made the space fall warm and intimate – like a hideaway, stepped out of time and the intensity of Starfleet’s scramble to solve the question of the bombing and subsequent assassination attempt.

Jocelyn had spent time preparing for the evening. She’d extracted an agreement from Sturnack several days prior to spend the evening relaxing and enjoying the seasonal feeling of sitting by the fire, admiring the tree, and simply resting in the simplicity of the eve of the holiday. The coffee table next to the couch bore evidence of her effort. A tray laden with treats, both savory and sweet, dominated the space. Some of the items were warm and steaming while others, fruits and cheeses, filled the space next to them. There were two small plates and utensils along with two large mugs of hot chocolate laden with peppermint schnapps.

The press secretary, herself, was settled on the corner of the couch that she had begun to think of as her own. Sturnack hadn’t yet emerged from meetings, and since her preparations were mostly complete she had stoked the fire, departing only long enough to climb into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with heavy socks. Now she stared at the fire, a myriad of emotions and near-memories playing through her head.

Her eyes unfocused, the flames of the fireplace turning blurry in her vision as she replayed the night prior again, for what felt like the thousandth time. For as many times as she did it her brain always returned to flashes. The feeling of affection and warmth that had stolen over her. The nearly irrepressible urge to touch and to comfort. The way his eyes had held hers while her breath caught in her chest. And… more than any other thing… the feel of his cheek under her lips. As if it had been just moments again instead of a whole day, the heat of a blush crept up her neck, flushing her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She had thought about that moment all day, and found her entire self lingering on a feeling of unmoored anticipation. For what, she didn’t know, but it was there – irrepressible – impossible to ignore – prickling her scalp and making her shift in her seat as if she were preparing to jump into some sort of action.

With a subtle squeak, the door to Sturnack's room softly opened. The Vulcan -- after his last meetings had wrapped -- had changed out of his uniform and into comfortable clothing, including a surprise for Jocelyn. As he came down the hall and around the corner, said surprise was on full display. To go with the sweatpants he wore, Sturnack had donned the ugliest Christmas sweater in existence. It was glaringly green and red with crosscheck patterns and what looked like a hand-crocheted attempt at Santa Claus. Had Santa had a stroke, the sweater might look more accurate but, more than likely, whoever had crocheted the design was sorely in need of honing their craft.

"Hello Jocelyn," the Vulcan intoned softly, his eyes settling on the plate of treats and the two steaming mugs of cocoa. "I see my timing is advantageous. Thank you," he nodded to the tray and mugs, "for putting these together for us. Merry Christmas Eve," Sturnack nodded before moving to take a seat on the couch next to the woman. With a cheery fire roaring in the fireplace, the cold had been entirely dispelled.

As the Vulcan entered the living room, garish sweater on full display, Jocelyn's jaw dropped and a giggle escaped her before she managed to compose herself. She watched as he approached expecting him to turn towards his chair; the one he had informed her was so precisely placed for dispelling the cold. His steps, however, turned instead toward the couch and her look of surprise at the appearance of the world's most terrible Christmas sweater shifted to an almost shy smile.

"Merry Christmas Eve to you too, Sturnack," she said quietly. Her tone held an edge of electricity to it, sound mirroring the anticipation that had rooted itself into her bones. She shifted so she was turned towards him, her side to the fire and scanned his face. With a twist of her stomach she realized they had never, really, sat this close before. Her eyes studied his face, taking him in -- the warm chocolate of his eyes and the pointed shell of his ear; the sweep of dark brows that had become so very familiar.

She held her breath, letting it out slowly before pressing her lips together. Intent on distracting her thoughts she sat forward, reaching for their mugs, her knee brushing against his as she leaned over to pick them both up before offering one to him.

Vulcan hands reached out to accept the mug, fingers delicately brushing against Jocelyn's but making no effort to move away. Similarly, the touching of their knees together was not dispelled -- instead, Sturnack bowed his head deeply in thanks for the cocoa but held the woman's eyes with his own, noticing the way the Christmas lights from the nearby tree sparkled on her glasses. Touching as they were, that instinctive connection from the night prior reached out once again, intertwining Sturnack's own repressed emotions with Jocelyn's much more open honeycomb of feelings.

"Thank you for the cocoa," Sturnack said neutrally, his face -- as ever -- a mask of neutrality. Contrary to his facial expressions, however, a calm peace settled across the link as notes of warmth and welcome came through from the Vulcan's side of things: a stark contrast to his outer façade. He traced his index finger along Jocelyn's, momentarily flooding the link with the longing he felt inside, wondering if -- by now -- the woman had figured out that touching connected them in more ways than just the physical. Slowly withdrawing from the finger brushing, he took a sip of his beverage and then, gesturing to his sweater, arched an eyebrow. "I found this in one of John's Christmas boxes in the shed. Is it...festive enough?" he asked, again making eye contact.

Blue-green eyes darted from his face to where their hands touched on the mug and back again as the anticipation she had been feeling suddenly and without warning quelled, shifting into something calmer. She found herself shifting further toward him, angling her body into a more open language, making him welcome as much with her positioning as with her words. And then his finger traced hers.

She couldn't breathe. Or maybe she stopped breathing? Or maybe all the air had been sucked out of the room? It didn't matter. It didn't matter and it didn't matter. With a stuttering release of held breath she unconsciously wet her lips. The desire to touch was back, but stronger than the night prior. This desire was less about comfort and more about curiosity. About wanting to explore. And with it her cheeks flushed dark and her eyes darted down as she brought her mug to her lips, only withdrawing her hand form his own mug when his finger finally left hers.

Breath came more freely again, but the desire to touch remained, muted slightly, but there nonetheless. She suddenly felt ill-equipped and under-dressed. He'd said the night prior there was someone. Someone he'd begun to care for. And she'd perseverated on those words every time that flash of memory arose, quiet hope building even as her brain told her how immensely foolish she was.

"It's... festive," she said with an almost forced laugh, her body's reaction to him getting in the way of her response. The calm she had felt had now leached away entirely, the unclear anticipation she felt roaring back into place behind it. She tried to shake it away, shove it back so she could pay attention rather than sitting there starry-eyed like a teenager with her first crush.

"Had I known that we were wearing ugly sweaters I might have replicated one of my own. They're a particularly unusual part of the tradition," she said, her voice sounding a bit more normal this time.

"John was an...unusual," Sturnack used Jocelyn's word, "man. It seemed fitting, however, to honor his memory by wearing this." The Vulcan had noticed the woman moving closer and angling his way and, for a moment, he'd been tempted to melt into her. His whole body -- with knees still touching -- screamed for him to conjoin fingers with her's again and fully give himself over to Pon Farr. But before he could even consider such a thing, he had to openly admit something. Something that was not at all easy for him to acknowledge, much less speak aloud, but doing so was the only way to move forward.

An absent hand went to Jocelyn's glasses, pressing the frames up her nose. She'd chosen a bright cherry red for the day, a color that seemed both to evoke the season as well as the direction of her thoughts all in one vibrant color. Sturnack's friendship with his predecessor intrigued her. She knew that Vulcan's certainly had friendships and strong familial ties to the best of her knowledge, but she had never had a front row seat to hearing about one before. She offered him a smile and a nod of understanding before her eyes scanned the room around them. There had been several components to their decorating designed to honor John and she found herself wishing she had known him as she took in the brightness and warmth of the room.

"There is another reason for my attire," Sturnack spoke again, this time more softly. "It feels dishonest not to disclose the secondary reason to you. While I do wish to honor my friend," he dipped his head in a slight bow of acknowledgement, "I also wanted to make you happy, Jocelyn. You have become very important to me as of late," he explained before taking an agonizingly slow drink of his cocoa. "So important that I am taking risks I would not normally take with someone. Risks like this," he said, reaching out to gently take Jocelyn's hand.

At the touch, a kaleidoscope of emotions fractal-patterned through the re-established link. Despite the placid look on the Vulcan's face, very clear feelings were coming through: admiration, adoration, and a kernel of what could only be described as a passionate longing to grow -- to be -- closer. "Vulcans," Sturnack began, "are accustomed to walling off our feelings. To taming them," he said, intertwining his hand now with Jocelyn's, "and ensuring they do not dictate our actions. However," he arched an eyebrow, "I have come to feel certain emotions for you. Emotions I am, at times, unable to control."

Jocelyn stilled as he took her hand, careful not to withdraw from his touch, but surprised by the directness of it. Until moments before she would have said that he carefully avoided or managed any physical interaction with her now, though, this... this was different and deliberate. At the same time that she was working to carefully manage her reaction a flood of emotions bubbled up in her and she felt her heart skip and stutter. The emotions washed over her first, but his words cemented them, as if he were speaking the exact emotions she was feeling in that moment. Gently, her fingers settled in between his, resting on the back of his hand, the warmth of the touch somehow overpowering the warmth of the fire at her back.

"At first," he continued, "I thought these feelings were related to a neuro-chemical imbalance I am suffering from." Sturnack searched Jocelyn's face for recognition of the ailment he hinted at but, when the expression he predicted did not come, he explained further. "Pon Farr is the mating impulse of my people. Every seven years, we are biologically and uncontrollably driven to take a mate. I have been putting my Pon Farr off for awhile now with the help of Doctor Cowell and his medicines. But with each passing day here with you, however, I feel closer to completely losing control to certain urges."

"My feelings for you and my need to take a mate are two distinctly different conditions," the Vulcan added on. "However, being thrown together in this cabin for several days has caused both to come to a head, as it were." Still holding Jocelyn's hand, the feelings of conflict came through clearly: both love and fear of the unknown boiled in his psyche. "I am afraid I have little experience speaking of such things. But as a touch telepath," he squeezed her hand, "I hope that you can feel the veracity of what I have said."

Her eyes widened as his statement clicked everything into place and her eyes shifted quickly down to their joined hands, before returning back to his face. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something but paused, sensing there was more for him to say and feeling the conflict that she now understood was his own, flowing through her. The understanding of what was happening felt as if it turned many things on their head, but there was hardly enough time to reflect on them now. She squeezed his hand back, acknowledgement of her understanding as she waited for him to continue.

Sturnack met Jocelyn's gaze and held it, his facial expression almost pained as his secrets were laid bare. "I do not expect anything from you. These...ailments are my own to contend with. And I know from past experience that admitting such things can make life very complicated. But I thought it only fair that I be upfront with you now. To explain why...why I will need to pull away from you," he said somberly, letting his hand fall away from Jocelyn's, breaking the emotional connection. "To be near you is to be a slave to my own desires; I do not know how much longer I can keep them under control."

Jocelyn felt the loss of his hand -- of the flow of emotion -- like a blow, and her fingers twitched as if they knew the loss and longed to resume their connection. She was quiet for a long moment, understanding now that without his touch her own emotions asserted themselves. Her own feelings were immensely clear. She hadn't been touching him when she found herself thinking of him throughout the day or when she'd lay in bed the night prior replaying the feel of his cheek against her lips over and over and over until she fell asleep only to have the same memory return in her dreams with the added benefit of her imagination of what could have been in a different circumstance.

Finally, she voiced the first, overwhelming question that filled her head. "That was you?" she asked, awe in the new understanding she had infusing her tone. "When you touch me... the things I felt... that was you?"

"It was," Sturnack stated in matter of fact fashion. "Vulcans are trained at a very young age to compartmentalize their emotions; to wall them off as they arise and stow them away. While not nearly as intimate as a mind meld," the man explained, "touching can be the initial conduit of connection. You felt what I was feeling," Sturnack confirmed. "It was the undercurrent of emotion behind my walls," the Vulcan said, trying to make what had taken place more clear.

"If I can... feel... what you feel," she said, slowly, putting things together. "Can you feel what I feel?" She had to assume that he could not. Or at least if he had... that something about what she felt was insufficient evidence that the last thing she wanted him to do was pull away.

"The connection can go both ways," Sturnack nodded deeply. "I have attempted, however, to filter your own emotions out of my periphery -- to make the connection as one way as possible. I did not wish to violate the privacy of your own mind without consent. I am hoping," the Vulcan sounded almost weary, "that feeling what my words cannot express will help you to understand why I must pull away. Like with Ovrora," he said softly, suddenly sparking a new connection around why he'd been about to burn the letters the night prior.

Jocelyn's expression shifted from curious to something bordering on fiercely determined in the time it took him to explain. "Sturnack," she said with an intensity to her tone that she hoped would catch his attention, "I am not Ovrora." She had been turned toward him before, but now she shifted fully, pulling one leg up onto the couch while the other stayed firmly on the ground. She lay both of her hands palms up on her knees, an invitation. "See for yourself."

The Vulcan looked at the offered hands for a few moments, then flicked his eyes up to meet Jocelyn's. "Logic dictates you are, of course, not her. But the situation is similar," he noted, more to himself than anyone. However, as the woman again gestured with her open hands, the allure to connect -- with full, two-way consent -- was too powerful to ignore. Tentatively Sturnack reached forward, placing each of his hands on hers and taking a deep breath, his eyes closing as he did so. Touching as they were, the link established once again, only this time the Vulcan allowed himself to sample and feel the emotions coming from Jocelyn.

Jocelyn watched him move, studying his face and then, with the warmth of his palms on hers, she let herself look down. A small smile settled on her face and she curled her fingers around his wrists, cradling them as if holding something very precious in her hands. Her own eyes fluttered closed as the wave of Sturnack's emotion flowed across the link first. Hesitation and fear warred with his curiosity while an undercurrent of anger made her pause. She felt the anger as if it was directed at her at first and it took her a confused moment of focus to put together that the emotion wasn't directed at her, but was self-directed. Her eyes opened briefly and she peeked up at him, but aside from closed eyes his face retained its usual passivity.

Eyes closing again she waded through the intensity and urgency of emotions, seeking out the ones that she knew were her own and focusing on them -- on the trueness and rightness of them in a way that was almost painfully vulnerable. Self-doubt came first, a cloud of questioning what right she had to acknowledge these feelings and what difficulty they could create. Hope, however, bright and fierce, was quick on its heels, dispelling the gray like a sunbeam after rain. In the brilliance of that hope she made herself focus on memories. She imagined the tension she felt when they had been decorating. The desire to be closer and the attraction that flushed her cheeks and filled her with restlessness. The concern she felt for him as she walked him through stretches. She reached further back, then, for an emotion laced memory that she didn't like to recall.

The image of green blood, soaking the legs of her pants and crusted to her hands reared up fast and ready as if it had been lying in wait. And with it the loss. The grief. The immense feeling of someone gone who was more important than just the man she reported to. She hadn't understood the depth of that fear at the time. But she did now. She reached further for the feeling of comfort and safety and warmth that she had felt standing in her office sobbing. Other memories hurried past. The relief from when she'd learned he would live. The tentative excitement that she was almost embarrassed to admit when she had tagged along with Marlena to the hospital and the gratitude, the care she had felt when he had intervened in her firing.

Somewhere in that mix of memories the emotions had begun to shift. From friendliness to friendship. Friendship to something more than that. And finally to what she had only truly begun to recognize in the last few days. The draw and preference for him over anyone else. The desire to know him more fully and deeply. The awareness of interest beyond the intellectual into the emotional in a way that alarmed and excited her.

She focused on that next, returning to the way she felt by the fire the night prior. The depth of affection and appreciation. The deep rooted desire to care for and soothe. The need to express it all to him somehow. And then, in the moment when she let herself break that barrier from friendship to some other unknown, the feel of her lips on his cheek and the way that it flared something in her that she couldn't keep ignoring. The way she had been unable to sleep and.. finally... the intimate desire of what she had found in her dreams when she finally did. Twin flames settled at the center of her. One that twined adoration and endearment, tenderness and warmth, with a clear preference for the man next to her. The other bring with desire and an eagerness to demonstrate that fondness in some way.

Sturnack had been silent during the exchange of emotions but now, as everything became clear, his breath actually caught in his chest. He could feel how close Jocelyn had come to regard him; feel how she felt about him in the many, many moments they'd shared previously. Coffee walks, banter in meetings, hospital visits, decorating the cabin...all of these activities had only served to fan what had once been only embers but now had grown into a roaring flame. It wasn't necessarily love -- at least, not the deep, intimate kind yet -- but the way Jocelyn felt brought Sturnack immense surprise and satisfaction.

Normally, the Vulcan would file such emotions away -- burn them in the crucible that was the fire of his mind -- but caught in the throes of Pon Farr as he was, barely able to control himself, those feelings burned brightly inside him. Bubbling through the link, Sturnack's emotions surged with an intensity the woman would not -- could not -- be prepared for. As sweat began to bead across his forehead, it became clear through the link that Sturnack, too, had developed feelings of his own. Slowly at first but growing ever more each time they'd spent quiet moments together. And here, at The Fortress, his feelings for Jocelyn had focused like energy collected and released through a phaser emitter.

It was very clear now -- hands held in hands -- that Sturnack wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her mental touch was excited, a bit nervous and fearful, but also warm and embracing. It was as if Jocelyn were projecting a tractor beam that pulled him closer and closer in. As the link flared, the Vulcan leaned in and whispered, "Are you sure you want this, Jocelyn? If...if we cross this bridge together, there isn't a way back." His voice was strained, his face beginning to scrunch up in discomfort. Though Sturnack fought to keep his neutral mask in place, the blood fever burned within his veins and pounded in his ears. The desire to initiate what his urges demanded rose in him to an intensity unmistakable in the link. She had to be sure before she opened herself up wholly to him.

The moment he understood was like a dam breaking to her. What had been clear, but controlled became torrential. A flood. Deep rushing tides, made urgent by the physical drive he was fighting, threatened to overwhelm her for a moment before her own tidal waves rose to meet his. Unlike Sturnack she was no stranger to depth and intensity in her emotions and the way they could drive action.

His breath next to her cheek as he whispered raised goosebumps on her arms and a shiver of anticipation down her neck. Her grip tightened on his wrists and she opened her eyes, saw the conflict on his face and, taking a deep breath, answered him with actions rather than words. It was a simple thing to close the gap between him, pressing soft lips to his. Sturnack's lips were warm, almost feverish and she held them only for a moment, drawing back to press her forehead to his. "I'm sure," she said quietly. "Tell me what to do. What you want."

Sturnack seemed to melt into the kiss, his body becoming pliant as he moved in even closer, as if to melt into Jocelyn. But as she pulled away from the kiss and pressed her forehead against his, it was with a grunt of effort that Sturnack broke the link, removing his hands from hers and backing off. They were no longer touching in any way. One might ask why he would pull back when Sturnack had so obviously been given the go ahead. But his next actions and their accompanying words would hopefully explain it all.

Recovering some of his wherewithal, the Vulcan regrouped himself. Sweat continued to bead his brow, one droplet running down the side of his bearded face, disappearing into the dark, close-cropped brush growing there. Eyes open now, Sturnack lifted his right hand, forming a gesture composed of only his first two fingers in extension. His thumb and other fingers clawed inward, the projective points of his index and middle fingers moving closer to Jocelyn.

"I will initiate the mating bond," he breathed heavily. "Simply touch your fingers to mine. In doing so, you will feel the connection between us grow, Jocelyn. Beyond this room, beyond this cabin...beyond even the stars themselves, you and I will become connected," Sturnack said, his breath becoming ragged as the surging desires were held at bay, just out of reach: the closest he'd yet come to succumbing to the Pon Farr. "Touch my fingers with yours and know what it is to be joined," he gasped, his whole face breaking into a sweat now.

She had almost... almost... cried out in protest when he'd pulled his hands from hers. The loss of him was sudden and shocking and made her suck in a hard breath to steady herself. She thought she had been clear. She thought... Her eyes opened, taking him in, seeing the conflict and the strain, her senses filling in where the telepathic link had left off. She had been clear. And he had understood. She focused on what he said, watching and almost instinctively copying the gesture he made. Her own hold was looser, more relaxed, than his, a gentler version of the same gesture. A pang of uncertainty rang through her once, and then she was moving, asserting some of her own humanity into motion as she gently placed her fingers at the base of his own before gently and slowly drawing them upward in a caress.

The touch was like a stellar supernova in effect. Sturnack had not been over-exaggerating the effect the mating bond would have. With just a simple touch of fingertips, both of their minds expanded, blending into each other. It was more than just emotions now; powered by the fever blazing through his body, the telepathic connection Sturnack initiated brought their minds against each other. Struggling separately at first but, as each of them eased into the bond, their minds began to pulsate together. Moments from their respective pasts flared across the link, images and voices long distant passing between them as memories collided, blending two into one.

Pushing his fingertips against Jocelyn's, Sturnack moved their hands around and down in a half circle, so that their fingers still touched but did not come between their bodies. The reason for this became evident as, once again, the Vulcan moved closer, now bringing his own lips to lightly brush against hers. Face to face, Sturnack finally did the one thing his body had been screaming for since forever, it seemed like: he let go. All sense of decorum and Vulcan stoicism fell away as he allowed the blood fever to take them both, pulling in their individual desires and intertwining them into one, all-encompassing drive to mingle their bodies.

Pulling her against him, Sturnack kissed her passionately, dropping the fingertip touching to wrap his arms around his woman, their faces now pressed together. In fact, each and every place where their skin touched felt like fire; burning across and through them both as desires escalated. The flash of her throat in the firelight was soon replaced by the strength of his hand, cupping Jocelyn's face and leading her backward, onto the couch in a supple, submissive position to him. He did not press the initiative, however. Bodies sharply against each other, Sturnack waited to see if the woman would pull him in -- as if he needed still another assurance that this was right.

It was an alien and yet entirely encompassing thing to feel the way in which their emotions and desires merged. For a few long moments Jocelyn was nearly lost in it, unsure how to navigate between what was Sturnack and what was herself. So thoroughly entwined were they that his hesitation, for a moment, felt like her own. She realized, with a start, that her eyes were still closed and opened them, blinking up at him. With the return of that simple input she saw the pause in the lines of his body, etched there in striking tension against the hunger in his eyes. Her breath caught as she met his gaze, but her body had rediscovered its own autonomy and with that her hands roamed. His need may have been driven by a biological impetus, but hers was hesitant to rush and eager to please.

Her arms snaked underneath his, coming up to wrap around his shoulders from behind, pulling him down to her. She held one arm in place while the other wandered, brushing down to his hip and finding where the seam of the ridiculous sweater he was wearing ended. Gentle fingers ran along the edge then, meeting skin that was almost fiery in its warmth. She felt emotionally as much as she did physically, the way her touch impacted him and, need flaring, she brought her lips to his urgently, sliding her hand upward underneath the fabric to press hard into the planes of his back.

The pair melted into each other then, bodies, souls, and minds fusing until it was impossible to tell where Sturnack ended and Jocelyn began. What had begun near the fire -- amidst the gleaming love light of the Christmas tree -- was taken upstairs, where behind closed doors, the pair shared of each other until neither could take any more. Collapsed in a tangle of limbs and linens, the pair talked late into the night as the frozen winds howled outside the snow-dusted windows. When sleep finally came for them, they had talked themselves silent but had maintained body contact, falling asleep to the fluxing of emotion felt in their link together.

Something had begun that night. Where it would go, neither knew but both aimed to find out.


=/\= A joint post between... =/\=

Fleet Admiral Sturnack
Commander-in-Chief
Starfleet Command

and

Captain Jocelyn Blake
Press Secretary
Starfleet Command