[[BACKPOST]]: The End I

Posted on 23 Oct 2012 @ 4:08am by
Edited on 24 Dec 2012 @ 5:11pm

1,178 words; about a 6 minute read

Mature themes within, MOUSE OVER Vulcan text for translations!

ON:

[[2389: SI'KTAEL SPACEPORT, SHI'KAHR, VULCAN]]

The Vulcan spaceport was a vast entity, and one of the main operations stations of the V'Shar security forces. The buildings were wide and sweeping, born of an elegant architecture most didn't expect of Vulcans, and yet it remained the first structure most saw as they entered the atmosphere.

Inside, things proceeded apace. Officers marched quietly, civilians hurried to their destinations, employees swept by efficiently. Vulcan was much quieter than most Federation planets. Even Betazed, where most communicated mentally, was lively and raucous. Music, dancing, laughter.

Not so here. The area was saturated in quiet, a solemnity that Lieutenant Liyar found refreshing. Liyar stood just inside his office, hands customarily folded behind his back, staring out of the small window that afforded a view of a wide expanse of desert, stretching for miles. Off to the side, a group of civilians were gathered by a sign, presumably waiting for an aircar.

Inhale. He closed his eyes.

It was reaching the end. He carried on dutifully as ever. He knew he shouldn't have come to work today, when he awoke barely able to think straight, but he would not let this dictate his limits. But slowly the changes began taking place, until minor outbursts of irritation were becoming commonplace, thoughts turning to his bondmate beyond regulation. Liyar didn't need to name it. But this time, he wondered if it would take him. It would be only days before the plak-tow hit him.

He could feel the tension inside of him, drawing through his mind and body like some outside force was yanking a string, pulling it tight as it could go, waiting for it to snap. This had never happened to him before. Not this mindless, never-ending chaos, within and without. Even in his earlier days, he knew he could count on some measure of control simply by reaching toward the bond he shared with his wife. It was not so now. The fever was building, critically, and she was not here.

Liyar's eyes widened a little and he pressed a hand against the wall. A small, insignificant gesture. To any Vulcan, however it was as if a brick fortress were crumbling. Kroykah! He thought it to himself harshly, unwilling to entertain that idea, eyebrows drawn together.

Ak'Liyar. Nash-veh kic'blu-tor. Nam'uh hayal.

Liyar opened his eyes against the heat inside of him, like air blasted straight from the Forge itself. Winds unraveling everything, tossing his control out of his reach like a stray grain of sand. It was uncomfortable to be in his own skin, a pain beyond wanting, it was as if his soul was attempting to scratch its way out of his body and find solace in its mate.

Exhale. He could hear T'Yron's voice. Gentle, soothing through him.

Sanu. Tor'fam vohtau fan'wu.

Deliriously, Liyar could make out small traces of gold in the air, and he tilted his head slowly as if he were in a dream. A new heat was quickly making its way through him, and he tried to reach the threads of gold in his mind as if they were real. He wanted them. To gather them close, enmesh himself in the mind on the other side until he met something solid. He thought if he could just concentrate enough, he could break the wall that separated him from her. It built in his chest, possession and desire. Irrationally angry at the distance that separated them, he fought to reign in his terrible temper.

Where was she?

His pupils were blown, dark circles under his eyes signifying his severe lack of rest and meditation. T'Yron. He called her name, whether mentally or verbally, he could not distinguish. The office was suddenly far too hot. Liyar pitched forward slightly and knelt to the ground to avoid falling. His hands were out in front of him, braced on his leg and the floor, an unsettling mixture of blinding arousal and nausea taking his breath away.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

T'Yron running behind him, the loud shriek of an alarm in the background, and a never-ending BANG as the old wheels of the train clunked against one another loudly.

"'La! Sahris, etek ple'ma nam'uh gla-tor." Liyar called to his betrothed, out of breath and eyes glittering as they jumped onto the moving platform below, exhilaration flushing their skin.

"Etek dungi prah kum-tor. Etek mekhlar dungi taflau etek." T'Yron glanced over at her equally sprawled out Intended, the set of her features chastising.

Their parents would have a perfectly logical fit, if they knew where their children had run off to. At barely fifteen and with no such compunctions as his elders, Liyar merely leaned over, pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her. He stood, held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

"Etek mekhlar dungi fam'fai-tor. Nash-veh aitlu tu glazhau. Gla-tor," he requested, and used a finger under her chin to direct her gaze to the window.

Mid-reply, T'Yron stopped, brushing her hair out of her face to stare at the stunning scenery beneath. Rows of houses, lit brightly with kindled fire, amidst the vast desert beneath. It stretched for miles, the sky blood red with streaks of white, silver and gold. The harsh rays of the sun were softened by the dimming day, while the landscape below shifted at an incredible pace, traveling on by undisturbed, unknown of their secret watchers.

"Tu gla-tor T'Kuht?" Liyar asked, eyes skyward. "Ko'fam nam'uh fam'pubeglanau. Ko dungi'fam saudau na'wuh'ashiv stehkuh r'tas-lar," he told her, and she nodded up at the sky entranced, the bright edges of Vulcan's sister planet visible as the sky darkened. "Ko qual tu klashausu. Ko dungi paluntunau tu lu nash-veh sa. Ko kwon-sum tra." T'Yron leaned into him as he spoke, his voice lulling and calm. He rested a hand in her hair, watching through the window, a sense of peace upon him...

Ak'Liyar.

OFF:

Liyar
T'Yron

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