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Expression of Feelings of fever and feel

Title: Fever and feeling
Author: MkbDiapason
Rating: PG
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Character: Spock & Jim
Warnings: One-shot
Plot: [AMOK TIME] him and his body. Subservient to his cause.
At that moment it was only the grave of his passion. The last gasp of a fault, and the birth of a new one.




anniversary of fever and feeling °

"E 'dead'

There are words that have the forces for them to be an epilogue, to be anathema to disenchantment. At a time when they take on the form are pronounced, and solid in their determination make an action in the field of consciousness. A drunken

consciousness, unaware of what was being consumed outside of himself.
But that finding in its simplicity inevitable had squandered every desire, every desire bold. No fire seemed more angry in his veins, if not tears of blood in a requiem.
Fever had finished his dance. He had fulfilled his duty to death and was thus granted to the Company to re-emerge from the abyss of primordial Need. The demands faded, and awareness remained silent herself.
"E 'dead'
He had regained his senses, but the thoughts do not singing, not sang no logical reason. Remained motionless in front of a funeral of shame.
Yet his blood had ceased to suffer.
But his eyes lingered long on him, the sacrifice of her nature.
"E 'dead'
understood then.
him and his body. Subservient to his cause.
At that moment it was only the grave of his passion. The last gasp of a fault, and the birth of a new one.
His death appeared as a sacrifice of life. Struggling in
Fever, Passion disintegrating as was the immodest Pulse dignity, in his hands, as the life that was consuming between those gestures. And incredibly, in this theater of death, including the brutal game of Blood, was to recreate something, even destroyed. Reason
flowed into him, renewed. Diluting the primitiveness of his actions. Was re-established its dominance.
His Death was allowed to have that back.
They died with Him, through Him the iniquities of the Instinct guilty.

But in the light of thought, no joy. No indulgence of the senses. The need had committed a crime, and the presence of need, with whom he had fought, it was hopelessly turned into a no unbridgeable. There was
meters that could calculate the gravity, and any thought that might delimit the boundaries. Only
pain. Immense, astonished, as the perpetual desire in his insatiability.
"It 's dead."
Yet so much was dying with him ..

back to himself, was ready for his offense. He was ready to see why.
And when he turned to the voice, everything had a meaning.
wrestled with him, for him
The Pulse of Life of the Fever, was transformed into a pulse of Death, and in this cycle belongs to all natural things, had gone in a loop consuming player, Recreation.
He was so at the expense of Destrudo, reproduced for the best.
front of that vision, now I live in front of his need, the fire did not burn, but moved into the veins with restorative force.
that death, in his fiction, he had brought with him to the grave caustic Passion of Time.
And in the shadow of that memory, no pain, no shame.
Just a smile back to the real feeling that flourished. Blood
No cheating, only the unconditional truth of an endless devotion to a man whose friendship you had, and that only she, in her circle, except Limit, rose to power his whole person.
That was the freshness of a fire that sound genuine.
"Jim"
And this is the word of their set.
"t'hy'la"
No shame, no burn.
No guilt, no pain.
And it was only love.