James Tiberius Kirk was a man who liked to know everything about his ship and crew. If there was a problem in the engine room, he wanted to be the first to know. If one of his crew was ill or injured, he wanted to be notified to make sure they got better. He liked to think that the Admiralty had made him captain for these qualities and not just because there was a serious shortage of graduates thanks to a murderous and deranged Romulan from the future.
Yes, Jim Kirk liked to know as soon as something was up with one of his crew, so he was understandably upset that his First Officer and lover of eight months, Spock, was keeping something from him.
Spock hardly ever got sick; Jim was always amused when Spock got a cold or some other small virus and then lapsed into a long-winded explanation of how Vulcans never fell ill. But Jim was pretty certain Spock was ill now; the Vulcan’s hands had been shaking and he’d been really emotional, but had clammed up as soon as Jim had asked about it.
Spock had reverted to normal the next day, so Jim shrugged it off and thought nothing of it. So it came as a surprise when he caught Spock’s hands shaking again in the mess at lunch.
“Spock, what the hell’s the matter?” Jim demanded quietly, leaning across the table to make sure Spock heard him.
“I am… fine, captain,” Spock said with apparent difficulty.
“Well, you can go be ‘fine’ in sickbay,” Jim rolled his eyes. “That’s an order. I don’t want you trying to suck this up for some misguided Vulcan pride.” He stood up, dumped his tray and made his way back to the bridge, leaving a thoroughly irritated-looking Vulcan staring after him.
Jim was on his way back from a meeting Montgomery Scott, the chief engineer, that afternoon when he was grabbed and pulled into a storage closet. Reeling in confusion, Jim heard the door lock and was shoved against the wall by a hot and aroused Vulcan.
“Spock, what-” his question was cut off by Spock claiming his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Jim’s concerns and complaints were quickly forgotten as Spock undid the fastenings of their uniform pants and whipped Jim’s off.
Jim knew better than to protest when Spock pressed against his opening; they’d had sex several times that morning alone, so Jim was more than prepared to accommodate Spock, and Spock produced enough natural lubricant to make it an easy passage. He simply moaned his encouragement and Spock sheathed himself deep within him.
Spock thrust at a frantic, almost animalistic pace that was very unlike him; if Jim hadn’t been so caught up in some of the best closet sex he’d ever had, he’d be worried. With a cry, Jim came, spurting all over Spock, who continued to pound into him until he, too, shot his seed into Jim.
“Wow, what is that, like our seventh time today?” Jim asked, groping around for his pants.
“Ninth,” Spock corrected in a clipped tone. Without another word, he left the closet, leaving Jim to feel a little like a common whore. That definitely wasn’t like Spock; something was definitely wrong. Jim was determined to find out what it was.
Doctor McCoy hadn’t had an answer for him, so Jim found himself in one of the conference rooms waiting for his call to connect to the one other person who could offer him insight into Spock’s problem.
“James,” the old Vulcan greeted warmly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
:Hi, uh, what name did you pick for yourself to use now?” Jim asked tiredly, it had been a long day of Spock cornering him around the ship and taking him in some of the most heated sex sessions Jim had ever experienced.
“Solinar,” the Vulcan offered with an amused glint in his warm eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s Spock,” Jim said helplessly. “He’s been acting all weird. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, Bones definitely didn’t want to, he practically murdered me when I tried to, but Spock’s worn me out. We’ve had sex like thirty times today. Spock never wants to on duty. And he’s been all moody and angry all the time.”
Solinar thought for a second, then considered the stardate. “Spock has not told you.”
“Well, obviously, that’s why I’m asking you,” Jim shrugged and yawned. “What’s up with him?”
“It is a time called Pon Farr, the time of mating for Vulcans,” Solinar explained. “All logic escapes the Vulcan’s control and he is driven to mate with an animalistic passion. The alternative is death.”
“Oh,” Jim said quietly. “So basically all I have to do is to keep having sex with him?”
Solinar smiled slightly and nodded. “He will not be so far gone that he will ignore your baser needs for nourishment and rest, but that is essentially correct.”
“Well, I’d better go see Bones and tell him I won’t be on duty till this is over,” Jim waved to Solinar. “Thanks.”
“Any time James,” Solinar nodded before signing off.
Jim sighed wearily. He had never considered sex a chore until today. Even though it was some of the best sex he’d ever had, it was beginning to wear on him. Maybe he’d wrestle a couple energy boosts from McCoy while he was in sickbay.
“He what?” McCoy demanded in a mixture of confusion and repulsion.
“He needs me to sex him up or he’ll die,” Jim shrugged. “So hand over the energy boosters and take us off duty for a couple days.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Only you two,” he grumbled, but handed over a couple hyposprays. “Make sure you both eat and sleep enough though. Those hypos are only good for so much.”
“Yeah, thanks Bones,” Jim said cheerfully, making his way back to the quarters he shared with Spock. The Vulcan was probably getting impatient.
Jim had been correct in thinking Spock was impatient. As soon as he was through the doors, Jim barely had enough time to administer one of the adrenaline hypos before he was being bent over the desk by a very enthusiastic Vulcan.
“Older you told me what’s going on,” Jim said between laboured breaths as Spock hammered into him for the thirty-first time that day.
Spock did not answer; he simply brought his hand up to Jim’s face, the fingers settling on the meld points. Jim nodded for him to proceed.
The rush of mine need more T’hy’la mine love need burning need mine T’hy’la burning need love mine sent Jim right over the edge and he came with a cry. The meld made it so that Spock came with him.
Jim knew that orgasm wouldn’t keep him satisfied for very long, so Jim led him to the bedroom, careful to put the energy shots in easy reach. It was going to be a long couple of days.
By the next day, the fever had slowed down significantly and Jim was able to get a little rest in between rounds of angry, passionate sexy times.
He lay cradled in Spock’s arms, head pressed against the even-warmer-than-usual chest.
“So, why didn’t you tell me that sex is a biological imperative for you?” Jim asked conversationally during one of those periods of rest.
“Vulcans are not supposed to speak of it,” Spock said quietly, his voice still hoard from the fever. “I was uncertain whether or not I would enter Pon Farr, considering my physiological make up. It appears that I have not been spared.”
“Spared?” Jim asked. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m definitely not complaining.”
Spock tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “You enjoy being solicited several times a day, regardless of location?”
“Spock, it’s me you’re talking to,” Jim rolled his eyes for the both of them. “Besides, I like it when you get all possessive and a little rough. It’s kinky… and super hot.”
Spock rolled over to cover his human. “I shall endeavour to keep this in mind.”
He proceeded to get ‘possessive and a little rough’; Jim would get his way whenever he wanted. Spock was not at all adverse to claiming this Human as his own.