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Commander Spock went from calm unawareness to fully awake in less than a second. He opened his eyes to the ceiling in sickbay rather than that of his quarters, which was not what he expected. He recalled feeling unwell yesterday, and turning in early to meditate as he had done both nights since leaving New Vulcan. Quenching the fire of his plak tow by faking the captain’s death had saved his life, but had left him feeling uneasy ever since the ruse had been revealed to him. To take pleasure in ending a life, especially one as important to him as the captain’s, left him repulsed and confused at his own body. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that it had been the logical course of action, it continued to feel wrong.
Retracing his steps to determine how he had ended up on an exam table, he recalled a pervasive itch that had grown to encompass his whole body, making meditation impossible. Despite the late hour, he had stumbled to sickbay to seek relief from the doctor, only to collapse from a sudden wave of heat and nausea as he entered the facility. When he had awoken a short time later…
…and the night before came flooding back in a rush. Wrestling Doctor McCoy, throwing himself at Captain Kirk, dropping blissfully to his knees at the order, melding with the man and moaning his name through several sexual releases… “Jim?” he croaked out illogically as he sat up, ignoring the soreness that seemed to go all the way down to his bones.
“‘Fraid he’s not here at the moment,” came the doctor’s dry reply, stepping closer to the bed and already scanning him. The motion triggered a sensory recall, and Spock’s face flushed slightly green without his permission. He noticed his folded uniform and boots on the tray table next to him, and he immediately began donning it to cover his nakedness.
“Doctor?” he asked, presuming the vagueness of the question would prompt him to fill in the necessary blanks. Aside from his soreness, and the all too human embarrassment he was attempting to quell, he felt remarkably healthier than he had in weeks. Deep within him, he knew it had everything to do with Jim and his heart fluttered in his side at the thought of him. That was new. He schooled his facial features, lest he alert McCoy to his emotional state. While he found he already desired to see the captain once more — a strangely insistent feeling — he wondered if the sentiment would be returned. His behavior had certainly broken every protocol they had established in both their growing friendship and professional partnership.
“Gave us quite the scare,” McCoy eventually answered, putting down the medical device and reaching up to perform a visual test of Spock’s recovery, turning his head this way and that. The man’s vocal reservations from the night before barely rippled through the clinical touch, clearly relieved that the Vulcan was no longer in imminent danger as he resumed his usual professional detachment. Spock’s skin itched — no, crawled — at the sensation, screaming in his mind that it was wrong to let another person touch him, but he stayed perfectly still. Apparently satisfied, the doctor dropped his hands and marked something on a chart. “Try not to go into another morbid sex craze again. I don’t think my nerves can take it a third time.”
Knowing the doctor had witnessed their coupling made his nausea return, but he kept a stoic expression firmly in place. “A Vulcan’s reproductive cycle occurs only every seven years. This mission will be long over before it affects me again,” he stated. He tamped down the irrational stab of sorrow, thinking he might not be in as close proximity to the captain at that time, and immediately resolved to ensure this would not be the case. Jim had claimed him last night; he knew no other would serve to quell the beast inside him again. The Vulcan idly calculated the likelihood of persuading his superior officer to consider repeating a version of last night’s… situation. The odds were unfavorably low. As there was time before he would need Jim’s life saving services again, he decided to put the matter aside for now.
“Good to hear,” McCoy grumbled, putting the chart away. Spock took the opportunity to stand and put on his pants while the doctor’s back was to him. He laced his boots just enough to keep them on his feet, not wanting to spend any more time in Sickbay than necessary. “The captain wanted to see you once you were up and about.” He administered one last hypospray, which did nothing to alleviate the nausea or the heat on his face, but Spock didn’t see the point in arguing if it got the situation concluded more quickly. “Be sure to hydrate the next few days, and come see me if you feel anything start up again.”
Stepping away from the table and straightening his collar, Spock gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Rolling his eyes, McCoy practically shoved the Vulcan at the door. “Please, for the love of God, don’t mention it.”
Spock noted the time was now early morning, and he presumed Jim would still be asleep at this hour. He decided to first return to his own quarters and freshen up before his shift on the bridge. Surely the captain wouldn’t begrudge him that much time before reporting. The thought crossed his mind unbidden of finding Jim sprawled across his bed, uniform nowhere to be seen, and he forced the image to the back of his consciousness, unsure where it had come from in the first place. He pointedly ignored Jim’s door as he entered his own.
Quickly divesting his uniform and folding it on the counter, Spock stepped into the sonic shower. He sensed the last remnants of dried bodily excretions being removed from his skin, and he gasped at the loss before he could stop himself. He hadn’t realized beforehand that he’d still smelled like Jim, his pheromones clinging to the base of his throat. He shut off the fresher and strode to the mirror, looking at the place he’d felt the absence so acutely. How McCoy had missed healing the mark was beyond his reasoning; there were still several dentition divots where the captain had bit him. He traced the spot with his fingers, hardly registering his heavy breathing. When his own scent hit him, he was shocked to look down and see his sex awakening at the memory of the claim.
Perhaps he had been incorrect earlier; he couldn’t put this matter aside for long.