Disclaimers and warnings in chapter 1.
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Chapter 4. Lift, Interrupted.
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Spock stomped into the turbolift and snarled at the computer. "Shuttle bay." He was so aroused he could hardly think. The satisfaction of destroying the wiring and shorting out lighting to the bridge had worn off much too quickly. The turbolift doors slid shut and it started its descent. And then the lights went out and the movement ceased. What the fuck!
"Computer! Restart turbolift 17. Right this minute!"
"Unable to comply. Turbolift has been halted for routine maintenance."
Spock could not believe what he had just heard. The main turbolifts were never halted for routine maintenance. They were repaired on the fly when necessary. And now here he stood, enormously aroused, ready for Nyota and the shuttle diagnostic he'd finally scheduled with her--and stuck for who knew how long in the damned turbolift. He paced from one side of the turbolift to the other, irate beyond belief. He didn't know where his Vulcan control was, but it surely wasn't here.
He glared at the sealed doors. Then he lunged at them, trying to pry them apart with his fingers. He only succeeded in breaking a fingernail, causing a sharp pain. He screamed and pounded his fist at the unyielding doors. They dented, but did not give. Whirling about he attacked the walls in a flurry of suus mahna strikes and kicks. When he again stood still, panting, he was no less aroused but the turbolift car was in sorry shape, the walls buckled and crazed.
And some alarm was sounding somewhere, a shrill tone that was immensely irritating to his ears. If he could only find the speaker that was producing it, he would tear it from the wall.
It was while he was looking for the speaker, to no avail, that he remembered the hatch in the ceiling. Raising his eyes, he found the small panel and reached for it. It was only centimeters beyond his reach. She would be there, now, the shuttle bay, wondering where he was. He could not fuck her in the shuttle if he was trapped in the damn turbolift. His blood began to boil. His lok throbbed between his legs. His brain was on overload.
He bent his knees and jumped, his arms outstretched, and blasted through the latched hatch, splintering it into a million pieces, which all fell down in the car with him, some of them narrowly missing his eyes. He gave an ear-piercing scream and shook to shed the splinters. He jumped once more, grasping the edge of the hatch with both hands, cutting them on the remaining jagged edges in the process. He pulled himself up, only to find, with his head through the hatch, that his shoulders would not fit.
He dropped back into the car, totally berserk. This time he smashed all the light fixtures, the entire control panel and every other visible thing in the car. He stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, sweat dripping down from the end of his nose, heart pounding, lok throbbing. He had to get out of here! If he didn't get to the shuttle bay she might leave!
He looked at the ceiling again, speculating. There was a seam there, running across the center. He positioned himself just so, bent his knees, concentrated, and leapt high and hard, hitting both fists right on the seam line and buckling the entire roof of the car upwards. Several more leaps resulted in a gap wide enough that he managed to pull his body through.
He stood on the hopelessly mangled roof of the car and grasped the ladder bolted to the side of the shaft. With Vulcan speed and strength he began to climb to the next level. He was going to get to the shuttle bay and fuck her senseless. Or else he might explode.
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When the crew of technicians arrived to see why the alarm was going off for turbolift 17, they stood there, awestruck. Nothing they were aware of could explain the condition of that car.
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