Some hours later finds both Captain and Commander on the bridge, their earlier exchange placed aside in favor of duty, though not forgotten, as evidenced when Lieutenant Uhura patches through a call from Starfleet Command.
"The Captain, USS Enterprise, Starfleet Sector 9. Inauguration ceremonies at Altair VI have been advanced seven solar days."
Kirk glances over at Spock, knowing what this change means; the Admiral continues his message.
"You're ordered to alter your flight plan as filed to accommodate."
Kirk openly stares at Spock, currently bent over his scanner, but not actually looking into it...an alarming pretense, though Kirk is sure Spock doesn't know he is watching him.
"Order of Komack, Admiral of Starfleet Command. Acknowledge?"
The message forces Kirk to break his scrutiny of Spock; he orders Uhura to acknowledge the message, and also orders Lieutenant Chekov to plot a course to get them to Altair VI on time.
"Enterprise to Starfleet Command, message acknowledged; re-routing course as directed."
Chekov runs some calculations, and in his thick Russian accent reports their new course.
"We'll have to head directly there at, uh, Warp Six, Captain. Insufficient time to stop at Wulcan."
Kirk tells him to put the ship on their new heading, and then crosses the bridge to Spock, who straightens up at his approach, but does not actually look at him.
"Sailor's luck, Mr. Spock. Or, as one of Finega's Laws puts it: Any home port the ship makes will be somebody else's, not mine."
Spock ignores the attempt at humor, and Kirk abandons levity, his tone matter-of-fact.
"The new President of Altair VI wants to get himself launched a week early, so we have to be there a week early."
He falters for a moment as Spock remains silent, but valiantly rallies, clearly attempting to reassure his First Officer.
"Don't worry, I'll see that you get your leave...as soon as we're finished."
Spock's reply is slow, hesitant.
"I...quite understand, Captain."
He stares off into space with an almost dazed, blank expression, and for just an instant Kirk allows concern to peek through his usual air of command. It's quickly hidden as a Yeoman comes up with a report for him to sign, yet after he has returned to his chair he cannot help shooting small glances at Spock's station. The shift seems to last forever, and while they don't say anything, some of the more observant crew shoot questioning glances at each other, curiosity piqued by the strange exchange between their COs and the odd silence which follows. Eventually Kirk is relieved, and after a last look at Spock (who continues to stare blankly at his station), he heads to his quarters for whatever rest he can get; ignoring the press of bodies as the crew changes shifts, mind racing with thoughts of how to not disobey a direct order, and yet somehow get Spock to Vulcan...
Later.
Literally and figuratively, Captain James T. Kirk is in the dark. Lights off, he lays on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, lost in contemplating both Spock's puzzling behavior, and how he can possibly help his friend without drawing a Court Martial. Settling something in his mind, he sits up and signals the bridge.
"Mr. Chekov, how long would we be delayed in reaching Altair VI if we divert to Vulcan?"
Chekov's voice comes through the speaker, clearly confused by the question.
"Sir...we are already en route to Wulcan. Mr. Spock ordered us to redirect course."
Stunned, Kirk barely hears himself order Chekov to reroute to Altair VI. Moments later, he swings his legs off the bunk, a grim expression settling over his face as he stalks out of his cabin, heading back to the bridge...and a particularly aggravating First Officer.
The First Officer in question is once more bent over his scanner when the bridge turbo lift doors hiss open, revealing an incredibly perturbed Captain.
"Mr. Spock..."
Spock slowly straightens up from his station, and looks somewhat reluctantly over his shoulder, to see his Captain standing in front of the lift tube, arms akimbo, disapproval etched in every line of his frame.
"...come with me, please."
Spock practically trudges over to the lift, but he obeys the order. Kirk's expression remains grim as they enter the tube, his voice equally so as he gives the computer their destination.
"Deck Five."
Spock stares straight ahead, Kirk looks at him for a long moment, worry and compassion blended there in equal measure, though his voice is free of either as he demands an explanation from him for the route change.
"You changed course for Vulcan, Mr. Spock. Why?"
Spock briefly glances at Kirk when he says "changed," and then resumes staring straight ahead.
"Changed the course?"
Kirk continues to stare at him.
"Do you deny it?"
Spock maintains staring at the closed doors of the lift.
"No, no by no means, Captain, it is quite possible."
Confusion creeps into Kirk's voice.
"Then why'd you do it?"
Spock's reply rocks him to the core.
"Captain, I accept on your word that I did it. But I do not know why, nor do I remember doing it."
The hiss of the lift door is eerily loud as Kirk continues to stare at Spock, fear for his friend joining the storm of emotions upon his face.
"Captain, lock me away. I do not wish to be seen, I cannot, no Vulcan could, explain further."
Spock pleads with him, heightening Kirk's alarm.
"I'm trying to help you, Spock."
Kirk is also pleading, if nothing else, for Spock to help him understand.
"Ask me no further questions, I will not answer."
Spock retorts harshly, once more clearly irritated by his Captain trying to pry into his affliction.
"I order you to report to Sickbay."
Face once more closed off, Kirk mercilessly gives the command.
"Sickbay?"
Spock is caught by surprise.
"Complete examination. McCoy's waiting."
The doors open, and Spock slowly makes his way out, glancing back at the lift, the doors slide shut, mercifully blocking out Jim's sight of him...conflicted, torn, and lost. Spock gathers himself, starts off...and has to turn around as he nearly makes a wrong turn. Visibly shaken, he heads off in the right direction. McCoy is indeed waiting for him when he arrives in Sickbay.
"Come in Spock, I'm all ready for you."
Spock stands in the doorway, giving him a calculating look.
"My orders were to report to Sickbay, Doctor. I have done so, and now I'll go to my quarters."
McCoy bristles at his statement, quickly crossing the short gap between them, his tone irritated, but not angry, he knows how to play this game.
"My orders were to give you a thorough physical. In case you hadn't noticed, I have to answer to the same Commanding Officer that you do."
Something in Spock's expression causes him to soften, and (uncharacteristically) McCoy puts a reassuring hand on his arm.
"C'mon Spock, yield to the logic of the situation."
Spock seems to internally steel himself, and follows the Doctor to lay down on the exam table, his long fingers nervously tapping the metallic sides; McCoy pretends not to notice, inspecting a readout screen before beginning the exam. The ship continues on to Altair VI.
Later.
McCoy bursts into the Captain's quarters, startling a lost-in-thought Kirk at his desk.
"Jim, you've gotta get Spock to Vulcan."
Half-rising from his chair, Kirk starts to reassure his friend.
"Bones, I will, I will. As soon as this mission is-"
Face grim, McCoy cuts him off.
"No, now. Right away. You don't get him to Vulcan in a week, eight days at the outside, he'll die. He'll die, Jim."
Kirk is taken aback at this, searching for words, slowly crossing the room as he questions him.
"Why...must...he die? Why within eight days? Explain."
McCoy furrows his brow, his reply tinged with the frustration of a man who has tried to solve a difficult problem, and yet though he should be able to, he cannot see the answer.
"I don't know."
Kirk shakes his head, as though the motion will cause him to unhear the words.
"...you...keep saying that. Are you a Doctor, or aren't you?"
His voice, quiet at first, grows, not quite an accusation, but certainly a demand for a satisfactory answer.
"There's a growing imbalance of body functions. As if, in our bodies, huge amounts of adrenaline were constantly being pumped into our bloodstreams. Now I can't trace it down in my Bio Comps, Spock won't tell me what it is, but if it isn't stopped somehow, the physical and emotional pressures will simply kill him."
He delivers his diagnosis with terrible, emphatic certainty, Kirk looks away.
"You say you're convinced he knows what it is?"
McCoy's reply is pure Southern frustration, complete with nonsensical metaphor.
"He does. And he's as tight-lipped about it as an Aldebaran Shellmouth."
Kirk, musing, starts to head for the door.
"No use to ask him, Jim, he won't talk."
His friend ignores him, determinedly striding out the door. McCoy watches him go with concerned pity, and an odd bit of curiosity, as though wondering exactly how Kirk will succeed where he did not.
Shortly after.
Spock is seated at his desk in his quarters, gazing in vexed contemplation at a picture of a young Vulcan girl displayed on his video monitor, absently holding a stylus in his hand. His reverie is interrupted by a harsh buzz from his door alert.
"Come."
Kirk briskly charges into his quarters, waving away Spock's movement to stand, coming to a stop just in front of his desk. Spock hangs his head, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. Kirk looks at his bowed head for a moment, before diving headfirst into the issue.
"McCoy has given me his medical evaluation of your condition. He says you're going to die...unless something is done. What?"
Spock remains silent, tightly gripping the stylus in his hand, like a talisman. Kirk presses on, determined to know.
"Is it something only your planet can do for you?"
His words hold, unspoken, that help would be provided here, Spock needs only to ask. Spock, still not meeting his gaze, moves to set the stylus down...Kirk roughly takes his hand, tired of being in the dark. The stylus clatters to the desk.
"Spock."
One word, yet those five letters hold so much in them. Please, talk to me. What's wrong? Why would you let yourself die instead of letting us help? What is it that you can't/won't tell us? Why won't you tell me? Spock's hand is trembling in his grip, and he lets go in shock. Spock further lowers his head, as though ashamed.
"Spock. Look at me."
Spock's breath hitches, slowly, slowly, he raises his head, his dark eyes again burning, fierce, predatory, almost...hungry. Kirk catches his own breath, pinned by the intensity of his gaze. Spock's eyes continue to burn into him as the Vulcan fluidly rises from his chair, moving gracefully panther to stand in front of Kirk, close, so close...his heart thuds against his ribs, surely, surely Spock isn't...doesn't...his breath is loud in his ears. Spock's own harsh, short breaths are hot against Kirk's skin, faces inches apart, somehow feeling as though a vast distance is yet to be crossed. Spock speaks, a low, deep growl that causes his pulse to quicken.
"It is a thing no outworlder may know...except those very few who have been involved. You humans have no conception. It strips our minds from us, brings a madness which rips away our veneer of civilization. I had hoped I would be spared this, Jim, but it seems the ancient drives are too strong."
Kirk swallows hard, forcing out a choked question, guessing the answer as he can feel tendrils of desire creep through him.
"Spared what, Spock? What...is this?"
Spock licks his lips before replying, and Kirk's pants are suddenly uncomfortably tight.
"It is the Pon Farr...the time of mating."
The last word is nearly lost, Spock's growl deepening, desire flashes in his dark eyes; Kirk's pants now painfully tight as his own desire builds, their long dance around each other circling to an unexpected conclusion.
"I...I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Spock."
Except he does, all of Spock's earlier agitation around him making sense, the Vulcan doesn't just have an overpowering urge to mate, he wants to mate with him...and he finds himself drawn to the idea. Spock moves closer, chests nearly touching, intense heat radiating from him, even to his fingertips, which hover a hairsbreadth from Kirk's own.
"I burn. I burn for thee."
The confession is hoarse, rough, bitter with shame, and Jim is overwhelmed with the urge to reassure, to comfort; unthinking, he wraps his fingers around Spocks...in the next moment the Vulcan's lips are pressed against his, an involuntary moan escaping his throat, Spock growling in response.
"T'nash-veh khaf nam tor yai. Wu ma i aitlu nash, I yontau na' thee Jim. Ashayam."*
The unfamiliar words spill from Spock's lips as he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Jim's, long fingers stroking against Jim's hands in a soothing, yet erotic pattern. Breathing heavily, the two remain still for several long moments, processing what just happened between them, loathe to break this new closeness. Jim, breathless, asks what at this point seems to be rather obvious, but he wants, needs, to be certain.
"Spock...do you...do you want to mate...with me?"
Spock continues to stroke Jim's hands as he leans in to murmur his reply against Jim's neck, drawing out a moan of pleasure.
"Ha. Hau k' me, t'nash-veh Jim."**
Teeth softly nip at his skin, punctuating each word, foreign and yet their meaning is crystal clear. Except Jim's need-to-know nature nearly ruins everything, he WANTS to know what Spock will not say in Standard.
"Spock...I don't speak Vulcan."
Jim gasps out, disappointed when Spock draws back slightly, favoring him with a sardonically raised brow.
"I had thought I made my intent perfectly clear, Jim. Though if you insist...yes, I desire to mate with you."
Again, the growl grows until it nearly renders the last word inaudible, and Jim feels his cock twitch; Spock notices, and bares his teeth in primal satisfaction, moving in to once more worry affectionately at Jim's throat.
"Duhik komihn."***
Tongue, lips, and teeth work in unison to leave Jim a panting wreck. Spock...purrs in satisfaction, and starts to remove their clothes, a still-dazed Jim catches on and helps; blue and gold tunics bright splashes of color against black pants and boots in the heap carelessly tossed on the floor. Jim is now the one to kiss Spock, fiercely, as if to show him that he will be a mate equal to a Vulcan. Spock groans in satisfied pleasure, allowing Jim to leave bruises along his throat, somehow they make their way to Spock's bunk, toppling ungracefully onto it as their unsteady legs hit the edge. Jim letting out a breathless laugh as Spock holds him tightly to ensure he doesn't fall off to the floor. Heat pools in their bellies as they explore each other; what makes Jim gasp, what makes Spock moan. Jim notes that firm caresses and rough bites have a rather profound effect upon the Vulcan, enthusiastically pursuing this discovery, Spock lets out a particularly primal growl, and suddenly Jim finds himself flipped and pinned under the much stronger Vulcan.
"Hiyet. T'nash-veh da-tor."****
Jim looks up at Spock, eyes dark with lust, chest heaving from foreplay, and looses himself to the flood of desire rolling off the Vulcan; hips bucking reflexively to find friction, needing to find release. Spock roughly pushes them down, holding him tightly, refusing to let him move again; he leans across Jim to harshly whisper in his ear.
"Nam-tor fam dvun, I ri tor istaya tor klau thee."*****
Spock pulls back, staring at Jim for a moment, before seeming satisfied that he seems to understand, and slides downward to take his length into his mouth. Jim cries out as his hips buck again, the heat and moisture too much, too soon, Spock's growl of displeasure at his disobedience only adding to his ecstacy, and once more he is pushed down into the mattress.
"Ish-veh seems i bolau saven-tor thee tor obey, Jim."******
Dark eyes bore into hazel, Jim swallows heavily, not afraid, but sufficiently cowed by Spock's intense gaze.
"I'm sorry...am I doing something wrong...?"
Spock, eager to proceed, and to reassure Jim, switches back to Standard.
"No, Ashayam. I wish not to harm thee, thou must remain still."
Jim nods, and Spock again lowers his mouth to encase him in blissful, damp heat, struggling to obey, but yearning to move; Spock flicks him a warning look at his frustrated moan, tightening his grip on Jim's hips as he hollows his cheeks. Jim's legs tremble, but he remains still, and Spock growls in satisfaction, causing Jim to squirm, and Spock lightly smacks his hip in admonition.
"Spock...I can't...feels so good...please, need to move..."
Babbling pleas fall upon seemingly deaf ears, as Spock continues to work his mouth over Jim's throbbing cock.
"Ahhhh...please, please, Ashayam..."
The use of the Vulcan endearment brings him up short.
"Thee said thou did not speak Vulcan."
Spock glares at his mate, accusation charging every word, and Jim feels a real twinge of fear, wondering if perhaps this time he has bitten off more than he can chew.
"I don't...it just...seemed like...like...you were calling me something...something that means...well, something important."
Jim's halting explanation placates Spock, who favors him with a deep, slow kiss before confirming his guess.
"Indeed. It means, 'my beloved,' or 'beloved person.' Thou art truly my Ashayam, Jim. Thee meskaru t'nash-veh khaf-spol svi' thy el'ru, thou tanaf wuh vath ulef t' t'nash-veh soul."*******
Spock murmurs the foreign words lovingly against Jim's throat, gentle kisses soothing the earlier bite marks, bright red on bronze skin. However, softness is not the way of Vulcans, and soon Spock is again nipping at tender flesh, desire for his mate overwhelming him, urging him to mark his claim upon his mate, his Ashayam. Jim moans in pained pleasure, willing to endure, to please his mate...his Ashayam. Though he did not know the word before today-this strange, wonderful day-it is fitting for how he feels, Spock is his beloved person, he has been for years, it just took a deep seated fire to burn away the many small lies they told themselves, revealing the truth.
"Tor I klau thee?"********
Concern fills Spock's voice, impulsively, Jim turns his head to run his tongue along the edge of a pointed ear. Spock's breath hisses between his teeth, muscles tensing beneath his olive skin, struggling for control.
"Keep going. Whatever you need, Ashayam, I can handle it."
Jim's voice is husky, his realization of how deep his feelings run for Spock making him bold, and the use of Ashayam pushes the Vulcan over the edge. If he had been fierce before, it was nothing to this, Jim is flipped over onto his stomach, hands like steel bands hold him firm, and he feels Spock press against him, hard cock leaking proof of his increasing need, hot against his skin.
"Thou mavau wuh tehvar-bosh zhagra, Ashayam. Thy aitlun lau kusut thee. Ah! I yontau! I yontau!"*^
Jim is unprepared, a scream of pain ripped from his lips as Spock roughly shoves into him, pure, animalistic lust clouding the Vulcan's mind, hips snapping, he sets a brutal pace. Jim buries his face into a pillow, hiding hot tears and muffled cries of pain, hoping Spock will finish quickly, and perhaps when the fire in his blood burns out, they can...his thoughts are interrupted as Spock hits a spot within him, and his vision bursts with stars against the black.
"I vikau thee. Thou did ri shoi. Sanoi, ri tor fnu-ven me, Ashayam. Sanoi ri tor fnu-ven me. I ashaya thee. I ashaya thee. Oh, ri tor fnu-ven me. I bolaya thee ni...ah! T'nash-veh khaf yontau na' thee!"^
Spock's cries are full of anguish, but he cannot stop himself, he is lost to the Plak Tow, the Blood Fever, and it must run its course, or he will be consumed by it. He prays to the Vulcan gods, illogical, he knows they do not exist, and thus cannot hear him, but perhaps some benevolent spirit will keep his beloved safe from his vicious hunger, and keep Jim from hating him for what he has done. He continues his thrusts, feeling white-hot liquid heat growing, he is close, oh, how he burns, faster, faster, his hips snap foward one last time, emptying his seed with a strangled cry, still buried deep inside, cock pulsing from his release, he slumps forward, head resting upon Jim's unmoving back. His poor Ashayam, so terribly foolish, not knowing how hot this fire would burn, uncaring for his own safety, wishing only to help cure him of it.
"Oh, Ashayam. Ra ma i ovsoh tor thee? I fai-tor thou bolau fnu-ven me. Kuv thou mokuhlek, forgive, forgive, Ashayam."^*
Jim stirs, groaning, but alive, and a surge of relief washes over Spock, his beloved had gone silent, been so still...
"Spock...?"
Jim's voice, hoarse from his screams, weakly floats up from the bed.
"Sochya, Ashayam. Thou bolau shom."^**
Spock slides his softening cock out from inside Jim, who lets out a weak moan, though of pain or pleasure Spock cannot tell. He works himself in between Jim and the wall of his cabin, gathering his exhausted mate to his chest. Jim lets out a contented sigh, and Spock feels an overwhelming surge of love for his mate, followed by heavy guilt. He does not deserve this, Jim should be throwing him out of his own quarters. And yet, his beloved is nestled within his arms, a wan smile on his lips, breath deepening as Spock feels his mind drift into sleep.
"Yuk, Ashayam. Yuk, heh sahr-tor t' vaksurik vel."^***
Spock remains awake for some time, guilt gnawing at him, and fear at what will happen when his Ashayam wakes. Surely, after such cruel lovemaking, he would not still wish to be his mate. Perhaps he will no longer call him Ashayam. Worse still, he may no longer wish to be his friend. Eventually, Jim's light snores soothe him enough that he falls into a restless sleep, arms tightening around his Ashayam, if only for a few more hours.
Vulcan Translations:
*My blood is flame. Long have I desired this, I burn for thee, Jim. My beloved.
**Yes. Join with me, my Jim.
***Foolish human
****Enough. My turn.
*****Be still, I do not wish to harm thee.
******It seems I must teach thee to obey, Jim.
*******Thee holds my heart in thy hands, thou art the other half of my soul.
********Do I harm thee?
*^Thou plays a dangerous game, my beloved. Thy desire may pain thee. Ah! I burn! I burn!
^I warned thee. Thou did not listen. Please, do not hate me, my beloved. Please do not hate me. I love thee. I love thee. Oh, do not hate me. I need thee so...ah! My blood burns for thee!
^*Oh, my beloved. What have I done to thee? I know thou must hate me. If thou can, forgive, forgive, my beloved.
^**Peace, my beloved. Thou must rest.
^***Sleep, my beloved. Sleep, and dream of pleasant things.
Side note: Ashayam may also be shortened to simply "beloved," in case future uses seem to result in awkward sentence structure.