Characters: Spock/Kirk, McCoy, Sarek
Rating: R
Warnings: Spock sleeps with four women in this chapter. Non-explicit.
Notes: I'd been up for almost thirty hours when I started working on this fic. Since then, I've slept three. If I've done something outright witless here, please tell me, so I can fix it, once I've regained my sanity. This is for the crackmeme.
Prompt:
Spock produces pheromones as he enters Pon Farr specifically designed to make his intended submit to his needs. They can only be detected by his intended mate,(or a medical tricorder.) Cue Kirk fighting the effects because he doesn't want to see himself as submissive. Maybe he's afraid to let himself go like that, even though subconsciously it's what he needs. It's why he has slept around so much, and never with the same person twice; sex is fun but nothing more. Bonus points if you can make it that someone else was expected to experience the effects i.e. Uhura or a Vulcan who has been sent to mate with Spock, and everyone's confused as hell when the Captain starts acting unusually. Can it be angsty but with a happy outcome, please anon. Will twirl with joy if it includes Pon Farr sex with 'semi-aggressive Spock' and 'still fighting it, but eventually submits (over and over) Kirk' :)
It was a feeling he'd never felt, but he'd been trained from the time he was a child to recognise the symptoms of Pon Farr. All systems functioning normally; this could be acceptable -- the ship was only about two days out from New Vulcan. He'd call his father, they'd have a girl waiting for him, everything would be just fine, and he would in no way actually endanger his own life. Except, of course, for the part where he was going to have to tell that jackass doctor what was going on, if he expected this ship to go anywhere near New Vulcan, in the next week.
This was one of those rare moments Spock had a flicker of regret about not being entirely human.
Having imparted some sense to Dr. McCoy, Spock took his post on the bridge. No one else needed to know what was actually happening, the ship just needed to stop off at New Vulcan for one of those perfectly standard reasons -- picking things up, dropping things off, consulting with rational minds, before rushing off to violate the laws of both good sense and physics. He could just stare into the screen and let his concerns go, because everything was going to be just fine -- or at least that's what he kept telling himself. There was still a nagging sense of wrongness about the entire affair, and it was always worse when he was on the bridge. Something about the captain, he assumed, but it was always something about the captain. Irritating --
Spock stopped, mid-thought, as a shiver ran through him. Like a sensible individual, he checked the controls, making sure the temperature was stable, and no practical joker had aimed a cooling vent at his chair, this week. And the answer came back that he was, in fact, completely illogically cold. This point, of course, annoyed him. His own body temperature seemed to be acceptable, the temperature of the ship was normal, and no one had ever said Pon Farr involved being cold. He flexed his fingers, knuckles popping in irritation.
Frankly, to steal a phrase from his excruciatingly irrational captain, the whole situation fucking sucked.
Finally, after a day of suffering on the bridge, he reported to the captain that he would not be appearing for duty in the morning. "I am ill, Captain. Dr. McCoy has already documented this fact, and I am not contagious, but I am also not entirely fit for duty, at this time. There is a cure for what I have available at New Vulcan, and once we make that stop, I am certain I'll be able to return to the bridge. As it stands, I believe the illness is impairing my judgement."
Kirk actually stared for a few moments, at this unprecedented announcement, before patting Spock's shoulder, kindly. "Hey, sure, if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know, all right?"
The arc of Spock's eyebrow said more than anything that came out of his mouth, as the captain's hand lingered on his shoulder. "I am fairly certain there is not, Captain, but thank you for your concern."
Spock very nearly fled the turbolift, heading for his quarters. He wanted to be fighting the captain, yes, that was it, he was feeling a challenge to his territory. Because the other alternative didn't make a whit of sense. With an air of calm he didn't quite feel, he locked the door of his room -- only the doctor or the captain would have the overrides -- and attempted to settle into meditation. One more day, he told himself, one day of being stuck in this room, and then he would fulfil the biological urge of his species and return to work. No problem. Still, he felt he was missing something, some nagging little thing that would make all of this so much easier. Doubtless his father would help him remember.
After two Vulcan women had left the room after one look at him, and he'd slept with three more, Spock was both tired and moderately irate. What were they giving him, factory reject Vulcans, beause he was a half-breed? This was supposed to be making him feel better, but his skin still crawled with the early symptoms of plak tow. It was too early for the burning in his blood to begin in earnest, but he was certain he didn't want this to get that far. He began to wonder if death by Pon Farr was a biological consequence of being a half-breed. He was the first known to survive this long, which meant there weren't going to be any easy answers, because he was going to become the textbook case.
He'd broken up with Uhura, months ago, because of her scent, oddly. Arousing, yes, but it lacked a certain something, and that lack left him worse off than nothing at all. In this case, though, he was going to go beg her forgiveness, to see if she'd be willing to save his life -- after he got a nap.
In the hour Spock was unconscious, Sarek met with Dr. McCoy, the two men discussing the peculiar failure of their charge to bond. Sarek had seen cases like his son's, a few times, over the years, and they had generally been solved by letting the pheromones choose the mate. The sufferer would kneel in the hot, Vulcan sun, being sniffed by every eligible prospect that could be found, until one reflexively submitted. The practice had, at times, resulted in some extraordinarily peculiar couples, but any couple that included Spock would be peculiar from the start.
"What are the chances of him bonding with a human?" asked the doctor, ever sensible. "He is part human, after all. It may have some effect on the pheromone he's putting off."
"I have absolutely no idea, Doctor. I bonded with a human by choice, not necessity." A hint of a smile played at the corners of Sarek's lips. "I was fortunate, in that regard."
As the discussion stretched on, Spock joined them, in the conference room, looking dishevelled and annoyed. "I have run out of options. I have had six women today, and I am worse than when I started."
Dr. McCoy stood to examine him with a tricorder, asking, "Sarek, is there any chance we can read the pheromone and produce a list of likely hits? We've only got a few days, and the pool of potential mates is much larger, in this case, than it would normally be."
"Try it. There is nothing to lose in making the attempt." Sarek also stood, looking contemplative. "While you do that, I would like to begin the traditional ceremony. We will both try, and perhaps one of us will find the answer."
Spock sat beneath a canopy of cloth, just enough to keep the sun from actually burning him as he sat through hours of Vulcan after Vulcan smelling him, shaking their heads, and walking away. This was it, then. He was going to lose his mind and die from it. It was an undignified way to go, but he wouldn't be the first Vulcan it had happened to. Without an acceptable mate, even fighting over a woman wouldn't cure him, but there was a chance he could go out with some tailings of self-respect, that way. He would ask his father to find someone to kill him in kal-if-fee, if things didn't look up, soon.
Upon his return to the ship, Spock was informed that he'd be subjected to much the same treatment by the crew of the Enterprise, while he slept. Dr. McCoy had finished the tests, and pulled a mere twenty people from the entire crew. They would not be told the reason for the strange request, only that it was an extension of the doctor's research, unless a match was found.