Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Parmount.

It was hot. Even for a Vulcan, the temperature was bordering on oppressive and the tall, lithe man who sprawled languidly in the silken cushions would normally have taken measures to address the heat. In this instance, though, he chose to remain seated, to luxuriate in the heavy warmth because today it served a purpose, provided an additional challenge in the game of chance he was currently orchestrating. Spock of Vulcan, son of Sarek of the most revered House of Surak, welcomed anything that added tribulation to the trial of his doctor.

The man in question was cooler against Spock's skin, his terran adaptations allowing for a thick sheen of sweat to decorate his flesh in an arousing fashion. On other days, Spock would enjoy lapping the salty moisture off of the smooth, rosy planes of the doctor's abdomen and chest but today was for other pursuits and Spock forced himself to remain still as the other man rode the length of his shaft in perfect rhythm with the ancient Terran metronome that kept a steady beat on the small wooden table beside them. The doctor's arms and thighs quivered with exertion and his eyes clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain the grueling tempo. He knew better than to falter or lose the count, knew that to do so would mean the immediate denial of his request, so he closed his eyes against any and all distractions, avoiding the merciless gaze of the powerful alien who used his body with creative glee.

Spock knew a great deal about Terrans, or humans, as they fancied themselves. He knew more, in fact, then the typical Vulcan schooled from childhood to recognize their round-eared enemy, to know their limited strengths and infinite vulnerabilities. The war between their races had stretched on for decades, outbreaks of fierce battle interspersed with stretches of tentative peace as the Terrans retreated back to the primitive little backwater capital of their empire known officially as Earth. But the ceasefires were always short-lived, as the Terrans were too stubborn to leave well enough alone and the Vulcans too accustomed to their captured human chattel to put a permanent halt to their slave raiding. It was on one such journey that Spock's father had captured and enslaved a young human woman with smooth, delicate features and a quick, witty mind. Her name had been Amanda; she who had been Spock's mother.

He held smoky and incomplete memories of this woman who his father had esteemed highly enough to claim her half-breed child as a legal son but they inspired little attachment, for Amanda had died when he was only two. The lack of Terran influence in his youth had molded him and he had embraced the Vulcan tenets and rituals wholeheartedly. He had shown out ward reverence for his father in all things, as befitted a son of Vulcan, but inwardly he had scoffed at his father's subtle respect for many things human, his steady insistence that while the Terran race was abhorrent as a whole, one human frequently proved to be an exceptional treasure. Spock had rejected this notion and his Terran roots for thirty-two years until he had been confronted face to face with the reality of his own arrogant assumptions. Until he himself had chanced upon a human who had fascinated, exhilarated, and proved to be so very, very worthy.

Spock preened slightly at the memory, then reached over and pressed a button, bringing the metronome's steady clicks to a halt. The doctor had excelled and it was time to move on to the next level. Planting his feet solidly on the ground, he grasped the human's hips firmly in his hand and thrust up roughly into the hot channel. The doctor gasped at the sudden barrage but he had been well trained by Spock's own firm hand and knew what was expected. Bracing his hands against the Vulcan's chest, the human met him thrust for vicious thrust, trembling and straining to keep pace with Spock's superior stamina. What fragile shields the human maintained around his thoughts cracked and crumbled under his exhaustion and rivulets of fear and desperation began to run down his skin as beautifully as his sweat. Spock basked in this leakage, soaking up the wild and untamed feelings flowing freely through the skin beneath his hands. The human's mind was opening to him and Spock immediately recognized his fading endurance. Just a bit more then, a little extra push.

The hands braced on his chest were beginning to grip and claw in desperation, the muscles were visibly quivering with fatigue, but Spock knew his possession's mind well, knew how far he would go, how hard he would push his body to fight for the Vulcan's hard won permission. He had come too far now, he would not break, he would not miss a beat because to do so could mean Spock's immediate refusal. He'd done it before, refused the doctor's pleas when he had failed to perform to satisfaction, and he had every intention of repeating his denial tonight if the human gave him anything less than his very best. And yet he found that frequently, when dealing with his prickly kasemano, he was learning to be generous.

*

It had not been this way at first. In the beginning, his feelings had been limited to an obsessive sense of mine that had shocked him with its appalling clarity. He had been undone by his desire, furious with himself for proving his father right, and he had demanded payment from the fragile human held captive in his bed.

They had not been looking for a skirmish, the Vulcan ship on which Spock had been serving a tour under the firm but effective leadership of his father. They were in a state of temporary cease fire with the Terrans and their patrol along the Vulcan neutral zone should have been a simple matter of course. But truce or not, the starship they stumbled upon about midway through their run was simply impossible to ignore.

The Terrans had fought admirably when engaged, this Spock had to admit. They had been crafty and evasive and had inflicted substantial damage against the Vulcan vessel. In the end, though, their courage, determination, and the brilliant ingenuity of their captain had not been enough against superior technology and advanced firepower. The ship, a fast but ill-equipped vessel called Enterprise had been left dead in space, its warp core and nacelles damaged beyond repair.

The fierce battle had left more than half the two hundred man crew of the Terran ship dead before the Vulcans had even attempted to board. Spock was unsure how many more might have died in hand to hand combat in the ship's narrow corridors if his father had not come up with a stroke of ruthless brilliance. At his orders, Spock had calibrated the coordinates to beam a Vulcan contingent around the inner perimeter of the Enterprise bridge, rendering the command crew and the golden haired man who was their captain prisoner in a matter of moments.

Sarek of Vulcan was nothing if not a pragmatist, and his leadership style included deliberate instructions and succinct, well supported lessons. He began as he meant to go forward and he intended to drive the new reality of their lives home to the Terran crew with finality. In this vein, his men had forced the remaining seventy-three crewmembers into the shuttle bay to view of demonstration of Vulcan superiority. As the terrified human's had watched, Sarek had dragged their golden captain before the assembly and stripped him bare. Using the human's own torn command tunic, Sarek had bound the human to the waiting table. In an obvious display of disdain towards any possible threat, he had cast off all of his armor and weaponry and unbound the full length of his hair, letting it flow free around the lean musculature of his body. As Spock and his clansmen looked on with pride, Sarek had stood before the horrified Terrans, glorious in his unabashed nakedness and addressed the crowd, "Humans, you will bear witness to your inferiority. You will watch as I take your captain and make him mine." Turning back to the table, the Vulcan had proceeded to forcibly sodomize their blue-eyed leader in a methodically sadistic fashion. Sarek had been merciless in the claiming but the most impacting element of the display had been the telepathic hold he had forced upon the human writhing beneath him, the man the Terrans had called Kirk. Spock's father had pushed hi s way into the human's mind, forcing him to cling desperately to his violater and climax repeatedly through his own public rape. And the mere sight of the Vulcans' telepathic abilities had been enough to cow almost the entire crew into helpless surrender.

There had been some residual resistance, though. A dark haired Terran with a jagged scar decorating his face had pulled a concealed knife and gotten within ten steps of Sarek and his victim before he was felled by a phaser stun. A burly, angry man with a strange accent and an obvious talent for pugilism had also tried his hand but a well thrown knife had taken the fool's life.

Throughout these unfortunate disturbances, Sarek had kept his mind on his task, focused solely on the complete despoilment of the human captain. The entire bay was in thrall to the unfolding scene, raw horror pinning their attention to the table on the dais in the middle of the room where the blonde man panted and moaned helplessly on his back as the Vulcan brutally fucked his body and mind. But Spock had been wary, and it was his eye that caught the sudden flicker of movement as a tall, dark-haired man with enigmatic hazel eyes suddenly withdrew a hypo from his boot and pressed it into Commander Siveck's throat.

Leaning back against the wall, Spock had quickly taken himself out of the line of sight and carefully begun to circumnavigate the room as the tall man maneuvered Siveck out of the crowd and made his play.

"Hey, you! Vulcan. I know all about your goddamn respect for a fellow hobgoblin's life, so unless you want your man here dead, you'll let my captain go!"

Sarek had paused atop his pinned victim but his expression remained calm and vaguely amused. "Human," he had asked, "What do you hope to accomplish with this ploy? You're ship is damaged beyond repair and you are completely outnumbered. All that you can achieve here is your own injury and possible death."

The man had glowered, an expression Spock found rather attractive as he stealthily maneuvered himself through the silent, shell-shocked crowd. "I'm not trying to be any hero," the man had retorted sharply, pressing the hypo deep into his hostage's throat. "And I know there's no getting out of this. All I want is to give my captain medical attention he obviously needs. Let him go, sir. You've made your point."

Sarek had smiled, an icy, chilling expression but the human had not faltered and Spock had felt a strange admiration for the man even as he'd stalked him covertly from behind. Still perched over his human prey, his father had begun to speak again. "Human, you are a healer, are you not, a doctor." The tone of his voice had been decidedly triumphant and the tall man had faltered a bit beneath it. "So what if I am?"

"Well, human, it has been my vast experience that although most of your kind is ignorant and vicious by nature, those of you who embrace the healing arts tend towards your species' inherent but repressed capacity for empathy. You have a respect for life, Doctor. Now, I have no way of knowing if you are such a man, but in light of my past experiences, I will take a gamble. You will not kill Siveck, Doctor." Sarek had punctuated his sentence with a deep thrust into the captain's prone form, "You will not because you value life, his, yours, your captain's, your crew's. And you are well aware that many will die if you harm our clansman's. Your captain is now mine, a fate you cannot change. Now, you will release my officer or face the consequences."

The doctor's face had twisted in indecision and Spock knew his father had gambled well. The human was not a killer but he was still desperate to help his captain, a man Spock believed had probably been a friend. His interest had risen as he had crept closer. What kind of man was this, to risk so much for a friend? "Please," the doctor had begged, throwing his pride aside, "Please stop hurting him."

The icy smile had returned to the Vulcan's face as he nuzzled against the young captain, running the length of his hair across the battered, used body. "This, Doctor, will be the cornerstone of the rest of his life. And you were warned."

At his father's curt nod, Spock had leaped from behind a near catatonic ensign and planted his hand firmly against the doctor's neck, compressing the human's trapezius nerve. The hypo had clattered to the floor and Siveck had stumbled away as Spock caught the man's unconscious form and lowered him easily to the ground. Glancing up, he had quickly noted that his father had already forgotten about the unfolding confrontation and had turned his attention back to the human captain, pushing himself deep into the man's defenseless mind. The blue eyes had widened for a moment and a small gasp escaped from his lips before he collapsed in a semi-conscious daze.

Sarek had taken a moment to compose himself, to sweep his elegant cloak up off the floor and drape it over Kirk's nude form. Turning to the paralyzed crew, he had proclaimed loudly, "You are here and now all declared the property of the House of Surak. As befitting their victory, the sons of the House are free to claim you as their personal possessions. Refusal to comply with these claims will result in nothing but your harm." Running his eyes over the terrified faces before him, Sarek had made no attempt to hide his satisfied smirk. "I am Sarek, son of the House of Surak, and I have claimed the human James Kirk as my property as a spoil of war." Turning towards the table, he had carefully wrapped the limp body in the discarded cloak and hefted it into his arms with surprising care. As he scanned the room again, his eyes had fallen on his son, still standing over the prone form of the Terran doctor. "Spock, son of the House of Surak, in light of your loyal efforts to the clan, you are awarded second choice among the captives."

Sarek had eyed him hard as he spoke the traditional honors, wordless instruction passing between father and son. He remembered their conversations, his father's insistence that the right human could have worth beyond measure. He had been so arrogant, so very disbelieving but as he suddenly stared the possibility in the face, he had been forced to admit his intrigue. He had scanned the bay with a careful eye, taking in the various faces that gaped at him in horror. There had been many among them who would be considered beautiful but none called out to him in the way his father had described.

Glancing down at his feet, Spock had carefully perused the attractive lines of the doctor's sprawled form. He did not know what had drawn him, for the man had displayed a reckless, emotional nature that was completely contrary to his own. But it was so very unique, so unlike anything Spock had encountered thus far, and it had called to him. Awash in curiosity, Spock had taken a knee and placed his hand against the man's cheek. As he pushed carefully through the doctor's mind, he had also perused his face. What he had found had fascinated him; emotional, yes, but also deeply empathic, intelligent, well-read. Stubborn and proud and torrential in his complexity. Spock was suddenly flooded with feral possessiveness and he had hauled the doctor roughly against his chest and risen with the man in his arms.

"I am Spock, son of the House of Surak, and I claim the human Leonard McCoy as my property as a spoil of war."

*

Grasping McCoy's hips, Spock pressed the human into his lap, impaling him firmly and fully . The human gasped despite his exhaustion and he leaned heavily on Spock's chest as he panted lightly to regain his spent breath. Spock indulged his beautiful kafeh for a brief moment, allowing him precious seconds to rest. Releasing his waist and raising a hand to the small of McCoy's back, he pulled the human flush against him, chest to chest, face to face. The doctor came willingly, only the briefest tension in the smooth planes of his back revealing his desperate desire to rebel against this next intrusion. Spock had to commend the human. He was certainly learning a modicum of control.

Since his imprisonment, Spock had visited a myriad of debaucheries on his kasemano but nothing he had inflicted upon the human had invoked the same desperate, helpless rebellion as the concept of a mind meld. In his free life, his kafeh had been a private man, inherently suspicious of telepathic practices of any kind. He had fought long and hard against Spock's initial invasion but the Vulcan would not be deterred and a potent combination of physical stimulation and mental impressments had finally forced the doctor into capitulation. The door was now always open and Spock was free to wander through McCoy's thoughts but the subtle hint of rebellion had never been completely purged. Spock enjoyed the fight, reveled in it, in fact. It served as a constant reminder, a trophy of his triumph over the human's bright, arresting mind.

Running his hands over the human's face, Spock settled onto the meld points on the doctor's cheek. The well-maintained link between them sprang instantly to life and Spock dropped his hand and ran it gently, possessively over the human's skin as he permeated the other man's thoughts.

"You did well, Kafeh. Your performance was more than adequate." A wealth of conflicting emotions writhed inside McCoy but beneath the rage and humiliation, Spock clearly detected pleasure from his words, "Yes, my Kafeh, you may fight it but we can both see that you do wish to please me. And you have and for this you shall now receive a reward."

Hope flared across the bond, across McCoy's face as he met Spock's subtly indulgent gaze. He raised his head gingerly, careful to maintain the skin to skin contact and penetration that the Vulcan demanded of him. Rubbing light circles over the human's back and compressing every inch of their exposed torsos tightly together, Spock eyed him with a look bordering on tenderness as he voiced, "Not quite yet, Doctor. You still have not demonstrated your complete obedience. But in light of your admirable efforts thus far, I will lift some of your restrictions.

You will ride me, Kafeh, but I will allow you to set the pace. You will press your body against mine completely but I will allot you free movement of your head and arms. And while you are forbidden to reach orgasm without my explicit permission, you may experience arousal and take pleasure from your ministrations."

Another volley of emotions raced across the bond, frustration paramount among them. Spock smiled inwardly at that for he and McCoy both knew that once he had initiated a meld, his kafeh's body was his to control. Achieving orgasm without permission was subject to harsh punishment, but the doctor still occasionally gave in to his little bouts of rebellion. In a full meld, though, such disobedience was impossible as Spock held all his reactions in check. Even more difficult for the doctor to swallow was the ever emerging element of his psyche that responded to and craved Spock's complete control. It was there now, warring with the doctor's inherent sense of self and Spock basked in the addictive conflict. Cupping the human's chin, he trapped him in a penetrative stare.

"Are my instructions clear to you, Kafeh?"

McCoy tensed ever so slightly but caught himself and relaxed back into the body beneath him. Forcing himself to maintain eye contact, he answered with him own mind.

"Yes, Trensu."

Spock's lips quirked, "And you are grateful, my Kafeh, are you not?"

"Yes, Trensu."

"You may demonstrate your gratitude, Doctor."

His beautiful pet was well trained and knew just what was required of him. Sliding himself up the Vulcan's hot body, McCoy leaned in and pressed an eager kiss to Spock's lips. He kept the pressure firm and constant but made no overtures with his tongue. That was a privilege only granted by verbal permission. Pleased with his obedience, Spock broke the contact gently.

"Excellent, Kafeh. You may begin."

Spock relaxed against the decadent pillows as his doctor began to move over and around his body. The human was well-trained and he knew that failure to take pleasure from the experience would be tantamount to disobedience and all that entailed. With that thought in mind, Spock opened their mind link as fully as possible, prepared to luxuriate in every drop of his pet's physical response.

The doctor's movements had begun slowly as he took care to follow his instructions. The human rode him with exquisite restraint, pulling himself completely off of the Vulcan's shaft until only the sensitive head of his erection was still nestled in the warm body. He then drove himself back down, firmly and deliberately, rolling his hips to rub his prostate over Spock's engorged length. Mindful of his master's commands and his own personal response, he pressed his body into the Vulcan's warm frame, touching skin to silken inch of skin, dragging the warm planes and softly furred flesh of muscled chests and bellies against each other in delicious, delicious friction. His own cock, previously ignored in light of more pressing issues, strove to obey the instructions of its master. As it was encased between their bodies and stroked and teased with each decadent slide of flesh on flesh, it began to respond forcefully.

Through their link, Spock carefully examined and catalogued each of his kafeh's satisfying reactions. As a result of his training under Spock's demanding hand, his deeply emotional human had developed a rather refined sense of practicality and he recognized that now was such a time to throw pride and humiliation aside and submit himself completely to the Vulcan's demands. Spock savored these sensations of emotional surrender almost as much as he relished the carnal delights the doctor was administering to his master's body. The human was losing himself to their coitus, his previously meticulous and deliberate thought processes overshadowed by primal need. He had wrapped his arms under and around Spock's shoulders, gaining leverage that allowed him to cavort against his master's flesh harder and faster. McCoy's face was buried in the crook of Spock's neck, each hot, panting breath leaving a pleasant fog on the skin of the Vulcan's throat. As he ran his hands proprietarily over his human's writhing body, Spock found the sensations most enjoyable.

"Kafeh?"

The doctor knew better than to break stride as he answered, "Yes, Trensu."

"Are you experiencing pleasure?"

"Yes, Trensu."

"Good. Expound upon your enjoyment to me."

In his past life, his human had been easily angered by obvious questions and had taken offense to the notion of discussing sexual relations in clinical terms. Since he'd uncovered these deep seated responses, Spock had perversely frequented such requests on the doctor, who was too obedient now to refuse. Through the bond, though, Spock could still sense a tiny breach of resentment as McCoy began to explain.

"The pressure of your skin against mine is causing excessive stimulation of five of my erogenous zones. The angle of my body as your penis enters me is activating the nerves in my prostate gland. Also, the position of my own penis between our bodies is creating intense friction, which is stimulating the tissue and causing me to experience erection."

Spock smiled as his doctor's efforts picked up even more force and speed. As hard as he tried to deny it, McCoy found such sweet gratification in his submission. "You are pleasing me, my Kafeh but I desire you to give me more. Vocalize your response to my body, Kafeh, without words."

McCoy's reaction was immediate as Spock's command freed him from the restraint of silence. His face came alive as sensuous and uncontrollable gasps and moans emanated from his mouth. His doctor was torn, mortification bleeding through his mind even as the sounds of his own lustful response to the Vulcan's body increased his reluctant arousal. Spock soaked it up, wallowed in the juxtaposition of his beautiful kasemano's complex mind. Oh, the sweet, intoxicating torture he could inflict upon his doctor simply by letting go of his restraints. McCoy, proud, stubborn, belligerent by nature, could have handled complete physical domination so much easier. But Spock had not chosen him from among his shipmates for simple physical satisfaction. He had wanted that mind, that intelligent, determined, aware mind to bend and twist under his own, to struggle against its own pleasure. For that, his system of exchange had been perfect. If the doctor wished to give aid, to retain any part of his former self, then he would sacrifice to Spock all that he desired.

McCoy's movements were becoming erratic, desperate, any remnants of conscious resentment drowning beneath the intoxicating sensations thrumming under his skin. He was clinging to the Vulcan, working his body hard over the staff that penetrated him so intimately. The doctor was pressing their bodies together, near desperate with need and completely oblivious to their enmity as he became lost in that which was warm and firm beneath him. Wrapping his arms around Spock's back, McCoy thrust his hips haphazardly, loud, babbling gasps pouring from his lips. His eyes met Spock's, pleading wordlessly for a release that could be given or withheld on a whim. In deference to his own intense arousal, the Vulcan grasped McCoy's shivering flanks and began to buck against him, impaling the human even harder along the unforgiving line of his shaft.

"You wish to ask me something, Kafeh. You know you may not ask for release, correct?"

Desperate in his arms, McCoy shook his head frantically, "Yes, Trensu ." Of course not. His beautiful human's training was precise and well ingrained. Spock held the human's gaze with hungry eyes as he increased his merciless ravishment. "You may ask me, my Kafeh."

McCoy's expression was a classically rendered portrait of pure response as rage and misery broke easily under the irresistible force of raw need. Words simply failed him, mental or spoken, but the luscious sensations running over and through Spock's well-attended cock inspired him to grant a modicum of mercy.

"Ah, I see,Kafeh, you wish to give me more expressions of gratitude, correct?" The hysterical human was helpless to do anything but nod his head frantically. Spock schooled his features into an expression of consideration, "Such a display will prove pleasurable. I will allow it."

Surging up off the mattress, he wrapped his arms like steel bands around the human's weaker body, forcing the other man to take him deeply as he flattened their bodies together. McCoy emitted a sharp and involuntary gasp and Spock seized the opportunity to take and plunder the human's beautiful mouth. How he loved that mouth, the softness and texture so different from his own and he continued to thrust and pummel into both of the human's openings relentlessly. The last vestiges of McCoy's meager shields collapsed and he met the invasive kiss hungrily, panting and grinding shamelessly against the Vulcan's hot skin.

Spock clamped down on his own tightly-wound responses under the deluge of McCoy's erotic abandon. His human was close, so close, on the very cusp of ecstasy and nothing but Spock's ironclad hold over his body was keeping his impending climax at bay. McCoy was desperate, rocking and thrashing against the Vulcan, seeking unattainable release. Under the human's frantic efforts, Spock's own controls gave slightly and he moaned, a deep, throaty sound that reverberated through the chamber and caused McCoy's whole body to convulse with need. He was ready, ready to reach completion, to sate himself in the body of his kafeh, to ride out the waves of his slave's climax as it blended with his own. The temptation to do so was overwhelming, but Spock, son of the House of Surak was not a human to give in to base desire. He was Vulcan, he was in control, and he would play his game to its glorious conclusion.

Without warning, Spock's hold on the doctor's lower back tightened into an unbreakable vice, planting the human firmly and completely on his erect length and stilling his movements. McCoy, delirious with arousal, hovered precariously on the brink of all out rebellion before a shard of his conscious mind roared to the surface to save him from himself. Spock heard the human's mind, felt it fight off the inebriation of its own sexual need in favor of the request which Spock still had yet to grant. Cruel pleasure filled the Vulcan as his human battled to gain control over his shivering, needy body. But his McCoy was no fool. It would have taken him no time at all to realize the game, to recognize the stakes and the price of failure. He breathed heavily, shaking under Spock's touch, but he sat still and made no attempt to move or increase their contact.

Victory danced in Spock's eyes as he released his iron grasp on his doctor and pressed a tender kiss to his quivering lips. He brushed a hair off the beautiful, haggard face and pushed lightly against the racing heart. "You may rise, my Kafeh."

In amongst the predictable brew of exhaustion and frustration, Spock could sense lingering fear in his human's mind, rich, thick fear of a denial of the request he had worked so hard to have realized. The doctor stood silently beside the elaborate chaise, willfully ignoring the hyper-aroused state of his body and stared hard at the smooth stones of the chamber floor. Leaning back against the pillows, heedless of his own unsatisfied state, Spock allowed his eyes to wander over McCoy's tantalizing form, the way the streaks of perspiration glimmered in the fading sunlight as the human trembled in unresolved need beneath his gaze. Pressing gently, he reached back into the doctor's mind, reveling in the strength of a link that transcended physical contact.

"I believe you made a request earlier this evening, Kafeh. You may restate it now."

The doctor stiffened visibly before him, anxiety causing his exhausted form to seize. "Trensu, a transport of new Terran prisoners arrived this morning. I want to inoculate the children and expectant mothers. It would be useful to your father's household," McCoy rushed on, running through his well rehearsed argument. "The new prisoners' life expectancy without the medicine is less than 60%. With the shot, their chances will increase to 85%. It's a simple procedure and would take very little time and resources."

Spock nodded thoughtfully. "But it will take your time, Kafeh, will it not? Time you might have spent at my side?"

McCoy heard the real question. "It'll take less than two hours, Trensu, especially if you let Christine help me."

Shifting on the pillows, Spock stared curiously at McCoy. He exalted in these moments, for it was at these times that his doctor was truly under his control. It would be so easy, so simple to deny the request. McCoy was without recourse and better still, he knew it. But it did not stop him from trying, from making every attempt to heal and protect. And though Spock doubted he would ever tell him, he treasured this above all in his kasemano, his adherence to his moral center, his sacrificial heart. Spock had claimed almost every other part of his human, but this he nourished and left unmarred, a sparkling diamond too brilliant to be crushed to dust. But while he would not destroy the healer's heart, he was perfectly willing to bend and use it for his own purposes.

Turning to the agitated human, Spock smiled indulgently. "Take your robe, Kafeh. You may wear it to attend to the prisoners. I will give you the two hours but since you will be away from my side when I desire otherwise, you will receive punishment. Do you accept this?"

Gritting his teeth, McCoy nodded. He had expected nothing less.

"Good ,Kafeh. I will remain in your mind, and you will be aware that you have left me in an unsatisfied state. As punishment, you will experience the same discomfort. I will hold you in a state of arousal until you return to me in two hours. At that point, you will sate me thoroughly and deny me nothing. Is that clear?"

At his words, the doctor sagged slightly in relief. "Yes, Trensu."

A burst of possessive pride filled the Vulcan and he pushed out mentally, stimulating the human's mind like the gentle stroke of finger tips against his aching length. "You have pleased me, Kafeh. If you continue to do so, I will allow you to achieve climax tonight." He chuckled at the barely perceptible sense of hope that coursed across their bond. "Go, Doctor. And be mindful of the time."