It took less than a day for Leonard to realize something was off with Spock. And then a few days of him acting weird, followed by a few days of him avoiding Leonard--avoiding everyone, according to Jim--and then finally Leonard was able to guess what was going on. And then he was pissed off because he’d just spent half a week speculating and going to bed alone and sending unanswered comms to Spock when a two-minute conversation could’ve fixed everything just like that.
The conversation would have been this:
“My pon farr will be starting soon.”
“Cool. I am your significant other and also a very skilled highly trained doctor who is familiar with Vulcan physiology, so we can take care of this.”
“I know. That is why I decided to inform you right away instead of hiding in my quarters like a little bitch trying to meditate my hormones away.”
Okay, maybe not exactly like that.
He loved Spock. He did. But some days he really wanted to give him a good whack upside the head because he could be so goddamn stupid .
Today was one of those days, turning into one of those weeks, and it ended with him marching down to Spock’s quarters once his shift got out because not only did Spock skip his medical check up (which Leonard had scheduled once he started acting funny and marked as ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY ) but he had apparently left his shift early, according to Jim, and did not answer Leonard in any capacity, audio or written, for the following four hours.
Four fucking hours. His shift finally ended and he decided it was about time to go yell at Spock.
Spock’s quarters were locked, because of course they were, and he had to punch in his override code and then he was ready to yell a little extra.
“You know how to read, don’t you?” he demanded as soon as he walked in, ignoring the visible flinch in Spock’s posture from his little marathon meditation being interrupted.
“Yes, Leonard,” he answered flatly, still refusing to open his eyes, and refusing to stop trying to meditate, sitting on his yoga mat with his feet crossed at the ankles and his palms face-up on his knees. He was doing a pretty good job, but Leonard had been around while he meditated before, and he could tell something was up. He was missing the mark, that true, final sensation of calm. Something was getting in the way, and Leonard knew what it was, and he knew that Spock knew what it was, and he couldn’t believe they even needed to have this conversation at all.
“So when I--open your eyes and look at me, damn it--so when I wrote you in for a medical check up marked as mandatory, you were able to read that memo I sent to your PADD? The word ‘mandatory’--were you able to read that?”
Spock slowly, almost sarcastically, blinked his eyes open, and looked up to where Leonard stood above him with his arms crossed.
“So explain to me, then.” Leonard knelt down. “Why you didn’t come to your check-up.”
“It was not necessary. I’m already aware of my medical condition at present.”
“Uh huh,” Leonard said, seeing the subtle stubbornness starting to show in Spock’s expression, resisting the urge to huff. “And were you planning on letting me know anytime soon? Or did you figure you’ve had enough time in this life and you’d rather die than have sex with me again.”
Spock regarded him for a moment, and then closed his eyes again. Leonard went ahead and huffed, dragging a hand down his face. So they were going to be doing this the hard way, then. The absolute hardest way.
“As always, ashayam, you question me as if you believe I am already guilty of something.”
“You’re guilty of keeping me out of the damn loop when you and I both know how to take care of this!”
“I can assure you there is no ‘loop’.”
“Fine.” Leonard stood up. “Die then. I’ll send a transmission to the elders on New Vulcan to start building you a crypt over there. Something real edgy and dramatic to go with its namesake.”
“Wait,” Spock said, and his eyes shot open, widened in fear for a moment as if he really thought Leonard was on his way out. He was still standing right in front of him. That millisecond of fear in Spock’s eyes almost made him want to apologize for making that joke at all. Leonard just sighed.
“Just tell me what’s going through your head about all this,” he said, “or put your shields down and let me see. Because I really don’t understand why you decided to keep this from me.”
Spock let out a breath that was basically a sigh, and Leonard felt just a little bit guilty, again, for getting so frustrated with him when he was probably having a hard enough time already. If he’d calculated it right, this would be Spock’s first pon farr. Ever. Unfortunately he had to consider the fact that Spock didn’t even mean to squeeze him out.
“Your anger is warranted. And expected.”
He scooted to the side on his yoga mat, making room for Leonard to sit down next to him, and before he had time to ask Leonard was toeing his boots off to join him on the mat.
“I know that my behavior has been far from logical, considering the circumstances, but I have found that, compared to my other concerns for what is happening to me, my fear for our relationship has been the most difficult to overcome.”
Leonard tried not to get frustrated at that, too. He nodded once but said nothing, mentally urging him to continue instead of outwardly demanding more answers.
“It is just that I do not want you to feel...obligated...to assist me, because of our sexual history.”
“I know it’s barely been a year, but I think ‘sexual history’ is a little bit reductive.”
Spock tilted his head to the side and nodded slowly, which Leonard had long come to understand as his way of saying you’re right . But he didn’t look entirely convinced, and he wasn’t meeting Leonard’s eyes. Damn Vulcans. If Leonard had any say in it he would make annual visits to the colony on New Vulcan just to offer some actually coherent sex-ed talks.
Spock’s shields went down briefly just to show Leonard how amusing he thought that was, and Leonard smiled, despite all the other shit he was mad about right now.
“Still,” Spock continued, and his shields were back up, just like that, leaving Leonard’s mind open and reaching for nothing. “It will not be the same as our previous sexual encounters. I do not want you to agree to something unknown, let alone agree to something which you may not enjoy, and furthermore--”
“Spock,” Leonard said, stopping him right there, and wrapped his hand around Spock’s wrist just to emphasize his point. It was the spot Leonard always seemed to reach for, out of habit, since the first time he held Spock right there and all of this began. “Let me say something, okay, before you talk yourself into circles.”
The touch made him turn, abruptly, and look at Leonard. Spock was still shielding, but Leonard projected as much comfort as he could along with his words.
“I know you’re scared.”
There was a moment, then, of Spock watching him with just a little bit of uncertainty, and then his shields went down completely and all of his emotions crashed into Leonard’s own mind like a wave. And he was scared, among other things. Scared and stressed and ashamed and, below all of it, already wanting, already approaching the edge, the need, the start of his pon farr. Based on Leonard’s own knowledge of this--which was limited, thanks to god damn Vulcans and their god damn reluctance to ever talk about it--Spock didn’t have long until that want started to take over his thoughts. They had a few hours left, maybe.
As soon as he’d come to that conclusion in his head, Spock must have picked up on it too, because he could feel a surge of panic, ice-cold, run up Spock’s body and echo through his own.
“I want you to know that I’m not scared of this.”
He could also feel that Spock didn’t buy that for even a second.
“I’m not,” he confirmed. “You’re talking like I didn’t know what I signed up for with you.”
Spock cocked his head to the side. The approach of his pon farr must have already been clouding his mind, because he still wasn’t getting it . Leonard felt like he’d already been more than clear, bordering on cheesy, but getting Spock to stop panicking was probably more important than trying to play it cool. He slid his hand up from Spock’s wrist, up the line of his arm and the curve of his shoulder, to the edge of his black undershirt, where the link of their physical touch was lost, before curving around the back of Spock’s neck. He could feel the sensation echoing, buzzing through Spock’s body, stronger than he’d ever felt it before, and the first, tentative, spike of arousal it caused. Spock let out a quiet exhale.
“You’re half Vulcan,” Leonard said, urging Spock to meet his eyes, and he did, pupils already wide and dark as he searched Leonard’s expression for the sense of safety, of security that he needed to get through this. “And you’re all mine. And I knew this would happen, and I’m going to be here for you. I want to be here for you.”
Spock didn’t say anything, but through the mental link, with Leonard’s hand curled around the back of his neck, through the look in his eyes and the open, trusting expression on his face, Leonard was satisfied that Spock finally understood that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Plus,” he added, “you have to admit it’s the most logical option. I’m your partner, in addition to being your doctor, so compared to everyone else in the entire galaxy, I’m literally the best possible candidate to spend your pon farr with.”
That earned a little bit of a smile, and a little bit of laughter tumbling through their link.
“I never doubted this,” Spock said. “I only worried for our relationship in the aftermath.”
“Well, cut it out. Let me worry about that, I’m not the one whose life is at risk, here.”
Even though Spock accepted that line as more of a platitude, he accepted it nonetheless. There was a warmth in his eyes as he stared back at Leonard, and something like trust swelled out from Spock’s end of the link and wrapped itself around the two of them like a big blanket while they sat there on his yoga mat.
They stayed like that for a little while, and Leonard coaxed Spock into giving his mind a break after trying to meditate his pon farr away--which had sapped a good deal of his energy, it felt like. Spock leaned forward and dropped his forehead against Leonard’s shoulder and he rubbed a hand up and down his spine, feeling his arousal slowly building up, even through the fabric of his undershirt. It was happening soon. Like, really soon.
And they were completely unprepared.
It took more effort to get Spock to let him get up, in order to get a medkit and a change of clothes and put in a request for a couple days’ leave for the both of them, than it did to actually get all of those things done. He felt like he was running around the ship like a madman, and probably gave off the impression to passers-by that there was some sort of medical emergency on the Enterprise.
Well, medical emergency would be one way of putting it.
He typed up some sort of joint-leave request to Jim with as few details as possible, even though Spock probably would have turned green all over just from the fact of Leonard outright using the term pon farr . He could have been cryptic about it, but it was inevitable that Jim would ask questions, so he figured it was better to ask Spock for forgiveness rather than permission. Jim knew that they were together, and he also knew that his half-Vulcan first officer was probably going to go through pon farr sooner or later. They could be adults about this. Also, Leonard could let his future self deal with the smirking and the eyebrow wagging in a few days in exchange for preventing Spock’s death .
So he sent the comm and got up from his desk without even waiting for a reply. It hadn’t really been a request, anyway, more of a heads-up that they’d be taking time off. He put together a medkit with enough supplies in it to make it through a planetside natural disaster, because fuck if he knew what they were about to get themselves into, told his staff he was going to be out for a while, and went back to Spock’s quarters before he allowed himself too much time to get nervous about it.
He knew what was going to happen, essentially. Sex. Sex was going to happen. He tried not to let Spock’s assertion that the sex would be different to be a point of worry.
The doors to Spock’s quarters closed behind him and Leonard immediately felt his arousal as soon as he’d entered the room. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, for them to want each other enough that it filled the entire room without the need for physical touch, but this was already different, he could tell, because instead of a gentle presence in the room, Spock’s need had hit him more like a gust of wind. The kind of gust of wind that could send a stop sign flying down the street.
He set his medkit down and looked around for Spock, only to find him still on his yoga mat, ankles crossed, hands resting on his knees, still trying to meditate.
“Do you think that’s going to work?” Leonard asked gently, removing his boots and his blue shirt before he knelt down in front of Spock.
Spock blinked his eyes open, and looked straight at him, and his pupils were blown wide and his expression was immediately filled with so much hunger that it nearly knocked the wind out of Leonard for a second time.
“I was not meditating; only waiting for you.”
“Oh.” Leonard smiled a little bit, crossed his arms over his knee and studied Spock for a few seconds. His rigid posture, which seemed to be taking a lot more effort than it usually did. The flush underneath his skin. The sweat on his forehead. Spock didn’t sweat, normally. The longer he looked at him the more Leonard started to wonder if this pon farr was going to be just sex, after all.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No,” Spock answered simply, swallowed once before adding, “although I believe I have no choice in the matter. The plak tow has already started.”
The plak tow. The blood fever, Leonard translated, and suddenly the flush and the sweat made much more sense. He knew about this part, at least, even with the very limited knowledge available in the Starfleet medical database. He reached out, tentatively, to push back Spock’s bangs from his forehead and feel his temperature, there, with his palm. The touch made a shiver run down Spock’s entire body. He definitely felt warm, but more than that, the physical link seemed to increase the sensation of his arousal tenfold. Leonard couldn’t stop it from vibrating through his own body, too, going straight to his groin.
Yeah, this was going to be something entirely new for them.
“Can I touch you?” Leonard asked, even though, technically, he already was. But Spock knew what he meant, he nodded, mouth hanging open just slightly, and leaned forward. Leonard met him halfway until their lips met. Even the first press of their mouths made the both of them shiver, this time, and a small little gasp escaped from Spock’s throat.
There was really nothing for Leonard to do, then, except to deepen the kiss, sending sparks of pleasure through his skull, and move closer until there was no part of them that wasn’t touching.
It felt like time started moving faster, that was how strong he could Spock’s arousal was echoing inside of his own mind. Everything seemed to dissolve into only feeling: feeling the heat of Spock’s skin underneath his hands, his strong, solid limbs wrapped around him, his lips and teeth and tongue, and no matter how each of those sensations flowed into the next, feeling the single point where their minds connected. The next time Leonard thought to pull back, come up for air, and remember where they were, he had Spock spread out underneath him on the yoga mat, undershirt pushed up above his chest, slacks already open and Fleet regulation briefs pushed aside, and he had one hand cradling the back of his neck and the other inside of those slacks, wrapped around his cock, desperately hard already. Spock was panting and writhing and staring up at him through his lashes as he arched his back against the floor and Leonard just hoped that he was going to be able to keep a clear enough head to remember everything about this moment.
This wasn’t the first time they had sex on the floor, of course, because Leonard was convinced that sometimes Spock meditated or stretched on his yoga mat in various states of undress precisely because he wanted Leonard to see it and immediately jump his bones, but this time was already something new. Not just because of the strength of their mental link while they laid there, tangled together, but Spock was different. He was needy, and desperate, and his breaths started to break off into little whines in the back of his throat and he could only seem to last a few seconds before he was impatiently reaching--sometimes asking--for more.
He barely allowed Leonard to take his hand off of his cock long enough to get his pants off, and they had just cleared his ankles and dropped to the floor when Leonard was yanked back down on top of him. He grabbed his chin and pulled him forward into another biting kiss and brought one of Leonard’s hands between their bodies, down between his legs where he was already slick and sensitive enough that just the touch of Leonard’s fingertips to his opening made Spock hiss and throw his head back against the mat, baring the long, pale line of his neck.
“Now,” Spock gritted out, grabbing blindly at the waistband of Leonard’s slacks until he located the zipper.
“Hold your horses,” Leonard mumbled, carefully pressing one finger inside of him. It was easier for Vulcans, of course, due to certain...physiological differences, which was definitely interesting to discover a few months ago. Pushing his cock inside of him right away wasn’t going to do the same damage as it would if Spock were Human, but still. Spock’s brow knit together in frustration and he pulled at Leonard’s fly once again, fingertips shaking.
“Now,” he repeated, voice an odd combination of commanding and begging, “I need--”
“I said be patient ,” Leonard said. He went ahead and took the cue from Spock’s own attempts to boss him around and raised his voice a bit, tried to put some edge in his words as he grabbed both of Spock’s wrists and pressed them against the mat on either side of his head.
Spock moaned . It was the first time Leonard had ever heard a sound like that coming from his mouth and it took every remaining shred of self control he had not to just say fuck it and give Spock what he wanted, take him hard and fast against the floor. Spock moaned again, just from that scene playing out in Leonard’s thoughts.
“I don’t want to start this off too rough,” he added, working to convince himself as much as Spock that they had to take things slow.
He held Spock’s wrists against the floor, together above his head this time so he could free up his hand to go back between his legs. Spock writhed against him, tugging at the hold on his wrists just to feel Leonard’s hand tighten around them.
He really did try not to rush things, tried to be careful as he introduced another finger inside of him, and then another, but the way Spock was looking up at him, the sounds he was making, like he was just seconds away from coming the entire time, the way he rocked his hips back onto Leonard’s hand--and on top of it all, the continued pulses of Spock’s want being projected into his brain--he only had so much self control left. And finally he sank into him like it was where he’d always belonged, and Spock seemed to stop breathing, his mouth falling open, and his eyes rolled back into his head and finally closed.
More , rang his voice, clear and composed inside of Leonard’s head, except behind the word came this overwhelming urgency which seemed to take up every bit of space in his mind, and all of a sudden Leonard needed it as much as Spock did. His body took over completely, not so much chasing release as it was chasing those desperate sounds Spock made in his throat and the needy, repeated encouragement sent through their mental link. It was already maybe the best sex of his life and still it felt like hours before he came, pulling Spock with him until they were spent, boneless against the floor and breathing hard, their faces just centimeters apart. Leonard honestly didn’t know how he was going to be able to keep this up for the next few days, but he also knew that he absolutely wanted to do it again.
He managed to get Spock up off of the floor afterwards, and into sleep clothes and then to bed, and was about to ask if it was a symptom of his pon farr to be so tired already, when Spock told him, breathlessly, that he hadn’t slept since he first felt it approaching--six days ago.
Jesus christ , Leonard thought, if this wasn’t already life-or-death I would kill him for how he’s been handling this .
Spock let out a single, small huff of what must have been laughter, and promptly fell asleep.
After that first night Leonard had told himself that he was going to stay shielded for the rest of it, so that one of them could be at least somewhat conscious, but the effort was pretty much lost as soon as Spock woke up. His arousal filled the room like fog and wrapped around Leonard’s body first, it felt like, before seeping into his mind and pulling him under, too. And as much as the little voice in the back of his mind said hey, maybe you oughta keep your wits about you so you don’t both go into heat, here , he found that he didn’t really care, because Spock’s mind inside of his own felt so good and so right . So he let go--of everything--and opened his mind up to Spock, and whatever was left of Spock’s thoughts turned hot and golden as soon as he did.
There were hands on his skin, too, and every press of Spock’s fingertips, his mouth, his leg slipping in between Leonard’s thighs, it burned and it burned and it was too much and not enough and Leonard had no choice but to reach for more, and soon enough they were both going mad from each other’s touch, from the link between their minds, from the want and the need that hung heavy in the air, and it was messy and desperate and torrid and perfect.
It was so much, so much more intense than either of them could have predicted, more pleasurable than they could have imagined. Leonard’s brain, devoid of the actual physical event of pon farr, allowed him a few coherent thoughts within the following days, one of which was I can’t believe we only get to do this once per decade . The words echoed between the both of them and made Spock laugh-- out loud --low and rumbling as he leaned over Leonard with his face pressed into his neck, nuzzling the skin there like he wanted to remember the touch and the smell of him forever.
Spock was getting louder by the minute, actually. He actually moaned again, long and loud as he lifted up on his knees and finally leaned back to sink onto Leonard’s cock, and the sound and the sensation and the echo, of all of it, from Spock’s end too, shook through his whole body until he was sure he’d just had an orgasm, and then Spock lifted himself up and back down again and he realized--with equal amounts of lust and awe--that he still hadn’t come yet.
He did, of course, soon after. And then he came again, and again, both of them did, so many times that Leonard would have thought they might die if he was even capable of thinking long enough to reach that conclusion. He really didn’t have the time or the space to think, because Spock was there, underneath him, on top of him, beside him--everywhere, and there was that humming presence of his mind taking up space in Leonard’s own.
In the space between the first few rounds and the next, more-than-few rounds, they managed to set up a sort of feedback loop, which allowed Leonard to check that Spock was feeling alright (all things considered) and allowed Spock to make sure he didn’t go too far.
Spock couldn’t have gone too far, though, really. Most of what Humans had to say about Vulcan pon farr was akin to fear-mongering: that it’s brutal, that the Vulcans turn thoughtless and merciless, that sometimes--gasp--there’s blood. But that was all bullshit, mostly.
Leonard was ultimately fine. Tired, obviously, and sore, and trying his best to get as much sleep as possible in the small, quiet stretches of time after Spock came when they only touched each other gently, legs hooked together or hands on top of each other while they breathed. The heady arousal and the urgency that Spock’s consciousness brought into his mind was more than enough to keep him going, no matter how many times Spock woke him up with desperate, needy hands pulling at him.
The person Spock’s pon farr was really brutal on was Spock , it turned out, because no matter how many times they had sex, how many times he came with his face (and sometimes teeth) buried into the crook of Leonard’s neck, he never reached a point of satisfaction. Leonard could see as it slowly started to drive him mad, to mate and mate and never have enough. Even when Spock grew tired and couldn’t stay on his knees anymore, fucking himself on Leonard’s cock until they both found release, when he could no longer stay upright long enough to fuck him in return, when his hands shook too much and started slipping as he tried to hold Leonard’s hips, his thighs, it was never enough. When he collapsed against the mattress, hot and feverish and still hard , and pulled at Leonard to lay over him like a blanket and all but begged--with his scattered mind and wild eyes and the noises that escaped his throat--for Leonard to take him, to be inside of him, and even when he came between their sweat-slick bodies, it wasn’t enough.
Leonard felt it as soon as the pleasure started to mix with pain, exhaustion, overstimulation. His head was clearing up, just a little bit, like the fog of Spock’s arousal was starting to recede from his mind, and he fell against the pillows, relieved, and hoped that when he woke up Spock would be okay again.
He wasn’t. It couldn’t have been an hour before they were both awake, again , and Spock’s fever was still running, and his cock was still hard, and although his mind wasn’t spread out inside of Leonard’s anymore he still wasn’t satisfied, that much was clear. But it didn’t feel good like before.
It was too much. It all felt like too much. Leonard wasn’t sure what had woken him up as he blinked himself awake, because Spock was on the other side of the bed, under the covers and not touching him at all, face tight and twisted in what couldn’t be pleasure, not anymore. He looked almost like a different person, with messy hair and stubble and that look on his face, and it worried him.
Leonard jumped out of bed despite how tired he felt. He tried everything he could, tried to take care of Spock like it was any old Human fever, like there could be another way to end this besides the one they were both dreading. It was all for nothing. He gave up when his legs threatened to give out from under him and crawled back into bed, and Spock was still tense, and too warm, and almost shaking. Leonard tried again, carefully, to reach for him, and Spock’s breath caught in his throat, before coming out in a shaky exhale.
“I...cannot…” was all Spock said, out loud, in a voice so small and so weak Leonard was almost unsure if he’d even said anything. They were the first words Leonard heard from him in days, and it only made him worry that much more. He reached inside of Spock’s mind and could feel the chaos, the wild, feverish thoughts, the animal instinct, the quiet and unsuccessful attempts to reach for logic, and above all, complete exhaustion, enough to render him unconscious if his hormones weren’t going wild. No wonder Spock didn’t even want to try to communicate telepathically anymore, even though it sure didn’t sound easier for him to speak, either.
Leonard didn’t know what to say. His instinct was to assure Spock that yes, you can, but he honestly didn’t know. Since his last orgasm Spock jerked away from every touch, all but hissed through his teeth at the pain of overstimulation. But he didn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, only started to accept sips of water because Leonard was tired and cranky and may have threatened him a couple times. His body refused to rest, and Leonard both knew and dreaded the reason why: his pon farr wasn’t over. His fever still burned. His body needed more.
“You have to,” Leonard said softly, even as he cursed this entire fucking principle of Vulcan biology, the idea that Spock was going to have to go through this every seven years, or die. It was a wonder that such a highly-intelligent race still hadn’t figured out how to genetically engineer this thing out of their blood.
“To do so would be...to reject the teachings...of Surak.”
Leonard breathed out a laugh and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Spock, reach forward and push his hair away from his forehead in easy, repetitive strokes. He watched as Spock immediately relaxed against the touch like a cat.
“I guess it’s my fault for thinking you’d lose your ability to sass me back.”
Spock let out a long, slow exhale.
“It is never lost.”
And Leonard laughed again. He trailed his fingers back into the silky, black hair covering Spock’s head, sticking out in all directions in a way Leonard wished he’d get to see more than once every seven years. Spock’s hand immediately shot up to move Leonard’s palm back to his forehead.
“Oh. That was the part you liked, huh.” He let his hand rest firmly against Spock’s forehead, cooling his skin down, probably, with how much lower his body temperature was, especially now. “Your fever’s gonna break soon, I promise. It’ll all be over.”
Spock’s brow furrowed. He was still gripping Leonard’s wrist, tightly, like he just needed something to hold on to. Judging by how much he seemed to struggle with his next sentence, he did.
“We have to….again...or the plak tow….the fever…” Spock trailed off, he opened his eyes, for the first time in at least an hour, and there was a very clear look of desperation in them, directed up at Leonard, which cut straight through his heart.
“I know. I know you’re not done yet. But you can relax, just for a little bit.”
“I can’t,” Spock said more urgently, looking up at Leonard with his big, dark eyes, and Leonard wasn’t quite sure what he meant, that he couldn’t relax, or that he couldn’t have sex again.
“Both,” he whispered.
“Can you stop exerting yourself so much tryin to read my mind?”
“It takes no effort...Leonard...your thoughts are…” Spock’s eyes darted around the room like he was looking for a word, “very loud.”
“I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” Leonard said, and finally removed his hand from Spock’s forehead so he could lean down and press his lips there instead. Spock let out a tiny little exhale that Leonard recognized as his version of a sigh, and that was a good sign, it meant he was getting closer to himself again, but not quite. His fever was still running high, his skin was damp with sweat even as he lay in bed motionless, Leonard lifted the thin sheet that covered his lower body and--yep. He was hard. Again. Or still might have been a better word, since Leonard wasn’t sure if he’d ever stopped being hard.
“Please,” Spock whispered, and Leonard knew that what he really meant was please don’t. So he covered Spock with the sheet again, moved closer to press another kiss to his temple.
“Tell me what I can do. Tell me what you need.”
He watched Spock closely, taking in the small shifts in his face as he tried to think. He tried not to touch him, afraid that anything could be too much. Finally Spock opened his mouth again to speak.
“I need you here...with me.”
“Okay, I can do that.” The worry in Leonard’s chest settled a bit when he saw the trust in Spock’s eyes looking up at him, trust that Leonard wouldn’t leave, and maybe even that they would get through this. He wanted to touch Spock. He wanted to pull him into his arms. “Can I touch you?”
Spock nodded, his eyelids growing heavy.
“Yes,” he said, before he quickly added, “but not--”
“Not there, I know. Come here,” Leonard said. He settled back onto the bed, head against the pillows, and pulled Spock forward to rest his head against his chest. Spock’s breaths came heavier, his arousal spiking from the physical contact, but Leonard could feel him trying his best to relax.
Spock’s hand traveled slowly across torso, looking for a spot to rest, and the heat of his palm made the rest of Leonard’s skin feel cold. On instinct Leonard reached for that gentle, searching hand, took it in his own, and pulled it up to kiss the line of his knuckles. Spock’s breath caught in his throat.
Vulcan hands. Leonard couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about that. Human hands were sensitive enough to begin with, and Leonard always liked to give attention to his partner’s hands, pressing kisses into soft palms, tracing lines from wrist to fingertip. He had just never thought to do something like this with Spock before.
Now seemed as good a time as any to start. He listened for Spock’s reaction and carefully turned his hand around and kissed the center of his palm. Spock actually shivered .
“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, and suppressed a laugh when Spock’s immediate reaction in his head was something along the lines of why is he even asking me this , mixed in with all the chaos but still strong enough to hear.
“Yes,” he answered, low and soft like a breath.
Leonard shifted, moving Spock further down his chest a little to get a better angle, and then took his hand again, immediately pressing another kiss to the heel of his hand, his palm, the sensitive patch right underneath his fingers. He felt Spock’s arousal building already, but it was different this time, less urgent, and maybe it was because his pon farr was almost over or maybe because his body just reacted differently to the attention Leonard was giving to his hands. He smiled against the soft skin of Spock’s palm.
Then he pulled it away from his mouth, looked at the delicate lines of Spock’s hand for a moment, the pale skin, lean, graceful, fingers, the dark hair that covered his arms and wrists and just a little bit of the back of his hand before disappearing into the smooth skin over his knuckles and fingers. He placed his thumb right at the pulse point on his wrist, and then, pressing into the muscle, drew a line from his wrist to the tip of his little finger. Spock’s next breath cut short and he moaned low in the back of his throat, pressing his face against Leonard’s chest, and the spark of pleasure he felt shot through both of them.
“ More ,” Spock whispered, all but pushing his hand against Leonard’s thumb, chasing that sensation again. “Please.”
Leonard repeated the action, this time to the tip of his ring finger, continuing the slow massage across the planes of Spock’s hand. His breath hitched, and he shifted in bed against Leonard, like it was too much and not enough all at once.
“Leonard--” he cut off, and Leonard could feel his face heating up where it rested against his own chest, not just from the fever, but from want, desperation, and just a little bit of embarrassment, like he was ashamed of his own reaction even as he pleaded for Leonard to continue. “ More, ” he said again, voice dry and needy.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Leonard projected as much calm as he could manage, because his own mind was full of wonder and arousal and novelty over this discovery, but Spock didn’t need all of that in his head right now. “Relax. Just relax, I’ll take care of you.”
“I want--” Spock swallowed, and Leonard could tell he was trying to recollect himself after those words came out almost like a whine. He tried again, steadily, “I need--”
“I know, I know.” Leonard punctuated this with another stroke of his thumb, rougher this time, across the lines of his palm, and Spock’s breaths came so hard he couldn’t even finish his sentence. He took that as an invitation to be more rough like that, digging into the fleshy parts of his hand, into the spaces in between his bones, while Spock writhed against him, breathing heavy and warm over his bare chest. With his free hand Spock was clutching the sheets between their bodies, unconsciously curling and uncurling his fingers with every new sensation Leonard created on his other hand.
And here Leonard was convinced, a few hours ago, that he’d seen it all.
“Can you come like this?”
“I do not...know,” Spock gritted out, “Perhaps...if it was not--”
The end of my pon farr after I’ve come an ungodly number of times , Leonard guessed, and Spock managed to project a gentle nod of confirmation into his mind. If he wasn’t so overstimulated, then, maybe. Another time, outside of his pon farr, Leonard thought, he could probably tease Spock until he was hot and bothered and hard, and then give enough attention to his hands to make him come from that alone. Maybe without even letting him take his uniform off. Maybe not even in their quarters, either, but somewhere else, somewhere where it wouldn’t be so obvious what Leonard was doing when he touched Spock’s hands.
Spock must have been hearing all of that, the fantasy Leonard imagined in his head as he kneaded into the flesh of Spock’s palm, occasionally rubbing the sides of his fingers all the way to the tip and back down. He moaned like it was involuntary, strangled and tight in the back of his throat, and sent a very clear yes--please--in the future--do not forget--
“I won’t.” Leonard smiled to himself. “I probably should focus on the present, though, don’t you think?”
Spock nodded once, the rough stubble on his cheeks scraping against Leonard’s chest. He pushed his hand again, insistently, into Leonard’s grip, as if Leonard wasn’t already touching it.
“I want you to touch yourself with your other hand,” Leonard said, and felt a small little surge of panic from Spock’s end of their link.
“Not too rough, okay,” he mused, “don’t worry about making yourself come. Let me worry about that. Just be gentle. Touch yourself.”
And even though the worry in his mind hadn’t gone away completely, Spock obeyed, letting go of his grip in the bedsheets to slowly trail his hand down his stomach, and reach for his cock. His next breath ended on more of a hiss, like it hurt and felt good in equal measure. Leonard could feel the ache of overstimulation through their mental link, but in his own body it only translated to pure arousal, especially at the sight of Spock following orders like that.
“Gently,” Leonard said again, an edge of warning in his voice, when Spock stroked himself once and it bordered on too much. “I’ll take care of you.”
And he did. He continued his massage of Spock’s hand, pressing both of his thumbs into his palm and drawing circles and lines and swirls that seemed to set Spock’s brain on fire. Leonard wished he could have really seen Spock while he was like this, all of him, but he had a pretty good idea, from his face flushed green against Leonard’s chest, his mouth hanging open to let out every sigh and whine and strangled moan, his body long and lean and pricked with sweat from the last of his fever, and underneath the thin bedsheet, his hand working steadily on his cock.
He could tell when Spock was close, when the thinking part of his brain all but shut off, succumbed to feverish need, and he became just a little louder, and writhed against Leonard’s body, arching his back and shaking with tiny rolls of his hips. It was incredible. Spock was always incredible, but he had never lost control like this outside of his pon farr, had never let Leonard see and hear his pleasure so clearly.
And then right before he came--stillness. His hand went loose around his cock, his hips stopped jerking, his body stopped shifting so restlessly, his face went entirely slack. Leonard kept the same, steady rhythm of his thumbs across his hand, to the tips of his fingers, and back, waiting for that wave of release he could feel building inside of Spock’s body.
When it finally tore through him Spock stopped breathing altogether. His mind was pure white, and intense, so much so that Leonard nearly got lost in it too, and realized, distantly, that he was pretty sure he was also having an orgasm. And then it passed and Spock started breathing again, heavy and rough like he’d just come up from underwater, his chest heaving. He tore his hand away from Leonard’s grip and wrapped his arms around himself, curling neatly into Leonard’s side.
“That’s it,” Leonard said softly, feeling a little out of it himself, and maybe a little dizzy. But he found his arms, and his hands, and wrapped them around Spock, too. “Just breathe. That’s it.”
They stayed like that for a long time. Honestly, it could have been hours that Leonard spent with Spock in his arms, while he breathed hard and trembled and tried to curl in on himself as he came down from what could have been the strongest orgasm he’d had yet. Spock didn’t say anything, and when Leonard reached into his mind--which was difficult to begin with, because he was fucking exhausted now, too--he couldn’t find anything coherent, only echoes of that bright white of his orgasm, moving slowly like clouds. He couldn’t feel whether or not Spock was satisfied now, but he couldn’t feel any of that desperate need anymore, either, no demand for more. There was only a pale, sleepy fog.
In his last moments of consciousness before he passed out himself, Leonard remembered sending into that blank slate of Spock’s mind the words sleep, now , and earning the most gentle response not of Spock’s thinking voice, but of that sensation that always bloomed in his mind whenever Spock said I love you .
Leonard felt like he might have slept for days by the time he finally woke up. He turned over in bed and Spock was still out like a light, face smashed against the pillow, expression slack as he breathed slow and steady. He had to spend a few minutes just looking at him, at his messy hair and the days’ worth of stubble that darkened his cheeks, the sound of his breathing as he slept deeper than Leonard had ever seen before.
The times they spent entire nights together, Spock always woke up before Leonard did, and was either fully dressed, mid-meditation, or already at work by the time Leonard was up. He had tried, of course, to explain to Spock the emotional significance of being there when your partner woke up--to no avail--and now here he was, sleeping in.
Leonard shifted, pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned over him, pressing his hand to Spock’s forehead just to check his temperature. It had dropped pretty low already, almost normal, and he wasn’t so sweaty anymore. Leonard didn’t want to be too optimistic, but he was pretty certain that Spock’s fever must have broken. Which meant it could all be over, finally.
The thought was a little bittersweet. He loved his normal, day-to-day Spock, who held his head so high and his shoulders so rigid and walked around hiding an incredible, colorful mind underneath it all. But Spock during his pon farr had been something special too, so open and vulnerable. Leonard had learned more about his body, his mind, the strength of their connection--than he’d learned in the past few months of them being together. He knew it had been hard for Spock, though, and he would have quite a bit to recover from once he woke up, even if his fever was gone by then.
Leonard caressed his forehead, gently, and his cheek, felt for his pulse underneath his jaw, and once he was satisfied, pulled the blankets over Spock’s shoulders and rolled out of bed. The movement of the mattress made Spock shift, the pattern of his breath changing, and Leonard paused, but Spock only settled back into a deep sleep a beat later.
So he took a shower, fussed over Spock’s replicator until he managed to get it to make coffee for him, and sat on the couch, drank his coffee quietly and waited for Spock to wake up.
In fact, he didn’t wake up for hours, after Leonard had effectively cleaned the entire quarters save for the bed Spock was sleeping on (although he replicated some new sheets to put on once he got up), comm’ed Jim to let him know that they were both alive, updated his personal notes on Vulcan physiology, made more coffee, and nearly started to go stir crazy before he heard a breathy, half-awake sigh from the bedroom.
He rushed over to find Spock slowly, heavily turning over in bed, and he was sleepy and lethargic and the half of his face that had been buried in his pillow was flushed green and wrinkled from the pillowcase, and he was absolutely, completely adorable. Leonard couldn’t help but smile as he leaned against the doorframe and watched Spock wake up.
His first words in a thick, sleep-rough voice were, “Where...am I,” which only made Leonard want to smile even more.
“In your quarters, darlin.”
Spock haphazardly pushed himself to a seat. He kept his balance with one hand pressed against the mattress and rubbed his eyes with the other. It really was incredibly endearing, watching Spock try to regain consciousness after what must have been the deepest sleep of his life.
“What time is it?” he asked next, sounding considerably more alive.
“Just around 1300.”
“Oh,” Spock breathed, and a little burst of shock, at how late he’d slept, was the first emotion Leonard felt off of him, followed by a much more powerful sense of exhaustion that made Leonard have to shield himself before he collapsed right then and there.
“How are you feeling?”
Leonard snorted at that. He pushed off of the doorway to go get his tricorder from his medkit and see just how adequate Spock’s vitals were now that he was awake. Spock just watched him lazily while he moved around the room, perched on the edge of the bed to run the tricorder over his body. It was like time was moving for him in slow motion, or something.
“Good god, you’re dehydrated.”
Spock hummed, eyelids fluttering like they were threatening to close for another fourteen hours.
“And malnourished and extremely fatigued, not to mention vitamin deficient--how the hell do Vulcans not die from this?”
“In fact, they do.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Leonard hopped to his feet, already compiling a list in his head of all of the things that were wrong with Spock and trying to organize them by level of urgency. “Just stay there. Don’t move.”
“I can assure you, ashayam, I have no intention to do so,” Spock called after him, sounding so tired that Leonard figured he’d be back asleep by the time he returned.
He didn’t fall asleep again, but he had gone back to lying down, apparently too tired to keep himself propped up on one arm. Leonard just returned to the edge of his bed and coaxed his head upright, cradling the back of his neck with his hand to get him to drink some damn water.
Next on the agenda was a set of hyposprays to get his nutrient levels back into a healthy range, and then more water, and then another hypospray for all the overuse in his muscles. Spock laid back and let Leonard administer all of them without protest, only showing a little bit of discomfort at each injection that wrinkled the space between his eyebrows. So Leonard followed the last hypo with a gentle massage at the injection point, and then across his shoulders, and neck, kneading out the tension in his jaw until Spock’s exhales came deeper and longer and he started to relax.
“You can’t fall asleep yet,” Leonard mused, fingertips still skating across the planes of Spock’s face, pressing into the sides of his brow bone just a little, that spot in between where his forehead wrinkled.
Leonard pulled his hands away from Spock’s face, which earned a little spark of disappointment that traveled through their mental link like a tiny shooting star, so he leaned in close, pressed one kiss to his sweaty forehead and whispered,
“Because you smell like sweat and those sheets you’re laying on are disgusting.”
If Spock wasn’t already halfway back to his logical, restrained self, he would have groaned. But Leonard could still feel the sentiment behind it as he stood up from the bed and proceeded to haul Spock up with him.
It took more energy than Leonard probably had left in his body--especially after all but carrying 200 pounds of half-Vulcan into the sonic shower--to get the sheets changed while the shower cycle ran, but he pulled it off, somehow. When he made it back to the bathroom Spock was leaning heavily against the door of the shower, looking flushed and exhausted and dripping wet.
“You’re wet,” Leonard observed, found a towel from underneath the sink and stepped forward to wrap it around Spock’s waist. The touch apparently was an invitation for Spock to shift from leaning his bodyweight against the shower to leaning against Leonard. He caught him, luckily, before they both collapsed against the tiles, and backed them up enough to find support against the counter. Spock seemed to have no qualms with gifting Leonard his entire bodyweight, or with getting them both adequately soaked. He probably hadn’t considered either of those consequences; he seemed to be using the last of his energy primarily to stay on his feet and form words with his mouth.
“My skin felt too warm. The sonic pulses were unsatisfactory.”
“Still?” Leonard maneuvered Spock to lean against one side of his chest, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around his back, and used his free hand to feel his forehead again. It was still pretty warm, maybe more so from all the moving around, but nothing Leonard felt he ought to be worried about. He paused for a second, with one tired, drippy half-Vulcan in his arms, and thought about what else needed to be taken care of.
Spock had some overly green patches of skin, places rubbed raw from friction, some bruising, some pretty clear and definitely uncomfortable wear and tear between his legs. All of that would need some regen, ointment, maybe another hypospray.
He also had a beard, after four and a half days of no personal hygiene whatsoever. Maybe Spock wanted that gone, too.
Leonard was hit with another wave of exhaustion from Spock’s end just in response to that list, enough that he had to reel in his own psionic sense just to keep himself moving, but he still succeeded in getting Spock to prop himself up against the counter and stand still underneath the dermal regenerator.
It was really something--treating Spock like this. Fresh out of the shower, unshaven, covered in evidence of the past few days. Definitely not a sight he would have gotten in Sickbay, and he wouldn’t have been allowed to needlessly slide his hands over the freshly healed skin, either, selfishly taking in, again, that same body that had dominated his every waking moment for the last four days. Spock’s skin stayed green and flushed and warm under the attention, but his cock showed no interest, thank fuck , because Leonard would have had absolutely no idea what to do if it had.
When he made it back to his feet, treating the bite marks on Spock’s neck and finally seeing his face, the exhaustion in his eyes as he kept himself upright was enough to make Leonard decide that they could keep the beard, for now, and Spock exhaled his relief as Leonard pulled him off of the counter and ushered him back into the bedroom, towards the new, clean-smelling sheets that covered the bed. It was almost impossible not to just give up and join him at the sight of Spock so easily sinking into the mattress, but Leonard knew he still had a couple of things to do. Even after Spock was taken care of and fast asleep again, he would have a couple items on his to-do list, first and foremost: telling the Captain a few more (appropriate) details aside from the obvious we’re alive .
Spock very clearly wanted to go right back to sleep, and probably could have in a second if Leonard gave him the opportunity, but his hair was still wet and he hadn’t eaten anything and he needed to stay awake for just a little while longer. Leonard opened up their mental link again to try to make his case, even as he pulled the covers up to Spock’s shoulders. That was about the moment that Spock started to get fussy about it.
Leonard didn’t blame him, but he did get frustrated right back.
“I don’t wanna act like I knew what I was getting into,” Leonard griped, feeling like he was singlehandedly keeping Spock awake while Spock pointedly ignored both his physical and mental efforts and tried to go back to sleep, “but playing nurse to a sick Vulcan after four days of marathon sex wasn’t exactly the grand finale I expected.”
“Return to work, then,” Spock said neatly, or tried to, in his rough, exhausted voice. It almost sounded sexy, except the thought of having sex again made Leonard’s stomach twist just a tiny bit in pain. Sex would not be happening again, for a while. Spock apparently picked up on that train of thought and projected a simple nod of agreement towards him, with just a hint of discomfort coming from his end, too.
“If I go back to work, Spock, who’s gonna take care of you when you’re like this?” Leonard asked, making a final effort to towel-dry Spock’s hair even as he stubbornly kept his head against the pillow.
“I will check myself into Sickbay.”
“You’re gonna check yourself into Sickbay-- like this --and what, announce that you had so much sex you need an IV drip and a dermal regen?”
“Yes. You are free to return to work. I will escort myself to Sickbay.”
Spock closed his eyes, as if the act of it punctuated his sentence, and Leonard couldn’t stop the little smile that broke out across his face. Spock was a stubborn, bitchy, whiny patient most days, too, but especially today, and god if that wasn’t more adorable than it was irritating.
“Uh huh,” Leonard replied, swiping the towel across the stubble on Spock’s face if only to watch his cheeks squish despite how hard he was trying to look determined. “You go ahead and do that.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Leonard shook his head, still smiling, and stood up to go put the towel away. He turned the temperature up a little bit while he was at it, because he vaguely remembered scrambling across Spock’s quarters to turn it down a few days ago when he felt like the press of his skin was giving him first-degree burns. And then, because he was such a kind and loving CMO who out of the goodness of his heart was spending the remainder of his time off as Spock’s nurse, he replicated some soup. Vulcan soup. But it basically smelled the same as chicken soup, so Leonard trusted it.
In the bedroom, it looked like Spock was already asleep, but he seemed to sense Leonard standing in the doorway and his eyes cracked open. Leonard had been feeling the presence of Spock’s mind in the room on and off all day, like a tide coming and going. This time, as soon as he registered the smell of the soup Leonard had brought him, a cloud of warmth and gratitude filled up the room, billowing out from where Spock was tucked so neatly into bed that only his head stuck out from the blankets.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Leonard said. He came to sit down on the edge of the bed again. Spock made it clear without even having to project the thought that he would not be sitting upright anytime soon, which ended with Leonard haphazardly lifting his very heavy and still-damp head up with one hand, and balancing the tray of food on his lap, and using his other hand to offer the soup to Spock one spoonful at a time. Thankfully, he made no protest to eating, although after a few minutes Leonard could sense a question slowly rising in his mind, almost making it out of his mouth, of how much longer must I do this? and he just scoffed and brought the spoon to his lips again. His swollen, green-tinted, kiss-bitten lips.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbled, and Spock’s eyelids fluttered again, like he was trying his best not to let them close.
“Love hath made thee a tame snake,” Spock said, adopting a certain cadence in his voice which only ever meant one thing:
“Was that Shakespeare?”
Spock nodded. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes slowly closed. Leonard wanted to roll his eyes, but all he could really feel was warmth coiling around his heart, and the faintest urge to break out into the kind of laughter that would make soup spill all over the carpet. He settled for letting a more-than-goofy smile spread across his face as he fed Spock another spoonful of soup.
“I guess I can tell Jim you’re almost back to normal, then, can’t I.”
“Perhaps,” Spock said softly, still smiling in that little way he did, “in the morning.”