Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Amok Again ❯ Amok Again ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Title: Amok Again
Author/pseudonym: Cheyenne Dancer
Email address: cheyenedgr@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Date: 8/21/2001
Archive : yes
Series: n/a
Category: First Times, PWP

Yes another Ponn Farr story. I like them and it's always a good place for a PWP. :)

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock do not belong to me, rather they belong to Paramount pictures, Viacom and to whomever received them as part of Gene Roddenberry's estate. No monetary gain is sought or made from this production of fanfiction.

Summary: Spock has hit Ponn Farr again, and comes to some rather interesting conclusions.

Warnings: I don't really think the story needs warnings, *but* just to be on the safe side, for some, there may be issues of consent, although I thought I made it pretty plain within the context of the story that that's not the case.

Author's notes:

I am trying to consolidate most of my adult stories in one place. I had originally published this in 2001 on one of the Star Trek lists and to one of the archives I belonged to. (I have no clue which ones now)

I've run a spellchecker and grammar check, but haven't had it beta'ed so any errors are mine and mine alone.

It's been nearly thirty years since I've enjoyed the adventures of the crew of the Enterprise and little things like Spock's rank, I was surprised to find, I had forgotten. (At least, I'd like to think it's just the span of time since viewing and not simply old age ) So the one reference I make to his rank in the story, I took a stab in the dark. It was, to paraphrase Spock, "my best guess."

I hope not to offend.

Commentary and constructive criticism are appreciated; flames will be jettisoned with other useless refuse in the nearest jeffries tube.

Cheyenne

Non Anime: Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 09.29.2014 | Pages: 14 | Words: 6.1K | Visits: 347 | Status: Completed

Amok Again

By Cheyenne Dancer

"Say what!?" Dr. McCoy felt a jolt of something mixed with pure shock flash through him with all the power of a secondary blaster burn.

Spock canted a brow, staring back unperturbed. "I am quite sure that you heard me, Doctor. I fail to see what repeating myself will accomplish."

Opening and closing his mouth in a remarkable imitation of a Klingon blowfish, McCoy finally shut his mouth with an audible snap. If he didn't know better, he could swear that that damn Vulcan was smirking at him.

With as much dignity as possible, Dr. McCoy gathered his wits about him. A finger making short sharp jabs between himself and Mr. Spock, "Well, let me tell you one thing, Mister Spock... you can't just waltz in here and s... suggest... demand that I... ah... mate with you!" It was a measure of just how flustered he was that his accent came out in the soft sweet Georgian drawl, taking the sting of indignation out of his words.

Spock was laughing at him. Not so much as a curled lip supported his hypothesis, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Spock was indulging in silent laughter at his expense.

Patience lacing the deep voice, Spock spoke carefully, as if instructing a child, "As you stated earlier, it is illogical to seek out death when there is an alternative, Doctor."

"And I'm... " Dr. McCoy found himself flushing at the break in his voice. He cleared his throat, "and I'm the reasonable alternative, Mr. Spock?"

"Of course. As you have pointed out on a multitude of occasions, you are a doctor. It is your job to save lives."

"Well, thank you, kindly. Let me make a note of that in my personal log. I don't quite know how you pointed-eared green-blooded egocentric hobgoblins go about this whole love business, but us humans like to work up to the hearts and flowers."

"That is not quite true, Doctor." Spock stalked closer to McCoy with all the silent and deadly sensuality of a large predator.

"You were certainly one of the witnesses when T'Pring called the Kahlee-Fee. And as my personal physician, you are more informed than any other singular humanoid in this quadrant as to the needs and functions of Vulcan physiology during the Ponn Farr."

McCoy was immediately reminded of an old vidcast he had seen of a huge jungle cat, black as night, its tail lashing furiously as it paced back and forth in a primitive cage. Without knowing quite how it had happened, he found himself in the unenviable position of being backed against the solid bulkhead with no place to turn unless he pushed his way through Mr. Spock. A pure rush of panic thrilled through him and to his shock and horror lodged directly in his groin, causing his penis to swell and throb in response to Spock's closeness.

So close, Mr. Spock was just so damned close, McCoy was having difficulty breathing. The air about the Vulcan seemed to radiate danger and heat wafted in waves off the Vulcan, whether due to his naturally higher occurring temperature or because of the initial stages of Ponn Farr, McCoy couldn't tell without tests.

One thing was certain, if he accepted Spock's proposition, he wouldn't be cold at nights. McCoy bit back a hysterical chuckle.

"Although you are protesting, your body does not seem in agreement with your objections... Leonard."

Air whooshed out of McCoy's lungs in a long-held breath as Spock covered the obvious swelling at his groin with one large, slender-fingered hand. McCoy's head thudded against the bulkhead, his hips making a small aborted thrust against the fiery heat.

McCoy swallowed convulsively, staring into the dark forbidding eyes of his crewmate. He was drowning in lava. A liquid molten flow seemed to be cascading down his body, leaving him shivering in its wake. It seemed inevitable with Spock standing so close. Logical, even. Of course, he was Spock's hope for survival.

Was it his imagination... or had Spock's voice suddenly taken on a deeper, almost purr-like timbre? He flicked his tongue wetly along suddenly too-dry lips. "Now, just a damn minute, Spock... this is way b...beyond the Hippocratic oath... "

Spock ignored his half-hearted protest; the dark eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire. McCoy shook his head from side to side, attempting shake the sense of unreality that surrounded the two of them. This just couldn't be happening. Everything had seemed so normal, so common place-- well as common place as... as... having one's atoms scrambled and reassembled by the transporter.

Now it was as if he had taken a step through the looking glass or more like a headlong leap into some erotic mirror universe. He snorted to himself, trying to figure out a way to politely refuse Spock and get his own rebellious body under control. That he found Spock fascinating, he couldn't deny, not to anyone with eyes --and Spock had a damn good pair --nor could he deny that he found the Vulcan inherently sensual -- a restrained feast of ethics, saturnine good looks and amazing intellect

But, dammit, he wasn't some tomfool teenager who was led by his hormones. Spock kneaded his groin, a thumb carefully tracing the damp material across the hidden crown of McCoy's penis and McCoy felt a groan shudder through his body and escape into the heated air between them. "Spo-ock... don't." His chest was tight, the air, sere, like a desert zephyr, each breath was a harsh rasp in a throat stretched taut. He shivered uncontrollably, like a man possessed of a fever.

Spock leaned closer, his hot breath brushing against McCoy's cheek, sending warm, dry puffs of air teasing about his ear. "Why, Leonard? You do not like what I am doing? Or is it you need the... what did you say? Ah... yes, the 'hearts and flowers', as you so quaintly put it." Spock nuzzled the human's neck, flicking out a hot green tongue to taste the salt-sweet skin.

Breathing closely akin to a sob, McCoy shook his head, eyes fluttering closed as he felt Spock's breath waft over him, sending small potent shocks through his body. Damn, but for an unemotional race, that Vulcan sure knew what buttons to push to bring the human nervous system to a screaming, shuddering precipice of need.

The Vulcan raised his other hand stroking damp hair back from the Doctor's forehead, a slight quirk of the lips and a heated glitter deep within his eyes an unseen signal of his continued desire for his human friend. Spock spread his fingers across the side of McCoy's face, preparatory to a meld.

McCoy inadvertently turned his head toward the open palm, and rubbing cat-like against the palm. "Yes... no. I... " He pushed hard against Spock's chest in a last ditch effort to get passed the Vulcan. Already knowing that it was too little, too late. If he had been serious in his denial, he should have asked Spock to leave immediately. He trembled... Vulcan's were a hot, passionate people, who kept their emotions on such a tight leash that once, every seven years, it boiled over. A Vulcan had to mate, fight, or die.

Fighting Spock would be impossible, and he severely doubted that he could trick Spock, again. And to leave him to die, hurting, burning and alone was... was unthinkable.

He had desired the reticent Vulcan for years, but had ignored his feelings. The idea that Spock might choose him as a compatible life partner had seemed laughable, and McCoy, in his usual curmudgeonly way had decided to make sure the smoldering Vulcan would never guess what fantasies played out in the middle of McCoy's loneliest nights. And to be joined in Ponn Farr, just to be Spock's sexual plaything! McCoy didn't think he could survive being put aside afterwards. To have held and loved and be granted his heart's fiercest desire for but a moment in time seemed too cruel and uncaring a fate and surely, after his painful divorce, he had more than paid his dues.

McCoy forced words passed stiff lips, "Surely... surely on this whole entire vessel, there's some... woman... that takes your fancy... "

Spock's answer was a laughing rumble, felt more than heard. "No, Leonard. There is only you. It has always been you. Irritating, smug, obnoxious, small-town doctor that you are. I have felt this -- pull towards you from the first moment we met."

Spock slipped the hand that had been kneading McCoy's erection inside his uniform pants, the too hot, smooth flesh of his palm gently sliding over the soft velvet heat of this pulsing shaft. Spock's deep voice sparked erratically through him; "Can you deny this? Can you deny me, Leonard?"

"Dear, sweet Jesus."

"Your deities have nothing to do with this, Leonard." Spock bent, capturing McCoy's lips in a bruising kiss, the hand palming between his legs keeping the doctor's hips pinned. "Your mind and mine, Leonard. Open your mind to me. Let me in. You are in me. I see what you see. I feel what you feel. We are one..."

"What are you doing to me?" The doctor's eyes flashed open, pinning Spock with the deep blue heat of a Vulcan summer sky.

"Joining." And Spock's answer, deep, provocative and long desired sent an electric charge through him.

Joining. Mind meld! Spock would know! There would be no way he could hide the depth of his love and desire from a melding. No prideful way to say he was just helping out a fellow officer.

Sweet Mother Mary, would there be anything left of him when Spock was done? A midnight fantasy gone wrong, when the Ponn Farr was over, what need would Spock have for an aging country doctor? McCoy began to struggle in earnest, his eyes telegraphing his fear. "No! Spock! Don't!"

Spock kept his hand in place, the soft husky litany probing through the soft tissues of McCoy's brain like a seductive scalpel opening a pathway among the neurons for Spock. With a casual disregard for his struggles, McCoy felt Spock press full length against him.

McCoy arched, pushing at the unyielding Vulcan mass with as much effect as if he had tried to turn the Enterprise around and carry her home on his back. He froze as he felt Spock move against him in a long slow undulating motion that brought the blatant evidence of his arousal into contact with McCoy's hip like a burning brand.

A tongue, so hot -- too hot --, flicked around, over and into his ear, exploring the overly sensitive aural cavity. McCoy found himself reacting like the aforementioned teenager, too fast off the mark and he was achingly, passionately, body arching, begging hard. "Oh -- god."

That easily, he was lost. He surrendered all he was -- his heart -- his love -- his soul -- to the Vulcan's probing, just as he felt the undeniable alien presence of Spock's mind, hot and on fire like the alien body pressing against him.

"Ah... Leonard" a soft dark sigh, was that without or within him? Or both? Had he actually heard that?

McCoy moaned, wondering disjointedly when Spock had released his death grip on his head. "Spock... t'hyla." When had he picked up Vulcan? All resistance melted from him in the nuclear fission blast of Spock's passion, radiating like roiling heat waves through his mind and body. McCoy stopped pushing against the solid chest, hands roaming the wide shoulders and circling Spock's neck, pulling him around to press his own kiss against the thin, beautifully shaped lips. "Don't hurt me... Spock, just don't hurt me."

Spock lifted him with frightening ease. McCoy found himself swept up into strong arms, the black fire of the Ponn Farr burning like insanity in a wild man's eyes and swallowing him whole. The Vulcan carried him with disgusting ease to the small bed he kept for his overnight stints in sickbay in the office at the back of the medlab.

The voice that emanated from the Vulcan was deep, threaded with dark emotion and McCoy shook with a combination of fear, lust and love. "Computer, security override lock on sickbay. Omega three--three--two point four-- authorization code Lieutenant Commander Spock."

"Authorization code -- affirmative. Security override lock engaged."

The cool clinical sound of the computer brought McCoy back with a resounding crash. This was really happening. What the hell was this? He didn't really know what the Ponn Farr entailed. He straightened stiffly as Spock put him gently on the bed, a direct paradox to the repressed energy being stringently held in check by the Vulcan. He looked up from his prone position, pushing himself halfway to a sitting position. "Listen... Spock, maybe... maybe this isn't such a good idea... "

Spock placed a finger over his lips. "Shush. Let me undress you, T'hyla."

Shaking his head in denial, McCoy made to slide off the edge of the bed. Spock stopped him by the simple expedient of lying on top of him. His wrists were grabbed and pushed above his head, held there in the heated iron grip of one of Spock's hands. The eyes that had gentled at the doctor's momentary display of fear and protest, now burned with the fire of the madman, a predator stalking prey, and too late, McCoy understood that to fight was to pour oil on the conflagration.

He had offered challenge to his mate, now he must follow through or submit. "Shit, Spock, I don't want to hurt you!" He panicked, twisting beneath the heavier body, bucking and rocking in an attempt to dislodge the man-- Vulcan-- above him.

"Do not make me hurt you, Leonard." A low threatening growl rumbled deep in Spock's throat, and McCoy flinched as the material of his tunic was grabbed and yanked, the thin resilient material ripping as easily as paper. McCoy yelped as Spock bit his neck, sucking hard, marking him. A chain reaction raged out of control, heat mirrored heat and McCoy fought, not sure any longer why he was fighting, just knowing that a challenge had been issued and accepted.

His mind was fogged with passion fury and anger and when he felt Spock's teeth, he went wild... no longer able to isolate the burning need that was Spock in his mind from his own desires. He whirled and tried to fight his way off the bed when Spock removed his boots, he yelled when he felt Spock rip his uniform trousers from him... and then Spock was on top of him again.

His lips were caught in a hard kiss, Spock's hands were everywhere, the thick brand of his arousal pushing painfully against his abdomen and McCoy found a stray thought to wonder how and when Spock had undressed. And felt a tiny twinge of sorrow and fury that Spock had somehow tricked him out of his due rights.

He groaned under the onslaught. He wasn't ready for this. Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined the shear intensity as emotions boiled and flowed along the link, mirrored and amplified and reflected back. Until he didn't know where he stopped and Spock began.

And fire! Molten lava! He was need. He was caught. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't struggle, Spock was whispering darkly into his ear, strange words, Vulcan words... words that heralded ownership and passion and the unspoken things that boiled beneath the placid Vulcan facade. Echoed by the link that seemed to pulse with the very same madfire that was consuming his body. His soul. His mind.

Spock was kissing his way down his body and everywhere the hot, moist lips touched, tiny sparks, like miniature novas, danced. Every nerve ending in his body tingled and he couldn't repress a groan. "Please... Spock... T'hyla... do something!"

Ignoring his pleas, Spock continued to snuffle down his body, inhaling him and placing fiery brands of ownership across his chest, licking his nipples and biting them until McCoy was writhing like a Rigellian slave-girl, begging in a voice he didn't recognize.

And still the Vulcan ignored him, continuing his investigation of his body. He felt the hot breath wuffle across his groin, stirring the dark curls nestled about the base of his penis. His hips thrust upwards in a desperate wanton display of need as he sought out that heat. His knowledge of the English language had long since degenerated to pleas to various deities he had encountered on his travels with the Enterprise and a simple repetitive pleading. "Please... please... please!"

Finally, finally! Spock pushed McCoy's hips apart. Instead of the expected moisture, McCoy howled and arched upwards in unexpected pleasure as Spock nuzzled his anus, the exploring wuffle followed by a hot tongue laving his spasming opening.

"Sweet Georgia! God! Spock!" McCoy found himself pulling his own legs up and apart to allow Spock greater access. He took great gulping breaths, wondering when the air in sickbay had gotten so thin, so hot... so like Vulcan.

Spock replaced his tongue with a finger, slowly pushing into the wet opening. With a tender care that would later bemuse McCoy, Spock gently inserted a second finger, massaging McCoy's inner canal and probing for what... McCoy wasn't sure but knew that if he had been in his right mind, he would know.

By now, McCoy was a puddled mass of nerve endings, each new touch sending shocks of pleasure dancing pulsar like along his body. His penis throbbed in a never-ending agony of need, his balls were drawn up so tight to his body he thought they would push up into his abdominal cavity or explode. He felt a gathering firestorm and felt it start to sweep through his body...

Dimly, he realized that Spock must have sensed his incipient orgasm, because the hot fingers were withdrawn and he felt Spock do something at the base of his testicles and a bright flare of pain wove in with the pleasure and the intensity was there, but, he just couldn't come! "Spoooock!"

The bed shifted beneath him and his eyes flew open as he felt those hot hands—Spock's hot hands spread his thighs even further. And found himself falling into the darkfire of Spock's gaze. He couldn't catch his breath. He was dying. He was scared shitless. He knew what was coming. The Vulcan had to claim him.

He mewled his distress and then shouted as the head of Spock's penis pushed at the tight ring of muscle guarding the entrance to his body. He arched up under the heavier body in a vague attempt at escape, only succeeding in pushing the thick head abruptly passed the spasming muscle. He whimpered as the thick tool burned its way inside him.

It was so damn big! He wasn't made for this! He wasn't a woman! Dammit, he wasn't even Vulcan! Inexorably the thick rod shoved into him until McCoy thought he was being impaled in some ancient arcane torture ritual.

At last, Spock was still, holding himself rigid over McCoy's doubled back body. He could feel the weight of Spock's balls against his buttocks. The pressure within his skull seemed to be building in time with the pressure in his rectum. And he just wished Spock would move!

Panic seized him by the throat and he could feel tears trickle from beneath his eyelids. A voice he didn't recognize was pleading and he wondered disjointedly who the poor bastard was who was begging to be fucked.

Spock was still whispering against his ear. Words half-understood stirred his blood and re-awakened his partially faded arousal. And Spock was moving, a slow, agonizing withdrawal, followed by an equally slow forward thrust of his hips until he was buried deep in his body. Spock continued, sweat rolling slowly down his forehead to spatter bitterly along McCoy's neck and chest.

McCoy licked the acrid liquid from his lips, hands that he had not known had been released were twisted in the bed covers, unclenched and then grasped desperately at Spock's shoulders.

His own need for Spock raged out of control to match the Vulcan fires of Ponn Farr and McCoy screamed as Spock angled his thrust and hit his prostate. Over and over with infuriating Vulcan accuracy. McCoy scratched and clawed and mewled like a wild animal as Spock began to pick up momentum, almost lifting him with each sharp thrust of his angled hips.

"You are mine, Leonard McCoy. Now. And Forever." Spock panted out the vow and with a final thrust, McCoy felt the shaft inside of him grow impossibly thicker and his cries joined Spock's as his rectum was filled with burning fluid, scarring him, branding him, changing him, claiming him as Spock's.

And then he was free of whatever impediment Spock had imposed upon him and his own climax ripped through him, leaving him shaking like a man palsied by age.

McCoy whimpered in dismay at all he had revealed and sought to roll away from the heavy weight of his lover... his mate.

Spock gathered him gently but firmly into his arms, placing him on his chest and refused to let him scoot away. McCoy found his temporary resistance ebbing away as waves of comfort and love washed over him.

Melded. They were still melded! McCoy blinked tiredly... trying to assimilate that. Did that mean the Ponn Farr wasn't over? He shook, he couldn't... couldn't do that again. He had been so... so naked, mind and soul. How long did Ponn Farr last? How long would Spock be his? He felt his throat closing up.

The dark voice that had sent tremors of fear and pleasure twining their way along his spine spoke into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. "I will not hurt you, Leonard"

Such a wave of love and contentment washed through him, McCoy felt himself slowly beginning to relax. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a place in one green-blooded pointy-eared hobgoblin's heart for an aging country doctor. He snuggled into the arms holding him and kissed one of the green nipples just a shade darker than the paler skin and smiled against Spock's chest as he felt the answering quiver of interest through the link, as well as through Spock's body.

Amusement trickled along the link, but Spock spoke softly, "You should rest, mine. The fever will come upon us again soon."

Soon? McCoy found himself succumbing to the siren call of Morpheus before he could ask Spock if he was serious.

~Finis~