McCoy looked over the medical report and
chewed his lower lip. These results seemed on the up and up, but
something wasn't quite right. All these fancy instruments insisted
everything was fine. He didn't think so.
The Blood Fever
Kirk/Spock by K'Chaps; rated NC-17
justblackchaps @ yahoo.com
Beta by Bigmackie
Spock's metabolism had stabilized to
normal. No sign of the pon farr remained. It had taken the threat of a
court martial, but McCoy had given him a complete physical. Comparing
the results against Spock's baseline had given him the answers he'd
hoped to see. The pointy-eared Vulcan was fine. Insufferable, as usual,
and fine. Completely.
Jim Kirk's body had taken quite a beating.
McCoy reviewed the bruises, contusions, and minor injuries. Jim had
suffered no ill effects from the drug McCoy had slipped him, and again,
everything was within normal parameters. McCoy sipped his brandy and
tossed the pads aside. There wasn't a problem. Right?
McCoy jerked instantly awake when the intercom came on. He reached, flipped, and grumbled, "Yeah, whacha need?"
"Bones, I have a . . ."
Jim's voice trailed off and the intercom
closed. McCoy moved through the ship as fast as his old country
doctor's body could go. His grip on the medikit was tight. What the
hell was going on? He let himself in Jim's quarters and stopped. He was
a doctor. He wasn't shocked.
"I need someone or something . . ."
Jim's voice rasped down McCoy's spine. McCoy forced his body to the bed and Jim's side. "Jim, Jim, what's wrong?"
Jim's naked, writhing body reached for him,
grasping, gripping, rubbing, and moaning. McCoy ripped his eyes away
from Jim's erection. It was dripping. McCoy's doctor brain began to
function again. This wasn't right. Jim was almost unconscious from
fatigue, and yet he was crying out for sex. McCoy reached for his
medical tricorder, scanned Jim's body, and put a hand on Jim's sweaty
forehead. Jim pushed him away roughly.
"Your hands aren't the right ones. Go away. I need . . ."
McCoy was starting to get irritated. A
fierce hard-on was no reason to be rude. He scanned Jim and ignored the
hands clenched in the bed sheets. And the groaning. And the sheen of
sweat glistening on Jim's body. His vital signs were all elevated. Of
course. His systemic results were a little more alarming. Testosterone
levels were high. Lord, they couldn't get any higher. Even his estrogen
levels were up, too high for a man. McCoy pushed Jim's reaching hand
away and gave him a hypospray. Adrenaline levels, again, too high. This
kind of stress could lead to a coronary incident.
"God, please, I have to . . ."
Jim's hand stroked his penis hard and fast.
He thrashed and panted. McCoy watched clinically. Why wasn't the man
having an orgasm? Or two? Jim should have been hitting the ceiling with
it. It wasn't working. He did have a raw patch below the knob of his
penis. McCoy shook his head in wonderment. What was going on? He reset
the scanner and ran over Jim's agonized form again. These hormonal
levels were dangerous. The hypospray hadn't helped. McCoy reached out
and gently touched the rawness on Jim's penis. He arched and gasped
before reacting violently.
"You're not the one!"
McCoy moved out of fist range fast. Jim was
irrational, and McCoy didn't blame him. If the sheets were any
indication, this had been going on for hours. McCoy darted in quick and
hit him with a sedative. A big one. Jim should go down and stay down.
He collapsed. His penis stayed hard. McCoy found some medicated cream
in his kit and applied it. Jim moaned softly. McCoy scanned him for the
third time. Jim's body was fighting off the sedative. It would burn off
within thirty minutes, and Jim would be raving again. McCoy sat down
next to Jim and opened his eye. The pupil dilated. Jim mumbled and
"Who do you want, Jim?"
Jim moaned, but said nothing intelligible.
McCoy reviewed all the data, cross-referenced today's earlier physical,
and ignored his friend's tense body. That sedative should have made
this impossible. McCoy had suspicions that were unfounded based on all
the evidence, but the keen sense that made him a hands-on physician was
telling him that this was Spock's doing. The blood fever had spread,
like a virus, into Jim's body, and it would kill him. No human could
maintain these levels of stress without dying from a heart attack,
stroke, or aneurysm. The drug should have helped. It didn't. The
sedative was working temporarily, but another dose might send Jim into
McCoy glanced at the ceiling in the
direction of the bridge. Where was Spock? He should be in bed, but he
was a stubborn Vulcan. McCoy stood and called the bridge. Spock wasn't
there. He called Spock's quarters. He wasn't there. Where was he? McCoy
had Uhura page the entire ship. No answer. McCoy felt tendrils of panic
reached into his heart. Chekov began checking the ship deck by deck for
Vulcan life signs. Jim yanked McCoy's attention back to him. He was
trying to get up.
"Jim, lay down!"
"I have to go find him." Jim staggered and
would have fallen, but McCoy pushed him back flat. It took all his
strength. Jim was strong like a bull. He wasn't fighting, not yet.
Damn, this situation kept getting worse. McCoy made two decisions.
"Uhura, send security to find Spock. Ship wide alert."
"Yes, Doctor McCoy, right away."
"Is there anything else, Doctor McCoy," said Scotty.
"Send a security man here with two sets of restraints."
"Do it, Scotty, and find that Vulcan!"
McCoy banged the switch off. He tried to keep Jim down. So far, he
wasn't resisting too much, but it wouldn't be long and he'd be running
through the ship naked with a large personal problem. McCoy looked at
his hypospray. It was useless. All this medical technology was useless.
The door beeped, and McCoy stepped out quickly. Jim wouldn't want
anyone to see him this way. The security man held the restraints out.
"Need anything else, sir?"
"No, go find Spock. Try the botany lab."
McCoy didn't wait. He turned and slipped back inside. Jim was sitting
on the edge of the bed. His eyes were wild. McCoy avoided looking at
Jim's jutting penis. "Jim, lay down!"
"No, I have to go!"
McCoy analyzed the room and made a painful
decision. It would have to be the connecting screen. Jim stood up
against McCoy's palms. He was swaying, his eyes glittered, and his
mouth sagged. McCoy clicked on the security restraints. Jim didn't even
notice. He began to push his way past McCoy. McCoy didn't resist. Jim
was much stronger. McCoy maneuvered Jim to the screen and attached the
restraints to the restraints. Primitive, but it would work. Jim seemed
confused at first.
"Jim, relax," said McCoy. He moved back.
Jim pulled with all his strength, bracing
his foot against it. His back bowed with the strain. McCoy stepped
farther back and prayed it would hold. It was this or a pile of
security men. Where the hell was Spock?
"Uhura, where's Spock?"
"We're all working on it, Doctor," said Uhura.
McCoy snapped the com off. Jim was fighting
desperately. It was painful to watch. McCoy cursed and paced. Neither
did any good. Time was running out for Jim Kirk.
Spock dimly sensed the unrest on the ship.
He tightened his shields. It was possible everyone was still agitated
from the events on Vulcan, and he didn't want to know about it. Humans
had a word for this feeling Ð embarrassment. Vulcans didn't. He
clasped his hands in front of him and focused again. The sensory
deprivation booth was not helping. Something was hurting him. He
changed tactics, searching his shields for a crack or hole that could
explain this. Nothing, at first, and he abandoned looking outward.
There it was. Inside him. A spot of pure pain. He circled it warily.
What was it? The childhood bond with T'Pring was gone. This was in its
He reached and jerked away. Pain, agony,
sweat, and tears. His shields shuddered. They were crumbling from the
assault within. He considered ten logical approaches to the problem,
but chose one fast. Walling off the pain with an interior shield took
time. The pain was slippery and smelled familiar. The interior shield
took form briefly before imploding in a cascade of golden shards. His
exterior shield buckled and tore. He remained calm. Panic reached him.
Spock ripped the devices from his body and
pushed open the door of security locker twenty-three. He had put this
here to help him deal with a ship full of emoting humans. Captain Kirk
had understood and approved it on a very limited basis. Spock could
taste the panic.
"Spock. Mr. Spock!"
Spock turned. "Can I help you, Ensign?"
"Doctor McCoy wants you in Captain's Quarters Ð Gold Alert."
Vulcans don't panic. Humans do. Spock
didn't run. He raced. The pain grew. He blocked it, evaded it, and
finally embraced it as the turbolift dropped him off on Deck Five.
Vulcans don't stagger. Spock stumbled, but his locomotion never failed
him. The door was there.
"My God, Spock, where the hell have you been?"
Spock's eyes crashed into McCoy's panicked
blue ones. He didn't speak. The pain. His vision dimmed and refocused
on Captain Kirk. He thrashed wildly and howled in security restraints.
Spock couldn't juxtapose the pain and the sight in front of him. McCoy
"Go to him, Spock, or he'll die!"
Spock flinched violently away from the touch. The pain rippled through his brain and lodged in his groin. "Get out!"
McCoy took a step forward. "No, I have to try to help."
Spock's hand went to the doctor of its own
volition, and McCoy was gone. Spock didn't know where, but the absence
of all that emotion was a relief. His vision narrowed to the golden
violence. He stepped close enough to touch but didn't. This was his
pain. It burst out of its spot in his consciousness and arced, before
racing up and down his body.
"My friend, what have you done?"
Captain Kirk threw his head back and
screamed. Spock heard the echo in his mind. It was too late for logic
or reasoned arguments against this. All that remained was the
consummation or death. The captain's and then his own. Spock ducked
under and came up in front of his Jim. His head pushed through shackled
arms. A sob, a cry, hot skin, sweet sweat, the pungent smell of
pre-ejaculate, and a hoarse voice begging.
Spock, his nostrils flaring, clasped Jim fully against him, sweating body to clean uniform.
"I am here, Jim."
"I need something," gasped Jim. His body pushed, prodded, and began to move rhythmically. "Please help."
"I'm here," said Spock. His shields gave,
and his mind embraced this bondmate. The pain and lust tore into him,
and they were one. More than one. He dropped to his knees, his uniform
absorbing sweat, and took Jim's aching need in his mouth. Ejaculate
splashed the back of his throat. Jim screamed again at the release and
pumped wildly, coming again and again. Spock put his hands on Jim's
big, wet thighs and moved his mouth very little. There was no need.
"I need you."
The voice of his beloved was raw. Spock
helped Jim to orgasm again. It was simplicity itself. Jim came and
buckled down to his knees. His arms pulled tight up over his head.
Spock held him close, breathing in his Jim's unique scent.
"Spock! Is he?"
Dr. McCoy's voice jarred Spock, and he
bared his teeth at the intrusion. The bond was new and fragile. It
would need time to heal from this ordeal of pain.
"We will live, now, please, leave us for twenty-four hours."
"Let me give him one hypospray. His adrenaline levels were."
Spock interrupted, "Doctor, do it, and leave us."
McCoy was in Spock's sight briefly, and his presence faded away. Spock leaned his head against Jim's shoulder, deeply inhaling.
"Is he gone?" A wretched gasp that resonated pain between them.
"Yes, Bondmate, we are alone."
"Get rid of these cuffs."
Spock stood up and looked at them. He
didn't have the key. It didn't matter. He grabbed the cuffs and pulled.
The connecting screen broke with a squeal. One set of cuffs hit the
floor. Spock took Jim to bed. They lay together doing nothing more than
breathing and touching.
"Yes, I ache."
Spock leaned up, his knee in contact with Jim's hips. He pulled his shirts off. "Do you understand?"
"Yes and no," said Jim. "I ache."
"I know." Spock pulled his boots off. Jim's hand touched Spock's bare back. "Breathe."
Spock heard Jim's efforts to comply. His
breath was ragged, weak, almost as torn as his voice. Spock took off
his trousers one-handed, and the other held Jim's hand tightly. Naked,
Spock eased on top of his mate. Sweat against him. It smelled good. Jim
groaned from need and some emotion Spock didn't recognize. A kiss,
bodies touching, Spock made sure most of his weight was off Jim.
"I know," said Jim.
Spock pushed Jim's arms over his head,
running hands down slick, trembling muscles. Flesh against hands that
sensed residual pain and stress. Spock caressed and soothed. He used
this time to rebuild his shield against the intrusion of the four
hundred other minds on the ship. The flavor of his new bondmate who lay
underneath him, exhausted and hurting for more, permeated this shield.
The skin on Spock's hands tingled. The acidic properties of Jim's sweat
ignited Spock's senses.
"There is time."
"I ache for it."
Spock left the bed to retrieve lubricant.
Kirk yowled like a lost, baby sehlat. His body bowed as if he'd been
struck with a tass. Spock gasped from the pain. He grabbed and made
haste. His hand reached and slapped onto Jim's heaving chest. Jim
sagged flat. His arms still over his head. Spock breathed for both of
Kirk's voice scraped across Spock's skin.
No longer content with a mere hand, Spock eased his body down on Jim's.
At each point where the skin touched Spock savored the minute
connections that reinforced the bond between them. Jim's eyes shut, and
Spock kissed them gently. The hazel eyes of his bondmate opened. They
were full of hurt that Spock embraced and eased.
"Please, don't ever go."
"This will pass."
Spock reached for Jim's mind. Hand to face.
Heart to heart. Pain, desperation, fear, a life nearly ended. Spock
took it all and turned it back as trust, love, need, desire, and two
lives connected forever. Jim relaxed incrementally, each muscle easing
individually. Spock flowed through Jim, cementing their bond. So
fragile, and so strong. Jim brought his arms down and encircled Spock.
"You can't go."
Spock comforted the moment of panic.
"Later." He kissed Jim tenderly. Their mouths sought completion. Spock
felt Jim's erection against him. Humans were resilient. Mouths and
groins met. Jim's fingers dug into Spock's back. Each fingertip
resonated need and ache. Spock controlled his urge to possess with
raging force. It echoed down through the link. Jim groaned.
"Please, or it might never stop."
"No, you are weak," said Spock. That would be foolish in the extreme.
"I am." Spock felt Jim gasp. "Never weak."
Spock resisted. Jim surged up the bond and demanded his ache be eased. Spock pushed back, and Jim challenged Spock to take him.
"You wanted T'Pring. I'm not enough, am I?"
Spock's mind thrust into Jim, showing him his error. "Do not do this."
"I have suffered for you. You will want me."
"I had isolated myself. The fault is mine."
Spock shoved Jim's arms over his head again. The heady smell of Jim's
body flowed inside him. "I will not harm you further." Jim's mind
roared and his voice broke when he yelled, "Damn it! You owe me!"
Spock jerked back. That had inflicted pain.
His carefully constructed Vulcan arguments fell to pieces. Spock did
not understand Jim's need to be seized by desire. The need burned
higher and became imperative. The bond shuddered and Spock could see
points unraveling. No! He reached, stroked, mended, and stitched. Jim's
raging, aching need could destroy the only thing that would satisfy
him. Spock acted for the greater good of them both. He applied the
lubricant, lifted Jim's legs, and sheathed in one mind-curdling push.
Jim's broken cry of satisfaction resonated through both bodies.
"Show me that I'm yours." Nothing more than a thin whisper.
"You will never doubt that," said Spock. He
lowered the barriers around his emotions, thrusting all inside his
bondmate. Logic had no place in the frenzy. Spock heeded only his
cravings for more, more, and more again. He forged a bond that could
never be severed, forgotten, or brushed aside. Jim quenched the bond in
his body, heart, and mind. Spock rejoiced and exulted in the strength
of his bondmate.
Spock restored the structure to his
emotions when the endorphin level in his body became manageable. Jim
curled into Spock's chest. He slept. The bond was strong. It would
endure. Spock ran a fingertip down the length of Jim's arm. It tingled
and he brought it to his mouth to lick. Sweat tasted superior.
Logically, it shouldn't. Did Dr. McCoy's taste good or only his
bondmate's sweat? Spock reached to the nearest com.
"Dr. McCoy, please report to Captain's quarters and bring the key," said Spock.
"On my way," answered McCoy. His voice
sounded strained, breathless. Spock sighed. Humans were so emotional,
and the doctor more so than any other. Spock pulled a light blanket
over the lower half of their bodies and sat up enough that his back was
against the headboard. He'd prefer to have his uniform on, but that
would necessitate leaving the bed and to do so would hurt Jim. His
portion of the bond was raw from the hours of torture.
McCoy entered without waiting for
permission. He was upset, and Spock reinforced his primary shield. This
human poured emotion out like a waterfall on Terra, both were oblivious
to the droplets that showered down on innocent bystanders.
"Spock, how is he?"
"Hurt, but he will survive. Do you have the key?" Spock put a hint of command in his voice.
"Here, I'll do it." McCoy took off the
restraints and gave Jim the once over with his Feinberger. Spock said
nothing. He watched. McCoy would not be denied this. "He's back to
"Yes, his voice box is strained, and he is
exhausted, but he will be fine." Spock and McCoy were only fifty
centimeters apart. Spock inhaled deeply. He could smell the
perspiration on McCoy's body. It did not smell good. Fascinating.
"I'll give him one more hypospray, and then
you two rest." McCoy reached in his medikit. "Care to tell me how the
hell this is possible for my medical report."
"The mind is the most powerful tool for healing." Spock probed Jim lightly. His sleep was deep and dreamless. "And illness."
"You're telling me that this was all his doing?"
"I said nothing of the sort," said Spock. "The blood fever is not a contagion."
McCoy put the hypospray back in the kit.
"I'm putting you both on the sickbay roster for two days. Don't leave
this room, and I won't make you go there."
"Yes, Doctor McCoy, that is perfectly acceptable." Spock raised an eyebrow. "You might consider sleeping, as well."
"I'll get there. I still don't understand
it." McCoy touched Jim casually. Spock suppressed a growl at the
intrusive doctor. "His estrogen levels are still up a bit, but they'll
"Take the restraints with you, Doctor, and thank you," said Spock.
"I know a dismissal when I hear one," grumbled McCoy, "and you're welcome."
Spock put his hand where McCoy's had been
on Jim and caressed the skin, removing the doctor's scent traces. "I
apologize for striking you."
"I'll have my revenge. Your yearly physical is next week. Haven't you heard?"
"I had a physical yesterday," said Spock. "It is illogical to have another."
"You'll report. Your new bondmate will insist," said McCoy.
McCoy smiled. It seemed smug to Spock. This
conversation was not appropriate for two senior officers to be having.
"My wife will do as he's told."
McCoy's eyes bulged most satisfactorily.
His mouth falling open made it even more pleasing. Spock lifted his
eyebrow. McCoy began muttering and retreated out the door. Spock
allowed a smile to occupy his face for one point two seconds.
"Your wife, huh?" The croak of Jim's voice was barely audible.
"Between that statement and your estrogen levels, he'll be occupied for a week," said Spock. "We will have privacy."
"Spock, why did this happen? I admit to
some confusion myself. Estrogen levels aside." Jim turned to rest his
head on Spock's chest, draping an arm over him. Spock made sure his
bondmate was comfortable, and they were touching in the important
"I believe that you broke my bond with
T'Pring prior to your 'death'." Spock spread his hand and touched Jim's
back. He could feel all of Jim's emotions. They were crisp and sweet,
like apples slices. "We formed a ragged bond at the moment I killed
you. When it was ignored, even denied, you didn't react well."
"You do have a talent for understatement," said Jim. "I still ache."
"There is time." Spock analyzed and
categorized the feelings. They were fresh, raw, interesting, and
changing from moment to moment. Fascinating. "There is no going back."
Jim's eyes shut, and his breathing evened out. "Maybe a little pon farr rubbed off on me."
Spock didn't answer the whisper. Jim was
asleep again. He would be drifting in and out of it for a minimum of
twenty-four standard hours. It was curious. There were no recorded
instances of human pon farr. Humans did not have the proper blood
chemistry. Jim was fully human. Spock settled down to rest. He'd
analyze the medical reports when he reported back to duty.
McCoy slugged back a dollop of Romulan Ale.
Even in small amounts, the stuff was potent. He tossed the pad at his
desk. Captain Kirk would be fine. And Jim? He'd gotten what he'd wanted
all along. McCoy had always known that Jim was inclined to throw a
temper tantrum when he didn't get his way, but this was ridiculous. Why
not just ask the big elf instead of raising such a fuss?
He rubbed his eyes and headed for his bunk.
Estrogen levels? Wife? He needed some sleep. Those two were going to be
twice as hard to deal with now. McCoy smiled and wiggled to
comfortable. They deserved each other. Both of them were hardheaded,
stubborn, opinionated, and impossible. This was going to be quite a
show, and he had a ringside seat.