Title: Blue-eyed Satyrs
Author: Farfalla -- blueberrysnail @ yahoo.com
Codes: McCoy/Saavik, [NC-17]
Betas: Saavant, JB
Disclaimer: The entire Trek universe belongs to Paramount and will not suffer much from the poking and prodding of our curious collective imaginations. We mean our beloved characters no harm and think that quite possibly they enjoy the variety ;-)
Summary: Saavik keeps getting bouts of pon farr in the middle of class... how inconvenient!
Part of the Cliche Fest--the Star Trek cliche was Pon Farr
Saavik rolled her pencil back and forth between her increasingly nervous fingers and tried to pay attention. The instructor was talking about something she normally found mildly interesting, but her body was doing things that were making it extremely difficult for her to concentrate. Her lower regions seemed determined to be touched; she shifted around uncomfortably in her seat in a desperate effort to rub herself against her thighs. She glanced around the room quickly and hoped that her clumsy wriggling wasn't attracting anybody's attention, silently cursing the quirk of genetics that had brought her to such inconvenient desperation.
Saavik, eighteen-year-old half-Romulan-half-Vulcan Starfleet cadet, was suffering from a mild version of Pon Farr.
She'd tried denying the symptoms to herself at first, but a sudden, inescapable erotic urge that plagued one day in and day out was all too familiar to those of Vulcan heritage. She blamed her hybrid heritage on the piecemeal assortment of DNA that had given her Romulan's female heat and Vulcan's periodic sexual desperation. The Law of Independent Assortment could go hang itself from the nearest oak as far as she was concerned--this was painful. She'd been aroused before and had known how to pleasure herself since she was fifteen, but the potential pleasure of the sensation was prevented here by the insistence of the feeling and the lack of a way to relieve it. Nobody here could possibly understand what she was going through. She looked around the room and saw mostly humans, plus two Andorians, an Eccosian, and the purple person from... from... somewhere. Damn, now her brain was going.
She longed to excuse herself, run to the bathroom, and finger this ridiculous feeling back into submission. But classes were hard, and if she missed anything, her grades might suffer and that would disappoint Captain Spock. And then he'd want to know why, and she'd have to figure out how to answer.
Finally she could stand it no longer, and as quietly as she could, darted out of the room.
In the ladies' room she found safety in the stall closest to the entrance, banging the door shut and locking it with trembling fingers. She collapsed onto the comfortingly impersonal chill of the toilet seat and ripped open her fly.
She calmed her burning body as if her clitoris were an unruly child, working it sensibly and effectively to a much-needed climax. Images flashed through her mind as she gave in to solitary desire--some she was used to, some she wasn't. The Andorian in her class was an old staple, for example. A few times she thought of vid stars, and once even a painting she had seen in a museum once. The woman in the painting was being ravished by blue-eyed satyrs. Saavik pushed the painting out of her mind in more lucid moments; it was illogical to be aroused by images of nonconsensual sex. But, as Spock had once taught her (in preparation, he believed, for her eventual bonding to another Vulcan), the Pon Farr is a time that strips one of logic completely.
Saavik came, bucked her hips around her tired hand, and then scuttled back to class, flushed, sweaty, and tired.
The same thing happened the next day. Embarrassed, she had told no one. She didn't notice the teacher's eyes following her as she left the classroom, nor did she notice him jotting something down at her return to the classroom. She was too busy thinking about the fantasies she had just accidentally let herself have. Her mind raced. Of course, she was to be excused from letting her mind go out of control along with her body, as long as nobody found out...
But why on earth was Dr. McCoy in her mind, soothing her flesh with his thrusting Human embrace?
He was a family friend; he was the best friend of the men who had partially raised her. He was friendly and emotional and altogether a thoroughly unVulcan individual. And he was decades upon decades older than she was.
Okay, so it made no sense. Neither did having to leave class every day to jill off, but there she was.
It was the fifth day, a tortured Friday when she was finally starting to wonder if the madness would ever stop, and she was once again writhing around her busy fingers on the toilet seat in the second-floor Starfleet Academy women's room.
Her mental movie machine was adapting quickly to her current situation. The assortment of erotic imagery conjured up to provoke her orgasm had grown more colorful, more specific, and more clear as the week progressed. At the moment, her mind painted a clear picture of the Doctor, her limbs wrapped around him in her bed, and his aging but athletic body completely dominating her by simple weight and momentum. She was leaning back against the water tank and her eyes were closed.
Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened. She would have frozen in place to not attract attention had she been able, but she was long past such things. But her eyes did fly open, and stare at the door to the stall, as if that was going to do any good in figuring out who it was.
Somehow she knew--knew that whoever had walked in just now must be male.
Most likely her body was attuned to such things at the moment.
She almost fell into the toilet when she heard his Southern drawl. "Saavik? You in there?" She could see his feet now, in front of her stall.
"Dr. McCoy," she mumbled with as much dignity as she could muster. She couldn't even take her hand out of her pants. Was this what Spock had to endure every seven years?
"Saavik, I'm sorry to have to burst in on you like this, but, um," McCoy continued, "your professor wanted me to come'n check on you. It seems that word is getting around that you haven't eaten in several days, and you've been leaving class for ten minutes every day this week." He sounded embarrassed himself, for both himself and the girl. "Your teacher's put two and two together and was worried that you were becoming bulimic."
"Bulimic?" Saavik repeated dumbly. She couldn't remember not eating. She'd been in such a daze all week. "I didn't realize I wasn't eating anything."
"I've heard of these symptoms before, Saavik," McCoy said gently. "I've been friends with Spock for many years."
Saavik blinked, deep in thought, and continued idly tweaking her pussy.
"I didn't say anything to your teacher when he called me just now, but it's the first thing I thought of," McCoy continued. "Why haven't you done anything about it? You don't know how dangerous this can be!"
"I admit I did not act logically," she murmured. "I did not want Captain Spock to find out..."
"Saavik, it happens to him too. It happens to all Vulcans." McCoy sighed. "Stop blamin' yourself for your biology. This is the way your body works! You have to learn to deal with it, not keep shovin' the problem back under the rug."
"I was not expecting this."
"Neither was Spock." He was doing something to the door. "Saavik, may I come in and have a look at you? I'm a doctor, and I can help you."
She waited a long time before squeaking out a soft alto "Yes."
He overrode the lock on the stall with his Starfleet medical card and swung it open. The girl was sprawled across the toilet seat, her legs open, and her pants undone. Her thick, dark hair had been up but it was coming down around her pointed ears. Her left hand was deep into her underwear, moving around erratically like a lost mouse.
The entire stall smelled of female sex.
McCoy shut the door behind him calmly and locked it for privacy. He scanned her with his tricorder quickly, hoping he wasn't embarrassing her too badly. He was also trying not to become aroused himself simply from the scent of her; she'd been using this stall for a week, after all, and the tricorder verified that she was giving off pheromones like crazy.
"Doctor," she said suddenly, pleading.
"What is it?" he asked attentively.
"Please relieve this." It was a whisper.
"Y--you want me to--" He was momentarily dumbfounded. "I'm not a Vulcan! And I'm three times your age!"
She shook her head heavily and slowly. "Doesn't matter..." she was gasping now. His presence was clearly rapidly inflaming her condition. "I've been... having... fantasies..."
As he tried to recover from his state of utter shock, his trousers tightened around his growing erection. He was pondering the ethics of the situation, leaning back against the door with his arms folded across his chest, when suddenly Saavik sprang up from the toilet seat and wrapped her arms around his middle. "Oof!" She had caught him completely off-guard, sitting there laconically on the toilet just moments before.
With her head at waist-level, she shoved her face into his groin and inhaled desperately. He smelled so male. She needed this. She needed him. She needed sex.
Before he could do anything, she ripped open his fly and pulled out his penis. He realized how out of control she was, an animal by now in the same Plak Tow that he'd seen Jim almost die from. There was no other option; having her was a definite at this point.
He figured he better make this pleasant or she'd feel rejected and humiliated once she became clear of mind.
And besides, she was a breathtakingly gorgeous young female Vulcan. The ears alone were enough to set him throbbing.
He took her into his arms as she inched her sweaty uniform pants and then panties over her hips, then down to her ankles. She was trimmed beneath; how very Vulcan. But it burned, all the same.
Her breasts pushed against his chest, caged behind the uniform jacket she still wore. But her lower body was bare, and the wettest pussy he had ever encountered was crying out for him with fragrance. He eased her back down onto the toilet seat and slipped his erection deep into her.
She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, and urged him to pound faster and faster by steering his ass with her hands. Cushioning her head with his hands so that she wouldn't hurt herself against the porcelain, he realized there was a pointed ear within licking distance. She screamed out loud in pleasure as he experimented with that organ.
Her fingers were going to leave marks on his behind, even through the uniform pants he still was wearing. Her wetness tugged and convulsed around him, and her moans echoed off the tiled walls.
He came into her explosively, and almost lost his breath with the force of it.
He held her until she regained the logic she had lost days earlier. "Thank you, Doctor," she said in that calm, even tone he had thought until today was her only voice. "I am sorry you were forced to become personally involved in my body's peculiar physiology."
"Well." McCoy looked her over, watched her try to put herself back together. They separated and she renewed the perfection of her uniform. He buttoned up his fly. "I'm glad I was able to help."
There was a thick silence for some time as she finished straightening her hair in the mirror. She opened the door to the bathroom to return to class, but he caught her arm. "Saavik..."
"Yes?" Businesslike. The same old serious little girl he'd known for years, not the wanton lusty woman he'd just had sex with in a bathroom stall.
"Saavik, don't push this down inside yourself so hard," he said. "I think that's what made this strange female Pon Farr thing come out in the first place. Be more open with yourself about what's going on in that mind of yours. I know it may seem a little complicated--this is a tough age. But forcing it away isn't going to solve anything. You're not fully Vulcan, and every hybrid's got a different way of reacting to that damn 'logic'."
She looked at him for several seconds, blinking, considering.
Then she approached him, still not smiling, and kissed him sweetly on the lips. He returned it and then sent her back to class.
Maybe the satyr painting wasn't rape after all...