Title: Farr Flung
Author: Farfalla ~ firstname.lastname@example.org
Pairing: Kirk/Spock from Star Trek TOS
Archive: ASCEM, Pon Farr Fest, 2002 Slash Advent Calendar. All others please ask.
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 ;-)
Dave Barry, who is briefly mentioned, belongs to himself. (He's a nationally recognized humor writer from my crazy hometown.)
Summary: After "The Voyage Home", according to some website I read, Spock should be turning 56. That's divisible by seven, isn't it? ;-) Oh and by the way, I hate recorded telemarketers.
The year was 2286 and Captain Spock, Starfleet's resurrected hybrid Vulcan hero, was once again in pon farr. The windows were closed, the curtains drawn, and the door set on a special privacy lock. The recently demoted-with-honor Captain Kirk had spent the past day and a half serving as life, love, and relief to his energetic husband's biologically illogical urge to procreate. These forced, periodic second honeymoons were always an exhausting but welcome time together, a weekend (hopefully!) spent completely devoted to enjoying each other's bodies in every way.
This time was the most special, perhaps even more so than that first beautiful time back on the Enterprise's first mission, because it symbolized the dazzling, wondrous impossible. Spock had returned from the grave, had risen from the ashes, and come back to his heroic human t'hy'la. Kirk had crawled through hell, almost literally, to bring him home. Home was his arms. Home was *their* arms.
Kirk spent most of the approximately three days of Spock's heat lounging naked around the flat, snacking and keeping himself clean between encounters. It was easier that way to be ready to meet Spock's frantic advances when moments of Plak Tow came on. No one would be stopping by to interrupt the wantonness; all contacts, emergency included, were to be filtered through the understanding judgment of Dr. McCoy, their dearest friend.
There was a cooler full of cut-up fruit and bite-sized pieces of meat and bread near the bed. It was essential for Kirk to keep his strength up through the adventure; it was not important that he climax at each encounter, because there were to be so many, but he could not simply lie there like a blow-up doll. He loved Spock and wanted to be there for him in every way possible. He came when he wanted to, and when he didn't, he simply enjoyed watching Spock's face during every second of lovemaking. Do you know what orgasm does to the eyes of a Vulcan?
He held Spock as the Vulcan rested. Kirk could not breathe each time his mind fully realized the pleasure and the miracle of the warm, soft flesh that met his hands. This was an angel, not a man, retrieved from the sky to light up his life. He was only too happy to be able to give himself and his body to Spock in this profound and total way, now that the Vulcan was alive and at his side once more.
Kirk stood up, wandered over towards the draped window, and tranquilly fed himself some chunks of mango. How his heart had pounded in his throat those many months ago, on Vulcan, when Spock lay beneath the healing hands of a stranger. He had not been able to watch, but instead turned away and nervously cast his eyes upon the glowing golden dunes-- and prayed. Prayed with his lips dry and his hair disheveled, and with the blood of battle shining on his cheek. Prayed for his love.
And a new Spock had awakened, and was still his friend. The memories of their life together would awaken more gradually, but Kirk had known he could wait for him forever. Finally they were together, back in their own time, back home in San Francisco but in their real home, each other's arms.
He heard his love stirring and his blood quickened with excitement. Through their bond he could feel Spock's primal need calling out to him again. In the past day and a half, the Vulcan had spent himself time after time into and onto his beloved's willing body, attempting to plant his sterile hybrid seed upon equally sterile male flesh.
Kirk hastily put aside the mango as Spock started to thrash around on the bed. He was about to approach him when suddenly Spock sprang up instead and gracefully leapt across the room to his side instead. He seemed like a beautiful animal, with a dark light burning in his eyes. Kirk knew Spock was strong enough to hurt him in times like this, but had to trust in him anyway. *Do not fear me, t'hy'la,* came the reassuring voice of Spock's calm inner self. Kirk smiled and held out his arms to his love.
Spock seized Kirk and scooped up his entire body, legs and all, in his powerful alien arms, and pushed him against the wall. Guided by Spock, Kirk wrapped his legs around Spock's waist, where the Vulcan held them in a steel grip coated with velvet. It may not have been the world's most comfortable position, but there was plenty of time for sweet, thoughtful lovemaking when Spock wasn't boiling over eleven or twelve times a day to save his life.
Spock completely filled Kirk's body and mind. Reassuring pulses of love and affection were sent over their bond, and always the infinite gratitude. A hungry Vulcan tongue drinking at Kirk's mouth like that of a lion crazed with thirst at an oasis on the savanna. And Kirk's lower body, completely filled with the thrusting need of his t'hy'la, a little sore but numbed by pleasure into a happy rhythm. Kirk received it all gladly, dizzyingly content to hold Spock, please Spock, and to be able to demonstrate over and over again how much he was loved.
The viewscreen communicator on their wall beeped. They ignored it at first. Anyone who wanted to contact the couple during this time was supposed to be routed through Bones first, who could then get through to them on a private channel if the message truly was an emergency. It was probably a wrong number, or a telemarketer. Kirk was glad that the visual function of the device had been turned off for the time being, just in case the answering machine malfunctioned and answered the call completely instead of just taking a message.
Sure enough, an artificially jovial voice pierced through the haze of their lovemaking. "Are you interested in an exciting new financial opportunity available for your immediate investment?" it asked buoyantly. Kirk would have yelled at the machine to shut off if his mouth hadn't been full of a tongue that had complete control. The recording prattled on, shoving its unwanted entrepreneurial message into their eardrums. The close proximity of the machine made the intrusion even worse.
At first, it didn't look like Spock cared about the auditory distraction, or had even noticed it in the depths of his Blood Fever. But after the computer had ranted on for a full minute and a half, he suddenly froze, mid-thrust.
Kirk watched in stunned amazement as Spock, who was still sheathed inside him, broke their animalistic kiss and ripped the babbling answering machine out of the wall. Still holding Kirk against the wall with his body and one of his arms, he used the other one to hurl the orphaned machine straight out of the window-- which was NOT open!
On the street several stories down, Commander Nyota Uhura was in her sweats taking part in an activity that nationally famous humor writer Dave Barry refers to as "dorkwalking". This activity is basically a form of speedwalking for exercise where the person's elbows are bent and their arms move back and forth as if they were jogging. She liked walking better than running to keep fit, because when you run you miss more. Walking enabled her to take in the sights of the city around her, which were inevitably more interesting than the blur she would have seen had she been jogging.
Had she been jogging, she also would have most likely been killed in the next few seconds. As it was, she had just passed a familiar intersection and it was about to occur to her that she was passing her friends' flat when a small metallic object dripping with wires came soaring from one of the windows and crashed into the street about five feet in front of her.
Uhura stared at the projectile. It didn't *look* like a bomb...
Then she looked back up at the window it had come from. She recognized the color of the curtains through the broken glass. "That's Jim and Spock's place..." she said to herself.
A thoroughly wanton moan came floating on the breeze through the hole in the window. Uhura's mouth fell open as it dawned on her how the men's answering machine had come to be a deadly missile. "Good God, is there *nothing* Jim can't handle?"
She dorkwalked away, laughing steadily for the next four blocks.