Lt. Commander Spock studied his fellow crewmembers with a careful gaze. Intellectually adult, but sexually adolescent, he was in that unfortunate position known to many a high school human teenager--irrelevant and causeless arousal. The sensation was lukewarm, at best, and more annoying than pleasurable. And he very badly didn't want his shipmates to notice. After nine years, his awkwardness around the unpredictable, emotional humans had settled into an equilibrium, but this new development added an element that could easily be very unpleasant if any of them were to notice.
He tried to ignore the long-term implications of these symptoms. He'd hoped for most of his life that his unique hybrid biology would leave him without the deadly seven-year itch of Pon Farr that drained the honor of the males of his species. He'd read of a female hybrid, human and some other species he'd forgotten, who was in her middle-age and had never started her menstrual cycle. And certain other aspects of his body had been altered by his human mother's genes. So he had reason to hope.
Except that right now, his level of reasonless arousal was at Four Point Two, and he wasn't used to using the mental controls for this. He'd no experience with it. And the bridge was a very strange place to learn. Not condusive to a meditative atmosphere at all.
This was incredibly inconvenient and illogical, predominantly because Spock had no one with which to share such a moment. T'Pring, his intended, was far away, waiting for his *real*, Vulcan puberty to fully kick in (which he still hoped it wouldn't). He hadn't seen her since she'd grown up, so he didn't even know if he found her body pleasing in his mind. He remembered some other Vulcan women from his youth, and how their image had stuck in his eyes, and his arousal rose slightly. But he hadn't known them, or didn't know them anymore, and they, too, were far away.
His mind followed his teenage trip off his home planet and into his Starfleet Academy days. The females he'd encountered on Earth did nothing to make his blood heat up. He suspected it was partially due to his human mother, the only human he had regularly encountered while growing up. Also, in many cases, the extreme levels of emotion and irrationality he encountered in his cold-bath culture shock were more noticeable in the female. Human females did not appeal to him in the slightest. There had been one or two human *males*, beautiful, strong, honorable creatures, that he'd noticed with stoic appreciation. He remembered a certain blond cadet...
Still too far off. There was no companion for him here. He looked around the bridge, his eyes falling on Commander Clay. She was a human female, but with her jet-black hair, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes, she reminded him of a Vulcan. Her personality, too, would have been complimented highly on his home planet. She was logical, rational, bright, resourceful, and kind. Not the most interesting of women, but she and Spock had formed a comfortable friendship.
But, although she stimulated his mind slightly, she was just a friend and he couldn't classify her as anything more. Although he enjoyed conversing with her, there were still the barrier of non-attraction. There was no one aboard with whom Spock was completely at ease, enough so to allow himself physical release.
He looked down at his console. All computers and screens were functioning in perfect, working order. He suddenly experienced an illuminating affinity for the machine. Unlike his shipmates, he could always count on it to produce a comfortingly logical output. Around the console, he felt more at ease with his own human side, because someone--something--else was there to take up the reins of being the most mathematical.
He could ask the science console a question, for example, and the answer would come to him untempered by motive, bias, or whim. The reliability increased his arousal, probably due to some primitive subconscious reminder of the Vulcan commitment bond. Fascinating!
Subtly he shifted his groin against the panel. The vibrating of the working computer was soothing to the half-there ache in his pants. He trusted the console completely, knowing that it could quench this small, hot flame safely and discreetly, unlike any other. He ran his hands lovingly over the keys without really touching them, more as an instinct than anything else. The small, right-angled surfaces appealed to his sensitive Vulcan fingers and his geometrically sensitive Vulcan mind. His arousal increased even more.
He keyed in a few queries for the computer, crafted so that the answers would produce a reaction that would bring him off. The console would vibrate, and the correct answer would embrace his mind.
Spock loved math.
Commander Jamie Clay signed her last official report, and handed it to the yeoman. Then, straightening her tunic, she looked around the bridge at the crew. Wonderful crew, really. Everyone seemed so at home at their posts. Look at Spock over there, for example. Totally loves his work. Married to the science console, the joke went. Well, it made him a very good science officer!