Necessary Treatment

by Angel

Series: TOS

Pairing: S/Mc

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Angel owns the story, but paramount owns everything else. Where’s Gene Roddenberry when we could use him?

Warmth. Damp greenery, so different than the arid smell of his homeworld. He sat on the stone bench, trying to meditate, but the sensations of the arboretum kept impinging on his logic. 

The logic and calm he could even now feel being ripped away from him. 

He had suspected that being half-human might affect the pon farr cycle. Unfortunately, it appeared to have halved the interval. Now, he attempted once more to bring himself under control. To no avail. 

Thousands of generations screamed through his blood, and hammered at his control until it shattered. He left the uniform on the bench, and prowled the undergrowth as his hunting ancestors had.  

"Lieutenant, has Mr. Spock checked in yet?" 

"Yes, sir. He reported two hours ago and is in the arboretum running tests on the plants from the Ventala Prime. Mr. Sulu just went off-duty and was going in to help him."

The com pinged and Uhura turned to answer it. "Bridge." 

"This is Sulu. Captain, we need you down here in the arboretum. And Dr. McCoy too." 

The helmsman was in shocking disarray when Kirk and McCoy found him outside the door. He looked as if he'd been in a brawl: mussed hair, torn uniform and bruises forming on his face and around his wrists.

 McCoy waved a tricorder over him, and sent him to sickbay. "Jim, I get Spock's readings from the arboretum, but they're all wrong. I need to go in there and check on him. It looks like he's gone back into pon farr, but it's about three years too early for that." 

Kirk pulled out his phaser and set it to heavy stun. "All right then. Let's get him down to sick bay." 

They stepped through the door. The room lay silent and green before them. No rustle; no movement betrayed the predator that was the science officer. McCoy scanned with his tricorder, walking unheedingly from the door, trusting his captain to cover his back.  The tiny screen seemed to waver as he focused on it.

Rubbing his eyes irritably, he stared intently. The hard impact of a body against him took him by surprise, and he had barely caught his breath when his assailant flipped him onto his back.  

The Spock that loomed above him bore the same resemblance to the cultured science officer as a wolf did to his late mother's afghan hound. It was not the controlled evil of the Imperial Spock, but a primitive version. 

McCoy struggled against the long hands that held him pressed to the floor. He flinched as Spock sniffed him, slowly, thoroughly. The impossibly hot tongue that swept along the side of his face startled him, as did the raised eyebrow that looked almost smug. As the mouth descended again, Spock collapsed on top of him.

"Bones?" The captain hauled the stunned science officer off of the stunned doctor. "Are you OK?" 

"Yeah. I'm fine." He flexed his wrists just a little, wincing at the bruises.

"Let's get him down to sickbay, and I'll check him over."  Kirk laid the unconscious science officer on a biobed and watched as the readout climbed. McCoy waved the specially calibrated medical tricorder over Spock, and scowled at the results. 

"He's definitely into pon farr, Jim. I'd say he's got a week at the outside. If he's talking when he wakes up, I'll ask what the procedure is. If not, we may have to call Vulcan or just run every eligible lady on the ship past him and hope he thinks one is a suitable mate." The suspicion that the ladies might not be considered suitable burned up the side of his face where he'd been licked. 

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

**

For the second time in two days McCoy stood outside the arboretum.  He’d known from the second Spock had licked him.  It had taken him hours of thought.  Spock didn’t have days for him to waffle.  In the end, he’d decided not to think too much about the ramifications.  They’d deal with those if and when they arose.  The important thing now was Spock’s life.

He didn’t pause long.  Walking the corridors in his bathrobe had been eccentric enough.  He slipped into the arboretum and locked the door.  He shrugged out the robe and let the warm air of the room caress his naked body.  A slight wetness on the back of his thighs reminded him hat he’d come here to do. 

Once more, Leonard questioned his sanity in walking naked, with an ass full of lubricant, into a room with a feral Vulcan deep in Pon Farr.  He’d take an assessment later.  Right now, he had to know if his intuition was right.

He heard the light footsteps and held still.  Being prey was frightening, especially since his hunter was teetering on the brink of sentience.  A hot body bore him down to the ground.  He heard sniffing and then the tongue again, this time across his shoulders.

“Mine,” was the single word Spock growled before taking him with no finesse and no foreplay.

It hurt, oh lord, it hurt.  He hadn’t done this since med school, and then he’d been drunk enough to relax. No chance of that here.  He breathed through the pain, enduring, until the assault on his body ceased.  Then Spock lay atop him, quiet, occasionally worrying the nape of his neck with tongue or teeth.

“Mine,” came the low, satisfied sound, and the weight on his back vanished.

Leonard pulled himself to his feet, and looked around. There was no sign of Spock.

“Spock?” He listened carefully and followed the rustle of leaves across the room. The second assault knocked him off his feet. The hot body atop him was slower this time, more careful in penetrating.

It didn’t hurt this time. Some of the strokes were even pleasurable as they rubbed over his prostate. Not scared anymore, McCoy took some control and rolled them to their sides. Spock was moving with less urgency now, and seemed to be recovering something of his own mind.

His hands explored McCoy’s body, strong yet gentle. He shuddered and was finished. He vanished again into the greenery.

McCoy lay for a few more moments on the ground, then rose. The madness was passing. He didn’t think there would be a third time.

Spock was half dressed and sitting on a bench when McCoy found him. He turned away and pretended to be busy with his clothing. From his robe pocket, McCoy took out a tricorder.

“Good, looks like you’ll be fine with a little rest and some extra vitamin supplements.”

“Leonard, I have done great wrong to you.”

“Spock.” He sat down on the bench. “You did what your blood made you do. Stop blushing, dammit. I knew what was needed, and I came in here ready for you. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I would have, had you not come willingly. I would have hunted you through the ship like a sehlat on a trail.”

McCoy chuckled. “That would have been a sight for the yeomen. We did the only logical thing that could save the best science officer in Starfleet.” He reached out and stroked one of the pointed ears. “It wasn’t horrible.”

Seeing the Vulcan’s discomfort, McCoy stood up. “Think of it as medical treatment. I’m going back to my quarters. Stop by sickbay tomorrow so M’Benga can check for any lingering effects.”

He walked back to his quarters and went to bed.

Spock slowly dressed, the clothing unpleasantly coarse on his sensitized skin. McCoy had been helpful, professional and above all discreet. He should feel nothing.

He walked back to his quarters and meditated until the hour before his duty shift.

M’Benga checked Spock over, pronounced him fit for duty and sent him to the bridge.

“All right, Leonard, now you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, I watched you walk in. You look like you’ve got a pulled muscle in your hip.”

“All right.” Grumbling under his breath, McCoy let M’Benga wave a tricorder at him.

“Here.” He hypo’d McCoy before his superior could stop him. “Lots of vitamins and a broad spectrum anti-infection agent. You’ve got some wicked tears. Be more careful about your lovers.”

The days passed, blending into weeks. McCoy found it more and more difficult to sleep. Meditation eluded Spock. They wandered the ship at odd hours, and junior crewmen walked softly in their vicinity.

At last, they found themselves back in the arboretum, by no plan or design.

"Doctor, you will cease shadowing and spying! I no longer require your 'medical attentions'.

”Me? You're the one who is stalking me? Why else do you keep showing up where I am, when your shift would have you someplace else?"

They stared at each other, dark eyes locked with blue, furious.  The moment grew.  McCoy could hear his heart pounding and his breathing coming in near-pants.  There were only three ways this could end.  He’d had his share of running, and he knew he couldn’t take Spock in a fight.

The long, hot fingers on his face were no surprise.  The hotter mouth on his was.

“Mine.  Mine in body.  Mine in mind.  Bound together. You are mine.  I am yours.”  Spock’s words, barely breathed against his face

“I am my beloved’s and he is mine,” McCoy whispered the old Earth words of the wedding ceremony. 

Spock sat up and pulled away.  “This is not the place.”

“My quarters?” McCoy suggested.

They left the arboretum together.

The End