The BLTS Archive- Amok Again
by Cheyenne Dancer (cheyenedgr@aol.com)

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Warnings: I don't really think the story needs warnings, *but* just to
be on the safe side, for some, there may be issues of consent,
although I thought I made it pretty plain within the context of the
story that that's not the case.

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"Say what!?" Dr. McCoy felt a jolt of  something mixed with pure shock
flash through him with all the power of a secondary  blaster burn.

Spock canted a brow, staring back unperturbed. "I  am quite sure that
you heard me, Doctor. I fail to see what repeating myself will 
accomplish."

Opening and closing his mouth in a remarkable imitation of a Klingon
blowfish, McCoy finally shut his mouth with an audible snap. If he
didn't know better, he could swear that that damn Vulcan was smirking
at him.

With as much dignity as possible, Dr. McCoy gathered his wits about
him. A finger making short sharp jabs between himself and Mr. Spock,
"Well, let me tell you one thing, *Mister* Spock... you can't just
waltz in here and s... suggest... *demand* that I... ah... *mate* with
you!" It was a measure of just how flustered he was that his accent
came out in the soft sweet Georgian drawl, taking the sting of
indignation out of his words.

Spock *was* laughing at him. Not so much as a curled lip  supported
his hypothesis, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Spock was
indulging in  silent laughter at his expense.

Patience lacing the deep voice, Spock spoke carefully, as if
instructing a child, "As you stated earlier, it is illogical to seek
out death when there is an alternative, Doctor."

"And *I'm*... " Dr. McCoy found himself flushing at the break in his
voice. He cleared his throat, "and I'm the *reasonable* alternative,
Mr. Spock?"

"Of course. As you have pointed out on a multitude  of occasions, you
*are* a doctor. It is your job to save lives."

"Well, thank you, kindly. Let me make a note of that in my personal
log. I don't quite know how you pointed-eared green-blooded egocentric
hobgoblins go about this whole love business, but us humans like to
work up to the hearts and flowers."

"That is not quite true, Doctor." Spock  stalked closer to McCoy with
all the silent and deadly sensuality of a large predator.  "You were
certainly one of the witnesses when T'Pring called the kahlee-fee. And
as my personal physician, you are more informed than any other
singular humanoid in this quadrant as to the needs and functions of
Vulcan physiology during the Ponn Farr."

McCoy was immediately reminded of an old vidcast he had seen of a huge
jungle cat, black as night, it's tail lashing furiously as it paced
back and forth in a primitive cage. Without knowing quite how it had
happened, he found himself in the unenviable position of being backed
against the solid bulkhead with no place to turn unless he pushed his
way through Mr. Spock. A pure rush of panic thrilled through him and
to his shock and horror lodged directly in his groin, causing his
penis to swell and throb in response to Spock's closeness.

So close, Mr. Spock was just so damned close, McCoy was having
difficulty breathing. The air about the Vulcan seemed to radiate
danger and heat wafted in waves off the Vulcan, whether due to his
naturally higher occurring temperature or because of the initial
stages of Ponn Farr, McCoy couldn't tell without tests.  One thing was
certain, if he accepted Spock's proposition, he wouldn't be cold at
nights. McCoy bit back a hysterical chuckle.

"Although you are protesting, your body does not  seem in agreement
with your objections... Leonard."

Air whooshed out of McCoy's lungs in a long-held breath  as Spock
covered the obvious swelling at his groin with one large,
slender-fingered hand.  McCoy's head thudded against the bulkhead, his
hips making a small aborted thrust against the fiery heat.

McCoy swallowed convulsively, staring into the dark  forbidding eyes
of his crewmate. He was drowning in lava. A liquid molten flow seemed
to be cascading down his body, leaving him shivering in its wake. It
seemed inevitable with Spock standing so close. Logical, even. Of
course, he was Spock's hope for survival.

Was it his imagination... or had Spock's voice suddenly  taken on a
deeper, almost purr-like timbre? He flicked his tongue wetly along
suddenly too-dry lips. "Now, just a damn minute, Spock... this is way
b...beyond the Hippocratic oath... "

Spock ignored his half-hearted protest; the dark eyes  seemed to glow
with an inner fire. McCoy shook his head from side to side, attempting 
shake the sense of unreality that surrounded the two of them. This
just couldn't be happening. Everything had seemed so normal, so common
place-- well as common place as...  as... having one's atoms scrambled
and reassembled by the transporter.

Now it was as if he had taken a step through the looking  glass or
more like a headlong leap into some erotic mirror universe. He snorted
to himself, trying to figure out a way to politely refuse Spock and
get his own rebellious  body under control. That he found Spock
fascinating, he couldn't deny, not to anyone with  eyes --and Spock
had a damn good pair --nor could he deny that he found the Vulcan
inherently sensual -- a restrained feast of ethics, saturnine good
looks and amazing  intellect.

But, dammit, *he* wasn't some tomfool teenager who was led by his
hormones. Spock kneaded his groin, a thumb carefully tracing the damp
material across the hidden crown of McCoy's penis and McCoy felt a
groan shudder through his body  and escape into the heated air between
them. "Spo-ock... don't." His chest was tight, the air, sere, like a
desert zephyr, each breath was a harsh rasp in a throat stretched
taut. He shivered uncontrollably, like a man possessed of a fever.

Spock leaned closer, his hot breath brushing against McCoy's cheek,
sending warm, dry puffs of air teasing about his ear. "Why, Leonard?
You do not like what I am doing? Or is it you need the... what did you
say? Ah... yes, the  'hearts and flowers', as you so quaintly put it."
Spock nuzzled the human's neck flicking out a hot green tongue to
taste the salt-sweet skin.

Breathing closely akin to a sob, McCoy shook his head, eyes fluttering
closed as he felt Spock's breath waft over him, sending small potent
shocks through his body. Damn, but for an unemotional race, that
Vulcan sure knew what buttons to push to bring the human nervous
system to a screaming, shuddering precipice of need.

The Vulcan raised his other hand stroking damp hair back  from the
Doctor's forehead, a slight quirk of the lips and a heated glitter
deep within his eyes an unseen signal of his continued desire for his
human friend. Spock spread his fingers across the side of McCoy's
face, preparatory to a meld.

McCoy inadvertently turned his head toward the open palm, and rubbing
cat-like against the palm. "Yes... no. I... " He pushed hard against
Spock's chest in a last ditch effort to get away from the Vulcan.
Already knowing that it was too little, too late. If he had been
serious in his denial, he should haveasked Spock to leave immediately.
He trembled... Vulcan's were a hot, passionate people, who kept their
emotions on such a tight leash that once, every seven years, it boiled
over. A Vulcan had to mate, fight, or die.

Fighting Spock would be impossible, and he severely doubted that he
could trick Spock, again. And to leave him to die, hurting, burning
and alone was... was unthinkable.

He had desired the reticent Vulcan for years, but had ignored his
feelings. The idea that Spock might choose him as a compatible life
partner had seemed laughable, and McCoy, in his usual curmudgeonly way
had decided to make sure the smoldering Vulcan would never guess what
fantasies played out in the middle of McCoy's  loneliest nights. And
to be joined in Ponn Farr, just to be Spock's sexual plaything! McCoy
didn't think he could survive being put aside afterwards. To have held
and loved and be granted his heart's fiercest desire for but a moment
in time seemed too cruel and uncaring a fate and surely, after his
painful divorce, he had more than paid his dues.

McCoy forced words past stiff lips, "Surely... surely on this whole
entire vessel, there's some... woman... that takes your fancy... "

Spock's answer was a laughing rumble, felt more than heard. "No,
Leonard. There is only you. It has always been you. Irritating, smug,
obnoxious, small-town doctor that you are. I have felt this -- pull
towards you from the first moment we met."

Spock slipped the hand that had been kneading McCoy's erection inside
his uniform pants, the too hot, smooth flesh of his palm gently
sliding over the soft velvet heat of this pulsing shaft. Spock's deep
voice sparked erratically through him; "Can you deny this? Can you
deny me, Leonard?"

"Dear, sweet Jesus."

"Your deities have nothing to do with this, Leonard." Spock bent,
capturing McCoy's lips in a bruising kiss, the hand palming between
his legs keeping the doctor's hips pinned. "Your mind and mine,
Leonard. Open your mind to me. Let me in. You are in me. I see what
you see. I feel what you feel. We are one..."

"What are you doing to me?" The doctor's eyes flashed open, pinning
Spock with the deep blue heat of a Vulcan summer sky.

 "Joining." And Spock's answer, deep,  provocative and long desired
sent an electric charge through him.

Joining. Mind meld! Spock would know! There would be no way he could
hide the depth of his love and desire from a melding. No prideful way
to say he was just helping out a fellow officer.

Sweet Mother Mary, would there be anything left of him when Spock was
done? A midnight fantasy gone wrong, when the Ponn Farr was over, what
need would Spock have for an aging country doctor? McCoy began to
struggle in earnest, his eyes telegraphing his fear. "No! Spock!
Don't!"

Spock kept his hand in place, the soft husky litany probing through
the soft tissues of McCoy's brain like a seductive scalpel opening a
pathway among the neurons for Spock. With a casual disregard for his
struggles, McCoy felt Spock press full length against him.

McCoy arched, pushing at the unyielding Vulcan mass with as much
effect as if he had tried to turn the Enterprise around and carry her
home on his back. He froze as he felt Spock move against him in a long
slow undulating motion that brought the blatant evidence of his
arousal into contact with McCoy's hip like a burning brand.

A tongue, so hot -- too hot --, flicked around, over and into his ear,
exploring the overly sensitive aural cavity. McCoy found himself
reacting  like the aforementioned teenager, too fast off the mark and
he was achingly, passionately, body arching, begging hard. "Oh --
god."

That easily, he was lost. He surrendered all he was -- his heart --
his love -- his soul -- to the Vulcan's probing, just as he felt the
undeniable alien presence of Spock's mind, hot and on fire like the
alien body pressing against him.

"Ah... Leonard" a soft dark sigh, was that without or within him? Or
both? Had he actually *heard* that?

McCoy moaned, wondering disjointedly when Spock had  released his
death grip on his head. "Spock... t'hyla." When had he picked up
Vulcan? All resistance melted from him in the nuclear fission blast of
Spock's passion, radiating like roiling heat waves through his mind
and body. McCoy stopped pushing against the solid chest, his hands
roamed the wide shoulders and circled Spock's neck, pulling him around
to press his own kiss against the thin, beautifully shaped lips.
"Don't hurt me... Spock, just don't hurt me."

Spock lifted him with frightening ease. McCoy found himself swept up
into strong arms, the black fire of the Ponn Farr burning like
insanity in a wild man's eyes and swallowing him whole. The Vulcan
carried him with disgusting ease to the small bed he kept for his
overnight stints in sickbay in the office at the back of the medlab.

The voice that emanated from the Vulcan was deep, threaded with dark
emotion and McCoy shook with a combination of fear, lust and love.
"Computer, security override lock on sickbay. Omega three--three--two
point four-- authorization code Lieutenant Commander Spock."

"Authorization code -- affirmative. Security override lock engaged."

The cool clinical sound of the computer brought McCoy back with a
resounding crash. This was really happening. What the hell was *this*?
He didn't really know what the Ponn Farr entailed. He straightened
stiffly as Spock put him gently on the bed, a direct paradox to the
repressed energy being stringently held in check by the Vulcan. He
looked up from his prone position, pushing himself halfway to a
sitting position. "Listen... Spock, maybe... maybe this isn't such a
good idea..."

Spock placed a finger over his lips. "Shush. Let me undress you,
T'hyla."

Shaking his head in denial, McCoy made to slide off the edge of the
bed. Spock stopped him by the simple expedient of lying on top of him.
His wrists were grabbed and pushed above his head, held there in the
heated iron grip of one of Spock's hands. The eyes that had gentled at
the doctor's momentary display of fear and protest, now burned with
the fire of the madman, a predator stalking prey, and too late. McCoy
understood that to fight was to pour oil on the conflagration.

He had offered challenge to his mate, now he must follow through or
submit. "Shit, Spock, I don't want to hurt you!" He panicked, twisting
beneath the heavier body, bucking and rocking in an attempt to
dislodge the man-- Vulcan-- above him.

"Do not make me hurt you, Leonard." A low threatening growl rumbled
deep in Spock's throat, and McCoy flinched as the material of his
tunic was grabbed and yanked, the thin resilient material ripping as
easily as paper. McCoy yelped as Spock bit his neck, sucking hard,
marking him. A chain reaction raged out of control, heat mirrored heat
and McCoy fought, not sure any longer why he was fighting,  just
knowing that a challenge had been issued and accepted.

His mind was fogged with passion fury and anger and when he felt
Spock's teeth, he went wild... no longer able to isolate the burning
need that was Spock in his mind from his own desires. He whirled and
tried to fight his way off the bed when Spock removed his boots, he
yelled when he felt Spock rip his uniform trousers from him... and
then Spock was on top of him again.

His lips were caught in a hard kiss, Spock's hands were  everywhere,
the thick brand of his arousal pushing painfully against his abdomen
and McCoy found a stray thought to wonder how and when Spock had
undressed. And felt a tiny twinge of sorrow and fury that Spock had
somehow tricked him out of his due rights.

He groaned under the onslaught. He wasn't ready for this. Never in his
wildest fantasies had he imagined the shear intensity as emotions
boiled and flowed along the link, mirrored and amplified and reflected
back.

Until he didn't know where he stopped and Spock began.

And fire! Molten lava! He was need. He was caught. He couldn't
breathe, he couldn't struggle, Spock was whispering darkly into his
ear, strange words, Vulcan words... words that heralded ownership and
passion and the unspoken things that boiled beneath the placid Vulcan
facade. Echoed by the link that seemed to pulse with the very same
madfire that was consuming his body. His soul. His mind.

Spock was kissing his way down his body and everywhere the hot, moist
lips touched, tiny sparks, like miniature novas, danced. Every nerve
ending in his body tingled and he couldn't repress a groan. "Please...
Spock... T'hyla...*do* something!"

Ignoring his pleas, Spock continued to snuffle down his body, inhaling
him and placing fiery brands of ownership across his chest, licking
his nipples and biting them until McCoy was writhing like a Rigellian
slave-girl, begging in a voice he didn't recognize.

And still the Vulcan ignored him, continuing his investigation of his
body. He felt the hot breath wuffle across his groin, stirring the
dark curls nestled about the base of his penis. His hips thrust
upwards in a desperate wanton display of need as he sought out that
heat. His knowledge of the English language had long since degenerated
to pleas to various deities he had encountered on his travels with the
Enterprise and a simple repetitive pleading. "Please...
please...please!"

Finally, finally! Spock pushed McCoy's legs apart. Instead of the
expected moisture, McCoy howled and arched upwards in unexpected
pleasure as Spock nuzzled his anus, the exploring wuffle followed by a
hot tongue laving his spasming opening.

"Sweet Georgia! God! Spock!" McCoy found himself pulling his own legs
up and apart to allow Spock greater access. He took great gulping
breaths, wondering when the air in sickbay had gotten so thin, so
hot... so like Vulcan.

Spock replaced his tongue with a finger, slowly pushing into the wet
opening. With a tender care that would later bemuse McCoy, Spock
gently inserted a second finger, massaging McCoy's inner canal and
probing for what... McCoy wasn't sure but knew that if he had been in
his right mind, he would know.

By now, McCoy was a puddled mass of nerve endings, each new touch
sending shocks of pleasure dancing pulsar like along his body. His
penis throbbed in a never-ending agony of need, his balls were drawn
up so tight to his body he thought they would push up into his
abdominal cavity or explode. He felt a gathering firestorm and felt it
start to sweep through his body...

Dimly, he realized that Spock must have sensed his incipient orgasm,
because the hot fingers were withdrawn and he felt Spock do something
at the base of his testicles and a bright flare of pain wove in with
the pleasure and the intensity was *there*, but, he just couldn't
*come*! "Spoooock!"

The bed shifted beneath him and his eyes flew open as he felt those
hot hands-- *Spock's* hot hands spread his thighs even further. And
found himself falling into the darkfire of Spock's gaze. He couldn't
catch his breath. He was dying. He was scared shitless. He knew what
was coming. The Vulcan had to claim him.

He mewled his distress and then shouted as the head of  Spock's penis
pushed at the tight ring of muscle guarding the entrance to his body.
He arched up under the heavier body in a vague attempt at escape, only
succeeding in pushing the thick head abruptly past the spasming
muscle. He whimpered as the thick tool burned its way inside him.

It was so damn *big*! He wasn't made for this! He wasn't a woman!
Dammit, he wasn't even Vulcan! Inexorably the thick rod shoved into
him until McCoy thought he was being impaled in some ancient arcane
torture ritual.

At last, Spock was still, holding himself rigid over McCoy's doubled
back body. He could feel the weight of Spock's balls against his
buttocks. The pressure within his skull seemed to be building in time
with the pressure in his rectum. And he just wished Spock would
*move*!

Panic seized him by the throat and he could feel tears trickle from
beneath his eyelids. A voice he didn't recognize was pleading and he
wondered disjointedly who the poor bastard was who was begging to be
fucked.

Spock was still whispering against his ear. Words half-understood
stirred his blood and re-awakened his partially faded arousal. And
Spock was moving, a slow, agonizing withdrawal, followed by an equally
slow forward thrust of his hips until he was buried deep in his body.
Spock continued, sweat rolling slowly down his forehead to spatter
bitterly along McCoy's neck and chest.

McCoy licked the acrid liquid from his lips, hands that he had not
known had been released were twisted in the bed covers, unclenched and
then grasped desperately at Spock's shoulders.

His own need for Spock raged out of control to match the Vulcan fires
of Ponn Farr and McCoy screamed as Spock angled his thrust and hit his
prostate. Over and over with infuriating Vulcan accuracy. McCoy
scratched and clawed and mewled like a wild animal as Spock began to
pick up momentum, almost lifting him with each sharp thrust of his
angled hips.

"You are mine, Leonard McCoy. Now. And Forever." Spock panted out the
vow and with a final thrust, McCoy felt the shaft inside of him grow
impossibly thicker and his cries joined Spock's as his rectum was
filled with burning fluid, scarring him, branding him, changing him,
claiming him as Spock's.

And then he was free of whatever impediment Spock had imposed upon him
and his own climax ripped through him, leaving him shaking like a man
palsied by age.

McCoy whimpered in dismay at all he had revealed and sought to roll
away from the heavy weight of his lover... his mate.

Spock gathered him gently but firmly into his arms, placing him on his
chest and refused to let him scoot away. McCoy found his temporary
resistance ebbing away as waves of comfort and love washed over him.

Melded. They were still melded! McCoy blinked tiredly... trying to
assimilate that. Did that mean the Ponn Farr wasn't over? He shook, he
couldn't... *couldn't* do that again. He had been so... so *naked*,
mind and soul. How long did Ponn Farr last? How long would Spock be
his. He felt his throat closing up.

The dark voice that had sent tremors of fear and pleasure twining
their way along his spine spoke into the damp hair at the nape of his
neck. "I will not hurt you, Leonard"

Such a wave of love and contentment washed through him, McCoy felt
himself slowly beginning to relax. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a
place in one green-blooded pointy-eared hobgoblin's heart for an aging
country doctor. He snuggled into the arms holding him and kissed one
of the green nipples just a shade darker than the paler skin and
smiled against Spock's chest as he felt the answering quiver of
interest through the link, as well as through Spock's body.

Amusement trickled along the link, but Spock spoke softly, "You should
rest, mine. The fever will come upon us again soon."

Soon? McCoy found himself succumbing to the siren call of Morpheus
before he could ask Spock if he was serious.

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The End