Title: Self-Inflicted Wounds

Author: Saavant

Contact: saavaant @ yahoo . com

Series: TOS

Rating: [Explicit]

Codes: K/S

Part: 1/1

Summary: Spock's fourth pon farr. Prequel to "Nine Lost Lives."

Archive: Sure.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not paid for this.

Note: Like "Nine Lost Lives," this was inspired by a title idea from Kira-Nerys's Title Ideas page. Thank you!




Sweat streamed down his neck, arms, ribs, hips, thighs. The rivulets tormented him: tiny stroking fingers, too slowly, too lightly stimulating the supersensitive skin of his entire fevered body before their musky heat pooled on the warm polished surface of the stone slab beneath him.

He had never perspired so much in his life. In the desert it was a waste of precious moisture. He had never seen a Vulcan sweat more than slightly. He suspected, in the increasingly rare moments when a train of rational thought would slip through his brain, that it was permitted only by his human heritage and his life aboard a starship designed for humans. It had not been like this even in his first pon farr... perhaps only because that had never progressed to the searingly sexual level this had reached.

His cock so hard he wanted to scream, he twisted violently back and forth on the meditation stone that had been soothingly cool when he had first lain down on it but was now soaked with his hot sweat and slid beneath him like Jim's body in lovemaking. Inflamed by the image, starving for the protrusion that should be pressing into him, he shoved his buttocks back against the maddeningly smooth surface, aching to turn over and rub himself on it in a sensual frenzy. But he could not, said the shred of logic that rode his brain like a single driver clinging to the reins of a hundred mad hal'aushfa. Before his body could find release he had to focus his mind.

"Spock," said the voice too close to him, too desirable, too tempting. "For the thousandth time, you don't have to go through this. I am willing to help you. I *want* to help you. Spock..."

"No!" The scream seemed to echo in the Vulcan heat and dim red light of his quarters. "I have overcome this with meditation once before." But even as he spoke the assurance he thrust his hips into the air, clenched his hands to bloodless whiteness on the sides of the meditation slab to keep from touching himself. Magma churned in his testicles; the press of slick and swollen ridges against his belly was excruciating torture. "I shall overcome it again."

"Like hell you will. I saw how hard it was for you to do it the first time. You barely made it. This is going to be twice as bad. I've been reading your Vulcan biology books, and the number of non-Kolinahru who've managed this two times in a row is less than..."

"I am not a non-Kolinahru! I studied every discipline at Gol... I only failed to finish the process completely because..."

"Because you are drawn to me!" The voice that could be gold, honey, sunlight... it was fire now, flame to match Spock's flame, licking like a hotly erotic tongue at his ears and requiring every last effort of his remaining scrap of control to resist. "I remember you touching me in Sickbay after you went out to meet that V'Ger thing. I remember your hand in mine, all the things you said to me that way, that you couldn't put into words. I saw your memory of T'Sai kicking you out of the Kolinahr and I felt her looking in your mind and I heard *all* the meanings of what she said. 'This consciousness calling to you from the stars, it stirs your human blood, Spock.' V'Ger was what finally made you decide you couldn't take it any more. But I was that consciousness, calling you from the stars, the whole time you were there. We are bonded and our bond is too strong to get through this alone, either of us!"

Spock twisted again on the damp stone. Sweat trickled agonizingly in his most sensitive places. Between his buttocks, under his arms, through the thick curls that tortured his sex. He jerked violently as a trickle of a different wetness drew a merciless line down his aching penis. Until he tasted blood, he didn't realize how hard he was biting his lip to keep from begging for the relief his lover offered. A fact from the Vulcan biology books fluttered through his mind: Death in pon farr is death from pain. The brain and nerves are the first organs to succumb to the stress of the genital pressure. Only once the nervous system has thus overloaded and burned out, and the systems dependent upon it begin to shut down, does physical arousal subside...

"*Let me help.*" Cool human hands settled on his shoulders, a leg began to insinuate itself between his. Brush of his t'hy'la's hardness against his thigh. *Yes*... but no, no, no, no, no...

The hand he threw out was meant only to push Jim away, but he heard... felt... the crash of human flesh against the opposite bulkhead. His lover's startled cry. The pain of the impact and the stab of pain through his own heart for having caused it. "No!! Do you not remember that I hurt you the first time? Can you not feel that I hurt you just now without intending it? Do you not see that I am in pon farr...that my strength is doubled, tripled, and my controls over it are useless? I shall hurt you... I cannot control... I burn..."

Yes... the effort of reasoning, of arguing against his t'hy'la was helping to clear his mind, and Spock seized the opportunity to find a point from which to steer his meditation. Perhaps... perhaps if he could hold on long enough to find the three centers of the fever-healing rite, he could overcome the odds, ride out the plak tow a second time on the mind rules alone... fulfill his assurance to Jim.

As the haze of flames began to build up around him again, he struggled to search out the node in the base of his brain that was the source of the ancient drive. He caught onto it just as another wave of insane fire coursed through him, made him thrash on the stone, made his sex leap and jerk sharply against the trail of dark hairs leading to his groin. He felt his anguished moan in Jim's concern, spiking through their link like a needle of heat. He convulsed in that double warmth, the fire of his need and the fire of his bondmate's love, clinging to the first of the three centers through sheer determination to heal himself, to do this for Jim, always for Jim, so that Jim might be spared another seven years without submitting to the violence of the first pon farr they had shared.

Had that been all he had thought of, when he had fled to Seleya, after awakening from their first fever together to find his lover bruised, bitten, sore, ravaged by the monster of his Vulcan biology? Had the only reason for his attempt at Kolinahr been to learn these disciplines... meditation rites that would put him through a nightmare of agony but spare his t'hy'la? If so, Gol had been for nothing. For he knew now that even if he brought this one somehow under control, he would never survive a third in the same way. The first time he had tried meditating, he'd barely succeeded, and this was tenfold worse, and bound to increase exponentially in difficulty with each cycle.

He felt a sudden wave of despair... there was no way he would get through this one, his testicles were writhing in their tight sac and rivulets of semen leaked unbearably down his throbbing cock like the sweat on his body and his meditation was slipping, burning, melting away; he was losing his grip on the fever center already, he was doomed to death from pain, or loss of control and a violent claiming of his mate...

And then he knew that Jim's own arousal had become unendurable, because he felt the human hand wrap around the human cock and begin to stroke, his lover wanting him so badly he was giving up, resorting to self-pleasure rather than make Spock do something for which he could not forgive himself. How Spock could feel for Jim at this moment, as he too fought to quell his need by himself for the sake of his mate's safety. How he had always identified with Jim in so many ways... how he loved and cherished him, how desperately he wanted him, wanted to take him even now. Flame blazed up, waves upon swelling, rising, coursing waves of flame, and for a moment he thought that all of the meditation had been carried away in its fiery river...

...but as his t'hy'la's hand began to move, the tide of desire took on a pulsing rhythm, the sensation emanating in steady throbs from his pleasure center. He became aware that the fingers of his mind, that had clenched so tightly like his white-knuckled hands and his drawn-up scrotum with the last surge of fire, were still clenched, and that they still held the first center of meditation in their focus. As his hands had held onto the stone slab his mind had clung to the center of pon farr. It had not been washed away, he had not lost the first point on which he had to concentrate, he still had it in his grasp... and all he had to do now was focus on the two other centers. And the next one was the pleasure center, clearly visible as it pulsed with the movement of Jim touching himself, Spock feeling each stroke as if it were for him. Soon it, too, was tangled up in the tendrils of his consciousness, held as tightly as he held the seat of his blood fever, shaping the first strands of the link between the two.

"Look, Spock," his bondmate breathed, swirling one slick finger around the head of his penis, pressing at the tiny opening with a twist of his fingertip that made Spock's own organ jerk hard and leak yet another stream of wetness from the place where he could feel the touch as clearly as if it were physically there. "Look, Spock. I want you so bad I have to do this. It's not nearly enough, Spock. I want your hands on me. I want you inside me. I enjoyed our first pon farr together, Spock. You must have seen that in my mind."

"You... felt my... pleasure... projected... onto you," gasped the Vulcan, twisting and thrusting into the air even as he tried to use logical arguments to keep his thoughts in the right mode for maintaining the meditation. "Your true... feelings... were pain... injury..."

"And why can't I enjoy pain?" answered the voice of Spock's beloved, the voice that was now a near-incoherent rasp of desire. "You hurting me feels better than anyone else in the galaxy pleasuring me, you know that. Spock, I could barely sit down for a week after that first Time, but I'm stroking my cock right now and thinking about the way you pushed inside me then, the way you fucked me so hard, and I swear I'm almost about to come. I *loved* what you did to me, even when it hurt... and I really, really wish we could go through that again... I'd settle for seven years from now, but I wish it could happen now. The only part that really hurt me, Spock, was when you left. And that hurt you too, I know it. That's what happens with a bond, t'hy'la. When one of us is hurt, the other is too. Just like I can do this..." Jim twisted semen-soaked fingers around and under his single ridge; Spock, groaning harshly, bucked his hips in sympathetic sensation. "And you feel it too. Causing pleasure, causing pain, it all comes back to you in a bond. Every wound you inflict is a self-inflicted wound. Do you know that while you lie there suffering in meditation, I'm getting a taste of everything you're going through?"

Unable to answer, Spock heaved and thrashed on his back, trembling on the verge of orgasm, jerking violently as his hands clasped the sides of the slab so hard they bled and his mind twined itself around the pon farr center and the pleasure center and the final, third center that glowed with every word Jim spoke... the one connected to their bond.

"Isn't that what you told me, when you explained what I was getting into, bonding with you? And if you had done anything to me I didn't love, wouldn't you have felt it?"

And this truth vibrated between them, stirred the link into warm, bright life, and with another push, another small effort of concentration, the three centers of the pon farr meditation were connected.

Touch flowed through the bond, as Jim doubled over his own hand in convulsions of ecstasy, as Spock's entire upper body lifted off the meditation stone with the intensity of his stimulation. Stimulation, pouring from the bond into the pleasure center, pleasure coursing into the pon farr center, feeding the hungry demon of Vulcan sexuality that was tearing at Spock's mind and soul and body. Touching and feeling and sating, a stream of sensation through the course that Spock, with Jim's help, had finally managed to lay out for it, pouring into the greedy mouth of his fever's need, and they both knew the meditation was successful.

Jim was coming, repeatedly, hard and fast, unable to utter a cry that could begin to express the intensity of the feeling, and finally just letting out a strangled sound, something between a grunt and a moan, as he climaxed in his own hand, the first time... and the second... and the third. Bent over double one instant, throwing head back and hips forward the next, every muscle rigid with his explosions.

Spock was coming, absolutely shattering orgasms bursting one after the other into the air, onto his stomach and chest and the meditation stone, stimulated only by the triangle of centers in his mind, and the bond that led to it. Coming again and again, beyond his ability to count, searing pleasure incinerating him over and over and over, his body lurching uncontrollably with the force of his ejaculations, Jim's hoarsely shouted name on his lips with every one.

They were at their bonding ceremony, waiting with tried patience for all the guests to say goodbye so they could jump on each other. They were finally free of all formal trappings, rushing to their chambers, tangled up on the floor sucking each other as they explored the so-new sensations of the Vulcan mental link. They were coming at the exact same instant, spilling into one another's mouths and swallowing each other, each surprised and delighted at the ability to sense everything the other was sensing, to feel two orgasms, taste two tastes, know the love of two ends of a bond.

Spock was back from Gol and they were in his quarters with their cocks between each other's legs and half laughing, half crying as the hot semen of each man poured over the other's anus, each mind asking the other silently, *We'll never be apart like that again, will we?*

They were on shore leave on some pleasure planet, relaxing in their suite's hot tub, and Kirk had floated over and sat on Spock's lap, lowering himself slowly down onto the erection that had appeared instantly with the proximity of the Vulcan to his lover. A few quick, hard thrusts, and they were stiffening and coming in the warm water, names cried out for only each other to hear.

They were just back from koon-ut-kalifee, and Spock had confessed his love for the first time, and they were wrapped up in each other's arms, devouring one another with kisses, and their legs were intertwined and they were spilling themselves in the pants they'd been too desperate to remove. Fabric becoming hot and wet and slick, unbearably arousing, clinging to genitals already hardening again with their desire for each other.

Jim was at the admiralty and Spock was at Gol and they were asleep, but in their dreams they were together, and they both woke up in orgasm, tears streaming down their faces as they sat in their own wetness realizing that it had been, after all, only a dream.

They were on an away mission and it was cold and they had to share body heat; Kirk was snuggling happily into the warm Vulcan behind him, and pushing back a little against the hardness pressing at his buttocks. The hardness pushed back, and Jim pushed back, and Spock pushed, and Jim pushed and all too soon they were coming all over each other and laughing in delight.

They were in the first pon farr they had shared, and Jim was on his hands and knees crying out in ecstasy as he was roughly entered from behind, where he had been roughly entered several times in the past day, and he didn't deny that there was pain, but seconds later when Spock came, Jim was coming just as hard, and the cries bursting from his throat as his semen burst onto the floor were of pure animalistic pleasure. And this time it was all right, no one misunderstood or felt guilty, and they basked in each other's orgasms like lazy cats by a sunny window.

Neither knew how it happened, but when it was over, Spock wasn't on the stone slab any more, and Kirk wasn't where he had been sitting. They were together in the bed, arms around each other, cuddling happily and completely content in one another's presence.

"I understand," Spock murmured, and Jim knew exactly what he meant, even if he couldn't have put it exactly into words himself. What words were there for the joy of bonded love?

"I hope you never inflict that on yourself again," he whispered into the Vulcan's neck.

Spock raised a brow. "The multiple orgasms?"

"That part was fine," Jim said, running a teasing hand through the dark hair. "But I bet we could get the multiple orgasms if we went through it together, too. And without all the effort and arguing and sweating and everything."

"I shall allow that to be our plan, this time seven years from now," Spock promised

"You've got a date," said Jim, smiling.

But Spock was already asleep.






Continue to the next story, "Nine Lost Lives"

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