FIC: Star Trek RPS -- You Had Me at "Pon Farr" (2/2)
Title: You Had Me at “Pon Farr” (2/2)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: CRACK, bondage, plot devices
Word Count: 8,209
Disclaimer: I don’t know them. Nor did I come up with the concept of Pon Farr, though I truly wish I had. Would’ve been more like “every seven days,” though…
Summary: Zach goes through Pon Farr. Yup. Prompted forever ago here at the kink meme.
A/N: I have no doubt done horrible things to ST canon (and possibly reality itself) here, but I maintain it is all justified under the noble banner of crack!fic.
Back to part one
It’s two handjobs and a blowjob later when Zach apparently decides things aren’t moving fast enough and grabs Chris by the ears to shove his cock further down the younger man’s throat. It’s something Chris fucking hates, but he gets that this whole thing is a little out of Zach’s control or he probably wouldn’t be going down on him in the first place.
“Dude, these aren’t handles,” he groans afterward, rubbing his sore ears.
Zach yanks up his pants, then rolls over to bury his head in the pillows. “Oh, god, I did that, I actually did that. I’m sorry. I think it’s getting worse - this isn’t helping as much as it was and I’m feeling less in control every time.” He rolls up abruptly. “I’ve been thinking. Way I see it, we’ve got two options.”
“Which are?”
“One, I lock myself in here with all the lube in the house, then you find earplugs and guard the door until you’re certain I’ve passed out in a puddle of my own-“
“Not gonna happen. What’s option two? And exactly how much lube do you have in the house?”
“Two. Um.”
“Yes?”
“My dignity was kind of hoping you’d pick option one.”
“That was the dignified option? Oh, god.”
“Look in my closet, the lowest shelf on the left.”
Chris gets up and digs his way into Zach’s hot tranny mess of a closet. “What exactly am I looking for?”
“You’ll know when you find them.”
“Them? What are you-“ Chris stops abruptly and sticks his head out of the closet to glare at the other man. “Zach, no.”
“You have to.”
“No!”
“I’m not letting you stay here unless you do.”
Chris gapes. “I can honestly say I never thought I would have to utter this sentence, but no, Zach, I will not handcuff you to the fucking bed.”
“I don’t know how much control I’ve got left - I could hurt you.”
“I’m not made of glass, dickweed.”
“Dammit, Chris!” Zach shouts, fist swinging out to hit the wall. It ends up punching through the wall.
“Point taken.” Chris stares down at the cuffs in his hand. They look expensive - soft brown leather with some kind of fleece lining. Expensive and well-used. “Not trying to be difficult here, but are we sure these will even hold you?”
“Well, this bed’s taken some pretty rough-” Zach catches himself and turns aside quickly to mutter the rest of the sentence into obscurity. He makes a show of testing the wrought iron of the headboard. “I think we’ll just have to hope it holds.”
Chris considers his options. On the one hand, he would hate to submit his friend to the further indignity of having to be restrained. On the other hand: Zach. Naked. Cuffed to the bed. “Alright. On one condition.”
“What?”
“I get to ride you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Again with the playing dumb. Your plan, in essence, requires me to tie you down and service you sexually for an unspecified length of time. Am I wrong?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. And there’s still option one.”
“No, we already vetoed that. And I am completely on board with the sexual servicing, as long as I get some say in the details.”
Zach groans, but he’s already half-hard and rising. “I would hardly characterize fucking your ass as a detail.”
“Your eyes say ‘no,’ but your dick says ‘yes, god, yes, gimme some of that sweet Pine ass,’” Chris says with a lewd smile. He helps Zach buckle the cuffs around his wrists, then secures them to the headboard and fluffs up the pillows supporting Zach’s shoulders. “Okay?”
“So, so far from okay.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Will you please stop acting as if fucking me is a chore?”
“God, I’m sorry, you know that’s not… I just really wish this could be happening under less clinically insane circumstances.”
“You need sex; I want sex. What could be saner than that?” With that, he grips the waistband of Zach’s god-awful sweatpants and swiftly strips them down to his ankles, flinging the offending garment away.
Height-wise, Zach’s only got about an inch on Chris, but stretched out like this with his arms spread out behind him, he looks like he goes on forever. “Christ, Zach, there’s so much of you.”
Zach grins. “Would you mind taking me to the nearest gay bar and repeating that? Loudly?”
And thank god he hasn’t lost his sense of humor, because Chris is pretty sure he couldn’t deal with the Vulcan poker face in bed. It’s got its appeal in a kinky sort of way, but Chris likes his lovers a little more on the responsive side. “Condoms?” he asks as he shucks the pajama bottoms he’d borrowed.
“Top drawer,” Zach replies, nodding to the bedside table.
Chris rolls the condom onto Zach, which earns him an entirely undignified whimper and a sharp little thrust of his hips. Responsive indeed. Chris laughs and straddles Zach’s thighs, slicking his fingers with lube. He braces one hand behind him and tilts back so Zach gets an unimpeded view of Chris slowly fingering himself open.
Before long, Zach is wriggling impatiently underneath him. “Taking your time there, aren’t you?”
“Shut it. I haven’t bottomed in forever and I wanna make sure I’m relaxed enough to take that mammoth kielbasa you call a dick.”
“You don’t have to flatter me, idiot. I’m priapic and chained to the bed.”
Pushing up on his knees, Chris removes his fingers to point one accusingly at Zach. “Better watch that mouth or I’ll gag you with an old sock, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
Zach gapes. “You wouldn’t.”
“Nah. But it’s just nice to know I could.” With that, Chris straddles him, takes Zach’s cock in his hand, and begins to lower himself down, drawing groans from both of them.
Evidently Chris had gotten so used to handling Zach with hands and mouth that he’d completely forgotten about the other man’s elevated body temperature, a fact which becomes abundantly clear as Chris impales himself on Zach. It’s only mildly terrifying, feeling as though he is being fucked by the sun. He tries to express this verbally, with the rather embarrassing result of uttering an incomprehensible string of guttural consonants.
Fortunately, Zach is in much the same state of inarticulacy. He wails and bucks his hips and god, it would hurt if it didn’t feel so utterly brilliant. Chris’ animal hindbrain kicks his body into gear and he starts moving, rising up and sinking down on Zach’s cock, and it’s a damn good thing he stretched himself because Zach is not giving him any time to adjust. He’s got his feet planted on the bed and is currently using all of his considerable strength to thrust himself up and up and up, taking most of Chris’ weight with him. It’s insane - Chris is on top but somehow Zach’s got most of the control and for some reason it is turning him the fuck on.
Sweat is already starting to roll down the back of Chris’ neck, between his shoulder blades, when he distantly hears Zach chanting something. He focuses all of his rapidly-devolving mental powers into listening, and it’s a steady stream of “oh god Chris please touch yourself I want to but I can’t Chris you’re so fucking hard just do it do it do it wrap that slick hand around your cock oh fuck Chris now.”
And never let it be said that Chris doesn’t know a good idea when he hears one. A few rough strokes and they’re both groaning, Zach’s eyes gaping as Chris’ slam shut. The younger man throws his head back as he comes, riding high on Zach’s bone-jarring thrusts and gripping tight around the rock-hard heat inside of him until the rhythm falters, and then Chris is just trying his best not to be bucked off as Zach comes like a fucking freight train beneath him.
His weight lands back on his knees on the mattress as Zach’s body wilts. Chris can already feel him softening and dear god, he never thought he’d be thankful for that, but even he has to take some time to recover from that. He pulls off Zach with a slight grimace, disposing of the condom and trying to look a lot less shaken than he feels.
He gives up and collapses next to Zach. “Can I take the cuffs off now?”
Zach tries to sit up, but gravity seems to be winning, so he slumps back down. “Yeah, I think we’re safe for a little while.”
Chris frees Zach’s wrists but leaves the cuffs hooked to the bed frame. He winces in sympathy as Zach gingerly rotates his shoulders and lets the blood flow back into his arms. “You okay?”
“Could be a lot worse, considering. Luckily, I think Vulcan bodies were built for this kind of abuse.” His eyes suddenly go wide with shock and he glances over at Chris. “But human bodies aren’t. Oh, shit, Chris did I hurt you? I’m so s-“
Chris weakly punches Zach in the arm. “Don’t you dare apologize. Were you even paying attention?”
Zach blushes - he actually fucking blushes. “Er, well, from my angle you did seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Fucking hell, Zachary. I think the residents of the space station could tell I was enjoying myself. Just… give me a few minutes before we go again.”
&&&
After that, Zach actually naps a while. Chris considers joining him, but the sex has mostly just wound him up, and though he doesn’t really believe Zach would hurt him or anybody else, he can’t be sure of anything right now. He pads out to the kitchen to see if there’s anything edible in the house.
By the time the macaroni has been properly boiled and the cheese added, he hears Zach stirring in the bedroom. Chris considers bringing the food into the bedroom, but figures Zach could use a few minutes out of the sex cave and into the bright daylight of the kitchen.
Zach walks in rubbing his eyes and stretching. “Can I get some water?” he asks through a massive yawn. “My throat’s turned into the Sahara.”
Chris tosses him a water bottle from the fridge and brings two bowls and silverware over to the table. “Yeah, I guess we’d better make sure you stay hydrated.”
Zach slumps down into a chair, looking a little pinched around the eyes but otherwise suspiciously alert for a man who’s had more orgasms today than should be technically survivable. Also suspiciously glum, though he is going after that mac and cheese like Homer Simpson after a donut.
After eating a while in silence, Chris can’t take anymore. “What gives, man? You’ve been magically gifted with enough strength and stamina to sequentially fuck an entire rugby team and you’re acting like it’s a burden. If I were you, I’d be ecstatic.”
“It’s not…” Zach drops his spoon and gestures vaguely. “It’s not like that. I mean, I come, and it feels good, but it doesn’t make the drive, the need go away. It’s like having itch in my brain and no way to scratch it. Plus…” He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then trails off.
“Plus what?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, I just let you ream my ass. You don’t get to hold back on me.”
Zach sighs. “I didn’t… I didn’t envision us getting together like this. I mean, not that we’re together, but. You and me. Sex. Not like this.”
“So that means you envisioned it?”
The older man nods and buries his face in his hands. “And now after this, everything is going to get awkward and every time you look at me, all you’ll be able to see is me flopping around in the throes of a terrible plot device and we won’t be able to work together and JJ will fire us.”
“Only you would be able to round up that much anxiety while in heat.” Zach glares at him again. “Look, this is going to… change things, sure. We can’t avoid that. But we’ll deal with that when we have to. And I seriously doubt this is in any way going to fuck up the tension between Kirk and Spock. So for now, just shut up and eat your macaroni.”
“Must be pretty damn cold in hell if you’re being the voice of reason,” Zach mutters, but he picks his spoon back up and cleans his bowl. Then he goes back to the stove and gets a second helping.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” says Chris. “Carbo loading. Gotta keep your strength up.”
“Don’t see that I have much choice,” Zach says, then scrunches his nose in thought. “An entire rugby team? Sequentially?”
“A man can dream, can’t he?” Chris leers.
Zach groans. “Oh, fuck you, I’m getting hard again.”
“Holy balls, they really ought to study you in a lab. You could put the good folks who manufacture Viagra out of business.”
But Zach is too busy shoveling pasta in his mouth to reply, presumably getting as much fuel down as he can before the next round. As soon as he finishes, he grabs both bowls, tosses them in the sink, then clutches Chris’ hand and wordlessly drags him back to the bedroom.
&&&
Chris changes it up as much as he can, alternating between all the ways he can think of to get Zach off. When Zach offers to jerk him off in return, they make the fascinating (Chris groans when Zach says it) discovery that the Vulcan hand sensitivity thing means Zach is stimulating himself at the same time. It’s a boon for Chris’ sore jaw and his aching cock, and though he can’t exactly keep up with Zach, he sure as hell doesn’t mind trying.
He’s lying flat on the bed, limbs still limp from the fourth or fifth savage fucking he’s gotten today when he happens to glance over at the nightstand. “Fuck, lube’s almost gone,” he mumbles, only drooling a little.
“S’okay,” says Zach, still somehow able to talk and move, “I’ve got more.” He heads to the closet, and Chris’ brain starts to drift, idly wondering exactly how long this whole thing is going to go on. Hours? Days? Not that he’s complaining, but he’s kind of surprised he hasn’t already been reduced to a smoking pile of ash.
Chris hears grumbling and when he cranes his head up, he sees things flying out of the closet - shoes, belts, a rather sizeable dildo - as Zach hunts for the lube. “Fuck,” Zach groans as he heads for the bathroom. More rattling and much more swearing.
“Haven’t you got, like, an emergency stash, or something?” Chris asks, trying to be helpful without actually moving.
“I did,” Zach moans. “We apparently went through it already.”
“All of it?”
Zach glares at him from the doorway. “Yes, all of it. Need I remind you that I don’t routinely engage in marathon fuckfests that entirely deplete my supplies?”
“Well,” says Chris, mustering the energy to roll over and sit up. “I s’pose that’s comforting. Get dressed and we’ll go get more.”
Zach looks away shyly. “I don’t think I should come with you.”
“I’m not going to leave you here by yourself.”
“You have to - I can’t be around other people like this. And you’re going to have to cuff me again.”
“What?” gasps Chris. “No!”
Zach grasps his shoulders, fingers grazing bite marks already starting to turn purple. “Chris, you can’t tell me I haven’t been getting rougher with you.”
“Yeah, but-“
“I obviously can’t come with you in this state, and I don’t trust myself on my own. The drugstore’s only 5 minutes away. I’ll be fine for that long if I’m tied up.”
“Zach-“
“Please,” Zach says, eyes desperate, and Chris doesn’t really want this fact getting out, but he never could deny Zach when he asks nicely, so he relents.
After getting dressed and carefully buckling Zach into the cuffs, Chris flips open Zach’s cell phone and sticks it in his hand. “Ten minutes, five there and five back. You need anything, and I mean anything, hit speed dial and I’ll come right back.”
“Not without the lube, you won’t. I’m pretty sure Vulcans still chafe.”
Chris chuckles and heads for the door. “Ten minutes.”
“Chris, when this is all over…”
“Yes?” He turns back to look at Zach, spread out and gorgeously disheveled on the bed.
“We are going to find Gene Roddenberry’s grave, dig him up, reanimate him, ask him how the hell this is possible, and then kill him again. Then maybe salt the earth so nothing will ever grow there again.”
“Um, Zach, I’m pretty sure he was cremated. Some of his ashes got shot into space.”
“Motherfucker.”
&&&
The look he gets from the clerk when he dumps most of the store’s stock of lube (and plenty of condoms, too) on the counter is priceless. Chris just grins lewdly and shoots him the finger-guns, because whatever this guy is thinking, the reality is many orders of magnitude crazier than he could possibly imagine.
Chris is making good time, too, right up until traffic stops dead about half a mile from the house. He cranes his head, trying to see what’s going on. Ten minutes becomes fifteen. He gets out of his car and can see the accident. It doesn’t look like anyone’s seriously hurt, but the cars are completely blocking the road - even the police have to drive up over the median. Fifteen minutes turns into twenty; the phone rings.
“Chris,” he hears in a throaty moan. “Chris, where are you?” Zach is panting - this can’t be good. “Chris, I’m hard again, and I can’t- I’m not-“ The sound of metal straining against metal.
“Fuck, Zach, hold on,” Chris shouts so Zach can hear him with the phone so far away from his ear. “Just hold on. I’m on my way.”
“Chris, please. Oh god, I can’t- I need you. Please.”
“I’m coming,” Chris says, sticking his head out the window to see if anything’s moving. It’s not. “Just keep talking to me.”
“CHRIS!” He hears the creak of metal and the crash of the phone hitting the floor.
“Fuck it,” Chris mutters, checking for pedestrians before jerking the wheel hard to the right and pulling up on the sidewalk. His car will get towed and there will be hell and fines to pay, but fuck if he’s going to sit in traffic while Zachary Quinto is cuffed to a bed, hard and desperate and needing him. He grabs the bag of supplies, slams the car door, and runs.
It’s almost an out-of-body experience, dashing full tilt through the streets of Silverlake with a plastic bag full of lube because his best friend needs sex now or he will… Chris doesn’t know. He doesn’t even want to think about it. Jabbing in the gate code, he tries to catch his breath as he pulls his keys from his pocket.
As soon as he gets the front door open, Chris hears the screech of the cuffs against the iron railings, nearly drowned out by Zach’s moans. The bedroom is a bona fide disaster area - Zach’s thrashing has pushed most of the pillows off the bed and bunched the sheets and blanket up. The wrought iron of the headboard has bent, but the cuffs are still in place - for now. Zach’s arms, though, are stretched unnaturally as he’s twisted to the side, trying to fold in on himself and get some friction on his hard, aching cock. His arms are spread so wide that he can’t quite get there, and he looks damn near out of his mind.
Chris rushes over to him and runs what he hopes are soothing hands down his sides, trying to get him to stretch out so Chris can touch him. “Shhh, Zach, I’m here. I’m here now. C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta relax so you don’t hurt yourself. Come on.”
Zach responds, slowly turning over and uncurling as Chris grabs a tube out of the plastic bag and opens it with shaking hands. He wraps a slick fist around Zach’s cock and pumps twice before Zach is coming in hot spurts, climaxing but still unsatisfied.
“Shit, Zach,” Chris moans. “What do you need?”
“More. I need more,” he all but wails, yanking again at his restraints. “Chris, you gotta fuck me. Please.”
“Are you s-“
“YES! Please Chris, you gotta- Need you to fuck me NOW.”
Chris can’t argue with that. He strips off his clothes in record time, somehow retaining enough manual dexterity to don a condom. He lubes up again and pushes a finger into Zach, who shouts at the intrusion.
“Hurry,” he groans. “Can’t wait.”
Chris goes as fast as he can - he doesn’t want to hurt him, but it honestly sounds like not fucking Zach is what’s hurting him. He’s scissoring two fingers inside of Zach when the older man twists hard and begs, so Chris hooks his knees over his shoulders and plunges deep on the first stroke.
Sinking into Zach’s superhuman heat is less like any of the sex Chris has ever had and more like dying, possibly - diving headlong into the heart of a supernova just as the nuclear fusion starts. If he hadn’t already come so many times today (less than Zach, of course, but still a personal best), Chris would be gone. As it is, he can barely catch his breath long enough to pull back and then thrust forward. He does it again. And again. And though Chris feels like he’s drowning, it’s enough to send Zach over another, smaller precipice, body clutching convulsively at the younger man’s cock.
Zach seems a little calmer now, though nowhere near satisfied, and Chris can’t think. He needs help - he needs Zach. Chris reaches feebly toward the headboard, muttering, “Gotta… gonna take these off now.”
And thank god, Zach doesn’t protest, just pulls them back toward the headboard and neatly bends in half so Chris can reach the cuffs. The movement also pushes his hips up, making Chris’ eyes roll back in his head. It’s a small miracle he gets the cuffs off at all - his fine motor skills are shot all to hell from nerve-frying pleasure and it’s like trying to do brain surgery while wearing oven mitts. But when he frees one hand, Zach can help with the other, and then both long, perfect hands are pulling his knees toward his chest. He moans, “Chris, move,” and the fog in Chris’ brain suddenly clears.
He leans forward, putting his weight on Zach’s thighs and his hands on his hips, and pounds into Zach mercilessly. Soon Chris is thrusting as hard and deep as he can, but Zach’s body just takes and takes and takes. He reaches between them to grip Zach’s cock, and the older man comes again, shouting and bucking and still needing more. Chris clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes against the overwhelming sight of Zach flying spectacularly apart beneath him so he can last just a little longer, make Zach come again if it’s the last thing he does. He’s starting to wonder if it’s possible to die from too much sex - Pon Farr by proxy, maybe - but, really, there are worse ways to go.
Zach is panting beneath him, making sounds that start out as words but die mid-syllable. Luckily, by now Chris has figured out what he needs. “C’mon, Zach, come for me.”
“Can’t,” he wails in a rare moment of eloquence. “Not again.”
“Yeah, you can. One more, baby, just one more.” Chris wonders if Zach will smack him later for the pet name, but right now it seems to be having the desired effect. “C’mon, baby, you got one more in you, just for me, I can feel it.”
Zach’s hand joins Chris’ wrapped around his cock, and together they stroke Zach hard and fast. His whole body quakes as his orgasm overtakes him, and this time Chris follows him, sinking deep into Zach’s heat and letting it consume him until his vision goes white and his arms give out.
When Chris opens his eyes, he realizes he’s lying heavily atop Zach, whose legs have slid down to circle his waist. Fortunately, Zach doesn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, because Chris is certain that his limbs are not going to respond to any commands from his central nervous system for a long time. Zach wraps his arms around the man atop him, and Chris closes his eyes to listen to the rhythm of Zach’s heart and the soft whoosh of breath against his forehead.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but he must have dozed a little, because he wakes with a twitch while dreaming he’s falling off a cliff. His head involuntarily jerks up, startling Zach, too, and suddenly their mouths are so close they may as well be touching. This is when it hits Chris that, for all they’ve done together, they have yet to kiss. It’s absurd, really, and though Chris would’ve sworn a few minutes ago that he needed a serious coffee break from the tireless sex machine that is currently Zach, all he wants now is to kiss him.
Chris closes the distance between them and just lets his lips rest against Zach’s. They’re hot, of course, thanks to his elevated body temperature, but they’re also soft and swollen from Zach’s teeth. He mouths gently against those lips, and Zach responds in kind. It takes a few long minutes to turn into a proper kiss, and even then it’s slow and messy, but it sends a shiver down Chris’ spine that wakes up tired nerve endings.
“Holy shit,” Chris mutters against Zach’s mouth. “I think this Pon Farr thing might be contagious.”
&&&
Two days later, they’re both back on set, and though Chris’ legs can barely hold him, Zach’s looking spritelier than he has in weeks, body temperature and whatnot all back to normal. It’s so terribly, terribly unfair, but at least Zach has the good grace to wait on Chris hand and foot, bringing him water and snacks and even propping him up a bit between takes.
The official line is that Zach lost a bet over the technical term for sexual arousal stemming from being on stage or camera (“Autagonistophilia,” says Chris with all the smugness he can muster, “Exhibitionism only applies to exposing oneself”) and Chris is just being a jerk about it, making Zach do absolutely everything for him. It’s just weird enough to be true. Chris can’t quite remember why he agreed to this particular cover story, as it makes him look like a toolbag in front of their friends even though he’s just spent three days catering to Zach’s every sexual whim, but Zach is being really nice about it, only rolling his eyes in mock exasperation when someone is obviously staring at them.
In fact, Zach is being a little too nice about it. As he helps Chris into his trailer, he apologizes for maybe the 47th time that hour and Chris wants to smack him upside the head. “Can it!” he snaps.
Zach deposits him gently on the couch and then hops back. “I’m sorry - I know you’ve got to be sick of me touching you.”
Chris smites his forehead with his palm. “Zach,” he says with a deep calm he doesn’t feel. “I’m tired, I’m sore, I’m covered your teeth marks, and still, all I can think about is your naked body.”
Zach executes a textbook-perfect Does Not Compute face, made all the more teeth-grindingly adorable by the fact that he’s still all Spocked up. Chris sighs heavily and uses a large portion of his remaining strength to lean up and yank Zach down for a deep, probing kiss, digging his fingers into the horrible bowl cut and messing it all to hell just because he can.
When Zach pulls back, his mouth is beginning to twitch up into a smile. “So, what you’re saying is…”
“Damn it, do not make me wait seven years to hit that again.”