FIC: Star Trek RPS -- You Had Me at Pon Farr (1/2)
Title: You Had Me at “Pon Farr” (1/2)
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. Split up into two posts again because LJ is a hater.
Chris has never actually seen a doorbell short out before. One second it was doing its thing, then zzzzzt and a faint whiff of electrical smoke and it was no more. He supposes that pounding on it in rapid succession might have had something to do with the doorbell’s current state. Ah, well.
“Zaaaaaa-aaaaaach, I broke your doorbell! Don’t you want to invite me in to beat the crap out of me?”
He switches to good old-fashioned knocking, starting out with the “shave and a haircut” bit in the hopes that Zach has some latent Roger Rabbit tendencies, but no dice. Just as well - he probably wouldn’t know what to do with Jessica Rabbit if she landed in his lap.
“I know you’re in there. Your car is in the driveway and I saw you through the broken blind, so I know you’re not in the bathroom. And, no, that isn’t stalking, that is concerned friendship.”
Chris’ knuckles are starting to get sore when he hears Noah let out a low whuff, followed by a very human and poorly stifled shhhhhhhstupiddog. Inspiration hits, and Chris lets out a bark. Perhaps he should feel a bit self-conscious, standing on the stoop of his best friend’s house in the lingering daylight barking loudly at the front door, but it works. Noah joins in, loudly and zestfully. Chris does a celebratory dance, made no less graceful when he smacks his elbow on the doorjamb.
Inside the house, he hears Zach trying to wrestle Noah back into his crate. Between the barks, Chris catches strains of “…not even another dog, you dumb…” and “…will pay for that doorbell…” Suddenly, the door opens - about three inches. All he can see is one of Zach’s eyes, which would look threateningly angry if not for the half-shaved eyebrow above it.
“What the everloving fuck, Christopher?”
“Not gonna let me in?”
“No.”
“C’mon,” Chris says, giving his most charming smile.
“A stirring argument. As a counterpoint, let me offer: no.”
“What’s your major malfunction?”
“Not in the mood for this. Go away.”
Chris lunges and manages to get his foot in the door just as Zach goes to slam it.
“AAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!”
“Oh, god, Chris, I’m so sorry.” Zach swings the door open, concern pinching his features. “I didn’t know your foot-“
In one smooth motion Chris pushes past him and through the door, going over to calm Noah, who is still convinced that there is a new and friendly dog outside whose butt demands to be sniffed. Behind him the door slams, and he turns to see a very pissed off Zach.
“What?” Chris says, going for nonchalance. “It did sting a little.” Then he finally gets a good look at Zach, who looks more strained than Chris has ever seen him. His shoulders are tensed and his fists are clenched at his sides, like he’s trying to hold himself in. But not from attacking Chris - no, Zach is sweating even in the air conditioning and almost shaking with nervous energy.
“You need to go,” Zach says, his voice uneven.
Chris is genuinely concerned now. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… I’m just not feeling well right now.”
“Not just right now - you’ve been off all week. You’ve been getting pissed off for no reason. Everyone’s noticed it. Five separate people have asked me what’s going on with you. Not entirely sure why they’re asking me, but the question stands.”
Zach closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m not lying; I really feel terrible.”
“You look terrible.” Chris glances around and sees small cardboard boxes and brown mailing envelopes scattered all over the floor. A quick inspection reveals a single source for all of them - Amazon.com. “Holy crap, did you have a book orgy and forget to invite me?”
He follows the trail into Zach’s living room where, indeed, books are strewn across coffee table and couch. Star Trek books, every last one of them. More than that, the original series season two box set is open on the floor and the TV is displaying a DVD menu for one of the discs.
Chris knows Zach likes to be thorough in his preparation, but this seems… excessive. “Doing a little, um, research?”
“Yes, research. Very boring. Did I mention go away?” Zach is actually pacing at this point.
“Zach, seriously, you’re starting to freak me out,” Chris says, reaching for Zach’s arm - and nearly burning his fingers. “Fucking hell, you weren’t joking! How high is your fever?”
The older man looks startled. “I don’t feel like I have a fever.”
“You’re shitting me. How are you still up and walking around? Oh, god, it’s the bird flu, isn’t it? Everyone laughed at me when I warned them-“
“Does anyone have bird flu anymore?” Zach muses, momentarily distracted from his condition. “And no, it’s not the flu, avian or otherwise. I don’t feel sick, exactly. Just really… off.”
Zach is hiding something - Chris knows it like it’s his mutant superpower. He can just tell when Zach has those Dr Pepper jellybeans stashed away, or knows some really juicy gossip about the scandalous sex lives of various crewmembers. It’s a good power to have - he can usually get the whereabouts of the jellybeans out of Zach somehow, and he knows to stay away from the lighting department because they are all despicable perverts, even by Chris’ standards. So this thing should be no problem to ferret out.
“Okay, Zach, spill it.” Well, no one said he had to be subtle.
“Spill what?”
“I have heard you use the word ‘exegesis’ in casual conversation - do not try to play dumb with me.”
Zach collapses on the couch, somehow managing to look wilted and tense at the same time. “I can’t tell you.”
“I have ways of making you talk. Sexy ways.”
The older man actually jerks back at that. “Fuck, Chris, don’t even- Look, I can’t tell you because you’ll think I’m crazy, okay?”
“Too late for that.”
“No, not ugly-hat crazy. Like, keep-him-away-from-sharp-objects crazy.”
“I’d always imagined padded cells were very comfortable. Straightjackets not so much, but-” Chris is cut off by the throw pillow that smacks him in the face at a stunningly high velocity. “Wait a minute, when the hell did you learn to throw like a guy?”
“Okay, ignoring the blatant sexism, I don’t-” Zach cuts himself off, a horrible revelation dawning in his eyes. “Oh, god.” He jumps up from the couch, leans over, and picks the thick mahogany coffee table up. One-handed. Like it’s made out of balsa wood.
Anyone else looking that horrified would have dropped the thing to the floor, but this being Zach, he lightly sets the coffee table back where it was. That little gesture is comforting to Chris, letting him know that there is still some vestige of Zach in this pod person currently inhabiting Zach’s body.
Chris doesn’t want his panic to show in case this alien being is hungry for some of his more vital organs and just waiting for an excuse to pounce. “Zach? You need to start explaining. Like, now.”
Sliding to the floor in defeat, Zach buries his head in his hands and moans, “I think I’m going into Pon Farr.”
“WHAT?!”
“Saying out loud makes it sound even crazier; please don’t make me repeat it.”
Chris gestures wildly as if to convey concepts of “fictional construct” and “physical impossibility,” and Zach responds with a twitch of the lip that clearly indicates his awareness of such things.
Then denial sets in. “No,” says Chris, “this is clearly a practical joke. Good one, Zach! Ha ha!” He actually enunciates the “ha” and the “ha” for good measure, and goes over to lift the coffee table, which has obviously been replaced with a lightweight prop.
Except that it hasn’t. Chris can pick it up, but it takes two hands and lifting with the knees to get it to chest height, and he knows for a fact he can lift more than Zach can. He’s very proud of that fact. He brings it up in conversation whenever possible.
“Okay,” says Chris, plopping down on the floor but being careful to keep his distance from his friend. “So, this means… what exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Zach mutters. “This is why I’ve been acting weird all week. I can’t sleep; I can barely eat. It hasn’t been this bad until today, though. I’m so fucking horny I can’t think straight.”
And Zach must be some kind of far gone to admit to that. It also explains the sweatpants, but if Chris looks closely, he can see… that he should really, really not be looking closely. “And so all the Star Trek stuff… really is research.”
“It’s all I’ve got to go on.” Zach picks up one book titled Spock’s World and flips through it absently. “I had it all overnighted with the hope that I could, I don’t know, figure out how to stop it or something.”
“And the body temperature, the strength… You’re turning into a Vulcan, too?”
“Not entirely, I don’t think. At least my ears-” Zach’s hands fly to his ears in a panic to check their shape. “Thank god, my ears are still normal.”
Chris is almost afraid to ask. “So what happens next?”
“Well, um. I’ve tried meditating, but I guess it’s not as good as Vulcan meditation. So unless something miraculous happens soon, I can look forward to-“
The sun breaks over Chris’ mental horizon with breathtaking clarity. “Hours and hours of rough, primal, mind-blowing sex.”
“Or death.”
“No, let’s focus on the sex.” Many are the times at which Chris has uttered that sentence, and only now does its importance truly come into focus. “My friend, we have got to get you laid.”
“What? No! Don’t you know anything about Pon Farr? I won’t have any control over myself - there’s no telling what I might do. Even if I don’t die, I’ll end up in jail for rape, and I’ll deserve to be there.” Zach is picking at the carpet so hard he’s actually tearing the fibers out.
Chris ponders everything for a minute, then says, “Okay, so we don’t know how to stop it, but we can stall the hell out of it.” Zach looks up, the smallest glimmer of hope in his eyes. Chris continues, “If we can’t get you laid, we’re gonna get you drunk.”
&&&
He wakes with his face half-buried in the couch and tries to piece together the events of the previous evening. Chris had purposefully consumed much less alcohol than Zach so he could keep an eye on him, but he remembers Zach tossing the tequila back like it was water on a hot day. Chris’ brain feels a bit fuzzy, so he’s willing to bet Zach’s going to be rolling in the hurt when he wakes up. He resolves to let Zach sleep as long as he can.
He goes to the guest bathroom to brush his teeth, borrowing a toothbrush that doesn’t look or smell like it’s been used to clean the grout - he figures he’ll buy Zach a new one anyway. As he’s padding back out to the living room, he hears a tortured groan from Zach’s bedroom. Poor guy sounds like he’s dying in there, so Chris pours him a cup of water and grabs the aspirin.
Nudging open the door, Chris fully expects to see Zach flat on his stomach, cursing Senor Jose Cuervo to the depths of hell. What he does not expect to see is Zach flat on his back, sweatpants pushed down to his knees with a long-fingered hand roughly working his cock. The cup of water goes crashing to the floor, and Chris should use his free hand to cover his eyes, but he just can’t look away.
The crash alerts Zach, who springs up and turns his body away from Chris. “I can’t stop,” he moans. “I’ve come three times already and I’m still hard. This shouldn’t be happening. How is this possible?”
Chris hears the anguish in Zach’s words. He feels the water soaking into the carpet at his feet. But what he keeps coming back to, the thing he can’t ignore, is that despite Chris’ obvious presence in the room and his friend’s equally obvious embarrassment, Zach’s hand hasn’t stopped its movement. Hasn’t even slowed down, from what Chris can tell.
“Shouldn’t, um…” Chris falters. “Shouldn’t you be, like, massively hung over?”
“Yes!” Zach groans, timed disturbingly to coincide with a jerk of his hips. “I should be in the fucking hospital with alcohol poisoning. But-“
“Vulcans don’t get drunk,” Chris finishes for him. He glances around the room wildly, not sure where to look. He can’t leave his friend like this, but he can’t stay and watch this either, not if he wants to keep his sanity. His mind casts about for something, anything.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, “I’ve got an idea. Give me your hand.”
Zach twists around at the waist and reaches out his hand - blessedly not the one still engaged below. “You’re kind of… Vulcan-ish at the moment, so…” Chris trails off, taking the first two fingers on Zach’s hand in his own fist and tugging at them with slow, even pressure.
With a shout, Zach explodes. He jerks his hand away and curls in on himself as he comes, but not before Chris catches the wild, desperate look on his face. Chris sits down on the bed facing the door, not quite able to come to terms with what’s just happened. In one sense, he’d have to say that he’s just given his best friend a Vulcan handjob, and a damn good one, too. As for what that means in terms of what is generally agreed upon as reality… that is less clear.
He hears the soft sound of a tissue being pulled from the box on the nightstand as Zach… Chris tries and fails to keep from thinking about the wad of crumpled tissues already on the nightstand. After that, only the sound of the two men’s breathing fills the room, Zach’s harsh and panting, and Chris’ as quiet as he can make it.
After a few long minutes, Chris can’t stand the silence any more. “Are you…?” he starts, not entirely sure what he’s asking.
“I’m not, um, hard any more, uh, if that’s what you’re… oh, fuck this.”
Chris hears Zach thump down on the bed, and he turns to see that Zach has mercifully pulled his ugly sweatpants back up and is now lying curled into a ball.
“Is- Do you think it’s over?” Chris asks.
“No,” moans Zach. “I can still feel it, whatever it is. Whatever you did, I think it helped. Temporarily, at least. It’s died down a little, but it’ll be back.”
As usual, Chris speaks before he really stops to think what he’s saying. “Maybe you’re not supposed to fly solo.”
“What?”
“Wow, sex really makes you stupid.” This makes Zach turn over and give Chris the Glare of Doom. “I mean, Pon Farr is supposed to be about mating, right? Not, y’know, spilling your seed upon the dusty earth or whatever.”
“Are you still drunk?”
“Are you still Vulcan?”
“Fuck. You.” Zach claps his hands over his eyes and breathes in deeply. “Okay. So. You’re thinking that the effects of this… thing are mitigated by the participation of another party?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re prone to circumlocution when you’re nervous? But, yes. Two to tango and all that.”
“Well, unless you’re volunteering, that doesn’t help me a whole lot.”
“What if I am?”
With a huff of frustration, Zach sits up. “Do not jerk me around unless you actually intend to jerk me around.”
“Dude, I am not as straight as you think I am.”
“Bullshit.”
“Did you ever ask? Or did you just assume?”
“I drew a logical conclusion based on the available evidence.”
“Oh, god, you really are turning into Spock.” Chris gets the Death Glare again. He sighs. “Okay, I mostly date girls. And I mostly only talk about dating girls. Because they smell nice and they call you for reasons other than sex and they don’t bring the wrath of the Paramount PR department down on your head.”
“So?”
“So…” Chris takes a deep breath. “You smell nice. I mean, not right now - right now you smell like a Mexican whorehouse - but in general.”
Zach’s jaw drops. “This is… I am losing my mind. First I go into alien heat, then I am propositioned - fairly poorly, I might add - by my best friend. This is all some sort of extremely detailed and sadistic hallucination.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “This is not getting us anywhere. You go take a shower, and I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll check the internet. Google has all the answers, right?”
Zach nods his head as if in a trance. “Yeah, shower. I’ll do that.”
&&&
Ten minutes later, Chris slaps the screen down on Zach’s laptop, utterly appalled. He walks back to Zach’s room up to the door of his bathroom, where he can still hear the water running.
“Zach, whatever you do, do not type the words ‘Pon Farr’ into Google. Just… just don’t. There are things no man was meant to see. Or read.”
“Chris.” Zach’s voice sounds strained, desperate. “Chris, it’s happening again.”
Fortunately, Zach hadn’t locked the bathroom door, so Chris bursts in, only to be nearly smothered by a thick cloud of steam. “Shit, how hot is that water?”
“Not hot enough.” Zach sounds truly pathetic, and against his better judgment, Chris pushes back the shower curtain to look.
“Holy fuck.”
Zach is hard. Painfully hard, by the look of it, his cock flushed a deep, angry red like he hasn’t gotten off in weeks. It hurts Chris just too look at it. Zach’s stroking himself slowly and stiffly, like he’s disgusted with himself - it’s more than Chris can bear. Later, he’ll claim he pretty much committed himself when he pulled that stunt with Zach’s fingers earlier. He strips off his shirt and steps into the shower.
The water temperature is bearable, but only just. Zach is so stunned that Chris easily maneuvers them so that the older man is blocking the brunt of the punishingly hot spray. Chris sinks down on his knees and bats Zach’s hand away, and before the older man can protest, Chris takes his cock in his mouth.
Immediately, Zach’s hips jerk forward and Chris has to brace him as best he can with his hands, hoping that pseudo-temporary-half-Vulcans don’t bruise very easily. But Zach doesn’t seem to mind - in fact, he’s already been reduced to babbling incoherency. Chris smiles on the inside at the retort he’ll have the next time he flubs a line and Zach implies that he can’t do anything right with his mouth. He swirls his tongue lewdly and the older man swears with unusual fervor.
Soon, Zach’s right on the edge and the thrust of his hips is getting too strong for Chris to stop. He eases his grip a little - just a tiny bit - and Zach’s fucking his mouth, coming with a hoarse shot and nearly doubling over. He braces himself against the tile wall to catch his breath, and Chris takes advantage of the distraction to surreptitiously spit into the drain.
Chris shuts the water off and helps Zach out of the shower so he doesn’t stumble and crack his head open - after all, Chris has been known to reduce some knees to jelly in his time. He hands Zach a towel from the counter, then looks down at his sodden jeans, which are leaving a huge puddle on the floor. It’s another credit to either Chris’ oral abilities or the bizarreness of the situation that Zach doesn’t even seem to notice.
The older man takes his time drying himself off, but eventually he has to look at Chris - who is blocking the door.
“So,” says Chris. “We gonna make a big deal out of this?”
Zach opens his mouth, then shuts it. Then opens it again. “Not right now.”
“Good. I’m guessing this probably isn’t over yet.”
“No. That helped - that helped a lot, actually - but it’s still there. Just sort of simmering now instead of boiling over.”
Chris fixes Zach with a look. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’m not asking for a diamond tennis bracelet, but a ‘thank you, Chris, for the spectacular blow job, your oral talents far exceed my own’ wouldn’t go unappreciated.”
“Thank you, Chris, for the spectacular blowjob, but I am not prepared to repeat the rest of that sentence.” For the first time since Chris showed up at his door yesterday, a genuine grin spreads across Zach’s face. “I’d rather not start our day by lying to you.”
On to part two