SCENES WITH OUR STAR TREK OCS LOLLL

Mel/Spock - Pon Farr (humour/smut)

yall already KNEW i was gonna write about this lmao. anyway hope yall enjoy this rare fic of mine where spock actually takes the lead. btw this has a bit of my own original take on vulcan biology in terms of evolution based on my knowledge of animal behaviour.

It was that time.

The hangar deck echoed with Spock's agitated footsteps as he paced the length of the room, his movements tense and his eyes darting anxiously to the doors. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy and uneven, and he radiated an energy that was both focused and frayed at the edges. Every inch of him ached with that desperate, primal need, the one that made his mind hazy and his control feel as flimsy as paper every time it came around.

Pon Farr.

The Enterprise had been a couple days late on it's way to pick up Mel's shuttle from her mission on Selinar IV, and because of the delay, Spock felt as if his mind was escaping him more and more with every hour without her. He had never gotten this bad before, and he had been acting even more erratic and hormonal than the crew had ever seen.

As he paced the metallic floors of the hangar deck, his hands fidgeted behind his back, and he could feel the heat pooling in his lower abdomen at the thought of his wife's return. But little did he know, he had an audience.

From the mezzanine above, Kirk and McCoy watched with a mixture of awe and amusement, noting the restless and animalistic edge to Spock's usual calm demeanour.

"Would you look at him," Kirk murmured, trying to keep his voice low but unable to contain the chuckle that slipped out. "I don't think I've ever seen him like this. He's about ready to combust!" McCoy folded his arms, an amused smirk on his face. "Poor man's in heat, Jim," he said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Ain't much he can do about it, either. It's either mate, fight, or... well, go insane and die."

Kirk nodded, glancing back at Spock as he continued his relentless pacing, occasionally muttering under his breath. "You'd think they'd have figured out a way to deal with this by now. The man looks like he's ready to throw himself at the first woman who walks through that door."

"Y'know," McCoy began, leaning in conspiratorially, "my dad used to take me up north on holiday during elk season. He'd show me how to call the bulls out with a little trick—this special call that sounded like an elk cow in estrus. Used to drive the poor things mad. They'd come charging out of the woods looking for the female with a raging... well, uh, sign that they were... very excited."

Kirk gave him a skeptical look, half-laughing. "And this relates to Spock how?"

McCoy raised his eyebrows, pulling a small, inconspicuous device from his pocket and holding it up with a grin. "Well, way back in Vulcan evolution, the females used to make a similar noise when they were ready to mate. It was kinda phased out with all their emotional control and whatnot, but the males' response... that's still ingrained."

Kirk's eyes widened, his jaw dropping. "Oh my god. You rigged a device just to mess with him? Bones, you wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would." McCoy replied, an evil glint in his eye as he calibrated the device, turning it to a specific setting. "If this doesn't make for a bit of fun, I don't know what will."

With a smirk, McCoy lifted the device to his mouth and blew into it, producing a high-pitched, wavering whine that echoed through the hangar deck. It was strange, faintly musical, and almost hauntingly alien in tone. Kirk watched in a mix of fascination and mild fear as Spock's head snapped up, his entire body going rigid. His eyes widened, dark and frantic, scanning the room with an intensity that bordered on feral.


It was working.