M'Benga, the Vulcan Sex Expert

The Help, Pt. 1

    In the end, Spock finds no logic in hovering about anxiously - although he would not consider aloud that such an emotion exists amongst his few - and retreats into the hall outside his quarters. The lights are brighter out here, the atmosphere less constricting. The irony doesn’t slip Spock’s mind; the fact that his quarters are the only rooms in which he finds comfort in shedding some of his clothing is the exact reason in which he doesn’t feel comfort in them now. He isn’t entirely sure where his subconscious is leading him, and he entertains - fleetingly - the idea of returning to his meditation mat in attempt at regaining his faltering shields and control.

    It is only once he has stepped off of the turbolift and knocked smartly on one of the offices lining this particular deck that Spock’s subconscious dawns on him.

    “Ah, Commander Spock. Do come in.” A warm voice invites upon opening the door. M’Benga’s smile is welcoming as he moves aside and, as much as Spock desires to turn and walk in the other direction, he moves past the threshold with an acknowledging nod. When M’Benga’s profile returns from shutting his door, Spock notices the discomfort the doctor is in; perhaps the lapse of unexplained silence is the cause.

    “Doctor,” Spock begins in a quiet, monotonous tone that suggests a strict schooling. “I find myself lacking-” He cuts off, jaw twitching slightly with the itch to spout all the words he can’t seem to find.

    This alone seems to concern the doctor, as M’Benga retrieves the tricorder next to his elbow to run along Spock’s exterior. A twinge of quickly-addressed annoyance runs along Spock’s spine at the implication. “Spock? Lacking in what? Are you in pain? Discomfort? Any odd physical behaviors?”

    “You are familiar in Vulcan behaviorism and culture, are you not?” The Vulcan states instead, hedging the doctor’s question entirely.

    This gives M’Benga pause. “Vulcan behav-...?” He blinks owlishly. “Yes. You know I am. Why?”

    “I,” Spock begins yet again, unsure even now how to broach such a taboo conversation - well, taboo in Spock’s opinion, in any case. He is well aware of the immodesty toward sexual congress in human culture. Painfully aware, he reminds himself, the whisper of Jim’s recent request seared into his neck. A barely visible shudder runs through Spock. In light of lacking the words, Spock very nearly sighs before stating just that: “Do not know,” A ghost of confusion flits across M’Benga’s face. “How to introduce my inquiry.” He elaborates helpfully, the stutter of run-on sentences, he’s sure, damaging his reputation for complete, constant composure.