The Price of Mercy

Inspired by a scene from //Star Trek III: The Search for Spock//. Yes, //that// scene. It's an odd one, and may not be to everyone's taste, so approach with caution.

*

Never had Saavik imagined it would happen to her.

Every Vulcan knew the stories. Cautionary tales about travelling at the wrong time, sanctimonious parables of feminine mercy. Somehow nobody ever talked about men helping women, though the condition was just as lethal for females. //Pon farr// was a terrible way to die, the body burning itself from within. You were supposed to give yourself willingly and without hesitation; pour yourself on the altar of his need, the calm waters that quenched his flame.

But when Saavik looked into the young Vulcan's eyes, there was nothing there of the Spock she had known, and it repelled her. She knew there was a chance he would hurt her in the heat of his frenzy, and bore the knowledge with a cold acceptance, but this--this blank, animal mind, in the body of a young man... she knew it was illogical, but it still felt wrong.

Animal? No, not quite. There was a silent intelligence in his eyes, something more than mere instinct. As she guided his fingers to hers, she felt he already knew, in some way, what he was going through, and what he had to do to make it stop. But it was not Spock whose gaze grew steady and calm as her fingers caressed his, not Spock who watched her as she undressed for him in the light of their distant campfire, who reached for her in uncomprehending need.

She did not resist this stranger as he pushed her down, knowing that any perceived refusal could, at this stage, incite his anger--risky in a normal Vulcan, dangerous in this one. The ground was hard, but Saavik would cope. He pressed himself against her urgently, and she stroked his cheek in reassurance, even as her other hand was guiding his member into herself. She wasn't quite ready, but it didn't matter.

Pain streaked through her, but her Vulcan discipline was stronger. She tightened her thighs against his hips, determined to gain some measure of control over his movements, but his thrusts were not as urgent as she had expected. In fact, he seemed almost tentative at first, uncertain of this strange new pleasure that his body seemed to need so much. He gripped her shoulders, rested his forehead against hers, and as he closed his eyes she saw something in them that could have been gratitude, if he even knew what it was.

His fingers sought her cheek to initiate the mind-meld, and Saavik was mildly surprised that he would do this through instinct alone. She did not shut him out, but instead kept herself deliberately calm, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to provide him with some sort of physical anchor.

She was unprepared. When his mind touched hers the world dissolved into flame. In the absence of memories and knowledge, he had become the fire, and his fever hit Saavik with the force of an exploding star. She felt all his frustration, all his pain, all his frightening and irresistible lust for this stranger who had been so gentle with him, and desire flared bright within her, annihilating her every thought.

Her body arched in pleasure, and with his hand she reached out to cradle her head so it would not hit the ground, felt the softness of her hair between his fingers, the intoxicating heat of her around his sex. She felt herself wrap her legs around him and pushed deeper, his orgasm building deep within herself, and as the world flashed white with pleasure and release she cried out their ecstasy to the stars.

As the fever died and he collapsed into her arms, she realised there were bruises on her skin from where he'd gripped her, and her shoulders were raw from being shoved against the rough ground. It did not matter. She had saved his life, hadn't she? Perhaps they would need to mate again in a while, but it would be easier now that he had touched her mind.

They dressed quickly and silently, both aware of the growing cold. She did not want to meet his eyes, although he was watching her intently. Saavik did not want to look at him, this stranger who had taken her virginity, this man without a soul.

But when she went to leave, he took her hand and drew her back, and somehow she found herself sleeping beside him, her hand clasped firmly in his.