This was burning a hole in my hard drive. I wrote it months ago. It's not great..but not bad either.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters.
Title: The Burning (Vignette)
Summary: Amok Time.
Spock woke with a hoarse cry, his chest heaving and his cock still painfully erect. He lay for a moment and listened to the rapid thud of his heart. His ejaculate left a pearlescent trail like abalone tears across his belly, suspending in the hair on his chest, mingling with the perspiration that covered his body. He shivered in the heat of his quarters and clenched his jaw against a wave of humiliation. He could smell himself: sweat, semen, the heavy odor from his sex and his armpits.
He sat up, swung his legs off the edge of the bunk and retrieved the coverlet that lay in a pile on the floor. He stood and used the fabric to wipe his face, throwing it in a corner, not bothering to clean the semen from his body. He paced the room from the sleeping alcove to the space that served as a work station for his desk and computer.
He groaned with dismay and clutched his head in his hands as the memory of the nightmare that awakened him came to him in a rush. He saw himself grinding savagely into her, his fingers pressed deeply into the soft brown flesh of her breasts, his face turned away in shame. To his horror, his cock jumped at the image and he groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut and pounding his thigh with a fist.
He tried to regain control of his breathing and concentrated on slowing his heart rate. He stood with his hands clenched at his sides and directed the flow of blood away from his penis. His heart still hammered in his side but more slowly than before. Irrationality abated and his thoughts took on more order. The sweat began to cool on his body.
"Bridge to Mr. Spock."
No! Blood surged into his penis with a force that nearly doubled him over. He fell against the wall and his trembling hands cupped his groin, trying to subdue his hot, painful erection. Sweat popped out all over his body and he drew harsh breaths through his open mouth.
"Leave me alone," he said, grinding his teeth.
He slammed his fist into his palm. He actually took a step toward the door—toward her-- but he stumbled over his desk chair. He gripped the edge of the chair and brought all of his will to bear against the fire in his blood. He grasped desperately at the edges of his reason and pulled his thoughts together. He propped himself against his desk and clicked his com over to voice only.
"Spock—" He cleared his throat. "Spock here."
"Your presence is required in engineering, sir."
Her warm contralto washed over him, making him shiver.
"Acknowledged. In thirty. Spock out." He voice had faded to a hoarse whisper.
Why did it have to be her? She, who when not tortuously, physically close, was all over the ship, tormenting him with just the sound of her voice. He walked quickly to the shower, flipped it from sonic to hydro and turned it to the coolest setting. He gasped and cried out as the cold water pounded against his body. He stood under the freezing jet until he could no longer bear it.
He staggered from the shower and dropped to his knees in front of his unlit fire pot and waited for the shudders that seized his body to stop. His erection eased but did not entirely subside. He rose and dressed. He gazed at his cold fire idol and breathed deeply through his nose. The thought to eat something was fleeting for the third day in a row.
The door to his cabin trilled. He looked at it in confusion. How long had it been since she called him to engineering? His sense of time was muddled. Was she here looking for him? Would she come here? Did his blood call to hers?
She was here to submit. He would…fuck her.
The thought was illogical, irrational, but his cock again grew heavy with hot blood and sweat beaded his upper lip. He stared at the door with lowered brows like a predator. His fingers gripped the mesh room divider.
"Come," he rasped.
The bitter smell of plomeek soup filled the air.