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“I am not a god damn vulcan!” Brad shouts at Doc Bryan who just keeps tapping away at his pad. “I have emotions! I am not logical!” Brad continues because he is not letting this slide.
“Holmes, that is such a misconception,” Ray cuts in from the bed next to Brad. “All that shit is cultural, not fucking genetic.”
“Person is right,” Doc agrees finally looking up from his read out. “None of that is part of the genetic makeup of a Vulcan.”
Brad growls and thumps his head back on the too stiff pillow in frustration.
~
This is the situation. Bravo had been sent down to deal with a predatory animal on SR-03. The animal was not only killing the natives but also Starfleet. It wasn’t native to the planet and had gotten their on some illegal trading market.
The point was Brad had lead a team of the best combat Marines into a desert and come out with mostly everyone fine. Except for some cuts and bruises everyone was fine. Or so he thought. Turns out whatever that goo was it RUINED HIM.
“It releases a compound that forced and immuno response in your body that triggered a biological response.” Doc Bryan explains. Brad reads the scans.
“You literally have to fuck someone or die holmes!” Ray cackles. Brad throws the display pad and hits Ray in the stomach. “Doc, the patient is exerting extra force!”
“Stop getting worked up Brad, it will raise your temperature and speed up our timeline.” Bryan responds with the deadpan indifference of a man who is not facing down death if he doesn’t fuck someone compatible in the next week.
It’s the ‘compatible’ bit that is the sticking point in this entire fiasco. Brad is apparently half Vulcan, enough that some things about him are finally making sense. And turns out the great big clincher of Pon-fucking-Farr is that the person needs to have a compatible psychic energy to him.
The Doc has been calling all around Starfleet looking for doctors or Vulcan specialists who can shed some light on to who and how they can save Brad’s life. The other problem is they are on the actual frontier right now and even at the fastest warp their ship can take them it will be two weeks before someone can get to them.
Brad is going to fucking die because the piece of shit who impregnated his biological mother was a dead beat Vulcan.
~
He wakes from a restless dream to a soft voice. Brad blinks open his eyes to see LT Nate Fick having a hushed but intense conversation on his pad in the chair next to Brad.
“I don’t consider it an acceptable loss.” Fick snaps before canceling the call. Sounds like Starfleet is ready to let Brad die.
“Where’s Person?” Brad croaks out around a rough dry throat. Ray had been sitting in that chair when Brad had fallen asleep.
“I sent him down to engineering,” Fick explains. “If we have any hope of getting you help we need everything out of our engines.”
“Shouldn’t you be on the bridge?” Brad rasps, reaching for the glass of water on the table next to him. He feels like he is burning in his skin, he knows that the glass is at room temperature but it feels frozen in comparison to his hands. It’s hard to suppress a small groan of relief at the cool texture.
“I thought you knew, officers don’t actually do things in a crisis,” Fick teases, calling back to the first time they met and the LT had overheard Brad’s rant about the uselessness of officers in a crisis situation.
Brad snorts, which is a mistake. The small movement causing every part of him to hurt. He thinks he covers it well, but clearly Brad’s grip on his body is slipping because Fick reaches out a hand and lays it on top of Brad’s.
Which is the moment everything goes sideways.
Once, Brad got a blow job from an Andeluvian while on a space station. Their race is famed for this mastery with their mouths and the fact that they consider sex to be the same as shaking hands. The point is it was damn fucking good.
Fick’s hand on top of Brad’s feels better than that did.
The monitors blare to life and summon the Doc from his connected sleeping quarters.
“What did you just do?” Doc Bryan shouts at both of them. Brad is in no state to respond because his body is freaking out too much for him to actually process what is happening, and then Fick removes his hand.
The monitors stop blasting frantic beeps. Brad feels a bit like crying.
“Walt, put on some pants and come help me!” Doc Bryan yells back into his bedroom. Brad is a little annoyed that the chief medical officer on their ship had the mental fortitude to have relations with his boyfriend while Brad was slowly dying three rooms away.
~
This is the rub.
- Brad’s hands are apparently more sensitive than his dick now so thanks for that genetic donor asshat
- LT Nate Fick has a compatible mental and psychic energy to Brad
- They are going to get to help two days too late for Brad
“Do I have a choice?” Brad asks the Doc as he is hooked up to an IV drip.
“No one is going to force you to stay alive if you don’t want it,” Tim tells him but Brad can feel the disappointment.
Things Brad knows about Nate Fick
- He is the ranking officer on their ship
- He can actually do his job
- He is the best officer Brad has had in a long time
- He looks like he was genetically engineered in a lab to make grandmas and moms happy about a future son-in-law
- He actually gets Brad’s sense of humor
- They might be loosely considered friends
- Brad has never thought about Nate Fick in a sexual way
- He has the eyes of a woodland creature and the a nose that would make Peter Pan cry
- Brad has eyes, attraction doesn’t make him blind to aesthetically pleasing features
“I thought Starfleet required approval from the Captain and the Medical Officer to have relations with an alien species?”
“Ray, I am not an alien species.” Brad sighs and doesn’t listen to the rest of the rant. The point has been made. Everyone, literally everyone on the Bravo, wants Brad to have sex with Nate Fick so he can stay breathing.
~
“Have you done this before?” Brad asks Nate, because it has to be Nate now. He isn't about to call a man he is going to get off with by his last name or rank.
“What, sex?” Nate quips with a small smile on his face and Brad feels a bit like maybe death would be a better option than this sham.
“With a male.” Brad clears up. Nate blushes, and then coughs.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” Nate nods. “I’m pan.”
“Oh.” Brad realizes that he has never once asked Nate about relationships. Other people have those he remembers. He is the weirdo who only had the one and then stopped forever. Fuck he really is part Vulcan isn’t he. “At least one of us will know what to do.”
They are in Nate’s room because it has the largest bed and a full bathroom and kitchen. The privileges of being in command. Brad sits at the edge of the bed, he isn’t strong enough to stand right now. They have both already stripped down to their boxers because Doc Bryan wanted full physicals before and after. Nothing like a medical examination to kill a boner. Not that Brad had had a boner.
He does now. Because parts of his body haven’t been able to calm down at the mere prospect of this. It feels like dying of thirst and seeing a glass of water in sight. Nate looks good, like he might hold all the answers and cure to pain in his chest.
Brad is half sure he is getting delirious.
“Is there anything you don’t want?” Nate asks stepping closer until he stands between Brad’s thighs.
“I would rather not die.” Brad deadpans. Nate’s lip quirk like he is trying to suppress a smile. It’s a look Brad is very good at getting out of Nate.
“Do you want a safe word?” Nate asks in his LT voice and Brad feels like growling.
“Can we please just get on with it?” Brad asks, but it comes out like begging.
Nate takes mercy on him and reaches out to pull one of Brad’s hands into his own. If he thought one hand on top of his was good, two is one of the best things Brad has ever experienced. Nate traces careful calloused fingers over Brad’s palm, slowly melting his brain.
He has been trying to ignore the way it feels. The way every fiber of his being has been straining for release. The way the air around him made his skin prickle. The urgent feel of his cock against fabric.
He has been ignoring the way Nate smells. Who knew other people could smell delicious? But Nate Fick smells like heaven when he gets close to Brad. It makes Brad’s tongue feel heavy in his mouth and his chest ache.
The cool brush of fingers against his palm makes Brad feel unraveled and starving. He swallows around the spike in his throat and reaches his other hand up to Nate’s face.
“I am not going to break Lieutenant,” Brad breathes out a huff. Nate exhales sharply from his nose, rolls his eyes, and then turns his head to pull Brad’s thumb into his mouth.
Brad comes undone. Nate Fick has a mouth on him that would make angels sing and devil's cry. Nate Fick knows how to swirl his tongue and suck with his cupid’s bow mouth to remove all thoughts from a man’s body. He doesn’t mean to gasp and moan but Nate’s mouth doesn’t give him room not to.
When Nate releases the thumb with a truly lewd wet pop, Brad pulls the other man on top of him to replace his mouth where his thumb had been.
Brad isn’t a kisser. It’s always felt like something extra. Something unneeded. Maybe he is more Vulcan that he thought because he has always liked running his hands over another person more than putting his mouth on another person. Nate- fucking- Fick rewrites all those rules. He isn’t just saying this because of the Pon Farr. Nate Fick’s mouth tastes better than it looks.
Someone, somewhere taught Nate to kiss. None of that overly tongue shit. No, he uses his lips and opens his mouth to suck the soul out of Brad. He bites Brad’s lower lip and then sucks it into his mouth.
Brad is barely aware of the exploration of his hands in the face of Nate’s assault on his mouth. They have fallen backwards on the bed and every inch of Nate’s body on top of his is better than catching a barrel wave first thing in the morning. The thrust of their hips and the slide of his dick feels secondary to the world shattering experience of kissing Nate.
When Nate moves to his neck Brad is lost.
“Fuck me,” Brad begs as Nate commits sins against his collar bones with his mouth.
“Yeah?” Nate wonders on a pant. His cheeks are flushed. Hell his whole chest is flushed. It’s a goddamn revelation to learn that Nate Fick blushes all the way down. Brad licks his lips. He wants that. All of that.
A dam breaks in his mind. That part of him that he never touches escapes its confines and Brad lets it wash over him. He has wanted this for so long and he didn’t know. Couldn’t know because once upon a time someone hadn’t wanted him and even though he never gave a shit about his birth parents the scar of that abandonment had still held. So he had pushed down and away everything that wasn’t ideal, that wasn’t perfect.
It didn’t matter that wanting men and women wasn’t taboo. It mattered that it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the image from all the old books and movies. It wasn’t what he had wanted. Or so he had told himself.
“Now,” Brad orders Nate, who has the audacity to not immediately get on with the program but lean down and press another heated kiss to Brad’s mouth.
He barely feels them both pulling off their boxers. Brad keeps his hands on Nate, running over his shoulders and the crest of his neck up to the curves of his ears. The sensation of skin under his hands makes him feel grounded and out of control at once. But it’s not enough.
Nate grabs pillows, drags at Brad’s hips with a soft “lift” spoken out loud. Then glorious slender fingers push into Brad and he loses the thread.
The Doc had warned them that Brad might not be on it once things got rolling. He wasn’t Vulcan enough and was too human for this to be perfect. But fuck is it good.
“Fuck, listen to you,” Nate gasps like he is the one with two fingers pressing on his prostate and not the other way around. Brad becomes aware that he is letting out a stream of constant filthy pleases and promises, things he wants to do, things he needs.
“More,” Brad orders and Nate slips another finger into him with added slick. It’s finally getting closer but it’s still not right and the force behind Brad’s chest is starting to pound harder. “Nate, please, fuck, I want you.”
“Okay, okay,” Nate agrees with spit slick obscenely red lips. “You are such a bossy bottom.” He breathes as he reaches for more lubrication.
“You shouldn’t be allowed to be in charge in and out of the bed,” Brad pants. Nate laughs, laughs so hard he drops the lube and leans forehead onto Brad’s abdomen with the force of it.
“Fuck you,” Nate giggles. It's a revelation. Brad has never had this. Never. Not once in all the people he has slept with has it ever been heated and fun. Maybe this is what the Doc was going on about when he said they were psychically compatible.
“That’s the idea,” Brad snarks. Nate looks up and then dives into Brad’s mouth. The kiss tastes different. Before it was water after a week in the desert. Now it’s ice cream after a hot day. He isn’t dying for it but it’s the sweet indulgence of something he didn’t need but wanted all along.
Brad has to stop himself from chasing the kiss, from following Nate up and gripping his face to keep the perfect mouth where he wants it most. The look in Nate’s eyes says he knows how much Brad wants him right now and it's burning him up inside.
Opening his legs and hooking one over Nate’s shoulder doesn’t feel as exposing as he thought it would, it feels natural and really fucking good. The press of Nate inside him, the slow force of being filled in a way his body craves pushes a long guttural moan from Brad’s throat. He can feel his neck flex and the blood in his body boil as he if finally given what he need.
“Holy shit,” Nate whispers, prays really. Then they are kissing again. Only this time Nate takes charge of everything. He presses in with snapping hips and a slick tongue. Brad feels flayed to his core and cradled at the same time.
“Please,” Brad begs, not really knowing what he needs but wanting something that he can’t vocalize. His fingers twitch and ache as Nate pushes the speed faster, a vein popping in his forehead with the effort.
“I got you,” Nate assures him with a filthy kiss and a hip grind that sends Brad teetering closer to the edge.
Nate interlinks their hands, pressing them down above Brad’s head. It’s the final piece. It’s a fucking masterpiece. Nate Fick looks like a filthy god above him, a fairy out of one of those trashy romance novels with his red lips and wide eyes. Brad feels bent in half in the best way possible. He can feel Nate in him, to the center of his soul, and at the other end of the line is Nate’s hands holding him down and anchoring him to this moment.
Brad comes without either of them ever touching his dick. He comes in a way he has never come before, in a long shuddering breath that rips the fever from his body and pours freezing water down his spine until he feels more alive than he has ever felt.
Just when he swears the eternity of the second is over Nate leans down and seals their lips together transferring the magic from one body to another, extending their now combined release into a feedback loop of pleasure. Brad experiences Nate’s orgasim like it’s his own, their minds linked in something neither of them have ever known before.
In those seconds that last their own lifetime Brad learns a couple of things.
- His face looks red when he comes
- Nate Fick thinks he is beautiful
- Nate Fick might be in love with him
- Brad might love him back.
~
“Alright, I give,” Nate sighs leaning up onto his elbows next to Brad on the bed. “Why do you have a frown on your face after that?” Nate doesn’t expand on the second half of that question that they both know, that- being the best sex either of them has ever had.
“I didn’t get to see your dick,” Brad doesn’t pout. Nate ignores the not pout with a lick of his lips.
“Maybe we should…” Nate beings.
“Just to be sure, sir,” Brad finishes.
“Of course,” Nate agrees with a smile.
Turns out Brad really likes putting his mouth on another person, as long as that person is Nathaniel Fick.
~
“Holmes, the fuck or die excuse only works the one time!” Ray shouts.
“Calm down,” Brad snaps.
“No, I will not calm the fuck down because I just walked in on you fucking the LT over the conference table!”
Nate, through some kind of officer’s training doesn’t even laugh as he puts his clothes back on.
“The door was locked Person,” Brad grinds out.
“Doors can’t hold me back and I know all the override codes, which is why I know know our fearless leader likes his hair pulled.”
“Out!” Brad throws a paper weight at Ray who takes the hint and leaves.
~
The Vulcan ambassador is the one who tells them.
“It is rare to find one’s mate during their first Pon Farr if their families had not originally arranged for it,” He says with a slight smile. Nate does that thing with his eyebrows where he tries to keep them in one place but he wants to ask a question with his face so they kind of scrunch up. Brad frowns.
“I don’t think I understand your meaning,” Nate questions with a placid smile.
“Lieutenant, you and the sargent are clearly mentally linked on a mate bonded level.” The ambassador explains. “On Vulcan this bond is the equivalent of what humans consider marriage, only it cannot be broken by anything but death.”
Brad sighs.
“Holmes, what the fuck you got soul bonded and married!” Ray whispers from behind Brad in the line.
The ambassador hears and turns to look at Brad.
“I understand that the correct thing to say at a time like this is Malez-tov.”
No amount of orgasims will ever make up for the look on Nate’s face just then and the snicker Ray lets out, or the forthcoming party Ray is sure to throw.