Febrile

The smell of her filled the room. A smooth musk, deep and foreign. Distinctly human. He imagined leaning close to her reclining form, inhaling—but no. That would be to tell her.

And he mustn't let her know.

Josephine flipped back a page in her statistics textbook, intent on her studies. She was more than prepared for the exam. What motivated her now was anxiety. Cirok could discern this in much the same way he could smell her: an extra sense, known only to Vulcans. He could feel the stress crawl down her body like it was his own. Or was it? The two had grown closer over the past several days, if only because he was more psychically attuned than usual. He doubted she noticed; she lacked the capacity. She was human. But Cirok knew. His body and mind were turning, re-orienting themselves.

It had come.

He'd hoped—vainly, self-deceptively—that it was illness. Restless sleep, erratic appetite—were these not symptoms of an influenza? There were few human illnesses that could lie low a Vulcan, yet he'd pushed this inconvenient fact to the back of his mind. Surely, it was too soon? He was yet a year away from graduating the Academy. But his father's Time, too, had come early. He'd been barely more than Cirok's age when his older sister was conceived. He'd thought of contacting him over subspace. But he would only order him to return home, to marry, and Cirok had no interest in T'Pira. They had little in common, yet their parents had hoped their adolescent bonding would draw them closer over the years. He'd felt her now and then, while meditating, or just before falling asleep. Their minds would touch briefly. He would always be the first to pull away again.

For he had found another.

The blue light of the nearby lamp played strangely over Josephine's skin, much of which was revealed to him. To Vulcans, Earth summers were temperate, but to humans, they were unbearably warm. The malfunctioning environmental controls in her dormitory meant that Josephine wore little, at least from his perspective. What humans considered summer wear Vulcans considered underclothes. This cultural difference was quite apparent now.

Cotton shorts cut off her thighs mere inches from the appealing curve of her buttocks. Her shirt hugged her waist, riding up to reveal an inch of brown skin. One thin strap had fallen down her shoulder, although she'd failed to notice this. Propped up on her elbow, her breasts squeezed together, almost spilling from her top. Cirok felt his blood rush.

Josephine had never paid much attention to her appearance when they were together, and why should she? She was in no danger of sexual overtures from a Vulcan. It must have been a relief to her, to not be an object of desire for him. Human men were less trustworthy in that arena. Cirok had often pitied them and their near-constant arousal. How could they accomplish anything while so distracted? But human emotions were not like his. They were mild and fleeting. No human male wrestled with the roaring hunger he now faced. How he yearned to reach out, to touch her skin—

"Are you alright?"

Josephine's face was lined with concern. She'd rarely had cause to look at him thus; her kind solicitude was usually reserved for those who needed it. She reached a hand toward his sweat-slicked forehead. He jerked away from her.

"I think you have a fever." Could she feel the heat radiating off him? "Do you want me to walk you to the health center?" It took a moment longer than it should have to form an answer.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." She dropped her hand, but her brows contracted.

"You've looked ill all week."

He thought, for a moment, of confessing. Surely, she would take pity on him? But he couldn't ask that of her. He valued her friendship, as she valued his. To ask for her assistance in this matter would be too great a request. He remembered what his father had told him before he'd left Vulcan. It is no business of theirs. Our private affairs are our own. No off-worlder may know.

And yet Josephine had exhibited a great respect and curiosity for his culture. She herself was highly rational. He often felt that she had more in common with his species than she did her own. But while Cirok spun arguments in her favor, shame swelled. The fever had muddled his logic; emotional concerns pulsed inside him. Josephine watched his face intently.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

His eyes flicked from her dark hair, as short as his own, to the tip of her chin. Her expression was earnest. Such trust! What would she think if she knew what he so desired from her? Would she fear him? She might have a reason to—his Vulcan strength was many times superior to her own. Could she even withstand mating with him? Did he have the discipline to be gentle? His passion would surely break her.

He thought of it then, pictured himself naked on top of her. His manhood stiffened in his trousers, pushing uncomfortably against the fabric. The fantasy was seductive, but an unexpected jet of anger pierced his stomach. Anger at himself, anger at his parents for not preparing him for this.

"What's happening to you?" Josephine's voice was a calm contrast to his own inner turmoil. She reached up and placed a piece of his hair behind his ear. The movement unsettled her shirt, and Cirok glimpsed, just for a moment, the full roundness of one of her breasts. He struggled with the yearning to caress it. As it were, his hand twitched in her direction. He spoke without meaning to, in a strangled voice he scarcely recognized as his own,

"This is intolerable. I cannot...I cannot..."

Something had broken open inside him. Her touch, however brief, had ignited a fire. He reached for his logic, for his control, but it had vanished, burned out by a need that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Can't what?"

He didn't think. He could not. He pulled her into his arms in an instant, kissing her full on the mouth, slipping his tongue between soft, surprised lips.

She wrenched away from him.

"What are you doing?" Her face was a mix of bewilderment and anger.

"Forgive me," he gasped. "I burn." He didn't know where the words had come from, but it seemed the only way to describe it. A fever raged inside him; the room could have been in flames.

"Help me." A look of pleading broke over his face, but he wasn't bothered by this emotional display. It was not the priority.

"Is this it, then?" Josephine whispered. She looked uncertain, but he said nothing. "I was told in exobiology that Vulcans have...a mating season of sorts. It's when you get married, right?"

"Yes. But I don't want to—marry, I mean. Not to the girl my parents found. I want a someone else."

He would say what he must. There was no turning back now. He continued in a desperate rush,

"I have read much about human female sexuality. I understand that you require patience to achieve orgasm. With my discipline, I can give you great pleasure." He wound his arms around her again, pulling her close to him. This time, Josephine did not resist. Her eyes were wide, her breath coming quicker now. His gaze smoldered.

"Do not deny yourself this," he purred.

He took one of her hands and slipped it beneath his shirt. His chest was heaving. He ran her hand over his muscles and felt her fingers twitch. He breathed in her ear,

"Do you desire me?"

He felt her shiver. But he needed her to say it. His need stopped just short of harm. His eyes burned into hers.

"Yes."

Josephine locked her lips with his. He felt every inch of her body against his own. He forced her onto her back with savage strength and removed his tunic in one swift motion.

She pulled in a breath, but looked pleased with his dominance. She stroked his chest and pulled him down for another kiss with unexpected vigor. Had she fantasized about this, too? Their tongues tangled, hot and slippery. Cirok heard his heart hammer in his ears. Enflamed with desire, he yanked her shirt all the way down to her stomach. Josephine's nipples stretched tautly across her skin; her breasts swelled between his splayed fingers. He dove down and began sucking her stiffened nipples. She gasped and arched her back; this seemed to give her pleasure. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants. Slick excretions wet her thighs. He slid a finger easily inside her—she gave a loud gasp—and began probing in and out of her hot, spongy center. She wiggled her hips beneath him.

"Mmm, yes..." Her movement allowed him to grind his erection against her thigh. He grew unbearably hard as precum began to leak from the tip. He had never before been so aroused.

Cirok tore off what remained of Josephine's clothes and threw them to the floor. A bouquet of scent blossomed as he moved his face between her legs, the source of her luxuriant smell. He began licking and kissing her there. She convulsed in pleasure at the movement of his tongue. He lapped again and again at the swelling, hardening bud just below her mound, eliciting a symphony of slurping and moaning. She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled.

"Yes, Cirok. That's amazing. That feels amazing!"

She held him firm to her for several minutes, groaning softly and moving her hips in time with his motions. Fire surged through him as he licked her, urging him onward. He must complete the act. It was a necessity.

Cirok pulled away.

"Please," he gasped, "I must—"

Unable to speak, he lowered his pants and underthings; a firm erection sprung free, green-tinged and pulsing. Mercifully, Josephine opened her legs to him.

The first moments of penetration gave Cirok the greatest pleasure he'd ever known. Her body welcomed him easily, hot, moistened flesh morphing to accommodate his length. There were no words.

Josephine wrapped her thighs around his waist, rocking gently, sighing at his first shallow thrusts. She panted as he moved faster still, then cried out at as he began to plunge in earnest. He felt a primal, male sort of gratification at these sounds. He could please her. And he was determined to do so.

Cirok buried his face in her breasts and kissed and sucked each tender mound, eliciting quiet moans from his partner. He reached down and began swirling his fingers in the doughy flesh of her vulva. Josephine gyrated her hips against his fingers, and Cirok felt her moisten in anticipation. This reduced the friction between them, but his genitals were so exquisitely sensitive that he could still appreciate every centimeter of the jelly between her thighs. He shivered at the warm sensations.

Locked together in their growing passion, time moved in strange lurches for both of them. At some point Josephine began to squirm, bucking her hips against him. Cirok felt her fingernails in his back. She too had lost control.

"Faster!" she begged. "Faster!"

Cirok dove into her again and again at great speed. She whined and writhed, fast approaching a crescendo. Her frantic panting swelled to a great sob of joy. Contractions undulated rapidly around his member.

"OH GOD!" Josephine screamed. She thrashed wildly beneath him. "Oh yes! Oh, fuck, oh yes, oh Cirok...!" Her words tapered off into whimpers of pleasure. Triumph thrilled through his limbs.

The throbbing began to slow, but Josephine moved with him still, breathing hard. He continued to pleasure himself with her body. He successfully delivered her to two more groaning orgasms more before the remainder of his self-discipline began to slip away.

"I cannot bear the tension," he moaned. He thrust deep and long into her yielding, buttery center, her legs wide around him, approaching a sweet oblivion, yet afraid to lose control.

He had mere moments left. Josephine kissed him on the cheek and took his face between her hands.

"It's alright. You can let go. I'm right here. It's alright."

Cirok looked into her eyes and allowed the waves of bliss to overcome his control. Ejaculate erupted out of him as he let out an immense wail, thrusting wildly into her milky pulp while his genitals gave a series of great pleasure-throbs. For three minutes it went on: Josephine's snug, slippery channel squeezed luscious pleasure from his member with each desperate pump. The sensation soon intensified, and Cirok began to weep in slick ecstasy. He couldn't stop the second flood of cream as it spurted deep inside her, or slow his rocking as more agonizing delight rocketed through his body. Semen streamed down his testicles and soaked into the sheets.

"Do you feel better?" Josephine asked when he'd stilled his movement.

Breathing heavily, Cirok withdrew his still-stiffened organ from the sweet, clammy vice. He was still sensitive: he felt himself twitch even as he slipped gently out from between her rose-soft labia. He took himself in one hand and began fondling.

"I don't—I don't think I'm finished—" he gulped. Josephine stirred.

"Here, let me." She unraveled his fingers and wrapped a silken hand around his length. She held tight and stroked him quickly up and down. The pads of her palms gave like pillows. Cirok moaned throatily and tipped his head back.

"Yes," he groaned. "That's exquisite. Please, faster."

Josephine stimulated him to the edge of a frightening pleasure. He felt a tightening sensation in his genitals like the turn of a screw, and then, without warning, it released itself in a torrent of throbs. Cirok doubled over with a scream, watching, transfixed, as yet more seed gushed out of him and splattered her bouncing breasts in thick, hot ropes. He groaned aloud, all logic abandoned, lost in carnal ecstasy, yet all the while profoundly connected to her, his mate, body and mind.

This final ecstasy washed through Cirok's veins like a panacea, slicing through the heat that burned him and pushing it back from whence it came. Slowly, his reason returned as the pleasure subsided. He collapsed like a rag doll, breathing heavily. The two lay in silence for a few moments.

"Thank you," he sighed.

"You don't need to thank me," she said. "I wanted it, too." He sought her eyes. They were sparkling. He lifted two fingers and brushed the side of her neck.

"You are...important to me." Josephine smiled. She kissed him.

"I love you, too."