Sarek touched his stylus to the PADD he held in his hand, scrolling through the document. Human law was long-winded and verbose. It was incredibly specific and tedious, and time consuming to read. But he had never, in all his years as the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, been surprised by this. Illogical beings that they were, humans constantly exploited language. If a comma was misplaced, the entire reading of a law could be altered.
Vulcans, on the other hand, had a much simpler approach: the law was what it was; nothing was read into it. Such a way of dealing with the law was much more logical. And, he had to admit, much less boring.
Setting his PADD down, Sarek allowed himself a moment of weakness and rubbed his eyes. He had grown up reading PADDs, but the strain of long hours of reading still made his eyes burn.
A bubble of laughter passed through his mind, and Sarek felt warmth in his chest. His wife was amused.
Suddenly, Sarek's attention sharpened and focused on one thing: Amanda. He was out of his chair before he realized that he was moving. Freezing mid-stride, Sarek took a brief moment to assess his physiological state. His respiration was steadily increasing. His heartbeat was accelerated; he could feel it throbbing in his abdomen. Despite the cool weather of the Vulcan winter, his internal temperature was beginning to rise. Perhaps more disturbing – if one could say a Vulcan was ever disturbed – was the fact that almost all of his mental faculties not being used to gauge the physiological changes were focused on Amanda.
Dread washed over him, and he could not fight it. There was no way to fight it. In a moment of vicious, knife-like clarity, Sarek recognized what was happening.
He shuddered – actually shuddered – and took a step to the side so that he could place both hands on his desk and lean heavily against it.
A swift series of mental calculations said this was happening far too soon. He should have had another year. But he had to accede to the fact that any number of factors could have affected this change in him.
The growing storm of emotions in him paused for a moment before surging through him, suffusing him, threatening his calm. Sarek's fingers gripped the edge of his desk. The wood cracked.
Wild, uncontrollable feeling poured through him, latching on to every memory of his wife. With that came a bizarre sense of focus, a strange serenity as he stood in the middle of a storm that continued to grow. He needed her, and she was so far away.
It was imperative that he returned home, immediately, to his wife.
She was alone at their villa, and even though the rational part of his mind (which was quickly being eclipsed by everything else) knew she was safe, his imagination was being fueled by a torrent of uncontrolled emotion. Vulcan was safe; it had little crime. But she was so small and human, so delicate. It was his task to protect her, to care for her, to guard her, and when she was alone, she could be hurt.
Sarek was not shocked by the realization that if anyone ever caused her pain he would tear that persona apart. Literally. There would be no need for a lirpa, just his bare hands and his rage.
Turning from his desk, he left his office.
It was a combination of chance and good fortune that saw him to his hoverbike unmolested, and for that he was grateful. Had another Vulcan approached him, Sarek wasn't sure how he would have reacted. The uncertainty of his position unnerved him, but he recognized his complete inability to do anything about it. Had the Vulcan been male, he suspected he would have attacked the man to get around him. Had the Vulcan been female, he suspected he would have done much the same. That unknowing, that lack of clarity when he usually possessed so much, bothered him. Frightened him.
Guiding the hoverbike from the embassy garage, Sarek attempted to find some calm center that didn't revolve around his wife, around seeing her naked, around touching her and caressing her with his hands and lips and tongue. And there was rage building inside him as well. What if she refused him? What if she turned him away? It was irrational rage, and his thoughts were foolish, but there was no way to stem the thoughts or the feeling. His lack of control only made him angrier.
Amanda stood in the kitchen, a book in one hand and a spoon in the other. The book was fascinating, containing a long, if slightly sketchy, telling of Vulcan history before the Reformation. As she read, she stirred sugar into her tea, paying the mug only the barest of attention.
Somewhere toward the front of the villa, something crashed.
Jumping, Amanda lowered her book. She stilled, straining to hear something in the following silence. No one else was at home with her, and for a moment an irrational wave of fear swept over her. Sarek would tease her, though he'd never admit it was teasing, if she told him.
There was a strange feeling welling up inside her, a feeling of uncertainty and discontentedness. She wanted to attribute those feelings to the bond, because she knew they weren't her own, but she also knew they couldn't be Sarek's.
Then he crashed into the kitchen, a wild, glazed look in his eyes.
Amanda dropped the book.
Clearly, she was wrong about those emotions not being his.
"Sarek?" She took a step forward when he remained in the kitchen doorway, his eyes riveted on her. She recognized this look. She had last seen it six years prior, but she still remembered it. It was one of those expressions that was hard to forget.
Swallowing, Amanda closed her eyes. She tilted her head to one side, her hair sliding away from her neck.
He was in front of her mere seconds later. One of his hands fisted in her hair at the base of her skull, yanking her head back painfully. The other closed around her waist, hauling him against her. Through their bond, she felt his emotions, wild, ragged, and uncontrolled. It was as dizzying in that moment as it had been six years before.
Vulcans felt, but they didn't experience their emotions as humans did. She had learned that quite clearly in her time as Sarek's wife. Human emotion paled in comparison to Vulcan emotion. What humans felt was light, airy, like flakey meringue. Vulcan emotions were rich and thick, a sinful cream that could only be handled in small doses. Where humans felt happiness, Vulcans felt unadulterated joy. Where humans felt anger, Vulcans fell into a bloody rage.
Whenever Sarek felt, Amanda had a hard time understanding his emotions. He kept them trapped and under control, but she couldn't comprehend them. On the occasions where he had initiated a mind meld with her, intent on sharing feelings for her that he couldn't adequately express with words, she was always overwhelmed. His emotions were fathomless, and he experienced sensations no human could name.
As he held her, as his hand tightened on her hair and his fingers dug into her hip, she struggled against the surge of his mind into hers, searching for something to hold on to, something to recognize. And there, in the flood, she found what she was looking for.
With a quiet sigh of acceptance, Amanda opened her eyes. She looked at Sarek's face. His expression was pained.
Her lips quirked slightly in the barest hint of a smile. Her tongue ran over her lower lip, wetting it, and slowly, ever so slowly, she moved her hands to rest them on either side of his face. She let her feelings for him, so shallow in comparison to his own for her, rise against the torrent of his emotion. She knew there was no way to control what he was feeling, no way to temper it or turn down its intensity, and she accepted that. She accepted him.
A guttural noise escaped him, and he pressed his face to her neck, peppering her skin with little kisses. Amanda sighed, sliding her fingers into his hair. She didn't move but for that, didn't initiate anything or encourage him. Sarek would take what he wanted, and she would give to him because she loved him.
When he turned his head and captured her lips with his, Amanda expected the kiss to be harsh and demanding. She expected violence and teeth. Instead, Sarek's mouth caressed her own with short, gentle strokes. His hands remained like vices on her body, but he didn't attack her lips. And when she remained still and accepting, his hands relaxed.
Fire and ice poured through his veins at the same time. He wasn't sure whether he was going to burn or freeze. All that he could focus on was Amanda's small body against his, her lips under his, her skin touching his. She was his, and he had her in his arms. That alone alleviated some of the desperate need consuming him. He wanted the taste of her in his mouth. Removing his hand from her hip, he closed his fingers around her chin. He tried not to be too rough – even embroiled in the heat of his emotions he could not fathom harming her – but some tiny part of him that remained rational knew she would be bruised in the morning.
When her lips parted under his, he let out a rumble of triumph before thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Her eager response, her arms tightening subtly around his neck and her body arching into his, soothed him.
Much as he wanted to throw her to the ground and ride her until he collapsed, he would not. He would not hurt his mate. His wife.
It was impossible to hold back the feelings that went with that word. Against his mouth, she moaned. The sound enflamed him, and he pressed against her, forcing her to the wall.
He was at war with himself, desperate to consume her with pleasure, with desire, but knowing that to do so could harm her. The hardest part of this time for him was not the loss of control but the war between the parts of him that desired her and the parts of him that wanted to protect her. Both parts were so totally ingrained in him that he couldn't deny either. He had to have her, but having her would hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to protect her, cherish her, keep her safe. But he couldn't keep her safe if he wanted to sate his need, and he couldn't sate his need if he wanted to keep her safe. That, more than the loss of control, was his deepest shame.
He slid a hand over her hip. Her calf slid over his thigh. His teeth closed around her lower lip. She moaned.
His arms wrapped around her body, and he plucked her off the ground. Cradling her against his body, his lips plying hers, he carried her to the bedroom. Desperate as his desire was, he knew he had to get her there.
Once in the room, he dropped to the bed. He pulled her with him, cushioning her descent with his body. He pulled her so that they lay pressed together chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. He groaned, his hands sliding over her back.
When she pushed herself off his chest, he panicked, and his panic nearly overwhelmed him. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers digging into her skin. She winced; he saw it, but hardly registered it. He wanted to plead with her not to go, not to leave him, but when he opened his mouth only a snarl of distaste came out.
Her lips moved. She was speaking.
But he could not comprehend her words.
She touched his cheek, sparking heat in him with her cool fingers.
He arched his body against hers.
Desperate. Seeking. Needing.
Her face lit up. She wore a human expression and too many clothes. So he rectified the latter.
When she was naked, he pressed her into the bed and rolled over her.
He loved her slowly, using his hands and his mouth. He drew her orgasms from her slowly, savoring her. He forced her pleasure to new heights, giving her everything he had.
And when she spiraled down to Vulcan for the final time, he lay beside her, still burning but for a time sated.
During the subsequent thirty six hours, he let her leave the bed only when she needed the bathroom. When her stomach rumbled, he brought her food; it was his pleasure to care for her. When she needed rest, he held her; it was his duty to protect her from himself. When he woke, after the fires had eased, he was alone in his bed. A residual tremor of emotion, of fear, rocked him.
Lurching from his bed, Sarek moved quickly toward the door. He was inches away when Amanda appeared there, a tray in her hands.
"Go back to bed," she said, and he could not refuse her.
Sarek slowly lowered himself to the bed, and Amanda followed. She climbed onto the bed, moving carefully. He watched her, noticing when she tried to hide a wince. Despite his desire to protect her, he had hurt her. She was bruised.
"I thought we could have breakfast in bed," she told him, gesturing to the tray.
He regarded it. The tray held a bowl of barkaya marak – she said it tasted like cream of spinach – hirat, kaasa juice, and sliced globefruit. Some part of him was irrationally pleased. Globefruit was his favorite.
"What is the purpose of breakfast in bed?" he queried.
Amanda shifted, her movements carefully controlled, and settled beside him. She reached forward and winced again. But she was strong, his mate, and she picked up one of the slices of globefruit without comment. Giving him a small smile, she lifted it to his lips.
"I am capable of feeding myself," Sarek told her.
"I know." Her smile grew.
An image of her, naked, straddling him, filled his mind. That same smile was on her face before her lips parted as she moaned his name. Sarek took a deep breath, calming himself and putting the image from his mind.
"Then explain the point of this."
Amanda laughed. The sound washed over him, a melody he secretly cherished. He did some of the least Vulcan things to illicit that laugh from her.
"It's just an illogical, human behavior," she replied. "Humor me?"
He would not deny her. Could not deny her. "I will, as you say, humor you," Sarek said. He leaned forward and allowed her to place the slice of fruit in his mouth. There was something intimate about the gesture, something much more intimate than what they had shared during the past two days. Something special. Something precious.
Perhaps, something eternal.
Special thanks to Peachly, who beta read this!
On another note: I do not view pon farr as what fandom has essentially turned into planned rape time. I recognize there are dangerous and violent elements of pon farr, but I can't image an advanced, civilized, matriarchal society allowing their women to be brutally raped every seven years. I don't mind the interpretation that pon farr is incredibly violent; indeed, I'm currently reading a number of fics that approach it in that way. My personal take on it is considerably different. I don't think the deep shame Vulcans feel in regards to pon farr would come from the sex (I can't think of many advanced civilizations that have been puritanical about sexual intercourse), nor do I think they would feel that shame because of violence. I do think, however, that their shame would stem a great bit from the complete and utter loss of control pon farr creates in them as well as desire to both passionately love and stalwartly protect a mate. That loss of emotional, and physical, control makes their shame make sense to me. This fic is my attempt to examine that. I by no means am putting down other interpretations - I enjoy them a great deal when I read them.