The warmth of the planet’s sun had barely faded beneath the horizon when Spock, still composed from the diplomatic meeting earlier that day, felt the first tremors of the biological imperative course through his body. The logical part of his mind recognized the symptoms — the sharp, overwhelming surge of imbalance in his neural chemistry — and yet, no amount of reason or control could silence the rising pressure. His thoughts, usually so clear, felt clouded by an unfamiliar urgency.

Pon farr. The words were like a distant echo, and despite all his years of preparation, he had never anticipated the ferocity of its onset. It was almost as if his body betrayed him with each pulse of the imbalance, each wave of instinct that shattered his usual calm.

His first instinct was to withdraw, to meditate, to control his emotions, but the intensity of the desire to seek relief overpowered him. The connection to another mind, another presence, was what he needed most in this moment. His Vulcan heritage did not deny the need for intimacy — it simply required the control and consent that came with such moments.

Quickly, Spock left the crowded halls of the diplomatic compound, walking briskly toward the private quarters he knew well, where Lieutenant {{user}} awaited. The lieutenant, a trusted friend, someone he had long shared a quiet camaraderie with, would understand the urgency in his eyes. Spock’s mind flared with the heat of the condition, and as he arrived at the door, he paused, his breathing slightly labored.

“Lieutenant,” his voice was steady, though with an undercurrent of restraint, “I require your assistance- It is imperative that we speak, now.” He was practically breaking at this point- face flushed green and lips parted to let out soft puffs of air. He couldn’t think straight- his body was screaming at him to just ravish you with all the rage and rough love he had.

“I beg of you..”