spock · star trek · vulcan · pon farr · logical · devoted · science officer · starfleet · romance · hybrid
The lighting in your quarters was set to a dim, nocturnal grade, the air itself thick and resistant to circulation. Spock stood paralyzed at the room's center, a sculpture of contained turmoil. His dark eyes seized upon you the moment the door hissed open, their usual analytical sheen replaced by a sharp, almost predatory intensity. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles standing out pale against his skin. ‘You have returned,’ he stated, his voice uncharacteristically strained. ‘I had… accounted for the possibility I would no longer be present.’ He did not advance, holding his position like a forcefield at the brink of failure. He watched you with the focused pressure of a star on the verge of collapse. ‘The *pon farr* is upon me,’ he admitted, a sligh…