Rating: R for language, disturbing situations, and mpreg (of a sort)
Word Count: ~1900
Summary: An astonishingly crack-free fill of this prompt on the kink meme: Kirk doesn't quite understand how Vulcan reproduction works until he winds up laying an egg... This is scientifically based on the standard poultry model, available here.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
It began quite suddenly, when he was sitting in the captain's chair. There was an overwhelming urge to poo, and he rapidly ceded the bridge to Scotty, wishing that he'd taken Bones' dire warnings about those burritos to heart. He was too busy not-running to his quarters and smiling the I'm-awesome-everything-is-fine smile at passing crewmen to do more than vaguely note that it didn't feel quite the same as poo, like the pressure was coming from a slightly different place. By the time he reached his cabin he was practically bent double with strange clenching contractions, rippling down from his lower belly to his ass.
With a groan he palmed his swollen abdomen. It didn't help. His pants felt constricting and he tore them half off clumsily, and damn if the pressure wasn't intense, like something was bearing down huge and hard on his ass. It was almost like being fucked, except it was getting painful as all hell, and the burn was incredible, becoming worse and worse until he knew he had to be tearing, it was so bad, even worse than taking a fist. God, it was like two fists, with no lube, and he knew he ought to call Bones but there was no way he was letting him in while he was crawling helplessly to the head like a constipated drunk.
And thank god Spock was down on the planet because fuck, he'd lose all respect for Jim if he ever saw him like this, hands and knees on the floor in some sick parody of a slut, ass exposed and whining like a dog about to mess the carpet.
But even the shame of it was soon blotted out by the unbelievable pain, and he gritted his teeth till he thought they would shatter and clawed and clawed at the carpet, shaking uncontrollably with each terrible wave, and then all of a sudden-- relief. Something hot and dry had come out of him. His hole felt blessedly empty, and he collapsed against the floor, gasping, wishing he could just pass out, but he knew that whatever the fuck had just come out of him, it was not something he was going to take any chances with.
Clutching the leg of his desk for support, he dragged his body around weakly, head pounding with scenarios from old alien horror shows, only to stop short at the sight before him.
Slightly shiny, less than a foot long, and resting unassumingly on its side -- a perfect brown egg.
He did the only thing he could-- ordered a full diagnostic tricorder to be brought to his room. Pulled a new pair of trousers over his aching behind and gritted his teeth, waiting.
Finally the door buzzed. It was Spock, back from the surface, tricorder in hand. But Kirk didn't need it, because the Vulcan took one look over his shoulder and blanched.
"What is it?" Kirk demanded immediately, savagely. "You know what it is. Tell me."
Spock stiffened, looking terrified. Kirk had never seen him so dismayed -- not even during pon farr two months ago. Truly afraid now, he used the command tone. "I'm waiting, Mr Spock."
"It is an egg," said Spock in a whisper.
"I know it's a fucking egg!" Kirk exploded. "The question is, why the fuck did it just come out of me?"
Spock spoke with effort. "It is the Vulcan form of pregnancy."
"The hell, Spock? I thought Vulcans gave birth like we do!"
"The women do, certainly, utilise in utero conception. But in the case of male-male pairings the more suitable party lays an egg. Jim--"
"No shit. And what the hell is suitable? We both bottom!"
"It appears that your physiology is more suitable for... brooding."
"What? It is not! Who decides this shit, anyway?"
"It is hormonal."
"You didn't do it?"
"No more than you did. Please, Jim--"
"Did you say brooding? As in like a chicken sitting on an egg? I'm supposed to sit on this thing? Please tell me you're joking. Tell me you've picked this unbelievably bad day to develop a fucking sense of humour. "
"Fuck this shit, Spock, I didn't sign up for this. And fuck you."
Jim was left alone in his quarters. He stared at the egg. It stared back, and he was officially at the end of his tether.
But he wasn't going to break down and ask Spock what to do. Which meant Bones had to know.
Because he couldn't just leave the egg thing by itself on the floor, could he? Hell, there was probably a kid in there. He wasn't about to let it die.
Oh, god, he couldn't. Bones was weird enough about him and Spock having sex, and Jim knew he didn't really mean it, but he couldn't handle the ribbing and the complaining and the need to do a full examination and patch Jim up before even listening to him about anything else.
So, the databanks it was. He could deal with himself later with his smuggled-in regenerator, anyway.
Keeping one eye on the egg, he rooted around on his desk for a padd. Hacked the medical bank. Typed 'Vulcan male pregnancy' into the diagnostic. Then selected 'brooding and incubation', and then, with a wince, 'visuals'.
It wasn't as bad as he'd thought.
The first picture was of a Vulcan guy with the usual Vulcan poker face. That wasn't unusual. But he was lying on his side, snuggling, practically, up to one of the egg things, the both of them on a bed. The guy was curled protectively around the thing, hand splayed out on its lower side like he was doing a meld of some kind.
He selected "next". A similar image, different posture, but the hand in the same position. And then another, with two men this time, the second guy's hand on top of the first guy's where it lay against the egg.
He'd seen enough. Going back to the main medical file, he downloaded and speed-read through the material as quickly as he dared. Damn -- the egg apparently needed high amounts of hand contact in the first hour -- his first hour with a kid and he was already screwing up -- so he picked it up with both hands (it was unexpectedly heavy) and placed it gently on the bed. Then he lay on his side, crooked an arm awkwardly around it, propped the padd up on Spock's pillow (damn him) and continued to read.
The guilt sank in about fifteen minutes later.
According to the medibank, male-male pregnancy was itself very rare -- less than 4% of couples successfully reproduced -- and for it to happen with outworlders was unheard of. So being mad at Spock for not warning him beforehand would be like blaming him for their weekly space anomaly. He was likely just as shocked as Jim, if not worse -- Spock might be good in a crisis, but he really didn't like surprises.
And apparently the choice of the egg-bearer really was due solely to science -- it was the more fertile partner who triggered the birth. And with Spock being a hybrid...
Wow, Jim had been a bitch. Maybe he could claim postpartum aggression?
Guiltily, he pulled his hand off the egg. The banks said the little guy was probably going to develop a fledgling telepathic awareness pretty soon, so sending it any kind of distressing emotion was a really big no-no. Fuck, he was such a screwup. Fuck, can't think that either. Oh god, do NOT panic. Damnit, Spock.
Time to eat crow. If Spock was even willing to listen to him.
With a last, determinedly-positive pat of the egg -- nice egg, good egg, please don't be screwed up -- he reached for his communicator.
"Spock?" he said softly into it.
"Spock here," came the equally quiet reply.
Jim took a deep breath. There was no room to fuck around, not in this situation. "I'm sorry, Spock," he said as steadily as he could. "I was shocked and overwhelmed but I was wrong to blame you. Please forgive me so we can talk about doing what's best for the egg. Kid. Egg."
"Jim..." Jim had been worried, but once he'd heard Spock say his name in that tone of voice he knew everything was going to be all right. The tension drained out of him in one long whoosh, and he decided that maybe now he could put his hand back on the egg.
"I, too, am sorry," Spock continued. "I believe the rest of our discussion would be best conducted in person."
There was an almost instantaneous buzz at the door. Jim frowned. "Enter," he said slowly, and Spock strode in, eyes finding Jim's unerringly and then sweeping over to take in their kid-egg. Jim melted a bit. Had Spock been waiting outside his door all along?
"You are in need of treatment, Jim," Spock said, making a beeline for the medical kit he had installed into the side of the captain's safe.
"I've got a dermal regenerator in the back," Jim offered, still curled up on the bed. He could have protested instead, but he'd just laid an egg, for fuck's sake, and he suddenly felt like being pampered.
Spock's weight on the bed and warm hands on his side felt like the best fucking thing in the world. He would probably have gotten aroused when Spock's fingers oh-so-carefully applied the soothing antiseptic, but it would've been too weird with the egg lying with them on the bed, and oh god what was going to happen to their sex life, and where would they live and what was he going to do with the kid when it came out of the egg and was naked and squishy and real, god god god--
"I have read several articles on incubation and infant care," Spock said tentatively. It effectively derailed Jim's panic attack.
"In the last fifteen minutes?" he gaped. He should have been used to this by now, but seriously, the sex appeal of a guy who could process half a dozen data streams at one time? It never got old.
"Affirmative. The general consensus is that the child's development would be most enriched if it is raised by its biological parents in a stable domestic unit."
Jim let out a weak laugh. "Is that your way of saying, 'Will you marry me?'"
Spock hands stilled. Jim twisted around to look up at him. The brown eyes were earnest and intense.
"Jim, my emotions towards you-- I have long desired-- that is--" Spock gave up. "Affirmative," he admitted.
Jim grinned like a kid at Christmas. Definitely hormonal. "I accept." He twisted some more so that Spock was spooning him as he spooned around their egg. One of Spock's hands joined his on the soft brown surface, and Jim thought he was really starting to feel the stable domestic vibe going on between them.
He'd almost dropped off into much-needed sleep when he had an idea.
"Do you like the name Egbert? I had a cousin named Egbert," he told Spock with a dopey smile.
"Go to sleep, Jim," Spock said, sounding exasperated and amused. Jim noted that that hadn't been a 'no'.
Sequel: Dr Spock's Guide to Laying a Healthy Egg >