Chapter Text
His face was aching, from the curve of his cheekbone down to his jaw. Nothing had happened to it. It wasn’t a real ache. It was an itch just beneath the skin, an antsy desire for action, for the crack of knuckles against bone. If he didn’t have an escort, he’d probably do something he hadn’t done since he was an ensign aboard the Pegasus — lock himself in the head, turn on the fan so nobody could hear him, and strike himself in the cheek over and over again, harder and harder, until he emerged with a fresh bruise.
But Riker did have an escort, so he rested his fist against his cheek and dug his knuckles into the flesh more subtly, keeping his eyes on the viewscreen.
“How are you feeling today?” asked Dr. Macnair.
Riker’s eyes flicked to the door. One of the med techs was stationed just outside, so he couldn’t hear.
“I don’t know,” Riker said.
“Think about it.”
Seconds ticked by. Beneath the table, Riker twisted his foot at the ankle, grinding his toes against the floor. He dug one knuckle deep into his cheek and let out a sigh.
“Thoughts?” asked Macnair.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
He didn’t like the amused glimmer in Macnair’s eyes. “You’re telling me there’s nothing going on in that head, Will? You’re just sitting here, envisioning a blank white wall?”
“Well, I am now.”
Macnair smiled a little. Gently, he said, “Let’s stop hurting ourselves.”
Riker gave him a confused look.
“Put your hands on the table for me,” said Macnair.
Slowly, Riker let his hands fall. In his reflection on the recorder, he could see the dull flush of color where he’d been digging into his own skin.
“Now tell me what you feel,” Macnair said.
Riker turned his gaze inward. He examined the swirl of emotion inside him like it was so much smoke, each individual tendril indistinguishable from the next.
“Numb,” he said finally, giving up.
“Do you really feel numb?” Macnair asked. “Or are you just saying that because it’s easy?”
“I don’t know,” Riker said, a little short now. He took a steadying breath through his nose and squared his shoulders. “Restless. Bored. Horny.”
Macnair’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “I’m not sure those qualify as emotions, Will.”
“Don’t they? You asked me how I feel. I’m trying to tell you.”
“I do believe you’re trying,” said Macnair carefully — so careful that it pierced Riker right in the chest. Suddenly he couldn’t meet Macnair’s eyes through the screen. Slowly, Riker slipped his hands beneath the table, out of sight. They curled in his lap, his thumb rubbing painful circles on his index finger, twisting the skin until it ached. And the movement pushed the heel of his palm against his cock, a shiver of sensation almost impossible to resist.
“Have you had any visitors today?” Macnair asked, changing the subject.
“No,” said Riker. He pressed the heel of his palm down a little harder, his cock filling out in response. “I think they’re getting the message.”
“What message is that?”
“That I don’t want to see anyone just yet,” said Riker, shifting in his seat. There was a light, familiar burning sensation in his urethra, the start of arousal, the desperate need for friction. He stopped rubbing at his index finger entirely and curled his fingers tight around his cock instead, through his pajama pants. “The first day, there were dozens of visitors,” Riker said. “But I turned them all away, and they must have gotten the hint.”
“Why do you turn them away?” Macnair asked.
“I just don’t want to see anybody,” said Riker, grinding the pad of his thumb against his foreskin for a pinching sensation that hit the spot just right. His cock rested, thick and heavy against his thigh, and he shifted his hips a little so he could run his index finger along the underside of it. Teasing. Ticklish.
“You don’t want them to see you in sickbay?” Macnair asked.
“That’s part of it.”
“Or you don’t think you deserve visitors?” Macnair suggested.
Riker dragged his thumb over the very tip of his cock, pressing the fabric of his trousers down against the sensitive slit. A moment later, against his will, he bucked his hips a little — minutely — in an instinctive grasp at friction, pressure, his thumb pressing in so hard it hurt.
“This isn’t appropriate behavior, Will,” said Macnair mildly.
A cold flush washed over Riker’s body and he froze in his seat, still grasping his cock beneath the table.
“Why don’t we put our hands on the table for now,” Macnair suggested.
Like a scolded child, Riker obeyed. At first, there was no emotion attached to it — just a stunned numbness at being caught. Then mortification rushed in, turning his face hot and hunching his shoulders up to his ears.
“Everyone has needs,” said Macnair without a change in tone. “And you have very little privacy at the moment, I understand. I can speak to Dr. Crusher about arranging a private room—”
“Don’t,” said Riker softly, his voice broken. He stared at his hands, unable to look at Macnair through the viewscreen. “I won’t do it again.”
“Will, it’s alright to—”
It would get him in trouble later, but Riker’s hand shot out of its own volition and hit the transmission button, ending the call. The viewscreen collapsed into a fizzle of static and then went dark, cutting Macnair off mid-sentence. He’d be pissed, thought Riker dully, over the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears. But there was nothing for it. If he’d listened a moment longer, he would have … he didn’t know, really. He would have fallen apart, and that would be even more mortifying and unexplainable than the urge that made him touch himself beneath the table, when Macnair was right there.
There was a pneumatic hiss as the door to 1-A slid open and the morning med tech stepped inside.
“Sir?” he said.
“Connection issues,” Riker said breathlessly. His chest rose and fell, quick and shallow. “I think our subspace comms are out.”
The med tech moved forward to check for himself, but Riker’s hand closed compulsively around the viewscreen, refusing to let it go. With his palm over the display, there was nothing the med tech could do to confirm or refute it. Helpless, the tech fell back and stationed himself inside the door.
“Shall I call Dr. Crusher?” he asked, eyeing Riker.
“No.”
“You’re breathing a bit too fast, sir. Try to slow it down.”
“I’m fine,” Riker said. His eyes were unfocused. He could hear the breath whistling in his lungs.
But he meant it.
He was fine.