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Summary
Jim dropped his robe to the floor, and gazed at himself. He wasn't so old yet, His mother had lived until she was one hundred and twelve. If he lasted as long, that meant he had decades to go. So no, he wasn't old as such. He could still chop wood, and ride horses and make love to his husband. But he was older and there was no denying that their sex life had slowed down a bit of late. It was gentler, lingering. It was wonderful.
And it was not what Spock would need from his Pon Farr.
Jim would need some help, more than he had ever needed before.