"Want Your Revenge" - Spock/Uhura - R
Title: Want Your Revenge
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura
Rating: R
Summary: The Commander has done something the Captain doesn't like. He sends his Communications Officer to do his bidding.
Author's Note: ALL HAIL THE EMPIRE. Okay, so this was truly influenced by the current goings-on of ontd_startrek and the newly released video of 30 Seconds to Mars doing a cover of Gaga's "Bad Romance," which was just too sexy to not write mirror!fic about. I HIGHLY ADVISE (or the agony booth for you!) you listen to the song while you're reading my fic; it really does set the tone. Please. Please. Please.
And as is now commonplace: big thanks to my beta, clarkoholic.
She walked down the steps with a bit more saunter than she usually gave her walk. She took the steps slowly, listening to the noise of her heel echo off the tall metal walls. She sounded powerful. She felt powerful.
Hell, she knew she was powerful.
She twisted the small black whip around her left hand, feeling the tightness consume her knuckles. She almost winced at the small amount of pain as her skin burned under the leather. No, it felt good. It also felt good to know that she might be using it to inflict pain on someone else.
She felt the end of her skirt flick as she took the final step into the Enterprise's brig. She stopped for a second, looking into the only occupied cell. With the dim lighting she saw only the definition of his face, the height of his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth, the edges of his eyes, and the tip of his ear. She saw the definition of the muscles in his biceps, his forearms, the tendons in his hands grasped around the thick metal chain that suspended his arms in the air. His chest rose slowly with each breath and she could count the muscles in his torso, the definition of each abdominal muscle. He was crouched, his navy pants tight against his thighs. His feet were bare, and he was on the balls of his feet like he had been expecting her to come down here tonight. With his chin almost touching his chest, he turned his head slowly to her, glaring though his skyward-pointing eyebrows.
She smirked when he bore his gritted teeth.
She wrapped the rest of the length of the whip around her left hand and approached the heavy cell door. It was thick, rusted, made of iron, like jail cells did a few centuries ago. The Captain liked them because they were primitive. They were barren, cruel, shocking. She agreed. She loved the old cells. She smiled as she unlocked it slowly with the old skeleton key the Captain gave her,making sure she looked him in the eye as she did so. His chest rose slowly only once. He was actually angry. Well, angry for him. The Captain would be pleased.
She pushed the iron door open and took a small step inside. He focused his attention on the ground and Uhura could see him dig his upper teeth into his lower lip. His fingers loosened on the chain for a second, only to let the digits-one by one-slowly tighten their grasp harder than before. Every curve, definition of his muscles was on display. She then noticed the sculpted lines of his body were also darkened by something else; he had been tugging at his restraints so hard that his wrists were bleeding, the blood had run down the length of his arms and was starting to fall over his collarbone. It was a dark green, drying against the paleness of his skin. It glistened lightly, covered by small amounts of sweat. She could smell it, smell him, and so she desperately wished she could just make him sweat more. The whip would do nicely to get him to issue adrenaline-
His body suddenly tightened. The muscles were more apparent, strained. Her excitement piqued: he knew. She could tell he could sense she wasn't down there to "check on his health." She was here on orders. Orders to show the commander how bad of a boy he had been, why he was shackled, nearly naked, and why she had been sent down there with a small, primitive whip.
She loosened the whip from around her hand to hold it tightly between two fists. He growled deep within his chest, starting to look up at the short skirted, bare waisted-
She was then directly in front of him, her face inches from his. She had the whip around the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. He resisted, pushing backward against the thick leather. She knew he was burning his own skin by doing this. She was pulling forward too hard, he was pushing backward too hard. When he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth she pulled harder and then ran the whip sideways. He let out a small whelp of pain, issued from behind his teeth. She then threw the whip aside. She knew she had his attention now, and that's all she wanted. Screw what the Captain said; she made her prisoner bleed, call out in a manner that was not his own...
She ran a hand across the back of his neck, gathering emerald blood on her fingertips. He panted heavily; his chest heaving so hard it almost touched her breasts, and his eyes shooting daggers into her own. Without breaking eye contact, she used her left hand to push up his perfectly trimmed bangs. With her right hand, she ran a line of his blood from his hairline over his nose, to the top of his lips and down over his chin. The gradated line shone brightly in the dim light. He huffed twice. She knew he was losing his cool.
So she placed her tongue on his lips, tasting the copper in his blood. He resisted falling backward, but closed his eyes tightly and choked on a deep gasp in his chest. Sensing his discomfort, she slowly ran her tongue along the line she just drew, erasing the still glistening blood. The chains shook. She nearly laughed.
Uhura backed away, giving him some space. As Spock opened his eyes, she ran her now green-tinted tongue over her own lips, savoring the coppery taste. His right eyebrow rose slightly, but only for a second-he was still trying to remain calm, collected. She admired his restraint. However, this needed to change. The Captain sent her down her to show him a lesson in who was in charge.
The important thing, she reminded herself, is that he never said "of the ship." He meant other things. He did send her with a whip instead of a phaser.
She advanced on him, sitting on his bent leg, running her bloodstained tongue along his stubbled jaw line. He growled again, but it was different than before. She could feel him giving in. He pushed toward her instead of away. She rode his leg harder, and he growled again. But one leg wouldn't do-he was crouched because it was only proper to make a prisoner stand to regain the blood flow to his arms or crouch to regain feeling to his legs. It was part of the torture. There was no sitting. This had to be fixed.
After biting the top of his right cheekbone and burning her lips on his thick stubble, she stood up suddenly, reaching for the chains on his right wrist. The right side of her skirt fell an inch; his teeth tugged on the short hemline of her skirt. Bad boy. Not yet. She dug her right heel into his thigh and he backed off instantly, not whimpering once. Back to the task at hand: there was a few extra links for his wrist, hanging from the edge of the hook on the wall. She smirked, thanking the Captain silently and added more chains to the length of his restraints. Right wrist. Left wrist.
When they were long enough, Spock's legs gave out and he sat on the floor, his biceps even closer to his ears. He appeared exhausted, his back and legs in dire need of a rest. Uhura wasn't about to give him one; she knew he had more strength in him. She straddled his folded legs and dug her nails into the small of his back. He yelped, pulling at the chains. She loved the sound. She felt so in control.
She nibbled a line from his second set of ab muscles, up through the middle of his pecs, around to the side of his neck, on his jaw line and finished up on the tips of his ears. He finally called out a word he couldn't hold back any longer, and she cackled against his ear. Uhura then ran her fingers along his flesh, starting at his lower back and going around his sides to right above the front of the hemline of his pants. He threw his head sideways, closing his eyes, trying to control himself. She hoped he wasn't trying to meditate through this. Christ. When she dipped her nails just an inch below his pant line, he cried out. Too much? she thought. No. No such thing.
She slowly moved closer to him, hiking herself up further on his hip. Their bodies were touching and she could feel his breathing. It was unsteady, shallow, almost gasping. She smiled evilly as she went to press her forehead to his. He looked like he was about to give into it; his back arched, he urged her closer to his torso-
He grabbed onto her bottom lip with his teeth, biting fiercely. She let out a gasp of shock, and pulled backward. Her entire mouth filled with her red blood, a different taste than his. She spat to the side, a small pool of crimson sitting by their knees. They both looked at it as she wiped the side of her mouth with her wrist. She huffed and he turned to her, his teeth bared, covered in a light red sheen. He was almost smirking. A game, huh?
She grasped the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled down. He started to laugh, but she silenced him with a hand over his lips. She let a smirk creep over her lips as she threw her own head back, exposing her long neck to him.
"If you're gonna bite me, you're gonna hafta do better than that. "
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura
Rating: R
Summary: The Commander has done something the Captain doesn't like. He sends his Communications Officer to do his bidding.
Author's Note: ALL HAIL THE EMPIRE. Okay, so this was truly influenced by the current goings-on of ontd_startrek and the newly released video of 30 Seconds to Mars doing a cover of Gaga's "Bad Romance," which was just too sexy to not write mirror!fic about. I HIGHLY ADVISE (or the agony booth for you!) you listen to the song while you're reading my fic; it really does set the tone. Please. Please. Please.
And as is now commonplace: big thanks to my beta, clarkoholic.
Click to viewShe walked down the steps with a bit more saunter than she usually gave her walk. She took the steps slowly, listening to the noise of her heel echo off the tall metal walls. She sounded powerful. She felt powerful.
Hell, she knew she was powerful.
She twisted the small black whip around her left hand, feeling the tightness consume her knuckles. She almost winced at the small amount of pain as her skin burned under the leather. No, it felt good. It also felt good to know that she might be using it to inflict pain on someone else.
She felt the end of her skirt flick as she took the final step into the Enterprise's brig. She stopped for a second, looking into the only occupied cell. With the dim lighting she saw only the definition of his face, the height of his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth, the edges of his eyes, and the tip of his ear. She saw the definition of the muscles in his biceps, his forearms, the tendons in his hands grasped around the thick metal chain that suspended his arms in the air. His chest rose slowly with each breath and she could count the muscles in his torso, the definition of each abdominal muscle. He was crouched, his navy pants tight against his thighs. His feet were bare, and he was on the balls of his feet like he had been expecting her to come down here tonight. With his chin almost touching his chest, he turned his head slowly to her, glaring though his skyward-pointing eyebrows.
She smirked when he bore his gritted teeth.
She wrapped the rest of the length of the whip around her left hand and approached the heavy cell door. It was thick, rusted, made of iron, like jail cells did a few centuries ago. The Captain liked them because they were primitive. They were barren, cruel, shocking. She agreed. She loved the old cells. She smiled as she unlocked it slowly with the old skeleton key the Captain gave her,making sure she looked him in the eye as she did so. His chest rose slowly only once. He was actually angry. Well, angry for him. The Captain would be pleased.
She pushed the iron door open and took a small step inside. He focused his attention on the ground and Uhura could see him dig his upper teeth into his lower lip. His fingers loosened on the chain for a second, only to let the digits-one by one-slowly tighten their grasp harder than before. Every curve, definition of his muscles was on display. She then noticed the sculpted lines of his body were also darkened by something else; he had been tugging at his restraints so hard that his wrists were bleeding, the blood had run down the length of his arms and was starting to fall over his collarbone. It was a dark green, drying against the paleness of his skin. It glistened lightly, covered by small amounts of sweat. She could smell it, smell him, and so she desperately wished she could just make him sweat more. The whip would do nicely to get him to issue adrenaline-
His body suddenly tightened. The muscles were more apparent, strained. Her excitement piqued: he knew. She could tell he could sense she wasn't down there to "check on his health." She was here on orders. Orders to show the commander how bad of a boy he had been, why he was shackled, nearly naked, and why she had been sent down there with a small, primitive whip.
She loosened the whip from around her hand to hold it tightly between two fists. He growled deep within his chest, starting to look up at the short skirted, bare waisted-
She was then directly in front of him, her face inches from his. She had the whip around the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. He resisted, pushing backward against the thick leather. She knew he was burning his own skin by doing this. She was pulling forward too hard, he was pushing backward too hard. When he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth she pulled harder and then ran the whip sideways. He let out a small whelp of pain, issued from behind his teeth. She then threw the whip aside. She knew she had his attention now, and that's all she wanted. Screw what the Captain said; she made her prisoner bleed, call out in a manner that was not his own...
She ran a hand across the back of his neck, gathering emerald blood on her fingertips. He panted heavily; his chest heaving so hard it almost touched her breasts, and his eyes shooting daggers into her own. Without breaking eye contact, she used her left hand to push up his perfectly trimmed bangs. With her right hand, she ran a line of his blood from his hairline over his nose, to the top of his lips and down over his chin. The gradated line shone brightly in the dim light. He huffed twice. She knew he was losing his cool.
So she placed her tongue on his lips, tasting the copper in his blood. He resisted falling backward, but closed his eyes tightly and choked on a deep gasp in his chest. Sensing his discomfort, she slowly ran her tongue along the line she just drew, erasing the still glistening blood. The chains shook. She nearly laughed.
Uhura backed away, giving him some space. As Spock opened his eyes, she ran her now green-tinted tongue over her own lips, savoring the coppery taste. His right eyebrow rose slightly, but only for a second-he was still trying to remain calm, collected. She admired his restraint. However, this needed to change. The Captain sent her down her to show him a lesson in who was in charge.
The important thing, she reminded herself, is that he never said "of the ship." He meant other things. He did send her with a whip instead of a phaser.
She advanced on him, sitting on his bent leg, running her bloodstained tongue along his stubbled jaw line. He growled again, but it was different than before. She could feel him giving in. He pushed toward her instead of away. She rode his leg harder, and he growled again. But one leg wouldn't do-he was crouched because it was only proper to make a prisoner stand to regain the blood flow to his arms or crouch to regain feeling to his legs. It was part of the torture. There was no sitting. This had to be fixed.
After biting the top of his right cheekbone and burning her lips on his thick stubble, she stood up suddenly, reaching for the chains on his right wrist. The right side of her skirt fell an inch; his teeth tugged on the short hemline of her skirt. Bad boy. Not yet. She dug her right heel into his thigh and he backed off instantly, not whimpering once. Back to the task at hand: there was a few extra links for his wrist, hanging from the edge of the hook on the wall. She smirked, thanking the Captain silently and added more chains to the length of his restraints. Right wrist. Left wrist.
When they were long enough, Spock's legs gave out and he sat on the floor, his biceps even closer to his ears. He appeared exhausted, his back and legs in dire need of a rest. Uhura wasn't about to give him one; she knew he had more strength in him. She straddled his folded legs and dug her nails into the small of his back. He yelped, pulling at the chains. She loved the sound. She felt so in control.
She nibbled a line from his second set of ab muscles, up through the middle of his pecs, around to the side of his neck, on his jaw line and finished up on the tips of his ears. He finally called out a word he couldn't hold back any longer, and she cackled against his ear. Uhura then ran her fingers along his flesh, starting at his lower back and going around his sides to right above the front of the hemline of his pants. He threw his head sideways, closing his eyes, trying to control himself. She hoped he wasn't trying to meditate through this. Christ. When she dipped her nails just an inch below his pant line, he cried out. Too much? she thought. No. No such thing.
She slowly moved closer to him, hiking herself up further on his hip. Their bodies were touching and she could feel his breathing. It was unsteady, shallow, almost gasping. She smiled evilly as she went to press her forehead to his. He looked like he was about to give into it; his back arched, he urged her closer to his torso-
He grabbed onto her bottom lip with his teeth, biting fiercely. She let out a gasp of shock, and pulled backward. Her entire mouth filled with her red blood, a different taste than his. She spat to the side, a small pool of crimson sitting by their knees. They both looked at it as she wiped the side of her mouth with her wrist. She huffed and he turned to her, his teeth bared, covered in a light red sheen. He was almost smirking. A game, huh?
She grasped the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled down. He started to laugh, but she silenced him with a hand over his lips. She let a smirk creep over her lips as she threw her own head back, exposing her long neck to him.
"If you're gonna bite me, you're gonna hafta do better than that. "