PART FOUR (CLOSED)
STAR TREK XI KINK MEME
PART FOUR
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Kink what?What is a kink meme? Pretty self explanatory, actually. You request a pairing and a prompt/kink anonymously, and someone else (or several someone elses for that matter) will be able ( Read more... )
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When she was young her mother taught her how to hold a brush, how to paint shapes and lines on canvas. She always like the lines better than the shapes, and the dark colors more than the light ones. They were brash, bold, and she would use her finger sometimes too, letting her hands dance across her work.
Spock’s skin is much smoother than her canvas ever was, especially down his back, across his shoulder blades and following his spine, where the bone touches close to the surface, rippling his skin in little waves. She runs her fingers down his ribs, feeling them under her palms, and bends down to press a kiss to the base of his skull, her hair falling down across her shoulder to pool on the bed.
A few nights ago Spock had told her a Vulcan story about a young boy who wanders away from his house, only to have to spend the night outside, under the harsh moonlight, the planet so much colder at night. It is only when he wakes up the next morning, stiff limbed, to follow the sun in the correct direction that he makes it home before the earth is too hot for his bare feet. While Spock had told her the story, his voice low, she had spun webs of calligraphy from his elbows up to his shoulders and down to his hips, framing his back and covering his sides in Vulcan, painting the story of the boy on his skin.
Tonight she can still see the faintest shades of the calligraphy, just barely darkening his skin. His back, however, is wide open and empty.
“Tell me another story?” she smiles, bending down over his back so that she can smile at him, his face turned, his cheek resting on his hands, folded under his head.
“Would you share one with me?” He returns, and she leans back, thinking as she reaches for the little jar of walnut ink and one of her long bristled brushes. She takes off the top, pressing her thumb into the ink left in it and then transfers her thumbprint to where she had previously kissed him, marking the top of his spine.
“You’re familiar with the ancient Egyptians of Earth, right?” She asks finally, and Spock just nods with a soft ‘of course’, so she dips the brush into the ink and starts to paint the tale of Set in hieroglyphics on his back, starting with his left shoulder and moving down and across, lines of pictures unfurling over his skin.
“Their god of chaos also ruled the deserts and the winds…”
Spock sleeps on his stomach that night, letting the ink set and dry, and when he pulls his shirt on the next morning he’s careful of the story. Uhura stirs as he’s pulling on his boots, and she reaches out, smiling up at him as she rests her hand on his thigh. Her fingers are still stained black from the night before, and he raises her hand to his mouth, kissing each finger in turn, before pressing his lips to her palm, soft, smoky images of the desert and the river curling across their bond, framed by a sky that hasn’t been that blue for thousands of years.
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That was lovely.
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