*Is A Machine*
Written for razycrandomgirl, who requested cracky bodyswap. Turned out a bit mushy, and bit angsty, and a bit cracky. Hope that you like!
"Faster, Uhura, come on!"
Breathing hard and resisting the urge to look back, Uhura pressed her body forward. She used to be good at this, god dammit. Too many years behind a desk. That's it. She was going to start jogging the corridors. If she could just keep up with Spock and Kirk, and away from the whatever it was behind them long enough to get back aboard the ship.
"Light ahead," Spock said over his shoulder. Bastard hadn't even started to break a sweat, and here she was dirty and aching. But almost there.
Almost there until she tripped on an uneven crack in the bedrock beneath her, falling straight to her hands and knees with a cry of pain and surprise.
"Nyota," she heard Spock say distantly, before a cold hand gripped her bare ankle. It was filling her blood with ice so she couldn't speak, couldn't scream. She reached out, groping for some purchase on the rock or cave walls. If she didn't get away, this thing was going to end her.
A sturdy, hot hand around her wrist, his grip as punishing as it's ever been, and he's kicked it or hit it or something, because she's free. "Lean on me," he tells her, half-dragging her to the mouth of the cave where Jim waits, communicator already out.
"Three to beam now, Scotty."
Even through the familiar warm tingle of the transporter, Uhura couldn't breathe for the cold that was surging through her body, eventually focusing at the point where Spock's hand still gripped her wrist.
They re-materialised in the bright transporter room, and everything was different. In that brief moment of black that they all knew so well, when they were neither here nor there, but mixed up somewhere in the space between, something had gone terribly wrong. She was still cold, but that was about the only constant. Her vantage point was much higher, her body ... it all felt wrong. And the grip around her wrist had gone. Instead she was hanging on to someone else. Looking down, she saw that she was holding ... herself.
"Oh, that's not good," she groaned, her voice coming out as Spock's. But not Spock's. Not his level, inexpressive baritone. The register was more strained, more expressive. A lot more frightened.
Blinking, Uhura's body looked up at her, strangely expressionless. "Nyota?" Her body straightened into Spock’s customary position: poker-straight spine, hands clasped behind the small of the back, shoulders back. Except, of course, in her body that had the unfortunate side-effect of thrusting forward her chest in a way that even Uhura couldn’t ignore. “Doctor, Lieutenant Uhura and I need to be placed under quarantine. It is of the utmost importance that nobody make contact with our skin.” And how the hell did her voice sound so calm?
McCoy raised a sceptical eyebrow at them. “It’s nice that you’ve suddenly got yourself a med degree, Uhura, but I don’t recall you ever talking about yourself in the third person before.”
Uhura cleared her - because there was no way she was going to start referring to herself as a ‘he’ - very masculine throat. “I’m Uhura, Doctor. That, I hope, is Spock.”
That made McCoy pay attention. She could see him adding items to his ‘list of things McCoy hates about transporters’, and the thought made her smile. It was perhaps that entirely inappropriate, entirely un-Spock-like facial expression that lost all their chances of leaving quarantine before the night was through.
“Doctor, I really must protest,” her voice said. Uhura noted absently that she was cute when angry. And also that it was strangely novel to see Spock so affected. “My responses to all stimuli are precisely what would be expected from Lieutenant Uhura’s body, and I cannot report any lingering noticeable side effects, aside from the obvious. My expertise are essential to reversing this ... unfortunate occurrence. And my expertise are somewhat impotent when confined to an empty medical bay.”
“It’s not empty,” McCoy said, enjoying himself just a tad too much. “You have Uhura to keep you company. You’re still friendly, aren’t you?”
She wondered how easy the Vulcan nerve pinch was, if it was stuck in Spock’s muscle memory. Her eyes slid slowly to Spock who, she was pleased to note, looked at least as uncomfortable as she. It had been an amicable two years since their mutually consensual break up. But their relationship was something they never talked about, to each other or to anyone else. Uhura suspected she wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Now, Mr Spock, there are going to be two phases to your ... recovery. One of them, I won’t deny, is working out whether there was any transporter malfunction during your beam. Mr Scott is embroiled in log entries and beam transponder calibrations as we speak. The other phase is working out what infection, exactly, that alien passed on. What it did to your bodies to make them susceptible. And to do that, I need to keep you both in for observation. Agreed?”
Spock did not agree, but neither did he argue. Uhura sighed, twisting her head from side to side. Getting used to the new body was proving more awkward than she would have imagined. “Can I at least get a pillow, Doctor?”
Spock glanced at her, muttering, “My body does not require a pillow.”
“Fine. But mine will,” she pointed out. “Human musculature isn’t built to support itself during sleep, remember?” She remembered. She remembered his fingers firmly kneading out muscle knots along her neck and spine, as he gently admonished her not to sit at her console in one position for so long at a time.
McCoy’s only answer was a nod. He left them alone, to sit side by side in silence. Nurse Chapel brought them a pillow, which they both refused to use - Uhura, because Spock persisted his reasoning that Vulcans don’t need pillows, and Spock because he was just plain stubborn.
Eventually he leaned back against the wall, shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug as he tilted his head back. “You should lie down,” Uhura told him, slipping easily into the Vulcan they had always spoken when alone together. She was resisting the temptation to reach out and squeeze Spock’s neck. It had always felt so wonderful when he rubbed her neck, strong fingers easily discerning the knotted muscles and deftly relaxing her.
He glanced at Uhura, and even in her own body Spock’s eyes were his own. That same fathomless dark brown, which she just knew held some kind of emotion, but she couldn’t place her finger on exactly which one. She watched his eyes travel over the bench on which they sat. “I’ll sit on the floor,” she pre-empted him, “it’s fine.”
“Not necessary,” her own voice said softly. Spock slid sideways, moving his head towards Uhura. He braced himself on the bench, before glancing up at her. “If you have no objections?”
Uhura smiled and shook her head, lifting a hand to allow him the space to rest his head in her lap. This was the wrong way round, she knew, for on more than one occasion she had lain out on his sofa with her head in his lap. She wondered if he felt that same heat beneath his cheek, if he wondered at the steely muscle beneath the uniform pants. After a moment’s consideration, she lay a hand on Spock’s shoulder - which was, of course, her shoulder. The skin there was so smooth and cool. With Spock’s extra-sensitive hands, she could feel almost every soft hair, the thrum of blood rushing through her body.
“You seem a bit ... emotional,” Uhura said eventually, when Spock had evidently made him/herself comfortable and lay perfectly still. “Are you sure there aren’t any side effects?”
“Part of a Vulcan’s emotional control is physiological. Our cultural tradition of repressing emotion is so ingrained, it has been partially adapted into our anatomy. Your cerebral cortex and nervous system are entirely different to mine, and I am unaccustomed to the freedom of emotion I am experiencing.” Uhura stared into her own eyes. They watched her carefully. “You, conversely, are unusually calm. Given the severity of the situation.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. It’s odd. I’m not sure I like it.” Uhura watched herself yawn. She had never, in all the years she had known him better than anybody, seen him yawn. “My body needs to sleep, Spock. It’s been a long day.”
“I think you are correct.” From his easy acquiescence, Uhura knew he would be asleep in a matter of moments.
And sure enough, within ten or fifteen minutes, the head in her lap was heavy and totally relaxed. Uhura smiled slowly. The muscles of Spock’s face were clearly unused to such an expression, but she twisted them into place all the same. Part of her looked forward to getting in front of a mirror, so she could watch her many emotions, however dampened, shining through Spock’s face. Entirely un-tired, Uhura ran her hand over Spock’s forehead, tucking hair behind his ear in what was, for her, a familiar gesture. As her fingers ran over her own body’s temple, she felt a flash of pure emotion. She blinked. Spock showed no sign of waking and it was, after all, technically her body. She held her fingertips to the same spot, and felt rather than saw a rush of memories. He was re-living their relationship, or parts of it. Their first meeting, their first kiss; holding hands in the turbolift and pretending to be planet-side during shore leave so they could make love uninterrupted.
Replacing her hand on the shoulder that was really hers, she left Spock to his dreams. Though she wondered briefly if this was because of their current circumstances, or if he always dreamed of her.
*
“OK, you’re free to go,” McCoy said, making no reference to the fact he had found the pair wrapped around each other. Well, not exactly wrapped around. Spock had fallen asleep with his/her head in Uhura’s lap and, finally succumbing herself, she had slumped over Spock’s torso.
They both groaned as they stood upright. “Good,” Uhura said, looking askance at Spock. “My body needs a shower.” Her own face raised a Spock-like eyebrow at her. “I was sweaty and smelly before being infected with alien goop. Put that body in a shower and scrub her till she’s clean.”
McCoy reached up to place a hand on her shoulder. “Consider yourself very, very lucky that Kirk’s an arse and didn’t go back for you. Because he would take no persuading to get your body into a shower.” Uhura couldn’t help glancing back at Spock in her body, just quickly enough to catch his/her blush before it vanished again. Spock with less control on his emotions was proving to be kind of fun. “And no offense, but a shower could be prescribed to both of you.”
As Spock walked by, she caught his smirking glance up at her, as the tips of her ears tingled.
Naked Spock body in hot, relaxing water while lubed with soap.
Sure, she could do that. No problem.
*
They had agreed to return to the quarters of their bodies rather than their minds. There was something just entirely wrong about washing Spock’s hair with lavender shampoo.
Stepping into the bathroom, it looked almost unused. Only one bar of white, un-perfumed soap and a single pristine white towel. “Lights,” she said, “Shower.” The sonic shower immediately came to life behind her, spraying water directly down from the ceiling. She sighed, looking at Spock’s face in the mirror. He was looking a little stubbly, but there was no way she was going to attempt shaving. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head, together with the black under shirt Spock liked to wear for warmth. She glanced at herself in the mirror again.
Two years away from this body, and so much had changed about him. A thin, slightly greenish scar ran along his ribcage. She traced her fingers over it, feeling the slight dip, the slippery almost plastic texture of the scar tissue. Her fingers stopped at his sternum, lightly dusted with soft black hair. His chest had been completely smooth when they were together, and it brought home just how young - in Vulcan terms - he had been. Now hair was evenly sprinkled across his pectoral muscles, narrowing to a line downward that thickened below his navel.
Swallowing down nostalgia, Uhura unbuttoned his fly and pushed down the black slacks and boxers. The skin across his hips was precisely as smooth as she remembered, and sensitive in a way she had never appreciated. And, of course, there was his penis. Her penis. No point in ignoring that.
“Come on, girl, you’ve seen it often enough in your day. And now you have a vibrator.” Still, she noticed it swell slightly under her scrutiny, as if by its own accord. “Down boy,” she muttered, purposely turning away from the mirror. And not looking back. She didn’t need the image of Spock’s incredibly nicely toned ass to make this any easier. It was bad enough that it taunted her every day from the science station, as Spock leaned over his console apparently unaware of precisely how attractive certain portions of his anatomy were.
Stepping directly under the spray, Uhura shivered. “Raise temperature two degrees,” she commanded, sighing as the water reached an acceptable heat. She bent her head forward, swaying back and fore to enjoy the massaging pulse across her shoulders, up her neck and down the top portion of her spine. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she let the water cover her face, before stepping back and shaking her head. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she reached for the soap. It lathered quickly and easily, as she passed the bar over Spock’s body, then ditched it in favor of using her hands. Her over-sensitised, highly erogenous hands, which slicked over heated Vulcan flesh with far too much ease. Spock’s penis was growing heavy between her legs, hardening and jutting out from her body. It only took a few moments consideration, before she remembered splitting had been all Spock’s idea, no matter what she tried to tell herself afterward. He owed her two years’ sexual frustration.
Hands still slick with soap suds, she wrapped a hand firmly around the base of her penis. Fingers ran through thick black pubic hair, before running firmly up over the shaft, then gripping and running back down. The foreskin pulled back, exposing the head of her cock to the hard spray. Her eyes fell shut, and Spock’s voice groaned through her lips. She felt the sound reverberate through her chest and, dammit, he had always sounded so sexy when he was horny. Her thumb - so damned sensitive, and how had she never properly understood that? - ran over the head, slicking it, before setting up a steady, firm rhythm. She had touched him like this so often, but even with a telepathic connection had never properly realised how good this made him feel. It wasn’t long before the bizarre but pleasurable sensation of her testicles tightening made her snap and, hips jerking forwards, thick semen arced through the air. She didn’t even hear it hit the floor, not over the sound of the shower, but watched distantly as it disappeared down the plug.
Uhura couldn’t help wondering how it felt to do that inside her? How it felt when her mouth was around him, and she had twined her fingers through his to help build his pleasure?
“Shit, Spock,” she muttered into the empty room. Spock’s almost black eyes stared at her from the mirror. They looked sad. His eyes had always been his most human feature, were a saving grace more often than not. No matter what, a look in her eyes had torn away the layers of repression that separated them, and made sure she knew just the right thing to say. Right up to the moment when he had said, ‘It is unwise for us to continue in this manner. It is ... unprofessional.’ And she’d believed him.
Sighing and reaching for the towel, covering herself with false modesty, Uhura padded back to his room, making directly for the replicator. She might be in Spock’s body, but her mind still told her that hot chocolate would make everything better.
*
The door opened automatically after the chime. Apparently, Spock had an automatic override code, and no qualms about using it. Head lolling slightly, Uhura frowned up at him - or, her - from the couch. “Hiya, Spock,” she slurred, trying to sound happy.
“Good evening, Nyota. I have come to inform you that we are prepared to attempt a rectification. Would you accompany me?”
“You know me, Spock,” she slurred slightly, without moving from her sprawl. “You say ‘jump’ and I say ‘how high?’”
Her own eyes narrowed at her, and Spock took a step closer. “Nyota, have you been ingesting chocolate?”
And off he went again. Judgemental prick. “I was a bit miserable, having lost my body to my ex-boyfriend who was, no doubt, studiously ignoring it in an engineering wing somewhere. And I didn’t think your body would take alcohol. So I got some hot chocolate. It’s yummy, would you like some?”
The frown deepened. “It is of the utmost importance we swap back immediately. You do not have the experience to navigate my body through adverse stimuli.” She could almost hear his/her teeth grinding. “The cocoa bean is a Vulcan neural suppressant. In human vernacular, you are drunk.”
“M’not drunk!” she said, not quite able to pull up the outrage she was sure she should be expressing.
Her own small hands circled her wrist and pulled firmly. “We need to get to the transporter room, now,” he said. But Nyota knew from experience that she was no match for Spock, and that he was heavier than he looked.
So instead of following his command, she took his hand and wrapped it in hers. Fingers sliding over fingers, palms rubbing together so intimately, and she felt every ridge, and muscular spasm in those small hands. She felt his pulse quicken, his mind knowing the connotations of such an action, the effect it would have on his body. When Uhura looked up at Spock, she knew her human eyes must be sad. “Why’d we break up, Spock?”
“Nyota, this is hardly appropriate-“
“We were inappropriate for years, and you didn’t care. Did I get boring?”
Her body heaved a sigh. A gentle pull, and the small body knelt between her legs. Spock had not pulled his hands away and, if anything, gently ran his thumb along the side of hers. “You were and always have been many things, Nyota. But never boring.” The question still stood, though, and she was about to ask again before he could carry on. “Besides the concerns I expressed, which were in themselves perfectly valid, there was something more which I left unsaid. I did not wish to hurt you.”
Uhura swallowed. “You stopped loving me.”
“On the contrary,” Spock responded with a wry twist to his lips. “I loved you too much. Nyota, I watched my mother die, before my very eyes and could do nothing. You have tried, but you cannot imagine...” he broke off. This time Uhura was patient, and ready when he continued. “The probability of my death being in service is approximately seventy-three per cent. And that figure has been rounded down, and assume that no wars are declared in the immediate future. The statistics for your own death in service are marginally lower, but still over fifty per cent.”
“You didn’t want to do it again,” Uhura said softly, Spock’s voice cracking slightly.
“I was faced with the decision of asking you to marry me, and undergo all the stigma that such a union would entail. And ending things in the hope that we would remain close, and I would still have the pleasure of your continuing company, if not the emotional burden of confronting the possible harm or death of the only person I think I could ever care for. As a wife.”
Uhura thanked the horrible, slimy-skinned little devil creature that had caused this switch. Because God knew, if Spock were in his own body, in his right state of mind, these words would have died with him. “Did it work?” she asked.
“To a certain extent. But my attachment to you did not abate, as I had hoped.” He was half-smiling again. “And your reaction is leading me to believe that yours have not either.”
“I really tried,” she said, pulling her own body into an embrace. It should have been familiar, for their bodies melted together as if they had never been parted. Yet it was her head that rested atop Spock’s, her arms that wrapped firmly around his shoulders as his slid around her waist. “But I don’t think it worked.”
She felt Spock’s smile against her chest. “I found your replacement for me. And do not entirely understand how such a contraption could entirely fulfil your needs.”
Uhura snorted in a very un-Spock-like manner. “Cheeky bastard, stop being so full of yourself.”
Pulling back, Spock looked up at her. She knew it was Spock, though the face was hers and the body was hers, because the face managed to be completely impassive yet suffused with subtle emotion. “Would this be an inappropriate moment to ask if you would join me in a traditional ceremony to bond us for the remainder of our lives?”
“Highly inappropriate,” Uhura muttered, with a raised eyebrow. “But I accept all the same.”
They kissed. It was slow and dry and very odd, as Spock’s lips were about five degrees lower and significantly smoother than they should have been. But it was perfect, in its own way. Pulling back slightly, Spock whispered, “You will excuse me if I do not accept your response until you are no longer under the influence of stimulants.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied merrily.
*
The brief black of the transport fell over her, before the room reappeared. Exactly the same as it had been - though the angle of her vision was very slightly different. Moved two feet to the left, and a half a foot lower down. She looked to her right and saw Spock - the real, proper Spock. He looked slightly giddy, and she couldn’t help chuckling. “Experienced the stimulants my ass,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Spock said nothing. He took a single step and wrapped an arm around the small of her back, leaning down to capture her lips. And this was precisely right. Hot, rough skin (a little rougher than normal, but that was OK) and his steely hard body tight against hers and ... oh, she’d forgotten the thrill of excitement that ran through her when his body couldn’t hide that he was aroused. Without letting her go, without even removing his lips from hers, he removed his communicator from his belt. Watching her closely with very human, very lust-filled eyes, he spoke perfectly evenly. “Spock to Captain Kirk.”
“Everything OK, Spock? Are you you again?”
“The transport re-switch was successful. However, I have reason to believe Lieutenant Uhura is suffering from side effects relating to the body change. I am taking her to her quarters to ensure she is fully recovered.”
A pause, soft white noise filling the comms line.
Then in an amused tone, Kirk replied, “Do what you have to do, Spock. See you in fifteen.”
Uhura wasn’t sure what was more amusing - that Kirk set fifteen minutes as the standard time required for sexual intercourse, or that he had entirely underestimated Spock’s stamina. He’d be lucky if they were back at their posts within an hour, if the dilation of Spock’s pupils and the hot, stiff weight pressing into her abdomen was any indication.
And then there was no more thinking, because Spock’s hand was once more tight around her wrist, and forcibly dragging her from the transporter pad. She smiled apologetically at Scotty as they passed, assuring herself she would thank him later. Uhura skipped a little to keep up with Spock as he pulled her through the hallways towards his quarters. “You know, you’re kind of sexy when you go into caveman mode.”
It might have been the chocolate, or the intense desire rushing through his system, but something made his lips curve ever-so-slightly more than they ever had before. “I know,” he replied.
"Faster, Uhura, come on!"
Breathing hard and resisting the urge to look back, Uhura pressed her body forward. She used to be good at this, god dammit. Too many years behind a desk. That's it. She was going to start jogging the corridors. If she could just keep up with Spock and Kirk, and away from the whatever it was behind them long enough to get back aboard the ship.
"Light ahead," Spock said over his shoulder. Bastard hadn't even started to break a sweat, and here she was dirty and aching. But almost there.
Almost there until she tripped on an uneven crack in the bedrock beneath her, falling straight to her hands and knees with a cry of pain and surprise.
"Nyota," she heard Spock say distantly, before a cold hand gripped her bare ankle. It was filling her blood with ice so she couldn't speak, couldn't scream. She reached out, groping for some purchase on the rock or cave walls. If she didn't get away, this thing was going to end her.
A sturdy, hot hand around her wrist, his grip as punishing as it's ever been, and he's kicked it or hit it or something, because she's free. "Lean on me," he tells her, half-dragging her to the mouth of the cave where Jim waits, communicator already out.
"Three to beam now, Scotty."
Even through the familiar warm tingle of the transporter, Uhura couldn't breathe for the cold that was surging through her body, eventually focusing at the point where Spock's hand still gripped her wrist.
They re-materialised in the bright transporter room, and everything was different. In that brief moment of black that they all knew so well, when they were neither here nor there, but mixed up somewhere in the space between, something had gone terribly wrong. She was still cold, but that was about the only constant. Her vantage point was much higher, her body ... it all felt wrong. And the grip around her wrist had gone. Instead she was hanging on to someone else. Looking down, she saw that she was holding ... herself.
"Oh, that's not good," she groaned, her voice coming out as Spock's. But not Spock's. Not his level, inexpressive baritone. The register was more strained, more expressive. A lot more frightened.
Blinking, Uhura's body looked up at her, strangely expressionless. "Nyota?" Her body straightened into Spock’s customary position: poker-straight spine, hands clasped behind the small of the back, shoulders back. Except, of course, in her body that had the unfortunate side-effect of thrusting forward her chest in a way that even Uhura couldn’t ignore. “Doctor, Lieutenant Uhura and I need to be placed under quarantine. It is of the utmost importance that nobody make contact with our skin.” And how the hell did her voice sound so calm?
McCoy raised a sceptical eyebrow at them. “It’s nice that you’ve suddenly got yourself a med degree, Uhura, but I don’t recall you ever talking about yourself in the third person before.”
Uhura cleared her - because there was no way she was going to start referring to herself as a ‘he’ - very masculine throat. “I’m Uhura, Doctor. That, I hope, is Spock.”
That made McCoy pay attention. She could see him adding items to his ‘list of things McCoy hates about transporters’, and the thought made her smile. It was perhaps that entirely inappropriate, entirely un-Spock-like facial expression that lost all their chances of leaving quarantine before the night was through.
“Doctor, I really must protest,” her voice said. Uhura noted absently that she was cute when angry. And also that it was strangely novel to see Spock so affected. “My responses to all stimuli are precisely what would be expected from Lieutenant Uhura’s body, and I cannot report any lingering noticeable side effects, aside from the obvious. My expertise are essential to reversing this ... unfortunate occurrence. And my expertise are somewhat impotent when confined to an empty medical bay.”
“It’s not empty,” McCoy said, enjoying himself just a tad too much. “You have Uhura to keep you company. You’re still friendly, aren’t you?”
She wondered how easy the Vulcan nerve pinch was, if it was stuck in Spock’s muscle memory. Her eyes slid slowly to Spock who, she was pleased to note, looked at least as uncomfortable as she. It had been an amicable two years since their mutually consensual break up. But their relationship was something they never talked about, to each other or to anyone else. Uhura suspected she wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Now, Mr Spock, there are going to be two phases to your ... recovery. One of them, I won’t deny, is working out whether there was any transporter malfunction during your beam. Mr Scott is embroiled in log entries and beam transponder calibrations as we speak. The other phase is working out what infection, exactly, that alien passed on. What it did to your bodies to make them susceptible. And to do that, I need to keep you both in for observation. Agreed?”
Spock did not agree, but neither did he argue. Uhura sighed, twisting her head from side to side. Getting used to the new body was proving more awkward than she would have imagined. “Can I at least get a pillow, Doctor?”
Spock glanced at her, muttering, “My body does not require a pillow.”
“Fine. But mine will,” she pointed out. “Human musculature isn’t built to support itself during sleep, remember?” She remembered. She remembered his fingers firmly kneading out muscle knots along her neck and spine, as he gently admonished her not to sit at her console in one position for so long at a time.
McCoy’s only answer was a nod. He left them alone, to sit side by side in silence. Nurse Chapel brought them a pillow, which they both refused to use - Uhura, because Spock persisted his reasoning that Vulcans don’t need pillows, and Spock because he was just plain stubborn.
Eventually he leaned back against the wall, shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug as he tilted his head back. “You should lie down,” Uhura told him, slipping easily into the Vulcan they had always spoken when alone together. She was resisting the temptation to reach out and squeeze Spock’s neck. It had always felt so wonderful when he rubbed her neck, strong fingers easily discerning the knotted muscles and deftly relaxing her.
He glanced at Uhura, and even in her own body Spock’s eyes were his own. That same fathomless dark brown, which she just knew held some kind of emotion, but she couldn’t place her finger on exactly which one. She watched his eyes travel over the bench on which they sat. “I’ll sit on the floor,” she pre-empted him, “it’s fine.”
“Not necessary,” her own voice said softly. Spock slid sideways, moving his head towards Uhura. He braced himself on the bench, before glancing up at her. “If you have no objections?”
Uhura smiled and shook her head, lifting a hand to allow him the space to rest his head in her lap. This was the wrong way round, she knew, for on more than one occasion she had lain out on his sofa with her head in his lap. She wondered if he felt that same heat beneath his cheek, if he wondered at the steely muscle beneath the uniform pants. After a moment’s consideration, she lay a hand on Spock’s shoulder - which was, of course, her shoulder. The skin there was so smooth and cool. With Spock’s extra-sensitive hands, she could feel almost every soft hair, the thrum of blood rushing through her body.
“You seem a bit ... emotional,” Uhura said eventually, when Spock had evidently made him/herself comfortable and lay perfectly still. “Are you sure there aren’t any side effects?”
“Part of a Vulcan’s emotional control is physiological. Our cultural tradition of repressing emotion is so ingrained, it has been partially adapted into our anatomy. Your cerebral cortex and nervous system are entirely different to mine, and I am unaccustomed to the freedom of emotion I am experiencing.” Uhura stared into her own eyes. They watched her carefully. “You, conversely, are unusually calm. Given the severity of the situation.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. It’s odd. I’m not sure I like it.” Uhura watched herself yawn. She had never, in all the years she had known him better than anybody, seen him yawn. “My body needs to sleep, Spock. It’s been a long day.”
“I think you are correct.” From his easy acquiescence, Uhura knew he would be asleep in a matter of moments.
And sure enough, within ten or fifteen minutes, the head in her lap was heavy and totally relaxed. Uhura smiled slowly. The muscles of Spock’s face were clearly unused to such an expression, but she twisted them into place all the same. Part of her looked forward to getting in front of a mirror, so she could watch her many emotions, however dampened, shining through Spock’s face. Entirely un-tired, Uhura ran her hand over Spock’s forehead, tucking hair behind his ear in what was, for her, a familiar gesture. As her fingers ran over her own body’s temple, she felt a flash of pure emotion. She blinked. Spock showed no sign of waking and it was, after all, technically her body. She held her fingertips to the same spot, and felt rather than saw a rush of memories. He was re-living their relationship, or parts of it. Their first meeting, their first kiss; holding hands in the turbolift and pretending to be planet-side during shore leave so they could make love uninterrupted.
Replacing her hand on the shoulder that was really hers, she left Spock to his dreams. Though she wondered briefly if this was because of their current circumstances, or if he always dreamed of her.
*
“OK, you’re free to go,” McCoy said, making no reference to the fact he had found the pair wrapped around each other. Well, not exactly wrapped around. Spock had fallen asleep with his/her head in Uhura’s lap and, finally succumbing herself, she had slumped over Spock’s torso.
They both groaned as they stood upright. “Good,” Uhura said, looking askance at Spock. “My body needs a shower.” Her own face raised a Spock-like eyebrow at her. “I was sweaty and smelly before being infected with alien goop. Put that body in a shower and scrub her till she’s clean.”
McCoy reached up to place a hand on her shoulder. “Consider yourself very, very lucky that Kirk’s an arse and didn’t go back for you. Because he would take no persuading to get your body into a shower.” Uhura couldn’t help glancing back at Spock in her body, just quickly enough to catch his/her blush before it vanished again. Spock with less control on his emotions was proving to be kind of fun. “And no offense, but a shower could be prescribed to both of you.”
As Spock walked by, she caught his smirking glance up at her, as the tips of her ears tingled.
Naked Spock body in hot, relaxing water while lubed with soap.
Sure, she could do that. No problem.
*
They had agreed to return to the quarters of their bodies rather than their minds. There was something just entirely wrong about washing Spock’s hair with lavender shampoo.
Stepping into the bathroom, it looked almost unused. Only one bar of white, un-perfumed soap and a single pristine white towel. “Lights,” she said, “Shower.” The sonic shower immediately came to life behind her, spraying water directly down from the ceiling. She sighed, looking at Spock’s face in the mirror. He was looking a little stubbly, but there was no way she was going to attempt shaving. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head, together with the black under shirt Spock liked to wear for warmth. She glanced at herself in the mirror again.
Two years away from this body, and so much had changed about him. A thin, slightly greenish scar ran along his ribcage. She traced her fingers over it, feeling the slight dip, the slippery almost plastic texture of the scar tissue. Her fingers stopped at his sternum, lightly dusted with soft black hair. His chest had been completely smooth when they were together, and it brought home just how young - in Vulcan terms - he had been. Now hair was evenly sprinkled across his pectoral muscles, narrowing to a line downward that thickened below his navel.
Swallowing down nostalgia, Uhura unbuttoned his fly and pushed down the black slacks and boxers. The skin across his hips was precisely as smooth as she remembered, and sensitive in a way she had never appreciated. And, of course, there was his penis. Her penis. No point in ignoring that.
“Come on, girl, you’ve seen it often enough in your day. And now you have a vibrator.” Still, she noticed it swell slightly under her scrutiny, as if by its own accord. “Down boy,” she muttered, purposely turning away from the mirror. And not looking back. She didn’t need the image of Spock’s incredibly nicely toned ass to make this any easier. It was bad enough that it taunted her every day from the science station, as Spock leaned over his console apparently unaware of precisely how attractive certain portions of his anatomy were.
Stepping directly under the spray, Uhura shivered. “Raise temperature two degrees,” she commanded, sighing as the water reached an acceptable heat. She bent her head forward, swaying back and fore to enjoy the massaging pulse across her shoulders, up her neck and down the top portion of her spine. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she let the water cover her face, before stepping back and shaking her head. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she reached for the soap. It lathered quickly and easily, as she passed the bar over Spock’s body, then ditched it in favor of using her hands. Her over-sensitised, highly erogenous hands, which slicked over heated Vulcan flesh with far too much ease. Spock’s penis was growing heavy between her legs, hardening and jutting out from her body. It only took a few moments consideration, before she remembered splitting had been all Spock’s idea, no matter what she tried to tell herself afterward. He owed her two years’ sexual frustration.
Hands still slick with soap suds, she wrapped a hand firmly around the base of her penis. Fingers ran through thick black pubic hair, before running firmly up over the shaft, then gripping and running back down. The foreskin pulled back, exposing the head of her cock to the hard spray. Her eyes fell shut, and Spock’s voice groaned through her lips. She felt the sound reverberate through her chest and, dammit, he had always sounded so sexy when he was horny. Her thumb - so damned sensitive, and how had she never properly understood that? - ran over the head, slicking it, before setting up a steady, firm rhythm. She had touched him like this so often, but even with a telepathic connection had never properly realised how good this made him feel. It wasn’t long before the bizarre but pleasurable sensation of her testicles tightening made her snap and, hips jerking forwards, thick semen arced through the air. She didn’t even hear it hit the floor, not over the sound of the shower, but watched distantly as it disappeared down the plug.
Uhura couldn’t help wondering how it felt to do that inside her? How it felt when her mouth was around him, and she had twined her fingers through his to help build his pleasure?
“Shit, Spock,” she muttered into the empty room. Spock’s almost black eyes stared at her from the mirror. They looked sad. His eyes had always been his most human feature, were a saving grace more often than not. No matter what, a look in her eyes had torn away the layers of repression that separated them, and made sure she knew just the right thing to say. Right up to the moment when he had said, ‘It is unwise for us to continue in this manner. It is ... unprofessional.’ And she’d believed him.
Sighing and reaching for the towel, covering herself with false modesty, Uhura padded back to his room, making directly for the replicator. She might be in Spock’s body, but her mind still told her that hot chocolate would make everything better.
*
The door opened automatically after the chime. Apparently, Spock had an automatic override code, and no qualms about using it. Head lolling slightly, Uhura frowned up at him - or, her - from the couch. “Hiya, Spock,” she slurred, trying to sound happy.
“Good evening, Nyota. I have come to inform you that we are prepared to attempt a rectification. Would you accompany me?”
“You know me, Spock,” she slurred slightly, without moving from her sprawl. “You say ‘jump’ and I say ‘how high?’”
Her own eyes narrowed at her, and Spock took a step closer. “Nyota, have you been ingesting chocolate?”
And off he went again. Judgemental prick. “I was a bit miserable, having lost my body to my ex-boyfriend who was, no doubt, studiously ignoring it in an engineering wing somewhere. And I didn’t think your body would take alcohol. So I got some hot chocolate. It’s yummy, would you like some?”
The frown deepened. “It is of the utmost importance we swap back immediately. You do not have the experience to navigate my body through adverse stimuli.” She could almost hear his/her teeth grinding. “The cocoa bean is a Vulcan neural suppressant. In human vernacular, you are drunk.”
“M’not drunk!” she said, not quite able to pull up the outrage she was sure she should be expressing.
Her own small hands circled her wrist and pulled firmly. “We need to get to the transporter room, now,” he said. But Nyota knew from experience that she was no match for Spock, and that he was heavier than he looked.
So instead of following his command, she took his hand and wrapped it in hers. Fingers sliding over fingers, palms rubbing together so intimately, and she felt every ridge, and muscular spasm in those small hands. She felt his pulse quicken, his mind knowing the connotations of such an action, the effect it would have on his body. When Uhura looked up at Spock, she knew her human eyes must be sad. “Why’d we break up, Spock?”
“Nyota, this is hardly appropriate-“
“We were inappropriate for years, and you didn’t care. Did I get boring?”
Her body heaved a sigh. A gentle pull, and the small body knelt between her legs. Spock had not pulled his hands away and, if anything, gently ran his thumb along the side of hers. “You were and always have been many things, Nyota. But never boring.” The question still stood, though, and she was about to ask again before he could carry on. “Besides the concerns I expressed, which were in themselves perfectly valid, there was something more which I left unsaid. I did not wish to hurt you.”
Uhura swallowed. “You stopped loving me.”
“On the contrary,” Spock responded with a wry twist to his lips. “I loved you too much. Nyota, I watched my mother die, before my very eyes and could do nothing. You have tried, but you cannot imagine...” he broke off. This time Uhura was patient, and ready when he continued. “The probability of my death being in service is approximately seventy-three per cent. And that figure has been rounded down, and assume that no wars are declared in the immediate future. The statistics for your own death in service are marginally lower, but still over fifty per cent.”
“You didn’t want to do it again,” Uhura said softly, Spock’s voice cracking slightly.
“I was faced with the decision of asking you to marry me, and undergo all the stigma that such a union would entail. And ending things in the hope that we would remain close, and I would still have the pleasure of your continuing company, if not the emotional burden of confronting the possible harm or death of the only person I think I could ever care for. As a wife.”
Uhura thanked the horrible, slimy-skinned little devil creature that had caused this switch. Because God knew, if Spock were in his own body, in his right state of mind, these words would have died with him. “Did it work?” she asked.
“To a certain extent. But my attachment to you did not abate, as I had hoped.” He was half-smiling again. “And your reaction is leading me to believe that yours have not either.”
“I really tried,” she said, pulling her own body into an embrace. It should have been familiar, for their bodies melted together as if they had never been parted. Yet it was her head that rested atop Spock’s, her arms that wrapped firmly around his shoulders as his slid around her waist. “But I don’t think it worked.”
She felt Spock’s smile against her chest. “I found your replacement for me. And do not entirely understand how such a contraption could entirely fulfil your needs.”
Uhura snorted in a very un-Spock-like manner. “Cheeky bastard, stop being so full of yourself.”
Pulling back, Spock looked up at her. She knew it was Spock, though the face was hers and the body was hers, because the face managed to be completely impassive yet suffused with subtle emotion. “Would this be an inappropriate moment to ask if you would join me in a traditional ceremony to bond us for the remainder of our lives?”
“Highly inappropriate,” Uhura muttered, with a raised eyebrow. “But I accept all the same.”
They kissed. It was slow and dry and very odd, as Spock’s lips were about five degrees lower and significantly smoother than they should have been. But it was perfect, in its own way. Pulling back slightly, Spock whispered, “You will excuse me if I do not accept your response until you are no longer under the influence of stimulants.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied merrily.
*
The brief black of the transport fell over her, before the room reappeared. Exactly the same as it had been - though the angle of her vision was very slightly different. Moved two feet to the left, and a half a foot lower down. She looked to her right and saw Spock - the real, proper Spock. He looked slightly giddy, and she couldn’t help chuckling. “Experienced the stimulants my ass,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Spock said nothing. He took a single step and wrapped an arm around the small of her back, leaning down to capture her lips. And this was precisely right. Hot, rough skin (a little rougher than normal, but that was OK) and his steely hard body tight against hers and ... oh, she’d forgotten the thrill of excitement that ran through her when his body couldn’t hide that he was aroused. Without letting her go, without even removing his lips from hers, he removed his communicator from his belt. Watching her closely with very human, very lust-filled eyes, he spoke perfectly evenly. “Spock to Captain Kirk.”
“Everything OK, Spock? Are you you again?”
“The transport re-switch was successful. However, I have reason to believe Lieutenant Uhura is suffering from side effects relating to the body change. I am taking her to her quarters to ensure she is fully recovered.”
A pause, soft white noise filling the comms line.
Then in an amused tone, Kirk replied, “Do what you have to do, Spock. See you in fifteen.”
Uhura wasn’t sure what was more amusing - that Kirk set fifteen minutes as the standard time required for sexual intercourse, or that he had entirely underestimated Spock’s stamina. He’d be lucky if they were back at their posts within an hour, if the dilation of Spock’s pupils and the hot, stiff weight pressing into her abdomen was any indication.
And then there was no more thinking, because Spock’s hand was once more tight around her wrist, and forcibly dragging her from the transporter pad. She smiled apologetically at Scotty as they passed, assuring herself she would thank him later. Uhura skipped a little to keep up with Spock as he pulled her through the hallways towards his quarters. “You know, you’re kind of sexy when you go into caveman mode.”
It might have been the chocolate, or the intense desire rushing through his system, but something made his lips curve ever-so-slightly more than they ever had before. “I know,” he replied.