Porn porn PORN!
Sequel to my one-shot The Game, but not necessary to have read that to enjoy this. Smut abounds, you have been warned.
Counter-Attack
Nyota was getting a little too good at her game, the one to which the rules constantly shifted, constantly moved away from him even playing let alone winning. The time had come to mount a counter-attack. After all, Spock had always enjoyed tactical games, with a suitably challenging partner - and Nyota had been playing this game for long enough to have become a true proficient. But Spock had some ideas that may make the playing experience more interesting.
Spock reduced his meditation period by ninety minutes, his body automatically snapping out of the trance-like state precisely twenty minutes before Nyota’s soft alarm would sound to wake her. On a standard day, she would return to her own quarters to dress and make ready for the day without disturbing him.
Slipping through their bedroom - technically his bedroom, but Nyota slept in the bed more than he did - Spock allowed his gaze to sweep over her naked, sleeping form for a moment. Anticipation sparked through his nervous system, and he began to understand that playing her game probably pleasurably frustrated Nyota as much as it did him.
He left her sleeping, and moved into the bathroom, commanding the sonic shower into life before removing his pants and stepping under the powerful spray. Showers were a regular, perfunctory necessity for Spock. He held them exclusively in private, washing and drying alone. He had never allowed Nyota to join him - though she had asked - nor to see him in anything other than his normal, dry, presentable state. With something approaching a smile, Spock’s sensitive hearing told him Nyota’s alarm was sounding. Wrapping a white towel around his waist, taking a moment to push it low on his hips, and took another smaller one with him as he exited the bathroom.
Nyota blinked her surprise, registering his presence before his state of undress. “Good morning,” she said with a sleepy smile. “What are you doing up?” Her eyes grazed over him and, in the mirror, he could see what she saw: his body, in which he took a great deal of pride, still dripping wet; hair plastered to his head and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders; the definition of his hip bones rising up above the towel. “And wet - I like it.”
She smiled and reached for him, but Spock stayed easily out of her reach. “Your shift begins in approximately twenty minutes, I suggest you return to your room and prepare yourself.”
He had forgotten how fast Nyota could be, and before he knew it her arms were over his shoulders, fingers sliding up into his wet hair. “I think I might be late today.”
Raising and eyebrow, Spock firmly removed her hands. “As you First Officer, I highly discourage you from dissembling. Such behaviour could be placed on your permanent record and be brought up at a later disciplinary hearing.” He brought the towel up to his head and scrubbed slightly. A glance at the mirror showed that he was, as Nyota would put it, ‘tousled’. He had observed she enjoyed disturbing his hair during sexual intercourse and hoped to provide her with adequate memories of their more erotic moments together. From the dilation of her pupils, Spock would guess he had been successful. “Furthermore, I will not be an accomplice. Please return to your rooms. I will see you on the Bridge.”
It took some gentle physical persuasion to get Nyota to dress but she did, eventually and unwillingly, slump down the corridor to her own quarters. On the inside, Spock was smiling the smug smile of a single small victory.
Spock was his normal, dry, pressed self when he stepped onto the Bridge. He was two minutes late, but noticing tardiness was a responsibility that usually fell to Spock. The Captain rarely noticed such things. Spock passed Nyota as he walked to his station, the fingers of his hand just brushing the hem of her short skirt. He did not look back, but was ninety-three per cent sure she was looking at him.
Three hours into the shift, Spock discovered that fate was on his side. Nyota’s terminal began to malfunction. Not seriously, but enough to impede the progress of her work.
“Scotty, can you send someone up here? Problems with the Communications console.”
“Is it urgent, Cap’n? Only I’ve got the lads set on transferring the core warp system and it might be a couple of hours yet.”
“It’s fine, Captain,” Nyota said, sliding out of her seat. “I can go down to the comms labs and do my transcriptions there.”
Spock shook his head slightly. “It is inadvisable to have Lieutenant Uhura on duty but not on the Bridge. She is the most experienced and talented of our Xeno-linguists - in the event of a First Contact initiation we would be found wanting in terms of protocol and possibly safety.”
“Yes, thank you, Spock,” Jim replied gruffly. Spock noted the Captain was glaring at Uhura as though Spock’s dedication to Starfleet regulations was entirely her fault.
“I could undertake the repair myself, Captain,” he offered.
“You can do that?” Spock gathered from the Captain’s tonal stresses on the word ‘do’ that he was either impressed or disbelieving. The Vulcan nodded in response, and walked smartly to the console in question.
While the rest of the Bridge returned to their duties, Spock set to rolling up his sleeves revealing slender but muscular forearms with a light dusting of hair. He noticed that Nyota was staring. “I will require you to move back slightly. Will that impede your work?”
She smiled sweetly, shifting her stool back a couple of inches. “That far enough?”
Spock sat on the floor, manoeuvring his upper body under the computer console to allow him access to the base panel. “This is adequate,” he said, pulling the panel away and depositing it to his right. If he glanced away from the tangle of wires and flashing LEDs, he had a very favourable view of Nyota’s long, slim legs. She crossed them as he watched, the skirt riding higher on her thigh. Memory brought to mind the smooth texture of her skin, the pliant muscle as he pushed her legs back towards the bed.
With a blink, Spock suspected Nyota may have used his own momentum against him. She was better at this game than he had anticipated.
Spock immersed himself in electronics theory, pulling apart a console for the first time in three years. The skills had not left him, however, and within half an hour the unit was once more working to optimum efficiency.
This would normally have been the point at which Spock returned to his station. On this day, however, Nyota was presenting him with an opportunity he could not justly ignore. Moving to a more upright position, Spock reached out one hand, gently gliding his fingers along the inside of Nyota’s thigh. He felt the muscle stiffen beneath his fingertips. Then the other foot lowered to the floor, and Nyota shifted very slightly closer, legs parting further. Spock had no intention of using his time on duty to perform private activities ... but pressing a small advantage surely would not go amiss. He grazed his thumb over her panties, could smell her arousal, hear her breathing quicken.
“I’m going to catch some sleep.” Spock snatched his hand back, a guilty flush spreading up over his ears before he could repress the emotion. “Mr Spock, you have the con.”
“Yes, Captain,” Spock said, pushing his head and shoulders out from beneath Nyota’s console.
She caught his eyes as he wriggled free through the tight space she had left him. She was smiling and her eyes were dark and, for all his Vulcan control, he would have liked nothing better than to pull her under the console with him.
But that was not the point of the game. He touched his fingers to her arm, pushing a single word into her mind: later.
Spock spent the remainder of the Alpha shift in the command chair. The Sciences were quiet, running pre-encounter diagnostics and formulating routines to carry out maximum efficiency - but none of it was entirely necessary. So instead, Spock looked to his duties as First Officer, reviewing personnel files and examining any reported misdemeanours or promotion requests. It was hardly stimulating work, but it was necessary and made the following six hours pass more quickly than they might have done, had he been left simply to ruminate on the hot tingle that still lingered on his thumb from when he had pressed it between Nyota’s legs.
As the shift end approached, however, he remembered Nyota’s trick of whispering to him, low enough that only he would hear in a language that only he would understand. It was necessary, if he was to have any sort of position in her game other than victim, that he cut her off before she could begin. Opening a text-only communication channel with the Comms control, he sent her a brief message.
*
Uhura crossed and un-crossed her legs, pushing for some friction. Her body had been overly responsive since she saw Spock wander out of the shower, like it was just an every day thing. She had begged him, on more than one occasion, to take a shower with her. Because, amongst other things, Spock had the sort of body that deserved to be licked dry. Vulcans were, after-all, a very cat-like race. But his unabashed nudity, his glistening pale skin flushed slightly green from the heat of the shower, and his hair. Such a small thing, but it so clearly reminded her that he could lose control and he did, for her. Uhura bit down on her lip, trying to focus on the screen and not on the ghost impressions of his scalding fingers against her legs.
And, dammit, he was their uptight Vulcan First Officer. Where did he get off playing along with her little ‘make Spock horny at work’ game, anyway?
Her console bleeped softly. A transmission from the command chair. Uhura glanced over her shoulder, but Spock was studiously wrapped up in whatever fascinating rota he was compiling or shore leave request he was denying. Pressing her thumb to the pressure-sensitive pad to accept, she read:
You are very beautiful when concentrating - but I cannot help wondering about the subject of your concentration?
Arching an eyebrow, she glances back at him again, looking more closely this time. He’s ignoring her, but purposely so. The tips of his ears are very faintly green and his shoulders are stiff. She turns and responds:
This is not a suitable use of the internal communications network. Please desist, or I will have to report you to the First Officer.
She hears his console alert him to a new message, and taps her boot against the floor as she waits for him to reply.
The First Officer has it within his discretion to punish any and all misuse of Starfleet property. How should you like to receive your punishment, Lieutenant?
Uhura’s mouth actually fell open. She bit down on her lip, smiling slowly. Under her breath she whispered in his native Vulcan dialect, “Spock are you serious?” She lowered her register a little, her larynx caressing the rough Vulcan consonants. “You want me to submit to you?”
Her comm bleeped once more, and she quickly opened the message.
Excuse yourself and wait for me in our rooms. Remove your clothing and stand against the window facing the glass. Leave the lights off.
Swallowing hard, a fern of lust uncurling low in her belly, Uhura turned toward the command chair. “Sir, may I be excused? There is a query over a Klingon transmission that requires my attention,” she lied smoothly.
Spock looked over his shoulder at her. Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but his human eyes were dark and calculating. “Certainly, Lieutenant. There is no need to report back to the Bridge before the end of your shift.”
“Thank you, sir,” she smirked, before exiting.
*
He left her waiting for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes naked in front of the glass, hoping they really were alone in space and no odd vacuum-breathing aliens would catch a look at her. The room was warm, climate control set to a comfortable Vulcan humidity, but her nipples were hard where they barely brushed the glass on each intake of breath. Her legs were very slightly parted, and she could feel her thighs were slick.
The door made no sound when it opened, but she saw the square of light with its silhouetted figure reflected before her. She didn’t dare speak, but her hands clenched at her sides. Spock did not speak either and, with the door closed, she so nothing but shadows reflected in the window. But she heard him undress, heard the soft clink of his belt buckle and the rustle as his clothes were removed and neatly folded, as was Spock’s custom. He came to her for a moment, his hand circling her small wrist as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “You must be patient a little longer,” he whispered - and his voice was as layered with desire, to the discerning ear, as she had ever heard it. “Do not move.”
Uhura’s breathing hitched when she heard the shower start up in the bathroom and, when she blinked, bright memories of water dripping over her lover’s body assaulted her mind. She leant her head forward, head pressing to the cool glass as she waited, breath fogging over the surface.
The shower cut out and there were soft, slapping footsteps behind her. “Please raise your hands and place them on the glass,” he said softly. Uhura complied immediately and was rewarded when his hands returned, hot and slippery, sliding up her sides. “Please explain why you have been so desirous to shower with me,” he said softly against her ear. Uhura shivered as his thumbs met at the centre of her back, sliding down her spine and pausing at the cleft of her ass.
She licked her lips, trying to form coherent sentences when it took most of her self control just not to turn around. “The water on your skin adds definition to your body. And you’re clean after the shower.” She took a deep breath through her nose as his hands ran under her ass, cupping gently before smoothing down the backs of her thighs. “You smell good,” she breathed, “And you’re slippery. The different texture is exciting.”
“And my hair?” he asked, unable to keep the note of amusement from his voice. As he asked, he brushed her own long hair back from her shoulder, standing closer to run open-mouthed kisses along her bare skin.
“I like your hair when it’s messy. It’s always so tidy, and when it isn’t it’s like ... you don’t care. Like you don’t mind losing control for me.”
His hot hand was cupping her breast, scalding the nipple with delicious heat, and she could feel the damp of his body along the length of her back. “As much as it arouses you to believe I have lost control,” he murmured against her skin, shifting close enough that she can feel the hot, heavy weight of his shaft against the small of her back. “It arouses me when you attempt to control yourself.” His fingers pinched her nipple, making her hiss, “In spite of extreme stimuli.” Then his hand was skimming down her body, slipping ever-closer to the ache between her legs. “You displayed admirable control today - and you will be rewarded for your efforts.” Spock’s fingers paused at the downy hair, stroking tiny circles as he spoke, “Please try and remain silent, for as long as you can. And do not orgasm unless with permission.”
Before Uhura could even think about arguing his fingers were moving again, snaking down into her folds. Her juice coated them, and the slid up over her clit, delicious firm friction that made her want to cry out. But she didn’t. She bit down hard on her lip and leant heavily on her hands, breasts pressing to the glass in an effort to cool her suddenly feverish body. Harsh breaths blew mist over the glass. Spock was still so close behind her - she could feel every twitch of his erection roughly coinciding with each hitch of her breathing, each soft involuntary rumble from her chest. His fingers slid inside her, long deep strokes that she knew he found as pleasurable as she did. The length of his fingers ran over her clit, before disappearing back inside of her.
“Your muscles,” he whispered against her ear, his voice coming out ragged, “are very strong. My fingers are very sensitive, as you know, and it pleases me exponentially to feel how much I have aroused you. To know that, although you valiantly attempt to keep control of yourself, to please me, you cannot help this indicator. It is entirely involuntary and of my creation. You can feel my own physical response,” he pressed his hips forward, his cock sliding awkwardly against her ass cheeks. “I would very much like to penetrate you, Nyota. But I have promised you a reward.”
He is gone all at once, leaving her cold and bereft and gasping. “Turn around, please. You may lean against the window if you wish.”
His voice could almost be cold, but Uhura recognises the signs of Spock attempting to piece himself back together. She turns. By the dim starlight, she can make out the water that still coats his neck and shoulders. It glistens in the sparse hair that dusts his pectorals and narrows into a line down his chest and stomach. Uhura swallows as she gazes at him. He’s been towelling his hair again - some of it stands on end, most of it swept to one side, silky and damp and dripping. Spock kneels before her, his hands coming up to her hips. “Part your legs. You may touch me, if you wish.”
Oh, she does wish, and takes not a moment longer to bury her fingers in that thick, luscious mess of hair. Her touch seems to encourage him, and he hums under his breath as he leans in to her, tongue instantly seeking out the sensitive bud of her clit. Uhura’s eyes rolled skywards, her hips bucking into his mouth. His fingers are inside of her again as his tongue flicks soft and quick, always moving, just the way he has learned she likes it. And the memories of his demanding practice sessions cascade around her, culminating in this single astounding experience. One of her hands finds his face, palm pressing sloppily against his temple. She presses with her mind, begging wordlessly. “Nyota,” he murmurs against her skin, pulling away and watching her so closely as his fingers carry on where his tongue left off. “Let me watch you orgasm,” he whispers, and the need in his voice, and the lust transferred through his fingertips and sensation upon sensation make Uhura buck and groan as her body spasms.
She has no chance to go limp, for he is upon her - lifting and pushing and pressing and groaning as he’s finally sheathed inside her. A day of teasing, of playing games, all culminating in the most delicious sensation in the world. Uhura clings to Spock as he thrusts into her, long hard strokes that punish her body, gripping fingers that bruise her skin. He is so focussed in these moments, on his pleasure and on hers. On the point that joins them. She grips around him, because though he rarely shows it she knows it drives him nuts. And she feels his teeth on her shoulder, breath raggedly groaning across her shoulder.
“Come, Spock,” she whispers, her own mouth opening against his shoulder, tasting fresh water alongside the salt of his skin. She hums her approval, determining to redouble her efforts to pull him into the shower with her. “Come in me,” she says, the only order she ever dares give him.
And one Spock is only too ready to obey. Breath catching in his throat, his thrusts stutter, and he pushes all the way in, so far it’s almost painful and Uhura’s eyes water in response. She clings to him as he tenses against her, again and again, riding through his orgasm.
Slowly, and as gently as he is able, he lowers her stiff limbs to the ground until she is able to take her own weight. Turning his head on her shoulder, they kiss and again she tastes water with salt and smiles against his lips. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?” he asks her softly, and she can feel his interest already rekindling against her stomach.
Shivering and grinning, she does not reply but grabs his hand and pulls him in the right direction.
Counter-Attack
Nyota was getting a little too good at her game, the one to which the rules constantly shifted, constantly moved away from him even playing let alone winning. The time had come to mount a counter-attack. After all, Spock had always enjoyed tactical games, with a suitably challenging partner - and Nyota had been playing this game for long enough to have become a true proficient. But Spock had some ideas that may make the playing experience more interesting.
Spock reduced his meditation period by ninety minutes, his body automatically snapping out of the trance-like state precisely twenty minutes before Nyota’s soft alarm would sound to wake her. On a standard day, she would return to her own quarters to dress and make ready for the day without disturbing him.
Slipping through their bedroom - technically his bedroom, but Nyota slept in the bed more than he did - Spock allowed his gaze to sweep over her naked, sleeping form for a moment. Anticipation sparked through his nervous system, and he began to understand that playing her game probably pleasurably frustrated Nyota as much as it did him.
He left her sleeping, and moved into the bathroom, commanding the sonic shower into life before removing his pants and stepping under the powerful spray. Showers were a regular, perfunctory necessity for Spock. He held them exclusively in private, washing and drying alone. He had never allowed Nyota to join him - though she had asked - nor to see him in anything other than his normal, dry, presentable state. With something approaching a smile, Spock’s sensitive hearing told him Nyota’s alarm was sounding. Wrapping a white towel around his waist, taking a moment to push it low on his hips, and took another smaller one with him as he exited the bathroom.
Nyota blinked her surprise, registering his presence before his state of undress. “Good morning,” she said with a sleepy smile. “What are you doing up?” Her eyes grazed over him and, in the mirror, he could see what she saw: his body, in which he took a great deal of pride, still dripping wet; hair plastered to his head and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders; the definition of his hip bones rising up above the towel. “And wet - I like it.”
She smiled and reached for him, but Spock stayed easily out of her reach. “Your shift begins in approximately twenty minutes, I suggest you return to your room and prepare yourself.”
He had forgotten how fast Nyota could be, and before he knew it her arms were over his shoulders, fingers sliding up into his wet hair. “I think I might be late today.”
Raising and eyebrow, Spock firmly removed her hands. “As you First Officer, I highly discourage you from dissembling. Such behaviour could be placed on your permanent record and be brought up at a later disciplinary hearing.” He brought the towel up to his head and scrubbed slightly. A glance at the mirror showed that he was, as Nyota would put it, ‘tousled’. He had observed she enjoyed disturbing his hair during sexual intercourse and hoped to provide her with adequate memories of their more erotic moments together. From the dilation of her pupils, Spock would guess he had been successful. “Furthermore, I will not be an accomplice. Please return to your rooms. I will see you on the Bridge.”
It took some gentle physical persuasion to get Nyota to dress but she did, eventually and unwillingly, slump down the corridor to her own quarters. On the inside, Spock was smiling the smug smile of a single small victory.
Spock was his normal, dry, pressed self when he stepped onto the Bridge. He was two minutes late, but noticing tardiness was a responsibility that usually fell to Spock. The Captain rarely noticed such things. Spock passed Nyota as he walked to his station, the fingers of his hand just brushing the hem of her short skirt. He did not look back, but was ninety-three per cent sure she was looking at him.
Three hours into the shift, Spock discovered that fate was on his side. Nyota’s terminal began to malfunction. Not seriously, but enough to impede the progress of her work.
“Scotty, can you send someone up here? Problems with the Communications console.”
“Is it urgent, Cap’n? Only I’ve got the lads set on transferring the core warp system and it might be a couple of hours yet.”
“It’s fine, Captain,” Nyota said, sliding out of her seat. “I can go down to the comms labs and do my transcriptions there.”
Spock shook his head slightly. “It is inadvisable to have Lieutenant Uhura on duty but not on the Bridge. She is the most experienced and talented of our Xeno-linguists - in the event of a First Contact initiation we would be found wanting in terms of protocol and possibly safety.”
“Yes, thank you, Spock,” Jim replied gruffly. Spock noted the Captain was glaring at Uhura as though Spock’s dedication to Starfleet regulations was entirely her fault.
“I could undertake the repair myself, Captain,” he offered.
“You can do that?” Spock gathered from the Captain’s tonal stresses on the word ‘do’ that he was either impressed or disbelieving. The Vulcan nodded in response, and walked smartly to the console in question.
While the rest of the Bridge returned to their duties, Spock set to rolling up his sleeves revealing slender but muscular forearms with a light dusting of hair. He noticed that Nyota was staring. “I will require you to move back slightly. Will that impede your work?”
She smiled sweetly, shifting her stool back a couple of inches. “That far enough?”
Spock sat on the floor, manoeuvring his upper body under the computer console to allow him access to the base panel. “This is adequate,” he said, pulling the panel away and depositing it to his right. If he glanced away from the tangle of wires and flashing LEDs, he had a very favourable view of Nyota’s long, slim legs. She crossed them as he watched, the skirt riding higher on her thigh. Memory brought to mind the smooth texture of her skin, the pliant muscle as he pushed her legs back towards the bed.
With a blink, Spock suspected Nyota may have used his own momentum against him. She was better at this game than he had anticipated.
Spock immersed himself in electronics theory, pulling apart a console for the first time in three years. The skills had not left him, however, and within half an hour the unit was once more working to optimum efficiency.
This would normally have been the point at which Spock returned to his station. On this day, however, Nyota was presenting him with an opportunity he could not justly ignore. Moving to a more upright position, Spock reached out one hand, gently gliding his fingers along the inside of Nyota’s thigh. He felt the muscle stiffen beneath his fingertips. Then the other foot lowered to the floor, and Nyota shifted very slightly closer, legs parting further. Spock had no intention of using his time on duty to perform private activities ... but pressing a small advantage surely would not go amiss. He grazed his thumb over her panties, could smell her arousal, hear her breathing quicken.
“I’m going to catch some sleep.” Spock snatched his hand back, a guilty flush spreading up over his ears before he could repress the emotion. “Mr Spock, you have the con.”
“Yes, Captain,” Spock said, pushing his head and shoulders out from beneath Nyota’s console.
She caught his eyes as he wriggled free through the tight space she had left him. She was smiling and her eyes were dark and, for all his Vulcan control, he would have liked nothing better than to pull her under the console with him.
But that was not the point of the game. He touched his fingers to her arm, pushing a single word into her mind: later.
Spock spent the remainder of the Alpha shift in the command chair. The Sciences were quiet, running pre-encounter diagnostics and formulating routines to carry out maximum efficiency - but none of it was entirely necessary. So instead, Spock looked to his duties as First Officer, reviewing personnel files and examining any reported misdemeanours or promotion requests. It was hardly stimulating work, but it was necessary and made the following six hours pass more quickly than they might have done, had he been left simply to ruminate on the hot tingle that still lingered on his thumb from when he had pressed it between Nyota’s legs.
As the shift end approached, however, he remembered Nyota’s trick of whispering to him, low enough that only he would hear in a language that only he would understand. It was necessary, if he was to have any sort of position in her game other than victim, that he cut her off before she could begin. Opening a text-only communication channel with the Comms control, he sent her a brief message.
*
Uhura crossed and un-crossed her legs, pushing for some friction. Her body had been overly responsive since she saw Spock wander out of the shower, like it was just an every day thing. She had begged him, on more than one occasion, to take a shower with her. Because, amongst other things, Spock had the sort of body that deserved to be licked dry. Vulcans were, after-all, a very cat-like race. But his unabashed nudity, his glistening pale skin flushed slightly green from the heat of the shower, and his hair. Such a small thing, but it so clearly reminded her that he could lose control and he did, for her. Uhura bit down on her lip, trying to focus on the screen and not on the ghost impressions of his scalding fingers against her legs.
And, dammit, he was their uptight Vulcan First Officer. Where did he get off playing along with her little ‘make Spock horny at work’ game, anyway?
Her console bleeped softly. A transmission from the command chair. Uhura glanced over her shoulder, but Spock was studiously wrapped up in whatever fascinating rota he was compiling or shore leave request he was denying. Pressing her thumb to the pressure-sensitive pad to accept, she read:
You are very beautiful when concentrating - but I cannot help wondering about the subject of your concentration?
Arching an eyebrow, she glances back at him again, looking more closely this time. He’s ignoring her, but purposely so. The tips of his ears are very faintly green and his shoulders are stiff. She turns and responds:
This is not a suitable use of the internal communications network. Please desist, or I will have to report you to the First Officer.
She hears his console alert him to a new message, and taps her boot against the floor as she waits for him to reply.
The First Officer has it within his discretion to punish any and all misuse of Starfleet property. How should you like to receive your punishment, Lieutenant?
Uhura’s mouth actually fell open. She bit down on her lip, smiling slowly. Under her breath she whispered in his native Vulcan dialect, “Spock are you serious?” She lowered her register a little, her larynx caressing the rough Vulcan consonants. “You want me to submit to you?”
Her comm bleeped once more, and she quickly opened the message.
Excuse yourself and wait for me in our rooms. Remove your clothing and stand against the window facing the glass. Leave the lights off.
Swallowing hard, a fern of lust uncurling low in her belly, Uhura turned toward the command chair. “Sir, may I be excused? There is a query over a Klingon transmission that requires my attention,” she lied smoothly.
Spock looked over his shoulder at her. Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but his human eyes were dark and calculating. “Certainly, Lieutenant. There is no need to report back to the Bridge before the end of your shift.”
“Thank you, sir,” she smirked, before exiting.
*
He left her waiting for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes naked in front of the glass, hoping they really were alone in space and no odd vacuum-breathing aliens would catch a look at her. The room was warm, climate control set to a comfortable Vulcan humidity, but her nipples were hard where they barely brushed the glass on each intake of breath. Her legs were very slightly parted, and she could feel her thighs were slick.
The door made no sound when it opened, but she saw the square of light with its silhouetted figure reflected before her. She didn’t dare speak, but her hands clenched at her sides. Spock did not speak either and, with the door closed, she so nothing but shadows reflected in the window. But she heard him undress, heard the soft clink of his belt buckle and the rustle as his clothes were removed and neatly folded, as was Spock’s custom. He came to her for a moment, his hand circling her small wrist as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “You must be patient a little longer,” he whispered - and his voice was as layered with desire, to the discerning ear, as she had ever heard it. “Do not move.”
Uhura’s breathing hitched when she heard the shower start up in the bathroom and, when she blinked, bright memories of water dripping over her lover’s body assaulted her mind. She leant her head forward, head pressing to the cool glass as she waited, breath fogging over the surface.
The shower cut out and there were soft, slapping footsteps behind her. “Please raise your hands and place them on the glass,” he said softly. Uhura complied immediately and was rewarded when his hands returned, hot and slippery, sliding up her sides. “Please explain why you have been so desirous to shower with me,” he said softly against her ear. Uhura shivered as his thumbs met at the centre of her back, sliding down her spine and pausing at the cleft of her ass.
She licked her lips, trying to form coherent sentences when it took most of her self control just not to turn around. “The water on your skin adds definition to your body. And you’re clean after the shower.” She took a deep breath through her nose as his hands ran under her ass, cupping gently before smoothing down the backs of her thighs. “You smell good,” she breathed, “And you’re slippery. The different texture is exciting.”
“And my hair?” he asked, unable to keep the note of amusement from his voice. As he asked, he brushed her own long hair back from her shoulder, standing closer to run open-mouthed kisses along her bare skin.
“I like your hair when it’s messy. It’s always so tidy, and when it isn’t it’s like ... you don’t care. Like you don’t mind losing control for me.”
His hot hand was cupping her breast, scalding the nipple with delicious heat, and she could feel the damp of his body along the length of her back. “As much as it arouses you to believe I have lost control,” he murmured against her skin, shifting close enough that she can feel the hot, heavy weight of his shaft against the small of her back. “It arouses me when you attempt to control yourself.” His fingers pinched her nipple, making her hiss, “In spite of extreme stimuli.” Then his hand was skimming down her body, slipping ever-closer to the ache between her legs. “You displayed admirable control today - and you will be rewarded for your efforts.” Spock’s fingers paused at the downy hair, stroking tiny circles as he spoke, “Please try and remain silent, for as long as you can. And do not orgasm unless with permission.”
Before Uhura could even think about arguing his fingers were moving again, snaking down into her folds. Her juice coated them, and the slid up over her clit, delicious firm friction that made her want to cry out. But she didn’t. She bit down hard on her lip and leant heavily on her hands, breasts pressing to the glass in an effort to cool her suddenly feverish body. Harsh breaths blew mist over the glass. Spock was still so close behind her - she could feel every twitch of his erection roughly coinciding with each hitch of her breathing, each soft involuntary rumble from her chest. His fingers slid inside her, long deep strokes that she knew he found as pleasurable as she did. The length of his fingers ran over her clit, before disappearing back inside of her.
“Your muscles,” he whispered against her ear, his voice coming out ragged, “are very strong. My fingers are very sensitive, as you know, and it pleases me exponentially to feel how much I have aroused you. To know that, although you valiantly attempt to keep control of yourself, to please me, you cannot help this indicator. It is entirely involuntary and of my creation. You can feel my own physical response,” he pressed his hips forward, his cock sliding awkwardly against her ass cheeks. “I would very much like to penetrate you, Nyota. But I have promised you a reward.”
He is gone all at once, leaving her cold and bereft and gasping. “Turn around, please. You may lean against the window if you wish.”
His voice could almost be cold, but Uhura recognises the signs of Spock attempting to piece himself back together. She turns. By the dim starlight, she can make out the water that still coats his neck and shoulders. It glistens in the sparse hair that dusts his pectorals and narrows into a line down his chest and stomach. Uhura swallows as she gazes at him. He’s been towelling his hair again - some of it stands on end, most of it swept to one side, silky and damp and dripping. Spock kneels before her, his hands coming up to her hips. “Part your legs. You may touch me, if you wish.”
Oh, she does wish, and takes not a moment longer to bury her fingers in that thick, luscious mess of hair. Her touch seems to encourage him, and he hums under his breath as he leans in to her, tongue instantly seeking out the sensitive bud of her clit. Uhura’s eyes rolled skywards, her hips bucking into his mouth. His fingers are inside of her again as his tongue flicks soft and quick, always moving, just the way he has learned she likes it. And the memories of his demanding practice sessions cascade around her, culminating in this single astounding experience. One of her hands finds his face, palm pressing sloppily against his temple. She presses with her mind, begging wordlessly. “Nyota,” he murmurs against her skin, pulling away and watching her so closely as his fingers carry on where his tongue left off. “Let me watch you orgasm,” he whispers, and the need in his voice, and the lust transferred through his fingertips and sensation upon sensation make Uhura buck and groan as her body spasms.
She has no chance to go limp, for he is upon her - lifting and pushing and pressing and groaning as he’s finally sheathed inside her. A day of teasing, of playing games, all culminating in the most delicious sensation in the world. Uhura clings to Spock as he thrusts into her, long hard strokes that punish her body, gripping fingers that bruise her skin. He is so focussed in these moments, on his pleasure and on hers. On the point that joins them. She grips around him, because though he rarely shows it she knows it drives him nuts. And she feels his teeth on her shoulder, breath raggedly groaning across her shoulder.
“Come, Spock,” she whispers, her own mouth opening against his shoulder, tasting fresh water alongside the salt of his skin. She hums her approval, determining to redouble her efforts to pull him into the shower with her. “Come in me,” she says, the only order she ever dares give him.
And one Spock is only too ready to obey. Breath catching in his throat, his thrusts stutter, and he pushes all the way in, so far it’s almost painful and Uhura’s eyes water in response. She clings to him as he tenses against her, again and again, riding through his orgasm.
Slowly, and as gently as he is able, he lowers her stiff limbs to the ground until she is able to take her own weight. Turning his head on her shoulder, they kiss and again she tastes water with salt and smiles against his lips. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?” he asks her softly, and she can feel his interest already rekindling against her stomach.
Shivering and grinning, she does not reply but grabs his hand and pulls him in the right direction.