FIC - Barely Holding On
Title: Barely Holding On
Rating: R (some strong sexual theme)
Pairing: Spock/Uhura, duh lol.
Disclaimer: nothing is mine.
Spoilers: Star Trek 2009
Summary: set during the movie, Spock is unsure how to process all of his conflicting emotions.
There is a knocking at her door. Soft and rhythmic, timid. She checks the clock on her night stand, then looks out the tiny port hole on the other side of the room. Nothing but a sky of endless stars; on Earth, five am would have almost a purplish tint to the sky as the sun began to rise, but for now, there is no sun.
The knocking continues. She stands, pushes her hair out of her face and smooths out her night shirt. She rubs her eyes as she goes across the room, stepping over clothes and boots and to the door. With her mind clouded with sleep, she does not bother to ask for identification, she merely presses the green entrance button. "Can I help you?" she exhales, leaning against the wall.
"I cannot sleep."
"Spock?" she runs her hands through her hair, crosses her arms over her chest. "What are you doing?"
"May I come in?" he asks. Always polite, always proper.
She nods. "Of course, please." she moves aside to allow him access. He is in his uniform from earlier today. She closes the door and moves to manually turn the lights on, but he stops her, softly grabbing her wrist. She looks at him and finds his face different, an expression she has never seen before. His eyes are almost black and are heavy. She can see the death of six billion lives, the loss of a mother resting inside him. He looks sad, broken, lost. He looks more human now that she's ever seen.
He brings her close, kisses her softly. She feels his body shake when he grabs a hold of her arms, then down to her waist. He doesn't speak and moves their bodies, pressing her to the wall, stabilizing his shaking with his arms pressed behind her, on either side of her waist. She responds, putting her hands against his face, through his hair, identical to her actions in the lift.
They begin moving across the room, she follows his silent instruction to the bed. She pulls him to the bed, he rests on top of her. His hands wander, through her silk like hair, to her breasts down to her hips. He uses his knee to move her legs apart, which she allows; their pelvis' pressed together, fitting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. His breath is hot on her neck.
She helps him out of his pants, undoing the belt with on hand, he carefully and slowly removes her underwear. He does not restrain himself. He is unleashed, primal almost; he holds tightly to her hips, she scratches his back over his shirt. What is it about humans that makes them crave physical attention while they are pain, she wonders.
It is quick, however, slightly clumsy despite the amount of passion, fury. He finishes with a grunt, an exhale. She lightly touches the edge of his face, his chin, his jaw line. He looks down at her, eye still black as coal. "I am sorry," he says.
She wears a weak smile. "What for?"
He shakes his head, he isn't quite sure. They redress; she pulls her undies up, she hears him redo his zipper and belt. She is almost in awe at how human he is right now. "Stay," she tells him, reaching out for his fingers.
He nods, kicks off his shoes, crawls into bed. He knows he should not be here, he should be in his own quarters, his own bed, but she touches his chin again and even the faintest of her touches, draws him in, close. "I do not know how to process these feelings," he quietly admits.
Another weak smile. She touches his chest, feeling his heart still beating raggedly inside. She has no answer, only the offer of comfort. He blinks at her, eyes still so heavy, heart still broken despite the fact that it still beats, hard and unstopping.
They say nothing else, she is soon sleeping again. He watches out the port-hole at the world of endless stars, wondering his place in them all.
Rating: R (some strong sexual theme)
Pairing: Spock/Uhura, duh lol.
Disclaimer: nothing is mine.
Spoilers: Star Trek 2009
Summary: set during the movie, Spock is unsure how to process all of his conflicting emotions.
There is a knocking at her door. Soft and rhythmic, timid. She checks the clock on her night stand, then looks out the tiny port hole on the other side of the room. Nothing but a sky of endless stars; on Earth, five am would have almost a purplish tint to the sky as the sun began to rise, but for now, there is no sun.
The knocking continues. She stands, pushes her hair out of her face and smooths out her night shirt. She rubs her eyes as she goes across the room, stepping over clothes and boots and to the door. With her mind clouded with sleep, she does not bother to ask for identification, she merely presses the green entrance button. "Can I help you?" she exhales, leaning against the wall.
"I cannot sleep."
"Spock?" she runs her hands through her hair, crosses her arms over her chest. "What are you doing?"
"May I come in?" he asks. Always polite, always proper.
She nods. "Of course, please." she moves aside to allow him access. He is in his uniform from earlier today. She closes the door and moves to manually turn the lights on, but he stops her, softly grabbing her wrist. She looks at him and finds his face different, an expression she has never seen before. His eyes are almost black and are heavy. She can see the death of six billion lives, the loss of a mother resting inside him. He looks sad, broken, lost. He looks more human now that she's ever seen.
He brings her close, kisses her softly. She feels his body shake when he grabs a hold of her arms, then down to her waist. He doesn't speak and moves their bodies, pressing her to the wall, stabilizing his shaking with his arms pressed behind her, on either side of her waist. She responds, putting her hands against his face, through his hair, identical to her actions in the lift.
They begin moving across the room, she follows his silent instruction to the bed. She pulls him to the bed, he rests on top of her. His hands wander, through her silk like hair, to her breasts down to her hips. He uses his knee to move her legs apart, which she allows; their pelvis' pressed together, fitting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. His breath is hot on her neck.
She helps him out of his pants, undoing the belt with on hand, he carefully and slowly removes her underwear. He does not restrain himself. He is unleashed, primal almost; he holds tightly to her hips, she scratches his back over his shirt. What is it about humans that makes them crave physical attention while they are pain, she wonders.
It is quick, however, slightly clumsy despite the amount of passion, fury. He finishes with a grunt, an exhale. She lightly touches the edge of his face, his chin, his jaw line. He looks down at her, eye still black as coal. "I am sorry," he says.
She wears a weak smile. "What for?"
He shakes his head, he isn't quite sure. They redress; she pulls her undies up, she hears him redo his zipper and belt. She is almost in awe at how human he is right now. "Stay," she tells him, reaching out for his fingers.
He nods, kicks off his shoes, crawls into bed. He knows he should not be here, he should be in his own quarters, his own bed, but she touches his chin again and even the faintest of her touches, draws him in, close. "I do not know how to process these feelings," he quietly admits.
Another weak smile. She touches his chest, feeling his heart still beating raggedly inside. She has no answer, only the offer of comfort. He blinks at her, eyes still so heavy, heart still broken despite the fact that it still beats, hard and unstopping.
They say nothing else, she is soon sleeping again. He watches out the port-hole at the world of endless stars, wondering his place in them all.