FIC - WHAT HUMANS DO - 1/1
Title: What Humans Do
Author: Hufflelit
Rating: PG-13?
Spoilers: Only if you STILL HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM.
Summary: Commander Spock muses on the foundations of his relationship with Cadet Uhura.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the order of the words.
Author's Note: This is a very loose sequel to my recent fic What Vulcans Do. You do not need to have read that fic to follow this one.
It had taken Spock a considerable amount of time to grow accustomed to Human displays of attraction. On Vulcan, he was not considered attractive: his face was too long, his jaw too narrow, his nose too broad, and upon closer inspection, there was a slight aberration in the construction of his secondary eyelid; an aberration which, to his frequent shame as a child, included the presence of tear ducts.
Attraction, however, was not a logical impulse, and physical attractiveness was not considered a particularly important quality on Vulcan. Concepts of aesthetics were understood, catalogued, and utilized when it might be useful for them to be so. His human features had certainly caused him trouble as an adolescent, but they had not hampered his academic or personal success.
There had been times, certainly, when he had mused that his daily life might be easier and more efficient if he conformed to Vulcan physical standards, but the only time he could remember actively wishing to be other than he was was during his childhood bonding ceremony with T’Pring, when he had felt a slight twinge of disappointment from her through their newly-formed bond.
On Earth, however, everything was different. During his first year at Starfleet, he had been forced to verbally reject the propositions of three Human females and two Human males in his first two months at the Academy. His Human roommate, who had been rejected by various females nearly twice as frequently, had demanded to know why Spock did not accept their advances.
Spock had attempted to explain that his professional goals in Starfleet left no room for romantic trysts, that Vulcan courtship was radically different than Human, and finally, when nothing else seemed to have an effect, he had concluded, “Additionally, I am betrothed to a Vulcan female.”
His roommate’s eyes had widened. “Seriously? Dude, why don’t you tell them that? They’ll leave you alone.”
Spock had cocked his head. “Why would that information affect their interest?” His roommate had rolled his eyes and muttered something that was not, apparently, intended to continue the conversation, but he had, in the end, been right. The fact of Spock’s betrothal had circulated around the student body, and he was more or less left to himself, until the following year brought new cadets, and among them, several new, oddly determined, Humans.
Spock had been unable to account for these reactions to his physical appearance. He had assumed that, as his Human features were considered unappealing on Vulcan, his Vulcan features would be unappealing on Earth. However, he had noted that Humans were more physically diverse among their own population than perhaps any other known species. Presumably, this made his appearance less surprising than it otherwise might have been. Beyond that, he had been unable to formulate a workable hypothesis, even after six years with Starfleet.
He wondered now if it would be an acceptable question to ask Nyota.
Spock glanced up from the computer on which he was marking his Solar and Solar-Terrestrial Physics class’s final exams to look at her, curled sideways in a chair on the other side of his desk, her legs dangling over one arm.
“Do you mind if I sit like this?” she had asked earlier, without a hint of uncertainty, not at all as though she were addressing a superior. It was just a simple question, intended to ensure his comfort.
It was winter vacation for First Class cadets at the Academy: a brief hiatus before they began the final, most intensive semester of their education. Nyota had recently completed her thesis on the divergence of the Romulan language from Vulcan, re-dating the colonization of Romulus in the process, and had successfully defended her findings before the Board of Examiners.
He supposed he would have felt pride in her achievement regardless of their extracurricular relationship; she had been his pupil, and he her advisor. Yet there had been something else, something more than pride, that he had felt as he watched her stand, poised and confident, before the Board, and had watched the Board members look at each other, smile, and shake their heads in that odd expression of Human disbelief that he had certainly never felt at any of Nyota’s achievements.
She had been somewhat less confident in the turbolift on the way to her examination. They had walked to the examination chambers together, as advisors and students traditionally did, and he had been able to hear her deliberately steady breathing from where he stood, just in front and to the left of her.
“Be calm, Nyota,” he had said quietly. “You will perform admirably.”
“Of course, Commander,” she had replied, her tone almost fierce. “I won’t let you down. And I certainly won’t let myself down.”
The left corner of his mouth had quirked into a smile. “I expect nothing less.”
She was still breathing oddly, however, and so, when the turbolift was between two levels, and the glass doors were blocked from view by the plating between the ceiling of one level and the flooring of the next, he had stopped its progress and turned to her.
“Nyota,” he had said, stepping closer to her.
She had been standing at attention, but as her eyes flicked to his face, she relaxed and put her arms around his neck. She had been trembling, and his impulse had been to hold her and steady her before he even remembered that this was what Humans did.
Her breathing had slowed, but her heart had still pounded against his chest as she released him and stepped back. It was the first time they had touched since their kiss in his office three weeks previously. They had agreed that night that, for the duration of his mentorship, their relationship should remain professional. Being close to her again was… interesting.
He had restarted the lift, and she had gone back to attention.
“May I say that you smell lovely today, Miss Uhura,” he remarked without looking at her as the turbolift reached their destination.
“Thank you, Commander.”
Although he hadn’t turned as they stepped into the corridor, he could hear the smile in her voice.
The Board had since discussed including portions of her thesis in the Federation Xenolinguistics Journal, a distinction virtually unheard of for a cadet of any level. However, lack of precedence had not diminished Nyota’s certainty of her ability to achieve her goal.
He had entered the Phonics Lab one evening two weeks ago, hoping, however improperly, to see her, and had found her and her Orion roommate the only beings in the room.
“…worst part was, my shoes were killing me the whole time, seriously, how do you Terran women wear those things?” Cadet Gaila did not wait for an answer before continuing: “My knees were shaking after about an hour, and I think he actually thought they were shaking because of him.”
Nyota laughed, but kept her eyes on her computer screen. Cadet Gaila, her back to Spock, draped her arms around Nyota’s shoulders and her voice took on a coaxing tone.
“Which is why you have to come out with us tonight, Nyota; it’ll be so much fun, and you deserve it; you’ve been working way harder than any of the other ’Linguists, and I miss you!”
“Gaila, I have to work harder than the other ’Linguists if I’m going to get my thesis published anywhere.” She turned to look up at her roommate. “You know that I - Commander!”
Cadet Gaila whirled to attention, and Nyota got to her feet.
Spock gave them a curt nod.
“At ease, Cadets.” They both relaxed, Nyota sending him a soft smile from behind Cadet Gaila, who was eyeing him with her head cocked slightly to the side.
“Is your research progressing adequately, Miss Uhura?”
“Very much so, Commander,” she answered, her face growing serious. “I do have a question regarding the pronunciation of a few words in Gol Gathol Romulan, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you.” Nyota glanced sideways at Gaila, who was still examining Spock, now with a slightly predatory smile. Nyota elbowed her.
“Gaila,” she said, voice firm, “you go ahead without me. I’ll see you at home tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” Gaila replied, still smiling at Spock. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she finally looked away from him and toward Nyota.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she whispered loudly in Orion.
“Gaila,” Nyota hissed, her face a curious mixture of amusement and alarm. “He’s a ‘Linguistics professor.”
Orions did not blush, but Spock remembered from Xenobiology that, in tense situations, their cartilage stiffened. He was certain he saw Cadet Gaila’s nose twitch slightly as she saluted him and left the room.
“What a fascinating young female,” Spock had said with a slight smile, as the door of the lab closed behind her.
“Too fascinating.” She smiled at him. “I don’t really have any questions about Romulan. Care to stay with me anyway?”
“Certainly.”
He had taken the station diagonally across from hers, so that he would not be tempted to touch her. Staring at her, however, was a difficult impulse to resist.
“You’re staring at me,” Nyota said now, in his office, her legs draped over one arm of the chair on the other side of his desk as she read from a PADD in her hands.
“Yes.” It would be illogical to attempt to deny it.
She looked up at him with a smile. “May I ask why?”
“I was attempting to determine the propriety of asking you a question.”
She put down the PADD and swung her legs around to face him, her forearms resting lightly on her knees.
“What question?”
He compressed his lips in thought. Phrasing would be difficult, although it should not be.
“Nyota, may I ask… why did you first find yourself attracted to me?”
Nyota raised both eyebrows, but she did not appear displeased by his query.
“That’s a tough one,” she said after a moment.
He cocked his head. “Please elaborate.”
A slow smile widened her mouth. It was not unlike Gaila’s smile in the Phonics Lab, and yet it was utterly and entirely different.
She stood and walked around his desk, then leaned against it, brushing her knee against the outside of his thigh. She appeared to be examining his face, and he sat still to ease the process.
She leaned closer and ran her hand up the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand on end.
“I’ll have to think back a long way.” She cocked her head and smiled.
“I think it was your eyes,” she said at last, her voice soft and her breath cool on his cheek.
“My eyes?” he echoed, intending to catalogue the information. His voice sounded unfamiliar. He cleared his throat.
“And your mouth,” she whispered, before closing the distance between them with a soft kiss.
He leaned forward, but she drew back, and as he opened his eyes, he saw that she was wearing a teasing smile. He raised an eyebrow. This was a new side of Nyota. In the interest of their developing relationship, he felt he should increase his knowledge of it.
“And?” he prompted.
She grinned. “Your cheekbones,” she said, kissing his face below his left eye. “Your ears,” she added, caressing the edge of one with her lips.
She moved across his face that way, naming each feature in a whisper, kissing his jaw, his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows. Spock was unsure when he had put his arms around her waist, or when she had settled into his lap.
“And then you opened your mouth and spoke,” she said, “and I discovered that you were the most intelligent, focused, remarkable man I had ever met. And that’s why I first found myself attracted to you. Is that a sufficient answer?”
“Exemplary,” he said, and his voice was still too rough, but he disregarded it as he drew her face down to him for another kiss.
It was unlike their last kiss in this office, which had begun slowly, experimentally, before building in passion. This kiss, their first proper kiss in over three weeks, began passionately; she tugged at his lower lip with her lips and teeth, pulling him closer, and he tugged back, uncertain, at first, if he would be able to keep up with her, but luckily, it seemed that everything involving Nyota was a matter of simple and direct impulse.
She ran her fingers along his jaw and tilted his face upwards as their mouths met again and again, and although he knew that her body temperature was an average of 22.47 degrees centigrade below his, her lips were searing.
He caressed her face, her neck, her ears, her back, wanting to feel as much of her as he could, wanting to memorize how she felt in his arms as she wrapped hers around his neck and her long ponytail brushed his cheek.
One of his hands slid down to her knee, and he found that her bare skin was remarkably smooth and cool.
She brushed her tongue against his lower lip, and his fingers flexed convulsively, gripping her thigh.
She broke their kiss to look at him, and he was suddenly aware that he had possibly pushed her farther than she had intended to go.
But then she smiled that teasing smile and said, “Spock? Have you ever heard of French kissing?”
Author: Hufflelit
Rating: PG-13?
Spoilers: Only if you STILL HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM.
Summary: Commander Spock muses on the foundations of his relationship with Cadet Uhura.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the order of the words.
Author's Note: This is a very loose sequel to my recent fic What Vulcans Do. You do not need to have read that fic to follow this one.
It had taken Spock a considerable amount of time to grow accustomed to Human displays of attraction. On Vulcan, he was not considered attractive: his face was too long, his jaw too narrow, his nose too broad, and upon closer inspection, there was a slight aberration in the construction of his secondary eyelid; an aberration which, to his frequent shame as a child, included the presence of tear ducts.
Attraction, however, was not a logical impulse, and physical attractiveness was not considered a particularly important quality on Vulcan. Concepts of aesthetics were understood, catalogued, and utilized when it might be useful for them to be so. His human features had certainly caused him trouble as an adolescent, but they had not hampered his academic or personal success.
There had been times, certainly, when he had mused that his daily life might be easier and more efficient if he conformed to Vulcan physical standards, but the only time he could remember actively wishing to be other than he was was during his childhood bonding ceremony with T’Pring, when he had felt a slight twinge of disappointment from her through their newly-formed bond.
On Earth, however, everything was different. During his first year at Starfleet, he had been forced to verbally reject the propositions of three Human females and two Human males in his first two months at the Academy. His Human roommate, who had been rejected by various females nearly twice as frequently, had demanded to know why Spock did not accept their advances.
Spock had attempted to explain that his professional goals in Starfleet left no room for romantic trysts, that Vulcan courtship was radically different than Human, and finally, when nothing else seemed to have an effect, he had concluded, “Additionally, I am betrothed to a Vulcan female.”
His roommate’s eyes had widened. “Seriously? Dude, why don’t you tell them that? They’ll leave you alone.”
Spock had cocked his head. “Why would that information affect their interest?” His roommate had rolled his eyes and muttered something that was not, apparently, intended to continue the conversation, but he had, in the end, been right. The fact of Spock’s betrothal had circulated around the student body, and he was more or less left to himself, until the following year brought new cadets, and among them, several new, oddly determined, Humans.
Spock had been unable to account for these reactions to his physical appearance. He had assumed that, as his Human features were considered unappealing on Vulcan, his Vulcan features would be unappealing on Earth. However, he had noted that Humans were more physically diverse among their own population than perhaps any other known species. Presumably, this made his appearance less surprising than it otherwise might have been. Beyond that, he had been unable to formulate a workable hypothesis, even after six years with Starfleet.
He wondered now if it would be an acceptable question to ask Nyota.
Spock glanced up from the computer on which he was marking his Solar and Solar-Terrestrial Physics class’s final exams to look at her, curled sideways in a chair on the other side of his desk, her legs dangling over one arm.
“Do you mind if I sit like this?” she had asked earlier, without a hint of uncertainty, not at all as though she were addressing a superior. It was just a simple question, intended to ensure his comfort.
It was winter vacation for First Class cadets at the Academy: a brief hiatus before they began the final, most intensive semester of their education. Nyota had recently completed her thesis on the divergence of the Romulan language from Vulcan, re-dating the colonization of Romulus in the process, and had successfully defended her findings before the Board of Examiners.
He supposed he would have felt pride in her achievement regardless of their extracurricular relationship; she had been his pupil, and he her advisor. Yet there had been something else, something more than pride, that he had felt as he watched her stand, poised and confident, before the Board, and had watched the Board members look at each other, smile, and shake their heads in that odd expression of Human disbelief that he had certainly never felt at any of Nyota’s achievements.
She had been somewhat less confident in the turbolift on the way to her examination. They had walked to the examination chambers together, as advisors and students traditionally did, and he had been able to hear her deliberately steady breathing from where he stood, just in front and to the left of her.
“Be calm, Nyota,” he had said quietly. “You will perform admirably.”
“Of course, Commander,” she had replied, her tone almost fierce. “I won’t let you down. And I certainly won’t let myself down.”
The left corner of his mouth had quirked into a smile. “I expect nothing less.”
She was still breathing oddly, however, and so, when the turbolift was between two levels, and the glass doors were blocked from view by the plating between the ceiling of one level and the flooring of the next, he had stopped its progress and turned to her.
“Nyota,” he had said, stepping closer to her.
She had been standing at attention, but as her eyes flicked to his face, she relaxed and put her arms around his neck. She had been trembling, and his impulse had been to hold her and steady her before he even remembered that this was what Humans did.
Her breathing had slowed, but her heart had still pounded against his chest as she released him and stepped back. It was the first time they had touched since their kiss in his office three weeks previously. They had agreed that night that, for the duration of his mentorship, their relationship should remain professional. Being close to her again was… interesting.
He had restarted the lift, and she had gone back to attention.
“May I say that you smell lovely today, Miss Uhura,” he remarked without looking at her as the turbolift reached their destination.
“Thank you, Commander.”
Although he hadn’t turned as they stepped into the corridor, he could hear the smile in her voice.
The Board had since discussed including portions of her thesis in the Federation Xenolinguistics Journal, a distinction virtually unheard of for a cadet of any level. However, lack of precedence had not diminished Nyota’s certainty of her ability to achieve her goal.
He had entered the Phonics Lab one evening two weeks ago, hoping, however improperly, to see her, and had found her and her Orion roommate the only beings in the room.
“…worst part was, my shoes were killing me the whole time, seriously, how do you Terran women wear those things?” Cadet Gaila did not wait for an answer before continuing: “My knees were shaking after about an hour, and I think he actually thought they were shaking because of him.”
Nyota laughed, but kept her eyes on her computer screen. Cadet Gaila, her back to Spock, draped her arms around Nyota’s shoulders and her voice took on a coaxing tone.
“Which is why you have to come out with us tonight, Nyota; it’ll be so much fun, and you deserve it; you’ve been working way harder than any of the other ’Linguists, and I miss you!”
“Gaila, I have to work harder than the other ’Linguists if I’m going to get my thesis published anywhere.” She turned to look up at her roommate. “You know that I - Commander!”
Cadet Gaila whirled to attention, and Nyota got to her feet.
Spock gave them a curt nod.
“At ease, Cadets.” They both relaxed, Nyota sending him a soft smile from behind Cadet Gaila, who was eyeing him with her head cocked slightly to the side.
“Is your research progressing adequately, Miss Uhura?”
“Very much so, Commander,” she answered, her face growing serious. “I do have a question regarding the pronunciation of a few words in Gol Gathol Romulan, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you.” Nyota glanced sideways at Gaila, who was still examining Spock, now with a slightly predatory smile. Nyota elbowed her.
“Gaila,” she said, voice firm, “you go ahead without me. I’ll see you at home tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” Gaila replied, still smiling at Spock. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she finally looked away from him and toward Nyota.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she whispered loudly in Orion.
“Gaila,” Nyota hissed, her face a curious mixture of amusement and alarm. “He’s a ‘Linguistics professor.”
Orions did not blush, but Spock remembered from Xenobiology that, in tense situations, their cartilage stiffened. He was certain he saw Cadet Gaila’s nose twitch slightly as she saluted him and left the room.
“What a fascinating young female,” Spock had said with a slight smile, as the door of the lab closed behind her.
“Too fascinating.” She smiled at him. “I don’t really have any questions about Romulan. Care to stay with me anyway?”
“Certainly.”
He had taken the station diagonally across from hers, so that he would not be tempted to touch her. Staring at her, however, was a difficult impulse to resist.
“You’re staring at me,” Nyota said now, in his office, her legs draped over one arm of the chair on the other side of his desk as she read from a PADD in her hands.
“Yes.” It would be illogical to attempt to deny it.
She looked up at him with a smile. “May I ask why?”
“I was attempting to determine the propriety of asking you a question.”
She put down the PADD and swung her legs around to face him, her forearms resting lightly on her knees.
“What question?”
He compressed his lips in thought. Phrasing would be difficult, although it should not be.
“Nyota, may I ask… why did you first find yourself attracted to me?”
Nyota raised both eyebrows, but she did not appear displeased by his query.
“That’s a tough one,” she said after a moment.
He cocked his head. “Please elaborate.”
A slow smile widened her mouth. It was not unlike Gaila’s smile in the Phonics Lab, and yet it was utterly and entirely different.
She stood and walked around his desk, then leaned against it, brushing her knee against the outside of his thigh. She appeared to be examining his face, and he sat still to ease the process.
She leaned closer and ran her hand up the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand on end.
“I’ll have to think back a long way.” She cocked her head and smiled.
“I think it was your eyes,” she said at last, her voice soft and her breath cool on his cheek.
“My eyes?” he echoed, intending to catalogue the information. His voice sounded unfamiliar. He cleared his throat.
“And your mouth,” she whispered, before closing the distance between them with a soft kiss.
He leaned forward, but she drew back, and as he opened his eyes, he saw that she was wearing a teasing smile. He raised an eyebrow. This was a new side of Nyota. In the interest of their developing relationship, he felt he should increase his knowledge of it.
“And?” he prompted.
She grinned. “Your cheekbones,” she said, kissing his face below his left eye. “Your ears,” she added, caressing the edge of one with her lips.
She moved across his face that way, naming each feature in a whisper, kissing his jaw, his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows. Spock was unsure when he had put his arms around her waist, or when she had settled into his lap.
“And then you opened your mouth and spoke,” she said, “and I discovered that you were the most intelligent, focused, remarkable man I had ever met. And that’s why I first found myself attracted to you. Is that a sufficient answer?”
“Exemplary,” he said, and his voice was still too rough, but he disregarded it as he drew her face down to him for another kiss.
It was unlike their last kiss in this office, which had begun slowly, experimentally, before building in passion. This kiss, their first proper kiss in over three weeks, began passionately; she tugged at his lower lip with her lips and teeth, pulling him closer, and he tugged back, uncertain, at first, if he would be able to keep up with her, but luckily, it seemed that everything involving Nyota was a matter of simple and direct impulse.
She ran her fingers along his jaw and tilted his face upwards as their mouths met again and again, and although he knew that her body temperature was an average of 22.47 degrees centigrade below his, her lips were searing.
He caressed her face, her neck, her ears, her back, wanting to feel as much of her as he could, wanting to memorize how she felt in his arms as she wrapped hers around his neck and her long ponytail brushed his cheek.
One of his hands slid down to her knee, and he found that her bare skin was remarkably smooth and cool.
She brushed her tongue against his lower lip, and his fingers flexed convulsively, gripping her thigh.
She broke their kiss to look at him, and he was suddenly aware that he had possibly pushed her farther than she had intended to go.
But then she smiled that teasing smile and said, “Spock? Have you ever heard of French kissing?”