Fic: A Clear Violation of the Starfleet Code of Conduct (Spock/Uhura, NC-17)
Title: A Clear Violation of the Starfleet Code of Conduct
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count: ~5000
Prompt: From st_xi_kink: Spock eats out Uhura. On his desk. In between classes. She's extremely aroused and embarrassed from the chance of being caught, while Spock's just "It would be illogical for us not to take advantage of the scant time we are alone". I'd loveloveLOVE it if they weren't officially together yet or if it was just the beginning of their relationship.
Warnings: None
Kinks: Dirty talk, authority kink (cadet/commander), multiple orgasms, gratuitous hand!porn, some (porny) fluff at the end
Summary: Does exactly what it says on the tin. Or, if you like, you could consider this a meeting to discuss their mutual attraction and the benefits of entering into a relationship. With a lot of porn.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to their logical and respective owners. I make no profit from this.
Author's Note: Look, more porn from me. I am very surprised. This is a follow-up to Receive Transmission, and you should probably read that before this. If you really don't want to, though, just know that they had kinky vidscreen sex while Nyota was stationed offplanet. All warnings/notes/info is in the header.
Nyota is a patient woman. She has to be; going into a field where it can take hours and occasionally days to complete one task and translate one message isn't exactly the career for someone with a short attention span. That said, it has been five days since she arrived home from Andoria, three since she returned to the Academy, and two since she saw Spock in person for the first time in weeks; absolutely nowhere in that time-span has she actually had the opportunity to talk to her commander. And given what they'd done via video transmission during her absence, talking is a must.
Nyota has contacted the yeoman who works for him - or rather, the yeoman-in-training, some ridiculously perky blonde called Rand who chirped, "He definitely doesn't have any appointments during lunch hour, no ma'am!" and made Nyota bridle a bit at being called ma'am (she's only five or six years older than the girl, after all) - and ascertained that indeed, Spock is free during his lunch hour today. She's nervous, understandably, but the tension slowly coiling in her stomach is uncomfortably close to arousal, and she doesn't know how this meeting will go. For all she knows, he may look at her blankly and coldly state that he has no interest in any sort of relationship - perhaps he was drunk that night, or under the influence of some weird Vulcan hormonal surge -
Don't be ridiculous, Nyota, she tells herself sternly. It's only logical that there had to be some emotion behind his actions. Or some real reason, something solid and factual, not alcohol and hormones. He's a Vulcan, not a teenage boy.
Gaila, as usual, interrupts her private musings.
"So you should really go now," she says, lolling lazily on her bed, clad in lingerie, as per the norm.
"I realize that, thanks," replies Nyota tersely, staring at herself in the mirrored closet door and tightening her ponytail. She likes the crisp way it pulls her hair back and swings low to her mid-back; it looks professional, like her freshly-ironed uniform skirt and shiny black boots, which are awaiting her on the floor at the end of her bed. She just can't seem to get it to lay perfectly, that's all.
"I still think you should bring toys," Gaila opines.
"Like I told you, there's no way it's going to get that far," Nyota repeats, tearing herself away from the mirror - really, she can only style her hair so many times before it just doesn't matter anymore - and sitting on the edge of her bed to pull on her boots. "We're on campus now. I'm a cadet and he's my teacher."
"Ex-teacher," Gaila notes.
"Ex-teacher, fine. Still violates the code of conduct, and he just wouldn't." After a moment's thought, Nyota grabs her work PADD from the mostly-unpacked suitcase that sticks out from under her bed, a sorrowful reminder of how little storage space under-the-bed actually was.
"It doesn't, actually," says Gaila, attempting to sound innocent. She isn't very good at it. "I've checked, and as long as you're not in their direct chain-of-command - which you're not, by the way - they only ask that you be discreet and not go around having sex on the front lawn." She frowns slightly. "Which is a shame."
Nyota absorbs this information, and tries to disguise her piqued interest by asking, "Who is he?"
"Who's who?"
"Whatever officer you're trying to seduce now."
"Not trying, my dear," Gaila says, fluttering her eyelashes at Nyota. "Tried. And succeeded. And…" She pauses dramatically. "Captain Christopher Pike."
"Well, you've always been ambitious," Nyota says dryly.
"Very humorous. You totally should go now."
"I'm on my way." At the door, she pauses and glances back at Gaila. "What regulation was that again?"
"Look it up yourself," the Orion says with a dirty little grin, "you'll need it."
. . .
"Sir?" Nyota blinks at the vidscreen embedded in the wall of the lecture hall. The door's locked, and none of her codes will grant her access. She taps the screen lightly, as if that would get his attention, and says into the speaker, "This is Cadet Uhura. I wanted to speak with you about something - "
His face fills the vidscreen suddenly, all perfectly composed angles and shadows and tilted brows. "You may enter, Cadet."
"Thank you," she begins, but she's cut off; he disappears from her view. When she tries the door again, it opens, and she enters the lecture hall to find him seated at his desk, a pin-straight pile of PADDs perched on the surface.
"Hello, Commander," she says, a little uncertainly, for he's not looking at her and in fact appears wholly occupied with what looks like student assignments.
"Cadet Uhura," he says, acknowledging her with a nod. When he finally brings his gaze up to meet hers, his mouth is quirked ever so slightly, the tiniest edge of a smile. "I do not believe the committee has had sufficient time to examine your thesis."
"Oh, I wasn't here about that," Nyota says, but he interrupts before she can continue.
"I typically devote my lunch hour to meditation," he informs her, "but should you wish to join me for an evening meal, I would accept your company gladly."
"Wait - " Nyota's fairly sure she's missed something. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
Spock arches one eyebrow - Nyota won't even go into what that eyebrow does to her insides - and says carefully, "It was my impression that such an engagement is a common habit of two people in a relationship."
"Well - " Nyota flails internally for a moment, and seeks solace in protocol. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Of course, Cadet," he replies, with a questioning edge to his voice.
"Okay. I've got a question." She pauses, looks at him, sitting with hands steepled, and a sudden flash of memory (his mouth on his knuckles, teeth scraping the skin, watching her writhing with avid hungry eyes) makes her body heat up, and she needs to take a deep breath before she continues. "We're in a relationship as of when, now?"
Spock is very still for a moment, eyes not wavering from Nyota's face. Then he inhales shallowly and shifts, placing his hands flat on the desk as if in penance, or to seek control, Nyota's not sure which. "I - apologize. I had thought that, given our interaction while you were stationed on Andoria, you had consented to some sort of monogamous partnership. Clearly, I was in error, and I request that you disregard my intrusion into your personal life - "
"Hang on," she says sharply, raising a hand to stop the flow of words issuing from his mouth. For a stoic species, Vulcans could chatter when they wanted. "I didn't say that a relationship would be unwanted. I just didn't know - look, it's common practice to discuss this with your partner before you decide on these things."
"Then I find I must again apologize," says Spock, now observing her closely as if she's an unknown animal who might startle at any sudden movement. "I was unaware of this convention in human courtship. Am I right in extrapolating from your previous statement that you would not be amiss to a relationship, now that you are aware of my desire for one?"
Nyota stops herself from repeating his statement - his desire for one, which translates into his desire for her, the thought of which isn't going to help her think right now, and precisely what it is about Spock that turns her into a prepubescent crushing on her teacher she doesn't know - and says instead, "I had another question, about Vulcan relationships? Typically you don't enter into them unless you plan on it being for life, right?"
He ducks his head, a stiff nod. "Affirmative. Should this concept be overwhelming for you, I am prepared to accept your declination. It is understandable."
She can't see his face, but she has a feeling he is absolutely not prepared for her answer to be no, regardless of what he's saying to preserve his dignity. Not like she'd say no, anyway; this is something she's been thinking about, both in idle daydreams and in all seriousness, for all the time she's been at the Academy. She steps forward, and leans on the desk with her hip. She places her hand down flat, scant centimeters away from his, and she's sure he notices; his posture stiffens, and a hot shiver runs through her nerves at the though of affecting him so.
"I'm definitely not going to say no," she says, a little grin working its way onto her face. "But - are you sure? That you want me, I mean. A lifetime is a big commitment."
Spock looks up at her, and his face relaxes minutely; she's a little surprised she can tell. "I have considered this for three years, two months, and sixteen days, and this is, I believe, the most logical decision."
"That long, huh?" She's staring at his fingers, long and slender and deceivingly delicate in appearance. She's remembering the way he caressed his hand before touching himself while she performed for him.
"I can be more specific, if you prefer."
She smiles in response, and strokes the length of his hand with one finger. He closes his eyes, momentarily, and exhales; his fingers curl slightly, and she whispers, "Is this okay?"
"It is...acceptable."
She takes his hand by the wrist and turns it over, and the little jolt of electricity that leaps between their skin makes her pause. If she closes her eyes, she can hear something, and smell it too, in a strange place in her mind that's simultaneously her and not-her at the same time; it's calm there, mostly, but there's a frisson of sizzling heat that's almost euphoric to experience, and it's rapidly growing, although still (mostly) under control. It's the hottest thing she's ever felt, and it makes her press her thighs together and lean closer, against the desk.
"Vulcans," Spock says, his voice huskier than usual, "are touch-telepaths."
Nyota's lips are slightly parted, and her eyelids mostly lowered; this sensation is delicious. "So - " she clears her throat, " - is it you or me who's so turned on?"
"I believe our concurrent arousal is stimulating the both of us."
"Poor choice of words there," she says, with a breathy laugh she didn't know she was capable of making. "Or a great one. I can't tell."
"I am not certain - " a hitch in his voice; she's tracing the lines on his palm with her nails, occasionally pressing the pads of her fingers against his skin, " - of what you are attempting to say."
"Doesn't matter," she replies. "Maybe you just make me incoherent."
He brings his other hand to stroke against hers, and while she doesn't have the nerve endings there that make it so pleasurable for him, she doesn't mind; watching him is a joy, the twitch of his eyelids, the way he's trying to hold his face stone-still but little things keep ruining it, like the jump of the muscle in his jaw, and the way his teeth keep scraping over his bottom lip, unconsciously, tinging it green.
Green blood, god, wonder what his cock's like, she thinks, but when she opens her mouth she asks instead, "Is anyone going to come in here?"
"I have made it clear to my students that I am not to be disturbed during my lunch hour, with exceptions for emergencies," he says, decibel level barely above a whisper. "And I do not believe any of my superiors will have reason to visit me. At any rate, the door is locked."
"Good," she says, and then, "I don't know what you want me to do," but he tugs her closer, rolling his chair back slightly to accommodate her between him and the desk, holding both of her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. The sensation shoots through his mind and through the touch of their skin straight into her groin, and she sighs in pleasure.
"Nyota - " His voice is strangled, he's trying to keep it together, and she wonders suddenly if he's a virgin.
"What do you want me to do?" She sinks to her knees in front of him, and repeats the question, pitching her voice low and sultry, operating off instinct.
"I - I do not know," he stutters, and she hasn't heard him do that her entire time at the Academy, and she presses her mouth against his fingers but doesn't kiss, doesn't lick, doesn't suck, just breathes, and his fingers twitch. "I - it is illogical, but I would like you to - "
"Tell me what to do, Commander," she murmurs, "like last time, do you remember?"
"I - yes. I remember. If you could insert my fingers in your mouth," he chokes out, and she licks a long line down his palm and takes the tips of his first two fingers between her lips. She lets her tongue dart across the sensitive pads, and whispers, "Like this?"
"Yes, that is - quite pleasurable - " His voice breaks off into a gasp when Nyota sucks both of his fingers deep into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, and drags her teeth lightly across his skin. She twists her talented tongue around his knuckles, laps and drops kisses against his palm, she loves this, fuck, she imagines his cock in her mouth, imagines sucking him off under his desk like a dirty whore, his little schoolgirl whore -
She moans around his fingers, and slides her hand up her thigh, hitching up her skirt as she does, cupping herself with just the smallest hint of tantalizing pressure, stroking herself through the damp fabric of her practical, no-nonsense underwear. She's so wet, and getting wetter, and it shocks her a little to realize that those nasty things she's imagining him saying are making her that way. She's never even considered it, degradation for pleasure, but now -
"You like it when I call you Commander?" she pants, taking his fingers from her mouth and turning her attention to his other hand. Licks and bites, blow lightly on the area where her saliva's smeared and watches him tremble at the chill. "Do you like it when - when I call myself your - "
"My - say it," he demands, and she nearly whimpers, tracing the outline of her sex with her nails against the fabric. "I require you to - "
"Your slut," she groans, and takes all four fingers of his left hand into her mouth, sucks hard, releases them. "Your slut, Commander, your little cadet fucktoy - " Teasing his palm with her tongue, his fingers deep in her mouth, he is shaking infinitesimally and he's on the edge, he's mouthing the dirty words she was just saying as if they're a prayer, and she bites down lightly, just barely, drags her teeth across his skin as she pulls his fingers out of her mouth, the suction making a pop when she pulls away -
"Nyota," he says, his voice a thread, and he shudders, hard, and the burst of pleasure she feels across the mind-link is so obvious, fuck, she made him come in his regulation trousers just by sucking on his fingers. God. She shivers, and sits back, nearly under his desk now, watching him scrabble for control, rubbing her nipples through her uniform.
After a moment, he inhales deeply, holds it, and breathes out, then opens his eyes and looks straight at her. His pupils are blown; his eyes are nearly black with lust, but now his voice is steady as he orders, "You will now sit on the desk, Nyota, and remove your undergarments."
"Yeah," she says, a little hoarse, "Yes, I definitely will." And to hell with the ramifications of loving this, absolutely reveling in being ordered around, verbally dominated - she'll worry about that later. She wriggles out from under the desk, hooking her fingers in her underwear and dropping it to the floor with a shimmy of her hips. Spock is watching her, hands steepled again, which she's beginning to realize is his sign that he's completely composed and in control of himself - damn it - and something about the intensity of his gaze makes her skin heat with nervousness. She keeps her legs pressed together when she hops up on the desk, out of some weird, prim desire for decorum.
"Nyota," Spock says, an edge of humor in his voice indicating that he's well aware of how she feels right now. And she's turned on and tenuous, and she knows it's because she's emphatically not in control of the situation, and she likes it - "recline on your elbows, and adjust your skirt so it is gathered at your waist. I require it to be out of my way for this activity."
She bites her lip and does as he says, bunching up her skirt so it can serve as a mostly-inadequate pillow under the curve of her back, leaning back on her elbows, face tilted up toward the ceiling.
"Spread your legs, Nyota," he says in a low voice.
She licks her lips and whispers, "I like it when you say my name."
"As do I," he replies, and she jumps when he touches her, his hands still sticky with saliva stroking the skin of her calves and cupping her knees to draw them apart. "Is this acceptable?"
"Yeah," she says, "yeah, it really is. It's just a little different from a vidscreen."
"Indeed." He runs his hands down her thighs and grasps her hips, drawing her to the edge of the desk, forcing her to splay her legs wide to avoid draping them over his shoulders. Nyota shuts her eyes for a moment, a flush flooding her entire body, then looks down at him between her legs. Spock appears riveted, studying her anatomy with a scientific gaze. It's both slightly off-putting and arousing.
"Fascinating." Spock touches her - oh god he touches her - stroking her entrance lightly with his thumb and looking with interest at the liquid that glistens there. "You appear to be secreting far more fluid than strictly necessary for intercourse."
"Yes, that's - " Her voice is wobbly. "Normal. It means you're doing it right."
"A helpful guiding function," he says, and caresses her inner thighs with his nails. Nyota trembles. "Really quite logical. I must tell you, Nyota, that my experience with and knowledge of the human female body extends only to the academic realm."
"That's okay," she says, and resists rocking her hips in invitation. He looks at her a moment, and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. Fuck.
"However," he continues, "I believe I have studied sufficient anecdotal material in the form of popular Terran videos and literature to perform adequately."
"I - "
He licks the pads of his fingers and spreads her open in one easy motion. Nyota's sentence cuts off with a jolt as he traces her folds from her entrance to just below her clit, circling the nub of nerves without actually touching it.
"I welcome any and all criticism you see fit to give," Spock adds, as if it's an afterthought.
"Ungh," Nyota replies, and lets her head loll back. "Just what you're doing is good - like that - yeah."
"It is illogical," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her thigh as he strokes and pets her sex, "but I find it distinctly arousing when you refer to me by my title, and to yourself in derogatory terms. I do not, of course, intend to force you to say any words which may be uncomfortable or unappealing, but - "
"I love the way you touch my cunt, Commander," she says, drawing out the last syllable with a breathy moan. He shuts up, and delves between her folds, smearing her fluids along the length of her sex, sliding a finger just barely inside her - "Fuck me with your fingers, Commander, please," - then thrusting it in sharply, curling it slightly, making Nyota whimper and rock her hips against him - "More of that, sir, yes, just like that - "
The computer whistles cheerfully, and says, "Visitor at the door requesting communication, Commander Spock."
"Receive," Spock says, and inserts another finger. "Audio only."
Nyota throws her arm over her face, half to cover her embarrassment and half to keep from moaning; a voice issues from the speaker, and she bites at the juncture of her elbow to keep from moaning. Spock's established a slow, shallow rhythm, pressing his thumb against her mons pubis and sending little vague sparks down her spine.
"Hello, Spock. I hope I'm not interrupting something, I know you meditate during lunch."
"Captain Pike," Spock says in acknowledgement. "I am in fact in the process of conducting an experiment. It is not at a stage where it may be unattended."
"Damn, sorry," says Pike, and Spock does something with his fingers inside her that makes Nyota twist on the desk. "When you're done, could you drop by my office? I've got a few things to discuss with you."
"Of course, Captain," Spock says cordially. "My current activity should be finished within the hour." He cocks an eyebrow at her, that damn eyebrow again.
"Excellent. I'll see you then."
"Spock out," he says, and turns back to her. "My apologies for the interruption. Would you like me to perform oral stimulation on you now?"
"Oh god, yes," she sighs, but the corner of his lip curls up in a smirk.
"Perhaps, Nyota, you should address me with the respect befitting a commander."
Bastard!
"Please," she gasps, "oh please, Commander, I want - I need you to lick me, I need you to lick my cunt, please - "
"What possible motivation would I have for executing such an action?"
"Oh my god, you - ," she groans, cutting off her curse just in time, and twitches under his dancing fingers. "Because I want you to, because, because I'm a slut for you and I want to come, and you want to see me come, and - "
"An adequate response," he murmurs, and ducks his head. Nyota squeals - literally squeals, a sound she didn't even think she could make previous to this - and thrashes, nearly smacking him in the head with her knee, because Spock's tongue - Spock's tongue is flickering delicately across her folds, the texture a little rougher than a human's (Vulcans, descended from felinoid apes, Nyota remembers, somewhere in the back of her mind where she's still coherent), enough to drive her insane. He's licking little circular patterns around her clit, still keeping away from direct contact, tantalizing little tastes, so so good, but Nyota's done with patience and she wants - she wants him inside her, hard cock in warm cunt, rocking in rhythm -
"Please," she begs, and her hand scrabbles across the desk, looking for purchase, eventually curling around the edge of the desk and gripping tight. "Please, god, I need more, harder - "
"Are you currently fantasizing, cadet?" he asks, low and murmuring against her flesh, and fuck if he isn't teasing her, saying the exact same thing he'd said on the vidscreen, teasing her while he's fucking her with his mouth on his desk in a goddamn lecture hall, Spock is doing this, making her body twitch and convulse and Nyota's spine jerks hard and she wails, legs shaking uncontrollably. Spock pauses to watch her, and she can only imagine the picture she makes, covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing under his tongue.
"Most fascinating," he says, as she gulps for air. "Would I be correct in saying that you have achieved orgasm?"
"Oh - oh yeah," she pants, and then, as he rolls forward in his chair and takes one of her legs, draping it over his shoulder, granting himself better access, "What are you doing?"
"I do not believe I have directly stimulated your clitoris yet," he says, "nor your Gräfenberg spot, both of which I had intended to do."
"That's - no, it's too soon, I can't - " She can feel his breath, each exhalation, warm against her oversensitive skin, but god, she wants it.
"I am disinclined to believe you, Nyota," he says - almost purrs - and spreads her apart with two fingers, holding her open and studying her. There is an almost avaricious glint in his eyes. "However, should you wish me to stop, you need only say so."
"If you stop I might kill you," she tells him, and he quite rightfully takes this as his cue to press his mouth against her again, sliding his tongue up until it bumps against her clit, making her body jump, and he curves his arm around her hip to hold her open from above, giving him more room to lick and suck, and he wraps his lips around her clit and it feels so good it almost hurts -
"This time," he directs, between laps, "you must wait until my order to reach climax. In addition - " he sucks hard and suddenly, making her squeak, " - I believe I had previously asked you to tell me the contents of your fantasies."
"I - god, exactly like this - " He expects her to talk right now? " - I always imagined it just like this, in class I'd think about it, stare at you while you lectured and think, god, make myself so hot I'd go back to my room and finger my cunt thinking about you, oh, your fingers inside me, what you'd do with that mouth, your cock, what it'd feel like stretching me open, hard and long and hot, you fucking me - "
He makes a little indecipherable sound, and thrusts two fingers inside her without warning, still licking and sucking at her, and she can hear the wet slap of his flesh against hers and the slick suction, and she digs her fingers in his immaculate hair, sobs a little and begs, "Please, Spock, please, I need to, let me come, oh god Spock - "
She writhes and howls and grinds against his face, and he grips her thighs hard and takes her over the edge with a twist of his fingers.
. . .
When she manages to regroup and create some semblance of coherency in her mind, Spock is still in his chair, stroking her hand with two fingers and watching her carefully.
"Hi," she says, and gives him a lazy smile. She feels languid and boneless, like she might just dissolve into a puddle on his desk.
"I don't believe exchanging greetings is appropriate at the moment," he replies. His eyes are still nearly black, and she can tell from the little spark-links triggered by the brush of their hands that he's ready for another round. "Or would this be an example of another human habit with which I am unfamiliar?"
"No," she says, turning her hand palm-up so he traces designs in the center of her palm. "Just something to say."
"Ah," he says, and pauses. He seems uncertain somehow, choosing his words carefully. "I apologize if I appeared forceful in any way. The telepathic bond between us was somewhat - overwhelming."
"Was there a bond?" she asks curiously. "I didn't notice anything."
"It is rare for psi-null beings to sense this temporary bond without direct hand-to-hand contact," he says. "Whereas Vulcans can sense it every time we are subject to direct contact with another."
"That must be weird," she says, and wonders how it would be, to know how someone else was feeling every single time she touched their skin. No wonder Vulcans learn such strict control over their emotions.
"One learns to manage it."
She is silent for a moment, processing that. "You didn't, by the way."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Force me, in any way. You did exactly what I wanted you to."
A pause. "I am gratified."
Nyota sits up, perched on the end of the desk, and extends her arms to him. "Come here."
He observes her for a moment, then takes her hands in his and stands, stepping into the circle of her arms. She presses her lips against his, and he doesn't respond for a moment; before she pulls away, though, he does, moving his mouth and tongue as if he's mimicking a diagram. He'll get better, she thinks, and breaks the kiss to look at him, gazing at his dark eyes.
"I have seen human kisses performed but have never taken part in one," he says quietly. "I had thought them ineffectual and showy. However, I do see the appeal now."
"That's good," she replies. "Again?"
This time, Spock kisses her, and if the way he nibbles on her lip and teases her mouth with his tongue is any indication, he is certainly a very quick learner.
"I must admit, Nyota," he murmurs against her lips, "that stimulating you and your subsequent climax has aroused me, and I would like to repeat that experiment. I am not certain if this is typical of either a Vulcan or human male."
"It is," she assures him. "I don't think I'm up for more oral, though."
"Ah," he says again, and his voice is toneless.
"I've got an idea," she says, and prods his chest slightly. "Go on, scoot." He steps back a pace or two, looking bemused, and she hops off the desk. She was telling the truth, she's too tender to take any more of his mouth on her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want more of him, or him inside her, and if she's positioned correctly, he won't be at an angle to overwork her clit more than it has been already.
Nyota turns to face his desk, skirt still rucked up around her waist, panties still underfoot, and bends down, steadying herself on her palms, rising up slightly on the balls of her feet to accent the taut muscles in her legs and buttocks. She hears Spock inhale sharply, and raise his hand to glide it over the dark skin of her lower back; she cranes her neck to look at him.
"We do have approximately twenty-two minutes remaining before I must prepare for my next class," he says, one eyebrow arching as she takes his hand in hers and guides it between her legs, pressing it against her entrance.
"In that case, Commander," she says, and sees the tiny twitch in his jaw at her use of his title. "I'm at your service."
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count: ~5000
Prompt: From st_xi_kink: Spock eats out Uhura. On his desk. In between classes. She's extremely aroused and embarrassed from the chance of being caught, while Spock's just "It would be illogical for us not to take advantage of the scant time we are alone". I'd loveloveLOVE it if they weren't officially together yet or if it was just the beginning of their relationship.
Warnings: None
Kinks: Dirty talk, authority kink (cadet/commander), multiple orgasms, gratuitous hand!porn, some (porny) fluff at the end
Summary: Does exactly what it says on the tin. Or, if you like, you could consider this a meeting to discuss their mutual attraction and the benefits of entering into a relationship. With a lot of porn.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to their logical and respective owners. I make no profit from this.
Author's Note: Look, more porn from me. I am very surprised. This is a follow-up to Receive Transmission, and you should probably read that before this. If you really don't want to, though, just know that they had kinky vidscreen sex while Nyota was stationed offplanet. All warnings/notes/info is in the header.
Nyota is a patient woman. She has to be; going into a field where it can take hours and occasionally days to complete one task and translate one message isn't exactly the career for someone with a short attention span. That said, it has been five days since she arrived home from Andoria, three since she returned to the Academy, and two since she saw Spock in person for the first time in weeks; absolutely nowhere in that time-span has she actually had the opportunity to talk to her commander. And given what they'd done via video transmission during her absence, talking is a must.
Nyota has contacted the yeoman who works for him - or rather, the yeoman-in-training, some ridiculously perky blonde called Rand who chirped, "He definitely doesn't have any appointments during lunch hour, no ma'am!" and made Nyota bridle a bit at being called ma'am (she's only five or six years older than the girl, after all) - and ascertained that indeed, Spock is free during his lunch hour today. She's nervous, understandably, but the tension slowly coiling in her stomach is uncomfortably close to arousal, and she doesn't know how this meeting will go. For all she knows, he may look at her blankly and coldly state that he has no interest in any sort of relationship - perhaps he was drunk that night, or under the influence of some weird Vulcan hormonal surge -
Don't be ridiculous, Nyota, she tells herself sternly. It's only logical that there had to be some emotion behind his actions. Or some real reason, something solid and factual, not alcohol and hormones. He's a Vulcan, not a teenage boy.
Gaila, as usual, interrupts her private musings.
"So you should really go now," she says, lolling lazily on her bed, clad in lingerie, as per the norm.
"I realize that, thanks," replies Nyota tersely, staring at herself in the mirrored closet door and tightening her ponytail. She likes the crisp way it pulls her hair back and swings low to her mid-back; it looks professional, like her freshly-ironed uniform skirt and shiny black boots, which are awaiting her on the floor at the end of her bed. She just can't seem to get it to lay perfectly, that's all.
"I still think you should bring toys," Gaila opines.
"Like I told you, there's no way it's going to get that far," Nyota repeats, tearing herself away from the mirror - really, she can only style her hair so many times before it just doesn't matter anymore - and sitting on the edge of her bed to pull on her boots. "We're on campus now. I'm a cadet and he's my teacher."
"Ex-teacher," Gaila notes.
"Ex-teacher, fine. Still violates the code of conduct, and he just wouldn't." After a moment's thought, Nyota grabs her work PADD from the mostly-unpacked suitcase that sticks out from under her bed, a sorrowful reminder of how little storage space under-the-bed actually was.
"It doesn't, actually," says Gaila, attempting to sound innocent. She isn't very good at it. "I've checked, and as long as you're not in their direct chain-of-command - which you're not, by the way - they only ask that you be discreet and not go around having sex on the front lawn." She frowns slightly. "Which is a shame."
Nyota absorbs this information, and tries to disguise her piqued interest by asking, "Who is he?"
"Who's who?"
"Whatever officer you're trying to seduce now."
"Not trying, my dear," Gaila says, fluttering her eyelashes at Nyota. "Tried. And succeeded. And…" She pauses dramatically. "Captain Christopher Pike."
"Well, you've always been ambitious," Nyota says dryly.
"Very humorous. You totally should go now."
"I'm on my way." At the door, she pauses and glances back at Gaila. "What regulation was that again?"
"Look it up yourself," the Orion says with a dirty little grin, "you'll need it."
. . .
"Sir?" Nyota blinks at the vidscreen embedded in the wall of the lecture hall. The door's locked, and none of her codes will grant her access. She taps the screen lightly, as if that would get his attention, and says into the speaker, "This is Cadet Uhura. I wanted to speak with you about something - "
His face fills the vidscreen suddenly, all perfectly composed angles and shadows and tilted brows. "You may enter, Cadet."
"Thank you," she begins, but she's cut off; he disappears from her view. When she tries the door again, it opens, and she enters the lecture hall to find him seated at his desk, a pin-straight pile of PADDs perched on the surface.
"Hello, Commander," she says, a little uncertainly, for he's not looking at her and in fact appears wholly occupied with what looks like student assignments.
"Cadet Uhura," he says, acknowledging her with a nod. When he finally brings his gaze up to meet hers, his mouth is quirked ever so slightly, the tiniest edge of a smile. "I do not believe the committee has had sufficient time to examine your thesis."
"Oh, I wasn't here about that," Nyota says, but he interrupts before she can continue.
"I typically devote my lunch hour to meditation," he informs her, "but should you wish to join me for an evening meal, I would accept your company gladly."
"Wait - " Nyota's fairly sure she's missed something. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
Spock arches one eyebrow - Nyota won't even go into what that eyebrow does to her insides - and says carefully, "It was my impression that such an engagement is a common habit of two people in a relationship."
"Well - " Nyota flails internally for a moment, and seeks solace in protocol. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Of course, Cadet," he replies, with a questioning edge to his voice.
"Okay. I've got a question." She pauses, looks at him, sitting with hands steepled, and a sudden flash of memory (his mouth on his knuckles, teeth scraping the skin, watching her writhing with avid hungry eyes) makes her body heat up, and she needs to take a deep breath before she continues. "We're in a relationship as of when, now?"
Spock is very still for a moment, eyes not wavering from Nyota's face. Then he inhales shallowly and shifts, placing his hands flat on the desk as if in penance, or to seek control, Nyota's not sure which. "I - apologize. I had thought that, given our interaction while you were stationed on Andoria, you had consented to some sort of monogamous partnership. Clearly, I was in error, and I request that you disregard my intrusion into your personal life - "
"Hang on," she says sharply, raising a hand to stop the flow of words issuing from his mouth. For a stoic species, Vulcans could chatter when they wanted. "I didn't say that a relationship would be unwanted. I just didn't know - look, it's common practice to discuss this with your partner before you decide on these things."
"Then I find I must again apologize," says Spock, now observing her closely as if she's an unknown animal who might startle at any sudden movement. "I was unaware of this convention in human courtship. Am I right in extrapolating from your previous statement that you would not be amiss to a relationship, now that you are aware of my desire for one?"
Nyota stops herself from repeating his statement - his desire for one, which translates into his desire for her, the thought of which isn't going to help her think right now, and precisely what it is about Spock that turns her into a prepubescent crushing on her teacher she doesn't know - and says instead, "I had another question, about Vulcan relationships? Typically you don't enter into them unless you plan on it being for life, right?"
He ducks his head, a stiff nod. "Affirmative. Should this concept be overwhelming for you, I am prepared to accept your declination. It is understandable."
She can't see his face, but she has a feeling he is absolutely not prepared for her answer to be no, regardless of what he's saying to preserve his dignity. Not like she'd say no, anyway; this is something she's been thinking about, both in idle daydreams and in all seriousness, for all the time she's been at the Academy. She steps forward, and leans on the desk with her hip. She places her hand down flat, scant centimeters away from his, and she's sure he notices; his posture stiffens, and a hot shiver runs through her nerves at the though of affecting him so.
"I'm definitely not going to say no," she says, a little grin working its way onto her face. "But - are you sure? That you want me, I mean. A lifetime is a big commitment."
Spock looks up at her, and his face relaxes minutely; she's a little surprised she can tell. "I have considered this for three years, two months, and sixteen days, and this is, I believe, the most logical decision."
"That long, huh?" She's staring at his fingers, long and slender and deceivingly delicate in appearance. She's remembering the way he caressed his hand before touching himself while she performed for him.
"I can be more specific, if you prefer."
She smiles in response, and strokes the length of his hand with one finger. He closes his eyes, momentarily, and exhales; his fingers curl slightly, and she whispers, "Is this okay?"
"It is...acceptable."
She takes his hand by the wrist and turns it over, and the little jolt of electricity that leaps between their skin makes her pause. If she closes her eyes, she can hear something, and smell it too, in a strange place in her mind that's simultaneously her and not-her at the same time; it's calm there, mostly, but there's a frisson of sizzling heat that's almost euphoric to experience, and it's rapidly growing, although still (mostly) under control. It's the hottest thing she's ever felt, and it makes her press her thighs together and lean closer, against the desk.
"Vulcans," Spock says, his voice huskier than usual, "are touch-telepaths."
Nyota's lips are slightly parted, and her eyelids mostly lowered; this sensation is delicious. "So - " she clears her throat, " - is it you or me who's so turned on?"
"I believe our concurrent arousal is stimulating the both of us."
"Poor choice of words there," she says, with a breathy laugh she didn't know she was capable of making. "Or a great one. I can't tell."
"I am not certain - " a hitch in his voice; she's tracing the lines on his palm with her nails, occasionally pressing the pads of her fingers against his skin, " - of what you are attempting to say."
"Doesn't matter," she replies. "Maybe you just make me incoherent."
He brings his other hand to stroke against hers, and while she doesn't have the nerve endings there that make it so pleasurable for him, she doesn't mind; watching him is a joy, the twitch of his eyelids, the way he's trying to hold his face stone-still but little things keep ruining it, like the jump of the muscle in his jaw, and the way his teeth keep scraping over his bottom lip, unconsciously, tinging it green.
Green blood, god, wonder what his cock's like, she thinks, but when she opens her mouth she asks instead, "Is anyone going to come in here?"
"I have made it clear to my students that I am not to be disturbed during my lunch hour, with exceptions for emergencies," he says, decibel level barely above a whisper. "And I do not believe any of my superiors will have reason to visit me. At any rate, the door is locked."
"Good," she says, and then, "I don't know what you want me to do," but he tugs her closer, rolling his chair back slightly to accommodate her between him and the desk, holding both of her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. The sensation shoots through his mind and through the touch of their skin straight into her groin, and she sighs in pleasure.
"Nyota - " His voice is strangled, he's trying to keep it together, and she wonders suddenly if he's a virgin.
"What do you want me to do?" She sinks to her knees in front of him, and repeats the question, pitching her voice low and sultry, operating off instinct.
"I - I do not know," he stutters, and she hasn't heard him do that her entire time at the Academy, and she presses her mouth against his fingers but doesn't kiss, doesn't lick, doesn't suck, just breathes, and his fingers twitch. "I - it is illogical, but I would like you to - "
"Tell me what to do, Commander," she murmurs, "like last time, do you remember?"
"I - yes. I remember. If you could insert my fingers in your mouth," he chokes out, and she licks a long line down his palm and takes the tips of his first two fingers between her lips. She lets her tongue dart across the sensitive pads, and whispers, "Like this?"
"Yes, that is - quite pleasurable - " His voice breaks off into a gasp when Nyota sucks both of his fingers deep into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, and drags her teeth lightly across his skin. She twists her talented tongue around his knuckles, laps and drops kisses against his palm, she loves this, fuck, she imagines his cock in her mouth, imagines sucking him off under his desk like a dirty whore, his little schoolgirl whore -
She moans around his fingers, and slides her hand up her thigh, hitching up her skirt as she does, cupping herself with just the smallest hint of tantalizing pressure, stroking herself through the damp fabric of her practical, no-nonsense underwear. She's so wet, and getting wetter, and it shocks her a little to realize that those nasty things she's imagining him saying are making her that way. She's never even considered it, degradation for pleasure, but now -
"You like it when I call you Commander?" she pants, taking his fingers from her mouth and turning her attention to his other hand. Licks and bites, blow lightly on the area where her saliva's smeared and watches him tremble at the chill. "Do you like it when - when I call myself your - "
"My - say it," he demands, and she nearly whimpers, tracing the outline of her sex with her nails against the fabric. "I require you to - "
"Your slut," she groans, and takes all four fingers of his left hand into her mouth, sucks hard, releases them. "Your slut, Commander, your little cadet fucktoy - " Teasing his palm with her tongue, his fingers deep in her mouth, he is shaking infinitesimally and he's on the edge, he's mouthing the dirty words she was just saying as if they're a prayer, and she bites down lightly, just barely, drags her teeth across his skin as she pulls his fingers out of her mouth, the suction making a pop when she pulls away -
"Nyota," he says, his voice a thread, and he shudders, hard, and the burst of pleasure she feels across the mind-link is so obvious, fuck, she made him come in his regulation trousers just by sucking on his fingers. God. She shivers, and sits back, nearly under his desk now, watching him scrabble for control, rubbing her nipples through her uniform.
After a moment, he inhales deeply, holds it, and breathes out, then opens his eyes and looks straight at her. His pupils are blown; his eyes are nearly black with lust, but now his voice is steady as he orders, "You will now sit on the desk, Nyota, and remove your undergarments."
"Yeah," she says, a little hoarse, "Yes, I definitely will." And to hell with the ramifications of loving this, absolutely reveling in being ordered around, verbally dominated - she'll worry about that later. She wriggles out from under the desk, hooking her fingers in her underwear and dropping it to the floor with a shimmy of her hips. Spock is watching her, hands steepled again, which she's beginning to realize is his sign that he's completely composed and in control of himself - damn it - and something about the intensity of his gaze makes her skin heat with nervousness. She keeps her legs pressed together when she hops up on the desk, out of some weird, prim desire for decorum.
"Nyota," Spock says, an edge of humor in his voice indicating that he's well aware of how she feels right now. And she's turned on and tenuous, and she knows it's because she's emphatically not in control of the situation, and she likes it - "recline on your elbows, and adjust your skirt so it is gathered at your waist. I require it to be out of my way for this activity."
She bites her lip and does as he says, bunching up her skirt so it can serve as a mostly-inadequate pillow under the curve of her back, leaning back on her elbows, face tilted up toward the ceiling.
"Spread your legs, Nyota," he says in a low voice.
She licks her lips and whispers, "I like it when you say my name."
"As do I," he replies, and she jumps when he touches her, his hands still sticky with saliva stroking the skin of her calves and cupping her knees to draw them apart. "Is this acceptable?"
"Yeah," she says, "yeah, it really is. It's just a little different from a vidscreen."
"Indeed." He runs his hands down her thighs and grasps her hips, drawing her to the edge of the desk, forcing her to splay her legs wide to avoid draping them over his shoulders. Nyota shuts her eyes for a moment, a flush flooding her entire body, then looks down at him between her legs. Spock appears riveted, studying her anatomy with a scientific gaze. It's both slightly off-putting and arousing.
"Fascinating." Spock touches her - oh god he touches her - stroking her entrance lightly with his thumb and looking with interest at the liquid that glistens there. "You appear to be secreting far more fluid than strictly necessary for intercourse."
"Yes, that's - " Her voice is wobbly. "Normal. It means you're doing it right."
"A helpful guiding function," he says, and caresses her inner thighs with his nails. Nyota trembles. "Really quite logical. I must tell you, Nyota, that my experience with and knowledge of the human female body extends only to the academic realm."
"That's okay," she says, and resists rocking her hips in invitation. He looks at her a moment, and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. Fuck.
"However," he continues, "I believe I have studied sufficient anecdotal material in the form of popular Terran videos and literature to perform adequately."
"I - "
He licks the pads of his fingers and spreads her open in one easy motion. Nyota's sentence cuts off with a jolt as he traces her folds from her entrance to just below her clit, circling the nub of nerves without actually touching it.
"I welcome any and all criticism you see fit to give," Spock adds, as if it's an afterthought.
"Ungh," Nyota replies, and lets her head loll back. "Just what you're doing is good - like that - yeah."
"It is illogical," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her thigh as he strokes and pets her sex, "but I find it distinctly arousing when you refer to me by my title, and to yourself in derogatory terms. I do not, of course, intend to force you to say any words which may be uncomfortable or unappealing, but - "
"I love the way you touch my cunt, Commander," she says, drawing out the last syllable with a breathy moan. He shuts up, and delves between her folds, smearing her fluids along the length of her sex, sliding a finger just barely inside her - "Fuck me with your fingers, Commander, please," - then thrusting it in sharply, curling it slightly, making Nyota whimper and rock her hips against him - "More of that, sir, yes, just like that - "
The computer whistles cheerfully, and says, "Visitor at the door requesting communication, Commander Spock."
"Receive," Spock says, and inserts another finger. "Audio only."
Nyota throws her arm over her face, half to cover her embarrassment and half to keep from moaning; a voice issues from the speaker, and she bites at the juncture of her elbow to keep from moaning. Spock's established a slow, shallow rhythm, pressing his thumb against her mons pubis and sending little vague sparks down her spine.
"Hello, Spock. I hope I'm not interrupting something, I know you meditate during lunch."
"Captain Pike," Spock says in acknowledgement. "I am in fact in the process of conducting an experiment. It is not at a stage where it may be unattended."
"Damn, sorry," says Pike, and Spock does something with his fingers inside her that makes Nyota twist on the desk. "When you're done, could you drop by my office? I've got a few things to discuss with you."
"Of course, Captain," Spock says cordially. "My current activity should be finished within the hour." He cocks an eyebrow at her, that damn eyebrow again.
"Excellent. I'll see you then."
"Spock out," he says, and turns back to her. "My apologies for the interruption. Would you like me to perform oral stimulation on you now?"
"Oh god, yes," she sighs, but the corner of his lip curls up in a smirk.
"Perhaps, Nyota, you should address me with the respect befitting a commander."
Bastard!
"Please," she gasps, "oh please, Commander, I want - I need you to lick me, I need you to lick my cunt, please - "
"What possible motivation would I have for executing such an action?"
"Oh my god, you - ," she groans, cutting off her curse just in time, and twitches under his dancing fingers. "Because I want you to, because, because I'm a slut for you and I want to come, and you want to see me come, and - "
"An adequate response," he murmurs, and ducks his head. Nyota squeals - literally squeals, a sound she didn't even think she could make previous to this - and thrashes, nearly smacking him in the head with her knee, because Spock's tongue - Spock's tongue is flickering delicately across her folds, the texture a little rougher than a human's (Vulcans, descended from felinoid apes, Nyota remembers, somewhere in the back of her mind where she's still coherent), enough to drive her insane. He's licking little circular patterns around her clit, still keeping away from direct contact, tantalizing little tastes, so so good, but Nyota's done with patience and she wants - she wants him inside her, hard cock in warm cunt, rocking in rhythm -
"Please," she begs, and her hand scrabbles across the desk, looking for purchase, eventually curling around the edge of the desk and gripping tight. "Please, god, I need more, harder - "
"Are you currently fantasizing, cadet?" he asks, low and murmuring against her flesh, and fuck if he isn't teasing her, saying the exact same thing he'd said on the vidscreen, teasing her while he's fucking her with his mouth on his desk in a goddamn lecture hall, Spock is doing this, making her body twitch and convulse and Nyota's spine jerks hard and she wails, legs shaking uncontrollably. Spock pauses to watch her, and she can only imagine the picture she makes, covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing under his tongue.
"Most fascinating," he says, as she gulps for air. "Would I be correct in saying that you have achieved orgasm?"
"Oh - oh yeah," she pants, and then, as he rolls forward in his chair and takes one of her legs, draping it over his shoulder, granting himself better access, "What are you doing?"
"I do not believe I have directly stimulated your clitoris yet," he says, "nor your Gräfenberg spot, both of which I had intended to do."
"That's - no, it's too soon, I can't - " She can feel his breath, each exhalation, warm against her oversensitive skin, but god, she wants it.
"I am disinclined to believe you, Nyota," he says - almost purrs - and spreads her apart with two fingers, holding her open and studying her. There is an almost avaricious glint in his eyes. "However, should you wish me to stop, you need only say so."
"If you stop I might kill you," she tells him, and he quite rightfully takes this as his cue to press his mouth against her again, sliding his tongue up until it bumps against her clit, making her body jump, and he curves his arm around her hip to hold her open from above, giving him more room to lick and suck, and he wraps his lips around her clit and it feels so good it almost hurts -
"This time," he directs, between laps, "you must wait until my order to reach climax. In addition - " he sucks hard and suddenly, making her squeak, " - I believe I had previously asked you to tell me the contents of your fantasies."
"I - god, exactly like this - " He expects her to talk right now? " - I always imagined it just like this, in class I'd think about it, stare at you while you lectured and think, god, make myself so hot I'd go back to my room and finger my cunt thinking about you, oh, your fingers inside me, what you'd do with that mouth, your cock, what it'd feel like stretching me open, hard and long and hot, you fucking me - "
He makes a little indecipherable sound, and thrusts two fingers inside her without warning, still licking and sucking at her, and she can hear the wet slap of his flesh against hers and the slick suction, and she digs her fingers in his immaculate hair, sobs a little and begs, "Please, Spock, please, I need to, let me come, oh god Spock - "
She writhes and howls and grinds against his face, and he grips her thighs hard and takes her over the edge with a twist of his fingers.
. . .
When she manages to regroup and create some semblance of coherency in her mind, Spock is still in his chair, stroking her hand with two fingers and watching her carefully.
"Hi," she says, and gives him a lazy smile. She feels languid and boneless, like she might just dissolve into a puddle on his desk.
"I don't believe exchanging greetings is appropriate at the moment," he replies. His eyes are still nearly black, and she can tell from the little spark-links triggered by the brush of their hands that he's ready for another round. "Or would this be an example of another human habit with which I am unfamiliar?"
"No," she says, turning her hand palm-up so he traces designs in the center of her palm. "Just something to say."
"Ah," he says, and pauses. He seems uncertain somehow, choosing his words carefully. "I apologize if I appeared forceful in any way. The telepathic bond between us was somewhat - overwhelming."
"Was there a bond?" she asks curiously. "I didn't notice anything."
"It is rare for psi-null beings to sense this temporary bond without direct hand-to-hand contact," he says. "Whereas Vulcans can sense it every time we are subject to direct contact with another."
"That must be weird," she says, and wonders how it would be, to know how someone else was feeling every single time she touched their skin. No wonder Vulcans learn such strict control over their emotions.
"One learns to manage it."
She is silent for a moment, processing that. "You didn't, by the way."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Force me, in any way. You did exactly what I wanted you to."
A pause. "I am gratified."
Nyota sits up, perched on the end of the desk, and extends her arms to him. "Come here."
He observes her for a moment, then takes her hands in his and stands, stepping into the circle of her arms. She presses her lips against his, and he doesn't respond for a moment; before she pulls away, though, he does, moving his mouth and tongue as if he's mimicking a diagram. He'll get better, she thinks, and breaks the kiss to look at him, gazing at his dark eyes.
"I have seen human kisses performed but have never taken part in one," he says quietly. "I had thought them ineffectual and showy. However, I do see the appeal now."
"That's good," she replies. "Again?"
This time, Spock kisses her, and if the way he nibbles on her lip and teases her mouth with his tongue is any indication, he is certainly a very quick learner.
"I must admit, Nyota," he murmurs against her lips, "that stimulating you and your subsequent climax has aroused me, and I would like to repeat that experiment. I am not certain if this is typical of either a Vulcan or human male."
"It is," she assures him. "I don't think I'm up for more oral, though."
"Ah," he says again, and his voice is toneless.
"I've got an idea," she says, and prods his chest slightly. "Go on, scoot." He steps back a pace or two, looking bemused, and she hops off the desk. She was telling the truth, she's too tender to take any more of his mouth on her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want more of him, or him inside her, and if she's positioned correctly, he won't be at an angle to overwork her clit more than it has been already.
Nyota turns to face his desk, skirt still rucked up around her waist, panties still underfoot, and bends down, steadying herself on her palms, rising up slightly on the balls of her feet to accent the taut muscles in her legs and buttocks. She hears Spock inhale sharply, and raise his hand to glide it over the dark skin of her lower back; she cranes her neck to look at him.
"We do have approximately twenty-two minutes remaining before I must prepare for my next class," he says, one eyebrow arching as she takes his hand in hers and guides it between her legs, pressing it against her entrance.
"In that case, Commander," she says, and sees the tiny twitch in his jaw at her use of his title. "I'm at your service."