Fic: A Distraction of Planetary Proportions (Earth/Vulcan, NC-17)
Title: A Distraction of Planetary Proportions
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Earth/Vulcan
Word Count: ~6500
Prompt: At st_xi_kink_meme: Anyways, Hetalia turns all the countries into people, yes? So, I want the Star Trek version - PLANETS with anthropomorphic representations! Specifically, Earth (female) and Vulcan (male), with the whole "first meeting" thing. And sex.
Warnings: None (warning policy in profile)
Kinks: Virgin!sex, utter crack
Summary: Terra does not comport herself as a planet should. She smiles, she laughs, she is overly involved with her humans, and she won't stop touching him. Vulcan should disregard her presence entirely and concentrate on his diplomatic affairs, but she is very....distracting. He does not realize that this is merely the beginning.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to their logical and respective owners. I make no profit from this.
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to slashed42 for the beta and the encouragement. :D
Sometimes Terra really hates manifesting in this body, despite the convenience; it's so sensitive and fragile, and prone to stupid things like heatstroke and fainting. But thankfully not sunburn; she learned the hard way about that, and promptly decided to never again take a form that puts her at much risk for injury from Sol's rays. It's kind of ridiculous; as her true self, his touch is light and warm, comforting, and when they meet in manifestations like this he's always the gentlest of lovers. Unlike Venus, the selfish bitch, she thinks that her golden glow makes her so special when really she tastes toxic on Terra's tongue. Or Mercurius, who's not only unimpressively sized but tends be rather quick during the act.
But it's only polite to manifest as your dominant species when meeting other planets; it makes it easier to travel and communicate when you don't have to rely on the stars to send your messages. And Sol's the only one who ever gets them straight, anyway. (Terra will never forget that time she was flirting with Gliese E and damn Antares screwed it up. Teaches her to trust stars with important information; Gliese has never spoken to her since. This despite Terra's affirmations that she actually has great control over her seismic waves! She spent a while gloomily precipitating a wet, freezing snow in her northern hemisphere until she decided it was his loss, and there were other planets in the galaxy, after all.) She's curious what this new guy will be like; she hears he's very dry and arid. But since his people - he calls them the vuhlkansu - are supposed to be humanoid (and her humans are absolutely attractive), they can't be that much different.
Maybe he'll even be sexy. A planet can dream.
Terra gathers her mass of dark curls into a messy bun on the back of her head. Her skin's sticky with sweat, and scraggly bits of hair are plastered to her neck, but with a little concentration, she creates clouds to shield her from Sol, and summons a light breeze, which cools her down immediately. The change in weather is quick enough to make the humans confused; Terra blinks and looks as innocent as possible as one of them remarks to her about how you just can't trust the weather these days, not in this city!
"No, sir!" she replies smartly, "this entire planet's just crazy when it comes to the atmosphere!"
The human laughs and claps her on the back before turning to another one, dressed like Terra in the uniform of a military diplomat. Terra grins at the human's back; she loves these things, they're all so...adorably naive. She could stand here and talk about the weather all day, without any of them knowing that she's actually describing who she really is and just how she knows so much about the atmospheric predictions for the day.
Even from this formal conference hall, she can feel the rumble of the shuttle on the landing pad as it docks, carrying the vuhlkansu delegation with it. The humans stop chattering, and quickly file into order, Terra falling into her place in the lineup. All together, dressed in their military best, they look good, shiny and formidable, and Terra feels an overwhelming burst of pride for her favorite species.
The humans don't have long to wait; the vuhlkansu are apparently a very prompt people. When the first ambassador walks into the room, accompanied by the president of the United American Continents, the entire atmosphere inside changes, a nervous fizz in the air; all of the people here have been briefed on their guests, their strange habits and peculiar philosophies, as well as a basic biological overview, but there's something different between knowing that the blood pulsing far too quickly beneath that skin is copper-based, and seeing the green tint in the cheeks and lips of the chief ambassador and his people as they coolly survey the human representatives.
Terra can pick out Vulcan immediately; there's something about planets, even when they look, act, speak, and walk like their species, that's instantly recognizable, some sort of innate instinct that tells her when one of her kind is in the room. He is, no doubt, an example of the ideal vuhlkansu male: tall, lean, muscular, his face full of angles and planes, eyebrows stark black against his pale skin and tilted at an alarming angle. He's got a silly little haircut that reminds Terra fondly of those nice musicians from the humans' twentieth century, only a lot more defined, and ears that narrow into a point, like a cat's. He looks directly at her, and his eyes are startling in their intensity; she gives him a little smile and wiggles her fingers in greeting, and he studies her a moment before replying with one stately nod. She drops her hand and recalls what Pluton had told her about Vulcan: that he's basically emotionless, or near enough to be called so, and very, very smart.
("A bit of a downer, in all honesty," Pluton had confided, being the only one close enough to the Kuipers to hear gossip from outside their solar system. "But who knows? You know what they say about the quiet ones.")
The formal greetings and little threats exchanged and finished, the delegations are free to interact as they wish. Lurking by a table stacked with vegetarian hors d'œuvres and drinks in pretty fluted glasses, she observes Vulcan as he moves around the room. He's the consummate diplomat, saying very little but noticing much. His eyes keep flicking towards her, she sees, and she wonders if he's curious about her, too.
Ouranos and Sol always mock her gently for being the most active and inquisitive of all the planets in the system, and it's true. Terra smiles, picks up a glass, and wends her way through the crowd in Vulcan's direction. She has a reputation to keep up.
. . .
It could be said that Vulcan enjoys diplomatic exchanges such as this; T'Khut has previously told him that his scientific curiosity is insatiable, and that he should be content to drift like she does, in careful orbit around 40 Eridani A, speaking only when spoken to as the quiet, contemplative planet prefers. Vulcan eschews this existence for a more active one, as he prefers; he would not, however, say he enjoys his lifestyle, as enjoyment is an emotion he would not commonly ascribe to either himself or his dominant species. He would merely say that it is the logical path to discovering as much as he can about the universe he inhabits.
For example, without such logical exploration, he would not have encountered this species, nor their perplexing habit of serving gratuitous amounts of ethyl alcohol at presumably diplomatic events. He is well aware that his own people once performed similar rites, in their distant past, and of the identical propensities of the Etoshan pirates and other Orion species, but has not come across a civilized species that insists on doing the same. At least, he assumes these humans are civilized. They have not made contact with off-world species before, but there has been no call to arms, no threats of violence, and no signs of backstabbing or other decidedly uncultured behavior. Nonetheless, they are loud, gregarious, and extraordinarily naive. It is most intriguing, and he is curious to meet the planet that spawned such creatures.
She - the planet who calls herself Terra - is watching him from across the room, studying him much as he evaluates her. Vulcan clasps his hands behind his back, and considers his admittedly limited knowledge of the planet: the atmosphere is 78.08 percent nitrogen, 20.95 percent oxygen, with miniscule hints of argon and carbon dioxide; humans had clearly taken steps in the direction of total destruction of the atmosphere, but they had chosen to eliminate such harmful chemicals from the biosphere nonetheless. An interesting fact; it indicates that humans are at least aware enough of their environment to make an effort at sustaining it. It is a metaphorical point in their favor. Of course, he is not keeping score. What purpose would that serve?
Disturbingly, he finds that Terra has taken it upon herself to make their acquaintance. Vulcan takes one step back, steadying himself in preparation - upon initial greetings, most planets attempt some kind of physical contact, and he finds it impolite to immediately discourage such behavior - and appraises her as she approaches. The human form she has chosen is a native of her equatorial region, is above the average height for a human female, and does not quite meet the slim, cool standard his people consider beautiful. Nonetheless, she undoubtedly suits the human palate, which appears to appreciate vivaciousness as neither Vulcan nor the vuhlkansu are used to doing. Her eyes are expressive and volatile, like her seas and her skies, and she has a smirking sliver of a smile upon her lips.
It makes him slightly uneasy, and very fascinated indeed.
She stops before him, and he notes that she wears the uniform of a junior diplomat, a sharp contrast to the dark ambassador's robes he's draped in. He does not know why she would choose to impersonate such a low-ranking official; it seems impractical.
"Hi," she says, not in a dialect native to her people or his, but in the celestial chiming that is the sole language of the spheres. Vulcan sees a few heads turn their way, eyes glassy as those of any less-evolved species tend to be when hearing such a tongue.
He raises his hand in the traditional salute of his people, and replies, pointedly speaking the smooth English of this particular country. "Greetings. I trust you are well?"
"Very," she says, and takes a sip of the drink she carries in one hand. Vulcan has never partaken of the food of his people; he watches her with one eyebrow slightly arched as she deepens the sip into a full-fledged gulp. "You?"
"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances."
She laughs, which is a peculiar sound. He hasn't heard it in centuries, this clear carefree sound, free of the diabolical cast often heard from the Orions.
"What, you mean this?" Terra gestures expansively at the milling diplomats. "Come on, don't you like it?" She nudges him with her shoulder. "All the meet-and-greet kind of stuff is fun."
"I would prefer it if you refrained from touching me," Vulcan says stiffly, subtly shifting away from Terra. "I, as well as the vuhlkansu, am a touch telepath. The meet-and-greets, as you call them, have somewhat lost their charm for me." This is, of course, not strictly true, but the modifier "somewhat" gives him some leeway. Technically, he's not lying, but he is for some reason loath to give Terra any information on his emotional state. Better to imply he is disgusted, or preferably completely indifferent to the proceedings.
He chooses not to address precisely why or how this planet has affected him so violently and so quickly. It would not be conducive to achieving his current goals. Whatever they may be.
"Yeah, this isn't your first time at the rodeo, is it?" she asks, leaning against the wall companionably. He considers asking her to elaborate on her metaphor, which is not one he completely understands, but she just continues talking. "It is for me. All the other planets in Sol's system are uninhabited, so this is really their first contact with an alien species! They're doing great, if I do say so myself."
She beams at the crowd, and Vulcan distinctly senses the cloud cover outside shifting.
"They are performing adequately," he replies dryly. Her lack of control over her emotions is astonishing; to actually affect the weather systems while manifest in human form is indicative of a mind astoundingly unconcerned or astoundingly scatterbrained.
"Adequately?" she asks. She appears personally offended, for reasons beyond his comprehension. "Do you know just how impressive this is? I mean, barely fifteen years ago they were reeling from the aftermath of a devastating war, and now they're united as a whole, and sitting around drinking with aliens."
"You consider the schizophrenic alteration of an entire species' behavioral patterns to be an admirable event?"
"Oh, absolutely. It's for the better, right?"
She grins at him. Vulcan stares back, and states, "You are insane."
Her lips thin, and she sets her drink down with alarming force. "And you're a bastard. Nice to know we got that cleared up."
He does not know why he's provoked such a strong emotional response from her, nor why she (presumably) attempted to offend him by insulting parents he, as a planet, never had. Vulcan stands very still as Terra storms off, completely taken aback. He is somewhat disturbed by the events of the past few minutes, and that surprises him. He does not like surprises, especially when they involve his emotional reactions to common situations. Of course, her wild emotionality is a response unforeseen based on his previous judgment of her; he had considered her intelligent and rational. Clearly, he was at least partly mistaken.
Outside, he hears the low roar of thunder. As he turns to follow the wildly temperamental planet out of the building, he reassures himself that he is merely driven by curiosity. Yes. Curiosity.
. . .
For once, Terra is glad that humans are oblivious creatures; she loves them, but they truly are. However, since that means she can run through the hallway without bothering to shield her disheveled self from them, holding back tears (which is ridiculous and stupid, because it's not like Vulcan's opinion means shit to her), and burst into the cool fresh air. She wants to talk to Luna very badly, calm Luna who always has great advice, but she's sleeping now, and Terra can't wake her; Luna's a satellite that needs her sleep.
So instead, Terra braces herself against the ground and screams. Sure, she gets odd looks from passers-by, but she feels so much better. Most of the stress and anger seeped out with that yell, and that leaves only a heavy dejection weighing her down.
She walks to the building and around the back, finally sitting down with her back against the brick, staring at an industrial trash compactor and some illiterate graffiti. Vulcan was not what she expected; rather than the stuffy scholar she'd been prepared for, he'd been sharp and witty and absolutely attractive, if a little deadpan - and even though it makes Terra feel extremely shallow, it's probably his looks that make this sting so much. She's not used to being rejected by attractive planets. He's probably gorgeous as his true self, too, all long stretches of smooth desert, austere and deadly, with dunes to put the Sahara to shame.
The thought really doesn't make her feel any better, and a light drizzle starts leaking from the sky as she blinks away the tears that cling to her lashes.
"This is stupid," she says viciously to the trash compactor. "This is stupid and you are behaving stupidly, Terra. Suck it up and go back inside and behave like the sensible terrestrial planet you are."
"I was not aware that the behavioral patterns of terrestrial planets differed significantly from our gaseous brethren," says Vulcan mildly, and Terra jumps and looks up. He seems decidedly unhappy to be standing in the rain, so Terra makes the drizzle increase into a light shower. His only reply is to raise one eyebrow accusatorially.
"You are making it rain," he observes.
"I see why they call you a genius," she snaps back, because she'll be damned if she'll let him off that easily. "And if you don't think gases behave differently than us, you've obviously never met the Jovian planets."
"I have not," he admits equitably. "I feel compelled to remind you that anecdotal evidence does not constitute proof, however."
"Take the scientific method and shove it," she says, and bites her lip. "Sorry, that was rude."
"I gathered," he says. In a more passionate planet, his tone might even be considered sardonic. "The idiom does not translate, however, and I am not insulted."
"I'm sorry I overreacted," she says, because she is. She takes a deep breath, and lets her bitterness drain away. It's surprisingly easy to do so - easier when she thinks about what her emotions are doing to her humans, poor things - and decides that Luna would be proud of her relaxation technique. "It's all your fault, though. Give me a hand up?"
She proffers her hand, and he stares at it a moment, probably waiting for her to remember that he's a telepath and doesn't do touching. She keeps it out there anyway, and after a moment he takes it.
"Some minor cultural differences are to be expected," he says, and pulls her to her feet. She teeters forward, pressing her body flush against his, and for a moment feels the heat radiating from his skin, the all-too-rapid beat of his heart low in his side. "Although I must admit curiosity as to how I am to blame."
Terra looks up at him, at the smooth planes of his face, and her lips curl in a seductive smile that Vulcan does not fail to notice; his eyes flick briefly downward, his jaw tenses, and his eyebrow climbs to new and unusual heights.
"You see," she begins, and lets her eyelids drop beguilingly, "I don't usually get offended when unattractive planets insult me."
Vulcan examines her, his forehead crinkling slightly. He's obviously not picking up on what Terra considers to be a method of seduction as obvious as getting hit in the equator with a meteor, so she sighs and steps away, still gripping his hand.
"Come on," she says, and heads in the direction of the door. She's getting weird little shocks from where her skin's pressed against his, strange but pleasant flashes of - not emotions, exactly, but little colorful snippets of mindsets as his thought patterns shifts. It's really pretty awesome, and she likes the heat of his hand in hers. "The negotiations are about to start without us, and aren't you curious to see how they're going?"
"Curious indeed," he murmurs, and Terra wonders why he sounds so wry.
. . .
It is typical for planets to attend initial contacts such as these, so as to subtly interfere with and manipulate the negotiations of their species; they are higher life forms, naturally, and most consider their people to be similar to children: lovable and well-meaning (although adjectives vary depending on the disposition of the planet in question), but ill-equipped to deal with decisions of such magnitude. Therefore, the planets step in. It is a planet's duty to its people (in Vulcan's view, at least) to nudge negotiations in a positive direction.
The negotiations between humans and vuhlkansu are not proceeding as expected. It would be fair to say, in fact, that they are not proceeding at all.
Vulcan is aware that he has only himself to blame for the impasse the delegation has found itself at; were he focused and concentrating on the matter at hand, rather than the - distraction - foremost in his mind, there would no doubt be any problems in the first place.
Upon reconsidering the data, he decides that it is, in fact, Terra's fault for being the distraction. Without her involvement, he would treat this as any other diplomatic mission, and be a productive force active in the vuhlkansu delegation, as opposed to...this. It is, quite frankly, embarrassing; he is certain that T'Khut would laugh at him, were she to hear of his erratic, emotional behavior. Meditation has proven ineffective; still she taunts him, lurking in the back of the meeting hall as she is wont to do, using her celestial talents to go unnoticed by human and vuhlkansu alike. She does not attempt to hide herself from Vulcan, however, and seems to derive great pleasure in trying to make him twitch as he sits with the senior ambassadors and watches the power dynamics at work.
He has, of course, never given in to her teasing. He will not give her that satisfaction.
Vulcan keeps his eyes steadily on his PADD, analyzing and processing the data as the diplomats bicker and argue over minutiae. He can sense Terra's eyes on him, watching him from across the hall. Vulcan glances up, a frown slightly creasing his forehead, preparing to glare at her in an attempt to dissuade her from constantly irritating him, but his gaze snags on the fruit she's lifted to her mouth. More precisely, he finds it difficult to look away from the way she follows the dripping juice with her mouth, curling her tongue around her fingers, licking at her wrist - a most illogical method of cleansing oneself, and she almost certainly has ulterior motives, even if he is not quite certain what those may be. His physiological reaction is interesting, however. Without his acquiescence and despite his control, his arteries have constricted; his core temperature has risen; he finds that he must concentrate on breathing normally; and glands that he does not typically utilize appear to be secreting. Fascinating. And disturbing.
(Vulcan is not an idiot or a fool. He has an inkling of what's going on - a nasty more-than-an-inkling, in fact - and disapproves tremendously. He understands that his people must suffer through such indignities, but for he, as a planet, to do so, is merely embarrassing. Again, he blames Terra wholeheartedly for this unpleasant reaction.)
He carefully logs out of his PADD, closes it, and sets it quietly on the table. There is not much to do but steeple his fingers and wait; one of the humans will explode in their typically coarse, irrational ways, and negotiations for today will come to a halt.
He does not have long to wait; a human diplomat shoves her chair back and stands, shouting and pounding on the table, while in response his most senior ambassador rises to his feet in a whirl of dark robes, and icily dismisses this particular human, humanity in general, and the entire system of Sol with elegantly phrased, cruelly accurate words that Vulcan would be impressed by, in other circumstances. At the moment, however, he simply catches Terra's eye and indicates a small office with his eyebrow; he desires privacy for this confrontation.
Naturally, she gets there before he does. She is an astoundingly competitive planet.
Vulcan enters after her, shutting the door with a soft click to ensure they won't be disturbed.
"This isn't going well," she says immediately, once again reverting to their shared celestial language.
"It is not," he agrees, and clasps his hands behind his back, leveling a stern glance at her expressive face. "I do not believe you are taking the negotiations seriously."
"Oh, but I am," she snaps, and tosses the pit of her fruit into a small trash compactor embedded in the floor. Vulcan can feel its whirring under his feet as it processes the organic material. "When it comes to my humans, I take everything seriously."
"Then please enlighten me." He matches her tone for sarcastic tone. "Precisely how does lounging in the back of the hall, pointedly dismissing any and all diplomatic crises, and taunting me serve as anything but selfish amusement on your part?"
She blinks at him, and sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Are you trying to be a jerk, or is this just your natural state of being?"
"I am trying to ascertain the facts, Terra. You are an astoundingly intelligent planet. I do not believe that concept is difficult to comprehend."
"No, it's not." She leans back on the desk, and he is suddenly, keenly aware of the muscles in her exposed legs, sleek and strong under gleaming skin. It is a momentary struggle to contain his physiological responses once more. "Look, I haven't done this before, okay? I don't know how you guys do it over in your system. But here, when we have disagreements and problems between the bodies of Sol's system, we manifest on a neutral space and talk about it. Get to know each other, our likes and dislikes, that sort of thing, because we can usually work it out once we've got that out of the way." She grins abruptly, as if remembering a pleasant reminiscence. "Once Sol was having a tetchy couple decades, and kept flaring too close to me, which irritated my stratosphere and made me bitchy, and the radiation was having bad effects on the humans. So we took a holiday on Luna - she offered herself as a location and everything - and, uh, we worked it out pretty damn well."
Terra gives him a speculative look, and adds, "Maybe we should try the same thing."
"I do not believe a vacation on your Luna will aid the situation even remotely," Vulcan says, deliberately misunderstanding her. His body is not responding to his direction, however; he's leaning toward her slightly, his fingers twitching slightly with the desire to kiss and meld. After a desperate moment where he struggles to contain himself, he considers the ramifications of proceeding with the activity his body so plainly wants him to complete. It is true that giving in to such abandon is decidedly unbecoming of both himself and his native species, who pride themselves on their superb emotional control; from an alternate perspective, however, it seems the only rational thing to do, for sexual union and the positive energy of the subsequent climax will almost assuredly transfer to their people and ease diplomatic tensions, perhaps resulting in a treaty that will prove to be a positive development for both cultures.
It is a case of cultural tradition versus logic, and as Vulcan does not consider himself entirely bound by the strictures of the vuhlkansu, he is perfectly content with taking the most logical route.
Terra is watching him, and he is certain she knows precisely what he is thinking. There is a small smile quirked on her face, and he reaches to ghost his knuckles against her lips, drawing the back of his palm in a slow caress along her cheek. She flicks her tongue against his skin, and he inhales sharply.
"I would not be averse to a rendezvous of the kind you suggest here in this office," he whispers, and she leans over the desk toward him, pressing her lips against his, plying them with her tongue. It's a very odd sensation, but enjoyable; it causes a rush of blood to his cheeks and ears, another sure marker of arousal.
"Didn't think so," she chuckles, and he allows her to push him into the chair.
From there on out, things get very confusing indeed.
Terra steps back, gives him a saucy wink, and shimmies her way out of her skirt. Vulcan assumes she had unzipped it previously, for he didn't see her do so; of course, he was otherwise occupied, so the oversight would be understandable. Precisely like now, when he is too busy staring at her toned legs and the brightly colored undergarments that cling to the curve of her hips and yet provide no coverage whatsoever - he can see the outline of her sex through the sheer fabric, the dark wiry curls which no vuhlkansu women have, and his arousal at the thought of this difference is both irrational and thrilling. He doesn't notice her removing her tunic or undershirt until she's unclasping her bra, holding it to her chest by the cups until he tears his eyes away from her lower half and looks her in the eye. She slowly, sensually allows the bra to dangle off her arms by the straps, revealing high-set breasts with dusky, alert nipples.
Vulcan's lips part.
Terra settles herself into his lap, pressing her taut body against his, shifting her weight so she rocks against his quite-evident erection, and Vulcan makes a noise he didn't expect to hear from himself in the foreseeable future. He has, honestly, no idea what to do, for what seems relatively simple in theory is proving to be a conundrum in reality. His only cues are from his body's instincts, which demand that he treat Terra's fragile human body with the brutality and force he would a female vuhlkansu at the height of pon farr; to resist, he grips the arms of the chair, tilts his head back to avoid visual and olfactory stimuli, and attempts to settle into a light meditative state.
Terra might have actually growled; he isn't sure.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snaps, but without the force of true anger behind it. He can't see her, but he can feel her unsnapping each embossed button pinning his robes together.
"I do not wish to hurt you, therefore I shall restrain myself while you commence with the sexual act," he tells her. He cannot believe that there is something wrong with caring for the well-being of your mate, temporary or not.
"This body isn't as fragile as you think," she informs him smugly, "and besides, if you hurt it too badly, I can just make a new one."
"That is not - " he begins, and stops talking as she hitches her hips forward and positively rubs herself against him, lowering her wet, open mouth to his neck and biting at it lightly, smearing saliva along his skin. His hands move of their own accord, wrapping around her hips with long fingers, and he angles his head down to press his lips against hers. A human kiss, he assumes, if previous evidence is accurate, and concentrates on the technique until she strokes the tips of his ears with her fingers and he twitches violently, jarring her from her position.
"Sensitive, huh?" she asks wickedly.
"Very," he answers. "Ah - "
As she licks a trail up the shell of his ear, lipping at the pointed tip which flushes a deep green in response to her ministrations, Vulcan slides his hand up along her ribcage, the other to the small of her back to press her even closer against his body, and cups her breast. Through all the skin-to-skin contact, he can sense a spark of excitement, and experimentally strokes his thumb across her nipple.
"Oh," she gasps, breaking away from his ears to toss her head back and sigh. Vulcan takes advantage of the angle to trail nips and licks down her neck to her clavicle, and pinches her nipple slightly as he does so.
"Oh, bastard," she whimpers, and takes the hand pressing against her back, kissing the palm almost reverently before sucking two fingers deep into her mouth, his thumb and ring finger brushing against her meld points -
Things around Vulcan dissolve; suddenly he is two, experiencing two sets of pleasure at once, her mouth on his hand sending jolts along his nervous system, each rock of her hips stroking a damp heat inside her as it stimulates him more, the brush of her hair along her shoulder-blades creating a phantom tickle on his back, and the low throb from the tips of his ears echoing the one he's teasing out of her body with his hands on her breasts.
"Oh my fuck," she groans, and nips at his fingers. "Here, like this - "
She guides his hand to the juncture where her thighs meet, and he nimbly pushes away the scrap of material covering her sex and strokes hard against her; she moans and arches her back. She is so wet, exquisitely so, and his fingers are so sensitive, and the combination of the two factors causes his breath to catch and his muscles to clench; the pleasure is absolutely unspeakable. When he withdraws his hand, craving her taste, he bumps against a knot of nerves that make her inhale suddenly on the way (and marks that down for later perusal). He licks her fluids off his fingers, and thinks she tastes like the oceans that cover her surface, salty and fleshy.
Terra kisses him once more, fiercely, and gasps into his mouth, "I think you're - "
"Overdressed," he finishes, and wonders how he'll manage to remove his clothing while keeping Terra firmly in place on his lap. "I agree. Perhaps if we - "
"Take off your pants," she says, bracing her folded legs against the arms of the chair and rising to her knees to provide access. Her fingers frantically work on the buttons of his robe. "Why is this so complex!"
"It's certainly a disadvantage at the moment," he replies, his breath coming in shudders as she succeeds in divesting him of his robe and tunic, caressing his torso, sketching patterns on his side with her nails. He's convinced this is what it must feel like to lose one's mind.
Finally he manages to pull his trousers down far enough to be comfortable, allowing his cock to fully extend, hard and bulbous, dark green with blood. Terra reaches between them and grasps it firmly, and Vulcan thrusts forward hard against her hand.
"I - I apologize," he stutters, nearly on the edge already and forcing himself to concentrate on subatomic molecular bonding in an attempt to avoid an embarrassing end to the encounter. She gives a breathy little laugh, angles him to her liking, and sinks down on his cock, successfully obliterating all thoughts of anything subatomic at all, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she does. He gasps aloud as she takes him to the hilt and rocks her hips, her muscles contracting against him.
Terra's head lolls back, her dark curls a messy halo around her head, and breathes his name in a juddering breath: "Vulcan, fuck, Vulcan - "
This is when he loses control, and takes her by the hips roughly and forces her to move, to fuck herself on him, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer, closest, chest-to-chest and he buries his face in her shoulders, biting and licking and thrusting his hips up, pounding inside her, and while they are not strictly in a meld he can still sense each flutter of impending orgasm that shivers through her body in beat with the whimpers she emits with each thrust, amplified by his own sensations and the slick sound of her sex taking him deep each time he fucks into her, and this is - it is - too much, overwhelmed, he cries out against her skin and experiences for a moment the sort of exponential pleasure of a star gone nova, hysterical and brutal and ubiquitous for a nanosecond of time, and it's echoed in her body a hundredfold before Vulcan finally gives himself up to the sensation and is carried away.
. . .
Admiral Mulgrew stands up from her chair authoritatively, but is unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she gives a firm, sharp nod to the dark-clad Ambassador who mirrors her actions with a neutral expression. His eyes, though, are gleaming; if Mulgrew didn't know better, she'd say he was pleased.
"I'm glad we've reached an accord, sir," she says to him, and casts a look to Admiral Suresh next to her. He nods in agreement; he's not much for diplomacy - that's her job - but she respects his opinion nearly as much as he respects hers.
"I, too, find our current arrangement agreeable," Ambassador Solek replies, no inflection whatsoever in his voice. "Within the next few of your Terran weeks, I estimate that we will have successfully negotiated a treaty that will prove beneficial to all citizens of both species. At the moment, it would be advisable to regroup with our respective parties and inform all members of the delegations of our decision."
"Good idea," she says, and awkwardly tries to copy the gesture that serves them as a salute. The Ambassador crooks his eyebrow in response, and gathers the lower-level diplomats into a group he sweeps to the side; they begin to talk quietly in their strange, guttural language. Mulgrew turns to Suresh expectantly, and he doesn't disappoint.
"I don't like it," he says immediately. "Why did they just now decide to trust us?"
"I don't know," she says, "and frankly, I don't care. Everything so far points to their being an honest species." It's bizarre to say that out loud, to admit dealing with goddamn aliens. "What matters is that we've reached a kind of trade agreement. And I think they might be looking for something else."
"An alliance?" Suresh asks, eyes sharp.
Mulgrew shrugs. "This is strictly off the record, okay? I don't feel comfortable giving the public a yes or no answer right now. But - yes. I think so."
Suresh huffs out a breath, and turns his gaze in the direction of the vuhlkansu. "I'd feel a lot better if I just knew why they changed their minds so quickly. Why we did too, for that matter! Things are falling into place a little too neatly."
"Maybe it's God," Mulgrew suggests, and they both chuckle as they turn their attention to other, more important things than little details like that.
. . .
"Your suggestion appears to have been successful," Vulcan says eventually. Terra's curled up in his lap, tracing designs on his palm with her nails. She can feel the little electric shivers she elicits through their tenuous bond, and wonders if he accidentally struck out with lightning planet-side. If he did, the vuhlkansu are probably freaking out; he doesn't seem like the type to do that often. She knows she lost a little control over a few undersea volcanos smack in the center of the Pacific, but a little erupted lava won't throw off the environmental equilibrium too much.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, peering up at him and thinking about licking a trail up his chest to the pale underside of his chin she can see from this angle. Make him lose that cool again. Yeah, she likes the thought of that.
"The auditory range of the vuhlkansu is considerably superior to that of the humans," he informs her, and she can totally hear the superciliousness in his voice. "I was capable of overhearing the favorable conclusion of the negotiations."
"Told you," she says, satisfied, and squirms in his lap, readjusting herself so she can nibble on his earlobe. "Think we should give it another go, though? Just to be sure. We don't want to underestimate."
Vulcan shifts, and abruptly stands with her firmly in his arms. (He's so damn strong! All the vuhlkansu are; it's intimidating. And really hot, Terra has to admit.) He sets her on the desk, limbs akimbo, and returns to his chair, leaving Terra to prop herself up on her elbow so she can look down at him.
"Well?" she asks, and Vulcan glances up at her, face utterly still, and slides a hand along her inner thigh. His mouth follows.
"Your commitment to interstellar diplomacy is admirable," he says, breath hot against her skin. Terra's head lolls back in anticipation, and she lets a slow grin creep across her face as he continues. "I commend you for your efforts."
And then he licks her with his hot, rough tongue until she's writhing and gasping and clutching at his formerly-flawless hair, and Terra doesn't worry about the diplomats anymore.
She's sure they'll be all right.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Earth/Vulcan
Word Count: ~6500
Prompt: At st_xi_kink_meme: Anyways, Hetalia turns all the countries into people, yes? So, I want the Star Trek version - PLANETS with anthropomorphic representations! Specifically, Earth (female) and Vulcan (male), with the whole "first meeting" thing. And sex.
Warnings: None (warning policy in profile)
Kinks: Virgin!sex, utter crack
Summary: Terra does not comport herself as a planet should. She smiles, she laughs, she is overly involved with her humans, and she won't stop touching him. Vulcan should disregard her presence entirely and concentrate on his diplomatic affairs, but she is very....distracting. He does not realize that this is merely the beginning.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to their logical and respective owners. I make no profit from this.
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to slashed42 for the beta and the encouragement. :D
Sometimes Terra really hates manifesting in this body, despite the convenience; it's so sensitive and fragile, and prone to stupid things like heatstroke and fainting. But thankfully not sunburn; she learned the hard way about that, and promptly decided to never again take a form that puts her at much risk for injury from Sol's rays. It's kind of ridiculous; as her true self, his touch is light and warm, comforting, and when they meet in manifestations like this he's always the gentlest of lovers. Unlike Venus, the selfish bitch, she thinks that her golden glow makes her so special when really she tastes toxic on Terra's tongue. Or Mercurius, who's not only unimpressively sized but tends be rather quick during the act.
But it's only polite to manifest as your dominant species when meeting other planets; it makes it easier to travel and communicate when you don't have to rely on the stars to send your messages. And Sol's the only one who ever gets them straight, anyway. (Terra will never forget that time she was flirting with Gliese E and damn Antares screwed it up. Teaches her to trust stars with important information; Gliese has never spoken to her since. This despite Terra's affirmations that she actually has great control over her seismic waves! She spent a while gloomily precipitating a wet, freezing snow in her northern hemisphere until she decided it was his loss, and there were other planets in the galaxy, after all.) She's curious what this new guy will be like; she hears he's very dry and arid. But since his people - he calls them the vuhlkansu - are supposed to be humanoid (and her humans are absolutely attractive), they can't be that much different.
Maybe he'll even be sexy. A planet can dream.
Terra gathers her mass of dark curls into a messy bun on the back of her head. Her skin's sticky with sweat, and scraggly bits of hair are plastered to her neck, but with a little concentration, she creates clouds to shield her from Sol, and summons a light breeze, which cools her down immediately. The change in weather is quick enough to make the humans confused; Terra blinks and looks as innocent as possible as one of them remarks to her about how you just can't trust the weather these days, not in this city!
"No, sir!" she replies smartly, "this entire planet's just crazy when it comes to the atmosphere!"
The human laughs and claps her on the back before turning to another one, dressed like Terra in the uniform of a military diplomat. Terra grins at the human's back; she loves these things, they're all so...adorably naive. She could stand here and talk about the weather all day, without any of them knowing that she's actually describing who she really is and just how she knows so much about the atmospheric predictions for the day.
Even from this formal conference hall, she can feel the rumble of the shuttle on the landing pad as it docks, carrying the vuhlkansu delegation with it. The humans stop chattering, and quickly file into order, Terra falling into her place in the lineup. All together, dressed in their military best, they look good, shiny and formidable, and Terra feels an overwhelming burst of pride for her favorite species.
The humans don't have long to wait; the vuhlkansu are apparently a very prompt people. When the first ambassador walks into the room, accompanied by the president of the United American Continents, the entire atmosphere inside changes, a nervous fizz in the air; all of the people here have been briefed on their guests, their strange habits and peculiar philosophies, as well as a basic biological overview, but there's something different between knowing that the blood pulsing far too quickly beneath that skin is copper-based, and seeing the green tint in the cheeks and lips of the chief ambassador and his people as they coolly survey the human representatives.
Terra can pick out Vulcan immediately; there's something about planets, even when they look, act, speak, and walk like their species, that's instantly recognizable, some sort of innate instinct that tells her when one of her kind is in the room. He is, no doubt, an example of the ideal vuhlkansu male: tall, lean, muscular, his face full of angles and planes, eyebrows stark black against his pale skin and tilted at an alarming angle. He's got a silly little haircut that reminds Terra fondly of those nice musicians from the humans' twentieth century, only a lot more defined, and ears that narrow into a point, like a cat's. He looks directly at her, and his eyes are startling in their intensity; she gives him a little smile and wiggles her fingers in greeting, and he studies her a moment before replying with one stately nod. She drops her hand and recalls what Pluton had told her about Vulcan: that he's basically emotionless, or near enough to be called so, and very, very smart.
("A bit of a downer, in all honesty," Pluton had confided, being the only one close enough to the Kuipers to hear gossip from outside their solar system. "But who knows? You know what they say about the quiet ones.")
The formal greetings and little threats exchanged and finished, the delegations are free to interact as they wish. Lurking by a table stacked with vegetarian hors d'œuvres and drinks in pretty fluted glasses, she observes Vulcan as he moves around the room. He's the consummate diplomat, saying very little but noticing much. His eyes keep flicking towards her, she sees, and she wonders if he's curious about her, too.
Ouranos and Sol always mock her gently for being the most active and inquisitive of all the planets in the system, and it's true. Terra smiles, picks up a glass, and wends her way through the crowd in Vulcan's direction. She has a reputation to keep up.
. . .
It could be said that Vulcan enjoys diplomatic exchanges such as this; T'Khut has previously told him that his scientific curiosity is insatiable, and that he should be content to drift like she does, in careful orbit around 40 Eridani A, speaking only when spoken to as the quiet, contemplative planet prefers. Vulcan eschews this existence for a more active one, as he prefers; he would not, however, say he enjoys his lifestyle, as enjoyment is an emotion he would not commonly ascribe to either himself or his dominant species. He would merely say that it is the logical path to discovering as much as he can about the universe he inhabits.
For example, without such logical exploration, he would not have encountered this species, nor their perplexing habit of serving gratuitous amounts of ethyl alcohol at presumably diplomatic events. He is well aware that his own people once performed similar rites, in their distant past, and of the identical propensities of the Etoshan pirates and other Orion species, but has not come across a civilized species that insists on doing the same. At least, he assumes these humans are civilized. They have not made contact with off-world species before, but there has been no call to arms, no threats of violence, and no signs of backstabbing or other decidedly uncultured behavior. Nonetheless, they are loud, gregarious, and extraordinarily naive. It is most intriguing, and he is curious to meet the planet that spawned such creatures.
She - the planet who calls herself Terra - is watching him from across the room, studying him much as he evaluates her. Vulcan clasps his hands behind his back, and considers his admittedly limited knowledge of the planet: the atmosphere is 78.08 percent nitrogen, 20.95 percent oxygen, with miniscule hints of argon and carbon dioxide; humans had clearly taken steps in the direction of total destruction of the atmosphere, but they had chosen to eliminate such harmful chemicals from the biosphere nonetheless. An interesting fact; it indicates that humans are at least aware enough of their environment to make an effort at sustaining it. It is a metaphorical point in their favor. Of course, he is not keeping score. What purpose would that serve?
Disturbingly, he finds that Terra has taken it upon herself to make their acquaintance. Vulcan takes one step back, steadying himself in preparation - upon initial greetings, most planets attempt some kind of physical contact, and he finds it impolite to immediately discourage such behavior - and appraises her as she approaches. The human form she has chosen is a native of her equatorial region, is above the average height for a human female, and does not quite meet the slim, cool standard his people consider beautiful. Nonetheless, she undoubtedly suits the human palate, which appears to appreciate vivaciousness as neither Vulcan nor the vuhlkansu are used to doing. Her eyes are expressive and volatile, like her seas and her skies, and she has a smirking sliver of a smile upon her lips.
It makes him slightly uneasy, and very fascinated indeed.
She stops before him, and he notes that she wears the uniform of a junior diplomat, a sharp contrast to the dark ambassador's robes he's draped in. He does not know why she would choose to impersonate such a low-ranking official; it seems impractical.
"Hi," she says, not in a dialect native to her people or his, but in the celestial chiming that is the sole language of the spheres. Vulcan sees a few heads turn their way, eyes glassy as those of any less-evolved species tend to be when hearing such a tongue.
He raises his hand in the traditional salute of his people, and replies, pointedly speaking the smooth English of this particular country. "Greetings. I trust you are well?"
"Very," she says, and takes a sip of the drink she carries in one hand. Vulcan has never partaken of the food of his people; he watches her with one eyebrow slightly arched as she deepens the sip into a full-fledged gulp. "You?"
"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances."
She laughs, which is a peculiar sound. He hasn't heard it in centuries, this clear carefree sound, free of the diabolical cast often heard from the Orions.
"What, you mean this?" Terra gestures expansively at the milling diplomats. "Come on, don't you like it?" She nudges him with her shoulder. "All the meet-and-greet kind of stuff is fun."
"I would prefer it if you refrained from touching me," Vulcan says stiffly, subtly shifting away from Terra. "I, as well as the vuhlkansu, am a touch telepath. The meet-and-greets, as you call them, have somewhat lost their charm for me." This is, of course, not strictly true, but the modifier "somewhat" gives him some leeway. Technically, he's not lying, but he is for some reason loath to give Terra any information on his emotional state. Better to imply he is disgusted, or preferably completely indifferent to the proceedings.
He chooses not to address precisely why or how this planet has affected him so violently and so quickly. It would not be conducive to achieving his current goals. Whatever they may be.
"Yeah, this isn't your first time at the rodeo, is it?" she asks, leaning against the wall companionably. He considers asking her to elaborate on her metaphor, which is not one he completely understands, but she just continues talking. "It is for me. All the other planets in Sol's system are uninhabited, so this is really their first contact with an alien species! They're doing great, if I do say so myself."
She beams at the crowd, and Vulcan distinctly senses the cloud cover outside shifting.
"They are performing adequately," he replies dryly. Her lack of control over her emotions is astonishing; to actually affect the weather systems while manifest in human form is indicative of a mind astoundingly unconcerned or astoundingly scatterbrained.
"Adequately?" she asks. She appears personally offended, for reasons beyond his comprehension. "Do you know just how impressive this is? I mean, barely fifteen years ago they were reeling from the aftermath of a devastating war, and now they're united as a whole, and sitting around drinking with aliens."
"You consider the schizophrenic alteration of an entire species' behavioral patterns to be an admirable event?"
"Oh, absolutely. It's for the better, right?"
She grins at him. Vulcan stares back, and states, "You are insane."
Her lips thin, and she sets her drink down with alarming force. "And you're a bastard. Nice to know we got that cleared up."
He does not know why he's provoked such a strong emotional response from her, nor why she (presumably) attempted to offend him by insulting parents he, as a planet, never had. Vulcan stands very still as Terra storms off, completely taken aback. He is somewhat disturbed by the events of the past few minutes, and that surprises him. He does not like surprises, especially when they involve his emotional reactions to common situations. Of course, her wild emotionality is a response unforeseen based on his previous judgment of her; he had considered her intelligent and rational. Clearly, he was at least partly mistaken.
Outside, he hears the low roar of thunder. As he turns to follow the wildly temperamental planet out of the building, he reassures himself that he is merely driven by curiosity. Yes. Curiosity.
. . .
For once, Terra is glad that humans are oblivious creatures; she loves them, but they truly are. However, since that means she can run through the hallway without bothering to shield her disheveled self from them, holding back tears (which is ridiculous and stupid, because it's not like Vulcan's opinion means shit to her), and burst into the cool fresh air. She wants to talk to Luna very badly, calm Luna who always has great advice, but she's sleeping now, and Terra can't wake her; Luna's a satellite that needs her sleep.
So instead, Terra braces herself against the ground and screams. Sure, she gets odd looks from passers-by, but she feels so much better. Most of the stress and anger seeped out with that yell, and that leaves only a heavy dejection weighing her down.
She walks to the building and around the back, finally sitting down with her back against the brick, staring at an industrial trash compactor and some illiterate graffiti. Vulcan was not what she expected; rather than the stuffy scholar she'd been prepared for, he'd been sharp and witty and absolutely attractive, if a little deadpan - and even though it makes Terra feel extremely shallow, it's probably his looks that make this sting so much. She's not used to being rejected by attractive planets. He's probably gorgeous as his true self, too, all long stretches of smooth desert, austere and deadly, with dunes to put the Sahara to shame.
The thought really doesn't make her feel any better, and a light drizzle starts leaking from the sky as she blinks away the tears that cling to her lashes.
"This is stupid," she says viciously to the trash compactor. "This is stupid and you are behaving stupidly, Terra. Suck it up and go back inside and behave like the sensible terrestrial planet you are."
"I was not aware that the behavioral patterns of terrestrial planets differed significantly from our gaseous brethren," says Vulcan mildly, and Terra jumps and looks up. He seems decidedly unhappy to be standing in the rain, so Terra makes the drizzle increase into a light shower. His only reply is to raise one eyebrow accusatorially.
"You are making it rain," he observes.
"I see why they call you a genius," she snaps back, because she'll be damned if she'll let him off that easily. "And if you don't think gases behave differently than us, you've obviously never met the Jovian planets."
"I have not," he admits equitably. "I feel compelled to remind you that anecdotal evidence does not constitute proof, however."
"Take the scientific method and shove it," she says, and bites her lip. "Sorry, that was rude."
"I gathered," he says. In a more passionate planet, his tone might even be considered sardonic. "The idiom does not translate, however, and I am not insulted."
"I'm sorry I overreacted," she says, because she is. She takes a deep breath, and lets her bitterness drain away. It's surprisingly easy to do so - easier when she thinks about what her emotions are doing to her humans, poor things - and decides that Luna would be proud of her relaxation technique. "It's all your fault, though. Give me a hand up?"
She proffers her hand, and he stares at it a moment, probably waiting for her to remember that he's a telepath and doesn't do touching. She keeps it out there anyway, and after a moment he takes it.
"Some minor cultural differences are to be expected," he says, and pulls her to her feet. She teeters forward, pressing her body flush against his, and for a moment feels the heat radiating from his skin, the all-too-rapid beat of his heart low in his side. "Although I must admit curiosity as to how I am to blame."
Terra looks up at him, at the smooth planes of his face, and her lips curl in a seductive smile that Vulcan does not fail to notice; his eyes flick briefly downward, his jaw tenses, and his eyebrow climbs to new and unusual heights.
"You see," she begins, and lets her eyelids drop beguilingly, "I don't usually get offended when unattractive planets insult me."
Vulcan examines her, his forehead crinkling slightly. He's obviously not picking up on what Terra considers to be a method of seduction as obvious as getting hit in the equator with a meteor, so she sighs and steps away, still gripping his hand.
"Come on," she says, and heads in the direction of the door. She's getting weird little shocks from where her skin's pressed against his, strange but pleasant flashes of - not emotions, exactly, but little colorful snippets of mindsets as his thought patterns shifts. It's really pretty awesome, and she likes the heat of his hand in hers. "The negotiations are about to start without us, and aren't you curious to see how they're going?"
"Curious indeed," he murmurs, and Terra wonders why he sounds so wry.
. . .
It is typical for planets to attend initial contacts such as these, so as to subtly interfere with and manipulate the negotiations of their species; they are higher life forms, naturally, and most consider their people to be similar to children: lovable and well-meaning (although adjectives vary depending on the disposition of the planet in question), but ill-equipped to deal with decisions of such magnitude. Therefore, the planets step in. It is a planet's duty to its people (in Vulcan's view, at least) to nudge negotiations in a positive direction.
The negotiations between humans and vuhlkansu are not proceeding as expected. It would be fair to say, in fact, that they are not proceeding at all.
Vulcan is aware that he has only himself to blame for the impasse the delegation has found itself at; were he focused and concentrating on the matter at hand, rather than the - distraction - foremost in his mind, there would no doubt be any problems in the first place.
Upon reconsidering the data, he decides that it is, in fact, Terra's fault for being the distraction. Without her involvement, he would treat this as any other diplomatic mission, and be a productive force active in the vuhlkansu delegation, as opposed to...this. It is, quite frankly, embarrassing; he is certain that T'Khut would laugh at him, were she to hear of his erratic, emotional behavior. Meditation has proven ineffective; still she taunts him, lurking in the back of the meeting hall as she is wont to do, using her celestial talents to go unnoticed by human and vuhlkansu alike. She does not attempt to hide herself from Vulcan, however, and seems to derive great pleasure in trying to make him twitch as he sits with the senior ambassadors and watches the power dynamics at work.
He has, of course, never given in to her teasing. He will not give her that satisfaction.
Vulcan keeps his eyes steadily on his PADD, analyzing and processing the data as the diplomats bicker and argue over minutiae. He can sense Terra's eyes on him, watching him from across the hall. Vulcan glances up, a frown slightly creasing his forehead, preparing to glare at her in an attempt to dissuade her from constantly irritating him, but his gaze snags on the fruit she's lifted to her mouth. More precisely, he finds it difficult to look away from the way she follows the dripping juice with her mouth, curling her tongue around her fingers, licking at her wrist - a most illogical method of cleansing oneself, and she almost certainly has ulterior motives, even if he is not quite certain what those may be. His physiological reaction is interesting, however. Without his acquiescence and despite his control, his arteries have constricted; his core temperature has risen; he finds that he must concentrate on breathing normally; and glands that he does not typically utilize appear to be secreting. Fascinating. And disturbing.
(Vulcan is not an idiot or a fool. He has an inkling of what's going on - a nasty more-than-an-inkling, in fact - and disapproves tremendously. He understands that his people must suffer through such indignities, but for he, as a planet, to do so, is merely embarrassing. Again, he blames Terra wholeheartedly for this unpleasant reaction.)
He carefully logs out of his PADD, closes it, and sets it quietly on the table. There is not much to do but steeple his fingers and wait; one of the humans will explode in their typically coarse, irrational ways, and negotiations for today will come to a halt.
He does not have long to wait; a human diplomat shoves her chair back and stands, shouting and pounding on the table, while in response his most senior ambassador rises to his feet in a whirl of dark robes, and icily dismisses this particular human, humanity in general, and the entire system of Sol with elegantly phrased, cruelly accurate words that Vulcan would be impressed by, in other circumstances. At the moment, however, he simply catches Terra's eye and indicates a small office with his eyebrow; he desires privacy for this confrontation.
Naturally, she gets there before he does. She is an astoundingly competitive planet.
Vulcan enters after her, shutting the door with a soft click to ensure they won't be disturbed.
"This isn't going well," she says immediately, once again reverting to their shared celestial language.
"It is not," he agrees, and clasps his hands behind his back, leveling a stern glance at her expressive face. "I do not believe you are taking the negotiations seriously."
"Oh, but I am," she snaps, and tosses the pit of her fruit into a small trash compactor embedded in the floor. Vulcan can feel its whirring under his feet as it processes the organic material. "When it comes to my humans, I take everything seriously."
"Then please enlighten me." He matches her tone for sarcastic tone. "Precisely how does lounging in the back of the hall, pointedly dismissing any and all diplomatic crises, and taunting me serve as anything but selfish amusement on your part?"
She blinks at him, and sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Are you trying to be a jerk, or is this just your natural state of being?"
"I am trying to ascertain the facts, Terra. You are an astoundingly intelligent planet. I do not believe that concept is difficult to comprehend."
"No, it's not." She leans back on the desk, and he is suddenly, keenly aware of the muscles in her exposed legs, sleek and strong under gleaming skin. It is a momentary struggle to contain his physiological responses once more. "Look, I haven't done this before, okay? I don't know how you guys do it over in your system. But here, when we have disagreements and problems between the bodies of Sol's system, we manifest on a neutral space and talk about it. Get to know each other, our likes and dislikes, that sort of thing, because we can usually work it out once we've got that out of the way." She grins abruptly, as if remembering a pleasant reminiscence. "Once Sol was having a tetchy couple decades, and kept flaring too close to me, which irritated my stratosphere and made me bitchy, and the radiation was having bad effects on the humans. So we took a holiday on Luna - she offered herself as a location and everything - and, uh, we worked it out pretty damn well."
Terra gives him a speculative look, and adds, "Maybe we should try the same thing."
"I do not believe a vacation on your Luna will aid the situation even remotely," Vulcan says, deliberately misunderstanding her. His body is not responding to his direction, however; he's leaning toward her slightly, his fingers twitching slightly with the desire to kiss and meld. After a desperate moment where he struggles to contain himself, he considers the ramifications of proceeding with the activity his body so plainly wants him to complete. It is true that giving in to such abandon is decidedly unbecoming of both himself and his native species, who pride themselves on their superb emotional control; from an alternate perspective, however, it seems the only rational thing to do, for sexual union and the positive energy of the subsequent climax will almost assuredly transfer to their people and ease diplomatic tensions, perhaps resulting in a treaty that will prove to be a positive development for both cultures.
It is a case of cultural tradition versus logic, and as Vulcan does not consider himself entirely bound by the strictures of the vuhlkansu, he is perfectly content with taking the most logical route.
Terra is watching him, and he is certain she knows precisely what he is thinking. There is a small smile quirked on her face, and he reaches to ghost his knuckles against her lips, drawing the back of his palm in a slow caress along her cheek. She flicks her tongue against his skin, and he inhales sharply.
"I would not be averse to a rendezvous of the kind you suggest here in this office," he whispers, and she leans over the desk toward him, pressing her lips against his, plying them with her tongue. It's a very odd sensation, but enjoyable; it causes a rush of blood to his cheeks and ears, another sure marker of arousal.
"Didn't think so," she chuckles, and he allows her to push him into the chair.
From there on out, things get very confusing indeed.
Terra steps back, gives him a saucy wink, and shimmies her way out of her skirt. Vulcan assumes she had unzipped it previously, for he didn't see her do so; of course, he was otherwise occupied, so the oversight would be understandable. Precisely like now, when he is too busy staring at her toned legs and the brightly colored undergarments that cling to the curve of her hips and yet provide no coverage whatsoever - he can see the outline of her sex through the sheer fabric, the dark wiry curls which no vuhlkansu women have, and his arousal at the thought of this difference is both irrational and thrilling. He doesn't notice her removing her tunic or undershirt until she's unclasping her bra, holding it to her chest by the cups until he tears his eyes away from her lower half and looks her in the eye. She slowly, sensually allows the bra to dangle off her arms by the straps, revealing high-set breasts with dusky, alert nipples.
Vulcan's lips part.
Terra settles herself into his lap, pressing her taut body against his, shifting her weight so she rocks against his quite-evident erection, and Vulcan makes a noise he didn't expect to hear from himself in the foreseeable future. He has, honestly, no idea what to do, for what seems relatively simple in theory is proving to be a conundrum in reality. His only cues are from his body's instincts, which demand that he treat Terra's fragile human body with the brutality and force he would a female vuhlkansu at the height of pon farr; to resist, he grips the arms of the chair, tilts his head back to avoid visual and olfactory stimuli, and attempts to settle into a light meditative state.
Terra might have actually growled; he isn't sure.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snaps, but without the force of true anger behind it. He can't see her, but he can feel her unsnapping each embossed button pinning his robes together.
"I do not wish to hurt you, therefore I shall restrain myself while you commence with the sexual act," he tells her. He cannot believe that there is something wrong with caring for the well-being of your mate, temporary or not.
"This body isn't as fragile as you think," she informs him smugly, "and besides, if you hurt it too badly, I can just make a new one."
"That is not - " he begins, and stops talking as she hitches her hips forward and positively rubs herself against him, lowering her wet, open mouth to his neck and biting at it lightly, smearing saliva along his skin. His hands move of their own accord, wrapping around her hips with long fingers, and he angles his head down to press his lips against hers. A human kiss, he assumes, if previous evidence is accurate, and concentrates on the technique until she strokes the tips of his ears with her fingers and he twitches violently, jarring her from her position.
"Sensitive, huh?" she asks wickedly.
"Very," he answers. "Ah - "
As she licks a trail up the shell of his ear, lipping at the pointed tip which flushes a deep green in response to her ministrations, Vulcan slides his hand up along her ribcage, the other to the small of her back to press her even closer against his body, and cups her breast. Through all the skin-to-skin contact, he can sense a spark of excitement, and experimentally strokes his thumb across her nipple.
"Oh," she gasps, breaking away from his ears to toss her head back and sigh. Vulcan takes advantage of the angle to trail nips and licks down her neck to her clavicle, and pinches her nipple slightly as he does so.
"Oh, bastard," she whimpers, and takes the hand pressing against her back, kissing the palm almost reverently before sucking two fingers deep into her mouth, his thumb and ring finger brushing against her meld points -
Things around Vulcan dissolve; suddenly he is two, experiencing two sets of pleasure at once, her mouth on his hand sending jolts along his nervous system, each rock of her hips stroking a damp heat inside her as it stimulates him more, the brush of her hair along her shoulder-blades creating a phantom tickle on his back, and the low throb from the tips of his ears echoing the one he's teasing out of her body with his hands on her breasts.
"Oh my fuck," she groans, and nips at his fingers. "Here, like this - "
She guides his hand to the juncture where her thighs meet, and he nimbly pushes away the scrap of material covering her sex and strokes hard against her; she moans and arches her back. She is so wet, exquisitely so, and his fingers are so sensitive, and the combination of the two factors causes his breath to catch and his muscles to clench; the pleasure is absolutely unspeakable. When he withdraws his hand, craving her taste, he bumps against a knot of nerves that make her inhale suddenly on the way (and marks that down for later perusal). He licks her fluids off his fingers, and thinks she tastes like the oceans that cover her surface, salty and fleshy.
Terra kisses him once more, fiercely, and gasps into his mouth, "I think you're - "
"Overdressed," he finishes, and wonders how he'll manage to remove his clothing while keeping Terra firmly in place on his lap. "I agree. Perhaps if we - "
"Take off your pants," she says, bracing her folded legs against the arms of the chair and rising to her knees to provide access. Her fingers frantically work on the buttons of his robe. "Why is this so complex!"
"It's certainly a disadvantage at the moment," he replies, his breath coming in shudders as she succeeds in divesting him of his robe and tunic, caressing his torso, sketching patterns on his side with her nails. He's convinced this is what it must feel like to lose one's mind.
Finally he manages to pull his trousers down far enough to be comfortable, allowing his cock to fully extend, hard and bulbous, dark green with blood. Terra reaches between them and grasps it firmly, and Vulcan thrusts forward hard against her hand.
"I - I apologize," he stutters, nearly on the edge already and forcing himself to concentrate on subatomic molecular bonding in an attempt to avoid an embarrassing end to the encounter. She gives a breathy little laugh, angles him to her liking, and sinks down on his cock, successfully obliterating all thoughts of anything subatomic at all, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she does. He gasps aloud as she takes him to the hilt and rocks her hips, her muscles contracting against him.
Terra's head lolls back, her dark curls a messy halo around her head, and breathes his name in a juddering breath: "Vulcan, fuck, Vulcan - "
This is when he loses control, and takes her by the hips roughly and forces her to move, to fuck herself on him, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer, closest, chest-to-chest and he buries his face in her shoulders, biting and licking and thrusting his hips up, pounding inside her, and while they are not strictly in a meld he can still sense each flutter of impending orgasm that shivers through her body in beat with the whimpers she emits with each thrust, amplified by his own sensations and the slick sound of her sex taking him deep each time he fucks into her, and this is - it is - too much, overwhelmed, he cries out against her skin and experiences for a moment the sort of exponential pleasure of a star gone nova, hysterical and brutal and ubiquitous for a nanosecond of time, and it's echoed in her body a hundredfold before Vulcan finally gives himself up to the sensation and is carried away.
. . .
Admiral Mulgrew stands up from her chair authoritatively, but is unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she gives a firm, sharp nod to the dark-clad Ambassador who mirrors her actions with a neutral expression. His eyes, though, are gleaming; if Mulgrew didn't know better, she'd say he was pleased.
"I'm glad we've reached an accord, sir," she says to him, and casts a look to Admiral Suresh next to her. He nods in agreement; he's not much for diplomacy - that's her job - but she respects his opinion nearly as much as he respects hers.
"I, too, find our current arrangement agreeable," Ambassador Solek replies, no inflection whatsoever in his voice. "Within the next few of your Terran weeks, I estimate that we will have successfully negotiated a treaty that will prove beneficial to all citizens of both species. At the moment, it would be advisable to regroup with our respective parties and inform all members of the delegations of our decision."
"Good idea," she says, and awkwardly tries to copy the gesture that serves them as a salute. The Ambassador crooks his eyebrow in response, and gathers the lower-level diplomats into a group he sweeps to the side; they begin to talk quietly in their strange, guttural language. Mulgrew turns to Suresh expectantly, and he doesn't disappoint.
"I don't like it," he says immediately. "Why did they just now decide to trust us?"
"I don't know," she says, "and frankly, I don't care. Everything so far points to their being an honest species." It's bizarre to say that out loud, to admit dealing with goddamn aliens. "What matters is that we've reached a kind of trade agreement. And I think they might be looking for something else."
"An alliance?" Suresh asks, eyes sharp.
Mulgrew shrugs. "This is strictly off the record, okay? I don't feel comfortable giving the public a yes or no answer right now. But - yes. I think so."
Suresh huffs out a breath, and turns his gaze in the direction of the vuhlkansu. "I'd feel a lot better if I just knew why they changed their minds so quickly. Why we did too, for that matter! Things are falling into place a little too neatly."
"Maybe it's God," Mulgrew suggests, and they both chuckle as they turn their attention to other, more important things than little details like that.
. . .
"Your suggestion appears to have been successful," Vulcan says eventually. Terra's curled up in his lap, tracing designs on his palm with her nails. She can feel the little electric shivers she elicits through their tenuous bond, and wonders if he accidentally struck out with lightning planet-side. If he did, the vuhlkansu are probably freaking out; he doesn't seem like the type to do that often. She knows she lost a little control over a few undersea volcanos smack in the center of the Pacific, but a little erupted lava won't throw off the environmental equilibrium too much.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, peering up at him and thinking about licking a trail up his chest to the pale underside of his chin she can see from this angle. Make him lose that cool again. Yeah, she likes the thought of that.
"The auditory range of the vuhlkansu is considerably superior to that of the humans," he informs her, and she can totally hear the superciliousness in his voice. "I was capable of overhearing the favorable conclusion of the negotiations."
"Told you," she says, satisfied, and squirms in his lap, readjusting herself so she can nibble on his earlobe. "Think we should give it another go, though? Just to be sure. We don't want to underestimate."
Vulcan shifts, and abruptly stands with her firmly in his arms. (He's so damn strong! All the vuhlkansu are; it's intimidating. And really hot, Terra has to admit.) He sets her on the desk, limbs akimbo, and returns to his chair, leaving Terra to prop herself up on her elbow so she can look down at him.
"Well?" she asks, and Vulcan glances up at her, face utterly still, and slides a hand along her inner thigh. His mouth follows.
"Your commitment to interstellar diplomacy is admirable," he says, breath hot against her skin. Terra's head lolls back in anticipation, and she lets a slow grin creep across her face as he continues. "I commend you for your efforts."
And then he licks her with his hot, rough tongue until she's writhing and gasping and clutching at his formerly-flawless hair, and Terra doesn't worry about the diplomats anymore.
She's sure they'll be all right.