Disclaimer: The usual. Paramount owns these folks; they just let me
play with them.
Summary: What? It'll give it away. Actually, it's probably been
done before and been done better elsewhere. If so, my apologies.
This was a plot bunny that kept hopping back into my mind.
Special thanks to Janet for her encouragement and beta-ing.
Feedback: Yes, please. Afterall no money is being earned.
If anyone had passed him on the way to his cabin, they would have
seen only a very determined Vulcan. His outward control regained
enough to fool his shipmates; he had managed to get to his cabin in
record time without raising any suspicions. Inwardly, he was
fighting with himself, struggling with his breathing, his thoughts,
his body temperature, his emotions. How could he have let that
happen?! He was a Vulcan. He must control. A Vulcan would not have
been so affected.
*I am overly tired,* he thought, as he poured himself a small glass
of saya from the petite antique chest in the corner of the room. It
had been a most taxing week. Worm hole damage to the port nacelle, a
replicator algorithm mix-up giving everyone cold hot food and hot
cold food, aborted orders from Starfleettwice. It was, however,
excuse. He would not make excuses. But it did help him put his loss
of control in some perspective.
No, it did not. There was nothing that was going to make this
unforgivable loss of control explainable but his own weakness: his
growing desire for the other. He had been struggling with the
attraction for weeks now. Certain that it would fade with meditation
and reflection, and if he didn't act on the attraction. This was
merely a setback. He would persevere. In the safety of his cabin he
could analyze the situation, determine the factors that had caused
the situation, and make sure he avoided or at least alleviated said
factors in the future. This was not an unexplainable anomaly. He
would learn from this.
Spock placed the glass on the table next to his bunk. He stretched
out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. The speed of his
physical response suggested his human half was to blame. The
intensity, however, was no doubt his Vulcan half. He was still
heated, still engorged, although thankfully no longer steel hard. He
realized belatedly that he had been most fortunate to be carrying the
data pad with him when it had happened. Strategically placing the
pad in front of himself as he exited the area had been the only way
to preserve his dignity and privacy.
The arousal caught him off guard tonight, that was certain. Vulcan
honesty forced him to admit that it was perhaps--just perhaps--
inevitable, his curiosity and attraction working in tandem. He had
long been captured by those expressive eyes. Fascinated by the range
of meanings in their gaze, he had been quite successful in
categorizing various looks with human emotions. Yet he had not
expected to lose himself in their darkening desire.
He had dreamt of that mouth, instinctively knowing the warm and wet
orifice was both haven and heaven. Yet to actually see it in such an
act; to see the unadulterated enjoyment and hunger on the face of the
other. He feared what that memory would do to his dreams. Were those
lips sweet? Did the salt of human flesh taste differently than the
salt of Vulcan?
He had been caught up in the unexpected moment. It had been
voyeuristic. He had watched as the mouth that went with those eyes
focused in on its desired object. He could not look away as the
mouth took the first tentative taste. He had held his breath as he
saw the full lips parted and the tongue danced around the crown. His
breathing resumed, albeit in the rhythm of the tongue licking circles
over . . . and over . . . the tip running along the sides . . .the
broad, flat area of the tongue being placed along the length. Spock
had actually shivered when the teeth nipped at the peak. He had
strained against his chair as the fingers of those gentle hands were
brought to the mouth and the sweet cream nectar, which had spilled
before the mouth could catch it, was seductively sucked from the
fingertips before returning possessively to their prize. He had heard
the slight chuckle when the same fluid ended up on the other's
tunic. This followed by the comment: "It's been a long time since
I've done this. I'm out of practice, but it's as good as I remember."
Spock had almost climaxed, when the mouth descended fully to the base
and the cheeks hollowed in forceful sucking.
He had watched mesmerized, unable to move, unable to look away,
unable to deny his own powerful arousal and how much he wanted the
Spock groaned at the memory in the silence of his cabin. Regardless
of the fact that he was Vulcan, regardless of the fact that he was
the First Officer on the finest starship in the fleet, regardless of
the fact that he had steadfastly ignored his passion and sexuality
for three point six four years, he wanted nothing more than to feel
that mouth and those hands on him. He wanted to be the one desired,
the one who brought passion to those eyes. Mostly, he wanted his
renewed erection to fade without having to add further insult by
being forced to sit alone in his cabin and masturbate.
All because he had permitted himself to watch Leonard McCoy eat an
ice cream cone.