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DISCLAIMER: I Don't Own Star Trek. And I'm not making any money from this.
Spock's first. The one that ended cordially...not the crazy comlink lady. Maybe next time.
The Mirror
Lydia was past that stage of grief where she actually felt sorrow. She simply did not have any more grief to feel. She didn't feel happiness either. She was in an emotional netherland. She went through the motions of life, but found no joy in them -- but no pain either. And after everything she was perfectly content to never feel joy or pain again.
It was a relief for her to sit across from this pale young Vulcan, or had he said half Vulcan? It was a relief to see no emotion in his face. It echoed what she felt inside. She didn't have to pretend to be happy, or pretend to be sad. She could talk about art, literature and culture with him -- subjects she knew well, without emotion or embellishment. She didn't have to pretend they meant anything.
She had met him in an art museum a few weeks earlier. Standing alone in loose Vulcan clothing he had been staring at a painting she had taken to recently -- a canvas of nearly flat beige, relieved by only slight texture. Once she had loved the old masters like De Koenig, Rothschild and Hsu Jan. Now she liked flat beige.
"Does it please you?" She had asked him.
"It neither pleases nor displeases me. It is meditative." He replied.
"Yes, it is."
After a long pause she said, "I am Lydia."
"I am Spock."
They had toured the rest of the museum together. At first Spock only responded to questions, but when he discovered she was an art historian he began asking questions of his own.
She had invited him to lunch. And then to meet her at another museum...and then another. This was their third lunch together.
For the past five minutes they had been sitting in what she had determined to be companionable silence. She watched him eat, his hands moving with smooth precision. The silverware never seemed to so much as clink on the plates; his touch was just that light.
"Would you come home with me?" She asked him. She had learned not to use words that suggested emotion. She did not ask if he wanted or would like to come to her home, she only asked him if he would.
"Yes." He replied simply.
x x x x
Entering the door she slipped off her shoes, and Spock followed behind her.
She took off her coat, and took his. She put them both in the closet.
Leading him through her house to the bedroom she did not pause to give him a tour. She wasn't in a rush. She just didn't want to talk. Talking led to questions. Questions led to pity, or lectures on how she really needed to get on with her life. She detested both.
When they entered her room he paused at the door. He took in her neatly made bed with the gray duvet cover, the white walls, black and white tiled floor.
She turned and moved towards him. Standing on her tip toes she gently kissed his lips. He did not respond.
"Do you know why I brought you here?" She asked.
"I presume to engage in relations of a physical nature," he responded.
"Will you?"
He looked down at her left hand. She was still wearing her wedding band and engagement ring.
"Are you not bonded?" He asked.
She looked down at the rings. "A momento only. My husband died three years ago...along with my daughter. We won't be disturbed."
"I am unbonded as well." He looked back to her eyes. He wore the same impassivity he always wore. "I have never done this before."
"I do not mind."
For a moment he did not respond. Then he simply nodded.
She turned so her back was to him. "Please unzip my dress."
Soft fingers went to the nape of her neck, then down her spine as he undid her garment for her. She was left only in her bra and panties. Turning back to face him she stood back up on her tip toes and kissed him again. Though she kept the kiss light this time she pressed her body close to his and was half surprised when she realized that his body had already started to respond.
She helped him with his clothes until he was left in what must be the equivalent of Vulcan briefs. He was beautiful, tall, lean, his musculature defined although not overly developed -- the bulge of his arousal noticeable beneath his loose undergarment.
She tried to take his hands but he said, "Please, do not touch my fingers with yours." Taking him by the wrists instead she guided his hands so they were behind her back. She lifted her own arms so they were wrapped around his neck.
Pressing her body to his she whispered, "You may explore."
Closing his eyes he let his hands drift up her back until they cradle the back of her head. Then he let them drift softly down again. Lydia shivered as he gently stroked either side of her spine. He continued this path a few more times until she whispered, "You may go lower."
His hands immediately drifted down to trace the bottom edge of her panties.
"Take them off."
Looping his fingers up over the top edge he did. She returned the favor on his own briefs, unsnapped her bra and led him to the bed.
x x x x
Considering it was his first experience he held out for a fairly long time. But...
"I did not satisfy you." Spock said propping himself up on an elbow.
"No." Lydia responded, laying on her back next to him. She was not displeased or surprised.
"If it is agreeable to you, teach me." He lifted an eyebrow. "You will find I am a very apt pupil."
Their bodies were very close. The coolness of his expression was in sharp contrast to his physical temperature. She had not expected him to be so physically warm. Lydia couldn't help but notice that he was already ready to begin again. Curious she asked, "How old are you Spock?"
"Twenty-one years, nine months and four days."
Seventeen years her junior. How long had it been since she had a lover so young? Not since she and her husband...she ended the thought.
x x x x
Spock was an apt pupil. He seemed to find all means of sexual gratification acceptable. She began to think he found their experiences a long running experiment. He showed no emotion, but his body was so warm...somehow that physical heat took the clinical edge off their interactions.
He was determined to see that her needs were met -- whether for his satisfaction or hers she couldn't tell. She could tell that he was aroused by the effect of his hands, his lips, his tongue, on her. She strongly suspected he liked the feeling of control it gave him. He was so controlled outside of the bedroom...having her come completely undone made that moment of his own climax, when he would begin to pant then heave a final loud groan, seem restrained.
After she requested it he would usually wait an hour or so after they had finished before he left. But he never stayed the night...and she didn't want him to. He was not her man.
There were some alien elements to their physical relationship.
He was too strong. Not superhuman strong, just too strong for a man of his size. It was just too easy for him to pick her up. Not that there was much to her. Food had lost its flavor for her three years ago. She didn't weigh much.
Still, when Spock picked her up and pushed her against a wall, he did it too easily. He could balance her on a thigh for what seemed like an eternity.
He left bruises. He was always, always too gentle when they started out, but as they got closer to his climax he would often squeeze too hard leaving dark marks on her skin. He seemed to prefer climaxing below her, and she deduced it was for this reason. From below instead of grabbing her he would grab the sheets. They wound up going through several sets.
He rarely touched her hands with his. And whenever he touched her face he would do so with the back of his hand. Except once. He had been about to leave when she had asked him for just one more round. He had obliged her, but then they both had discovered her climax would not come. She could tell he was nearing his own completion.
"Go ahead," she said, "I'm not keeping score."
Without breaking his rhythm Spock reached up and brought two fingers of his left hand to her temples. All of a sudden she was flooded. All of her physical sensations were amplified. She felt herself coming with a rush just as his own climax gushed into her. For a brief moment she looked down and thought she saw some emotion...in his face? No, because it was impassive as ever. But she had some sensation of...gratitude...relief? He removed his fingers and then it was gone. She collapsed on his chest deciding that she must have been imagining things. After his heat got to much for her she rolled off of him. He got up and prepared to leave as he always did.
Their relationship wasn't just sexual. They went to museums, plays, wine tastings. If not precisely entertaining he still managed to keep her company. And Spock was a striking companion to have, they received plenty of envious stares. Not that they ever touched in public -- perhaps people were just trying to discern what the true nature of their relationship was.
Lydia never called Spock during the week, she didn't even have his comlink, although she would occasionally message him. Primarily they arranged meetings when they were together.
She did ask him one time if Vulcans ever felt emotions. It was the question everyone wanted to know after all.
"Yes," he had said, "We simply choose not to demonstrate them."
"So you loved your bond mate too then." It was a statement, not a question.
"No, our relationship was never fulfilled. And our original bond was arranged. She felt that another was better suited...that is why I am no longer bonded."
"You have never been in love then?" Lydia asked. She had no illusions that he was in love with her. She certainly was not in love with him. She had been in love before, been overwhelmed by a man's caring. Although she harbored no ill will to the Vulcan, she understood they would never go down that road together.
"No."
She felt oddly sad for Spock then. It was in that moment she realized that for all the pain she had experienced over the loss of her daughter and her husband -- her lover, her friend, the man she was supposed to grow old with -- that she would not have taken any moment of it back. The pain she felt over the loss of the two most important people in her life was oddly comforting.
I feel therefore I am? A twist on Descartes she doubted her half Vulcan bed mate would ever understand.
X X X X
Soon after that Lydia did find herself falling in love. She wondered if her conversation with Spock had something to do with. The conversation had reminded her of the possibilities. She did not, of course, fall in love with Spock.
She met Pete in a meeting for one of the Art Museums she consulted for one evening. The museum was building a new wing to house some Andorian artifacts they had acquired. He was one of the contractors. All she knew about him at the beginning of the meeting was his name and that he specialized in skylights.
The meeting diverted from the practical and became more about the museum's board telling all the consultants and contractors just how very important this project was to all of the Federation. Lydia of course knew what it was really about. After the museums directors went two hours over schedule she was proven right.
The project was so very important that the board was sure they wouldn't mind working for half their usual compensation, would they? Such a wonderful project would certainly burnish all their reputations.
Of course they would consider it, all the contractors and consultants declared. A very important project indeed.
As soon as they were out the door, Pete turned to her and said, "So was it worth missing dinner with your family for that load of shit?"
She laughed, actually laughed. Even though she didn't have a family...she knew better than anyone that a simple pleasure like having dinner with your family was worth more than the 'burnished reputation' working for any museum could provide.
For some reason she told him, "I'm actually, unattached. But I understand you perfectly."
"Unattached...?" He asked. "I'm afraid to ask..."
"Well, I actually wish I could say I'm divorced..." She bit her lip and looked down.
"Ah...well, I'm a Star Fleet widow myself." Pete replied.
Lydia looked up at him.
"A lot of us in this town," Pete continued. "I guess technically, I am a 'widower', but I hate that word. What does that make me, more widow-y than a widow? Hate the word widower. Not as much as I hate pity, and well intentioned advice though."
For the first time she actually saw him. He was not striking like the young Vulcan she was spending her time with. Older, barely taller than her, broad shouldered, white hair, an expressive face that wasn't inordinately handsome...but she knew almost right away that she wasn't going to be alone anymore.
"It has been so nice talking to someone who understands," she said. "I hate to say goodbye."
He was silent for a few moments then said, "My son is waiting for me, his sitter has probably fed him by now...but if you want to come to my house I'll replicate something and we can all sit at the kitchen table and, I don't know, play Go-Fish or something...He's only eight...So..."
She actually started, to cry, and to smile at the same time. "That sounds wonderful."
X X X X
She decided to call things off with Spock in person. She didn't have his comlink after all, and she couldn't bring herself to end their relationship -- whatever it was, via a texted message.
She waited for Spock to arrive at the appointed time. And of course he was there, at her door, at the appointed time on the dot. She let him in and was going to say something right away, but instead she took his coat, and waited for him to slip out of his shoes. She would take him to the kitchen she thought, pour a glass of wine and tell him there.
Coming up to her he placed his forehead against hers. He was about to reach up and stroke her face with the back of his hand as he always did but she caught his fingers in his. She felt a spark of something in her hand and let his fingers drop.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, nothing is wrong...I needed to talk to you about something."
Bringing his fingers up to her face again he stroked the cheek ever so lightly with the back of his fingertips. "Do you wish to talk now?" he asked.
She didn't answer for a moment. Gently he turned his fingers around so that his fingertips were against her cheek. He brought them up to her temple. Suddenly she realized how much she wanted him. Things hadn't really gotten physical with Pete -- there was no real promise, just the potential.
And she realized Spock still wanted her. The next time she'd have an a meaningless affair with a twenty two year old man boy alien would be...never. Just one for the road perhaps?
They didn't even make it to the bedroom for the first round. Spock pushed her against the wall in the foyer and she let her mouth dive to the tips of his ears.
Later, after they had made it to the bedroom he leaned up on an elbow and asked, "There was something you needed to talk to me about?"
She sighed. "This needs to be our last meeting."
"Very well," Spock said although he made no effort to move.
"You don't want an explanation?" she asked.
"I do not require an explanation. I presume you have a logical reason."
And suddenly it hurt just a little bit that he didn't seem to care at all. "You won't miss me, even a bit?"
He tilted his head, and looked vaguely confused. "To miss you, that would imply an emotional attachment?"
"Not necessarily burning love, Spock. Just fondness, surely you feel something after all these months?"
His face was a perfect mask. "Should I feel something?"
It was then that she realized the only reason he was still there was because she had requested him stay for an hour after each engagement months ago. Suddenly she wanted him out of her life, her house and her bed as soon as possible. "You can leave now, Spock."
"Thank you," he replied.
He got dressed to go. Just before he left the room Lydia felt some pity, she remembered all that she had to look forward to that he had never felt. "Goodbye, Spock," she said.
Spock turned and looked at her. Then holding up his hand and slitting his fingers down the middle he said, "Live long and prosper, Lydia."
Although his face remained as impassive as ever, she thought that it was the most expressive she'd ever seen him. Maybe it was the hand gesture? He never made hand gestures...
She smiled. "I will Spock. You too."
A/N:
I kind of picture Spock before Nyota as sort of like Camus' character in 'The Stranger', but with a respect for logic that gives him some principles. I'm sure there are exceptions to this detachment...his parents for instance.
Anyway, if you want to see how he changes read my other story Descartes Error. Romance, intrigue, humor...
Remember reviews are how fanfiction authors get paid. If you liked this, I'd really like to hear from you.