Hot Tubs: Slow Tease Part I
Hot Tubs & Friends & Lovers: Episode Two, "Slow Tease"
by SpockLikesCats
Type: Romance, Humor, Angst.
Warnings: sexytimes for one pairing (is that a warning or a promise?) And please see my "Headcanon" below to understand the way I write Chapel/McCoy.
Rating: M
Pairings: Spock/Uhura; McCoy/Chapel; Kirk/Gaila
Disclaimer: I love Star Trek but I don't make any money from it, or from these stories I insist on writing. As far as I know, nothing in this story is based on anyone's work except my own, or of course, the creators of Star Trek, long may they continue!
Headcanon: (1) Christine Chapel is "played" by Christina Hendricks ("Mad Men"). Impressively capable, red-haired, voluptuous, and someone McCoy utterly trusts. And by the way, she was not on board in ST2009 [in my head] – McCoy called out "Chapel" out of habit or desperation; (2) Leonard McCoy is from Georgia (as is traditional, in homage to DeForest Kelley); while he may have attended "Ole Miss," the University of Mississippi, for pre-med, he is from Georgia! (3) McCoy married Joycelyn [sic] and their daughter, Joanna, lives with her. He met Chapel before he met Joy and started seeing Chapel again once he separated from Joycelyn. 4) Gaila lives! After Enterprise's refit at Earth, Starfleet has re-assigned officers who launched escape pods as ordered by their respective ships' captains [as in the Kelvin incident] to escape Nero.
Part One
Commander Spock had arranged everything to his satisfaction. He and Lieutenant Uhura would dine at the small restaurant on the Starboard Observation Deck at 1930 hours. After a long period for conversation, they would then report to the Fitness suite to use the hot tub, an activity in which he took pleasure mostly for the whirlpool's heat.
Prolonged immersion in water held little appeal, but Nyota enjoyed it greatly, for reasons Spock did not find objectionable, so he took part. A relaxed partner was a contented partner, and that his ashayam be contented was a goal Spock found logical – and desirable – to fulfill.
A few weeks before, they had trysted in the Jacuzzi, but were interrupted by others, forcing them to forgo an attempt at a potentially embarrassing (on Nyota's part) activity. Spock did not embarrass easily, if at all. He simply completed his duties and performed scientific experiments with the highest proficiency and lived his life as he saw fit, and if others questioned his private decisions, he owed explanations only to Captain Kirk. Not to Dr. McCoy, no matter what the physician seemed to think.
Leonard McCoy sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He was finding it hard to get through today with so many patients suffering the indignities of Gnallifian intestinal worms. All of them begged him not to tell anyone else; all of them itched in places people shouldn't scratch; inevitably they did scratch and new eggs would hatch and the itching and embarrassment and lamentations of the patients would annoy other patients and themselves, and McCoy was getting tired of it.
"I itch, Doc, and I can't sleep. I think I'm bleeding down there." Ensign Mattox's tenor whine bored through Sickbay. Sammy Mattox was from central Florida. Everybody assumed that he and McCoy would be friendly since both men were from the Southeast United States, but they were wrong. McCoy couldn't stand Mattox, always running in to Sickbay every time he stubbed his damn toe or got a blister and twanging his loud voice everywhere. Plus McCoy thought Mattox had a thing for Nurse Chapel.
"Quit whining, Mattox," McCoy snapped. "I've treated little kids who were better patients than you."
"Can't you give me something so I could sleep?"
McCoy quickly charged a hypo and brought it over to the man's bedside. "Nothing would please me more," he said with a leer, "But the fact is, a shot of this stuff will make your throat hurt like hell when you wake up. Still want it?"
"If it'll help me sleep, oh yeah."
With any luck, his throat'll be so sore when he comes to, that he won't want to talk.
Nurse Christine Chapel was tired and feeling rather temperamental. The two often went together, but she always managed to hide her temper when patients were present. Yes; like McCoy, she took it out on … well, him, as he sometimes did her.
These moods never engendered serious disagreements between them, certainly not in front of other staff or patients, although occasionally McCoy's raised voice could be heard from his office, followed by acute remarks from Chapel, who was quite good at sharpening a verbal arrow right before she aimed it at his ego, his grumpiness, or other deficiency. She was more of an observer and analyzer but occasionally he just "got on her last nerve," as her Nana used to say.
The recent outbreak of Gnallifian intestinal worms was not only disgusting, but the patients complained a lot; their discomfort and mostly their inability to be on the job irritated them. (Starfleet had very few idlers in its ranks; such people were passed over for promotion and soon discharged.)
"Doctor, I dinna' think I can take any more o' this," Engineer Scott said loudly. "D'ye not think a few shots o' whisky might cure my ills? Surely it'd kill the wee basta— er, beasties."
"Except for my office, alcohol is strictly off-limits in my Sickbay," McCoy sounded reasonable enough, but Chapel could detect a little edge in his tone.
Scotty was miserable and irritable. "Then let me step inta' yer office for a few minutes, ye glaikit lout!"
"Well you'd have to get some whisky first, wouldn't you," McCoy said nastily.
"Ye canna spare me some o' that bourbon ye're so fond of?"
"Well since you pronounced the taste –" McCoy rendered a perfect Scots accent on the following words, " – absolute shite –" I wouldn't waste it on you, and besides, it won't have any effect other than making the present generation of worms produce more eggs, in their twisted means of survival." The doctor's eyes bugged out in a scary glare and Scotty sighed.
"Ehh, the cure's almost worse than the disease."
"Well you shouldn't have eaten food from a street vendor's cart then, should you?" McCoy snapped. "I warned you people before you departed on shore leave, but would you listen to your Chief Medical Officer? No-o-o-o! You listened to the damned holo-guides!"
Scotty pointed to the decoction of Gnallifian herbs. He had to drink a deciliter every two hours. "I wish ta hell I hadn't. I think ye made this stuff nasty and evil tasting on purpose."
"Well if I had – and I didn't – it'll help teach you the lesson I failed to teach all y'all before, won't it!"
Christine intervened. "Doctor, a moment please?"
"Yeah, what."
She angled her head toward his office and preceded him in. He loved walking behind her; he had told her so years ago – when he was a resident doctor and she was a nurse at UC Berkeley Medical Center – and she never forgot it, even in professional circumstances – especially those in which McCoy needed distraction to get out of a mood. Chapel knew well that she had a lovely figure and a walk to match.
Once inside, she turned and looked steadily at him, pursing her lips, crossing her arms, and tilting her hips as she leaned on his desk. Disconcerting her opponents was only one of her skills and she deployed it extremely well. "What was that about, Doctor? You know it's not part of your job to be nasty to your patients."
"Yes. I do know," he snapped. "I just hate having to listen to them whine over such a minor thing caused by their own stupidity. They're not dyin' for crissakes."
Chapel put her hands on her hips, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Well, snap out of it. The orderlies hate dealing with this stuff and I have to help them deal with it as much as I do the patients. What's your problem?"
A pause.
"… Len, I'm asking you a question …"
McCoy had drifted back in time … to UC Berkeley, his first year as a resident physician ….
~/\~ He first notices her striding –in a very womanly way – up the walkway to the hospital at the university's Medical Center. He's never seen an "hourglass figure" before, but he's seeing one now, and wow, what a figure it is. Rounded, womanly: generous hips, small waist, gorgeous bosom … when she goes by and smiles at him, he thinks she has the face of an angel. An angel who knows exactly what he's thinking, and is serene in spite of it.
Her porcelain complexion is radiant with good health and her lips are full; he can imagine kissing them softly, then deeply; her red hair is looped up in a practical yet lovely way, and he thinks of taking it out of its pins and letting it flow over his tired, tired hands. And her eyes – oh Lord – blue as a Georgia sky on a cool, clear day. Her mouth curves up in a secret, womanly smile as she passes him, and he almost turns to follow her and get her name, but he's been awake for 28 hours sterilizing and sealing wounds. In the late morning yesterday a massive shuttle accident brought dozens of patients with deep lacerations, punctures and internal injuries into the Medical Center's ER, where McCoy is doing a year as a surgical resident. He goes to his crappy little apartment, doffs his clothes, takes a shower, and sits on the bed, and before he knows it he's flat out, comatose in sleep.
She's a post-grad in Exobiology, he learns from the other students, and has the unlikely name of Chapel. "Unlikely" because the talk he hears from the guys and gay women is not exactly holy in nature. "The Red Fox," "Curvy Confection" and "Double Delight" are some of the many sobriquets laded on, and she sails by them all like a ship of state, with that celestial, inscrutable smile.
They get to know each other in the hospital cafeteria and later begin haunting Berkeley cafés, discussing medical science, and McCoy notices that she is, for all her physical assets, demure. She is not "free and easy," and he regrets that a little, but has come to care for her as a good friend. Sex, while a very attractive prospect, does not dominate his thoughts when they are together. What dominates his thoughts are, well, thoughts, to answer her challenges with – what to ask her about nursing – sharing the latest story about Dr. Rogers, who's funnier the wearier he gets – launching another discussion of medical ethics – maybe asking her if she might want to go to Savannah and visit his family, because Momma's not doing so well – and Christine's mere presence would cheer both Momma and his old man up. Plus they could visit Tybee Island and enjoy an afternoon at the warm, sunny beach, a contrast to the cool, foggy coast outside of San Francisco.
Several months into their friendship, after he's had a blood-soaked, adrenaline-pumping night in the Emergency Room, under the supervision of the stupidest Attending in the hospital, he spots Christine sipping coffee at a streetside table at the café on the way to his favorite bar.
"Len! You look like hell," she says.
"Oh, God, you have no idea. I feel even worse. We lost three kids tonight." He is so tired he is shaking, from adrenaline withdrawal, and low blood sugar; he hasn't eaten in ten hours. Must be why I was craving alcohol.
"Okay, you're coming with me," she says, and before they leave she has ordered a hot cocoa to go, and makes him drink it en route. It gives him just enough energy to get through the transport to Alameda. At her bayside apartment, she helps him to the sofa, kisses him on the forehead, and heads off to cook as he dozes.
He hears her moving around in her tiny kitchen. He drops off deeply for a few minutes but it's just enough.
The sofa cushion moves slightly as she sits, waking him. She hands him a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, soft, the way he likes them, cheese grits, vegetarian bacon and raisin toast, a very satisfying meal. "Here's some orange juice. No coffee for you," she says. "Eat."
And he does, rapidly – he's starving – he slows down at last, enough to take a long look at her. She is sipping roobios tea, bare feet up on the coffee table. Even her feet are lovely.
"Hey," he says, in a low voice, a tentative advance.
She puts down her tea and turns to him, her slight smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Hey, yourself."
He holds up the plate. "Thanks for this ..."
Their eyes meet for a long moment and her pupils enlarge. He almost stammers, but gets the words out, still in his low voice, thank God. "This may not be … Christine, I just wanna tell you, I think you are the brightest, kindest, most beautiful woman, inside and out, I've ever met. Besides my momma."
He watches her for a suspended minute, and her hand floats up to stroke his cheek. She kisses him softly on his mouth. "Come to bed," she says.
It is the sweetest night of his life so far.
So they're good friends and very happy lovers for a couple of months and McCoy is about to tell her how much his parents enjoyed meeting Christine on their third quick visit to Savannah last weekend, and how it cheered Momma up … but …
"Len, I have something to tell you," she says one morning over an early breakfast at the diner near campus. His stomach drops. Is she gonna say she's not interested in him anymore as anything but a friend? That they have to get married or she's gonna move on?
"You've heard about the plague on Niobe Six."
"'Course," he says.
"I'm going out there."
"What the hell …? You're an exobiologist, not a doctor!"
She tilts her head and looks at him. "An exobiologist will be quite useful, actually. You would be too." She smiles a little. "Even though you're still a resident. Come with me. Starfleet's assigning some of us temporary duty with Médecins sans Frontières."
He is about to say 'yes' … then he inwardly hears the worried sound of Daddy's voice last week when he spoke of Momma, how he didn't think there was much time left … "How long would we be gone?"
"Probably four months at least. A year maybe."
"I would like to," he says, taking her hands in his. "I really would, but Momma's taken a turn for the worse – I'm going home this weekend to be with her – Daddy and my sisters're worried. I can't go off-planet now – it's out of the question."
Christine's eyes are solemn. "The mission crew can't replace me now. I wish I'd known … I could've stayed to see you through." He tightens his hands around hers and they gaze at each other for a long time.
"Damn," they say at the same time. The rest of that week is Christine's preparations to depart, Len's long hours at the ER, and his calls home. They have a long goodbye, bouts of lovemaking and starlit evening walks on the little beach at Alameda, where they stop, bare feet chilling on the damp sand, clinging to each other as they look across the bay at the gleaming lights of the bridges and Starfleet Academy. There are tears, on both parts. It's a long, bittersweet goodbye because neither knows if they'll ever be able to be together again. ~/\~
Chapel stirred, catching his attention. Waving her hand in fact, by his face. "… a question …" she was saying.
And the question is, why did I marry Joycelyn instead of waiting for this lady? Joy and me - a casual relationship that went out of control … well, we got Joanna out of it at least, and she's the light of my life, but …
I wish Christine had met me at Riverside like we planned. I might've been sober when I shuttled back to San Fran and moved to the Academy. She'd've reassured me I was right to join Starfleet. I wouldn't have acted like such an idiot if she'd been with me.
I wouldn't still be so lonesome if Christine and I'd managed to connect.
Except for a few weeks when she'd been on assignment at Academy Medical working with him, Chapel was on away missions more often than she was around. She and McCoy'd had a couple of really fine weekends, but … they hadn't managed to re-form their previous relationship. Well, that was what happened with dual-career couples, wasn't it.
Chapel's mission to Niobe Six had morphed her love of medical science into a desire for a more "hands-on" profession. Nursing. A PhD exobiologist, she'd joined Starfleet, gotten advanced nursing certifications in various specialty areas, and had been bossing doctors around ever since. After she was promoted to Lieutenant Commander Captain Pike asked her to be Chief Nurse on the Enterprise. She hadn't been able to board in time for the Vulcan mission, but had joined the crew afterward, during the ship's refit at Earth.
So here we are like two pissed-off peas in a pod.
"Doctor McCoy," she said in her precise tone, and he blinked, and looked at her, and got irritated with himself. For fantasizing about a time past, a personal relationship that was on the edge of awkward now, and the present lack of a certain intimacy between him and Christine.
"I'm just tired, you don't have to yell at me."
She drew closer to him, fixed him with her blue, blue eyes and said, very quietly, "I was not yelling. It's my job to look after patients, Doctor. As it is yours, and that job is about giving care – in both senses of the word. It's my Sickbay as much as it is yours and if you upset the patients, it takes them longer to get better. Since you know that, I don't feel it's ordinarily necessary to explain it to you."
McCoy leaned against the wall. He knew his own body language pretty well, Chapel thought; he knew she liked his height and lankiness and ease in his body. She appreciated it now, but did not let it distract her.
"They ignored what I said and now I have to put up with their whining? It's worse than annoying. It's disrespectful in the first place, and wearisome in the second."
"Hmm … let's see. Crewmen and officers often disregard the recommendations of medical staff, don't they? Mr. Scott, for example. Sometimes he drinks a bit too much. And I know another officer who drinks a little too much and no matter what, when I bring it up to him, he gets snippy and denies it." She forestalled McCoy's imminent protest with her next words, "and I've been recommending that this same officer take a few days' leave, or do some recreational activities on board. So far he hasn't listened. At all."
"Dammit, Christine, I can't take time off now!" He waved his hand, indicating Sickbay and all the sufferers within.
"This infection is perfectly routine, Doctor, and the herbal decoction will help it … pass … in time. Plenty of our staff are able to deal with it. So I suggest you clear out for a few hours – a shift, even – exercise, work off your frustration and the alcohol you will inevitably drink, then take a hot bath or get a massage. You've been here over fourteen hours. Get some rest," she said in her most businesslike tone. "I mean it."
"Jesus! You've got your nerve, don't you!" he exploded.
She shifted her hips and stared levelly at him. "Yes. Because I know I'm right, and so do you."
She walked over to him, and pointed to the passageway door. He caught a whiff of her soft perfume, she saw; his nostrils flared slightly and he very nearly closed his eyes. "You need a break. Take one."
She didn't have to say it twice. McCoy was irascible to most people, but it didn't work on Chapel. And he didn't like being grumpy to her, because he was still in love with her.
His shoulders relaxed.
"Okay, okay." He shoved away from the wall. "And in a couple of hours, you'll be here far too long yourself, so I hereby order you to report to the Gym and/or Jacuzzi. Got it?"
She smiled. And when she smiled, he smiled; she positively melted him with it and she knew it. And he didn't mind that she knew it. Because he needed her to tell him the truth and be his friend.
"Got it," she said.
James T. Kirk, captain of the USS Enterprise, put his head back and let out a long whoosh of air through his lips. The chair at his Ready Room desk was quite comfortable, and he ruffled his hair with both hands to keep from getting drowsy. Always a problem for him in boring Academy lectures – since he'd usually known enough from the reading to ace the tests when the lectures started – drowsiness threatened during certain captainly duties, too.
I cannot say enough how much I hate administrative paperwork. Especially when it concerns disciplining crewmembers.
Screw it, I'm the captain. I can assign a "punishment" that fits the crime. So … Ensign Trinh pranked his roommate Jenks before area inspection by putting chocolate pudding in Jenks's bed. I think Trinh can miss his next 24 hours of shore leave to make every ensign's bed ready for inspection. A few in fact. And should the beds fail to pass LT Hendorff's inspection? Trinh gets to do it all over again next shore leave.
Whoa, I'm being positively … harsh. I was quite the merry prankster at the Academy myself. Okay, the first eight hours of leave then. No, six. Kirk initialed the order, sent it to Lcdr Giotto of Security and laid his CO Padd on the desk.
I could always assign Trinh to do some of this crap for my signature … but he's a redshirt. I'm not really bad at paperwork … especially anything to do with engine specs or operations. But the rest … it goes okay when I focus, but it's not a mental challenge! Administrative and personnel paperwork is so … dull, dull, dull.
Sure, Spock would do it, but he might think I asked him to do it because I'm still a cheater, or I want to rub his face in my promotion, or I don't want to face up to all my responsibilities.
Another sigh. Kirk got up and stretched, unkinking his neck and shoulder muscles, then went to stand by the viewport in the small Ready Room.
It's a hell of a privilege to be in charge of this ship – this ship! – and such a dedicated crew.
Not always so sure I'm up to it … no matter how much I wanted it, it was really unfair of Starfleet to promote me over Spock after the … annihilation of Vulcan. It was embarrassing getting command of the Enterprise plus a medal. Just the medal and assignment as Spock's First Officer would have been fine, thanks.
And there was my wonderful introduction to Spock – his bringing me up on charges of cheating – okay, I did cheat, but the Kobayashi Maru is a ridiculous "test" – the "no-win scenario" is bullshit, people win once in a whil e, especially if they come up with a nov el solution …
Mine was about as novel as it gets. Beat the computer program! Way to go, Jim. What a great example of my skills ...! Talk about embarrassing. Although deception is a necessary skill for a starship commander, I hate having been deceitful at Starfleet Academy.
Most of all, I hate the way I used Gaila. Unsportsmanlike, and ungentlemanly.
Kirk knew Uhura had warned Gaila about him back then; Gaila told him so, with the amusement of a woman who knows better. "She doesn't know we have a special connection, Jim." But Uhura had been justifiably dubious. As a communicator, Uhura perceived a lot about people, and she'd been right about him. Regrettably.
And Gaila ….
Gaila had not spoken to Kirk in the months since; on the Enterprise's return to Earth after Nero, she'd been assigned to the flagship, as were many of the hundred or so survivors of Nero's attack on the Starfleet ships at Vulcan. She worked with Scotty in Engineering and he sometimes saw the two of them enjoying drinks in the lounge and talking endlessly about improvements to the ship. He'd nod uncomfortably and Scotty would greet him and Gaila would nod without meeting his eyes.
Kirk was incredibly glad Gaila was alive, but very ashamed of asking her to unknowingly open that subroutine to effect his "solution" to the Kobayashi Maru scenario. He could hardly face her. He'd never even tried to apologize, he was so mortified at himself.
What the hell can I do? If I give her extra leave days or something it'll raise questions. It'd be insulting to her anyway, it'd look like a pay-off or an inadequate, grandiose apology.
I'm a dumbass. It's about time I apologized. Walk up to her and say, "For the next few minutes I am not your CO. I am the guy you dated at the Academy. I want to apologize …" If she slaps me I say again, "I'm sorry," and leave.
Who knows how she'll react, but I, at least, need to be an officer and a gentleman. Huh. I can just hear Bones: "Finally the scapegrace boy is growin' up."
He watched the stars, and remembered long conversations with Gaila, as they lay on their backs by the Golden Gate. How she loved the stars. They shared that love – from the time Jim had been a kid, he had looked to space for escape from his miserable Earth-bound existence.
To Gaila they symbolized freedom because she hadn't seen them from the time she'd been old enough to have sex until she escaped the slavers. After her escape she had been a consultant to Starfleet, helping them learn about Orion slaver syndicates, customs and civilization. Starfleet tried but could not find any remaining members of her clan. Instead, Starfleet assigned her tutors and offered her more education at Starfleet Academy. She had tested out to be a very talented engineering candidate, and was in the top 5th percentile of every class.
What an amazing, stubborn, admirable woman. I should never have screwed her over like that. At least Spock didn't include her when he denounced me. He knew it was all my doing.
And so did Captain Pike. I disappointed him for the first time that day.
I owe it to him, too. To be the best man I can be.
Spock had a contingency plan. He was Vulcan. He always had a contingency plan. Nyota's … desire seemed to center around the Jacuzzi in the Fitness Suite, so he decided that was the place to start after dinner. It had amused her on their previous visit, in the sight of McCoy, to trail her fingers up Spock's thigh. To which he had, quite naturally, responded, being unprepared. It had surprised McCoy when Spock left the Jacuzzi with no bathing suit in evidence. McCoy was unacquainted with certain details of Spock's outward appearance. (The CMO had, of course, examined him to establish a baseline – using modern technology, which did not reveal unnecessary information, only anomalies.) And Spock had not yet had injuries that required him to disrobe for treatment. As a Vulcan and a man in superior condition, however, Spock had no inhibitions about nudity.
The Vulcan also had a talent for stealth which few humans shared, and he intended to use it this evening, in service of Nyota's fantasy.
Gaila slapped Jim Kirk in the face. Hard. Her beautiful face was tight with anger, and she hissed as she smacked him. Hissed! That was something he didn't know, that Orion women hissed. Like the biggest, meanest house cat ever. It sounded threatening …but kinda sexy. Damn!
He had worn civilian clothes so his uniform and rank wouldn't be a factor as he apologized, but he had – he thought – put the odds slightly in his favor by wearing the "polar blue" sweater she'd given him at the Academy "because it matches your eyes."
"I'm sorry," Kirk said again. He started to leave, but Gaila grabbed his wrist.
"You wait," she commanded. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. "Uhura said I should slap your face, that you'd remember it because it was physical. That you deserved it for what you did. And I agree, you did. Commander Spock didn't write me up, thank goodness. But you! You … you played me for a – a sucker. A sap," she finished. "I heard that in an old holo, and it fits."
Blushing, Jim lowered his eyes. Gaila was genuinely a nice person, and he had always liked her. "Of course it was my fault. I should never have asked you to open my message that afternoon. I disrespected you and I abused your trust. I'm really, really sorry."
She reached up a hand and cupped his chin briefly. "You can apologize to me all night," she said in a strange tone.
Jim waited. Sarcasm was next. You can apologize to me all night and it won't make any difference, was what he expected. There was a long pause.
"… What," Gaila said.
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Did I say it wrong?"
"I … I don't know. Did you?" Jim was perplexed.
"Okay," she said, a finger to one of her curls, winding it around her fingertip, "I saw this couple last week on shore leave, and he had done something wrong, and his girlfriend was angry with him, and he said he was sorry and he kissed her to make up, and she said, 'You can apologize to me all night.'" Gaila paused. She had no idea how charming her naïveté was. "I guess I did get it wrong … or you did."
"Umm … I did … yeah." Kirk sensed a light ahead in his path.
Gaila put her face up to be kissed.
Jim looked around. They were alone in the passageway. He kissed her.
"Don't you ever play me for a sap again," she said quietly, and kissed him back.
Nyota Uhura took off her uniform. It had been a long day. The current crop of Academy graduates assigned to the Enterprise – admittedly, only three Communications specialists were among them – seemed, well, not as dedicated as she was. Bending over to remove her boots, she heard a beloved voice from in back of her. "But you are exceptional, Nyota." Spock had silently come close and she could feel his hips, his heat, at her behind. Though clothed, he was slightly aroused.
"Mmm," she said, relaxing and straightening up to lean back on him, moving the crown of her head under his chin so he could smell her hair.
His warm hands slipped around her ribs from behind and his hands slipped up under her bra, cupping her breasts, then kneaded her nipples with gentle fingertips. Her pelvic muscles tightened with desire and she heard a raspy whisper in her ear. "You mentioned you might like a surprise, ashayam. Will this evening be suitable?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"We will need to be suitably prepared and dressed for the occasion."
"I'm ready."
"No … not yet," he told her. He took off her bra and turned her around. He was not clothed above the waist, and her breasts rubbed across his lower chest hair. Their eyes met and held; his looked big and black. He leaned down to kiss her throat, and nuzzled her collarbones, and further down. She smelled the usual delightful spicy scent from his hair and bussed the top of his head, stroking his cheek as he tongued the tips of her breasts. Her knees were about to buckle, so she raised up his head to kiss his mouth. He stood and responded quite passionately, the tip of his tongue exciting her own, his hands falling to her rear, pushing her panties down, and she felt one of his hands at her front, two fingers moving to part her pubic hair.
"Mmm," she said again. His support enabled her to move her trembling legs apart so he could have better access. Her panties were around her thighs, but so what, they stretched. She smiled into his mouth, pushing her pubis against his hand; his fingers, inside her, moved out, and he took the hint, massaging her clit; fingers, thumb, gentle, firm, quick, then …
He broke the kiss. She unfastened his trousers and slipped them down. "A bit fast," she murmured, "but I like it." She took his not-quite-erect lok in her hand and aimed it gently down to a mutually pleasing position. She tipped her pelvis up, down, up, down, the soft skin and firmness of him massaging her …
His hands were under her rear, lifting her onto him; he entered her and she rode his hips, ankles locking behind him, and he took her over to the bed, disengaging and laying her on her back. She frowned in puzzlement, but went with it. A surprise … he brought a small bottle from the floor at the foot of the bed, took some liquid into his mouth and descended, parting her legs with his hands, to lick her sex, a delicious warmth descending from his mouth … it tingled and it felt wonderful.
He pulled her toward the foot of the bed, angled her up, positioned his lok and slipped into her center and out, in and out, making a little rumble of satisfaction. Her hands covered his on her bent knees, and sighing, she ran her fingers up to the hair on his arms and back to his hands as he moved in her.
Then he pulled out. And stepped away.
"Hey!" she protested.
He tilted his head, his eyes in contented slits, and opened the closet. "We can dress now, and begin our evening."
"Spock, that is not fair! You're – you're being a tease!" she said with frustration. She moved her hand to caress herself … to forestall her imminent action, he took up her hand and kissed her fingers. Despite stopping her in the moment, he looked as if he might enjoy watching her pleasure herself at some time later on, she noted.
"Nyota. Be patient."
Ohhh…, she thought. He brought some clothes to her, but no underthings – there was a white swimsuit, with gold buttons down each side and a modest front. The back was deeply scooped. The long-sleeved dress was dark teal and except for a satin collar and cuffs, it was sheer on top, with two sheer layers in the skirt.
It fell nearly to her ankles, nipped and crossed at the waist, fastened with two gold buttons.
She put on the suit and Spock buttoned the sides for her. She noticed his fingers were not quite steady. The dress slipped on easily. She looked at her reflection in the viewport. "It's lovely, mpenzi."
Spock, now wearing a dark blue silk tunic and slim black trousers, stood behind her, putting his arms around her and kissing the nape of her neck. "As are you, my Nyota."