Her:
You look at the invitation that's arrived by courier. It's on a substance that mimics old-fashioned parchment and the handwriting is exquisite. You are cordially invited to attend a poetry reading at the Vulcan embassy in two days. Attire: black tie.
You snap a still of it and send a personal comm to Spock that says, "Is this your idea?"
A response comes quickly. "No."
You laugh, because a human would have elaborated. "Your mother?"
"Undoubtedly."
Again you smile. "Should I go?"
You expect an "Up to you" kind of response but all that shows up on your screen is "Yes."
"Will you be there?"
Again no games. Just: "Yes."
You decide you don't want to play games either. "Then I'll see you there."
"Excellent" appears on your comm screen.
You go to your closet and assess your formal wear. Spock has seen you in none of it. Buying a new dress is a waste of credits, especially when you love the dresses you have.
You go to your favorite boutique anyway. The dress you buy is navy and hugs you in the right places. It's not immodest but it shows enough skin to be interesting. You resist buying new shoes to go with it. There should be a limit to how much trouble you go to simply to impress a man who's already said he's interested.
Then again, he's interested in you as a concept. You'd like to make him interested in you as you.
You buy the shoes, too.
Work keeps you too busy to obsess much more over it. The night of the reading you call a flitter for the ride to the embassy, and see Amanda grin as you walk in. She and Sarek are holding court near the entrance so you wait your turn, then roll your eyes at her after you give Sarek a more respectful greeting. "I don't remember getting invites when Valeris was in the picture."
She laughs. "My dear, if I can help my son find a better mate than that bi—"
"My wife." Sarek's rebuke is gentle, and you smile.
"That woman, then I will. And you look stunning. Doesn't she look stunning, my husband."
He has the look of a man stuck between wanting to agree with his wife but wary of admiring another woman. You take pity on him and say, "I'm sure he'll agree with whatever you say, Amanda. Happy wife, happy life."
He looks grateful and says, "Indeed." But then he says softly, "If my son fails to appreciate you, he is a fool."
You roll your eyes at him this time. Then you move on, letting others get their time with the two.
Spock comes in a few minutes after you do. He gives his parents a respectful nod but doesn't stop to talk to them, making a beeline for you. "Christine."
"Spock."
He stands so close to you the message he is sending to any other interested parties is that you're with him—not that you think there are any other interested parties at this event.
"Feeling territorial tonight?"
"Yes."
You smile. "You're just not one to waste words, are you?"
"Should I? Would you prefer some elaborate courtship? I am sure Leonard could give me instructions."
"I told you I wasn't interested in you."
"More accurately, you told me that my attitude toward wooing you needed adjustment."
You laugh, because that's an excellent summation.
He drops his voice even lower. "And you told me you love me. Which is encouraging."
"When haven't I loved you, Spock? It's just what you'd expect, isn't it?"
"What I expected was for you to say yes. You have not said that. I am...surprised at how much work it will apparently take to..."
"To land me? Jesus, Spock." But you're laughing because he looks so peeved and sincere all at once. "So me saying that I love you gave you hope there might be some positive outcome to all this work?"
"You agreeing to come here is also an encouraging sign."
"I might just like poetry."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes."
His eyes are shining. "Did you come solely for that?"
"Maybe." You grin.
He gives you a slow once-over that makes you shiver. "That dress is new, is it not?"
You shrug.
"I doubt you would buy it if you were simply here for poetry."
"Maybe I had nothing else to wear."
"In the position you are in, I would expect attendance at receptions and ceremonies to be a fairly common event. I imagine you have a closet full of dress uniforms and civilian formal wear."
"You imagine correctly." You stop short of asking him what else he might imagine in your wardrobe. "Do you like the dress?"
"I admire how you look in it."
"Wow. You're pulling out all the stops. Did your mom teach you that one?"
He looks very pleased with himself. "No. I often heard Jim phrase it that way."
"Getting tips from the great Kirk. Points for paying attention."
He nods.
You realize that for the first time since the news about the conspiracy broke, you're actually having fun. You think by the look on his face, that he is too. You smile wider and his expression turns tender. For a moment, you're lost, and you think if he asked you to, you'd go anywhere he wanted, let him do anything he wanted. Fortunately, a soft chime sounds and he gestures for you to come with him, into a large room where chairs have been set up.
They're the kind you hate. Flimsy and temporary. They get uncomfortable quickly. But he leads you to the back of the room, where the furniture that's probably normally in this room has been pushed. He chooses a settee for the two of you. It's more comfortable than it appears at first glance and you smile at him. "Good choice."
"The reading may be lengthy. What logic is there in discomfort?"
"Especially when discomfort can actually be counterproductive to polite listening. What with the shifting and all."
"Precisely."
You lean in, aware that there are keen ears on the Vulcans filing in so you need to talk more softly than normal. "You also get to sit closer to me here."
"Indeed. An additional benefit." He puts his hand on the cushion, then moves his robe to cover it, just as it was on the bench. "Moreover, there is no one behind us."
"Is that your subtle way of saying you want to hold hands?"
His lips tick up ever so slightly.
"Well, who am I to deny you?" You reach for his hand, having fun being sneaky as you slide your fingers over his, rubbing gently.
He closes his eyes for a moment, then turns to you. His expression is serious. "I will endeavor not to hurt you."
"You're getting the hang of this." You start to pull your hand away, but he turns his so you are palm to palm, then he tightens his grip until you abandon the idea of getting away from him. "Big, big points, Spock."
He lets a short squeeze be your answer, then turns his attention to the person getting up on the small stage that's been set up at the other end of the room. He looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but as Amanda comes in, she glances over and is obviously biting back a smile before taking her seat.
"She approves of you," he murmurs.
"So does your dad."
"I am well aware of that." He gives you a look that says this might not be a point in your favor.
You decide you don't like that, and let your eyebrows go up and start to slide your hand away, but he tightens his grip again until you smile and stop.
"Message received?" you ask.
"With startling clarity."
Him:
You are having a difficult time paying attention to the poetry reading. The feel of Christine's hand, so much cooler than yours, rubbing gently against you in a way you do not think she is aware she is doing, is...arousing.
You know it is a sign of how emotionally compromised you are that you are not only allowing Christine to do this but have encouraged her to do it. You cannot imagine Valeris ever holding your hand this way and it pleases you to have this, something she can never taint.
Christine shifts and she eases her hand away from yours. You feel strangely bereft and glance at her. She's facing front, appears rapt, but now you think she is fully aware of the effect she was having on you—and has chosen to take it away.
You appreciate her tactics. It is a basic tenet of negotiations that the harder one works for something, the more one will value it. You are surprised she would use this on you, but perhaps giving a taste and then withholding something desired is also useful in emergency operations.
Or perhaps your father has been mentoring her. She was quick to leap to his defense. But it is hard for you to imagine him conspiring with Christine on this. Not because he would refuse her his assistance, but because you think you would not merit such behavior on his part.
You are simply not that interesting to him. Not since you made it clear you would never follow his blueprint for your life.
You thought he would approve of Valeris. She was everything T'Pring would have been without the duplicity—or so you thought. You close your eyes, trying to will both of them away. Vulcan females have done nothing but hurt you. Perhaps it is why your father chose a human wife after his unpleasant union with Sybok's mother.
It is no doubt why you have turned to Christine.
Although she has not made being with her easy. You are grateful to your mother for engineering this; you would not have thought to invite her to this.
She looks over at you and smiles in a way that makes you wish you could lead her upstairs to one of the guest rooms and remove the lovely dress she has bought to please you and take her.
And you think she knows it. It is why she is not holding your hand. She has reset the table.
She does not plan to be used. You feel disappointment, but also new respect for her. This is unexpected and you pride yourself on seeing all the possible options in a scenario.
Unless, apparently, a Vulcan female is involved.
There is restrained applause and you realize the current poet has finished. Is there another? You glanced at the program but did not pay the kind of attention you normally would have.
You were distracted. Christine distracted you.
You reach over and take the program from her lap, checking it. She turns and you pretend not to notice that she is watching you. Finally, you set it back on her lap and meet her eyes.
Her are playful, but they turn sensual the longer you look at her. You think she is enjoying this. But as her pupils dilate, you also think she is not unaffected.
Is it using if you both want it this badly?
When the last poet concludes, you urge her up and lead her to the stairs.
No one else is filing out—was there a question and answer period? You do not remember and you do not care.
She laughs softly. "You really think now is a good time to show me your etchings?"
"Please. We do not have to— I merely want to—" You stop. You know what you want but a Vulcan in control would not need it this much.
"Come on." She grabs your hand long enough to get you going and then lets go.
You lead her to your favorite of the rooms, check to make sure no one is currently staying in it, and then close the door, pushing her up against it.
She smiles but makes no move. "What now, sailor?"
"You joke." You press against her, your nose against the skin of her neck, learning her scent.
She moans and you know you are smiling.
"Are you joking now?" you ask as you let your lips touch down on her throat, kissing around to her ear, turning her so she has to brace herself against the door as you kiss the back of her neck.
She suddenly struggles and you let go of her. She is angry; you can see it and you can feel it as you touch her hand to try to calm her.
"Christine, what did I do?"
"Why don't you just close the drapes? I'm sure they have black-out panels. And hey, turn the lights off, too. Then it'll be so much easier for you to pretend I'm her."
You shake your head in a way you hope means you have no idea what she's saying.
"If you really want someone you don't even have to look at, get a prostitute. Better yet, get a shape-shifting one and you can have your traitor back." She pushes you off her, but you hold the door shut so she can't leave.
"I do not understand."
"No shit, Spock." She slips around you and goes into the bathroom, and you hear her sniff. She is crying?
You replay what you did, how you turned her, what her view was compared to yours and you close your eyes and exhale softly—did she really think you did not want to look at her?
She has not shut the door of the bathroom so you go in, turning the lights on full, and pull her to you, then turn her, so she is staring in the mirror with you behind her. Then you whisper, "I am sorry. I did not think of the message that might send. Now you can see what I am looking at."
You kiss the back of her neck again, pulling her more tightly against you, and you lean in so that you can watch her in the mirror, so you can meet her eyes. "I see no one but you."
She stares at you angrily but then it fades, then she gives in and you feel her arousal through her skin as she holds on to your hands, as she pulls them higher, off her stomach and under her breasts.
She will give you anything. You can feel that.
But just moments ago, she thought you wanted a stand-in for Valeris.
And you can't say with a hundred percent certainty that some part of you did not. Even if right now, you just want to please this woman who is leaning back so languidly in your arms.
You turn her, kissing her as you push her out of the bathroom and to the bed, as you urge her to lie back, as you ease her dress up and pull down her underwear and kiss your way up. As you taste her. As you lick and suck and she begins to buck under your mouth.
You pull back just before it is too late, and she moans, and you murmur, "Who am I with, Christine?"
"I don't fucking care. Just finish me off."
You can feel the smile she causes and don't fight it. Although you think that while she might mean the words at this moment, she will come to regret them over time. "Who am I with?" You raise your head and wait for her to do the same, to meet your eyes, to say, "Me."
Then she laughs and says, "For the love of God, Spock. Finish it."
You go back to what you were doing, building her up, but just before she is ready, you stop again.
"Damn you."
You ease away. "I do not wish to do this here. My place or yours. But not here."
"Too embarrassed to have me seen by all your Vulcan friends?" Her smile is uncertain.
"No, I wish to walk naked to the kitchen if I get thirsty. That will be...problematic if we stay here."
She laughs, as you intended her to, and you ease her underwear back up. You lean in, kissing softly, in a way intended to arouse, not ease the tension.
"You're really not going to finish this?"
"I will finish it when we are in one of our apartments."
"Mine is closer."
"Then we will go there." You pull out your personal communicator and order a flitter. Then you go back to touching her, to sucking gently through the silky fabric of her underwear, making her writhe.
Her pupils are so dilated that there is very little blue showing in her eyes when you pull her to her feet. She is breathing hard and whispers, "Please."
You kiss her and she tries to grind against you, to bring herself to completion and you pull away and tell her, "No. You must wait."
You and Valeris never played games like this. But it feels right with Christine. You want to make her wait, and you will touch her hand during the flitter ride so you can feel what she is feeling, and when you get to her apartment, you will finish it. You want to lean her against the wall of her apartment near her front door and prop her leg over your shoulder, and suck her until she cries out. You want her to be heard from the hallway.
You want evidence that you move her, that she loves and wants you. And you know she will give it to you because she does love and want you. She is practically screaming it each time your skin touches hers.
She tries to grind against you a second time, and you turn her, biting down gently on her neck, sucking as you do it, knowing there will be a mark come morning.
Liking that you will have marked her.
You never marked Valeris.
"You must wait, Christine."
She moans but she doesn't try to take care of herself again.
Her:
You somehow follow Spock down the stairs after he runs his hand down your dress to smooth it and fixes a stray tendril of your hair in a sweet way that only makes you want him more.
"I can't say goodbye to your parents in this state."
"Wave when we get to the door."
"That's so rude."
"I believe they will understand."
You laugh. "Did they do that to you? Wave before they went into their room, like you shouldn't touch your mom with those telepathic hands when they were in that state?"
"Christine, please, I do not want to speak of my parents having sex."
"Oh, fine." The two of you are almost to the door and you turn, spot Amanda watching you leave, and give her a smile and a wave.
She lifts her hand and her smile is knowing.
"Oh, God, that's so embarrassing. Your mother isn't fooled."
"I did not expect her to be." He urges you into a flitter you didn't even know he'd called.
"Wow, can you multitask or what?" As he slides in next to you, you give the flitter your address, then once you're safely out of range of the embassy, you lean against him, put your lips on his ear, and whisper, "Please?" You slowly let your legs open.
"Wait," he says as he eases away. Then he turns and there is such a lightness in his eyes that you just want to kiss him.
You resist the urge but you murmur, "This is so fun."
"It is," he says, surprising you—not that he's having fun, but that he's admitting it so easily.
"Did you and she do things like this?" This has to be asked. Now, not later, when you're too far into it and thinking it's for you alone but maybe being wrong about that.
"Never. Did you know her?"
"Not well. She stopped into ops a few times to talk to Cartwright but he wasn't in a rush to introduce us. I thought he was sparing me because he knew what you meant to me. Now, I'm not sure—maybe they were already conspiring?"
"Perhaps they were. I can say with assurance that she would not have enjoyed this." He cocks his head as if assessing the statement. "Actually, I think it is more that I would not have enjoyed doing this with her. I would have felt..."
"Vulnerable?"
He nods. "And judged. Will you judge me?"
"I will if you make me wait much longer." You laugh at his expression. "Please, Spock. The flitter computer won't tell." It's programmed to be very tolerant, but maybe that's not the thing to say at this moment. Spock doesn't need to be thinking about you and other men.
Although he seems to be. "Did you and Cartwright do this sort of thing?"
"He didn't have your magic telepathy to let him know where I was."
He looks pleased to hear that. "But...games?"
"I guess. But..." You sigh. "Spock, I settled for him, you know? I loved him dearly as a friend and eventually, when it was clear you and Valeris were in for the long haul, I let him in the way he wanted. But..." You reach for his hand and meet his eyes. "Can you feel the anticipation?"
He nods.
"Can you feel the love?"
He nods again.
"Let's just say I'm glad he wasn't telepathic because he wouldn't have felt this level of either."
He shocks you when he cups your cheek, his touch so gentle. "I am sorry. And I am also...glad."
You meet his eyes and he frowns, and you know he can feel how your thoughts have turned your mood darker, so you just ask: "Are you settling for me? The way I did with him? Was she your one true love, Spock?"
"No, she was my misguided attempt to be more Vulcan than I am, to find something that T'Pring took from me. I thought Valeris respected me. As a Vulcan. As a logical being. As myself."
"She probably did."
"One does not betray a person one respects."
You think about that. Because it would mean Roger didn't respect you. Then again, that fact was already confirmed when he created something that looked nothing like you to be his little mechanical geisha. "Okay, maybe."
"I am not settling." He pulls you closer and eases his hand up your dress and under your panties. "You were in a better state before our discussion. Perhaps talking, at this moment, is overrated?"
You laugh and make noises of general agreement.
"You are sure the flitter protocols are tolerant of this kind of behavior?"
"Yes. Well, unless some entrepreneurial type is using flitter vids to blackmail people."
"I think we are safe. I will be careful not to show anything." And then he's touching you again, and you're moaning, and just before you get there—he stops again.
"Spock. God. Damn. It." You grind against his hand, but he pulls it away, and waits until you are watching before he puts his finger in his mouth and sucks on it.
You groan.
He almost smiles. "I think you are now in a much better frame of mind."
Him:
You do not think a flitter ride has ever taken longer. Christine is pressed against you, her fingers tapping on the top of your hand, and her need pulses at you with each moment of contact.
You lean into her, your lips grazing her ear for a moment, inhaling deeply, the combination of her perfume and natural scent intoxicating. You don't think a woman has ever been so...yours before. Ironic, for all that Vulcan mating customs tend toward possession.
The flitter finally pulls over and she slips out. You follow, enjoying the way her dress moves as she walks, what parts of her it accentuates. She leads you into her building and to the elevator. She tries to kiss you but you murmur, "Wait," as you nip her earlobe.
She moans and your body reacts to the sound; you hope that no one else needs the elevator. A robe is more forgiving than pants, but it won't hide everything.
She takes your hand, need pulsing into your skin as she pulls you down the corridor to a corner unit, palms open the door, and lets you push her against the wall once you're inside. You have her dress off in mere moments, her undergarments follow and you stop and admire what is now yours.
You kiss her, lips moving down, exploring her body, feeling her trying to pull you somewhere—the bedroom, no doubt—but you say, "No, here." And then you kneel and ease her leg over your shoulder, finding her with your tongue, touching as you go, inside her, one finger, then two.
She is past the point of stopping and you take her as far as you can and then enjoy the feeling of her pleasure.
She is not quiet. This pleases you, too.
But then, as she rests against you, you feel something else, new emotions flooding in.
Regret. Shame.
You ease her off you and stand, pulling her to you so you can study her. "What is it?"
"It's okay. That was really good." She does not meet your eyes.
"You regret this?"
"No one could regret that, Spock. It was...it was amazing." She still will not meet your eyes.
"Then what? Is it that I am not Admiral Cartwright?" You are hurt now and you let go of her. What is there to be ashamed of?
"Spock, for God's sake. I'm naked. I'm naked and I'm letting you do this to me and, okay it's the best orgasm I've ever had, but it's our first goddamned date. What am I doing? What are you going to think of me?"
You move back to her. "We have known each other a long time."
"I know."
"I wanted to make love to you during the Pon Farr." Technically you would have been incapable of making love, but you phrase it the way you think she needs to hear it.
"So we're counting that as a first date? You throwing soup and then trying to seduce me?" She glares at you. "Why do you think I said we were bound for Vulcan? You think I didn't know what you wanted from me that day in your quarters?"
You smile, a small one but a real one, and you can see she is surprised.
"Spock, this isn't the...?" She is reaching for something in her closet and you suppose it is her med bag, so before she can pull out a scanner, you say, "It is not the Pon Farr, Christine."
"Okay." She is trying to cover up, so you pull your robe off and put it on her.
"Great, now you're naked on our first date."
"I am not naked; I have on undergarments." You smooth her hair back where the robe mussed it. "We also shared consciousness."
"Still not a date. And don't even think of suggesting that the kiss forced on us by the Platonians counts as anything. You weren't even trying."
You pull her to you and kiss her gently. "I think you know me well enough to understand I am not given to promiscuity." You decide to take her hair down as you talk. "I know you well enough to say the same thing. You did stop me that day in my quarters. You could have had me, but you stopped it."
"I should have stopped this."
"Why? You have felt isolated since Khitomer, have you not?" You toss the clips that have held her hair up into a bowl by the door and fluff her hair. It falls in waves just past her shoulders. "I have, too. But now I do not—because of you—and I would like more of this closeness."
"Of course you would. You haven't come yet."
"Yes, that is most disagreeable." You kiss her again and feel the insecurity rising off her. "I cannot tell you that I love you, Christine. Not because I cannot love, but because I have never let myself know you well enough to determine if the regard I do feel would turn into that."
"You loved Valeris."
"I did. I may always to some extent. Just as you do Roger. Did that die with him?"
"No."
"If we meld, I can show you that I want to be here because I want to be with you. I can show you that this is not a case of anyone will do and I will pretend she is Valeris." You run your fingers along the meld point. "I have not melded with anyone since the one I forced on Valeris."
"But you were used to melding with her, right?"
"No, she told me she did not like to meld. Some Vulcans do not. It is a personal preference whether it will be used beyond the times prescribed by ritual."
"So you guys never...?"
"Only the one time. I understood immediately when I was in her mind. What she could hide from a touch telepath, she could not hide from a full meld. I was often dissatisfied because she continually found reasons to postpone our bonding. That should have been a warning sign to me, I suppose, but she...played me." You feel Christine relaxing as you speak. You think that not hiding what you feel about Valeris is actually soothing to her. She fears what you won't say far more than what you will.
You realize you are shivering. "May we get in your bed? I am cold."
She grins. "That'll teach you to be gallant. Don't give your robe up."
"I will not. In the future." You like the way she smiles, and the way her mood lifts at your words. She wants you to have a future with her.
You want that, too. Not just for tonight. But more nights. And days.
She pulls you to the bedroom and slips out of your robe then says, "Hey," as you move to get into her bed. Laughing, she pulls off your undergarments. "No undies for me, none for you."
You pull her down with you onto the bed, rolling so she is beneath you. "Whether or not you want to try the meld, know this. Since I walked into the embassy and saw you, I have been fully focused on you. I have not once thought about how I could have saved Jim. My thoughts of Valeris have been comparisons to how you make me feel—to what you let me do."
You feel embarrassment rising in her and roll to your side, pulling her with you. "No. You are feeling uncomfortable and you should not. I enjoy how free you are—the way I feel when you let me be free. With her, nothing was real, even if I did not know it at the time."
"And she controlled you." She snuggles into you. "So did you need to control me the way you just did."
"Perhaps this time I did. Were I to repeat it, it would be because I—and you—enjoyed it immensely."
"I won't lie about that."
"You do not tend to lie at all, Christine. Do you?"
She seems to think about that. "No, I guess I don't. I mean there are things I can't talk about."
"That is different. You have been uncomfortably blunt at times. But I appreciate that. I know where you stand. I do not have to wonder what I'm missing."
She reaches down, her hand slipping along your skin until she grasps and begins to stroke you. "You're not missing anything. Other than an orgasm."
"Other than that." You kiss her as she controls you. Then you let her go as she kisses her way down, as she takes you in her mouth— You are not quiet. It startles you how much you let go.
She comes up laughing. "Wow, are you always so vocal?"
You cannot form words so you just shake your head.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
You nod.
"Once you've recovered, can we do the meld?"
You nod and pull her to you, stroking her hair. "Fun," you manage to get out.
"This is fun? I'm fun?" She laughs as you kiss her and says against your mouth, "You're fun?"
You manage to grunt out an "Mmm hmmm" then you relax into her, enjoying the way she runs her fingers so lightly over your skin, causing an almost shivering reaction. Enjoying the way her eyes go soft as she smiles at you.
You wish you could tell her you love her, but you know she won't want you to say it unless it's true.
Her:
You are almost asleep, curled against Spock, when he shifts and says, "You are relaxed. And, I think, feeling more positive about this."
You look up, smiling as he kisses you. "I'm not feeling much of anything—you caught me just in time."
"I could feel you drifting. It was pleasant." He strokes back your hair. "Are you ready?"
You nod and pull him down, kissing him gently. "Thank you for this."
"It is no hardship."
"I should just have faith."
"Why? We both did with our previous partners and look where it got us."
"True." You pull him down again. "Do you think, before we do the meld that maybe, we could do this?" You pull him onto you, wrapping your legs around him, feeling parts of him coming alive as you rub against him. "Please?" you ask, as if he is going to say no, when his eyes are closed and he is breathing in the stuttering way you are coming to associate with pleasure.
"If. You. Insist." He pushes into you and moves your legs higher, thrusting gently, then less so.
"Harder." You could never get Cartwright to just let go. Maybe he was afraid that if he did, secrets would follow. "Spock, harder."
He nods, holding on tightly to your arms, and you can see he is gauging how hard to go by your reaction.
"Let go."
He goes harder but doesn't lose himself in it as he moves in a way you love, and he reaches between you and—
God. Yes. You're loud as you come and he kisses you to cut off the sound. He slows but you whisper, "Let go. I'll tell you if it's too much. Even if you get lost and can't tell, I'll tell you."
He meets your eyes, as if he's unsure whether this is all right. Finally, he nods and begins to go harder and faster and when it gets too much you whisper, "Less" and he slows until you say, "There, yes, go."
He comes much more quietly this time, but you think he's deliberately holding it in, as if he's afraid of how loud he might be as he buries his head in your neck, moaning into your skin.
He rolls off sooner than you expect but pulls you to him, his fingers on the meld points. "I want you to feel what I do. How...satisfying that was."
The feeling of him hovering at your mind is strange, and he seems unsure—you get a sense of Valeris, but not as a rival, just the remnant of what he did to her—his guilt.
You reach up and push his fingers more firmly into your skin. "I trust you," you whisper, and that seems to be what he needs.
He presses on and says, "This. Feel this."
Around you is...contentment and release and a deep sense of relief. That you let him go, that he didn't go too far. You sense that he wanted to hurt Valeris—to take her and make her pay and you understand that.
But now, he's letting it go. The feeling of her is fading.
"I am with you, Christine." He seems to be sucking up what you're feeling, too, and satisfaction covers his other feelings. "I want to make you...happy."
And you sense he does. Even if he's not entirely sure what happy looks like after so much betrayal.
You relax into him. "You do make me happy. Even if you did get me to sleep with you on the first date." You try to laugh into the meld and hear him exhale sharply, and amusement colors everything. "I like this, Spock. I like not feeling..." You are unsure how to express what you've been feeling.
But you don't need to because he echoes the sentiment back via the meld and sends you relief and contentment and comfort. "I am as tired of being their victim as you are. We will move on. Together." He lets go of the meld points but the resonance remains.
"It will fade gradually. I could end it more abruptly but I thought it might be pleasurable for you to know what doing this"—he slides his hand down your belly, then lower until he finds the spot he's discovered you like the best—"does to me."
Warring sensations: pleasure building in your body from his hands but also his own pleasure, feeling you move against him, watching your chest redden as the tension grows. You give up and let go and—
"Holy shit." You realize you almost passed out. "You really never did this with her? Man, was she dumb."
"Not if she was trying to hide something. Do you think you could hide how you feel if you were involved in something that I would not like?"
"I guess not. It's so...open."
"Yes. Exactly. And she could not be. Nor, I presume, could Cartwright."
You nod. "But neither he nor I were psi talented so it wasn't as apparent." You nuzzle into him. "That makes you a dummy, huh?" You kiss him to take any sting from the words. "You can be my dummy." You run your finger gently over his ear tip and see his eyes close. "If you want?"
"I would like that."
"Only minus the dummy part?"
His lips almost tick up. "Yes." The he yawns and you wonder how long it's been since he really slept.
"I knew that." You pull the covers up over you. "Do you have to get up early tomorrow?"
"No."
"We could sleep in and order breakfast. This place is like a hotel with room service and they serve breakfast all day. Just the thing for a busy ops girl." You're babbling because suddenly you're nervous.
"Most convenient." He pulls you to him and you struggle for a second to find a comfortable way to lie, then he moves and you shift, then move again, and you find it, that indescribable sense of fitting together.
You fit: this is nice.
Him:
You wake before Christine does and take in the bedroom you barely paid attention to last night. It is not overly frilly—in fact you think it may be similar to visiting officer's quarters. Furnished in a neutral way.
She lived with Cartwright—almost certainly had to move out when he was arrested and his assets seized. You see some cartons in the corner, two deep and three high. Her belongings? The ones she didn't unpack?
There are a few photos in frames on the dresser. Bottles of perfume on a tray. Art on the walls but again, it looks like what a hotel might put in. Attractive but unaffecting.
With the hours she works, this kind of place no doubt makes sense. But you wonder if she misses the admiral's house. Jim used to speak of it with envy. Apparently, it had a wonderful view.
You were never invited to it. An oversight or just cell members maintaining operational distance?
She moves, cuddling into you and you lean in and kiss her.
She wakes, sighing and then kissing you back. As you pull away, she asks, "What time is it?"
You check the chrono. "Seven."
"Mmmm, too early." She curls in against you, but but then pulls back and seems to be studying your face. "You're not going to fall back to sleep, are you?"
"It is unlikely."
"What if I tire you out?" Her eyes are half closing as she says it, so you think it is an empty promise.
"If I may use your terminal, I will work while you sleep."
She studies you and there is something hurt in her eyes. "No, I'll get up." But her eyes are half lidded.
"You are tired. Sleep. It is what you wanted."
"And you'll just work?" She sits up. "Will you still be here when I wake up again?"
You feel a surge of frustration—you realize your relationship is new, but have you given her a reason to think you would simply leave? "Why would I not be?"
"Well, you kind of look like you're ready to go."
"I am not ready to go, but I am ready to get up. I do not need as much sleep."
She narrows her eyes, her expression turning less pleasant. "And I guess neither did Valeris. Match made in heaven but for the whole traitor part." She slides away from you and gets out of bed, heading into the bathroom and closing the door—but not slamming it, which you take as a good sign.
"Christine, I am quite content to let you sleep more."
She doesn't answer you from the bathroom, but when she comes out, she says, "Spock, I wanted to sleep late with you, not alone. I can sleep alone without you." She frowns. "That made no sense." She goes out to the kitchen. "Do you drink coffee?"
"No."
"Of course not." There is the kind of soft slamming of utensils that you have learned with your mother means she is aggravated with your father for something he has done.
Only—what have you done? You woke up. You would have liked to make love to her again, but you clearly have missed your chance to start the day that way.
She comes in and drops a padd in your lap. "Menu's on there. I have no idea what you eat for breakfast." Her eyes are steely as she asks, "You do eat breakfast, right?"
"I do."
"Well, yay." Then she's gone.
You sigh, an audible sigh. You've heard your father make the same sound. Getting up, you stare at your robe and consider if you should put it on. Christine must have had a robe hanging in the bathroom, because she is clothed now. You decide to be bold and walk naked to the kitchen, bringing the padd with you and setting it down near her.
She's standing with her back to you, staring at the mug of coffee that is on the counter.
You come up behind her, easing her robe open and pulling her against you. You enjoy how cool she feels to you, how soft her skin is against your hands. "I have done something wrong and I am sorry."
"No, you're just being you and I'm being stupid." She leans into you and you kiss her hair. "I just had this stupid idea about what this morning would be like."
"And this is not it?" You let your hand slip down and down and...there.
"Ohhhh. Spock. That's not fair."
"So you do not like this?" You know she does. You remember from last night and can feel it now as you touch her. "I should stop, then?"
"I guess you can keep going. Since you like to do it." She is leaning harder against you and her breathing is faster.
You could tease her the way you did last night, but you think something less controlling is called for, so you send her over as soon as you she is ready, and she clutches at you, calling your name but not as loudly as last night.
You wait for her breathing to level out before asking, "Have I disappointed you, Christine?"
"No. I just..." She turns and kisses you. "I wanted romance. Maybe that's not what this is."
"Or perhaps romance with a Vulcan is not what it would be with a human."
"Sure. Be logical." She is glaring, but it's not a very severe look, and she smiles as you move her coffee aside and ease her onto the counter.
"I would like to do this." You slip into her and moan, closing your eyes as you murmur. "This is good, Christine. You feel so good to me. To be inside you is a superb feeling."
Her answering moan is lovely. She has so many vocalizations during sex. You think you will enjoy inventorying them.
You take your time, making sure she climaxes again before you let go, burying your face in her hair, moaning loudly. As you relax into her, you can feel her mood lightening, and she plays with your hair in a way that is both sensual and sweet.
You move your mouth to her ear and whisper, "I cannot be what I am not, Christine. I will never be effusive. Nor, unfortunately, a late sleeper. In fact, this was late for me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"But I am intensely interested in you. You...this. Us. It is good. It makes me feel good. And I can tell that it makes you feel good as well."
"It does." She pulls back and strokes your face. "Ignore me when I'm pissy."
"I cannot. I do not want you to think I am indifferent when I hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me. I hurt me. I wanted...too much."
"You want to feel safe—right now, you are off balance." And unsure, but you decide not to add that since it might sound overly critical. "We will find a rhythm. This is our first day as a couple."
You feel a spark of joy in her. Such a simple phrase—such easy truth—to make her so happy. You decide to try to do better. "You are mine."
Some women would not like it—there are days you imagine she will not like it. But she is feeling tentative about you right now, and you feel happiness rising in her at your words.
She kisses you for a long time, sweet, glancing kisses, her lips so soft against yours. Her smile is a gentle one when she finally pulls away. "Are you hungry?"
"I am. We did not eat last night."
"We didn't, did we? No wonder you woke up. Wow, I'm a shitty girlfriend and a shitty hostess."
"You are neither." And you find it greatly encouraging that she just referred to herself as your girlfriend.
"What do you want to eat?"
"Normally I eat fruit and oatmeal, but I am quite hungry this morning." You pull her back for another kiss—it is not just food you are hungry for.
She grabs the padd and smiling says, "May I take your order, sir?"
"Scrambled eggs. Vegetarian bacon."
She makes a surprised face.
"It is quite delicious."
"If you say so."
"Fruit of some kind. Berries, perhaps?" You have a craving for strawberries. Or more accurately you just want to feed them to her and have her feed them to you. You've never done that with a lover and you suddenly want to. "Strawberries—do you like strawberries?"
She laughs. "I love strawberries." She leans in as you let your lips rise slightly and says, "What are you thinking about? That expression is a keeper."
"How we will eat the strawberries." You rub your finger along her lips and she captures it in her teeth, biting down gently before letting go.
"Alrighty, then. Sexy strawberries it is." She studies the padd and inputs some dishes for herself. "You want toast or potatoes? The hash browns are to die for."
"I have no wish to die. How will I enjoy you if I am deceased?"
"I'll resuscitate you. I'm a doctor, remember?" She adjusts the order. "You can share mine. Just to be safe. And we need rye toast. I love that—commit it to memory because I'm not going to be happy seeing wheat or white."
"Understood."
"I will accept an English muffin, though. No bagels."
You let an eyebrow rise. "I thought all humans ate those."
"Not this one." She sends in the order, then reaches down, playing, making you close your eyes. "They'll be up here in about ten minutes. How do you feel about quickies?"
"I am feeling quite positive about them at this moment."
She laughs and wraps her legs around you, pulling you in. "I'm sorry I was so unpleasant."
"You were not. This is new. We will...learn how to be with each other. And as we are now making love, I am not opposed to the process if it ends in this way each time."
"That was sort of a romantic statement."
"I will try my best." You pull her toward you, tired—for now—of talking. You take her quick and hard and she likes it, urging you, responding to your thrusting and your fingers.
You come first but she's right behind you, moaning as you collapse against her, still fingering, enjoying the cries she is making.
"This may be better than sleeping in." She laughs softly as she hugs you tightly.
"And there is breakfast either way."
"Mmm, so true." She holds you until her chime goes off and as she slides off the counter and ties her robe back in place, you retreat into the bedroom to slip on your robe.
You should leave one more appropriate to the occasion here. You do not think she will mind. And you could keep other things here so you do not have to go back to your apartment each time.
You ask her if she would mind if you did that. Does she have room in her closet?
Her smile is a beautiful thing and she touches your hand, squeezing gently for a moment. Curious that such a pragmatic request would make her so happy.
Curious but pleasant.
