Part 2 of 3
She had not allowed herself to fully imagine being with him. She was not one to tease herself, nor set herself up for disappointment, discomfort, or a dozen other negative outcomes. No, Nyota Uhura was not dumb.
But once she touched him a dam broke, and she couldn't wait any longer to let her mind sink into him. Her hand had pressed to his chest over the fabric of his uniform. Now she thought about what his skin would feel like underneath, velvety, warm. Did he have chest hair? She could only imagine.
He might have to go to the planet, but she had a while before her shift started for the day. So she drifted down onto the soft divan in the empty recreation room to dream. The stars outside the port blurred as her eyes softened and her mind traveled to where her hands might go when he returned.
In her mind, she skipped a lot of pleasantries. She'd come back to them later. But first she needed to get right into his clothes. She wasn't going to rush, but she was going to get there and soon. She imagined silently and slowly removing his phaser, locking it and setting it on the divan. In her fantasy, he did not move. His arms hung at his sides, and he simply dipped his head to look at what she was doing, to watch her begin to take him for her own.
Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants. He sucked in a breath and she felt his abs move, felt his hip bones, angular and hard. She dreamt that her fingers grazed his skin as she slid them along and just under the edge of his clothing. And then she stopped. Her fingers were still against his warmth, his dark hair leading down to where she wanted to go, but where she had not dared to even think about going. She crooked one finger and ran the back of it through that hair and he rumbled deep in his chest, so quietly she almost couldn't perceive it. She looked up at him and found his eyes were burning.
He was a sensual, sexual devil, his eyebrows dark and sweeping and steep, his lips pink and waiting.
"Take them off, Mister."
In her mind, he brought his hands up slowly to unfasten his pants, and she stepped back to give him room to undress, and so she could enjoy all of him, every bit. She waited, breathless, to see him, and the tiny point of her tongue waited, too, between her lips. And she wasn't disappointed. He lifted his pants gently up and off of his erection and let them drop, and his penis stood hard and wanting. It was beautiful, strong and big and fine. Her tongue then swept across her bottom lip, and he rumbled louder in his chest and stepped toward her. She backed up just a little, just a teasing step or two, and he stepped out of his pants as he came toward her, leaving them pooled on the floor.
She found herself backed up to the wall, and she felt its smooth surface under her palms as her hands splayed out to steady herself. Spock stood over her, tall and serious and hauntingly beautiful. He did not reach for her or touch her, but instead reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted everything off of himself at once, t-shirt and all. Mmmmmmm, yes. He was nude in all the right places, and she did not care that he still wore his dark boots. She dropped her eyes to consider them and found that, in fact, they made his nudity seem all the more naughty and delicious, and they made his calves look damn gorgeous.
It gave her an idea. And she slowly slid down the wall until she came to her knees.
Her mouth passed right by his straining cock, but she didn't stop to taste or touch it, she just continued sinking down until she sat back low on her heels. To Spock's credit, he didn't beg nor even waver, just waited for her to do and take what she wanted. His feet were spread, planted firmly just within her reach, and she started at one boot and began to touch. First she ran her fingers lightly over the leather, as if taking a tiny first taste. Then she stroked with a bit more pressure, running her fingers and long fingernails up and down his ankle. And he gasped as if she were touching not his boot, but his manhood, as if it felt that good. She began to press harder and make larger arcs and circles, moving up his calf until she touched not leather but skin. And when her fingers connected with his real skin, his penis moved toward her, wanting her now, begging to wait no more.
She ran her fingers softly and slowly up his calf, swirling her fingertips and incidentally scratching him with her long nails, and at that he groaned, though he held his ground and continued to let her take her time. She ran her hand up his inner thigh, so long and lean and in her face. He smelled masculine, like skin and soap and leather, and a tiny bit of engine grease, and she leaned in to taste his inner thigh and bite, and then he could not stand it anymore. He growled and took her head in his hands, and he pulled her up onto her knees gently but with purpose, and spread his legs farther until he sank into her waiting mouth.
He filled her up, so hot and sweet. He braced his hands against the wall above her head and began to move into her, and soon his inarticulate sounds of pleasure made her crazy. She was turned on by making him feel so good, by hearing his voice crack and feeling his body shake, so out of control. She felt herself getting impossibly wet and she sat hard on her heels and moved her bottom in circles to get some friction and relief. And as she was driven crazy, she took him more greedily and he began to thrust into her more powerfully until they reached a fever pitch, and he stretched her lips wide and she was humming and moaning around him and he growled and crashed into his orgasm and fell with his arms barely holding him up against the wall. She sank back to her heels and closed her eyes in bliss, feeling the tingling of her lips where he had left his essence.
In a moment he spoke to her, and his voice was deep and saturated with sex. "Stand, Nyota."
She shook her head in wonder. "Can't."
And so he helped her up, scooped up her body as though she weighed nothing and carried her the short distance back to the divan. He knelt next to the low couch, and she lay back and sighed and just looked at him in amazement. His beautiful, coveted face was so near to hers, and so peaceful. Not just placid, as always, but truly calm and satisfied, and it made her happy that he looked that way because of her. He reached for her face, touched her cheek with the back of his hand, and ran one finger down to her chin. He continued to drag his finger lower, down her throat, and every centimeter of skin he touched began to burn wickedly. She breathed deeply and arched into his touch, and he traced the long, sloping neckline of her uniform, much as she had traced the waistband of his pants.
Her eyes were closed, but it did not matter, for it was her mind's eye that saw everything. In her imagination, he sat back on his heels and reached just under the hem of her skirt, and there he began to run a hot hand down her leg until he reached the top of her boot. He gently and slowly unzipped it, and as he slid the boot away and her foot slipped out, he held it and it fit entirely in his large hand. He removed her other boot, similarly, and laid them aside, before removing her tights. He pushed her short skirt up over her thighs and she wiggled until the tight, red fabric was bunched up and revealed her lacy black panties. She reached for them and he shook his head silently, then removed them himself, dragging them down ever so slowly past her knees. She lifted one foot off the ground so he could slip them off. And then he stopped moving entirely and simply looked at her.
His eyes almost glowed with dangerous heat and desire, and she could only lay back and wait for him as he had waited for her, to touch and taste in his own time. He slid his hands up her legs, both at once, until he reached her thighs, and then he spread them open and she gasped and almost bucked with need and the blissful pain of anticipation. He dipped his head to taste her, and when his hot and silky tongue touched her she lifted her hips and cried, and he followed her motions and stayed with her and entered her with his tongue, then circled and touched every fold, over and over. She found herself holding her own legs back and up so he could reach deep. In her mind, she rode the waves of sensation he provided, and he ground out sounds of deep and intense pleasure as he took her, setting up a delicious vibration that made her close, so close.
She almost screamed when the lights snapped on in the recreation room and a small group of officers entered. They all said good morning and one apologized for interrupting her reverie. Another ensign said she hadn't expected anyone to be up so early. Nyota just laughed, breathlessly, and said she'd had trouble sleeping and had come to see the stars. She smiled her usual sweet and professional smile, but couldn't quite stand up and head back to her room. She just sat a while and enjoyed the view.
It was less than 20 minutes until her shift started, and not much longer before the shit hit the fan and the shuttle Spock was on simply vanished. When it happened, the stab of pain she felt in her heart was alarming. Her friend, Spock. Gone? And then she knew, it was worse. He was not just her friend. And she shouldn't have allowed herself to go there even in her mind. Not down his pants nor into his loving arms. She should have stayed professional, detached, uninvolved, and should have seriously kept her mind clean and pure. Because she had come to care, and want, and yearn, and it just wasn't okay that Spock was missing. She kept her wits about her, manned her post, and inside she cried out for the man who had made love to her, if only in her mind.
*
