A/N: If you were wondering when the smut starts, it's here. Enjoy!

Later on, I'm in my quarters, my ears ringing from my recent high-pitched sonic shower. I'm in my robe, sitting on my heels next to my bed, in seiza, facing the scroll on the bulkhead away from the door. The Deltan-made device I got on Risa on post-divorce shore leave is not going to do the trick tonight, so I meditate, clear my mind of the day's troubles. The scroll says mushin in Chinese characters. No mind, my aspiration: to have such a mental meta-presence that I need not think or feel to be. To banish the reports, the streams of people's miseries, the chat with Spock and how he looked at me…. My senses are still heightened since then and I notice the soft brush of my unpinned hair on the nape of my neck, my cheeks, my shoulders.

I'm getting myself worked up again, so I sigh and start from the beginning. Breathe. Just focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exha—

I hear the door. I assume it's Chapel coming to drop off that report she mentioned at lunch or Lieutenant Uhura inviting me to the card game in the rec room. They and maybe Lieutenant Sulu are the only ones comfortable enough with me to visit my quarters. Not that I'm not grateful for their time, but I'm not in the mood now and I don't bother to mask my irritation when I say, "Come."

I'm still facing away from my visitor on my knees, but my head whips around at the familiar velvety baritone. "I apologize if I have come at an inconvenient interval."

I raise my left hand beside my head in a halting motion. "Anytime's convenient for you." I rise to my feet and turn to face Spock. My eyes begin a slow hike down his long, lean body, and back up to his mouth. To hell with meditation for now. "I must say, Commander, this is a most pleasant surprise."

Spock nods slightly, bringing his hands from around his back to his sides. "I would give you my decision."

"You could have waited until our next session to tell me," I reply, wondering if I could really tolerate another three weeks.

"I chose not to wait."

"I see." I lower my gaze a bit and hold my breath for a beat before resuming. "And?"

"It is illogical not to feed when hungry, or not to drink when thirsty." He closes the space between us with one step. "This 'craving' of yours…is mutual." His voice lowers as he looks at my mouth. "I agree to this 'research' by my own volition." He raises his hand to my face, warm fingers on my cheek, thumb brushing my bottom lip. "My own volition," he repeats.

Spock's touch stirs me. I know Vulcans are incredibly haptic, so I stroke his fingers lightly with the pads of my fingertips and watch him shudder as he watches me, watches my response. I bring his thumb into my mouth and trace the outline of it with my tongue. His flesh has a faint coppery taste. He closes those piercing brown eyes and hitches his breath. It's a brief moment before he reopens them, and they're full of want. I get the feeling I could make him come just from sucking his fingers, and that knowledge only serves to make me wet.

Spock circles my waist with his free hand and pulls me to him, and I feel my hard nipples press against his chest. He's generating heat through his uniform, which is to be expected from a being with a higher core temperature than mine, but he doesn't perspire.

I let his thumb slip out of my mouth and use my index finger to trace his jawline, his cheekbone, his eyebrow, the shell of his pointed ear. "Tell me, what do you see when you look at me with those Vulcan eyes?"

His response is low as he cradles my face with his hands. "A work of art. And I do appreciate art, Celeste." His satiny lips are already on mine, and his press is gentle but oh so urgent. I yield to him, open my mouth, allow his tongue to slide against mine, to explore me. I revel in that tinge of copper while sliding my hands around his neck. He runs his spidery fingers through my hair, down the nape of my neck, down my spine. I don't even notice he's freed the belt of my robe from its knot because he gives so much in his kiss, and dear gods his mouth! His hands slide up my arms and across my shoulders to peel back my robe. I drop my hands to let the silk drop to the floor.

There's a tortuous moment where Spock breaks the kiss. My lips are cooled, and I shiver a bit from it. I step out of his grasp and open my eyes to see him dragging his gaze up my body, his eyes darkening. I curl my lips. Look. At what I'm doing. To Mr. Spock. "Do you approve?"

The Vulcan responds with a slow nod. "Yes, Celeste," he says softly, and the sound of Spock saying my name is a current going from brain to clitoris. He approaches me again and scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed. Again he kisses me, availing himself of my neck, making exquisite use of his teeth. He envelops me, his slim but powerful arms circling my bare torso, his erection straining and pressing at my thigh. I feel a slight tremble, but I'm not sure if that's me or him. Not that it matters. I pull his shirt and undershirt over his head and wonder what it's going to take to mess up that perfect black hair.

Spock winces when my fingers touch his lean, chiseled chest. Though he tends to touch others quite a bit, he's not yet accustomed to that first moment of cooler human hands on rarely exposed skin. He spreads my hands out to flank my head and covers them with his own, fingertips on fingertips, palm on palm. He stays there, searching my eyes for response, and I realize he's not just warming my hands, he's kissing me. It's flattering—and almost too intimate for me. I turn away from his gaze and nuzzle the back of his hand with my cheek. He senses my slight apprehension, and leans a bit on one side while he frees a hand to drag his index and middle fingers along my jawline in a gentle, calming motion.

"It's okay, Spock." I feel I have to say it. I lock eyes with him, conveying my need, my ache for him. I brush his fingertips with my bottom lip before taking them into my mouth, moving them slowly in and out while my hips move against him. His eyebrows almost touch his hairline, his eyes shut, and he bites his bottom lip. Oh, what it does to me to see this logical Vulcan so rapt. He could crush me with his strength, but I'm doing this to him. I own this moment. I moan against his fingers, and his breath hitches. He has to pull them out or he might lose control, and I apply a bit of suction as he does.

When Spock reopens his eyes the expression is almost feral before he regains his self-control. He slides his hand behind my head and I bring my chin up towards the ceiling. His mouth seems to brand the space behind my ear, my earlobe, the hollow of my neck, my collarbone. I stroke his shiny hair, his ears as he takes a neglected nipple into his mouth, worrying at it with the flat of his tongue until it's so hard it hurts. I'm panting from eddies of pleasure curling deep inside me. There's no way I could hold back, and Spock knows it. He's counting on it. He moves to my other nipple and replaces his mouth with his index and middle fingers—pinching and tugging one while sucking the other. His free hand slides down my belly; his fingers make a circular pattern on my inner thigh before brushing against my mound.

I sigh, and my mouth remains open. I need to touch him now, taste the flesh of his mouth, his eyelid, his ears, his throat. My fingertips slide between the dark hairs on his chest, my nails lightly scrape his nipples, his sides. Where I'm disconcerted at the emptiness of his chest, I'm startled at the incessant staccato at the side of his ribcage. I'm reminded of how he is inhuman, not like any man I've ever been with. I hear him sigh as I lean forward and unzip his fly, and I smirk. I'm reminded of how even extraterrestrials share some common ground.

Spock watches my expression change from smugness to ecstasy as he slips those nimble, long fingers deep inside me. I'd swear he's smirking, but I'm far too busy trying not to come too soon. I hear his breath deepen as he moves his fingers out halfway. I remember that Spock's lovely fingers are also very sensitive.

His brown eyes scintillate. "Please refrain from suppressing any passionate outbursts. You are human. You are allowed." He's still able to make coherent sentences while he's circling my turgid clit with his thumb; I am not. I'm exhaling in stutters. I accept this is going to be the closest Spock's ever going to get to talking dirty. Which would be fine if he didn't add, "Your vaginal secretion level is exceptionally high."

I stifle a laugh. "Yes, Spock, I'm very wet. Good job."

The Vulcan rewards my cheekiness by plunging his fingers deeper. My moan is throaty, full-bodied. "Fascinating," he murmurs.

"No," I reply and slide my hands down his pants and give his cock a firm grip while squeezing my Kegels around his fingers. Even biting his lip does not prevent Spock from letting out a pleasurable sound. "This is." My mouth brushes against his. I'm getting impatient. "Clothes. Off. Now." This means the we won't have our hands and mouths all over each other, so Spock strives to make the intermission as brief as possible.

I need a moment to take in the fact that Mr. Spock is in my bed. Naked. And aroused. I've been thinking about this for months and my brain is about to short out over it. I shift as he lies on his back because I have to see him clearly. He's glorious to behold. Long. Lean. Toned. Every inch of him perfectly maintained; it's only logical. I look down and see the leafy green hue deepening as his blood stiffens his cock. There's only one word for it, really. My lips spread into a smile as I say, "Fascinating." Spock narrows his eyes and I respond with, "I couldn't resist."

I take advantage of his supine position and straddle him. I begin to map out his body with my mouth while his hands follow my curves. His skin is hot but not sweaty. I like the smooth texture of it, that faint coppery taste. Once I'm past his navel Spock cards through the strands of my hair. I give him one last look, which he returns with a raised eyebrow.

I lower my head and breathe on the head of Spock's cock, watching him close his eyes and lean his head back into my pillows. I take him into my mouth as much as I can without gagging and he strokes my hair. Up to this point, the Vulcan's touch has been gentle, like he's trying to commit how I feel to memory. But his grip on my hair gets firmer as I go up and down with lips, tongue, fingers, and good ol' suction.

When I flick my tongue against the underside of his head, he grabs and pulls my mouth off him by my hair in a single jerk. He's panting, heaving his chest.

"Ow! Ow!" I reach back and squeeze his tightly clenched hand. "Easy, Spock. You can do whatever you want, but don't make me bald."

Spock releases my hair and takes a moment to regulate his breathing. He opens his eyes and there's a slight apologetic look on his face. I scrunch my mouth to one side, feeling a bit sorry for—what? I slide my fingers against his and he responds in kind. "I didn't know that fellatio is not pleasant for you. I'm sorry."

Spock lifts my chin so that my eyes meet his. "Quite the contrary. It is too pleasant." He kisses me and encircles me with his arms, his heat, guiding me on my back. "Allow me to reciprocate."

I close my eyes and lie back, enjoying the warm trail of his fingers and mouth on my neck, breasts and torso. Warmer palms spread me before I feel gentle nips on my inner thighs. "So lovely," he says in that soothing baritone, and I don't have much time to appreciate it because his lips are pressed against my clitoris. I'm tingling, twitching as he's lapping, laving, sucking, covering every wet inch. His pace is languorous but never tedious; his method meticulous but never arduous. I cup him by the back of his head, half-hoping to muss his hair. I feel pressure and pleasure swirling, intertwining, building. He slips his fingers inside me, presses his fingers against that bundle of nerves while licking my clit. I lose use of language as euphoria takes me, and I cry out with each orgasmic pulse.

As I press myself deep into my mattress, my mind checks in with my fingers and toes; I can feel them, air filling my lungs, the soft fabric of my blanket, the sheen of sweat covering me, my tongue against the roof of my mouth, Spock's fingers still inside me. His head is pressed against my thigh as he takes in deep breaths. Those sensitive fingers. He pulls them out and sucks them clean, and the sight of it is so deliciously obscene I have to pull him up and kiss him, taste myself on his lips and tongue. I can't wait. "Take me, Spock," I implore. "Take me now."

Spock obliges me, sinking into me. He grits his teeth as we both get acclimated to each other. He's hot and tingling and full to me; I'm cool and slick and sopping wet to him. I like being surrounded by his heat. I arch my back to press into him and squeeze. Spock shivers and pulls out halfway before plunging back in. His thrusts are unhurried, steady, deliberate. Our mouths and hands are everywhere; his taste, his movements are commingled with mine. I'm lost, intoxicated. I undulate my hips and milk him with my Kegels. "Celeste," Spock says, tethering me with my name. He claims my mouth tenderly while he covers my palms and interlaces his fingers with mine, causing a white-hot sensation to spread and spread through me and stay and I, I—

"This feels so…." I remember to whom I'm speaking and trail off.

Spock doesn't miss a thrust on it. His voice is husky when he replies, "Yes, it does."

It's like he opened floodgates with his admission, and my orgasm's almost painful given the intensity. My gasps are like sobs, and Spock keeps me from crashing down by stroking my temple.

Spock resumes his slow pace, coaxing climaxes from me again and again. I've lost count when he buries his face where my neck meets my shoulder and clenches my hands. His pace does not change. He lets out a sound that's a cross between a sigh and a moan before going still and he's trembling. Beautiful.

I feel his weight on me. Heavy, but not crushing. I don't dare move. Long moments pass as I lay there, completely spent. Spock regains his composure, and his fingertips graze my lips. His thumb brushes my cheek, which we both notice is wet. He snaps his head up and he seems slightly puzzled. "You are crying," he says matter-of-factly. "I meant no harm."

I smile to show my current disposition. "It's another physiological response, Spock. It'll pass."

"There is no emotion behind your tears?"

"Other than complete and utter relief?" I shake my head. "No." As I exhale I add, "Oh. My. Gods."

"Deities have nothing to do with it," Spock says sternly.

"I've already worshipped you, Mr. Spock. Don't get greedy." I feel my thigh cramp, then my pelvic joints protest as I unwrap my legs from him. "Oooh. I'm out of practice."

"On the contrary. I must say your technique is—"

I place two fingers over Spock's incredible mouth to quiet him. "It's bad form to conduct a post-coital after action review. If you're not going to get religious, just say it was good for you too."

I watch him kiss my fingertips before catching them between his teeth. The corners of his mouth go upward before he closes on my fingers and sucks. I think he's plotting to kill me with cognitive dissonance because that's so erotic it makes no goddamned sense, and it's Spock. I pull my fingers out before the assassin does his work.

Spock raises his eyebrow and continues the subject. "Such a statement would be highly inaccurate." He lifts up and I groan as he pulls out of me. He lies on his side while I lie on my side facing him, back against the bulkhead. I wonder how his hair stays neat throughout the whole encounter.

My hand brushes past my thighs and as I bring it up to rest on it, I notice something's…off. I look down at him before looking back up at his face. I narrow my eyes. "Spock, did you—?"

"Yes," he replies. "Please believe me; it was extremely gratifying, to say the least."

I can't help but be bewildered because there's no physical evidence. "But you didn't—"

"Vulcan males do not have to ejaculate to experience an ecstatic release." Spock's not reading my mind; he's reading my expression.

I can only muster a "That's interesting." Not that it isn't—the oxytocin and prolactin flooding my system is making me a bit drowsy.

Spock tucks an errand strand of hair behind my ear. "Vulcan males also do not have an involuntary refractory period."

I roll my eyes. "Show-off."

Spock lets the comment pass, a rare moment for the consummate snarker. "Some humans have practiced coitus reservatus as part of religious rituals for thousands of years."

"Ah. Like Tantric maithuna. Secularly, it's been called karezza." I'm drawing back on my graduate studies. I did a thesis on comparative analysis of humanoid sexualities, but I had scant information on Vulcans at the time. Well, it's never too late. "I think that's what I'll call it—karezza. I'm sure there's a word for it in Vulcan, but you don't talk about it. Or I can't pronounce it."

"Yes. In both cases." I see a universe in Spock's eyes, which would be a feast for hopeful nurses, spore-deluded settlers, Stratans, Sarpedian exiles, and even Romulan commanders. But not me. I look over him at the door and murmur, "Off you go, Spock." I sigh. "I'm not the kind of girl that would make plomeek soup for you."

"Understood," he replies softly while he sits up and takes leave of my bed. It feels a little colder, so I slide under my covers and watch him get dressed. Gods, he's magnificent. And meticulous as he puts his clothes back on. Nothing out of place, not a single wrinkle, crease, or flaw. Except he's going to be walking along decks back to his quarters smelling like me. He looks over his shoulder because he can sense me watching, and I smile without showing my teeth. He comes back and sits on the side of the bed to caress my face, kiss my forehead. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you. The pleasure's mine," I reply.

"And mine." Spock gets up, poker face on, and walks toward the door.

"Good night, Commander," I say before he exits.

"Good night, Doctor."