Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. As far as I am aware, this work is not based on, derived, copied, or borrowed from any other work in any medium.
Chapter 10. Mission: Sickbay
This chapter written by TalesFromTheSpockSide
"Stop that!"
"I am merely attempting to close your tool belt."
"It doesn't need closing. I'm almost done."
I'm on my knees – why do I end up in this position every time I'm with him? – and I give the sonic screwdriver one last twist. The door slides open halfway and I look up at my accomplice.
"Bingo," I gloat. Both of his eyebrows vanish into the shadow of his bangs.
"Fascinating."
We waste no time slipping into the isolation room, and I secure the door and scramble the code so nobody can get in. There's a skeleton crew on board while we're resupplying at Starbase 13 and everyone is either busy or on shore leave.
The perfect time to break into Sickbay.
Spock told me about his conversation with Dr. McCoy when they were temporarily stranded on an away mission. I don't mind that they were talking about me, although Spock assures me that nothing "untoward" was revealed about our relationship. He did let slip, however, that Medical was the one department in which we had not enjoyed intimate relations.
McCoy had taken Spock's advice and changed the code on the isolation area, the main ward, the medical supply cabinet, and his office. Even my brilliant Vulcan was unable to crack the code without having to spend an inexplicably long time in Sickbay.
It took me five minutes with a sonic screwdriver to jimmy the door controls.
I turn to Spock in the dim standby lighting and open my mouth to congratulate myself – and find myself ambushed. A large hand covers my mouth, another whips around my waist, and I'm lifted bodily across the room to be deposited on one of the two biobeds here. I know he won't hurt me – well, not any more than I like! – so I make a show of struggling against his grip, trying to roll off the bed. He holds me down with one hand on my solar plexus as his other hand moves swiftly to deploy the restraints that feed from either side of the bed.
When I am strapped down across my shoulders, hips, knees, ankles, he steps back to examine his work. I open my mouth again to speak, and he leans over and orders, "You are not to speak for the duration of this exercise. You may vocalize, without words, but if you speak I will be forced to gag you. Do you understand?"
I nod, a shiver of pleasant alarm rolling down my spine. His long fingers touch my mouth, trail down my face, my throat, to my collarbone, and he says, "Good," and removes his hand from me. He moves around the bed, activating various medical apparatus, and the indicators over my head light up, silently. He turns away, a tricorder in his hand, and his gaze moves over the walls, the ceiling. At one point he stops, approaches the corner of the ceiling, reaches up with a long arm and makes a twisting motion.
"I am disabling the comm pickup for this room," he says and I giggle. One of our escapades, in the decon chamber, had been overseen by a live comm feed, as Spock discovered after the deed was done. We didn't know whether anyone had been monitoring it, but it taught us to check.
Spock comes back over to me and stands by my feet. He takes off his tunic, folds it, lays it neatly on a chair; the sight of his muscular arms and chest are sexy beyond belief. And he knows it. He turns his attention to my boots, stroking their smooth surface before taking hold of a zipper and pulling it, slowly, all the way down. He leaves the boot on and unzips the other in the same way. My legs feel exposed and half-dressed.
He unfastens the restraint across my knees. "I will need freer access here," he murmurs as his hands caress my calves, my knees, my thighs – not far enough. He stops where my panties begin, slides his hands back down, behind the bend of my legs, and lowers his head to press his lips to my knee. His mouth lays a trail of soft warm kisses up my thigh as his hands gently slip up to hook my panties and slip them down, just a little, so that under my skirt my bottom is bare and the fabric in front barely touches my mons. Now my butt feels half-dressed, a naughty, furtive sensation.
Spock takes a moment to glance up at the indicators.
"Elevated heart rate," he says thoughtfully. "Blood pressure up, oxygen levels slightly elevated. As I expected."
I have no idea what the readings have to do with whatever delicious plan he has in mind. He's standing at my shoulder now, and he leans down to caress my face with his lips, kissing and nuzzling his way from my forehead to my ears; I turn my head so he can reach the back of my neck. Then his mouth brushes against mine, lightly, and mine opens as if to let him feed me, but he moves to cover the other side of my face and neck. My skin feels sensitized, my mouth still slightly open, wanting.
Hands reach behind my neck, unfastening my uniform, pulling the neck open, drawing it down over my shoulders, until my breasts are exposed to just above my nipples. Once again, just enough to feel uncomfortably half-covered. I can't move my body enough to push my uniform any further down; I can feel my damp panties between my thighs; the leather of my boots is loose around my ankles. I shift my knees, trying to rub my thighs together, to no avail.
"Your body temperature has dropped slightly," he informs me. "Let us see whether we can normalize it." With that he tilts the bed up so that I'm nearly vertical, facing him as he takes his time stripping down to his boots. I look at him standing there with his eyes soaked with desire, hands loose at his sides, ready to touch me, his sex stirring between slim hips, the pillars of his legs filling the black boots, and as I'm not permitted to express myself clearly I moan, long, deeply.
Spock steps up to me, hovering inches from my skin, places his hands on either side of the bed frame. Leans in until his body is a breath away from mine, the hair on his chest and between his legs brushing my half-exposed body. He bends his head toward mine, his mouth approaches my face, and I turn toward it, but still he doesn't kiss me.
"You want me to touch you," he whispers and I nod. "You want to feel my hands, my mouth, my sex on your body." Again I nod. "Your nipples are swollen with desire; your thighs are slick with it. Your mouth wants to taste me, to devour me."
This time I moan, louder, tormented. His tongue comes out to tease the shell of my ear and, impossibly, my arousal shoots higher and I squirm and utter more guttural wanting noises. My hands clench and unclench, aching to grab hold of him, any part of him. I can feel his heat, so close, but the straps hold me tight and I can't so much as thrust my hips or breasts toward him. I make a frustrated sound and his expression looks almost sly.
He tips the bed back so that I'm horizontal again, his body on hands and knees poised over me like a canopy. His eyes hold my gaze as I feel something hot and firm against my leg, rubbing against my calf, now the other one, something with a silky texture but a hard core, something long and flexible. His erection.
I gasp and his expression turns smug. Wordlessly he shifts upward, rubbing against my thighs now, his cock nudging up under the hem of my disheveled uniform, poking against my panties as if he were requesting entrance. His strong arms hold him over me as his hips tease, now pushing up my dress to press his length against my belly. My mouth is open again, gulping air, sighs and moans flowing out of me like music.
Now he shifts down a little, pulling his organ from under my skirt, then moves upward again to straddle my torso, bracing his hands against the indicator panel but leaning down a little to watch my face. One hand comes down to grip his cock and he slowly rubs it over the tops of my breasts. His own breath is coming fast and deep and the head that's stroking my skin is getting slick.
He guides it down, catching the neck of my dress and pulling it just enough to expose my nipples at last, and he rubs circles around each one with his hardness, finally pushing his whole length across each swelling point. My head goes back almost involuntarily and I cry out and squeeze my legs together, aching for release.
I know where he's going now, though, and as he slides further up the bed I close my eyes and open my mouth, catching a musky scent and feeling his heat over my face. The flesh that touches my lips is trembling; I put my tongue out, trying to draw it in, but he eludes me and strokes just the surface of my mouth, my cheeks. I open my eyes to see his face lit by the spectrum of the indicator lights, his mouth slack, his eyes half open, the face I know so well, the face of lust, of pleasure.
He stretches out on top of me, moving down, his cock once again sliding between my thighs, meeting with resistance from my underwear and the limited space. A growl escapes him and he reaches down to rip off my panties. I never get tired of that raw motion. His knees push between mine, parting my legs awkwardly but allowing the tip of his penis to just reach my mound. It's his turn to moan; he rubs his chest over my breasts and his mouth is busy nuzzling my face and neck again.
His hips nudge upward and his fingers reach between us, spreading my labia a little, and he presses the head of his cock against my clitoris. And just leaves it there. Fucking Vulcan control, I think, and I must be glaring at him because I see his version of a smirk as he looks down at me. I growl at him. He's lucky I can't say what I'm thinking.
My expression seems to please him. He actually breaks into a little smile, and with a twist of his hips he prods my clit with his head, a short sharp motion, pushing me to the edge of climax, and with another smile pulls back and does it again, once, twice, and I'm gone, jerking against the straps, wailing, my gut clenching, my world centered on that swollen point between my legs.
When I can focus again he's looking at the indicators. "Most satisfying," he murmurs. "All signs exceeded normal range." His gaze returns to my face and he whispers, "Now," and this time his hand opens my sex wider and the whisper comes again, "now," as he slides incredibly inside me, slowly, not all the way, half of his length still slick between my thighs, "now," and his voice grows more strident, more urgent, as he rocks on top of me.
I watch helplessly, feeling myself approach the edge again, as his rhythm picks up, his arms are trembling, his hips pounding against me, and he soars over into orgasm, pulling me with him, gasping, his mouth fumbling to find mine so I can finally drink deeply of him.
His hand reaches to one side and the straps release, and I fling my arms and legs around him and press my boots (which are miraculously still on me) against his ass, pushing his still-throbbing cock all the way into me. He groans, but it's a happy sound and I grin against his neck.
I don't know how we're ever going to top this.
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Reviews for this chapter when it used to be a one-shot:
ahealthyaddiction
WOW. that is intense. VIVID imagery, different and hot. Bravo! 3
ejectingthecore
Now, now, now. You know that makes me ded. Also, it's pleasing that she's the one who gets the door open, and asks herself that silly silly question! Ours is not to wonder why...