Disclaimers in prior chapters.

Chapter 12. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part II

This chapter written by ejectingthecore.

He sits on a chair across the room.

I am frozen, by a command. "Back on the sheets. Hands above your head." I lie back and do what he says, and I feel the stirrings of fear, a cold spiral starting in my heart. Is this how it begins? But he just wants to look at me.

The cold air makes my skin tingle and nipples harden. The light is dim, but I close my eyes anyway and imagine his tongue all over my body, his dark voice murmuring into my skin, the way I love him most. I can nearly feel a sharp cheekbone against my stomach, imagine the shift of the bed as he reclines, folds his long legs across one another, leans in to kiss. I remember words he's given to me, flirting, telling me what he'd do to me next time we were together. He'd trace ever smaller circles on my breasts, which at the moment are turned upward, cold in the quiet still air of the room where we are locked in place. He would bend me over the armchair, the very one he sits on now. He'd tell me to grasp the chair, spread my legs, he'd get behind me and kneel and reach with his tongue to find my clitoris.

I review the many promises he's made, on many occasions. But it makes this stillness even more agonizing.

For a long time I stay, so long that I no longer know the time or place. I am in an access tube, his mouth and my mouth working on one another, engines thrumming through my legs, his hips pressing into my face. I am in the decon chamber, watching him soap his body, just beyond my reach. I am in engineering, his hand reaching into my panties while I work, or spanking me red and ready. A shuttle, a Vulcan tied beyond his ability to escape. Another time, in the shuttle, Spock undressing me for the first time, my clothes sliding off and his hands taking their place. I'm beyond obeying, and I move my hands to my breasts for a desperate grasp at touch.

"Ensign, please," he says forcefully, his voice rough.

At this first sound in what seems like hours, I open my eyes. He is in the armchair, stone still, not touching himself. I have seen him controlled before, but never this blank, without a hint of amusement, playfulness, anything under the surface. Unlike all the times we've made love, now he's closed his face down. Yet even devoid of facial expression, somehow he is telegraphing danger and raw desire.

I pull my hands away from giving myself relief, slowly raise them up above my head once more.

The cold fear extends to my belly. Inside my still body, my mind runs everywhere. This is frightening. Part of me can't stand staying still when adrenaline is telling me to run. It's long. A long time still, and at some point I'm gazing into his eyes. Even though we're still motionless, I start to feel a softening in him, in the energy in the room.

He begins to touch himself. It sears my eyes. He's holding himself firmly and moving his hand so slowly, never taking his eyes off me. It's powerful and steady and he never goes faster, never looks away. Stares at me and moves his hand, his cock locked inside his hot fingers.

I beg him to come to me. He has me pleading, and he has the patience and control of a wall. I am not going to win.

While I lie in agony, he makes himself come. He never leaves the damn chair.

Until he is completely finished. My arms are still above my head, breasts jutting out, I'm wet beyond reason and throbbing between my legs, without so much as a touch. He hasn't given me leave to move. He slowly pulls himself up to his full, beautiful height, and takes a single step toward me. Another, this time with his eyes on fire, the tilt of Vulcan grin forming on his face. I am drowned in relief that he is nearing me, that this, whatever it is, is finally going to start. I don't realize it already has.

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