Disclaimers in previous chapters.
Chapter 37. Ablutions.
This chapter written by TalesFromTheSpockSide.
I'm coming off shift, another grubby one, where I've had to crawl here, there, and everywhere down in the "dungeon" as Mr. Scott calls it, checking conduits, adjusting couplings, whatever. Fortunately I knew about this routine and I wore my uniform pants instead of the skirt. Mr. Scott seemed a little disappointed. I'm sure he likes those skirts, but there's no way he's getting a look up mine.
That view is reserved for my Vulcan. I smile, remembering various opportunities he's had to do more than look. My pace quickens; I'm headed for a hot bath and a little self-stimulation. Spock is part of a landing party that isn't due to return for some hours, so I'm on my own.
I enter our quarters and stop in my tracks; I think I'm seeing things.
"Spock! You're back early," I say with a smile. He comes toward me, but I hold up a hand. "No, no, I'm filthy. I got to wallow in various residue and lubricants today."
"Indeed," he says with an eyebrow up. "Lubricants, you say?"
"Indeed," I laugh. "So I'm going to go draw a nice, hot bath and soak out all the grime." I go into the bedroom and kick off my boots, then realize he's still out in the living area. I poke my head around the door jamb and say pointedly, "You can keep me company if you like."
"If it is agreeable to you."
"It is. Get in here." I love bossing him around. As I toss my clothes into the cleaning unit I ask, "So what happened with the landing party?"
Spock sits on the bed, watching. "The planet is unremarkable," he replies, a little absently. "Some of the away team wished to remain overnight. To 'camp out', I believe. Dr. McCoy and Lt. Nichols are in charge."
I grin, drop my tights into the cleaner and turn to sashay into the lavatory. This time he follows, almost silently; he has left his boots next to mine and removed his socks as well.
I start the water. One of the perks of being Spock's lover is our bath/shower combo; it's not very long, but deep, and there's a hose attachment. Usually I add bubbles to my bath, but not this time; I'm going to have an audience and I want him to have a good view.
Spock takes a seat on the chair nearby, elbows on his knees, casual, as if waiting for a transport. There's about two inches of water in the bottom of the tub when I step in and activate the shower head. I completely ignore my companion as I apply soap, shampoo, conditioner. At one point I'm covered in suds and I sneak a look toward the chair, and then nearly lose my footing.
Spock has disrobed and hung up his uniform over the back of the chair. He's not leaning casually on his knees any more; he sits back in the chair, arms folded across his manly chest, knees apart, watching me. Watching my gaze drop to take in the view of his erection standing proudly up out of his thatch of black hair.
He catches my eye and cocks an eyebrow as if to say, "What did you expect?"
I laugh and grab the shower hose attachment, switching over so it's the only source of water now. The water pressure is at medium and I start at the top of my head, rinsing out the soap and dirt, making sure I don't miss a bend or crevice anywhere.
When I get down to waist level I thumb the dial so the pressure increases; it's like having firm fingers stroking my skin. I place one hand on the wall of the shower and direct the water down the cleft in my backside, then slowly move the hose round to spray over my mound. I didn't get any dirt there, of course, but I'm sure Spock will approve of my attention to detail.
He certainly looks approving. His arms have unfolded and one hand rests on his knee; the other holds the base of his penis, not stroking, just gripping, as if trying to hold himself back. His eyes smolder. I get an idea.
Bending over, I pay close attention to washing off my feet, turn off the hose, then plug up the drain so the tub will fill. I sit down in the hot water, leaning back against the tub, feet together, knees apart.
"This is when I like to soak," I say to my audience. "Usually I have a bubble bath, and I lie here and think and daydream until I'm ready to go to sleep."
"And what do you dream of, my Ensign?" asks my Commander, softly.
"You, of course." The water is up to my waist as I sit. I put my hands behind my head and stretch and my breasts and belly stick out toward him. "I think about our first time, in the shuttle, where you found out I don't wear a bra."
"A most welcome discovery," he muses and I see his fingers tighten on his cock, still not stroking, but touching, squeezing gently.
"And where I found out how good you are at cunnilingus," I continue, my eyes half closed. "Then I think about all the times you've gone down on me. In the shuttle, in the access tube - " oh, God, in the access tube! I pause to savor it. "--the first time here in your quarters--"
"I fantasized about tasting you," he says roughly, "during our first time in the decon chamber."
"And then you did it, the second time." The memory makes me grin. "After you spanked me."
He breathes deeply and closes his eyes. That's not part of my plan. The water has come up to barely cover my breasts and I shut off the main faucet, turning on the hose attachment again. He hears the change and opens his eyes again. Good.
"I like to do this with the hose," I say and bring it up, directing the narrow flow of water against my nipple, so warm, so good. "I got to tie you down once, remember? I want you to restrain me and torment my breasts and everything else until I beg you to take me."
"Noted and logged," he assures me. I can see his hand stroke once, up and down, and a trace of semen is seeping from his head. I continue to lave my breasts and my other hand dips down into the water to comb through the hair between my legs.
Obviously he wants a better view. He grabs a folded towel, tossing it on the floor next to the tub and kneeling on it, sitting back on his heels, eyes traveling over my wet body as I spread myself with my fingers.
"Spock," I whisper. I'm getting close. His eyes are like fire stroking my skin. This man, this sexual animal, kneels before me as if waiting my command and I can't stand it any more. I plunge the hose under the surface, thumbing the dial up to nearly-full intensity, and aim the stream directly between my labia, water rushing over my clit, just right, just...just..there...
"Spock! Ah!" This time it isn't a whisper; my cry echoes in the small room and my convulsion makes the water in the tub rock. I manage to keep my eyes open, fixed on his, and his mouth opens a little and his eyes glaze over as he witnesses my release.
When the waves in my body and in the tub subside, I open the drain to let the water out, still holding the hose, and get on my knees in the tub. And beckon to him.
There's just room in the tub for him to stand before me as I kneel. I hand him the hose and he takes it and covers his body with the spray, beginning at his hair and traveling downward. I just watch, until he gets down to his waist, then I take the hose in one hand and some soap in the other. I set the hose down, the stream flowing around his toes, and lavish my soapy attentions on his sex. He's facing the corner of the shower stall and he puts his hands out to steady himself against the wall, watching my fingers stroking and exploring. He must be using some of that Vulcan control; he's still hard but not rock hard.
I'll take care of that.
I take the hose, turn it down a bit and rinse the area I just washed. He sighs like a happy cat and shifts his legs, spreading his feet a little more. Once all the soap is off I take him in my hand and kiss his head, lick it, pull it into my mouth, just the head. My reward is feeling him get even harder, tasting a little come getting ready to spill, a soft moan from above my head. I squeeze his shaft firmly and stroke a little, and my other hand finds the hose, turns the pressure up significantly, and I bring it up to press it between his buttocks, directing a stream of warm water over his anus.
He roars. There is no other word for it. The sound sends a jolt of triumph through my body and he explodes in my mouth, not even thrusting, his cock jerking and throbbing against my tongue, his arms and legs planted for dear life. The sound of his ecstasy rings, dies away, and I turn off the water and stand as he gasps and shudders.
One of his arms leaves the wall to grab me around the waist and pull me in for a deep, hot kiss. He says something in his native language; I don't ask what it means. I never do; the translation could never sound as seductive. I reach out and pull a bath sheet from the rack and wrap it around both of us, as my own skin is cooling fast and I know he must be feeling even chillier.
"What is usually the next part of your evening?" he asks as we towel each other dry and move quickly back to the bedroom, under the covers, to warm each other.
"I go to bed and dream some more," I tell him and feel his breath against my cheek as he chuckles and rolls me up in his arms.
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