Just a little clarification: Certain passages in the preceding chapters may have led my readers into thinking that Uhura is, ahem, a little easy. That is not true. In my mind, she's had experience in, well, the physical arts – but she is not, by any means, like her roommate. Let's just say she possess a little bit of practical experience and a lot of natural talent and ability.
I hope that helps!
Writing smut is easy. Writing an explanation of that smut is hard.
Hope you enjoy….
Disclaimer and warnings in chapter one.
Chapter Five of Six: Nyota
Gods he's good. Does he get that? He's good. Why oh why did I wait so long to do this?
The nail thing had almost undone her – had almost made her climax before…well, before this – and she had really, really wanted this: The feeling of his flesh filling her body.
This, this, this.
One of his hands was clutched tightly on her hip, steadying her or grounding him – she wasn't sure which; the other hand was stroking the valley between her breasts, gentle caresses that belied the actions of the rest of him, because the rest of him was crashing into her body.
Indescribably good.
In all of her vast experience…
Nyota?
All right, all right, the other dozen times I've done this, it's been nothing like this; the other two guys were nothing like him.
And, she realized, nothing and nobody never would be.
His breathing was starting to become erratic – thank you half-Human male sexual responses – which meant that he was close; she had to slow him down – make this last a little longer, teach him what she needed.
She slowed her thrusts and grabbed the hand that had been so busy on her chest and brought his index finger to her mouth to wet it.
His eyes widened and he sucked in a shuddering breath.
That's very good to know. We'll explore that some more in the future.
She stilled her movements. The hand still on her hip flexed and his forehead furrowed, but he stopped, too.
"Don't worry. I just need to show you something."
He laid very still, his eyes smoldering. He was open to anything…
Also very good to know…
She swirled her tongue around his finger; she could feel him inside of her, pulsing in response.
Okay. Gotta make this snappy.
She eased his finger out of her mouth and guided it to where there bodies were joined. Her hand resting over his, she taught him how to form small, tight circles. He followed her lead, mastering the movement almost immediately – providing her with the sensations she craved.
Some of the sensations she craved.
She braced her hands on the sides of his abdomen and began to move her hips again. His fingers kept up their work. She tightened around him and his movements faltered for a fraction of a second as his skin flushed green.
She waited for him to recover, even though it seemed to take forever. When his fingers began to move again, she repeated the movement, this time his fingers kept busy, his breathing increased and the green flush did not fade. Then he levered his hips up at her in a silent plea.
Happy to oblige.
She began to undulate and he met her movements with forceful thrusts of his own. His control was gone, she could tell. He was staring at her and she could not look away; his gaze was hypnotic: raw and open, hot and primitive.
She was flooded by indescribable sensations; they were escalating in intensity in fractions of seconds. He began to make the broken sounds again and his thrusts became deeper, erratic. She knew he was on the edge, she had brought him there again and, this time, he had brought her with him.
We're good at this. We're good with each other. Together we can do anything.
Together they shattered the universe.
When she regained use of her limbs she found herself collapsed against his chest.
He was gently stroking her back.
Hey, he was the one who was supposed to be temporarily paralyzed by ecstasy.
She was shaking as the adrenaline continued to course through her body. She was still vibrating with pleasure.
Please don't let him tell me how wrong this was…
She didn't really like talking after sex. She liked cuddling and gentle stroking – maybe some soft kisses or murmured endearments and expressions of delight and gratitude; she did not like talking.
This time she was vehemently opposed to talking because talking might lead to other things. Things like analysis and regret and ejection from his arms, bed and life.
She wanted to stay here, plastered against his chest, and sleep. She didn't want to have to meet his eyes and read the thoughts reflected there.
How do you know it's going to be bad?
Because I have a brain – which, I might add, is what pushed and prodded me into this predicament in the first place.
"Nyota, you are shivering. Do you wish for me to cover you with a sheet or blanket?"
His hands were still stroking her back.
I can pretend that I'm asleep.
But he would know. He would be able to differentiate her waking heart and respiration rates from her sleeping ones.
Damn Vulcan superpowers.
"No, you're keeping me plenty warm," she said into the skin of his chest. Maybe she should start kissing him again – rouse him so he would be too busy pounding into her body to send her home.
"Are you certain? The shivering is quite pronounced."
She burrowed closer, still refusing to look at his face. "Humans don't just shiver because we're cold, Spock. There are lots and lots of reasons we shiver. In anticipation, when we eat something sour or, just thinking out loud here, when we've just had an incredibly intense and satisfying sexual experience."
And when we're terrified.
He shifted her off his chest and to his side; she moved closer to him, being very careful to keep her face pressed into the slick, hot skin of his bicep. He wouldn't eject her from his room without looking her in the face would he?
Maybe….
His fingers brushed her arm. "Yes. I believe I am experiencing a similar physiological reaction."
He wouldn't throw her out with the Vulcan equivalent of endorphins still coursing through his body, would he?
Best to not find out.
She would keep her face buried into his warm skin until she fell asleep; she was more than happy to wait and deal with this in the morning.
He, however, appeared to be unable to wait until morning or for an hour or for even five minutes; he slid his finger under her chin and applied gentle but inexorable pressure, making her tip her face up and finally meet his eyes.
"Nyota…"
Her stomach clenched and she waited, but he did not continue speaking; instead, he gently stroked her cheeks, eyebrows, nose, lips.
She looked into his eyes; he met her gaze firmly.
She momentarily wished the lights were brighter so she could be sure that what she was seeing was substance, not shadows.
He began to trace her delicate orbital bones and she let her eyes flutter closed. She could feel his fingers drift carefully over her eyelids and eyelashes.
The tension and terror began to fade.
He pressed light kisses to her eyelids, whispered a single word into her skin. "Ashayam."
Beloved.
No, it was not shadows she had seen; his gaze had been truly gentle - tender. He was not going to send her away. She felt the smile wreath her face. He followed the line of it with his fingertip. She reached for him and he slipped into her embrace, holding her tight against his body.
Almost like he didn't want to let her go.
Happy.
Tired.
Sleepy.
Thank you, Brain.
You're very welcome, Nyota.