Unfinished Business

Chapter 30 : The Rejoining

June 2273

He found her, finally, by opening up the bond beyond the bare trickle it had been at for so long. He did not open it wide, only enough to sense where she was. She was in the observation deck again. He entered, stopping just out of hand's reach. She was leaning against the cool plasteel, looking at the stars. He waited until she turned and looked at him. She was confused. He did not see how she could be otherwise. She straightened up and looked at him. "Spock?" Her voice was soft, unjudgemental.

He swallowed. He must do this. He must not give up, not allow himself to fail. "There is something I would show you, if you will allow it."

She looked at him, her brows drawn together, pondering. He waited, barely breathing. At length, she nodded. He did not betray his relief. He gestured in the direction he wished to go, and she began to walk beside him. He clasped his hands behind his back, so she would not see that they shook.

They walked the corridors of the ship, almost deserted at this hour, headed by the quickest route to where he wished to take her. When they arrived in the small storage room, she looked confused, and even more so when he quickly climbed the ladder bolted to the wall and opened the hatch in the ceiling. He climbed through and turned about, still clinging to the ladder, offering her a hand. She climbed up the ladder, knowing immediately what this room was before she was even inside. She inhaled sharply, glancing hard at him, but he kept his face controlled. He held onto her with one hand, his feet hooked about the ladder, and closed the hatch, sealing them inside the small gravity-free space. And then he released his grasp on the ladder and they floated free. She never took her eyes off of his face.

He steeled himself. He did not know how she would react. But he must do this. He must try. "I brought you to a room like this. Seven years ago."

She nodded. "I do remember."

"We gave each other pleasure there."

Her lips compressed, but she did not waver in her concentration. She nodded again.

He hesitated, unsure. Finally he continued, his voice lower, huskier. "I would give you pleasure again, if you would allow it."

Her hand reached out slowly, causing them to spin, drifting. She touched his cheek, so lightly. "Spock?"

He did not know what to say. She had not replied. She had not denied him, but she had not accepted, either. He waited.

She continued to look at him. Eventually she spoke again, her voice strained, soft. "Spock, open up the link and let me feel you."

He trembled then, hesitant. If he allowed her in, and then she denied him, he would be in agony. But he was in agony now. After a torment of deliberation, he began to open the link, slowly. He felt her then, gliding in, filling him with her light, her love, her joy. He made a strangled noise, by no means with any meaning, and opened the link wider, and she surged in, surrounding him. All the empty places filled with her presence, and he began to shake. She moved her hand from his cheek to his shoulder, and pulled herself toward him, until their bodies touched, from shoulder to knee. Her movement made them twist and turn, but he paid no attention to that. His attention was all on the contact, on her body against his. He buried his face in her hair, groaning at her, and she whispered against his neck "Spock. My Spock."

He shuddered, then, having thought never to hear that again. He wrapped his arms about her, and treasured her, and she clung to him, crying softly. They twisted and spun, turning end over end, holding each other, for some time. And then she lifted her head, looking up at him, tear tracks on her face, and spoke only two words. "My quarters."

He blazed, completely out of control. She moaned, her eyes closing, as his arousal swept over her. She felt his lok, hard and hot, rising against her belly, and she rubbed against him, sighing, moaning. She shivered, he shuddered, they held tight to each other, fighting for control. And then he slowly stretched out one arm, moving them closer to the wall, where the ladder was, moving his feet to propel them slowly, until he could grab the ladder, pulling them in. He went hand over hand to the hatch, opening it, then going down feet first, still holding her. When he was far enough that his head cleared, he pulled the hatch shut. A few more rungs and he set her on her feet. She rubbed at her face with her hand, trying to erase the tear tracks.

He waited until she sighed heavily and raised her head, and he touched her cheek so gently. She turned her face, and kissed his fingertips, and he hissed through his teeth at the feel of her soft lips. And then he straightened up, and led her out, and straight to her quarters the fastest way, checking here and there to be sure the corridors were empty. When they reached her quarters, he stopped, but she reached out, and set his hand on the touchplate, and the door opened. He stood there, in shock, while she entered, and then she turned, and grabbed his shirt, and pulled him through the door. As soon as the door closed, she was climbing his body. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand under her bottom, and she wrapped her legs around him, her hands on the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, her mouth on his, greedy, gasping.

He did not know her quarters. He did not know which way to step to press her against a wall, to carry her to the bed. So he devoured her where he stood, starved for the feel of her, the taste of her. He groaned at the ache in his lok, compressed between them, and she moaned back at him, moving her hips against his body, his hand. He began to shake again, and she lifted her mouth from his long enough to tell him where to go. He stumbled against her bed and would have put her down, but she would not release him, so he turned, and sat down, with her in his lap, her legs still around him, and enflamed them both as he tasted and touched and burned for her while she sighed and moaned and put her hands everywhere.

He was shaking and growling at her when she began to pull at his clothing, getting the seals of his shirt open and pulling at it until she could get his arms out. Her hands caressed his chest, his back, his arms, leaving trails of fire blazing down his nerves. He dared not attempt to do the same or he would shred her clothing, he had no doubt of that. But she was removing her own shirt now, and her bra, and he had both hands full of her luscious breasts, and she was moaning again, louder, shuddering against him. He put his hands on her ribs and lifted her up, and she finally unwound her legs from his body. He set her on her feet between his legs and moved his hands down, stripping her trousers and her panties down to her knees in one movement, and then pushing and tugging until they were on the floor and she stood before him, bare. He stood up, tottering, and her hands were there, pulling at his trousers, his briefs, and then his lok sprang free, fully engorged, throbbing, drops of lubricant seeping from the tip.

With a deep growl, he lifted her and laid her on the bed, and then he was between her legs, sinking into her body, thrusting hard, and she was screaming at him, her hands clutching at his ribs, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase, her knees raised high to pull him deeper into her body. And she was screaming his name, over and over, as the ecstasy rolled over her, pulling him in as well, into the white hot fire that he had not felt in far too long.

She clung to him, sobbing, while he hung suspended over her, panting, heart pounding. "Ah, Spock! My Spock! Oh, Spock, I missed you so."

"And I you." His voice was husky, deep, barely audible. He shook with wanting her again, needing her. And she pulled at him, moving her hips against him, demanding more without saying a word. He began to pump against her, sliding in and out, and she sobbed with each thrust, squeezing against him, the flames burning higher, until together they shuddered and convulsed and flew into the light, the joy, the unity of sharing so long denied.

This time he almost collapsed atop her, having only enough control to roll them so that she was above him. And then he lay there, panting, throbbing, gasping her name, unwilling to release her in any way. When finally they were both quiet, he stretched for the blanket, and pulled it over them, and buried his face in her hair, unable to do or say anything more. And she turned her face to his neck, and bit him, so that he convulsed again, filling her with his heat while she clung to him, sobbing.

When she slept, her head pillowed on his shoulder, he lay there for a short while, treasuring her, before he slept himself. He would not fail her again. Never.