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Title: Ease
Author: ebonbird
Characters: Nyota Uhura. Spock.
Rating: NC-17 (I think ratings are ridiculous.)
Warnings: Explicit sexing.
Wordcount: 1324
Disclaimer: Star Trek not mine.
Summary: Early on in the physical aspect of their relationship, Nyota does some math and is dismayed.
A/N: Belly fixation. The quoted line is from a Masai love poem. Don't recall the author or name. The story told within this is gacked from Ruth Holmes Whitehead's adaptation of a Micmac teaching of the six worlds involving Kji-Kinap and Kluskap. Please pardon my errors.
Nyota lays in his bed, her hand on his belly. He didn’t have much flesh there, but he had hair and the smooth strength beneath her hand, and the rise and fall of that breath was a rhythm she could feel as well as hear.
She rubbed his stomach, jealous of all the times she hadn’t touched him in public and probably wouldn’t. She thought of how she could see herself doing this tomorrow, and the day after that, and the ones to follow and she sighed because she was only twenty years old and he was the love of her life.
Maybe Spock heard the sigh and he covered the hand on his belly with his own and bent and shifted and with his hands – and one leg – lifted her bodily on top of him, draping her like a blanket. She could sit back on his sex, which was quickening behind her, or turn atop him and offer him taste while she licked him from root to tip and took his sex in her mouth. Her face, neck, and breasts flushed with heat at the thought of this and where her skin lay on his, along his thighs, stomach and chest, grew slick with sweat but she reached for his ears, playing with the tips, skimming the lobes, caressing the inner curves and delicate skin behind his lobes. He arched his head into her touch. His lips parted, his jaw lifting away from her, licking his lips.
Drawing on memory, she spoke a line from a half-remembered poem, "...he leads me into the tall grass, my slim and beautiful lover, and all the women envy me..."
He traced her fingers with his, then took one hand and reached for her breast and her nipple. Their hips restless against each other, their bellies snug—but shifting—they surfed on musk, glide, and intent...
Eventually, Spock brought his finger to bear on the meld points of her face and he flooded into her mind and senses aside from where he’d marked her with his heat, and sweat and focus. That was mostly internal, but this—when she was a little girl, she’d had the sense— mostly – to take shelter from a storm. This made up for all the times she didn’t stand in the outdoors, the highest point in a field while lightning fractured the sky with wrath and the sky out wet the ocean.
Spock drew her in like a tide—gently, but inexorably, deeper and deeper. The shore that was her sense of self crumbling away, beneath her feet until she was over her head in a salty, buoyant sea, with waves bearing her aloft, but waiting currents sucking her down and deeper where it was hotter, and fiercer, and quicker.
Nyota came to with her sex throbbing, an ache in her throat reminiscent of singing at top volume for hours at a time in smoky bars, and one knee tossed over Spock’s shoulder. He held onto that leg, caressing it as he thrust into her, again and again – his sex hot, heavy, thick, pulsing, glide unending, frictionless mass inside of her, the rest of his body relentless heat and pressure against and outside of her. His free hand went from her quivering breasts to her clit and back again. Her other leg was bent open and nearly parallel with the bed, and her ass couldn’t stop moving and her hands were thrown back on the bed. They and her arms, to the shoulder, felt too heavy to lift.
“What, which one is this?” she wondered but Spock’s eyes were closed and his teeth bared and he looked magnificent and he felt better and she was still coming anyway. He groaned through his own release and kissed her fingers with his and held them there while his hips snapped against hers and his thighs shook.
She was writhing like a stoned Orion and Spock watched her. He slumped onto her thigh, the one on the bed, and pulled her other leg across his waist.
“What is…what is…” her body kept going—tiny, pervasive sparks of well-being and pleasure radiating from her sex and anus, to her navel, her tummy, her heart, her throat, and her head like the exact opposite of a migraine. Spock stroked the thigh he’d draped over himself, gently and firmly. He gazed up at her, the natural curve edging his mouth pronounced. His eyes heavy-lidded. His lips flushed and glistening. His soothing touch added another dimension to the sensations converging on her spinal column and rising upward toward her immediate consciousness. She could remember what it was like being sucked down by the deeper currents of Spock’s feelings, and now his tide was receeding, and she was back on the shores of herself—with something extra.
She reached for his hand, flailing, and he gripped it, squeezing her fingers as another orgasm made her taste feelings and smell sights. “Spock…!”
He stroked her wrist lightly. “There are compensations for mating with a Vulcan,” he said. Part of her fastened on one word he spoke but the rest rushed eagerly into the added pleasure of his voice felt against her legs through his torso and rising like a benediction on her ears. “I’m still coming?!”
But Spock did something, went from kissing her hand with his lips to gripping her hand with both of his and pressing on it hard in several spaces on her fingertips and thumb and bones on the back of her hand and that edge , forcing her sore sex to ripple against itself in diminishing strength until it stopped.
She rolled herself into a half reclining position and spied the travel clock. Her eyes widened. “We’ve been doing this for how long? Oh. What have you done to me, Spock?”
“Endeavored to please you. With considerable success.” He went to kiss her palm, but paused and released her thigh, and settled himself alongside her, though he kept his thigh between hers. “Are you displeased?”
“I need to tell you a story.”
He inclined his head.
“Liar made himself out of the leftovers of creation. He willed himself into existence out of the scraps left over from when Great Power created creation. Liar and Great Power got to comparing who was the more formidable creator. Liar created a wind that blew down half a mountain of trees.”
“Impressive.”
She squeezed his hand. Her thumb stroked the center of his palm. “Great Power summoned a wind so strong, it ripped Liar’s hair out by the roots, but so subtle Liar didn’t notice until he ran his fingers through his hair and it fell out.”
Spock frowned- well - a small 'v' appeared on his forehead.
“You are not bald.”
She began to roll onto her stomach, but she was already on her hair. And much of that she wasn’t atop of was pinned beneath Spock. They disentangled themselves from her long tresses. Spock knelt, gathering the length of her hair in his arms and she settled on her stomach. He wrapped his fist in her hair and lay down beside her, petting the smooth length of it.
“Vulcans marry young, don’t they?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m young, but I’m Human. I never expected to meet ‘Him’- You. You’re it for me. You’ve ruined me for other men—and I didn’t want to be.”
“You speak in the past tense.”
“Deliberately.” Her voice was firm but small. She faced him then, studying his face as she tucked one of her feet behind the other.
“I too am shorn, my Nyota.”
Her smile was wan. “I know how you feel.” She winced just as he flared his nostrils in a sigh.
“May I suggest, that you know what is, is.”
She reached for his jaw with her fingertips and said, “Kaiidth.”
"Where did you get that word?"
"Around. Some readings. It's Vulcan."
"Yes."
Author: ebonbird
Characters: Nyota Uhura. Spock.
Rating: NC-17 (I think ratings are ridiculous.)
Warnings: Explicit sexing.
Wordcount: 1324
Disclaimer: Star Trek not mine.
Summary: Early on in the physical aspect of their relationship, Nyota does some math and is dismayed.
A/N: Belly fixation. The quoted line is from a Masai love poem. Don't recall the author or name. The story told within this is gacked from Ruth Holmes Whitehead's adaptation of a Micmac teaching of the six worlds involving Kji-Kinap and Kluskap. Please pardon my errors.
Nyota lays in his bed, her hand on his belly. He didn’t have much flesh there, but he had hair and the smooth strength beneath her hand, and the rise and fall of that breath was a rhythm she could feel as well as hear.
She rubbed his stomach, jealous of all the times she hadn’t touched him in public and probably wouldn’t. She thought of how she could see herself doing this tomorrow, and the day after that, and the ones to follow and she sighed because she was only twenty years old and he was the love of her life.
Maybe Spock heard the sigh and he covered the hand on his belly with his own and bent and shifted and with his hands – and one leg – lifted her bodily on top of him, draping her like a blanket. She could sit back on his sex, which was quickening behind her, or turn atop him and offer him taste while she licked him from root to tip and took his sex in her mouth. Her face, neck, and breasts flushed with heat at the thought of this and where her skin lay on his, along his thighs, stomach and chest, grew slick with sweat but she reached for his ears, playing with the tips, skimming the lobes, caressing the inner curves and delicate skin behind his lobes. He arched his head into her touch. His lips parted, his jaw lifting away from her, licking his lips.
Drawing on memory, she spoke a line from a half-remembered poem, "...he leads me into the tall grass, my slim and beautiful lover, and all the women envy me..."
He traced her fingers with his, then took one hand and reached for her breast and her nipple. Their hips restless against each other, their bellies snug—but shifting—they surfed on musk, glide, and intent...
Eventually, Spock brought his finger to bear on the meld points of her face and he flooded into her mind and senses aside from where he’d marked her with his heat, and sweat and focus. That was mostly internal, but this—when she was a little girl, she’d had the sense— mostly – to take shelter from a storm. This made up for all the times she didn’t stand in the outdoors, the highest point in a field while lightning fractured the sky with wrath and the sky out wet the ocean.
Spock drew her in like a tide—gently, but inexorably, deeper and deeper. The shore that was her sense of self crumbling away, beneath her feet until she was over her head in a salty, buoyant sea, with waves bearing her aloft, but waiting currents sucking her down and deeper where it was hotter, and fiercer, and quicker.
Nyota came to with her sex throbbing, an ache in her throat reminiscent of singing at top volume for hours at a time in smoky bars, and one knee tossed over Spock’s shoulder. He held onto that leg, caressing it as he thrust into her, again and again – his sex hot, heavy, thick, pulsing, glide unending, frictionless mass inside of her, the rest of his body relentless heat and pressure against and outside of her. His free hand went from her quivering breasts to her clit and back again. Her other leg was bent open and nearly parallel with the bed, and her ass couldn’t stop moving and her hands were thrown back on the bed. They and her arms, to the shoulder, felt too heavy to lift.
“What, which one is this?” she wondered but Spock’s eyes were closed and his teeth bared and he looked magnificent and he felt better and she was still coming anyway. He groaned through his own release and kissed her fingers with his and held them there while his hips snapped against hers and his thighs shook.
She was writhing like a stoned Orion and Spock watched her. He slumped onto her thigh, the one on the bed, and pulled her other leg across his waist.
“What is…what is…” her body kept going—tiny, pervasive sparks of well-being and pleasure radiating from her sex and anus, to her navel, her tummy, her heart, her throat, and her head like the exact opposite of a migraine. Spock stroked the thigh he’d draped over himself, gently and firmly. He gazed up at her, the natural curve edging his mouth pronounced. His eyes heavy-lidded. His lips flushed and glistening. His soothing touch added another dimension to the sensations converging on her spinal column and rising upward toward her immediate consciousness. She could remember what it was like being sucked down by the deeper currents of Spock’s feelings, and now his tide was receeding, and she was back on the shores of herself—with something extra.
She reached for his hand, flailing, and he gripped it, squeezing her fingers as another orgasm made her taste feelings and smell sights. “Spock…!”
He stroked her wrist lightly. “There are compensations for mating with a Vulcan,” he said. Part of her fastened on one word he spoke but the rest rushed eagerly into the added pleasure of his voice felt against her legs through his torso and rising like a benediction on her ears. “I’m still coming?!”
But Spock did something, went from kissing her hand with his lips to gripping her hand with both of his and pressing on it hard in several spaces on her fingertips and thumb and bones on the back of her hand and that edge , forcing her sore sex to ripple against itself in diminishing strength until it stopped.
She rolled herself into a half reclining position and spied the travel clock. Her eyes widened. “We’ve been doing this for how long? Oh. What have you done to me, Spock?”
“Endeavored to please you. With considerable success.” He went to kiss her palm, but paused and released her thigh, and settled himself alongside her, though he kept his thigh between hers. “Are you displeased?”
“I need to tell you a story.”
He inclined his head.
“Liar made himself out of the leftovers of creation. He willed himself into existence out of the scraps left over from when Great Power created creation. Liar and Great Power got to comparing who was the more formidable creator. Liar created a wind that blew down half a mountain of trees.”
“Impressive.”
She squeezed his hand. Her thumb stroked the center of his palm. “Great Power summoned a wind so strong, it ripped Liar’s hair out by the roots, but so subtle Liar didn’t notice until he ran his fingers through his hair and it fell out.”
Spock frowned- well - a small 'v' appeared on his forehead.
“You are not bald.”
She began to roll onto her stomach, but she was already on her hair. And much of that she wasn’t atop of was pinned beneath Spock. They disentangled themselves from her long tresses. Spock knelt, gathering the length of her hair in his arms and she settled on her stomach. He wrapped his fist in her hair and lay down beside her, petting the smooth length of it.
“Vulcans marry young, don’t they?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m young, but I’m Human. I never expected to meet ‘Him’- You. You’re it for me. You’ve ruined me for other men—and I didn’t want to be.”
“You speak in the past tense.”
“Deliberately.” Her voice was firm but small. She faced him then, studying his face as she tucked one of her feet behind the other.
“I too am shorn, my Nyota.”
Her smile was wan. “I know how you feel.” She winced just as he flared his nostrils in a sigh.
“May I suggest, that you know what is, is.”
She reached for his jaw with her fingertips and said, “Kaiidth.”
"Where did you get that word?"
"Around. Some readings. It's Vulcan."
"Yes."