Friday, January 6, 2017

A Spock Lemon -- Fall (Into Me)

Character: Spock

Fandom: Star Trek

OC: Thalia, red hair, brown eyes, witty, observant

Inspiration: Here we go, the first Spock lemon I've ever attempted.  As usual, it will probably take me most of January to get requests finished up.  Hopefully you'll all be patient with me while I go through the process.  I will be updating the Accepted Requests list soon as well.  There are a few more requests I'd like to write before I close everything up.  Anyway, enjoy!

She blames Captain Kirk.  (It’s usually his fault anyway.)  If he hadn’t decided to throw a huge Christmas party for the crew, then she could have gotten away with spending a nice, peaceful Christmas Eve in her quarters.  Alone.  As in, not surrounded by loud music, strobe lights, and wasted crew members stumbling around knocking into her.
She could’ve avoided this whole situation entirely.  But no – the Captain had to threaten her into attending his party.  She’d rather spend Christmas Eve in her room with a good book and the simulation of fire crackling in the hearth – maybe some cello in the background drizzling its way through some gentle Christmas songs to make her sadly decorated room seem a bit more festive.
If anything, it would have been more festive than techno music and drunken men asking her to dance every other minute.
Thalia glances down at her watch critically.  She hasn’t even been there a full hour, and yet there are already several people passed out on the table in the corner and a few full blown make-out sessions going on behind the scrawny fake trees Kirk had somehow managed to scrape together for appearances. 
She wonders when it would be acceptable to leave – and if anyone would even notice her absence.  She’s in the middle of coming up with a plan to make a hasty exit when yet another person drunkenly bumps into her.  This time, however, the force of it sends her reeling backwards, and she would have undoubtedly fallen to the ground had a pair of hands not clamped down on her arms at the last minute to save her from her fate.
She knocks into what feels like a wall, gasping as her drink flies out of her red plastic cup and spills down her front.  Luckily (or is it, she wonders with a groan), she’s wearing her uniform instead of a dress like many other women, but it doesn’t stop her from cursing under her breath as she imagines how long it will take her to get the stench of alcohol out of her clothes.
And then she remembers that she’s still pressed up against her unknown savior, and glances over her shoulder to thank however stopped her from crashing to the floor.  The thank you is on the tip of her tongue.  It dies the moment she realizes who, exactly, is standing behind her, still holding her up.
“Commander Spock!” she gasps, and stumbles upright with an embarrassed blush.  She starts to smooth out her uniform before remembering that it’s currently soaked in alcohol, and groans again.  Apparently she has the worst luck of all.
Spock merely blinks down at her, takes one look at her blushing face, and calmly says, “There is no need to be embarrassed, Lieutenant.  It would be far worse had you fallen.”
She flails around for something to say to him – her higher up and, (dare she even think it) the man she’s rather unwittingly been crushing on like some silly little girl for the past two years.  Christ, she must be crazy.  She almost wishes she had fallen and hit her head, preferably so hard that she could just allow this moment to fade to black.
“…Um…thank you, Commander,” she stumbles, and glances down at her shirt with a sigh.  Mainly to give herself an excuse to look away from his penetrating stare.
Her cheeks are probably beet red by now.  She certainly feels like it’s risen about a million degrees within the last five seconds alone.
Awkward silence falls between them, or so she thinks.  Perhaps it’s just her, because Spock doesn’t seem to fully grasp the strange nervous energy building up between the spaces of their bodies.  He’s still looking down at her with eyes that crinkle with slight confusion, as if he cannot understand what she’s thinking.
“You were leaving,” he suddenly says, voice solid and tinged with perception.  It isn’t a question, merely an acknowledgement.
Thalia pauses, glances up at him, and admits, “…Yes.”
She doesn’t know if the loud music is addling her brain, but she almost hears a trace of petulant on his face, as if he doesn’t like the verdict.
Another beat of silence (silence that is, for a brief moment, pure and complete as the song changes), and then Spock is saying, “Allow me to escort you to your quarters.”
Thalia stares at him in surprise, but he is already turning away and walking to the doors, as if he expects her to follow without question.  It would, perhaps, be the logical thing to do.  Then again, Thalia doesn’t run on logic like he does.  If anything, her life is one beautifully chaotic mess, as different from his as the sun is to the moon.
Somehow she remembers to walk forward, stumbling around a pair of drunken dancers and depositing her now empty cup on a nearby table.  Spock is waiting for her at the doors, hands primly set behind his back as shoulders straight.  His eyes flash down to hers the moment she steps into his space, his gaze as unreadable as always.
He gestures to the doors and she follows him through.  They get about five paces into the hallway when a very familiar voice drawls, “You two aren’t sneaking off only an hour into the party, are you?”
Thalia stiffens and turns, eyes landing on none other than her captain.  He’s leaning against the hallway with his arms crossed, watching them with a raised eyebrow as if he’s been waiting to catch them escaping.  Of course when Thalia takes note of the mussed up looking cadet beside him, she knows this isn’t true.  She sighs.
Spock sighs too, though not with the same gusto of tired aggravation.  His sigh is more of a pause that drags out into a few immeasurable seconds. 
“We are not ‘sneaking off’,” Spock responds, using his I’m-more-logical-than-you-therefore-you’re-beneath-me voice.  Thalia knows how much Kirk hates that voice.  As one of the more senior Lieutenants, she often gets to see it in action on the Bridge when she takes over for Sulu at the helm.  It makes her smile slightly when she sees the annoyance that flashes through her captain’s eyes.
“Are you laughing at me, Lieutenant Thalia?” Kirk inquires, spearing her with a look that makes her smile immediately drop away. 
Spock glances down at her just in time to see the twitch of her smile disappear.  Had the situation called for it, he might have smiled himself just to see it there on her face.  (Her smiles are lovely – they seem to light up her entire aura when they appear, and he finds himself drawn into them as if they are made from pure moonlight - )
As it is, he only allows the briefest expression of amusement to color his face, but it is enough for Kirk to notice.  When he wants to be, their captain is very observant.  Which most likely explains how he’s the first one to notice the mistletoe currently hanging over their heads – mistletoe that he had put up himself.
He’d done it to amuse himself more than anything.  Catching errant parties who would rather spend the evening in their boring quarters is quite fun, and catching them underneath mistletoe is even better.  Of course he hadn’t thought that it would be none other than his Commander and his Lieutenant that would walk straight into his trap.
That almost makes it better than anything.
Kirk crosses his arms with a wide, evil smirk that Thalia immediately becomes concerned with.  She knows that expression well enough to realize how nothing good ever comes from it.  Or if it does, then it never comes easily.
Spock either doesn’t notice or he’s ignoring it entirely, because he begins to say, “I am merely escorting Lieutenant Thalia to her – “
“Yes, yes, you’re escorting Thalia to her room, I get it,” Kirk interrupts with a snort.  Thalia feels her cheeks redden at the underlying implications in his voice.  He clearly doesn’t believe that Spock is only escorting her.  She’s thankful, for a moment, that the Commander is part Vulcan and therefore probably won’t understand those very same implications…
But he is also part human, and he’s been around Jim Kirk for long enough by now to know how his mind works.  In any case, Thalia only blushes harder when Spock pauses, then frowns, “I believe you have arrived at a conclusion that is entirely unjustifiable, captain.”
Kirk just shrugs and sends Thalia’s blazing face a smirk.  Spock glances down at her too and sighs. 
“I guess that’s for you to decide after you’ve kissed,” Kirk says in an offhanded manner, despite is words not making any sense – to anyone but him, as usual.
Thalia immediately splutters out a, “What?” at the same time Spock says, “Excuse me, captain?”
There is something no-nonsense in the tone of Spock’s voice, as if he is somehow challenging Kirk, trying to put him in his place or some such thing.  Some kind of silent communication seems to drill through the space between them, and every passing moment of it makes Kirk’s amusement grow.
“You’re standing underneath mistletoe,” he finally explains, glancing up above their heads to the ceiling.  “Therefore by human traditions, you have to kiss.  And don’t give me that crap about being Vulcan, Spock – you’re half human too.”
Thalia looks up and pales at the sight of the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently from above their heads.  Spock just gives it a quick, condescending glance and turns back to Kirk.
“I know of no such tradition,” he staunchly says, and hooks his fingers around Thalia’s wrist in a sudden grip.  She whirls to face him, surprised at his touch.  He doesn’t freely touch others.  In fact, she’s not sure if he’s ever touched her so solidly before.
The look on his face however – it burns away the hopeful surprise.  Does he really find the idea of kissing her so revolting?  Her heart thuds heavily against her ribcage at the silent rejection, and she swallows tightly.
Kirk jumps up when Spock turns away, insisting, “You have to – its tradition – hey, come back here!  I’m your captain – “
Apparently using such an excuse is not good enough for tonight, because Spock doesn’t even glance behind his shoulder as he hauls Thalia away, fingers tight and unyielding around her wrist.  She falls into step beside him quickly, but notices that he doesn’t release her until they reach the elevators and he is forced to let go of her hand.  She’s not sure how she feels about that.
What she is sure about is that the next few moments are so shockingly perfect that she finds she can no longer breathe.  Though admittedly, that might be because Spock is suddenly pressing her into the elevator, grasping her face with both hands, and slanting his lips over hers in a kiss so abrupt she is left miles behind.
She gasps, hands rising to flutter at his chest.  He feels so solid underneath her fingertips and it is a lovely contradiction to the slow way he kisses her, as if he is afraid he is stepping too far over the boundary set up between them.  As it is, Thalia can’t stop to wonder if there is truth to such a thought or not, because…well, she cannot so much as think.
She’s sad to say that she basically just flails against him in her surprise, immovable to the heady feeling of her dream unfurling before her eyes.
Spock is kissing her.
He’s kissing her.
And he’s suddenly pulling back as quickly as he’d come, looking chagrined and very human as he puts several paces between them.  “I’m…I apologize, Lieutenant.  It seemed…before…that you wanted me to partake in that tradition.”
His stumbling seems strange in the cadence of her heartbeat, which patters through her like a storm.  Waves of confusion as well as joy stumble through her, too, and she cautiously steps toward him as if she is approaching a wild animal.
‘Wild’ is not something she would call Spock though, and even now his face is folding over into blank logical indifference.  His go-to expression when the two conflicting parts of him clash.
She supposes it makes sense.  Logic is more comfortable, perhaps, than the crazy chaos of human emotion.  It can be categorized in ways that entirely defy the emotions of her species.  But to see him attempting to do so now is utterly inconceivable and she has to stop it before she loses this chance forever.
“I did – I mean I do – “ Thalia pauses, catches his confused gaze, and murmurs, “It’s just you surprised me.  You’re supposed to kiss underneath the mistletoe.”
Not catch her off guard several hallways away from it.
Spock appears entirely disgruntled by this information.  He raises an eyebrow and spears her with a glance that looks much less confused and much more confident.
“I was under the impression that it wouldn’t matter where I kissed you.  It would be…logical to assume that you would prefer a more private setting.  As opposed to sharing affection in front of your captain.”  He peers at her as if to challenge her.
Thalia blushes and laughs awkwardly, mumbling, “Ah…yes, that’s true.  It seemed, before, that you found the thought of kissing me to be…”  she trails off, unable to bring herself to say the word on the tip of her tongue.
Spock stares at her.  “Considering the fact that I just kissed you of my own accord less than two minutes ago, I believe I have proved that supposition false.”
Thalia nods as if this makes perfect sense, and as she does she realizes how very stupid they both sound right about now.  Why are they trying to make this into some logical argument when it would be so much easier and much more pleasant to just continue where they’d left off?
She must be insane.
She looks up into his eyes, sees the darkened way he’s watching her, and mutters, “Christ…”   Then she flies forward to catch him off guard this time around.
Except she doesn’t catch him off guard at all: Spock merely steps toward her and drags his arms around her waist just as her mouth tips up to search for his.  Their lips meet in perfect synchronicity, as if he had only been waiting for her to come to a conclusion that he has already arrived at.
Yes, she thinks that she probably is insane.  But at least she is making up for it now.
She presses her body against his, arching headily to reach his taller frame.  He all but towers above her and he has to bend down to her level in order to kiss her.  She has to admit that it’s a touch arousing to witness, and she quickly tangles her fingers into his hair to bring him closer. 
And then – the elevator doors are suddenly lurching open and Thalia jumps away in a wave of fuzzy surprise.  In her haste she trips over her own feet and would have fallen right to the floor had Spock not been close enough to catch her.
It’s almost fairytale.  Which naturally makes her blush like crazy because God, can she get any more pathetic?
“Your balance seems to be impaired tonight, Lieutenant Thalia,” Spock murmurs from above, holding her tightly.  She can feel the masculine strength in his arms as he grasps her, the heat of his hand as it lingers on her waist – just a touch lower than would be considered acceptable in public.  And the way he says her name, purrs it almost, has fire curling its way straight to her core.
She knows in that moment that she is finished.
And – the elevator doors close before they can get off.
“Fuck,” she says before she can rein the word in, mainly in reference to the fact that they had missed their floor.  But the word has a strange effect on the Vulcan holding her.  His eyes flash down to hers and it seems as though he is thinking about something entirely different.  She is quick to catch on and blushes vividly.
“I – uh, I mean – “
He doesn’t let her finish.  (Thank God, she would’ve just embarrassed herself even more - )  Instead, he heaves her back into a standing position, then presses her against the wall of the elevator as his mouth hurtles down to kiss her again.
This time there is more fervent desire behind his movements and it makes everything around her turn insignificant.  She can think only of the solid strength of his body as it pushes into hers; the stark way he kisses her with a passion that seems to tear right through her own.  She clamps her fingers down around his upper arms and moans breathlessly at the flex of muscle hidden just beneath his shirt.
The moan makes his eyes flutter open and his lips slow to a burning grind.  Thalia opens her eyes too, confused as to why he is stopping.  But when she sees the black heat building up in his gaze, that subtle trail of arousal spikes into something much more potent and she moans again as she kisses his harder.
He returns the kiss, deepening it as his body presses her more firmly against the wall.  One of his legs pushes between the both of hers.  His fingers fly down to her waist, where he circles his thumbs at her hipbones.
His touch is completely surreal and she thinks she might be dreaming.  But – even her overactive imagination could not hope to paint such a picture.  She would never have guessed that Spock would have this amount of passion.  That he could kiss her like this, touch her like this – allow this affection (or whatever it is) to overturn the propriety that he always seems to hold in such high regard.  No, this is not a dream.  He is defying every dream she’s ever had with every frenzied touch.
He’s kissing her like he’s never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. 
Meanwhile, the elevator continues its downward spiral and creates a strangely addicting backdrop to their passion, enclosing it in an array of conformed desire.
When the elevator is stopping again, it’s Spock who pulls away too quickly, and Thalia who is left breathless against the wall.  It’s Spock who creates the space between them – Thalia who is left to wonder why.  Until she realizes that there are two ensigns entering the elevator, chattering some nonsense about Kirk’s party.  Neither of them seems to realize what they are walking in on: Spock had disentangled himself from her before the doors had actually opened.
They do, however, give her a strange glance before turning their backs to them and facing the doors.  Probably because she’s still drowning against the wall, breath spooling out too quickly to be considered normal.  She thinks it’s somewhat fortunate that apparently no one can conceive of Spock pressing a woman against a wall and kissing the daylights out of her – herself included, disregarding the last five minutes.
She looks over at him to see him staring at her, a dark lustful hunger invading his eyes even as the rest of his expression returns to stoicism.  There are two paces between them and yet it feels as though he is right there beside her and has never left.  Arousal bolts through her like shots in the night, due completely to the way he looks at her.  It’s almost amusing, how a single glance can inflict so much.  It would be, if she doesn’t feel overly impatient to get out of this elevator.
The next minute drags into what feels like an eternity filled with meaningless chatter and the dark promises Spock is still projecting at her as he watches her from the corner of his eye.
When they once again reach their floor, Thalia can’t get off the elevator fast enough – to the confusion of the two ensigns, who she practically plows down in her haste.
In contrast, Spock swiftly exits with much more grace, giving the ensigns a nod as he reverts back into the embodiment of the Commander of the Enterprise.  Hands behind his back, head straight and chin high, he looks as powerful as he always does when he is on the Bridge handing out orders in a seemingly effortless fashion.
To be perfectly honest, it makes Thalia want to jump him.
She doesn’t of course – there are several people in the hallway as well, walking to and fro despite the fact that Kirk had ordered all personnel not on duty to attend his Christmas party (or else). 
Spock gives her one look that makes her feel like she might combust in front of all of them and gestures down the hallway as the doors close behind him.  “Shall we, Lieutenant?” he asks.  There is a spark of what looks like mischief in his eyes – a baffling thing, really, considering how emotionless he usually is.
He probably knows how impatient she is.  He can probably feel it in the space between them, that desire to return to his side.  She can barely contain it.
And yet – the murmured way he drawls out ‘Lieutenant’ is what keeps her steady as they trek down the hall, closer than usual.  There are promises in that voice too, similar to the ones she sees lingering in his gaze.  She is willing to wait and see just what those promises entail.
Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait very long.
Her quarters are close to the elevator, just around the corner, and they arrive there within seconds.  She is very glad that this hallway is deserted.  She has a feeling that had anyone been watching, Spock would never…well, he’d certainly never do what he’s doing now.
Leaning down to kiss her, nip at her bottom lip, fingers tugging at her hair before slanting over her cheek, lowering to her chin and holding it between his thumb and his forefinger – he drags his thumb over her lip, pulling it down as he asks, “What is your passcode?”
Thalia blanks, too overcome by the rush of sensation.  All his kisses are filled with such sudden, inexplicable desire.  They make her crazy.
“What?” she breathes.  She can barely even hear him over the thrumming in her ears.
A shot of amusement colors his eyes as he peers down at her.  Taking her mouth in his again, he murmurs against her, “Your passcode, Lieutenant.  Unless you’d prefer we stay here in the hallway all night.”
That desire curls inside her like a living beast and she laughs.  Her breath pools against his mouth.  She never would have pegged him to be such a masterful seducer, but here he is, seducing her with only a few words and several lingering touches.
Her earlier thought repeats itself with a vengeance: she is utterly finished.  Completely done for.  The promise in those words – the way he so easily says how he plans to stay with her tonight – makes her feel so weightless she could fly away.
“23-7804,” she whispers.  He doesn’t even look away as he reaches behind her to enter the code.  His arms curl around her to do so, pressing her even closer so as to reach the buttons in the door – it is a dirty move on his part, she thinks.  He is even better at this than she could have ever imagined.
When the door opens, he pushes her inside without releasing her, and is kissing her again before the door is fully closed. 
She’s not sure what she expects from him at this point.  He has defied all her previous suppositions of how he might act when spurred on with desire.  He certainly doesn’t respond with his logic and reason.  It seems he gives himself over to his human side when faced with all this passion.
Which is why she finds that she’s only a little bit surprised, at this point, when he hooks his arms around her ass and heaves her up into the air in a startlingly heady display of masculine strength.
“Oh!” she gasps breathlessly, right before Spock turns the full force of his gaze to her.  The little breathy sound seems to make his eyes even darker, his human impatience winning out with a vengeance as he walks them through the room.  His mouth devours her before he even reaches the threshold to her bedroom.
For a brief moment Thalia wonders how he had known it is her bedroom, but then she remembers that all quarters have the same basic layout.  She is immediately grateful that she doesn’t have to waste words explaining to him where he can find her bed.  She’d much rather do other things with her mouth. Needless to say, that’s the last logical thought she has that night.
He pushes the door open with his free hand, sliding it off her ass for a short moment before returning to clutch at her.  The door is kicked shut without a backward glance or a moment of hesitation, and Spock is quickly pinning her up against the closed door and kissing her deeper, teeth flying and tongue dancing against hers.
She utterly melts – until he grinds his hips into hers and she feels the hard bulge rocking against her cunt.
“Spock,” she moans, hands fisted in his hair.  She doesn’t necessarily plan on moaning his name like that – in face, she never would have dreamed of doing so until this moment (private evenings alone with her fantasies notwithstanding).  But the sound immediately has his eyes flying open to stare at her, jaw slack for the briefest of moments before tightening into barely restrained desire.  His gaze is hungry, almost furiously so – tempered through with a dark blaze of possession that comes entirely from the desperate way her voice pleads with him.
She likes this.
It is a thought that spins through his head so quickly, builds up so abruptly, that he doesn’t even hesitate to slowly grind his hips into hers again.  This time, though, he leans his head away to watch her expression closely.  He wants to see every trickle of desire as it shivers through her.
He’s not disappointed.  A short frenzied exhale accompanies the breathiest edge of a moan as it scrapes through her throat, and Spock cannot help himself from tipping her head back and showing her through a heady rough kiss that she is making him very aroused with all her delicious sounds.
His hands slide up her body, dipping beneath her shirt and continuing their way up her back.  His touch is calloused and expansive – grounding her yet making her heart do silly little things at the same time.  She arches up into his chest as his hands maneuver over her back, pushing her breasts against him even as he grapples with her bra beneath her shirt.  He breathes out hard as he unhooks it with surprisingly agile fingers.
That’s when she sees the tight, determined expression lighting his face, as if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing.
For such an adept kisser, Thalia realizes that Spock might not have that much experience in other matters.  Her Vulcan Studies class back at the Academy had mentioned something about Vulcans rarely ever having physical intercourse unless they are mated or experiencing the effects of Pon Far (of which is another matter entirely).  She wonders just how much experience he really has – clearly some, at least.  Still, she isn’t used to being the one with more sexual prowess.  Usually, she’s the inexperienced one.
For some reason though, she doesn’t feel at all strange at changing the roles with Spock.  The thought is as comfortable as breathing, and easily conceived as the desire roiling through her even now.
“Spock,” she murmurs, and he lifts his head to look at her.  “You can…touch me,” she says, her words quickly becoming more of a plea than a grant of permission.  She wants his hands on her body, wants to feel those calloused fingertips everywhere.  His eyes flash.
“I am touching you,” he tells her, so calmly that she actually bursts into laughter – because she can see the amusement that color his eyes, the fact that he is actually joking.  It’s strangely perfect.
“You know what I mean,” she tells him with a grin, and he smiles very briefly back – just an upward twitch of his mouth before he leans in to kiss her and it disappears.
Instead of responding with words, he peels her shirt away and throws it on the floor.  Her already unclipped bra slides down her arms, and he turns those hungry eyes to her breasts. 
Perhaps he isn’t as inexperienced as she’d thought, because he doesn’t so much as hesitate as he lifts his hands to cup them.  Perhaps he’s merely taking her words to heart and touching her, knowing that he wants him to.  It doesn’t really matter what reasoning he has – all that matters is that when he weighs her breasts in his hands and gently squeezes them, the arousal Thalia has been battling constantly with returns with full force.
It might be the fact that she is half bare before him – a dream in and of itself.  His gaze upon her pins her down and makes her desire skyrocket without him even having to lift a hand.  But he is touching her now, fingers pinching at her nipples, rubbing her soft skin with firm caresses – it’s perfect.  She cannot get enough of it.
Her fingers immediately go for his own shirt as he works at her chest.  All his attention is turned to her breasts – almost singularly – that he barely even realizes she is pulling his uniform up until he is forced to remove his hands from her so as to get out of the sleeves.  And then he is as bare chested as her, and Thalia thinks she’s never seen a man (Vulcan, she corrects) who looks as enticing as him.
He is beautiful, and he’s not even fully naked yet.
She squirms against him at the thought, grinding accidentally into the bulge – which seems to have grown harder over the course of the last few minutes.  It really is an accident, at first, but when the movement causes Spock to let loose the sexiest growl she’s ever heard, it’s only natural that the second and third time is not a mistake.
He stares her down as she teases him, allowing it for a moment before suddenly slamming his hips into hers and thrusting their lower bodies together.  His hand reaches up to grasp her breast – his grip is hard now, firm and solid, as if she is his anchor and he is lost without her.  But if anyone is lost it is her, because every delicious thrust of his hips makes her grip of reality overturn into violent shades of raw need.
“Spock!” she gasps, moans, pushes her hips back to match his.  She needs to feel him bare, to feel his cock against her skin, sinking into her core, thrusting like this - but inside of her, not merely against her.  She is empty without him.  She’s never needed anyone so badly in her entire life.
“The bed – I, Spock – I need you!” she cries, grasping his shoulders so tightly that she’s probably marking him.  He doesn’t seem to care – just growls that sexy growl into her ear and nips at her lobe, heaving her from the wall and instead against him.  He grips her ass firmly and drags her against his erection with tight, controlled movements, and doesn’t release her until he crosses the room to where her bed awaits.
“You need me?” he inquires in that growled voice the moment he lays her out beneath him.  His fingers make quick work of her pants, sliding them down her legs before she even has a chance to answer.  And then – with his mouth suddenly dragging pleasure over her skin, making his way to her breasts, Thalia can’t even bother answering him.  At least not verbally.
Instead, the moment he wrangles the last of her clothing away, she grabs his hand and drags it to her cunt, curling his fingers around her wet heat with only a drawn out moan to enunciate her desires.
Spock sighs out heavily, a short exhale that is full of stark needy arousal.  His cock twitches at her move – as do his fingers, which sink immediately against her wet folds.  She’s soaking wet for him, so much so that as he experimentally flicks his finger over her cunt from bottom to top, it takes no effort at all to slide all the way over her.
And no effort to make her go immediately crazy.  He watches with startled (passionate, hungry) eyes when Thalia abruptly moans his name and arches into him, pushing her hips into his hand with a muffled curse that sounds extremely delicious despite its illogic.  But – illogic aside, Spock touches her again.  And again.  He slides his finger over her several times, then sinks against her with a groan that he forgets to reign in.
She hears the sound and stares at him, taking him all in with a gaping expression.  He stares back at her with the smallest amount of embarrassment painted over his face.
Silly Vulcan.  He doesn’t even realize what that sound does to her.
“Keep touching me,” she gasps, crazier than before.  Fuck, she’s never felt so hot.  Never wanted anyone’s cock the way she wants his – no, that’s wrong.  She wants so much more than that.  She wants everything from him.  All his beautiful logic wrapped up just for her – his heart, both sides, human and Vulcan and every part between – she wants it all.
She doesn’t even realize she says that until Spock is pulling away with a startled chuckle.
“You want everything?” he asks, raises an eyebrow as he hovers above her.  Once again, she realizes his unexplainable talent for pinning her down with his gaze alone.  A dangerous thing, that.
Thalia laughs, but it’s tinged with desire and need and everything she cannot put into words.  Spock’s mouth twitches into a smile.  His hand rubs over her cunt very suddenly, using all his fingers to feel her, spread her folds, sinking his thumb into her core – she goes berserk.
“Spock, fuck!  Oh – “ her body arches up with permission and she moans, “I need - Spock – I need – “
He hums against her neck and grabs her wrist, dragging it up to his cock like she had done to him just minutes before.  The bulge in his pants feels rock hard against her hand, especially when he leans forward to thrust against her fingers and groans into her neck.
“Oh God,” she moans, squeezing him gently in her palm.  He lets out a ragged, harsh breath that she immediately decides sounds immeasurably perfect colored in the tone of his voice.
Somehow between the shades of curdling desire, they manage to get his pants off.  The moment his cock is free, she feels herself combust from the inside out and he hasn’t even taken her yet.  It’s such a strong feeling that she can only lay there beneath him and breathe.
He sinks down against her, laying his body over hers.  Skin on skin – his cock drags over her folds and she keens against him, rocking her hips up to feel more of him, desperate for the friction he offers.  It doesn’t take much more than that before he’s breathing out that ragged sigh again and lining himself up to her.  When his tip breaches her cunt, she all but thrusts up to take more of him, and he sinks down inside her with a moan.
Fully hilted within her tight heat, Spock pauses only a moment before every last shard of his logic disintegrates into a glorious display of uncontrolled lust.
He drags himself out of her before thrusting back in without pause.  There is no hesitation at all as he sets a fast pace, nearly rutting into her as he pins her hips to the mattress with the force of his own.  Thalia drowns against him, gasping against the side of his neck, lips shifting over his shoulder, teeth scraping against his skin – her fingers fly over his body, spinning down his back before grasping his ass and pulling him roughly into her.  He groans at that move.  It sounds almost like a grunt, savage and animalistic as his pace increases to an almost inhuman thrum.
It doesn’t take long at all for her to orgasm.  She sobs into him, feeling as savage as he does – perhaps more, she doesn’t know.  Doesn’t care to find out.  All she can do is lose herself to him as her inner walls flutter around his cock and she comes hard and strong and so quickly that she can’t see anything but him.  His scent around her, his taste, his body – it all makes her forget everything but the delicious way he takes her.
She cries out his name, exhausted but still aroused.  He spurns her on quickly and even after her orgasm flutters away, she feels another one building up mere minutes later.  She’s never come so quickly before, and to come a second time in barely five minutes?  He’s good.  He’s so good that she can’t even question it.  To be honest, rational thought seems to have disappeared entirely for them both.
“Oh my God,” she cries, one hand clenching down on his ass while the other grasps at his shoulder blades.  Her fingers scrabble at him, nails digging into his skin.  She can’t control the desire in her voice or in her body or anywhere, really, when she sobs, “I’m gonna come again – Spock – “
He growls out and orders, “Then come.”
The simplicity of his words coupled with the unflinching arousal fettered between each syllable has her bending into him with another cry.
This time, though, his own orgasm bursts through him at the same time.  The feeling of her muscles once more fluttering down around his erection has him collapsing into her, gathering her up against him as his hips ram down into hers.  He pulls his cock through the fluctuating clench of her heat and waits until the very last moment before he jerks back and unloads himself against her cunt, fingers twisting over his cock as he brushes his tip against her folds.
She watches him with barely retrained desire and reaches out for him when he lets go, face tired with the satisfied expression of bliss.
He nestles down against her with a long sigh and pulls her against him.  They don’t even question the way they so easily tangle together, shifting into an intricate coil of limbs.  Thalia turns her head to kiss him, taking his lips against hers with a breathy, pleased sigh.  He kisses her back deeply, sighing out too as his hand trails down her back.
It seems that she has gotten her Christmas wish after all.  They spend the rest of the evening in her quarters, and instead of listening to the gentle lilt of a cello delivering Christmas music, they listen to the subtle shift of each other’s heartbeats burning in their chests.

Extended Ending

Kirk has a strange feeling when he enters the Bridge the next morning.  His head is pounding with a hangover that even his usual cure can’t fix, and he’s not the only one suffering.  He doesn’t expect his Commander to have any such symptoms – he can’t remember the last time Spock drank – but he doesn’t expect him to be so…happy either.
It’s scary.
“You look…cheerful,” Kirk remarks when he catches sight of Spock, already working in his station.  Perhaps ‘cheerful’ isn’t quite the right word.  Spock looks as stoic as always.  But there is something light about him this morning that Kirk can’t quite put a finger on. 
“I did not partake in as much alcohol as you did, Captain,” Spock responds crisply, and hands him a report to read over. 
Kirk glowers at him but doesn’t argue, despite not wanting to read such a large report so early in the morning (and with a massive hangover ricocheting through his head).  He settles down in his chair and flips the report open regardless, sighing out in exhaustion as he reads the opening page.
He’s fairly certain that Spock just wants to make him suffer.
Kirk gets halfway through the first page before sighing out again and tilting his head back.  His eyes briefly land on Lieutenant Thalia, who is currently at the helm working in Sulu’s place, as he has the morning off (lucky bastard) – and that’s when he notices where her eyes are directed.
She’s staring at Spock.
And he’s staring back.
And there’s something…weird between them, like they’re sharing some kind of mental communication, some strange conversation to be had through their eyes alone.
Kirk sits up so fast that his report flutters several feet away.
“You got laid!” he exclaims, pointing accusingly at Spock.  The Vulcan’s back immediately straightens into stiff wariness.  Thalia turns bright red.  Her head jerks back to face her station and Kirk grins.  They are so obvious.  He doesn’t know how he missed it.
“I guess that mistletoe scheme worked after all,” he sings, though thankfully he doesn’t drag Thalia into the matter.  She’s already embarrassed as it is.  The entire Bridge is staring at Spock and Kirk with varying degrees of amusement and horror.  Kirk isn’t cruel enough to point out that Thalia is apparently the one who did the deed with his Commander.  That’s not the say he isn’t cruel enough to poke fun at said Vulcan though.
Spock is silent for a moment, obviously wondering how he is going to maneuver his way out of this with as much dignity as possible.  Finally he says in his most logical voice, “Human traditions like the one you unsuccessfully attempted to force me into are entirely illogical.”
He probably would have gone on to refute Kirk’s accusation, but the captain smirks and cuts in, “That doesn’t mean it didn’t work.”
Spock flounders in silence for a moment too long, and Kirk laughs.
Thalia just rubs a hand over her forehead nervously and hopes that her captain hadn’t just ruined the one good thing she has going for her now – that Spock won’t allow this impropriety to overcome the desire he had so thoroughly showed her the night before.
She doesn’t have to worry though, because later that night he returns to her door, and she realizes that even Kirk’s silly words could not dampen the things he feels for her – the things that his human side cannot ignore.
"Good evening, Lieutenant," he murmurs when she opens the door and sees him standing outside.  The grin that quickly spreads over her face is matched in its entirety in his eyes alone.
"Commander Spock.  To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" she asks with a tiny smirk.  
He pauses only a moment before tilting his head and bringing his hands from where they were being his back.  In them, he's holding what looks like - 
"Is that mistletoe?" she laughs, and the corner of his mouth tips upward into the hint of a smile.
He steps inside and drawls, "It occurred to me that I know very little of these human traditions the captain is so fond of.  It would be...logical to familiarize myself with them."
Thalia can't close the door fast enough, and when she reaches for him, he is already halfway to her - bridging the gap between their bodies with a determination that makes her heart sing.



  1. I loved it! You can really tell that there is love there and they're also attracted to each other physically! You're amazing!

  2. I don't think a cold shower can save ovaries that have already exploded, I LOVED this so much I can't even find words to describe how HOT and romantic and sweet this is. I feel like Mrs.White from Clue, "flames on the side of my face" and my ovaries and my heart and just, I've been singed to a pile of nothingness from this. Thank you so much for writing this! If you can EXCEL at Spock you can write anything! And I am impatient with the longing to see what other wonderful tales you weave for your faithful fan base.

  3. *Fans self* I can die happy now. You are a blessing.

  4. Of all your wonderful works this one is probably my absolute favorite, I will never grow tired of reading it! I can hardly wait to read even more of your enchanting writing. I wish to say thank you for all of your hard work, it will always be a blessing and a pleasure to read anything of yours!