Work Text:
For a while now, T’Pring has sensed within Spock a bottled desire to explore his human side. The passionate performance of adultery confirmed to her that his humanity could also be a source of strength. A new side to her betrothed that he has revealed to her. In prioritizing her relationship, she continues her research after her daily professional and familial duties have ended.
Sexuality seems to be a topic of wide discussion amongst the humans, told in graphic details, with little left to the imagination. Not a personal and unspoken affair, not Vulcan at all. T’Pring could not fault most of its explicit nature, because a close examination of sexual human practices is what she is looking for. She had ventured through many sociology and anthropology publications to obtain a broad understanding before she turned to fictional stories for individual experiences. Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller was her first foray into novels, and it tackled the act with a specific male approach. According to the theory of human monogamy, couples commonly engaged in sexual practices together. Therefore, as logic dictates, a story with solely one perspective offers a restricted and biased perspective. Erica Jong’s writing in Fear of Flying provided T’Pring with a female perspective during a time in which women rebelled against their patriarchal constructs–far more interesting, but it isn’t what T’Pring is looking for either. Works like The Argonauts, Fun Home, Fingersmith, You and Me, and If I Were a Dance have offered more depth because they complicate, subvert and sometimes completely transform the normative human sexual practices. She, too, is turning away from the normative by turning to human practices, attempting to introduce experimentation into her relationship with Spock in an effort to, as humans are apparently fond of saying, spice things up. The deeper her understanding of human sexuality–normative, transformative, and queer–the better she would be able to implement the experimentation into her own life. So she has kept an extensive list of all the ways in which mankind deviates from the Vulcans. Aside from their five senses, humans also use sexual instruments into their acts. That is different.
Due to Spock’s hybrid nature, she is very interested in the male human anatomy and has discovered there’s multiple ways for a human man to achieve orgasm. The first a male human has in common with a male Vulcan: penile stimulation. The second, however, can be achieved through the stimulation of the prostate gland, the area of the rectal wall adjacent to the prostate, apparently inaccurately called the male G-spot. The supposed female version of that sounds interesting too. The more she discovers, the more her hunger for knowledge grows, temporarily reverted back into her studious role. Perhaps they could turn to one of those sexual tools, so she could provide him with different experiences during their bonding ritual. Then, he could share it with her through their mind meld. If he’d allow such experiments, that is. But that is why she is here: To negotiate the terms.
“Come.” Spock’s deep voice rings from inside his quarters.
T’Pring has chosen to return to the Enterprise, to a room that still isn’t fully Vulcan. Though he’s made an effort. With what’s to come, with the topic she is to broach, the onus is on her to keep her mate comfortable.
The doors close behind her, and she takes a few steps towards him. “Parted from me, and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place.”
“Parted from me, and never parted. Never and always touching and touched.” Spock slows down in front of her, his voice softening, “I await you.”
The shift of his tone urges her own biological need, and she leans into him, her hands sliding to his broad shoulders, his resting on her waist, as their lips press against each other. A chaste bonding ritual. Though their physical communication seems gentle and demure in comparison to the human version, the mere touch of him is enough to send a fluttering warmth through her body, nudging at her mind for access.
His need for her. He’d be feeling hers too.
Their eyes lock again, endless pools of dark water. The black of his pupil swimming into the brown of his iris, his physiology affected, his desire not fully tempered.
They release one another, her hands moving in front of her, his behind his back, touch deprived. The room is lit with rust-colored candles that remind her of home, invoking a calm air. She doesn’t comment on the state of his room, and he doesn’t tell her that he has other duties to attend to first.
This time he offers her a seat, and she accepts.
As they sit down across from each other, Spock stirs a spoon in a pot. Vapor twirls out, the scent of familiar herbal scents entering her nostrils. He’s made saya. More effort on his part to please her.
“How were your travels?” he asks.
Straightening herself on the chair, T’Pring offers him a small smile. “Sufficient and short. I am pleased that you were in the vicinity and available.”
“I have dispensed with all other responsibilities.”
“We are afforded full privacy?” She tilts her head as he nods. “How is your family?”
“They are well. My mother has been sending me more books she wishes me to read.”
She removes the smile from her face, and pushes down her glee. “To me as well.”
He drops the spoon, and turns his body towards her. “She has?” He quirks an eyebrow, her answer unexpected. “She did not tell me. What have you received?”
“Books to help me understand humanity better.”
Without moving, without touching, she leans against their mental barrier and strokes him. He lets her. Not quite melding their minds yet. She doesn’t need to. She can sense his confusion–his growing apprehension that what she’s implying is indeed true. “Last time we spoke of books, you brought up human sexuality. My mother has been sending you books on humanity. If I understand correctly–”
“Query,” she says, enjoying the reactions she pulls from him.
“Response.”
She keeps her face straight, her tone serious. “Was your mother not your first source to help you understand your human side?”
His eyes widen, only slightly, in confirmation. “She was.”
She chooses her words carefully, building a bridge between his assumptions and the truth. “Then, it is only logical that I, too, seek information from my most direct human source.”
“I understand.” His eyebrows knit together, and he nods. “I didn’t consider–”
“My resourcefulness?” T’Pring elongates the word slowly, her smile returning. “Your mother has sent me books she read to you when you were still a child. Alice in Wonderland seems to be one of her favorites.”
“Of course.” He takes a deep breath, the corner of his mouth turning up, while a sense of relief washes over him. “I may have assumed… what you wished me to.”
“So it seems.” She raises both her eyebrows, enjoying his praise.
“Then, who is your source?”
“A female human I encountered during the retrieval of a Vulcan criminal on Risa.”
He settles his emotions again. “I’ve yet to visit, but I’ve read that they have an open attitude towards sexuality.”
“That is what I encountered too, along with my source.”
“And you wish to discuss your findings now?”
She nods, ready to move from pleasantries to the intended purpose of their meeting. “If you are comfortable. Last time we spoke about them, your reaction indicated some hesitance.”
He rises from his seat, and takes a few steps towards a window in his quarters. She follows him, waiting for him to continue. “The topic was unexpected, but you are thoughtful, T’Pring.” He turns to her, darks pools staring into her once again, a fraught undercurrent flowing towards her. “I do wish to discuss human sexuality with you… but I have lived as a Vulcan all my life. We have engaged in Vulcan bonding rituals. I am not as versed in human rituals.”
“Nor am I. Nor were we once in the Vulcan rituals.”
He nods in agreement. “I’ve since read the books you discussed.”
“You have?” She both wishes to discuss the content of the books and learn more about his perspective. But for now, it is more efficient to focus on their task at hand. “What do they tell you about human sexuality?”
“Nothing new—that humans are primitive, governed by their emotions and carnal desires.” Spock glances away, his eyes failing to meet hers as he rejects a part of himself. A part she can’t touch, hasn’t been allowed to touch.
“But we are not.”
“I–” he starts, but she unclasps her hands and places them on his chest. A bold and effective move, by all accounts. It shuts him up. The pads of her fingers slide up his shoulders, his neck, all the way to the sides of his face, and he instantly gives into her touch with a sigh. His mental barrier evaporates as their minds meld together. The world fades away as he opens up to her, blurring everything else. Drained of color, except for them. He’s all hers now, and she’s all his, curling around each other. An intimate bonding ritual, shared only with her mate.
She pushes past his logic and resolve, searching for his subdued feelings. The first thing she notices is his worry. He’s uncertain of himself, and afraid to unlock that side of him, to give into his own emotions and carnal desires. But underneath it, there’s that undercurrent again, enveloping her with heat. Her lips part in silence, but she tries not to linger.
“Your reasoning is sound. You have been raised in the true path of Vulcan logic. We have seen that your human side is a strength, not a weakness. Therefore, I do not share your concern,” she says firmly, as she subdues the heat. “I understand it, but I do not share it.”
“Then, that is enough. My concern will be balanced by your confidence.”
His arms move towards her body, towards her waist, but she finds his hands midway and takes hold of them. “Come. Let’s strengthen our bond.”
As she leads him past the chairs towards his bed, he stops and glances at the pot on the table. “Can I offer you a drink first? I have saya.”
Pleasantries. Thoughtfulness. Affection. She lets go of his hands. “Thank you.”
She watches his calculated movements as he bends to pour her a cup. Ever the gentleman, as the humans apparently say. But unlike the other Vulcans, Spock was a true individual—a hybrid. One of his kind. It was the most logical course of action for her to choose him as her mate. She, who had been on the path to becoming the rehabilitator of criminals, the conveyor of Vulcan logic, needed to not only understand what was the true path, but also what it was not. Spock provided a unique perspective. As they grew from young children into adults, she noticed the verbal attacks from his peers and then witnessed him working twice as hard to reach the top of his year at the Vulcan Science Academy. He prevailed, so she remembered him. And when it was time to pursue a mate, she chose the one she could learn from the most, the one who would provide her with a life of unexpected opportunities and growth as she maintained her duties. Part of her was afraid too, like him, of the unknown, but logic dictates that what lies behind fear is growth.
He hands her a cup, and she takes a sip, forgetting the fear and focusing on what lies behind. “Just like home.”
“What else have you learned?” He asks.
She takes his hand to lead him to his bed again. Slow, quiet steps until they are in front of his gray sheets. She poses herself on his bed, straightened, tight, and attentive. He mirrors her, a wide gap of charged space between their stiff bodies.
“That it is not only a mating and bonding ritual, but also a form of relaxation for humans. A rigorous workout in which they can turn off their thoughts and focus on a single thing. It’s fascinating that there is such a need for humans–that their thoughts and mind can be overbearing when for us it is such a strength. I had never considered it could be a weakness too.”
Spock takes a moment to respond. “In the same way you believe that human passion and emotion can be a strength.”
“That it can function like that in humans, yes,” she says. “And you have the capacity for both.”
Another moment of silence as the heated charge wraps around her again and pulls her towards him. “Then… Query.” His voice comes out gravelly, as if affected by her thoughtfulness.
“Response.”
“What kind of human bonding ritual do you wish to explore?” Spock asks.
“The better question is, which one do you?”
“Kissing is the logical place to start. From the few films I’ve seen, it’s how most of the human bonding rituals begin. It expands beyond what we do, beyond what I did with… nurse Chapel.”
Although the mention of the human woman he kissed in front of her did sting in the moment, she knows that he only did what he had to both protect her reputation and stay in control of the situation. Combining matrimony and duty. So, she doesn’t respond to it. There is no need to.
“I have read that too.” She glides her fingers between his, until the pads of their fingers touch each other. Ozh’esta. Heat pools at the pit of her stomach, crawling to her most restricted places. “The humans seem to widen their mouths more, and they use tongue. Even teeth? It almost seems like they are…”
Spock leans closer, his other hand weaving its way into her hair, causing tension and ease to rush through her at once. She’s pulled towards him as he whispers, “Consuming each other’s katra.”
Her body and mind are drawn into his kiss, tentative and gentle. Warm lips part just for her, his energy fusing with hers, while their fingers caress naked skin, stroking into each other’s minds. She’s eager to taste more of him. She licks him, like she read in the book, and he freezes.
Doubt flutters through her, a sensation she doesn’t experience often. She’s about to pull away when he pulls her closer, and licks her back—first over her lip, then against her own tongue. She gasps, and his fingers tighten on her skin. Their tongues entwine and the kiss turns into a warm, satin touch that rushes the heat from her stomach to between her legs. She tugs at his shirt, she doesn’t know what for exactly, a need to be closer to him. It’s a vague gesture at best. But he seems to understand, as if guided by the very same need, and he pulls her into his lap. Their breaths are coming out quickly, so much so she’s able to taste the lingering saya on him. He works hard to be her reminder of home, even as they sometimes struggle with their long-distance endeavor.
I wish to bond further, she hears him say through their mind meld.
Don’t stop, she tells him and rubs her bottom into him, his erection making itself present.
He groans, and thrusts against her. So unexpected, so unlike him, she digs her nails into him to steady herself. His thoughts are already scattered yet somehow single-mindedly focused on the many things he wants to do with her. The mind meld shows her that Spock knows more about human bonding rituals than he has thus far divulged, flooding her mind with wanton images that bring heat to her cheeks and arousal to her chest. His hands are working all over her body, pressing over her curves, hardening her nipples, and reaching underneath the layers of her garment to find more contact. Nothing like the precise and gentle touches of affection they normally share, but something that lives along the edge of frantic.
How a long, deep, wet kiss full of ardor has undone him so easily. Is this what he fears? She does not mind it. Quite the opposite, she wants more of him.
Remembering that humans not only perform Ozh’esta on the mouth, she chooses to explore further. She moves his face away from her, and brushes her lips over his jawline to his neck, gliding her tongue over his skin, pressing a slick heat into him where she’d normally linger with her fingers. A way to deepen their emotional connection over their physical one. She finds his most sensitive spot, right at the bend of his neck where the loud thud of his heart is palpable, and she scrapes her teeth over him. Those graphic descriptions were good for something, because the sound that comes from him is new–between a choked gasp and a repressed moan. She could not foresee what it would do to her, sensing the way his body tightens and the way hers burns up along with him.
“T’Pring, ashayam, my beloved, please undress.” He breathes into her ear, then laps his tongue along the shell while he finds the fastener of her garment.
“You too, k’diwa.” She shivers, the heat in her core having transformed into a deep-seated throb, pulsing for him. Only him. She steps out of her garment, looming over him. For the first time since being here she’s reminded of the cold, already missing his hold around her.
He roams his dark eyes over her body, now only covered by her silver undergarment, flimsy straps draped elegantly, solely shrouding her most intimate parts, carefully chosen for his pleasure. His reminder that she’s home. Warmth engulfs around her body again, no longer aware of the cold, his intent gaze almost a physical experience.
“Undress,” she repeats.
Spock drags his hands along her legs, leaving behind a wake of molten fire, up, up, up over her thighs, fingers spreading around her waist, as he lifts himself up. When he stands erect and stiff, she’s forced to take a step back to make room for him as he removes his Starfleet uniform. His shirt comes off first, revealing his broad shoulders, the black pendant to symbolize their pending union, and the masculine lines of his muscles that draw her eyes down to his—he takes off his pants, and his fully hardened penis pops out, demanding all her attention.
There are other uses for his penis, aside from insertion into her vaginal canal for copulation. One of them is colloquially donned a blowjob, which makes no sense to T’Pring because it is not a job since no currency is exchanged for the labor nor does the mouth perform any blowing movements to the penis. But she’s already learned that humans don’t always communicate logically.
“That is very efficient of you.” She points to the undergarment that he removed along with his pants. “What do you want next?”
“I want to remove this.” Spock undoes one silver strap after the other, as he’s done before, his fingers following the edge of the fabric with precision, underneath the swell of her breast, over her shoulder blades, curving over her bottom, along the crevice of her groin. Cold air and his heat dance on her skin, and she leans into him, seeking more of him. He watches her attentively, loving dark eyes framed by long lashes, holding her gaze as his plumped lips curve into a slight, soft smile. Just for her.
“I want to stimulate your body manually and orally,” he mutters once the ground is covered with silver straps. “How did it feel against your ear?”
She bites her lip in anticipation, releasing it slowly. “I’m in need of a reminder, to provide you with a… satisfactory response.”
He bends down, and she sucks in her breath. The seam of his tongue twirls around the shell of her ears, and she sighs. She holds on to his shoulder as he lowers his mouth to her neck, finding her sensitive spots like she had done before. He sucks on her pulse, and a sweltering heat floods her entire being as she squeezes her legs together, unable to stop a moan from falling from her lips.
He digs his fingers into her waist. “How’s that?”
She presses her chest into his, her body almost acting of its own accord, needing to feel him everywhere. “I want more,” she breathes out.
Without a word, he lifts her by her waist and climbs into bed with her, releasing her less than precisely on his gray sheets. The move pushes the air out of her, and she wraps her hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down on her mouth. No build up needed this time, their lips are parted, tongues reaching for each other. More satin heat as the throbbing in her core strengthens. A bubble of concern rises within her, how easily she succumbs to his passionate touch. He angles her head, tilting her mouth for more access, and she whimpers into him. She can feel him losing his inhibitions, his own doubts making way for his desires, taking control of her too. All she can feel, taste, smell is him, wanting every part of her. There’s only him, only her, everything else is blurred.
His hand slides down her to her legs first, followed by the wet trace of his tongue, tracking the swell of her breast. Then he finds its peak, and takes her nipple fully into his mouth, suckling on her like she’s read about in her first biology book back at the academy. Now discovering a second purpose. Pleasure, so much pleasure. He licks and sucks her other nipple, and she arches her back, thoughts escaping her mind.
“How’s that?” he asks while his fingers glide through her folds, the sound of wet movement filling the air alongside their heavy breathing.
She needs more. Her core is starting to ache, wanting to be filled by him. She thrusts her hips up towards his hand. “Enter me.”
A finger circles her entrance, and he holds her gaze as he dips in. Just an inch at first, and she has to refrain from thrusting up again. “May I stimulate you orally there too?”
“Perform cunnilingus?” She doesn’t mention all the colloquial names she knows for this particular act, all names that incorrectly describe the act once again. Human communication is very confusing. “As you wish.”
Spock sinks his finger completely into her and lowers his head between her legs. She bites her lip to curb her moan, then leans on her elbows for a better view of him. Broad shoulders push her legs open. He presses wet kisses on the inside of her thigh, places that are normally not part of their bonding ritual, and his mouth leaves behind a searing need for more. Pulling his finger out slowly, he pushes in again. Out, and in. Out, and in. Her chest rises and falls in accordance to his ministrations. When he finally puts his mouth on her clitoris, T’Pring’s eyes roll back. He’s hesitant, lapping her up softly, tasting her fully, and she can’t comprehend how good it feels. This is her most confounding discovery yet.
Should I keep going? He asks her, keeping his mouth engaged with her body, his dark eyes peering out at her from under heavy eyebrows. She can sense how his arousal has transformed into pain. That has never happened before, and—he rolls his tongue around her.
Her body slumps to the bed, yes, keep going. Pleasure finds every crevice of her body, searing every rational thought from her mind until there’s no more words left, only noises. Whimpering ones, heady ones as he laps her up with his flat tongue, faster and faster.
Uncertain of what to do, she fists her hands around the sheet. The gray, cotton sheet, rough to her skin, scrunches further around her writhing figure. His tongue leaps down her folds to his finger, which he curls inside of her, then his tongue tracks its way up to suck and nibble on her clitoris. Another stifled moan. She doesn’t recognize herself; she’s so affected. She wants him deeper, wider, harder, all of him inside of her. Her body is screwed so tight and ready to—
“Apologies,” he says, as he comes up for air, gasping, his chin and lips reddened and moist, jaw opening and closing. “The muscles in and around my mouth require brief respite.”
T’Pring slackens her body once more, drained of all the tension. “Oh.”
“You are disappointed,” he states, wiping his face clean.
“No, it was your first time.” She heaves, closing her eyes to catch her breath. “You’ve already exceeded whatever expectations I might’ve had.”
He climbs over her until he’s hovering above her, face to face, carrying his weight on his elbows. “How was it?”
She tries to find control over her body again, willing it to listen to her. “Entirely frustrating.”
“With continued practice, I will make the act less frustrating for you.” The words send flutters towards her heart. His intent is solemn, committed. Just the way she knows him to be. “Anything else?”
“Nothing you don’t already know.” She presses her lips together.
A corner of his mouth lifts where hers refused. There’s a world of understanding in his dark eyes, full of affection for her, because she had revealed it all, laid herself bare to him. She tries not to shiver. “It’s different. I didn’t think it would affect me so.”
He nods thoughtfully, his eyebrows knitting together. “Do you regret it?”
Not quite. Not sure. Not done. “Like I said, your human side can be a strength too.” She caresses his swollen lips, and his desire pours in once more. She shivers. “In addition, I’m not finished with our experimentation yet.”
When his eyes widen slightly, she divulges, “Fellatio.”
He swallows. “And then?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“You are most accommodating,” he mumbles and brushes a lock of hair away from her clammy forehead.
“Aren’t I?” She gives a small smile as she rolls the ‘r’ over her tongue for playful emphasis. He pecks her mouth without any notice, which makes the flutters inside of her grow more rampant. She pushes him off her, and up against the headboard of his bed. “Now, let’s see about the other forms of stimulation. If it worked for me, then it will certainly work on you.” Her smile twists into a subtle smirk.
Spock swallows.
“Do you like that idea?” She certainly does.
I do, he says, and even inside her mind he sounds wound up. He looks vulnerable and in pain. She knows, for a fact, that he is in pain.
Sitting on her knees, she stares at his erection, leaking with precome. Another colloquialism to add to her vocabulary. Now, what do I do with you, she ponders her options.
You can –
Her eyes flash to his face. I wasn’t talking to you. Back to his penis, she wraps her hand around his shaft, lifting it up to feel the heavy weight of him. She squeezes gently, and he sucks in his breath as he shifts. She squeezes again, harder this time, to register how he feels both smooth and hard, like thin velvet, like a carved sculpture, with veiny details. Though not cold like one. The opposite, in fact.
She rubs him, moving up his skin, moving to his leaking tip, wetting her fingers. She can feel the tortured pain in his groin shifting to pleasure as his swollen lips part for her. Not wasting any more time, she bends forward on her knees and elbow, and drags her flat tongue over the length of his shaft until she reaches the tip. He tastes salty and masculine, he tastes like more. She slides him into her mouth, tongue at the bottom, adding pressure.
“Ahh, T’Pring.” He groans. His senses flood hers. All his nerve endings are on fire, and he’s trying his hardest not to let it overtake him. She rubs her lips over his tip, mixing her moisture with his, adding a tighter pressure around him, taking him in deeper each time. Another groan, this one turning into a whimper. He’s overstimulated, wavering between pleasure and pain, yet still needing more. His hips jerk up. “Apologies,” he pants.
This is overwhelming, he says in her mind. Good. She takes him in deeper, then sucks as she takes him out, devoting additional attention to his tip with her tongue each time, growing plumper and plumper. Ohh, ashayam. He’s strained and stiff, fighting hard not to thrust into her mouth again, fisted hands deprived of color.
When he’s throbbing in her mouth, she decides to dedicate her mouth solely to the tip as that seems to get the strongest reactions out of him. Her hand still rubs along the length of his shaft. She wants to know how far she can push him as he teeters along the edge of frantic. She wants to see if she can push him over, get him to lose control.
T’Pring, he whines to her.
Her desire is the antithesis of logic, of the true Vulcan way. She knows that. But in this moment, within the context of their bonding ritual, it feels so right to do the wrong thing.
“Ahh,” he moans loudly, unfiltered, unintentional, chest heaving, breathing ragged, and desire coils within her. She’s scratching at the core of him as he’s close to coming undone, and it’s the rawest she’s seen him. Her lips are tender, but she pushes through, getting closer and closer. His hips thrust up, pushing his erection deeper into her mouth.
T’Pring, he whines again.
He sweeps his hand along the length of her hair, and slowly wraps it around his fist until she’s restricted in her movement. She releases him from her hold and her nostrils flare at the interruption.
His hand drops to her neck, warm fingers pressing to her sensitive spots, soothing her. “Apologies, my beloved, I needed you to stop.”
She inhales deeply, noticing the pained tingle present on her lips. “What is wrong? I didn’t sense anything was the matter.”
“It’s not. I… wish to complete inside you.” He takes her arm, and nudges her towards his lap.
She sits on top of him, a knee on each side of his legs, one hand going to the meld points in his face while the other positions his erection at her core. “As my beloved wishes.”
Spock caresses the throbbing vein in her neck. “Half of my heart and soul,” he gasps as she sinks down onto him.
She whimpers, needing to adjust to his size as she rests her forehead against his. He probes through the barrier of her mind. The room loses all of its color again, only blurred shapes. But not him, he’s vibrant and his pale skin is blushing with desire, glistening with sweat. The dark, endless pools of his eyes have lightened into bronzed starbursts, captivating her entire being.
There’s only him, half of her heart and soul. There’s only her.
Their irregular breaths fill the air, along with their shared musk, mixed together too. She rolls her hips, lifting herself up slightly only to fill herself again. A pained relief; it’s never been like this before.
With a hand on her waist, he helps her build a rhythm, one that gives them more pleasure than pain. She wants to share even more intimacy, aside from their physical and mental union, so she kisses him. The warmth of his lips and the satin touch of his tongue nourish her. She’s not fully coherent in her movements, not when she feels how he experiences how she’s wrapped around his erection–writhing, wet clenching squeezes, quivering contractions. He breathes a broken moan into her mouth.
I need more, he says, tightens his arms around her shoulder and hips, then flips them over. The bed whines at the sudden movement. She’s on her back, Spock inches above her, still connected at their core. He pushes her legs up, shifting his knees underneath them, and returns to her mouth. Hmm. He’s rutting inside of her now, buried to the hilt, quickly building a frantic pace. She pulls him closer, chest to chest, friction of his body against her clit.
Ahh, Spock.
Swollen, tacky lips are hot against hers, and she can’t put into words how good this feels–how good he feels. Their bonding rituals have always been an act she thoroughly enjoys, it unites their body and mind, making her feel fulfilled and in complete understanding of Spock–as far as he understands himself and allows himself to be understood. Their bodies would move as one with slow, measured thrusts and soft sighs. Their minds would remove their walls and would open each other up to their vulnerabilities. There is nothing more intimate to her than to commune with him during their bonding. But this is different. It’s acute and visceral, heightened through their mind meld. There’s no measure, there’s no order—there’s taking, and wanting, and having, and needing. It’s perilous—a minefield where entropy reigns supreme, and she’s still unaware of which explosive will go off next. What’s even more disconcerting, is how much she finds herself wanting it too. It’s not just him. She responds to him in kind, in hunger. That is not who she is.
Harder, she tells him, nails digging into his shoulder blades.
He grunts, burying his face in her neck, and complies. Rutting harder, faster, driving her closer to the headboard if it wasn’t for his hold on her, teetering at the edge again.
The bed creaks underneath them as the friction on her clitoris intensifies. With his chest against hers, she can no longer tell whose heartbeat she’s hearing. But they’re overshadowed by the unfamiliar sounds coming out her mouth, gasping, whimpering, not in control.
Not in control. Not in control. She cries out, and her body quivers, hips jerking up, eyes rolling back. Blurred darkness. A sweltering warmth in her chest until all that she hears are her heavy breaths and his groans as she comes up for air.
The muscles in his abs and legs clench, stiff on top of her, as he pounds the air out of her. A burst of colors flares up from his mind into hers, yellow boiling over into red, blue burning into purple until there is no room left for anything else but his feverish delight. She squeezes her eyes shut; the glow too intense. Another ragged groan falls from his lips, and he collapses on her, still slowly thrusting into her, delighting in her wet, quivering heat.
She opens her eyes, no more affected by his unexpected brightness, and tries to regain control of her breathing.
Once he stills and grows flaccid, he moves his mouth towards her temple, one of her meld points, and pecks her there. It tingles. Then, the other side, on her chin, along her jawline until he finds her lips, and she kisses him back. Ozh’esta. In search of her, as if the human kissing ritual unlocked something inside of him, and she’s the key.
Her experimentation booked positive results. She feels less skeptical now, after the many struggles they’ve had. He’s been trying and his passion is certainly a strength, even if it left her quivering and confused—to what extent, she does not know yet.
What she does know is that this went against everything she stood for as the conveyor of Vulcan logic. She wasn’t supposed to let her feelings control her, to indulge herself so needlessly. But this was not her profession. This was theirs, matrimonial and sacred, shared only with him–a man who wasn’t only a Vulcan. Spock was more than that. And she made an oath to him. That couldn’t be wrong.
Not when he feels this right.
This could be theirs, she tells herself. This would be theirs alone.
When they have subdued themselves, and color returns to the room, he lies down on his side and wraps her in his arms. His nose glides past the shell of her ear, his breath entering and leaving his body, still brushing his lips against her skin, printing his touch into her. Lingering remnants of the passion of their attachment, his need for her, unwilling to be deprived of her touch.
T’Pring sighs, and turns to look him in the eyes. “This is new.”
“Query,” he says, returning to Vulcan formalities.
She quirks an eyebrow, her playfulness returning. “Response.”
“Do you wish to continue with our experimentation?”
“I do.”