Archive of Our Own ^beta

There is nothing to drink.

“Tee-total planet? Totally not a problem, Bones!” Jim had insisted. “We’ll get drunk on each other! Fantastic sex interrupted only by occasional bouts of sleeping or eating! It’ll be awesome! Best shore-leave ever!”

But Jim is not here.

Jim is on the Enterprise, which was called away to save the universe or something three whole days ago and hasn’t been back and may be away days or weeks longer for all Leonard knows. Apparently the universe needed saving so urgently there was no time to beam up those poor efficient officers who’d actually got their departments ready for hand-over on time instead of leaving all the pre-shore-leave paperwork to the last minute. That’ll teach him, Leonard thinks.

So here he is, on a resort planet. A dry resort planet. A dry resort planet with a name full of unlikely consonants all jumbled together. Where the natives aren’t talkative and are inconveniently, disgustingly healthy and they don’t drink and they don’t ride horses and they don’t have guitars and they’re physically incompatible with humans whether you’re thinking of dancing with ‘em (too many legs, no rhythm, and razor-sharp fingers), hiking with ‘em (they run at ninety miles an hour and climb mountains like they’re gentle slopes), or having sex with ‘em (ah, let’s just say a man’d need some very competent doctoring after trying that).

So here he is, on shore-leave, feeling, in two words, bored and horny. There’s nothing on the vidsteams except reruns of Dynasty 2040 and the only other people around who even speak his language are Sulu—who’s happily locked in his hotel room eating endless baskets of the local fruit and clattering away at the manuscript of what would seem to be some kind of swashbuckling romance tale with time-travelling pirates and sexy cyborg wenches from Venus. Or maybe that was two novels?—and Uhura. Who has given up trying to get the locals to converse with her in their own language and is sunning herself by the pool. For lack of anything better to do, Leonard grabs himself a non-alcoholic fruit cocktail and pulls up the nearest lounge chair.

“Howdy,” he says. “Want company?”

“God, yes.” She sits up, lifts her sunglasses up onto her forehead, smiles wanly at him. “Any chance you desperately need something translated?”

Leonard shakes his head sadly. “Any chance you’ve developed symptoms of something? A painful burning sensation? Niggling joint pain? A nice rash?”

She chuckles. “Alas, no. And I didn’t bring much in the way of reading material, because Spock had detailed plans for what we were going to do every minute of every day.”

“Jim, too.” He winces. “Though they were all variations on a single, highly predictable theme.”

“That bad, huh?”

He leans back in his chair, crosses his ankles, sips his drink. It’s not bad, for mere juice. “It’s not that. Frankly, I could really go for a nice hard fuck right about now. But Jim isn’t here. And while he wouldn’t object to me getting my fun elsewhere, especially if I’m game to tell him about it later in excruciating detail, there aren’t exactly a lot of choices around here.”

“There’s me,” she says.

He stares. “Spock’d kill me.”

“Not over a mutually enjoyable one-off, he wouldn’t. I can ask him, if you like.”

She closes her eyes, appears to be reaching back into the telepathic bond in her mind. He hadn’t realised it could be used by a human for actual communication, words, ideas, and over who knows what distance. She frowns.

“Nyota?”

She opens her eyes, blinks against the sunlight as if she wasn’t expecting it. “Things are a bit hectic up there, by the sound of it, but everyone’s fine. Spock has no objections to us ‘expending our mating urges’, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Huh,” he says. Well, that’s lovely and all, but… he really did kinda have his heart set on getting fucked. Really fucked. Hard.

“I packed all my sex toys,” Nyota singsongs, as if she can read his mind. “Including my nice friendly strap-on. It’s about so big.” She demonstrates the approximate dimensions with her clever hands. “And I know exactly what to do with it.”

Leonard looks at her. Swallows. “I’ll, uh, race you to your room?”

Nyota’s laughter rings out, joyous, as he and his pink cheeks escape the pool area at speed.

He’s leaning impatiently on her door when she ambles up, sheer sarong tied haphazardly on over her bathing suit, woven tote bag under one arm, his drink in hand. “Forget something?” she says, as she hands it to him.

He takes a sip, politely looking away while she enters the brief passcode to unlock the door.

It’s darker inside, the window shaded by a huge purple-flowered tree on the lush golden lawn beyond that reminds him vaguely of a jacaranda.

“You’re welcome to take a shower or something while I get set up.”

Leonard takes the hint.

When he emerges, after some quick ablutions and a prep session during which he dutifully thought of his captain, it’s to find Nyota Uhura reclining on the bed, propped up on her elbows looking positively regal: decadent, languid, in control. The titular straps of her strap-on are so close to the shade of her skin that they’re almost invisible, and from her groin hangs the organ itself, feigning flaccidness for now but still very impressively sized. She’s beautiful, a little curvier than when they were students but still with that lithe dancer’s build that somehow always served her so well running marathons.

“May I?” he says, voice gone low and rough, gesturing vaguely at her and her bed.

Nyota smiles, a sweet smile that nonetheless reminds a man she has teeth.

They don't actually kiss until long after she’s rolled a condom onto her cock and worked it slowly and carefully inside him, the stretch of it just exactly what he’s been jonesing for. Leonard just lies there, on his back, trying not to let spill the entire contents of his obscene phrase bank at just how mightily good it feels to be with someone, to be full of someone. “I like your cock,” he says instead. “Does it transmit sensations to you?” The best ones do, but that doesn’t mean that everyone has the best or even wants that effect.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes, and gives a first, short thrust. “Mmmm,” she says, even as she’s leaning down to kiss him.

Her kiss is more aggressive than he’s expecting, which turns Leonard on one fucking hell of a lot. He gives it back measure for measure, and is rewarded with a real thrust, quick and sharp and very much for her benefit. His dick twitches, his hands roaming over her smooth back and down, down until he can grab her sweet little backside and guide her rhythm more to his liking.

“It’s going to be like that, is it?” she says, when the kiss breaks.

Leonard shrugs helplessly. “Jim complains I can be ‘difficult to manage’ on occasion.”

“In that case,” she says, eyebrows up, “I think you’d better grip the headboard and not let go.”

Oh, yeah, this was a good idea, Leonard thinks, as that delicious chill runs down his spine. She is definitely a top.

The headboard is a lattice of oddly curving wooden spokes, like they’re thin branches straight off the tree, unaltered. He finds places to hold that don’t make him stretch his arms uncomfortably wide, and does as he’s told. Looks up into her satisfied smirk.

Nyota gets rough after that.

Delectably so. He’s still going to be feeling this in the morning, he can already tell.

There’s something about the way her small, pert breasts jiggle as she thrusts into him that just makes the whole thing seem that much more dirty. Leonard groans, tips his head back on the pillows, and holds onto that headboard for dear life.

Nyota leans in and nips at his neck, his collarbone, and that’s it, Leonard's mouth opens and out pours a stream of incoherent filth starting with “Harder you gorgeous, gorgeous fucking creature, bang me like a screen door in a hurricane, show me how good you are with that goddamn massive fucking dick of yours…” and goes from there. Nyota laughs, breathless, and continues to fuck him like she’s been doing it all her life.

It’s just possible he screams Jim’s name when he comes, but if so Nyota is sweet enough not to say so. Everything kinda went white there at the end, so he’s not sure whether or not she actually came, but even if he was and she had, he thinks he’d still have wanted to go down on her afterwards. Which is what he does, pulling her cock up out of the way and going to town. She’s wet and fragrant and she bucks against his face to make damn sure she gets what she needs. It is very, very pleasant.

Afterwards, he wipes his face and collapses into her arms. He drifts off still trying to compose the right words to express his gratitude.

They spend the rest of their time together until the Enterprise finally calls in. Leonard demonstrates his seldom-used skills in therapeutic massage. Nyota begins teaching him what she considers his most essential words and phrases in the native languages of various alien species he might encounter: hypospray, medical tricorder, apply pressure, tissue regenerator, bring me a competent nurse, the baby is coming, get off your damn high horse and let me work or this man is going to die. He recites all the Latin he knows, and it turns out to be more than she knows, since she's specialised in living languages. All in all, she’s better for his brain and his liver than the bourbon he’s been craving would have been.

“Jim’ll want to hear all about it,” he murmurs as they’re waiting at the beam-down point in the lobby for their respective boyfriends to arrive a day and a half later. The crisis has apparently been averted, and they were notified a couple hours back that the Enterprise would soon be back in orbit.

“Just so long as you tell him I’m the best you ever had,” she says breezily, and grins at him.

He blinks at her, but Jim’s coalesced into a great big golden ball of bear-hugging monster before he can quite decide what to say to that.

“Nyota,” says Spock, sounding rather fond for a Vulcan. “Leonard,” he adds, and his voice doesn’t change.

Leonard waves weakly with the arm whose circulation Jim isn’t completely cutting off. “Howdy, Spock.”

“Thank you for keeping Nyota company during my absence.”

If Leonard’s not mistaken, there’s a damn twinkle in that there Vulcan eye.

“Not a problem,” he manages a bit gruffly.

“It was his pleasure,” says Nyota sweetly, and offers Spock her arm. “Good day, Captain, Doctor,” she says, and leads her lover away.

“Missed you,” Jim says, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. “Also, I saved the universe. Can I tell you all about it over sex?”

Some things, Leonard reflects, never change.