DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Jacqueline Bielowicz and is copyright (c) 2002 by Jacqueline Bielowicz. This story is Rated NC17.


Jacqueline A. Bielowicz.

Leonard McCoy, CMO of the Starship Enterprise, walked into his quarters and peeled out of his uniform shirt with a sigh. He kicked off his boots before he exchanged his pants for a well-worn pair of jeans and tucked his black tee-shirt into the waistband. As usual, he cursed whatever officer had designed those damn Class A jackets Starfleet officers had to wear to official functions. Thank God, he had 48 straight hours off. After the hectic week the ship had just gone through, he didn't plan to do anything more strenuous than lifting a glass of good Kentucky bourbon. Speaking of which...

He walked to his small entertainment center and retrieved his special bottle from its hiding place. The rich scent of the whiskey filled his head as he poured a goodly portion into a square plexiglass. He took a sip, and the rich, acrid burn gave him images of lazy, warm Southern nights with cicadas singing in Spanish moss-covered oaks. Now, that was the stuff of dreams, he thought, wondering why he ever believed going into space was for him.

Still savoring his drink, he wandered over to his desk and punched in a command on his computer to retrieve his mail. While waiting for it to download, he picked up his padd and skimmed the ship's activity calendar. What should it be tonight ... a movie or the M'llf'ean Day dance Kevin Riley had organized in the new holodeck Hidey Hole Bar? Sometimes he wondered where that boy found all those obscure holidays from even more obscure planets, just so he had an excuse to have parties.

A discreet ping signaled that his mail was ready for reading. He scrolled through the return addresses. Damn, nothing from Joanne, but then she had warned him her lecture tour might keep her from sending her usual weekly letter. Determined not to let the lack of news from her to depress him any further, he kept scrolling. Hmm, bills, his latest medical journal, advertisements. As if Starfleet would let him buy anything on his own, he thought with a snort.

A familiar address hit his eye. Son of a bitch! A letter from William Zapata ... or more like a package from the size of the sucker. He sank down to his chair, took another sip of his whiskey, and opened Bill's message.

"Hey, Len, you old hoss thief. How the hell are you?" McCoy paused the communication as he noticed with satisfaction that Bill had a lot more gray in his hair than he did. It also looked like he'd had a rejuvenation recently. And had he had his teeth replaced? McCoy ran his tongue over his own choppers. Still as strong and white as when he was 20.

"But then you did come from weakly stock, Bill," McCoy said with wicked glee. "The Zapatas could never age as gracefully as the McCoys." McCoy and Zapata had been boyhood friends, even going to university together. But while McCoy had married, set up a practice back home in Marcy Corners, Georgia, Zapata had gone into space as a xenoarchaeologist. They rarely had a chance to meet, even though McCoy had also ended up in space, but they had remained in close, if infrequent, touch. A letter from Bill was like a fresh wind, guaranteed to lift McCoy out of his doldrums. He returned his attention to Bill's letter.

"I thought you'd might like a sneak preview of my next paper for the Intergalatic Archeologist Report. We found this old Vulcan colony ship, drifting derelict out toward the Rim. It dated from the time of Surak and his Reforms. Normally, when we find artifacts from this time period, we have to fight the Vulcans tooth and nail to learn about them. But there is this one ancient text that we found hidden under one crewman's bunk, so to speak, and they practically went to war over it. Finally, one of their high muckaty-mucks, T'Pau I think, stuck up her nose, and said if we wanted it that bad, we could have it. But she made it sound like we were all perverts for considering it any kind of true scientific find." Bill grinned, and McCoy felt himself grin back at the image. His old friend used to smile just that way back in the bad old days when he was up to mischief.

"Sll'arian from the Molesian University translated the text," Bill continued in his message. "But I think you'll agree the pictures say it all. I remembered that you serve under a Vulcan first officer you once told me drove you up the wall with his logic, so I thought you might enjoy showing him this. Oh, the official title of my article is one of those obscure, dry-as-dust titles you have to put on scientific papers, but around here, we're calling it 'The Vulcan Kama Sutra'."

Curiosity sneaked through McCoy's mind like a cat. He paused Bill's message, and clicked to open the attachment. The front cover of an old-style parchment book, similar to the ancient texts he had seen in a Vulcan museum Spock once dragged him to, appeared. McCoy couldn't translate the stylized word on the book, but as he flipped through the digital pages, his throat tightened. The leaves were covered with pictures of male and female Vulcans. Naked male and female Vulcans. Naked male and female Vulcans in some very interesting positions. He halted on one particular page, his eyes widening in disbelief. He closed them and shook his head as if to dispel the image, but when he opened his lids again, the illustration was still there.

"Man," he whispered to himself. "That sucker's 18 inches long if it's a centimeter. Do you suppose...?" He quirked the corner of his mouth in derision. "Nah! It can't be a true representation." Then as he continued perusing the pictures, a deliciously wicked idea sprouted in his head. The more he thought about, the better he like the concept. Yes siree, no doubt about it. He had to share this important scientific find with his old buddy, Mr. "Prim-and-Proper" Spock. And there's no time like the present, he decided as he carefully duped off a copy of Bill's message, saved it to a padd, and headed for the Officer's mess.

* * *

Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise, studied his padd as he took a mouthful of t'vocih'k, and then glanced at his meal tray. It looked familiar, but if the computer thought t'vocih'k tasted like this, it badly needed defragging. He sighed, wishing for the 6,387th time that he had remembered not to order Vulcan dishes from the replicator. He had complained frequently to Master Sgt. Patterson, also known for some bizarre reason as "Cookie", but the Vulcan menu never seemed to improve. Jim had said many times that Spock just missed his mother's cooking, but that was illogical. Amanda rarely had time to actually cook, and most often dialed up meals from the home replicator. Or, he shuddered in distasteful memory, brought home fried soy-chicken in those disgusting red and white striped paper buckets.

He returned his attention to his padd. After reading a few minutes, he grimaced and pushed away the unit, trying to understand what he had just read. One would think that if one held a doctorate from the Starfleet Academy in computer science, one could interpret the 106th edition of Ann Lander's Rules for Dating. A burst of laughter from junior officers at the neighboring table caused him to raise his head with a guilty start. Thankfully, they weren't looking his way, and he turned off his padd. As he did so, the doors of the Officers' mess slid open and Dr. Christine Chapel walked in, talking animatedly with Lt. Commander Nyota Uhura, Senior Communications Officer.

Christine. Her name whispered across his mind like wind chimes in a spring breeze off the Bv'larhn desert. Why it had taken him so many years to recognize her as his t'hyla was beyond him. He watched as she crossed the room, her graceful movements like one of the elegant poems from T'Prav's Sonnets for a Warrior-husband. He noticed that quite a few of the other male officers also watched her, and frowned thoughtfully. Now that he had decided to...to...

He searched his memory for the word. Ah, yes. Now that he had decided to woo her, he realized he had quite a bit of competition. That was why he had better learn human courting practices ... and quickly.

Resigned, he reached for his padd. Thankfully, he saw McCoy enter, the doctor's gaze sweeping the room until he caught sight of Spock. A mischievous grin crossed his craggy face and Spock felt his gut tighten. Oh, oh. Here it comes ... another of McCoy's irritating little ploys to trigger his human side. Spock stiffened his spine, pasted on his best Vulcan "poker-face", as McCoy called it, and waited in patient silence as the doctor wove his way between the tables and seated himself without an invitation.

"Spock, ol' friend, am I glad to see you! Guess what I got in the mail today?"

"Doctor, why would I have the slightest interest in what you received in the mail?" He tilted his head slightly to the side and quirked his right eyebrow. "Unless it was your transfer orders?"

McCoy chuckled. "You don't get rid of me that easily."

"Too bad," Spock murmured as McCoy placed a padd on the table between them and turned it on. "No, I had a friend, Bill Zapata, send me this, and I thought you might be able to interpret it for me."

"Zapata? As in Dr. William Zapata, the famous xenoarcheologist who returned from the Rim recently?" A niggle of concern trickled through Spock. He vaguely remembered hearing his father speak of some kind of cultural disagreement between Dr. Zapata and the Vulcan Science Academy. What exactly had Dr. Zapata sent to McCoy that would cause such amusement? Why did McCoy look so...?

His heart stuttered as he saw the images scrolling past on the small screen before him. His eyes widened, then he shut them in painful realization. Somehow, Dr. Zapata had discovered a copy of the Kstra Som'ri, the ancient treatise on sexual practices of various Vulcan clans. It had been long thought that the book had passed into extinction after the Reforms, but obviously not. No doubt, the Vulcan Science Academy, or more likely, the Vulcan High Council had done everything in their power to suppress knowledge of the highly erotic and, Spock had to admit, embarrassing dissertation that somehow had ended up as pulp fiction for the Pre-reform masses. Why Dr. Zapata had sent a copy to McCoy was unknown, but the very fact that McCoy had it meant weeks of unmitigated hell for Spock.

He glanced at McCoy's gleeful grin, and decided to ... what was it his mother always said when she knew he was planning a prank on his classmates? Yes, he would nip Mcoy's scheme in the bud. He reached for the padd. "What a fascinating find for Dr. Zapata. I would be glad to translate it for you, but I will need a little time. May I take this with me?" McCoy's mouth gaped, and Spock took an unprecedented satisfaction in the action. For once, he had stopped the good doctor in his tracks.

"Uh ... uh, sure," McCoy said, confusion and disappointment on his face. "I thought..." He hesitated a moment, then continued. "I thought this might have upset you some, Spock. I mean, Vulcans tend to keep their sexual practices ... well, secret." Spock cringed at the idea of discussing the unspoken with McCoy, but he knew the physician would never let up if given an opening. At least, this way, maybe he could control exactly what McCoy learned from this text.

"This is a thesis about ancient practices, long before the Reforms. Everything in here is so old as to be practically legend." McCoy's face grimaced in disappointment and Spock felt a twinge of unquestionable unVulcan glee run through him.

"Never mind," McCoy said with definite growl in his voice. "I have enough trouble keeping up with one modern Vulcan. I don't need to hear about ancient Vulcan sexual hanky-panky." The last term interested Spock but since McCoy showed signs of leaving, he didn't ask for an interpretation. McCoy waved his hand in disgust and stalked out of the room, a scowl on his face.

* * *

"You and Leonard going at it again?" Christine's melodic voice struck Spock's ear with the impact of a pneumo-drill. He looked at her, taking in the way her soft, mink-brown hair framed her deep blue eyes and strong, yet delicate features. His gaze dropped to her full, moist lips, and a sharp hunger filled him. He wanted nothing more than to taste her smile, to see if it was as sweet as it promised to be. "Mr. Spock?"

He realized she had been talking to him, and he hadn't heard a word. "I am sorry, Chri... Dr. Chapel. You were saying?"

Her jaw dropped open in surprise, and the urge to fill her mouth with his tongue swept over him. He vaguely wondered how long he would be allowed to explore that dark, mysterious harbor, to investigate her lush curves with his hands before Security hauled him off to the Brig. Or, more likely, the psych unit. He gritted his teeth in painful determination, and forced himself to focus on Dr. Chapel the officer ... not Christine the woman. "Did you wish to say something, Dr. Chapel?"

She blinked a couple of times, and then seemed to gather her thoughts. "I have that report you wanted," she said. "Shall I meet you in your office tomorrow morning, so we can discuss the results of the experiment?"

"Perhaps we could meet in my quarters? Say in an hour?"

The minute the words left his mouth, Spock recognized the fact that he was taking the sehlat by the fangs. Let the courtship begin, he thought wryly. "My mother sent some brownies from her mother's recipe. I will share them with you." He hadn't thought her wide blue eyes could get wider, but they did as her surprise deepened. Might as well go for broke, he thought. "Feel free to dress casual if you want, Christine. After all, we are off duty."

Her gaze sharpened, suspicion rife on her features. "What have you done with Mr. Spock, pod person?"

For a moment, her statement threw him, then he remembered the antique movie marathon Jim had dragged him to last week with all four versions of The Body-takers. Or some such thing. A smile tugged at his mouth, and he allowed a tiny bit of it to show. "After knowing each other for twelve years, don't you think we should start acting as friends, Christine?"

"Mr. Spock--"

"Just Spock, Christine." She didn't answer, just watched him, a wary expression on her face. He could understand that; he hadn't exactly sought out her company … not since the disaster of Psi 2000. And, of course, their misadventures on Platonius hadn't helped. He stood, his head cocked to the right slightly. "It is difficult for Vulcans to speak of feelings, Christine," he said softly, his gaze trapping hers. "But I do consider you a friend. A very special friend who has been through many things with me, good and bad. I think it is time for us to act as …friends."

"But why now? Why here?" Her cautious expression eased some, and he could see a shy hope peek out her eyes.

He glanced around. "This is hardly the place to speak. Meet me in my quarters. I will make some tea, that Kymber tea you like so well, and we will have the brownies as dessert. We will sit down and talk as we should have a long time ago, as comrades. You know, there are a lot of things we share."

She was silent so long, searching his face that he feared she would say no. Finally, she nodded slowly and he felt the air moving in his lungs again. "All right, Mister …I mean … Spock," she said with a warm smile. "I'll see you in an hour." She returned to the table where Uhura awaited her. He watched her, enjoying the esthetic beauty of her movements until he saw Uhura studying him. He nodded to her briefly, then gathering up his tray and the two padds, he exited the Officers' mess. He had a few things to do before she came to his quarters. After all, he wanted the setting to be absolutely perfect.

* * *

Chris examined her image in the mirror and frowned. No, the black Rigellian silk slacks topped off with the amethyst tunic still looked too dressy. For God's sake, she was going to an informal meeting with a superior officer. Oh, Spock might have meant what he said about meeting as friends, but that still didn't mean they were on a date. She pulled the light-weight top over her head and tossed it on her bed. She marched over to her closet and pulled out a clean, but well-worn pair of jeans and the ancient sweatshirt with the sleeves torn out that completed her favorite "slop-around" outfit. She hesitated a moment, then set her jaw. No, by Josie, if he said casual, she was going to wear what she classified as casual. In a further show of defiance, after changing clothes, she put on her sneakers, pulled her hair back in a careless ponytail, and reexamined her reflection. That's the ticket. Nobody, but nobody was going to say she was "chasing" after the First Officer, no matter what. She looked exactly as she would if she were meeting Uhura in her quarters.

But you're not meeting Ny, a tiny voice whispered in her mind. You're meeting Spock, the man you dream about every night. "Not every night," she muttered as she snatched up her padd. "Just every other night. And what kind of a dope does that make me?" She left her quarters, and stalked down the corridor, ignoring the crewmembers around her, then halted in front of Spock's door. She eyed the door buzzer, a sudden dryness attacking her throat.

Oh, Lord, she couldn't do this, could she? She couldn't believe her heart pounded like a teenage groupie. She scrunched her eyes in despair. Pull yourself together, Christine. You're a mature woman. Act like it! She took a deep breath, wiped her damp right palm on her jeans, and firmly pressed the touch plate.

After a brief moment, the door slid open. "Good evening, Christine." Spock stood to one side of the doorway, and Chris' mouth watered at the sight of him. Dressed all in black, his uniform T-shirt clung to his broad chest with loving detail. His black k'var slacks molded his long, lean legs and hips like a lover. Even his slender, bare feet seemed erotic against the regulation carpet.

Chris told herself to stop drooling. "Hello, Spock." She took a deep breath, and marched straight to his desk where she seated herself in the visitor's chair. "I have the--"

"I do not believe we have to rush into business immediately, Christine." The humor in his voice caught her attention and she looked at him. He wasn't smiling ... exactly, but there was a definite warmth in his gaze. Somewhat like he often had with Captain Kirk, only... Hell, if she didn't know better, she'd have said his smile was more intimate.

Spock strolled over to the small cabin replicator. "You take just a touch of honey in your tea, do you not? And help yourself to the brownies. My mother sent them with the last mail delivery." She glanced at the top of his desk. A metallic blue plate held a pile of rich, dark brown cakes, moist-looking thanks to the stasis mail container that had probably been delivered months after Amanda had sent them to her son. Also on the desk was a small white candle, burning with a tiny flame that scented the area with the enchanting smell of vanilla. In the background, she could hear the smoky music of a blues sax.

Holy cow! she thought, darting a glance at his back. Then she shrugged. Okay, she'd go along with whatever game he was playing, but if he got much weirder, she'd call McCoy faster than--

"Do you not prefer chocolate?" His question cut into her thoughts, and she looked up. He stood on the other side of his desk, a tray holding a teapot, a small jar of honey, and two steaming cups in his hands. The indirect lighting of his quarters showcased the elegant upsweep of his pointed ears while dramatizing the craggy angles and planes of his features.

"Uh...oh, y...yes." She picked up a brownie and bit into it. The sinful pleasure melted over her palate and she almost moaned in ecstasy. Real chocolate. Not that cloying, over-sweet crap the replicator gave out, but honest-to-God chocolate with the slight bitter undertone of the official stuff. Chris made a mental note to do some major sucking up to Amanda the next time she saw her. Anyone who could bake and mail first class brownies like these went to the top of her new best friend list. "Oh my God, these are to die for!"

Christine's eyes closed in bliss as her tongue darted out for a crumb at the corner of her mouth, and Spock felt a surge of desire well south of his stomach. Suddenly, he was very jealous of the lucky morsel that had brought such pleasure to her. He quickly set down the tray before he dropped it. He handed her one mug before he pulled his chair from around the desk and seated himself facing her, his knees only inches from hers. She blinked, obviously surprised by his move, and he snatched his own brownie from the plate.

"I confess that I have always had a weakness for chocolate. Most Vulcans are unable to tolerate it, but evidently my Human genes overcomes that part of my heritage." He sniffed at the treat as other men savored the scent of fine wine. "And this is one Human trait I am delighted we share."

She chuckled. "I'm just thankful that you're willing to share these with me." For a moment, silence threatened to overcome them. He felt an unaccustomed alarm creep up his spine. What did Humans talk to each other about on dates? If this was Jim he would… Spock eyed her. Of course. Talk to her as he would Jim. After all, they were both friends, weren't they?

"Did you see the hologram program by Davidson last week?" he asked as he reached for the second mug of tea.

"Oh, yes." She sat up, her expression alert. "I've been a long time fan of his blues, but that last album of his really blew me into the Delta quadrant."

"See anything interesting while you were there?" he teased.

She blinked again, then laughed, the sound like water gurgling over rocks in a stream bed. "Very funny, but you know good and well what I mean. I would never have thought an artist so gifted in one area of music could write such totally different music that powerful. His first song was…"

As they continued to share the tea and cakes, Spock was relieved to see her relax in his company. She leaned back in the chair, her slender, denim-covered legs stretched in front of her. Fine tendrils of golden-brown hair escaped from her hair binder and curled around her creamy cheeks like a kiss. For the first time in their acquaintanceship, Spock made sure the conversation stayed on personal, rather than professional matters. In the beginning, it was difficult, but because he honestly wanted to learn more about her, he soon learned to use the skills of "chit-chat" even his father once claimed were so important to employ with Humans.

Spock loved watching the animation in her expressions, how the light pulled out glints of fire from her hair. How her eyes, bluer than the seas of T'xken, sparkled when she spoke passionately of the music drifting from his entertainment center. How her hands, strong yet soft, gestured with the elegant grace of Logian poetry. When he stood to get another pot of tea, she seemed to awaken as from a dream.

"Oh, my Lord. I've been going on and on about Davidson when we should have been going over my report. I have the early shift tomorrow."

He programmed his request into the replicator. "Pull it up and we will go over it together." Chris had to admit to a tiny frisson of disappointment that this rare moment of camaraderie between them was ending. Don't be greedy, my girl. Be grateful for what you've got, she told herself as she picked up the datapadd on his desk and punched the "on" button.

She blinked as an unfamiliar image flashed on the tiny screen. The male figure was very handsome … for a Vulcan. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, and one of the longest, thickest… Well, let's just say she'd never envisioned anything that good in her most erotic dream. And the female companion wasn't too shabby either, though the "come hither" look she had on her delicate features as she squatted over her partner's erect penis was a strange sight to one accustomed to Vulcan impassivity.

"Oh, my," Christine whispered past a suddenly dry throat. As if in a trance, she flipped slowly through the pages. A male lying on his side as two females sandwiched him, evidently servicing each other. Then the next illustration gave equal rights to women as two husky virile males gave pleasure to a voluptuous woman. "Ohmy, ohmy, ohmy."

"What is wrong, Christine?" She looked up from the padd and saw Spock, the steaming pot in his hands. Without much volition, she could imagine him sans uniform. She'd seen him enough in her duties as a nurse to know exactly what lay underneath his clothing. That crisp, black mat of hair across his wide chest that arrowed south of his waistband. The sculpted muscles … not too bulky, but just enough to tempt a woman to nibble her way across them. All that warm satiny skin with an underlying patina of bronze. Her mouth suddenly watered, and she clenched her hands to prevent herself from leaping to her feet and tearing off his shirt.

"Christine?" Spock placed the teapot on the desk, looked at her, confusion in his midnight eyes. When his gaze dropped to the padd clenched in her fingers, his complexion flushed a dusky olive. Another laugh threatened to bubble out of her like a hot spring geyser.

"I didn't know Vulcans had their own version of Playboy Intergalactic," she murmured as she returned her attention to the pictures. Her eyes widened as she tried to imagine how wide she'd have to open her mouth to get two, count 'em, two--

Spock grabbed for the device, and Christine, her human reflexes faster than Vulcan for once, twisted in her chair, using her body to protect the padd. Her movement caused his hand to miss his target. Instead he captured her breast. Instantly, Vulcan heat seared her flesh. Their gazes ensnared each other. Time stood frozen as she gazed into eyes no longer dark as the endless night, but alight with a passion that danced like the Northern lights she'd once seen as a child. For a moment, his fingers cupped her, then began to slide slowly down the swelling globe.

She laid her hand over his, molding his fingers to the shape, to the rhythm she wanted him to touch her. The radiance in his eyes deepened to a fiery glow as he used his second hand on her other breast. His action sent sharp need flashing through Chris, knife-edged and hungry, straight from her breasts to the core of her womanhood. She moaned, closing her eyes against the ecstasy of his hands on her. But she wanted more … much more.

"Spock," she whispered, her hands gripped with damp urgency on his wrists.

His kneading fingers stilled. "Do you want me to stop?" His voice was a harsh desert wind in her ear, his musky male scent tickling her nose.

"If you do, I really will have to kill you." Unable to resist, she came to her feet as he used his arms as leverage to pull her toward him. In one smooth motion, she flowed into his arms, her hands automatically sliding under his tee-shirt, filling her palms with slick, hot Vulcan muscles. She tilted her head back, ready when he fitted his mouth to hers. His unfamiliar taste burst across her tongue … all fiery cravings and enigmatic spice. She dug her fingers into the hard plane of his back, his long, thick erection pressed into her belly.

She thrust herself up on her toes, sliding her body along his rigid flesh until he nestled right where she wanted him, snug between her thighs. He broke the kiss long enough to yank her shirt over her head and to dispense with her breast binder. The difference from the searing warmth of his gaze and the cooler temperature of his quarters caused her nipples to pucker proudly beneath his stare. She gripped his waist as he examined her. Was she too big? Too droopy? After all, she was no longer a girl, but a woman heading into middle age … a time when she considered herself to be in the prime of her life. But maybe a man, even Spock would be disappointed that she wasn't as…as…

"T'vilk mish'qro, t'hyla." His words whispered across her skin like a summer breeze. She couldn't understand the words, but there was no doubt in his expression that he approved of what he was seeing. Beneath his admiration, she felt more voluptuous, more feminine … more demanding.

"I think we need more fair play around here." She tugged at his shirt, then stood back watching with appreciation as he swept aside her hands and discarded the garment on his own. "Oh, yes," she whispered, her fingers trailing lightly through the wiry, yet silky hair on his chest. "Much better."

She bent forward, sliding her arms around his waist as she tasted the hot flesh in front of her. She'd always loved the musky male flavor of a man in arousal, but Spock's had a zest that sent her from mild desire to frantic need. She ran her tongue along the contour of his pectus muscle to the flat male nipple, hidden in the soft curls on his chest. She latched onto the tiny nub, teasing it with her teeth. Spock gasped and gripped her head tightly, holding her to him. Chris smiled and began to gently suckle him. His flavor burst on her tongue, and threatened to smother her senses.

Suddenly, Spock pulled her away from her. For a nanosecond, she worried that she had offended him. Perhaps she had violated some Vulcan taboo. But when he latched onto her mouth, almost devouring her with his hunger, all thoughts of interspecies differences sped out of her mind ... along with every other notion.

Frantically, she tried to fill her mouth with his essence. Fill her hands with his warm, slick skin. Pour her entire body into his. At the same time, his incredible lips threatened to send her into orgasm as he nibbled his way along her jaw, down the side of her neck with a side trip and some truly awesome suckling on her ear lobe before he finally ... FINALLY ... reached her aching, swollen breasts. Like a flaming arrow, his fiery mouth fastened onto her nipple, and waves of lava flowed directly from there to her core.

"Oh, my God, Spock!" She gripped the sides of his head, his hair like cool satin between her fingers, and pulled him tighter to the second most urgent area of her need. She rubbed against the rigid length against her leg, then moaned as Spock lifted her off her feet with two strong hands on her bottom, fitting that bulge against the juncture of her legs, all without loosening his grasp on her breast. With a small thin wail, she pleaded and demanded, "Spock!"

He released her swollen nipple. "Is this where we get into bed?" His question hit her with the impact of ice cubes down her spine. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His hair was wildly tousled from her fingers. His dark eyes were filled with raging flames in a face taut with feral desire. "Christine! Is this where we go to bed?"

His desperate words awoke her from her trance. "What?" An almost unbelievable suspicion trickled into her mind, and she wiggled until he lowered her to the deck, sliding her body slowly along his solid frame. "Spock, are you telling me that you're a...a..." She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, then tried again. "Spock, are you a virgin?"

Bewilderment filled his expression as he quirked one slanted eyebrow. "Christine, I have been married ... I mean, was married from the age of seven. Vulcans do not practice pre-marital intimacy."

"And you've never...never..." Heat Chris hadn't felt since she had lost her own virginity raced over her face.

He tilted his head and one slanted eyebrow swept higher. "Is that a problem?" He reached over, picked up a padd half hidden by his computer monitor, and flicked on the unit. The title flashed on the screen. "I have been studying Human courting practices, but this dissertation has nothing on how to practice sex."

Stunned, she looked at him. The thought that this encounter wasn't just impulse, but a well-planned action on his part turned her insides to mush. "You were planning to ask me out on a real date?"

Spock gestured to the tea tray. "I did ask you on a date, Christine. However, the author of this book does recommend that sexual intimacy should not occur until the relationship is more secure."

"Spock, Ann Landers wrote that 'how-to' for adolescents in the 20th century. It wasn't meant for adults."

"Still ... I'm not sure I know enough to please you as you deserve."

Tickled at his admission, Chris locked her hands behind his head. "Spock, trust me. I find it very exciting to have the chance to seduce my first virgin."

When his hands gripped her waist, when the partially banked fires in his eyes blazed anew, she knew she almost had him. "But, Christine. Vulcans are much stronger than Humans. What if--?"

"Spock, Human females are tougher than you'd believe." Scooping up the Vulcan sex manual that had fallen unnoticed into her chair, she took his hand, and gently tugged him toward his bedroom. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

The sleeping quarters were dim, lit only by his Vulcan firepot. She laid the padd on the nightstand/console and turned to face him. "Now, we were doing so well with the basics, why don't we just start with where we left off?"

Gentle humor softened the harsh planes of his face. "Yes, Mentor. Like this?" He bent his head down until his lips lightly touched hers, brushing from side to side, the tip of his tongue wetting her curves. Tingles darted from her mouth, setting up a network of sensitized nerves, ready to be overloaded with pleasure. She had moment to wish that every crewmember who thought of Spock as a cold, tight-assed Vulcan could see him now. On the other hand..., she considered briefly. Then all thoughts tumbled out of her head as he settled down to some serious kissing.

The music in the other room laid a wove a web of sensuality around them. With warp speed, her arousal soared back to its previous point and beyond. As if in a frantic race against time, she ran her palms down his shoulders and across his broad chest. Everywhere her fingers went, she followed with her lips. His scent drove her wild, and when she reached his regulation trousers, she hesitated as she unfastened them. Sliding her hands inside, she grasped his rigid manhood.

"Christine!" Spock's cry came out with a guttural urgency that thrilled her.

"Does this please you, Spock?" she whispered as she stroked him, up and down, each caress seeming to make him longer, harder.

"Mak'ov! Rmest'nek' p'noki!" She didn't understand the words, but was pretty sure he wasn't complaining. She made a mental vow that if she and Spock were going to be a pairing, she needed to know more Vulcan than she did now. But meanwhile...

"English, Spock."

"I am on fire!"

"Then let's see what we can do to quench the fire." Releasing him, she tugged at his pants until she could skim them and his briefs over his hips, pushing them along his legs until they dropped to the deck. She rose to her feet. "Your turn," she murmured, her skin craving the feel of his flesh against hers.

Confusion muted the passion in his gaze a moment, then realization dawned. He echoed her movements, skimming his long, elegant hands over her shoulders and down her chest. But he took several long moments to play with her breasts. His clever fingers first outlined her tight, aching flesh, then he cupped them, brushing his thumbs across the puckered nipples. The feel of his hands on her, the smell of his arousal like the spice nutmeg in her nose sent her libido into hyperdrive.

"Oh my God, Spock." And just when she thought she couldn't bear any more, his mouth ... his adroit, knowing tongue replace his fingers. He pleasured first one breast, then the other. She went from delight to a bliss on the edge of pain. "Spock!" He dropped his hands to her waist, leaving her breasts longing for more of his attentions, and peeled her out of her jeans and panties. They tangled around her ankles as he rubbed his fingers into her feminine core. Christine gasped as she kicked off her clothes to give him better access. Her system threatened to go into overload.

"Is now the time we go to bed?"

"Yes! Oh God, yes! Yes! Yes!"

Spock swept her up in his arms and dropped to one knee on his narrow bed before laying her gently on the soft cover. He kneeled there a moment, his body propped on his hands on each side of her. His gaze, full of eager anticipation ... of desire ... of tenderness, lingered on her. She stroked her hands up his arms, then tugged him down to her.

"Now, Spock. I want you inside me now."

His heaviness along her frame added power to her need. He captured her lips, his tongue invading like a conqueror an instant before he nudged her legs apart. His manhood probed for her opening, and she reached down, guiding him. He entered her with one smooth thrust, filling her completely. Filling her soul completely. His fingertips captured her face in a strangely familiar pattern and she felt a force pressing against the walls of her being. Instinctively, she knew it was Spock, silently asking for a meld. She opened her barriers, and he flowed into her mind. Their souls ... no, their katras blended, and now they were one in two bodies. After far too many years wandering, she knew that Christine Chapel was finally in home.

Space expanded and contracted as he plunged in and out, her hips frantically keeping pace with him. His pleasure flowed through the meld, and her excitement became magnified in his. Their movements echoed the beat of waves on a storm-tossed sea as they raced for an out-of-reach goal. Suddenly, they were there.



They both cried out as they fell into the void, rolling over and over amid blazing stars.

* * *

Spock lay watching the tiny flames of his tz'chi, ever conscious of the woman asleep in his arms. With her head tucked under his chin, her bottom nestled against his groin, and his arm draped across her waist, he felt as if she filled an empty space he had not even known he had. Her cool misty scent flooded his senses with images of the fog-shrouded islands of the waterworld Roines.

Christine stirred and he glanced down at her. Tendrils of her silky hair brushed against his chest. He lifted a strand, and rubbed it between his fingers. Every where he touched her gave him such pleasure.

"What time is it?" Her voice sounded husky, sexy. He wondered if this was what Jim would call "the voice of a woman well-loved". If so, was what he felt love? She snuggled against him a moment and he felt his manhood rouse. "Spock?" she asked, her voice softer.

"It is oh-two-forty-seven point nine."

She chuckled. "Point nine, huh? I think I have overstayed my welcome by one point seven minutes. I should get back to my cabin." She threw off the cover he had placed on them after she fell asleep and attempted to rise.

He tightened his grip on her and tucked the blanket back around her. "I would prefer you to stay." He heard her draw in a sharp breath, then exhale with a sigh as she turned to face him. In the narrow bed, their bodies touched, breast to chest, thigh to thigh, legs entangled. He kept one arm around her while his free hand captured her breast. His penis twitched again, snuggled against her cooler flesh.

She grinned at him, a wicked twinkle in her eye as she rubbed against his slowly stiffening erection, her palms flat against his chest. "So, the no-longer-virgin wants to go around again."

A faint smile crossed his lips. "That also, but..." He frowned and brushed aside a wayward curl that had attached itself to the corner of her mouth. "But I meant I want you to stay now ... and forever."

He felt her heart stumble under his fingers. "Forever, Spock? As in marriage?"

"As my Bondmate, Christine."

Her hesitation caused an unaccustomed pain in his chest. She stared into his eyes, her brow creased slightly, then shook her head. "No, this is all too fast. This morning ... I mean, yesterday morning you were only my senior, and now you want to Bond." The flickering light brought out sparks of gold in her hair and deepened her sapphire eyes to cobalt. She laid one hand along his jaw.

"I can't say yes, Spock. I've loved you for a long time, but can you honestly say the same?"

He wanted to. With all his being, he wanted to, but knew it would be a lie. He gathered his shattered control, guarding against the pain he suspected was coming. She pulled his head to her, kissing him lightly. "I won't say yes, but I didn't say no either." Like a rilp'tol blossoming under the Vulcan spring sun, hope swept through Spock.

"Let's take each day as it comes," she said, locking her hands behind his head. "We'll talk, share a meal, carve out what time we can for each other on this crazy ship." Lightness like he had not felt since early childhood lifted his spirits. "And if we need help, we always have Ann Landers to fall back on."

The silver chime of Christine's laughter fell on his ear. "We don't want to leave out your Vulcan Kama Sutra here." She propped herself on her elbow and reached over him to grab the discarded padd on the nightstand. Her full, rounded breast brushed against his face as she moved, and he took the opportunity to steal a taste. The sound of her gasp excited him beyond measure.

"Shall we go to the second beginner's position?" he murmured, his mouth full of sweet flesh.

Christine moaned in a most satisfactory way. "Ooooh, Spock. After what happened last time, I think we can go straight to Intermediate." And with great gusto, Spock proceeded to do just that!

The End