DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of T'Kuhn and is copyright (c) 2000 by T'Kuhn. This story is Rated PG.
Noltarian New Year's Eve
"What?" Christine Chapel asked, trying to pitch her voice loud enough to be heard over the surrounding revels, soft enough that only the man at her shoulder would hear.
"I said, 'Kiss me,' Christine."
Clearly, her ears weren't working properly, Christine thought. But Spock was leaning toward her, his lips actively seeking hers.
She pulled away. "Are you out of your mind, Spock?"
His voice was soft, silky. Enticing. His hands gripped her shoulders. "On the contrary. Given our surroundings, it seems the only logical thing to do."
Again she pulled away, this time mentally as well as physically. "Logic, logic, logic," she exclaimed, her blood boiling hotter than his at the thought of all the times he'd spurned her. "I'm sick to death of your logic!" And so saying, she turned on her heel and slid through the crowds, a slender, proud form in her flattering Sciences-blue dress uniform.
"Fascinating," Spock murmured. He stared after her, his eyes taking in her slim waist and curvaceous hips.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was of his logic. Secure
in this knowledge, he moved to follow. After all, there were more suitable
locations for what he had in mind than Noltair's