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Still Waters Run Deep	By : Keen Category: S through Z > Star Trek (2009) > Star Trek (2009) Views: 8754 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and I make no money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Still Waters Run Deep
- 1
            “Bartender! Another shot please?”
            James
Tiberius Kirk slid his hand on the slick countertop that circled the burly
looking server, eyeing the woman who shouted the order through the dancing
lights and smoke of the club. Walking round the bar, he planted his arms on the
edge, clasping his hands around a glass tumbler with a wry smile on his still
bruised face.
            “I
know your name, Nyota,”
he teased sing-songedly, shouting over the music. His
pearly white smile widened that much more to see her turn heatedly to face him.
            “Not
because I told you,” she edged. “You did not earn that privilege.”
            “And
what exactly did ol’ pointy ears do to earn it?”
            “Bartender!” Uhura yelled, waiving
her slender arm in the air to catch his eye. Her hand dropped with a hiss as
the man turned his back to take another order. “Dammit!”
            “Are
so eager to get out of a little friendly conversation with your Captain?”
            “Yes,”
she said quickly, unseating him with her bluntness. But he quickly recovered.
            He
looked up to the mirror-covered ceiling,
counting on his fingers as he spoke. “Ok,
let’s see if I can help narrow it down….it’s
not looks. The hair cut, the whole ear thing and the weird drag queen eyebrows.
Which is a little suspect if you ask me,” he said, wagging a suggestive
eyebrow. “And it damn sure isn’t sense of humour because,” he laughed, “let’s be honest. It’s Spock we’re talking about. So I
guess that leaves money as your motivation.”
            She
turned with a scowl, “Are you implying I’m a whore?”
            “I
didn’t say that. I merely said that he may be loaded and you may like that kind
of thing.” He paused in thought. “Sorta…in
a non-prostitute kind of way.”
            Uhura tsked with disgust,
“Philistine.”
            “Now,
now, no need to get all un-lady like and resort to name calling. It’s just a
question.” Kirk raised his hands up in innocence. “I just can’t see what you
see in him. I’m sure no one can, which is why you two are able to keep it such
a dirty little secret.”
            Uhura looked out over the crowd. There was no point
explaining to a guy like Kirk what she saw in Spock. Every other word she’d use
would probably fly over his head and in the end he’d assume it all boiled down
to sex, which was only a tiny part of it.
            The regular reasons why anyone would stay in a relationship came to mind. Independence and stability. The Vulcan afforded her autonomy by never questioning where she went and how she went
about things, but at the same time, he was always there for her to return to.
And when she did, it was like she never left, they would seamlessly pick up
where they had left off with little to do. There was no pretence or show
between them as they were both smart enough to realise the uselessness of such frivolities. All she had to do with Spock was simply be. And while that was more than ample reason to stand beside him, it was not the forefront. The best she could describe it was that they shared an intense and deep understanding. Words failed beyond that as it was never spoken of aloud, even when they were alone...which she suspected the Vulcan might be at the moment.
            Her
dark brown eyes scanned every face in the room and she frowned to see he was
not among them. Spock was not what anyone would call a partier. He was
Vulcan—or at least half of him was—so it was not in his nature. But he would have
attended Kirk’s celebration, if only to congratulate him on his promotion. It
would have been expected of him as the Commander and first mate of the Enterprise. And most logical.
            “So,
what is it?” Kirk eased next to her and bore into her with his dazzling blue
eyes. “What is the glue that keeps you kids so close? Don’t make me pull rank
to get an answer, Lieutenant.”
            She
took the drink she held in her long fingers
and downed it in a gulp, bristling and gnashing her teeth as it burned its way
down her throat. Her Captain cleared his
throat anxiously to feel her lean closer to him, her lips barely grazing his
ear as she whispered, “Mind. Blowing. Sex.”
            Kirk
shook his head. “Wait....Seriously?”
He waited a moment for her answer butUhura
simply laughed as she pushed away from the bar. The slack jawed expression on
his All-American good looks was priceless.

            Spock
thrashed out of the black material that circled his neck, blowing out the
candles before him. His fingers ripped at the collar with irritation and he
tossed it to drape over the chair he once sat in. In the solace of his room he
tried to meditate. His father was gone and—strange as it sounded—his older self was gone as well leaving him all alone in the austere quarters. It was no different from
any other day except that today, he actually felt alone.
            Memories
of his mother’s wide-eyed expression, her
mouth agape as she gave a final silent scream just before the ground opened and
swallowed her whole, haunted him still. His father, before he left, suggested
mediation to purge the overwhelming sense of loss that roiled his guts but unlike his father,
his human half left Spock with more to grapple with. Much more than mediation
or any other tool he could fathom could ever hope to placate. And more than he
could ever hope to make his father or any other of his kind understand.
Including himself.
            The
Vulcan began pacing, his long legs carrying his body from one end of the room
to the next in frustrated silence when there was a sudden knock on the door.
The sound was quick but not overly aggressive—much like the woman herself. He
came to a gentle rest to hear her call him from the other side.
            “Commander
Spock, I have a matter of semiotics to discuss with you.”

            Nothing
could have been further from the truth as she had more than excellent marks in
that particular branch of linguistic philosophy. It was code. One he thanked
her for devising and using. They often carried on conversations thusly. Heavy
with flirtatious undertone and alternative meaning laced between technical
terms, yet observers were none the wiser because her proper and even delivery
matched his own.
            It
was not a secret, their relationship that is, but at the same time it was not
exactly something advertised for the most obvious reason. Once, not too long
ago, Uhura was his student. His
best student. And by virtue of intelligence and skill alone, she
excelled quickly though his detailed and complex curriculum with unwavering
drive and focus not because of his…affinity
for her.
            He
was not even aware that he saw the human female like that until she rushed upon
him one evening in the library. Spock could still remember the feel of the
parchment under his palms, the sound and feel of it as he crushed it in his
fists. The muscles in his hands contracted hotly, a reaction to suddenly
feeling her mouth on his.
            At
first it was only their smallest fingers that touched—the ‘pinkies’ as he
learned was the common colloquialism—of her hand pressed against his, and then
it became her ring finger and then the next after that. She laced her fingers
with his and in a breath, the Vulcan forgot the book
in front of him.
            Blinking,
Spock raised his head, swallowing thickly as he glanced to where she stood.
“Cadet Uhura, are you aware of the placement of your
hand?”
            “Are
you?”
            He
tilted his head, “I do not follow.”
            “I
know,” Uhura tightened her grip on him as she raised
herself to her toes, pressing a kiss on his tightly pursed lips. She let out a
sound of surprise when he pressed back, knocking her against the podium to
taste her mouth as she did his.

            In
the silence afterward, he told himself he only did so because it was logical.
She caressed him thusly, so why should he not return it? He could tell from her
body language what she expected and it was
not detrimental or unpleasant on any level. So they continued in secret like
that for some time but as the days progressed he found his own explanation to
be unsatisfactory. The truth, a causality of his desire to suppress and ignore
his emotions, went unspoken for so long until she demanded him to enlighten
her.
            Once
again, in the quiet and concealment of the great Library’s linguistics annex,
she cornered him. Asking—no, demanding—to be told what she meant to him. The words
escaped him, unsurprisingly. Even when she threatened to walk away from him
completely, which to his utter surprise he vehemently did not want, he could
not find a logical and sound argument to convince her to stay. Nor could he
infer what she desired to hear. Until, in aggravated exhaustion she expressed her fondest wish to know “just what the hell he was thinking.” That he could
do. And did, although he was not so certain she was thankful
for it.
            Mind-melding
was an intense and thoroughly engaging process. Every shred of his psyche, his essence, passed through her, so he
expected some shaking and perhaps shivering but Uhura
wept. For long agonising moments on the floor of the annex
hall. She fell to her knees, tears streaming down the curves of her
cheek, and rocked in place. Spock knelt at
her side, apologising with as much human-like sincerity as he could muster but
she only sought to press her fingers against his mouth. Then
her lips. A peculiar development considering the circumstances and the
behaviour usually associated with crying—yet it seemed to satisfy her inquiry
and they never spoke of such things again. Nor did they engage in another
mind-meld, at her instance of course.

            “Commander?”
she tried again, nervously glancing to her left and right. The occupants of the
Officer’s quarters were just as beguiled as she was to see her standing there.
A few left their rooms as she stood outside Spock’s, politely petitioning to be
let inside and each one did a double take.
            Uhura turned her face back to the door and called one last
time only to receive silence. Pivoting on her knee length boots, she was about
to walk away, when the door at her back opened with that telltale ‘swish.’
            Spock’s
hand slid from the device on the wall as she stepped quietly inside. Her heels
clicked on the polished floors of his domicile as she neared where he stood by
the room’s lone window in his usual rigid posture, hands clasped behind his
back.
            “You
missing the party,” she smiled.
            He
raised a single slender brow in question.
“Is that preventing our newly titled Captain from celebrating his achievement?”
            Uhura chuckled dryly, shaking her long black hair. “No,”
she smiled. “Provided there is no shortage of women and drinks, I do not think
anything would detract him.”
            “Then
it is fair to say with your absence he may give pause as you are a woman.”
            “Then
he will just have to suffer because I am here. With you.”
She laid a hopeful hand on his arm, reaching
out, offering to be his support in this difficult time,
but with a shrug, he refused.
            He
walked away and her hand fell from him.
“Yes,” he nodded. “It would seem so.”
            She
watched him resume pacing with a frown. Uhura knew
better than to expect a warm and gushy greeting, but even for a Vulcan his
response was cold. He was troubled and as usual,
she found herself watching in marked silence as he mentally ate at himself.
Ritualistically punishing himself for something that
he inherently could not control while she stood idly by, quietly yearning with
every fibre of her being to do something, anything,
to help but all the while knowing there was nothing she could.
            Yet,
her heart would not let her stop trying.
            He
passed her again in slow casual stride and she waited for him to turn and walk
toward her before she pressed a hand in his chest to halt him. She stared in
his face, looking at the upswept and arched eyebrows and strong Romanesque
nose.
            “Would
you like to talk about it?”
            He
shook his head once, “I do not see the logic in that. It will not change things
and only serve to exacerbate my confusion.”
            “Not
necessarily,” she reasoned. “It may make you
feel better.”
            “I
do not see how. I would simply be lecturing myself on events I fully and
vividly remember.”
            Spock
sidestepped her and Uhura closed her eyes, her hands
on her narrow waist. “I don’t know why I even came here,” she said quietly to
herself.
            “Nor
do I, perhaps you can enlighten me?”
            Spock
continued his pacing until he noticed the prolonged silence that followed his
question. He turned sharply, just in time to see the tears the woman quickly
tried to wipe away with her trembling hand. The Vulcan hung his head to realise
he had somehow upset her. Again.
            “Lieutenant
I apologi—”
            “No
need. I think I should go.”
            Uhura started to sprint to the door when a hand shackled
her wrist. Strong and crushing. Spock only walked a
few strong steps before he was upon her. He pulled her in such a way she spun
to face him, forcing her to meet his dark gaze. The fact he was considerably
taller than her was irrelevant until moments like this, where he towered over
her, staring down at her like she was prey with his glittering black eyes.
            The
Vulcan pulled her to his chest, his hands cupped her cheeks. It was not in him
to say what he felt but he could make her understand if she wished it. Slowly Spock
raised his hand. He started to press his fingers in the precise contact points
around her ocular orbital when she turned her face away, shaking her head ‘no.’
            Uhura knew his intentions were good, but a mind-meld was
far too intense, especially now that she too was so emotionally unravelled.
There were other ways to express liking, to share and convey adoration and ‘affinity’ as he quietly put it. And now
was just as good a time to introduce him to it.

            His
words were reserved but she knew, more intimately than anyone else, underneath
that calm and unflappable surface there were desires that smouldered and roiled
like any other unrestrained fire. Something she dared say she could see in the
eyes that stared so intensely at her.
            Spock
studied her face feeling her fingers rake at his skin. Her hands slid up his
sides, pushing the blue tunic up and over his chilly pale flesh. He bent his
long torso some to help her ease it over his arms and head although uncertain
why. He thought to ask her what purpose it would serve to be half-naked at that
juncture but there was not a chance. The tunic flew away from his body and her
lips pressed against his.
            As her mouth twisted hungrily over his, it suddenly dawned on him he was in the midst of a sexual overture. And he was not at all displeased—albeit slightly
confused, but not at all about to stop the woman as she led him by hips to the
bed behind her.
            She
hugged his body against hers as she reclined back onto the downy comforter,
pulling him on top of her as she dropped to the bed. Her legs fidgeted
anxiously against him as she kicked off the boots she wore, pushing them over
the bed’s edge with two rapid thumps.
            Her
now naked calves crossed over him, making a brown ‘x’ at
the small of his pale back, hugging him closer and freeing her arm to
pull off the dress she wore. Pulling black silk over her head, Uhura stretched her arms high above her head and kept them
there, displaying herself for him. She was completely naked underneath, the
lacy white bra she favoured in the wash along with her panties. Not that he
questioned it.
            The
woman found herself smiling as Spock pulled away
enough to appraise her slender body. From the creamy swells of her petite
breasts capped with dark chocolate brown nipples, to the sumptuous curves of
her narrow waist and hips. His eyes as well as his hands ran over every inch of
flesh before him with near reverence before he roughly fisted her sides.
            She
yelled. Her skin gathered tightly in his hands, Uhura
went where she was dragged, surprised and prompted to make the sound by the
show of strength. It was easy to forget the power that lay in his wiry frame,
but never again. He forced her to always remember it, just as he forced her
legs apart with his body, lying in the cradle of her legs in such a way her
knees rested against the bed leaving her exposed and vulnerable to him. She may
have initiated this encounter, but it was clear who was in absolute control
now.
            As
advanced a student as she was, she could have expected this reaction from the
Vulcan. He may have been a half-breed, product of a similar union between human
and the alien race, but it was the latter that seated control of him when
instinct surfaced. And the ravenous behaviour she was witness to was the result
of just that.
            His
body was alight. His flesh between the meetings of his long
thighs hard and throbbing, straining against the confines his bottoms.
It would appear that one emotion had been traded for another, or twisted like
two vines to create something altogether different but no less compelling.
Logic was ripped from him all the same, the suppressed emotions he warred and
struggled with suddenly free and endangering the woman under him.
            Uhura watched with trepidation as he pulled at his
trousers, kicking them off just as swiftly as she did with her boots. His hands
seized her shoulders, fingers holding on for what seemed like dear life as he
pressed kiss after kiss onto her mouth, quickly moving down her trembling body.
            “S-slow…,”
she pleaded. “Slow.” But he would not
comply, could not comply. It was not
within his power anymore. The logic driven part of his mind, now just as
suppressed as his emotions once were, rested on her understanding this. Understanding him as much as she could.
            He
pulled at the underwear at his hips and gave a satisfied noise to feel his
flesh swing freely, tapping lightly at the place instinct whispered to him to
explore. He wanted to bury himself deep inside the wet opening not for the idea
of pleasure but simply for obedience to the voice. For the relief it promised.
And he was not alone.
            Uhura planted her feet flat against the bedding, lifting
her hips to him, grinding her wet heat against his blazing erection,
sandwiching it between her swollen folds and his belly. She wanted him. Inside her, filling her completely. She was burning under
his body, empty and longing for him—something even his Vulcan mind could have
understood as he slid his arms under her. Holding on as he eased into position.
            She
stilled to feel the thick tip of him part her lips and then screamed to feel
him thrust hard. Pushing so deeply inside her body his hips ground flush
against hers. He pulsed a moment. Uhura could feel
him inside her, hear the wet sounds of his hips bucking involuntarily just so.
She feared he may have been done already but with a strangled breath he moved,
pumping inside her in short, but weighty thrusts. Making
everything, including the bed that held them tremble.
            As
he pressed inside her tight clutch, the relief, the calm he so longed for
manifested. The sensation was so overwhelming it took him a moment of still and
silence to absorb it, but soon another voice cut through the fog in his mind.
His body betrayed him too, siding with the whims of his instinct and telling
him to drive harder and deeper into the woman. To make it so her pleasured
screams rang in his pointed ears. Fisting the sheets before him, he rose up on his toes and pushed. And then pushed
again, and then a third time, delighted with the sensation. Delighted with the sounds
she made.
            Uhura found herself trapped under the punishing weight of
his body, but she did not care. Raising her head, she focused on Spock’s
perspiring face, to see the Vulcan’s gaze fixed on her. His eyes had softened
some, although he was as hungry and savage with his thrusts as ever, careless
of how roughly he grabbed at.
Grasping her breasts, he rose up off of her, working himself faster inside her.
He was near orgasm while she was miles away but even that was ok.
            Sex,
pon farr,
whatever one called it, was not always about mind blowing release. It was a
good incentive but not always the reason. Intimacy, connection, trust,
assurance and the need thereof would always take precedent. Just like his
release would take precedent now.
            Spock
pitched forward with a rasping moan, his hands circling threateningly around
her throat. And all the tension in the muscles under her sweaty palms eased. He
moaned her name against her neck, twisting his mouth against the salty skin
there as he jolted with aftershocks. His head moved back and forth
involuntarily, batting his cheek against hers until she shifted.
            Their
heads touched and he opened his eyes, feeling her hands stroke his face again
and her gaze on him. Only him. His mind shifted like
cubes in a great living puzzle, pressing emotion to the back, drawing logic to
the forefront. But before his omnipresent reason came back to seat him fully,
he had to show her what she had done for him.
            She
twisted her head away, but the left of her face was just as good as the right.
He pressed his fingertips into position but would not start without her
permission. Spock as much as he could, begged the woman to allow it, uttering a
single word, “Please.”
            For a moment it seemed as if she would push him away but slowly her head turned to front. Uhura faced him, staring into his black eyes, pushing back the dark curls that clung to his sweaty forehead, before nodding once.
            Spock
pressed harder into her skin and immediately her eyes shut, every muscle in her
body contracting as the sudden rush of energy flowed over her. The sensation
coursed through her body, the living electricity that was uniquely his own. A
dynamic twisting rope of passion, elation, relief, desire, anger, pain—too many
things to name or even quantify—that whipped and lashed about her insides like
some great serpent. It seized her chest, coiling around her sides, making it
nearly impossible to breathe let alone speak
as she was so overwhelmed. But as her mind spun wildly in the frenzy and she
struggled to grasp which end was up, to understand even something as simple as
where her feet were in relation to her hands—one thing did not escape her.
            Spock
released her and studied the trembling body in his arms with a raised brow. She
eased in the sheets, tears running wild paths from the corner of her almond-shaped eyes to the pillows. He pressed the
softest of kisses against her brow before easing onto his side. He was
pleasantly surprised to feel her grip his hand, lacing their fingers tightly as
she brought it between her perfectly shaped breasts.
            “I
understand,” she said quietly, turning on her side, away from him.
            Spock
looked at their joined hands and covered them with his
right. “I had hoped you would,” he replied. “You always seem to, Nyota.”
            He
went where he was pulled, toward her, his chest against her back. Circling his
arms around her, he held her in silence until they both drifted into rest.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please rate and comment! [Edit 20 May 2009] Also, if you like the pairing visit here for more stories by various authors: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/spockNuhura/.
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Still Waters Run Deep