Author's note: I have seen the movie 4 times now (with many more viewings planned) and my favourite part by far is the Uhura/Spock relationship. Don't get me wrong, the entire movie was awesome and it definitely broke the curse, but I keep going back for more Uhura/Spock. I have had the desire to write about the two of them since I first saw the movie a few days ago. This is my first attempt at Star Trek fanfic, though not fanfic in general. I wanted to get more in depth into their relationship, but when I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) this is what came out. I guess the in depth stuff will have to wait. Please let me know what you think. Oh yes, and I don't own anyone or anything Star Trek related. I have merely borrowed these characters so that I can write about them and maybe, finally, get some damn sleep. Cheers!


Unqualified Desires

Sometimes when she looks at him, she stops breathing. It is hard to remember to do something as trivial as take a breath when perfection stares back at you from the head of the classroom. He is very careful, too. His gaze never lingers on her more or less than it should. When he hands back assignments, his touch never stays a second longer than is prudent. He never calls on her more than he should, though he knows she has the answer to every question he could ever ask. He treats her as he would any other student, so as not to arouse suspicion. So as not to draw attention. To look at them both one would never suspect anything more than a student-teacher relationship. But he captivates her, and she him.

Sometimes, to see if he is paying attention, she slowly and deliberately uncrosses her legs and stretches out her boot clad feet. Then, just as slowly and deliberately she crosses them back again, making certain that her skirt suffers a loss of a few inches in the process. To his credit, he never falters in his words, never pauses or loses his train of thought. That would give him away. It is only with their next physical contact, the handing back of a test or assignment, that his touch lets her know he has seen. On those rare occasions his touch does linger a second or two longer than is necessary, but on those rare occasions no one is paying any attention. She does not do it to be cruel, or to toy with him. She does it because she knows he loves it in his own way. It is hard to toy with a man like him, anyway. In fact, he is only half a man. It is a challenge to come up with ways to get his attention, even though she knows she does not need to try. He is so different than what she is used to and that thrills her to her very core. She can only imagine how much it thrills him.

The world would be against them, if only they knew. "It's not right, it's unnatural." That's what they would say. Both their worlds would not understand, though this wouldn't be the first time something like this happened. What can he know of passion, and love, and lust? How can she be with someone who substitutes emotion for logic? She hears what the other students say about him, the names they call him. Sometimes she suspects he hears it, too. But he is better than that, and better than all of them. He is perfection, the whole package. Who needs emotions when you have a brain like his? An hour in his company, academic or otherwise, slakes her thirst for knowledge more than anything else ever could. They do not need to understand, she realizes. They can all just go to hell.

Classes drag on, as they always do when the two have made plans for afterward. She allows herself one long, last look in his direction as she leaves his class. Their eyes lock and in the depths of his she sees her reason for being. For existing. He rewards her with his version of a smile, the one where the corners of his mouth twitch upwards almost imperceptibly. She is flattered because she knows that smile is reserved only for her. It is gone almost as soon as it appears and no one is the wiser. That smile carries her through lunch and the rest of her classes; an agonizing five hours made that much more bearable. Sometimes she passes him in the hall, but they are very careful not to take notice of one another, except where appropriate. They have been doing this for months and they have become very good at maintaining the facade.

At last it is the end of the day. She manages to persuade her roommate to screw the Cadet of the Week in his own dorm this time and is glad for the reprieve. The sun is just about to set and the bit of ocean that is visible from her large window is set aflame. She hears her door open and, despite this being an ongoing thing, finds herself unable to still the quickness of her heart. She does not turn around, she does not have to. He will come to her as he always does. Strong hands are suddenly around her waist, and a muscled torso is at her back. She melts into his embrace as his lips leave a fiery trail from just under her ear to her clavicle. She reaches up and behind her and caresses the back of his neck as he continues his unholy assault on her neck. Her fingers dance through his hair until she reaches his ear. Slowly she traces the outline of it until she finds her favourite part: the point. She feels a small tremor move through him and her own body shudders in response. His hands are suddenly at her neck and she hears the tear of fabric. She smiles. That is the fourth shirt he has destroyed this month. His hands grip her upper arms firmly and he spins her around to face him. As he lowers his lips to hers a small sigh escapes them. Her name. Her knees almost give out in response.

What can a Vulcan know of passion, and love, and lust?

A hell of a lot more than most.


Please read and review. I can take constructive criticism gracefully. I can take a thumbs up very gracefully. *winks*