I am just my muse's puppet and my muse is a huge fan of Spock/Uhura smut…

As before, all characters belong to Rodenberry and Paramount and there are sexual situations ahead - if you no like-y, you no read-y.

All of the Vulcan words come from the Vulcan Language Dictionary Online (VLD). I also did a lot of research on the (Star Trek) Memory Alpha Wiki, which may be the coolest website I've ever visited.

Thanks to miss steph, who, as always (except for when she's in Minnesota), served as my beta. I MISSED YOU!

Did you know the Vulcan word for appetite is yeht-avon? Well, now you do.

Savor and enjoy….

~*~Appetite by outtabreath~*~

Part One of Four: Breakfast

Gaila snored.

She didn't snore loudly, she snored delicately and lightly. Many of her numerous lovers described it as sexy and cute; one particularly besotted cadet had even written a poem about her snores.

Uhura, however, was not one of her smitten lovers, she was her roommate and it had taken her close to a year to learn how to sleep through the diminutive snores and snuffles.

Damn exceptional aural sensitivity.

But now that she was used to it she found it oddly soothing. When she heard it.

Which, currently, she did not.

Which meant one of two things: Either Gaila wasn't in their room or she wasn't in their room.

She opened her eyes.

Yep. Option two.

Good morning, Nyota! Do you remember what happened last night?

Her brain, as helpful as ever, supplied her with images.

Pale skin flushed green, melting brown eyes, hands tight with tension touching her body. Incredible pleasure.

Spock. Real Spock, not fantasy Spock.

She stared at the ceiling for several moments and tried to remember how to breathe. She had seduced the Commander.

And he had liked it.

He had said she was talented and accomplished and told her she was empirically pretty and he had touched her and she had touched him and there had been kisses and climaxes and he had called her beloved and she got to wake up in his bed.

Best night ever.

She wriggled her toes and stretched her arms over her head, relishing the way the blood heated up her veins and the way her muscles twinged; she had never felt this good the morning after.

She flopped her hand toward the middle of the bed and her fingers found more bed, not a very warm body.

Uh oh.

She sat up and perused the Spartan room. She was alone with the bed and the small dresser. Everything was very clean and the room was bare – except for the small, neatly folded pile on top of the dresser.

Her clothes.

She got out of bed and looked at the neat pile. It was folded and stacked with great precision. She glanced back at the bed. It was a disaster: The sheets were tangled and rumpled, the blanket hanging on to the mattress by a corner, the pillows were in disarray.

She wondered how long it would take him to strip the bed after she left. How long before he erased all evidence of messiness. How long before his bed was just as orderly and precise as everything else in his life. How long before he would excise last night from his mind.

Her stomach hurt and her heart was thudding painfully. She clutched her midriff.

I can do this. I can get through this.

She closed her eyes and took several deep calming breaths, then pulled on her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair. She had to be calm and presentable when – if – she saw him.

Don't you want him to still be here, Nyota?

I'm not sure, Brain. I got what I wanted, but I don't know if I'll get to keep it.

Her normal brash and confident self seemed to have fled the room while she slept.

Time to get this over with.

She walked out of the room and headed towards the rest of his living space.

He was sitting on his short couch, dressed in casual clothes, a PADD in his slim fingers; the moment her foot crossed the threshold from hall to living room, he set it down and stood gracefully.

Gods, he can make standing up sexy.

"Good morning, Nyota," he said, inclining his head towards her.

Well, at least he didn't call me Cadet Uhura.


Behold my exceptional linguistic talent.

"I have some fruit. Are you in need of nourishment?"

"Didn't you eat already?" she questioned.

His eyebrows did that sexy drawing together thing and he replied, "No. I wished to wait until you awakened."

"Fruit sounds amazing."

Fruit sounds amazing? Mornin'? Really, Nyota, keep it together.

He stepped towards the small table she had just noticed. There were two chairs, two bowls, two forks, and two napkins.


"I can also make tea."

"Tea sounds divine."

Shut up, Nyota, stop talking right now.

His lips quirked up momentarily as he motioned with his hand for her to sit; she complied and stared at the table, trying to remain calm.

He's being his usual polite self. He's feeding me so he can give me a cool brush-off after a lengthy discussion of The Standards and Practices of Starfleet and its Academy.

He placed a cup in front of her and she jumped. "I apologize, Nyota. I did not mean to startle you."

"You didn't startle me, I'm fine. Really and truly." She took a sip of tea.

Hot tea. Hot tea. Hot tea. Hot tea.

He sat down across from her and began to eat. Just like that. He did not steeple his fingers in front of his chin and stare her directly in the eyes while he ripped her heart to little pink pieces. He did not pull out a PADD with all the rules and regulations that governed their lives and enumerate just which ones they had violated. He ate. Like it was a normal thing for them to do, like they had breakfast together every morning after spending every night having hot and sweaty sex.

"Would you prefer something else?" he asked, waking her from her stupor; he was looking at her, eyebrows pulled together, and she realized that she was still sitting frozen, one hand in her lap, the other clutching the handle of the teacup like a lifeline.

"No, fruit is…."

What, Nyota, amazing, divine?


She picked up her fork and speared a piece of fruit and put it in her mouth. Numbly, she realized that was eating something that she knew was a strawberry: It was red like a strawberry, it smelled like a strawberry and it was shaped like a strawberry.

It tasted like sawdust.

"I completed Pride and Prejudice and wish to discuss it with you," he said as he sipped his tea.

"Pride and Prejudice?" she parroted dumbly.

"Yes. You told me that it is one of your favorite Terran novels. Am I in error?"

"No. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorite Terran novels," she replied numbly.

So he's not going to quote regulations at me, he's going to pretend nothing happened.

She didn't know which was worse.

"I did not think I was in error," he continued, oblivious to the fact that she was having a nervous breakdown on the opposite side of the table. "I had not read it, but I trust your judgment implicitly. I found myself very interested in the characters and their dilemmas. Of course, if either Elizabeth or Darcy had acted more logically and realized their compatibility, they would have been able to negotiate a positive outcome much sooner." He speared a piece of melon and chewed it slowly.

She sat very still, staring at him in abject shock. He was making small talk; she didn't even know that he was aware of the concept, never mind that he was capable of engaging in it.

He's capable of engaging in many things you never thought he was.

Be quiet, Brain.

"After reading the novel, I acquainted myself with Jane Austen and with the historical period in which she lived and set her novel; it is my opinion that she portrayed the social mores and customs of the time quite adequately." He continued meeting her stunned gaze, continued eating his breakfast and drinking his tea. "I am interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject. I believe you told me that you have read it several times."

"I've read it seven times," she corrected out of habit more than anything else.

Am I crazy or is he?

"Then you should have a great deal of insight. I am anticipating many discussions of the book. Perhaps you could recommend complementary works so I may read them and we can compare and contrast them with Pride and Prejudice."

And that, for some reason, was all she could take. Maybe it was the tension of what he wasn't saying, maybe it was that he was talking about the future as if there was going to be one, maybe it was just that she could not bear to sit there another second waiting for him to turn back into Commander Spock.

Whatever the reason, the consequence was the same: The floodgates flew open and there was no holding back the deluge.

"Are we really talking about this, about Pride and Prejudice?"

"Did you wish to pursue another line of discussion?"


She ignored the internal input and said, "Damn well right I do. You and I had sex last night and you're just going to sit there and act like nothing happened? Just tell me that it was a mistake and that it can never happen again. Just get it over with!"

He carefully, precisely, laid his fork down next to his bowl, his hands went into his lap. "Do you wish me to say that our activities last night were a mistake?"

"Well, they were."

"I understand if you wish to think that, but I cannot entirely share your opinion of the matter. I will agree that our decision to engage in," his ears went a little greener, but he continued speaking, "the acts in which we engaged was in violation of several Academy regulations.

"However, as you so rationally argued last night, you and I are capable of keeping our personal relationship separate from our professional relationship. You would not, nor would you need to, petition me to alter a grade or recommendation; additionally, I would not execute any such requests. I believe that we can be discreet."

He paused to take a sip of his tea. She saw the small tremor in his hand. "Finally, I enjoyed our activities and would not be averse to repeating them to the extent with which you are comfortable."

Shut your mouth, dear. Gaping is not attractive.

He picked up his fork and began eating again.

What the…did he…am I…how did…what?

Her mind sputtered along for several seconds until her thoughts caught and she was able to speak. "I'll need to take a shower."

He looked up from his fruit - which, now that I think about it, he was focusing on pretty hard – and said, "I do not understand the meaning you are trying to convey."

And, with a rush, her confidence and her brashness returned from wherever the hell it had been hiding for the last twenty minutes and she said, "Today is Sunday. I don't have anywhere I need to be."

I don't have to be crying in my bed, berating myself for making a play for one of my teachers, getting drunk with Gaila, throwing myself into San Francisco Bay because of my stupidity….

'I do not have any commitments today either," he said. She noticed that his hand was trembling again; he placed it back on his lap, away from her gaze.

"I'll need to take a shower before we…," she speared a grape and chewed it for a moment, letting the anticipation build, "repeat our activities."

He flushed green, but his voice was as modulated as ever, "My sanitary facilities are at your full disposal."

Okay, we'll work on his flirting skills.

She shoveled the rest of her fruit into her mouth; he watched her, his teacup in his hand, an expression approaching horror in his eyes.

No time to waste.

She stood, downing the remainder of her lukewarm tea and announced, "I'm done. I'll be out of the shower in ten minutes."

She whirled away from the table and did not see his eyes widen and his hands shake, sloshing tea onto the table.

This is the best shower I have ever taken. This is the best decision I have ever made. This is the best day ever.

She started singing.

You, Nyota Uhura, are completely gone.

Yep. Don't care.

She emerged from the sonic shower and sorted through the neat display of bottles and tubes that sat on the small table next to the sink. She found the mouthwash and swished vigorously.

Fresh breath is imperative.

She brushed her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were glowing and her skin was flushed a dark brown.

She was presentable.

And naked.

She glanced at the pile of clothes at her feet.

Why bother getting dressed? I don't plan on staying that way for very long anyway.

In seven minutes, thirty seconds flat she emerged from his bathroom to find him already sitting on the edge of his bed, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. His eyes got very wide when he saw her state of undress, but otherwise he looked completely calm.

But I know better. You're here two minutes and thirty seconds early, Commander.

She walked over to him, gently pushing at his feet until he slid them apart, she shimmied between his legs and leaned over him so she could kiss him; his head was tipped back and she was able to control the kiss.

His hands moved to her waist and slid up her sides. She shivered and deepened the kiss. His hands tightened on her skin. She moaned into his mouth and began to lean all of her body weight into him. She wanted him horizontal.

He let her push him back onto the bed and forbore as she kept kissing him, as her tongue kept being pushy and bossy with his tongue.

She moved her lips lower, remembering the promise that she had made to herself ten hours earlier – has it really been only ten hours? It seems like days – to lick and caress and adore his perfect neck until she had her fill.

She was sucking and nipping and he was pushing on her shoulders. She ignored him; he pushed harder. She made an irritated sound into his skin and let him push her back.

Perplexed, she looked into his stunned eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

"I wish to explore," he said, his voice quiet, almost shy.

"Explore what?" she asked, not sure what he was saying. After that breakfast he have been referring to anything: The social commentary of Pride and Prejudice, why the Ferengi have 178 words for rain, Bolian marriage practices.

"You," he clarified.



Okay, okay, okay, okay. So very, very, very okay.

And then she was on her back, the air of the room whistling in her ears as he reversed their positions with lightening speed.

He was on outstretched arms above her, looking down at her. "I…" he began, hesitating.

She knew instantly what he couldn't say and what he needed to hear. "Will be fine," she soothed.

He raked his gaze downwards slowly, very slowly. When his eyes returned to meet hers they were heated. "Yes. I believe I will be."

He did not begin by kissing her, which was page one in her playbook. He did not use his lips and mouth on her at all. Rather, he dipped his head towards the line of her jaw and began to rub his cheek against her skin.


She whimpered at the unexpected movement. His voice floated to her. "I believe that is a satisfied sound."


Very, very, very, very, very.

"I am pleased," he said, the heat of his breath flooding her skin, adding another layer of sensation.

Me, too.

Then he brushed his face across her breasts, her fingers found his hair, pulled him closer. He repeated the action. She pushed him closer to her needy skin.

He gently kissed the tip of the left nipple. Her right, instantly, felt very left out and decided to stand up and try to capture his notice. He moved his face away from her and gazed at the impudent pieces of flesh. He brushed his fingertips across them, one after another.

Her breath whooshed out of her.

"Is that a pleasurable sensation?"

She barked out a laugh before she could bite it back.

"This is a humorous sensation?" he asked. His eyebrows were starting to draw together.

"No," she said quickly. "It's just that 'pleasurable sensation'" doesn't even come close to describing how good that feels."

"I do not understand why you laughed then. Please explain."

"Listen, I'll be happy to talk to you about Human sexual responses later. Much, much later." She motioned down towards her chest. "Please proceed, Commander."

He raised a single eyebrow.

She beamed. That eyebrow had been the first thing she had liked, really liked, about him, and it was the fourth sexiest thing about him.

"As you wish, Cadet."

Was that playfulness?

He returned his hands to her chest, brushing paths of electricity across the sensitive undersides of her breasts, the valley between, the sides – he discovered all of her erogenous zones; even ones she had never been aware of.

Then he bent his dark head and took a nipple into his mouth. She groaned and felt every single bone in her body turn instantly into jelly. He worried at the responsive piece of flesh with teeth and tongue.

He released that nipple, moved to its twin. After an indeterminate amount of time during which she may or may not have panted, moaned and pulled on his hair, he released her, caressing his slim fingers over her skin.

"Very pleasurable," she ground out before he asked.

"Yes, it would appear so," he said, sliding his fingers across the taut skin of her abdomen. She twitched in response. He repeated the action, adding a swirling motion. She gasped. He moved his tongue over her skin. She whimpered.

He continued with his explorations, leaving flickers of heat in the wake of his fingers, blazed paths with his tongue. His amazing focus was almost overwhelming when it was directed solely on creating sensation.

And I'm really okay with that.

He dipped lower and she held her breath. She looked down at him, he was staring at her. With a start, she realized that he was cataloging her responses to every lick, every stroke. He was learning her.

She almost climaxed at the realization.


Instead, she watched as he slid down between her legs, looked at the area between her legs that was drenched and insensible with need.

He looked for a long time.

"Let me guess," she panted out. "You are fascinated."

He looked at her, "That is one word that can adequately describe my current state," he said. Then he dropped his eyes again, "You placed my fingers here," he said, touching her clitoris.

Yes I did, because I am very, very smart.

Then he replaced his fingers with his mouth.

Her hips levitated – her whole body levitated – off the bed.


She writhed under his attentions for several long and intense minutes before she climaxed in starbursts, supernovas, ion storms…

"Nyota, did I render you unconscious?" he was asking, pulling her back from where she was floating by stars and planets.

"I think maybe you did," she said, amazed that she was able to speak.

"Then my record is better than yours."

She opened one eye – when did I close them? – and looked at him. His head was on the pillow beside hers and he looked the same, a little flushed, perhaps, but just as implacable and calm as ever. But his eyes…

His eyes are sparkling a little.

If she hadn't already, she would've loved him in that instant.

"Your record?" she asked as feeling returned to her legs and arms in a rush of sparking energy.

The corners of his lips – his perfectly formed, eminently kissable lips – quirked up. "My record. You were only able to render me incapable of speech; I was able to render you unconscious."

Did he just challenge me?

"Your record is about to be broken," she promised, willing muscle to move. Her hands collided with fabric.

He was still fully dressed.

He had explored her nude body, had learned her, had pushed her to climax and he was still dressed; it was all very sexy and erotic, but she was ready to have his skin to play with. "Stand up, please."

He took a deep breath and rolled off of the bed; gaining his feet, he hovered at the edge. She liked to believe that he was waiting for her next order. She rolled over and kneeled on the edge of the mattress. His head was a little higher than hers in this position, which suited her just fine. She wasn't interested in anything above his shoulders.

She slid her palms under the deep blue shirt he was wearing, pushing it up and over his head. He pulled it off and dropped it to the floor beside him.

"I know you want to fold that shirt, Commander. I know it's driving you crazy, just lying there in a little blue pile," she said conversationally as she ran her palms up from the waistband of his pants – the very same pants that were tenting towards her – and across the firm muscles of his abdomen, brushing his nipples, skimming the rough scattering of hair. "But very soon you aren't going to have the brain power to even think of that shirt." She ran her finger along the line of hair that extended downwards. "Just like you aren't going to be capable of thinking about how badly your pants are going to be wrinkled." She reached the waistband and undid it, pushing downwards firmly, stripping him of outer and under pants in one fluid motion.

He stepped free of the garments and she could get a good look at him – in the full sunlight that streamed in the windows he was even more astonishing than he had been in the quarter light of night. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't firm and toned.

But her gaze was focused on the firmest, most toned part of him. She was used to the color now – wondered how she could've ever expected a penis that was brown or pink, how she could've ever thought brown or pink were good colors for penises when, quite obviously, pale green was the perfect penis color.

Oh yeah, his record is about to be smashed.

She bent forward at the waist so she could take him in her mouth. He could feel his fingers biting into her shoulders as she manipulated his erection, making it bigger, harder, needier.

He was gasping above her, he was throbbing between her hands, in her mouth.

Oh no you don't.

She released him and moved backwards, sprawling onto her back – legs and arms waiting for him. She caught his eyes – his stunned, aroused eyes – and smiled. "I think you should come here."

Gods he can move fast.

He was hovering above her on outstretched arms, hesitating.


"I got it," she whispered, reaching down so she could guide him in, so they could join their bodies.

He sunk into her; her body – her heart – expanded to allow all of him in.

He began to move, his movements jerky initially, but smoothing into an astonishing and determined rhythm as he learned this new skill, as her responses emboldened him.

He continued to move on her, in her, he was whispering Vulcan words into her skin over and over, "Ashayam, vaksurik, bolayatik."

Beloved, beautiful, necessary.

Am I necessary to him?

And that was the thought that pushed her into completion.


From a great distance she heard him call her name, felt him pulse within her, felt the rush of pressure and warmth. He collapsed onto her and she brushed her fingers along his arms. He made a sound that came dangerously close to sounding like a sigh of contentment.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him so they ended up with legs intertwined and various body parts pressed against each other in very pleasant ways. They stared at one another for a long time, bodies heaving as their systems – overloaded with stimuli – began the long process of returning to normal.

She kissed his nose.

"I find that I am tired," he announced; he did not look like it was a comfortable feeling.

"Sex often makes people drowsy," she pointed out.

"It does not make Vulcans drowsy."

"And you know this from vast experience?"

"I do not have vast experience in these matters," he replied.

"But you do have experience. You said you did last night." She began running her fingers through his hair.

I remember that very, very clearly. You said it right before you told me that nothing was like you and I together.

Sort of.

"There was," he paused and shifted in her arms, "an experience. I will tell you of it in the future."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I do not doubt that you will."

She played idly with the point of his hair, her finger brushing the edge of his ear. His breath caught. "Sorry," she apologized, moving her fingers back to safer territory.

"I do not wish for you to stop."

"Then I won't," she smiled and began to follow the line of his ear with a single fingertip. "You were up before me this morning. How long did you sleep last night?"

He took a deep breath and it seemed as if he was carefully weighing his reply. After a long moment, far longer than she was used to when waiting for a response from him, he replied, "I was not in need of rest."

"And now you are."

"Yes, it would appear so. The adenosine levels in my brain are consistent with the need for a period of sleep."

"Then you should take a nap," she said, looking forward to watching him while he slept. His arms tightened around her. "Just close your eyes," she soothed, still playing with his hair and ear.

His lips thinned – it was an expression she recognized; he made it whenever someone asked a particularly stupid question in class; he made it when he wanted to say something that his manners, his professionalism, and his Vulcan upbringing prevented him from saying.

Why does he look like that? What'd I say?

Then she realized. It was not what she had said, but what he could not. "I'll be here when you wake up," she promised.

A full-scale Klingon attack couldn't get me out of this bed.

"That would be most satisfactory," he said, his eyes slipping closed. She pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"I'm counting this as my rendering you unconscious," she whispered.

His lips did that quirking thing again – I can't even keep count anymore – and he nuzzled his face into her neck.

He really has no idea how good he is at this.

Best not to tell him: We don't want him sharing his talents with anyone else.

No, Brain, we most certainly do not.