Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and favorited this story and Discoveries. I am currently percolating a very different kind of Spock/Uhura story. Please stay tuned.

And thanks again to miss steph, who, despite my subjecting her to three years of Lorelai Gilmore, its/it's issues, often red-level smut and green penises still wants to be my Beta and friend; I don't deserve her, but I'm happy she hasn't figured that out yet.

Disclaimer and warnings in Part One.

Part Four of Four: Dessert

At precisely 2000 hours on Saturday, his door chime rang.

"Come," he responded, knowing who was in the hall awaiting admittance.

He had been waiting for her since 1501 hours as she completed assignments, practiced with her chorale group and ate dinner with her roommate; been waiting for her for a week as they conducted their separate lives.

She referred to it as maintaining deniability.

He referred to it as discretion.

But whatever the name they gave it, it was torture; he had not been able to touch her for seven days.

The fire within him grew more uncontrollable the longer he was apart from her.

And burns hotter when I am with her.

Nyota entered carrying several bags and wearing a long coat, buttoned and belted tightly across her slim frame.

He had last seen her as they parted company after they had concluded a study group at 1500 hours. The weather had been sunny and the temperature 31 degrees Celsius; the overnight temperature was forecasted to be no lower than 26; by no means hot for a Vulcan, or even a woman from East Africa, but warm enough that a coat was superfluous.

"Good evening, Nyota. Did the temperature drop precipitously?" he asked. He stood very straight and still. No matter the depth of the heat, the strength of the fire, he would not, could not, initiate physical contact.

It was not the Vulcan way.

"Nope," she said, stopping to kiss his cheek before proceeding to the table. "And good evening, Spock."

"Then why are you wearing a coat?"

"Because I couldn't walk into your quarters dressed like this," she replied as she took the coat off and draped it over a chair.

Red compliments her coloring very well.

He had read of such things in the research she had assigned him. Lingerie. From the French words linge, "washables" and lin, "washable linen." Women's underwear designed to be visually appealing or erotic, and to heighten attraction and arousal.

Lingerie is much more effective in practice than it is in theory.

"Do you approve of my attire?" she asked as she began to unpack one of her bags.

"It is not regulation Starfleet but I can not find any other fault with it," he replied, moving his eyes over the sheer garment. His fingers moved spasmodically, wishing to push at the thin straps, wishing to touch her breasts, wishing to slide his fingers under it so he could explore the area between her legs.

"I'm pleased that you are pleased," she said briskly, oblivious to the depth of his response to her attire.

"What are you doing?" he asked, attempting to gain control as she assembled a construct he did not recognize.

"We're celebrating my commission; we haven't had a chance to yet." She gave him a smile over her shoulder.

Yes, the fire is much hotter when she is with me.

"Now, you have to call me Lieutenant Uhura."

"Ihave been calling you Lieutenant Uhura for three days."

"Not here," she clarified, taking out a ceramic pot and dumping the contents of a small container into it; she put the pot on a metal device. She placed several other containers on the table and then placed a candle under the pot and lit it.

"There," she announced, returning to him. "The chocolate will take a few minutes to melt which gives me time to give you a proper greeting."

He had many questions for her but they could wait; he desired her proper greeting.

She walked to him and twisted her slim arms around his neck, raised her mouth to his, kissing him gently. She began to end the kiss and the burning intensified.

I wish for the kiss to continue.

He pulled her hair from its confinement and fixed his hands deep in the soft strands, pulling her head closer so he could slant his mouth across hers. She whimpered and dug her nails into the back of his neck; she did not struggle, did not try to pull away. His hands moved from her hair to clutch at her buttocks so he could pull her off her feet and against his chest. She was completely in his control.

The fire is uncontrollable, immense, unquenchable.

His body was hardening, determined to find the release it had been lacking for seven days. She wished for him to take her, her physical reactions to his kiss were consistent with a desire for intercourse. She would not protest if he carried her to the bedroom and buried himself into her body.

You must control yourself.

He was not a rutting animal; despite the presence of the ceaseless burning, he was not experiencing Pon Farr, would not experience it for several years yet. He was a Vulcan.

He could control himself.

Logic and sanity washed over him in a cold wave.

He pulled away from her and quickly set her back on her feet; he stepped back from her.

"I missed you, too," she said, blinking and shaking her head.

"Nyota, I apologize for my actions."

She sighed and shook her head, grabbing his hand before he could move it away. "You do not need to apologize. You will not berate yourself. You will enjoy the dessert I have brought with me. Got it?"

"I will endeavor to do so."

"Do or do not, there is no try," she said, returning to the table and stirring the contents of the pot, "Yoda."

"I do not recognize that…" he paused, his eyebrows knitting together; his being unable to identify the source of a quotation was an unusual occurrence, "Philosopher?"

"Not a philosopher, a Jedi master from Star Wars; or, more precisely, Star Wars Episode something: The Empire Strikes Back. Once you get past your fixation on Nineteenth Century Terran literature maybe you'll let me introduce you to Twentieth Century Terran films."

"I would welcome such exposure."

She smiled at him and patted the chair she was standing beside. "I do believe in exposure."

He remained very still, hands firmly behind his back.

I burn for her.

She sighed, "I'm fine, you'll be fine, now come over here and celebrate the fact that I'm a Lieutenant."

He conceded defeat and walked to her. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and looked up at him. "Just remember that I've lost control with you more than once; you deserved a turn." She started to unbutton his shirt. "Besides, seven days is a long time to be apart."

"I am three times stronger than you are, Nyota; I am aware of that and yet I used my superior strength to overwhelm you."

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and began to work on his pants. "You did not overwhelm me. Well, you did, but in a very positive way." She pushed him down onto the chair and knelt in front of him.

He found that breathing became a challenge.

She looked up at him through lowered lashes. The combination of her gaze and the sight of her breasts barely contained by the filmy red material drove all thoughts of self-recrimination from his mind.

She stripped his pants from his body and threw them in a pile on the floor. He did not even notice; he was too busy staring at her mouth.

"That's better," she said, rising elegantly to her feet and settling herself carefully onto his lap.

He felt his blood pool between his legs and he thought momentarily of repositioning her so she was impaled on him, of making her move for him.

I can control myself.

She angled her body so she had access both to the table and to his mouth. "So this is fondue," she began, taking out a long metal instrument that resembled an oddly-shaped fork. "I know that Vulcan taboos prohibit you from touching food with your bare hands, so I'll feed you." She paused and stared at him balefully; "If that's alright with you."

"I do not have any objections to that plan."

"Lieutenant," she prompted.


She picked up a strawberry and dipped it into the pot, then carefully moved it to his mouth. "I used dark chocolate, I figured milk would be too sweet for you."

He opened his mouth and allowed her to place the fruit into his mouth. He was not expecting the explosion of flavor, how good the confection would be. He chewed slowly, drawing out the experience; "That was most unexpected."

"I'll interpret that to mean that you enjoyed it," she said before eating her own strawberry. "What do you want to try next? Pineapple or orange?"

"Pineapple," he replied without hesitation.

She picked up the fork and speared a piece of pineapple and dipped it into the pot. He watched her movements with fascination and anticipation. She removed the fruit and let the excess chocolate drip down as she cautioned him, "Don't bite the fork. It'll be hot and you'll hurt yourself."

"Nyota, I am not a child. I will not bite the fork."

"Remember, I'm a certified babysitter," she said as she fed him. "I can't just forget the years and years of training."

"How long does one train to be a certified babysitter?" he asked as he savored the pineapple.

She paused. "Did you just tease me?"

"No, I asked you a question."

"It was kind of a smartass question."


"I do not know what you mean."

"Sure you don't," she said, feeding him an orange slice.

This is my favorite.

"Marshmallow?" she asked seconds before placing it into his mouth.

He swallowed with great difficulty and said, "That is very sweet."

"Too sweet."

"More sweet than I find palatable."

"You could just say that you don't like it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Or you couldn't. No more marshmallows. Got it." She dipped an orange slice in the chocolate, then slid it into her mouth and then dipped one for him. As she moved the fruit from the pot to his mouth a drop of chocolate fell to the top of her breast.

They both stared at it for a moment.

"I'll get that," she said, moving her fingers to her skin.

He stopped her movement. "Please allow me, Lieutenant."

She inclined her head, "As you wish, Commander."


He leaned forward and carefully licked the chocolate. He was very thorough, waste is illogical, and she was writhing against him when he finished.

"Spock," she whispered before she kissed him. He could taste chocolate and fruit and Nyota; it was a potent mixture.

When the kiss ended, he was erect and she was aroused; more erect and more aroused.

Her hand was trembling as she dipped a strawberry and put it into his mouth; it was trembling as she dipped and ate an orange; it was trembling as she put her hand on his jaw and guided her lips back to his.

After several pleasurable moments in which he was able to savor the taste of her mouth, she ended the kiss, turned and blew out the candle, stood up, straddled him and sunk down, taking him within her tightness.

She is very efficient.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Very much so."

She ran her tongue along the line of his jaw and pulsed her muscles around his penis; he held himself rigid.

I will allow her to dictate this, allow her to lead.

"Spock, you can move."


"Don't worry," she whispered, "I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you contained. I promise."


"I promise," she whispered again, kissing him deeply.

We feel emotions, more deeply and strongly than Humans; logic and reason offer us a serenity that emotionalism cannot.

Nyota offered serenity; she offered containment and constancy.

His hips surged up towards her as she bore down on him; she smiled blissfully; her hands rested on the sides of his face, her fingertips touching the points of his ears. She slid herself up and down, moving on him, riding him.

Just because one does not express an emotion does not mean that one does not experience an emotion.

She shattered his physical control; she shattered his emotional control.

His defenses fell and he was overwhelmed by the emotions that he held so carefully in abeyance; his hands tightened on her body and he began to whisper into her skin.








She was calling his name, calling words he did not recognize but which were familiar all the same.

His hands found her hips, slowed her frantic movements. He desired…he wanted…this to last. She panted, she cried out and he responded in kind.

I am a child of two worlds; belonging to neither.

Her taste, her smell, her touch.

With her I belong somewhere.



With a rush of pleasure, he emptied himself into her. He felt her nails bite into his shoulder as she spasmed around him.

Her forehead rested against his. He could taste salt on his lips.

"Nyota, are you crying?"

She leaned back and he gently wiped away the moisture.

"Humans cry when they're happy, you know."

"I know that; it is illogical."

She shook her head and kissed him. "It makes sense to us."

"It is a very difficult concept to comprehend."

She stared deep into his eyes as if searching for something; her face hardened and she eased herself off of his lap; he wished to pull her back to him.

He did not.

She had been able to breach his defenses and he needed to time to reinforce them; he began to retreat to within himself.

She stood in front of him, watching his face for a moment; he believed he saw fresh moisture in her eyes, but she turned away before he could be certain. "I'm going to put the fruit away," she said, gathering up the containers and returning them to the bag. She picked up the fondue pot and the bag.

He stood, but he was not as steady as usual; his equilibrium appeared to be compromised. "May I assist you?"

"I've got it," she said, bustling away.

He listened to the sounds of her storing the food away, her soft footsteps in his kitchen. He picked up the clothing she had dropped to the floor and folded it, stacking it on the edge of the table. The simple, familiar action had always been able to help him find his center; this time, he did not find the relief he had expected.

Order, reason, logic.

He was still shaken, still undefended.

"Spock, can I ask you a question?"

He looked up; she was standing very still by the wall that divided the kitchen from the sitting area. The light from the kitchen created a nimbus around her.

Another Human word flowed into his consciousness: Breathtaking.

"If it is why I persist in folding our clothing even after you have told me that you find my actions irritating…."

"I know the answer to that one, Spock: Reason, logic, order, wrinkles, blah, blah, blah. No, I have another question." She tilted her head and waited for his response.

"You may ask me a question at any time, Nyota."

She took a deep breath.

"Am I necessary to you?" she asked.

"I do not understand the question," he said.

I do not know if you understand the question.

"You say that to me sometimes, in Vulcan. You call me beautiful and beloved and necessary."

He blinked; struggled to find his center.

Vulcans do not lie.

But they do not express emotion either.

Vulcans do not lie.

I do not lie.

"You are beautiful," his voice was even and calm.

"And the other words?" she persisted.

Gravity, magnetism, belonging.

The universe had shifted; she was his center.


"They are also accurate," he conceded.

She walked towards him, closing the distance between them in four short steps. She took his hand and laid it on her chest; he could feel the beating of her heart. Her cool hand dropped down to rest over his heart.


"I understand," she said, staring into his eyes.

So do I.