Summary: Spock and Nyota attend a belated Valentine's Day masquerade with Nyota getting more than she bargained for.
She wiped at the white greasepaint on his cheek with her hand and whispered, 'Baby, please. Take this make-up off, it's…scary.' Nyota kissed him anyway, softly on the mouth.
Their foreheads touching, he whispered back hoarsely, 'I'm sorry, ashayam. I'm sooo sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Will you forgive me?' His breath was hot in her ear and his fingers trailed down her back.
She pushed him to arms length, hoping to gain control of a degenerating situation. Stilling the wandering hands on her fur-clad butt that played with the tail of her costume, she looked around the recreation room that had been transformed into a masquerade party for a belated Valentine's Day.
Satisfied that the previous attention Spock garnered from partygoers for his jaw-dropping costume had waned, she tugged him by his hand and he followed reluctantly.
'You do not wish to stay? But I will be disqualified from the costume competition by leaving before the party ends! You will be disqualified–' He raised his voice over the music and noise from the crowd.
Ignoring him, Nyota cut an efficient path to the door, her eyes darting around, hoping she could get Spock out of the party before he caused an even bigger scene. His behavior had been odd for the past few days. Nothing really major though, and she couldn't figure out if it stemmed from their last planet-side mission. Whatever it was, the quickest way to find out was to get him into Sickbay now.
Actually getting him there was much harder than she'd anticipated. She'd pleaded, cajoled and finally shouted at him to get his Vulcan ass to Sickbay or she'd carry him there herself.
He laughed heartily at her threat for several seconds and as his laughter faded, she stared him down, not entirely certain of her strategy.
Finally, she turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor, heading for the nearest intercom. Her pace quickened when she drew closer to her goal. Then, there was a soft thud on the floor behind her. He had dropped the black cane he'd carried as part of his costume.
When he chased her down the empty corridor and right into the turbolift, she knew that she'd completely miscalculated. Her arms and legs splayed against the wall, her chest heaved as she caught her breath. She stared up at him warily. Two pinpricks of light gleamed down at her amidst the blackened twin holes in his head.
Eventually, he moved into the turbolift, the computer's entreaties to clear the doors finally silenced.
'Sickbay!' Back braced against the wall, she waited for him to respond.
The red marks on his lips and cheeks only accentuated his smirk that quickly stretched into a predatory grin. The combination of neat, green hair, and the smear on his whitened face from her hand earlier, only heightened the shocking contrast between the crazy clown make-up and his impeccable costume. He wore a black pinstriped suit, with a deep purple dress shirt, emerald green tie and a matching handkerchief that was stuffed haphazardly into his breast pocket.
'You would've won first prize, Nyotaaaaa,' he sing-songed, cocking his head at her.
Her nipples hardened when his lustful gaze raked over her body and she cursed her own costume choice. The sheer body suit clung like a second skin, the faux russet fur covered her legs and spread upwards over her torso, barely covering her nipples. Charlene had convinced her to go as a cute faun, complete with little tail and nubby horns.
Nyota bit her lower lip, 'Let's just go back to our quarters.' She smiled and tried to relax. Her control was slipping, his wild desire mingling with her own.
He grabbed her by the arm, dragging her in for a breath-stealing kiss, 'Let's stay right here,' he purred. Then his fist shot out, smashing the turbolift panel.
When she gasped, he kissed her again, hot tongue surging into her surprised mouth, before he bit her shoulder, hard.
She shouted in surprise, then wrapped her legs around his waist when he picked her up and pinned her to the wall. Her expensive costume ripped easily under his hand and she groaned when the tip of his pulsing lok penetrated her slick, wet heat inch by thick inch. 'Fuck!'
He moaned as he sheathed himself fully within her, then tore at his jacket and shirt, partially successful. She stopped his hands, putting them on her breasts and kissed him. Growling, he squeezed them, rubbing his palms over her nipples before gripping the neckline and ripping downward, exposing her. Then he set a relentless rhythm, the turbolift shaking from the force of his thrusts.
'Mine. Say it!' He bit her again on her other shoulder. His hands gripped her ass tightly, lifting and slamming her down onto his cock so rapidly, she was breathless.
She cried out and clung to his shoulders, hanging on for dear life, 'Oh fuck!' As she got close, her moans and curses ran together before she finally swore so loudly, she figured that at least they'd know why the turbolift had stopped working.
Teeth gritted, he flung his head back, a string of guttural Vulcan curses escaping, before slamming into her one last time. Nyota gasped when he tightly hugged her as pleasure ricocheted between them, his body spasming in the final throes of his orgasm.
Wetness oozed out from her. Nyota closed her eyes, letting her head hit the turbolift wall. He was burning under her fingers, his breath heavy on her neck. She held his face in her hands, noting the glassy-eyed stare that was turning contrite.
'I'm sorry, Nyota. Have I hurt you?' He kissed her cheek.
Mentally, she calculated. His Time was early. Very early. She sighed. He was still alarmingly very erect within her. She moaned when he began thrusting again.