Just because I don't fully support the relationship between Spock and Nyota in the 2009 movie doesn't mean I don't find it hot as hell. Nor does it mean I can't apply my own personal quirks to it :D. I know you're all saying "but, but, doesn't Sano support the Spock/Kirk relationship? Or the Bones/Spock/Kirk smorgasbord of hotness?" Well, yes, yes I do. But I'm also a linguistics major, and damnit I can dream too! Haha. Enjoy!


Words are precious things. Words are the ties that bind and the knives that cut.

Uhura had made a life based upon words.

She was a xenolinguist, one who studied the alien languages found by StarFleet and the Federation. She had reams of phonemically transcribed papers on every flat surface of her home on Earth, and more in her quarters on hundreds of PADDs. She had complex papers detailing the Grammars of hundreds of millions of languages, and she was working personally on compiling her own fair share of Grammars to add to that collection.

Her life revolved around querulous phonemes coalescing into truculent morphemes melting together to form beautiful words.

Words as phrases, words as expletives, words as songs; words that deny rules taught by prescriptivist bastards and 'language teachers', words that defined reality and words that destroyed reason.

All races had language, all races had words. Words were what mouths were made for.

Well, words and other things.

As she tumbled onto her bed, born down by the weight of Spock, her mind whirled and misfired as her lips coursed over his smooth, slightly green, hot skin. His lips on the other hand spilled forth a never ending litany of soft curses, supplications, sobriquets, epithets, oaths, and guttural nonsensical noises.

Words of every language, words of secret codes, words that had no meaning but between themselves drip from, spill from, or claw their way from Spock's mouth. With each motion, each touch and each sensation a new word would be breathed against her skin. It made Uhura amused, afterward of course, during nothing enthralled her more than to listen to Spock's mindless speaking, to think about how Spock who was normally so tight lipped and silent would make love to her accompanied by thousands of words.

He would whisper in ancient Sumerian against her neck. He would nibble along her inner thigh between sharp Klingon retroflex plosives. Spock moaned Bajoran prayers against her stomach. Temarian riddles made her squeal as he explored her backside, and Orions themselves seemed stuttering and dull when he growled against her collar bone. Sweet Andorian promises produced shivers as his breath ghosted over her breasts.

Nothing however was better than when she kissed him and breathed the words into his mouth, "Nahp - hif-bi tu throks,"

The look in his eyes, the shudder that went through his body, and the love that followed simple words like those was the sweetness her life needed.

She was a linguist. She loved words.

And she loved Spock.