Hello everyone! I'm too addicted to this pairing, I just had to write something else. Don't expect any real plot this time - it's going to be gratuitous fluff, romance, a hint of angst and smut smut smut and I'm just making it up as I go. Chapter 2 coming tomorrow! XXX PQ

Spock was beginning to appreciate the Human aphorism that romantic love was akin to madness. He was well aware that if he were on Vulcan his behaviour and ever decreasing emotional control would be considered symptomatic of mental illness. He was however in current circumstances willing to concede that his Human genes placed him at a disadvantage in this respect and considered that it was perhaps the most pleasing disadvantage he had ever suffered.

"They're so lifelike," Nyota uttered wistfully, staring transfixed at the portraits on the gallery wall. Spock however was rather more interested in staring at her. Her eyes were smudged with kohl in a most alluring fashion, her hair curling slightly around her face and her attire was likewise utterly pleasing.

"Beautiful," she sighed and the sound went right through him. When he didn't reply she turned to him and smiled, looking away bashfully as the merest hint of blush crept into her cheeks. Spock blinked sleepily and said nothing, merely let his gaze travel slowly over her body and down her exceptionally long legs. "Come on," she urged, taking a few steps down the corridor to the next painting. Spock followed and as they came to a stop before the next portrait, stood ever so slightly closer than was permissible for a Vulcan. Nyota chewed her lip to suppress her smile as his shoulder pressed gently against her own and said nothing.

"I thought you were an art appreciator," she told him later as they sipped tea, tucked away in a discreet corner of a restaurant waiting for their food. They were seated at a low table, cross legged on the cushions while the gentle murmur of conversation filled the room.

"You were not mistaken," he informed her mildly, peering at her over the rim of his cup. "I have found there are forms of art more compelling than that which are displayed on gallery walls." Nyota licked her lips and set her own teacup down, chewing the inside of her cheek to hide her smile.

"Spock," she uttered bashfully, dropping her gaze but before she could reply the waiter arrived with their dinner. Spock shifted and reached for his chopsticks, holding them in his hands for a moment. When Nyota looked up and caught his eye, her brow furrowed in confusion at the look on his face. "What's wrong?" she queried mildly.

"These utensils are most perplexing," he informed her. Nyota swallowed.

"You've used chopsticks before Spock," she chided gently.

"I seem to have forgotten how," he lied.

And now he was lying. The only possible conclusion was that he was most definitely suffering from some kind of mental illness. "If you would be so kind as to instruct me," he implored politely. Nyota shook her head and pushed up onto her knees, shuffling closer across the cushions until she was beside him.

"Well you hold the bottom one like this," she said gently, reaching up and taking his hand between her own. Spock looked at her sideways as she leaned very, very close and adjusted the thin metal sticks in his fingers. His nostrils flared ever so slightly as he took shallow breaths, staring at her lips as her fingers performed another kind of kiss. "And then you take the top one between your fingers here..." she explained, her lips twitching as she stifled the urge to laugh.

"Thank you," Spock informed her neutrally as she sat back on her haunches to watch as he waggled the chopsticks up and down.

"You're welcome," she told him with equal serenity but instead of shuffling back around opposite him, she shifted and crossed her legs beneath her to sit beside him instead. Spock did not acknowledge how her knee pressed ever so slightly against his own and reached forward for his food.

Nyota was not bothered in the slightest when he did not hold her hand as they ambled down the street after dinner. He walked beside her with his hands clasped behind his back and she held her clutch purse demurely in front of her. Spock was, by Human standards, the consummate gentleman companion. He was able to converse on a variety of subjects – art, literature, history, science and he was nothing if not chivalrous, opening doors and pulling out chairs. She fervently wished to express her kindest regards to his mother for her fine work although she knew the chances of meeting her were very slim.

Spock for all his Human gentility was still, by Vulcan standards, an utter cad. She wondered idly if Vulcan girls would have found him desperately exciting, maybe for his illogical interests in poetry and drama or perhaps for the simmering passion which lingered just beneath the surface and which must be far more obvious to Vulcan eyes than to Human ones. To most Humans he appeared as aloof and logical as any other Vulcan but of course, Nyota was not most Humans. She was his lover.

She did not dwell on what the Vulcan designation might be. Spock was, in the Vulcan tradition, half married to a girl and would be expected at some point to return home to fulfil that obligation. He had made no secret of this situation but Nyota was sympathetically, tragically Human about the whole thing. She felt pity for him, to be forced into a loveless marriage like that and convinced herself that his Human half must feel equal despair. Spock did not talk of it often and she did not press him on the subject. She was too flawed and too Human and too romanced by the idea that she was the only one that had ever reached him, that touched that part of him. The Human part he kept locked away from everybody else.

Spock of course was not really Human. He wasn't Human when in piques of jealousy he would pin her against the wall and snarl into her ear all the ways he was going to dismember all the other men who vied for her attention. He wasn't Human when he put his hand on her face and went into her mind and made her literally sob with pleasure. He wasn't Human when he picked her up as though she were a ragdoll and carried her into the bedroom. It wasn't the Human part of him that made her beg and plead and promise that she'd never let another man touch her as long as she lived. No, Spock was not Human and Nyota had to admit that it was terribly, fearfully, unbearably arousing.