"So," Jim says, with that gappy open-mouthed grin that he knows makes him irresistible, "I hear you dance. You're a dancer."
"I do, and I am," Nyota says indulgently. The fact that he doesn't follow this up (or hell, lead off) with some remark about the length or strength of her legs is telling; he knows her better now, and he's her captain. He still flirts, but he flirts with respect.
Jim refocuses past her and his grin gets wider. "Did you know about this, Spock?" he demands, and even without looking she can tell that Spock answers with a tip of the head. "It would be strange if I did not," Spock says, "as the lieutenant has made no secret of her many proficiencies." Hikaru clears his throat loudly and Nyota makes a mental note to smack him upside the head later.
"I'm just saying it's thought-provoking, that's all," Jim says, already distracted by something else. Nyota looks over at Spock, who quietly says, "Indeed," in a way that kindles instant heat in her belly and makes her swivel fiercely back to her workstation to concentrate on something -- anything -- else.
Later, though, they're alone in Spock's warm, warm quarters changed into more comfortable clothes and it's even harder to keep her hands off him. But--
"I have something I want to show you," Nyota tells Spock, allowing herself a single chaste kiss dropped on his cheekbone. He blinks slowly, restful after dinner and a long shift, but when she stands in front of him and arranges her body into the opening form of the routine there's a flicker in his long eyes.
Nyota has practised this for quite while, every day, intent on getting every tiny curl of toes and flex of shoulder absolutely, utterly, exhaustively perfect. But she finds that in the heat of Spock's room, her joints turn to liquid after a few movements and the entire routine takes on a different feeling. Can stateliness be sensuous? That's what it feels like, each form flowing into the other.
Before she finishes, Spock rises from the bed and slides his arms around her, taking her back to sit in his lap. She doesn't mind the interruption. She knows this might be overwhelming for him. "I ..." he begins, then closes his eyes briefly before saying with more sureness, "I certainly never performed the sha vah with such skill."
"You *were* very young," Nyota says. His fingers shift on her spine, burning-hot little skitters, as he pushes his nose into her hair and agrees, "yes ... and you performed it somewhat differently than Vulcan children generally do." His breath is soft; his fingers tighten, and he says, "Thank you," before they stop saying much at all.
no subject
"So," Jim says, with that gappy open-mouthed grin that he knows makes him irresistible, "I hear you dance. You're a dancer."
"I do, and I am," Nyota says indulgently. The fact that he doesn't follow this up (or hell, lead off) with some remark about the length or strength of her legs is telling; he knows her better now, and he's her captain. He still flirts, but he flirts with respect.
Jim refocuses past her and his grin gets wider. "Did you know about this, Spock?" he demands, and even without looking she can tell that Spock answers with a tip of the head. "It would be strange if I did not," Spock says, "as the lieutenant has made no secret of her many proficiencies." Hikaru clears his throat loudly and Nyota makes a mental note to smack him upside the head later.
"I'm just saying it's thought-provoking, that's all," Jim says, already distracted by something else. Nyota looks over at Spock, who quietly says, "Indeed," in a way that kindles instant heat in her belly and makes her swivel fiercely back to her workstation to concentrate on something -- anything -- else.
Later, though, they're alone in Spock's warm, warm quarters changed into more comfortable clothes and it's even harder to keep her hands off him. But--
"I have something I want to show you," Nyota tells Spock, allowing herself a single chaste kiss dropped on his cheekbone. He blinks slowly, restful after dinner and a long shift, but when she stands in front of him and arranges her body into the opening form of the routine there's a flicker in his long eyes.
Nyota has practised this for quite while, every day, intent on getting every tiny curl of toes and flex of shoulder absolutely, utterly, exhaustively perfect. But she finds that in the heat of Spock's room, her joints turn to liquid after a few movements and the entire routine takes on a different feeling. Can stateliness be sensuous? That's what it feels like, each form flowing into the other.
Before she finishes, Spock rises from the bed and slides his arms around her, taking her back to sit in his lap. She doesn't mind the interruption. She knows this might be overwhelming for him. "I ..." he begins, then closes his eyes briefly before saying with more sureness, "I certainly never performed the sha vah with such skill."
"You *were* very young," Nyota says. His fingers shift on her spine, burning-hot little skitters, as he pushes his nose into her hair and agrees, "yes ... and you performed it somewhat differently than Vulcan children generally do." His breath is soft; his fingers tighten, and he says, "Thank you," before they stop saying much at all.