First published: April 2010
Summary: Follows “Dirty” and “Nasty.” Spock and Uhura embrace the whole “friends with benefits” concept.
They’ve been at it for weeks. Ever since that night on the bridge when she put it out there and he finally lost his Vulcan mind. What they were doing broke every single regulation that prohibited relationships between commanding officers and subordinates. If the captain found out, they would both be severely reprimanded.
Neither one gave a damn. In fact, the very idea that they might get caught made their interludes that much more intense. Since the agreement was to do it as the opportunity arose, they found many opportunities to do it because it was so fucking good.
The dick was good.
The pussy was good.
That was the only reason for it all; to satisfy their lust for one another, their need to know the extremities of each other.
She began wearing thigh high hose and thongs underneath her uniform so he could have easy access. Time was too short to waste it pulling down tights. He tore three pairs before she changed it up. It took him less than two seconds to whip out his dick, barely one to pull her thong to the side, and less than one to be buried between her thighs.
She was quick to go down. He was even quicker. The sixty-nine wasn’t always feasible, but the thirty-four and a half was always right on time.
They fucked six times in the turbo lift: four up against the wall. He hit it from the front and the back and twice on the floor doggystyle. They stopped the lift for those.
Four in the science office: on his desk, face up and face down, her ankles on his shoulders. She rode him in his armless chair and shoved her tits in his face to shut him up. She got down on her hands and knees and sucked his dick, amused that he was able to keep his cool when a messenger showed up to get his signature on a PADD. He didn’t keep it for long and lost it the second the kid left the office.
Five in the communications office: he ate her out while she was listening for subspace frequencies, nailed her to the console, bent her over the central desk, bent her over her console, and up against the wall. He gagged her with her panties to keep her from screaming.
Once in Engineering: high up on the catwalks that crisscrossed the engines and turbines, so hard that her pincurls fell down and she had grate marks on her ass. She bit his fingers hard enough to draw blood.
Four out of every seven nights in one another’s quarters; where they could take their time and really get it on, when all the clothes came off and the positions ran from A –Z, 1-100, and they methodically made their way through the Inter-Species Kama Sutra. Either he met her or she met him and twice they met in the hall and did their best not to run to the closest quarters. He let the beast loose and she put the peaches on him.
They fucked in the conference room; a five-minute quickie (five minutes and twenty-two seconds by his watch), the result of passing one another in the corridor and the instantaneous spark between them caught fire. It was to the point that whenever they saw each other, she started marinating and he got hard. It was almost out of control. But they maintained the professional façade well, as it was necessary. They didn’t look at each other if it wasn’t required. Ten minutes after their shifts were over, they were somewhere on the ship, fucking. Sometimes they couldn’t make it to their quarters.
He didn’t play chess as much and she didn’t hang out in the lounge like she used to. Her friends kept asking who was laying the pipe and she never told. But they knew from the look on her face that somebody was because she was a woman with freaky needs. No one dared ask him anything of the sort, for most believed that he was asexual. Nothing was further from the truth. His ancestors were aggressively sexual and he inherited their freaky needs.
It was so good and they were addicted.
She spread for him.
He spread for her.
She grabbed his ears.
He pulled her hair.
She nibbled his balls.
He ate her breasts.
She left scratches on his back.
He left hickeys on her ass.
She made him yell.
He made her scream.
They didn’t make love. They didn’t have sex. They weren’t intimate. They fucked.
They wanted to fuck in the captain’s chair. Their shared gamma shift cycle took two months to align and they couldn’t wait. He would get rid of the unfortunate ensign that manned the helm and it was going to be on. It didn’t need to be said; they were quite adept at communicating via looks.
He came up with a reason for the ensign to leave the bridge. Even though regulations stipulated a skeleton crew of three for gamma shift, it really wasn’t essential when the ship was under SOP. They were both qualified to man the helm and the other consoles if it became necessary.
It wasn’t necessary tonight. They were in a remote part of the galaxy, star-mapping. The ensign was about to fall asleep.
The young man snapped to attention. “Yes, Commander.”
“You were asleep at your post.”
“I’m sorry sir. I am not feeling well and—“
“I do not require an excuse from you.”
“Sir…” The ensign’s face fell.
“You are on the duty roster for tonight. I cannot have a sleep-deprived helmsman on the bridge. As I am aware that this is your first time on gamma bridge duty, I will grant you a boon so that you may save face with the captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You need to stimulate yourself. I strongly suggest that you take a thirty-minute respite to walk around the ship. That should arouse you.”
She started getting wet the moment he said ‘arouse.’
“Yes sir,” the ensign said.
“Limit your trek to the upper three levels of the saucer section.” That alone would take forty-five minutes at a brisk clip, but he wanted to make sure they had enough time.
“Go,” he said.
The ensign stood, relieved, and left the bridge. He issued a command to secure the doors. When he turned, she was coming towards him and he could smell it, smell her. Her arousal was potent and it pleased him that he could elicit it.
Words weren’t necessary. He stood, putting his hands on her waist. They kissed. Their kissing was as intense as the fucking; it involved dueling tongues and teeth, lip sucking and nibbling, as passionate as they were together. He grabbed her ass and pushed her into his rock-hard dick. They fit together perfectly; it lodged at the vee of her thighs. Her arms were around his neck and they were like that for a few moments. He turned her and pushed her down into the command chair. He pulled off her panties—pleased that they were damp—and put them to his face, inhaling her fragrance.
She told him she thought that was freaky as hell.
He brought her hips to the edge of the chair and spread her legs so that each hung over an arm. She was glistening wet, her juice shining like jewels. He growled and pushed his face into her cunt. He was on all fours, licking her like a cat would lick milk, alternating sticking his tongue in and flitting it against her clit. She held on, pushing back against him until he had no choice but to grab her hips so that she would stop squirming.
“Eat me,” she breathed. “Eat me, lick me, suck me, fuck me…”
He planned to and planned to have her return each favor. She had a scorching sweet taste that burst in his mouth like gumdrops and he sucked hard and made her come. He sucked it up. She was so hot, so honest in her needs. He loved her juice, loved to sip it, loved to lick her and loved that she loved to fuck him.
She was all woman and her pussy proved it. He loved it. He was addicted to it.
Her legs shook and he stood up, removing his cock from his pants. He stood before her and she took it into her mouth, pausing to look into his eyes. He knew she liked giving him head; she loved making him come with just her lips and tongue. Soon, his eyes were closed and he held her head and fucked her mouth. She was able to take most of him; she knew how to blow. She grabbed his ass and groaned around his cock when she felt him squeeze his buttocks in her hands. She knew that he wouldn’t last long when that happened. His ass was tight and muscular, nice and grippable. She stopped sucking because she wanted to ride.
She got up from the command chair and turned, pushing him down in it. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes matched the look in hers and he grabbed her and hefted her into his lap. She grabbed his cock and eased down onto it; her pussy juice squelching in the silence of the bridge. He angled himself so that she could have room to move and she grabbed the chair arms to brace herself. She started bobbing up and down; slow at first for it always took a second or two to adjust to his size. But she loved it, loved that he was packing, loved that he loved to fuck her.
He was such a slim man, but his dick more than made up for it. She loved it. She was addicted to it.
They didn’t speak. He held her waist and she rode him hard, the way he liked. He bit her breasts through the fabric of her uniform and the bridge was filled with the sounds of their breathing and the smell of their sex.
“Shit,” she squeaked. His dick scraped her spot in a way that ached and felt good at the same time. She paused and adjusted, grabbing the back of the chair with both hands and started moving again. He reached down inside her top and pulled out a breast so that he could suck it while she rode him. He wished her uniform weren’t so snug, was such that he could have both breasts out bouncing in his face.
“Ooh,” she moaned and he responded with a strangled sound of his own. Then he wanted to have her under him. He grabbed her and stood, holding her steady and lowered her to the floor. She spread wide and he leaned over her, bracing against the floor and began to thrust.
“Yes,” she sighed. She reached around to grab his ass again. They were fucking on the bridge and it was…good.
“Yes,” he responded. He slapped against her and she groaned. They moved in a rhythm, pulsing, pounding, grinding and throbbing and climaxed within moments of each other.
It was good but it wasn’t enough. She was insatiable. He was voracious. A few minutes later, they were sixty-nining and it was even better. She sat on his face and devoured his cock and it was magnificent. He ate her pussy and thrusted up into her mouth and it was marvelous.
The dick was good.
The pussy was good.
It was so good and they were addicted.
When the ensign returned from his walk, he took his seat at the helm. Mr. Spock was in the captain’s chair, reading a PADD and Lt. Uhura manned the console. As usual. They were both very quiet, but then they always were. Before Mr. Spock ordered him to take a walk, the bridge was silent, and that was the reason he’d nearly fallen asleep. Other than the requisite checks, neither of them spoke. It was unnerving how cool and collected they were.
He knew that smell.
But no! There was no way, no way it would be here on the bridge!
But that scent was there. It was definitely in the air. Was it possible that they…
No. Not Commander Spock. Not Lieutenant Uhura. They were consummate professionals and they wouldn’t do such a thing.
Would they? He didn’t know a thing about either of them other than what he heard, which amounted to nothing. Scuttlebutt said Spock was a eunuch and Uhura was stuck-up. They were the last two people who would have sex on the bridge. Besides, he didn’t appear to be her type. She looked like she was high-maintenance and needed a man, not a Vulcan skinny enough to pick her teeth with.
He coughed. Commander Spock looked at him. The ensign focused his attention on the helm, as he knew Mr. Spock wouldn’t tolerate another moment of impropriety on his behalf. But he couldn’t help but wonder what happened while he was gone. The smell of sex was heavy in the room but neither Lt. Uhura nor Mr. Spock appeared to have moved a muscle since he left.
They couldn’t have. They wouldn’t have. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it for it was positively freaky.