Rating: Heavy R, for language, sex.
Word Count: around 4000
Summary: Nyota is being followed. This is not your typical Pon Farr fic.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Most importantly, I have never been a fan of Star Trek. I have only seen the 2009 movie, and I have tried to keep this story as canon as possible, but I'm sure I've made mistakes and will continue to in the future.
Grateful thanks to my dearest kathrynthegr8 for the beta!
In her dreams, she is a lynx, moving swiftly through the snow. She is sleek and she is a predator. Her paths are well-worn and she sets her traps with ease and proficiency.
In her dreams, she kills a rabbit – quickly – and she licks his hot blood off of snow. Her teeth are slick with the power of her kill, and she relishes it.
That is when she feels eyes on her back, and when she turns she does not see the hunter as he swoops upon her, piercing her neck as he throws her on her back and they slide for ages.
Her blood is hot too, and she feels it flow from her. She feels his claws penetrate deep within her, and in her final moments, she surrenders to him.
The release is enough to wake her, shining and sweating, to the sunlight of a new day.
It starts in the morning. Nyota rises early, goes for a run on the grounds of Starfleet. Most cadets prefer the athletic center, with its temperature controlled metal, the low hum and murmur of the machines. But Nyota runs as dawn breaks through the cloud cover, her hair loose and swishing as her feet beat, beat, beat the sidewalks, bounce in the puddles and squeak over grass.
That morning is like any other until she sees him, on the balcony of some building where she is not allowed to go. His shirt is off, which shocks her, but so does the wealth of thick hair curling over ropey muscles.
He sees her. Their eyes meet. And then he walks inside. Nyota is breathless from her run already, but now she finds it hard to suck the cold air into her body.
She is a good student. He has told her this on her reports, and once her advisor had hinted at the Commander speaking well of her studies. She tries to impress him simply because it’s a challenge.
But truthfully, she finds him robotic, cold – a bit boring. She laughs when Martin Van Der Loos does an impression of him over drinks that weekend.
“Oh, my God. I forgot to tell you…” She leans over to Gaila when there’s a break in the conversation.
Gaila’s eyes are expectant, and Nyota knows she would love to know about the Commander’s hair, his pale skin. But at the last minute she decides not to tell, for some reason.
“Well, looky here. It’s my two favorite ladies, exchanging sweet nothings. Lord, what I wouldn’t give….”
She thinks, occasionally, about what it would be like to fuck Jim Kirk. She’s been with boys like him before. He probably thinks he is good in bed. He probably is.
She dated the same boy for most of her second year – a record for her.
“Jesus, N-Ny-Nyota!” he had said at the time, his eyes rolled up into his head, his blonde hair long over his pale, pale chest. She had smiled down at him.
That is over now, and she has moved on.
She eats little but drinks a lot. She lives mostly on tea – drinks cups and cups of it a day. It’s good for her health, and she is obsessed with her weight, always has been. She loves the swish of her slim hips, the way her legs look spreading underneath her uniform.
In the commissary one day, she is filling her cup with water and jasmine when she sees the Commander looking at her quizzically. He holds his PADD in his hand, a steaming cup of something in the other. He is stark and serious in his black uniform, as always.
She gives him that fake, polite half-smile as she turns, leaves.
She adores Gaila, but after one of her many interesting people makes off with a few of her favorite videodisks, she makes a new room rule. No boys unless they are both there. Gaila smiles at her with the devil behind her teeth.
“I didn’t know you wanted to watch. I’m flattered.”
Nyota rolls her eyes and leans forward into her mirror, parts her hair. “Oh please. That’s the last thing I need in my life.”
Gaila stretches out on her bed, opens a magazine from her home world. “Actually, I think it would do you a lot of good.”
“I have other ways of getting off. Without other people around.”
“Meklat, you terrans are so friggin’ repressed, I don’t know how you function.”
Nyota slips an elastic into her hair. “We’re one of the more forward humanoids, thanks. Try a Vulcan if you want to see repressed.”
Gaila drops her magazine and sighs loudly. “Ohh. The big V. If only…”
“I think you’d be seriously let down. Imagine the Commander in bed.”
“Mm, shows what you know about sex.” Gaila’s nose is back in her magazine. “Still waters run deep, my love.”
Nyota slips her purse over her shoulder and blots her lips on her towel. “Whatever. You can have him. I’m out.”
“Cadet…” She is almost off of campus when she hears a deep voice behind her. It is dark and she cannot keep her soft inhalation from sounding startled.
“I’ve distressed you. My apologies.” His face is pale from the reflection of moonlight.
“No. No, not at all.” She searches for that calm, cadet-ish facial expression. She finds it. “Commander.”
There is a lame, limping sort of silence between them, but she waits patiently, keeping that questioning part of her eyebrow from scrunching. He is logical, infallibly so. There must be a purpose to his staring.
“I wished to remind you of the assignment.”
“Which assignment, sir?” She thinks of the calendar on her PADD, where she meticulously keeps track of tests, quizzes, study periods, extra credit opportunities…everything. Nyota Uhura is no dummy, and she would never, ever squander a minute of her opportunity here at Starfleet.
“The critical introduction.”
Her brow scrunches. “I remember. Isn’t that due at the end of term?”
He nods. There is more silence, and then he turns, starts walking away from her.
Her soft ‘Thank you’ is confused and a bit dismissive.
She doesn’t tell Gaila, or anyone else. She would just get teased about it. But she adds seriously weird to robotic and cold, which is what she always thought him. But that’s to be expected. He is Vulcan, after all.
The next day, and the next are all the same. She rises. She runs. She attends classes, and nothing is different than it ever was before.
He keeps his head down when she speaks during class now.
It is Friday, and she is enjoying her night out until she starts acting irresponsibly. It is a moment of weakness, which she blames on her love of Jack and Grey Goose.
“Mm, God. Just, God…” Kirk kisses like he is punishing her, sharp and stinging. He runs his tongue under her upper lip, the tip just barely gracing her teeth.
“I’m drunk,” she says casually, as she wraps her arms around his neck.
“I know, right? Me too!” Kirk pulls her body flush against his, runs his arms down her back, her waist, her…
“Alright, Cadet…” She takes an awkward step away from him, pauses for a moment. Regains her footing and the upper hand. “I think that’s enough bad judgment from me tonight.”
“You know how to make a guy feel pretty great, Uhu. Uhu. Uhura.” Kirk rolls his eyes, tosses back another shot of…whatever he was drinking. Some bright-orange liquid being peddled by paid bimbos this evening.
She nods. “I’ve heard that before. A lot.”
“You saying I’m not your first?” Kirk’s eyes are glassy. He’s a sloppy, loud drunk, and she can’t believe she did this. It’s the worst idea ever.
“I’m saying that I’m your never was.” It sounds good to her at the time, but the next morning when she wakes, her first thought is a curse word.
She’s pretty sure that Gaila saw her last night in the club with Kirk, but her roommate doesn’t say a word about it as they bundle up against the rainy Saturday and read trashy magazines in bed.
Nyota is four paragraphs deep when she hears Gaila sigh dramatically.
“Do you ever feel like…there are eyes in this campus?”
Nyota tsks. “Please.”
“I mean it. I feel watched all the time.”
“No one is watching you. You’re just self conscious,” says Nyota, with a practical terseness behind her words.
“Mm. Maybe.” Gaila returns to her magazine, and Nyota raises hers as well, but inside she thinks that she knows exactly, exactly what Gaila is talking about.
But there is a difference. Nyota knows that she is being watched.
It starts again on Monday, when she forgets her jacket in the lecture hall. She runs back for it, tells Gaila to go to lunch without her. She will catch up.
She enters the empty hall silently, and stops when she sees the Commander, holding her jacket. She almost speaks but then she doesn’t, and watches as he holds it in his hand and stares.
He raises it to his face, slowly, and she is pulled taut by something deep inside her belly.
His eyes meet hers, and he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest, doesn’t seem embarrassed for sniffing the clothing that had been slithered over her shoulders a few minutes ago. Did he know she was there all along?
“Cadet. Your jacket.” His voice is plain, conversational. He holds it out to her.
She is flustered, doesn’t know what to say, so she turns and leaves, abandons her dark red jacket in his hand without a look or a goodbye. She is panting and she doesn’t know why. Lunch is a reprieve, albeit a short one. She has two classes with him this semester, and she’s due back this afternoon.
She shivers through class with him. It is a small lecture group, and the room is cool. During the mid-afternoon break, she returns to her seat to find her jacket around the back of her chair. No one notices but her, and she won’t raise her eyes to his.
Kirk catches up with her on the quad that evening. “Uhura, I was pretty wasted this weekend, but I do remember you telling me your name. What was it again?”
“Nice try. But if you’re too lazy to find out for yourself, I’m certainly not going to tell you. It’s not a secret, you know. There are role books in the Admin building.”
Kirk’s blue eyes are bright in the dusk around them. “Yeah, but if I did that, we wouldn’t be able to have these precious, stolen moments.”
She laughs because he is funny, and then pushes him away. He speedwalks ahead of her on the pathway, trailing after Laukla Haskell, who has a Minournian slave-girl suit and a reputation for spanking.
He doesn’t remember their drunken snog, or else he’s pretending to have forgotten. Fine with her. It’s a moment she would be happy to forget.
She’s sitting again in the Kobayashi Maru control room, this time for a very frightened first-year zoology major. She feels sorry for him – his hands shake as he sits in the captain’s chair, his voice soft. It’s almost not fair that everyone, everyone, has to take this test.
She tries to give him a bit of an encouraging smile, but he is sweating as his eyes flick up at the monitors, sweating as he stares at the Birds of Prey onscreen.
The rest of the mock crew pats him on the back as they leave – the cadet is clearly relieved, glad to have it over. She takes an extra moment to check her PADD as the room clears out.
There’s a message from her sister and one from her mother as well. They are planning a birthday party for Nyota’s great-uncle over winter break, and Nyota gets sucked into her PADD for the better part of an hour as she messages them back and forth.
When she finally slips her PADD into her bag, she is startled to see a shadow move across the control room floor. The room is dimmed but not dark.
She grips her bag firmly and stands.
She jumps. “Sir! You…frightened me.”
The Commander strides into the room and stands in front of her. He is close – too close, and she takes a step backwards. The back of her thighs hit the cool metal counter of the control booth.
“My apologies.” He lowers his head. His hard eyes stare into hers and she thinks about every Vulcan she has ever met, ever. He is different. His eyes are different. There is something unbridled in them, and she feels her legs begin to shake.
“Excuse me, sir.” She attempts to slide away, but he moves in front of her. His body looms over hers, blocking the light which halos his head, outlines every hair, every sweep of chin and shoulder.
“Did you feel Cadet Macalla performed the Kobayashi Maru adequately?”
She is frightened. Her breathing is shallow but she answers clearly. “The cadet is a zoology major. His performance was adequate for his line of work.”
He stares at her still, his mouth moving just imperceptibly when she stops speaking.
“May I go?” She speaks quietly, doesn’t know what she’ll do if he refuses.
She doesn’t wait for an answer, but he does let her slip past him. When she does, her shoulder brushes his chest and she swears, she swears that he inhales.
She never used to keep secrets from Gaila, but this is another one. Gaila would freak out about it. She would march her down to the Dean’s office. There would be complaints. There would be forms and files. Gaila would tell her that the Good Old Boys club has enough members, thank you very much, and that it is her duty to report it.
He’s an instructor. He’s halfway stalking her. It’s creepy. He’s purposefully intimidating her. That’s what Gaila would say.
But Nyota knows it’s not like that, and she can’t explain why.
It reaches a breakneck speed in the late evening of the next day. She is filled with a sparking energy, something that keeps her knees bouncing, her fingers running up and down her arms. Gaila kicks her out of the room at 22:00, tells her to go take a walk around the quad and burn it off.
So she does, in a pair of her softest, oldest sweatpants and a tank top.
It is late, and classes start early at Starfleet. She is alone as she jogs easily through the winding footpaths. The dark surrounds her, holds her there. In the middle of the wooded area at the tip of campus, she pauses, her hair still swishing against her back.
There is nothing. There is quiet and there is no moon.
She starts up again, but she keeps her footfalls as silent as she can, one ear cocked upward as she runs. The logical side of her brain tells her to run faster, to turn and head back to the brightly lit pathways of the quad.
She moves deeper into the trees. Nyota is not fond of danger, of the flirtation with fate that so many of her contemporaries seem infatuated with. But still she pushes forward, her run slowing to a walk.
She shivers as a cool wind from the bay touches her arms. She hears the chirp of some night bird, and she turns.
This is why she never sees him coming.
For a minute she sees nothing, nothing but black and she wonders if she’s been hit or blindfolded. But then there is the rough scratch of fabric over her face and she is looking up at the Commander. He is staring at her, walking her backwards. Her feet stumble over the bracken as she struggles for her footing. He grips her arms, tightly, lifts her feet until the tips of her shoes are merely dragging in the dirt as he push-pulls her deeper into the woods.
“Commander!” She finds her voice and it is shocked, breathless. He is still wearing the Academy black, and she searches his face. He looks the same, but his nostrils are slightly flared and she can hear the gasping intake and release of his breath.
He does not answer her, but he does let her go, just for a moment. She pushes against his chest, tries to take a step back. It merely emits a sort of groaning growl from his chest, something that she can feel vibrate into her fingers. She pulls them back, and when she does he grabs her again, one arm around her waist, the other holding the back of her head.
She thinks that this is crazy, crazy, and she is frightened. She thinks about Tapquivellian mind control serum, and she thinks about truly alien concepts, like body switching...evil twins.
And then she doesn’t think at all because he kisses her. He kisses her. For a moment there’s just a surprised sound from her mouth, because she can’t believe that this is happening. She feels the stubble on his chin first, and then the warm pressure of his lips against hers. His kiss is rough, raw. It is a primal kiss, one that is not steeped in give and take, the fairness of exchanges of pleasure. His lips are strong and when she does not press back, he pulls her head forward against his.
Her hands are back on his chest, but she does not push him away, at least at first. It is only when his lips part and she feels his tongue, hot and stabbing, invading her mouth, that she takes a step back and pushes him.
“Wait-wait-“ She thinks that this is crazy, that he is a stale, repressed, asexual Vulcan. A species that mates simply because it must in order to keep on going. He is her instructor. She tries to speak but he is not hearing. He does not touch her, but she can see it in his eyes. He is waiting for her to stop, waiting for her to shut up so that he can come at her again.
Suddenly she doesn’t know what she wanted to say. Maybe it was never anything at all.
He grabs her by the hips this time, pulls her against his hot erection, which she clearly feels against her warm belly. He holds her there as he runs his teeth along her bottom lip, her chin, her neck, her ear. He is biting her gently and then it’s not gentle at all.
He is whispering raspy Vulcan words along the planes of her skin as he presses and kisses, runs his tongue along her collarbone. She can pick out a few of the words as they come hissing through his teeth. He calls her intoxicating, maddening. He tells her that she tastes like khara, that he would devour her inner sweetness if he could. If she would let him. He asks her to let him. And then he doesn’t wait for her answer, as he falls to his knees.
She is ready to let him. Her brain and lips are kiss-drunk, and her knees tremble. His fingers press into her thighs and for a long moment he stares at her there and just as she starts to wish she were anywhere but here, he presses his lips there, and kisses her. It feels like lightning.
It’s through the plain Starfleet issue cotton, but it’s enough to make her tremble even more. She catches herself on his shoulders, her hands steadying herself. He’s already got his long fingers curling under the waistband and when he pulls, it is quick. He slides the cotton down, onto the warm brown of her thighs.
He parts her with his thumbs and Nyota throws her head back as he places his tongue just so. Partially because, well, it feels really fucking good and partially because the mental picture of him there – his sleek head between her legs, his fingers pressed deep into her flesh…it’s very strange. She can’t believe this is happening. She can’t believe that it feels this good.
His mouth is unpracticed but the strokes he gives her are slow and long. Her orgasm is quicksilver and it takes her by surprise. She doesn’t feel anything but the blessed clenching of her muscles, the bright haze of white that blocks out everything around her.
She doesn’t remember when he stood up or how he managed to be there so quickly, but he is lifting her and she feels herself parting her legs, accommodating him. She curls a hand around the back of his neck, pulls herself up and over him, laces her feet around him.
He walks them backward and she feels a tree of some sort at her back. He pushes her against it roughly, but the pain feels good to her – it feels real.
He thrusts into her awkwardly, and at first he cannot get the angle right. She sees the utter frustration on his face, the frantic irritation that is not prefaced by the patience for which his race is well-known.
She reaches behind her and plants her palms firmly on the tree behind her. She adjusts, swivels her hips in an action that makes him sigh. And then he is there, sliding in firmly. He presses her against him, and the first few strokes are strong enough to knock her head back against the tree, the bark biting into her back painfully, but still she smiles. Yes, she is smiling down at him. He kisses her breasts through her top, his breathing heavy and heated as he speeds himself, and she feels…she feels…
Suddenly he grasps her head, his fingers winding in her hair as he pulls her forward, until her forehead knocks against his and there is a bright light. She can’t see anything in that light. She can see everything.
Th’Laut. Rom-in kulah etak. His voice is gasping and higher. He is getting closer, close, but he wants to tell her this. She needs to tell him that she doesn’t know. She’s sorry, her Vulcan is merely conversationally proficient…
But then she does know, and the supernova of information is as broad and hot as a Vulcan sunset. She shudders and buries her head in his neck, pulls her body closer to his. She tells him that he doesn’t have to be sorry, that everything is okay. She wants this too.
“Shan'hal'lak, Nyota.” This he speaks aloud just before he speeds toward the final moments of this part of their night. She nods once and then she watches his mouth part, his teeth meet, his lovely brows curl and rise with concentration.
She lowers her lips to his neck and waits.
She returns to her room. Gaila is shocked at her appearance, and when Nyota looks in the mirror she sees why. There is dirt on her chin, forehead, and all over her shirt. She is sweaty and red-faced, and she has long, red scratches across her shoulder blades. Her hair is tangled, and when she puts a hand to it she feels bark and twigs caught there.
Gaila is horrified, and asks her where she fell and did it hurt terribly? She rushes to get the anti-bacterial wipes, the skin suture glue.
Nyota lets her think that she fell. She’s too preoccupied to come up with a better answer.
As she’s attempting to fall asleep that night, she thinks about the Commander’s face and his ragged breath, the way that when it was all over her lowered her gently to the ground. She never saw any of his important bits – she was still too shocked at had what just happened between them.
And evidently, so was he, from the way realization had come into his eyes, and he had backed away from her and left her there, alone and shaking.