They'd been 'dating' for almost six months. Nyota used the term lightly— 'dating' never seemed to be the right word for their secret romance. He took her places, sure; he would sneak her into the linguistics' lab after hours so she could listen to subspace transmissions if she asked him to, or take her to that little restaurant off-campus where no cadet would ever show their face, but the locals frequented... but that was the extent of their 'outside' relationship. Most of their time together was spent in class, or in his quarters. But he was always very gentlemanly, of course.

She thought it was because he did not wish to hurt her. She knew that Vulcans possessed superior strength to even the strongest of human males, but she trusted her almost-lover with her life, and she knew he knew that. She thought that perhaps that was why he was apprehensive to take their relationship further, beyond the occasional 'make-out session,' as she called them.

Holding hands, cuddling on the sofa in his quarters talking, kissing, the occasional roaming of hands... it was getting old, fast. She knew she loved him. She wanted him. She ached for him. And yet, he still kept his gentlemanly demeanour. At this rate, she would have to marry him before he attempted to do anything. It was frustrating.

"Spock," Nyota whispered, her voice low and seductive, placing a hand on his chest. His pointed Vulcan ear twitched a little in her direction.

"Yes, Nyota?" He had only recently begun calling her by her first name. She loved the way it sounded in his flawless English, his deep voice caressing the usually awkward-sounding syllables.

She cuddled closer to him on the sofa, resting her head in the crook of his arm. "Do you like me?"

Spock was startled by the question, but he was often startled by her forwardness or readiness to express her emotions. She was like his mother, in that sense, that she always wished to show him how much she cared for him. He blinked several times, considering his answer.

"I very much enjoy our time together." Nyota's body stiffened against his, and he feared he had misspoken. Was that not the answer she required? Apparently it wasn't, because she slowly sat up, leaving the comfort of his embrace, and turned to look at him with dark eyes.

"But do you like me?"

"Yes." This time he answered without hesitation, hoping that he had not upset her. "Of course I like you, Nyota. Do I not show this acceptably?"

"Not really."

"Then I apologise."

She glared at him, her eyebrows pushing together in the middle. "Don't apologise. I'm aware it's not your fault. But honestly, Spock..." She shook her head, and her eyes moved from his to look at the ceiling. "What else is it? Don't you like me enough?"

"I like you very much," Spock insisted, gently putting a hand over hers. She pulled it away, looking distressed.

"Then do you not find me attractive enough?"

"You are very attractive." He paused. "You are beautiful." She put both hands on his chest, leaning backward slightly, using him as leverage to stand.

"Then why?" She began to pace back and forth between the low coffee table and the couch.

"I'm afraid I do not understand the question."

"Why haven't we... you know?" She waved her arms around haphazardly, trying to explain to him what she meant. For a genius, he could be quite oblivious; it could sometimes take a while for Nyota to get her point across, but that was partially because of her human insecurities.

"If you are referring to copulation..."

"It's sex, Spock. Don't make it more complicated than it has to be." She put her hands on her hips.

"Whatever term you wish you use, it would not be acceptable."

"Well, why not?"

"I am a professor. You are my pupil. If anyone were to discover that we were having intimate relations, it could not only tarnish my reputation, but also your future career." He stood, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Nyota, while I do not wish to upset you, you must know that even what we are doing now— spending time together outside of classes— his highly unethical. People could assume that you worked your way to the top of my class not with your high intelligence and natural skill in linguistics, but by some persuasion of the sexual variety." Nyota looked close to tears. "Or, if whoever found about this had a different mindset, they could assume that I had taken advantage of or coerced you."

"But they would be wrong!"

"Yes, they would, but it is not worth the risk to either of our futures. Please, Nyota, understand that it is not any fault of yours."

"But—!" Spock took a step closer to her and put his finger to her lips to silence her.

"Nyota, it would not be appropriate. If you require that kind of relationship, you could always find a male cadet willing to fulfill your needs..." She could hear a bitter tone to his normally composed voice that she knew no one else would have been able to pick up on. "...by the way they all look at you, I assume it would not be difficult." He removed his finger from her lips.

Nyota sighed and rolled her eyes. "It doesn't work like that! You can't choose who you fall in love with, Spock!" An emotion flashed across his face so fast that she wasn't sure she saw it: Fear. Was he afraid of the words 'I love you,' she wondered? Perhaps because he could not feel the same. Or perhaps because he could, but didn't want to admit or show it.

"It's not proper," he told her quietly, running his fingers through her long hair.

"Doesn't stop the fact that I feel rejected, now does it?" she huffed in response, unreasonably angry at him. It wasn't his fault, and his argument was sound. But it did not make her feel any better.

"I apologise for making you feel that way."

"Of course you do." He always did. But it didn't change anything. It never did.

When Nyota Uhura had her mind set on something, it was very hard to keep her from it. She wanted to go to Starfleet Academy and no teacher at her secondary school could convince her otherwise. She wanted to be first in all her classes and no one could tell her she couldn't do it. She wanted to be a Communications Officer on an important vessel and she would, God damn it, if it was the last thing she did.

But a new goal was added to the list the moment Spock started listing all the reasons why they could not engage in a physical relationship. And what was that goal? Nyota smiled and nodded as Spock took her in his arms and kissed her forehead lightly.

Goal Number Four: Make Spock love me.

---

Nyota waited until her roommate had left to go bar-hopping the following evening before sneaking out. She would be too drunk to notice that Nyota was not there when she returned, if she returned at all. More often than not Gaila spent the night in another Cadet's room... and they were usually male, and usually human.

She walked quickly down the hallways and pressed the chime when she got to the right door. Spock knew it was here, and quickly uttered a flat "Come."

He was curled up with a book on the couch; or rather, he would be, had 'curling up' been more of a Vulcan thing to do. He was actually sitting with his back straight in its normally perfect posture, flipping through the paper pages of the old Vulcan text he was studying. His eyes wandered across the page, but it was a determined wander— not the comfortable, lazy wander that wholly-human eyes did when one was devouring a particularly good piece of literature. Nyota watched him, her eyes never meeting his, as she plopped herself down in the chair across from him. She sighed.

It'd been only twenty-four hours since Goal Four had been established, and she was in no way giving up yet, despite Spock's protests. She'd never had a problem of this kind before— she'd never been in love before, or met anyone who she would want to have sex with, until she met Spock. Even then she had no idea how hard she'd fall for him; all she knew then was that he was cute, and utterly unobtainable.

His eyes never left the page, and Nyota sighed unhappily again. He looked up at the sound, almost as though he had forgotten she was there. "Nyota, are you ill?"

"Uh, no?"

"Then must you make that sound with your breathing? Unless there is fluid in your lungs, that sound is quite unnecessary. And frankly, quite distracting." His gaze returned to the withered page of the Vulcan text, once again skimming along the long lines of confusing characters. Nyota rolled her eyes, but she smiled despite her annoyance. Only she could have inspired Spock to use a word like 'frankly.' It was a very human word, and it amused her to hear him say it, though she herself had done so earlier that afternoon in his class.

Her plan was already set in motion. Her plan to achieve Goal Four, that is. Distracting him away from his work was Step One. Step Two would be making him want her, but she wasn't quite sure how well that would go over. What kinds of things turn a Vulcan on? The Academy's database hadn't been much help; there was very little information on Vulcans, and what was there was utterly useless. Who cared about that fact that their hearts were approximately where the human liver was kept? Who cared that they had evolved to take dry heat because of Vulcan's harsh conditions? Neither of those things would help her in her pursuit to jump one.

She sighed again, leaning her head on her hand. His eyes glanced up again, almost glaring at her. She shifted uncomfortably under his authoritative gaze. "What?" she grumbled. "It's called a sigh, Spock. I can't help it!" He cocked an eyebrow.

"I see." He closed the book and put it in his lap, and folded his hands neatly over it, observing her. "It has been my observation that when humans sigh more than twice in a five-minute period, something is on their mind. So, Nyota, I believe it is a social norm for me to ask: What is bothering you?"

"You remember what we talked about yesterday?" Spock cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"That's what's bothering me." Nyota crossed her arms over her chest.

"I see," Spock deadpanned.

"Does that mean you've reconsidered?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

"Damn."

There was silence. Spock got up and put his book back on the bookshelf, then turned to face her. "Why is this matter bothering you, Nyota?"

"Because it is!" she responded almost childishly, standing up from her seat as well. Spock clasped his hands behind his back again.

"There is not sufficient data for me to respond to that." Nyota groaned.

"Spock, don't you understand? I love you, and I know you love me, even if your heritage won't let you admit it." The eyebrow was raised again. "I don't want to have sex with you— I want to make love to you!"

"What would be the purpose of that?"

"Connection, communication, intimacy, love, pleasure... Take your pick!" She was waving her arms around wildly again, her tone betraying that she was more frustrated than angry with him. "I don't want to be a virgin for the rest of my life!"

Spock was taken aback. It was well known that humans had a (healthy?) sexual appetite, and in this day and age, it was normal for teenagers to be screwing each other before high school was out. Celibacy until marriage had nearly been eliminated by the twenty-second century, except in some stricter cultures, like Vulcans themselves. So he had always assumed that Nyota had had several partners before him; he'd heard her refer to previous boyfriends before, which validated his reasoning.

"You have not engaged in sexual activity before?" His surprise was evident in his voice.

"No! That's the point! I want you to be my first!"

He smirked a little. "Does that mean you would want others to be your second and third?"

"Spock." It was a completely a solely human thing to use a name as a complete sentence. It had no grammar, no verb, and it was illogical. It could be used as a question, or an answer, or, in Nyota's case, a stern warning.

"My apologies. I did not mean to offend—" He was cut off as she pressed her mouth violently over his, smothering his words. They died on his tongue.

They had kissed before, yes, but there was something new in this one: lust. Nyota put her hands on either side of his face and tried to deepen the kiss, pulling his face down to her. It took him a moment to respond, as it always did, but once he regained his control he gently pulled back, breaking the contact.

"Nyota." He used that solely human grammatical error to warn her, this time.

Her hands did not leave the sides of his face as she searched his eyes. In them were emotions; deep, raw emotions that were characteristic of Vulcans. Spock had been cursed this way; the Vulcan's powerful emotions, and the human's inability to full control them. He would always have a war waging in his mind.

"Stop thinking, Spock," Nyota whispered, her hands moving back to tangle in his dark hair. "For once, stop thinking. Just feel." She kissed him again softly, and this time he did not resist. He had never felt the need for physical contact before he had met Nyota, but now he could not bring himself to force her to remove her hands from his head or her warm mouth from his.

He kissed her back, first gently, then urgently. He wasn't thinking, he was feeling. So deeply was he feeling that he wondered if his rapidly pounding heart could burst from the effort. The logical thought that this was impossible never crossed his mind.

She ran her thumbs over his ears and he growled; it was a deep, primal sound at the back of his throat. She caressed the soft points, and his heart began to race faster. He wanted it almost as much as she did, it would seem.

Somehow they made it to his bedroom without breaking the contact. His hands were placed firmly on her hips, guiding her to the mattress, and hers alternated between stroking his neck and touching his ears. Neither realised how sensitive they really were until that moment.

She broke their kiss long enough to take a sharp breath and pull her shirt over her head. Spock quickly ran his hands over the newly exposed flesh; her soft stomach and angular shoulder blades grew goosebumps as his fingers delicately danced over the skin. She shivered involuntarily when he breathed softly into her ear, "I have... not done this either."

She responded by sitting down on the bed, and tugging off her boots awkwardly. He quickly did the same, though much more gracefully, and then kissed her again, deeply. She knew she should be nervous; and yet she trusted him so much that she could not bring herself to be. She had never felt more beautiful than she did with him.

She tugged at his shirt and he gracefully discarded it, tossing it to the floor where hers lay. His chest was magnificent; soft and pale with slightly defined muscles and a line of black hair. She ran her fingers over his skin, memorising every detail her brain could retain.

His chin was on her shoulder as he tried almost desperately to undo the clasp of her bra. She giggled. For a genius, he could be so silly some times. She reached behind her and undid it for him, slipping the straps off her shoulders and baring her breasts.

She blushed and turned her face away and he stared at her. She desperately wanted to know what was going on inside that complicated head of his, and would have given anything to know what he was thinking. She felt slightly insecure for a moment, and went to cover herself with her arms.

"You're beautiful," he whispered after a moment, the adoration in his voice a shock to her. She looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. Vulcans do not lie.

She grabbed his face and kissed him once more, and his hands slowly slid up from where they had been resting on her hips to brush against her breasts. Her skin burned beneath his fingertips, and when he cupped her in his hands, she pressed her chest into him with an arch of her back, trying to get closer.

His eyes were wide and studying the whole time. He was watching her reactions carefully, making sure he did not to something wrong.

She reached between them and quickly undid the button of his pants, and pushed at them insistently. He took a deep breath, then shook them down his body and off his legs, where they fell to the floor to rest where their other clothing lay in a crumpled heap.

Nyota was surprised to see that he wasn't wearing anything beneath his trousers. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of his erection, but she wasn't going to back out now. When she regained her breath she undid the button on her skirt and lifted her hips off the bed. Spock tugged it off her legs and flung it across the room, desperate to touch her again.

His hands found her thighs and she groaned at his touch as he gently parted her legs and placed his body between him, running his hands upwards until he met her underwear. His eyes were dark with lust as he once again looked at her for guidance. She nodded ever so slightly to answer his silence question, and he removed her panties with a quick flourish.

There was nothing between them now and he lowered his body onto hers, holding himself up by his arms on either side of her head. She put her hands on the curve of his spine as he leaned down to kiss her again, leaning his forehead against hers. She felt him part her sticky folds with one hand as the other still held him up, and she gasped.

His hand was quickly removed, thinking that he had done something wrong. She pressed her lips to his again to assume him that he hadn't, and he moved his hips a little to line up himself with her at a better angle.

"Now?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

"Now," she agreed, moving her hands downwards slightly to cup his buttocks.

His eyes were apologetic. He knew that this would hurt her, and he wasn't completely comfortable with that fact. He thrust into her quickly, and she bit down on her lip hard to avoid screaming. She knew it would hurt; she wasn't an idiot. She just never imagined that it would feel so good behind the pain. The pleasure was undeniably more than she had been expecting— and she had had high expectations. The pain was bearable; she'd endured worse for much, much less a gain.

Spock looked at where their bodies where joined and was not surprised to see the small trickle of red blood that had dripped onto his pristine white sheets. He had been trying to be gentle, holding back as much as he could.

After a moment of stillness, he slowly withdrew himself part-way, enjoying the way she hissed as he did so. Her fingernails dug into his buttocks as she pulled him back to her; he thrust forward again, and she gasped. The second was slightly less painful then the first, but still just had pleasurable.

They began to move together, creating a slow, steady rhythm. She moved her hips as he moved his; both were moaning silently as the clutched at each other desperately. Nyota's moans slowly became louder, and she buried her face in his neck to try to quiet them. She needn't have done so. The sounds she made as he slid in and out of her were the most erotically musical sounds he had ever heard.

She was so close. Her rhythm faltered as she desperately tried to urge him to go faster. He complied, moving more quickly. She put one of her hands between their bodies, finding the place where they met. She pressed her fingers to that little stop just above her opening, and gasped his name as her eyes fluttered closed and she clenched her walls around him.

He continued to move inside her while she climaxed, trying to draw it out for as long as he could for her. One of her hands was buried in his hair, the other laying on her stomach. After a few moments, it was over, and she fell limp in his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, without removing himself from her, and held her and she tried to steady her breathing.

"My God," she said at last, "Spock..." She realised that he was still inside her, and still hard. Why hadn't he released when she did? Had she done something wrong? He looked into her eyes and saw the worry. "Why didn't—"

"Vulcans only need to mate once every seven years during pon farr," he told her, his voice breathless, and his pale skin flushed lightly green. He kissed her forehead lightly and withdrew his member from her.

"So you can't...?"

"There is no reason for—" He stopped talking when Nyota pushed him forcefully sideways. They rolled ungracefully over, so that she was on top of him. "Oof." Her pushed her lips so hard she knew that hers would be bruised, but she did not care.

"But you can?"

He clenched his teeth. "Yes." He did not particularly like the way she was grinning at him. She leaned over his and touched his ear with her fingertip, tracing up from his earlobe to the point.

"Good," she whispered in his ear, "Because I won't stop until I make you."

She positioned herself above him, then nervously reached down and wrapped her hand around his erection. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as she ran her hand down to the base and positioned him in such a way that he could enter her at this angle, then lowered his hips onto his.

Their rhythm started up again, and Spock's hands found Nyota's hips and he clung to her, forcing her to move with him, though she would have anyway. He was trying so hard to hold back, desperate to cling to reality in fear that he might hurt her if he went out of control. He was so much stronger than she, it scared him.

"Just feel," she grunted into his ear, as though she had read his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of ten things at once and failing. He was trying to enjoy himself without letting go; he was trying to move with her, without being too rough; he was trying to think of reasons why this was wrong, but could find none; he was trying to think of reasons why he love the woman he was making love to, and found too many.

He was too far. He had balanced so precariously on the edge for too long. He couldn't hold back any longer. Roughly, he picked her up and pushed her back into the sheets, then picked up the pace even more than before. All he could hear was their heartbeats, and the wet slap of sweaty skin on sweaty skin. All he could feel was her skin of his, her tight, wet walls convulsing around him, her breath on his cheek, her hands in his hair. All he could do was move with her, on her, around her.

Suddenly, he could not hold it in, and he climaxed, growling her name and several words in Vulcan that were spoken so fast that he knew she wouldn't recognise them, even with her advanced knowledge of the language. He collapsed on her, not even having the sense afterward to shift his weight so he was not crushing her.

He felt as though he hadn't slept in weeks, which for a true Vulcan is not impossible (nor unlikely), but for him was very unhealthy. He was so tired and his muscled ached to the point of utter exhaustion. But, behind it all, he was so uncharacteristically happy. He felt elated. The ecstasy he had felt in his moments of pleasure lingered, bringing a small smile to his lips.

"Nyota, I—" he said after several minutes, pulling himself off of her. He saw that he eyes were closed. She was asleep. Her eyes moved beneath their lids in the advanced stages of REM sleep. His mouth turned to a frown as he saw teeth marks on her shoulders he didn't remember giving her, and already-purpling bruises on her waist where he had dug in his fingers and held on for dear life. Guilt grabbed at his stomach.

He had hurt her. The almost pleasant smell of sex in the room was nearly covered by the smell of her blood to him. He wished (not for the first time in his life) that he hadn't inherited his father's sense of smell. He had to get rid of that awful stench. Quietly, he got up and observed the room. His bed was completely messed up, with her curled into a little ball in the center.

He decided it was worth waking her to clean up. He lifted her and yanked the sheets off his bed, then laid her back down on the bare mattress. She didn't even stir.

Holding the sheets away from him, Spock moved to the other side of the room and pushed them down the laundry chute. His comforter lay on the floor by the end of the bed. He didn't remember pushing it off before their lovemaking, but it looked and smelled clean, so he covered her sleeping form with it.

Vulcans are not modest; he didn't feel the need to cover himself as he strode to the bathroom. He quickly cleaned himself up quickly; removing her blood and other bodily fluids from his penis and thighs, and the mixture of their sweat from the rest of him. He glanced in the mirror above his sink and stared. His usually perfect hair was in disarray, and he had a large green mouth-shaped bruise developing on his neck; what humans refer to as a 'hicky.'

He smiled at the mirror. The man he saw reflected there looked so much less composed than he usually did, but felt so much more so in that moment. He walked back to his bedroom and lifted the comforter, sliding into bed beside his human lover.

"I love you," he whispered contently into her ear, only because he believed she could not hear it.

A smile graced her bruised lips. She had woken up when he turned the water on to wash himself. She almost responded with, "I love you too," but that would have been too overrated. She was content to just lay here with him, and drift back off to sleep slowly. The gently throbbing pain between her legs was a happy reminder of what she'd accomplished: Goal Four, complete.