Many, many thanks to the best support group a writer running on empty could ever ask for: miss steph, T'Leba, Doc Spleenmeister, Tales from the Spock Side, and Kalenel.

Thanks also to bluehorserunning who so cheerfully translated the Vulcan for me.

Eternal gratitude for all of you who came along with me on this ride - letting me know through reviews and messages that my stories have made you laugh, smile and/or spit various liquids onto your monitors/keyboards/loved ones. You truly kept me going!

And thanks to the Internet - from which I stole the Latin and the definition for "bewitched." Internet, you rock!!!

Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.

~Part Eight of Eight: Little Things~

Our relationship is a mosaic of little moments that make us laugh with joy, make us cry with pure emotion, and make our souls take flight. The best moments are the ones that let us do all three simultaneously.

I let myself into Spock's quarters with the access code he'd given me. It was an inordinately exciting moment.

I was so overcome by the importance of the occasion that it took me a full thirty seconds to realize that Spock was not waiting for me in the living room.

Huh.

"Hello?"

Maybe he's in the bedroom, all naked and oiled up, just waiting for me to arrive.

"I am in the kitchen, Nyota."

Or maybe he's in the kitchen, not naked and not oiled up.

Dumping my overnight bag on the floor by the couch, I slipped out of my shoes and padded in to find him busily opening food containers and making tea.

It was almost as sexy as the nakedness and oiliness.

A wave of emotion crashed over me. It'd been a week since I'd seen him. I'd missed him.

Acutely.

Wordlessly, I padded over to him and leaned into his side, hugging him tightly. His hands stilled their movements. After several seconds, he brought his hands up to my arms. I closed my eyes and breathed him in deeply. He released me first.

I stepped back and looked at the takeout containers. "What're we having?"

"Indian cuisine," he replied, "I apologize that I am not prepared for your arrival. My department meeting ended ten point five minutes later than planned."

I kissed his cheek; he leaned into my lips. "As long as you're here, I don't care how late you are."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Nyota. May I ask you to set the table?" He indicated the small pile of plates and utensils on the corner of the counter.

I grabbed them up in answer.

The table was set, and I was sitting down when he arrived with a tray of delicious smelling food and spicy smelling tea - or was it the other way around? It didn't matter. I was hungry enough to eat a wing-slug.

He set the food and tea on the table, and sat down opposite of me.

"It looks amazing. Where'd you get it?" I asked as I scooped rice, lentils and a masala dosa onto my plate and began to eat.

"There is a small restaurant near the Presidio which delivers food to campus. I find the food to be acceptable."

"It's delicious," I said. "Can you pass the naan?"

He pushed the plate towards me, and I looked at him properly.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"Watching you consume food is most fascinating."

I raised my eyebrows and stared at him.

"You eat with great relish," he elaborated as he ladled rice and lentils onto his plate and picked up his fork.

Somehow, that doesn't sound like a good thing.

"I like food," I said.

"It is a common Human trait."

"Yes. A good one." I picked up a samosa and bit into it. He very carefully did not look at my fingers.

"My mother also has a great love of food. She continually introduced my father and me to Terran cuisine."

"What'd your father do?" I asked, chewing slowly. The samosa was really good.

"He bore it with great grace."

I snickered. "I've never had Vulcan food, but I do hear that it is."

His head came up and, with it, an eyebrow.

Tread lightly, girl.

"Unique," I murmured.

"Vulcans believe that food should be used to meet the nutritional needs of the one who is consuming it. Adapting to the Human tradition of eating for pleasure was a particular challenge when I moved to Earth."

"And how did you manage that challenge?"

He ate a forkful of lentils and rice then replied. "I believe the proverb is 'si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more; si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi.'"

Not surprisingly, his Latin was impeccable.

"'If you were in Rome, live in the Roman way; if you are elsewhere, live as they do there.' St. Ambrose. Didn't think I knew Latin, did ya?" I challenged playfully while I scooped the rice and lentil mixture onto the naan.

"I endeavor to never underestimate you, Nyota."

I grinned at him. "You're a pretty smart guy, do you know that?"

"I am aware of that fact. However, I believe that you are referring to something other than my intellectual capabilities."

"A smart man is one who lets the woman have the last word."

"My father often espoused that particular philosophy."

"Then he is very smart, too. And he raised a brilliant son."

Both his eyebrows flew up to his bangs, and he ate in silence for several minutes. I was able to finish the samosa and plow through most of the masala dosa before he spoke again.

"I believe that I am expected to ask about your day."

"Expected by whom?" I questioned, trying not to choke on the food I was chewing.

"I believe that asking such a question is an integral component of Human courtship rituals." He ate for a moment then said, "Do you wish to discuss your day?"

Sure. Of course. It was just a typical day in the life of Nyota Uhura.

While painting my toenails bright red - because red is "sexy, sexy, sexy" - my Orion roommate came up with the final aria of Act Two of the opera she's writing about yours and my love life. Then I spent thirty minutes coming up with ways to kidnap you off to some exotic locale, so I can avoid the test in geometry I have on Monday - a test I'm pretty sure I won't get an "A" on. Then Gaila made me go lingerie shopping. After four hours, she bought something that she calls a nightie, but that is comprised entirely of three ribbons. Three small ribbons. And I didn't get to finish any of my homework.

"It was just a typical Friday," I said. "Classes in the morning and studying in the afternoon."

He inclined his head, which meant he wanted me to continue.

"I have a test on Monday."

"In which class?"

"Subspace Geometry," I sighed. "Which I hate." Suddenly, I had a lot to say.

I liked being able to complain to someone other than Gaila.

"I don't understand why communications majors need to take both intro and advanced - I'm dreading next year, by the way - that's what engineers are for. I don't see the point of it all."

Spock cleared his throat and took a deep breath; his chest expanded in an indecently attractive manner.

Don't drool, don't drool, don't drool.

"The mathematics of spatial relations has numerous practical applications in space and on a starship. For example: deflector geometry, hull geometry."

Oh, God! It was just like chess all over again.

I interrupted him before he recited the entire textbook to me. "I know the point of it; I just don't see the point of it."

"That statement is illogical."

"Not to a Human," I replied. "Just because I can understand the intellectual necessity of learning all about the mathematics of hulls and shields doesn't mean I can emotionally accept that I have to learn it. Besides, I don't see myself ever using it in my work."

He stared at me for a moment; I could almost hear him processing my argument. "I believe I can see your point."

Score one for Uhura, Cadet!

I grinned in triumph.

"I do not agree with it, however."

So close.

"And I thought I'd finally convinced you of something," I sighed.

He regarded me for several seconds. "You are a most persuasive individual, Nyota. Do not doubt that."

I held his gaze. My heart rate began accelerating, and my limbs began to feel as if they were melting.

He blinked then looked down at his meal. "Are you prepared for your examination?"

Hey! How about we talk about how I can persuade you to do naughty things to my person.

"I will be. The rest of this weekend is going to be all geometry, all the time."

On a totally unrelated note, can I borrow your brain for a few hours on Monday?

"If you wish, I could help you prepare."

I smiled at him, a wave of adoration breaking over me. "Thank you, and I mean that, however I don't want to put you in a awkward position so I'm going to decline."

His eyebrow broke all previous records reaching his bangs.

"It would create a strange dynamic, Spock," I hastened to add. "You're not my teacher anymore, and I want to make sure that line never gets crossed again. I don't mind talking to you about general school related things but not my work in my classes. I don't want this," I waved my hand between the two of us, "to be just a continuation of school. I want it to be about us."

"But you are a student," he said. "And I am an instructor."

"No, I'm a woman, who is also a student, and you are a man, who is also a teacher. Those are our jobs; they are not who we are. Sometimes we all need a break from our jobs."

He took a breath.

"I know, I know," I said, guessing at what that breath meant. "You don't agree with me."

"No. I was going to say that I am able to acknowledge the fact that Humans do need respite from the rigor of academic instruction."

"And Vulcans?" I prompted.

"We are not without somewhat similar needs."

"Good," I said, taking a bite of rice. "So, we won't be studying tonight."

"No. I wish to discuss the most recent article by Dr. Andrea Chinn."

What were the odds that Dr. Andrea Chinn was the 23rd Century's answer to Dr. Flenderson?

Pretty damn low.

"What's the title of the article?" I asked, almost certain that it wasn't 'Vulcan/Human Love: You Can Do It!'

"'The Practical Applications of Andorian Acoustical Advances in Minimizing Subspace Sound Distortions.'"

Baby steps, Nyota. Little, teeny, tiny baby steps.

"Spock, is that article in any way related to school, academia, or Starfleet Academy?"

He chewed methodically while he thought it over.

"A discussion of Dr. Chinn's article would not meet your need for respite," he said after he swallowed.

"No, it most certainly would not."

"So what do you wish to do instead?"

Naked tapioca wrestling? Naked Twister? Naked 3D chess? Naked nakedness?

"We'll figure something out," I said, my mind careening amongst the scintillating possibilities. "There are lots of things that have nothing to do with geometry, spaceships, or Starfleet Academy. I feel like doing something mindless; we haven't really had the chance to do that."

And pantless. I really want to do something pantless.

"We did watch the movie you wanted to watch," he said, deftly cutting a piece of samosa and popping it into his mouth.

Did he just tease me?

"They Live is not mindless. It is a searing, yet humorous, exploration of the rampant materialism of late-Twentieth Century Earth."

"Quite."

Yes, yes he did.

I narrowed my eyes at him; he remained completely unaffected by my ire.

It was completely disarming.

Time to move on to the pantless portion of the evening.

"Wow!" I said, yawning hugely. "I'm tired. How about you? Are you getting tired?"

"I will not require sleep for several more days, Nyota."

Okay. Brilliant Vulcan doesn't equal good at reading social cues.

"But I do require sleep - and pretty darn soon, too." I stretched, making sure to curve my back away from my chair, therefore, thrusting my chest towards him.

His eyes fell to watch my movements.

"You wish to retire for the evening?" he asked.

Five points for not asking if my back hurt and twenty for getting, on some level, that I'm trying to seduce you.

"Sure," I said eagerly, jumping up and starting to stack the dishes. "I'll clean up."

"I can clean," he protested.

"No, you got dinner together, so it's only fair that I have clean-up duty. You can get ready for bed."

He blinked. "I apologize, but I must send several short messages to Commanders Bryce and Quezada regarding next year's Xenobiology syllabi."

"Not a problem," I reassured him halfway to the kitchen.

"Nyota?"

"Work," I said, flapping my hands at him.

"Very well," he said after several seconds.

He's probably worried I'll drip on the floor.

Only I could end up with both a lover and a best friend with obsessions with cleanliness.

His kitchen was pristine, so storing away the leftovers and cleaning the plates and utensils took no time at all. He was still typing away on his PADD when I emerged.

"I'm going to get ready for bed."

He nodded. "I will join you shortly."

"Very shortly?" I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

He picked his head up and stared at me for a moment. "Yes. Very shortly."

"Good." I grabbed my bag from the floor and headed to the bathroom. Once there, I preformed the traditional ablutions and donned the negligee.

God help him if he asks me what happened to my usual pajamas.

In his room I tried to decide what position would show the nightie - and me - to the best advantage.

Flat on my back, my hair spread across the pillows, feet crossed at the ankles, and my belly? No. At my sides? Definitely not. Above my head?

That has possibility.

But if I'm on my back, I can't really see his reaction when he walks in.

This is so complicated!

Okay, okay, pull it together.

I could be standing at the foot of the bed.

No. Not standing.

Nor walking, nor sitting.

Lingerie is for reclining.

I'll recline on my side, one arm above my head, the other following the curve of my waist and hip.

Perfect!

Arranging myself was easy. Waiting was more difficult. Time seemed to drag while I waited, posed alluringly.

Two minutes later, I heard the bathroom door slide open then shut. Three minutes after that, it slid open and shut again.

He walked soundlessly - but I knew that it was only ten steps from the bathroom to his bedroom. It only took seconds to traverse.

He walked in, saw me, stumbled, and stopped. He took a very deep breath as his eyes roamed over me - taking me in from head to toe. His eyes snapped to mine.

"That is a most intriguing choice of apparel."

"Just a little something I thought you might find fascinating," I said.

"Yes. It is most fascinating," he murmured.

I propped myself up on an elbow; he stayed frozen.

"You can join me," I pointed out.

"In a moment," he replied, his eyes moving restlessly over me.

Finally, he nodded and took a step to the bed.

"Uhm, Spock?"

He stopped. "Yes, Nyota."

"Maybe you could take those off." I waved my hand towards his t-shirt and shorts. "Might make things easier later."

He looked meaningfully at the negligee.

I understood instantly.

"I can leave this on."

"That would be most agreeable," he replied, disrobing quickly.

My own naughty Vulcan.

He sat on the bed beside me and, with his super Vulcan strength and force of will, maneuvered me onto his lap.

I may have helped.

It took several seconds of maneuvering - and then several seconds more because the first few had been fun - to get positioned comfortably. My knees bent beside his hips, the satin bunched in soft pleats that rubbed deliciously against his belly and mine, my ass resting right at the top of the apex of his thighs where something intriguing began to harden behind me.

Spock, however, didn't seem to notice any of it. Rather, he ran his fingertips across the fine straps at my shoulders. "This is lingerie; its purpose is to excite and entice," he said, almost as if he were identifying some exotic plant.

"Is it serving its purpose, Commander?"

"Quite admirably," he replied, his fingers tracing the material as it dipped between my breasts then back up again.

I covered his fingers with my own and pressed his fingers more firmly against my skin. We watched with fascination as our fingers touched skin and satin. His head came up, and he caught my gaze. His eyes were heated, dark with arousal.

I breathed his name then captured his lips with mine. I could feel his fingers twist into the fabric at my sides then straighten.

My fingers found his ears, tracing them endlessly. His knuckles found my spine, descending along the column, shifting the satin against my skin. I whimpered into his mouth. He repeated the caresses on the sides of my torso, then from my belly to my neck, catching my nipples with his thumbs as he journeyed up and down, up and down. In answer, I delved deeper into his mouth, deepening the strokes at the tips of his ears, as I followed the whorls, and touched the lobes. His thumbs pressed against the hard nubs of flesh, and I groaned into his mouth.

"Okay," I said, ripping my mouth away from his. "You win."

"It was not a contest," he said softly.

"No, but you still win. My sensitive parts are more sensitive than yours."

"Your sensitive parts? Please elaborate."

"The parts that really, really appreciate when you touch them."

"Ah, those parts," he said. "I am well acquainted with those parts. Such as this one." He brushed his lips over the exact spot on my neck that turned my brain off.

"Grlg!" I said, rocking back and forth on his abdomen.

"Or here." He brushed his fingers over the hollow of my throat.

My breath rushed out in a gasp.

"Or this one." He cupped the underside of my left breast, moving his fingertips across the sensitive skin.

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Or here." He rubbed his fingers across the swollen area between my legs. "Touching them allows me to bring you pleasure."

"You're right," I conceded. "It's all for the greater good." I leaned into his lips, devouring them.

His hands migrated to my face, first cupping my jaw then fluttering across my face. There wasn't a discernable pattern, but I knew what he wanted.

"Go ahead," I whispered against his lips.

"Are you quite certain?"

I nodded, and his fingers pressed - almost eagerly - against my face.

"Our minds - one and together."

All of us - one and together.

I could feel him enter my mind, much less cautiously than the first time.

Thank you, Nyota.

I told you I didn't mind doing this, I pointed out.

Ah, he said. Then he showed me what he was really thanking me for.

Cinnamon skin against white satin.

I appreciate you providing me with such arresting visual stimuli.

You really need to work on your bedroom talk.

But it is true, he protested.

It's not what you say, but how you say it, I clarified. For example, you could say that I'm beautiful and breathtaking, that I've bewitched you.

There was a rushing silence for a moment as he processed my statement - as he filtered through his language banks - finding words and definitions.

Bewitched. To charm; to fascinate; to please to such a degree as to take away the power of resistance; to enchant. Yes. That is not an entirely inaccurate descriptor.

I sighed. Just say it, Spock. No one else will know. It's just you and me in here.

There was a moment of silence then his voice came again, softer - hesitant. I will show you how you have affected me.

He let his reactions flood through me. The excitement, the pleasure, the anticipation of what was to come followed by the rush of blood that hardened flesh, not softened it - the desire to possess, to take, to invade.

All desire for words were erased by the force of what he'd shared with me.

Oh, God! Is this what you feel every time? I asked.

Yes, he replied.

It's powerful.

It is. As is this.

He let his admiration and love wash over me.

It was too bright, too warm. Too immense.

Can we stop? I asked.

Of course.

He withdrew. I pressed my forehead against his. The residual emotion still coursed through me: excitement - masculine and foreign; love - enormous and intense.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not sure if it was for ending the meld or for the fact that my feelings weren't as bright or warm or large as his.

Yet.

"You said you would not apologize for being Human," he said, pressing gentle kisses into my temples, along my cheekbones - where his fingers had just been. "I do not wish for you to do so."

I took a deep breath, surprised to find that my heart was racing. "I love you," I said, almost defensively.

I wondered if he was still in my head. Almost hoped that he was, so he could see the proof that was there.

"You have informed me of that several times," he said.

"I mean it."

"I believe you," he said.

I shifted, feeling rigid flesh pressing into the curve of my behind. "Guess you do," I said, slipping the satin against him.

He groaned, and his eyes slid closed. His fingers slipped down and tangled in the straps.

"Do you want me?" I asked, even though I had ample evidence that he did.

His breath came in short and shallow gasps.

"Glazha'uh na'nash-veh. Ri ikap'uh bezhun," I said, continuing to brush against him.

I wanted him to look at me. Needed to see his eyes.

He opened his eyes even though it was a struggle for him.

"Ri dungi. Aitlu gla-tor du," he replied.

He wanted to see me, too.

I smiled at him, and then he was positioning me, rushing up as he pushed me down, so I was taking him in one endless stroke. My breath rushed out in a gasp.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Not even a little bit," I said, pulling our mouths together, so I could kiss him, proving to him with my ardor that I was the exact opposite of hurt.

Placated, he began to move his hips, driving me, driving himself.

"T'du," I said, moving in concert with him. "T'du."

Yours.

"T'nash-veh," he confirmed.

You are mine

I threw my hips down at him, desperate for more - more heat, more friction, more him until it was almost too much again - too hot, too wet, too big, too hard, too deep - and in that second where pleasure morphed into pain, the universe righted itself and sent me soaring into ecstasy.

I was vaguely aware of his roaring my name as I collapsed forward onto his heaving body.

We breathed in heaving gasps together; my eyes were tightly closed, so I could feel each prickle of pleasure, each rush of heated blood course through my body.

"Nyota?" His voice was gentle again, despite the shakiness.

"I'm alive," I announced, sliding myself off of him. His fingers tightened on my hips, and I wondered if he missed being inside me as much as I missed having him there.

I slid my body down, so I could rest my cheek over where his heart pounded. His fingers combed through my hair.

"And, I was able to stay awake. Did you notice that?" I pointed out proudly.

"I am acutely aware that you did not fall asleep after the meld."

"I'm getting better at it."

"Indeed."

I grinned and flopped my head back down, resting my ear over his heart - listening raptly to its movements; he was silent, his fingers gently moving through my hair, his breath slowing.

"I love you," I said, kissing his side, feeling his heart flutter beneath my lips.

Then he was pulling me up, his fingers urgent against my shoulders. I went willingly as he lowered me to my back, stared in my eyes a long moment, whispered my name, and pressed a kiss into the skin over my heart.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat as he settled his head against my heart. I began to stroke his dark and silky hair.

It's getting warmer, brighter and larger all the time.

~~The story continues in Gifts Are Important, Dumbass~~