Chapter 3

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During my third year, I applied for and was offered the position of being his Teaching Assistant. Our poetry sessions evolved into lively, at times, heated debates. Figurative language was a sore spot for the Commander. And when I felt particularly strong about my position, my poetry became laced with idioms he had trouble deciphering. When he felt he was in the right, his poetic responses treaded on condescension. Though we debated frequently in print, had heated discussions via electronic messages, and at times, nearly argued in person, neither of us ever wished to abandon the sessions and the working relationship that had drawn us closer.

As we neared the end of the last semester of my third year, our poetry sessions had expanded to include song lyrics as viable forms of poetry. The merits, or lack thereof, were discussed, debated, and argued over. Bliss for a cadet like me, who had never been able to shake a school-girl crush. Spock, as I called him in the privacy of his apartment, always behaved like a perfect gentleman. But the looks he gave me as I read particular lines sometimes…were not so gentlemanly. Not brotherly anymore. Even his protectiveness, at times, appeared more like possessiveness. As if I was his somehow.

Tonight, we were reading another poem together. I didn't confess that it was one of mine, but I suspected he knew.

The day has ended
Night is falling

The chirps and creaks

Of things small

And not so small

Fill the near-darkness
With sounds of life

In the distance

I hear

The rumble of thunder

I see

The crack of lightening

Far away, coming closer

The rain will come soon

The spicy-sweet
Scent of his maleness
Drifts towards me
Seduces me

Says to me

Come closer

I have never been able

To resist the pull

Of his eyes

And tonight

Is no different

The rain is not

The only thing

That will come this night

I too

Will come like the rain

Like the rain

Like the falling rain

The water

Will flow from me

Like the rain

By the soft light

Of the room
I gaze into his eyes
While he gazes into mine
Slowly
The space separating our lips
Grows smaller

And smaller
Until it disappears

Completely

The touch of his lips

Warmth and a taste

Uniquely his

His tongue parts my lips

Seeking

Finding

Slick wetness

Against slick wetness

Tasting

Teasing

And he feels
Mine on his

Softly

The rain is falling
Against the window

Softly

I feel his hands
On my body

Shall I touch you here?
He asks
His voice is gentle

As are his hands

Or there?
What about here?
I say,
Placing his hands
Where I want them

Like this?
Yes...
You like this, don't you?
Yes...
May I kiss you again?
Yes...
And the shadows
From the candle flames
Dance on the wall
He kisses me again

And soon I find myself moaning softly
May I do something else?
Like what?
Like make love to you?
Please do
And our shadows
Join the ones on the wall
While our rhythms
Compete with those
Of the rain

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Reading the poem was one thing. Reading the poem with Spock sitting that close to me was another thing altogether. My nerve broke. It wasn't a game anymore. I stood up abruptly from where I'd been sitting on his couch, and moved over to stand by the window.

"I can't do this anymore, Spock. I can't."

He didn't ask me what I was talking about. I heard him stand, but I refused to turn around and look. I didn't want to see his emotionless face. I also didn't want to see the emotions I'd learned he was very capable of showing, in his own ways. I knew I wouldn't enjoy seeing what would be there: pity.

"This poem is one that you wrote?"

"You know it is."

"Is this another exercise in poetic craftsmanship?"

"No." My voice was very small, too small to belong to me, the fearless translator.

"Is this an invitation, then, to contact of a physical nature?" Spock had moved from where he'd been sitting. The sound of his voice suggested he was very close to me. A heartbeat later, I could feel just how close he was. I could feel the heat from his breath on the back of my neck. Too close. He was too close.

"Nyota, you have not answered my question."

"Do I have to actually say it? Please, just move. You're too close to me. If I turn around now, I'm going to kiss you. I can't pretend anymore that all I feel for you is friendship."

"Then I suggest you stop pretending and acknowledge your feelings."

"And why would I do that?" It sounded childish, but the last thing I needed right then was encouragement to do something stupid.

From behind me, I felt him circle my waist with his arms. He pulled me close, close enough that I could feel his heart beating against my side. Although I had fantasized things like this far too often, it had never occurred to me that he might have been feeling similarly. He was Vulcan, after all, from a high status family. I knew there was a woman waiting for him back on his home planet. He rarely talked about her. He'd mentioned that they respected each other, but never much else. Did his being this close to me mean that respect was all they felt for each other? Did I have a chance with him then?

"If you acknowledge your feelings, it will present me with an opportunity to acknowledge my own for you." Spock spoke the words softly into my right ear, sending something down my spine that I could only describe as a shiver. I'd never felt anything like that in my life. I felt hot and cold all at the same time. Writing about how you imagine something would feel, and actually feeling it were two different things. Spock and I would definitely have to talk later. Too many thoughts, too many obstacles, too many what-ifs were on the path we were treading.

"Yes, it was an invitation to physical contact." And what was happening right now was definitely physical.

"And emotional contact as well?" His lips were tracing the curve of my ear, moving from the top of the curve and going lower. Soon he would reach my ear lobe. It was getting more and more difficult to think, but I understood the question. His assault on my ear was proof that he was definitely interested in getting very up close and personal. Asking about emotional contact meant something else. Vulcans didn't share their emotions lightly. It meant he wanted to share his deepest self with me. Not with her, with me. While I was thinking, Spock had reached my ear lobe, and was now nibbling his way towards my lips, gently turning me in his arms so that I faced him. He looked down at me, waiting to hear my answer.

"Yes, Spock, emotional contact as well," I whispered as I brought my arms up to embrace him. Heavens, it felt so good to finally be able to do that.

"Then I accept your invitation." Spock's lips met mine, as we kissed for the first time.