P.S.: The weather is fine

Author: Lady Charena

Series: TOS [AR]

Codes: S/Mc, POV

Rating: R

Feedback: If you like - <LadyCharena@aol.com>

Summary: Just a bit of shore leave pleasures...

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek. This story is mine and only fanfiction. No moneymaking or no offence of copyrights are intended. If you are under age or have a problem with homosexuality, please stay away.

English is not my native language, so please be patient with mistakes. My thanks to T'Len and Janet for beta. If there are remaining errors, blame me.

For more of my stories (and stories by T'Len) visit the homepage of the TOSTwins: http://www.geocities.com/tostwins/KSlash.htm

P.S.: The weather is fine

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lady Charena Dec. 01

>>Dear Joanna,

I've found this old-fashioned picture postcard in the small hotel you recommended to us. It shows a part of the beach. Well, it's not the best hotel I've ever stayed at, but it is not as overcrowded with people, as you told us. And that's what we wanted for this few days of shore leave. Just sand, sleep and peace. (And two or three drinks with some of the more entertaining guys at the bar for me, during Spock's meditation.) The food's rich and good. Okay, I have to stop now cause we planned a trip to a cliff a few miles from here to watch the sunset.

With love, Leonard

P.S.: The weather is fine.<<

I put the pen down and rise to my feet. With a sigh I stretch my back and hear a faint crack, accompanied from a short pain - no way to deny it, I *am* definitely getting old...

"Are you ready, Leonard?" a soft voice asks.

I smile as a pair of very warm hands touches my back at exactly the right point, soothing away the remaining pain with a gentle massage.

"That's what I needed," I sigh. "Thanks." I turn to place a short kiss onto your cheek.

"You are welcome, Leonard." Dark eyes smile at me. "Did you finish the message to your daughter?"

"The picture postcard? Yes, I did. She's going to like it, 'cause she inherited the love to such old-fashioned things from her mother. We can leave it at the reception on our way to the beach." I take the card and my sunglasses from the desk. "Ready?" I receive a short nod in return.

* * *

After leaving the postcard in the more than capable hands of the man behind the reception, we leave the building and step into the soft warm of a late summer afternoon.

I shove my sunglasses up into my hair; the light isn’t bright enough to hurt my eyes, anymore.

For a while we walk in silence, enjoying the companionship and the fresh, salty air.

"Do you regret being not able to spend more time with Joanna?" you suddenly ask.

I stop for a moment. "Of course I do," I say - with a faint ring of guilt in my voice. "She's my daughter."

"So why did you agree to spend this leave with me instead of her?"

"Spock, I... was supposed to be a part of her childhood, supposed to help her to find her way. But I chose instead to run away from her and her mother, feeling unhappy with a wife I hardly knew, with my whole life." I turn to gaze across the nearby water. "Now Joanna is a grownup woman with her own family and her own life. She doesn't need me anymore. It's okay to pay a visit from time to time but a longer stay would have been unpleasant for both. So I decided to drag you away from your computers." I turn again to look at my silent Vulcan.

"I too welcome the opportunity to spend more time with you." More you didn't say, but the look in your eyes told me everything I need to know.

* * *

After the sun vanished we return to the hotel.

"I think I need a shower. With you," I suggest not very subtle after entering our room. But then we know each other too long for subtlety. I know you prefer Sonics whenever possible, but they still have good ol' water-showers here. And they're big enough for two.

"Indeed?"

Oh, I know a smile when I see one. And there is definitely a smile dancing in your eyes. "Indeed!" I answer dryly. I start to get off my clothes, and you are still standing there, your arms crossed in front of your chest, watching me. "Need some help with this?" I ask when I step to you, tugging at the sleeve of your tunic.

Amusement trickles across the link we share, but you start to undress and follow me into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, raising the temperature to the highest setting I can endure and step under the water. "Come on," I reach for you, and after some hesitation you enter the stall.

"Like a cat," I tease and reach for the soap.

"I can assure you, Vulcans are not of feline ancestry," you answer dryly, plucking the bottle with soap out of my hands to put some onto your palms.

You work it to lather and I can't tear my eyes from your long fingers, moving smoothly. I can almost feel them on my skin. Eventually I look at you. Of course you've noticed my absence of mind. I shrug with a smile and lean forward to kiss you. A moment later, I feel your hands sliding across my back. And it's much better than every fantasy or memory I've ever had.

Later I soap your buttocks, making my intentions more clear. And start to laugh as a soft purr escapes your lips. "No feline ancestry, you're sure?" I tease. Warm and wet, you are irresistible. No one I've ever met smelt like you, tasted like you. Sometimes I think I could eat you alive.

Your arms wrap around my waist, dragging me closer to your body, and I feel your hard cock pushing against my belly.

I slip out of your grip and work slowly my way down your body. For a moment I stop, my head resting on your thigh. Your cock hard and hot against my cheek. I open my lips to lick across it, to suck you. I never get tired of it, of feeling you in my mouth, of your taste.

With a groan you stop me and withdraw. "Not tonight", you say, taking my wrists, to haul me to my feet. "Tonight I want all of you." With that you turn off the water. "Or have you got other plans?" Your eyes slowly travel down my aroused body. Then you whisper your fingertips across my mouth.

For eight years I have known you. It’s been two years since I first tasted your lips, touched your body, and although there is not a centimeter of you I don't know by feel, sight or taste, you can still drive me into a frenzy of lust with a simple gesture like that. I sway a little, dizzy with arousal and you put a hand to my shoulder to steady me. I want to say something like "too much for an old man," but the words die on my lips as I met your burning gaze. There is a question in your eyes, and I simply nod...

* * *

A long time later I rise from the bed to help myself to some brandy. I turn to watch you. Your eyes are closed, your hair mussed. It pleases me to think that I'm the only person alive who ever saw you let go to that extent, so unselfconscious and at peace; you don't care what you look like. Most people think of you as aloof, distant, even cold and emotionless. With me your Vulcan defense mechanisms shut down all the way. You trust me. In moments like this you are mine alone...

I return to the bed to sit next to you. All the sudden I feel young - tired, too - but young and impish. I dab a little brandy over your left nipple and suckle it dry.

You open your eyes just a fraction to look at me under lowered lashes. Slowly you raise an eyebrow.

And I can't hold myself - I start laughing. I put the glass away and snuggle up to you. This is going to be one of the best shore leaves I ever had.

End