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My beloved ha’su, Good morning, sweetheart. I hope you slept well. I’m sorry if I didn’t have time to make love with you this morning, unless I woke up earlier than I plan to right now—truth be told, I’m writing this at 0120 and mean to leave this note on my pillow for you before I slip out for that early meeting. By the way, don’t you just love this antique stationery? I’ve squirreled it away for special occasions, and I know what you’re thinking: this isn’t a holiday or a date of any historical or personal significance, but I consider every day I spend with you as my bondmate and lover to be a very special occasion indeed. While I was walking three of our new transfers to the crew quarters’ deck this evening (well… yesterday evening), one of them was forward enough to ask me whether you and I are, in fact, in a romantic relationship. I managed to avoid giving either a direct yes or no, but none of them seemed to notice since by the time we arrived at the first of their cabins, their conversation had devolved into listing off their favorite aspects of, well, you. Ordinarily, I would have curtailed their discussion with a reminder of the inappropriateness of objectifying and sexualizing a superior officer, but—knowing they would just pick it up later in my absence anyway, and that I would therefore not get to hear what they had to say—I allowed it to run its course. (Forgive me, honey. It’s just that I have a decidedly personal investment in the subject and my curiosity couldn’t resist the temptation.) Now, I’m going to try not to give you so much information that you’re able to deduce which of our junior lieutenants I was escorting, and which of them made which observations, but I’m sure your keen mind will figure it all out sooner or later whether I try to prevent it or not. Humor me and keep your hypotheses to yourself, though, will you? I really don’t want to name names… unless, of course, you want to insist by means of physical coercion, which we both know I would be entirely unable to withstand. At any rate, what got the topic underway was the remark, “If I was lucky enough to be in a relationship with Commander Spock, I wouldn’t let a day go by without kissing those ears.” (I know, the ears—how predictable!) After the obvious murmur of agreement that ensued, the follow-up was, “Of course the ears, but how about those eyebrows? So sexy and mysterious.” The next comment was in regards to your deep-set, dark-caramel eyes, then they mentioned, in turns, your long, graceful legs, your sleek and impeccable hair, and a rather lascivious reference to your gorgeous hands and fingers. The one walking next to me said, “I’ve heard that Vulcans kiss with their fingertips. Do you know anything about that, sir?” But before I could get a word in edgewise, one of the two walking behind me whispered to the other, “If they do, I’d want those sensitive fingers of his all over my—” The speaker was elbowed in the rib at that point, and although they thought I hadn’t noticed, I almost laughed aloud. But don’t worry, I’m sure the end of that sentence was going to be “arm” or something equally innocuous. I imagine you’re wondering why I’m bothering to tell you any of this. Well, science officer, it got me thinking about the features of your marvelous physiology that they failed to point out—or simply aren’t aware of—as well as wondering what my favorite thing is about your body. Trust me when I say that I could go on and on for days waxing poetic about the way your chiseled shoulder blades jut out so elegantly from your back and quiver at my touch, or the way your full, velvety lips part to release those amazing gasps and your magnificent voice panting my name when we make love. I could write volumes about the lovely natural curve of your instep, how wonderfully soft the soles of your feet are against the pads of my (heh, not-so-sensitive) fingers. I should probably tell you more often how crazy I get when I stroke or lick that little spot on the back of your neck and it makes you purr so handsomely for me. (I get the feeling you already have an idea how much that sound affects me, though.) My heart—and, yes, something else—throbs even at the mere thought of the perfection hiding from public view just beyond your waistband… the warm skin of your flat, adorably ticklish belly, the extraordinarily soft hair covering your most intimate parts, the heavenly slickness underneath that greets my fingers or lips or tongue every time I visit, the satisfyingly rigid evidence of your excitement that only I am privileged enough to witness and enjoy… oh, Spock, you have no idea. And yet, after mulling it over for several hours tonight, I have to say I might very well be most taken with that small bit of extra skin at the base of your right earlobe (you know, the bit that you once tried to tell me didn’t bother you but that I know secretly irritates you). I love to run my tongue over it, take it between my lips and suck just the gentlest amount, or even just look at it and feel the memory of its texture in my mouth when someone mentions your Vulcan ears and completely overlooks your earlobes… it always gives me such joy and fulfillment! There’s something about that tiny, sensitive, seemingly lone imperfection on your beautiful body that I can never quite get enough of. In fact, when we’re both back in our quarters tonight, I have half a mind to treat that sweet little blip to a thorough demonstration of my affection for it. If that demonstration happens to lead my attentions to other regions of your mouthwatering physique, well… I’ll leave that up to you. I’m not telling you this to embarrass you, I simply want you to know that I love every last millimeter of you, although I may not express it frequently or adequately in person. Most people only seem to notice the readily apparent aesthetic differences between our species, and I’ll be the first to admit that your delicate pointed pinnae and stunning eyebrows were among the first things that drew me to you physically. But our newcomers’ little conversation just got me pondering the subtler things about you that overwhelm me with arousal and delight and love every minute of every day. Consider this the official report on my findings from a recreational thought experiment, if you will. I adore you, I desire you and love you and cherish you, my incomparable husband, my t’hy’la—I only hope you know how much. Until tonight, darling.My utmost,your James
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Nashaut, my cherished kahs’khior’i, Good evening, my love… nuh’mau-wak. Please give my thanks to the yeoman who delivered this envelope to you; I would have brought it myself, but appearing on the bridge in my present state—that is, devoid of any clothing whatsoever—seemed altogether inappropriate. I can imagine you quite clearly now, fidgeting in your seat of power, your tired but sparkling eyes scanning my words, broad back and shoulders straightening, lovely legs crossing nervously as you attempt to keep any of the officers around you from learning the contents of the note in your lap. Oh yes, I am vividly picturing your heavenly lap, that warm, inviting, now slightly tense cradle of your waist and hips in which I ought to be sitting. I have not ceased thinking about it—about you, at least peripherally if not primarily—since I opened my eyes. Perhaps it surprises you to discover that I also keep on hand a supply of arcane paper and writing implements. However ineffective a potential attack on our ship’s digital or mechanical systems would likely prove to be, it is nevertheless prudent to have other means of communication available. You can see, then, that my possession of such artifacts as this elegant parchment and calligrapher’s ink is purely motivated by concerns of practicality and in no way sentimental. That being said, I was considerably humbled and flattered by your stirring letter, which I read immediately upon waking. It was, of course, no substitute for your presence in our bed, but I was deeply moved by your thoughtful and romantic gesture, as I am by all such overtures you make toward me. Should you happen to have received word that I was six minutes and fifty-two seconds late to my post, you may rest assured that I hold you personally responsible for my tardiness. As I can only presume you intended, your passionate words elicited all the same physiological responses from my body that they would have if you’d been saying them in person. Your enthusiasm was so poignant that I read the latter 0.47th of your note three times; it inspired within me an intense (and markedly distracting) yearning for you which, rather than abating until a more convenient hour, has only intensified throughout the day. It was eminently illogical, but as I read and reread your poetic compliments, I found myself blushing and my hand tracing over the residual warmth of your missing body on the sheet and pillow beside me. Your note also recalled to my consciousness a brief but gentle touch of your sweet, soft lips to my face which I had dreamed just before being roused from sleep. I wonder, now, whether that interaction was not a dream after all. It is my sincere hope that today’s briefings and your double shift on the bridge have gone well. Although Vulcans do not experience the passage of time in as mercurial a way as Humans, I admit that my own extended shift supervising in the laboratories felt very long indeed. (I suppose I have my half-Human lineage to blame for this.) The minutes seemed to progress abnormally slowly, especially given that neither of us was able to meet for any of our usual meals together. I regret that our respective duties keep us in separate areas of the ship on occasion: if it were possible, I would choose never to leave your side, or the blissful and restorative embrace of your strong, loving arms. (Lest you worry, I absolutely do still derive consistent fulfillment from my work. Additionally, I have found that every moment of every day, tracing all the way back to the very beginning of our courtship, I have been both grateful for and proud of your accomplishments—overwhelmingly so, in fact.) Ordinarily, I would be reluctant to divulge that I myself had either allowed or participated in idle gossip while on duty. In light of your confession, however, regarding the conversation into which you were dragged yesterday (and, from the sound of it, “kicking and screaming,” as the good doctor might say), I feel it would be most duplicitous of me not to mention the exchange on which I rather self-indulgently eavesdropped this morning. Having excused myself from the main workspace to check our dynamic recrystallization readings in the adjacent chamber’s computation terminal—leaving four lieutenants junior grade and an ensign in the laboratory proper to monitor our ongoing particle stimulation—I allowed my thoughts to wander to your letter for the nineteenth time in three hours and abruptly heard some of my own desires for you being vocalized. Evidently, my Human assistants had either forgotten about or never been made aware of my superior aural acuity as a Vulcan, as after being jarred from my own mind by a wish to “squeeze Captain Kirk’s perfectly round little tushy,” the first comment I intentionally overheard was a conspiratorially mumbled, “Should we be talking about this? I’ve heard that he and Mr. Spock might be an item.” The responses to that inquiry were dismissive, assuring the asker that I was “all the way in the other room,” am unlikely to be involved in an interspecies sexual relationship, and have no doubt come to expect such observations from my illogical Human colleagues. (Do not think, by the way, that I am unaware of your deliberately juvenile amusement at the above reference to my ‘superior aural acuity.’ Regardless, I am certain you will manage to find a way to coax me into demonstrating its homophonic counterpart on you yet this evening—should you desire it, that is.) In the four minutes and twenty-seven seconds which followed, I shamelessly listened to and agreed with their praises of your body, from your “totally flawless, glowing golden skin” and your “sexy hair, especially that lock in the front that swoops down when he’s been working out” to your “gorgeous eyes, probably impossible to resist in bedroom mode” (which they determined I am likely the favored, if not solitary, recipient of) and “smooth flat chest and beefy arms that I just want to run my hands all over every time I get a glimpse of them.” One of them commented that they’d seen you in the corridor earlier and that you were “looking extra fine today,” eliciting a rather facetious, “Doesn’t he look extra fine every day?” and a resounding consensus that you do, in fact, resemble a “delicious little slice of Heaven” at all times. (I happened to agree with their evaluation.) Given my own fascination with the subject of your anatomy, I permitted their discussion far longer than I should have as their superior officer, but I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the spike of productivity which resulted from their camaraderie. Apparently, talking about a mutual object of their affections boosted the Humans’ morale such that their efficiency improved by a statistically significant margin. (If you’re interested, I can provide you later with the exact figures I calculated during dinner this evening.) However, my own professionalism and—as you so eloquently dubbed it the last time I was privy to this sort of dialogue—“overprotective jealousy” led me to interrupt their banter when it seemed likely to devolve into vulgarity. One of the lieutenants remarked that “literally everything” about you is flawless, and that they doubt the existence of a single blemish or scar anywhere on your body. This prompted one of the others to exclaim, “I’d like to submit my candidacy for conducting that research!” I decided then that their chatter had progressed far enough, so I put on the pretense of being absorbed in my datapadd and reentered the main laboratory. When their talk ceased at my return, I raised my head to offer them a nod. They seemed satisfied, then, that I had not overheard their inappropriate and decidedly not work-related conversation. To defuse the tension, the youngest among them (laudably confident that I would be lenient enough to allow them to speak amongst themselves about subjects other than the experiment itself) surprised and impressed me by casually and seamlessly remarking on a new model of personal communicator just released to the public, as if they had been discussing such mundanities for the entire duration of my absence and merely paused to acknowledge my reappearance. Coupled with your information about yesterday’s transfers having a similar conversation about my person, it occurs to me now that our crew is exhibiting elevated amounts of sexual preoccupation. Perhaps you and I should consider personally investigating this matter during our off-duty time. At any rate, both your letter and my lab assistants’ discussion caused me to ponder all afternoon over what my favorite feature of yours might happen to be. Of course I am always beguiled by your petite rounded ears, sensitive as they are to even the lightest touch of my breath, finger, or tongue. And your tongue, warm and wide, is a constant source of gratification for me—it is the additional treasure waiting behind your sweet, silken lips, a luxury in their own right. My salivary glands become active merely at the thought of your lips, those deliciously plump vermilion guards to the sacred paradise of your mouth, which itself forms such charming indentations at its corners when you smile up at me. Your eyelashes have mystified me from the very moment we met. Their exceptional length and gentle curves frame your hypnotic green-bronze irises so strikingly that they may as well be phaser fire, for all that they leave me utterly stunned (particularly when you train the full force of your “bedroom mode” on me). Your eyes themselves glitter more alluringly than the star clusters through which we travel, and they penetrate into my psyche more poignantly and with far greater depth than our exploration has taken us into the vast reaches of space. I have told you before of my weakness for your mellifluous voice, as well as your supple musculature, your softly sloping jaw, arms, midsection, legs, and backside, all of which are so much finer to the touch and to the eye than the sharp, angular features of my own people. The smooth plane of your chest, the irresistible fragrance of your entire body, and your fascinatingly responsive thasek-gonaflar regularly occupy my unapologetically lustful mind, as do your athletic calves, your powerful thighs, your erotically coarse pubic hair, your succulent and robust lok, your tender sakal-lar, the elixir of your sa-nei-masu… James, it is such exquisite torture to have tasted of your innumerable virtues only to be inevitably deprived of them even for a moment, let alone an entire solar day. Perhaps, though, what I most look forward to is that upon your return—at which point, I believe you intend to, as you said, thoroughly demonstrate your affection for the defect of excess skin along my right earlobe—I intend to likewise demonstrate my affection for one of the only visible abnormalities of your body. The scar on the bottom of your left palm, which you once disclosed to me resulted from an incident in your childhood involving the fender of an old-fashioned Earth bicycle, will become the target of my hands, lips, and tongue as soon as you come through the door and join me in our bed. I wish to pull you close, bringing your wrist to my mouth so that I might savor the acceleration of your pulse, then delicately bathe that minute fold of infinitesimally raised and blanched scar tissue with all the care and fondness it engenders within my heart. Although you have also confided to me that even the temporary scars you often acquire in the line of duty tend to trouble you, reminding you, as they do, of your own destructibility and mortality, I find myself strangely endeared to them (particularly that long-lived one on your palm) as they serve to remind me of the perseverance, fortitude, and complexity of your character which I have so admired and adored since we first met. It is my ardent hope that, given my progressively aroused state, you will permit me to ravish that magnificent hand which I find all the more beautiful for its imperfection. I am exceedingly thankful that your shift will be ending soon, my divine husband, as I have ached for you all day and am tremendously eager to reunite with you in every manner imaginable. I will be here, waiting for you in our quarters (sai-fam, veling), until you are relieved of duty and finally free to come home to me. Ka’i, khart-lan. Sanu, ak sarlah-tor nash-veh, t’hy’la; bolau dular akali. Shal t’nash-veh… t’du.With passion,your Spock