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logicallythylaRIGHT, FLUFF INCOMING!!! I haven’t written Spuhura before so here’s hoping I do them justice! I may have gotten a bit carried away so its kinda long I’m sorry!
Shore leave on an icy planet was never going to be easy for either of them. Spock, being half-Vulcan, is built to withstand the cold of a desert night, not to enjoy or thrive in it. Nyota too dislikes the cold; it travels into her flesh and clings to her, weighing her down like snow crushing down branches of a tree. She feels, in those moments of terrible cold, a spark of fond kinship with her ancestors, and she never fails to think of the Kenyan kanga she takes with her everywhere, a gift from her mother’s mother. It is not suitable for much save decoration in a cold environment; even on the Enterprise she wears it rarely. It is filled with the colours of the sun, and she misses seeing those colours warming the sky.
All the same, Nyota still loves winter. She likes the way that the world feels somehow quieter, more blanketed and enclosed. The clouds and snow hug the earth like the blankets she has taken to collecting for their bed. Spock claims to have no aesthetic preference of any type of weather, but they both know that he enjoys the weather of winter too. They have booked a cabin for the duration of their shore leave; or rather, Spock arranged the cabin, and left the planning of their other activities to Nyota. She arranged for several hikes, and a cross-country skiing session, but it seems that the snowstorm that has blown in over the area is determined to keep them from attempting to enjoy venturing into the icy wilderness. She does not mind.
The wind howls past the eaves of the cabin the windows dark against the light inside, painted with specks of white snow. Nyota thinks, illogically, that the spots where snow touches the glass are the fingers of ghosts, and she shivers at the morbid thought. Spock turns to her, a slight frown furrowing his smooth brow, touching her shoulder lightly to bring her out of her reverie. They are each working on their projects, sitting near each other on the comfortable sofa, simply existing in each other’s presence. It is a form of intimacy that Nyota has never before enjoyed; in previous relationships she has been too caught up in the concept to ever feel truly comfortable to just sit in her partner’s company and be herself. Spock never fails to make her feel welcome to be herself; when she is with him, she feels known, completely, and though he never says it, she knows that he loves exactly who she is. She feels it, in his actions and their melds. Right now, she knows he is about to quietly say that he loves her, without saying the words, once again.
“Nyota, you are cold. Might I suggest that we discontinue our respective projects? I confess, I have a plan for us this evening, despite asking you to arrange our activities. I hope that this is agreeable?” Spock sounds unusually hesitant, so Nyota smiles and lets two of her fingers rest on his extended forearm.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Spock!” She feels her posture start to soften; as always, his gentle way of caring managing to soothe her. “I’d love to find out what your plan is.”
“If you would set up the open fireplace, I shall begin my preparations.” Spock places his PADD on the table and stands, allowing himself to stretch up onto his toes and roll his shoulders and neck. He offers Nyota an arm and she takes it, letting herself be helped off the sofa.
“Of course.” She says, growing curious, though she supposes that it is logical to increase the heat inside the cabin for the night, by any and all possible means. She pushes up her sleeves and gets to work. As she sets up the fire, starting with a small nest of kindling, leaving a hole for the fire-lighter, the smell of tree-sap and coal and fire-lighters brings her back to winters at home. She would always beg her parents to let her light the fireplace, and she wonders if Spock remembered this from one of their melds. As a child, she would build up the kindling methodically, carefully laying the larger logs in optimal position for the tallest flames, placement learned from long practise. She still loves the feeling of the rough wood against her skin, and the way the slick black soot of the facsimile of coal clings to her fingers. She stacks the ‘coal’ across the edges and around and over the centre, to give it the most opportunity to heat up, and the fire most room to breathe and grow and warm the cold ‘coal’ before it touches it. When she is done, she strikes the match and lights the fire, deciding to keep the fireguard aside.
She stands, resisting the urge to wrap her fingers around her forearm to see the stripes of pitch black against her dark ochre skin. Instead, she casts about to see where Spock is. She finds him in the kitchen, his pale green skin illuminated by the warm light of the kitchen and the archaic gas stove. He is boiling milk over a ring, and she can smell the spices and tea added to it. Two mugs are resting on the countertop nearby, with filters over them, and he is biting his lip a little in concentration. His hair is, characteristically, neat, but his usual pressed perfection is morphed into something far more adorable by the casual dark jeans and slightly large navy knitted sweater he is wearing. The sleeves are pushed up over his forearms as he stirs.
She is struck by a wicked idea, and she treads softly as she approaches. She knows he will have heard her already, but she persists in pretending that it will be a surprise as she wraps her arms around him. She presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder, and, deliberately, presses her coal-stained hands over his bare arms. She hears Spock’s sharp intake of breath and leaps away, grinning, as he turns to her.
“Nyota, what did you hope to gain by leaving coal on my skin?” He asks, holding up his forearms, which each bear an imprint of her touch. The slight raise of his eyebrow, the gentle upwards twitch of his lips, reveal to her that he is amused.
“Nothing!” She answers, darting in to tap him lightly on the nose. He blinks at her for a moment, his smile growing, and he laughs, soft and open and honest. She loves that he will laugh with her, that he feels safe to do so. It is another way that she can hear him express his affection.
She is so caught up in the warmth in his eyes, that she doesn’t register why his fingertips brushing across her hand is strange. He smears the soot he collected on his fingers across her left cheek in a two-fingered kiss, grinning triumphantly. Her hair is dishevelled, her face and hands smudged with soot. Her eyeliner is wiped off for the night, and she is wearing a simple set of black leggings and a grey jumper she borrowed from him weeks ago and has not yet returned, and yet she has never been more beautiful to him than now, her smile sparkling bright against the dimmer light of the cabin.
“What was that meant to achieve, Spock?” She asks, laughing.
“Nothing!” He echoes her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her in gently, leaning down to kiss her. His lips are soft, warm, and she can’t help but sigh into them, resenting now that hands are covered with soot. He pulls away, and the care in his eyes makes her breath catch in her throat. “Please wash your hands, so we may continue in my plan.”
Nyota moves to the kitchen sink, her whole body still feeling light and tingly from their kiss. She washes her hands, scrubbing under her nails, and wipes off the smudge on her cheek, before taking a flannel and dampening it. Spock is back to stirring, and she takes one arm at a time, wiping them clean. She uses the last edge of the cloth to wipe the soot off his nose, and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his nose before she washes off the flannel. She watches his smile and easy grace as he turns off the heat and pours the tea into the two mugs, setting aside the filters and pan to be cleaned later.
“Please, take these to the table by the sofa. I shall be with you momentarily.”
Nyota carries the tea across, and tries to identify the spices. It is reminiscent of Earth Chai blends, but she recognises some of the spicy notes as unique to Vulcan. She wonders if this was a drink his mother made, or if it is a Vulcan dish. Either option makes her feel warmed.
She sits on the sofa, and hears him behind her. A large pile of fuzzy blankets tumbles onto the sofa next to her, and he walks over to the holo-screen, inserting a memory chip, and returns, placing a pack of dried dates on the table beside the drinks, along with a bowl to collect the stones. He sits beside her, picking up his PADD to turn on the holo-screen. A collection of movies are displayed, and she smiles when she sees the options.
“Spock, where did you get these?” She asks, unable and unwilling to keep the fondness from her voice.
“I kept track of the movies that you mentioned loving but experiencing difficulty finding. I apologise for not telling you sooner that I had sourced some of them, but I wished to surprise you.” He admitted. His cheeks blushed a darker shade of green, and she impulsively leaned across to kiss him on the cheek, brushing two fingertips down his arm to the hand holding the PADD as she did so.
“You don’t need to apologise, Spock. This is lovely. Romantic.” She smiles as he relaxes into her touch. He fusses over the blankets, tucking them around them, and hands her her mug, placing the bowl within relatively easy reach and offering her a date. She takes one, and takes a sip of her tea. The flavour of the heavy sweetness of the dates, with the accompanying light spices of the tea, are absolutely wonderful, and she smiles, throwing the date pit into the bowl. “This is delicious, Spock.”
“I am gratified that you enjoy it.” He says, settling back onto the sofa himself. “It is a version of a common Vulcan indulgence; though it was modified by my mother also.”
“Chaya t’not, Spock.” She says, softly. He takes one of her hands, his fingers stroking her skin gently.
“I am glad to share this with you, ashaya.” He withdraws his hand, placing it over the PADD again. “Do you have a preference for which movie to watch?”
Nyota looks at the projection, wondering which movie best suits her current mood. Spock scrolls for her, and she spots one that she cannot pass up the chance to re-watch. “You found Pacific Rim?!” She grins, shifting around on the sofa in excitement. “Have you seen it before?”
“Indeed. I have not yet seen it. I take it that you would like to see it again now?”
“Yes!” She tries not to shout, but it’s a close-run thing. “Yes, please, that would be amazing.” She cannot wait to find out what he makes of the movie; it’s entire concept is illogical, but she feels like something in it will call to him in any case. She notices that he has not pressed play, and his eyes are fixed on her. “Are you alright, Spock?”
“I am fine.” He says, his eyes capturing her gaze. His face is stunningly open, and he puts the PADD aside, taking her hands in his. “I simply wished to express-“ He pauses, searching for the right words. “Taluhk nash-veh kdular. I love you, Nyota.” His voice is a little rough, filled with a depth of emotion that resonates with her soul. She can see the naked emotion cast across his features, and she knows that her eyes are bright with unshed tears. His molten gaze turns alarmed. “I apologise, I did not mean to-“
“It’s alright, Spock.” She shushes him gently, pulling a hand free to caress his cheek and jawline. “These are happy tears. I love you, too.” She presses a chaste kiss to his lips, and moves so that she is pressed against his chest. His heartbeat flutters against her, and he wraps his arms around her in a lose embrace, pulling the blankets around them more closely.
“Humans are most illogical,” He murmurs, though his tone is not one of reproach. “Tears are meant to be indicative of distress.”
“Well, they can also be indicative of any overwhelming emotion.” Nyota says, her heart filled to the brim with love and happiness and a glowing sensation of warmth. “Now, I really want to see what you think of Pacific Rim, if you think something so small as tears illogical!”
He raises an eyebrow at her, a smile playing across his lips, and starts the movie.
I also posted it to Ao3!
I hope you enjoy this and that it is as fluffy and cute as desired!! <3
RIGHT, FLUFF INCOMING!!! I haven’t written Spuhura before so here’s hoping I do them justice! I may have gotten a bit carried away so its kinda long I’m sorry!
Shore leave on an icy planet was never going to be easy for either of them. Spock, being half-Vulcan, is built to withstand the cold of a desert night, not to enjoy or thrive in it. Nyota too dislikes the cold; it travels into her flesh and clings to her, weighing her down like snow crushing down branches of a tree. She feels, in those moments of terrible cold, a spark of fond kinship with her ancestors, and she never fails to think of the Kenyan kanga she takes with her everywhere, a gift from her mother’s mother. It is not suitable for much save decoration in a cold environment; even on the Enterprise she wears it rarely. It is filled with the colours of the sun, and she misses seeing those colours warming the sky.
All the same, Nyota still loves winter. She likes the way that the world feels somehow quieter, more blanketed and enclosed. The clouds and snow hug the earth like the blankets she has taken to collecting for their bed. Spock claims to have no aesthetic preference of any type of weather, but they both know that he enjoys the weather of winter too. They have booked a cabin for the duration of their shore leave; or rather, Spock arranged the cabin, and left the planning of their other activities to Nyota. She arranged for several hikes, and a cross-country skiing session, but it seems that the snowstorm that has blown in over the area is determined to keep them from attempting to enjoy venturing into the icy wilderness. She does not mind.
The wind howls past the eaves of the cabin the windows dark against the light inside, painted with specks of white snow. Nyota thinks, illogically, that the spots where snow touches the glass are the fingers of ghosts, and she shivers at the morbid thought. Spock turns to her, a slight frown furrowing his smooth brow, touching her shoulder lightly to bring her out of her reverie. They are each working on their projects, sitting near each other on the comfortable sofa, simply existing in each other’s presence. It is a form of intimacy that Nyota has never before enjoyed; in previous relationships she has been too caught up in the concept to ever feel truly comfortable to just sit in her partner’s company and be herself. Spock never fails to make her feel welcome to be herself; when she is with him, she feels known, completely, and though he never says it, she knows that he loves exactly who she is. She feels it, in his actions and their melds. Right now, she knows he is about to quietly say that he loves her, without saying the words, once again.
“Nyota, you are cold. Might I suggest that we discontinue our respective projects? I confess, I have a plan for us this evening, despite asking you to arrange our activities. I hope that this is agreeable?” Spock sounds unusually hesitant, so Nyota smiles and lets two of her fingers rest on his extended forearm.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Spock!” She feels her posture start to soften; as always, his gentle way of caring managing to soothe her. “I’d love to find out what your plan is.”
“If you would set up the open fireplace, I shall begin my preparations.” Spock places his PADD on the table and stands, allowing himself to stretch up onto his toes and roll his shoulders and neck. He offers Nyota an arm and she takes it, letting herself be helped off the sofa.
“Of course.” She says, growing curious, though she supposes that it is logical to increase the heat inside the cabin for the night, by any and all possible means. She pushes up her sleeves and gets to work. As she sets up the fire, starting with a small nest of kindling, leaving a hole for the fire-lighter, the smell of tree-sap and coal and fire-lighters brings her back to winters at home. She would always beg her parents to let her light the fireplace, and she wonders if Spock remembered this from one of their melds. As a child, she would build up the kindling methodically, carefully laying the larger logs in optimal position for the tallest flames, placement learned from long practise. She still loves the feeling of the rough wood against her skin, and the way the slick black soot of the facsimile of coal clings to her fingers. She stacks the ‘coal’ across the edges and around and over the centre, to give it the most opportunity to heat up, and the fire most room to breathe and grow and warm the cold ‘coal’ before it touches it. When she is done, she strikes the match and lights the fire, deciding to keep the fireguard aside.
She stands, resisting the urge to wrap her fingers around her forearm to see the stripes of pitch black against her dark ochre skin. Instead, she casts about to see where Spock is. She finds him in the kitchen, his pale green skin illuminated by the warm light of the kitchen and the archaic gas stove. He is boiling milk over a ring, and she can smell the spices and tea added to it. Two mugs are resting on the countertop nearby, with filters over them, and he is biting his lip a little in concentration. His hair is, characteristically, neat, but his usual pressed perfection is morphed into something far more adorable by the casual dark jeans and slightly large navy knitted sweater he is wearing. The sleeves are pushed up over his forearms as he stirs.
She is struck by a wicked idea, and she treads softly as she approaches. She knows he will have heard her already, but she persists in pretending that it will be a surprise as she wraps her arms around him. She presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder, and, deliberately, presses her coal-stained hands over his bare arms. She hears Spock’s sharp intake of breath and leaps away, grinning, as he turns to her.
“Nyota, what did you hope to gain by leaving coal on my skin?” He asks, holding up his forearms, which each bear an imprint of her touch. The slight raise of his eyebrow, the gentle upwards twitch of his lips, reveal to her that he is amused.
“Nothing!” She answers, darting in to tap him lightly on the nose. He blinks at her for a moment, his smile growing, and he laughs, soft and open and honest. She loves that he will laugh with her, that he feels safe to do so. It is another way that she can hear him express his affection.
She is so caught up in the warmth in his eyes, that she doesn’t register why his fingertips brushing across her hand is strange. He smears the soot he collected on his fingers across her left cheek in a two-fingered kiss, grinning triumphantly. Her hair is dishevelled, her face and hands smudged with soot. Her eyeliner is wiped off for the night, and she is wearing a simple set of black leggings and a grey jumper she borrowed from him weeks ago and has not yet returned, and yet she has never been more beautiful to him than now, her smile sparkling bright against the dimmer light of the cabin.
“What was that meant to achieve, Spock?” She asks, laughing.
“Nothing!” He echoes her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her in gently, leaning down to kiss her. His lips are soft, warm, and she can’t help but sigh into them, resenting now that hands are covered with soot. He pulls away, and the care in his eyes makes her breath catch in her throat. “Please wash your hands, so we may continue in my plan.”
Nyota moves to the kitchen sink, her whole body still feeling light and tingly from their kiss. She washes her hands, scrubbing under her nails, and wipes off the smudge on her cheek, before taking a flannel and dampening it. Spock is back to stirring, and she takes one arm at a time, wiping them clean. She uses the last edge of the cloth to wipe the soot off his nose, and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his nose before she washes off the flannel. She watches his smile and easy grace as he turns off the heat and pours the tea into the two mugs, setting aside the filters and pan to be cleaned later.
“Please, take these to the table by the sofa. I shall be with you momentarily.”
Nyota carries the tea across, and tries to identify the spices. It is reminiscent of Earth Chai blends, but she recognises some of the spicy notes as unique to Vulcan. She wonders if this was a drink his mother made, or if it is a Vulcan dish. Either option makes her feel warmed.
She sits on the sofa, and hears him behind her. A large pile of fuzzy blankets tumbles onto the sofa next to her, and he walks over to the holo-screen, inserting a memory chip, and returns, placing a pack of dried dates on the table beside the drinks, along with a bowl to collect the stones. He sits beside her, picking up his PADD to turn on the holo-screen. A collection of movies are displayed, and she smiles when she sees the options.
“Spock, where did you get these?” She asks, unable and unwilling to keep the fondness from her voice.
“I kept track of the movies that you mentioned loving but experiencing difficulty finding. I apologise for not telling you sooner that I had sourced some of them, but I wished to surprise you.” He admitted. His cheeks blushed a darker shade of green, and she impulsively leaned across to kiss him on the cheek, brushing two fingertips down his arm to the hand holding the PADD as she did so.
“You don’t need to apologise, Spock. This is lovely. Romantic.” She smiles as he relaxes into her touch. He fusses over the blankets, tucking them around them, and hands her her mug, placing the bowl within relatively easy reach and offering her a date. She takes one, and takes a sip of her tea. The flavour of the heavy sweetness of the dates, with the accompanying light spices of the tea, are absolutely wonderful, and she smiles, throwing the date pit into the bowl. “This is delicious, Spock.”
“I am gratified that you enjoy it.” He says, settling back onto the sofa himself. “It is a version of a common Vulcan indulgence; though it was modified by my mother also.”
“Chaya t’not, Spock.” She says, softly. He takes one of her hands, his fingers stroking her skin gently.
“I am glad to share this with you, ashaya.” He withdraws his hand, placing it over the PADD again. “Do you have a preference for which movie to watch?”
Nyota looks at the projection, wondering which movie best suits her current mood. Spock scrolls for her, and she spots one that she cannot pass up the chance to re-watch. “You found Pacific Rim?!” She grins, shifting around on the sofa in excitement. “Have you seen it before?”
“Indeed. I have not yet seen it. I take it that you would like to see it again now?”
“Yes!” She tries not to shout, but it’s a close-run thing. “Yes, please, that would be amazing.” She cannot wait to find out what he makes of the movie; it’s entire concept is illogical, but she feels like something in it will call to him in any case. She notices that he has not pressed play, and his eyes are fixed on her. “Are you alright, Spock?”
“I am fine.” He says, his eyes capturing her gaze. His face is stunningly open, and he puts the PADD aside, taking her hands in his. “I simply wished to express-“ He pauses, searching for the right words. “Taluhk nash-veh kdular. I love you, Nyota.” His voice is a little rough, filled with a depth of emotion that resonates with her soul. She can see the naked emotion cast across his features, and she knows that her eyes are bright with unshed tears. His molten gaze turns alarmed. “I apologise, I did not mean to-“
“It’s alright, Spock.” She shushes him gently, pulling a hand free to caress his cheek and jawline. “These are happy tears. I love you, too.” She presses a chaste kiss to his lips, and moves so that she is pressed against his chest. His heartbeat flutters against her, and he wraps his arms around her in a lose embrace, pulling the blankets around them more closely.
“Humans are most illogical,” He murmurs, though his tone is not one of reproach. “Tears are meant to be indicative of distress.”
“Well, they can also be indicative of any overwhelming emotion.” Nyota says, her heart filled to the brim with love and happiness and a glowing sensation of warmth. “Now, I really want to see what you think of Pacific Rim, if you think something so small as tears illogical!”
He raises an eyebrow at her, a smile playing across his lips, and starts the movie.
I also posted it to Ao3!
I hope you enjoy this and that it is as fluffy and cute as desired!! <3
nerdqueenenterprise:
????????????????????????? tHE EMOITONS I ‘M HAVING ARE NOT LOCIGALC ETIEHR!!!!AHHHHHH THSI WAS SO PRECIOUS
sorry. let me collect myself. i swear fluff kills me. he laughs with her and they kiss and she’s all tingly and he says he loves her and he got her the movies (pacrim!!! yay!!!) and they c u d d l e i’m goin gto cry thank you
soap-brain
