The BLTS Archive- The Failed Experiment
 by kwata

---


Disclaimer: Oh great Paramount, Spock is yours. Damn, but I wish he
was mine. Please don't send the copyright police to my house in the
middle of the night. I promise that no profit will be gained from this
humble work of fan fiction.

Nothing too daring or deep for this, my first attempt at writing TS.
In fact, it couldn't get any shallower. It's a blatant PWP, just an
excuse to treat our favourite Vulcan to some female nookie. Yea,
though my offering is tiny and paltry compared to some of the talents
here, it is given in good faith.

---

The newly-posted announcement in the rec room was attracting
considerable attention.

	"Classical Music Fans, take note!
	Open Air Concert Tonight! Hear Beethoven as you've never heard 
	it before!
	Staccato Amphitheatre!
	See you at 19h00!"

There were low murmurs of interest in anticipation of the concert. The
Shore Leave Social Club was working overtime as usual, sniffing out
the best local entertainment for the enjoyment of the crew, ensuring
that there was always something different to look forward to.

"Are you planning to attend this event, Lieutenant?"

The newest member of the Enterprise crew swung around at the sound of
the familiar, deep voice. Since joining the Science department three
weeks ago Meg Carter hadn't had much interaction with her new boss,
but luckily interaction wasn't essential for admiration.

"Well, yes, sir, it sounds wonderful."

"Indeed. Then I shall accompany you, if you have no objections. It
would be most unwise for you to beam down on your own, especially at
night. We will depart at 18h30."

He raised an eyebrow, gave her an inscrutable look, and left without
waiting for an answer.

When she felt sufficiently composed to string a sentence together and
appreciate the pun, she thought, Objections? Surely the man was
joking? Vulcans don't joke, she silently answered her own question.
But they do appreciate good music, apparently.

---

Meg met Spock at 18h30 in the transporter room. Both were in uniform
and carried their Starfleet field jackets in case the evening got
chilly later on.

They materialised on the edge of the open-air amphitheatre. It was
impressive. Situated in the hollow of a natural depression that might
once have been a dried-up lake or a meteor crater, the grassy slopes
were widespread enough to allow thousands of people to sit comfortably
with an all-round view of the stage, while the ring of trees set
further back contained the sound in a perfect acoustical arrangement.

There was quite a crowd there already, all jostling for position on
the lower slopes closer to the stage. Many of them had hampers of some
sort, most likely containing sustenance for the evening ahead. Just
like any open-air concert back on Earth, Meg thought.

Spock looked around and spotted a tree some way back from the lip of
the bowl, but not so far back that they wouldn't have a good view of
the performance. There was nobody in the immediate vicinity. He
strolled over, looked around again, came to a decision, and sat down
with his back against the trunk. Meg settled herself on the ground to
the left and slightly in front of him. They waited in easy silence
until the dancing laser lights faded and the symphony orchestra
appeared on a platform that rose from the bowels of the stage like a
leviathan rising from the deep, to great cheering from the audience.

Beethoven's music was moving, as always. Played on alien musical
instruments, it was as different as anything that existed in the
galaxy, but the essential soul of it was still there. Incredible, Meg
thought, how extensively Terran classical music had spread through the
known worlds. And how the renditions of it ranged from the sublime to
the horrible.

This version fell somewhere on the sublime side, near the middle of
the scale.

Spock was also assessing the performance, except that he couldn't
recall a time when he'd heard a more painful and treacherous
interpretation of the sweeping Pastoral Symphony. Somewhere, he told
himself, there is a Klingon who would be most eager to use this as an
instrument of torture.

Not long into the performance a light breeze sprang up. Meg, who, like
Spock, was sensitive to cold, hugged herself and shivered a little,
and reached for her jacket. Just then she felt a tapping on her
shoulder.

It was Spock. He had noticed her discomfort and, feeling a little cold
himself, decided to redress the situation in a logical, economical and
efficient way. He parted his legs and motioned for her to come and sit
between them, in this way warming them both through the exchange of
body heat, far more effectively than jackets alone would have done.

Meg was grateful. Surprised, but grateful. She was well aware that
Spock, like all Vulcans, preferred not to suffer physical contact with
humans if possible, and she found it quite amazing that he should even
propose such a thing.

With only a twinge of self-consciousness, she scooted back and nestled
herself against his chest. His knees were bent and drawn up on either
side of her, his wrists resting loosely on them, hands relaxed and
drooping. Goddess, he was warm! The heat emanating from his body
radiated right into her back and dispelled the cold as surely as a hot
shower would.

He must be shielding with all his strength, she thought, to bear such
large-scale contact with a human. Well, it was his choice, and she
decided to make the best of it.

Spock was indeed maintaining tight mental shields against reception of
Meg's thoughts and emotions. To his mild surprise, he sensed no
feelings of aversion within himself to be near her thus, and was
actually finding it quite agreeable. Curiosity gave him a reason to
thankfully block out the cacophony arising from the stage and turn his
attention to her hair. He inhaled, raised an eyebrow a fraction, and
decided that the clean smell of her hair was pleasing enough to
warrant further exploration.

Quite oblivious to Spock conducting a survey of the parts of her in
closest proximity to him, Meg felt herself getting carried away by the
music. She'd never heard the Pastoral Symphony played with such an odd
assortment of instruments, but it did have a certain haunting charm,
once you got used to it. Even if the violins did sound like bagpipes,
and the percussionist definitely had a sadistic streak in him. It was
discordant, but entertaining.

Spock moved his head closer to her petite, rounded ear, prettily
adorned with a single gold half-ball. He was deriving considerable
enjoyment from this exploration. The music was forgotten in the
satisfaction his research was bringing him. Again he inhaled, and was
rewarded with a fresh, fruity odour. Surmising that it was her perfume
rising from a spot behind her earlobe, he closed his eyes and
concentrated on identifying the ingredients.

Meg tilted her head back just slightly, allowing the surroundings to
enhance the orchestral experience. Her eyes roamed over the night sky,
strung with glittering stars like water droplets in a spider's web.
The planet's two moons blazed their pink light down upon the audience
spread out over the grass-carpeted slopes. It was a glorious evening,
and even more so now that she was warm and comfortable.

Definitely jasmine and orange, and was that a hint of sandalwood?
Spock was beginning to feel rather warm. By tilting her head a
fraction, he noted, Meg had inadvertently brought the dainty, curved
tip of her ear very close to his mouth. He decided to take the
investigation one step further by initiating a labial examination.

A crescendo built in a soaring, unearthly wave which peaked and fell,
draining away to a tranquil tide that gently flowed. Meg felt
something soft touching her ear. It moved all along the top edge of
the curve, then stopped and travelled in the opposite direction. At
first she thought it was an insect and moved her hand to swat it away,
but the warmth emanating from that gentle caress gave her pause.
Insects definitely did not radiate heat.

Spock's lips traced the delicate contour of Meg's ear. His detailed
inspection of her outer aural region confirmed that the intoxicating
aroma was strongest towards the dorsal side of that enchanting
appendage, and he brought his mouth back to the area in question and
let it linger there as he breathed in and filled his nostrils with the
smell of her.

Meg sat, paralysed. Her heart felt as if it could go supernova at any
minute. The music had all but ceased to exist. She didn't know what to
do. The realisation that Commander Spock was contentedly gliding his
mouth up and down her ear was disconcerting, to say the least. No, it
was more of a nerve-numbing shock to the system. She gave silent
thanks that two minutes ago her system had not yet sunk into such
numbness as to let her mistake him for an insect and hit him in the
face.

It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive--on the contrary, he was
possibly the most desirable, and unattainable, man she had ever known.
Of course he was sexy--even a Denebian Slime Devil would find him
attractive, in her opinion--but to discover that he was sensual as
well... This was as unexpected as it was terrifying. If she shook him
off, what would he do? Knowing him, he'd probably look at her
impassively, raise an eyebrow, and turn back to the music as if
nothing had happened. But to waste such an opportunity? Simply
unthinkable.

And this experience wasn't physically unpleasant. In fact, it was
downright sensuous, with those very soft lips nuzzling her ear and
that very hot breath warming her skin.

Mmmm...

Spock extended the scope of his fieldwork to include a tactile
analysis. Trailing the pads of his fingers lightly down her neck to
test the texture of the epidermis there, he decided that he had not
yet encountered anything as soft or as fragrant. Her skin, cooler by
several degrees than his own Vulcan skin, yielded where he exerted
gentle pressure on it, and sprang back resiliently into place. His
fingers came to rest in the hollow of her throat, feeling skin pulsing
under his fingers. Absently he calculated that her heartbeat was 30%
faster than the human average, and steadily increasing. Interesting; a
similar phenomenon was occurring with his own pulse.

Please, oh please, slide your fingers under my collar. Meg couldn't
believe she was praying for the Enterprise's aloof and mannerly First
Officer to but his hand on her breast and squeeze it, rub it,
manipulate it. She wanted him to, so badly, and so did her nipples.
They were calling to him. The hot hand moved, rubbing along her
clavicle from one side to the other, and for a minute she thought it
would proceed further down. The disappointment when it ascended again
to her throat was so intense that it took an immense effort not to
grab two handfuls of grass and shred them to atoms. She could hear him
close to her ear--he was breathing hard, almost sighing with each
exhalation.

Aahh...

The weather was causing sighs elsewhere in the grounds. Chased ahead
by the wind, a large patch of cloud had approached the centre of the
sky, edging up to the rosy moons. Dismayed spectators began to think
of rain. The cloud didn't stop and as it pulled itself across the
lunar faces everything around them went darker. The illumination from
the distant stage became the only source of light in the vicinity.

Perhaps an oral inspection would be in order, Spock thought, intent on
carrying out as comprehensive a survey as possible. His lips parted
and the tip of his tongue emerged and flicked against her. She tasted
of honey and ripe peach, and something very close to sweet cherry
mint. Delicious. But what was that sound, that low anguished noise? He
repeated the action with his tongue, and a vibration against his
fingers told him that the origin of the sound was Meg herself.
Seemingly this situation was as pleasing to her as it was to him.

She had never felt anything as erotic as the tongue that now teasingly
followed the path traced by the fingers. His breath was moist against
her skin as he nibbled his way up and down her neck. His hand tangled
in her hair. The other arm crept around her waist and pulled her
against the warmth of his body, and she felt something solid that
definitely hadn't been there before, pressing against her lower back.

No longer deluding himself that this was merely some interesting
experiment, Spock slid his hand under Meg's chin and tilted her head
up, pressing his mouth to hers. A pointed tongue fluttered against her
lips, seeking entrance. It was quickly and eagerly granted and they
both sighed as they tasted each other. Meg sucked on his probing
tongue, drawing it in deeper still, as he made small sounds of
pleasure.

The performance on the stage swung into the fourth movement, but the
performance under the tree was far more entertaining. Spock shifted
and lowered one leg to the ground, making it possible for Meg to turn
and face him, her chest against his, draping her legs around his hips
and behind his back. Much more comfortable, and now they could touch
and explore each other's bodies with ease as their groins rubbed
together.

A long-fingered Vulcan hand rested briefly on her knee before
beginning an epic journey up her thigh, making a pitstop halfway in
order to prolong the delicious anticipation. Then it made a detour to
the underside of her leg before continuing until it reached its silk
and lace-covered destination. That barrier was instantly and neatly
negotiated, and Meg squirmed as Spock's fingers penetrated her, moving
inside her. That she managed not to cry out loud or bite through his
tongue could be classified as a miracle. Then he pulled out and held
his fingers to his nose, smelling her, murmuring as the intoxicating
scent of her heightened his arousal.

She slipped one hand under his tunic and the other between his legs
with the intention of doing some exploring of her own. He was hard,
very hard, and his erection strained against the confinement of his
uniform pants. Her fingers traced the strong outline of it up to the
fat glans, then back down to the base, beneath which a pair of firm
balls nestled tightly. In seconds she had established a massaging
rhythm, dragging the heel of her hand down his thickened shaft and
squeezing his sac with her fingers just before the up stroke. His hand
tightened painfully on her shoulder. He grunted into her mouth and
responded with a rhythm of his own, clenching and relaxing his
buttocks, working himself against her hand.

Up till now their discreet, if intense, foreplay had gone unnoticed,
but it was only a matter of time until they became too noisy to escape
detection. The music wasn't *that* good.

Then the moons peeked out from behind their cloudy blanket, and Spock
and Meg knew it was time for a change of scenery. With a mighty
effort, they pulled apart. In the moonslight, they regarded each other
with wide eyes.

"The logical outcome of such, ah, activities as we have been indulging
in, is intercourse," Spock said quite unnecessarily, in a voice thick
with desire. "I propose that we adjourn to your quarters or mine.
Now."

Meg shivered. The need in his voice was devastating. She had every
intention of doing as he said, but her legs refused to obey her order
to stand. Spock climbed to his feet and helped her up, resisting the
urge to crush her against him, because then he wouldn't be able to
stop himself from making a spectacle of them both in front of all
these people.

"Seconded," Meg replied breathlessly, "but you can't beam up to the
ship like that."

"Like what?"

She pointed, and Spock looked down at himself. Even in the moonslight
the heavy bulge between his legs was conspicuous. In the bright light
of the transporter room the technician would spot it instantly, and
then there would be rumours zipping around the ship at warp speed.

"Oh. We could wait until it subsides. I am able to control it, but I
am limited by normal physiological function. It will take several
minutes to--"

"I don't want to wait even one minute," she said yearningly. His
nerves tingled. "Here," holding out his jacket, "keep this in front of
you and nobody will notice."

---

Minutes later, in Meg's quarters, they were naked on the bed and
writhing in each other's arms, the logical outcome of a trail of
clothes that started at the door and ended at the foot of the bed.

The journey from the amphitheatre to the cabin had seemed eternal, and
if the turbolift had been empty, Spock would have stopped the car and
taken her right there, such was the tension between them. However, the
presence of two red-shirted ensigns was an effective deterrent and all
he and Meg could do was stare at each other from opposite sides of the
car with such hunger that the two crewmen, both facing away from them,
began to feel uncomfortable, although they didn't know why.

Sheathed to the balls in Meg's vagina, Spock disengaged his mouth from
hers and sat back on his haunches, pulling her up over his thighs
without withdrawing. Moaning, she locked her ankles obligingly around
his waist. Now he could use his hands freely to probe and tease and
stroke, and he was also able to look down and watch their genitals
sliding against each other.

As he moved his hips back and forth, he was fascinated by the
disappearance and emergence of his slick, sap-green penis, and he
purposely reinstated his control and calmed his rhythm to get the best
view of the intriguing sight. Slowly he pulled out until his twin
ridges were visible, then pushed in again until he could feel her
hairs prickling against his scrotum. He repeated the action, then did
it again slightly faster.

"Spock..." Meg moaned, pulling him into her with a quick jerk of her
legs, grinding her pelvis against him impatiently.

Perhaps experimentation with tempo can wait until later, Spock thought
to himself as the urge to thrust became overwhelming. Swiftly he
spread her legs, his hands on her inner thighs, pressing them apart.
Then he plunged into her and pumped furiously, grunting with the
effort.

"Oh, Spock...."

Even as he drove himself into her again and again, there was a part of
his mind still in data-gathering mode, assimilating the sounds and
sensations of their loving. The heat between them and around them, a
fiery cocoon. The perspiration on her, drying almost as quickly as it
appeared. He had tasted that salt and had sucked on her skin to get
more. The wet sounds as he pulled out of her, and the slap of their
flesh meeting as he thrust back in. The rustling of the bedclothes,
the faint creaking movement of the bed frame, audible to his Vulcan
ears. The sighs and groans--

"Ah...Meg...ah...."

Two point five thrusts per second, Spock thought vaguely, burying his
face in the junction of Meg's neck and shoulder. She turned her head,
took the tip of his ear into her mouth and bit gently, tonguing the
point, and he thought he would very much like to lose control.
Prompted by that thought, he relaxed his mental barriers, and her
delirious excitement came down on him with the force of a falling
planet.

"Oh God Spock..."

Their mouths locked again as their pace accelerated. Meg felt it
first, the familiar sensation of pressure building, warmth
intensifying, gathering in one place. It became too much to fight and
she locked her ankles in the small of his jerking back and dug her
fingers into his biceps with a muffled cry. Spock experienced it all
with his mind and body, tight muscles squeezing around his penis, the
surging ripples of pleasure, the ecstasy, oh the ecstasy. Close
already, the intensity of her climax sent him tumbling into his own
orgasm.

"Megaaaaaahhhh..."

Gasping, whimpering, he surrendered to the inevitable and came, hard,
in trembling waves that centred on his spurting cock, straining to the
very last spasm.

---

When their hearts had slowed once more, Spock reached out and touched
a finger to her cheek. "Are you all right?"

She turned her face into the palm of his hand, nuzzling it with her
lips. He didn't pull it away. "I feel as if I've just passed through
the tail of a comet," she replied in a voice that wasn't too steady.

"I understand your meaning," he said softly, outlining her lips with
his index fingertip. "It was a rather ... momentous experience."

As he drifted in the nebulous zone between wakefulness and sleep, he
thought drowsily that his research had not been as thorough as it
usually was. He had forgotten to count the number of spasms it took to
deliver his semen into her. An understandable lapse, but repairable.
He still wished to acquire the data. He would have to try again.

Later.

---

The End