Perfect Gentleman
by Animasola

Title: Perfect Gentleman
Author: Animasola
Pairing: S/K'Ehleyr
Rating: [NC-17]
Series: post-TOS
Summary: A young aide to a Klingon ambassador, on her first visit to Earth, accepts a ride from a stranger.
Feedback: Loaded question, but yes, thanks, to sarcasm@bellsouth.net
Archive: Best of Both Worlds, otherwise, please ask.
Warning: Animasola writing hetsmut. Be afraid. Be very afraid. If you are under 18 or have a problem with explicit sex, go away.
Disclaimer: Star Trek owned by Paramount and Viacom. This is just fan fiction, no copyright infringement intended, no profit turned on my part.
Acknowledgments: This is one of the pairings I drew for the "Spock Fuhq Fest," http://www.kardasi.com/fuh-q-fest-2/
Many thanks to Kira-Nerys for not hating me for coming in late with this. Thanks also to Islaofhope, beta goddess extraordinaire.

She had just about had enough of this. Delegates, dignitaries, spouses, and socialites, all milling about like animals in a pen. They needed to lose the bartenders and just fill a big trough with champagne.

Kah'rgn was glaring at her from across the room, giving her that pointed look that said she wasn't chosen for this delegation just to stand in a corner and scowl.

No, she thought, derisively, I was chosen for my 'unique perspective' on human nature. Half-human, raised by a human mother, tutored extensively in human culture, and yet, nothing she had seen, nor anyone she had met had caused the slightest sense of connection to stir within her. She might as well be attending a diplomatic conference of androids.

"Why, what lovely bracelets you're wearing, or whatever they are, Miss...?"

"K'Ehleyr," she answered, turning to face the woman who addressed her. Humanoid, blonde, big earrings, and quite well-preserved for her age, she decided, comparing the fine lines on the woman's hands with the youthful buoyancy of her strategically draped figure.

"Miss K'Ehleyr," the woman said, annunciating the name with a saccharine, mincing lilt.

I don't like her, K'Ehleyr thought instantly, smiling nevertheless.

"I might have worn them myself when I was younger and less aware of what people might say," the woman said, tracing a long, glittery fingernail down one of the winding silver braces that cradled K'Ehleyr's arms from biceps to wrists.

"Kind of you to say so," K'Ehleyr replied, idly picturing herself garotting the older woman with the glittery cord she wore around her waist. From across the room, Kah'rgn took notice of the exchange, and began to make his way closer.

"What an interesting name," the woman said, her earrings bobbing against her neck. "Is it Romulan?"

"Klingon," K'Ehleyr answered, taking a deep breath and starting a slow, silent count to ten.

"Why, how silly of me," the woman giggled. "Your forehead..." She made a descriptive gesture with her fingers over her own delicate brow. "I see now that it is obvious you are a Klingon."

"Why, thank you," K'Ehleyr said, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight to one foot. Kah'rgn paused a few steps away at a small table, pretending to inspect an appetizer tray.
"Well, you are lovely, despite that. Your heavy bone structure suits you, just as your amusing bracelets do."

K'Ehleyr leaned forward to examine the woman's face. "Perhaps you could refer me to a reputable plastic surgeon," she said. "Yours, apparently, is quite skilled."

With a strangled sound that he attempted to pass off as a laugh, Kah'rgn stepped between the women and bowed.

"Ambassador Kah'rgn, we meet again," the blonde woman said, smiling serenely, seeming to ignore K'Ehleyr's remark. "We were just talking about fashion. Would you care to join us?"

"Surely, the High Adviser of Ardana..." he turned to K'Ehleyr as he pronounced the title with emphasis, "...has more pressing matters to attend to than being monopolized by my humble aide." He indicated K'Ehleyr with a wave of his hand and smiled at the blonde woman ingratiatingly.

"In that case, perhaps you would escort me to the press conference," the High Adviser said to him, nodding to K'Ehleyr and gliding away, the diaphanous train of her gown trailing in her wake. She was obviously confident that he would follow.

"Do not dishonor your father, girl," Kah'rgn hissed at her over his shoulder, "He will hear of this, I assure you." He hastened to catch up to the High Adviser before she reached the vaulted doors.

K'Ehleyr rolled her eyes and exhaled. At least the damn reception was starting to break up. Most of the VIP's had already left, and the party's dregs seemed to consist of either bored spouses or dispirited ambassadorial aides, like herself.

She turned toward the rear exit, nearly colliding with the man who had been standing directly behind her. Her feet tangled in her attempt to avoid impact and he gently grasped her forearm to steady her.

"Lady Droxine intended no insult," he said, his voice deep and articulate, scored with a finely-grated rasp. "I could not help but overhear. Her nature tends toward a certain degree of self-centeredness, but she is quite incapable of malice."

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the somber brown eyes and graying black hair, before placing his identity. "Ambassador Spock," she realized with a start, blinking.

"Do you prefer, 'K'Ehleyr' or 'Miss K'Ehleyr'?" he asked.

"Just... K'Ehleyr," she said, "I... I was..." Face growing hot, she managed to get out, "I was not aware you were a delegate to this conference." She was unsure whether it was his celebrity status or his imposing presence that so unnerved her.

"I am not, formally," he said. "I am here in the unofficial capacity of adviser to the Federation."

"Adviser," she repeated, unable to stop herself from staring. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she tried to recall the material she had covered regarding his career. Her father was right, she realized, she should have paid more attention in school.

"Yes," he said, inclining his head and maintaining eye contact.

"You're much better-looking in person than you are in your holos," she heard herself saying, her eyes traveling down over his simple yet severe attire. The dark, close-fitting jacket was cut long in accord with the classic Vulcan style, and the only ornament he wore was a small, black pin at his throat, presumably to keep the collar of his shirt in place.

"That comment has been made to me before," he said, his eyebrow lifting a little.

"Oh," she said, looking down and shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I... keep doing this. My mother always said I must have some sort of impulse filtering disorder. I have a problem with being too direct."

"Directness is only undesirable when it is received in a negative manner," he said.

Several young attendants filed past them and began clearing cocktail glasses and buffet plates from tables as the lights in the hall were turned up. The doors at the end of the hall were pulled closed by uniformed ushers.

"Were you, were you going..." She was stammering again. Damnit. She took a deep breath. "You're going to be late for the press conference," she said.

He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. "No," he said, "I will not be in attendance for any media functions. My presence at this reception was intended only to indicate my position in support of the admission of Athamos IV to the Federation."

"I'm just... here," she said, lamely. "My father is trying to create the impression that I have a career as a diplomat."

He studied her thoughtfully before saying, "I have no doubt that you possess the capacity to excel at any pursuit to which you choose to devote yourself. It seems unlikely that a career in diplomacy would fall beyond your grasp."

"You judge so quickly," she said, suddenly defensive. "I'm not even sure I want a career as a diplomat."

"You do not strike me as a young woman who has difficulty determining what she desires," he said. His gaze continued to rest directly upon hers, unwavering.

Her hands dropped to her hips and she began to toy with the intricately linked metal belt she wore, asking, "Why does that sound curiously like a challenge?"

One eyebrow raised in something which looked very much like amusement to her. "Are Klingons not attracted to a challenge?" he asked. "Even those of mixed heritage?"

"How did you know I'm only half-Klingon?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Biographical information regarding any delegate, and his staff, is readily available through the Embassy database," he said simply, offering no further explanation.

"You've been checking me out?" she asked, indignation flaring. Her mind flashed over the extensive array of personal statements and medical records she had been obliged to provide in order to meet security mandates for the conference. The very idea of someone looking them up merely to satisfy idle curiosity...

"How dare you?" she snapped at him, and turned to stalk away.

"K'Ehleyr," he said, sharply, the tone in his voice causing her to halt in mid-step. She turned to face him, her breath coming quickly, angrily.

"Is it so unflattering to know that an interest has been taken?" he asked. The hint of amusement was gone, and his manner was neutral. Impossible to tell what the man had in mind, she thought, retracing the few steps back to him.

"Why would you take an interest in my career?" she asked. "I've done nothing to distinguish myself, aside from presenting a discipline problem to my superiors."

"Why do you assume," he asked in return, "that it is your career in which I am interested?"

"What am I to assume, then, Ambassador, that you are hitting on me?" she shot back, in the mocking tone of voice that had earned her father's wrath on numerous occasions. The impassive expression on the Ambassador's face did not alter in reaction.

"For one who was raised among Klingons, your grasp of Terran slang is quite apt," he said. "The hall is closing. Perhaps we should move this discussion elsewhere."

She experienced a sense of deja vu as he turned and walked toward the exit, clearly confident that she would follow.

*  *  *

He drove faster than she would have expected, handling the groundcar with an effortless precision. She tried to focus on the alien scenery rushing past the windows in a blur, but all she could think about was the queerness of her situation.

She was on a strange planet with a very strange man, and who knew where he was taking her? She opened her mouth to ask just that question, but instead heard herself say, "I've never been to Earth before."

"Yes," he said, "I am aware of that." The car slowed down and turned onto a secluded road lined with trees.

"Is there anything you don't know about me?" she asked, with renewed irritation. She shifted in her seat and fidgeting with the silver ring her mother had given her when she'd seen her off at spacedock.

"There is a great deal I shall never know about you," he replied, as the car pulled to a stop in front of a small house with heavily shuttered windows. He turned to face her for the first time since they'd left the reception. "This is the last time we are likely to meet, K'Ehleyr. Tomorrow I leave this world, perhaps for the last time."

"You make it sound as though you're dying," she said, a sardonic smile curving her lips as she studied the wrinkles emphasizing the shape of his eyes. "I wasn't aware that Vulcans are so prone to melodrama."

"I am not dying," he said, "I merely have work to attend to. It may take some time to accomplish." He touched the pad at his fingertips and the car doors slid open. With a nod toward the house, he said, "This is where I have lived for the past several years," before stepping out of the car.

K'Ehleyr took a moment to smooth the panels of her skirt down before attempting to climb out. She had been criticized for the unconventional wardrobe she had chosen to travel with, and for once she saw the wisdom in the long, demure robes the other women in her party had worn.

Spock was standing outside her door and offering her his hand before she could calculate a graceful manner in which to get out. She settled for taking his hand and using the other to discretely prevent the thigh-high slits in the finely-crocheted fabric from compromising her newfound modesty too severely.

She rose gracefully, with his assistance, and stood looking about her at the trees and bushes that edged the drive and created the niche into which the house was nestled.

"Lovely," she said, and realized that he had not released her hand. For an awkward moment she wondered if he had taken her comment in regard to their surroundings or to his grasp. He let go before she could reach a conclusion and began to lead the way up the gravel drive.

She tried to follow. One high heel foundered in the gravel, sending her other foot skidding and causing her arms to flail in an instinctive effort to regain balance. By the time Spock had turned to investigate the scuffling sound, she was steady on her feet again, her cheeks quite red, now tugging at a panel of her skirt.

"You appear to be experiencing difficulty," he said, walking back to her as he attempted to surmise the nature of the problem.

"That's very astute of you," she shot back, wrestling with the large ring that had become ensnared in the delicate pattern of the weave. She yanked violently at the tangle, muttering under her breath.

"Permit me," he said, easing her free hand away and lowering himself carefully to one knee to examine the problem more closely. His hand worked deftly at the threads that had caught the setting of the small red stone at the center of the ring.

K'Ehleyr felt something shift within her perception of him as she watched the wind displace a few strands of his hair. She tried to relax the ringed hand he held steady as he patiently separated knots of thread. She noticed laugh lines around his mouth and wondered how a Vulcan could have gotten them.

Gingerly, Spock pulled the last delicate thread free of the ring and smoothed the disordered pattern of the fabric back into place against her thigh. His fingers lingered there longer than was necessary. She watched him closely for any sign of hesitation or uneasiness. Finding none, she made up her mind.

"You should take me inside now," she said, lifting the hand he had freed to gently brush the wind-blown hair back into place against the curve of his forehead.

"Yes," he said, his voice rough as his breath stirred fine hairs on the skin left vulnerable as the slit of her skirt parted over her thigh.

Indicating the remaining three or four meters to the porch, he asked, "Are you certain you can complete the remainder of our journey without incurring further injury, to yourself or to your clothing?"

"No," she said, laughing at herself, "I'm not certain of that at all. Perhaps you should carry me."

*  *  *

"You do realize I was joking," she said, as he gently set her on her feet just inside the door.

"I did not wish to miss the opportunity," he said, touching the lighting controls as he led her through the hallway and into a large room filled with furniture shrouded in dustcovers and neatly stacked moving cartons.

"Oh?" she asked, as the dim illumination came up, "And what opportunity might that be?" She paused in front of a large wall-hanging and lifted a corner of the sheet draped over it, confirming her suspicion that it was a mirror. The wind had tangled her thin, silver-beaded braids with the rest of her hair, and she leaned forward to repair the damage.

"The opportunity to experience the trust of one who does not easily give it," he said, watching her as she arranged her hair.

"Who said anything about trust?" she asked, dropping the sheet and surveying the room. "As far as I'm concerned, this is practically a kidnapping. You've been checking my records, stalking me. You know too much. Perhaps I should just murder you and bury you in the woods."

She paused in front of a small, black-framed holo. It looked like an old-process shot taken with one of those antique units. It was of a young human man with fair hair, laughing as he lounged on a blanket on a beach. Trying to picture Spock on a beach, she reached to pick up the frame, but in casting an amused glance backward at him, caught the frozen expression on his face, and stopped.

"We were talking about trust, weren't we?" she asked, leaning against the back of a couch and crossing her arms, smoothing the fringe of the rug with the toe of her boot before looking up at him.

"I did speak of trust," he said. "Of yours, specifically."

"You don't know much about Klingons, do you? About Klingon sexuality?" She pushed herself to her feet and approached him, slowly, a shy smile curving her lips.

"I had hoped you might educate me," he admitted, reaching tentatively to finger the strand of finely-cast beads caressing her cheek.

He maintained his dignity well as she caught him off-guard and threw him quite forcefully against the slipcovered grand piano, the small sound of surprise from his lips drowned out by the discordant protest issuing from the instrument itself.

The grip in which she held his wrist was quite secure, but instead of inflicting more violence, she merely drew closer to him and inhaled, deeply, her eyes acquiring a dangerous gleam. A languorous smile overtook her face as she observed with satisfaction that he did not resist her overture.

"Where is your bedroom?" she asked.

"Behind the door at the end of the hall," he replied, breaking her hold on his wrist and smoothing the beaded strand into the fall of soft brown hair curving behind her ear, completing his gesture. Her eyes closed and she leaned into the caress, brushing her cheek against his hand, before pulling away and walking down the hall without looking back.

Opening the door, she inhaled as a rush of air, warmer than the rest of the house, poured past her. She stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Thin layers of incense smoke hung in tiers near the ceiling, reminding her of the frankincense and myrrh her mother sometimes burned.

A single flame flickered in the bowl of a cumbersome stone statue overlooking the bed that dominated the room, casting long, wavering reflections across the black, polished floor. Several smaller statues occupied the surface of a long, low cabinet, and an elaborate display of ancient-looking bladed weaponry was arranged upon one wall.

The most striking element was the blood-red velvet in which the room was swathed. It covered each wall, falling in generous lengths to gather in puddles on the floor, and arced across the ceiling, secured in elaborate tucks and folds. The color deepened in saturation as it absorbed the light of the flame, seeming to breathe with a life of its own in the shifting light.

Her heels were too slick on the floor, and she bent to pull off her boots. She suddenly felt shorter in comparison to Spock when he followed her in, though he followed suit and removed his boots.

"This, too," she said, reaching up to push his jacket back off of his shoulders. "And this," she said, pulling the pin from his collar and tossing it into a bowl on the cabinet, letting him unbutton his shirt the rest of the way himself.

K'Ehleyr stepped back to look at him, to really look at him. Still remarkably fit for a man of his age, she decided, taking in the silver hair coating his chest and the firm thickness of his abdomen approvingly. Solid. Vital. Watching her with heavily creased eyes that seemed almost hollow in the flickering light.

"Come here," she said, hiding her hands benignly behind her back.

Spock approached cautiously, his hands open and slightly raised, dark eyes lit only with the single flame. She backed up as he came closer, until the backs of her thighs were pressed against the sharp corner of the cabinet.

The scent of his blood wound through the smoke, almost strong enough for her to taste. His head tilted as his lips drifted closer, parting slightly, but stopped just short of hers. She waited for his exhalation before breathing in, a heady lack of oxygen causing her to close her eyes and sway backward on her feet.

Spock waited for her to close the distance between them, and then joined her mouth with his own, his rapacity surprising her. Her hands shot out from behind her back but he caught them before she take hold of him. He did not release her from the kiss, but transferred both of her wrists to one hand, cupping the back of her head with other as he nudged her mouth wider and thrust more deeply with his tongue.

Pulling and twisting, K'Ehleyr tested his grip. Finding him to be a worthy adversary, she allowed her muscles to go slack, falling against him for support. He pulled away from her to look at her face. She caught her breath, her eyes mere slits, her cheeks and forehead damp with perspiration. He took her hands and brushed his lips across the knuckles before releasing them and pulling her gently against him as he ran his tongue along her damp neck, catching at her collarbone in an open kiss, pulling the skin between his teeth.

Raking her fingernails down his spine, she pushed herself sharply against his mouth, groaning low in her throat as she felt a faint jab of pain followed by warm trickle, which slowly coursed down into her blouse. She dipped her head to find his mouth and sucked hungrily at his warm, lightly sticky lips, licking her own blood from them, moaning as he lowered his head to tongue the tiny wound.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, but he extricated himself and spun her to face away from him before pulling her close against him, fitting their bodies together, demonstrating to her how perfectly proportioned they were for each other.

Spock rubbed himself against the small of her back, letting her feel how hard he was, how hard he could press against her through the fine mesh of the belt she wore slung low across her hips. Tiny metal rings ground abrasively against her skin through the thin lace of her skirt, and she sighed, her head dropping back against his shoulder.

His hands began a painfully slow contemplation of her form, starting at her throat and working downward, seeking out each indentation in her sternum, clutching and weighing her breasts, counting her ribs, and measuring her waist with fingers and thumbs nearly meeting as he forced the breath from her with his grasp. K'Ehleyr writhed under his attentions, wanting to be altered, wishing his hands to leave indelible imprints upon her flesh.

Tugging at the rim of her ear with his teeth, he stroked back up over her stomach and across her breasts with one hand to grip her jaw and pull her mouth back to his. His other hand stroked lower, clutching the soft flesh above her pubic bone, moving lower to cup her sex through her clothing, massaging until he could feel her damp heat on his palm.

The panels of her skirt impeded him, and he tore at them in apparent frustration, the chuckle she made against his mouth only seeming to madden him further. At last, he slid his hands underneath the mesh belt and neatly tore the garment from her hips. She gasped as the cold metal kissed her skin, a sharp contrast to the heat pounding at her through his pants as he rubbed against her more roughly than before.

K'Ehleyr reached behind her to clutch at him, gripping him hard enough to make him pull away, hard enough to make him thrust back into her strong hands. The satin band holding her tiny undergarment together tightened around her hips as it was twined around Spock's fingers before being snapped, and the offending piece of cloth pushed away.

She spread her legs and held onto his hips for support as his fingers parted the moist flesh between her thighs. Tracing his tongue down her spine, he bent his knees and thrust his fingers deeply into her, the heel of his hand buffeting against her clitoris. She thrashed against him, tearing at his pants and being rewarded with a shred of fabric coming away in one hand.

Spock reached between their bodies and freed his straining cock, letting it slide against her tailbone as he pulled his hand away and fed her his slick fingers, painting her lips with her own wetness, before pulling her head back by her hair and kissing it away. Turning her and pushing her against the wall, he parted her legs roughly with his knee as his fingers worried the thin fabric at the neck of her shirt until a tiny breach had been made and he could tear it down the middle.

Grasping a handful of his hair and forcing him down, she pushed her nipple into his mouth, pulling back as she felt his teeth closing upon it, shuddering as the delicate flesh was abraded and stretched.

Her nails bit into his shoulders as he fell to his knees and parted her labia, sucking each soft fold of flesh within between his lips and tugging gently. His tongue flicked back and forth in a light, teasing dance across her clitoris before he began to apply a firm, relentless stroke, establishing a slow rhythm as he worked his head back and forth between her glistening thighs.

Shutting her eyes against the smoke and the too-bright pinpoint of flame, K'Ehleyr gathered handfuls of velvet from the wall behind her and clung tightly, swaying. Spock's hands slid over her smooth flanks, pulling her body hard against his face and then pressing her back against the wall.

He placed his open teeth on either side of her clitoris and slowly began to close them, bearing down and licking harder. She cried out and arched against him, her strength to remain upright failing. Spock pulled back from her, gasping for breath, and pulled her down from the wall. Unable to relinquish her grip on the velvet, a blanket of it came down with her as he lowered her to the floor.

His legs thrashed until they were free of the pants. He crept up to look into her eyes, his hardened cock finding her slick center as he levered himself onto his elbows. He began pulsing gently into her, coating himself with her wetness, stroking her face as he kissed her softly, murmuring her name.

A groan was torn out of him as she grasped his buttocks and thrust sharply upward, driving him as deeply into herself as she could. Bracing one foot against the cabinet, she urged him on, bucking against him until her hipbones ached from contact with his.

His eyes shut tightly and his skin coated lightly with sweat, Spock plunged into her at the pace she set. Behind them, a metal statue toppled and fell from the shaking cabinet, startling them both, causing their rhythm to falter. With an anguished moan, K'Ehleyr rolled on top of him, her limbs entangled in the length of velvet, and began to move.

Spock ran his hands over her muscled, silver-bound arms as she pounded against him. Changing her angle, she braced herself with her hands planted on his chest, her hair a wild mass around her head as she hammered herself onto him. With a rapt expression on his face, he watched the spectacle taking place on top of him and placed his thumb beneath her clitoris for her to rub against.

Her fingers clenched into his flesh as she felt the contractions begin. He rubbed her clitoris rapidly as she froze and came, shuddering, with a cry sticking in her throat. She was still resting on top of him, drawing ragged breaths, when Spock gingerly extricated himself and slid out from underneath her.

K'Ehleyr remained on her knees, velvet crushed beneath her. She leaned forward on her elbows, panting until her breath caught as she felt his tongue slinking in between her still-tingling labia. Spock was on his hands and knees behind her, lapping at her once again, teasing her throbbing clitoris painfully, wonderfully. She leaned her weight on her forearms and moaned.

Spock's tongue began to move upward, back between her buttocks, prodding at the still-tighter opening there, pushing gently but insistently until penetrating. K'Ehleyr gasped and whimpered, crumpled wads of velvet growing damp inside her fists. Long fingers dipped between her slick thighs and began spreading the lubrication up into her, sliding farther into her than his tongue had gone.

His shoulder muscles were jerking rhythmically against the back of her thigh as his fingers worked inside her, and his breathing accelerated. She knew he was stroking himself, and rebalanced her weight onto one arm so she could reach between her own thighs and join him, swiftly fingering her clitoris in time to his movements.

A blanket of heat enveloped her as he mounted from behind, a tight, searing pain as he buried himself inside her virgin cavity. Gathering a fold of velvet, K'Ehleyr clamped it between her teeth, tasting blood and incense. It seemed to her as though Spock might be capable of splitting her in two. His moans reverberated through her back until she could no longer distinguish them from her own softer, velvet-muffled ones.

Spock came, crying out, with his face pressed into her hair, lacing his fingers into hers as he shuddered and jerked. Almost at once, he pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back, sliding down her flushed, sweating body to tongue her rapidly to climax.

A few moments later, she lay twitching in the aftermath, her muscles relaxing as her breathing gradually slowed. "Perfect gentleman," was all she murmured before drifting into a sleepy, warm haze with a smile across her lips. She was dimly aware of velvet being wrapped around her as she was gathered into strong arms and carried to the bed.

*  *  *

Letting herself into her room at the Embassy just after dawn, K'Ehleyr checked the message counter on her com. Fourteen messages, one from Kah'rgn's room code, thirteen from --

"Damn!" She smacked her forehead. She'd forgotten dinner, again. Unbuttoning the long, Vulcan jacket she wore in lieu of her shredded clothes, she sank down into an armchair and punched in the blinking code from the com.

He answered sounding every bit as angry as he had when she had forgotten him twice before.

"Worf," she sighed into the com, "I am so sorry..."

END