Author's Note: Missing scene from A Compass Wouldn't Help At All. Title from "Cocoon" by Bjork.

Nyota has dreamed of Spock's hands. And now they are slow and steady, one stroking her left thigh, the other curled around the nape of her neck as he kisses her with excruciating thoroughness—even for him. He's not making sudden movements, but he has this way about him. His fever-hot fingers always seem to burn impressions into her skin wherever they touch, so even when they're gone the lingering sensations make her feel like his hands are everywhere, all the time. He's here and hot and solid and in her arms after far, far, far too long, and she feels like she's coming apart.

They haven't even made it off of the couch.

Not that there hasn't still been some progress. Her sweatpants are in a tangled pile near the side table along with his gold uniform jersey and the black undershirt. Nyota appreciates both of these facts, but she is already quite literally aching for him, and she really doesn't want to do this with her couch's armrest jabbing her in the back.

"Bed," she says during a stolen moment in which his tongue is not in her mouth.

Spock moves immediately, pulling away from her. She feels cold and alone without the press of his body, without being able to feel the muscles of his back working beneath smooth, warm skin. Then she gasps as he scoops her up into his arms and takes the distance to her bed in four long strides. He deposits her at the foot of the bed without a word and Nyota slides back as she watches him take off his boots. When he's finished he joins her, kneeling between her legs. Slowly, he runs his hands down to the hem of her t-shirt—his t-shirt—and helps her pull it over her head, shucking her last article of clothing. She sits before him, bare, and the way he looks at her makes gooseflesh rise on her entire body.

He lowers his mouth to her right breast, his tongue to her nipple, and Nyota reclines with a shuddering exhalation, the sheets cool on her back. Spock worries gently at one nipple with his teeth and at the other with sensitive fingertips. Nyota arches towards him, spine curving, and one of her legs twitches in a manner that could reasonably be termed a spasm. His breath is hot against her skin and it sends a shiver through her before he begins to leave a trail of warm kisses as he makes his way down her abdomen. He doesn't get far, however, before Nyota reaches for him, holding his face between her hands.

"Spock, please- I don't-" she pants, tugging at him until he crawls his way back up to hover over her. "Just-" she tries again, and if her ineloquent verbalizations don't drive it home, her clawing at the fastenings on his trousers does. She gets them open and he helps her slide them and his standard issue boxers down past his hips. Nyota takes him in hand without hesitation, but he grabs her wrist before she's even started to build any kind of rhythm.

He presses her hand into the mattress instead and when he speaks it comes out as a strained warning.

"Nyota, I don't believe either of us wishes for this to end that quickly."

Spock clenches his jaw and closes his eyes and Nyota recognizes the sure signs of him queueing up his self-control. She bites her lip to keep from kissing him again, counts his eyelashes stark and black against his pale skin. She only has to hold out for a few more seconds before he comes back to himself and descends on her mouth. She nibbles at the full curve of his bottom lip and he looks at her again. He leans his forehead against hers, stares with desire-darkened eyes that she is sure perfectly reflect her own. Then he shifts forward, sliding into her in one smooth motion.

Nyota makes a sound somewhere between a keen and a whimper. It would be humiliatingly loud if she still had it in her to be humiliated after two endless months without him—with only the faint shadow of his presence in her mind, making her ever more aware of him and what she did not have. As it stands, it's mostly just freeing, like a massive knot inside of her has unraveled as she hitches her legs up around his waist, drawing him closer. Spock exhales heavily and swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing, and Nyota has to kiss him again.

"I missed you so much," she whispers into his mouth.

His response is in Vulcan, though Nyota would be shocked if he realized it.

"Parted from you, I am lost," he mumbles into her neck as he begins to move.

Nyota clings to him, short nails scrabbling at his back as she rolls her hips into his. The weight of him above her is intoxicating and she feels like she can hardly breathe, hardly think, hardly do anything but ride along with the waves of sensation echoing out from where his core meets hers. He's always been quiet, so she's long since learned how to recognize and interpret his sounds. Hitching breaths, heavy exhalations and sharp inhalations that sound just a little bit like shock every time, and maybe it is. She knows the profundity with which he feels. Sometimes Nyota herself thinks that she's perpetually back in that first moment of discovery, overwhelmed by the realization that it could be like this.

At first, their rhythm is erratic, like they can't calm down enough to be steady. Before long it settles into a hectic pace that will easily put an end to them both in short order. But that's fine because it's amazing and, beyond that, they have time. Not all the time in the world, but so much more than she expected and really she never did get to celebrate that properly. The moment was weighed down with too much anger and too many things she couldn't let slide anymore.

One of Spock's hands clutches her hip even tighter. He actually vocalizes a low groan into her shoulder and she needs to see him. More than that, she needs him even closer. She runs her hand up through his hair before tracing the contour of his ear, then tugging it. Spock raises his head obediently and she cups his face in her hands, fingertips firm against his skin. Nyota looks into his eyes before hers slide closed again and his reaction is immediate.

His hand leaves her hip and darts up her body. The whole of him trembles as his fingers find the proper points on her face and she thinks maybe he wanted this most of all, but was afraid to ask. He'd been afraid the first time too, that it would be too much, too intrusive, too alien for her.

Nyota moans, long and low, as her perception explodes and he floods into her, she into him. Not everything, not nearly, but what they need and want to offer in this moment. Their pleasure, their relief, their joy, their love pushing back and forth against each other, shining brighter and brighter for the exchange.

It's more than enough in an experience already filled with excess, and she holds onto him even more tightly as her climax crashes through her. Hers triggers his, through bond and body. He shudders against her, gasping, as the movement of his hips comes to a stuttering stop. He rests his head against her chest and she sweeps a hand gently across his brow. After a moment, he rolls them onto their sides, but does not otherwise move away.

Their minds are buzzing, orgasms reverberating through the connection still, and when the tumult fades, there's only him, the blissful warmth she associates with his presence. They lie there, still connected, learning each other again, and neither has to say what the other already knows. They will cherish this, respect it, and protect it with everything that they are.

It is not until she begins to doze that he slips out and away from her, their legs tangling together and his hand falling from her face to gently caress her neck and shoulder. As he recedes, the fluttering phantasm at the back of her thoughts bursts into life again, replenished. It is a single light burning in the distance, no longer a torturous reminder, but a reassurance.

When she wakes, she's still enclosed in the circle of his arms.