Nothing Lay Between (5B/?), Kirk/Spock, PG-13
Title: Nothing Lay Between (5B/?)
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: eventual Kirk/Spock
POV: Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Words: 5.400
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Downtime in San Francisco leads to some interesting results.
A/N: Last day not on the Enterprise, promise. :)
All Chapters || Chapter Five, Part A
When he woke up the next morning, it was to very odd circumstances. Kirk very slightly lifted his head, feeling stabs of pain zig-zagging through his mind as sunlight penetrated his eyes and brain as sure as daggers. The pain caused him to just close his eyes again and burrow into darkness. It was better here, nice and warm, dark, cocooned in softness.
His brain started to try piece together the previous night in his dark-spot. Went out to the club. Check. Was with Spock. Check. ...Drinking... check... dancing... check... blurring... check... um, something about a body shot... check... oh come on, there's gotta be more then that... oh, yea definitely had a body shot done... huh, something smells like chocolate. Wonder where the chocolate came from. ...Okay, the idea of food is a bad one. Shit, I miss having Bones as a roommate for the hangover cures. Even if it means a hypo. Hmm... these are too soft to be regulation sheets. Wonder where I am. Nice and soft... really warm. Actually, I'm sweating. .... Ah, there. Freed toes. Helps some. Fuck it, I don't care--- someone's in the room. Footsteps.. cursing... wait, BONES!?
The final thought has Kirk clawing his way up out of the sheets despite the light, blinking blearily across the room. There, indeed, was his best friend, cursing in whispers as he rubbed a bare foot. Well, that was familiar from their days in the academy. Way less familiar was the room they were in. Looked like one seriously nice hotel room, all sugar-white and soft colors. "...'ones?" He croaked out of a dry throat.
The doctor looked over at the sound and Kirk was surprised to see the glare in the man's eyes. He thought about trying to run for it when Bones stalked over, grabbed an ear ("OW! Dammit Bones let go!" "Shut up!" "Wait, is there someone in my bed--"), and pulled him into the other room over stumbling numb useless legs.
Kirk hit the bed in the other room (other room? suite?) and groaned, pulling a pillow over his head. "Bones, what the hell?!"
Bones shut the door quietly and then spun around to look at him. "I've dragged your ass out of a lotta bars in the past but this? This tops it all. I had to get security to help me! You were so wasted that I had to force bread down your throat to soak up some of that," Bones snapped. "What were you thinking!?"
"Um, I probably wasn't?" Kirk lamely defended himself from beneath the pillow.
"I know you weren't!" Came the growl before the bed sagged from Bones sitting on it. "Not bad enough that you did that to yourself, no! You had to go and get him drunk too!"
"Huh. So I didn't go home alone." He felt a little proud of that. Too bad he couldn't remember anything about it. He regretted his choice in words a second later as the pillow was stolen away and two dark eyes glared down at him.
"You know how I found you two? You were in the center of the dance floor - no surprise there - and a certain Vulcan was doing a chocolate body shot off your chest!"
...Well, that explained that blurry memory. And the smell of choco-- WAIT. "Vulcan...Spock. Spock was doing a body shot off me. Bones, how drunk were you to believe that--"
"If you don't believe me," Oh, that deepening of his friends voice was kinda hot, combined with the growl, but Kirk (in his hung-over state) more wanted to cringe away from it than fuck. "Maybe you should go look at who you have curled up in your bed."
Oh. Shit. The body he had glimpsed in his bed. Oh shit. No way. Kirk looked to Bones in horror for a moment, then stumbled up to his feet. He staggered in the blinding-light over to the door, opened it, and looked out into the other room. Spock lay there on one half of the bed, slightly curled on his side, facing where Kirk had been sleeping (until his unceremonious evacuation). One hand was tucked underneath the pillow, and the plush covers were pulled up to his shoulder. After a moment, long fingers grasped vainly at the empty place where Kirk should have been. His body was promptly substituted by the other king-sized pillow, jerked down with quiet ferocity until Spock could pull it close and sling his other arm around it. Kirk might have found it annoying cute in nature if he wasn't so completely and utterly horrified.
Kirk looked down the length of his own body and his own black boxers with golden lettering on them that stated one part of him was the Captain and the other part of him the Legend (a gift from the party when he had actually been named official Captain of the Enterprise he knew). Well, he was still wearing boxers, right? Wouldn't have fucked then put them back on... right? "Shit."
"I know what you're thinking." Bones was behind him, probably looking at the Vulcan as well. His voice was low, letting the other sleep. "You two didn't fuck, but I couldn't keep you from falling asleep together."
Well, there was that bit of saving grace at least. "Bones, what the fuck happened?" Kirk turned, looking to his friend. He knew himself, that if he was that drunk, all of his morals about proving that Spock wasn't just his -- he hated that word -- would have gone right out the window.
This set Bones into the story of the previous night. Coming to the club ("Bones, why the hell were you even in that cl--" "None of your business."), finding them on the dance floor, completely drunk, having to get security to help drag them both out of the club, throwing them into a taxi ("You two would not stop. Well, actually more like he wouldn't. He was practically trying to rip your clothes off! Do you know what kind of tip I had to give the driver to make sure he'd stay silent about this!? I had to get him to help me drag you up from the taxi since there was no way I could get you both!"), getting the hotel room ("Allll under your bill, Captain."), and dropping their unconscious asses into bed.
From what he was gathering, as always, Bones had acted like his wingman, but at least this time he had been cock-blocked for all the right reasons.
Kirk groaned and rubbed at his eyes, wishing he could concentrate more through the headache pounding behind them. He couldn't remember a damn thing really, and that worried him. Last time he had gotten that drunk was... ironically, the night he had been made Captain. He'd actually thought it was a dream until Bones had showed him the golden command shirts with their lovely new piping around the sleeves. That had been one party, all pomp and circumstance and snotty upper command, then the real party with his friends and classmates that was half celebration of his rise in ranks and half mourning party for every person that couldn't be there. Thousands of them.
He was just about to turn around and ask Bones about getting something for the headache when there was a familiar pressure at his neck and OW DAMMIT the hypo hissed as it went off. Kirk grabbed for the door frame and almost growled. "For the hangover I can see in yer eyes." Bones somehow turned the words into a threat, then stalked off across the hotel room to the door Kirk could only assume led to the bathroom.
"...Fuck this." Kirk grumbled aloud, turning to go back into the bedroom that Bones had taken up so he could curl up in his friend's bed instead of crawling back in with the overly warm Vulcan.
Some time passed--minutes?, hours?, time still blurred together--until a voice called to him from the connecting doorway, soft but clear enough in the silence of the morning, "Jim?" heard only in a dark little corner of his conscious mind. Yet it triggered something, enough that he started to focus on a very vague sort of way. Then, after another amount of time, the mattress dipped under the weight of someone, and someone reached out a hand to touch hot fingertips to his shoulder. "Jim." Kirk's body reacted before even his mind did. Instincts, born out of dire, desperate need so many years ago and years of bar fights and combat training after that, kicked in heavily. Bones could have warned Spock never to touch Jim when he was asleep, but it was too late.
A hand shot up and grabbed Spock's wrist, immediately twisting it so the arm was locked into position even as Kirk surged up off the bed, going on the completely unconscious fight-or-flight syndrome that was hard wired into the human mind. A strong leg, still covered in sheets, came up and twisted, scissored, to throw Spock over as Kirk's body came to settle in a slightly screwed up straddle thanks to the sheets. With a knee half-planted on Spock (instead of on his side) and the other knee snugged up against his side, one hand forcing Spock's wrist up over his head and the other came for his throat. In the middle of this motion, the hip Kirk's knee was pressing into heaved upwards, throwing him back, while the wrist jerked downwards with an impossible strength, towards the Vulcan's chest.
The next moment, Kirk was flat on his back again, two pale hands pinning his wrists down by his shoulders (one in quite an awkward grip), one thigh straddled while the other leg was somehow being pinned down by an ankle. It was about that point that his mind clicked in, actually realizing what was going on. He stared up at Spock, blinking at the dark gaze that stared down at him in what was probably the most open expression he had ever seen the Vulcan wear. It was something of sadness, of surprise, and just a touch of fear that softened the near-black eyes, made the lips part, and made Spock look somehow younger.
It was a strange expression, no matter who was wearing it.
Kirk swallowed, rasping out, "Shit, Spock, I'm sorry..." Not fighting the body over his, the grip on his wrists, though he could have if someone had actually been attacking him. He had no idea of his own emotions passing in his mind fearattackfearfearsurprise!shockpanicapology and spouted off another apology to the Vulcan who clearly had the upper hand, but he had attacked first. Not entirely without provocation, but Spock probably wouldn't see it that way.
"No." Spock's voice was painfully soft, and he also swallowed. When he spoke again, it was with a clearer voice, and the expression changed back into blankness. "I startled you. I apologize." Those hands at Kirk's wrists began to pull back. Spock also moved off his body, withdrawing to sit at the end of the bed. Miraculously, through this entire encounter, the calf-length white bath robe Spock wore (probably taken from one of the closets) had stayed secure, possibly due to the odd-looking knot tied around the waist.
Kirk sat up in the bed, rotating his shoulders to make sure everything was still connected, and looked unsurely to the Vulcan. Well, this was awkward. "...Don't ever wake me up by touching me, or even trying to. I... just react, even if I'm dead to the world," He muttered, remembering mornings waking up in hell, defending everything he had on his person, on Earth and elsewhere. People had been more deadly off planet.
Spock nodded once. His hands rested over the wide belt of the robe almost protectively, with the fingers of one hand gripping around the rectangular knot. It appeared to be an unconscious motion, as the Vulcan was staring off at another piece of the room's furniture. "I shall remember that."
A slow breath out and Kirk shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Well, at least the hypo had worked - headache was gone, less stiff and nauseous. "...Long night from the sound of it, last night." He said awkwardly, because... well, dammit, this was awkward.
"Quite," Spock agreed, though he adopted the same tone he always did: calm, cool, and apparently not stressed that they had woken up in a hotel room after a hazy night of liquor and dancing. Did Spock even remember anything from last night? "I am afraid that my memory is less than clear after the...'Mudslide.' I believe that is what it was called." Guess not.
Pause, then a laugh. "You were drinking mudslides? Those chocolately things?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. "Fuck, yea, I can't remember anything either. Bones was telling me that you were pretty fucked up though. Er, and so was I. He came in and saw us dancing out on the floor and you were doing a body shot off me."
That got him an eyebrow arch-- possibly another sign that Spock was back to normal. "A body shot?" Well, that either meant his memory had blanked out over the time Spock had been doing it, or they simply skipped saying what it actually was.
"Um," How to explain it? "Use different ingredients and put them on someone's body, and lick and eat the ingredients off to make a drink in your mouth." Sort of an strange explanation, but it worked well enough.
"...oh." The lack of recognition probably meant that both their memories didn't register this particular event. Spock looked to the side of the bed, towards the faux-wood dresser on the opposite wall, to the connecting doorway, and then at Kirk again. "Who is the other person in this suite?" He asked with the slightest head tilt to the side. "You cannot have slept in this room all night, as your clothes are in the other."
"Bones. My CMO, remember?" He was sure they had met while on the ship. Least... fairly sure. Oh, right, the physical. So without a doubt they had. "He's probably annoyed with us both." A sheepish sort of grin came to his face, "Evidently we both got completely plastered and he had to drag us home in a cab." He rubbed the back of his neck, then eyed the side table. He reached out and grabbed a note set up against a silver hypo.
Jim,
Remember which end to stab with. Suited for Vulcans, if he's got a hangover. Least I think it'll work.
Bones
"...Ever the thoughtful." Kirk murmured to himself, feeling pleased with his friend's thoughtfulness and foresight, then glanced to Spock. "How you feeling?"
The Vulcan closed his eyes for a moment, and the brows furrowed in slight concentration. His hands moved from the robe's belt to fold together loosely in his lap. The pose looked almost meditative. "Satisfactory," He said after almost a minute of this. "I am unharmed."
"Hung over?" Kirk asked, but then thought twice about it, "...Your know, a headache, stomach bothering you, fuzzy?" Figuring that was the best way to describe something that was usually difficult to describe.
Spock opened his eyes again to look over at him, before shifting his gaze to the plush white carpet. "Nothing that will not remedy itself in a few hours time."
Stupid to wait that long when there was another option. Kirk reached out and snagged the hypo, double checking he did indeed know which end was the stabby part. "Here, tilt your head. Can get rid of it in about five minutes." He waggled the hypo. "I'll be nicer about it than Bones ever was or will be." That look he got had vague hints of apprehension and suspicion. There had to be some sort of training involved that made Spock mechanically tilt his head, exposing his neck for the hypo, and yet still regard Kirk with caution. Kirk shifted in closer and pressed the end of the hypo against the pale neck, flicking it so it quickly injected Spock. "...Bones had to teach me to use one. Used to tell me, 'Jim, I need about ten more hands to deal with you. Hold still!' because I hate these damn things."
After not even flinching at the injection, Spock shifted away from him again. "They are rather uncomfortable." He stood from his seat at the end of the bed to walk over to the window. The curtains here were drawn shut, blocking out the light--until Spock threw them back with a simple movement of his arm. Even if the glass was polarized slightly against the sun hitting the face of the hotel, it was still no less than blinding as it flooded the room.
"Shit!" Kirk looked away as the light made his pupils flex painfully in the once-darkness. He waited until his eyes adjusted to look back, blinking several times. He could see they were somewhere high, considering the view they had that arched out over San Francisco. Kirk climbed to his feet and walked over to stand beside Spock, scratching at his stomach. In the way distance, he could even see the harbor. "...Nice view," Said in a slightly grumpy 'you blinded me' tone.
"Yes," Spock answered; there might have been something about his quiet tone that could have been described as wistful. Yellow sunlight climbed over glass and steel faces, reflected over the water of the ocean, and crept into the streets below, over people walking to work and hover-trollies crossing over routes that had changed little in a couple hundred years. "It is different than Shi'Kahr."
"...every city's different. This," A gesture, indicating the sprawling city below. "Looks like a completely different planet than where I was born." Kirk smiled slightly, looking at it all. Where he was born, where he came back when the Enterprise was up in dock... but never home. The only home he had was up there, with his beautiful ship. His family the crew. The thought nudged him, I should probably see if I can figure out where Sam is. Sam, last he checked, was on one of the colonies, but considering how much his brother traveled, it was very plausible he wasn't there anymore.
"I have read that your cities do tend to vary widely in architecture." Spock's hand finally dropped from where it had been unconsciously clutching the side of the curtain, to fall to his side.
Kirk's eyes didn't leave the skyline. "...Miss your home?" He asked quietly, as if he could sense something he didn't actually know. "When shore leave comes up and we're near Earth... you should try travelling. Seeing what you can." His fingers clenched for a moment at his side, and his gaze shifted up to the sky above. Before the crew started to return, he wanted to go through the ship and spend some time with her. It was something he would do on his own. Well, maybe with Bones, but he knew the doctor wouldn't divorce from the ground until the last possible moment. The thought put a smile on his lips.
"For what purpose?" Kirk got another look from Spock, the earlier suspicion replaced with a professional, restrained curiosity. "Will you be requiring information concerning certain locations?"
Kirk couldn't stop the roll of his eyes, "No. I was thinking more like... because you might enjoy seeing more of Earth." He gave Spock a pointed look. It had seemed like almost a normal conversation up until then.
The look held a moment longer, before Spock looked back out towards the city again. "I suppose." Unsurprisingly noncommittal, but he was scanning the skyline of San Francisco with some interest. It was impossible to tell if Spock would ever take up that suggestion should the opportunity present itself, but at least for now, he had not outright denied the possibility. Right now, though, Kirk definitely had some ideas in mind about the places he wanted to travel to. It was mostly being dictated by his stomach.
"Well, all this aside... I'm starving. You up for getting something to eat?" Kirk grinned lazily, "Probably where Bones is, or he's already back at the Academy doing whatever in the medical labs, unless he's decided to go out and see his kid for two days." The idea of food sounded perfect; it would kill the very last dregs of the hangover.
Spock nodded again, and stepped back from the window. "Allow me to dress, first." He excused himself from the room, to walk to the other side of the suite. There was the sound of a closet door being pulled open by mechanics, and the low hum of a machine. Likely a sonic iron that came with the room. Kirk listened for a moment, then just laughed to himself. He's in there, ironing jeans and stuff. Somehow, I shouldn't be surprised.
He wandered back out into the other room, finding what clothes were his, and settled down to get changed. "Figure we'll grab some breakfast... if you button that shirt all the way up you'll look fine... and then head back to the Enterprise. I need to go over applications." His nose wrinkled slightly. The idea of having to go through submitted applications to be his chief science officer sounded like hell - you couldn't get a feel for a person without meeting them.
"Do you require assistance?" Spock asked as he buttoned up the aforementioned black shirt. He had already pulled on the jeans before Kirk managed to wander in. Within two buttons the entire outfit managed to pass from clubbing to moderately respectable.
"Honestly I wish I could just meet these people instead of having to read ninety-six--ninety-six!--applications," Kirk groaned a little. "My gut would tell me who was best for the position more than some padds ever well." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, thinking about it. "If you wanted to help, you could, but you're free to go do whatever you want." A sly grin. "I somehow doubt the science labs would turn you away."
"There are laboratories on board the Enterprise," Spock said rather offhandedly, as he did the second-to-last button before the collar, hesitated, and simply left it at that. "It would be more beneficial to the ship if I were to assist you." He tugged downward on his shirt, to smooth out non-existent wrinkles.
"It's not a uniform, Spock, it's bound to move around." Kirk found himself teasing, then considered it with surprise. Well, hey, how strange could you be around a guy who evidently you had a crazy night with then slept together without actually fucking? Kirk stood up and stretched slowly. His clothing was exactly the same as the previous night, with a few more wrinkles, but somehow it still seemed more respectable than it had the previous night. It was all about the attitude that was wearing it.
Breakfast was a more complicated affair than usual. After clearing out of the hotel (Spock had asked, once, why they did not go to the in-house restaurant, and seemed just as confused after Kirk waved off his question), they took a stroll through the brisk morning air. Refreshing for humans, though probably not so for Vulcans: Spock had worn Kirk's old leather jacket again before they had even left the hotel, and then proceeded to bundle his hands in the pockets again like he had the night before. Turning a couple of corners put them in a more familiar part of the city--Bones had not taken them far from their club--and eventually to an old-fashioned diner. The interior mixed new and old fashions of neon lights, speckled counter tops and half-private booths with leather seats. Through the window next to the booth they sat at, they could people-watch to an extent. Individuals rushing on their way to work weren't terribly interesting, though.
Spock, sipping from a glass of orange juice, regarded the menu with some curiosity--less like finding something to eat and more like a report or something similar. He read through each page exactly once (to others, it would look like Spock was skimming the images and descriptions, but from Kirk's angle, he could those eyes moving at warp speed), before folding the booklet shut, decision made. Kirk hid a snicker that threatened to bubble out about Spock's actions and instead hesitated between two choices of his own - the steak and eggs or the large stack of buttermilk pancakes. He licked his lips and put the menu down lazily, relaxing back in the booth. They ordered a few moments later. The briefly disgusted look on Spock's face when he mentioned steak and eggs made him change his order to the pancakes instead.
Kirk eyed Spock sitting across from him and gestured with a hand. "Can you act like, non-scientific for about.. ten minutes?" Kirk asked in a teasing tone. When Spock just looked at him with a questioning blink, he continued. "Stop making everything into a report or an experiment and just... relax. Seriously. It's just breakfast."
"I am relaxed," Spock answered, but honestly Kirk couldn't tell if that was a dry humor or an unruffled reply.
Didn't stop him for a second from replying with, "No, evidently you were relaxed when you were doing body shots last night." He flung out the grin on his lips almost like a challenge, teasing the Vulcan in a gentle manner.
He didn't miss the slight tightening of the other's fingers. "That was not 'relaxed'; I was inebriated."
"Both."
"The former implies a lower metabolic level and lesser tension. Neither appeared to be present last night."
"You can't remember it anyway, how would you know?" Kirk pointed out.
"My memory does not disappear completely except on very rare occasions. I retained pieces of the evening." Definitely Spock's tone had slipped into something defensive.
So, of course, Kirk came up with a barb to return with, "Maybe you were just horny." He meant to be just playing around with Spock, but the change of expression (as minute as it was) told him something else entirely. "Ha! I was right!"
"Do not assume it was my standard state." Without a doubt Spock was being defensive about this now, but it only spurred him on. How could he pass up something like this?
"I assume it was anything but your standard state, but..." He let it trail off into a laugh.
Spock's lips had thinned and his brow furrowed. "I am glad to see that you are so entertained by the thought."
Kirk sighed with that, the grin remaining on his lips as he tried to soothe the other's concerns. "Come on, relax."
"Apparently I have already done so, to disastrous effects."
"...Disastrous?" Kirk wondered how Spock came to that conclusion. "How?"
Spock's gaze slid away. "Your chief medical officer does not appear too pleased with either of us." Apparently he had heard the scolding between them.
Was that all? Kirk gestured with a hand, dismissing the notion. "Eh, he's dealt with it before." When Spock mentioned something about his familiarity with the situation not helping his mood, Kirk had to laugh again. "That's just the way Bones is. If he was actually mad at either of us, he wouldn't have given us the hypos." That was definitely his friend's preferred form of punishment. It didn't seem to soothe Spock's worries though as his fist did not loosen, nor did the thinning of his lips vanish.
Their orders came right then, and Kirk licked his lips at the sight of five pancakes sitting gloriously on top of each other, a pool of half-melted butter on top, and just ready to be drenched in syrup. Spock's breakfast came in more pieces: a plate of hash browns sided by two sunny-side eggs (the earlier disgust must have been for the steak), two blueberry pancakes covered with a healthy dollop of blueberry preserves and whipped cream, a small bowl of assorted fruit, and a "Yes, thank you," to an offer to refill his already-finished half-pint of orange juice. After the waitress left, Spock arranged his plates in a triangular pattern so all the plates were equidistant from each other, the eggs and hash browns directly in front of him, the pancakes to the right and the fruit bowl to the left. The glass of orange juice was set off to the side, after he took another sip. He picked up his fork.
Watching Spock eat, in this more relaxed setting without heavy discussion between them, was a bit like watching the gears of an old-fashioned clock. Every move was completed with precision, and repeated with very little variation. The white of the eggs eaten first in neat morsels before the yolk was halved neatly. The hash brown, not uniform in shape at all, was made to be uniform, somehow divided equally after a liberal smattering of hot sauce (what). Once he cleared that plate, the entire ensemble rotated accordingly.
Now with the blueberry pancakes in front of him, he circled them with a liberal amount of maple syrup, grabbed the so-far-clean butter knife, and--dissected the pancakes. Triangular pieces, dabbed in syrup and then a little bit of the preserves. Each of these movements, too, seemed to have their calculations behind them, as by the end of that course, the plate was clean of syrup and cream and preserves--nothing going to waste.
Finally, the ensemble rotated a third time. As the fruit in the bowl was already cut up into not-so-uniform pieces (there was for a nanosecond, he swore, a frown on Spock's face as he looked down at the colourful cubes), all he could do was eat them one at a time. Somehow, despite the fact they were not all the same size, he took precisely the same amount of chews before moving onto the next, and the next, until finally, that bowl was empty, too. Spock set down the fork neatly in the bowl, and took the last sip of his orange juice, draining the glass.
In the end, it was so like a science experiment, all neatly done and with perfect measurements and amounts, that Kirk felt a little bit like he needed to be taking notes for a test. He glanced down at his own empty plate - smeared with remains and syrup - and wondered when he had even eaten.
A very strange thought to be so wrapped up in someone else eating that he didn't even notice his own yummy breakfast vanishing. Well, damn. Kirk laughed a little at his own thoughts, shaking his head. "Hope that was good, because I doubt we'll be getting anything but replicated meals for a good while." That thought, as he dealt with paying for their meal, he decided that he was going to grab Bones and find somewhere to get a good steak for dinner that night.
"It was quite unusual," Spock noted as they rose from their seats at the booth, and began to make their way out of the diner. "The flavours were similar, but not identical, to the same meals on Vulcan."
"You have eggs--" Stopped, winced, "Had eggs there? What kind of bird?" Shit, he couldn't keep his big mouth from doing something like that every few minutes, could he?
It didn't seem to cause any offense, though; Spock just glanced sideways at him before they stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk. "Usually eggs were supplied from farms of dokai: small, yellow birds that usually nested in caves in their natural habitat. Though one hotel did maintain a sizable Terran chicken colony to cater to humans."
There was something about the idea of a bunch of Vulcans dealing with chickens that made Kirk laugh a little, "How... just how weird." He shook his head, looking amused. He felt relaxed as they made their way back towards the academy, where an easy beam up to the space station above them would be available. Kirk knew he had to check in on the final reports of making sure the Enterprise was fully stocked, and this whole thing with applications...
He glanced to Spock and smiled slightly to himself. At least he'd have some company while he worked.
Chapter Six
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: eventual Kirk/Spock
POV: Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Words: 5.400
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Downtime in San Francisco leads to some interesting results.
A/N: Last day not on the Enterprise, promise. :)
All Chapters || Chapter Five, Part A
When he woke up the next morning, it was to very odd circumstances. Kirk very slightly lifted his head, feeling stabs of pain zig-zagging through his mind as sunlight penetrated his eyes and brain as sure as daggers. The pain caused him to just close his eyes again and burrow into darkness. It was better here, nice and warm, dark, cocooned in softness.
His brain started to try piece together the previous night in his dark-spot. Went out to the club. Check. Was with Spock. Check. ...Drinking... check... dancing... check... blurring... check... um, something about a body shot... check... oh come on, there's gotta be more then that... oh, yea definitely had a body shot done... huh, something smells like chocolate. Wonder where the chocolate came from. ...Okay, the idea of food is a bad one. Shit, I miss having Bones as a roommate for the hangover cures. Even if it means a hypo. Hmm... these are too soft to be regulation sheets. Wonder where I am. Nice and soft... really warm. Actually, I'm sweating. .... Ah, there. Freed toes. Helps some. Fuck it, I don't care--- someone's in the room. Footsteps.. cursing... wait, BONES!?
The final thought has Kirk clawing his way up out of the sheets despite the light, blinking blearily across the room. There, indeed, was his best friend, cursing in whispers as he rubbed a bare foot. Well, that was familiar from their days in the academy. Way less familiar was the room they were in. Looked like one seriously nice hotel room, all sugar-white and soft colors. "...'ones?" He croaked out of a dry throat.
The doctor looked over at the sound and Kirk was surprised to see the glare in the man's eyes. He thought about trying to run for it when Bones stalked over, grabbed an ear ("OW! Dammit Bones let go!" "Shut up!" "Wait, is there someone in my bed--"), and pulled him into the other room over stumbling numb useless legs.
Kirk hit the bed in the other room (other room? suite?) and groaned, pulling a pillow over his head. "Bones, what the hell?!"
Bones shut the door quietly and then spun around to look at him. "I've dragged your ass out of a lotta bars in the past but this? This tops it all. I had to get security to help me! You were so wasted that I had to force bread down your throat to soak up some of that," Bones snapped. "What were you thinking!?"
"Um, I probably wasn't?" Kirk lamely defended himself from beneath the pillow.
"I know you weren't!" Came the growl before the bed sagged from Bones sitting on it. "Not bad enough that you did that to yourself, no! You had to go and get him drunk too!"
"Huh. So I didn't go home alone." He felt a little proud of that. Too bad he couldn't remember anything about it. He regretted his choice in words a second later as the pillow was stolen away and two dark eyes glared down at him.
"You know how I found you two? You were in the center of the dance floor - no surprise there - and a certain Vulcan was doing a chocolate body shot off your chest!"
...Well, that explained that blurry memory. And the smell of choco-- WAIT. "Vulcan...Spock. Spock was doing a body shot off me. Bones, how drunk were you to believe that--"
"If you don't believe me," Oh, that deepening of his friends voice was kinda hot, combined with the growl, but Kirk (in his hung-over state) more wanted to cringe away from it than fuck. "Maybe you should go look at who you have curled up in your bed."
Oh. Shit. The body he had glimpsed in his bed. Oh shit. No way. Kirk looked to Bones in horror for a moment, then stumbled up to his feet. He staggered in the blinding-light over to the door, opened it, and looked out into the other room. Spock lay there on one half of the bed, slightly curled on his side, facing where Kirk had been sleeping (until his unceremonious evacuation). One hand was tucked underneath the pillow, and the plush covers were pulled up to his shoulder. After a moment, long fingers grasped vainly at the empty place where Kirk should have been. His body was promptly substituted by the other king-sized pillow, jerked down with quiet ferocity until Spock could pull it close and sling his other arm around it. Kirk might have found it annoying cute in nature if he wasn't so completely and utterly horrified.
Kirk looked down the length of his own body and his own black boxers with golden lettering on them that stated one part of him was the Captain and the other part of him the Legend (a gift from the party when he had actually been named official Captain of the Enterprise he knew). Well, he was still wearing boxers, right? Wouldn't have fucked then put them back on... right? "Shit."
"I know what you're thinking." Bones was behind him, probably looking at the Vulcan as well. His voice was low, letting the other sleep. "You two didn't fuck, but I couldn't keep you from falling asleep together."
Well, there was that bit of saving grace at least. "Bones, what the fuck happened?" Kirk turned, looking to his friend. He knew himself, that if he was that drunk, all of his morals about proving that Spock wasn't just his -- he hated that word -- would have gone right out the window.
This set Bones into the story of the previous night. Coming to the club ("Bones, why the hell were you even in that cl--" "None of your business."), finding them on the dance floor, completely drunk, having to get security to help drag them both out of the club, throwing them into a taxi ("You two would not stop. Well, actually more like he wouldn't. He was practically trying to rip your clothes off! Do you know what kind of tip I had to give the driver to make sure he'd stay silent about this!? I had to get him to help me drag you up from the taxi since there was no way I could get you both!"), getting the hotel room ("Allll under your bill, Captain."), and dropping their unconscious asses into bed.
From what he was gathering, as always, Bones had acted like his wingman, but at least this time he had been cock-blocked for all the right reasons.
Kirk groaned and rubbed at his eyes, wishing he could concentrate more through the headache pounding behind them. He couldn't remember a damn thing really, and that worried him. Last time he had gotten that drunk was... ironically, the night he had been made Captain. He'd actually thought it was a dream until Bones had showed him the golden command shirts with their lovely new piping around the sleeves. That had been one party, all pomp and circumstance and snotty upper command, then the real party with his friends and classmates that was half celebration of his rise in ranks and half mourning party for every person that couldn't be there. Thousands of them.
He was just about to turn around and ask Bones about getting something for the headache when there was a familiar pressure at his neck and OW DAMMIT the hypo hissed as it went off. Kirk grabbed for the door frame and almost growled. "For the hangover I can see in yer eyes." Bones somehow turned the words into a threat, then stalked off across the hotel room to the door Kirk could only assume led to the bathroom.
"...Fuck this." Kirk grumbled aloud, turning to go back into the bedroom that Bones had taken up so he could curl up in his friend's bed instead of crawling back in with the overly warm Vulcan.
Some time passed--minutes?, hours?, time still blurred together--until a voice called to him from the connecting doorway, soft but clear enough in the silence of the morning, "Jim?" heard only in a dark little corner of his conscious mind. Yet it triggered something, enough that he started to focus on a very vague sort of way. Then, after another amount of time, the mattress dipped under the weight of someone, and someone reached out a hand to touch hot fingertips to his shoulder. "Jim." Kirk's body reacted before even his mind did. Instincts, born out of dire, desperate need so many years ago and years of bar fights and combat training after that, kicked in heavily. Bones could have warned Spock never to touch Jim when he was asleep, but it was too late.
A hand shot up and grabbed Spock's wrist, immediately twisting it so the arm was locked into position even as Kirk surged up off the bed, going on the completely unconscious fight-or-flight syndrome that was hard wired into the human mind. A strong leg, still covered in sheets, came up and twisted, scissored, to throw Spock over as Kirk's body came to settle in a slightly screwed up straddle thanks to the sheets. With a knee half-planted on Spock (instead of on his side) and the other knee snugged up against his side, one hand forcing Spock's wrist up over his head and the other came for his throat. In the middle of this motion, the hip Kirk's knee was pressing into heaved upwards, throwing him back, while the wrist jerked downwards with an impossible strength, towards the Vulcan's chest.
The next moment, Kirk was flat on his back again, two pale hands pinning his wrists down by his shoulders (one in quite an awkward grip), one thigh straddled while the other leg was somehow being pinned down by an ankle. It was about that point that his mind clicked in, actually realizing what was going on. He stared up at Spock, blinking at the dark gaze that stared down at him in what was probably the most open expression he had ever seen the Vulcan wear. It was something of sadness, of surprise, and just a touch of fear that softened the near-black eyes, made the lips part, and made Spock look somehow younger.
It was a strange expression, no matter who was wearing it.
Kirk swallowed, rasping out, "Shit, Spock, I'm sorry..." Not fighting the body over his, the grip on his wrists, though he could have if someone had actually been attacking him. He had no idea of his own emotions passing in his mind fearattackfearfearsurprise!shockpanicapology and spouted off another apology to the Vulcan who clearly had the upper hand, but he had attacked first. Not entirely without provocation, but Spock probably wouldn't see it that way.
"No." Spock's voice was painfully soft, and he also swallowed. When he spoke again, it was with a clearer voice, and the expression changed back into blankness. "I startled you. I apologize." Those hands at Kirk's wrists began to pull back. Spock also moved off his body, withdrawing to sit at the end of the bed. Miraculously, through this entire encounter, the calf-length white bath robe Spock wore (probably taken from one of the closets) had stayed secure, possibly due to the odd-looking knot tied around the waist.
Kirk sat up in the bed, rotating his shoulders to make sure everything was still connected, and looked unsurely to the Vulcan. Well, this was awkward. "...Don't ever wake me up by touching me, or even trying to. I... just react, even if I'm dead to the world," He muttered, remembering mornings waking up in hell, defending everything he had on his person, on Earth and elsewhere. People had been more deadly off planet.
Spock nodded once. His hands rested over the wide belt of the robe almost protectively, with the fingers of one hand gripping around the rectangular knot. It appeared to be an unconscious motion, as the Vulcan was staring off at another piece of the room's furniture. "I shall remember that."
A slow breath out and Kirk shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Well, at least the hypo had worked - headache was gone, less stiff and nauseous. "...Long night from the sound of it, last night." He said awkwardly, because... well, dammit, this was awkward.
"Quite," Spock agreed, though he adopted the same tone he always did: calm, cool, and apparently not stressed that they had woken up in a hotel room after a hazy night of liquor and dancing. Did Spock even remember anything from last night? "I am afraid that my memory is less than clear after the...'Mudslide.' I believe that is what it was called." Guess not.
Pause, then a laugh. "You were drinking mudslides? Those chocolately things?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. "Fuck, yea, I can't remember anything either. Bones was telling me that you were pretty fucked up though. Er, and so was I. He came in and saw us dancing out on the floor and you were doing a body shot off me."
That got him an eyebrow arch-- possibly another sign that Spock was back to normal. "A body shot?" Well, that either meant his memory had blanked out over the time Spock had been doing it, or they simply skipped saying what it actually was.
"Um," How to explain it? "Use different ingredients and put them on someone's body, and lick and eat the ingredients off to make a drink in your mouth." Sort of an strange explanation, but it worked well enough.
"...oh." The lack of recognition probably meant that both their memories didn't register this particular event. Spock looked to the side of the bed, towards the faux-wood dresser on the opposite wall, to the connecting doorway, and then at Kirk again. "Who is the other person in this suite?" He asked with the slightest head tilt to the side. "You cannot have slept in this room all night, as your clothes are in the other."
"Bones. My CMO, remember?" He was sure they had met while on the ship. Least... fairly sure. Oh, right, the physical. So without a doubt they had. "He's probably annoyed with us both." A sheepish sort of grin came to his face, "Evidently we both got completely plastered and he had to drag us home in a cab." He rubbed the back of his neck, then eyed the side table. He reached out and grabbed a note set up against a silver hypo.
Jim,
Remember which end to stab with. Suited for Vulcans, if he's got a hangover. Least I think it'll work.
Bones
"...Ever the thoughtful." Kirk murmured to himself, feeling pleased with his friend's thoughtfulness and foresight, then glanced to Spock. "How you feeling?"
The Vulcan closed his eyes for a moment, and the brows furrowed in slight concentration. His hands moved from the robe's belt to fold together loosely in his lap. The pose looked almost meditative. "Satisfactory," He said after almost a minute of this. "I am unharmed."
"Hung over?" Kirk asked, but then thought twice about it, "...Your know, a headache, stomach bothering you, fuzzy?" Figuring that was the best way to describe something that was usually difficult to describe.
Spock opened his eyes again to look over at him, before shifting his gaze to the plush white carpet. "Nothing that will not remedy itself in a few hours time."
Stupid to wait that long when there was another option. Kirk reached out and snagged the hypo, double checking he did indeed know which end was the stabby part. "Here, tilt your head. Can get rid of it in about five minutes." He waggled the hypo. "I'll be nicer about it than Bones ever was or will be." That look he got had vague hints of apprehension and suspicion. There had to be some sort of training involved that made Spock mechanically tilt his head, exposing his neck for the hypo, and yet still regard Kirk with caution. Kirk shifted in closer and pressed the end of the hypo against the pale neck, flicking it so it quickly injected Spock. "...Bones had to teach me to use one. Used to tell me, 'Jim, I need about ten more hands to deal with you. Hold still!' because I hate these damn things."
After not even flinching at the injection, Spock shifted away from him again. "They are rather uncomfortable." He stood from his seat at the end of the bed to walk over to the window. The curtains here were drawn shut, blocking out the light--until Spock threw them back with a simple movement of his arm. Even if the glass was polarized slightly against the sun hitting the face of the hotel, it was still no less than blinding as it flooded the room.
"Shit!" Kirk looked away as the light made his pupils flex painfully in the once-darkness. He waited until his eyes adjusted to look back, blinking several times. He could see they were somewhere high, considering the view they had that arched out over San Francisco. Kirk climbed to his feet and walked over to stand beside Spock, scratching at his stomach. In the way distance, he could even see the harbor. "...Nice view," Said in a slightly grumpy 'you blinded me' tone.
"Yes," Spock answered; there might have been something about his quiet tone that could have been described as wistful. Yellow sunlight climbed over glass and steel faces, reflected over the water of the ocean, and crept into the streets below, over people walking to work and hover-trollies crossing over routes that had changed little in a couple hundred years. "It is different than Shi'Kahr."
"...every city's different. This," A gesture, indicating the sprawling city below. "Looks like a completely different planet than where I was born." Kirk smiled slightly, looking at it all. Where he was born, where he came back when the Enterprise was up in dock... but never home. The only home he had was up there, with his beautiful ship. His family the crew. The thought nudged him, I should probably see if I can figure out where Sam is. Sam, last he checked, was on one of the colonies, but considering how much his brother traveled, it was very plausible he wasn't there anymore.
"I have read that your cities do tend to vary widely in architecture." Spock's hand finally dropped from where it had been unconsciously clutching the side of the curtain, to fall to his side.
Kirk's eyes didn't leave the skyline. "...Miss your home?" He asked quietly, as if he could sense something he didn't actually know. "When shore leave comes up and we're near Earth... you should try travelling. Seeing what you can." His fingers clenched for a moment at his side, and his gaze shifted up to the sky above. Before the crew started to return, he wanted to go through the ship and spend some time with her. It was something he would do on his own. Well, maybe with Bones, but he knew the doctor wouldn't divorce from the ground until the last possible moment. The thought put a smile on his lips.
"For what purpose?" Kirk got another look from Spock, the earlier suspicion replaced with a professional, restrained curiosity. "Will you be requiring information concerning certain locations?"
Kirk couldn't stop the roll of his eyes, "No. I was thinking more like... because you might enjoy seeing more of Earth." He gave Spock a pointed look. It had seemed like almost a normal conversation up until then.
The look held a moment longer, before Spock looked back out towards the city again. "I suppose." Unsurprisingly noncommittal, but he was scanning the skyline of San Francisco with some interest. It was impossible to tell if Spock would ever take up that suggestion should the opportunity present itself, but at least for now, he had not outright denied the possibility. Right now, though, Kirk definitely had some ideas in mind about the places he wanted to travel to. It was mostly being dictated by his stomach.
"Well, all this aside... I'm starving. You up for getting something to eat?" Kirk grinned lazily, "Probably where Bones is, or he's already back at the Academy doing whatever in the medical labs, unless he's decided to go out and see his kid for two days." The idea of food sounded perfect; it would kill the very last dregs of the hangover.
Spock nodded again, and stepped back from the window. "Allow me to dress, first." He excused himself from the room, to walk to the other side of the suite. There was the sound of a closet door being pulled open by mechanics, and the low hum of a machine. Likely a sonic iron that came with the room. Kirk listened for a moment, then just laughed to himself. He's in there, ironing jeans and stuff. Somehow, I shouldn't be surprised.
He wandered back out into the other room, finding what clothes were his, and settled down to get changed. "Figure we'll grab some breakfast... if you button that shirt all the way up you'll look fine... and then head back to the Enterprise. I need to go over applications." His nose wrinkled slightly. The idea of having to go through submitted applications to be his chief science officer sounded like hell - you couldn't get a feel for a person without meeting them.
"Do you require assistance?" Spock asked as he buttoned up the aforementioned black shirt. He had already pulled on the jeans before Kirk managed to wander in. Within two buttons the entire outfit managed to pass from clubbing to moderately respectable.
"Honestly I wish I could just meet these people instead of having to read ninety-six--ninety-six!--applications," Kirk groaned a little. "My gut would tell me who was best for the position more than some padds ever well." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, thinking about it. "If you wanted to help, you could, but you're free to go do whatever you want." A sly grin. "I somehow doubt the science labs would turn you away."
"There are laboratories on board the Enterprise," Spock said rather offhandedly, as he did the second-to-last button before the collar, hesitated, and simply left it at that. "It would be more beneficial to the ship if I were to assist you." He tugged downward on his shirt, to smooth out non-existent wrinkles.
"It's not a uniform, Spock, it's bound to move around." Kirk found himself teasing, then considered it with surprise. Well, hey, how strange could you be around a guy who evidently you had a crazy night with then slept together without actually fucking? Kirk stood up and stretched slowly. His clothing was exactly the same as the previous night, with a few more wrinkles, but somehow it still seemed more respectable than it had the previous night. It was all about the attitude that was wearing it.
Breakfast was a more complicated affair than usual. After clearing out of the hotel (Spock had asked, once, why they did not go to the in-house restaurant, and seemed just as confused after Kirk waved off his question), they took a stroll through the brisk morning air. Refreshing for humans, though probably not so for Vulcans: Spock had worn Kirk's old leather jacket again before they had even left the hotel, and then proceeded to bundle his hands in the pockets again like he had the night before. Turning a couple of corners put them in a more familiar part of the city--Bones had not taken them far from their club--and eventually to an old-fashioned diner. The interior mixed new and old fashions of neon lights, speckled counter tops and half-private booths with leather seats. Through the window next to the booth they sat at, they could people-watch to an extent. Individuals rushing on their way to work weren't terribly interesting, though.
Spock, sipping from a glass of orange juice, regarded the menu with some curiosity--less like finding something to eat and more like a report or something similar. He read through each page exactly once (to others, it would look like Spock was skimming the images and descriptions, but from Kirk's angle, he could those eyes moving at warp speed), before folding the booklet shut, decision made. Kirk hid a snicker that threatened to bubble out about Spock's actions and instead hesitated between two choices of his own - the steak and eggs or the large stack of buttermilk pancakes. He licked his lips and put the menu down lazily, relaxing back in the booth. They ordered a few moments later. The briefly disgusted look on Spock's face when he mentioned steak and eggs made him change his order to the pancakes instead.
Kirk eyed Spock sitting across from him and gestured with a hand. "Can you act like, non-scientific for about.. ten minutes?" Kirk asked in a teasing tone. When Spock just looked at him with a questioning blink, he continued. "Stop making everything into a report or an experiment and just... relax. Seriously. It's just breakfast."
"I am relaxed," Spock answered, but honestly Kirk couldn't tell if that was a dry humor or an unruffled reply.
Didn't stop him for a second from replying with, "No, evidently you were relaxed when you were doing body shots last night." He flung out the grin on his lips almost like a challenge, teasing the Vulcan in a gentle manner.
He didn't miss the slight tightening of the other's fingers. "That was not 'relaxed'; I was inebriated."
"Both."
"The former implies a lower metabolic level and lesser tension. Neither appeared to be present last night."
"You can't remember it anyway, how would you know?" Kirk pointed out.
"My memory does not disappear completely except on very rare occasions. I retained pieces of the evening." Definitely Spock's tone had slipped into something defensive.
So, of course, Kirk came up with a barb to return with, "Maybe you were just horny." He meant to be just playing around with Spock, but the change of expression (as minute as it was) told him something else entirely. "Ha! I was right!"
"Do not assume it was my standard state." Without a doubt Spock was being defensive about this now, but it only spurred him on. How could he pass up something like this?
"I assume it was anything but your standard state, but..." He let it trail off into a laugh.
Spock's lips had thinned and his brow furrowed. "I am glad to see that you are so entertained by the thought."
Kirk sighed with that, the grin remaining on his lips as he tried to soothe the other's concerns. "Come on, relax."
"Apparently I have already done so, to disastrous effects."
"...Disastrous?" Kirk wondered how Spock came to that conclusion. "How?"
Spock's gaze slid away. "Your chief medical officer does not appear too pleased with either of us." Apparently he had heard the scolding between them.
Was that all? Kirk gestured with a hand, dismissing the notion. "Eh, he's dealt with it before." When Spock mentioned something about his familiarity with the situation not helping his mood, Kirk had to laugh again. "That's just the way Bones is. If he was actually mad at either of us, he wouldn't have given us the hypos." That was definitely his friend's preferred form of punishment. It didn't seem to soothe Spock's worries though as his fist did not loosen, nor did the thinning of his lips vanish.
Their orders came right then, and Kirk licked his lips at the sight of five pancakes sitting gloriously on top of each other, a pool of half-melted butter on top, and just ready to be drenched in syrup. Spock's breakfast came in more pieces: a plate of hash browns sided by two sunny-side eggs (the earlier disgust must have been for the steak), two blueberry pancakes covered with a healthy dollop of blueberry preserves and whipped cream, a small bowl of assorted fruit, and a "Yes, thank you," to an offer to refill his already-finished half-pint of orange juice. After the waitress left, Spock arranged his plates in a triangular pattern so all the plates were equidistant from each other, the eggs and hash browns directly in front of him, the pancakes to the right and the fruit bowl to the left. The glass of orange juice was set off to the side, after he took another sip. He picked up his fork.
Watching Spock eat, in this more relaxed setting without heavy discussion between them, was a bit like watching the gears of an old-fashioned clock. Every move was completed with precision, and repeated with very little variation. The white of the eggs eaten first in neat morsels before the yolk was halved neatly. The hash brown, not uniform in shape at all, was made to be uniform, somehow divided equally after a liberal smattering of hot sauce (what). Once he cleared that plate, the entire ensemble rotated accordingly.
Now with the blueberry pancakes in front of him, he circled them with a liberal amount of maple syrup, grabbed the so-far-clean butter knife, and--dissected the pancakes. Triangular pieces, dabbed in syrup and then a little bit of the preserves. Each of these movements, too, seemed to have their calculations behind them, as by the end of that course, the plate was clean of syrup and cream and preserves--nothing going to waste.
Finally, the ensemble rotated a third time. As the fruit in the bowl was already cut up into not-so-uniform pieces (there was for a nanosecond, he swore, a frown on Spock's face as he looked down at the colourful cubes), all he could do was eat them one at a time. Somehow, despite the fact they were not all the same size, he took precisely the same amount of chews before moving onto the next, and the next, until finally, that bowl was empty, too. Spock set down the fork neatly in the bowl, and took the last sip of his orange juice, draining the glass.
In the end, it was so like a science experiment, all neatly done and with perfect measurements and amounts, that Kirk felt a little bit like he needed to be taking notes for a test. He glanced down at his own empty plate - smeared with remains and syrup - and wondered when he had even eaten.
A very strange thought to be so wrapped up in someone else eating that he didn't even notice his own yummy breakfast vanishing. Well, damn. Kirk laughed a little at his own thoughts, shaking his head. "Hope that was good, because I doubt we'll be getting anything but replicated meals for a good while." That thought, as he dealt with paying for their meal, he decided that he was going to grab Bones and find somewhere to get a good steak for dinner that night.
"It was quite unusual," Spock noted as they rose from their seats at the booth, and began to make their way out of the diner. "The flavours were similar, but not identical, to the same meals on Vulcan."
"You have eggs--" Stopped, winced, "Had eggs there? What kind of bird?" Shit, he couldn't keep his big mouth from doing something like that every few minutes, could he?
It didn't seem to cause any offense, though; Spock just glanced sideways at him before they stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk. "Usually eggs were supplied from farms of dokai: small, yellow birds that usually nested in caves in their natural habitat. Though one hotel did maintain a sizable Terran chicken colony to cater to humans."
There was something about the idea of a bunch of Vulcans dealing with chickens that made Kirk laugh a little, "How... just how weird." He shook his head, looking amused. He felt relaxed as they made their way back towards the academy, where an easy beam up to the space station above them would be available. Kirk knew he had to check in on the final reports of making sure the Enterprise was fully stocked, and this whole thing with applications...
He glanced to Spock and smiled slightly to himself. At least he'd have some company while he worked.
Chapter Six