Nothing Lay Between (7A/?), Kirk/Spock, R
Title: Nothing Lay Between (7A/?)
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: eventual Kirk/Spock, McCoy
POV: Kirk
Rating: (soft?) R
Words: 8.141
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Kirk spends some quality time with his resident Vulcan--for practical purposes.
A/N:
dancing_mercury: Another chapter long time in the making! School is all-consuming.
jantra: We're at 78,347 words! This is more then a thousand words longer then the first Harry Potter book! *cheers* This is also our second longest chapter! (Chapter 4 was our longest!)
All Chapters || Chapter Six
Kirk walked into the mess hall with a bright grin on his face, his spirits high despite the fact that every part of him was sore as hell. Sparring in the gym had been a good idea; sparring in the gym against Nicholas Daniels (aka: Cupcake) had been a bad idea considering that the man was one hell of a good fighter and an even better wrestler. He rubbed at his shoulder, feeling the ache seated deep in the tissue, and walked over to the replicator. He was glad to spot Bones tucked away at a table to himself, but was shocked to see that his long time friend had a smile on his face. A real, honest to goodness smile. Fuck, is the world ending and I missed the memo?!
This required investigation.
He flopped down into seat across table from Bones, grinning lazily, "So, Bones..."
"G'morning, Jim," Rumbled low, lifting his gaze from his meal. Bones never was a morning person.
"What's going on? You look happy," Kirk said happily, leaning forward on an elbow and chowing down on his breakfast. He didn't miss the raised brow he was getting from his friend. "You're smiling. That's a sign of the doomsday."
And... didn't miss the glare he was getting now, either. "What's wrong with me smiling? And I'm not smiling, dammit."
"You never smile unless you have a hypo in hand and an unwilling patient... er, Bones, you can stop giving me that evil look now."
"Not until I get a hypo in hand." Gulp! That look in Bones' eyes made him shrink back a little.
"I'll be good." Kirk held up his hands defensively, but then the effect wore off a moment later and he leaned forward on his elbows, "Come on, seriously, what's got you in a good mood?" A devil's grin slid onto his face before he said, "...You know, anyone else, an-y-one-else and I would have said that they had gotten laid last night~"
It shocked and terrified him to watch Bones get a thoughtful look on his face instead of the growl he was expecting, then to watch Bones gesture a little with his fork, "Got some new medical information yesterday. Might start working on a published journal about it." The faint smile turned into a smirk, one that Kirk was far more familiar with.
"Yeah?" He leaned on one elbow so he could pop a piece of pancake into his mouth, trying to act casual around his surprise. "What about?" Around that mouthful.
"Vulcan biology."
Which ended up making Kirk choke on his mouthful, shoulders heaving as he sucked in air, then staring at Bones in complete and utter shock. Vulcan biology. There was only one way that Bones would be able to get that sort of information - their single Vulcan on board, Spock. He could see a brief smugness in Bones' eyes at getting that particular reaction, but didn't immediately care. "Spock," He stated thickly, then coughed again. "Spock gave you information like that?"
"Somethin' like that." Bones smirked, standing up with his tray. "Maybe you should ask him about it." The doctor turned away, dumping his tray into the recycler, and was out of the mess hall with barely a wave of his hand.
Kirk stared at Bones as his friend left, just in complete and utter shock. Had that really just happened? Bones smiling, Spock and Bones talking medical, Bones teasing him about this, smirking like that... So he did the most logical thing and pinched himself sharply. "Ow!" He hissed, eyes narrowing. Okay, so, not dreaming. What the hell did that all mean!? Still puzzling over the brief series of unusual events, Kirk finished his breakfast before making his way up to the bridge.
Dammit, it would bother him for the rest the day; a little nagging thought as he worked through his shift. What kind of information could Spock tell about biology that would put a smile on Bones' face and a teasing note in his voice?! His mind was half-preoccupied by the idea, trying to come up with various ideas, but failing to get anything concrete. Could it be a particularly interesting and different part of Vulcan anatomy? (...Could it be a particular part of Vulcan anatomy? Heh, heh...) Could it be something completely outside of the medical information that Bones had talked about? Could they really have...?
No. Bones wasn't into that sort of thing.
So then what was it? That damned question that he knew Bones had implied and knew Bones would know it would drive him nuts for the rest of the day was what finally urged Kirk to grab the padd from the side of his chair and send a quick message to Spock down in the science labs.
Spock,
Up for dinner or a game of chess tonight?
Jim
It took all of thirty minutes for the reply to come back to him.
Captain,
I would be willing to engage in such activities. What time and location is most convenient for you?
Spock
And about five minutes for a reply. He wasn't waiting for it or anything.
Spock,
After alpha shift, say... 1700? My quarters?
Jim
And three minutes after that:
Captain,
I will see you then.
Spock
Well, that took care of that. Kirk grinned in his seat, glanced to the chronometer... and groaned. Fuck, two more hours until he was even off duty. Sometimes, his impatience could get the better of him. He wanted to know what was getting on Bones' good side and what it had to do with Spock. At least things had been going better between the two of them since that night in San Francisco, like something had relaxed that had been strained before. Kirk didn't stay away from Spock in the mess hall, and even had taken to occasionally teasing the Vulcan as he did the rest of the crew.
Somehow, it failed to occur to him that he might be being set up by his best friend.
When the longest-shift-ever was finally over, Kirk knew from the glances he was getting from Sulu and Chekov that maybe, just maybe, his anxiousness was showing through. Or maybe it had been when Uhura had actually slapped his hand away from her console when he was looking for something to occupy his mind when the near endless paperwork and reports weren't capable of doing so. Ironically, it had been probably one of his more efficient and complete days, when he actually finished what needed to be done. A million small things like dealing with room assignment changes (which were at worst teeth-pulling-boring or, as they were today, a soap opera, considering that this was the third time a roommate had asked to change from Dawbson's room), galley requests (how the hell were they out of strawberries again!? someone had to be stealing them), to complaint reports.
Okay, so, he knew he needed to finally pick a yeoman. One that wouldn't immediately back down like a shy rabbit if he so much as flashed a smile at her. It was getting really annoying to the point he had decided to just deal with some of this stuff on his own instead of doing what most captains did and dump it on said yeoman. In the end, he just attempted to justify it that this way, at least he was getting to know his crew better and better. Their complaints, requests, and changes told a lot about them that no one else probably would have seen. Also was good for keeping up on ship gossip.
Honestly, he had no real idea about how other captains did all of this. Not the paperwork--that he had been warned about a million times during the years in the academy--but getting to know the crew. Kirk put himself out there and did anything he could think of to spend time with different sections and members of the crew, but with a crew of about eleven hundred, it was difficult but not impossible. Slowly, day by day, he was learning to put ranks and names to faces, all of which was made easier by going down to the gym and participating in the ship's non-official tag football that had been popping up on Thursday nights, or spending time at the poker tournament and losing in one of the later rounds to one of the members of Engineering with a poker face that could rival a Vulcan's, or taking his meals at different times and at a different table each meal.
What he liked about it, besides getting to know the crew that worked under him and could die under his command, was that instead of just a sort of vague but strong respect that came from most members of the crew (ones, he noted, had been on the Enterprise when they had gone against the Narada) it earned him a real respect as a person as much as their captain. On his off duty time, he was even convincing some of them to call him Jim instead of Captain, though most seemed more at ease with Kirk since it was similar to the days of the academy. What he was definitely glad of was that most of the crew seemed very willing to change their concepts of him from what they thought they knew or had heard of about his time in the academy, even if some of it was true.
One of these attempts in the 'get to know the crew mission' had led to him meeting up with Daniels, who he could never not think of privately as Cupcake, and one bottle of good whiskey later had gained them a surprising sort of friendship. Though after the whooping Daniels had given him on the wrestling mat, Kirk was honestly reconsidering that friendship thing at least on Daniels part. He'd be feeling that bruise on his left hip for a while.
So as Kirk made his way off the bridge, he was pleased to be able to greet many of the crew by their names and was even more pleased at the smiles and surprise he saw on their faces when he did so. Mmm, what time did I even say I was going to meet Spock? 1700? Right, right after shift. Hm, didn't even think that I've programmed a lot of stuff into my own replicator, but it generally doesn't link up to the ship's menu. I wonder if Spock's put meals of his own into the replicator yet. Vulcans are vegetarians, right? I wonder if he would get pissed off if I went looking through any recipes he's put into the system. Wouldn't mind trying some real Vulcan food. I don't think they tend to remember Humans need to eat more often than they do, because I would have loved to have gotten a feast or something when I was there on the colony.
"Ackerman, Yule." He greeted two members of the science labs as they passed him.
Okay, that's a selfish thought. They had way more to deal with than me. Instead-- okay, not going to think about that. We've all moved beyond that. Spock's reports from the lab are amazing, I can't believe how much he's done in such a short time. Knew I had it right when I decided on that. Now if I can just oh so casually slip in there-- oh, damn her legs are gorgeous. Red hair, green eyes...
"Channing." With a warm smile.
Remember your own promise, you horny bastard! No members of the crew. Causes too much trouble. They only warned me about that almost as much as the hell that is paperwork. Sigh. How the hell do you get through five year missions without having someone to have sex with just once in a while? Well, every other member of the crew gets to do who they want or at least can get. Such is the fun of being captain.
On that mental note, a tiny smirk on his lips at his own thoughts, Kirk walked into his own quarters. He glanced around, almost expecting something like what happened once to happen again, but was very much relieved to find himself alone. Considering it was 17:06 and Alpha shift had ended only six minutes ago, and Spock was a prompt one, Kirk knew he probably had very little time to change. So he just pulled off his gold shirt and its black counterpart and tossed them down to laundry - hrm, something was nagging at his mind about that, something about how laundry... whatever - and pulled out something more casual from his closet.
He tugged the green wrap-around on and began to set up the chess board on the edge of his desk before he heard the buzzer for his door. Well, at least he had been right. "Come in!" He called out, wishing he had had enough time to actually look through Spock's replicator choices but at least it could lead to good conversation over dinner. Which maybe could lead to him finding out about what had put Bones into a damn good mood this morning. Like a fucking hound on the hunt, not letting this trail get cold. He thought to himself.
The double-pocket doors swung open to admit Spock to his cabin, who was still wearing the standard issue uniform (though without a wrinkle of wear on the shirt at all, making Kirk wondered if Spock ever somehow ended up looking anything less than pristine). The Vulcan stepped in just enough to allow the doors to hiss shut behind him, then scanned the room as if he hadn't cleaned them once before. The dark gaze settled on Kirk (and maybe a brief flicker lower than his face--he still remembered their breakfast conversation in San Francisco). "...Jim." Still sounded as if there was a Captain tucked in there.
It was a start, at least. "Spock." Kirk kept his voice light and easy. "Would you like black or white?"
"Black would be acceptable."
Kirk nodded and made the opening move. "How was your shift? Make yourself at home." He gestured loosely at the other chair as he took one of the two, leaning back in it in a sprawl that made any chair seem like the wide berth of his own on the bridge. Oh, he could sit normally, properly, but why bother in the comfort of his own quarters?
"Satisfactory." Spock answered, and stepped forward to take a seat offered, but didn't sprawl in the way Kirk did. While not exactly stiff, his back was still straight though pressed into the back of the chair and his hands still laced together in his lap. "How was the progress of your day?" Shifting the topic of conversation away from himself as he usually did while reaching out to grasp a black knight and move it.
"Same ol', same ol'." Kirk used the old phrase, giving a lazy grin. "What are you eggheads working on right now down in the labs?" Honestly curious about it, he leaned forward by putting his elbow on his knee.
A slight quirk to an up-swept eyebrow, presumably at his vernacular. "We are synthesizing several metric tons of third-degree transparent aluminum to deliver to the Varltidal people at the request of their governor."
Kirk grinned at that, "You hear about these people? We're only the second ship to ever meet them. Fish-people! Kind of exciting, isn't it?" He had read every scrap of information he could on the strange, newly discovered race. The crew of the ship that had been the first contact with the new race had been very good in keeping detailed records about their meeting with the Varltidal people, talking about the unique fish-like people and their method of speaking entirely through what could be considered 'singing' but was a lot more like humming. The other crew had showed the Varltidal people transparent aluminum which the race had greedily desired more of--something about its refractive properties--and a fast alliance had been reached with the fish-people and the Federation. So here they were, to better promote the Federation by delivering exactly what the Varltidians wanted.
Spock had the most mild look of surprise on his face that could still qualify as surprise in any measure: the slight raise of both of his eyebrows, curiosity in his eyes, a tiny tilt of his head to the side. "In an official context concerning the Federation, I suppose it is an introductory meeting." He moved his folded hands closer to his body, elbows on the arm rests of the chair. "Yet they possess the capacity for interstellar travel. Their delegates were not completely unknown to the Vulcan government."
"Oh yeah?" Kirk tilted his head, brows shooting up. "Have you met them before?"
A nod. "Their delegation was en route to a nearby system in twenty-two fifty-four, and Vulcan was the only planet that could supply the necessary fuel for their star ships."
Fish-people. Spock was a--
That did not compute well. "Er, so what can you tell me about them?" Trying to hide his disgust/confusion/curiosity from his face and voice.
The glance off to the side was not awkward or shy; it looked like Spock was simply focusing on a random piece of the carpet in order to recall information about this...particular incident. "They have limited telepathy, almost comparable to the average human skill. Their social comfort in a strange situation is directly proportional to the amount of their comrades present." Spock glanced back up at Kirk. "They prefer to conduct long conversations in swamp-like conditions, artificially created if necessary. However, if we are to visit their home planet, such an environment will already be present."
Did that even make sense? Limited telepathy, comparable to the average human skill. Humans didn't have that skill. How Spock decided to offer information was, as Kirk was learning, very strange sometimes. "What do you mean about that limited telepathy? So the more of them that are there, the more comfortable they are? And they're long winded." Trying to make sure he had the information right in his mind. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"Nothing that occurs to me at present that would be relevant to your diplomatic ventures." Spock still looked off, eying a small assortment of books along a shelf (books that had previously been in boxes before--yeah). "As they are often described as an aquatic species, it is not unreasonable that they would prefer to congregate in schools, as I believe you call them. Concerning the limited telepathy: they have all the capacity to receive, like humans, but their ability to project is limited to the confines of their own mind."
A bit of that came as an interest to Kirk almost immediately, "You mean not every race can receive telepathy or ... whatever you want to call it?" He thought about it for several moments, the idea that it meant humans have even the most remote bit of telepathy locked away in their heads.
A small nod from Spock. "There are certain sentient species that lack what you may call an 'access point,' and thus are unable to interact with, at the least, Vulcan telepathy. I cannot speak for other telepaths, such as the Betazoids or the Lumerians."
"Huh." Kirk sat back, thinking on that. "Actually kind of interesting. Honestly," He couldn't help a small grin, eyes bright, "You're the very first telepathic anything I've ever gotten to talk to, so it's a little weird to think about when I'm not... taking a test or something on it." A laugh bubbled out of him, feeling relaxed and easy.
The dark gaze that had been lingering around the room through this conversation suddenly flickered up to focus on Kirk. "Have you experienced any practical demonstrations of psionic abilities?"
Well, there was that one time... erk. No. Just say no. "Nothing practical." He said easily, which may or may not have hinted that he had seen something less than practical.
Spock showed no outward sign that he had caught the hint, or about caring about it if he did. Yet his hands did draw away from each other, and he turned his right as if to offer the palm in a vague gesture. "I may display some techniques, if you are interested."
Curiosity had yet to kill this particular cat, and Kirk couldn't help but say, "Sure! Let's see what you've got." Complete with a wide smirking grin, watching Spock like a feline watching a bit of moving string. Spock stood from his chair just enough to drag it closer to Kirk, close enough that when he sat down again, their knees touched.
Pale hands, palms up, laid one over the other at the edge of Spock's lap, as if to accept something. "Your hand, please, Jim." Their gazes were locked as Spock made his request.
"What are you going to do, read my fortune?" Kirk said, but some of the cockiness had been knocked from his voice as he stared into those eyes. From this close distance, for the first time, Kirk realized that Spock's eyes were actually a dark chocolate brown and not black as he had originally assumed. There was a weird intensity in them, something that was far from the emotionless bastards Vulcans were supposed to be. With a hint of trepidation that he didn't let show on his face, he placed his hand upright in Spock's hand, the palm showing, like he might have for an old time fortune teller/palm reader.
"Precognition is, unfortunately, not one of my talents." The hand immediately under Kirk's own curled so the tips of his fingers touched the sides of his palm--a heated touch, like skin right out of a hot shower. The other hand came out from under this grip, and the pads of his index and middle finger rested at the center of his palm. Spock dropped his gaze to focus lower, presumably on their hands.
Jim. A voice not his own.
OH SHIT.
Kirk jerked back entirely from Spock for a moment, his eyes wide. He stared at Spock, blinking for several moments. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Having someone else's voice in your head, as clear as if they had spoken aloud, was fucking weird. He let out a slow breath, "...Sorry." He swallowed, licking his lips. "That... somehow wasn't what I was expecting." He changed his position, a sheepish grin on his lips, and he offered his hand again.
"There is no need to apologize to me," Spock corrected him, taking his hand again in a gentle grip and touching the same fingers to the center of his palm. But he continued to speak aloud instead of into his mind. "You could not have anticipated the situation without prior experience."
"Alright, so, you can talk in my head." Not quite a question, not quite a comment. Kirk relaxed a little again. Spock's hands were hot, like putting his hand against someone who had a high fever.
"That is generally what telepathy implies in its Standard definition." The two fingers pressed with a hint more weight, pads flat against his skin, and then the hand laid across Kirk's hand. The entire heat of Spock's hands encompassed Kirk's now, accompanied by the faintest tingling against his skin. "May I speak to you again?"
That first statement earned Spock a look; it didn't take a genius to know he was being talked to a bit like a parent to a child. ...Wonder what the tingling is... "Yea, go for it."
The tingling intensified before the foreign thoughts filtered back into his mind, parceled and clearer than any of his own. Jim. His name rang again with Spock's voice. What do they teach you of telepathy at the Academy?
It was trippy, in a way. Kirk could hear every nuance of Spock's voice, each crystal clear turn of accent and play of tongue that sounded so neat and smooth like a sip of really fine brandy. In fact, there was an accent in the voice in his mind, as if Spock had tamed it from his physical tongue but not his mental one. The question, of course, dragged up memories of crisp stark classrooms of a hundred or more people spread out in a gentle curve, watching below as a teacher spoke of various races and their unique racial traits. Vulcans are touch telepaths, requiring the touch of their hands to exposed flesh to be able to sense the thoughts and emotions of another. He could remember that much, at least, and it sounded quoted directly from a teacher because it was. Shit, why hadn't he paid more attention in this class?
Oh, yea, because the girl a row down from him had the sweetest rack--
And then the details of the memory stopped completely. No fizzling of details from the age of the scenario, but simply blanking out, as a thought does when the mind was pulled aside for something more important. An inquisitive feeling pressed onto Kirk's thoughts, foreign and distinguishable, like reading hidden body language on the Vulcan sitting across from him. What you have learned is rather basic, Spock said to him, more musing than condescending. Though I suppose they thought it adequate enough for what the average officer might experience.
It was so completely alien to not only hear someone else in one's head but to feel them, like a ghost of a hand across his mind. Had Spock stopped the thought? ...Oh. Spock probably could see it. Great, now he had to work not to think of other such things and tried 'thinking' aloud again, I'm not even going to apologize for anything you see in here but... what would you consider adequate? S'not exactly like Vulcans are real keen on telling us anything, or they could have asked one of the few instructors to come actually tell us or show us or whatever.
The summary given to you does not make distinctions between various levels of reception. Spock's hand was moving over his, fingertips creeping towards his wrist, a thumb brushing across the side of his palm, until both of their hands slid together, and the heat pressed directly over Kirk's palm. Among Vulcans, children are taught to differentiate their thoughts and those of others, and to protect against foreign minds. This is what I would consider adequate, in a psi-capable individual.
I don't think they could teach that to humans. How to do that sort of stuff. We might be able to receive stuff but I'm not all that sure we're actually psi-capable. Kirk laughed a little aloud, not thinking as his fingers curled just a little and brushed Spock's inner wrist.
The minute tingling stirred again, a faint buzz before dying down. On the contrary. Spock actually closed his eyes as he communicated this. You are quite capable of it.
Kirk looked to Spock's face with that, studying it from the short distance away. "Me?" He said aloud, voice filled with confusion. He could hear it clearly, the way Spock was singling him out. He tried to think back to something that would have given Spock the notion but nothing came to mind.
When those dark brown eyes opened to look at him again, amusement lit them--or perhaps that was simply the feedback from their contact? "You are able to determine if an individual may lift a heavy object by surveying the state of their body and musculature." The accent was noticeably well-hidden in his voice. "The same may be said for the mind."
"And you're telling me that I'm psi-capable. What the hell does that even mean?" Kirk asked, giving Spock a look of heavy mixture of disbelief and confusion.
"It implies that with some proper instruction, you may learn the techniques needed to shield your mind from outside intrusion. Not all minds you will meet on your voyage will be benevolent." A crease of hesitation, maybe worry, appeared briefly at Spock's brow, and then he slowly drew his hand away from Kirk's. "Yet it is not my place to argue with what Starfleet deems necessary to prepare its officers."
While this might have been a whole new area for Kirk, he was far from being an idiot. He latched onto that bit of information and leaned forward with it, "...Fuck what Starfleet thinks. You're telling me you could teach me something like that?" His brows were up and creeping closer to his hairline, eyes focused. It sounded like a win-win idea. Spock was right; there were plenty of known psi-capable species out there and he'd say most of them would be less than pleasant anyway.
"Theoretically." Spock's gaze shifted away from Kirk again. "I can only reference my own training on the matter, and our minds are not completely identical in structure. Though I doubt you would require the full extent of it."
Small beans. Kirk waved them away. "Yeah but, at least it'd be something." He grinned at the idea, pondering it. "Maybe Starfleet's got something in the records about other humans doing this..." Briefly he wondered why the idea seemed so interesting, but threw it out a second later. He always wanted to learn something new, take another step, and this was one he had never even imagined. "How would it work?" He asked after a long pause.
Spock did not answer immediately, presumably to consider the hypothetical situation. When he did finally speak, it was in his 'science' tone, layered with a hint of uncertainty. "First, your mind would have to be taught to recognize its own thoughts from others, which is easily accomplished through simple contact. The next step would involve mental techniques--exercises, you might say. As a human, this may require more...cooperative instruction."
"...You're talking around your own words, Spock." Kirk said with a slow frown, not at all liking how Spock seemed to be dancing around the truth. "Just lay it out straight. What do you mean by 'cooperative instruction'? And what do you mean 'recognize its own thoughts from others'?" That didn't make a lick of sense. Wouldn't he just know his own thoughts like he knew his own voice?
A deep and quiet breath, and the Vulcan looked at him again. Long fingers reached out to his face, and pressed to the side: on his temple, in front of his ear, a pinky pressed to the very edge of his jaw. The gentle pressure was all that he felt, no whisper of the beginning of contact again. "I would assist you directly, as Vulcans do. I would build a shield out of your own thoughts, for instance, to show you how it may look." The fingers shifted closer to each other, with the thumb tucked neatly between the palm and Kirk's cheek. "And do not assume that thoughts are easily recognizable. There is speaking, but there may also be suggesting. Few humans can recognize the latter as a foreign influence."
Kirk took a slow breath, the strange feeling of those hot fingers against his face. "...what are you doing?" His voice was quiet and unsure, slightly defensive at the same time. There was a strange mental image that came to mind of those long digits sinking into his skin like a ghost and curling right around the meat of his brain. His free hand came up and actually grasped Spock's wrist, their eyes locked together. He had no idea of just how dangerous of a position he was in, if Spock so felt the urge to be dangerous, but even with a trust in Spock it still felt uncomfortable in its unknown nature, this position, this touch.
"Nothing, without your permission." Deserves that much, curled the whisper into the back of his thoughts. They still remained separate, regardless of whether Spock seemed to have Kirk's mind right under his fingertips. "Though if I were to progress, it would be from this position."
"...So, you would be in my head." Kirk said as a statement, the frown growing as he tried to understand. It was difficult for a human to imagine something completely beyond their scope, like what it would be to jump several times one's height like a cat or swim infinitely underwater like a fish.
"Essentially." Their gazes remained locked with each other. "It would allow me as much freedom with your thoughts as you likely believe."
...Oh.
Kirk actually pulled his head back from Spock's hand. "Er, maybe I'll pass on the whole thing." The idea of having someone running free in his mind sounded like the last thing he ever wanted to have happen. Ever. No matter if it was Spock, Bones, or his own father back from the dead.
The fingers dropped from the side of his face as Spock gave him a single, quiet nod, and folded his hands in his lap again. "Very well. If you will indulge me, then, Jim, in my own question?"
"Sure, hit me." What would Spock want to know? He leaned back in his chair, leaning his weight on his elbow.
"Other than chess and nutritional supplement, why did you invite me here tonight?"
Nutritional supplement. What a weird way for someone think of eating dinner. It actually took Kirk a second to remember, and he laughed a little. "Was it that obvious?" Kirk grinned lazily, still incredibly curious about Spock and Bones.
Spock nodded once. "If you simply desired to compare our respective chess skills, you could have interrupted any of the games between Mister Chekov and myself."
"Bones made a weird comment to me this morning. That you and him talked? ...And he was fucking happy this morning. I've known Bones for three years, and he is not a happy person in the morning. Ever." Kirk raised his brows at Spock. "So what happened that put a grin on his lips?"
He could have sworn that a teeny-tiny something brightened in Spock's eyes and an eagerness touched the overall posture of his body. It was not unlike the mien Spock held when he relayed particularly successful or interesting reports from the science laboratory (though why he didn't just let the yeoman do those errands was beyond Kirk). "Yes, the Doctor and I discussed various topics concerning Vulcan biology." Definitely something there...pleased, maybe? "I demonstrated for him several uses of touch-telepathy."
"Different kinds?" Kirk tilted his head, surprised. Bones didn't seem the type to be interested in that sort of thing, but... maybe it was a doctor thing. Wouldn't surprise him. "What did you show him?"
"Simply how the correct pressure against certain nerves may induce a pleasurable and relaxing effect on the mind. He was suffering from a migraine, and it seemed necessary to relieve him of it for the benefit of the ship."
"So you gave him a massage." Well, that was a bit of a let down. Nothing nearly as fun as Kirk had been thinking, which had been less than polite. Well, hell, maybe Bones had just needed some relief that badly. Didn't know how right he was.
"In a sense." Spock conceded. "Though my service to was to a human massage as an operatic aria is to a childhood song. They are similar in execution but not in skill."
Oh, well then. Kirk thought about it for several moments, knowing what his immediate urge was, and finally shrugged to himself. What could it hurt? "Could you show me?" He asked, head tilting as he studied Spock. If Bones had enjoyed it so much, his curiosity wouldn't let him back down on seeing what it was like for himself.
Spock gave him an appraising look before answering. "If you wish." He scooted his chair back across the rug with ease, and then stood while gesturing to Kirk's bed with one hand. "It will be easier to facilitate while seated on the bed."
Kirk glanced to the bed and gave a small shrug, standing up with a stretch. He hesitated only a moment before asking, "Should I take my shirt off?" Least that was what he knew of getting a massage from old vid-clips, that people usually weren't wearing a shirt. He had never had one himself, now that he thought about it.
Another pause and another brief glance over. "Yes, if you do not mind discarding it."
A shrug to match the previous and a moment later both shirts were tossed for the laundry shoot. Kirk flopped down on the bed and gave Spock a look, just waiting to see what he would do. Not surprisingly, Spock sat behind him, his fingers flexing at his sides as he moved. Heated fingers spread over his shoulders and lower neck, thumbs pressed into his spinal column, and then a warmth blossomed under his skin and in his thoughts. Relax.
Kirk took in a small breath, his eyes opening for a moment before closing. This already had a promise to be good. Under those spread palms he felt some heat pulsing slowly, taking away tension he hadn't even known was there. "Mmm..."
The pressure slowly began to move down his back from his shoulders. It kneaded into muscle while something caressed through his mind. Something soothing, comforting, safe. It felt like a warmth was spreading through the whole of him, slowly making it harder to remain sitting upright as his muscles turned to jello. Sogood... like having a few shots of really good brandy... fuck there's a kn----yesssss right there...
Heat continued to press in all the right places, some prefaced by a brief, sharp almost-pain before it was chased by a sensation of relief twice as good. Then a palm drew up his spine, curled over the side of his neck to give the lightest massage, just a stroke behind his ear. Whether the voice was in his ear or in his head, the words were clear: "You may lie down, if you wish."
Oh, fuck. That spot, right behind his ear! It made him groan combined with a full body shudder. "Mmmm..." He shifted his weight, laying down with the suggestion. Fuck, why haven't I ever gotten a massage before? Feels fucking great... He burbled in his mind, letting Spock do whatever the hell he was doing as long as he promised to not stop for about a million years.
The mattress shifted beside him, though actual physical harshness of the environment around him seemed to be receding with every passing second. The fingers that had touched behind his ear moved to lay over his neck, over his shoulders. The motions returned here, going as low as his biceps, tender as a lover's touch. Those hands traveled over his neck to the other shoulder, the other arm, and then began to work slowly back down his spine. Felt as if each vertebrae had individual and unwavering attention.
Not only this, but sometimes a touch on his back would be replied with heat erupting somewhere else--such as over his wrists, along his legs. Strange phantom sensations that could only be told apart because they lacked the overlay of Vulcan heat. Kirk couldn't keep the groans from spilling from his lips, even more in his mind. His body turned to mush under Spock's knowing hands with tiny flickers of muscle spasms as Spock manipulated the nerves along his spine. Duneverstop.
A palm pressed flat to the small of his back, and each finger curled into the skin of his inner back, and the resulting heat spread out from this touch. A broader touch rolled into the middle of Kirk's back, the rolling between each hand syncing into alternative rhythms. Quietly, Spock's voice crept into his consciousness, as clear as if he spoke it but the hot breath was nowhere near his neck. The strain you place upon your health through over-work worries McCoy. I suggest you cease such habits for your mutual benefit.
It was difficult as hell to concentrate on that voice in his mind when all he wanted to do was dissolve into a puddle as his body was turned against his brain in the best way possible. Not trying to worry him... Opening his mouth and speaking aloud would have required work, and he was starting to get at least a little used to this 'mind-talking' thing. Just lot of work to do. Captain, and all...
That is no excuse. A sliver of a command in that tone, firm yet gentle, emphasizing the earlier security: safe, relax, he only needed to lay there under those hands with no other obligations. Starfleet provides assistance to manage that work. You could hire a yeoman. Your first officer already has.
Could... I guess. Weird, thinking... I can't handle some paperwork. Thoughts came a little sluggishly, bubbling up to the surface. Everything felt very drifty, floaty. Good.
You should devote your energy to some other task. A hand curled over the bottom of his ribs, and then withdrew slowly. A tender rub. You are a captain, not a bureaucrat.
But... it's my crew. Kirk murmured, trying to get Spock to understand. He wanted to do everything that he could for the crew, wanted to make sure they were happy and content and fed and everything else that they needed. Under the Vulcan's hands, though, he was as stretched out and lazy as a cat in the sun.
Could you not do more for your crew, converse and socialize with them, if you were not preoccupied by paperwork? Spock parried. Kirk felt palms work in firm circles around his shoulder blades.
His brows furrowed just for a second, toes flexing out. But it's their complaints, room assignments, little stuff they need to be happy. Wasn't that something he needed to oversee himself? To make sure his crew was happy? It wasn't his job to be social, at least most of the time.
It is not necessary to manage those details alone. Acquire some assistance, Jim. Hands rubbed down Kirk's back, soothing in nature. Something nudged in the warmth permeating through his thoughts, encouraging him to agree.
There was a certain degree of trust that spun between them, enough to allow Spock to do almost anything he wished as long as it was only this surface connection. Kirk simply floated, listening to Spock, balancing the idea only for a moment before dismissing his previous worry. Maybe he could hire a yeoman, someone who understood how he wanted the ship to be run. Could he find someone like that...? A basic agreement with Spock, turning the idea over in sluggish mental hands.
Fingertips caressed over the back of his neck. If you would inform me of your intentions for this crew, I would be willing to fulfill that position.
Spock... could Spock really understand...? Could he really understand what he wanted for this crew? More than a crew. You... want to be...? Some surprise in his voice that Spock would even want such a position.
Those fingers drew slowly down the length of Kirk's spine. I have no delusions of power, nor obligations outside the ship and yourself. Your words would not be misconstrued.
Flesh and spine shivered and arched under Spock's hand like a cat being stroked, and Kirk let a groan spill from his lips. Really want the crew... to be happy. Not a distant captain. The words came without being completely thought about, a truth that was no longer hidden behind any sort of normal 'mask'. Kirk knew he was never particularly good at talking about this sort of thing, except to Bones who knew what he meant one thing even when he said something else. They're... The word wouldn't come. He felt it, knew the word, but it just couldn't come out. Too personal of a word for him to form consciously.
Yes, Jim. The words communicated to him implied understanding of what he meant, accompanied by an agreement as hands palmed his lower back. Will you allow me to assist you, then?
...yeah. Kirk finally agreed after a few more moments, but buried deep was the idea he would kill Spock without a second thought if Spock didn't protect the crew as much as he tried to.
A sense of gratitude swirled into his thoughts, foreign and...quiet. Fingertips traced over his lower back lightly while others trailed up to settle at the middle of his back. Nothing more than this, at first, almost allowing the silence of the room to filter back to his ears...until heat. Kirk felt a sudden weight from two points along his spine before heat and pleasure raced up his back and flooded his mind. Like the prelude to an orgasm. Kirk's body tensed briefly in pure surprise, his breathing speeding up as he tried to drag enough of his mind together to understand what the hell just happened. It took a lot to resist the urge to move his body and look down the front of him to see if he was hard, but there was a feeling that even if he had tried to move his body would have refused to respond to him.
Did I just come!?
No. The pressure on his back lightened to those barely-there caresses along his spine again. Would you like to?
That produced a choking sound that was quickly undoing every bit of the work Spock had done in Kirk's confusion. What?! First off, what the hell had Spock just done, and second.. WHAT? Not that Kirk was any blushing virgin (far from it, as rumor and truth went), but the sudden shock of it all had done a hard strike against him with all the surprise of someone springing out of the darkness and going "BOO!" in his face.
You requested that I demonstrate for you what I had shown McCoy. These are skills afforded me through my touch telepathy. The voice soothed over his initial shock while hands rubbed over his shoulders. If you will answer my question now, please, Jim.
This!? This is what you did for Bones!? Kirk said in shock, but things settled into place immediately. He had thought Bones had sort of a post-orgasmic morning-after glow but had dismissed it, but the knowledge of it settled some of his immediately issues with the whole idea. If he had thought it was true, Spock couldn't have influenced that idea. Still... Spock had done something with just his hands that had felt good, better than good, and well, Kirk couldn't help himself. What would you do, exactly?
There are nerves in your lower back that may be activated simultaneously. Through the heat still buzzing under his skin and thoughts, it was hard to tell if that was the heat of breath or palm brushing over the indicated area. To your mind, it will replicate a feeling of orgasm, perhaps exactly. Yet it has been considered overwhelming by some, and therefore I will not demonstrate it without your permission.
That sounded like a challenge, and that was exactly what Kirk took it for. Hell, if Bones could do it, he sure as hell could. Another thing to add to the grand master list of things he had tried in his life. Give it to me.
As you wish. Hands slowly cascaded down his back, thumbs trailing down his spine, and then hot fingers settled at the small of his back. The feather-light touches of Spock's fingertips traced over skin there, almost as if getting into position and...oh.
Oh.
OH.
It was nothing like just coming. It was more like being milked from the inside, like men with clever fingers that know how to work and stroke the prostate. It spread out like electrical impulses across his muscles and sunk in as pure heat, manipulating his body to its master tune. Kirk's fingers clenched into the sheets of the bed, his lips parted as he panted, eyes squeezed shut. OhfuckohfuckohfuckohFUCKyeayeayeaaaaaa....
Mission accomplished. Kirk's entire body was a limp puddle of nothing, not even a thought in his head. He just laid there, body on autopilot, lost and limp and pleased as hell with it.
A light caress ghosted over his temple, trailing off by his ear before it began the cycle again. Tingling followed in its wake, so brief before it was smoothed over by the repeat touch. Spock's voice once again filtered into his lazy and open mind. The Doctor would suggest that you rest through the night.
There weren't even words to respond to that, so all Spock would get was a vague feeling of agreement and the idea of didn't want to move anyway that was swiftly moving towards sleep. The touch continued against the side of his face, coaxing him into sleep with its simple motions. Good-night, Jim.
Chapter Seven, Part B
Authors: salvaged_pride and dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: eventual Kirk/Spock, McCoy
POV: Kirk
Rating: (soft?) R
Words: 8.141
Inspired by: This prompt on st_xi_kink: Spock is a Vulcan concubine/courtesan.
Chapter summary: Kirk spends some quality time with his resident Vulcan--for practical purposes.
A/N:
dancing_mercury: Another chapter long time in the making! School is all-consuming.
jantra: We're at 78,347 words! This is more then a thousand words longer then the first Harry Potter book! *cheers* This is also our second longest chapter! (Chapter 4 was our longest!)
All Chapters || Chapter Six
Kirk walked into the mess hall with a bright grin on his face, his spirits high despite the fact that every part of him was sore as hell. Sparring in the gym had been a good idea; sparring in the gym against Nicholas Daniels (aka: Cupcake) had been a bad idea considering that the man was one hell of a good fighter and an even better wrestler. He rubbed at his shoulder, feeling the ache seated deep in the tissue, and walked over to the replicator. He was glad to spot Bones tucked away at a table to himself, but was shocked to see that his long time friend had a smile on his face. A real, honest to goodness smile. Fuck, is the world ending and I missed the memo?!
This required investigation.
He flopped down into seat across table from Bones, grinning lazily, "So, Bones..."
"G'morning, Jim," Rumbled low, lifting his gaze from his meal. Bones never was a morning person.
"What's going on? You look happy," Kirk said happily, leaning forward on an elbow and chowing down on his breakfast. He didn't miss the raised brow he was getting from his friend. "You're smiling. That's a sign of the doomsday."
And... didn't miss the glare he was getting now, either. "What's wrong with me smiling? And I'm not smiling, dammit."
"You never smile unless you have a hypo in hand and an unwilling patient... er, Bones, you can stop giving me that evil look now."
"Not until I get a hypo in hand." Gulp! That look in Bones' eyes made him shrink back a little.
"I'll be good." Kirk held up his hands defensively, but then the effect wore off a moment later and he leaned forward on his elbows, "Come on, seriously, what's got you in a good mood?" A devil's grin slid onto his face before he said, "...You know, anyone else, an-y-one-else and I would have said that they had gotten laid last night~"
It shocked and terrified him to watch Bones get a thoughtful look on his face instead of the growl he was expecting, then to watch Bones gesture a little with his fork, "Got some new medical information yesterday. Might start working on a published journal about it." The faint smile turned into a smirk, one that Kirk was far more familiar with.
"Yeah?" He leaned on one elbow so he could pop a piece of pancake into his mouth, trying to act casual around his surprise. "What about?" Around that mouthful.
"Vulcan biology."
Which ended up making Kirk choke on his mouthful, shoulders heaving as he sucked in air, then staring at Bones in complete and utter shock. Vulcan biology. There was only one way that Bones would be able to get that sort of information - their single Vulcan on board, Spock. He could see a brief smugness in Bones' eyes at getting that particular reaction, but didn't immediately care. "Spock," He stated thickly, then coughed again. "Spock gave you information like that?"
"Somethin' like that." Bones smirked, standing up with his tray. "Maybe you should ask him about it." The doctor turned away, dumping his tray into the recycler, and was out of the mess hall with barely a wave of his hand.
Kirk stared at Bones as his friend left, just in complete and utter shock. Had that really just happened? Bones smiling, Spock and Bones talking medical, Bones teasing him about this, smirking like that... So he did the most logical thing and pinched himself sharply. "Ow!" He hissed, eyes narrowing. Okay, so, not dreaming. What the hell did that all mean!? Still puzzling over the brief series of unusual events, Kirk finished his breakfast before making his way up to the bridge.
Dammit, it would bother him for the rest the day; a little nagging thought as he worked through his shift. What kind of information could Spock tell about biology that would put a smile on Bones' face and a teasing note in his voice?! His mind was half-preoccupied by the idea, trying to come up with various ideas, but failing to get anything concrete. Could it be a particularly interesting and different part of Vulcan anatomy? (...Could it be a particular part of Vulcan anatomy? Heh, heh...) Could it be something completely outside of the medical information that Bones had talked about? Could they really have...?
No. Bones wasn't into that sort of thing.
So then what was it? That damned question that he knew Bones had implied and knew Bones would know it would drive him nuts for the rest of the day was what finally urged Kirk to grab the padd from the side of his chair and send a quick message to Spock down in the science labs.
Spock,
Up for dinner or a game of chess tonight?
Jim
It took all of thirty minutes for the reply to come back to him.
Captain,
I would be willing to engage in such activities. What time and location is most convenient for you?
Spock
And about five minutes for a reply. He wasn't waiting for it or anything.
Spock,
After alpha shift, say... 1700? My quarters?
Jim
And three minutes after that:
Captain,
I will see you then.
Spock
Well, that took care of that. Kirk grinned in his seat, glanced to the chronometer... and groaned. Fuck, two more hours until he was even off duty. Sometimes, his impatience could get the better of him. He wanted to know what was getting on Bones' good side and what it had to do with Spock. At least things had been going better between the two of them since that night in San Francisco, like something had relaxed that had been strained before. Kirk didn't stay away from Spock in the mess hall, and even had taken to occasionally teasing the Vulcan as he did the rest of the crew.
Somehow, it failed to occur to him that he might be being set up by his best friend.
When the longest-shift-ever was finally over, Kirk knew from the glances he was getting from Sulu and Chekov that maybe, just maybe, his anxiousness was showing through. Or maybe it had been when Uhura had actually slapped his hand away from her console when he was looking for something to occupy his mind when the near endless paperwork and reports weren't capable of doing so. Ironically, it had been probably one of his more efficient and complete days, when he actually finished what needed to be done. A million small things like dealing with room assignment changes (which were at worst teeth-pulling-boring or, as they were today, a soap opera, considering that this was the third time a roommate had asked to change from Dawbson's room), galley requests (how the hell were they out of strawberries again!? someone had to be stealing them), to complaint reports.
Okay, so, he knew he needed to finally pick a yeoman. One that wouldn't immediately back down like a shy rabbit if he so much as flashed a smile at her. It was getting really annoying to the point he had decided to just deal with some of this stuff on his own instead of doing what most captains did and dump it on said yeoman. In the end, he just attempted to justify it that this way, at least he was getting to know his crew better and better. Their complaints, requests, and changes told a lot about them that no one else probably would have seen. Also was good for keeping up on ship gossip.
Honestly, he had no real idea about how other captains did all of this. Not the paperwork--that he had been warned about a million times during the years in the academy--but getting to know the crew. Kirk put himself out there and did anything he could think of to spend time with different sections and members of the crew, but with a crew of about eleven hundred, it was difficult but not impossible. Slowly, day by day, he was learning to put ranks and names to faces, all of which was made easier by going down to the gym and participating in the ship's non-official tag football that had been popping up on Thursday nights, or spending time at the poker tournament and losing in one of the later rounds to one of the members of Engineering with a poker face that could rival a Vulcan's, or taking his meals at different times and at a different table each meal.
What he liked about it, besides getting to know the crew that worked under him and could die under his command, was that instead of just a sort of vague but strong respect that came from most members of the crew (ones, he noted, had been on the Enterprise when they had gone against the Narada) it earned him a real respect as a person as much as their captain. On his off duty time, he was even convincing some of them to call him Jim instead of Captain, though most seemed more at ease with Kirk since it was similar to the days of the academy. What he was definitely glad of was that most of the crew seemed very willing to change their concepts of him from what they thought they knew or had heard of about his time in the academy, even if some of it was true.
One of these attempts in the 'get to know the crew mission' had led to him meeting up with Daniels, who he could never not think of privately as Cupcake, and one bottle of good whiskey later had gained them a surprising sort of friendship. Though after the whooping Daniels had given him on the wrestling mat, Kirk was honestly reconsidering that friendship thing at least on Daniels part. He'd be feeling that bruise on his left hip for a while.
So as Kirk made his way off the bridge, he was pleased to be able to greet many of the crew by their names and was even more pleased at the smiles and surprise he saw on their faces when he did so. Mmm, what time did I even say I was going to meet Spock? 1700? Right, right after shift. Hm, didn't even think that I've programmed a lot of stuff into my own replicator, but it generally doesn't link up to the ship's menu. I wonder if Spock's put meals of his own into the replicator yet. Vulcans are vegetarians, right? I wonder if he would get pissed off if I went looking through any recipes he's put into the system. Wouldn't mind trying some real Vulcan food. I don't think they tend to remember Humans need to eat more often than they do, because I would have loved to have gotten a feast or something when I was there on the colony.
"Ackerman, Yule." He greeted two members of the science labs as they passed him.
Okay, that's a selfish thought. They had way more to deal with than me. Instead-- okay, not going to think about that. We've all moved beyond that. Spock's reports from the lab are amazing, I can't believe how much he's done in such a short time. Knew I had it right when I decided on that. Now if I can just oh so casually slip in there-- oh, damn her legs are gorgeous. Red hair, green eyes...
"Channing." With a warm smile.
Remember your own promise, you horny bastard! No members of the crew. Causes too much trouble. They only warned me about that almost as much as the hell that is paperwork. Sigh. How the hell do you get through five year missions without having someone to have sex with just once in a while? Well, every other member of the crew gets to do who they want or at least can get. Such is the fun of being captain.
On that mental note, a tiny smirk on his lips at his own thoughts, Kirk walked into his own quarters. He glanced around, almost expecting something like what happened once to happen again, but was very much relieved to find himself alone. Considering it was 17:06 and Alpha shift had ended only six minutes ago, and Spock was a prompt one, Kirk knew he probably had very little time to change. So he just pulled off his gold shirt and its black counterpart and tossed them down to laundry - hrm, something was nagging at his mind about that, something about how laundry... whatever - and pulled out something more casual from his closet.
He tugged the green wrap-around on and began to set up the chess board on the edge of his desk before he heard the buzzer for his door. Well, at least he had been right. "Come in!" He called out, wishing he had had enough time to actually look through Spock's replicator choices but at least it could lead to good conversation over dinner. Which maybe could lead to him finding out about what had put Bones into a damn good mood this morning. Like a fucking hound on the hunt, not letting this trail get cold. He thought to himself.
The double-pocket doors swung open to admit Spock to his cabin, who was still wearing the standard issue uniform (though without a wrinkle of wear on the shirt at all, making Kirk wondered if Spock ever somehow ended up looking anything less than pristine). The Vulcan stepped in just enough to allow the doors to hiss shut behind him, then scanned the room as if he hadn't cleaned them once before. The dark gaze settled on Kirk (and maybe a brief flicker lower than his face--he still remembered their breakfast conversation in San Francisco). "...Jim." Still sounded as if there was a Captain tucked in there.
It was a start, at least. "Spock." Kirk kept his voice light and easy. "Would you like black or white?"
"Black would be acceptable."
Kirk nodded and made the opening move. "How was your shift? Make yourself at home." He gestured loosely at the other chair as he took one of the two, leaning back in it in a sprawl that made any chair seem like the wide berth of his own on the bridge. Oh, he could sit normally, properly, but why bother in the comfort of his own quarters?
"Satisfactory." Spock answered, and stepped forward to take a seat offered, but didn't sprawl in the way Kirk did. While not exactly stiff, his back was still straight though pressed into the back of the chair and his hands still laced together in his lap. "How was the progress of your day?" Shifting the topic of conversation away from himself as he usually did while reaching out to grasp a black knight and move it.
"Same ol', same ol'." Kirk used the old phrase, giving a lazy grin. "What are you eggheads working on right now down in the labs?" Honestly curious about it, he leaned forward by putting his elbow on his knee.
A slight quirk to an up-swept eyebrow, presumably at his vernacular. "We are synthesizing several metric tons of third-degree transparent aluminum to deliver to the Varltidal people at the request of their governor."
Kirk grinned at that, "You hear about these people? We're only the second ship to ever meet them. Fish-people! Kind of exciting, isn't it?" He had read every scrap of information he could on the strange, newly discovered race. The crew of the ship that had been the first contact with the new race had been very good in keeping detailed records about their meeting with the Varltidal people, talking about the unique fish-like people and their method of speaking entirely through what could be considered 'singing' but was a lot more like humming. The other crew had showed the Varltidal people transparent aluminum which the race had greedily desired more of--something about its refractive properties--and a fast alliance had been reached with the fish-people and the Federation. So here they were, to better promote the Federation by delivering exactly what the Varltidians wanted.
Spock had the most mild look of surprise on his face that could still qualify as surprise in any measure: the slight raise of both of his eyebrows, curiosity in his eyes, a tiny tilt of his head to the side. "In an official context concerning the Federation, I suppose it is an introductory meeting." He moved his folded hands closer to his body, elbows on the arm rests of the chair. "Yet they possess the capacity for interstellar travel. Their delegates were not completely unknown to the Vulcan government."
"Oh yeah?" Kirk tilted his head, brows shooting up. "Have you met them before?"
A nod. "Their delegation was en route to a nearby system in twenty-two fifty-four, and Vulcan was the only planet that could supply the necessary fuel for their star ships."
Fish-people. Spock was a--
That did not compute well. "Er, so what can you tell me about them?" Trying to hide his disgust/confusion/curiosity from his face and voice.
The glance off to the side was not awkward or shy; it looked like Spock was simply focusing on a random piece of the carpet in order to recall information about this...particular incident. "They have limited telepathy, almost comparable to the average human skill. Their social comfort in a strange situation is directly proportional to the amount of their comrades present." Spock glanced back up at Kirk. "They prefer to conduct long conversations in swamp-like conditions, artificially created if necessary. However, if we are to visit their home planet, such an environment will already be present."
Did that even make sense? Limited telepathy, comparable to the average human skill. Humans didn't have that skill. How Spock decided to offer information was, as Kirk was learning, very strange sometimes. "What do you mean about that limited telepathy? So the more of them that are there, the more comfortable they are? And they're long winded." Trying to make sure he had the information right in his mind. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"Nothing that occurs to me at present that would be relevant to your diplomatic ventures." Spock still looked off, eying a small assortment of books along a shelf (books that had previously been in boxes before--yeah). "As they are often described as an aquatic species, it is not unreasonable that they would prefer to congregate in schools, as I believe you call them. Concerning the limited telepathy: they have all the capacity to receive, like humans, but their ability to project is limited to the confines of their own mind."
A bit of that came as an interest to Kirk almost immediately, "You mean not every race can receive telepathy or ... whatever you want to call it?" He thought about it for several moments, the idea that it meant humans have even the most remote bit of telepathy locked away in their heads.
A small nod from Spock. "There are certain sentient species that lack what you may call an 'access point,' and thus are unable to interact with, at the least, Vulcan telepathy. I cannot speak for other telepaths, such as the Betazoids or the Lumerians."
"Huh." Kirk sat back, thinking on that. "Actually kind of interesting. Honestly," He couldn't help a small grin, eyes bright, "You're the very first telepathic anything I've ever gotten to talk to, so it's a little weird to think about when I'm not... taking a test or something on it." A laugh bubbled out of him, feeling relaxed and easy.
The dark gaze that had been lingering around the room through this conversation suddenly flickered up to focus on Kirk. "Have you experienced any practical demonstrations of psionic abilities?"
Well, there was that one time... erk. No. Just say no. "Nothing practical." He said easily, which may or may not have hinted that he had seen something less than practical.
Spock showed no outward sign that he had caught the hint, or about caring about it if he did. Yet his hands did draw away from each other, and he turned his right as if to offer the palm in a vague gesture. "I may display some techniques, if you are interested."
Curiosity had yet to kill this particular cat, and Kirk couldn't help but say, "Sure! Let's see what you've got." Complete with a wide smirking grin, watching Spock like a feline watching a bit of moving string. Spock stood from his chair just enough to drag it closer to Kirk, close enough that when he sat down again, their knees touched.
Pale hands, palms up, laid one over the other at the edge of Spock's lap, as if to accept something. "Your hand, please, Jim." Their gazes were locked as Spock made his request.
"What are you going to do, read my fortune?" Kirk said, but some of the cockiness had been knocked from his voice as he stared into those eyes. From this close distance, for the first time, Kirk realized that Spock's eyes were actually a dark chocolate brown and not black as he had originally assumed. There was a weird intensity in them, something that was far from the emotionless bastards Vulcans were supposed to be. With a hint of trepidation that he didn't let show on his face, he placed his hand upright in Spock's hand, the palm showing, like he might have for an old time fortune teller/palm reader.
"Precognition is, unfortunately, not one of my talents." The hand immediately under Kirk's own curled so the tips of his fingers touched the sides of his palm--a heated touch, like skin right out of a hot shower. The other hand came out from under this grip, and the pads of his index and middle finger rested at the center of his palm. Spock dropped his gaze to focus lower, presumably on their hands.
Jim. A voice not his own.
OH SHIT.
Kirk jerked back entirely from Spock for a moment, his eyes wide. He stared at Spock, blinking for several moments. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Having someone else's voice in your head, as clear as if they had spoken aloud, was fucking weird. He let out a slow breath, "...Sorry." He swallowed, licking his lips. "That... somehow wasn't what I was expecting." He changed his position, a sheepish grin on his lips, and he offered his hand again.
"There is no need to apologize to me," Spock corrected him, taking his hand again in a gentle grip and touching the same fingers to the center of his palm. But he continued to speak aloud instead of into his mind. "You could not have anticipated the situation without prior experience."
"Alright, so, you can talk in my head." Not quite a question, not quite a comment. Kirk relaxed a little again. Spock's hands were hot, like putting his hand against someone who had a high fever.
"That is generally what telepathy implies in its Standard definition." The two fingers pressed with a hint more weight, pads flat against his skin, and then the hand laid across Kirk's hand. The entire heat of Spock's hands encompassed Kirk's now, accompanied by the faintest tingling against his skin. "May I speak to you again?"
That first statement earned Spock a look; it didn't take a genius to know he was being talked to a bit like a parent to a child. ...Wonder what the tingling is... "Yea, go for it."
The tingling intensified before the foreign thoughts filtered back into his mind, parceled and clearer than any of his own. Jim. His name rang again with Spock's voice. What do they teach you of telepathy at the Academy?
It was trippy, in a way. Kirk could hear every nuance of Spock's voice, each crystal clear turn of accent and play of tongue that sounded so neat and smooth like a sip of really fine brandy. In fact, there was an accent in the voice in his mind, as if Spock had tamed it from his physical tongue but not his mental one. The question, of course, dragged up memories of crisp stark classrooms of a hundred or more people spread out in a gentle curve, watching below as a teacher spoke of various races and their unique racial traits. Vulcans are touch telepaths, requiring the touch of their hands to exposed flesh to be able to sense the thoughts and emotions of another. He could remember that much, at least, and it sounded quoted directly from a teacher because it was. Shit, why hadn't he paid more attention in this class?
Oh, yea, because the girl a row down from him had the sweetest rack--
And then the details of the memory stopped completely. No fizzling of details from the age of the scenario, but simply blanking out, as a thought does when the mind was pulled aside for something more important. An inquisitive feeling pressed onto Kirk's thoughts, foreign and distinguishable, like reading hidden body language on the Vulcan sitting across from him. What you have learned is rather basic, Spock said to him, more musing than condescending. Though I suppose they thought it adequate enough for what the average officer might experience.
It was so completely alien to not only hear someone else in one's head but to feel them, like a ghost of a hand across his mind. Had Spock stopped the thought? ...Oh. Spock probably could see it. Great, now he had to work not to think of other such things and tried 'thinking' aloud again, I'm not even going to apologize for anything you see in here but... what would you consider adequate? S'not exactly like Vulcans are real keen on telling us anything, or they could have asked one of the few instructors to come actually tell us or show us or whatever.
The summary given to you does not make distinctions between various levels of reception. Spock's hand was moving over his, fingertips creeping towards his wrist, a thumb brushing across the side of his palm, until both of their hands slid together, and the heat pressed directly over Kirk's palm. Among Vulcans, children are taught to differentiate their thoughts and those of others, and to protect against foreign minds. This is what I would consider adequate, in a psi-capable individual.
I don't think they could teach that to humans. How to do that sort of stuff. We might be able to receive stuff but I'm not all that sure we're actually psi-capable. Kirk laughed a little aloud, not thinking as his fingers curled just a little and brushed Spock's inner wrist.
The minute tingling stirred again, a faint buzz before dying down. On the contrary. Spock actually closed his eyes as he communicated this. You are quite capable of it.
Kirk looked to Spock's face with that, studying it from the short distance away. "Me?" He said aloud, voice filled with confusion. He could hear it clearly, the way Spock was singling him out. He tried to think back to something that would have given Spock the notion but nothing came to mind.
When those dark brown eyes opened to look at him again, amusement lit them--or perhaps that was simply the feedback from their contact? "You are able to determine if an individual may lift a heavy object by surveying the state of their body and musculature." The accent was noticeably well-hidden in his voice. "The same may be said for the mind."
"And you're telling me that I'm psi-capable. What the hell does that even mean?" Kirk asked, giving Spock a look of heavy mixture of disbelief and confusion.
"It implies that with some proper instruction, you may learn the techniques needed to shield your mind from outside intrusion. Not all minds you will meet on your voyage will be benevolent." A crease of hesitation, maybe worry, appeared briefly at Spock's brow, and then he slowly drew his hand away from Kirk's. "Yet it is not my place to argue with what Starfleet deems necessary to prepare its officers."
While this might have been a whole new area for Kirk, he was far from being an idiot. He latched onto that bit of information and leaned forward with it, "...Fuck what Starfleet thinks. You're telling me you could teach me something like that?" His brows were up and creeping closer to his hairline, eyes focused. It sounded like a win-win idea. Spock was right; there were plenty of known psi-capable species out there and he'd say most of them would be less than pleasant anyway.
"Theoretically." Spock's gaze shifted away from Kirk again. "I can only reference my own training on the matter, and our minds are not completely identical in structure. Though I doubt you would require the full extent of it."
Small beans. Kirk waved them away. "Yeah but, at least it'd be something." He grinned at the idea, pondering it. "Maybe Starfleet's got something in the records about other humans doing this..." Briefly he wondered why the idea seemed so interesting, but threw it out a second later. He always wanted to learn something new, take another step, and this was one he had never even imagined. "How would it work?" He asked after a long pause.
Spock did not answer immediately, presumably to consider the hypothetical situation. When he did finally speak, it was in his 'science' tone, layered with a hint of uncertainty. "First, your mind would have to be taught to recognize its own thoughts from others, which is easily accomplished through simple contact. The next step would involve mental techniques--exercises, you might say. As a human, this may require more...cooperative instruction."
"...You're talking around your own words, Spock." Kirk said with a slow frown, not at all liking how Spock seemed to be dancing around the truth. "Just lay it out straight. What do you mean by 'cooperative instruction'? And what do you mean 'recognize its own thoughts from others'?" That didn't make a lick of sense. Wouldn't he just know his own thoughts like he knew his own voice?
A deep and quiet breath, and the Vulcan looked at him again. Long fingers reached out to his face, and pressed to the side: on his temple, in front of his ear, a pinky pressed to the very edge of his jaw. The gentle pressure was all that he felt, no whisper of the beginning of contact again. "I would assist you directly, as Vulcans do. I would build a shield out of your own thoughts, for instance, to show you how it may look." The fingers shifted closer to each other, with the thumb tucked neatly between the palm and Kirk's cheek. "And do not assume that thoughts are easily recognizable. There is speaking, but there may also be suggesting. Few humans can recognize the latter as a foreign influence."
Kirk took a slow breath, the strange feeling of those hot fingers against his face. "...what are you doing?" His voice was quiet and unsure, slightly defensive at the same time. There was a strange mental image that came to mind of those long digits sinking into his skin like a ghost and curling right around the meat of his brain. His free hand came up and actually grasped Spock's wrist, their eyes locked together. He had no idea of just how dangerous of a position he was in, if Spock so felt the urge to be dangerous, but even with a trust in Spock it still felt uncomfortable in its unknown nature, this position, this touch.
"Nothing, without your permission." Deserves that much, curled the whisper into the back of his thoughts. They still remained separate, regardless of whether Spock seemed to have Kirk's mind right under his fingertips. "Though if I were to progress, it would be from this position."
"...So, you would be in my head." Kirk said as a statement, the frown growing as he tried to understand. It was difficult for a human to imagine something completely beyond their scope, like what it would be to jump several times one's height like a cat or swim infinitely underwater like a fish.
"Essentially." Their gazes remained locked with each other. "It would allow me as much freedom with your thoughts as you likely believe."
...Oh.
Kirk actually pulled his head back from Spock's hand. "Er, maybe I'll pass on the whole thing." The idea of having someone running free in his mind sounded like the last thing he ever wanted to have happen. Ever. No matter if it was Spock, Bones, or his own father back from the dead.
The fingers dropped from the side of his face as Spock gave him a single, quiet nod, and folded his hands in his lap again. "Very well. If you will indulge me, then, Jim, in my own question?"
"Sure, hit me." What would Spock want to know? He leaned back in his chair, leaning his weight on his elbow.
"Other than chess and nutritional supplement, why did you invite me here tonight?"
Nutritional supplement. What a weird way for someone think of eating dinner. It actually took Kirk a second to remember, and he laughed a little. "Was it that obvious?" Kirk grinned lazily, still incredibly curious about Spock and Bones.
Spock nodded once. "If you simply desired to compare our respective chess skills, you could have interrupted any of the games between Mister Chekov and myself."
"Bones made a weird comment to me this morning. That you and him talked? ...And he was fucking happy this morning. I've known Bones for three years, and he is not a happy person in the morning. Ever." Kirk raised his brows at Spock. "So what happened that put a grin on his lips?"
He could have sworn that a teeny-tiny something brightened in Spock's eyes and an eagerness touched the overall posture of his body. It was not unlike the mien Spock held when he relayed particularly successful or interesting reports from the science laboratory (though why he didn't just let the yeoman do those errands was beyond Kirk). "Yes, the Doctor and I discussed various topics concerning Vulcan biology." Definitely something there...pleased, maybe? "I demonstrated for him several uses of touch-telepathy."
"Different kinds?" Kirk tilted his head, surprised. Bones didn't seem the type to be interested in that sort of thing, but... maybe it was a doctor thing. Wouldn't surprise him. "What did you show him?"
"Simply how the correct pressure against certain nerves may induce a pleasurable and relaxing effect on the mind. He was suffering from a migraine, and it seemed necessary to relieve him of it for the benefit of the ship."
"So you gave him a massage." Well, that was a bit of a let down. Nothing nearly as fun as Kirk had been thinking, which had been less than polite. Well, hell, maybe Bones had just needed some relief that badly. Didn't know how right he was.
"In a sense." Spock conceded. "Though my service to was to a human massage as an operatic aria is to a childhood song. They are similar in execution but not in skill."
Oh, well then. Kirk thought about it for several moments, knowing what his immediate urge was, and finally shrugged to himself. What could it hurt? "Could you show me?" He asked, head tilting as he studied Spock. If Bones had enjoyed it so much, his curiosity wouldn't let him back down on seeing what it was like for himself.
Spock gave him an appraising look before answering. "If you wish." He scooted his chair back across the rug with ease, and then stood while gesturing to Kirk's bed with one hand. "It will be easier to facilitate while seated on the bed."
Kirk glanced to the bed and gave a small shrug, standing up with a stretch. He hesitated only a moment before asking, "Should I take my shirt off?" Least that was what he knew of getting a massage from old vid-clips, that people usually weren't wearing a shirt. He had never had one himself, now that he thought about it.
Another pause and another brief glance over. "Yes, if you do not mind discarding it."
A shrug to match the previous and a moment later both shirts were tossed for the laundry shoot. Kirk flopped down on the bed and gave Spock a look, just waiting to see what he would do. Not surprisingly, Spock sat behind him, his fingers flexing at his sides as he moved. Heated fingers spread over his shoulders and lower neck, thumbs pressed into his spinal column, and then a warmth blossomed under his skin and in his thoughts. Relax.
Kirk took in a small breath, his eyes opening for a moment before closing. This already had a promise to be good. Under those spread palms he felt some heat pulsing slowly, taking away tension he hadn't even known was there. "Mmm..."
The pressure slowly began to move down his back from his shoulders. It kneaded into muscle while something caressed through his mind. Something soothing, comforting, safe. It felt like a warmth was spreading through the whole of him, slowly making it harder to remain sitting upright as his muscles turned to jello. Sogood... like having a few shots of really good brandy... fuck there's a kn----yesssss right there...
Heat continued to press in all the right places, some prefaced by a brief, sharp almost-pain before it was chased by a sensation of relief twice as good. Then a palm drew up his spine, curled over the side of his neck to give the lightest massage, just a stroke behind his ear. Whether the voice was in his ear or in his head, the words were clear: "You may lie down, if you wish."
Oh, fuck. That spot, right behind his ear! It made him groan combined with a full body shudder. "Mmmm..." He shifted his weight, laying down with the suggestion. Fuck, why haven't I ever gotten a massage before? Feels fucking great... He burbled in his mind, letting Spock do whatever the hell he was doing as long as he promised to not stop for about a million years.
The mattress shifted beside him, though actual physical harshness of the environment around him seemed to be receding with every passing second. The fingers that had touched behind his ear moved to lay over his neck, over his shoulders. The motions returned here, going as low as his biceps, tender as a lover's touch. Those hands traveled over his neck to the other shoulder, the other arm, and then began to work slowly back down his spine. Felt as if each vertebrae had individual and unwavering attention.
Not only this, but sometimes a touch on his back would be replied with heat erupting somewhere else--such as over his wrists, along his legs. Strange phantom sensations that could only be told apart because they lacked the overlay of Vulcan heat. Kirk couldn't keep the groans from spilling from his lips, even more in his mind. His body turned to mush under Spock's knowing hands with tiny flickers of muscle spasms as Spock manipulated the nerves along his spine. Duneverstop.
A palm pressed flat to the small of his back, and each finger curled into the skin of his inner back, and the resulting heat spread out from this touch. A broader touch rolled into the middle of Kirk's back, the rolling between each hand syncing into alternative rhythms. Quietly, Spock's voice crept into his consciousness, as clear as if he spoke it but the hot breath was nowhere near his neck. The strain you place upon your health through over-work worries McCoy. I suggest you cease such habits for your mutual benefit.
It was difficult as hell to concentrate on that voice in his mind when all he wanted to do was dissolve into a puddle as his body was turned against his brain in the best way possible. Not trying to worry him... Opening his mouth and speaking aloud would have required work, and he was starting to get at least a little used to this 'mind-talking' thing. Just lot of work to do. Captain, and all...
That is no excuse. A sliver of a command in that tone, firm yet gentle, emphasizing the earlier security: safe, relax, he only needed to lay there under those hands with no other obligations. Starfleet provides assistance to manage that work. You could hire a yeoman. Your first officer already has.
Could... I guess. Weird, thinking... I can't handle some paperwork. Thoughts came a little sluggishly, bubbling up to the surface. Everything felt very drifty, floaty. Good.
You should devote your energy to some other task. A hand curled over the bottom of his ribs, and then withdrew slowly. A tender rub. You are a captain, not a bureaucrat.
But... it's my crew. Kirk murmured, trying to get Spock to understand. He wanted to do everything that he could for the crew, wanted to make sure they were happy and content and fed and everything else that they needed. Under the Vulcan's hands, though, he was as stretched out and lazy as a cat in the sun.
Could you not do more for your crew, converse and socialize with them, if you were not preoccupied by paperwork? Spock parried. Kirk felt palms work in firm circles around his shoulder blades.
His brows furrowed just for a second, toes flexing out. But it's their complaints, room assignments, little stuff they need to be happy. Wasn't that something he needed to oversee himself? To make sure his crew was happy? It wasn't his job to be social, at least most of the time.
It is not necessary to manage those details alone. Acquire some assistance, Jim. Hands rubbed down Kirk's back, soothing in nature. Something nudged in the warmth permeating through his thoughts, encouraging him to agree.
There was a certain degree of trust that spun between them, enough to allow Spock to do almost anything he wished as long as it was only this surface connection. Kirk simply floated, listening to Spock, balancing the idea only for a moment before dismissing his previous worry. Maybe he could hire a yeoman, someone who understood how he wanted the ship to be run. Could he find someone like that...? A basic agreement with Spock, turning the idea over in sluggish mental hands.
Fingertips caressed over the back of his neck. If you would inform me of your intentions for this crew, I would be willing to fulfill that position.
Spock... could Spock really understand...? Could he really understand what he wanted for this crew? More than a crew. You... want to be...? Some surprise in his voice that Spock would even want such a position.
Those fingers drew slowly down the length of Kirk's spine. I have no delusions of power, nor obligations outside the ship and yourself. Your words would not be misconstrued.
Flesh and spine shivered and arched under Spock's hand like a cat being stroked, and Kirk let a groan spill from his lips. Really want the crew... to be happy. Not a distant captain. The words came without being completely thought about, a truth that was no longer hidden behind any sort of normal 'mask'. Kirk knew he was never particularly good at talking about this sort of thing, except to Bones who knew what he meant one thing even when he said something else. They're... The word wouldn't come. He felt it, knew the word, but it just couldn't come out. Too personal of a word for him to form consciously.
Yes, Jim. The words communicated to him implied understanding of what he meant, accompanied by an agreement as hands palmed his lower back. Will you allow me to assist you, then?
...yeah. Kirk finally agreed after a few more moments, but buried deep was the idea he would kill Spock without a second thought if Spock didn't protect the crew as much as he tried to.
A sense of gratitude swirled into his thoughts, foreign and...quiet. Fingertips traced over his lower back lightly while others trailed up to settle at the middle of his back. Nothing more than this, at first, almost allowing the silence of the room to filter back to his ears...until heat. Kirk felt a sudden weight from two points along his spine before heat and pleasure raced up his back and flooded his mind. Like the prelude to an orgasm. Kirk's body tensed briefly in pure surprise, his breathing speeding up as he tried to drag enough of his mind together to understand what the hell just happened. It took a lot to resist the urge to move his body and look down the front of him to see if he was hard, but there was a feeling that even if he had tried to move his body would have refused to respond to him.
Did I just come!?
No. The pressure on his back lightened to those barely-there caresses along his spine again. Would you like to?
That produced a choking sound that was quickly undoing every bit of the work Spock had done in Kirk's confusion. What?! First off, what the hell had Spock just done, and second.. WHAT? Not that Kirk was any blushing virgin (far from it, as rumor and truth went), but the sudden shock of it all had done a hard strike against him with all the surprise of someone springing out of the darkness and going "BOO!" in his face.
You requested that I demonstrate for you what I had shown McCoy. These are skills afforded me through my touch telepathy. The voice soothed over his initial shock while hands rubbed over his shoulders. If you will answer my question now, please, Jim.
This!? This is what you did for Bones!? Kirk said in shock, but things settled into place immediately. He had thought Bones had sort of a post-orgasmic morning-after glow but had dismissed it, but the knowledge of it settled some of his immediately issues with the whole idea. If he had thought it was true, Spock couldn't have influenced that idea. Still... Spock had done something with just his hands that had felt good, better than good, and well, Kirk couldn't help himself. What would you do, exactly?
There are nerves in your lower back that may be activated simultaneously. Through the heat still buzzing under his skin and thoughts, it was hard to tell if that was the heat of breath or palm brushing over the indicated area. To your mind, it will replicate a feeling of orgasm, perhaps exactly. Yet it has been considered overwhelming by some, and therefore I will not demonstrate it without your permission.
That sounded like a challenge, and that was exactly what Kirk took it for. Hell, if Bones could do it, he sure as hell could. Another thing to add to the grand master list of things he had tried in his life. Give it to me.
As you wish. Hands slowly cascaded down his back, thumbs trailing down his spine, and then hot fingers settled at the small of his back. The feather-light touches of Spock's fingertips traced over skin there, almost as if getting into position and...oh.
Oh.
OH.
It was nothing like just coming. It was more like being milked from the inside, like men with clever fingers that know how to work and stroke the prostate. It spread out like electrical impulses across his muscles and sunk in as pure heat, manipulating his body to its master tune. Kirk's fingers clenched into the sheets of the bed, his lips parted as he panted, eyes squeezed shut. OhfuckohfuckohfuckohFUCKyeayeayeaaaaaa....
Mission accomplished. Kirk's entire body was a limp puddle of nothing, not even a thought in his head. He just laid there, body on autopilot, lost and limp and pleased as hell with it.
A light caress ghosted over his temple, trailing off by his ear before it began the cycle again. Tingling followed in its wake, so brief before it was smoothed over by the repeat touch. Spock's voice once again filtered into his lazy and open mind. The Doctor would suggest that you rest through the night.
There weren't even words to respond to that, so all Spock would get was a vague feeling of agreement and the idea of didn't want to move anyway that was swiftly moving towards sleep. The touch continued against the side of his face, coaxing him into sleep with its simple motions. Good-night, Jim.
Chapter Seven, Part B