Through Blind Men's Eyes, Part 2
Title: Through Blind Men's Eyes
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: eventual NC-17; Bones and Jim have dirty mouths, so possibly R for language at this point
Disclaimer: You think I own anything? Have you seen my car? Nothing is mine but the Noctaens and the plot, but I'm pretty sure no one's gonna fight me on that.
A/N: This was originally conceived of as fluffy, lighthearted crack. Then it mutated. Story of my life. My very first attempt at TOP; apologies for any missteps. It should be clear by now that I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Thoughts (or telepathy) indicated by italics. The second part of this has been an age and a half coming. Erm. Sorry.
Summary: The obligatory Pon Farr story . . . with a bit of a twist.
Part 1
“Now, Jim.” He recognized that tone in Bones’s voice, the soothing ease of it. It was the same as it had been their second year at the Academy when Kirk had come back to their room stinking drunk and McCoy had had to talk him down from chasing the bottle of tequila he’d downed with a handful of mystery pills. Stupid, but he always had hated his birthday. “I need you to stay calm. We have another round of tests to run, so just relax and-”
“Relax? Relax?” Kirk practically shouted, and a distant part of himself was struck by how much more threatening it sounded in Spock’s normally calm voice. “Unless you can assure me that I’m imagining things and that I didn’t somehow wake up stuck in my first officer’s body instead of my own, you can shove you relax right up your-”
“All right, you’re upset, but you will calm the fuck down in my sickbay or so help me I will hypo you into a coma until we get this sorted out,” McCoy snapped.
Perversely, the familiar ill-temper soothed Kirk as much as his friend’s earlier easiness had angered him. He let his head drop back against the pillow and snorted derisively. “All right, so was that more because I’m being an asshole or because you’ve always wanted to do that to Spock anyway?”
“About fifty-fifty,” McCoy grumbled. “Though compared to you he’s a damn model patient. I think waking up as you has freaked him out more than he wants to let on.”
“How surprising,” Kirk said dryly. “Really, Bones, screw med school; you should’ve been a shrink.”
“Oh, shut it.” He jabbed a hypospray into the side of Kirk’s neck-Spock’s neck? All right, that was going to get confusing pretty quickly.
“Ow. Aren’t you going to go through your usual rounds of questions? You know, where does it hurt, how many fingers, who’s Head of Starfleet Command, what happened with that Rigellian ambassador’s aide during the Academy holiday party?”
“If you’re in anything like the state Spock’s in, you’re not in any condition to tell me how you’re feeling. You know he thought I’d slipped him a tranquilizer? I tried to explain he just wasn’t adjusting for his reduced strength as a lowly human, but it took Chapel offering a signed affidavit for him to buy it.” He was using a handheld scanner now to examine the chest clad in science blues. “’Course, if you’ve decided you’d like to finally come clean about that ambassador’s aide . . .”
“Not a chance, Bones,” Jim said with an easy smile.
“Come on! At least tell me if it they were male or female.”
“Neither,” Kirk said, and the startled look on McCoy’s face had him laughing. It was short-lived, however, as startled gave way to outright shocked. “What? What is it?”
McCoy visibly shook himself, and he turned his attention back to the scanner in his hand. “Damn strange, is all,” he said gruffly. “A Vulcan laughing.”
Kirk looked around, but the other beds that he could see around him were all empty. Spock must have been moved out of sight; probably, he realized, to keep Kirk from completely flipping out at the sight of his own body lying there.
“How is he?”
“Physically, he’s fine.” He lowered the scanner with a frustrated scowl. “You both are. Mentally . . . he’s about as wrecked as I’ve ever seen him since the Narada incident. Keeps trying to go into one of his Vulcan healing trances, only of course he can’t because he’s not a damn Vulcan at the moment. He’s stuck in a psi-null body, and it’s my professional medical opinion that if he doesn’t get back to himself soon he’s gonna go crazier than a June bug in May.”
“Be honest, Bones, you just make up half of those old country sayings to build up your rep as a Southern gentleman, don’t you?”
“D’you want another hypo?”
“Sorry. Right, so you said that physically we both check out. Which means that whatever’s done this isn’t physical, it’s . . . mental.” He sat bold upright, the thermal blanket falling to pool in his lap, and he fought back a shiver at the temperature drop. “Mental. Shit.”
“Jim?” Jim barely registered the concerned look on McCoy’s face.
“I have to get back down to the planet.” He threw off the blanket entirely and hopped down from the bed. “Spock and I both do, as soon as possible.”
“Jim, you can’t.” McCoy rushed around to block his path, raising hands still holding the tricorder and scanner. “You know very well how damned particular the Noctaens get about proper visiting hours and protocol and the like. You rush down there now and you might undo the past three days of diplomatic talks. Our entire mission here, Jim,” he urged Kirk to remember.
“We can’t stay like this, Bones.” And yeah, all right, that was stating the obvious, but Jim was in a state right now, damn it. “The Noctaens did this, they must have, and they can damn well undo it.”
“And they will, I’m sure, but . . . in the morning. Okay?” McCoy pocketed the scanner and pressed a tentative hand to Kirk’s shoulder, subtly-in that way of his that was somehow still not subtle at all-trying to guide his friend back to the bed. “It’s not gonna kill you to spend one night as Spock, right?”
Kirk crossed his arms and remained defiantly where he was. “You’re the last person I’d have expected to hear that argument from.”
“Yeah, well.” McCoy snorted, but released his shoulder. “Maybe M’Benga and I swapped bodies, too. Speaking of, I want him to look over the scans we took of you-him-oh, hell,” he groaned, and made a vague gesture at the body in front of him. “That. And since you’re stuck on-ship until tomorrow anyway there are a few more tests-”
“Oh, no. Not a chance.” Kirk backed up a step on pure instinct, in case his oldest and dearest friend has a hypo hidden somewhere on him that was labeled, For When Jim Lets His Guard Down. “You had your chance when I was unconscious. You’ve already pronounced me of sound body-both of me, actually, so you can let Spock go too.”
“He’s already taken off.” McCoy glared at him but stepped out of the way. “He was out of here the second I gave him a clean bill of health. But the both of you are on temporary medical leave, and I don’t want to hear one word about it,” he warned. “I think Spock was headed for his quarters, if you want to talk-well, I guess you do,” was the bemused conclusion aimed at Kirk’s back as he hurried out.
He recognized the wisdom of what McCoy had said, he honestly did. And in another few minutes it was entirely likely that he wouldn’t want to jeopardize their entire mission over something that, while unpleasant and strange and about a hundred other similar adjectives, was unlikely to have severely detrimental effects if left until morning. But it didn’t take knowing him long to know that the pride his first officer held in being a Vulcan was intense. As bizarre and ridiculous and unfathomable as this whole thing was for him, it was going to be ten times harder on Spock. And while Jim wasn’t entirely sure if him showing up in the body that Spock had vacated would be more help or harm, there was no question that he was headed to his first officer’s quarters regardless. If Spock was in trouble, then Jim’s place was by his side. It was as simple as that.
Kirk greeted each of the crewmembers he passed on his way to Spock’s quarters with a habitual nod or smile of acknowledgement. He didn’t know all of their names; with over four hundred souls on board that wasn’t possible. But he was keenly aware that his ship required each and every person on board to continue running smoothly, and he’d be damned if he treated them like spare parts just because of rank. He didn’t remember until the fifth straight person-a tiny little Ensign, worked in Engineering he was pretty sure-stared back at him in flat-out shock that he remembered that he looked like Spock. That as far as they knew, he was Spock. And smiles, friendly nods . . . well, those were about as common on his first officer as a Klingon on a Federation vessel. For as long as they were stuck like this-just until morning, he had to keep believing that or he’d go out of his mind-he was going to have to act a bit more . . . Spock-like. He could do that.
He felt confident in his decision, in his ability to carry it out, right up until he rounded the next corner and saw her. Uhura was paused in the middle of the corridor, attention absorbed by the PADD she was carrying, and the sight of her had every reason why conversation of any sort should be avoided at all costs leaping into his head at once. He sprang back, noticing on some distant level that this body’s reflexes were significantly faster than his own, and ducked into the nearest open doorway. Rec room two, he noted as he flattened himself on the wall next to the door. Fortuitously empty.
Reflexes weren’t the only thing Vulcans had a leg up on, it seemed. If he closed his eyes and concentrated he realized that he could actually hear when she began to walk again, hear the light, even footsteps and the faint click of her heels against the floor. Beyond that, even as far away as she was, he could smell her. Not a perfume; that was against regulations, and Uhura was a stickler for regs. One of the many reasons, Kirk thought wryly, that she and Spock were such a good match. But no, this was something deeper than a simple fragrance; this was something salty and sharp and sweet, with an underlying whisper of musk. An earthy scent, and either he had noticed it himself subconsciously or Spock’s body was as dominant a force as his mind and personality, because Kirk knew immediately that this was her scent. It was as irrevocably tied to the idea of Nyota Uhura as the sight of her face or the sound of her voice. He could, he realized, pick her out of a crowd by scent alone.
Okay, so he could admit that there were some good points to being stuck in his First Officer’s body. That was just freaking cool.
Could he pick out other people in the same way, he wondered? The idea of heading back to Sickbay and sniffing out Bones, now when he wasn’t quite so distracted, flitted quickly through his mind. Then Uhura passed at last-he could actually hear her muttering under her breath as she worked out the translation in front of her, score one more for superior Vulcan senses-and the whim abandoned him as suddenly as it had appeared.
The corridor of the officers’ quarters was thankfully deserted when he finally made it there, and he managed to relax a fraction. His plan was simple: enter through his own quarters and proceed to Spock’s through their shared bathroom, minimizing the amount of time he’d spend lingering in a public area. He hit a snag, however, as soon as he tried to open his door.
“Unlock, authorization Kirk november oscar whiskey eight-three-seven.”
A chirp, and then instead of the soft hiss of the opening doors, the calm, blank voice of the computer. “Access denied. Voiceprint not accepted.”
Kirk softly cursed his own paranoia and McCoy’s inability to knock for engaging the voice lock option. He should’ve anticipated this; would have, he assured himself, if his mind hadn’t currently been in six places at once. But he hadn’t anticipated, and now he was in the unenviable position of being locked out of his own quarters. McCoy could get him in with a medical override, but beyond the significant lack of appeal of either comming or trudging back down to sickbay, a medical override would show up on the official ship’s log. Unrealistic as it may have been, there was a part of Kirk still hoping that they could get through this entire ordeal with no one the wiser.
He could have opened Spock’s door-the first officer was afforded the unusual privacy of a lock as well, but he rarely engaged the vocal registration and Kirk knew Spock’s authorization code. Still, there seemed something almost unseemly about simply barging in unannounced. He had already taken the Vulcan’s body-unintentionally, and through no fault of his own, but that didn’t change facts-and knowing how important it was to him he’d be damned if he’d strip away Spock’s privacy any further than he absolutely had to.
Instead, he knocked.
There was no answer at first, which wasn’t particularly surprising. He didn’t imagine Spock was much in the mood to see anyone. It wasn’t until he called out his friend’s name that the door finally slid open, and Kirk stepped inside.
It was as cold in Spock’s quarters as it was in the rest of the ship, and Kirk only realized then how he had been looking forward to the usual heat to be found there. He chose to ignore it for the moment, focusing his attention instead on looking for . . . himself. And there he was: his body, but not really him, gold command tunic discarded and folded neatly on the desk, leaving only the thin black t-shirt behind. That body rose from the chair and came to a somewhat stiff parade rest. And wasn’t that just the strangest thing he’d ever seen, because it may have been Kirk’s body but there was no way he’d be able to mistake the set of the shoulders, the carefully blank expression, as anyone other than Spock.
“Captain,” he heard his own voice say blandly, and such a sense of vertigo seized him that he nearly stumbled.
“Fuck me, that’s weird,” he muttered. “I think I need to sit down, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for a response, just moved to the small couch and sat heavily.
“Doctor McCoy has released you from Sickbay?” Spock sounded skeptical, and it was enough to gain a smile.
“Yeah.” Kirk ran a hand over his face-not his hand, not his face, fuck, don’t think about it-and took a deep breath. There was incense burning, and he found that the scent of it calmed him. “I checked out, physically, so there was no reason to hold me. You. Us. Damn it. Anyway, you know all of this, because he let you go, too. Told me you’d already left for your quarters.”
“I saw no reason to linger once I had been released, sir.”
“Oh, please.” Kirk leaned back, suddenly weary. “You’re not really going to ‘sir’ me while you’re wearing my skin, are you?”
That eyebrow twitched again. “I’m finding it helpful to remind myself of your true identity, Captain. Conversing with my own body is proving slightly . . . unnerving.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Kirk rubbed at his temple. “I think it’s giving me a headache. But outside of just avoiding each other until the Noctaens can fix this, I don’t figure we have much choice. It’s only for tonight, so we’re both going to have to just suck it up. Which means you using my first name, all right?”
“Very well,” Spock said after a moment. Then, “It would be in our best interests to discuss the situation with the Noctaens before beaming down . . . Jim.”
“Excellent,” Jim beamed, and sprang up from the couch. “Let’s talk in my quarters, though. There’s a replicator in there, and it seems like being shunted into someone else’s body really takes it out of you; I’m starving.”
“That would be agreeable. I believe I will require more food with a human metabolism than I’m accustomed to.”
“Yeah, mine’s pretty damn high,” Kirk said as they headed through the bathroom. “Drives Bones nuts that I can eat all the crap I do and never gain any weight.”
“That is likely to change as you grow older,” Spock cautioned.
“That’s what Bones keeps telling me. The way I see it that’s all the more reason to enjoy it while I’ve got it. Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The door from the head to his quarters was locked, as well, something that hadn’t occurred to him until they refused to open at his approach. He was about to tell Spock he’d have to deal with it when he heard his own voice smoothly reciting the proper code. Looking over at Spock, he raised his eyebrows. “You just used the captain’s override code.”
“The human propensity for verbally observing an event which has just occurred continues to baffle me.”
Kirk crossed his arms, amused despite himself. “You’re not the captain,” he said pointedly.
Spock raised a single eyebrow, and no, that was just unfair because Jim had never been able to manage that himself, and he’d practiced, damn it. “It appears that I am close enough for the computer, in any case. Nevertheless, I apologize for my presumption.”
Kirk just rolled his eyes and took a step back before starting forward again.
The door to his quarters slid open, and the scent assailed him like a wave that nearly knocked him off his feet. Sharp, potent, it filled his head, his awareness, and god, was this what he smelled like to Spock? A rich, deep scent that called to mind salty skin and the musk of arousal and the sluggish pulse of bright red blood. He could barely think through the force of it, through the wholly unexpected desire to simply stand there and breathe deep.
“Wow,” he said when he was sure he could speak without his voice cracking. “No wonder you prefer your own quarters for our chess games when the rec rooms are busy. I had no idea it smelled like this in here. It’s . . . well, it’s not bad, exactly, but . . .” He trailed off, unable to explain.
“Humans as a species smell more strongly than Vulcans,” Spock said easily, “something that I have always found intriguing given their more blunted sense of smell. Your scent is not unpleasant, but the concentration of it in your quarters has indeed proven distracting in the past. At the moment I can’t detect it at all.”
“Huh,” was all Kirk replied. After the first shock had passed he was able to move easily enough into the room. Spock’s words made him wonder, though. How much of his reaction was based on the body he was in, and how much was his mind’s own interpretation? It was possible that Spock had never been tempted, as Kirk was now, to bury his nose in the sheets of the bed where he knew his scent would be the strongest. It was possible that Spock didn’t even much care for the smell. And it was entirely likely that Spock had never had to deal with the surge of arousal that was trying to rise in Kirk at the moment. Inappropriate and unacceptable, and Vulcan control was something else because as soon as he’d thought that he was able to tamp down whatever physiological reaction was beginning.
“I nearly ran into Uhura on my way here,” he remembered suddenly and said apropos of absolutely nothing, and turned in time to see a shadow of surprise and confusion pass across the other man’s face. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, “I managed to avoid her.”
“Vulcans do not worry.” The reply sounded standard, the sort of thing said without conscious thought. “Assuming, of course, that she was the only one you deliberately evaded, is there any reason you felt the need to avoid the lieutenant specifically?”
“Well yeah, I’d say so.” He shifted uneasily. “It probably wouldn’t take her long to realize something was wrong, and I wasn’t really up to explaining exactly why her boyfriend wasn’t being . . . ah, physically demonstrative.”
“I see. While I commend your discretion, I can assure you that even were we still romantically involved, Lieutenant Uhura has never been so foolhardy as to insist on public displays of affection, especially while on duty.”
“Wait a second. Just hold on. You’re telling me the two of you broke up?”
“Among other things, yes, I am. My apologies; I assumed you knew.”
“Of course I didn’t know! You think I’d just . . . what, ignore the fact that one of my best friends just ended a long-term relationship?” He began to pace in agitation. “Damn it, I don’t know anything about Vulcan protocol here. If you were Bones I’d offer to get you drunk.”
“Yet another reason to be thankful that the doctor and I are in fact two different people,” Spock said dryly, and Kirk couldn’t help laughing.
“Okay, so drinking’s out. Look, I know you’re probably going to turn me down here, but . . . well, if you wanted to talk about it . . .”
“Thank you for the offer, Jim.” Was it his imagination or did Spock’s voice seem just a fraction warmer now? “However, Nyota and I ended our relationship several months ago, as soon as I accepted the position of First Officer aboard the Enterprise.”
“You mean to say the two of you haven’t been together this whole time?”
“That is correct. As her commanding officer, it would have been inappropriate for me to allow the relationship to continue. She is a fine Starfleet officer; she understood and accepted my reasoning, and we have retained our friendship as well as a healthy working relationship.”
Kirk felt like an idiot; nothing new, perhaps, but still not a state that he generally aspired to. “I see.” He took a deep breath and decided it was best to just change the subject entirely. “How about that food then? I feel like I could eat an entire cow, even a replicated one.” He checked himself before moving to the replicator, arrested by Spock’s tight-lipped reaction. “What? What is it?”
“Captain,” he said stiffly, and Kirk mentally groaned. If they were back to ranks there was no chance he was going to like whatever Spock was about to say. “I would remind you that I am a vegetarian. Though your tastes may differ, as it is my body you’re currently inhabiting-”
“Right, right. I get it. No steak.” He sighed, disappointed. “Looks like we’re both eating vegetarian, then. Why don’t you pick something out?”
Spock nodded tightly and crossed to the replicator. “Do you have any preference?”
“Nah, just surprise me.” He deposited himself in his desk chair and began to clear off the surface. “I don’t eat that sort of thing often enough to know if I like or dislike anything in particular. Oh. You’ll probably want to keep away from anything with nuts, though. Or tomatoes. Bananas, sesame seeds, Circassian figs, shellfish . . . I think that covers all the basics.” He grinned and shrugged at the blank look Spock was giving him, somehow recognizable even on his face as astonished disbelief. “Lots of food allergies. Well, lots of allergies in general. You probably ought to talk to Bones for the full list before you eat tomorrow.”
Spock blinked once, then inclined his head. “I will do so.”
It took a few moments of thought before Spock punched in a program. He lifted the dish out and set it in front of Kirk, then turned back and programmed another. Kirk couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face in the meantime at the confirmation that his body looked just as good from the back as he had always suspected.
“So what do we have?” Kirk asked when Spock settled across from him with his own food.
“Adaptations of two Vulcan recipes; Mr. Scott assisted me in programming them into the mainframe shortly after our departure from Earth.”
“Adaptations?” Kirk picked up a fork and prodded at his food. It smelled good, at least.
“My mother was fond of Terran foods, and would work them into her cooking whenever possible.” Spock picked up his own fork and took a quick, neat bite. “Possibly because they were what I ate as a child and therefore grew accustomed to, I still prefer the dishes prepared this way. As you can not eat customarily eat tomatoes, I thought that you might enjoy the opportunity now. They compose approximately thirty-four point eight three percent of the mixture inside of the stuffed Favinit blossoms.”
Kirk didn’t know what to say. He was touched, remarkably so, at Spock’s thoughtfulness. In the end he settled for a simple, “Thanks,” and dug in. He paused after the first mouthful, surprised. “This is really good.” He took another bite, savoring the mix of flavors on his tongue. “Vulcan-Terran fusion. Like you; no wonder your mom was so fond of it. And I didn’t think I’d really like vegetarian food.”
“That dish was one of my favorites as a child. It is logical that it would still appeal to my senses even with your consciousness experiencing it.”
“Well, whatever the cause, it’s fantastic. I don’t know if it’s just your tastebuds or what, but really, it’s great.” He tucked in, happy to focus on his food.
“Jim,” Spock said when they had nearly finished, and Kirk did his best to ignore the warmth that spread through him at the use of his given name, “we should discuss the Noctaens and what is to be done about them.”
“To be done?” Kirk took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “They seemed pretty accommodating before; I figured we’d just go down and explain that we need to be . . .” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Switched back.”
“I am not referring to our more immediate circumstances. They did indeed seem solicitous of our ease and comfort. Rather, it is my concern that a race that has proved itself so willing to invade and manipulate others’ minds without the consent of those minds might not be a wise addition to the Federation.”
“Well now.” Kirk shifted uneasily in his seat. “You don’t think you might be being a little harsh?”
“Not at all. In fact, I believe the sooner Starfleet is notified the better. Beginning with their assault upon your mind-”
“A simple mistake.”
“-and culminating in somehow shuttling our consciousnesses from one body to another, again without our giving consent-”
“See, that’s the thing,” Kirk interrupted again. “I’ve been thinking it over, and I think I . . . might have. Accidentally.”
Spock went very still, and for an absurd moment Kirk wished Bones were there to document the fact that yes, James T. Kirk’s body was capable of such a feat. “You might have . . . what, exactly?”
“Ah. Given consent. When I was walking with Chancellor Laaen. I didn’t know what he was talking about, I swear! I never would have agreed if I’d known this was going to happen.”
“Then what, precisely, was it that you agreed to?”
Kirk hesitated. Spock had turned down the Noctaens’ offer, and Kirk got the distinct impression that it had had less to do with his captain’s spate of nausea and more to do with Vulcan ideas of privacy. He wouldn’t be happy to know that Kirk now had a front-row seat to his worst fear, whatever it may be.
“They said that you were going to be in trouble soon,” he said carefully, “and that I could help. But that you wouldn’t ask.” All true so far. Technically. “They asked if I would want to help you, and of course I said yes, and then, well . . .” He gestured between the two of them. “This.”
“I see.” Kirk hadn’t known that his own face was capable of such blankness. It was more than a little unsettling.
“Look, it’ll all be fine. We’ll beam down to the Noctaens in the morning, explain what went wrong, they’ll fix it and we’ll be on our way with less than a day’s delay.” He nodded, trying his best to project a confidence that he didn’t quite feel. “Piece of c-cake.”
Blankness gave way to sharp attention. “You are cold.”
Kirk thought about denying it, but immediately rejected the idea as . . . well, illogical. He smiled wryly. “Don’t know how you stand it. This entire ship is freezing, even with the double layers.”
“I am usually able to regulate the loss of body heat through channeled mental control. Computer, raise temperature fifteen point three five degrees.” There was a soft chirp of acknowledgement, and almost immediately the room began to warm.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kirk protested. “I could’ve just bundled up.”
“That would have been inefficient. This is the standard setting I use for my own quarters. Unfortunately, I now find the temperature too warm to be entirely comfortable. As I am also experiencing firsthand how much more quickly human bodies grow fatigued, I believe I will retire.”
“Probably a good idea.” Kirk stood with him and crossed to the small dresser against the wall, pulling out a worn pair of Academy sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here,” he grinned. “These ought to fit.”
Spock took the clothes with an air of hesitation. “I will wear these if you prefer it. However, it is my habit to sleep in the nude.”
Kirk would possibly have to make a list of all the ways in which being a Vulcan, even temporarily, was hands-down better than being human. He could not begin to categorize all that he had come to feel for his friend in the time they had known each other, but the sharp, powerful lust that had begun it all had not faded in the intervening months. Normally that lust would have combined with the fact that its object had just requested full access to Kirk’s naked body and rendered him weak, mute, and unmistakably hard. His current body, however, responded immediately to his usually futile attempts at control and his voice didn’t so much as waver.
“However you’re comfortable is fine. I’ve been known to sleep that way from time to time myself.” He considered following Spock’s lead for a moment, and came to an unexpected realization. “Huh. You’d think I’d be exhausted, too, but I feel wide awake.”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” Spock reminded him, handing back the bundle of clothes. “You are unlikely to need rest tonight, as I slept for approximately six point four two hours prior to our last visit to the planet.”
“Approximately?” Kirk snorted.
“Yes. More precisely-”
“It’s all right, Spock, I get the idea. Go get some rest.”
He clapped the other man on the shoulder, and the edge of his smallest finger brushed against the exposed skin where the short shirtsleeve ended. Delicious coolness there, soothing and enticing for all of a spit second before what felt like an electric spark sizzled at the point of contact. Kirk jerked his hand back quickly and laughed, slightly unnerved.
“The heat must be drying out the air. Got a bit of a shock there.” He rubbed at his finger and stepped back against every instinct that he possessed, all of which were urging him instead to go closer. “Good night, Spock.”
“Good night, Jim,” the other man nodded, and turned on his heel, the only sound thereafter the quiet hiss of the door opening and closing behind him.
“Fuck,” Kirk groaned under his breath.
He had been counting on sleep to help pass the time until morning. He hated waiting, loathed forced inactivity, but there was nothing that he could do about their situation. Nothing until the planet’s morning, which would come approximately halfway through Alpha shift. And in the meantime he was left with hours to fill in a cabin filled with a scent that made his mouth water, and unfettered access to the body that had been haunting his nights almost since he had seen it.
Kirk wanted to take the opportunity that fate had given him by way of a society of meddling, well-intentioned telepaths. He wanted to strip the uniform away and discover what was underneath. He wanted to examine every inch of flesh while he had the opportunity. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
But what he wanted was irrelevant. He didn’t have permission to do with Spock’s body what he wished, and the thought of violating his friend’s trust in such a way brought with it an almost physical sense of disgust. He’d been keeping his hands to himself for what felt like ages already; he’d just have to keep exercising that same self-control.
Might as well catch up on some of the reports he’d let pile up while he’d been busy-procrastinating-with the Noctaens. Reasoning that such voluntary productivity called for a reward of some kind, he crossed to the replicator and punched in a familiar code. He had assembled three separate slices of chocolate cake, a peach cobbler and an uttaberry crepe before accepting that there was nothing wrong with the machine. It was him; his new tongue, it seemed, could not detect the taste of sugar.
He sat down with a cup of tea-coffee was too strong a taste to be palatable-and his work with a rueful sigh. Apparently there were down sides to being Vulcan, after all.
Part 3
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: eventual NC-17; Bones and Jim have dirty mouths, so possibly R for language at this point
Disclaimer: You think I own anything? Have you seen my car? Nothing is mine but the Noctaens and the plot, but I'm pretty sure no one's gonna fight me on that.
A/N: This was originally conceived of as fluffy, lighthearted crack. Then it mutated. Story of my life. My very first attempt at TOP; apologies for any missteps. It should be clear by now that I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Thoughts (or telepathy) indicated by italics. The second part of this has been an age and a half coming. Erm. Sorry.
Summary: The obligatory Pon Farr story . . . with a bit of a twist.
Part 1
“Now, Jim.” He recognized that tone in Bones’s voice, the soothing ease of it. It was the same as it had been their second year at the Academy when Kirk had come back to their room stinking drunk and McCoy had had to talk him down from chasing the bottle of tequila he’d downed with a handful of mystery pills. Stupid, but he always had hated his birthday. “I need you to stay calm. We have another round of tests to run, so just relax and-”
“Relax? Relax?” Kirk practically shouted, and a distant part of himself was struck by how much more threatening it sounded in Spock’s normally calm voice. “Unless you can assure me that I’m imagining things and that I didn’t somehow wake up stuck in my first officer’s body instead of my own, you can shove you relax right up your-”
“All right, you’re upset, but you will calm the fuck down in my sickbay or so help me I will hypo you into a coma until we get this sorted out,” McCoy snapped.
Perversely, the familiar ill-temper soothed Kirk as much as his friend’s earlier easiness had angered him. He let his head drop back against the pillow and snorted derisively. “All right, so was that more because I’m being an asshole or because you’ve always wanted to do that to Spock anyway?”
“About fifty-fifty,” McCoy grumbled. “Though compared to you he’s a damn model patient. I think waking up as you has freaked him out more than he wants to let on.”
“How surprising,” Kirk said dryly. “Really, Bones, screw med school; you should’ve been a shrink.”
“Oh, shut it.” He jabbed a hypospray into the side of Kirk’s neck-Spock’s neck? All right, that was going to get confusing pretty quickly.
“Ow. Aren’t you going to go through your usual rounds of questions? You know, where does it hurt, how many fingers, who’s Head of Starfleet Command, what happened with that Rigellian ambassador’s aide during the Academy holiday party?”
“If you’re in anything like the state Spock’s in, you’re not in any condition to tell me how you’re feeling. You know he thought I’d slipped him a tranquilizer? I tried to explain he just wasn’t adjusting for his reduced strength as a lowly human, but it took Chapel offering a signed affidavit for him to buy it.” He was using a handheld scanner now to examine the chest clad in science blues. “’Course, if you’ve decided you’d like to finally come clean about that ambassador’s aide . . .”
“Not a chance, Bones,” Jim said with an easy smile.
“Come on! At least tell me if it they were male or female.”
“Neither,” Kirk said, and the startled look on McCoy’s face had him laughing. It was short-lived, however, as startled gave way to outright shocked. “What? What is it?”
McCoy visibly shook himself, and he turned his attention back to the scanner in his hand. “Damn strange, is all,” he said gruffly. “A Vulcan laughing.”
Kirk looked around, but the other beds that he could see around him were all empty. Spock must have been moved out of sight; probably, he realized, to keep Kirk from completely flipping out at the sight of his own body lying there.
“How is he?”
“Physically, he’s fine.” He lowered the scanner with a frustrated scowl. “You both are. Mentally . . . he’s about as wrecked as I’ve ever seen him since the Narada incident. Keeps trying to go into one of his Vulcan healing trances, only of course he can’t because he’s not a damn Vulcan at the moment. He’s stuck in a psi-null body, and it’s my professional medical opinion that if he doesn’t get back to himself soon he’s gonna go crazier than a June bug in May.”
“Be honest, Bones, you just make up half of those old country sayings to build up your rep as a Southern gentleman, don’t you?”
“D’you want another hypo?”
“Sorry. Right, so you said that physically we both check out. Which means that whatever’s done this isn’t physical, it’s . . . mental.” He sat bold upright, the thermal blanket falling to pool in his lap, and he fought back a shiver at the temperature drop. “Mental. Shit.”
“Jim?” Jim barely registered the concerned look on McCoy’s face.
“I have to get back down to the planet.” He threw off the blanket entirely and hopped down from the bed. “Spock and I both do, as soon as possible.”
“Jim, you can’t.” McCoy rushed around to block his path, raising hands still holding the tricorder and scanner. “You know very well how damned particular the Noctaens get about proper visiting hours and protocol and the like. You rush down there now and you might undo the past three days of diplomatic talks. Our entire mission here, Jim,” he urged Kirk to remember.
“We can’t stay like this, Bones.” And yeah, all right, that was stating the obvious, but Jim was in a state right now, damn it. “The Noctaens did this, they must have, and they can damn well undo it.”
“And they will, I’m sure, but . . . in the morning. Okay?” McCoy pocketed the scanner and pressed a tentative hand to Kirk’s shoulder, subtly-in that way of his that was somehow still not subtle at all-trying to guide his friend back to the bed. “It’s not gonna kill you to spend one night as Spock, right?”
Kirk crossed his arms and remained defiantly where he was. “You’re the last person I’d have expected to hear that argument from.”
“Yeah, well.” McCoy snorted, but released his shoulder. “Maybe M’Benga and I swapped bodies, too. Speaking of, I want him to look over the scans we took of you-him-oh, hell,” he groaned, and made a vague gesture at the body in front of him. “That. And since you’re stuck on-ship until tomorrow anyway there are a few more tests-”
“Oh, no. Not a chance.” Kirk backed up a step on pure instinct, in case his oldest and dearest friend has a hypo hidden somewhere on him that was labeled, For When Jim Lets His Guard Down. “You had your chance when I was unconscious. You’ve already pronounced me of sound body-both of me, actually, so you can let Spock go too.”
“He’s already taken off.” McCoy glared at him but stepped out of the way. “He was out of here the second I gave him a clean bill of health. But the both of you are on temporary medical leave, and I don’t want to hear one word about it,” he warned. “I think Spock was headed for his quarters, if you want to talk-well, I guess you do,” was the bemused conclusion aimed at Kirk’s back as he hurried out.
He recognized the wisdom of what McCoy had said, he honestly did. And in another few minutes it was entirely likely that he wouldn’t want to jeopardize their entire mission over something that, while unpleasant and strange and about a hundred other similar adjectives, was unlikely to have severely detrimental effects if left until morning. But it didn’t take knowing him long to know that the pride his first officer held in being a Vulcan was intense. As bizarre and ridiculous and unfathomable as this whole thing was for him, it was going to be ten times harder on Spock. And while Jim wasn’t entirely sure if him showing up in the body that Spock had vacated would be more help or harm, there was no question that he was headed to his first officer’s quarters regardless. If Spock was in trouble, then Jim’s place was by his side. It was as simple as that.
Kirk greeted each of the crewmembers he passed on his way to Spock’s quarters with a habitual nod or smile of acknowledgement. He didn’t know all of their names; with over four hundred souls on board that wasn’t possible. But he was keenly aware that his ship required each and every person on board to continue running smoothly, and he’d be damned if he treated them like spare parts just because of rank. He didn’t remember until the fifth straight person-a tiny little Ensign, worked in Engineering he was pretty sure-stared back at him in flat-out shock that he remembered that he looked like Spock. That as far as they knew, he was Spock. And smiles, friendly nods . . . well, those were about as common on his first officer as a Klingon on a Federation vessel. For as long as they were stuck like this-just until morning, he had to keep believing that or he’d go out of his mind-he was going to have to act a bit more . . . Spock-like. He could do that.
He felt confident in his decision, in his ability to carry it out, right up until he rounded the next corner and saw her. Uhura was paused in the middle of the corridor, attention absorbed by the PADD she was carrying, and the sight of her had every reason why conversation of any sort should be avoided at all costs leaping into his head at once. He sprang back, noticing on some distant level that this body’s reflexes were significantly faster than his own, and ducked into the nearest open doorway. Rec room two, he noted as he flattened himself on the wall next to the door. Fortuitously empty.
Reflexes weren’t the only thing Vulcans had a leg up on, it seemed. If he closed his eyes and concentrated he realized that he could actually hear when she began to walk again, hear the light, even footsteps and the faint click of her heels against the floor. Beyond that, even as far away as she was, he could smell her. Not a perfume; that was against regulations, and Uhura was a stickler for regs. One of the many reasons, Kirk thought wryly, that she and Spock were such a good match. But no, this was something deeper than a simple fragrance; this was something salty and sharp and sweet, with an underlying whisper of musk. An earthy scent, and either he had noticed it himself subconsciously or Spock’s body was as dominant a force as his mind and personality, because Kirk knew immediately that this was her scent. It was as irrevocably tied to the idea of Nyota Uhura as the sight of her face or the sound of her voice. He could, he realized, pick her out of a crowd by scent alone.
Okay, so he could admit that there were some good points to being stuck in his First Officer’s body. That was just freaking cool.
Could he pick out other people in the same way, he wondered? The idea of heading back to Sickbay and sniffing out Bones, now when he wasn’t quite so distracted, flitted quickly through his mind. Then Uhura passed at last-he could actually hear her muttering under her breath as she worked out the translation in front of her, score one more for superior Vulcan senses-and the whim abandoned him as suddenly as it had appeared.
The corridor of the officers’ quarters was thankfully deserted when he finally made it there, and he managed to relax a fraction. His plan was simple: enter through his own quarters and proceed to Spock’s through their shared bathroom, minimizing the amount of time he’d spend lingering in a public area. He hit a snag, however, as soon as he tried to open his door.
“Unlock, authorization Kirk november oscar whiskey eight-three-seven.”
A chirp, and then instead of the soft hiss of the opening doors, the calm, blank voice of the computer. “Access denied. Voiceprint not accepted.”
Kirk softly cursed his own paranoia and McCoy’s inability to knock for engaging the voice lock option. He should’ve anticipated this; would have, he assured himself, if his mind hadn’t currently been in six places at once. But he hadn’t anticipated, and now he was in the unenviable position of being locked out of his own quarters. McCoy could get him in with a medical override, but beyond the significant lack of appeal of either comming or trudging back down to sickbay, a medical override would show up on the official ship’s log. Unrealistic as it may have been, there was a part of Kirk still hoping that they could get through this entire ordeal with no one the wiser.
He could have opened Spock’s door-the first officer was afforded the unusual privacy of a lock as well, but he rarely engaged the vocal registration and Kirk knew Spock’s authorization code. Still, there seemed something almost unseemly about simply barging in unannounced. He had already taken the Vulcan’s body-unintentionally, and through no fault of his own, but that didn’t change facts-and knowing how important it was to him he’d be damned if he’d strip away Spock’s privacy any further than he absolutely had to.
Instead, he knocked.
There was no answer at first, which wasn’t particularly surprising. He didn’t imagine Spock was much in the mood to see anyone. It wasn’t until he called out his friend’s name that the door finally slid open, and Kirk stepped inside.
It was as cold in Spock’s quarters as it was in the rest of the ship, and Kirk only realized then how he had been looking forward to the usual heat to be found there. He chose to ignore it for the moment, focusing his attention instead on looking for . . . himself. And there he was: his body, but not really him, gold command tunic discarded and folded neatly on the desk, leaving only the thin black t-shirt behind. That body rose from the chair and came to a somewhat stiff parade rest. And wasn’t that just the strangest thing he’d ever seen, because it may have been Kirk’s body but there was no way he’d be able to mistake the set of the shoulders, the carefully blank expression, as anyone other than Spock.
“Captain,” he heard his own voice say blandly, and such a sense of vertigo seized him that he nearly stumbled.
“Fuck me, that’s weird,” he muttered. “I think I need to sit down, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for a response, just moved to the small couch and sat heavily.
“Doctor McCoy has released you from Sickbay?” Spock sounded skeptical, and it was enough to gain a smile.
“Yeah.” Kirk ran a hand over his face-not his hand, not his face, fuck, don’t think about it-and took a deep breath. There was incense burning, and he found that the scent of it calmed him. “I checked out, physically, so there was no reason to hold me. You. Us. Damn it. Anyway, you know all of this, because he let you go, too. Told me you’d already left for your quarters.”
“I saw no reason to linger once I had been released, sir.”
“Oh, please.” Kirk leaned back, suddenly weary. “You’re not really going to ‘sir’ me while you’re wearing my skin, are you?”
That eyebrow twitched again. “I’m finding it helpful to remind myself of your true identity, Captain. Conversing with my own body is proving slightly . . . unnerving.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Kirk rubbed at his temple. “I think it’s giving me a headache. But outside of just avoiding each other until the Noctaens can fix this, I don’t figure we have much choice. It’s only for tonight, so we’re both going to have to just suck it up. Which means you using my first name, all right?”
“Very well,” Spock said after a moment. Then, “It would be in our best interests to discuss the situation with the Noctaens before beaming down . . . Jim.”
“Excellent,” Jim beamed, and sprang up from the couch. “Let’s talk in my quarters, though. There’s a replicator in there, and it seems like being shunted into someone else’s body really takes it out of you; I’m starving.”
“That would be agreeable. I believe I will require more food with a human metabolism than I’m accustomed to.”
“Yeah, mine’s pretty damn high,” Kirk said as they headed through the bathroom. “Drives Bones nuts that I can eat all the crap I do and never gain any weight.”
“That is likely to change as you grow older,” Spock cautioned.
“That’s what Bones keeps telling me. The way I see it that’s all the more reason to enjoy it while I’ve got it. Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The door from the head to his quarters was locked, as well, something that hadn’t occurred to him until they refused to open at his approach. He was about to tell Spock he’d have to deal with it when he heard his own voice smoothly reciting the proper code. Looking over at Spock, he raised his eyebrows. “You just used the captain’s override code.”
“The human propensity for verbally observing an event which has just occurred continues to baffle me.”
Kirk crossed his arms, amused despite himself. “You’re not the captain,” he said pointedly.
Spock raised a single eyebrow, and no, that was just unfair because Jim had never been able to manage that himself, and he’d practiced, damn it. “It appears that I am close enough for the computer, in any case. Nevertheless, I apologize for my presumption.”
Kirk just rolled his eyes and took a step back before starting forward again.
The door to his quarters slid open, and the scent assailed him like a wave that nearly knocked him off his feet. Sharp, potent, it filled his head, his awareness, and god, was this what he smelled like to Spock? A rich, deep scent that called to mind salty skin and the musk of arousal and the sluggish pulse of bright red blood. He could barely think through the force of it, through the wholly unexpected desire to simply stand there and breathe deep.
“Wow,” he said when he was sure he could speak without his voice cracking. “No wonder you prefer your own quarters for our chess games when the rec rooms are busy. I had no idea it smelled like this in here. It’s . . . well, it’s not bad, exactly, but . . .” He trailed off, unable to explain.
“Humans as a species smell more strongly than Vulcans,” Spock said easily, “something that I have always found intriguing given their more blunted sense of smell. Your scent is not unpleasant, but the concentration of it in your quarters has indeed proven distracting in the past. At the moment I can’t detect it at all.”
“Huh,” was all Kirk replied. After the first shock had passed he was able to move easily enough into the room. Spock’s words made him wonder, though. How much of his reaction was based on the body he was in, and how much was his mind’s own interpretation? It was possible that Spock had never been tempted, as Kirk was now, to bury his nose in the sheets of the bed where he knew his scent would be the strongest. It was possible that Spock didn’t even much care for the smell. And it was entirely likely that Spock had never had to deal with the surge of arousal that was trying to rise in Kirk at the moment. Inappropriate and unacceptable, and Vulcan control was something else because as soon as he’d thought that he was able to tamp down whatever physiological reaction was beginning.
“I nearly ran into Uhura on my way here,” he remembered suddenly and said apropos of absolutely nothing, and turned in time to see a shadow of surprise and confusion pass across the other man’s face. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, “I managed to avoid her.”
“Vulcans do not worry.” The reply sounded standard, the sort of thing said without conscious thought. “Assuming, of course, that she was the only one you deliberately evaded, is there any reason you felt the need to avoid the lieutenant specifically?”
“Well yeah, I’d say so.” He shifted uneasily. “It probably wouldn’t take her long to realize something was wrong, and I wasn’t really up to explaining exactly why her boyfriend wasn’t being . . . ah, physically demonstrative.”
“I see. While I commend your discretion, I can assure you that even were we still romantically involved, Lieutenant Uhura has never been so foolhardy as to insist on public displays of affection, especially while on duty.”
“Wait a second. Just hold on. You’re telling me the two of you broke up?”
“Among other things, yes, I am. My apologies; I assumed you knew.”
“Of course I didn’t know! You think I’d just . . . what, ignore the fact that one of my best friends just ended a long-term relationship?” He began to pace in agitation. “Damn it, I don’t know anything about Vulcan protocol here. If you were Bones I’d offer to get you drunk.”
“Yet another reason to be thankful that the doctor and I are in fact two different people,” Spock said dryly, and Kirk couldn’t help laughing.
“Okay, so drinking’s out. Look, I know you’re probably going to turn me down here, but . . . well, if you wanted to talk about it . . .”
“Thank you for the offer, Jim.” Was it his imagination or did Spock’s voice seem just a fraction warmer now? “However, Nyota and I ended our relationship several months ago, as soon as I accepted the position of First Officer aboard the Enterprise.”
“You mean to say the two of you haven’t been together this whole time?”
“That is correct. As her commanding officer, it would have been inappropriate for me to allow the relationship to continue. She is a fine Starfleet officer; she understood and accepted my reasoning, and we have retained our friendship as well as a healthy working relationship.”
Kirk felt like an idiot; nothing new, perhaps, but still not a state that he generally aspired to. “I see.” He took a deep breath and decided it was best to just change the subject entirely. “How about that food then? I feel like I could eat an entire cow, even a replicated one.” He checked himself before moving to the replicator, arrested by Spock’s tight-lipped reaction. “What? What is it?”
“Captain,” he said stiffly, and Kirk mentally groaned. If they were back to ranks there was no chance he was going to like whatever Spock was about to say. “I would remind you that I am a vegetarian. Though your tastes may differ, as it is my body you’re currently inhabiting-”
“Right, right. I get it. No steak.” He sighed, disappointed. “Looks like we’re both eating vegetarian, then. Why don’t you pick something out?”
Spock nodded tightly and crossed to the replicator. “Do you have any preference?”
“Nah, just surprise me.” He deposited himself in his desk chair and began to clear off the surface. “I don’t eat that sort of thing often enough to know if I like or dislike anything in particular. Oh. You’ll probably want to keep away from anything with nuts, though. Or tomatoes. Bananas, sesame seeds, Circassian figs, shellfish . . . I think that covers all the basics.” He grinned and shrugged at the blank look Spock was giving him, somehow recognizable even on his face as astonished disbelief. “Lots of food allergies. Well, lots of allergies in general. You probably ought to talk to Bones for the full list before you eat tomorrow.”
Spock blinked once, then inclined his head. “I will do so.”
It took a few moments of thought before Spock punched in a program. He lifted the dish out and set it in front of Kirk, then turned back and programmed another. Kirk couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face in the meantime at the confirmation that his body looked just as good from the back as he had always suspected.
“So what do we have?” Kirk asked when Spock settled across from him with his own food.
“Adaptations of two Vulcan recipes; Mr. Scott assisted me in programming them into the mainframe shortly after our departure from Earth.”
“Adaptations?” Kirk picked up a fork and prodded at his food. It smelled good, at least.
“My mother was fond of Terran foods, and would work them into her cooking whenever possible.” Spock picked up his own fork and took a quick, neat bite. “Possibly because they were what I ate as a child and therefore grew accustomed to, I still prefer the dishes prepared this way. As you can not eat customarily eat tomatoes, I thought that you might enjoy the opportunity now. They compose approximately thirty-four point eight three percent of the mixture inside of the stuffed Favinit blossoms.”
Kirk didn’t know what to say. He was touched, remarkably so, at Spock’s thoughtfulness. In the end he settled for a simple, “Thanks,” and dug in. He paused after the first mouthful, surprised. “This is really good.” He took another bite, savoring the mix of flavors on his tongue. “Vulcan-Terran fusion. Like you; no wonder your mom was so fond of it. And I didn’t think I’d really like vegetarian food.”
“That dish was one of my favorites as a child. It is logical that it would still appeal to my senses even with your consciousness experiencing it.”
“Well, whatever the cause, it’s fantastic. I don’t know if it’s just your tastebuds or what, but really, it’s great.” He tucked in, happy to focus on his food.
“Jim,” Spock said when they had nearly finished, and Kirk did his best to ignore the warmth that spread through him at the use of his given name, “we should discuss the Noctaens and what is to be done about them.”
“To be done?” Kirk took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “They seemed pretty accommodating before; I figured we’d just go down and explain that we need to be . . .” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Switched back.”
“I am not referring to our more immediate circumstances. They did indeed seem solicitous of our ease and comfort. Rather, it is my concern that a race that has proved itself so willing to invade and manipulate others’ minds without the consent of those minds might not be a wise addition to the Federation.”
“Well now.” Kirk shifted uneasily in his seat. “You don’t think you might be being a little harsh?”
“Not at all. In fact, I believe the sooner Starfleet is notified the better. Beginning with their assault upon your mind-”
“A simple mistake.”
“-and culminating in somehow shuttling our consciousnesses from one body to another, again without our giving consent-”
“See, that’s the thing,” Kirk interrupted again. “I’ve been thinking it over, and I think I . . . might have. Accidentally.”
Spock went very still, and for an absurd moment Kirk wished Bones were there to document the fact that yes, James T. Kirk’s body was capable of such a feat. “You might have . . . what, exactly?”
“Ah. Given consent. When I was walking with Chancellor Laaen. I didn’t know what he was talking about, I swear! I never would have agreed if I’d known this was going to happen.”
“Then what, precisely, was it that you agreed to?”
Kirk hesitated. Spock had turned down the Noctaens’ offer, and Kirk got the distinct impression that it had had less to do with his captain’s spate of nausea and more to do with Vulcan ideas of privacy. He wouldn’t be happy to know that Kirk now had a front-row seat to his worst fear, whatever it may be.
“They said that you were going to be in trouble soon,” he said carefully, “and that I could help. But that you wouldn’t ask.” All true so far. Technically. “They asked if I would want to help you, and of course I said yes, and then, well . . .” He gestured between the two of them. “This.”
“I see.” Kirk hadn’t known that his own face was capable of such blankness. It was more than a little unsettling.
“Look, it’ll all be fine. We’ll beam down to the Noctaens in the morning, explain what went wrong, they’ll fix it and we’ll be on our way with less than a day’s delay.” He nodded, trying his best to project a confidence that he didn’t quite feel. “Piece of c-cake.”
Blankness gave way to sharp attention. “You are cold.”
Kirk thought about denying it, but immediately rejected the idea as . . . well, illogical. He smiled wryly. “Don’t know how you stand it. This entire ship is freezing, even with the double layers.”
“I am usually able to regulate the loss of body heat through channeled mental control. Computer, raise temperature fifteen point three five degrees.” There was a soft chirp of acknowledgement, and almost immediately the room began to warm.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kirk protested. “I could’ve just bundled up.”
“That would have been inefficient. This is the standard setting I use for my own quarters. Unfortunately, I now find the temperature too warm to be entirely comfortable. As I am also experiencing firsthand how much more quickly human bodies grow fatigued, I believe I will retire.”
“Probably a good idea.” Kirk stood with him and crossed to the small dresser against the wall, pulling out a worn pair of Academy sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here,” he grinned. “These ought to fit.”
Spock took the clothes with an air of hesitation. “I will wear these if you prefer it. However, it is my habit to sleep in the nude.”
Kirk would possibly have to make a list of all the ways in which being a Vulcan, even temporarily, was hands-down better than being human. He could not begin to categorize all that he had come to feel for his friend in the time they had known each other, but the sharp, powerful lust that had begun it all had not faded in the intervening months. Normally that lust would have combined with the fact that its object had just requested full access to Kirk’s naked body and rendered him weak, mute, and unmistakably hard. His current body, however, responded immediately to his usually futile attempts at control and his voice didn’t so much as waver.
“However you’re comfortable is fine. I’ve been known to sleep that way from time to time myself.” He considered following Spock’s lead for a moment, and came to an unexpected realization. “Huh. You’d think I’d be exhausted, too, but I feel wide awake.”
“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” Spock reminded him, handing back the bundle of clothes. “You are unlikely to need rest tonight, as I slept for approximately six point four two hours prior to our last visit to the planet.”
“Approximately?” Kirk snorted.
“Yes. More precisely-”
“It’s all right, Spock, I get the idea. Go get some rest.”
He clapped the other man on the shoulder, and the edge of his smallest finger brushed against the exposed skin where the short shirtsleeve ended. Delicious coolness there, soothing and enticing for all of a spit second before what felt like an electric spark sizzled at the point of contact. Kirk jerked his hand back quickly and laughed, slightly unnerved.
“The heat must be drying out the air. Got a bit of a shock there.” He rubbed at his finger and stepped back against every instinct that he possessed, all of which were urging him instead to go closer. “Good night, Spock.”
“Good night, Jim,” the other man nodded, and turned on his heel, the only sound thereafter the quiet hiss of the door opening and closing behind him.
“Fuck,” Kirk groaned under his breath.
He had been counting on sleep to help pass the time until morning. He hated waiting, loathed forced inactivity, but there was nothing that he could do about their situation. Nothing until the planet’s morning, which would come approximately halfway through Alpha shift. And in the meantime he was left with hours to fill in a cabin filled with a scent that made his mouth water, and unfettered access to the body that had been haunting his nights almost since he had seen it.
Kirk wanted to take the opportunity that fate had given him by way of a society of meddling, well-intentioned telepaths. He wanted to strip the uniform away and discover what was underneath. He wanted to examine every inch of flesh while he had the opportunity. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
But what he wanted was irrelevant. He didn’t have permission to do with Spock’s body what he wished, and the thought of violating his friend’s trust in such a way brought with it an almost physical sense of disgust. He’d been keeping his hands to himself for what felt like ages already; he’d just have to keep exercising that same self-control.
Might as well catch up on some of the reports he’d let pile up while he’d been busy-procrastinating-with the Noctaens. Reasoning that such voluntary productivity called for a reward of some kind, he crossed to the replicator and punched in a familiar code. He had assembled three separate slices of chocolate cake, a peach cobbler and an uttaberry crepe before accepting that there was nothing wrong with the machine. It was him; his new tongue, it seemed, could not detect the taste of sugar.
He sat down with a cup of tea-coffee was too strong a taste to be palatable-and his work with a rueful sigh. Apparently there were down sides to being Vulcan, after all.
Part 3