Chocolate Fix
Title: Chocolate Fix
Series: STXI/Star Trek: AOS/Reboot series/Whatever Other Names This (Wonderfully) Crazy Fandom Goes By
Characters/Pairings: Established James T. Kirk/Spock, Nyota Uhura.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Star Trek mug that might (or might not) be stashed in my cabinet and the Netflix account that kills every intention I've ever had of actually being productive.
Rating: Teen and up; because I'm paranoid and some people don't share the love affair I have with a certain four letter word that starts with "f" and ends in "ck". Also, Implied Sexual Content.
Summary: Wherein Uhura refuses to comment, Spock insists everything is irrelevant, Pike makes a bet, Jim acts like he never graduated high school and Coincidence happens to be one gigantic, raging bitch.
Author's Note: Inspired by this comic. Failed editing is fail, experimental writing styles are questionable, and according to my brain working on Big Bang is overrated. Enjoy?
"Captain."
Jim paused, eyes flicking from the lit up screen of Uhura's computer to the woman herself, steely eyes and raised eyebrows (Damn Spock, he swore she never used to do that back in the academy. Or at least, not until she started ditching Gaila and him on movie nights. Again, damn Spock) duly noted. Kirk gave a lazy hum as a reply, but nothing more as he stuffed a chocolate covered truffle into his mouth.
Man, were Andorian Chocolates the shit or what?
"You happen to be getting crumbs," She gestured to her keyboard, now complete with dark brown speckles dusting the keys and jammed into the crevices between, "All over my station."
The testy up curl to her lip did not go unnoticed, nor did the sharp edge to her voice. Kirk knew that edge, it was the one she had perfected after too many years and months and hours of dealing with obnoxious ambassadors demanding that their (disgustingly obscure) local cuisine be added to the replicators. The unorthodox amount of haywire First Contacts might have had something to do with it too. God knows nothing teaches the effectiveness of passive-aggressive negotiations like a diplomatic mission gone bad.
Kind of like how nothing teaches the value of patience like working with James T. Kirk on a daily basis; cheeky grin and simple shrug clear proof of that. "Want one?" He asked after shifting the packaging so Uhura could peer inside.
No response.
Except for a rolling of the eyes. And a turning of her chair, away from Kirk, if that could even be considered a response. The keys of her keyboard clicked as she returned to her work and re-positioned her receiver with a pointed look, the utmost gesture of dismissal.
"Suit yourself," He lazily shrugged while turning on his heel, completely used to it. By the time he had fully turned away his mind was already elsewhere, with primary highlights on hacking into the replicators for Pizza and Whiskey and challenging Sulu to a good 'ol ass-whooping after shift. It had been a while since their last sparring match-
A rustle of plastic. The tug of a hand digging through the truffle bag. Jim snapped back with a grin, amusement showing clearly in blue supernovas as he just barely managed to catch the sight of what might or might not have been his Chief Communications Officer shoving a chocolate truffle into her mouth. In a completely fashionable, lady-like way of course.
Jim snorted, imitated his own version of what Bones oh-so-eloquently dubbed the Spockian eyebrow, and shifted his eyes back down to the bag. "Hey Uhura, question." He gave the truffles a little shake and pursed his lips a bit, brow scrunching just in the slightest.
The Lieutenant in question glanced over her shoulder; this ought to be good. Or bad, depending on the person. Really bad, if the look on his face said anything. It was the look he had when he was considering something; Chapel and Gaila called it The Look; Leonard called it God Damnit, Jim! and Uhura simply called it Reason #27 to Slap Captain Kirk. It was the same look he'd had before making that betting pool about Spock's sexuality (a story for another time) and convincing Scotty to blast Christmas Carols and Sing-a-longs over the ship-wide comm.
And as if to confirm her suspicions, Kirk's gaze kept flicking from the chocolates to Uhura, the chocolates then to Uhura again. An idea seemed to be forming.
"Think too hard and your brain might combust."
"Real funny Lieutenant," Blue eyes flashed up to hers, amusement still shining in their depths. "Don't quite your day job. But seriously, question."
"You can ask whatever you'd like. Doesn't mean I'll necessarily answer though."
A dramatic sigh. "A question without an answer doesn't do me much good."
Her eyes flitted back to her screen, fingers momentarily retreating to tap something onto the keyboard with frightening speed. "Your problem, not mine."
"That's no fair."
A pause.
"If I answer your question you will stop hovering and you will let me work in peace and you will stop smacking your food in my ear and getting crumbs on my keyboard." It wasn't a question and it wasn't something to be debated, it was a slightly frightening, no-questions-asked statement. So really just typical Uhura.
And after years of dealing with just typical Uhura, Kirk knew not to argue. There was an old saying about horses and gifts and looking them in the mouth anyways, and even though Jim couldn't really remember the exact wording he felt it fit.
"Good." Her smile was nothing if not sweet. Almost creepily so. "Ask away."
"Vulcans," Blue eyes briefly slid to Spock and for a frightening moment Uhura had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going, "Is the whole chocolate-is-to-them-as-alcohol-is-to-us thing true?"
"Jim..." Not a warning, a threat. "No."
"Captain," He almost immediately corrected with a grin that was about five seconds away from earning him a trip to sickbay. "You didn't even answer my question."
"Captain..." She said with a voice that half mocked and half threatened, "No."
"You don't even know what I'm thinking."
"I know exactly what you're thinking and no."
"So..." He drawled as he held up a truffle between his thumb and index fingers to examine it. He was smiling as he did it, of course. And Uhura had the urge to slap that smile off his face, of course. For Spock's sake, naturally. "I'll take that as a resounding yes?"
xXx
Spock was...confused. Yes, that seemed to be the appropriate term; confused. "Captain?"
Jim grinned. "Hey Spock."
Spock quirked an eyebrow, eyes flitting over the gold clad Captain for a moment, "Is there anything in particular I may assist you with?"
He should have noticed it beforehand-the crinkling of plastic packaging, the grin that was just a tad too wide, the arm that was awkwardly hidden behind his back. His captain had never been a particularly subtle creature, case in point being when he smirked (a statistical red flag. Seventy-nine-point-seven-six percentage of Jim's smirks represented the prelude to negative consequences) and his hand came to rest on his First's shoulder.
"Actually, yeah, there is." That statement alone should have made Spock take a step back, all wide-eyed and way too eager. A hypothesis which only served to be true when not two seconds later Spock was being yanked forward by the very hand on his shoulder. Suddenly seventy-nine-point-seven-six percent was a null statistic and eighty-four-point-three-eight percent seemed to be far more accurate. The manner in which Kirk was staring at Spock was not insignificant to this new conclusion; the heat in his eyes, the tongue rolling over his lips, the iron grip of his hand, th-
In hindsight Spock would deny it ever happening; he would cite statistics and physiological nuances, he would pointedly tell Nyota that "A Vulcan's strength outweighs a human's strength by a factor of three" and explain to Lieutenant Sulu that "Vulcans are never shocked". But that would all be in hindsight, when Jim wasn't yanking him forward by his blue tunic and wasn't kissing him senseless for everyone to see, situated right in the front of the open doorway of deck five. In the middle of the first science lab. About a thirty meters away from the main turbolifts. Two minutes and thirty-five seconds before the Alpha and Beta shift change.
And the second all of that finally set in, it was like a freight train traveling at warp had hit him; Vulcan inability to be shocked damned.
Jim was kissing him. And...and...the way he was stroking his jaw...well, it was a way he knew would illicit a reaction. And the way his lips were moving against Spock's-ah-was something that should be strictly reserved to private quarters and the occasional turbolift; the middle of the science labs not one to be added to that precarious list. The fact that Kirk had decided to back Spock into the nearest table possible, eager hips and strong arms caging him in, did nothing to change that opinion. The tongue that had taken to tracing his lips however, was far more convincing. Spock's tightly shut mouth seemed to only prove that, a sort of last defense in a battle that was quickly slipping out of his grasp, if you will Of course he could always pull away, could easily push Jim off of him and of course he knew he should...
But then he also knew that a lot could happen in two minutes and eleven seconds.
Jim's lips were moving against his own pleasantly, making his hands curl around the table he had been pushed into. Now was not the time to start reciprocating. Not even when the tongue tracing his lips moved to prodding and when Jim began keening and his expression flushed and wanting and-
It would be illogical to let this continue.
Surely there was a regulation against this particular...situation. Spock knew there had to be one...but...the way Jim was running his fingers down his-oh-palm made it hard to think. He couldn't be sure. The chaste Vulcan kisses they occasionally shared during quiet shifts and under conference tables were distracting enough to begin with, but this...this was hardly chaste. This entire situation was-Spock struggled for proper diction-unacceptable.
The word flitted across his mind very much akin to the way he imagined thoughts commonly bounced across Jim's; in short, haphazard bursts that pinged to and fro like a ping-pong ball. It stuck to him-unacceptable-and when Spock pulled away to open his green-tinged lips to protest, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. And it didn't, because protesting was the only logical thing to do.
Logical, but ultimately stupid.
It was a grievous error in hindsight, because the second Spock parted his lips was the same second Jim was taking advantage of them. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. It did-of course it did-but it shouldn't have. Not when Jim sloppily smashed their mouths together and not when he eagerly slipped his slick tongue past Spock's lips.
The entire thing was insistent and demanding and poking and prodding and-oh, that felt far too good to be allowed in public. Had Spock not known any better, he would have thought Jim was sexually deprived.
They truly should stop this.
Spock highly doubted convincing his Beta shift replacement that shoving his tongue down their captain's throat while said captain pressed him into the nearest hard surface was all for the sake of scientific inquiry would be easy. Or remotely plausible. Or even poss-
Something slipped past his lips. Something...round? And...
Spock's eyes immediately snapped open. He stared at his captain, unable to contain his shock as he was prodded to swallow the little ball of...chocolate?
Yes, most certainly chocolate. The taste was far too sweet, the texture was far too smooth, and Jim was far too...Jim for it to be anything else. Perhaps if he had been Doctor McCoy, he would have given an exclamation of god dammit as the means of an initial response. As a secondary response what would have followed would have been various phrases which prominently featured the word fuck-if Spock was Doctor McCoy. But Spock was not Doctor McCoy (the one and perhaps only instance in which giving thanks to an ambiguous, omnipotent being would have been logical. And warranted) and so his initial response was not vocal or violent or anything outwards; it was a simple flush of green and an even simpler blank stare. The same couldn't be said for his secondary reaction however, which was a sharp jab - to Jim's throat.
And a knee to the abdomen, for good measure of course.
Both of which actions better in theory than practicality, considering the wave of vertigo they sent spiraling through Spock's body. He braced himself against a table, barely able to suppress the groan that threatened to surface as his mind dangerously reeled. It was only one, small truffle, he distantly reasoned. Surely this was simply a placebo...
His vision spun, steel gray of the table he was leaning on swirling in a manner that threatened to make him nauseous; any thoughts of a placebo were immediately placated. Thoughts cluttered his mind like scattered stars, bursting in bright flashes of light that made his head felt unnaturally light. Facts were slipping away from him like grains of sand (why was he here? Where was here? Why'd he feel so hot? His mouth tasted funny...) and sweat was beginning to bead down his forehead in uncomfortable patterns. He tried to ignore the quickened pulse pounding in his ears and the far too distant beeps of whirring equipment, tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat and the unusually arid dryness of his mouth, but it was easier said than done. He would never admit it-the heaviness of his breath and the furrowing of his brow and the uncharacteristic way he ran his hands through his hair in frustration-but the putrid signs of emotional promiscuity were beginning to show; Spock was merely thankful that Kirk was too busy doubled over and groaning in pain to make a comment on the matter.
The same could not be said however, for the uniform that was beginning to uncomfortably stick to him or the heat blooming on his cheeks. And ears. And-
Er...Well, some things were better left unsaid. The fact that his regulation slacks were beginning to feel slightly tight was completely unrelated.
A groan resounded from behind. The clanking of Kirk trying to stand and the smack of him ultimately failing; Spock's fingers twitched. A muffled string of curses. A spike of heat thundered through the Vulcan, settling at the base of his spine. Another groan, another muffled curse-an image of hot lips pressed against his and light fingers teasing his palm and-
Fuck it.
xXx
At 0800 the following day, Starfleet received a formal request to add Brain Bleach to the queue of necessary medical supplies kept aboard the USS Enterprise. The request was originally filed by Doctor Leonard McCoy and was seconded by Nurse Christine Chapel. Now, whether this request was related to Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu both swearing they saw Commander Spock dragging the Captain into a turbolift by the foot ("...telling you Chekov, these labs have the best botany samples that-er, Commander? Is that-is the Captain alright...? ...Um...Commander? Are you-whoosh-did he just shut that door in my face or was that just me?") was debatable. The fact that Lieutenant-Commander Thomelen, Commander Spock's Beta shift replacement, ran into a bulkhead, also swearing he saw the same exact thing, was debatable as well. And, according to Commander Spock, irrelevant. The fact that Captain Kirk blatantly refused to comment but did take the liberty of giving a rather disconcerting smirk was also entirely irrelevant. When asked, Lieutenant Uhura merely rolled her eyes; any and all claims that she was glaring at the Captain's chair as she did so were highly unrelated.
In other news, the rumors that Admiral Pike had suddenly won a large sum of credits from a mysterious betting pool was not to be discussed. The rumors that said mysterious betting pool had involved the words 'Commander Spock', 'Chocolate', and 'How Long Will it Take Jim' was also not to be discussed.
It was all, as Commander Spock insisted, merely a coincidence. Because coincidence tended to be a bitch like that.
Series: STXI/Star Trek: AOS/Reboot series/Whatever Other Names This (Wonderfully) Crazy Fandom Goes By
Characters/Pairings: Established James T. Kirk/Spock, Nyota Uhura.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Star Trek mug that might (or might not) be stashed in my cabinet and the Netflix account that kills every intention I've ever had of actually being productive.
Rating: Teen and up; because I'm paranoid and some people don't share the love affair I have with a certain four letter word that starts with "f" and ends in "ck". Also, Implied Sexual Content.
Summary: Wherein Uhura refuses to comment, Spock insists everything is irrelevant, Pike makes a bet, Jim acts like he never graduated high school and Coincidence happens to be one gigantic, raging bitch.
Author's Note: Inspired by this comic. Failed editing is fail, experimental writing styles are questionable, and according to my brain working on Big Bang is overrated. Enjoy?
"Captain."
Jim paused, eyes flicking from the lit up screen of Uhura's computer to the woman herself, steely eyes and raised eyebrows (Damn Spock, he swore she never used to do that back in the academy. Or at least, not until she started ditching Gaila and him on movie nights. Again, damn Spock) duly noted. Kirk gave a lazy hum as a reply, but nothing more as he stuffed a chocolate covered truffle into his mouth.
Man, were Andorian Chocolates the shit or what?
"You happen to be getting crumbs," She gestured to her keyboard, now complete with dark brown speckles dusting the keys and jammed into the crevices between, "All over my station."
The testy up curl to her lip did not go unnoticed, nor did the sharp edge to her voice. Kirk knew that edge, it was the one she had perfected after too many years and months and hours of dealing with obnoxious ambassadors demanding that their (disgustingly obscure) local cuisine be added to the replicators. The unorthodox amount of haywire First Contacts might have had something to do with it too. God knows nothing teaches the effectiveness of passive-aggressive negotiations like a diplomatic mission gone bad.
Kind of like how nothing teaches the value of patience like working with James T. Kirk on a daily basis; cheeky grin and simple shrug clear proof of that. "Want one?" He asked after shifting the packaging so Uhura could peer inside.
No response.
Except for a rolling of the eyes. And a turning of her chair, away from Kirk, if that could even be considered a response. The keys of her keyboard clicked as she returned to her work and re-positioned her receiver with a pointed look, the utmost gesture of dismissal.
"Suit yourself," He lazily shrugged while turning on his heel, completely used to it. By the time he had fully turned away his mind was already elsewhere, with primary highlights on hacking into the replicators for Pizza and Whiskey and challenging Sulu to a good 'ol ass-whooping after shift. It had been a while since their last sparring match-
A rustle of plastic. The tug of a hand digging through the truffle bag. Jim snapped back with a grin, amusement showing clearly in blue supernovas as he just barely managed to catch the sight of what might or might not have been his Chief Communications Officer shoving a chocolate truffle into her mouth. In a completely fashionable, lady-like way of course.
Jim snorted, imitated his own version of what Bones oh-so-eloquently dubbed the Spockian eyebrow, and shifted his eyes back down to the bag. "Hey Uhura, question." He gave the truffles a little shake and pursed his lips a bit, brow scrunching just in the slightest.
The Lieutenant in question glanced over her shoulder; this ought to be good. Or bad, depending on the person. Really bad, if the look on his face said anything. It was the look he had when he was considering something; Chapel and Gaila called it The Look; Leonard called it God Damnit, Jim! and Uhura simply called it Reason #27 to Slap Captain Kirk. It was the same look he'd had before making that betting pool about Spock's sexuality (a story for another time) and convincing Scotty to blast Christmas Carols and Sing-a-longs over the ship-wide comm.
And as if to confirm her suspicions, Kirk's gaze kept flicking from the chocolates to Uhura, the chocolates then to Uhura again. An idea seemed to be forming.
"Think too hard and your brain might combust."
"Real funny Lieutenant," Blue eyes flashed up to hers, amusement still shining in their depths. "Don't quite your day job. But seriously, question."
"You can ask whatever you'd like. Doesn't mean I'll necessarily answer though."
A dramatic sigh. "A question without an answer doesn't do me much good."
Her eyes flitted back to her screen, fingers momentarily retreating to tap something onto the keyboard with frightening speed. "Your problem, not mine."
"That's no fair."
A pause.
"If I answer your question you will stop hovering and you will let me work in peace and you will stop smacking your food in my ear and getting crumbs on my keyboard." It wasn't a question and it wasn't something to be debated, it was a slightly frightening, no-questions-asked statement. So really just typical Uhura.
And after years of dealing with just typical Uhura, Kirk knew not to argue. There was an old saying about horses and gifts and looking them in the mouth anyways, and even though Jim couldn't really remember the exact wording he felt it fit.
"Good." Her smile was nothing if not sweet. Almost creepily so. "Ask away."
"Vulcans," Blue eyes briefly slid to Spock and for a frightening moment Uhura had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going, "Is the whole chocolate-is-to-them-as-alcohol-is-to-us thing true?"
"Jim..." Not a warning, a threat. "No."
"Captain," He almost immediately corrected with a grin that was about five seconds away from earning him a trip to sickbay. "You didn't even answer my question."
"Captain..." She said with a voice that half mocked and half threatened, "No."
"You don't even know what I'm thinking."
"I know exactly what you're thinking and no."
"So..." He drawled as he held up a truffle between his thumb and index fingers to examine it. He was smiling as he did it, of course. And Uhura had the urge to slap that smile off his face, of course. For Spock's sake, naturally. "I'll take that as a resounding yes?"
xXx
Spock was...confused. Yes, that seemed to be the appropriate term; confused. "Captain?"
Jim grinned. "Hey Spock."
Spock quirked an eyebrow, eyes flitting over the gold clad Captain for a moment, "Is there anything in particular I may assist you with?"
He should have noticed it beforehand-the crinkling of plastic packaging, the grin that was just a tad too wide, the arm that was awkwardly hidden behind his back. His captain had never been a particularly subtle creature, case in point being when he smirked (a statistical red flag. Seventy-nine-point-seven-six percentage of Jim's smirks represented the prelude to negative consequences) and his hand came to rest on his First's shoulder.
"Actually, yeah, there is." That statement alone should have made Spock take a step back, all wide-eyed and way too eager. A hypothesis which only served to be true when not two seconds later Spock was being yanked forward by the very hand on his shoulder. Suddenly seventy-nine-point-seven-six percent was a null statistic and eighty-four-point-three-eight percent seemed to be far more accurate. The manner in which Kirk was staring at Spock was not insignificant to this new conclusion; the heat in his eyes, the tongue rolling over his lips, the iron grip of his hand, th-
In hindsight Spock would deny it ever happening; he would cite statistics and physiological nuances, he would pointedly tell Nyota that "A Vulcan's strength outweighs a human's strength by a factor of three" and explain to Lieutenant Sulu that "Vulcans are never shocked". But that would all be in hindsight, when Jim wasn't yanking him forward by his blue tunic and wasn't kissing him senseless for everyone to see, situated right in the front of the open doorway of deck five. In the middle of the first science lab. About a thirty meters away from the main turbolifts. Two minutes and thirty-five seconds before the Alpha and Beta shift change.
And the second all of that finally set in, it was like a freight train traveling at warp had hit him; Vulcan inability to be shocked damned.
Jim was kissing him. And...and...the way he was stroking his jaw...well, it was a way he knew would illicit a reaction. And the way his lips were moving against Spock's-ah-was something that should be strictly reserved to private quarters and the occasional turbolift; the middle of the science labs not one to be added to that precarious list. The fact that Kirk had decided to back Spock into the nearest table possible, eager hips and strong arms caging him in, did nothing to change that opinion. The tongue that had taken to tracing his lips however, was far more convincing. Spock's tightly shut mouth seemed to only prove that, a sort of last defense in a battle that was quickly slipping out of his grasp, if you will Of course he could always pull away, could easily push Jim off of him and of course he knew he should...
But then he also knew that a lot could happen in two minutes and eleven seconds.
Jim's lips were moving against his own pleasantly, making his hands curl around the table he had been pushed into. Now was not the time to start reciprocating. Not even when the tongue tracing his lips moved to prodding and when Jim began keening and his expression flushed and wanting and-
It would be illogical to let this continue.
Surely there was a regulation against this particular...situation. Spock knew there had to be one...but...the way Jim was running his fingers down his-oh-palm made it hard to think. He couldn't be sure. The chaste Vulcan kisses they occasionally shared during quiet shifts and under conference tables were distracting enough to begin with, but this...this was hardly chaste. This entire situation was-Spock struggled for proper diction-unacceptable.
The word flitted across his mind very much akin to the way he imagined thoughts commonly bounced across Jim's; in short, haphazard bursts that pinged to and fro like a ping-pong ball. It stuck to him-unacceptable-and when Spock pulled away to open his green-tinged lips to protest, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. And it didn't, because protesting was the only logical thing to do.
Logical, but ultimately stupid.
It was a grievous error in hindsight, because the second Spock parted his lips was the same second Jim was taking advantage of them. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. It did-of course it did-but it shouldn't have. Not when Jim sloppily smashed their mouths together and not when he eagerly slipped his slick tongue past Spock's lips.
The entire thing was insistent and demanding and poking and prodding and-oh, that felt far too good to be allowed in public. Had Spock not known any better, he would have thought Jim was sexually deprived.
They truly should stop this.
Spock highly doubted convincing his Beta shift replacement that shoving his tongue down their captain's throat while said captain pressed him into the nearest hard surface was all for the sake of scientific inquiry would be easy. Or remotely plausible. Or even poss-
Something slipped past his lips. Something...round? And...
Spock's eyes immediately snapped open. He stared at his captain, unable to contain his shock as he was prodded to swallow the little ball of...chocolate?
Yes, most certainly chocolate. The taste was far too sweet, the texture was far too smooth, and Jim was far too...Jim for it to be anything else. Perhaps if he had been Doctor McCoy, he would have given an exclamation of god dammit as the means of an initial response. As a secondary response what would have followed would have been various phrases which prominently featured the word fuck-if Spock was Doctor McCoy. But Spock was not Doctor McCoy (the one and perhaps only instance in which giving thanks to an ambiguous, omnipotent being would have been logical. And warranted) and so his initial response was not vocal or violent or anything outwards; it was a simple flush of green and an even simpler blank stare. The same couldn't be said for his secondary reaction however, which was a sharp jab - to Jim's throat.
And a knee to the abdomen, for good measure of course.
Both of which actions better in theory than practicality, considering the wave of vertigo they sent spiraling through Spock's body. He braced himself against a table, barely able to suppress the groan that threatened to surface as his mind dangerously reeled. It was only one, small truffle, he distantly reasoned. Surely this was simply a placebo...
His vision spun, steel gray of the table he was leaning on swirling in a manner that threatened to make him nauseous; any thoughts of a placebo were immediately placated. Thoughts cluttered his mind like scattered stars, bursting in bright flashes of light that made his head felt unnaturally light. Facts were slipping away from him like grains of sand (why was he here? Where was here? Why'd he feel so hot? His mouth tasted funny...) and sweat was beginning to bead down his forehead in uncomfortable patterns. He tried to ignore the quickened pulse pounding in his ears and the far too distant beeps of whirring equipment, tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat and the unusually arid dryness of his mouth, but it was easier said than done. He would never admit it-the heaviness of his breath and the furrowing of his brow and the uncharacteristic way he ran his hands through his hair in frustration-but the putrid signs of emotional promiscuity were beginning to show; Spock was merely thankful that Kirk was too busy doubled over and groaning in pain to make a comment on the matter.
The same could not be said however, for the uniform that was beginning to uncomfortably stick to him or the heat blooming on his cheeks. And ears. And-
Er...Well, some things were better left unsaid. The fact that his regulation slacks were beginning to feel slightly tight was completely unrelated.
A groan resounded from behind. The clanking of Kirk trying to stand and the smack of him ultimately failing; Spock's fingers twitched. A muffled string of curses. A spike of heat thundered through the Vulcan, settling at the base of his spine. Another groan, another muffled curse-an image of hot lips pressed against his and light fingers teasing his palm and-
Fuck it.
xXx
At 0800 the following day, Starfleet received a formal request to add Brain Bleach to the queue of necessary medical supplies kept aboard the USS Enterprise. The request was originally filed by Doctor Leonard McCoy and was seconded by Nurse Christine Chapel. Now, whether this request was related to Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu both swearing they saw Commander Spock dragging the Captain into a turbolift by the foot ("...telling you Chekov, these labs have the best botany samples that-er, Commander? Is that-is the Captain alright...? ...Um...Commander? Are you-whoosh-did he just shut that door in my face or was that just me?") was debatable. The fact that Lieutenant-Commander Thomelen, Commander Spock's Beta shift replacement, ran into a bulkhead, also swearing he saw the same exact thing, was debatable as well. And, according to Commander Spock, irrelevant. The fact that Captain Kirk blatantly refused to comment but did take the liberty of giving a rather disconcerting smirk was also entirely irrelevant. When asked, Lieutenant Uhura merely rolled her eyes; any and all claims that she was glaring at the Captain's chair as she did so were highly unrelated.
In other news, the rumors that Admiral Pike had suddenly won a large sum of credits from a mysterious betting pool was not to be discussed. The rumors that said mysterious betting pool had involved the words 'Commander Spock', 'Chocolate', and 'How Long Will it Take Jim' was also not to be discussed.
It was all, as Commander Spock insisted, merely a coincidence. Because coincidence tended to be a bitch like that.