What Part of Forever: Chapter One
Find the first part of this chapter here.
Spock once heard a Human describe the passage of time as a function with inverse variation; that is, time progressed at a speed inversely proportional to the degree of desire one had for a particular point in time to arrive. The idea was preposterous, of course. But right now, sitting in the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire, staring at the sluggish flow of pedestrian traffic in and out of the high, elegant glass front doors, Spock could not help but wonder vaguely if he had slipped into some kind of miniature localized space-time anomaly. He could think of no other reason why each standard minute seemed to take three times longer than normal to elapse, or how it could possibly take so long to get to 9:30 pm PST.
He could not shake the faint sense of unease he'd had since his conversation with Harcourt Mudd. The hotel manager had seemed unsure of how to aid Spock initially-indeed, Spock had not been entirely sure that Mudd had understood what Spock was asking of him. To be fair, Spock's request for a "knowledgeable human guide" was uncomfortably vague, but the whole reason Spock wanted a guide in the first place was due to his ignorance of how to proceed from his starting point. Once Spock had indicated that his request was neither for a tour guide for Los Angeles, nor for any other part of California, Mudd had seemed at a loss, but once Spock mentioned he wanted a "discreet individual knowledgeable in Human affairs," Mudd's face had lit up with comprehension, and he'd immediately assured Spock that he knew the "perfect man."
For some reason, Spock had his doubts.
Yet here he was, waiting with increasing impatience for this unknown Human guide, who was already seven point four minutes late for their agreed meeting time. Spock stared across the room at the far wall, wondering how long it was acceptable to wait before he should conclude that his guide would not show and retire to his quarters. He had heard it was common for Humans to allow a fifteen-minute grace period for casual appointments, but the tardiness had already lowered Spock's estimation of this unknown person.
The door swung open again, and Spock looked over at the person who had just entered. A lone Human male stood there, stopping just inside the entrance and glancing around as if looking for someone. He was dressed casually, in tight-fitting denim pants and a white short-sleeve shirt with an open v-neck, half-hidden by the black leather jacket he wore, of a style Spock had noticed was fairly popular in this city, if not planet-wide. Spock rose, and the man's eyes turned towards him, an arrogant smile lighting his features. Spock calculated the chances that this was the man he was supposed to meet was 98.7%, a conclusion confirmed moments later when the man came towards him, smiling widely. "I take it you're the Vulcan Harry told me about," the man said cheerfully. Spock inclined his head, studying the stranger, noting in passing the unusually light blue of his eyes.
"Affirmative. I surmise that you are Jim Kirk." The man smiled wider. Spock noticed that he made no attempt to shake Spock's hand, as several other Humans had mistakenly attempted to since Spock's arrival on Earth. Spock did not know whether to ascribe the absence of the gesture to a lack of manners, or an unusual knowledge about Vulcan physiology. If Harcourt Mudd (whom Jim had just referred to by the more familiar "Harry," Spock noted-perhaps they were friends) thought this man was a good choice for a guide, the latter was more likely. Spock found he did not know what to think.
"That's me. Do I get to know your name, too, or is that part of your mystique tonight?"
Spock stared, cocking his head as he tried to determine what this question was supposed to mean. He was not overly familiar with Human social interactions, but nothing he could think of made sense with that query. "My name is Spock," he said carefully. "...I must apologize; I am not familiar with common Human social interactions. However, I believe that the rest of this conversation is best suited to a more private location."
The smile twisted into a smirk, as though Kirk found something amusing. "Sure thing," he said blandly, gesturing expansively with one hand. "Lead the way, Mr. Spock."
For a fraction of a second, Spock hesitated. Despite Mudd's recommendations, Jim Kirk did not seem to fit any of Spock's expectations of a guide who would be able to help him. But then, he reminded himself, Spock had no way of knowing that any of his expectations of Human behavior were remotely accurate. Spock turned and lead the way towards the vestibule that housed the elevators, keenly aware of Kirk walking beside him, and of the fact that if any other Vulcans were to see Spock in the company of a Human, Spock would have a number of unpleasant conversations later.
An elderly Human couple was already waiting at the elevators when they arrived. Kirk opened his mouth to say something, but broke off at the way the woman frowned, casting a glance at Kirk in which Spock could read clear disapproval, before averting her eyes and staring straight ahead at the door to the elevator shaft. Spock wondered what he just missed; so much of Human interaction was based upon body language, instead of stating clearly what one party was thinking. Kirk was dressed casually, but Spock could discern no other reason for the woman's reaction.
Kirk stretched, flexing his arms over his head, back arching like a predator waking from a nap. His white t-shirt stretched taut over the muscles beneath, and Spock stared in mute fascination at the twin points of hardened nipples beneath the thin cotton. "Damn, talk about a long night," Kirk announced, leaning against the door next to the elevator and smirking at the couple, who had frozen in spot. Spock's gaze was drawn down to the flex and drag of the tight jeans Kirk wore, which he now saw hung dangerously low on Kirk's hips, accentuating rather than hiding the iliac crest of his right side. Spock was suddenly and forcefully reminded of home: Kirk had the look of a wild sehlat that had just cornered its unsuspecting prey.
Spock found himself immobilized, his hands folded underneath his robes. Surely he should say something, stop this display somehow, and yet his mind was utterly blank. "I sure could use a nice... hot... bath." Kirk let out a sigh at this statement, letting his hand trail across his abdomen, fingertips playing lightly over his stomach.
Before Kirk's fingers could pass the point of public indecency, a bell chimed, heralding the arrival of one of the elevators. The doors slid open to reveal a suited attendant who hadn't quite bothered to mask his boredom, and for several seconds did not seem to even notice the display just feet from him. Kirk straightened as the elevator opened, turning and throwing his arms wide with a shit-eating grin that Spock did not believe for a moment. "Well ho-lee fuck, a couch built for two! Ain't these fancy hotels great?" So saying, he swept into the elevator, bypassing the attendant, whose posture abruptly and mysteriously improved. Spock could think of exactly nothing to do except nod at the scandalized couple and follow Kirk into the elevator. The elderly couple did not follow.
The attendant managed to keep a perfectly straight face, not even looking over his shoulder as he entered their intended destination. Spock turned his gaze on Kirk, who was now slouched on the couch, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Spock was quickly learning that as expressive as Humans were, their outward appearances often did not necessarily match their inward state of being.
"That was unnecessary and highly inappropriate," Spock observed.
"Pretty sure that's not my problem," Kirk said easily.
Spock found he had nothing to say to that. So instead he stared straight ahead, arms folded inside his robes, and wondered what he'd gotten himself into.
* * * * *
By the time the hotel elevator had reached the top floor (penthouse, Jim noticed)-barely five minutes from walking in the front door-Jim had already come to three conclusions.
One, he'd made the right choice in clothing tonight. Any more provocative and he would likely have gotten thrown out of the hotel, or at least attracted more attention than he really wanted to deal with, but he hadn't missed the way Spock's eyes had moved over his body outside the elevator, either. Two, the Vulcan clearly had no idea what to expect from Jim, so Harry obviously hadn't given Spock much information to go on. And three, once they got behind closed doors, Jim was either going to be thrown out on his ass, or he would be in for a genuine reaming tonight, judging from how fucking repressed this guy was. The uptight ones were always the most intense once you finally got them to unwind, with only a very few exceptions (none of which had been Human or terribly humanoid). Jim just hoped he had the chance to get under Spock's skin.
The elevator coasted to a stop, the doors sliding open, and Jim bounced out into the hallway ahead of Spock, giving his host a chance to get a good look at Jim's ass in those jeans. (Jim was justifiably proud of his ass; McCoy called him "bubble butt," but it was only jealousy talking. His ass could stop wars, or at least traffic.) "Which room?" Jim asked innocently, taking his time turning around. No point in being subtle about it.
Spock greeted him with one of those impressively stern eyebrows raised towards the severe line of his bangs, but said merely, "My quarters are the last door on the right, down the hallway to the left." Jim couldn't be sure, because Spock's poker face would be the envy of any card table in Vegas, but he thought Spock seemed apprehensive. Well, it was his own fault for wanting Jim to meet him in the lobby instead of just coming straight to Spock's room.
Jim waited as Spock unlocked the door and held it open for Jim, ushering Jim in first and then following in after. Jim walked slowly into the center of the room, staring around at the tastefully appointed suite, done in dark shades of orange and brown and gold. Spock went immediately to the desk, powering on his computer, much to Jim's indignation. Who the fuck checked their messages before anything else when they had a hotass rent boy in the room? Must be a Vulcan thing. Jim left Spock to his own devices for a moment, unable to resist wandering outside to admire the sweep of the Los Angeles skyline.
Which turned out to be even more spectacular than he'd thought. For a moment, Jim could only stare, caught and held by the expanse racing away before his eyes. Los Angeles was laid out before him, glittering and mysterious, as frustrating as it was alluring in its whispered promises of potential. The city lights obscured any chance of seeing the stars, but the night was clear enough for the immensity of the LA basin to make itself known, and for a moment Jim let himself be swallowed up in the illusion that all of space was pressing down upon them, a vast, glorious emptiness where anything was possible-tantalizing in its closeness and ultimate unavailability.
He was still leaning against the rail and staring out at the night when he felt a presence at his arm: Spock. "This view is amazing," Jim murmured, not taking his eyes from the vista before him.
"Indeed." Spock's voice was quiet. Jim could tell without having to look that his host was still standing perfectly stick-straight, as though he had a metal rod in place of a spine. "Though I must confess that this is the first time I have come out onto the balcony."
It was Jim's turn to raise an eyebrow, turning to Spock in mild surprise. "Yeah? Why'd you bother with the penthouse, then?"
Spock cocked his head at Jim. "It is the most secluded and private of the suites available in this hotel, which was conducive to pursuing my research in peace."
"Ah. Well, okay, makes sense." Research, huh? Vulcan was renowned for its scientific contributions to the Federation and for her people's dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, so the discovery wasn't much of a surprise. Jim smiled at Spock, who was still regarding him with those dark, serious eyes. He was very attractive, in an uptight librarian sort of way. It was rare for Jim to accept a client without either having met the client or having a damn good recommendation-it wasn't like he couldn't afford to be picky-but he was glad he'd gone with his gut here and accepted. He'd never fucked a Vulcan before, after all. And though probably no one would believe him, Jim liked getting the chance to be up close and personal with species he didn't know anything about, completely aside from the gratuitous satisfaction of sex.
Jim turned and headed back inside, shrugging out of his leather jacket in one smooth motion and casting it aside. It didn't take a mind-reader to guess that Spock was the anal-retentively neat type, so he made a point to throw his jacket over the back of the couch. He raised his hands over his head, arching back and shoulders deliberately, and groaned low in his throat at the dull burn of stretching muscle tissue, newly-bared skin prickling in the breeze coming through the balcony door. "So! Here we are. You're a mysterious Vulcan dignitary, a visitor to our fair city. Harry Mudd tells me you were looking for a professional." Jim turned to find Spock staring at him, stopped a few feet inside the door to the balcony, as if arrested by some invisible force. Jim restrained a smile. Getting kicked out was looking less and less likely.
"Well, it's your lucky day. Because Harry got ahold of me, and baby, I'm the best." Jim pitched his voice low and husky, slowly crossing the distance to Spock, who stood still as stone. Spock said nothing, but Jim saw Spock's hands were now clasped behind his back, as though he didn't trust them if he left them to their own devices. Jim came to a halt just a few feet away. "The question is, now that you have me here, Spock... what are you going to do with me?"
Jim let the question hang in the air. Spock's dark eyes were fathomless, his face void of expression, but Jim could have reached out and torn a strip out of the tension hanging between them, its weight a palpable thing. And was he imagining things, or was there a tinge of green along the pale perfection of Spock's cheekbone? Jesus christ.
Out of nowhere, the suite's doorbell chimed, breaking the silence. Jim jumped a little, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the door. "Who's that?" Had someone called hotel security? Jesus Christ, Spock hadn't so much as touched him yet.
Jim turned back in time to see something in Spock's eyes flicker, and he seemed to regain control of himself somewhat. "I took the liberty of ordering room service, while you were out on the balcony," he said, each word careful and measured. Spock moved to answer the door, leaving Jim standing in the middle of the room, feeling like a bit of a fool. Room service? Really?
Apparently, yes. Spock opened the door, directing the attendant to set up the old-fashioned wheeled table in the center of the room before politely thanking the man and sending him on his way. Jim came over, his irritation at being derailed in the middle of his seduction offset by his curiosity to see what Spock had ordered. Which turned out to be a number of things.
"Chocolate and red wine?" Jim stared. Spock had also ordered several kinds of cheese, fresh strawberries, sparkling water, and what looked suspiciously like baklava. Jim looked from the array of finger-food to his host, thrown suddenly off-kilter.
Spock clasped his hands together, and now there was no mistaking the green flush tinging his cheekbones. Belatedly, Jim remembered that Vulcan blood was copper-based, instead of iron. "It was my understanding that Humans show hospitality towards their guests by offering pleasing food and drink." He stopped, staring uncertainly at Jim, who couldn't help but smile.
"Guest. That's one word for it. I-wow, look, Spock, that's... actually really sweet of you. Thank you." Jim hesitated, torn. Despite his initial behavior, he found now that he really didn't want to embarrass Spock, and so after a moment he picked up a glass to pour himself some wine, watching the tension in Spock's bearing ease slightly as he helped himself to the food. Jim took some of everything, arranging it all on a little plate and carrying it over to the mahogany end-table next to the couches. Spock followed him, settling at the other end of the couch. Except- "Wait, aren't you having any?"
Spock shook his head. "Negative. Vulcans do not require sustenance as often as Humans do, and I had a full meal at lunch time. I will not require more food until tomorrow morning, barring unforeseen exertion this evening."
Unforeseen exertion? "Wait, okay, so, wow." Jim opened his mouth and then shut it, setting down the chocolate and the glass of red wine (which was actually really good) back down on the table, staring at Spock with fresh incredulity. Spock regarded him with renewed anxiety, or at least one eyebrow that was raised a fraction of an inch above the other. "Spock... As considerate as it is of you to go for this whole romantic seduction thing-which, I didn't know Vulcans even did that, so color me surprised, but anyway, I have to tell you: you really didn't have to bother. Because I'm a sure thing."
Spock was still staring at him. "I do not understand," he said, both eyebrows drawing down now, and idiotically it made Jim want to push him down onto the couch and start kissing that confusion right out of existence. His attraction to this alien was nothing short of ridiculous. "Surprise is not a color, nor would I wish to change your current coloration, even if such a thing were possible. But I apologize if my attempt at a hospitality ritual did not meet with your approval."
"Spock-you-oh, my god." This was impossible. Jim scooted closer to Spock, grabbing for his hand. The reaction was immediate: Spock jerked back as if burned, shoving both of his hands into his lap, staring at Jim with an expression that was either panic or a really bad cramp. Jim paused, cocking his head at Spock for a moment before leaning forward, smirking at the way Spock's eyes widened minutely as he advanced into Spock's personal space. He knew Vulcans were touch-telepaths, and therefore did not enjoy casual physical touching in the same way Humans did. And that would explain Spock's aversion to having his hands touched... if it weren't for the teeny fact that, in theory, Jim had been invited here to do a whole hell of a lot of naked touching.
Talk about mixed messages, Jim thought, reluctant pleasure contaminating the purity of his irritation. Well, maybe he just needed some more encouragement.
"You're a tough nut to crack," Jim told him, and before Spock could respond he found himself with a lapful of Human male, as Jim straddled Spock's legs and looked down at him through his lashes. Spock was still staring at him as though something had broken in his brain, his impassive facade crumbling at the edges: eyes too wide, mouth slightly open, pupils dilating, color creeping up his neck. Vulcans might not be Human, but they were close enough for government work, at least in this situation. "No wonder Harry said you wanted a professional," Jim murmured, raising his hand to grip Spock's shoulder.
It was the wrong thing to say. Spock stood up, dislodging Jim abruptly from his lap, dumping him in an unceremonious heap onto the couch. "I should have known better than to enlist the aid of a Human," he said icily, but if anything the smear of green along the Vulcan's cheeks was worse than before, burning up his cheekbones like a rash. "Mr. Kirk, I must insist that you leave immediately. Your behavior is most inappropriate."
"Whoa, whoa, back the fuck up," Jim snapped, embarrassment turning quickly to anger. "Inappropriate? Are you insane, or is this a Vulcan form of foreplay that I'm just unfamiliar with?"
Spock glared at him. "At no point did I state that I was seeking sexual congress with a complete stranger, Mr. Kirk. I do not know what would have given you such an impression."
Jim sat up, returning that glare with interest. He'd never had an evening sour so quickly. And he'd never had anyone turn him down like that-not a fucking client, anyway. It stung, a little. "Harry said, and I quote, that you wanted a 'discreet, professional Human' who was 'very knowledgeable.' Which I am." He stood up himself, knowing better by now than to try to touch Spock again, but someone had fucked up tonight and it sure as hell wasn't him.
"I specifically requested a guide," Spock said, smoothing his robes into place. "A Human guide."
"...Oh," said Jim. He hesitated. "...Not a sex worker."
"Negative," said Spock. He folded his hands behind his back, staring at Jim from behind a renewed wall of impassivity that made polar icecaps look warm and inviting by comparison.
"Oh," said Jim again, and found he could not think of anything else to say. That was... just great. Welcome to Earth, Jim thought sourly. Sexual assault: it's just one of the many services we offer here. Harry Mudd was going to die. Painfully.
Jim just kept looking at Spock, at an utter loss for anything to say. Spock was looking back at him, his expression a study in complication. "It appears that we were both operating under false assumptions, Mr. Kirk," Spock said finally, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought Spock sounded less like he was on the edge of throttling the life out of one Jim Kirk. "I apologize if you were given the wrong impression at any point."
"Yeah. Uh, me too." Jim sank onto the couch, rubbing distractedly at his face, already privately planning to punch Harry Mudd hard for this. "So, um. Why don't you tell me what you were actually looking for? Maybe I can help, or know someone who can."
"That is unnecessary, I assure you."
"No shit. But seriously, it's the least I can do. Since I more or less assaulted you just now."
Spock inclined his head slightly. "While your concern is appreciated, I can assure you that there was no risk of forcing me to do anything against my will, Mr. Kirk. Vulcans are significantly stronger than humans, especially while in Earth's lowered gravity."
That... was kinda hot. It shouldn't have been, considering the circumstances, but Jim had always been good at finding a way to persevere well beyond the point to which any rational Human would have taken things. Jim leaned back against the couch, giving all of his attention to Spock now, some of his embarrassment finally starting to recede. Thank God. "Okay, so if Vulcans are so strong, mind telling me why you didn't chuck me out on my ass sooner than this? Instead of letting me make a giant fool of myself like I did."
"Mr. Kirk-"
"Dude, I just offered to suck your dick. Formality is pretty unnecessary. Just Jim will do."
Spock paused to digest this. "Jim," he said, with obvious effort. "This discussion is entirely superfluous. When I requested the aid of a Human guide, I was acting on an impulse that was both ill-advised and illogical. Clearly-"
"Look, I can't decide which is more insulting, the way you just implied that I'm not even remotely a threat to you, or the way you just dissed pretty much the entire Human race." Jim watched in some satisfaction as Spock froze, fumbling to find a response. Jim continued before Spock could say anything. "If you think it was so stupid to ask a Human for help, why are you on Earth? And why did you ask for help in the first place?"
Spock gave Jim a look that said, quite clearly, that if Jim interrupted him again, Jim might yet discover exactly how strong Vulcans were compared to Humans. Wisely, Jim kept his mouth shut. After another moment, Spock responded. "I am on Earth to accompany my father while he fulfills his diplomatic duties as Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. As for why I am seeking aid-" Spock hesitated, his face flat and expressionless, his tightly-folded hands the only outward indication of his mental state. Jim waited. Spock dropped his gaze to his lap, studying his hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "I am not wholly Vulcan," Spock said, with obvious reluctance. "My mother was Human."
"Was?"
Spock's eyes flickered up to rest on Jim again, and he nodded, confirming Jim's suspicion. "Indeed. My mother passed away many years ago."
"I'm sorry," Jim said. He shifted on the couch, watching Spock with a speculative look on his face. "Would that have anything to do with why you're looking for a Human guide?" he asked gently.
For several seconds, Spock did not react. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod, the faintest incline of his head. "That is an accurate assessment."
Jim waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. Spock was not exactly a talky kind of guy. "I would ask if you wanted someone to help you find your mom's family, but that seems unlikely, somehow."
"Your assumptions are correct. I had thought to contact my mother's family, but... not yet."
That struck Jim as odd. Wouldn't family be the first place you'd want to turn in a situation like this? Then Jim thought about Frank, about the first time he'd met his mother's sister Faye, how awkward it had felt for this woman he'd never had a relationship with to have all these expectations of him (and Sam, for chrissake), for who he ought to be. Jim thought about how much worse that would be, coming from literally another planet, another race's way of thinking.
Yeah, okay. In Spock's shoes, Jim wouldn't necessarily do anything differently.
"So what do you want?" Jim slouched back into the couch, draping his arm along the back and crossing his leg at the knee, eyes fixed on Spock. He had a vague inkling of what Spock was seeking, but he'd already stuck his foot in it once tonight. He'd just as soon Spock spell it out for him. Never mind the fact that Spock no longer seemed overly inclined to ask Jim for his help anyway.
This time, Spock was silent for so long that Jim had just about concluded that the conversation really was over after all, and he had actually opened his mouth to make some excuse to leave when Spock said, quietly, "I wish to better understand the Human experience, so that I might come to fully appreciate my heritage." Spock's eyes were fixed at a point somewhere over Jim's shoulder, and he was holding so still that he might have been carved from ivory. Jim felt a pang, something stirring he hadn't known he possessed.
It was no wonder Spock had been so reluctant to speak of his desire; Jim was faintly astonished at the fact that Spock had managed to get this far with it at all. Completely aside from any cultural issues that might exist (and Jim suspected there were quite a few, just from what he did know of Vulcans, and if Spock's behavior was any barometer), the idea of anyone trying to understand, essentially, what it meant to be Human was absolutely ridiculous-much less a repressed-as-fuck Vulcan like Spock, who was coming from a background that clearly gave him next to nothing on which to build. Spock might as well want to sail the vastness of space with only a toothpick and a towel to get by with, or defeat the Klingon Empire with a lawnmower. It was impossible. Completely and absurdly impossible.
Jim smiled.
His night-hell, the next week or two-had just gotten a lot more interesting. Good thing Jim had never met a mountain he hadn't wanted to climb, just to piss down the side.
"Boy, you don't know how lucky you are that you found me," he said, voice warm with satisfaction. Spock's head jerked up, eyes fastening on Jim, and Jim wasn't 100% on his Vulcan-to-Human expression translations, but he thought Spock looked kinda annoyed. "I'm exactly what you need."
"If you are referring to the fact that in our short acquaintance, you have more than adequately demonstrated the Human capacity for both illogic and intentional frustration, then you are quite correct, Jim. Though I admit I fail to see how even a Human would describe our meeting as 'lucky.'"
"Is that sarcasm, Spock? Aww, and here I thought you were starting out from square one." Jim felt his smile widen, and he knew his grin was probably verging on "shit-eating," but he couldn't help himself.
"This conversation is quite done with, Mr. Kirk, and I will call-"
"No, wait, hear me out." Jim jumped to his feet, holding both hands palms-out in a conciliatory gesture. "Seriously, just-you really want this. Don't you? This is something you genuinely care about pursuing."
Spock leveled a glare at Jim chilly enough to send everyone in Los Angeles running for a sweater. "...Affirmative."
"And I know you don't want to have to explain what you're looking for all over again to someone new." Spock did not answer this time, but his silence told Jim all he needed to know.
"Okay. Now. I know what you're thinking-"
"I find that difficult to believe," Spock muttered.
"-which is that I'm the last person on this planet that you'd want to ask for help, and that is exactly why I am perfect for the job."
Spock paused. "...I must conclude that not all Humans are as utterly contradictory as you are, Mr. Kirk, or else your species would never have achieved warp drive."
"It's Jim, and it's your species too, so I'd quit with the insults if I were you." Jim couldn't help the stab of irritation at that last comment, though he managed to hide it well enough, he thought. Christ, why exactly was he volunteering for this crazy job?
"I believe we have conclusively just proven that you are not me, Jim, nor are we anything alike-"
"-except for the 99.5% of DNA that all Human parents share with their offspring, so either you're not actually alive and in front of me right now, or you have only a .5% of essential DNA coding different from me." Jim watched with no small degree of satisfaction as Spock's mouth snapped shut, noting the way the tips of Spock's ears turned slightly green when he was annoyed.
"I would be interested to hear how someone of your profession comes to be informed about recombinant DNA in Human reproduction," Spock said after a moment, sounding distinctly stiffer.
"Later," Jim said. "You gonna let me finish now?" Spock re-folded his hands in his lap, staring at Jim, the tips of his ears still a faint green. "Okay. You're a Vulcan; I'm sure you've deconstructed and plotted this out every possible way you can imagine, and the fact that you're looking for a Human guide at all means you know you can't do this the Vulcan way; you need to try to approach this like a Human would, or you're missing half the point. Right so far?" Jim got only a curt nod in response, Spock's eyes fixed on him like two miniature black holes, with about as much warmth. "And I'm assuming you're only on Earth for a limited amount of time, some of which you've already committed to other activities. You don't have a lot of time to waste looking for a guide if you want to make the most of your time here. So the sooner you can start, the better." Again the nod.
Jim licked his lips, keenly aware of the Vulcan's unwavering gaze fixed on his face. "Alright. So: I'm here, I know what you want, I'm willing and more than capable of helping you. I want to help you."
"You have made that quite clear. I must confess I do not understand your motivation. Is this task not outside the scope of your occupation?"
Jim smirked. "Oh, here we go. Was wondering when you'd ask that question." He sat up straighter, raising one hand and ticking things off on his fingers as he said them. "Not only am I the best lay in Los Angeles, but I also bartend, fix hovercrafts, speak four Human languages plus Andorian and Tellarian, can get you into half the VIP joints in this town and know someone who can get us into the other half, and I'm revising my Master's thesis on Humanoid cultural psychology for publication with UCLA at the end of this term." He paused, then added, "As for motivation, let's just say I think you're interesting and I want to help you."
Spock's favorite eyebrow had been climbing steadily towards his hairline, and at this last comment it threatened to disappear altogether. "That statement would seem to indicate that you are not being forthright with your motivations."
Jim shrugged expansively. "Maybe I'm not. I do promise that it's nothing you need to worry about."
"I cannot think of why that is not completely reassuring," Spock remarked. Jim rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, Spock continued, "I must make clear, Mr. Ki-Jim, that my schedule is quite varied, and I must fulfill my prior commitments while on Earth. And there is the issue of payment for your services."
The grin was back now, reaching all the way to Jim's eyes for the first time since Spock had seen him. "We can talk about that. I'm flexible. Long as you don't mind me takin' on some other work on the side while you're busy."
Spock inclined his head. "It would be illogical of me to 'mind' you conducting your business affairs as you see fit, Jim."
"Sounds like we have a deal, then."
Spock rose slowly, and Jim could have sworn the Vulcan looked as bemused as Jim inwardly felt. "Affirmative, Mr. Kirk. It would seem that we do."
* * * * *
"You got the list?"
Spock looked across the table at Jim. His Human guide lounged easily in his chair, clad today in a tight-fitting sleeveless white tank and loose tan shorts. His eyes were obscured by the oversized black glasses that he wore, designed to protect the wearer from exposure to the sun. The plate containing the remainder of Jim's omelette sat ignored in the center of the table, and Jim was currently sipping an odd-looking concoction that seemed to be made of tomato juice and some other liquid, with a stick of celery poking out of the top of the glass; Jim referred to it as a "Bloody Mary," and had laughed when Spock had asked why the drink was named such when it clearly did not contain actual blood.
It was the morning after their initial meeting, and Spock had spent the intervening hours going back and forth between debating the dubious wisdom of his decision, wondering whether Jim could actually be trusted, and contemplating what Sarek's response would be if he discovered Spock's private exploration. Spock knew objectively that there was nothing shameful or strange about his desire to fully explore his heritage, but all the same, he did not want to expose himself to the scrutiny of his father or fellow Vulcans, at least not yet. He permitted himself a measure of illogical relief that the requirement of Sarek's presence at Federation headquarters in San Francisco had resulted in Spock and Sarek coming to Earth a full fourteen Standard days before the rest of the representatives from Vulcan. It meant that Spock had time to himself before he would be required to attend any events, enough to decide if this was truly a reasonable course of action.
"Spock?" Spock stiffened imperceptibly, realizing that Jim was still waiting for his answer.
"My apologies," Spock said. "I was ...distracted. I have compiled a list as you asked." Spock removed his PADD from his robes, bringing up the list of Human traits he most wished to explore. He slid it across the table to Jim, who picked it up and studied it intently. Spock wished briefly that Jim was not wearing the dark glasses; Spock judged him to be expressive, even for a Human, but obscuring his eyes made it more difficult for Spock to guess what Jim was thinking. The fact that Jim's eyes were a most aesthetically pleasing shade of blue was a factor as well, though not one Spock would admit to.
"Let's see here," Jim said, leaning back in his chair, PADD in one hand and Bloody Mary in the other. "Humor. Be a little more general, why don't you... Entertainment. Wait, Vulcans don't believe in being entertained? Don't answer that. Human music. Pleasurable Human activities." Jim's lips twisted, and he seemed to be struggling for a moment with something that Spock could not immediately identify. He composed himself after a moment though, looking back over at Spock, and now he did take off the sunglasses, fixing his eyes on Spock's face. Spock thought he looked distinctly amused, which was not precisely a reassuring reaction. "You do realize that if you don't get more specific, we won't have anything to actually do? I mean, I can think of a few, but..." Again his mouth quirked.
Spock felt the familiar sensation of the past few days bubbling up in his chest, tension wrapping around his lungs and creeping into the line of his shoulders. "I believe I illustrated my difficulties in this process to you yesterday evening," he said stiffly, but Jim was already shaking his head, waving his hand impatiently.
"No, don't worry about it, I'm just giving you a hard time. I should've been more specific in what I wanted from you, anyway. My fault." Jim paused for a moment, taking a drink, eyes drifting to something on the wall behind Spock's shoulder as he thought. "Okay, how about this. What's the main difference between Human culture and Vulcan culture? First thing that comes to mind. Don't think too hard."
Spock cocked his head, biting down a comment about the utter illogic of that last statement, and then said, "Humans are an emotional species that allow their feelings to influence a great deal of their decisions, whereas Vulcans make decisions based on logic and reasoning, and endeavor to prevent their emotions from ruling them."
Jim's eyebrows went up, but he was still grinning, which hopefully meant he wasn't offended, though Spock had already learned that amongst Humans, a smile was not necessarily indicative of a positive mental state. "....Okay, fair enough. Now. What about your mom? Does that description fit your memories of her?"
It was Spock's turn to be taken aback, and it took him significantly longer to answer this question. "...I am forced to admit that I do not think I can answer that question in an unbiased fashion," he said hesitantly, stopping as Jim shook his head again.
"That's fine, Spock. You don't have to be unbiased, but you want to explore your heritage, right?" Spock nodded. "So focus on your mother. The way she approached things, why she did what she did. It's not like there's gonna be a test at the end of this that you can fail-this is only for your benefit." Again Spock nodded, leaning back in his chair as he contemplated the question. Jim took another drink of his Bloody Mary while he waited for Spock to respond.
"My mother was an exceptional woman," Spock said finally. "But I confess that I remember her demonstrating enjoyment in a number of activities that had no clear benefit or product, save for her own pleasure." Spock stopped, reluctant to continue, very aware of Jim's eyes on him, but Jim seemed to either not notice Spock's reticence, or simply chose not to comment on it, because he just nodded.
"Sure, okay. I can think of about.... god, probably fifty things that fit that description just off the top of my head, so we still gotta be more specific than that."
"Elaborate, please. I would be most interested in hearing your thoughts."
"Yeah? Hnh. Kay." Jim paused for a moment as their server appeared to clear the table of their meal's debris. He leaned back in his seat and stared across the table at Spock, studying him as though he were a particularly interesting new species. "Going to see a new vid on the big screen. Dancing. Seeing a play in the theatre. Going to a show-uh, sorry, a live concert performance. If you were a girl I'd say we should take you shopping, my ex-girlfriends always loved that. Art museum, art show. Amusement park-"
Spock cocked his head at this last. "An amusing park? How does such a thing function?"
"Uh..." Jim laughed, gesturing vaguely with his hand as he stared at Spock. "It's-it's not like a garden sort of park, not usually. It's a place with lots of... mechanical rides intended to, uh, simulate a dangerous experience without the associated risk to life or limb. Like rollercoasters and shit. Thrill rides."
"Rollercoaster?" Spock was fascinated. "I believe I would wish to experience this for myself. I can think of no correlative experience on Vulcan."
"Oh, god." Another smile creased Jim's face, this one larger and somehow more automatic than any Spock had yet seen. Spock was no judge of Human facial expressions, but having elicited such a reaction from Jim was... not unpleasant. "You on a rollercoaster, won't that be something. Okay, done. Any of the rest of it sound interesting?"
"A number of those activities are things that Vulcans engage in also. I believe them common amongst spacefaring species of a certain level of sophistication. But I would not be averse to observing how a Human interpretation of pleasurable art and music differs from that of Vulcan." It was a slight understatement, though Jim did not need to know that. Spock was most eager to investigate these experiences. Perhaps the absence of censure allowed aspects of Spock's self that he normally kept tightly reigned in to express themselves freely.
And expressing himself seemed to be something at which Jim Kirk excelled. Unbidden, the mental image of Jim straddling Spock's lap sprang to mind, the smirk on his face as he leaned into Spock's personal space, the jarring clamor of his thoughts, his desire-
Jim shook his head, that smile still firmly in place, the movement jarring Spock back to the present moment. "You got it. Plenty of all that in Los Angeles. How long did you say you were gonna be on Earth again?"
Spock hesitated for just a fraction of a second, barely long enough to be noticeable. "That depends upon how long my other business takes to conclude, but I do not foresee leaving for at least eight weeks."
"So like two months then, at least. I know you said you were gonna be busy doing other things, too, but that should give us some wiggle room."
"Of what wiggling do you speak?"
"Never mind, Spock."
Spock wanted to press for more information, but Jim was drinking down the last of his Bloody Mary and rising, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Before Spock realized what he was doing, Jim had taken out his card and passed it to the waiter. "It is unnecessary to pay for my meal," Spock said, staring at Jim uncertainly. "I came adequately prepared."
"It's fine. Seriously, don't worry about it. My treat."
"But you are here in my employ-"
"So you can buy me dinner later, if it bothers you that much. It's not a big deal, Spock." Even as he spoke, Spock watched as Jim threw down several credit chips onto the table, simultaneously accepting his card back and tucking everything back into his pocket.
"What are you doing?" Spock asked, perplexed.
Jim grinned, sliding his sunglasses back into place on his face. "Leaving a tip."
"A tip?" Spock rose, following Jim towards the front exit. Jim glanced over his shoulder at Spock, his expression difficult to read at this angle and through his dark glasses.
"Yup. Obscure Human Customs 101, first class session begins now. There's this thing called gratuity..."
Spock once heard a Human describe the passage of time as a function with inverse variation; that is, time progressed at a speed inversely proportional to the degree of desire one had for a particular point in time to arrive. The idea was preposterous, of course. But right now, sitting in the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire, staring at the sluggish flow of pedestrian traffic in and out of the high, elegant glass front doors, Spock could not help but wonder vaguely if he had slipped into some kind of miniature localized space-time anomaly. He could think of no other reason why each standard minute seemed to take three times longer than normal to elapse, or how it could possibly take so long to get to 9:30 pm PST.
He could not shake the faint sense of unease he'd had since his conversation with Harcourt Mudd. The hotel manager had seemed unsure of how to aid Spock initially-indeed, Spock had not been entirely sure that Mudd had understood what Spock was asking of him. To be fair, Spock's request for a "knowledgeable human guide" was uncomfortably vague, but the whole reason Spock wanted a guide in the first place was due to his ignorance of how to proceed from his starting point. Once Spock had indicated that his request was neither for a tour guide for Los Angeles, nor for any other part of California, Mudd had seemed at a loss, but once Spock mentioned he wanted a "discreet individual knowledgeable in Human affairs," Mudd's face had lit up with comprehension, and he'd immediately assured Spock that he knew the "perfect man."
For some reason, Spock had his doubts.
Yet here he was, waiting with increasing impatience for this unknown Human guide, who was already seven point four minutes late for their agreed meeting time. Spock stared across the room at the far wall, wondering how long it was acceptable to wait before he should conclude that his guide would not show and retire to his quarters. He had heard it was common for Humans to allow a fifteen-minute grace period for casual appointments, but the tardiness had already lowered Spock's estimation of this unknown person.
The door swung open again, and Spock looked over at the person who had just entered. A lone Human male stood there, stopping just inside the entrance and glancing around as if looking for someone. He was dressed casually, in tight-fitting denim pants and a white short-sleeve shirt with an open v-neck, half-hidden by the black leather jacket he wore, of a style Spock had noticed was fairly popular in this city, if not planet-wide. Spock rose, and the man's eyes turned towards him, an arrogant smile lighting his features. Spock calculated the chances that this was the man he was supposed to meet was 98.7%, a conclusion confirmed moments later when the man came towards him, smiling widely. "I take it you're the Vulcan Harry told me about," the man said cheerfully. Spock inclined his head, studying the stranger, noting in passing the unusually light blue of his eyes.
"Affirmative. I surmise that you are Jim Kirk." The man smiled wider. Spock noticed that he made no attempt to shake Spock's hand, as several other Humans had mistakenly attempted to since Spock's arrival on Earth. Spock did not know whether to ascribe the absence of the gesture to a lack of manners, or an unusual knowledge about Vulcan physiology. If Harcourt Mudd (whom Jim had just referred to by the more familiar "Harry," Spock noted-perhaps they were friends) thought this man was a good choice for a guide, the latter was more likely. Spock found he did not know what to think.
"That's me. Do I get to know your name, too, or is that part of your mystique tonight?"
Spock stared, cocking his head as he tried to determine what this question was supposed to mean. He was not overly familiar with Human social interactions, but nothing he could think of made sense with that query. "My name is Spock," he said carefully. "...I must apologize; I am not familiar with common Human social interactions. However, I believe that the rest of this conversation is best suited to a more private location."
The smile twisted into a smirk, as though Kirk found something amusing. "Sure thing," he said blandly, gesturing expansively with one hand. "Lead the way, Mr. Spock."
For a fraction of a second, Spock hesitated. Despite Mudd's recommendations, Jim Kirk did not seem to fit any of Spock's expectations of a guide who would be able to help him. But then, he reminded himself, Spock had no way of knowing that any of his expectations of Human behavior were remotely accurate. Spock turned and lead the way towards the vestibule that housed the elevators, keenly aware of Kirk walking beside him, and of the fact that if any other Vulcans were to see Spock in the company of a Human, Spock would have a number of unpleasant conversations later.
An elderly Human couple was already waiting at the elevators when they arrived. Kirk opened his mouth to say something, but broke off at the way the woman frowned, casting a glance at Kirk in which Spock could read clear disapproval, before averting her eyes and staring straight ahead at the door to the elevator shaft. Spock wondered what he just missed; so much of Human interaction was based upon body language, instead of stating clearly what one party was thinking. Kirk was dressed casually, but Spock could discern no other reason for the woman's reaction.
Kirk stretched, flexing his arms over his head, back arching like a predator waking from a nap. His white t-shirt stretched taut over the muscles beneath, and Spock stared in mute fascination at the twin points of hardened nipples beneath the thin cotton. "Damn, talk about a long night," Kirk announced, leaning against the door next to the elevator and smirking at the couple, who had frozen in spot. Spock's gaze was drawn down to the flex and drag of the tight jeans Kirk wore, which he now saw hung dangerously low on Kirk's hips, accentuating rather than hiding the iliac crest of his right side. Spock was suddenly and forcefully reminded of home: Kirk had the look of a wild sehlat that had just cornered its unsuspecting prey.
Spock found himself immobilized, his hands folded underneath his robes. Surely he should say something, stop this display somehow, and yet his mind was utterly blank. "I sure could use a nice... hot... bath." Kirk let out a sigh at this statement, letting his hand trail across his abdomen, fingertips playing lightly over his stomach.
Before Kirk's fingers could pass the point of public indecency, a bell chimed, heralding the arrival of one of the elevators. The doors slid open to reveal a suited attendant who hadn't quite bothered to mask his boredom, and for several seconds did not seem to even notice the display just feet from him. Kirk straightened as the elevator opened, turning and throwing his arms wide with a shit-eating grin that Spock did not believe for a moment. "Well ho-lee fuck, a couch built for two! Ain't these fancy hotels great?" So saying, he swept into the elevator, bypassing the attendant, whose posture abruptly and mysteriously improved. Spock could think of exactly nothing to do except nod at the scandalized couple and follow Kirk into the elevator. The elderly couple did not follow.
The attendant managed to keep a perfectly straight face, not even looking over his shoulder as he entered their intended destination. Spock turned his gaze on Kirk, who was now slouched on the couch, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Spock was quickly learning that as expressive as Humans were, their outward appearances often did not necessarily match their inward state of being.
"That was unnecessary and highly inappropriate," Spock observed.
"Pretty sure that's not my problem," Kirk said easily.
Spock found he had nothing to say to that. So instead he stared straight ahead, arms folded inside his robes, and wondered what he'd gotten himself into.
* * * * *
By the time the hotel elevator had reached the top floor (penthouse, Jim noticed)-barely five minutes from walking in the front door-Jim had already come to three conclusions.
One, he'd made the right choice in clothing tonight. Any more provocative and he would likely have gotten thrown out of the hotel, or at least attracted more attention than he really wanted to deal with, but he hadn't missed the way Spock's eyes had moved over his body outside the elevator, either. Two, the Vulcan clearly had no idea what to expect from Jim, so Harry obviously hadn't given Spock much information to go on. And three, once they got behind closed doors, Jim was either going to be thrown out on his ass, or he would be in for a genuine reaming tonight, judging from how fucking repressed this guy was. The uptight ones were always the most intense once you finally got them to unwind, with only a very few exceptions (none of which had been Human or terribly humanoid). Jim just hoped he had the chance to get under Spock's skin.
The elevator coasted to a stop, the doors sliding open, and Jim bounced out into the hallway ahead of Spock, giving his host a chance to get a good look at Jim's ass in those jeans. (Jim was justifiably proud of his ass; McCoy called him "bubble butt," but it was only jealousy talking. His ass could stop wars, or at least traffic.) "Which room?" Jim asked innocently, taking his time turning around. No point in being subtle about it.
Spock greeted him with one of those impressively stern eyebrows raised towards the severe line of his bangs, but said merely, "My quarters are the last door on the right, down the hallway to the left." Jim couldn't be sure, because Spock's poker face would be the envy of any card table in Vegas, but he thought Spock seemed apprehensive. Well, it was his own fault for wanting Jim to meet him in the lobby instead of just coming straight to Spock's room.
Jim waited as Spock unlocked the door and held it open for Jim, ushering Jim in first and then following in after. Jim walked slowly into the center of the room, staring around at the tastefully appointed suite, done in dark shades of orange and brown and gold. Spock went immediately to the desk, powering on his computer, much to Jim's indignation. Who the fuck checked their messages before anything else when they had a hotass rent boy in the room? Must be a Vulcan thing. Jim left Spock to his own devices for a moment, unable to resist wandering outside to admire the sweep of the Los Angeles skyline.
Which turned out to be even more spectacular than he'd thought. For a moment, Jim could only stare, caught and held by the expanse racing away before his eyes. Los Angeles was laid out before him, glittering and mysterious, as frustrating as it was alluring in its whispered promises of potential. The city lights obscured any chance of seeing the stars, but the night was clear enough for the immensity of the LA basin to make itself known, and for a moment Jim let himself be swallowed up in the illusion that all of space was pressing down upon them, a vast, glorious emptiness where anything was possible-tantalizing in its closeness and ultimate unavailability.
He was still leaning against the rail and staring out at the night when he felt a presence at his arm: Spock. "This view is amazing," Jim murmured, not taking his eyes from the vista before him.
"Indeed." Spock's voice was quiet. Jim could tell without having to look that his host was still standing perfectly stick-straight, as though he had a metal rod in place of a spine. "Though I must confess that this is the first time I have come out onto the balcony."
It was Jim's turn to raise an eyebrow, turning to Spock in mild surprise. "Yeah? Why'd you bother with the penthouse, then?"
Spock cocked his head at Jim. "It is the most secluded and private of the suites available in this hotel, which was conducive to pursuing my research in peace."
"Ah. Well, okay, makes sense." Research, huh? Vulcan was renowned for its scientific contributions to the Federation and for her people's dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, so the discovery wasn't much of a surprise. Jim smiled at Spock, who was still regarding him with those dark, serious eyes. He was very attractive, in an uptight librarian sort of way. It was rare for Jim to accept a client without either having met the client or having a damn good recommendation-it wasn't like he couldn't afford to be picky-but he was glad he'd gone with his gut here and accepted. He'd never fucked a Vulcan before, after all. And though probably no one would believe him, Jim liked getting the chance to be up close and personal with species he didn't know anything about, completely aside from the gratuitous satisfaction of sex.
Jim turned and headed back inside, shrugging out of his leather jacket in one smooth motion and casting it aside. It didn't take a mind-reader to guess that Spock was the anal-retentively neat type, so he made a point to throw his jacket over the back of the couch. He raised his hands over his head, arching back and shoulders deliberately, and groaned low in his throat at the dull burn of stretching muscle tissue, newly-bared skin prickling in the breeze coming through the balcony door. "So! Here we are. You're a mysterious Vulcan dignitary, a visitor to our fair city. Harry Mudd tells me you were looking for a professional." Jim turned to find Spock staring at him, stopped a few feet inside the door to the balcony, as if arrested by some invisible force. Jim restrained a smile. Getting kicked out was looking less and less likely.
"Well, it's your lucky day. Because Harry got ahold of me, and baby, I'm the best." Jim pitched his voice low and husky, slowly crossing the distance to Spock, who stood still as stone. Spock said nothing, but Jim saw Spock's hands were now clasped behind his back, as though he didn't trust them if he left them to their own devices. Jim came to a halt just a few feet away. "The question is, now that you have me here, Spock... what are you going to do with me?"
Jim let the question hang in the air. Spock's dark eyes were fathomless, his face void of expression, but Jim could have reached out and torn a strip out of the tension hanging between them, its weight a palpable thing. And was he imagining things, or was there a tinge of green along the pale perfection of Spock's cheekbone? Jesus christ.
Out of nowhere, the suite's doorbell chimed, breaking the silence. Jim jumped a little, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the door. "Who's that?" Had someone called hotel security? Jesus Christ, Spock hadn't so much as touched him yet.
Jim turned back in time to see something in Spock's eyes flicker, and he seemed to regain control of himself somewhat. "I took the liberty of ordering room service, while you were out on the balcony," he said, each word careful and measured. Spock moved to answer the door, leaving Jim standing in the middle of the room, feeling like a bit of a fool. Room service? Really?
Apparently, yes. Spock opened the door, directing the attendant to set up the old-fashioned wheeled table in the center of the room before politely thanking the man and sending him on his way. Jim came over, his irritation at being derailed in the middle of his seduction offset by his curiosity to see what Spock had ordered. Which turned out to be a number of things.
"Chocolate and red wine?" Jim stared. Spock had also ordered several kinds of cheese, fresh strawberries, sparkling water, and what looked suspiciously like baklava. Jim looked from the array of finger-food to his host, thrown suddenly off-kilter.
Spock clasped his hands together, and now there was no mistaking the green flush tinging his cheekbones. Belatedly, Jim remembered that Vulcan blood was copper-based, instead of iron. "It was my understanding that Humans show hospitality towards their guests by offering pleasing food and drink." He stopped, staring uncertainly at Jim, who couldn't help but smile.
"Guest. That's one word for it. I-wow, look, Spock, that's... actually really sweet of you. Thank you." Jim hesitated, torn. Despite his initial behavior, he found now that he really didn't want to embarrass Spock, and so after a moment he picked up a glass to pour himself some wine, watching the tension in Spock's bearing ease slightly as he helped himself to the food. Jim took some of everything, arranging it all on a little plate and carrying it over to the mahogany end-table next to the couches. Spock followed him, settling at the other end of the couch. Except- "Wait, aren't you having any?"
Spock shook his head. "Negative. Vulcans do not require sustenance as often as Humans do, and I had a full meal at lunch time. I will not require more food until tomorrow morning, barring unforeseen exertion this evening."
Unforeseen exertion? "Wait, okay, so, wow." Jim opened his mouth and then shut it, setting down the chocolate and the glass of red wine (which was actually really good) back down on the table, staring at Spock with fresh incredulity. Spock regarded him with renewed anxiety, or at least one eyebrow that was raised a fraction of an inch above the other. "Spock... As considerate as it is of you to go for this whole romantic seduction thing-which, I didn't know Vulcans even did that, so color me surprised, but anyway, I have to tell you: you really didn't have to bother. Because I'm a sure thing."
Spock was still staring at him. "I do not understand," he said, both eyebrows drawing down now, and idiotically it made Jim want to push him down onto the couch and start kissing that confusion right out of existence. His attraction to this alien was nothing short of ridiculous. "Surprise is not a color, nor would I wish to change your current coloration, even if such a thing were possible. But I apologize if my attempt at a hospitality ritual did not meet with your approval."
"Spock-you-oh, my god." This was impossible. Jim scooted closer to Spock, grabbing for his hand. The reaction was immediate: Spock jerked back as if burned, shoving both of his hands into his lap, staring at Jim with an expression that was either panic or a really bad cramp. Jim paused, cocking his head at Spock for a moment before leaning forward, smirking at the way Spock's eyes widened minutely as he advanced into Spock's personal space. He knew Vulcans were touch-telepaths, and therefore did not enjoy casual physical touching in the same way Humans did. And that would explain Spock's aversion to having his hands touched... if it weren't for the teeny fact that, in theory, Jim had been invited here to do a whole hell of a lot of naked touching.
Talk about mixed messages, Jim thought, reluctant pleasure contaminating the purity of his irritation. Well, maybe he just needed some more encouragement.
"You're a tough nut to crack," Jim told him, and before Spock could respond he found himself with a lapful of Human male, as Jim straddled Spock's legs and looked down at him through his lashes. Spock was still staring at him as though something had broken in his brain, his impassive facade crumbling at the edges: eyes too wide, mouth slightly open, pupils dilating, color creeping up his neck. Vulcans might not be Human, but they were close enough for government work, at least in this situation. "No wonder Harry said you wanted a professional," Jim murmured, raising his hand to grip Spock's shoulder.
It was the wrong thing to say. Spock stood up, dislodging Jim abruptly from his lap, dumping him in an unceremonious heap onto the couch. "I should have known better than to enlist the aid of a Human," he said icily, but if anything the smear of green along the Vulcan's cheeks was worse than before, burning up his cheekbones like a rash. "Mr. Kirk, I must insist that you leave immediately. Your behavior is most inappropriate."
"Whoa, whoa, back the fuck up," Jim snapped, embarrassment turning quickly to anger. "Inappropriate? Are you insane, or is this a Vulcan form of foreplay that I'm just unfamiliar with?"
Spock glared at him. "At no point did I state that I was seeking sexual congress with a complete stranger, Mr. Kirk. I do not know what would have given you such an impression."
Jim sat up, returning that glare with interest. He'd never had an evening sour so quickly. And he'd never had anyone turn him down like that-not a fucking client, anyway. It stung, a little. "Harry said, and I quote, that you wanted a 'discreet, professional Human' who was 'very knowledgeable.' Which I am." He stood up himself, knowing better by now than to try to touch Spock again, but someone had fucked up tonight and it sure as hell wasn't him.
"I specifically requested a guide," Spock said, smoothing his robes into place. "A Human guide."
"...Oh," said Jim. He hesitated. "...Not a sex worker."
"Negative," said Spock. He folded his hands behind his back, staring at Jim from behind a renewed wall of impassivity that made polar icecaps look warm and inviting by comparison.
"Oh," said Jim again, and found he could not think of anything else to say. That was... just great. Welcome to Earth, Jim thought sourly. Sexual assault: it's just one of the many services we offer here. Harry Mudd was going to die. Painfully.
Jim just kept looking at Spock, at an utter loss for anything to say. Spock was looking back at him, his expression a study in complication. "It appears that we were both operating under false assumptions, Mr. Kirk," Spock said finally, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought Spock sounded less like he was on the edge of throttling the life out of one Jim Kirk. "I apologize if you were given the wrong impression at any point."
"Yeah. Uh, me too." Jim sank onto the couch, rubbing distractedly at his face, already privately planning to punch Harry Mudd hard for this. "So, um. Why don't you tell me what you were actually looking for? Maybe I can help, or know someone who can."
"That is unnecessary, I assure you."
"No shit. But seriously, it's the least I can do. Since I more or less assaulted you just now."
Spock inclined his head slightly. "While your concern is appreciated, I can assure you that there was no risk of forcing me to do anything against my will, Mr. Kirk. Vulcans are significantly stronger than humans, especially while in Earth's lowered gravity."
That... was kinda hot. It shouldn't have been, considering the circumstances, but Jim had always been good at finding a way to persevere well beyond the point to which any rational Human would have taken things. Jim leaned back against the couch, giving all of his attention to Spock now, some of his embarrassment finally starting to recede. Thank God. "Okay, so if Vulcans are so strong, mind telling me why you didn't chuck me out on my ass sooner than this? Instead of letting me make a giant fool of myself like I did."
"Mr. Kirk-"
"Dude, I just offered to suck your dick. Formality is pretty unnecessary. Just Jim will do."
Spock paused to digest this. "Jim," he said, with obvious effort. "This discussion is entirely superfluous. When I requested the aid of a Human guide, I was acting on an impulse that was both ill-advised and illogical. Clearly-"
"Look, I can't decide which is more insulting, the way you just implied that I'm not even remotely a threat to you, or the way you just dissed pretty much the entire Human race." Jim watched in some satisfaction as Spock froze, fumbling to find a response. Jim continued before Spock could say anything. "If you think it was so stupid to ask a Human for help, why are you on Earth? And why did you ask for help in the first place?"
Spock gave Jim a look that said, quite clearly, that if Jim interrupted him again, Jim might yet discover exactly how strong Vulcans were compared to Humans. Wisely, Jim kept his mouth shut. After another moment, Spock responded. "I am on Earth to accompany my father while he fulfills his diplomatic duties as Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. As for why I am seeking aid-" Spock hesitated, his face flat and expressionless, his tightly-folded hands the only outward indication of his mental state. Jim waited. Spock dropped his gaze to his lap, studying his hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "I am not wholly Vulcan," Spock said, with obvious reluctance. "My mother was Human."
"Was?"
Spock's eyes flickered up to rest on Jim again, and he nodded, confirming Jim's suspicion. "Indeed. My mother passed away many years ago."
"I'm sorry," Jim said. He shifted on the couch, watching Spock with a speculative look on his face. "Would that have anything to do with why you're looking for a Human guide?" he asked gently.
For several seconds, Spock did not react. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod, the faintest incline of his head. "That is an accurate assessment."
Jim waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. Spock was not exactly a talky kind of guy. "I would ask if you wanted someone to help you find your mom's family, but that seems unlikely, somehow."
"Your assumptions are correct. I had thought to contact my mother's family, but... not yet."
That struck Jim as odd. Wouldn't family be the first place you'd want to turn in a situation like this? Then Jim thought about Frank, about the first time he'd met his mother's sister Faye, how awkward it had felt for this woman he'd never had a relationship with to have all these expectations of him (and Sam, for chrissake), for who he ought to be. Jim thought about how much worse that would be, coming from literally another planet, another race's way of thinking.
Yeah, okay. In Spock's shoes, Jim wouldn't necessarily do anything differently.
"So what do you want?" Jim slouched back into the couch, draping his arm along the back and crossing his leg at the knee, eyes fixed on Spock. He had a vague inkling of what Spock was seeking, but he'd already stuck his foot in it once tonight. He'd just as soon Spock spell it out for him. Never mind the fact that Spock no longer seemed overly inclined to ask Jim for his help anyway.
This time, Spock was silent for so long that Jim had just about concluded that the conversation really was over after all, and he had actually opened his mouth to make some excuse to leave when Spock said, quietly, "I wish to better understand the Human experience, so that I might come to fully appreciate my heritage." Spock's eyes were fixed at a point somewhere over Jim's shoulder, and he was holding so still that he might have been carved from ivory. Jim felt a pang, something stirring he hadn't known he possessed.
It was no wonder Spock had been so reluctant to speak of his desire; Jim was faintly astonished at the fact that Spock had managed to get this far with it at all. Completely aside from any cultural issues that might exist (and Jim suspected there were quite a few, just from what he did know of Vulcans, and if Spock's behavior was any barometer), the idea of anyone trying to understand, essentially, what it meant to be Human was absolutely ridiculous-much less a repressed-as-fuck Vulcan like Spock, who was coming from a background that clearly gave him next to nothing on which to build. Spock might as well want to sail the vastness of space with only a toothpick and a towel to get by with, or defeat the Klingon Empire with a lawnmower. It was impossible. Completely and absurdly impossible.
Jim smiled.
His night-hell, the next week or two-had just gotten a lot more interesting. Good thing Jim had never met a mountain he hadn't wanted to climb, just to piss down the side.
"Boy, you don't know how lucky you are that you found me," he said, voice warm with satisfaction. Spock's head jerked up, eyes fastening on Jim, and Jim wasn't 100% on his Vulcan-to-Human expression translations, but he thought Spock looked kinda annoyed. "I'm exactly what you need."
"If you are referring to the fact that in our short acquaintance, you have more than adequately demonstrated the Human capacity for both illogic and intentional frustration, then you are quite correct, Jim. Though I admit I fail to see how even a Human would describe our meeting as 'lucky.'"
"Is that sarcasm, Spock? Aww, and here I thought you were starting out from square one." Jim felt his smile widen, and he knew his grin was probably verging on "shit-eating," but he couldn't help himself.
"This conversation is quite done with, Mr. Kirk, and I will call-"
"No, wait, hear me out." Jim jumped to his feet, holding both hands palms-out in a conciliatory gesture. "Seriously, just-you really want this. Don't you? This is something you genuinely care about pursuing."
Spock leveled a glare at Jim chilly enough to send everyone in Los Angeles running for a sweater. "...Affirmative."
"And I know you don't want to have to explain what you're looking for all over again to someone new." Spock did not answer this time, but his silence told Jim all he needed to know.
"Okay. Now. I know what you're thinking-"
"I find that difficult to believe," Spock muttered.
"-which is that I'm the last person on this planet that you'd want to ask for help, and that is exactly why I am perfect for the job."
Spock paused. "...I must conclude that not all Humans are as utterly contradictory as you are, Mr. Kirk, or else your species would never have achieved warp drive."
"It's Jim, and it's your species too, so I'd quit with the insults if I were you." Jim couldn't help the stab of irritation at that last comment, though he managed to hide it well enough, he thought. Christ, why exactly was he volunteering for this crazy job?
"I believe we have conclusively just proven that you are not me, Jim, nor are we anything alike-"
"-except for the 99.5% of DNA that all Human parents share with their offspring, so either you're not actually alive and in front of me right now, or you have only a .5% of essential DNA coding different from me." Jim watched with no small degree of satisfaction as Spock's mouth snapped shut, noting the way the tips of Spock's ears turned slightly green when he was annoyed.
"I would be interested to hear how someone of your profession comes to be informed about recombinant DNA in Human reproduction," Spock said after a moment, sounding distinctly stiffer.
"Later," Jim said. "You gonna let me finish now?" Spock re-folded his hands in his lap, staring at Jim, the tips of his ears still a faint green. "Okay. You're a Vulcan; I'm sure you've deconstructed and plotted this out every possible way you can imagine, and the fact that you're looking for a Human guide at all means you know you can't do this the Vulcan way; you need to try to approach this like a Human would, or you're missing half the point. Right so far?" Jim got only a curt nod in response, Spock's eyes fixed on him like two miniature black holes, with about as much warmth. "And I'm assuming you're only on Earth for a limited amount of time, some of which you've already committed to other activities. You don't have a lot of time to waste looking for a guide if you want to make the most of your time here. So the sooner you can start, the better." Again the nod.
Jim licked his lips, keenly aware of the Vulcan's unwavering gaze fixed on his face. "Alright. So: I'm here, I know what you want, I'm willing and more than capable of helping you. I want to help you."
"You have made that quite clear. I must confess I do not understand your motivation. Is this task not outside the scope of your occupation?"
Jim smirked. "Oh, here we go. Was wondering when you'd ask that question." He sat up straighter, raising one hand and ticking things off on his fingers as he said them. "Not only am I the best lay in Los Angeles, but I also bartend, fix hovercrafts, speak four Human languages plus Andorian and Tellarian, can get you into half the VIP joints in this town and know someone who can get us into the other half, and I'm revising my Master's thesis on Humanoid cultural psychology for publication with UCLA at the end of this term." He paused, then added, "As for motivation, let's just say I think you're interesting and I want to help you."
Spock's favorite eyebrow had been climbing steadily towards his hairline, and at this last comment it threatened to disappear altogether. "That statement would seem to indicate that you are not being forthright with your motivations."
Jim shrugged expansively. "Maybe I'm not. I do promise that it's nothing you need to worry about."
"I cannot think of why that is not completely reassuring," Spock remarked. Jim rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, Spock continued, "I must make clear, Mr. Ki-Jim, that my schedule is quite varied, and I must fulfill my prior commitments while on Earth. And there is the issue of payment for your services."
The grin was back now, reaching all the way to Jim's eyes for the first time since Spock had seen him. "We can talk about that. I'm flexible. Long as you don't mind me takin' on some other work on the side while you're busy."
Spock inclined his head. "It would be illogical of me to 'mind' you conducting your business affairs as you see fit, Jim."
"Sounds like we have a deal, then."
Spock rose slowly, and Jim could have sworn the Vulcan looked as bemused as Jim inwardly felt. "Affirmative, Mr. Kirk. It would seem that we do."
* * * * *
"You got the list?"
Spock looked across the table at Jim. His Human guide lounged easily in his chair, clad today in a tight-fitting sleeveless white tank and loose tan shorts. His eyes were obscured by the oversized black glasses that he wore, designed to protect the wearer from exposure to the sun. The plate containing the remainder of Jim's omelette sat ignored in the center of the table, and Jim was currently sipping an odd-looking concoction that seemed to be made of tomato juice and some other liquid, with a stick of celery poking out of the top of the glass; Jim referred to it as a "Bloody Mary," and had laughed when Spock had asked why the drink was named such when it clearly did not contain actual blood.
It was the morning after their initial meeting, and Spock had spent the intervening hours going back and forth between debating the dubious wisdom of his decision, wondering whether Jim could actually be trusted, and contemplating what Sarek's response would be if he discovered Spock's private exploration. Spock knew objectively that there was nothing shameful or strange about his desire to fully explore his heritage, but all the same, he did not want to expose himself to the scrutiny of his father or fellow Vulcans, at least not yet. He permitted himself a measure of illogical relief that the requirement of Sarek's presence at Federation headquarters in San Francisco had resulted in Spock and Sarek coming to Earth a full fourteen Standard days before the rest of the representatives from Vulcan. It meant that Spock had time to himself before he would be required to attend any events, enough to decide if this was truly a reasonable course of action.
"Spock?" Spock stiffened imperceptibly, realizing that Jim was still waiting for his answer.
"My apologies," Spock said. "I was ...distracted. I have compiled a list as you asked." Spock removed his PADD from his robes, bringing up the list of Human traits he most wished to explore. He slid it across the table to Jim, who picked it up and studied it intently. Spock wished briefly that Jim was not wearing the dark glasses; Spock judged him to be expressive, even for a Human, but obscuring his eyes made it more difficult for Spock to guess what Jim was thinking. The fact that Jim's eyes were a most aesthetically pleasing shade of blue was a factor as well, though not one Spock would admit to.
"Let's see here," Jim said, leaning back in his chair, PADD in one hand and Bloody Mary in the other. "Humor. Be a little more general, why don't you... Entertainment. Wait, Vulcans don't believe in being entertained? Don't answer that. Human music. Pleasurable Human activities." Jim's lips twisted, and he seemed to be struggling for a moment with something that Spock could not immediately identify. He composed himself after a moment though, looking back over at Spock, and now he did take off the sunglasses, fixing his eyes on Spock's face. Spock thought he looked distinctly amused, which was not precisely a reassuring reaction. "You do realize that if you don't get more specific, we won't have anything to actually do? I mean, I can think of a few, but..." Again his mouth quirked.
Spock felt the familiar sensation of the past few days bubbling up in his chest, tension wrapping around his lungs and creeping into the line of his shoulders. "I believe I illustrated my difficulties in this process to you yesterday evening," he said stiffly, but Jim was already shaking his head, waving his hand impatiently.
"No, don't worry about it, I'm just giving you a hard time. I should've been more specific in what I wanted from you, anyway. My fault." Jim paused for a moment, taking a drink, eyes drifting to something on the wall behind Spock's shoulder as he thought. "Okay, how about this. What's the main difference between Human culture and Vulcan culture? First thing that comes to mind. Don't think too hard."
Spock cocked his head, biting down a comment about the utter illogic of that last statement, and then said, "Humans are an emotional species that allow their feelings to influence a great deal of their decisions, whereas Vulcans make decisions based on logic and reasoning, and endeavor to prevent their emotions from ruling them."
Jim's eyebrows went up, but he was still grinning, which hopefully meant he wasn't offended, though Spock had already learned that amongst Humans, a smile was not necessarily indicative of a positive mental state. "....Okay, fair enough. Now. What about your mom? Does that description fit your memories of her?"
It was Spock's turn to be taken aback, and it took him significantly longer to answer this question. "...I am forced to admit that I do not think I can answer that question in an unbiased fashion," he said hesitantly, stopping as Jim shook his head again.
"That's fine, Spock. You don't have to be unbiased, but you want to explore your heritage, right?" Spock nodded. "So focus on your mother. The way she approached things, why she did what she did. It's not like there's gonna be a test at the end of this that you can fail-this is only for your benefit." Again Spock nodded, leaning back in his chair as he contemplated the question. Jim took another drink of his Bloody Mary while he waited for Spock to respond.
"My mother was an exceptional woman," Spock said finally. "But I confess that I remember her demonstrating enjoyment in a number of activities that had no clear benefit or product, save for her own pleasure." Spock stopped, reluctant to continue, very aware of Jim's eyes on him, but Jim seemed to either not notice Spock's reticence, or simply chose not to comment on it, because he just nodded.
"Sure, okay. I can think of about.... god, probably fifty things that fit that description just off the top of my head, so we still gotta be more specific than that."
"Elaborate, please. I would be most interested in hearing your thoughts."
"Yeah? Hnh. Kay." Jim paused for a moment as their server appeared to clear the table of their meal's debris. He leaned back in his seat and stared across the table at Spock, studying him as though he were a particularly interesting new species. "Going to see a new vid on the big screen. Dancing. Seeing a play in the theatre. Going to a show-uh, sorry, a live concert performance. If you were a girl I'd say we should take you shopping, my ex-girlfriends always loved that. Art museum, art show. Amusement park-"
Spock cocked his head at this last. "An amusing park? How does such a thing function?"
"Uh..." Jim laughed, gesturing vaguely with his hand as he stared at Spock. "It's-it's not like a garden sort of park, not usually. It's a place with lots of... mechanical rides intended to, uh, simulate a dangerous experience without the associated risk to life or limb. Like rollercoasters and shit. Thrill rides."
"Rollercoaster?" Spock was fascinated. "I believe I would wish to experience this for myself. I can think of no correlative experience on Vulcan."
"Oh, god." Another smile creased Jim's face, this one larger and somehow more automatic than any Spock had yet seen. Spock was no judge of Human facial expressions, but having elicited such a reaction from Jim was... not unpleasant. "You on a rollercoaster, won't that be something. Okay, done. Any of the rest of it sound interesting?"
"A number of those activities are things that Vulcans engage in also. I believe them common amongst spacefaring species of a certain level of sophistication. But I would not be averse to observing how a Human interpretation of pleasurable art and music differs from that of Vulcan." It was a slight understatement, though Jim did not need to know that. Spock was most eager to investigate these experiences. Perhaps the absence of censure allowed aspects of Spock's self that he normally kept tightly reigned in to express themselves freely.
And expressing himself seemed to be something at which Jim Kirk excelled. Unbidden, the mental image of Jim straddling Spock's lap sprang to mind, the smirk on his face as he leaned into Spock's personal space, the jarring clamor of his thoughts, his desire-
Jim shook his head, that smile still firmly in place, the movement jarring Spock back to the present moment. "You got it. Plenty of all that in Los Angeles. How long did you say you were gonna be on Earth again?"
Spock hesitated for just a fraction of a second, barely long enough to be noticeable. "That depends upon how long my other business takes to conclude, but I do not foresee leaving for at least eight weeks."
"So like two months then, at least. I know you said you were gonna be busy doing other things, too, but that should give us some wiggle room."
"Of what wiggling do you speak?"
"Never mind, Spock."
Spock wanted to press for more information, but Jim was drinking down the last of his Bloody Mary and rising, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Before Spock realized what he was doing, Jim had taken out his card and passed it to the waiter. "It is unnecessary to pay for my meal," Spock said, staring at Jim uncertainly. "I came adequately prepared."
"It's fine. Seriously, don't worry about it. My treat."
"But you are here in my employ-"
"So you can buy me dinner later, if it bothers you that much. It's not a big deal, Spock." Even as he spoke, Spock watched as Jim threw down several credit chips onto the table, simultaneously accepting his card back and tucking everything back into his pocket.
"What are you doing?" Spock asked, perplexed.
Jim grinned, sliding his sunglasses back into place on his face. "Leaving a tip."
"A tip?" Spock rose, following Jim towards the front exit. Jim glanced over his shoulder at Spock, his expression difficult to read at this angle and through his dark glasses.
"Yup. Obscure Human Customs 101, first class session begins now. There's this thing called gratuity..."