Nothing Lay Between (3A/?), Kirk/Spock, PG-13
After the captain had rose from his seat and walked out, Spock spent a few more minutes than necessary in the rec room. The dark-skinned woman-Uhura-immediately filled the void left behind by the captain's leaving, holding a glass of some strange pink juice in one hand. Before he could even extend another greeting to her, she began to speak in Vulcan to him. Pleasantries, asking how he was settling in, but she ended on a strange note: “Has Kirk asked you to do anything for him?”
Unsure of what she was angling for, Spock answered as vaguely honest as possible. “Only to join his crew.”
Uhura took a drink from her glass, eyes on the table as she seemed to think about her next words. “Well, Spock,” She pronounced his name in the Vulcan manner, Spohkh. It made him sharply aware, as if he had already forgotten it, how butchered Kirk’s pronunciation was. “If you need someone to talk to, just call me up, okay?” Her smile and her eyes were soft, tinged slightly with... what Spock supposed was kindness, sympathy.
Spock nodded once. “I will. Thank you, t’sai,” As he ended his words with the honourific, he saw a light blush on her cheeks. They rose together, bid each other a good night, and Spock left the rec room. As far as he knew, Uhura remained to further socialize.
He walked the mostly-empty corridors of the Enterprise with half a purpose in mind: to get to his quarters. Spock had already figured out the quickest route from the rec room to there, he wanted to acquaint himself with the layout of the starship. So he wandered, exploring the many hallways of the primary, circular hull until, by chance, he wandered by the officer’s residences, including one in particular. “CAPTAIN J. KIRK” the bold white-on-black letters read. Experimentally, Spock stepped forward to touch the button on the side of the doors, and they swung open with a small hiss.
This man is very trusting, very powerful, or very naïve, Spock thought to himself as he padded into the room, surveying his surroundings. Similar to the rooms he had been given, but more personalized--the man's belongings were strewn all over the floor and various pieces of furniture. He saw a box in one corner of the living quarters and two more randomly positioned on the floor in the sleeping quarters.
Without a second thought, he began to clean. First the clothes, picking them up off the floor, the bed, and the chairs before dropping them into the laundry basket in the wardrobe. The belongings were another issue, as he did not know what style the captain wanted his quarters to follow, but he took hints from what Kirk had already managed to do. Trinkets were placed in a certain area, books lined neatly in another; he even assembled a pile of pictures that had fallen loose from their holding places on his desk, right next to the computer terminal. Extra clothes that had not been unpacked were unfolded and hung in the wardrobe. What he could not logically place, he left in the boxes, pushing them all in a row against a blank wall in the living quarters.
He spent one hour, six minutes, and nineteen seconds organizing Kirk's room until it looked presentable, worthy of a starship captain. The bed was made, the floor was clear, and the toothbrush and toothpaste were laid parallel to each other on the side of the counter in the bathroom. Spock supposed the job was acceptable, given the absence of the man from the actual organization process.
A slow breath, becoming aware of the silence and the dim lighting. Kirk would be returning soon. Spock stripped off the blue science shirt, folded it, and repeated the actions with his black undershirt. When the cool air of the quarters hit his skin and made it prickle, he made a note to raise the temperature of his own rooms. After setting these garments on the chair in the sleeping quarters, and slipping off his boots, Spock reclined across the bed. Larger than the one he had been provided with, and he hoped that his was just as comfortable. He folded his hands over his bare stomach and waited for Kirk to return.
The captain entered not long afterward, the doors hissing open, his face partly covered by a towel. Kirk shook his head, droplets of water falling down to his shoulders and soaking the thin material of the tee-shirt he wore. "Lights, fifty-percent," Came the muffled comment, and from the direction he was heading, Kirk was going straight for the bathroom. Instinct, maybe, or a glance from the corner of the eye, he must have caught the visitor to his room because suddenly Kirk stopped, stance immediately shifting to that of a fighting stance, and the towel dropped to the floor.
When Kirk finally recognized Spock draped across his bed, his expression changed to one of confusion, then narrowed into anger. "What the hell are you doing in my quarters!?" Still in that same stance, distrusting. His tone was not surprising in the least. Spock had reasoned beforehand that despite the effort he had put into cleaning, the initial intrusion would still earn him some contempt.
"Is there a reason why I should not be here?" He parried the question with his own, casting a glance over Kirk's casually-dressed form. Somewhat confident that Kirk wouldn't actually go any farther than just than yelling, Spock shifted his eyes back to the blank ceiling, where they had been focused before.
"B...Because they're not your quarters!" Kirk responded, shocked. "How dare you walk in here and--did you clean my room!?" There was pure outrage in his voice now. The man's indignation was almost, almost trying Spock's patience. He already had to deal with Kirk's ignorance of customs, his blatant denial of the reality of the situation, his unwillingness the entire day to acknowledge what Spock was, as if the combined effort of all these components would erase from history the fact he had been training as a thol'es-kafeh his entire life.
"Yes, I did clean your quarters. If you had placed a security lock on your door when last leaving it, I would not have been able to do so," Spock resisted the urge to explain for Kirk why he had felt it acceptable to enter his residences while he was away. He did not seem receptive to reason, anyway.
Kirk brought up a hand to rub at his temple, and he let out a slow breath. "I didn't think someone would randomly chose to come in to my quarters and clean," Kirk snapped, "And be laying half-naked on my bed!" He gestured towards the door, "You have your quarters. Please, go there," His teeth seemed to be gritting now.
It should have been difficult to resist a direct order like that, but Spock found that it was not. Maybe it had to do with Kirk's youth, the fact he looked much less like a captain than usual in sweat pants and a tee-shirt. "Why?" He asked, sitting up, allowing the overhead lighting to glint off the two metal rings on his chest. He hoped to eventually trap the man in a net of logic and reason to stop this foolish crusade for his personal freedom. Spock did not even want it; by now he was sure he did not need it. He would make Kirk realize that the sooner Spock could begin to put his primary skills to use, the happier Kirk would be, and Spock would be less troubled by these shadows of irritation, exasperation, and more.
It was a choking sound that came out of Kirk, and he stepped forward, "Spock," He growled out, "Why are you in my quarters?" Spock could see him trying not to stare, trying to hide the surprise at the white gold on his chest. A valiant attempt, but ultimately a failure.
"I reasoned that it was the area where I would be most useful at this hour," Even as he delivered the line, he knew it would make Kirk cringe, but he couldn't lie to him. While the man was on the same ship as him, it tarnished Spock's own professionalism to allow him an empty bed in the absence extraordinary circumstances. Spock did realize, too, that he would have to attempt, with more fervor, to convince Kirk what the man seemed to be lacking in simple understanding: Spock was here for him. If the casual flirting and the friendliness towards the crew were any indication, complemented that copy of the Xeno Sutra he had recovered from one of the boxes, once that initial barrier was broken, Kirk would finally allow him to be what he was, without these ridiculous, pre-conceived, human notions of what he had to be.
"...No. Nooooooo," Kirk stretched the word out. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear that I don't want your... that...type of service," He glanced to the side, a hint of crimson on his cheeks. "I don't want you entering my quarters without my permission, either!" A sharp gesture towards the half-Vulcan, then towards the door. Kirk's body shifted to the side slightly, turning him away mostly from Spock.
"Captain," Spock rose from the bed, but neither left nor approached Kirk. "Why do you continuously deny what is within my ability and my duty to provide?" Trying to settle the problem right here, regardless of whether Kirk was tired or not from a long day of diplomacy. "If it is concern for me, it is completely unnecessary. If it relates to your own inexperience, I will be more than willing to accommodate for th--"
The human immediately bristled with that, his eyes narrowing, "It has nothing to do with that. I'm perfectly fine in that department, thank you," His lips settled in tight, thin line. "This has everything to do with - no, get the hell out."
Spock didn't realize how hard his left hand was clenching in on itself until now. Each order, each insistence, made it harder to keep himself rooted in this room, despite his determination to get under this impossible barrier Kirk was holding. He didn't know if there would be another chance to corner him like this, or whether the captain would put such distance between them that he would never see the interior of Kirk's quarters again. "...I will not allow you to ignore me," He said, and let slip into his voice an edge of determination, perfectly fabricated, so much so that Spock questioned if it was not genuine. The sentiment itself was true; he could never ignore the captain, and in turn, would not allow Kirk to push him off to some dark and lonely corner of the science laboratories.
"Excuse me?" Kirk just snorted at Spock, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who is captain here? What gives you the right to allow or not allow me anything? I'm trying to make the best out of a situation I didn't want to find myself in, I'm trying to be respectful here, but you're pushing me right to the edge," His eyes were only slits, face set in anger. He was rising to the challenge. "You just waltzed in here like you owned the place. I don't know about Vulcans, but humans? We don't do that."
"I find that difficult to believe. Given the opportunity, every one of the humans I have observed in my life 'waltzed' into various rooms that were not theirs with an immediate air of ownership, regardless of who maintained rights over the room beforehand or who was present. I, at least, entered with the notion that it was and will always be yours, and with the purpose to integrate myself seamlessly into that atmosphere," Humans were no more righteous than any other species, and he had the distinct impression that Kirk was still trying to believe that humans didn't do 'this sort of thing,' this concubinage, or that they were somehow above it. Spock's experience told him otherwise. Humans did not shrink from the idea. If anything, they relished the idea, attracted to the power and prestige that came with having one around. Kirk was just denying it to satisfy his own sense of superiority over his species.
"That's because every human you've dealt with is the kind of human that would happily sleep with a wh--" Kirk slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide for a moment as he physically stopped himself. "Dammit," He whispered and looked away completely. He took a slow, deep breath, a fist clenching at his side. "Look, this is simple. You don't belong to me. Slaves belong to people. You're not a slave. If you think you are, you're not. You're free now. Or whatever. You're your own person, you don't have to do anything for me you don't want to, and you are definitely not sleeping in my quarters tonight."
Spock's nails were digging deeper, painful crescents into the palm of his left hand, now skillfully placed behind his back, out of sight of the captain. "I do not think you understand the complexities of being a thol'es-kafeh, Captain," His tone was steady, calm. Oh, if his teachers could have seen him now, against this stubborn brick wall of a man, cemented together by naiveté and self-righteousness. "By not allowing me to serve you, you are preventing me from fulfilling the very purpose of my life: to satisfy you, in any and all senses of the word, and to ensure that satisfaction," He was watching Kirk, and every change in his face at every syllable he spoke. "My identity, and thus my greater wants all concern you. I did not train for all my life to care for my own selfish needs, and I would be discontent with myself if I ever did so."
"Your own needs aren't selfish," Kirk growled, his face a mask of frustration that had been slowly progressing further and further into anger. "You're standing here, someone completely new to my life, that I had didn't have much choice of letting into my life... telling me that suddenly, out of no where, I'm your world. Did you ever stop and think that I don't want to be... using the services of someone that was forced to?" Kirk changed his stance, his eyes focused on Spock, "I like sex. I like getting it, giving it, the chase of going after it. But not when the other person didn't come willingly, didn't have a choice. Maybe the people you've dealt with in the past didn't care if you had a choice or not, didn't care if you didn't really want it, but I. Fucking. Do."
Now was the time to use base human instincts against him. For any other Vulcan, it would be difficult, but Spock could mimic them easily enough thanks to some biological advantages (such techniques contributed to his status as the 'most honoured' among his profession). Still maintaining his usual grace, but with a marked agility to his steps, he walked up to Kirk, fisting his hands in the fabric of the shirt. With this convenient handle, he jerked him closer to his own form, so he could see those (absolutely brilliant up close) blue eyes not more than a few inches in front of him. "What if I do desire it, Captain?" He asked, in a low, hushed tone.
Kirk took a slow breath in through his nose that made his nostrils flared, his heart rate picking up. His hand came up, and wrapped his fingers Spock's wrist in a very professional grip. The touch only caused Spock to tighten his fingers on Kirk's shirt. "...Let go of me," He whispered, voice deadly serious. His eyes were blazing as he focused on Spock.
"Forgive my refusal," He kept that tone, though those eyes--they were distracting him with every passing second. "But you did not answer my question. Were I to desire you, not because of my duty or sense of purpose, but because of this," Spock glanced over Kirk's tense body in front of him, before he was drawn back to his eyes. "Because you are the most handsome human I have ever seen--would you allow me to enjoy your presence, more so than a captain to one of his crew?"
Another one of those breaths, then quietly, "If you weren't what you were, if you could prove it to me, maybe. Maybe," His fingers tightened just that bit more, his face coming forward just that bit more so their eyes were only three inches apart. "But I have no reason to believe you."
Spock's resolve was slipping; all he found himself caring about was the fact those blue eyes were getting so much closer and bigger. Only the occasional self reminder kept him focused on the most delicate part of the whole situation. The mask had to be perfect, the part acted without falter--he was on the very edge of shattering a reality that was already as unstable as a decaying isotope. "How would I prove it to you?" Spock inquired, in an even softer voice than before. They were so close, he was sure Kirk would be able to feel the heat off his body. "How could I convince you to believe me?"
"I don't know," Kirk said very quietly, a growl low in his tones. "You're supposed to be a genius, you figure it out. You're the one that marched into my room and touched my stuff and touched me," His fingers jerked, tightening on the flesh they were pressing into.
Spock hardly noticed the grip on his wrist; he would let go of Kirk when he wanted to. He had enough strength to toss him into the wall like a ragdoll, if he wished; a little pressure would not bother him. "I am hardly the genius in this room, Captain," Spock did not allow the anger from Kirk to affect him. His own voice was soft and smooth now, trying to lull the other from his defensive state, despite the fact he still held him close (possibly against his will). "After all, I am not the one with the starship and its crew, the one who saved the Federation and the Elders of Vulcan, or the one who finally managed to destroy Nero."
"..." Kirk's eyes narrowed, and his voice was tight, "Really... is that what you think it'll take? Just sit there and stroke my ego and I'll fall happily to whatever the hell you want me to? You don't know a damned thing about me, just what you think you see," His hand moved back and grasped hard over Spock's, fingers curling under the edge of the palm, the side of his thumb digging into the nerves between the bones leading back to the wrist from the first and second finger. A defensive maneuver.
Spock jerked both of his hands back once he felt his grip loosen involuntarily. Then, he took a step away from him, letting his hands fall to his side in what could be seen as a move of grudging defeat--for the time being. He would not engage him in a physical altercation. All his training, all his years of experience, and he was given to the most stubborn, righteous man in the entire universe, one who can deny everything he's offering to him. Even Christopher had not held out so long, especially once he had come within six inches of his body.
Saying nothing to him, eyes averted to the ground, Spock side-stepped over to the chair in the corner of the room. He picked up and unfolded the black undershirt, and slipped it on. Meanwhile, Kirk pulled on the edge of his tee-shirt and set it right again, watching every movement Spock made like an alpha wolf guarding its pack. His fingers curled into fists, shoulders tense, ready to defend or attack. He said nothing at all, but those expressive electric eyes said everything that needed to be.
But Spock could not look at those blazing blue eyes anymore, not when they were etched into his mind along with a strong sense of failure. He knew that as long as he was on this ship he had a chance to recover from it, but he could not, at this very moment, think of any such chance. It was no use trying to explain his predicament to the captain; he would not listen or, by the way he was standing, attack him. Kirk was a starship captain. He was not. Only one of them would end up in the brig, and his own logic kept him from tempting such fate.
After wearing his undershirt, he grabbed the science blue shirt and wore it as well. With a murmured, emotionless yet courteous "Good night, Captain," Spock let himself out of the captain's quarters, and began the long walk back to his own.
Chapter Three, Part B
Unsure of what she was angling for, Spock answered as vaguely honest as possible. “Only to join his crew.”
Uhura took a drink from her glass, eyes on the table as she seemed to think about her next words. “Well, Spock,” She pronounced his name in the Vulcan manner, Spohkh. It made him sharply aware, as if he had already forgotten it, how butchered Kirk’s pronunciation was. “If you need someone to talk to, just call me up, okay?” Her smile and her eyes were soft, tinged slightly with... what Spock supposed was kindness, sympathy.
Spock nodded once. “I will. Thank you, t’sai,” As he ended his words with the honourific, he saw a light blush on her cheeks. They rose together, bid each other a good night, and Spock left the rec room. As far as he knew, Uhura remained to further socialize.
He walked the mostly-empty corridors of the Enterprise with half a purpose in mind: to get to his quarters. Spock had already figured out the quickest route from the rec room to there, he wanted to acquaint himself with the layout of the starship. So he wandered, exploring the many hallways of the primary, circular hull until, by chance, he wandered by the officer’s residences, including one in particular. “CAPTAIN J. KIRK” the bold white-on-black letters read. Experimentally, Spock stepped forward to touch the button on the side of the doors, and they swung open with a small hiss.
This man is very trusting, very powerful, or very naïve, Spock thought to himself as he padded into the room, surveying his surroundings. Similar to the rooms he had been given, but more personalized--the man's belongings were strewn all over the floor and various pieces of furniture. He saw a box in one corner of the living quarters and two more randomly positioned on the floor in the sleeping quarters.
Without a second thought, he began to clean. First the clothes, picking them up off the floor, the bed, and the chairs before dropping them into the laundry basket in the wardrobe. The belongings were another issue, as he did not know what style the captain wanted his quarters to follow, but he took hints from what Kirk had already managed to do. Trinkets were placed in a certain area, books lined neatly in another; he even assembled a pile of pictures that had fallen loose from their holding places on his desk, right next to the computer terminal. Extra clothes that had not been unpacked were unfolded and hung in the wardrobe. What he could not logically place, he left in the boxes, pushing them all in a row against a blank wall in the living quarters.
He spent one hour, six minutes, and nineteen seconds organizing Kirk's room until it looked presentable, worthy of a starship captain. The bed was made, the floor was clear, and the toothbrush and toothpaste were laid parallel to each other on the side of the counter in the bathroom. Spock supposed the job was acceptable, given the absence of the man from the actual organization process.
A slow breath, becoming aware of the silence and the dim lighting. Kirk would be returning soon. Spock stripped off the blue science shirt, folded it, and repeated the actions with his black undershirt. When the cool air of the quarters hit his skin and made it prickle, he made a note to raise the temperature of his own rooms. After setting these garments on the chair in the sleeping quarters, and slipping off his boots, Spock reclined across the bed. Larger than the one he had been provided with, and he hoped that his was just as comfortable. He folded his hands over his bare stomach and waited for Kirk to return.
The captain entered not long afterward, the doors hissing open, his face partly covered by a towel. Kirk shook his head, droplets of water falling down to his shoulders and soaking the thin material of the tee-shirt he wore. "Lights, fifty-percent," Came the muffled comment, and from the direction he was heading, Kirk was going straight for the bathroom. Instinct, maybe, or a glance from the corner of the eye, he must have caught the visitor to his room because suddenly Kirk stopped, stance immediately shifting to that of a fighting stance, and the towel dropped to the floor.
When Kirk finally recognized Spock draped across his bed, his expression changed to one of confusion, then narrowed into anger. "What the hell are you doing in my quarters!?" Still in that same stance, distrusting. His tone was not surprising in the least. Spock had reasoned beforehand that despite the effort he had put into cleaning, the initial intrusion would still earn him some contempt.
"Is there a reason why I should not be here?" He parried the question with his own, casting a glance over Kirk's casually-dressed form. Somewhat confident that Kirk wouldn't actually go any farther than just than yelling, Spock shifted his eyes back to the blank ceiling, where they had been focused before.
"B...Because they're not your quarters!" Kirk responded, shocked. "How dare you walk in here and--did you clean my room!?" There was pure outrage in his voice now. The man's indignation was almost, almost trying Spock's patience. He already had to deal with Kirk's ignorance of customs, his blatant denial of the reality of the situation, his unwillingness the entire day to acknowledge what Spock was, as if the combined effort of all these components would erase from history the fact he had been training as a thol'es-kafeh his entire life.
"Yes, I did clean your quarters. If you had placed a security lock on your door when last leaving it, I would not have been able to do so," Spock resisted the urge to explain for Kirk why he had felt it acceptable to enter his residences while he was away. He did not seem receptive to reason, anyway.
Kirk brought up a hand to rub at his temple, and he let out a slow breath. "I didn't think someone would randomly chose to come in to my quarters and clean," Kirk snapped, "And be laying half-naked on my bed!" He gestured towards the door, "You have your quarters. Please, go there," His teeth seemed to be gritting now.
It should have been difficult to resist a direct order like that, but Spock found that it was not. Maybe it had to do with Kirk's youth, the fact he looked much less like a captain than usual in sweat pants and a tee-shirt. "Why?" He asked, sitting up, allowing the overhead lighting to glint off the two metal rings on his chest. He hoped to eventually trap the man in a net of logic and reason to stop this foolish crusade for his personal freedom. Spock did not even want it; by now he was sure he did not need it. He would make Kirk realize that the sooner Spock could begin to put his primary skills to use, the happier Kirk would be, and Spock would be less troubled by these shadows of irritation, exasperation, and more.
It was a choking sound that came out of Kirk, and he stepped forward, "Spock," He growled out, "Why are you in my quarters?" Spock could see him trying not to stare, trying to hide the surprise at the white gold on his chest. A valiant attempt, but ultimately a failure.
"I reasoned that it was the area where I would be most useful at this hour," Even as he delivered the line, he knew it would make Kirk cringe, but he couldn't lie to him. While the man was on the same ship as him, it tarnished Spock's own professionalism to allow him an empty bed in the absence extraordinary circumstances. Spock did realize, too, that he would have to attempt, with more fervor, to convince Kirk what the man seemed to be lacking in simple understanding: Spock was here for him. If the casual flirting and the friendliness towards the crew were any indication, complemented that copy of the Xeno Sutra he had recovered from one of the boxes, once that initial barrier was broken, Kirk would finally allow him to be what he was, without these ridiculous, pre-conceived, human notions of what he had to be.
"...No. Nooooooo," Kirk stretched the word out. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear that I don't want your... that...type of service," He glanced to the side, a hint of crimson on his cheeks. "I don't want you entering my quarters without my permission, either!" A sharp gesture towards the half-Vulcan, then towards the door. Kirk's body shifted to the side slightly, turning him away mostly from Spock.
"Captain," Spock rose from the bed, but neither left nor approached Kirk. "Why do you continuously deny what is within my ability and my duty to provide?" Trying to settle the problem right here, regardless of whether Kirk was tired or not from a long day of diplomacy. "If it is concern for me, it is completely unnecessary. If it relates to your own inexperience, I will be more than willing to accommodate for th--"
The human immediately bristled with that, his eyes narrowing, "It has nothing to do with that. I'm perfectly fine in that department, thank you," His lips settled in tight, thin line. "This has everything to do with - no, get the hell out."
Spock didn't realize how hard his left hand was clenching in on itself until now. Each order, each insistence, made it harder to keep himself rooted in this room, despite his determination to get under this impossible barrier Kirk was holding. He didn't know if there would be another chance to corner him like this, or whether the captain would put such distance between them that he would never see the interior of Kirk's quarters again. "...I will not allow you to ignore me," He said, and let slip into his voice an edge of determination, perfectly fabricated, so much so that Spock questioned if it was not genuine. The sentiment itself was true; he could never ignore the captain, and in turn, would not allow Kirk to push him off to some dark and lonely corner of the science laboratories.
"Excuse me?" Kirk just snorted at Spock, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who is captain here? What gives you the right to allow or not allow me anything? I'm trying to make the best out of a situation I didn't want to find myself in, I'm trying to be respectful here, but you're pushing me right to the edge," His eyes were only slits, face set in anger. He was rising to the challenge. "You just waltzed in here like you owned the place. I don't know about Vulcans, but humans? We don't do that."
"I find that difficult to believe. Given the opportunity, every one of the humans I have observed in my life 'waltzed' into various rooms that were not theirs with an immediate air of ownership, regardless of who maintained rights over the room beforehand or who was present. I, at least, entered with the notion that it was and will always be yours, and with the purpose to integrate myself seamlessly into that atmosphere," Humans were no more righteous than any other species, and he had the distinct impression that Kirk was still trying to believe that humans didn't do 'this sort of thing,' this concubinage, or that they were somehow above it. Spock's experience told him otherwise. Humans did not shrink from the idea. If anything, they relished the idea, attracted to the power and prestige that came with having one around. Kirk was just denying it to satisfy his own sense of superiority over his species.
"That's because every human you've dealt with is the kind of human that would happily sleep with a wh--" Kirk slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide for a moment as he physically stopped himself. "Dammit," He whispered and looked away completely. He took a slow, deep breath, a fist clenching at his side. "Look, this is simple. You don't belong to me. Slaves belong to people. You're not a slave. If you think you are, you're not. You're free now. Or whatever. You're your own person, you don't have to do anything for me you don't want to, and you are definitely not sleeping in my quarters tonight."
Spock's nails were digging deeper, painful crescents into the palm of his left hand, now skillfully placed behind his back, out of sight of the captain. "I do not think you understand the complexities of being a thol'es-kafeh, Captain," His tone was steady, calm. Oh, if his teachers could have seen him now, against this stubborn brick wall of a man, cemented together by naiveté and self-righteousness. "By not allowing me to serve you, you are preventing me from fulfilling the very purpose of my life: to satisfy you, in any and all senses of the word, and to ensure that satisfaction," He was watching Kirk, and every change in his face at every syllable he spoke. "My identity, and thus my greater wants all concern you. I did not train for all my life to care for my own selfish needs, and I would be discontent with myself if I ever did so."
"Your own needs aren't selfish," Kirk growled, his face a mask of frustration that had been slowly progressing further and further into anger. "You're standing here, someone completely new to my life, that I had didn't have much choice of letting into my life... telling me that suddenly, out of no where, I'm your world. Did you ever stop and think that I don't want to be... using the services of someone that was forced to?" Kirk changed his stance, his eyes focused on Spock, "I like sex. I like getting it, giving it, the chase of going after it. But not when the other person didn't come willingly, didn't have a choice. Maybe the people you've dealt with in the past didn't care if you had a choice or not, didn't care if you didn't really want it, but I. Fucking. Do."
Now was the time to use base human instincts against him. For any other Vulcan, it would be difficult, but Spock could mimic them easily enough thanks to some biological advantages (such techniques contributed to his status as the 'most honoured' among his profession). Still maintaining his usual grace, but with a marked agility to his steps, he walked up to Kirk, fisting his hands in the fabric of the shirt. With this convenient handle, he jerked him closer to his own form, so he could see those (absolutely brilliant up close) blue eyes not more than a few inches in front of him. "What if I do desire it, Captain?" He asked, in a low, hushed tone.
Kirk took a slow breath in through his nose that made his nostrils flared, his heart rate picking up. His hand came up, and wrapped his fingers Spock's wrist in a very professional grip. The touch only caused Spock to tighten his fingers on Kirk's shirt. "...Let go of me," He whispered, voice deadly serious. His eyes were blazing as he focused on Spock.
"Forgive my refusal," He kept that tone, though those eyes--they were distracting him with every passing second. "But you did not answer my question. Were I to desire you, not because of my duty or sense of purpose, but because of this," Spock glanced over Kirk's tense body in front of him, before he was drawn back to his eyes. "Because you are the most handsome human I have ever seen--would you allow me to enjoy your presence, more so than a captain to one of his crew?"
Another one of those breaths, then quietly, "If you weren't what you were, if you could prove it to me, maybe. Maybe," His fingers tightened just that bit more, his face coming forward just that bit more so their eyes were only three inches apart. "But I have no reason to believe you."
Spock's resolve was slipping; all he found himself caring about was the fact those blue eyes were getting so much closer and bigger. Only the occasional self reminder kept him focused on the most delicate part of the whole situation. The mask had to be perfect, the part acted without falter--he was on the very edge of shattering a reality that was already as unstable as a decaying isotope. "How would I prove it to you?" Spock inquired, in an even softer voice than before. They were so close, he was sure Kirk would be able to feel the heat off his body. "How could I convince you to believe me?"
"I don't know," Kirk said very quietly, a growl low in his tones. "You're supposed to be a genius, you figure it out. You're the one that marched into my room and touched my stuff and touched me," His fingers jerked, tightening on the flesh they were pressing into.
Spock hardly noticed the grip on his wrist; he would let go of Kirk when he wanted to. He had enough strength to toss him into the wall like a ragdoll, if he wished; a little pressure would not bother him. "I am hardly the genius in this room, Captain," Spock did not allow the anger from Kirk to affect him. His own voice was soft and smooth now, trying to lull the other from his defensive state, despite the fact he still held him close (possibly against his will). "After all, I am not the one with the starship and its crew, the one who saved the Federation and the Elders of Vulcan, or the one who finally managed to destroy Nero."
"..." Kirk's eyes narrowed, and his voice was tight, "Really... is that what you think it'll take? Just sit there and stroke my ego and I'll fall happily to whatever the hell you want me to? You don't know a damned thing about me, just what you think you see," His hand moved back and grasped hard over Spock's, fingers curling under the edge of the palm, the side of his thumb digging into the nerves between the bones leading back to the wrist from the first and second finger. A defensive maneuver.
Spock jerked both of his hands back once he felt his grip loosen involuntarily. Then, he took a step away from him, letting his hands fall to his side in what could be seen as a move of grudging defeat--for the time being. He would not engage him in a physical altercation. All his training, all his years of experience, and he was given to the most stubborn, righteous man in the entire universe, one who can deny everything he's offering to him. Even Christopher had not held out so long, especially once he had come within six inches of his body.
Saying nothing to him, eyes averted to the ground, Spock side-stepped over to the chair in the corner of the room. He picked up and unfolded the black undershirt, and slipped it on. Meanwhile, Kirk pulled on the edge of his tee-shirt and set it right again, watching every movement Spock made like an alpha wolf guarding its pack. His fingers curled into fists, shoulders tense, ready to defend or attack. He said nothing at all, but those expressive electric eyes said everything that needed to be.
But Spock could not look at those blazing blue eyes anymore, not when they were etched into his mind along with a strong sense of failure. He knew that as long as he was on this ship he had a chance to recover from it, but he could not, at this very moment, think of any such chance. It was no use trying to explain his predicament to the captain; he would not listen or, by the way he was standing, attack him. Kirk was a starship captain. He was not. Only one of them would end up in the brig, and his own logic kept him from tempting such fate.
After wearing his undershirt, he grabbed the science blue shirt and wore it as well. With a murmured, emotionless yet courteous "Good night, Captain," Spock let himself out of the captain's quarters, and began the long walk back to his own.
Chapter Three, Part B