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Title: With Relish
Author: Jesmihr
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Why they ought to put warning labels on jars of Kersakkian relish.
Challenge: KSOF Frottage Challenge.
Feedback: Gratefully received! theargentian@mfire.com

“Spock! You’ve got to get Jim out of here – now!”

The first officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise regarded the agitated human in front of him calmly, eyebrow slightly raised. “May I ask why?” he inquired mildly.

McCoy glared, his craggy face a study in impatience. “Because,” he hissed, skewering the Vulcan with icy blue eyes, “he’s eaten some of the Kersakkian relish.” He grabbed Spock by the elbow and led him away from a small group of crimson-hued aliens, all of whom were engaged in a good-natured disagreement over whether or not the Alrishan BattleBeam team had a chance of making it to the Inter-Elnath finals. “Damn it to hell,” the doctor muttered, half to himself, as he towed the Vulcan along. “If I’d had an inkling they’d be serving the crap here, I’d have stopped him before it was too late.”

Spock dodged a flailing red two-meter-long limb as he moved past the clutch of alien ‘Beam fans. Unfortunate, he noted privately to himself, how many humanoid species suffered from an inborn tendency to talk with their hands, or whatever passed for their hands. It was both inefficient and potentially dangerous. He nodded politely to the gesticulating alien and allowed McCoy to steer him to a less populated area of the banquet hall.

“Kersakkian relish,” he informed McCoy once they were situated “is safe for humanoid consumption. I sampled it myself here, with no ill effects. Although,” he mused, “its taste, while somewhat reminiscent of Earth quince, has a rather cloying quality that is…”

He was interrupted by a rude snort from McCoy. “Spare me your gustatory treatise,” the human said coldly. “For your information, Kersakkian relish is not safe for humanoid consumption… not when the humanoid in question has been subjected to a series of Etamin-B shots.”

Spock instantly was alarmed, though he tried to mask it from the doctor. Two weeks ago, Kirk had been exposed to Steropian Fever while leading a landing party. Fortunately, McCoy had treated it promptly, and the captain had avoided developing any symptoms. “Etamin-B,” he repeated, slowly. “Am I correct in my recollection that Steropian Fever is generally counteracted through the administration of…?”

“Yes,” snapped McCoy. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get through your thick skull. Jim just finished his last round of Etamin-B shots today, and he glommed on to a big spoonful of that damned relish just a half hour ago, before I could stop him. You’ve got to get to him and haul him out of here.”

Spock scanned the crowded hall intently, searching for Kirk, already berating himself for letting the captain out of his sight. If harm should befall him…

A hand gripped his elbow. “Don’t look so stricken,” the doctor told him gruffly. “It’s not like he’s gonna drop over dead from it, or anything: the interaction isn’t fatal. It’s just…”

“Just what, Doctor?” Spock asked, torn between relief and exasperation at the doctor’s slow rate of dispensing information.

McCoy glanced around the crowded room quickly, and then leaned in toward the Vulcan. “The combination acts as an intoxicant,” he told Spock, in as low a voice as possible. “And as… well, as an aphrodisiac.”

Spock’s eyebrow soared upward.

“I know,” McCoy replied, as if Spock’s thoughts had been audible. “Like Jim needs any encouragement in that department. You’ve got to get hold of him, and get him out of here, before he does something that’s gonna cause a full-scale diplomatic incident.”

“Where is he?” Spock demanded.

McCoy grimaced. “That’s what worries me. When last I saw him, he was over by the fountain, making eyes at the spouse of the Haedian Most High Suzerain.” He glanced at Spock significantly. “And he wasn’t exactly being rebuffed, if you know what I mean.”

Spock resisted the urge to glare at the doctor. “I fail to understand why, if you knew the consequences of his ingestion of the relish, you did not…”

“What in the blue blazes do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past half hour? He won’t listen – in fact, he completely blew me off,” McCoy broke in. “He’s too caught up in trying to get into that Haedian’s pants, or shorts, or whatever the hell it is they wear.” He chewed his lip. “That’s why you’ve got to do it… he’ll listen to you. Tell him there’s urgent ship’s business, or that a war just broke out, or something. Say anything – but get him out of here before that Haedian’s mate finds out what’s going on and starts tearing the place apart – and Jim along with it.” He glanced around the crowded room and brightened when he spotted the bar. “I need a drink. Once you get him back to the ship,” he added over his shoulder as he headed away, “just put him to bed and let him sleep it off. The effects’ll dissipate after a few hours, with no harm done.”

“But – ” Spock began, but the doctor had already disappeared into the sea of milling guests.

With a little sigh, the Vulcan turned and started to wind his way through the mob of banquet attendees toward the location of the hall’s three-story fountain. It concerned him that Jim had selected a Haedian as a potential conquest; the species was known to be quite volatile, even ruthless under the right circumstances. And while Vulcans never claimed to be subject to “gut instincts,” Spock had an uneasy feeling that the Haedian Most High Suzerain might well consider the propositioning of a spouse to be just the right set of circumstances. He increased his pace, anxious to reach Jim before there was trouble.

Slipping by the last knot of guests that hindered his way, he finally approached the area of the fountain, just in time to see Jim turn from his Haedian companion and look directly at him, as if he had expected Spock’s arrival at that very moment.

Spock’s heart took a most illogical leap.

His captain’s face was slightly flushed; his eyes, always lively and fascinating, were even brighter than usual. But it was the smile that lit Jim’s face once Spock came into view that threatened to undo the Vulcan altogether. Spock stopped short, allowing himself time to mold his countenance into its customary blankness, before he dared to walk up to his captain.

“Spock! There you are! I was looking for you!”

Was it Spock’s imagination, or were Kirk’s words slightly slurred? “Sir, it is imperative that I have a word with you.”

“This is my new friend, Err-…, ah, Arr-…”

“Errghine,” the Haedian offered shortly, apparently not quite as pleased as Kirk was by Spock’s arrival. He stared up at Spock petulantly, his sensuous lips formed into a little pout.

Spock regarded the alien being impassively. All Haedians bore an uncanny resemblance to mythological satyrs of Earth lore. This one’s lower body was covered in fine flaxen hair that was roughly the length and texture of a horse’s. He had legs shaped like a goat’s, ending in sharp little cloven hooves that appeared to have been embellished with shiny metallic enamel. His pale humanlike torso was hairless and quite slender. Surreptitiously, Spock scanned the being’s chest and saw that his lavender nipples were pierced through with several golden, bejeweled rings. A sign of status, the Vulcan recalled. With a tiny frown, he noted the Haedian was clad only in a miniscule glittering loincloth, which did very little to hide the rather impressive bulge between his legs.

“I am First Officer Spock of the U.S.S. Enterprise,” he told Errghine. “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Errghine did not bother to pretend that the pleasure was mutual. He turned his delicately featured face to Kirk and murmured, “I can’t wait to hear the end of your very amusing story, Captain. Perhaps we should continue it somewhere less… crowded?” He laid his hand on Kirk’s arm possessively.

Spock ignored both the snub and the unspoken claim. “It is most urgent that I speak with you, Captain.”

Kirk looked up at him rather blearily; Spock was quite certain that the human swayed a little on his feet. “What is it?”

Spock hesitated. He was ill disposed to lie, and most especially to Kirk. Still, the situation was an unusual one. He decided to take McCoy’s advice. “It pertains to ship’s business, sir. I… I would prefer to discuss it with you in private.”

Errghine made a perturbed noise and stomped his shiny cloven foot. “But we were just…”

Kirk forestalled his protest by taking the Haedian’s hand and kissing his tapered fingers gallantly though a bit clumsily. “I’m afraid the ship must come first,” he told the disappointed satyr apologetically. “I’ll just be a moment – I promise,” he said, focusing his failsafe smile on his cloven-hoofed companion. Spock noted that the creature’s loincloth stirred in response; employing every ounce of Vulcan discipline, he successfully resisted the impulse to roll his eyes.

Spock had to assist Kirk out of the hall, into the cool night air. It appeared that Dr. McCoy’s prediction had been correct: the spoonful of Kersakkian relish was having a most alarming effect. With some dismay, he watched as Kirk leaned against an exterior wall of the building, giving every appearance that he was depending upon its support in order to remain upright.

“So,” Kirk slurred softly, tilting his head up to meet Spock’s gaze, “I suppose I’m wondering why you called me here today.” He smiled slowly at the Vulcan. “Why did you call me here today, Spock?”

“Sir, I must ask you to return with me to the Enterprise.”

Kirk regarded the Vulcan with half-closed eyes, his expression a combination of challenge and seduction. “Really,” he murmured. “Are you making me a better offer?”

Spock blinked. “A better offer?”

“A better offer than Arr… Errghine did.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the doorway of the building. “Back there. By the fountain.”

Spock stared at Kirk, astounded. There could be no other interpretation of Kirk’s words: his captain was flirting with him. No, he mentally corrected himself: his captain was blatantly propositioning him.i For the briefest of instants, an entire series of possible responses to Kirk’s question raced through his head. Regretfully, he was forced to admit to himself that all of them were completely illogical, and probably highly unethical as well. It is only the relish, he reminded himself sternly.

He decided to impart this information to Kirk. “Sir, you have ingested Kersakkian relish, which, when combined with the chemicals in the Etamin-B shots you were recently administered, acts as an intoxicant and as an aphrodisiac. It is therefore advisable that you return to the Enterprise until the effects wear off.”

“So the short answer is ‘no.’”

“Sir?”

“No, you’re not making me a better offer. Wait,” Kirk said, before Spock could respond. He held up his index finger as a new thought filtered through the haze of relish. “An… an aphrodisiac? That’s what it is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think that’s why I was interested in Errghine?”

Spock hesitated, reflecting upon his observations of qualities possessed by Kirk’s past sexual partners. Errghine did not fit into any of the three main and four sub-categories of beings most commonly selected by Kirk for sexual release. As the humans would put it, the Haedian simply was “not Kirk’s type.”

“The odds are approximately 92.5 percent in favor of that, sir,” he finally replied, after this mental assessment.

Kirk frowned, considering Spock’s theory. “But that’s not how it felt.”

“Indeed,” Spock said implacably. “But it is, nevertheless, the case.”

“Hmm,” Kirk said, unconvinced.

A silence fell. Kirk settled back against the wall as if he intended to remain in place for some time.

Finally, Spock asked, “Did Errghine inform you that he is the life-mate of the Haedian Most High Suzerain?”

“Uh, no,” Kirk admitted. “It didn’t come up.”

“It is a fact,” Spock told him flatly. “It is therefore also a fact that your flirtation with him could lead to an unfortunate diplomatic incident, should it go any further than it already has.”

“You’re telling me to back off,” Kirk said tersely.

“It is not my place to tell you anything,” Spock said quietly. “I am asking you. Please return to the Enterprise with me.”

Kirk scowled and bit his lip, undecided.

“Jim, please trust me.”

“Oh, god,” Jim protested. “That’s not fair, and you know it. Of course I trust you – I always have. I just…”

“I understand,” Spock said soothingly. “But I assure you: it is only the relish.” He took Kirk’s arm and was relieved when the human sighed in resignation and relinquished his claim to the wall.

By the time they reached Kirk’s quarters and Spock had assisted him to the edge of the bed, the starship captain’s mood had plummeted. “Why the hell do you put up with me, anyway?” he grumbled as Spock helped him to remove his boots and socks.

“It is not generally too onerous a burden,” Spock replied dryly. He placed the human’s boots neatly at the foot of his bed and rose gracefully to his feet.

“No,” Jim replied, flopping back on the bed with a little groan. “Only when I act like a total ass, like I just did down there. Spock, what I said to you - outside… I’m…”

“It is already forgotten,” Spock hastened to reply. “It was merely the relish, and the Etamin-B.”

“What the hell was I thinking tonight, anyway?” Kirk slurred to himself, as he curled up and turned over on his side, facing away from Spock. “What ever made me think I could fuck a satyr in the first place? It’d be nothing but a disaster. It’d never, ever work.”

Spock’s pursed his lips slightly, his analytical, Vulcan mind unable to comprehend what the difficulty would have been. “I assume,” he offered thoughtfully, “that there was a suitable orifice underneath his tail.”

Kirk made a disgusted noise. “Yeah, but think about it. Did you see his legs?”

“Yes,” Spock replied slowly, completely at a loss.

Kirk scowled. “The hocks, man! The hocks! Do you have any idea how terrible those hard, sharp goat hocks would have felt, banging against my shinbones? It would have wrecked the mood completely!”

“Ah,” Spock said. “I see.” He tilted his head, considering. “It appears, then,” he finally ventured, “that it would have been most efficacious to utilize a standing rather than a prone position. In that way, the hocks would remain relatively motionless. You would therefore, if you employed care, be able to avoid any…”

Kirk made an impatient gesture and shook his head. “Forget it. I know you’re just trying to help, but the whole thing was a terrible idea to begin with. And by the way, I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize that this is way too bizarre a conversation to be having with you in the first place.” He clasped his arms around himself and added morosely, “The bottom line is: I don’t need a satyr. I need someone like me. And of course, there isn’t anyone like me.”

No, Spock thought, gazing down at the human, there is no one else like you. Unwilling to fully contemplate the alarming mixture of protectiveness and longing that arose in him at that thought, he asked aloud, “Are you all right, Jim?”

“I’m fine,” Kirk said brusquely, without looking at the Vulcan. “Thanks. For everything.”

It was an obvious dismissal. Nevertheless, Spock remained motionless for a moment, reluctant to leave Kirk in spite of his reassurance. At last, for want of an alternative, he turned to go. He had almost reached the door when he heard a barely audible voice behind him.

“Spock.”

He stopped instantly. “Sir?”

“I…” The voice faltered.

Spock walked back to the bed and looked down at Kirk, concern apparent in his soft dark eyes. “What is it?”

“Don’t go. I… I know this is going to sound weird, but…”

“Please tell me,” Spock said quietly.

Kirk finally turned around and looked up at Spock beseechingly. “I wish you’d lie down next to me, and talk to me until I fall asleep. Sam always used to, whenever I… I couldn’t…”

Spock blinked, his equilibrium shaken by the unexpected request. “You are having difficulty sleeping?” he finally asked.

Jim frowned and his gaze faltered. “Yeah,” he admitted.

“For how long a period of time have you experienced this difficulty?”

Jim shrugged. “A while,” he answered evasively.

Spock inventoried the possible causes of insomnia in humans. Chronic medical conditions. Medication. Consumption of stimulants. Stress. He considered Jim’s recent brush with Steropian Fever and the Etamin-B that was administered to counteract it, but quickly rejected those as factors, as neither was known to cause insomnia. In fact, he recalled, the fever often had the opposite effect. Moreover, it would not be logical for Kirk to use stimulants if he were already having difficulty sleeping.

That left stress as the most logical cause.

“Something is troubling you?” he asked, after reaching this conclusion.

Kirk did not answer right away. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, gaze averted.

The Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back. “Dr. McCoy would be able to provide you with a…”

Kirk shook his head. “Not without grilling me about what’s bothering me.” He looked at Spock and slurred slowly, “And I don’t want to tell him. And I’m not ready to tell you, yet, either – so don’t ask.” His expression suddenly hardened. “God, I am a mess, aren’t I? Forget it. Forget I asked. Just call it the hundredth bad idea I’ve had tonight.” He turned over again determinedly and shut his eyes.

“Please move over.”

“Why?” Kirk murmured irritably.

“So that there is room for me on the bed.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I am aware of that,” Spock replied. “However, your efficiency as captain of the Enterprise will be compromised if you continue to be unable to rest. As your first officer, therefore…”

“Sentimental Vulcan,” Jim groused, but wriggled over on the bed nevertheless.

Cautiously, Spock lay down beside his captain, keeping his eyes focused resolutely on the ceiling. The truth was, the first place and the last place he wanted to be was in this bed with Kirk. He did not wish to look at the human who reclined beside him, because he feared that his body would betray him in a most illogical and shameful manner if he did so. Determinedly, he tightened his Vulcan control.

Seemingly oblivious of Spock’s discomfiture, Jim rolled over to face his first officer and smiled faintly. “Thanks,” he whispered. Shutting his eyes, he whispered, “Now… just talk to me.”

“What topic do you wish me to address?”

“Something nice and soothing and monotonous. I just want to listen to your voice.” He paused for a moment. “I know: tell me about your new project. That’ll put me to sleep for sure.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose slightly at this assumption. “A most fascinating subject,” he admonished Kirk, with a trace of asperity. “And one with profound implications for the nature of matter and the structure of the universe. If my calculations are correct, we will eventually be able to erect what will be in essence a perfect space-time reference system, one that utilizes the Hayson-Barler Mechanism in a revolutionary way. Up until this point, of course, any systems devised, though adequate to practical navigational applications, have remained flawed because dependency upon different coordinate frames engenders different space-time configurations. However, with Ettelson and Xux’s recent research involving non-oscillating SG waves, it now becomes possible to reconfigure…”

Spock continued his dissertation for some time, until he became aware that Kirk’s breathing had become slow and regular. The captain was asleep.

As he trailed off at last into silence, Spock allowed himself finally to study the human’s face, noting the trace of a smile that curved Kirk’s sensual mouth. What would it be like, Spock asked himself before he could stop the thought, to touch that mouth with my fingertips – or to kiss it? He was instantly horrified that such an uncharacteristically illogical impulse could cross his mind, and doubly appalled at the reflexive, fierce response in his groin that quickly followed.

The logical and the right thing to do was to remove himself from the vicinity, before any other scandalous, un-Vulcanlike thoughts crowded into his brain. This decided, he promptly made the smallest of movements toward the edge of the bed, being careful not to wake the sleeping human.

Immediately, Kirk gave a contented sigh and threw his arm possessively across Spock’s chest.

Spock froze, inexplicably panicked by the human’s unknowing gesture. For some moments, he remained stationary, undecided about the best course of action to take. He could attempt to lift Kirk’s arm and return it gently to the human’s side, then continue with the original plan of exiting the bed. However, given Kirk’s command training, Spock calculated only a four percent chance of accomplishing this successfully without waking Jim up. Perhaps if instead of lifting his captain’s arm, he slid slowly out from underneath it and then rolled as quietly as possible onto the floor…

Holding his breath, he wriggled slightly away from Kirk and reached for the edge of the bed.

Jim instantly murmured in protest and clutched Spock to him more tightly, promptly burrowing his nose firmly into Spock’s shoulder.

Spock ceased his movements again and lay still for some moments, very much aware of Kirk’s breath through the fabric of his uniform tunic and the weight of the human’s arm heavy upon his chest, and realized finally that there was only one logical solution: to wait until Kirk woke up of his own accord, and remove himself from the bed at that time. Any other course of action would risk disturbing Jim’s much-needed rest, and that Spock was not willing to do.

And indeed, it was not unpleasant – far from it, in fact – to lie in his captain’s arms, to be able to gaze so freely upon his fascinating face, to contemplate the sweep of his long lashes against his cheek. Not unpleasant at all. Disturbing, yes. But not in the least unpleasant.

Spock closed his eyes and tried to will away the annoyingly persistent erection that throbbed between his legs. He was convinced that there would be no sleep for him that night.

For once, however, his calculations proved to be inaccurate: just nine point two minutes later, he drifted into unconsciousness, lulled by Kirk’s steady, soothing breath and by his embrace. Spock’s last thought as he drifted away into a deep slumber was that he had never felt so safe.

It was precisely four point four hours later that the attack occurred.

The creature was bestial, brutish and desperate. It pinned Spock down on the bed with the full weight of its self, grunting harshly into the Vulcan’s pointed ear as it pressed down upon him convulsively. Spock struggled back to awareness beneath the onslaught and reached up instinctively to grasp at the creature’s body, his eyes widening as his fingers found, instead of leathery hide or coarse long hair, the unexpectedly soft, familiar fabric of a Starfleet uniform top. “Jim,” he whispered in complete shock, as the human’s scent filled his nostrils and he realized the true nature of his attacker.

Kirk did not reply – did not in fact seem to hear at all. His eyes were clamped shut and his fingers were twisted tightly into the material of Spock’s shirt. He shoved his groin roughly, with a sort of frantic rhythm, into Spock’s crotch, his breath coming in ragged little gasps each time he thrust. Spock could feel the human’s swollen cock rubbing against his own, and moaned softly as his entire body instantly ignited in response. Alarmed and aroused all at once, he grasped Kirk about the hips and stared up at the human, undecided whether to push him away or to pull him closer.

Kirk’s face was contorted with passion and his lips were slightly parted. He made little whimpering sounds every time he shoved himself against the Vulcan’s rigid sex, but Spock knew that he was nevertheless fast asleep. Dreaming about Errghine, a tiny, hateful voice within him taunted… or about a past lover. Not about you. None of this is for you.

“Spock,” Kirk whispered harshly in his sleep.

Even logical Vulcans, given the right set of circumstances, can be prone to a small bout of carpe diem every now and then. Improbable as it was, Spock’s beloved was at the moment on top of him, thrusting against him, calling his name. And all of it, he decided in a flash, was immeasurably, indescribably, indisputably right. Casting aside any stray thoughts about the possible repercussions, Spock pulled the panting human tightly against him and began to answer Kirk’s frantic thrusts with his own.

For a few short moments there was only the sound of breath, fabric scraping against fabric, the rhythmic creaking of the bed. There was a whisper – from the Vulcan’s lips this time – and then a sharp human cry. Spock felt Jim stiffen against him and lost all control himself, shooting hot slippery seed into his uniform pants just as the human on top of him also shuddered in orgasm. “Jim,” he cried, before he could stop himself.

Jim’s eyes snapped open and stared down into Spock’s.

Spock had spent an inordinate amount of time studying Kirk’s eyes: it continually fascinated him to see how clearly Jim’s feelings could be read within their depths… even by a Vulcan such as he, unschooled in human emotion. He saw now, gazing into his captain’s hazel orbs, an entire spectrum of thoughts and feelings, each following the other in rapid succession. Passion. Confusion. Uncertainty. Realization. Horror. And… and Spock could hardly bear to see this last register on Kirk’s face and in his eyes… Shame. “Jim,” he whispered, to forestall it.

A bright red blush crept up and stained Kirk’s cheeks. “Oh, my god,” he breathed, and rolled off from the Vulcan, immediately covering his eyes as if to shut out the evidence of what he had just done.

“Jim, I…” Spock tried again, but Kirk interrupted him.

“I… I suppose it isn’t any use hoping that this is a dream,” Kirk muttered, through his hands.

There was a bitter taste in Spock’s mouth as he replied. “I fear,” he informed his captain, struggling to keep his voice neutral, “that you are indeed awake.” Awake, and aware, and full of regret, the tiny, hateful voice within him added. How foolish and presumptuous you were, to think he would still want you, once he returned to his senses.

“Oh, Spock,” Jim groaned, without uncovering his face, “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I just did that. Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he added, berating himself mercilessly.

Spock had to swallow before he could answer. “You need not chide yourself,” he told Jim with studied coolness. “You are not responsible for any of it. It was merely the Kersakkian relish… and the Etamin-B.”

Slowly, Jim lowered his hands from his face and turned to look at the Vulcan. “The relish,” he repeated deliberately, wonderment in his voice. “That’s what you think it was?”

“Of course,” Spock said stolidly. “It is perfectly understandable. You were under the influence of an aphrodisiac. It was simply a… a biological response to a chemical interaction.” He made a movement to sit up, turning his face away from the human beside him so that Jim could not read the hurt in his eyes.

Kirk reached out and touched his shoulder to stop him. “Wait,” he said softly.

Spock gave himself a second to mold his face into impassivity, and then turned toward his captain, his eyebrow slightly elevated in inquiry.

Jim took a deep, shuddering breath. “O.K.,” he said, his voice suddenly determined. “You’ve tried to give me an out here, and if I were smart, I’d probably take it. But I can’t lie to you, even if it means you end up hating me. The fact of the matter is, I could have eaten Menkarian cabbage instead of Kersakkian relish last night, and it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Spock frowned slightly as he processed this information. He was well acquainted with the vegetable: it was considered a great delicacy on Vulcan. “But Menkarian cabbage,” he told Kirk at last, “is not an aphrodisiac.”

Kirk grimaced. “And that’s my point.” He shrugged helplessly, his face full of trepidation, and forged on. “I want you,” he said simply. “I’ve always wanted you – with or without relish.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “With or without cabbage, for that matter.” He looked at Spock pleadingly. “And I know this is probably the last thing a controlled, unemotional Vulcan like you wants to hear: that his captain is in love with him. But if I promise you I’ll never try to touch you again… will you promise not to hate me – or to leave me?”

This last was asked in a low whisper; Spock’s dark eyes softened as he reached out and touched Jim gently on the cheek. “I will never hate you. And I will never leave you, t’hy’la,” he vowed to the human, “even if you promise me that.”

Kirk’s eyes widened in surprise as Spock’s meaning began to become apparent to him. “Even if…?”

Spock’s mouth quirked in a tiny smile. “Your touch has never been unwelcome to me,” he told Jim. “Least of all a few moments ago.” And he leaned forward and kissed his captain lingeringly on the mouth, just to illustrate his point.

A short time later, once the kisses had momentarily ceased and Spock held Kirk wrapped securely in his arms, he felt the human shake with silent laughter. “What is it, Jim?” he asked.

Kirk pulled away to look up at the Vulcan and shook his head ruefully. “I was just laughing,” he explained to Spock. “At myself.”

“Indeed? May I ask what amuses you about yourself?”

Jim shook his head again. “I was thinking about all the months I’ve spent, plotting and scheming about how to get you into bed with me. And I finally do it. And – well, wouldn’t you just know it.”

Spock was utterly baffled. “Wouldn’t you just know what?” he inquired.

Jim laughed softly. “After all that planning – I forget to take our clothes off first.”

Spock’s expression was infinitely solemn but his eyes twinkled dangerously. “A serious tactical error indeed,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps we should rectify it.”

Kirk grinned and reached for the Vulcan. “Absolutely, Mr. Spock – and with all due speed.”

The End