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“Why would Mr. Scott be under the impression that you resemble a canine Earth creature?” Spock asked Jim one evening as they were preparing for bed.

“Huh?” Jim stopped trying to fight with his tunic to look at Spock in confusion. “When did he say that?”

“He said that you were ‘barking up the wrong tree’ when you came to see me during the repairs in engineering to ask if I wished to join you for dinner,” Spock explained, eyeing the small amount of tantalizing golden flesh visible under Jim’s twisted command tunic.

“Oh,” Jim grinned. “It’s funny how half the crew hasn’t even figured it out yet. It’s not like we’re subtle about being together.”

“I do not understand how their knowledge of our relationship has anything to do with any resemblance to a canine on your part,” Spock said, moving towards the patch of flesh as though in a trance.

“He meant that he thought I had no chance with you. You know, ‘cause you’re a Vulcan and all that,” Jim’s breath hitched when Spock knelt to latch his mouth on to the skin visible at Jim’s hip.

“I see,” Spock murmured against the sensitive skin. “If I were to compare you to any terran animal, it would most certainly not be a dog. You are far to flexible for that.”

Spock proceeded to prove his point. Jim would never think of dogs the same way again.

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