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by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

"Have you noticed that Bones is acting a little funny lately?"

Spock paused in the act of bringing a sandwich to his mouth. "Funny? The doctor's actions often escape my comprehension, but I have not noticed a tendency to excessive mirth."

"Oh, can it, Spock," Kirk said with a grin. "You know what I mean. Odd. He's been acting. . .different."

The Vulcan took a bite of his avocado and peanut butter and chewed it with deliberation. He continued to hold the sandwich in the air, his fingers delicately supporting the slices of 'triticale bread so as not to crush the unique honeycombed structure of the baked good. No one else ate like Spock did, Kirk had often thought, with such savoir faire, and he could rarely keep his eyes off his first officer eating, even when his elbows were planted firmly on the table, a habit which displayed his long arms and fingers and which Kirk found rather endearing. Bad table manners for humans, maybe, but endearing.

Spock swallowed, and Kirk watched that, too. "Specify. Define 'different.'"

Kirk waved a fork in the air. The messroom was filled with alpha shift eating lunch, and no one gave the captain having another one of his animated conversations with Mister Spock a second glance. The crew was accustomed to the way Kirk often focused all his attention on his second-in-command, not only on the bridge but just about everywhere else as well, like a laser beam locked on target. And the crew was accustomed to Mister Spock following the captain around like a gosling mistakenly imprinted on a duck.

Or at least that was what Lieutenant Akins from Bio had said one late night over drinks with two or three of her most trusted friends. Of course, the witticism spread rapidly, and Spock had been compelled to overhear lightly-voiced honking noises for the next several weeks. He never had discovered why, but he could guess, and he turned his imperious mien on junior personnel until the intrusive avian noises ceased. Kirk, on the other hand, found out from Bones, who had heard it from his head nurse, who knew an engineering tech who was dating Akins and was there for the original rendition. The captain thought the gosling part was pretty funny -- he does have a long neck, doesn't he? -- and had slapped his thigh and laughed, but he didn't quite get the duck part.

Nevertheless, this did not prevent him from inserting animal references into his speech. "Bone has this 'cat ate the canary' air to him, that's what's different. He's keeping a secret and I want to know what it is."

Spock allowed himself to look shocked, a technique he had never employed while on his home planet, but which seemed to come naturally to him since Kirk had assumed command of the Enterprise. "Captain, I hope you are not suggesting that I spy on the good doctor."

"Of course not." Kirk slurped his no-calorie, utterly awful drink that McCoy had prescribed for him and thought evil thoughts. "Unless, of course, you happen to overhear something."

"It is my duty as executive officer to keep the captain informed," Spock intoned with a sparkle in his eye that showed he was enjoying their little game.

"Damn right."

"You suspect the doctor of planning nefarious deeds?"

"I won't have any more practical jokes on the bridge!"

"I am certain McCoy spoke the truth when he said the shaving cream was not meant to erupt at that time or place."

"Okay, but you can't deny he'd made plans to get me as soon as I got down to deck five. This is ridiculous! A captain has got to be accorded some respect."

"Agreed. I will observe McCoy and relay my findings to you."

"I'll expect a lengthy report, First Officer. Perhaps, this evening?"

"Captain, that does not give me much time for observation. I am needed for two point two five hours on the bridge immediately following this repast, after which I will consult with Quartermaster Harley on the supply list, followed by. . . ."

Spock looked absolutely adorable when he got going on one of his long-winded explanations that were designed to amuse his captain, Kirk thought as he patted his lips with his napkin. So adorable that several weeks ago Kirk had decided they had pussy-footed around long enough (an unfortunate choice of terms considering the sex of the object of his attentions), and he was going to get Spock into his bed come hell or high water. He watched Spock's lips move and wondered what it would feel like when they closed around his --


It wasn't the first time he'd been caught blatantly daydreaming while staring straight at his first officer, and by the small, shy smile on Spock's face, his thoughts must have been as obvious as. . .as. . .well, as obvious as an erection in a convent. Considering his own growing desires, and what little he knew of Spock's sexual experience, or lack of it, that seemed to be a very appropriate metaphor.

He hitched forward on his elbows to speak confidentially and was gratified to see Spock lean forward to meet him. Spock might be inexperienced, but it was clear that he'd gotten the drift of his captain's intentions and had decided not to paddle in the opposite direction. If only they'd been lovers already and in some private place, they were in the perfect position to come together just a little bit more and kiss. Kirk shivered. He needed to be warmed up by a Vulcan in the worst way.

"What would you say, Mister Spock. . ." Kirk said in a suggestive tone that had never, ever been directed to a member of his same sex, but which he was counting on being just as effective as it always had been, ". . .if I said that you could tell me what you know about McCoy's goings-on this evening, in my cabin, late, after you and I. . ." he searched his memory of ship's activities for the week, "go to the holovid?"

Spock's brow furrowed, but he didn't move one centimeter away. Kirk could practically count the pores on his prominent nose but refrained from doing so.

"The holovid? You refer to the presentation of a fictional work in a darkened room, much favored by younger and unattached members of the crew?"

Kirk nodded solemnly. He was enjoying this immensely. "The very same. I think that senior officers should make it a point to be seen at various events throughout the ship, don't you?"

"Indubitably, Captain."

"And I haven't been to a good vid in a long time."

"Nor have I."

"So, it's a date? I mean, I'll stop by your cabin at twenty hundred hours, okay?"


After that there didn't seem to be much more to say, but neither man moved. Just far enough apart to appear one step short of indecency, they stared at one another. Lieutenant Smith-Smythe got up from his table and walked right by the fascinated couple, saw them locked in visual intercourse, and dropped his tray with a clatter on the floor.

"See you tonight," Kirk whispered. He slid out of his chair and obliviously past the disconcerted lieutenant.

"Perhaps you should watch where you are going more carefully," Spock advised Smith-Smythe with utterly correct Vulcan decorum. "There is spaghetti on your tunic." And with hands behind his back and a more expectant expression on his face than had ever been witnessed on the Enterprise before, he also left the mess.

He was not completely certain what it was that Jim had in mind, but he had spent several enjoyable hours over the past days envisioning various scenarios that might be accurate and that always seemed to end in a small room with their bodies pressed together on a horizontal surface. After that Spock's imagination failed him. He had possessed absolutely no interest in the mating practices of humans before James Kirk had taken command of the ship, but within six months of that event he had accessed every technical manual of a reproductive nature in the ship's library, and had unsuccessfully experimented with self-stimulation of the type that he had been darkly warned against when he was a boy. It seemed that his father had been correct that it was not possible for Vulcans, and Spock had spent an uncomfortable fortnight attempting to untie his testicular system. Once that was accomplished, he refrained from solitary sexual activity and contented himself with the delights of frustration. Of which he became an expert. Jim provided him with so many opportunities that the flagellations of the monks of Poodleton VII had nothing over Spock's condition one year into the ship's voyage with Kirk at the helm.

Or with Kirk bent over the captain's chair, or Kirk backing him into a corner of the turbolift, or Kirk stripping off his shirt to expose his magnificent chest preparatory to. . . .

It was fortunate that the turbolift was unoccupied as it gave the first officer enough time to compose himself, and his vascular system, into a semblance of normality. He nodded to Uhura, ignored the vacant center seat, and thought he strode steadily to his post before the scanners. He was not aware that he tilted in a peculiar way towards the captain's chair as he walked.

"The con is yours, Mister Spock," Sulu announced from the navigation console.

"Affirmative," Spock said, but he still wasn't paying much attention to what he was doing. He stared at a display overhead of the solar system they had catalogued the week before and gnawed at his lower lip. He wished, very much, that his sensual experience had included at least one encounter with a real person, so that he would not be too awkward when Jim attempted to. . .to. . . he swallowed hard. To kiss him. Beyond that his transfixed imagination could not proceed, although he wished it could.

He sent a shy glance to the right towards Uhura, only to catch her looking speculatively his way, so he jerked his attention back to the meaningless data displayed. If he had at least responded to the lieutenant several months ago during the ship's annual Federation Day dance, he might not now be in this most uncomfortable virginal situation. It had been very late, very dark and Uhura had been extremely intoxicated. She had pulled him into a deserted corner of the room and insinuated herself into his arms and actually swayed against him. He could remember distinctly how it felt to have her body pressed upon his, and though he had refused the unvoiced invitation, he had taken the memory out many times to replay it. But it wasn't much help. Jim would not feel like that, there were the obvious differences of height, flatness of chest and broadness of shoulder and. . .well, the hardness between the legs that Spock would have gladly given a year's pay to feel pushing against his. . . .

He gulped, he hoped not too audibly, and thought furiously of the wrinkles on his childhood tutor's face. It helped, even if fifteen minutes later he did have to suppress a stray speculation about the appearance and disappearance of wrinkles on a very interesting portion of his captain's anatomy that he hoped to be seeing soon.

Promptly at fifteen hundred hours Spock left the bridge to converse with the quartermaster and then decided that his evening with Kirk would proceed more smoothly if he actually had some information to impart to his captain about McCoy. It would perhaps be wise to keep up the pretense of a McCoy investigation. It would provide a topic of conversation, assuming that their mouths were not otherwise occupied. So he took himself off to sickbay.

No one was currently occupying any of the beds in the outer ward, and there was only Nurse Ward, the newest member of the sickbay team, sitting in the corner dictating some report. She nodded her close-cropped brunette head at him but did not speak, and so Spock approached the doctor's office. It was vacant.

He backed out and thought at the same time that he was woefully unprepared for a meeting with his perpetual foe, as a query such as "Why are you behaving in an odd manner?" was not likely to gain him a coherent response from the CMO. And Spock was not adept at improvisation, as the experience with Bela Oxmyx had proven to his humiliation. Although it was a happy memory since Jim had looked so handsome in suit and fedora.

So it was that he decided to retreat in good order until a plan of action could be formed, but was stopped by a curious thumping sound coming from the back of the sickbay.

He glanced at the nurse, but she appeared to be oblivious. His hearing was exceptional, so perhaps she had not heard?

There it was again. Surely it was well within the auditory capabilities of humans, but Ward remained steadfastly glued to the viewer. Very odd.

A moment later Spock stood within the doorway of the small room where medicines were stored, usually under lock and key. McCoy was there, one arm extended full length before him, delicately touching with an outstretched finger the ident-pad that would open the top drawer. It was a most peculiar and inefficient way to access medicinal stores, especially since the doctor's left leg supported him from behind, at a thirty-seven and one-half degree angle from the vertical, except when it rose and then thumped against the floor.

It was fortunate that Spock was a trained observer, for McCoy of course noticed his presence and jumped back into a more normal position -- an outraged slouch, with arms indignantly folded over his chest -- in an instant.

"What the hell are you doing sneaking around here? You're lucky I didn't have any noxyprofene in my hands, I could've dropped the vials and then where would we be?"

"In a coma," Spock replied dryly. "However, I trust your manual dexterity would have prevented such a catastrophe."

McCoy blinked. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had just received a compliment. Since such a situation was unprecedented, he decided to ignore the possibility and proceed as usual.

"Damn right," he growled. "Now, what can I do for you, Spock?"

It was just such a question for which Spock did not have an answer. He searched his honest and very literally-minded Vulcan soul and asked the first thing that, well, that popped into his head. "Would you happen to know if the captain likes popcorn?"

"Huh?" McCoy's eyes actually bulged forward. Fascinating.

Spock was compelled to repeat the question, and added, "You have attended many social events with him, and I thought none other on the ship could provide such information."

The doctor scratched behind his ear and thought distractedly that he needed a shower. And maybe to have his head examined, as two statements of approval from Spock in one day were more than he could cope with. "I don't know that I've ever seen -- No, wait, I have. He did eat a big tub of popcorn once on Ramius IV when he was with that big-breasted redhead, the one who -- "

"Buttered or not?" Spock asked hurriedly.

"I don't know," McCoy said with irritation. "I don't go investigating my friend's sexual practices, and if -- "

"I was referring to the consumption of popcorn, McCoy," the first officer said with haughty dignity, employing his "looking-down-his-nose" expression that was usually effective enough to enrage his opponent and change the subject at the same time.

"Oh. I don't know that either. My, ah, attention was on the lady."

"Then I will assume that since the captain generally prefers high calorie, high fat foods, he will appreciate the butter. I will make certain to supply some. I thank you for the information, Doctor."

Before Spock could turn on his heel and retreat, McCoy stopped him. "Wait a minute. Are we still scheduled for leave on Starbase Thirty-Seven?"


"And we're due to arrive tomorrow morning? No delays?"

"Correct, McCoy. May I ask why?"

"Oh, no reason in particular. I just need a little shore leave, that's all, to get off this tub, I mean, this lovely ship for a little while. A man needs to stretch his legs, you know."

No, Spock didn't know that, as he shared with his captain the conviction that life on board the Enterprise was almost as good as it got. If things proceeded as he hoped they would this evening, they would get even better. Who would want to leave such an ideal environment?

McCoy advanced to the doorway and watched the blue-shirted back find its stately way through the sickbay and make a sharp turn out into the traffic of the hall. He was certain Spock didn't have a clue about what was going on despite what he'd apparently witnessed, and McCoy intended to keep it that way. He retreated back to his medicines, but couldn't help but wonder: butter?

Several hours later Kirk had showered, shaved, and pondered a variety of colognes neatly displayed on the counter. Which one would entice a Vulcan? Seaside Caprice, he decided, and splashed some on generously. He took one last look in the mirror and tilted his head, considering. He was accustomed to thinking of himself as a handsome man and attractive especially when he had taken the time to visit the gym regularly. If he had been preparing to make a foray into a bar during a shore leave, he would have had no doubts that he would be able to pick up half the eligible women in the joint. He had a knack for it. But that was a game he'd played already too many times, and he'd grown tired of winning so easily even as he'd slowly become aware that Spock had to be the most exciting turn-on, male or female, whom he'd ever met.

So, would the Vulcan paragon of Starfleet think his captain attractive enough to hop into the sack with him tonight? Kirk frowned at his own image. He was being crude. Attractive didn't matter to Spock, he thought, and he found pride growing at the thought. No, the man he wanted to seduce wouldn't be turned on by just a pretty face and body, Spock looked beneath the surface and saw the complete person.

So, would the Vulcan paragon of Starfleet think his captain's complete person attractive enough to hop into the sack with him tonight? He couldn't help it, he really did love Spock, but his mind was in the gutter. No melds tonight!

Of course Spock was ready when he buzzed. The Vulcan looked exactly as he had looked that morning, and the evening before, and for countless shifts on the bridge before that, impeccably dressed in his everyday uniform with every hair in place -- but he stood in the doorway and looked at his captain and actually smiled shyly. No, it wasn't his imagination, Kirk realized as his head swirled, that was definitely a perceptible quirk of the lips and a warm expression in the dark eyes. He had the gratifying feeling that his complete person must definitely be showing through.

Spock nodded and said, "Captain," and Kirk thought it was the sexiest word he'd ever heard, deep and rich and just bursting with possibilities.

They walked along the corridor in perfect step. (This proved to be difficult to maintain when two other crewmen passed them walking in the opposite direction, but with a lean, a slight hesitation perfectly synchronized and a three-quarter step inserted into the cadence, they managed to make it look like they'd been practicing for years. Maybe they had. After the honking episodes, McCoy had actually done some research into the ambulatory habits of impressed birds, but he'd drawn no conclusions. Jim and Spock just seemed to like to walk that way, and that was their business.)

So they walked along the corridor in perfect step, then waited for the turbolift to show up. Kirk had time to ask about the second most pressing matter that was on his mind. The shaving cream incident had really gotten to him. "Did you find out anything about McCoy?"

"Indeed, I did. At 1547 hours I encountered him in the medicinal storage room where -- "

Just then the lift arrived and they stepped in to find they were the only occupants. Which was good, because Spock definitely had Kirk's curiosity aroused. Well, okay, other things were on the edge of arousal, too (Kirk was always a very optimistic person), but for the moment Kirk definitely wanted to hear about McCoy. He grabbed the turbo toggle and urged, "Go on. What was he doing? Concocting some potion to turn me blue?"

"I do not believe so, although he was behaving in a most peculiar manner. He was standing like this." The Vulcan arm moved forward, the leg extended behind. The large Vulcan foot (size 14 ˝ B) lifted and thumped.

Kirk was amazed, as, even though he believed every one of his department heads should be free to behave as he or she wished in the privacy of his or her own domain on the ship, he did think there were limits. In his opinion, any CMO who would spray his captain with mint-flavored white foam was capable of just about anything, and this report confirmed it. "Hmmmm," he pondered. "What d'ya think that means? What's he up to?"

"It occurred to me that he might have taken up fencing. The physical actions I observed might be consistent -- "

"Hah! Fencing?" Kirk scoffed. "Bones? I should live so long. No, it's something else, and we've got to find out. Maybe he's planning something for when we're on the starbase. I won't be the butt of his jokes in public!"

Spock had no opportunity to respond, as the turbo opened and deposited them at the doorway to the Enterprise's holo-theater with four and a half minutes to spare before the start of the feature.

"I will be back in a moment," Spock said hastily, and turned to Kirk knew-not-where.

Now there is a tradition on board most Starfleet ships that there is always space reserved in the front row of a social event for the senior officers. If the event is a lecture on the nocturnal habits of bees on Polonius VI, that's fine because the crew doesn't bother to attend and the officers who have been told show up or else spread themselves throughout the room and try to stay awake. If the event presents information on the incidence of venereal disease on the next shore leave planet, with helpful hints on how to match human mating habits to those of the extremely comely and willing inhabitants, that's fine too because the senior officers have already been there and done that, and they don't bother to attend, so the crew gets the place to themselves.

But occasionally the paths of crew and officers will intersect and some small awkwardness will occur. Ensign Slacker, she of the obsequious manner and vaulting ambition, spotted Kirk and immediately stood and with a sweep of her arm indicated the vacant seats up front. It didn't matter that The Man-Eating Women from Satyrnalia III was poorly attended and four-fifths of the seats were empty. Nobody wanted to sit next to the captain at a movie, and nobody wanted to feel his steely eyes boring into the backs of their heads.

Of course Kirk would have none of it. He wasn't going to parade up the aisle when he wanted above all to be inconspicuous. The entire crew complement didn't have to know that he had taken leave of his senses and was indulging in an adolescent activity with his first officer. He knew that it was really an adult activity on which he had set his sights, and this was just a softening up exercise, but he sure didn't want to give evidence of that to Ensign Slacker or anyone else.

"No, that's okay," he whispered as the lights were lowering. "I'll just stay back here," and he slipped into the last row and moved all the way to the wall.

"Whatever you prefer, Captain," Slacker said in her best parade-ground voice.

Immediately three ensigns, four engineering techs and a yeoman found reasons why they couldn't stay, leaving Rec Room 17 practically deserted. Those who left the holovid discovered common ground in complaining about the captain who wouldn't let the scrubs have a good time, and they retreated to the quarters shared by two of the women to continue exploring their sense of outrage. Within the next hour sexual combustion took place with enough heat generated to rival even the captain's fondest fantasies, and since there were but three women and five men involved, some of the action was necessarily male on male. This would surely have been pleasing to Kirk if he had known about it, considering his intentions towards Spock, but he never did. (And since this is a K/S story, and only K/S, we will leave the octet to their privacy. Ménage is not the author's preference, and it's mentioned only for the sake of completeness. We feel Spock would approve of completeness.)

Back at the holovid, the remaining crew who were scattered throughout the room were of such insufficient mind that they actually enjoyed watching a movie called The Man-Eating Women of Satyrnalia IV, and so as the lights began to dim they were able to put their captain's presence from their very tiny brains. This left plenty of psychic room for whatever Kirk and Spock decided to do.

Which was nothing as of yet, since Spock was still patiently waiting in line at the food dispenser in rec room seventeen. The pimply-faced ensign in front of him had ordered four large trays of brownies, and since everyone in Starfleet except for the very inexperienced knew that the synthesizer had a particularly difficult time reconstituting chocolate (Spock had learned this fact at his mother's knee, of course), Spock estimated he had another one minute and four seconds to wait. While doing so, his attention was taken by the entrance into the room by -- you guessed it, right? -- Doctor McCoy.

He was accompanied by Nurse Ward, and the two of them were conversing quietly, in a particularly secretive manner with their heads bent together, so that Spock could not only not hear what they were saying, but he couldn't read their lips either. But he could easily see the most peculiar physical actions that accompanied McCoy's words, and which the nurse appeared to regard with great attention.

The doctor raised both arms to shoulder height with elbows bent, then extended his left arm full length to his side. He twisted his torso by ninety degrees, then straightened his other arm and joined his hands. Finally he pulled the fingers of his right hand along the length of his left. Nurse Ward smiled in an approving manner.

Spock's trained senses jumped into observational red alert; his eyes narrowed. He would not allow another attack on the dignity of the captain of the ship; he must discover what McCoy was doing.

But the young ensign was finally finished with his brownie order, Spock entered into a negotiation with the synthesizer, and while his back was turned he distinctly heard McCoy's low-pitched "Oops! There's Spock. Let's go." So by the time he turned back McCoy was gone. The doctor's absence eliminated Spock's dilemma; he had wanted to continue to observe the CMO, but a much more enticing prospect was returning to his captain's side. Spock had such high hopes for the evening!

Back in the holo-theater, the title was just flashing on the stage, and Kirk was beginning to wonder whether he'd been stood up when a shadowy figure advanced up the center aisle.

Spock's unerring ability to see in the dark led him to Ensign Slacker, of whom he asked, "Have you seen Captain Kirk?"

"Over there, back in the corner," she pointed, and Kirk muffled his groan.

Spock settled down in the darkness next to his captain. "I have formulated a new theory concerning McCoy's behavior based on the latest evidence I have just gathered," he said in a lowered voice, since he was cognizant of the behavior expected in darkened rooms. "I will acquaint you with the details after this performance."

"You do that," Kirk asserted quietly. "I'm not going to feel safe until I know what that sneak's got up his sleeve."

"Agreed. However, in the meantime, would you care for some popcorn?"

Spock apparently did not know that Kirk had sworn off snacks between meals ten weeks ago, when he had decided to turn his body into a temple worth worshiping by a Vulcan, but it was the thought that counted.

"Thanks," Kirk said, and helped himself to a single kernel.

Spock watched him chew somewhat anxiously, puzzled by this unusual behavior. "It has butter," he offered tentatively.

"I know, I can taste it. Delicious," Kirk said. He leaned forward and patted Spock several times on the knee. "It's just that I'm watching the calories, you know." He gulped air, amazed at the audacity that allowed him to actually touch his aloof first officer. He risked another pat. "Why don't you finish it?"

Spock was pulling every shred of control he possessed into red-alert status to help him withstand the tingling that was traveling from the point of contact on his knee through every cell in his body, including the ones between his legs that were capable of being inflated. He had been prepared for some sort of sexual activity between his captain and himself that evening, but he had not anticipated that his body would interpret a simple touch upon his extremities in a darkened room as such an event. It was really quite fascinating, if only he could maintain the wits to analyze it.

"Spock? Spock?"

The Vulcan noisily cleared his throat. "Ye -- Yes, Captain?"

"Shhhh," came angrily from the front of the room.

On the holostage three scantily clad human females were feeding each other rounded orbs that might have been large grapes, but considering the show's title probably were not. At any rate, it was a scene that normally would have captured Kirk's full attention as he generally was quite interested in females showing a lot of skin, but he barely glanced at it now. Oh, how times had changed! He decided to eschew further conversation about the popcorn, put the tub on the floor and instead whispered, "Thanks."

"It was my pleasure." But of course Spock was thinking of different sorts of pleasure, and Kirk was too. They each silently calculated the length of the movie. Kirk came up with ninety-seven minutes, Spock with ninety-seven and a half. If only they had known of the congruence of their thoughts, it's possible they would have taken it as further evidence of their compatibility and thrown themselves into each other's arms immediately. Probably not, though, as Ensign Slacker would not have approved, and they were each rather conscious of their appearance before the crew. Besides, then there wouldn't be any more story, and you'd never find out what McCoy was up to.

So instead of throwing Spock on the floor and fucking the living daylights out of his gorgeous Vulcan bod, after five minutes of antics on the holo-stage which he absolutely did not register, Kirk casually, oh-so-casually crossed one leg over the other, a habit he had on the bridge and everywhere else. He maintained that pose for less than a minute and then uncrossed them, only it just so happened by careful design and years of practice that his right thigh was now in direct and firm contact with Spock's lean left thigh.

They each looked down in the dark. Spock saw better because of his superior night vision, but Kirk felt the sensations better because not only was he one large sensory receptor, Spock had reached the point past overload.

The scene on the holostage reflected the maidens frolicking in bright sunlight, and so the room brightened enough for paltry human vision to be effective. Kirk looked up at Spock just as Spock looked up at him. The captain smiled. Spock thought that if he managed to live past the thundering of his heart he was destined to be one happy Vulcan that night.

Spock gulped and was horribly conscious of the sound that to his ears resembled thunder. Jim had invited him to this occasion, the captain had accepted sustenance from his hands, he had patted his knee and now had initiated a contact that every part of Spock found most pleasing. So this was what foreplay felt like! Foreplay such as the humans practiced, anyway. Perhaps the look in Jim's eyes at this moment could also be considered a part of the mating ritual preceding the actual event. Jim's eyes, which were always exceptionally intriguing, were difficult to catalogue, but Spock found that the words "come hither" immediately came to mind. He had long since decided, during his times of trial and tribulation and flagellation as he watched Kirk bed one woman after another, that the role of starship captain was Kirk's second best destiny. With his beautiful eyes and alluring body, his keen mind and exceptionally attractive body, his arresting personality and gorgeous body, not to mention his gorgeous body, Kirk would not starve on any populated planet.

But enough of such admiration. It was time for him to reciprocate.

Despite his lack of experience it would be easy to do,

As he was a starship officer through and through.

Brave fellow.

Slowly Spock moved his hand until it lightly curled on his left leg. Taking a deep breath, he reached across their joined flesh to where Kirk's hand was resting in his lap, perilously close to the mound of genitals that Spock had admired so much that he had its generous contours memorized. Delicately lifting the captain's hand from the place that tempted him so (Spock had had a lot of practice resisting temptation, he'd practically made his life's work out of it), he entwined their fingers and brought them to rest together on his thigh.

Ten minutes later he dared to breathe. He tightened his fingers.

Eleven minutes later, Kirk tightened back.

Twelve minutes later Kirk rubbed his thumb over the knuckles of Spock's hand. It was a most pleasing sensation. The sensations of electric discharge were totally unexpected.

Thirteen minutes later Spock remembered to breathe again.

Fourteen minutes later Spock dared to look at the man whose hand he was holding so blatantly in the quasi-privacy of this darkened event. His captain had apparently not moved to look at the screen even once in the intervening time since their eyes had last met, for there was a fond, if somewhat glazed, look on Kirk's face.

"Captain?" Spock whispered, careful to keep his voice low enough not to disturb Ensign Slacker.

"I don't think so, Spock," Kirk whispered back, extending his arm as he did so that their joined hands brushed alarmingly across Spock's thigh, closer to, uh, closer to the point of maximal nerve responsiveness.

"Jim!" Spock squeaked.

"That's right," the captain soothed. "What did you want?"

It was possible, logically, to tell Kirk exactly what he wanted, but it would have taken considerable time to unjumble the thoughts that came flashing through his mind, so Spock contented himself with what he hoped was a speaking glance. This was a phrase that the well-known human novelist Jane Austen had employed, and its meaning suddenly became clear to him.

"You aren't too interested in this holovid, are you?" Kirk correctly interpreted.

"Affirmative." The use of a term he frequently employed on the bridge was somewhat comforting.

"Me neither."

"I suggest," Spock rather daringly said, "a strategic retreat."

"I don't like to retreat," Kirk mused, unlocking the contact of their hands, much to Spock's dismay. But the Vulcan hormonal system was not to have time to recover, as Kirk immediately placed his fingers flat upon Spock's leg and began to rub lazy circles upon the tight black fabric, not to mention the highly receptive touch receptors of the pale and virginal skin beneath.

Spock leaned to the side so that their shoulders brushed solidly against one another. "What would you prefer to do?"

Kirk looked at him, and then up to the screen where the three females were now entirely bereft of clothing. They were dancing about a boiling cauldron of some sort, undoubtedly standard equipment for the denizens of Satyrnalia V, and flinging their hands up into the air in a way that presented their mammary glands in the most advantageous way for male viewing enjoyment. Kirk glanced away and back to the man at his side. He wasn't misinterpreting any of this, was he? After all, Spock was sitting here rubbing thighs and had been holding hands with him. . . . He boldly moved forward. "I prefer to, ah, advance. Explore new territory, so to speak." There, that couldn't be misinterpreted. God, new territory being the hot, steamy insides of Spock's mouth, the moist darkness under his arms (Kirk had been termed "kinky" on more than one occasion by his female partners because of his penchant for snuffling there, but he did so want Spock to give him access), not to mention the moist, warm darkness he'd find when Spock was flat on his stomach with his hips raised, with his captain strategically positioned behind. . . . Kirk gulped and barely heard his future lover's voice.


Damn, it couldn't have come at a better time. He had plans for the evening. "Then let's get out of here."

The corridor lighting dazzled Kirk even more than he was already. He paused for a moment, blinking, until he felt the touch of Spock's hand on his elbow, subtly but very definitely guiding him towards the turbolift and deck five. Something in Kirk's heart leaped for joy, but he was able to restrain the leaping from other parts of his anatomy. It looked more and more as if his heart's desire was going to be fulfilled tonight.

In the turbolift he leaned against the wall and gazed adoringly at Spock, standing easily in the center of the lift. "Ah. . . . Ah. . . ." It seemed appropriate to continue the pretense of ease and nothing special going on, just first officer and captain discussing ship's business before he got Spock in his cabin and jumped him, so he asked, "So, what's this new evidence about McCoy?"

"I observed him in the recreation room where I procured your nutritional supplement. He was doing this." Most uncharacteristically, and for the second time in as many hours, Spock assumed the position. (No, not that position, the one McCoy had been in!) Arms rose to shoulder height as Spock recreated what the doctor had been doing.

Kirk was amazed again. Not by Bones, but by this private performance that Spock was enacting for him. Where were Vulcan inhibitions? He could barely prevent himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. This was going to be one hot night tonight.

The turbo slowed as it approached deck five, and Spock, caught in an awkward rendition of McCoy's peculiarities, lost his balance. Kirk, seeing opportunity knock, moved quickly to take advantage.

"Here, I'll hel -- "

"Captain, please do no -- "

By the time the lift came to a halt and its doors opened, Captain James Kirk, intrepid leader of men, and Commander Spock, one of the finest minds of the twenty-third century, were tangled most pleasantly together on the floor. Which was convenient for them, as it provided a degree of body contact for which they had each been longing, except not quite at that location.

"Well," a well-known voice drawled. "Whadda know? You two have a little accident? Anybody hurt?"

Kirk regretfully lifted himself from the full body press that had slowly and thoroughly pinned Spock to the floor, then rolled over onto his side to regard his Chief Medical Officer standing just beyond the now-open door. The fact that he had rolled over onto Spock's extended left arm, which was now curled under and around his shoulders, bothered him not a whit.

"Out for your evening constitutional, Bones?" he asked in as sarcastic a tone as he could manage, given that he was really, really enjoying reclining on the floor with Spock. Half his dreams come true! Maybe they could just send the turbo to another floor, leave McCoy gawking. . . .

"Nope," McCoy said. "I'm off to the gym."

That brought both captain and first officer to a sitting position. "The gym?" they echoed in unison, then looked at one another, abashed.

"Yeah. You two aren't the only ones who need to stay in shape around here, you know. How will my patients pay any attention to me if I don't set a good example?"

"Bones," Kirk averred from three feet below McCoy's eye level, "you have never set a good example."

"Well, then, it's never too late to start," the doctor said cheerfully. "Now, are you two gonna just stay down there forever? Want some help getting up, grandma?"

For a moment Kirk thought McCoy had been referring to him, but as there was certainly nothing feminine about him (if you didn't count his eyes, which had been likened to the stars, or his skin, which several of his girlfriends had claimed to be softer than silk, and his habit of crossing his legs on the bridge, which no one had ever dared to mention), and since he didn't intend to take a feminine role in his forthcoming relationship with another male, then McCoy must surely have been referring to Spock.

Kirk grinned, got to his feet and extended a hand to his recumbent first officer. "Oopseedaisy," he said, and took great delight in pulling Spock upright.

That wonderfully intriguing brow hit the roof as Spock pulled to straighten his tunic. "Oopseedaisy? I do not believe I am familiar with that term, Captain."

McCoy chortled. "I'd like to be around for you to explain that one to him, Jim, but I've got to go. Meeting somebody for exercise."

"Who?" Kirk asked bluntly, seeing an opportunity for more evidence-gathering.

"Oh, just a friend," McCoy said vaguely. "You don't have to know everything about me, now, do you? See ya."

As one, Kirk and Spock watched as McCoy entered the lift by twirling in a three hundred and sixty degree turn, then settled against the wall with a huge grin on his face. As the doors closed, Kirk would have sworn that his curmudgeonly CMO had actually started to hum. The captain crossed his arms across his chest and squinted. "There is something very peculiar going on around here," he declaimed. "What friend? What friends does McCoy have who would be in the gym at this hour?"

"Unknown, but I agree with your assessment, Captain. The doctor bears watching."

Kirk turned back to the object of his desires; he'd been only momentarily sidetracked. There were more important matters, much weightier matters, at hand. Momentum, once achieved, was not to be abandoned. "But not right now. Mister Spock, would you care for -- " a kiss, a grope, a fondle, a screw, the loving of your life -- "an after-holo drink?"

"That would be most acceptable, Captain."

Kirk had found, in his long experience in seducing not-so-innocent, not-so-virgin women, that the period of transition from a vertical to a horizontal position was a delicate time. He often had spent considerable care and attention in negotiating that treacherous ground. But with Spock, he thought as they set off happily down the hall, it was going to be wonderfully different.

They walked in perfect harmony: bodies, spirits, minds in tune. Kirk was tinglingly aware of the man by his side, of his physical presence, of the heat of his body felt during that delicious mishap in the turbo, of his genuine love for this one unlikely individual who was going to fulfill all his dreams, of his --

Spock stopped dead in his tracks, an inquiring look on his face. Kirk glanced back at him, then at the numbered doors in the hall. "Oh, sorry."

They backtracked to the captain's quarters, bypassed in their perfect harmony, and went inside.

Spock concentrated hard on looking nonchalant, as it was still quite possible that he had entirely misinterpreted events, and he was not about to be initiated into the mysteries of the human sexual arts by a master of the same. He could definitely live without that humiliation. Although, as he stood in the middle of Kirk's office and watched his captain fussing over ordering Spock's favorite Vulcan wine from the servo, and re-pouring it into the special cut-glass crystal that had belonged to some obscure huckster on Aldeberan VII before Kirk picked the goblets up for a song, Spock realized with an emotional swallow that Kirk had no intention of leaving him, so to speak, high and dry. Perhaps the humans would say hard and dry. Although he'd never quite heard that particular expression, it did seem an appropriate one considering the inflationary stage of --

"Hello?" Kirk waved a hand under his nose. "Anybody home?"


"You were a million kilometers away. I'd rather your attention be on. . ." Kirk appeared to gather his resolution, ". . .me."

Spock deeply admired his captain's courage. Could he be less forthright? Taking the offered goblet of wine from his friend's grasp, Spock said, in what he hoped was a significant, emotional voice, "There is less than a one point two five percent chance of my attention being elsewhere than the vicinity of this room."

Kirk appeared to take these words as the momentous declaration he had intended. The captain buried his gaze into the depths of the wine, then glanced back up through a fringe of lashes. "Really?" he asked seductively.

Spock was already totally out of his depth and had to exercise stringent control over his escalating desire. Why did Jim not simply initiate the coarser, more physical aspects of human matings, such as a kiss, a grope, a fondle, a screw, the loving of his life? He was not adept at verbal foreplay, so he resorted to his catch-all word, used whenever he had no idea what else to say. "Indeed."

"That's good," Kirk said, still flirting madly with his eyes over the imitation-glass rim. "So you're not, let's say, writing the abstract in your head for the experiment going on in the chem lab."

"That is correct." Spock took a sip that he totally did not register, there could have been sewage water sludging over his taste buds and he wouldn't have cared, for Kirk had taken one step backwards towards the bed. "My attention is focused on the here and now."

"And you're not calculating the orbit modifications we'll have to make when we reach the starbase tomorrow?" Another step.

Spock had sworn to Starfleet that he would follow his captain anywhere. It was duty that propelled him forward. "Of course not." He would have had to boast the intelligence of an oyster to be thinking of anything but the delights that lay in store for him.

The backs of Kirk's knees bumped against the mattress. "And you're not trying to figure out why McCoy is acting so strangely?"

Enough! In one assertive move, Spock reached out and removed the wine from Kirk's hand, placed both it and his own glass on a convenient table, and boldly placed his body close enough to his captain's so that it could be touched, mauled, caressed and -- oh, yes! -- penetrated with very little exertion on Kirk's part. He stared into his captain's golden, captivating eyes from the distance of but seventeen point five centimeters. He thought it was seventeen point five centimeters. It was difficult to estimate correctly when his breathing had also accelerated by thirty-seven point seven five percent.

"Why," Spock breathed onto the flawless skin of his captain's cheeks and nose -- so delicate! When was he going to earn the right to touch? -- "should I be thinking about McCoy when you are here?"

The first real move. Kirk raised one hand to grasp Spock's upper arm. "Because I'm relying on you to find out what's going on with Bones?"

It made sense to reciprocate. He completed the circle of their bodies by rounding his fingers over Kirk's biceps. "I would speculate," he said breathlessly, "that if McCoy is not engaged in fencing, he has taken up archery."

"Bones? I don't think so."

There, Jim was suddenly perceptively nearer. Perhaps no more than ten centimeters separated the tips of their respective noses. He could see each individual eyelash, the amber highlights in his captain's eyes, the. . .the. . .the. . .he didn't know what else he perceived, but he did know that they were definitely close! Better to resort to what he knew. "The evidence supports it," in the tiniest, least assertive voice he had ever used. "His peculiar stance this evening -- "

"The hell with Bones," Kirk growled.

Ah. Ahhhh. Ohhhhhhhh. Jim's lips on his at last.

For the first time in thirty-seven years, Spock stopped thinking. His body took over and seemed to know exactly what to do. He wrapped his arms around Kirk as completely as he could, pressed his genitals firmly against a similar mound, and simply lived in the beautiful, perfect now that was kissing the man he truly did love. . . . And lusted after.

(Imagine here two healthy, sexually-charged men finally granted what each has been fantasizing about for months. Kirk was no slouch in the grabbing-for-life-with-gusto department, and Spock was an extremely fast learner. If you think their first kiss was tentative, silent, or merely affectionate, you'd be wrong.)

Two minutes forty-two seconds and a lifetime of experience later (so that was why the humans favored open-mouthed kissing!), Spock realized that he was so far gone that he was actually hearing bells. The loss of his faculties did not concern him. The loss of Kirk's embrace did.

"Damn it!" Kirk growled as he tore himself away.

"Wh. . .what?" Spock asked intelligently.

"This always happens, goddamnit!" Kirk swore. "Just when I'm, ah," he cast a swift glance at his currently stupefied but sure-to-be-touchy first officer and rephrased his comment -- no sense in rubbing Spock's nose in his past indiscretions, especially when he absolutely promised to be true -- "whenever the captain's busy with something important, someone's at the door."

"The door," said Spock. "I see."

Kirk grinned suddenly. Spock was adorable! And as responsive as hell. Kirk touched his own swollen, thoroughly kissed lips appreciatively, ran a tongue over the thoroughly plundered inside of his mouth. If Spock had been any more enthusiastic they would have reached afterglow already. "You are fantastic, Mister," he whispered, and swooped in for a surprise peck on lips that were the sweetest he'd ever tasted. "Wait right here. I'll see who it is and get rid of them fast."

But of course it was -- you guessed this one, too, right? -- Ensign Slacker. She'd been wondering how in the seven worlds of Sirius she was going to get the captain to notice her, when halfway through The Man-Eating Women of Satyrnalia VI she'd been struck almost-dumb with inspiration.

"Begging the captain's pardon, sir. . ." she began.

"Yes, Ensign?" Kirk prompted. Go away! his inner voice commanded. This was not a phrase that any part of his conscious or subconscious mind had ever directed towards a female before.

"Captain, I saw that you left the holo before it ended. I've seen it before. Would you be interested in knowing the finish?"

Kirk eyed her with growing incredulity. It would have been easy for him to say "Dismissed, Ensign," and he could have happily seen her narrow shoulders retreating down the hall. But an awful sort of fascination seized him. Could she really be as stupid as she seemed? Even laundry techs had some minimum qualifications. "No, Ensign," he said, quite gently, as it was possible he was dealing with a disturbed person. In Kirk's book, gross stupidity did equate with psychological imbalance. "If I had wanted to know how The Man-Eating Women of Satyrnalia VII had ended, I wouldn't have left."

"Oh, it's not as bad as you think, sir. The film actually operates on several levels, and the symbolism really comes together at the end."

"I'm sure it does, Ensign."

"And the Holo Guide of the Year says the performance of Tiffany Lynx is considerably under-rated. Their reviewer felt she should have been nominated for a Naked Oscar. "

There had been a time when Kirk had avidly followed the Naked Oscars; he and his roommate at the Academy had decorated their room with graphic photographic renditions of the female nominees, and as recently as a year ago he had bet with Scotty on the outcome of the annual contest. However, since then his attention had been taken by visions of a different manifestation of nakedness.

"I can't say I agree, Ensign," he said with what he hoped was depressing severity.

It seemed to work; her face fell even as she peered over his shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were consulting with Mister Spock."

Suddenly Spock was at his side, helping to block entry into the captain's quarters. He said, "Ensign Slacker, I believe your time would be more productively spent elsewhere."

"Yes, sir," she said unhappily. "Sorry, sir. I guess I'll go down to the gym with the rest of the group to see Doctor McCoy."

In the act of turning away, with great hopes of what they might be able to resume, each of Slacker's commanding officers rounded on her in the same motion. "Doctor McCoy?" they echoed in unison, then looked at one another, abashed again.

"Uh. . ." Slacker said, confirming all Kirk's earlier suspicions.

"For what purpose is your 'group' going to see Doctor McCoy?" Spock grilled in his best first officer's voice, known to freeze the blood in young officers' veins.

"Nothing, sir! I mean, just a little friendly kidding."

"I am not familiar with that term, Ensign. It does not seem to relate to the doctor's medical skills."

"You know," Slacker said desperately, "kidding. Having a little fun. It's just so unusual, you know, to see him trying to touch his toes."

"I would suggest, Ensign, that such behavior is unbecoming to a Starfleet officer. A wise junior officer would engage in quite different pursuits."

"Yes, sir."

"You are dismissed."

They stepped back and the door closed on Slacker's white and trembling form. But before two hormonally-charged men could do anything more than stare at each other, each wondering wildly how they could easily and immediately recommence certain carnal activities, the buzzer rang again.

"Damn it to all Orion's hells," Kirk muttered. But his face was transformed into all-business when he called, from a distance of merely ten centimeters, "Open."

If Ensign Slacker was surprised that both captain and first officer were still in exactly the same positions in which she had left them half a minute ago, she didn't let it show. "I almost forgot," she gushed, and held out something that had previously been hidden behind her back. "Your popcorn. You left it at the vid and I thought you might like to finish it."

Kirk stared down at the container of buttered calories he was now holding and tried not to shudder. It wouldn't be good for discipline if Slacker knew he thought her actions bordered on the lunatic. "Thank you, Ensign."

Spock added in a tone that not a single person on the ship would ignore, including the captain but especially the techs who worshiped the ground on which their Vulcan god walked, "It will not be necessary for you to visit the captain again tonight, Ensign." No pronouncement concerning the fate of the universe could have been uttered more definitely.

Now that her hands were free to salute, Slacker did so. "Aye-aye, sir. Sirs. Hope you two have a good night."

For a second time the door whished shut and the two commanding officers of the Enterprise were left standing, staring at each other in silence.

There was a long moment of doubt shared by each man. Kirk wondered suddenly if this was really a good idea. He foresaw complications down the road: how would they balance a love affair with the chain of command? How would Starfleet react when the news, inevitably, reached Starbase One that the two commanding officers of the Enterprise were screwing like minks? (At least, he assumed that's what he and Spock would be doing, if they ever got started.) Would Amanda insist on holding a bonding shower for them?

Over in Spock's busy head, he had similar but not exactly the same thoughts. Could he ever serve as an adequate sexual partner for the dynamic Jim Kirk? How would Starfleet react when the news, inevitably, reached Starbase One that the two commanding officers of the Enterprise were copulating like le-matyas in heat? (At least, he assumed that's what he and Jim would be doing, if they ever got started, if Jim lived up to his reputation. He was most curious about that.) What would the reaction be on Vulcan when news reached it that their most notorious black sheep had gone against tradition and chosen an ash-blond for his bondmate?

There was that pivotal moment in time for two people, when the choices made would determine down which road they would travel for the rest of their lives. The Klingon Empire of the future held its breath. (Please, please walk away from each other, it silently pleaded, we don't want to be pacified!) Nineteen planets on the brink of war and annihilation paused before proceeding in their dances with death. (Please, please, the inhabitants begged, save us!) The publishing firm of Harpers, Bizarre and Williams got down on its collective hands and knees and prayed. (Please, please, continue with the most romantic relationship of the twenty-third century, your joint memoir after your retirements will sell billions, save the company from ruin, and melt the hearts of women throughout the galaxy. Think of the holo residuals!)

But Kirk and Spock didn't hear any of those voices from the future. They each had their doubts, but the truth was that they also each had an abundance of male hormones, and since when has any male turned down the opportunity for a screw?

What a minute! What happened to that "romantic relationship," see two paragraphs above?

Okay, so the truth is that they each had an abundance of male hormones, but they also each loved each other madly, deeply, truly. Really!

Kirk, as was his wont, broke the silence between them. "Really!" he said.

"Truly," Spock responded, as always in tune with his captain. They took a step closer to each other.

"What we should be doing is going down to the gym," Kirk said without much enthusiasm. "To protect Bones from being harassed by the crew."

"I do not have much enthusiasm for that project," Spock said, as if he had telepathy.

"But then we might be able to get more evidence about what McCoy is up to." As if he were trying to convince himself.

"Could we not proceed with that investigation. . .later?" Spock asked hopefully.

"I suppose so. Tomorrow, maybe, at breakfast." Visions of waking up in the morning with a warm, much-loved Vulcan in his bed danced before Kirk's inner and most appreciative eye. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be best to make himself clear.


"Yes, Jim?"

"Spock, what I'd really like to do tonight is. . . ."

Spock held his breath. Kirk gathered his.

". . .is make love. With you. You and me, together."



A pause. "Indeed."

"Then," so silkily, "let's get started."

If you think you're going to get a blow by blow rendition of the next thirty-seven minutes in the captain's quarters (what, you were expecting two point three three hours? These guys were hot to trot!), you'd be wrong. Nobody could write that much! It would take pages and pages of sexually explicit material, and who would want to read them? Not even the future readers of those celebrated memoirs, who preferred their own fantasies about the famous lovers, anyway. But here are the highlights.

-- Spock's inferences from his observations over the past four years, plus his limited experience from just a few minutes previously, were proven to be absolutely true. Jim Kirk was a terrific kisser. Perhaps it was something Jim did with his arms, Spock wondered hazily as he stood within the circle of Kirk's embrace, when they come up for a (momentary) breath. Or maybe it was just that his lips nibbled in a most alluring fashion, or that his tongue -- oh, his tongue! -- was particularly dexterous. Whatever the reason, Spock was primed and ready and panting in his captain's arms when Kirk paused in his labial ministrations and whispered, "Let's take off our clothes."

-- Spock proved that he could undress faster than Kirk could, even with all the captain's practice. He was naked so fast that he even had time to help Kirk unzip both his boots. Not that he was eager or anything.

-- Kirk discovered that it required immense self-control not to ejaculate the moment he had Spock under him on the bed. God! To have that warm, long, lithe body heaving beneath his, to hear those little Vulcan sex-pants and the considerably louder Vulcan moans in his ear, to see how much Spock was loving having the tips of his ears licked and sucked. He'd been wanting to get those ears in his mouth for months, they'd figured prominently in his nighttime fantasies. Ah, fantasy finally experienced! Orgasm hovered for a terrifying space of time as Spock twisted and groaned beneath him. The first officer definitely seemed to be enjoying the proceedings so far. But, Kirk thought, if he lost it all within thirty seconds of being horizontal, it wouldn't be fair to the man, this gorgeous Vulcan man whom he loved and whom he longed to show everything, to satisfy thoroughly. He was going to give Spock the time of his life. . . .

-- They each discovered how loudly a Vulcan could shout when a human mouth first settled on his penis. Kirk jerked in surprise (but was much too experienced to lose contact with the object of his attentions) when Spock threw his arms up into the air and cried out "Jim! So stimulating!" The words came out in a strangled tenor at least an octave higher than the first officer's usual baritone, and Kirk didn't allow them to deter him from giving Spock exactly what he deserved. Besides, he figured that anyone passing in the hall would never guess who had emitted those earthy, passionate, unmistakably sexual sounds.

-- As has already been noted, Spock was a remarkably fast learner, and he wished to give as much pleasure as he was receiving. If that were possible, which he doubted, because on Spock's personal pleasure scale he was already maxxed out. At any rate, he intended to give it a good try, because he was in love. No, really, he was IN LOVE. (Certainly nothing else would have prompted him to attend an execrable holo like The Man-Eating Women of Satyrnalia VIII. ) But the first time Spock went down on his captain's manly, towering penis, (encouraged by Jim's cries of, "Oh, yes, Spock, suck me!" and two iron hands pushing him down to the right position), he bit it in his enthusiasm. Kirk jerked upright and shouted, "Ouch! Watch the teeth, for God's sake!" The Vulcan managed to mollify his captain with many kisses applied to his torso and nipples, where Kirk was especially sensitive, and eventually found his way back to the tower in question, where he acquitted himself well with much undignified slurping and licking. Kirk loved it.

-- But there came a time when enough was enough, and nothing else would satisfy either of them but the real thing. To Kirk with all his ways with women, that translated to penetration all the way, and since Spock had been wanting to feel his captain's cock up his ass for the longest time, they magically and suddenly found themselves in exactly the right positions -- on hands and knees with Kirk behind. A swipe of the tube of KY Jelly from the nightstand (Kirk had laid in an ample supply a month earlier, just in case), and an accommodating spread of the legs by a first officer who always seemed to anticipate his captain's desires, and suddenly Kirk's fingers were up where no man had. . .oh, you know, twisting and dilating because he had read up on such things. Spock's eyes glazed. Kirk actually turned red with embarrassment, but even if Spock had been on his back he wouldn't have seen, because he was more than consumed with emotions he had never, ever encountered before. Relinquishment, trust, raw sex and love all mixed up together and made him feel ready to burst. Which of course he was, but not quite yet.

-- And Kirk had never felt like this before, either, just as he had never penetrated a man before. Never wanted to. But on his knees behind this particular male, with his cock about to be occupied in a new and absolutely mesmerizing activity, he realized that this was it. No, really, Spock was IT, what he'd been searching for all his life. To hell with women and pussies and breasts, give him pointed ears and that hot Vulcan cock and Spock spread and open before him. Nirvana!

"Ready?" he panted.

"Jim, please!"

"All right. Move a little to the. . . . That's right. Easy. Here. . . ."

"Ow!" (It hurt a little going in.)

"Ahhhhhhhhhh. . . ." (The captain was feeling no pain.)

Kirk began to thrust and quickly brushed against the famously-sensitive Vulcan prostate, as described in the O'koth-b'koth, the well-known Vulcan book of love.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Spock was definitely in the rhythm, so to speak.

And that was about it, except for their orgasms, which were titanic and sealed them together, metaphorically speaking, for the next one hundred and seventeen years.

When it was all over (and only just begun), they lay in Kirk's bed next to one another, touching along the full length of the sides of their bodies, and each very, very happy. And need we say -- sleepy? These were, after all, men.

Spock was on the left. He fought off the encroachment of magnificently satisfied dreams and rolled over onto his side to say, "That was. . .most enlightening. I would wish to repeat it often." Then, somewhat shyly, because it was the truth and embarrassingly emotional, he added, "I love you, Jim."

Kirk flushed from the top of his head all the way down to his recently-curled toes. He knew how significant that declaration was. The future Klingon Empire had definitely lost, and the publishing firm of Harpers, Bizarre and Williams would get their heart-melting memoir.

"Spock," he choked. "Me, too."

His first officer looked at him in confusion. "You love yourse -- "

"I mean," Kirk explained, "That I love you, too."

"Ah," Spock said intelligently. "That is most acceptable."

Starfleet's youngest captain curled up on his side and rested his head on his lover's conveniently outstretched arm. "Perfect," he sighed.

"Except that McCoy's actions are still a mystery."

Kirk's lips pursed. "Damn. I wish I knew what was going on."

"But surely you do not believe that the good doctor has ill-intentions?"

A captainly sigh. "I guess not. McCoy doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He could no more be intentionally cruel than he could. . .ah, could take up fencing."

"Then you also discount the chance that he has become an archer."

Kirk chuckled and punched his bedpartner lightly in the ribs. Spock grunted and grabbed his hand, and a brief tussle ensued, highly enjoyable to both parties.

"You were saying?" Spock inquired from his new perch atop his captain.

Kirk squirmed, just a little, to maximize the contact between their bodies. This position, he decided, definitely had possibilities. He rather liked the unique, masculine weight pressed upon him. He even started to react, uh, down there.

"I was saying that next you would say Bones has taken up tai chi."

"It is another possibility."

Spock looked even more adorable than usual, Kirk decided, staring down at him so seriously, but with a just-fucked glow and tousled hair that contrasted gloriously with his all-Vulcan mien.

"Come here," Kirk whispered, leaning up for a kiss. "Let's forget about Bones for a while. I want to concentrate on us."

In their memoirs they would say that they indulged in further physical activity right then and there, but the truth is that they each fell asleep in the middle of a kiss, and in the course of the night Spock rolled off his captain and slept on the very edge of the bed.

If wasn't until the next morning at 0540 that they continued and created evidence for McCoy to call Kirk Grandma, or Girlie, or any other feminine term, because Kirk laid on his back, spread and lifted his legs, and took it like a man. Or rather, like a woman. But not really, because no woman had ever achieved orgasm by shooting almost up to the ceiling. He liked having Spock inside him, he discovered he really did, and they argued about who got to be on the bottom for the next twenty-seven years, after which they finally wised up and kept an accurate diary so they could take turns. Actually, Spock kept it, because he suspected Kirk would cheat.

But none of this helped them figure out what was going on with McCoy.

That morning Kirk had an early consultation with the head of maintenance over some persistently stopped-up toilets on the main engineering deck that really needed to be cleared up before they docked at Starbase Thirty-Seven later in the day. Spock had promised a few of his eager, off-duty techs that he would provide his impartial judgment to supervise the remote-controlled mini-shuttle races in the hanger deck, so neither of them made it to breakfast. Which was just as well, as they were sure to try to look absolutely normal -- not as if they had been deflowered overnight -- and so they were bound to look supremely self-conscious instead.

But at mid-morning Kirk found himself in the turbo heading for hydroponics, and who should pop into the lift right before it closed but McCoy. Humming.

Enough! Kirk took the bull by the horns. "Bones, what are you up to?"

A choir boy couldn't have looked so innocent. "Me?" The sky-blue eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"You know darn well what I mean," the captain exploded. "We're docking in less than an hour, everybody will have shore leave over the next few days, and I don't want any of your practical jokes on the base!"

"Jim," the doctor reproached. "I wouldn't."

"I'm not so sure of that."

"But it's true. You don't have anything to be worried about."

"Then what's with the visits to the gym?"

McCoy had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, that. Nothing. Really. I'm just trying to stay in shape."

"To get in shape you mean," the captain said unkindly. He didn't believe a word that came out of McCoy's mouth.

The doctor flashed a quick grin. "Yeah. Hey, speaking of shore leave, you got anything planned?"

Normally Kirk would have scheduled some time with his CMO during one of their ports of call, but lately his attention had been so occupied by planning the seduction of his first officer, not to mention stalking McCoy, that he hadn't given it any thought at all.

"Ahhh, not really. Maybe I'll go down tomorrow or the next day. We've only got a three day layover, you know."

"Good, good," McCoy said too heartily. "Maybe we can get together tomorrow. Spock, too. See ya." And with that he popped out on deck sixteen as quickly as he had entered. McCoy, Kirk pondered, seemed to have an inordinate amount of energy lately. He didn't trust his CMO when he was this frisky.

At about this same time, Spock strode onto the bridge to supervise last minute pre-docking procedures. One of his duties as first officer was to inform the crew of any "off-limits" locations or events during their period of shore leave; sometimes the Enterprise visited cultures where such precautions were necessary. And though Starbase Thirty-Seven was unlikely to boast any such traps-for-the-unwary, Spock adhered to routine. He paused at Uhura's station to ask the lieutenant to provide him with the usual listing, then walked, without leaning, to gingerly sit down at the science station. As he settled into his seat, trying to find the most comfortable position, he acknowledged that while it was true that he hurt, he would not have changed any facet of his sexual initiation. The previous evening had exceeded his expectations, and Jim had proven that his reputation was well-earned. Spock could agree with the whispered confidence that he had once overheard from one of his captain's former lovers: "He's a terrific lay."

But daydreaming on the bridge was a non-regulation activity, and so Spock forced his mind away from thoughts of Jim's mouth and Jim's soft skin, and the peculiar but somehow endearing way Jim seemed to be interested in his armpits, and settled down to business. It was as he was scanning an eclectic list that included "Robot Madness Days" and "The Semi-Annual Pig-Roping Contest" that he recalled McCoy's unusual interest in when the ship was going to be docking. Odd that he had not properly assimilated that suspicious exchange earlier. When his eyes lit upon one particular event, scheduled for that evening in the Chuck B. Wagon Memorial Auditorium on the upper level of the base, Spock, so to speak, finally put two and two together.

So it was that when McCoy, Leonard H. and Ward, Wilma F. took the floor of the Wagon Auditorium for the preliminary round of competitive ballroom dancing, a dumbfounded captain and first officer were in the audience to witness the spectacle. Kirk thought that he had never seen anything so ludicrous as McCoy decked out in the skintight navy blue bodysuit that apparently was de rigueur for the male partners of each couple, although Nurse Ward spiffed up surprisingly well in orange chiffon. McCoy's bony elbows were never so conspicuous, and as for his knees. . . . If Kirk had been a delicate man, he would have averted his eyes. As it was, he resisted the urge to crow aloud in derision. The crowd in which they resided in the fourth row reclined in plush velvet seats and sipped champagne that never spilled on their formal wear; Bronx cheers from the gallery would surely have not been appropriate. Spock had suggested that they indulge in their espionage incognito, and so they'd dressed to blend in. Kirk thought that Spock looked splendid in his black on black on black; it never occurred to him that there might have been a lack of imagination displayed. He just thought Spock looked sexy. It is possible his evaluation was a teensy bit biased, as he was still reliving last night's passions -- and planning more.

The lights dimmed, the six couples on the wooden floor assumed positions (there are several of them, you know), and the music began for a traditional foxtrot.

A few minutes later Kirk leaned over to comment, "My God. He's really awful."

"Indeed. If McCoy has been practicing, it has not been time well -- "

"Shhhh," came angrily from the row behind them.

The two Enterprise officers looked at each other, abashed yet again. Kirk settled down to endure four rounds of four different dances in the preliminaries; he didn't see how it was possible for the awkward doctor and his graceful companion to break into the semi-finals, unless the judges were either blind or had been bribed. A good question might have been why the captain and first officer continued to observe, since neither of them were fans of this particular artform. One answer might have been that Kirk wanted to gather enough ammunition for years of Bones-baiting, or to provide insurance so there would never again be an embarrassing replay of the shaving cream incident that, until Spock had taken up residence there, had haunted his dreams. Another might have been that he enjoyed any opportunity that allowed him to continue a subtle foreplay in quasi-public with his new lover; they were holding hands in the dimness of the hall, their thighs were in firm contact, and twice when he leaned in to whisper to his first officer, he took the opportunity to kiss the pointed ear. Spock didn't object at all.

But the real reason they endured was that McCoy was their friend. Simple, a little corny, but true. Spock had decided to succumb to the human custom of applause many years previously, and so whenever Ward/McCoy were on the floor and swirling in their general direction, vigorous clapping came from row four. It might not have made much sense, but it was certainly loyal.

And it was inevitable that McCoy would look up to see where his undeserved support was coming from. He spotted them. He stumbled. He tripped on Ward's flowing dress as she dipped. He fell. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

"Oops," Kirk said, grimacing.

But Kirk and Spock were brave men and did not retreat, but instead found their way down to the back prep room during the intermission between the Latin dance and the tango.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" McCoy didn't even have the energy to jump up from the stool on which he was slumped for his accusation. Ward stood next to him, gently fanning him with a folded newspaper.

"I could ask the same of you," Kirk responded. "Bones, why didn't you tell us you were. . .were. . . ."

"See? You can't even say it! I'm ballroom dancing, that's what I'm doing, with this here lovely lady," he reached up and took Ward's hand in his, apparently finding the energy for at least this simple action in his exhaustion. He eyed Kirk with a martial air. "It's a sport, in case you didn't realize. The experts practice for hours every day, they're magnificent physical specimens."

"We're just amateurs," Ward said demurely. She looked divine in gold and black and feathers that would take them into the tango. "We don't have the time to devote to it because of our commitment to the ship."

"I knew you would make fun of me," McCoy admitted glumly. "But Willie, that is, Nurse Ward, she asked me to be her partner when she came on board, and how could I have said no to her?"

"Bones," Kirk chided, trying to keep his unholy glee in check, "would I have done that? Made fun of you?"

"Yes." The doctor dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief thrust into his hand by his attentive partner. "Especially after I got you with the shaving cream. How'd you figure it out?"

"I had help," Kirk said, his gaze straying to his own partner. "The best."

"Oh, yeah?" McCoy asked, eyeing the Vulcan speculatively. "Hmmmmm," he said pregnantly, in his best doctor's cogitation.

There was a long moment of silence as Kirk and McCoy squared off in silent battle. Furious thoughts -- plots, recriminations, bribes, threats -- took form.

"The crew," the captain said, "needs to be entertained when we're in deep space. You know that, Doctor McCoy. They might enjoy seeing you perform."

"Not a chance!" McCoy said with feeling.

"As captain, I've got to be concerned with the psychological health of the entire ship's complement. I can order the entertainment."

"You wouldn't!"

"I thought you would never undermine my authority as captain with a stupid practical joke."

"I suppose sorry wouldn't be enough?"

Mutely, Kirk shook his head.

"Well. . . ." McCoy's fingers were still tightly laced with Ward's, a fact that Kirk found quite interesting. Now the doctor swung their hands gently. "I might point out that Ensign Slacker likes to confide in me."

With deep foreboding, Kirk contributed, "She does?"

"She told me about some rather interesting noises she heard on deck five last night."

"No!" Kirk met Spock's equally startled gaze. Just thinking about his bedmate's uninhibited verbal responses during their lovemaking was enough to bring Kirk's cock to life, but news of Spock's enthusiastic outbursts wasn't something he wanted spread all over the ship. He was absolutely going to have to shut the Vulcan up in the future.

"Oh, yes," McCoy assured. "Seems Slacker wanted to lend you the Holo Guide of the Year. Something about a review she thought you might like to read. When there wasn't any response to her buzz at your door, but noises she couldn't identify, she came to me. Got me out of the gym, as a matter of fact. Sure was crowded last night."


"So. I've got good hearing and an adequate imagination, unlike Slacker. Did you two have a good time last night?


"Doctor McCoy!"

"Leonard!" Apparently even Wilma was aghast. Or perhaps she, a mere lieutenant, feared a permanent blemish on her Starfleet record if she were implicated in blackmailing her superior officer.

McCoy was like a terrier with its nose down a fox hole. Relentless. Which was no mean feat for an exhausted, skinny male with a bruised butt, sitting on a stool. "No dance exhibitions on the ship?"

Kirk knew when offense was no longer productive and it was time to make a deal. "No more practical jokes? And no more, uh, checking up on what Slacker said?"

"I cross my heart and hope to live to a hundred and fifty."

"You'll die in your bed, you scoundrel."

McCoy took this as the affectionate comment it was and grinned. "I hope so!" He glanced up shyly at Ward, seemed to notice for the first time that their fingers were still entwined, and hastily pulled his hand away. "Hey, how do you think we did? Except for when I tripped, pretty well, huh?"

"I do not believe I have words to express what I thought of your performance, Doctor," Spock informed him.

"You're a Vulcan, I don't expect you to. Jim, what did you think?"

Jim thought that he had already spent too much time watching McCoy when what he wanted to be doing was seeing how long Spock could suck his cock before he reached orgasm, but he rose valiantly to the occasion. "Both of you were great. You looked good out there. Nurse, you must have experience at this."

Both McCoy and Ward looked pleased at this pleasantry. "Why, yes, Captain, thank you, I do. I was the junior champion of the south continent club on Bellargeon II, and when I got to the Enterprise I thought it was time to start again. Especially when I realized that Leonard might agree to be my partner."

There didn't seem to be any response to this, but as Ward and the CMO were busy grinning at each other foolishly, it didn't matter. There was no accounting for taste, Kirk thought, although he did feel a corresponding emotional tug. He'd have to make sure he never looked at Spock that way -- in public.

Everyone was rescued from having to continue the conversation by an official who announced, "Three minutes. Contestants, line up."

"Gotta go," as McCoy heaved himself to his feet. "If we make the cut, will you stay and watch?"

"Of course," Kirk and Spock echoed with equal sincerity, each knowing there was no chance.

Back on the ship half an hour later, they materialized on the transporter pads and stepped down to make room for the twenty people gathered there, all waiting to celebrate some free time on the 'base.

"Captain!" squealed a too-familiar voice.

"Ensign Slacker," Kirk warily acknowledged. Green-sprayed hair and pigtails somehow fit his understanding of her perfectly.

"Sir, do you know if Doctor McCoy and Nurse Ward made it to the semi-finals?"


A young laundry tech possessively holding Slacker's hand spoke up. He was resplendent in plaid shorts and a purple tank top. "We wanted to go watch them, but we figured that would just make them nervous. Doctor McCoy's none too steady on his feet, you know."

Kirk turned to his first officer. "Did everyone on the ship know about this except us?"

"Oh, no," Slacker cut in. "I just found out about a week ago, when we noticed the doctor in the gym so much."

"How?" Spock inquired mildly, but Kirk was not deceived. He knew Spock wanted to compare detection methods.

"Oh. I asked Nurse Ward. She told me to keep it quiet, so I just told Jack, here. And Mandy, but she can keep a secret. Oh, and Trish, too. That's all. So, is that where you went, sirs? We'd love to know the results."

"Doctor McCoy and Nurse Ward," Spock said with considerable control, "acquitted themselves well, especially in the tango, which they performed with great enthusiasm. However, there were other couples in the contest with greater experience, and so McCoy and Ward did not advance to the next round."

"Oh, that's a shame. Maybe they'll have better luck next time. Come on, Jack, our turn to beam down."

"You are dismissed," Kirk murmured superfluously as they bounded to the pads. As they and the last of those in the room disappeared into sparkles, Kirk asked, for his companion's ears only, "Were we ever that young? Or stupid?" They moved slowly to the door.

"Negative," Spock instantly replied, but in a voice pitched so low that it sent shivers of sexual possibilities tingling up Kirk's spine. "I am sure your superior intellect and inherent command capabilities were apparent even in your early twenties."

Kirk slowly turned to face his first officer straight on, ignoring the presence of the transporter officer across the room. He knew a come-on line from his Vulcan when he heard one. "Really?" he encouraged. He was a sucker for compliments as much as the next guy.

There was that nervous swallow as Spock gathered his resolve. "Indeed. And. . .and your physical comeliness was also evident. I have seen photographs."

Kirk couldn't help but smile. The thought of Spock searching out old pictures was gratifying. Suddenly, not touching his lover was impossible, and so he rested a hand on a shoulder that had always been there for him to lean on.

"Mister Spock. Would you care for an after-dance drink?"

It was Spock's eyes that were dancing. "That would be most acceptable, Captain."

Together they walked through the halls of the Enterprise, acknowledging greetings, talking quietly of the next day's duty schedule, moving towards their rendezvous with passion and sex. And while it seemed to Kirk that so much had changed, nothing really had. He was still the captain, Spock was still his efficient and treasured first officer, they were still completely at ease with one another despite the fact that they were going to spend the rest of the evening fucking each other into the next sector. Life, Kirk decided, was very good.

Kirk paused outside his cabin door. He looked at the man who had walked by his side all the way from the transporter room, and, in truth, for much longer before that. The previous night with Spock had been everything he'd wanted it to be, so much more than his so-common flings because there was one huge difference. No, two. He loved Spock. And most importantly, he knew him. He loved his Vulcan friend because he knew him, or maybe the other way around. It was a little confusing. . . .

But one thing Kirk was sure of: this was a dance that he never wanted to end.

"Captain?" Spock inquired.

Kirk extended his arm, indicating his cabin, the bed they would share, the rest of their lives that they would join together.

"Shall we?"

*****THE END*****
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