STAR TREK

HOT, HOT, HOT (OR, THE INNER RAMBLINGS OF JAMES T. KIRK)

Author's Note:

Pairing: James T. Kirk/Spock

Warnings: Mild language

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, CBS and Paramount. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

Despite what many, many, people believed, James T. Kirk was not an idiot. The test results of all his schooling years combined backed him up on that. It was just that Jim had always been "pretty", and he knew how to use his looks- his full lips, wide blue eyes, and messy blonde hair- to get what he wanted. Which was what he usually did when he was in trouble. That had earned him a reputation at Starfleet; everyone thought he was easy, dim, and loose.

While Jim loved sex, and had had sex with a variety of genders and species, he hadn't slept with nearly as many people as his fellow cadets- and no doubt his instructors- had believed. Bones was the only one who believed the truth, because he was there when Jim hunkered down over his PADDs every night, studying and keeping atop the multitude of classes he'd had to take each semester to graduate in three years instead of four.

So... yeah, Jim wasn't stupid. He was a genius by many standards. The only person who'd graduated Starfleet Academy quicker and with better marks than him was Spock. And he was a Vulcan, so Jim called unfair advantage on that.

Anyway, the point Jim would soon be trying to make- to himself, because he was in his own head here- was that he was in no way an idiot. Only... well, evidence would soon point towards him being at least slightly slow. But nobody knew, so it was all good, right?

Jim frowned to himself and tapped his fingers along the armrest of the Captain's chair, his other fingers gripping his chin loosely. He had been vaguely staring at the main viewscreen, but space whizzing past could only hold his interest for so long. So he turned his attention to his crew. Sulu was tapping away at his screens and keyboards, keeping up-to-date on the ship's current speed, the engines, where they were going, etc. He was focused, i.e. useless to cure Jim's current boredom, so he turned his attention on Chekov. Little Chekov, who probably would have surpassed even Spock as the quickest graduate of Starfleet if he hadn't completed the standard four years. He was working, too.

Uhura was monitoring all communication channels in the area, as well as checking on anything that could possibly interfere with said communications, while simultaneously reading something on her main screen, and writing on a PADD with her free hand. Gah, this was the problem with having the best crew in the 'Fleet; everybody worked too damn well and too hard.

Jim considered hailing Bones, just to annoy the good doctor for some even better entertainment, when his eyes fell on Spock. Spock's swivel chair was empty, still swinging slightly from where Spock had obviously just vacated it. The First Officer was off to the left of his main station, eyes focused on the small screen that usually relayed whatever the sensors on the very front of the Enterprise sent through. If Spock weren't so damn good- and quick- at absolutely everything he did, Jim would recommend letting a few more science officers up to help out. Spock would just take that as a criticism, though, and he really did do a fantastic job, so Jim let him be.

He frowned slightly as he watched Spock work; long, thin fingers tapped at various keyboards highlighted in soft blue lines on all the flat, white surfaces; dark eyes swivelled from left to right every time Spock turned, letting Jim catch a glimpse of his face; fingertips tapped a button here, flicked a switch there, throwing more light- soft greens and blues and yellows- across Spock's pale face, high cheekbones, strong jaw...

A small hum escaped Jim's throat, and he tilted his head further in thought as Spock bent to look at something lower on the console. Spock's uniform was tight; were all regulation uniforms that tight? The blue pulled at his muscled back, revealing the black undershirt whenever Spock bent further down, or stood on his toes to reach an overhead screen or button. His trousers were really, really tight, pulling taut against his ass every time he moved.

Jim's eyes travelled from the back of Spock's glossy black head, down his long, lean body, settled on his ass for a minute, before continuing down, and then moving back up again. He wondered what Spock looked like underneath all those layers. No matter what he did, Spock was always in layers. The most Jim had ever caught was sight of his pale forearms when they sparred, always flushed green in exertion.

Jim bet that Spock was gorgeous under those clothes. With his sharp features, dark brown eyes, and lean body? Oh, yeah, Jim would totally-

The train of his thoughts was halted violently when Jim slid right off his seat, confusion/panic/realisation all flashing through his system, followed closely by pain when he smacked into the floor ass-first, his elbow hitting the armrest and sending pain straight through him.

Jim yelped when he landed, and all eyes turned to him, including Spock's. Jim felt himself blush crimson under Spock's concerned eyes and raised eyebrow- and he wasn't blushing from embarrassment.

'Er... I'm fine! Carry on!' he called and slowly got to his feet.

Everyone went back to their work, but Spock took the longest; he looked Jim up and down as the Captain slowly stood, but when he'd ascertained that Jim was unharmed, he gave Jim another quirked eyebrow and turned back to his station.

And bent over it.

That ass in those trousers...

Jim fell into his seat heavily and swivelled to face the viewscreen, face still heated and heart bouncing rapidly in his chest.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Okay... okay. So... yeah, Jim was totally an idiot. Absolutely, unquestionably, stupid. How could he not have realised this? James "Tomcat" Kirk! He was a known romancer, skilled in the art of pleasure! How the fuck did he miss something as mind-blowing as feelings for his First Officer?

No, wait; backtrack. Okay, so Jim was attracted to Spock and hadn't realised it. Big deal! He'd always known that Spock was gorgeous. He had that whole "tall, dark and mysterious" thing going on for him. Humans were always curious about aliens, especially Vulcans; no wonder Jim felt attraction.

So... yeah, Jim wanted to fuck Spock. No harm there. It wasn't like he'd ever tell anyone, or even tell Spock! They were still friends. Best friends, if Bones wouldn't hypo Jim into next year for even suggesting it. Not a big deal, totally fine, it was all very, very cool.

There were no feelings there, other than lust. Just lust, which was fine, because Jim had lusted after sexy men before. Granted, none of them had been his First Officer and second-best friend, but Jim could deal with that.

Jim took a deep, steady breath, and glanced around. Nobody had noticed his little freak out, and Spock's attention was still focused on his work, so Jim didn't have to worry about Spock's Vulcan senses tingling. They always did when Jim was in danger, or about to do something dangerous and/or fun. Those two weren't mutually exclusive.

Okay, Jim thought for the twentieth time since his little... realisation. Okay, so I'm attracted to Spock. I always knew he was hot, just didn't realise that I was attracted to him. In a sexy way. 'Cause I am. Damn, he has a fine ass.

Jim swallowed thickly and shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. He shouldn't be thinking about his Science Officer, or friend, in that manner. At least, not on the Bridge surrounded by his crew. Falling out of his chair could be explained; a boner, not so much.

Another deep breath, and then four more, and Jim was feeling better. Awesome. Jim was totally fine, absolutely fine! He could deal with this! Just let it go, let it fall behind his more important feelings. Like his love of playing chess with Spock, or eating with Spock, or his appreciation of Spock's skills. Yup, that was all safe.

Jim nodded derisively to himself. Awesome. His thoughts and feelings were under control!

'Captain?'

Smiling, Jim spun to face Spock. 'Yes, Mr Spock?'

'Some of the flowers we collected from Seth II are showing interesting reactions to UV lighting. May I be excused to do some research in Science Lab One? I will, of course, send a replacement immediately.'

Jim's smile widened and he nodded, saying, 'Of course, Mr Spock; dismissed,' which earned him a very small, grateful smile from Spock. Or, the Spockian equivalent of a smile, which was a lip and eyebrow twitch.

'Thank you, Captain.' Spock nodded his head once, curtly, before spinning on the spot and heading for the doors. Jim watched him go, resolutely keeping his eyes on Spock's back and not glancing at anything else. It would have all been just fine if a stressed Yeoman hadn't chosen that moment to rush onto the Bridge and collide with Spock. The Vulcan paused briefly to give her an unimpressed look before bending to pick up her dropped PADD and stylus.

Jim's eyes were immediately glued to Spock's ass, and the small noise he made was thankfully drowned out by Spock's flat, 'You're welcome, Yeoman Reilly.'

With that, Spock left, and the Yeoman clutched her heart briefly before bustling over to Uhura to get her signature on something. Jim sat completely still, staring at the spot Spock had just vacated.

Oh, damn. He was screwed.

{oOo}

There was a separate mess for the officers aboard, but Jim had always enjoyed eating in the crew mess whenever possible. He only used the officers' mess when he wasn't feeling up to socialising, but mostly he liked to mingle with the crew, show his face as just another person aboard, rather than the guy running things. A lot of the other officers seemed to follow his example, because you were more likely to find Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Scotty, and even Sulu all eating together, or with people from their departments.

Jim smiled to himself when he entered, and said a few hellos to various crew-members as he walked towards the replicators, quickly joining the queue. His bright blue eyes scanned the crowd, and he spotted Uhura in one corner, Scotty at the table next to her entertaining a sea of wide-eyed red-shirts. He passed over them, and over Sulu, Chekov, and Giotto, too, before finally finding Spock and McCoy.

Despite their constant bickering, the two were friends. Arguments and insults were their way of showing love. Basically, McCoy got to be a bitch, and Spock got to be logical; it was a win-win.

Jim's smile widened and he wasted no time in getting his food before hurrying across the room to join the two. He sat beside Spock- that way he couldn't stare- and smiled brightly at McCoy. 'What's up, Doc?'

'Really, Jim?' Bones huffed. 'Twentieth century cartoons again?'

'Don't knock the Bunny,' Jim pointed a fry at the doctor.

'"The Bunny"?' Spock echoed.

'Buggs Bunny,' Jim explained. 'An old Terran cartoon.'

'I see,' Spock mused, even though Jim was sure that he didn't, nor did he care. Still, Spock tried, that was more than he did with anyone else. So Jim grinned and shoved some fries into his mouth before going for the replicated ketchup and salt in the middle of the table.

Bones wrinkled his nose, and raised an eyebrow when Jim poured a liberal amount of both substances all over his fries and cheeseburger. 'What?' Jim asked.

'Seriously, kid?' McCoy sighed. 'You'll have a heart attack at thirty.'

'Good thing I'm only twenty-five,' Jim said, poking his tongue out.

'Five years passes by in a flash, Jim,' Bones waggled a threatening finger at him. 'Before you know it you'll be thirty.'

'Mm,' Jim hummed, 'tell me, what's it like?' Bones scowled, and Jim's grin returned in full-force.

'I do not understand why humans seem so reluctant to admit their age,' Spock said, joining the conversation and earning their attention. 'Knowledge comes with age, as does wisdom.'

'We're not immortal; we don't like it,' Bones said.

Spock raised an eyebrow; the condescending one, Jim knew from experience. 'Nor are Vulcans, yet we have no problem with admitting how old we are.'

''S'cause you live 'till you're a billion,' Jim mumbled through a mouthful of burger.

'The average life-span of a female Vulcan is two-hundred and nineteen-point-three,' Spock rattled off, which made Bones groan and Jim snicker. 'And the average life-span of a male Vulcan is two-hundred and three-point-six.'

'Yeah, thanks for that, dunno how I coulda slept tonight without knowing,' Bones complained.

'You are welcome,' Spock replied and went back to his salad. To anyone else he would sound sincere; Jim heard the mirth in Spock's voice.

'Hey, how come women always live longer then men?' Jim asked. 'It's the same with Orions, and Andorians. Klingons, too.'

That, of course, made Spock launch into lecture mode, complete with proper voice, hand gestures, and eye contact. Bones thumped his head against the table, but couldn't help but get drawn into the conversation movements later; he and Spock both loved knowledge, and only ever stopped arguing when trading facts about a topic both were interested in. Jim, of course, couldn't care less and would have preferred a short summary, but whatever.

Instead he just chowed down on his much-needed lunch, letting their voices wash over him. When he'd finished his burger he sipped his coffee and nibbled on his fries, eyes alternating between a tightly-wound science officer and wildly gesturing doctor.

Jim's attention wavered, his mind wandered, and his gaze eventually left Bones completely to focus on Spock. Pretty, pretty Spock. Damn, he really was hot. He had nice fingers, which was weird; Jim had never noticed anyone's fingers before. But Spock's were all long and thin, like his body, but capable of so much strength. Jim knew from personal experience. His neck still throbbed on occasion (McCoy always called him an idiot, but Jim totally felt throbbing!)

He would have giggled at the thought if it wasn't totally unmanly and un-Captainly (was that a word? It was now). Instead he just watched Spock's fingers. The half-Vulcan was still talking, and apparently making a point, because his right hand was waving through the air slowly, fingers pointing, nails clacking when he snapped his fingers or tapped the table. His left hand was wrapped around his fork, which was sitting off to the side of his abandoned salad and pasta. Jim liked watching Spock eat vegetarian pasta, especially the dishes with long noodles. Because that forced Spock to eat with a fork and spoon, which was basically hand-porn to poor, celibate captains who had only just realised that they were seriously crushing on their First Officers.

Oh, crap! I wasn't thinking about that. We had a deal, brain! Jim shook his head roughly and, panicking, blurted the first thought that entered his head. 'How come you always use your left hand?'

His near-shouted words drew both McCoy and Spock's attention, and both paused their conversation to stare at Jim.

'See?' Bones huffed. 'I knew it. All that replicated cow's gone to your head.'

'Hasn't,' Jim pouted, and the older man rolled his eyes. 'It's just something I noticed.'

'You notice that I favour my left hand?' Spock asked, clearly having realised that Jim was talking to him.

'Erm... yeah,' Jim said.

Spock raised an eyebrow, but said, 'One hundred percent of Vulcans are ambidextrous.'

'Ambi-what-now?' Jim demanded.

Bones rolled his eyes. 'They don't have a dominant hand; they can write, or do anything perfectly, with both. They don't favour either.'

'Oh... oh.' Jim hummed. 'That's gotta be awesome.'

Bones, again, rolled his eyes, but Spock merely nodded.

'Wait, and you're not ambi-whatever?' Jim asked, focusing his attention on Spock once more.

'I am not fully Vulcan, Captain,' Spock said, like Jim didn't know. He remembered everything about Spock. Huh, that probably should have been his first clue that he liked Spock a bit more than a friend. 'My mother was left handed,' Spock continued, snapping Jim from his thoughts, 'and clearly I inherited that trait through my human half. As a child I tried to use both hands as all Vulcan children do, but I was unable to write or type as quickly with my right hand as I can with my left hand.'

'Huh,' Jim mumbled. 'That's cool.'

Spock just nodded again and went back to his lunch, slowly and meticulously eating tomatoes, cheese, lettuce, and a variety of vegetables that Jim wasn't familiar with. Apparently his conversation with McCoy was over, because the doctor went back to his sandwich, too.

That left Jim to his own devices. His own devices meaning that he stole looks at Spock, and brushed their legs together, and tried to figure out how he could touch the older man.

Oh, shit. He was really screwed.

{oOo}

Jim liked fighting. He liked the adrenalin rush, the way he could move his body, the way he could out-think his opponent. He regularly sparred with various people on the ship; Sulu, Giotto, Ensigns Michaels and Reeve, and even McCoy, when the grouchy doctor could be convinced to leave his quarters. But Jim's absolutely favourite sparring partner was Spock.

Spock was the best, there was no question. There were better trained men and women aboard, but Spock's speed, strength and intelligence put him far ahead of any competition. He was just, genetically, too much better to be bested, even by the most highly-skilled people. Sometimes Jim could surprise Spock, because Spock was all about logic, and Jim all about chaos. But mostly Jim got his ass handed to him on a bi-weekly basis. It was awesome, though, because he worked off his excess energy, got a good work-out, and got to grapple with sexy-ass Spock.

Yeah, Jim had been slow with this, stop bringing it up!

'Stupid brain,' he grumbled, and then smiled weakly at the passing Lieutenant who eyed him warily as she walked towards the treadmills. Right, note to self; stop talking to self. Jim puzzled over that thought as he went to change into a Starfleet-issue gi, tying the black belt around the equally black pants and shirt. When he was done he grabbed his towel, left his stuff in his locker, and re-entered the main room.

The gym was large, a perfect square, filled with various mats, equipment, and weapons. Nothing too dangerous was kept on-board, but enlisted officers were allowed to bring their own weapons if they passed security checks. That meant that people like Sulu had swords aboard, and people like Spock dangerous Vulcan weapons that Jim didn't even know the name of.

Speaking of sexy Vulcans... no, bad brain! Bad, bad, bad!

Jim shook his head- seriously, he needed help; all those years of Bones hypoing at every opportunity had permanently injured him. Jim glanced around the room, knowing that Spock would be there; they always met in the gym at 1700 every second Friday night. It had been 1712 when Jim had left his quarters, and Spock was never tardy baring an emergency, so...

Ah, there he was. Kicking the crap out of a poor, defenceless ensign. Jim chuckled as he recognised the guy; Ensign Heath had been brought aboard all of four weeks ago, a new science recruit for the ever demanding Chief Science Officer. Spock went through scientists faster than Security went through red-shirts. Which, unfortunately, was saying something.

Ensign Heath also, unfortunately, had a rather large and noticeable crush on Spock. He walked into things when he passed Spock, squeaked when the Vulcan spoke directly to him, and dropped things when Spock- rarely- brushed past the young man. Jim kind of felt for Heath, he really did, but realising that he felt the same way about Spock kind of made jealousy outweigh anything else. Not logical, but whatever. Ha, logical; Spock would be so proud.

Spock had just tossed Heath to the floor once more, a knee pressed into Heath's jugular. The Ensign was bright red, sweat covering his face and making his dark brown hair stick to his face. Spock, of course, wasn't even out of a breath, hair perfect as usual.

'Do you forfeit?' Spock asked, cool as a cucumber- or whatever the Vulcan equivalent was.

'Y-Yes,' Heath spluttered against the knee cutting off his air way.

Spock nodded and stood, not offering Heath any assistant; he never did. 'Do you wish to continue?' Spock asked.

Heath wiped sweat from his face, and when he looked at Spock his eyes were determined. 'Yes.'

Spock seemed vaguely amused and nodded. The two stepped back from each other before bowing. Both were wearing gis, but Spock made it look sexy, whereas Heath looked like a sweat-soaked child. Then again, Jim was probably biased.

Spock flew at Heath, but Jim could tell he was holding back. Jim stepped closer while the two fought, and watched as Heath began to fall behind almost immediately, arms clumsy and feet not much better. Eventually Spock got an arm around Heath's throat, and the young man flailed as he went down, on his back once again.

'F-Forfeit!' Heath choked out.

'Very good, Mr Heath,' Spock said and stood. 'Captain,' he added, and turned to face Jim.

'Heya, Spock,' Jim grinned. 'Started without me, huh?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'You were twenty-two minutes late, Captain.'

Oops. 'Oh, well. I'm here now.' Jim looked at Heath, and offered the boy- yes, boy- a small smile. 'If Ensign Heath is done?'

'Y-Yes, sir,' Heath panted. 'Thank you... Commander Spock.'

Spock nodded, and Heath left the mats, going to gather his towel and water bottle. 'Do you wish to start, Jim?'

Jim nearly shivered. He loved it when Spock said his name. His voice was super sexy, all deep and serious and...

'Yeah,' Jim cleared his throat, glad his gi pants were baggy, 'sure. You, uh... don't wanna rest first?'

'I am fine,' Spock answered and crossed the mats to take his spot.

Jim nodded, and was about to do the same, when he noticed the rip in Spock's shirt. 'Hey, when did that happen?' He crossed the distance between them once more and grabbed the two edges of Spock's shirt, pulling the rip apart to show Spock that it went from the armpit right down to the hem.

'Oh,' Spock mused, 'Mr Heath must have ripped it when he fell.'

'Well, you can go get a new one; I'll wait,' Jim offered.

'Unnecessary,' Spock dismissed. He took a step back from Jim, and...

… and started taking his shirt off.

Jim was completely, utterly frozen; mouth hanging open, hands limp at his sides, eyes wide. Yup, he probably looked like a moron, but Spock was taking his shirt off! Oh, all dear gods in the galaxy, Bones was wrong; Jim was gonna have a heart attack at twenty-five.

Spock, like Jim had only just started fantasising about, was all smooth, lean muscle; his skin was pale, only the slightest of green flushes marking his otherwise flawless skin. A faint trail of hair spread across his chest and down to his bellybutton, before disappearing beneath the hem of his loose black pants. Spock's shoulders were only slightly broader than Jim's, but his chest and stomach- his arms, too- were all lean with barely hidden muscle. As Spock flexed, folding his torn shirt to place it aside, his muscles did, too, and Jim had a hard time not making a noise, or licking his lips, or leaping at Spock and covering him in lick and bites and-

'Are you well, Captain?'

Jim was pulled from his thoughts, and sucked in a breath. Oh, crap, had he been holding his breath? Bad, bad brain! 'W-What?' he gasped out.

'You were holding your breath,' Spock relayed, 'and you appear to be flushed. Are you well?'

'Y-Yeah,' Jim nodded vigorously. 'I'm cool. I'm awesome! Let's, uh... let's get to work, alright?'

Spock still looked concerned, but soon nodded and moved back into position. Jim stood opposite him, and tried to concentrate, but shit. Spock was half-naked! On one hand, awesome, yummy Spock. On the other, crap, Jim was totally gonna get hard, and Spock was gonna feel, and Spock would know-

While Jim had been lost in thought, Spock had started, and in seconds Jim was flat on his back, winded, with Spock looming over him.

'You did not even try to defend yourself,' Spock said, not moving. 'I believe you are unwell, Captain.'

'It's Jim when we're off duty, remember?' Jim replied cheekily.

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'I believe you are unwell, Jim.'

Jim chuckled and nudged Spock's hip with one hand, carefully not touching bare skin. 'I'm fine, I was just distracted. Let me up and we'll do it again.'

Okay, so "do it" were the wrong words to use, but whatever. As long as he didn't touch Spock's skin, Jim and his dirty thoughts were safe.

Spock allowed Jim up, and Jim dusted imaginary dirt from his clothes as they got back into position.

The next half hour saw Jim on his back, side, or stomach no less than forty-six times, and each time Spock tried to halt, but Jim kept egging him on. Well, until he banged his knee and Spock refused to continue.

'I'm fine,' Jim grumbled.

'No, you are not,' Spock countered. 'Allow me to assist you to Sickbay, or I will call Doctor McCoy.'

Jim groaned. McCoy would hypo him twice as much if he had to be called away from Sickbay. 'Fine, fine,' he said. 'Are we gonna get changed, or...?'

'Negative,' Spock said. 'I will return and change myself, and deliver your things to your quarters later.' He moved closer, suddenly in Jim's space, and Jim sucked in a harsh breath. 'Allow me, Captain.'

Oh, back to Captain now; goody. Jim sighed, but let Spock manhandle him. It'd be nice if Jim, you know, wasn't trying to keep this a secret. Spock was all-business as he threw one of Jim's arms over his shoulders, and wrapped an arm around Jim's waist. Jim purposely thought of the Enterprise's upcoming missions, and the chocolates in his quarters, and the stash of liquor in McCoy's officer, over... you know, anything else.

Spock was silent as he helped Jim limp from the gym and through the ship. Jim fended off all concerned parties they passed, while Spock outright ignored them. That didn't stop people from throwing second glances Spock's way, and then third and forth ones when they realised that Spock wasn't wearing a shirt.

Yup, Spock was hot and everybody knew it. Jim grit his teeth, and masked it as pain when Spock glanced at him. So Jim was jealous, so what? Spock was hot, and Jim liked him, of course he was jealous. But he wasn't allowed to be jealous, and for the first time in Jim's life it annoyed him. He'd liked almost all the people he'd slept with, but never enough to want a relationship.

All week he'd thought of nothing but his feelings over Spock, and it wasn't hard to deduce logically that he had real, genuine feelings for the man currently carrying him. Feelings as in, "Hey, let's snuggle after sex" feelings, and, "let's exchange birthday presents" feelings, and "oh my God we have to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner together, and be all adorable and sickening around our friends, and have hot sex every night!" feelings.

Jim tripped in the doorway of Medical, and Spock thumped against the frame. 'Shit, sorry,' Jim said.

'No apologies necessary,' Spock said, eyes resolutely on the room before them.

'Er, sure,' Jim smiled weakly.

'What the hell did you do this time?!' McCoy shouted from across the room, making Nurse Chapel wince and the Lieutenant in one of the biobeds grin; McCoy had a new victim, his favourite, so the guy was safe.

'It was Spock!' Jim shouted back, and Spock turned a Vulcan glare on him. 'Hey, I'm totally laying the blame on you if it gets me less hypos,' Jim whispered.

Spock just let out a small breath- a sigh- and shifted Jim up and off of his person. 'If you can see yourself to Doctor McCoy's capable hands, Captain, I will take my leave.'

Spock looked stiff, hands behind his back, and his eyes were on the door frame behind Jim. Jim frowned but said, 'Yeah, Spock. Seeya later,' and watched as Spock practically fled.

Okay...

'OWE!' Jim hissed and slapped a hand against his poor, hypo-abused neck.

'You deserve it, you idiot!' Bones snapped and dragged him towards a bed.

Even as McCoy jabbed him, and ran tests, and ranted, Jim's thoughts were on Spock. Okay, so he'd been mad, but Jim hadn't done anything, right? Right. Spock was probably mad over something else, or hungry, or... something. It was all fine.

Besides, Spock looked really, really hot when he was mad; that furrow between his eyebrows, the set of his jaw, the purse of his lips. If they were together, all their arguments would end in hot make-up sex.

McCoy jabbed Jim again, the hypospray hissing in his ear. But Jim barely felt it. Hell, he wasn't paying attention in the least. All his thoughts were on Spock.

Oh, fuck. He was totally screwed.

{oOo}

Jim had torn something in his something and was on bed-rest for the next three days. That translated to "don't you dare get outta that chair when you're on the Bridge or so help you God I will hypo your ass with everything I've got!" in Bones-speak. Jim then pointing out that it rhymed had gotten him another hypo, but it was absolutely worth it in Jim's opinion.

The Captain was currently in bed, McCoy having left him there an hour previously. Jim had decided to dig out some of the paper-bound books he'd brought aboard; he'd only brought fifty or so, the rest in storage at his mom's place. He was currently trying to decide between Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling and The Complete Novels and Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle when a chime went off, indicating that someone wanted to come in.

'Enter!' Jim called and set Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone aside in favour of Sherlock Holmes. When he looked up it was to find Spock standing just before his door, two trays in his hands. 'Spock? To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Spock's lips twitched in what Jim was sure was a restrained smile, and nodded at the table between Jim's bed and the door that led to their shared refresher. 'I heard from Doctor McCoy that you were on bed rest, and deduced that you had most likely not consumed dinner yet. I thought that I should bring you something to eat, as you miss far too many meals as is, and I could also join you in a game of chess afterwards to alleviate the boredom you are no doubt feeling.'

Well, that was a long, logical way to say "I was worried and missed you, let's eat and hang out together". Well, Jim hoped that that was what Spock was saying. So, of course he said yes.

Spock moved Jim's boxes of books aside delicately- and Jim appreciated the care the Vulcan showed his novels- while Jim carefully got up and moved towards the table. Spock then set their food down, and when Jim uncovered his tray, his eyes widened.

'Oh my God, is this-'

'Spicy chicken with rice, fries, a side-salad, and chocolate pudding for dessert,' Spock interrupted.

'One of my favourites,' Jim grinned and glanced at Spock's plate. 'And vegetarian lasagne, salad and yoghurt for you.'

'Indeed.'

Laughing, Jim said, 'Thanks, Spock. This is just what I needed, and I didn't even know it.' Spock opened his mouth, and Jim said, 'I know, doesn't make sense; shut up, accept the compliment, and eat.'

Spock just inclined his head and did as he was told, Jim dong the same. They fell into conversation easily, as they always did, skipping from one topic to the next, going into detail on others, simply skimming some. They touched on official work for about an hour or so, discussing various crew-members, complaints, repairs, and missions, with Spock throwing his thoughts in, and he and Jim eventually coming to agreements.

By the time Jim had finished eating, he was stuffed and feeling accomplished. Even his vaguely aching knee couldn't wipe the grin off his face. 'So, chess?' he said.

Spock nodded and Jim set up the three-tier set while Spock cleaned up the remains of their dinner. When he re-took his seat Jim had already made his first move. They alternated between being white, not that it really made much difference; they were pretty evenly matched, what with Spock's logic and eidetic memory, and Jim's logic coupled with chaos.

They fell into silence, as they were wont to do during their first match, the only sounds the gentle hum of the ship around them, and the faint snicks and thumps as they moved their pieces. Spock won the first game, and then re-set the board, immediately starting another. Jim won that one, and cheered like always, basking in the glow of Spock's amusement.

They usually played a dozen or so games every other night, so Jim settled back as Spock, again, re-set the board. Jim would have done it- the winner always did- except that Spock had outright glared at him when he'd tried to move. Jeez, all Jim had done was torn something, and he'd be better in two, three days; it wasn't like he was missing a leg!

But there was no arguing with either Bones or Spock when Jim was injured, so he just let his Vulcan First do as he pleased. That, of course, left Jim to twiddle his thumbs and stare longingly at the man sitting opposite him.

Spock was as out of uniform as he ever got when on-board; meaning he was wearing his boots, trousers and black undershirt, no science blues to be seen. On closer inspection, Jim realised that Spock was wearing two or three layers rather than one, and then almost hit himself; duh, Vulcans were from a desert planet! Spock often complained- logically noted, in his words- how cold the ship felt to him. He had to wear two, three layers just to comfortably function like everybody else.

Jim let his eyes skim over Spock's hands as he set the chess pieces on their proper squares- lovely, long fingers- up his muscled forearms, biceps, shoulders, across his well-toned chest, up his neck to his very fine jawline, high cheekbones, swept-up eyebrows, perfect hair, and then back down to-

Jim blinked. Spock was staring at him. He was staring at Jim, watching, as Jim basically fucked him with his eyes. Ooh, boy.

Jim felt blood flush his face warm, then his neck and chest, too, entire face practically burning as he squirmed in his seat and glanced away. He counted to five, slowly, and then looked back up. Spock was still staring, and he raised an eyebrow when he realised that he had Jim's attention once more.

Clearing his throat, Jim asked, 'Can I help you, Mr Spock?'

Spock's eyebrow inched higher, almost disappearing behind his perfect Vulcan bangs. 'I believe that you can, Captain.'

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but...

'With...?' Jim questioned.

Spock blinked slowly, and Jim stared as the older man lifted his left hand and held it out across the table, palm up and fingers stretched. 'Please give me your hand, Jim.'

'My hand?'

Spock huffed out a small breath. 'Please give me your hand, Jim.'

'Okay, okay,' Jim said, unable to contain a laugh at the bizarre turn this night had gone. If giving Spock his hand made Spock forget that Jim had been checking him out, then so be it.

Jim did his best to clear his mind of all incriminating thoughts, and then placed his right hand in Spock's left. Slowly those long, pale fingers wrapped around his own slightly smaller hand, and Jim couldn't help it; his breath hitched, and his eyes darted up to Spock's briefly before resting on their joined hands once more.

Spock just sat there, completely silent for a few seconds, before slowly turning Jim's hand over in his. He then raised his right hand and placed it beneath Jim's, warmth bleeding from his skin into the Captain's.

'There are many ways in which humans and Vulcans are similar, Jim,' Spock finally spoke. Jim glanced up at him again, but Spock's eyes were on their hands. 'Most of the differences are seen in our cultures and behaviour.'

'Y-Yeah?' Jim stuttered

'Indeed,' Spock said. 'We are similar, yet different, and this is obvious in me; my mother and father were very different people, from very different cultures, but came together and created love, life, a family.'

Jim didn't speak this time, eyes instead glued to their hands, and the way Spock was now stroking Jim's hand; his wrist, across his palm, and then further down his thumb, his pinky finger and the one next to it.

'Humans express emotions much clearer than Vulcans do, but it is a common misconception that Vulcans do not feel at all,' Spock continued.

'I know that,' Jim interrupted. Spock raised an eyebrow and looked up. 'I know that you feel, Spock. You're just better at sorting it all out and acting logically.'

'Indeed,' Spock repeated. Their combined attention dropped back to where they were joined, hand to hand, finger to finger, Spock's blinding heat against Jim's cooler skin. 'Vulcans merely express themselves differently, and you noticed this when the Enterprise took my father and a number of Vulcan delegates to Beta Theta XIV.'

Jim frowned. Yeah, he remembered that trip, but only because he'd gotten to observe Spock around his father. In Spock's own words, their relationship had always been strained, due to Spock's inability to be purely Vulcan as a child, and later because of his decision to join Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy. Since the loss of Vulcan, and Amanda Grayson's death, both had realised that life really was too short to hold a grudge so illogical.

'If you will recall,' Spock's soft, warm voice brought Jim back to the present, and he focused on their hands once more. 'If you will recall,' Spock repeated, 'the two aids who accompanied my father; Sylok and T'Nill.'

'Uh... they were bonded, right? Bonded after... after Vulcan.'

Spock nodded. 'They were conservative by human standards, and even by Vulcan standards when my father was present. But, when they were alone, or out of Sarek's presence, they were much more... loving.'

Jim frowned. 'They were?' He barely remembered them; both had had dark hair, stern features, and spoke like typical Vulcans. Neither had Spock's charm, or personality, or... anything that made Spock so damn relatable to every human aboard, despite being so cold and standoffish.

Spock once again drew his attention by moving their hands. He cupped Jim's in his right one, and curled his left fingers until his index and middle finger were completely straight. He then manipulated Jim's hand to do the same, and Jim watched as Spock slowly stroked their fingers together.

Jim couldn't help it; he shivered. It was like being shot with liquid gold, a small tingle of pleasure starting wherever Spock's fingers touched and radiating up into his palm, his wrist, further into his arm. It only grew more and more amazing the longer Spock did it, and Jim knew that his eyes would be black if Spock looked up now, his trousers uncomfortably tight.

But Spock merely stroked a few more time before pausing, their fingers pressed together gently. The feeling slowed to a warm buzz; pleasant, but not overwhelming.

Jim licked his suddenly dry lips. 'What... what was that?' he asked, voice hoarse. 'And what's it got to do with those Vulcans?'

'Sylok and T'Nill showed their affection in the Vulcan tradition,' Spock explained. Was his voice deeper than before? 'We came across them in Recreation Room Two, where Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant-Commander Scott were teaching them different Earth languages.'

Jim remembered, suddenly, like the memory had been shot right into his brain; Sylok and T'Nill sitting side-by-side, backs stiff yet shoulders seemingly, finally, relaxed. Uhura and Scotty had been arguing good-naturedly, the two Vulcans apparently enjoying the conversation. They had been pressed tight against each other, and their hand were linked by their index and middle fingers; barely moving at all, from what Jim could remember, but there, like it was comfortable, familiar, special.

Jim's breathing hitched when Spock stroked their fingers again, and he looked up at his First Officer. Spock was staring at him, eyes dark in the low lighting... or for some other reason entirely.

'What is it?' Jim asked. 'It's important, right? Some Vulcan thing?'

'Indeed,' Spock said, and a small smile tugged at his lips. 'This, James, is a Vulcan kiss.'

Jim's mouth dropped open, both at the use of his full name and the words Spock had uttered. Because... that was... was Spock serious?

Spock actually smiled; a small, proper upturn of his lips. 'I am always serious, Jim.'

'Are you reading my thoughts?' Jim demanded.

'Negative,' Spock replied. 'But I can feel your emotions.' He squeezed Jim's hand to remind him that they were still linked. 'It was not hard to conclude, logically, that you were concerned about the truth of my words.'

'O-Okay...' Jim stuttered. He looked at their hands, then to Spock, then to their hands again, before finally pausing on Spock's eyes. 'So we're kissing? This, us, right now... we're kissing?'

Spock's smile widened slightly. 'Indeed.'

'Okay, stop saying that!' Jim huffed.

Spock let out a small, amused noise that Jim knew was a laugh.

'Why are we kissing?" Jim demanded. 'Since when do we kiss? We don't kiss, and if we do I sure as hell haven't been aware of it!'

'We are kissing, Jim, because I wish to do so, and I know that you wish it too,' Spock answered. 'We are kissing because for the past eleven-point-three-four months I have been, in human terms, first intrigued by you, then infatuated with you, and finally in love with you.' He rubbed- kissed- Jim's fingers again, and Jim didn't bite back the soft moan, or shiver. 'We are kissing, Jim, because when we sparred and I carried you to Sickby, I discovered that you felt the same.'

He paused and held Jim's gaze as he slowly untangled their fingers, leaving Jim feeling cold and empty and just wrong. 'However,' Spock continued, 'I am unsure whether you return my feelings, or simply lust for me. I spent two-point-two hours meditating before deciding that I must confront and ask you to know for sure.'

'And... this is you asking?' Jim asked, voice breathy.

'Indeed,' Spock said.

Jim barked a laugh, and Spock's lips quirked once more.

'Damn,' Jim said. 'Eleven months?' he then asked.

'Eleven-point-three-four,' Spock corrected.

'Point-three-four, of course,' Jim rolled his eyes. Spock merely waited. 'Okay, so... what you're saying is that you're in love with me?'

'In human terms,' Spock nodded.

Jim frowned. 'Human terms?'

'Vulcans refer to love differently, Jim,' Spock admitted. 'It is difficult to translate into Earth Standard.'

'Okay,' Jim hummed, 'what would you call it? Personally. What would you call your feelings for me?'

Spock hesitated, his left hand curling into a fist briefly before uncurling. Spock then let out a soft breath and, voice nearly a whisper, said, 'T'hy'la.'

'T'hy'la?' Jim echoed. Spock nodded, and his dark, chocolate-brown eyes met Jim's bright blue ones. 'What's that mean?'

'Friend,' Spock said, 'brother... lover.' Jim's mouth, once again, dropped open. 'It means everything, Jim,' Spock said. 'It means... everything.'

'Damn,' Jim gaped. 'Holy fucking... damn, damn, damn.'

'Jim?' Spock queried.

'Okay,' Jim laughed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, 'so, like, a week ago I realised that I was attracted to you, right? As in, I wanted to fuck you. I mean, I'd found you, uh... aesthetically pleasing before that, but didn't realise that I wanted you, you know?'

Spock just stared.

'And then a day after that I realised, well, shit, I'm totally in love with the guy!' Spock's eyes widened, but Jim was on a roll. 'And I fucking panicked, Spock, 'cause I've never loved anyone but my mom and my brother and Bones! I don't know how to love, I don't even know what love feels like! And then I realised that it feels like us; chess games and shared meals and crazy-assed away missions that always end in blood and disagreements on the Bridge and us joining forces against terrorising aliens and stupid Starfleet Admirals and-'

Jim was cut off by a finger to his lips, and his eyes widened when he realised that Spock had quietly stood, rounded the table, and got all up in Jim's personal space while Jim had been rambling.

'Jim?'

'Yesh, Shpock?' Jim mumbled.

Spock's eyes softened. 'Please be silent,' he said. And then, he removed his finger, and replaced it with his lips.

Oh... oh... yeah, Jim could get on board with this! Spock's lips were warm, like a laser, and so very, very soft. They moved slowly yet confidently against Jim's, not forcing, just there, enjoying the dance along with Jim. Then, suddenly, he licked at Jim's lips, and Jim could do nothing but open up, admit that clever, sharp tongue to explore and claim and enjoy and own.

Jim moaned, but the sound was swallowed by Spock, who moved closer, bent further down. He pressed one hand to the table beside Jim's before roughly linking their fingers, and his other hand wrapped around Jim's neck before sliding up into his hair.

Jim copied his movements; he stroked Spock's fingers and was rewarded with a full-body shiver, a moan and a bite to his lower lip. His free hand stroked Spock's lower back before clutching at his shirts, whether to pull Spock in or keep him still, Jim didn't know and didn't care. Spock was an abso-fucking-lutely awesome kisser, and Jim never wanted to move. He and Spock had to remain right here kissing forever, emergencies be damned!

Spock chose that moment to pull back, and Jim whined, but it was totally justified. How dare Spock move away!

Spock looked far too amused as he threaded his fingers through Jim's hair, drawing a soft hum from the younger man. 'While I wish to continue this,' he said, voice rough as gravel- oh dear God, yes!- 'leaning over you, and having you lean up, will not be comfortable the longer we remain,' Spock continued. 'Perhaps we should move this to the bed?'

Jim's eyes widened, and then he grinned wickedly, making Spock's breath hitch and eyes dart down to Jim's lips. Spock's own were only slightly swollen, his cheeks and ears flushed a delicate shade of green, and Jim wanted to explore that blush thoroughly, make Spock's lips puffy and bruised, suck marks into Spock's neck that told everyone that Spock was his.

'Yeah,' he finally croaked, 'bed.'

Spock helped him to his feet, and they slowly shuffled over to Jim's bed. Spock managed to get Jim to lie down and then laid down beside him, careful not to injure Jim's leg further.

'I'm fine,' Jim huffed.

'Of course,' Spock agreed. 'But you are mine, and I will take care of you.'

It was a promise. Jim's heart skipped a beat, his glare softened. He reached out and stroked Spock's perfect hair back from his forehead. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I'm yours.'

'And I am yours,' Spock said.

'Okay,' Jim agreed.

Apparently words were no longer needed, because Spock leaned forward to crush their lips together once more, this kiss anything but delicate and sweet. It was hot, passionate, and Jim moaned, wrapped his arms around Spock's neck, pulled him down.

'Wait, wait!' he hissed, and Spock actually growled. Jim was so exploring that later, but- 'Are we taking our physical relationship slow, or...?'

Spock's eyebrows flew up in surprise. 'And why would do that, Jim? We have known each other for two-point-one years.'

Jim blinked. 'Okay... uh, my leg?' He gestured at his bandaged leg. 'I mean, I don't think that I'm hurt too badly, but you seem to disagree.'

'I see no problems in you fucking me in your current state,' Spock said. Jim nearly choked on his own tongue. Fucking. Spock had said fucking. 'You will lie on you back and keep your leg immobile, while I will ride you,' Spock continued. 'You have sufficient lubricant, yes?'

Oh, fuck. Fuck, shit, damn, fuck, yes!

Jim pulled Spock back down, kissed him again. And Spock, of course, kissed right back.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise, was absolutely, totally,100% screwed.

But he was completely okay with it. Because Commander Spock was screwed, too.

{The End}

Author's Note: I was imagining Spock without a shirt on, and... it all kind of snow-balled from there. Oops?

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}