Yo! This is K/S. Fair warning. Not that I need to warn peeps about any of my heterosexual couples fics but whatever.

So, I love Spock and Kirk. They are too cute. This is my first ST fic (and PWP?!), if I get anything wrong or whatever, feel more than free to tell me.

:)

Any "italics" means the characters are speaking in Vulcan.

May 2, 2262

"What's wrong with him, Ensign?" Jim Kirk's voice echoed loudly through the room, stilling the previous flurry of frantic disorganised movement. The security team had practically set up base in the brig, poised and ready for the barely controlled Vulcan to free himself and attack. Again.

Jim could feel the anxiety, loosely reigned, flooding the room and wondered how bad it was for Spock whom he knew felt and suffered behind that cold Vulcan logic.

From behind the blue buzz of the force field, a vicious growl travelled to Jim's ears. The faces around him all paled considerably and hands instinctively moved to the weapons holstered at their waists. Phasers, Jim noted, set slightly higher than stun.

"W-we can't be s-sure, Captain. He just suddenly snapped." The growling intensified as the young ensign spoke, scaring her into a trembling mess of limbs.

It was, of course, Jim's luck for Spock -his friend, ally, confident, second, cru- to be effected by some unknown sickness while Dr. M'Benga and Bones were away at a conference. When else would the universe give Jim the pleasure of seeing his anchor fall apart?

Rather than giving in to the illogical impulse to yell at the poor Ensign in front of him, Jim squared his shoulders and gathered his fragmented courage. Facing Spock now would probably drain whatever he had left, leaving him bare before the eyes of his crew. He couldn't find it in himself to really care. Not when his Vulcan needed him.

"Spock? Hey Spock, it's Jim, are you alright?" Jim walked around the corner, blue eyes constantly scanning the area.

There was no Spock.

How could there be no Spock?

Realisation and dread seeped through his mind in equal measures as he slowly turned to see a closed door. The keypad had been ripped clear from the wall. The wires, rather than hanging from the hole, were twisted and rewired in a way that would prevent the security team from reaching him within at least the next half hour. Maybe more, considering most of the engineering team was on shore leave. And not just anyone could find Scotty.

First thing's first, he reminded himself.

Spock had escaped. He'd ripped apart the wall panels, gutted the internal circuitry, crawled through the space until he was outside the containment shield and kicked out another wall panel. And now he was loose somewhere on the Enterprise. And Jim was stuck in the brig.

As he made his way closer to the ruined door, something behind him creaked. Jim stilled instantly. What was the statistical likelihood Spock had drawn Jim in and trapped him inside the room for cupcakes and tea? Not very likely, he decided,wearily turning to face his feral first officer.

What he saw caused him to freeze.

Spock was crouched, as elegant and deadly as one would expect Vulcan's apex predator to be. Almost golden eyes tracked Jim's every move like the killing machine the Federation seemed to forget Vulcans were -are. He shifted forward slightly, transferring his weight onto the balls of his feet when Jim drew a deep breath and began to mentally berate himself.

Why had he thought he could handle this? Normal, repressed, bowl cut, science blues Spock made his mouth water. This shirtless, dangerous, sexy Spock was sure to be the death of him. Both figuratively and literally.

And since when did Spock have tattoos?

At least, that's what Jim thought the markings were. One could never be too sure with Vulcans. His sure seemed to enjoy constantly surprising him.

It didn't take long for Jim to get bored -or bold- and he'd decided to get whatever was about to happen over with as fast as possible. He'd never run from a fight and he wasn't about to start now.

As he stepped forward cautiously, hands raised with palms facing Spock, he studied the black markings closely. He deduced that it was a form of writing. What it said was anyone's guess. They seemed to shift with Spock's movements -feelings? thoughts?- the flowing script shimmering and dancing across his skin. It was beautiful and Jim was sure he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted -needed- Spock now.

If Spock was concerned about Jim moving closer, he didn't show it. Dark honey eyes simply watching and waiting with that intense focus usually reserved for his experiments or, on occasion, their chess games. What he was waiting for, Jim was unsure. He'd never read of an event similar to this. Spock could lash out and kill him or want to paint him like one of his French girls.

"Spock, what's wrong? I want to help. Let me fix this." Flawless Vulcan streamed from Jim's mouth as he tried to reassure his friend. He belatedly realised he'd never told Spock he could speak Vulcan. It was a talent he used to his advantage. Jim wasn't the type of person to be kept in the dark. Understanding what was said when people thought he couldn't comprehend them; it was priceless.

"T'hy'la? You have come to me. Why?" Spock's voice was a deep, strained rumble and his honest confusion broke something in Jim. Sure, he was known as a play boy. Most often, not even staying the night. But he wanted Spock there when he fell asleep. Jim wanted him there in the morning. He wanted to share meals and chess games and watch holovids and just be. Jim wanted Spock by his side forever and frankly, it had scared the crap out of him.

"Parted from me and never parted." From the very depths of Jim's soul came the ancient words.

In the blink of an eye Spock was all he could see. His very presence made the air crackle. Jim breathed in the familiar scent and relaxed into his broad chest.

"Mine, Jim." Through their every point of contact, he could feel the possessive heat of Spock's statement. He wasn't a possession, true but he let it slide just once. If he belonged to Spock then it was only fair that S'chn T'gai Spock belonged, in equal measure, to one James Tiberius Kirk.

With a smile, Jim sealed his mouth against Spock's and felt the brush of fingers against his psi-points.

What was the statistical likelihood Spock trapped them in the brig to marry him?

If anyone would like Spock's POV or a continuation, let me know. I'd be more than happy to oblige. Or a re-write with plot... it's too fast paced for my liking. Hm.

Disclaimer: I clearly don't own Star Trek... better luck next time?