Title: Sexual Harassment

Rating: T

Disclaimer: You know, it could really give me a complex, having to admit that I don't own them over and over again.

Summary: Five times Mr. Spock falls prey to it, and Bones and Jim find it entirely too funny. And one time it's just not.

A/N I had to do one. I LOVE five + one fics, for some reason, and I think I'm going to start doing a few. This is my first one and I'm a touch nervous, but excited. I do hope you all enjoy. ^^

ALSO: NOT DEAD. I'm having a bit of writer's block when it comes to Hero Complex, and I'm also working on fifteen things at once. Also, my library JUST STOPPED blocking the Log In option for , and I duno how long that will last. :/ But here, have a tide me over in the form of THIS.

Sexual Harassment

1. The first time it happens, he is almost as surprised at the reaction of his companions as he is the situation itself.

They are on a planet new to the Federation, playing the good diplomats, celebrating negotiations gone beautifully (and, privately, the crew of the Enterprise is also celebrating getting through a first contact and diplomatic negotiations without any injuries or deaths.)

There is food (some of which seems to still be moving, disturbingly) and alcohol and the alien race themselves-slender, lizard like beings that stand no taller then Spock's hip and change color with their mood-are signing and dancing and playing a variety of instruments.

The general mood is one of contentment and happy camaraderie. Spock, Jim, and McCoy have stayed rather close together for the most part, though not really intentionally- and at one point, Jim had joined the dancers with Uhura, spinning her in the laughing, whirling dance that they didn't really know the steps to but had fun trying, tripping over each other while the small aliens had glowed merry shades of pink and yellows and laughed with them. It had been entertaining to watch, all the more so with McCoy's good-natured heckling from Spock's left.

They'd spent more time whirling around and stepping all over each other then actually dancing, but the entire room had still burst into applause when the song finished, prompting outrageous bows before they'd returned to their tables, Jim still chuckling.

As illogical as it all is, it is quite worth it to see the rare, glowing smiles on the faces of both Jim and doctor McCoy. This is a rare occurrence; and it is even more rare when the crew is able to relax and enjoy themselves.

"No more from the peanut gallery," Jim is saying now, pointing a finger at McCoy, who swats at it. Jim jerks back and aims for McCoy's head, who bats it away again, and within moments they are swatting childishly at each other, grinning broadly. Spock lift a brow, thankful only that he's not in the middle of them any longer-there is no doubt in his mind they'd be doing this over the top of his head.

He turns to scold them both, but before the words of overgrown children can escape his mouth, there is a tug at his pants. He glances down- all three of them glance down- at the small lizard woman who is glowing bright, almost-neon pink with what he can assume is embarrassment, She is really rather attractive, for her race- she is slender and delicate, and her hair is, much like his own, fine, soft-looking, very straight, and very black. It hangs almost to the floor, and is a sharp contrast of the pink of her scales. Her tail is long and whip-like, her body utterly lizard like but for the build, which is humanoid, and her skin, which is only scaled in places; along her muzzle, her arms, legs, and tail.

"Would you like to dance?" She asks, softly. They are a highly intelligent race of people, and able to mentally translate from their own language into almost any other they hear almost instantly. Still, her voice is thickly accented- her 'dance' comes out hissed.

He blinks, startled- his first impulse is, of course, to respectfully decline. But to his left, McCoy is leaning close, that good natured smirk on his face. "Not like you have to get out there and hop around like an idiot like this jumpin' bean and his enablers." He drawls, prompting Uhura to stick her tongue out at him, close enough to hear at her own table. It seems the mood is contagious, and Spock is the only one who has not regressed to approximately ten years old mentally. "Just one little dance." Nevermind that she is half his height.

"Doctor-" He shrugs off the playful touch, and is surprised that the lack of the comparative cool of McCoy's hand through his uniform and the wave of light, happy emotions actually leaves him feeling a bit adrift. Apparently, he's gotten accustomed to the touch of his companions.

He turns to address the little alien, but she's peering up at him with wide, dark eyes, and he finds himself acquiescing. He allows himself to be steered into the middle of the wide room, and, blessedly, there is enough room for them all; there are no accidental brushes, no uncomfortable crowding, and she respectfully keeps her touch on his hips, where cloth muffles any contact telepathy.

Afterwards, he tries to make his way back to the table with his companions, only to find his sleeve captured, this time. She stands on tip-toe, and when he bends, obligingly, she whispers something in his ear that turns the tips of his pointed appendages a deep green and quickly has him pulling back from her, where she stands, innocently watching him.

"I am-" He stops, clearing his throat slightly and willing his body to calm down and biting back on the all-too-human urge to back away with his hands raised until he is back at the relative safety of his table. "I am….flattered….by the offer, T'el'na-" He manages not to mangle her name, but then again, he is Vulcan, and therefore used to wrapping his mouth around words most humans couldn't spell, let alone say properly, names included. "but I must decline." There are eyes on him. He can feel them, burning holes into his back.

He does not need to look to know who it is.

She pouts up at him. "Are you certain, Mr. Spock?" She asks, the soft, hissing syllables of each word nothing on the emphasis she gives his own name. "You are quite exotic, compared to the rest of your party. I have not seen one like you before."

A hand lands on his shoulder- Jim, undeniably, he knows it before the hand even makes full contact, can feel, can sense the storm and heat that is James Kirk the moment he comes up behind. Jim's always been like that; a palpable force against the strongest of Spock's shields, and an open book in any telepathic contact, hiding very little.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Spock?" He asks, jovially enough, and there is laughter in his eyes, hidden but Spock can feel it clearly.

"Not at all, Captain." He says quietly.

"Only a misunderstanding, Captain Kirk." The young alien bows slightly. "Mr. Spock did not, it seems, understand the direction my intentions took." Unrepentant and blatant, and from somewhere behind them McCoy is snickering.

"My apologies." Spock replies, but she waves him off good-naturedly enough.

"Mine as well." She says warmly, and they go their separate ways. However, before they leave the planet, when they are standing waiting to be beamed up, she approaches again, from the group of the planet's populace seeing them off.

"I was informed further about your race," She whispers to him, "and I apologize again for the misunderstanding. But you only go into a mating cycle once every seven years, perhaps-" The rest of what she's going to say is cut off by an older member of her race dragging her backwards.

The last thing he hears before the tingle of the transporter beam takes him is Jim's laughter.

McCoy doesn't stop teasing Spock over it for weeks.