Starship captains are not supposed to act like lovesick teenage girls. Starship captains are not supposed to sit in their chair on their bridge and fantasize about a certain pointy-eared someone standing less than five feet away instead of focusing on something important like battle formations or Klingons or-

"Captain? Captain. Captain!"

Jim jumped ten feet at the shrill voice of the yeoman who had, seemingly completely without his knowledge materialized next to him.

"Daily engine report, sir." She stared at him curiously. "Thank you, yeoman."

"That's right, Captain. Act like nothing's out of the ordinary. You weren't day dreaming about your first officer's hind quarters or what he would look like on his back, nude and begging for you to-"

"Captain?"

"God damnit."

"Here you go, yeoman", he all but murmured. "That will be all."

It had been six months since it began. Just a small mistake-one unplanned stop in Spock's quarters-and BOOM, Jim was dealing with an almost constant state of distraction; Sometimes a very cramped, painful-ahem-straining…distraction.

It was only a couple of hours past a run in with a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. The occurrence, to put it lightly, strained each and every member of the crew. Most of the bridge crew was dismissed by the time Jim told Spock to get some rest in his quarters. The Vulcan refused at first, insisting that the captain needed his rest as well. Jim assured him that he would and, placated, Spock left the bridge. An hour later, Jim abandoned his beloved chair in favor of some much needed shut-eye. On the turbo-lift, he started thinking about how nice it would be to play a game of chess with Spock to relax, rather than just napping.

He walked to Spock's quarters instead of his own and requested entry. The sight that he had the fortune of being privy to once he stepped into the God-damn-it-is-hot-in-here room would change him in ways he did not fully understand until weeks later. When Jim entered the room, it was dimly lit. His eyes adjusted quickly as the door shut behind him and was greeted by the sight of his favorite Vulcan partially sitting up on the bed in his black undershirt, with his hair messed. It was a stupid thing to focus on, but the sight of Spock's hair all messy, coupled with the tight t-shirt sent a bolt of lightening right to Jim's groin.

"Spock. I-I'm sorry to bother you."
"Is there something you need, Jim?"
"N-no. I th-thought I'd j-just come see if you were…resting."
"Captain. Is something wrong? You seem…uneasy."
"N-not at all, Spock! I'm just tired I'll be going now See you later bye!"

And he fled.

Back in his quarters, Jim had a unique, troubling problem to deal with. His mind was jumbled. How exactly does a twenty something year old man process an erection stemming from seeing his half-human first officer in a t-shirt?

"Just calm down. It's a fluke. I just haven't had any in a while, that's all. Yeah. I need to get some and my body just connected the low lighting with having sex. I'm fine. I'll just rub one out and be done with it."

But he wasn't done with it. That night, he woke up from the most disturbing dream/nightmare (since he couldn't actually categorize it with any certainty), covered in sweat, painfully aware of the wet spot on the sheet near his crotch. He groaned.

"Obviously a shore leave is in order…."

He let it go then, but as the days went by, he realized that his erection would pop up at the most inopportune moments-moments that always seemed to involve Spock. After three months of denial, Jim finally admitted it to himself. He was, at the very least, lusting after Spock.

"Fuck."

Fast forward another six months, and we find Jim in very much the same state. In his lust addled, masturbated-out mind, having dirty thoughts about his first officer was just fine as long as said first officer never, ever had even an inkling of knowledge about those thoughts. Sure, he was still distracted, but as long as he took care of the erection he had in the morning, another one after lunch and one right before bed, it wasn't so bad.

Today, Jim had the honor of a staff meeting, meaning lots of talking about nothing. Jim was pretty uninterested until, naturally, Spock began to give the command team a thorough account of what the Science Department was up to lately. Jim was captivated by his first; his mouth, his eyes, his hair…his cheekbones….tongue…..

"Is that satisfactory, Captain?""Mhmmm…..Y-yes, of course, Mr. Spock."

Ignoring the raised eyebrow of the aforementioned first officer, Jim went back to surreptitiously staring at Spock's hands, followed by his lips, followed by the slope of his neck until-

"Mother f-."

Damn his imagination. Just the thought of sliding his tongue up the other man's neck, following the carotid artery up to his ear and sucking on the tip, just grazing it with his teeth, earning a moan from the stoic mouth of the man under him…..

"This is pathetic, Jimmy. Where's your self control, damnit! Just think of something completely NOT sexy. Yeah, that's it. Klingons in frilly dresses. Commodore Stone in a bikini. Pike scowling at me…I can DO this!"

"And with that, I think we should end this meeting by saying that…"

"Just a little longer….."

At this point, everyone was getting up and leaving, only giving a short backward glance at their odd captain, sitting still for once, muttering to himself.

"You're almost there, Jimmy. Bones…with a hypo…aimed at your neck and-"

"Captain, would you care to join me for a game of chess?""That sounds…great, Spock."

Jim's smile threatened to split him in half it was so tight.

"Damnit. Damn it all to hell."

"I'll meet you in your qu—(No! Too personal!)—in my qua—(And that's better HOW?)—in the rec room in twenty minutes."
"Yes, sir."

And the great starship captain ran, tail firmly between his legs, off to his quarters at warp 8.

Jim sank against the door as it closed, then slid to the floor in defeat.

"Something must be done about this whole situation", he thought. "But first…..this."

He slid his hands over his chest, his solid physique, to the waistband of his Starfleet issue trousers. Just inside, his nearly constant (these days) erection stood, proud and stiff, in contrast to its owner, who was feeling increasingly shameful and vulnerable while melting into Vulcan-lover goop.

His hands undid the button and zipper almost of their own volition, easing pants and boxers down past his hips and grasping his heavy arousal.

Jim was in no mood for suspense and his hand worked quickly, head leaning back and eyes closed imagining those long delicate fingers holding him, touching him, entering him-

He bit his lip as he spilled into his hand, moaning his name.

Panting, Jim cleaned himself up and headed for the rec room.

"Yeah", he thought. "A nice, crowded place where I'm less likely to get myself in tro—"

Sitting in rec room 2, the three dimensional chess board in front of him and him alone, was Spock.

He almost ran. Jim Kirk, Great 23rd Century Starship Captain, took one look at the deserted rec room, and Spock sitting at the table innocently awaiting his chess partner and was close-too close-to doing a 180 and scampering out of that room like he'd been hit with a newspaper. He was close, but-thanks to what he assumed were the effects of metaphorical balls the size of planets-he didn't.

"Hello, Mr. Spock."

"That's right, Jim. The swagger. Just lean on the swagger."

After eleven games of chess, nine of which Spock won (Because really, how was Jim going to pay attention to chess at a time like that?), Jim was worn out. His relationship with Spock had not taken a turn for the worse (He was still breathing, wasn't he?), nor had it taken a turn for the carnal (There was certainly no celebrating of that kind.). Jim had attempted to converse normally, but he feared his rather uncomfortable physical state had make the conversation awkward.

"My swagger….it's broken…."

And thus, he returned to his quarters, nine times defeated and horny.

Lying in bed that night, leisurely stroking his erection, Jim made a decision. He couldn't just keep on living in a constant state of arousal, now could he? Either he had to get some strange tail and end this-or get Spock. Since the latter had a tribble's chance on a Klingon ship of happening, the plan Jim concocted in his dazed, still aroused, I-cannot-jerk-off-one-more-time-without-curling-into-a-weeping-ball-of-shame mind went something like this:

"All I have to do is get some ass during our next shore leave and never think about Spock at all ever again. Easy."

Before he knew it, the crew was scheduled for shore leave. Usually the last one to leave the ship, and only by royal decree of his highness Doctor McCoy, Jim made the decision to join one of the earlier parties and leave the ship to Spock, who insisted on staying on the ship during every shore leave. It would only make it easier for Jim to focus on getting what he needed. He changed into a pair of black jeans, just tight enough, and a blue t-shirt to set off his eyes. He was ready.

At one of the seedier bars on Alpha Risa IV, Jim managed to catch the attention of a particularly attractive Orion, Kelia, who seemed to be more than willing to make Jim forget all his problems. As she led him back to her place, he couldn't help but wonder….

"I wonder what Spock's doing right now. Waitaminute, no! What the hell, Kirk? You're thinking about what your MALE first officer is doing at the moment-probably reading some boring scientific paper- instead of focusing on the perfect, green ass jiggling in front of you? No. Focus on the girl."

The next thirty minutes were the most embarrassing of Jim's life. How does a virile young man such as himself ignore the advances of an Orion? He was furious. He ran out of that apartment building, down the street and into the nearest bar.

"What the hell happened to you, Jimmy? One day you're a young man, not shackled by the restraints of whatever the hell this is, the next thing you know your body is refusing an Orion. An Orion, for Christ's sake!"

It goes without saying that Jim was incredibly inebriated. The events that occurred over the course of the next hour were only accomplished because of that inebriation. In his drunken stupor, Jim called up to the Enterprise for a beam-up and, once materialized, marched straight past the ensign on duty and over to Spock's quarters. He knocked heavily on the door.

"Spock! Open up and lemme in there!"

The door opened, revealing a Vulcan with an interest piqued at the late intrusion-at the obvious drunken state of his commanding officer.

"Captain?"
"Hey there, Spock. 'Sit alright if I come in?"
"I hardly th-"

But Jim had already pushed past Spock and was furiously pacing back and forth.

"Captain, can I help you with something?"
"No, Spock. You-You've done enough."
"To what are you referring?"
"An Orion, Spock! I turned down sex with an Orion! No! I didn't. I tried, damnit. I tried, but it wouldn't go. I couldn't-You're a bas-bas-bastard, Spock."
"My parents were married at the time of my birth. I hardly think that title is accurate."
"You know what I mean! Don't play stupid!"
"Jim. I think it would be best if you sat down for a moment. I will summon Dr. McCoy."

Spock buzzed the doctor's room and requested his presence immediately.

"Nahhhhh, Spock. Bones can't help me. You're the only one…You're the one that can help…"
"Jim?"

"God damnit, Jim, what'd you do this time?"
"Heyyy Bones. I was just talking to Spock."
"Yeah I see that."

Bones jabbed a hypospray in the Captain's neck, along with a sedative, because it was just too damn late at night to deal with a chatty Jim.

"I can have him moved if you want, Spock. He'll be out for a while."
"He can have my bed for the night, I assure you, Doctor. I feel meditation would aid me more than sleeping."

The next morning, Jim awoke with a groan. He drank WAY too much last night….

"Wait a minute", he thought groggily. "Where the hell am I? Looks like I'm on the ship, but…this isn't my room. Oh, please don't tell me I slept with a member of the crew. Like Starfleet Command doesn't look down on me enough. I can't be doing stuff like…this…"

It was then that Jim caught sight of the 3D chess board on the shelf next to the bed. The unique carving of the board looked familiar. It almost looked like….

"Spock's?"

Jim wouldn't admit it until much later, but he panicked. The great James T. Kirk jumped out of bed, the pounding in his head a paper cut on the scale of problems compared to what he might have done last night. Upon a cursory investigation of Spock's quarters, he could deduce three things:

1. Spock had a bigger shower than him. How the hell was that fair?
2. He was still fully clothed; rumpled, but fully clothed, so odds are no stupid mistakes happened.
3. Spock was not here.

"Computer. What time is it?"
"Oh-nine-hundred."

"Ah. So Spock is already on duty. I guess I should get back to my quarters and shower, at least…But…while I'm here…"

Jim wasn't proud of what he did next. With Spock absent, he had free reign to look around his room and maybe get to know something about the man who never opened up about anything. The contents of Spock's room were relatively unimpressive altogether, until Jim came to the closet. He couldn't resist. He grabbed one of the perfectly hung blue uniform shirts and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply.

"Oh my God, he smells amazing."

So engrossed in his stalker-like behavior, Jim didn't notice the woosh of the door opening and the presence of the absolute last person Jim wanted walking in at that moment.

Eyebrow threatening to reach his hairline, Spock cleared his throat. Immediately, Jim's eyes shot open and he cringed, slowly turning to face the intruder, still mid-inhale.

"Captain? May I ask what you are doing with my shirt?"

Jim was speechless. There was absolutely no way the situation could get any worse.

"I…I….I…..""Captain?"

"Deep breath, man. Deep breath. He knows nothing."

"I was just…"
"If I may, Captain, you appear to be smelling my shirt."
"Sm-I….I don't know what you're talking about! I wasn't sm-I was just-I gotta go."

And once again, Jim was running away from Spock, manly bits shriveled to almost nothing.

"Son of a bitch! What was he doing back so soon? Alpha shift isn't over for another half an hour! Oh God why did I have to smell his shirt? I was too bold. Now he probably thinks I'm some kind of shirt-fetish freak…."

Just then, the computer signaled a visitor.

*Sigh*

"Come."
"Captain."
"Spock? I mean, Spock. How can I help you?"
"Capt-Jim. I think we should discuss…"
"There's really no need for that, Mr. Spock."
"You were smelling my shirt, Jim. And last night you told me I was the only one who could help you. I would like to know what you meant when you said that."

Jim was never drinking anything alcoholic ever again.

"I..I don't know, Spock. I was drunk. People….say crazy things when they're drunk…."
"You were of sound mind, Jim. Tell me."

At this point, Jim was standing, frozen, by his desk. Spock, ever respectful of personal space, was getting closer and closer with each excuse or dodge Jim uttered. Within a matter of five minutes, Spock was standing closer to Jim than he ever had before. Jim could smell the same clean smell that has aroused his senses only minutes before, mixed with a scent that could only be described as Spock. He was intoxicated.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spock."
"Yes. You do."

Jim gulped. He was cornered and he knew it.

"Well, I might as well go out with a bang.", he thought.

So with that in his mind, Jim took a deep breath, looked up at Spock and kissed him squarely on the lips. Deciding at the last minute to drape his arms around Spock's neck, Jim deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to let his tongue run gently over Spock's surprisingly pliant bottom lip. When he could no longer go without air, he pulled back, hands falling to his sides, eyes staring intently at a spot on the floor and waited.

It seems that Jim's actions had done the impossible. Spock was at a loss for words. He stood there, mouth doing the Vulcan equivalent of gaping, eyes wider than Jim had ever seen them. Since there was no immediate loving response, Jim took a great breath and took charge of the situation.

Very quietly, he said, "I trust that answers your questions, Mr. Spock. I would appreciate it if you would leave my quarters."

Spock nodded his assent and turned to exit, never making a sound. Once he was alone, Jim sank onto the bed, a mess of tears and heartbreak mixed with a lingering feeling of confusion.

"What the fuck, Jim? That was your solution? Kissing him? What the hell were you thinking? Spock must be furious. Or embarrassed. Or both. What if he wants a transfer? I don't think I could handle all this without him. But wait, I'm being stupid. If I just want his body, why the hell am I getting this upset? There's no….emotional….connection here…..is there? I'm not…..in l-"

"Spock to Captain Kirk."

"Breathe, Jim. Breathe."

"Yes, Mr. Spock. What is it?""I request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience, Jim."

"Oh, shit. He called me Jim."

"Of course, Spock. I'm free now."

"Okay, Jimmy. Try not to screw this up."

"Enter."

For a long time, too long in Jim's head, they just stood and stared at each other. Neither man said anything for a good five minutes. Finally, Spock broke the silence.

"Jim, I am not sure how to proceed."
"Nothing has to be said, Spock. Just…we can pretend it never happened. I stepped over some boundaries and I know I forced you way out of your comfort zone and…I'm sorry. I really am. I hope you can forgive me and we can just go back to…the way we were."
"I am incapable of forgetting what happened, Jim. I wish to ask you-"
"Please don't transfer, Spock! I know I fucked up, but I promise it won't happen again and I really need you here to deal with all my paperwork and…you know…I….I'd miss you a lot if you left and-"
"Jim! I am not going anywhere. I simply wish to know at what point you become enamored with me."

Well there it was. All out in the open.

The TRUTH.