Commander Spock arose early, as usual, at zero-five-hundred hours. His internal clock seemed programmed to that specific time, almost like a robot would. But to call Spock a robot would be unfair, like saying that vanilla-chocolate pudding was only half appetizing.

Besides, work was calling him.

He dressed quickly, not pausing to linger over the well-toned body he was so familiar with. The pleats and creases in his uniform straightened themselves at his touch, leaving his overall appearance as clean as fresh-printed toilet paper. He took one cursory look in the mirror before leaving his room, though, just to double check and run a hand casually through his silky black hair. Spock wasn't vain, but per usual, he looked damn fine.

As he made his way toward the bridge, a gaggle of ensigns slowly materialized behind him. The gender split was three to one, with more girls than boys. All of them were begging him to sign something of theirs, in increasingly high-pitched squeals of admiration.

"Commander, will you sign off on these inventory forms?" asked one, waving forms around that Spock signed with impeccable accuracy. "Oh, Commander, please sign my old yearbook?" pleaded the next, who pressed his hand to his heart when Spock obliged. "Commander, sign my breasts!" squealed the last, jumping and subsequently fainting when Spock touched her collarbone.

The commander couldn't help but roll his eyes at the last request.

The crowd at last dispersed when Spock reached the lift, which refused to allow anything else in its space. Even inanimate objects were loath to share the perfection that was Spock. The lift had no choice but to obey Spock's order to the bridge, however, and when the commander left the lift lights fizzled away out of spite for his coworkers.

Spock looked out at the bridge as he entered. One eyebrow cocked upward at the sight of everyone looking at him. "Good morning," he said, his voice a combination of liquid gold and red velvet. "Shall we begin our regular work?"

Every woman on the bridge instantly keeled over from near-orgasmic ecstasy of his voice. Uhura was the first to go, splayed out at her station in a manner wholly unbecoming of her station. But Spock let it go; it wasn't like she could help herself. Besides, she wasn't one to fall asleep post-coitus. It usually made her more apt to do work.

He slipped over to the captain's chair, hoping to find the captain at his usual perch. The empty chair swung around at his touch. Something inside Spock's brain tingled, alerting his other senses. Sensory input was suddenly top priority.

"Where is the captain?" he asked.

BOOM.

Something from the outside slammed into the port side of the Enterprise, and hard, with absolutely zero time for a red alert. The whole of the ship shook, flinging unwary crew members from their seats. Spock had managed to grab the captain's chair in time to keep his balance, and when the shock of the impact subsided he instantly drew his phaser. Just in time, too; out of nowhere the air around him shimmered, atoms reconstituting themselves into the ugliest Romulans that ever existed.

They fired their phasers the instant they materialized, hitting crew members left and right. Uhura keeled over where she stood, stunned by a direct hit. In the midst of the fire fight Spock rushed to her side, checking the lieutenant's pulse and assessing. There were twenty assailants crowding into the room, each with a phaser and considerable training. And Uhura was…still alive, thank whatever powers there were. The enemy wasn't shooting to kill. It was something, for sure—

A blast of light singed Spock's phaser hand, blasting his weapon beyond his reach. Spock whirled around, his insides boiling with indignant anger, and was faced with the ugliest Romulan in the bunch. Sulu's stunned form slipped through the Romulan's fingers—a highly ranked official, Spock noted, by the look of his uniform—and fell to the floor between them.

"What do you want from us?" Spock demanded, voice betraying none of his emotions. "We have no quarrel with you."

The Romulan laughed. "It isn't this ship we want," he replied, jerking his head backwards. "It's him."

The door to the captain's ready room hissed open as another Romulan officer stepped out of it. In her possession was not only a phaser cocked to action, but a familiar figure with tousled blond hair dressed in yellow command uniform.

Something in the back of Spock's brain snapped, and his training replaced it.

He sweep-kicked the feet from under the Romulan leader, whose back hit the bridge floor with a loud SMACK. Spock grabbed the phaser from his enemy's hand and subsequently squeezed off four shots to his left, downing four more foes. The Romulans were beginning to react now, and out of his right peripheral vision Spock saw one of them raise a weapon. Spock dodged the shot successfully, reached forward and pulled the shooter downward, letting momentum do the rest of the work. He even had time to snatch the Romulan's phaser before he hit the floor.

The Romulans howled furiously at the loss of their leader, only now beginning to comprehend what had hit them. Four men barreled toward Spock, one at each cardinal direction; Spock jumped into the air like a bird taking flight and, using all four of his limbs, knocked their skulls together with an incapacitating CRACK. The remaining ten Romulans circled him instantly like a pack of dogs, hungry for meat and more than willing to get it. They raised their phasers in unison. Spock grinned and, at the very moment they fired, flung himself to the floor. Every single burst hit a mark, and with a tide of groans the Romulans collapsed to the ground. That, Spock noted duly, was why one should never fire in a circular formation.

But there was still one more, Spock realized—the female who was currently attempting to surreptitiously drag Kirk to the door of the lift. Spock sprinted forward, tackling her and knocking her away from her hostage and her gun, and subsequently pummeled the ever-loving shit out of her formerly smug face. Only when she was completely passed out from shock did Spock relent.

Beside him, Spock heard a deep-throated groan. Instantly he was up and at Kirk's side, freeing him from his crude binds. "Spock," the captain gasped, blue eyes fluttering open at the Vulcan's touch. "All I remember was someone beaming into the ready room, and…" He sat up, looking around him, horrified. "What the hell happened to my bridge?"

"The Romulans were attempting to remove you," Spock explained, finally letting emotion creep into his voice. It sounded like a mixture of anger and pride. "I felt it necessary to remove them from consciousness."

"You saved my life, Spock," Kirk breathed, "and the lives of the crew. Who knows what they would've done if they'd gotten away?"

Spock shook his head. "Do not dwell on what is now impossible." His body suddenly curled downwards, looming over Kirk's yet-prostrate form. "Only on what is now wholly possible."

Color rose to Kirk's cheeks. "Spock—"

Kirk never had the opportunity to speak. Spock's lips captured his captain's in a binding kiss that was stronger than anything in the universe. All the emotions Spock had repressed today were nearly bursting through his skin, which was flushed green in places that he hoped would soon be very conspicuous. Spock could feel Kirk's mind reeling from pleasure as the blond held as if for dear life, and when Spock at last released his mouth the captain groaned out the only thing that made any logical sense—"Oh, Spock!"

Spock pulled Kirk's hands into his hair, mussing it, as his hands began traveling southward. "I do believe you owe me, Captain," he purred, placing his hand right on Kirk's c—

"Jim, you ready?"

"GAH!"

Jim quite literally jumped out of his seat, slamming his hand on the keyboard and his knee against the underside of his desk. Eyes watering, he swiveled around in his chair. "Jesus fucking CHRIST, Bones!" he shouted at the very bewildered doctor.

Bones held his hands up defensively. "What's got you so uptight?" he asked. "What were you writing?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing!" Jim replied hastily. With an angry jab he punched the power button on his personal computer terminal and, when that didn't work, yanked the power cord from its socket.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing' to me," Bones noted. Jim watched as his face slowly contorted into a smirk. "You look awfully red, Captain; are you sure you're not ill?"

Jim growled as he stood up. "Shut the hell up and let's go."

Author's Notes: I'M BACK except sorta not quite. There are things that I can't pass up on and April Fool's Day, fortunately, is one of them. This thing that you just read through was the product of about an hour and twenty minutes of dedicated writing—that's right, folks, this one's fresh off the presses!

Where did the inspiration come from, you ask? It's a story called "Big FREAKING Macintosh." If you are unafraid of venturing to an equestrian domain of the internet, go Google it (it's an easy thing to find) and read it. When you read it, the general rule of how I came across it is don't ask, and I won't tell, but PM me if you want to know how I came across that gorgeous thing.

Thanks very much to the fabulous Cynewulf, who subbed at the last minute for Ladyofthe80s (formerly xladyjagsvolleyball16x) and is himself the reincarnation of William Faulkner now working in fandom. Seriously, if you can handle the inspiration fiction, I've got some great recommendations for you. Thank you also to all the people who have favorite me, followed me, and otherwise stuck with me despite my overwhelming lack of production this year. I really hope you enjoyed. Til next time!

-KW