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“This is not my fault.”
Kirk stood in the middle of the hot, gray cell, ignoring the sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he looked at his first officer hopefully.
Spock looked right back, his face shuttered, saying nothing in response.
He searched the stoic face, the dark, impenetrable eyes, looking for a sign, any sign at all, that the Vulcan agreed. “This isn’t my fault,” he repeated.
Standing in his characteristic pose, arms clasped behind his back, looking cool and unflappable as always, Spock’s silence spoke volumes.
“Okay, maybe it was a bit my fault,” he conceded. “How the hell was I to know winking at His Supremeness was taboo? That wasn’t in any of the StarFleet cultural and diplomatic mission notes. I know because I read them all. Twice.” The second reading had gone on until well into the previous night, depriving him of sleep.
Spock still said nothing.
His first officer’s reaction mildly irritated him, and sighing, he glanced around, taking in their surroundings. They were standing in a cell they’d been frog-marched into at phaser-point that he estimated was about three meters by three meters. It had no windows and no discernible door – though they’d walked through one, so it did exist. It was the kind of cell he hated, because there was no obvious way to escape – not that he’d try, at least not yet, as that would just anger their host even more. No, he was going to have to wait for the wheels of diplomacy to turn and provide a release for them. It was only if that failed to work – then they’d have to effect an escape. There wasn’t much he could potentially use – the only items in the cell were a servo sunk into one of the walls and a narrow cot that was firmly attached to another.
Licking his dry lips, Kirk put his hands on his hips and stared at Spock. “Are you going to give me the silent treatment the whole time we’re here?”
No answer was his answer.
“Fine. Whatever.” His irritation grew as he took the two steps needed to reach the cot, and sat down. This change of position meant that Spock was now standing in profile to him, which in turn meant he had a pretty good view of the Vulcan’s ass, and that, he privately counted as a win.
A pissed first officer wasn’t his biggest issue. No, his biggest issue right then was the temperature. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.” He was sweltering.
Naturally, Spock looked cool as a cucumber – he’d been in his first officer’s quarters a few times and knew how high he liked to set the thermostat. Kirk took off his outer shirt and wiping his sweaty face with it, dropped it on the bed.
“What?” Kirk asked when he glanced up to see Spock watching him with a raised eyebrow. The gesture annoyed him. “I’m hot, okay?”
He stared at the floor as his annoyance started to give way to an anger that coiled in his stomach. It wasn’t just because Spock treating him like an errant child was patronizing; it was also dragging up unwanted memories of his childhood and his step-father and years of neglect.
Kirk determinedly pushed the memories away and focused on the present situation. Okay, so maybe he’d approached the first meeting with His Supremeness a little too casually, he conceded, but things had been going very well until the wink. What he needed to do was to figure out how to recover from this situation diplomatically, but in this heat, thinking was becoming increasingly difficult.
Picking up his sweater, he swiped at his face and swallowing, realized how thirsty he was. Jumping up, he walked over to the servo. The problem with it was that it was going to be programmed for the locals. Still it should have one thing he desperately needed.
“Water.”
He watched as a container materialized inside, and the door lifted to allow him to access it. The cup was made of something akin to paper and as he picked it up he could see the liquid was already saturating it – so that wasn’t going to help him in his great escape. Lifting his head, he knocked the lukewarm liquid back in several large gulps.
Just as he was finishing it off, something made him glance at Spock who was watching him intently, but as Kirk caught his eye, the Vulcan’s gaze slid to the floor.
“What?” Kirk demanded.
When he got no answer, he added, “You do realize giving me the silent treatment could be viewed as quite puerile.”
Spock ignored him.
So Kirk ignored Spock.
Except, not entirely.
Placing the empty cup back inside the unit, he went back to the position on the cot where he could check out the Vulcan’s ass – Spock not having moved since they first arrived in the cell. He never got tired of fantasizing over things he would like to do to it, something he’d pretty much been doing since he first clapped eyes on Spock that fateful day at StarFleet Academy. It had taken him a while – well into the second year of the mission – before he realized one day he’d stopped objectifying the Vulcan and had fallen for him as a person. This fall, as it happened, was way scarier than the one he’d executed trying to save Vulcan, because this one involved feelings. Something Spock would no doubt deride him for if he had any clue.
He was sweating profusely from his head to his toes. The cell was like a sauna, which Kirk thought odd, as the planet was on the cool side – a good ten degrees cooler, on average, than Earth. As a result, he was wearing the version of his uniform which had built-in insulation against the cold. The palace where they’d beamed to was at the expected temperature of the mid fifties Fahrenheit, so this cell being so hot didn’t make any sense.
His black shirt was now wet through under the arms, across his chest and around his neck, making it feel itchy and uncomfortable. His trousers weren’t in much better shape. Thirty more seconds and he’d had enough. If this were a sauna, he’d be wearing far fewer clothes.
So.
Bending down, he undid his boots and pulled them off, followed by the socks, wriggling his toes as he finally got air to them. Then he stood and pulled his black sweater over his head with a sigh of relief. As before, as his head emerged, he found Spock staring at him. Or rather at his chest, which had a fine sheen of sweat covering it.
“It’s got to be 120ºF in here,” Kirk explained though he had no idea why he felt the need to justify himself. “Why the hell is it so hot?”
When Spock predictably didn’t answer, he moved his hand to the fastening on the front of his trousers and opened it.
“Captain. What are you doing?”
Huh. Finally he speaks.
“I’m trying not to die from heat-stroke.” With that, he let his trousers drop to the floor. His briefs weren’t exactly regulation and Spock did the closest thing to a double take he’d ever seen.
He glanced down, past the sculpted pecs and abs he worked so hard to maintain, to the yellow briefs that hugged his hips. “They were a gift from my brother,” he said defensively. “It’s SpongeBob Square Pants,” he explained of the iridescent face that covered his groin area. At the raising of Spock’s eyebrows, he added, “It’s a kid’s cartoon character. Sam and I have bought each other funny briefs since we were kids.”
Kirk watched in interest as Spock’s dark eyes flickered over him, momentarily resting back on the shimmering cartoon face at his groin before lowering to the floor. Most men would have been embarrassed at such attention from a Vulcan. Kirk wasn’t most men, so not only was he lapping it up, but he was getting turned on by it.
That wasn’t good, not when he had no way of covering it up, so he walked over to the servo and ordered another water. As he waited for it to materialize, he could quite clearly see Spock’s reflection in the glass door of the unit, and what he saw made his heart stutter and then pick up, double-speed.
The Vulcan was staring at his ass.
With his back to Spock, Kirk grinned and flexed his glutes, noting with satisfaction there was an unmistakable drawing in of breath. When the door of the unit opened he removed the paper-like cup, and lifting it, slowly tipped the contents over his head so that rivulets of water, feeling blissfully cool, ran down his face, neck and chest.
By the time he’d disposed of the cup and turned, his semi had flagged and Spock was again looking at the floor. Kirk tried not to smile as he walked back to the cot, brushing past the Vulcan – who didn’t move an inch – on the way. Once there, he sat on the edge and swinging his legs around, lay down on his back, using his arms as a pillow. Water glistened on his chest and stomach and he was feeling a lot less overheated than before.
Having settled himself, he glanced up to see that Spock had changed position and was now facing the cot, and by default, facing him. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Kirk closed his eyes.
While a part of him was elated that he’d moved Spock – no more than that, that Spock apparently desired him – the timing of this epic discovery was lousy. They were in jail and of course it was going to be monitored. While he had no worries about putting on a show, he was certain the Vulcan would balk. And that’s assuming Spock was interested in following this up. He’d never met anyone more repressed than Spock, so it was perfectly feasible that this interest that he’d finally, if inadvertently, shown, might be buried beneath the thick layer of Vulcan rationality and logic.
After having been awake half the night, and with the heat of the cell enervating him, Kirk felt sleep gently tugging at him, pulling him into its warm embrace.
“Captain.”
Kirk’s eyes flew open and he rolled to quickly sit up. “What?” How long had he been asleep? he wondered.
“Someone approaches.”
“Right. Maybe they’ve come to let us out?”
Spock’s eyes remained steadfastly on his face as he said. “Your uniform?”
“Right.” Kirk agreed and leaning down, went to scoop up his trousers, only to find that he had no feeling in his hands and fingers and gripping the item of clothing was a task currently beyond him
“Uh, I need your help. My arms have gone to sleep from where I slept on them. I’ve lost the circulation.” He tried flexing his fingers but they just felt detached from him and refused to cooperate.
Spock did the closest thing to rolling his eyes that Kirk had ever seen as he bent over and picked up the trousers, holding them for his captain to step into. Kirk tried to fasten them, but even that was beyond him. He definitely heard Spock sigh as he stepped forward and deftly did them up.
“Ow! Shit!” Kirk exclaimed, causing Spock to almost jump back.
“Have I injured you?” the Vulcan asked, concern clear in his voice.
“No. My circulation’s just come back.” Kirk shook his arms vigorously. “I’ve got pins and needles and it hurts like a bitch.”
Before Spock could respond with what Kirk suspected would have been a pithy retort, a door appeared in what had looked like a solid wall, revealing one of the dignitaries who had greeted them on arrival, accompanied by a guard Kirk recognized had escorted them there with his phaser pointing at their backs. With the aperture, came cool air that clung to Kirk’s skin, positively chilling him.
“His Supremeness has granted you freedom,” the dignitary told them.
“Great. I just need to…” He turned to indicate his clothes and boots on the floor beside the bed to find Spock holding them out to him. “Right, thanks.” Their fingers brushed as he took them from the Vulcan and the shiver that passed through him had nothing to do with the cold air that now filled their cell.
~*~
Kirk sat back in his chair at the desk in his quarters, having just completed the final touches on the mission report which he pinged to Spock’s inbox to countersign. He’d won a full pardon for his winking transgression – thanks to Uhura finally managing to convince His Supremeness that a wink was the mark of high regard among Humans (and for which he was going to give her a commendation). He’d also found out that their cell temperature had been set to Vulcan norm out of deference to Spock who himself hadn’t insulted their host, but had been imprisoned as part of the Federation delegation until the planetary ruler could make a decision on what to do with them. That explained why his first officer had looked so comfortable while he was dying.
Leaning back in his chair, he now was at leisure to contemplate Spock. It all boiled down to: he wanted Spock; and unless he was wildly off-base (and he was certain he wasn’t), Spock wanted him. The million credit question was how to get Spock to admit it and even more of a challenge, to act on it?
His thoughts were interrupted by his door chime sounding.
“Come.”
The door opened to reveal Spock, wearing a dark maroon Vulcan robe with Vulcan glyphs embroidered in silver iridescent thread down the left side of his chest. Spock gracefully stepped in far enough to be out of sensor range for the door which slid shut behind him. It was rare for his first officer to visit him this late in the evening, rarer still for him to come out of uniform. “Everything all right?”
“The ship is functioning normally, Captain. This is not a duty call. If you are busy, I can—”
“No, I’m not,” Kirk cut in smiling and pointed at his desk. “Take a seat.”
“I prefer to stand.”
Kirk who had half sat, stood again. “Right. So, what I can I for you?”
Spock’s gaze shifted from him, to some point on the wall behind him. “I wish to discuss a personal matter relating to us.”
Kirk was both intrigued and excited, his heart speeding up in response. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“I find you esthetically pleasing. Jim. In addition, I find myself drawn to your keen intellect…”
Kirk grinned.
“I was unaware, until today,” he continued, “that my regard was reciprocated. However, StarFleet fraternization policy specifically prohibit relationships between officers in the chain of command.”
Kirk’s smile faltered. So this was Spock coming to tell him why he wasn’t going to do anything about his attraction.
“The rules were put into place to prevent: relationships that are exploitative or coercive in nature due to the differing ranks; partiality or unfairness between an officer and his or her subordinate; and the improper use of rank for personal gain. In addition, a relationship between the two highest ranking officers on the ship could create an adverse impact on discipline, authority, morale or mission accomplishment.”
Kirk’s heart had sunk, leaving an ache in his chest, and he had to turn away from Spock so the Vulcan wouldn’t see the look of devastation he knew must be on his face.
Still standing to the back of him, Spock gently gripped his upper arms. “However,” he said into Kirk’s ear, his voice deep and barely above a whisper, the warm breath ghosting his skin causing a delicious thrill to run down Kirk's spine as hope sprang eternal, “logically, as a Vulcan, those rules do not apply to me. To us.”
Kirk spun round, anticipation in his eyes, to see Spock smiling at him. An honest-to-goodness smile. The sight took his breath away. “You mean it?
When Spock remained silent, Kirk really didn’t mind at all, since the Vulcan chose to demonstrate just how much he meant it by enfolding his captain in his arms and soundly kissing him the Human way.
[finis]