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“Gentlemen, this is embarrassing.” Commodore Kithari ran a hand over the short grey stubble shaved into the sides of her head. Her signature wrist-thick central French braid looked sloppy and frayed from having been slept on, and the heavy bags under her eyes were as overstuffed as a shuttle carry-on.
Jim and Spock sat opposite the Commodore, spines straight, gazes actively avoiding the image frozen on the screen behind her desk.
“Commodore, I take full responsibility,” Jim said stiffly. “That was behavior unbecoming of an officer.”
“Damn right it was!” Commodore Kithari pushed play. Onscreen, Jim tenderly petted Spock’s hair, staring down at him in wonder as Spock effortlessly swallowed his cock. “Oh.” Jim closed his eyes. “Oh my goodness.”
Kithari tiredly rubbed a hand over her eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
“Commodore, as I was the one performing an unbecoming action, it is I who should be punished,” said Spock.
Her fingers split open, letting her glare at him with one eye. “I bet you’d like that.”
She grabbed the remote again and fast forwarded, forcing the pair to watch themselves rapidly divest their clothing and fall on one another. “Right about…here.”
She glared at the duo as, onscreen, Kirk said, “Tell me how you like it, sweetheart.”
“Captain,” Spock’s recorded voice was low and husky, “I desire for you to penetrate me.”
Kithari flopped forward, gently banging her forehead against her desk three times. “The two of you are the poster boys of the fleet.” Her voice was muffled from her face being pressed against the desk, arms stretched out before her as if she’d been shot from behind. “People have expectations!”
“I know we can’t make this right,” said Jim.
“Damn straight.” Kithari pulled paperclips and post-it notes off her face as she sat up straight, glaring at the pair. “This is all anyone is talking about on FleetNet! I can’t turn on a news service without seeing parodies of it. And the tabloids? It’s like you gave them an extra special present for Lunar New Year!”
“Just tell us what Starfleet wants from us,” Jim said stiffly.
“For one thing, we want you to learn some better dirty talk!” She sat up from her slouch and grabbed an intimidating black folder with “Classified” stamped on the front.
“Good gracious. Oh my goodness. Golly. My oh my. Cheese and Rice.” She looked up at Jim, shaking her head in dismay. “ Cheese and rice? Really, Jim? You can’t even exclaim Jesus Christ in bed?”
“I’m Jewish,” he shrugged.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook here, Mister Spock!” She tossed the file folder at him. He caught it neatly in midair and handed it back to her. “No one should hear the word ‘rectum’ during sex. Especially not four times! You finished up by telling him you found the act of penetration an enjoyable experience which you would be willing to repeat.”
“That was an accurate statement.”
Her head fell into her hands. “What is wrong with you two?”
Jim and Spock risked a quick glance at one another. Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim shrugged, frowning.
“Commodore,” Spock ventured, “May I ask the exact nature of our reprimand?”
“Watch out, Commander.” Kithari stared him down. “I watched the recording. Now I’m forced to know that coming from you, language like that is practically a proposition.”
Spock turned to Jim, frowning in concern. Jim gently pat his hand.
“Now that!” She pointed at their hands. “That we could take. The little touches. The sly grins. Those kept the Starfleet rumor mill running for years! Any time people grumbled too much about our frankly batshit expansionist policies or asked whether the Prime Directive is actually immoral? We could release videos of baby sehlats cuddling with baby Vulcans and short clips of the two of you giving one another doe eyes. That was enough to keep everyone distracted for another day.”
Kithari looked up at the monitor in disgust, slowly shaking her head. “But this bullshit?” She pointed at the screen. “It’s all over. You used to be the sexiest command team in Starfleet - even the Abzell twins on the Damocles came in second and they were literal fashion models before they joined the science track! But no. People fall all over themselves for a green bean with the posture of a jumbo shrimp and a short king with such a blandly handsome face that no one can pick you out of a lineup.”
"That was a confusing insult,” Jim ventured.
"Because I’m mad!” She threw her hands up, staring at the ceiling as if it might open up and reveal an answer - or at least a less contentious command team.
“This. Is. Embarassing.”
She hit play again. “Captain,” Onscreen, Spock clutched the sheets, heels digging into the bed. “Cease your digital expansion of my rectum and penetrate me with your phallus.”
“Why are you like this?” She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath, then hit play again.
“Oh my stars,” Jim gasped.
“I don't know which one of you is worse.” She crossed her arms. “But by the Great Bird’s extra crispy wings, it’s a good thing you found one another. I wouldn’t inflict either of you on the public.”
“Commodore,” Spock said slowly. “I request the full details of the charges against us.”
“Charges?” She kicked her feet up on her desk. “You haven’t broken any laws, Commander. You’re just,” she sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Embarrassing.”
“Excuse me?” snapped Kirk.
Her head rolled sideways. “Do you know what this video did to our merchandising?”
“What?” Kirk narrowed his eyes, caught off guard.
“Getting kids to dress up as Starfleet officers for their local funny costume party holiday is one of our best gateways to recruitment! They can literally see themselves as members of Starfleet. When they grow up, their parents pull out embarrassing holos of them as little Starfleet officers, and people ask oh, is that what you wanted to be when you were a kid? What made you stop?”
She turned off the monitor. “For the last three years, our two best sellers were a command green wrap tunic with captain’s stripes and a blue commander’s tunic. In fact, the science tunic was usually purchased with a toy tricorder full of lollipops.”
“What did they get with the green tunic?” asked Kirk.
“Gohnnerea?” Kithari glared at him. “The fucking point, gentlemen, is that as soon as this absolute shitshow of a sex tape was released we had our first costume returns in 17 months. And not just a few. Apparently no one wants to be Captain Goodness Gracious or Commander Rectal Penetration for Rumarie.”
“Rumarie is celebrated in the nude,” said Spock.
“And the wonder of inter species gay sex is celebrated with phrases like fuck my ass, but no, you two don’t play by normal Federation rules!”
They both flinched.
“Oh, you didn’t like that, huh?” Her eyes narrowed. “Some of us are grown ass adults who can say words like fuck and ass and cock.”
Kirk squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, while Spock sat up straight, his entire body vibrating with discomfort.
“Poseidon's salty balls,” she muttered, “You two are hopeless.”
She flipped the black folder open, stared at the top page, and flipped it closed again. “You’re not fired, so pull those sticks out of your asses. You have any idea how bad it would look for Starfleet to fire its most awkward command team?”
“Commodore, I …”
Kithari held up a single finger, silencing him.
“First, stop making sex tapes. No one wants to see this. You think recording yourselves is some kind of memento? That you’ll be turned on by this when you’ve lost all your hair and your balls hang down to your knees? Fuck no. Stop embarrassing yourselves.”
“As stated earlier, we neither arranged for the creation of nor consented to this recording,” said Spock.
“This is why you always use protection.” She waggled a finger at them. “Starfleet issues those shore leave signal blockers for a reason.”
Kithari flipped through a thick stack of red holiday envelopes with over a dozen subtly different gold patterns on the front. She pulled one out, opened it so the thin strips of gold pressed latinum fell out, and replaced the money with the top six sheets of her black Classified folder.
“Second, we need you out of the spotlight. This doesn’t just make Starfleet look bad. Oh, no. It makes us look boring. So congrats, boys! You’ve been taken off the diplomatic circuit.”
Jim’s eyes lit up. He slid his hand a scant ten centimeters across the couch until he could loop his pinky around Spock’s. She looked between them, eyes narrowing. “You could at least pretend to look disappointed. I’m sending you into deep space. Really deep space. Don’t come back before bāyuè.”
“Osmanthus month?” said Kirk. “You want us out there until September?”
“The month of the rooster,” Spock pondered, steepling his fingers.
“Perfect for a couple of cock lovers like you,” Kithari snorted. “Plus it’s auspicious. Hopefully people will have enough time to forget this nonsense.” She froze, eyes widening in shock. “Shit. Did I say nonsense? You have me doing it too, you wholesome pricks!”
She threw the red envelope with the classified pages inside at Kirk’s face. Spock caught it. “Happy holidays, assholes. Bring back some impressive discoveries from deep space. And if you find more god damn Space Romans, no you didn’t - understand?”
“No?” Jim tucked the red envelope in his jacket.
She rolled her eyes again. “Meanwhile, I’m sending T’Wain and Hem’Ing Wai to cover your asses.”
“Did they not pose nude but for strategically placed phasers and tricorders in an issue of Starfleet Secrets?” asked Spock.
“Sure did!” She said brightly. “And they still came in third in a poll of Most Fuckable Command Teams.” She looked them over, shaking her head. After a moment, she threw up her hands in resignation. “I don’t get it. But hey, thanks to the two of you, this is their moment to shine.”
“Is there anything we can do for you, Commodore?” asked Jim.
“Get out of here.” She made a shooing motion with one hand. “Get out of the entire damn sector, while you’re at it. And maybe buy a fucking thesarus.”
Jim stood, nodding for Spock to do the same. “Again, Commodore, on behalf of us both, we are so very sorry.”
“You sure are!” she rolled her eyes. “Sorriest excuses for sex symbols the fleet has ever seen. What is wrong with you boys? You’re like a pair of virgins who learned about sex from a badly translated menagerie keeper’s guide for convincing your human exhibits to mate.”
“Commodore, that was not our first instance of coitus, either with one another or with others,” said Spock.
“Get out.” She pointed at the door. “I don’t want to see your sorry asses for another eight months. And by the Great Bird’s fluffy feather mattress, try not to let anyone hear you talking dirty to one another.” She shook her head again, then shuddered. “Ever.”
Jim grabbed Spock’s bicep and led him to the door. Behind him, Kithari angrily balled up each remaining sheet of paper in the black folder and tossed it into her garbage can. So far she’d missed all but one.
“Not a word until we’re outside,” Jim whispered.
They passed through Starfleet’s regional headquarters here on Starbase Nine with every eye on them, leaving a wake of quiet giggles behind.
A souvenir kiosk outside the Starfleet offices was covered in plush Tribbles and Sehlats, costume shirts for kids and adults, and both official biographies and unclassified mission logs from the media’s favorite officers. Kirk felt a bittersweet sting at the sight of his and Spock’s hated biographies marked 50% off, tucked on the bottom shelf alongside Farming Colony Trading Cards and a book on Tellarite Manners.
He leaned against the second story railing, lit up with red and white holiday lights, offering a view of the festive promenade below. The mingled aromas of Raktajino, Red Spice Tea, fresh baked bread, and a dim sum cart gave the station a homey, lived-in feel that was always scrubbed out of starships.
They stood in silence for a long moment, watching a crowd gather outside a shop selling starship shaped mooncakes with different flavors in the saucer section and the body.
“Captain, I am still unclear on the nature of our formal reprimand,” said Spock. “It appears Commodore Kithari removed us from an onerous task, assigned us our preferred mission, and gifted us with eight months when we will be inaccessible to paparazzi.”
Jim pulled the red Lunar New Year gift envelope from his jacket. A yellow data cart slipped out, neatly hidden in the angrily folded stack of classified papers she’d jammed into it instead of the traditional lucky cash.
A slow smile spread across his face as he skimmed the classified papers. “She sure did. And anyone who listens to a recording of that meeting will hear her chewing us out for being a fleet-wide embarrassment that she needs to hide out in the deepest, darkest corner of space.”
“I do not consider this assignment a punishment,” said Spock.
“Oh, I know,” Jim’s smile widened. “She’s buttering us up. When we get back we’re going to owe her.” He passed the pages to Spock, bouncing lightly on his heels in anticipation.
Spock raised an eyebrow as he read, then passed the sheets back while pocketing the data cart. He stared down at a young couple outside the bao stand. One woman’s hand rested in the other’s back pocket while her partner leaned her head on her shoulder. “Hendrix and Mathis were assigned to different ships after similar recordings were leaked.”
“Their, ah, vocabulary was more…” Jim’s smile turned a little desperate.
“Pornographic?” Spock suggested.
Jim rested a hand between Spock’s shoulders. “I like the way you talk.”
Spock slid a hand along the rail until their pinkies were pressed together. “You are apparently in a distinct minority.”
“Good.” His hand slid down to rest on the small of Spock’s back for a few moments before nodding towards the holiday crowds below. “Fewer people to fight for your affections.”
“Rest assured, they are yours alone,” said Spock.
“Watch out,” Jim grinned at him. “Talk like that will get us chastised by a commodore.”
Spock stepped closer, rolling his hand on the rail so the backs of their palms pressed together. Jim stretched his fingers until they interlaced with Spock’s. “I believe she objects to our open and clear style of communication.” He looped his first two fingers around Jim’s, slowly stroking their length. “Especially regarding our desires.”
Jim chewed his bottom lip, eyes twinkling. “And what is it you desire, my love?”
“Privacy,” his voice dropped an octave, “In which we can revisit the themes of the illicit recording.”
Jim teasingly brushed the tip of his nose over Spock’s, then playfully retreated before their lips could meet. Spock crowded against him, pushing Jim’s ass flush with the festive railing. His hands gripped the rail, caging Jim in his arms.
“Oh my goodness,” Jim said breathlessly.
Their lips met with a slow, languid promise; gentle, eager, and unafraid of the consequences.
Eight months. Their days belonged to Starfleet, but for the next eight months in deep space, their nights would be their own - free of tabloid rumors and Starfleet Command rebukes. After the beating they’d taken in the press Jim worried they’d be demoted, possibly even reassigned. Instead he’d just been handed everything he’d ever wanted - time alone with Spock and his Grey Lady, together into the great unknown.
This would, indeed, be the happiest of new years.