#kirk/spock drabble

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 27: Scratches

Buh-bam: here's another little drabble. Behold: Bones finds out.

☆☆☆

“Bones, please, it’s not a big deal. They just sting a little bit.”

“Not a big deal? Jesus, Jim! Would you have even told me if Uhura hadn’t ratted you out?” 

“No, I wouldn’t have! Honestly, I didn’t even know they were there.” 

“There is blood! Coming through your shirt! How did you not know they were there?” 

Jim scratched the back of his head, staring at the bioscanner beeping cheerily next to him. His heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature all looked great. He didn’t have any broken bones. He was in an excellent mood. But Uhura had seen a tiny bit of blood staining his command golds and gasped, “Captain!” loudly enough for the rest of the bridge crew to turn to look at him and voice their concerns. 

All, of course, except Mr. Spock, who had refused to turn to see what was happening, staring dutifully into his sensors instead. Jim had deputized him to take the conn and departed for medbay before he could laugh.

Unfortunately, Bones did not think the blood on his shirt was as funny as he did, and he was rapidly running out of excuses. 

“Was this from an away mission? Did someone with a grudge come after you in the gym? Let me see, Jim---”

“Bones, stop! It’s fine! I swear, I would have told you if it was serious, and it wasn’t serious!” 

“Oh, so you do know where they’re from?” 

Jim bit his lip and refused to meet Bones’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he said unconvincingly. Bones planted his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows. 

“Alright, then!” Jim pushed himself to his feet. “Since it’s all fine and nothing is wrong, I’ll just go home and change---”

“Don’t you even---”

Jim tried to duck out of the way, but Bones was faster. He caught the back of Jim’s collar in one hand as Jim twisted away, and with an almighty rending of fabric the damn shirt tore halfway down his back. If he ever met someone from Starfleet Fabrications and Material Construction he was going to have words with them. The number of shirts he had ripped on this mission alone…

Bones stared in disbelief at his exposed back as Jim fought and lost to the rising flush on his cheeks. “So I’ll be going now,” he said. 

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones said again, softly. “Someone did this to you.” Bones gently reached one hand up, and the look on his face was so distraught that Jim knew he had to tell him the truth before he assumed something far worse. 

“No, it’s not like that. It wasn’t in anger.”

The distress drained away immediately, replaced with suspicion. The extended hand clenched into a fist and was returned to Bones’s waist as the good doctor regarded him with narrowed eyes. Jim’s face burned hotter and he knew he was as red as a summer tomato, but he held eye contact. 

“Someone clawed at your back hard enough to break the skin, and it wasn’t in anger,” Bones said. 

“That’s correct, doc.” 

Bones eyed the scratches on his back --- that Jim truly had not known were there, hadn’t even registered them as painful in the moment--- and then Jim saw, in the dawning shock and amused horror on Bones’s face, the pieces coming together. This wasn’t exactly how he had intended to tell his best friend that he had finally managed to successfully woo his first officer, but the truth will out. 

“Well, at least that’s a relief,” Bones finally said. “Whose hands are so damn big?” 

“Can I have another shirt, please?”

Bones finally turned away from him, heading towards the storage closet. Jim followed. “I would appreciate your discretion, doctor,” Jim said. 

“In what, Jim? Your adventures across the galaxy aren’t exactly a secret. You don’t normally sleep with crewmates, that’s true, but I suppose…” 

“It’s not like that this time, Bones,” Jim said. 

“Not like that? Who am even I talking to right now?” Bones muttered, pulled a new black t-shirt from a box in the closet, and turned back to him. Then Jim saw Bones’s eyes fixate on his face and shoulders and take him in--- his flushed cheeks, his half-smile, the scratches on his back that had been left by someone with great strength and enormous hands. He grinned wholeheartedly as Bones spluttered. 

“Jim Kirk, you did not.” 

“Oh, but I did,” he said, with great delight, and took the shirt from Bones’s limp hands. “And I intend to do it again. And again. Maybe forever.” 

“Stop,” Bones said immediately, throwing his hands into the air. “I don’t want to know any more. Matter of fact, I don’t want to think about this topic at all.” 

“Are you sure?” Jim teased, following Bones back out into the main Medbay. “I thought you wanted to know what happened. Weren’t you so worried just a moment ago? Can I at least get an antiseptic?” 

Bones grabbed a tube of antiseptic from a biobed drawer and threw it at him. “Get out!” 

“You’re not going to help me?” 

With a withering look, Bones turned to disappear into his office. “Get your boyfriend to do it.”  “Maybe I will!” Jim called, and Bones slammed the door in his face. He was having an excellent day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. With a spring in his step he departed. Maybe he would call Spock to help with the antiseptic. They were due for a few conversations, anyway.

[v-thinks-on]

“What’s a logical gentleman like you doing in a place like this?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at Jim, who merely smiled and slid into the empty seat beside him.

“Your best Vulcan tea for my charming companion,” Jim said to the woman behind the bar of the little deep space outpost where their ships had briefly docked.

“Admiral, there is no need for you to order tea on my behalf,” Spock protested, bemused by the illogical human gesture.

“I wouldn’t invite you back to my quarters without at least buying you a drink first.”

“Very well, Admiral, then I accept.”

[illegalpaladin]

Happy autistic Spock please!! (Something like him talking about a special interest or enjoying a particular sensory thing no meltdowns please 💖)

Little did you know that this was the perfect prompt for me, an autistic person. Because now I can push my special interest of pet food onto Spock. Here's some autistic Spock infodumping about a special interest! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

Spock sits at his desk, reclined just slightly and with his arms crossed. Jim stands to his right. McCoy is leaned over Spock’s left shoulder, staring at the animal on the computer screen. 

“That’s a Sehlat?” 

Spock almost smiles, looking smug. “I told you, Doctor. Hardly a teddy bear.” 

McCoy scowls, then turns back to the screen. “Why, it’s huge. What do you even feed that thing?”

“An excellent question, Doctor.” Neither McCoy or Jim can ignore the way Spock’s eyes light up. “And one that has been debated among Vulcans for generations.” 

McCoy leans over to Jim. “Did I start something?”

Jim chuckles, and it’s warm with affection. “I believe you did.”

“As you can imagine, Vulcans wanted to feed Sehlats whatever would logically meet their nutritional needs. However, there were disagreements as to whether that meant what they would eat in the wild, or a food scientifically curated to meet their needs.” 

“And what,” Jim smiles, “was the conclusion?”

“Sehlats have been domesticated since before the time of Surak. I am of the opinion that the pets we have have evolved enough to have different nutritional needs from their wild ancestors.” 

McCoy raises an eyebrow. “You’re tellin’ me there’s Sehlat kibble?” 

“Indeed.” Spock tilts his head. “Though even then, some kibble is more acceptable than others. Some still cater to the Sehlats’ wild ancestry. Others have formulas founded on decades of scientific studies and research.” 

Jim’s eyes are warm with affection. “You’re awfully informed on the subject, Spock.” 

“Of course. When I was growing up with I Chaya, I wanted to make sure he was getting the best nutrition he possibly could. And so I performed hours of my own rigorous research. I took a special interest in the subject matter and have kept up-to-date on it ever since. Both the continued research and the history of the development of Sehlat food are fascinating subjects. Did you know…”

Spock dives into a detailed explanation of the domestication of Sehlats, and McCoy leans towards Jim. “I don’t see what’s so interesting about pet food.”

Jim leans closer but keeps his eyes on Spock, who is growing more animated with each word. “It makes sense to me. He loved his pet, and he wanted to take good care of him. Isn’t research and knowledge a very Spock way to do that?”

[subcutaneous-transponder]

Like Chamomile and Sunshine

Here's some fluffy Kirk/Spock drabble.

     Warm water spilled over Spock’s shoulders, rolling down his lean body. James was pressed against him, sharing in the stream of warmth that engulfed him. His muscles were slowly untensing, taut from arousal. Jim’s hands slid over his chest and wrapped around the back of his neck. The warmth of his large palms seeped into his skin. The height difference between them had only just occurred to Spock.

Jim was an inch or two shorter than he was, and perked himself up as he brushed his lips softly against Spock’s. As delicate as a whisper. “You taste so sweet, you know?” Spock murmured against Jim’s mouth.

“Do I?” Jim smirked.

Spock hummed, “like chamomile and sunshine.” James laughed, a smile stretching gloriously across his face, meeting the piercing blue of his eyes.

“And what does sunshine taste like?” His fingers slipped into Spock's hair. Spock loved when Jim did this; it drove him totally insane.

“Let me run some tests to find out for you,” Spock cooed, kissing Jim again, this time pulling him close, wrapping his torso up in his arms. James grunted softly against his lips and it was the most adorable sound Spock had heard escape Jim. When he finally found the strength to withdraw, he made sure to wrap a white plush towel around his hips before pulling a towel off the rack and holding it open for Jim. Spock felt Jim’s eyes lingering over him.

After a long flustered moment, James stepped into Spock’s offered towel. Spock wrapped him up, ensuring Jim’s warmth as he dried. Jim beamed up at Spock. “Thank you.” Spock fought the urge to ruffle Jim’s bouncy, golden hair with the towel.

A smile seized the edges of Spock’s lips. He grinned at James. “You’re welcome, t’hy’la.”

“T’hy’la?” James flushed harder. “My beloved,” Spock confirmed sweetly. “My love. You possess my heart to beat.”

Jim’s eyes filled with joy. He brought his finger tips to Spock’s, gently pressing them together. “I love you, too.”

[marlinspirkhall]

Sometimes, Kirk wakes up in the middle of the night with the words in his head, heart pounding, but never too fast.

The same words:

“Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony.”

Spock lies mere meters away, on the other side of the wall, but his appearance would require an explanation.

How can you talk about it, when your own survival relies on not being a burden?

“Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society.”

He closes his eyes, breathes, and waits for the palpations to stop.

Survival depends on drastic measures.

[teacup-gathering-itself]

James “unfathomable number of allergies and frankly astonishing number of recessive traits” Kirk is visually interesting to Spock especially when compared to the other humans around; of course he subconsciously keeps sliding his gaze over to the captain. He’s also directly under his command, his attention should veer to Kirk as opposed to anyone else on board. It’s just his mind logically choosing who to defer to and who likely will need his attention most urgently. It’s his job, and he’s excellent at this job. That’s all it is. A logical conclusion regarding a noted pattern.

It’s definitely not got anything to do with the way his barely-in-regulation uniform frames his body, or the physique he maintains, or the devastating silhouette he cuts, or the charisma he exudes, or his illogical approach to life that somehow still works, or his exceptionally emotive voice that fills a room effortlessly, or his sheer brilliance and masterful grasp of complex mathematical and scientific concepts, or anything of that sort. Of course not. That would be illogical. And Spock is a being who is rooted in logical above all else.

[boldlyqueertastic]

“I dream of you” by USS_Queertastic

Summary: Spock has dreams about Michael

I dream of you, reaching out, a connection lost to time, red wings draped in regret, a figure turned to sand slipping through my fingers, a ghost in everything I touch, in games left unfinished, scattered pieces and tipped scales.

I dream of you, reaching out, have I left my mark as you’ve left yours on my heart, in my memories, our secret locked away.

I dream of you, reaching out, knowing my thoughts, my dreams, of kind eyes that guide me, a gentle reassurance in my mind telling me I have found him and that he dreams of me.

[dustythewind]

Transplanted a Spirk-ish drabble to ao3 from an old ff account. Trying to get my 💩 together enough to maybe write again eventually.

[junewild]

"It's aliens."

“It’s not aliens, Mulder.” Scully retorted, sweeping the beam of her flashlight across the deserted park. Someone had called in suspicious activity--something about heavy wind and lights in the sky. "It's never aliens."

"Lights in the sky are one of the most classic tells," Mulder argued, angling his own light into the grass. "If there's smoke, there's fire. Plus a heavy wind? In the middle of San Francisco? Localized to the Golden Gate Park?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not all fires come from little alien engines."

"No, look at this," he insisted. "This indentation in the grass over there. It's weird." He began to walk toward it, his long legs eating up the ground.

Scully glanced his way, unimpressed. "That could be anything. Someone set up a volleyball court too hard." She resumed her casual study of the trees, off to the left.

Mulder didn't reply. Uncharacteristic. Scully looked over again, and--

"Fox!"

He was lying crumpled on the ground.

Scully was an expert at running in heels. She was by his side in no time. She knelt down, training the flashlight on his face. A cut was dripping blood down the side of his forehead.

"Mulder," he murmured. "It's Mulder."

He was awake, at least. Scully swallowed her initial distress and put on a business-like air. "What happened?"

He waved a hand vaguely. "Air's solid."

"Air isn't solid."

"This air is." This time his hand moved further before stopping abruptly. Scully heard a thud.

"I don't understand," she said, reaching out one hand tentatively herself. "Are you talking about some kind of electromagnetic field?"

"It's a wall," he replied, sounding drowsy. "An invisible wall."

Scully's searching fingers found--solid. She stroked along it. It was cold and had the distinct texture of metal.

"I don't understand," she said again, mostly to herself. "It's a trick of the light. It has to be."

She found herself reaching for her sidearm.

Bright light spilled over her from above, and her arm jerked upward to shield her eyes. "What?!"

A door was taking shape a few feet up and to the right. She squinted at it, uncomprehending.

"A wall," Mulder repeated happily. "'S got a door and everything."

Three figures resolved in the doorway. They began to float--or, no, to walk?--down. Scully had dropped her flashlight, but she fumbled for it with one hand and unholstered her pistol with the other.

"There's no need for that," one of the figures said. They were at the bottom of the invisible ramp now. As the three of them turned toward Scully, she swept her flashlight across their faces. Three men, one of them a little shorter than the others. They were wearing some kind of uniform, though in two different colors. One of them, in blue, had some kind of square device in his hand.

But it was the other one dressed in blue that Scully had a hard time taking her eyes off of. His face was wrong. Human-like, but different. Dark eyebrows swept dramatically up above his eyes. Pointed ears curved up along his temples. His face was emotionless.

The yellow-shirted one was smiling. He was the one who had initially spoken. "It looks like your friend is a little out of it. Can my doctor take a look at him?"

"I--I suppose so," Scully said, finding herself at a loss for words.

"Bones," the man who seemed to be the leader of the group said, "go ahead and patch him up. I don't want to leave anyone worse off than they were when we leave."

Bones (what an odd name for a man) strode forward briskly, holding his rectangular object. Scully put out a hand. "Don't bring that thing near him."

He ignored her. "This is a tricorder. I can see from here that he's bleeding, but he's probably concussed."

"An alien," Mulder said, wonderingly.

"I'm a doctor, not an alien," Bones retorted acerbically. "Now, Spock over there is as alien as they come." He moved Scully to the side, not ungently, and knelt over Mulder's prone body.

"Half alien," the other blue-shirted man corrected. His tone was as emotionless as his face. "My mother was a human. My father was a Vulcan. Admiral, a concussion is far from fatal. There is no reason to compromise our camouflage."

"Nonsense, Spock." The admiral smiled at Scully. "You heard them. They were looking for us. Why, they found us. We might as well have a chat."

Spock tilted his head. "Jim."

"Perhaps they'll know something about whales," the admiral--Jim?--added.

Scully was not keeping up with this discussion. "Whales? Like the mammal?"

"Ah! I see you're educated. Many people of this time seem to consider them fish."

"Illogical, as they are warm-blooded and nurse their young," Spock murmured. "They are clearly not fish."

"Yes, well." Jim extended a hand to Scully, and she realized that she was still kneeling on the ground. Defiantly, she rose by herself.

He retracted the hand, still smiling. "How is the patient, Bones?"

"He's concussed, Jim," the doctor replied. "It's not brain surgery, but I'd like to keep him under observation for the next day or so."

Jim seemed delighted by the news. "Then I will invite you to accompany me into the ship, Miss--"

Scully realized that she had not introduced herself. "Special Agent Scully," she replied. "And this is Special Agent Mulder. I'm with the FBI."

"The FBI," Jim said, sounding thoughtful. "Weren't they something to do with food inspection?"

"You are thinking of the FDA, Jim," Spock corrected. "The FBI were one of the American government's primary security and law enforcement agencies."

Jim's smile fell slightly, but then it brightened again and he clapped his hands together. "Well then, I'll have to introduce you to Pavel. You can share security tips."

"I haven't said I would come aboard," Scully said, feeling the need to exert some agency. "If Mulder is concussed, I should take him to a hospital."

Bones made an extremely rude sound from where he now stood, having gotten up. "A hospital? In the 20th century? They'll butcher him. Absolutely not. No patient of mine would be caught dead in a hospital."

Scully dug in her (metaphorical, seeing as her literal heels were already quite well dug into the grass) heels. "I don't know you from Adam," she insisted. "Why should I trust you with Mulder?"

"Jim," Bones said, with a meaningful glance at Jim.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock began, with a meaningful glance at Bones.

Jim ignored them both. "He will be in the best hands here," he assured Scully. "I would trust Bones with my life. Indeed, on many occasions, he has saved many of my crew, including myself and Captain Spock."

Spock's meaningful glance was now directed at Jim, but it was a different flavor. These men are very important to each other, Scully decided.

But it was time to start putting the puzzle pieces together. "Captain?" she asked. "Admiral?"

Jim beamed. "Yes! Welcome to the--well, this isn't the Enterprise." The smile faded again. "Welcome to this Klingon warbird. I am Admiral James T. Kirk, and this is, er, Captain Spock. We are Starfleet officers."

"Starfleet," Scully repeated. "And you're from--where, exactly?"

"Earth," Jim replied, at the same time as Spock said "Vulcan."

"Earth doesn't have a Starfleet," she protested.

Jim held up a finger. "Earth of today doesn't have a Starfleet. Earth of the twenty-third century?"

If it weren't for the door open in the sky, Scully would have laughed in his face. "Time travel? And aliens?"

"Alien," Jim said. "Singular. Half, really, on his father's side. Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of what, if Scully remembered correctly, was an invisible ramp.

Mulder would never forgive me if I said no, she thought, with a sigh. "Might as well, if the truth is in there."

[moonlightshaiku]

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Character's "Type" Masterlist [grace, silco, sevika, kirk, spock, mccoy, scotty, nyota, phlox, hemmer, gaster, grillby, snape, kylo, hux, aziraphale, crowley + bonus!]

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 20: Protect

Protective!Spock is my favoriteeeeee <3 so here we go!!

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

Starfleet, in its infinite wisdom, had changed the design of the cutlery in the mess halls, and Kirk hated the new ones.

They were balanced differently, they were less ergonomic, and --- as he bent down to regather the knife that had slipped down off his plate onto the floor for the third time in as many days --- they refused to stay where they were placed. 

He returned to upright to see Uhura and Bones staring in states of shock at Spock, seated next to him. Spock placidly spooned plomeek soup into his mouth and gave no indication that he was aware of their attention. He finished his meal, slid his spoon into the bowl, and stood. “I will be in Laboratory 7 for the remainder of Alpha shift,” he said. “Good-bye.” 

“Bye, Spock,” Uhura said faintly, and she and Bones watched him leave with that same slightly dazed look. 

“Alright,” Kirk said. “That’s enough. Why are you looking at him like that?”

Bones and Uhura looked at each other before answering, which was never a good sign. Uhura must have won whatever argument they were silently having, because it was Bones who sighed and said, “Jim, have you ever noticed that Spock is slightly… overprotective?” 

Kirk started. “Now, I wouldn’t call it over-protective,” he said, shifting in his seat. “He’s loyal. He’s a Vulcan. The ship and her crew are his responsibility, as first officer.” 

“Not with the crew, captain,” Uhura said. “It’s really just with you.” 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Mr. Spock is the best first officer in the Fleet. Everyone says so. Protective? Sure. But we seem to get into trouble more than most, so that’s probably for the best.” 

Bones and Uhura exchanged another glance. “If you say so, captain,” Uhura said, and they finished the rest of their meal in relative peace. Kirk had nearly forgotten about the exchange until his padd pinged with a message from Bones as he was preparing to lay down for the night. 

>TheRealMcCoy: just saying

>TheRealMcCoy: [Attachment: securityfile3214-25.gif]

Kirk tapped on the gif and it opened. It was a looping video that Bones must have pulled from the security feed, or bribed someone else to pull, more likely. It showed a black and white view of the officer’s mess hall. Kirk saw the square table where he, Bones, Uhura, and Spock had shared lunch earlier in the day. He watched himself set down his knife, which promptly slid backwards off his plate and bounced to the ground. He saw himself bend over sideways to grab at it, ducking his head down beneath the level of the table. 

He saw Spock lean over and cover the corner of the table with his hand. He saw himself come back up, and as his head cleared the edge of the table he saw Spock straighten back up and return his hand to its standard position in his lap. 

Kirk sat down on his bed, expanded the .gif to fill his whole screen, and watched it again. He leaned down to grab the knife and Spock covered the sharp corner of the table with his hand until his head was safely away from it. He watched the .gif over and over again, memorizing the little protective gesture of Spock’s that he hadn’t even noticed at the time but was now immortalized in the security footage. Spock hadn’t even turned his head to look at Kirk before moving to cover the corner. How frequently had this happened? How many of these moments had Uhura and Bones seen that he hadn’t? 

>JTK: Huh 

>JTK: Okay

>JTK: I still don’t think it counts as OVER protective 

>JTK: does this happen a lot?? 

>TheRealMcCoy: the good lord gave you your own eyeballs 

>TheRealMcCoy: how about you use them

“Computer, lights to zero,” he said. He lay in the darkness, trying to sleep, unable to wipe the sight of Spock’s hand sliding over the table’s corner out of his mind. 

☆☆☆ 

Kirk watched his first officer carefully over the next few weeks, and it was an enlightening experience. Nothing in Spock’s behavior or demeanor had changed, but Uhura’s comment of “it’s really just with you” had latched in his brain and reframed how he saw the little quirks of Spock’s protectiveness. They sparred in the gym and, even though Spock threw him, Spock’s hand was behind his head before he hit the ground. They ate lunch in the mess hall and Spock inserted himself in the seat between him and the security officer with a peanut butter sandwich. And, without fail, when the new shitty knives slid off his plate and he had to retrieve them, Spock’s hand was between his head and the table’s edge every time. 

How had he never noticed this before? The Enterprise, when flying on her own, was not a particularly dangerous place. And yet almost every time he encountered something that was slightly hazardous to himself, Spock was there. Each observation warmed him. His stoic, unfeeling, deeply Vulcan first officer was protective of him. He still wasn’t sure if he would call it over-protective, though. 

Kirk did keep a small collection of .gifs on his padd when he could get the security video discreetly. He liked the proof. 

☆☆☆ 

Kirk thought that there was a slight possibility that Spock was a little overprotective of him when he went missing for only a few hours --- alright, was kidnapped like a damsel --- on an away mission and Spock went, according to all reports, absolutely berserk. His first introduction to this idea was Spock ripping the door to his cell clean off its hinges. He threw it behind him, where it hit the wall of the corridor with an almighty clanging, and stepped inside. Kirk stared at him from where he sat on the cot in the corner. Spock stared at him, chest heaving, face flushed green, and as he registered Kirk’s unharmed state and general air of relaxation his breath slowed until he was very nearly back to his normal appearance. 

“Hello there, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, slightly bewildered. 

“Captain,” Spock said, inclining his head. He straightened his uniform shirt and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m gratified to see that you are well. I believe you are free to go.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he said, rising from the cot. “You were able to negotiate with the rogue faction?” 

“Yes, captain,” Spock said, and turned to follow Kirk out of the cell. “I found that they were willing to acquiesce to my demands rather quickly.” 

“That’s good, very good,” Kirk said distractedly as they walked down the hallway. He did not see any sign of his security team, and there were unconscious guards lying solo or in piles at regular intervals along the hall and down the stairs. He recognized his kidnappers from their clothing among the guards, but they were also all unconscious. 

“What, ah, negotiation tactics did you use, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked as they ascended the stairs into the front hall and reunited with some red-shirted security officers. They stood around with their arms crossed, phasers holstered, and they gave no indication of having participated in any sort of strenuous activity. What had their role been in the fight with the guards…?

“Vulcan ones, captain,” Spock said, and if he noticed that the security officers stared at him with an interesting mix of respect and horror, he gave no outward indication. 

“Ah,” Kirk said. “That’s… good.” He had a feeling he could guess what Vulcan negotiating tactics were, but he reserved judgment until he had received mission reports from his other officers. Spock walked alongside him with his usual reserve, and as he was now free from the cell he had formerly been trapped within, Kirk found that he had no complaints of however Spock chose to negotiate on his behalf. 

On the ship, in his quarters, he read over the reports from his security team, which varied from professional to unfortunately creative, in mounting disbelief. 

First Officer Spock proved the efficacy of the Vulcan art of Suus Mahna in about thirty seconds… 

Science Officer Spock kicked down the door to the building and then neutralized the entire kidnapping party… 

Mr. Spock in combat is, in my professional opinion, somewhat of a demon… 

God help the man who gets between Spock and the captain. 

Kirk pressed his intercom button. “Mr. Spock, could you please come to my quarters for a moment?” 

“Yes, captain.” Spock’s response came immediately, and the man himself appeared in Kirk’s doorway about twenty seconds later. “How can I help you, captain?” 

Kirk handed the padds with the security reports to Spock and sat back down in his desk chair. “Could you please review these and let me know your thoughts on their accuracy?” 

Spock raised one eyebrow at him, but said, “Certainly, captain.” He stood in front of Kirk’s desk and methodically skimmed over each report. He set them down one by one until his hands were empty, and then he clasped them behind his back. 

“I believe these reports to be mostly accurate, if unfortunately unobjective,” Spock said. 

Kirk blinked. “So you did kick the door down.”

“Yes, captain.” 

“And you refused to wait for the security detail.” 

“I did not need them, captain.” 

“And you neutralized the entire threat before ripping my cell door off the hinges.” 

“I believe you witnessed the second part firsthand, captain.” 

“I see,” Kirk said, and covered his hand with his mouth to hide his smile. When he had regained control of his face and looked suitably serious, he said, ���Mostly accurate? What in the reports is false?” 

Spock straightened the pile of padds on the desk in front of him, forcing them into perfect alignment. “I do not believe there is a god in this universe that could help the man that stood between us. Good night, captain.” He turned on his heel and left, leaving Kirk gaping at the space he had left behind. He looked back at the stack of padds on his desk to his closed door once more, replaying Spock’s departing words to him in his head.

“I’ll be damned,” Kirk said. He had never been one for pick-up lines, and he wasn’t even sure if that was one, necessarily, but… that was one hell of a pick-up line. He made copies of the security reports and added them to his little folder of proof and if he smiled to himself while he washed his hair in the shower then it was nobody’s business but his own. 

[v-thinks-on]

Jim!

Admiral James Kirk awoke in a cold sweat. He bolted upright in bed on the Enterprise, his heart pounding and a painful sting in his side that wasn’t really his.

Spock! He called out with all the psychic powers he didn’t possess. Spock, do you read me?

Near the edge of consciousness and unconsciousness, he found Spock fighting to stay awake.

Spock! Jim called out again.

He felt Spock’s eyes flutter open. Jim… Spock projected, but he seemed distant and weak.  The pain spiked as he tried to move.Spock, just hang in there, Jim insisted, I’ll find you.

[illegalpaladin]

Drabble request: spirk picnic

Thank you for the request!!! It was nice to write something cute and fluffy for Spirk 💖

“So. Spock. What do you think of your first picnic?”

Jim pulled out all the stops. A checkered blanket spread across the gentle slope of a grassy hill. A pile of bite sized cucumber sandwiches. Hell–he even replicated a wicker basket.

He watches nervously as Spock scans the meadow, taking in the bright flowers that dot its surface.

Spock clears his throat. “It is certainly an… idyllic use of time.”

Jim's mouth twitches into a frown. It's a non-answer. Is Spock enjoying himself? Is he bored?

The next words out of Jim's mouth are a panicked attempt to fill the silence. “Have you ever done cloud gazing?”

Spock turns his attention from the green field to Jim, a pointed eyebrow raised. “I can't say I have, Jim.”

Jim’s grin returns. “Well, it's another idyllic use of time, but I think you'll like it.” He has his doubts, actually, but he keeps them to himself. He's been so nervous around Spock recently–ever since they started this relationship, or whatever they'd call it.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and reclines, leaning his weight against his hands behind him. “Come here, Spock. Let me show you.”

Spock shifts until he's next to Jim and copies his posture. They're close enough that Jim can almost feel their fingertips brushing. He blushes, and it reminds him of falling in love as a young man again.

“That cloud there–” Jim shifts his weight onto one arm and points at a particularly fluffy cloud in the periwinkle sky. “Take a look. What do you see?”

He glances at Spock just long enough to see him blink. “That is a cumulus cloud.”

It startles a laugh out of Jim. “No, Spock–we aren't classifying them. What does it look like?”

“A cumulus cloud.”

“Hm.” Jim lets himself fall back until he's laying across the blanket. He points at another fluffy cloud. “I think that one looks like a cat's head. See the ears? What do you think?”

He's almost surprised when Spock lays next to him. Their shoulders brush, and Jim feels heat rise to his cheeks at the intimacy.

“That one is also a cumulus cloud, Jim.”

Jim feels his heart sink–just a little. He feels like he's failing Spock somehow. Letting him down.

Spock shifts next to him. Suddenly, Jim feels a cool hand resting on top of his. Fingers moving to tangle with his own.

Jim feels his heart skip.

“And I do believe,” Spock hums, “that it represents a sehlat much more than it does a Terran feline.”

[b-radley66]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Expanded Universes (General) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Ensemble Cast - BAN, James T. Kirk, Spock Additional Tags: Crew as Family, Survival, Star Trek: II - The Wrath of Khan, Weekly Challenge: On the Cusp Series: Part 7 of Drabbles and Such Summary:

On the cusp of new lives, a group of cadets must first survive the beginning of vengeance from humanity’s distant past, as well as their ship’s more recent past.

[curator-on-ao3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James T. Kirk/Nyota Uhura, Spock/Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk/Spock, Christine Chapel/Spock Characters: Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek) Additional Tags: drabble, reflections on the prime and Kelvin timelines, Episode: s02e06 Lost in Translation (Star Trek: Strange New Worlds), Movie: Star Trek (2009), beginnings Summary: Meeting James echoes in Nyota’s mind as if … as if it had happened before or would happen again?

[lxvenderjewel]

Personal Log, 2143.07

I keep having this very specific dream, of me and Spock.

It starts out with some fuck-all party, I’m exhausted and I want to go home. Headache-inducing music is floating through the room, and I can practically taste the alcohol in the air.

Looking around, I see much of our crew and one other species, so I assume this is some post-diplomatic party. I’ve always hated these. I sit back on the chair, sipping the shitty drink in my hand while I look around, trying to spot anyone on the bridge crew, just to amuse myself, when I see Spock, sitting alone as well.

I wave at him and he raises an eyebrow in response, so I make my way over to him.

“Do you ever wonder what these parties are even for?” I sigh, dropping onto the seat next to him.

“To celebrate the aftermath of successful diplomacy, sir?” he says, and I smile minutely.

“Yes, but does anyone even like these?”

“Many do, I can see most of our crew enjoying themselves, sir.”

I hum in response, and we sit in quiet silence for a few minutes, the stench of alcohol and sweat growing heavy in the air.

“I can barely breathe,” I say, turning to him. “Wanna go get some air?”

He nods, and I lead him out of the room, to some balcony elsewhere in the building. We both breathe the air deep, and I sit on the floor.

“Will your clothes not get dirty, sir?”

“I don’t really mind, I’m tired. You’re not?”

“Vulcans do not require–”

“Sleep, yeah, I know. But isn't your body tired?”

He considers this a moment, and decides to sit across from me.

I stare.

He stares.

Something is pulling me close to him, closer, too close, I’m going to make a mistake, I need to stop–

I wake up.