It's Uhura's Fault

James T. Kirk had spent three years trying to figure out the first name of one communications expert of the surname “Uhura”. Honestly, he wanted to know because he wanted to sleep with her, but hey, everyone has their motives. At least it was less shallow then it was for some people – Kirk had a very... deep relationship with everyone he’d ever slept with.

...physically, anyway.

But now he knew her name. Hell, he was her Captain, of course he knew her name. She was one of his bridge staff!

And while Uhura was just as hot now as she had been before he discovered her birth name was Nyota, he just... wasn’t really interested. She wasn’t a challenge, anymore. Well, sleeping with her would probably definitely be a challenge, but without the paired difficulty of finding out her name... it just... wasn’t the same.

Sure, he ogled her on bridge occasionally – her uniform was obscenely short, and the vague thought of having it ordered even shorter had flitted more than once through his head – but he didn’t really... pursue her the same way.

Still, one thing bothered him.

Spock.

What did she see in the pointy eared bastard? He had become friends with the man, slowly, partly because way-future Spock told him that they were supposed to be, but he still didn’t see why the Vulcan deserved make out sessions in the transporter room – and wasn’t it awkward when
he caught them doing it again, later, too? – and he, attractive, virile, passionate, sexy, captain, wasn’t. No member of Starfleet had ever gone from recruit to captain of his own ship as fast as him before, he was a literal genius. Women were falling over themselves to sleep with James Tiberius
Kirk! Yet Uhura wanted Spock, not him!

So he started watching Commander Spock.

Subtly, at first, slight glances on the bridge, sly considering looks when they “hung out”, though spending time with Spock generally meant playing chess, or reading books in the same room as each other. They talked about ship business, made brief, polite conversation about the future of the Vulcan people. Occasionally he made brief comments about Uhura and Spock, but his friend usually gave him a dull, withering look, and he’d drop it.

Once he discovered that no one was noticing that he was watching Spock, he started doing it a little more openly. Elbow on the arm of his command chair, head leaning on his hand, he considered the man sitting at the science centre, pondering. They’d have dinner in his Ready Room, and he’d sit there, chewing on his food, considering the taciturn man.

Spock arched his eyebrow a lot. A lot. Kirk spent about three hours one night, in front of the mirror, trying to encourage his muscles to do the same, but it didn’t work.

The eyebrow thing wasn’t the only quirk the Vulcan had, either. He cut his nails straight across, like a weird square, and when he was pissed – and Kirk was very delighted to discover that the Vulcan could get pissed fairly easily, he just didn’t show it off like he had right after the death of his mother – there was a minor tick in his cheek, as he clenched his jaw. Kirk took great joy in figuring out what prompted that tick. He also obsessively straightened his uniform – every time he stepped out onto the bridge, his hands were hovering at his waist, having just fixed the front of his uniform.

Kirk didn’t think anyone noticed his observation of the other man. It didn’t detract from his work, and he was fairly sure it wasn’t, well, obvious. After all, Spock was his friend, now. He spent time with him.
Not drinking like he did with Bones, sure, but he was still his friend, and he still spent time with him. He thought it was subtle.

Apparently it wasn’t.

“I’m just gonna go check on Engineering... you have the bridge, Mister Spock,” he grinned, pointing at the other man, clicking his tongue as he winked. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said dryly, and rose to slide into the armchair.

As he stepped into the elevator, Kirk leaned on the wall, crossing his arms lazily. To his shock, though, just as the doors were sliding shut, they hissed back open, and Uhura all but stormed in, glowering at him.

She waited until the doors were shut, blocking them from view, before reaching over his shoulder. For a moment, he thought she was taking on a flirting pose, briefly, but she was hitting the hold button.

The elevator stopped dead, smoothly, and she crossed her arms, angrily, copying his pose.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” he asked, lazily.

Uhura jabbed at his chest, and he winced, just slightly. The woman had vicious nails. Why didn’t she square them off like her boyfriend did? “Stay away from Spock.”

Kirk blinked.

Several times.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

What?

“...what?”

She glowered, furious. “He’s my boyfriend, and I am not about to share him!”

Kirk blinked.

“.... excuse me?”

Uhura made a frustrated, infuriated sound, glowering at him. “I said that I will not share him!”

“No... I... I heard you. I heard the words. I just don’t understand what exactly those words mean.” Kirk frowned, not his usual smooth, slick self. He was rather... thrown off, but this. “Are you
saying that I’m...?”

“Oh, like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” she snapped. She was beautiful when she was angry, but he was fairly sure now was not the time he was supposed to be making this observation. “You have no sense of subtly, you never have! It’s as plain as anything! And I want it to stop!
I do not share!”

“I am not sleeping with Spock.” He said, firmly, and she snorted. “No. I’m not. We’re friends.”

She glowered at him. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. We play chess. We don’t have sex.” Shaking his head, he shifted, and hit the hold button, and the lift started back up again, humming as the lights shifted past them.

Uhura slapped her hand on the button again.

Kirk sighed, heavily. “Do you do this to everyone you don’t like? Trap them in the elevator so they can’t get aw – “

“Are you telling the truth?” she demanded, interrupting him.

“About Spock?” He snorted, chuckling slightly. “I am not sleeping with the man, Uhura.”

Lips pursed, she considered him for a long minute, then finally pressed those vicious nailed fingertips against the button again, and the lift started back up again.

“Thank you,” he sighed, relieved.

“Just make sure it stays that way.” She said, jaw set, arms crossed.

Kirk blinked.

The lift stopped at Engineering, and he stepped out, walking backwards, considering the woman. “Why? Is he really good, or something? Am I missing out?”

Uhura made a furious sound, and the door slid shut, separating them.

Snickering to himself, Kirk headed off to talk to Scotty, as he’d planned. But the germ of the idea was planted.

He kept watching Spock. After all, he’d been doing it for weeks, now, he was used to it. It was almost routine. But he watched Spock with a different motivation, now, all deep consideration and contemplation. The man approached everything with logic, and deep aplomb. Would he approach
sex the same way? Maybe... Uhura did seem the type to like a logical approach.

The idea of Spock working through an actual list of steps – 1. Kiss until your partner is pliant, 2. Remove tops, 3. Massage breasts until subject is suitably flushed, 4. Stroke sides, to encourage removal of
underwear... – made Kirk burst into laughter in the midst of Chekov’s breakdown of the latest sensor array findings, making the teenaged genius falter, and slip temporarily into Russian. He apologized, fleetingly, but the idea stayed with him. Spock probably had written a list at some point in his life,
all... scientific, and based on the finest research on human sexual practises, and even though he didn’t think the Vulcan kept an actual checklist beside the bed, he was sure he kept it mentally.

“You are letting me win.”

Kirk jumped, blinking. “Huh?”

“You are letting me win, by not paying attention.” Spock frowned at him, and Kirk looked down at the board, wincing slightly. Holy quasars, he really was letting the other man win. “What is keeping your thoughts so busy, tonight?”

He mulled over that question for a few minutes. “Can I pose a... hypothetical question to you?”

“In my experience,” Spock folded his hands, calmly, perfectly square fingernails looking, as always, clean and neat. He wondered how he kept his nails so clean. Kirk’s always seemed to pick up any
stray dirt floating through the air, or something. “Hypothetical questions are never actually hypothetical.”

“This one actually is,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Very well, then. Pose the question.”

“If you were to sleep with men, hypothetically, of course, would you sleep with me?”

Spock blinked. He had not been expecting that kind of question. “Beg pardon?”

“If you slept with men – I’m not saying you do, just asking, if you did – would you sleep with me?” Kirk shrugged, arms crossed. “It’s just a question.”

The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed, nearly imperceptibly. “And the motive for this question?”

He shrugged again. “Just curious.”

His first officer seemed willing to take the unspoken challenge behind the question. “While you are certainly attractive enough to encourage a man such as myself to consider that possibility, I would have to quantify that by saying that your cocky attitude might prompt me to reconsider the rash decision of doing so.”

Kirk snorted. “So what you’re saying is I’m hot, but I’m an ass.”

Spock’s eyebrow quirked. “Indeed.”

“Mmm.” He considered that. “What if I wasn’t an ass?”

“Then you would cease to be the man I know, thus rendering this question moot. In order for the hypothetical situation to remain viable, you would need to remain an, as you say, ass.”

“But you said it would only potentially make you reconsider. So, potentially, you would do it anyway. Despite my ‘cocky attitude’.” Kirk grinned, mischievously, leaning forward to wriggle his
eyebrows up and down, suggestively. He couldn’t do the one eyebrow quirk, but he could do that.

Spock frowned slightly. “I suppose that is true. With the right motivation, I would, hypothetically, sleep with you regardless.”

Very pleased with this, Kirk glanced at the board, then moved his Queen. “Check.”

His first officer smirked just faintly, and moved his own Queen. “Cocky, as I said. Checkmate.”

“Captain?”

Kirk started, looking up. “Yes, yes, Mister Sulu?”

“We’ve dropped out of warp, sir. Would you like to begin the docking process?” Sulu was giving him a look that clearly said that he knew that his Captain had been distracted, and that he thought it was amusing, but a little annoying.

Shifting in his seat, fixing his uniform, Kirk nodded. “Do that, Mister Sulu.”

The man nodded, and turned around in his seat, beginning the process.

Kirk sighed slightly, relieved.

“Captain?” Kirk glanced back at his first officer, who had turned in his chair, to consider him, frowning slightly. “Can I have a word?”

“Sure.” He grinned at him. “You can have many, even.”

“In your ready room.”

Ah... the chewing out for being distracted on the bridge. Well, at least he was expecting it. He stood, and watched idly as the other man did the same, fixing the front of his uniform. Ha. “You have the bridge, Mister Chekov.”

“Ves, Cawptan.” Chekov said, and Kirk shook his head, just slightly.

Uhura glared at them both as they left, and he wondered, idly, if there was some problem in their relationship now that there was no longer... danger, as there had been when he’d been her instructor, and with the blowing up of the planet. Some women crave the difficulty of being with someone inaccessible. Trouble in paradise? He snickered to himself.

Following his first officer into his own ready room, Kirk was startled when Spock reached over his shoulder, eerily reminiscent of Uhura’s motion in the elevator, and there was a chirp.

“...did you just lock my door?”

“Yes.” Spock was regarding him with a stern, steady expression.

“... your girlfriend did this to me in the elevator. Is that your thing? Something you both do, locking the Captain in with you?”

“She is not my... girlfriend.” Spock frowned.

“Better tell her that, then, because she’s pretty sure you are.” Kirk shifted slightly against the door, feeling very... hemmed in. Unlike Uhura, Spock had not dropped his arm.

“I have told her. Yesterday.”

Kirk blinked. “You broke up with her? So she’s on the market again? Hmm... wonder what her thoughts are on Captains...?”

“You have been watching me.” Spock said shortly, and Kirk’s smile disappeared immediately as he focused back on his friend’s face. Dark, serious eyes were focused on him, and only his new experience with studying Spock told him that he was battling a series of conflicting emotions. “Steadily. For weeks now.”

He swallowed. “And?”

“And you have been watching me. Constantly. And asking very odd hypothetical questions.”

“Professional curiosity?”

The man laughed, which made Kirk start, shocked. In all of the time he’d spent with Spock – and they had spent time together for three months, now – he had never heard the man laugh. He had seen him smirk, smile slightly sometimes, but he had certainly never heard him laugh.

“...Spock?”

“With all due respect, Captain... shut up.”

And then, before Kirk could speak, before he could retort, before he could even react, Spock surged forward, pinning him to the door, and kissed him.

No, that wasn’t right.

Spock did not kiss Kirk.

Spock devoured Kirk, as though consuming him through a kiss, deep and demanding, all consuming, so passionate and fierce that Kirk was forced to clutch at the other’s shoulders, fingers tangling in blue fabric as his knees buckled, and he all but collapsed under the oral assault. Spock
took him firmly, tugging him up, not letting him topple, melding his captain against his chest as he claimed the other’s mouth.

When, finally, Spock tugged back so that they could both breathe, forehead pressed against Kirk’s as they fought for air, the captain panted: “What... was that?”

“I would have thought... captain... that that was obvious.” Spock smirked slightly.

“No, yeah... of course. I mean... what prompted... that?”

“You are not the only one who has been... watching.” Spock answered, taking a hold of the bottom of Kirk’s shirt, and manhandling it off of him before the younger man had a chance to respond.

“Hold on!” Kirk yelped, half naked, and flushed. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I told you, Captain. Hypothetical situations never are.”

And then Spock was kissing him again, and Kirk forgot that he’d been arguing. Holy fuck, the Vulcan knew what he was doing.

Kirk decided that Spock didn’t have a list.

He was convinced there couldn’t be a list, because Spock did not act like a man going down a list. He had this way of just... sweeping him along, lost in the pleasure, the sensation. Before he even seemed to realize it, Spock was bracing himself over him as he lay, on his back, on his conference table, the tips of his fingers brushing his anus. “Are you ready?” He asked, panting slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Kirk nodded.

The fingers – two – breached the muscle entrance, and Kirk hissed, arching slightly. It hurt. Not a lot, just a mild sting, like being stretched just a little too far, a little too full.

“Relax,” Spock ordered, peppering kisses across the other’s chest, distracting him slightly by dividing his attention as he scissored his fingers, firmly. “It will not hurt long, I promise you.”

“Holding you... to that...” Kirk panted, tightening his muscles experimentally.

“I told you that it was a promise.”

“I heard... still. I could... have you... court marshalled... if you’re lying.” He panted, smirking slightly.

There was a snort from the other man, and Spock lifted his head slightly, amusement dancing in black eyes as he scissored, firmly, kissing the other’s sweaty chest. “I am sure that Starfleet would be understanding, performing a court marshal on a decorated Commander because his slightly less decorated Captain was displeased with his sexual performance.”

Kirk snorted. “Probably happened before.”

“I can assure you that it has not.” Spock smirked, and pushed in a fourth finger – when had he gotten the third in without his noticing? – stretching him firmly. “Do you think that you are ready?”

“Yeah... what are you... using?” he frowned, propping himself up on his elbows.

“My penis.” Spock answered, with strange calm.

Kirk burst into laughter, flopping back on the table. His laughter was cut off, sharply, as the Vulcan pressed in, firmly, steadily, without hesitation, until he was buried in the other, completely, bent over Kirk, forehead pressed against the other’s collar bone, black, sweaty hair brushing the skin. “A salve,” he panted, the arms bracing himself on either side of the captain trembling slightly. “I brought it with me.”

Moaning slightly, Kirk trembled, trying to encourage his body to relax. “Sure of yourself, were you?”

“Yes.” Spock said simply, and rolled his hips.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and Kirk let forth a colourful stream of nonsensical words, doing everything from praising Spock’s forefathers to damning any descendents he might have to the deepest, darkest depths of the Diablo dimension.

There was absolutely not a list.

And if there was, Kirk wanted it. In triplicate.

Spock thrust hard, and deep, rocking the other man up the table, hands on his hips to tug him back down, hard, to meet him, dropping Kirk into a pleasurable haze in which his prostate sang in joy, and the rest of his body trembled and jittered and shouted for joy as every nerve in his body sparked and sang.

The Vulcan’s hand shifted, so only one was on his hip, and gripped his lover’s penis, stroking firmly, quickly, erratically. Not steadied and even, as he did with chess, or scientific scans, or, frankly, anything
else. His hands were trembling, and his stroke was not even, the gait was unpredictable. The perfectly controlled Vulcan was losing control.

Kirk howled, spine arching, and he came over both of their chests, sticky, hot.

Spock grinned at him, sweat dripping from his mussed up hair, and he picked up the pace, as erratic as his hand had been, powerful thrusts, like they were in battle, not having sex. Clutching at the other’s
arms, Kirk gasped, hazily, “Come on, you pointy eared bastard... I’m waiting...”

The man gasped, and came, hot and messy, and Kirk moaned, writhing.

A few minutes later, Kirk broke the quasi-silence, which had previously just been filled with the sound of their panting, trying to draw in breath, with the comment, “Think we oughtta get off the table?”

Spock snorted, lifting his head from where it was resting on the other’s chest. “And go where?”

“My quarters seem like a good idea.” He grinned, and pointed vaguely behind them. “It is right there. And then we won’t have to face the bridge crew, who probably heard everything.”

Spock blinked. “I thought every wall in this ship was soundproof.”

“Every wall except the Captain’s ready room. It’s supposed to be so that if I get attacked while on some kind of diplomatic mission with someone here, the crew will know, and can come rescue me.” He grinned, mischievously. “So everyone heard that.”

The first officer moaned, and his forehead thumped down on Kirk’s chest again.

“Bed?” Kirk said again.

“....please.”