Lessons in Seduction, Presented by S'chn T'gai Spock
Rating: E
Word Count: 8133
Also on AO3
"I understand why you choose not to share details of your experiences," he said, once greetings had been dispensed. "However, I require advice, and there is no other being who can provide it."
A slight exaggeration—in truth, it was only that Spock could not bear to approach another with it—but it only repaid Sa-kuk for telling Jim that their meeting might end the world.
"Ask your question and I will consider my answer."
"Sa-kuk." Spock took a single breath. His throat was tight. "Am I gay?"
"Sa-bath…" His counterpart looked at him for a long moment. He looked exceedingly tired. "I suggest that you procure an intoxicant."
***
Asked by Starfleet Command to undertaken a honeypot mission, Spock has come to a startling conclusion about his sexuality. When he reaches out to his counterpart for advice, he may get more than he bargained for.
It was not dislike.
Spock had struggled with self-loathing in his life—he would admit that to himself if no one else—but he had not taken it to such an extreme that he particularly disliked his counterpart. Despite what anyone else might think, it was not dislike that induced him to keep his distance. It was simply an instinctive reaction, not dissimilar to the revulsion a man might feel upon encountering a corpse. Something that was and was not like yourself. The effect of the 'uncanny'.
Spock looked into the weathered face of his counterpart and saw what he could and could not become. A future that was and was not possible. Inevitable. Inescapable.
It was a hard thing to bear.
When not face-to-face with the man himself, however, Spock could feel some strange kind of affection for him, as one might for a very—very—distant relative. The elder had attempted to warn them about Khan, for all the good it had done. He occasionally sent a suggestion that Spock should or should not speak to his father and grandmother, depending on their moods and how recalcitrant various planetary representatives had been that week. That information had been of infinite value, and was perhaps the only reason that Spock and Sarek were yet to have had another relationship-ending row.
And, above all else, Jim was fond of him. He kept in regular contact with Spock's counterpart, sharing stories and jokes and references to a life that no longer existed in any reality except their shared memory, and sometimes when the conversation concluded he'd come and tell Spock about it. Spock struggled to tamp down the instinctual disgust, but he trusted Jim's judgement. Anyone he cared for could not be entirely unpleasant—except perhaps Doctor McCoy.
Jim also liked to remind Spock—pointedly—that his counterpart was likely struggling too. That he had lost everything and everyone he had loved in another place and time, and was now forced to watch their younger selves without interfering. The elder, in Jim's opinion, must have seen in Spock all the lost opportunities, all the things gone unsaid and undone.
And he had to be lonely.
That was how Spock found himself here, staring into the blank vid-screen. Jim had asked him without asking—a skill Spock was yet to master—to spend more time speaking with his counterpart, and he had not yet learned how to tell Jim "no". He had therefore been compelled to call his counterpart to engage in 'casual conversation' once every two weeks for the past six months.
There had been progress. His skin had mostly stopped crawling when he looked into his counterpart's eyes. For convenience's sake, he had begun calling him Sa-kuk, saving the awkwardness of using their shared name. Sa-kuk, after breathing a laugh more free than Spock had ever managed, had begun to call him Sa-bath in return.
It was not entirely unpleasant.
Conversation was rarely stilted, typically revolving around experiments that Spock conducted on Enterprise and those Sa-kuk conducted on the colony. Occasionally Spock caught sight a glimmer in Sa-kuk's eyes—he thought that might be when he remembered the experiment Spock was describing, though he never confirmed it. Sa-kuk was stubbornly maintaining his policy of sharing little of his past, his own life, for fear of influencing Spock's choices.
That Spock had no particular objections to being given guidance did not sway his mind.
On this matter, however, Spock needed answers.
He had no intention of accepting no.
I understand why you choose not to share details of your experiences," he said, once greetings had been dispensed. "However, I require advice, and there is no other being who can provide it."
A slight exaggeration—in truth, it was only that Spock could not bear to approach another with it—but it only repaid Sa-kuk for telling Jim that their meeting might end the world.
"Ask your question and I will consider my answer."
"Sa-kuk." Spock took a single breath. His throat was tight. "Am I gay?"
"Sa-bath…" His counterpart looked at him for a long moment. He looked exceedingly tired. "I suggest that you procure an intoxicant."
According to regulation, Spock should not have been able to replicate an intoxicant aboard a Federation ship. No Human would have been able to do so without hours of legally dubious hacking. (Jim's replicator, for the record, had an extraordinary range of Saurian brandy that Spock was still steadfastly refusing to partake in.) Starfleet's unfortunate and under-acknowledged speciesism, however, meant that Spock was more than capable of gathering any sucrose-laden food his mind could conjure.
Suffice to say, it did not take him long to gather the necessary supplies.
Sa-kuk held a glass of something bearing alarming resemblance to Klingon bloodwine. Spock did not ask, but whatever it was seemed to bring him pleasure. He closed his eyes with quiet relish, took a moment before facing Spock again. He was unafraid of enjoyment. That was why Spock needed his assistance.
"Was there something particular that prompted this line of questioning?"
Spock placed a square of white chocolate on his tongue and let it melt, the sweetness just this side of bearable. He already regretted everything, starting with his birth and concluding with this conversation. Was it too late to retreat? "Lieutenant Uhura suggested it to me. Ensign Chekov was present and agreed that the idea may have some… merit."
"Lieutenant Uhura." Sa-kuk stared at Spock in a manner that induced him to take another square of chocolate. He had been judged by a great many beings in his life for a great variety of reasons, but never an older version of himself drinking wine that was illegal in Federation space. He was finding that he did not care for it. "Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Chief Communications Officer, with whom you were formerly in a romantic and—presumably—sexual relationship."
"I confess that it was primarily romantic rather than sexual, which in retrospect may have informed her suspicions, but yes, that is whom I referred to."
Sa-kuk did not sigh, curse, or yell. Spock only that he might wish to do these things because he knew the look in those dark eyes. He hoped his own could not be so easily read.
"It is not something that someone else can decide for you," he said. It had the dull tone of a sentence learned by rote, and it was followed by a long drink of wine. "Have you ever felt attraction towards a man?"
The denial hung on Spock's tongue, automatic, but he held it. If it had been an impossibility, Sa-kuk would have displayed some kind of shock, of surprise. Instead, he only seemed incredulous that Spock had not come to the conclusion independently. He therefore considered it, determined to give the thought the time that it deserved.
He recalled first the strange flutter in his stomach when he'd been young and meeting Sybok's radical friends for the first time. It might have been the fear of disobeying Sarek's orders, or it might have been Adam's quick fingers dancing over the strings of his guitar, the way his and Spock's voices twined together in the harmonies, the low hot twist in Spock's gut as he saw him press his lips to the neck of another—he forgot who—and groan, deep and loud, as a hand crept beneath the waistband of his trousers.
Then he thought of his roommate at the Academy—the third one, the Efrosian boy with such deep blue eyes. He hadn't lasted long, no one ever lasting long rooming with Spock, even Nyota hadn't wanted to cohabit, but he was the first Spock had regretted frightening off. The first one Spock had not wanted to frighten off. And when they'd first met, Spock had thought—incongruously, ridiculously—that perhaps he would not mind the Efrosian's non-monogamous traditions. If, of course, the subject ever came up.
And then there was the guest lecturer with the wonderful mind and quick-fire wit—he'd called Spock intelligent and exciting and fascinating and Spock had wanted to drink the thoughts from his mind—and then the Deltan waiter who'd brushed so deliberately against his knuckles—Spock had felt his wanting stain his teeth and never forgotten the taste of it—and the unfairly tall aide his father had sent to spy on him when he took his first teaching post—Spock could have called him out but he hadn't, hadn't wanted to let him out of his sight—and the Andorian who could have hated him but instead smiled at him whenever their eyes met—such a beautiful smile, Spock could see it still in his mind—and then—
then—
Not a man, not a reality, a haze, half a fantasy, thoughts of short blond hair and a broad chest to rest against, thoughts that crept into Spock's mind when he relaxed his guard, made his blood heat with things he couldn't meditate away—things he didn't want to meditate away—
"Oh," he said. He felt fear. He felt dread. Shariel protect me. Take it from me. Kill it within me.
He did not want it to die.
Sa-kuk nodded. "Eat your chocolate, Spock."
Spock ate.
*
Alarm clocks, being a horribly loud blight upon an undeserving galaxy, had never been permitted in Spock's quarters. It was therefore his prerogative, upon hearing the blaring trill of an interloper, to eliminate it with prejudice.
Metal and glass splintered beneath his fist. A startled yelp filled his ears.
"Spock!"
Jim?
He poked his head from beneath the covers and squinted in the overwhelming light, trying to determine why his captain—who, to the best of Spock's knowledge, did not currently despise him—would appear in his rooms bearing the enemy alarm clock. He did not recall making any request. He last recollection, in fact, was being deep in discussion with Sa-kuk regarding… Vital matters. Spock had been under orders to eat his chocolate and, since he was not one to disobey the orders that served his purposes, he'd eaten, let his focus grow fuzzier and let the conversation drift to what little of Sa-kuk's life he'd been willing to share. His own youthful revelation (a boy at school with a talented tongue), and whom he'd permitted to learn of it (any who cared to discover it, particularly those with pretty mouths), and how Sarek had reacted (it paled in the face of his other deficiencies and was eventually accepted).
Sa-kuk had just inquired as to what had sparked Nyota's suggestion in the first instance when Spock realised—with great urgency—that he ought to sleep, given that the room was spinning more often than it was still, and he was, after all, on—
Alpha shift!
He sat bolt upright, even as his head swam and his stomach lurched. He could permit no rebellion of the body; the body must be controlled by the mind. "Forgive me," he said, unable to deny the panic in his own voice. "I have—no excuse, Captain. Permit me a moment—"
A sharp prick in the meat of his bicep silenced him. Any other day and he might have glared at Jim for administering a hypo with express permission, but as it steadied both head and stomach, he could not.
"Luckily for you," said Jim, smirking, "the ambassador already sent your excuses. He takes full responsibility for getting you drunk."
"I was not—" he started to lie, even if it was futile.
"He also told me to put you on Gamma, and which of McCoy's potions would get you up and running."
Spock, apparently, 'owed him one'. Although, since it was Sa-kuk's fault in the first instance…
"Then he told me that he was on his way here, and he'd rendezvous with us in approximately three point six-four hours."
Spock blinked. Perhaps his faculties were still sub-optimal, because Jim's words failed to make sense. "Rendezvous, Captain? For what purpose?"
"I was hoping you'd explain that." Jim sat himself on the edge of the bed, pressed against Spock's legs, separated only by the duvet, caring nothing for propriety and personal space. Spock hoped he was imaging the feeling of his cheeks burning. "Officially, he's an ambassador requesting transport to an as-yet undeclared location. Unofficially, he's had one discussion with you and come running. Which begs the question—what did you say last night?"
Spock was most certainly burning.
"We discussed… a private matter. I did not invite him, and he did not mention…"
Spock did not generally approve of 'trailing off'. If a man could not determine how a sentence should end, it would be better for him not to begin it.
However, if a man realised whilst speaking that he could not, in fact, vouch for the accuracy of his memories regarding the night before, it might behove him to 'shut the Hell up' before causing problems for himself.
"I did not invite him," he said, since he could at least be certain of that.
Jim sighed as he stood. "Well, we'll find out soon what he's up to. Put a shirt on, Mr Spock. We're the honour guard—and he's due any minute."
Spock had not realised his nakedness. He—most illogically, given that the conversation had concluded—dragged the covers further up his body, hiding every inch he could from view. Not that his captain would be looking. In fact, Jim snorted, genuinely amused, and mimed covering his eyes as he walked to the door of the bathroom that connected their rooms. He paused just before he triggered the door.
"One last thing, Spock."
"Sir?"
"You owe me an alarm clock."
Sober, clothed, and mostly recovered from the acute mortification he had suffered, Spock was stood at attention with Jim by the time the transporter began to whine and shimmer. In a moment—a fraction, a breath—Sa-kuk would be there, and Spock would discover what it was he had done to convince him that his presence was required. He hoped it was nothing too…
Nothing too…
Nothing too pathetic.
The familiar silhouette began to form. Spock reminded his lungs of their proper duty. Jim was already smiling, already anticipating.
"Ambassador," Jim said, striding forward as Sa-kuk appeared. The elder did not touch him, but smiled so openly that Jim seemed as pleased as if he had. Spock had never been able to give Jim—anyone—a smile such as that.
"Captain Kirk." Sa-kuk raised the ta'al with slightly crooked fingers. The joints were slightly inflamed; Spock would take note of that for his own future, and ask Doctor McCoy to provide the ambassador with a curative. "I hope you can forgive the intrusion, old friend."
No one ever reminded him that Jim was not his 'old friend'. Likely it would be a cruelty. Despite popular opinion to the contrary, Spock did try to avoid cruelty.
"No intrusion," said Jim. "I'm just curious what dragged you out here."
"We all must answer to duty," he said, cryptic, but his eyes were on Spock as he spoke.
"You did not give yourself away," Sa-kuk assured him later. The two of them had retired to the guest quarters, under the guise of Spock helping him get settled. "You remained steadfast under questioning. I would not have guessed, except for the fact that I undertook the same mission myself as a young officer."
Flooded by twin bursts of relief—that he had not betrayed his mission, that Sa-kuk knew his troubles anyway—Spock could not speak. He had not been permitted to confide in anyone. Even Jim, his captain, had not been authorised to hear of this particular mission. Spock alone knew what the Federation had asked of him.
Or… Two Spocks had known.
The details of the mission had been delivered one week ago. Spock had memorised it by heart.
The target was one Kye Daniels, a rich, arrogant man who just happened to be in possession of certain information that admirals and officials wanted very badly. Starfleet Intelligence—and Spock too, in his spare time—had researched him extensively but found very little. He had seemingly no weaknesses, no pressure points to exploit, to political leanings to be manipulated, no connections to be called upon, no loyalties to be pleaded to.
In all their searches, they had found only one thing.
Kye Daniels had a fondness for Vulcans.
There was currently half a Vulcan in the 'fleet.
'Honeypotting', the admirals explained, was a valued technique in intelligence gathering, even if the term did make Spock's insides wince. Widely used, even if not widely acknowledged, it was responsible for huge quantities of data and, accordingly, huge numbers of lives saved. There was no shame in it. And if Spock was willing to put aside personal feeling for the good of the many—and since he was a Vulcan, there could be no feeling to put aside—then Starfleet wished to ask a favour of him.
He had been studying Daniels' image, trying to imagine a scenario where he might be able to seduce him, when Nyota had come across him and mentioned the potential of his sexuality.
Spock could not have explained, even if he'd wanted to.
None of this needed to be said aloud as they both understood it. What Spock said instead was, "You… completed the mission?"
"I was assigned to seduce Mr Daniels," Sa-kuk confirmed. "Following him, there were others. Businessmen, ambassadors, senators… On one occasion, a Romulan commander."
Spock blinked. Sa-kuk smiled.
"I had a talent for the work. In certain circles, I gained a—professional reputation. That is why I have come."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, dread rising with it.
"I will instruct you, if you permit it, in the skills required to undertake such missions. Will you permit it?"
The idea of taking the help was horrifying. But the idea of facing Daniels without it was far worse. Spock steeled himself.
"I accept."
*
Gamma shift was quieter than Alpha shift. Typically staffed almost entirely by junior members of the crew—albeit those in line for promotion, who were trusted to work alone—there were few brave enough to enter a conversation with Spock.
(For the record, Spock had not purposefully intimidated them. It was simply an effect he sometimes had on Humans.)
It had its benefits. His presence was not required—and, frankly, not desired—on the bridge. If that changed, he would be summoned, but for the moment he was able to sequester himself with a library computer and trawl through the data and reports that had gathered in the last six point eight weeks since he had been able to complete a thorough review. It was gratifying to consider the task complete.
Despite this, he ended the shift with the knowledge that, at some point between first joining Pike's Enterprise and now, he had developed a firm preference for Alpha shift over Gamma.
When the shift concluded, Spock returned to his room. Sa-kuk awaited him, as they had agreed.
"There are four things I can teach you," he said, once Spock was settled into a seat. "This is the first."
He presented Spock with a delicate case. Spock took it gingerly.
"I will teach you to apply cosmetics in an efficient a flattering manner. I will also teach you a simplified version suitable for use on duty."
"Why would I wear cosmetics whilst on duty?"
Sa-kuk raised an eyebrow. Spock understood, quite suddenly, why that might be considered irritating.
"I will apply it to you whilst you watch. You may then attempt to replicate it."
He was largely silent as he worked, narrating only the aspects he deemed most complex. Spock watched the reflection of him in the mirror, how he angled the brushes, how he used the colours, and watched his own face be changed. The purple eye shadow was swept high, stopping just beneath his pointed brows. Then gold was added, blended in, adding a… a shimmer. And his lips were painted pink, a shiny gloss.
Studying himself, Spock did not know himself. Made up like…
Like a Vulcan of old. One of the men pictured in the old writings, the pre-Surakian men, Shariel's ancient worshippers. Men valued as much for their aesthetic appeal—and other skills—as they were for any intelligence or prowess in battle.
A relic. An image of illogic.
"It was armour," Sa-kuk murmured. He wiped a smudge from Spock's skin with the edge of his thumb. Spock kept his shields high. "But it was beauty, too."
Spock had never been beautiful before. He had not realised that he could be.
"Please demonstrate the duty-appropriate version."
Sa-kuk did not mention his change of heart. He nodded and obeyed.
Spock wondered but did not ask—who had taught Sa-kuk to apply his makeup?
Being Vulcan, Spock did not experience nervousness. However, as he walked towards the bridge for his next Alpha shift with painted eyelids, he encountered something that was, perhaps, analogous to nervousness. A certain nauseated flutter in his stomach and chest that intensified with every double-take and second glance he encountered on the path from his room to the turbolift. If he could have done so without being late, he would have retreated to his quarters and erased all evidence of the attempt, relegating it forever more to his mental list of 'failed experiments'. It might have found a fitting home between the helix piercing he'd wanted at fourteen—his mother, thankfully, had reminded him of how much it would hurt his sensitive ears—and the heavy ring he had bought at nineteen, worn for approximately three minutes and seven seconds, and proceeded to stuff beneath his mattress where prying eyes could not find it. (That, at least, had aided in… self-discovery.)
He could not be late. He braced himself.
"Mr Spock—!" Chekov's announcement suddenly ceased. The ensign blinked twice, then rallied. "Mr Spock on the bridge!"
The others turned in their seats—perhaps to greet him, perhaps to see what had made Chekov stutter—and they did not turn back around. Spock felt verdant humiliation start to burn. What had he been thinking? Take it, destroy it, kill it within me.
Jim was not a cruel man. He would excuse Spock to rectify this error in judgement. "Captain—"
"Mr Spock." Jim's eyes were on him, fixed on him, and he was smiling. It was not mocking. It was—excruciatingly kind. "Trying something new?"
Spock's throat was dry. Jim's eyes were on him; he ignored all else in order to answer. "Yes, sir."
"It suits you."
He swallowed. His tongue was thick and useless in his mouth. He hoped he was not experiencing a delayed allergic response to the lip gloss. "Thank you, sir."
The sanctuary of his station welcomed him home and he breathed deep. Nyota gave him a moment to recover before she, too, smiled at him. "The ambassador?"
He nodded.
"Kirk's right. You do look good."
To take pride in something so subjective as 'looking good' was illogical. However…
"You should take his advice more often," she concluded, before returning to her own duties.
To borrow a phrase: she did not know the half of it.
The morning passed in its typical fashion. Yeomen coming to deliver messages did occasionally stare at him—no doubt the entire ship would be apprised of his experiment by lunch—but it was not entirely unacceptable. It could be borne, at any rate. The easy acceptance of the Alpha bridge crew, of his friends, was enough to buoy him. Even if they did occasionally look back at him, as though they might have been mistaken at first glance.
Jim looked back more than the others, but this was not unusual. Jim generally did look back at Spock more than any other member of the crew. It made sense—Spock was his first officer, Jim needed to speak to him often in the course of their duties. Of course, as well as that, he liked to turn and ask about Spock's readings, even the technically irrelevant ones, because he liked to know every detail about what his silver lady might face. And he'd turn and attempt to bring him in on the jokes that circulated the consoles, patiently waiting for the understanding to strike and for Spock to nod that he had 'got it'. And sometimes he'd turn and grin at him, a little incredulous, just to bring him into the sense of wonder that seemed to encompass Jim's life.
Look, Jim's smile said. Look at this! Did you ever think we'd have all this?
The answer, of course, was no. Spock had never dared dream to have this much.
Two hours after lunch, Jim could bear the curiosity no longer. Truthfully, Spock had expected him to break far sooner. Swinging himself from the centre chair, Jim sidled over to Spock's station, leaning over the console to ensure that Spock had to look at him. For a moment, Spock considered pretending to ignore him—temporarily—and getting to see the pout that sometimes appeared when Jim found himself thwarted, a sulk tempered by amusement and fond warmth that, unbelievably, seemed to come from Spock, from Spock gathering himself enough to try and tease.
The moment passed. He looked up to meet bright eyes and an inquisitive smile.
"You never said you wore makeup," he said. Soft, low—for Vulcan ears only.
"Until today, I never have."
Jim's hand rose slowly, perhaps unconsciously. Spock's breath stopped in his throat. Luckily—dreadfully—agonisingly, Jim's hand stopped, just before it could bush Spock's cheek.
"I like the purple," he said. He tilted Spock's head with the barest whisper of movement. Spock's head tipped back, giving him the best possible angle—viewing angle. "I do. But shouldn't it be blue? For the Sciences?"
"I shall consider it," Spock said, voice commendably even, and as Jim left him he pondered absently the work it would take to have the replicator spit out eye shadow the precise shade of Jim's eyes.
*
Sa-kuk had taken leave of his senses.
As Spock stared in ill-concealed horror at the—the thing in his hands, it was abundantly clear. In the scant hours it had taken for Spock to serve his shift, his counterpart had succumbed to utter madness, born either of age or inter-universal travel, and now Spock was forced to grapple with the consequences.
At length, he managed a strangled no and a desperate plea that it be put away before someone opened Spock's door and saw it. Sa-kuk had the nerve to laugh.
A gentle laugh, yes, but a laugh all the same.
"Have you no faith in me, Sa-bath?"
Spock could hardly believe him. He forced himself to breathe. "It is obscene."
Another laugh—this time louder, almost Human. "Is it?"
Sa-kuk held it out again and Spock forced himself not to react, to pass through the initial alarm and consider the matter without bias. It was true that, by Human standards, perhaps by any non-Vulcan standard, the robes would be entirely acceptable, even overly modest. The layers would cover the majority of a man's skin, and they were hardly tight—the opposite, even. If he showed them to Jim…
That is, if he showed them to any being aboard the Enterprise, they would likely consider them entirely proper, if overly formal, to be used as everyday robes. They would not look askance if Spock chose to wear them.
But the design…
Spock fought hard against the urge to bury his face, or to rip the robes from Sa-kuk's hands and bury them. The pure, deep black—the colours of Spock's house—and the white slash of old Golic script...
He did not read it.
But he could not avoid seeing aitlun.
"Sa-kuk," he said, trying to hide his blistering sense of scandal. "They are a declaration."
"Precisely," came the reply. Distressingly logical. "One that Kye Daniels will recognise and appreciate."
Spock did hide his face then. First in his hands and then, when it became clear that could not possibly suffice, in his pillow, lying himself face down on his mattress. He presumed that Sa-kuk would forgive it.
"I cannot," he said. "I cannot."
"Sa-bath—"
"If I was seen—"
"That would be the intended result," Sa-kuk said. "However, I believe that I understand the issue. You are alarmed by the prospect of someone who knows Sarek seeing."
He could not confess it.
"He could hardly fault his unbonded son for recognising and addressing that fact. Especially a son who is yet to have his Time."
Spock groaned at the reminder and Sa-kuk tutted. Tutted. At Spock.
Indignity after indignity.
He turned his head. "If Sarek is reminded of the fact, he may take it upon himself to—" Spock allowed himself to grimace, given the severity of the situation— "matchmake. It cannot be permitted."
"I remind you again of the importance of your mission."
"It cannot be permitted."
"I add to my argument the fact that I was considered particularly aesthetically pleasing in black, and was able to strategically plan my attire to soften precarious social situations. Logic dictates that the same should be true of you."
Spock considered it. He returned his face to the pillow.
Sa-kuk sighed. "Perhaps a compromise might be found."
Standing in his undershirt, Spock felt…
Not naked, because he was clearly not, but certainly less than fully dressed. Less than entirely decent.
"I cannot go around the ship like this."
"To Jim's quarters, then," Sa-kuk said, just this side of exasperated. They had been stood here for almost half an hour already. "In either robes or the shirt, Sa-bath, but it must be one of them. You cannot wear your uniform to meet Kye Daniels, and you cannot appear uncomfortable wearing something that is not your uniform. He will know that you were sent."
Spock swallowed his automatic refusal. "To Jim?"
"To Jim." Sa-kuk's irritation faded into the slightly nostalgic smile that meant he was not thinking of the same man Spock was. "You know that he is never upset by your appearance in his quarters."
That had not always been true, but perhaps it was now.
"Invite him to dinner with you after chess on Friday," he said. "It will take little time, offer a plausible excuse for your presence, and allow you to return immediately afterwards."
"That is—acceptable," Spock decided. He was not sure why his skin felt clammy.
Jim seemed surprised to find Spock at his door—his eyes went a little wide when he saw him—but he smiled, so logic suggested that it was a pleasing surprise. Spock resisted the urge to clasp his arms behind his back, to hide the bare skin. Perhaps Jim saw him twitch, because his eyes became fixed, seeming to trace his tense muscles with his gaze. Spock swallowed.
"Captain."
"Mr Spock." Jim looked Spock in the eye, and it was not any less overwhelming. "Want to come in?"
That was not the agreement.
"That is not necessary," he said. "I only came to ask a question."
Jim quirked an eyebrow, but he was still smiling. "Ask away, Commander."
"Would you be amenable to having dinner together following our chess game on Friday?"
It took a moment, a moment where Jim's mouth hung slightly open, before he let loose a delighted laugh. "Of course! Why not? In the mess?"
"In my quarters," Spock decided. He was still not fond of eating in the company of others. Jim was simply the exception.
"Perfect." Jim looked at him for another moment. "You sure you don't want to come in? You look… cold."
Spock looked down at his arms. He did indeed have 'goosebumps', though he was confident in his ability to maintain his internal temperature. There was no logical excuse for this particular bodily instinct.
"It is not necessary," he said again. "I shall see you on the bridge tomorrow morning."
"Until tomorrow, then," said Jim.
*
On Wednesday, Sa-kuk came to deliver his third lesson. Spock had braced himself in advance, determined not to baulk so openly at his counterpart's suggestions. He was Vulcan. He would control himself.
He was determined.
Sa-kuk smiled at him as he walked in. "Sa-bath. Greetings."
"Greetings." Spock did not smile, given that he was focused on controlling himself, but he let him in without hesitation. At one point in his life, not so long ago, he would have considered that an unreachable milestone. Fascinating what a 'honeypot' mission could do for a man's social life. "I am prepared for your lesson."
"That is fortunate. It is one that you may find—challenging."
Spock attempted to calm himself. He did not remind Sa-kuk that he had found all the lesson thus far challenging. "I am prepared."
"Then we shall begin."
The act of seduction, as his counterpart described it, was primarily a matter of attitude. More than clothes, more than makeup, Spock would have to act as if he wanted—even expected—to conclude his evening in another's bed.
"Vulcans cannot lie," Spock tried.
Sa-kuk gave him a look and Spock relented. He had not truly expected that to work.
"It is not lying," Sa-kuk said. "Merely… playing on the expectations of others."
Spock was not foolish enough to begin an argument. He thought that Sa-kuk might have looked a little disappointed.
There were, apparently, three main personas that Spock should explore if he wished to become a 'honeypot'. Those three, Sa-kuk assured him, would serve him adequately in most situations. They were as follows:
Role One: The Innocent.
Sa-kuk's eyes had shone, slightly amused, slightly sly, almost predatory, as he named it. "There are many," he said, "operating under the flawed assumption that Vulcans—lacking emotion—are entirely unaware of certain… biological realities. You have no doubt encountered this."
Spock had indeed. He did not see the necessity of voicing this aloud.
"I often found it useful to encourage that belief and to allow targets to approach with the aim of 'rescuing' me from 'Vulcan propriety'."
Spock considered the merits of this. The feigned vulnerability would likely prevent targets from properly guarding against him. The thought of a meld—even a surface meld—was slightly terrible, but it could not be ignored that the targets would likely neglect to shield their thoughts. And this was, as Spock reminded himself, espionage. It was not intended to be comfortable.
Role Two: The Arrogant.
Spock blinked when he heard it. "I have been told that arrogance is unattractive." Multiple times.
"In a romantic partner, that may be so. In a purely sexual partner, it is not always so. Confidence is often appreciated." Sa-kuk seemed amused by whatever Spock's face had done. "Certain beings enjoy the idea of 'bringing a Vulcan down to their level'. Convincing an intelligent, 'superior' Vulcan to submit to them sexually increases their pleasure.
"I see," said Spock, and it was true. He could see the logic. Arrogance to attract the arrogant—to attract those who would brag, and in bragging betray themselves.
"You are quite green," said Sa-kuk.
"My embarrassment remains at a tolerable level."
"That is good."
Role Three…
Role Three could not be named. It was not dissimilar to the second, in that it relied upon Spock's ability to project an air of confidence.
"There are some," said Sa-kuk, "who have heard of Vulcan strength and… desire to experience it first-hand."
Spock had heard of it. Could imagine it, almost. A man who thought often of Vulcan abilities, fantasised about them, catching sight of him—Spock—from across the room. What would he do? Would he follow, unquestioning, if Spock approached? Yes, Spock decided. He would. And he'd want nothing more than for a strong, silent alien to put him in his place. He'd bend easily when Spock pushed, he'd trust his whims and his force, he'd let Spock sink down onto his lok, he'd let Spock wrap a hand around his neck and squeeze…
Focus.
The daydream—because that was what it was, Spock could not deny it—was minuscule. Negligible. A fraction of a second.
There was a knowing glint in Sa-kuk's eyes, even so.
"I shall leave you to reflect," he said.
Spock did not throw anything at him as he left. That, he thought, was as much kindness as the old man deserved.
*
"Spock!"
Spock turned. Jim was approaching rapidly; he slowed his pace so that his friend might catch up, even as he knew that he and his captain would be on the bridge together regardless. "Jim."
"I feel like I've hardly seen you this week."
"We have eaten three meals a day together every day as usual."
Jim pouted. It was as pleasing as ever. "Alright, that's true. But you've got to admit I've not seen you as much as usual."
"I have been spending my evenings with the ambassador," Spock said, though he was certain Jim knew already. "He has been—mentoring me."
Jim's expression softened into a pleased smile. "That's good. I'm glad, Spock."
"I am no longer instinctively revolted by his existence," he added, and Jim laughed.
"Well, as long as you're still free for chess tomorrow—"
"If I was not, I would have notified you."
A lie. If he had not been, Spock would have rearranged things so that he was. Perhaps Jim knew that because he smiled, said nothing, and led the way to the bridge.
The crew had quickly become used to Spock's use of cosmetics, no longer turning to observe it. Normality had resumed—only the captain swivelled to keep Spock in sight.
He did that for the first few hours, spinning the whole chair in order to question or prod or joke, before the banality of the shift began to wear. It had been almost a month without excitement for Jim—barring Sa-kuk's coming—and the captain had always found that difficult. He sighed once or twice, started to lean on his armrest, and Spock estimated the likelihood of what Doctor McCoy called 'shenanigans' to be at an unacceptable sixty-three point seven percent.
Drastic measures were called for. He took a PADD and opened one of the documents that his ensigns called his 'Pet Projects'; an illogical term, given that there were no animals involved.
Spock, in the deepest recesses of his mind, called these experiments 'Jim Bait'. Perfectly tailored to his captain's own scientific inclinations, Spock considered it entirely probable that one document would occupy Jim's attention until lunch and beyond.
"Captain," he said.
Jim straightened. He swivelled his chair. "Yes, Spock?"
"Provided there are no other demands on your time—" Jim laughed derisively, so Spock continued— "I wonder if you would consent to proofreading a paper I have been writing."
Eyes brightening in a most pleasing manner, Jim assented by means of making 'gimme' motions with his hands. Spock walked quickly to deliver it, and Jim's nose was buried before he made it back to his own station.
Spock would have declared it a total success, except for the fact he felt Nyota's eyes fall upon his back. She seemed to be considering him—he could not fathom why.
"This is the final lesson I can provide," said Sa-kuk as he arrived. "It is also the shortest."
Spock considered that it would be impolite to show his relief. He considered also that it was likely obvious.
Sa-kuk pressed a booking into his hands. The title alone made him flush.
"You are under no obligation—official or otherwise—to engage in true sexual contact on this or any other mission Starfleet may assign to you." Sa-kuk stared at him until Spock nodded his understanding. "However, you may wish to have the option available to you."
Sa-kuk gave no indication as to whether he had taken that option, which Spock was glad of. Even if he could guess the answer.
"The book explains much of what two beings with the same—or similar—genital configurations may accomplish together."
Spock nodded. The twin desires to expel the book into deep space and to study it cover-to-cover left him dazed.
"I will leave you to read," said Sa-kuk.
"I did not think anything could be worse than Sarek's pamphlets," said Spock.
For a moment, he and Sa-kuk were united in dreadful memory: their father, excruciatingly embarrassed, approaching their fourteen-year-old selves with two pamphlets, one explaining Human puberty (too late) and one explaining Pon Farr (too early).
"It was a trying day," said Sa-kuk.
"So is this," said Spock.
*
Friday dawned and Spock—who had, perhaps, spent less time in sleep and meditation than he normally did in order to do some reading—reported to the lab.
It was his habit to spend Fridays in the lab. It allowed him to keep in proper touch with the members of his department, who had helpfully begun to rotate who served the Friday Alpha shift, and made him a more common sight for his ensigns, which was good for morale. He had found—or, rather, Nyota had told him—that he was a less intimidating figure in safety goggles. Something about "increasing the size of your eyes" and "taking a child-like delight in exploding things". Spock had denied the accusations, but continued attending to the lab on Fridays. It had, after all, led Jim to set up a standing chess appointment for Friday evening, apparently to account for the lack of company.
Today he walked in, put on the goggles, and ignored how Ensign Simons conspicuously looked away, failing to conceal her growing smile.
"Miss Simons," he said. "Are you available to assist?"
"Yes, sir," she said. When she turned to face him, she had largely composed herself. Spock reminded himself that he did not miss the days when his junior officers were afraid of him.
Most of the work was, admittedly, dull; taking down data that Spock called out, saving him the twin inconveniences of decontaminating himself enough to touch the PADD and checking his spelling. Given that it was dull, however, Spock followed it by training her to monitor some of the Enterprise's more specialised scanners and, yes, seeking out an experiment that required a controlled explosion.
By the end of the shift, Ensign Simons had laid claim to her own pair of goggles. That, according to the Human contingent of Spock's department, was a rite of passage.
Sa-kuk was waiting when Spock made it back, slightly late, to his rooms. Spock did not frown.
"I am meeting Jim for chess."
"And dinner," Sa-kuk said. "I recall. However, there is some time left before that, and I am disembarking at Starbase Twelve tomorrow."
Spock blinked. "I was not aware of this."
"It was not planned. I received the request this afternoon."
"I see." Spock felt a strange twinge. It was not that he would miss his counterpart, precisely, for they would no doubt keep up their virtual correspondence. But they had spent enough time together that there was companionship, awkward as it often was. There was familiarity. They had formed a routine—Spock did not like breaking routines. "Then you have come to say goodbye?"
"And to give you a gift."
For the second time in less than a full week, Spock held a disgraceful robe in his hands. He refused to drop it.
"You need not wear it," said Sa-kuk. "But it is more logical for you to keep it than I. Just in case a need arises."
Spock could…
Spock could see some hint of logic. If it was as Sa-kuk described, if he did look particularly pleasing in a black robe, then it would make sense for him to keep it, in case Starfleet did send a mission where it might be helpful.
At any rate, it could not be worse than the book.
He was not entirely sure how it happened—or why he agreed to it—but he quickly found himself wearing the thing, inspecting himself in the mirror, and letting Sa-kuk adjust the hem to better fit him.
Annoyingly, he did look good.
And once the hem was fixed and Sa-kuk had put the sewing needle away, he was letting him redo his makeup—with a hint of glitter and pink lip gloss, too.
Sa-kuk stepped away. "You will look the part."
Spock wrinkled his nose, but did not object.
He was still not objecting when Jim opened his door.
Take me. Destroy me. Kill me.
"Captain," he said. "You are—" he considered it— "precisely on time. Forgive me. I was distracted."
Jim was silent. Staring. Jaw slightly loose.
Sa-kuk pressed a deliberate hand against Spock's shoulder, pushing him slightly forward, closer to Jim, and then left.
"Captain," Spock tried again.
"Spock," said Jim. He sounded slightly hoarse. Slightly dazed. "You look…"
He felt his cheeks burn. It was one thing to dress in such a way for Starfleet's sake, quite another to be seen by a friend. "If you will allow me a moment to change—"
"No," Jim blurted, and then went scarlet. "I mean—if you want to, do, but not because of me." He took a breath. "You look good. You look—" he let out a low, breathy laugh— "really good."
Oh.
Many things became clear at once. Primarily that Spock would—barring any accidents of fate—grow up to become a manipulative kre'nath.
"Jim," he said. He took a step closer, closer than he had ever permitted himself to stand. "Do you still wish to play chess?"
Jim swallowed. It made his throat bob. "I don't think so."
"Good." He pressed closer again; their chests were almost touching. If either swayed forwards, their lips would crash together, and they would kiss.
"Spock…"
"Jim," he said again, because he could see Jim's pupils dilate when Spock said his name. "The ambassador has been advising me on how best to seduce men. Do you wish to be seduced?"
"Fuck," he breathed. "Yes."
Spock took Jim's face in his hands and kissed him, kissed him so thoroughly that when he pulled back, Jim was panting. It was intoxicating. Spock kissed him again, focusing on the feel of his lips and the slide of his tongue.
"I've wanted you so long," Jim gasped, breaking the kiss. "So long, Spock—Spock, I thought you didn't want me, I would have lived with it, I want to be your friend first, always, but if you want me—do you want me?"
Spock traced his spine down to the swell of his backside and, in case that was not enough, said, "Yes, I want you, and if you permit it I will have you."
"It's permitted," said Jim.
Spock pulled him towards the bed.
*
Enterprise's halls were familiar, always, even it had been many years and another universe since Spock had roamed their Silver Lady. Still, he trod the old paths with the confidence he always had, leaving his sa-bath's room behind.
He reached the main briefing room and the eyes—familiar, but far too young—of the pair awaiting him fell upon him.
"Well?" asked Lieutenant Uhura. Her voice was urgent, as well it might be. She had called Spock to ask for his help nearly a month ago, but he had not realised it could be so dire until Sa-bath's call.
"I have done all I can do," he said.
She sighed, and Ensign Chekov groaned dramatically. "It must work," he said. "It is unbearable."
"They did seem particularly oblivious to their attraction," Spock admitted. "But if they are not currently aware of it, then I shall call T'Pau and retire."
"Then you were not this bad? Our captain and Mr Spock are unique?"
Spock hesitated. He didn't want to disillusion Chekov—always young in Spock's eyes, and this version even younger—but he did not like to lie. "My captain and I were far worse. We were aware of the attraction for over a decade before we acted."
The silence was not flattering. Spock decided to move on.
"Miss Uhura, have you sent the message I requested to Starfleet Command?"
The look she sent was not judgemental, but it was certainly evaluative. Trying to see in him what might or might not exist—or be awakened—in her own friend. Spock did not begrudge that.
"Yes," she said at last. "They'll have a representative waiting to meet you on the Starbase."
Spock nodded. It would be best, he thought, to give his sa-bath and Jim a period of adjustment before any specialised missions disrupted their time together. And, conveniently, there was now another Vulcan available to fill the gap Sa-bath's absence might leave.
A Vulcan who knew two things.
One: that Kye Daniels was currently attending a conference on Starbase Twelve.
Two: that Kye Daniels preferred older men.
This is--somehow, I'm not sure how XD--a Philon winning fic!! Thank you so much if you voted for it <3
