(Winners, Linda will be contacting you regarding your prizes. Please look out for her email/message/carrier pigeon!)
Philon Awards 2025 Winners
(officially announced on 2 Nov 2025, at KiScon)
🏆 Gold: ...in relief by a_most_beloved_fool 🏆
Silver: Dig it in There, Captain Kirk by mazarinememories
Short Fic (word count 1K–5K):
🏆 Gold: HOWL by indeedcaptain 🏆
Silver: summer comes, winter fades by InkDropMemories
Medium-Length Fic (word count 5K–10K):
🏆 Gold: Lessons in Seduction, Presented by S'chn T'gai Spock by Phoenix_Rose 🏆
Silver: A Little Human Emotionality by Moreta1848
Long Fic (word count 10K–20K):
🏆 Gold: thrum: a sonata in three movements by selfmadepurgatories 🏆
Silver: on a crooked little trajectory by tothewillofthepeople
Novella (word count 20K–50K):
🏆 Gold: long you live and high you fly by pinkgrapefloyd 🏆
Silver: Too Lonely a Place by Illegalpaladin (kellysaur)
Novel (word count over 50K):
🏆 Gold: No Dawn, No Day by xiaq 🏆
Silver: Silent Star by Moreta1848
Podfic:
🏆 Gold: The Exiles (written by Moreta1848) by cookiemom6067 🏆
Silver: Time After Time (written by spaceisgay (ChancellorGriffin)) by cookiemom6067
Poetry:
🏆 Gold: HR Violations on the USS Enterprise by indeedcaptain 🏆
Silver: Opportunity Knocks by gunstreet
Traditional Art:
🏆 Gold: “Because the word love isn’t written in your book” by strawberry-sweets (Bluesky post) 🏆
Silver: Love in Bloom by PageofWands
Digital Art:
🏆 Gold: HURT (comic) by beloved-icarus 🏆
Silver: Irrational Numbers (comic) by sidetrek (link to full download)
Zines:
🏆 Gold: KiScon Zine 2024 by 1lostone and Alice West (editors) 🏆
(Note: As no other zine was nominated in this category, it is the winner and was not included on the voting ballot.)
He pushed the feeling of a question into Jim's mind and received nothing insightful in return. That did not mean that he did not appreciate the warm glow of Jim's affection, nor did it mean that he did not take note of the slowly banking heat at the back of Jim's mind; it only meant that these things did not clarify the current situation.
And that—in itself—was what made him realise.
He was being seduced. For nefarious purposes.
***
The Enterprise crew is keeping something from Spock. Something that causes breakfast in bed, giggling, gossiping, and Kirkian flirting.
He would like very much to know what it is.
It was Spock's nose that woke him.
He knew, when he woke, that he could have slept for a further hour and sixteen minutes without being late for his shift. Meaning that Jim—who did not follow Spock's stringent makeup routine—could have slept for a further hour and twenty-two minutes without being late.
With this in mind, there were three questions for which Spock desired an answer. Question one: why was he awake? Question two: why was Jim awake? Question three: why had Jim been out of been bed for so long that his part of the mattress had gone cold?
When he sniffed again, he had his answers.
"K'diwa?" Spock sat up, careful to keep the warmed blanket around him, so he could better squint at Jim and his breakfast tray. Two portions of Pirmah and two glasses of sheekuta na'an sat upon it, food and drink that could not be obtained from the replicator.
Meaning that Jim had made it.
Spock squinted harder. "Jim. Why?"
Jim placed the tray firmly on the table. It rattled, slightly. "Why what?"
Why are we not eating in the refectory as is typical? Why have you chosen the more time consuming option of hand-making breakfast? Why have you made breakfast personally when you do not care for cooking? Why have you made Pirmah when you do not typically eat sweet food in the morning, preferring it for dessert?
It was too early in the morning. Spock's mind and tongue were still creeping their way to wakefulness. "Why?"
Jim tilted his head, clearly amused. He was—in his own words—a morning person. Spock found it more endearing when he'd been awake longer than twenty minutes. "Does there have to be a reason? Can a man not just decide to spoil his t'hy'la?"
That, Spock knew, was a trap. He considered the nature of this trap as he rose from bed, winced at the cold floor, and pulled a robe around his shoulders. He could not say "no", as Jim would pout and it would be delightful, and the ensuing series of events would make them late for work, no matter that they were an hour ahead of schedule. However, if he said "yes", Jim would gloat.
He decided to maintain a dignified silence. He sat at the table and allowed Jim to place the food before him.
A sip of juice went a long way to setting Spock's mind to work. He blinked slowly.
"The anniversary of our bonding is not until September," he said. He knew this as instinctively as he knew how to breathe. He knew that he was not in error. However, he also knew that if he was missing something obvious, the statement would provide Jim the opportunity to enlighten him. And if, as he slept, he had slipped into a mirror universe where this was untrue, Jim would now make him aware.
"It is," said Jim around a mouthful. He did not elaborate.
Clearly, Spock would not receive the answers he sought. With a sigh, he began to eat.
It was, of course, delicious. He made sure to make this clear.
Spock's suspicions had not abated by the time they reached the bridge. They had, in fact, increased exponentially, and they only continued to do so as the shift began and the Alpha bridge crew arrived. There was a certain air of… excitability. An air totally incongruous both with the ship's current task—a star mapping task that Jim had called a 'milk run'—and the time of day. Furthermore, it was not limited to Ensign Chekov, whose youth and romantic nature lent themselves to such moods, especially when beginning a fresh courtship. Instead, it had infected the entire bridge. Lieutenant Sulu could not meet Spock's eyes without smiling. Lieutenant Uhura could not keep from humming under her breath. Lieutenant Scott, making a rare appearance to update Jim on engine maintenance in person, had come perilously close to slapping Spock's shoulder before he remembered himself. Scott had then beat a hasty retreat to the sound of laughter.
With infinite patience honed by living amongst Humans, Spock attempted to ignore it, to focus his attention upon his station and his duty. Unfortunately, the situation quickly escalated to the point where he could not.
There was whispering.
Worse than that—there was whispering that ceased immediately whenever he attempted to listen in, meaning to the alarming conclusion that it likely concerned him. (Spock reminded himself, forcibly, that he did not regret instructing the bridge in identifying an eavesdropping Vulcan prior to the Babel mission.)
(He also inspected himself, discreetly, in the reflection of a nearby screen, for any marks that Jim, in his enthusiasm, may have inadvertently left behind.)
"Captain," he said, once he had endured an hour of this. "My presence is not currently required. I will serve my shift in the lab today."
The humming ceased.
"Mr Spock!" Uhura's voice brimmed with—something. "Before you go, will you help me adjust my console? I've been meaning to ever since we left the last starbase, but…"
He knew that he looked incredulous, and that this was why Uhura had trailed off, but this simply could not be borne.
"Miss Uhura," he said sharply, though he walked over regardless. "You know as well as I that you do not and never have required any assistance—including mine—in adjusting your console."
"Well—"
"I must insist that you explain why I am being prevented from going to the lab." He felt a flutter in his side and recalled that he had, for the first time, left the very junior Lieutenant Kaye in charge. It was important to build young officers' experience, and Spock was glad to do so, however… "If there has been an incident—"
"No incident," she said quickly, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm, a liberty he allowed few people to take. "No incident, accident, explosion, or injury, Mr Spock."
"Then why—?"
"Mr Spock, you old cynic!" she said, laughing gracefully. "Does there have to be a reason? Can't I just want to spend time with an old friend?"
"You can," Spock despaired, knowing the futility of attempting to gain any answer that Lieutenant Nyota Uhura did not wish to give. He was forced to surrender with dignity, or else lose without it. "What assistance do you require?"
Time marched on. Spock, having abandoned all hope of going to the lab, continued his vain attempts to ignore whatever strange mood had affected the Enterprise crew—and her captain. His bondmate. If not for the fact he could very easily ascertain Jim's health himself, Spock would have summoned McCoy to the bridge several hours ago. Jim was entirely too…
Touchy.
They had an unspoken mutual agreement that, although their relationship had been sanctioned by Starfleet Command, they did not flaunt it before others. Partly because Spock believed entirely that it had been sanctioned under duress—meaning T'Pau's extraordinary glare—and partly because Jim, despite his reputation in the media, valued professionalism most highly. Therefore, when Jim made a third needless trip to Spock's station to peer at unchanged numbers and slowly rub two fingers over Spock's knuckles, he could not help but wonder what had 'got into him'.
He pushed the feeling of a question into Jim's mind and received nothing insightful in return. That did not mean that he did not appreciate the warm glow of Jim's affection, or that he did not take note of the slowly banking heat flickering at the back of Jim's mind; it only meant that these things did not clarify the current situation.
And that—in itself—was what made him realise.
He was being seduced. For nefarious purposes.
"James Tiberius Kirk," he said aloud, before realising what he had to say should not be said aloud.
Jim turned, sheepish, in the centre chair. "Yes, Spock?"
To hell with it. If Jim wished to play such games before an audience, he would receive the consequences of said games before an audience. "You will cease this method of distraction immediately, or spend the night in your own quarters."
Captain Kirk—fearless veteran of a great many conflicts and diplomatic incidents—hissed through his teeth. The crew made valiant, failed attempts to smother their obvious laughter.
"I'm sorry," said Jim. At the same time, taking exaggerated care over the pronunciation, he thought Ni'droi'ik nar-tor, adun.
Damn him.
Jim spoke the language of Spock's people sparingly, but he did so to great effect.
"You are forgiven," said Spock.
Spock's education and research indicate that, prior to the unification of Earth and Humanity joining the Federation, there had been a law written to prevent 'cruel and unusual punishment'. If pressed to provide an example such, he would now be capable of doing so. Human excitement was a bearable, even pleasant, thing. Human excitement that he could not understand, and was even being prevented from understanding, was less pleasant. His curiosity alone was enough to sting.
The giggling was salt in his wound.
He wished that they would explain themselves. Since they would not, it was his prerogative to, in Human terms, make a break for it.
"Captain," he said, already standing. "I am due for my annual physical."
Jim blinked. "You are," he confirmed. Spock had complained of it only days ago. "Relevance?"
"I intend to go to Sickbay, so that Doctor McCoy can perform it."
With a slightly guilty wince—one echoed by the crew around him—Jim nodded his permission.
"I will meet you in my quarters later," he said. Just in case Jim thought he was truly upset, rather than mildly frustrated and considerably bemused.
"Of course," said Jim.
The doctor was surprised to see him.
"Spock!" he cried, excessive in both emotion and volume. "What're you doing here?"
"I am here for my physical examination."
"My God," said McCoy, as if to some invisible audience. "He's dying for certain."
"Doctor McCoy," Spock sighed, pleased beyond telling by the normality he had found. "If you could restrain yourself, please. I am in perfect health—which, if you attend to your duties promptly, you will be able to ascertain for yourself."
McCoy tutted at him and, muttering direly beneath his breath about what good health even meant for green-blooded menaces, gestured towards a bed. Specifically the bed that he was attempting to program to accommodate and monitor Spock's readings. It was slow-going, made difficult by the various unknowns of Spock's hybrid body, but it was…
It was…
It was only logical that the doctor have a way to quickly gauge Spock's condition in the event he be rendered unconscious and incapable of self-reporting.
It was the most effort any physician had ever put into Spock's individual care.
("Does there have to be a reason?" McCoy had asked when Spock attempted to question him. His eyes had belied the casualness of his question; there had been quiet anger in them. "You're part of this crew, same as anyone else. Should've been done for you years ago.")
Once the tests were underway, McCoy embarked on his favourite hobby. Psychiatry.
"Wanna tell me what you're really doing here, Spock?"
Spock enjoyed teasing and needling the doctor as much as the doctor enjoyed the reverse. But, when it came down to it, he was more than aware that McCoy was an excellent physician. And an excellent friend.
"There is something being hidden from me," he said. "Not only by Jim, but by the rest of the bridge crew. And I suspect that if I spoke to my scientists, I would discover that they, too, are part of the conspiracy."
"Ah," said McCoy. He bounced guiltily.
"I am aware that you, too, are part of this," Spock sighed. "I am confident that you, at least, will be blunt. You will not attempt to conceal the concealment."
"Damn straight," said McCoy. "I told 'em not to bother with secrecy, that it'd only get you riled, but what do I know?"
Spock gave a conciliatory hum and McCoy had him move from the bed to an exercise machine.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Take it from your doctor—a surprise is good for the soul!"
"Vulcans," said Spock drily, "have katras."
With his good health officially certified, Spock went to his quarters to await Jim's return. He was unsurprised when a rather chagrined captain came over the threshold.
"Well," said Spock.
"We are sorry," said Jim, hurrying over. He took Spock's hands in his. "We didn't mean to upset you."
"Just to hide something," Spock said. And then added, "I was not upset."
"Alright." He squeezed gently. "If I promise it's a good something, does that help?"
"Yes," said Spock, though he had been quite certain of that already. "Although I do not understand why it must be hidden."
"Does there have to be a reason?" Jim asked, or at least began to ask. Alas, he only made it to "be" before, likely seeing in Spock's eyes the impulse to bite, he changed tack. "I'm authorised to tell you that you'll know all about it in another hour."
Spock considered this, then nodded. "If I do not," he decided, "I will find Ensign Peters, and question him on the subject."
"Peters can't keep a secret to save his life!" said Jim, aghast.
"Precisely."
"Ah. Well." Jim chewed on his lip. Then he smiled, apparently catching Spock's eyes tracking the motion. "If I tell you in advance that I'm going to seduce you for nefarious purposes, will you go along with it?"
Spock had not realised that he was broadcasting the exact wording. He felt a blush warm the tips of his ears.
"Perhaps," he said. He let go of Jim's hands to shrug off his blue shirt. "We cannot know until the attempt is made."
Jim smiled, pulled off his command gold, and made the attempt.
Fifty-six minutes after Jim's arrival, Spock—having first been instructed to dress in off-duty clothing, and second to match his robe to Jim's shirt—was stood outside the lab Uhura had earlier prevented him from reaching.
"Jim," he said, with some small dread. "Will whatever is occurring within continue to disrupt normal function tomorrow?"
"No," Jim promised, with unreasonable amounts of amusement. He kissed Spock's cheek and added, "You know I'd never let anyone hurt your lab, Commander."
The possessive was illogical as the labs were property of Starfleet, but Spock was grateful for the reassurance. Enough so that he allowed Jim to hook their little fingers together as they entered the room—an act that would have been indecent on Vulcan, and aboard the Enterprise risked getting looks from Communications experts who knew too much.
It was immediately clear why the room had been subject to such stringent secrecy. The change was immense. All experiments and chemicals had been locked away and every surface sanitised in order for a large loaf of Ha Rageel and several plates could be brought into the room. The room had been decorated with red, blue, and gold balloons, and blue streamers hung from the ceiling. And above it all was a large banner—which must have taken some time to replicate—that read in large print, Happy Anniversary, Mr Spock!
All this, he was able to notice in the split-second before the assembled crowd, comprised of the bridge crew and his scientists, called out, "Surprised!"
Spock blinked twice.
"You have my thanks," he said, to all of them. "However, I do not understand the purpose of this celebration I cannot think of any anniversary that would be celebrated at this time."
He found himself surrounded, once again, by wide smiles and muffled laughter.
"I promise you, Mr Spock," said Scott, "it's a real anniversary. And a fine one, too!"
Confused, he looked at Jim. Jim shook his head, smiling. "It's alright, tal-kam. It'll come to you."
"Jim…"
"In the meantime," he said, raising his voice slightly, "I believe Lieutenant Uhura has a treat planned for us all."
Uhura, clad in elegant dress and fine jewellery, stepped forwards to thunderous applause. This, at last, Spock could understand and appreciate. Uhura's singing was beautiful, one of the greatest pleasures of the Enterprise—one that all the crew could appreciate.
She raised her hands for silence, then curved them into a dance.
Oh, on the starship Enterprise
There's someone who's in Satan's guise,
Whose devil ears and devil eyes
Could rip your heart from you!
Spock knew the song, recognised it immediately, and could not—and did not want to—stop the corners of his lips from beginning to lift. She had composed it, improvised it, early in the voyage, cementing the burgeoning friendship between them. He would enjoy hearing it again.
Oh, dear scientist, clad in blue,
Who stood in lab six-forty-two,
Right on the edge of great breakthrough…
Awake the whole night through!
That, Spock thought, was not part of the original song. But… Perhaps he was starting to recall…
Reactive metal in his grasp,
His lovely voice a sleepy rasp,
Begins to sway, the ensigns gasp,
His hand unclasps on cue!
"Ah," said Spock. He blushed, even as he ducked his chin to mask the irrepressible smile. He knew precisely the anniversary they had chosen. At the time he had been horrified, mortified.
Now, he saw that everyone else smiled with him.
It hits the ground and does explode,
As loud as large Klingon payload,
And poor Kirk's nerves it did erode—
Such harsh language did ensue!
And that's why all we astronauts,
All we wary astronauts,
Wait terrified and overwrought,
To find what he will do!
The room exploded into applause and laughter, and Uhura took a bow. "Thank you," she said, beaming. "Thank you kind sirs, lovely ladies, and beautiful beings. We are here, together, to celebrate a momentous occasion. On this day, four years ago, Mr Spock dropped his experiment and set off the first explosion of Captain Kirk's tenure!"
The applause turned to Spock. He raised a hand in acknowledgement, knowing it would please them.
"An explosion so impressive," Uhura continued, "that for the first and only time on record, Captain Kirk swore on ship-wide intercom!"
Jim went pink—clearly, he had not expected that particular tidbit to be brought up.
"Should this not be a joint anniversary?" Spock asked in an undertone. He remembered the language in question. So far, he had been unable to induce Jim to repeat it.
"It was your hard work that brought it about," Jim demurred.
He might have argued, but Uhura concluded her speech by asking, "Have you any words for us, Commander Spock?" and the room fell silent, awaiting him.
Spock looked over the crowd. Lieutenant Kaye had not been present for the incident in question and seemed enthralled; several of his ensigns were similarly enraptured. He affected a stern expression. "The occasion is inauspicious," he said. "Celebrating a disruptive, potentially dangerous lapse is illogical."
As the crowd cheered, he knew they understood. He was not upset in the least.
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.
Couple of days late, but if any of you are aware of the Philon fic awards, two (2!!!) of my fics have been nominated
First: if you aren't aware, go check them out, it's basically a recommended reading list of some of the best Spirk fic (and writers) of the year, and you get to vote for your faves!
Second: if you fancy reading my fics and possibly voting for them before people realise what a mistake they made putting me on there (XD), check them out below
Cruelty
Lessons in Seduction, Presented by S'chn T'gai Spock
(P.s. in all seriousness, if you nominated me thank you so much! It's amazing to be up there amongst brilliant writers who I admire so much <3)
“You’re not still sore about me failing to ask the Companion about its nature, are you?”
“No.” Spock blew out the candle and looked over, face conspicuously blank. “No, Jim. I understand that it was not the time.”
“But you’re sore about something.”
***
After meeting the Companion, Spock is having concerns.
I do not totally understand the emotion, but it obviously exists. The Companion loves you.
-Spock, Metamorphosis
“You’ve been avoiding me, Mr Spock.”
Spock barely twitched as Jim walked into the ornate room, though Jim hadn’t really expected him to. The scent of incense was heavy in the air, the candle on the altar half-burned; tell-tale signs of a meditating Spock. Probably he shouldn’t have come - Spock hadn’t invited him, he’d abused his override to get in - but Spock had been avoiding him for almost a week now. Apart from any… personal feelings Jim might have about it, and he did have a few, the fact was that he needed his first officer on form, ready to respond to anything.
Spock was distracted. That was the problem.
It wasn’t the first time. Spock’s fantastic mind could ponder several things at once; it was more than capable of overthinking things, of designing exquisitely logical ways of torturing itself.
Still. Most days Spock only needed a gentle push to start talking.
“You’re not still sore about me failing to ask the Companion about its nature, are you?”
“No.” Spock blew out the candle and looked over, face conspicuously blank. “No, Jim. I understand that it was not the time.”
“But you’re sore about something.”
Spock let out a soft sigh, unfolding himself from the meditation mat in one fluid motion. Jim took that as his cue to sit, perching himself on the edge of Spock’s soft bed.
Spock didn’t join him.
“Is it me?” Jim heard himself ask, and inwardly cursed. He sounded… needy. Insecure. But, then again, perhaps he was those things. On occasion. “Have I done something wrong, Spock?”
The blankness faded into guilt, then returned. A mask. The armour. “No. Nothing you have done. Simply…”
Something told Jim that this was far from simple. Probably the fact Spock had begun a sentence without knowing how it ought to end. Not his typical style.
“It is foolish,” Spock decided.
“Foolish?” Jim raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”
“All beings are. It is a universal constant.”
With that dire judgement, Spock took his rightful place at Jim’s side. Not touching him, but close enough that Jim felt some of his fears fade. Not all of them, but some.
“Will you tell me about your… foolishness?”
Spock closed his eyes, looking pained. “It is… not logical. It is born of emotion.”
I might have known.
“You are important to me. Part of me. T’hy’la.” Spock’s breath shuddered. “You know that I…”
“I know, Spock. I’ve never doubted it.”
“It is the Companion,” Spock said. “I have seen myself in her.”
Jim swallowed. There was a veritable wealth of possibilities that could follow such a statement, and he wasn’t particularly fond of any of them. For example: I have seen from the outside what happens when a logical being falls for a Human male, and I did not like it. Or perhaps, I have been forced to confront the fact that, like the Companion, we are both willing to die for the object of our affections, and this will inevitably place the crew in danger. Or maybe-
“We shall grow old and eventually die.”
Jim blinked. “I- Yes. At least, I hope we will. Grow old, I mean.” It was hardly guaranteed, after all.
“We cannot do it together.” Spock finally met his gaze, agonised, even as his voice remained steady. “Jim, we cannot grow old together.”
“Oh… Oh, Spock… ”
“The Companion was able to change her nature, become Human, but I cannot. I will always be Vulcan. The upper limit of my potential lifespan will always be higher than yours.”
“Potential,” Jim said, but he couldn’t follow that train of thought, not when it meant arguing that Spock might have a second less life than he deserved.
“Forgive me, Ashayam,” Spock said, and lifted Jim’s hand to gently kiss the knuckles. “I did not wish to upset you.”
“I’d rather you upset me than ignore me,” he said, but it wasn’t really a reproach.
Spock kissed him again. It wasn’t really a response.
Note: Please read the warnings in the Author's Note
Behold, my fic for @spirkevents Spirk in a Cave event! Within, Spock and James (of the mirrorverse variety) address the tension that has recently built between them and do something about it. In a cave.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
p.s., thank you @illegalpaladin for beta-ing <3 They have also written a fic for this event, and you should 100% go check it out!
And after mine and theirs, go see the rest, too! Treat yourself!
That meaning, too, was clear. If Jim said yes, he was surrendering himself to Spock for the remainder of the night. Letting go of command, letting go of the persona, letting go of the requirement that he be constantly prepared, constantly on alert. The flare of fear in his belly wasn’t unexpected, but he squashed it ruthlessly. He trusted Spock above all else. He wouldn’t do anything to suggest otherwise.
“I would,” he said. “I will.”
Spock shifted and kissed him again, right at the base of his spine. “I know what it is you miss from the Academy, Jim.”
***
Returning early from the strange 'amusement park', Jim struggles once more to relax.
That sounds like a painful reality.
-Spock, Shore Leave
For a moment, Jim had really considered staying. Staying with Ruth, reliving the sweetest memories of his youth, the gentle lovemaking and balmy summers of their time together, a nostalgia unspoiled even by the bitter recall of their eventual parting. Spock had even given his tacit permission; if he’d been unhappy with the idea, he’d never have left Jim alone there.
But it wasn’t the same. Now the shock had worn off, now the explanation had been given, it was near-impossible to see her as Ruth. He’d looked behind the curtain, spoiled the magician’s trick. She was no more the real Ruth than the Black Knight had been a nobleman, and he couldn’t delude himself. That part of his life was gone. There was no going back.
He’d paced the land a while longer, thinking as deeply as he could without summoning a replica. Why was it he wanted to go back? Was there anything, really, that he had at the Academy but lacked now? In truth, he had a great deal more than he’d had at the Academy. He had command. He had Enterprise.
And he had Spock.
Scotty seemed surprised to see him when he beamed back aboard, but he didn’t ask questions. Perhaps there was something in Jim’s manner that told him not to, perhaps he simply knew his friend and captain well enough to know when he wouldn’t want to talk. Either way, Jim was relieved, and he offered his chief engineer a smile as he left. A silent promise that he hadn’t left because of any trouble. If Scotty ever decided to take a break from his beloved technical manuals, the planet would be waiting for him.
Spock, too, seemed surprised to find Jim at his door. He raised an eyebrow, though he let Jim in without question, and he joined him at the chessboard when Jim sat.
“Do you wish to continue our game, Captain?”
“Not just yet, Spock.” Jim couldn’t explain it, the contemplative haze he seemed trapped in. What was it he wanted? What was it he lacked? “How do you think Bones is getting along with Yeoman Barrows?”
Another raised eyebrow, but Spock seemed willing enough to speculate. “I should imagine they are getting along adequately. Miss Barrows is an intelligent woman, despite her interest in the doctor. They shall have plenty of conversation topics available to them.”
“I’m not certain conversation was what they had in mind, Mr Spock,” he said, which earned him a quiet huff from his favourite prude. Though perfectly willing to engage in sexual behaviours himself, Spock hated nothing more than being forced to discuss it aloud. It was entirely unclear whether this was a side-effect of his upbringing, or simply Spock’s own personality.
“I had thought that you intended to remain planetside,” Spock said, neatly changing the subject. “May I ask what changed your mind?”
“You may,” said Jim, neatly ignoring Spock’s eyeroll.
“What changed your mind, Jim?”
“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “It all suddenly seemed… insubstantial. Unreal. I wanted… I needed something that was real.”
Spock watched him for a long moment. Jim tasted his own heart in his throat.
“I need something real, Spock.”
Spock rose silently, with all the grace of a cat. He moved until he was standing behind Jim’s seat, hands on his shoulders, fingers pushing just slightly into tense muscle. An echo of what happened - what Jim had thought was happening - on the bridge that morning. Spock’s clever hands pushed and pulled and caressed their way over Jim’s back, soothing away aches and worries week’s in the making. Jim started to slump, a wordless groan building in his throat, and Spock finally spoke.
“I could work more efficiently if you were lying down, Jim,” he said. He trailed a finger down the back of Jim’s neck. “Would you use my bed?”
“I would,” said Jim, throat slightly dry. He walked over dazed, as if he were in one of those Vulcan trances, and settled himself on his stomach. Spock tutted at him.
“Shirt, Jim.”
Oh.
Jim slipped his shirt off and resettled. He could hear Spock’s footsteps behind him - Spock must have been doing that on purpose, wary of startling him in this strange mood - and hid his face in the pillow. Something about this… He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, not with phasers to his head or knives to his throat. No one had ever been so capable of utterly destroying him than Spock.
He trusted Spock unconditionally.
He felt the bed dip under Spock’s weight, felt him arrange himself so he had best access to Jim’s body. Spock lowered himself enough that he was almost seated on Jim’s backside, except Jim could tell he hadn’t let even half his body weight fall on Jim. He ought to have said something, urged him to relax more, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.
“You have been too long on duty,” Spock said, working him over again. He seemed lazer-drawn to every strain and knot. He pushed just beneath Jim’s shoulder blade and Jim hissed. “You are Human. You require regular rest.”
“I’m fine, Spock,” he said into the pillow. He wasn’t sure if Spock’s swift movement to his lower back was punishment or not, but he moaned all the same. The stiffness intensified and then suddenly released; the relief was overwhelming, heady, made him dizzy.
“You deserve regular rest,” Spock said. His movements were gentle now. Every ache was soothed; he merely caressed Jim’s bare skin. Jim wondered what it was he felt in those Vulcan-sensitive hands. “You are as worthy of care and rest as any other man aboard this ship.”
“Spock…”
He was silenced as Spock pressed a kiss to the centre of his back. What could he say in the face of such treatment? He lay, silent and boneless, letting Spock kiss down the line of his spine. It was easy to imagine the look on Spock’s face, eyes half-lidded, mouth twitching into that slightly crooked smile he sometimes wore. That was why he allowed it, the unbalanced focus on him and his body; because it was so easy to remember that Spock wanted it. Was enjoying it.
“You are worthy of being taken care of,” Spock said. “If you will not do so yourself, I will do it myself.”
“I don’t need-” He broke off in a yelp as Spock nipped at his flesh with sharp teeth, then lapped apologetically at the place with his roughened tongue. The meaning was clear; objections would not be tolerated.
“Would you trust me to take care of you?”
That meaning, too, was clear. If Jim said yes, he was surrendering himself to Spock for the remainder of the night. Letting go of command, letting go of the persona, letting go of the requirement that he be constantly prepared, constantly on alert. The flare of fear in his belly wasn’t unexpected, but he squashed it ruthlessly. He trusted Spock above all else. He wouldn’t do anything to suggest otherwise.
“I would,” he said. “I will.”
Spock shifted and kissed him again, right at the base of his spine. “I know what it is you miss from the Academy, Jim.”
“What?”
“The Academy is guarded, watched over, protected. You rested knowing that you were safe.” There was sympathy in Spock’s voice, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Jim could not have accepted his words if they were born of pity. “Here, you are the last line of defence. You watch over the crew. You feel as if you cannot rest, for their sake.”
“I…”
“I believe your mind conjured Ruth because you recall her as a protector, a healer, as much as a lover. Someone who would watch over you as you watch over the ship.”
Jim swallowed. It was true that Ruth had been both guard and lover to him. She had been solace, a balm after the hate and rage that had characterised the last days - months - of his liaison with Janice. He had trusted her with his dreams, which at that time were rarely pleasant. He remembered that he woke, sometimes, to find her cradling him, attempting to soothe him.
“I am not she,” Spock said, with slight amusement, and Jim felt it too. No, Spock certainly wasn’t Ruth, or even like her. For one thing he couldn’t imagine Spock lounging in flowers - not without scientific reason, at least. “I am not she,” he said again. “But I will watch over you as you rest. If you would permit it.”
Was that what Spock wanted tonight? Jim had thought…
But it made sense. All at once the exhaustion overwhelmed him, and for the first time in far too long he lay there without pain. He could sleep.
“And what will you do?”
Spock didn’t answer immediately. He lay down first, on his stomach too, half his body on the bed, half draped over Jim like a weighted blanket. Jim had to admit that he liked it, the gentle pressure, the proof that someone was there.
“I will meditate,” he said. “It will be restful to me, but I will be aware. If there is danger, I will attend to it. If difficulties arise, I will solve them. You may rest, Jim, knowing that I have the watch.”
Story Title: Side effects of the use of chemical stimulants to speed up replacement of blood: a study of one
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60386563
Summary:
“Should I call Bones?”
“I would prefer that you did not.”
Jim snorted at that - any man would. Spock could be on his deathbed and he’d still decline Bones’ tender mercies. He heaved himself upright, suppressing the urge to wince, and said, “He’ll be here soon anyway. Anything you want to mention before he does?”
“Yes.” Spock, likewise, sat up. “I appear to be under some compulsion to speak the truth.”
*
There are consequences to using untested drugs to save your father's life, and Spock is about to meet them full throttle. Jim can only try and keep his too-honest Vulcan from insulting crew, ambassadors, admirals, and parents.
