As promised, a continuation of "Demolition Lovers." There will be eight chapters following this one, the prologue. I promised answers, and here you have them.
The communicator buzzes again, and his first thought is doesn't anyone believe in sleep anymore? Thinks this even before he's really awake. Spock's hand shifts on his back, stroking down his spine.
"Captain."
Fuck.
Jim looks up at his First Officer, who is in fully-awake, completely-professional mode, even though he's got Jim naked and curled tight around him. Which tells him that, okay, it's time to get up and be a Captain now. Double fuck.
So he reaches over Spock and turns on the audio. "Kirk here," he says, voice edged with sleep.
"Captain—"
But Uhura doesn't have time to finish before the door is sliding open with a sharp hiss and Bones is storming in.
"What the fuck, Bones?"
Spock curls a protective hand around Jim's arm, which McCoy, to his credit, ignores. From the look on the doctor's face, though, it's only because the shit's just hit the fan.
"Jim, it's the Romulans."
Triple fuck.
Jim jumps out of bed, picking up his pants from where he'd tossed them to the floor the night before. "I need someone from Starfleet, preferably Pike, and the Ambassador," he barks into the communicator over whatever Uhura had been saying.
She stops dead. "Yes, sir."
Jim cuts the transmission and turns, away from Bones. "Spock…"
But Spock's expression has gone completely blank, eyes betraying only slight emotion. All right. "Bridge then."
Spock nods his assent, following Jim to the turbolift. When Jim reaches to press a kiss to his fingers, Spock pulls away. There is something very wrong out there. Something very, very wrong.