Sprik all the way!

It is a well-known fact that the Vulcan species is highly evolved against the effects of common depressants, stimulants and narcotics. That is why it is problematic to try to use these drugs when the said Vulcan is in extreme pain or it is necessary to go into emergency surgery. However, this skill is useful when in the drinking establishments of other species and challenged by an inebriated individual to see whose digestive system could process the most alcohol, since the Vulcan system could do this 75.32% more efficiently than the average human victory was almost assured.

It is a widely believed myth that the effects of Theobroma cacao, or the main in ingredient in chocolate, a perplexing substance that human females refer to "heaven on earth", which in of itself is oxymoronic, causes intoxication in Vulcans. The Vulcan council spread this myth in order to draw suspicion away from the actual substance that causes intoxication among Vulcans, quite a logical idea I must admit. The substance that does cause this, at a rate 19.31% faster than alcohol in humans, is coffea pterocarpa. This is an extremely common species of the coffea genus, tasteless, and often used as a filler in grown coffee that had become an expensive, if useless, luxury throughout the known galaxy. This is why Vulcans normally avoided coffee, that and they found the drink distasteful. Personally, being half-human, the substance constructed by the simulator was neither disagreeable nor pleasant, though it did provide a short-term energy boost of 3.79% when ingested at high quantities. The product the replicator creates does not have the filler of the more expensive, grown coffee, and thus does not affect Vulcans.

This information, or lack thereof, is what led to the next chain of events.

"Mr. Spock, come with me," Said James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the enterprise for an exact total four months, 2 days and 13.7 hours. I did not find it necessary to reply, just simply nodded my head, and handed conn off to the beta shift. We had planned this meeting approximately 17.1 minutes prior to our departure from the bridge to discuss our current course of action. The door opened and we entered, and I took the seat next to the one the captain fell into the grace of a limping shuttle, with approximately 10.4% more force than necessary.

"Our current course is going to be a disaster Mr. Spock," Said Kirk, running his hands through his hair as he slammed his elbows on the table. I simply sat in my chosen chair and watched him rant while spinning in a most immature fashion. "This star pair is going to rip us apart. We can't take a detour around these god damn stars, and we can't alter warp now without missing our mark for mission arrival, and I can't get court marshaled again without getting suspended from the fleet! GAH!" he screamed in an extremely emotional display.

"Please be logical Mr. Kirk, the mission only has a 64.2% chance of failure," I say and pull out my PADD if only to placate him. "I will work on an equation for shield strength that could possibly allow for us to continue on our current trajectory." To my estimation, Kirk's eyes grew 1.5% in diameter.

"You'd do that for me Spock?" his voice had lost a few decibels since his previous outburst. He stops his ludicrous spinning along with dropping my preferred formality.

"It is the most logical course of action for this ship," I say and begin the early workings of the equation. His lips curl downwards as I propose a logical reason for me to create such a scenario. From then on, I mostly ignore Captain Kirk and precede to envelope my brain in the calm resource that is the standard number system. However, I remove just enough consciousness from the task to continue engaging my easily distracted superior officer.

"So," he says and begins his frivolously spinning again. I resist the urge to raise an eyebrow at the PADD.

"Yes Mr. Kirk?"

"Why don't I get us something to drink? It is time for a very late dinner," from the suggestive movement of his eyebrows, I assumed "drink" in fact meant an alcoholic substance.

"It is approximately 2:33:14 AM, Mr. Kirk," I replied to his statement in order to starve off the offer of a "drink". I found the poison most unpleasant.

"Oh," was his answer. "A very early breakfast then," and he got up from his seat and left the room. I sighed in reprieve of my emotional rigidity, his inability to remain still for an extended period of time was quite taxing on the small amount of consciousness I had allowed to remain in contact with him. At his departure I rescinded this offer, becoming totally engrossed in the work I had taken on in order to prevent his temporary suspension from the fleet. For a moment I found myself wondering if it would be more logical to in fact have him suspended from his position, allowing-

That is a most illogical thought of jealousy. Vulcans do not feel jealousy.

At that point approximately was when Mr. Krik slammed a cup of dark brown liquid beside my left hand. In his own he carried a pot of the fluid, and in his right he balanced a plate with eleven circular pastries missing their centers and smothered in a fine white powder. A human delicacy commonly referred to as "Doughnuts" though he had never seen this particular variety before.

"Drink up Spock, you're gonna neeed it," he said without correct grammar. I eyed the cup suspiciously, then glanced up at Captain Kirk.

"Vulcans do not drink coffee, we find it unpalatable." I swirled the cup with the tips of my fingers.

"Well, I just thought because it is nearly three in the morning, and you haven't slept in what, four days? I know Vulcans don't need sleep and all, but you're half human, and you could use some energy," he said and plucked the top doughnut from the stack. I contemplated his reasoning, and found it sound. The caffeine in the coffee would most certainly aid in stimulating my neurons.

"It could not hurt," and I took a sip while returning to my work.

It was around the end of the fourth cup that I made my first miscalculation, and halfway through the fifth before I realized this error. It is extremely rare for me to make such a mistake, and I looked up to inform Kirk that something was wrong when the room span 65.3 degrees before my eyes, doubling the amount of my Captain previously in the room. When my vision stabilized I immediately forwarded my work to both Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov, they would be able to complete the calculations. I returned my gaze to Mr. Kirk with much less rotation when there was a suspicious sound emanating from his near vicinity.

I found my vision assaulted by the image of my captain allowing the full length of his fingers into his mouth, each covered by the powdered sugar, and then releasing them with a pop, licked clean. Heat flushed my face and the tips of my ears tingled, and had to resist the urge to cover them. In Vulcan culture, this was bordering on pornographic. Unaware of my gaze he continued, at one point inspecting his palm and finding it unsatisfactorily dirty. He then extended his tongue and ran it across his inner hand. I could stand it no longer and stood as quickly as my muscles allow, causing the chair to slam back into the wall and the room to spin rapidly once again. I lost my balance and managed to get out one word

"Jim," before I began to fall. A strong hand caught my wrist, and I was righted on my feet by James Tiberius Kirk. I remember nothing past him asking what was wrong in my official log. However, since this is not going to star fleet for registration, I tell you that I do have memory past that point. Vulcans do not lie; we imply.

"What's gotten into you Spock? Are you all right?" I ask and right the Vulcan, peering into his dilated pupils.

"Something is not right Jim," I start at the use of my fist name.

"Jesus, you just called me Jim," I say and take a step back. The Vulcan puts a hand to his forehead in an uncharacteristic show of distress.

"I- I am unsure what is occurring with my bodily functions. I have eaten nor drank nothing unusual recently, and have not taken any medications for the past … I do not recall exactly how long." his eyes went huge at that revelation, and mine must of too because boy, Spock not recalling something to the fifth decimal place is akin with Armageddon in my book. That is about when I remember something faintly from a class I paid someone else to do for me… that Vulcans got drunk off some filler in coffee. Not that replicator crap, but real grown coffee, the stuff I had recently dug out of my personal stash to make that pot Spock had drank nearly all of in the past two hours. I start laughing. Hey, when I'm stressed I laugh all right? It is not that I found my extremely uptight officer being smashed the funniest thing in the galaxy. I didn't really, because he still hadn't slurred a single word, or tried to get any one out of their pants. Just imagining Spock trying to get someone out of their pants made me laugh harder, until I was clutching my knees.

"What is it that you find so hilarious, Captain," his voice was like ice cubes running down my spine, but I still spluttered when I broke the news to him.

"Your plastered Spock," and I slapped his shoulder. Which of course caused him to stumble backward, trip on the chair, and his skull made a dangerous trail to smash itself open on the door frame. So I did the natural thing and grabbed his hand, pulling him back to his feet. Another random Vulcan fact surfaced in my brain. Hand-holding was equal to making out with all the plusses.

Spock's already enlarged pupils shot to the edges of his irises, turning his chocolate eyes black. A small sound escaped his lips, something between a purr and groan. I have to admit, it was pretty hot. I eased him back into the chair and sat down next to him.

"Jim," he muttered, holding out his hand. "Repeat that action." I smiled at his Spock way of begging for more. I didn't mind really, pleasuring my first officer had been on my mind for too long for comfort. He was the first and only guy, Vulcan, I had ever been attracted too. Well, excluding Bones that one time at that party… but I was so sloshed and he had been the closest thing with lips. For that I had gotten a beer bottle broken over my head. Damn neurotic doctors with southern sensibilities. But back to my hand make-out session with my first officer.

I took his hand in mine, lacing my fingers painfully slow through his own, making sure to brush a fingertip with each pass. His own hand twisted sideways and pulled back a little before pushing his fingers back through my own with another sharp twist. He bit his lip as I responded in kind, removing the locked fingers before curling them down under Spock's faintly olivine hand. I pulled his hand up to my mouth and straightened my own hand, forcing his fingers to straighten. Softly, as not to scare him off, I wrapped my lips around the tip of his index finger and flicked my tongue against the impossibly hot skin.

His eyes rolled up into his skull as he threw his head back and moaned. Spock, moaning. Let's just say I found myself incredibly turned on. So much so that I did just what I had seen him ogling at a few minutes ago with the doughnut. The texture differential between my tongue and his smooth skin just set him off, and he made the purring noise again. It rumbled up from his chest and flitted past his lips. Oh I had totally forgotten about those slightly green beauties. Just as I was leaning in though, Spock's eyes snapped open, and his back went rigid. He parted his lips slightly as if to say something extremely condescending about the state of my mental capacity for actually believing he wanted me to kiss him when I was shoved with such force into the wall I think I blacked out for a second or two. When I came around however, a set of lips were pressed to mine and moving softly against my own. I whimpered against him rather pathetically I admit. What? He was bruising my shoulders. He pulled away, and I trailed after him, trying to catch his lip in my teeth.

"Wa- was that to your satisfaction Jim?" he said, panted, though his searing breath tickled my nose. "I am not familiar with the exact science in human 'kissing'." I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up and kiss me again when the automatic door swished open.

"Aye Spock you in 'ere? Me and this kid got a question about your-" Scotty looked up from his PADD and saw Spock pressing me into the wall with our lips suspiciously close together and my hands tangled in his hair and his thigh pressed between mine. Too bad I couldn't pretend he was trying to kill me again.

Scotty's eyes got about as wide as saucers and he backed up, clapping a hand over Chekov's eyes, poor kid. He made a squeaking sound in Russian as the Scott shoved him out the door.

"Well, I'll leave ya too it then," his burr had gotten heavier in shock. The door closed again. Spock seemed to be in shock, stuck in the position he was in. I sighed and shoved his chest. I was surprised with the little amount of resistance. He toppled back in to the chair, a little pink around the gills. But instead of vomiting, his eyes fluttered close and he passed dead away into the land of the sleeping.

"Someone can't hold their coffee all that well," I said and began whistling, searching through the board room for a marker to draw on his face with. That is what he got for bruising my shoulders, and giving me a concussion, and being drunk when he kissed me instead of actually wanting it.

Pointy eared bastard.

I wrote this after wondering late at night what would get Vulcans drunk and what would turn Vulcans on, so this is where I got. All the genus names are real, but what they do is totally made up. Also, I know how Vulcans really hand kiss with the two finger touch thing… but I felt it needed to be more erotic. See finger touching is like lip brushing, hand holding normal kissing, and my thing a version of frenching. Sorry about switching POV's halfway through but I felt kirk would be better for describing the second half since Spock has always come off as prude.

Well thanks for reading! Please Review!