Authoress' Notes:
One of my best friends is in Florida visiting with family for a few days ('nee-sama, come back! ;-;). She just texted me, thus:
"'Run Spock! They're almost out of carrots!' -greatest thing I heard all day. Zookeeper to a giraffe. Put it in a fanfic, please?"
Okay, first of all-- I want a giraffe named Spock! That's adorable!
Second... who am I to refuse?
DISCLAIMER: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
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Carrots
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"Run, Spock! They're almost out of carrots!"
Not for the first time, Spock wondered if his captain was mentally unsound, or if this was more of that "hyper" business Ensign Chekov had tried so fruitlessly to explain. "Captain, I assure you-- should the salad bar become depleted in any way, the staff will utilize the replicators to replenish their vegetable stocks shortly."
"But, as your captain, I'm ordering you to bring me some carrots now. You wouldn't want to disobey a direct order and make your captain wait for his carrots, would you?" Kirk grinned, that slightly lopsided, winning smirk that Spock (secretly; very secretly) loved to see.
Staying long enough to quirk an eyebrow and give his captain a look that questioned his intelligence, sanity and upbringing all at once, Spock rose from the table. When the captain wanted carrots, he wanted them now. Spock had long since given up analyzing the subtextual implications of Kirk's love for a vegetable approximately the length and width of an erect human phallus. Sighing quietly, he moved forward in the line, picked up a bowl, and had soon filled it with carrot sticks. Returning to the table, he placed the bowl-- the fifth bowl of carrot sticks today-- before his captain and returned to his own salad.
Spock had, in all his years living on Earth, found few human foods that could truly qualify as "delicious," but cucumbers were a noted exception. Choosing to ignore the subtextual implications presented by his own vegetable preferences, he slid three crisp, cool slices of the vegetable, lightly coated in ranch dressing (another Earth favorite of his) from his fork into his mouth and chewed with relish. His eyes slid closed in a rare display of pleasure.
Within moments, however, the distinct feeling of being watched made him slide his eyes back open, to focus on his captain, and within seconds an eyebrow was quirked at full force.
Kirk was staring directly into his eyes, slowly and purposefully licking away the white dressing (Caesar, if memory served) that dripped down the carrot stick held delicately in his hand. Unsure how to react, Spock tilted his head slightly to the right, giving the other man a quizzical look. He found himself unable to maintain his cool, unruffled expression, however, as Kirk's lips slid down over the tip of the vegetable and sucked.
Clearing his throat, Spock stood rather more quickly than he normally would have. "Forgive me captain, but I believe my lunch has run a bit longer than I'd planned." Nodding curtly in farewell, he walked to the door of the establishment, pausing to place his empty tray in the appropriate stack, and exited the building.
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Jim grinned, crunching happily on his carrot stick. Vulcan-baiting was an incredibly under-appreciated game. And if the Vulcan in question should take the bait-- the carrot, as it were-- well, who was he to complain?
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Gah, that was fun to write! x) I feel like I'm almost duty-bound to write a follow-up about the metaphorical stick, but I can see where that'd go, and I'm bad at writing smut. I'll have to work on it.
Okay, so I'm used to picturing baby carrot sticks, but I think the mental images work out better if you think of those big ones you might see in cafeterias or whatever.
Just for the record, my favorite name for this couple is Kock. :D It makes me giggle.
Please review!
