Green

Had Spock been more human, he would have been confused. This was the twentieth time today he had seen one of his human crewmates be pinched by another for no perceivable reason. There was a consistent pattern to each incident: the human initiating the pinch was, fifteen times of twenty, wearing something green on their person, while the human receiving the pinch was not wearing anything green.

Perhaps this was merely a human tradition he was unaware of. Humans had many illogical holidays with equally illogical traditions to them. Reasonably, if he must know, he would ask Uhura later.

But, for now, he mused, I am immune to this practice, because I am not human.

Well, not entirely human.

The doors to his quarters slipped open, and immediately Spock felt his mind relax away from the constant pressure of emotions. Familiar surroundings were incredibly comforting, as was the promise of leisure activities in off-duty time. The two lulled him, dulled his senses to the outside.

Spock dropped into the nearest chair and removed his shoes, allowing himself a small smile when they came off. He would never admit it aloud, but as much as he enjoyed his position as First Officer, he would have equally enjoyed himself simply remaining part of the science team. It would have given him more time to himself—more time to read and to think.

And less time around James Tiberius Kirk. Spock reached for his book, frowning slightly. Since the Narada's destruction, he and Kirk had become friends, to the point that Kirk would save him a seat at the mess during lunchtime and regale him with stories about his sexual conquests of multiple women. But lately, whenever they were on the bridge and working in close proximity, Spock would feel Kirk's arm brush against his, and his senses would light up. Even the memory made his fingertips tingle with the electricity of feeling.

Spock shook his head and turned to his bookmarked page. The whole thing was utterly illogical. Pon farr was not meant to occur for another two years, and even in such a case a suitable mate would be chosen for the event. Precisely, a female would be chosen for him. There was no way that these flickers of feeling, however constant, were symbolic of something more.

Right?

Spock quashed his emotion and buried himself in his book. No matter how physiologically stimulating a touch from James Kirk was, the logic of Sherlock Holmes could wipe it away.

oOoOo

Spock was halfway through The Copper Beeches when his concentration was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious knock on his door.

He allowed himself a little huff. Very likely it was one of the newer recruits needing technological assistance. Perhaps if I ignore it, he thought hopefully, it will go away.

The door was quiet. Spock relaxed again, and started back on the paragraph he had been—

The knocking came again, louder and more obnoxiously. Spock would not have thought that possible if he hadn't heard a very familiar voice on the other side of the door, murmuring his name too quietly for human ears to pick up.

It just had to be him. Trying to keep his cheeks from burning, Spock slammed the book shut and started for the door, most dissatisfied that he couldn't throw it open.

Kirk almost fell into the room when the door opened, and would have smashed his face in the floor had Spock not caught him last minute. The human was grinning stupidly, the air around him reeking like a bottle of Vulcan wine. Spock was tempted to nerve-pinch him where he stood; he could handle the unconscious drooling better than that stupid expression on his face.

"Spock…"

Spock's jaw tensed, using every ounce of self-control not to blush. Kirk had to speak, had to say his name like he was moaning it. Every time he spoke. If Spock ever had the presence of mind, he would record a moment like this, and then tape Kirk's mouth shut.

Kirk was still grinning. A lock of Kirk's blond hair, usually so neat, fell in his face as he looked up at Spock. "Why are you all alone tonight?" he slurred, attempting to stand.

Spock held onto Kirk's shoulder, passively helping him up. "I wished to be, Captain."

"You could celebrate with us," Kirk hiccupped. "Look how happy it made me!"

Spock shook his head. "Captain, you may cease your attempt to fool me."

Kirk looked confused, or as confused as he could with his facial muscles mostly slack. "What?"

"You have not been drinking tonight. You have merely been sitting in the mess hall with our crewmates, who have been imbibing."

Kirk's expression changed entirely, so that he was scowling and looking surprisingly sober. "How the hell did you know, Spock?"

"I believe I once assisted you at a starbase and kept you from vomiting on your uniform in the aftermath."

"Damn. Should never have brought you with me."

Spock's lip curled slightly. "You could not help it. Nonetheless, the fact that your mental capabilities were intact for eighty percent of the time was impressive, to say the least."

Kirk waved his hand and flopped inelegantly onto Spock's chair. His legs draped over one of the arms, and had Spock been more human, he may well have wolf-whistled in appreciation.

Spock walked past him, back straight as a rod. "Out of the chair." Before I really do whistle.

Kirk rolled his eyes but did not move. "Second time you've told me that," he commented. "Who says I'm going to listen this time?"

"Then while you are occupying my spot, you can answer a personal query."

"Yes?"

"Why did you attempt to appear inebriated? It is…" Spock hesitated. "Illogical."

Kirk sat up slightly, and looked Spock square in the face. "First, I wanted to bond with the crew—"

"By feigning drunkenness," Spock interrupted.

"—and the fast way to do that was pretend I was getting as wasted as they were. Second, I would have loved to drink myself into a Saint Paddy's day stupor, but someone has to be awake to pilot the ship. And third, I thought it'd be funny psyching you out like that."

"You realize I am unfamiliar with the majority of human vernacular."

"Playing a prank, Spock," came the irritated answer.

"Ah." There was a silence as Kirk settled further into Spock's chair, and Spock wondered if he would ever be able to sit in it again without flushing. Then, the Vulcan spoke. "What is Saint Paddy's day?"

"Human holiday," Kirk answered gloomily. He was fiddling with the bookmark—which highly displeased Spock, because now he was down a chair and a favorite bookmark. "It used to have some religious meaning to it, but now it's the day of the year we get a free pass to wear green and drink like fish."

Green. A back corner of Spock's brain lit up. "Would that explain the twenty or so cases of pinching I witnessed today?"

"Yeah. The tradition goes…"

A sudden, slow grin spread over Kirk's face. He stood up slowly and walked towards Spock, coming so close the Vulcan found himself backing away to keep their chests from touching. Kirk seemed taller than usual, more confident. More attractive.

A lump came into Spock's throat, and he swallowed over it to speak. "The tradition, Captain?" he asked, voice inexplicably hoarse.

"The tradition goes," Kirk began again, his voice low and almost purring, "is that if someone isn't wearing green on Saint Patrick's Day, they get pinched. Because leprechauns can see them, you know," he added with a dazzling smile.

Spock was having difficulty thinking with that smile directed at him, with his eyes on Kirk's mouth. "Leprechauns? Highly illogical."

"That's the tradition, Spock. Has no one pinched you yet?"

Oh dear. "No, Captain. I am Vulcan, remember? I am immune to—"

"Half-Vulcan, Spock. Not immune." He was leaning in, his face like a Grecian sculpture coming closer and closer…

And then he was gone, a yard and a half away, with Spock leaning forward to where Kirk had been not twenty seconds before. Kirk himself was still smiling, more deviously than before. "I'll make you a deal, Spock. If you turn green, I won't pinch you."

"You cannot make me turn green," Spock answered coldly. He straightened, covering his bluff as best as possible, and yanked the creases from his uniform front. "At best you could give my cheeks a greenish tint, like a human's blush gives his cheeks a pinkish tint. In any case, I have more control over my emotions than that," he added emphatically.

Kirk's grin faded, replaced by an expression of utmost seriousness that was somehow more dangerous and devious than his smile. "Really, Spock?" he murmured.

Spock swallowed again, fighting the impulse to blush. "Yes, Captain. Really."

Kirk shook his head. "That's too bad," he said, turning towards Spock's bed with a nonchalant shrug. "I was hoping there would've been some way to keep me from pinching you."

Then he pulled the top half of his uniform over his head and threw it to the floor.

Spock's eyes flew wide open, and his jaw clenched shut so tightly he thought his teeth might crack from the force. A shiver sped uncontrolled down his spine. This was…this was illogical. Never mind illogical, it was impossible. This must be a dream.

Kirk turned his head back to Spock, running a hand through his hair so it became attractively disheveled. His eyes roamed Spock's face, searching for the blush that did not come and locking eyes with him numerous times. "Perhaps I should be trying harder?" he asked lightly, and Spock saw his hand drop towards the zipper on his trousers.

Spock held his hands up frantically. "Don't, Jim."

Immediately he regretted using his name. Kirk's hand fell away, and he closed the distance between them once more, moving so slowly and so controlled that Spock couldn't help but watch—watched his tanned chest rise and fall from his breathing, watched the almost imperceptible line of hair trail down his navel and further—

"Don't," Spock whispered. They were close again.

"What are you begging me for, Spock?" asked Kirk, without smiling. "I've done nothing, and neither have you."

"Do not press me, Captain."

Kirk shook his head, gazing deep into Spock's eyes. "Spock," he said, and the Vulcan shivered again as he said his name. "Do you any idea how much that turns me on?"

And his lips were suddenly pressed against Spock's, soft and cool against the hot blood rushing to Spock's face. The touch was more than Spock had ever experienced, like a small explosion had been set off inside his chest. He made to pull away, to protest, but Kirk held him close, wrapping an arm snugly around the Vulcan's waist and letting his other hand roam freely across his chest. Spock shivered in Kirk's arms, let his hand brush his shoulders and neck, let Kirk's mouth leave his and kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his ears…

"Jim," Spock breathed.

Kirk purred and licked the pointed end of Spock's ear. "You lost the bet," he hissed back, touching his fingertips to the Vulcan's face. "You're green now."

"James," Spock said again, stifling an appreciative moan when Kirk kissed his earlobe. "Why?…"

Another lick, this time at his neck. "I want to." Then Kirk's ministrations ceased and he Spock square in the face, his eyes wide and glimmering sky-blue. "I've wanted to for the longest time. You have no idea."

Spock thought for a second that he did know, but Kirk—Jim now?—Jim claimed his mouth again, more demandingly, and with tongue flickering over his bottom lip that made Spock want to melt away. Their hands met, touching palm to palm, and Spock gasped a little as he felt Jim's emotions rage through his mind: Spock, want, please, lust, want, please, Spock, need—

Spock whimpered, the heat of the human emotion too overpowering to resist. Jim kissed even more passionately, and their tongues touched and tangled in a delicious hot mess, until they were at best pawing each other's chests and Jim was fumbling for the hem of Spock's shirt, trying, needing him, needing to feel—

The Vulcan reeled back, hands on Kirk's chest, pushing away for air. "I need to know," he panted, "how much you mean it."

"I'll show you," Kirk growled, bending his head to take Spock's neck.

"Nnn." With difficulty, Spock pushed them apart again and seized Kirk's hands by the wrist. They locked eyes, Kirk's wild with hunger and desire, and Spock's eyes wide and trying to maintain sanity.

"Jim. I need to know you mean it."

Something seemed to click in Kirk's brain, and his arms fell away, as did the rest of him. He didn't say anything, and for a minute a flash of fear ran through Spock's brain—had it meant nothing to him?

Kirk must have seen it, because then he was there, gently touching Spock's face, little threads of comfort and warmth stretching across their linking minds. When Kirk spoke, it was softer and gentler than it had been all night. "I would rather lose captaincy," he murmured, "would rather lose this ship, than lie to you, Spock."

"You are not known for your fidelity with women—"

"Spock." Jim's eyes were suddenly pained at the idea. "Never like that."

Spock watched him carefully. "I will hold you to your promise, James Tiberius K—"

Jim's mouth was at his again, kissing softly over and over until whatever Spock had planned to say mattered nothing to him. With a sudden burst of energy, Spock picked Jim up into his arms, making the blond chuckle as he hung on to him. "What was that about?"

"It is tradition for the male Vulcan to initiate the mating rituals," Spock answered, blushing green as Jim's legs wrapped around his waist.

"Mm." Jim's hands ran through Spock's space-black hair, his thumbs caressing the pointed Vulcan ears. "You and your traditions."

"And you and yours," Spock returned, belatedly noticing an emerald shamrock pendent lying on the floor as he carried Kirk towards his private quarters.

Author's Note: For the lovely Conner, tag on Fanfiction being xladyjagsvolleyball16x, as a gift for no real reason but to make her spring break very enjoyable. Also my first real crack at Spirk or K/S fiction, and my first legitimate fiction period. I'm very, very tempted to write another chapter full of smut, but then I'd have to change the rating! Maybe next St. Paddy's Day. :)

Hope everyone enjoys! Happy Leprechaun Day!