Strains of soft ballroom music swished through the hall, causing skirts to be adjusted and hair to be swept back, tugging on the senses of prospective partners. Many pairs already scuffed the floor with their feet, and more still were seeking each other out and pulling their silken dress robes closer. Countless silent looks were exchanged. Small secret smiles sparkled on lips about to meet. Even those who slouched alone could sense the slow swirling of intimacy in the air.

It was a jarring feeling.

The recently promoted Captain Kirk was more aware than anyone on the dance floor of the pain of being alone. His new dress uniform was too tight around his chest, and too long on his arms. The gilded collar bit into his neck. And no matter how hard he looked, no one was giving him those sultry, excited gazes that followed him at all social functions. Yes, there were admiring glances shot in his direction, but their hands rested on other people's bodies…

Kirk continued scanning for someone to talk to, at least. The commodore was dancing with a blonde yeoman whose beehive hairstyle was almost as tall as he. He spotted Bones, also dancing, with a silly grin on his face. He caught Kirk's eye and gave a suggestive wink in the girl's direction before disappearing into the crowd. Kirk felt jealousy coiling heavily in his chest, but it was tempered by amusement at his Academy friend's blatant skirt-chasing. It was doomed to fail, of course, he thought humorously. Well, perhaps McCoy would be lucky. The air was bursting with sensations of assurance, the music whispering that you will be lucky, you'll find someone, you'll not sleep alone.

The messages pounding in his head, Kirk turned and began to walk slowly along the wall, looking at the pointed toes of his boots. His new crew was scattered in that happy crowd, soothed by the songs that hissed painfully in his ears. What a humiliation, to appear as one of those stuck-up Starfleet officers, someone who didn't deign to dance!

Kirk's only warning was another pair of boots appearing in his field of vision, and then he abruptly crashed into someone. The collision almost knocked him off his feet, but the other person grabbed his arms firmly and hauled him upright. For just a few seconds too long, he was staring directly into the eyes of a handsome Vulcan. He stammered apologies as he let go, still looking at him.

"It is quite alright, Captain." The Vulcan was just an inch or two taller than him, with black hair that was cropped short just above his angled eyebrows and pointed ears. Something about him didn't look fully Vulcan, though—Kirk couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was different. Maybe his bearing was just a little off, a tiny bit too arrogant. The captain knew him, too, and the name flashed through his head only seconds after making this observation.

"Mr. Spock, isn't it?" His first officer. Kirk tried to be suave. "Well, it's a pity that our first meeting outside of the briefing room had to be like this." His attempt did not succeed. He almost held out his hand to shake, but only just remembered that you didn't do that with Vulcans.

Spock raised his left eyebrow, giving his otherwise emotionless visage an endearingly sarcastic angle. "Indeed." He tried to pull his gaze away from Kirk's, but the captain couldn't take his eyes off his face. "I understand the Enterprise is your first command."

"Yes, true." Sensing the awkwardness, Kirk finally looked away, casting his eyes across the hall. The exotic dark eyes of the Vulcan seemed to be imprinted on his visual memory. He smiled to himself. At least his first officer was physically attractive. Struck by a sudden impulse, he turned back to Spock, and asked, "Do you dance, Mr. Spock?"

Spock lifted his eyebrow again, and Kirk smiled at his charming appearance. "Not if I can help it." He saw Kirk's smile falter, and explained. "Dancing is a human entertainment. I am Vulcan, as you can see." His face and tone became even more ironic, and he added, "Although, if you demand it, Captain, I do know various classic Earth waltzes."

Kirk shrugged, twisting his face up into an indifferent pout. "Why not?" He stepped in front of Spock and reached for his waist. At the same time, Spock reached for his, and their hands bumped. Kirk read the confusion in his dark eyes and quickly switched his grip to the Vulcan's shoulder, allowing him to lead. So settled, they stepped out onto the dance floor.

The awkwardness did not decrease considerably from when he was standing alone. Spock was not an excellent dancer, and his uneven steps occasionally caused them both to trip over their heels. What's more, he held hands formally, grasping the wrist. It sent shocks of pain up from Kirk's twisted wrist, but it would be a massive breach of Vulcan etiquette to actually hold hands. But it did give him something that he'd wished for—to be able to constantly look up into those dark eyes, to see them looking back, if without passion.

A song or two passed this way, without speaking. Kirk eventually realized that simply staring into someone's eyes without saying anything was also not proper, and asked, "Have you served on many starships?"

"Yes. I was also the Science Officer beneath Captain Pike." Still no sign of emotion.

"The previous captain of the Enterprise."

"Yes." Spock's eyes were fixed on a point just above Kirk's head.

"I understand he was accepted as one of Starfleet's finest captains."

For once, Spock looked down and met Kirk's stare. "That is true." He paused briefly, and said with a slight slant of his head, "Hopefully you will be able to meet his accomplishments."

Kirk smiled and said, "I plan to." He kept smiling, and then turned his hand around to grab Spock's hand.

There was a reason why handholding was forbidden among casual acquaintances. Vulcans belonged to the type of telepaths known as kinesthetic, or touch, telepaths. With enough mental focus, the slightest contact was enough to convey thoughts and feelings. Most Vulcans could communicate telepathy best through their hands, and many had extremely sensitive hands. The least hand touch was one of the highest forms of intimacy for them. These Vulcans often wore gloves to protect themselves from being suddenly thrown into a mind-meld in the course of a normal day. Gloves were against Starfleet uniform regulations.

Kirk could see a bright green blush spreading across Spock's cheeks, and he tried to pull his fingers free of the captain's grip. He had a brief flash of his feelings, rushing with panic and excitement, before he blocked off his thoughts. His dark eyes continued to look into Kirk's, and there were flickers of suspicion and fear and, strangely, interest, where there once had been black-brown night. Kirk gave his hand a half-reassuring squeeze, and he blushed to the tips of his pointed ears.

The dance continued on through the night, and the captain and his first officer didn't step out. Spock had long since stopped trying to pull his hand free, and Kirk was meanwhile content to stare up into his eyes. Maybe after so long, the Vulcan's mental walls had slipped, a small amount, and that was what let them stand so close, and dance so in sync. As the reassuring songs began to soften and fade, and couples began to drift off the stage, they came to their senses. They stopped, and looked strangely at each other, as if their memories had slipped away. Kirk stepped back, and Spock finally drew his hand loose. His blush appeared again, and he rubbed his fingers while staring suspiciously at the captain. Kirk immediately felt a wave of painful remorse—the ship hadn't even left the starbase yet and he'd already practically sexually harassed his first officer! He staggered back a few steps, and almost ran out of the dance hall. He hoped, desperately, that McCoy or the commodore hadn't been watching. Hell, anyone who'd seen could almost ruin his reputation. Embarrassment devoured him from within as he speedwalked to his quarters.

Spock was slower to leave the dance, but he still tried to get away from the crowds as quickly as he could. He turned down an empty corridor and leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths.

He knew that such a casual touch shouldn't affect him in this way, but he was very…sensitive. As far as he could tell, his human blood had freed him from the struggles of Pon Farr—so far. But without its releasing madness, the stress and tension and sexual frustration tended to build up…

He rubbed his hands again, trying to hide his panic, and glanced desperately around the corridor. It was empty, and the streams of people returning from the dance had thinned considerably. Trying to drive out the memory of the captain's smile, he rejoined them slowly, cautiously.

While walking, he jostled a human male, shorter than him, with a similar blue dress uniform. Spock could sense his eyes on him, but ignored him, until a querulous voice called out, "Hey, where's your partner?"

Spock stopped and turned back to see a middle-aged man, compact, with dark hair and eyes that blazed very blue in his lined face. "What partner?" he asked coolly, and noticed that the man—doctor, by his insignia—had a girl dangling from his arm. So did everyone leaving the dance.

"Why, your partner. You know. Spock, isn't it?" The doctor squinted up at the Vulcan. "Huh. I thought I saw you dancing with Jim."

Spock felt his pulse quicken, and he had to fight even harder to quash his seething emotions. He must be talking about the captain, flashed through his head despite his struggle to keep calm. He raised an eyebrow and fixed the doctor with a piercing stare. "Just a single dance doesn't mean that we will be sleeping together," he said, telling off both the prying doctor and his own suppressed passions.

Blatant shock wrote its way across the doctor's face. "What are you, some kind of computer?"

"Merely a Vulcan, Doctor. However, I must thank you for the compliment." Spock was inexplicably amused by the doctor's comments, and also refreshed by the simple pleasure of debate.

"Don't you even have a heart?"

"Of course I do, Doctor." Spock turned and swept away, feeling somewhat more confident in his detached mien. He had nothing to worry about. His attraction to the captain could be submerged easily. There was nothing to worry about.

Even as he thought this, his hand tingled with the memory of the firm grip holding it, and a strange warm sensation spread through his insides.

Thank you all for your feedback! I have obviously decided to continue it, and I think I will have lots of fun working on this. The original version of the first chapter has been edited and deleted, and here is the new and (hopefully) better version.

Please review and enjoy!