A.N: Ok, another wee fic-let that took hold of my brain.

Not much and in a different style then I'm used to.

No Beta, So let me know if I've missed any typos or errors.

Reviews are always welcome, Flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

Disclaimer: Wish it was mine, but it isn't. I've been forced to accept this as my lot in life.


Communications Officer Nyota Uhura was the logical choice.

It was a logical progression.

Her level of intellect and professionalism was unsurpassed by the humans he'd come in contact with. Her logical behavior and composure were near Vulcan standards, and if Nyota had moments of illogic and emotionalism, Spock was prepared to accept them.

They were well matched.

He could find enjoyment in the way Nyota's eyes softened under the press of her emotions, her voice a soothing caress no matter what she said.

Time spent with her allowed him to relax, to let go of some of his rigid control, in her presence he found that very few impulses arose.

Communications Officer Nyota Uhura's skin was chocolate brown, smooth like velvet and always cool to his touch.

It was logical to appreciated the way her dark eyes were muted, always regarding him with gentle emotion.

He was Vulcan, vividly displayed emotions were to be discouraged.

It was completely logical to accept that Uhura's mind would always be languid under his touch, calm and tranquil to his telepathic senses.

Captain James Tiberius Kirk would never be a logical choice.

It was pure illogical desire.

His captain's intelligence was only surpassed by his recklessness and immaturity, his emotions flared and danced with no visible attempts at control, and when Kirk had moments of logic and composure, Spock didn't know how to accept it.

They were polar opposites.

He should not enjoy the way Kirk's eyes lit up as chaos erupted around them, his voice taking on a, disturbingly thrilling, note of pure command.

Time spent near Kirk made his body vibrate with a tension he'd never felt before, as he constantly suppressed the impulses that wracked his control.

Captain James Tiberius Kirk's skin was golden pale, faintly textured with old scars, and when Spock touched him, it felt like Kirk's skin was on fire.

It was illogical to have his breath constantly stolen by a pair of blue eyes that always burned, searing with passion.

He was Vulcan, such responses should have been controlled.

It was purely illogical to know that Kirk's mind was the sweetest electricity hiding under skin, dangerous and hauntingly seductive to his telepathic senses.

Between what was logical and illogical, It should have been so simple.

Somehow, Spock had never felt so torn.