Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Star Trek: AOS. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Creative Applications

Only when he transferred his possessions to Nyota's quarters did he learn he had not, as believed, returned all of the novels.

"Spock," Nyota said.

Occupied as he was with the task of reassembling one of the more delicate pieces of diagnostic equipment, he did not immediately respond; the components were fragile and needed to be fitted together with exacting precision.

"Spock," she said. Her voice trembled.

He looked up.

"What," Nyota said, holding her hand up, thumb pressed tight against the cover, "is this?"

He tipped his eyebrow slightly. "I believe it is a book," he said.

"Oh, it is. But not just any book," Nyota said, the corners of her mouth curling up, up, irrepressibly up. She flipped the book over and read in slow and triumphant tones: "The Pirate King's Virgin Bride. 'Stolen from her wedding by a king of the sea, will Mary find her heart stolen as well?'" She savored the last few words, lingering over them.

"Ah," said Spock.

Nyota turned to the box that rested on the floor beside her and feigned surprise, holding her fingertips to her chin. "And what's this!" she said. "Why, it's..." She plunged her hand into the box and removed another book with an artistic and distinctly unnecessary flourish. "Days of Pleasure, Nights of Passion! Volume five," she clarified. "I can't seem to find volumes one through four, though." The grin she directed at him was wicked. "Mr Spock," she said, "I had no idea your literary tastes were so inclined."

"They are research materials," he said, but Nyota expressed no inclination to acknowledge his response, whatever it may have been.

"It's smut," she said, with unappealing delight. "You have a box of smut! You," she said, clutching her hands and the two paperbacks to her chest as she gazed at him with something approaching longing, "have a box of smut."

"To describe these works as 'smut' is to inaccurately and unfairly denigrate a valid literary genre," he said, "one which explores at exacting if excessively emotional detail the intricacies of human courtship in a fashion easily digested by--"

"'Hernando lathed her nipples with his tongue, dragging a low moan from her throat with each slow stroke of his tongue,'" Nyota read, pinning The Pirate King's Virgin Bride open with her thumb. "'Mary threw her head back, gasping, begging, pleading for more.'"

"Your sampling is biased," Spock said stiffly. "If you were to begin the book at the appropriate place, I believe you would find it an evocative and occasionally understated examination of the traditional roles of women and men in nineteenth century European society."

Nyota did not immediately reply: she had fallen silent, skimming the pages. As she read, her eyes widened; the curve of her mouth slackened. She said, "Wait, did you--" She snapped her head up and stared at him. "That thing you did!" she said. "You stole that! From this book!" She shook the book at him.

"It appeared effective within the text," he explained patiently. "To pursue a real world application of the technique seemed a logical decision."

"You plagiarist," she said.

"You are utilizing an incorrect definition of the word," he told her. "Regardless, the sentiment is invalid: I did not claim to have developed the technique myself, nor would I wish to. Additionally," he said, tipping his head and allowing himself the slightest hint of a smile, "I seem to recall you had no complaints at the time."

Nyota threw the book at him.

This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/13/2009 as an addendum to A Series of Educational Experiences.