"You don't like another girl."
"No, Captain."
"Oh. Shit."

"You like a dude."

"Affirmative."
"Shit." Jim ran a hand down his face, and watched Spock drain damn near that entire martini in one go. Well, least he wasn't the only one who needed a stiff drink by this point.

Spock stared into the empty glass, and his brows began to knit together.

"Who?"
"That is personal information." Spock looked up abruptly. "Do not seek to inquire further on this subject."

"Geez, you were the one asking for help." Jim frowned. Spock actually fidgeted in his seat, a little twitched of his shoulders, and looked back down at his glass. "Want another one?"
"I do."
"Hey, Waiter."

They sat like that for quite some time, letting hours tick by in their own littler corner of the world. Spock stopped after four, obviously uneasy with the amount he had already consumed. Jim kept right on trucking, leaving himself half plastered across the table by the night's end. They talked only briefly about Spock's problem, about how he came to realize, about how to tell Uhura and not be a total dick about it. Then Spock turned the subject, which was his specialty, Jim decided, to a more Jim-related topic and that was just fine. It got Jim talking, and kept him talking for the most part; about step fathers and car fetishes; about high school and prom night. About his first kegger, about his mother (which he danced around very delicately, despite Spock's obvious interest in the subject); about Iowa, about Riverside. It surprised him, however, how very clueless Spock was about Terran outside of the academy. He knew his mother was born in Canada, which made Jim giggle despite himself and confess he could see Spock in a mounty uniform (he kept quite about top hats). Spock merely raised a brow at him, before prompting Jim onto another subject that got Jim's mouth going and it just wouldn't close. Jim sudden felt self conscious, halfway through a sentence about his preference in sneakers because those leather boots Starfleet issued caused blisters on the back of his ankle if he didn't wear the right socks. Spock had been staring at him intently since the beginning of their conversation, his focus hadn't wavered. The way Spock's interested could be so unbroken for so long, it was a feat indeed. But the fact that it was on Jim, for, looking at the clock he guessed four hours, that was something no one had ever truly offered him. Total attention, and the willingness to just listen, just sit and hear him out, wait out his bitching about menial things, and take in the information with no sort of judgment on his character. He felt a warm blush sneak up his neck, and cough softly as he sat up. Spock arched a brow.

"A problem, Jim?" Yay first names.

"I think I've had enough." The brow brushed his hairline. "What?"
"You practicing conservatism is not something I ever assumed I would witness." Jim laughed.

"I'm a captain now. I have to take some sort of responsibility. Even if I don't want to." Did he see his lips twitch? That brought his own smile to the surface. "However, I think I might need some help to my room."
"It is—"
"I mean help me get there," He rolled his eyes, getting up. He found the edge of the table for support and the room took a pleasant sideways tilt. "Mm." Spock didn't even attempt to question, standing and going over to wrap Jim's arm around his shoulders, one of his own snaking around Jim's waist. Jim blushed despite himself, and let himself be half dragged towards his chamber.
"If I may make a suggestion."
"Shoot."
"Do not become so inebriated in the future, Jim." He stopped outside of his door, and slid his card. "It is most often in an inebriated state that people find themselves in a compromising position."

Jim detached himself and shoved the door open, before looking back at Spock with a grin.

"Spock, I don't know if you've heard. But I love to find myself in compromising positions."
"I have noticed." He crossed his arms behind his back, but his shoulders remained lax. There was a moment where neither of them moved, where something should have happened, though Jim wasn't sure what, but didn't and so it past without action. Spock nodded. "Good evening, Captain." He turned crisply on his flip-flopped heel and walked away. Jim tried not to giggle with the 'thlip-thlop' of the shoes accompanying such stiff posture, and wove his way to his bed. After a very uncoordinated shower, he found himself staring again at the ceiling and contemplating the evenings events. Okay, so he may have really not helped Uhura out, but he may have helped Spock out a little with his new found homosexualism. Was that a word? Probably not. He mentally waved it off. He came to the conclusion that, yes. He'd had a very nice time talking for who knows how long, to his Vulcan first officer, who five months back tried to have him killed. Twice. He had told his first officer things he has probably only ever told Bones, and was relieved when Spock didn't storm away in disgust at his emotional irrationalism. And he still had that stupid vision of Spock bent in half, offering him a silk glove and an expectant look, waiting to dance with Princess Ponce in the purple dress.

He blinked once, tilting his head.

Okay, so he liked Spock. A lot. He was a good guy, a smart man, and was in general becoming the good friend the older Spock had informed him he would become. He was quick and thorough, a brilliant listener, and always had good advice. He was very hott, had a great ass, and had this almost-smile that blew Jim away. And it was so god damn cute when he blushed. Okay, so he liked Spock.

Did Spock like him? That would be ironic. Mr. Logical falling in love with Captain Crazy. Yeah, that would turn out well. If Spock had a man-crush, it was probably on Bones, which would still be very odd since Bones took every possible chance he had to inform Spock that he was being an ass, and should stop, else he get a hypo to the neck. Maybe Sulu? He was quite, reserved and well mannered. And smart. Hm.

He closed his eyes and swept those thoughts into 'maybe later.' He felt heavy with liquor, and his bed felt progressively softer and more inviting the longer he laid there. He ended his consciousness with a pleasant thought of Spock walking pointedly and very quickly down the hall followed by an angry Bones with a hypo.

Ha. Take that, Mr. Logic.

Another dream, he decided. Or a continuation? In either case, he wasn't complaining in the least, staring into expectant chocolate eyes. He felt the heavy weight of silk around him, felt heavy metal hanging off his ears, and those cloppy shoes. But he didn't care, he didn't fell self conscious taking Spock's expectant hand. It was slower, the way Spock moved almost as if he'd break him. Bones was on the harp again, Scotty rocking out on the keyboard. Spock wrapped his arm around Jim's waist in a very familiar fashion, but the connection was a distant blur in his mind and he didn't feel like thinking to hard on it. He wrapped his arms around Spock's teal collar, and they locked eyes again. Spock was gentle, a soft caress saying 'step left' or a tentative tug asking 'turn with me now?' He pressed their chests together, and their shoes made horse-shoe noises on the marble floor. They spun, they stepped, and it was slow and it was flowing it he felt suddenly at home, right here, right now. With Spock watching him like that, almost curious, almost intrigued, and totally focused. The lights around them faded out, the sound dwindled. Their shoes went silent. They were turning and spinning and stepping in space, surrounded by stars rushing past his head in a dull roar. He closed his eyes and let himself laugh, letting it catch in their turn and it wound around them like a soft blanket it. It was just Spock, it was just Jim, and it was Space. His home, his turf. His first officer. Then the room came back in a tidal wave, knocking the breath out of him as the world tilted, and the arm around his waist moved to the small of his back. And he was bent over it gently, lowered enough to staring almost totally upwards into molten eyes. And there was a pregnant pause between them, where they just froze that way, and the lights were bright, and the room was empty, and his blood rushed in his ears. Spock was there, and waiting again with that expectant look, and his lips were just there and if Jim moved just a bit he could almost taste him.

So he did.

He felt like someone had shoved a cattle prod into his heart. His body felt numb, and his eyes went wide. Spock looked down at him with a smile in his eyes, a look that whispered 'yes, that was what I wanted.' He tilted his head, he closed his eyes. Jim felt a soft brush of a hot tongue, and that electric feeling shot in two totally different directions, the PG version, his lips being one. He took a breath against those velvet lips, and the tongue entered, hot and somewhat strangely rough and tasted like sweet taffy and chocolate and a flower. He pulled him closer, and closed his eyes to match his partner. His heart fluttered, his face flushed. He felt at home and exposed, he felt right and wrong, he felt alien and so totally familiar. They were moving again, and Jim was upright, his balance told him, and they were still then. Just standing, just hugging, just kissing and holy shit was Spock a kisser. A talented mind, and a talented tongue. What a fucking combination. He groaned despite himself, and the tongue left him. He felt cold. His eyes sprang open to those expectant, chocolate eyes. They swirled with a quiet desire, something more animal than a human's lust, and more gentle than a child's laugh. His body lit on fire again, and he nodded once. One of Spock's hands left him to whip his hat off in a dramatic gesture, then he was away and bowing. Jim pressed his one silk fingers to his lips and curtsied, and Spock smiled at him. All teeth, genuine and up to make his eyes crinkle in a very attractive way. Jim's breath was gone again.

He smiled back.

He woke up with one of the worst hang over's and an atrocious boner, but it was worth it.

He convinced himself to climb out of bed around noon, took a cold shower, and got into a pair of clean shorts. His goal was pool, booze, hot waitress, bed. He was intercepted around the 'pool' part, when he rounded a corner to see Uhura quite literally 'all up in Spock's business.' Their chests were almost touching, and she had that 'you will do what I say, bitch' look on her face. He was calm as any other day, arms tight behind his back and shoulders tense. He backpedalled, leaning against the wall to listen.
"What is that even suppose to mean? I'm not 'satisfactory.'" Oh dear.

"I believe it is self-explanitory, Nyota."

"It's Christine, isn't it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Christine. Christine Chapel, McCoy's new little assistant. She's got googley-eyes for you and has she get hopped aboard. You like her, don't you."
"I am afraid the relationship Nurse Chapel and I have is strictly professiona—"
"Don't give me that." Her voice waved. Jim closed his eyes, praying to some magic omnipotent being that she didn't begin to cry again. "If you don't want to be with me anymore, just tell me, okay?"
"I do not desire to participate in a romantic relationship with you, Nyota." Jim heard a soft intake of breath. "I do not understand your shock. You just informed me that if that was my desire, then I should promptly portray it as such."

"…I see." She was quiet. "…Well. There it is then."
"Nyota." He was quiet as well. "It is not Christine. It is not you. It is…an unexpected development in myself that has lead me to this conclusion. I still care for you, but no longer in a romantic fashion."
"You still want to be friends."

"It was be a most logical decision, because of our current assignment of command. As well as a preference I am willing to admit." She sniffled.

"It's not Christine?"
"It's not Christine."
"…All right." She sighed. "I'm sorry, it just…you know I love you, Spock. But, okay. I can handle this."
"I have the upmost faith in you."

"….Thanks," she sounded almost happy. There was a shuffle, Jim expected a hug, and then soft footsteps as someone padded away. Silence. Then;

"You may show yourself now, Jim." Damn. He'd been caught.

"That went a hell of a lot better than any of my break-ups." Brow lift off.
"I apologize if my—"
"No need to apologize." He clapped Spock on the shoulder and his brow went a bit higher. "It's a good thing you two wont be enemies now. I'd hate to cut that sort of tension with a knife." He rested his hands on his hips. "Besides, pissing you off is my job."
"I do not become 'pissed off,' Jim."
"Liar." He took his elbow, dragging him down the hall. "Come on, I'm headed to the pool. Nice trunks." Black. Defiantly his color. "Lets go check out some chicks."

"I have no desire to watch women, Jim."
"Pretend to watch the chicks and look at the dudes instead?"

He received a silent response of a sarcastic 'oh yes, so much better,' and dragged him on anyway.

He found them a pair of nice chairs and dipped himself into the rock pool. He stayed under a bit, relaxing himself in the warm water, before breaking surface again with a dramatic exhale. Spock just sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles.

For a guy who didn't like rest and relaxation, he looked pretty hot doing it.

He crossed his arms on top of one of the rocks, resting his chin on them. A little girl in a short skirt sauntered over, holding up a silver tray.

"You boys need anything?"
"I'll have a Bud light Classic."
"Water," Spock looked at her. She smiled at him, nodded, then sashayed away. "Do you believe it is an intergalactic request that women who work at such establishments have to have skirts that are only nine inches long?" He watched her walk away, before looking at Jim. "I have yet to see a waitress with a skirt of professional length."
"It's for tips." Jim shrugged. "It gets the men looking, something else besides a pretty face and good beer to appreciate. Statistically, shorter skirts are correlated with higher tips." Spock nodded, looking vaguely intrigued.

"Fascinating."

"The way of the male mind in fascinating."
"I believe I understand the male mind."
"Perhaps your mind. Maybe all Vulcan males, but you're not a whiz when it comes so someone's mind like, say, mine."
"There is no mind to examine, Jim."
"…Did you just make a joke?" Spock responded with a raised brow. Jim laughed, heaving himself out of the pool. "Ouch, my ego. But seriously, the male mind, that isn't yours, usually consists of sex, booze, and hot women. My mom used to tell me in between boyfriends that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
"Technically it is his rib cage, in humans."
"It's another figure of speech." He got up from the rocks and wrung out the bottom of his trunks. "Means, if you cook good, you'll get a man easier than if you can't cook. It's kind of derogatory, but inherently true." He sat down in the chair beside Spock, leaning to pat his knee. "So, since you're interested in a dude, might want to learn to cook something besides vegan shit. Real men like meat." He got a irate look. "Real, non-vulcan-men like meat."
"Acknowledged."

The woman sauntered over with their drinks, smiling welcomingly at them both, before standing back. "Can I get you boys anything else?"
"I think we'll be fine." Jim gave a mock salute, sipping the foam off the top of his beer. She nodded and moved on to the next group of people. "She's cute."
"She is fundamentally attractive, yes."
"Is that how you find people 'attractive'?" Jim looked at him. Spock looked up at him over the rim of his water. "Like, do you classify them as fundamental, or logical, or what. How /do/ you become attracted to someone?"
Spock set his drink down but didn't let it got for a short while, staring at it thoughtfully. "I assume it is the same process most go through. I first recognize a personality congruent with mine, one that would be capable of connecting to my own. I would then be drawn to them by said connection, and eventually it would become a type of companionship. I suppose if it is to progress further, I become more alert to their physical attributes, and if they are of my personal taste, it most likely will become a type of attraction."

"So you either put them in your friend circle, or in your 'attractive' circle."
"Correct."
"But you go with personality first."
"To become romantically attached to someone purely by looks, only to find them incompatible with myself would be an illogical venture, and can be consequently avoided by observation of personality before hand."

"Good point." He lifted his beer to that, before taking a sip.

"Do you not go through a similar process?" That caught him a bit off guard, but he shrugged it off.

"Not really. I'm not into relationships, Spock. Not like you are."
"Like I am?"
"You're one of those 'commitment' types. I'm not into that." He set his beer back down, gesticulating with his unoccupied hand. "I'm the 'Im drunk, you're drunk, we're both hot, lets go fuck." Pause. "And sometimes they're no longer hot when I get up in the morning, but. You get my drift."

Something about Spock seemed to wilt, though no part of him showed the change. It was his eyes, Jim decided, they way they abandoned their intense gaze into his own in favor of watching the waterfall on the other side of the pool.
"Yes, I do believe I do."
"Awesome. Sure you don't want a beer, or a martini?" He laid back in his own chair, watching him with curiosity. The wilt vanished, leaving the neutrality Jim was accustomed to.

"No, Captain, I do not drink."
"Much."
"…Much."

Okay, this may be more than two parts. . It kind of got a bit more out of hand than I planned for it to. But this is a point where I need to start a new section. I don't like this as much as the first part, but then again, I never do. So.

If I should continue it, I will (hopefully) only write one more section. And only if you guys think I should.

We'll see.