Author's Note: My break from 'Home' apparently doesn't mean a break from leisurely K/S oneshots. This is established relationship, and can either tie in to 'Home' or not, I can't really say, to be honest. It's pure shmoop, though, so if that's not your thing, skip it. Done because I was re-reading 'Home' and recalled a request for Drunken!Chocolate!Spock. I've had Jim out-of-sorts every which way, so I guess it's only fair.

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"Nobody puts meat in their drinks around here, Spock," Jim assured his first officer as he handed him the cup of cocoa. Even though the internal temperature of the ship never really changed much, back on Earth it was the middle of winter, and so a variety of seasonal festivities had sprung up around the Enterprise. Jim had been indoctrinating his curious first officer to the 'wonders' of Christmas, since that was the one he'd actually celebrated himself. Spock was starting to cotton on to the fact that it would be impossible for that many human traditions to end in mandatory sex, however, and so had taken to running his assertions past the rest of the crew by now.

But he clearly trusted Jim not to intentionally force him to break his dietary regime.

"I didn't even put milk in it," Jim added helpfully. "Go on." He took a drink from his own mug, relaxing into the joyful atmosphere of the mess hall as people conducted themselves with generally more cheerfulness than an ordinary evening would merit. There was something to be said for a little celebration.

Tentatively, Spock took a sip, and Jim watched his face for reaction. He didn't know how his first officer would take to the drink. It was hard to tell with foods, but he seemed to like tart and bitter and sweet things, when he wasn't eating his bland, Vulcan fare, so he guessed it would go over well.

It did. Spock took a second, longer drink after the first, curling his fingers against the warmth of the mug and turning an appreciative glance towards his captain.

"I find it… agreeable," he said. Jim beamed, and felt embarrassingly domestic about the whole thing. If his twenty-year-old self could see him now, he'd probably die of shock. Him, giddy over making someone 'happy' by giving him chocolate. That was so sweet it should be illegal.

You, he informed himself, are turning into a fucking marshmallow.

Well, it was Christmas. More or less. Warm fuzzies reputedly abounded, even though he'd generally considered himself immune to seasonal cuddliness in the past. He decided he was still a qualified badass as long as he didn't wear some hideous sweater with reindeer on it, or some kind of argyle pattern.

Bones had succumbed to that particular virus some time ago. He'd also succumbed to a drinking binge, because apparently being away from home at Christmas when you had a kid was depressing as hell, and so his sweater-clad self was mumbling something vaguely medical-sounding to the surface of his table now.

"Hang on a minute," Jim instructed Spock, putting down his mug and standing. "I'm going to take Bones to his quarters before he pukes on anyone."

"An advisable course of action," Spock replied. Then he took another long drink from his mug. Jim left him to it as he went over to the good doctor and poked the side of his head.

"Dammit," Bones grumbled absently, swatting at his hand. "I'm a doctor, not a… a… uhh… little help?"

Jim thought about it. "Pincushion?" he suggested.

Bones snorted. "You're terrible at this, Jim. Last time I ask you to fill it in. 'Pincushion' my ass…"

Well, that conjured up a whole lot of unwelcome mental images.

"Sorry," Jim replied. "But as much as I like you, Bones, you're not really my type. I think Spock would take offence, too," he reasoned, and then leaned over, slinging one of the doctor's arms onto his shoulders and helping him out of his chair.

Bones gave him a bleary look. "Are you talking about sex?" he asked in an accusatory fashion. Then he blinked as Jim began carting him across the mess hall. "Wait, why the hell am I even asking?"

"It's a mystery to us all," Jim assured him.

His friend responded by burping loudly into his ear.

All told it took about ten minutes to get Bones to his quarters, and Jim left him to mutter to himself and sleep it off. There wasn't really much else he could do for him. Misery might love company, but the doctor generally preferred to be alone when he was feeling that sullen about things.

When he got back to the mess hall, Spock had finished his glass of cocoa, and was on to drinking Jim's.

Jim gave him an amused look. "Thief," he accused playfully, honestly delighted that his first officer had taken the liberty of stealing his drink. He couldn't have said why, except that it was an incredibly human thing of him to do, and he mentally noted that Spock liked chocolate.

Apparently, a lot. He downed the last of Jim's mug, and turned to look at him, his skin a little more flushed than usual and his eyes bright. Lowering the empty drinking vessel back onto the table with a soft 'thunk', he then, to Jim's shock, smacked his lips a little, and gave something of an unsteady wobble.

"I ap… apple… apologize, Jim," he slurred a bit. "I did not think you would ob… object."

After a moment, Jim cast his gaze down to the mugs, and then looked back up at Spock's face.

"… No way," he said. "There wasn't a drop of booze in either one of those. You can't be hammered!"

Spock's eyebrows slanted at a somewhat comical, uncommon angle as he tilted his head to one side, a little wobbly. "Indeed I have not been hampered. That would be… be most illogical… there are no hamsters in the mess hall."

Okay. Now Jim was pissed. He gave Spock's shoulder a comforting pat and then stood up, looking around the room. "Who the hell spiked the commander's drink?" he demanded hotly, and the activities in the room stilled as everyone turned to look at them.

There was a pause.

Then Uhura spoke up. "Oh no…" she said, realization showing in her face as she raised a hand to her mouth, and looked like she was holding back laughter. "You gave him chocolate, didn't you?"

Jim was glad that he wasn't the only person who shot her a look of utter confusion. Swiftly, she elaborated, moving her gaze to Spock as her mouth twitched uncontrollably. "Vulcans get drunk on chocolate," she explained. "But he should have known that – did you tell him what it was?"

Jim ran their conversation through his head. 'What is this, Jim?', 'It's a traditional holiday drink', 'I am unfamiliar with this beverage, are you certain it is suitable?', 'Nobody puts meat in their drinks around here, Spock'.

"…Not exactly," he admitted guiltily.

Spock reached a hand up and closed it on top of the one that was still resting on his shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. "Do not concern yourself," he advised, and if he hadn't been so wobbly he would have sounded perfectly normal. "I appear to be ineb… eb… inebriated. This is fascinating! I have never exper… experienced in-tox-i-ca-tion before!"

Then he looked over at Jim, and grinned.

Jim's stomach melted onto the floor.

"Ohhh," Spock said, looking Jim up and down. "Are we ret... retra... retiring to your quarters now?"

A pause.

His first officer decided to elaborate. "To engage in sex-u-al inter… interrupt… intercourse?"

There was a moment of dead, utter silence in the mess hall.

Chekov snickered, before Sulu – who looked like he was doing a bad job of holding in laughter himself – clapped a hand over his friends' mouth.

Jim still hadn't recovered enough to answer when Spock added, "I would not object to that."

Which was practically the Vulcan equivalent of him standing up and shouting across the room that he wanted to have sex with his captain now, please, if it wasn't too much trouble.

Well, he was never one to deny a reasonable request. It was probably a better idea than staying in the mess hall and letting Spock embarrass himself, too. Picking his stomach up off the floor, Jim cleared his throat, and then gave his first officer his best, sexiest smile. "Sure, Spock. Let's go," he agreed, moving to help him stand in much the same fashion as he'd done for Bones.

He'd only just shifted slightly, however, when Spock rose – a bit unsteady, but still obviously capable of managing it – and grabbed the front of Jim's shirt. He then proceeded to walk for the exit, tugging his captain along behind him.

"Uh, bye!" Jim managed to say into the silent, watching mess hall, and waved before he was dragged out of the room and down into the corridor towards the turbolift.

Spock, it seemed, was on a mission now. A weaving, wobbly, but very determined mission.

When the lift doors had closed behind them, his first officer promptly got them moving towards C-Deck, and then leaned over, wrapped himself heavily around Jim, and slumped against him.

A little alarmed, Jim placed a hand against his back. "You alright?" he asked.

"I appear to be suf-fer-ing difficulties in co… cooper… coordinating myself," Spock replied.

"Dizzy?" Jim clarified.

"Mmm." The confirmation rumbled against him, almost like a purr as Spock turned a little and began to nuzzle the corner of Jim's neck. Then his first officer let out a heartfelt sigh, the breath warm against his skin, and reached for one of his hands, entwining their fingers together and essentially melting against him.

Apparently, he was a friendly drunk.

"Jim."

He took a steadying breath, because as fun as it would be, he didn't much care for the idea of trying to get a thoroughly out-of-it Spock dressed again if they just started going at it in the turbolift. "Yeah?" he asked.

Spock's thumb started moving in lazy circles against the back of his hand. "I did not have a direct purp… purple… purpose in stating your name. Jim."

"…Okay…"

"Jim, Jim, Jim. It is mon… mono-syllabic. Jim."

"I guess it is, Spock," He replied, running a hand across his first officer's back, and wondering if Vulcan's vomited when they were chocolate-drunk. He really hoped not. He'd already been puked on by Sam, Bones, a drunken Scotty, Uhura exiting a flight simulator, and a terrified Chekov in his life, and it was a pattern of behavior he didn't want to see extend any further than that. Sulu and Spock were the only other friends he had who hadn't spewed on him yet.

"I will not vomit."

Jim gave Spock a skeptical look which he didn't see. "Are you reading my mind?" he asked, with just a touch of indignation to his voice. He wasn't supposed to do that without his permission, after all.

"I like your mind," Spock informed him, and he found the genuineness and uncommon openness to that tone made it hard for him to stay annoyed. "It is warm. Iron… ironically so, considering your body tem… tempera… temperament… no, tem-per-a-ture."

It was strangely adorable listening to him force himself to carefully pronounce the large words of his vocabulary, rather than simply use shorter substitutes.

"I know," Jim said, and all he really could do was shake his head at this whole thing. "I'm hot and cool at the same time. It's amazing."

Spock made an awkward, rumbling kind of laugh against him, which caught him utterly off-guard. He'd never heard Spock laugh before. It froze him up and caused a warm bloom of affection and attachment to ignite inside his chest, and the next moment he'd wrapped his arms tightly around his first officer and buried his face against him, because he loved Spock as he was, but he would also take every laugh he could get.

Yup. He was a badass marshmallow.

"Are you aware of what I find… what is… what I like about humans, Jim?" Spock asked him, and right as he did, the doors to the turbolift opened. A very surprised ensign was greeted by the sight of her captain and commander cuddling one another. Jim quickly mustered all the stern, captainly pride he could manage under the circumstances, and silently guided Spock into the corridor.

At least he didn't get tugged along this time.

"No," he said. "What do you like about humans, Spock?"

Spock decided to answer first by planting a kiss against his temple. Jim estimated that about three passing crewmembers had seen that. "If I am to fail as a Vulcan and… and show emotion around you, you view it as a pos… possess… positive. It is backwards-land."

He really shouldn't have been surprised. Spock quoted people all the time – he liked throwing them off-guard with it – and intellectually, he knew both he himself and several members of the crew had jokingly referenced 'backwards-land' at a few points in the past. But frankly, that was too hysterical not to crack him up. So crack he did, laughing hard and suddenly, and the next thing he knew they were both leaning against the side of the corridor, and Spock was hanging off of him and making a sound that was low and friendly and, again, kind of like purring.

"Backwards-land," Spock repeated, and then he exhaled gustily and wound his arms around Jim's chest, twining their arms together and molesting his ear with his tongue.

Definitely a friendly drunk.

"Spock," Jim reminded him, once he'd caught his breath and noticed a young man dressed in science blues who'd just walked into a bulkhead nearby. "We're not in my quarters yet."

"Obviously," Spock replied, and the unexpected clarity of his tone caught Jim off-guard, and made him laugh again.

"What I mean is, I think I'll have to write us both up for indecent public displays if this goes much further," Jim elaborated.

"That is bullshit, Jim," Spock informed him.

Jim nearly died. If he kept laughing this hard, he had a feeling he'd lose a lung.

"You would not give either of us more than a firm… infirm… informal reprimand."

Well, he had him there.

Then Spock shifted, pressing their cheeks together, and added, "I also have it on good authoritative… authority that I am frequency engaging in sex… sexual… sleeping with the captain. Favor… favoritism is on our side."

Oh, god. Jim hoped he could get Spock to eat chocolate again. Having the inhibitors between his brain and his behavior break down was just too awesome to only do this once.

"He does seem kind of attached to you."

"Excessively. I find my own judge… judgment syllabically comprised."

"…I think you mean 'similarly compromised'."

"I do?"

"Only if you want that sentence to make any sense."

Jim tried to tug his first officer down the corridor, but Spock seemed to have other ideas. He redoubled his grip on him, instead, and pulled them both down to the floor against the wall, burying his face in Jim's hair. "Dizzy," he said, by way of explanation.

"Then stop yanking me around," Jim advised in fond exasperation. "I'll get us there."

"This location seems ade… adequa… aqueduct," Spock retorted, and where their skin met, Jim could feel little pinpricks of his nausea and disorientation. He let out a breath and leaned his head against the corridor wall behind him, still attempting to look captainly at the crewmembers that went past. This would have to happen during the Maintenance department's shift change, wouldn't it?

Reaching over, he slung an arm around Spock's shoulders, and coaxed his inebriated first officer into resting his head against his chest until his universe stopped spinning. He knew what it was like to be off-your-ass drunk. Still. It made it difficult to paint the picture of the authoritative captain when his commander was snuggling into his shirt and murmuring the periodic table of elements under his breath. He didn't see any cameras, but he knew in his soul that photos of this would be getting around by morning.

"Damn, Spock," he said. "I've never heard of a man who couldn't hold his chocolate before."

"Ununhexium."

"How in the hell did you spit that out?" he asked lightly, running a hand in slow circles against Spock's back. He earned himself a soft sound that seemed midway between being appreciative and anxious, and then Spock pulled back, and Jim's only warning was the slightly alarmed look on his face before he found his uniform covered in vomited chocolate.

Spock looked deeply apologetic.

Jim sighed. "I guess this means Sulu's my favorite now," he said jokingly. Immediately, he decided it was the wrong comment to make when his first officer's expression fell even further. He reached an arm towards him. "No, joking, that was a joke," he assured him. Then he carefully pulled off the top shirt of his uniform – because wearing puke wasn't exactly his favorite pastime – and extended the Vulcan 'kiss' gesture to Spock.

It took him a couple of tries, but Spock managed to return it, although he still looked very embarrassed and remorseful.

"I apple guess," he said.

"Apologize?"

"Yes. You are very intelligent, Jim," his first officer informed him with feeling.

Jim grinned, and then stood up, offering a hand to help him to his feet. "I know," he assured him. Spock wobbled a bit, and leaned against him as the captain resumed his mission to escort him to his quarters. He was pretty sure that sex would not be happening now. Nausea and arousal did not good bedfellows make.

"I am apricot of your deductive skills."

"My mad logic astounds you?"

"Yes. The sex is good, too."

Jim laughed so hard it hurt, and somehow, at the same time, managed to keep both his own balance and Spock's. He was relieved when they made it to his quarters, though, and he raised the room's temperature and shoved his shirt down the laundry chute. Carefully, he lowered Spock onto his bed, and then changed the rest of his clothes so he was only wearing a light pair of pants. Spock was struggling to get his boots off by the time he finished.

"It is illogical to construe such convex fo… for… footwear," Spock said darkly to himself, and Jim could only shake his head and then move to help pull them off.

"Very illogical," he agreed. "But then, you know how I feel about clothing with complicated fastenings." On that note, he winked.

"You enjoy the challenge," Spock replied, calling him out without missing a beat, before he curled himself into his blankets with a clumsy inefficiency that he never would have demonstrated under any other circumstances.

The rampant domesticity continued as Jim moved over and got Spock properly into the bed. An arm snaked around his waist and pulled him onto the mattress as well, and he thought to himself, damn, it's like what, nine o'clock? But he couldn't really bring himself to mind, even though Spock's breath stank and this was, frankly, pure and unadulterated snuggling of the most blatant kind. He shifted himself so he was on his side, and thereby at least avoided the unpleasantness of Vulcan vomit-mouth – much as he loved Spock, he was only human – and a pair of arms worked around his stomach. He felt the familiar flutter of a heartbeat against his lower back. Breath by his ear. His first officer got all the blankets, but that was alright, because he the room was too warm for him anyway.

"I'm still a total badass," he insisted to the pillow.

Spock – usually a quiet sleeper – began to snore lightly against the back of his neck.

Jim heaved a defeated sigh.