A/N: Since so many of you so nicely asked for a continuation, I'm going to try. I hope you all stick with me! Thanks for the reviews and love!

Secret Thought: Ahaha, yes. Evil indeed. And coming from me, who usually writes such gratuitous PWP that evolves into a plot.

Shekina666: Thank you!

moonlight guardian: Yes, I think I'm going to try (obviously). Hopefully I do alright. :)

snowspell: Thank you for your resounding yes! :)

Ptrst: I think I have a fluffy little plot bunny for this. It's going to be short, though. Maybe. We'll see. :)

monroe-mary: Thanks! Spock is my favorite.

starsnstripies: I'm glad you think so!

ChaoticPython: There is a chance. ;)

HellHasLeftMeLost: This is what happens next. And then we'll be taking a look at how they behave on the bridge the next morning. :)

xx

There would be no sleep for Kirk that night.

As the rest of the crew relaxed into their pillows, relieved to be heading home after such a trying mission, Kirk suddenly didn't want to go back. He felt that whatever had just happened on the bridge was protected by the bubble of space, that stepping foot on terra firma would somehow erase the encounter from existence.

I don't know if I should be more scared of it vanishing, thought Kirk, or more scared that I don't want it to vanish.

Sorting out his feelings after returning from the bridge had proved impossible. At first, he had blamed his thrill-seeking personality. Always wanting a new adventure. Something new to conquer. No, his brain told him, I had already conquered him. I outwitted him and won the position of Captain. That's how you conquer a Vulcan.

But, then, the memory of Spock's half-closed eyes, shining with the all-too-human emotion of complete bliss, flooded his mind. Is that the real conquest?

"God," he said out loud, going to pour himself another drink.

xx

Meanwhile, Spock had also succumbed to insomnia. On a black mat under a soft light, he tried to meditate.

Futile, he thought, turning his head to the clock. I have been sitting here for precisely nine minutes and still my mind has not quieted.

Disconcerted, he rose, stretched, and went back to his bed. Briefly, he wished for a visitor—not Lieutenant Uhura, whose company he would have done anything for earlier in the day. No, now all his thoughts gravitated toward the Captain.

He breathed in, deeply. Exhaled. Inhaled. The image of a trembling Kirk, so unlike the take-charge, nonchalant Captain he saw during the day, glossed through his mind.

This is unacceptable, his mind pressed. This is illogical. Lieutenant Uhura was a good match for me because our intellectual capabilities were compatible and, though she is human, she places a great deal of trust in logic. James Kirk is utterly irrational—he is my superior officer—he insults me, he thought, bristling—yet somehow—

He couldn't even think it. Inwardly, he cursed his mixed blood. If I had been born a pure Vulcan, I wouldn't give this a second thought. And if I had been born pure human—I could just give in.

As he closed his eyes, he found himself reeling at the revelation that, right now, he'd rather be a full-blooded human, spending his insomniatic hours on the floor of the Captain's quarters.