The sound of his light footfalls echoed louder than usual in the empty hall. Jim had a bouncing step, more like a lunging from the balls of his feet, than a walk. He always seemed to be barely restraining his energy, constantly perched on the cusp of flight. Whistling absently as he walked along, Kirk nodded in automatic greeting to passing crewmembers, wrapped up in thought.

Lingering in his mind was the briefing, and his increasingly sharp awareness of Spock. Kirk had always been conscious of him, and even underneath his usual annoyance with the First Officer's brusque manner, enjoyed his presence.

But this was different. If Jim was being honest with himself (which was not one of his many strong suits) it was different from nearly the start.

The way his heart dropped when he saw Spock and Uhura kiss on the transporter pad for the first time was a distinctly uncomfortable memory for him; although he was then smitten with the amazing, lovely, keen-witted woman, his disappointment was sharper in knowing that the impregnable Spock was already infiltrated by another. A swift jealousy that he was not the one breaching his defenses had spiked in him.

Really, from the time the man stood at his hearing, all pointed ears and black grace, Kirk found him scintillating. Their service together had only rendered him more so.

This whole incident was forcing him to see things he'd been hiding from himself for nearly a year.

Sure, he said he was all about gaining friendship, but what he felt for the enigmatic, blade-like Vulcan – the driving need, the unslakable thirst – wasn't anything similar to how he felt about Bones, the truest, maybe only, friend he'd ever had, or even Hikaru Sulu, his ace pilot and sometimes drinking buddy.

The feelings were a beast of another nature entirely; a sleek sexy creature with shimmering skin that emanated danger rather than a warm, comfortable, ambling one wrapped in fur.

At this thought, an image sprang unbidden to his mind. The captain's bright head shook, as though he hoped the physical action would dislodge the picture of Spock with oiled skin wrestling a bear-suit clad McCoy that had taken up residence there.

Instead, seemingly encouraged by the motion, the scenario became more lurid, growing to involve an old style Terran boxing ring, complete with dinging bells and fans screaming for the fighters to do ridiculous things, like hit each other with chairs.

Jim couldn't help but to laugh aloud while imagining what role each bridge crew member would play in the match; Chekov as a ringside girl was hilarious, though he didn't know that Sulu would take too kindly to his little friend receiving catcalls. Which actually only made it better. Sulu would definitely have to be a bouncer hovering around Chekov, dressed in a douchey, too-tight-tee with man jewelry.

As the list went on, Kirk's undignified giggles made it hard for him to key in his room's password, but eventually he managed. The door shot open.

Still amused, he stepped across the relatively small space to his desk. Looking at the two chairs that sat there companionably from Spock's earlier stay diluted his effervescence.

Softly, he trailed his fingers over the back of the chair where the hot (in more ways than one) Vulcan had been. His wistful desire for some vestige of his First's body heat to still cling there, proving that he really had existed in Jim's quarters, sounded pathetic to his own inner thoughts. Seriously, what was coming over him? Jim T. Kirk did not do wistful.

"I could come over there if it would make you happier."

Pulse pounding and adrenaline starting to pump into his system, Jim pivoted in one sharp motion. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in his room. Only he had the code, and Engineering wouldn't manually override for anyone. Shifting his weight, the captain crouched low in a defensive stance. He looked at his would be assailant.

The attacker did not turn out to be a hulking alien or Federation rebel with a grudge, though he would have been less surprised if that were the case. Instead, his eyes were met head on by the full glory of Mudd's beautiful blonde "crewmember."

She was stretched across his bed on her side facing him, lounging as though among sumptuous pillows, like she was a queen from a Renaissance painting.

Certainly she had dressed the part; her middle parted hair shone in the harsh ship lighting and hung in touchable disarray over her creamy shoulders, its golden hue reminding Jim of the shining sun and the warm sand of the beach by the Academy.

Her top leg curved forward, exposing her milky, sculpted thigh.

Her dress (if it really could be called a dress) was of an indeterminate color – maybe purple, or grey, or perhaps even blue – that flattered her coloring and skimmed her body – not tight, but still revealing – with a single closure at her waist that seemed in danger of coming undone. It was completely transparent in the light, nothing hidden.

Her beauty was such that even in ordinary circumstances, it would literally steal the breath of most men. And here she was intent on all out seduction, already on the captain's bed, already (mostly) undressed.

Jim found that not only could he breathe, but he could also be angry. He did not move from the crouch, keeping his guard up.

A woman that stunning, that perfect, was not possible. Something was off about it. Wrong. She sat up, satin skin gliding over his rough regulation sheets.

"Is something the matter Captain Kirk? I hope you don't mind me. I was just so weary of all the men looking at me that I had to hide. This was a good private place."

Her voice was a heady cocktail of seduction, innocence, and purring. A lesser man might have given in to the promise of the word private…

"I apologize Miss McHuron - I believe that's what Mudd said your name was - if my crew has upset you. However, these are my quarters, and I do mind you being here. Very much so. Additionally, you could have only gotten in if you were aided by an Engineering officer in performing manual override."

Jim, on the other hand, called her bullshit.

Being beautiful himself, he knew what it was to use his looks as a tool and he could recognize when others did the same. Kirk was in no mood for him or his crew to be used.

It was funny how seeing her again was completely different. His senses weren't dulled. He wasn't distracted by her glamour. This was his ship, these were his quarters. If he couldn't control one, how could he control the other?

Besides, no one came here without invitation, except his tittering yeoman, Rand, and Bones. And the only invitation he'd ever given was to Spock. Who came infrequently, only four times since the start of their journey and only for ship business, but still, it counted.

So many things had been taken from him in his life – his autonomy over his own rooms and his sexual choices was not going to be next. Evie McHuron was not bedazzling Jim into bed for any purpose today.

She looked at the captain full mouth agape, expression fishlike. It was still lovely of course, but Jim also found it humorous. She'd probably never before been resisted. He eyed her with the appreciation of an art collector; truly an amazing specimen, but he didn't feel the draw to her he had earlier.

Then there came a buzz from the door. A familiar clipped tone over the intercom.

"Captain, it is I, Spock. The calculations are complete for your review."

He watched the woman warily as he pressed the intercom button to respond.

"Certainly, Mr. Spock. Have I got a surprise in here for you."

Jim pressed the button on his desk's control panel to open the door. Quicker than lightning, Evie came across the floor and flung herself around the captain with startling strength. As the door opened fully, revealing Spock, she pressed her lips to Jim's unwilling ones.

Spock looked. He blinked.

Kirk pushed Evie from him.

Shit, shit, shit, was all his panicked mind could supply.

Thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you, no matter how short.

Because, seriously, who among us doesn't love crazy stalker types who think they're totally normal?