Canorous

Spock knew for a fact that Kirk had never participated in any choirs on Earth. Nonetheless, the man's voice, when tested, was not terribly unmelodious.

This fact was discovered on one of those rare occasions when Spock was operating slower than Kirk. The Vulcan was showering when his ears picked up on the muted melody of Coldplay's "Viva la Vida," being sung a cappella from his living quarters. Kirk was on the chorus, singing the same octave as Chris Martin.

"…But that was when I ruled the world…"

Spock chuckled inwardly. Of course you would pick that song, he thought.

Succor

Killer migraines were, sadly, part of Jim's daily life, at least until Spock noticed him one day, curled up in the dark of his ready room with his head in his hands. In a rare moment of semi-public tenderness, the Vulcan came up behind him and placed his fingers against Jim's temples—not to meld, but to massage in gentle, slow circles. After a few minutes the migraine vanished, and Jim lolled backward into Spock's hands, murmuring soft assent.

The movements ceased suddenly, leaving Jim dazed. Spock mumbled something about continuing privately before he left the room, cheeks burning emerald.

Puckish

Spock's voice was raised. "James! Where are my clothes?"

Kirk, clad only in a bathrobe, shrugged innocently from his seat.

The move was unconvincing. Spock crossed his arms and glared at the blond. "I have not simply misplaced them. Where are they?"

The captain's smirk was poorly concealed. "Well," he drawled, "if you ask nicely, I'll find them for you."

"Nicely?" Spock repeated.

In easy reply, Kirk lounged further into his chair, robe slipping away to reveal his well-toned thighs. The wink and sly grin that followed were devious but unnecessary, as Spock was fully prepared to ask very nicely.

Effloresce

Jim leaned towards the potted plant, inspecting its dark, tightly-closed buds. "Hey, Spock? What's this called?"

Spock gave his hair another vigorous rub with the towel before responding. "We call that eshikh'vaksur, which translates literally as 'desert beauty.'"

Jim nodded even though he still didn't see it. "Well…it's pretty."

Spock shook his head. Without turning his head, he whistled a series of four notes. The bud bloomed wide open on cue, as if to better hear Spock's voice, revealing ruby-red petals shot with glimmering gold.

Jim's eyes widened considerably, momentarily rendered speechless. "It's gorgeous."

"Good. It's a gift to you."

Caparison

"Do I have to wear this?"

"Yes, if you wish to be admitted to the ambassador's ball," Spock answered, smoothing his tuxedo jacket one more time for good measure.

"But it's so awkward," Kirk whined, voice not quite muffled by the bathroom door.

Spock huffed. "Let me see."

The door swung open and Kirk reluctantly stepped out. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored, so that the dark cloth did not stretch over the broad shoulders, and the cummerbund only fully accentuated the well-toned abdomen.

Spock's breathing hitched as he stepped forward to straighten Kirk's tie. "You look wonderful, Jim. Absolutely wonderful."

Author's Notes: I actually have very little to say about this one. These are coming along fairly easily now, and there's no one to really dedicate to. Once again thanks and love to all my readers and to my beta xladyjagsvolleyball16x for the constant support. I seriously couldn't do this without you guys.