Enterprise High

being a high school AU of ST: XI

with many hijinks

and much angst

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Chapter Seven: The Way to Eden

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Sulu and Chekov were talking about math.

They were sprawled out on the single hotel bed with their homework before them. They had nearly finished, but had been sidetracked by a conversation about the Seven Bridges of Königsberg. Chekov was happy to move beyond the math and tell Sulu all about Königsberg, which was now Kaliningrad. Evidently he had family there. Sulu grinned; Chekov's postulation that Russians established all of mathematics was absolutely adorable.

Chekov enjoyed talking to Sulu. He was a nice boy, very interested in him, very helpful. He noticed that Sulu was always looking out for him, although he objected to what Sulu thought of Kirk—Kirk was really a very sweet boy. And very beautiful. He did not know why Kirk was not interested in him. He knew Kirk could not be heterosexual—he had already heard rumors about Kirk and Bones. He wondered if he was doing something wrong. Maybe Kirk preferred a more subtle touch. Then again, Chekov had never been able to tell when people liked him. He had known people who he thought he was friends with, but they had turned out to only tolerate him so that they could copy his homework. And there had been people who seemed to hate him and then asked him out. He knew that he was not a very good judge of personalities.

But Sulu he was sure about. Sulu was a loyal friend, kind and sweet, always on hand. They had already played a couple of games of 3-D chess at Chekov's house. Chekov knew Sulu was very intelligent, and a brilliant pilot—he was already teaching classes at the local airport. But Sulu had a hard time thinking in two dimensions, which was why he was not the pilot of the Enterprise.

They talked for hours. Sulu forgot about his crush; he simply spoke and listened, thought and replied. They had changed into pajamas earlier. Now, they were curled up on the bed, whispering conspiratorially about secrets and past lives. Chekov had the sweetest laugh, even though it was slightly sardonic. There was something very sincere about it, but also very self-aware. Chekov seemed quite self-aware, now that Sulu thought about it. He was constantly commenting on his own mistakes or opinions, not in a selfish way, but as if he were being apologetic. Chekov noticed how confident Sulu was, and how much energy he had, but at the same time, how laid-back he seemed; as if motion could spring from him in one controlled movement, smooth and assured. He always seemed to know just what to do or say; he never hesitated with his words or misspoke.

They got sleepy. Their voices slowed. Chekov instinctively moved towards Sulu, towards heat. Sulu drew the blankets up over them, hugging Chekov close, his nose buried in the younger man's hair. Chekov nuzzled Sulu's collarbone with his forehead, his hand grasping the front of Sulu's shirt. They fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, and their long dreams continued the conversation.

x

In Uhura and Chapel's room, the party had just begun.

Scotty had invited Kirk and Bones over. (Everyone felt it was a good idea to leave Sulu and Chekov to it, whatever it was.) Spock had been included in the invite, but he was more interested in homework than social interaction, which surprised nobody. Kirk and Bones promised not to stay for long, but minutes turned into hours, the time flowing by on Scotty's stash of illegal scotch. Soon they were playing Spin the Bottle with Chapel's communicator. Everybody got a taste of everybody else, Kirk particularly relishing the time he spent with Uhura's tongue in his mouth. ("This the type of team bonden—bunding—stuff we should do to start every meeting," he hiccupped to Bones at one point.) None of them got too drunk, but words were slurred and laughter was contagious. Scotty and Chapel had more of a tolerance for alcohol than the rest of them, so it was Chapel who maneuvered Kirk and Bones back to their room while Scotty tucked a tipsy Uhura into her bed.

Chapel, Kirk, and Bones whispered "SSH" at each other for a while outside Kirk's door while Kirk fumbled for his room chip. Bones couldn't help but kiss Chapel goodnight, but Kirk spoiled it by doing the same. Bones slapped him, or tried to, but missed and nearly fell over. In between giggles and sushes Chapel got them inside their room.

Spock looked up, having heard the commotion outside. He pushed his glasses up and leaned over to see Kirk trip magnificently over Bones's foot. Bones found this hilarious and laughed for about five minutes. Kirk seemed to be fascinated by the floor.

"Carpet," he muttered, poking the stuff with an unsteady forefinger. "Weird and fuzzy. Who came up with it. Dunno."

Spock sighed and moved his study material off of the coffee table. Glancing back over at Bones, who was still giggling, he decided to go ahead and make up the pull-out couch.

"Gotta bed," said Bones, grabbing his toothbrush and pj's out of his bag and swaying into the bathroom. Kirk hauled himself off the floor and watched Spock turn down the sheets on the bed.

"You sleeping now, Spock?" he asked.

"Yes, I thought I should rest for a healthy amount of time before the race tomorrow," said Spock. He was already wearing pajamas. "Do you planning on sleeping soon?"

"Oh yes, very soon, just waiting for Bones to get out of there. Gotta brush my teeth. And wash my face. Can go ahead and change, I guess."

And he pulled off his shirt.

Spock felt his whole body flush green. He looked away, searching for somewhere to stare at. There was the noise of a zipper. Kirk had just taken off his pants.

Spock couldn't help it. He looked.

Kirk was stepping into his pajama bottoms. He was wearing long boxers of an oddly solemn dark blue. There was a large bruise high on his left pectoral and a smaller one on his collarbone. Spock felt his breath catch—what had happened to him?

Kirk glanced up to see Spock staring. He grinned. "Like what you see?" he said, his voice rich with drink.

Spock looked away with some difficulty. "I fail to understand your query."

"I'm sure you do," said Kirk, voice muffled as he pulled a thin white t-shirt over his head. Bones banged out of the bathroom, saw that his bed was made up, dropped his toothbrush in his bag and collapsed on the couch. He was snoring lightly in seconds.

"Attractive," joked Kirk. Spock ignored him.

Kirk felt better after he splashed water on his face. The world seemed slightly clearer. The sharp feel of the toothbrush bristles against his gums revived him.

Spock settled himself nervously in the third of the bed furthest from the bathroom. He tucked the sheets around himself and turned his back to the inside of the bed. He didn't know what to do, what he wanted. He liked Uhura. He didn't like Kirk. He didn't like this alcohol-soaked barbarian who could show him up in differential calculus and lived to torment him.

The bathroom door closed. He heard soft footsteps, felt the weight of another body settle into the bed.

"Lights," said Kirk. The room went dark.

Spock realized how loud his breathing was. He tried to remain absolutely still. Kirk thrashed around a bit and finally seemed to find a comfortable spot.

"Hey, Spock," said Kirk quietly. "You ever gotten drunk?"

"I do not drink," Spock replied shortly.

"You should, some time," said Kirk. "It makes you feel—warm, and light."

"My species has a high specific body temperature. I am already quite warm."

Kirk laughed. "Do you not drink, or do Vulcans not drink?"

"Both," said Spock. "We ferment port only to sell off-planet. We have no tolerance for the stuff."

"Fascinating," said Kirk quietly. Spock turned in bed to glare at him. The light through the window was dim, but he could clearly see the sparkle of Kirk's eye.

"Do not mock me," said Spock, his voice cold.

"I would not dare," said Kirk solemnly. "You mock yourself well enough."

"Excuse me, James?"

"Oh, nothing," said Kirk. "You just seem like a caricature most of the time. You're trying too hard to be Vulcan. It's obvious that you're just a human pretending to be a Vulcan."

Kirk had been curious about Spock's emotions ever since Amanda had mentioned that Spock had punched a hole in his wall the day Kirk had antagonized him at school. He waited for Spock to answer, wondering what he was going to say.

But Spock was not going to fall for that.

"My nationality is none of your concern." There was hurt in his voice. "I will be what I am, not what I seem to be to ignorant observers."

Suddenly Kirk felt bad. He remembered what Bones and Uhura had said about being nicer to Spock. He reached across the bed and put a hand on Spock's shoulder.

To his surprise, Spock grasped his wrist tightly. He tried to pull away, but Spock would not let go.

"I'm sorry," Kirk said.

Spock shook his head. "It is nothing. I am not offended."

"I am sorry," insisted Kirk, scooting. "I shouldn't have said that. I was just trying to get a rise out of you."

Spock, who had been monitoring his own physical arousal, raised an eyebrow, but Kirk could not see that.

"Can I ask you something else?" said Kirk.

"What?"

"Can I have my hand back?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Forgive me."

Spock let go of Kirk's wrist. They were quiet.

There was something about hotels. The transient feeling you got from doing something so intimate—sleeping—in a room meant for other people. Or the glare of unnatural light through the curtains, so unlike the light at home. Maybe the high comfort of the bedding, the way the strange pillows engulfed you. The unfamiliar sweep of cool air. The room felt like change, like a neutral place to start over after a failure, or to regroup when you were tired.

"One more question," said Kirk quickly, before he could change his mind. He had no idea what had come over him. "Have you ever kissed anybody?"

For a while, Spock did not reply.

"Yes," he said, his voice cracking. "Yes I have, James."

It was the James that did it.

"Spock," Kirk whispered, not sure why he was saying it, but knowing what he said was true. "I want you."

Spock's breath caught. Blindly he moved towards the center of the bed, feeling the sheets slide over him like water. Kirk's hands grasped his, his feet kicked Kirk's feet, they were against each other, pressing, Spock's nose colliding with Kirk's chin, readjusting—kissing.

Oh, god, the taste of him, Spock thought. Old alcohol and mint and Kirk. He ran his hot hands over Kirk's cooler body, feeling the heft of his muscles, the give in his side, the small hairs covering his back under his shirt, the taper of his spine. Kirk was unbuttoning Spock's shirt, trailing kisses down his chest. Spock tried not to cry out.

The world shuddered and spun and melted and Spock jerked involuntarily. Beside him, Kirk made a small, sleepy noise, huffed, and pulled more of the sheets over to his side.

Spock sat up. Kirk was not kissing him. Kirk was fast asleep on his side of the bed, his arms wrapped around a pillow, snoring gently. That—that must have been a dream, thought Spock frantically. When had he fallen asleep? Had they talked at all? He couldn't remember. But—was it a dream? He thought he still tasted Kirk in his mouth. No, that was just—that had to just be part of the illusion. It had been a dream. All of it had been a dream.

He fell back against the pillows, feeling close to tears. It had been so vivid. The wrinkles in Kirk's lips, the texture of his tongue, the taste of him—they were all so vivid. They were all so vivid. They were all so sharp in his mind, but they were fading, because Spock was falling asleep again, spiraling down into deeper dreams.

x

Spock got up when his alarm went off. By the time he was finished showering, Kirk and Bones were awake and grumbling about their headaches. Spock pushed the memory of his dream into the back of his mind and compelled his roommates to get ready faster.

Kirk figured that the alcohol had impaired his memory. There was no way he had made out with Spock last night, it must have been a dream closely tied to his conscious mind. He made no mention of it to Spock; why should he? Spock wasn't monitoring his subconscious.

In truth, their dream was not a dream. They had kissed, they had explored each other, and they had enjoyed each other, but somehow what had come out had gone back in, had returned to be locked up in tight boxes deep inside their hearts, deepest of all inside Kirk's, who thought that the dream was just a strange trip of his mind, and even when he thought about it, really didn't find Spock attractive at all.

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