Chapter 6
The erection proves resilient. There's not much he can do about that.
It persists throughout his – mercifully solitary – shower and is only slightly abashed by the sudden rush of cool air as he exits the haze of perfumed steam and re-emerges into the relative arctic blast of the locker rooms, where a few assorted crewmembers have begun to change for an evening game of soccer. A couple of them offer nods and the sort of uncomfortable greetings that you get when a superior officer and his subordinates are forced to converse in an off-duty scenario without alcohol, and, although half of them will absolutely have sprung inconvenient wood for no reason at all in the gym, he has no doubt that word of the Captain's erection will make its way around the junior decks before morning. Kirk very much hopes that no-one joins the dots between aroused Captain and Suus Mahna with the First Officer. There are enough rumors about him as it is.
Scrutiny and extrapolated invective are enough to wilt his recalcitrant member at last, although the lingering sense of arousal predicts that something will have to be done about it later in the evening. He dresses quickly and glances at the chronometer: less than ten minutes have passed since the notification came through. He throws some cheerful wishes for a good game over his shoulder – might as well make them feel bad about gossiping – and leaves for his quarters.
The light on his terminal is blinking like a beacon in the dark room, and he leaves the main lights low as he crosses to his desk and retrieves the information package. The familiar crest fills the screen as he activates the security protocol that scans his retina and checks it against his voice print ID, and a tinny computer voice asks him to hold for a recorded message from Admiral Fitzpatrick. Kirk releases a breath that he doesn't remember holding; Fitzpatrick is good news on a number of levels. They are in a section of the galaxy that is under his purview, meaning that any Starfleet personnel currently on assignment within that sector are technically answerable to him, and an encrypted communication for the Captain's eyes only, while almost certainly not the most exciting document this side of the Magna Carta, is likely to be comfortingly routine.
Kirk clicks play and the screen fills with the Admiral's serious, fatherly face. "Kirk," he says without preamble, "Sorry about the late hour. I've just left a meeting with the Junior Minister for Federal Expansion, amongst others, and this can't wait. I realize that the Enterprise is stationed in Beta Aurigae for another four days, but I'm going to have to cut that short. Your new orders follow – Fitzpatrick out."
Fitzpatrick's image abruptly disappears and the room darkens for a moment as the screen blanks. And then there's another Federal crest and a new document that opens with a destination, a mission objective and a timescale before devolving into a detailed background summary.
It's the destination that gets Kirk's attention.
In the shadowed semi-darkness, his eyes widen for a moment and a smile spreads slowly across his face. He reaches for his comm port.
"Spock," he says, gaze fixed on the screen as though the words there might suddenly dissolve into something much less exciting, "Would you come in here a moment?"
-o-o-o-
Spock allows himself to stare at the ceiling in an ambivalent afterglow for 3.4 minutes before rising abruptly and crossing to the bathroom to clean himself. He is standing in an unsatisfied haze beneath the sonics when the sounds of occupation suddenly erupt behind the second door. It's a little too much of a reality check, with the warm cloud of orgasm still lingering in his groin, and he scrubs quickly and exits as quietly as he can. He is dressing himself in the loose robes he wears for meditation when his comm port buzzes.
He knows who it will be, of course. Theoretically it could be one of many people, but statistically, at this time of the evening and with the ship so secure and functional she's practically humming a jaunty tune, the odds are upwards of 98 percent that it will be the Captain. Spock is not certain he is ready to face the object of his self-reproach just yet, but he doesn't have much of a choice. He opens the channel.
"Spock." It is, of course, the same voice that propelled him into climax less than ten minutes ago. "Would you come in here a moment?"
There is a tinge of breathless excitement to Kirk's tone that piques Spock's curiosity and earns another interested twitch from his lethargic cock, which, fortunately, is still heavily invested in the refractory period and can do no more than quirk a metaphorical eyebrow at present.
Nevertheless, Spock diverts a portion of his focus to stabilizing the blood flow to his groin and says, "Of course, Captain. I will join you momentarily."
They have never openly declared an embargo on using the bathroom as a thoroughfare, it's just never happened. In the early days of Kirk's captaincy, their relationship was so overtly hostile that it simply wouldn't have occurred to either one – they barely acknowledged that they even shared a bathroom, let alone that the opposite door led into the other's quarters. By the time the freeze had thawed sufficiently for them to voluntarily spend off-duty hours together, it had just become one of their established courtesies, like the median temperature setting and the observance of each others' traditions. So he lets himself out into the corridor, startling a passing Ensign whose face flashes panic and then immediately schools itself into studied innocence before she scurries out of sight. He buzzes formally at the Captain's door. "Come in, Spock," calls Kirk, and the door slides open.
It was something of a surprise to discover, in the first stages of infatuation, that it is the smallest of details that deliver the most blinding assaults on reason and emotion. When Kirk is at his ease, he absently toes his boots off his feet and leaves them scattered haphazardly around the room, canted at all angles, and pads about in his stocking feet. It is both shockingly intimate and staggeringly mundane, and yet it never fails to elicit a lightning tug of yearning from his First Officer that he suppresses only with great difficulty.
Kirk glances up and flashes him a brilliant smile. "Sorry, Spock, have I caught you in the middle of meditation?" he says.
"Negative, Captain," says Spock, mindful of the fact that his given occupation for the evening, while deliberately vague, heavily implied the processing of paperwork somewhere along the line.
Kirk absorbs the information perfunctorily and beckons Spock to his desk. "I thought you'd want
to see this as soon as possible," he said.
"The communication from Starfleet Headquarters?" says Spock.
Kirk nods. "New orders. I trust we're just about wrapped up with the gravitational measurements?"
A day ago, the idea of abandoning his unfinished project would have been a source of consternation. Today, it's a manifest relief. The computer banks have stored sufficient data to allow him to process the results at his leisure, but it is no longer enough to occupy him on a full-time basis and he badly needs distraction. He says, "Affirmative. What little information remains to be gathered can be easily accomplished by the science staff aboard the Potemkin. Might I inquire as to the nature of our new assignment?"
Kirk's grin widens and he swings the terminal around to face his First Officer. "See for yourself," he says.
Spock leans carefully across the desk, close enough to allow himself to read the text on the screen but far enough away that the heat of Kirk's body only slightly intrudes into his personal space. He focuses on the document.
After a moment, he glances up.
The Captain's face is shining with delight. "I guess Finagle's Law doesn't apply on this occasion, Mr. Spock," he says. "It's not somebody else's home port this time." He nods at the guest chair. "Have a seat, Spock. I think this calls for a drink, don't you?"
Spock raises an eyebrow and lowers himself into a sitting position. Presently, he says, "This is unexpected, Captain."
"Do you think we could dispense with the formalities for this evening, Spock?" says Kirk cheerfully. His hand hovers over the replicator button. "Pineapple juice? Or tomato? Or I think Scotty said he'd programmed gespar… We're off duty. I don't think the chain of command is going to break down if you call me Jim."
Spock knows better than to trust a replicator with gespar juice. He says, "Pineapple will be satisfactory, Jim." It earns him a dazzling flash of the sunshine smile, thrown carelessly over the Captain's shoulder.
"It'll be a short stop, I'm afraid," says Kirk as he decants a generous measure of cognac into a wide-bowled glass. "Did you read the details?" The replicator beeps and the Captain retrieves a chilled glass of juice, which gives Spock the chance to answer his question with a disapproving eyebrow. "No, of course you didn't." He grins as he settles back into his seat. "We're to dock at Vulcan Space Command for no longer than six hours, but I'm personally authorizing three of those as leave for you. And when I say 'authorizing' I mean 'ordering'. No excuses. I can handle the diplomatic side of things for a few hours."
Spock sips from his glass. He's prevaricating, of course, because he knows what reaction his next words are going to produce. Nevertheless, he says, "Thank you, Jim, but that won't be necessary."
"That's why I made it an order, Spock," says the Captain amiably. He sets his drink on the desk and leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Look – I'm not trying to make you spend time with your parents, Spock. That's not my place. All I'm saying is – when was the last time you visited your homeworld?"
Spock knows precisely how long it is since he last set foot on Vulcan. This is part of the problem. He says, "Jim, unlike Humans, Vulcans do not feel a strong emotional connection to our native soil. It is important in terms of ritual and ceremony, but I do not experience any particular longing to return."
"Then beam down and stock up on home comforts," says Kirk. "One way or another, Mr. Spock, you're leaving this ship for three hours while we're in orbit around your home planet, so you might as well find some way to justify it to yourself."
Spock privately doubts that, but extracting himself from Kirk's plans typically involves a modicum of misdirection and the appearance of acquiescence, so he offers a non-committal nod and sips from his glass.
"Besides which," says Kirk, leaning back in his chair and cradling his brandy against his chest, "your parents will know we've docked. You can explain to your mother why you haven't left the ship if you like, but you can rest assured that I won't lie to her on your behalf." He purses his lips but his eyes sparkle.
"My mother has been the wife of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth for almost forty years," says Spock calmly. "She is well aware that duty takes precedence over personal preference."
"Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Spock," says Kirk. "Perhaps you might look like you believe it one day."
"I might also point out that it is almost as long since the Enterprise was last docked over Earth, and you yourself did not avail of the opportunity to spend time on the planet's surface on that occasion."
Kirk huffs a laugh. "That's different, of course."
"I fail to see how."
"Well, for a start I'm the Captain," he says with a beatific smile that cannot disguise his manifest amusement. "There's no CO on board to order me." Spock acknowledges the truth of the statement with a quirked eyebrow and a patrician nod. "Secondly, every other crewmember aboard this ship is Terran or of Terran descent. We simply didn't have time to beam everyone down and I could hardly grant myself a privilege that I denied to my crew. Moreover, I'm not exactly starved for Terran culture aboard the Enterprise. But, really, the most important factor, Mr. Spock, is this: it's different because I've ordered you to spend some time planetside, and you lack the authority to make a similar demand of me. And don't think I don't know that you wanted to." He takes a triumphant gulp from his glass.
"I believe you'll find that it was on Dr. McCoy's advice," says Spock after a moment.
"This will be too, if I ask him," he says. "Spock – look. I know your attachment to Vulcan is ambivalent at best. But who knows how long it might be before you have the chance to visit again?" There is an unspoken question hiding behind the words, but Spock chooses not to analyze it just now. "I'll beam you down in the middle of the L-langon Mountains if you choose. But you will beam down."
For a moment, Spock debates the merits of leaving it at that, since there will be at least two days in which to consider his options. But there is something in the Captain's eyes that makes him press further. "Jim," he says slowly, "Why is this important to you?"
It's the right question. He sees that in the same instant that he realizes he won't get an answer. "Because home is important," says Kirk. His voice doesn't waver and he doesn't hesitate, but it's still not the full truth.
"The Enterprise has been my home for almost as long as I lived on Vulcan," says Spock slowly. "Longer, given the years of my childhood that were spent on Earth."
Something eases momentarily in the Captain's fixed expression, but it's gone almost before it registers and a darkness floods back in. Kirk covers it quickly with a smile and raises his glass. "To home, then," he says. "In whatever form it takes."
"To the Enterprise," says Spock, and lifts his glass in return.
Kirk barks a laugh that chases the shadows from his expression and spreads his grin more firmly across his face. "Mr. Spock," he says happily, "You're a stubborn man."