Spock's arms had been full of Kirk.
There was nothing lewd, enticing, or sensual about it, really. The captain had a natural aversion towards most inoculations, and a natural aversion towards sitting still. He was also, Spock was beginning to suspect, something of a masochist. So, of course, as soon as McCoy had given him his treatment in preparation for their next away mission, Kirk had left sickbay (against doctor's orders) and made his way to the bridge. Where he'd promptly questioned their status, and then passed out.
Spock, being in possession of the best reflexes, had of course been the one to catch him before the captain's head had an unpleasant meeting with the deck. As the strongest crewman aboard, it had then only been logical that he carry the captain back to sickbay. There was no great mystery as to his condition or any reason to call for emergency medical personnel. Spock was well aware of the inoculations, and his captain's potential negative reactions to them. He liked to keep himself appraised of any potential risks to the crew, after all, and Kirk had a knack for turning potentials into realities.
He ignored the curious looks they earned as he carried his burden through the halls. Naturally, people were going to wonder. It wasn't every day that one saw the first officer carrying an unconscious captain to sickbay.
There was nothing romantic, affectionate, or illogical about the whole thing – well, so long as one discounted the core of illogic personified which made up Kirk's very essence. Upon entering sickbay he had been greeted by a rather frantic-looking McCoy, who had relaxed and rolled his eyes upon spotting them, and then gestured him towards one of the unoccupied beds. Spock lay the captain down with due care, and then prepared to return to his duties.
A hand closing around his wrist had halted him, more out of surprise than any real force. He looked back to see Kirk staring at him with glassy, disoriented eyes.
"Hey, 'Pock," he slurred. "W'appened?"
Gently, Spock disentangled the captain's hand from his wrist, and answered. "You exited sickbay prematurely and fell unconscious on the bridge. I brought you back." He had learned from past experience that it was generally inadvisable to tell human males that they had 'fainted'. Regardless of how appropriate the term was, they tended to take offence.
"Oh," Kirk replied, blinking and still quite clearly in the clutches of mild delirium. "Hey, at's nice'f you. Thanks."
"I was merely performing my duties," Spock assured him. He was rewarded with a generous smile.
"S'okay, 'Pock, I like you. Yer my fav'rit," Kirk informed him fondly.
"…Thank you, captain."
Seemingly content now, Kirk closed his eyes and drifted off, still smiling as he did. His mission complete, Spock turned on his heel and made his way quietly back towards the bridge. Clearly the captain had not been in control of his faculties while he had expressed his favoritism. He hadn't even been able to say the words without slurring, and one look at his face would tell anyone that his condition was far from competent. Nothing he said could be trusted. Unprofessional behavior could be overlooked in light of the circumstances.
There wasn't a single untoward aspect to the entire incident. It was just one of those things that happened every once in a while, a minor spectacle which was par for the course in the daily life of the Enterprise.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about it?