Characters: Kirk, Spock
Rating: NC-17, eventually
Notes: This was done for the st_xi_kinkmeme on LJ. Not quite what the OP asked for, but I'm still working on it.

In response to this prompt:
jim and spock get caught in the rain.

freezing heavy rain, clinging clothes, drenched hair, and hotter-then-human vulcan skin.

Durenia IV was not the most pleasant place for a Vulcan. Certainly the captain was uncomfortable, but Spock's thermal comfort zone was easily fifteen degrees higher than Kirk's, and this planet was well below even Kirk's comfort.

"Captain, I am not picking up any traces of the research team. I think it is safe to say that, while parts of their ship survived the fall to this planet, neither the team not the rest of their ship is here."

Spock looked up from the tricorder, lifting one eyebrow very slightly, in a gesture that clearly read 'can we go, now?' to anyone who knew how to read it, but was wholly unintelligible to anyone else. His nose was green-tinged with the beginnings of frostbite, and his joints ached with the burning cold. Frankly, the captain didn't appear to be in much better shape.

"Just another minute or two, Spock. I want to double-check the readings off the --" A deafening crash of thunder cut off the end of the sentence, and the tremor rolled through the ground beneath their feet, as the sky cracked open, deluging the pair in sleet. Kirk slipped, still trying to regain his footing from the roll of the ground, and Spock caught him, with one arm.

"We are leaving now, captain." Spock opened his communicator and hailed the ship. "Mr. Scott, please beam the captain and myself directly to my quarters. The research team is not here."

"To... your quarters?" came the responding squawk.

"Yes, Mr. Scott. It is a proper Vulcan temperature, in my quarters." Spock's control had started to slip, and a tiny bit of annoyance could be heard in his tone, as the sleet slid down inside his jacket.

"Yes, sir!" Mr. Scott still sounded dubious, but he complied. He wasn't one to question Spock twice.

As soon as the room resolved around Spock, he could feel the heat of it like fire against his exposed skin. Yes, he thought, that's definitely going to be frostbite.

Unthinking, Spock dropped the captain on the floor, in his struggle to get out of his wet and frosty clothing as quickly as possible. Even a cold shower would be warmer than his body, and probably less likely to aggravate the frostbite. The coat and two shirts had hit the floor, before his gloves came off, and he pressed one glove to the end of his nose with a small, disconsolate sound, before tearing it off his hand with his teeth.

Spock stopped, glove still hanging from his mouth, at a sound from his captain -- one that he could only describe as a giggle. Removing the glove from between his teeth, he dropped it to the floor, gazing dangerously at Kirk.

"Do you find something amusing, captain?"

"Never thought I'd see the day when you of all people would be so ... aggressive about getting naked," Kirk replied, pulling off his own boots, unable to entirely suppress an amused smirk.

"It is entirely logical to remove as much of the sleet from my body as possible before it can do any further damage to my skin." Spock's gaze was unwavering, but he ran a thumb across the bright-green tips of his fingers, checking for sensation.

"Logical would be to remove your clothing in the reverse order to how it was put on. Gloves, coat, boots..." Kirk stepped closer, still obviously entertained. Spock flinched very slightly as the captain seized the fingertips of the glove he still wore, dragging it off his hand. As soon as his fingertips cleared the cuff, Spock snatched his hand back, glaring imperiously and fearfully at his captain.

"Don't. Touch. My fingers," Spock growled, holding one of his hands cautiously in the other. He hadn't wholly lost sensation -- in fact, his fingers were in terrible pain -- the burn of being chilled and the ache in his joints. And considering the importance of the fingers to a Vulcan, the best explanation he'd be able to make to the captain would be to introduce his knee rather violently to Kirk's testicles. He didn't want to, but if Kirk didn't back up, he would.

Kirk did step back, looking confused and wary. "I was joking," he clarified, stripping off his sopping uniform shirt. "But, you probably want to get your hands in the sink, before that gets serious."

"Thank you, captain," Spock remarked, dryly. "That was my intention."

Spock knew he needed to get his boots off -- that they had filled with the icy downpour -- but it required more manual dexterity than he had, at the moment. With a small huff of irritation, he stepped into the small bathroom, filling the sink with cool water to rest his hands in, while they thawed. Once he had working fingers, again, he could attend to his feet.

After a short time, Kirk stepped into the room, behind him, wearing nothing but tight, damp, black silk thermals. The colour contrast in the mirror fascinated Spock, as he took the time to notice that where he had turned chartreuse, the captain's face burned deep pink. He lifted an eyebrow, asking silently what it was his captain wanted.

"You should probably get the boots off, Spock. If your fingers are that bad, your toes might be worse." Kirk actually sounded concerned, as he took a seat atop the closed lid of the toilet.

Spock snorted. "No, captain. My toes may not be in the best condition, but my fingers are definitely worse. It is a matter of Vulcan biology."

Kirk started to lean down, but remembered what had happened with the glove. "I worry about my crew," he excused himself, "Will you let me help you with your boots, so I can be sure we don't need to get Bones in here to have a look at you?"

Spock's face shifted, minutely, around his eyes, a few times -- derision, offence, anger, and finally, sensibility and acceptance. "Please, captain. My hands --" He gestured impotently, wincing as his fingers curled, slightly, and every knuckle popped.

"No trouble at all, Spock." Kirk patted the toilet lid, between his legs. "Just put your foot up here."

Kirk's fingers were stiff, but sure, unfastening the catches on the side of the tall boot, and sliding the icewater-filled rubber away from his first officer's foot. He poured the water into the shower, set the boot aside, and stripped off Spock's soaked sock, to get a better look at the foot.

As the captain's sure fingers rubbed feeling back into his numbed toes, Spock moaned softly, in contentment, turning cautiously to sit atop the sink counter, resting his hands in the water behind him.

"C-Captain, the other boot?"

"Hm?" Kirk looked up, slightly dazed, from where his cold fingers continued to caress the icy foot he held. "Oh. Yes, of course."

The captain released Spock's foot, and repeated the procedure with the other boot. Spock leaned back, slightly, thanking his exquisite sense of balance as he revelled in the feel of his captain's hands against his somewhat less numb feet. Somewhere, he was certain, there was someone that Kirk had learned this from. And, somewhere in the databanks, there would be a protocol for thanking that person.