Hallo! This is my second Spirk story, and it has no plot. Actually it's more or less completely character-driven smush. For your entertainment. :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, Pringles, or the Force. :x
Note: I have no idea why I've suddenly become a prolific writer. I'm not sure if it will continue. Just so you know.
"And so there!" shouted the captain, slamming his glass back down onto the bar. A flurry of cheers erupted from the crowd surrounding him, as they should have. He was Jim Kirk! No pansy-ass cocktail was ever going to bring him down.
"Well, I'm impressed," remarked the bartender, peering at Jim with his multifaceted eyes. "Care for another?"
Jim nodded so hard that his face hit the bar.
"Oh, no you don't. You're going to have to retain some of your dignity. Otherwise I'll never forgive myself for working under you."
"Working under me? I thought you liked… Spock!" Jim's hazy leer focused on Uhura's chin as she hauled him up from the bar. She flushed, but still managed to glare at him.
"Uh, no. In case you forgot, you've been with Spock for a year now. Sir."
"Oh yeah…" Jim considered this. "Did you know he likes it when you lick his ears?"
"You're a disgrace."
The raucous sounds and sights of the bar had faded now. Jim rather thought they were swimming through whipped cream, but no. Uhura told him they were going to the hotel. He supposed that was all right. Spock was at the hotel. Maybe. Wait, which hotel?
Jim did not like the revolving door.
"So help me God, if you throw up on me, your ass is toast," snarled his captor as she dragged him along into the lobby.
"Uurg," replied the captain.
"Which room are you in?" Uhura was staring at him now.
In the interest of good captain/crew relations, he told her.
"This one." God he was hot. Distractedly, he began pulling off his shirt. It was hard. Harder than the Kobayashi Maru, even. Even harder than the floor! Where his face was, suddenly. Were they being attacked?! "Red Alert!" he told the carpet. "Klingons! They want my… They want my Pringles…"
"Uh-huh." Uhura shoved him up so that he was leaning against a potted plant. After making sure his nose wasn't broken, she began to go through his pockets in a business-like manner. "Where's your room key?"
"It was lost at sea." Jim was sure that was tragic. He began to sob quietly into a frond-like leaf. Uhura sighed in frustration.
"All right, fine. I'm going to try and persuade the desk worker to tell me Spock's room number, because you are sure as hell not staying with me. Don't wander off." She stood and began walking away in the clipped manner she used when she was annoyed with him.
Why was it his fault? Spock would know. He rose to his feet quite uncertainly. He wished the goddamn Klingons would go off and buy their own Pringles.
"To infinity and beyond!" he thought he shouted. That sounded good. He then proceeded to wander off.
"I know it's against your policy, but this is an emergency. My capt-, er, friend is… sick. He lost his card and right now he can't even remember what room he's in. Commander Spock would understand. Would you please just give me his room number?"
"I'm sorry, miss, but I'm not authorized to give out such information. As for your friend, if you need an ambulance, I'd be happy to call one." The burly-looking man at the desk raised an eyebrow. Uhura sighed.
"No. That's fine. Thanks." She pulled away and turned to look back at her good-for-nothing captain. Except he wasn't there any more and why wasn't that surprising?
"Jim Kirk, if I ever find you, so help me, you are going to die." She marched away toward the last place she'd left him.
It had been a long journey. In the end, Jim wasn't sure how he'd done it. But he was here. Spock's room. Heaven. Shangri-la. He knocked on the door with his face.
It was getting a lot of use this evening.
Spock opened the door momentarily, and if he was surprised to find the captain now cuddling his knees, he didn't mention it.
"Jim…" Only one word, but so much disdain! Or maybe it was exasperated love. Sometimes it was hard to tell. "…You had better come in."
"Okay," Jim told Spock's pantleg, and allowed himself to be lifted more-or-less gently into the room. "It's hot in here."
"Yes, you would certainly think so."
Spock placed him on the bed. Jim curled up with his face in Spock's shirt. Spock's shirt? What was it doing so far from Spock?
"You aren't wearing a shirt." He could make deductions, too.
"That is correct. However, I will have to don one shortly."
"Why?" Jim rather liked the way he could see Spock's chest. Were the Klingons trying to steal that too?!
"It would be unwise not to lower the temperature to one more fitting to your biochemistry, especially since you are not currently at you optimum strength." He moved over to the wall monitor and began lowering the temperature. "Would seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit be sufficient?"
Spock looked at him with a softened expression and almost smiled. Unless the Klingons were making his lips twitch like that.
"Do not concern yourself, Jim. Everything is under control."
"Oh, good." Jim had pulled Spock's shirt on around his neck because it smelled good. Now he was rather wishing Spock would come over, because Spock smelled even better. "Come. I miss you." He reached up a hand and tried to will the Vulcan over. Luckily Spock was already headed his way, because he'd forgotten to improve his Force Pull.
"I am here." Spock settled into bed beside him, now clothed in a rose-colored sweater. Jim thought it was cute, maybe. His eyes were beginning to close. Spock wrapped an arm around him and snuggled until the Klingons stole the lights.
Jim awoke. Probably. It felt more like a slow rise to consciousness through layers of sandpaper-covered spikes. But he managed. He struggled weakly out of the entangling bedcovers and pulled something from around his neck. Good. At least he could breathe again. Slowly, he opened an eye.
It was blessedly dark in the room where he found himself. He could see a wall. He was going to need more identification than that. Very slowly he turned around. Now he had to open his other eye. It revealed… a side table. Yes.
And an impression in the bed that meant he wasn't/hadn't been alone. Good god. He wasn't even sure where he was, much less who he could have been sleeping with. Spock was going to kill him.
Unless he'd been sleeping with Spock. Time to sit up.
Somehow, despite the little gnomes hammering in his skull, he managed to get vertical. He could now see a door. Yes. And it went into another little blah room. So he was in a hotel. Perhaps even the hotel he was supposed to be staying at. Further scrutiny revealed that there was someone in the little room.
It was Spock. Thank god.
…Spock was doing something.
Jim decided to get up.
It was hard. Harder than the Kobayashi Maru. Well, that actually hadn't been so tough now that he thought about it. He placed both feet on the floor and hoisted himself into a standing position. Despite the train crashing into the nuclear warhead that was his brain, he was now up. He walked- no, shuffled, over to the door. He peered blearily at Spock.
Spock was dancing.
He had pushed the small coffee table and the couch away against the wall and was now moving fluidly in a way that reminded Jim of a paper crane folding itself over and over again. He stared.
That was kind of… attractive.
Suddenly it wasn't his head he had to worry about.
Just as he was going to go in and grab his Vulcan for some much-needed comfort, the door buzzer rang. Spock stopped dancing – damn – and went to answer it. Jim cursed whoever was on the other side.
"Hello? Good morning, Nyota."
Hi Spock! Jim glared at the space where he thought the door was, obscured as it was by a wall, and almost went out there to show her who was boss. That was his Vulcan she was talking to in such a manner.
Then he remembered that he was disgusting and hungover and it probably wouldn't look too good for Spock's social life if he lurched over there and started pitching a fit.
"Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you'd seen the captain. You see, I lost him last night when I was trying to get him home from that stupid bar, and I feel awful. What if he's been kidnapped or something?"
She did seem rather broken up, now that he thought about it.
"I mean, that would make it my fault. What am I going to do? I don't really want him to die!"
Well, what a nice sentiment. Of course, with their relationship being so rocky from the start, he supposed he should take what he could get.
"The captain is within, Nyota. Somehow he made his way up here, I believe you would say, in one piece."
"Oh, thank heavens. And thank you. Sorry again."
Jim could hear Spock's nod of acknowledgement, then the door slid shut. He sighed.
Of course Spock would know he was listening. "Hey Spock." He shuffled out into the small living room and watched as Spock effortlessly moved the furniture back. "Awww… no more dancing?" He was surprised when Spock stiffened a little and turned green.
"Why not?" He sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, leaning back into its cushiony folds. Yay, his headache was beginning to subside into a beast he could deal with.
"I am now sufficiently relaxed. Such an exercise is no longer needed."
"That was a relaxation exercise?" Jim was intrigued. He'd seen Spock meditate to relax before, but never dance.
"…I use it to relax." Spock was now standing more or less at attention, his arms folded behind him like his characteristic bridge position.
"It doesn't really seem to be working that well," remarked Jim, getting an idea. He grinned.
"Your point, Jim?" Spock was looking at him now with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.
He was familiar with that look.
"My point is, there are better things we could do to relax you. And me." He got up again – damn he was getting good at that – and sidled up to his first officer. He licked Spock's ear.
"A very good point, Jim." Spock had that look he got when he was trying to be logical but failing. "May I suggest we relocate to a more suitable location?"
Jim was getting good at that, too.
Yep. Please review if you liked it! If you didn't, review anyway. ^^