CONFESSIONS OF A SPOCKAHOLIC

Hello and welcome to my slashy romp through the Land of Awkward Romantic Tension! I have to warn you from the get-go: this story is ridiculously silly and the plotline is probably nothing more than "Starfleet meets Harlequin Romance," but I hope you enjoy it all the same. I'm having a blast writing it so far, and it's been a good exercise in me learning not to take myself too seriously. That being said, I do take the K/S relationship VERY seriously, and I hope that this story will eventually reflect that. If you don't like slash, schmoop, or weird men in diapers, you might want to consider clicking on a different story, but you're more than welcome to tough it out for as long as you can. As any writer can understand, receiving feedback has amazing power to keep you going, especially on the days when you want to give up. There. I've said my "please review" bit. I will never bring it up again, promise! So now that I've said my piece..."RELEASE THE SPIRKIN'!"

...Oh, and I don't own Star Trek and all that fun stuff.

Personal log: Stardate 6157.5. The Enterprise is currently in orbit around Jaris II. Doctor McCoy and his staff are attending a two-day medical conference, leaving the rest of us to enjoy some much needed down-time. As a token of gratitude for letting them "borrow" the doctor, the Head of the Jarillian Medical Research Initiative has personally arranged for Mr. Spock and myself to spend our shore leave at a luxury Terran-themed resort. Although I would much rather plan my own vacations, I appreciate both the gesture and the opportunity to enjoy the company of my First Officer.

Jim's internal alert signal—born from a combination of natural intuition and Starfleet experience—flared to "condition yellow" immediately after he materialized on the welcoming platform with Spock. He supposed it was the only natural reaction to being greeted with the sight of a grinning man in a diaper.

"Greetings, honored Kirkspock, and welcome to Cupid's Cove."

The diapered man bowed unctuously, revealing a quiver of sparkly red arrows and a small pair of artificial wings strapped to his back.

Jarillian, Jim thought, noting the starburst-shaped pupils in his eyes.

"My name is Droovin and I will be serving as your personal 'Romance Concierge' during your stay." His sprawling smile widened."If you should require anything to enhance the pleasure of your vacation, please do not hesitate to let me know. I have received special training in providing for the needs of inamoratos."

The klaxon in Jim's brain wailed like a spanked newborn.

Red Alert!

Spock tilted his head inquisitively.

"Inamoratos, Captain?"

"It's an old Italian word, Spock. It means..." Jim's Adam's apple bobbed in a massive effort to swallow the tension lodged in his throat. "it means..."

"Male lovers!" Droovin crowed gleefully. "A beautiful word, indeed." He nodded his head vigorously, his flaxen curls bouncing in agreement.

The Vulcan's right eyebrow levitated. Jim opened his mouth to speak, but was halted by a brief, white flash. A smiling woman beind a large desk was brandishing an ancient-looking camera. Blinking the spots from his vision, Jim returned his attention to Droovin.

"I apologize if there's been some confusion, but my First Officer and I are not lovers."

Droovin's smile, which had not faltered since their arrival, only lengthened.

"I understand completely, sir. You can count on our discretion." He put his forefinger to his lip and winked.

Jim suppressed a shudder. No amount of diplomatic training or diversity appreciation could stamp out the inherent creepiness of being winked at by winged men in nappies.

"No, I don't think you understand, sir; we really aren't..."

"If you would please follow me, I will now show you to your room." Droovin rubbed his hands together and pointed in a vague direction. "Onward, gentlemen, to the boudoir!" He winked again and pivoted on his heels.

Throwing a helpless look at Spock, Jim followed after the Romance Concierge, watching the fake wings on his back flounce up and down with each stride. As he half-listened to the merry prattle about the history and features of Cupid's Cove, two lines of thought battled for dominance in his mind:

This is the LAST time I let someone else handle my shore leave arrangements! And: What the hell do we do now?

Not that he hadn't imagined his fair share of "romantic getaway with Spock" scenarios over the years, but no amount of fantasizing could've prepared him for the enormity of the real thing. It was like coming face to face with a live elephant for the first time after years of looking at holographic miniatures.

Not to mention the fact that an overgrown cherub was riding the elephant in the room.

"Here we are, gentlemen!"

They came to a stop at a pair of thick double doors in a cheerfully lit hallway. Droovin turned his attention to a keypad near the doornob and punched in a series of buttons.

"Each button has a corresponding letter of the Terran alphabet printed on it. Your personal access code for the lock-release is 'lovebirds.' If you forget it, you can have me summoned through the front desk and I will be happy to remind you." He tapped a final button and an audible click sounded from the other side of the door.

"And now I present to you...your love nest!"

He flung the doors open and gestured towards the interior with a flourish of the wrist.

Jim shot Spock a wry look.

"Well, Mr. Spock, aren't you gonna carry me over the threshold?" he quipped

"With all due respect, Captain, that would not be neccessary or practical. You are not physically incapacitated in any way, and I am already carrying our luggage."

Beside them, Droovin unleashed a flurry of disapproving tsks.

"Oh my! It looks like someone could use an extra sprinkle of love dust."

Spock drew himself up with great dignity.

"Sir, I must respectfully decline."

An airy giggle floated out from the man-cherub's lips.

"Gentlemen, I believe it is time for me to take my departure," he said breezily, "Please enjoy the complimentary fruit basket on the vanity table and be sure to have a look through the Romance Itinerary on the foot of your bed."

He turned his attention to Jim, and finally dropped the smile he'd been wearing since their arrival. He looked directly into Jim's eyes.

"Give him time, Mr. Kirkspock." he said kindly.

With that, the frazzled rope of Jim's patience came unwraveled.

"Look." He had to fight to keep from raising his voice. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but there's been a huge misunderstanding. There is no Kirkspock, or whatever you want to call us—there is only Kirk and Spock. We've been booked in at the wrong resort...we are not a couple!"

Impossibly, the grin resurfaced, wider than ever. Jim was almost surprised that it didn't wrap all the way around to the back of his head.

"Yet." A definite note of smugness had crept into the Jarillian's voice. "Love may be blind as you humans claim, Mr. Kirkspock, but it is easy to see when you know how to look."

With that, he spun around and minced down the hallway, throwing Jim a parting wink over his shoulder. Human and Vulcan gaped wordlessly at the retreating cherub, the silence in the wake of his departure broken only by the diminishing crinkle of his diaper.