a/n: I feel like Kirk just has this obsession with fruit. And I'm obsessed with his obsession with fruit. Lol. Took me for freaking EVER to finish. Un-edited. Hope you like =)

DC: ION


From past experiences with such instances, he had the preconceived notion that stepping into a turbolift with only one other occupant tended to have negative outcomes. It seemed that the unease that he had instilled in his peers and pupils at the Academy was also in effect aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, and if his companion in the lift was not one of the senior officers, there was generally a discernable amount of tension in the air. It was not the most comfortable of situations, but it could be borne.

However, stepping into a turbolift whose sole occupant was the one and only James T. Kirk, Captain of said starship, was not simply ill-advised. It was, decidedly, a bad idea.

Due to his exceptional sensory perception, this realization* dawned on him not as the turbolift door was opening to reveal its baleful cargo, but 31.6 seconds beforehand when the lift was just departing from deck 8 where the gymnasium and recreational facilities were located. He had been standing before the lift doors on deck 3, having just come from the botany lab where Lt. Sulu had been assisting him in examining recently collected samples of alien flora. His thoughts had been peacefully mulling over the data they had collected when a sudden sharp, distinct smell jolted him, arousing his fresh attention. There was no mistaking that scent; surely enough, when he quickly cast out his mental net, he detected the familiar buzzing beehive of his captain's ever-racing mind, just a few floors above.

It took perhaps 0.5 seconds for Spock to comprehend the full spectrum of the situation, and about 0.3 to calculate the possible outcomes. This left him with exactly 30.8 seconds, which – if he took another 0.2 to think about it – was a more than sufficient amount of time to retreat back down the corridor or dart into a nearby lab, thus avoiding audience with the captain entirely.

Yet he remained rooted to the spot, staring upwards at the ceiling as though following the lift's descent with his eyes. It was, he reasoned, illogical to employ such tactics simply to avoid sharing a lift with Jim Kirk- regardless of what misapprehensions (or "gut feelings" as Dr. McCoy was fond of calling them) he might have.

However, as Kirk's musky scent grew stronger, Spock could not deny the intensifying of what he was reluctant to call his dread.*

It was not that he wished to avoid the captain- such would have been an onerous task indeed, considering how often they were both required on the bridge. Truth be told, he found Kirk's presence rather intriguing, if not altogether curious and enthralling. The more time Spock spent getting to know Kirk as both a captain and a comrade, the more fascination the young man become. Whereas the professional nature of James T. Kirk was constantly earning Spock's respect and admiration, the human side was likewise constantly challenging and puzzling him.

The captain's teasingly amorous nature, for example, was extremely befuddling.

At first, he had been completely baffled by the captain's display. It did not seem at all kosher to him that the captain of a Federation vessel (much less a prestigious flagship such as the Enterprise, regardless of said captain's youth or aesthetically pleasing features) should routinely "make a pass" at other personelle- both male and female. Albeit, it was, as Dr. McCoy pointed out, all in jest; Kirk was (if Spock's savvy of Terran colloquialisms served him correct) what one might call a "player", and such jocular displays of affection did not necessarily indicate legitimate attraction or intent to mate. It was simply the most facile way for the captain to relate to his peers, colleagues, subordinates, and sometimes (in the case of Admiral Pike and a few others) his superiors. It leant a sense of "light familiarity"

And therein was where his own perceptions failed him. For although Kirk's flirting was, according to Dr. McCoy, designed to make him more at ease, he instead felt even more alienated than usual and (he grudgingly admitted) . . . uncomfortable. Almost nervous. He simply did not know how to react when the captain winked, batted his gold-blonde eyelashes, or sent a slightly salacious grin or suggestive comment his way. He was even more at a loss when the captain "accidentally" touched him or brushed against him. It always caused an unwelcome welling of emotions that he was not confident he should put a name to. It unnerved him.

And- most distressing of all- the captain's attentions were becoming increasingly more . . . well, pointed.

Yesterday, for example: Spock, McCoy, and Scotty were setting down to lunch in the mess hall, the engineer and doctor arguing amiably whilst Spock listened thoughtfully off to the side, interjecting every so often with his own insight. They had been about halfway through the meal when Kirk spotted them and sauntered over to join their table. Spock had been unable to stop himself from sweeping his eyes over the lean form of the handsome captain as he ambled towards them, wearing his customary Cheshire grin. He lowered his eyes and murmured in unison the greeting issued by both Scotty and McCoy. And while the latter two quickly resumed their previous debate, Kirk had slowly slid down across from Spock, staring at him openly. Though Spock had tried to keep his eyes lowered, his attention kept wandering up to Kirk; the captain, without once removing his eyes from Spock, leisurely began picking pieces of fruit from his plate and placing them in his mouth, chewing them slowly and pensively.

Spock, his own appetite suddenly voided, pushed his half empty plate around in an attempt to occupy himself. He had nearly regained his general serene calm. . . .

When, suddenly, under the table he was very aware of someone's foot slowly rubbing against his.

He looked up in wide-eyed alarm- just in time to see the captain licking fruit juice from his fingertips.

Which had resulted in some rather perturbing (and embarrassing) changes in his anatomy.

He excused himself swiftly with the pretense of returning to work, feeling the burn of Kirk's gaze on his back until he was safely out of the mess.

It was that particular incident more than anything that prompted him to consider taking another turbolift.

But he simply stood rooted there, stalling, ticking down the seconds in his head until the doors of the lift whooshed open.

And there was Kirk, dressed in his gym clothes, beaming.

"Mr. Spock."

Bracing himself, Spock stepped into the lift and took a stance to the captain's right. "Captain Kirk," he replied, doing his best to emote nothing.

As soon as the lift doors closed, the internal alarms that had been previously little more than buzzing white noise began blaring in his skull as his sensitive olfactory bulbs were assaulted. In such a confined space, Kirks smell was almost intoxicating.

As Spock blinked several times, trying to regain focus, Kirk moved for the lift's pad and lever. "Which floor, Mr. Spock?"

Eyes betraying him, Spock looked up. Kirk was smiling at him, that lopsided grin he was so (in)famous for, tilting his head to one side. Spock's gaze took in the subtle beads of post-exertion sweat along his brow, the perspiration sliding down his muscular arms, little droplets along his neck. His gym attire was not the Starfleet regulation wear, but a pair of black running shorts, and a large grey shirt whose sides had been cut out, giving any observer who cared to glance a tantalizing view of Kirk's toned torso.

Spock swallowed past the tightness his throat. "Deck 14," he managed.

Kirk obliged him, pressing in his request and stepping back. Placing his hands on the waist-high bars around the lift, he leaned his back against the wall, angling his head up and studying the commander through half-lidded eyes.

Spock, meanwhile, was calculating mentally the seconds remaining until he reached his floor and could disengage himself from the captain's presence, and thus clear his hazy head. As he watched the turbolift dial displaying the floors whizzing by, the headiness of Kirk's scent was beginning to make him faintly dizzy. He concentrated on the time remaining, determined to retain composure: 16, 15, 14, 13-

He felt something in him plummet when he realized that the lift had slowed to a stop . . . right between levels.

They were apparently, stuck.

Where he was leaning provocatively against the wall, Kirk shifted and the edges of his teasing mouth curled.

Spock looked to him, dumfounded, accusatory, and speculative.

"You did that on purpose." He was faintly grateful to hear himself sound so stern.

Kirk merely lifted a golden eyebrow and shoulder simultaneously in a half-shrug. "Did I?" he asked innocently.

Spock swallowed hard, but delivered his reply coolly.

"Yes."

Slowly, Kirk pushed himself fully upright; with a smoldering look, he pinned Spock with his eyes and stepped toward him.

Involuntarily, Spock found himself unsteadily backing up until he himself was pressed against the opposite wall of the lift.

Seeing that the commander had nowhere else to go, Kirk moved closer, deftly invading the personal space he held so sacred until they were standing only a scant 31 centimeters apart. Kirk's smell and the pheromones his body was subliminally secreting washed over Spock, making his already buzzing head feel both light and heavy at once, and his breathing go shallow. Somewhere in the back of his adrenaline-dumbed mind, he noted with interest that the young captain's slighter stature had never before occurred to him; only now that they were standing in such close proximity and he had to look down into Kirk's eyes did he realize that his aggressor was shorter than he.

Kirk continued to serve him that insufferable lopsided grin, bright blue eyes sweeping the commander up and down in a positively lascivious manner.

"Now. . ." he drawled, locking their gazes once more, "why would I do that?"

Spock did not even open his mouth. He had not the words with which to reply.

Kirk's warm breath brushed across his chilly face. "I asked you a question, Mr. Spock."

Spock licked his lips. So dry. His throat and mouth had gone so dry.

"To . . . elicit a reaction."

"And . . . ?"

Silence.

At his lack of response, Kirk moved back a fraction of an inch- but Spock was in no position to be hopeful. It was plainly obvious that the captain had no intention of letting him go anywhere. He merely created more space to . . . observe the commander.

And he did . . . most leisurely. "So . . . you mean to tell me that you, one of Starfleet's most prestigious graduates, valued for both utter brilliance and unparalleled perceptiveness cannot discern why his captain would deliberately trap them both in a turbolift- whilst we are both conveniently off duty?"

Spock shook his head. "I . . . it is confusing. I find you confusing- Captain," he added hastily, feeling himself flush. He was babbling, he knew it, and felt even more foolish for his apparent nerves. It was clear that Kirk was eating it right up.

Especially given the delighted way he inquired: "Am I?"

Again, Spock could not answer. He pressed his lips tightly together, and listened to the faint, thunderous sound of blood rushing through his ears. He felt as if he were drowning in sensation - the proximity of the captain, his body emanating heat, the oh-so-intoxicating musk that was sloughing off of him out of every pore- and worst of all, Jim Kirk's electric blue eyes crackling with energy like great illuminated whirlpools before him, pulling him in, laughing at him, and-

He felt everything in him jerk to a halt as Kirk's face inched closer. His gaze was drawn down to Kirk's mouth, unnervingly close to his own, the captain's hot breath brushing against the sensitive nerves of his lips.

"Still confused?" Kirk whispered, blue eyes burning into him.

Spock opened his mouth-

But before he could so much as utter a single coherent syllable, the captain leaned forward, pressing his mouth firmly to Spock's. Shock sang through Spock's body at the feeling of foreign lips against his own, and for a moment, he could do nothing but remain motionless against the unfamiliar Terran kiss.

Another 2.14 seconds in to the embrace, however, changed matters drastically.

Unsurprisingly, most of it had to do with Kirk's tongue flicking gently at the outside of Spock's mouth.

At the sudden sensation, Spock opened his mouth again in surprise- and immediately found himself with a mouthful of the Captain. As Kirk worked his own mouth and his tongue, deepening the kiss, Spock was shocked to find his own lips and mouth complying, working against the captain's, applying pressure, opening and closing. The Captain's lips slid against his languidly, and Spock heard what would have been an inaudible sigh escape his superior's mouth in the midst of osculation. Unconsciously, Spock pressed himself more firmly up against Kirk's toned body, one hand coming up behind the captain's head, the other flitting to land on the damp hip so obligingly exposed by the ridiculously ripped up gym shirt.

Abruptly- an internal groan at this- the captain pulled away. Keeping his body pressed firmly up against Spock's, Kirk tilted his head back, quirking an eyebrow smugly.

"Does that clarify the issue for you, Commander?"

Despite just having had a hot, wet mouthful of Starfleet Captain, Spock's throat was still rather arid. He simply blinked, mouth slightly open from where Kirk had pulled away, lips tingling strangely.

Kirk continued to study Spock whilst the latter's heartbeat resounded wildly in his green-flushed ears; then, the Captain looked up and around at the small turbo lift chamber, a mock-pensive look occupying his features. "It may take them a while to fix this," he remarked casually. "Particularly if Scotty's still occupied in the Jeffries tube. I give it half an hour tops." Jim slid his gaze back to Spock, an unmistakable twinkle in those electric-blue eyes. "Just imagine. Thirty minutes, wasted standing around in a dysfunctional lift." He clucked his tongue.

Spock swallowed, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we can . . . find a productive alternative . . . to simply 'standing around'."

Kirk quirked an eyebrow. "Any suggesetions, Mr. Spock?"

"Affirmative, Captain; there are several achievable positions wherein at least one party will not be standing."

Kirk chuckled, pressing his body up against Spock's one more. Before closing the distance once more, he breathed, "That, Mr. Spock, is what I like to hear."