A sequel to By Any Other Name and Camouflage.
They were on surveillance in the basement, monitoring footage from the three hundred and fifty-four cameras scattered across the city, which was about as boring as the night-shift could possibly get. It sucked that Bones and Chekov were doing the patrols tonight, while Uhura was out infiltrating the lesbian mafia.
Jim liked to call it the lesbian mafia, anyway, because that brought up some really nice imagery, and Gaila, the Corleone boss, did have this interesting habit of wearing zoot suits and slow-dancing with her hands up Uhura's skirt. Damn it, where was that reel of the Flamingo Club? Uhura was supposed to be there tonight, wasn't she?
"Jim," said Spock, interrupting Jim's frantic channel-surfing, "might I remind you that Nightingale has strictly prohibited you from watching tonight's operation?"
"What?" Jim's fingers spasmed on the keys. "I mean. Um. Why're you mentioning that?"
"You are localizing our otherwise random surveillance. Six out of the last twenty-eight reels have been located within one block of the Flamingo Club, whereas on a genuinely randomized search, the probability of such a sequence occurring would be markedly lower, at two to three out of - "
"Okay, okay, you got me." Jim threw up his hands. "Jesus. Can't catch a break around here..."
"I suggest that you occupy your time with the task at hand. It would be a disservice to the community if we varied from our standard protocol and thus failed to detect a crime in progress."
"You and your standard protocol," Jim muttered, but Spock only looked at him, and Jim sighed. "Yeah, you're right," he said, and ruffled his hair. "Shit. Sorry. But don't you ever get bored?"
"There is a logical, meaningful and strategically crucial task to be performed." Spock sat in his chair patiently, in a meditative pose, with his fingertips pressed together and his eyes scanning quickly across the screens. He looked kind of sexy like that, actually, all calm and focused.Capable. "I have no opportunity for boredom."
"Great," Jim snorted, not letting on that his own gaze was lingering on the tendons of Spock's hands. "As for me, I am the door that opportunity's knocking. Twice. Every second."
Spock inclined his head, never looking away from the screens. "You are misquoting an ancient Earth idiom."
"It's called sarcasm, buddy." There was a tracery of delicate green at Spock's inner wrists; they'd look very good in silk, those wrists. "Creative use of language, you know?"
"You certainly are creative," Spock deadpanned, in his blandest tone.
Jim grinned. "Oh, you have no idea what I could do with a clever verb and a silk rope."
"I was not aware that 'rope' was a grammatical term."
"It is when your grammar's horizontal, baby."
There was a brief silence, in which Jim could practically hear Spock's brain clicking through the step-by-step process of categorizing the words 'baby' and 'horizontal' in a relevant colloquial context. Jesus. Was that what Spock's mind sounded like, all the time?
"Jim," said Spock, eventually, "if you are attempting to engage me in - in - "
"Flirtation? Seduction?" Jim got up and stretched.
"Kindly desist. We are at work."
"So it'd be okay if we weren't at work?"
"Jim." A deeper texture to that voice, now; Jim shivered.
"Hm?" Jim was still standing, and probably prolonging his stretches longer than he absolutely had to, but from this angle, it looked like Spock's fingers were pressed just a little harder against each other.
"I will, if you look away from the screens."
"What purpose will that serve?"
"I want to see your eyes."
"That is an illogical request."
"You make me illogical."
"You are perennially illogical. And this conversation has no point. Desist. Return to your work."
Spock could hide anything else, but he couldn't hide the fact that he'd missed a few reels; his sincerity compelled him to go back and replaythem, which, yeah. Was a compliment.
"Oh, all right, then." Jim let his left hand drift closer, as he uncurled his arm from his stretch, and it brushed Spock's nape.
"Work, huh?" Jim's thumb traced a line up to Spock's ear, all the way to the tip. "I can work. I can work real hard." He thought - very visually andpowerfully - about just how hard he could work his hips, and just how slow, when he wanted to tease. When he wanted to ride. He thought about how it would make Spock buck, desperate and sweat-slick, his hands - his strong, Vulcan hands - bruising Jim's hips.
Spock had… possibly stopped breathing. His eyes, still on the screens, were wide and unseeing. Unfocused and blown, and -
Jim stepped away. "The city won't protect itself, right? I get what you're saying." He slunk back into his seat, and smiled, and heard the arms of Spock's chair creak when Spock gripped them.
Score. All he had to do was to keep this up, for another month or two, and Spock would be his.
No questions asked.
(I am, however, planning a sequel.)