Auld Lang Syne
THANKS: kira-nerys for beta help .
Disclaimer: All Trek belongs to Paramount. I'm just playing with it. No infringement intended.
*Based on a challenge to start a story with Kirk or Spock saying, "Kiss me".
"What?" replied Kirk in astonishment.
"Kiss me," Spock repeated without hesitation.
"Nurse Chapel said that?"
The first officer loosely clasped his hands behind his back. "Correct, Captain."
Spock reflected privately on what had transpired earlier that evening...
He had briefly attended the annual New Year's Eve celebration, a peculiar Earth tradition. Why such significance was placed upon the completion of one rotation of a planet around a sun remained unfathomable to him. The festivities, the inebriation that followed and the social custom of kissing friends and even strangers at 24 hundred hours was most perplexing.
Placing one's mouth upon another was a perfect medium for the transmission of various diseases. Spock could name at least twenty viruses that could be contracted in this way. Fortunately, Vulcans rarely kissed; intimacy was expressed with tactile contact, a practical and logical extension of a Vulcan's ability to communicate thoughts, feelings and desires through the touch of a hand. And yet, even though the practice was medically unsound, he had observed that humans were quick to take advantage of every opportunity to press their lips together. At Christmas, they stood beneath foliage called mistletoe and kissed; they kissed when greeting; they kissed when departing; they kissed in grief and in joy. It was a curious oral fixation, conceivably an unresolved weaning reflex.
By the time the party was in full swing, he had found himself cornered in a corridor by a very tipsy Nurse Chapel. "Kiss me," she had said.
Perhaps in retrospect, it wasn't totally unexpected. Christine had been observing him all evening; he was aware of her veiled glances during the celebrations, her gaze becoming increasingly bold as the night wore on. Although she did not indulge in alcoholic beverages often, she seemed intent on consuming a large quantity of eggnog, doctored significantly by Mr. Scott.
"Aye, this needs wee bit more legs to it," he had overheard Scott telling Dr. McCoy earlier in the revelry. Then the engineer, a sly grin on his face, slipped a flask from under his jacket and poured the contents into the punch bowl.
"If the captain catches you doing that Scotty, he'll have your guts for garters," chided Bones.
"Aye, but I think he may be too drunk to notice." Scott chuckled softly, glancing at Kirk. The commanding officer looked quite the sight, dressed in a silver cone-hat emblazed with "Happy New Year".
The captain appeared to be in an excellent mood, laughing a bit too loudly with an attractive junior officer who had recently been assigned to the Enterprise. She smiled at his every word and Kirk was obviously enjoying her undivided attention.
Spock observed James T. Kirk from the sidelines. He had been under his command for less than a year and although it had taken some months for them both to accept and value the differences in each other, Spock could honestly call him 'friend'. Jim had many attributes that he admired and some he didn't. But humans, especially James Kirk, were often illogical, irrational, and often irrepressible. It was a part of their "charm" or so he had been told. And Kirk had an abundance of charm: his boyish grin, that unruly lock of hair that seemed to always fall onto his forehead, and the hazel eyes that could freeze you with a sharp glare or sparkle with amusement. Even the warm, hardy laugh and wicked sense of humor, a Vulcan could secretly appreciate, given the right moment.
Later in the evening, Spock had found himself sitting quietly in a corner, discussing quantum physics with Sulu. When he paused for a moment, searching his mind for the correct fact in regards to the complicated theory he was explaining, Sulu quickly excused himself to get another drink.
The navigator didn't return.
Doctor McCoy and Mr. Scott hovered near the refreshment table, watching the interaction.
"Poor bastard," Scotty grumbled.
"Sulu can take care of himself," Bones reminded him. "It's not the first time Spock has bent his ear with that mathematical rhetoric that substitutes for real conversation."
"I was talking about Spock," Scotty snorted, then shook his head. "Perhaps a tad of this golden elixir would get the knots out of his knickers."
For once the Vulcan wished his hearing wasn't so acute, but it was too late to make an expeditious exit as the chief engineer had already filled two cups of eggnog and was striding over to his table.
"Mr. Spock, please join me in a toast on the special occasion." Scotty placed one of the cups before the first officer.
"Look out stomach, look out toes, look out Lassies, cos down it goes!" Scotty drained his glass in one long gulp, and then with a contented sigh, slammed his cup on the table.
Spock raised a curious eyebrow. "The digits of the feet, Mr. Scott, could hardly be considered a digestive organ."
"Just try a wee drop," Scotty whispered persuasively, his eyes twinkling.
Spock looked intently at the beverage, and then slowly raised the glass to his lips. His nostrils flared slightly, filled with the aroma of sweet nutmeg, smooth cream and strong malt Whisky. He rarely permitted himself to drink spirits. They had a rather alarming effect on his metabolism, reducing his motor ability and interfering with his capacity to concentrate. Alcohol had also, in sufficient quantities, made him vomit, a most repugnant response he did not wish to repeat.
Mr. Scott, he noted, was watching him, waiting...
Without fanfare, he took a small sip, the pleasant warmth fanning out through his body as he swallowed.
"Good lad, " Scotty said, slapping him on the back.
Not wishing to experience a repeat performance, Spock stood up and walked out into the corridor. On his heels, he noted that Christine Chapel wasn't far behind. By the time had turned the corner, she had reached his side.
"May I...speak with you?" she asked, her words thickened by the fortified eggnog.
He turned to her, observing that her gaze fell 3.45 centimeters below his nose. It seemed she was unable to focus correctly.
"Of course, Nurse Chapel," he replied.
"Mr. Spock," she began, then glanced around to make sure they were alone, "I...I wanted to ask you something..."
Without warning, she suddenly lost her balance, stumbled forward, bumping into him with a soft exhale.
Quite extraordinary and most unexpected, he had not anticipated this. He caught her easily, propping her up against his chest, his arm firmly around her waist for support. He held her securely in place for a moment.
"Are you sufficiently able to stand on your own?" he finally inquired.
"No," she said and clung to him more tightly.
Perplexed, Spock asked, "Shall I call Dr. McCoy or escort you to sick bay?"
"McCoy? God, no. I don't want him..." She sounded exasperated. Then she looked up, her blue eyes slightly glazed.
"I want...you," she whispered.
Unable to formulate an appropriate response, he stood silent and motionless. At any moment, a member of crew could appear. He knew that when Nurse Chapel regained her composure tomorrow, she would be extremely embarrassed at being discovered in his embrace in this condition. So he maneuvered her a few feet down the hall into a private cubical. The door hissed closed behind them.
There was nowhere to sit so he continued to support her in his arms. Perhaps in a moment, she would be capable of regaining her equilibrium. She snuggled even closer, deeply breathing in the scent of the skin on his neck. Then she tilted her head upwards, searching his face.
"Kiss me," she said softly, closing her eyes.
He inwardly winced. It was impossible. He admired Christine, her technical skills and her dedication to her work, but he was unable to return her overtly affectionate feelings. It was not rational, not prudent for him to even consider it. Not only was he unable to kiss her due to his esoteric discipline of logic, he realized that even if he could attempt such a thing, he really didn't know how. Humans, unlike Vulcans, enjoyed kissing, almost made an art of it. There were various techniques, differing pressures, subtleties that he couldn't begin to understand. The prospect of trying to kiss a human was as foreign to him as any undiscovered planet.
"Nurse Chapel...I cannot. I am sorry." He tried to make the unavoidable rejection sound as gentle as possible.
Christine opened her eyes.
"I thought..." she said, her voice tinged with melancholy. "It's New Year's Eve...and..."
She didn't finish, only pulled away, struggling to distance herself from him. "Forgive me, Mr. Spock. I've...had too much to...drink." With that, she turned unsteadily to exit the cubical. When he tried to assist, she put up her hand and shook her head.
A moment later, Spock found himself alone and bewildered. Perhaps he should speak with Jim...
Kirk waited for Mr. Spock's reply.
"So did you?" he inquired again.
"Did you kiss Christine?"
"Why not?" Kirk decided to play devil's advocate, as he was feeling unusually boisterous. He was also more than a little drunk.
"An intimacy of this nature would be most inappropriate," Spock concluded.
"Because you are Vulcan or because you don't find her attractive?"
"It would be illogical."
"Because...?" Kirk kept digging.
Spock crossed his arms in front of his chest, a slightly defensive posture he sometimes took when confronted with an uncomfortable topic.
"It would be untenable because the study of oral gratification is not a part of the curriculum on Vulcan."
"Ah!" Kirk realized the problem and with all problems there were solutions. "So, Mr. Spock, are you telling me that Vulcans don't know how to kiss?"
"I fail to understand any practical applications of pressing one's mouth against another. The oral cavity is a receptacle for a wide variety of upper respiratory germs—"
"—True, Spock," Kirk interrupted, "but sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees. It may not be logical or even sanitary, but a very pleasurable experience nonetheless. I was just instructing that pretty young officer on the finer points of locking lips before you arrived," Kirk confessed wryly. "Most enjoyable."
Kirk couldn't help being amused at the expression on Spock's face, a slight hint of curiosity mixed with a touch of surprise.
"Shall I show you how it's done?"
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "A rhetorical question, Captain? I assume you plan to demonstrate the technique regardless of my response."
"Indeed I do!" laughed Kirk, then he swung a pillow off the bed. He embraced it tenderly in his arms as if were a woman and began kissing the corner, murmuring sweet nothings, amusing sighs and fake little gasps of pleasure.
"Oh, Jim darling..." Kirk mimicked a female voice. "You're fantastic! The best!"
Spock blinked twice, and then tilted his head to the side. "Fascinating. And what does your partner say while you are congratulating yourself?"
Kirk laughed, tossing the pillow back on the bed. "Very funny, Spock. Learning how to kiss just takes practice, patience and perseverance."
"Practice," Spock repeated, surprisingly solemn. "Indeed."
Suddenly, Kirk realized that practice would be impossible for Spock unless he stuck to a pillow for his partner. What he needed was actual training—mouth-to-mouth combat—with a real person. But who? Spock would never consent to 'spin-the-bottle' games with anyone on board, except perhaps...
Fueled by good spirits, both literally and figuratively, Jim said mischievously, "Kiss me."
"Excuse me, Captain?"
The Vulcan's eyebrow shot up like a rocket.
"I appreciate your concern over my lack of experience in this area, but this is not necessary."
"Yes, it is. I said kiss me, Spock."
The Vulcan didn't move a muscle, so Kirk simply walked over and stood in front of him. "That's an order, Mister."
Spock's dark eyes were fixed and bright and they reminded Kirk of a deer caught in the headlights of an on-coming car.
"A most unusual order, Captain. Non-regulation." Spock stood transfixed to the spot, not knowing if Kirk was serious.
Kirk corrected himself, "No, not an order...consider it a request. Indulge me."
Spock paused for a moment, then leaned forward, ever so slowly and placed his lips briefly upon Kirk's. It lasted only a second before Spock's head jerked up again. The contact had been dry, cold, even clinical - typically Vulcan, Kirk thought.
"That, Mr. Spock, isn't going to get you anywhere," Kirk chided. Then with great gusto, he planted a nice, wet one full on Spock's mouth.
His first officer didn't react, but remained rigid and unresponsive. And yet, Spock permitted Kirk to continue to explore his increasingly pliant lips. Finally, Kirk felt a slight stirring in that slender frame and Spock slowly, cautiously, began to copy his movements. Tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence until Spock was giving as much as he was receiving. Kirk's only thought was that the lesson was going surprisingly well. Either he was a hell of a tutor or Spock was a fast study.
But as the Vulcan's hot breath pooled with his own cool moistness, Kirk suddenly realized that the interaction was becoming surprisingly pleasant; no, more than pleasant, it was quite extraordinary. That in itself was an astounding revelation. But when the tip of a sultry alien tongue brushed languidly against Kirk's teeth, testing the limits, an invitation to delve deeper into the viscosity of his mouth, Kirk couldn't deny that he was becoming aroused. The instructor was quickly turning into the student. Spock was teaching him to appreciation the simple pleasure of leisurely exploration, the sheer enjoyment of the subtle variations of texture and taste, the delicious torment of maintaining a balance between control and surrender.
Lost in the sensation of Spock's inquisitive probing, Kirk's heart began to pound beneath his uniform. The liquid heat that emanated from Spock's mouth and the velvet caress of his tongue was becoming unbelievably erotic.
Kirk suddenly felt dizzy, overwhelmed by a growing hunger to savor every part of that lean, hard body. A deep moan in his throat betrayed the tension building inside of him, the waves of pleasure that surged in his groin; his buttocks clenched, his hardening flesh twitched against his thigh, trapped by the tight constraint of his pants.
Being kissed by this magnificent Vulcan, with only their lips joining them, their bodies aching to touch - was utter torture. A moment more and Kirk would be unable to prevent his arms from reaching for Spock, taking his lithe body into a passionate embrace, guiding him down onto the floor...
Suddenly, the deafening noise of hollering, merry-making and horn blasts reverberated throughout the Enterprise Twenty-four hundred hours - the stroke of midnight on a starship a galaxy away from Earth. In Time's Square, the ball would have dropped to the cheers of millions, champagne would be flowing, there would be dancing in the streets and fireworks exploding in the night sky. And yet, Kirk couldn't think of anyplace he would rather be then here, now, alone with Spock. But did Spock feel the same? He had to know for sure.
Kirk broke contact, pulled away and looked deeply into the Vulcan's eyes. Spock's dark, unwavering glaze, bright with an intensity that foreshadowed the inevitable, confirmed the desire to stay.
Then, the sound of singing echoed from down the hall...
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne..."
"Happy New Year, Spock," Kirk smiled.
"Happy New Year, Jim," Spock replied softly.
And it was.
Auld Lang Syne