Chapter Text
Scenes from a Spirked mind
A vision : Kirk letting loose one of those planet-side evenings when the crew is sloshed enough to permit their captain just about anything those pretty blue eyes want. Even if that means purple ice vodka-fire-death-tasting stuffs in mugs for two hands (Sulu’s emphatic “Chekov keep those straws where I can SEE THEM “) and braving a cold that even the Andorians don’t like to fuck with.
The universe be damned, Jim was getting his karaoke session.
Bones damn-near hypoed everyone trying to get the story straight later (he had stayed on board to clean his instruments or whatever, having a strong radar for Jim’s antics had its perks and by god would he inhale antiseptic over sneaking that ass out of jail any. day. )
Soundbites: Spock overwhelming a bassist and earning a bass for his efforts, (Spock on shore leave), Jim lighting up the crowd with those blue blue and a bedazzled mic, flashing his chest and crawling when the moment fucking called for it .
Sulu dropping traps from a modified turntable (what exactly is your skillset Hikaru??). Nods all around, it was a good time.
No one wanted to think too much about who this other Spock was or why. Sunset cocktails were a hell of a knock out- scotty beamed aboard sitting- but Spock, they thought, was immune to whimsy. Intoxicant or otherwise…induced
Under pressure Chekov admits that maybe, maybe he’d seen the two in a corner somewhere, and maybe Jim had his hands on his hips or in his pockets because they were certainly out of sight, and maybe they were talking about the ship or something secretive because there was blushing and it was green.
But no one wanted to imagine their first officer as someone who could be that ruled by anything. Or, for that matter, a Captain James Kirk who would offer ass in the back of a dingy club. Either way, they waved it all away and were better off for it.
Oh, but it was a sight, this they could agree.
The blue lights sloping down Spock’s face as he thrummed in concentration, eyes lowered to watch his fingers, flicking upwards occasionally to watch his captain enthrall the crowd...catching himself in sudden rushes of want, submerging the heat with calculations-the odds of losing feeling in three of his fingers, the odds of a sudden klingon attack, the likelihood of him tossing the bass and whiplashing Jim into him so he could yank that hair back kiss him deep and squeeeze (that ass) for everyone to see
The odds of ruination.
Jim easing into beats, whipping his head. Screamingg
And then there was the crowd- the andorians stiff but appreciative, and the rest of the crew were, of course, in the front, giving and taking in obscenity. Smirks and flailing arms, drunk appraisals abound.
Jim on his knees rasping “Life gets fucked up. That’s why we get fucked up” resonating deeply.
“One thing I’m failing to understand,” Bones insisted through the joviality, Chekov wriggling under sulu’s head lock, uhura tightening her arms around Gaila’s bare middle “and please clarify for this dull, farm boy’s brain- why after this fabulous evening of jim showing his ass and Spock being uncharacteristically….fun, that you’re here now, and not over there, waiting for me to clean you off the goddamn floors.“
Scotty coughed from the ground. Uhura offered a small shrug.
“Commander Spock’s the jealous type, it seems.”